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Front Matter Source: AJS Review, Vol. 3 (1978), pp. i-xi Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486418 . Accessed: 26/06/2011 20:12 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

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AJSreview VOLUME THREE 1978

Editor FRANK TALMAGE University of Toronto

Editorial Board ALEXANDER ALTMANN Brandeis University

ARNOLD J. BAND University of California Los Angeles

ROBERT CHAZAN

DAVID WEISS HALIVNI Jewish Theological Seminary of America

MARVIN HERZOG Colombia University

HARRY M. ORLINSKY

Ohio State University

Hebrew Union CollegeJewish Institute of Religion

MARVIN FOX

ISMAR SCHORSCH

Brandeis University

SHELOMO DOV GOITEIN Institute for Advanced Study Princeton

Jewish Theological Seminary of America

MARSHALL SKLARE Brandeis University

Managing Editor CHARLES BERLIN Harvard University

AJSreview VOLUME THREE 1978

ASSOCIATION

FOR JEWISH STUDIES

CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

© COPYRIGHT 1978 ASSOCIATION FOR JEWISH STUDIES

Publication of the AJSreview has been made possible by a grant from the National Foundation for Jewish Culture. The Association is grateful for the Foundation's support and encouragement.

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TABLEOF CONTENTS Maimonides and Thomas Aquinas: Natural or Divine Prophecy? Alexander Altmann ..............................................

1

The American Connection of Canadian Jews: 1759-1914 Michael Brown ...................................................

21

The Hebrew First Crusade Chronicles: Further Reflections Robert Chazan ......................................................

79

Gersonides on the Possibility of Conjunction with the Agent Intellect Seymour Feldman ..................................................

99

A Sociological Portrait of German Jewish Immigrants in Boston Stephen G . Mostov .................................................

121

Can Halakhic Texts Talk History? Haym Soloveitchik ................................................

152

The Metamorphosis of a Hasidