Focusing on Jewish religious life, 1500-1900 9781874774723, 9781874774716, 9781909821668

Table of contents :
Frontmatter
Note on Place-Names (page xv)
Note on Transliteration (page xvi)
PART I: JEWISH RELIGIOUS LIFE, 1500-1900
Introduction (ANTONY POLONSKY, page 3)
Printing the Talmud in Poland in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (KRZYSZTOF PILARCZYK, page 59)
Isaac of Troki's Studies of Rabbinic Literature (STEFAN SCHREINER, page 65)
Polish Attitudes towards Jewish Spirituality in the Eighteenth Century (JUDITH KALIK, page 77)
Sixteenth-Century Accounts of Purim Festivities (HANNA WĘGRZYNEK, page 87)
Jewish Popular Spirituality in the Eighteenth Century (GERSHON DAVID HUNDERT, page 93)
The Struggle over Images in the Propaganda of the Frankist Movement (HARRIS LENOWITZ, page 105)
The Non-Christian Frankists (JAN DOKTÓR, page 131)
Rabbi Jonathan Eibescheutz's Attitude towards the Frankists (SID Z. LEIMAN, page 145)
The Influence of Frankism on Polish Culture (MICHAŁ GALAS, page 153)
Tsadik and Ba'al Shem in East European Hasidism (KARL E. GRÖZINGER, page 159)
Holy Men in their Infancy: The Childhood of Tsadikim in Hasidic Legends (SUZANNE GALLEY, page 169)
One Event, Two Interpretations: The Fall of the Seer of Lublin in Hasidic Memory and Maskilic Satire (DAVID ASSAF, page 187)
How Far was Krochmal Influenced by the Gaon Sherira ben Hanina in his Description of the Development of Oral Torah? (MARGARETE SCHLÜTER, page 203)
The Messiah Son of Joseph according to Rabbi Zaddok Hacohen (ROLAND GOETSCHEL, page 213)
Primordial Chaos and Creation in Gur Hasidism: The Sabbath that Preceded Creation (YORAM JACOBSON, page 221)
PART II: NEW VIEWS
'Ahavat yehonatan': A Poem by Judah Leo Landau (VERONICA BELLING, page 243)
Jakub Becal: King Jan III Sobieski's Jewish Factor (ADAM KAŹMIERCZYK, page 249)
The Shtadlan of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth: Noble Advocate or Unbridled Opportunist? (SCOTT URY, page 267)
Educational Options for Jewish Girls in Nineteenth-Century Europe (ELIYANA R. ADLER, page 301)
The Society for the Advancement of Trade, Industry, and Crafts (SZYMON RUDNICKI, page 311)
Strangers in their Own Land: Polish Jews from Lublin to Kielce (DANIEL BLATMAN, page 335)
Jewish Writers in Polish Literature (EUGENIA PROKOP-JANIEC, page 359)
Auschwitz: Site of Memories (SŁAWOMIR KAPRALSKI, page 383)
My Jedwabne (MARTA KURKOWSKA-BUDZAN, page 401)
PART III: REVIEWS
REVIEW ESSAYS
Report of the Vatican Documents on the Second World War (page 411)
The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust: A Personal Report (ROBERT S. WISTRICH, page 413)
Yaffa Eliach's Eishyshok: Two Views (page 445)
Holocaust Survivors in Jadwiga Maurer's Short Stories (JOANNA ROSTROPOWICZ CLARK, page 469)
Polish Translations of Yiddish Literature Published in Wrocław (JERZY TOMASZEWSKI, page 475)
BOOK REVIEWS
David Patterson, The Hebrew Novel in Czarist Russia (ALICE NAKHIMOVSKY, page 479)
Shmuel A. Arthur Cygielman, Jewish Autonomy in Poland and Lithuania until 1648 (GARY FITELBERG, page 480)
The Facing History and Ourselves National Foundation, The Jews of Poland (GWIDO ZLATKES, page 481)
Henry Abramson, A Prayer for the Government: Ukrainians and Jews in Revolutionary Times, 1917-1920 (AMIR WEINER, page 484)
Henryk Hoffman, Z Drohobycza do Ziemi Obiecanej (DORA KACNELSON, page 486)
Hirsz Abramowicz, Profiles of a Lost World: Memoirs of East European Jewish Life before World War II (MOTTI ZALKIN, page 490)
Robert Weinberg, Stalin's Forgotten Zion: Birobidzhan and the Making of a Soviet Jewish Homeland. An Illustrated History, 1928-1996 (CHIZUKO TAKAO, page 492)
Anna Landau-Czajka, W jednym stali domu...Koncepcje rozwiązania kwestii żydowskiej w publicystyce polskiej lat 1933-1939 (JOHN T. PAWLIKOWSKI, page 494)
Władysław Szpilman, The Pianist: The Extraoridinary Story of One Man's Survival in Warsaw 1939-1945, with extracts from the diary of Wilm Hosenfeld (GARY FITELBERG, page 497)
Tadeusz Piotrowski, Poland's Holocaust: Ethnic Strife, Collaboration with Occupying Forces and Genocide in the Second Republic, 1918-1947 (GWIDO ZLATKES, page 499)
Wiktoria Śliwowska (ed.), The Last Eyewitnesses: Children of the Holocaust Speak (JOSHUA D. ZIMMERMAN, page 503)
Dalia Ofer and Lenore J. Weitzman (eds.), Women in the Holocaust (SABINE VON MERING, page 506)
Ann Charney, Dobryd (ANNA PETROV BUMBLE, page 509)
APPRECIATIONS AND OBITUARIES
Chone Shmeruk: The Man and his Work (ISRAEL BARTAL, page 513)
The Scholarly Activities of Chone Shmeruk in Poland (JÓZEF A. GIEROWSKI, page 515)
Jan Karski (1914-2000) (STANISLAUS A. BLEJWAS, page 519)
Moshe Mishkinsky (1917-1998) (JOSHUA D. ZIMMERMAN, page 525)
Notes on the Contributors (page 527)
Glossary (page 533)
Index (page 539)

Citation preview

THE INSTITUTE FOR POLISH—JEWISH STUDIES The Institute for Polish—Jewish Studies in Oxford and its sister organization, the American Association for Polish—Jewish Studies, which publish Polin, are learned societies which were established in 1984, following the First International Conference on Polish—Jewish

Studies, held in Oxford. The Institute is associated with the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies, and the American Association is linked with the Department of Near Eastern and Judaic Studies at Brandeis University. Both the Institute and the American Association aim to promote understanding of the

Polish Jewish past. They have no building or library of their own and no paid staff; they achieve their aims by encouraging scholarly research and facilitating its publication, and by creating forums for people with a scholarly interest in Polish Jewish topics, both in the past and in the present. To this end, the Institute and the American Association help organize lectures and inter-

national conferences. Venues for these activities have included Brandeis University in Waltham, Mass., the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, the Institute for the Study of Human Sciences in Vienna, King’s College, London, the Jagiellonian University in Krakéw, the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies, the University of L6dz, University College London, and the Polish Cultural Centre and the Polish Embassy in London. They have encouraged academic exchanges between Israel, Poland, the United States, and western Europe. In particular they seek to aid in training a new generation of scholars, in Poland as well as elsewhere, to study the culture and history of the Jews in Poland. Each year since 1987, the Institute has published a volume of scholarly papers in this series, Polin: Studies in Polish Jewry, under the general editorship of Professor Antony Polonsky of Brandeis University. Since 1994 the series has been published on its behalf by the Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, and since 1998 the publication has also been linked with the American Association. In March 2000 the entire series was honoured with a National Jewish Book Award from the Jewish Book Council in the United States. More than twenty other works on Polish Jewish topics have also been published with the Institute’s assistance.

For further information on the Institute for Polish—Jewish Studies or the American Association for Polish—Jewish Studies, contact .

THE LITTMAN LIBRARY OF

JEWISH CIVILIZATION MANAGING EDITOR Connie Webber

_ Dedtcated to the memory of Louis THOMAS SIDNEY LITTMAN who founded the Littman Library for the love of God and as an act of charity in memory of his father

JosEPH AARON LITTMAN 7 Wa ADS S77

‘Get wisdom, get understanding: Forsake her not and she shall preserve thee’ PROV. 4: 5

The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization ts a registered UK charity Registered charity no. 1000784

STUDIES IN POLISH JEWRY

VOLUME FIFTEEN Focusing on Jewish Religious Life, 1500-1900 Edited by

ANTONY POLONSKY

Published for

The Institute for Polish—Jewish Studies and The American Association for Polish—Jewish Studies

Oxford - Portland, Oregon

The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization 2002

The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization

Chief Executive Officer: Ludo Craddock PO Box 645, Oxford Ox2 OUJ, UK

Published in the United States and Canada by The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization

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being imposed on the subsequent purchaser . A catalogue record for this book 1s available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data applied for —

ISSN 0268 1056 ISBN 1-874774~-71-4 ISBN 1-874774-72-2 (pbk.) Publishing co-ordinator: Janet Moth Production: Fohn Saunders Copy-editing: Laurien Berkeley Index: Bonnie Blackburn Design: Pete Russell, Faringdon, Oxon.

Typeset by Footnote Graphics, Warminster, Wilts. Printed in Great Britain on acid-free paper by Biddles Ltd. www.biddles.co.uk

Articles appearing in this publication are abstracted and indexed in Mistorical Abstracts and America: History and Life

Dedicated to the memory of

DAVID SKLAR

4 APRIL 1924-27 JULY 2001 Philanthropist, music lover, and student of the fewish past

The publication of this volume of POLIN was facthtated by grants from

WLADYSLAW BARTOSZEWSKI and the

LUCIUS N. LITTAUER FOUNDATION

Editors and Advisers EDITORS Monika Adamczyk-Garbowska, Lublin Israel Bartal, Jerusalem Antony Polonsky (Chair), Waltham, Mass. Michael Steinlauf, Philadelphia Jerzy Tomaszewski, Warsaw

REVIEW EDITORS ChaeRan Freeze, Waltham, Mass. Joshua Zimmerman, New York

EDITORIAL BOARD

Chimen Abramsky, London Jehuda Reinharz, Waltham, Mass.

David Assaf, Tel Aviv Moshe Rosman, Tel Aviv

Wiadystaw T. Bartoszewski, Warsaw , Henryk Samsonowicz, Warsaw

David Engel, New York Rafael Scharf, London

David Fishman, New York Robert Shapiro, New York

Jozef Gierowski, Krakow Adam Teller, Haifa Jacob Goldberg, Jerusalem Daniel Tollet, Paris

Yisrael Gutman, Jerusalem Piotr S. Wandycz, New Haven

Jerzy Ktoczowski, Lublin Jonathan Webber, Birmingham, UK Ezra Mendelsohn, Jerusalem Steven Zipperstein, Stanford, Calif. Elchanan Reiner, Jel Aviv ADVISORY BOARD

Wiadystaw Bartoszewski, Warsaw Stanistaw Litak, Lublin

Jan Btonski, Krakow Heinz-Dietrich Lowe, Heidelberg

Abraham Brumberg, Washington Emanuel Meltzer, Tel Aviv Andrzej Chojnowski, Warsaw Czestaw Mitosz (Hon. Chair), Berkeley and

Tadeusz Chrzanowski, Krakow Krakow

Andrzej Ciechanowiecki, London Shlomo Netzer, Tel Aviv

Norman Davies, London David Patterson, Oxford

Victor Erlich, New Haven Zbigniew Petczynski, Oxford Frank Golczewski, Hamburg Szymon Rudnicki, Warsaw Olga Goldberg, Jerusalem Alexander Schenker, New Haven

Feliks Gross, New York David Sorkin, Madison

, Czestaw Hernas, Wroclaw Edward Stankiewicz, New Haven

Jerzy Jedlicki, Warsaw Norman Stone, Ankara

Andrzej Kaminski, Washington Shmuel Werses, ferusalem

Hillel Levine, Boston Jacek Wozniakowski, Krakow

Lucjan Lewitter, Cambridge, Mass. Piotr Wrobel, 7oronto

Preface Polin is sponsored by the Institute for Polish—Jewish Studies, Oxford, and by the American Association for Polish—Jewish Studies, which is linked with the Department of Near Eastern and Judaic Studies, Brandeis University. As with earlier issues, this volume could not have appeared without the untiring assistance of many individuals. In particular, we should like to express our gratitude to Dr Jonathan Webber, treasurer of the Institute for Polish—Jewish Studies, Professor Jehuda Reinharz, president of Brandeis University, and Mrs Irene Pipes, president of the American Association for Polish—Jewish Studies. As was the case with earlier volumes, this one could not have been published without the constant help and supervision of Connie Webber, managing editor of the Littman Library, and Janet Moth, publishing co-ordinator. I should also like to mention Claire Rosenson and Ben Greenberg, who assisted me at Brandeis University in preparing the manu-

script in its early stages, Laurien Berkeley, who copy-edited the manuscript, Lindsey Taylor-Guthartz, who assisted with the technicalities of editing Hebrew, and George Tulloch, who assisted with Slavonic languages and place names. Many of the chapters in this volume were first delivered at an international conference on Jewish spirituality in Poland, held at the Jagiellonian University in Krakow on 26-28 April 1999 in honour of the late Professor Chone Shmeruk, one of the founders of Polin and a frequent contributor and long-time member of its editorial board. The conference proceedings have been published in Polish, under the editorship of Michal Galas, as Duchowos¢ zydowska w Polsce |Jewish Spirituality in Poland] (Krakow, 2000).

Plans for future volumes of Polin are well advanced. Volume 16 will deal with Jewish popular culture in Poland. We are also planning volumes on Jews in smaller Polish towns, on Jewish women in eastern Europe, and on Polish—Jewish relations in the United States. We should welcome articles for these issues, as well as for our New Views section. We should also welcome any suggestions or criticisms. In particular, we should be very grateful for assistance in extending our coverage to

the areas of Ukraine, Belarus, and Lithuania, both in the period in which these countries were part of the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth and subsequently. We note with sadness the deaths of Stanislaus Bleywas, a member of our editorial board and frequent contributor to Polin, and of Maurycy Horn, a major scholar and a member of our editorial advisory board.

BLANK PAGE —

POLIN

LER. Bere ye HINO HOMO OR Gentle Polin (Poland), ancient land of ‘Torah and learning From the day Ephraim first departed from Judah From a selihah by Rabbi Moshe Katz Geral of the exiles of Poland, head of the Beth Din of the Holy Congregation of Metz

We did not know, but our fathers told us how the exiles of Israel came to the land of Polin (Poland).

When Israel saw how its sufferings were constantly renewed, oppressions increased, persecutions multiplied, and how the evil authorities piled decree on decree and followed expulsion with expulsion, so that there was no way to escape the enemies of Israel, they went out on the road and sought an answer from the paths of the wide world: which is the correct road to traverse to find rest for the soul. Then a piece of paper fell from heaven, and on it the words: Go to Polantya (Poland).

So they came to the land of Polin and they gave a mountain of gold to the king,

and he received them with great honour. And God had mercy on them, so that they found favour from the king and the nobles. And the king gave them permission to reside in all the lands of his kingdom, to trade over its length and breadth and to serve God according to the precepts of their religion. And the king protected them against every foe and enemy.

And Israel lived in Polin in tranquillity for a long time. They devoted themselves to trade and handicrafts. And God sent a blessing on them so that they were

blessed in the land, and their name was exalted among the peoples. And they traded with the surrounding countries and they also struck coins with inscriptions in the holy language and the language of the country. These are the coins which have on them a lion rampant towards the right. And on the coins are the words ‘Mieszko, King of Poland’ or ‘Mieszko, Krol of Poland’. The Poles call their king ‘Krol’.

When they came from the land of the Franks, they found a wood in the land and on every tree, one tractate of the Talmud was incised. This is the forest of —

Xx Polin ,

Kaweczyn, which is near Lublin. And every man said to his neighbour, “We have come to the land where our ancestors dwelt before the Torah and revelation were granted.’ And those who seek for names say: ‘This is why it is called Polin. For thus spoke

Israel when they came to the land, “Here rest for the night [Po /in].” And this means that we shall rest here until we are all gathered into the Land of Israel.’ Since this is the tradition, we accept it as such. S. Y. AGNON, 1916

Contents

A Note on Place Names XV Note on Transliteration Xvi

PART I

Introduction 3 JEWISH RELIGIOUS LIFE, 1500-1900

Centuries 59

ANTONY POLONSKY

Printing the Talmud 1n Poland in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth KRZYSZTOF PILARCZYK

Isaac of ‘Troki’s Studies of Rabbinic Literature 65 STEFAN SCHREINER

Polish Attitudes towards Jewish Spirituality in the Eighteenth Century 77

| JUDITH KALIK Sixteenth-Century Accounts of Purim Festivities 87 HANNA WEGRZYNEK

Jewish Popular Spirituality in the Eighteenth Century 93 GERSHON DAVID HUNDERT

The Struggle over Images in the Propaganda of the Frankist Movement 105 HARRIS LENOWITZ

The Non-Christian Frankists 131 JAN DOKTOR

Rabbi Jonathan Eibeschuetz’s Attitude towards the Frankists 145 SID Z. LEIMAN

The Influence of Frankism on Polish Culture 153 MICHAEL GALAS

Tsadik and Ba’al Shem in East European Hasidism 159

KARL E. GROZINGER

Xi : Contents

Legends | 169

| Holy Men in their Infancy: The Childhood of Tsadikim in Hasidic SUSANNE GALLEY

One Event, Two Interpretations: The Fall of the Seer of Lublin in

Hasidic Memory and Maskilic Satire 187

DAVID ASSAF

How Far was Krochmal Influenced by the Gaon Sherira ben Hanina in

his Description of the Development of Oral Torah? 203

MARGARETE SCHLUTER

The Messiah Son of Joseph according to Rabbi Zaddok Hacohen 213 ROLAND GOETSCHEL

Preceded Creation 221

Primordial Chaos and Creation in Gur Hasidism: The Sabbath that YORAM JACOBSON

PART II

NEW VIEWS

‘Ahavat yehonatan’: A Poem by Judah Leo Landau 243 VERONICA BELLING

Jakub Becal: King Jan III Sobieski’s Jewish Factor 249 ADAM KAZMIERCZYK

The Shiadlan of the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth: Noble Advocate

or Unbridled Opportunist? 267 SCOTT URY | Educational Options for Jewish Girls in Nineteenth-Century Europe 301 ELIYANA R. ADLER | The Society for the Advancement of Trade, Industry, and Crafts 311 SZYMON RUDNICKI

Strangers in their Own Land: Polish Jews from Lublin to Kielce 335 DANIEL BLATMAN

Jewish Writers in Polish Literature 359 EUGENIA PROKOP-JANIEC

Auschwitz: Site of Memories 383 SLAWOMIR KAPRALSKI |

My Jedwabne AOI MARTA KURKOWSKA-BUDZAN |

| | Contents Xi PART III REVIEWS

REVIEW ESSAYS | Report of the Vatican Documents on the Second World War 4Il The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust: A Personal Report 413 ROBERT S. WISTRICH

Yaffa Eliach’s Eishyshok: Two Views , , A45

SARUNAS LIEKIS |

1. “The new Jew Hitler has fashioned into being’

1. Eyszyszki Revisited, 1939-1945 453 JOHN RADZILOWSKI

Holocaust Survivors in Jadwiga Maurer’s Short Stories 469 JOANNA ROSTROPOWICZ CLARK

Polish Translations of Yiddish Literature Published in Wroclaw 475 JERZY TOMASZEWSKI

BOOK REVIEWS

David Patterson, The Hebrew Novel in Czarist Russia 479 — ALICE NAKHIMOVSKY

until 1648 480 GARY FITELBERG | |

Shmuel A. Arthur Cygielman, Jewish Autonomy in Poland and Lithuania ,

Poland 481

The Facing History and Ourselves National Foundation, The Jews of GWIDO ZLATKES

Henry Abramson, A Prayer for the Government: Ukrainians and Jews in

Revolutionary Times, 1917-1920 484 AMIR WEINER

Henryk Hoffman, Z Drohobycza do Ziemi Obiecanej 486 DORA KACNELSON

Hirsz Abramowicz, Profiles of a Lost World: Memoirs of East European

Jewish Life before World War IT 490 MOTTI ZALKIN

Robert Weinberg, Stalin’s Forgotten Zion: Birobidzhan and the Making

ofa Soviet Fewish Homeland. An Illustrated History, 1928-1996 492 CHIZUKO TAKAO

X1V | Contents Anna Landau-Czajka, Wjednym stali domu... Koncepcje rozwiqzania

kwestu &ydowskiej w publicystyce polskiey lat 1933-1939 494

JOHN T. PAWLIKOWSKI

Wladyslaw Szpilman, The Pianist: The Extraordinary Story of One Man’s Survival in Warsaw 1939-1945, with extracts from the diary of

Wilm Hosenfeld 497 GARY FITELBERG

Tadeusz Piotrowski, Poland’s Holocaust: Ethnic Strife, Collaboration with Occupying Forces and Genocide in the Second Republic, 1918-1947 499 GWIDO ZLATKES

Holocaust Speak 503

Wiktoria Sliwowska (ed.), The Last Eyewitnesses: Children of the JOSHUA D. ZIMMERMAN

Dalia Ofer and Lenore J. Weitzman (eds.), Women in the Holocaust 506 SABINE VON MERING

Ann Charney, Dobryd 509 ANNA PETROV BUMBLE

APPRECIATIONS AND OBITUARIES

Chone Shmeruk: The Man and his Work 513 ISRAEL BARTAL

The Scholarly Activities of Chone Shmeruk in Poland 515 JOZEF A. GIEROWSKI

Jan Karski (1914-2000) 519 STANISLAUS A. BLEJWAS

Moshe Mishkinsky (1917-1998) 525 JOSHUA D. ZIMMERMAN

Glossary 533 Index 539

Notes on the Contributors | 527

A Note on Place Names POLITICAL connotations accrue to words, names, and spellings with an alacrity unfortunate for those who would like to maintain neutrality. It seems reasonable to honour the choices of a population on the name of its city or town, but what 1s one to do when the people have no consensus on their name, or when the town changes its name, and the name its spelling, again and again over time? The politician may always opt for the latest version, but the hapless historian must reckon with them

all. This note, then, will be our brief reckoning. , There is no problem with places that have accepted English names, such as Warsaw. But every other place name in east-central Europe raises serious problems. A good example is Wilno, Vilna, Vilnius. There are clear objections to all of these. Until 1944 the majority of the population was Polish. The city is today in Lithuania. ‘Vilna’, though raising the fewest problems, is an artificial construct. In this volume we have adopted the following guidelines, although we are aware that they are not wholly consistent.

1. Towns that have a form which is acceptable in English will be given in that form. Some examples are Warsaw, Kiev, Moscow, St Petersburg, Munich.

2. Towns that until 1939 were clearly part of a particular state and shared the majority nationality of that state will be given in a form which reflects that situation. Some examples are Breslau, Danzig, Rzeszow, Przemysl. In Polish, Krakow has always been spelled as such. In English it has more often appeared as Cracow, but the current trend of English follows the local language as much as possible. In keeping _ with this trend to local determination, then, we shall maintain the Polish spelling.

3. Towns that are in mixed areas should take the form in which they are known today and which reflects their present situation. Examples are Poznan, Torun, Kaunas, Lviv. This applies also to bibliographical references. We have made one major exception to this rule, using the common English form for Vilna until its first incorporation into Lithuania in October 1939 and using Vilnius thereafter. Galicia’s most diversely named city, and one of its most important, boasts four variants: the Polish Lwéw, the German Lemberg, the Russian Lvov, and the Ukrainian Lviv. As this city currently lives under Ukrainian rule, and most of its current residents speak Ukrainian, we shall follow the Ukrainian spelling. 4. Some place names have different forms in Yiddish. Occasionally the subject matter dictates that the Yiddish place name should be the prime form, in which case the corresponding Polish (Ukrainian, Belarusian, Lithuanian) name is given

in parentheses at first mention. ,

Note on Transhteration HEBREW An attempt has been made to achieve consistency in the transliteration of Hebrew words. The following are the key distinguishing features of the system that has been adopted:

1. No distinction is made between the aleph and ayin; both are represented by an apostrophe, and only when they appear in an intervocalic position. 2. Veit is written v; het is written h; yod is written y when it functions as a consonant and 1 when it occurs as a vowel; khafis written kh; tsadi is written ts; kof is written k.

3. The dagesh hazak, represented in some transliteration systems by doubling the letter, 1s not represented, except in words that have more or less acquired normative English spellings that include doubling, such as Hallel, kabbalah, kaddish, rabbi, Sukkot, and Yom Kippur. 4. The sheva na is represented by ane.

5. Hebrew prefixes, prepositions, and conjunctions are not followed by hyphens when they are transliterated; thus betoledot ha’am hayehud1.

6. Capital letters are not used in the transliteration of Hebrew except for the first word in the titles of books and the names of people, places, institutions, and generally as in the conventions of the English language.

7. The names of individuals are transliterated following the above rules unless the individual concerned followed a different usage.

YIDDISH Transliteration follows the YIVO system except for the names of people, where the spell-

ings they themselves used have been retained.

RUSSIAN AND UKRAINIAN The system used is that of British Standard 2979:1958, without diacritics. Except in bibliographical and other strictly rendered matter, soft and hard signs are omitted and word-final -H, -HH, -bIH, -iM in names are simplified to -y.

PARTI Jewish Religious Life, 1500-1900

| BLANK PAGE |

Introduction ANTONY POLONSKY When the Baal Shem had a difficult task before him, he would go to a certain place in the woods, light a fire, and meditate in prayer—and what he had set out to perform was done. When a generation later the ‘Maggid’ of Meseritz was faced with

the same task he would go to the same place in the woods and say: We can no longer light the fire, but we can still speak the prayers—and what he wanted done became reality. Again a generation later Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sassov had to perform this task. And he too went into the woods and said: We can no longer light a fire, nor do we know the secret meditations belonging to the prayer, but we do know the place in the woods to which it all belongs—and that must be sufficient; and sufficient it was. But when another generation had passed and Rabbi Israel of Rishin was called upon to perform the task, he sat down on his golden chair in his castle and said: We cannot light the fire, we cannot speak the prayers, we do not know the place, but we can tell the story of how it was done. And, the storyteller adds, the story which he told had the same effect as the actions of the other three. GERSHOM SCHOLEM

Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism

THIs is the second issue of Polin devoted to the religious and spiritual life of Polish Jewry. In volume 11 we examined some aspects of the spiritual and religious life of the Jews of Poland—Lithuania, particularly in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. We concentrated then on the two principal Jewish religious traditions in the lands that had made up the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, one originating with the great hasidic masters of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries dating back to the Ba’al Shem Tov himself, the other deriving from their mitnagdic opponents ranging from Rabbi Elijah, the Gaon of Vilna, to Rabbi Israel Lipkin of Salant. We also devoted attention to the nineteenth-century attempts in the Polish lands to modify Jewish religious practice on the lines advocated by the Haskalah (Jewish Enlightenment) in Germany and to bring it into accord with what was regarded as the ‘spirit of the age’. In this volume we will investigate five aspects of | Jewish religious life in the Polish—Lithuanian lands in the period from 1500 to 1900:

religious life up to the middle of the seventeenth century and looking at the nature and impact of the movement of the messianic pretender Jakub Frank; the origins and development of the hasidic movement; the way Jewish religious belief was interpreted by the upholders of the Catholic majority faith in Poland—Lithuania; and

4 Antony Polonsky some aspects of the impact of the Haskalah on Jewish religious life in the nineteenth century. The main concentration is on the early modern period, although there are a number of pieces on the years after 1795. These individual topics are all aspects of a much larger theme: the spiritual life

of Polish—Lithuanian Jewry and its relation to the wider religious history of the Jews. There are a number of problems in describing that history. It is obvious that Jewish history in the period from the end of Jewish statehood and, in particular, from the end of a significant Jewish presence in Erets Yisrael has a highly significant

religious component. The great nineteenth-century Jewish historian Heinrich Graetz described it as ‘a history of suffering and of religious literature’, while Salo Baron entitled his monumental unfinished work The Social and Religious History of

the Fews. Yet there has been a tendency to write this history statically—to see normative Jewish religious practice as unchanging from the period of the Mishnah and T’almud. In addition, historical investigation is complicated by the absence in the Jewish religious tradition of a clearly formulated creed. The attempts to formulate such a credal statement, such as that of Maimonides (1135-1204), who sets out thirteen basic principles of the Jewish faith, or those of the Spanish Jews Hasdai Crescas (d. °1412) and Joseph Albo (1380-1445), can only be seen as deviations from this norm and are not regarded by normative believers as binding, although much of the religious establishment did accept them as such.

The great scholar of Jewish mysticism Gershom Scholem once wrote that ‘Judaism cannot be defined according to its essence, since it has no essence.”! Yet it is possible to outline the main elements that make up the Jewish religious tradition. In the first place, Judaism is a religion of law which, it was believed, was laid down by God for Israel. This law is composed of the Written Law, found in the five books of the Pentateuch, and the Oral Law, which is contained in the Mishnah and Talmud. Together they constitute the basis of halakhah (literally ‘the way’), the prescriptive part of Jewish tradition that defines the norms of behaviour and religious observance on the basis of the interpretation of the law. It is this aspect of Jewish religious practice that explains the importance of the rabbinate. Rabbis were needed above all to elucidate points of halakhah. The authority to rule in halakhic matters had been passed on to them from earlier generations in a chain that was believed to go back ultimately to the talmudic sages and from there to the revelation to Moses on Mount Sinai. This issue is interestingly described by Graetz, and also by Jacob Katz in his book Divine Law in Human Hands: Case Studies in Halakhic Flexibility.” While some areas of the law, such as the prohibitions on adultery and consan-

guineous sexual relationships, remained constant throughout the ages since they were unequivocally set out in the Pentateuch, in post-talmudic communities such as medieval Ashkenaz halakhah developed considerably. In Ashkenaz, under the influence of the rulings of posekim (rabbinic scholars who decide issues of law) such ' G. Scholem, ‘What is Judaism?’, in his On the Possibility of ‘Jewish Messianism in Our Time and

Other Essays, ed. A. Shapira, trans. J. Chipman (Philadelphia, 1997), 114. 2 Jerusalem, 1908.

Introduction 5 as Gershom ben Judah (c.g60—1028), Rashi (1040-1105), Rabbi Jacob ben Meir Tam (1100-71), and Rabbi Asher ben Yehiel (the Rosh; 1250-1327) and his son Rabbi Jacob (d. 1340), considerable effort was made to adapt the laws set out in the Bible and Babylonian Talmud to the quite unprecedented conditions of Christian medieval Europe, above all in the areas of commerce and trade. This often required

| considerable ingenuity and skill since rabbis in the post-talmudic age could not simply alter rules set out in Scripture or modify talmudic decrees to meet the needs of their day. As Edward Fram has pointed out in his important study of the way halakhah was interpreted in Poland between 1550 and 1650, ‘Jewish laws were

considered binding even if the factors that had motivated their enactment had vanished’. At the same time some change was often necessary since, ‘if rabbis failed

to integrate modern life into the framework of the law, they threatened to render the latter irrelevant and undermine its authority. Thus in each generation and in every locale rabbis had to interpret the law in light of the needs of those who lived by it.’?

Alongside the halakhic core of Judaism there developed two other aspects of the religious tradition: the attempt to reconcile normative Jewish belief with a philosophical and specifically Jewish mystical understanding of the world. The essence

of the encounter of Judaism and philosophy has been clearly articulated by the author of the classic work on medieval Jewish philosophy Isaac Husik: The philosophical movement in mediaeval Jewry was the result of the desire and the necessity, felt by the leaders of Jewish thought, of reconciling two apparently independent sources of truth. In the middle ages, among Jews as well as among Christians and Mohammedans, the two sources of knowledge or truth which were clearly present to the minds of thinking © people, each claiming recognition, were religious opinions as embodied in revealed docu-

ments on the one hand, and philosophical and scientific judgments and arguments, the results of independent rational reflection, on the other. Revelation and reason, religion and philosophy, faith and knowledge, authority and independent reflection are the various expressions for the dualism in mediaeval thought, which the philosophers and theologians of the time endeavored to reduce to a monism or a unity.

This attempt to reconcile revealed religion with philosophy was more a feature

of the Sephardi than of the Ashkenazi world. It did not end with the Middle Ages but has continued until our own time. It is the case, however, that in the premodern period, even when philosophical inquiry was valued, it did not possess the authority of halakhah. While most Jewish philosophers did attempt to reconcile revelation with reason, their form of inquiry did not privilege the former. In addition they were not bound by earlier precedent and made use of sources of secondary importance in halakhah. 3 E. Fram, Ideals Face Reality: Jewish Law and Life in Poland 1550-1655 (Cincinnati, Ohio, 1997), 2.

* I. Husik, A History of Mediaeval Jewish Philosophy (London, 1916; repr. Philadelphia, 1940), p. X11.

6 — Antony Polonsky — | Alongside the interest in philosophy there was from the beginnings of the establishment of rabbinic Judaism in the first centuries of our era a strong mystical tradition. Its scholarly recovery in our time has been the work of Gershom Scholem

and his pupils, many of whom, while acknowledging their debt to him, have proceeded to revise most of his basic theses. Scholem saw this tradition as the main reason for the vitality of Judaism over the centuries. As he put it: During the course of my studies, I have always swung between two poles of interest, which I must admit have not always been expressed with full subtlety and richness in my published work. The one pole—call it my exoteric side—was my scholarly interest in the literature of Jewish mysticism, in both its historical and philosophical-theoretical aspects . . . The other pole of my attention has not been emphasized or recognized to the same degree in my numerous publications over the course of half a century, even though it was no less important to me—namely, as a person who saw and sees Judaism as a living organism, constantly renewing and changing, taking on one form and casting off others, without being subjected to any fixed or predetermined definition. I refer to my interest in the imaginative world of the mystics. . .°

This tradition goes back to the first centuries of our era, to the tradition of the merkavah and hetkhalot, which attempted to describe the dwelling place of God, which was understood to have a mystical significance. The strength of the tradition rested on a number of factors. At one level it could be seen as a reaction against the legalistic tradition of normative Judaism. Although mystics were not often openly antinomuian, they gave a different and cosmic explanation for the observance of the law. It was a necessary part of the process of tikun, of repairing the damaged nature of God’s universe and hastening the coming of God’s kingdom on earth. With its idealization of the Shekhinah, or divine presence, which had a feminine character, the mystical tradition can also be seen as a reaction to the exclusion of the ‘feminine

principle’ from mainstream Jewish tradition. | The most important form of Jewish mysticism took the form of kabbalah (tradition), which made its appearance in Provence in the twelfth century, where it may

have been influenced by the Cathar heresy. There are also proto-kabbalistic , elements in the thinking of Judah Halevi, the Spanish Jewish poet, in particular in his work Kuzari. This tradition reached its height in thirteenth-century Spain, where a particularly important role was played by the anti-rationalist critique, articulated by Nahmanides (1194-1270), of the views of Maimonides. The classic work of Spanish kabbalistic mysticism was the pseudo-epigraphic Sefer hazohar. It was said to have been written by Simeon bar Yohai in secondcentury Palestine. In fact, it was for the most part the work of Moses de Leon, written in the years 1280—6. According to the Zohar, the divine presence is incorporated 5 G. Scholem, ‘Understanding the Internal Processes’, in his On the Possibility of Jewish Messianism | in Our Time and Other Essays, 47.

Introduction 7 in ten manifestations (sefirot). These act as intermediaries between God and the world he has created. They are part of God, but are present in the world. By their actions human beings can influence these manifestations and thus act to assist the divine. This kabbalistic theology was further developed in the anonymous early fourteenth-century work Ma’arekhet ha’elohut (“The Order of God’). Two distinct types of kabbalistic practice developed in the following centuries. There was, on the one hand, the esoteric kabbalist school, whose members were, above all, concerned with mystical union with God and, on the other, those who practised a kabbalah that sought a more popular audience. After the expulsion from Spain a number of different kabbalistic centres emerged. In North Africa a school closely linked with the original Spanish kabbalists was preserved, while in Italy the influence of Renaissance thought led to the introduction of Neoplatonic elements. The most important centre was to be found in the Ottoman empire. Here there was contact between Spanish exiled mystics and followers of local mystical traditions. These kabbalists stressed the ecstatic components of the mystical tradition, the transmigration of souls, the identification of cosmic cycles, and the calculation of when the ‘End of Days’ would come. The main centre was in Jerusalem; it then moved to Safed, where it underwent a two-stage development. The key figure in the first generation of Safed mystics was Moses Cordovero (1522-70), who summed up his views concisely in Pardes rimonim. A more ecstatic form of mysticism was practised by his disciple Isaac Luria Ashkenazi (the Holy Ari). His principal disciple was Hayim Vital, the author of Sefer ets hayim. He moved to Jerusalem and subse-

quently to Damascus, where his son took control of his manuscripts. The Safed kabbalists had a considerable influence in Europe, even among some non-Jews, although recent scholarship has tended to downplay the far-reaching claims of Scholem. In the mid-sixteenth century the Zohar was published in Mantua and Cremona, and in 1570 Sefer reshit hokhmah, by Elijah de Vidas, a disciple of Cordovero, was published in Venice. It aimed at a wider audience than some of the more

esoteric works of the mystics. Linked with mysticism, but also separate from it, was messianism. ‘This was certainly a central feature of the Jewish religious tradition, encapsulated in the wish ‘Next year in Jerusalem’ expressed at the Passover seder. ‘There were two versions of the messianic idea in Jewish life, the apocalyptic and the gradualist, the one foreseeing the messianic event as initiating an entirely new order of life, the other seeing it as merely bringing about the restoration of Jewish sovereignty in Erets Yisrael. Messianism flourished under certain conditions. It seems to have surfaced when cataclysmic events occurred in the non-Jewish world, which were often seen as the battle of Gog and Magog that was expected to precede the coming of the messiah.

The influence of gematriyah (numerology), in which special significance was ascribed to the numerical value of specific Hebrew words (as in Latin, letters were also used as numbers), led to significance being attributed to certain dates because of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet with which they were represented. This was

8 Antony Polonsky one of the links between messianism and mysticism, which was permeated by gematriological thinking. Catastrophic events in the Jewish world also seem to have increased messianic expectation, although there has been some argument about its

extent both after the expulsion from Spain and after the disaster that befell the Jewish community in Poland—Lithuania in the middle of the seventeenth century. One additional factor in the religious tradition of the Jews of Poland—Lithuania

should be mentioned: that is, what it was that Polish Jewry derived from the specific religious inheritance of medieval Ashkenazi Jewry, in which the overwhelming majority had its roots. By the early modern period the Ashkenazi world from Amsterdam to Kiev and beyond had many common features, although there

was also a strong awareness of the different traditions 1n the various regions it covered. The religious and cultural patterns of this world had developed in the urban centres of the Holy Roman Empire and in northern France. This area was not totally isolated from the Sephardi world, and there were continuing contacts, both during the Middle Ages and after the expulsion from Spain, with the estab| lishment of a Sephardi diaspora in the port cities of the Atlantic coast of Europe, above all in Amsterdam. The basic religious pattern of Polish Jewry was derived from medieval Ashkenaz,

and in particular from the group of religious thinkers of the thirteenth century referred to as the Hasidei Ashkenaz (‘pietists of Ashkenaz’). This group implanted

in the religious tradition of Polish Jewry an emphasis on personal humility that went beyond resignation and was rather a refusal to respond to the humiliation with which they were frequently confronted. There was also a strong ascetic tradition— a downplaying of the pleasures of this world (hana’ah) in anticipation of those of the next. The importance of submitting to the divine will (retson habore) or heavenly law (din hashamayim) was constantly stressed, which required that one should go beyond the literal requirements of Jewish law. Finally, there was a strong preoccu-

pation with personal salvation. Fear of God (jirat shamayim) should lead one constantly to question the level of one’s commitment to carrying out his will. The practice of penances to atone for sin was another legacy of the German pietists. In addition, in halakhic questions this tradition was sometimes interpreted, for instance by Rabbi Joel Sirkes (1561-1640), as requiring the rejection of leniency in legal matters where a tradition of leniency did not exist.®

| The first theme discussed in this volume is the spiritual and religious life of Polish Jewry until the middle of the seventeenth century. During this period, which was characterized in Poland—Lithuania by economic expansion and relative peace, the Jewish community grew from under 30,000 to between 250,000 and 350,000, and also became one of the main religious centres of the Jewish world. This was, to a considerable degree, the consequence of the work of a remarkable group of sixteenth-century rabbis. ‘The emergence of a professional rabbinate was a

late development in Jewish history. Until the thirteenth century rabbis were not 6 Fram, Ideals Face Reality.

Introduction 9 paid for their services, and it was only in the following century that it became the usual practice for communities in Ashkenaz to engage professional rabbis. The professionalization of the rabbinate was probably the result of the impoverishment of the communities of northern France and Germany and the disappearance of a class of independently wealthy scholars who could serve as rabbis. By the fifteenth century the concept of appointing a rabbi and paying for his services had become widely accepted.’

, At this stage two types of professional rabbi had developed. There was, first, the town rabbi, who was appointed by the kaha/ and whose salary was paid from community funds, although it could be supplemented by income from fees. This came from a number of sources, including payment for judging litigations, fees for officiating at weddings and authorizing divorces, for drafting documents of sale, part-

nership, or gift, for accepting testimony and validating it, for administering the necessary oaths to women in order to enable them to claim their rights of dowry, and for authorizing ritual slaughterers and answering questions submitted by them. In addition, the community would sometimes build a home for the rabbi. In smaller towns without an independent yeshiva the rabbi was also head of this body. Then there was the scholar who took up residence in a town without an official appointment and established a yeshiva of his own. The rabbi who was a rosh yeshivah (head

of the yeshiva) depended on his yeshiva for his authority and for his income, and especially on the support of a wealthy patron and later on the fees paid by his students, although he might also be paid by the kahal. In a larger community the town rabbi was usually more powerful than the rosh yeshivah, although if the latter

was a particularly well known and respected scholar, this situation might be reversed.

The contract of a town rabbi was for a fixed term. Rabbi Sirkes writes, in a responsum, of ‘these lands [Poland—Lithuania] where congregations customarily engage rabbis for specific periods’.® Initially, contracts were usually for three years. By the eighteenth century a small but growing number of rabbis achieved de jure life tenure, but this does not seem to have been a widespread phenomenon and contracts continued to be drawn up for a maximum of six years. Thus Rabbi Yom Tov Lipmann Heller, describing the various positions he had held, alludes to three-year

agreements in each case, with the exception of a four-year period in Vladimir.® Even in the seventeenth century tenure was not always secure. In 1623 the Va’ad Medinat Lita declared that notice was not necessary in cases when communities ’ On the development of the rabbinate, see S. Schwarzfuchs, A Concise History of the Rabbinate (Oxford, 1991); N. E. Shulman, Authority and Community: Polish Jewry tn the Sixteenth Century (New York, 1986); and A. Teller, “The Laicization of Early Modern Jewish Society: The Development of the

Polish Communal Rabbinate in the 16th Century’, in M. Graetz (ed.), Schépferische Momente des , europaischen fudentums in der friiher Neuzeit (Heidelberg, 2000). 8 Quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 67. ? Yom Tov Lipmann Heller, Megilat eivah (Vilna, 1900), 115-146, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 68.

10 Antony Polonsky chose not to renew the rabbi’s contract, since not renewing the contract was tantamount to dismissal.'° In 1628, however, the va’ad reversed this ruling and required that six months’ notice be given. Without such notice a rabbi’s contract was automatically renewed." Some communities did try to abrogate rabbinic contracts before they expired. A decision by Rabbi Moses Isserles (d. 1572) declared this to be against Jewish law. Since the institution of the rabbinate was relatively new, he based his decision on _ the conduct required towards a teacher, saying that the rules governing contractual arrangements with teachers also applied to rabbis, since rabbis were teachers and

derived their basic authority from this function.”

| The sixteenth century saw important changes in the position of the rabbinate in the Polish lands. Adam Teller has argued in an important article that ‘The declining power of the central authority and the corresponding rise in the status of the nobility in Poland was mirrored by a decline in the power of the centralized rabbinate in favour of the individual communities and the refashioning of the rabbinate as a form of semi-honorary post like those held by the Polish nobility.’*° This did involve some reduction in the rabbis’ political power within the community, and the position of rabbi seems to have become a semi-honorary one, whose authority was less derived from halakhic expertise or the position of rosh yeshivah and ‘more a function of .. . personal wealth and connections with sources of power and influence outside Jewish society’.'*

Nevertheless, the obligations of the rabbi were wide, and his prestige and authority could be considerable. His most important function was to decide matters of Jewish law. In the area of halakhah his decisions had great weight, even if Jews could and often did prefer non-Jewish courts over Jewish ones, a preference that

became more prevalent in the eighteenth century, although it also occurred in earlier periods. Within the Jewish legal framework even the Va’ad Arba Aratsot could not challenge him where he could provide a legal basis for his decision. Thus

Rabbi Meir ben Gedaliah of Lublin challenged a decree of the va’ad as not in accordance with Jewish law.'° The rabbi could use his authority to force litigants to appear before him in judgment. As rav demata (local officially appointed rabbi), he was the head of the eit din of the local kehilah. The members of that kehilah were obliged to accept the decisions of their court and could not go elsewhere. It is true that lay Jewish judges established by the kehilah could also summon local residents. A litigant could, however, reject a lay judge in favour of a more ‘learned’ or competent court, even if this meant travelling to another community. Rabbi Isserles 1° S. Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita (Berlin, 1925), 10, no. 48. | '! Tbid. 39, no. 171. 12M. Isserles, Responsa (Sudytkéw, 1835; repr. Jerusalem, 1971), no. 50, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 68.

18 Teller, “The Laicization of Early Modern Jewish Society’, 340. ‘4 Tbid. 15 Meir ben Gedaliah, Responsa Maharam Lublin (Brooklyn, 1961), quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 71.

Introduction II ruled that when a rabbi issued a summons, the litigants could not go elsewhere for judgment except by mutual consent.'® This involved an extension of the powers which the rabbinate had possessed earlier in Germany. The authority of a highly respected posek often extended far beyond his town’s boundaries, particularly 1f he was a rosh yeshivah. In that case, he was usually regarded

as authoritative by all his students, wherever they settled. Rabbis were usually reluctant to interfere in the local decisions of their students, but did respond to their questions and were relied upon by them to adjudicate difficult points of law.

In addition, the rabbi was the spiritual head of the local community and was consulted on most matters of communal government. The nature of the relationship between the rabbi and the community that appointed him was complex, as was

the relationship of the rabbinate to the regional and national Jewish communal bodies. During the high Middle Ages in Ashkenaz rabbis had served on the communal bodies that ran Jewish life. By the fifteenth century they were generally excluded from the leadership of Jewish communal self-government in many of the bigger communities in the German-speaking lands, a pattern that was repeated in Poland—Lithuania, both at the local and at the national level. Nevertheless, their

prestige and influence was very great.'’ The Jewish community of Poland— Lithuania was what Jacob Katz has termed a ‘traditional society’ built on the values it had received from the past, and there was no serious challenge at this time to the - position of the rabbinate. According to Rabbi Hayyim ben Bezalel (c.1520—88), the brother of Rabbi Judah Loew of Prague, speaking of Poland, where he was born,

‘And throughout these lands, but for the rabbi, no one will move hand or foot to issue decisions of law in his locality.’1®

The laymen who ran the institutions of Jewish self-government were extremely unwilling to challenge the authority of the rabbinate. At the level of the local kehilah

the rabbi often intervened against abuses in the running of local affairs. Rabbi Benjamin Slonik, in a responsum, deals with a case in which a rabbi intervened because a kehilah delayed an election.'? On another occasion he compelled the elected assessors to carry out a tax assessment. At the local level the rabbi often supervised the distribution of charity funds and of the proceeds of fines imposed by the rabbinic court.”°

The laymen who sat on the regional and national Jewish councils frequently made use of the authority of the rabbinate and helped to confirm it. Thus it became the practice for the members of the regional councils, the intermediate branch of the system of Jewish autonomy, which evolved first in Mazovia and Wielkopolska and by the mid-seventeenth century had also been established in the eastern part of 16 Tsserles, Responsa, no. 17, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 71. , ‘7 See M. Breuer, ‘Ma’amad harabanut behanhagatan shel kehilot ashkenaz beme’ah ha-16’, Zion,

41 (1976), 47-54, 61, 62, 65-6. 18 Quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 64. 19 B. A. Slonik, Responsa (Vilna, 1894), no. 7, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 68.

20 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, nos. 109, 110.

12 Antony Polonsky the country, to appoint a chief rabbi, generally the rabbi of the major town in the region, who presided over a regional court. Rabbis do not seem to have taken part in the meetings of the national Va’ad Arba Aratsot, but met separately to exchange ideas and deal collectively with difficult problems of halakhah.*! Problems that they were unable to resolve on these occasions were delegated to one of those present for a more considered ruling. Rabbi Joel Sirkes thus records that when the meeting of rabbis in Lublin in the spring of 1632 was unable to reach a decision about a particular divorce, it was decided that

he should reach a final ruling later, which would bind all those present.?? The rabbinate depended on the lay leadership to support its rulings. Thus Rabbi Joshua Falk looked to the communal leadership to disseminate his rulings on usury. Falk also objected to one family owning an arenda for a tavern and living alone in an isolated village, since the wife would be exposed to temptation and danger when her husband was away on business. This led the va’ad to prohibit a single family from administering such an arenda; instead it should be held by two Jewish families, who could then live together.??

The Va’ad Arba Aratsot also sought to use the prestige of the rabbinate to uphold its authority in matters of social conduct. Thus in 1607 the va’ad authorized Rabbi Falk to write a pamphlet setting out its rulings that were aimed at strengthen-

ing religious observance.74 The pamphlet warned community rabbis to guard against violation of halakhah. It dealt with shehitah, calling for care in the examination of slaughtering knives and requiring that the rabbi should periodically examine slaughterers to ensure their knowledge of the law. Rabbis were further warned to advise women to be sure to soak and salt meat themselves, and not to delegate the task to non-Jewish maidservants. In addition it warned against Jews attending the parties of non-Jews, where they might drink non-kosher wine, and against leaving their womenfolk unchaperoned. A later ordinance of the Va’ad Medinat Lita called upon the rabbis to assist the local Jewish leadership in preventing excessively lavish wedding feasts.”°

The rabbi had other important roles in the community. He solemnized weddings and his permission was required for others to carry out this function.2° On such occasions, and also at circumcisions, he would be invited to give an address. He was responsible for ensuring the kashrut of food sold in the town and also that Jews did not violate the sabbath by trading or by asking non-Jews to undertake forbidden tasks.

Until the middle of the seventeenth century, the rabbinate was for the most part an effective institution. Inevitably it was subject to abuses, and some efforts were made to control this. Rabbi Slonik set out the procedure to be followed when a rabbi 21S. Luria, Responsa (Lublin, 1574), no. 65, quoted in Fram, Ideals Face Reality, 43. 22 J. Sirkes, Responsa, no. g1, quoted in Fram, Ideals Face Reality, 43.

23 Fram, Ideals Face Reality, 45. 24 Shulman, Authority and Community, 68.

25 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, nos. 109, 128. 26 Tbid. 11, no. 52.

Introduction 13 acted dishonourably by advising a relative to renege on a contractual obligation: his fellow rabbis were first to admonish him privately and then, if this failed, to | denounce him publicly. If these efforts had no effect, the malefactor could be further censured at one of the fairs where the Va’ad Arba Aratsot met, as it did at the Jarostaw fair of 1611 and the Kremenets fair of 1612.7"

Those who sought to enter the rabbinate were not always suitably qualified. According to Rabbi Solomon Luria (c.1510—74), some rabbis would ordain men who were improperly and insufficiently prepared for the rabbinate for the sake of

the ordination fee: :

For our many sins, the ordained are proliferating and the learned are diminishing, and the arrogant are increasing, and not one of them knows his place. And so soon as he is ordained, he begins to rule, and to gather young men by offering bribes, like the overlords who hire servants to run before them . . . and there are some so-called sages who do not understand even one discussion of Talmud... but are only ‘sage’ in years... who rule over communities and over the learned, excommunicating, and permitting that which is forbidden and ordaining so-called students who never studied before them, but who only pay for the privilege [of ordination]... And even sometimes, when we do find sharp minds, they often do not study sincerely .. . but engage in casuistry to aggrandize their fame.”®

One consequence of the prestige and power of the rabbinate was intense competition for rabbinic posts. One such case of conflict came before Rabbi Isserles, who attempted to bring peace between two rabbis who sought the same position. One of them took the case to a Polish court, a violation of Jewish law even were it to have been done by a layman. Bribery was also employed to obtain rabbinic posts. According to Rabbi Joseph Katz: it is known that many now have achieved prominence who are wise only in their own eyes, and who have not learned even half of what they ought, and who seize an academy by means

of monetary bribes. It isn’t enough that they distort the meaning of the lessons in their lectures, and, once used to mistakes, persist in them, but also, since they have become socalled masters, questions of what is permitted and forbidden come before them, and because they are embarrassed [to ask], they decide by guesswork [by dreaming], usually seizing the stricter interpretation . . .29

This may have been partly an imitation of the almost universal practice in Poland— Lithuania of the purchase of state office. Certainly by 1587 the situation had deteriorated so markedly that the Va’ad Arba Aratsot laid down that no rabbi should attempt to buy a rabbinic position through loans or gifts, either offered personally or through intermediaries, nor should any rabbi attempt to renew his contract ‘by means of gold or silver’.°° Three years later the decree was reaffirmed, this time with the signatures 27 Shulman, Authority and Community, 70. 28S. Luria, Yam shel shelomoh (Prague, 1616-18), ch. 8, no. 58, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 74.

29 J. Katz, She’erit yosef, responsum 19, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 75. 3° Quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 75.

14 Antony Polonsky of thirty leading rabbis appended, and this was done on a number of subsequent occasions in 1597, 1640, and 1641. The Va’ad Medinat Lita was also alarmed by the practice of bribery, and in 1628 it passed a statute affirming that the rules for appointment to the rabbinate that were current in Poland also applied in Lithuania.*+ Abuses also occurred in the levying of fees for hearing court cases. Rabbi Sirkes

claimed that these fees encouraged certain judges to rush their deliberations and make hasty decisions in order to increase the number of cases. In addition, cases were sometimes split into smaller units so that separate fees could be charged in each.°*? These abuses led to attacks on the rabbinate. There were also cases where threats from powerful laymen, whether physical or political, were used to intimid-

ate members of the rabbinate.*° | Nevertheless, in general the rabbinate was highly respected in this period. The

yeshiva played a central role in the training of rabbis. In 1567 King Zygmunt August granted the Jewish community of Lublin permission to open a yeshiva, which was described in the charter as a ‘high school for instructing men of that | religion’ (gymnazium ad instituendos homines illorum religionis). A synagogue was attached to the yeshiva, and its head, described as the rector, was granted extensive

powers both over his students and in the community. Four years later Zygmunt granted a similar charter to ‘the learned Solomon of L’viv, whom the Jewish community of L’viv and the whole land of Rus’ have chosen for their “senior doctor” (av-beth-din or rosh-yeshivah)’, conferring upon him the right to open schools in various cities ‘to train the students in the sciences’.*4

Yeshivas were soon established in many other towns. The function of rosh yeshivah was, as we have seen, sometimes performed by the local rabbi and sometimes by a man specially selected for the post. Generally speaking, it was only in smaller communities that the two functions were combined. In the more important centres the rosh yeshivah was an independent dignitary who carried considerable authority. ‘Similar to the contemporary rectors of Jesuit colleges, the rosh-yeshivah was absolute master within the school walls; he exercised unrestricted control over his pupils, subjecting them to a well-established discipline and dispensing justice among them.’?° The functioning of these yeshivas was described highly favourably by Simone Luzzatto (c.1582—1663)*° in the 1630s and in even more glowing terms by Nathan

Note Hanover.®’ Even if one allows for the special circumstances of an exile lamenting a lost world, his account is impressive: °! Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, 43, no. 207. 32 J. Sirkes, Bakh hayeshanot, responsum 51, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 75.

_ 33 Thus Rabbi Solomon Luria refers to a certain layman who aroused universal fear (Luria, Responsa, no. 33, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 73).

#4 S. Dubnow, History of the Jews in Russia and Poland (Philadelphia, 1916), i. 115. 35 Tbid. 36 On this, see C. Shmeruk, ‘Bahurim me’ashkenaz beyeshivot polin’, in S. Baron (ed.), Sefer hayovel le yitshak ber (Jerusalem, 1960), 304-5. 37 N. Hanover, Abyss of Despair, trans. A. Mesch (New Brunswick, NJ, 1950), 110-16.

Introduction 15 Throughout the dispersions of Israel there was nowhere so much learning as in the Kingdom of Poland. Each community maintained yeshivas, and the head of each yeshiva was given an ample salary so that he could maintain his school without worry, and so that the study of the Torah might be his sole occupation. The head of the yeshiva did not leave his house the whole year except to go from the house of study to the synagogue. Thus he was engaged in the study of the Torah day and night. Each community maintained young men and provided for them a weekly allowance that they might study with the head of the yeshiva. And for each young man they also maintained two boys to study under his guidance, so that he would orally discuss the Gemara (Talmud), the commentaries of Rashi, and the Tosafot, which he had learned, and thus he would gain experience in the subtlety of talmudic argumentation. The boys were provided with food from the community benevolent fund or from the public kitchen... . There was scarcely a house in all the Kingdom of Poland where its members did not occupy themselves with the study of the Torah. Either the head of the family was himself a scholar, or else his son or his son-in-law studied, or one of the young men eating at his table. At times all of these were to be found in one house... In each community great honour was accorded to the head of the yeshiva. His words were heard by rich and poor alike. None questioned his authority. Without him no one raised his hand or foot, and as he commanded so it came to be. In his hand he carried a stick, and a lash, : to smite and to flog, to punish and to chastise transgressors, to institute ordinances, to establish safeguards, and to declare the forbidden. Nevertheless, everyone loved the head of the yeshiva . . . For this reason all the scholars were envious and studied with diligence, so that they too might advance to this state, and become a yeshiva head in some community, and out of doing good with an ulterior motive, there comes the doing good for its own sake, and the land was filled with knowledge.

Given these conditions, it is not surprising that in the hundred years up to 1648 Polish Jewry produced a whole pantheon of sages and scholars, to some of whom I have already referred. At this time there were close links between the different parts of the Ashkenazi world, particularly between Prague, one of the largest and most active Jewish centres in northern Europe, and Poland. The abilities of the men who

made up this group are testimony to the rich and multifaceted religious life of Poland—Lithuania. The first of the important Polish rabbis was Jacob Pollack (1460/70—after 1552), who had been born in Bavaria and who in 1494 founded a yeshiva in Krak6w, which he headed until 1522. It was he who developed in Poland the style of talmudic argument known as hi/ukim (‘fine distinctions’) out of the form of casuistic logic known as pi/pul. His most important pupil was Rabbi Shalom Shakhna ben Joseph (d: 1558), who established a yeshiva in Lublin that became a major centre for talmudic study; Shakhna’s work was carried on by his principal students, his son-in-law Rabbi Moses Isserles and Rabbi Solomon Luria.

Moses Isserles was the most important figure in sixteenth-century Jewish Krakow. His father was a successful businessman who established his son as head

of his own yeshiva in Kazimierz. He had wide links within the rabbinic elite of Ashkenaz; not only was he married to Rabbi Shakhna’s daughter but he was also

16 Antony Polonsky related to Meir Katzenellenbogen of Padua and to Solomon Luria. In addition to his skill in halakhah, he was a warm defender of philosophy and believed that some-

thing could be learned from Aristotle, once his work had been filtered through Maimonides. ‘It is better’, he claimed, ‘to study philosophy than to err through kabbalah.’ He was very interested in astronomy and was the teacher of David Gans of Prague, the author of one of the first Jewish works of history in the modern period to attempt to explain the non-Jewish world. At the same time Isserles did not totally reyect kabbalah, and he tried to reconcile its teachings with the learning he _had acquired from his second-hand reading of Aristotelian philosophy. The other major talmudic scholar of his generation was Solomon Luria. A fiercely independent individual and a sharp social critic, he scorned rabbis who, in his view, did not

, properly investigate the complexities of halakhah. Although he opposed the more rationalist views of Isserles, he was more flexible in his interpretation of halakhah and also strongly critical of the excesses of the exegetical method of pilpul. The next generation saw an even greater number of significant Jewish scholars. Among them were Joshua Falk (1555-1614), who became head of the yeshiva in Lviv and was the author of a commentary on a portion of the Shulhan arukh, the codification of Jewish law prepared by Joseph Caro in Safed, which was a distillation of Caro’s commentary on the Jur. Falk was also, as already mentioned, actively involved in the work of the Va’ad Arba Aratsot. Another was Joel Sirkes (15611640), who from 1619 was the rabbi of Krakow, where he opposed the adoption of the Shulhan arukh and Isserles’s glosses to it, called the Mapah, an opposition that was ultimately to prove unsuccessful. An indication of the way Poland was now a central part of the religious life of Ashkenaz can be seen in the life of another prominent rabbi, Yom Tov Lipmann Heller (born in Wallenstein, 1574; died in Krakow, 1654). He was condemned to death for ‘writing against Christianity’ but was able in 1632 to move to Nemyriv in Ukraine. In 1635 he became rabbi of Vladimir and in 1643 rabbi of Krakow, where in 1647 he

succeeded Joshua Heschel as rosh yeshivah. Like Isserles, he was interested in mathematics and philosophy, but also wrote a kabbalistic treatise that was close in spirit to Cordovero’s Pardes rimonim. In addition, he praised Azariah dei Rossi’s

rationalist work Meor einayim. A Hebrew grammarian, he also wrote an astronomical treatise on the moon, and another of his works was a Yiddish translation of the treatise Orah hayim of the Shulhan arukh. His most influential work was the Tosefot yom tov on the Mishnah. In addition, he composed three tosa/fot (literally ‘additions’ collections of comments on the Talmud) on the Khmelnytsky massacres. Mordechai Jaffe (born in Prague, 1550; died in Poznan, 1612) was a pupil of both Isserles and Solomon Luria. Head of the Prague yeshiva in 1561 when the Jews were expelled from Bohemia, he then went to Vienna, where he studied astronomy. In 1582 he became rabbi of Horodno and in 1588 rabbi of Lublin and a major figure in the Va’ad Arba Aratsot. In 1592 he again became rabbi of Prague, and 1n 1599 was appointed rabbi of Poznan.

Introduction 17 Vilna, the capital of Lithuania, was also the home of many notable religious scholars. Among them were Rabbi Menahem Monash Chajes, the second person to hold the post of rabbi of the city. He was the son of Isaac Chajes, rabbi of Prague and himself a renowned scholar. Prior to his move to Vilna Rabbi Menahem Chajes held the posts of rabbi in Turobin and Szydlow. He was rabbi in Vilna from 1617 to 1636, during which period he gave his approbation to an edition of the 7se’enah ure’enah, the commentary in Yiddish on the weekly Torah portion, intended for women and written by Rabbi Jacob ben Isaac. Three of his sons succeeded to the rabbinate. Rabbi Moses ben Isaac Judah Lima (1605-58), probably a descendant of Spanish exiles, went to Poland from the Netherlands and was the fourth rabbi of Vilna. He studied at the yeshiva of Rabbi Joshua Falk in Krakow, and as a young man of 20 became rabbi and head of the yeshiva in Slonim. In 1655 he was appointed rabbi of Vilna, where his father-in-law, Rabbi Zanvill, lived and where he served until his death. He was the author of a commentary on the Shulhan arukh, which was pub-

lished posthumously.

| Shabbetai ben Meir Hakohen (1621-62) was perhaps the most outstanding of Vilna’s scholars in the seventeenth century. He studied in Krakéw and Lublin, and when quite a young man was appointed a member of the Vilna best din under Rabbi Moses Lima. He established his reputation at the early age of 26 with his commen-

tary on the section Yoreh de’ah of the Shulhan arukh, Siftet kohen (Lips of the Priest’), in which he challenged many of the decisions of his predecessors and the opinions of his contemporaries. In 1646 he returned to Krakow, where, in the following year, he published his work on the second part of the Shulhan arukh, which was widely praised. He struck out on a path of his own in his interpretation of talmudic law, and although his views aroused the hostility of some of his contemporaries, such as David ben Samuel Halevi and Aaron Samuel ben Israel Koidonover, the majority accepted his work as of the highest authority and applied his decisions to actual cases as the final word on the laws in question. During the Khmelnytsky uprising he sought refuge for a time in Prague, where he probably wrote his account of the massacres, Megilat eifah (‘Scroll of the Weary Soul’?®), as well as some selihot (penitential prayers), for 20 Sivan, the date of the massacre in Nemyriv, one of the worst Jewish massacres. He remained outside Poland, and was appointed rabbi first in Dresin and then at HoleSov, in Moravia. _ The emergence of Poland—Lithuania as a major centre of Jewish religious life was Clearly facilitated by the development of printing and the revolutionary effects

of the new technology. The beginnings of Jewish printing in Poland were not particularly auspicious. The Halicz brothers, who established the first Jewish publishing house in Krakow in the 1530s, converted to Christianity, and the Jewish community was compelled by a commission established by the king to purchase the entire stock of Jewish works which they had produced, mostly prayer-books.®? By 38 An allusion to Jer. 4: 31 (“For my soul fainteth before murderers’). 39 Shulman, Authority and Community, 6.

18 Antony Polonsky the second half of the century two major Jewish printing houses were in existence, that of Isaac ben Aaron of Prossnitz in Krakow and one in Lublin. In addition, in

1566 King Zygmunt August granted to Benedict Levita of Krakow the right to import Jewish books. As papal censorship became more rigorous, the Polish presses,

, which were not subject to it, were better able to compete with the more developed presses of Prague and Venice, and from the end of the sixteenth century local _ editions came to dominate the Polish Jewish book market. Neither Pollack nor Shakhna left behind much in the way of written work, but over the next two generations many significant halakhic and mystical studies were produced and were much more widely distributed because of the new technology. Printing made it possible for readers to spend more time studying texts rather than copying them, and made available a much larger range of works. As Edward Fram has observed, ‘More Jews had access to rabbinic texts at the beginning of the seventeenth century than at any time in the age of manuscripts.’*° The importance of printing should not be exaggerated—printed books were expensive and not always readily available—but religious works of all sorts were now much more widely disseminated within the Jewish community of Poland—Lithuania. These works have also been preserved for posterity in much larger numbers. One of the most important ventures was the printing of the Talmud. The first complete printed edition appeared in the 1520s, when Pope Leo X, who thought that this would aid missionary work among the Jews, granted Daniel Bomberg, a Christian printer from Amsterdam, permission to print the entire work. (Various

individual volumes of the Talmud had already been published by Soncino and perhaps others.) Bomberg had his printing shop in Venice, the capital of European

typography. This first printing, which was assisted by Jewish scholars, went through three editions and was followed by another complete edition produced by Venetian printer Giustiniani. Most of those volumes were not used for missionary purposes but found their way into Jewish hands. This alarmed the Pope, who made _ several attempts to control the printing of the Talmud through his ambassador in

Venice. In 1553 Pope Julius III ordered the confiscation and burning of the Talmud. This ruling was also enforced by Julius HII’s successor, and the Talmud was included in the first index of forbidden books issued during his pontificate by the Congregation of the Inquisition. The Talmud was discussed at the Council of Trent in its final sessions (1563), and in the following year the papal Curia published a revised Index librorum prohibitorum, in which the Talmud was again included. At the same time it was agreed that it could be treated as a tolerated book provided that the title ‘Talmud’ was removed, along with sections that ‘insulted’ the Christian faith. To publish the

Talmud, printers would need to receive formal consent from a Church censor appointed by the Holy Office or by the local bishop. In this new situation neither Christian nor Jewish printers in Italy were prepared to print any talmudic tracts. 40 Fram, Ideals Face Reality.

Introduction 19 The Talmud was printed, however, in Poland, ‘Turkey, and Basel (which belonged to the Swiss Confederation from 1501). It was this that made its printing possible in Poland, which, with Istanbul and Basel, now became the main centre of its production. As Krzysztof Pilarczyk shows in his chapter in this volume, the Talmud soon

became the most popular printed Hebrew book in Poland in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The first Polish edition was produced in Lublin in 1559 and subsequently over 100 editions were printed in Krakow in this period and about sixty in Lublin. We do not know the number of copies printed, but if each edition numbered between 300 and 500, then some 48,000 to 80,000 copies were produced

in Poland at this time. This clearly contributed to the emergence of a religious

, culture dominated by halakhic concerns. The communal institutions of Polish Jewry were eager to control the spread of the printed word. In 1603 the first haskamah (licence) by the Va’ad Arba Aratsot to print a book was issued, and this power to license printed works was firmly exercised. The va’ad invested the rabbinate with authority over printed material, threatening to close any printing press and excommunicate any printer and his associates who dared to print Jewish books without rabbinic approbation or a licence from the va’ad. In the first half of the sixteenth century the Ashkenazi tradition of commentary became established in Poland, as did the principles of halakhic exposition. Consciously and unconsciously, the Polish masters of halakhah reshaped Jewish law and practice in a number of fields.*! Most modifications were introduced in the field of trade and commerce. Here rulings weakened the prohibition on wine being handled by non-Jews, regulated competition among Jews in bidding for arendas, extended the possibility of the transfer and payment of personal debts by bills payable to bearers (memran), and broadened the scope of the bankruptcy laws. Changes in matters of personal law were less frequent, although a somewhat relaxed attitude was adopted towards the problem of allowing deserted wives to remarry by certifying the death of the absent husband. Permission was also granted to hold weddings on the sabbath in cases where there was little choice. Polish Jewry also played a role in the codification of halakhah and its reduction to

a manageable form. The first sixteenth-century initiative for this development, which was a reflection of the revolutionary effect the development of printing was having on Jewish life, was taken within the Sephardi world. As mentioned earlier, in 1564 Joseph Caro, one of the principal scholars at Safed, published a digest of

Jewish law entitled the Shulhan arukh (‘The Spread Table’). It was composed of | four sections: Orah hayim (‘Way of Life’), which dealt with daily commandments, the sabbath, and the festivals; Yoreh de’ah (“Teaching Knowledge’), which set out | the law on shehitah, kashrut, forbidden practices, burial, and mourning; Even ha’ezer (‘Stone of Help’), which organized material on marriage; and Hoshen hamishpat _ (‘Breastplate of Judgement’), devoted to civil law and civil procedure. This was printed in Venice in 1565 and reprinted in Krakow in 1570-1 and 1578-80. Caro 41 This is the main subject of Fram’s valuable study.

20 Antony Polonsky based his work on three authorities: Isaac ben Jacob Alfasi (1013-1103), who lived in North Africa, Maimonides (1135-1204), who wrote his code in Egypt, and Asher ben Jehiel (¢.1250—1327), son of one of the Haside1 Ashkenaz who had settled in Spain at the beginning of the fourteenth century. As a result, Caro’s compilation did not take into account halakhic decisions and customs that had developed in Ashkenaz since the time of Asher ben Jehiel. It was in order to deal with this defect that the work was modified for Ashkenazi conditions by Rabbi Moses Isserles, who had already been involved in a codification project, which he abandoned when he

learned of Caro’s work. He described what he had done with a metaphor: as Shulhan arukh means ‘the spread table’, he had prepared a tablecloth (mapah) for

this table. His role was summed up in the rabbinic opinion ‘In all the lands of Ashkenaz, we accept and obey the words of our master, Rabbi Moses Isserles.’

These developments led to the emergence of a new attitude towards Polish Jewry. In the fifteenth century a German rabbi had observed of Jews in Krakéw that ‘they are unlearned in the Torah’, but by the end of the sixteenth century Jews in Italy, Germany, Bohemia, Moravia, Amsterdam, and even Istanbul were seeking

direction on halakhic questions from Poland—Lithuania. |

The development of printing seems also to have accelerated the change in the position in religious life of the Aazan (‘cantor’), since much of the early Hebrew book production in Poland concentrated on prayer-books. As these became increasingly standardized,* the freedom of the hazan to improvise and to deviate from the set text was diminished, and to compensate for this more stress came to be placed on his ability as a musical performer. In medieval Ashkenaz the hazan had frequently been a religious poet, composing liturgical poetry, and had also performed public functions, such as pronouncing the ban when necessary, and deciding the order of honours to the Torah as well as calling up the congregants so honoured. Most of these functions were now eliminated and the hazan’s major function became that of leading the congregation in prayer. Whereas previously understanding the meaning of the prayers and the ability to compose new ones, coupled with Torah learning and piety, had been the most important qualities sought in a hazan, musical talent now became paramount, and other qualities were sacrificed for it. As a consequence Rabbi Benjamin Slonik, in one of his responsa, criticized the many ignorant hazanim who held their positions because of their excellent voices and at the cost of piety and scholarship.*? This view was expressed even more strongly by Rabbi Solomon Luria: The law requires that the rabbis should choose the cantor from among his students, but should the rabbi dare to exercise this right, his recommendation would be rejected by the , congregation. It would be futile for the rabbi to protest. The communities retain for themselves and withhold from the rabbi the power of appointment in order that the cantor should remain accountable to them alone and free from the control of the rabbi. As a consequence, the piety of the reader is subordinate to a pleasant voice and clear diction.** 42 On this, see Shulman, Authority and Community, 76-81. 43 Slonik, Responsa, no. 6, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 77. 44 Luria, Yam shel shelomo, ch. 1, no. 49, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 77.

Introduction 21 A common complaint about hazanim was that, carried away by their desire to demonstrate their musical talents, they prolonged the length of services excessively. The Lithuanian synod of 1623 limited the number of melodies a hazan could

sing to three on an ordinary sabbath and four on a special sabbath. No special melodies were permitted before the Shema.* Rabbi Slonik, in his responsum mentioned above, criticizes the ignorance of many hazanim and the length of their services but also the source of the melodies

they employed, which he claimed were borrowed from popular songs and the theatre: From month to month and from week to week new melodies are sung which our forefathers never heard nor wanted to hear, for they are borrowed from churches and theatres! Yet no one seems to care. The longer the cantor sings the better they like it. Even if he knows not one law or prayer or Torah reading.*®

He also complained that

the vast majority of cantors are ignorant of the laws governing the Torah reading .. . , Moreover they don’t even read one sentence of the Torah with proper cantillation and grammatical pronunciation, because the communities choose those cantors who sing the liturgy and kedusha prayers beautifully and at length.*’

Halakhah was perhaps the central concern of the Polish rabbis in this period. But, as already indicated, they were also interested in both philosophical investigation and mysticism. There were major differences within the rabbinate, in some ways similar to the conflict between Maimonides and Nahmanides on the value of philosophical inquiry. Those who were most interested in the study of newly available subjects were Isserles and Abraham Horowitz, while Solomon Luria had a higher regard for traditional methods of investigation. Certainly, philosophical inquiry did not reach the levels that had been attained in Spain, and it may be that the catastrophe of Spanish Jewry led to a feeling that it was in some way illegitimate. Rabbi Solomon Luria observed with some indignation, in one of his responsa, that

| ‘I myself have seen the prayer [szc] of Aristotle copied in the prayer-books of Yeshiva students.’*° The prevalence of such views is confirmed by Joseph Solomon Delmedigo (1591-1655), the Cretan mathematician and astronomer who spent four

years in Vilna between 1620 and 1624 as court physician to Prince Krzysztof Radziwitt. According to him, the Jews of Poland—Lithuania ‘are opposed to the sciences ... saying the Lord has no delight in the sharpened arrows of the grammarians, poets and logicians, nor in the measurements of the mathematicians and the calculations of the astronomers’.*” 45 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, no. 62. 46 Slonik, Responsa, no. 6, quoted in Shulman, Authority and Community, 108.

47 Tbid. 48 Dubnow, History of the Jews in Russia and Poland, i. 120. 49 Tbid. 134. It should be pointed out that David Fishman has shown that the Jews of Krakéw did evince some interest in astronomy in the 16th century, although in rather traditional forms.

22 Antony Polonsky As already pointed out, the intellectual elite of Polish Jewry was closely linked with communities in areas like Prague and northern Italy that were centres of the Renaissance. This has led some to ask whether there was an Ashkenazi Renaissance. Polish Jews certainly had contacts with the Italian world, as is demonstrated by Rabbi Yom Tov Lipmann Heller’s interest in Azariah dei Rossi’s Meor einayim. There were also contacts with Protestants, who in the second half of the sixteenth century held the allegiance of nearly half of the Polish sz/achta. This led to the

| emergence of a small Jewish apologetic literature. The more radical Protestant groups, especially the Unitarians, were often attacked by their Catholic opponents

for their Judaizing tendencies. Their leading theologians Szymon Budny and Marcin Czechowic attempted to distance themselves from Judaism by engaging in oral disputes with Jews and attacking Jewish beliefs in their works. Most of the Jewish responses have not been preserved, if they ever existed. One that has come down to us 1s a short work by Jacob of Belzyce with a reply by Marcin Czechowic: Odpis Jakoba Zyda z Belzyc na dyalogi Marcina Czechowica,; Na ktéry zas odpowiada fakobowi Zydowi tenze Marcin Czechowic (‘Reply of Jacob, a Jew of Betzyce, to the Dialogue of Marcin Czechowic to Jacob the Jew’).*°

The most effective anti-Christian polemic was that of the Karaite Isaac of Troki |

| (Trakai). At this time relations between Rabbanite Jews and Karaites in Poland—Lithuania were close, and it seems that the Karaites regarded themselves as Jews. Isaac of Troki served both the Karaite and the Rabbanite communities in his native town for several years as dayan (religious judge), and shofet, or mayor, and when he speaks of himself and his Karaite co-religionists, he uses the phrase ‘we Jews’. In one respect the religious culture of the Karaites differed from that of the Rabbanites. Joseph Delmedigo testifies to the fact that men of secular culture and what he regarded as genuine learning could be encountered there only among the Karaites; they were not to be found among the Jews (that is, the Rabbanite Jews),

for these knew nothing except for the Talmud, and contented themselves with talmudic study. The Karaites, however, were ‘open to secular sciences and interested in them’ (ohavim hahokhmot hahitsoniyot).?' Tsaac’s Hizuk emunah (‘Fortification of the Faith’) is a sophisticated analysis of the contradictions in the Gospel narratives and the differences between the faith of

Jesus and his followers and that of the Christian Churches, initially circulated in manuscript form, both in its original Hebrew version and in German and Spanish translations. It was first published with a Latin translation and with other Jewish anti-Christian polemics by the Christian Hebraist Johann Christoph Wagenseil, who wished to make Christian missionaries better acquainted with Jewish arguments. This did not prevent it from being used by Voltaire and other members of °° Lublin, 1582. On Jewish—Christian debates, see J. M. Rosenthal, ‘Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of Belzyce: Arian—Jewish Encounters in 16th Century Poland’, Proceedings of the American Academy for

Jewish Research, 34 (1966), 81-6. , | °1 See the chapter by Stefan Schreiner in this volume, p. 65.

Introduction 23 the Enlightenment in their anti-Christian polemics. According to Voltaire, ‘Not even the most decided opponents of religion have brought forward any arguments which could not be found in the “Fortification of the Faith” by Rabbi Isaac.’°” In Hizuk emunah Isaac made extensive use of both Christian and Jewish sources.

| As Stefan Schreiner points out in his chapter in this volume, the Christian sources have long been identified. What is striking is Isaac’s extensive use of Jewish sources,

another testimony to the links between the Karaites and the Jewish community. These include, obviously, the Bible and Talmud, but also medieval biblical commentaries such as those of David ben Joseph Kimhi (1160-1235), Isaac ben Moses Arama (¢.1420—1493/4), and Don Isaac ben Judah Abrabanel (1437-1508), historical works such as Abraham ibn Daud’s Sefer hakabalah and Joseph ben Gorion’s Josippon, and philosophical works such as the Sefer ha’itkarim of Joseph Albo. Although some interest in historiography developed among Jews in Prague and

Italy, this is much less to be found in Poland. One exception is Nathan Note Hanover’s account of the Khmelnytsky massacres Yeven metsula (‘Abyss of | Despair’), which contains a sophisticated account of the Polish—Lithuanian crisis of the mid-seventeenth century. Even here, however, historical analysis is combined with messianic expectation, although they are kept separate and the first is clearly dominant. Yet, the work concludes, after thanking those who gave shelter to the exiles from Poland: ‘May their merit be counted for us and for our children, that the Lord should hearken to our cries and gather our dispersed from the four corners of the earth and send our righteous Messiah, speedily in our day. Amen, Selah.’°° One aspect of the European Renaissance was a revolution in pedagogy, which also had some effect on the world of Ashkenaz, especially in Prague. This is perhaps reflected in the disputes over pi/pul, which was strongly opposed by a number of rabbis, including Solomon Luria, Judah Loew ben Bezalel (the Maharal of Prague; ¢.1525—1609), and Isaiah Horowitz (born in Prague, 1555; died in Safed, 1630). In the view of Judah Loew, this form of argumentation was intellectually dishonest and, as a consequence, destroyed the character and perverted the values of yeshiva students. He even went so far as to assert that dishonest argumentation could lead to dishonest behaviour.°** The practice was also strongly attacked by the preacher Solomon ben Aaron of Luntshits (Leczyca; 1550-1619), who had held the posts of head of the yeshivas of Lviv and of Prague. According to him: The whole instruction at the yeshivah reduces itself to mental gymnastics and empty argument called Ailluk. It is dreadful to contemplate that some venerable rabbi, presiding over a yeshivah, in his anxiety to discover and communicate to others some new interpretation, , should offer a perverted explanation of the Talmud, though he himself and everyone else be fully aware that the true meaning is different. Can it be God’s will that we sharpen our minds by fallacies and sophistries, spending our time in vain and teaching the listeners to do likewise? And all this for the mere ambition of passing for a great scholar! . .. I myself have more °2 Quoted in Dubnow, History of the Fews in Russia and Poland, i. 138.

53 Hanover, Abyss of Despair, 121. °4 Shulman, Authority and Community, 88.

24 Antony Polonsky than once argued with the Talmudic celebrities of our time, showing the need for abolishing the method of pi/pul and hilluk, without being able to convince them. This attitude can only be explained by the eagerness of these scholars for honours and rosh-yeshivah posts. These empty quibbles have a particularly pernicious effect on our yeshivah students, for the reason that the student who does not shine in the discussion is looked down upon as incapable, and is practically forced to lay aside his studies, though he might prove to be one of the best, if Bible, Mishnah, Talmud, and the Codes were studied in a regular fashion.”°

Mystical inquiry and mystical practice were much less controversial. Many of the leading halakhists were deeply interested in mysticism and did not see any contradiction in this. Some may have seen mysticism as something that should be the preserve of the elite and not available to the masses. According to Rabbi Benjamin Slonik, who refers in one of his responsa to ‘a secret wisdom of great holiness’, _ ‘Even though there is a great secret of the mysteries of the Torah connected with this matter, as is well known to scholars of the true wisdom . . . nevertheless there is need to give a sound explanation and clear understanding according to the peshat _ hanigleh, the “open” exposition.’°® The development of printing enabled the rapid spread of mystical books, and in the early seventeenth century a special brand of Polish mysticism began to emerge. The first important mystics were Shimshon ben Pesah Ostropoler and Nathan Spiro of Krakow, who were particularly concerned

with demonology and messianism. The most important of the Polish mystics during this period was Isaiah Horowitz. After his move to Krakéw he studied with Solomon ben Judah, and in 1590 he became a judge at the Va’ad Arba Aratsot, where he condemned the practice of bribery to obtain rabbinic office. In 1621 he emigrated to Erets Yisrael, where he settled in Jerusalem. It was after this move that he completed Shenet luhot haberit (“The Two Tables of the Covenant’), which was

first published in Amsterdam in 1649 (well after his death) and which, in an abridged form, became the most widely distributed kabbalistic text in Poland, where

popular mysticism soon acquired a large following. As already mentioned, there is a link between mysticism and messianism. During the period before 1648 messianic impulses seem to have been relatively weak in Poland. This may have been owing to the relative security Jews enjoyed in this period. Some religious figures indeed linked this feeling of security with a falloff in religious observance. What is striking in the period up to the middle of the seventeenth century is the relative internal harmony of the community: the prestige of the rabbinate was solidly established; the balance between halakhic investigation,

philosophic inquiry, and mysticism did not pose any serious problems; and the disruptive effect of messianic events was easily contained. In addition, in spite of accusations of Host desecration and ritual murder and periodic calls for the expulsion of the Jews, the security and stability of the community seemed assured. It was Moses Isserles himself who, in a much-quoted letter to a student who had decided °> Dubnow, History of the fews in Russia and Poland, i. 119. °6 Shulman, Authority and Community, 187.

Introduction , 25 to forgo a lucrative rabbinic career in Germany and return to Poland, wrote: ‘Perhaps we ought to prefer a piece of dry bread in peace in these lands . . . where the hatred of Jews has not taken the dimensions of that in German lands. May God allow this condition to continue until the coming of the Messiah . . ...°’ His words were echoed by Judah Loew (who served as rabbi of Poznan, which was probably his birthplace, from 1592 until 1597 before moving to Prague), who claimed that, unlike earlier generations which had to observe the law under very difficult con- ditions, ‘now we sit in our homes, each person in tranquillity and quiet’.°® Similarly, a few years later Shabbetai ben Meir Hakohen observed that many Jews lived under ‘their vine and under their fig tree’ in Poland and had children and grandchildren, a |

play on two biblical verses referring to idyllic times.°? , All these conditions were to alter in the second half of the seventeenth century. The relative security of the community was severely shaken by the major upheavals that began with the Khmelnytsky uprising in 1648 and culminated in invasions of Poland—Lithuania by Sweden and Muscovy, which were accompanied by massive loss of life. Although contemporary chronicles considerably exaggerated Jewish casualties, these were nevertheless possibly as high as 50,000. There was also a significant westward flight of Jews, including leading scholars such as Rabbi Shabbetai

ben Meir Hakohen and Aaron Samuel ben Israel Koidonover. Jewish life did recover in the second half of the seventeenth century, and Polish yeshivas remained

important centres of Jewish scholarship, attracting students from the whole of Ashkenaz, but they never attained their former eminence.© Traditional society continued and developed new themes in rabbinic thought, but the real historical development of the age was now more in the direction of mysticism and messianism. Given their theological universe, inevitably some Jews claimed that Polish Jews

were being punished for the iniquities of their generation, despite the fact they themselves were quite innocent. As Nathan Note Hanover poignantly wrote, ‘What can we say, what can we speak, or how can we justify ourselves? Shall we say we

have not sinned? Behold, our iniquities testify against us. For we have sinned, and the Lord found out the iniquity of his servants. Would the Holy One, blessed be He, dispense judgment without justice?’®! Some Polish Jews, such as Berakhya : Berakh and Bezalel ben Solomon the Preacher, attempted to list the transgressions that had caused the catastrophe, but most confined themselves to lamenting the ‘great sin’ of forsaking the Torah and the commandments.” °7 Isserles, Responsa, no. 95, quoted in Fram, Ideals Face Reality, 33-4. , °8 Judah Loew ben Bezalel, Derekh hayim, ch. 6, quoted in Fram, Ideals Face Reality, 32. °9 In Shabbetai ben Meir Hakohen, Responsa (Turka, 1763), no. 1. The reference to ‘their vine and under their fig tree’ is a play on 1 Kgs. 5: 5, which speaks of times of peace and security, and Mic. 4: 4, a description of messianic times. Quoted in Fram, Ideals Face Reality, 32. 60 M. Rosman, ‘Dimuyav shel beyt yisrael bepolin kemerkaz torah aharei gezerot tah-tat’, Zion, 51/4

(1986), 442-8. 61 Hanover, Abyss of Despair, 109. °? B. Berak, Zerah berak, ii: Introduction and Bezalel ben Solomon the Preacher, quoted in J. Katz, The ‘Shabbes Goy’: A Study in Halakhic Flexibility (Philadelphia, 1989), 83.

26 Antony Polonsky Edward Fram cites a characteristic case of a Jew from somewhere in Ukraine who migrated to Pinczow, a town near Krakéw. Sometime before 1648 he came toa rabbinic court and admitted to having had ‘bad thoughts’ that led to masturbation. He also confessed to having been naked with an unclothed, married woman, although

they did not have sexual intercourse. The two rabbis who heard his admission sometime before 1648 offered him an unspecified penance, which he appears to have accepted. The Khmelnytsky massacres intervened between this and his second appearance before a rabbinic court. They seem to have heightened his remorse, since he went back to court in the belief that his penance had been too light and that not only did his sin remain, but that it had been responsible for the massacres of 1648. He asked the court to impose a stricter punishment that would expiate his sin and neutralize its consequences for the Jewish people.® Calls for repentance were widespread. At least two editions of a popular peniten-

, tial manual were printed in Krakéw, with a haskamah by Aryeh Leib ben Zechariah, _ the rabbi of the town.®* Similarly the Lithuanian preacher and kabbalist Judah Puchovitzer of Pinsk relates how he had been approached by several people ‘whose hearts had been touched by the fear of God’ and who wished to be given penances for sins they had committed in their youth. Originally they had wished to perform all the mortifications and fasts ‘prescribed in the [book] Rokeah [by Eleazar of Worms| and in the Lurianic writings’, but they soon realized that if they did the full penance prescribed for each transgression, they would never be able to bear all the rigours and expiate all their sins. In order not to discourage penitent sinners, Puchovitzer advised them to do the penance of mortification three times for each

category of sin (instead of doing a full penance for each sinful act), ‘and the great . luminaries, the learned heads of the rabbinic courts and the heads of the rabbinic academies of the holy congregations in Lithuania assented to my suggestions’.°° This climate of repentance certainly created a mood favourable to messianic expectation, and many Jews seem to have seen in the suffering and martyrdom the community experienced in the mid-seventeenth century the ‘birth-pangs of the Messiah’. We do not know how widespread was the support in Poland for the

messianic pretender Shabbetai Tsevi. As Gershom Scholem has shown in his magisterial account of his career, Shabbetai Tsevi did argue that the massacres of 1648 were the beginning of the era of redemption, and announced in Smyrna that an unknown Jewish martyr, one Abraham Zalman, had been the messiah of the tribe of Joseph. Like the thirty-six righteous of Jewish legend, who maintain the world unknown to anyone, the unknown messiah and martyr had also fulfilled his mission in obscurity. Nathan’s prophecy that ‘there will be no slaughter among the uncircumcised, except in the German lands’ could also be seen to be a promise of 63 PH. Wettstein, ‘Kadmonyot mipinkesaot yeshanim’, Otsar hasifrut (Krakow, 1892), 614-16, quoted in Fram, Ideals Face Realty, 62-3. 64 G. Scholem, Sabbatai Zevi: The Mystical Messiah 1626-1676 (Princeton, 1973), 5936° Tbid. 595-6.

Introduction 27 retribution for the Jews of Poland—Lithuania, who were part of Ashkenaz.® In a later version which the prophet himself rewrote in 1666 and dispatched to several countries, he asserted that in Poland alone punishment would be wreaked on nonJews ‘to avenge the blood of our martyred brethren’.®” How much of this was known in Poland—Lithuania? As Scholem has pointed out, ‘the available evidence regarding the diffusion of the movement in Poland indicates that very little was known about Sabbatai’s personality or the actual events connected with him’.® Indeed the extent of Shabbetai Tsevi’s following has formed

the subject of an important exchange between Bernard Weinryb and Michael Stanislawski, in which Stanislawski convincingly dealt with Weinryb’s objections

to Scholem’s sources.®? Scholem himself cited a Yiddish source published in Amsterdam, Leib ben Ozer, who testified to the welcome that the news of Shabbetai Tsevi’s proclamation of his messiahship in 1666 had in Poland—Lithuania after the devastations of the mid-century: ‘for we, the Jews in this bitter exile, love to hear good tidings of comfort and salvation, and especially in Poland where evil [hatred of the Jews] and the [oppression of] exile are exceedingly great, and every day brings new persecution and harassment’.’? Some Polish Jews do seem to have been expecting a messianic event. Thus, Rabbi Jacob ben Solomon of Lobsenz proclaimed the upheavals in Poland between 1648 and 1656 to have been a ‘preparation for the coming of Sabbatai Zevi’, proving his point by a homiletic pun on Zechariah 6:12.71

Garbled versions of what was happening do seem to have reached Poland— Lithuania. German reports document rumours beginning to circulate early in 1666 in Poland that the Grand Turk had placed a royal crown on Shabbetai Tsevi’s head and had invited him to ride on horseback at his right-hand side. ‘And on the day that he came [to Constantinople], the earth shook and quaked, and he entered the royal court riding on a lion. .. and more of this kind.’ Another possible source of rumour was the agents of the Polish aristocracy in Amsterdam, a port of entry for much of the Polish grain exported from Danzig.” The impact of the news of Shabbetai Tsevi’s messianic claim 1s also reported in an account by the Greek Catholic archimandrite Johannes Galatowski: Not long ago, in 1666, the Jewish heresy raised its head in Volhynia, Podolia, in all the provinces of Little Russia, in the Duchy of Lithuania, in the Kingdom of Poland, and the neighbouring countries. They raised up high their horn and their insolent obstinacy, they 66 Tbid. 592. 67 Tbid. Leib ben Ozer’s account has been published in Hebrew: Leib ben Ozer, Sipur ma’aseh shabtat

tsevi: beshraybung fun shabtat tsevi (Jerusalem, 1978). 68 Scholem, Sabbatai Zevi, 592. 69 See esp. M. Stanislawski, ‘The State of the Debate over Sabbatianism in Poland: A Review of the

Sources’, in J. Micgiel, R. Scott, and H. B. Segel (eds.), Poles and Fews: Myth and Reality in the Historical Context (New York, 1986), 58—69. 7 Scholem, Sabbatai Zevt, 591. “1 Thid. 592. J. Sasportas. Tsikat novel zevi (Jerusalem, 1975), 75, quoted in Scholem, Sabbatai Zevi, 592. 73 These are cited by Majer Balaban in his article ‘Sabataizm w Polsce’, in Ksigga jubileuszowa ku czct prof. dr. Mojzesza Schorra (Warsaw, 1935), quoted in Scholem, Sabbatai Zevi, 592.

28 Antony Polonsky | hoisted the flag of backsliding and insolently blew the trumpet of victory. At that time an impostor called Sabbatai Sevi appeared in Smyrna, who called himself the messiah of the Jews and drew them to his side by false miracles. He promised the Jews that he would bring them out of their exile among the nations, and would restore unto them Jerusalem and the

kingdom of Palestine. “+ , |

There are indications that the messianic expectations led some Jews to believe that they would soon be able to take revenge for their sufferings and that this seems to have provoked anti-Jewish violence in a number of places, including Pinsk, Vilna, and Lublin in 1666, which was also a year that in the Christian calendar

aroused messianic expectations. Bataban cites a royal decree of Jan Kazimierz of , 5 May 1666, which forbade Jews to carry portraits of the messianic pretender and enjoined local authorities to keep the matter under control: This is the second time that it has come to our notice that reckless individuals having recourse to diverse plots, scheming to ruin the heretic Jews of the land and looking for loot, have recently spread the news among the people that the Church has given permission and the royal courts of justice have issued decrees—forgeries—to all people to oppress and

destroy [such] Jews...”

The king ordered all printed pictures, pamphlets, and broadsheets to be _ destroyed.’° The Catholic bishop of Przemysl, Stanistaw Sarnowski, wrote in a pastoral letter of 22 June 1666 that, ‘as a result of a new superstition that has arisen among them’, the Jews ‘are carrying about printed reports’ in public processions through the streets ‘which are very injurious to the faith, as well as images of their vain beliefs’. News of this scandal had reached the bishop from many towns and villages in his diocese in central Galicia.’” There are also references in a poem by Wactaw Potocki to the ‘new Jewish messiah’ (nowy mesjasz Zydowski)."®

Echoes of the crisis of 1666 can also be found in Jewish sources. In a halakhic enquiry that he sent to Rabbi Isaac ben Abraham (d. 1685), who had been rabbi of —

Lutsk and who had been appointed the rabbi of Vilna in 1664, Tsevi Hirsh Horowitz, rabbi of three communities in the Zamut region of Lithuania (Keidan, Wizuny, and Birg) and first head of the yeshiva in Zamut, asked for information about what he referred to as the ‘renewal’. He requested copies of all the reports that had reached Vilna and offered to pay whatever was required to copy them. Rabbi Isaac, after dealing with the halakhic query, added, ina final sentence: ‘As for 4 Messias prawdzimy (1672). The book was published in Polish and Russian. It is referred to by Balaban, ‘Sabataizm w Polsce’, and by Z. Rubashov (Shazar), Evreiskaya Starina, 5: 219-21.

_ ® Cf. Balaban, ‘Sabataizm w Polsce’, 82-7; id., Historja Zydéw w Krakowie i na Kazimierzu 1304-1868 (Krakow, 1936), 45. As Lenowitz points out in his chapter, the text of this decree as it appears in the two works cited by Balaban contains some errors and the two versions also differ from one another. * The royal order was discovered by Bataban (‘Sabataizm w Polsce’, 44-5) in the state archives in

, Lviv. ™ Balaban, ‘Sabataizm w Polsce’, 43. * Tbid. 37. The poem was first published by Aleksander Brueckner, Ogréd fraszek niewyplewionny

(Krakow, 1907). |

Introduction 20 the renewal, I have nothing to say but that which the rabbi of Jassy has written to me and which is surely also known to Your Reverence. Mayest thou delight thyself in great peace forever.’”° The enquiry may have been provoked by the belief that Vilna was being affected

_ by messianic fervour. Certainly, adherents of Shabbetai Tsevi had made the pilerimage to Gallipoli, including a talmudic scholar, Rabbi Abraham Kokesh. Rabbi Abraham subsequently visited his family in Amsterdam, to whom he recounted, weeping bitterly, ‘how he had eaten meat and other dainties with Sabbatai Sevi on the Ninth of Av, and drunk wine with him, while musicians were playing and Turks were dancing before them with their sticks, as is their wont when they make merry’. When he asked Shabbetai T’sevi why he allowed the fast of the ninth of Av to be violated, the latter explained that the name Shabbetai Tsevi could be mystically read as an acrostic signifying ‘On the Day of the Ninth of Av Shabbetai Sevi shall not fast.’®° One of the strongest messianic enthusiasts in Vilna, Joshua Heshel Tsoref (1633-1700), a silversmith, was to become the chief exponent of

Shabbateanism in Poland—Lithuania in the following generation. Some of his : writings were later to be praised by the founder of hasidism, Israel ben Eliezer Ba’al Shem Tov, who does not seem to have been aware of their Shabbatean character.®!

At more or less the same time a scribe in Krakow dedicated a parchment volume | containing the haftarot for the whole liturgical year in the Remu synagogue in Krakow, dating its title-page the twenty-fifth of Sivan, 5426 (29 June 1666) and appending a short messianic prayer of five lines in which Shabbetai Tsevi’s name is mentioned five times in acrostic.®” A number of Polish Jews travelled to meet Shabbetai in Gallipoli, both as indi-

viduals and as representatives of their communities. The most important of the latter is the group sent by the community of Lviv. It included Rabbi Isaiah, known — as Isaiah Mokhiah (‘the Reprover’), the rabbi of Komarno; the son of Rabbi David Halevi, rabbi of Lviv, and his stepson Rabbi Aryeh Leib ben Samuel Tsevi Hirsh. About the beginning or middle of March they left Lviv for Constantinople but did

not reach their destination until July. They became fervent supporters of the messianic pretender, recounting the glory which they had beheld, and the abundance of gold, silver, precious cloth and ornaments, and the royal apparel which he was wearing every day, and the multitudes that were attending on him, and the honor shown him by the gentiles who would not touch any of the . Jews that came to visit him. They also brought a letter from the messiah . . . to their aged father, the rabbi David, and the whole of Poland was in agitation and the fame thereof was heard in all those parts, and their faith was greatly strengthened.®° 2 ‘This is preserved in the responsa of Rabbi Tsevi Hirsh Horowitz. See Scholem, Sabbatai Zevi,

598. 80 Leib ben Ozer, MS Shazer, fo. 54a. See Scholem, Sabbatai Zevi, 599.

8! Rosman, Founder of Hasidism, 157-8. . 82 A facsimile of the title-page can be found in M. Balaban, Historia Zydéwm w Krakowie i na Kazimierzu, 11 (Krakow, 1936), facing p. 64. , | 83 Sasportas, Tsikat novel zevi, 77, quoted in Scholem, Sabbatai Zevi, 600. ,

| 30 | _ Antony Polonsky Rabbi Moses Segal of Krakow, writing on 8 October 1666 (the day before the Day of Atonement, and about a month after Shabbetai’s apostasy, news of which had not yet reached Poland), mentions this delegation in a letter to his brother-inlaw Rabbi Meir Isserles in Vienna. He stresses that his account was but ‘a drop from the ocean, for who can write all the wondrous things which they told’,®* but leaves no doubt that he himself, like the rabbi of Lviv, firmly believed in the messiah. According to Leib ben Ozer, the two emissaries also made a written report on their embassy, which he probably made use of in his memoir.®® Another Polish Jew who made the pilgrimage to Shabbetai was the preacher Rabbi Berakhya Berakh of Krakow, who gave a detailed account of his visit and stated that he ‘went out from him with a glad heart’.°© These reports may not add up to wide-

spread messianic fervour in Poland—Lithuania, but they certainly show that the Shabbatean crisis made its impact there, as it did in the entire Jewish world. The late seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries were characterized by a number of new phenomena on the religious landscape of Polish Jewry: the persistence of Shabbateanism, the activities of a new and more sinister messianic pretender in the

form of Jakub Frank, the emergence of a major religious revival linked with the Ba’al Shem Tov and his adherents, and a revitalization of the rabbinic tradition by the Vilna Gaon, Elijah ben Solomon Zalman, and his followers. In the older historiography these developments are seen as the product of political and economic decline in Poland—Lithuania, which culminated in the partition of the country in the second half of the eighteenth century. These views have been challenged in recent

years by historians such as Moshe Rosman and Gershon Hundert. They have shown that the population losses of the mid-seventeenth century were quickly made good, and that by the middle of the eighteenth century the Jewish community of Poland—Lithuania had risen to 750,000. They have also demonstrated that the long period of economic regression that began in Poland—Lithuania in the 1620s came to an end in the 1720s and 1730s and that Jewish involvement in economic life became more extensive in the eighteenth century.?’ Some issues do remain, however. Although there was some economic recovery, it did not create opportunities for all Jews in a situation of rapidly rising population. This inevitably led to significant generational conflict, with a large percentage of younger Jewish men being unable to find gainful employment. Competition for rabbinic posts became more bitter, leading to violent controversies, of which that in Vilna in the second half of 84 Sasportas, Tsikat novel zevi, 79. 85 J. Emden, Zot torat hekenaot (Altona, 1752), 17, quoted in Scholem, Sabbatai Zevi, 601. 86 Leib ben Ozer, quoted in Scholem, Sabbatai Zevt, 602. 87 M. Rosman, The Lords’ Jews: Magnate—Jewish Relations in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth during the 18th Century (Cambridge, Mass., 1990); id., Founder of Hasidism: A Quest for the Historical Ba’al Shem Tov (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1996); G. Hundert, The Jews in a Polish Private Town: The Case of Opatéw in the Eighteenth Century (Baltimore, 1992); G. Hundert, “The Contexts of Hasidism’, in W. Kowalski and J. Muszynska, Zydzi wSréd chrzescyan w dohte szlacheckiej rzeczypospolitej (Kielce,

1996).

Introduction 31 the eighteenth century was probably the most notorious. These almost certainly contributed to an undermining of the enormous prestige the rabbinate had enjoyed in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. In addition, although the relative security of the Jewish community was reestablished, the situation was far from what it had been before 1648. In the first place, the triumph of an extreme form of Counter-Reformation Catholicism made conditions more precarious for all non-Catholics, including Jews. There may not have been more trials in the period after 1648 for desecration of the Host or ritual murder, but they were more erratically conducted (often by the local nobility, rather than the Crown) and convictions seem to have been more frequent.®° The republic was also plagued by foreign invasion in the great northern war and the war of the Polish succession and, for much of the century, was subject to constant depredation by foreign armies. Outbreaks of civil unrest were also numerous, notably the revolts of the Hajdamaki in Polish Ukraine. Inevitably the Jews suffered, probably disproportionately, from these developments.

In this situation it is not surprising that there occurred what Jacob Katz has described as ‘a general shift in religious values . . . beginning in the latter part of the seventeenth century’.®’ This was above all the result of the popularization of kabbalistic and mystical religious concepts, which had previously been confined to a small circle of initiates, but which now gained a much greater following with the growth in the printing and distribution of popular and often inexpensive kabbalistic

tracts. Written in easily understood language, they guided the reader through prayer services and rituals associated with the life cycle, to which were attributed a cosmic and mystical significance. Through them, as Gershon Hundert argues in his chapter in this volume, ‘the individual could feel privy to the esoteric realm and attain the conviction that he was indeed acting in accordance with God’s will’. The most important of them was Isaiah Horowitz’s Shenet luhot haberit, which has already been mentioned. This was first published in Amsterdam in 1649 and five further editions appeared before the end of the eighteenth century. Between

1681 and 1792 twenty-three editions of an abridgement by Jehiel Mikhal Epstein : appeared, while fifteen editions of a Yiddish abridgement were published between

1743 and 1797, which also included material from other kabbalistic books.” Another significant book in the popularization of kabbalah was the prayer-book Sha’aret tstyon, edited with mystical annotations by Nathan Note Hanover, of which _ more than forty editions were published in the eighteenth century, making it by far the most popular specialized siddur (prayer-book) of the period.*! Jehiel Epstein included material from the prayer-book in his digest of the Shenez luhot haberit. 88 On this, see Z. Guldon and J. Wijaczka, “The Accusation of Ritual Murder in Poland, 1500-1800’, Polin, 10 (1997), 99-140. 89 J. Katz, Tradition and Crisis: Jewish Soctety at the End of the Middle Ages (New York, 1991), 190. 90 Y. Vinograd, Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book, pt. i: ‘Places of Print’ (Jerusalem, 1993). 91 rst edn. (Prague, 1662).

32 Antony Polonsky There were other examples of the popularization of kabbalistic concepts. The sermons of the time, drawn from materials found in popular publications, demonstrate an increasing preoccupation with esoteric matters generally associated with kabbalah. Hemdat yamim, a homiletic and ethical work permeated with Lurianic kabbalah, which was almost certainly written by a Shabbatean, was published in at least sixteen different editions between 1670 and 1770. Its popularity is only one indication of another important phenomenon, the existence of a Shabbatean religious subculture in Poland—Lithuania, as in other parts of Ashkenaz. Others may be the positive reference to Joshua Heshel Tsoref, one of the principal Shabbateans in early eighteenth-century Poland—Lithuania, in Kav hayashar, the ethical treatise of Tsevi Hirsch Koidonover, which was widely distributed during the period,*” and the popularity of Elijah ben Abraham Hakohen Hamari’s Shevet musar, although in neither case were the Shabbatean views of the individuals involved widely known. A religious guide dealing with sin, temptation, and repentance, Shevet musar is significant, above all, for its description of the tsadik, which strikingly foreshadows the

later hasidic embodiment of this concept. It lists the forty-two holy names of the tsadtk (see pp. 96-8 below). As Gershon Hundert points out, most of this material is not new and ‘can be traced to talmudic sources, medieval ethical literature, or to the sages of sixteenth-century Safed’. Yet the fact remains that, as he concludes, although ‘the concept of the tsadik as described here in one of the most popular and influential books of the eighteenth century does not correspond precisely with that of hasidism, enough is shared for it to be suggestive indeed’. Yet one should also mention here that Moshe Idel is probably correct in arguing that hasidism was not greatly influenced by the kind of Lurianic ideas set out in Shevet musar.

Of course, non-mystical texts were also widely distributed. But although they were not kabbalistic in character, they too maintained the tone of repentance and contrition that, as we have seen, marked the religious life of the Polish Jewish community after the catastrophe of the mid-seventeenth century. As Hundert points out, the classical ethical treatise Duties of the Heart by Bahya ibn Pakuda went through twenty-seven editions between 1670 and 1797, including seven with Yiddish translations. It called for a life of pious self-deprivation, advocating perishut

turies. |

| (voluntary separation from the material world). The anonymous Orehot tsadikim, _ an ethical work substantially in the ascetic penitential spirit of Hasidei Ashkenaz, was published thirty-one times in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth cenThese works could not, however, rival the popularity of those that popularized kabbalistic ideas. As Katz has pointed out, this had a number of important consequences for the character of religious observance. Carrying out the commandments

of the law now had a cosmic significance, affecting the hidden divine realm and | advancing or retarding progress towards redemption. Careful and proper obser92. Kav hayashar (Frankfurt am Main, 1705), ch. 102.

Introduction 33 vance became, therefore, a matter of fateful significance. This system of understanding erased the differences in degree and weight between the fulfilment of one commandment and another. Moreover, one had to be conscious of this while performing the commandment or reciting the prayer. This consciousness was ritualized by the kabbalists in the form of kavanot (singular: kavanah), which are formulas

preceding observance or recitation, intended to focus the mind of the devotee on the symbolic significance of the act about to be performed or the prayer about to be recited. For the kabbalists, Katz remarked, ‘performance of a commandment without kavanah virtually lost its religious significance’.??

This gave a new significance to the kabbalistic elite. As Katz has pointed out, ‘Henceforth, traditional Jewish society contained not one elite but two.’”4 As well as the rabbinic scholar, there now emerged a new type of kabbalist, alongside those who had wandered from place to place, looking (often unsuccessfully) for support from rich Jews. This new group was felt to be as worthy of respect as the rabbinate and equally entitled to public support. Individual mystics and small groups of kabbalists appeared in numerous communities. They devoted themselves to the study

of esoteric doctrine, prayed separately in their own k/oyzen (prayer rooms), and were thought to benefit the community that supported them by their special ties to heaven.”? They not only prayed separately but also made use of the Lurianic prayer-book (nusah ha’art) and, following a custom established in Safed, met for the third meal on the afternoon of the sabbath, wearing white robes. One of their particular concerns, derived from their preoccupation with Lurianic kabbalah, was that shehitah should be carried out meticulously. These circles also maintained the prevalent penitential tone. They called for the avoidance of ‘frivolity’, advocating instead constant mourning over the exile and a

continuous flight from sin. A believer should be dour, serious, and sober. The prevalent tone was well expressed in Mordecai ben Samuel’s Sha’ar hamelekh (‘The King’s Gate’), which was first published in 1762 and went through nine editions in the next thirty-five years.°° In Hundert’s words, ‘the sort of spiritual world reflected in his writing is one that venerates a perpetual pious asceticism characterized by much mournfulness, a certain precision, and urgent calls for repentance’. As we have seen, although the rabbinic elite saw itself as set above the masses because of its learning, it also saw its role as an active one of teaching, judging, and

preaching. The situation of the kabbalists was different. In Katz’s words, ‘the kabbalist elite saw itself as divided from the masses by a wide chasm even in the practical sphere. The only relationship possible between them and the masses was one of shelthut (agency or proxy). The few were transformed into exacting performers of the precepts on behalf of the many.’®’ Because of this, they were supported

%3 Katz, Tradition and Crisis, 191. %4 Tbid. 192. 9° FE. Reiner, ‘Hon, ma’amad hevrati vetalmud torah’, Zion, 58 (1993), 287-328; Y. Hisdai, ‘Eved hashem bedoram shel avot hahasidut’, Zion, 47 (1982), 253-02. 96 Mordecai ben Samuel, Sha’ar hamelekh (Zhovkva, 1762). °7 Katz, Tradition and Crisis, 194.

34. Antony Polonsky by the communities directly or through exemption from taxation. In the eyes of the community they were precious, exceptional individuals (yehidei segulah) and ‘servants of God’. In this context the importance of Elijah ben Abraham Hakohen Hamari’s characterization of the tsadik becomes all the more significant.

This new spiritual climate constitutes the background to two of the major themes of this volume, the messianic movement associated with the enigmatic figure of Jakub Frank and the emergence and development of hasidism. Unlike his precursor Shabbetai Tsevi, Jakub Frank has not yet found his Gershom Scholem. This is primarily because Frankism was an even more disturbing and disruptive phenomenon than Shabbateanism and did not hesitate to adopt openly anti-Jewish positions, including accusing the Jews of the blood libel. Even Scholem, who was clearly fascinated by Frank, wrote that Frankism was the ‘most terrifying’ phenomenon in the whole of Jewish history. In this volume Sid Lerman expresses a widely held view when he writes: “The fact that the Frankists were currying favour with the Christian authorities, and engaging in a heinous act of collusion in order to save

their own skins, does not for one moment mitigate the scandal of Jew accusing fellow Jew of blood libel, particularly at a time when some Church officials relished the blood libel and were leading innocent Jews to their deaths.’ The basic facts of Frank’s career as a messianic pretender are well known, and are set out in Jan Doktor’s chapter. He commenced his activity in 1752 and became acquainted with Shabbateans in Saloniki, where he became a follower of Barukhyah Russo (1677-1720). Russo, who had converted from Judaism to Islam and in 1716

had proclaimed himself the divine incarnation, wanted to combine syncretically Judaism, Islam, and Christianity in order to create a single religion of the end of time. His followers were called, in Judaeo-Spanish, konyosos. Frank then moved to Podolia, which was at that time under Turkish rule, and in December 1755 crossed into Poland, where he was originally seen as an emissary from the konyosos, but quickly gained the support of many of the Shabbateans in Polish Ukraine. Along with his closest followers, he was excommunicated by a rabbinic assembly convened at Brody in June 1756, and this herem was confirmed by the Va’ad Arba Aratsot in

Konstantynow in September. Frank then decided to enter the Roman Catholic Church, but his followers would not agree to this. In April 1756 he was forced to leave Poland after he had been exposed as a Shabbatean. Together with a group of his followers he then converted to Islam and set up a new ‘camp’ of Muslim converts. In 1757, having obtained safe conduct from the Polish king for his followers and for himself as a Turkish subject, he returned to Poland. After a staged debate with representatives of the rabbinate in Lviv he converted to Catholicism, together with approximately 2,000 Shabbateans. During this debate he claimed that the Jews were obliged by the tenets of their religion to make use of Christian blood in their Passover ritual. It soon became apparent that Frank’s conversion was part of his larger messianic plan, and he was arrested and confined in the monastery in Czestochowa. It was here that he finally modified his doctrine, recognizing Jasna Gora as

Introduction 35 the ‘true Zion Mountain’—the place of ultimate revelation. He maintained a form of this doctrine until his death. In recent years there has been a considerable amount of research conducted into the character of the Frankist phenomenon. As is the case with most aspects of Jewish mysticism, this study, which was undertaken in the nineteenth century by

Heinrich Graetz, Majer Balaban, and Alexander Kraushar, was revitalized by Gershom Scholem, who saw the movement as a ‘radical and extreme’ branch of Shabbateanism and who discovered manuscripts of Frank’s Ksiega stéw Panskich (“The Words of the Lord’) in the Jagiellonian Library during his visit to Krakow in 1959.°° Subsequently additional manuscripts have been found in Krakow and , Lublin and have been edited by Hillel Levine and Jan Doktor.*?

Three aspects of the Frankist movement are examined in this volume: the character of the images the movement produced and their links with its Shabbatean

precursor; the fate of those followers of Frank who refused to join the Roman Catholic Church, maintaining either their Jewish or their Muslim faith; and the subsequent impact of Frankist converts on Polish culture. In his chapter Harris Lenowitz investigates the portrait of the messiah in three interconnected messianic events, those of Shabbetai Tsevi, Jakub Frank, and of his daughter Eva Frank. He argues that the portraits of Shabbetai Tsevi and Nathan of Gaza were ‘anti-icons in the same way that those contending to become Christian messiahs and replace Christ are Antichrists as well as pseudo-Christs’ and this is why they were so strongly attacked. He shows how Frank’s messianic claims provoked the indefatigable antiShabbatean Rabbi Jacob Emden of Hamburg to produce an anti-icon of Frank in his book Sefer shimush. The woodcut shows a single figure with three heads, labelled in Hebrew, from left to right, ‘Christian’, ‘Jew’, and ‘Muslim’. A band around the torso labels the figure as tsurat hamashiah (‘the image of the messiah’). The two outer

torsos of the figure have arms, but the middle one does not. This triple-headed monster is intended to demonstrate both the falsity of Christian Trinitarian beliefs and, in particular, their peculiar Jewish manifestation in Frank’s theology. Finally, examining the portraits of Frank and Eva produced by their followers, Lenowitz shows how these are explicitly related to Christian icons, the daughter’s having clearly been influenced by Frank’s exposure to Mariolatry in Polish national shrines at Czestochowa. To both Jews and Christians these images, like those of Shabbetai Tsevi and Nathan, were deeply shocking. As Jan Doktor, the pre-eminent Frank specialist in Poland, demonstrates in his chapter, not all of Frank’s followers chose to follow in his footsteps and enter the Roman Catholic Church. Many of his followers retained their Jewish or Muslim *8 On Gershom Scholem’s visit to Poland, see M. Galas, ‘Die Mystik der polnischen Juden in Gershom Scholems Arbeiten. Ein forschungsgeschichtlicher Uberblick’, Judaica. Bettrage zum Verstehen des Judentums, 2 (1995), 99.

99 H. Levine (ed.), ‘Hakronikah’: teudah letoledot ya’akov frank utenuato (Jerusalem, 1984); J. Doktor (ed.), Rozmaite adnotacje, przypadki czynnosci 1 anekdoty Panskie (Warsaw, 1996).

36 Antony Polonsky faith, in spite of his urgings to convert to Roman Catholicism, which had now become the key to his messianic strategy. Of Frank’s Jewish followers, for the most part only those who had been exposed as Shabbateans chose to convert in 1759. Of the remainder the majority of those in Poland seem to have been won over by the

burgeoning hasidic movement. The Czech and German Shabbateans who had assured Frank that they would ‘join the holy faith’ (that is, accept his teaching) abandoned him since they were unwilling to follow him into the Roman Catholic Church. Nevertheless, they recognized his messiahship after his death, when Eva Frank and her brothers abandoned this requirement. There were also Jewish crypto-Christians at Eva Frank’s court. According to one of them, Moshe Porges, he and his colleagues officially remained Jews, but shaved their beards and went to the Roman Catholic church each Sunday in the uniforms of Polish uhlans. They followed a typically Frankist strategy of concealing their true beliefs. In Jewish circles they did not reveal their baptism, while in Offenbach they concealed the fact that they still considered themselves Jews. We do not know whether they also participated in the Catholic sacraments, but this seems

likely. Another of them, Nathan Kassovitz, had persuaded Porges that one could follow the messiah in various ways and that public conversion was not necessarily desirable for all his supporters: this step should not be adopted without careful thought, since not everyone would be able to cope with its consequences. The failure of the messianic hopes they placed in the year 1800 undermined: their position. In 1800, on Yom Kippur, a solemn /erem was proclaimed against them. Nevertheless, members of the edah kedushah (‘the holy community’), as they described themselves, survived this crisis and we have a number of memoirs describing their beliefs in the early nineteenth century. The Muslims in Turkey and Wallachia who had converted with Frank were not persuaded of the need for yet another conversion. Many of them, including Frank’s father-in-law, Judah Levi Tovah, decided to remain Muslim. They broke with the konyosos and established close links with the :zmirlis camp of the Doenmeh. The Muslim converts did not accept Frank’s new doctrine; instead they boasted of their own ‘key’ to salvation, in the form of the teachings of Tovah that had been developed

after the final split with Frank. However, Tovah wrote in his commentary that he had not been born into a family of converts, but that he himself had converted with

others to Islam. |

Tovah saw no intrinsic value in either Islam or Christianity. His reasons for conversion were antinomian. Judaism must be abandoned not because the Shekhinah can be found in another religion—as Shabbetai Tsevi, Barukhyah, and Frank all

believed—but to rid oneself of the Law of Moses. Symbolized by the Tree of Knowledge, this was the main obstacle to the realization of the messianic event. The only way to bring salvation closer was to ‘pull’. . . out’ this tree; that is, to destroy the commandments, so that a new Tree of Life—a new Torah of a saved world—would grow from its root.

Introduction 37 At the end of 1783, when the messianic event expected by Tovah did not , materialize, Frank began a campaign to attract the Muslim converts. Nevertheless, they took the decision neither to go to Poland nor to convert to Catholicism. As the price of retaining their links with Frank, they demanded that he accept their continuing to profess Islam and that he modify his preaching at Czestochowa, which argued that salvation was only for Catholics. Reconciliation with the Muslim

Frankists required a certain doctrinal foundation. Frank now argued that secret conversion would enable the Muslim Frankists to follow the road of salvation opened by him without abandoning Turkey and Islam. It is worth noting that in the last of Frank’s Offenbach lectures they are treated quite differently from how they had been treated a few years before in Brno: they are no longer competitors but are equal partners of the Polish Frankists in the task of salvation. We do not know exactly what role Frank assigned to the Muslim Frankists in his messianic plans. There are two possibilities. The first is that he treated their remaining in Islam as a mission of salvation analogous to his own mission in Christianity, that is to ‘raise’ the Shekhinah that was hidden in both religions. More likely, he may have seen Islam as a refuge for believers fleeing persecution, in which they should secretly adopt the saving truth of Christianity. Muslim converts seem to have remained at the Offenbach court until 1800. After the failure of the messianic expectations of that year they returned to the Balkans, and disappeared from view. It may be that they settled in Saloniki, where a Shabbatean centre persisted until at least 1914.

As both Lenowitz and Leiman point out, the Shabbatean controversy had Europe-wide ramifications, the most striking of which was the conflict between Rabbi Jacob Emden and the rabbi of the “Three Communities’ (Altona, Hamburg, and Wandsbeck) Rabbi Jonathan Eibeschuetz. In his chapter Leiman demonstrates conclusively that Emden’s accusations, which were repeated by Heinrich Graetz, that Eibeschuetz failed to condemn Frank’s claim that the Jewish Passover ritual required Christian blood are without foundation. In fact, Eibeschuetz wrote an effective refutation of Frank’s arguments and was able to win support for his views from two leading Christian scholars, the distinguished professors of theology and

oriental languages at the University of Halle, Christian Benedict Michaelis (1680-1764) and Johann Salomo Semler (1729—91).1™

The subsequent importance of the Catholic Frankist converts in Poland is examined in a chapter by Michat Galas. As he points out, even apart from the question of the family links of Adam Mickiewicz with Frankism, kabbalistic and Shabbatean ideas constitute two of the main sources, though not the only ones, of his mystical ideas. The idea of concealment, of the adoption of a false identity to confuse the outside world, a basic Frankist concept, may also be expressed in the character of Konrad Wallenrod. The role of undisputed Frankist converts in Polish 100 On Michaelis, see Allgemeine deutsche Biographie (Leipzig, 1875-1912), xxi. 21, 676, and on Semler, F. L. Cross, The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church (London, 1966), 1239.

38 Antony Polonsky culture, such as the Szymanowskis, the Wotowskis, and Kazimierz PrzerwaTetmajer, is also worth stressing. For Gershom Scholem there was a particular fascination to be found in Frédéric Chopin’s Frankist roots. The somewhat bizarre episode of the Frankist messianic event forms an important element in the background to the rise of hasidism, which has been variously described as ‘a movement of Jewish spiritual revival which began in south-eastern Poland during the second half of the eighteenth century and came to be character~ ized by its charismatic leadership, mystical orientation, and distinctive pattern of communal life’!°* and ‘an outbreak of radical immanentist mysticism in eighteenth-

century Ukrainian Judaism’.’®” In part this is because recent scholarship has adopted a much more critical approach to the sources related to both the origins and

the spread of hasidism. It has become apparent that the earliest sources, both the letters of Israel ben Eliezer, usually known as the Ba’al Shem Tov (the Besht), the initiator of the movement, and the material that can be found in the Polish archives, primarily the archives of the Sieniawa-Czartoryski estate, which owned the town of Medzhybizh where the Besht spent the last twenty years of his life, are easier to interpret than the hagiographic material, whether in the form of the sayings of the Besht or the account of his activities, as recounted in Siivhei habesht, and those of his successors. This material, among the most characteristic and attractive produced by the movement, is clearly hagiographic, teaching a moral lesson, and it cannot be seen as historical in a modern sense. Legends about the Besht arose from the very start of his preaching. Care and skill are needed to extract the kernels of historical

evidence that are to be found everywhere in them. In addition the role of editors and the way the material was modified in subsequent editions need to be carefully analysed. In this volume the nature of hasidic legends dealing with the childhood of tsadikim is investigated in the chapter by Susanne Galley. As aresult of recent research, in particular that of Moshe Rosman in his Founder of Hasidism: A Quest for the Historical Ba’al Shem Tov, we know a great deal more about Israel ben Eliezer and his activities in Medzhybizh. As Rosman has demonstrated, Medzyhbizh was no rural backwater. It had a population of 5,000, of which 2,000 were Jews, and was one of the fifteen largest Jewish towns in Poland. It had suffered considerably during the upheavals of the mid-seventeenth century, during which it was devastated by Khmelnytsky, who occupied it four times, and by the Turks, who held it between 1672 and 1676 and 1678 and 1686. However, after it _ returned to Polish control in 1687, it re-emerged as a significant trading centre and its merchants were involved in activities that went beyond the borders of the country. In the early eighteenth century there was a modest, though not uninterrupted, economic recovery. Through an analysis of the lists of office-holders between 1726 101 A. Rapoport-Albert, Introduction, in Rapoport-Albert (ed.), Hasidism Reappraised (London, 1996), p. XVil.

102 A. Green, ‘Early Hasidism: Some Old/New Questions’, in Rapoport-Albert (ed.), Hasidism

Reappraised, 442.

Introduction 39 and 1743 Rosman has been able to demonstrate that, although the communal organization of Medzhybizh conformed to the eighteenth-century Jewish communal pattern of a self-perpetuating oligarchy, there was more turnover and less repeat incumbency of offices than is revealed by Bataban’s analysis of Jewish officeholding in Krakow in the early years of the seventeenth century. Jewish life was unquestionably marked by a wide social gap and enmity between ruler and ruled, rich and poor, elite and plebeians. The elite groups—factors who worked for the Polish administrators, arendators of the magnate’s rights, akcyzniki (‘excise men’) of the kahal’s income, and the kahal itself—tended to overlap, which strengthened their position. At the same time there were significant divisions between these groups, and on occasion the kahal was capable of standing up for the interests of the common man, as did the pospélstwo (Hebrew yehidei segulah), the body which repre- | sented all taxpayers. The Besht was invited to go to Medzhybizh as the resident kabbalist, healer, and leader of the beit midrash, which meant that he was a man of substance with a reputation. There was already a circle of kabbalists and mystics in the area, and he became the most prominent. Rosman has documented from the archives of the Sieniawa-Czartoryski estate that he lived in a house belonging to this community and was exempt from tax. Some of his associates received a weekly stipend from the kahal budget. He is described in the entries in the town’s rent roll as a kabalista and a doktér and is also referred to as ‘Balszam Doktor liber’.1°? The same documents show that he employed a number of men, including the pisarz balszema (‘the Ba’al Shem’s scribe’), who was paid either one or two zloty a week by the Medzhybizh community.?° It is clear from the work of Rosman and others that the Besht was a respected member of the Jewish community and that he did not see himself as a radical or called upon to support the lower orders against the communal oligarchy. He was also not interested in creating anything more than a small circle of like-

minded mystics. As Rosman puts tt: | the Besht was much more a representative of existing religious, social, political, and even economic realities than he was an innovator. He was certainly no rebel against the establishment, whether religious or social. He fit into the institutions of his time and conformed to the behavior patterns expected of the type of holy man he was.

As to the history of Hasidism, the Besht did not inaugurate new, fully developed forms , that became the hallmarks of the movement. Rather, he appears to have made some moderate changes in existing forms that were eventually transformed into the mature institutions of Hasidism. The Besht did not create a movement; he modified some conventions.1°°

_ As we have seen, there were many such circles of mystics in eighteenth-century Poland—Lithuania, led by charismatic figures. What was different about the Besht? Here we are on much more controversial ground. A number of elements can perhaps be isolated. In the first place he seems to have modified in a significant manner

103 Rosman, Founder of Hasidism, 165. 104 Tbid. 166. 105 Thid. 174.

40 Antony Polonsky the concept of the tsadik. This is not to say that he was the creator of the religious charismatic figure who lay at the centre of later hasidism. As a result of this, as Karl Grozinger points out in his chapter, the tsadzk was transformed in hasidic thought from ‘the average, more or less pious Jew, the righteous person who had been

approved by the celestial court in the days between New Year and the Day of Atonement .. . [into a] religious superman, the leader of his community, and the mediator between the divine and the human realms’. This transformation was explained by Scholem in a well-known article as a consequence of the kabbalistic tradition of the ninth sefirah (‘sphere’) in the system of divine emanations, which

was responsible for drawing the divine influx down to the earth and bore the name of tsadik, which became something of a commonplace in mystical circles in eighteenth- century Poland—Lithuania but is very far from the later development of the tsadtk.

How far did the Besht himself contribute to this later development? Grozinger concentrates in his chapter on one aspect of this change, the way the Besht transformed the concept of the ba’al shem, the ‘master of the [holy] name’, or in the plural, ‘master of the [holy] names [of God]’, who was the inheritor of ‘the ancient Jewish mystical and magical tradition of the theology of names, a doctrine developed and transmitted by the hezkhalot literature and further developed by the hasidei ashkenaz in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries’.!°© As he shows, in the earliest tales of Ashkenazi ba’alei shem, those of Rabbi Samuel ben Kalonymus Hehasid, the founding father of Ashkenazi hasidism, we are confronted with a modest, sinfearing Jew using holy names only in rare and clearly defined cases, such as kidush hashem and the creation of a golem, but never for material or selfish purposes. Subsequently in the cycle of tales on Rabbi Judah Hehasid in the Mayse-buch, as well as the tales of Rabbi Adam Ba’al Shem and the tales by Juspa Shammes in his , Ma’aseh nisim (‘worker of miracles’), we encounter a ba’al shem similar to the

magicians of Christian society in the Renaissance, such as Dr Faustus, or Pan Twardowski in Krakow. In the Polish—Lithuanian environment the seventeenthand eighteenth-century ba’alei shem, who were held in high esteem in Jewish society, were primarily healers who used spells to cure disease or exorcise evil spirits. They also dealt with the widespread fear of sin and ritual impurity, treating

| what we would regard as spiritual and psychological illness. In this context the , Lurianic tradition with its concept of the transmigration of souls enabled the ba’a/ | shem to intervene and to direct transmigrating souls towards their necessary cleansing and atonement. The Besht inherited this ability (as did other ba’alei shem of his time), and his use of it is documented extensively in Shivhet habesht. The new feature of the Besht’s concept of the ba’al shem was derived from the mystical tradition of the hekhalot, the ascent to the celestial palaces. In Grozinger’s 106 K.E. Grozinger, “The Names of God and the Celestial Powers: Their Function and Meaning in the Hekhalot Literature’, in J. Dan (ed.), Proceedings of the First International Conference on the History of Jewish Mysticism: Early Jewish Mysticism (Jerusalem, 1987).

| Introduction Al words, “Unlike the ancient hekhalot mystics, the Besht did not ascend to heaven simply in order to see the divine and to receive celestial knowledge of present and future events’, but used these heavenly journeys above all ‘to plead before the bar of the celestial court for his fellow Jews’. One result of this new function, which emerges clearly from the Shivhei habesht, is a change in the character of the spells cast. Instead of using the divine names, the

Besht employs prayer and readings of sacred texts, which are more appropriate, , given his goals. As Grozinger points out, following Immanuel Etkes, ‘In this new interpretation of a ba’al shem, everything depended on his individual and charismatic personality, and not on the more objective instrument of the divine names. This was precisely the precondition demanded by the new tsadik, who himself had to be a mystic able to make direct contact with the divine in order to perform all the miraculous deeds that his forerunners had performed with the help of the divine

names.’ ,

Another new element in the teaching of the Besht seems to have been its antiasceticism, as distinct from the pessimistic and sin-laden atmosphere which we have already identified as a feature of the religious culture of Polish Jewry. In his view, ‘Evil differs from Good only by degree in the hierarchy of holiness.’ As a result, the sinner is not completely rejected by the compassionate God, but always has the potential for self-improvement. Indeed, an evil impulse is not wholly evil. It carries within it the possibility of redemption if it can be redirected to become a

force for good. :

One example, examined by Gershon Hundert in his chapter in this volume, is the Besht’s attitude to the problem of how to atone for seminal emission (keri), a

matter whose importance was clearly becoming more pressing with the rapid growth in the Jewish population and the increase in the number of young men. In

Hundert’s words, this issue ‘attracted almost obsessive attention during the late | seventeenth and eighteenth centuries’. According to the Shulhan arukh, a person guilty of ‘slaughtering [his generative] seed’ (hashhatat zera) is guilty of a sin more serious than all the sins of the Torah, a view which can also be found in the Zohar. These views were very different from those expressed in the Mishnah and Talmud,

| which saw keri as the result of the work of female demons for which the person affected was not responsible. The sixteenth-century Safed mystics and followers in

Europe accepted the seriousness of the offence, but for the most part held that forgiveness was possible if extraordinary acts of penitence were undertaken. This was also the position of Isaiah Horowitz in his Shenei luhot haberit, and of the Shevet musar.

The Besht’s views were very different. According to Dov Ber, the Maggid of Mezhirech, “The Besht . . . said: One should not worry over an impure accident, an

involuntary seminal emission that occurred without impure thoughts’. In his understanding, the emission expelled an evil spark that must be extinguished.!°" *97 On this, see Hundert’s chapter, pp. 102-3.

42 Antony Polonsky The Besht also stressed the importance of prayer, which would enable the individual to achieve union (devekut) with God. One should reach the divine through letters rather than words, and, for this union, intensity of feeling rather than learn-

ing was what was crucial. Ecstatic enthusiasm (/itlahavut) was the goal—the experience of spiritual exultation as the soul 1s elevated towards God. Arthur Green defines this change as ‘a focusing of Judaism on worship—a sense that the simple prayer life (I say “simple” to exclude the kavanot of the kabbalists) is the very centre of Judaism’.!°° This later became central to hasidism and clearly owes a great deal to the personal faith and religious practice of the Besht. Two other features of his teaching and practice also seem to stand out. Unlike other mystics, he was concerned not only with the salvation of himself and his small

circle, but with a// Israel. In Ada Rapoport-Albert’s words, ‘Hasidism is distinguishable from all other schools of Jewish esoteric spirituality and mysticism in having fused together two diametrically opposed poles of human experience: intensely personal, reclusive, mystical flight from the world, and robust involvement in mundane human affairs.’!°? Finally in the proto-court created around his extended family we can see the beginnings of the court of the individual tsadik, which was such a characteristic feature of hasidism. As [have pointed out, on his death in 1760 the Besht left behind him only a small circle of followers. It was they and above all Rabbi Jacob Joseph of Polonne and Dov

Ber, the Maggid of Mezhirech, who were responsible for the emergence of the hasidic movement and for its rapid expansion. Jacob Joseph attempted to popularize the teachings of the Besht, propagating the idea of the tsadzk as the soul of his community (while the community itself represents the material body).11° Not only did he transform the tsadik into the elevated mystic who, by his ascent to the divine

Nought, brings down the creative divine influx, but he was responsible for the transformation of the movement’s theology and its reformulation as what Arthur Green calls ‘a radically immanentist mysticism that borders on pantheism and is closer to nature mysticism than is usually the case among Jews’.'!! In addition, both Jacob Joseph and, to an even greater extent, the Maggid institutionalized the idea of the tsadik, identifying it with particular living individuals. In Green’s words, “The thread of the zaddik is drawn forth from the fabric of traditional Jewish civilization,

, but I would not say that the idea of the zaddik is new; the change lies rather in its centralization and its institutionalization.’!”

What developed in these conditions was ‘a typical revival or revitalization movement, marked primarily by its charismatic leadership, and its success is comparable to the success of other charismatically led revival movements—the Great Awakening, Methodism, southern United States revivalism after Reconstruction,

108 Green, ‘Early Hasidism’, 445. , , 109 Rapoport-Albert, Introduction, in Rapoport-Albert (ed.), Hasidism Reappraised, p. xxii.

110 See S. Dresner, The Zaddik (New York, 1960), and M. Idel, Hasidism: Between Ecstasy and

Magic (Albany, NY, 1995). 111 Green, ‘Early Hasidism’, 443. “2 Thid. 445.

Introduction 43 ~ and so forth’.'!® It had two specific features. In the first place, its rapid diffusion was the result of preaching, of the spoken rather than the written word. Secondly, from its earliest beginnings hasidism accommodated a variety of distinct and at times conflicting opinions, directions, and personal styles of spirituality that could, and occasionally did, lead to inter-hasidic rivalries, bitter divisions, and contro-

versies. It sprang from a tradition in which the notion of any single source of supreme authority had been alien for centuries; it never generated mechanisms

for the imposition of uniformity and control from any nominal centre of its own. The initial absence of any centralized framework of government in early hasidism was accentuated by the rapid proliferation of hasidic schools and the expansion of the movement to outposts that lay well beyond its region of proven-

ance. These processes brought hasidism into contact with a diversity of local customs and existential conditions that lent it a rich variety of distinctive local characteristics. In recent years a number of widely accepted arguments for the rapid expansion

of hasidism have undergone substantial revision. The view of historians such as Dubnow, Dinur, and Mahler that the movement’s success was the consequence of the critical situation of Polish—Lithuanian Jewry after the catastrophic events of the mid-seventeenth century can no longer be maintained 1n its original form. The crisis was surmounted, and although the situation of the community was not as — secure as before 1648, it was able to re-establish and even extend its economic position. A new, more mystical and more penitential religious climate did emerge, but it was the seedbed for a large number of movements of which hasidism was only one. _ The new situation clearly does not explain why hasidism was so much more successful than its rivals. It remains unclear how far, as both Mahler and Dubnow have argued, the success of hasidism came about because it relieved the suffering of the Jewish masses by diverting their attention from the material causes of their hardship and by providing them instead with spiritual sustenance. There is, however, more to be said for Jacob Katz’s argument that one manifestation of the new situ-

ation was a weakening of the bonds that tied individuals—the constituents of society—to its institutions, values, and leadership. Although these circumstances did not necessitate the rise of hasidism, they made it easier for the movement to take

root and expand.'!4 :

Certainly, hasidism did not appeal primarily to the poor and disfranchised, and it cannot be seen as a socially radical movement. As Yeshayahu Shachar, who com_ pared hasidic and homiletic tracts with those written at the time of the spread of hasidism, has shown, some non-hasidic authors were far more sensitive to social 13 Thid. 443.

114 S$. Dubnow, Toledot hahasidut (Tel Aviv, 1930-1); B. Dinur, ‘Reshitah shel hahasidut veyesodotetha hasotsialim vehameshihiyim’, in his Bemifneh hadorot (Jerusalem, 1955), and R. Mahler, Hasidism and the Jewish Enlightenment (Philadelphia, 1985). See also I. Etkes, “The Study of Hasidism: Past Trends and New Directions’, in Rapoport-Albert (ed.), Hasidism Reappraised.

A4 Antony Polonsky injustice than their hasidic contemporaries.!1° The hasidim did not, by and large, take a stance in communal affairs, although, in Immanuel Etkes’s words, ‘when the traditional communal leadership found itself unable to enforce its own social policies, the hasidic leaders leapt into the breach’.!!®

In addition, the movement in its early stages was not anti-intellectual and attracted men with great scholarly credentials like Jacob Joseph of Polonne and Shneur Zalman of Liady. Among many of its early adherents were yeshiva students and members of the scholarly elite., To them, one of the attractions of the movement was its rejection of hiluk and pilpul, the characteristic forms of talmudic argument in Poland. In Shivhe: habesht we find the statement: “The tsadik R. Jacob Joseph . . . used to say: It is easier for him to say ten Az/ukim than to recite one shemoneh esreh prayer.’ The Besht’s charge in Shivhei habesht that the rabbis were

inventing ‘false premisses’ was probably also intended to refer to pilpul.11" , How far was hasidism ‘messianic’ as was claimed, for instance, by Dinur? In | Scholem’s dialectical view, hasidism was the ‘latest phase’ in the history of Jewish mysticism, and as such was related to the two immediately preceding stages, Lurianic kabbalah and Shabbateanism. To quote him: ‘Lurianic Kabbalism, Sabbatianism and Hasidism are after all three stages of the same process.’ Lurianic kabbalah aimed to capture the imagination of the masses; it succeeded because it enabled the common folk to express their yearning for redemption. Shabbateanism, however, tried to realize those yearnings ‘in our time’ and therefore culminated in catastrophe. Hasidism, in Scholem’s view, was a sequel to both in that it attempted ‘to make the world of Kabbalism . . . accessible to the masses of the people’. However, in order to do so it had first to relieve Lurianic kabbalah of its messianic ‘sting’. This hasidism proceeded to do by replacing the Lurianic messianic ideal of tikun with the mystical ideal of devekut, communion with God, thereby neutralizing

the acute messianic element that pervaded both Lurianic kabbalah and Shabbateanism.'!® This explains what Scholem referred to as the ‘neutralization’ of the messianic element in hasidism. If one discounts the Hegelian superstructure, Scholem was probably right to argue that hasidism was not a messianic movement, since it did not strive to accelerate the messianic redemption, while stressing that, like all of Judaism, it retained the traditional belief in the messiah. The Besht’s letter to his brother-in-law, with its account of his conversation with the messiah, was in no way evidence of any messianic urge in early hasidism; moreover, although

the letter was circulated in various versions, the form in which we have it today remained concealed for many years in the possession of Rabbi Jacob Joseph of 115 'Y. Shachar, Bikoret hahevrah vehanhagat hatsibur besifrut hamusar vehaderush bepolin bame’ah hashemonah-esreh (Jerusalem, 1992).

116 Etkes, ‘The Study of Hasidism’, 451. 117 Dov Ber ben Shmuel of Linits (Luniets), Shivhei habesht (Kopys, 1814), 16d, quoted in Etkes, “The Study of Hasidism’, 453. 118 G. Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (New York, 1954), 325-50.

Introduction 45 Polonne, who had received it from the Besht in 1751 but ‘revealed’ it only in 1781, when he included it in his book Ben porat yosef. If Scholem’s thesis of the neutralization of the messianic element 1n hasidism has received widespread acceptance, the same cannot be said for his arguments on the links between hasidism and Shabbateanism, whether intellectual or geographical.

There seems little basis for the intellectual links that he found between the two movements. Scholem stressed that the origins of hasidism lay in Podolia, an area known for its large number of Shabbateans. In his view, the ‘founder of Hasidism and his first disciples, therefore, must have been fully aware of the destructive power inherent in extreme mystical Messianism . . . They were active among the same people whom Sabbateanism had tried [to convert] . . . and it is by no means impossible that there was at first a certain passing over of members from one movement to the other.’!!9

Scholem also argued that there were clear similarities between hasidic and Shabbatean concepts of ‘the ideal type of man to which they ascribe the function of leadership’. This was no longer the rabbinic scholar of halakhah, as envisaged by rabbinic Jewry, but rather ‘the illuminate .. . the prophet’ was the ideal leader of the community.!”° In fact, there are also clear differences between the hasidic doctrine of the tsadi:k and Shabbatean ideas. As Abraham Rubinstein has written: ‘Certain Sabbatean notions reverberated in the teachings of hasidism. But the intensity of the reverberation and the compensating effect of the complex of other influences on

hasidism still await proper investigation and clarification. Much remains to be done.’!#1

The argument that hasidism originated in the same geographic areas as Shabbateanism has also come under fire. Michael Silber holds that the regions in which hasidism first emerged were not those in which there were significant numbers of crypto-Shabbateans. The reverse seems to have been the case: the early hasidim sought followers in areas where there were few Shabbateans.'*2 There also seem to be few personal links between the last Shabbateans and the first hasidim. In this sense, hasidism can be seen as a response to the dangers its leaders saw in the Shabbatean movement and perhaps also in its radical Frankist variant. Perhaps the best summary is that of Jacob Katz: And indeed, important elements of these two movements [i.e. kabbalistic pietism and Shabbateanism] were absorbed by Hasidism, and the rise of Hasidism cannot be understood without reference to these movements. On the other hand, such an argument from chronology to causality is satisfactory only in part. Hasidism is so radically innovative, even vis-a-

vis Sabbateanism and kabbalistic pietism, that any attempt to explain it as the outcome of , these two is virtually tantamount to intellectual evasion.!2°

119 Tbid. 330-1. 120 Thid. 332-3.

121 A. Rubinstein, ‘Bein hasidut veshabeta’iyut’, in Sefer hashanah shel universitat bar ilan, 4-5 (Ramat Gan, 1967), 338-9. ‘22 Silber’s findings are discussed in Etkes, “The Study of Hasidism’, 458. 123 Katz, Tradition and Crisis, 197.

46 Antony Polonsky What is undeniable is that the mitnagdic opponents of hasidism were above all alarmed by its similarities to Shabbateanism and Frankism. Mordechai Wilensky

has listed several of the practices to which they most strongly objected. These included the new emphasis on prayer, new shehitah practices, somersaults during prayer, and neglect of Torah study. All of these must have seemed, in the eyes of the mitnagedim, to link the new movement with the radical religious manifestations in Jewish life in the last three generations. They also strongly objected to the negative attitude of hasidim to Torah study and, a fortiori to talmudic investigation; in addition, the secessionist impulses of the hasidim, which involved separate prayer halls and the rejection of the communal shohet (‘ritual slaughterer’), were seen as a breach of communal solidarity. '**

The later history of hasidism has until recently aroused relatively little interest. Dubnow ended his history of hasidism in 1815 and neither Dinur nor Horodecky devoted much attention to the nineteenth-century evolution of the movement.?”° Yet after 1815 a new period began in its history that was to last until the end of the nineteenth century. The movement now became much more institutionalized and established in Jewish life, and the intensity of the conflict with its mitnagdic opponents declined as both groups united to resist secularization and modernity. One aspect of this rapprochement was that within the movement there now developed a new respect for talmudic learning and the values of the rabbinic elite. This phenomenon was particularly evident in central Poland (the Congress Kingdom), which was socially more advanced and with a larger urban population than Ukraine, where the movement had originated.!*° A distinctively ‘Polish’ school of hasidism now emerged, in the first place in Przysucha and Kotsk (Kock), which, while retaining its hasidic characteristics, was marked by much greater intellectual rigour and interest in talmudic argument. It soon became the dominant force in the

religious life of the Kingdom of Poland. ,

Hasidism had been introduced there at the end of the eighteenth century from Galicia and Volhynia, where hasidic courts claiming descent from that of Rabbi Dov Ber of Mezhirech had soon been established. The first tsad:kim in central Poland, Rabbi Jacob Isaac Horowitz (1745-1815) of Lublin and Rabbi Israel (1733-1814) of Kozienice, come from the next generation of hasidic leaders. Both of them were part of the missionary impulse of early hasidism and shared the move-

ment’s religious enthusiasm and popular mysticism. Rabbi Jacob Isaac, known 124 On this, see M. Wilensky, ‘Hasidic—Mitnaggedic Polemics in the Jewish Communities of Eastern

Europe: The Hostile Phase’, in G. Hundert (ed.), Essential Papers on Hasidism (New York, 1991), and Wilensky, Hasidim umitnagedim (Jerusalem, 1970). 125 For Horodecky, see S. A. Horodecky, Hahasidut vehasidim, 4 vols. (Tel Aviv, 1928-43). 126 On these developments, see A. Green, Introduction, in J. A. L. Alter, The Language of Truth: The Torah Commentary of the ‘Sefat Emet’, Rabht Yehudah Leib Alter of Ger (Philadelphia, 1998), and G. Dynner, ‘ “Men of Silk”: The Hasidic Conquest of Polish Jewry, 1754-1830’, Brandeis University

Ph.D. thesis, 2001. , ,

Introduction 47 popularly as the Seer of Lublin, was especially well known for having unusual psychic powers, something which he shared with the Besht as well as with several other hasidic masters. He was also an unashamed miracle worker and did not hesitate to pray for the material as well as the spiritual welfare of his followers. In his writings he expressed views similar to those of the Maggid of Mezhirech and his followers, including their more abstract and mystical formulations. In the words of Arthur Green, ‘he brought to this new region an authentic representation of Volhynian Hasidism, including both its most sophisticated and its most popular sides’.!?’ His tragic death and the way it was recorded both by his followers and by his maskilic opponents is the subject of the chapter by David Assaf. The Maggid of Kozienice was a somewhat different figure. In Green’s words,

‘he brought the fatherly warmth of popular Ukrainian Hasidism to a court that seemed to function as an extended family surrounding a beloved elder’. He too was a miracle worker, although not on the scale of Jacob Isaac, and his powers of intercession attracted a large following. At the same time he was something of a scholar, collecting and publishing older Jewish mystical manuscripts.

Rabbi Simchah Bunem (1767-1827) of Przysucha was the first of the Polish hasidic rebbes to strike off on a new path. Unlike his predecessors, he had something of a secular education and had worked as a pharmacist and as a factor for the Bergson family, prominent Warsaw Jewish merchants, on whose behalf he travelled regularly

to Danzig. Even hasidic sources admit that during this period he consorted with non-pious Jews and that he dressed in Western clothing, and something of this greater knowledge of the outside world remained with him when he became a religious leader.

The circle he established differed fundamentally from the older hasidic court, with its idolization of the tsadzk. In Arthur Green’s words, it was ‘more a peer group

of learned young men’,!*® which included Rabbi Menahem Mendel of Kock (1787-1859), Rabbi Isaac of Warka (1779-1848), Rabbi Mordecai Joseph of Izbica

(1801-53), Rabbi Abraham of Ciechanow (1784-1875), and Rabbi Isaac Meir Rothenberg (1799-1866), all of whom were later to play a crucial role in the history of hasidism in Poland. The aim of the circle was to return to what they saw as the now corrupted vision of the Besht. They stressed prayer, learning, and compassion for one’s fellow Jews and downplayed the miracle-working and cultic elements that had become attached to individual hasidic courts. Rabbi Mendel of Kock, the successor of Rabbi Simchah Bunem, was particularly severe in denouncing what he saw as sham piety; he rejected and ‘offered no tolerance for a Hasidism defined by any sort of “style” or outward manifestation of religiosity’.12? The new group also stressed the study of Torah in a way quite different from the initial hasidic masters, partly in reaction to , "27 Green, Introduction, in Alter, The Language of Truth, p. xvii.

28 Tbid., p. xix. 129 Tbhid.

48 Antony Polonsky the more mystical elements in the hasidic tradition and partly out of a belief that mystical pursuits were less significant than how one treated one’s fellows. The last years of Rabbi Mendel’s life were difficult, and he became increasingly reclusive. One leading disciple, Rabbi Mordecai Joseph Leiner, left him, founding the separate dynasty of Izbica hasidism. The work of one of his principal disciples, Rabbi Zaddok Hacohen Rabinowitz, on the messiah son of Joseph is examined in the chapter by Roland Goetschel. Others, notably the future rebbes of Aleksander,

Gur (Ger, Gora Kalwaria), and Warka, stood by their master, often acting in his place when the public need demanded. In the years after his death Rabbi Mendel’s circle of followers became a major force in Polish Jewry, attracting a more Westernized but still fervently religious following. By this stage the principle whereby the succession in a hasidic dynasty went from father to son had been breached, and the inner circle of Rabbi Mendel’s followers chose as his successor Rabbi Isaac Meir Rothenberg, who was then living in Warsaw. Seven years later, in 1860, the new rebbe decided to move from Warsaw to the more rural environment of the nearby village of Gur, a place where his father had once served as rabbi, transforming it rapidly into one of the principal centres of

Polish hasidism. ,

During the period to his death in 1866 Rabbi Isaac Meir succeeded in establishing hasidism as a leading force within the ‘official’ Jewish community. He made great efforts to link himself, through learned correspondence as well as in personal meetings, with his fellow halakhic authorities throughout eastern Europe, and also had a close relationship with Dov Ber Meisels, rabbi of Warsaw from 1854 to 1870. As a result, as had occurred a generation earlier in Galicia, the divisions between hasidim and their former opponents became blurred. All were united by a fear of

the corrosive effect of secularization, and the new alliance was cemented by

marriages between leading figures in the two groups. , Rabbi Isaac Meir was predeceased by his son, and his mantle thus passed to his grandson Yehuda Leib, who was only 19 on the death of his grandfather. After a brief

period when the leadership of Polish hasidism passed to Rabbi Henikh of Aleksander (1798—1870), he succeeded to the position established by Rabbi Isaac Meir. He served as rebbe of Gur for more than three decades from 1871 to 1905, establishing a reputation for great learning and personal integrity. He also acted, in effect, as

the principal hasid for the burgeoning community of Warsaw. During this period yeshivas, the classic institution of rabbinic Judaism, were established under his , auspices in Gur, Warsaw, and other towns, ‘educating thousands of young men in the spirit of talmudic acumen, strict personal piety, and a degree of openness to questioning and even skepticism, as originally cultivated in Kotsk’.1°° Yehuda Leib Rothenberg’s most important work is a set of homilies delivered to his followers on sabbaths and festivals that were collected in the work known to us as Sefat emet. Yoram Jacobson’s chapter provides an account of the relationship between Chaos 130 Green, Introduction, in Alter, The Language of Truth, p. xxvii.

Introduction AQ and Creation or, in other words, between Nature (teva), one of the central concepts in Gur hasidism, and the perfection of Creation in this work. Finally, two further themes are discussed in Part I of this volume: the way in

: which Roman Catholics in the early modern period in Poland understood Jewish religious practice and belief and the impact on Jewish religious life in the nineteenth

century of the Haskalah (Jewish Enlightenment) in the Polish lands. While Jews were in some ways an ‘estate’, like the other self-governing estates—the nobility, the burghers, the Church, and the peasantry—into which Poland and Lithuania, like all the states of Western Christendom, were divided, they were also a pariah group. The essence of the position of the Church regarding Jews, which had already

been formulated by Augustine, was codified at the Third and Fourth Lateran Councils (1179 and 1215). It held that the Jews were to be tolerated in an inferior position in order to demonstrate the truth of Christianity, and this obviously determined their situation in Poland. The Jews were subject to a number of restrictions: they were required to pay tithes on properties they acquired, they were required to wear clothes that would distinguish them from Christians, and they were required to stay at home during Holy Week and the Easter holiday so as not to ‘profane’ the

Christian observances. They were also not to hold public office or to employ Christian servants. The Church believed that the Jews had rejected God and been reyected by him: they were no longer ‘chosen’ or ‘elect’. The Church, the new Israel, had superseded the old Israel. The Church had supplanted the synagogue, an image reproduced in sculpture outside many cathedrals, most notably that in Strasbourg. As Judith Kalik shows in her chapter, in western Europe the Christian under-

standing of Judaism and the anti-Jewish polemic developed in several stages. Initially attacks on Judaism stressed biblical exegesis, providing a Christian explanation for the Hebrew Bible and discussion about the principles of faith. Antitalmudic polemics were a feature of the disputation at Barcelona in 1263, and in the fourteenth century, when the Talmud came to be seen as the basis of Judaism and fundamentally anti-Christian, a new and more menacing phase began. A little later

kabbalah was discovered and studied, which led to the beginning of Christian Hebraism. The last stage involved calculations of the Last Judgement and a renewal of polemics about enforced conversion of the Jews. In Poland, however, as Judith Kalik shows in her chapter, all of these components were imported from the West in an amalgamated form, and continued to exist side by side in the early modern period. The Catholic Church in Poland consistently tried to implement the directives of the Vatican on Jewish matters. At the synod of Breslau in 1267 it was laid down that Christians were forbidden to invite Jews to weddings and other feasts, to share meals with them, to dance with them, to buy their food, to go to the baths with them, or

to frequent Jewish-owned inns. There were limitations on the rights of Jews to lend money, and separate Jewish residential quarters had to be established. It was

50 Antony Polonsky decreed that there should be only one synagogue in every town; Jews should be compelled to wear horned hats, they were forbidden to employ Christian servants, and they were to stay indoors with their windows closed when the Holy Sacrament was carried past. Finally, they were prohibited from holding public office, particularly the office of custom- or toll-collector. These regulations were repeated at the 1279 synod of Budzyn and that of Mikotaj Traba in 1440, except that a red cloth circle on a Jew’s outer garments was substituted for the horned hat. These regulations appear to have been ineffective since Jews lived in Krakow and elsewhere in close proximity to Christians. There is no record of them actually wearing special clothes or markers on their clothes, and they were entrusted with

the lease of toll houses and with the Wieliczka salt mine. The prohibition on the employment of Christian servants seems to have been disregarded, as does the ban on social contact. The problem of the relations between the Church and the Jews has been examined recently in two doctoral dissertations and in an important paper by Wiestaw

Miller of the Catholic University of Lublin.?! In it he examines the ad limina reports of Polish bishops in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Pope Sixtus Vin his bull Romanus Pontifex of 20 December 1585 put all Catholic bishops under the obligation to inspect their dioceses and submit written reports to the Vatican. The reports of the bishops have survived and give us a very clear picture of the point of view of the Catholic hierarchy on the Jewish presence in Poland. What they reveal is that in the late sixteenth and first half of the seventeenth centuries refer-

| ences to Jews were sporadic. They became more frequent in the second half of the seventeenth century, complaining of the increasing number of Jews, and of their role in trade in the impoverished and devastated towns, particularly noble towns, after the wars of the mid-seventeenth century. The Jews are also criticized for taking inns on lease and for their financial connections with the sz/achta and in particu-

lar with the magnates. Their effect on Catholic religious belief is said to be deleterious, and they are seen as encouraging the faithful to commit sacrilege when taking Holy Communion. There are also frequent complaints about the inability of the Church to make its legislation on the Jews effective because of the links of the Jews with all strata of Polish society. These complaints intensified in the eighteenth century. There were now complaints that the Jews were taking over houses situated near churches or in other places not meant for them or where until then they had not lived. They were building new synagogues and establishing cemeteries, and settling on the estates of the nobility and even on those of the Church, particularly those of the monasteries. 131 The doctoral dissertations are by Judith Kalik of the Hebrew University, who has contributed a chapter to this volume, and by Magdalena Teter of Columbia. Wieslaw Miiller’s article is entitled ‘Jews

in the ad limina Reports of the Polish Bishops of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’, paper presented at the International Conference on the History and Culture of Polish Jews in Jerusalem, 31 Jan.—4 Feb. 1988.

Introduction 51 Jews were also, contrary to the often repeated clerical prohibition, living under the same roof as Christians, which was having an adverse effect on the religious observance of the latter. Christians were working as wet-nurses for Jews and cooperating with them in business ventures. Jews were also accused of corrupting the morals of Catholics and inducing them to drink heavily, tempting them with music or other inducements into inns run by Jews, especially after they had left church services. The consequence was a decline in the observance of the sabbath and of Church holidays in the appropriate manner, a neglect of fasting, and the impoverishment of those tempted in this way. The large number of Jews in both larger and smaller towns, and the fact that they lived in many cases in the centre of those towns, where they were often held to behave ‘offensively’, posed a threat to the proper carrying out of Corpus Christi processions and to priests on their way to the sick with the Holy Sacrament or going to administer the last rites to the dying. Jews were also undermining the economic well-being of Catholics by their growing monopoly on trade. The Church hierarchy recognized that it was difficult to attack the position of the Jews since, in addition to their ‘cunning’, they enjoyed the protection and support of the nobility and of some monastic orders, who had strong economic ties with them. Indeed the fact that Jewish communities and councils owed Church bodies literally millions of zloty was a crucial factor moderating the Church’s implementation of anti-Jewish policies. Nevertheless, the bishops did attempt to reduce what they regarded as the harmful influence of the Jews. In 1751, for instance, the bishop of Krakow, Andrzej Stanistaw Zatuski, demanded from the Pope a ‘constitution’ or special papal ‘breve’ which would remind the Polish Seym of the Church regulations with regard to the Jews, and in particular the prohibition on their living near churches or in the centre of towns. This led to Pope Benedict XIV addressing to the

Polish bishops an encyclical on the Jews reaffirming the position of the Church. In | addition, the episcopate attempted to break the links between the nobility and some monasteries and the Jews, and also intensified its conversionary efforts.

In the eighteenth century polemical compositions based on the Bible alone appeared in Poland alongside the critique of the Talmud that was fuelled by the Frankist controversy. Commentaries on kabbalah and Zohar and high-quality Hebraistic works reflecting deep understanding of Jewish halakhah and religious practice appear at the same time as compositions rife with ignorance and prejudice

concerning the Jewish religion (including magical explanations of well-known , Jewish rituals). Since there were large numbers of Jews in Poland, there was sometimes a quite sophisticated understanding of Jewish practice, as was the case in the writings of the monk Jan Stanislaw Wujkowski, whose writings are described in Kalik’s chapter and who was genuinely interested in the Jewish roots of Christianity. Mostly the understanding of Judaism and Jewish customs was marked by considerable

ignorance, an ignorance that often led to accusations about the use of Christian blood or the desecration of the host. This ignorance 1s not only a feature of popular

52 Antony Polonsky literature but can also be found in writings by clerics—sometimes even by those of high rank. As Kalik points out, one of the most widespread and popular sources of distorted information about Judaism in Poland was the encyclopedia by Benedykt Chmielowski entitled Nowe Ateny albo Akademia wszelkie] scyjencyji (“The New

Athens of the Academy of All the Sciences’), which included such entries as *Talmud’, ‘Judaism’, and ‘Sambation’. Information about Judaism of whatever type was used for propagandistic purposes either in anti-Jewish polemics or for missionary purposes. There is a differ-

ence of opinion between Kalik and Galas about how much genuine information circulated in Polish intellectual circles about Jewish mysticism as a result of the Frankist episode. One new element in the mid-eighteenth century was that some | Polish clerics saw the movement as the ‘conversion of the Jews’ that would usher in the end of time and that this seems to have encouraged conversionary activity. Polemics about Frankism also had a later history in Poland and became a stock in trade of the antisemitic movement there. Thus the notorious Father Stanistaw Trzeciak devoted a large part of his book Mesjanizm i sprawa zydowska'* to Frankism, which he described as ‘a Jewish national and political maneuver in the invasion of Poland’. Similar views can be found in Jedrzej Giertych’s Tragizm loséw Polski,}*° which explains the nineteenth-century Polish uprisings as the result of Masonic— Jewish plots in which Frankists played a major role.

Of course, the Jews reciprocated the contempt in which their religious beliefs were held by the Christians. As Gershon Hundert has put it, ‘the norms of both the Church and the Synagogue were strongly segregationist in intent, and. . . each faith taught that the other was spiritually and morally inferior’.'!°* The preacher and moralist Tsevi Hirsh Koidonover (d. 1712), in his Kav hayashar, argued strongly against any contact with the society of non-Jews, which he saw as ‘full of idolatry, violence, and drunkenness’.!*° Christians, lacking divinely taught ethics, were in the process of sliding steadily into chaos. A Jew could best save his soul by avoiding all contact with them. Historically, Ashkenazi Jewry’s categorization of Christians as idol worshippers had indeed created numerous legal barriers to Christian—Jewish

interaction, at least from the Jewish perspective. However, while not all jurists agreed, in the sixteenth century Rabbi Solomon Luria followed some earlier thinkers in removing Christians from the class of idol worshippers because they ‘believe in Divine providence’. A similar conclusion was reached by two of Luria’s contemporaries who had been educated, at least in part, in Mediterranean societies that were perhaps more tolerant towards non-Jews. Whether such rationales affected popular attitudes towards Christians is unclear.

132 Warsaw, 1934. 133 Pelplin, 1937.

134 G_ Hundert, ‘The Implications of Jewish Economic Activities for Christian—Jewish Relations in

the Polish Commonwealth’, in C. Abramsky, M. Jachimczyk, and A. Polonsky (eds.), The Jews in Poland (Oxford, 1986), 56. 135 See Kav hayashar, ch. 76, 159); ch. 82, 170b—1715; ch. 83, 1724.

Introduction 53 Yet one should not equate the position of the two groups. Effectively all power was in the hands of the Christians, who could at any moment expel or persecute their Jewish subjects, as often happened. Moreover, along with the official Catholic

teachings of contempt, a number of superstitions adhered to the Jews in their character as a pariah people that considerably worsened their position. Of these the most important were the belief that the Jews were responsible for spreading disease, and specifically the plague, which had devastated Europe in the fourteenth century, the belief that the Jews used Christian blood for ritual purposes and specifically for the making of matzah, and the belief that the Jews desecrated the host, the bread and wine used in the Christian Mass. The Black Death appears to have had relatively little impact in Poland—indeed, this may have been one of the reasons why the Jews who were being expelled from elsewhere in central Europe were able to settle there. But accusations of child murder and of host desecration became well established in Poland. The belief that some (or all) Jews engaged in these practices was widespread, as it was elsewhere in Europe. At the end of the seventeenth century Father Stefan Zuchowski, one of the principal proponents of this myth, published a work in verse entitled Odgtos procesu przewtedzionego w Trybunale Koronnym R.P. 1698 (‘An Account of a ‘Trial which Took Place in the Royal Tribunal in the Year of Our Lord 1698’).'°° This contained a detailed account of an alleged ritual murder in Sandomierz. Zuchowski writes: Let me tell the story of an unheard-of and cruel crime. Of how the Jews consumed Christian blood like hungry dogs At the end of the celebrations of their holiday How they stabbed to death an innocent infant without blemish .. . The Jews have a secret law proclaimed to them by their false prophets And written down in their Talmud that they should consume the ‘Euicomen’. This is blood which has to be consumed in unsalted bread or dissolved in wine. Its purpose is to celebrate their feasts. They believe it purifies the spirit. If one of them has a suppurating abscess, they believe that it will only heal When they sprinkle on it innocent blood. In the same way they believe this syrup derived from an infant Cures the pain caused by the moon to those of either sex. They also give food with this blood to noble Lords, so that They will be more willing to look kindly on the affairs of the Yids. Thus, if fate so decides, a living child Has to pay with his life to provide this blood, think about this! They roll the body so that the blood comes out And saturates cloths ready for this purpose Or they strain it into suitable vessels. This they later divide among all of them assembled. 136 Quoted in M. Rostworowski (ed.), Zydzi w Polsce: Obraz i slowo (Krakéw, 1997), 203.

54 Antony Polonsky In 1758, when the views of the Enlightenment were beginning to penetrate to Poland—Lithuania, Father Pikulski, another Catholic priest, could still assert that in Poland Jews needed thirty gallons of blood every year, and needed even more in Lithuania.’°’ He explained this by the distortions introduced by the ‘accursed talmudists’ into the Jewish religion, which had therefore diverged fundamentally from the Law of God revealed to the Jews by Moses. Similarly, according to Jedrzej

Kitowicz, the author of Opis obyczajow za panowania Augusta III, a popular account of life and manners under the last Saxon king: ‘Freedom cannot exist without the /iberum veto, and nor can Jewish matzah without Christian blood.’!?8 The garbled way in which Jewish rituals were perceived often led to tragic con-

sequences. Hanna Wegrzynek, in her chapter, describes a Purim procession in which Haman in chains, possibly portrayed by a Christian, was led through the Jewish street and splashed with mud by the Jewish onlookers. This was taken to be a sacrilegious parody of the Passion of Christ, and led to a number of Jews being tried for descrating the host; we do not know how the case turned out. It is perhaps

an indicator both of the depth of Christian ignorance and prejudice and of the degree of Jewish security that nearly two centuries later the bishop of PrzemySl issued a ban on Christians taking part in such ceremonies. By now, however, he was well informed about the nature of Purim and the Jewish commemoration of it. According to a recent study of ritual murder trials by Zenon Guldon and Jacek

Wyaczka, between 1547 and 1787 there were eighty-one cases of ritual murder:

sixteen in the sixteenth century, thirty-three in the seventeenth century, and thirty-two in the eighteenth century.!°? This does not include the less frequent accusation of host desecration. Not all of these accusations resulted in trials, and not all trials resulted in conviction. These conclusions upset the previously held view that there was an increase in the number of trials after 1648. What does seem true is that the influence of the nobility and clergy in such cases was greater after 1648,

and as a consequence justice was more partial. Torture was now uniformly used to extract confessions, and the goal of obtaining conversions had become more important. Thus, after a ritual murder trial in Zhitomir in 1759 thirteen Jews were baptized. Of the six Jews condemned, three converted, either to obtain an easier

execution or to be spared. ,

The last ritual murder trial in eighteenth-century Poland took place in Olkusz, near Krakow, in 1787 and did not result in a conviction. These trials came to an end as a result of new factors: the growing influence of the Enlightenment, which also affected the papacy, and the end of torture in judicial proceedings. As early as 1636 the great Dutch jurist Hugo Grotius had declared in response to a letter from a

(Lviv, 1758).

137 G,. Pikulski, Z/osé zydowska przeciwko Bogut blizniemu, prawdzie 1 sumnieniu na objasmiente przek-

letych talmudystow na dowdd ich zaslepienta 1 religu daleko od Prawa Boskiego przez Mojzesza danego 138 J. Kitowicz, Opis obyczajow za panowania Augusta III (Wroclaw, 1950), 175. 139 Guldon and Wijaczka, ‘The Accusation of Ritual Murder in Poland’.

Introduction 55 Polish Protestant, Jerzy Stupecki, that accusations that Jews used Christian blood were false and that testimony obtained under torture was worthless.!*° In 1756 one _ of those accused in a ritual murder trial in Yampol (Volhynia), Jakub Selek (Zelek), who had managed to escape from gaol, was sent by the Va’ad Arba Aratsot to the Apostolic See to implore Benedict XIV to protect Jews from accusations of ritual

murder. The document he carried with him detailed unjust charges made against the Jews not only in Yampol, but also in Shepetovka, Zaslav, Zhitomir, and near Ostra. The intervention was effective. The papal nuncio Cardinal Corsini di Visconti wrote to Henryk Brihl, the first minister of the Polish court. Both Benedict XIV and the new Pope, Clement XIII, condemned these trials. According to them, ‘there was no evidence that Jews need to add human blood to their unleavened bread [called] matzah’. Similarly, when Eibeschuetz prepared his refutation of the blood libel accusations of Frank, as we have seen, he obtained the support of two prominent Christian scholars of the pre-Enlightenment. He seems to have intended to send his submission to the royal Danish government, which was to forward it to the Church authorities in Rome or Lviv. We do not know whether it reached the higher authorities, or whether it had any significant impact. Certainly, it is clear that Mikulski, who orchestrated the Lviv disputation and who originally looked with favour on the blood libel, began to waver, in part because of the opposition of the higher Church authorities. Perhaps, as Leiman suggests, ‘Eibeschuetz’s testimony, and those of Michaelis and Semler, played a role after all’. In June 1775, in the course of a ritual murder trial in Warsaw in which all the accused were acquitted, the use of torture as a means of obtaining evidence was widely criticized. In the following year it was abolished by the Sejm, and no further trials were mounted before the final partition of Poland—Lithuania. The Enlightenment also impacted on Jewish life in other ways, as is clear from two other chapters that deal with the impact of the Haskalah on Jewish religious ideas. As first proclaimed by Moses Mendelssohn and his followers in Berlin, the Haskalah sought a major reform of Judaism that would purge it of its ‘medieval’ and ‘obscurantist’ features to bring it into harmony with the progressive temper of the age. The Bible was translated into German, printed with Hebrew characters, and provided with a commentary reflecting modern ‘rational’ concepts of how the divine revelation should be understood. In this way Mendelssohn hoped to wean his Jewish readers from what he regarded as outmoded ideas of biblical criticism and to bring out the universal truths that he believed were embodied in the Jewish religious tradition. The Berlin Haskalah had a major impact on Austrian-ruled Galicia in the first half of the nineteenth century. Its impact on the Kingdom of Poland and the areas directly incorporated into the tsarist empire was more slowly felt, and it only became a significant force in the last years of the reign of Nicholas I and the beginning of the reign of Alexander II. 140 Thid., 116, 134.

56 Antony Polonsky The maskilim were deeply hostile to the rise of the hasidic movement. An important part of David Assaf’s chapter is devoted to the way they treated the tragic death of Jacob Isaac Horowitz, the Seer of Lublin. Maskilic accounts of this event drew heavily on the views of the mitnagedim, who were the dominant force in Lublin before the arrival of the Seer in 1798. The first anonymous account, which

circulated in manuscript and seems to have been known to the Galician maskil Joseph Perl but was only published in 1904, was bitterly hostile. A generation later another satirical account of the Seer’s death was written by Isaac Erter (1791-1851), to be followed by a second written in the 1860s by the editor of Hamelits Alexander Tsederbaum (1816—93) and a third in the 1870s by the well-known rabbinic scholar Solomon (Shneur Zalman) Schechter (1847-1915). These last two were much less hostile to the Seer and to the hasidic movement in general, perhaps reflecting the

disillusionment felt by the second generation of maskilim at the policies of the tsarist government. One of the leading figures of the Galician Haskalah was Nahman Krochmal, author of Moreh nevukhei hazeman (‘Guide of the Perplexed of the Time’), whose title recalled the similarly named work by Maimonides, which had attempted in fourteenth-century Spain to reconcile the claims of revelation and reason. Krochmal’s goal was to achieve a similar reconciliation between normative Jewish belief and the new scholarly climate created, above all, by Protestant Bible criticism and by the historical consciousness fostered by Hegel and other German philosophers of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Aware of the dangers to traditional Judaism from these developments, he hoped to create a new synthesis that would reconcile them with normative belief. A central role in this project was to be played by his concept of the Oral Law, which he thought could be used to make the changes that the new conditions required of halakhah. As he put it: Our only intention in this work, and particularly in this chapter, is to give honour to our sages and their memory, to make peace between reason and the two Torahs, and to discover the root and the source of these things that are the objects of overwhelming scorn on the part of the nations of the world and the foolish among our own people.'*!

He believed that the development of halakhah had always been in conformity with the most advanced juridical theory of his time, so that it would be able to find interpretations of the Written Law adapted to the circumstances. In order to maintain this position, as Margarete Schluter sets out in her chapter, he made use of the letter written by Sherira, the Gaon of Pumbedita in Babylonia, in 987 explaining the character of the Oral Law. He also had recourse to Maimonides, ibn Daud, Zacut, and others, but Sherira’s argument was for him the most crucial.

| Krochmal’s attempt to create a ‘refined faith’ (emunah tserufah) that would provide a solution to the problem of how halakhah could be modified to meet modern 141 N. Krochmal, Kitvei rabi nahman krokhmal, ed. S. Rawidowicz, 2nd edn., 2 vols. (London, 1961), ll. 202.

Introduction 57 conditions in a generally acceptable manner was not successful. This is not surprising since, given the impact of secularization and the development of a historical con-

sciousness, the problem was now much more difficult than that faced by Rabbi — Isserles, Rabbi Luria, and Rabbi Slonik in the sixteenth century. The problem is still with us today, and the secular—religious divide is one of the most alarming in the Jewish world. We are conscious that we have not devoted as much attention in our yearbook as we should have to religious issues, and it is our intention to remedy this gap. It is our hope that a critical and dispassionate approach to Jewish religious history will not only enable us all to appreciate the complex nature of that history

but also set out useful guidelines for the future. ,

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Printing the ‘Talmud in Poland in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries KRZYSZTOF PILARCZYK DURING the second half of the sixteenth century and the first half of the seventeenth, Jewish printers in Poland established their printing houses in Krakow and Lublin. For Jewish typographers, Poland under the Jagiellonian dynasty, at that time the largest European country, offered an attractive market for books in the form of the Jewish communities. These communities had existed since the late Middle Ages and were still growing as Jews fled intensifying persecutions in western and southern Europe. The level of religious tolerance in multidenominational | Poland was considerably higher than that in other European countries. Besides the predominant Catholics, there were also Russian Orthodox in Ruthenia, Lutherans in Royal Prussia, and various denominations of the Reformed Church (Calvinists, Polish Brethren (Arians), and Czech Brethren), as well as other religious minorities. The Jews became more and more evident in this religious mosaic of sixteenthcentury Poland, especially in towns. They kept to their own communities, separated

from the wider society by culture and religion—a separation which they and the Catholic Church both wished to maintain. The Jews set up local authoritative bodies that organized social and religious life to such an extent that it is possible to speak of a distinctive Jewish culture. This was a culture of material and spiritual developments born out of many generations of conscious activity by Jews and handed down to succeeding generations, and it had a specifically religious element. Although this Jewish religious culture was distinct from the religious culture of other ethnic and national groups living in the Polish—Lithuanian Kingdom, it is difficult to determine the degree to which it differed from the religious culture of other

Jewish diasporas in modern history. The term ‘religious’ here is not to be understood in its narrow sense as inner spiritual life—as a relationship experienced between man and God (what the French mean by spiritualité)—nor is it encompassed by the German term geistiges Leben, which embraces higher levels of natural psychic life including science and art. Jewish religious culture is understood here as a form of spiritual life that embraces all expressions within the ethical, religious, ascetic, and mystical realms. It includes specific religious practices as well as religious, philosophical, and practical elements. Editions of the Talmud published by

Jewish printers in Poland in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are crucial

60 Krzysztof Pilarczyk sources for research on Jewish religious culture in the kingdom. Against the background of the earlier history of publication of the Talmud in Europe and the whole output of those earlier printers, an essential element of this culture becomes clear. Jews in the Polish diaspora in the second half of the sixteenth and the first half of the seventeenth centuries saw the development of Jewish typography as essential to

the normal functioning of Jewish communities everywhere. The members of the communities needed books to study the Torah, and in particular they needed the Talmud—the fundamental work on which rabbinic Judaism is based. The printers in Krakow and Lublin in this period satisfied the needs of the Jewish book market in Poland to a considerable degree while also competing with foreign printers. Jewish typography in Poland, managed by a few families over two or three generations,

could not equal that of Venetian printers or later of Dutch printers, who had a much greater influence on culture and economy and served many European communities. Nevertheless, printers in Poland played a significant role in printing the Talmud. After the first edition, which appeared in Spain, in Guadalajara (Castile), in 1480~2(?), and after another, printed by the Soncino family in Italy (Soncino and

Pesaro) in 1484-1519, the Polish printers were the first Jewish typographers in Europe to publish the Talmud. This period between the appearance of the Spanish and Italian editions and that of what is generally known as the Polish edition was marked by disputes over the Talmud. Polemics on the work and its repression in Christian Europe began in the

thirteenth century and lasted until the seventeenth century. Occasionally they intensified, then declined and sometimes even ceased when the Talmud attracted a prominent patron to recommend its study—as Pope Clement V did in 1307—-or who allowed it to be distributed by Christian printers for purposes of missionary work to the Jews after the invention of printing.

However, the prevailing Christian notion of Jewish perversion, which dated

back to the thirteenth century, was used to justify Church attacks on the Talmud , through censorship, prohibition of its study (in Pope Eugenius [V’s 1437 decision at the Council of Basel), confiscation, and burning. Polemics against the Talmud intensified at the beginning of the sixteenth century, mainly because of a dispute between Johannes Pfeffernkorn, a baptized Jewish convert, and Johannes Reuchlin, an eminent German Hebraist. This dispute divided the Roman Catholic world, including popes and monarchs, for years, with extreme opponents of the Talmud aiming at the complete destruction of all its copies, while its adherents at Christian universities held specially founded chairs of Judaic and Hebrew studies. The dispute never formally came to an end; instead another event, namely Martin Luther’s posting of the ninety-five theses on a church door in Wittenberg in 1517, shifted the focus of attention. In an indirect expression of his position on the dispute between Pfeffernkorn and Reuchlin Pope Leo X gave Daniel Bomberg, a Christian printer from Amster-

Printing the Talmud in Poland 61 dam whose workshop was in Venice, the capital of European typography, his consent to print the complete Talmud. The Pope’s purpose was to develop studies of Judaism to support Catholic missionary work among Jews, but despite this, Jewish scholars helped Bomberg to print the Talmud, and he eventually published three editions. Another Venetian printer, Giustiniani, also published a complete edition. However, the majority of talmudic treatises published in Venice in 1519-51 were not used for missionary work but were bought by Jews and used for educational purposes, despite the censor’s intervention in certain parts. This alarmed _ the Pope, who made several attempts to control the printing of the Talmud through his ambassador in Venice. Eventually, in 1553, Pope Julius HI ordered the confiscation and burning of the Talmud, and this was most quickly accomplished in Rome. The command was also enforced by Julius III’s successor, Paul IV, whom Jews called the Haman of the sixteenth century: the first index of forbidden books, which was issued during his pontificate by the Congregation of the Inquisition, included the Talmud. However, the election of Pope Pius IV gave rise to hopes, subsequently justified, for a change in the policy. The Talmud was on the agenda of the Council of ‘Trent in its final sessions in 1563 and a decision on the subject was taken after the council

had dissolved. In 1564 the papal Curia published the revised Index librorum prohibitorum, 1 which the Talmud was included. At the same time the possibility

was raised that it could be treated as a tolerated book provided that the title ‘Talmud’ and the fragments that supposedly insulted the Christian faith were removed. Moreover, to publish the Talmud printers needed formal consent from a Church censor appointed by the Holy Office or by the local bishop. This legal regulation of Pius IV remained in force in predominantly Catholic countries for over 300 years, although its application varied from place to place. Sometimes repression of the Talmud intensified considerably, even to the degree that 1t was forbidden to possess a copy in any Christian country (as under Clement VIII; 1592-1605). As a result, for three and a half centuries after 1554 neither Christian nor Jewish printers in Italy dared to print any talmudic tracts. The Talmud was printed, however, in Poland, Turkey, and Basel (which belonged to the Swiss Confederation from 1501), and in the second half of the seventeenth century and the eighteenth century it was also printed in other German towns; but editions of the Talmud printed by Jewish printers in Poland—in Lublin and Krakow—were particularly important to Jews throughout Europe because they contained the

fewest omissions and modifications to the text. | Taking the production of those printers as a whole, we find that editions of the Talmud outstripped other groups of printed works such as the books of the Bible, prayer-books, halakhic literature, devotional books, and grammars. ‘Thus over 100 ' The printers of the Talmud in Lublin were Hayim ben Isaac, Eliezer ben Isaac, Joseph and Kalonymus ben Mordecai Jaffe, and Tsevi ben Abraham Kalonymus Jaffe; and the Krakow printers were Isaac ben Aaron Prostitz and Aaron ben Isaac Prostitz.

62 Krzysztof Pilarczyk talmudic tracts were printed in Krakow in this period and about sixty in Lublin. The total number of copies printed is unknown, but if 300—500 copies per edition are estimated, then some 48,000 to 80,000 came out of Jewish printing houses in Poland.

In printing the Talmud, Jewish printers realized the talmudic principle of spreading knowledge of the Torah, which is a religious duty. Publication of the Talmud contributed to the development of talmudic study and to the Talmud’s wide dispersal. Its publication also supported the complex process of education in which rabbis, yeshiva rectors, judges of the rabbinical courts, kahal managing boards, Jewish families, and especially fathers, who were responsible for the religious upbringing of their sons—in sum, whole communities—were involved in transmitting the religious tradition. In Poland, the European centre of Judaism from the sixteenth century onwards, the transmission of the Torah through the printing of the Talmud consolidated national and religious identity. While in Europe its printing was considerably limited by successive popes, and in Italian states it was forbidden outright, the Jewish

printers in Poland accepted the challenge of ensuring religious continuity through the newly invented printed word. Printing very rapidly assumed a privileged position in Judaism, which had cultivated the sacred texts for centuries. In their work the Jewish printers in Poland who reproduced the Talmud carried on the traditions of their fellows in the art of printing from Spain and Italy. They maintained consistency in religious transmission so that succeeding generations of Jewish believers

adhered to religious rituals on the pattern of previous generations. Owners of Jewish printing houses in Poland, like their predecessors on the Iberian peninsula and in Italy, decided what was to be printed themselves; their decisions were met with enthusiasm in Jewish communities both in the Polish lands and abroad, where interest in the Talmud remained high despite the fact that its possession was not always permitted. Talmudic tracts printed by Jewish printers in Poland were used in the yeshivas as the basic text for education and for the formation of religious culture. Nevertheless, few Jewish scholars wanted to be involved professionally in the preparation of talmudic texts for printing. Some were afraid of failure, and others simply had to devote their time to education or other responsibilities within their communities. While the printing of the Talmud in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in Jewish printing houses in Matopolska fostered the growth of talmudic studies, considerably fewer non-biblical and non-talmudic works were printed in these houses. Education narrowed to the study of the sources of Jewish law, particularly the Talmud and the Pentateuch, contributing to the specific character of Jewish religious culture in the period. This type of religious culture prevailed in the Jewish communities of Poland for several decades. The Jews in Poland abandoned wider education of the kind found in the Spanish diaspora in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which included education in the Bible and Talmud, as well as in Hebrew

Printing the Talmud in Poland 63 grammar, the relationship between philosophy and revelation, Aristotle’s logic as interpreted by Averroes, elements of Euclid’s geometry, arithmetic, optics, astronomy, music, mechanics, medicine, the natural sciences, and metaphysics. Consequently, some scholars conclude that pre-Haskalah Ashkenazi Jewish culture, including that of Polish Jewry, was impoverished in comparison to the cultural richness of medieval Spanish Jewry. Yeshivas in Poland in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were shaped by groups of Jewish scholars—more numerous than is generally supposed—who focused on the halakhic literature in religious education. Their modes of thought and religious life spread to the communities of western Europe, where many Polish rabbis assumed important positions and thus influenced the Jewish religious culture of those regions. Generally speaking, the intellectual horizons of followers of the variant of Judaism that came from Polish lands were limited to theology; those Jews who possessed knowledge of the so-called profane sciences, such as medicine or pharmacy, gained it abroad, mainly in Italy.

. The general preference for the printed Talmud over other works as a means of transmitting religious culture at times led to strong reliance on the Talmud— despite the reservations of some rabbis—in the developed but uncontrolled system of Jewish education in Poland, with its prevailing pi/pul, or ‘Polish-rabbinical’” method. Pilpul was spread in the yeshivas of western Europe from the seventeenth century by the epigones of eminent rabbis of the ‘golden age’ of Judaism in Poland. In Bataban’s critical evaluation of their activities he wrote that ‘they only digested

and strengthened the heritage of their great predecessors and did not create anything new or make any progress in studies of the Talmud’.? The Jewish scholars from the Polish lands who moved to western Europe from the second half of the seventeenth century imparted their knowledge to their new communities. They did not, however, contribute more generally to the growth of culture because they knew neither the social make-up of German and Dutch communities nor the culture of these new countries where they were living. The situation of these scholars was described, in a typically prejudiced way, by Graetz as follows: Polish talmudists were proud of their superiority and looked disdainfully on German, Portuguese, and Italian rabbis. Not wanting to lose their specific identities in a foreign country, they demanded that the whole world adjust to them—and they had their way. People joked about ‘Poles’, but obeyed all their commands. . .. Whoever wanted to gain thorough talmudic and rabbinic knowledge had to sit at the feet of the Polish talmudists. Every father of a family who wanted to bring up his children in the spirit of the Talmud sought a Polish ‘rabbi’ for them. The Polish rabbis slowly imposed their sophisticated piety and all elements 2 A term used by Heinrich Graetz. 3 M. Balaban, Historja 1 literatura 2ydowska, iii (Lviv, 1925), 306; cf. M. Graetz, ‘Der kulturelle

Austausch zwischen den jiidischen Gemeinden in Polen und Deutschland im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert’, in K. E. Grozinger (ed.), Die wirtschaftlichen und kulturellen Beztehungen zwischen den judischen Gemeinden in Polen und Deutschland vom 16. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert (Wiesbaden, 1992), 83-8.

ones...“ | 64 Krzysztof Pilarczyk

of spirit on the German communities and, less completely, on the Portuguese and Italian

The history of the publication of the Talmud in the period of the Kingdom of Poland allows us to acquaint ourselves, however fragmentarily, with the cultural output of the Jews living in the Polish lands, and especially with those elements of religious culture that are characteristic of the mid-sixteenth to the mid-seventeenth ~ centuries and that influenced later periods. 4 H. Graetz, Historia Zydow (Krakow, 1990), iii. 373-4.

Isaac of ‘Troki’s Studies of

Rabbinic Literature STEFAN SCHREINER

JOSEPH SOLOMON DELMEDIGO (1591-1655), the well-known scholar of the first half of the seventeenth century who spent five years of his life in the Polish— Lithuanian Commonwealth as court physician to Prince Krzysztof Radziwilt,' reported in his letters on various occasions that truly learned people and men of secular culture could be encountered there only among the Karaites; they could not be encountered among the Jews (that is, the Rabbanite Jews), who knew nothing except the Talmud, and contented themselves with talmudic study. The Karaites, however, were ‘open to secular sciences and interested in them [ohavim hahokhmot

hahitsoniyoty .” ,

This statement reflects the personal view not only of Delmedigo; such views are well attested in a number of other sources from that time. These sources clearly indicate that in the second half of the sixteenth and first half of the seventeenth centuries it was precisely the Karaites, and not the Rabbanites, who represented the intellectual elite in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth (as Israel Zinberg observed many years ago).? The list of names of Karaites, and members of the Lithuanian Karaite community in particular, that might be quoted here to corroborate Zinberg’s observation is accordingly lengthy. One of the outstanding members of the sixteenth-century Karaite community in Lithuania, if not its most prominent intellectual, was the famous Isaac ben Abraham of ‘Troki (¢.1533-c.1594), whose major work, the Hizuk emunah, occupies a particular place in the history of Christian— Jewish polemics.

Isaac ben Abraham spent almost all his life in his native Trakai (Yiddish and An extended version of this chapter is to be published in the Frankfurter FJudaistische Beitrage.

' S. Schreiner, ‘Josef Shelomo Delmedigos Aufenthalt in Polen-Litauen’, in G. Veltri (ed.), Geschichte und Kultur der Juden in der Renaissance. Neue Wege der Forschung (Leiden, 1999).

2 Joseph Solomon Delmedigo, ‘Sefer novelot hokhmah’, in his Sefer ta’alumot hokhmah, 2 vols. (Basel, 1631), 11. 64, quoted in J. Mann, Texts and Studies in Jewish History and Literature, 2 vols., ii:

Karaitica (New York, 1972), 676 n. 1054; id., Sefer elm (Amsterdam, 1629), 131; Abraham Geiger (ed.), Melo chofnajim (Berlin, 1840), 14 ff.; cf. introduction, ibid., p. xxxii.

3 J. Zinberg, History of Fewish Literature, 12 vols. (first pub. Vilna, 1929-37, 8 vols.; Cleveland, 1973-8), 1Vv. 157.

66 Stefan Schreiner Polish: Troki), the old capital of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, near Vilna (hence.

his more widely used name, Isaac Troki). In Trakai, which at that time was the cultural and intellectual centre of the Lithuanian Karaites,* he served both the Karaite and the Rabbanite communities for several years as dayan (member of the beit

din) and shofet (Polish: wojt; mayor).° For a year he was also the secretary of the Va’ad Medinat Lita, the Supreme Council of the Lithuanian Karaites,° and he was not the only Karaite representing both communities to the Polish—Lithuanian authorities. Against the Rabbanites, the Karaites claimed to constitute an integral part of the Jewish people. As Mark Waysblum rightly noted, ‘the term “Jew” in Lithuania of the sixteenth century had the same juridical meaning in respect of both the Rabbanites and the Karaites’.’ When he speaks of himself and his Karaite co-religionists, Isaac speaks of “we Jews [anahnu hayehudim]’. Unfortunately, very little is known about the life of Isaac Troki.? However, from

his book and from the testimony of his disciple and the editor of his book Joseph

ben Mordecai Malinowski of Krakow, we know that he was renowned in his generation for his great erudition. Well trained in Hebrew, Yiddish, and Jewish tradition, he mastered Polish and Latin as well. In addition, he acquired a profound * See S. W. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews (New York, 1976), pp. xvi, 8-9, 320 n.

7; S. Szyszman, Das Kardetum. Lehre und Geschichte (Vienna, 1983), 85, 111; N. Davies, God’s Playground: A History of Poland, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1986), i. 191; N. Schur, History of the Karaites (Frankfurt am Main, 1992), 101-12; id., Karaite Encyclopedia (Frankfurt am Main, 1995), 280-2; M. Greenbaum, The fews of Lithuania: A History of a Remarkable Community, 1316-1945 (Jerusalem,

1995), 155-9. ° See Mann, Texts and Studies, ii. 714. ® See Isaac’s minutes from the year 1553, confirmed in 1568 (in Mann, Texts and Studies, ii. 769-90).

7 M. Waysblum, ‘Isaac of Troki and Christian Controversy in the XVI Century’, Journal of Jewish Studies, 3 (1952), 65. 8 See Evreiskaya entsiklopediya, s.v. ‘Troki, Isaak ben Abraham’; I. Markon, “Troki 2’, in G. Herlitz

and B. Kirschner (eds.), Jiidisches Lexicon, 5 vols. (Berlin, 1927-30), iv/2 (1930), cols. 1058-9; Encyclopedia Judaica (Jerusalem, 1971), s.v. “T'roki, Isaac ben Abraham’. See also A. Geiger, [Isaak Trokt. Ein Apologet des Judentums (Breslau, 1853), repr. in id., Nachgelassene Schriften, 5 vols. (Breslau,

1875-8; 2nd edn. 1885), ili. 178-223; J. H. R. Biesenthal, ‘Der Karait Isac Trocki’ (sic), Feschurun, 2

(1860), 28-31, 57-67, 357-03; 3 (1861), 13-21, 44-50, 69-76, 101-6; H. Schwabedissen and H. L. Strack, ‘Isaak Troki und seine Zeit’, Nathanael, 5 (1889), 52-69; M. Balaban, Historja 1 literatura zydowska, ze szezegolnym uwzglednieniem historjt Zyddow w Polsce, 3 vols. (Lviv, 1925; Warsaw, 1982),

ii. 254 ff.; S. Dubnow, Weltgeschichte des jtidischen Volkes, trans. A. Steinberg, 10 vols. (Berlin, 1925-9), vi. 379-85; Mann, Texts and Studies, 11. 714-20; Waysblum, ‘Isaac of Troki and Christian

Controversy’; E. L. Dietrich, ‘Das jiidisch-christliche Religionsgesprach am Ausgang des 16. Jahrhunderts nach dem Handbuch des R. Isaak Troki’, Jud, 14 (1958), 1-39, esp. 1-8 (this article is the basis for H. J. Schoeps, Fudisch-christhches Religionsgesprach in neunzehnten Jahrhunderten (Munich, 1961; Konigstein, 1984), 87-96); T. Weiss-Rosmarin, Hizzug Emunah; or, Faith Strengthened, trans. M. Mocatta (London, 1851; New York, 1970), pp. vili—xi; E. I. J. Rosenthal, ‘Jiidische Antwort’, in K. H. Rengstorf and S. V. Kortzfleisch (eds.), Kirche und Synagoge. Handbuch zur Geschichte von Christen und Fuden, 2 vols., 1 (Stuttgart, 1968; Munich, 1988), 307-62, esp. 354-7; Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews, 75-6, 351 n. 82; J. Maier, Geschichte der jtidischen Religion (Freiburg, 1992), 506; Schur, Karaite Encyclopedia, 282; S. Schreiner, ‘Jes 53 in der Auslegung des Sepher Chizzug Emuna

von R. Isaak ben Avraham aus Troki’, in B. Janowski and P. Stuhlmacher (eds.), Der letdende Gottesknecht. Jes 53 und seine Wirkungsgeschichte (Tiibingen, 1996), 159-95, esp. 160 ff.

Isaac of Trokt and Rabbinic Literature 67 knowledge of history, both Jewish and general, and was familiar with classical and contemporary Christian theological literature. His familiarity with Christian theological literature was the result of his involve-

ment in a series of interreligious disputations that he had entered into with ~ Catholic, Lutheran, Calvinist, and Unitarian theologians in Trakai when he was still young. In the preface to Hizuk emunah he tells us: When I was young, I debated with bishops [hegemonim] and the officials of the lands. I was frequently in the courts of the nobles and royal counsellors. I became familiar with their works, listened to their words, and became convinced that they were extremely ignorant and that all their arguments and questions they put forward in their disputations only demonstrate how little they understand the text of the Bible. (p. 9)?

Isaac’s book, written in old age, was another result of these interreligious dispu-

tations. He decided to systematize the conclusions in one book, hoping that in future the book might serve his co-religionists as a hizuk emunah (‘strengthening of faith’), as he called it in an allusion to Isaiah 35: 3 (p. 8). The book itself consists of two parts, whose concept and composition Isaac describes in his preface (p. 12). In the first part (pp. 1-282), which consists of fifty chapters, he deals at length with the Christian interpretation of the Hebrew Bible, focusing on all those passages that

were traditionally read as prooftexts for the Christian dogma. The second part (pp. 283-354), which is much shorter although it consists of 100 chapters, contains a thorough discussion of the large number of New Testament texts that refer to the Hebrew Bible. Isaac carefully analysed not only the biblical texts, but also the Christian commentaries on them. In an objective and scholarly way he eventually demonstrated

that insufficient knowledge of Hebrew philology and history on the part of the Christian exegetes produced an interpretation of the Hebrew Bible that is com; pletely unacceptable. Time and again he succeeded in exposing all the weak points and logical inconsistencies contained in the New Testament texts and subsequently repeated by Christian exegetes and theologians. The arguments Isaac put forward in his refutation of the Christian interpretation of the Bible were not only his own but also those ‘he received from other books and authors’ (p. 10). In preparing his book, he had immersed himself in the study of a great variety of both Jewish and Christian books, and throughout his work he made extensive use of these sources, often quoting from them verbatim, either to obtain support from them for his own views or to argue against them. The list of books that Isaac studied and subsequently cited is remarkably long, demonstrating both his great erudition and, at the same time, giving us an idea of the library available to him—which included works in Hebrew, Latin, and Polish. His Christian

sources in general, and the Unitarian ones in particular, were identified and ” References to Isaac’s book are to D. Deutsch’s edition (Sohrau, 1865~73). Later references are to part and chapter.

68 Stefan Schreiner described years ago,!? but much less attention has been paid to his Jewish sources.

This is all the more surprising as at least some titles and authors are mentioned specifically. Others, however, if alluded to or even quoted, remain unidentified; he himself did not reveal the names of all the books he had on his shelves. The only list of Jewish books in Isaac’s library was compiled more than 130 years ago by Rabbi David Deutsch, and it 1s to him that we owe the first Jewish edition

and German translation of Isaac’s Hizuk emunah.'' Unfortunately, Deutsch confined himself to a list of those authors and books mentioned explicitly by name or title. Anonymous works and authors are omitted; perhaps the interpreter was unable to identify them. Above all, Isaac carefully studied the Bible. That he was intimate with the entire text of the Hebrew Bible can easily be inferred from his book, since to a large extent it consists of biblical quotations. A masterpiece in this regard—demonstrating at the same time the author’s mastery of the Hebrew language—is the preface. Almost half of its text is composed of quotations from no less than seventy-three biblical verses, selected from nearly all twenty-four books of the Hebrew Bible. As to Isaac’s other Jewish sources, most astonishing perhaps is the fact that, although he was

a Karaite, he does not mention a single Karaite text; among these texts we find rabbinic works of Rabbanite origin only, including the Sephardi prayer-book, which he quotes at least once (I. 22, p. 162). With reference to Jeremiah 29: 7 and Mishnah, Pirkei avot 3: 2 he cites the so-called prayer for the king ‘Eloheinu shebashamayim ten hayim veshalom lamelekh adonenu, eloheinu shebashamayim ten

shalom ba’arets, eloheinu shebashamayim ten shalom bamalkhut’, and so on, according to Sephardi ritual. Formally, the sources Isaac studied in researching his book may be divided into two groups: those that Isaac himself identified by author and/or title and those that are clearly identifiable although he did not name them explicitly. With respect to their content, each group can further be subdivided into four sections: biblical commentaries (parshanut) originating mainly in the Middle Ages; books on history;

books on philosophy; and classical rabbinic literature (Targum, Mishnah, and Talmud). The first section includes among others the works of Don Isaac ben Judah Abrabanel (1437-1508), Isaac ben Moses Arama (c.1420-1497/4), and David ben Joseph Kimhi (1160-1235). Of Isaac Abrabanel’s works, two are explicitly cited: the commentary Mirkevet hamishneh on Deuteronomy 4: 32~—4 (I. 7, p. 75), from which he obtained support for his refutation of the Christian notion that the present 10 See R. Dan, ‘Isaac Troky and his “Antitrinitarian” Sources’, in Dan (ed.), Occident and Orient: A Tribute to the Memory of Alexander Schetber (Budapest, 1988), 69-82. Cf. J. M. Rosenthal, ‘Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of BelZyce. Arian—Jewish Encounters in Sixteenth Century Poland’, Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, 34 (1966), 77-95; see also id., ‘R. ya’akov mibelzitse vesifro

havikui’, Gal-ed, 1 (1973), 13-30. |

11 The list appears on p. 395. A full list of all MSS and printed editions is still lacking.

Isaac of Trokt and Rabbinic Literature 69 exile will never end,’* and Ma’ayanei hayeshuah, Abrabanel’s commentary on Daniel 9: 24-7 (I. 42, p. 252), where he found his answer to the Christian interpretation of Daniel 9: 26.'° Isaac refers to Isaac Arama once by name. Of his works Isaac knew the Akedat yttshak and the tractate on the relationship between religion and philosophy Hazut

kashah (1. 7, p. 75). From the Akedat yitshak—a Bible commentary which was widely known and read among Christians at the time!*—he quoted from the explication of the commentary on the Torah portion ‘Va’ethanan’ (Deut. 3: 23 —7: 11)*° and from Hazut kashah.'© Rabbi David Kimhi is mentioned in chapter 21 of Isaac’s work (I. 21, pp. 136-7), where Isaac cites his commentary on Isaiah 7: 14 to disprove the Christian reading of the ‘sign of Immanuel’. Here Kimhi is Isaac’s foremost authority for establishing the true identity of Immanuel.'’ Although Isaac mentions Kimhi by name only once in his book, he uses his commentaries frequently,'® quite often referring to Kimhi’s commentaries on Isaiah and Psalms. As I have mentioned elsewhere,! this extensive presence of Kimhi undoubtedly arises out of the fact that his commentaries on the Bible were printed in Jacob ben Hayim ibn Adoniyah’s Biblia Rabbinica (Mikraot gedolot (Venice, 1525) ),2° which was reprinted twice in Isaac’s lifetime (1548 and 1568). I am certain that Isaac had a copy of this Biblia Rabbinica on his shelves, or at least had access to it. This would

also explain the impact of Rashi (Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac, 1040-1105) and Abraham ibn Ezra respectively on Isaac—an influence that is clearly discernible throughout his book, though he never explicitly mentions their names or commentaries. In addition to the Targum Onkelos, the commentaries of Kimhi, Rashi, and Abraham ibn Ezra were the pillars of the Biblia Rabbinica.*! 12° Perush al hatorah, 3 vols. (Jerusalem, 1964), iti. 59b—60a. 13° Ma’ayenei hayeshuah: perush al sefer dani’el (Jerusalem, 1960), 3736 ff. 14 See C. Sirat, A History of Fewish Philosophy in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1990), 389-92.

1° Sefer akedat yitshak, ed. H. J. Pollak, 5 vols. (Jerusalem, n.d.; Pressburg, 1849), v. gb—18a, esp. 16a—b.

16 This is the last chapter of the book; cf. Hazut kashah, ed. H. J. Pollak (unpaginated). 17 Cf. Mikraot gedolot nakh, 3 vols. (Warsaw, 1860), ii. 172.

18 T have pointed this out in my article on ch. 22 (the refutation of the Christian interpretation of Isaiah 52: 13-53: 12): Schreiner, ‘Jes 53 in der Auslegung des Sepher Chizzuq Emuna’, esp. 165-84. 19 Schreiner, ‘Josef Shelomo Delmedigos Aufenthalt in Polen-Litauen’, 61. 20 See J. First, Bebliotheca Judaica. Bibliographisches Handbuch der gesamten jiidischen Literatur, 3 vols. (Leipzig, 1849-63; Hildesheim, 1960), ii. 17; Y. Vinograd, Otsar hasefer ha’1urt, 2 vols. (Jerusalem, 1993-5), ll. 245, nos. 116-18, 250, no. 337, 254 No. 555.

21 On the front page of the first printed edition of the Biblia Rabbinica the following list is given: Pentateuch with Targum Onkelos and the commentaries of Rashi, Kimhi, and Levi ben Gershom; the Former Prophets with the commentaries of Rashi and ibn Ezra; the Latter Prophets: Isaiah with the commentaries of Rashi, Kimhi, and ibn Ezra, Jeremiah and Ezekiel with the commentaries of Rashi and

Kimhi, the Minor Prophets with the commentaries of Rashi and ibn Ezra; and the Hagiographa: the | Psalms with the commentaries of Rashi, Kimhi, and ibn Ezra, Proverbs with the commentaries of ibn Ezra and Levi ben Gershom, Job with the commentaries of ibn Ezra and Levi ben Gershom, Daniel

70 Stefan Schreiner | Isaac’s knowledge of Jewish history derives mainly from the Sefer hakabalah of Abraham ben David Halevi ibn Daud (c.1110—c.1180) and Josippon (tenth century), erroneously attributed to Joseph ben Gorion. Both works helped him to reconstruct the chronological framework of the Second Temple period. Abraham ibn Daud’s name (under the acronym Rabad) and his book are mentioned only twice (I. 34, pp. 208-9; I. 42, p. 248), but the book is quoted verbatim in other places (e.g. I. 42, pp. 243, 247).22 In one case, however, Isaac makes an error, quoting a paragraph from ibn Daud’s book that cannot in fact be found there. Although Isaac gives page references (‘pages 43 and 54’) (I. 34, p. 208), the quoted words do not occur in the Sefer hakabalah, and would bluntly contradict what ibn Daud wrote in that context”? regardless of the edition Isaac may have used (which, despite the apparently

precise details, cannot be identified).** |

There are no less than nine references to Josippon (I. 6, pp. 46, 48, 53; I. 17, p. III; 1. 34, p. 208; I. 42, pp. 248, 249, 2523 I. 43, p. 255), which suggests that, like many other medieval and pre-modern Jewish authors, Isaac regarded this book as the foremost sourcebook on Jewish history. Although we do not know which edition he had at his disposal, we can conclude that since he quotes Josippon almost throughout according to its parts and chapters, he could not have used the text that is trace-

able to the printer Abraham ben Solomon Conat (fifteenth century), but must have | used a copy of the version compiled by Judah Leon ben Moses Moskoni (c.1270). Whereas Abraham ben Solomon Conat’s text is not divided into chapters,”? Judah Leon Moskoni compiled his text of five different manuscripts of various lengths and subdivided it into six books and ninety-seven chapters. This version of Josippon was published for the first time in Istanbul in 1510 by Tam ibn Yahya (though under his own name), and was reprinted several times in Isaac’s lifetime;*° one of these with the commentaries of ibn Ezra and Sa’adya Ga’on, Ezra with the commentaries of ibn Ezra and Rashi, Chronicles with the commentary attributed to Rashi, and the Five Scrolls with the commentaries of Rashi and ibn Ezra. 22 The Book of Tradition: ‘Sefer ha-gabbalah’ by Abraham ibn Daud. A Critical Edition with Translation and Notes, ed. G. D. Cohen (London, 1969), p. 6, lines 51-2; p. 8, lines 82 ff.; p. 9, lines 102-4 and line 105 (Hebrew text); p. 10, lines 116-17; p. 12, lines 164 ff.; p. 14, lines 195-9 and 2o1 (Eng.

trans.). 23 Cf. ibid., p. 9, lines 102—4 (Hebrew text); p. 14, lines 195-9 (Eng. trans.).

24 The first edition, together with the Seder olam raba vezuta, megilat ta’anit etc., was printed in Mantua in 1514 (Vinograd, Otsar, ii. 462, no. 14); a second edition was printed in Venice in 1545 (ibid. ii. 248, no. 249) and a third in Basel in 1580 (ibid. 11. 98, nos. 64~5). In Isaac’s lifetime a printed Latin translation of the Sefer hakabalah was also available: G. Genebrand, Seder olam suta, una cum initio cum versione latina (Paris, 1572); see Furst, Bibliotheca Fudaica, i. 7-8: ‘Der hebr. Text betragt 8 Seiten, das Anfangsstiick des Buchs, die darauf folgende lat. Uebers. 18 Seiten; Abdruck u. Uebersetzung ist nach der Ven[ediger] Ausg. [von 1545]? (“The Hebrew text consists of 8 pages, 1.e. the first section of the book, and the following Latin translation of 18 pages. Text and translation are based on the Venice 1545 edition’). 25 The first printed edition appeared in Mantua in 1480. Sebastian Munster translated it into Latin and published it in 1541 in Basel. A list of the early editions may be found in Furst, Bibliotheca Judaica, u1.

I1I—13. 26 The Venice and Krak6éw editions of 1589 are based on Tam ibn Yahya’s text.

Isaac of Troki and Rabbinic Literature 71 editions was published in 1589 in Poland by Isaac ben Aaron Prostitz (Prossnitz) in Krakow.”’ To establish the genealogy of the descendants of the biblical figure Zerubbabel and to reconstruct the chronology of the Second Temple period, Isaac quotes from

two other early works on history which greatly influenced the development of Jewish historical tradition and consciousness, the Seder olam zuta (I. 14, p. 101)*° and the Seder olam rabah (1. 42, p. 243). These works may have come to his attention as a result of the fact that both were printed with Abraham ibn Daud’s Sefer hakabalah in all earlier editions. At least once Isaac made use of the Sefer hamasaot of Rabbi Benjamin ben Jonah of Tudela (c.1110—c.1173) (I. 8, p. 76),?" from which he obtained information concerning the “Ten Lost Tribes of Israel’. His words, however, differ slightly from

the relevant paragraphs in the Sefer hamasaot.°° Furthermore, we know that Isaac | had already read the 7semah david of David ben Solomon Gans (1541-1613) since he bases his arguments on it in two places where he discusses the abrogation of the sabbath and the substitution of Sunday for it (I. 19, p. 124; I. 30, p. 193). Whereas the first quotation is not found in David Gans’s book (Isaac might have confused him here with Joseph Albo, to whom he refers in a similar context; I. 30, p. 265°°), the second one is correct.*? Nevertheless, the reference to David Gans is all the more striking as his 7semah david had only just been published in 1592 in Prague (that is, six months before Isaac’s death). In addition, Isaac had equally carefully studied Marcin Bielski’s famous Polish Kronitka swiata (1555), which served as his primary source for general history. Except for Isaac Arama’s Hazut kashah, the only philosophical text explicitly cited in Isaac’s book remains the Sefer ha’tkarim of Joseph Albo (d. ¢.1444) (II. 67, p. 333). Although the name Albo does not appear (Isaac calls him ‘hehakham ba’al sefer ha’tkarim’: ‘the scholar, the author of the Book of Principles’), there can be no doubt about his identity as it is clear from the text of the citation (II. 25; Iv. 26). It was not, however, a philosophical argument that Isaac was searching for 1n the Sefer ha ikarim; rather he sought a historical resolution to the problem of the duration of King Saul’s reign.*° 27 Vinograd, Otsar, ii. 635, no. 121.

28 In this chapter, however, Isaac does not quote verbatim from the Seder olam zuta. He alludes rather to Seder olam zuta, chs. 5~7, ed. M. Grosberg (London, 1910; Jerusalem, 1970), 12-27.

29 Its first printed edition appeared in 1543 in Istanbul; a second (revised) version came out in 1556~7 in Ferrara (see S. Schreiner, Benjamin von Tudela und Petachja von Regensburg. fFudische Reisen wm Muittelalter (Leipzig, 1991; Cologne, 1998), 165-6; Vinograd, Otsar, 11. 531, no. 42; 606, no. 180.

3° Cf. D. J. Eisenstein (ed.), ‘Otsar massaot’: A Collection of Itineraries by Fewish Travellers (New York, 1926), 35, 38a (chs. 17 and 20); The Itinerary of Benyamin of Tudela: Critical Text, Translation, and Commentary, ed. M. N. Adler (London, 1907; New York, 1970), 51, 54 (Hebrew), 54, 59 (English); German: Schreiner, Benjamin von Tudela, 85, go. 31 Cf. Joseph Albo, Sefer ha’ikarim, ed. I. Husik, 5 vols. (Philadelphia, 1946), iii. 242, lines 1-4. 32 Cf. D. Gans, Sefer tsemah david, ed. M. Breuer (Jerusalem, 1983), 240. 33 Cf. Albo, Sefer ha’ikarim, iti. 242, lines 2-5; vi. 1, 241.

72 Stefan Schreiner The classical rabbinic literature that Isaac studied includes a variety of writings,

beginning with Targum Onkelos, which was accessible to him because it was printed in the Biblia Rabbinica. To establish the true meaning of the obscure word shiloh in Genesis 49: 10 (‘until shiloh comes’), for example, Isaac referred to Targum Onkelos and derived shiloh from the use of the Hebrew shilyah (‘afterbirth’) in Deuteronomy 28: 57, which Onkelos rendered as ‘her youngest child’; shi/oh thus is ‘the last offspring’ (of David), that is, the messiah (I. 14, p. 103). Targum Onkelos also helps Isaac to offer an explanation of the biblical verse poked avon avot al banim (‘visiting the guilt of the fathers on the children’) (Exod.

20: 5; 34: 7), which does not contradict the statement in Deuteronomy 24: 16 according to which children should not suffer for their fathers (see also Jer. 31: 29-30 and Ezek. 18: 2—4) (I. 11, p. 93). Isaac’s interpretation of Exodus 20: 5 to mean that ‘God visits the iniquities of the fathers on the children, 1f the children act the same way their fathers did’ almost literally repeats the targumic paraphrase of

Exodus 20: 5 based on BT Berakhot 7a.** | A certain familiarity with the Babylonian Talmud® on Isaac’s part may be inferred from two other chapters as well. He makes mistakes, but these may be easily explained as slips of the pen. Twice we find him quoting talmudic authorities by name. In I. 34, p. 209 he recounts a dispute between Rav and Shemuel on the interpretation of Haggai 2: 9. The dispute itself is recorded in BT Bava batra 3a-,

but Isaac erroneously attributes it to Rav and Shemuel. In BT Bava batra 3a-6, however, the arguments are put into the mouths of Rabbi Johanan and Rabbi Eleazar, whose names occur only a line below. Similarly, in I. 4, p. 43 Isaac refers to a debate about a dictum concerning the messianic era cited ‘from the tractate Avodah zarah’. Once again, the quotation itself is correct; the attribution, however, proves to be wrong, since in BT Avodah zarah 54b* it is not Rabban Gamliel, but the elders in Rome (mentioned in the following line), who hold the position Isaac attributes to Rabban Gamliel.

When Isaac speaks of the Sages of the Talmud, he adds the usual terms of honour in one form or another. Thus, in the author’s preface we find the formula raboteinu aleihem hashalom (‘our masters, on them be peace’) (p. 7). Later on he uses the expression hakhameinu zikhronam liverakhah (‘our Sages, of blessed memory’) (I. 6, p. 53; 1. 22, p. 162) to introduce quotations from the Talmud and the Mishnah. Similarly, Isaac’s disciple Joseph ben Mordecai Malinowski of Krakow, to whom we owe the first edition of his master’s work, spoke in his introduction of 34 Here the Targum Onkelos favours the derash (allegorical or homiletic interpretation), not the peshat. Its interpretation agrees with that of Targum Neofiti I. Cf. also Numbers Rabbah 9: 45 (ed. Mirkin, ix. 221). 35 The editions of the Babylonian Talmud or its tractates printed in Poland in the 16th century, and

thus possibly available to Isaac, are discussed in K. Pilarczyk, Talmud 1 jego drukarze w pterwszej Reecaypospolites (Polska Akademia Umiejetnosci, Prace Miedzywydzialowej Komisji Historii 1 Kultury

Zydéw, 2 (Krakéw, 1998). 36 Cf. BT Avodah zarah 43b and 446.

Isaac of Troki and Rabbinic Literature 73 raboteinu hakedoshim (‘our holy masters’) when referring to the talmudic Sages | ‘Disciple’s Preface’, p. 3). The most interesting quotation from the rabbinic literature to be found in Isaac’s

book remains, however, Rabbi Eleazar’s saying (Mishnah, Pirkei avot 2: 14): ‘Be diligent in the study of ‘Torah, and know how to answer an apikoros’.?’ The same saying is used as the leitmotif of a number of medieval Jewish polemical texts.°° For example, Judah the Pious (c.1150—1217) warned his disciples against disputations with non-Jews, admonishing them: ‘Know how to answer an apzkoros, and only those of you who are able to answer like Rabbi Idit should answer [BT Sanhedrin 385], but “do not answer a fool according to his foolishness, lest you will be like him yourself” ’ (Prov. 26: 4).°? Likewise, Isaac declared at the outset of his book: ‘The righteous and the pious should behave in the same way; therefore, our masters, peace be upon them, have taught us: “Be diligent in the study of Torah, and know how to answer an apikoros”’ (p. 7). This passage clearly indicates that Isaac must have had at least some familiarity with the medieval polemical and/or apologetic literature and that he intended to enrich it with his own book; and it is this quotation from Pirkei avot 2: 14 that substantiates the view that Isaac apparently saw in his own literary production a continuation of the work his medieval predecessors had begun.

However, the authenticity of Isaac’s quotations from the rabbinic literature in general, and from talmudic texts in particular, has been questioned and sometimes even denied. At least one—the saying erroneously attributed to Rabban Gamliel

(BT Avodah zarah 54b)—is missing in the oldest known manuscript of Isaac’s book and is found in later versions only.*® Decades ago this observation prompted Israel Zinberg and others to maintain that Isaac ‘nowhere refers to the sages of the

Talmud and introduces no quotations from talmudic literature. This seemed so strange and unnatural that some persons immediately undertook to “improve” Hizuk emunah in this respect. In copying the work various additions were made. Statements of the talmudic sages were added to the author’s arguments in order to strengthen their force.’*4 However, even if it is true that this talmudic passage was inserted into the text by a later copyist, there is no reason to question or to deny automatically the authenticity of all the others, or to contest the author’s overall familiarity with talmudic literature. 37 In the Talmud (BT San. gg) several explanations of the name/term Epictiros/apikoros are offered. Some say the term refers to one who despises scholars; some say it refers to him who interprets the Torah slanderously; some say it refers to non-Jews. In any case, the name of the Greek philosopher is perceived in rabbinic tradition as a term to denote those who deny the basic teachings of Jewish faith;

cf. F. Niewohner, ‘Epikureer sind Atheisten’, in F. Niewohner and O. Pluta (eds.), Atheismus 1m Miuittelalter (Wiesbaden, 1999), 5.

88 See Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews, ix. 75-6, 275-6; S. Schreiner, ‘Von den theologischen Zwangsdisputationen des Mittelalters zum christlich-jiidischen Dialog heute’, Jud, 42 (1986), 141-57, esp. 142.

39 Sefer hasidim, ed. J. Wistinetzki and J. Freimann, 2nd edn. (Frankfurt am Main, 1924), §1971,

p. 483. 40 See the D. Deutsch edition, 43 n. 12. 41 Zinberg, History of Jewish Literature, vi. 109-10.

74 Stefan Schreiner Taking into consideration that beyond these particular quotations Isaac uses many phrases and sometimes entire sentences that reflect the language and phraseology of the Sages here, we may fairly conclude that he had knowledge of talmudic literature and was able to make use of it. References to talmudic passages can also be found in his other works; for instance, he quotes BT Shevuot 39a in his minutes from the General Assembly of the Lithuanian Karaites (1553-68),*? and BT Sanhedrin 19h 1n a letter he wrote to his friend Isaac ben Israel of Lutsk. Not without reason, Isaac ben Israel admired and praised Isaac in a letter written in 1558 for ‘his great knowledge of the foundations of the Torah, the secrets of the Holy Scripture, and the riddles of the Gemara’.*° Isaac was indebted to others besides the talmudic Sages. He likewise remembered the authors from whose works he had received his instruction (pp. 10-11). These included the previously mentioned ‘great and outstanding commentators’ (be ’uret gedolet hamefarshim hamefursamim) and the philosophers to whom he referred time and again without specifying their names or the titles of their works (see e.g. I. 10, pp. 83, 84; 1. 44, p. 260).

Among those anonymous authors are Rashi, Abraham ibn Ezra, Levi ben Gershom (1288-1349), Maimonides (1135-1204), Judah Halevi (before 1050-1141), and perhaps Sa’adya Gaon (882-942). I feel certain that Isaac knew at least some of their works because his interpretations of biblical passages or solutions to philosophical problems sometimes resemble their concepts and arguments quite strikingly. For example, in his lengthy chapter on Isaiah 52: 13-53: 12 Isaac drew heavily on the commentaries of Rashi and Abraham ibn Ezra.** In the same chapter, when

he deals with the meaning of Jewish history, he cites Judah Halevi’s Kuzari twice (I. 22, pp. 149-50, 152). Without mentioning his name, Isaac meticulously

summarizes his doctrine of divine providence in its two aspects, the providentia generalis and the providentia specialis (Kuzari 2: 44).*° He refers to Judah Halevi once again when trying to explain the meaning of ga/ut (‘exile’), retelling his famous parable of Israel in exile as the heart of the nations (Kuzari 2: 34—45).*°

In tackling the problem of whether the Christian doctrine of the Trinity—the belief in a triune God—could rightly be viewed as an expression of monotheistic faith, Isaac puts forth arguments in favour of the Unity of God that resemble those of Maimonides in the first two of his Thirteen Principles in the introduction to his 42 In Mann, Texts and Studies, ii. 769-00. 43 Tbid. 1181-3, esp. 1183, lines 29-30. 44 See Schreiner, ‘Jes 53 in der Auslegung des Sepher Chizzug Emuna’, 180 ff. 45 Judah Halevi, Das Buch al-Chazari, ed. H. Hirschfeld, Arabic with Hebrew trans. by Judah ibn Tibbon (Leipzig, 1887; Jerusalem, 1970), 106~7; German trans. of the Arabic text: H. Hirschfeld, Das Buch al-Chazan (Breslau, 1885), 82; German trans. of the Hebrew text of ibn Tibbon: D. Cassel, Das Buch Kuzari (Berlin, 1922), 145-6. 46 Arabic and Hebrew text: Hirschfeld, Das Buch al-Chazari, 102-7; German: Hirschfeld, Das Buch al-Chazar1, 80-3; Cassel, Das Buch Kuzart, 143-7.

Isaac of Troki and Rabbinic Literature 75 commentary on Perek helek (Mishnah, Sanhedrin 10),*' and in the first paragraphs of his Mishneh torah (Sefer hamada, ‘Hilkhot yesodei hatorah’*® (I. 10, p. 83). This is not the place to provide a complete list of all the books Isaac may have had in his library, let alone to analyse his use of them. Nevertheless, the evidence presented here may suffice to substantiate not only Isaac’s great erudition in general, but also his wide-ranging and profound knowledge of rabbinic literature and Rabbanite tradition in particular. Bearing in mind, however, that Isaac was a Karaite, it may seem strange that his library contained exclusively Rabbanite works and that throughout his book we encounter no Karaite authority or text. In addition, nowhere is any critique of the talmudic Sages discernible—let alone any expression of hostility towards the rabbinic tradition. However, if we remember what various contemporary as well as later sources tell us about the intellectual and social context of the Lithuanian Karaites at that time, this cannot really surprise us; from these sources we know that in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries Rabbanite literature was quite popular among the Lithuanian Karaites, and was widely studied. Joseph Solomon Delmedigo reported in his letters that he tried more than

once to dissuade his Karaite friends and colleagues from studying talmudic halakhah, let alone aggadah, which to him was a waste of time—but to no avail.*° The fact that he felt it necessary to make these efforts proves that there were indeed Karaites who devoted themselves to the study of that literature.

On the other hand, we know from Delmedigo that he, too, spent some time studying rabbinic texts and Rabbanite commentaries on the Bible with his Karaite friends.°° In his Sefer elim he wrote that, with the physician Ezra ben Nissan of Vilna (1595—1666),°! he studied Rashi’s commentary on the Torah and the supercommentary of Elijah Mizrahi (c.1450—1526),°” and, in particular, the commentaries of Abraham ibn Ezra. Ibn Ezra’s exegesis enjoyed remarkable popularity among the Karaites at that time since they believed that his Bible commentaries were deeply influenced by earlier Karaite Bible scholars. Some even maintained

that he was a Karaite himself. |

Specifically, ibn Ezra’s insistence on the peshat, the plain meaning of the text established through proper philological analysis, was taken as sufficient evidence of Karaitic influences on his thinking, since it was after all the Karaites who strongly advocated the validity of the peshat and its absolute superiority. Even Delmedigo

himself maintained that ‘everything they commented on, the Prophets or the 47 Maimonides, Hakdamot leferush hamishnah, ed. M. D. Rabinowitz (Jerusalem, 1980), 136-7. 48 Maimonides, Mishneh torah, i: Sefer hamada, ‘Hilkhot yesodei hatorah’ (1. 1 ff.), ed. S. T. Rubin-

stein (Jerusalem, 1981), 3 ff. 49 See his Melo hofnayim, 14. °° For the study of rabbinic texts and Rabbanite literature among the Karaites in general, see Mann, Texts and Studies, ii. 682-6, 715. See also Isaac’s 1558 letter to Isaac ben Israel of Lutsk: ibid. 1. 1181—5. 1 Ibid. ii. 796, 815, 1022; Barzilay, Delmedigo, 70; Schur, Karaite Encyclopedia, 102.

52 Sefer elim, 8; Mann, Texts and Studies, ii. 612, 676, 680. The first printed edition of Elijah Mizrahi’s Perush al rashi was printed in 1545 in Venice (see Vinograd, Otsar, 11. 247, no. 235).

76 Stefan Schreiner Hagiographa, is clear, well written, and close to the peshat, the true meaning’.*° Therefore, he too was convinced that most of ibn Ezra’s ‘explanations [ were] drawn from early Karaite commentators, such as Rabbi Yeshua ben Judah [late eleventh century],°* Rabbi Japheth ben Ali Halevi; [tenth century],°? and Rabbi Judah the Persian’.°®

These statements (to which others could easily be added) do not represent the personal views of Delmedigo only; and what he tells us is true not only of his own

time but also of at least the second half of the sixteenth century. Thus, we may reasonably assume that in those days, too, there were Karaites who, like Isaac, immersed themselves in the study of rabbinic literature and Rabbanite bible commentaries, including the commentaries of ibn Ezra and other Rabbanite scholars. For example, we know that among the favourite books of Isaac’s disciple Joseph ben Mordecai Malinowski was the Hovot halevavot of Bahya ibn Pakuda (eleventh century).°’ Isaac was therefore by no means the only Karaite of his time engaged in the

study of rabbinic and Rabbanite literature, although he was perhaps the most successful. In any case, his Hizuwk emunah clearly demonstrates that at that time the study of classical rabbinic texts and Rabbanite literature had reached a remarkable level of development. Interestingly enough, Karaite identity was not identical with rejection of, or hostility towards, the Rabbanite tradition. Quite the contrary: just as the Karaites regarded themselves as Jews, they could also study and use rabbinic texts and Rabbanite literature because they regarded them as part of their own cultural and literary heritage. °3 Melo hofnayim, 19-20; Sefer novelot hokhmah (in Sefer ta’alumot hokhmah), ii. 56; cf. Barzilay, Delmedigo, 311.

°4 His Arabic name is "Abu ‘I-Farag Furgan ibn Asad (11th cent.); see Schur, Karaite Encyclopedia, 161—2 (bibliography).

°° His Arabic name is Abu ‘Ali ibn al-Hasan ibn “Ali (b. second half of the roth cent., d. after 1005);

see Schur, Karaite Encyclopedia, 154-5 (bibliography). °© See his Melo hofnayim, 15. 20-1. ©? Cf. Mann, Texts and Studies, ii. 683-4.

Polish Attitudes towards Jewish Spirituality in the Eighteenth Century JUDITH KALIK THE chief characteristic of the Polish conception of the Jewish religion in the eighteenth century, at least as it was captured in writing, was that it was not a specifically Polish construct but was imported from western Europe or had migrated to Poland with the Jews themselves. The official Christian doctrine was formulated in literary works written by clerics, polemic and homiletic literature, pastoral epistles, and synodal legislation. Its foreign origin was partly determined by the ecumenical

nature of the Church. Authors of original Polish works often explicitly acknowledged their dependence on earlier Western writings. Compilations of ecumenical councils’ resolutions concerning the Jews and other heterodox denominations were translated into Polish. One such compilation was a collection of selected fragments of the Roman catechism of Pope Pius V and resolutions of the Council of Trent concerning the Jews, Muslims, Karaites, Greek Orthodox, Calvinists, and Lutherans published in Polish in Vilna in 1762.7 Several papal bulls were of course directly addressed to Poland, and some of them dealt specifically with the Jews, for example the famous bull of Pope Benedict XIV of the mid-eighteenth century. The popular Christian conception of Judaism, which differed substantially from official Church doctrine, was also practically identical in all its components to the

popular, stereotypical view of Judaism widespread in the West. This conception was formulated mainly in works written by burghers, who used popular religious stereotypes in their attacks on their economic competitors, the Jews. In western Europe the Christian conception of Judaism and the anti-Jewish polemic developed in several stages: in the Middle Ages, for example, the polemic concentrated on biblical exegesis and discussion about the principles of faith. The next stage came with the discovery of the Talmud and its critique in the fourteenth 1 Writings on the Jews were brought into Poland relatively early, but before the 16th century they were usually in manuscript form with limited circulation. Latin manuscripts of this kind appeared in the 14th and early 15th centuries. See Biblioteka Jagiellonska, Krakow, MSS 1197, 1245.

2 Katechizm Rzymski z dekretu S. Koncylium Trydentskiego (Vilna, 1762). Wolowicz, bishop of Lutsk, mentions this book and relies upon it in his report of 1765; in 1769 he published this book himself. See P. Rabikauskas (ed.), Relationes status diocestum in Magno Ducatu Lithuaniae (Rome, 1971-8), doc. xii, p. 177.

78 Judith Kalk century. A little later kabbalah was discovered and studied, which led to the beginning of Christian Hebraism. The last stage involved calculations of the Last Judgement and a renewal of polemics about enforced conversion of the Jews. In Poland, however, all of these components were imported from the West in an amalgamated form, and they continued to exist side by side from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries. In the eighteenth century polemical works based on pure biblical critique still appeared alongside the critique of the Talmud that was fuelled by the Frankist controversy. Commentaries on kabbalah and the Zohar and high-quality Hebraistic

works reflecting deep understanding of Jewish halakhah and religious practice appear at the same time as compositions rife with ignorance and prejudice concern-

ing the Jewish religion (including magical explanations of well-known Jewish rituals). The polemical theology that originated during the Reformation determined the

character of the anti-Jewish literature of this period. Writings directed against Judaism usually constituted only some of the works that polemicized more generally against various reformist sects. Only a few polemical literary works were dedicated entirely to the dispute with the Jews. A typical anti-Jewish polemic based on biblical criticism 1s found in a Christmas sermon by the famous seventeenth-century preacher Tomasz Mtodzianowski, who used the traditional Christian interpretation of the biblical verse ‘this sceptre shall not depart from Judah’ (Gen. 49: 10) as a prophecy about Jesus Christ. According to him, Jacob’s prophecy meant that ‘this sceptre shall not depart from Judah’ until the coming of the messiah, and since there was no longer a Jewish kingdom, the messiah had already come. Mtodzianowski asks his flock how the Jews answer this claim, and replies on their behalf that the first answer [of the Jews]: our kingdom still exists, and we have still our own king, but there is no passage to this kingdom other than across a river called Sabatka [‘little sabbath’], and no one but a Jew can cross this river. The Jews, however, also cannot cross it, because its waters are still only on the sabbath, and we, the Jews, cannot travel on the sabbath because the divine law forbids us to do so.

Probably some echo of the Jewish legend of Sambation is reflected here. According to this legend, the Assyrian king deported some of the Ten Tribes across the River Sambation, which rests on the sabbath, but after the coming of the messiah they will come back. The preacher continues: ‘If this is not a mere legend, I leave it to common-sense logic to decide on this basis that the messiah has not come yet.’ He goes on to explain to his audience that if no Jew can travel to this kingdom, then no Jew has ever been there—so how could they know about its existence at all?? The second argument of the Jews, according to this author, was not supported by their rabbis but was nevertheless very popular among Polish Jews. The argument was that the Latin translation of the biblical verse was wrong, and that the original 3 Tomasz Miodzianowski, Kazania 1 homilyie na swieta uroczyste (Poznan, 1681), 345-6.

| Polish Attitudes to Jewish Spirituality 79 | Hebrew expression should be understood not as ‘until the messiah’s coming’ but as

‘when the messiah will come’. In other words, the Jews will have their own king when the messiah comes, and only then, after his coming, will the Jewish kingdom arise. The preacher claims that there is no basis for this argument whatsoever, since

throughout the entire Old Testament the Hebrew words ad ki (these words are printed in Hebrew) mean ‘until’ and not ‘when’. He adds that the Jews believed, just

as the Christians did, that after the Last Judgement all kingdoms would fall, and therefore it is incredible that Jacob would predict that after the messiah’s coming the Jewish kingdom would rise.* Mtodzianowski was influenced by Jakub Wujek, who translated the Bible into Polish and whose impact upon later preachers was considerable.? Wujek’s sermons

contain all of the traditional Christian arguments about the messianic nature of Jesus based on biblical criticism, but some direct references to contemporary Polish Jews and their everyday religious practices are found there as well. Polish Jews appear in these sermons, surprisingly, as a positive model for Polish Christians. He claims, for example, that the Jews of Jesus’ time sinned less than contemporary

, Christians, and he continues: How is it possible to compare the piety of those ancient Jews with ours, if these Christians are worse than contemporary Jews! The Jews do not pronounce in vain the name Jehovah, and on our lips God and devil are mentioned more than anything else. They [the Jews] observe their sabbath in such zealous manner that they neither weigh nor count money and do not go out [for travel]. Our Christians are engaged in market and trade on holy days and Sundays, and in travel; all the time they do things and especially on holy days which even on working days should not be done. They [the Jews] care for their poor so well that no one is allowed to beg alms among the Christians, but our Christians are begging alms all the time among the Jews. They [the Jews] defend zealously even the most unworthy Jew and redeem him from the death penalty with high ransom, and we have no such custom. It is unheard of that one Jew kill another Jew, which is usual enough among the Christians. Finally, the interest rate among the Christians is much heavier than among the Jews.®

_ The Jews are also mentioned as a good example for Christians in instruction books for novice priests. Father Witwicki writes in his book, which was intended as a guide for the novice chaplain, that priests not only do not condemn the violation

of Christian holy days by trading activity, but that they themselves appear in church for half an hour and spend the rest of the day in the market. He stresses that the Jews do not behave this way on the sabbath.’ These writings, as we have seen, often reveal a considerable degree of knowledge about Judaism—not only of Jewish Bible commentary but also of contemporary 4 Tbid. 346—7.

> J. Wujek, Postylla mniejsza, to jest krotkie kazania albo wyklady sw. Ewangelu na kazdq niedztele na

kazde Swieto, ed. A. Kwiecinski (Warsaw, 1969), 10, 45-6, 54-5, 72-3, 78, 114. Wujek’s composition was intended as a replacement for the popular anthology published under the same title by the Polish

poet Mikolaj Rej. 6 Ibid. 261. * S. Witwicki, Obraz Prawdziwego Kaptlana w obomiqzkach Stanu Duchowego . . . (Krak6w, 1751), 24.

80 Judith Kalk Jewish practices, including the observance of commandments (mutsvot), the sabbath,

and Jewish holidays. This feature is particularly conspicuous in the writings of the monk Jan Stanistaw Wujkowski, who is regarded as the last representative of the polemical theological style. In his book On the Poltsh Controversies; or, On the Truth which Opens the Eyes of the Dissidents to the Recognition of the Truth of the true Faith... with a Supplement on the Lack of Fatth and Blindness of the Jews, pub-

lished in 1737,° he displays remarkable erudition about Jewish customs and language, raising the possibility that he knew Hebrew. In the course of a traditional | treatment of the subject Wujkowski uses numerous Hebrew examples and translates them into Polish without error. He clearly was not a convert, but the level of his education was exceptional.? For example, the last chapter of his composition, dedicated to the Jewish holiday of Passover, includes a meticulous description of the Passover eve ritual meal (seder pesah). Wujkowski explains that the Jews celebrate Passover on the fourteenth day of the month of Nisan all over the world, to commemorate their exodus from Egypt. He describes matzah, explaining that this ritual bread is baked from unleavened flour and is called the “bread of poverty’ (the words /ehem oni are written in Hebrew). He quotes the Sages from the treatise Pesahim. He continues with an explanation of what afikoman is, quoting Maimonides (1135-1204) and Don Isaac Abrabanel (1437—1508).’° Afterwards he explains that the Last Supper was in fact a Jewish Passover meal, and that it should be remembered that Jesus observed all Jewish customs. This is the reason why he did not cut the bread but broke it, sharing it with the disciples and saying “Take, eat, this is my body .. .’. The preacher adds that if the Jews ask why Christ identified the bread as his body although the bread was not made of meat, they should be answered with the question why they on the same occasion say that this matzah 1s the bread that

their fathers ate in Egypt although it was baked just yesterday and certainly not during the Exodus.’1 Numerous quotations from Jewish sources show deep, wideranging knowledge of Jewish tradition. Wujkowski quotes freely the Old Testament prophecies of Daniel, Micah, and Malachi, as well as the Jerusalem Talmud, which he uses to show the stubbornness and blindness of the Jews: they call Jesus a bastard (mamzer) born of an impure and sinful woman; they are so blind that they call the sacred Host ‘impure bread’ (the words /ehem tumah are written in Hebrew and translated into Polish); they write in their Talmud that Jesus stole the ‘divine name’ in the Holy of Holies (the words hashem hameforash are written in Hebrew) and made miracles with its help;!* the Jews claim that the Christians mourn this episode on Good Friday; the Jews also write in their Talmud that Jesus should be 8 J. S. Wujkowski, Kontrowersje polskie albo prawda otwierajqaca dissydenskie oczy do poznania prawdy prawdziwe wiary ... z praydatkiem o niewrernose1 1 Slepocie &ydowskiey (Warsaw, 1737).

9 See ibid. 276-7. 10 Afikoman (from Greek aphikomenos: ‘latecomer’) is a piece of matzah reserved for the end of the

Passover meal. 11 ‘Wujkowski, Kontrowersje polskie, 297-8. 12 When Judah saw Jesus flying in the air, he also used this Divine Name, flew into the air, caught Jesus, and when they both fell, Jesus broke his arm.

Polish Attitudes to Jewish Spirituality 81 cursed for ever and they pray that his name and memory shall be erased. Wujkowski

even adds that the Hebrew name of Jesus (Yeshu) is the acronym of this curse (yimah shemo vezikhro). Despite all this, it is clear that he is fascinated by the Jews.

He quotes long passages from the Talmud that are not connected in any way to Jesus, and he describes Jewish customs and beliefs without any connection to the Jewish—Christian polemic. Alongside such erudition we find during this very period considerable ignorance

concerning Judaism and Jewish customs. For example, we find attributions of magic and interpretations of some of these customs as diabolical—all of which culminates in the blood libel. This ignorance is found not only in popular literature but also in works by clerics—sometimes even by those of high rank. One of the most widespread and popular sources of distorted information about Judaism in Poland was the encyclopedia by Benedykt Chmielowski entitled Nowe Ateny albo Akademia wszelkiey scyjencyjt petna, which included such entries as ‘Talmud’, ‘Judaism’, and ‘Sambation’. In this encyclopedia afikoman is defined as a bread prepared with Christian blood, though it was written during the period when Wujkow-

| ski explained afikoman in great detail. Many anti-Jewish references to Judaism are found also in apocrypha and in Polish passion plays (pasje polskie). Most of the Polish apocrypha were pure translations, but the translators (who were usually — anonymous) often inserted their own additions and interpretations, giving free rein

to their religious fantasies. It was claimed, for example, that the Jews, having accepted Jesus’ blood on themselves and on their progeny, suffered severe pains and bleeding monthly. One of their rabbis is reported to have said that they could escape the curse only by receiving Jesus’ blood. The rabbi had in mind conversion _ to Christianity, but the Jews misinterpreted his words as a command to steal consecrated wine from the church, or to kill Christian children. Curiously, the blood libel is attributed here to misinterpretation of the words of the rabbi. The eighteenth century witnessed a considerable rise in prejudice towards the Jews, especially in popular literature but also in some clerical works, particularly unofficial works that were not subjected to Church censorship. A Bernardine priest by the name of Tyszkowski wrote that Jewish women who died pregnant mysteriously completed their pregnancies, giving birth while buried in the grave.'? During the blood libel of Zhitomir a priest named Zuchowski ordered that a pit where Jewish defendants were kept should be searched for any drugs from the devil that might relieve the pains inflicted by the torture.‘4 It should be stressed, however, that the most reliable information about Jewish ritual, everyday observance, the sabbath, holidays, kashrut, weddings, and funerals was available to those layers of Polish society whose experience was never expressed

in writing: servants employed by the Jews. Servants employed by the Jewish 18 W. Smolenski, ‘Stan i sprawa Zydow polskich w XVIII w.’, in his Pisma historycane, ii (Krakow, 1901), 213. See also Mlodzianowski, Kazania. ‘ See M. Balaban, Letoledot hatenuah hafrankit (Tel Aviv, 1934), 90.

82 Judith Kalk communities were engaged in a variety of occupations such as extinguishing candles in the synagogues on the sabbath or Yom Kippur, guarding Jewish cemeteries, and performing the role of the evil Haman at Purim. The bishop of Krakow, Jan Aleksander Lipski, wrote in his pastoral epistle in 1737: ‘It is forbidden for the

_ Jews to take Christians to extinguish candles on their day of judgement [Yom Kippur], or when they celebrate the festival in honour of Haman [sic]. Catholics should not perform these duties under the threat of a fine of 1,000 grzywny, and those Catholics who agree to perform these roles should be arrested.’!° Similar prohibitions against Christians playing the role of Haman on Purim, extinguishing candles in synagogues during Jewish holidays, and guarding Jewish cemeteries are found in resolutions of the synod of Lutsk in 1726.'° Christians were hired not only to guard Jewish cemeteries, but also as undertakers, as we know from prohibitions, pastoral epistles, and synod resolutions.‘” Resolutions of this kind from different regions confirm that such employment was not isolated, but was in fact widespread.

Complaints about Christians serving the Jews in their synagogues and during their religious festivities are found in a letter from Kajetan Sottyk, the bishop of Krakow, to Count Radziwitt (the date is illegible, but was between 1752 and 1773). The bishop writes that a terrible thing had happened in his diocese in the town of Szydtowiec, which was owned by Radziwilt. For their holiday, which they call ‘day of judgement’ (apparently Yom Kippur), the local Jews had hired a Catholic servant to extinguish candles in the synagogue. The bishop claims that employment of a Christian servant by the Jewish community was illegal and strictly prohibited. When this matter became known to the local priest he went to the synagogue,

accompanied by other clerics, in an attempt to save the Christian from the Jews. The Jews, however, not only did not release the Christian from his duty but also drove the priest and his companions from the synagogue with curses and blows. The priest asked for assistance from a leaseholder of the town (a Christian minor noble) but did not find justice. Therefore, the bishop reports to Radziwill that he ordered the closure of the local synagogue as a deterrent.'® It is clear from this and many other sources that the services of non-Jews were essential for the Jews.

In terms of intercultural contact, servants who worked in Jewish households were, of course, most important. Household servants were usually female: cooks, wet-nurses, and governesses. These servants are especially interesting since they were engaged in the closest contact with the Jewish family and its lifestyle. They ; learned the Jewish way of life not only from observation, but also through active ‘8 Jan Alexander Lipski, Epistola pastoralis ad clerum et populum diocesis Cracoviensis (Krakow, 1737),

m8 Fr. WirszyHo, ‘Stosunek duchowienstwa katolickiego na Wolyniu do Zydow w XVIII wieku’, Muiestecantk Diecezjt Luckiey, 9 (1934), 21. See also J. Goldberg, ‘Poles and Jews in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries: Rejection or Acceptance’, Jahrbucher fiir Geschichte Osteuropas, 22 (1974), 254.

17 See e.g. a 1739 pastoral epistle by the bishop of Poznan, Teodor Czartoryski, published in Warsaw, para. 27: Archiwum Glowne Akt Dawnych (AGAD), Nuncyjatura stolicy apostolskiej, shelf-

mark 006, 442. 18 See AGAD, AR V, no. 14847.

Polish Attitudes to Jewish Spiritualhty 83 participation. In a resolution of 1607 the Va’ad Arba Aratsot (Council of Four Lands) warned Jews to take care to teach non-Jewish maids not to mix dairy utensils

with meat ones and not to allow them to drip wax from dairy candles onto meat dishes. It is clear from this that the presence of non-Jews in the kitchens of Polish Jews was very common since otherwise there would have been no need to issue such regulations, and, secondly, that it was necessary to explain to such servants the rules of kashrut and other Jewish religious rules. Written information about Judaism, whether it was real knowledge or ignorance

masquerading as knowledge, was always used for propagandistic purposes. The motivation for studying such fields of Jewish thought as the Talmud, the Zohar, or kabbalah was always derived from the need to support Christian arguments in the Jewish—Christian religious polemic. Bishop Franciszek Kobielski, the famous preacher who spoke in synagogues in the eighteenth century, acquired considerable erudition in kabbalah for this purpose. In one of his sermons he claimed that the Jewish rabbis taught that there are ten divine souls of higher and lower rank attributed to God. Through these ten souls God reveals himself in this world. Since God is not affected by change, either in war or 1n peace, Kobielski explains, all of them appear in the world through souls that the rabbis called sefirot (lit. ‘spheres’ or ‘countings’). Kobielski also knew their names, although often in a corrupted form: the first sefirah is called khet (corruption of keter: ‘crown’), the second khimah (corruption of hokhmah: ‘wisdom’), the third binah (understanding), the fourth kheset (corruption of hesed: ‘lovingkindness’), the fifth gevurah (‘power’, ‘might’), the sixth pipheret (corruption of tiferet: ‘glory’, “beauty’), the seventh netsah (‘eternity’), the eighth hod (‘majesty’), the ninth yesot (corruption of yesod: ‘foundation’),

the tenth malkhut (‘kingdom’). Kobielski goes on to explain how the kabbalists saw | the actions of each sefirah in the material world, quoting from the works Pardes rimonim by Moses ben Jacob Cordovero (1522-70) and Ma’arekhet he’elohut by Judah ben Jacob Hayat (c.1450—c.1510). Kobielski sees in this conjunction between

sefirot and God the same kind of conjunction as in the divine incarnation in the person of Jesus. There is no doubt that here we witness an argument that differs from the traditional argumentation derived from biblical criticism or from criticism of the Talmud.” The interest in contemporary Jewish spiritual movements was very limited in Poland. If such interest was expressed at all, it was of a utilitarian nature in order to support traditional Christian arguments against Judaism or to justify economic sanctions against the Jews. Shabbateanism, Frankism, and hasidism found no substantial reflection in contemporary Polish literature. If the hasidic movement, as an internal Jewish issue, naturally provoked little outside attention, the messianic movements of Shabbetai Tsevi (1626-76) and Jakub Frank (1726-91) could have

(unpaginated).

19 Franciszek Antoni Kobielski, Swiatlo na oSwiecenie narodu niewiernego: To jest kazania w synagogach zydowskich miane, oraz reflexye y list odpowtadaiacy na pytania synagogt brodzkie (Lviv, 1746)

84 Judith Kalik been expected to draw more interest from the Christian public. Nevertheless, the Shabbatean movement remained practically unnoticed in Polish anti-Jewish literature, with the exception of some obscure references by the bishop of Przemysl, Stanistaw Sarnowski, in his pastoral epistle of 22 June 1666,7° and in a book written by Joannicyusz Galatowski.”! It should be noted that both sets of references were made by Orthodox and Uniate clerics in the eastern part of the commonwealth, not by Roman Catholics. Shabbetai Tsevi and his messianic movement remained prac-

tically unnoticed despite the central place of the messianic question in Jewish— Christian religious polemics and the Christian belief that the Antichrist would come from among the Jews and rule the world with their help.2* This whole issue shows how entrenched Christian anti-Jewish polemical literature was. Similar attitudes appear in connection to Frankism. We learn very little about Frank and his movement from contemporary Polish writings. Frankists’ views (after their conversion to Christianity) were seen by some Polish clerics as support for the traditional Christian position towards Judaism, and especially for condemnation of the Talmud and as proof of the blood libel. Particularly important is the well-known book by Gaudenty Pikulski entitled Jewish Malice towards God, Man, Truth, and Conscience: For the Enlightenment of the Accursed Talmudists, and as Proof

of their Blindness and that of their Religion Distant from the Divine Law Given by Moses. Apart from its use of Frankist arguments against Judaism, this compilation

of many previous writings on the subject served as a kind of encyclopedia of Judaism, and for this reason it became very popular, not only in Poland, but also in a nineteenth-century Russian translation.?° On the other hand, another connection to Frankism has remained unnoticed. At least some Polish clerics saw in Frankism the realization of a prophecy about the ‘return of the Jews’ that was an integral part of the Christian eschatology: namely, the idea that Jews would convert their co-religionists to Christianity shortly before the Second Coming. Evidence for this attitude towards Frankists is found in the 1759 pastoral epistle by Wtadystaw Aleksander ubienski, the bishop of Gniezno and primate of Poland. In his epistle Lubienski asks clerics, especially those in his

diocese, to collect funds to support the efforts of Jews to convert other Jews to Christianity. He writes that this conversion is a sign of the coming Last Judgement 20 See Balaban, Letoledot hatenuah hafrankit, 30-1. 21 Joannicyusz Galatowski, Mesia pravdivyi I[isu]s Kh[risto|s S[y|n Blo|zhi ot pochatku svéta prez vsé véki lyudem ot Blo|ha obétsanny: (Kiev, 1669), 74. 22 On this belief in Europe, see e.g. R. Bonfil, ‘Hayehudim vehasatan betoda’ah hanotserit beyemei

habeinayim’, in S. Almog (ed.), Sinat yisra’el ledorotetha (Jerusalem, 1980), 113-22. On this idea in Poland, see J. Tazbir, ‘Obraz Zyda w opinii polskiej X VI-X VIII w.’, in his Mity 1 stereotypy w dziejach Polski (Warsaw, 1991). 23 G. Pikulski, Zlosé Zydowska przeciwko Bogu y bligniemu Prawdzie y Sumnieniu Na obiasnienie przekletych Talmutystow. Na dowod tch zasleprenia, y Relign dalekiey od prawa Boskiego przez Moyzesza

danego (Lviv, 1758); Balaban, Letoledot hatenuah hafrankit, 92; cf. Jacob Goldberg, Hamumarim bemamlekhet polin—hta (Jerusalem, 1986), 16-17.

Polish Attitudes to fewish Spirituality 85 because it fulfils the prophecy that remnants of the house of Jacob shall convert their brethren to the true faith.24 There are a few other references to Frankism— some of them very interesting??—in Polish sources, but they are all marginal. Frankism’s place in Polish contemporary thought was viewed very differently by Abraham Duker, and to a lesser extent by Gershom Scholem, who attributed the renewed interest of Polish writers like Kobielski in kabbalah to Frankism’s influence. This view is, however, very problematic, above all because interest in kabbalah spread to Poland from western Europe, where it could hardly have been connected to the Frankist movement (indeed such a connection has never been found in the sources). We have seen that in most cases knowledge of Judaism in Polish sources of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was not direct but was derived from earlier Western sources. This imported information was used in Poland in two distinct ways: in support of the hostile anti-Jewish tradition and of interpreting Jewish religious practices as diabolical and magical, on the one hand, and as part of the genuine interest in Jewish thought and the Jewish way of life

on the other. The two traditions coexisted in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, with the traditional anti-Jewish and anti-talmudic approach represented by Pikulski, and the enlightened approach towards Judaism and the Jewish roots of Christianity to be found in Wujkowski’s writings. The renewed interest in kabbalah that earlier had been typical of humanist and Protestant circles can probably be explained by the renewal of interest in Neoplatonism among some eighteenthcentury Polish clerics, including Kobielski. A similar revival of interest in Neoplatonism 1s attested also in the hasidic movement in the same period. 24 AGAD, Nuncjatura stolicy apostolskiej, shelf-mark 006, 160-3. 25 See J. Kalik, “The Catholic Church and the Jews in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’, Hebrew University of Jerusalem Ph.D. thesis, 1999, 53 nn. 65, 66.

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Sixteenth-Century Accounts of Purim Festivities HANNA WEGRZYNEK RECENTLY a previously unknown account describing a trial for host desecration was discovered in the Vatican archives that sheds new light on the customs of Polish Jews in the mid-sixteenth century.’ In 1556 the Jews of Sochaczew were accused of desecrating the Host, and a trial

followed, attracting great attention both in Poland and abroad. Historians have studied the case thoroughly and described it in detail, yet numerous documents and testimonies recorded at the trial have not been fully exploited as sources of significant information on the life and customs of Sochaczew Jews. An extensive account of the alleged Jewish desecration of the host at Sochaczew

in 1556, included in the sixteenth-century supplements to the Roczniki Swietokrzyskie, concludes with the following statement: ‘These Jewish people, good for nothing, have spread all over the world, in provinces, cities, and towns, perpetrating all kinds of evil against the Christian faith, against our Lord Jesus Christ, sowing dissent among Christians, as Mordecai had foretold in the story of Esther.” The author of this entry does not explain what he found so outrageous and anttChristian in the story of Esther and Mordecai, but an answer can perhaps be deduced from the testimonies of witnesses at the Sochaczew trial. The court was interested not only in the theft of the host and the alleged desecration, but also in the preceding events that took place in the Jewish street (platea Iudeorum) and synagogue. ‘T‘welve witnesses commented on these events. In most cases their accounts were based on hearsay (fama publica). This group included several leaders of the Christian community, including the starosta, the deputy mayor, village officers, councillors, clergymen, and a baptized Jew. The only three who actually witnessed the events in question were ordinary citizens of Sochaczew, who gave their testimonies at the very end. The late Professor Shmeruk, in whose honour the conference at which this paper was first delivered was held, made a significant contribution to studies on the pur»mshpil and the story of Esterka of Opoczno.

2 ‘Hoc genus nequissimorum Judeorum discurrit per totum mundum, per provincias, urbes, civitates, et contra fidem christianam, contra dominum Iesum Christum varios errores seminantes, discordias inter Christianos exificiant, ut predixit ille vir Mardocheus, in historia Hester’ (‘Rocznik Swietokrzyski Nowy’, in Monumenta Poloniae Historica (Krakow, 1878), iii. 117).

88 Hanna Wegrzynek Abraham, the baptized Jew, was the only one who said that he did not know any-

thing and could not comment on the events in the street, though he must have known the Jewish customs and rituals and been able to explain them rationally. There seems to be a great deal of restraint in his testimony, which might have been caused by fear of being accused of complicity. The records start with a description of the events according to hearsay. These testimonies provide material for the comparison of unconfirmed rumours with the reports of eyewitnesses. ‘Iwo of the witnesses who based their testimonies on hearsay, a clergyman and a layman, stated that they did not know anything positively,

but had heard about such comedies and performances being arranged by Jews (huiusmodt ludos et comedtas Iudei exercebant).® These are important statements. The

events in question were not viewed as one-off events, but rather as amusements or parodies acted by Jews regularly and not unfamiliar to Christians. Other people described the events more precisely. ‘The witnesses had heard that during Lent (defined on one occasion as ‘before Easter’), when Jews celebrated their Pesah, they organized a procession that was a mockery of the Passion. A chained man was led along the Jewish street while children threw lumps of mud at him. One

witness added that the man was dressed in Turkish costume. T'wo witnesses, a priest from the parish church and a Sochaczew councillor, confirmed that Christian inhabitants of Sochaczew were offended by the sight. ‘The Sochaczew councillors

had ‘complained about the Jews with regard to this act and procession’ to the voivode and his deputy, but to no effect. The voivode said ‘this issue is mine, not yours; if the man led down the street was a Christian, the starosta should accuse him ~ and I will charge the Jews’.* It is thus clear that the voivode was of the opinion that Jews should be allowed to celebrate their rituals freely, but that Christians must not participate in them. A new problem arises from the voivode’s pronouncement as

it indicates the belief that the main actor in the procession, insulted and mudsplashed, was a Christian. The testimonies of eyewitnesses add hardly any new elements to the rumours spread about the town. The time of day is disclosed as well as the fact that the man

was a stranger to the eyewitnesses, and altogether the following picture can be reconstructed. One afternoon during Lent, but not long before Easter, a Jew from Sochaczew, Socha, was leading a chained man, a stranger and possibly a Christian, along the Jewish street. The man’s hands were tied and he was blindfolded. He was

wearing Turkish attire. Jews, perhaps children, were splashing mud at him and shouting all the way. The man was led into the synagogue, where the jeering and booing continued. The townspeople of Sochaczew interpreted this event as a parody of the Way of the Cross, with the scene of Christ’s death re-enacted by the desecration of the host in the synagogue. Obviously no Jewish ritual was taken into consideration in any of the reports. 3 Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Archivio Arcis 4352. 4 Thid.

Sixteenth-Century Purim Festivities 89 The date of the episode in the Jewish street of Sochaczew suggests another interpretation. The supposed comedy or parody might have been part of Purim festivities. In 1556 Purim was celebrated on 25 February, while Lent began on 18 February, and Easter was celebrated on 5 April.

In order to identify the entry in the Rocznik Swietokrzyski and the accounts recorded at the trial with Purim festivities beyond any doubt, we need further evidence in the form ofa similar account. Unfortunately, sources on sixteenth-century Purim rituals in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth are very scarce. Moses Isserles (¢.1520-1572), the famous Krakow rabbi, wrote to Joseph Caro (1488-1575) about masquerades organized in Krakow, with masked people wearing the clothing of the opposite sex.° Early in the seventeenth century another Krakéw rabbi, Joel Sirkes (c.1560—1640), complained of similar customs.® He noted with indignation: ‘Men wear women’s dresses and women wear men’s clothes and nobody

seems to object. Moreover, people mask their faces so as not to be recognized—a practice that should not be allowed.’ He added that ‘many people in the old times did not attend prayers in the synagogue because they were too busy getting ready for the festival’.® In the Brest court records for 1577 a Jewish boy is referred to as the one who ‘during their Purim festival played in a walking street comedy and called himself the grand duke of Moscow’.? The term purimshpil was first applied to such Purim festivities in a work by Gumprecht of Szczebrzeszyn published in Venice in 1555.'° These references to the Purim plays indicate that they were usually enacted in public, most probably in the streets, by men, women, and children in fancy dress. Young boys might also have gone from house to house to collect money or gifts for their acting. Christians must also have watched the performances, since the costume of the Jewish boy in the Brest records was mentioned as an obvious means of recognition. These events were interpreted as games and entertainment by at least a part of the Christian population, for example in Brest, where the Jewish community was large and well established. The local Christians also knew the name of the festival; thus it is known that purimshpiln were organized in Krakow, Brest, and Szczebrzeszyn, which are a long way from one another, which may indicate that such festivities were quite popular and widely known. Besides attesting to the fact that such comedies were staged in the streets, the testimonies concerning Purim celebrations in Krakéw and Brest bear little simi-

larity to the events reported by the citizens of Sochaczew. But similarities do reappear in eighteenth-century sources. In 1743 the bishop of Przemysl, Wacltaw ° N. Doniach, Purim; or, The Feast of Esther (Philadelphia, 1933), 132. ° E. Schochet, Bach: Rabbi Joel Sirkes. His Life, Works and Times (Jerusalem, 1971), 15-18. 7 T. A. Kleynman, ‘“Tsar’” Ioann Groznyi v purimskoi komedii’, Evreyskaya Starina, 11 (1924),

315. 8 Schochet, Bach, 192.

” ‘U svyato ikh “purim” khodil s komedieyu i menilsya knyazem velikim moskovskim’ (I. Kleynman, ‘“Tsar’” Ioann Groznyi’, 315). 1° Ch. Shmeruk, Yiddish Biblical Plays 1697-1750 (Jerusalem, 1979), 103.

go Hanna Wegrzynek Sierakowski, issued a ban on public Purim festivities. The episcopal document contains a detailed description of these performances as seen by a Christian and a high official of the Catholic Church: The grievous Jewish crime is well known. . . . In commemoration of Haman’s forcing king Ahasuerus to issue an edict decreeing the destruction of the Jewish nation . . . and that the decree was abolished and Haman himself hanged on the gallows, [the Jews] celebrated this great triumph and joy, and as if taking revenge on their enemy Haman, the pagan, they hired some man, a Christian, whom they led along with great triumph, noise, and booing, knocking him, pushing and poking, insulting him with various mocking, jeers, and indignities, to the great ignominy of the Christian nation. . .. Beside hiring a Christian to act as Haman for that celebration, the aforementioned Jews and their young men [bahurim] wore Turkish and fancy dress, lit torches, burned straw in front of their synagogue, shot in the streets, played drums, and made other noise.!

Thus the festival is not only correctly identified in the document of the Przemys! episcopate, but its celebration is precisely described. The document focuses on the Christian’s participation in the Purim event. Other eighteenth-century sources attest to the practice of hiring a Christian to personify Haman, the enemy of Persian _ Jewry. In his pastoral letter published in 1722 the bishop of Lutsk, Rupniewsk1,

states: ‘When the act of Haman is commemorated, we forbid Catholics under penalty to be hired to perform this function, as well as to be implicated in such superstitions or to offer themselves as such a hireling. We shall punish them with prison or other means.’!” A similar ban was issued by the synod in Lutsk in 1726.*° Despite the lapse of almost two centuries between these events, it is possible to discern many similarities between the eighteenth-century Christian narrative of Purim celebrations in Przemysl and the Sochaczew courtroom testimonies. Key elements appear in both cases: a man was led down the street and abused in both Przemysl and Sochaczew, and it was believed that he was Christian; and shouts and jeers accompanied the procession. Moreover, the other sixteenth-century accounts mentioned above attest to the elaborateness of Purim festivities taking place as early as the sixteenth century in the Polish lands. The origin of these customs is now the main unanswered question.

Not much is known about folk Purim festivities in Europe in the sixteenth century. It is often assumed that they developed at the turn of the century, originating from the Venice carnival and from the custom, brought by the Jews of Provence to Italy, of appointing a Purim king.’* These festivities evolved around masquerades. 11 Archiwum Panstwowe w Przemyélu, Akta miasta Przemysla 593/18; M. Schorr, Zydzi w Przemyslu do konca XVIII mieku(Przemysl, 1903), 220-1.

: 12 Archiwum Glowne Akt Dawnych, Warsaw, Zbior Czolowskiego 64; Z. Chodynski and E. Likowski (eds.), Decretales summorum pontificum pro Regno Poloniae, 3 vols. (Poznan, 1883), ili. 120.

13 Father WirszyHo, ‘Stosunek duchowienstwa katolickiego na Wolyniu do Zydow w XVIII wieku’, Muiesiecznik Diecezpi Luckiej, 9/1 (1934), 21; Shmeruk, Yiddish Biblical Plays, 21. 14 Doniach, Purim; or, The Feast of Esther, 130.

Sixteenth-Century Purim Festivities QI But there are neither written narratives nor artistic presentations of celebrations involving public parodies with Haman personified, jeered at, and insulted, and in no other European country were charges brought for hiring a Christian to act as Haman. Therefore, it seems plausible that the type of Purim festivities known from Sochaczew, Przemysl, and Lutsk developed originally in the Polish lands. It is important to assess exactly when and where this happened. The Sochaczew account is the earliest, but it cannot be assumed that this was the birthplace of any specifically Polish Purim celebrations. As other sources indicate, there was no Jewish community there before the late fifteenth century, and in the mid-sixteenth century the community remained small.'° There are some indications that the Sochaczew Jews came from Poznan.'® Many of them must have lived in Poland long enough to acquire Slavonic names and their diminutive forms (for example, Michatek). The Poznan community was very large and long-established, and the majority of Poznan Jews originally came from German cities. But although Purim performances occurred there, they were very different from those in Sochaczew or Przemysl. It seems that the origin of the Purim festivities in Poland was quite different. The festivities might have developed from the fifth-century Byzantine custom of making a Haman effigy, which was abused and then burned.'’ Despite numerous bans, the custom became popular in medieval and modern Europe.'® The cultural influence of Byzantium is attested by over twenty translations into Slavonic languages of the book of Esther, which appeared in the Russian lands by the late

sixteenth century.'? The translations were based on the Greek text or on the Hebrew original, but not on the Vulgate. The large number of translations of the book of Esther might have resulted from the biblical story’s popularity in the Slavonic countries and the popularity of Purim among the Russian Jews who had come from the Byzantine world. It is thus possible that the specifically Polish Purim festivities originated in the East, not in the West. In any case, there is no doubt that the Purim ceremony was deeply embedded in the culture of Polish Jews. The biblical narrative might have been the source of the Polish Jewish legend about Esterka, who, according to the fifteenth-century Polish chronicler Jan Dtugosz, was the beautiful Jewish mistress of King Kazimierz the 15 P, Fijatkowski, Zydzi sochaczewscy (Sochaczew, 1989); id., ‘Poczatki 1 rozw6j osadnictwa zydowskiego w wojewodztwach rawskim i leczyckim’, Biuletyn Zydowskiego Instytutu Historycznego, 4 (1989), 3-16. 16 Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Archivio Arcis 4352. 17 FE, Revel-Neher, The Image of the few in Byzantine Art (Jerusalem, 1992), 7; E. Horowitz, “The

Rite to be Reckless: On the Perpetration and Interpretation of Purim Violence’, Poetics Today, 15/1

(1994), 9-54. 18 Doniach, Purim; or, The Feast of Esther, 172 ff.

9-H. Lunt and M. Taube (eds.), The Slavonic Books of Esther: Text, Lexicon, Linguistic Analysis. Problems of Translation (Cambridge, Mass., 1998); M. Altbauer and M. Taube, “The Slavonic Book of

Esther: When, Where, and from What Language was it Translated?’, Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 8/3-4 (1984), 304-20.

g2 Hanna Wegrzynek Great.2° Late in the sixteenth century King Kazimierz became identified with King Ahasuerus in Polish anti-Jewish literature.** It is one more testimony to the degree to which Jews felt ‘at home’ on the Polish lands. *° Ch. Shmeruk, The Esterke Story in Yiddish and Polish Literature (Jerusalem, 1985). 21 P. Mojecki, Zydowskie okrucienstwa, mordy i zabobony (Krakow, 1589 or 1598).

Jewish Popular Spirituality in the Eighteenth Century GERSHON DAVID HUNDERT JacoB Katz detected ‘a general shift in religious values . . . beginning in the latter part of the seventeenth century’. The impact of the growing literature that popularized kabbalistic ideas led to a number of developments including a new understanding of the significance of observance of the commandments. Observance now had a cosmic significance, affecting the hidden divine realm, and advancing or retarding progress towards redemption. Careful and proper observance became, therefore, a fateful matter. This system of understanding erased the differences in degree and weight between the fulfilment of one commandment and that of another, and one had to be conscious of this while performing the commandment or reciting the prayer. This consciousness was ritualized by the kabbalists in the form of kavanot (singular: kavanah; lit. ‘intention’), which are intentional formulas preceding observance or recitation and intended to focus the mind of the devotee on the symbolic significance of the act about to be performed or the prayer about to be recited. For kabbalists, Katz remarked, ‘performance of a commandment without kavanah virtually lost its religious significance’ .*

The study of kabbalistic texts had been an esoteric tradition restricted in a manuscript culture to a tiny elite. The printing press facilitated the spread of knowledge of kabbalah among the learned. Simultaneously, during the period beginning in the latter part of the seventeenth century works that popularized kabbalistic ideas in homiletic and ethical treatises and in regimens of daily life appeared in substantial numbers. This reflected the significant increase in interest in popular kabbalistic teachings at precisely this time. This increased interest generated a growing market for the large number of books of conduct and other works informed by kabbalistic teachings that were published in these years.* And the literature itself served to stimulate further interest in popular kabbalah. Many of the publications in question were essentially inexpensive pamphlets written in accessible language and guiding the reader through prayer services and rituals associated with the life cycle. All these were imbued with mystical significance. In this way the individual

(New York, 1991), 190. 2 Tbid. 191. 1 J. Katz, Tradition and Crisis: Jewish Society at the End of the Middle Ages, trans. B. D. Cooperman

3 Z. Gries, Sifrut hahanhagot (Jerusalem, 1989), 45, 82-3, go—2, 98-102.

94 Gershon David Hundert _ could feel privy to the esoteric realm and attain the conviction that he was indeed acting in accordance with God’s will. Moreover, the spread of this popular literature created a constituency for the emerging kabbalistic elite. As Katz remarked, ‘Henceforth, traditional Jewish society contained not one elite but two.’* The kabbalist took his place at the side of the scholar, equally worthy of respect and equally entitled to public support. -

Individual mystics and small groups of kabbalists appeared in numerous communities. These eremitic, ascetic pietists devoted themselves to the study of esoteric doctrine, prayed separately in their own kloyzen (prayer ‘rooms’), and were

thought to benefit the community that supported them by their special ties to Heaven.° The groups of ascetic mystics developed some characteristic customs and

| interests, including praying separately and following the liturgy prescribed by the so-called Lurianic prayer-book (nusah ha’art) instead of the conventional liturgy, gathering for the third meal on the afternoon of the sabbath, and wearing white robes. They evinced a particular concern with all aspects of the slaughter of animals

for food—that it be carried out with precise adherence to the prescriptions of halakhah.®

The preachments contained in the literature produced in these circles demanded a rejection of frivolity, advocating instead constant mourning over the exile and a continuous flight from sin. The appropriate countenance was dour, serious, and sober. One example is the book Sha’ar hamelekh (“The King’s Gate’) by Mordecai

ben Samuel. First published in 1762, it went through nine editions in the next thirty-five years.’ The book is informed by an unsophisticated theology that is influenced somewhat by Lurianic ideas. Its distinctiveness is rhetorical. The author was an imaginative inventor of parables. The sort of spiritual world reflected in his writing is one that venerates a perpetual pious asceticism characterized by much

mournfulness, a certain precision, and urgent calls for repentance. Indeed, the author stressed that redemption depends fundamentally on repentance. Katz showed that the relationship to the community of the scholarly elite, which saw itself set apart from the masses because of its learning, was nevertheless one of active involvement, teaching, judging,and preaching: ‘But the kabbalist elite saw itself as divided from the masses by a wide chasm even in the practical sphere. The only relationship possible between them and the masses was one of shelshut (agency

or proxy). The few were transformed into exacting performers of the precepts on behalf of the many.’® Because of this, the communities in which they lived 4 Katz, Tradition and Crisis, 192.

° E. Reiner, ‘Hon, ma’amad hevrati vetalmud torah’, Zion, 58 (1993), 287-328; Y. Hisdai, “Eved | hashem bedoram shel avot hahasidut’, Zon, 47 (1982), 253-92. 6 Jacob Israel ben Tsevi Hirsh, Shevet miyisra’el (Zolkiew, 1772), pt. 2, p. 9b; M. Piekarz, Biyemei tsemihat hahasidut (Jerusalem, 1978), 68, 161-2, 383-7, 391. Cf. M. Wilensky, Hastdim umitnagedim, 2

vols. (Jerusalem, 1970), 1. 85—8. 7 Mordecai ben Samuel, Sha’ar hamelekh (Zolkiew, 1762). 8 Katz, Tradition and Crisis, 194.

Jewish Popular Spirituality 95 , supported them and/or exempted them from the payment of taxes. They were seen as precious, exceptional individuals ( yehidei segulah) and ‘servants of God’.? The work of Ze’ev Gries, Moshe Idel, and others has substantiated Katz’s observation that there was a broad popularization of aspects of kabbalah and kabbalistic

practice that began to intensify in the last decades of the seventeenth century. Evidence of this can be garnered by studying the history of publishing during the period and attempting to determine what literature was most in demand. This method of determining which were the most popular books and, by extension, what were the important ingredients in popular literate culture is undeniably useful— but 1t must be qualified. The canonical works, the Bible, especially the Pentateuch with the commentary of Rashi (Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac, 1040-1105), the Mishnah, and the Talmud continued to be the foundation texts of Jewish civilization. These texts, particularly the first two, were unquestionably much more widely read than any others, at least among the male population. Moreover, among the elite there were crucial changes over the course of the eighteenth century in the way in

which the Talmud was studied. The history of publication, though, does point clearly to the remarkable popularity of texts informed by kabbalistic magical traditions. The sermons of the time, drawn from materials found in the popular publications, evinced a growing preoccupation with and concentration on esoteric matters broadly associated with kabbalah. Non-mystical texts were popular as well. The classical ethical treatise Hovot halevavot (‘Duties of the Heart’) by Bahya ibn Pakuda (second half of the eleventh century) went through twenty-seven editions between 1670 and 1797, including seven with Yiddish translations.!° During that time a number of commentaries on the work were published as well—an additional sign of its massive popularity.1? The author of the book advocated a life of pious self-deprivation; in particular, the idea of perishut, or voluntary separation from the material world, came to be widely accepted. The anonymous Orehot tsadikim, an ethical work substantially in the ascetic penitential spirit of Hasidei Ashkenaz (lit. ‘the pious of Germany’, a medieval circle of pietists), was published thirty-one times in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Still, many of the ‘bestsellers’ of the eighteenth century were pervaded with kabbalistic ideas and approaches. No fewer than sixteen different editions of Hemdat yamim appeared between 1670 and 1770. This anonymous work of popular religiosity was not only kabbalistic but also Shabbatean in character. In ° Cf. Hisdai, ‘Eved hashem’, and Reiner, ‘Hon, ma’amad hevrati’. 10 There was an additional edition in Ladino (Venice, 1713).

A. L. Nadler, The Faith of the Mithnagdim: Rabbinic Responses to Hasidic Rapture (Baltimore, 1999), 78-9. Among the commentaries were Hayim Hayke ben Aaron of Zamos¢, Derekh hakodesh, published with Isaac ben Aaron of Zamos¢, Pahad yitshak (Frankfurt an der Oder, 1774), and Moses ben Reuben, Ne’edar bakodesh (Grodno, 1790). Among those who extolled asceticism was the same Hayim Hayke ben Aaron of Zamosc¢, Tseror hahayim (Berlin, 1770). See also Mordecai ben Samuel of Wielicza, Sha’ar hamelekh (Grodno, 1790), pt. 1, gate 5. For a moderate anti-ascetic view, see the citations in Piekarz, Bryemet tsemthat hahasidut, 38.

96 Gershon David Hundert fact, in some circles in east-central Europe there was rather a benign attitude to the failed Shabbatean movement and its teachings. The popularity of Hemdat yamim

1s only one indication of this. Note also the positive reference to Joshua Heshel Tsoref (1633-1700), the Shabbatean prophet, in Kav hayashar by Tsevi Hirsh Koidonover (d. 1712), another very popular work of the period, and the comment in an eighteenth-century book to the effect that the Shabbatean movement failed ‘because the generation failed to achieve true penitence’.’* At the same time, in some other circles, there was a rather ferocious atmosphere of heresy-hunting. Much of this was generated by suspicions that various figures were adherents of Shabbatean doctrine. The controversies surrounding Jonathan Ejibeschuetz (c.1690—1764) and Moses Hayim Luzzatto (1707-46) were followed by the Frankist phenomenon, which reached its greatest intensity in the late 1750s.'° Another book that enjoyed substantial popularity was Shevet musar by Elijah ben

Abraham Hakohen Itamari. First published in Istanbul in 1712, it appeared in seventeen editions in Hebrew and eight editions in Yiddish (including two editions with both the Hebrew and the Yiddish text) before 1800.1* The author was a socalled ‘moderate’ Shabbatean, but this is not reflected in Shevet musar.'° This book is a religious guide dealing with topics such as punishment for sin, the importance

of study, paths to repentance, proper conduct, and overcoming temptation. In general, the author did not stray far from his literary predecessors. One feature of the book is its compilation of long lists to characterize, for example, “The Qualities of a Proper Female’ (chapter 24). Chapter 39 includes a list of the forty-two holy names of the tsadzk, the perfectly righteous man, and their explanation. The following is a paraphrased sample and summary of that chapter, with particular attention to one item.

1. Or ne’erav (Pleasing Light). He is the light of the Torah; the light hidden at the time of Creation. 3. Gedulah (Greatness). He bestows greatness on others. 5. Da’at tsalul (Limpid Knowledge). He knows the esoteric secrets of the heavens, angels, and other divine beings, and the dimensions of Divinity (shiur komah). 7. Ziknah (Ageing). He controls his own ageing and not the reverse. He knows what has been since creation and what will be until the end of the world. 12 “Which I heard from a holy mouth, namely the godly man, our teacher and master Rabbi Heshel Tsoref, of blessed memory, who said in the name of a certain kabbalist . . .. (Kav hayashar (Frankfurt am Main, 1705), ch. 102). And see the references to Judah Hehasid (‘the Pious’) and Heshel Tsoref in Jacob ben Ezekiel Segal, Shem ya’akov (Frankfurt an der Oder, 1716), 15a, 22a, 25a. 13 R. Elior, ‘Hasidism: Historical Continuity and Spiritual Change’, in P. Schaefer and J. Dan (eds.), Gershom Scholem’s ‘Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism’ Fifty Years Later (Tiibingen, 1993).

14 According to Isaac ben Jacob (Otsar hasefarim (Vilna, 1877-80) ), there was also an edition published in Amsterdam in 1712. No copy of this edition survives. 15 G. Scholem, ‘R. eliyahu hakohen ha’itamari vehashabeta’ut’, in Sefer hayovel likhevod alexander marx (New York, 1950).

Jewish Popular Spirituality 97 8. Hokhmah (Wisdom). He knows the whole Torah in its seventy aspects, more than angels or seraphs. 9. Hayim (Life). He controls his death; if he does not wish to, he will not die.

10. Taharah (Purity). He teaches distinctions between pure and impure. He himself is the purity that purifies others. 13. Lohem (Warrior). He wages the war of Torah day and night. His study defends the people of Israel; because of his preoccupation with Torah, Israel does not fall in battle. His merit protects them.'®

14. Mikdash (Temple). Everything in the Temple is in man.'” He is also called Temple because he atones for his generation like a Temple. For he takes the place of sacrifice that atones for a person.

15. Makhriah melakhim (Commander of Angels). Angels are sent from heaven to do the bidding of the righteous, as in the case of Abraham, to whom angels were sent, and Jacob, who dispatched angels (‘messengers’) to do his bidding.?® 17. Mehapekh gezerah (Overturner of the Decree). ‘The Holy One decrees death for someone, the tsadik reverses the decree from death to life.!* 19. Memit umehayeh (Killer and Resurrector). The tsadik can sentence to death or to life. (This is followed by examples of talmudic rabbis who resurrected people.) 22. Makhtir torah (Crowner of the Torah). The tsadzk can explain the Torah’s difficult passages.

24. Matsil nefashot (Saviour of Souls). The tsadik, by his Torah, the connectedness and skilfulness of his deeds, and his making things whole (vetikunav), prevents epidemic, war, and famine from coming into the world. 26. Madrikh shavim (Guide of Penitents). If he sees a sinner, he will teach him the proper penance for each sin—the number of fasts and acts of mortification, what he must do, how, and for how long. 27. Mamshtkh shefa (Bringer Down of Divine Plenty). According to what the kabbalists have written, the tsadzk is called the one who brings down the divine plenty.2° God answers every petition, for he hears the prayer of every mouth and immediately the divine plenty begins to descend towards this world. But it must pass the court that is on the ‘north’ side. There they evaluate the worthiness of the petitioner. If he is found worthy, the divine plenty is permitted to pass onwards. If not, they hold it up, storing it for gifts for the tsadikim of the future. But if there is a tsadik in the world, even if the petitioner is unworthy, the divine plenty is allowed

16 Cf. BT Gitin 56a. 17 Tikunei hazohar, preface, 13).

18 See Gen. 32: 4. 19 Zohar, ‘Vayehi’ 18a. 20 Shevet musar cites Isaac ben Meir, Siah yitshak (Venice, 1664), ch. 2. That work, in turn, relies on Joseph ben Abraham Gikatilla (1248-c.1325), Sha’arei orah, gate 6 (in the Warsaw, 1883, edn. the __ reference is to fo. 74).

98 Gershon David Hundert to pass because of the tsadik. This is the meaning of the verse (Ps. 31: 20) ‘How great is your goodness which you have stored up [/safantah] for those who fear you;

you acted for them that fear you against the mortals.’ If you wish, I can say this means: ‘How great is the goodness that you stored up in the north [tsafon] for them that fear you, and you did good with it making it gifts for them.’ That is, the same | divine plenty that was ‘against the mortals’: it was not fitting that it should descend and be held up there. For me, this explains the passage [Mishnah, Pirkei avot 3: 15]

‘All is foreseen [tsafuz| but free will is given, and the world is judged for good [betov].’ Allis foreseen, that is, stored up in the northern heavenly court, where the divine plenty is delayed. (The author is playing on the similarity of the words for ‘stored up’, tsafun, and ‘foreseen’, tsafuz.) As mentioned, sometimes ‘free will is given [hareshut netunah|’ (lit. ‘permission is given’), permission is given for it to

descend, even though the petitioner is unworthy, because the world is judged betov, that is, because of the good (man).

29. Sefer torah (‘Torah Scroll). Just as one stands before a scroll of the Torah, one stands before a scholar.*! If one is precise, he is more than a sefer torah, since the sefer torah itself does not explain its words. 32. Olam male (Complete World). All of creation is for one tsadik.2”

33. Ezrah betsarah (Aid in Trouble). If there is some source of sorrow and suffer-

ing, the tsadik goes before them (the heavenly court) and persuades them and cancels the evil decree. This is the nature of the tsadik, to benefit the whole world, Jew or non-Jew, and the non-Jew he helps will reach high office and will be grateful to the tsadik, who in turn will be able to defend his people.

34. Podeh nefashot (Redeemer of Souls). The tsadik is a redeemer of souls. Through his ‘acts of correction’ (t#kunim) and his devout intentions (kavanot) he redeems the divine sparks locked in the valleys of the kelipot (forces of evil; lit. ‘shells’). He can also save souls from Gehinom (Hell). 40. Elohim (God). The tsadtk by his study and his deeds attempts to repair the sin of Adam. He can do what the Holy One does, such as bring rain and resurrect the dead. The question of the author’s originality need not detain us. In fact most if not all of this material can be traced to talmudic sources, medieval ethical literature, or to the sages of sixteenth-century Safed. And it seems clear that the notion of the perfect man in Shevet musar was a theoretical one. Still, while the concept of the tsadik as described here in one of the most popular and influential books of the eighteenth century does not correspond precisely with that of hasidism, enough is shared for it to be suggestive indeed. The monumental work by Isaiah ben Abraham Halevi Horowitz (1565-1630) Shenet luhot haberit (the Shelah) was first published in Amsterdam in 1649. Five 21 BT Makot 22b. 22 BT Yoma 38); Hagigah 12.

| Jewish Popular Spinituahty 99 more editions appeared before the end of the eighteenth century. Between 1681 and 1792 twenty-three editions of an abridgement by Jehiel Mikhal Epstein (d. 1706), entitled Kitsur shelah, were published in addition to fifteen editions of a Yiddish abridgement that appeared between 1743 and 1797.7° The editor added material of practical interest drawn from other books of kabbalistic preaching. Shene: luhot haberit in its various forms was probably the most important vehicle of mediation of the new kabbalistic ideas of the sixteenth century in the Ashkenazi world. ‘The work had a profound influence on all subsequent writing in genres including exegesis, ethical literature, and ritual practice. The indefatigable Jacob Emden (1697-1776),

the outstanding opponent of Shabbateanism in the eighteenth century, found Shabbatean hints in both Jehiel Mikhal Epstein’s liturgical work Derekh yasharah and in his Kitsur shelah.**

The kabbalistically informed prayer-book by Nathan Note Hanover (d. 1683),

Sha’aret tstyon, went through more than forty editions during the eighteenth century.”° It was by far the most popular specialized prayer-book of the period. Epstein included material from Hanover’s prayer-book in the digest of Shenei luhot haberit.

KERI: LIVING WITH THE TERRIBLE BURDEN OF SINFULNESS A manuscript prayer-book, clearly intended for use by the person conducting the prayers in a relatively small Jewish community in Wschowa in western Poland and dating from the late eighteenth century, contains what at first glance might seem surprising.“° Among the prayers that follow the readings from Scripture in the sabbath service, between the prayer for the government and the prayer for the new month, there is an instruction that the following prayer should be recited by the

congregation while the leader of the prayers is reciting the prayer for the new month. On the festivals, and at New Year and on the Day of Atonement, the allotted time for the same prayer was during the Mussaf (‘additional’ service) while the cantor was repeating the prayer Mipene: hata’einu. At these times they were to pray for the correction (t#kun) of the sin of keri (seminal emission). The prayer ends with

I.

23 Vinograd, Otsar hasefer ha’ivri, pt. 1: ‘Reshimat hasefarim lefi mekomot hadefus’ (Jerusalem,

"oa a Lieberman, “Bamerkungen’, Yivobleter, 36 (1952), 310: Emden claimed there was a Shabbatean allusion in Epstein’s prayer-book, in that he added Psalm 21 at the end of the service. Shab-

bateans recited this psalm three time) daily. This practice was condemned by Ezekiel ben Judah Landau in Noda biyehudah, ‘Hoshen mishpat’, no. 16. Emden also claimed that there was a Shabbatean

allusion in the introduction to the digest of Shene: luhot haberit in the form of the phrase ‘may they merit seeing the face of the true messiah’. The numerical value of the words ‘the true messiah’ (hamashiah ha’amitt) is equivalent to the name Shabbetai Tsevi. 25 1st edn. Prague, 1662. 26 YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York, RG 242 (from the Personenstandes Archiv Koblenz, RSAJg06).

100 Gershon David Hundert the invocation of two holy ‘names’ of God, by the power of which the t#kun would be affected. More than one scholar has noted that the solution to the problem of how to atone _ for kert attracted almost obsessive attention during the late seventeenth century, the eighteenth century, and later.?’ Complete books were devoted to the subject,?° and it is addressed in virtually every work of moral guidance published in that period.?°

The Shulhan arukh, the authoritative sixteenth-century code of Joseph Caro, included the opinion that a person guilty of hashkhatat zera (‘slaughtering [his generative] seed’) is guilty of a sin more serious than all the sins of the Torah. This was a repetition of sentiments expressed in the Zohar.?° The word zera can mean ‘seed’ and it can also mean ‘children’ or ‘descendants’. Hence the following opinions in the Zohar: ‘Such a man’s deed is worse than that of a murderer: he is a killer of his own children and therefore stands condemned as a criminal more reprehensible than any other’; ‘even penitence will not avail him who is guilty of the sin of hashkhatat zera’; by this sin ‘one pollutes himself more than through any other sin in this world or the next’.*! The Mishnah and Talmud portray accidental seminal emission as a source of ritual pollution, but sometimes the references are quite benign, as when nocturnal emission is seen as one of six ‘good signs’ for a person who is ill.?” In rabbinic times, furthermore, there were those who believed that nocturnal emission was caused by female demons who wished to be impregnated and give birth to more demons, but, 27 Katz, Tradition and Crisis, 116, 121; A. J. Heschel, ‘R. nahman mikosov, havero shel habesht’, in

S. Lieberman (ed.), Sefer hayovel likhevod tsevi volfson, Hebrew section (New York, 1965), 138; J. Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic and Superstition (New York, 1939), 282 n. 16; D. M. Feldman, Marital Relations, Birth Control and Abortion in Jewish Law (New York, 1974), 118.

28 A. J. Heschel notes the following contemporary works in ‘R. nahman mikosov’: Joseph ben Solomon Calahora (Joseph Darshan) of Poznan, Yesod yosef: musar vetikunim le’avon keri (Frankfurt an der Oder, 1679); Moses Graf, Zera kodesh: tikunei teshuvah al pegamot haberit (Fuerth, 1696). 29 Shulhan arukh, ‘Even ha’ezer’, 23; Meir ben Gedaliah Lublin, She’elot uteshuvot (Venice, 1618),

116; Abraham Halevi Horowitz, Emek berakha (Krakow, 1597), pt. Il, no. 52, pp. 60b, 61; id., Yesh nohalin (Amsterdam, 1701), 180 n. 17; [Joel ben Uri Heilperin of ZamoS¢ (1690-1755)], Mifalot elohim (Zotkiew, 1725), nos. 356, 357; Elijah de Vidas, Reshit hokhmah, ‘Sha’ar hakedushal’ (Venice, 1579),

ch. 17, sect. 15; Isaiah Horowitz, Shenei luhot haberit hashalem, ed. M. Katz (Haifa, 1997), ‘Sha’ar haotiyot’, nos. 342, 343, 349, 350-5, 360; Joseph Yuspa Hahn, Yosifomets (Frankfurt am Main, 1723), nos. 195, 196; Elijah ben Abraham Hakohen, Shevet musar (Istanbul, 1712), ch. 19, sect. 37; ch. 20; ch. 27, sects. 45-0; ch. 30, sects. 8-9; chs. 40, 44; Mordecai ben Samuel, Sha’ar hamelekh (Zotkiew, 1762), pt. 2, sect. 2, ch. 3; Yehiel Mikhal Epstein, Kitsur shenet luhot haberit im mahadurah batra (Frankfurt am Main, 1724), ‘Sefer toledot adam’, 23a; Alexander ben Moses Ziskind, Yesod veshoresh ha’avodah (Nowy Dwéor, 1782), sect. 10, ch. 3; sect. 12, ch. 2; general sect., ch. 5; Tsevi Hirsh Koidonover, Kav

545, 56d.

hayashar, chs. 2, 11, 12, 22, 34, 45, 58, 61, 68, 70, 93. 30 I. Tishby, The Wisdom of the Zohar, trans. D. Goldstein, 3 vols. (London, 19869), iii. 1364-7. 31 Zohar ‘Vayehi’, 2194; ‘Vayeshev’, 1882. These citations are found in Feldman, Marital Relations,

115. In the Zohar itself there are also less radical opinions about the possibility of penance: Gen. 194,

82 Mishnah, Berakhot 3: 4, Kelim 1: 5; BT Berakhot 21a, Bava kama 82a, Yevamot 7b, 76a; JT Sanhedrin to: 2.

Jewish Popular Spirituality IOI as Isaiah Tishby has pointed out, the man seduced in this way was not held respons-

ible for his action.*? Talmudic attitudes, as Tishby and David Feldman have summarized them, tended not to emphasize moral criticism of the person who had ‘seen keri’.°* It was the Zohar and the approach preserved in it that emphasized the negative and destructive consequences of the destruction of seed. Keri was a form of the more general sin of pegam haberit, that is, a sin against the covenant (of circumcision), and thus against the root of one’s identity as a part of the people of the covenant and indeed as a human being. The human soul had three parts: nefesh (‘soul’), ruah (‘spirit’), and neshamah (‘divine breath of life’), and all of

them could be lost: ‘For the first time [ert occurs], the “other side [stra ahra]” removes his nefesh from him, and the second time his ruah and the third time his neshamah that surrounds him, and gives them to the forces of evil [kelipot].’?? A person guilty of this sin cannot receive the divine presence (Shekhinah). Such a sin would not befall a truly pious and holy person. ‘And it was because of this sin that

our Holy City was destroyed and the Temple laid waste.’ Its continuing occurrence, therefore, prolongs the exile.°° Perhaps most frightening of all, as Elijah de Vidas (sixteenth century), echoing the Zohar, put it in his influential ethical work Reshit hokhmah: ‘for the sin of keri no repentance is possible’.*”

The author of the Zohar saw nocturnal emission as sexual contact with female demons and worthy of utter condemnation. The righteous were preserved from such defilement, but those who were weak were liable to seduction by Na’amah, the mother of demons.°*° The sixteenth-century Safed mystics and their European mediators, while accepting the gravity of the matter as expressed in the Zohar, generally maintained that forgiveness was possible if extraordinary acts of penitence were undertaken.*? Isaiah Horowitz, in his Shenei luhot haberit, devoted consider33 Tishby, Wisdom, iii. 1377 n. 119. Genesis Rabbah 20: 28; 24: 6; BT Eruvin 185 and Rashi, loc. cit. JT Shabat 1: 3. Cf. Zohar, Gen. 19), 544, 560; Meir ben Gedaliah Lublin, She’elot uteshuvot (Venice, 1618), 116.

34 Feldman, Marital Relations, 116; Tishby, Wisdom, iii. 1366. Cf. the halakhic material adduced by

Meir Havatselet, ‘Hishtalshelut minhag toharat ba’alei keri behashpa’at gormei zeman umakom’, Talptyot, 8/34 (1963), 531-7. °° Moses Hayim Ephraim of Sudytkow, Degel mahanceh efrayim (Zhitomir, 1874), 70a—b, ‘Ekev’.

36 Mordecai ben Samuel, Sha’ar hamelekh, pt. 2, sect. 2, ch. 3: ‘a sin of monumental proportions that is delaying redemption’. Heschel, ‘R. nahman’, n. 138: ‘Because of this our city and Temple were destroyed and our precious ones were exiled.’ YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, RG 242. °” Elijah de Vidas, Reshit hokhmah, ‘Sha’ar hakedushah’, ch. 17, sect. 15. By contrast see the ruling of Yaakov Molin (Maharil, 1360?—1427) in the case of a person who ‘saw keri on the Day of Atonement’

which, after requiring that the man mortify himself as far as possible, concluded that ‘he should not despair’ but return to the Lord with his whole heart. Cited in J. Elbaum, Teshuvat halev vekabalat yisurim: ryunim beshitot hateshuvah shel hokhmet ashkenaz upolin, 1345-1648 (Jerusalem, 1992), 30.

38 'Tishby, Wisdom, iii. 1366-7, and the references there. , 39 See the analysis of the treatment of this problem by Moses Cordovero (Or yakar, sect. 11, para. 3)

in Elbaum, Teshuvat halev, 40, and the prescription of eighty-four fasts in Judah Aaron Moses ben Abraham, Vayekhal mosheh, ibid. 140, and see 16, 30, 204. Cf. Elijah de Vidas, Reshit hokhmah, ‘Sha’ar hakedushah’, no. 17.

102 Gershon David Hundert able attention to the problem.*° In characteristic fashion, he assembled relevant

passages from the Talmud and the Zohar together with references to Sefer haroke’ah, the pietist manual of repentance by Eleazar ben Judah of Worms (c.1165—1230), and extensive citations from Reslit hokhmah. While the latter work stressed the need for penitential acts affecting all the limbs of the body, Horowitz

emphasized the requirement to repeat the acts of penitence according to the - number of times the sin had been committed. In this case, the sinner’s life would probably end before the penitence was complete. However, God takes intention

into account, and if the penitent died before achieving atonement, his thoughts would be added to his deeds and his intentions considered to have been fulfilled. The prescribed penance was ritual immersion and eighty-four fasts annually in accordance with a tradition attributed to the great kabbalist Isaac Luria (1534-72) ‘printed at the end of Kitsur reshit hokhmah, which everyone owns’.*"

Most of the popular works of the eighteenth century considered here, while devoting considerable attention to the subject, did not accept the categorical denial of the possibility of penitence. Hence the following passage in Shevet musar: You, my sons, if the failing of spilling seed to no purpose is yours, even if it is absolutely involuntary and forced upon you, be sure to purify yourselves in the ritual bath immediately. God forbid that you should take this lightly. . . . Such a mating is with Lilith the temptress and other forces of uncleanness. She fastens herself to the sinner with plans to collect her due in the world to come. God save us. A person who dies without repenting and in such a state of impurity—such a soul is cut off.*7

Jehiel Mikhal Epstein, in his Kitsur shelah, provided a digest of the seventeenthcentury book by Joseph ben Solomon Calahora (Joseph Darshan, 1601-96) of Poznan, Yesod yosef, that was devoted entirely to this problem. He listed the eleven types of behaviour that brought a person to commit this sin, the eight punishments

that await the sinner, and twenty-three tkunim, or corrections, that might aid in atoning for the sin.*° In the quest to explain the eighteenth-century preoccupation with this matter, one element that must be considered is the demographic history of Polish-Lithuanian

Jewry. As the proportion of young people in the population grew, the number of those for whom keri would have been an urgent concern also expanded. ‘This, com-

bined with the enormous popularity of the kabbalistic understanding of the commandments, the preoccupation with the demons of the stra ahra, and the notion of

almost inescapable sinfulness, must be taken into account. ,

In this light, the views on the subject attributed to the putative founder of the hasidic movement become rather dramatic in their significance. According to Dov Ber, the Maggid of Mezhirech (d. 1772), Israel ben Eliezer, the Ba’al Shem Tov, said: , 49 Horowitz, Shenei luhot haberit, ‘Sha’ar haotiyot’, nos. 342, 343, 349, 350-5, 300.

41 Tbid., nos. 350, 362. 42 Shevet musar, ch. 40, sect. 17.

43 Epstein, Kitsur shelah, ‘Sefer toledot adam’, 23a, sect. 100: ‘In the Matter of Wasting Seed’: ‘Ot kof: Inyanei hotsa’at zera levatalah’.

| Jewish Popular Spirituality 103 One should not worry over an impure accident, an involuntary seminal emission that occurred without impure thoughts. .. . For he was condemned, God forbid, to death, but because of this [the emission], the evil left him and he was spared. Without it he would have

died, God forbid. ,

The emission, in this view, expels an evil spark that must be extinguished: He said there is a hint of this in [the verse] ‘Precious [yakar] in the eyes of the Lord is the death of his pious ones [hasidav|’ (Ps. 115: 15). Yakar is made up of the same letters as kert and is good for his pious ones [tov /ehasidav]. That 1s, if it happens to him without his having had a lustful thought, it is good. For otherwise he might have died, God forbid. Therefore he should not worry, except about purifying his thoughts.**

Note that there is no emphasis here on the creation of demons by the seed. Rather there is almost a sense of beneficial effect: it is ‘good for his pious ones’. The views of Israel Ba’al Shem Tov, however, were not at all universally accepted among subsequent hasidic leaders.*° One ingredient in the vast, complex, and heterogeneous culture of the nearly three-quarters of a million Jews in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth in the eighteenth century was the set of consequences arising from the popularization of ideas and practices informed by kabbalah. Of these consequences, one was a more individualized quest for spiritual fulfilment, or, at least, spiritual confidence. It was the Ba’al Shem Tov’s ability to offer this spiritual confidence that at least in part explains his success and that of his disciples. 44 Dov Ber, Or torah (Korzec, 1804), ‘Re’eh’ and Magid devarav leya’akov (Korzec, 1784), 385 (in the version edited by Rivka Schatz (Jerusalem, 1976), no. 160, pp. 256-7); cf. In Praise of the Baal Shem Tov, trans. D. Ben-Amos and J. Mintz (Bloomington, Ind., 1970), no. 209. 45 Moses Hayim Ephraim of Sudytkéw, Degel mahaneh efrayim, 70a—b, ‘Ekev’; Nahman of Bratslav,

Tikun hakelal (Warsaw, 1898); Magid devarav leya’akov (Jerusalem, 1976), no. 42, p. 64; no. 151, pp. 250-1; no. 207, pp. 331-3. Abraham Joshua Heschel of Apta, Ohev yisra’el (Jerusalem, 1962), 54-5, ‘Vayehi’.

BLANK PAGE

Propaganda of the Frankist Movement

, HARRIS LENOWITZ

A JEWISH ‘messiah event’ involves both the Jewish community—messiah, follow-

ers, and opponents—and the wider community within which they are located, which is, generally speaking, antagonistic, although occasionally it may include sympathizers and even supporters.’ Jewish supporters of a messiah and opponents from both communities alike make free use of one another’s traditions and documents relating to the messiah and millennial matters.” A single religious context and a continuous history in Poland connect the messiah Shabbetai Tsevi with the

messiah Jakub Frank and his daughter the messiah Eva Frank. This chapter describes a single aspect of this interrelated history—images of the messiah—as it relates to the interests of those involved in these three messiah events. Each group shares images throughout this history, including images of what is proper and sanctified and what is improper, despicable, and unholy, in a single stream fed by strange tributaries.

THE FIRST BATTLE In the spring of 1666, in a number of towns throughout Poland,® Christian mobs attacked processions of Jews carrying pictures of Shabbetai Tsevi and Nathan of I would like to thank Prof. Michat Galas and Prof. Matt Goldish for guiding me to documents and helping me to interpret them; Prof. Sid Z. Leiman for his comments and especially for his help with the

Emden materials; Prof. Michael Rudick for help with Dante; Linda Burns of the Inter-Library Loan Department, Marriott Library, University of Utah; Nathan Snyder, Judaica librarian at the University of Texas, Austin; and the staff of the Slavic and East European Library at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana. ' T have sought to demonstrate this at greater length in H. Lenowitz, The Jewish Messiahs (New York, 1998), 4-5.

_* Tbid. 14-20 and ch. 10: ‘The Yemenite Messiahs’; id., “The Messiah Makes an Account of Himself’, in Proceedings of the Twelfth World Congress of Ffewish Studies (Jerusalem, forthcoming); id.,

‘Shvkr Kunay/II Reads the Bible’, in L. Greenspan and B. Le Beau (eds.), Sacred Text, Secular Times (Omaha, 2000), 245-67. 3 Pinsk, 20 Mar. 1666; Vilna, 28 Mar. 1666; Lublin, 27 Apr. 1666.

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cere tee | ! Tbid., s.v. bamidrash ve’ahar. Moses Hayim Luzzatto refers to this idea in several of his writings, probably following in the Maharal of Prague’s footsteps he explains that had God created man as a perfect being, he would have created him imperfect, because true perfection is only that achieved by man’s

endeavour. See Y. Jacobson, ‘Hahanhagah ha’elohit vehishtakfutah besugiyat tsadik vera lo kiyesod haguto shel ramhal’, Da’at, 40 (1998), 65.

52 Sefat emet, i, ‘Vayera’, 34), s.v. bamidrash al ha’akedah. °3 Ibid. 344, s.v. ita avraham.

4 Thid. 354, s.v. bamidrash ve’ahar. °° Tbid. 1, ‘Vayishlah’, 714, s.v. vayishlah.

232 Yoram Jacobson is above Nature’®® and in its unknown depth. When the first light of creation, which

signifies the primeval wholeness of the world—surrounding it entirely and combining all its particulars in one spiritual order—was hidden, ‘all the guidance of

Nature became embodied in the luminaries and constellations by the way of Nature’.°’ The light prevailing now, in the imperfect material world, is the ‘natural’

one, while the divine light of the perfect beginning is concealed and hidden. But man is committed to a decisive task: ‘to transform Nature’ and to break through its boundaries, to open wide its shut gates, to reveal a new order that is above it°® and to

actualize the principle of renewal embedded in its divine inwardness; that is, to draw down holiness, revealing it as the divine immanence within Nature and as the

source of the blessing of uninterrupted generation.°? We may add here another aspect regarding the characterization of holiness: as the source of uninterrupted generation, holiness embodies the principle of ceaseless renewal, whose meaning Is patently liberation from the bonds of the routine of corporeality and its fixed laws,

and thus true spiritual freedom. In sum: on the sabbath the harmonious order—meaning the manifestation of God in his flowing fertility and the expansion of his blessings to all—is established. The great importance of order as a theological subject, which determines the revelation of divine fertility in the various levels of being, was well understood by the teachers of kabbalah. The Maharal of Prague, who exerted a great influence upon Gur hasidism—as upon the schools of Przysucha and Kock that preceded it, and from whose writings the concept of Nature found its way, in my opinion, into their teachings—discussed the idea of ‘order’ as one of the cornerstones of his own pro-

found thought.®! All of the separate vessels of Nature as a divided and split being are combined on the sabbath, when the labour of heaven and earth is completed and its purpose achieved, and are integrated with one another in a system of interlocking vessels. This combination implies ipso facto their purification from the dross and waste inherent in the very existence of individuality and of individual and distinct entities, thereby creating a movement from the individual on the periphery to the divine point in the centre,®” from the distant ends to the root, from the dross to 56 Sefat emet, i, ‘Vayera’, 39a, S.v. vayera... perush rashi. 57 Tbid., s.v. vayera... bamidrash.

of Hasidism’.

58 Tbid. 59 See ibid. i, ‘Hayei sarah’, 42a, s.v. adont avi zekent mort verahi.

60 [ have already discussed this subject in my book Hasidic Thought, ch. 8: ‘The Spiritual Imperative

61 See e.g. his discussion in the first chapters of Netiv hatorah, in Netivot olam (Jerusalem, 1971), esp. 3-20. A. F. Kleinberger briefly discussed the concept of order (Hamahshavah hapedagogit shel hamaharal miperag (Jerusalem, 1962), 82-3), but he ignored the most important aspect of ‘order’— namely, its metaphysical meaning—when the world ascends from the concrete or natural (a very frequently used term) to the realm of holiness. 62 This centre is not mathematical or geometric, but an existential principle of balance, harmony, and unity—be it on the metaphysical or on the ethical level. On the doctrine of the ‘inner point’ in the

teachings of the hasidic school of Gur, see Y. Jacobson, ‘Galut uge’ulah behasidut gur’, 177-8;

1986), 617-60. |

M. Piekarz, Hanekudah hapenimit etsel admorei gur ve’alexander, Isaiah Tishby Jubilee Volume ( Jerusalem,

Primordial Chaos and Gur Hasidism 233 the choicest vessel, from the shells to the essence. This interlocking vessel formed by the removal of the dross from its refined, purified, and limpid sides 1s a ‘vessel holding blessing’, embodying the aspect of the receptive attached to its source to get and contain its abundance. The dross prevents the harmonious and fertile totality from coming into being and signifies a separating and barren entity in man’s exis-

tential world. This is the hasidic version of the kabbalistic idea of the ‘shells’ (kelipot). The ultimate goal of creation is accomplished in this vessel or, to put it another way, in its very being as a vessel, which is of no value in itself but is entirely intended only to reveal within itself the blessing of heaven and the glory of its kingdom.®® When this interlocking vessel takes its refined shape, chaotic reality is nulli-

fied: the Primordial Chaos is uprooted on the sabbath, and the goal of creation is manifested (for chaos means a purposeless reality, denied any direction of development). This goal is described as the ascent of earth and its connection to heaven to become ‘together’.® ‘All of his pleasure, may he be blessed, is when the lower realms are vessels to receive the blessing’—that is, not when they are just a part of the created world conducted according to its ‘natural’ lawfulness, or a component of the machine called Nature, but when they ‘nullify . . . the acts’ (practically

refrain from working) on the sabbath and ascend to what is beyond the created corporeality of Nature as their own nature. They are only vessels when they negate themselves ‘to the source’. Then they accomplish their goal, and their self-abnegation (the negation of the misleading and deceiving aspect of their material existence) 1s their true existence, their relation to their root tightened and its blessing flowing

into them augmented more and more.® When the world is a receiving vessel, preparing itself to receive the blessing of heaven, to which alone it lifts its eyes from now on—no longer running about along the separated paths of the mundane and in the wake of its own private wills—the Supernal Will can be actualized and manifested therein, and the abundance (the blessing of offspring, both on the spiritual and the material levels) can flow more and more, as the world no longer poses the

barriers of its opaque corporeality against the uninterrupted continuity of the divine influx. There is no new life within chaos, and no generations are created therein; only the harmonic order allows for their coming into existence and leaves ‘space’ for their expanding holiness (which always means the appearance of newly created forms and stages of life). At this point we find a surprising and exciting interpretation regarding the act of creation, which explains the dialectical relationship between Primordial Chaos and Creation: God crumbled and broke down the primeval unity of the cosmos and hid it away in the recesses of Nature 1n order that it may once again be discovered—on a much higher level—once Nature is again reconnected with its point of origin. In 63 On the meaning and significance of the term ‘vessel’ (kel), see Y. Jacobson, “Torat haberiah shel rabi shneur zalman milyady’, Eshel Be’er Sheva, 1 (1976), 333, 336-7, 348. 64 Sefat emet, i, ‘Bereshit’, 60, s.v. vayishbot. 6° Tbid. i, ‘Hayei sarah’, 46d, s.v. bapasuk ve’avraham.

234 Yoram Jacobson explaining the phrase ‘a remembrance of the act of creation’ recited in the Friday night kiddush, the author of Sefat emet says the following: The fact is that [the verse] ‘In the beginning [God] created the heavens and the earth’ is one [divine] saying that encompasses the entire creation, and it [this one comprehensive saying] is the root of creation attached to the beginning. Thereafter, as it 1s written, ‘and the land was without form and void’—there began the six days of action. And the first saying dwells upon the creation, and from this saying flows [the stream of] blessing and existence to the creation; and this is what is said (Genesis Rabbah 1: 10) that He began [to create] with [the Hebrew letter] bet, referring to [the first letter of] berakhah [which means blessing], and hopefully it will exist. That is, since the world of Nature [as it is] cannot receive the Divinity, therefore God, may He be blessed, created it so that the existence of the world would be by blessing,

flowing down from the root of Divinity to the creation. And this is the blessing on the sabbath, and this is the ‘remembrance of the act of creation’, which is the [first comprehensive] saying of ‘In the beginning’.°

The seemingly surprising thing about this formulation is, first of all, the identification of the six days of creation with the Primordial Chaos. ‘Primordial Chaos is [a principle of] covering’, says Rabbi Judah Arie Loeb, ‘and the holiness and wisdom that the Holy One, blessed be He, placed in the act of creation are not recognizable’. Thus, the created world (embodied in material nature) is in itself the Primordial Chaos, whose light is hidden and goodness concealed. Only if man acts properly (a

subject that 1s beyond the scope of our present discussion) can the Primordial Chaos be uprooted and the mixture of good and evil be negated, allowing him finally to reveal the hidden light and the glory of the kingdom of heaven.®* But the understanding of the identification of the six days of creation with Nature may diminish

somewhat the surprise: the creation of the world is nothing but the bringing into existence of material Nature and its fixed laws (corresponding to the corporeal body), whereas at the Sinaitic revelation the soul of the world and its spiritual dimension were manifested.®? Hence, on the sabbath that follows the Primordial Chaos of the six days of creation there flickers and breaks forth the holiness of the unity that encompassed the world before the Primordial Chaos, and in it there is preserved the remembrance of the Beginning that was forgotten in the Primordial Chaos—in Nature, in the profane, in the days of creation. This memory leads and connects us to the true act of creation, the one that preceded the Primordial Chaos (just as every memory is an act of connection to the hidden source). Only once the 66 See Zohar, i. 16); i. 30a—based upon BT Rosh hashanah 32a. 67 Sefat emet, i, ‘Bereshit’, 9a, s.v. vetiknu bekidush; my italics. For additional explanations of the expression, see ibid. 11, ‘Yitro’, 53), s.v. ve ita be’otiyot; 11, ‘Ki tisa’, 106), s.v. ukhemo khen shabat. 68 Ibid. ii, ‘Pekudei’, 118d, s.v. mishkan ha’edut.

6? Tbid. ii, ‘Yitro’, 48d, s.v. vedareshu hazal. I shall return below to the subject of the Sinaitic revelation and the giving of the Torah. The precedence of the evil urge over the good one in human development is tantamount to that of the Ten Sayings—being related as God’s creative power over Nature—to

the Ten Commandments, and this is also the precedence of the Primordial Chaos over the sabbath

| (ibid. 434, s.v. bazohar hakadosh shabat).

Primordial Chaos and Gur Hastdism 235 Primordial Chaos is uprooted, at the end of the weekdays and upon the arrival of the sabbath, can there be manifested the ‘root of creation’ and what preceded its crumbling and breakdown within Nature—after which everything is characterized by multiplication, separation, division, controversy, closing off, opaqueness, and disconnection. The ‘root of creation’ signifies the true primeval and pure world, while still attached to the divine unity and immersed in the all-embracing being that existed before the separation and splitting of the weekdays, before the Primordial Chaos. It is the Act of the Beginning (ma’aseh bereshit) in the most literal sense: the

first saying that encompasses and precedes all. The sabbath after the Primordial Chaos represents the return of things to the root of creation before the Primordial Chaos, and is thus both the starting point and the end of the dialectical movement from the general to the particular back to the general. In the six-day creation there was created the world of the ‘individuals’ and ‘separate beings’, of the uprooted and

dispersed. It is man’s decisive task ‘to connect the individuals to the whole’, to negate Nature as a world of multiplicity and separation, and to discover the bright and radiant light of the sabbath, whose blessing does not rest but upon the primeval and ‘all-embracing [and connecting] unity’.’° On the sabbath man ascends to discover—in the combination of the individuals and their purification (the twofold meaning of the Hebrew tseruf)—the divine unity. The phrase ‘and it was evening’, which appears at the end of each of the days of creation, indicates that, within the chaotic mixture (alluded to by the Hebrew erev) of the world, as made by God, the truth is hidden and concealed ‘in the darkness of corporeality and Nature’, and that ‘the root of the beginning which flows from Him, may He be blessed’, 1s ‘mixed and darkened in the corporeal Nature’—1in order that man shall again discover them, ‘as it occurred in the receiving of the Torah’. Man will become God’s partner in the act of creation (or rather in its completion) when he connects ‘the acts of Nature to the

Torah’ and combines them in the source of holiness.’’ When the blessing of the connection to the root of unity dwells upon the world, the cosmos as a whole 1s integrated: the lower world attaches itself to the upper world, this world to the world to come, the days of creation and Primordial Chaos to the sabbath, and Nature to holiness. The abundance flows without disturbance: ‘And therefore, after the passage of “And they were finished” (Gen. 2: 1), it 1s written, “These are the generations of [the] heavens and [the] earth’, etc., “in the day that the Lord God made”, etc. (Gen. 2: 4). [This verse] mentioned a full name [of God]: the Tetragrammaton and elohim, [reigning| over a full world [heaven and earth], for this world was attached to the world to come.’’* When each one finds ‘his place and , his source’ either above or in the depths of his spirit, when man connects himself to the source of his soul (by the commandments)—that is, when the Primordial Chaos 7 Tbid. ii, ‘Pekudei’, 1174, s.v. eleh pekudei. ‘All-embracing unity’ is my translation of kelalut ha’ahdut. 1 Tbid. ii, ‘Mishpatim’, 604, s.v. ve’eleh hamishpatim; ibid. 60), s.v. uvamidrash hada hu dikhetiv. ” Tbid. i, ‘Bereshit’, ga, s.v. bemidrash tanhuma.

236 Yoram Facobson in the world and in the soul is negated—tthe sabbath resides as ‘the completion of the work of God’s hands’. } The conclusion to be drawn is exciting: that Primordial Chaos is not the chaotic reality preceding the creation of heaven and earth, as according to the literal sense of the biblical story, but a stage in the course of creation, between the comprehensive first saying and the sabbath. The sabbath is the day of comprehensive wholeness and unity, which by the very fact of their second revelation are more exalted, elevated, and sublime than the preceding unity of the first saying, because they include all of the united individuals, and the individual—as both cosmic and human principle—is absorbed within them. Asa result of the profound change within the individual, and specifically by its self-negation, it functions as a strengthening element within the comprehensive wholeness. A dialectical principle that was already understood and clearly formulated by kabbalah should be noted here: namely, that a true, productive unity, or a fertile unification, can only be established within a reality of distance and separation that necessarily precedes it. Peace ‘to the near and to the far’ (according to Isa. 57: 19) means that ‘no evil thing comes from God, may He be blessed’, and that even the great existential distance separating Nature from God and evil from good has its positive aspect, in that it is the source of the awakening of ‘a more intense true will’ within man. Through his powerful determination man is able to break through Nature and pave a path towards ‘the distant place’, to light up the darkness in the depths of its corporeality.’* The power 73 Sefat emet, ii, “Tetsaveh’, 80), s.v. bamidrash lema’aseh; and see ibid. ui, ‘Zakhor’, 85), s.v. bamidrash osei devaro; ibid. 86a, s.v. bamidrash zayit; ibid. 11, ‘Ki tisa’, 99), s.v. shabetotat. 4 Tbid. i, ‘Vayetse’, 63a, s.v. berashi. R. Judah Arie Loeb states elsewhere that ‘the root of creation is

in unity’, which encompasses and connects together the ‘two formations’ (yetsirot) alluded to by the phrase vayitser (lit. ‘And [he] formed’; Gen. 2: 7), namely, the good impulse (yetser hatov) and the evil

one (yetser hara). In the fundamental metaphysical unity there is no ‘duality’ because ‘evil has no existence in the world, as God, may he be blessed, bestows only good’, and only ‘according to the [manner of] acceptance by the receivers, there is drawn down a shadow of evil, like the shadow that comes from man’s act and his motions, and it is called the “shadow of death!” (tsalmavet: Job 28: 3). Evil is only the putrid fruit of the actualized negative potential found in Nature, into whose chaotic depths man is thrown, but, in the negative dimension of its own existence as such, evil does not have a necessary metaphysical root. Moreover, in the typical dialectical transformation of hasidic thought evil is turned into good and serves for its manifestation and strengthening, as is also taught in many places in the Sefat emet. Hence ‘there is no evil thing in the world, which has not within itself the preceding healing’. Like Rabbi Moses Hayim Luzzatto, Rabbi Judah Arie Loeb applies the metaphor of illness to explain the nature of evil: it is not the lack of vitality, but its concealment, so that its action 1s distorted

and its positive influence decreased. There is vitality in the organs of the sick person, and he is sustained by divine power, but ‘it is hidden, and is not properly arranged and directed [in its appearance and function]’. Evil, as mentioned, is nothing but ‘a shadow, which has no reality, but imagination’, yet the concrete appearance of this ‘false imagination’ is rooted 1n the structure of the world and its nature or, to use the language of the Sefat emet, in its form, which God formed and portrayed in such a way that it may appear in two aspects—either as the good impulse or as the evil one (Sefat emet, 1, ‘Mikets’, 92b—-934, s.v. bamidrash kets [5635]; ibid. 94a—b, s.v. bamidrash mikets). According to one of the most

important teachings of Moses Hayim Luzzatto, God has allowed evil to become stronger and stronger—as if it were the ruler of the universe—in order eventually to overcome the demonic powers

Primordial Chaos and Gur Hasidism 237 to oppose holiness is intended, 1n the final analysis, according to the divine plan of the cosmic course, specifically to augment and increase it: “The more man corrects himself, the more power is added to the [evil] impulse and to the Other Side against him, and as a result he adds [more and more] power to fight against it, and ascends

more.’’? We may also put it somewhat differently: the heavier the darkness becomes, and the greater the hiddenness, the greater the testimony they bear to the excess light that has not yet broken through from their depths.’° Darkness is only intended to be transformed into light and to illuminate; just as Primordial Chaos is to be broken through and to be corrected and arranged ina functional order, Nature is to be opened, and the mundane is to be sanctified. Originally the world was Torah (or its perfect plan, as crystallized within the divine thought), which preceded it and embodied it in its ideal being: sabbath. I have already elaborated upon the identification of the sabbath with the Torah in one of my studies on Gur hasidism,’’ but I would like to add here a few details relevant to this discussion. The sabbath is ‘the root of the Torah’ and its inner essence: the one is the drawing down of divine life into weekdays, and the other, the drawing down of divine vitality into the created world.’® ‘The Torah is the aspect of the sabbath itself’,”® and essentially identical with it, both in its meaning and in its spiritual function. The fact that the Torah was given on the sabbath (BT, Shabat 86b) means that ‘the conduct of the entire world [should be] by the laws of the Torah’—so that all its individuals will be connected to one another in the order of unity and holiness, and

there will no longer be any foothold or opportunity for evil whatsoever. This and manifest his absolute uniqueness. According to Luzzatto’s famous formulation, evil was created to be totally destroyed at the final redemption. This important metaphysical doctrine was interpreted by hasidic teachers as relevant to the understanding of human existence and its struggles. See Jacobson, ‘Hahanhagah ha’elohit vehishtakfutah besugiyat tsadik vera lo kiyesod haguto shel ramhal’, 55-63. (On the description of evil as illness by Luzzatto, see ibid. 63; Y. Jacobson, ‘Torat hahanhagah shel ramhal vezikatah letorat hakabalah shelo’, tala Judaica, 3 (1989), 34. I intend to devote an extensive discussion to the concept of evil in Sefat emet in the future.) Man’s task is to reconstruct the unity that has been crumbled and concealed in the deceitful and evil imaginations by the uncovering and awakening of the root of unity, in which there is no duality, splitting, multiplicity, controversy, dispute, or

conflict (all the manifestations of corporeal reality)—the root that is above Nature and beyond its barriers. Sefat emet, i, ‘Toledot’, 536, s.v. vekhol habe’erot. Cf. Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady, Tanya: sefer shel beinonim, ch. 28, 35a. On the advantage of overcoming the evil impulse, see Sefat emet, i, ‘Vayetse’, 634, s.v. vayetse; ibid. i, ‘Vayeshev’, 82), s.v. bikesh ya’akov; ibid. i, ‘Mikets’, 93a, s.v. vayeritsuhu.

© Sefat emet, i, ‘Toledot’, 58, s.v. be’inyan habe’erot. Elsewhere, in a remarkable and extremely penetrating formulation, Rabbi Judah Aryeh Leib states that, as a ‘covering to the light’ and as a ‘place’ that God created for it ‘to be concealed there’—so long as the world does not deserve its revelation— darkness is in ‘a high place’, even higher than light; so much so that in the blessing of yotser hame’orot

recited prior to the Shema in the daily prayers, the term beriah (‘creation’) is used regarding it, while concerning light the term yetsirah (‘formation’) is used (ibid. i, ‘Mikets’, 94), s.v. bamidrash kets (5639) ).

™ Jacobson, ‘Kedushat hahulin behasidut gur’, 266-8.

8 Sefat emet, ii, ‘Yitro’, 43a, s.v. bazohar hakadosh shabat. 2 Thid. 48d, s.v. vedarshu hazal.

238 Yoram Jacobson conduct is ‘the matter of the sabbath’. The sabbath signifies the hidden goodness of God, an excessive, wondrous light that the six days of the week were not capable of receiving, incorporating, and containing within the narrow boundaries of the limited Nature embodied and crystallized in them. The sabbath is ‘the supreme root’ of reality in its ‘pre-Natural’ unity, the supernal pure heavens, in which is ‘revealed . .. the glory of his kingdom, may He be blessed, without the Other Side at all’. With this goodness, which 1s his sabbatical treasure, God constantly renews the created world. And when the entire world observes and conducts itself according to the laws of the Torah, thus abolishing all the outbreaking drives of Nature, there will be

, drawn down ‘the whole illumination from the root to all the days’ (that is, to all the individuals of the split existence, whose separate individuality will be wiped out). Then there will come the day that is entirely sabbath and is completely Torah.®° The giving of the Torah, as the revelation of ‘[divine] guidance that is above Nature’, is the essential significance of the sabbath.®! According to the rabbinic tradition that those acts of creation that ought to have been performed on the sabbath were done on the sixth day (Genesis Rabbah 11: 9), one may conclude that ‘man was prepared [and conceived] to be created on the sabbath’ as a pure sabbatical being. According to God’s plan, man was intended to be ‘formed and corrected [nitkan] on the holy sabbath [being provided] with the perfection of the soul’, had it been given him in the Garden of Eden, for ‘in truth the soul is the essence of man’. But Adam disappointed and sinned, missing his perfection. ‘That which was spoiled was corrected only after many generations ‘in the receiving of the Torah, and then there was given them the complete soul’. This soul, which from the very beginning was intended to be given on the sabbath, was worthy at Mount Sinai to stand before God ‘without barriers, as it shall be in the future, “and [your Teacher] shall not hide himself any more”, etc., “and your eyes shall see” etc. “your Teacher” (Isa. 30: 20), and it is also written, “and all the people saw the thunderings” (Exod. 20: 15)’. In this extraordinary, far-reaching spiritual vision they were ‘holy like the ministering angels, literally’, and in their purified bodies they were ‘literally souls without

any concealment’. Thus, the six-day creation signifies the world of corporeal Nature, while the Sinaitic revelation, which is the sabbath, on which man was originally meant to be created, is entirely ‘soul and spirituality’. In brief: the receiving of the Torah, as ‘the completion of creation’ and as ‘the correction of man’, signifies the dwelling of the sabbath upon the world, which returns to the wholeness of the correct and corrected structure of its primordial purity. This is

why ‘the remembrance of the sabbath is the very essence of the accepting of the 80 Sefat emet, 445, s.v. bamidrash hashem uzi; ve’ita bazohar hakadosh. The sabbath is the ‘existence of [all] creatures’ because it signifies the divine lawfulness of reality. Just as the builder who ignores the architect’s plan causes the malfunctioning of the building and its destruction, deviation from the way of

the Torah and the sabbath brings about distortion of the world-order and its falling apart. From the midrashic period the Torah is considered the divine plan of the world or its metaphysical constitution. The Torah is nothing but the idea of the world, or the world in its ideal existence, crystallized in God’s

thought. 81 [bid. 47), s.v. bapasuk sheshet yamim.

Primordial Chaos and Gur Hasidism 239 Torah’.®* Through the Torah, and on the sabbath, man becomes worthy to free himself

from enslavement to Nature and to his own needs and impulses, and to acquire the spiritual freedom that was included in the ten sayings of creation (BT Eruvin 54a; Exodus Rabbah 32:1; 41: 7). At the Sinaitic revelation, when the Torah was given, Israel was prepared . . . to be like angels, as is written, ‘I said, you are angels’ (Ps. 82: 6), and like Adam before the sin, who ascended and descended to the supernal world and to the lower [one]; therefore man was created [having the quality of] including and combining together higher and lower realms. And this is the essence of freedom, that the soul not be connected [too tightly] to the body, and may ascend at any time, like Elijah the prophet, peace upon him, who ascended to the heavens and descended.®*

The identification of the Torah with the sabbath is repeatedly referred to and clearly

emphasized in numerous statements: the purpose of God’s creative activity, imposed on the world as his absolute demand, 1s ‘to nullify’ and subjugate ‘the entire creation’ and all its wills, urges, and needs, ‘to the Torah and to his will, may He be blessed’; the purpose of the six days of creation is the sabbath (‘that all things be nullified to be a vessel holding blessing’); and the purpose of this world is the world to come.®* The essence of the blessing of existence, which is to be found in

the harmonious order, and of the generations that cannot evolve as a continuous chain of flowing life but from it and within its realm, is rooted in the Torah, which is the order of holiness. But during the six days of creation, the ‘saying’ of the Torah,

which is the word of God, became embodied, clothed, and closed in concrete activity performed in Nature, namely, in ‘a level that is below the very essence of the [pure] saying’. The sabbath, from whose source the blessing flows, because it is the divine treasure of holiness, is the ‘saying without being embodied in the [concrete world of] action, and it is the root of the Torah’.®° Let us now return to our main theme and conclude our discussion. Originally, as I have pointed out, the world was Torah and sabbath: the sabbath which preceded the

days of creation. But God concealed it in the mundane realm, in Nature, and in the Primordial Chaos of the days of creation, so that it will eventually be revealed again. This will happen when man acts according to his destiny and fulfils his task to establish a new order of all-encompassing and all-embracing wholeness, in which individuals are gathered and purified of all of the dross of individuality, of multiplicity, of separation, of opaqueness and controversy. The split between the upper and lower realms in the Primordial Chaos does not exist any more on the sabbath. The chaotic being is essentially characterized by the concealment of the 82 Ibid. 480, s.v. vedarshu hazal. On the relation between Adam’s sin and the Sinaitic revelation, which was intended to be Adam’s correction, see Y. Jacobson, ‘Hage’ulah ha’aharonah ba’aspaklariyah shel adam harishon lefi hakhmei italiyah bitekufat harenesans’, Da’at, 11 (1983), 67-89. 83 Tbid. ii, ‘Ki tisa’, 1064, s.v. bamidrash bapasuk. Cf. Y. Jacobson, Benitvei galuyot ugeulot ( Jerusalem,

1996), 261-76. 84 Tbid. ii, ‘Yitro’, 50a, s.v. bapasuk zakhor. 8° Ibid. 54), s.v. bapasuk zakhor, cf. ibid. ii, ‘Mishpatim’, 554, s.v. hineh anokhi; ii, ‘Vayakhel’, 1152, s.v. be’inyan hamasveh.

240 Yoram Jacobson inner point, which is the root and source of vitality for all the phenomena of the periphery. By this concealment the inner point loses its unifying power; that is, its power to unite the entire system in a uniform order of centre and periphery, which is the sacred order (essence and shells). As a result of this disintegration, the powers moving in the circles of the periphery take wing, freed from the restraining connection to the central point, breaking out with unrestrained power, without direction or purpose, into space, in which there move about the echoes of their chaotic explo-

sions. Under such chaotic circumstances, Nature becomes strengthened: the periphery is now of central and decisive importance, the shell grows stronger, and the thickened externality causes the holy inwardness to be forgotten. In this chaotic reality nothing is in its place: a state of cosmic and psychological exile. ‘The sabbath is the correction of the Primordial Chaos—the sabbath, specifically, and not the days of creation, because everything created during them was created as a mixture (of light and darkness), which requires sorting out and separation of the waste and dross.2° The Gur system repeatedly points out the relation between the sabbath and weekdays, stating that weekdays ascend on the sabbath and are incorporated in it and become sabbath—the Primordial Chaos which 1s within them being nullified, as they are included in the unitary sabbatical being. The essential purpose of the historical appearance of the people of Israel, 1ts task and mission, is above the created world®’—regarding both its source of spiritual power and its destination and final

goal. The demand for the spiritualization of the created world by freeing it from Nature and the secular circles of time in which it is trapped, and by restoring the holy sabbath that preceded them, is clear and firm. The Primordial Chaos that lies between the first pure wholeness and the last one, the final wholeness to be revealed

in the future as the essence of redemption—or, to put it another way, the Primordial Chaos between the concealment of the former wholeness and the revelation of the latter—is directed at the excessive, extra revelation of the last wholeness and its full actualization. The Primordial Chaos between the sabbath that preceded the act of creation and the sabbath that stands out in brilliant light at its end is a necessary intermediate stage in man’s path towards the perfection of his sanctification. 86 The author of Sefat emet relies upon the phrase ‘and God saw that it was good’, which is stated on each of the six days of creation (apart from the second day); but only on the first day does the relevant object of God’s seeing appear with an explicit reference: ‘and God saw that the light was good’. One may conclude from this that the phrase ‘that it was good’ appearing in each of the days indeed refers to the light, but this light is not explicitly mentioned, because it is concealed within Nature and mixed with its waste. Moreover, the emphatic ‘it was good’ mentioned on each day is of great theological importance, because from Nature originates the false impression that evil is constantly becoming stronger; but even Nature and its most chaotic and demonic appearances will eventually, as we have already seen, be transformed into the supreme good, whose victorious appearance at the end of history is the ultimate goal of creation from its very beginning (Sefat emet, 1, ‘Vayakhel’, 1154, s.v. bamidrash anokhi; ibid. 116, s.v. bapasuk vatekhel). This homily also leads us to the clear identification of the days of creation with the world of Primordial Chaos. 87 Tbid. ii, ‘Terumah’, 724, s.v. bapasuk ve’asu li. See Jacobson, ‘Galut uge’ulah behasidut gur’, in which I thoroughly discuss Israel’s metaphysical mission within history.

PART II

New Views

BLANK PAGE

‘Ahavat yehonatan’: A Poem by

Judah Leo Landau VERONICA BELLING SOUTH AFRICA, a country far removed from late nineteenth-century east European Jewish population centres, is unlikely to be considered a contributor to the rebirth of Jewish national culture and Hebrew language. It is therefore surprising to discover that a rabbi who served the Jewish community of Johannesburg for thirtynine years, from 1903 until his death in 1942, was a Hebrew poet and one of the

fathers of modern Hebrew drama. He was the first to demand that Hebrew be spoken on stage, long before it was ever dreamed that it would be revived as a - medium of everyday speech. Rabbi Judah Leo Landau was born in 1866 in Zalozhtsy, a small village a few kilometres from Brody in eastern Galicia in the Habsburg empire. He grew up in Lviv, the capital of eastern Galicia and a cultural centre of Jewish life, which had a Jewish population of 26,694 in 1869. Judah Leo Landau was born just before the restrictions on Galician Jewry were removed by the 1867 Constitution. Nonetheless, being born into a rabbinic family, Landau never attended the Gymnasium in

Lviv, but instead was educated in the heder and yeshiva tradition. It was a much later decision to become ordained at the Vienna Rabbinical Seminary that obliged _ him to attend the Gymnasium in Brody. Although Landau was not educated in the tradition of enlightened secularism,

the Hebrew literary revival of the Haskalah decisively influenced him. Landau’s father, Moses Issachar (1835-94), was a maskil who had published many articles and poems in the Galician Hebrew press. In the manner of the Galician maskilim he accepted intellectual modernization without tolerating the slightest deviation from Jewish religious law. He encouraged his son’s budding literary talent from a very early age and engaged the maskilic poet and playwright Nachman Isaac Fischmann (1809~78) to tutor his son between the ages of 12 and 14. Thus Landau’s literary imagination was fired by the classics of the Haskalah: by Wessely’s epic poem about the life of Moses Shire: tiferet (“Songs of Glory’, 1809), by Mapu’s vision of Jerusalem

in the first modern Hebrew novel Ahavat tsiyon (‘Love of Zion’, 1853), and by Kalman Schulman’s description of Palestine in his Toledot hokhmei yisra’el (‘The History of Israel’s Sages’, 1873-6).1 , J. L. Landau, ‘Autobiographical Notes’, Jewish National and University Library, Jerusalem, Manuscripts Department, Landau archives, collection 4° 798, file 7, fos. 4-6.

244 Veronica Belling Landau’s earliest poems reflect the realities of Jewish life in Lviv, which was split between the Orthodox and Reformists, and between those who favoured or opposed assimilation to German and Polish culture. His very first poem to be published in the Galician Hebrew press was influenced by the strictly Orthodox views of his father. ‘Alats libi ba’adonai’ ((My Heart Rejoices in the Lord’) was written to celebrate the victory of Simeon Sofer, the Orthodox candidate to the

Galician Sejm, over the Reformist Emil Byk. It appeared on the front page of | Mahaztket hadat (“Upholders of the Faith’), the Orthodox party paper in Lviv, in 1879, when Landau was only 13 years old. This poem was followed four weeks later by a very similar poem entitled ‘Nahamu, nahamu ami’ (‘Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people’). In 1880 Landau published a poem in the monthly magazine Nogah hayare’ah (‘The Light of the Moon’), edited by B. Goldberg in Ternopil.? In 1879 Agudat Ahim (the Fraternal Society) was formed to further assimilation into Polish culture. In 1881 Landau’s brother was approached by Alfred Nossig (1864-1943), the Polish Jewish dramatist and art critic, to assist in founding a

bimonthly journal in Hebrew and Polish to promote Polish patriotism and the _ study of Polish among Jews. They hoped that the 15-year-old Landau, who by then had acquired a literary reputation, would be able to contribute. Although he was too young for such a venture, he managed to prevail upon his father to allow him to lend his name as editor, together with Isaac Aaron Bernfeld, the brother of the wellknown Hebrew author Simon Bernfeld.* The periodical, Ojcezyzna (‘Fatherland’)* in Polish and Hamazkir (‘The Recorder’) in Hebrew, was duly launched as the official organ of the Agudat Ahim in 1881. The words of the prophet Jeremiah (29: 7) became its motto: ‘And seek the peace of the city into which I have caused you to be carried away as captives, and pray to the Lord for it: for in its peace shall you have peace.’

The publication of Hamazkir gave Landau the opportunity to publish a long five-part ballad ‘Ahavat yehonatan: shir sipuri’ (“The Love of Jonathan: A Story Poem’), on the life of the Polish king Jan ITI Sobieski (1624-96), which appeared in five consecutive issues. The poem was never included in Landau’s two published anthologies of poetry, Neginot (‘Songs’, 1895) and Neginot ufe’amot (“Songs and Poems’, 1933), yet it is consistent in quality with his later poetry and displays all of the elements of his later work. King Jan Sobieski was widely regarded as a friend of the Jews. In particular, his

generosity to the Jews in the private town at the centre of his estate, Zhovkva (Zotkiew), was legendary: in 1687 he contributed towards the construction of a large fortified synagogue, which became known as the Sobieski Shul and was preserved until 1941, and in 1692 the first Hebrew press in Zhovkva was set up

2 Landau, ‘Autobiographical Notes’, fos. 8-9. 3 Ibid., fo. 9. 4 Ojezyzna (Lviv, 1881) can be found in the Landau Library at the University of Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, which contains a notable collection of the periodicals of the first-generation Galician Haskalah.

A Poem by Ffudah Leo Landau 245 under licence to Jan Sobieski himself.’ In 1683 he suppressed a violent anti-Jewish uprising and pogrom in Brest, punished the participants, and ordered the Sejm to oppose the blood libel, which was invoked frequently at the time. Sobieski dealt

sympathetically with Jews when they could not pay their taxes, reviving the moratorium first granted by King Jan Kazimierz for another ten years. He also prohibited the kidnapping of Jewish children for forced conversion and regulated adult conversions to Christianity to safeguard Jewish rights, stipulating that any would-be Jewish convert had to appear before a mixed commission of Jews and Christians and openly declare that his decision had been taken of his own free will.® Sobieski alSo issued about twenty decrees in favour of the Jews of Lviv, which included warnings to the magistrates and priests not to oppress them. ’ King Jan Sobieski had a number of Jewish friends, including his physician, Simhah Menahem of Jona, and the royal tax farmer Bezalel ben Nathan.? In 1693, when the noble enemies of the court brought charges against Bezalel, accusing him of desecrating the Christian religion and embezzling state funds, Jan Sobieski insisted that Bezalel be allowed to clear himself of the charge of blasphemy on his own, while the other charges were disposed of by the chancellor of the exchequer.? Thus it is no wonder that the Yiddish expression in meilekh Sobieski’s yorn came to refer to the ‘good old days’. ‘Ahavat yehonatan’ is based on a folk tale about the life of King Jan Sobieski. It

relates the story of how Jan Sobieski was abandoned as a young boy and then brought up in the home of the rich Jew Bezalel, the leader of the Jewish community. The poem opens with a powerful description of the dark and stormy night when the

Jew Bezalel, walking alone through the deserted streets in the Jewish quarter, discovers Jonathan (Jan) lying weak and abandoned next to a Jewish home. This dramatic description, in the pseudo-biblical style of the Haskalah, is characteristic of Landau’s later work and demonstrates a remarkable lyricism. The day is turning towards eventide And darkness is dulling the brightness of the heavens; A dark cloud dwells in the canopy of the skies Like a mountain of fire filled with splendour! The darkness is wearing party lights

The gathering gloom covers its face | Leaning backwards as if it were ashamed And shadows of death spreading over it.

> Encyclopaedia Judaica, 16 vols. (Jerusalem, 1972), xvi. 1014. 6 M. Greenbaum, The Jews of Lithuania (Jerusalem, 1995), 38-40. * Jewish Encyclopaedia, 12 vols. (New York, 1912), xi. 222. 8 Encyclopaedia Judaica, xvi. 1014. ’ S. Dubnow, History of the Jews in Russia and Poland (Philadelphia, 1916), 165, 167.

246 Veronica Belling A stream of hail with burning fire Falls down to earth with a tumultuous sound— Not a soul is in the streets of the town Because they have fled for protection against the flood. But in the street in which the Jews live A man is wandering, moving on the path; With his hands he bangs once, knocks on the doors

| Because the time for prayer has already arrived. But suddenly he stands and his heart beats, He sees in front of him a beautiful boy Lying there dreaming next to a house; A tree is his couch, sleep on his eyelids.

Bezalel takes pity on the helpless boy and asks him his name. ‘My name is Jonathan; I am a son of Poland!’ He answered, and tears rolled from his eyes; ‘Tam helpless; my strength is spent. . .’

Bezalel takes Jonathan into his home and treats him like a son. His own son Jacob is stupid and wicked and associates with criminals, causing his father much anguish.

Bezalel hopes that Jonathan will be a good influence on Jacob and will help him mend his ways. But the two do not become friends, and Bezalel decides to take Jacob to consult a miracle worker in a nearby town, even if it costs him all his money. The miracle worker promises Bezalel that Jacob will learn wisdom and | will come to understand the error of his ways. He also advises Bezalel to treat his adopted son, Jonathan, exactly as he would his Jewish son, even if he was ‘cultivated from a foreign vine’, for in this will lie his salvation. Thus not only does Jonathan enjoy the comforts of a Jewish home, he also becomes an expert in Talmud. He uncovered his arm like a very brave soldier To swim in the terrible expanses of the sea of the Talmud; And by the cunning of his hands, ran over it like a deer.

He becomes so learned that the Jews want to make him a rabbi. Then suddenly he disappears without a trace, despite his adoptive father’s searching all over the city for him. Many years later, the city is resplendent and celebrating the awaited visit of the king. Riding on a white horse, glorious in bravery, His neck held high, his curls blowing in the wind, The king came into the vicinity of the city

Like an angel of heaven, sent like a messenger of God. | The first thing the king asks when he addresses the crowd is whether the rich man Bezalel is still alive. When the king hears that Bezalel is dead, ‘a cloud spread

| A Poem by fFudah Leo Landau 247 over the King’s majestic face | His forehead covered in sadness, as if enveloped in

mourning!’ Then he remembers Bezalel’s son Jacob and sends his servants to Jacob’s house to summon him. Jacob arrives, dressed in finery, unable to understand why the king wishes to see him. He thinks that the king might wish to borrow money from him or that he might be angry with him, until he asks him: ‘Do you recognize me, Jacob; do you know Jonathan? . . . I am your father’s boy, all his goodness he gave to me; Thus my spirit owes him eternal love!’

For this reason, the king tells Jacob, ‘I will increase your parent’s glory, also your

happiness will increase greatly!’ Not only is Jacob to benefit from the king’s generosity, but the whole Jewish community will as well. ‘Also on your brothers the Jews, I will shine the light of salvation They will enjoy much peace; I will look after them, praise them .. .’

Until the last chapter the story is told anonymously and only in the final stanza is the full name of the king and of the town revealed. Know you that Zhovkva is the name of the city still today. And Jan Sobieski is the name of this king whom you honoured And the signs of his goodness also still stand today: A rare synagogue and a wonderful Hebrew printing press!

In a later issue of Hamazkir in 1881 another of Landau’s poems appears, entitled

‘Bat poloniyah: tefilah odot baneiha asher huglu artsah sibir’ (“The Daughter of Poland: A Prayer for her Children who have been Exiled to Siberia’). The poem 1s

signed Hillel ben Shachar, a pen-name Landau adopted for his later work. His father, Moses Issachar, wrote the lead article in the second issue of Hamazkir, entitled ‘Hag polin’ (‘Celebration of Poland’), urging Jews to be faithful to their adopted Polish homeland. A subsequent issue contains another of Moses Issachar’s poems, which was entitled ‘Haraw’ (“The Rabbi’) and is described as a free translation of the Polish poem ‘Rabin’ by Mieczystaw Romanowski. However, within six months Landau’s father withdrew from the editorial board of Hamazkir, unable to tolerate the more liberal religious views of Isaac Bernfeld.'° According to the Encyclopaedia Judaica, in 1884, with the pogroms in Russia and Romania and the withdrawal of Jewish rights, Ojczyzna ceased publication, ‘confessing in its last issue that the Jews of Galicia could only “emigrate to Palestine

| or convert to Christianity” ’.!! However, N. M. Gelber, who credits Ojczyzna, which countered the rise of the Hibat Zion (Love of Zion) movement, with the adoption of a markedly anti-Zionist stance, takes the view that its publication continued as late as 1890.“ It is possible that the Hebrew section, Hamazkir, ceased

10 Landau archives, file 7, fo. 10. 1! Encyclopaedia Fudaica, xvi. 1329. 12 N. Gelber, Toledot hatenuah hatsiyonit begalitsiyah, 1875-1918 (Jerusalem, 1958).

248 Veronica Belling publication in 1884, while the Polish section, Ojczyzna, continued to appear until 1892.'° By 1883 Polish history had ceased to occupy Landau’s thoughts. Disillusioned with the cause of emancipation, he became involved in the establishment of Mikra Kodesh (Holy Scripture or Holy Assembly), the earliest Hibat Zion society in Lviv. From this point on, all of his work is imbued with the new nationalist ideology. Between 1884 and 1887 he wrote three historical dramas set in the time of the

| Second Temple, when the Jewish people had enjoyed the last vestiges of national independence: Bar kokhba (1884), Aharit yerushalayim (‘The Destruction of Jerusalem’, 1886), and Hordus (‘Herod’, 1887). In 1893, with Michat Berkowicz (1865-1935), who later became Theodor Herzl’s secretary, Landau established the first Hibat Zion society in Brody, called Zion. He also wrote and produced the play Yesh tikvah (‘There is Hope’, 1893) to commemorate the anniversary of the death of one of the seminal formulators of the Zionist idea, Perets Smolenskin (1840-85). Yesh tikvah was the first contemporary Hebrew play to be performed on the stage in modern times. By the time he left Europe for England, and then for South Africa, Judah Leo Landau had published five plays and a volume of poetry that did not incorporate his poems on Polish themes. This is probably because the Polish poems did not fit in thematically with the rest of the volume, which is divided between songs of Zion, love poems, personal reveries, and translations. However, in his ‘Autobiographical Notes’, written shortly before his death in 1942, Rabbi Landau recalls the poem on Jan Sobieski in particular, and the impression it made on a contemporary, who wrote to him saying, ‘if you ever publish a collection of all your poems, don’t omit that ballad on King Sobieski’, which he still remembered fondly and had admired from his early youth.'* 13 J. Toury, Die jiidische Presse im Osterreichischen Kaiserreich, 1882-1918 (Tiibingen, 1983). 14 Landau archives, file 7, fo. 9.

Jakub Becal: King Jan III Sobieski’s Jewish Factor ADAM KAZMIERCZYK KING JAN III SOBIESKI is commonly viewed as a tolerant monarch, and both Polish and Jewish historians regard his attitude towards Jews as highly sympathetic. The eminent Jewish historian Emanuel Ringelblum, for example, referred to him as ‘a friend of the Jews’, and Majer Bataban remarked that ‘Jan III Sobieski was very favourable towards Jews.’ This opinion is shared by a contemporary historian of the Polish Jews, Bernard Weinryb.' Although it merits further investigations, this gen-

eral opinion is borne out not only by the numerous privileges granted to Jewish communities and individuals, but also by the exalted position some Jews reached in the king’s court. | Jan III Sobiesk1’s factor Jakub Bezalel—known from the sources mainly as Becal (Becall)—-was one of these elevated court Jews. Becal was exceptional in that he was one of the few Jews whose biography appeared in the Polski stownik biograficzny. He is also mentioned in the works of Polish historians, most often in the context of the Grodno Sejm of 1692-3, during which he was accused of blasphemy. In the works

of Jewish historians he is represented as a member of a persecuted group who, in unfavourable circumstances, managed to attain high positions through their personal merits and talents.

Our knowledge of Becal is based mainly on Majer Bataban’s research, and Aleksander Kraushar also devoted a short work to the king’s factor. Just before the Second World War Kazimierz Piwarski published the biography mentioned above, while Jakub Schall discusses him in his monograph on the Zhovkva Jews. More recently Maurycy Horn published a paper devoted to Jan III Sobieski on the 300th anniversary of the battle of Vienna and included in it an extensive section on Becal.? _ This chapter was first published as ‘Sprawa Jakuba Becala, zydowskiego faktora Jana III Sobieskiego w koncu XVII wieku’, Studia Historyczne, 35/2 (1992), 155-71.

LE. Ringelblum, “Dzieje zewnetrzne Zydoéw w dawnej Polsce’, in I. Schiper, A. Tartakower, and A. Haftka (eds.), Zydzt w Polsce odrodzone;: Daziatalnose spoteczna, gospodarcza 1 kulturalna, 2 vols. (Warsaw, 1933), 1. 58; M. Balaban, Historja Zydéw w Krakomie i na Kazimierzu: 1304-1868, 2 vols. (Krak6w, 1931-6), 1: 1656-1568, 55; B. Weinryb, The Jews of Poland: A Social and Economic History of the Jewish Community in Poland from 1100 to 1800 (Philadelphia, 1982), 123. * K. Piwarski, ‘Jakub Becal’, in Polski slownik biograficzny, 40 vols. to date (Krakow, 1935— ), 1.

387-9; M. Balaban, ‘Becal, celnik ziem ruskich’, in his Z /ustorii Zydéw w Polsce: Szkice 1 studia

250 Adam Kazmierczyk , The aim of this chapter is partly to systematize our current knowledge of Becal, but also to clarify the case against him, particularly the grounds for the accusation of blasphemy, on the basis of new sources, especially materials that have never been used before from the 1692—3 Grodno Sejm and the treasury archives held in the Archiwum Skarbu Koronnego (Crown Treasury Archive). Becal’s birthplace is not known, but he was probably a descendant of Ruthenian

Jews, though court files in Lviv refer to him as from Torun.*® His father was murdered during the Khmelnytsky uprising and was referred to as smiety, czyl meczennik (‘a saint, that is, a martyr’). In 1682 Becal bought a house in Zhovkva (Zétkiew) for the considerable sum of 1,800 zloty, but only in 1685 did he receive the privilege of swojszczyzna (residence) there. To obtain it he had to renounce his royal privileges and promise to pay the taxes imposed on all Zhovkva Jews.*

There is no evidence of Becal’s having engaged in any economic activity in Zhovkva before 1685. His name appears for the first time in the economic records for the Zhovkva estates when he officially settled there. From 1 April 1685 he signed a three-year lease for the Krechoéw estate for the sum of 10,000 zloty a year.° Fiscal records confirm that in 1688, in accordance with the will of the king, he leased the richest arenda in the region, the great municipal Zhovkva estate arenda; the three-

year contract here amounted to 125,000 zloty. In 1691 Becal left the Krechow estate, which was taken over by another Jew, Zelman Abramowicz, for 43,000 zloty.

Becal himself leased the Turzynka estate, which was leased ‘to this same Becal under the contract of the great Zhovkva arenda with the intention that he should fortify the walls, under a three-year agreement of the treasurer for the sum of - 15,000 zloty’. In 1692 he signed another three-year lease for a great estate for the sum of 46,000 zloty a year.® In addition to leasing manors and inns in the Zhovkva estate, he undertook a limited amount of commercial activity; for example, he purchased crops from the king’s estates, paying sums over and above those specified in the contracts.’ His wealth and connections at the royal court made him the leading figure among the Jews of Zhovkva, and in 1689 he became the community’s leader on the condition that his son-in-law Henoch (Enoch) would act in his name.® In the

same year he leased a general arenda in Jaroslaw that was part-owned by Queen Maria Kazimiera Sobieska.? There are no records testifying to Becal’s economic activity in Sobiesk1’s other hereditary estates, unless Jakub Bekali, mentioned in Lucja Charewiczowa’s mono(Warsaw, 1920), 59; A. Kraushar, Drobiazgi historyczne, 2 vols. (Krakéw, 1891-2), i. 175-89; J. Schall,

Dawna Lotkiew 1 jej Zydzi (Zétkiew, 1939); M. Horn, ‘Krol Jan Ill a Zydzi polscy’, Bruletyn Zydowskiego Instytutu Historycznego, 4 (1983), 3-24.

3M. Wasowicz, Kontrakty lwowskie w latach 1676-1686 (Lviv, 1935), 123. 4 Balaban, ‘Becal’, 60; Schall, Dawna Zotkiew, 61, 68. 5 Archiwum Gléwne Akt Dawnych, Warsaw (AGAD), Zbior Czolowskiego, MS 400, p. 49.

° Tbid., MS 401, pp. 36, 38, 39. Tbid., MS 4o1, p. 5. 8 Schall, Dawna Zotkiew, 69. 9 Biblioteka Polskie} Akademii Nauk w Korniku, MS 1113.

Jakub Becal 251 graph on Zolochiv, is the same person. Bekali, together with an Armenian wojt (‘chief officer’) named Daniel Dzarugowicz and another man, Manuel Ustyli, was to maintain ‘vigorous trade relations with the land of Wallachia’.'° Numerous traces of Becal’s activity exist in the Sambor royal estate (ekonomia).

As early as 26 August 1686 his name appears in a contract for a sublease of the Sambor salt mines.'! The proclamation of 16 July 1692 concerning the Sambor

estate states that although it was to be managed by Andrzej Rzeczycki, the Grabowiec standard-bearer whose duty was ‘to safeguard the royal estate from all damage or harm from neighbours and not to allow it to be damaged in any way’, in reality Jakub Becal was to be the estate’s administrator. The following extract testifies to his central role: ‘We hand over into the faithful hands of Jakub Becal and his controller this our royal estate in Sambor, that he establish good order in the mak-

ing of salt and its transfer to the salt warehouses and to the depositories on the Vistula and in Wielkopolska, knowing his proven expertise in running this estate.”!”

The last part of the sentence suggests that Becal had been manager of the estate earlier than 1692. At the time the annual income to the royal treasury from the estate was 200,000 zloty.'° Bearing in mind that Andrzej Rzeczycki had been referred to as the administra-

tor of the Sambor estate at least since 1680, we can assume that the arrangement described in the 1692 proclamation had been in operation earlier.'* Becal managed the estate until 1695, when a new contract was signed with Leonard Eberest (for I July 1695 to 30 June 1698). At the same time the office of controller—inspector ceased to exist and Eberest combined these duties with the role of administrator.*° In the historical literature, though, Becal is best known as an administrator of the Crown and the royal excise. Contrary to the opinion of some historians, he administered not only the Ruthenian excise, but also those in Matopolska, Wielkopolska, and Wieruszow. Jan Odrowaz-Pieniazek maintained that Becal’s activity in this field dated back to 1680,'° and this is confirmed by a complaint in the Kraké6w municipal records, in which a Wschowa merchant, Frydrych Renftel, addresses Becal as the

administrator of the Crown and the royal excise for the Ruthenian province.’ Moreover, the records of the Commissioner’s Court of 1680 concerning a case between Becal and Jerzy Kotoni (involving the legacy of Adam Kotowski, master 10 L. Charewiczowa, Dzieje miasta Zloczowa (Zioczéw, 1929), 153.

‘1 Biblioteka im. Ossolinskich, Wroclaw (Oss.), MS 9553, ‘Nisan zas Lewkowicz, za ktérego Jakub Becal reczy z Zupy kotowskiej, powinien wystawic beczek soli 6sm tysiecy’, p. 153.

12 AGAD, Archiwum Skarbu Koronnega (ASK), sect. xviii, MS 79, fo. 13. 13 R. Rybarski, Skarb i pieniqadz za Jana Kazimierza, Michata Korybuta i Jana III (Warsaw, 1939), 92.

‘4 Oss., MS 24094, p. 74. 15 AGAD, ASK, sect. xviii, MS 79, fos. 48-50. 16 Biblioteka Polskie} Akademii Umiejetnosci w Krakowie (PAU Krakéw), MS 1079, ‘Mowa albo raczej sentencja JM Pana Jana Odrowaza Pieniazka Wdy [wojewody] sieradzkiego in tractu sprawy z Niewiernym Zydem Becalem definitivae sententiae przed sadem pana milosciwego ferowana a die 7ma Februarii AD 1693’, fo. 206. See also Biblioteka Czartoryskich, Krakow (BC), MS 1672, pp. 435-54. 17 Archiwum Panstwowe w Krakowie, Castrensia Cracoviensia Relationes, vol. 109, pp. 47-50.

252 Adam Kazmierczyk carver of Wyszogrod and administrator of the Crown and the royal excise) indicate that Becal had co-administered the Ruthenian excise for several years—probably since 1676, when Kotoni had entered into a contract to run the Ruthenian excise.'® The Crown grand treasurer’s proclamation of 1685 testifies to the fact that in that year Becal was already administering the Ruthenian excise. A document drawn up

by Becal in Lviv on 14 January 1688 also confirms this.'? In it he releases the burghers Mikotaj Michalkiewicz, Demetriusz Kalugier, and Kirjaki Issarowicz, the widow of Eustachy Georgiewicz, and Konstanty Kotoni’s heirs from all treasury claims, referring to the toll collected from oriental merchants after the expiry of their leases of the Dementow, Horodyn, Snyatyn, Chornobyl, and Lutsk customs for 1680—1.° At that time Becal was referred to in Lviv as ‘the Excellent Jacob Becal, Administrator of the Treasury of his Sacred Majesty the King and of the

Republic’ (‘Eximius Jacobus Becal Theloneorum Sacrae Regiae Maiestatis et Reipublicae Administrator’), and he used the Crown treasury seal. It seems likely that after 1687 Becal administered all the royal customs. Ina letter dated 31 May 1687 to the Crown grand treasurer, Marcin Zamoyski, Becal says

as much: ‘I have entered into a contract with His Majesty to administer all his customs.’2! This was probably a means of repaying the Treasury’s debts to Becal. It is known that the campaign of 1687 was made possible because Becal lent money for it.2? From 1688 at the latest, as well as during the time when Zamoyski held the keys

to the treasury, he administered the Wielkopolska excise, and he seems to have administered the Wieruszoéw excise even earlier, in 1685.7° Becal administered the Matopolska excise for at least a year (from 1 July 1692 to

30 June 1693). The Archiwum Skarbu Koronnego contains Jan III’s proclamation concerning the excise for Wielkopolska, Matopolska, Wieruszow, and Ruthenia. This document confirms Becal’s efficiency as the excise tenant. The administration of the Matopolska excise was passed to him because the former leaseholders had not collected the sum specified in the contract. The document states: Thus, we, in order to verify this shortfall, have decided to hand over the administration of all our customs, those of Wielkopolska, Matopolska, Wieruszow, and Ruthenia, to faithful hands, those of a man with vision and expertise. Since we know the skill of Jakub Becal in 18 AGAD, Archiwum Publiczne Potockich (APP), MS 336, p. 210. On 27 Apr. 1676 Becal, described as a Jew from Dybow (where there was a customs house in which duties on trade carried out

on the River Vistula were collected), and Lazar Irsz from Poznan confirmed a contract signed in Krakow with Jerzy Kotoni, administrator of excise for the voivodeship of Russia. Its value was set at 30,000 zloty. (Materialy zrédlowe do dziejow ZLydéw w ksiegach grodzkich dawnego wojewodztwa krakowskiego z lat 1674-1696, ed. A. Kazmierczyk (Krakow, 1995), 191.) Unfortunately, the subject of

that contract was, as usual, not specified, but as all the signatories were involved in leasing Crown

revenue, it is probable that this was the case here. 139 Rybarski, Skarb 1 pieniqdz, 300. 20 Castrensia Cracoviensia Relationes, vol. 119, pp. 1492-7; extract from Lviv documents. 21 AGAD, Archiwum Zamoyskich (AZ), MS 470, no. 690. 22 J. W. Maron, Kilka uwag o niefortunnej kampanu 1687 r., Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis, no.

110, Historia xxiv (Wroclaw, 1990), 100. 23 AGAD, ASK, sect. iii, MS 7, fo. 928.

Jakub Becal 253 collecting supplies, we appoint him administrator of all these customs for one year from 1 July of this year until 30 June 1693. . . . In appointing Jakub Becal to this position of general administrator, we place him in authority over all superintendents, clerks, guards, and other customs officials. . . . He is to collect money from them and place in our treasury

, the sum of 170,000 zloty specified in the contract to be concluded.”*

According to a settlement of accounts for November 1695, Becal administered

the Ruthenian excise until 1695. The Dybow excise (the Wielkopolska and Wierusz6w customs) was leased by Slama Lewkowicz, who paid 2,091 thaler for a promissory note issued by Becal as administrator.”° The secrets of Becal’s financial administration are partly revealed in correspondence between the voivode of Kalisz,

Wojciech Breza, and Zamoyski. This correspondence shows Breza as official administrator of the Wielkopolska and Wieruszow excises, while in reality this function was fulfilled by Becal—a situation identical to the arrangement with Andrzej Przeczycki regarding the Sambor estate.”° - Becal also leased, at least in the years 1691-2, the subsidium hibernale (‘winter subsidy’), a tax passed by the 1690 Sejm. His final bills bear the date January 1696. Hieronim Augustyn Lubomirski, Crown grand treasurer since 1692, released him from the July and October payments and, according to the agreement, Becal paid him 2,000 thaler each quarter.?’ In addition, he conducted business with important people in the republic; for example, he leased the village of Wierzbica from the primate Michat Radziejowski for a partial payment of 1,000 thaler.”° The inflated

sum can be explained by Michel David de la Bizadiére’s theory about Becal’s method of securing the favour of influential people.*? It is also said that Becal administered a mint.°*°

24 Tbid., sect. viii, MS 79, fo. 18. 2° Tbid., sect. iii, MS 7, fos. 102, 103. 26 AGAD, AZ, MS 470, no. 607; W. Breza to M. Zamoyski, 21 May 1689, in Lubomi. In this document the treasurer states that general starosta P. Opalinski and Poznan voivode Rafal Leszczynski had accused him before the sz/achta, saying that as the administrator of the tax he was only shielding the real manager, Becal: “The honourable general starosta and the honourable voivode of Poznan, before over 100 members of the sz/achta, ante sesstonem reproached me, saying that it was not I who maintained the tax but the Jew, and when I defended my honour and reputation, it went on between us ad absurda; and in an attempt to prove this, the honourable general starosta introduced testimony from the [nobility assembled at the seymzk of the] Sieradz voivodeship and Wielun to the effect that those taxes to which I hold title are really maintained by Jews, and not by me, and that he has proof that a Jew named Szmul, who collects tolls at the custom house in Wieruszow in the name of Becal, told everyone to submit himself to his authority and that of his lord (Becal), which has turned to poison for us.’ 27 AGAD, ASK, sect. iii, MS 7, fo. 1137; sect. iii, MS 8, fo. 112. 28 Archiwum Polskiej Akademii Nauk (APAN), Krakow, Zbiér Kazimierza Piwarskiego, MS K iii. 24, fo. 117, copy of a letter from Michat Radziejowski to Sobieski, 4 May 1695. 29 M.D. de la Bizadiére, Bezkrélewie po Janie III Sobieskim, trans. J. Bartoszewicz (Vilna, 1853), 3; first pub. as Histoire de la scission ou division arrivée en Pologne le 27 juin 1697 au sujet de l’election d’un roy

(Paris, 1699). The author states that Becal earned the royal favour by offering a sum for one of the estates

one-third higher than its actual value. 80 J. Calmanson, Uwagi nad niniejszym stanem Zydow polskich y ich wydoskonalentem, trans. Jozef Eukaszewicz (Warsaw, 1797), 7:

254 Adam Kazmuerczyk Even considering the scarcity of available sources, this evidence presents the image of a large-scale entrepreneur operating with huge sums of money. For instance, on 24 July 1693 Becal reported a sum of 549,309 zloty, 21 groszy, and 11 szelagi for the customs and the subsidium hibernale. According to the records, he paid 54,731 zloty, 25 groszy for one month in 1694 or 1696 in satisfaction of the state treasury’s orders of payment. He paid 170,000 zloty for the excise he administered in 1692-3, while the subsidium hibernale for the years 1691-2 amounted to 183,067 zloty, 23 groszy.

These figures do not include the sums paid into the king’s treasury, the annual income from the Sambor estate (200,000 zloty), or income from the arendas leased out of Sobieski’s private estates. For the Zhovkva estate alone the income surpassed 50,000 zloty per year.*! Considering the size of Becal’s payments to the Crown and royal treasuries, his income must have been enormous—particularly since the payments do not take into account the sums he earned in trading ventures. Becal’s exceptional success was bound to earn him enemies. He was accused of meddling with the king’s distribution of offices and benefices,°? and found it necessary to protect himself with a guard of thirty Christians. According to Salvandy, he was a member of a literary society at the royal court with the physicians Bernard O’Connor and Emmanuel de Jona, another Jew.*? In his confidence about the backing of the royal court Becal slighted some very influential people.** In a speech that was anti-royalist in tone, Rafat Leszczynski first spoke out in public about him at the Sroda Sejmik in 1689. Meanwhile, the voivode of Poznan insisted that the pacta conventa had been violated by the lease of the Wielkopolska excise to Becal.*° Nobles had protested before against Jews administering the excise. For example,

the sejmik instructions for Krakéw province in 1687 contained the following | passage: “It has greatly oppressed our fatherland when laws are established but not implemented, as in the case of Jews being granted customs leases. They [i.e. the nobles] gave reasons why those who granted such a lease to a Jew should be © punished.’*© At the same time the Ruthenian nobility protested against the leasing of estates to Jews.*’ In their instruction to the next Sejm, the nobility of Sieradz argued for the restoration of the law forbidding Jews to hold leases or administer excises. The seymik of the voivodeship of Krakow demanded that Jews and commoners be removed from the excise privileges, while the nobility in Podolia sought

32 Piwarski, ‘Jakub Becal’, i. 386. , 169. 34 ASK, sect. iti, MS 7, fo. gor. 31 AGAD, ASK, sect. iii, MS 7, fo. 1137; sect. iti, MS 8, fo. 57.

33 -N. A. de Salvandy, Historja Jana Sobieskiego, trans. W. Wierakowski, 3 vols. (Lviv, 1861-2), iii.

35 BC, MS 2078, p. 102; Biblioteka Narodowa w Warszawie, MS 6880, fo. 58. 38 Akta sejmikowe wojewbdztwa krakowskiego, ed. S. Kutrzeba and A. Przybos, 5 vols. (Krakow and Wroclaw, 1932-84) (AS WK), v, Instrukcja (Instr.), 16 Dec. 1687, p. 66.

37 Akta grodzkie1 ziemskie z czasébw Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej z archiwum tak zwanego Bernardynskiego

we Lwowte w skutek fundacy sp. Alexandra Stadnickiego, 25 vols. (Lviv, 1868-1935) (AGiZ), xxii, ed. A. Prochaska, Instr., 16 Dec. 1687, p. 214. Also, an instruction from 5 Dec. 1689 (pp. 228-9) demanded that Jews be prevented from leasing customs.

Jakub Becal 255 to remove Jews from all nienalezne przybytk: (‘undue profits’, 1.e. excise, tolls, and

land lease). Yet these were, in fact, isolated voices, and the Mazovia provincial sejmik in 1685 forbade the leasing of excise administrations only to commoners and skartabella (recently ennobled commoners, who were regarded as full members of the nobility only in the third generation).*° In 1691 the situation changed and Becal’s name became known throughout the commonwealth. During the treasury tribunal, which took place in Lviv, Stanistaw Katuski, a well-known Jesuit preacher, railed in a Sunday sermon against a blas-

phemy allegedly committed by a Jew. He claimed that his remarks were derived from an unnamed source, who was shocked by the deed but preferred to remain anonymous because he feared the extent of Jewish power in Poland. Tribunal deputies called on the priest, but he refused to reveal any more of the information he had acquired during the privacy of confession. The priest did not agree to allow his name to be revealed because he was afraid that Jews would contact the person concerned, who again refused to make his name known for fear of the Jews. Finally,

Kaluski promised to reveal more information during the next Sunday sermon. Indeed he did: ‘On the Sunday after the meeting, he made a digression about the Jewish nation and began to inveigh against the Jews who were administering the customs and custom booths, that they held the crucifix in contempt and threw those used for administering oaths under the beds and benches.’*? The first direct accusation against Becal was brought by the lord high steward of Kiev, ‘Tarnowski. In his defence against an accusation of the misappropriation of

: public funds through the issue of protection proclamations, in his capacity as a judge at the Jarostaw fair, Tarnowski insisted that ‘he had caused no harm to the collection of the customs, but [rather it was] the Jew Becal who leased the customs and damaged the treasury by his numerous extortions’. He also accused Becal of permitting toll houses to display crosses in such a way that ‘the Jews behave in an irreverent manner when oaths are administered’. According to Pieniazek’s speech, the case against Becal brought before the treas-

ury was delayed owing to the intervention of the Crown prosecutor Sebastian Gilbaszewski.*° Despite the delay in the courts, the case became widely known mainly owing to the activities of the leading opposition leaders: the voivode of Sieradz,

Jan Odrowazek-Pieniazek, and the bishop of Chetmno, Kazimierz Opalinski. In his statement of 1691 Pieniazek demanded that the blasphemer Becal be punished and warned that, if the blasphemy remained unpunished, one could not expect a peaceful session in the Sejm.*! He repeated his accusations in a statement in 1692. In his 3° PAU Krakow, Teki Pawinskiego (TP), MS 26, Instr., 5 Nov. 1688, 762; ASWK v, Instr., 5 Nov. 1688, p. 79; AGAD, APP, MS 133, Instr., 17 Dec. 1688, p. 282; PAU Krakéw, TP, MS 17, Instr., 9

Mar. 1685, fo. 240. 39 PAU Krakéw, MS 1079, ‘Mowaalbo raczej sentencyja’. 40 Tbid., fo. 202.

*! Biblioteka Narodowa, Warsaw, Biblioteka Ordynacji Zamoyskich, MS 935, fos. 49-59; Biblioteka Polskie} Akademii Nauk w Korniku, MS 969, fos. 2-5; PAU Krakéw, MS 1082, p. 304 n.

256 Adam Kazmuerczyk letter to the king dated 12 July 1691, Opalinski warned that God would punish Becal’s blasphemy.‘ Both of these senators adopted a decidedly anti-royalist stance. Their activity indicates that the conflict between the king and the magnates had intensified, following the somewhat calmer 1690 session of the Warsaw Sejm. All the evidence suggests that Becal’s case was exploited by the opposition to discredit King Jan. Accusing the king’s protégé, a Jew, of blasphemy called into question the king’s religious piety, and thus his image as the defender of the faith (an image that had been created by court propaganda after the defeat of the Turkish army in Vienna in 1683). A few years earlier both Pieniazek and Opalinski had been actively involved in the case of Kazimierz Lyszczynski, a nobleman condemned to death for atheism by the 1688-9 Sejm. Similarities exist between the two cases. The accusations against Becal became a weapon in the nobles’ struggle against the king in the preparliamentary period. As early as 12 March 1692, as a result of the senators’ propaganda, the nobility in Krakow denounced Becal at a special seymzk called to pass a tax for army pay as a blasphemer and the illegal administrator of the excise.*°

Just before the Grodno Sejmik of 31 December 1692 the agitation against Sobieski’s factor intensified. Pieniazek issued a letter to the elective sezmiki in which, along with an indirect challenge to the king, he attacked the king’s Jewish banker. Aggressively he wrote: ‘Whence comes this great and unheard-of boldness of the Jews? .. . How is it that the commerce of this republic has been taken over by this man and other Jews?’ The voivode of Sieradz accused Becal and his kinsmen

of various crimes, from blasphemy to financial abuses, and accused the Crown treasury of illegally taking Becal under its protection: ‘Why has this Jew, who has been accused of the crime of blasphemy in his administering of the royal treasury, been snatched away from the law courts in Lviv and Radom and protected?’ He raised the horrifying spectre of Becal taking over nobles’ estates. This is why the voivode, he concluded, should order the elected deputies to deal with the case of this Jew, so that ‘they would rise up against the insult to the honour of Christ .. . overturn and conquer Jewish malice and restore concord and brotherly love’.** An anonymous and decidedly anti-Jewish, anti-magnate, and anti-royalist pamphlet against Becal was circulated with the title Puncta na Becalego na seymtk podane w roku 1692 (‘Matters to be Raised against Becal at the Seymik 1n the Year 1692’). The author accused Jews leasing the excise of sabotaging not only the Crown treasury, but also private citizens. He also accused the king, the magnates, and the clergy of protecting and promoting Jews. | 42 BC, MS 183, pp. 577-80; APAN Warsaw, Teki Wolinskiego (TW), iii. 198/71, fos. 78-9. In the deliberations of 1692 Bishop Stanslaw Dambski of Kujawy, who was close to the court, also mentioned

Becal—but rather in the context of a caution against the expected turmoil in the Seym and in the seynuki; APAN Warsaw, TW iii. 198/71, fo. 77; BC, Zbidr Muzeum Narodowego w Krakowie (MNK),

MS 53, p. 143. 43 ASWK v. 112. 44 Tbid. 118.

Jakub Becal 257 How is it that in such a great province, Jews have won the hearts and become beloved of so many and such great lords, and as a result have taken over many aspects of life? They are

leasers of Polish properties, they are employed as doctors, they have more public and private protection than anyone else, they have easier access to lords, they are given the most

grace and favour at the court. |

The author was especially interested in Jews who leased Crown and royal excises, and he lists their various crimes and offences (including examples of guilty leaseholders, all of whom were relatives of the chief criminal, Becal). He concludes that ‘nothing would be more just than if deputies at the next royal Sejm were to find a replacement for Becal’. The pamphlet was probably written in Wielkopolska, and was characteristically concerned with economic arguments, but it contained no accusation of blasphemy.*° The campaign had negative results for the court. Becal’s case sparked widespread interest among the nobility. Significantly, of the thirteen known resolutions passed by the seymiki, only one, from the Nur region, does not mention the case. ‘The remaining sejmiki protested against the leasing of excises by Jews and commoners

and ordered an amendment of the Constitution which provided that only landowners could lease excise. The Warsaw Sejm, along with the Halicz district and the

Kiev and Brest provinces, demanded that only landowning nobles be allowed to lease excises.*° The nobility of Wisznia demanded that Jews ‘by the strictest new law

be excluded from any administrative position in the customs, in leasing, in warehouses, or in arendas, and that in the future they should not dare to establish them-

selves or hold such position, offices, or functions, whether in the capacity of administrators or of factors’.*" The majority of seymiki demanded that the case of Becal be reviewed at once. The district of Zakroczym demanded that he be removed from all of his administrative posts. The district of Lomza demanded the same, and requested that deputies be instructed to examine all the fiscal records and investigate the case of the plus offerentu of the voivode of Leczyca, Leszczynski, on the Wielkopolska excise. The Radziej6w Sejmik requested that the deputies ‘should not discuss anything further until this ignominious Jew has been judicially punished’. Even the decidedly royalist Lublin Sejmik demanded that Becal’s case be taken to court.*® None of these sezmiki rnentions Becal’s alleged blasphemy, but the nobility of Leczyca and the district of Dobrzyn raised the issue. The Krakow nobility was the most radical, pressing even for Becal’s execution, and the Proszowice Seymik used 4° BC, MS 183, pp. 617-32. 46 PAU Krakow, TP, MS 31, fo. 385; AGiZ xxiv, ed. A. Prochaska (Lviv, 1931); Lauda halickte 1575-1695 (Lviv, 1931), 495; AGAD, Archiwum Radziwillowskie (AR), sect. 11, MS 13, no. 1786; Arkhiv Yugo-Zapadnoi Rossii izdavaemyj Kommisseju dlja razbora drevnich Aktov (Kiev, 1859-1911),

2/11. 500. 47 PAU Krakow, TP, MS 33, fo. 533.

48 Tbid., MS 36, fo. 208; MS 15, fo. 129; A. Pawinski (ed.), Dzieje ziemi kujawsktej oraz Akta historyczne do nich sluzqce, 5 vols. (Warsaw, 1888), iii. 168; AGAD, APP, MS 133, Instr. lubelska, p. 423.

258 Adam Kazmierczyk the term cum discrimine sejmu (‘a serious danger to the Sejm’).*? Indeed, the accusa-

tion of blasphemy reawakened antisemitic sentiments among the Polish nobility, and this was reflected in their statements. Some districts demanded that the old law forbidding Jews to settle in Mazovia be enforced. The province of Leczyca pro-

| posed a ban on the construction of new synagogues, conversion of the existing ones into churches, and suspension of the titles and privileges of those nobles who allowed Jews on their estates.°° The province of Smolensk even demanded that all Jews be expelled from the kingdom (probably recalling Aleksander Jagiellonczyk’s expulsion of the Jews from Lithuania two centuries earlier). Moreover, the nobles of Halicz wanted to extend the 1690 Constitution to the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, and proposed a new Jewish head tax.°! The pre-parliamentary campaign augured a clash in the Sejm over Becal, who still enjoyed royal protection. In a document concerning the royal customs for July 1692 Jan III Sobieski promises to protect his factor: ‘We promise Jakub Becal that we shall honour him with our protection against any attack.’°? That the document is directed against the campaign initiated by Pieniazek and Opalinski is not surprising. The accusations of royal protection repeated by the anti-royalist opposition did have some basis in fact. _

The turning point of the Becal affair came during the Grodno Sejm, which met between 31 December 1692 and 11 February 1693. Opalinski first referred to the matter in a relatively mild speech on 13 January. As the chronicler writes, the bishop might have wanted to leave open the option of a stronger attack later on; or perhaps his support was weak, and he may not have wanted to endanger his position by direct attacks on Jan III] Sobieski. He mentioned Becal at the end of his speech, ‘who, although a Jew, administers the customs because he is honoured with the protection of the king’. Pienigzek’s address was similar in its demand that the king’s

factor be punished for blasphemy. The voivode of Ruthenia, the well-known royalist Marek Matczynski (formerly the Crown grand treasurer), rose to defend Becal. The deputy Crown chancellor, Karol Tarlo, also argued ‘that the matter should not be allowed to rest, since Becal the Jew was accused of crimes that concerned the honour of God’.®® He proposed that the Jewish poll tax be raised. The Sejm considered Becal’s case on 17 January 1693. On that day the Krakow deputies, following their instructions, demanded that the Jew face trial, and that the 49 PAU Krakéw, TP, MS 11, p. 753; F. Kluczycki, Lauda sejmikowe dobrzynskie, ed. F. Kluczycki

(Krakow, 1887), 156; ASWK v. 124. .

50 PAU Krakow, TP, MS 15, Instr. from Lomza district, ‘aby Zydzi i inne wszelakie in quantum by sie znalazly w ksiestwie mazowieckim bluznierskie sekty ex nunc migrent w czem ichm. bratersko upraszamy’, fo. 127; MS 33, Instr. from Wizna district, fo. 533; MS 11, instr. from the Leczyca voivodeship, pp. 753, 759. 51 AGAD, AR, sects. vi-vii, MS 51, p. 15; AGiZ xxiv. 495. The Radziejéw seymzk also proposed an increase in the head tax. See Pawinski (ed.), Dzieye z. Kujawskte7, 1609.

52 AGAD, ASK, sect. viii, MS 79, fo. 18.

53 AGAD, AR, sects. vi—vii, MS 51, pp. 10, 11; Biblioteka Jagiellonska (BJ), MS 5489, fo. 15. ,

Jakub Becal 259 chamber send deputies to the Crown grand treasurer to ask him to remove Jews from all excise administration, in accordance with the law. The starosta of Czorsztyn, Jerzy Grotus, was the most vociferous. At the same time the deputy from Smolensk,

Jan Franciszek Chrapowiecki, son of the voivode of Vitebsk, as instructed by his

commission, called for the expulsion of the Jews from the country. Andrzej Kryszpin, the Lithuanian military notary (pisarz polny litewsky) and marshal of the Sejm, was sent as the Sejm’s envoy to the king. In this situation Sobieski had no choice but to order that Becal be brought before the Sejm court.*4

As a result of the charges against Becal, some deputies wanted to enact an amendment to the Constitution forbidding Jews to administer or lease excises. On 20 January the chamberlain of Wyszogréd, Michat Lasocki, introduced a proposed amendment to the Constitution which read: On the basis of ancient law, no Jew should lease the customs or the salt mines, or hold any position in them. Any holding such a position should be deprived of this function. Jews should not have Christian journeymen. Anyone who disobeys this law will suffer penalty of - death. In addition, no person of plebeian estate or minister of the royal lands will be able in

future to administer the customs.°° | However, it soon became evident that the Jews had many supporters in the chamber—including Stanistaw Godlewski, head of the Crown chancery. The starosta of Nur protested against the proposal on the grounds that the plaintiff and the judge should not be the same person. He also cited the example of Spain, where the expulsion of the Jews had resulted in irrecoverable losses. Nevertheless, a large group of deputies wanted to make the proposed amendment to the Constitution even tougher and suggested an additional clause: “That a Jew holding such an office be punished without appeal by the civil law by execution’.°® The deputy of Rawa, Jerzy Krosnowski, proposed that 2,000 Jews a year should be sent to support the royal artillery, ‘so that in this way Jewry could rapidly be destroyed’ in the long war against Turkey in Ukraine and Podolia. Kazimierz Iwanski, the deputy from fEeczyca and cup-bearer, demanded that the synagogues recently constructed in Eeczyca be destroyed. Discussion on 20 January was effectively brought to a close by Stanistaw Antoni Szczuka (the deputy from Lublin, starosta, and Crown referendary), who proposed to add to the draft law the clause ‘that Jews should everywhere as a matter of course be expelled from private arendas, whereupon the most complete silence ensued’.°*”

The whole of the next day was taken up with inconclusive debate over the draft amendment to the Constitution containing these anti-Jewish measures. The proposed draft was read, but the numerous supporters of the Jews ‘wanted by devious °4 AGAD, AR, sects. vi-vii, MS 51, p. 15; BJ, MS 54809, fo. 22. °> Archiwum Panstwowe w Gdansku (APG), 300, 29/194, fo. 306.

°° Ibid., fo. 307. 57 BJ, MS 5489, fos. 23, 25, 26.

260 Adam Kazmierczyk | means to make it impossible to adopt the proposed Constitution by adding clauses for which it was difficult, if not almost impossible, to obtain agreement’. For example, one proposal called for the prohibition of leases on private inns.°® On 22 January, just before the session in the Sejm came to an end, Becal’s slander case against the Crown prosecutor, Stanistaw Gilbaszewski, came before the Sejm

court. Becal was believed to have entered his name in the register without the prosecutor’s knowledge so that, without opposition in court, he would win the case

by default. But Pieniazek, who was present in the court, protested vigorously, maintaining that there must be considerable corruption in the register if a banned Jew could appear with a complaint against the prosecutor that he had not presented earlier. Pieniazek successfully prevented a lawyer from being assigned by the court

and asked the king to postpone the matter until the next day, when a higher attendance was expected. Sobieski agreed, at the same time naming Sebastian Rybezynski as Becal’s lawyer.°? On 23 January the chamberlain of Wyszogr6d, Michat Lasocki, demanded in the chamber of envoys that the number of deputies examining Becal’s case in the Sejm

court be increased, citing the Lyszczynski case as an example. The timing of his speech must have been prearranged because, as he was speaking, Opalinski and Pieniazek entered the room. Despite the fact that several deputies did not want them to speak, the chamber listened to what they had to say. Both, as expected, spoke against Becal and demanded an increase in the number of deputies examining

the case in the Sejm court. After they left a heated discussion broke out over whether their advice should be followed. A large number of deputies maintained

that it would not only be against the law, but would amount to a vote of no con- | fidence in the king and his piety, and thus would endanger his authority.°° The starosta of Stobnica, Franciszek Lanckoronski, stated that the senators’ appearance in the chamber of envoys without the king’s consent was illegal and an affront to the ‘dignity of the entire house of deputies’. He was backed by, among others, Andrzej

Sydowski, the standard-bearer of Krakéw, and Jerzy Grotus, the starosta of Czorsztyn. Lasocki and Kazimierz Dabrowski, a prominent deputy within the Sapieha faction and chamberlain of Vilna, sided with the senators.

The discussion continued into the next day. It appears that the court faction, recovering from its initial surprise, had prepared an attack. The entire day was spent discussing the previous day’s events, and statements were prepared against Opalinski. Feeling among the deputies must have been high, since the commander of the Lithuanian guard, Michat Jozef Sapieha, called for the protection of his royal majesty against the bishop of Chetmno. In the end the deputies decided to follow the advice of Stanistaw Makowieck1, sto/mk (court officer responsible for food served at the royal table) and master carver of Latyczow, to apologize to Jan III Sobieski

°8 AGAD, AR, sects. vi—vii, MS 51, p. 17. 59 APG, 300, 29/194, fo. 314. 60 AGAD, AR, sects. vi—vii, MS 51, p. 20; BJ, MS 5480, fo. 30.

| Jakub Becal 261 and to the chamber and to ask the king to judge Becal’s case personally.°! Deputies did in fact visit the king on Monday 26 January, whereupon ‘His Majesty forgave the marshal in the presence of all the deputies in the Senate.’ Thus the unfortunate interference of the two senators brought about the opposite result, and Becal’s case troubled the chamber of envoys no further. In the afternoon of the same day Becal’s case was heard in the Sejm court but was quickly

| adjourned at the request of the prosecutor, Gilbaszewski, and the plaintiff, Jan Stanislaw Jabtonski. Gilbaszewski explained that he did not have the necessary documents to proceed with the case as they had not been delivered by the lawyers Sebastian Rybczynski and Regulski.©

The next day Rybczynski demanded that Becal be present in person (other accused Jews were already present), to which Tokarzewski, Becal’s legal representative, objected, maintaining that the laws of the commonwealth allowed the defendant not to appear in court, but to be represented by his counsel. Thus, he argued, the plaintiff and prosecutors should not refer to foreign laws and deputies’ instructions as these did not apply. After a vote it was decided that the case should be pursued in Becal’s absence. The bishop of Cheltmno, who wanted to confront the monster Becal (monstrum et portenum) directly, was among the minority, along with

Pieniqzek, the deputy Crown chancellor, Karol Tarlo, the voivode of Mstislav Aleksander Jan Mosiewicz, and deputies’ marshal Andrzej Kryszpin.®* Moreover, the majority voted for the case to be investigated. Jan III Sobieski reached the same decision and the case was postponed to a later, unspecified date. The interrupted court case was resumed only on 5 February 1693. The plaintiff

made several charges in ‘private matters’, but these were postponed ‘for future decision’ in order not to prolong the case.®4 The following day the Crown secretary Mikotaj Wyzycki presented the findings

of the investigation, but the case dragged on. During the investigation Becal had presented no proof of his innocence, and the plaintiff, Jablonski, was shown to have a conflict of interest because he had had close relations with Becal in the past; he was, as well, ‘an unsuitable person and suspect in the eyes of the law’. Switkowski, a treasury servant, testified that in the presence of other witnesses he had heard the castellan of Nakto, Mikotaj Wojciech, ‘say before him, as the one honourable

man in Lviv, that he had heard the Jew Becal pronounce this blasphemy’. According to the author of a diary located in the Jagiellonian University Library, Becal committed the blasphemy before the starosta of Wschowa, Hieronim Adam Poninski.© It appears from Pieniazek’s speech (apparently on 7 February) that the accusation was supported only by circumstantial evidence. Both Fr. Katuski and the lord 6! AGAD, AR, sects. vi-vii, MS 51, p. 20; APG, 300, 29/194, fo. 315. 62 APG, 300, 29/194, fo. 317; BJ, MS 5489, fo. 31. °° BJ, MS 5489, fo. 32; APG, 300, 29/194, fo. 317.

64 APG, 300, 29/194, fo. 326. 6° PAU Krakéw, MS 1079, fo. 205; BJ, MS 5489, fo. 36.

262 Adam Kazmierczyk high steward of Kiev, Tarnowski, dropped their charges, and although Pieniqzek made serious charges against Becal, he had no proof. Becal was close to being cleared

of the charge of blasphemy, but differences arose during the voting: some wanted the final verdict to be given later, after further investigation; others demanded torture; and a third group voted to declare Becal innocent and close the case even without his having to take an oath as proof of innocence.®’ The discussion went on late into the night and continued into the next day. On 7 February a solution was finally reached. It was decided that since nothing had been proved against Becal, he should have the opportunity to clear himself of the charges, taking an oath together with six others (three Christians and three Jews). The Crown prosecutor was to conduct an investigation to determine who was guilty of blasphemy. As for the financial matters, the charges were dropped when the Crown treasurer declared Becal not guilty. Moreover, it was decided that if any private persons had any complaints against Becal, they should proceed 1n the Assessor’s Court.

The last act of the drama took place on the morning of 11 February, in the synagogue, where a barefoot Becal took the oath with two Christian and three Jewish witnesses in the presence of two other witnesses from the court, the bishop of Lovinia, Mikotaj Poptawski, and the castellan of Przemsl, Jakub Bleszynski.®° In this way Sobieski managed to protect his protégé and at the same time to avoid » being compromised. The opposition failed to inflame the nobles’ religious fanati-

cism. Even so, Becal’s case did influence the proceedings of the Seym and contribute to the disruption of the session. Otto Forst de Battaglia even accused Becal of paying to have the Sejm disrupted in order to avoid conviction. On the other hand, the anonymous author of a satirical poem, ‘Przestroga senatowi polskiemw’ (‘Warning to the Polish Senate’), published the sum that Becal was to pay for being cleared of the charges (100,000 zloty). He did not accuse Becal of disrupting the Sejm:® logically Becal would have had little motive for doing so since the verdict was in his favour.

According to the Sejm court decree, the prosecutor, Stanistaw Gilbaszewski, was to continue the investigation. T'wo prosecution witnesses, Mikotaj Chrzastowski and Hieronim Poninski, were summoned (the latter sent his son). The final verdict concerning Becal’s alleged blasphemy was delivered by the Senate’s Council on 13 May 1693, ‘in accordance with which the final decision was that he 66 PAU Krakéw, MS 1079, fo. 204. The opposition accused Becal of the following: (1) blasphemy; (2) ‘iconoclasm committed in customs houses’; (3) administration of customs; (4) employing Christian servants; (5) abuses to the disadvantage of the Crown treasury; (6) confiscation of Christian goods for his own use; (7) ‘extreme aggravation of Christian merchants’; (8) ‘levying of customs beyond the instructions of the treasury’; (9) ‘debasing the currency’; and so on. 67 APG, 300, 29/194, fo. 327. According to another diarist, those demanding torture were Tarlo,

Pieniazek, and Opalinski (BJ, MS 5480, fo. 36). 68 APG, 300, 29/194, fos. 328, 331. 6° ©. Forst de Battaglia, Jan Sobieski krél Polski (Warsaw, 1983), 353; BC, MNK, MS 53, p. 172.

Jakub Becal 263 should not suffer death for sin, since nothing wrong had been proved at his trial, but that he should live’. Switkowski was punished for giving false evidence.”

Although not everyone was happy with the verdict, Becal was not accused of blasphemy again, even by Pieniazek in his later statements.’’ In the instructions before subsequent Sejms Becal’s name appears several times, but always in connection with his allegedly illegal administration of the excise.’? Undoubtedly Becal’s case stirred up emotions among the nobility whenever the question of leasing the excise came up. The Wisznia Sejmik demanded ‘that it be ensured that under no circumstances were Jews to administer the customs or royal estates’. Similar statements appear in the Lomza, Nur, and Kujawy instructions before

the 1693 Warsaw Sejm.’* However, the practice did not disappear after the Grodno Sejm, and Becal himself continued to administer the Crown excise. In fact

court decrees were directed against him in this connection. One is quoted by Aleksander Kraushar. In a writ dated 14 September 1692, directed to the Crown Tribunal in Lublin, the voivode of Brest, Wtadystaw Jozefat Sapieha, made an accusation against Becal, Jakub Siekiarz, and Abraham Jakubowicz that ‘in addition to the many acts of force, oppression, and extortion that they had carried out against

many people, they dared to attack at the Jarostaw fair a factor sent by the complainant, Sapieha, one Mojzesz Jakubowicz’. Owing to the ‘obstinacy and insolence’ of the accused, they were punished with public disgrace on 1 July 1693. According to Kraushar, the verdict was enforced, resulting in Becal’s bankruptcy and, Kraushar speculates, considerable losses to Sobieski.“4 In my opinion this is

unlikely, since it was the Assessor’s Court that would have investigated Becal’s , case, and many similar decrees can be found in the court records of the Ruthenian

province. On the other hand, Kraushar’s information about Becal’s financial problems following the Grodno Sejm appears to be trustworthy. According to Bizadiére, Becal borrowed 400,000 livres from the king and died without repaying the loan.”° He also owed money to primate Michat Radziejowski for the lease of the village of Wierzbica. Wanting to recover his money without having to appear in court with a °K. Sarnecki, Pamietniki z czaséw Jana Sobieskiego: Diariusz 1 relacje z lat 1691-1696, ed. J. Wolinski (Wroclaw, 1959), 23, 28. “1 See Resentyment Chrzescyanskt z seymu grodzsenskiego zermanego in anno 1693 migdzy Rzeczapos-

polita a Becalem Zydem w sprawie na tymée sejmie agitowanej, in A. Przybos (ed.), Pamietnik Fana Floriana Drobysza Tuszynskiego: Dwa pamietniki z XVII wieku (Wroclaw, 1954), 174; see also the poem

mentioned earlier, ‘Przestroga senatowi polskiemu’, BC, MNK, MS 53, pp. 170-3. For other copies of that pamphlet, see J. Nowak-Dluzewski, OkolicznoSciowa poezja polityczna w Polsce: Dwaj krélowie Polacy (Warsaw, 1980), 230.

” PAU Krakow, TP, MS 5, z. liwska, 1 Dec. 1694, fo. 257; Biblioteka Raczynskich, Poznan, MS 231. vol. 11, p. 567, s. sredzki, 10 Nov. 1693, fo. 782; PAU Krakow, TP, MS 21, Sandomierz voivodeship, 16 Dec. 1693, fo. 782.

® AGiZ xxii, Instr. s. wisznienskiego, 10 Nov. 1693, p. 268; PAU Krakow, TP, MS 15, 15 Dec. 1693, fo. 141; MS 18, 10 Nov. 1693, fo. 112; Pawinski (ed.), Dzieje z. Kujawskiej, 176.

™ Kraushar, Drobiazgi historyczne, 183. Bizadiére, Bezkrélewie po fanie III Sobieskim, 5.

264 Adam Kazmuerczyk Jew, the primate seized shipments of salt from Sambor. Marek Matczynski had to force the royal factor to reach a compromise with the primate by threatening to imprison him (Becal maintained that if he were arrested he would be ruined since he would lose all credit).’°

This event probably persuaded Sobieski to take the administration of the Sambor estate away from Becal. The king accused his factor of ‘maladministering his Sambor estate, from which he [Becal] had received profits of over 150,000 [zloty].

He [the king] reproached him, reminding him of the protection he had received in Grodno, without which he would have been utterly ruined. He berated him so much that we all withdrew.’”’ The king did not renew Becal’s contract, but instead signed a new lease with a German named Eberest in June 1695.’° - Soon after, on 15 October 1696, Jakub Becal died.” In the redistribution of the leases he held, the great Zhovkva arenda was leased from 1 July 1696 by a Jewish woman named Dawidkowa, while Becal’s son Noson paid the instalments on the Turzynka arenda. In 1697 Becal’s heirs, Henoch and Noson, paid overdue lease instalments, including some for the great Zhovkva arenda.®° Yet Becal’s financial problems might not have been as serious as some historians have suggested. After all, his son Gerszon Natan (probably the above-mentioned Noson) later became the marshal of the Ruthenian district. Thanks to his father’s connections and inherited fortune, Gerszon Natan ruled the land with a strong hand, and in 1720 he even became the marshal of the Jewish parliament. He continued to lease the Turzynka arenda as late as 1713.°?

It is also doubtful whether Becal was ever imprisoned before his death. The suggestion that he was is based on an unreliable source: a note in the seymzk records for 1699 that cannot be shown indisputably to relate to Jakub Becal.®* There is no other evidence of his imprisonment. On the other hand, we do know that he worked on the king’s finances until his last days. The accusation of blasphemy against Becal, even though it was dismissed, had a damaging effect on political life and reinforced the nobles’ negative image of the _ king. A year before Jan Sobieski’s death a cartoon circulating in Warsaw portrayed him as a currency issuer whose pockets were being filled with money by Becal. Any relationship with Becal was a serious breach in the eyes of the nobles. A contem-

porary observer even wrote that hatred for Becal sullied Sobieski’s good name and affected his family’s chances in the elections for the new king of Poland that 76 APAN Krakoéw, Zbiér Kazimierza Piwarskiego, MS K iii. 24, fo. 117, copy of a letter from M. Radziejowski to Sobieski, 4 May 1695. ™ From the testimony of a witness (Sarnecki, Pamigtniki z czasdw Jana Sobieskiego, 134).

78 In 1698 a royal commission instituted by August II ordered Eberst to pay 20,434 zloty to the dowager queen Maria Kazimiera Sobieska, which represented Becal’s debt owed to the late king John III’s treasury (Komisya Samborska zr. 1698, ed. B. Ulanowski, Archiwum Komisyi Prawnicze}, vol. v (Krakow, 1897), 335-6).

® Schall, Dawna Zélkiem, 70. 80 AGAD, Zbidr Czolowskiego, MS 401, p. 74. 81 Schall, Dawna Zotkiew, 70, 116; AGAD, AR, sect. v, MS 4409. 82 AGIZ xxii. 332.

Jakub Becal 265 followed his death. At the end of the eighteenth century the enlightened Jew Joseph Calmanson confirmed this.®° It was not coincidental that Pieniazek recalled the

Becal affair in a letter dated 27 July 1696 directed to the Krakow pre-electoral sejmik.®* At the end of 1696 another pamphlet was published, Straszna lamentacyja wojewody ruskiego z Zydem Becalem i rozmowa o pieniqadze jego (‘The Dreadful Lamentation of the Wojewoda of Rus concerning the Jew Becal and an Account of his Money’), in which the late Becal was once again accused of evading justice by means of bribery (this time the sum was alleged to have been 200,000 zloty). This certainly did not improve the Sobieski family’s chances in the election.®° The blasphemy affair was also detrimental to the situation of the Jews in Poland. Common resentment against the ‘blasphemer’ resulted in a renewal of interest in Jewish matters. Difficult economic circumstances resulting from the long war, as

well as pressing financial obligations, forced the nobility to seek new sources of revenue and to lower taxes perceived as too high. It is therefore no surprise that hostility grew towards the Jews, who competed with the nobility in areas legally reserved for the latter. This resulted in a spate of seymik decrees against the Jews, and especially against those who administered the excise. The nobility also sought to increase the financial obligations of the Jews by raising the Jewish poll tax. The heightened anti-Jewish climate is confirmed by numerous resolutions of local seymtki that put heavier financial obligations on the Jews. Becal’s case was probably the main reason why a new condition was included in the new king’s pacta conventa prohibiting the leasing of Crown and royal excises to Jews.°® It appears that Jan Sobieski did not abandon his banker during Becal’s most dif-

ficult period. The cause of rescuing Becal was taken up by leading royalists: the

- voivode of Ruthenia, Marek Matczynski, the Crown referendary and deputy Stanistaw Antoni Szczuka, the Crown regent Stanistaw Godlewski, and the master carver of Latyczow, Stanistaw Makowiecki. The accusation, as was demonstrated in the investigation, was based on slander, flimsy evidence, and the religious fanaticism of the two chief plaintiffs. Sobieski was able to repel the attack in the Sejm because he enjoyed the nobles’ trust, but in doing so he lost some authority and credibility. In conclusion, the Becal affair appears to have been the consequence of a series of independent events (Fr. Katuski’s sermon, the nobles’ hostility to the Jews, etc.). It played a part in the magnates’ political struggle to discredit the king, whose opponents, especially Pieniqgzek and Opalinski, used the situation to draw the nobles’ attention away from the essential political problems of the state. The affair of the king’s factor became a bargaining chip in the factional struggle before the election 83 Calmanson, Umagi nad niniejszym stanem Zydow polskich y ich wydoskonaleniem, 7.

84 Bizadiére, Bezkrélewie po Janie III Sobieskim, 5; ASWK v. 172-6. 85 Nowak-Dluzewski, Okolicznosciowa poezja polityczna w Polsce. 86 Volumina legum, ed. J. Ohryzko, 10 vols. (vols. i-viii St Petersburg, 1859-60; vol. ix 1889; vol. x Warsaw, 1965), vi. 19.

266 Adam Kazmuerczyk of the next king. It is revealing that soon after the Becal affair calmed down, a dispute broke out between the bishop of Vilna, Konstanty Kazimierz Brzostowski, and the voivode of Vilna and grand Lithuanian general Kazimierz Sapieha—the next episode in the conflict between magnates and court. Translated from Polish by fakub Basista

SCOTT URY The old epoch 1s characterized by the Jewish shtadlan, the notable who by virtue of his wealth or of his private influence among the non-Jews, presumed to speak for

the Jewish community, and without consulting its wishes, negotiated privately among the powers that were for what he alone considered its spiritual and political needs. ... The shtadlan was born of the utter helplessness of the Jewish masses. They were abandoned to the random, irresponsible private whim of anyone who had money and influence and cared to use them for what he thought was their good

... [he shtadlan can grow and flourish only in an epoch of darkness, like an obscure cellar weed. In the light of day he withers and disappears. SHMARYA LEVIN

The Arena, 1932

The ‘shtadlaw’ . . . a true aristocrat in the best sense—a man of breeding, a man of learning, a man of wealth... a man distinguished by warm Jewish feelings, with a

great deal of love for people in general and, in particular, of pity for his own brethren, a man far removed from self-interest, from the desire for honour and fame, who cares only for the good of the community and of the individual .. . Der Yud (Agudat Yisroel newspaper) 14 October 1919

FEw historical figures have attracted such varied and colourful responses as the Jewish intercessor (shtadlan) of the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, long the target of opponents’ bile and consistently defended by die-hard advocates. While nationalistic and maskilic literature has presented the shtadlan as the epitome of Jewish political impotence and the cause, both direct and indirect, of the Jewish I would like to thank Israel Bartal, Jonathan Frankel, Joseph Hacker, Ezra Mendelsohn and Shaul Stampfer for their many helpful discussions and comments regarding Jewish history, political institutions, and the transitional period that bridged the medieval and modern eras in Polish lands and beyond. Frangois Guesnet, Benjamin Pollock, and the anonymous reader at Polin all provided invaluable critiques of earlier versions of this piece. Research for this chapter was supported, in part, by the Hebrew University’s Centre for Research on the History and Culture of Polish Jews, the Hebrew University’s Institute of Contemporary Jewry, and a fellowship for East European Studies from the American Council of Learned Societies.

268 Scott Ury community’s failure to represent and defend itself, other observers, mostly traditional Jews, have portrayed the shtadlan as the Jewish community’s time-honoured, selfless leader. Asa result of this transformation of the shtadlan from a Jewish communal func-

tionary to a symbol of Jewish political behaviour (or its absence) throughout the early modern period, the shtadlan and his activities (shtadlanut) have been addressed in a number of works.' In addition to earlier studies by Stern and Mevorach, more

recent analyses, such as Lederhendler’s monograph and Elazar and Cohen’s coauthored study, address the shtadlan’s role within the Jewish community and his

relations to non-Jewish sovereigns. However, despite these efforts to work through the historical record, most of these works refer to the shtadlan only in passing. Thus, Elazar and Cohen’s attempt to categorize thousands of years of history leaves the reader with a rather terse, textbook-like definition of the shtadlan.? Even Lederhendler, who provides a detailed analysis, presents the shtadlan as a historical foil to the new genre of political action. Here, as well, the shtadlan is examined as a means to an end and not asa topic worthy of independent study, analysis, and comparison.* While these discussions may serve the authors’ main purposes, they often leave the student of early modern Jewry unsatisfied, wondering, searching. Underlying this confusion is a more fundamental problem: a detailed study of the shtadlan has yet to be written.° 1 Questions regarding the exact origins of the shtadlan are, regrettably, beyond the scope of this chapter. However, a variety of opinions exist regarding whether or not later forms of political action among Jews ought to be viewed as direct continuations of the traditional genre of political intercession associated with the figure of Mordecai in the book of Esther. For further discussion of these issues, see Y. Kaplan, ‘Court Jews before the Hofjuden’, in V. B. Mann and R. I. Cohen (eds.), From Court fews to the Rothschilds: Art, Patronage and Power, 1600-1800 (Munich, 1996); and A. Altmann, Moses Mendelssohn (London, 1973), 421. For a survey of the present-day political ramifications of the

historiographical literature on Jewish politics, see D. Biale, ‘Modern Jewish Ideologies and the Historiography of Jewish Politics’, Studies in Contemporary Jewry, 10 (1994), 3-16. 2S. Stern, The Court Jew (Philadelphia, 1950), ch. 7; B. Mevorach, ‘Ma’aseh hishtadlut be’eiropah

leminiat gerusham shel yehude1 bohemiya vemoraviyah 1744-1745’, Tsiyon, 28 (1963), 125-65; E.. Lederhendler, The Road to Modern Fewish Politics (New York, 1989); and D. J. Elazar and S. A. Cohen, Jemish Political Organization (Bloomington, Ind., 1985). Other works that address the image and role of the shtadlan include G. Bacon, “The Politics of Tradition: Agudat Israel in Polish Politics, 1916-19397, Studies in Contemporary Fewry, 2 (1986), 144-63; D. Biale, Power and Powerlessness in Jewish History (New York, 1986), chs. 3-4; and I. Bartal, ‘Le’umi shehekdim ushetadlan shenetaher?’, in I. Bartal (ed.), Mosheh bedoro (Jerusalem, 1987), 5-25. 3 See Elazar and Cohen, Jewish Political Organization, 186. See also Biale, Power and Powerlessness,

71-2. 4 Lederhendler, The Road to Modern Jewish Politics, 14-35.

> A particularly constructive attempt to define the shtadlan can be found in I. Bartal and D. Assaf, ‘Shtadlanut ve’orthodoksia: tsadikei polin bemifgash im hazemanim hehadashim’, in J. Bartal, R. Elior, and C. Shmeruk (eds.), Tsadtkim ve’anshet ma’aseh: mehkarim behasidut polin (Jerusalem, 1994). The authors’ references to two terse descriptions of the shtadlan underscore this historiographical lacuna. See also a recent article by Bartal, ‘Politikah yehudit terom-modernit: “Va’adei ha’aratsot” bemizrah

eiropah’, in S. N. Eisenstadt and M. Lissak (eds.), Hatstyonut vehahazarah lehistoriyah: ha’arakhah mehadash (Jerusalem, 1999), 186-94.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 269 Given the amount of ink that has been spilled in both promoting and attacking the shtadlan, this historiographical void is somewhat surprising. The gap is even more alarming given the wealth of primary sources that have been collected and published. Among these are not only Halperin’s collection of records from the Va’ad Arba Aratsot (Council of Four Lands) and Dubnow’s earlier publication of materials from the Va’ad Medinat Lita (Lithuanian Council), but also Avron and Weinryb’s separate publications of the Poznan community’s records.®

In this chapter I will use the sources reprinted in these volumes to address several fundamental questions regarding the shtadlan, his activities, and his role as a communal functionary. Specifically, I will seek to answer such questions as: Who exactly was the shtadlan and what were his primary responsibilities? How did Jewish

contemporaries view the community’s official representative? What were some of the different strategies and tools that the shtadlan employed? To whom did he prefer to direct his pleas? And finally, what was the nature of the relationship between him and the Jewish community? Ideally, the answers to these questions will not only present a more well-rounded picture of the shtadlan, but also shed more light upon the relationship between Jewish communities in the Polish— Lithuanian Commonwealth and the various powers that ruled the Commonwealth. Later, conclusions drawn from this analysis of the Jewish community will be compared with the experiences of other communities, Jewish and non-Jewish, within the Commonwealth and elsewhere. This analysis will be used to determine whether the shtadlan was a phenomenon particular to a specific space, time, and culture, or rather was representative of a more general pattern of political organization and behaviour practised in different Jewish communities throughout the ages. Before I embark on this endeavour, it 1s important to say a few words about the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, its political framework, and the position of the organized Jewish community within this constellation. Traditionally, the historiographical literature has portrayed the period between the mid-seventeenth and late eighteenth centuries as one of a steady decline of the Commonwealth’s financial, political, and military institutions.’ The combination of foreign invasions in 1648 and 1655 and increasing political decentralization left the once powerful kingdom

with dramatically fewer economic and political resources. While more recent research has challenged this view of a slow, steady decline, most scholars still point to the transfer of power from the monarch to the magnates, the destruction, famine, and epidemics that followed the Cossack and Swedish invasions, and the constant 6 |. Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot ( Jerusalem, 1945); S. Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita

(Berlin, 1925); D. Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna (Jerusalem, 1967); and B. Weinryb , (ed.), Texts and Studies in the Communal History of Polish fewry, Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, 5 (1950).

” Davies somewhat ironically entitles a chapter on this era ‘Anarchia: The Noble Democracy’ (N. Davies, God’s Playground: A History of Poland, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1981), vol. 1. See also M. J. Rosman,

The Lords’ Jews: Magnate—fewish Relations in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth during the Eighteenth Century (Cambridge, Mass., 1991), 2-5.

270 Scott Ury interference of foreign powers as the primary forces responsible for the Commonwealth’s slow and painful death.® Indeed, while the exact causes of the political decentralization and stagnation may

still be debated, few scholars disagree with the contention that there was a general transfer of power from the centre to the provinces from the mid-sixteenth century to the late eighteenth century. Thus, in comparison to those of their Western counterparts, the rights and responsibilities of Polish sovereigns were severely limited. As early as 1539 the ultimate sovereignty over Jews and other residents of private towns lay in the hands of the local lords and not with the king.? Furthermore, throughout the period in question both fiscal and military affairs were slowly removed from the throne’s domain and transferred to the control of the magnates.’° Most importantly, the king’s power was formally restricted by the national Sejm. The election of each new king was subject to the approval of the Sejm, as were all new legislative acts and official appointments."' Asa result of these powers, the annual convention of elite magnates in effect exercised veto power over all of the king’s decisions and initiatives. Moreover, the decision-making process within the Sejm itself was further handicapped by the principle of /sberum veto, which gave

each individual member the right to stall the process of debate and block the approval of potential laws.’* This debilitating combination of structural deficiencies and estate interests led Sejm representatives to oppose the implementation of political or fiscal reforms that might have somehow restricted their rights, threatened their position, or endangered their financial situation.*? All of this is not to say that the king was without influence or power. He convened the Seym, appointed ministers and other officials, and wielded immense power through patronage. '* 8 See e.g. Jozef Gierowski and Andrzej Kaminski’s ominously entitled chapter ‘The Eclipse of Poland’ in J. S. Bromley (ed.), The New Cambridge Modern History, 14 vols. (Cambridge, 1956~79), vol.

vi. See also G. D. Hundert, ‘Some Basic Characteristics of the Jewish Experience in Poland’, Polin, 1 (1986), 31-2; and J. Lukowski, Liberty’s Folly: The Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth in the Eighteenth Century, 1697-1795 (New York, 1991), 86, 95.

9 A. Teller, “The Legal Status of the Jews on the Magnate Estates of Poland—Lithuania in the Eighteenth Century’, Gal-ed, 15-16 (1997), 41; and Rosman, The Lords’ Jews, 39. 10 Lukowski presents a particularly critical opinion of the sz/achta’s role in Poland’s self-destruction. See Liberty’s Folly, 7, 23, 114, as well as 9-37. See also P. Skwarczynski, “The Constitution of Poland

before the Partitions’, in W. F. Reddaway, J. H. Penson, O. Halecki, and R. Dyboski (eds.), The Cambridge History of Poland: From August IT to Pusudskt (1697-1935) (Cambridge, 1941), 57, 61.

11 Skwarczynski, ‘The Constitution of Poland’, 53-4, 61; Davies, God’s Playground, 1. 335, 338-9, 375-6; Gierowski and Kaminski, ‘The Eclipse of Poland’, 706; Lukowski, Liberty’s Folly, 89, 94; and Rosman, The Lords’ Jews, 2-5. 12 For more on the /berum veto, see Davies, God’s Playground, 1. 345-8. 13 See Rosman, The Lords’ Jews, 6; Lukowski, Liberty’s Folly, 9-37; and Gierowski and Kaminski,

“The Eclipse of Poland’, 684, 691, 704. , 14 Note Davies’s comment that ‘in relation to the Sejm, he could not be said in any sense to be powerless’ (Davies, God’s Playground, i. 336; also see 335, 376). Even Lukowski notes that ‘Restrictions

notwithstanding, the king remained the greatest single source of patronage in the Commonwealth’ (Lukowski, Liberty’s Folly, 87~8). For additional comments on the monarch’s powers, see Rosman, The Lords’ Jews, 69.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 271 However, as opposed to other European monarchs, the Polish sovereign could not be considered a representative of the absolutist model. The Jewish community’s place within this political framework lies at the core of

this study. Recently Rosman, Hundert, and other scholars have done much to explicate the nature of relations between Jews and non-Jews on the local level.!° This study will complement these works by concentrating on relations between representatives of Jewish communal organizations and the Polish authorities.

Most records date the founding of the Va’ad Arba Aratsot and the Va’ad Medinat Lita to the mid-sixteenth century. Both played crucial roles as umbrella organizations, intercommunal councils, official representatives of the Jewish community, and, perhaps most importantly in the eyes of the ruling powers, tax collectors for the Commonwealth’s Jewish subjects.‘° Goldberg in particular has noted the similarity between the organizational structure of these Jewish communal institutions and the Polish political system.'’ These parallels raise the fundamental question: if the institutional structure of the Jewish community was modelled, consciously or sub-consciously, on that of the Polish political system, then was this also true of the actual functions, activities, and practices of Jewish community leaders?

FUNCTIONS AND CHARACTERISTICS OF THE SHTADLAN You, magnanimous, high-minded man, you has the God of our fathers furnished with the noble desire of helping. You has He placed in a position, to you has He given influence and power . . . The fate of two million of our brethren will impart energy to your efforts, and the wonder-working God will soften the heart of the northern ruler before another Moses. Open letter to Sir Moses Montefiore before his mission to Russia, Voice of Facob, 10 April 1846

One of the fundamental premises of this chapter is that the shtadlan was an official functionary of the Jewish community. This is an important characteristic that helps differentiate the shtadlan from another, similar figure: the court Jew.'® Indeed, 15 See e.g. Rosman, The Lords’ Jews, and G. D. Hundert, The Jews in a Polish Private Town: The Case of Opatow in the Eighteenth Century (Baltimore, 1992).

6 See J. Goldberg, ‘Va’ad arba aratsot bemishtar hamedini vehahevrati shel memlekhet polin—lita’, in his Hahevrah hayehudit bememlekhet polin—lita (Jerusalem, 1999); G. D. Hundert, ‘Security and Dependence: Perspectives on Seventeenth-Century Polish—Jewish Society Gained through a Study of Jewish Merchants in Little Poland’, Columbia University Ph.D. thesis, 1978, 30-52; and Rosman, The

Lords’ Fews, 378. 7 Goldberg, ‘Va’ad arba aratsot’, 136~7. 18 For an analysis of the court Jew phenomenon, see F. L. Carsten, ‘The Court Jews: A Prelude to Emancipation’, Leo Baeck Yearbook, 3 (1958), 140-56; and L. M. Wills, The fem in the Court of the

Foreign King (Minneapolis, 1990). Different views on whether or not court Jews existed in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth can be found in G. D. Hundert, ‘Was there an East European Analogue to Court Jews?’, in A. K. Paluch (ed.), The Jews in Poland, i (Krakéw, 1992), 67-75; Hundert,

‘Security and Dependence’, 62, 63, 88; Rosman, The Lords’ Jews, 145, 183, 184; and D. Stone, ‘Knowledge of Foreign Languages among Eighteenth-Century Polish Jews’, Polin, 10 (1997), 203-4.

272 Scott Ury whether paid or commissioned, the shtadlan received his mandate either from the kahal or from the va’ad. In addition to this distinguishing characteristic, a review of the different intercommunal records reveals that there were two types of shtadlan: the long-term, salaried shtadlan and the ad hoc shtadlan who was commissioned to perform specific tasks. Both the intercommunal records compiled by Dubnow and Halperin and the Poznan community records include numerous accounts of long-term shtadlanim. Ostensibly these men were hired for extended periods of time to manage a wide range of the Jewish community’s contacts with government representatives.!? The terms of their employment were clearly delineated in contracts that detailed not only the shtadlan’s main responsibilities, but also his salary, the manner in which he would be reimbursed for expenses, and the exact details of other indirect financial benefits such as housing assistance and exemptions from specific dues. Dubnow and Halperin both reprint contracts between an intercommunal va'ad and a long-term professional shtadlan. The following excerpt from a 1781 contract between the Va’ad Medinat Lita and Hayim ben Yosef clearly details the shtadlan’s mandate: Thus we have unanimously agreed to choose the outstanding Torah scholar our rabbi and teacher Hayim the son of our Rabbi and teacher Yosef the shtadlan to serve as God’s Messenger. He will defend and advocate the truth in all our lands, including Lithuania, may God protect it; his eyes will be wide open to all the needs of the Va’ad, and he will serve

as its defence counsel in the presence of his majesty the king, government ministers, and nobles... at the beginning of each tribunal the above-mentioned Hayim will be required to reside in the blessed community of Vilna for six continuous weeks; during that time he will not be allowed to travel to any other location for any reason whatsoever.?°

A similar contract between the Va’ad Arba Aratsot and Nisan ben Yehudah was written in 1730. Here, as well, the intercommunal shtadlan was instructed to be pres-

ent at and observe high-level government commissions for extended periods of time, and was also expected to be ready to act at any moment upon the Va’ad’s request.”! At the local level the contracts between the Poznan kahal and various shtadlanim use similar language to describe responsibilities and values.2? These documents are so similar that one wonders whether or not model writs (agronim) were kept on hand for such occasions. Regardless of their origin, the similarity between these agreements reflects the degree to which both the position and people’s expectations had become standardized throughout the Commonwealth. 9 Despite the role which Jewish women play in different accounts of shtadlanut, no records from the above-cited collections substantiate any cases in which Jewish women served as political interlocutors. On the image and role of Jewish women in the political sphere, see C. Shmeruk, The Esterke Story in Yiddish and Polish Literature (Jerusalem, 1987). 20 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, app. 6, pp. 301-2. 21 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 621, pp. 311-12. | 22 Weinryb, “Texts and Studies’, doc. 376A and 3768, pp. 166—7.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 273 This demand for a skilled, permanent shtad/an necessitated the creation of a permanent position. In order to help secure such a functionary, institutions granted shtadlanim regular salaries, housing subsidies, and reduced tax rates. In fact, many

of the records stipulate not only the extent to which the shtadlan should be reimbursed for work-related expenses but also the manner in which these costs should be repaid. The following citation from the agreement between the Va’ad Medinat Lita and Hayim ben Yosef is particularly revelatory: And with great joy from this day forth for a period of three years we have accepted his candidacy under the following conditions: his salary will consist of one half the sum total of the poll tax according to the present level . . . and the blessed community of Vilna is required to supply this salary via weekly payments of two ivory pieces(?) . . . during this three-year period of service in Vilna the above-mentioned Hayim will be exempt from regular communal payments to the holy community of Vilna, including those taxes levied on kosher

meat and ritual slaughter. The elders of Vilna are also required to provide the abovementioned Hayim with a place of residence.”*

While the Va’ad Arba Aratsot’s contract with Nisan ben Yehudah does not specify

tax exemptions or housing arrangements in the way Hayim ben Yosef’s contract does, it clearly delineates the procedures through which the shiadian’s salary and travel expenses ought to be disbursed.”4 Even at the local level the Poznan community records detail the various ways in which the shtadlan should be compensated for his efforts. For example, a 1678 document notes the need to assist the shtadlan so that he can live in a more ‘appropriate area’.*°

| The inclusion of such seemingly minute details concerning exactly who will pay the shtadlan for what reflects a high degree of familiarity with such offices. Indeed, not only are such formalities never given a written justification—they are merely listed on the assumption that all involved will understand their relevance, precedence, and implementation—but the excessive detail leads to the conclusion that previous, less exact writs were open to interpretation. Furthermore, the very fact

that agreements from different institutions in different areas list similar, if not virtually identical, terms underscores the degree to which the position of the shtadlan had become an accepted and permanent part of the Jewish community’s institutional framework at both the local and the intercommunal level.

' Regular salaries, tax exemptions, and housing assistance were intended to provide the shtadlan with a handsome, steady income that would, theoretically, allow 23 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, app. 6, pp. 301-2. 24 “According to the law, we have budgeted a handsome, yearly salary that will be disbursed in weekly

increments of 8 Polish zloty . . . In addition to this salary, the shtadlan will be paid for travelling to ministerial committees, such travel fees will be additional to his regular salary and will be paid by the honourable Va’ad elders’ (Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 621, pp. 311-12). 25 Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 1254, p. 211. “The Va’ad is required to provide the shtadlan with housing assistance so that he can live in a suitable area as the present residence is not appropriate for a shtadlan...’. See also doc. 1692, p. 299.

274 Scott Ury him to commit the bulk of his time and energies to the community’s needs and limit

the risk that he be swayed by bribes.” This ever-present threat of corruption— which will be discussed at greater length below—contributed to the need for long-

term, salaried shtadlanim.?’ In the end the combination of this need and the community’s willingness to compensate such individuals led to the creation of the lucrative and valued position of shtadlan. Often, communal institutions were in such dire need of shtadlanut that they were

forced to turn to community members with a request that they either assist the official shtadlan or actually intercede in his stead. In many cases, the community had to threaten individuals with economic or social sanctions in order to coerce them into agreeing to such requests. Through this combination of social pressure and threats ordinary community members became deputized ad hoc shtadlanim. The intercommunal institutions usually reserved such ad hoc actions either for intricate acts of intercession or for missions requiring that the shtadlan travel great distances. For instance, the Va’ad Medinat Lita of 1673 called for extra represent-

atives to be sent to the Warsaw Sejm.?° Less than twenty years later the Va’ad echoed this request and called for group representation in Warsaw.”9 A first-hand account of how a community member was deputized for a specific act of intercession can be found in Elyakim Zelig of Jampol’s letters regarding his 1757 mission to Rome: ‘And all eyes turned towards me as the responsibility to help the people of Israel in this time of trouble fell on my shoulders. . .. Thus, I found myself enlisted in the cause and I vowed in that moment of duress to come here, to the city of Rome.’*° These examples illustrate how the intercommunal organizations used ad hoc shtadlanim either to bolster the community’s representation to important events (such as the Sejm) or to undertake long-term, distant tasks that would take the official shtadlan away from his regular responsibilities. Despite the regular appearance of such entries at the intercommunal level, the practice of deputizing ad hoc shtadlanim appears much more frequently at the local level. ‘The Poznan community records include a number of documents that call upon community members (mostly kahal elders) to serve as shtadlanim. The majority of these missions appear to be the by-product of the local kaha/’s financial limitations, the strain upon the official shtadlan,** and the sense that a hired intercessor who was not a community member might be less loyal than an actual community member. *° See the contract between the Va’ad Medinat Lita and Hayim ben Yosef quoted above: Dubnow, (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, app. 6, p. 301. See also Weinryb, “Texts and Studies’, doc. 376B, p. 167; and Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 445, p. 88. 27 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, doc. 1014, p. 271. ‘The Va’ad is responsible for providing the shtadlan with a regular and satisfactory income so that he won’t begin to wander .. .’. 28 Tbid., doc. 688, p. 167. 29 ‘Tn any case, the representation to the Warsaw Sejm must include two men who are able to stand before both the king and the ministers’ (ibid., doc. 855, p. 227). 30 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 771, p. 427. 31 Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 2037, p. 375.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 275 The following excerpt from the Poznan record book from 1715 details the community’s decision to enlist community leaders as ad hoc shtadlanim: The Council should send communal leaders on official matters both independently, and, on occasion, with the shtadlan, as two representatives are always better than one. .. . From this day forward, every communal leader who is ordered by the elders, may God protect them, to perform an act of intercession must immediately undertake this task without any excep-

tion whatsoever. Even those who are not communal leaders are required to respond promptly to the elders’ command and serve as emissaries of the elders, may God protect them... . And all those who disobey this command as well as all other commands mandated by the communal elders will be severely punished by the council and banished so as to serve

as an example to all.°? ,

Again, one of the main differences between the Poznan community’s use of ad hoc shtadlanim and the implementation of ad hoc shtadlanut at the intercommunal level was the scope of such activity. While records from the intercommunal institutions usually refer to specific actions and ad hoc emissaries, the Poznan records include a general, almost wholesale, use of such ad hoc shtadlanim. Thus, writs in the Poznan record book announce the kahal’s general right to deputize any community leader and declare strict punishments for those who shirk their newly imposed responsibilities.*° Clearly the exaggerated nature of these threats reflects the problems inherent in depending on non-professional shtadlanim. However, despite these pitfalls, financial constraints apparently forced the community to implement and rely on an admittedly imperfect system.** Indeed, despite the Poznan kahal’s tendency to rely on ad hoc shtadlanim more often than did the intercommunal insiitutions, it too preferred to retain a professional shtadlan whenever possible. Some of the reasons for this institutional preference for a professional shtadlan can be gleaned from the manner in which shtadlanim are described. In the eyes of their contemporaries the professional shtadlan possessed a unique combination of the skill, courage, knowledge, and linguistic ability necessary to represent the __ Jewish community effectively. Again, the two previously cited agreements between the intercommunal institutions and their respective shtadlanim offer detailed portraits of the ideal shtadlan. After a rather desperate opening clause, the contract between Hayim ben Yosef and the Va’ad Medinat Lita eagerly turns to the new

shtadlan as the community’s last ray of hope. , And thus we have found a man true to our hearts, a wise and knowledgeable man whose lips flow with sweet honey, honey that is capable of overcoming the hatred within those before 32 Tbid., doc. 2029, p. 372. See also doc. 235, p. 49; doc. 489, p. 96; and doc. 2037, p. 375. 33 [bid., doc. 1717, p. 301; doc. 2029, p. 372; and doc. 489, p. 96.

34 Several documents reflect the community’s hesitancy to turn to a paid shtadlan. Note the following citation from the Poznan record: ‘The council should discuss whether or not there is a need for two shtadlanim as perhaps one is sufficient’ (Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 1510, pp. 256-7; see also doc. 819, p. 151; and doc. 211, pp. 42-3).

276 Scott Ury whom he stands. This man has the presence to stand before the king and his ministers and speak in a refreshing and noble manner, both his heart and his words are equally pure and wise.°°

In addition to its references to the shtadlan’s intelligence and courage, this excerpt 1s particularly instructive because of its repeated emphasis on the shtadlan’s rhetorical skills. Thus, the 1730 agreement between Nisan ben Yehudah and the Va’ad Arba Aratsot similarly praises the new representative. *° Finally, the shtadlan was expected to be an adept and well-connected representative who knew exactly how and when to take advantage of these connections. A

1739 record from the Va’ad Arba Aratsot calls for a shtadlan to be sent to the Warsaw Sejm who is not only well versed in the affairs of the day, but also recognized by the authorities and, perhaps most importantly, able to use his knowledge and public standing as an entrée into appropriate government offices.*’ Similar demands are made in a 1633 announcement from the Poznan community record book opening the search for a professional shtadlan.*® Through these excerpts a composite image of the shtadlan can be constructed.

The shtadlan was expected to possess a wealth of knowledge concerning the customs, language, and balance of power in the non-Jewish world. However, knowledge and rhetorical skills were not enough, as he was also required to be a respected, well-known individual who would be welcomed by the relevant powers. Like ‘a shepherd leading a lost flock’,*? the shtadlan was to combine all of these qualities as he bravely represented the Jewish community before the ruling bodies, skilfully circumvented future disasters, and intervened to rescue the Jewish community from imminent danger.*° In the eyes of his contemporaries the shiadlan was anything but the maskilic and nationalist caricature of a cowardly toady. As a 1649 account from the Va’ad Arba Aratsot demands, “Thus it was agreed to send emissaries to the above-mentioned evil council, these emissaries should be important men, men who have the strength and presence to stand in the chambers of the above-mentioned council so that their words can be heard and so that the abovementioned decrees and laws [can be] overturned.’*! While certainly less than perfect, this system of relying on appointed individuals for political representation seemed to suit all those involved. This can be seen in the fact that, although the records do reflect periodic dissatisfaction with particular shtadlanim, they do not contain any calls for the transformation of the system itself. Furthermore, when communal institutions and leaders did search for alternatives, 35 Dubnow, (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, app. 6, p. 301.

36 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 621, pp. 311-12. See also Weinryb, “Texts and Studies’, doc. 376A, p. 166.

37 ¢ |. and the third will be the main shtadlan who is versed in the matters at hand and recognized and welcomed by the ruling powers’ (Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 642, p. 327).

38 ¢ | .aman who has the strength and prestige necessary to stand in the sovereign’s court’ (Avron

(ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 211, pp. 42-3). 39 Tbid., doc. 322, p. 65. 40 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 621, p. 312. 41 Tbid., doc. 205, p. 77.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 277 they ultimately found them within the framework of the existing system of shtadlanut. At the very most, professional shtadlanim were supplemented by ad hoc emissaries who performed exactly the same functions. Why this system of political

representation and action was never seriously challenged from within will be addressed in the following sections.

THE STRATEGIES, TACTICS, AND TOOLS OF SHTADLANUT ... the Jews had no political tradition or experience, and were as little aware of the tension between society and state as they were of the obvious risks and powerpossibilities of their new role. HANNAH ARENDT The Origins of Totahttarianism

While the previous section was devoted to describing who the shtadlan was, the aim of this section will be to answer the question of what shtadlanim actually did. The first part will focus on the distinction between direct and indirect intercession, and examine who it was that representatives of the Jewish community actually approached.

Did shtadlanim turn exclusively to the monarch, or did the decentralization of power lead to a similar redistribution of the shtadlan’s efforts? Later I will discuss the means used by shtadlanim to achieve their goals. Ultimately this examination of the strategies and tools they used will not only illustrate the different types of action taken by these representatives, but will also highlight what actions were not considered or undertaken. Direct shtadlanut can best be understood as a personal appeal by a shtadlan— long-term or ad hoc—to a representative of the ruling authorities. In many sources we find a call for a shtadlan to appeal directly to the powers that be.*? In his book Jewish Privileges in the Polish Commonwealth Goldberg emphasizes the important

role of direct shtadlanut in securing privileges and charters. He writes that ‘the request of the Jews is mentioned as the direct cause for issuing a privilege. . . . Occasionally the Jewish representatives themselves were received in audience by the king and could ask for a privilege for their community.’4? In a letter written in 1757 describing a succession of dealings designed to combat the influence of the

Frankist movement Baruch ben David Yon provides first-hand insight into the actual workings of such direct appeals: I have just returned from the royal city of Warsaw, where, thanks to God, I found myself during last Hanukah, and thanks to the grace and strength that God gave me, I was able to “2 Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 164, p. 32, doc. 211, pp. 42-3; Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, doc. 206, p. 42, doc. 269, p. 55; Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 621, p. 312, doc. 173, p. 61, doc. 276, p. 114, doc. 346, p. 147, doc. go2, p. 473, and doc. 232, p. go. 48 J. Goldberg, Jewish Privileges in the Polish Commonwealth (Jerusalem, 1985), 38.

278 | Scott Ury gain the favour of the king and his ministers, my acts and service impressed them all, and in particular his majesty the minister Brithl, who decides on every matter in the kingdom, and I explained to him the entire situation from the moment that Shabbetai Tsevi appeared.**

The sheer volume of records describing acts of direct shtadlanut reflects the Jewish communities’ preference for such appeals. By limiting the number of intermedi-

aries between the community and the authorities, these direct efforts helped to ensure that the community’s appeal remained as undiluted as possible, and limited potential expenses and confusion. However much they were preferred, such direct appeals were not always feasible. Indeed, no ruler could ever receive every personal petition directed to him.

Furthermore, Jewish communities often felt that such requests needed to be augmented by other, indirect actions. ‘These concerns led to the development and frequent use of third parties, both Jewish and non-Jewish, as indirect shtadlanim. Unlike the Jewish communities of the era of absolutism, which depended on court Jews, or the communities in the Russian empire in the first half of the nineteenth century, which often turned to maskilim for advice, assistance, and shtadlanut, the kahalim under the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth still wielded enough political power to be able to deputize community members and send them on clearly defined missions.*? Furthermore, the phenomenon of Jews distancing themselves from the traditional community and either creating alternative Jewish communities or entering the non-Jewish world was still relatively uncommon at this time. Hence, the only situations in which these communities would use the services of Jews outside the community were those that required contacts outside the regular political framework. While the communal infrastructure may already have exhibited some signs of decay, the system itself continued to function. An agreement negotiated in 1681 between the Va’ad Medinat Lita and the Va’ad Arba Aratsot includes a reference to one community’s turn to Jewish contacts outside its regular sphere of influence. In an attempt to limit redundant efforts,

| confusion, and unnecessary competition, the agreement regulates the different responsibilities (both fiscal and political) of each va’ad. One of these regulations directly addresses the topic of indirect Jewish intercession.*® In specific situations a community was required to turn to its sovereign with a request that he appeal to another ruler on behalf of a second Jewish community. Elyakim Zelig of Jampol’s 1757 correspondence from Rome provides additional examples of such coopera44 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 768, p. 422-4. Also note Yon’s description of his appeal to the papal representative in Poland: ‘And thus I turned to the nuncio’s court and to his majesty the nuncio himself. . . . I gave the appeal to the nuncio’s judge and to the auditor. After discussing the matter at length and in detail with the nuncio, he said they will receive a trial and be burned to death so that their memory will be destroyed and their bankrupt belief uprooted.’ 45 See Stern, The Court Jew, 177-207; and Lederhendler, The Road to Modern fewish Politics, 100-10. 46 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, app. 7, pp. 287-8. See also Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 392, p. 176.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 279 tion. In his request for additional funding the ad hoc shtadlan of the Va’ad Arba Aratsot details his interaction with and dependence on the local Jewish community: With God’s guidance I arrived here safely, and God gave the wise, good and heroic members of the local community, may they be blessed, the strength necessary to undertake all possible efforts to approach the king and other high ministers in Rome; in particular, the wise and well-known genius the rabbi and teacher Shabtai Piani gave his heart and soul to our cause, and with God’s assistance he had the strength to stand before the king and the ministers. *’

Here, the shtadlan’s main role was to enlist the support of the local Jews who had the appropriate language skills and the political connections necessary to present the

va'ad’s concerns effectively. Unable to intercede successfully on his own, the shtadlan turned to the local Jewish community not only for guidance and logistical assistance, but also for the actual act of shtadlanut. In an article on the metamorphosis of Jewish politics Michael Graetz points to the international nature of Jewish responses to the 1744—5 decrees expelling Jews

from Bohemia and Moravia as the first stage in the politicization of the Jewish ‘masses’ across Europe.*® According to Graetz, the international nature of Jewish responses to this crisis led to the legitimization of international Jewish cooperation and, eventually, to the development of such organizations as the Alliance Israélite Universelle. As a result of these developments, ‘the foundations were laid and the preconditions created for the entry of the masses, middle-class and proletariat, into Jewish politics’.4? While these developments were certainly pivotal to the political development of east European Jewry,°? Graetz’s theory overlooks the fact that at the very moment when the Jews of western and central Europe were supposedly laying the foundations for the transformation of Jewish politics, Jewish institutions in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth were practising similar, if not identical, strategies. Although seemingly new to the Jews of western and central Europe, cooperation between Jewish communities in different lands may have seemed like traditional politics to many Jews throughout eastern Europe.”? 47 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 771, p. 427. See also doc. 770, p. 425.

48M. Graetz, ‘Jewry in the Modern Period: The Role of the “Rising Class” in the Politicization of Jews in Europe’, in J. Frankel and S. Zipperstein (eds.), Assimilation and Community (Cambridge,

1992), 165. 49 Tbid. 174.

°° See Lederhendler, The Road to Modern Jewish Politics, 137, 140-2; and S. Ettinger and I. Bartal, ‘The First Aliyah: Ideological Roots and Practical Accomplishments’, Jerusalem Cathedra, 2 (1982), 202-4. °1 See Assaf and Bartal’s discussion of the cooperation between hasidim from eastern Europe and Western Jewish leaders in their ‘Shtadlanut veorthodoksia’, 74—80. For another interpretation of the

political transformation of the Jewish community in Polish lands, see J. Goldberg, ‘Pierwszy ruch polityczny wsré6d Zydow polskich: Plenipotenci zydowscy w dobie sejmu czteroletniego’, in J. Michalski (ed.), Lud Zydowski w narodzie polskim (Warsaw, 1994). lam grateful to Francois Guesnet for bringing this article to my attention. A sweeping analysis of the political transformation of European Jewry throughout the second half of the 19th century can be found in Frankel’s detailed study of Jewish responses to the Damascus blood libel: J. Frankel, The Damascus Affair: ‘Ritual Murder’, Politics and the Jews in 1840 (Cambridge, 1997).

280 Scott Ury While these findings regarding Jewish intermediaries may shed light on political activities among Jews, an examination of the use of non-Jewish emissaries highlights the Jewish communities’ attempt to respond to the ever-changing balance of power within the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth. Baruch ben David Yon’s account of 1757 illustrates how non-Jews were often enlisted. Here the shtadlan’s direct appeal to Minister Briihl (discussed above) resulted in a commitment from the minister to forward the appeal to the king. Yon cites Briihl as promising: ‘Write these matters in an appeal to his majesty the king and give the appeal to me. I will then pass the request on to the king himself.’°? Indirect intercession of this type

privileges.°? | was certainly not unknown. Indeed, Goldberg notes the role which clerks and secretaries played in helping Jewish communities secure or renew charters and

In addition to such interventions by non-Jewish officials, Jewish communities often depended upon non-Jews for less active forms of assistance. A record from the Va’ad Arba Aratsot meeting in 1739 offers a detailed account of the Va’ad’s use of the treasury minister as an impromptu adviser:

At the outset, the loyal representatives should turn to his majesty the great treasury minister of the kingdom for guidance and protection. . . . using his knowledge and wisdom, he should determine whether the proposed sums are sufficient, to whom they should be disbursed and in what order, later, he should instruct the communal representatives on exactly how and to whom they should present their requests . . . in order to prevent unnecessary expenditures . . . if he should determine that the present allotted amount is insufficient, he

has the authority to borrow further funds from the royal treasury of the Treasury Ministry.°*

Thus, the minister was not only entrusted with directing and coaching the va’ad delegation to the Warsaw Sejm, but was also given leeway to approve the allocation of further payments. While such advice might have cost the Va’ad additional funds,

the expenses were seen as worthwhile investments that would help the shtadlan achieve the best possible results while simultaneously avoiding unnecessary costs and improper, if not damaging, transactions.*° These examples of indirect shtadlanut by both Jews and non-Jews illustrate the degree to which such actions were deemed necessary and were actually practised. They also reflect the level to which Jewish communities had developed a system of political action involving multiple contacts and strategies. Moreover, the multilayered nature of this system illustrates the growing political decentralization of power in the Polish—Lithuanian lands. In the end the political realities of the time necessitated that the Jewish community be prepared to go beyond its own institu°2 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 768, p. 423. °3 Goldberg, Zewish Privileges, 39. See also Lukowski, Liberty’s Folly, 106.

°4 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 642, p. 327. °° Tbid., doc. 642, p. 327 n. 2.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 281 tional limits and turn to external parties, both Jewish and non-Jewish, in order to

achieve its goals. :

The example of cooperation between the treasury minister and the Va’ad Arba Aratsot serves as a useful link into our next question: to whom did Jewish communities and their shtadlanim prefer to turn? Traditional historiographical literature has long portrayed an almost exclusive alliance with the Crown as an integral component of pre-modern Jewish politics.°° The king was often portrayed as a benevolent, good-natured ruler who protected his subjects with a kind and generous heart. This opinion was so strong that any damaging decree or action was often rationalized as the random act of jealous underlings carried out without the king’s knowledge. Hundert has argued that, despite these myths, the ‘royal alliance’ failed to take hold in Poland—Lithuania. According to his analysis, these Jewish communities often turned to local authorities, and especially to magnates and other nobility, as political power became more and more decentralized.?’ The following pages will examine which of these approaches most accurately reflects the political strategies of organized Jewish communal institutions in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth. Much like the traditional historiographical literature, the records of the Jewish institutions of Poland—Lithuania consistently refer to the Crown in a positive light. Since the Crown was assumed to have the power to overrule decisions made by lower-level bureaucrats or local authorities, a successful appeal to the king was usually considered one way of ensuring a favourable outcome. The Va’ad Arba Aratsot record book contains several entries that reflect this practice of turning directly to the Crown in order to reinforce standing charters or to overturn decisions made ata lower level. For example, an entry from 1676 describes the commun-

ity’s successful appeal to the monarch regarding the maintenance of present privileges.°> An earlier entry, from 1638, records King Wtadystaw IV’s revocation

| of a local noble’s right to tax synagogues.°? Finally, an even more sweeping royal decision from 1658 calls on the authorities to grant individual Jews protection and

security, demands a break in the collection of all poll taxes, and instructs local 56 See Y. H. Yerushalmi, The Lishon Massacre of 1506 and the Royal Image in Shebet Yehudah (Cincinnati, 1976), p. xii; Lederhendler, The Road to Modern Jewish Politics, 14-19; and Biale, Power and Powerlessness, 56, 62. For discussions of how this alliance often continued beyond the Middle Ages,

see M. Stanislawski, Tsar Nicholas I and the fews: The Transformation of Fewish Society in Russia (Philadelphia, 1983), 118-20; and D. Assaf, Derekh hamalkut: rabt yisra’el miruzhin umekomo betoledot hahasidut (Jerusalem, 1997), 272-90.

°7 Hundert, ‘Some Basic Characteristics of the Jewish Experience in Poland’, 31. See also id., ‘Security and Dependence’, 239-40, and id., The Jews in a Polish Private Town, 116-34. Rosman, too, has done much to broaden our understanding of the relationship between Jews and non-Jews at the local level. See The Lords’ Jews, chs. 4-7. See also M. J. Rosman, ‘A Minority Views the Majority: Jewish Attitudes towards the Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth and Interaction with Poles’, Polin, 4 (1989), 34. °8 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 346, p. 147. See also Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat

lita, doc. 8, p. 18. °° Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 173, p. 61.

282 , Scott Ury authorities to help Jews to regain property that had been repossessed.®° In the eyes of Jewish leaders the king was still powerful enough to exercise his influence to secure communal privileges, overturn problematic decisions, and grant decrees that would, at least on paper, guarantee the safety and security of Jewish communities and their individual members. Thus, while political power may have been more decentralized than in the neighbouring absolutist states, the Jewish community still felt that the king possessed enough power to influence the decision-making process.°! While this belief may have been incommensurate with the Crown’s actual share of power, it was strong enough to convince the Jewish community of the need to court the Crown’s favour consistently. Indeed, none of the remaining records encourage Jewish communities or their representatives to ignore the king or any of his functionaries.

Still, this faith in the king did not completely blind the representatives to the political realities at hand. Indeed, for every record noting a community’s decision to turn to the monarch, a similar plea to a minister or a local official can be

found. Furthermore, most of the writs cited above call on representatives to be brave wherever they might turn: to the monarch, to government ministers, to the Sejms, or to local powers. This multi-pronged approach reflects the Jewish community’s awareness that exclusive reliance on one figure left them especially depend-

ent and vulnerable. It also highlights the precarious balance of power between the monarch, his advisers, and local magnates and their representatives to the Warsaw Sejm. As this balance shifted, Jewish leaders found themselves in need of connections and alliances on every level. The practice of relying exclusively on the goodwill and financial need of the monarch had been replaced by the rather costly and time-consuming endeavour of having to please all of the people all of the time. One of the intercommunal institutions’ main targets for shtadlanut, outside the Crown itself, was the Warsaw Sejm and the local seymiki. As mentioned earlier,

the biennial Sejms often served as the true locus of power throughout the period in question. It was the Seym that had the right to elect a king, approve appointments, and decide on legislative and fiscal matters.®* Therefore, a large number of acts of intercession were directly related to them. A record dated 1628 from the Va’ad Medinat Lita announcing a special delegation to that year’s Sejm typifies such acts.°* The Va’ad Arba Aratsot record book contains similar entries, and includes a record from 1739 delineating the exact composition of the Va’ad Arba 60 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 232, p. 90. . 61 Tbid., doc. 217, p. 82. Hundert notes several instances in which the Jewish community turned to the throne to circumvent or overturn local or middle-level decisions. See ‘Security and Dependence’, 195-6, 202-3, 215. 62 For more information on the Sejms and their role in the commonwealth’s political constellation, see Lukowski, Liberty’s Folly, 89-95; and Skwarczynski, “The Constitution of Poland’, 54-61. 63 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, doc. 206, pp. 42—3; see also doc. 2, p. 1; doc. 269, p. 55; doc. 543, p. 128; doc. 668, p. 167; doc. 855, p. 227; and app. 7, pp. 284-5.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 283 Aratsot’s delegation to the biennial Sejm and other commissions.®* These and other entries underscore how common such appeals to national and local councils actually were.®°

The number of such entries and the amount of energy and resources invested in

currying the favour of Sejm representatives reflect three major developments. First, the concentration on these acts of shtadlanut points to the political power that the Sejm wielded. Indeed, it was no longer sufficient to send a well-connected, articulate shiadlan to the Crown, since throughout this period the Crown’s position would be consistently challenged. Secondly, this growing competition between political camps forced the Jewish community to broaden its contacts and areas of activity. Finally, this expansion of the Jewish community’s agenda contributed to the further growth and development of the shtadlan’s mandate. In conjunction with the large number of appeals to the Sejms the records also include a number of cases in which communal institutions and shtadlanim developed long-term working relationships with individual ministers. This practice of appealing to specific ministers can be seen as another indication of the growing decentralization of political power in the Commonwealth. Indeed, many of these ministers were apparently in the process of building their own power bases and

could, theoretically, exercise tremendous influence on both the Seym and the Crown. While many documents called on the shtadlan to be ready to appeal to all of

the king’s ministers, the treasury minister remained one of the preferred allies. The origin of the alliance between the treasury and Jewish institutions can probably

be traced to one of the authorities’ primary reasons for supporting the va’ad’s existence: tax collection. Indeed, the kahal system, like other forms of corporate rule, was designed to support the rather underdeveloped state apparatus for collecting dues.°" Passages that attest to a strengthening alliance between the Jewish community and the treasury are plentiful. In one instance the Va’ad Arba Aratsot record book notes the treasury minister’s intervention in 1657 on behalf of Jews living in urban areas and on private estates.°° Nine years later the Va’ad Arba Aratsot turned to Kazimierz Kubolkowski, a minister to the king who also served as the treasury’s scribe, for a loan.®? This example is particularly important because Kubolkowski’s

loan helped cover debts incurred as a result of unpaid tax dues. The shtadlan 64 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 642, p. 325. The 1730 agreement between Nisan ben Yehudah and the Va’ad, discussed above, also contains a clause calling on the new shtadlan to intercede at the Sejm and other commissions. See ibid., doc. 621, p. 312. 6 See ibid., doc. 329, p. 139 n. 3; doc. 519, p. 242; doc. 392, p. 171; and doc. 368, p. 162.

66 See Jacob Goldberg’s interpretation of this mutually beneficial relationship in ‘Va’ad arba aratsot’, 138. See also Lukowski, Liberty’s Folly, 105-6. 67 Thus Goldberg notes that ‘The Va’ad Arba Aratsot was an institution founded not for legislative

purposes, but in order to distribute the tax burden between the local and regional communal institutions’ (Goldberg, ‘Va’ad arba aratsot’, 132).

68 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 231, p. 89. 69 Tbid., doc. 257, pp. 103-4.

284 Scott Ury had apparently had little luck erasing the debt and was forced to turn to a government official to raise the necessary capital. While Kubolkowski’s decision was probably financially motivated—he apparently felt that lending to the Jewish com-

munity would prove a wise investment—his actions gave the community the opportunity to repay its debt. A 1739 alliance between the treasury minister and the Va’ad Arba Aratsot delegation to Warsaw stands as another example of close cooperation between the treasury and the Va’ad Arba Aratsot. Again, this agreement highlights the degree to which such forms of assistance, both tactical and financial, were often encouraged by economic incentives. ’° In addition to these appeals, the Poznan records include specific references to shtadlanut carried out at the local level. According to an item from 1639, the community regularly approached the local general with the request that he appoint local — officials sympathetic to the Jewish community." This passage is pertinent because it shows not only that such appeals had already become common practice, but also that the Poznan community’s dealings paralleled those of the Va’ad Arba Aratsot. ~ A 1634 announcement clarifying the community’s right to deputize communal — leaders differentiates between local missions and long-distance journeys. ’* A document from 1715 calls on the shtadlan to observe the activities of the local tax court.’°

These examples show that, while intercommunal institutions handled matters in Warsaw, local kahalim and their shtadlanim, both long-term and ad hoc, usually assumed responsibility for local affairs.

Such a division of resources and responsibilities reflects the degree to which political representation was coordinated between different Jewish institutions. While it would be an exaggeration to conclude that this inter-institutional cooperation was problem-free, its significance should not be underestimated. Local affairs were usually reserved for local shtadlanim and matters affecting the entire Common-

wealth were dealt with, at least theoretically, by representatives of the inter-

communal councils. |

However, these strategies were not always enough to open doors, influence opinions, or produce favourable decisions. Indeed, the success of all political strategies, no matter how well designed and calculated, often depends upon their implementation. Foremost among the methods that shtadlanim used were emotional appeals, attainment of and dependence upon legal writs, and the presentation of gifts or pay-

ments. :

All of the communal records include documents openly advocating tactics such as pleading and begging. For example, a Va’ad Arba Aratsot record from 1649 calls for an ad hoc delegation to plead, beg, and cry in the course of their appeal.”* A copy

7 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 642, p. 327. “1. Weinryb, ‘Texts and Studies’, doc. 131, p. 54. 72 Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 235, p. 49; and doc. 489, p. 96.

3 Tbid., doc. 1984, p. 360. “4 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 205, p. 77.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 285 of Elyakim Zelig of Jampol’s report of his 1757 mission to Rome also speaks of the need to beg for the Pope’s favour. ’° However, while later observers may have found this behaviour unbecoming and humiliating, the shtad/an and his contemporaries seemed to accept them as appropriate and effective modes of political conduct. In addition to such emotionally based pleas, many shtadlanim tried to win the

authorities’ favour through rational argument and legal litigation. In most cases these tactics hinged upon the implementation of charters and privileges. We find repeated examples of shtadlanim securing or renewing favourable decrees.’© The practice of turning to courts, both religious and secular, to resolve issues also reflects the use of rational principles.’’ Thus, one of Baruch ben David Yon’s main goals in his campaign against the Frankists was to produce a decree by the papal nuncio that would overrule the bishop of Kamenets’s earlier, pro-Frankist decision.’® Elyakim Zelig of Jampol’s mission was also aimed at producing a papal writ—one that would help the Jewish community defend itself against blood libel accusations.’? This dependence upon royal documents and legal litigation highlights the faith that Jewish leaders had in the Commonwealth’s political and legal system and the shtadlan’s ability to represent the Jewish community successfully within that system. However, such legal foundations did not always guarantee results. Therefore, in addition to emotional and rational appeals, representatives often used money and gifts to ensure success. All three record books include documents reflecting the practice of regularly distributing funds to ensure the authorities’ cooperation and to avert potential problems.®° A record of the Poznan community’s expenditure for 1637-8 includes a litany of officials—local and national, civil and clerical—who

received payments.*! Likewise, a 1726 entry in the Va’ad Arba Aratsot’s record book contains a listing of similar payments.®? While some of these payments may have been related to specific requests, the wholesale manner in which they ® Tbid., doc. 771, p. 427 n. 3. 7° Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, doc. 518, p. 122; Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 346, p. 147, doc. 231, p. 89, and doc. 276, p. 114.

™ Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 993, p. 514; doc. 902, pp. 472-3; Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 1984, p. 360, doc. 106, p. 29, and doc. 551, p. 108. 78 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 768, p. 423. 2 Tbid., doc. 820, p. 438; and doc. 771, p. 427.

: 8° For further discussion regarding the distribution of payments and gifts by Jewish communities, see Rosman, The Lords’ Fews, 83-5, 122, 137, 200; Goldberg, ‘Va’ad Arba Aratsot’, 139; id., “The Changes in the Attitude of Polish Society toward the Jews in the Eighteenth-Century’, Polin, 1 (1986), 38; Teller, “The Legal Status of the Jews on the Magnate Estates’, 59; and id., ‘Radziwill, Rabinowicz,

and the Rabbi of Swierz: The Magnates’ Attitude to Jewish Regional Autonomy in the Eighteenth Century’, in A. Teller (ed.), Studies in the History of the Jews in Old Poland: In Honor of facob Goldberg

(Jerusalem, 1998), 259-60. 81 See Weinryb, “Texts and Studies’, doc. 138, p. 59. 82 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 962, pp. 502-3, and doc. 342, pp. 145-6. Hundert’s detailed micro-history of the Jewish community of Opatow contains a detailed description of the community’s expenditures. See Hundert, The fews in a Polish Private Town, 99-104. Note, in particular,

Hundert’s contextualization of such actions on p. 102. ,

286 Scott Ury were distributed and the generic way in which they were recorded gives the impression that these blanket payments were standard, accepted practice.

Such regular payments were accompanied by payments intended to produce specific results. For example, a 1639 entry in the Poznan community registry

describes payments made to the local general in order to influence his choice of | mayor.®? Again, Elyakim Zelig of Jampol’s correspondence provides a vivid insight

into the nuts and bolts of shtadlanut. In his appeal for additional funding, the shtadlan lists the officials in Rome whom he has to bribe in order to receive a papal writ condemning the blood libel in Jampol: However, it was impossible even to find a point from which to begin to present our case. All of the gates, except for the gates of heaven, were closed. Furthermore, I had already disposed of all available funds and even had to borrow additional sums from the local book-

seller. The entire amount was invested in our matter . . . indeed, additional funds are needed for several of the ministers and, in particular, the king’s scribe as well as those officials responsible for the royal seal.®4

Like many of his contemporaries, Zelig found that his efforts came to a dead end without additional funds. In addition to annual dues paid to local officials and funds designed for specific purposes, institutions also made regular payments to representatives to the Warsaw Sejms. These were a combination of standing and specific payments; although they were given regularly, they were usually designed to help achieve specific goals. Thus, many of the delegations to the Seym were responsible not only for gathering

information and lobbying, but also for distributing cash and gifts designed to win favour. A copy of the 1681 agreement between the Va’ad Medinat Lita and the Va’ad Arba Aratsot refers to expenditure incurred as a result of ‘presents’ given

to the king’s assistants and ministers.2° The Poznan record book also contains several entries emphasizing the need to be quite generous.°° The record of the cooperation between the treasury minister and the Jewish delegation to the Warsaw Seym in 1739 provides a particularly detailed view of how such payments were made.®’ It highlights not only the indispensable role that such payments played

in lobbying the Seym, but also the degree to which such transactions occupied the Va’ad Arba Aratsot’s attention.®® The Va’ad arranged for external counsel 83 Weinryb, ‘Texts and Studies’, doc. 131, p. 54. See also Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, doc.

go, p. 18. 84 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 771, p. 427. 85 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, app. 4, p. 284; and Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 390, p. 171.

86 Weinryb, “Texts and Studies’, doc. 138, pp. 57-8; and Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 167, pp. 32-3. See also Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 262, p. 106, and doc.

329, p. 139 N. 3. 87 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 642, p. 327. 88 bid. ‘Earlier records reveal large sums expended on the Sejm. . .. Without these sums, it would have been impossible to successfully complete these tasks.”

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 287 in order to limit unnecessary payments and made specific provisions in case the original budgetary allotments proved insufficient. In addition to these details concerning the logistical organization of such delegations, the Poznan community’s records include entries specifying the different forms that such payments took. From these records we learn that shtadlanim were apt to present not only cash payments, but also gifts in kind of fish, perfumes, spices, and other goods. These entries include detailed guidelines regarding the distribution of various items and reveal a hierarchy in which certain gifts were deemed more valuable than others.®? This ranking of gifts offers a rare insight into the planning and strategy involved, and reveals how familiar communal institutions

were with such practices. |

While rational and emotional argumentation and legal litigation were often employed, the shtadlan’s most successful and reliable means remained the calculated distribution of payments and gifts. Indeed, all of the communal institutions seem to have developed a set of regulations dictating not only the amount of money that shtadlanim were allowed to distribute, but also the manner in which such pay-

| ments were to be presented. The common use of cash or gifts at all levels also illustrates the degree to which a common culture of political behaviour was practised by various communities within the Commonwealth.*° Indeed, while representatives of the Jewish community may have distributed cash and gifts regularly, the various

recipients of these payments were equal and willing participants in these transactions. Finally, while Jewish leaders might have complained about the cost and energy involved in maintaining influence in such a decentralized and occasionally hostile

political system, the willingness of government ministers, nobles, and Church representatives to work with Jews can be seen asa sign of the authorities’ acceptance

of the Jewish community as a permanent fixture of the Polish landscape. While some parties were interested in limiting the Jewish community’s economic or residential privileges, others were just as happy—albeit in exchange for some form of payment—to support the Jews’ demands that such charters be maintained or even

extended.

89 Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 492, p. 97; doc. 1049, pp. 179-80; and doc. 470, p. 93 n. 67. Hundert cites cases in which citrus fruits, coffee, sugar, beverages, and boots were used to gain favour. See Hundert, The Jews in a Polish Private Town, 41, 103-4. 90 Hence Goldberg’s comment that ‘many of the communal leaders simply adjusted to the reigning political culture’ (Goldberg, ‘Va’ad arba aratsot’, 139). See also Davies, God’s Playground, 1. 338; and Lukowski, Liberty’s Folly, 106.

288 Scott Ury POWER, ITS TEMPTATIONS, AND ITS LIMITATIONS We need to have in our parts honest parnasim, such as work in communal affairs

with sincerity of heart, not like certain ones who remove the pearls from Ark- , curtains and stud them into honey cakes as gifts for magnates in order to find favour in their eyes. SHOLOM ASCH

Kiddush Ha-Shem

Both traditional rabbinic literature and historical works have noted the potential for | conflict between a community’s political emissary and its leadership.” In fact, all three record books bear witness to institutional attempts to control shtadlanim. These efforts were designed to ensure that the community’s representative—a man possessing linguistic and rhetorical skills, political status both inside and out of the Jewish community, and a myriad connections—should not fall prey to the temptations (financial, political, and social) that might entice him to begin serving another power. In many cases such restrictions were necessary to the maintenance of political authority, communal cohesion, and social control. Thus, Katz contends that contact with the authorities remained the exclusive responsibility of the communal institutions and their representatives.?? While Rosman and Hundert have shown that contact with the authorities was not limited exclusively to communal representatives, they also note the potentially damaging impact that unofficial contacts might have upon a community’s institutional framework. Therefore, they too appear to accept Katz’s argument that the phenomenon of individual Jews approaching state powers directly might undermine the community’s authority.?? Another, related, fear was that a shtadlan who had accumulated too much personal influence or power might be able to challenge the kahal’s role as the sole representative of the Jewish community in the political arena. The combination of these threats led to repeated attempts to restrict the activities of shtadlanim. The first type of restrictive measure guarded against potential conflicts of interest. For example, an entry in the Poznan record book from 1660 calls on all shtad-

lanim to swear that they have no personal business with non-Jews that might interfere with the kahal’s needs.** An entry in the Va’ad Arba Aratsot’s record book 91 See F. L. Carsten, “The Court Jews: A Prelude to Emancipation’, Leo Baeck Yearbook, 3 (1958), 152; Stern, The Court few, 181, 196-7; and Rosman, The Lords’ fews, 165-6, 173, 182. 92 J. Katz, Tradition and Crisis: Jewish Society at the End of the Middle Ages (New York, 1993), 72. 93 Hundert notes ‘an incipient sense of disintegration and the weakening of communal discipline’ caused by a perceived increase in the frequency of such acts in 18th-century Jewish society. Hundert,

‘On the Problem of Agency in Eighteenth Century Jewish Society’, in Teller (ed.), Studies in the story of the Jews in Old Poland, 87. See also Hundert, ‘Security and Dependence’, 222, and id., The Jews in a Polish Private Town, 137-8. Rosman contends that the dissolution of the Va’ad Arba Aratsot

in 1764 came as a result of persistent efforts on the part of the magnates to interfere in internal Jewish communal affairs (see The Lords’ Jews, 189, as well as 173, 200—1, 205, 210-11). For another interpretation of this dynamic between dependency, acculturation, and communal disintegration, see

Teller, “The Legal Status of the Jews on the Magnate Estates’, 60. °4 Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 495, p. 159.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 289 from 1646 describes a shtadlan’s vow that he would not undertake any action that might damage the Va’ad’s interests: The respected elder, our rabbi and teacher, Hertz Ginzburg, may God protect him, swore before travelling to the blessed community of Lublin that he would not undertake any private matters in conversations with national leaders that might either contradict or damage the interests of the community, may it live for ever, and if, while at the said fair, he should undertake any such actions, whatever they may or may not be, such acts are to be considered null and void, like shattered pottery, as though they had never existed.®°

As noted above, such vows were intended to ensure that the shtadlan would not be

tempted to compromise the community’s interests. However, the very fact that such entries were recorded leads one to suspect that such problems arose quite frequently. Another way in which communal institutions attempted to curb the independ-

ence of the shtadlanim was by requiring communal leaders to chaperone them. While many of these delegations were ostensibly intended to maximize the shtadlan’s effectiveness, one of their main purposes was, apparently, to ensure that communal funds were appropriately distributed. Hence, such arrangements were regularly required when the shtadlan was expected to present cash or other gifts. An

entry for 1682 from the Poznan communal records reflects the community’s concern over potential corruption: ‘In every situation in which the shtadlan intercedes before a priest, a noble, or any other representative of the ruling power, and especially when he is supposed to present a gift, he must be accompanied by a communal leader. Furthermore, he should not be regularly accompanied by any one specific communal leader, but rather by different leaders on different occasions.’”© This is certainly not the only entry demanding that the shtadlan be accompanied by another community member when handling gifts or other payments. An earlier entry approving the participation of communal leaders who did not know Polish underscores the degree to which such escorts were designed not only to improve effectiveness, but also to prevent corruption.?’ The two intercommunal record books also contain entries calling for strict handling of financial affairs. Several entries in the Va’ad Medinat Lita’s records limit the amount of money to be spent on specific acts of shtadlanut.°® A similar need to control costs led the Va’ad Arba Aratsot to cooperate with the treasury minister in 1739.°" These attempts to limit the amount of money that shtadlanim were allowed 9° Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 198, p. 75; see also doc. 519, p. 242. 96 Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 1461, p. 247. See also doc. 492, p. 97; doc. 551, p. 108; doc. 1714, p. 303; and doc. 1984, p. 360.

7 Tbid., doc. 470, p. 93: ‘In matters involving gifts presented to the ruling powers, the shtadlan should not travel alone. He should be accompanied by a communal leader even if that leader is not familiar with the Polish language.’ 98 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, doc. 858, p. 227; doc. 761, p. 188; and doc. 439, p. 93. °° Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 642, p. 327.

290 Scott Ury to spend on specific transactions should be seen as another way in which the communities attempted to exercise control—uin this case fiscal—over the shtadlan.

While such conflicts over financial expenditures may seem more banal than intracommunal power struggles, their relevance should not be underestimated. An indictment in 1700 of a former Va’ad Arba Aratsot shtadlan Baruch Halevi Segal reflects the importance of these financial matters. The decree demands not only the shtadlan’s dismissal, but also his expulsion for having ‘endangered the community’s

existence’. In addition to violating his vow not to travel to the Torun fair, the shtadlan is accused of misappropriating communal funds: After he disobeyed the orders of the communal council and went to Torun in an act of rebellion and treachery, he did not hesitate to spread lies and slander against the council. There in Torun he acted as an informant and passed over sensitive information to the ruling powers. Furthermore, he handed over excessive sums of Jewish money to non-Jews. In fact, it is known that he gave several thousand more than was necessary and accepted. Here was his downfall.1©°

The particularly scathing nature of this decree reflects the degree to which the va'ad took seriously such acts of insubordination, both fiscal and political. Indeed, why did the va’ad feel the need to hunt the shtadlan down, tarnish his reputation, expel him from the community, and attempt to prevent him from acting as a shtadlan for any other community?’°" Could they not simply have asked him to resign once he returned from Torun? While the va’ad’s need to dissociate itself from his pledges and its concern over fiscal irresponsibility may have had some impact, the fear that a loose cannon—or, worse still, an impostor—was scheming to undermine the va’ad’s exclusive representation also motivated its actions. Indeed, a shtadlan who could negotiate with the authorities in the name of the entire community was beyond the communal leaders’ control, and thus represented a threat that could not be treated lightly. In addition to taking measures that might restrict a shtadlan’s political and fiscal

jurisdiction, the various communal institutions repeatedly tried to prevent noncommissioned individuals from acting as shtadlanim. Such measures were designed not only to maintain exclusive control over communal representation, but also to protect official shtadlanim from competition. The following entry from the Va’ad Medinat Lita’s records for 1662 is especially revealing: In light of the fact that precedent and law mandate that no person may travel to the Warsaw

Sejm without explicit approval and that several people have ignored this ruling and travelled to Warsaw, and that such acts lead not only to difficulties but also to conflicts, we find it necessary to reiterate the following warning: no man, no matter who he may be, including community leaders or local leaders, may travel without the permission of the 100 Halperin (ed.), Pinkas va’ad arba aratsot, doc. 530, p. 255. 101 For an illuminating analysis of discipline, punishment, and control within a local Jewish com-munity, see Hundert’s description in The Jews in a Polish Private Town, 69-71.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 291 judicial court .. . and any person who arrives in Warsaw without such a writ of approval 1s to be punished, fined, and prosecuted via all possible material and financial punishments available, by all judicial leaders, may they live for ever, and other communal leaders in Warsaw.'°?

An earlier entry, from 1623, not only calls for the physical and financial punishment of such self-appointed representatives, but also forbids the official shtadlan to intercede on an offender’s behalf.1°° Again, the stern nature of these decisions reflects the desire of communal institutions to maintain their right not only to supervise but also to appoint and control shtadlanim.

These writs also illustrate that such impromptu, unofficial missions were not unknown. The 1662 entry refers to ‘several people’ who refused to heed previous _ decrees and chose to travel to the Warsaw Seym. The 1623 decree not only forbids such unofficial missions, but also instructs the shtadlan on what to do when such unofficial representatives encounter legal difficulties. The detailed nature of both condemnations leads one to conclude that these decrees came as the result of such unauthorized delegations. The entry of unauthorized shtadlanim onto the political landscape can be seen as a harbinger of significant social and political changes. As mentioned earlier, one of the skills that made the shtadlan an effective intermediary, in addition to his knowledge of Polish, was his ability to gauge the non-Jewish political arena accurately. Thus, references to cases of non-commissioned Jews performing acts of shtadlanut demonstrate that an ever greater number of Jews not only knew Polish, but also felt comfortable enough in the Polish cultural milieu to manage without the assistance of the community’s expert.!° The skills and characteristics that had once made the shtadlan so valuable were becoming less rare. Ultimately, the fact that these skills were becoming more common posed an open threat to Jewish society. Communal institutions feared that the increasing number of people who knew Polish, were intimate with the non-Jewish world, and had extensive contacts with that society might further weaken the Jewish community’s already tenuous position./©° In later years the contradictions inherent in this dynamic would lead to the complete restructuring of Jewish communities in Polish lands and beyond.

102 Dubnow (ed.), Pinkas medinat lita, doc. 534, p. 127. 103 Tbid., doc. 39, p. 9. 104 For different opinions regarding the degree to which Jews in the Commonwealth knew Polish, see N. Stone, ‘Knowledge of Foreign Language among Eighteenth-Century Polish Jews’, Polin, 10 (1997), 205, 217; Hundert, The fews in a Polish Private Town, 39, 44~5; and Rosman, The Lords’ Jews, 176. Also see the previously cited example from the Poznan records (Avron (ed.), Pinkas heksherim shel kehilat pozna, doc. 470, p. 93). 105 See Hundert, ‘On the Problem of Agency’, 87; id., ‘Security and Dependence’, 222; and id., The Jews in a Polish Private Town, 137-8, 143. See also Rosman, The Lords’ Jews, 189, and also 173, 200-1, 205, 210-11; and Teller, “The Legal Status of the Jews on the Magnate Estates’, 60.

292 Scott Ury THE CASE OF JEWS IN MORAVIA AND SCOTS IN POLAND When I entered the private office at seven in the morning, there were one hundred men and women waiting in one room. I imagined we’d all have our fixed time for talking to the Kaiser, and I thought that we’d go in one by one. . . . Then we went into a big reception room, and stood in order all around, when all of a sudden a whisper began to be heard: ‘Is that the Kaiser?’ I looked, and there he was going from one to another taking the petitions from each and asking what it was about... . When the Kaiser came to me, I gave him my petition, but what could I say to him with such a crowd listening? Ukrainian political representative

Many of the conclusions presented above raise the question of whether the shtadlan was a phenomenon unique to Jewish communities, or the direct by-product of the political structure of the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth. In this section I hope to shed more light on this question by analysing two other corporate communities. First, I will examine the Jewish community of Moravia from the mid-seventeenth to mid-eighteenth century; then I will briefly analyse the practices of the Scottish émigré community in Poland—Lithuania. The examination of these two communities—a Jewish community outside Poland—Lithuania and a non-Jewish community within the Commonwealth—will further our understanding of the shtadlan’s position, functions, and limitations. The case of the Moravian Jewish community is particularly fruitful because,

, although its institutional structure was similar to that of the Jewish community in — the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, constant government interference radically changed the face of the Moravian institutions throughout the period in question.

Thus, while Halpern, Hundert, and others point to the presence of national, regional, and local Jewish councils in Moravian lands, their organizational structure

and spheres of influence were never as great as those of the Jewish councils in Poland—Lithuania./°° Furthermore, throughout the first half of the eighteenth century these institutions were forced to undergo a series of reforms that repeatedly restricted many aspects of communal autonomy.!°" In fact, the Jewish commun-

ity’s powers were so severely limited that various attempts to overturn these decrees in the middle of the eighteenth century yielded no results. Many of these reforms can be seen as part of a general Habsburg policy between

the period of the Thirty Years War (1618-48) and the reign of Maria Theresa (1740-80) to exercise more control over outlying provinces and corporate commu106 J. Halperin, Takanot medinat mehrin, 1650-1748 (Jerusalem, 1951), pp. ix—-xvi. (The author apparently changed the Hebrew pronunciation and English spelling of his surname at some point between the publication of Va’ad arba aratsot and that of Takanot medinat mehrin.) See also Hundert, ‘Security and Dependence’, 237; W. O. McCagg Jr., A History of Habsburg Jews, 1670-1870 (Bloomington, Ind., 1992), 14-15; and V. Lipscher, ‘Jiidische Gemeinden in Bohmen und Mahren im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert’, in F. Seibt (ed.), Die Jfuden in den bohmischen Landern (Munich, 1983). 07 Halpern, Takanot medinat mehrin, pp. ix—xvi.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 2903 nities. With their booming economy and abundant natural resources, the Bohemian and Moravian lands were prime targets for these policies of increased centralization. Unlike the election of the Polish king, the election of the Habsburg monarch was not subject to the approval of any other body, and the king’s powers were much less restricted.‘°° Furthermore, the nobility’s rights to local rule were, over time, curtailed.1°° In addition to these limitations on the nobility, from 1620 taxes were collected by the centralized Hofkammer,'’® and the centrally controlled armed forces became an important source of power in the seventeenth century.'!! Lastly,

the combination of the government-led Counter-Reformation in the late seventeenth century’!” and the growing attraction of a Vienna-dominated court culture worked together to discourage internal dissent and unite new ruling elites throughout the empire.'?° Despite these differences, the Moravian community’s records reflect a system of political action and behaviour that is not dissimilar to that of the Jewish community of Poland—Lithuania. An examination of the Moravian community’s records shows that the community regularly employed both professional and ad hoc shtadlanim, that such shtadlanim were often sent on missions to the capital, and that the community was constantly curbing the shtadlan’s activities and insisting upon its right to be the lone executor of communal policies. Furthermore, while the Moravian communal records do not include any actual contracts with shtadlanim, they do contain several documents that directly refer to an official intercommunal shtadlan.'"* These records include statements regarding a three-year term of service, a regular salary, and compensation for travel expenses.'!? Moreover, these documents are complemented by decrees that temporarily commission unpaid communal leaders to speak on the community’s behalf.1!° Finally, while none of these entries specifically mentions particular characteristics and skills, one entry for 1709 does stipulate the social status of the emissary: it requires that all shtadlanim, both professional 108- R.A. Kann, A History of the Habsburg Empire, 1526-1918 (Berkeley, 1974), 55-6; and R. J. W. Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, 1550-1700: An Interpretation (Oxford, 1979), 199. 109 C. W. Ingrao, The Habsburg Empire, 1618-1815 (Cambridge, 1994), 35; Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, 213; and Kann, A History of the Habsburg Empire, 130, 133. 110 Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, 148; and Ingrao, The Habsburg Empire, 35. 111 Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, 149, and Kann, A History of the Habsburg Empire, 63.

, 112 Ingrao, The Habsburg Empire, 28-39, 50-1; and Kann, A History of the Habsburg Empire, 125.

3 Ingrao, The Habsburg Empire, 64, 96, 99-100; and Kann, A History of the Habsburg Empire, 155. For an analysis of the nexus between court, culture, and mentalities in early modern central Europe, see Thomas DaCosta Kaufman, Court, Cloister and City: The Art and Culture of Central Europe, 1450-1800

(London, 1995). An examination of how these forces influenced one of the Habsburg empire’s more prominent Jewish communities can be found in Rachel Greenblatt, ‘ “Memory” and the Relationship between the Living and the Dead in the Old Jewish Cemetery of Prague: A Reading of Evidence in

Stone’, Hebrew University of Jerusalem MA thesis, 1998. 44 Halpern, Takanot medinat mehrin, doc. 555, p. 193. See also doc. 508 (4), p. 177; doc. 486 (19), p.

165. 115 Tbid., doc. 333 (8), p. 110; doc. 634, p. 225; doc. 606, p. 215 n. 4. 46 Tbid., doc. 589 (1), pp. 205-6; doc. 100, p. 33.

204 Scott Ury and ad hoc, be of a relatively high social standing.!'’ Thus, many of the conditions used to define the position of shtadlan in Moravia are similar, if not identical, to terms regulating shtadlanim in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth. Such parallels lend credence to the argument that the shtadlan and shtadlanut were institutions common to Jewish communities across time and space. Like their contemporaries in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, representatives of the Jewish community of Moravia were also expected to obtain audiences

with royal or high government officials in order to influence their decisions. Shtadlanim were repeatedly sent to the capital to appeal to the king, his ministers, and government commissions.!!® The records also refer to shtadlanim who were supposed to serve as permanent lobbyists in the capital.1!9 The lack of entries referring to shtadlanut on other levels may be attributed to the distribution of responsibilities between national and local communal institutions: an agreement from 1720 grants the intercommunal institution the right to lobby on behalf of individual communities that lack their own resources or qualified individuals.'“° In addition to having common strategies, the Moravian records testify to a similarly problematic relationship between the communal institutions and the shtadlan. However, unlike their Polish counterparts, the Moravian records actually include several entries calling for active opposition to attempts by non-Jewish authorities to appoint communal leaders.‘*4 While this opposition to external intervention in communal affairs is reminiscent of the fears expressed by institutions in the Polish— Lithuanian Commonwealth, the Moravian community seems much more concerned that the authorities might attempt to hand-pick Jewish communal leaders and thereby effectively abrogate the institution’s autonomy. These repeated concerns reflect efforts by various Habsburg rulers to limit the powers of corporate

communities. |

This opposition to any infringements upon the community’s autonomy is

accompanied by decrees guarding against potential conflicts of interest, proclamations granting the community the exclusive right to appoint shtadlanim, and warnings intended to limit the shtadlan’s leeway and responsibilities. For example, an entry from 1709 forbids the appointment of any two ad hoc representatives who may have had a previous relationship (business, personal, or familial).'** Another entry regulates the communal positions that former shtadlanim may hold.'*? These safeguards against possible corruption are bolstered by decrees demanding that all of the shtadlan’s actions be taken only after consultation with communal elders.!*4 Such warnings against independent-minded shtadlanim were, again, particularly 117 Halpern, Takanot medinat mehrin, doc. 500, p. 177. 118 Tbid., doc. 615 (1), p. 219; doc. 329 (4), p. 108. 119 Tbid., doc. 606 (9), pp. 214-15; doc. 646, p. 230.

120 Tbid., doc. 589, p. 206. 121 Tbid., doc. 177, pp. 57-8; doc. 100, p. 33. 122 Tbid., doc. 509 (5), p. 177. See also doc. 557 (7), p. 192. 123 Tbid., doc. 533 (10), p. 184. 124 Tbid., doc. 515 (11), p. 179; doc. 350 (13), p. 116; doc. 329 (4), p. 108.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 295 stringent with regard to financial affairs. Several entries limit the amount of money

a shtadlan was allowed to disburse without the prior approval of communal elders.'”° These attempts to pre-empt potential conflicts of interest and to prevent any shtadlan from accumulating too much power mirror actions taken by institutions in Poland—Lithuania. Like their counterparts in the Commonwealth, leaders of the Moravian community claimed the exclusive right to appoint and direct communal representatives. An entry for 1650 demands that only official representatives attend the intercommunal congresses. !“° Here, too, any self-appointed leader is subject to severe punishment.

The record calls not only for the expulsion of any non-commissioned representative from the congress, but also for financial penalties. On its own, this decree may be seen as an attempt to discourage impostors while simultaneously limiting the use of and expenses involved in hiring professional ad hoc shtadlanim. However, its placement among other documents designed to reassert the community’s power underscores the degree to which this was intended to serve as a clear warning to those who might be tempted to circumvent communal institutions. This brief survey of the Moravian community’s records reflects a number of phenomena common to both the Moravian and the Polish—Lithuanian communal institutions. In both cases, the communal institutions employed individual Jews to lobby the non-Jewish authorities; implemented similar strategies of lobbying the Crown, high ministers, and government commissions; and attempted to maintain exclusive control over such representations. However, despite these parallels, it 1s important to note the differences between the two records. Unlike the communal records of the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, the Moravian community’s records make little, if any, reference to the use of non-Jewish officials as secondary intercessors, the practice of gaining favour via the distribution of cash or gifts, or the need to flatter, bribe, or lobby local officials.

Furthermore, the Moravian community seemed far more concerned with the possibility of external intervention in communal affairs than any of the Polish— Lithuanian institutions. The reasons for these disparities may be found either in the differences between the distribution of power in Moravian lands and the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, or in differences between the accepted modes of political behaviour in the two lands. The relatively high degree of political decentralization in Polish lands apparently led to an increased need to build alliances at many different levels and to use more persuasive means—such as gifts of money and the use of non-Jewish proxies—to achieve desired goals. At the same time, however, this decentralization may have allowed the Jewish communal institutions of the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth to develop a much more intricate system of internal autonomy. Thus, references to attempts by outside authorities to inter-

vene directly in internal communal affairs appear much more frequently in the 125 Tbid., doc. 555 (5), p. 192; doc. 496, pp. 170-1. 126 Thid., doc. 51, p. 18.

296 Scott U; ry Moravian record book. These reforms reflect successful attempts by the central authorities in 1728, 1748, and 1754 to limit the Jewish community’s autonomy./?’ Despite these differences, both Jewish communities chose to communicate with the authorities via shtadlanim. In the end, this method of representation—the basic tenets of which were never challenged—gave the Jewish communities a political system that allowed them to appeal to the authorities without threatening their own exclusive control over communal representation, policy, and power. The similarity of the political actions used by different Jewish communities adds weight to the interpretation that the shtadlan represented a uniquely Jewish means of political representation. Maskilic and nationalistic condemnations of Jewish political behaviour typify the school of thought according to which the Jewish com-

munity unnecessarily resorted to scurrilous or self-abasing behaviour in order to achieve short-term and short-sighted goals. However, such conclusions hinge on the

assumption that Jewish communities had the option to choose between different styles of political action, and that despite these options they consistently chose the one which forwarded immediate interests at the expense of the community’s longterm political development. _ The degree to which intercession was indeed a phenomenon particular to the Jewish community can be further examined by analysing the experiences of another corporate group in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth: the Scots. In an article comparing Jewish society in Poland with that of other ethnic groups,’*® Hundert concludes that ‘we have found clear evidence that other non-Polish, primarily commercial groups came to organize themselves in ways similar to the Jews. This suggests that contemporary Polish conditions were partially responsible, along with Jewish traditions which antedated the arrival of Jews in Poland, for the course of development of the Jewish institutions.’!° The rest of this section will re-evaluate Hundert’s findings in the light of documents detailing the activities of the Scottish community in Poland.'°° An examination of these documents reveals several parallels between Scottish and Jewish communities.!?! While there is no evidence that the various Scottish institutions employed a specific, professional representative to act as an intermediary between the community and the authorities, communal elders themselves often served as official, apparently ad hoc, emissaries./°* For example, a record of the Lublin Brotherhood for 1710 lists expenses incurred as a result of Jacob Gregorie’s journey to the ‘Warsaw Free Council’.1°? The records for 1727 contain two separate entries for ‘travelling expenses to Tursk for the Synod’.!*4 127 Halpern, Takanot medinat mehrin, pp. x-xii.

28 G. D. Hundert, ‘On the Jewish Community in Poland during the Seventeenth Century: Some

Comparative Perspectives’, Revue des Etudes Juives, 117 (1983), 349-72. 129° Tbid. 370. 130 A. F. Steuart, Papers Relating to the Scots in Poland, 1576-1793 (Edinburgh, 1915).

131 For more information on these brotherhoods, see ibid. 76-8. See also Hundert’s analysis in ‘Security and Dependence’, pp. i, xi1i—xiv, xxii—xx111, 52-60, 235—6.

132 Steuart, Papers Relating to the Scots in Poland, 78-0. 183 Thid. 175. 134 Thid. 212-13.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 297 The weight of these documents is further bolstered by Goldberg’s comment that

representatives to the Seyms were used to seeing a deluge of ‘arbitrators and representatives of various organizations and lobbies’.!*° Davies also notes the regular presence of lobbyists and other unofficial representatives at the Warsaw Sejm.!°6 While 1t would be an exaggeration to conclude that such entries represent a coherent system of political representation and action, they do illustrate that the practice of sending communal representatives to the Sejm and local seymiki was not specifically limited to Jewish communities. Other records relating to the Scottish communities shed more light on the political realities of the time. In one entry the Lublin Brotherhood records a payment to the ‘Royal Chancellery’ for the procurement of the ‘Privilege for Zmigréd’.127

This entry is strikingly similar not only to the Jewish practice of lobbying the authorities for the renewal of privileges and charters, but also to the Jewish community’s practice of paying, either in cash or with gifts, for the procurement of such documents. Another document reflecting common modes of political behaviour is an oath of loyalty taken in 1681 by a member of the community upon entering the ‘Ancient Borough of Warsaw’. The vow includes a pledge not to be swayed by various temptations and ‘to fulfil all my duties with faithfulness and conscientiousness, and not

for gifts from friends, from fear, hatred, or anger, or other reasons which might deter therefrom’.'*® This clause further underscores the degree to which financial incentives and various forms of social pressure were used on a society-wide basis. This brief examination of the Scottish community in Poland confirms Hundert’s

conclusion that some of the strategies and actions that the Jewish community employed may be considered by-products of the political realities in the Polish— Lithuanian Commonwealth. The use of emissaries, the need to concentrate energies on the Sejm and related commissions, and the regular distribution of money or gifts appear to have been practices employed not only by the Jewish community. Indeed, while the records of the Scottish brotherhoods do not reflect a complex political apparatus, they do bring to light many parallels between Jewish and non-Jewish corporate communities. At the same time the Moravian community records reveal a great deal of similarity between the structure and operating procedures of Jewish communities in Polish and Moravian lands. Hence, many of the entries describing the shtadlan’s role and responsibilities in Moravia are almost identical to records detailing Polish shtadlanut. Furthermore, while the Moravian community’s records reveal a political system that is much less developed than that of the Polish communities, the

nature of the shitadlan’s missions and activities are virtually identical. These 185 Goldberg, ‘The Jewish Sejm: Its Origins and Functions’, in A. Polonsky, J. Basista, and A. Link-Lenczowski (eds.), The Jews in Old Poland (London, 1993), 160; Goldberg, Jewish Privileges, 37;

and id., ‘Va’ad arba aratsot’, 137. 136 Davies, God’s Playground, i. 338. 1387 Steuart, Papers Relating to the Scots in Poland, 175. 138 Thid. 326.

298 Scott Ury similarities add credence to the argument that Jewish communities in different lands adopted similar modes of political organization and behaviour. However, if these political apparatuses and mores were uniquely Jewish, then are we to conclude that the Scottish community in Poland was practising a Jewish mode of political behaviour? While the political organization, representation, and behaviour of the Jewish community may have been more intricate than that of other corporate communities, it was not, by any stretch of the imagination, unique.

EPILOGUE: WHAT’S SO JEWISH ABOUT JEWISH POLITICS? ‘And these messengers went with heads bent low?’ ‘Do we ever do anything but with heads bent? Could we do it any other way?’ -Y. L. PERETS, The Dead Town

Like any other social, cultural, or political transformation, the new school of Jewish politics that emerged in eastern Europe in the latter part of the nineteenth century defined itself in relation to the fathers against which the sons and daughters revolted. | Through this search for a new style of politics, the shtadlan evolved into one of the

central images against which the new generation of activists revolted and, in the process, defined itself.1°° In order for their Nietzschean transvaluation of the Jewish world to take place, however, the avant-garde had to convince potential supporters that the solution to the Jewish community’s woes lay in resolving problems that were both particularistic and intrinsic to the Jewish community. Indeed, if the sources of the problems

at hand were common to both Jews and non-Jews, then the solution would lie in a | transformation of the entire society. While some Jewish political parties advocated the large-scale restructuring of entire societies, others concentrated on restructuring the Jewish world. In the eyes of the latter group, a unique history was directly responsible for the sorry state of the Jewish community’s political development. The shtadlan, as a central symbol, if not the actual personification, of this apolitical

political past, bore the responsibility for the sins of the past as well as for their present-day ramifications. ‘hus, the collective memory was shaped to suit the political and ideological goals of those who controlled and defined the historical

agenda. ,

However, like their nationally oriented sons and daughters, the fathers were also products of their own particular environment. In this case, the environment was the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, a once mighty dynasty whose central authority was constantly challenged by ambitious magnates and jealous bureaucrats, corporate communities and Church officials, hostile external powers and less than loyal 139 See the citation of Y. L. Perets in Lederhendler, The Road to Modern Fewish Politics, 156; see also

S. M. Dubnow, History of the Jews in Russia and Poland from the Earliest Times until the Present Day (Philadelphia, 1918), ii. 160, 308.

The Shtadlan of the Commonwealth 299 internal forces. In this state of increasing political decentralization a set of political institutions, codes, and modes of behaviour coalesced. The purpose of this chapter has been to examine these institutional developments and the political culture they

engendered. On the basis of this examination it can be argued that many of the institutions often associated with the ‘Jewish political tradition’ can also be seen as direct by-products of a particular political system and not as the inevitable result of any specific group’s predestined historical development.‘*° 140 Note Elazar and Cohen’s comment that ‘There has been very little regard for the fact that the present behavioral patterns of the Jewish political world, revolutionary though some of them might seem, are in essence extensions and modifications of what can only be described as a Jewish political tradition’ (Elazar and Cohen, Jewish Political Organization, 1). For additional teleological interpretations of the ‘Jewish political tradition’, see ibid. 13, 21, 211, and 217.

BLANK PAGE

ELIYANA R. ADLER THIS chapter is part of a larger exploration of the education of Jewish girls in nineteenth-century eastern Europe. Traditional Jewish historiography evinced little interest in this subject, partly because of the assumption that girls received no education. According to Simon Dubnow, ‘All boys, without exception, attended

the heder, where they studied the Hebrew language and the Bible, while many devoted themselves to the Talmud. A different attitude is observable towards female education. Girls remained outside the school, their instruction not being considered obligatory according to the Jewish law.’ At the same time, however, Yiddish and Hebrew literature of the period abounds with images of pious women reading from the taysh-khumesh (Yiddish version of the Pentateuch), female shopkeepers speaking Polish and keeping the accounts, and even occasionally disputing Torah with men. How do we explain this dichotomy? Where did women acquire the knowledge and skills that allowed them to fulfil their roles in society? Ultimately, answering these questions will require extensive research in a wide

variety of sources. Fortunately, a number of scholars have recently turned to researching various aspects of the question of Jewish women’s education in eastern Europe. Fascinating and suggestive work by historians has considerably augmented our knowledge about girls’ attendance at heders, government schools, and private schools.? Complementary studies of literacy and reading habits from the field of An earlier version of this chapter was delivered at ‘Yiddish Studies: Celebrating a Millennium of Jewish Culture’, held at the University of Wisconsin at Madison, 7-10 Nov. 1996. I am grateful to the conference participants for their comments. 1S. M. Dubnow, History of the Jews in Russia and Poland: From the Earliest Times until the Present Day, 3 vols. (Philadelphia, 1916), 1. 121. 2 See e.g. D. Weissman, ‘Bais Yaakov: A Historical Model for Jewish Feminists’, in E. Koltun (ed.), The Jewish Woman (New York, 1976); P. E. Hyman, Gender and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History: The Roles and Representations of Women (Seattle, 1995), ch. 2; S. Stampfer, ‘Gender Differentiation and

Education of the Jewish Woman in Nineteenth-Century Eastern Europe’, Polin, 7 (1992), 63-87; S. Krieze, ‘Batei-sefer yehudiyim besafah harusit berusiyah hatsarit’, Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1994; and A. Greenbaum, ‘Heder habanot uvanot beheder habanim bemizrah eiropah lifnei milhemet ha’olam harishonah’, in R. Feldhay and I. Etkes (eds.), Hinukh vehistoriyah: kesharim tarbutiyim ufolitiyim (Jerusalem, 1999). An English version of the latter article, published as “he Girls’ Heder and Girls in Boys’ Heder in Eastern Europe before World War I (East/West Education, 18/1 (Spring 1997), 55—62), contains a less detailed bibliography.

302 | Eliyana R. Adler literature further enhance the picture.* This study seeks to draw together previous works and offer a blueprint for further research by presenting a systematic list of educational options for Jewish girls. This research will be based on a collection of memoirs held at the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research.

SOURCES In June 1942, building on the success of such contests in Europe, YIVO announced the opening of an autobiography contest in America.* The announcement, printed in Yiddish and English, was publicized through various Jewish organizations and newspapers and was sent to individuals as well.° Jewish men and women not born in the United States or Canada were invited to submit autobiographies of no less than twenty-five notebook-sized pages. The official topic was ‘Why I Left Europe and what I have Accomplished in America’. The contestants were encouraged to combine detail, accuracy, and sincerity.°

The announcement further states that ‘Each writer has complete freedom to arrange his material as he chooses. We believe, however, that the chronological method is the simplest. Each contestant is also free to make his own selection of material. Nevertheless we suggest several topics which may well be included.’ This is followed by a list of topics ranging from family relations 1n the old country to the occupational status of children in America. ‘Schooling’ is one of the recommended

topics on the English announcement. In Yiddish the topic is termed vu ztkh gelernt.' In all, more than 200 documents were submitted, and YIVO published the preliminary results of the contest in May 1943. At that time there were 221 documents, although more continued to trickle in.? Of the original 221 documents 174 were written by men and forty-seven by women. The huge majority were written in Yiddish with a few submitted in English, German, or Hebrew. They arrived from all over the United States and Canada with just over 50 per cent from the New York area. Of the contestants 166 were between the ages of 41 and 70, with nineteen over 70 and fifteen under 41.°

The final lines of the published preliminary results capture the high hopes that YIVO, and especially Max Weinreich, had for this collection: “The academic value of these autobiographies is very high, and they will be a source for important 3 I. Parush, ‘The Politics of Literacy: Women and Foreign Languages in Jewish Society of Nineteenth-Century Eastern Europe’, Modern Judaism, 15/2 (1995), 183-206; ead., ‘Readers in Cameo: Women Readers in Jewish Society of Nineteenth-Century Eastern Europe’, Prooftexts, 14/1

| (1994), I-23.

4 For more on the origins of the contest, see D. Soyer, ‘Documenting Immigrant Lives at an Immigrant Institution: Yivo’s Autobiography Contest of 1942’, Jewish Social Studtes: History, Culture and Society, 5/3 (Spring—Summer 1999). > YIVO American Autobiography Collection RG1oz2, file 122.

6 Tbid., file 255. 7 Tbid. ® Tbid., file 122. 9 Tbid.

Education for Jewish Girls 303 historical, sociological and social-psychological research about Jews in America and Europe for the last fifty to sixty years.’° However, YIVO’s American Autobiography Collection has been largely ignored.1*

| Using memoirs is always delicate work for historians. Memoirists write about historical events from a biased point of view and often decades after the events in question. In addition, people who write memoirs are usually not typical of their environment. Often they have played an important role in a major event or have some other reason for wanting to share their story. The result is that memoirs must be read with a keen eye to perspective, access to corroborating evidence, and an awareness of the goal(s) of the writer.

| The documents contained in the 1942 American Autobiography Collection at YIVO share some, but not all, of these caveats. They are undoubtedly biased and _ subjective, but they do not originate in a desire to demonstrate self-importance or claim responsibility for historical events. These memoirs were written by ordinary men and women.”” Several were typed and polished, but most were written on stationery in ink without significant editing. The quality of the Yiddish is tremen-

dously varied. ,

The writers represent a broad spectrum of the population both in terms of their place and class of origin in the old country and in terms of their lives in America. Undoubtedly these memoirs could be mined for information by scholars from a variety of fields. My own interests led me to isolate those documents written by women and to read the sections on childhood and education in the old country. Of the twenty-two memoirs which fit my criteria, seventeen were written by women born in the Pale of Settlement, four by women from Austria-Hungary and one by a woman from Romania. The women from the former Habsburg lands were all from Galicia. Across the border three came from the Kingdom of Poland, seven from Lithuania, Courland, and Belarus, and seven from Ukraine and the southern districts of the Pale of Settlement.

OPTIONS FOR PRIMARY EDUCATION Education will be defined in its broadest sense for the purposes of this chapter. Formal or informal instruction in any body of knowledge will be considered education. Based on this definition, and the twenty-two memoirs that were legible and 19 Tbid., ‘Ershter Barikht’ (May 1943), 2. 11 See Soyer, ‘Documenting Immigrant Lives’, 236-8.

12 The fact that all of the writers were immigrants may, in fact, make them even more ordinary. Those Jews who left eastern Europe were more likely to be from the lower classes. Professionals, merchants, and financiers were well integrated into the upper echelons of the society and economy and had more to lose. For more on the profile of Jewish immigrants to America, see S. Kuznets, ‘Immigration of Russian Jews to the United States: Background and Structure’, Perspectives in American History, 9 (1975), 93-119.

304 Eltyana R. Adler mentioned education during the childhood years, eight options emerge. Of course many of the women fall into more than one of the eight categories. I will begin by examining the most traditional and least formal types of education and end with those

that are both modern and formal. The categories are: no education, apprenticeship or training in crafts, home schooling in Jewish subjects, tutoring in the home for Jewish subjects, tutoring in the home for modern languages, heder, state school, and modern Jewish school. Only one of the memoirists claimed to have received no education at all. Minnie Goldstein, born somewhere in Poland in 1892, states: ‘I received absolutely no education whatsoever.’!? Despite the unequivocal nature of her statement, it is important to note that definitions of education vary. While Goldstein clearly did not attend an educational institution, she may well have received informal instruction of one of the types discussed below. On the other hand, far fewer women submitted documents to the contest than men. Did women simply have less time to reflect on their lives or less confidence in the stories they had to share, or were many women unable to record their memories? If the latter is the case, Goldstein may be representative of many women who received even less instruction than she did. This leads us to the vexed question of literacy among the Jews. Although the Russian census of 1897 is not entirely reliable regarding Jews, it is useful in providing rough estimates.'* At this time, of the women 10 years of age or more who defined themselves as Jews linguistically, 36.6 per cent declared themselves to be literate (that is, able to read in at least one language).!° While this figure is low enough to suggest that many Jewish women did not receive even the rudiments of an education, it is also high enough to require further investigation. Many Jewish women clearly were taught to read and were, in fact, avid readers. Certain genres of both religious and secular Yiddish works were written primarily and explicitly for women and sold in large quantities.‘®° This fact must be explored in the context of the more formal types of education discussed below. Only one of the memoirists mentioned apprenticeship as her primary educational experience. Lena Friedman, born in 1892 in Lithuania, was apprenticed after the

death of her father: |

13 YIVO RGi0z, file 155; the first version arrived 10 Nov. 1942, fo. 5. Throughout the text of this chapter I will be quoting directly from the memoirs in YIVO’s American Autobiography Collection. Translations from here on are mine..

‘4 For a discussion of how to interpret properly the census information for Jews, see e.g. ‘Gramotnost’ evreer v Rossii’, in Evreiskaya entstklopediya (St Petersburg, 1905; Moscow, 1991), vol. vi,

cols. 756-9; Kuznets, ‘Immigration of Russian Jews to the United States’, 79-81; Stampfer, ‘Gender Differentiation and Education of the Jewish Woman’, 66-8. 15 Kuznets, ‘Immigration of Russian Jews to the United States’, 80. 16 For more information on the Jewish woman as reader, see Parush, ‘Readers in Cameo’; and D. G. Roskies, ‘Yiddish Popular Literature and the Female Reader’, Journal of Popular Culture, 10 (1976-7), 852-8.

Education for fewish Girls 305 At the age of 11 I became an orphan. I was my mother’s only girl. She had no more children. But only child or not, she had to give me food. She began to look for a business for me. My mother enquired about where she could send me to learn a trade. We were sent to a Jewish hatter. With my mother a widow and me an orphan, the man did us a favour and took me on to learn his trade. The arrangements were as follows. The first year I was to work for nothing. The second year I was to receive a pair of shoes. The third year I was to receive ten roubles. And I would eat at the home of my master. And so my mother was lucky in that I would have enough to eat.*’

Friedman does not mention what, if any, her educational experiences had been before the drastic impoverishment of the family after her father’s death. Rose Byal, born in Courland, was sent to be an apprentice with a seamstress after her family encountered economic difficulties. Previously she had been enrolled in a heder.'®

Two other memoirists listed training in a craft as a secondary form of education.!? Lena Karelitz Rosenman, born in 1880 in Razin, Grodno district, met privately with a rebbetsin (rabbi’s wife) to study Hebrew from the age of 4. At 11 she

was apprenticed to learn sewing but continued to study khumesh (Pentateuch) as

well.2° Mary Weissman, born in Yavoriv, Galicia, in 1877, put the crafts she learned in state school to use later in life when she needed money.*! Girls probably

needed some training in crafts in order to run a household. Many undoubtedly learned the rudiments at home. Others received more formal training privately or at school. The option of apprenticeship in order to learn a craft for future employ-

ment seems to have existed primarily for the poor, for both Friedman and Byal contracted their positions while in desperate situations.

| Four of the memoirists learned about Jewish subjects from other members of their households.” The arrangements varied in terms of formality and frequency. Ida Kaplan, born in 1872 near Minsk, remembers learning Torah from her father, a rabbi: ‘My father implanted frumkayt [‘piety’|1n me. The year he was in mourning,

| he would teach me khumesh every Friday night. He translated each word from the khumesh for me and I listened with my whole soul.’?° It is not clear whether the rabbi continued this practice after his year of mourning ended. Also, as the instruction took place on the sabbath, we do not know how Kaplan learned to write the Hebrew letters, or even to read for herself.

Nadya Colman, raised in rural Podolia, watched her brothers go off to heder while she had to help with chores at home and in the mill. She describes her feelings when circumstances kept her brothers from returning home for Pesach one year: 1” YIVO RGi0z, file 157, pp. 1-2. It is interesting to note that the terms of employment and compensation are in consonance with those presented by Mark Wischnitzer in his _4 History of Jewish Crafts and Guilds (New York, 1965). Although Wischnitzer does not treat girls, as a separate category, they do come up in his examples of east European contracts of employment (pp. 268-9).

18 YIVO RGioz, file 244, no page number. 19 Tbid., files 31, 175.

20 Tbid., file 31, pp. 2-3. 21 Tbid., file 175, p. 3. 22 Tbid., files 27, 109, 240, 279. 23 Tbid., file 109, p. 7.

306 Eliyana R. Adler ‘The children aren’t coming’ says father; ‘they would have recited the Four Questions.’ ‘Nu, Pll recite the Four Questions,’ says mother. I think I would have been able to do it as well if anyone had taught me, but me they stand away in the corner.”4

Eventually, however, the Colmans’ neighbour and business partner suggested that the girl should not be allowed to grow up ignorant and offered to teach her. Colman recounts her first day of instruction:

, I go to him. , | ‘Nu, Surele, come here,’ he says.

“You see, this is an a/ef, and this is a beys,’ and so on. Then Shmuel asks, ‘What is this?’, and I say to him, ‘This 1s an a/efand this is a Deys.’ Shmuel becomes excited and says, ‘Reb Yankl, my pupil has a good head.’2°

While Kaplan’s introduction to active literacy is unclear and Colman’s was unexpected, E. Kusher, born in Ukraine in 1898, learned regularly with both her father and grandfather from a young age: ‘I don’t remember exactly when I began to learn to pray. I know only that early every morning my father would teach mea new line, and by the age of 4 I had already learned a great deal by heart.’“° The children learned more formally as well: In the late afternoon my father would learn with the children. He, who had extraordinary aptitude, a sharp intellect, and a good memory, used to believe that everyone was as gifted

as he and could understand in a wink. Those children who understood him easily he enjoyed teaching, and those who did not have strong desire, or to whom learning came a little hard, he would send to Grandpa.?"

Of the four women who recall receiving Jewish education in the home, three came from rabbinic families and one received her tutoring unexpectedly from a neighbour.?° Their learning ranged from oral translation and discussion on the sabbath

to daily lessons. |

The descriptions of Torah and prayer as part of daily life offer a rare insight into some pedagogical methods. In virtually every Jewish home there was some trans-

mission of Jewish values and practices. Rabbinic homes certainly had greater resources for passing on this information, but the practice of Judaism requires some knowledge even among the laity. Further research can help answer the questions of how Jewish practice was passed on and what role the religious standing of the family played.

24 YIVO RGi0z, file 279, p. 102. 25 Ibid. 145.

26 Tbid., file 27, p. 3. 27 Tbid. 4.

28 YIVO RGi0oz, file 240, the fourth document to mention home schooling in Jewish subjects, contains both the Yiddish original by Mary Wasserzug Natelson and an English translation by Rachel Natelson. Both versions are written in a fictional style which does not lend itself to historical inquiry. However, the author does mention that her family was rabbinic and that the girls were taught the rudiments of their religion at home.

Education for Fewish Girls 307 Six of the writers mention private tutoring in Jewish subjects as their primary educational experience.2? Two of them also received tutoring in modern languages.°° Mrs B. Pettzman, born in 1874 in Ukraine, was originally taught reading and writing by her father. At the age of 10 she began lessons with her brother-inlaw, during the year he was on kest (living with his wife’s family). When her sister and brother-in-law moved out, she and her remaining sisters asked for and received a new tutor. She does not mention exactly what they studied but recalls that her mother was concerned when she found their new tutor reading Mapu and Smolenskin and receiving the newspaper Hatsefirah (“The Dawn’).*! The subject matter

of their tutorial was clearly meant to be traditional. | Ida Schwartz, born in 1875 in the Odessa district, and her sister had two tutors who taught Yiddish and prayer.*? Lena Karelitz Rosenman (who was mentioned above) studied Hebrew with a rebbetsin from the age of 4.°° Both B. Steuer, born in 1881 in Bobritsa, Galicia, and Zelda Dodell, born in 1892 in Rai, Lithuania, had one tutor for Jewish and other languages.*4 E. Dichter-Weinman, born in 1876 in Suroga, Bessarabia, says only that she and her sister studied at home and that her parents hired the best tutors for them.®*° Of the families who hired a private tutor for Jewish subjects, none is mentioned as either rabbinic or especially poor. This option can only have existed for families

with some disposable income and with a commitment to Jewish education. The writers did not provide enough information on their birthplaces to allow specula-

tion on whether tutoring was more popular in rural or urban areas. Further research will help illuminate how and when such choices were made.

In addition to the two women who received instruction in both Jewish and non-Jewish languages, two of the writers refer to receiving private instruction in non-Jewish languages as their primary educational experience.*° One other was pulled out of school and given a tutor after a dangerous event.*’ Both Leah Brody, born in 1885 near Vilna, and Sylvia Mark, born in rural Lithuania in 1892, had tutors. Brody and her sisters studied ‘Yiddish, a little Russian, and arithmetic’, while Mark had tutors for Russian and German.*® Zelda Dodell was tutored in Yiddish, Russian, Hebrew, German, and French, and B. Steuer was tutored in Russian. Brody’s family, while not rich, was very generous and hospitable; Mark uses the term balebatish to describe hers.*? Both lived in small towns. Dodell and Steuer also appear to have been from relatively prosperous families that resided outside major Jewish population centres.*°

29 Tbid., files 31, 37, 42, 61, 113, 150. 30 Tbid., files 61, 150.

31 Tbid., file 42, pp. 1-5. 32 Tbid., file 37, p. 7. 33 Ibid., file 31, pp. 2—3. 34 Tbid., file 61, p. 1; file 150, pp. 1-2.

35 Tbid., file 113, pp. 1-2. 36 Tbid., files 132, 188. 37 Tbid., file 103, p. 8. 38 Tbid., file 132, p. 2; file 188, p. 8. 39 Tbid., file 132, pp. 1-2; file 188, p. 1. 40 Tbid., files 61, 150.

308 Eliyana R. Adler The study of European languages could have various purposes. Some girls may have learned them in order to read European literature; others needed knowledge in local languages in order to run family businesses; still others sought to pursue higher education. A number of the memoirists studied Russian in their teens, often without the blessing of their families. Ida Schwartz, for example, attended private Russian lessons offered by the local government rabbi. The lessons were offered on the sabbath, which offended her traditional father—so her brother paid for them.*’ Of those writers whose parents had them tutored in modern languages, all seem to have been from families who could afford this luxury.

Four of the memoirists appear to have attended a traditional heder.** Rose Schoenfeld, born in Drohobycz, Galicia, in 1884, was sent to heder because her family had no sons, and she continued her Jewish learning afterwards.*? Mary Weissman, born in 1877 in Yavoriv, says of her family, ‘We went to sko/ and to a heder”** It is not clear from her description how they managed to attend both schools. Either the heder was supplementary, or they began attending state school after several years at a heder. The same is true for Miriam Rosen.*? Rose Byal attended heder until her family became impoverished and she was apprenticed to a seamstress.4° The memoirists do not comment upon their attendance at heder as particularly noteworthy. It may be that they left the heder for other learning oppor-

tunities before they were old enough for gender to be an issue, or perhaps they

attended heder for girls.4° Four of the women attended a state school of one type or another.*® Of these, three have already been mentioned in connection with another form of education. Steuer was tutored in Jewish subjects before her family moved to a nearby city in order to offer the children greater educational opportunities.4? Mary Weissman and Miriam Rosen attended heder in addition to school.°° All three of these women were born in Galicia and the schools they attended were presumably run by the Polish autonomous government of the province. Lena S. Weinberger, born in 1888 in the Vilna district, received her primary education at a Russian school. The boys in her family did not attend state school. She recalls her experience at the Russian school: ‘I began to go to school to learn Russian, although it was not required by the government as it is here in America. The two classes were packed with Jewish children. I remember with what spirit we would sing the Russian patriotic songs with love for the tsar.”°' Weinberger’s father studied, her mother ran a shop, and

41 YIVO RGi102, file 37, p. 2. 42 Tbid., files 103, 110, 175, 244.

43 Tbid., file 110, pp. 5—10. 44 Tbid., file 175, p. 2. 4° Thid., file 103, p. 1. 46 Tbid., file 244. 47 For more on girls’ attendance at heder, see Greenbaum, ‘Heder habanot’. 48 YIVO RGroz, files 61, 103, 160, 175. 49 Tbid., file 61, p. 1; file 98, pp. 5—6 (Steur actually submitted two documents. After sending in her first memoir, she received and replied to additional questions from Max Weinreich. The second docu-

ment is housed in file 98). 5° Ibid., file 175, p. 2; file 103, pp. 1, 6. °1 Tbid., file 160, p. 2 (typed version).

Education for fewish Girls 309 her brothers received traditional Jewish educations. The brothers later went abroad, and when the younger returned, he proceeded to supply Lena with revolutionary

books. She became involved in the Bund. Ironically, her patriotic Russian education gave her the skills needed to join the revolutionary movement. The school that Weinberger attended was obviously a Russian one. The three Galician memoirists do not describe the subjects taught in the schools they attended. Further research will provide a more complete picture of the experience of Jewish girls in state schools in Austrian Galicia, the Kingdom of Poland, and the Pale of Settlement. All three of the memoirists who attended modern Jewish schools wrote enthusi-

astically about their educational experiences.°* Dora Shulner, born in 1888 in Radomysl, went to a modern school for girls. There were both male and female teachers there. She cannot say enough about what a stimulating place it was: ‘The school was called “Class for Secular Studies and Lessons”. Every Friday a lecture was given by a known authority, like Dr Fabian Tsvifil, the famous maskil Eliezer Tsvifil’s son, and Gospodin Fakterovits.’°’ Of the people, she writes: ‘All of the

teachers spoke Russian and Hebrew or Russian and German and often all three languages at one time. The students were very bright.”°* Clara Schachter, born in | 1882 in Romania, is equally effusive about the modern Jewish school she attended in Moinesti. Her school was also multilingual and staffed by both men and women. She adds that it was both expensive and exclusive.*° Nadya Colman, who was tutored by her neighbour, had to move to the city when the family mill burned down and her family was expelled from the countryside. In the unspecified city she began by attending a heder for girls, but dangerous times soon kept her at home. Soon a local maskil opened a school teaching in Russian and Yiddish and she was allowed to go. Colman does not describe the curriculum, but

she and her friends were madly in love with both the school and their teacher. Unfortunately, one day during a Russian dictation lesson two soldiers entered, ransacked the building, and closed the school.°° None of the educational settings mentioned in these autobiographies is described with as much love and longing as the modern Jewish school. More information on modern schools for girls may be difficult to come by. Colman’s school was unceremoniously closed, and it is unlikely that any records were saved. Shulner complains

that her school began to deteriorate when the teachers started emigrating to the United States.°’ Many localities may have had Jewish schools for girls which operated for short periods without registering with the authorities. Nonetheless, memoirs such as these can be combined with archival resources to begin to tell the story of these schools.°®

52 Thid., files 7, 122, 279. 3 Tbid., file 7, p. 1. 4 Thid.

°° Tbid., file 122, p. 1. °6 Tbid., file 279, pp. 220-53. °7 Thid., file 7, p. 2. °8 My dissertation, currently in progress at Brandeis University, focuses on the development of modern Jewish schools for girls in tsarist Russia.

310 Elityana R. Adler PRELIMINARY CONCLUSIONS The education of Jewish girls has not received attention primarily because of an assumption that there was nothing to study. This assumption begins with a definition of education which privileges the heder, the normative male educational institution. Women were essentially defined out of education because they did not fit into male categories. When we look at education as a broad category including both formal and informal possibilities and non-Jewish as well as Jewish subjects, we find many girls involved. This research has isolated eight major options for education. Each one of them

opens up questions and leads to further areas of research. The incidence of complete lack of education, for example, must be placed in the context of literacy. Comprehensive statistics on literacy among Jews do not exist, but further research should be able to provide enough comparative data to begin to generalize. Both apprenticeship and the learning of crafts are part of the larger question of women’s roles in the home and as wage-earners. The informal transmission of skills in household crafts and of Jewish practices is another area that deserves attention. ‘The curricula and standards of state schools, state-sponsored Jewish schools, and modern Jewish schools have yet to be revealed. Ongoing research will also shed light on the connection between socio-economic status, religious status, and geography in the process of deciding how to educate Jewish daughters. It is certainly true that Jewish boys were more likely to receive an education and

that, on average, boys attended educational institutions for longer periods. However, this did not mean that girls and women were left without any opportunities for education. Depending on the religious, economic, and geographical situation of the

family, there were options for girls. In this sample of twenty-two women most received some form of education and many received more than one. While the sample is not large enough to be of statistical value, it allows for speculation and lays out areas for further research.

It is possible, for example, that the phenomenon of participating in more than one form of education was more common among girls than boys. And certainly the incidence of foreign-language study among Jewish girls was higher than that for boys. Examining the education of Jewish girls as a separate area of study, with its own characteristics, rather than as a pale imitation of boys’ education, is important. Understanding the culture of east European Jews requires that we delve into their norms of socialization and education. This research demonstrates that the place of women in the educational system is considerably more complex than previously understood.

The Society for the Advancement of Trade, Industry, and Crafts SZYMON RUDNICKI

, Poland is not yet lost, Though the Jew prevails. What his cunning stole from us, Tutelage reclaims!

, March, march ‘Advancement’ Against Jewry crusade! By your efforts and strain Jewless Poland to gain!

Z. MILKOWSKI

IT can be argued that 1883, the year in which Jan Jelenski began publishing the weekly Rola (‘Soil’), marked the beginning of continuous and consistent anti-Jewish

propaganda in the Warsaw press. Before 1883 there had been a few anti-Jewish campaigns, but there was no publication dedicated entirely to the Jewish issue. Przeglad Wszechpolskt (“The All-Polish Review’) described Jelenski’s periodical as one ‘which lives solely off scandal, [and] draws its razson d’étre and its profits from polemics and pamphlets, from resentment and cunning’.'

Although Jews had always been regarded as strangers and were viewed with ‘contemptuous loathing and mockery’, they had not been seen as enemies who were ‘responsible for [Polish] misfortune and who should be destroyed’. Jews began to

be perceived as the enemy only in the second half of the nineteenth century, and this attitude did not completely crystallize until the twentieth century.” Attitudes towards the ‘Jewish question’ hardened in Poland during the Russian Revolution of 1905-7. Proclaiming national solidarity, the Endecja (National Democratic Party) strongly attacked both the socialists and the Jews, accusing them of shattering national unity and serving anti-Polish causes. It was at this point that This chapter was first published in M. Konopczynski and A. Maczak (eds.), Gospodarka—ludzte— wladza: Studia historyczne ofiarowane Juliuszom Lukasiewiczomi w 75 rocznice urodzin (Warsaw, 1998).

‘ ‘From the Russian Partition’, Przeglad Wszechpolski, 1 May 1898, 135. Kurier Poznanski wrote years later: “The editors of Ro/a carry their aversion to Jews too far, usually playing on the strings of racial hatred’ (cited by U. Jakubowska, Prasa Narodowe; Demokracp w dobie zaboréw (Warsaw, 1988),

316. 2 A. Hertz, Zydzi w kulturze polskie] (Warsaw, 1988), 104-5.

312 Szymon Rudnicki socialism became associated with Jews, giving rise to the general stereotype of Zydokomuna (Judaeo-communism). The Litvaks, Jews who arrived in the Kingdom of Poland after the establishment of the Pale of Settlement, were especially vulnerable to these attacks. Poles primarily saw them as ‘Russifiers’. Objectively, however, it should be noted that a Jewish nationalist movement was also developing. It

took several different forms, including Zionism and Folkism. The goal of the Zionists was to create a Jewish state; that of the Folkists was to obtain national rights for Jews in the countries in which they lived. Both movements worked towards full rights of citizenship for Jews, and naturally these goals aroused opposition. Although there was some antisemitism in the publications of the Liga Narodowa (National League), which was founded in 1893, it was not significant. In fact, as the first truly antisemitic publication, Rola was received with criticism. Not until the turn of the century did the ‘Jewish question’ become an important issue. From the beginning, the activists of the Endecja focused on the economic battle. In this context Roman Dmowski wrote in 1895 that ‘the Jewish population is indisputably a parasite on the social body of the country it inhabits’.’ In his Mysli nowoczesnego Polaka (‘Thoughts of a Modern Pole’), printed in 1902 and the most popular of his works, Dmowski devoted quite a few pages to the Jews. He wrote, ‘an important sign that certain active elements are emerging in society is the economic movement in the kingdom that has declared battle against the Jews in minor trade’. Supporting the creation of ‘self-contained Christian trading’, Dmowski also wrote ironically of

the phenomenon that accompanied the economic movement, ‘the whole professional apparatus of some kind of antisemitism playing on the lowest instincts of the masses’.*

In 1903 the programme of the Stronnictwo Demokratyczno-Narodowe (Democratic National Party, SDN) in the Russian partition was formulated in a similar vein. Dividing Jews into several categories, it declared an attitude of tolerance

towards the majority of the Jewish community; at the same time it declared ‘support for (1) a socio-economic action aimed at removing an anomaly harmful to our social development, which is that entire fields of economic life in our country are controlled by Jews; (2) expurgating the harmful influence of Jews from those spheres of social life in which it has significantly expanded’.° But this is not the place for a detailed examination of the attitude of the Endeks towards the ‘Jewish question’. This subject still awaits a historical researcher. Here I simply acknowledge it in order to gain insight into the background that led to the establishment of the organization in which I am interested.

Anti-Jewish agitation increased during the election campaigns to the Duma. Jews were mercilessly attacked in election pamphlets, some of which even included 3 R. Skrzycki, ‘Wymowne cyfry’, Przeglad Wszechpolski, 15 May 1895, 146. 4 R. Dmowski, Mysli nowoczesnego Polaka, 3rd edn., expanded (Lviv, 1907).

> Cited in B. Torunczyk (ed.), Narodowa Demokracja: Antologia mysli wspélczesnej ‘Przegladu Wszechpolskiego’ (London, 1983), 121.

The Society for the Advancement of Trade 313 direct threats.® Urszula Jakubowska wrote that ‘the Jewish question did not surface

until the period of the elections to the Duma in 1906’ in the pages of the Endek press. She also cites Dzwon Polski (‘The Polish Bell’), which, in summarizing election results, commented that ‘we have to remind them who is lord in this — country’. Still, the same article stressed that this reminder was not a declaration of war against Jews, and stated that delegates would be fighting for the prosperity of all of the kingdom’s residents and that ‘we are not eliminating Jews from participation in our representation in the future’.’ Subsequent elections resulted in increasingly sharp attacks. Such was the case

with the election campaign to the Second Duma in 1907, notwithstanding the creation of the so-called Koncentracja Narodowa (National Concentration) elect-

oral coalition, in which the SDN and some of the Jewish politicians appeared | together. The participation of Jewish politicians did not prevent the National Concentration from calling for an economic boycott of Jews in one of its leaflets, or from calling for the rescue of Polish capital from Jews in another.* However, the

campaign for the Third Duma, which took place the same year, was relatively colourless. The greatest enemy in these elections was the indifference of the voters, since only 25 per cent of those eligible to vote participated.

It was not only the election campaigns, however, that determined attitudes towards Jews. The turning point came in 1909, when, in a series of articles entitled ‘Asymilacja’ (‘Assimilation’), later published as a booklet, Dmowski argued that with regard to the Jews the concept of assimilation was bankrupt. Dmowski accused

the Litvaks of ‘seizing upon and organizing a trend that had been germinating among our Jews to oppose Polish society and to acquire importance and influence for themselves as a separate element’. Later he claimed that the cultural emancipation of the Jews that had taken place about the time of the influx of Jews from Russia was only coincidental.? He believed it was not antisemitism that had changed attitudes towards Jews, but rather the Jews’ political and economic power, and he concluded that ‘today assimilation can no longer be a programme with regard to the Jewish question’.!° From that moment it was not only Litvaks who were thought to be foreign and unfriendly to Polish society, but the entire Jewish community. The two core publications of the SDN ‘expressed an increasingly uncompromising, unequivocal, and irreconcilable attitude of enmity towards the entire Jewish community’.!! This campaign reached its peak in the elections to the Fourth Duma in October 1912, which constituted another turning point in Polish—Jewish relations. ®° The Endecja’s press ‘began to issue pamphlets with a clear call to pogroms’, wrote Zygmunt Lukawski, who quotes from one: ‘Do not forget that above you is a power from which nothing can protect you, and that power is in the hands of the Polish peasant’ (Z. Lukawski, Kolo Polskie w rosyjskiej

Dumie Panstwowe (Wroclaw, 1967), 25). Jakubowska, Prasa Narodowej Demokracji, 316-17.

8 Lukawski, Kolo Polskie, 77. .

2 R. Dmowski, ‘Asymilacja’, Glos Warszawski, 15-29 Nov. 1909; id., Separatyzm Zydéw 1 jego zrédia (Warsaw, 1909), 8-9, 24. This was to be the first volume of Kwestia zydowska (‘The Jewish

Question’). 10 Tbid. 29. "4 Jakubowska, Prasa Narodowej Demokracj1, 331.

314 Szymon Rudnicki Jews were still reeling from the Dreyfus affair when the Beilis ritual murder trial began. The proposed bill on town councils in 1910 was yet another spark: Jews

demanded equal rights on these councils, while Poles feared their influence there. In Warsaw the candidacy of Dmowski, who was endeavouring to strengthen his increasingly insecure position, intensified the tension. After 1907 a few of the groups that had been part of the intelligentsia left the Liga Narodowa. The most significant loss was the departure of the Zwiazek Miodziezy Polskiej ‘Zet’ (‘Zed’ Union of Polish Youth), which left the Endecja without a youth group. The tensions finally came to a head in 1909 in a power struggle within the Liga Narodowa, from which Dmowski ultimately emerged the victor. Nevertheless, he was forced to resign his seat in the Duma. Many people, including some of Dmowski’s own friends, advised him not to take part in the election campaign—especially in Warsaw. But Dmowski regarded the elections as a point of honour. He had the support of the SDN, which enjoyed the most influence overall. Krzysztof Kawalec, underscoring Dmowski’s focus on the ‘Jewish question’ during the election campaign, concludes that Dmowski could not have believed that he would succeed.'* I would draw a different conclusion: that Dmowski believed that the issue would increase his following. After all, the out-

come was uncertain both because of the low voter turnout of precisely those elements of the population on which he relied for his support and because Jan Kucharzewski had taken votes from him. Kawalec describes the decision of the Jewish electors to support the candidate of the Polska Partia Socjalistyezna—Lewica (Polish Socialist Party—Left, PPS— Lewica) as startling, while Janusz Pajewski characterizes it as a ‘reckless’ step.'° Jews, however, had little choice. They could not vote for Dmowski, if for no other

reason than his overt antisemitism. Neither could they vote for Kucharzewsk1, since he had come out against equal rights in the elections to local governments, which had been one of the important issues for Jews. Abstention from voting was also not an option because that would have given the victory to Dmowski, leaving Jews in the position of second-class citizens. Dmowski’s defeat in the 1912 elections was a great blow to his political sympathizers and led to his obsession with antisemitism.** In an attempt to avenge this 12 K. Kawalec, Roman Dmowski (Warsaw, 1996), 151. 13 Tbid. 152; J. Pajewski, Budowa Drugie] Rzeczypospolite; 1918-1926 (Krakow, 1995), 174.

14 One biographer of Dmowski wrote that ‘this matter seemed to overwhelm him and dominate his psyche’; and further that ‘in the twenty-year inter-war period the masonic Jewish obsession was the decisive factor in Dmowski’s views’ (A. Micewski, Roman Dmowski (Warsaw, 1971), 192, 363). Another

wrote: ‘Completely separate in the shaping of Dmowski’s obsession was the Jewish question, treated as autonomous (i.e. in the context of the size of the Jewish population and its direct actions) and as an integral part of international movements (organizations) such as freemasonry or the socialist movement’ (R. Wapinski, Roman Dmowski (Lublin, 1988), 200). A reader of Dmowski’s writings ‘would flinch at the simplifications, demogoguery, attempts at conspiratorial interpretations of various phenomena, and finally the almost obsessive view of the role of Jews perceived literally everywhere’ (Kawalec, Roman

The Society for the Advancement of Trade 315 defeat, the Endecja began an antisemitic campaign. It resulted in some gains for the party; however, Kawalec has written that ‘this action could not have succeeded if it had not been based on tinder that was prepared a long time earlier’.+° Several books and pamphlets were published in quick succession, including one penned by Ignacy Grabowski (working with Goniec (“The Messenger’) ) and one by Antoni Marylski, a member of the Liga Narodowa and a friend of Dmowski’s. Grabowski claimed that if Poland did not want to become the pariah of Europe, it would have to solve the ‘Jewish question’ immediately. Marylski attempted a history ofthe JewsinPolandup to the partitions, devoting the last few pages to current affairs. In the final paragraph he formulated a programme for solving the problem: “The Jewish issue may only be solved here by removing the Jews from all areas of economic life on Polish lands.’ He concludes by referring to the experiences of the Grand Duchy of Poznan: ‘It depends on us and only us for jews [szc] to begin writing today the first pages of the new book of Exodus.’!© This was perhaps the first mention of the need to expel the Jews.

Even liberals began to depart from the position they had previously held. In their press, too, there was suddenly a mood of intolerance and enmity towards Jews.!” The change in Aleksander Swietochowski’s attitude is one example among

many. For many years he had spoken out against antisemitism on the grounds that it prevented the assimilation of the Jews. His complete change of heart is illustrated in an article published in 7ygodnik Ilustrowany (“The Illustrated Weekly’) at the beginning of 1913, characteristically entitled ‘Zydopolska’ (Judaeo-Poland). Swietochowski closed the piece by asserting that Poland wanted to be Poland, not

yaop Pp

‘Zydopolska’. The views expressed in the article were so close to those of the Endecja that Przeglad Wszechpolski’s successor, Przeglad Narodowy (‘National Review’), immediately reprinted it.'® As a result of this shift on the part of a group of liberals, there was broader support for the Endecja’s economic boycott.'? Dmowski, 202). Another conspiratorial element appeared after his return from the conference in Versailles: ‘The Jewish question takes up more and more room in the thinking of Dmowski, leading to what Zdzislaw Stahl called; “judaeocentrism”. It is even suggested that Dmowski’s position on this | matter took on maniacal traits’ (W. Wasiutynski, Zrédfa niepodleglosci (London, 1977), 20). 1° Kawalec, Roman Dmowski, 153. © [. Grabowski, Niewdzieczni goscie: W sprawie Zydowskiej (Warsaw, 1912), 41; A. Marylski, Dzieje sprawy zydowskiej w Polsce (Warsaw, 1912), 144. 17 'T. Stegner, Liberatowie Krélestwa Polskiego 1904-1915 (Gdansk, 1990), 127.

18 ‘As long as the number of Jews among us surpassed the strength and the assimilation capabilities of our society but did not threaten to be a Pompeian lava flow, and as long as those Jews were honest Poles or a backward Asiatic mass without claims to rule, until then antisemitism was not injected into the common bloodstream. But when those Jews grew to an enormous mass, when they began to lay

claim to administering Polish lands along with us, when they announced that they were a separate nation, when they demanded “absolute equality” even for their artificial agglomerations in cities and even for their newest immigrants, when they attempted to impose upon us their ideology hammered

out of patriotic feelings, [Polish] society reacted defensively with violence’ (A. Swietochowski, ‘Zydopolska’, Przeglad Narodowy (Feb. 1913), 217-18).

19 Stegner, Liberafowie, 199. A detailed discussion of the attitude of liberals towards the Jewish question appears on pp. I 13-99.

316 Szymon Rudnicki In order to reach the broadest mass of Warsaw’s inhabitants, the Gazeta Poranna 2 Grosze (Morning Gazette 2 Groszy’) was hastily founded. It ‘concentrated on developing and magnifying the idea that the Jews were a threat to Poles’.”° A year later it was revealed that the periodical was an organ of the SDN. It was the least expensive periodical in Warsaw (half the cost of any other daily), which contributed to its popularity. The first issue appeared on 23 September 1912, with a print run of 30,000; by December circulation had reached 50,000. From the start, and for a long time afterwards, front-page articles were devoted solely to Jewish topics.

Furthermore, from its first issue the paper bore the slogan ‘Buy only from Christians’. The paper immediately entered the election fray by attacking Jews. Summarizing the campaign (after asserting on page 1 that ‘Jews did what they wanted and mercilessly ridiculed our nation’), the Gazeta wrote: ‘Let’s not buy from jews [szc]!

This slogan should become an absolute moral principle for our entire society. There should not be any deviation from or exception to it.”*4 From that moment on the paper led the boycott against Jews, becoming its organizer and mouthpiece. Space was dedicated to the boycott in almost every issue. On the pages of this paper were the seeds of all of the anti-Jewish ideas the Endecja press was to promote for years to come. Gazeta Poranna was assisted in its endeavour by Gazeta Warszawska (‘Warsaw

Gazette’), whose articles on the ‘Jewish question’ it regularly reprinted. On 7 November 1912 Gazeta Poranna reprinted a front-page article from the previous day in which Stanislaw Kozicki had written, “The removal of jews [szc] from national life would also damage Polish radicalism. It was among them [the Jews] that radicalism found its faithful allies. After all, a mood of national struggle does not facilitate the grounding of humanitarian and pacifist slogans.’ Ten days later the publication

reprinted an article stating that philosemitism could not be reconciled with Catholicism. The Gazeta also quoted Church doctrine—particularly that regarding the Beilis trial, which was then under way in Kiev. Seizing upon the trial as a pretext, the paper established the ‘anti-humanitarian, anti-social, and anti-national character of Judaism’, which could not help but influence society’s attitude towards the Jews.

The publication hypocritically added, ‘Let us hope that this attitude does not express itself in any undesired reactions among the masses.’ Making full use of the 20 Jakubowska, Prasa Narodowej Demokracji, 332. Wilhelm Feldman, writing almost as the events took place, said: ‘It was a spark tossed on gunpowder that had been prepared long ago. The Narodowe Demokracja, needing slogans to strengthen their ranks after their recent [political] bankruptcy, found these in inexorable anti-Jewish demagoguery. It purposely founded a daily, Gazeta Poranna 2 Grosze, which, spouting a fervid racist chauvinism and economic appeals for keeping “to one’s own”, passionately propagated a boycott of Jews. Creation of a Polish middle class, a fitting principle, was unscrupulously transformed into a campaign against Jews’ (see W. Feldman, Dzieje polskiej mysh polityczne 1864-191 4, 2nd edn. (Warsaw, 1933), 370). 21 “Czas uderzy¢ w czynow stal’, Gazeta Poranna 2 Grosze (GP), 10 Nov. 1912.

The Society for the Advancement of Trade 317 opportunity afforded by the trial, it also referred to the Przeglad Katolicki (‘Catholic Review’), in which the reader was reminded of the corpus iuris canonict (medieval canon law) according to which eating, living, and doing business with Jews were all proscribed. Gazeta Poranna added that if those canons had been observed, then Poles would have avoided the battle with the Jews in which they were now engaged.?? Apart from that there were attempts to portray Jews as odious. It was claimed, for example, that ‘Jewish residents’ windows are not used as ways to obtain light or air but as openings for throwing out garbage on the streets. ’?° The most important task, however, was to eliminate the economic advantage that the Jews enjoyed. It was noted that ‘an uprising against the Jews has begun in Poland’; terms such as ‘necessity’ and ‘historical necessity’ were now used.** In the January 1913 issue of Przeglad Narodowy Zygmunt Balicki entitled his long article ‘Akcja uzdrowienia narodowego’ (‘Action for National Healing’). The establishment of the Towarzystwo Rozwoju Handlu, Przemystu i Rzemiost (the Society for the Advancement of Trade, Industry, and Crafts; Rozw6j (Advancement) for short) was the high point of the campaign to put in place a framework for the economic boycott. No advance information about the founding of the organization was published. In mid-June 1913 an announcement was published stating that the governor’s commission on unions and associations had confirmed the society’s statute. The announcement emphasized the significance of the founding of such an organization.” A few days later the statute was published. The society’s purpose, as formulated in the statute, was in accordance with its name: “The Society has as its aim the cooperative advancement of industry, crafts, and trade among Christian people, mutual aid in this direction for members of the Society, and the support of the industrial, craft, and trading activities of the Society.’*° The difference in dates between confirmation of the statute and its publication is striking. Also striking is the fact that the society’s first meeting did not take place until 7 July. According to the record of the elections to the board, the meeting attracted about 300 people from all parts of the nation. Franciszek Radoszewski was elected president; Marian 22 M. Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (New York, 1977), 170. © R. Hilberg, The Destruction of the European Jews (New York, 1985), 53-4; G. Tyrnauer, Gypsies and the Holocaust: A Bibliography and Introductory Essay (Montreal, 1991), p. xv. ” Bauman, Modernity and the Holocaust.

Auschwitz: Site of Memories — 385 establishing a link between the dead and the unborn, nationalism becomes a response to the decline of religious systems and takes over their primary function of securing identity in the face of the inevitable death of individuals and the decline of communities.® By stressing the perennial existence of a particular community— that is, a nation—nationalism offers a solution to threatened individual and group identities by subsuming them under the continuous and supreme existence of the nation. On the other hand, nationalism is a modern phenomenon. In fact, it 1s the very manifestation of modernization, the result of the historical processes that shaped the modern world.? It is therefore well suited to serve as a guarantor of identity in the modern era; it is a solution that modernity offers to the problems that modernity itself created. For this reason, nationalism functions as the fulfilment of old identities and the creator of new ones, as well as the guardian of their purity at the service of states. The modern nation can thus be viewed as a junction where all these problems meet: the mystery of death, the mystery of modernity, the mystery of nationalism, and the problem of identity. And, as suggested above, the principle of representation that organizes Auschwitz is national: there are national barracks and national monuments, and even national languages are carefully used to represent particular nations. Auschwitz is thus a field on which death meets modernity in a joint effort simultaneously to create and destroy an identity, and on which they both encounter nationalism. Itself ambiguous, nationalism bears partial responsibility for modern atrocities; on the other hand, it works to save identity—albeit by transforming it into a cog in the nationalist machine. Borrowing the word ‘chronotope’ from Mikhail Bakhtin, who understood it as ‘the intrinsic connectedness of temporal and spatial relationships that are artistically expressed in literature’,'° we may say that Auschwitz has become the chronotope of national identities: a symbol and representation of the event in time that has defined

the place of particular national groups and is expressed in their national narratives , of identity. To put it differently, a chronotope is a means of concentrating time in space,!! and is central to any narrative of identity that locates the event(s) performing the most important role in the official presentation of a group’s history in (real but symbol-laden) space. In this way Auschwitz serves as a chronotope (or perhaps the chronotope) of contemporary Jewish identity as well as one of the chronotopes and most important symbols of Polish identity; recently it has also become a cornerstone of modern Romani (Gypsy) identity. Of course, Auschwitz exists as well in the memories of 8 B. Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London,

1991), II. 9 E. Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Oxford, 1983).

10M. M. Bakhtin, ‘Forms of Time and of the Chronotope in the Novel: Notes toward a Historical Poetics’, in M. Holquist (ed.), The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays by M. M. Bakhtin (Austin, Tex.,

1981), 84. 11 Gillis, ‘Memory and Identity’, 14.

386 Stawomir Kapralski other peoples: Russians, Serbs, and, in a very particular way, Germans. In this chapter, however, I will concentrate on the Jewish, Romani,!” and Polish memories and identities and on the way Auschwitz functions in them. Since the literature on Auschwitz in Romani memory is rather scarce, I will devote more space to this issue.

JEWS, ROMA, POLES Auschwitz as a symbolic condensation of the atrocities of the Holocaust has always occupied an important place in post-war Jewish narratives of identity. For several reasons, including the size of the camp, the number of victims, the relatively large number of survivors, and the fact that Auschwitz was the final destination for many Jews from western Europe (that is, those Jews whose relatives could speak freely about their fate), it was Auschwitz-Birkenau that became the gruesome symbol of

the Holocaust. (This as opposed to Betzec, for instance, a camp in which Jews almost exclusively from eastern Europe were exterminated, and from which only three survivors managed to escape; the total number of its victims reached about 600,000.) Asa place of ‘pilgrimages’, or ‘rituals of memory’, however, Auschwitz 1s a relatively new destination. Visits on the mass scale began at the end of the 1960s

and the beginning of the 1970s, and continue through the present. This can be explained in terms of demography (the survivors’ children are growing up), or politics (the greater openness of eastern Europe), but the most important reason, at least in the case of American and west European Jews, appears to be related to the identity-memory complex. As Jack Kugelmass has suggested, Jewish visitors to

Auschwitz perform ‘a secular ritual that confirms who they are as Jews’.'? The commemorative ritual becomes part of the attempt to create new signs of group distinctiveness and group identity, much needed in the conditions of growing assimilation and secularization—especially of American Jews. Symbolically reenacting the Holocaust through a commemorative visit to one of the sites where it was perpetrated serves as a reminder of the threat of group destruction and helps

to enhance group boundaries, which may become ‘too permeable’ because of ‘increasing intermarriage, a decline in religious observance, and . . . lack of overt antisemitism’ .!4

A different process, but one leading to similar results, has occurred in Israel, where, because of the practical problems involved in establishing the Jewish state,

and partly because of the attitude of the older generation of Zionists, the very 12 T am following the recommendation of the First World Romani Congress in using the term ‘Roma’ (sing, ‘Rom’, adj. ‘Romani’) to describe people usually called ‘Gypsies’ in English-language literature. The only exceptions will be some quotations and particular contexts in which these words could not be used. 13 J. Kugelmass, ‘The Rites of the Tribe: The Meaning of Poland for American Jewish Tourists’,

Going Home: YIVO Annual, 21 (1993), 419. 14 Tbid. 424.

Auschwitz: Site of Memories 387 concept of the Holocaust ‘came into popular circulation . . . only after the new state was firmly established and Jews could begin to reflect on the pastness of the European past. When the memory of those terrible events could no longer be taken for

granted, there was suddenly a powerful reason to commemorate, to save both individual and collective recollections from oblivion.’!° In addition to saving memory from oblivion, the commemoration of the Holocaust could also perform a practical function. Displaying the national symbols of the state of Israel in the place where the Holocaust had taken place not only demonstrates the triumph of survival but also relates any anti-Israeli policy to anti-Jewish, antisemitic activities in general, and thus powerfully legitimizes Israel’s own policies as a defence of the Jews justified by the events of the Holocaust.

Of course, not all Jewish visitors to Auschwitz would agree that their visit involves memory work to strengthen their endangered Jewish identity. ‘I never thought of the Holocaust as being any form of identification for Jews. I never entertained the thought’, said one of the visitors interviewed for my project ‘Violence and Memory’. Or, as another visitor said, “The Jewish identity is more than just a negative suffering.’ Having agreed, however, that Jewish identity cannot be reduced to the experience of the Holocaust, we must conclude that this experience helps to

protect other aspects of identity and serves as a convenient symbolic boundary separating the Jewish experience from the experiences and memories of other peoples. Another visitor made this point very precisely when he disagreed with the idea that the Auschwitz site should also commemorate non-Jewish victims: “As a Jewish person, I wanted to come here to unite with the dead. I don’t know, but only with the Jewish dead. Because it was my people and I don’t really want to share that with other people.’ Here, however, opinions are divided; another visitor did not mind other groups commemorating their dead. ‘I understand it’, one person said about the Romani commemorative ceremonies; “it’s like what we’re doing. Because they were also murdered there.’

For many years, the extermination of the Roma has been rather neglected in scholarly literature. Not until recently, thanks to a number of Romani intellectuals—first of all Ian Hancock—has the history and meaning of the Romani Holocaust been revealed. For many years, and for many reasons related to culture, the transmission of knowledge, and the circulation of information, the memory of the extermination has not occupied a central place in the collective consciousness of the Roma themselves. According to Jan Yoors, who spent his childhood with the Roma

and has the unique perspective of both an insider and an outsider on Romani history, the war period did not bring about any particular change in attitudes towards the Roma. It was rather a time like other times—perhaps more difficult, but nothing to which the Roma could not successfully adapt. Yoors does not mention the Romani Holocaust as such in his book, although he notes persecutions 15 Gillis, ‘Memory and Identity’, 12.

388 , Stawomir Kapralski and even provides a list of camps in which the Roma were exterminated, with Auschwitz significantly absent. Yoors reports from his own experience that ‘alarm-

ing rumours reached us about wholesale massacres of Gypsies by the Croatian Nationalists. There were outbursts of killings by Ukrainians in the forests of Volynia in eastern Poland. There were endless other instances of random exterminations. But never at any time was an overall effort made to liquidate the

Gypsies.’!® ,

It 1s interesting that the author holds this generally mistaken opinion even

though he acknowledges the racist character of the persecutions: ‘Like the Jews, the Gypsies became .. . racially undesirable, enemies of the Reich, and were legislated

out of existence.’ Perhaps the reason why he did not categorize the Romani experience as part of the Holocaust or acknowledge it as genocide is that, in the 1960s, when he was writing, no effort had yet been made to include the Roma in the narrative of the Holocaust. Yoors cherished the idea of the Roma as a significantly

distinct people, building an identity through a particular conception of time in which there would be no place for organized commemorations or institutionalized memories. *®

History, however, has challenged the author’s opinion that the Roma ‘live in an everlasting Now, in a perpetual, heroic present, as if they recognized only the slow pulse of eternity and were content to live in the margin of history’.’? Even if this was once so, it is So no more, since it was precisely history that placed the Roma at the centre of events, making them the victims of the persecutions defining the modern era. The current leaders of Romani organizations express a deep understanding of this fact, and since the 1970s have made efforts to let the world know about the fate of the Roma during the Second World War as well as to unite their own people around symbols related to the Holocaust. Auschwitz plays an important role in this process, first, because the commemorative activities of the German Romani group Sinti and their leader, Romani Rose, have involved the site; and secondly, because the headquarters of the Association of the Roma in Poland are located in the town of OSwiecim (Auschwitz)—marking the interest of this organization and its leader, Roman Kwiatkowski, in making Romani suffering a legitimate part of the Auschwitz symbolic context. Thus, the third World Congress of the Roma, held in 1981 in Gottingen, was devoted to the persecutions of the Roma during the war, and in 1994 Roma from all over the world gathered at Auschwitz to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of

16 Jan Yoors, The Gypsies (New York, 1967), 253. 7 Thid. 18 Of course, much depends here on the theoretical and cultural perspectives of the researcher. The unforgettable Professor Ernest Gellner, with whom I had an opportunity to discuss some of the ideas presented here, commented with his typical joking irony that as a Pole I simply could not tolerate the idea that some people might construct their identity without referring to the memory of persecutions. And although Iam convinced that my hypothesis on the modern Romani identity is correct and that my research has provided ample material to support it, I am repeating here the remark of the great anthro-

pologist as a mark of respect. 19 Yoors, The Gypsies, 5.

Auschwitz: Site of Memories 389 the extermination of the inmates of the Zigeunerlager (Gypsy camp) at Birkenau.

Since then, the date of the Zigeunerlager murders (2 August) has become the Romani Memorial Day. The Roma commemorate it not only at Auschwitz but in every country where they live. Roma delegations now receive invitations to any other official commemorations connected with Auschwitz, such as the anniversary of the liberation of the camp, and Romani organizations from Hungary, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Romania, and other countries of central and eastern Europe have been visiting Auschwitz with increasing frequency.

The Romani presence in Auschwitz today may be interpreted not only as a manifestation of the group’s claim to the place it deserves in the history of the Holocaust and to participation in the symbolic meaning of Auschwitz, nor simply as a proclamation of Romani suffering to the outside world; it also serves to transform the disparate memories of individual survivors and their families into collective memory, to revitalize the past of the Holocaust in the present, and to create a historical tradition to which the Roma may adhere. The latter functions contribute to the consolidation of different Romani groups and thus support their collective identity. The consolidating function of memory and its rituals is widely recognized among the Romani elites in central and eastern Europe. Indeed, collective memory has even been mentioned as equivalent to having a state: ‘Of course, we remember [the extermination] and we will remember’, said a Rom in Moscow; ‘you know, we do not have our statehood, and the only things which hold us together are memories and our traditions.’ A visit to Auschwitz can also provide this experience of consolidation. For a Romani woman from Tarnow, the visit made it clear that the Roma were targeted for total annihilation, and not for a selective genocide: ‘Before [the visit] I had thought that they [the Germans] wanted to kill only the important people of our nationality, but after the visit I realized that they wanted to kill every ordinary Rom.’ There is also now a widespread awareness of the racist motives

behind the Nazi persecutions, motives still present in contemporary attitudes towards Roma. According toa Serbian Rom interviewed in Belgrade, the extermination of the Roma was possible not just because of the racist idiosyncrasies of indi-

vidual Nazi leaders, but because of the strong racist consciousness of ordinary people—both the Germans and their local accomplices. This fact makes the issue of persecutions and genocide a very contemporary one. This Serbian Rom observed further that, for some Roma, the fear of persecution can be a reason to deny their identity: ‘I heard them saying: “What if one day a new Hitler appears?” ’ According to a Romani woman in Prague, ‘It is understandable that the Roma behave sometimes impulsively, having had this experience from the past. Maybe they are afraid that the situation 1s becoming similar to that of the 1930s. We cannot be surprised that sometimes they deny their nationality.’ It is a bitter paradox that the very factor that helps to build Romani identity—the collective memory of genocide—becomes a reason for denying this same identity. It highlights once more how important that

390 Stawomir Kapralski memory is in the contemporary context, and the extent to which it remains a living memory with continuous reference to the present. Auschwitz offers a concrete example of this as well. Some time ago, after a BacsKiskun County Romani Festival, a group of Romani participants from Budapest found their bus painted with the inscription ‘Gypsies to Auschwitz’. Experiences like this, bolstered by the graffiti commonly found on the walls of east European cities reading ‘Gypsies to the gas chambers’, must create an uneasy feeling around an actual visit to Auschwitz. They also lend the identity related to the Holocaust an ambiguous character, mixing pride with fear. But a visit to Auschwitz can be a very rewarding experience, especially when combined with participation in commemorative ceremonies. As a Romani activist from Bratislava observed, often when I’m losing energy and I don’t know what to do, it is very good to visit a Romani colony where I can see the poverty people live in, and it somehow recharges me with energy so that I know that I can and I have to work further. [t was something like this in Auschwitz. Many people, many Roma, were there from all around Europe and some from the United States. .. . I saw that it is a huge nation, [but a nation] which has such a [low] position in the

world ... that I... [must] do something to change it. (my italics) According to her, if one wants to create one’s own nationality, one has to build on the principle of identity, and, in order to do so, ‘it is important that we know . .. who we are, where we come from, and for this we must know that we have language as well as history, [and we must know]... what happened during the war and why it happened’.

While the Roma have only recently begun to recognize Auschwitz as the symbolic (and not only symbolic) site of national martyrdom, for Polish national memory the camp has always served as an anchor for the mythology of Poland as a besieged nation oppressed by its neighbours (in this case the Germans). The individual memories of suffering and the stories passed from generation to generation within families have created a climate in which children have grown up with the strong conviction that Auschwitz is one of their sacred places. It is perhaps even the primary sacred place for the Polish national memory of heroic struggle against all odds, and for the sense of victimhood that has become the cornerstone of Polish identity. The communist authorities eagerly transformed this private construction of identity into ‘an element of symbolic ideological construction, legitimizing the political status quo. The State Museum in Auschwitz became a symbol of “state nationalism” representing Polish national martyrdom, the official interpretation of Polish—German relations through history, and the place of Poland in the world.’” In this way, paradoxically, most of Polish society, which would not accept the communist regime, nevertheless synchronized its own collective memory with the ideological construction imposed upon it. 20 Z. Mach, ‘Czym jest Auschwitz dla Polakéw?’, in Y. Doosry (ed.), Representations of Auschwitz (Oswiecim, 1995), 19.

Auschwitz: Site of Memories 391 The overlapping of private and official memories became possible partly because other memories of Auschwitz left the Polish mental landscape together with their

bearers. When ‘Jewish memory departed’, James E. Young writes, ‘the Poles. . . were left alone with their own, now uncontested memory of events’.* This relegated the predominantly Jewish victims of the camp to oblivion and led to the Poloniza-

tion of the way the camp itself was represented on site and in memory. All too generous to Polish politics of memory, James Young writes that ‘the problem is not that Poles deliberately displace Jewish memory of the Holocaust with their own, but that in a country bereft of Jews, the memorials can do little but cultivate Polish memory’.”” In fact, the public, ideological discourse deliberately sought to eliminate the memory of the Jews from Auschwitz, and private discourse demonstrated that these attempts were quite successful. As Mach rightly observes, the Jews appeared . . . in the [Museum’s] exhibition as citizens of particular countries, including Poland, and not as an ethnically homogeneous category, sentenced by the Nazis to extermination as such. The problem of Jewish martyrdom was neglected in accordance with the interest of the communist authorities, for whom the important point was to show the historical Polish-German conflict, not the tragedy of the Jews!?°

Fortunately, the democratic transformation in Poland has opened up the possibility of disentangling the connection between private and public neglect of the Jewish Holocaust—specifically in the presentation of the Holocaust on the site of the Auschwitz-Birkenau camp. Deliberate efforts by the post-1989 Polish government and the museum staff resulted in the substantial reshaping of the exhibition, , introducing Jewish memory to the site. This process came about as part of a broader development, marked both by the growing number of Jewish visitors and by the need for a redefinition of Polish identity. _ For many reasons, some of them mentioned above with reference to the article by Kugelmass, the increasing number of Jewish visitors to Poland—survivors and their children—inevitably retrieved the Jewish memory. Poles were thus forced to confront an image of history different from their own. In the absence of official communist discourse, the Poles themselves face internal problems of reviewing their collective memory and finding a new framework for it. An important part of this process consists of efforts to rethink the national past and redefine relations between Poles and other nations—the Jews being one of the most important. The activity of constructing memory, liberated from the pressures of the official communist interpretation as well as from the anti-communist counter-interpretations, and designed only to negate the official picture, has led to varying results. It is much _ too early to say what kind of new public memory-—identity complex will emerge from the endless debates.*4 21 J. E. Young, The Texture of Memory: Holocaust Memorials and Meaning (New Haven, 1993), 116.

“2 Ibid. 117. 23° Mach, ‘Czym jest Auschwitz?’, 21. 24 Tbid. 22.

392 Stawomir Kapralski On the practical level however, the Polish confrontation with Jewish memory, combined with Poles’ efforts to reconstruct their own identity, has resulted not only in a revision of the presentation of the two memories at Auschwitz, but also in increased tensions in the Polish—Jewish debates about Auschwitz and its place in the respective identity constructs of the two groups. It may seem paradoxical, but after years of oblivion and falsification of the historical truth, the new openness on both sides has opened up old wounds and created new ones. It is, however, impossible to escape such conflicts, especially given that, as Young says, ‘Auschwitz. . . is part of a national landscape of suffering, one coordinate among others by which both Jews and Poles continue to grasp present lives in light of a remembered past.’2° Generally, however, Jewish visitors acknowledge the work of the museum staff and the way the museum has been reorganized (especially now that the conflict over the Carmelite convent is becoming a matter of the past). The people interviewed for this project generally expressed very favourable opinions about the exhibition and the information available at the site, remarking that they do justice to Jewish ~ memory and present the historical truth about the camp properly. They were, however, generally against the idea of Auschwitz becoming ‘religionized’. In a very interesting statement, one Jewish visitor said: I can go and worship in my own place of worship if I want to express my feelings, in a religious sense, about Auschwitz—and so can anyone else. But Auschwitz belongs to every-

body and it ought not to have churches, it ought not to have crosses, and it ought not to have stars of David. It should not have anything in terms of people’s individual religious views. They can express their own religious views, as they feel fit, in their own way. But in terms of the museum it should be for all people who suffered and died there.

Although I am entirely sympathetic with this point of view, I have some doubts as to whether any clear solution can be achieved in the near future. Polish Roman Catholics and observant Jews have entirely different conceptions of the role of their respective religions in commemorating the atrocities of Auschwitz.2° Thus, many Catholics would have difficulty understanding why what they are doing—in many cases with great good will—to ‘redeem the evil’ of the place and commemorate its victims, including the Jewish ones, by means of the Catholic religion, should upset the Jews and appear to the Jews as a disgrace to the victims of the Holocaust. The Catholics believe that the evil of Auschwitz is of the same nature as the other sins of humankind which were made essentially redeemable, that is forgivable by God, through the sacrifice of Christ. The sign of the Cross which begins prayers refers to this hope, and in prayers the Catholics express guilt and sorrow related to the sinfulness of human nature and ask God’s forgiveness. They also pray for the souls of

the victims as well as those of the perpetrators. For the Jews such an attitude universalizes Auschwitz, deprives it of its specifically Jewish dimension, forces Jewish suffering into a universal Christian narrative, and, last but not least, involves 25 ‘Young, The Texture of Memory, 117. 26 Tbid. 148.

Auschwitz: Site of Memories 393 symbols that for the Jews are associated with centuries-long persecutions by the Christians in the name of Christianity. Moreover, religion is closely connected with national identity: the Star of David is not exactly a religious symbol in Judaism, and for Poles the Cross has become such an important part of their national symbolism that they would probably regard any discussion of removing the crosses from the camp or its vicinity as anti-Polish and directed against the Polish national identity. The point, however, is clear: religious and, I would add, national symbols should disappear from the area of Auschwitz. We cannot escape the fact that Auschwitz is a part of our narratives of identity, but we should not bring these narratives and their

symbols to Auschwitz itself. Auschwitz as a chronotope may belong—although in various ways—to everybody, but Auschwitz as a real place belongs to those who died there and we should not place our present-day identity issues above the memory of those who were deprived of all identity in this place. As Dan Stone remarks,”’ the memory of Auschwitz contains ‘the unrepresentable’ and we must not let hubris lead us to suppose that we can represent it by our narratives of identity, be they religious or national—especially when they proved to be of no use at the time of the Holocaust.

AUSCHWITZ IN THE WORLD OF ‘POST-NATIONAL’ IDENTITIES According to John Gillis, the nation was the primary framework for memory and identity in the period from the French Revolution until the Second World War. In the post-war period, however, its dominant position has been challenged by at least three different processes. First, the process of globalization gives increasing importance to international or transnational bodies and institutions, and, consequently, leads to the development of global identities. Secondly, the re-emergence of local identities, related to smaller units than the nation—such as region—threatens to

supplant the nation as the primary identity of individuals. This process of the ‘particularization’ of identity, apparently contradicting globalization, can actually coincide with it easily; global identities can coexist with local ones, which brings us to the third process challenging the position of the nation: namely, the proliferation of identities. In the post-national period the intensifying dynamic of social change leads to a situation in which no single identity remains permanent or unchangeable. In the course of an individual’s lifetime, identities related to work, position, family, and social role, as well as those related to both global and local frames of reference, are expected to change. Every individual goes through this process, and has more than one identity at a given time. With regard to the sites of memory, the three processes mentioned above lead 27 TD. Stone, ‘Chaos and Continuity: Representations of Auschwitz’, in Doosry (ed.), Representations of Auschwitz, 28.

394 Stawomir Kapralski | to greater privatization and democratization of memory. With the state no longer as capable as it was of exercising control over people’s memories, and with the development of multiple alternative frames of memory and identity, it is increasingly up to individuals to decide how they will commemorate the past in accordance

with their own current sets of identities. The perception of the material objects, monuments, and sites of memory becomes more personal and is liberated from the narratives that were attached to them by the state and supported by a unified system of education and media. , The present situation presents an opportunity to transform the role of memorial sites from that of guardians of a single, state-authorized vision of the past into that

of places where people with different identities can discuss them peacefully and debate their respective visions of history. We have no alternative [writes Gillis] but to construct new memories as well as new identi-

ties better suited to the complexities of a post-national era. The old holidays and monuments have lost much of their power to commemorate, to forge and sustain a single vision of

the past, but they remain useful as times and places where groups with very different memories of the same events can communicate, appreciate and negotiate their respective differences.”®

Although the picture of Auschwitz as a meeting place where people who relate in diverse ways to the events of the Holocaust could debate their memories is a very appealing one, for the time being it remains too idealistic. Indeed, the ‘post-national’ period of identity should be thought of as describing only one particular development, taking place in only some segments of life. As discussed above, the Jews, the

Roma, and the Poles illustrate three different reasons why it is difficult to speak about post-national memory and identity as changing the perception of Auschwitz. The Roma, long denied any identity other than as a tribe or ethnicity, are now entering a national period, and they and their leaders aspire to recognition of their national diaspora. As the interview selections above illustrate, Auschwitz performs and will perform an important role in building that national identity; thus we may expect in the future an insistence on a unified narrative of Romani identity and symbols of memory, as well as on manifesting the Romani presence in the memorial space of Auschwitz.?9 During the period of communist rule the Poles were denied the opportunity to

express their national identity freely outside state-designed channels and narratives. Now that the opportunity is there, they will certainly make use of their newly 28 Gillis, ‘Memory and Identity’, 20. 29 During a visit to Auschwitz a group of Roma from England, for instance, discussed the possibility of building a special barracks—a national pavilion—devoted to the Roma. See C. Smith, ‘Impressions of an Official Camp’, in Materials of the Gypsy Council for Education, Culture, Welfare and Civil Rights (Romford, 1995), 21. In Birkenau there is already a monument commemorating the Romani victims with a memorial plaque in the Romani language.

Auschwitz: Site of Memories 395 acquired freedom. There is little doubt that the first task of memory work will involve a redefinition of identity, but there is even less doubt that this definition will be carried on in national categories—at least until they start enjoying the pleasures of ‘post-national’ life. The redefinition of identity may lead to greater openness and a re-evaluation of previously ‘state-owned’ sites of memory, including Auschwitz,

which in turn would make possible dialogue with other peoples involved in the symbolism of these places. In fact, the reshaping of the museum exhibition at Auschwitz is itself an indication that this process has begun. On the other hand, there may be a tendency to look upon Auschwitz as a ‘Polish’ place only. ‘The antiJewish demonstrations of young Polish nationalists at Auschwitz and the attitudes of certain groups and institutions to the religious and national symbols in the area are evidence of this tendency.

The Jews, especially those from the United States and western Europe, are experiencing a proliferation of identities, but it is precisely because of this that some

Jews feel a need to strengthen their Jewish identity and to enhance the symbolic boundaries separating them from other peoples. There is little doubt that Auschwitz will remain one of the most important arenas in which this process will take place; Auschwitz as a symbol of the Holocaust will remain a powerful coordinate of Jewish memory, uniting Jews regardless of country of residence, religious observance, attachment to other Jewish traditions, age, sex, social role, and other parallel identities. Thus, we cannot expect Auschwitz to reflect Gillis’s vision of the changing role

of sites of memory in the foreseeable future. On the contrary, Auschwitz will remain a place where various memories support diverse national identities, with all the resulting conflicts and misunderstandings.

POSTSCRIPT The lack of optimism expressed in the concluding sections of this chapter has, unfortunately, very quickly been proven fully justified. On 14 June 1998 Kazimierz Switon put up a tent on the site of a quarry adjacent to the building of the so-called

‘Old Theatre’, in which the poisonous gas Zyklon B had been stored during Auschwitz’s operation as a death camp. The Carmelite convent was housed in the building from 1984 until it was moved in 1993—after a long and stormy debate—to a new location in the vicinity of the camp. Switon was a leader of the underground trade union movement in the 1970s and later became an unsuccessful businessman and, for a short time, a member of the Sejm. Having proclaimed himself the leader of a ‘Movement of the Rescue of the Polish Nation’, he began a hunger strike against the alleged plans to remove from the site of the quarry the so-called ‘papal cross’, an 8-metre-high cross at which Pope John Paul IT had prayed in Birkenau during his first visit to Poland in 1979.

396 Stawomir Kapralski The cross was placed at the quarry on the night of 26 July 1988 by Stanistaw Gorny, a parish priest from Oswiecim, ostensibly to commemorate the approaching tenth anniversary of the Pope’s visit—but in fact it was clearly an act of protest against the agreement according to which the Carmelite convent should move to another location. When the convent did eventually relocate, the cross became the next item for debate. Many Jews argued that the placing of the cross in the quarry could be interpreted

as an attempt to dominate the landscape of the site of the camp with a display of Christian triumphalism and to Christianize Auschwitz; further, they saw in it a

blatant neglect of the fact that the victims of Auschwitz-Birkenau were predominantly Jewish. Many others emphasized that the cross in this place offended the Jews, who had been persecuted under this sign over centuries of Christian anti-

semitism, or as Rabbi Pinhas Menahem Joskowicz, the former chief rabbi of Poland, put it: that the Jews could not pray in the presence of ‘idols’.°°> For some Poles, however, the cross was an entirely appropriate commemoration of those who were executed on the site of the quarry or who died there because of harsh working conditions and maltreatment—and who were predominantly Polish

and Catholic. More generally speaking, for Roman Catholics, the cross could be , seen as expressing their belief in the redemption of human sins and their hope for salvation. However, regardless of other possible interpretations, the way in which the cross has been put in its present place clearly indicates that the real motives were connected to the argument over the Carmelite convent. For those people—dquite numerous in Polish society—who could not tolerate the convent’s having been moved because of, as they would put it, ‘pressure from the Jews’, Switon’s protest was a defence of Poles’ right to do as they saw fit in their own country, and in particular to use their religious symbols in places related to their narratives of Polish heroism and martyrdom. This line of argument has become particularly important since Kalman Sultanik suggested—and Rabbi Joskowicz repeated—the idea of extraterritoriality for Auschwitz. In more general terms, Switon’s action and the support it received in Polish society expressed a crisis of Polish thinking on Auschwitz: now that the official communist interpretation of Auschwitz and the system that supported it have gone, and Poland is open to the other interpretations of Auschwitz, the common Polish perception of Auschwitz as a place of Polish martyrdom and one of the sacred sites of Polish identity has been seriously shaken. In such crisis situations the tendency to defend the existing chronotope (that is, Auschwitz interpreted ‘the Polish way’) becomes evident. Switon’s action can be thus seen as an attempt to defend the perception of Auschwitz as an exclusively Polish chronotope in a situation in which such an interpretation is by no means obvious in Poland any more. Switon terminated his hunger protest after several weeks but remained on the 39 ‘Miejsce najSwietsze’ (interview with Pinhas Menahem Joskowicz), Wprost, 23 Aug. 1998.

Auschnitz: Site of Memories 397 site in his tent and called for the creation of a ‘valley of crosses’ on the site of the quarry. He initially called for the placement of 152 new crosses to commemorate the 152 Poles who had been executed on this spot. By 11 August 1998 (the day Cardinal Glemp issued an appeal to stop putting up crosses) more than 100 had been brought there by private individuals, various ‘committees for defence of the cross’, and other organizations, supported by the fundamentalist Catholic radio station Radio Maryja and its press organ Nasz Dziennik. Switon, who openly questions the authority of the bishops, has rejected Cardinal Glemp’s appeal, as well as the comments of some other members of the Church hierarchy in Poland clearly condemning his actions as an abuse of the holy symbol of Christianity. On the other hand, Bishop Tadeusz Pieronek has labelled Switon’s supporters ‘anti-Church’, meaning that they do not respect the official Church authorities and even question some Church dogmas. The division on this issue between some bishops supported by Glemp on the one hand (although he arrived at his condemnation of Switon by a rather circuitous route), and some more fundamentalist priests on the other, is indicative of a deepening cleavage within Polish Catholicism. There are two possible paths of development that the Church could take: towards the ecumenical, liberal Catholicism of the Second Vatican Council, or towards the fundamentalist, nation-

alist, and xenophobic Catholicism of Radio Maryja. The interest of Marcel Lefebvre’s ultra-fundamentalist movement in the events in Auschwitz is symptomatic: Lefebvre, who was excommunicated by the Pope in 1988, believed reconcillation with Judaism to be the greatest sin of Roman Catholicism and the greatest danger to the Church. In more general terms, it appears that the hierarchy of the Church in Poland did not take advantage of the opportunity to solve unequivocally the conflict between the modernizers and the supporters of the Church’s traditional engagement in politics and connection with national values. The events in Auschwitz have demonstrated clearly that the division of opinion within the Polish Church is significant. As Stanistaw Janecki put it, ‘the Polish Church speaks different languages’.*! When the number of crosses in the quarry exceeded the planned 152, Switon changed his ‘ideology of commemoration’. From the commemoration of the Polish victims, he switched his focus to the celebration of ‘Polishness’: he next called for the placing of 1,032 crosses (in addition to the ‘papal cross’) on the site by 3 May 1999 (Polish Constitution Day); his idea was to commemorate the anniversary of Polish statehood, which is at the same time the anniversary of the Christianization of Poland (the year 966). Thus, from a sign commemorating individual victims, the cross has been transformed into an emblem of nationhood and has been placed within the traditional context of Polish national identity defined first and foremost as Catholic. The slogans on the banners near the crosses and the inscriptions on the crosses themselves leave little doubt that it is precisely the nation which is present 31S. Janecki, ‘Antykoscid?, Wprost, 23 Aug. 1998.

398 Stawonmur Kapralski on this site—or rather its chronotope—defined by reference to its martyrdom and its sacred, religious aspect. One of the most popular verses used in the context of the crosses in Auschwitz goes like this:

Tylko pod krzyzem Only under the cross Tylko pod tym znakiem Only under this sign

Polska jest Polska Poland remains Poland A Polak Polakiem And a Pole a Pole Some within the Church hierarchy have noticed a potential danger in such identification. For Bishop Pieronek, for example, the claim that the Cross is a sign of national identity in fact negates the true meaning of the Cross, since national

identity is assumed here to be more important. For a Christian it should be the reverse: national identity, as well as individual identity, become meaningful only in

the Cross and through Christ.** Here Auschwitz becomes a battlefield for two different approaches to national identity: the traditional, religious identity related to Polish martyrdom during the war, on the one hand, and the modern, secular and

political identity, related rather to the shared civic culture than to the sphere of tribal rituals, on the other. In its political aspect, and especially its international dimension, the problem

went beyond the competence of the local authorities from the very beginning. Surprisingly, the central authorities too proved not quite up to the task. In its earliest comments the government tried to create an impression that the whole matter was entirely an internal problem of the Roman Catholic Church in Poland since the Church deals with religious symbols. Later there were attempts to explain governmental passivity in terms of the complicated legal status of the quarry, which apparently tied the hands of the government. It appears that the government, itself in a rather difficult political situation (experiencing declining popularity while carrying out several necessary but sometimes painful economic and social reforms), was seriously afraid of being labelled as ‘the enemy of the Cross’ and losing its ‘ideo-

| logical’ legitimacy in the Catholic country. Thus, when the government eventually decided to take an active approach, efforts were made to give the highest possible legislative status to the decisions concerning the quarry and to ensure beyond any doubt that the planned actions followed legal procedure. A special law concerning protection of the former Nazi death camps was submitted to the Sejm and passed, after a stormy debate, on 10 April 1999. According to the law, there will be a protective zone of 100 metres around the terrain of the eight death camps, in which any economic activities, construction projects, and gatherings will require a special permit from the local authorities. According to some politicians of the ruling coalition, not mentioned by name, the law had been prepared with the intention of putting an end to the ‘great 32 Father Waclaw Oszajca, Wprost, 23 Aug. 1998.

Auschwitz: Site of Memories 399 scandal taking place on the area of the quarry in Auschwitz, which undermines the authority of the Roman Catholic Church and the Polish state’.°° As a reaction to the Sejm’s decision, Switon erected another cross (the 241st) and asked for a national referendum on his new idea of building a church on the site of the quarry. However, the government, backed by the parliamentary legislation, began to show signs of determination. Representatives of central and local authorities stated publicly that the situation in Auschwitz would be resolved the moment the new law was officially announced as binding, that is, on 25 May. Shortly before that date Switon, facing the government’s determination, had displayed a variety of uncoordinated reactions, varying from a sort of ‘compromise’ offer to a threat to blow up the entire area. Because of this threat he was arrested on 27 May, and asa result of the subsequent search of the area an explosive was found. On 28 May, early in the morning, a special military unit from the Ministry of the Interior removed

all the crosses except the ‘papal cross’ and transported them to the St Francis monastery in Harmeze, near Oswiecim. At the same time the government’s spokesperson announced that ‘the papal cross will remain the main element on the area of the quarry’.?* The government’s intention was to solve the problem (some would

say, to clean up the situation before the Pope’s visit to Poland in June) without causing too much public opposition. The latter indeed turned out to be rather minimal; it appears that the concerted action of the legislative and Church authorities was quite successful. The problems that have arisen as a result of the conflict in Auschwitz are, however, far from being solved. Among the many crises that arose during the year of the conflict were the crisis of the Polish interpretation of Auschwitz and the lack of a viable alternative to the tradition of Auschwitz as a chronotope of Polish martyrdom and identity; the crisis within the Roman Catholic Church in Poland, includ-

ing the increasing divisions within the hierarchy and between the hierarchy and regular churchgoers; and the crisis of Polish identity and Polish politics, including the state’s crisis of legitimacy. Only the first of these has a clearly ‘Polish—Jewish’ dimension. However, because aspects of the crisis are interrelated, the danger exists

that the conflict between the Polish and the Jewish interpretations of Auschwitz may be generalized, separated from its roots and inserted into other areas of the crisis situation as well. That is, the language of anti-Jewish sentiment may infect religious, cultural, and political discourses to a much greater degree than it does at present. After a year the situation in Auschwitz has returned to its starting point, which the Poles, following the events of the past year, would like to present as a sort of a compromise, and which is just as unacceptable to many Jews as it was before Switon’s protest. However, the support Switon’s action gained in large sectors of Polish society and the level of emotion involved, together with the visible weakness 33 Ustawa o ochronie bylych hitlerowskich obozéw zaglady’, Gazeta Wyborcza, 12 Apr. 1999. 34 A. Kublik and Z. Pendel, ‘Krzyze przeniesione’, Gazeta Wyborcza, 29-30 May 1999.

400 Stawomur Kapralski of both Church and state authorities, must be taken into account. Israel Gutman

had this in mind when he remarked in an interview in the Polish daily Rzeczpospolita that, for the time being, one has to accept the existence of the ‘papal cross’—although its presence in Auschwitz is wrong—as a point of departure for further negotiations.2° One may expect such negotiations to be long and stormy,

but even this would be better than the present situation, in which there 1s no authority in sight (speaking of the Polish side) that would have the courage to negotiate or to enter into a compromise other than that of leaving everything as 1t is. This means that the potential for another round of conflict over memory 1s far from exhausted. 3° “Krzyz papieski punktem wyjscia’, Rzeczpospolita, 12-13 Sept. 1998.

My Jedwabne MARTA KURKOWSKA-BUDZAN I was born and grew up in Jedwabne; I lived there for almost thirteen years. Now I live in Krakow, where I am a social historian at the Jagiellonian University, interested in the past, the present, and the future. In June 2000, when I learned of the conference to be held in London entitled “The Shtet!’, I planned to present at it the results of my social-anthropological research on Jedwabne. It was a local study based on oral evidence. Then, perhaps two weeks later, I read Professor Gross’s book on the massacre in Jedwabne.! It did not shock me. I had been aware of this tragedy while I was planning my research project and I knew the facts he described. I only refer to his book because it radically changed the conditions under which

research could be undertaken in Jedwabne. Since the opening by the Instytut Pamieci Narodowej (Institute of National Memory) in autumn 2000 of an official inquiry into the massacre, people have been reluctant to talk to anyone. Fortunately, I had managed to interview some people in the town before the inquiry, and before the media became interested in the Jedwabne affair. I hope to be able to continue my research, although I am aware that nothing will be the same again. I conceive of my project on three levels. The first is to ‘reconstruct’ the Jedwabne of pre-war times, with its Jewish, Polish, and German inhabitants, and their houses, shops, crafts, markets, and everyday life. The second 1s to investigate the memories of the oldest living generation of Polish Catholics. How do they remember the shitet/, their neighbours, their common daily life? How has their individual memory been shaped by collective memory, including stereotypes and prejudices? Do they see their ‘world before the war’ as an arena of conflict or of coexistence? The third aim is to deal with the tragedy of July 1941. How did it affect the socio-

cultural memory of the three generations of Polish Catholics living in Jedwabne now? How is it expressed in myths, superstitions, omissions, and fables? Why and how do witnesses choose between testimony and silence? Finally, how does the publicity on the matter influence people’s memory?

* Lecture delivered at the conference “The Shtetl’ held at the Institute for Jewish Studies, University College London, 19—21 June 2001. 1 J.T. Gross, Sqsiedz1: Historia zaglady zydowsktiego miasteczka (Sejny, 2000).

402 Marta Kurkowska-Budzan Let me recount a personal story: When I was 7 or 8 years old my best friend, older than me, told me a ‘big secret’. I vividly recall that sentence: ‘You know . . . Once Poles burned Jews alive in a barn. . . . Here, in Jedwabne.’ I did not admit to my friend that I had no idea of who those Jews could have been. However, what she had

said sounded terrible. Equally terrible was the second part of her story—about people searching for gold jewellery and gold teeth in the smouldering ruins of the barn. Frankly, I did not believe her, although I tried to find out who the Jews were. I told my mother the story and asked for an explanation. She said, ‘You are too young for that kind of story.’

When I was old enough for ‘that kind of story’, I began to make efforts to comprehend what had happened. It seemed to me, as a social historian, that there had to be some aspects of the pogrom that could be subjected to sociopolitical analysis, and I approached the tragedy like any other subject of historical investigation. In my mind I was preserving the distance of a researcher who had been born in Jedwabne and had the exceptional status of an insider in the community, but who had left the town in 1984 so that I had the perspective of an outsider. Then I read the Jedwabne Yizkerbukh. Among the stories and memoirs contained there was the report of Itzchak Yacov (Yanek) Neumark, of which a few sentences struck me forcibly: In these terrible moments I noticed that my sister and her little daughter became totally grey. In the darkness of the night I took my sister Esther-Lea and her daughter Reizale to the priest of the village of Pshitul and I myself hid at the house of Doctor Kowalczuk. | After the war I was told that they killed my sister Esther-Lea just two weeks before the war ended. Someone recognized her as a Jew. Of her daughter Reizale I never found a trace.

Reading the name of Dr Kowalczuk, who had brought me into the world—the same person who had helped Yanek Neumark—I felt something I would describe as an ‘illumination’. I felt I had touched the past itself, and I felt bound to these people about whom I had read. And then I read once again the Yizkerbukh, carefully scanning the list of victims’ names. Later on I found out that the old rug I had inherited from my great-grandmother must have been dyed by Mr Pravda, the only dyer in Jedwabne, whose name, with those of his entire family, is on the list of those murdered. I was traumatized in a way a historian should not be if she wants to be more or less objective, and as a result I abandoned my methodology of comprehension and adopted Franklin Ankersmit’s theory of ‘experience of history’ (which differs from ‘historical experience’—the experience of those who have witnessed past events). According to this approach, the one and only moment in which the past exposes 2 F. Ankersmit, ‘Remembering the Holocaust: Mourning and Melancholia’, in P. Ahokas and M. Chard-Hutchinson (eds.), Reclaiming Memory: American Representations of the Holocaust (Turku, 1997).

My fedwabne 403 itself to us is in the moment of trauma, which causes surprise and pain. Trauma causes our convictions, categories, and expectations to shatter. History is created as a result of traumatic collective experiences. History, according to Frederic Jameson, is what hurts. Trauma does not register events from the past but records the power of experiences which cannot be assimilated, cannot be accepted. That is the paradox of trauma: it cannot be forgotten and cannot be remembered. ‘Normal’ history can be acquired, adopted, domesticated; traumatic history cannot. In this way the traumatic past, whether private or national, exists in ourselves like a foreign body that we cannot get rid of. Ankersmit says that the only way of coping with it is

to point out that there is a conflict between memory and history that requires the discourse of the historian to be replaced by that of memory. This merely refers to the past, but does not try to explore or penetrate it. As an alternative to the coupling of history and text, Ankersmit proposes the coupling of memory and monument (as a relic of the past).

To contemporary inhabitants of Jedwabne (Jedwabiniaks), but also for Poles in general, the murder of the Jews there 1s just this kind of traumatic, undomesticated history. The public debate is painful but inescapable. Surveys in March 2001 show that 50 per cent of the population of Poland know the name of Jedwabne and 48 per cent connect it with the pogrom.? On the other hand, the pre-war history of Jews, Catholics, and German Protestants in Jedwabne and their relationship appears to Jedwabiniaks to be ‘normal’ history. Let me give some examples of this ‘normal’ history, based on thirty hours of tape-recorded interviews that I conducted. I should like to emphasize that all interviews took place before Jedwabne had attracted any media attention. These people were not even aware of Professor Gross’s book. While I was interviewing them, I showed them old photos of buildings in Jedwabne and asked for their recollections. Half of these buildings used to belong to Jews. As regards facts, dates, and names the most valuable interview is that with Stanistaw O., who was born in 1920. He was a butcher’s apprentice in the late 1930s. According to him—and somewhat surprisingly to me—his employer, a Catholic butcher, co-operated with his neighbour, a Jewish butcher. For example, they shared a large freezer that had been dug into the ground and filled with ice blocks. Stanistaw O. usually assisted in ritual slaughter, and still remembers many Yiddish words since he used to speak Yiddish. He also socialized with the family of the Jewish butcher and attended their parties and wedding receptions. At the same time he was a member of Zwiazek Mtodziezy Katolickiej (the Catholic Youth Association), which was hostile to the Jews. When I asked him what activities he took part in within that association, he replied, ‘Well . . . we were taught how to march nicely in fours.’

Another interviewee was Zofia N., born in 1918, who had been head of the women’s section of Zwiazek Mtodziezy Katolickiej. She remembers taking part in 3 Rzeczpospolita, 67 (20 Mar. 2001).

404 Marta Kurkowska-Budzan amateur theatricals. She also liked to go to social meetings in the Catholic Community House, but at the same time she also went to meetings in the Jewish club room. She said she became fond of Jewish dancing (p/gsy), and after the war, as part of her job as a community household adviser, she taught Jewish dances to children in the neighbourhood village schools.

Apart from the main Market Square, in which traditional Wednesday markets : took place, there was an Old Market Square. With its old wooden buildings it was a

centre of Jewish crafts producing for the surrounding countryside. There were eight bakeries in Jedwabne, of which only two were run by Polish Catholics, and _ many small shops—Jewish and also Polish, and some of them open only on market day. The market was famous for horse-trading, and the town was a lively one. My

| interviewees remember their Jewish neighbours: Michat Kuropatva, a coachman who provided transport to Lomza once a day; Lasko, a travelling salesman; Pravda, the dyer; the Ca¢cko family, who were cattle-traders; and the Pecynowitz family, who were millers. They were willing to talk about that past. As Zofia N. told me, no > one had ever asked her about that; no one had wanted to listen. Another interviewee, Natalia G., who was born in 1926, grew up in the Old Market Square, virtually together with the seven children of her Jewish neighbour Sholimova. They played together and went to school together. She still recalls the names of all seven. I spent three days interviewing her. On the first day I asked her whether she remembered any Yiddish words; she said, ‘No, I never understood them when they were speaking their language.’ The following day I asked if she had ever been to a Jewish party, and she began to recall the wedding day of Sholimova’s eldest daughter. The vivid memory of this event made her break into Yiddish song. She was deeply moved and I had the impression she was transported into the past. I mention this because that was the moment when I realized that my interviewees had ina sense lost a part of their lives. This lost world used to be their world too, in the broad meaning of this notion—their reality. They told me, without needing to be asked, that they missed ‘something’ . . . The willingness of witnesses to the past to share their memories of pre-war times proves that this is a domesticated history just waiting to be written down. I then started to question my interviewees about the Second World War, about the Soviet occupation and the first and second Nazi occupations.* And then—the murder. My question was ‘What happened to the Jews?’ Silence. Then women at first shed tears; men, after a while, answered reluctantly, “They were all killed . . . burned alive.’ “Who did it?’, I asked. The answer was always: ‘Poles’ or ‘Ours’. ‘. . . But, you

know... Germans also’ or ‘Poles and Germans’. In personal memories Poles are always in the foreground. The Nazis are the obvious context. “That was wartime’, people said. * The first one lasted about a month, until the second Nazi—Soviet border treaty. At the end of Sept. 1939 Jedwabne was occupied by the Soviets.

My Jfedwabne 405 My interviewees were plagued by emotional recollections. Out of curiosity two of them, the day after the pogrom, went to the scene of murder. Recounting this to me, Natalia seemed to see it just in front of her. Cruelly I asked her, “Did you see Sholimova and her children there? Did you recognize them?’ She did. They were lying in a pile of bodies in the corner of the barn. “They were not burned’, she said. ‘They looked suffocated.’ Afterwards, she said, when she went home, she could not speak for several days. When I talk to people from Jedwabne now, with the media interest upon them, and when I talk to the generation born after the war, they usually begin with denials of Polish participation in the murder of Jews. But it is not long before they say, “Yes. There were Poles involved’, and then “The worst thing is, they did it willingly and they did it for Jewish money.’ Obviously, the media have been educating ordinary people in political and historical language. People now freely use expressions such as ‘Jewish collaboration with the Soviets’ or ‘Special SS Commando’ and so on. This is the language of official, public discourse. However, for the last sixty years the murder has been well known but still ‘a big secret’ in Jedwabne. It has been the subject of private discussion only. And the subject of local myths, gossip, and even tales. Let me give some examples. Israel-Joseph Grondowski was one of the three Jews remaining in Jedwabne after the war. According to local gossip, he survived the pogrom and converted. He left behind his wife and children, who were then killed. Israel-Joseph went back home after the war and remarried. Polish Catholics apparently accepted him, but he did not completely change his way of life. According to one of my interviewees, he kept kosher and had a Jewish calendar pinned to the wall. People gossip about his drinking problem, claiming that the reason for it must had been the betrayal of his family and religion. He did not have children with his second wife: ‘that was God’s punishment’, according to local gossip. Then he adopted a baby boy, who, when he grew up, drank so heavily that he eventually died of alcoholism. “That is God’s punishment!’ But, at the same time, they feel sympathy for him and socialize with him. God’s punishment is at the core of all Jedwabne stories. Most of the murderers, of whom many left the town just after the war, avoided punishment. Some moved to Lomza, just 20 kilometres from Jedwabne, so they were, in a sense, still present in the conscience, memory, and gossip of the local community. Local gossip about

them refers to any sudden death or sickness in their families. People talk about ‘God’s punishment’, ‘God’s curse’, or the ‘Jewish curse’ put on those who have ‘Jewish blood on their hands’. This notion extends to the whole Jedwabne community. People say: ‘Evil has settled in this town.’ This is the usual comment on every crime committed there. One of the most shocking occurred in 1998, when a few drunken young people burned alive a homeless man. People were devastated, and such sentiments as “There must be something wrong with this place. God cursed this land for what happened to the Jews’ are heard.

406 Marta Kurkowska-Budzan Nowadays they speak about ‘land’, not particular individuals. I should stress that 75 per cent of the population of contemporary Jedwabne consists of newcomers, who migrated there in the mid-1g50s and 1g6os. All of them quickly learned about the murder, and they now share a collective memory, but it refers rather to the place of Jedwabne than to the people who lived there in 1941.

| Another story is relatively new. About 1981 women workers from the Public Works Department refused to weed grass growing in gaps in the pavement. The grass had formed in the shape of cross in a place where, it was said, a young Jewish woman and her baby had been killed. People claimed that it was a miracle—God’s sign to the sinners of Jedwabne—and gathered there to pray. Another story has arisen that takes the form of a traditional folk tale in three parts. In the first, ‘Pogromchiks caught a very, very rich Jew, dressed in a fur coat, with a fur hat on his head, gold rings on his fingers, and shiny shoes. They threat-

, ened him, telling him to dive into a pond. He resisted, but they threatened again saying, “You Jew! Jump into the water, otherwise we will drown you!”’ The story then relates the three stages of the Jew’s entry into the water. The victim stops when the water reaches his knees. The pogromchiks threaten him again. He stops when the water reaches his waist, and again when it reaches his neck, and when he realizes there is no hope, ‘he puts his hands together and, with all his strength, calls out: “Jesus! Mary! Saint Joseph! Stand by me!” and plunges into the

water’. ,

In the second part of the story the pogromchiks decide to pull the dead man out of the water to rob him. When they find the body, ‘a true miracle occurs: the Jew is as naked as when God created him’.

The moral 1s contained in the third part: “Since then, everyone tempted to search for lost jewellery still remaining at the bottom of the pond will inevitably be

drowned.’ (There have been a number of drownings, but those who died were drunk while swimming.)

These are examples of a collective memory but are the unofficial discourse. The

| public discourse is quite different and is defensive, as can be seen in the Jedwabiniaks’ fierce reaction to Gross’s book and to virtually every publication alleging Polish involvement in the murder. In my opinion, these reactions are examples of the people’s attempts to domesticate a traumatic past. A past of this sort cannot be remembered in a ‘normal’ way, as is usual in historical works that seek to provide

rational explanation. |

Professor Gross broke the taboo. What is most painful to Jedwabiniaks is that what occurred in their town became widely known and debated, having never been discussed in public before. Jedwabne today, with its approximately 2,000 inhabitants, is a very small community. People are related to each other, and they depend on one other. This is not a community of the size of OSwiecim or Kielce. The public debate, so important to Poles in general, in Jedwabne causes immense distress, in

My fedwabne 407 part because of the appearance in newspapers of surnames that are very common in the area. The public debate is dominated by a search for the truth about the murder. If I were to give my view, I do not know the truth. I only know what people have been saying for the last sixty years. I know only the essence of the long collective and individual memory. It is what I learned in childhood: ‘Poles burned Jews alive in a barn. And robbed them.’

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PART III

Reviews

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REVIEW ESSAYS | Report of the Vatican Documents on the Second World War IN DECEMBER 1999 an International Catholic Jewish Historical Commission was created to re-examine eleven volumes of archival material published by the Holy See’s Secretariat of State (external division) between 1965 and 1981. These volumes were entitled Actes et documents du Saint Siége relatifs a la seconde guerre mondiale (‘Records and Documents of the Holy See Relating to the Second World

War’) and included very extensive correspondence, notes, and memoranda that throw much light on how the Vatican responded to the Holocaust, though this was not by any means the only theme dealt with in its pages. The documents were primarily in Italian, but also in French, German, English,

and Latin. All the volumes except one had a separate introduction written in French. Though familiar to a small, select band of scholars, these volumes are not easily accessible to the general public or widely known. The material has not been translated into English, though the Revd Pierre Blet SJ recently published a useful summary, Pius XII and the Second World War (trans. L. J. Johnson, New York, 1999). Blet is the last surviving member of the team of four Jesuit editors who had been commissioned by Pope Paul VI in 1964 to assemble this documentation from the Vatican archives. His summary reflects, however, the official Vatican line and is certainly no substitute for actually studying the documents themselves. The commission set up to re-examine this mass of material did not emerge out of thin air. It arose out of a crisis in Catholic—Jewish relations that surfaced in 1998. In part this was due to adverse publicity surrounding the intended beatification of Pius XII, the wartime pope whose ‘silence’ during the Holocaust has been the subject of severe criticism ever since the 1960s. There was also disappointment among many Jews concerning the document ‘We Remember’, released by the Vatican in 1998 as an act of repentance for Christian failings during the Holocaust era. In the same year Cardinal Edward Cassidy (then president of the Holy See’s Commission for Religious Relations with the Jews) proposed the creation of a joint commission of Catholic and Jewish scholars to examine the record of Pius XII and the Vatican during the Second World War as it is set out in the eleven volumes. This proposal was eventually accepted in October 1999 in Rome by the International Jewish Committee for Interreligious Consultations (IJCIC), chaired by Seymour D. Reich. Six scholars were appointed for this task; three of them were

412 Report of the Vatican Documents Catholic and three were Jewish historians. They included the author of the analysis which follows, Robert Wistrich, who holds the Neuberger Chair of Modern European and Jewish History at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. The scholars worked on the volumes separately but came together to formulate a joint twenty-one-page preliminary report entitled “The Vatican and the Holocaust’, which was submitted in Rome to Cardinal Cassidy in October 2001. The report followed the mandate given to the commission which permitted it to raise relevant questions and issues that it considered had not been adequately or satisfactorily resolved by the documentation. This preliminary report essentially consisted of forty-seven questions arising out of the published documents which were formulated to elicit access to previously unpublished archival material without which it

was felt no balanced judgement on key issues concerning Pius XII could be reached. The preliminary report was gone over line by line and agreed to by each of the six scholars. It did not contain any analysis or judgements, though sometimes these were implicit in the questions. What follows is the much more detailed analysis of four of the volumes originally made in March—April 2000 by Professor Wistrich. This was an internal document of the commission and never previously published, although many of the questions he

raises found their way into the preliminary report. However, these questions appear in the official report without the original analysis and context that we publish below. In accordance with the Vatican mandate, this was a strictly textual analysis of the volumes which intentionally does not engage with the extensive (and often highly polemical) literature that has been published about Pius XII. Instead it looks at the material with fresh eyes and that is part of its importance. Of particular interest to readers of Polin is the illuminating analysis by Professor Wistrich of the two parts of volume i that relate directly to Poland and highlight the tense relations between Catholic Poles and the Holy See during the Second World War. A.P.

THE VATICAN DOCUMENTS AND THE HOLOCAUST: A PERSONAL REPORT

oredilerrr | ROBERT S. WISTRICH INTRODUCTION |

THIS report examines the material in four of the volumes published in the Actes et documents du Saint Siége relatifs a la seconde guerre mondiale.' In other words, it covers about one-third of the entire documentation published in the Vatican documents between 1965 and 1981. Each of the volumes that I have read deals with a different topic. The time frame is not always identical, but they do have a certain unity, being predominantly diplomatic documents of the Holy See reproduced in their original languages—mainly in Italian (except for volume ii, which is almost

entirely in German), but also in Latin, French, German, and English. All of the volumes (except for volume iii, part 11, dealing with Poland and the Baltic states) have a detailed separate introduction, always written in French. Again, with the exception of volume i, the documentation mainly involves correspondence between leading officials at the Vatican Secretariat of State (especially the cardinal secretary —

of state Luigi Maglione) and their nuncios abroad, or else with bishops, archbishops, and other Church representatives in various countries. Although this correspondence covers a wide range of issues that concerned the Vatican in wartime (for example, papal efforts to mediate during the war, the desire

to humanize its cruelties, assistance to prisoners of war, questions relating to hostages, refugees, and ordinary civilians, the effects of aerial bombing, and efforts to protect the city of Rome) these topics are not the focus of my report. Nor have I dwelt at great length on internal issues of the Church—its unity, spiritual life, the maintenance of the Catholic faith, and doctrine under wartime pressures, and so on—except where it appeared specially relevant to the central themes of a particular volume, as in the letters of Pius XII reproduced in volume ii. This is not in any way to minimize the intrinsic importance of that subject, but the main concern of this report is to examine how the Vatican responded to the predicament of the Jews (and also the Poles) during what we now call the Holocaust era. ' The Actes et documents were published by the Libreria Editrice Vaticana, Vatican City, between 1965 and 1981. The volumes which I analyse are as follows: vol. ii, 2nd edn., rev. and enlarged (1992), vol. 11/1 (1967), vol. 11/2 (1967), vol. vi (1972).

AI4 Robert S. Wistrich My report is organized in reverse order to that adopted by the four editors of the Vatican documents (Fathers Blet, Graham, Martini, and Schneider), out of practical, chronological, and thematic considerations. I begin with volume vi because this covers efforts of the Holy See to help victims of the war (especially baptized

Jews) in the period between March 1939 and December 1940. The two parts of volume 111 that concern Poland (in effect two separately published volumes on the

same theme but chronologically divided) are treated next, since they deal predominantly with the relationship between the Vatican and the Poles. Finally, I examine the letters of Pope Pius XII to the German bishops between 1939 and 1944, which are fundamentally different in character from the ‘normal’ documenta-

tion of the Vatican Secretariat of State. It seemed more appropriate to conclude

with that volume.

Before proceeding to volume vi, a word needs to be said about the terminology which the editors and the documents themselves use concerning Jews. It is particularly apparent in volume vi (but it is also true of other volumes) that the documentation refers far more often to converts or Catholics of ‘non-Aryan’ origin, than to

Jews per se, though the editors do not always make this distinction sufficiently clear. The issue is of obvious importance in volume vi because of the extensive correspondence about the Italian racial laws which prohibited marriage between Catholic ‘Aryans’ and ‘non-Aryans’, something that the Catholic Church considered an inadmissible intrusion into canon matrimonial law. Most of the interventions that it took upon itself in Italy (a pattern continued later in Slovakia, Romania, and Hungary) were not in fact on behalf of Jews as a distinct Jewish religious community or as individuals of the Jewish religion but as ‘non-Aryan’ Catholics (cattolict non-ariani). According to Catholic doctrine, any Jew who honestly converted to Christianity became a ‘son of the Church like any other’. The responsibility which the Vatican felt towards converts derived from the fact that they were understood to be Catholics (not Jews), and therefore they belonged to the universe of moral obligation acknowledged by the Church. According to the documents, it would also appear that the Holy See was especially concerned about them because it felt that they had been abandoned by everyone in the late 1930s. On the one hand, they were being treated as ‘pariahs’ under the new racial legislation

emerging in various European countries, while at the same time they were also being repudiated by the Jewish organizations. It seems to me, however, important to pursue this issue more deeply in order to see whether there was a broad strategy, policy guidelines, legal debates, and moral or philosophical discussions among top Vatican officials to determine what principles should determine policy regarding Jews (defined by their Jewish religion) and converted Jews. Only the unpublished archival material could give us a real insight into this question. Then there is the challenge to the Church posed by racial legislation—an issue

that assumed great importance in later volumes that are not included in this overview. A note from the Secretariat of State against the Italian racial laws, dated

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust 415 14 November 1938 (published in the appendix to volume vi, p. 532) demonstrates

that the Church was willing to compromise—but only within certain defined limits—when it came to the question of interracial marriage. The note pointed out that the race laws violated Article 34 of the Lateran Agreement, in what is stipulated about ‘Italian Catholics of Aryan race and people of other races’. The Church was ready to be more rigid in its own policy in order to diminish the number of marriages between people of different religions, but when it was ‘a case of two Catholics of different race, the Church cannot, on the basis of racial difference, forbid the union’. As we shall see, this was one of the central themes in volume vi, along with efforts by the Holy See to ameliorate the conditions of Jewish converts. For a long time the Vatican persisted in these efforts, believing that the Fascist regime in Italy could be brought round eventually to amending the terms of the Italian racial laws, though this did not in fact occur. Yet even as Cardinal Maglione sought to have the racist elements in the Italian legislation cancelled, the documents sometimes show the (perhaps unconscious) infiltration of Fascist racial terminology into the formulations of Vatican officials. (See, for example, volume vi, document 157, 247—8, with its references to the ‘arianita di tutti i membri delle famiglie’ (‘Aryanism of all the members of the family’) and so on.) The report that follows is in the nature of things no more than a selection of those issues that seem to me of particular relevance to the work of this commission and which directly arise out of my reading of the documentation.

VOLUME VI: LE SAINT SIEGE ET LES VICTIMES DE LA GUERRE, MARS 1939—DECEMBRE 1940 The documentation in this volume, The Holy See and the Victims of the War, concerns the period immediately before the Second World War and the first year of the conflict. It is primarily of interest to us for two reasons: first, as evidence of the efforts made by the Holy See to help baptized Jews to emigrate from Nazi Germany

to South America, and, secondly, for the attempts made by Vatican officials to ameliorate the position of Jewish converts in Italy, following the racist legislation of the Fascist state. Similar developments in Hungary, Romania, and Slovakia are also

briefly explained in the letters of the papal nuncios, but they are not in the foreground in this volume, so I shall not refer to them in my report. Nevertheless, it

should be noted that they contain some interesting and important prefigurations of | problems that will continue to preoccupy Vatican diplomacy during the Holocaust. Nor will I be concerned with the often desperate and sometimes wildly utopian proposals made by Jews and non-Jews alike to settle European Jewry in places as far apart as Alaska and Angola. ‘They find their place as tragic reflections of the Jewish |

predicament in the Nazi-dominated Europe of 1939, but it is evident that such proposals were not taken seriously by the seasoned diplomats of the Holy See.

416 Robert S. Wistrich From the very first document in the volume it is also apparent that, in the eyes of the Catholic Church, there is a fundamental dichotomy between the teachings of Catholic doctrine and the racial ideology officially propagated in Italy since 1938. The document (sent by the assessor of the Holy Office to Mgr Domenico Tardini, secretary of the Congregation of Ecclesiastical Affairs, on 6 March 1939) notes doctrinal errors appearing in the Fascist review La Difesa della Razza (‘Defence of the Race’), which are elaborated upon two weeks later by the Secretariat of State in a communication to the Italian embassy at the Vatican. The Holy See deplored the many crude heresies and distortions of the faith and history of the Church, deriving

| from a neo-pagan ‘Aryan’ racism that ‘openly offends the Catholic doctrine and religion’ (‘offende apertamente la dottrina e la religione cattolica’).? While it is clear

from this and other documents that there was an ideological conflict between Catholicism and Fascist racism (especially concerning the notion of ‘superior’ and

‘inferior’ races and the importation into Italy of Nordic-Germanic myths of ‘Aryanism’), that did not necessarily mean that the Vatican opposed the Italian race laws 1n a// their aspects. As far as lam aware, the Holy See neither unequivocally repudiated this legislation as an unmitigated evil, nor did it object as such to the principle of separating Jews from the rest of society. This was, after all, something that was deeply rooted in Catholic tradition as well as in the theory and practice of the papacy until well into the nineteenth century. Equally well established was the traditional theology of

the pre-Vatican II Church, which regarded Judaism as the reprobate religion of a people still suffering the curse of hostility and exile as a result of their refusal to recognize the superior truth of Christianity. These are unspoken assumptions that do not appear in the documents, but they must be taken into account when reading them. (It would, however, be interesting to know if the traditional Catholic theological animus against Judaism ever surfaces in any of the unpublished internal discussions or if it is simply taken for granted.) What is transparent from the documents, however, is the Vatican’s concern over the Italian government’s decision to forbid intermarriage between Jews (especially

those converted to Christianity) and Catholics. This was rightly regarded as a blatant violation of the 1929 Concordat, and Pope Pius XI had already written a personal letter about the matter to Mussolini and to the king of Italy in 1938. Under , canon law the Church permitted and blessed marriage between the races, as long as both partners were Catholics. But the Fascist race laws of 1938 prohibited marriage between ‘Italian Aryans’ and ‘non-Aryans’ (even of the Catholic faith), which effectively denied the right of the Church to decide which couples might marry. The Italian legislation had simply trampled over the rights of Jewish converts. These were not matters to be taken lightly by Vatican diplomats, determined to defend the historical rights of their institution, their faith, and their tradition. But it 2 ‘Pro-memoria circa la rivista La Difesa della Razza’, 20 Mar. 1939, in Actes et documents du Saint Siege relatifs a la seconde guerre mondiale (Vatican, 1965-81) (AdS'S), vol. vi, doc. 4, 53.

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust AI7 is important to notice that these firmly couched protests are not directed against the denial of civil rights to Italian Jews in 1938 or at their reduction to the status of

second-class citizens. This absence is all the more striking since we are still in peacetime, the Italian Jews are compatriots (known for their loyalty to the country), and if there is anywhere in the world where the predominantly Italianate Roman Curia can expect to enjoy some influence, it is precisely in Italy. But the defence of principle remains selective and limited. It is strictly aimed at the marriage laws and the obtaining of exemptions or ameliorations for baptized Jews. For example, Father Pietro Tacchi Venturi, the Vatican’s unofficial liaison with

Mussolini, reported on 28 March 1939 that he had met II Duce and requested that | all offspring of mixed marriages, if baptized at birth and raised as Christians, be recognized as ‘Aryans’, even if they were not Italian citizens.? Venturi, in the name

of the Church, asked that mixed families could employ Christian household servants; that converted Jewish teachers could teach in private schools; and that

couples engaged before the prohibition of mixed marriages be allowed to marry.* | Although the answers were negative, for Maglione it was important that the Church

| had shown its ‘concerned interest on their [1.e. the Jewish converts’| behalf’, as he explained to the papal nuncio Francesco Borgognini Duca.° At Maglione’s request, the papal nuncio asked Italian officials to modify legislation denying to baptized Jews the right to practise their professions except among Jews.° These interventions also failed, but the efforts continued. On 25 February 1940 Maglione’s office genta letter to the Italian embassy at the Holy See describing the hardships of some 2,500 mixed families as a result of the anti-Jewish laws and requesting their modification. He pointed out that economic measures directed against a Jewish father often caused suffering for the entire family, all of whom, in the specific example

which the Secretariat cited, were ‘Aryan’.’ | Cardinal Maglione did not abandon hope that the race laws might eventually be amended to give exemptions to Jewish fathers in mixed marriages (regardless of when they had actually received the sacrament), but Mussolini would accept no change. The Vatican made representations to limit the impact of the legislation, but no evidence is provided for the editors’ claim in their introduction to the volume that ‘the racial politics of the Fascist government’ were moderated.® Nor is there any evidence that I am aware of to substantiate another editorial claim, namely, that 3 ‘Mémoire du P. Tacchi Venturi’, 28 Mar. 1939, AdS'S, vol. vi, doc. 5, annexe (Italian), 59-60. * Tbid. > Maglione to Borgognini Duca, 11 Apr. 1939, AdSS, vol. vi, doc. 13, 71-2. Maglione wrote of ‘una nuova prova del premuroso interessamento della Santa Sede nei loro riguard?’.

6 Maglione to Duca, 5 May 1939, 4dSS, vol. vi, doc. 22, 85-6. ” Maglione’s office to Italian embassy at the Holy See, 25 Feb. 1940, AdSS, vol. vi, doc. 157, 247-8. 8 Ibid. 22. The editors refer to the personal relations between Mussolini and the Jesuit father Pietro

Tacchi Venturi. They claim, though without citing any documentation, that ‘l’influence du pére a modéré la politique raciale du gouvernement fasciste’ (‘the influence of the Holy Father has moderated the racial policy of the Fascist government’).

418 Robert S. Wistrich the Holy See frequently succeeded in winning exemptions or Italian government declarations of ‘non-Aryanism’ on behalf of baptized Jews.’ Perhaps the archives could illuminate this issue. A second major theme of volume vi involves the attempts of the Holy See to facilitate Jewish emigration (meaning that of baptized Jews in virtually all cases) to Latin America, in particular to Brazil. This was not in fact a papal initiative, con-

| trary to various legends that have grown up around the subject. Pope Pius XII, shortly after his inauguration, had received appeals from Michael von Faulhaber, the cardinal archbishop of Munich, and Berning, the bishop of Osnabriick, asking

| him to intervene with the Brazilian government to obtain 3,000 special immigrant visas for ‘non-Aryan’ German Catholics who would be forced to leave Germany.'°

As they pointed out in several communications to the Pope, this had become a burning issue for the Jewish-born Catholics (‘die Katholiken nichtarischer Abstammung’), who in their opinion were disadvantaged in comparison with ‘Mosaic Jews’, who were free to emigrate to Palestine or America." The Brazilian president, Vargas, responded favourably to the Pope’s request for the 3,000 visas, but this proved to be only the beginning of a long-drawn-out and

| rather pathetically inconclusive and unsuccessful saga, which takes up much of the volume.’* The details of this affair are too tiresome to recount here in any great detail, but a few observations need to be made. The documents indicate that the difficulties came mainly from the Brazilian side, with its government imposing a large number of restrictions on the immigration project. They wanted no intellectuals or professional people among the baptized Jews. Each family had to have at least three members able to work in the fields of agriculture and industry. They had to have at least 2,800 Marks at their disposal—a not inconsiderable sum in those days, especially given the Nazi laws restricting the transfer of foreign currency.'® All of these difficulties were enumerated in letters to the Vatican by the priests active in the St Raphaelsverein in Hamburg, the main agency which assisted the

emigration of German Catholics, and in particular of the ‘non-Aryans’ among them. Some of the attitudes on the German Catholic and on the Brazilian sides 2 Maglione’s office to Italian embassy at the Holy See, 25 Feb. 1940, AdSS, vol. vi, doc. 157, 17. 10 Faulhaber to Pius XII (German), 31 Mar. 1939, AdSS, vol. vi, doc. 8, 62-5. 11 Bishop Berning to Pius XII (German), 31 Mar. 1939, AdSS, vol. vi, doc. 9, 67. He expressly asks the Pope that the Brazilian visas not be given to the ‘so stark bevorzugten mosaischen Juden, sondern

den so sehr benachteiligten christlichen Nichtariern zukommen zu lassen’ (‘so strongly privileged Mosaic Jews but rather to the so disadvantaged Christian “non-Aryans” ’). It would be worth investigating how far this assumption was shared in the Vatican, along with the blatantly anti-Jewish stereotype that most Jews were rich, influential, or privileged; and how far it was believed in Rome that the Jewish organizations always looked after their own—unlike the converted Jews, who often seem in these documents to be presented as poor, neglected, and defenceless. 12 See Maglione to papal nuncio in Rio, 5 Apr. 1939, AdSS, vol. vi, doc. 11, 69~70; reply of 20 June 1939, ibid. 98. 13 Berning to Maglione, 20 July 1939, AdSS, vol. vi, doc. 42, 108. He asked for Vatican intervention and for the inclusion of Protestant Jews among the visa candidates.

| The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust AIQ appear as transparently anti-Jewish. For example, Grosser, the secretary-general of the St Raphaelsverein, writes to the papal nuncio in Berlin emphasizing that ‘il ne s’agit pas nullement ici de Juifs, qui pour des raisons secondaires, auraient été baptisés dans les derniers temps . . . Ces personnes n’ont aucun rapport avec la Synagogue ni avec les Juifs’;‘4 on the contrary, Grosser pointed out, these were converts of long standing, who would not damage the Brazilian economy in the way

that Jewish businessmen had allegedly done. ‘Ils n’ont nullement lintention de faire du commerce dans les grandes villes brésiliennes et de faire, de cette facon, du tort aux commercants du pays, tort que causent les Juifs.’!°

Grosser deplored the fact that in Rio de Janeiro they evidently believed that ‘non-Aryan’ Catholics were all rich like the Jews or had ‘des parents et amis riches vivant a l’étranger’.'° This is a recurring theme in correspondence with German _ Catholics like Bishop Berning, which also stresses the positive difference between Catholic Jews and ‘Mosaic’ Jews, in terms not only of their allegedly greater need but also of their Asstmilterbarkeit—their greater adaptability to agriculture, pro-

ductive work, and the mores of the country.“ |

Some of the Catholic representatives in Latin America seem to have internalized the stereotypes fostered by the growing antisemitic climate in places like Brazil or Chile, or else to have projected their own feelings onto the local population. The Vatican chargé d’affaires in La Paz wrote about the ‘invasive’ and ‘cynically exploitative’ character of the Jews—allegedly engaged in ‘dishonest dealings, violence, immorality, and even disrespect for religion’. The nuncio appeared to agree that there was a ‘Jewish problem’ in Bolivia and even to identify himself with the popular exasperation and anger against the Jews (‘la esasperazione popolare contro gli ebrei’).1®

His highly charged account may have influenced Cardinal Maglione in a negative direction, especially since he received similar reports from some other nuncios, such as Laghi, in Santiago. This nuncio claimed that Jewish immigration to Chile had already created ‘a serious problem’. The Jews, instead of becoming agricultural-

ists as promised, had turned to small commerce and trade, provoking popular protests from secular and clerical circles in Chile. The nuncio, in advising against any further immigration of ‘non-Aryan’ Catholics, took into account the violent mood triggered against what he called ‘the invasion of Jews’.1? One wonders how many reports of this kind exist in the Vatican archives, what internal discussions ‘4 ‘Tt is not at all a case here of Jews who would have been recently baptized for secondary reasons. . . These people have no connection with the synagogue or with the Jews.’

‘9 *They have no intention at all of engaging in commerce in the large Brazilian towns and thus harming the local shopkeepers, as the Jews do.’ ‘6 ‘rich relatives and friends living abroad’. Grosser to the papal nuncio in Berlin, 1 Sept. 1939, AdSS, vol. vi, doc. 57, annexe 1, 130-2.

1” Berning to Pius XII, 31 Mar. 1939, 67. , 18 ‘Tacchi to Maglione, 5 June 1939, 4dSS, vol. vi, doc. 29, 92-4. 9 Laghi to Maglione, 18 Jan. 1940, AdSSS, vol. vi, doc. 134, 222.

420 Robert S. Wistrich they provoked, and how much they influenced policy on the ‘Jewish question’ at a time of rising antisemitism everywhere. Or are they exceptional?

As regards the Brazilian government, their crucial question concerned the reliability and proof of conversion—a matter in which the Church was in principle the final arbiter. The documents show that Rome was concerned that conversions not be permitted on opportunist grounds but that they must be ‘honest, real and genuine’, so that nobody should be able to doubt ‘the sincerity of these neophytes’ (‘sincerita di questi neofiti’).2? Mgr Tardini, for example, deplored the fact that some new immigrants had reached Brazil with false baptismal certificates. On 7 September 1940 he wrote to Mgr Dell’ Acqua, who was in charge of the dossier: ‘we must ascertain that these Jews [questi ebrei| are really . . . sincerely Catholics’.2! Ina message to the Vatican nuncio in France on 29 October 1940, Cardinal Maglione similarly observed that any applicants for the Brazilian visas had to be ‘sincere Catholics, deserving assistance’ .?” From the documents it emerges that the Vatican had to guard not only against false conversions, but also against the issuance of false visas and charges of bribery

and corruption. In August 1940 it was informed by the Brazilian government that the latter had not been satisfied with the fifty families of converted Jews that had arrived eight months earlier from the Netherlands and Belgium. The Brazilian foreign minister now rejected the idea of receiving any more recently converted Jews because he did not believe in the authenticity of the conversions (‘non crede alla conversione dei giudei’).2? In response to Brazilian rulings, the Vatican had to ensure that all candidates for Brazilian visas had proof of their baptism before 1934. Moreover, the Brazilian ambassador in Berlin refused to grant any of the 2,000 special visas at his disposal, prompting the new secretarygeneral of the St Raphaelsverein to describe him as ‘ayant des inclinations anti-

| sémitiques’.”4

On 3 September 1940 the Brazilian embassy suspended the special visa programme and it was officially and definitively revoked in November 1941. Thus two-thirds of the original 3,000 Brazilian visas were never issued at all, mainly because of the increasingly stringent Brazilian government restrictions. (The St Raphaelsverein had apparently selected 5,000 ‘non-Aryan’ German Catholics— out of a pool at least twice that size—for an emigration that would never take place.) According to the documents, it would therefore seem that the only beneficiaries of this project were those included in the 1,000 visas given by the Brazilian embassy to the Holy See for the use of converted Jews outside Germany. 20 Papal nuncio in Brussels to Maglione, 2 Dec. 1939, AdS'S, vol. vi, doc. 122, 207. 21 Tardini to Dell’ Acqua, 7 Sept. 1940, AdS'S, vol. vi, doc. 305, 410-11. 22 Maglione to papal nuncio in France, 29 Oct. 1940, AdS'S, vol. vi, doc. 357, 458. 23 Papal nuncio in Rio, Aloisi Masella, to Maglione, 7 Aug. 1940, AdS'S, vol. vi, doc. 280, 383-5.

24 ‘having antisemitic leanings’. Meningen to Orsenigo, papal nuncio in Berlin, 13 Aug. 1940, AdSS, vol. vi, doc. 285, annexe, 390—1.

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust A421 Who was to blame for this fiasco? Most of the published material makes it seem likely that the Brazilian government was looking for a way to make things as difficult as possible, despite President Vargas’s initial agreement to the plan. But there is one decidedly unpleasant insinuation by Cardinal Maglione (published in vol-

ume viii) that might be worth further investigation. On 27 December 1941 (by which time the Vatican had been fully apprised of the scale of German mass killings of the Jews in the East) Maglione informed the bishop of Osnabriick that the visa programme had been cancelled because of the Jews themselves. It was ‘their incorrect conduct and demands’ that did not correspond (so he claimed) ‘to the concern that the Holy See has shown on their behalf’.2° This was indeed an extraordinary

allegation and one that finds little support in the documentation of volume vi. It would be interesting to know if there is anything in the archives to elucidate what the cardinal had in mind. Since the story of the Brazilian visas is central to volume vi, one is bound to ask the meaning of the mass of documents published by the Vatican around one rather minor episode in the history of the Holocaust. In itself the issue of the 3,000 . Brazilian visas for baptized Jews—of which at best one-third may have actually been used—seems trivial. The operation failed, and even if it had succeeded, one might well ask, was it merely a tale of sound and fury signifying nothing? In the context of what would later happen in the Holocaust, one is almost bound to answer in the affirmative. Yet there is a lesson here, though it is not drawn by the editors in their introduction. It shows us that in these early days, before the German decision in favour of mass murder had been made, even visas for baptized Jews vouched for

by the Vatican, and for people ready to work as farmers in South America, were desperately difficult to acquire. This is hardly a revelation, but is one small further confirmation of what we already know. The more interesting question is why the editors provided so many documents on this particular subject. One cannot help feeling that they must have been motivated chiefly by the desire to justify the policy of the Church—to show how much it was doing, even against the resistance of unreceptive governments, to help the

Jews. As has already been pointed out, the Jews in question were all baptized, and this distinction was scrupulously maintained by the Vatican and the Catholic countries of Latin America. Moreover, the money for this project came from the United Jewish Appeal, an American Jewish organization that donated $125,000 to the Vatican in memory of Pius XI and that had stipulated that the gift could be used to assist refugees regardless of race or religion. On 31 December 1939 Cardinal

Maglione had gratefully acknowledged ‘this munificent and beneficent act’ inthe name of Pius XII. Some of this money was indeed used to pay the transportation expenses of Catholic Jewish refugees emigrating from Europe, but still larger sums were given to two American committees, one for political and the other for Catholic 2° Maglione to the bishop of Osnabriick, 27 Dec. 1941, AdSS, vol. viii, doc. 246.

A422 Robert S. Wistrich refugees to the United States. In other words, the Vatican did not itself finance in any way the emigration of unconverted Jews from Europe, contrary to the impression sometimes given. There 1s one last issue that I wish to raise regarding this volume. It relates to a report sent by Mgr Mario Besson, bishop of Lausanne, Geneva, and Fribourg, to Pius XII on 23 November 1940.”° This is a remarkable letter which expresses deep concern at the appalling misery ‘that is ravaging a great number of countries’. Besson complains directly to the Pope that the great organizations concerned with victims of the war are either Protestant or from neutral countries like Switzerland. In comparison, his Swiss Catholic mission is a very modest affair and he expresses his ardent desire that ‘la charité catholique se manifestat d’une maniére éclatante, a la face du monde entier: c’est la seule apologétique efficace qui compte aujourd’hui’.?” Besson also points out the grave condition of the Jewish civilian prisoners near Pau in the Pyrenees. He describes thousands of prisoners, ‘insuffisamment nourris et mal vétus, sans lit, sans couverture’.”* It seems clear enough from his report that he is pressing for a public appeal by the Pope against the persecutions and the atrocious conditions in the concentration camps, as well as for more determined Catholic action in defence of the victims, including the Jews. It is a very direct appeal: ‘Or la seule voix qui puisse étre entendue, c’est celle du Souverain

Pontife.’”?

In my opinion, this document raises some important questions. We know that it must have been taken seriously by the Vatican, especially since its observations were confirmed by the papal nuncio to Switzerland, Mgr Filippo Bernardini, who forwarded Besson’s message to the Pope. The subsequent responses by Maglione also indicate that he considered it worthy of attention, and he certainly would have discussed it with the Holy Father. The question in my mind is this: did Pius XII, Maglione, or any other senior Vatican official consider, at this early stage in the war (November 1940), the possibility of a public statement that would also include the Jews—an appeal of the kind alluded to by Besson? Only a thorough investigation of the archives could help us to answer such a question.

VOLUME III, PARTS I AND II:

LE SAINT SIEGE ET LA SITUATION RELIGIEUSE EN POLOGNE ET DANS LES PAYS BALTES 1939-1945 Volume iii, divided into two parts, deals with the Holy See and the religious situation in Poland and the Baltic states between 1939 and 1945. There is a useful, brief, 26 Besson, bishop of Fribourg, to Pius XII, 23 Nov. 1940, AdSS, vol. vi, doc. 378, 477-8. 27 ‘Catholic charity should manifest itself spectacularly to the entire world: this is the only effective vindication that counts today.’ 28 ‘malnourished and poorly clothed, without beds or shelter’. 29 ‘Now the only voice that might be heard is that of the sovereign pontiff.’

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust 423 and undocumented summary in English of this issue by one of the four original editors of the Vatican documents, the French Jesuit priest Pierre Blet, in the chapter he devotes to the Church in occupied Poland in his book Pius XII and the Second World War.*° 1 will briefly examine his presentation, and provide more extensive

comments and quotations from the documents themselves, followed by a short critique. Father Blet observes that on 11 September 19309, shortly after the German invasion of Poland, the French ambassador to the Holy See told the Secretariat of State that public opinion was ‘waiting for the Holy Father to say something to the effect that he was passing judgement on, and that he resented[?], this explosion of violence and cruelty’. No condemnation of the German aggression was issued, but

on 30 September 1939 Pius XII, addressing the Polish community in Rome, did evoke ‘all the wonderful memories of your nation’s history’, the centuries consecrated ‘to the service of Christ and often to the noble defence of Christian Europe’, expressing his confidence that ‘your presence here today assures us that it [the Polish people] will never see . . . an unfaithful Poland, a country separated from Christ and his Church’.?! Then, in October 1939, at the urging of the primate of Poland, Cardinal Hlond, Pius XII alluded to the fate of Poland in his encyclical Summ Pontificatus: The blood of countless human beings, even of noncombatants, raises a piteous dirge over a nation such as Our dear Poland, which, for its fidelity to the Church, for its services in the defense of Christian civilisation, written in indelible characters in the annals of history, has a right to the generous and brotherly sympathy of the whole world, while it awaits, relying on the powerful intercession of Mary, Help of Christians [auxilium christianorum|] the hour of a resurrection in harmony with the principles of justice and true peace.*”

Cardinal Hlond appeared to be quite satisfied with these words of consolation, though they fell short of representing a clear protest against the German attack on Poland. Father Blet points out that by the end of September Poland was already occupied by two totalitarian powers, Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia, “both intent upon eliminating Christianity’.°? What the Nazis never succeeded in doing in Germany—namely, to smash its solid ecclesiastical structure—they could much more easily achieve through military and police domination in occupied Polish territory. Hundreds of priests were arrested and executed, clerics and Catholic intellectuals were taken to concentration camps, and Polish bishops were forced to rely on the nuncio in Berlin as their only recourse against the arbitrary terror of German rule. The pastoral administration of the dioceses in occupied Polish territory became a thorny issue causing tension and conflict between the Holy See and 30 Pierre Blet, Pius XII and the Second World War (Gracewing, 1999), 69-92.

31 Ibid. 69-70. , 32 From the official English translation of Summi Pontificatus on the Vatican website, www. vatican.va/holy_father/pius_x1i/encyclicals/index.htm . . .10/1939, 15. 33 Blet, Pius XII, 70.

424 Robert S. Wistrich the German government as well as between the Vatican, the Polish government in exile in London, and leading Polish clerics. Pius XII, under pressure from Berlin (and advice from Orsenigo, the Berlin nuncio), agreed to the German proposal that three German sees administer the Polish territory, a decision which the Londonbased Polish government saw with consternation as a violation of the concordat with Poland. Pius XII rejected, however, the German demand that all ecclesiastical appointments in the occupied territory pass through Berlin first. As a result, on

to June 1942 Hitler denied the Vatican any role as mediator with the German authorities in Poland. The Holy See also faced German reprisals following a Vatican broadcast of 21 January 1940 which compared the barbaric conditions and

degradation to which Poles were subjected under German rule with ‘what the communists imposed on Spain in 1936’ and the methods used by the Soviets.*4 The

consequences included barring priests and practising Catholics from leaving Poland and rendered communication with the Vatican much more clandestine and difficult. The Pope was in danger of having his correspondence intercepted by the Germans or by the Russians and, like the Polish bishops, had ‘to be extremely cautious when drafting letters’, especially regarding any political questions or mention of the oppression of the population.®° Father Blet argues that conditions under Soviet occupation were even more difficult, given the communist policy of nationalization, the large-scale deportations to eliminate any resistance, and the systematic atheistic indoctrination, especially

among young people—though this might be disputed by some historians. He quotes the Uniate metropolitan bishop of Lviv, Andrei Sheptytsky, referring as early as 29 December 1939 to ‘a universal diabolic possession’ behind the ‘unbelievable’ hatred of religion manifested by the Soviet occupation; on 30 August 1941 the

same source referred to the Bolshevik ‘desire to destroy and suppress the last vestiges of Christianity’. In a letter to Pius XII dated 29-31 August 1942 the metropolitan, who had initially greeted the German invasion with relief as a ‘liberation’ from Soviet rule, made the following comment: Today the whole country agrees that the German regime is evil, almost diabolical, and perhaps even more so than the Bolshevik regime. For at least a year no day has passed without the most horrible crimes being committed, assassinations, stealing, rapes, confiscations, and extortions. The Jews are the first victims, more than two hundred thousand of them having been killed in our country.

I find it truly remarkable that Father Blet had nothing more to say about this letter, the most detailed reference by far, and the only one of real substance, relating to the Holocaust in the two volumes directly concerned with wartime Poland. Apart from this short statement mentioned by Blet, the metropolitan, who was of mixed PolishUkrainian background, had other very important details to communicate. He noted

that, as the German army moved east, the number of victims grew rapidly. He 34 Blet, Pius XII, 75. 35 Ibid. 76.

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust 425 observed that in Kiev, within a few days, many thousands of men, women, and children had been slaughtered. Toutes les petites villes de Ukraine ont été temoins de massacres analogues et cela dure depuis un an. Les autorités avaient, au commencement, honte de ces actes d’injustice inhumaine et tachaient de s’assurer des documents qui pourraient prouver que les habitants du pays ou les militionnaires étaient les auteurs de ces meurtres. Avec le temps, elles ont commencé a tuer les Juifs dans les rues, a la vue de toute la population et sans autre vergogne. Naturellement que des foules de chrétiens, non seulement Juifs baptisés, mais ‘aryens’ comme ils disent, ont été également victimes de meurtres injustifiés.*°

Sheptytsky provides a mass of details to describe German barbarity and to show how they continued and extended the Bolshevik crimes, ‘comme si une bande de furieux ou de loups enragés s’était abattue contre ce pauvre peuple’,®’ a reference that presumably refers mainly to Jews but also to Ukrainians and Poles. ‘The bishop documents extensive religious persecution and also his own public protests, which in fact demanded unusual courage: Jai protesté par des Lettres Pastorales sur homicide, naturellement confisquées, mais relues 4 quatre ou cing reprises devant le clergé rassembleé. J’ai déclaré homicide cas d’excommunication réservé a l’Ordinaire. J’ai protesté encore par une lettre écrite a Himmler et j’ai taché de prévenir les jeunes de ne pas inscrire leurs noms dans les milices ou ils peuvent étre scandalisés.*°

In this key document, written directly to Pius XII, Sheptytsky prophetically expressed his belief that the terror could only increase and turn ever more forcefully against Christian Poles and Ukrainians (it being clear from his letter that in 1941-2 the Jews had been the first target). ‘Les bourreaux, en effet, habitués 4 massacrer les Juifs, des milliers de gens innocents, sont habitués a voir couler le sang et ont soif du sang.’°? The metropolitan found only one ‘consolation’ in this terrible bloodbath: ‘que rien ne nous advient sans le volonté de notre Pére Céleste’.*° He added a comment that to Jewish sensibility is bound to be shocking, especially since it came from a bishop with a real claim to be considered one of the ‘righteous gentiles’: ‘Je pense que parmi les Juifs massacrés il y a beaucoup d’ames qui se convertissent a 36 AJ] the small towns in Ukraine have witnessed similar massacres and this has gone on for a year. At the beginning the authorities were ashamed of these acts of inhumane injustice and tried to provide documents to prove that local people or local militias were the authors of these murders. In time they began to kill Jews in the streets, without shame and in view of the whole population. Naturally masses of Christians, not just baptized Jews, but so-called “Aryans”, equally became the victims of unjustified murder.’ Sheptytsky to Pius XII, 29-31 Aug. 1942, AdS'S, vol. 11/2, doc. 406, 625. 37 ‘as ifa band of furies or mad wolves were falling upon these poor people’. 38 ‘T have protested against this homicide in Pastoral Letters, confiscated of course, but reread four or five times before the assembled clergy. I have declared that murder requires excommunication by the priesthood. I also protested in a letter to Himmler and tried to warn the young people not to sign up for the militias, where they could be shocked.’ 39 “The executioners, accustomed indeed to massacring the Jews—thousands of innocent people— are used to seeing blood flow and are thirsty for blood.’ 40 ‘that nothing happened to us without the will of our heavenly Father’.

426 Robert S. Wistrich Dieu, car jamais depuis des siécles ils n’ont été placés comme a présent devant la probabilité d’une mort violente . . .’.41 Towards the end of his stunning testimony Sheptytsky recalled again the unbelievable mendacity and nihilistic criminality of German rule: ‘ce systéme constitue quelque chose de si phénoménal, que la stupeur est, peut-étre, le premier sentiment qu’on ressent a la vue de ce monstre. A quoi ce systéme ménera-t-il la malheureuse nation allemande? Cela ne pourra étre qu’une dégénération de la race comme histoire n’en a pas connu encore.’** At the same time, repeating his own ardent desire for a sacrificial death, he expressed the strange hope that if the persecution were to take the form of massacres “a cause de religion, ce sera peut-étre le salut de ces pays. II y a un besoin énorme de sang volontairement offert pour expier ce sang versé par des crimes.’*? In conclusion, he implored the Pope to extend his apostolic blessing ‘a mon pauvre peuple, au pauvre clergé de mon pauvre diocése et 4 ma nullité’.*4 There is no evidence in the Vatican documents of any reply from the Pope to this

shattering appeal, nor to its shocking revelations—unique for the period in their stark evidence of the mass murder of the Jews and the assault on the Ukrainians. No

other senior Catholic churchman, to the best of my knowledge, provided such direct eyewitness testimony and referred to the Jews as Jews, and as primary targets

of German bestiality, in the same way. In sharp contrast to Sheptytsky no other Polish archbishop or bishop in their communications with Rome as recorded in the two parts of volume iii showed any interest in the fate of the Jews or mentioned the atrocities against them. Not only that, but Sheptytsky signalled to the Pope that he had protested to Himmler himself and publicly denounced the massacres of Jews— this in an environment where some Ukrainians were eagerly collaborating with the Germans in these same murders. If this was not a signal to Pius XII to raise his voice in protest, one wonders what would be. Given the silence of the official documents, the question naturally arises whether there was any discussion of this testimony and of a possible response. Is there any trace of an internal debate on the issue within the Vatican? It is important to know.

Father Blet gives much more attention to the situation of the Church in the Reichsgau Wartheland—the western Polish territories annexed to Germany—than he does to the fate of the Jews. This, of course, reflects what the published docu-

ments indicate. Under Arthur Greiser, Gauleiter of the Reichsgau Wartheland, violent measures were being taken against Polish priests and bishops, some of 4! ‘T think that among the massacred Jews many souls are converted to God, for not for centuries have they been placed as now before the probability of a violent death . . .’. Sheptytsky to Pius XII, 29-31 Aug. 1942, AdS'S, vol. 11/2, doc. 406, 625. 42 ‘this system is something so phenomenal that amazement is perhaps the first feeling one has at the sight of this monstrousness. What is this system leading the unhappy German nation to? It can only be a degeneration of the race such as has not been known in history.’ Ibid. 629. 43 “because of religion, it will perhaps be the salvation of these countries. There is a great need for blood voluntarily shed to expiate the blood shed by these crimes.’ Ibid. 44 ‘to my poor people, to the poor clergy of my poor diocese and to my worthlessness’. Ibid.

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust 427 whom were shot or sent to concentration camps such as Dachau. The German political objective was evidently a Catholic Church independent of Rome—something that obviously worried the Vatican. Moreover, children were being deprived of religious instruction, and many seminaries were closed along with the churches.

The gravity of the situation is apparent from the documents in volume i, and it gave rise to many complaints from Poland, some of which Father Blet records within the framework of his own generally favourable gloss on Vatican policy. Cardinal Hlond, who had fled to France after the collapse of Poland, observed, for example, on 2 August 1941, that Poles are complaining that the Pope does not protest against crimes when the Germans have three thousand Polish priests killed in concentration camps, that he does not speak out in condemnation when hundreds of priests and members of Catholic Action, including papal chamberlains, are shot to death, all exterminated without the slightest offence on their part.*°

The secretary of state, Cardinal Maglione, rejected these reproaches, claiming that Pius XII had spoken out on the fate of Polish Catholics on three occasions in 1941.

Only the Pope could decide the ‘opportune’ moment for a more explicit public declaration on Poland. On 3 November 1941 the cardinal archbishop of Krakow, Prince Adam Sapieha, the most senior cleric in Poland following Hlond’s self-imposed exile, also asked for explicit condemnation of German crimes, after detailing the growing intensity of the religious persecution of Catholics in Poland. He received a similar reply from Maglione and a non-committal letter from Pius XII regarding a public statement on 6 December 1941, a communication which at the same time praised the loyalty of the Polish bishops. Sapieha wrote again from Krakow to the Pope on 28 February 1942 in a letter sent through the Italian chaplain Pirro Scavizzi. He described the ‘terrible horror’ of the Nazi occupation of Poland, the concentration camps ‘from which but few leave alive’, the detainment ‘of thousands and thousands of our best brothers’, including many priests, the dire physical deprivation, the anger of the Polish people, who, ‘seeing the violence and atrocities that overwhelm us, wish to hear condemnation of these crimes’. Anti-papal propaganda in these conditions, Sapieha warned, had fertile soil in which to germinate.*° Sapieha belatedly realized that sending such an explicit letter might be dangerous and tried to retrieve it from Scavizzi, who destroyed it only after making a copy, but it nonetheless reached Rome. In the Vatican Sapieha’s graphic description of the tragic condition of Poland apparently made a deep impact. Mer Tardini’s notes of 18 May 1942 refer to ‘the 45 Blet, Pius XII, 80. 46 See Sapieha to Pius XII (Latin), AdS‘S, vol. iii/2, doc. 357,539-41. The second paragraph begins with the words ‘conditio enim nostra est valde tragica’ (‘Our condition is indeed most tragic’) and enumerates the lack of any elementary human rights.

428 Robert S. Wistrich unfortunate Poles [who] are deprived of the most fundamental rights’, the bishops

and clergy ‘persecuted, beaten, and impeded from exercising their ministry’ (‘perseguitati, colpiti, inceppati nell’esercizio del loro ministero’). Tardini praises the courage of Sapieha and the need to support him and the Polish people; but he also rejects ‘public condemnation by the Holy See’. It would be ‘largely exploited for political gain by the parties engaged in the conflict’ (‘ampiamente sfruttata a

scopi politici da una delle parti in conflitto’). Moreover, the Germans would increase their ‘persecution of Catholicism in Poland’ and prevent Rome from exercising its already limited charity and thereby risk ending any contact with the Polish episcopate. The best solution would be ‘una bella Nota diplomatica per il Governo tedesco’, ‘a good report’, noble and delicate in form, yet terrible in its substance (‘terribile nella sostanza cioé nell’argomento’), which would be a document for the future. It would demonstrate for posterity the prudence and firmness of the Holy See (‘la prudenza e la fermezza della S. Sede’).4” Much time was spent on its preparation, and it was only completed nearly nine months later, on 2 March 1943, signed by the cardinal secretary of state, and addressed to the German foreign minister, Ribbentrop. But strong Polish protests about the Pope’s silence continued to be registered. The Franciscan Breitinger, the apostolic administrator for German Catholics in the

Warthegau, wrote to Pius XII from Poznan on 28 July 1942 about the radical measures taken against the Church, the special suffering of the three and a half million Polish Catholics in the annexed region, and their feelings of abandonment. Immer wieder kann man unter polnischen Katholiken Zweifel horen, ob es denn noch einen Gott gibt, wenn solche Ungerechtigkeiten moglich sind, oder ob denn der Papst, von dem man ihnen frther, als es den Polen noch gut ging, so oft erzahlt und gepredigt habe, ganz auf die Polen vergessen habe, nachdem sie jetzt in solche Not geraten seien.*®

This complaint that the Pope had forgotten the Poles ‘now that they are in such great need’ was not justified, according to Breitinger, but he felt that it was his duty to point it out. Karol Radonski, the exiled bishop of Wtoctawek, in a letter to Cardinal Maglione dated 14 September 1942, was much more forthright. Poles, he said, were asking why it was that Rome did not speak out when churches were being profaned, religious worship had ceased, bishops had been expelled and hundreds of

priests killed, holy virgins had been debauched, and ‘almost every day innocent hostages are killed before the eyes of children who are forced to take part in this spectacle’; while the Polish people, ‘deprived of everything, die of hunger’, the Pope remained silent, ‘as if he did not care for his sheep’ (‘et Papa tacet, tamquam si 47 Notes of Mgr Tardini, 18 May 1942, AdSS, vol. iii/2, 569-71. 48 “Polish Catholics can always be heard asking if there is a God when such injustices are possible, or

indeed if the Pope, concerning whom one has so often told stories and preached when things were going well for the Poles, has not completely forgotten the Poles now that they are in such great need.’ Breitinger to Pius XII, 28 July 1942, AdS'S, vol. iii/2, 608-15.

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust 429 nihil eum interesset de ovibus’). The Germans claimed that everything was done within view of the Pope, indeed with his consent, and since there was no public denial, this was believed by many Poles (‘qui tacet, consentire videtur’). Bishop

Radonski even seemed to believe that the Pope’s silence was being given in exchange for the free distribution in Germany and Poland of the Vatican newspaper in Rome, L’Osservatore Romano.*? Maglione indignantly rejected these and other charges in his very belated reply to Radonski on g January 1943, pointing out that the Pope was motivated solely by his sincere desire to preserve the faithful from ‘new and still fiercer persecutions’. ‘Should the father of Christianity increase the misfortunes suffered by the Poles in their own country?’ (“Licetne Christianum

Patro asperas calamitates, quae Poloni domi patiuntur, asperiores reddere’), Maglione asked, asserting that the Pope’s policy had been approved by the bishops who remained in Poland.”° In another letter dated 15 February 1943, however, Radonski continued to question the wisdom of those loudly clamouring for prudence and silence: But the facts prove that, with the Pope silent, each day sees the persecution become crueller. When such crimes, which cry out to heaven for vengeance, are committed, the inexplicable silence of the supreme head of the Church becomes for those who do not know its reason—and there are thousands of them—a cause of spiritual downfall [ansa ruinae spiritualis}.°+

Bishop Radonski’s unusually blunt and even disrespectful tone reveals that he was

scandalized by the inertia in Rome. He had waited four months for Maglione’s reproof after his initial protest and it seems apparent that, like many Poles (especially

those in London), he found the Vatican’s position incomprehensible. Maglione, probably responding to these reproaches, wrote to Sapieha suggesting that some of the Pope’s letters to Polish bishops might be made public. The archbishop of Krakow preferred, however, that Pius XII write another letter recapitulating his previous statements. °2

On 2 June 1943, with the military situation turning against Germany, Pius XII did finally speak out about the Polish situation, very briefly but more forcefully than at any time since 1939. He recorded ‘the tragic fate of the Polish people’ and recalled how much the ‘faithful Polish people, heroically silent about their sufferings down the centuries, have contributed to the development and preservation of Christian Europe’.°? The Polish bishops were clearly relieved. Cardinal Hlond pointed out how ‘anxiously they had awaited this statement’ (‘con ansieta 49 Radonski to Maglione (Latin), 14 Sept. 1942, AdS'S, vol. i11/2, 633-6. 50 Maglione to Radonski (Latin), 9 Jan. 1943, AdSS, vol. iti/2, doc. 460, 713-17. 51 Radonski to Maglione, 15 Feb. 1943, AdS'S, vol. i1i/2, doc. 477, 736-0. 52 Maglione to Sapieha, 4 Feb. 1943, AdSS, vol. iii/2, 733. For Sapieha’s reply, which mentioned

the danger of German reprisals, see his letter of 23 Mar. 1943, ibid. 769-70. : 53 Speech of Pius XII at the feast of his patron St Eugéne, ‘Grandezze dolori e speranze del popolo Polacco’, 31 May 1943, AdS'S, vol. iti/2, 801-2.

430 ~ Robert S. Wistrich attendevano questa enunziazione’) which would put an end to the ‘legends of Hitler’s propaganda that the Holy See had simply given up in regard to the situation in Poland’.°* On 18 June 1943 Cardinal Sapieha spoke of publicizing ‘these noble and holy words’ (‘queste nobili e sante parole’), which would not be forgotten by the Polish people and would be ‘a most effective antidote [un antidoto efficacissimo | against the venomous efforts of German propaganda’.®°

In Rome, however, Mgr Tardini was against publication. The note to Ribben-

trop—a highly detailed indictment of the abuses of the elementary rights of the , Church in occupied Poland—was seen as much more important. This report, though worded very diplomatically, brought together all of the bitter complaints about the religious persecution of Polish Catholics that had come to Rome’s attention. Delivered by the papal nuncio in Berlin to the German secretary of state, Weizsacker, it was handed back, though apparently after first having been trans-

lated into German by the higher authorities. Pius XII let it be known that he considered the rejection of the letter an ‘unfriendly act’, though he did not judge it opportune to make a new public statement.°° While not concealing the fact of Polish dissatisfaction over the policy of the Holy See, Father Blet clearly believes it was unjustified, and based on ignorance of the Vatican’s diplomatic activity on Poland’s behalf. Even the Vatican documents themselves show, however, that these Polish protests were often perfectly rational, well founded, and understandable.’ The Catholic population in the Wartheland could not understand the silence of the Pope over the repression, and even German secret police officials, in conversation with German Catholics, expressed their astonishment.°® Cardinal Maglione and Mgr Tardini felt obliged to calm these frequently expressed apprehensions and dissipate the discontent felt by Poles under German occupation and in exile.°? In later volumes that I have also looked at the pleas that came to Rome from Polish lay sources briefly and occasionally describe the fate of the Jews. Thus, the exiled president of Poland, Raczkiewicz, addressed Pius XII on 2 January 1943 in terms that precisely define what we now know as the Holocaust, mentioning that ‘L’extermination des juifs, et avec eux de beaucoup de chrétiens de race sémitique, n’a été qu’un essai d’application systématique de I’assassinat

en masse systématiquement organisé.’°° The bulk of his plea, not surprisingly, °4 Cardinal Hlond to Cardinal Maglione, 11 June 1943, AdS'SS, vol. iii/2, 809-10. 55 Sapieha to Maglione, 18 June 1943, AdSS, vol. iii/2, 813. 56 See Blet, Pius XII, 87-90, who deals at some length with the Ribbentrop note; for the text itself, see Cardinal Maglione to Ribbentrop, 2 Mar. 1943, AdSS, vol. ii/2, 742-52. 57 See comments of Papée the Polish ambassador at the Vatican, to Maglione, 12 Nov. 1942, AdSS, vol. iii/2, 671-2, requesting ‘une protestation publique et formelle’ at the illegal measures imposed by the German occupation on the Church in Poland. 58 See Breitinger to Pius XII, 23 Nov. 1942, vol. iii/2, 681-4. °2 See e.g. Maglione to Radonski, AdS'S, vol. iti/2, 779-80. 60 “The extermination of the Jews, and with them of many semitic Christians, has been nothing but a systematic attempt at systematic mass murder.’

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust 431 addressed the Polish people’s struggle for survival against German efforts to destroy them, but also expressed the conviction that ‘Polish valour and belief in Christian principles’ would enable them to raise their voices against the massacre of the Jews,

despite the tremendous risks involved.®' The main frustration, however was the lack of any unequivocal condemnation by the Pope of the persecution of Poles. Ina letter to Maglione on 20 February 1943 Casimir Papée, Polish ambassador to the Holy See, felt that ‘une condamnation explicite de ceux qui semaient l’injustice et

la mort sera non seulement un soutien pour les Polonais dans leur malheur, mais qu’elle rappellerait aussi a la raison les masses allemandes en provoquant une réflexion salutaire, et contribueraient 4 mettre un rein aux crimes que commettent en Pologne les pouvoirs d’occupation’.®* Cardinal Maglione’s notes show that he did not appreciate at all the ‘ungrateful’ attitude of the Polish government in exile. He added that the Vatican could content itself with a simple reply that they had received the note and given the text to Pius XII. Papée nonetheless persisted, and on 28 April 1943 he sent Maglione an extract

from a Zurich newspaper describing the martyrdom of many Polish priests interned at Dachau. He reminded the cardinal of the sentiments awakened among all civilized and Christian nations by German cruelty in the occupied territories, adding: ‘nous n’avons pas manqué, mes collégues et moi, d’attirer l’attention de votre Eminence sur ces faits douloureux’.®? In concluding his letter, Papée asked once more about the results the Holy See had been able to obtain ‘pour sauver tant de vies précieuses 4 l’Eglise’4 and what measures it proposed to take ‘en présence de tant d’iniquités, si ses démarches devaient rester sans résultat plausible’.®° There is no evidence of a reply in the documents, though the grievances of the Poles were noted on several occasions. The Vatican was obviously convinced that public protests could only make the lot of the Poles (and the Jews) worse, and the Pope made it plain in conversations with diplomats that he believed that only in private could he do anything for the victims. Messages to Poland from the Vatican were, in any case, bound to be intercepted by the Germans. The Poles, he believed, simply did not understand the difficulties, and they overlooked the fact that he had already spoken out in general terms.®° °! President of Poland, Raczkiewicz, to Pius XII, 2 Jan. 1943, AdSS, vol. vii, doc. 82, 180. 62 ‘explicit condemnation of those who spread injustice and death would not only provide support

to the Poles in their sorrow, but would also call the German masses to reason by prompting salutary reflection, and would contribute to putting a brake on the crimes committed in Poland by the occupying powers’. Papée to Maglione, 20 Feb. 1943, AdS'S, vol. vii, doc. 123, 238.

63 ‘my colleagues and I have not failed to draw the attention of Your Eminence to these painful facts’.

64 “to save so many lives precious to the Church’. °° ‘in the presence of so much iniquity, its interventions did not produce a reasonable result’. Papée to Maglione, 28 Apr. 1943, AdSS, vol. iti/2, 781. 66 See O. Chadwick, Britain and the Vatican during the Second World War (Cambridge, 1986), 212.

A32 | Robert S. Wistrich When, after continuous pressure, the Pope had finally deplored in his Christmas radio broadcast of 1942 the atrocities against ‘some hundreds of thousands of innocent people put to death or doomed to slow extinction, sometimes merely because of their race or descent’, some Poles, such as Archbishop Sapieha, welcomed it, but others felt it was decidedly inadequate. It is often overlooked that Pius XII had been referring to Poles as well as Jews, though he did not mention them by name, any more than he used the word ‘Nazi’ in any of his condemnations. He had said only _ that ‘some hundreds of thousands’ had been killed—many fewer than the reports,

including those he had received from Polish and Jewish sources, had already revealed. But then, like the British Foreign Office, ‘he thought that the Poles and the Jews exaggerated for the sake of helping the war effort’ .©’ Pius XII did periodically express his ‘paternal solicitude’ for the sufferings of the

| Polish people during the war, but on no account was he willing to offend Germany openly by doing so. The frequent appeals of Casimir Papée evidently irritated him and his closest colleagues. An internal note written by Mgr Tardini shows exasperation at these constant requests for a word in favour of the Poles and the persecution to which they were subject. What had already been said was, in the Vatican’s view, ‘more than enough’.® Only the threat of a Polish schism momentarily appeared to give pause to the highest officials in the Vatican, though that danger was never really serious. The extreme prudence of Rome regarding the Polish situation was

certainly not a response to any request by the Polish bishops, contrary to the impression given by the editors of the documents.® On the contrary, as we have seen, the Polish bishops frequently conveyed the view that ordinary Poles felt abandoned or disappointed by the Pope’s ‘neutrality’ and unwillingness to take a public position against Germany.”° It is true that such a central figure as Adam Sapieha did acknowledge the delicacy of the Pope’s position even as he urged that the public protest of the Holy See was indispensable. But the cardinal archbishop of Krakow also made it clear that, in the case of Poland, he felt that the honour of the papacy

was at stake, that the whole Catholic world was waiting for a clear defence of justice,“ What is extraordinary is that Sapieha never once in his entire published correspondence with Rome, which describes ‘concentration camps’ for Poles, makes the slightest allusion to the Jews, nor does the Vatican ever request any information on the subject from him. Yet Sapieha certainly knew what was happening in Auschwitz, which was approximately 30 kilometres from his Krakow residence and a part

of his diocese. Did this perhaps have something to do with his undoubted anti67 Chadwick, Britain and the Vatican, 218. 68 'Tardini, note to himself, 20 July 1942, AdSS, vol. v, doc. 414, 615.

69 See AdSS, vol. iii/2, doc. 309, 633, and doc. 437, 670; also R. A. Graham, Pius XII and the Holocaust (Milwaukee, 1988).

7 This is even admitted in the French introduction to 4dS'S, vol. iti/1, 38-9. 71 See Sapieha to Pius XII, 3 Nov. 1941, AdSS, vol. iii/1, 490.

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust 433 semitism, which he shared with the primate of Poland, Cardinal Hlond, who similarly made no public reference to the massacre of the Jews? Or were there other reasons for the silence of Polish Church leaders about Jewish suffering, which an examination of unpublished material in the Vatican archives might elucidate? A final point relating to Poland needs to be addressed with regard to the record of Pius XII in the face of the Holocaust. The Poles were major victims of the Nazis alongside and perhaps second only to the Jews—though the Russians would also have a strong claim to the position. Members of the Polish government in exile in London were often very vocal in their criticism of Pius XII’s role, so much so that

the Vatican commissioned the Jesuits to prepare a defence of his Polish policy.” This subject deserves further investigation in the Vatican archives. But how far is it possible to compare the situation of Poles and Jews from the standpoint of Vatican policy during the Second World War? This is not a question that Pierre Blet or the other editors of the Vatican documents seem to have addressed, though they give

Pius XII the benefit of the doubt wherever criticism from either the Poles or the Jews has been voiced. The comparison is admittedly complex, but a few suggestions may be made. First, the Vatican used similar arguments against both Polish and Jewish appeals for a public protest against their devastating persecution—above all, the claim that

such statements would only make matters worse while changing nothing. In the Polish case, the argument was superficially more plausible than for the Jews. The Poles were a relatively large nation of 30 million people who could not be completely

annihilated, though they were enslaved and suffered very severely indeed from Nazi rule, losing about 10 per cent of their total population. Thus, it was in theory possible to imagine a more intense persecution of Poles, though this was a decidedly weak argument for near silence over the deaths of over 2 million Polish Catholics. For the Jews, however, it was difficult to imagine what worse fate could possibly

befall them when go per cent of Poland’s 3.2 million Jews and two-thirds of European Jewry were annihilated by the Nazis. Moreover, by the end of 1942 the genocide was well advanced and the facts were known to the Vatican. When Pius XII’s defenders speak of his policy as seeking to avoid a worse fate for the Jews, it is indeed difficult to see what they mean. At best this might be valid for Jews in mixed marriages (with their baptized children) and converted Jews, whom,

as we know from the documents, Vatican diplomats did indeed seek to assist and even to rescue where possible. But the number of such Jews was relatively small and the results of these efforts were not very successful. Had there been a public papal warning, some Jews at least might have gone into hiding with a chance of escape, and almost certainly they would have received more Catholic assistance at a grassroots level. This option was less relevant for the Poles, since an occupied nation of 30 million could hardly go into hiding. See R. Lukas, Forgotten Holocaust: The Poles under German Occupation 1939-1944 (Lexington, Mass., 1986), 16, and J. Morley, Vatican Diplomacy and the Holocaust: 1939-1943 (New York, 1980), 209.

434 Robert S. Wistrich On the other hand, there is also the central issue of Catholic faith. The Poles were a major Catholic nation and had every claim on the Vatican’s defence of their

human, civil, religious, and national rights. This was periodically but rather

| sparingly acknowledged; certainly from the Polish perspective it appeared that their rights had been sacrificed 1n favour of fruitless Vatican diplomacy and unwill-

ingness to offend the Germans. The Jews, on the other hand, could only make a ‘humanitarian’ claim on the Vatican’s commitment to universal moral values irrespective of nationality, race, and religion. ‘This was an inherently weaker position, especially given a long tradition of Christian anti-Judaism which influenced the papacy in the era that preceded Vatican II. Despite these differences and their historic antagonism, both Poles and Jews had good reason to feel that the Vatican could and should have done more for them.

VOLUME II: LETTRES DE PIE XII AUX EVEQUES ALLEMANDS 1939-1944 The correspondence contained in volume 1 of the Vatican documents is unique for a number of reasons. In the first place, this is the only volume that is exclusively devoted to the letters of Pope Pius XII during the wartime years between 1939 and 1944. Furthermore, these are personal letters (‘lettere autografe’), though they deal with the government of the Church rather than with the private affairs of the Pope. Moreover, no less than 103 out of the 124 letters are written in German and (as

the editors indicate) they show that Pius XII had ‘un sens trés vif de la langue | allemande’,’* a mastery of the German tongue, revealed by the rigour ‘avec laquelle il controlait non seulement la suite des idées, mais presque chaque mot en particulier’. “4

The letters also underline the great importance that his correspondence with the leaders of the German Church hierarchy had for the Pope. They provide us with a privileged view of the situation of the Catholic Church in the Third Reich as seen from the vantage point of the Vatican during the Second World War. In addition,

they contain (according to the editors) ‘almost everything that preoccupied the Pope himself and the German bishops during these years’—which, if taken literally, would perhaps be more troubling than it may seem.”°

An important part of this correspondence is taken up with ecclesiastical and religious questions, which is also reflected in their language and style—indeed the | editors evidently felt that this was ‘the necessary key to their perfect comprehen73 ‘4 very lively sense of the German language’.

“4 “with which he controls not only the progression of ideas, but almost each particular word’. ‘Lettres de Pie XII aux évéques allemands 1939—1945’, AdS'S, vol. 11, 12-15.

® Tbid, 15. The letters of the German bishops to Pius XII are obviously indispensable for a full understanding of the correspondence, and it is regrettable that they were not published simultaneously.

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust A35 sion’.’© But the religious and political issues are often so entangled that it is difficult to see any clear separation. For example, the Pope frequently gave his correspondents advice and guidelines on how to respond to pressures from the Nazi regime, and made statements of general principle intended to boost their morale and that of their flock; he also kept them informed of his views about war and peace and his efforts to maintain ‘impartiality’ during the great international conflict. ‘These were undoubtedly political issues approached from what he saw as a ‘Christian’ perspec-

| tive. Similarly, efforts to safeguard the perennial values of the Christian ideal, even when they focused on matters of Catholic education, doctrine, liturgy, and internal organization, could have a political meaning in the circumstances of the time. The introduction does not presume to analyse the historical context “qui serait nécessaire pour une parfaite compréhension’”’ of these nuances, though some shifts over time are noted. Thus, from the accession of Pius XII until the outbreak of war the main preoccupation of the Vatican was for the Catholic Church to accommodate to a ‘lutte a outrance’’® waged by the German government against it. As the editors note, once Hitler had consolidated his own domestic and international position, persecution of the Catholic Church inside the Greater German Reich intensified. This affected religious instruction and led to the shutting down of Catholic schools,

action against Catholic youth movements, and intense anticlerical propaganda. This was even more severe in Austria than in Germany itself, where limited protection was still offered by the concordat of 1933.” Volume ii offers a valuable insight into how Pius XII, at the beginning of his pontificate, sought to counteract these difficulties for the Church inside the Third Reich by developing broad policy lines in consultation with four German cardinals who were present in Rome in early March 1939. The most important of these were Cardinal Adolf Bertram from Breslau and Cardinal Michael von Faulhaber from Munich. Bertram and Faulhaber, who had been close to Pius XII when he was still Cardinal Pacelli, Vatican secretary of state, and had made a major contribution to the 1937 encyclical Von brennender Sorge, played a key role in these meetings, having prepared detailed memorandums about the state of the Catholic Church in Germany. Also present were Cardinal Innitzer from Vienna and Cardinal Schulte from Cologne. In the appendix to volume ii can be found the aides-mémoires of Bertram and Faulhaber, the protocols of two meetings between Pius XII and the German bishops, two notes of the private secretariat of the Pope, and two minutes of the first letter which he sent to Hitler after his election to the papacy (one version in Latin and one in German). These documents provide an all too rare glimpse into the frame of mind and the policy-making process in the Vatican.®° At the first session with the bishops the Pope reported on his warm response, through the German ambassador to the Vatican, to Hitler’s congratulations on his

% Tbid. 61. ™ “that would be necessary for a perfect understanding’. Ibid. 16.

78 ‘all-out war’. 79 AdSS, vol. ii, 19. 80 Ibid. 387-436.

436 Robert S. Wistrich appointment, and raised the question of the form (whether Latin or German) and content of his reply, which took up some of the time. He evoked the memory of Leo XIII, who on acceding to the papacy in 1878 had succeeded in de-escalating the Kulturkampf with Bismarck. Presumably (and it does suggest the degree to which he misread the situation) this was the model of détente he wished to pursue with Hitler, though, like the bishops, he did foresee difficulties ahead.®+ For instance, at this first discussion on 6 March 1939 Cardinal Faulhaber expressed doubt that ‘the upper echelons of the party in general desire peace. They want to be combatants to such an extent that they would love nothing more than to be given a reason for fighting, especially when it concerns the Church.’® But, like the other bishops, Cardinal Faulhaber believed that they should all act ‘as 1f we see nothing’. The Pope appeared to concur, observing that he had forbidden further polemics against the Nazi regime in L’Osservatore Romano in order to give peace with Hitler a chance, though he insisted that he was not afraid of conflict.2> But he wanted the whole world to know that the papacy had done everything in its power ‘to live in peace with Germany’, though he recognized that the experiences of the past few years had not been encouraging.®* The Pope also made it clear to the German cardinals that he considered the ‘German question’ the ‘most important’, and that he reserved ‘its treatment to myself’.®° This was only one of many indications in the letters to the German bishops which reveal that Pius XII felt he had a ‘special relationship’ with Germany, with its people, its language, its culture, and above all its Catholics. At the second conference on 9 March 1939 Pius XII recalled that he had successfully dissuaded his predecessor, Pius XI, from withdrawing the papal nuncio from Berlin because ‘the world cannot understand how we can maintain diplomatic relations with a government that treats the Church in such a way’.®° The new Pope thought it more diplomatically astute to leave it to Hitler to break off relations. Besides, the nuncio in Berlin was the crucial link with the German bishops, a connection of enormous importance to Pius XII, as the war years would demonstrate.*’ There was much discussion of Church matters at this meeting, and the Pope’s letter

to Hitler, in which he expressed the desire to establish ‘harmonious relations between Church and State in a spirit of mutual entente and frank collaboration’, 81 ‘T ettres de Pie XII aux évéques allemands 1939-19457, AdS'S, vol. 11, 408-9.

82 Tbid. 413. ‘Sie fiihlen sich so als Kampfer, dass es ihnen lieber scheint, wenn sie Kampfgrtinde bekommen.’

afraid’). 84 Ibid. See also p. 416. 83 Ibid. ‘Wenn sie den Kampf wollen, fiirchten wir uns nicht’ (‘If they want a fight, we are not

85 Ibid. 419. ‘Die deutsche Frage ist mir die wichtigste. Ich werde mir ihre Behandlung vorbehal-

ten.’ As the papal nuncio in Germany between 1917 and 1929, Pacelli had been the architect of the concordats with Bavaria (1925) and Prussia (1929); then, as secretary of state, Pacelli had masterminded

the agreements with Baden (1932) and then with the Third Reich in 1933. 86 Tbid. 425. 87 Tbid. This was the argument used by Pius XII to keep Orsenigo as nuncio in Berlin, despite his unsuitability and the criticism of the other German bishops. The Pope feared that his recall would create a vacuum that it would not be expedient for Hitler to fill. He would thereby lose his main channel of communication with the German episcopate.

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust 437 was approved.®®> The Pope invited the German bishops, and through them the entire episcopate, to write to him directly as they had done in the past—something they would continue to do regularly. Indeed, between 1939 and 1944 they sent him the most detailed information, including important documents such as the pastoral letters and conference protocols of the German bishops, sermons, reports on anti-

religious measures, protests to the authorities, and material on the relations between the Church and the Nazi state.

No less significant is what is omitted from the recorded discussions. For example, there is a brief note (the last of nine points listed for discussion at the second meeting by the Pope’s private secretariat) that asks ‘whether a papal encyclical concerning people, race, nation, etc., the racial question, nationalism, and the Catholic Church would be desirable’.®? The editorial note rather unconvincingly states that

this point was not treated ‘apparemment par suite du manque du temps’.”° Not only was the issue not raised by the Pope or the cardinals, it would be ignored by Pius XII in his Summi Pontificatus (1939), despite his predecessor’s planned encyclical on the subject of racism, which was certainly known to the new Pope. This leads us to the astonishing fact that, with one exception (in April 1943—a point to which we shall later return), in well over a hundred letters to the German bishops Pius XII never once mentioned Nazi antisemitism by name. This was certainly not due to ignorance or lack of awareness of the subject. Throughout the 1930s, as cardinal secretary of state, Eugenio Pacelli had been

very well informed about Nazi legislation against the Jews and the international

protests against it.2' Together with Cardinal Faulhaber he had helped to put together the 1937 encyclical that had condemned the idolatry of race, Nazi neopaganism, and totalitarian state worship, though avoiding any direct mention of the anti-Jewish persecutions or the direct responsibility of the German government. In 1938, after the Kristallnacht pogrom, only one prominent German bishop, Bernhard Lichtenberg, had the courage to condemn the outrages publicly.?? Pacelli was given a detailed report by the papal nuncio in Berlin, but there appears to have been no official reaction by the Vatican. Nor would there be any direct response by the German Catholic hierarchy or the Vatican to Hitler’s fiery speech of 30 January 1939 threatening the ‘extermination of European Jewry’ in the event of a Second 88 For the German version, see ibid. 435-6. Here, as in so many places in the correspondence, Pius XII recalls with fondness and joy the long years he spent in Germany. Reading his letters it is clear that this is genuine and much more than a merely expedient turn of phrase or conventional politesse.

89 Tbid. 407, 422. 90 ‘apparently through lack of time’.

1 Orsenigo to Pacelli on the November pogrom, 15 Nov. 1938, AdS'S, vol. vi, 536-7; report on the antisemitic legislation in the German Reich, 19 Nov. 1938, 538; and the rather cool reply of Pacelli to

, the archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Hinsley, who had urgently requested that something be said in public by Pope Pius XI in favour of those persecuted for racial and religious reasons, i.e. the Jews, 3 Dec. 1938, 539. To me it seems that the pattern of reserve regarding the Jews was set well before Pacelli became Pope, though this would require closer investigation. %2 Orsenigo to Cardinal Pacelli, Berlin, 19 Nov. 1938, AdSS, vol. vi, app. 5, 538.

438 Robert S. Wistrich World War. It would be interesting to learn from the archives whether there were internal deliberations among top Vatican officials, including Pacelli, about their possible reaction to such threats and actions against German Jewry.

What Rome was primarily concerned about (and this was reflected by its secretary of state) was defence of the rights and faith of the Catholic Church. In comparison, the fate of the Jews qua Jews seemed entirely secondary. Pacelli’s political line, which continued throughout the war years (as the Vatican documents clearly demonstrate), was to avoid any confrontation regarding the ‘Jewish question’, political adversaries, or anti-social elements repressed by the Nazi regime. In comparison with the fear of losing support among German Catholics, unnecessarily offending the authorities of the Third Reich, or the chance of playing a mediating role in the war—let alone preserving the institutional interests of the Church, its morale, and doctrinal purity—the persecution of the Jews was considered of minimal importance. Thus we find no comments in Pius XII’s letters about the antiJewish persecutions in Poland after September 1939, which were certainly known to the German bishops and to the Vatican.?? Indeed, there are no references by the Pope to any measures against the Jews except in one letter to Konrad von Preysing, the bishop of Berlin, a courageous churchman whose advice and counsel the Pope greatly valued. Pius XII had refused to allow Preysing to resign after Cardinal Bertram sent birthday congratulations to Adolf Hitler on 20 April 1940, celebrating German military successes and praising the leadership of the state.?* While not taking sides in this internal crisis in the German Church, it is surely significant that Pius XII wrote more frequently to Preysing than to any other leading German bishop. Apart from Archbishop Galen, Preysing was the only leading figure in the German Catholic Church to keep his distance from the National Socialist state. On several occasions Preysing had appealed 1n vain to the Pope to protest specific

Nazi actions, including those directed at the Jews—something in itself quite exceptional for a senior German Catholic churchman. Thus, on 17 January 1941 he wrote to Pius XII noting that ‘Your Holiness is certainly informed about the situation of the Jews in Germany and the neighbouring countries. I wish to mention that

I have been asked from both the Catholic and the Protestant sides if the Holy See could not do something on this subject, publish an appeal in favour of these unfortunates.’”° This was a direct appeal to the Pope, which did not even go through the nuncio, as diplomatic protocol normally required.

There is, surprisingly enough, no reference to the matter in the long introduction by the editors to volume 11, despite its importance. We do not know (and 93 It would be important to know how extensively the German bishops dealt with the ‘Jewish question’ in their letters to Pius XII and to have full access to these communications. 94 Pius XII to Preysing, 12 June 1940, AdSS, vol. ii, doc. 46, 143. % Preysing to Pius XII, 17 Jan. 1941, AdSS, vol. ix, doc. 82, 170. ‘Eure Heiligkeit sind wohl tiber die

Lage der Juden in Deutschland und den angrenzenden Landern orientiert. Lediglich referierend mochte anfuhren, dass von katholischer wie von protestantischer Seite an mich die Frage gestellt worden ist, ob nicht der Heilige Stuhl in dieser Sache etwas tun k6nnte, einen Appell zugunsten der

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust 439 only the archives could tell us) what impression Preysing’s words in January 1941 made on Pius XII, what discussions, if any, took place about making such a public

appeal as the German bishop requested, and whether any further information about Nazi anti-Jewish policy was sought. Again, on 6 March 1943 the bishop of Berlin asked Pius XII to try and save the Jews still in the capital, who were facing imminent deportation, which, as he indicated, would lead to certain death. The text of this important letter is to be found in volume ix, though a footnote in volume 11 quotes a passage in German which I have translated as follows: Even more bitterly, the new wave of deportations of the Jews which had just begun in the days before 1 March particularly affects us here in Berlin. Several thousands are involved. Your Holiness has alluded to their probable fate in your Christmas radio broadcast. ‘There are also many Catholics among the deportees. Is it not possible for Your Holiness to try once again to intervene on behalf of the many unfortunate innocents [die vielen UnglucklichenUnschuldigen]? It is the last hope for many and the profound wish of all right-thinking people [aller Gutdenkenden].°°

There was, of course, no doubt, as Pius XII well knew, about the reliability of Preysing’s information. Apart from his direct observation of the Nazi deportations of Jews from Berlin and what his constituents reported to him, we know that he had been kept informed about the persecution—and probably even knew of the gas chambers—through his frequent contact with Helmut James Graf von Moltke, the driving force of the anti-Nazi Kreisau Circle. The Pope almost certainly received

other important information from Preysing about the Holocaust, though only research into the Vatican archives might tell us when and how much, beyond what

has already been published. What is undeniable is that Pius XII felt obliged to respond to the information given to him on 6 March 1943, though he waited nearly two months to do so. Out of the 124 letters addressed by Pius XII to German bishops between 1939 and March 1944, only three references to the word ‘Jew’ are listed in the index. All the relevant mentions come in a single letter of 30 April 1943 from the Pope to Preysing. Yet the Pope had already been writing for four years to well-informed,

leading Catholic bishops living in the heartland of the German Reich, who had themselves witnessed the gradual disfranchisement, ghettoization, and dehumanization of the Jews between 1933 and 1943 as the prelude to their mass murder. The Holy Father’s letter is a long and important one, which touches on many themes.

These include his expressions of pain at the fierce aerial bombardments (from Ungliicklichen erlassen?’ It is interesting that the request has a more general Christian character (not self-evident at the time, given the strength of the Catholic—Protestant divide). It tends to suggest that the German bishops (or at least some of them) were keeping the Pope well informed about the position of the Jews or else that they knew that he was in the picture about the Jewish condition in the German Reich. 96 Preysing to Pius XII, 6 Mar. 1943, AdSS, vol. ix, doc. 82, 170. See also vol. ii, 323 n. 9.

440 Robert S. Wistrich which German cities, in particular, were suffering) and a report on his efforts to ‘humanize the war’—a recurrent motif in his correspondence. Much space 1s given to the Vatican’s information service for prisoners of war, especially relating to German soldiers captured or missing in Russia. Pius XII thanks Preysing for his | sermons in defence of the right to love, life, and property, which cannot be restricted to people of one’s own language, blood, or race.?’ The Pope clearly identified with these words and with the defence of the biblical truth that man (in the universal, generic sense) is created in the image of God. He affirms every courageous word by his bishops to uphold the rights of religion, of the Church, and the human personality in the name of natural law and humanity. ‘This would not harm the German fatherland at all, but, on the contrary, it would in the long run (and here Pius XII proved to be far-sighted) gain it respect in the eyes of world opinion.”® He also expresses his solicitude (another recurring theme of the letters) concerning the preservation of German Catholic youth from the pernicious (anti-Christian) influences of the age. How could Catholic young people maintain

an unadulterated religious ideal under the impact of a closed atheistic system of education and the pressure of Nazi organizations hostile to Christianity? With good reason, the Pope feared a totalitarian future where the barbarism of warfare, the prevailing cult of violence, and the demise of moral values and the image of man would infect Christian values. In his letter the Pope also made passing references to anti-Polish measures in the Warthegau and to the fate of priests, who were overwhelmingly Polish, in the concentration camps. But there was no plan to intervene, nor any direct response to Preysing’s earlier appeal to speak out about the Jews. Instead, the Pope expressed his satisfaction that it was Catholics—and specifically Berlin Catholics—who were showing such love towards ‘the so-called non-Aryans [Nichtariern|’ in their distress. He particularly singled out for ‘fatherly recognition’ and special sympathy the prelate Father Lichtenberg, who had been imprisoned by the Nazis and who would die shortly afterwards.?? This acknowledgement, while certainly significant, was rather belated. There is no evidence that I am aware of (though it would be interesting to check this in the archives) of the Pope manifesting any indignation when Father Lichtenberg was originally interned for concerning himself too closely with the fate of the Jews. Moreover, when the Pope charged the editors of L’Osservatore Romano with notifying readers of his death, they might well have thought that he had died peacefully in his bed. There was no indication of the fact of his martyrdom at Nazi hands or its reasons. %” Pius XII to Preysing, 30 Apr. 1943, AdSS, vol. 11, doc. 105, 318, 327. In one sermon Preysing said,

‘Diese Liebe darf niemanden ausschliessen; schon gar nicht deshalb, weil er vielleicht eine andere

Sprache spricht oder fremden Blutes 1st’ (p. 322 n. 7). % Tbid. 322. 99 Ibid. 323. ‘Es hat Uns . . . getroéstet zu héren, dass die Katholiken, gerade auch die Berliner Katholiken, den sogenannten Nichtariern in ihrer Bedrangnis viel Liebe entgegengebracht haben, und

Wir sagen in diesem Zusammenhang ein besonderes Wort vaterlicher Anerkennung wie innigen Mitgefiihls dem in Gefangenschaft befindlichen Pralaten Lichtenberg.’

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust A4I Pius XII also refers, towards the end of his letter, to the ‘charitable action’ of the Holy See on behalf of ‘Catholic non-Aryans’ (‘die katholischen Nichtarier’) and those ‘of Jewish confession’ (“Glaubensjuden’). He emphasizes (without mentioning that the money had come from American Jewish sources) that the Vatican had spent ‘very considerable sums in American dollars for the transportation of emigrants overseas’, which it had done as a humanitarian gesture to people in need. It did not do so in the expectation of any heavenly or earthly rewards, though, Pius XII noted, it had received ‘the warmest recognition for its relief work’ from Jewish organizations.!°° Whatever the Holy See had achieved, it had done (so he emphasized) within the limits of its material and moral resources, and in the face of many diplomatic difficulties. This is undoubtedly a most important statement of how Pius XII saw the situation at the end of April 1943—a time when the Germans were militarily already on the defensive, though intensifying their war against the Jews. The Warsaw ghetto uprising was at its height (though there is no mention of it in the volumes of Vatican documents I have seen, unlike the Polish uprising a year later), Jewish organizations were appealing more vocally to the Vatican, and the contours of what we now call the Holocaust had become more starkly evident by the day. The Pope’s reply to Preysing did not, of course, give a specific commitment to make any public appeal for the Jews. But on 2 June 1943, just over a month later, in a speech to the Sacred College of Cardinals the Pope did allude to those ‘destined sometimes, even without guilt on their part, to exterminatory measures’. This was the second and last occasion on which Pius XII would make any reference to the Holocaust during the war years. Its proximity in time to the reply he drafted to Preysing suggests that there may have been a connection, though once again only a closer investigation of the Vatican archives could reveal whether this was the case. There is one other issue of importance that Pius XII deals with in his letter of

30 April 1943. It is the question of when to be silent and when to speak out, irrespective of the danger of reprisals. The Pope now tells Konrad von Preysing that he confers on his pastors who work at the local level ‘the duty of determining if and to what degree the danger of reprisals and diverse forms of oppression . . . seem to advise caution to avoid the greater evil [ad matora mala vitanda|, despite apparent

reasons urging the contrary’. His own experience in 1942 (which he does not elaborate, though the editors refer, without any detail, to his letters to the Polish bishops) had led him to adopt a position of reserve.'°! But locally the issue might seem different from how it appeared in Rome. The Pope felt that he had to exercise great prudence, but he always seemed to approve (often retrospectively) statements 100 Tbid. 326. ‘Fiir die Katholischen Nichtarier wie auch fiir die Glaubensjuden hat der Heilige Stuhl caritativ getan, was nur in seinen wirtschaftlichen und moralischen Kraften stand’ (“To the extent that it was able, both economically and morally, the Holy See has in fact given charitable aid to nonAryan Catholics and to members of the Jewish religion’). 101 Pius XII to Preysing, 30 Apr. 1943, AdSS, vol. ii, doc. 105, 324.

442 Robert S. Wistrich that were a defiant assertion of Christian ideals and the rights of the Church against repressive and criminal oppression.

Often enough he spoke in general terms of the need to strengthen the moral resistance of the faithful and their belief in the rectitude of the Church leadership.'°? At times he even expressly included the rights of the defenceless and those

outside the Church who were being brutally treated in the occupied territories. However, such condemnations were always couched in the more abstract, edifying,

and general terms that corresponded to the Pope’s vision of how a Christian civilization ought to behave. He was careful not to assign blame or be too specific. Pius XII could, of course, have few illusions about his ability to change Hitler’s policy, and, as he had said often enough, he did not wish ‘to impose useless sacrifices on German Catholics, who are already so oppressed for the sake of their faith’.'°° At the same time he clearly saw that it was vital to resist the contagion of hatred, violence, and nationalist excess that was affecting Catholics just as it had contaminated millions of other Germans. Pius XII’s satisfaction at the courageous sermons against euthanasia of Clemens August Graf von Galen, bishop of Miinster, in Westphalia, are an example of how in practice he saw the difference between the demands of his position in Rome and that of a powerful local personality. Galen had been blunt: on 13 July 1941 he had ascended to the pulpit and denounced the so-called ‘mercy killing’ of the mentally ill as murder and a clear violation of the fifth commandment; he had called the expulsion of innocent religious Catholics a crime against justice; he had deplored the arrest without trial and suffering of many innocent Germans. Galen’s sermons had considerable popular resonance and Hitler decided not to make a martyr of him. When this was brought to Pius XII’s attention, he wrote to Preysing (though for some reason not directly to Galen) that ‘they [the sermons] brought about in us also a consolation and a satisfaction which we have not experienced for a long time as we walk down a sorrowful path with the Catholics of Germany’.'°+ Pius XII felt that what Galen might risk in Munster or Cardinal von Faulhaber

in Munich was not possible for him without his appearing to be an enemy of Germany and exposing German Catholics to conflicts of loyalty that might lead to their ‘useless suffering’ and possibly even to their defection en masse. This seems a rather strange argument since he was also encouraging his bishops when they made bold moral statements that could always be distorted by hostile Nazi propaganda to appear ‘anti-patriotic’. One wonders if Pius XII’s arguments for his own extreme prudence and discretion were really grounded in objective political reality or more like rationalizations of his own personal predilections and preferences? Were there

perhaps circumstances of which we are not aware? Did he have serious private 102 Pius XII to Faulhaber, 2 Feb. 1942, AdS'S, vol. ii, doc. 78, 235-41. 103 Pius XII to Preysing, 22 Apr. 1940, AdSS, vol. ii, doc. 45, 138-42. 104 Pius XII to Preysing, 30 Sept. 1941, AdSS, vol. ii, doc. 76.

The Vatican Documents and the Holocaust 443 doubts about the wisdom or correctness of his policy, whether it related to Jews, Poles, or any group of victims of Nazi policy around whom he felt obliged to erect a cautious and guarded veil of semi-silence? The documents in volume 1i unfortunately cannot answer this question, though they do give us a valuable insight into

his thinking during the wartime period, especially about the German Church, to which he felt so close. But the personal papers of Pius XII and any records of his discussions with leading advisers, diplomats, or important foreign visitors would surely contribute to illuminating this controversial and critical question.

BLANK PAGE

Yaffa Eliach’s Eishyshok: ‘Two Views YAFFA ELIACH’S There Once Was a World: A goo- Year Chronicle of the Shtetl of Eishyshok (Boston, 1998) has received considerable praise for its attempt to recon-

struct the lost world of her native town. At the same time its picture of relations between Jews and non-Jews, and in particular of the behaviour of the principal Polish resistance movement, the Armia Krajowa (Home Army, AK), towards the Jews of the area during and after the Second World War, has been widely criticized. We present here two views of this complex and difficult issue.

I

‘THE NEW JEW HITLER HAS FASHIONED INTO BEING’ SARUNAS LIEKIS WHEN in 1997 I was asked by the television producer Jeff Bieber to conduct research for his documentary There Once Was a Town (WETA, 1999) based on Yaffa Ehach’s book There Once Was a World, I expected that I would find myself working on a Holocaust-related tragedy which drew on the memories of the author. I expected to investigate a story that had been vividly recounted by Professor Eliach many times in public lectures and interviews. I felt a keen sense of anticipation at being involved in an investigation into ‘what really happened’, and I was determined not to accept anything at face value. My determination to search for clear documentation was consistently supported by Jeff Bieber, who was also committed to a meticulously detailed reconstruction of the events that formed the subject of the documentary. The bitter conflicts between Polish and Jewish researchers over the responsibility of the AK for anti-Jewish actions made me even more conscious of the importance of the task I was undertaking. I was an outsider to the dispute and feared that I might be crushed between the millstones of the conflicting parties. Inevitably the documentary was able to make use of only a small fraction of the materials that were discovered in the course of my

446 Sarunas Liekis research. Asa beneficial side-effect of that research, the most controversial parts of the book, which dealt with the AK, have been toned down and better documented in its later editions. In spite of these changes, the book remains highly controversial, with its emphasis

on the eternally hostile nature of relations between Jews and non-Jews in the Polish—Lithuanian borderlands. It uses the tragic history of the Jews in Eishyshok to validate a black and white picture of those relations. After all, as Professor Eliach demonstrates, only sixty-two Jews of the several thousand who lived in the town survived the Second World War and its aftermath. Yet during my research I was strengthened in my prior conviction that this history cannot be portrayed in such a black and white manner. As one would expect, it has many shades and many overtones. The book is impressive 1n the vast bulk of material—written, visual, and oral— on which it is based. The author, in a masterly and elegant manner, weaves together halakhot, history, customs, legends, memoirs, and popular stories with her own personal experiences. This makes the book a valuable source of information for any student of Jewish history, anthropology, or sociology. It concentrates exclusively on Eishyshok and should be seen as a modern-day version of the pinkas (minute book), which was very often the only source for the history of a Jewish shiet/. As is customary in such pinkasim, the story recounted 1s, for most part, that of the toyre traye (people loyal to the Torah). They certainly made up the largest part of the Jewish population in this part of the former Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth.

They were largely unaffected by acculturation and had few organic links with the surrounding world of the peasantry. The author does not try to provide an overall view of the history of Lithuanian Jewry. Her account 1s a reflection of the locally rooted, communal outlook and aspirations of people who embraced modern identities only after they left the world of the shtet/. ‘The local nationalist conflicts between Poles and Lithuanians and between Poles and Russians are of no interest to Professor Eliach. Her book exemplifies a hermetic view of the Jewish past seen through the eyes of traditional Jews confident that their world would last until the coming of the Messiah. This ‘dwelling alone’! has obvious implications for the cultural orientation and ideals of the community described by Professor Eliach. ‘The bulk of Eishyshok Jews, in her view, lived in a world surrounded by an impenetrable wall of commandments, ‘a blessed world’ where Jews and fremd (‘alien’) non-Jews encountered each other only on market days. This ‘blessed world’ was protected from outside ideas, since everything beyond the walls of the community was perceived as threatening and likely to disrupt traditional ways of life.

If one accepts the logic of the book, this point of view has been justified by events. The Eishyshok Jewish universe was destroyed in the Holocaust by the 1 E. Mendelsohn, On Modern Jewish Politics (New York, 1993), 23.

Yaffa Eliach’s Eishyshok A47 non-Jews who surrounded it: Germans, Lithuanians, and Poles. The Jews of Eishyshok knew little of the outside world, which they saw as almost incomprehensible, a stance which Professor Eliach seems to share. The main factual errors in the book occur in the portrayal of this non-Jewish world, of general historical events,

their chronology, and their relation to the story of Eishyshok. To analyse these errors in detail would require many pages, and would be to miss the point: the book is not so much an actual history of life in Eishyshok as a literary reconstruction with its own logic built on the experiences and memory of the author and her commitment to an idealized past. Professor Eliach pays little attention to the main destroyers of the community: the German and Lithuanian firing squads. She focuses rather on those Eishyshok Jews who survived, either by going into hiding or by joining the Soviet partisans. The main persecutor of these survivors was the AK, which fought to secure the area for a non-communist Poland loyal to the Polish government in exile in London. In Professor Eliach’s story the survivors were attacked and killed simply for being Jews. She movingly depicts the suffering of those who had survived persecution by hiding and were then faced by a new peril. To a Polish audience, Professor Eliach’s accusations of antisemitism levelled at the AK came as a bitter shock. The debate over Polish involvement in the killing of the surviving Eishyshok Jews has been highly acrimonious. Professor Eliach has been accused of lying, and on the Polish side a series of apologetic arguments have been advanced. The principal point of dispute has been Professor Eliach’s claim that in October 1944 the AK deliberately attacked the Jews of Eishyshok and killed her mother and baby brother in cold blood. The Polish side has drawn heavily in its arguments on Jarostaw Wotkonowski of Vilnius, and has argued that Professor Eliach’s mother was killed accidentally in crossfire when an AK detachment attacked _ Soviet soldiers and tried to free captured AK fighters in Eishyshok. On both sides the wider context was examined only in very broad terms. This context is crucial to the understanding of the tragic events that occurred in Eishyshok. From 1942 the town was within the sphere of the Nowogrodek command of the AK. Until June 1944 this command fell in the AK region of Biatystok;

it was then made into a separate district. From 1944 all units of the Vilna and Nowogrodek commands of the AK were placed under the control of the Territorial Operations Headquarters. The Nowogrédek district was divided into eight subdistricts (obwody), which could each furnish sufficient men for a battalion. Eishyshok belonged to the sub-district of Lida, code-named Bor. A special secret company from Eishyshok belonged to the undercover battalion Irena, which provided the

human resources and supplies for a second-line battalion of the 77th Infantry Regiment under the command of Jan (‘Krys’) Borysewicz, an experienced soldier who had fought in the AK from 1943. The AK archival materials which were recently found in a Vilnius convent partly cover the area around Eishyshok. This material does demonstrate the paternalistic

448 Sarunas Liekis concern for the national minorities of the Vilna area, where Poles were in the majority. This emerges clearly in order number 5 of Aleksander (‘Wilk’) Krzyzanowski, a commander of Territorial Operations Headquarters, which was typical of such orders. It asserted: “The local people regardless of differences in nationality or faith must be treated equally and justly. No abuse of power 1s to be allowed. Their lives and possessions are to be protected by the Polish Army.”” On the other hand, one can also document a growing unease about the activities of the minorities, often expressed in hate-filled language. It would go too far to assert that such attitudes were present in all AK units, but they appear widely in the documents. The minorities are described in stereotypical ideological fashion. The documents reflect the growing tensions between Poles and Lithuanians, Poles and Belarusians, and also, more gradually, Poles and Jews. In the eyes of the local AK command, all Lithuanians were nationalists, all Germans were fascists, and all Russians and Jews were communists. In short, the guerrilla conflict around Nowogrodek and Vilna was perceived by the AK as a ‘war of nationalities’. It is not surprising that in this situation the Jews were subjected to this sort of stereotyping. In the information and propaganda material of the Vilna and Nowogrodek AK the Jews were equated with the Soviets and vice versa. In other words, in the eyes of the AK, all Jews were communists, Bolsheviks, and, of necessity, ‘Soviet bandits’. They were described as ardent supporters of the Soviet cause and potential supporters of Soviet partisans. They were also attacked as members of Soviet partisan groups living at the expense of the Polish population and committing bloody attacks on the latter. In one way, these perceptions reflected a continuation of the radical deterioration in Polish—Jewish relations and the divergence of

interest of mainstream Polish and Jewish political groupings which was a consequence of the Soviet occupation of the Polish borderlands 1n 1939. Following the

Soviet occupation, the previously pursued Polish chauvinistic practices and the failure to integrate the minorities into mainstream politics in the inter-war years, which were especially evident in the eastern borderlands, now brought their nemesis to the previously dominant Poles. The events of 1939-40 reinforced the view of most Poles in the area that, as in 1920, communism was supported exclusively by minorities: Belarusians, Russians, Ukrainians, and Jews. The AK reports are filled with information on the confrontation between the AK and Jewish partisans (who were part of the Soviet partisan units). The civilian Jewish survivors from the Holocaust suffered enormously from this antagonism. Yet it should be stressed that violence against non-combatants and indiscriminate killings of whole families or villages were committed by both sides. Certainly there was open confrontation between Jewish (and Soviet) partisans and Polish peasants. This was probably inevitable. Jewish partisans did not have significant support in 2 Order no. 5, Lithuanian Central State Archive, Vilna (LCSA), F. 601, inventory 1, file 4, 4. 3 The AK Vilna report on the nationality situation 1944, LCSA, F. 601, inventory 1, file 46, 9.

Yaffa Ehach’s Eishyshok 449 the countryside. The ghettos had been destroyed, while food, clothing, and other supplies were needed. This brought such groups into conflict with the AK. Who started the vicious circle of killings and revenge between Jewish partisans and the AK 1s difficult to establish. Both sides, no doubt, can provide their own arguments to prove the guilt of the opposite camp.

It is, however, worth mentioning that the most drastic cases of confrontation between Soviet Jewish guerrillas and the peasant population on the present-day territory of Lithuania took place between Soviet partisans and Lithuanians. There were many bloody episodes—small local wars that are not related directly to the issues at the heart of this chapter. Lithuanian villages in the Polish—Belarusian ethnic area were as a rule allowed by the Germans to establish defence units to protect

themselves against Soviet partisans. These villages formed the focal point of the confrontation. ‘The well-known case of Koniuchy (Kaniukai), referred to in John Radzitowski’s article, is the best example. Here the protracted confrontation between partisans and the defence unit in the village culminated in a partisan attack and the deaths of thirty-five peasants and members of their families (the much higher figures he gives for the casualties there are incorrect).* Returning to the conflict between the AK and Soviet partisans, this was seen by the former as an opportunity to present itself in the popular role of defender against what its propaganda described as ‘oppression by Soviet Jewish bandits’. This had both practical and ideological advantages. It is clear that, in the main, Jewish partisans were not the primary preoccupation of the AK units. As one AK report stated, In our territory there exist five types of armed forces: German, Lithuanian, Belarusian, Soviet, and Jewish-Bolshevik, with which our units have encounters. Some of our units are fighting Soviet and Jewish-Bolshevik bands and aim to avoid fighting with Germans, Lithuanians, and Belarusians. Others avoid fighting with the Soviets and Germans, while staging attacks against Lithuanians and Belarusians, while the rest fight only [Jewish-Bolshevik] bands. Finally, there are AK units that fight against everybody. Because of this, chaos and unpredictability prevail in the military activity of our soldiers and people.®

This report reflects a grim picture of stereotyping and a perception of the world where ideological groupings are equated with the ethnic and religious divide. The extent of the conflict at a local level depended to a considerable degree on the configuration of forces in a specific area. The environs of Eishyshok saw fierce fighting between Soviet and AK forces. Many Soviet partisan units in which there were a considerable number of Jews were to be found in the area. This region was _ covered by forests and was only loosely controlled by the Germans and the Lithuanian collaborationist police forces. The conflict between Soviet and AK partisans * Diverse materials relating to the affair are at the LCSA and the Lithuanian Archive of Public Organizations, Vilna (LAPO) in several collections. However, Radzitowski’s argument is based exclusively on AK reports from the area. The originals of these documents are also deposited in the LCSA. ° Situation statement no. 9 for Apr. 1944, LCSA, F. 601, inventory 1, file 52, 164.

450 Sarunas Liekis continued practically unchecked in 1943 and the first half of 1944. Growing casual-

ties and increasing hatred between the two camps made any compromise impossible.®

The Soviet advances in the summer of 1944 led to the liberation of the Vilna area. The AK, in operation Ostra Brama, attempted to take over Vilna before the advancing Soviet army entered the city. ‘This was in accordance with the new policy adopted by the AK High Command in early 1944 which was given the code name Operation Storm (Burza). In accordance with the orders now issued by the AK commander, General Tadeusz B6r-Komorowski, the AK was to initiate large antiGerman operations as the German forces began to retreat, offering its assistance to the Red Army. In this way the strength of the underground would be revealed, and the Soviets persuaded they had no alternative but to cooperate in order to keep their rear secure. As Bor-Komorowski put it, ‘By giving the Soviets minimum military help we are creating political difficulties for them.”’ This policy was a desperate gamble, the consequence of the weakening diplomatic situation of the Polish government in London. It led everywhere to the same result: though the Soviets might be prepared for short-term tactical cooperation with the AK, once they had secured their objectives they proceeded to disarm its

fighters. In particular, they were not prepared to tolerate any challenge to the Polish—Soviet frontier decided at the Tehran conference in December 1943. Vilna was no exception, and the attempt to take the town ended disastrously for the AK. Its units suffered heavy casualties from the Germans, and later the majority of its fighters were taken captive by the Soviets. The AK units around Eishyshok man-

aged to escape because they did not participate in operation Ostra Brama. The surviving AK officers decided to establish a new command structure in the Nowo-

erodek unit of the AK in August 1944. It was decided to split the Nowogrodek command into a northern district under the command of Jan Borysewicz, with Eishyshok also under his control, and a southern district under the command of Captain Stanislaw Szabun. When the bulk of the officers of the AK Nowogrédek units were killed in action by NK VD troops on 21 August 1944 and during the autumn, Jan Borysewicz became the principal commander in the Nowogrodek region. He saw his task as the continuation of the fight against the now established Soviet regime in the area. At about the same time former Soviet partisans, including survivors from the Eishyshok Jewish community, were placed in prominent positions in the local Soviet security and administration. The AK fighters in the forests around Eishyshok were now being hunted down by the infamous NK VD units. 6 Not only the documents but even casual interviews during the filming of the documentary revealed the enormous loss of life which occurred. Nearly every elderly Polish person had relatives killed by the Soviet partisans. The same applies to the Jewish survivors of Eishyshok who related their stories in Professor Eliach’s book. ” Quoted in J. Ciechanowski, “The Years of Tempest, May 1943 — December 1944’, in R. F. Leslie (ed.), The History of Poland since 1863 (Cambridge, 1980), 255.

Yaffa Ehach’s Eishyshok ASI This is the background to the attack on Eishyshok on the night of 19-20 October 1944. It was ordered by Jan Borysewicz, but the forces involved were under the direct command of Michat (‘Gay’) Babut. In that attack Yaffa Eliach’s mother, Zipporah, and 4-month-old brother Hayim were killed. What were the true intentions of the attackers? The transcripts of the NK VD interrogations on this event have survived, and some of the findings which came to light in the search for material for the film were used by Professor Eliach. However, she continues to maintain her version of these events in her book, where she asserts that the ‘AK came to kill the Jews [of Eishyshok] not the Russians, as claimed by many Poles’.® However, the documents are much less categorical. Forty-seven members of Michat Babul’s battalion stood trial on 2-5 April 1945. Six were condemned to

death and others were sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. They were charged with various ‘anti-Soviet’ activities. Jozef (‘Grom’) Chiniewicz, whose platoon was responsible, among other things, for seizing supplies on the night of 19—20 October, was accused of participation in the attack organized with others on the Eishyshok County Soviet. . . . of robbery of the tannery and of the grain storage at the Soviet farm ‘Gornostaishki’. He participated in the killings of servicemen and some civilians. Chiniewicz was committed himself and had prepared his subordinates to fight against Soviets and was distributing

: counter-revolutionary literature.? , The documents do not confirm Professor Eliach’s assertion that the attack was planned to kill the Jews. The general purpose of the attack, according to the records of the interrogation, was described by ‘Grom’ to his men, the fighters under the direct command of Michat Babul, as follows: ‘Before the attack “Grom” had said that it had as its goal the robbing of the tannery, mill, and the Jews, in order to supply the men of the unit with boots, food, and clothing.’!° It is only in the confession of Michat Iwaszko that we find the words ‘We had an order from “Grom” during the attack to rob the mill and the tannery and to kill the Jews.’"” However, the fact is that the only civilians killed that night were Eliach’s mother and brother. Asked about civilians, Iwaszko stated: ‘During our attack on Eishyshok nobody from our group (under command of “Grom”’) killed anybody. However, together with our placowka, the Eishyshok placowka participated in the action. One of its men, Stanistaw Buthak, killed one Jewish woman with a child. I don’t know her name.’!” 8 Eliach, There Once Was a World, 673.

2 Obvinitel’noe Zakliuchenie po Sledstvennomu Delu N85, Lithuanian Special Archive, P-18850-Li, vol. 1, 46.

10 Protokol Doprosa Antona Mezhuk, 15 Jan. 1945, Lithuanian Special Archive, Vilna, P-18850-

2,241. 12 Thid. 242.

Li, vol. 2, 258”.

‘1 Protokol Doprosa Mikhaila Ivashko, 15 Jan. 1945, Lithuanian Special Archive, P-18850-Li, vol.

452 Sarunas Liekts In other words, according to Iwaszko, his unit did not kill any Jewish civilians and the murder was committed by a neighbour of the Sonensons, suggesting that revenge may have been the motive. It should be mentioned that the Sonenson house was the only place in Eishyshok where a clash between the AK and resisting Soviet officials took place. The other two places where Soviet soldiers were billeted fell into AK hands without resistance: one Soviet soldier was shot while drunk in bed and another was killed while fleeing. Moshe Sonenson had a militiaman, Alter

Michatowski, and a captain of Smersh (Soviet military counter-intelligence) stationed at his house. An exchange of fire took place during the clash between them

and the attacking AK men. As a result, the Soviet captain was caught and later executed. It was in this action that Zipporah Sonenson and her 4-month-old child were killed.

How accurate, therefore, are Professor Eliach’s accusations against the AK? Were the deaths accidental or deliberate? There is no definite answer to these questions. There is a lack of evidence, mainly because documents relating to the Smersh captain and his stay at the Sonensons’ house were removed from the files by

the departing KGB men in 1991 (most probably because they had operational importance). By a fateful set of historic circumstances, Jews and Poles in Eishyshok found themselves on opposing sides of the barricades. Professor Eliach’s family and their friends in those days were clearly on the side of the NK VD and even directly served them. This meant that they were part of the Soviet repressive structure which has since been widely attacked for committing atrocities. often described as comparable to those of the Nazis and their collaborators.

It is clear that there was a history of confrontation and revenge between the soldiers of the AK and the Jews of Eishyshok, and deep resentment persisted from the period of guerrilla warfare during the war. The personal stories in Professor Eliach’s book and the documents from the trial of the Eishyshok AK forces demonstrate this clearly. The AK clearly felt deep hostility towards Jewish former partisans and their family members, and was undoubtedly willing to murder them.

Nevertheless, the debate over Professor Eliach’s accusations could only have occurred in a period remote from the events when very general moralistic observations dominated the discussion on perpetrators, victims, and witnesses. We now live in a period when all groups see themselves as victims who have suffered heroically under past regimes, whether Nazi or Soviet. Immediately after the war the intentions of both the AK and the NK VD were clear to all. Each aimed at the annihilation of the other. The NKVD felt that any means justified its end, the establishment of a communist regime, and engaged in brutal violence, the killing of innocent victims, and the burning of Polish houses, methods which turned every dissident into an enemy. The AK did not go that far,

but it refused to compromise with its opponents. This created a struggle to the death, with little compassion for the enemy or even for innocent civilians. This

Yaffa Eltach’s Eishyshok 453 ‘logic of the wolf’, the ruthless pursuit of mutually incompatible goals, finally gave birth to a new Jew and a new Pole far removed from the world of the paternalistic

and ‘idyllic’ relations between the different ethno-confessional groups of the Polish—Lithianian Commonwealth of which traces survived well into the inter-war Polish Republic. There Once Was a World is an angry and bitter book, with important lessons for the failure of the vision of the toyre traye communities and all other non-Zionist models of Jewish life in eastern Europe which did not survive the Second World War. Professor Eliach understands fully the tragic moral consequences of her story. She quotes her father, Moshe Sonenson: “This, my child, is the new Jew that Hitler has fashioned into being.’!° Her awareness of the deeper implication of the events she describes also explains her unreasoning resistance to any critique of her stance on Jewish—Polish relations. She clearly feels that she must take her place in that new world which requires choosing a side and accepting the logic of revenge, a world far removed from the world ‘filled with faith, Judaism, and humanity’!* which forms the subject of most of her book and for which she clearly has such deep love. 13 Eliach, There Once Was a World, 697. 14 Tbid.

II EJSZYSZKI REVISITED T939—1945 JOHN RADZILOWSKI SINCE the collapse of communism in east-central Europe there has been an explosion of new scholarship in Poland on the war years, the post-war era, and on Polish— Jewish relations in that period. Prior to that communist censorship largely banned serious work on many important topics. Most first-person accounts that circulated in the West and among Western scholars were those of Jewish survivors. The opening of Soviet and communist archives has thus been of special importance and has given scholars the ability to write and speak about Soviet atrocities and the role played by the Soviets both during and after the war. Despite increasing contacts I should like to thank Richard Tyndorf for his invaluable help in finding and copying source material and commenting on an earlier draft of this piece. I also wish to thank Marek Chodakiewicz and John L. Armstrong for helpful comments on an earlier draft. Errors or omissions are mine.

454 | John Radzttowski with American and west European scholars, little of this material has reached the West.* If it does, it will force a re-evaluation of much of the accepted wisdom on these subjects.” At the same time debate over Polish—Jewish history in the Holocaust era has been increasingly politicized. Charges once confined to the darker recesses of the _ popular media now appear in scholarly journals; for example, charges that Poles

were the co-authors of the Holocaust or inspired Germans to attack Jews on Kristallnacht.2 The appearance of such flawed scholarship tests the ability of Western Holocaust scholars to police their field through rigorous peer review, but they have focused more intensive attention on confirmed or alleged cases of Poles killing Jews either singly or in larger numbers during and after the war.* The causes of these incidents are ascribed to vicious and unreasoning Polish antisemitism if not an outright desire to assist the Nazis in exterminating Jews. These explanations are rarely given careful scrutiny. The best-known case in this regard is that of the town of Ejszyszki (Eishyshok)° raised by Yaffa Eliach first in numerous articles and interviews in the mass media and later in her book There Once Was a World: A goo- Year Chronicle of the Shtetl of

Eishyshok.® The author has enjoyed unlimited access to the popular media in the United States, and the book was promptly nominated for a National Book Award.’ 1 Significant historiographic barriers remain. Western historians who specialize in the Holocaust often come from a background of German or Jewish history, have little knowledge of Poland, and cannot use Polish materials. Likewise, Polish scholars, whether because of the language barrier or lack of resources, are often unfamiliar with Western scholarship, and few can yet use materials in, for example, Hebrew or Yiddish. 2 One example is M. J. Chodakiewicz, ‘Accommodation and Resistance: A Polish County during the Second World War and its Aftermath (1939—1947)’, Columbia University Ph.D. thesis, 2000.

3 See e.g. D. Cymet, ‘Polish State Antisemitism as a Major Factor Leading to the Holocaust’, Journal of Genocide Research, 1/2 (June 1999), 169-212. The author uses no Polish-language sources, despite the fact that the actions of the Polish government are his main concern. See the review of this article by Jerzy Tomaszewski in Polin, 14 (2001), 377-80. For an attempt to compare antisemitism in pre-war Poland with that in Nazi Germany, see W. Hagen, ‘Before the “Final Solution”: Toward a Comparative Analysis of Political Antisemitism in Interwar Germany and Poland’, Journal of Modern History, 68 (June 1996), 351-81. On the suggestion that the Poles inspired the Nazis to attack Jews on Kristallnacht, see J. and C. Garrard, ‘Barbarossa’s First Victims: The Jews of Brest’, East European Jewish Affairs, 28/2 (Winter 1998-9), 3-47, esp. 13. 4 See e.g. J. T. Gross, Sqsiedzi: Historia zaglady zydowskiego miasteczka (Sejny, 2000). An English version of this work was published in the United States in 2001. © For purposes of consistency I have chosen to use pre-war place names in this piece with the full realization that owing to the multi-ethnic nature of north-east Poland—Lithuania—Belarus each place may have more than one legitimate name. 6 Y.Eliach, There Once Was a World: A goo- Year Chronicle of the Shtetl of Eishyshok (Boston, 1998).

’ ‘The best-known press article occupied almost the entire editorial opinion page of the nation’s most influential newspaper: Y. Eliach, “The Pogrom at Eishyshok’, New York Times, 6 Aug. 1996. See also Publisher’s Weekly, 12 Nov. 1982; A. Stein, Hidden Children: Forgotten Survivors of the Holocaust (Toronto, 1993), 62-5; E. T. Linenthal, Preserving Memory: The Struggle to Create America’s Holocaust Museum (New York, 1995), 176; R. Z. Chesnoff, ‘The Beginning of Redemption’, US News and World

Report, 3 Apr. 1995, 66-7; H. J. Lebowitz, ‘The Holocaust’s Ashes are Still Smoldering’, Cleveland

Yaffa Eliach’s Eishyshok 455 In 2000 her film There Once Was a Town was broadcast in the United States on the Public Broadcasting Service. Criticism of the author has been largely absent from the press, and serious scholarship has been slow to catch up.® The public furore that erupted around Eliach’s charges, while stimulating some useful work and motivat-

ing some non-Jewish witnesses to come forward, has largely obstructed serious inquiry not only into her specific charges but also into the larger issues raised. ‘This piece is meant to revisit briefly the history of Ejszyszki and north-eastern Poland (today part of Belarus and Lithuania) during the war, both as criticism and, hope-

fully, as encouragement to more serious and in-depth scholarship that 1s able to _ synthesize broadly the findings and sources in various languages and to integrate research on local communities with more general knowledge.

At the heart of Eliach’s claims are five points. First, Poland was a land of unremitting and virtually eternal antisemitism and that antisemitism was exported abroad, i.e. to Lithuania.? Secondly, the AK was an antisemitic organization dedicated almost exclusively to killing Jews. She writes: ‘Antisemitism took precedence over all other goals... . Despite the loyalty of many Jews to Poland they—not the Germans and not the Russians—bore the brunt of AK attacks as the enemies of Poland.’!° Thirdly, in north-eastern Poland the AK made a formal alliance with the Nazis for the purpose of killing Jews and communists.'! Fourthly, in 1944 ‘the AK began to plan for the future of Poland, a crucial component of which was the extermination of all the Jews still within its borders’. According to Eliach, the local AK with the help of the Church convened a sort of Ejszyszki Wannsee conference to plan the killing of the region’s remaining Jews.’ Fifthly, the killing of her mother and brother was part of this ‘Polish final solution’; that is, the attack on Ejszyszki was an unprovoked pogrom directed against Jews and part of a systematic plan to murder all Jews.° Plain Dealer, 20 July 1996, 6E—7E; ‘There Once Wasa World’, interview with Yaffa Eliach, C-SPAN, 22

Nov. 1998, videotape 115750; M. Posner, ‘Historian Defeats Death by Focusing on Town’s Life’, Toronto Globe and Mail, 1 Sept. 1999. Cf. N. Q. Keefe, ‘Students Glimpse Horrors of Holocaust’, New Rochelle Standard Star, 25 Apr. 1996. Eliach also appeared in Marian Marzynski’s film Shtet/, PBS, 17

Apr. 1996. Her work on the “Tower of Life’ at the US Holocaust Memorial Museum also received extensive coverage. See ‘A Tower of Faces, a Tower of Life’, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Newsletter (Mar. 1991); S. Brenna, “The Beauty of a Life that was Taken’, New York Newsday, 7 Mar. 1991; M. Kernan, ‘A National Memorial Bears Witness to the Tragedy of the Holocaust’, Smithsonian, 24/1 (Apr. 1993), 50-63.

8 Serious criticism prior to publication of Eliach’s book that did appear was poorly circulated and/or ignored by Holocaust scholars, in part because it was sponsored by the Polish community in North America. See The Story of Two Shtetls: Bransk and Eyszyszki (Toronto, 1998), pt. 2; an expanded version of this work is in preparation. For a critical review of Eliach’s book, see J. Radzilowski, ‘Yaffa Eliach’s Big Book of Holocaust Revisionism’, Journal of Genocide Research, 1/2

(June 1999), 273-80. |

| 9 Eliach, There Once Was a World, 23-6. This charge is the reductive commonplace about Poland, past and present, for most Western scholars and journalists and the literature on it is too vast to deal

with here. 10 Tid. 613. 1 Tbid. 629, 746n. I. 2 Tbid. 624. 13 Tbid. 663-7; Eliach, ‘The Pogrom at Eishyshok’.

456 John Radzitowski Many of these claims are presented without evidence or with citations so tendentious as to make them untenable, even without using outside sources. For example, on the allegation of the AK being a pro-Nazi organization devoted to

slaughtering Jews, Eliach cites as her source two entries in Israel Gutman’s | Encyclopedia of the Holocaust. She then, incredibly, writes: ‘Unfortunately, these entries omit all mention of the hostility of the AK toward the Jews.’*4 A comprehensive listing of all the errors and distortions in this very long book would be too tedious.'° So, too, would a deeper analysis of Eliach’s use of language that portrays Poles in subhuman terms.'° The key points, however, are the author’s charges that the Poles, and the AK in particular, were responsible for killing many of the area’s Jews. Indeed, virtually every unexplained death is said to be the result of Polish and AK antisemitism, including Jews who step on landmines, who disappear into the forest and are simply never seen again, or who die in 1939, at a time

| when the AK did not even exist.” The events in Ejszyszki and its environs during the war bear closer scrutiny. Prior to the war there is no evidence that relations between Poles (who made up much of the peasant population in the immediate area) and Jews (who formed the majority in the town) were abnormal. The town had about 5,000 inhabitants, of whom about 3,000 were Jewish.'® Following a brief Soviet takeover in 1939, the town was part of territory given to Lithuania. In 1940, however, the USSR annexed Lithuania and Ejszyszki. Although the Polish underground did exist in Sovietcontrolled areas from 1939 to 1941, the AK in the Vilna—Novogrudek area did not begin attacks against the occupiers until after the German takeover. The Wachlarz commando was formed in May 1942, and commando operations began thereafter, with fully fledged partisan units formed in 1943.'° During this period Polish—Jewish relations began to undergo a change. On the one hand, there is the example of the Polish—Jewish contacts that took place in Vilna in 1939—-40.”° There were also certainly examples of Poles and Jews who helped each other during the harsh, brutal, and uncertain period of the first Soviet occupa14 Eliach, There Once Was a World (New York, 1990), 745 n. 5. 15 See my review, ‘Yaffa Eliach’s Big Book of Holocaust Revisionism’. 16 ‘The dehumanizing language appears throughout the book: Poles are shown as perpetually drunk,

brutal, violent. Even Poles who hide Jews are portrayed making statements supportive of genocide. This portrait can be found elsewhere, for example, in Marian Marzynski’s film Shtet/ and in the popular Maus comic books in which Poles are shown as swine (with attendant connotations of ritual uncleanness). The literature on portraits of one ethnic group by another is extensive, though this image of Poles among some Jews remains unstudied. 17 Eliach, There Once Was a World, 402, 403, 642. 18 W. Andruszkiewicz, ‘Holocaust w Ejszyszkach’, Zeszyty Historyczne (Paris), 120 (1997), 83-96.

19 L. Tomaszewski, Wilenszczyzna lat wojny 1 okupacy, 1939-1945 (Warsaw, 1999), 222-6; Z. Boradyn, A. Chmielarz, and H. Piskunowicz, Z dziejow Armu Krajowe; na NowogrodczyZnie 1 Wilenszczyénte (1941-1945): Studia (Warsaw, 1997), 7-70. 20 Tomaszewski, Wilenszczyzna lat wojny 1 okupacji, 110-13; A. Friszke, ‘Dialog polsko-zydowski w Wilnie 1939-1940’, Wiez, 4 (1987), 88-90.

Yaffa Ehach’s Etshyshok 457 tion. On the other hand, the Soviet occupation policies put a premium on divide et impera, and in particular on using ethnic minorities to destroy what remained of

Polish power and influence in the region. To this end, local communists and communist sympathizers, who tended to be disproportionately Jewish or at least non-Polish, were an especially useful tool. Large numbers of Poles were deported to Siberia or murdered outright by the NK VD and local collaborators. The prominent participation of some local Jews in denouncing their Polish neighbours, as well as in actually carrying out NK VD policies of terror and killing, is documented in many eyewitness accounts of both Poles and Jews.”! In addition, there was the more widespread phenomenon of Jews giving an enthusiastic welcome to invading Soviet troops.?” These troops were not only invaders helping to take away a nation’s freedom but

harbingers of a regime of unprecedented terror and murder, a fact that had a tremendous impact on the Poles, who watched their neighbours showering a hated enemy with flowers and kisses and rejoicing in Poland’s downfall. As observers such as Eva Hoffman have pointed out, the horrors inflicted by a foreign totalitarian power are somehow felt less personally than the betrayal of a neighbour. Under the circumstances it was wholly irrelevant whether 10 per cent or 100 per cent of the Jews welcomed the Soviets; the effect was the same. As Aleksander Smolar noted, In no other European country was there such a dramatic conflict of interests and attitudes during the war between the Jews and the population among whom they lived as under Soviet occupation in 1939-1941. Elsewhere, Jews were at odds with segments of the population (for example with collaborating factions), but in solidarity, in unison with everyone else. In Eastern Poland, however, Jews were themselves viewed as collaborators.”°

In Ejszyszki the Soviets set up a local revolutionary committee under the leadership of one Hayim Shuster, which immediately began a purge of all pre-war institu-

tions, both Polish and Jewish.** After a brief interlude of Lithuanian rule, the Soviets returned in 1940. Local communist party leaders seem to have been almost entirely Jewish. They confiscated land and property, allegedly for redistribution, and drew up lists of local Poles to be deported to Siberian concentration camps. Although some Jews were also deported, Eliach’s family, despite being among the town’s well-to-do inhabitants, was spared that cruel, often fatal outcome, thanks to 21 See M. Paul, On the Eve of the Holocaust: Poles and Jews in Eastern Poland, 1939-41 (Toronto, 2001); The Story of Two Shtetls, pt. 2, pp. 173-229; T. Piotrowski, Poland’s Holocaust: Ethnic Strife, Collaboration with Occupying Forces, and Genocide in the Second Republic, 1918-1947 (Jefferson, NC,

1998), 48-58; B. Musial, ‘Stosunki polsko-zydowskie na kresach wschodnich R. P. pod okupacja sowiecka (1939-1941), Biuletyn Kwartalny Radomskiego Towarzystwa Naukowego, 34/1 (1999),

103-26. | 2 See D. Levin, The Lesser of Two Evils: East European Jewry under Soviet Rule, 1939-1941

(Philadelphia, 1995), 33-4; id., “The Jews of Vilna under Soviet Rule, 19 September — 28 October 1939’, Polin: Studies in Polish Jewry, 9 (1996), 111.

23 A. Smolar, ‘Jews as a Polish Problem’, Daedalus (Spring 1987), 31-73, quoted in Piotrowski,

Poland’s Holocaust, 52. 24 Eliach, There Once Was a World, 565-6.

458 John Radzitowski personal ties between her father, Moshe Sonenson, and a leading local Jewish communist official. Sonenson was an eager attendee of local communist celebrations.”° After the German takeover the majority of the town’s Jews were murdered in September 1941 by German police and Lithuanian auxiliaries. More Jews from Ejszyszki and the environs were killed at Radun in May 1942.”° A number of Jews, including Eliach’s family, survived these mass killings by hiding with local Polish _ families, mostly associated with the AK, among them the local priest Fr. Giedymin

Pilecki. Eliach’s family hid with a member of the AK, Kazimierz Korkuc.?’ Eventually many of the hidden Jews, especially young and able-bodied people, made their way to Soviet partisans who were by then operating in the area or to so-

called independent family camps. Jews escaping unarmed into the forests were often turned away by partisans, both Soviet and Polish. (During the initial period in

which Jews escaped the massacres, there were few Polish partisan units in the forests.) In north-eastern Poland during the war there were three main partisan groups: the Polish AK, Soviet partisans, and independent or ‘wild’ bands. There were no other organized partisan groups in the area; no units of the Narodowe Sity Zbrojne (National Armed Forces), as some accounts have claimed, and no significant independent Lithuanian or Belarusian formations existed.7° Soviet partisans came into being in 1941, but at that time were mainly soldiers left behind during the retreat of summer 1941 and escaped prisoners of war. By 1943 these forces were reorganized

under NKVD control and supplied by agents and regular arms drops. By 1944 Soviet partisan forces in north-eastern Poland totalled some 37,000. Unlike the smaller AK, which usually consisted of trusted local residents and was thus tied to specific locations and subject to German reprisals against civilians, Soviet units in

north-eastern Poland operated exclusively from the forests (although they, too, depended on local requisitioning). There was little incentive for the Soviet forma29 Eliach, There Once Was a World, 571-4.

26 Eliach claims that some Poles participated in this massacre, an assertion for which there is no independent confirmation and for which no source is cited (ibid. 603-4). The Ejszyszki memorial book notes the presence of Volksdeutsch from Poland. See ‘Aishishuk Memorial Book’, trans. S. Gavish, typescript, 1980, 59-67, trans. of Aishishok, korotetha vehurbanah: pirkei zikhronot ve’eduyot (betseruf temunot) (Jerusalem [1949—50]).

27 For Eliach’s account, see Eliach, There Once Was a World, 609-28. Cf. J. Wotkonowski, ‘Eyszyszki—znieksztalcony obraz przeszlosci’, Gazeta Wyborcza, 26 Sept. 1996; W. Noskowski, ‘Czy Yaffa Eliach przeprosi Polakow?’, Mys/ Polska, 20-7 July 1997, 1, 7-9; S. Wronski and M. Zwolakowa, Polacy Zydz1, 1939-1945 (Warsaw, 1971), 318-19.

28 Most Belarusian partisans belonged to either the AK or the Soviets. Late in the war many Belarusian and Lithuanian members of the Nazi auxiliary forces switched sides and joined the Soviet partisans. A Lithuanian underground came into being shortly before the arrival of Soviet regular forces in 1944. A unit of Boleslaw Piasecki’s Ruch Narodowo-Radykalny (also known as ONR-Falanga),

called Uderzeniowe Bataliony Kadrowe (Shock Cadre Battalions), moved into the Lida area from Biatystok in 1943, where it became part of the AK. It later came under the command of the Vilna AK. On this force, see K. Krajewski, Uderzeniowe Bataliony Kadrowe, 1942-1944 (Warsaw, 1993).

Yaffa Ehach’s Eishyshok 459 tions to be concerned with the welfare of local civilians, and Soviet partisans commonly treated the civilians with a brutality that rivalled that of the Germans. This was the case in Ukraine and Belarus as well as in Poland. Wild bands ran the gamut from groups of Jewish escapees not incorporated into the Soviet partisans to local criminals and military deserters who often robbed and terrorized at will. These bands and their depredations were a major factor in the collapse of social order and the rise of terror and lawlessness in the countryside, especially in eastern Poland.?° Jews living in the forest were in a difficult position. On the one hand, without arms they were turned away by the organized partisans. In several instances Jews attempting to join Soviet partisans were killed or turned over to the Germans.*° Even specifically Jewish partisan units were reluctant to take in refugees. One account noted: a group of Jews from Ishishuk [Ejszyszki] came into the forest. They had been sheltered by farmers, until the danger of their being discovered became too great. . . . In vain did they

plead to be accepted into the camp. The staff members remained firm in their refusal, although they knew they were actually pronouncing a death sentence for these people. For many weeks, these Jews wandered near the Jewish camp, suffering from cold and starvation. Only after the Russian partisan camp absorbed some of them did ‘our commander’ also agree to absorb the rest.?!

To survive, Jewish partisans turned to the local peasants. In the beginning many simply went from door to door begging and usually received enough food to eke out

an existence. As time went on, however, the situation worsened with growing German food requisitions and brutal retaliation against villages that aided partisans or Jews, and with more and more people in the forest and greater and greater banditry. Soviet partisans usually seized what they needed by force.*” As begging by the forest Jews yielded less and less, they acquired arms and resorted increasingly to terrorism to get what they needed, creating a cycle of mutual resentment and fear. The Jews began to take more than food: they searched for weapons, money, 29 See J. L. Armstrong, ‘The Polish Underground and the Jews: A Reassessment of Home Army Commander Tadeusz Bor-Komorowski’s Order 116 against Banditry’, Slavonic and East European Review, 72/2 (Apr. 1994), 259-76.

30 Even Jews accepted into Soviet bands faced serious problems. On these issues, see N. Tec, ‘Partisan Interconnectedness in Belorussian Forests and the Rescue of Jews by Jews’, in J. J. Michalczyk (ed.), Resisters, Rescuers, and Refugees: Historical and Ethical Issues (Kansas City, 1997),

120; A. Wertheim, ‘Zydowska partyzantka na Bialorusi’, Zeszyty Historyczne (Paris), 86 (1988), 96-162; The Story of Two Shietls, pt. 2, pp. 65-80. 31_R. M. Shonfeld, The Holocaust Victims Accuse: Documents and Testimony on Fewish War Criminals (Brooklyn, NY, 1977), 1. 33-4.

32 By comparison the AK was more disciplined, but of course it was operating in home territory for most of its members. See J. Wolkonowski, ‘Rozmowy polsko-niemieckie w lutym 1944 roku w Swietle

nowych dokumentow niemieckich’, in Wolkonowski (ed.), Sympozjum listoryczne ‘Rok 1944 na Wilensczyzme: Wilno 30 czerwca—1 lipca 1994 1.’ (Warsaw, 1996), 98. On Soviet raids near Ejszyszki in

early 1944, see ‘Sprawozdanie Delegatury Rzadu Okregu Nowogrodek, luty 1944’, Archiwum Akt Nowych, Warsaw, zespo! Delegatura Rzadu, shelf-mark 202/TII-121, fo. 244 (p. 17).

460 John Radzitowski clothes, and, in the case of one Soviet Jewish partisan leader, young peasant girls.°° Historian Teresa Prekerowa wrote that it was in the Vilna and Novogrudek regions

that ‘the inhabitants felt the “economic actions” of the Jewish partisans’ most

| strongly.*4

The raids grew more violent, and peasants armed themselves and killed raiding partisans if they could. Polish villages called on the AK for protection. Vengeance against peasants who defended themselves (or called for help from any non-Soviet force) was brutal. On 8 May 1943 two Soviet detachments, including the Jewish Bielski Brigade, attacked the village of Naliboki, massacring 128 men, women, and children.*° In April 1944 Soviet Jewish partisans razed the village of Koniuchy, in the Rudnicki forest. ‘The village, which had organized a self-defence group against the depredations of bandits and Soviet and Soviet Jewish partisans, was destroyed and some 300 of its inhabitants shot or burned to death in their homes.*® Partisan bands fought each other. The AK and Soviet partisans attacked the Germans and their Lithuanian and Belarusian auxiliaries. German counter-attacks and anti-partisan sweeps, conducted with the utmost brutality, rarely made fine distinctions between wild bands, regular partisans of one flag or another, and local villagers. The escalating cycle of violence among partisan bands was not merely the result of a conflict over scarce resources, but of a larger struggle for control of north-east Poland. Although Polish and Soviet partisans cooperated until August 1943, in the

wake of the revelation of the Katyn massacre and the subsequent collapse in Polish—Soviet relations the Soviets began a campaign to destroy the AK in eastern Poland. Western accounts lay the blame for this conflict on the Poles, either the local command or the Polish government in exile.“ Documents that have come to light since the collapse of the USSR, however, show that the conflict was initiated 33. The Story of Two Shtetls, pt. 2, pp. 86-106. See also T. Prekerowa, Zarys dziejéw Zydéw w Polsce w | latach 1939-1945 (Warsaw, 1992), 180-3. 34 Prekerowa, Zarys dziej6w Zydow w Polsce w latach 1939-1945, 186.

8° W. Nowicki, Zywe echa (Warsaw, 1993), 98-100; Komisja Historyczna Polskiego Sztabu Glownego w Londynie, Polskie Sly zbrojne w drugiej wojnie Swiatowe), vol. iii: Armia Krajowa (London,

1950), 529; K. Krajewski, Na Ziemi Nowogrddzkiej: ‘Now’—Nowogrédzki Okreg Armii Krajowej (Warsaw, 1997), 387-8. This incident does not appear in Western accounts of the history of the Bielski Brigade. Cf. S. W. Rubin, Against the Tide: The Story of an Unknown Partisan (Jerusalem, 1980), 126~7, and an interview with Rubin in the David Herman film The Bielsky Brothers: The Unknown Partisans (videotape, 1993; reissued 1996). 36 See C. Lazar, Destruction and Resistance (New York, 1985), 174-5; I. Kowalski, A Secret Press in Nazt Europe: The Story of a fewish United Partisan Organization (New York, 1969), 333-4; also in I. Kowalski (ed.), Anthology on Armed Jewish Resistance, 1939-1945, 4 vols. (Brooklyn, NY, 1984-92), iv. 390-1; J. Golota, ‘Losy Zydow ostroleckich w czasie II wojny Swiatowej’, Biuletyn Zydowskiego Instytutu Historycznego, 187 (1998), 32. 37 See N. Tec, In the Lion’s Den: The Life of Oswald Rufeisen (Oxford, 1990), 182-3; Kowalski (ed.), Anthology of Fewish Armed Resistance, 1939-1945, 1 (New York, 1984), 538-9; S. Cholawski, Soldiers from the Ghetto (San Diego, 1980), 162; A. Levine, Fugitives of the Forest: The Heroic Story of Fewish Resistance and Survival during the Second World War (Toronto, 1998), 191.

Yaffa Ehach’s Eishyshok 461 by orders from the Soviet command, certainly at the highest levels.?° The fact that the Soviets initiated this action is also demonstrated by the way it was carried out: Polish partisan leaders were invited to conferences with their Soviet counterparts to which they came, unsuspectingly. The Polish leaders were usually disarmed, tortured, and executed. Lower-ranking AK partisans were incorporated into Soviet units, killed, or later in the war deported to Siberian gulags. There 1s little question that Jewish partisans, both as individuals in regular Soviet partisan units and as

members of specifically Soviet Jewish partisan formations, took part in these actions.®* Soviet forces also betrayed their Polish counterparts to German authorities and fielded fake AK units that were sent on local rampages. The Poles suffered serious losses due to Soviet depredations, but they fought back and took revenge on Soviet partisans, including Jewish units. The Soviet offensive against the Poles sparked a war of ‘all against all’ that had devastating consequences and completed the ethnic polarization begun by the war and occupations. It also, more than anything else, placed Poles and Jews on a collision course and resulted in many deaths, eventually including those of Eliach’s mother and baby brother.

It was in this chaotic and violent context that the contacts between German authorities and members of the AK occurred. Eliach claims that the AK entered into an ‘official local agreement with the Germans in Lida’, and further notes that although ‘the official document refers to Bolshevik gangs, the Jews quickly became the main target of the White Poles’.*° Although her book treats this as a startling

revelation, in reality contacts between the AK and the German Sicherheitsdienst (military police) and Abwehr in December 1943 and January 1944 in north-east Poland have generated extensive research in both German and Polish archives. The proposed agreement would have created a de facto truce between the two forces. The Poles would concentrate their forces against the Soviet partisans in exchange for weapons, ammunition, and medical supplies. Little came of these contacts. No formal agreement was ever signed, although the Germans apparently allowed the 88 Z. Boradyn, A. Chmielarz, and H. Piskunowicz (eds.), Armia Krajowa na Nowogrédczyénie 1 Wilenszczyznie (1942-1944) w Swietle dokumentéw sowieckich (Warsaw, 1997), passim, esp. 56-60; M. Wardzynska, ‘Mord popelniony latem 1943 r. przez partyzantow sowieckich na zolnierzach AK z oddzialu “Kmicica”’, Pamie¢é 1 Sprawiedhwosé: Biuletyn Glowne] Komisji Badania Zbrodni przeciwko Narodowt Polskiemu Instytutu Pamieci Narodowe], 39 (1996), 134-50. For other documents on the partisan conflicts, see M. J. Chodakiewicz, P. Gontarczyk, and L. Zebrowski (eds.), Tajne oblicze GL-AL 1 PPR, 3 vols. (Warsaw, 1997); and ‘Przyczynek do dziejow AK na Wilenszczyznie po lipcu 1944 r.’, Kurier Wilenskt (Vilnius) (July—Aug. 1992).

39 See S. Yoran, The Defiant: A True Story (New York, 1996), 173-4; P. Silverman, D. Smuschkowitz, and P. Smuszkowicz, From Victims to Victors (Toronto, 1992), 211, 215, 253; N. Tec, Defiance: The Bielskt Partisans (New York, 1993), 153; E. Banasikowski, Na zew Ziemi Wilenskie (Bydgoszcz, 1997), 357-8. 40 Eliach, There Once Was a World, 629. Throughout her book the author refers to the AK as ‘the

White Poles’, a Soviet propaganda epithet that is a counterpart of the antisemitic term ‘Judaeocommunist’ (Zydokomuna).

462 John Radzitowski AK to ‘capture’ some arms and reduced attacks and reprisals in AK- held areas. Yet the AK command and the government in exile rejected the very idea of talks with

the Germans. Nor was this idea accepted by all the factions of the German hierarchy, for at least one German official was executed by the SS for giving arms to the Poles. Nor, for that matter, did these contacts inspire the Poles to undertake extra

actions against the Soviets, let alone kill Jews.*!

The all-consuming brutalization that engulfed the region affected all ethnic groups and all partisan forces. Yet it was the AK that by the very nature of its organization suffered the most from this problem because it directly undermined the Poles’ capacity for continued resistance by destroying, weakening, or demoralizing the rural population on which they relied for supplies and from which they recruited most of their members. The very active stance taken by the AK’s main command against banditry stemmed first and foremost from practical consider-

ations and was a quick way to gain the trust of the hard-pressed peasants, who certainly preferred to support one forest band than half a dozen. It is in this context

that the AK regional commander in north-east Poland, Aleksander (‘Wilk’) Krzyzanowski, issued an order in April 1944 forbidding mistreatment of the civilian population. The order explicitly included Jews.” Despite the bad blood between Soviet and Polish partisans, when the Red Army summer offensive smashed its way into north-eastern Poland, the Poles and Soviets were perfectly capable of working together to rid Vilna and the surrounding area of the Nazi menace. On 7 July 1944 AK forces attacked Vilna and were then joined by Soviet troops, and the Germans were driven from the city by 13 July.*° Shortly after driving the Germans out of the area, however, the Soviets began a systematic campaign to destroy any independent Polish force. Members of the AK were rounded up, murdered, forcibly conscripted into the Polish communist army, or deported to Siberia in their tens of thousands. In the Vilna area alone by 3 August 1944 about 8,o0oo AK members were ‘disarmed’; half of them were arrested, with many tortured and killed, and almost all sent to the gulags, where many more met

their deaths. By January 1945 the number of arrested Poles reached 11,500 in 41 See Piotrowski, Poland’s Holocaust, 88—go. This topic has received extensive attention in Polish. See Z. Boradyn, Niemen, rzeka niezgody: Polsko-somtecka wojna partyzancka na NowogrédczyZnie

1943-1944 (Warsaw, 1999), 175-82; Tomaszewski, Wilenszczyzna lat wojny 1 okupacji, 321-3; J. Wotkonowski, Okreg Wilenskt Zwiqzku Walki Zbrojne; Armu Krajowe] w latach 1939-1945 (Warsaw,

1996), 171-84; Krajewski, Na Ziemi Nowogrédzkiej, 173-89. Eliach cites the German document, German federal archives, Koblenz, file no. 6/369 (746 n. 1), containing a series of memos and a sketch map of partisan groups and their reported locations. (Copy in the author’s possession courtesy of Charles Chotkowski, Fairfield, Conn.) See also B. Chiari, ‘Reichsfiihrer-SS. Kein Pakt mit Slawen. Deutsch-polnische Kontakte im Wilna-Gebiet 1944’, Osteuropa-Archiv, 50/4 (Apr. 2000), A133-53. 2 K Tarka, Komendant Wilk: Z dziejow Wilenskiej Armiu Krajowe; (Warsaw, 1990), 66~70; R. Korab-Zebryk, Biala Ksiega w obronie Armu Krajowej na Wilenszczyénie (Lublin, 1991), 26-7. On the AK’s anti-bandit efforts, see Armstrong, “The Polish Underground and the Jews’. *8 On the fight for Vilna, see Tomaszewski, Wilenszczyzna lat wojny 1 okupacsi, 476-95.

Yaffa Ehach’s Eishyshok 463 Soviet Lithuania alone.** Local AK members who left the area did not always escape either. Dawid Lipnicki, who had been sheltered by Fr. Pilecki (who also sheltered Jews from Ejszyszki), as well as by Fr. Pilecki’s organist, Wactaw Misiuro, joined the NK VD after the Soviet takeover. In 1946 he spotted Misiuro in Biatystok and turned him in to the authorities as an AK member. Misiuro was later executed.*° During the first Soviet occupation the NK VD had used local collaborators, Jews first and foremost, to identify Poles who might lead a possible resistance movement. During the second Soviet occupation, with the region in a state of economic and social collapse, the NK VD would again turn to those who knew the area to carry out

its plans.*° This meant a reliance on surviving Jews, especially those who had already joined the Soviet command as partisans. The events in Ejszyszki took place against this complex and bloody backdrop. The divide et impera policies of the occupying powers, especially the Soviets (who

proved far more deadly at the game), polarized ethnic groups into competing camps. The events of 1939~—41 created bad blood between Poles and Jews, and the relationship continued to deteriorate so that most Jews in the region threw in their lot with the Soviets although a few did stay with the Polish camp.*’ There was, according to Jewish accounts, significant antisemitism in the Soviet detachments, including physical abuse and killing of Jews (a fact that may have contributed to the creation of separate Soviet Jewish formations), but allying with the

Soviets was both a matter of political calculation and a measure of deteriorating Polish—Jewish relations. Joining Soviet units which waged a ‘dirty war’ against their Polish counterparts in the forest caused relations to worsen further, as the Poles viewed Jewish actions as a betrayal and Jews viewed the Polish response as confirmation of endemic Polish hostility. All the while, both Soviet and German actions and propaganda stoked the fire, each for their own purposes. (As the situa- tion in western Ukraine between Poles and Ukrainians indicates, this problem was not unique.) With memories of the massacres and deportations of 1939-41 and the violence of the partisan war still fresh, the Soviets found little support among the native Polish population following the German retreat and so turned to local Jews for support. This served to drive a further wedge between minority and majority 44 Wotkonowski, Sympozjum historyczne ‘Rok 1944 na WilenszczyZnie’, 205; S. Krivenko, “Teczka

Stalina: Raporty z Polski’, Karta, 15 (1995), 28-51; A. F. Noskova (ed.), NKVD i pol'skoe podpol’e 1944-1945: Po ‘osobym papkam’ I. V. Stalina (Moscow, 1994); Boradyn et al., Armia Krajowa .. . w Swretle dokumentow somieckich, 171-95, 227.

: 49 Noskowski, ‘Czy Yaffa Eliach przeprosi Polakéw?’ 46 For attempts to quantify Soviet crimes against the Poles, see A. Paczkowski, ‘Poland, the “Enemy Nation” ’, in S. Courtois et al. (eds.) The Black Book of Communism: Crimes, Terror, Repression (Cambridge, Mass., 1999); M. Tuszynski, ‘Soviet War Crimes against Poland during the Second World War and its Aftermath: A Review of the Factual Record and Outstanding Questions’, Polish Review, 44/2

(1999), 183-216. ,

47 See A. Pilch, Partyzanci trzech puszcz (Warsaw, 1992), 288-92.

464 john Radzitowski and provided a source of operatives with solid local knowledge who were also conveniently expendable once the task of defeating the independentist Poles was in

hand. Despite this conflict, no evidence has ever come forward of a systematic or planned effort by the Poles to kill all the Jews in either the Vilna region or the country as a whole. In Ejszyszki Eliach’s father, along with several other surviving Jews from the

town, became uniformed NKVD auxiliaries as soon as the main German forces retreated. In the case of Moshe Sonenson, this involvement long pre-dated the fateful clash in which his wife and son died. It has been claimed that Sonenson had ingratiated himself with the Soviet occupiers during the first occupation, cutting up the dance floor with the local commissar. This time, however, the utter brutalization of the war and mass murder ensured that there would be no dancing. Like Sonenson, Alter Michelovsky had thrown his lot in with the Soviets early on: When the Russians returned . . . I enlisted in the N.K.V.D. troop which operated in Aishishok and the vicinity to purge the area of Hitler collaborators and the White Polish partisans who we had learned to know during our ‘hot’ ‘encounters’ with them in the forest. Moshe Sonenson and myself, thirsty for revenge, belonged to an armed unit which, while pretending to search for Germans and traitors took reprisals on the evil goys as they richly deserved. We terrorized the goys.*®

This activity included the murder of unarmed German prisoners of war over the grave of the town’s murdered Jews, where eyewitness accounts note Sonenson dipped his hands in the blood of the German soldiers and smeared it on his face.*9

Sonenson’s son Yitzhak remembers that ,

My father joined the Russian police, the NK VD, and when they travelled to look for Polish people he went with them. There were days that they killed about fifteen to twenty people and brought them to the Eishyshok market. And they put them in the middle of the market to let other people see what is going to happen. It was like that for a month and a half without any mercy.°?

Soviet partisan Leon Kahn recalled how one unarmed Pole was dealt with. The man was an AK member who either betrayed or killed Kahn’s father, who died in a firefight between a Soviet Jewish unit and an AK formation.°! We came up to his house and I kicked the door and he was standing there and he said . . . and right away he started, right away denying ‘I had nothing to do with it! I wouldn’t do it to your father! I loved your father!’ and so on. Anyway I told him to say his prayers. And I wasn’t going to shoot him. I bayoneted [him], you know, maybe, I don’t know, maybe 50 48 “Aishishuk Memorial Book’, 79-80. 49 Tbid.; Andruszkiewicz, ‘Holocaust w Ejszyszkach’, 94-5. °° “There Once was a Town’, my transcription from a videotape in my possession.

. °1 Eliach, There Once Was a World, 643-4.

Yaffa Ehtach’s Eishyshok 465 times. I really, really felt the time had come to pay back. I didn’t do it enough. I am only sorry I didn’t do it more.*”

Whether to settle old scores or out of sheer bloody-mindedness, the predominantly Jewish Soviet auxiliaries terrorized the countryside in cooperation with and under the orders of the NK VD.*? On the night of 19 October 1944 the Sonenson home in Ejszyszki provided beds not only to the family but to other local Jews who were members of the auxiliary (such as Alter Michelovsky) as well as a uniformed officer and a non-commissioned officer from the NK VD. The officer, a captain of the NK VD, belonged to Smersh (army counter-intelligence) and directed the local network of informers that was tracking down Polish independentists. In the early morning AK forces, perhaps 150 strong, under the command of Second Lieutenant Michat Babut descended on the town.°*

Here accounts diverge. Eliach claims this was nothing more than a pogrom designed to kill Jews.®? Soviet and Polish accounts paint a different picture. Instead of marching into town in the middle of the night chanting antisemitic slogans, the

Poles infiltrated the town quietly. Their first target was the office of the Volispolkom, the local commune executive committee, where they destroyed or captured official documents and seals, and disarmed the guard. They also turned their attention to the Sonenson house after learning of the presence of the key Soviet officer. The surprised auxiliaries in the house put up little resistance and most seem to have taken advantage of the confusion to escape into the darkness. According to Polish accounts, the Soviet officer resisted, and a firefight ensued in which Eliach’s mother and baby brother were killed.°° According to a deposition given by Eliach’s father to Soviet authorities shortly after the event, her mother and brother were killed while they ‘sat by the window’.*” °2 “There Once Was a Town’, my transcription. The film is unclear about exactly what the man did,

although it gives the impression he killed Kahn’s father. For a somewhat different version, see L. Kahn, No Time to Mourn: A True Story of a Jewish Partisan Fighter (Vancouver, 1978), 158. Kahn’s

lack of remorse for his crimes is shared by other NKVD veterans. See e.g. the BBC film War of the Century, on the Nazi—Soviet war.

3 Soviet documents relating to this period in Ejszyszki were printed in Kurier Wilenski (July—Aug. 1992). The documents are found in the former party archives of the Lithuanian SSR, Vilna; see collection 3377, inventory 55, box 216, Polish Home Army, 278, Report, post-dated 20 Feb. 1945. Eliach

ignores crucial sections of these documents and distorts others, and further distorts the position of those who disagree with her charges (Eliach, There Once Was a World, 746-7, esp. 747 n. 17). — °4 Kurier Wilenskt, 4 Aug. 1992, 7; 5 Aug. 1992, 7; 7 Aug. 1992, 7; J. Wotkonowski, ‘Ejszyszki—

znieksztalcony obraz przesziosci’, Gazeta Wyborcza, 26 Sept. 1996; Krajewski, Na Ziemi Nowogrédzkiej, 619; T. Filipowski, ‘Pogrom, ktorego nie bylo’, Glos Polski (Toronto), 23 Aug. 1996. See also Report of the Regional Office of the Delegate of the Polish Government in Exile, Vilna, 30 Oct. 1944, Centralne Archiwum Ministerstwa Spraw Wewnetrznych, Warsaw, shelf-mark CA MSW

1/16. 5° Eliach, There Once Was a World, 663-0; ead., ‘Pogrom at Eishyshok’. °° Kurier Wilenski, 4 Aug. 1992, 7; 5 Aug. 1992, 7; 7 Aug. 1992, 7; Noskowski, ‘Czy Yaffa Eliach przeprosi Polakow?’ Noskowski was an AK soldier from Ejszyszki. >? Kurier Wilenski, 5 Aug. 1992, 7.

466 John Radzitowski Eliach’s own accounts (which often differ in their particulars) state that her mother and brother were killed while hiding ina small attic room. They were discovered by AK soldiers searching the house and shot. Eliach and her father, also hiding in the same crawl space, were unharmed. Polish accounts state only that the mother and child were killed during the firefight, but all of those who would have had direct knowledge are dead, many killed by the Soviets during reprisals. Of the estimated thirty Jews in Ejszyszki that night, only Zipporah Sonenson and her son Hayim were killed. The Soviet officer was captured and later executed.

Following the attack, Soviet reprisals were swift and brutal. As the account above notes, local Jewish NK VD men executed local Poles and displayed their bodies in the town square, sometimes as many as fifteen or twenty a day. Other Poles were captured and held in the local gaol. Many of those killed and arrested had no connection with the events of 20 October 1944.°° On the night of 6-7 December 1944 the AK staged a second attack on the town, this time freeing thirty-

one captured comrades.°? Despite this temporary success, independent Polish forces in the area were decimated, their members tortured, killed, or sent to the gulags, whence many would never return. Others emerged to carry on the desperate, lonely fight against Polish and Soviet communist forces in north-eastern Poland, a guerrilla struggle that lasted until the 1950s in some areas. After the death of his wife and son Eliach’s father intensified his activities in the NKVD. At some point, however, the Soviet authorities, having used the local Jews to defeat the Poles, had little further use for men like Sonenson. Local Jewish mili-

tiamen were disarmed and some arrested. The Soviets could now use the very crimes committed on behalf of the NK VD as a means to get rid of the perpetrators, exploiting local hostility towards the Jews (which they had played a key role in fomenting) as a pretext. Sonenson himself was denounced, perhaps by fellow Jews, on what was doubtless a trumped-up charge of stealing a coat, and spent the next eight years in Siberia before making his way to Israel, where his daughter and son had settled.®*

The tragic wartime history of the Ejszyszki area, with its Jewish population almost entirely massacred and its Polish population decimated, is but a microcosm of the bloody events that occurred throughout Polish Ukraine and Belarus. There 1s not

58 Noskowski, ‘Czy Yaffa Eliach przeprosi Polakéw?’ , °° Kurier Wilenski, 7 Aug. 1992, 7; 8 Aug. 1992, 7; Banasikowski, Na zew Ziemi Wilenskie, 397-8. 60 See Zoimerze wyklect: Antykomunistyczne podziemie zbrojne po 1944 roku (Warsaw, 1999), 19-62.

The difficulty of operating in the annexed areas of the Soviet Union eventually caused the AK to move most of its forces in the Vilna—~Novogrudek area west across the newly drawn Polish—Soviet border.

6! Eliach, There Once Was a World, 673-7, 688—g0. In this account, Eliach claims that those who turned on her father were Russians and local Poles. She gives a completely different account in Stein, Hidden Children, 66, where the betrayers are fellow Jews. In Brenna, “The Beauty of a Life that was Taken’, it is said to be Russians only. Cf. the testimony of Yitzhak Sonenson quoted in M. Gilbert, The Holocaust: The Jewish Tragedy (Glasgow, 1986), 759.

Yaffa Ehach’s Eishyshok 467 yet and may never be a way to create a single, coherent, linear narrative explanation

of what happened. Nor is there any evidence to support theories and iron-clad judgements about aggregate populations of one particular ethnic group or another, leaving historians with a mass of dark and terrible anecdotal evidence that points to many victims, few heroes, and almost no clean hands on any side. In examining the recent cases and claims that have been raised of Poles attacking Jews during the war, some larger points of context need to be kept in mind. Almost all of the most controversial and publicized cases known in the West come from areas of Poland that were occupied by the Soviet Union from the final months of 1939 to June 1941. This crucial constant, thus far overlooked in the West, suggests that either Poles in this region were somehow different from Poles elsewhere or that some events occurred in these areas to alter the situation dramatically. These lands had a particularly complex ethno-religious history, a fact unappreciated by most scholars narrowly focused on one set of events in a limited time period. This is not merely a matter of just Poles and Jews, but a multidimensional problem. The horror of the attempted extermination of an entire people has preoccupied scholars to such a degree that most have lost sight of other vicious and bloody conflicts that are closely related to the Holocaust in the east, conflicts that had a direct impact on

each other.®

The constant of Soviet occupation should spark greater interest than it has, and there are still those who seek to excuse or downplay what was done by the Soviets and their local collaborators, the scale of Soviet crimes, and the effect they had on — subsequent tragedies.°* Although cracks have begun to appear in the cherished mythology of Second World War Soviet exploits, on the crucial question of Soviet complicity in the mass murder of Jews (directly or indirectly), Poles, and others, and in sparking serious ethnic conflict, little has been said even by scholars who should know better. Of Eliach’s account of the history of Ejszyszki little good can be said, and the damage she has done to Polish—Jewish relations will take a long time to heal, if it ever does. There Once Was a World, her film, and her journalistic accounts demonstrate the pitfalls of turning history to the service of politics.

Over-politicization of the profession has taken its toll. Historians like Eliach have fallen into the trap of believing history is merely a Darwinian struggle of the interests of one group against another so that evidence may be tailored to fit the interests of one’s own group at that moment. All research is reduced to a crude residue of one group justifying its own actions and condemning the actions of | 62 The main cases in question have been Ejszyszki (raised by Eliach), Bransk (raised in the film Shtetl), Jedwabne, and Radzitéw (the latter two raised by Gross). 63 The Polish—Ukrainian conflict, which has begun to generate its own literature, is a case in point. Yet this should be construed as a call not merely to search for ‘little Holocausts’ but to see the events in question in a wider ethnic, religious, and social context. 64 See J. T. Gross, ‘A Tangled Web: Confronting Stereotypes concerning Relations between Poles, Germans, Jews, and Communists’, in I. Deak, J. T. Gross, and T. Judt (eds.), The Politics of Retribution in Europe (Princeton, 2000), esp. 93.

468 | john Radzitowski the others. There is something seriously wrong when historians or journalists can justify, excuse, or even glorify stabbing an unarmed man fifty times with a bayonet simply because the perpetrator is a member of one’s own group and the victim the member of a hated rival group. Even good historians can fall prey to the need to justify or condemn. It is profoundly ahistorical to apply the justification—condemnation paradigm to events in eastern Poland during the war. One can find a great deal to condemn in these events, just as one can also point to justifications that might mitigate such condemnations. Neither condemnation nor justification explain what happened, and in large measure they obscure and confuse the true nature of what occurred. The reality, of course, may be too terrible for us to look at directly, and we may prefer the lie that our people were innocent and heroic and it was only those others who did something wrong. There is plenty of ammunition all around for journalists, historians, memoirists, and polemicists to load up and shoot at each other. A great deal more research remains to be done. Anecdotal evidence abounds, especially from survivors (which raises a whole host of problems), and serious micro-studies of local areas must be pursued. Yet enough evidence exists to tell us that what happened in places like Ejszyszki defies simplistic explanations based on victim politics. Allis not as it seems. All is not as it has been portrayed in the West, and the troubling case of Yaffa Eliach and the publicity surrounding the war and the Holocaust in one small town serves as a cautionary tale for scholars.

Holocaust Survivorsin _ Jadwiga Maurer’s Short Stories JOANNA ROSTROPOWICZ CLARK

, W jednej z tych staroswieckich bram wsr6d zapomnianych dawno ulic jest cien ktorego hojnos¢ znam. In one of those old-fashioned gates among the long forgotten streets there is a shade whose generosity I know. ANNA FRAJLICH

| ‘Sien’ (“Entrance Hall’) AHARON APPELFELD, the Israeli writer born in 1932 in Bukovina, once observed that ‘literature [on the Holocaust] with a true voice and a face one can trust is very scarce. The number of such works can be counted by a child.’! The main obstacle confronting authors of Holocaust testimonies is, according to Appelfeld, the over-

whelming need both to reveal and to conceal the entire truth of their experience. Particularly among the older writers, inner constraints—supplemented by readers’ demands for myths rather than for full disclosure of facts—have proved more often than not to be insurmountable. ‘If I remained true to the facts’, Appelfeld writes in defence of his choice to create semi-fictional narrators of actual events, ‘nobody would believe me.’”

Like Appelfeld (and like Tadeusz Borowski, Zofia Natkowska, Henryk Grynberg, and Ida Fink, among a small group of others), Jadwiga Maurer, a native of Kielce and Krakow and now a professor of Slavic languages and literature at the University of Kansas, lends her own experience and knowledge from the heart of darkness to a voice free of personal constraints. It is the voice of a meticulous listener and observer of facts and fates; an observer of something that 1s unspeakable, not for the lack of words, but because of its massive commonality: suffering. Like all true artists, in her stories—some of which are collected in Liga ocalatych (‘League of Survivors’) and Podréz na wybrzeze Dalmacy (‘ A Trip to the Dalmatian Coast’) while others are scattered in magazine publications—Jadwiga Maurer has created a world unlike any other.? In ‘Byt sobie dziad i baba’ (“There was an Old Man and an ' Aharon Appelfeld, Beyond Despair (New York, 1994), 28. 2 Ibid. 68. 3 Liga ocalatych (London, 1970); Podréz na wybrzeze Dalmacji (London, 1982).

470 Joanna Rostropowicz Clark Old Woman’, in Liga ocalatych) her narrator prides herself on being the only chronicler of what she calls ‘this cape of survivors, pointing towards eternity’. Nobody noticed its existence, nor will anyone notice its disappearance. In another story in the same volume she says: ‘I’d like to be a chronicler of places unmarked on any map, unrecorded by history.’ The numbered inhabitants of this netherland, this half-way house with a buried entrance and a delusory exit, are, of course, Jews (mostly but not exclusively east European); like herself, they miraculously escaped the ‘catastrophe’— the word chosen by Maurer both for its imprecision and for its gravity. These Jews, at first perched in Munich and then scattered all over the world, are distinctly ‘unlike any other Jews’. Living ‘beyond time’, ‘suspended in time or above time’, ‘together in a vacuum’, they lack, or rather they have lost, the sociohistorical substance that distinguishes individuals from one another and makes them comparable to others. “They had basically already died’, Maurer muses in her characteristic manner, which is that of a weary yet meticulous observer; ‘therefore they now somehow go on.’ In story after story, whether from Maurer’s Munich, her San Francisco Bay, her campuses in the prairies, or even from far back in wartime Poland and Slovakia, the characters of the few Jews who did not perish are identified not in terms of who they are (their family background, how exactly they survived, their views, thoughts, politics) or even in terms of their difficulties in coping

with re-entry into the world at large (of which she provides rare and casual glimpses). Rather they are identified in terms of how they are: in what manner they exist now, in their uniquely posthumous incarnation. Maurer’s interest, the thrust

of her art, is neither in the psychology of surviving the Holocaust, nor in the implied and often explored moral issues, but rather in the ontology of survival. She poses and answers this ontological question with the seemingly impassioned scrutiny of an anthropologist examining her own tribe, unbothered by the fact that she is alone and is not recognized for her effort. She, too, like her subjects, is freed

from the obligation to observe the rules and the deadlines that apply to normal human beings. Metaphors are helpful, and, used sparsely, they haunt the reader. Maurer writes of the lives of the Jews from her ‘league of the saved’ that they are broken into halves which do not fit back together; that they are echoes of that which is no more—and which, perhaps, had been only dreamed. Now too, as the narrator says about herself and those like her in ‘Nie ma Sieglindy’ (‘Sieglinda Does Not Exist’, in Liga ocalatych), their casual encounters with the others, for example their German acquaintances, are in fact those others’ dreams. In her brief conversation

with Sieglinda, formerly a Jewish woman from Dorpat who married a German aristocrat, the narrator quotes her father about nets that always have one opening allowing for escape. Sieglinda answers that this opening has closed behind her for ever: ‘ “And what’s going to be next?” Gudrun [Sieglinda’s niece by marriage] asks her aunt. “Next? Nothing. What can be? As always, as before, as now.”’’

My favourite of Maurer’s existential metaphors is the sie#, which means the

Holocaust Survivors in Maurer’s Stortes ATI semi-dark hall in the entrance of an old-fashioned house, where people stop to take off their coats and perhaps sit for a while on a bench, exchanging a few words with people going in or out. This small, penumbral place with its stale smells vaguely reminiscent of past seasons beyond the gate 1s the narrator’s choice for a convenient residence. It is the perch from which she observes her friends—some of whom, like Henryk in ‘Spisek’ (‘A Conspiracy’) in Liga ocalatych, also refuse to move on, because such refusal is the only true ‘memorial mass for the annihilated world’—as well as whomever else happens to wander through, and who may try to persuade her to enter the living quarters (so to speak), or attract her attention, or ask for her help when she appears to be content in her niche. The unnamed teller of uneventful tales—for what could be eventful after the catastrophe?—herself avoids attracting attention. When she receives recognition as

a brilliant pupil in an elementary school in wartime Krakow (‘Zycie na niby: Spacery z Baska’, ‘Living As If: Walks with Baska’*), as a pious 12-year-old hidden in a Slovak convent (‘Biskup’, “The Bishop’, in Liga ocalatych; ‘Qi pensjon-

arka’, ‘Q and the Schoolgirl,’)° or as an always prompt and excellent student at Munich University, her response is guarded. She is protective of her refusal to become ‘normal’; that is, to become, as she puts it, ‘an educated, well-mannered person, not in most respects different from other people who surround me’ (‘Dojrzatose’, ‘Maturity’, in Liga ocalatych). It could be yet another aspect of her rebellion against all those—from Moscow to Paris, as she remarks in a rare note of bitterness—who ignored the martyrdom of the Jews, and against those who during the years of the calamity took no interest in the personal qualities of the victim, but rather in those characteristics—the looks—that marked out him or her, a child, a classmate, a next-door neighbour, as a Jew. ‘Looks, I was thinking, looks’, Maurer writes in Podréz na wybrzeze Dalmacjt, as her protagonist visits the neighbourhood of the late black poet Langston Hughes in her new home town of Lawrence: The colour of skin, eyes, features that condemn, on a whim, a human being to a certain fate. And there is no appeal from that. For the first time since the end of the war I became aware

of the finality of this verdict. Looks. The realization suddenly stabbed me, then fizzled throughout my body and, in a moment, it was all gone.

She travelled a great distance (Podr0z na wybrzeze Dalmacjt was written in 1972 in Lawrence, Kansas) before she could venture out from the hallway and feel her own pain, suffered in that other hemisphere, as related to that which has been suffered in this one by a fellow poet down the road from the Lawrence campus, and before she could name it: the pain of a victim of racism.

Still, we must not forget that this moment of recognition occurs in a work of literature, however closely autobiographical. It is preceded, in this masterfully composed short story, by a tale of the narrator’s irritation with a visiting scholar 4 Wiadomosci (June and Oct. 1985). > Tygodnik Powszechny, 29 May 1908.

A472 Joanna Rostropowicz Clark from the People’s Republic of Poland. She does not meet him because he is in another department, but she hears of his frequent and openly antisemitic remarks , of the crudest sort. His remarks betray not only his primitive racism, but also his ignorance of the fact that this has become a cultural taboo in the United States. The situation 1s almost the reverse of that in Poland at the time, where the rhetoric of antisemitism permeated every form of public discourse. She worries, and would like the bigot from Warsaw to be told that his behaviour is unpatriotic; it confirms

the stereotype of Poles as rabid antisemites, and reflects badly on the group of expatriates in Lawrence. ‘But that’s why we’re here, and they’re there’, answers one of her Polish colleagues. She would have laid the issue to rest if she had not learned that the man, a physicist, grew up in a post-war orphanage where quite a few Jewish children found refuge from the slaughter (as she did). Indeed, a year later, after the man had gone back to Poland, someone passed on to her a rumour that perhaps he

was Jewish. ‘I didn’t ask for the details’, Maurer writes; ‘Life often clumsily imitates art, weaving with thick yarn, and spoiling subtle concepts with vulgar interpretations. Even the greatest kitsch cannot match the crudity and the banality of life’s true facts.’

So, how does Maurer deal with the issue of identity? Or with the issues of victimhood and guilt, which are always bracketed with this problem in the fashionable “politics of identity’? Most emphatically, she rejects all the clichés (she uses the Polish word frazesy), generalizations, and self-serving (individually and collectively) myths that have been and continue to be spun out of the abysmal reality of the Holocaust—some with the best of intentions, others less honourable. She will not, her readers and personal acquaintances are assured, participate in academic or therapeutic debate on the subject. She approaches the matter of both her Jewish-

ness and her Polishness with great care, as a complex composite of heritage, predicament, and choice. She allows for no external interventions or interpretations—especially from those, Jewish or not, who were not there and did not experience the horror that she experienced. In her pre-adolescent childhood she watched the transports to the death camps and when in ‘Qi pensjonarka’ a young nun says, ‘It’s only the Jews they’re carrying’, we know where and how Maurer’s identity has been formed. But in the same magnificent story of bucolic and shattering memories, and of day-dreaming letters, there are also the nuns and the monks who understood and who were wisely protective of their Jewish ward’s sensitivity. One of them, Father Maurycy, when asked many years later to write his biography for the history of the order, summed up his wartime activities on behalf of the Jews in one short sentence: ‘And as for helping one’s compatriots, that’s really a simple matter.’ In ‘Polska idealna’ (‘Ideal Poland’, in Podr6z na wybrzeze Dalmacjt), the story that best exemp-

lifies Maurer’s whimsical sense of irony, the narrator remembers her mother’s friend Bronka, who agreed to shelter them overnight—though they were now no longer simply friends, but a Jewish woman and her daughter. There is the

Holocaust Survivors in Maurer’s Stories 473 geographical and the historical Poland, where one may not want to live, and the ideal Poland: the Poland of Jankiels and Wokulskis, uprisings and devotion to social causes, landscapes before and after the battles. ‘I too lived only in the ideal Poland’, she writes. Yet for one year after the war, and before her parents’ decision to em1grate, the geographical and the ideal Poland were one. ‘Only for that one, first year after the war did I have my motherland. And I had already learned then that a person without a motherland is not fully a person, can never be like other people’, she writes in ‘Ojczyzna’ (‘Motherland’). Again, on a rare confessional note, she speaks

of ‘the residue of bitterness’ with which that loss would continue to shadow her future ‘joys and triumphs’. Jewishness, in Maurer’s world, is one and undivided. Heritage may be somewhat arguable, qualified by the degree of assimilation; thus in essence it is the entitlement of the shared loss that is far more devastating than the loss of the motherland. Unlike many survivors who have attempted in their writing to bear witness to the calamity of the Holocaust—most prominently Henryk Grynberg in Polish and Aharon Appelfeld in Hebrew—Maurer does not tell tales of individual martyrdom or describe the golgotha of singular escapes. It is not that she subscribes to a notion of the inadequacy of language, to the idea that it can’t express the ‘unspeakable’ (which is one of the myths created by theoreticians of the Holocaust trauma). Witnesses do speak, in all tongues, but who wants to listen? She tells the reader that the characters in her stories do talk within their own circle, incessantly in the early post-war period, about what had happened to them and their families: wives, parents, children. And she leaves it just there: with the children. It hurts to see children at play, anywhere. Besides, there were so many subjects which ~ : ‘shouldn’t be mentioned’, she writes in ‘Byt sobie dziad 1 baba’ with her fine irony, ‘so, we were not supposed to talk about anything that would remind these people about their childhood or about their family homes. Certain melodies were not to be hummed. In short, one was not allowed to talk about anything.’

| Then we read in the same story that they : had stopped talking about the perished world, all that which had tumbled, irreversibly, into , : the past, which perhaps had been only dreamed. Separated from those former families,

: which linger in their memories, from those first wives, husbands, and children—the children who, if they were alive, would have had their own children—by the abyss of time and by the distance of life’s events, they now busied themselves around their stores, factor-

, ies, and bistros, and I can’t hold it against them, for how else were they going to live...

There is no bitterness here, and not a flicker of irony. There is only the immense, ongoing sadness. In all of Jadwiga Maurer’s stories the narrator appears not to be permanently

| attached to anyone. There are glimpses of the mother, in Krakow and in Munich, and fewer of the father. Friendships and infatuations dissipate as their objects move on and change—or seem to change. She is never really, as we say, in love. The

474 Joanna Rostropowicz Clark recording apparatus, the artist’s magic mirror, is carefully positioned to reflect only

that part of the author’s past, of her pitch-perfect memory, that she chooses to record: the makeshift nature of life after death, the passive but stubborn refusal to set the clock to present time. And yet, finally, the change—healing, perhaps— begins to make its intravenous rounds. At the end of ‘Q i pensjonarka’ Maurer writes: ‘Most importantly, I can’t be angry with anyone. I can help this or that person, but I can’t hurt anyone. I am not afraid of anything or surprised by anything. It may be late but at last I am beginning to follow Father Guardian’s advice. I enjoy life.’ For a moment the grateful reader may worry that Maurer will now abandon her ‘chronicles’ from the unmapped cape that points towards eternity. But for a writer of her inner resources and talent there is always territory ahead. It may

be in Lawrence, Kansas, where ‘In summertime, when all my friends leave the town, in the blinding whiteness of dust and the relentless sunshine, one can clearly

hear the beating of [the city’s] heart and the pulsing of blood in the veins of its , streets.’ There she lives, ‘at home’ in the ideal country of teachers and craftsmen of literature.

Polish Translations of Yiddish Literature Published in Wroclaw JERZY TOMASZEWSKI

A COUPLE of weeks ago I placed on my bookshelf the latest volume of literary translations from Yiddish published by Wydawnictwo Dolnoslaskie in Wroctaw as part of the Library of Jewish Writers series, which was initiated in 1987. These were not the first translations of Yiddish literature to be published in Poland after the war, and it is worth recalling some of the others. In 1958—61 the Panstwowy Instytut Wydawniczy (State Publishing Institute, PIW) in Warsaw published three volumes of the works of Sholem Aleichem as well as one volume of I. J. Singer’s works. In 1961 Ossolineum in Wroclaw published the stories of Y. L. Perets with an extensive introduction by Bernard Mark in its important series Biblioteka Narodowa (National Library), and in 1964 Czytelnik in Warsaw published a book by Sholem Asch. These works were translated from the original. After that there was a long break, caused by ‘factors having nothing to do with merit’ (as such things were euphemistically called at the time), until in 1983 the PIW took advantage of

the favourable circumstances to publish a valuable anthology of Yiddish poetry

which had been prepared for publication in 1967. :

The awarding of the Nobel Prize to I. B. Singer in 1978, together with the onset of political changes in Poland in 1980 (only partially interrupted by martial law), made a Polish edition of Singer’s works possible. In 1983 PIW published the first translations, based on English-language publications. The flood of translations of Singer’s work that followed was so great that it was difficult to keep up with, even for the reader who was particularly interested in him. This outpouring was possible thanks not only to the interest of the readers (this was, after all, the most recent Nobel laureate from Poland), but also to the overthrow of the political system in 1989, the abolition of censorship, and the formation of numerous small publishing houses. Unfortunately, not everyone took pains to maintain an adequate standard of translation, and it sometimes happened that translations of phrases unfamiliar to the modern Polish reader were not close enough to their actual meaning. A Nobel laureate was a ‘hot commodity’ in the book market, and other, no less distinguished Jewish writers profited from his popularity, with some publishers taking on their works as well; for example, the famous book by the poet Itzik Manger Ksiega raju

476 Jerzy Tomaszewski (Dos buch fun gan-eden, “The Book from the Garden of Eden’), translated by Michat Friedman and published by PIW in 1988.

In these circumstances, the idea for a series of works translated by experts on Jewish issues on the basis of original publications in Yiddish was born. The project was initiated by Jan Stolarczyk, the deputy director of Wydawnictwo DolnosSlaskie,

who invited two experts on Yiddish literature to cooperate in the undertaking: Professor Chone Shmeruk of the Hebrew University and that distinguished activist in Jewish organizations and lover of literature Michat Friedman. Perhaps the fact that after 1945 Wroclaw was one of the most important centres of Jewish life, and that it maintains that tradition even today despite the emigration of many Jewish families, had some influence here. Each year since then has seen published one or two volumes of the classics of

Yiddish literature—those whose names have entered into the treasury of world culture. Every volume is translated from the original. Some works have been published in Polish for the first time, while others are new translations. It turns out that the earlier versions were sometimes imprecisely translated, or were mangled by the censors, or that their literary form departed too greatly from that of the original. This 1s particularly significant where the previous translators did not work from the original Yiddish, but instead from a translation into another language, for it appears that Yiddish is in many respects closer to the Polish language than, for example, to English or German. This became apparent in a comparison of the original version

Yiddish. |

of the novella Der sotn in Goraj (‘Satan in Goraj’) with its English translation. Precise equivalents for many Yiddish expressions, which are missing from other languages, can often be found in Polish, and Polish syntax is also close to that of

Each volume contains a glossary of words and phrases specific to Yiddish culture and prepared by experts on the subject. The books are printed in both hardback and paperback, with a standard layout (the symbol of the series is a combination of the Hebrew aleph and the Roman ‘a’). The name of the author and the title of the work appear in Polish on the front of the jacket. The original title appears on the back in Hebrew characters. This modest but aesthetic editorial form means that the books serve to adorn any book collection. The Wydawnictwo DolnoSlaskie occupied twenty-third place on a list of publishing houses that had put out more than too books in 1998, so it is not a powerhouse in the Polish book market, though it has long enjoyed respect. At first, books

published by the Library of Jewish Writers were issued in impressive print runs, but since 1990 the quantities have been reduced, as is the case with other publishing houses. In any case, every volume of this series disappears quickly from Warsaw bookstores; you have to buy them as soon as you see them. It is difficult to overestimate the significance of the Library of Jewish Writers.

It has become an excellent means of popularizing Yiddish culture among Polish readers. Through this great literature, consciousness of the ties binding the two

| Polish Translations of Yiddish Literature 477 peoples living on the same land reaches the reading public, and the various stereotypes and legends that have arisen in circumstances of ignorance can be over-

come. There can be no doubt as to the worthy contribution of the publishers in Wroclaw. The majority of these books were translated by that indefatigable popularizer of Yiddish culture Michat Friedman, who has translated many books for other publishers as well. We are also indebted to him for his initiative in teaching Yiddish and Hebrew to our historians, so that we now have his students among the translators of books by Jewish writers.

The following books have been published to date by the Library of Jewish Writers:

1989 Szolem Alejchem (Sholem Aleichem), Dzieje Temjt mleczarza (Tevye der milkhiker, “Tevye the Dairyman’), trans. Anna Dresnerowa, introd. Salomon Beilis-Legis.

Szolem Alejchem, Z jarmarku (Funem yarid, ‘From the Market’), trans. Michat Friedman, introd. Salomon Beilis-Legis. 1990 Szalom Asz (Sholem Asch), Mgz z Nazaretu (Der man fun Natsaret, “The Man from Nazareth’), trans. Michat Friedman, introd. Salomon BeilisLegis.

Mendele Mojcher Sforim (Mendele Mokher Seforim), Podréze Bentamina Trzeciego (Masoes Benjomin hashsi, ‘The Travels of Benjamin the Third’), trans. Michat Friedman, introd. Salomon Beilis-Legis. 1991 Szolem Alejchem (Sholem Aleichem), Kasrylewka (Fun Kasrylevke, ‘From Kasrylevke’), trans. and introd. Michat Friedman. Izrael Rabon (Israel Rabon), Ulica (D1 gas, “The Street’), trans. Krzysztof Modelski, introd. Chone Shmeruk.

Wisse. |

1992 Abraham Sutzkewer (Abraham Sutzkever), Zielone akwarium (Di grine akvarium, ‘The Green Aquarium’), trans. Michat Friedman, introd. Ruth

1993 Szalom Asz (Sholem Asch), Czarodziejka z Kastylu (D1 kishufmakherin fun

Kastilien. ‘The Sorceress of Castile’), trans. Michat Friedman, introd. Eugenia Prokop-Janiec.

1997 Icchak Lejbusz Perec (Yitzhak Leib Perets), Opomiadania chasydzkie 1 ludowe (Khasidishe un folkstimlekhe dertsaylungen, ‘Hasidic and Popular Tales’), trans. Michat Friedman, introd. Salomon Beilis-Legis. 1998 Jehoszua Perle (Yehoshua Perle), Zydzi dnia powszedniego ( Yidn fun a gantz yor, ‘Everyday Jews’), trans. and introd. Michat Friedman.

478 | Ferzy Tomaszewski Izrael Joszua Singer (Israel Joshua Singer), Bracia Aszkenazy (D1 brider

Ashkenazy, “The Brothers Ashkenazy’), trans. Maria Krych, introd. Eugenia Prokop-Janiec.

2001 Zusman Segatowicz (Zusman Segalovich). Tfomackie 13. (z unicestwione]

przesztosct) (‘Tlomackie 13 (from the Destroyed Past)’), trans. Michat Friedman. The following appeared outside the framework of the series:

1992 Isaac Bashevis Singer, Rodzina Karnowski (Di mishpokhe Karnowsk, “The Family Karnowski’), trans. Maria Krych, introd. Eugenia Prokop-Janiec. 1995 Szmuel Josef Agnon (Shmuel Yosef Agnon), Od Buczacza do ferozolimy:

| Opowiadania (‘From Buczacz to Jerusalem: Short Stories’), trans. Michal Friedman. —

Isaac Bashevis Singer, Szatan w Goraju (Der sotn in Goraj, ‘Satan in Goraj’), trans. and introd. Monika Adamczyk-Garbowska and Chone Shmeruk; 2nd edn. Library of World Classics, 1999.

BOOK REVIEWS

DAVID PATTERSON

The Hebrew Novelin Czanst Russta | (Lanham, Md.: Rowan & Littlefield, 1999); pp. iv + 320

Russian intellectuals in the second half of the nineteenth century knew what they wanted from their fiction: social criticism, artistic depth, and membership in the European world of high culture. Russian Jewish intellectuals—those self-conscious, rebellious, devoted maskilim—wanted essentially the same things. They were labouring, of course, under certain impediments. Since no modern Jewish literature existed, they would have to create it. And they would have to decide what language to use for the purpose. The subjects of David Patterson’s study are those literary pioneers who chose Hebrew. Reissued after a gap of over thirty years, Patterson’s book shows us to what extent these early Hebrew novelists achieved their goals. As writers of fiction, they certainly considered themselves Europeans. Artistic depth proved more elusive,

but social portraits and social criticism abounded. It is in this area that the novels—and Patterson’s book—remain a rich source of information for modern readers. Believing, along with their Russian models, that fiction was a teacher of life, the Hebrew novelists wrote like reformers. As we observe them idealizing what they considered the proper path to a Jewish future and satirizing what they saw as retrograde or false, we have before us a valuable guide to what they them-

selves believed. Those parts of the novels that are descriptive without being tendentious are another source of information. Here the student of the Jewish past can find the physical details of daily life and an account of how to get along (do business, bribe, and dodge the draft) in the conditions of the Russian empire. Patterson’s book takes up eleven writers, including Shalom Jacob Abramowitz (Mendele Mokher Seforim) and Perets Smolenskin (Abraham Mapu is left out because of Patterson’s own book devoted to him), and eighteen novels. Because the study was originally published in 1964, many parts of it show their age, and the reader is best advised to start from the back. In the final chapter are subtle and important observations on the hybrid nature of these novels, which combine Euro-

pean adventurism with a Jewish reality that was far from romantic or swashbuckling. The level of analysis is not quite as strong in the book’s mid-section, which treats the novels as social documents. The weakest part of the book is its beginning, burdened as it is with long stretches of plot summary and the author’s

480 Book Reviews apologetic stance. Given what Hebrew literature has become, not to mention the value (self-evident today) of studying lesser works as cultural artefacts, these sections should have been revised or cut. But for the reader who approaches this study with an understanding of what it can offer—and for all of us who will never confront these novels on our own—the reissue of Patterson’s book is welcome indeed. ALICE NAKHIMOVSKY Colgate University

SHMUEL A. ARTHUR CYGIELMAN

Jewish Autonomy in Poland and Lithuania until 1648 (Nanuet, NY: Feldheim Publishers, 1997); pp. cxii + 494

This collection of documents on Jewish autonomy in Poland and Lithuania in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is an English translation of the last section of Dr Cygielman’s Hebrew-language version, which was published by the Shazar Center in Jerusalem in 1991. Most of the errors that marred that volume have been corrected. The book 1s thus a valuable tool for anyone who desires a better acquaintance with the primary sources on Jewish life in Poland and Lithuania. This is truly a fascinating study dealing with Jewish communal autonomy, and above all the kahal system, affording valuable insights into Jewish life in the towns where Jews lived. On the basis of excerpts from original source materials, the author describes the

structure of Jewish self-government and the economic issues of concern to the Jews in their everyday lives: the problem of deserted wives, loans at interest to Jews, the rights of daughters to inherit part of their fathers’ estates, the organization and maintenance of elementary education in the communities, and many other questions. One of the annotated documentary sources is the ‘Assessment and

Collection of Taxes in the Holy Community of Zétkiew’ (1614). In addition to making this document available to those who have difficulty in making use of the dense original Hebrew, the author has painstakingly encapsulated the history of the noble town in the footnotes. Another of the sources focuses on Kazimierz. There are two annotated documentary sources on the “Holy Community of Pozna’. The first consists of excerpts from the Poznan pinkas (record book) of the kesherim (eligible office-holders) and the second contains excerpts from the Poznan kahal record book (third memoir book). Other documents deal with education, welfare, and decisions made at fairs.

The author has provided a useful selection of rabbinic responsa—most notably those of Rabbi Moses Isserles (Rema) and Rabbi Shlomo (Solomon) Luria.

Book Reviews 481 The book includes twenty-eight colour photographs of synagogues in Tykocin, Szczebrzeszyn, Lesko, Zamos¢, Rzeszow, and Lancut. There is also a series of | important indexes for research, including an ‘Index of Names—People and Places’, : a name index of urban settlements in which Jews resided from the thirteenth to the

: mid-seventeenth centuries, and an index of sources and references for the docu| mentary material. The book also contains a very useful map of Jewish urban settlements in Poland and Lithuania from the thirteenth to seventeenth centuries.

, Although intended primarily for the specialist and the university student, this

: GARY FITELBERG | book will be read profitably and with enjoyment by the educated amateur.

| THE FACING HISTORY

. AND OURSELVES NATIONAL FOUNDATION The Jews of Poland

| (Brookline, Mass., 1998); pp. xvi + 276 How does one teach American Jewish teenagers about the Holocaust? How does one enable their sheltered minds to grasp what is not only philosophically incomprehensible but also remote from their everyday experience? How to make it real

. and not completely abstract for them? The Facing History and Ourselves National Foundation believes, in my opinion justly, that personal narratives and comparison with today’s dilemmas and choices work better for young readers than dry historical narration. The Foundation’s recent publication The Jews of Poland is an example of this approach. Even if the title suggests a comprehensive history of Polish Jewry the book focuses on one place, Warsaw, and extensively quotes from memoirs, firsthand accounts and testimonies of witnesses. The book is intended as a resource

book and guide for high school teachers and students learning about the Holocaust. Can it serve this purpose with such a strategy? A striking feature of The Jews of Poland is that it seems as if it has no author. The title page lists no name; instead it appears that Facing History and Ourselves

has sole responsibility for the book’s strengths and weaknesses. Only from the preface can we deduce that Jan Darsa, senior program associate, is the author. Why such reticence? Is it because the creators knew that the work was flawed and the project was already too far advanced to be cancelled? Factual errors and lack of editorial care are found on almost every page. I will give only a few examples. There are utterly fantastic ‘linguistic’ remarks with no foundation in the Polish language (p. 40). A quotation by Nathan Note Hanover is

482 Book Reviews introduced by a sentence starting with ‘Not long after the massacres . . .’. What these massacres were we can only guess, as the description of the Khmelnytsky uprising first appears on the page after the quotation (pp. 32-3). The term shtet/ appears as if it were a standard English word with no description or explanation (p. 38). Galicia may have been the north-eastern province or perhaps the eastern part of the Austro-Hungarian empire, but it was certainly not ‘a province in the southeastern corner of Austria-Hungary’ (p. 68). Another statement reads: ‘on September 1, 1939, time took on new meaning for every Jew in Poland. On that day the German army invaded the nation’ (p. 116). If read literally, this implies that the Germans somehow invaded Jewish territory over the heads of the Poles and without crossing Polish borders. A caption below a picture of a bridge over a street states that it shows ‘the main bridge linking the “big” and “little” ghettos’-—

but it does not mention the name of the town (p. 148). The list of errors and Omissions goes on.

Still more serious are the methodological faults. The book is plainly ahistorical. Facts seem to be chosen haphazardly, with no regard to the importance assigned to

them in standard Polish or Jewish historiography. Key events and figures are _ skipped over, sometimes bringing to the fore instead obscure personalities whose names are often misspelled. For example, according to this book, Jadwiga Seza~ winska (this should probably be Szczawinska) was a principal organizer of the Flying University; however, she is not mentioned in the Polish Great Encyclopedia PWN (p. 49). In addition, the name Flying University did not stem ‘from the way _ its students and professors fled from the Russian Police’, but from the fact that it had no permanent location and its classes were therefore held in various private apartments. History in The Jews of Poland appears as a series of events that just happen one

after another with no continuity, development, or internal relation. A typical example is the following: after a series of wars that tore the country apart, Poland’s name disappeared from the world maps. Its land and people were divided among the Austrian, Prussian, and Russian empires. Most Jews found themselves living under Russian rule. In the past, the Russians had not permitted Jews to settle anywhere in their empire. Now they gave Polish Jews the right to live in Russia but only in the far western section of the empire in the area known as the Pale of Settlement. (p. 33)

This random selection of facts fails to create a coherent overview. The book is clearly a victim of the religion of ‘proactive’ learning so widespread

in today’s education. The edict ‘Engage your student!’ resounds loudly throughout. The student cannot be left alone for a second; he must be continually busy, stimulated, provoked, pushed, and pulled. The student is not expected to listen; he must ‘participate’. Old-fashioned lecturing that provides factual knowledge as well as a sense of historical process is not among the aims. Conversely, underlying this

Book Reviews 483 ‘proactivity’ is a fear of boring the student. This educational philosophy leads inevitably to the kind of writing quoted above. It goes almost without saying that the book barely appears to have been proofread. To give just one example, according to page 187, the Warsaw ghetto uprising started on 19 April 1943 and ended in May 1942. In addition, many local and personal names are misspelled. This mostly concerns Polish proper names but Jewish ones are not spared either. The list of problems with The Jews of Poland is \ong, and as historiography the book is simply indefensible. Still, there is something in it that stops me short of total condemnation, and after the necessary criticism I shall point out some of its merits. There are two opposing approaches to understanding history. The first is based on the premiss that today is the result of the experienced past, a past that needs to be understood as different from our own time, as a ‘foreign country’. This approach aims to reconstruct this historical process accurately, and consequently accentuates differences between what once was and what is now. The other approach stresses the fundamental similarity of human experience in various circumstances. It calls for awareness that the choices people made in the past were as real and difficult as our choices today. ‘To understand the past we must understand those people in the same way we understand (or rather do not understand) ourselves. We must judge them as we judge ourselves today, by the same criteria, regardless of the dangers of

anachronism. Of course, these two perspectives rarely appear in their pure form, and one of the measures of a book’s value is how it balances these perspectives. 7he Jews of Poland relies on the latter, regrettably without providing an adequate base in the former. Many answers in The Jews of Poland are factually flawed; still, the questions it

asks young readers are serious and real. While the fact that it is written from a Jewish perspective is obvious, the book is largely free from the lachrymose and exclusive attitude often characteristic of Jewish historiography. It often points out the difficult choices non-Jews faced, presents their viewpoints, and emphasizes that they too did not know the future. Sometimes the book does this by introducing a telling detail—for example, the questions asked by Pitsudski of the representatives

of the Jewish community and the responses he rece1ved—and adding relevant questions for the students (p. 91). This can mitigate the uncompromising attitudes of young people prone to blanket judgements. It is my view that a course based on The Jews of Poland could give high school

students a general sense of what happened during the Holocaust, but that they might develop strange ideas about how and where it happened. Would I use it as a textbook in my hypothetical course about the Holocaust? I regret to say that the answer is no, even though there is much that I like in it. GWIDO ZLATKES

Brandeis University

484 Book Reviews HENRY ABRAMSON

A Prayer for the Government: Ukrainians and Jews in Revolutionary Times, 1917-1920 (Cambridge, Mass.: Ukrainian Research Institute and Center for Jewish Studies, Harvard University, 1999); pp. xx + 256

Few topics in east European history are as complex, emotional, and politically charged as Ukrainian—Jewish relations—all the more so when the focus is on the troubled times of the Russian Revolution. The extensive historiography of this theme has been largely polemical, self-righteous, and one-sided. In his first monograph Henry Abramson plunges head on into this forbidding swamp. The result is

| a thoughtful, lucid, and level-headed study of a topic that has often defied these terms. Although Abramson does not offer a radically new interpretation—a practically impossible task given the voluminous literature—he makes full use of his command of all the necessary languages (Ukrainian, Yiddish, Hebrew, Russian), judiciously analysing archival sources and extensive secondary literature to produce the most authoritative study to date of this difficult question and era. The tale revolves around the short period of less than four years during which Ukrainian—Jewish relations reached two opposite climaxes. The first and undoubtedly the most intriguing development was the genuine attempt by leaders of both sides to overcome entrenched mutual animosities, identify common ground and goals, and form a political alliance. Given the uneasy history of their relations, this

was nothing short of a revolution. For Jews, this meant the reorientation of centuries of Russophile attitudes as well as integration into national politics, from which they had previously been isolated both by the autocracy and by their own communal will. For Ukrainians, the integration of Jews into the new body politic meant overcoming centuries-old resentments against the Jews’ role in the economy and in the service of foreign occupiers, as well as ancient cultural and religious alienation. It also meant securing an ally in the urban sector where Ukrainians numbered very few. At the onset of the revolution this looked to be far from a quixotic quest, not _ least because of the democratic convictions and noble personalities of Ukrainian leaders like Mykhailo Hrushevsky and Volodymyr Vynnychenko. The Central Rada (assembly) passed liberal legislation on the rights of minorities and granted Jews disproportionate representation in the infant state organs, and when pogroms loomed on the horizon, the Directory (Ukrainian National Republic administra-

, tion) supported the organization of Jewish self-defence. Regrettably, the honeymoon was brief and almost inconsequential. Jewish parties were sharply divided over the core issues, with Zionists (who won the majority of the Jewish vote) expressing ambivalence over institutionalized collaboration that might hamper the

Book Reviews | 485 prospects of the Palestine (Erets Yisrael) enterprise, and socialists apprehensive about severing relations with workers across the border. The rejection of the Fourth Universal (the declaration of Ukrainian independence) by the Jewish parties ended this euphoric stage. Later, precious time was wasted in squabbling over the issues of language (Hebrew versus Yiddish) and the allotment of seats in various bodies,

rather than in taking measures to confront the second climax: the unfolding tragedy of mass pogroms.

Ukrainian leaders, who were trying to salvage the authority of the Directory over an unwieldy army and territory that was being encroached upon by the Red Army, did not view the pogroms (carried out largely by their troops) as a prime concern. Their half-hearted and belated reaction only magnified the tragedy, since, as Abramson demonstrates, when they did intervene, they managed to curtail the

atrocities. Thus, the brief Ukrainian—Jewish rapprochement deteriorated into pogroms and unprecedented carnage. Justifiably Abramson devotes substantial space to the question of Petlyura’s role in the pogroms. He holds Petlyura accountable, though not directly responsible, because of his failure to take a stand against

the atrocities when such a stand could have made a difference. Arguably more suggestive, however, was the reaction by the philosemite Vynnychenko. Even in a circular that called for an end to the pogroms and severe punishment for the perpetrators, Vynnychenko still reproached ‘individual anarchist-Bolshevik Jews’ who brought down the hetman’s ire upon the rest of the community. Despite strong protests, the Ukrainian prime minister refused to remove this passage (p. 144). This incident alone cautions against the author’s own argument that lead-

ers of the mutually antagonistic communities were trying to achieve a working political relationship, ‘only to be betrayed by less enlightened attitudes among the general population’ (p. xvi). Sadly, many of these leaders were still part of the milieu they were trying to change.

The author’s decision to focus solely on the politics is legitimate. It is also plausible to argue that it was the political ideologies and the choices made by contemporary leaders, more than any other factors, that dictated the course of events. Such a choice, however, leaves out the very subjects of this study: the Ukrainian

and Jewish populations. Both groups are dealt with mainly through analysis of collective voting patterns or as passive bystanders. The penetrating and lively portraits of various leaders are rarely matched by depictions of the ordinary men and women who were the subjects of those leaders’ visions, schemes, and policies. Admittedly, the voices of common folk are hard to come by in the various sources, but against the background of social upheaval and political fluidity, their absence is glaring.

Additionally, I differ with the thrust of Abramson’s bibliographical survey. Indeed, the 1926 assassination of Symon Petlyura is often referred to in the historiography of Ukrainian—Jewish relations as a watershed. It provided a certain twisted parity and, even less fortunately, a fig leaf for apologetic interpretations of

486 Book Reviews the increasingly sour relations between the two communities. But as other studies of reactions to traumatic events of similar magnitude have shown, it takes both perpetrators and victims some time to digest the traumas and to confront their own past. It required more than a decade for Israelis and over two decades for Germans to start dealing systematically with the Holocaust—approximately the same time it took Americans to engage with both the Civil War and the Vietnam War. The pogroms were bound to become the centre of the Ukrainian—Jewish encounter with or without Petlyura’s assassination. Was this an inevitable outcome? Could any political manoeuvring alter the dramatic and bloody collapse of the Ukrainian—Jewish rapprochement? A Prayer for the Government reflects the constant tension between pragmatic politics and an unstoppable revolutionary whirlwind. Throughout his story Abramson pays close attention to the inadequate policies of the two sides and how they produced belated and inappropriate responses to the daily deterioration of both the prospects of the Ukrainian Revolution and the situation of the Jews. His conclusion suggests that the noble experiment in democratic pluralism and minority rights was out of step

with the spirit of the times. In the inter-war independent Baltic states Jewish autonomy fell victim to traditional animosities, the advance of the indigenous population into traditional Jewish trades, and above all the aspiration for a homogeneous society that dominated the European scene at the time. Moreover, the

evolution of traditional religious and economic animosities into _politicalideological antagonism was fatal, as it resulted in an undifferentiated approach and _ violence against minorities and domestic rivals. More often than not the drama and horrors of 1917—21 defy subtlety, as most histories and memoirs of the era attest. Still, one can hope that this book will soon be translated into Ukrainian and Hebrew. Jewish and Ukrainian historians and laypeople who have long been accustomed to viewing each other and this era in black and white terms will benefit from the nuanced, thoughtful grey that colours Abramson’s study. AMIR WEINER

Stanford University

HENRYK HOFFMAN

Z Drohobycza do Ziemt Obtecane (From Drohobych to the Promised Land) (Lublin: Norbertinum, 1999); pp. 136

The Lublin publishing house Norbertinum has undertaken a new initiative in the publication of memoirs by Polish Jews—more specifically, by those Polish Jews for

Book Reviews 487 whom the love of one’s national tradition and literature involves a warm acceptance of Polish culture. The first volume of the series Gtosy przezytych (Voices of the Survivors) has already appeared under the editorship of Wtadystaw Panas, Father Romuald Jakub Weksler-Waszkinel, and Stawomir J. Zurek. Professor Panas is known for his research on Bruno Schulz, and Weksler-Waszkinel is an indefatigable promoter of Christian—Jewish dialogue. Zurek is the author of a study on Arnold Stucki. The second volume in the series is the memoirs of Henryk Hoffman. As a resident of Drohobych, I want to say that the publication of this memoir has enormous significance for the Jewish community of this town and of the Lviv region. Before the Second World War Jews made up 40 per cent of the population of Drohobych. The Nazis shot and killed 12,000 of the Jewish residents of the town and its surrounding countryside in the nearby village of Bronytsya. From the 1970s until today Jews have been emigrating to Israel, the United States, and Germany. In 1990 we established a religious community in Drohobych, and it now has 260 members. The Sholem Aleichem Association for Jewish Culture, with more than 100 members, operates in the neighbouring town of Boryslav. We view Henryk Hoffman’s book as a living and fascinating source for acquainting ourselves with the recent history of our native region in the inter-war period, under the so-called first and second Soviet occupations, and during the Holocaust. In parts I and I the author provides abundant testimony to the neighbourly, cooperative relations that existed between Jews and Poles in the spheres of economics, culture, and medicine. One example of such honesty, hard work, modesty, and goodness 1s the mem-

oirist’s father, Eliasz Hoffman. There are still a dozen or so people living in Drohobych, Jews and Poles, who recall Dr Hoffman—as well as the equally helpful and self-sacrificing Polish doctors Koztowski and Skulski—with gratitude.

Henryk Hoffman’s remarks about his great countryman Bruno Schulz are particularly valuable and are full of respect and warmth. For us, the residents of Drohobych, Schulz and his life and works do not yet belong to history. They remain our daily concern and fascination. The Jewish religious community, together with the Drohobych region Association of Polish Culture, makes constant efforts to memorialize the great writer, although we encounter resistance and misunderstanding on the part of the authorities. In 1992 a monument to Schulz made in Paris with Israeli funds was brought to Drohobych. Despite our efforts, the then mayor of Drohobych, Myron Hlubish, categorically forbade the placement of the monument on any street or square. When [| asked for a reason, he said: ‘People will say that we are raising monuments to aliens at a time when not all of our own have

been given monuments.’ The monument to Schulz was in fact confiscated and placed in one of the rooms of the Higher Pedagogical School, where it is difficult for delegations from Israel, Poland, Germany, and other countries to gain access. The doorkeeper says that the laboratory assistant has the key, and she’s not there. It’s impossible to reach her; she has no telephone .. .

488 Book Reviews In local newspapers several tracts have been published protesting the publication of Schulz’s works in Ukrainian translation. For example, Yevhen Melnyk, formerly a lecturer in literature at the Higher Pedagogical School and currently a bureaucrat, asserts in his articles that Schulz was an average, dull writer, and that only Jewish propaganda ascribes any talent to him. Our attempts to establish a Schulz museum at the author’s former apartment on Florianska Street, which he described in his novel Sklepy cynamonowe (‘Cinnamon Shops’), were also

rebuffed. (Florianska Street is now named after the Ukrainian scholar Yury Drohobych.) Given the dislike and contempt of the Ukrainian authorities for Schulz, Hoffman’s every word about this great writer, whom he knew personally, raises the spirits of the Jews and Poles of Drohobych, who remember him and his tragic fate every day. (Schulz was shot on the street by a member of the Gestapo in November 1942.) The first chapter of Hoffman’s book, “The Apartment Building on Mickiewicz

Street’, recalls that most beautiful of streets—one of the central streets in Drohobych. It is here that Henryk lived with his parents. The name of the street survived the German and Soviet occupations, but in 1991 it was replaced with the name Taras Shevchenko Street. Previously, another street—also in the centre of the town and very pretty and wide, with white stone buildings and tall old trees— was named after the Ukrainian poet. Now the name of ‘Taras Shevchenko has been transferred to the former Mickiewicz Street, no doubt because it is a longer street. What has been forgotten is that there is a monument to the poet on this street, funded by the residents of Drohobych in honour of the anniversary of his birth. When, in conversation with the deputy mayor of the town, I spoke of the harmonious connection between the monument and the name of the street, he replied: ‘I don’t get involved in these changes. I refer them to a professor at the Higher Pedagogical School, Mykhailo Shlata.’ Hoffman describes the cruelty of the Nazis in Drohobych and rescues the tragic figures of his murdered friends, acquaintances, and neighbours from oblivion. They represent a small part of the ‘murdered Jewish people’ about which Icchak Kacenelson wrote in his long poem in Yiddish ‘Dos lid fun oysgehargeten yidishen folk’ (“Song of the Murdered Jewish People’). Icchak was related to my father Berl Kacenelson, who maintained the family tradition of respect for our cousin’s poetic talent as well as his faithfulness to Judaism and Jewish culture. My father never knew that Icchak Kacenelson perished in the unequal battle with the Nazis in 1944, because he had died earlier—in February 1942, during the siege of Leningrad. Reading the pages of Hoffman’s bloody memoir, I am full of admiration for his ability to recall the names and profiles of many of the murdered even though he was writing many years later in Israel (he emigrated in 1968). Particularly moving in its tragedy and nobility is Hoffman’s recollection of the Drohobych rabbi Avigdor, who prayed on the eve of Yom Kippur together with his fellow prisoners. The author writes:

Book Reviews 489 The commandant agreed—and of course this was in connection with some new present— to allow the two larger rooms in the men’s block to be transformed into a synagogue. That

evening at the large, simple table covered with a tablecloth and thickly covered with candles, against a background of wooden bunks pushed against the walls, which were the only—though somehow eloquent—decoration, the figure of Avigdor stood once again, as if years ago in “ania, slender and wrapped in a ta/it. Beside him were his two sons, and behind him were the others, immersed in prayer. Suddenly Hildenbrandt and Mencinger appear in the doorway. Behind them Baustein and others could be seen. No one interrupts the prayer. It is the prayer for forgiveness and blessing. They stand there for a while, transfixed by those few remaining waifs who survived by some unknown miracle and right, and then they leave. The Jews continue to pray.

It is a great shame that the author of the memoirs did not give the name of the Ukrainian family that saved more than a dozen Jews, including Hoffman and his parents. He recalls that the family was related to the famous Ukrainian poet Ivan Franko (d. 1916). Hoffman describes the hiding place in great detail: it was located

in bunkers in the forest near Nahuyevychi, the great poet’s native village just a dozen or so kilometres from Drohobych. That village is now called Ivan Franko.

Poles and Ukrainians who rescued the less fortunate, regardless of the lifethreatening dangers to themselves, also belong to the chronicle of Jewish history in the Drohobych region. Unfortunately, not all of them lived to receive recognition and gratitude. At 57 Sahaidachny Street (formerly Sniezna) lives a 78-year-old Polish woman—lonely, deaf, and nearly blind—by the name of Krystyna Kedzierska. During the German occupation she hid a Jewish woman and her young son in her apartment. The woman has died, and the son lives in Israel. The heroic acts of Krystyna Kedzierska, and of other residents of the Drohobych region known to me, testify to the injustice of the accusations of participation in the Holocaust made ever more frequently in the United States against Poland. I think about all of this as I read Hoffman’s book. It encourages us to remain faithful to Jewish religion, tradition, and culture, and calls us to humanism. It is one of the proofs of the immortality of the People of the Book. DORA KACNELSON Drohobych

490 Book Reviews HIRSZ ABRAMOWICZ

Profiles of a Lost World: Memoirs of East European Fewish Life before World War II INTRODUCED BY

DAVID E. FISHMAN AND DINA ABRAMOWICZ (Detroit: Wayne State University Press; New York: YIVO Institute for Jewish Research 1999); pp. 386

This book, edited by the author’s daughter (the late well-known YIVO librarian | Dina Abramowicz), is a compilation of some of the author’s essays, arranged in five chapters. The first chapter deals with Lithuanian Jewish life and traditions, examining among other topics rural occupations, the shtet/, diet, and mental illness. ‘The second is an account of reform and upheaval before the First World War, with sections on Jewish public figures such as Joshua Steinberg, Hirsh Lekert, and Anna Lifshits, and on tsarist prisons, Jewish gymnasiums, and so on. The third examines the First World War and its aftermath, with sections entitled ‘Joining the Militia’, “The Germans’, and ‘April 1919’. The fourth is a description of Jewish vocational education, focusing on ‘help through work’, agricultural schools, and other programmes. The final chapter consists of profiles of Vilna Jews such as Mark Antokolsky, Eliezer Kruk, and Moshe Shalit. In the introduction to the memoirs of Yehezkel Kotik, entitled Mah sherar’ti .. . zikhronotav shel yehezkel kotik (“What I Have Seen: Memoirs of Yehezkel Kotik’),’ David Assaf defines the author’s unique historical viewpoint: ‘The indirect meaning of Kotik’s empathy with his role as a narrator, is, in a way, a sort of dissociation

of oneself from the pretension of being a historian. In his sharp senses he succeeded in preserving invaluable historic information which verifies other historical sources. He is not a historian, he is a memoirist.’ According to this classification, if Kotik is a memoirist—the opposite pole of historical writing from that of the professional historian—Abramowicz’s memoirs belong to a different category, somewhere between the scientific approach of the historian and the intimate, private life story approach of the memoirist. The main character, then, is reflected in the role the author plays as a ‘participant observer’ (as defined by his daughter). In other words, though he is a participant, Abramowicz manages at the same time to remain

a remote observer. One lens of his ‘historical binoculars’ examines the world through empathic contemplation, while the other, the ‘critical lens’, acts as a counterbalance, minimizing the potential distortion caused by the observer’s emotional connection to events. The ‘participant observer’ does not pretend to see

a comprehensive picture of the area and society under discussion (‘the world’) (Tel Aviv, 1998), 74.

Book Reviews 4QI from a bird’s-eye view, but rather from a personal point of view, down here on earth. From this viewpoint, Hirsz Abramowicz’s Jewish Lithuania is not that of world-famous rabbis or of other well-known politicians or millionaires. For him, the grand and well-known subjects that shaped the historical image of the “Litvishe Yidn’—the Vilna Gaon, Rabbi Hayim of Volozhin, and the world of the Lithuanian yeshivas, the conflict between hasidim and mitnagedim, the Jewish Enlightenment and its literature—all played just secondary roles in the real story of Jewish life at that time. Abramowicz extricates Lithuanian Jewish history from the heights

of the religious and intellectual spheres, and places it in the social context. The main figures in his historical arena are the fragmentary ones: those people, customs, institutions, and events that were preserved in the oral collective memory of Lithuanian Jewry but were left at the margins of historical research. This world contains a gallery of Jewish innkeepers and farmers, proste Yidn (common Jews) and sheyne Yidn (well-to-do Jews), borscht, bondes, and teygekhts (popular Lithuanian dishes), and the atmosphere within a tsarist prison; that 1s, all those subjects—neglected until recently on the grounds that they were inappropriate for historical research—that lead the reader to the unknown but most interesting corners of late nineteenth-century east European Jewish life. At the same time Abramowicz analyses the social, political, and economic role of the people and institutions he considers central to Jewish private and public life, such as schools and hospitals, artists like Mark Antokolsky and Eliezer Kruk, revolutionaries like Baruch Kahan-Wirgili and Anna Lifshits, local rabbis like Isaac Rubinstein, union leaders and forgotten historians like Moshe Shalit, and figures belonging to the strata below the intelligentsia, like the librarian Khykl Lunski and Abramowicz himself. In short, he analyses those components that make every group of people more than just an anonymous collective but give it its unique identity. On the face of it, this mixture of popular history, private memoirs, and folklore is an almost certain prescription for ambiguity, superficiality, and even historical inaccuracy. But Abramowicz manages to escape these pitfalls. He does not pretend to play the role of historian, and neither does he use the methods of the storyteller.

Despite his social perspective, his portrait of his Jewish Lithuania is neither that drawn by Sholem-Yankev Abramovitsh (Mendele Mokher Seforim) nor that of Isaak Meir Dik or Yehuda Leib Gordon. The fundamental difference between his approach and that of those famous authors lies in their freedom to draw a completely imaginative picture mixed with real figures and events, while he attempts to remain as close as possible to reality. Abramowicz’s unique approach means that his book is valuable not only as another contribution to the popular collective memory of Lithuanian Jewry, but also as an important and necessary source for any historian who wishes to understand the very essence of these tselem kop Jews. MOTTI ZALKIN

Ben-Gurion University

4g2 Book Reviews ROBERT WEINBERG

Stalin’s Forgotten Zion: Birobtdzhan and the Making of a Soviet Jewish Homeland. An Illustrated History, 1925-1996 INTRODUCED BY

ZVI GITELMAN PHOTOGRAPHS EDITED BY

BRADLEY BERMAN (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998); pp. x + 106

In Stalin’s Forgotten Zion Robert Weinberg discusses the history of the ‘Birobidzhan project’, which officially began in March 1928 with a Soviet government decree. The book covers the seventy years of the chequered history of the project, which Weinberg regards as an experiment aimed at solving the ‘Jewish question’.

The dream of establishing a Soviet Jewish homeland attracted foreign Jewish support, but the experiment failed mainly because of the great terror of 1937-8. Though there was a short-lived renaissance of Yiddish culture in Birobidzhan after the Second World War, the repression by Stalin in his last years dealt a final blow to the experiment. As Weinberg writes, mystery shrouds the 1928 decision. Why did the Soviet government choose Birobidzhan as the site for Jewish settlement? Or to put it another way, why were the Jews selected for Birobidzhan? Despite the title of his

book, Weinberg does not make clear what role Stalin played in this decision. Instead, he stresses that the project was essentially intended to solve the Jewish question; that is, to establish a Jewish national home in the Soviet Far East and to reconstruct Jewish life through agricultural settlement. Weinberg argues that ‘the [Soviet] government was concerned about the dire economic straits of the Jewish masses and encouraged their settlement on the land’ (pp. 17-18). This is true, but he also states that ‘attracting Jews to the Soviet Far East was an integral part of a plan to lure Soviet Jewry to the land as early as the beginning of 1924’ (p. 211). It seems that he sees no difference between Birobidzhan and the Crimean settlement, where KOMZET (Commission of the Presidium of the Councils of Nationalities of the Central Committee of the Soviet Union for Settling Jewish Toilers in Agriculture) and foreign Jewish organizations first devoted their energy to the reconstruction of Jewish life. The Birobidzhan project was, however, a departure from the past Jewish land settlement plan. The decision to settle the Jews in the Far East was not an integral part of earlier Jewish agricultural settlement, but of a general Soviet migration

Book Reviews 493 policy of cultivating virgin lands and populating the Soviet Far East and Siberia. By late 1927 the raison d’étre of KOMZET was being questioned by government and party leaders. Within the leadership there were arguments over why the Jews alone had to be dealt with separately from the general migration policy. The arguments clearly reflected the antisemitism that was then rampant in Soviet society. The Birobidzhan project was not primarily designed to solve the ‘Jewish question’; furthermore, the call for ‘the creation of a Jewish national administrative unit’ in 1928 was intended as a means of attracting attention to this remote area rather than as a genuine effort to normalize the status of Soviet Jews. Birobidzhan is located at the junction of the Rivers Amur and Sungari. It shares a border with China, and from 1932 to 1945 it shared a border with the Japanese

puppet state of Manchukuo. Weinberg writes that ‘the area had geostrategic significance given fears of possible Chinese and Japanese expansionism in the 1920s’ (p. 21). This is an over-simplification because the Soviet government had

relatively stable relations with Japan in 1927-8; the report submitted by the expedition party to Birobidzhan in the summer of 1927 took for granted that Japan was an important export market for grains to be produced in Birobidzhan. There was a drastic change in the situation in the early 1930s, however. Fears of Japanese expansionism arose in September 1931 at the time of the Manchurian incident, which in general had a great impact on the arms build-up in the Soviet Far East and on the future of Birobidzhan in particular. The Soviet government’s intervention gave the project a sudden boost, and led to a sharp increase in the number of migrants to the area after the incident. In late 1931 a decision was made to trans-

form Birobidzhan into a Jewish administrative unit within a few years. With regard to the response of world Jewry, especially of American Jews, to the Birobidzhan project, Weinberg discusses mainly the activities of the pro-Soviet communist organizations such as the American Association for Jewish Colonization in the Soviet Union (ICOR) and the American Committee for the Settlement

of Foreign Jews in Birobidzhan (AMBIJAN). This raises the question whether either [COR or AMBIJAN represented the opinions of American Jewry. The response of American Jews to this experiment was ambivalent, if not negative. For example, the Joint Distribution Committee, which invested millions of dollars in

the Crimean settlement plan, neglected Birobidzhan from the outset. From the moment the decision to settle the Jews in the Soviet Far East was proclaimed in 1928, many foreign observers, including non-Jews, questioned the intentions of the Soviet government. There was opposition to the very idea of a ‘Soviet Jewish homeland’—not only from Zionists but also from non-Zionists—and many doubted the feasibility of the plan. Some even speculated that it was nothing but a deportation of the Jews. Weinberg describes the revival of Birobidzhan after the Second World War and

the renewal of AMBIJAN’s campaign for Birobidzhan. This time its honorary president, Albert Einstein, ‘lent AMBIJAN further credibility and a high profile.

AQ4 Book Reviews Once again it seemed as if the JAR [Jewish Autonomous Region] might fulfill its role as the Soviet Zion’ (pp. 78-80). I am puzzled by the fact that Einstein and other American Jews supported AMBIJAN’s campaign and the ‘Soviet Jewish Homeland’ while the Palestine partition plan was being discussed at the United Nations. At the UN the Soviet Union committed itself to the creation of the Jewish

state in Palestine. This interesting episode in the history of leading American Jewish figures’ post-war support for Birobidzhan seems to have been a by-product of the sympathy towards the Soviet Union cultivated during the war. Was ‘Stalin’s Zion’ revived because Stalin found it possible to exploit it for political reasons? If SO, a question remains: why did Stalin put an end to all his Jewish strategies in late 1948, leaving only antisemitism in their place?

The history of Birobidzhan is part of both Jewish and Soviet history. Robert Weinberg’s book provides much interesting detail and excellent insights into the life of this Jewish settlement in the middle of a Siberian swampland. On the other hand, he sheds little light on crucial questions surrounding the creation and destruction of Birobidzhan. To understand the full meaning of Birobidzhan in the Soviet context, more research in Russian archives will be necessary. CHIZUKO TAKAO

Waseda University

ANNA LANDAU-CZAJKA

Wjednym stah domu... Koncepcje rozmiazania kwestu Zydowskie w publicystyce polskie lat 1933-1939 (In One House... Conceptions of the Resolution of the Jewish Question in the Polish Press 1933-1939) (Warsaw: Wydawnictwo NERITON and Instytut Historii PAN, 1998); pp. 11 + 316

The 1990s saw the emergence of a number of scholarly works that examine the role

of Jews in Polish consciousness during the critical period of the 1930s. Authors such as Ronald Modras, Byron Sherwin, Michael Steinlauf, and Yisrael Gutman, to name but a few, as well as the contributors to Polin, have attempted to unravel the complicated web of Polish—Jewish relations. In their scholarly efforts they have tried to move beyond the polemics that have so often dominated discussions of this

relationship. In a way, their studies are also responding to profound questions. Does Poland today mourn the loss of its centuries-long Jewish heritage—a heritage that played a central role in making Poland among the most pluralistic of European nations? Is Poland today richer or poorer, culturally and spiritually, without the largest Jewish community in the world? Does Poland have an obligation to retrieve

Book Reviews 495 as far as possible its rich Jewish tradition of the past, even though it cannot reinstate its vast Jewish community?

There were those in the fateful 1930s, and regrettably there are those today, who would argue that Jews constituted a ‘cancer’ within Polish society. According

to this view, the Nazis did Poland a favour by eliminating its Jews and thereby restoring the nation to a healthier condition. Authors who have seriously studied the Polish—Jewish relationship during the period before the Second World War, including Anna Landau-Czajka, are certainly not of such a mind. Instead they feel their studies contribute to a confrontation with the loss Poland suffered as a result of the Nazi annihilation of Polish Jewry.

In this new volume Landau-Czajka attempts to further our understanding of the Jewish presence in Poland by taking us, quite systematically, through the prevailing attitudes of the 1930s. Sponsored by the important Instytut Histor Polski Akademia Nauk (Historical Institute of the Polish Academy of Sciences, PAN), the volume works from the basic assumption that Jews belonged in Poland. As the title implies, Polish Jews shared the nation as a common homeland. It examines a host of publications that struggled positively and negatively with the ‘Jewish question’ in Poland from 1933 to 1939. Included in Landau-Czajka’s study are over fifty periodicals (secular and religious) of vastly different orientation such as Stowo, Polityka, Kultura, Maty Dziennik, Czas, and Narodowy Socjalista. In part, she covers some of the same literature examined by Modras in his major study of Polish

antisemitism within the Catholic Church (which she cites).' But hers is a much more comprehensive examination of the periodical literature than that undertaken by Modras, who focused particularly on Maty Dztenntk. The volume is divided into four major sections and finishes with a comprehensive bibliography. In the first section the author presents a complex picture of the Jews during the critical period 1933-9. Her special focus is on antisemitic depictions of Jews during this era. Were Jews to be considered an authentic national minority and an integral part of the nation, or were they rather a foreign and ultimately detrimental component of Polish society, impacting negatively on its very soul? Clearly, in much of the literature Landau-Czajka has studied there was a pervasive image of Jews along the lines of the latter viewpoint. Without doubt, such data confirm the importance of the issue raised by Jan Btonski: although Poles had neither instigated nor played a significant role in the implementation of the Jewish Holocaust, there was a deep seedbed of popular antisemitism in Poland that almost certainly impeded greater support for the Jews in the time of their annihilation. The second section of Landau-Czajka’s book looks back on Roman Catholicism’s traditional attitudes towards the Jews and on how Jews were perceived in the competing ideologies of the period before the First World War—particularly in the socialist movements in Poland at the time. 1 R. Modras, The Catholic Church and Antisemitism: Poland 1933-1939 (Chur, 1994).

496 Book Reviews The third section is the most substantive and extensive of the volume. It confronts the basic question of how we can speak of the ‘Jewish question’ in Poland in : light of the documentary evidence before us. After opening this section with a discussion of methodology, the author examines specific aspects of the overarching discussion, including the issue of assimilation and the political and economic dimensions of the ‘Jewish question’. The last part of the book details the increasing marginalization and isolation of the Jews in Polish society in 1933-9. Landau-Czajka also examines the role of Jews and Judaism in Polish culture, returning to the earlier question of antisemitism. She demonstrates that the increasing marginalization of Jews led to a strong emphasis on their emigration, voluntary and otherwise, as well as on their outright deportation. Ghettoization and the enactment of the numerus clausus are among the specific topics taken up in this section. The volume ends with a comprehensive bibliography that will prove invaluable | for anyone contemplating serious research on this period in Polish—Jewish relations. The first part of the bibliography covers books and other primary sources — that appeared during the period under scrutiny (though a few were published as late as 1945). The second part of the bibliography covers studies of the period that have appeared since the end of the Second World War. Landau-Czajka is to be commended for providing us with one of the most serious, in-depth examinations of a decisive decade in the historic Polish—Jewish relationship. Her volume will surely find a permanent place in the historiography of the period. No one who wishes to undertake further research on this era can bypass her work; it is simply indispensable. It makes excellent use of primary and secondary sources, including major works in English. It is to be hoped that it will appear in English translation in the not too distant future. There has been considerable progress in recent years in bringing to the fore the victimization of Poles under the Nazis. We have an obligation to do this as thoroughly as possible, for as Nobel laureate Elie Wiesel has reminded us, ‘to forget the victims of the Nazis is in fact to kill them a second time’. But no legitimate and honest study of Polish victimization can ignore the other side of the story: namely, that there existed at the same time a deep-seated antisemitism in Polish society that led many Poles to regard Jews as enemies rather than as covictims. Neither Poles nor the Polish diaspora has as yet come to grips with this dark side of the Nazi period in sufficient measure. While it must be studied 1n the context of the general minority situation in Poland, and with proper appreciation of the multifaceted nature of Poland’s vast Jewish community, it cannot be ignored or dismissed as unimportant. Otherwise efforts to memorialize the Polish victims of the Nazis will rest on shaky ground. Landau-Czajka’s volume has helped us to see the truth of this reality. For that we owe her a profound debt of gratitude. JOHN T. PAWLIKOWSKI Catholic Theological Union, Chicago

Book Reviews 497 WLADYSLAW SZPILMAN

The Pianst: The Extraordinary Story of One Man’s Survivalin Warsaw 1939-1945 WITH EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF WILM HOSENFELD TRANSLATED BY

ANTHEA BELL FOREWORD BY

ANDRZEJ SZPILMAN EPILOGUE BY

| WOLF BIERMANN (New York: Picador, 1999); pp. iv + 222

The Pianist is a testimony to the power of music, the will to live, and the courage to stand against evil. On 23 September 1939 Wtadystaw Szpilman, a young Warsaw pianist, played Chopin’s nocturne in C sharp minor live on the radio while German shells exploded outside so loudly that he could not hear the piano. It was the last live music broadcast from Warsaw. Later that day a German bomb destroyed the power station and Polish Radio went off the air. The war cast Warsaw into the horror of occupation, the ghetto, the rounding up

of Jews, the uprising, and the evacuation of the city—events that killed most of Szpilman’s friends and all of his family. Incredibly, he survived among the ruins of his beloved city. The Pianist is both an extraordinary story of one man’s tenacity in the face of death and a testament to the resilience of humanity itself. Szpilman’s life was saved by a German officer, Wilm Hosenfeld, who heard him playing the same Chopin nocturne on a piano found among the rubble. That officer died in a Russian prisoner-of-war camp, but he left behind a diary expressing his

fierce despair at the barbarity of National Socialism. Extracts are published here for the first time, along with Szpilman’s memoir. After the war ended, Szpilman never spoke of his wartime experiences—not even to his son Andrzej. But in 1945 he wrote about them, more for himself than for any audience, in order to work through the shattering trauma of his experience. The book was originally published in 1946 as Smier¢ miasta (‘The Death of a City’). It had a short lifespan. During the 1960s a number of Polish publishing firms tried to make it available to a younger generation. All their efforts were quickly thwarted. No explanation was given. But the real explanation was quite obvious. The political authorities had their reasons. Suppressed by the communist authorities in Poland, this gripping and vivid memoir has now been published 1n the United States for the first time in more than

498 Book Reviews fifty years after the first edition. The book is a bestseller and was a major publish-

ing event in Germany. During October 2000 it was reprinted in a form edited by | his son as Pranista in Krakow by the Znak publishing house. Szpilman’s story of survival has spread internationally. Other editions of The Pianist were published in

Britain, Canada, France, Germany, Israel, Italy, Japan, the Netherlands, Spain, and Sweden. A film based on his life experience and story of survival is scheduled to be released in 2001. It is directed by Holocaust survivor Roman Potafski, who, with Ronald Harwood, is also the screenwriter. Wladystaw Szpilman was an individual who made a vast contribution to Polish culture through his gift of music. He is what they call in Poland ‘a man in whom music lives’ and his contribution has always been an inspiring and significant one as a predominant figure in Polish cultural life. After studying piano at the Warsaw Conservatory, he completed his piano studies with Artur Schnabel at the Academy of Arts in Berlin, where he also studied composition with Franz Schreker. Other notable students of Schreker included the Polish Jewish composers Jerzy Fitelberg

and Karol Rathaus. When Hitler came to power in 1933, Szpilman returned to Warsaw as a pianist for Polish Radio. By 1939 he had composed scores for a number of films, as well as some immensely popular songs of the time. Before the war he played with the ‘ambassador of Polish music’ Grzegorz Fitelberg, and the internationally famous violinist Bronistaw Gimpel, as well as with Henryk Szeryng and many other renowned musicians. After 1945 he began working for Polish Radio again, and returned to concert

| performances as a soloist and in chamber ensembles. He wrote several symphonic works and some 300 popular songs; many of them were great hits. He also composed music for children, incidental music for radio plays, and more film scores. He was head of the music department of Polish Radio until 1963, when he gave up the position to devote more of his time to concert tours and the Warsaw Piano Quintet he founded together with Gimpel. After giving more than 2,000 concert performances throughout the world, he retired from public life in 1986 to devote himself entirely to composing. Wladystaw Szpilman was born on 5 December 1911 in Sosnowiec. ‘Thanks to the miracle of his music he reached the ripe old age of 89. He died on 6 July 2000 in Warsaw. The Pianist is the recipient of the Jewish Quarterly/Wingate Prize for the year 2000 in the non-fiction category. This annual award is the most prestigious award made by the Anglo-Jewish community for books that stimulate an interest in and awareness of Jewish concerns among a wider readership.

| GARY FITELBERG

Book Reviews 499 TADEUSZ PIOTROWSKI

Poland’s Holocaust: Ethnic Strife, Collaboration with Occupying Forces and Genocide in the Second Republic,

1915-1947 (New York: McFarland, 1998); pp. xiv + 438

Few things are more difficult to deal with than conflicting national memories; in no other respect is the saying that history is the study of bad memory more true. Our memory is selective, and we tend to remember things in a positive way. Thus, even in our worst misfortunes we remember ourselves in a favourable light, most often as undeservedly wronged. This is true of individuals, but even more so of social and national groups that impose on their members the imperative of strengthening the group’s positive self-image. If this image is threatened or questioned, it must be defended.

Enter the historian. Ideally he aims for historical truth and tries to establish ‘how it really happened’. He gropes his way through the realm of clashing mythologies, striving to correct myths and legends and to straighten out the memory. The question arises: does historical truth serve bad memory well, especially when the latter is the foundation of a particular identity? In the case of the Holocaust—a defining event for more than one national identity—this question is particularly difficult to answer. We believe what we want to believe. What really happened is only of relevance

inasmuch as it happened to ‘us’ and confirms ‘our’ position. A catchy phrase replaces reasoning; an easily digestible opposition of villains versus ‘good guys’ covers the ever more complicated constellation of mutual conflict and clashing interests and interactions. Individual cases are freely exploited, and quantitative statistics are used selectively in support of preconceived notions. The merit and importance of Tadeusz Piotrowski’s Poland’s Holocaust lie in the fact that all of the principal actors in the tragedy are gathered together in one book. The book reminds us that what happened between 1939 and 1945 on the territory of pre-war Poland involved the actions of seven parties (rather than two or three, as indicated in most historical monographs on the subject): Germany, the Soviet Union, the Poles, the Jews, the Lithuanians, the Belarusians, and the Ukrainians. The book’s fundamental flaw is that it fails to draw a balanced picture of their interrelations; rather it defends the cause of one of them, and this results in onesidedness. The author makes his point in the preface: If we agree that the Holocaust was an event in historical time involving an officially sanctioned policy of genocide and that genocide is the systematic destruction, in whole or in

500 Book Reviews : part, of indigenous populations as such, then by what rationale should the Soviet Union be excluded from responsibility for its part in either one of these phenomena: . . . | submit that the term ‘Holocaust’ ought to include the victims of both of these genocidal regimes [that is, the Nazi and the Soviet] and their collaborators. (p. 1)

A book that impartially applied this standard to all seven parties involved and analysed all factors relevant to their complex relations would be invaluable. Alas, throughout Poland’s Holocaust polemical passion wrestles with scholarly discipline. The book is dedicated ‘to the memory of six million Polish citizens who perished

during World War II’. Clearly, the author uses the category of citizenship rather than nationality in order to include both the Poles and the Jews—contrary to the mainstream historiography that stresses their separateness. In addition, the title Poland’s Holocaust seems unnecessarily provocative to me. A neutral title such as The Holocaust in Poland would be less glaring and more effective.

Poland’s Holocaust is divided into seven chapters with characteristic titles: ‘Soviet Terror’ and ‘Nazi Terror’ (chapters 1 and 2); the next five are (Jewish, Polish, Belarusian, Lithuanian, and Ukrainian) ‘Collaboration’. The term ‘collab-

oration’ is as much descriptive as it is emotionally charged, and the author is | certainly aware of this. The battle-cry of the book is: ‘Let’s finally call things by

their names.’ ,

The book offers little new material, relying mainly on secondary sources. An extensive appendix presents documents ranging from an excerpt from the Minorities Treaty of 1918 and a 1940 Soviet Politburo document related to Katyn, to a 1993

affidavit regarding the persecution of the Palestinians in Jerusalem (included as proof that ‘the Jews behave no differently’). One of the book’s main defensive

weapons 1s deflection. ,

The two initial chapters on the Soviet and Nazi occupations of Poland draw a picture of oppression, deportations, terror, and death on an apocalyptic scale: ‘By the time the war was over, some one million Polish citizens—Christians and Jews alike—had died at the hands of the Soviets’ (p. 20). Further, ‘by the time the war had run its course .. . some 5 million Polish citizens—Jews and Christians alike— had been killed by the Germans’ (p. 32).

The chapter on Jewish collaboration begins with a description of the pre-war situation of the Jews in Poland—which, according to the author, was no worse than anywhere else. Rather, it was different. In Poland the Jews enjoyed political freedoms absent in the Soviet Union, though unlike the Jews in the United States they

were not undergoing rapid assimilation; this created a particularly complicated situation, and made Poland vulnerable to outside criticism. The stereotype of exceptionally virulent Polish antisemitism has its roots outside Poland, namely in the Western press and public opinion. The author provides a series of accounts of the warm welcome of the Soviets by the Jews in 1939, and describes post-war Jewish participation in the Polish apparatus of repression. The chapter concludes with a harsh evaluation of the role of the Judenrate under the German occupation.

Book Reviews 501 Writing about the Poles under German occupation, Piotrowski stresses that no ideologically based institutional Polish collaboration with the Nazis took place, though he provides several drastic examples of collaboration by individuals. He also points to tactical deals between the Germans and the Armia Krajowa (Home Army) units in eastern Poland against Soviet partisans in the late stage of the war. The author relates at length various accounts of the well-known case of Eishyshok (Ejszyszki) in which Yaffa Eliach’s mother and brother died, concluding, I therefore respect Professor Yaffa Sonenson Eliach’s account of what happened to her mother and her infant brother, despite all the different versions and unresolved complexities of that story ... . In cases involving the death of Jewish children, the claim that the Polish underground was simply liquidating members of the PPR [Polska Partia Robotnicza, Polish Workers’ Party] and the Soviet organs of oppression is simply indefensible. (p. 94)

A disproportionately large part of this chapter is devoted to a response to the accusation that Polish partisans murdered the Jews. This section is followed by several pages on Polish assistance to the Jews (pp. 112-28). The chapter concludes with a description of Polish—Jewish relations in the post-war years (the Kielce pogrom and Jewish emigration afterwards, the imprisonment of the Zegota command by Jakub

Berman, etc.). It is difficult not to notice that, contrary to its title, the chapter focuses on Polish non-collaboration. The two short chapters on Belarusian and Lithuanian collaboration underscore ethnic and religious conflicts and the popular animosity towards both the Poles and the Jews in these areas. These factors contributed to the local population’s initial warm welcome of the Soviets, and then, after bitter disappointment, to their collaboration with the Germans. This collaboration assumed various institutional forms and resulted in active participation in atrocities. These chapters reflect the inadequacy of scholarly research on Belarus and Lithuania, and especially research on their complex war records. The chapter on Ukrainian collaboration is the longest in the book (eighty-two pages). It begins with a description of the anti-Ukrainian policies of the Sanacyja, which provoked anti-Polish sentiment among the Ukrainians and led to the growth of Ukrainian extremist nationalism and its main organization, the Orhanizatsiia Ukrainskykh Natsionalistiv (Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists, OUN). The Soviet occupation of western Ukraine was at first greeted with enthusiasm despite Ukrainian suffering under the Soviets in the eastern part of Ukraine. This joy was short-lived, however, as the ‘liberators’ soon began collectivization and deportations of Ukrainians to the gulag. In the part of Ukraine that fell under German

occupation Ukrainian nationalists formed military and paramilitary units in the hope of establishing political autonomy. These units actively participated in the murder of Poles and Jews. However, the Germans had no intention of allowing Ukrainian statehood, and after the attack against the Soviet Union in June 1941 the OUN leaders were arrested and sent to Sachsenhausen. Still, Ukrainian units were

502 Book Reviews used by the Germans for various tasks, including some of the most gruesome, such as guarding concentration camps or liquidating the Warsaw ghetto. And they dis-

tinguished themselves by their extreme barbarism. In 1943 an SS division of Ukrainian volunteers was created with the blessing of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, in the belief that such a military force might serve as the nucleus of a future

state. At the same time Ukrainian partisan units of the Ukrainska Povstancha Armuia (Ukrainian Insurgent Army, UPA) embarked on a campaign of slaughter-

ing Poles and Jews that did not stop until well after the end of the war. Thus Piotrowski concludes this chapter as follows: The greatest crime of Ukrainian integral nationalism, of the OUN—UPA, was neither its collaboration with Nazi Germany in the conduct of the war, nor its separatist ambitions with respect to the legally constituted Second Republic of Poland. Although guilty on both counts, its greatest crime was the crime against humanity: the indiscriminate slaughter of tens of thousands of Polish citizens in southeastern Poland which included the planned, systematic program of genocide of non-Ukrainians and the equally brutal slaughter of Ukrainians who opposed these practices or who spoke out against the OUN—UPA. (p. 258)

In his final remarks Piotrowski stresses the national homogeneity of post-war Poland. National minorities are now a tiny fraction of its population, and after the fall of communism they enjoy full political, religious, and cultural freedom. ‘By

comparison’, he continues, ‘the Polish minorities [in Ukraine, Belarus, and Lithuania] fared, and continue to fare, much worse’ (p. 261). Poland’s Holocaust draws an exceedingly positive picture of the Poles; they are

oppressed, persecuted, and then unjustly accused, while Jews and Ukrainians appear in a much more ambiguous light and Lithuanians and Belarusians play secondary roles. This is the main reason why Piotrowski’s book is a disappointment. A better-balanced and more objective account would make a much better case.

The fundamental truth, obfuscated even today by conflicting politics of memory, is that the Holocaust involved many nations and ethnic groups with many different and often conflicting interests. None of the actors was monolithic; none acted in bad

faith exclusively, or even predominantly. None was fully a monster or fully an angel. Piotrowski makes this point initially, but fails to deliver on his promise. These flaws notwithstanding, Poland’s Holocaust carves itself a niche in the great

revision of twentieth-century history that is currently under way. This process

| has been made possible by the collapse of the Soviet Union, which for historians resulted not only in the opening of archives, but more significantly in the opening of

a new perspective on the epoch that has ended. In the long run this process will probably result in shifts in common memory. GWIDO ZLATKES

Brandeis University

Book Reviews 503 WIKTORIA SLIWOWSKA (ED. )

The Last Eyemttnesses: Children of the

Holocaust Speak TRANSLATED BY

JULIAN BUSSGANG AND FAY BUSSGANG (Evanston, IIl.; Northwestern University Press, 1998); pp. xvi + 352

‘I truly don’t know when I was born or where. To this day, I do not know my biological parents. I only know that I am, by origin, a Jew’ (p. 271). So begins one of sixty-five extraordinary accounts of child survivors in Nazi-occupied Poland, now available in English translation thanks to the initiative and fine work of translators Julian and Fay Bussgang. The Last Eyewitnesses was originally published in 1993 by the Association of Hidden Children of the Holocaust in Poland in honour of the fiftieth anniversary of the Warsaw ghetto uprising. The Association of Hidden Children, based in Warsaw, was founded in 1991 with some 250 members; between 1993 and January 1999 membership increased threefold. It consists of Polish Jews who came under Nazi occupation before the age of 13. The testimonies, which were submitted by individuals upon entering the association and were not originally intended for publication, were gathered as a historical record by Wiktoria Sliwowska, a historian at the Polska Akademia Nauk in Warsaw whose own account is included in the volume. The accounts all follow a similar format, beginning with a discussion of pre-war

family background, continuing with harrowing tales of wartime survival, and concluding with a section on the survivor’s experiences in post-war Poland. The consistent format makes the collection a particularly useful tool for scholarly analysis as well as for classroom use. The testimonies depict the life of Jewish children from all regions of inter-war Poland, both urban and rural, in a wide variety of settings in Nazi-occupied Poland: in hiding, in ghettos, in the camps, in the forests. In addition, a full range of family backgrounds is represented, from those who came from assimilated families and had been raised in a Polish milieu to those from Yiddish-speaking Orthodox backgrounds. Some were barely conscious of their Jewish origin until the outbreak of war, challenging the image popular today of pre-war Poland as a country of clearly separated and mutually hostile

national groups. One author, a girl of 9 when the Germans arrived, recalls: ‘Someone asked me when it was that I heard the word “Jew” for the first time in my family circle—perhaps only in 1941 when, in Biatystok, the Germans came to pick up my mother’ (p. 111). And yet, despite the diversity of backgrounds and

experiences portrayed—ranging from the humane to the horrific—a common thread runs through all the stories: all of these people are alive today due to the

504 Book Reviews kindness of strangers—in this case, the kindness of their Polish (and Ukrainian) friends and neighbours. As the translators note in their preface, these stories reveal how difficult and complex it was to aid Jews in occupied Poland; the penalties imposed by the German occupiers for such actions were harsh, and szmalcownicy (blackmailers) willing to betray both Jews and fellow Poles for personal gain or sheer spite were prevalent. Each tale of survival weaves a complex web of extraordinary acts of kindness on the part of some Poles (and, at times, Ukrainians), and sinister acts of betrayal and denunciation by others. In addition, almost all survived not by one act of kindness, but by many, suggesting that the total number of Poles who aided Jews during the war is certainly higher than is commonly thought. Aleksandra Rozengarten, for example, survived with her family on the ‘Aryan side’ of Warsaw, and recalls, ‘we frequently changed the location where we stayed. Indeed, several times we had to flee from the apartment we occupied’ (p. 290). The story of Maria

Ochlewska (born Ester Horn), who survived the war thanks to no less than five Polish families, is representative (pp. 285~7). Overall, the most accurate picture of | Polish behaviour is articulated by one author who wrote: ‘during the war years, we encountered both blackmailers and people of great nobility and courage’ (p. 89). Heart-wrenching accounts tell of Polish families who took in Jewish children, both out of pure altruism and in some cases for economic gain, and the terror each

Jewish child felt while trying to escape recognition by his or her peers. Most of these children lived under assumed names in Polish homes and, with forged birth certificates and documents (often provided by Zegota, the Polish underground committee for aid to the Jews), were presented as Catholic orphans or distant relatives from the country. Among the most moving accounts 1s that of Hanka Grynberg, who fled with her family to the east in September 1939; they settled in

Bialystok, where they remained until the Nazis arrived in June 1941. In the | Bialystok ghetto Hanka learned to lie from one of her teachers, who ‘instructed us to look her straight in the eye, and without blinking or averting the eyes, to repeat: ‘“Tam nota Jew”... . I believe that I survived the war thanks to this wise woman who taught us how to behave in those horrible times’ (p. 179). But concealing one’s origins was terrifyingly difficult, even for a Jew with ‘good looks’ and impeccable Polish. Hanka’s father succeeded in taking her out of the ghetto, but on the way to place her with a Polish family they were apprehended by the German police. The policemen promptly administered the test of Polishness: she was asked to cross herself and to recite the blessings in Polish. Her Jewish origin was immediately

revealed. After they were returned to the ghetto, Hanka’s father successfully smuggled her out a second time to a Polish family. The family agreed to teach Hanka the prayers and how to conduct herself in church. Hanka was then taken to the countryside to another Polish family, who were told she was a Catholic orphan. But there, in the countryside, Hanka’s identity was discovered by the family’s youngest son when he quizzed her about Catholic burial customs. Shocked, the

Book Reviews 505 family went to the local priest for counsel; he in turn advised them to baptize Hanka, thereby converting an unbelieving soul while decreasing her chances of being discovered. Hanka was duly baptized, and throughout the remainder of the war the Polish family, as she puts it, ‘treated me like a daughter’. Hanka’s father | survived the war and they were reunited in 1945. But Hanka was the exception. Most hidden children were unprepared to pass as Catholics. Even for Jewish children who were raised in assimilated households, were native Polish speakers, and possessed ‘good looks’, attending Catholic church services often became the most dangerous of trials. Nowhere is this better illustrated than in the story of Leszek Leon Allerhand, whom a Polish woman in Lviv hid after the Germans occupied the city. During Easter his caretaker took him to Mass: ‘I stood in the church in a crowd of people, frozen with fear. I knelt automatically, got back up, mumbled prayers. It seemed to me that everybody was looking at me. Suddenly, a woman called out in a loud voice, “A Jew is in church!” Confusion ensued... . I rushed out through the rear entrance and fled’ (p. 157). These stories also reveal the degree to which hiding continued after the war, because of both the outbreak of anti-Jewish violence in post-war Poland and the deep psychological scars of the wartime years. ‘Our postwar fortunes’, one author writes, ‘followed the same path as those of other Jews who survived Hitler’s occupation in the Polish territories. We did not want to be Jews. .. . For over fourteen years, I did not admit to being Jewish’ (p. 185). It was as if the accident of being born a Jew was now a tragic flaw. Another survivor tells of her first cousin, who was hidden in a convent in south-eastern Poland during the war, and who was baptized and raised as a Catholic after the war; to this day the cousin will not admit to her Jewish origin and she has severed all links with her Jewish relatives (p. 226). In another extraordinary account the parents of a young girl who was 5 years old in 1942, fearing capture by the Nazis, found a Polish family willing to take their daughter for the duration of the war. Both parents perished, and the Polish family raised her as their own after the war. Without ever losing knowledge of her Jewish identity, the girl was properly baptized, received Communion, and participated in Catholic girls’ organizations after the war—the whole time hiding her origins.

When a first cousin in Israel traced the girl’s whereabouts and arrived on her doorstep in Poland in 1957, she furiously denied being Jewish. ‘How dare he tell me that I was a Jew! How dare he expose my lie!’, she remembers thinking. But in the end she left for Israel, married an American Jew, moved to the United States,

became religious, and had three sons—two of whom became rabbis. As she movingly writes: ‘When my son David became a rabbi, I thought how not even a Hitler was able to break the Jewish spirit’ (p. 267). Many others who concealed their origins long after the war ended chose either to retain the Christian names they had used in hiding, or to take Polish names after the war. Sliwowska, for example, recalls how her father decided to retain his assumed

name from the wartime years, Zawadzki, after the Kielce pogrom (p. 139). A

506 Book Reviews minority reverted to their birth names. The trauma sustained during the war years and the subsequent decision to retain Christian names was described by Maria Kamunska, born Ruta Linda, who concludes her account with the following words: ‘more and more frequently I have the feeling that somebody stole my name and with it my whole life’ (p. 86). In sum, this extraordinary volume constitutes a valuable contribution both to Holocaust literature and to the literature on Polish—Jewish relations during the Second World War. Collectively these powerful stories testify to the harrowing and terrifying experience of hidden Jewish children in Nazi-occupied Poland, and to the nobility and kindness of those Poles and Ukrainians to whom the authors owe their lives—but also to horrible acts of betrayal by those who hoped to obliterate, once and for all, Jewish life on Polish lands. JOSHUA D. ZIMMERMAN Yeshiva University

DALIA OFER AND LENORE J. WEITZMAN (EDS.)

Women tn the Holocaust (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1993); pp. x + 402

‘The Germans won’t dare harm the women’ (p. 124): this fatal misconception exemplifies how men and women experienced the Holocaust differently owing to culturally defined gender roles, gender-related expectations, and differences in the

way the Nazis treated them. This is the hypothesis presented by the editors of Women in the Holocaust. ‘The twenty-one original articles in four parts (‘Before the War’, “Life in the Ghettos’, ‘Resistance and Rescue’, and ‘Labor Camps and Concentration Camps’) present a wide spectrum of historical detail, personal narrative, short fiction, description of experiences, statistical evidence, and theoretical conclusions. They highlight women’s suffering and ingenuity, their mistakes, and their unfailing resilience in nurturing relationships, supporting others, and sacrificing everything for their children. They also tell the story of women’s pro-

fessional versatility, courage, and even creativity in the face of a monstrous machinery of death. One author writes: “To ignore the plight of Jewish women is to

ignore more than half of the Jewish population who were deported or murdered’ (p. 346). The historical analysis begins with a comparison of women’s education and level of emancipation in late nineteenth-century eastern and western Europe and how these factors affected their chances for survival—as in the case of Jewish girls who attended secular Polish schools and with the Polish language acquired social knowledge vital to their survival during the war (Paula E. Hyman). Even before 1933 women formed the majority in Jewish communities both in the east

Book Reviews 507 and in the west. This imbalance increased significantly throughout the war. Several studies investigate the impact this imbalance had on Jewish women’s daily lives,

their organizations, their role as supporters of their families, their resistance to hardships, and their assertiveness and self-control (Marion Kaplan, Gershon Bacon, Daniel Blatman). Gisela Bock’s article is the only one that assesses the role of the female perpetrators. She points out that non-Jewish German women voted for the Nazis in numbers equal to German men. She goes on to show the falsity of the hypothesis that women in Nazi Germany were relegated to the passive role of motherhood, remarking that ‘the regime purposefully used not only male but also female brutality for its ends’ (p. 92). She writes further that ‘it was in the unofficial and rebellious circles that feminine leadership became possible’ (p. 254). The second to fourth parts are all introduced by a survivor’s personal narrative.

Liza Chapnik and Bronka Klibanski describe life in the ghetto and their dangerous involvement with the communist resistance. Their experience is contextualized in studies by Michal Unger and Dalia Ofer on gender differences in the 4.6dz and Warsaw ghettos that focus on differences in men’s and women’s chances of survival, in their work experience, and in their household duties: “Few women imagined at this time that they even had the right to ask their husbands to share the burdens in the home’ (p. 135). The two researchers come to similar conclusions: men were in greater danger and were more often abused, but ‘they still expected to be served their evening meal’ (p. 150). Moreover, ‘the official version of resistance embodies a male perspective’ (p. 218).

The authors of Part II] discuss women’s acts of resistance, from smuggling weapons to writing poems. Lenore J. Weitzman investigates ‘passing’ as a form of resistance. ‘Passing’ as a non-Jew was of course more dangerous for men because circumcision marked them physically. Women also seem to have been better able

to secure help. Nechama Tec, Renée Poznanski, and Yehuda Bauer describe women who got involved in political resistance movements despite traditional role expectations, sexual harassment, and lack of recognition for their contributions. Most of these women were killed for their courageous acts, but the articles demonstrate that the political awareness they advocated in communist and Zionist youth groups convinced women that they should join the resistance. Like Gisi Fleischmann, who organized the escape of Jews from Slovakia, they had ‘the stuff heroines are made of’ (p. 263). Most of the authors agree that women and men suffered ‘different horrors with-

in the same hell’ (p. 327). In Part IV Holocaust survivor Lidia Rosenfeld Vago describes how she and her sister lived through Auschwitz-Birkenau, the death march, Ravensbriick, and Neustadt-Glewe. Her experience is mirrored in the testimonies studied by Felicja Karay, Ruth Bondy, Myrna Goldenberg, Joan Ringelheim, and Lawrence Langer. Karay’s study of the forced-labour camp Skarzysko-Kamienna highlights the problematic investigation into rape and sexual

harassment as a form of terror in the camps—a topic over which silence has

508 Book Reviews reigned for decades. Ruth Bondy, herself a survivor, describes how even under the most inhumane conditions in Theresienstadt and in the family camp in AuschwitzBirkenau, women and men strove ‘to stay humane to the end’. Myrna Goldenberg presents an analysis of women’s coping skills as described in the memoirs of Sara

Nomberg-Przytyk from Lublin, Cecilie Klein from Jasina, and Judith Isaacson | from Kaposvar. Sara R. Horowitz concludes the volume with an investigation of female characters in fictional Holocaust literature. She finds that in text by men, women are portrayed as ‘peripheral, helpless, and fragile; as morally deficient; or as | “erotic” ’ (p. 367), while memoirs by women survivors are generally considered less ‘typical’ and are often soon out of print. The articles by Joan Ringelheim and Lawrence L. Langer represent the starkest contrast of opinion with respect to the appropriateness of a gender analysis. While Ringelheim points out that ‘the sexism of Nazi ideology and the sexism of the Jewish community met in a tragic and involuntary alliance’ (p. 345), Langer rejects the notion of ‘gendered suffering’. Such research creates, he believes, ‘a mythology of comparative endurance that awards favor to one group of individuals over another’ (p. 362). Apart from its detailed analysis of women’s experience in the Holocaust, this volume thus presents an important intellectual discussion about whether and how gender should be considered in Holocaust studies. Almost all of the articles address this question directly—some defensively, some assertively, most with cautious urgency. The scholars do not explicitly employ feminist theory or even use the word ‘feminism’ to describe their work. But the risk attendant upon imposing today’s standards and

sensitivities on the past is balanced against the conviction that women’s different , experience must be studied as such, and that to assume a ‘universal male’ experi- : ence does not do justice to the historical facts. These studies reveal and celebrate women’s resilience and heroism, but they also shed light on women’s particular woes as women and mothers; after all, being pregnant or having a small child was equal to a death sentence in the camps. The scholars clearly demonstrate the need

for further research into the role of gender in the experience of both men and women in the Holocaust. The present volume proves that such research contributes to our understanding of the crimes committed by the Nazis against the Jews as crimes committed by human beings against human beings.

| SABINE VON MERING Brandeis University

Book Reviews 509 ANN CHARNEY

Dobryd (first published 1973; Vancouver and Toronto: Douglas & McIntyre, 1996); pp. 170

Fascinating for its profound treatment of the aftermath of the Holocaust, Ann Charney’s Dobryd is a memoir that instantly captures the reader’s interest. Reported

from a child’s point of view, the narrative provides a glimpse into the deepest workings of Charney’s psyche from the age of 3 until the age of 10. Though not a feminist fable, Dobryd is a story in which all the protagonists—Charney, her mother, and her aunt—are women who struggle and succeed on their own during the war and in the chaos of post-war Poland. Named after a Polish town near Lviv, the memoir encompasses the lives of members of three generations of a Jewish family as they and their community suffer through the horrors of the Holocaust.

Masterful in its narrative structure, the story eases the reader into the Holocaust by opening with the ‘happy ending’: the family is liberated by Russian soldiers, one of whom, Yury, will become the family’s closest friend. The story follows family members over a period of about forty years, penetrating deep into their inner world. As the child becomes aware of her situation and background, the

reader’s knowledge of the pre-war Jewish community of Dobryd, the child’s extensive family, and her mother’s and aunt’s friends grows as well. Introduced through the aunt’s flashbacks, which are shared with the child at the small market stall, the life of the Jewish community of Dobryd comes alive before our eyes. In Dobryd Charney presents her relatives as a cast of idiosyncratic characters: a rich and intellectual grandfather, a grandmother who maintained their home, Orthodox Jews, and the young Zionists and communists of the inter-war years. The events of the book are narrated from the child’s point of view, but they are interpreted by the adult, living in Canada fifty years later, who infuses the book

with the best of her creativity. Still, the reader should not forget that Dobryd is a literary reconstruction, a somewhat polished form of memory presented in such a way as to produce the maximum impression on the reader. Suspense is maintained from the very beginning: we do not know who saved Charney, her mother, aunt, and cousin Alexander during the Holocaust until close to the very end. The convention of the Holocaust’s ‘righteous gentiles’ 1s shattered when eventually, along with Charney, the reader meets Manya for the first time. An outcast of Dobryd’s non-Jewish society, angry at the world and in need of revenge, Manya looks for a quick way to become rich and to prove herself. People’s respect, she believes, can be gained only through wealth. With that motive in place, Hitler’s racial policies present Manya with an opportunity to execute her plan. Charney places a special emphasis on Manya’s desire to become rich and to overcome her subservient position:

510 Book Reviews At the time she confided her motives to no one. But months later, when her plan was in force and we were at her mercy in the loft, it became her special delight to talk to us about her dreams. Perhaps it was the sight of her captives in agony, for these people had once considered her far beneath them and now their very lives hinged on her whims. Part of her revenge was already realized. The rest would follow. (p. 122)

Upon the arrival of the Germans in Poland and western Ukraine Manya visited the richest Jews in Dobryd offering them a hideout in the loft of her barn for the price of all their possessions. Charney’s family survived in the loft, humiliated and starved, drained of all money and valuables, and under the constant threat of expulsion in the case of non-payment. The ‘righteous gentile’ stands alive in front of our eyes as an ugly old woman, a blackmailer and exploiter of other people’s misfortune—a vision that reveals aspects of the Holocaust mostly unfamiliar to the general public. Through an examination of her mother’s struggle with being Jewish in Poland,

the author attempts to answer the philosophical question of whether the Jews belong in countries like Poland. What is the essence of ‘attachment to one’s homeland’, and where lies the thin line beyond which antisemitism becomes unbearable? Although the book is a memoir of Charney’s childhood, the real protagonist of the book is her mother: the survivor, the decision-maker, the breadwinner. ‘Yet in spite

of what she had endured, there was nothing passive or submissive about her’, Charney attests. ‘People always thought of her as someone very strong, someone to

lean on in times of difficulty, a person who seemed in charge of her life. I had absolute faith in her’ (p. go). Their betrayal by their non-Jewish neighbours hit Charney’s family hard. For decades people in Dobryd had known the family and lived side by side with them peacefully. However, in no time the Jews were either turned over to the Germans or killed by the Poles themselves. Charney’s mother never recovered from the shattering of her trust in the Polish people, whom she had considered—without hesitation—her people. The story of Charney’s cousin Alexander is exemplary in this respect. Out of a desire to fight the Nazis, Alexander tried

to join the Polish partisans. He was turned over by the partisans to one of the remaining German units in exchange for their Christian friend, and was executed immediately. This last blow, which came just one month before the end of the war, changed the life of the family and hastened their decision to leave Dobryd and eventually Poland. As Cynthia Ozick describes it, ‘a bereaved aunt yearns for the time before the Nazi hell; a stalwart and brainy mother pieces together a liveable now. Still, the future cannot begin until the troubled earth of Poland is left behind.’ The language of the book is strong and poignant and testifies not only to the extraordinary strength of the human spirit during the Holocaust, but also to the strength needed to survive after the war. The economic hardship as well as the precarious position of Jews in post-Holocaust Poland, with all the suffering they had experienced during the war, contributed to Charney’s family’s decision to emigrate. ‘In actual fact,’ she sadly observes, ‘our place in that society was doubtful.

Book Reviews 511 The older I became, the more I was aware that the adults around me lived with a sense of foreboding. They regarded their surroundings with the uneasiness of people who live at the foot of a volcano’ (p. 137). The psychology of disillusionment is at the core of Charney’s narrative.

Memories of the betrayal and horrors of the Holocaust continue to haunt Charney’s mother through the last part of the book, which is devoted primarily to

the years immediately following the war. In Charney’s words, ‘her existence defined itself through the pain of those memories’ (p. 144). Her mother would never speak again to any Pole who had been more than a child at the time of the war because ‘these were her people, a generation she once belonged to. She would never

forget what they had done to her’ (p. 144). Stories of the barbaric destruction of Polish Jewry in general and of the entirety of Charney’s family in particular, along with profound disillusionment with her father’s enlightened ideals of the cultural integration of the Jews into Polish society, led to Charney’s mother’s decision to leave Poland for ever. This decision was not easy to make, and was all the more difficult to comprehend for an intelligent child like Ann Charney. Still, with the rest of her surviving family, she kept moving farther away from their ancestral town of Dobryd. Thus the book is not just a memoir of a childhood marred by the Holocaust; it is a quest for a new home, a long journey from Dobryd to Montreal. ANNA PETROV BUMBLE

Brandets University

BLANK PAGE

APPRECIATIONS AND OBITUARIES

Chone Shmeruk: ‘The Man and his Work ISRAEL BARTAL WE have gathered here this morning to commemorate a great scholar: Professor Chone Shmeruk of the Hebrew University. Many of us knew him personally and had the great good fortune to imbibe from his wisdom and learning. In his scholarly work Professor Shmeruk bridged remote eras and combined several disciplines into

a unified world of Jewish cultural creativity. He mastered literature, history, and linguistics, knew them thoroughly, and sensed their finest interrelations. This great intellectual figure was at home in many cultures. His erudition knew no boundaries.

His studies covered almost every European culture in the vast territory from the Rhine to the Urals. He was well versed in the German, Russian, and of course Polish cultures, as well as in Jewish culture in its linguistic diversity. This broad

horizon enabled Shmeruk to see the whole cultural picture as a unified one. Shmeruk’s scholarship transcended political borders and crossed disciplinary limits. Although a most pedantic student of old and modern archival documents and literary texts, he also had a great literary sensitivity and a good taste for poetry. Chone Shmeruk’s own biography covered times and spaces that actually gave birth to parts of his study: from inter-war hasidism and the Bund movement in the Warsaw of the 1930s, his great childhood love, to post-war Yiddish writers in the USSR and finally to the Israeli—Zionist experience in its many facets. He grew up in a world that would be brutally destroyed in the Holocaust, and devoted his time and

energies to the study of that great world. Chone Shmeruk was the father and founder of many scholarly and academic projects, both in and outside Israel and of course in Poland. He was the initiator of most of the projects in Israeli academia from the 1960s that had to do in one way or another with east European Jewish culture. To mention but a few: he was the initiator of the Centre for Research and Documentation of East European Jewry, which was founded in 1956—only seven years after he went to Israel. Some years later he became very active in the renewal of Judaic studies in the Polish language. His involvement in the Polish academic

project led to the establishment of the Centre for Research on the History and This address was delivered at the International Conference on Jewish Spirituality dedicated to the memory of Chone Shmeruk, Krakow, 26-8 Apr. 1999.

514. Appreciations and Obituaries

lishing activity. : Culture of Polish Jews at the Hebrew University in 1983. Shmeruk was the head of the centre for nine years, laying the foundations for multifaceted research and pub-

I think that this conference is a proper way to commemorate the person and |

scholarship of Chone Shmeruk. Most of the sessions in the coming days cover some, if not all, of the fields of our great master’s broad academic enterprise. They start from traditional Jewish society in the early modern period, and go through

Shabbateanism and Frankism to hasidism and the Haskalah. They end with

twentieth centuries. ,

modern Yiddish literature and Jewish acculturation in Poland in the nineteenth and

Yeh zikhro barukh, May his memory be blessed.

The Scholarly Activities of Chone Shmeruk in Poland JOZEF A. GIEROWSKI No oner has done as much in recent years for the development of studies on Jewish culture and history in Poland as Chone Shmeruk. During the period of his involvement in these activities interest in the Jewish past was increasing with every year in Poland, especially among the younger generation. Many students were spontan-

eously searching for books, lectures, and seminars concerning the history, the cultural achievements, and the life of the Polish Jews. The fall of the communist system opened the way to this world, which had been placed under political and ideological restrictions (particularly since 1967-8), and which remained unknown to the great majority of young Poles. Until recently it was impossible to take up independent, objective research in this field, which therefore became a lacuna in Polish scholarship. This situation was slowly changing when the Solidarity movement of the early 1980s began to criticize the ruling Marxist ideology and interpretation of history.

Though the communists tried to defend their position, they could not continue their previous policies, and gradually they were obliged to give more autonomy to scholars in their research and teaching. The Jagiellonian University played a leading role in these changes. We decided to re-establish those fields that had previously been neglected in the universities. For many reasons, studies on Jewish history and culture were adopted as the highest priority. In the academic year 1983-4 lectures

on the history of the Polish Jews were offered for the first time in the post-war period. These lectures, conducted by Professor Jerzy Wyrozumski, were open to all

students, and enrolment surpassed our wildest expectations. At that time, in cooperation with historians from Warsaw University, we were also planning the publication of a compilation of sources for the history of the Polish Jews. Even so, none of us had a clear idea of how to develop the study of the history and culture of the Polish Jews. The lengthy moratorium on research and teaching in this field, as well as the very limited contact with scholars in Israel, had made it an extremely difficult challenge. The turning point came in spring 1984, when Chone Shmeruk went to Krakéw This address was delivered at the International Conference on Jewish Spirituality dedicated to the memory of Chone Shmeruk, Krakow, 26-8 Apr. 1999.

516 Appreciations and Obituaries with a group of professors and students from the Hebrew University. He visited the Jagiellonian University and, if I may use the biblical phrase, he opened our eyes. Professor Shmeruk, an eminent scholar and expert on Jewish literature, had organized the Centre for Research on the History and Culture of Polish Jews at the Hebrew University and was its first director until his retirement in 1992. He gathered the top specialists at the centre. Their research on the history of the Polish Jews introduced many previously unknown facts and gave rise to new interpretations of many historical processes. Professor Shmeruk understood that cooperation between scholars from Israel and Poland was the necessary basis for the further development of this field of research, and an important goal of his visit to Poland was to pave the way for such cooperation. The attitude of Professor Shmeruk and his colleagues and the information on the activities of the centre in Jerusalem facilitated our initial understanding and our decision to cooperate. The second step in this direction was taken during the conference on Polish—Jewish relations at Oxford

in September of that year, at which Professor Shmeruk once again played an important role. The conference represented a crucial moment in the improvement of understanding and cooperation between Polish and Jewish scholars. Both sides agreed that objective research was the best way to overcome the mutually negative stereotypes existing in both nations. Only by searching for the truth and authenticating it can we promote better understanding. This principle would become the basis for all our subsequent joint activities. We decided then to publish the year-

book Polin, and, as the next step, to organize further conferences in Krakow and | Jerusalem. These decisions were implemented in the next few years. The first conference— on Jewish autonomy in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth—took place at the Jagiellonian University in Krakow in 1986 and was organized in cooperation with the centre at the Hebrew University. Professor Shmeruk consulted with us closely

about the programme, and, thanks to his help, many eminent scholars from Europe, the United States, and especially from Israel participated. It was the first conference of its kind at any Polish university. The conference papers were later published in Polish and English, and they effectively presented the new trends in research on the history of the Polish Jews. Two years later Professor Shmeruk organized a conference in Jerusalem on the history of Polish—Jewish relations. He devoted all his efforts to ensuring the success of the conference, and it was indeed a great success. Among the participants were more than a hundred scholars from Poland. The most important issues were discussed on the highest scholarly level. The conference became the starting point for much new research. It is a pity that only some of the papers were published, and that its influence was therefore limited—though this was not the case in Poland, where among scholars the tradition of this great event lives on. The Krakow conference was connected with the creation of the Centre for the

| History and Culture of the Jews in Poland at the Jagiellonian University. The new

Appreciations and Obituaries 517 centre was modelled on the one in Jerusalem. We used the term ‘Jews in Poland’ rather than ‘Polish Jews’ in naming the centre in order to reflect our decision that the object of research was to be both Polish and Lithuanian Jews, that is, the Jewish inhabitants of both Crown Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. The centre in Krakow was established by a unanimous resolution of the Senate of the Jagiellonian University in June 1986. The centre’s programme of activities includes the training of specialists, research and teaching on the history and culture of the Jews in Poland, and course work in Hebrew and Yiddish. Professor Shmeruk served as chairman of the Academic Council of the centre. Under his auspices young researchers could be sent to Israel or Oxford or Vienna to learn languages and to have access to the best libraries. In the first twelve years of the centre’s existence we produced one higher-degree doctorate (habilitacja) and four doctorates, all in the field of Jewish history and culture. All of these were completed with the assistance and input of Professor Shmeruk. Courses on Hebrew and Yiddish at a high level are attracting about fifty students in each academic year. Shmeruk was also helpful to people in other departments of the university who were writing dissertations on Jewish topics. A good example of such cooperation is the publication of a volume of essays on the Jewish theatre in Krakow, edited by Jan Michalik and Eugenia Prokop-Janiec. ‘This volume was inspired by Professor Shmeruk’s lectures on Jewish theatre. Shmeruk was a true promoter of this publication and a mentor to its contributors. He participated eagerly in the process of teaching. He lectured on the history of Jewish literature and of Yiddish. He also arranged for a number of visiting professors to come from Israel and the United States. As a result of his efforts, the centre has been able to offer a special study of Jewish history and culture to extramural students. The centre’s programme of research was also shaped by Professor Shmeruk’s suggestions. On his initiative, the centre organized some small conferences on the archival sources and bibliography of Polish Judaica, with discussions of the character and methods of research in the field. These suggestions and discussions yielded the volumes of bibliography of Polish Judaica edited by Krzysztof Pilarczyk and the catalogues of archival materials edited by Krzysztof Link-Lenczowski. Professor Shmeruk also assisted in the publication of sources from the municipal records on the history of the Jews in Krakow and from the customs books on the history of Jewish trade. Although he was never formally a professor of the Jagiellonian University, he contributed greatly to the university’s development. For this reason

a special memorial session was held for him in 1998 in the great hall of the Collegium Novum, a distinction reserved for the most eminent professors of the Jagiellonian University. Professor Shmeruk did not limit his contacts with Polish scholars to the Jagiellonian University. He was active as a visiting professor at his alma mater, Warsaw University, and he conducted seminars at the University of L6dz. He devoted great efforts to strengthening the position of the Zydowski Instytut Historyczny (Jewish

518 Appreciations and Obituaries Historical Institute) in Warsaw. He participated in conferences on the history of Polish Jews organized in many Polish towns, especially after the turning point of 1989. Many Polish scholars interested in the history and culture of the Jews found

| important insights in the remarks of Professor Shmeruk, who was always eager to help. We know that in western Europe and in America his scholarly standing was very high. Poland could not have found a better teacher in the long-neglected field

of Jewish studies. |

Professor Shmeruk’s outlook was based on two important factors. First, as a scholar he understood that research on the history of Polish Jewry—that is, on the

greatest autonomous Jewish group in the Diaspora—could be pursued only through the close cooperation of Jewish and Polish specialists. In this field an ignorance of Polish history and of source materials existing only in Poland can lead to

errors and misunderstandings to the same degree as can ignorance of the Jewish , past. The second factor was his sentiment towards the country of his youth and of | his ancestors. He represented a very specific generation of Israeli patriots with roots |

in Poland. He could therefore write that he was ‘a true Polish Jew’ (the sense is captured better in Polish: wierny Zyd polski). And thus he remained until his death. The present conference is also the fruit of his interests and activities. He knew

the high level of Jewish culture in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth and understood the richness of Jewish spiritual life in Poland—which in the modern

with us. :

period was much more developed than anywhere else in the Diaspora. Therefore, I am sure that he is now among us, satisfied and pleased that his ideas have opened new perspectives and are still inspirational. As long as his vision 1s alive, he remains

Jan Karsk1 (1914-2000) ON 18 JULY 2000 nearly 300 people—representatives of the Polish and American governments, Polish veterans and Jewish survivors of the Holocaust, representatives of the US Holocaust Memorial Council and Museum, members of Polish American organizations, representatives of leading American Jewish organizations,

Georgetown University faculty, and students and friends—attended a funeral service for Jan Karski at St Matthew’s Cathedral in Washington, DC. The service

was drawing to a close following the eulogy delivered on behalf of President Aleksander Kwasniewski. Rabbi Michael Berenbaum came to the lectern and intoned the Kaddish on behalf of the Jews of Poland, joined by many members of the congregation. This was perhaps the highest and most fitting honour and homage paid to this Polish Catholic who, as a courier for the Polish underground, risked his life and bore witness to the Holocaust and who was hailed as a hero of the Jewish people. Jan Kozielewski was born on 24 April 1914 in Lodz, then still a part of the tsarist empire. He was raised in an ardent Catholic and patriotic family, but one free of the antisemitism characteristic of the political culture of the Polish right at that time. His mother always referred to Marshal Jozef Piltsudski as the ‘father of the Fatherland’ (Ojciec Ojczyzny), and it was from her that Karski learned tolerance towards

others. Karski studied at the Gimnazjum im. Marszatka Pitsudskiego in ‘Red’ £,6dz, where Jews, Germans, Russians, and Poles lived side by side. A brilliant student, Karski went on to receive degrees in law and diplomatic studies at Jan Kazimierz University in Lviv in 1935. He did military service in 1935 and 1936 in an artillery training school, and then studied in Germany, Switzerland, and Great Britain, mastering languages. He entered Poland’s foreign service in 1938, a step

towards his dream of becoming an ambassador. He was mobilized in 1939 and captured by the Red Army when it joined Nazi Germany in invading Poland. Karski escaped from the Soviet prisoner-of-war camp in Kozelshchyna, today in Ukraine, returned to German-occupied Poland, and joined the underground. His knowledge of languages and foreign countries made him valuable as a courier, and he was sent in 1940 to the government in exile, then in Angers, to report on conditions in his occupied homeland. Karski returned to Poland with instructions for the underground about how the civilian and military wings should work together,

520 Appreciations and Obituaries the powers and responsibilities of the Delegatura, communications, and maintenance of the population’s morale. Karski committed all this information to his photographic memory. He was sent on a second mission, but was captured near Kapusany, in Slovakia, and was tortured by the Gestapo in PreSov. At that time he attempted suicide by slashing his wrists. Subsequently transported to Nowy Sacz, Karski was rescued by the underground. Eventually he returned to Warsaw and

joined the underground’s Bureau of Information and Propaganda, monitoring Allied and neutral broadcasts. There he also became associated with Zofia Kossak, a Catholic writer and organizer of the Front Odrodzenia Polski (Front for Poland’s

Rebirth). Members of the Front had no history of philosemitism, but, witnessing the persecution of Jews, began to assist Jews in the name of Catholicism. Kossak subsequently played a central role in organizing Zegota, the Polish underground’s committee for aid to the Jews. In 1942 the decision was made to send Karski to London to report on the situation in Poland. In preparation for the mission not only was he briefed by representatives of the political parties, but he also met Jewish leaders, and, at the request of the Jewish underground, twice secretly entered the Warsaw ghetto. There, escorted

by Leon Feiner of the Bund, he saw for himself the appalling conditions. With Feiner urging Karski again and again to ‘Remember this’, Karski absorbed the - stench of death and doom and the horrors of people dying of starvation, dead and naked children lying about, and two members of the Hitleryugend on a ‘Jew hunt’. Later, disguised as a Ukrainian guard, Karski clandestinely entered the Nazi camp at Izbica Lubelska, near Lublin, a waystation to the Betzec death camp. Here he witnessed the German genocide of the Jews. He saw Jews from the Warsaw ghetto kept in chaotic squalor and in indescribable filth, now dehumanized, and waiting to be packed into railway trucks with floors coated with lime. The trucks were sealed, moved a short distance, and reopened a few days later, and the dead Jews burned. Karski later wrote that ‘the images of what I saw in the death camp are, I am afraid,

my permanent possessions’, which brought on recurrent nausea.’ Karski left Warsaw on 1 October 1942 and arrived in London on 25 November. The message that Jewish leaders in the ghetto, Feiner and possibly Menahem Kirschenbaum, the General Zionist leader, asked Karski to convey bears recalling. Feiner told Karski: Our entire people will be destroyed. A few may be saved, perhaps, but 3 million Polish Jews are doomed. This cannot be prevented by any force in Poland, neither the Polish nor the

Jewish underground. Place this responsibility on the shoulders of the Allies. Let not a single leader of the United Nations be able to say that they did not know that we were being murdered in Poland and could not be helped from the outside.

The Jewish leaders wanted Karski to convey the unprecedented nature of what was

happening to the Jews of Poland. In an expression of their desperation they 1 J. Karski, Story ofa Secret State (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1944), 352.

Appreciations and Obituaries 521 demanded of the Allies mass reprisals to stop the extermination, bombing import-

ant German cultural sites, executing Germans in Allied hands, and holding Germans collectively responsible if they did not rise up to stop the genocide. They also asked that Jewish leaders in the West go to British and American agencies, not to leave until they had obtained guarantees on a way to save Jews, and to go on hunger strike and die if this was necessary to ‘shake the conscience of the world’.” In the West Karski reported to the Polish government in exile. He met British leaders including the foreign secretary, Anthony Eden, and recounted what he had witnessed to influential people in London. Many thought that he was exaggerating,

but Arthur Koestler used his material in his book Arrival and Departure.* In America Karski met President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Undersecretary of State Adolph Berle, and leading American Jews, including Rabbi Stephen Wise and Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter. In his meeting with Roosevelt Karski reported on the situation in Poland and the Polish underground. He also told Roosevelt about the suffering of the Jews and the underground’s belief that, if the Germans did not change their policies, if there was no Allied intervention, then within a year and a half of his leaving Poland the Jews of Poland ‘will cease to exist’.*

Karski encountered disbelief in American official circles: Frankfurter told him, ‘I am unable to believe you.’ When the Polish ambassador Jan Ciechanowski protested that Karski was not lying and that the authority of his government was behind the young courier, Frankfurter replied: ‘Mr Ambassador, I did not say this young man is lying. I said Iam unable to believe him. There is a difference.”® Even when confronted with this eyewitness, Jews and non-Jews could not believe the worst. Karski also met people sympathetic to his reports, but they put aside their personal consciences and feelings, reasoning that military strategy, i.e. Germany’s defeat, took precedence. A single person in the West with whom Karski spoke made the

ultimate protest: he was Szmuel Zygielboym, the Bund representative in the National Council of the Polish government in exile. On 12 May 1943, as the Germans crushed the Warsaw ghetto uprising, Zygielboym committed suicide to protest against the world’s passivity and indifference to the annihilation of Jews. John Pehle, who was named head of the War Refugee Board in Washington in January 1944, believed that Karski’s meeting with the president contributed to

Roosevelt’s willingness to set up the board, and Ambassador Ciechanowski believed that Karski was partly responsible for the approval shortly thereafter of a $12 million Lend-Lease loan for the Polish underground. Karski’s cover was blown while he was in America, and he spent the remainder of the war there with his new mission to promote the Polish cause in the face of the growing threat of a Soviet takeover of post-war Poland. He lectured and gave interviews, and at the end of

2 Tbid. 320-8. 3 New York, 1943.

* Quoted in E. T. Wood and S. M. Jankowski, Karski: How One Man Tried to Stop the Holocaust (New York, 1994), 199. For another published account of the meeting, see J. Ciechanowski, Defeat in

Victory (Garden City, NY, 1947), 179-91. ° Ciechanowski, Defeat in Victory, 188.

522 Appreciations and Obituaries 1944 his book Story of a Secret State, which included his encounters with Jewish leaders in Warsaw and their pleas, became a bestseller (400,000 copies) and a Book of the Month Club selection. The manuscript had been ‘adapted’ by the publisher,

and was not meant as a comprehensive account of Karski’s wartime experiences. | Karski claimed that he did not intend to alter the essential reality, but the book did change some facts for security reasons, put forward a uniformly positive picture of

the Polish underground, and glossed over the widespread opposition to détente | with the Soviet Union and Polish antisemitism. As Karski’s biographers note, nei-

Poland. : ther the publisher nor Karski foresaw the book later becoming an important source |

for information on the Polish underground state and the Holocaust for scholars unaware of the gaps and adaptations.° In 1999 the book was at last published in

Karski came to believe that the mission to raise support for Poland and for Polish Jews was a failure. At the end of the war Poland was run by a Soviet-backed regime

of Polish communists and only to per cent of the Jews of Poland had survived. Karski withdrew into silence about the Holocaust. He refused to return to a communist Poland and remained in the United States, becoming an American citizen in 1954. He originally entered the United States under his underground pseudonym, and kept the name. In 1952 he received his Ph.D. in government from Georgetown University. He taught comparative government, east European affairs, and international relations at Georgetown until 1984, when he retired as a distinguished professor. Karski was a visiting professor at Columbia in 1963. He lectured at other universities, before government agencies and civic organizations, and in 1956-7 and 1966~7 was sent by the US State Department on lecture tours to Asia and to

French-speaking Africa. Karski received a Fulbright Fellowship in 1974 for research in Polish, British, and French archives and subsequently published his major work, The Great Powers and Poland, 1919-1945: From Versailles to Yalta." Karski did not return to the subject of the Holocaust until persuaded by French film-maker Claude Lanzmann to share his testimony. Lanzmann promised Karski that the question of rescue would be a major theme in his film, assured Karski that he would not be drawn into political discussions, that he would only speak about what he saw, and convinced him of his responsibility to history to testify. For two

painful days in 1978 Karski ‘went back’ to the past. Ultimately he appeared for some forty minutes in Shoah, but only testifying about what he saw in the Warsaw ghetto. There was nothing about his underground activities or the Polish underground, and most of the details of Karski’s famous mission and his efforts to alert the West were edited out. The question of rescue was not, as Lanzmann had promised, one of the major themes of the film, and Shoah was replete with images of

Polish antisemitism. The controversy surrounding Shoah put Karski in a painful position, for he was unwittingly featured in a film that many believed defamed the

© Wood and Jankowski, Karski, 228-0. ” Lanham, Md., 1985.

Appreciations and Olituaries 523 Polish nation.® Drawing upon the integrity and strength of character that had made him a hero during the war, he did not complain of being misled. He praised the film, which he genuinely admired, as ‘the greatest movie about the tragedy of the Jews made after the war’ and understood Lanzmann’s need to demonstrate the uniqueness of the Jewish Holocaust. He did worry that post-war Jewish generations seeing Shoah would lose faith in humanity seeing the film’s single-minded presentation of the abandonment of the Jews during the Second World War. For him, that narrow

picture was not the entire truth. There were those who aided Jews, and Karski called for an ‘equally great, equally truthful’ film to be made that would show ‘the other reality of the Holocaust. Governments, social organizations, churches, people of talent and compassion ought, through some kind of common effort, to produce

such a film, not to deny what Shoah showed but to complement it. The Jewish gehenna during the Second World War hangs like a curse over humanity.’ The greatness, integrity, and wisdom of the man that showed itself during the Second World War revealed itself again during the controversy over Lanzmann’s Shoah. In the period before and after the release of Shoah Karski emerged to speak on

the Holocaust. Greeted with incredulity during the Second World War, he now found audiences anxious to hear his personal testimony. He addressed the International Liberators’ Conference organized by the US Holocaust Memorial Council in October 1981, and for the remainder of his life spoke at numerous campuses and before religious and civic groups. He returned to Poland, and in 1993 travelled with Vice-President Al Gore as part of the American delegation to the fiftieth anniversary of the Warsaw ghetto uprising.

Karski protested against antisemitism and those who denied its existence in Poland. In March 2000, shortly before his death, the young people of 4.6dz set about a campaign of ‘colourful tolerance’ (kolorowa tolerancja) to clean up the racist and antisemitic graffiti all over the city. When, a day later, vandals painted an antisemitic slogan on the L6dz home of Marek Edelman, the sole survivor of the Jewish Fighting Organization of the Warsaw ghetto still living in Poland, Karski wrote to his fellow citizens of Lodz that an atmosphere tolerant of antisemitism existed and

that those who did not challenge fascist and antisemitic scribbling must share responsibility for it. He also criticized those Poles who visit the West and argue that there is no antisemitism in Poland. The former courier called upon Poland finally to

rise to the challenge of internal hatred and prosecute the preachers of racism. Karski agreed with Edelman that ‘ “Today they write. Tomorrow they kill.” Who will stop them?’ President Aleksander Kwasniewski, Prime Minister Jerzy Buzek, and the media immediately expressed their indignation; and the strong public reaction and the clean-up effort showed that something had changed—that antisemitic

graffiti are not an automatically accepted feature of the Polish environment. 8 Tbid. 253-5. See also R. Mossin, ‘O “Shoah”: Rozmowa z profesorem Janem Karskim’, Przeglad Polski, Nowy Dztenntk, 21 Nov. 1985.

9 J. Karski, ‘Shoah/Zagtada’, Kultura, 11/458 (Nov. 1985), 121-4.

524 Appreciations and Obituaries However, such changes do not come about without the uncompromising example of individuals like Jan Karski who accept no excuses and who face harsh facts. Karski received many honours. He was twice decorated with the Virtuti Militari, Poland’s highest award for heroism on the field of battle, and with the Order of the White Eagle, Poland’s highest civic decoration. He is counted among the Righteous of the Nations at Yad Vashem and in 1994 became an honorary citizen of Israel. In 2000 he was one of eighty diplomats honoured by the United Nations with the title Just Diplomat because they risked their lives to save Jews and others during the German occupation. He was also an honorary citizen of his native Lodz. Georgetown University, Oregon State University, Baltimore Hebrew College, Warsaw University, Marie Curie-Sktodowska University in Lublin, and Lodz University recognized Karski with honorary degrees. After the death in 1992 of his wife, the dancer and choreographer Pola Nirenska (Nirensztajn), the daughter of an observant Jewish father and whose entire family perished in the Holocaust, Karski funded a $100,000 endowment for the Jan Karski and Pola Nirenska Prize for authors of works about the contributions of Polish Jews or Poles of Jewish origin to Polish culture. Among those to receive this prize, which is administered by YIVO, are Jacek | - Kuron and Father Jézef Tischner. In 1999 Karski pledged $100,000 to establish a : scholarship fund in his name for students from Poland intending to study, in the

United States, Polish Jewish contributions to Poland, the betterment of under- , standing between Jews and Poles, and the recognition of the fate of the Jews during |

the Holocaust. The fund is administered by the American Center for Polish Culture in Washington, DC.

Jan Karski died in Washington on 13 July 2000 at the age of 86. President Clinton praised him as a messenger who risked his life to carry to the world the

news of the Holocaust and as a ‘messenger throughout his fifty years as an American’ who brought the message ‘about freedom based on his experience in wartime Poland’. Karski demanded that ‘we face with clarity the existence of injustice and evil in the world and act with courage to defeat them’. Former President Lech Watesa hailed him for his devotion to the truth and declared that ‘great heroes like Jan Karski never really die’. President Aleksander Kwasniewski eulogized him as a ‘crowning witness’ to the twentieth century. May his memory be a blessing. STANISLAUS A. BLEJWAS Central Connecticut State University

Moshe Mishkinsky (1917-1998) Moshe Mishkinsky was one of the premier scholars of the history of the Jewish labour movement. Born in Biatystok in 1917, Mishkinsky emigrated to Palestine at the age of 19, where he developed an interest in the Jewish workers’ movement. He completed his Ph.D. dissertation, entitled ‘National Elements in the Development of the Jewish Labour Movement in Russia (from the Beginnings to 1901)’, at the

Hebrew University. He distinguished himself in the scholarly community as an authority on the Jewish labour movement in general and on the history of the Bund in tsarist Russia in particular. In the 1960s, when he published several important articles in Israeli academic journals and completed his doctoral dissertation, Mishkinsky focused his attention on the early history of the Bund and the development of its national programme, as well as the history of labour Zionism. He was among the first scholars to challenge the prevailing view, enshrined in the Bund’s own post-war five-volume Geshikhte fun bund, that the development of a national programme within Jewish socialist circles was the result of pressure from below, from the Jewish masses. By tracing the idea of an independent Jewish workers’ movement back to the earliest documents of the movement, Mishkinsky proved that the national character of the socialist movement among Jews in Vilna had been present from the beginning. Mishkinsky’s second contribution included a pioneering study, published in English in 1969, on the role of regional factors in the formation of the Jewish labour movement. Here, he pointed to the particular heterogeneous national character of Lithuania combined with Jewish predominance in urban life as critical causal fac-

tors in the emergence of a specifically Jewish socialism. The third aspect of Mishkinsky’s studies was his pioneering work on the relations between the Polish socialist movement and the Bund in late tsarist Russia. The final and most lengthy chapter in his 1981 monograph (an abridged version of his dissertation, which still awaits translation) examines the influence of the Polish socialist movement on the development of the Bund in the 1890s, while in other work, published in the pages of Polin, Mishkinsky analysed the attitude of the Polish socialist movement to the ‘Jewish question’ in the early 1890s. Other subjects of interest included Jews and the Russian revolutionary movement in the period 1875-82, on which Mishkinsky published several articles, as well as the Polish Communist Party and its attitude to

526 Appreciations and Obituaries the ‘Jewish question’ in inter-war Poland. In addition to his significant monograph,

Mishkinsky published more than ninety articles. He also served on the editorial : board of Encyclopaedia Judaica, where he contributed some fifty-five entries relating to the Jewish labour movement, including substantial pieces on the Bund and labour Zionist organizations. Mishkinsky taught for many years at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. In the 1960s and 1970s he headed the research project on the Jewish labour movement,

which published a series of classic texts of the movement in Hebrew translation. | Subsequently, he took up a post at Tel Aviv University, where he became senior lecturer in the history of the Jewish labour movement. Until the end of his life he was active in his field, attending international conferences and publishing articles in Hebrew, Polish, English, and other languages. His scholarship and work in the field of modern Jewish history provided many of the building blocks for the post-war generation of Israeli and Western-born scholars of the Jewish labour movement, and he will be sorely missed for years to come.

| JOSHUA D. ZIMMERMAN Yeshiva University

Notes on the Contributors ELIYANA R. ADLER is a doctoral candidate in the Department of Near Eastern and Judaic Studies of Brandeis University. Her dissertation examines the growth of private schools for Jewish girls in tsarist Russia in the second half of the nineteenth century.

Davip ASSAF is a Professor of Jewish History at Tel Aviv University and the director of the Center for Research on the History of Polish Jewry in the Diaspora Research Institute, Tel Aviv University. His main field of research is the history of hasidism and Jewish traditional society in eastern Europe. Among his publications are: Derekh hamalkhut: r. yisra’el miruzhin umekomo betoledot hahasidut (“The Regal Way: The Time and Life of Rabbi Israel of Ruzhin’ (Jerusalem, 1997; Stanford, Calif., forthcoming)); Ma shera’iti: zikhronotav shel yehezkel kotik (‘A Journey

to the Nineteenth Century Shtetl: The Memoirs of Yehezkel Kotik’ (Tel Aviv, 1998; Detroit, forthcoming) ); and Bratslav: An Annotated Bibhography (Jerusalem, 2000). ISRAEL BARTAL is Professor of Modern Jewish History at the Hebrew University and Director of the Center for Research on the History and Culture of Polish Jews. He is the editor of the second, revised edition of the minute book of the Council of

Four Lands (Jerusalem, 1990) and co-author (with Magdalena Opalski) of Poles and fews: A Fatled Brotherhood (Hanover, NH, 1993). He is the author of several monographs and articles on east European Jewish history and on the history of the

pre-Zionist Jewish community in Palestine. He is a member of the Editorial Committee of Polin.

VERONICA BELLING is the Jewish Studies Librarian at the University of Cape Town. She has a postgraduate diploma in librarianship from the Hebrew Uni-

versity of Jerusalem and BA (Hons.) in Judaica from the University of South Africa. In 1997 her Bibliography of South African Jewry was published by the Kaplan Centre for Jewish Studies and Research in association with the University of Cape Town Libraries. DANIEL BLATMAN teaches at the Institute of Contemporary Jewry at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and is a member of the Yad Vashem research committee.

He is the author of Lema’an heruteinu veherutetkhem (‘For Our Freedom and Yours: The Bund in Poland 1939-1945’ (Jerusalem, 1996)), which will soon appear in English and French. He has published numerous articles on the Holocaust, the history of Jews in twentieth-century Poland, post-war Polish antisemitism, and the

528 Notes on the Contributors history of the Jewish labour movement in eastern Europe. At present he is preparing a study of the Jewish underground press in the Warsaw ghetto. JOANNA ROSTROPOWICZ CLARK is a graduate of Warsaw University and received ,

her Ph.D. in Comparative Literature from the University of Pennsylvania. A | literary critic and a teacher at Rutgers University, she is currently working on a book provisionally entitled ‘Poetry after Auschwitz: The Holocaust in Polish Literature’.

JAN DOKTOR is a researcher at the Jewish Historical Institute in Warsaw, where he works on Jewish messianism. He is the author of Jakob Frank i jego nauka

(‘Jacob Frank and his Teaching’ (Warsaw, 1991)) and editor of Jakub Frank’s ) Rozmaite adnotage, przypadki, czynnosci 1 anegdoty panskie (‘Various Annotations, Encounters, Actions, and Anecdotes of His Lordship’ (Warsaw, 1996) ).

MIcHAEz GALAS is a lecturer at the Department of Jewish Studies of the Jagiel-

lonian University in Krakow. He is the editor of the post-conference volume Duchowosé zydowska w Polsce (‘Jewish Spirituality in Poland’ (Krakéw, 2000)) and author of numerous articles on the history of the Jewish religion in Poland, particularly on Shabbateanism and Frankism.

SUSANNE GALLEY was born in 1965 in East Berlin. She studied Protestant theology from 1984 to 1989; her doctorate was entitled ‘Moshe as a Prophet: History and Development of an Idea from Bible to the Midrash ha~Gadol’. Since 1997 she has been assistant to the Chair of Religious Studies of Potsdam University.

JOzer A. GIEROWSKI is a former Rector of the Jagiellonian University and Director of its Institute for the History and Study of Polish Jews. Among his many

books are: Dzieze Wroclaw, 1618-1741 (‘A History of Wroctaw, 1618-1741” (Wroclaw, 1957)); W ctentu Ligi Potnocne; (‘In the Shadow of the Northern League’ (Krakow, 1972)); Historia Polski 1505-1864 (‘A History of Poland, 1505-1864’ (Krakow, 1978)); and The Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth in the XVITI Century: From Anarchy to Well-Organised State (Krakow, 1996). ROLAND GOETSCHEL was born in Strasbourg in 1930 and is Professor Emeritus of

Hebraic Language and Civilization at the Sorbonne, Associate Professor at the Free University of Brussels, and a member of the European Academy of Letters and Sciences of Salzburg. Among his publications are: Meér ibn Gabbay: Le Discours de la Kabbala espagnole (‘Meer ibn Gabbay, the Discourse of the Spanish Cabbala’ (Leuven, 1981)); Cabbala (Paris, 1999); and Isaac Abravanel: Conseiller

des princes et philosophe (1427-1508) (‘Abravanel, Counsellor of Princes and Philosopher’ (Paris, 1996)). KARL GROZINGER Is Professor of Religion and Jewish Studies at the University of

Potsdam and former Professor of Judaic Studies at the universities of Frankfurt am Main and Lund. He is the author of numerous publications on Jewish thought,

Notes on the Contributors 529 the Jewish theology of music, Kafka and kabbalah, and hasidism and folk tale, and has published a trilingual edition of Shivhet habesht. GERSHON Davip HUNDERT chairs the Department of Jewish Studies and is Professor of History at McGill University in Montreal. His chief research interest is the experience of Jews in early modern Lithuania and Poland. YORAM JACOBSON is the head of Kabbalistic and Hasidic Studies in the Department of Jewish Philosophy at Tel Aviv University. He is the author of Mikabalat

ha’ari ad lahasidut (‘From Lurianic Kabbalah to Hasidism’ (Tel Aviv, 1984)); Benetivei galuyot uge’ulot: torat hage’ulah shel r. mordekhai dato (‘In the Paths of the Dispersions and the Redemptions: The Theory of Redemption of Rabbi Mordekhai

Dato’ (Tel Aviv, 1996)); and Hasidic Thought (Tel Aviv, 1998). He is also the author of numerous papers concerning Lurianic kabbalah and hasidism. JupDITH KA LIK teaches the early modern history of eastern Europe in the Depart-

ment of Russian and Slavonic Studies at the Hebrew University. Her doctoral dissertation was entitled ‘The Catholic Church and the Jews in the Polish— Lithuanian Commonwealth in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’, and she has published Hayehudim bede’at hakahal shel hashlakhtah beme’ah ha-17 vetehilat hame’ah ha-18: al pi hahlatot hasetmtkim berutentyah ha’adumah (‘The Jews in the Opinion of the Szlachta in the Seventeenth Century and at the Beginning of the Eighteenth Century on the Basis of Sejmiki in Red Ruthenia’ (Jerusalem, 1991)) and Ha’atsulah hapolanit vehayehudim bemamlekhet polin bire’t hatehtkah bat zemanenu (“The Polish Nobility and the Jews in the Polish Kingdom in the Mirror of Modern Legislation’ (Jerusalem, 1997) ).

SEAWOMIR KAPRALSKI is Professor of Sociology at the Central European University in Warsaw. ADAM KAZMIERCZYK is Assistant Professor in the Department of Jewish Studies at the Jagiellonian University. Among his works are: Sejmy 1 seymtki szlacheckie wobec Zydéw w IT potowie XVII wieku (‘Sejms and Sejmiki on the Jews in the

Second Half of the Seventeenth Century’ (Warsaw, 1994)); Materiaty zrodtowe do dziejéw Zydéw w ksiegach grodzkich dawnego wojewbdztwo krakowskiego z lat 1674— 1696 (‘Source Material for the History of the Jews in the Castle Records of the Krakéw Voivodeship’), vol. i: 1674-1683 (Krakéw, 1995); and Zydzi polscy, 1648-1772: Zrédta (‘Polish Jews, 1648-1772: Sources’ (Krak6w, 2001)). MARTA KURKOWSKA-BUDZAN is a graduate student of Social Anthropology at the Jagiellonian University in Krakow.

Sip Z. LEIMAN is Professor of Jewish History and Literature in the Department of Judaic Studies at Brooklyn College of the City University of New York and Visiting Professor at the Bernard Revel Graduate School of Yeshiva University.

530 Notes on the Contributors Harris LENOw!ITz is Professor of Hebrew in the Department of Languages and Literature and the Middle East Center of the University of Utah. He has written about Jakub Frank and all the other Jewish messiahs, Christian Hebraism, and topics in Hebrew language and literature. He is currently working on the topic of the appearance of Hebrew script in Western art. SARUNAS LIEKIS received his doctorate from the Near Eastern and Judaic Studies

Department, Brandeis University. The subject of his dissertation was ‘Jewish Autonomy in Interwar Lithuania’. At present he is Executive Director of the Open Society Foundation in Vilnius. KRZYSZTOF PILARCZYK is Associate Professor in the Center for the History and Culture of the Jews in Poland at the Jagiellonian University. His main interests are

the history of Judaism, Jewish printing, and Jewish bibliography. His books include: Talmud 1 jego drukarze w Pierwszej Rzeczypospolite; (“The Talmud and its Printers in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth (Krakow, 1998) ) and Przewodnk po bibhografiach polskich judatkow (‘A Guide to the Bibliographies of Polish Judaica’ (Krakow, 1992)). He edited two volumes of Zydzi i judaizm we wspétczesnych badaniach polskich (‘Jews and Judaism in Contemporary Polish Research’ — (Krakow, 1995, 1997) ) and is co-editor of Studia Judaica, the bulletin of the Polish Association of Jewish Studies, of which he has been president since 1996.

ANTONY POLONSKY is Albert Abramson Professor of Holocaust Studies at Brandeis University and the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. Until 1991 he was Professor of International History at the London School of Economics and Political Science. He is chair of the editorial board of Polin, author of Politics in Independent Poland (Oxford, 1972), The Little Dictators (London, 1975), and The Great Powers and the Polish Question (London, 1976), and co-author of A History of Modern Poland (Cambridge, 1980) and The Beginnings of Communist Rule in Poland (London, 1981). EUGENIA PROKOP-JANIEC teaches Polish literature at the Jagiellonian University in Krakow. Her principal interests are the history of modern literature and literary criticism, as well as Polish Jewish cultural and literary contacts in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Among her books are: Miedzywojenna literatura polskozydowska jako zjawisko kulturowe 1 artystyczne (‘Interwar Polish Jewish Literature as a Cultural and Artistic Phenomenon (Krakow, 1992) ) and (as editor) Miedzywojenna poezja polsko-xydowska (‘Interwar Polish Jewish Poetry’ (Krakow, 1992) ). At present she is working on a book on the literary aesthetic of Polish nationalism. JOHN RADZILOWSKI received a Ph.D. in history from Arizona State University in 1999. He is the author or co-author of several books and numerous articles. He is

program associate at the Center for Nations in Transition, Hubert H. Humphrey Institute of Public Affairs, University of Minnesota.

| Notes on the Contributors 531 SZYMON RUDNICKI is Professor of History at Warsaw University. He is a member

of the Israeli—Polish Historical Commission and of the Scholarly Council of the Jewish Historical Institute in Warsaw. He is, above all, interested in the politics of the right and fascism, Polish—Jewish relations, and large landowners. Among his | books are: DziatalnoSé polityczna polskich konserwatystéw, 1913-1926 (‘The Political Activity of Polish Conservatives 1918—1926’ (Wroctaw, 1981) ); Obdz Narodowo-

Radykalny: Geneza 1 dziatalnos¢ (“The National Radical Camp: Its Evolution and Development’ (Warsaw, 1985)); and Ziemianstwo polskie w XX wieku (‘Polish Landed Gentry in the Twentieth Century’ (Warsaw, 1996) ). MARGARETE SCHLUTER Studied at the universities of Munich and Cologne as well

as at the Hebrew university of Jerusalem. She has been Assistant Professor of Jewish Studies at the universities of Frankfurt am Main and Berlin. Currently she

is Professor of Jewish Studies at the Johann Wolfgang Goethe University in Frankfurt am Main. She is a member of the Commission for Research on the History of the Jews of Frankfurt, Vice-President of the Association of Scholars of Jewish Studies, and a member of the Executive Committee of the European Association for Jewish Studies. She is editor of Frankfurter Judaistische Bettrage and of the monograph series Frankfurter Judaistische Studien. STEFAN SCHREINER is Professor of Jewish History in the Institutum Judaicum at the University of Tubingen.

JERZY TOMASZEWSKI is a professor at the Historical Institute and former head of the Mordekhai Anielewicz Research Center on the History of Jews in Poland

at Warsaw University. He is a member of the Council and Board of the Jewish Historical Institute in Poland. Among his publications are: Z dziejow Polesia 1921— 1939: Zarys stosunkéw spoteczno-ekonomicznych (‘On the History of Polesie

1921— 1939: An Outline of Social and Economic Conditions’ (Warsaw, 1963) ); Rzeczpospolita wielu narodéw (‘A Republic of Many Nations’ (Warsaw, 1985) ); Ojezyzna nie tylko Polakéw: Mniejszosct narodowe w Polsce w latach 1915-1939 CA

Fatherland not only for Poles: National Minorities in Poland in the Years 1918-1 939’ (Warsaw, 1985)); and Preludium zaglady: Wygnanie Zydéw polskich z Niemiec

w 1936 r. (‘Prelude to the Shoah: The Expulsion of Polish Jews from Germany in 1938 (Warsaw, 1998)).

Scott URy is completing his doctorate in modern Jewish history at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. HANNA WEGRZYNEK is a historian working at the Jewish Historical Institute in Warsaw. She is interested in Jewish history in medieval and modern Poland, and specializes in Jewish—Christian relations. She is author of Czarna legenda Zydéw: Procesy 0 rzekome mordy rytualne w dawnej Polsce (‘The Jewish “Black Legend”: Blood Libel Trials in Old Poland’ (Warsaw, 1995)) and co-author of Historia 1 kul-

532 Notes on the Contributors tura Zydéw polskich: Slownik (Dictionary: History and Culture of Polish Jews’ (Warsaw, 2000) ).

ROBERT S. WISTRICH is the Erich and Foga Neuburger Professor of Modern Jewish History at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and has also held the Jewish Chronicle Chair for Jewish Studies at University College, London. He has written widely on Zionism, antisemitism, and National Socialism. Among his books are: Socialism and the Jews: The Dilemmas of Assimilation in Germany and Austria (Oxford, 1982); The Jews of Vienna in the Age of Franz Joseph (Oxford, 1989); Antisemitism: The Longest Hatred (New York, 1991); and Hitler and the Holocaust (New York, 2001); and he edited, with Jacob Golomb, Nietzsche, Godfather of Fascism (Princeton, 2002).

Glossary aggadah (Hebrew: ‘narrative’) That portion of rabbinic teaching which is not concerned with religious laws and regulations (halakhah). For the most part it consists of an amplification of those portions of the Hebrew Bible which include narrative, history, ethical maxims, and the reproofs and consolations of the prophets. arenda A lease of monopoly rights, usually of an estate, which was then administered by the lessee.

aron hakodesh (Hebrew: ‘Holy Ark’) A covered opening in the east wall of a synagogue or a cupboard placed against the east wall where the scrolls of the Torah are kept.

baratta, baraitot A teaching not found in the Mishnah, but from the same period. beit din Jewish religious court.

beit midrash (Hebrew: lit. ‘house of study’) A building attached to a synagogue where Jewish men assemble to study the Torah. berthah (Hebrew: ‘flight’) The name of an organized underground operation moving Jews

out of Poland, Czechoslovakia, Romania, Yugoslavia, and the Soviet Union into central and southern Europe between 1944 and 1948 as a step to their—mostly ‘illegal’—1mmigration to Palestine.

Bund (General Jewish Workers’ Alliance). A Jewish socialist party founded in 1897. It joined the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party, but seceded from it when its programme of national autonomy was not accepted. In independent Poland it adopted a leftist, anti-communist posture, and from the 1930s cooperated increasingly closely with the Polish Socialist Party.

commonwealth (Polish: Rzeczpospolita) The term Rzeczpospolita is derived from Latin res publica. It is sometimes translated as ‘commonwealth’ and sometimes as ‘republic’, often in the form ‘Noblemen’s republic’ (Rzeczpospolita szlachecka). After the union of Lublin in 1569 it was used officially in the form Rzeczpospolita Obojga Narodow (Commonwealth of Two Nations) to designate the new form of state that had arisen. In historical literature this term is often rendered as the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth.

conversos Jews forced to convert to Christianity in Spain and Portugal in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, who often practised Judaism in secret.

devekut (Hebrew: ‘cleaving’, ‘attaching’) Adhesion or attachment to God, the goal of Jewish mystical piety. Ein Sof One of the Hebrew names for God.

Endecja, Endek Endecja was the popular name of the Polish National Democratic Party, a right-wing party that had its origins in the 1890s. Its principal ideologue was Roman Dmowski, who advocated a Polish version of the integral nationalism that became popular in Europe at the turn of the nineteenth century. The Endecja advanced the

534 Glossary slogan ‘Poland for the Poles’ and called for the exclusion of the Jews from Polish political and economic life. Its adherents were called Endeks.

ga’on, ge’onim (Hebrew: lit. ‘genius’) A term originally used to designate the heads of the academies of Sura and Pumbeditha in Babylon from the sixth to the middle of the eleventh centuries. Later used to describe a man who had acquired a phenomenal

command of the Torah. ,

gematriyah (from the Greek: ‘geometry’) A method of interpreting the Bible by explaining a word or group of words according to the numerical value of its Hebrew letters, or of substituting other letters of the alphabet for them in accordance with a set system.

General Government An administrative-territorial unit created in Poland during the Nazi occupation from some of the territory seized by Germany after the Polish defeat. The General Government was established on 26 October 1939 and first comprised four districts: Krakow, Lublin, Warsaw, and Radom. Its capital was the city of Krakow and its administration was headed by Hans Frank. After the Nazi invasion of the Soviet

Union an additional province, Galicia, made up of parts of the pre-war Polish provinces of Lviv, Stanislaviv, and Ternopil, was added to the General Government. On the territory of the General Government the Germans pursued a policy of mass murder of the Jewish population and reduced the Christian Poles to slaves who were to provide a reservoir of labour for the Third Reich.

Habad An acronym derived from the Hebrew words hokhmah, binah, da’at (‘wisdom’, ‘understanding’, ‘knowledge’). It was applied to a sect of hasidism founded in the ~ Grand Duchy of Lithuania by Shneur Zalman of Liozna (Liady). He and his descendants espoused a more intellectualized mystical doctrine than was characteristic of many other hasidic groups. Also known as the Lubavich hasidim, the group was led until recently by the close family of its founder.

hakafot On Simhat Torah, which commemorates the conclusion of the annual cycle or readings from the Torah, seven hakafot (‘circlings’) are made carrying the Torah scrolls

around the dimah (place where the prayer leader stands), usually with singing and dancing.

halakhah (Hebrew: lit. ‘the way’) A word used to describe the entire prescriptive part of

Jewish tradition. It defines the norms of behaviour and religious observance. (Halakhot: individual rulings.) hasidism A mystically inclined movement of religious revival consisting of distinct groups with charismatic leadership. It arose in the borderlands of the Polish—Lithuanian

Commonwealth in the second half of the eighteenth century and quickly spread through eastern Europe. The hasidim emphasized joy in the service of God, whose presence they sought everywhere. Though their opponents, the mitnagedim, pronounced a series of bans against them beginning in 1772, the movement soon became identified with religious orthodoxy.

Haskalah (Hebrew: lit. ‘learning’ or ‘wisdom’, but used in the sense of Enlightenment) A

| movement that arose in the wake of the general European Enlightenment in the second half of the eighteenth century and continued into the second half of the nineteenth century. Its adherents were known as maskilim. Its most prominent representative was

Glossary 535 Moses Mendelssohn (1729-86). ‘The Haskalah was particularly important and influen-

tial in German and Slavic lands. It advocated secular education, the acquisition of European languages, the adoption of productive occupations, and loyalty to the state. In eastern Europe there was considerable emphasis on Hebrew as opposed to Yiddish, which was rejected by most maskilim.

heder (Hebrew: lit. ‘room’) Colloquial name for a traditional Jewish elementary school, in which teaching was carried on by a melamed. kahal (pl. kehalim), kehilah (pl. kehilot) Although both terms mean ‘community’, kahal is used to denote the institution of Jewish autonomy in a particular locality, while kehilah denotes the community of Jews who live in the town. The kahal was the lowest level of the Jewish autonomous institutions in the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth. Above the local kehilot were regional bodies, and above these a central body, the Va’ad Arba Aratsot (Council of Four Lands) for the Kingdom of Poland and the Va’ad Medinat Lita (Council of Lithuania). The Va’ad Arba Aratsot was abolished by the Polish authorities in 1764, but autonomous institutions continued to operate legally until

1844 and in practice for many years after this date in those parts of the Polish— Lithuanian Commonwealth directly annexed by the tsarist empire and until the emergence of the Polish state in the Kingdom of Poland and Galicia. Here the reorganized communal body, which no longer had the power to punish religious heterodoxy, but administered synagogues, schools, cemeteries, and mikvaot, was often called the gmina (commune). In inter-war Poland the legal status of the kehilot was regulated by statute in October 1927 and March 1930. The legislation gave them control over many aspects of Jewish communal life with both religious and social functions. All adherents of the ‘Mosaic faith’ were required to belong to a kehilah, and one could not withdraw except through baptism or by declaring oneself an atheist. kasher (Ashkenazi pronunciation: ‘kosher’) A term originally used in the Bible in the sense of ‘fit’? or ‘proper’ and later used in the sense of ritually correct or faultless. Usually used to denote food that is permitted in contrast to that which is non-kasher (trefah).

kashrut The quality of being kasher. magid (Hebrew) Itinerant preacher skilled as a narrator of stories.

Matopolska (Polish: lit. ‘Lesser Poland’ or ‘Little Poland’) Southern Poland; the area around Krakow. Also referred to under the Habsburgs as (western) Galicia.

melamed (Hebrew: ‘teacher’) A teacher in a heder. A distinction is made between a melamed dardeki, who taught children of both sexes to read and write Hebrew and also a chapter or two of the weekly lessons from the Pentateuch, and a melamed gemara, who taught Bible and ‘Talmud to boys and also, when they were older, Shulhan arukh.

mikveh, mtkvaot A pool or bath of clear water, immersion in which renders ritually clean a person who has become ritually unclean through contact with the dead or any other defiling object or through an unclean flux from the body, especially menstruation.

mitnaged, mitnagedim (Hebrew: lit. ‘opposer’) The rabbinic opponents of hasidism. musar movement A movement for the establishment of strict ethical behaviour in the spirit of halakhah which arose in the nineteenth century among the mitnagedim of

536 Glossary historic Lithuania. Its influence remained strong in the area until the Second World War, and it was particularly influential in the yeshivas there. pilpul A collective term describing a method of talmudic study and exposition making use of subtle legal, conceptual, and casuistic differentiations. The term is derived from pilpel (pepper), to indicate metaphorically the sharp type of argumentation employed.

Sanacja (from Latin sanatio: ‘healing’, ‘restoration’) The popular name taken by the regime established by Jozef Pitsudski after the coup of May 1926. It referred to Pitsudski’s aim of restoring health to the political, social, and moral life of Poland.

seder Passover eve ritual meal. sefirah (pl. sefirot; derived from Hebrew sa/for, to numerate, because of its relationship to the ten primordial numbers) A fundamental term of kabbalah used to describe the ten stages of emanation that emerged from Ein Sof (lit. the Infinite), the name given in kabbalah to God transcendent, in his pure essence, and which form the realm of God’s manifestations in his various attributes.

Seym The central parliamentary institution of the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, composed of a senate and a chamber of deputies; after 1501 both of these had a voice in the introduction of new legislation. It met regularly for six weeks every two years, but could be called for sessions of two weeks in an emergency. When it was not in session, an appointed commission of sixteen senators, in rotation four at a time, resided with the king both to advise and to keep watch over his activities. Until the middle of the

seventeenth century the Seym functioned reasonably well; after that the use of the liberum veto began to paralyse its effectiveness. Also used for the local parliament in Galicia as in Seym Galicyjski. segmtk (pl. seymikt) Local diet.

Shekinah (Hebrew: ‘dwelling’, ‘resting’) Usually refers in rabbinic literature to the numinous immanence of God in the world. In kabbalistic thought the Shekhinah or malkhut is the tenth and last in the hierarchy of the sefirot, and, in the divine world, represents the feminine principle. All the elements and characteristics of the other sefirot are represented within the Shekhinah. shtadlan (pl. shtadlanim; from Aramaic shadal: ‘to intercede on behalf of?) A representative of the Jewish community with access to high dignitaries and legislative bodies.

shtadlanut The activity of intercession carried out by a shtadlan. | shtetl (Yiddish: ‘small town’) The characteristic small town of central and eastern Poland, Ukraine, Belarus, and Lithuania, with a substantial Jewish population which sometimes amounted to the majority of the population. These were originally ‘private’ towns under the control of the szlachta.

shtibl (pl. shtiblakh; Yiddish: ‘small room’) A small room functioning as a location for prayer and study, usually in a private house. Often connected with mystical and later hasidic circles.

starosta A royal administrator, holder of the office of starostwo. From the fourteenth century there were three distinct offices covered by this term: the starosta generalny (general

starosta) 1. Wielkopolska, Rus’, and Podolia represented the Crown in a particular

Glossary 537 region; the starosta grodowy (castle starosta) had administrative and judicial authority over a castle or fortified settlement and its surrounding region; and the starosta miegrodowy (non-castle starosta) or tenutariusz (leaseholder) administered royal lands leased to him.

szlachta The Polish nobility. A very broad social stratum making up nearly 8 per cent of the population in the eighteenth century. Its members ranged from the great magnates, such as the Czartoryskis, Potockis, and Radziwitts, who dominated political and social life in the last century of the Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, to small landowners (the szlachta zagrodowa) and even to landless retainers of a great house. What distinguished members of this group from the remainder of the population was their noble status and their right to participate in political life in the dietines, the Sejm, and the election of the king. tikun (Hebrew: ‘repair’) Repair or restoration; the setting right of the cosmos by means of devotion of kabbalistic meditations. Also the ‘repair’ of sin-burdened souls; a liturgy for this purpose.

Va’ad Arba Aratsot See kahal. Va’ad Medinat Lita See kahal. voivode (Polish: wojewoda) Initially this official acted in place of the ruler, especially in judicial and military matters. From the thirteenth century the office gradually evolved into a provincial dignity; between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries the voivode conducted the local dietine, led the pospolite ruszenie, the levée en masse of the szlachta in times of danger to the commonwealth, and occasionally governed cities and collected certain dues. The assistant sub-voivode (podwojewoda) often acted as judge of the Jews.

By virtue of his office the voivode sat in the Senate. , Wielkopolska (Polish: lit. ‘Great Poland’ or ‘Greater Poland’) Western Poland, the area around Poznan.

yeshiva A rabbinical college, the highest institution in the traditional Jewish system of education.

BLANK PAGE

Index

A iN 2000: 523

Aboab, R. Isaac 111 n. 15 boycotts of Jews 313, 315-33 Abrabanel, Isaac ben Judah 23, 68-9, 80 Dmowski’s obsession with 314-15

Ma’ayanet hayeshuah 69 and elections to Duma 312-14

Abraham, childhood of 175-7 Germany and Romania as models 331-3 Abraham of Ciechanow, R. 47 influence of Frankism on 52-3 Abraham ben David Haleviibn Daud 23 in Polish press 311-13, 315-17, 320-1,

Sefer hakabalah 70-1, 204 326-9, 331-2

Abraham ibn Ezra 69, 75-6 post-war 347, 353-4

Abraham ben Joseph, R. 165 see also under Catholic Church

Abramowicz, Dina 490 Antokolsky, Mark 490-1 Abramowicz, Hirsz 490-1 Anusz, Antoni 321-2 Abramowicz, Zelman 250 apikoros 73

Adamski, Bishop Stanislaw 327 Appelfeld, Aharon 469 Adler, Eliyana R. 301-10, 527 Appenszlak, Jakub 376

- Adler, Nathan 165 Arama, Isaac ben Moses 23, 68 Aescoly, Aaron Ze’ev 202 Akedat y1tshak 69

afikoman 80-1 Hazut kashah 69,71 Agnon, Shmuel Yosef 478 Arendt, Hannah 277 Agudat Ahim 244 Aristotle 16

Akavia, Miriam 380 Armia Krajowa (Home Army, AK) 501

Akiva, R. 178, 208 anti-Jewish actions 445, 447 Albo, Joseph 4, 23 antisemitism in 452, 455-6 Seferhaikarim 71 attack on Eishyshok 451-2

Aleichem, Sholem, see Sholem Aleichem conflict with Soviet partisans 448—50

Alexander, Tamar 179 contacts with German authorities 461—2

Alfasi, Isaac ben Jacob 20 Aryeh Leib (Grandfather of Shpola) 179-80 Allerhand, Leszek Leon 505 Aryeh Leib ben Zechariah 26 Alter, R. Judah Arie Loeb 221 Asch, Sholem 288, 475, 477

Sefat emet 221-40 Asher ben Yehiel, see Rosh

amulets 118, 122,145, 164, 168 Ashkenazi Judaism:

Anderson, Benedict 384 influence of German pietists on 8 Ankersmit, Franklin 402—3 religious inheritance of 8 anti-Jewish polemics, see Christian—Jewish Assaf, David 47, 56, 187-202, 490

polemics assimilation, Jewish 313, 315 anti-Jewish violence: strategies of 374

in 1666: 28 Auschwitz:

in post-war Poland 356—8 crosses at 395-400

see also Jedwabne; pogroms differing conceptions of Polish Catholics and antisemitic ideology and Frankism 158 observant Jews 392-3, 396

antisemitism: and Polish memory 391

in Latin America 419 Romani commemoration of 387-90, 394

in Soviet forces 463 as site of memories 383—400

antisemitism in Poland 472, 496, 500 autobiographies of Jewish immigrants 302—10

1909-33: 313-33 autonomy, Jewish, in Poland and Lithuania until

1933-9: 495 1648 480-1

540 Index Avigdor, R. 488-9 Benjamin ben Jonah of Tudela, R., Sefer

Avron, D. 269 hamasaot 71 Awedyk, Konstanty 131, 155 Berakh of Krakow, Berakhya 25, 30 Berenbaum, Michael B, ,Berger, Yisrael 189519 balal kav 123-4 Berkowicz, Michal 248

ba’al shem: Berle, Adolph 521

concept of the 40-1, 167-8 Berlin, deportations from 439

development of 160-8 © Berman, Bradley 492

Ba’al Shem of Bingen, R. Adam 40, 161, 163-5 Berman, Jakub 501 Ba’al Shem Tov, Israel (Besht; Israel ben Eliezer) Bernardini, Mgr Filippo 422

3, 29, 183 Bernardino of Siena 129

anti-asceticism 41 Bernfeld, Isaac Aaron 244, 247 childhood 180-1, 185 Bernfeld, Simon 244 Christian servant of 194-5 Berning, Bishop 418-19, 421

on concept of the ba’alshem 40~-1,160,167-8 — Bertram, Cardinal Adolf 435

followers of 42 Besht, see Ba’al Shem Tov

heavenly ascents of 167-8 Besson, Mgr Mario 422 on keri 41-2, 102-3 Bezalel ben Nathan, Jakub (Becal) 245, 249-66 legends about 170-1 : Bezalel ben Solomon the Preacher 25

on prayer 42 Bible:

supported by the Medzhybizh community Isaac of Troki’s criticism of Christian

38-9, 161-2 interpretation of 67—76

Babul, Michal 451, 465 translation into German 55 Bacon, Gershon 507 biblical commentaries 23 Bahya ibn Pakuda, Hovot halevavot 76 Bieber, Jeff 445

publication of 32,95 Bielski, Marcin, Kronika swiata 71

Bakhtin, Mikhail 385 Biermann, Wolf 497 Balaban, Majer 28, 35, 63, 109, 154, 157, 249 Bieszynski, J. 317 n. 25 Balicki, Zygmunt 317 Birobidzhan 492-4 Baranczak, Stanislaw 363 Bitter, Marek 337n.7

Barbur, Eli 379 Blandrata, Georgius 120-2 Baron, Salo 4 Blatman, Daniel 335-58, 507, 527 Bartal, Israel 374-5, 513-14, 527 Blejwas, Stanislaus A. 524

Bartel, Kazimierz 330 Bleszynski, Jakub 262

Barzilay, Yisrael 349 Blet, Pierre, SJ 411, 423-4, 426-7, 430, 433

Battaglia, Otto Forst de 262 Blit, Lucjan 335

Bauer, Yehuda 507 Bloch, Samson Halevi, Sefer nekiyut uferishut

Bauman, Zygmunt 372, 384 194-5

Becal, Jakub, see Bezalel, Jakub blood libel 51-5, 81, 245, 285-6

Beer, Peter 143-4 supported by Frankists 34, 37, 145-51 Beilis case 316 Bionski, Jan 362, 365, 367, 378, 380, 495 Beilis~Legis, Salomon 477 Bock, Gisela 507

Bekali, Jakub 250-1 Bolshevism 324 Belmont, Leo 373-4 Bondy, Ruth 507-8 Belzec 3386 Bor-Komorowski, Gen. Tadeusz 450 Belling, Veronica 243-8, 527 Bomberg, Daniel 18, 60-1

Benedict XIV, Pope: Borowski, Tadeusz 469 encyclical on the Jews 51,77 Borwicz, Michal 362

request to protect Jews accused of ritual Borysewicz, Jan 447, 450-1

murder 55 boycotts, anti-Jewish, see under antisemitism in

on Trinitarian images 121 Poland

Index 541 Brandeis, Louis Dembitz 124 Catholicism, conversion to 34-7

Brandstaetter, Roman 370, 376 and emigration 414-22

Brandys, Kazimierz 367, 370—1, 378 see also Christianity, conversion to

Brandys, Marian 369 Catholics, ‘non-Aryan’ 414, 441 Brann, Marcus 150 cemeteries, Jewish, post-war restoration of 340 Brazil, and immigration of German Jews Centralny Komitet Zydéw w Polsce (Central

418-22 Committee of Jews in Poland, CKZP) 335,

Breiter, Emil 376 344, 347-8, 351, 355 Breitinger (apostolic administrator in the Chacinski, Jozef 324

Warthegau) 428 Chadecja (Christian Democrats) 324

Breza, Wojciech 253 Chajes, R. Isaac 17

bribery, in purchase of offices 13-14, 24, 285-7 Chajes, R. Menahem Monash 17

Brilliant, Richard 128 chaos, primordial, in Gur hasidism 221-40

Brody, Leah 307 Chapnik, Liza 507

Bruhl, Henryk 55 Charewiczowa, Lucja 250

Briihl, Heinrich von 278, 280 Charney, Ann 509-11

Brzostowski, Konstanty Kazimierz 266 Charszewski, Father Ignacy 325

Buber, Martin 161, 169, 202 childhood, legends of Jewish 175-86

Budny, Szymon 22 Chile, and immigration of Jews 419 Buthak, Stanislaw 451 Chiniewicz, Jozef 451 Bumble, Anna Petrov 511 Chmielowski, Benedykt 52, 81

Bund in Poland 335-6, 347, 525-6 Chopin, Frédéric, and Frankism 38, 157

Bunem, R. Simchah 47 Chrapowiecki, Jan Franciszek 259

followers of 47-8 Christian—Jewish polemics 77—85

burak (composite beast) 118-19 , on biblical interpretation 78—9

Buzek, Jerzy 523 of Carlo Imbonati 113 n. 20 Byal, Rose 305 about Christians serving Jews 82 Byk, Emil 244 on enforced conversion of Jews 78

C history of 49

on Frankism 52

Cacko family 404 Isaac of Troki’s Mizuk emunah 22-3, 65-76

Calahora, Joseph ben Solomon (Joseph about kabbalah 83

Darshan), Yesod yosef 102 on the messiah 78—9

Calmanson, Joseph 265 , in Middle Ages 77

cantor, see hazan in17thc. 78

Cardozo, Abraham Michael 137-9 see also bleod libel; Purim plays; ritual murder

Caro, Joseph 16, 19—20, 89, 100 Christianity, conversion to 78

see also Shulhan arukh by followers of Barukhyah Russo 114 Carrillo, Charlie 120, 122 by Frankists 52, 84, 131, 143 Carvalho, Jacob Baruch 111 n. 15 of Jewish writers 375 Cassidy, Cardinal Edward 411-12 of Muslim converts 140

434-43 Sobieski 345

Catholic Church in Germany and Pius XII prohibition of forced conversion by King Jan

Catholic Church in Poland: by Shabbateans 136 and antisemitism 316—17, 325, 330 as sign of Second Coming 84-5 attitude towards Jews 49-53, 77,79, 495 see also Catholicism, conversion to

attitudes towards the Talmud 60—1 Chrzastowski, Mikolaj 262 Frankist converts 37-8, 131 Chrzescijanski Zwiqzek Jednosci Narodowej

interest in kabbalah 154-5 (Christian Union for National Unity) 322

reports of bishops to Vatican: 16th—18th cc. Chwila 376 , 50-1; during Holocaust 423-34 Ciechanowski, Jan 521

see also Vatican and under Auschwitz circumcision, likened to sabbath 228

542 Index CKZP, see Centralny Komitet Zydéw w Polsce Dell’Acqua, Mgr 420

Clark, Joanna Rostropowicz 469-74, 528 Delmedigo, Joseph Solomon 21-2, 75-6

Clement V, Pope, recommends study of Sefer elim 75

Talmud 60 Dembowski, Jedrzej 142

Clement VIII, Pope, forbids possession of Dembowski, Mikolaj 115, 134

Talmud 61 deportations from Berlin, 1943 439 murder trials 55 Dichter, Wilhelm 380

Clement XIII, Pope, condemnation of ritual Deutsch, R. David 68

Cohen, Richard 110, 122 Dichter-Weinman, E. 307

Cohen, S. A. 268 Didier, Stanislaw 158

Cohn, Adolf Jakub 373-5 Dinur, Ben-Zion 43-4, 46 Colman, Nadya 305-6, 309 Diugosz, Jan 91

Communism: Dmowski, Roman 327

in post-war Poland 356-7 campaigns for election to Duma 314-15

supported by Jews 448 on the Jews 312-15, 331

Conat, Abraham ben Solomon 70 Dobryd 509-11

concentration camps: Dodell, Zelda 307

survivors of 338—52 Doenmeh, konysos faction of 131, 134-5

women in 507-8 Doktor, Jan 34-5, 131-44, 528

conferences on Jewish topics (1921-3) 327-8 Dom Handlowo-Przemysiowy (Trade Industrial

conversion, see Catholicism, conversion to; House) 328 _ Christianity, conversion to; Islam, Dos naye lebn 351 conversion to; and under Judaism Dov of Leova 200

conversos 118-19, 126 drama, Hebrew 248 Cordovero, Moses ben Jacob 7, 16, 83 drinking and drunkenness:

Pardes rimonim 83 and the fall of the Seer of Lublin 189, 191, Corsini di Visconti, Cardinal 55 195-200

court Jew 271 on Purim 215-16

see also Bezalel, Jakub; shtadlan Drohobych, memoirs of 486—9 creation, in Gur hasidism 221-40 Dubnow, Simon 43, 200-1, 269, 272, 301

Crescas, Hasdai 4 Duca, Francesco Borgognini 417

culture, Jewish, post-war establishment of 351 Duker, Abraham Gordon 85, 153, 156-8 Cygielman, Shmuel A. Arthur 480—1 Duma, election campaigns to 312~—13, 320—1

Czechowic, Marcin 22 Dymowski, Tadeusz 320-2, 328, 329 n. 94

Czekanowski, Jan 327 Dzarugowicz, Daniel 251 Czerniewski, see Israel of Chernovtsy Dzizynski, Marian 332

Czynski, Jan 373 E Czestochowa, Madonna of 108, 124, 133

D Edelman, Marek 523 Dabrowski, Kazimierz 260 Eden, Anthony 521 | Eberest, Leonard 251

Dachau 431 education of Jewish girls in 19th-c. Europe

Dan, Joseph 170 301-10 Dante Alighieri 120, 122 Effendi, Deverish, see Tovah, Judah Levi Darsa, Jan 481 Eibeschuetz, R. Jonathan 125-6, 165

Darshan, Joseph, see Calahora, Joseph ben attitude towards Frankists 37, 55, 96, 151

Solomon conflict with Rabbi Emden 37, 145-51

Datner-Spiewak, Helena 366-7 portrait of 122

David 215 refutation of blood libel 147-51

David, Ferenc 120, 122 Eibeschuetz, Ze’ev Wolf 123, 133

David of Makow 192 Einstein, Albert 493-4

Deinard, Ephraim 193-4 Eishyshok (Ejszyszki) 445-68, 501

Index 543 Eker, Anda 376 Feldman, David 101 Elazar, D.J. 268 Feldman, Wilhelm 373-4, 367-8 Eleazar, R. 73 Feldmanowa, Maria 373 Eleazar ben Judah of Worms 26, 164 Feldszuh, Rubin 377

Sefer haroke’ah 102 festivals, Jewish, see Jewish festivals

Eliach, Yaffa 445-68, 501 Fink, Ida 379, 469

Eliezer ben Hyrkanus, R. 178 Finkelstein, Leo 347 Eliezer ben Isaac 61n. 1 Fischmann, Nachman Isaac 243 Eliezer (Eleazer) ben Samuel of Brody, medalof | Fishman, David E. 490

III, 113 n. 18, 122 Fitelberg, Gary 481, 498

Elijah ben Solomon Zalman (Vilna Gaon) 192n. ‘Fitelberg, Grzegorz 498

12, 491 Fitelberg, Jerzy 498 Elyakim Zelig of Jampol (Yampol) 274, 278-9, Folkism 312 285-6 Frajlich, Anna 379, 469

Elimelech of Lizhensk 170, 182-3 Fleischmann, Gisi 507

Emden, R. Jacob 99, 123-4, 165 Fram, Edward 5, 18, 26 anti-icon of Frank 35, 115-17 Frank, Eva 134, 157

conflict with Rabbi Eibeschuetz 37, 145-51 court of, doctrine at 141-3

on his father’s portrait 111-19 Jewish crypto-Christians at her court 36, 142

Sefer shimush 35, 115-18 portrait of 35, 124-5 emigration, Jewish: Frank, Jakub 30, 131-45, 153

of baptized Jews to Latin America 418-22 anti-icon of 35, 115—I7, 123 from Poland, post-war 354, 357-8, 378-0; of career 34-5, 117

Jewish writers 378-9 on combination of three religions 114

Endecja, see Narodowa Demokracja conversion to Catholicism 131 Endelmanowa-Rozenblatowa, Czeslawa 380 conversion toIslam 134, 137 Enlightenment, impact on Jewish life 55 criticism of Ze’ev Wolf Eibeschuetz 133

Epstein, Jehiel Mikhal 31, 102 messianic campaign of 1768: 133

Derekh yasharah 99 mission to Russia 136 Kitsur shelah 9g, 102 portrait of 35, 125-9

Shenet luhot haberit 99 relations with Polish aristocracy 155

Epstein, Shmuel 355 significance of number 3 to 123-4 Erter, Isaac, Gigul nefesh 56, 197-200 see also Frankists

Esau 214 Frankfurter, Felix 521

estates leased to Jews 249-66 Frankists, Frankism 34-8, 96, opposition to 254-60, 263 and antisemitism in Poland 52-3

Esterka 91 appeal to Vatican against in 1757: 277-8,

Etkes, Immanuel 41, 44 285-6

Eugenius IV, Pope 60 as evidence of the Second Coming 84

exorcisms 165-6 and hasidism 46, 134

expulsion of Jews from Poland, advocation of: and images 35, 105-29

IN 1912: 315 influence of on Polish culture 153-8 in 1920-1: 326-7 later history in Poland 157-8

IN 1923: 332-3 ma’aseh zar 117

Ezra ben Nissan of Vilna 75 | non-Christian 131-44

" in Polish sources 84-8

F reconciliation with Muslim Frankists 37

Fakterovits, Gospodin 309 retention of Jewish faith 35-6, 133-4, 141 Falk, R. Joshua 12, 16-17 retention of Muslim faith 35-6, 135-42

442 and the Zohar 155-6

Faulhaber, Cardinal Michael von 418, 435-7, secret conversions to Christianity 140

Feiner, Leon 520 see also under blood libel

544 Index Frankist—Rabbanite disputations 115 Grabowski, Ignacy 315

Franko, Ivan 489 Grabski, Wladyslaw 318

Friedman, Lena 304-5 Graetz, Heinrich 4, 35, 37, 63, 147

Friedman, Michal 476-7 Graetz, Michael 279 Frister, Roman 380 Grandowski, Israel-Joseph 405

Fryde, Ludwik 376 Grantstein, Yehiel 201

G Gregorie, Jacob 296 Galas, Michal 37, 52, 153-8, 528 Greiser, Arthur 426

Green, Arthur 42, 47

Galatowski, Johannes (Joannicyusz Galatowski) Gren, Roman 380

27, 84 Grendyszynski, Ludwik 319

Galen, Bishop Clemens August Graf von 438, Gries, Ze’ev 95

442 Grinberg, Daniel 366

Galley, Susanne 169—86, 528 Gross, J. T. 401, 406

Gamliel, R. 72-3 Gross, Natan 380

Gandelman, Claude 129 Grosser (secretary-general of the St

Gans, David ben Solomon 16 Raphaelsverein) 419

Tsemah david 71 , Grotius, Hugo 54

Gantowski, Father Jan 317 n. 25 Grotus, Jerzy 259-60

Gardowski, J. 317n. 25 Grozinger, Karl E. 40-1, 159-68, 528 Garfeinowa-Garska, Malwina 373-4 Grydzewski, Mieczyslaw 377, 379 Gazeta Poranna 2 Grosze 316-17, 319 Grynberg, Hanka 504-5

Gazeta Warszawska 316, 331 Grynberg, Henryk 372, 377-0, 381, 469

Gelber, N. M. 247 Grzesiak, Zofia 378 Gelblum, M. 337n.7 Guldon, Zenon 54 gematriyah 7-8 Gumprecht of Szczebrzeszyn 89 General Zionist Party 355 Gur hasidism 48

Georgiewicz, Eustachy 252 primordial chaos and creation in 221-40 Germany, as model for Polish antisemitism Gutman, Israel 400, 456

31-3 Guzik, David 348 n. 61

Gershom ben Judah 5 Gypsies, see Roma Gierowski, Jozef A. 515-18, 528

Giertych, Jedrzej 52, 158 H

Gilbaszewski, Sebastian 255 Habad hasidism 222 Gilbaszewski, Stanislaw 260—2 Hakibuts Hame’uhad (United Kibbutz

Gillis, John R. 383, 393-4 Movement) 335

Gimpel, Bronislaw 498 Hakohen, R. Naphtali ben Isaac (Katz) 165, 168 Ginczanka, Zuzanna 371, 376 Hakohen, Shabbetai ben Meir 17, 25

Ginzburg, Hertz 289 halakhah 4, 10, 12, 16, 21, 56

Gitelman, Zvi 492 development of in Poland 5, 19

Guustiniani (Venetian printer) 61 in medieval Ashkenaz 4—5 Glemp, Cardinal Jozef 397 Halevi, R. David ben Samuel 17, 29, 148-9

Glowinski, Michal 378 Halicz brothers 17

Godlewski, Father Marceli 318 n. 29, 323 n. 58 Halperin, I. 269, 272, 292

Godlewski, Stanislaw 259, 265 Hamari, Elijah ben Abraham Hakohen 34 Goetschel, Roland 48, 213-20, 528 Hamazkw / Ojczyzna 244, 247-8

Goldberg, J. 271, 277, 280, 297 Hancock, Ian 387 Goldenberg, Myrna 507-8 Hanokh, R. Gershon, of Radzin 216n. 22 Goldstein, Minnie 304 Hanover, Nathan Note 14-15, 25-7, 99, 481

Goldszmit, Jakub 374 editions of Sha’aret tstyon 31, 99

Gorny, Stanislaw 396 Yeven metsula 23

Gorska, Halina 376, 380 Harris, Jay M. 204

Index 545 Harwood, Ronald 498 historiography: Hashomer Hatsa’ir (Young Guard) 349, 358 in Poland, Jewish interest in 23

Hasidei Ashkenaz 8, 32,95, 163, 178 of Polish Jewry in Catholic accounts 50—1 ,

hasidism 32 Hitler, Adolf: and the ba’alshem 160-88 and Pius XII 435-6

expansion of 42—6 and the Vatican 424 influence of mysticism on 44, 47-8, 185 Hlond, Cardinal Augustus 423, 427, 429, 433

legends of 161, 164-5, 169-86 Hlubish, Myron 487 and messianism 44—5 Hoenig von Hoenigsberg, Lowe 141, 143-4 objections of opponents of 46 Hoffman, Eliasz 487

origins of 38 Hoffman, Eva 457

Polish school of 46-9 Hoffman, Henryk 486-9 and Shabbateanism 45-6 Holocaust:

Shivhet habesht 164-5, 170, 193 effect on literature 365, 378, 381

and the tsadik 159-68 in Poland 499-502

Haskalah: , 424-6 and halakhah 56-7 Romani 387-90

see also Gur hasidism; Ukrainian hasidism report of Metropolitan Sheptytsky (1942)

Hebrew literary revival 243 survivors: in Poland 335-58; in fiction

impact on Jewish life 55-7 469-74

and reform of Judaism 55-7 Vatican response to 411-43 Hayat, Judah ben Jacob, Ma’arekhet he’elohut 83 women in 506-8

Hayim of Busko 134 see also Auschwitz; memoirs Hayim ben Isaac 61 n. 1 Horn, Maurycy 249 Hayim of Volozhin, R. 491 Horodecky 46

Hayim ben Yosef 272-3, 275-6 Horowitz, R. Azriel, of Lublin 180 n. 45, 192 Hayyim ben Bezalel, R. 11 Horowitz, Isaiah ben Abraham Halevi 23, 41

hazan 20-1 Shenet luhot haberit 24, 31, 98-9, 1o1—2

Hazan, R. Jehiel, portrait of 111 Horowitz, Jacob Isaac (Seer of Lublin) 46-7,

Hebraism, Christian 49, 51, 61, 67, 80, 83 186

Hehasid, R. Judah 40, 164 childhood of 179-80, 182—3 Hehasid, R. Samuel ben Kalonymus 40, 163-4 followers of 187-8

hetkhalot 40-1 versions of his fall 56, 187-202

Heilpern, R. Dov Berish 192 Horowitz, SaraR. 508

Heller, Yom Tov Lipmann 9g Horowitz, R. Tsevi Hirsh 28-9

Hemar, Marian 369, 371, 376, 378-9 Hosenfeld, Wilm 497

Hemdat yamim 32, 95-6 Host desecration, accusation against Jews of 31,

Hen, Jozef 368 51-4, 87 Henikh of Aleksander, R. 48 Hrushevsky, Mykhailo 484

Hernisz, Lemel 373 Hundert, Gershon David 30-3, 41, 52, 93-103, Hertz, Aleksander 365, 377 271, 281, 292, 296-7, 528

Hertz, Jan Adolf 373 Husik, Isaac 5

Hibat Zion movement 247-8 | Hyman, Paula E. 506 Hillel, R. 207-8

hiluk, hilukim (style of talmudic argument) 15 I

hasidism and 44 Idel, Moshe 32,95 Solomon ben Aaron of Luntshits on 23-4 identity:

Himmler, Heinrich 425-6 Jewish 386-7

Hinsley, Cardinal 437 n. 91 and memory 384-400 Hirsh, R. Aryeh Leib ben Samuel Tsevi 29 and nationalism 384-5 Hirshik (shoemaker in Dzierzoniow) 350 Polish 390-5, 397-8

Hirszfeld, Ludwik 378 ‘post-national’ 393-5

546 Index identity (continued): Jacob ben Isaac, R. 17 problem of for Jewish writers in Polish Jacob Isaac, R. (“Holy Jew’ of Przysucha) 187

360-72, 377-8, 472 Jacob Joseph of Polonne, R. 42, 44—5, 160, 170

Romani 387-90, 394 Jacob Leib, R. 189

illness, nature of 236n. 74 Jacob ben Nissim 205

Ilski (Sejm deputy) 322 Jacob ben Solomon of Lobsenz, R. 27 images of Jewish messiahs 105-29 Jacobson, Yoram 48, 221-40, 529

Imbonati, Carlo 113 n. 20, 115 Jaffe, Joseph ben Mordecai 61n. 1 inebriation, see drinking and drunkenness Jaffe, Kalonymus ben Mordecai 61 n. 1

Innitzer, Cardinal 435 Jaffe, Mordechai 16

Institute of Judaic Studies 327 Jaffe, Tsevi ben Abraham Kalonymus 61 n. 1

intercessors in Jewish interests: Jakubowicz, Abraham 263

appeals tothe Crown 281-2 Jameson, Frederic 403

Jewish, see shtadlan Jan II Kazimierz, King:

non-Jews 278~80, 283-4, 295 decree against images of Shabbetai Tsevi and

Invalid-sekstie baym yidishe komitet in lodz Nathan of Gaza 28, 106-7 (Jewish Committee in L.6dz: Section for the images of 109

Disabled) 351 Jan II Sobieski, King, as benefactor of Jews

Irsz, Lazar 252n. 18 244-5

Isaac ben Aaron of Prossnitz 18 poemon 244-7 Isaac ben Abraham of Troki 22, 28-9 Jan III Sobieski, King:

biography 65-7 Jewish factor of 249-66

Ehzuk emunah 22-3, 65, 67—76 reputation as favourable to Jews 249 studies of rabbinic literature 65-76 Janecki, Stanislaw 397

Isaac ben Israel of Lutsk 74 Japheth ben Ali Halevi, R. 76

Isaac of Minkowce 134 Jasienski, Bruno 376 Isaac of Warka, R. 47 Jastrun, Mieczystaw 376

Isaacson, Judith 508 Jedwabne 401-7 Islam, conversion of Shabbateans and Frankists Jelenski, Jan 311

to 34, 36-7, 131, 134-5, 137 — Jellenta, Cezary 373-4 Israel of Chernovtsy (Czerniewski, Jakub) Jeruchim ben Lippman of Chortkiv 134

134-5 Jesus, childhood of 177-8

Israel of Kozienice, R. 46-7 Jew, definition of 362

Israel of Ruzhin (Rishin), R. 3, 200 Jewish—Christian relations, in Catholic directives

Issarowicz, Kirjaki 252 49-51

Isserles, R. Meir 30 Jewish descent, criterion for 362-3

480 prayers at 99

Isserles, R. Moses 10—11, 13, 15—16, 24—5, 80, Jewish festivals:

Mapah 16,20 see also Passover; Purim; Simhat Torah; Tisha Itamari, Elijah ben Abraham Hakohen, Shevet Be’av

musar 96-8, 102 ‘Jewish Question’ 16, 311, 326, 492, 496 Iwanski, Kazimierz 259 Jewish religious tradition 4-57

Iwaszko, Michal 451-2 and philosophy 5

J yeshivas

Izraelita 360, 373-4, 380 see also halakhah; Hasidei Ashkenaz; messianism; mysticism, Jewish; rabbinate;

Jablonski, Stanistaw 261 Jews:

Jacob 214-15 attitude to Christianity 52

Jacob ben Asher, R. 5 clothing of 50, 351 Jacob of Belzyce 22 as models for Christians 79

69 restrictions on 49-50

Jacob ben Hayim ibn Adontyah, Biblia Rabbinica in post-war Poland 335~58

Index 547 Jez, Father Mateusz 330 Kacnelson, Dora 489 Joint Distribution Committee 493 Kaczynski, Father Zygmunt 323 n. 58

Jolles, André 173 Kahan-Wirgili, Baruch 491 | Jona, Emmanuel de 254 Kahn, Leon 464 Joseph 214 Kalik, Judith 49, 52,77-85, 529 viewed as messiah son of Joseph 216-19 Kalischer, Aaron Jehiel ben David, portrait of

Joseph ben Gorion 23, 70 III Josephus 177 Kallas, Aniela 375

Joshua, as messiah son of Joseph 217—19 Kalugier, Demetriusz 252 :

Josippon 70-1 Kaluski, Fr. Stanislaw 255, 261, 265 Joskowicz, Rabbi Pinhas Menahem 396 Kaminska, Maria (Ruta Linda) 506 ‘Judaeo-communism’ (Zydokomuna) 312 Kaplan, Marion 507

Judah 214-15, 218-19 Kaplinski, Hayim (Turk) 134, 139

Judah Aryeh Leib, R. 237n. 76 Kapralski, Slawomir 383-400, 520

Judah Halevi 6 Karaites in Lithuania 65-6, 74-6 Kuzari 74 see also Isaac ben Abraham of Troki

Judah Hehasid 178,179 n. 42 Karaites in Poland 65-6, 74-6 see also Judah the Pious relations with Rabbanite Jews 22-3, 66 Judah Jehiel of Komarno, R. 187 Karay, Felicja 507 Judah Loew ben Bezalel, R., see Maharal of Karski, Jan, obituary of 519-24

Prague Karst, Roman 379

Judah the Persian 76 Karszo-Siedlewski, Aleksander 318 n. 29

Judah the Pious 73 kashrut 12

see also Judah Hehasid and Christian servants 83

Judah the Prince, R. 149-50, 207—10 Kassovitz, Nathan 36, 143

Judah of Zaklikow 189-01 Katz, Jacob 4, 11, 31, 33, 43, 45, 94-5, 288 Judaism: Katz, R. Joseph 13 Christian conception of 77—85 Katz, Simhah 194

conversion to II5 Katzenellenbogen, Meir 16 )

exclusion of the ‘feminine principle’ 6 Kaufman, Mordecai 351

importance of printing to 62 kavanah, kavanot 33, 93

mystical tradition, see mysticism, Jewish Kawalec, Krzysztof 314-15

and philosophy 5, 16 Kazimierz 480

and Protestants 22 Kazimierz the Great, King, and the Esterka

and the sciences 21 legend gi1-—2

Julius III, Pope, orders burning and confiscation Kazmierczyk, Adam 249-66, 529

of Talmud 18, 61 Kedzierska, Krystyna 489

Jutrzenka 373 keri (seminal emission) 99, 166

K Kersten, Krystyna 357

attitudes towards 41-2

kabbalah 6~—7, 16, 138 n. 35, 166, 236 Khmelnytsky massacres 16, 23, 26

centres of 7 and calls for repentance 26

and Christian Hebraism 49, 51, 83 Khmelnytsky uprising 17, 25, 482 interest of Polish writers in 85 Kielce district, Jewish post-war survivors in 341

kabbalistic elite 33-4, 94-5 Kielce pogrom 358, 501

Lurianic 44, 181-3, 185, 229 Kimhi, David ben Joseph 23, 68-9 popularization of 31-3, 93-9 commentaries on Isaiah and Psalms 69

and Shabbateanism 154-7 Kirschenbaum, Menahem 520 theme of messiah son of Joseph 213-14 Kitowicz, Jedrzej 54

see also mysticism; Zohar Klaczko, Julian 365, 367, 373

Kacenelson, Berl 488 Kleczewski, Stanislaw 131,155 Kacenelson, Icchak 488 Klein, Cecilie 508

548 Index Kleniewski, Jan 317n. 25 L

Klibanski, Bronka 507 La Bizadiére, Michel David de 253, 263 knowledge, types of 224 labour movement, Jewish 525-6 Kobielski, Franciszek 83, 154 Lack, Stanislaw 374

Koestler, Arthur 521 Laghi, Pio 419

Koidonover, Aaron Samuel ben Israel 17, 25 Laks, Szymon 368

Koidonover, Tsevi Hirsch 32, 52 Lanckoronski, Franciszek 260

Kav hayashar 96 }ancut, synagogues in 481

Kokesh, R. Abraham 29 Landau, Judah Leo 243-8

Kolo Robotnicze (Labour Circle) 323 Landau, Moses Issachar 243, 247

Koneczny, Feliks 158, 327 Landau-Czajka, Anna 494-6

Koniuchy 449 Landsberg, Mendel, of Kremenets 193

Korczak, Janusz 374 Lange, Antoni 374

Korkuc, Kazimierz 458 Langer, Lawrence L. 507-8 Kornblum, Josefa 379-80 Lantzmann, Claude 522-3

Kossak, Zofia 520 Laper, Wolf 345

Kotik, Yehezkel 490 Lasocki, Michal 259-60 Kotoni, Jerzy 251-2, 252n. 18 Lec, Stanislaw Jerzy 378 Kotoni, Konstanty 252 Lederhendler, E. 268

Kotowski, Adam 251-2 Lefebvre, Marcel 397

Kovo, R. Elijah 118 legends, hasidic, of the childhood of tsadikim

Kowalczuk, Dr 402 169-86

Kozicki, Stanislaw 316, 318 n. 29 Leib ben Ozer 27

Kozlowski, Dr 487 Leib (Reb Shaies) 134 Krajowa Rada Narodowa (Homeland National Leib, Yehuda 48

Council, KRN) 335 Leiman, Sid Z. 34, 37, 145-51, 529

Krakow: Leiner, R. Mordecai Joseph 48, 220 Jewish book market in 59—64 Leizer of Chmielnik, R. 189 post-war Jewish survivors in 341 Lekert, Hirsh 490

Kraushar, Aleksander 360 n. 4, 367, 373, 375, Lenowitz, Harris 35, 37, 105-29, 530

380 Leo X, Pope 18, 60-1

on Jakub Becal 249, 263 Leo XIII, Pope 436

studies of Frankism 125, 157-8 Leone da Modena 113 n. 20

studies of mysticism 35 portrait of 110

Krochmal, Nahman 56, 203 Leparski, Antoni 327 on development of Oral Torah 204—11 Lesko, synagogues in 481 Moreh nevukhet hazeman 56, 204-5 Lesmian, Boleslaw 374, 376

Krosnowski, Jerzy 259 Leszezynski, Rafal 253 n. 26, 254, 257

Kruk, Eliezer 490-1 Leviben Gershom 74

Kruszynski, Father Jozef 158, 325—7, 329 Levi, Joel Lippman 113 n. 18

Kryszpin, Andrzej 259, 261 Levin, Shimon 341

Krzywicka, Irena 376 Levin, Shmarya 267 Krzyzanowski, Aleksander 448, 462 Levin, Yos! 341

Kubolkowski, Kazimierz 283-4 Levine, Hillel 35, 124

Kugelmass, Jack 386 Levine, Madeline 365 Kurier Warszawski 329 Levita, Benedict 18 Kurkowska-Budzan, Marta 401-7, 529 Lewin, Benjamin Ig1 n. 12

Kuropatva, Michal 404 Lewkowicz, Slama 253

Kusher, E. 306 Librowicz, Zygmunt 374

Kutower, Gershon 167 Lichtenberg, Bishop Bernhard 437, 440 Kwasniewski, Aleksander 519, 523-4 Liekis, Sarunas 445-53, 530

Kwiatkowski, Roman 388 Lifshits, Anna 490-1

Index 549 Liga Konsumentow (Consumers’ League) 322, Lviv, Shabbateanism in 29-30

328 Lviv disputation 55, 132, 145, 150, 153, 158

Liga Narodowa (National League) 312, 314, Lyszczynski, Kazimierz 256 318

Lima, R. Moses ben Isaac Judah 17 M Link-Lenczowski, Krzysztof 517 Ma’arekhet ha’elohut 7 Lipmann Heller, R. Yom Tov 16, 22 Ma’aseh harav 193-4

Lipnicki, Dawid 463 Ma’aseh nisim 163-4 Lipski, Jan Aleksander 82 , Ma’aseh zar 117

Lipski, Leo 379 Maggid of Kozienice 190-1

literacy, Russian census (1897) 304 Maggid of Mezhirech 41-2, 46-7, 102, 160

literature: Maglione, Cardinal Luigi 413, 415, 417, 419-22, Hebrew, in Czarist Russia 479-80 427-31

Polish, Jewish writers in 359-81, 469-74 Maharal of Prague (Judah Loew) 23, 25, 226,

rabbinic, Isaac of Troki’s studies of 65-76 232 Yiddish, translations into Polish 475-8 Mahler, Rafal 43

Lithuanian Jews 490-1 Maier, Charles S. 383

see also Karaites in Lithuania Maimonides, Moses 16, 20, 80

¥,6dz and Lodz district, Jewish post-war attempt to formacreed 4, 207

SUrVIVOrs IN 340-2, 350—I commentary on Perek helek 75

Loebel, Israel, of Slutsk 192 Mishneh torah 75

Loew, Chaim 360-1, 362, 375-7 on order of tractates of the Mishnah 209 Loew, Judah, see Maharal of Prague on parts of the soul 182 n. 52

Loew, Ryszard 379 | Makowiecki, Stanislaw 260, 265

Lowenstein, R. Joseph 189-90 Malinowski, Joseph ben Mordecai 66, 72, 76 ¥ozinski, Bishop Zygmunt 323 n. 58 Malko, Isaac 136

Lubianker (Lavon), Pinhas 354-5 Manger, Itzik 475

ELubienski, Wiadystaw Aleksander 84, 133 Mapu, Abraham 243, 307, 479

Lublin: Marcus, Aaron 189-90 Jewish book market in 59-64 Marek, Andrzej 373

341 Mark, Sylvia 307

centre for post-war Jewish survivors 337, Mark, Bernard 475

Lubomirski, Hieronim Augustyn 253 Markiewicz, Henryk 373 Lubomirski, Prince Jerzy Marcin 155 Marmur (tailor in Wroclaw) 350

Lunski, Khykl 491 Marylski, Antoni 315, 323 n. 58

Luria, R. Isaac (Holy Ari) 7 maskilim, opposition of to hasidism 56,

on acts of penance 102 194-202

associated with messiah son of Joseph 214 Matczynski, Marek 258, 264-5

childhood 178, 180 Matuszewski, Mateusz 133

mythological scenario of hasidic legends 170 Maurer, Jadwiga 363, 379, 469-74

n.7 Mayse-buch 163-5, 178 n. 39

on the Shekhinah 181 medals:

see also kabbalah, Lurianic of Eliezer of Brody 111, 113 n. 18 Luria, R. Solomon 14 n. 33, 15-16, 480 Unitarian 108 on choice of cantors 20-1 Medzhybizh, support of Ba’al Shem Tov 38-9, criticism of improperly ordained rabbis 13 161-2

opposition to pilpul 23 Meir, R. 208

tolerance towards non-Jews 52 Meir, R. Yitshak 221

Lutostawski, Father Marian 317-18, 322, 327 Meir ben Gedaliah of Lublin, R. 10 Luzzatto, Moses Hayim 96, 231 n. 51, 236-7 n. Meisels, Dov Ber 48

74 Melchior, Matgorzata 366

Luzzatto, Simone 14 Melnyk, Yevhen 488

550 Index memoirs: mitnagedim, criticism of Seer of Lublin

of Dobryd 509-11 IQI—202 | of Frankism, see Porges, Moses Mizrahi, Elijah 75

of the Holocaust 503-11 Mlody Rozwojowiec 331

of Jedwabne 401-7 Mtodzianowski, Tomasz 78-9

of Jewish writers 368—70 Mlodziez Wszechpolska (All-Poland Youth)

by Polish Jews 486-9 333

of post-war Poland 337n.7, 348 n. 61 Modras, R. 495

of Warsaw 481-3, 497-9 Mokhiah, Isaiah 29

see also autobiographies Moltke, Helmut James Graf von 439 memories, Auschwitz as site of 383—400 Montefiore, Moses 271

Mendel, R. Menahem, of Kock 47-8 Moraczewski, Jedrzej 320

followers of 48 Moravia, Jewish community in 292-8

Mendele Mokher Seforim 477, 479 employment of shtadlanim 293-6

Mendelssohn, Moses 55 Mordecai ben Samuel 94 Mering, Sabine von 508 Sha’ar hamelekh 33,94

Merzbach, Henryk 373 Moses 217-18 messiah, messiahs 220 Moses de Leon 6

Christian—Jewish polemics on 78—9 Moses of Podhajce 134

images of 105-29 Moshe Leib of Sassov, R. 3 see also Cardozo, Abraham Michael; Frankists; | Mosiewicz, Aleksander Jan 261

Russo, Barukhyah; Shabbetai Tsev1 Moskoni, Judah Leon ben Moses 70

messiah events 105-29 Miiller, Wiestaw 50

messiah son of David 139, 213, 215, 217-18, music and hazanim 20-1

220 Mussolini, Benito 416-17

messiah son of Joseph 213-20 Mysl Niepodlegta 320

messianism 7-8 mysticism, Jewish 52

and hasidism 44-5 , and childhood legends of tsadikim 181, 185

and mysticism 24-5 development of 6—7

see also Shabbetai Tsevi influence on hasidism 44

Mevorach, B. 268 influence on Polish literature 156-7

Meyersonowa, Malwina 374, 380 andthe law 6

Michaelis, Christian Benedict 37, 147-8 Polish mystics 24

Michalik, Jan 517 popularization of 31

Michalkiewicz, Mikotaj 252 Safed mystics 7, 101

Michalowski, Alter 452 see also Frankists, Frankism; kabbalah;

Michelovsky, Alter 464—5 messianism

Michelsohn, R. Tsevi Ezekiel 189, 191 n. 12 ,

Mickiewicz, Adam 373 N

background 361, 363 Naglerowa, Herminia 376, 379 and Frankism 37, 157-8 Nahman of Bratslav, R. 170-1 influence of kabbalah and Shabbatean Nahman Samuel ben Levi of Busko 134

theology on 156 | Nahmanides 6, 216

Miedzypartyjne Koto Polityczne (Inter-Party Nahum of Chernobyl 183-4, 186

Political Circle) 320 Nakhimovsky, Alice 480 Mikra Kodesh (Lviv) 248 Nalkowska, Zofia 469

Mikulski, Mikulicz 55, 150 names, theology of 40-1, 162-3, 166, 168

Milkowski, Z. 311 Napoleon, as possible messiah 188—90

miracles, performance of 47, 164 Narodnyi Komitet Vnutrennykh (NK VD or Mishkinsky, Moshe, obituary of 525-6 NKWD, National Committee for Internal

Mishnah, order of tractates 209 Affairs, the Soviet Secret Police) 450—2,

Misiuro, Waclaw 463 457-8, 463-6

Index 551 Narodowa Demokracja (Endecja) 311-12, P

314-15, 318, 328 Pajewski, Janusz 314

Narodowe Silty Zbrojne (National Armed Palestine 494

Forces) 458 Panas, Wladyslaw 365, 487

Narodowy Komitet Wyborczy (National Papée, Casimir 432-3

Election Committee) 320-1 partisans, in Second World War:

Narutowicz, Gabriel 321 Jewish 448—50, 459-60

Nasi, Gracia, portrait of 110 Polish 501 Nasz Przeglad 376 Soviet 448—50, 458-68, 501 Natelson, Mary Wasserzug 306n. 28 Ukrainian 502

Natelson, Rachel 306 n. 28 wild bands 458-68

Nathan of Gaza 35,137,170 n. 6 Passover: : portraits of 106—11, 109, 126 blood libeland 148-50

Nathan of Nemirov 171 described by Polish monk (1737) 80

nationalism, Auschwitz and 384-5 see also afikoman Nature, concept of in Gur hasidism 222-40 Pat, Jacob 348

Nemyriv, massacre in 17 Patterson, David 479-80 Neufeld, Daniel 373 Paul IV, Pope, and indexing of the Talmud 61 Neumark, Itzchak Yacov (Yanek) 402 Paul VI, Pope, commissioning of documentation

Niemojewski, Andrzej 318, 320, 327 on Second World War 411

Nieto, R. David 111 n. 15 Pawlikowski, John T. 496

Nigal, Gedaliah 165 Pecynowitz family 404

Nirenska, Pola 524 | pedagogy, revolution in 23-4 Nisan ben Yehudah 272-3, 276 Pehle, John 521

NKVD, see Narodnyi Komitet Vnutrennykh Peiper, Tadeusz 376

Nomberg-Przytyk, Sara 508 Pelz, Yidl 350

Nossig, Alfred 244, 368, 373 penances, practice of 8, 26, 32—3, 102

Nowy Dziennik 376 Perets, Y. L. 298, 475, 477

numerology, see gematriyah Perl, Joseph 56, 192 n. 12, 193-5 numerus clausus 326, 329, 332, 333 N. 112 Perle, Yehoshua 477

O Pettazzoni, Raffaele 119 Petlyura, Symon 485-6

Ob6z Wielkiej Polski (Great Poland Camp, Pettzman, Mrs B. 307

OWP) 332 Pfeffernkorn, Johannes 60

Ochlewska, Maria (Ester Horn) 504 Philo 177

O’Connor, Bernard 254 philosophy, medieval Jewish 5 Odrowaz-Pieniazek, Jan 251, 255, 258, 260-3, Piani, Shabtai 279

265 Pienkowski, Stanislaw 325, 330

Odznaka 332 Pieronek, Bishop Tadeusz 397 Ofer, Dalia 506—8 pietists, German 8 Olszer, Jakob 354 Pikulski, Gaudenty 54, 132,155

Opalinski, Kazimierz 255-6, 258, 260, 265 Jewish Malice towards God, Man, Trust, and

Opalinski, P. 253 n. 26 Conscience 84, 155

Opalski, Magdalena 374 Pilarczyk, Krzysztof 19, 59-64, 517, 530

Opinia 376 Pilecki, Fr. Giedymin 458, 463 Orehot tsadikim 32,95 pilpul 15-16, 44, 63

Orsenigo, Cesare 424, 436n. 87 opposition to 23

Ortwin, Ostap 374 see also hiluk

Ostropoler, Shimshon ben Pesah 24 Pilsudski, Jozef 320, 483

Ozer, Leib ben 30 Piotrowski, Tadeusz 499-502

Ozick, Cynthia 510 Pius V, Pope, Roman catechism of and the Jews 77

552 Index Pius XI, Pope 436 Poznan 480

Concordat with Italian State 416 employment of shtadlanim 273-6, 284-9

Pius XII, Pope, and the Holocaust 411-43 Poznanski, Renée 507 appeals from German bishops 418 PPR, see Polska Partia Robotnicza correspondence with Hitler 435-6 PPS, see Polska Partia Socjalistyczna criticized by Polish government in exile 433 prayer, prayers 99

_ letters to German bishops (1939-44) 414, the Besht on 42

434-43 prayer-books 94, 99 poetry: press, Polish (1933-9) 495 Hebrew 243-8 see also under antisemitism in Poland Piwarski, Kazimierz 249 Prekerowa, Teresa 460

Polish, by Jewish writers 375-7 Preysing, Bishop Konrad von 438—42

321 530

Pogotowie do walki z bolszewizmem Tow. printing and printers, Jewish 17-20, 59-64 Rozw6j (Rozwoj Society Emergency of kabbalistic literature 24, 95-9 Service for the Right against Bolshevism) Prokop-Janiec, Eugenia 359-81, 477-8, 517,

pogroms 484-5 Prostitz, Aaron ben Isaac 61n. 1

see also Jedwabne; Kielce pogrom - Prostitz, Isaac ben Aaron 61 n. 1,71

Polanski, Roman 498 Protocols of the Elders of Zion 325, 327

Polish—Jewish relations: Przeczycki, Andrzej 253

IN 1933-9: 494-6 Przeglad Katolicki 317

in post-war Poland 335-58 Przeglad Narodowy 315, 317 as reflected in inter-war literature 359-81 Przemysl, ban on Christians participating in

under Soviet occupation 445-68 Purim festivities 89-90

Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth, Jewish Puchovitzer of Pinsk, Judah 26

community in Purim, drinking wine at 215-16 role of shtadlan 267-99 Purim plays:

see also Va’ad Arba Aratsot; Va’ad Medinat 16th-c. accounts of 54, 87-92

Lita prohibition of Christians participating in 82,

politics, Jewish, development of in 19th c. 279, 88—92

298-9 , influence of Byzantium on g1

alliance with the Crown 281-2

Pollack, R. Jacob 15 Q Polonsky, Antony 3-57, 412, 530 Querido, Jacob 137

PPR) 336, 348 R

Polska Partia Robotnicza (Polish Workers’ Party,

Polska Partia Socjalistyczna (Polish Socialist Rabbanite literature 68—76

Party, PPS) 320, 324, 355 Rabbanites, in Poland 65-6 Polska Partia Socjalistyezna—Lewica (Polish Rabbenu Tam 5 Socialist Party—Left, PPS—-Lewica) 314 rabbinate 12

Polski Komitet Wyzwolenia Narodowego abuses by rabbis 12-13

(Polish National Committee of and bribery 13-14

Liberation) 335 contracts g—10

Pomeranz-Carmely, Klara 367 emergence of professional 8—16

Pomirowski, Leon 376 legal authority of 10-11

Poninski, Hieronim Adam 261-2 political power of 10-11

Ponisz, Piotr 158 qualifications for 13

Poptawsk1, Mikolaj 262 roleincommunity I1I—13 Poplawski, Father Seweryn 317 n. 25 see also rosh yeshivah

Porges, Moses, memoirs of Frankism 140-3 rabbis, portraits of 110-13, 125-6

Poszakowski, Jan 154-5 Rabinowitz, R. Zaddok Hacohen, on messiah son

Potocki, Waclaw 28 of Joseph 48, 213-20

Index 553 Rabska, Zuzanna 380 Rubinstein, R. Isaac 491

racial laws, Italian 414-22 | Ruch Mtodych OWP (OWP Youth Movement)

Raczkiewicz, Wladyslaw 430 333

Radonski, Bishop Karol 428-9 Rudnicki, Adolf 367, 369-72, 376-7, 379, 381

Radoszewski, Franciszek 317 Rudnicki, Szymon 311-30, 531 Radziejowski, Michal 253, 263 Rupniewski, Bishop go

Radzitowski, John 43-68, 530 Russo, Barukhyah 34, 114, 131-2, 135, 137

Radziwill, Count 82 Rybarski, Roman 327

Radziwill, Prince Marcin Mikolaj 155 Rybczynski, Sebastian 260-1

Rapoport, R. Hayim Hakohen 149-50 Rycaut, Paul 132

Rapoport-Albert, Ada 42 Rychter, Tadeusz 317n. 25 Rashi (R. Solomon ben Isaac) 5, 74-5, 69, 95 Rzad, Antoni 317n. 25

Rathaus, Karol 498 Rzeczycki, Andrzej 251

Red Letter 142 Rzepecki, Karol 328

Regulski (lawyer) 261 | Rzeszow, synagogues in 481 Reich, Seymour D. 411

religious culture, Jewish 59—60 S

influence of printing on 62-4 Sa’adya Gaon 74, 182 n. 52

Renftel, Frydrych 251 Sefer hagalui 204 repentance, calls for 32-3, 101-2 sabbath:

Reuchlin, Johannes 60 contrast with weekdays 229-31, 240

Rey, Sydor 379 equated with Torah 237-9

Ribbentrop, Joachim von 429-30 meaning of 226-40 Ringelblum, Emanuel 249 Sadzewicz, Antoni 317 Nn. 25

Ringelheim, Joan 507-8 Safed mystics 7, 101

ritualimpurity 166 Safrin, R. Isaac Judah Jehiel, as messiah son of

ritual murder 53, 158 Joseph 220

trials for 31, 54-5 Salit, Moshe 490

ritual slaughter, see shehitah Salvandy, N. A. de 254

Rola 311-12 Salzenstein, Edmund 354 Romani Rose 388 Samoobrona 332 Roma, extermination at Auschwitz 387-90 Sambation, legend of 78

Romania, as model for Polish antisemitism Sandauer, Artur 362, 365-6, 370-1, 378-9

31-3, 331 Sapieha, Cardinal Adam 427-30, 432-3

Romanowski, Mieczysiaw 247 Sapieha, Kazimierz 266

Roosevelt, Franklin D. 521 Sapieha, Michat Jozef 260

Rosen, Miriam 308 , Sapieha, Wladyslaw Jozefat 263 Rosenman, Lena Karelitz 305, 307 Sarnowski, Stanislaw 28, 84, 107-9 Rosh (Asher ben R. Yehiel) 5,20 Sasportas, R. Jacob 111 n. 15 rosh yeshivah, authority of 9, 11-12, 14-15 Scavizzi, Pirro 427 Rosman, Moshe 30, 38-9, 161, 271, 288 Schachter, Clara 309

Rosset, Aleksander de 323 n. 58 Schall, Jakub 249 Rossi, Azariah dei 16, 22 Schechter, Solomon (Shneur Zalman) 56, 197,

Roth, Cecil 118 199-200 Rothenberg, R. Isaac Meir 47-8 Schliiter, Margarete 56, 203-11, 531 Sefat emet 48-9 Schoenfeld, Rose 308

Rozenfeld, Aleksander 370, 372 Scholem, Gershom 40, 169 Rozengarten, Aleksandra 504 studies of Frankism 34-5, 26-7, 38, 85, Rozw6j, see Towarzystwo Rozwoju Handlu, IOQ—I0, 123, 137, 142, 153, 155, 157

Przemystiu i Rzemiost} studies of Jewish mysticism 3-4, 6-7, 44-5

Rozwoj 320-1, 325-6, 328-32 on the tsadik 159-61 Rubinstein, Abraham 45 Schreiner, Stefan 23, 65-76, 531

554 Index Schuetz, Rivka 136 | as ‘the one who has lost a leg’ 123

Schulman, Kalman 243 pilgrimages to 29-30

Schulte, Cardinal 435 portraits of 28, 35, 105-6, 109-11, 126

Schulz, Bruno 376, 381, 487-8 prayer mentioning him 29

Schwartz, Ida 307-8 support for in Poland 26-30 Scottish community in Poland 296-8 see also Shabbateans SDN, see Stronictwo Demokratyczno-Narodowe Shachar, Yeshayahu 43

Second World War: Shakhna ben Joseph of Lublin, R. Shalom 15 Jewish survivors in Poland 335-58 Shalit, Moshe 491

Polish survivors 352-3 Shammes, Juspa 40, 164 Vatican documents on 411-43 Shapiro, Jacob 200

see also partisans Shechter, Solomon (Shneur Zalman) 56

Seder olam rabah 71 shehitah 12, 33,94, 403 Seder olam zuta 71 campaign for banon 326~—7 Seer of Lublin, see Horowitz, Jacob Isaac Shekhinah 6, 36 Sefer hazohar, see Zohar exile of the 181

Sefer zerubavel 213 Sheptytsky, Metropolitan Andrei 424-6 Segal, Baruch Halevi 290 Sherira ben Hanina, Gaon 56, 203-11

Segal, Kalman 379 Shimon Hatsadik 206

Segal, R. Moses 30 Shimon bar Yohai, R. 115

Segalovich, Zusman 478 Shmeruk, Chone 374, 476-7

Sejm: appreciations of 513-18 in Polish—Lithuanian Commonwealth 270 Shneur Zalman of Liady 44

Warsaw, shtadlanim sent to 274, 276, 280, Shoah (film) 522-3 ,

282-3, 286, 290-1 Sholem Aleichem 475, 477 Selek, Jakub 55 shtadlan of the Polish—Lithuanian seminal emission, see keri Commonwealth 267-99

Semler, Johann Salomo 37, 147-8 Shulhan arukh 16-17, 19-20, 41, 100

Sempolowska, Stefania 318 and wine at Passover 148 servants, Christian, employed by Jews 81-3 Shulner, Dora 309

settlement, Jewish, in Soviet Far East 492~4 Shulsinger (leather worker in Wroclaw) 350

Sfard, David 348 Shuster, Hayim 457 Shabbateans, Shabbateanism: Shwartzberg, Getsl 350 Balkan 136, 138 Siekiarz, Jakub 263

contrasted with hasidism 44-6 Sierakowski, Waclaw 89—90 conversion to Catholicism in 1759: 131, 133 Sikorski, Wladyslaw 322

Czech and Moravian 141, 143-4 Silber, Michael 45

Frankism as 35 Silesia, Jewish post-war settlement in 347-50

impact of in Europe 37 Silva, Rabbi Hizkiyah da 111 n. 15

in Lviv 29-30 Simeon bar Yohai 6

opponents of, see Emden, Jacob Simhah Menahem of Jona 245

Podolian 132, 134-5 Simhat Torah, drinking on, and the fall of the in Polish anti-Jewish literature 84 Seer of Lublin 188-9, 195-201

Prague Shabbateans 143-4 Singer, Isaac Bashevis 478

in Salonika 141 Polish translations of his works 475 Shabbatean tracts 32, 95-6 Singer, Israel Joshua 475, 478

Tisha Be’av as a joyful day 190n.9 Sirkes, R. Joel 8-9, 12, 14, 16, 89

in Vilna 29 Sixtus V, Pope, bull of 1585 on bishops reporting

Shabbetai Tsevi 137-9, 160, 170 n. 6, 278 to Vatican 50 conversion to Islam 114, 132, 138-9 Skulski, Dr 487

numerical value of name equivalent to ‘the Sliwowska, Wiktoria 503-6

true messiah’ 99 n. 24 Slonik, R. Benjamin 11—12, 20, 24

Index 555 Stonimski, Antoni 360, 376-7, 379 Sultanik, Kalman 396

Sfowo 319 Sutzkever, Abraham 477 Stucki, Arnold 379 Swiderska, Hanna 109

Stupecki, Jerzy 55 Swietochowski, Aleksander 315, 318

Smolar, Aleksander 457 Switkowski (treasury official) 261, 263 Smolenskin, Perets 248, 307, 479 , Switon, Kazimierz 395-9

Sobolewska, Anna 363 Sydowski, Andrzej 260 Sochaczew, Purim plays in 89-92 synagogues 481 trial for Host desecration (1556) 87-9 Szabun, Stanislaw 450

Sofer, Simeon 244 Szczawinska, Jadwiga 482 Solomon ben Aaron of Luntshits 23 Szczebrzeszyn, synagogues in 481

Solomon ben Judah 24 Szczuka, Stanislaw Antoni 259, 265

Solomon of Lviv 14 Szenwald, Lucjan 376 Soltyk, Kajetan 82 Szeryng, Henryk 498 Sonenson, Moshe 452-3, 458, 464-6 Szpilman, Andrzej 497

Sonenson, Yitzhak 464 Szpilman, Wladyslaw 497-8

Sonenson, Zipporah 451-2, 465-6 Szuldenfrei, Michal 335 spirituality, Jewish, popular, in 18thc. 93-103 Szwajcer, B. 374

Spiro, Nathan 24 | Szydiowiec 82

Sprunk, M. 350 Szymel, Maurycy 376—7 Stalin, Joseph 494

Stanislawski, Michael 27 T Stecki, Jan 323n. 58 Takao, Chizuko 494 Steele, Thomas J. 121 Talmud: Steinberg, Joshua 490 Babylonian, used by Isaac of Troki 72 Sten, Jan 374 and blood libel 145, 147-8

stereotypes, national: burnings of 115, 145

AK, of the Jews 448 on the Index librorum prohibitorum 18, 61

German, of the Jews 419 polemics against 60

Jewish, of Poles 456 n. 16 printing of in Poland 18—19, 59-64 Latin American, of the Jews 419 quoted bya Polish monk 81 Sterling, Kazimierz 373 Tam, Rabbi Jacob ben Meir, see Rabbenu Tam

Stern, Anatol 376 Tam ibn Yahya 70

Stern, S. 268 Tardini, Mgr Domenico 416, 420, 427-8, 430, Steuer, B. 307 432 Stolarczyk, Jan 476 Targum Onkelos 72

Stone, Dan 393 Tarlo, Karol 258, 261 |

Stowarzyszenie Samopomocy Spotecznejk Tarnowski (lord high steward of Kiev) 255,

(Association for Social Self-Help, SSS) 262

323 Tec, Nechama 507

Straz Narodowa (National Guard) 320 Teller, Adam to

Stronnictwo Demokratyczno-Narodowe Tenenbaum, Emil 376

316 Tishby, Isaiah roi

(Democratic National Party, SDN) 312, Tisha Be’av as a joyful day gon. 9 Stronnictwo Narodowe (National Party) 329, Tokarzewski (lawyer) 261

333 Tomaszewski, Jerzy 331, 475-8, 531

Stronnictwo Odrodzenia Narodowego (National Torah:

Rebirth Party) 320 identification with sabbath 237-9

Stronnictwo Polityki Realnej (Real Politics Nahman Krochmal on development of Oral

Party) 319 Torah 203-11 Stur, Jan 376 of 36, 134-9

Stryjkowski, Julian 369, 372, 377, 381 Tovah, Judah Levi (Deverish Effendi), teachings

556 Index Towarzystwo Kredytowe Miejskie (Town V

Credit Society) 318 Va’ad Arba Aratsot (Council of Four Lands) Towarzystwo Kultury Polskiej (Polish Culture 269, 271

Society) 318 agreement with Va’ad Medinat Lita (1681)

Towarzystwo Rozwoju Handlu, Przemystiu 1 278 Rzemuiost (Society for the Advancement of on Christian servants 83

Trade, Industry, and Crafts) 317-33 confirmation of herem against Jakub Towarzystwo Rozwoju Zycia Narodowego w Frank 34 Polsce (Society for the Advancement of contracts with shtadlanim 272-3, 276, 290

National Life in Poland) 322 emissary sent to Vatican on trials for ritual Towarzystwo Wzajemnego Kredytu (Mutual murder 55

Credit Society) 318 licensing of printed books 19

Towianski, Andrzej 156 relations with rabbis 10, 12-13, 16, 24

Trakai (Troki) 65-6 use of non-Jewish advisers 280-90

transmigration of souls 40, 167, 213-14 Va’ad Medinat Lita (Lithuanian Council) 66, Trinitarian and anti-Trinitarian images 119-22 269, 271

Trzeciak, Stanislaw 52, 158 agreement with Va’ad Arba Aratsot (1681)

tsadtk, tsadikim: 278 childhoods of 169-86 contracts with shtadlanim 272-6, 289-90 development of concept of 32, 40-2 relations with rabbis g—10, 12, 14

figure of 34, 159-68 Vago, Lidia Rosenfeld 507 -

holy names of 32, 96-8 Vargas, Getulio Dornelles 418, 421 Joseph as model of the 218-19 Vatican:

and the ninth sefirah 160 appeal to against Frankist movement 277-8,

Tsadik, Jacob ben Abraham 110 285-6 Tsederbaum, Alexander, criticism of hasidism condemnation of trials for ritual murder 55 56, 197, 199 documents relating to Second World War

Tsevi Ashkenazi, the Hakham, portrait of 411-43 IIlI—-15, 118—19, 126 efforts to assist emigration (1939-40) 415-22,

Tsoref, Joshua Heshel 29, 32, 96 A4I

Tsvifil, Fabian 309 and Italian raciallaws 414-22

Turk, Hayim, see Kaplinski, Hayim legislation regarding Jews in 18thc. 51,77 Tuwim, Julian 368, 371-2, 376-7, 379 and Poland (1939-45) 422-34

Twardowski, Pan 164 Vaz de Belmonte, Simhah, portrait of 110,

Tygodntk Ilustrowany 315 127-8

Tykocin, synagogues in 481 Venturi, Father Pietro Tacchi 417

Tyszkowski (priest) 81 Vidas, Elijah de 7

Tzfatman-Biler, Sara 165 Reshit hokhmah 101-2 Vilna 17

U election of shtadlanim 272-3 Ukrainian hasidism 47 Shabbateanism in 29 Ukrainian—Jewish relations (1917-20) 484-6 Vilna Gaon, see Elijah ben Solomon Zalman

underground, Polish 519-21 Vital, Hayim 7, 213-14

Unger, Michal 507 Vogel, Debora 377 Unitarian medal 108 Vogler, Henryk 370 Unitarians and Judaism 22 Voltaire 22~3

United Jewish Appeal 421 Vynnychenko, Volodymyr 484-5

Urban VIII, Pope, on Trinitarian images 121

Uni of Strelisk 187 W childhood of 181-4 Wagenseil, Johann Christoph 22

Ury, Scott 267-99, 531 Walden, Moses Menahem 191 n. 12

Ustyli, Manuel 251 Wallenrod, Konrad 37

Index 557 Warsaw: Wyrebowski, Father Adam 322, 325-7, 330 memoirs of 481-3 Wyrozumski, Jerzy 515 post-war Jewish survivors in 337, 341-2 Wyzycki, Mikolaj 261 Sejm, see under Sejm

Warsaw district, post-war survivorsin 341—2 xX

Wasiutynski, Bohdan 327 Ximenes, Ferdinand, portrait of 110 Wat, Aleksander 369, 372, 376

Waysblum, Mark 66 Y

Wazyk, Adam 376 Yampol (Jampol), trial for ritual murder in 55 weekdays, see under sabbath Yavan, Barukh 114 Weerzynek, Hanna 54, 87-92, 531 yeshivas 14, 48

Wehle brothers 141 establishment of in Poland 14

Wein, Viola 380 in Lublin (1567) 14

Weinberg, Robert 492—4 and use of printed Talmud 63 Weinberger, LenaS. 308-9 Yeshua ben Judah, R. 76

Weiner, Amir 486 : Yishai, Moshe 348 n. 61

Weinreich, Max 302 YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, collection of Weinryb, Bernard 27, 154, 249, 269 memoirs 302 Weintraub, Wiktor 367 Yon, Baruch ben David 277-8, 280, 285

Weissman, Mary 305, 308 Yoors, Jan 387-8 Weitzman, Lenore J. 506-8 Young, James E. 391-2

state) 430 Z

Weizsacker, Ernst von (German secretary of

Weksler-Waszkinel, Father Romuald Jakub 487 Zacuto, Abraham, Sefer yuhasin 207

Welger, Abraham 345 Zahorska, Stefania 376, 379 Wessely, Naphtali Herz 243 Zalkin, Motti 491

Wiadomosc Literackte 377, 379 Zalman, Abraham 26 Wierczak (Seym deputy) 322 Zalman, Elijah ben Solomon 30

Wiesel, Elie 496 Zatuski, Andrzej Stanislaw 51 Wyaczka, Jacek 54 Zamosc, synagogues in 481

Wyek, Jakub 79 Zamoyski, Marcin 252-4

Wikowska, Alina 363 Zanger (tailor in Dzierzonidw) 350

Wilensky, Mordechai 46 Zanvill, R. 17 Williams, G. H. 120 Zdziechowski, Jerzy 323n. 58 Wise, R. Stephen 521 ] Zegota 504, 520

Wisse, Ruth 477 Zemtr aritsim 193

Wistrich, Robert S. 412—43, 532 Zglinski, Daniel 373

Wittlin, Jozef 376, 379 Zilberfarb, Zalman 358

Witwicki, Father 79 Zilbersztajn, Natan 374

WIZO 351 Zimmerman, Bernard 376 Wladystaw IV, King, pro-Jewish decrees of Zimmerman, Joshua D. 506, 526

281-2 Zinberg, Israel 65, 73

Wojciech, Mikotaj 261 Zionism 312

Wojdowski, Bogdan 371, 377-8 Ziatkes, Gwido 368, 371, 483, 502

Wotkonowski, Jaroslaw 447 Zohar 6-7, 41, 51, 100-2, 115, 154-6

Wolowski, Franciszek 142 Zotkiew 480 Wolowski, Michal 142 Zuchowski (priest) 81

Wormseer, Seckel Loeb 164 Zuchowski, Stefan 53 Woroniecki, Father Jacek 327 Zuckerman, Yitzhak 343

Wrobel, Jozef 370 Zuckermann, Benedict 147 Wujkowski, Jan Stanislaw 51, 80—1 Zunz, Leopold 204

Wygodzki, Stanislaw 379 Zurek, Stawomir J. 487

558 Index Zusya of Hanipoli, R. 182 Zwiazek Wiascicieli Pracowni Obuwia (Union of Zwiazek Ludowo-Narodowy (National Popular Owners of Shoemaking Workshops) 323

Union) 321 zydokomuna 312

Zwiazek Miodziezy Katolickiej (Catholic Youth Zy dowskie Kongregacje Religijne (Committee of

Association) 403 Religious Communities) 340-1

Zwiazek Miodziezy Polskiej ‘Zet’ (‘“Zed’ Union Zydowskie Zrzeszenie Religijne 340

of Polish Youth) 314 Zygielboym, Szmuel 521

Zwiazek Samoobrony Spolecznej (Union of Zygmunt August, king of Poland 14, 18

Social Self-Defence) 323, 328-9 Zywulska, Krystyna 378 Zwiazek Wiascicieli Hoteli (Union of Hotel

Owners) 323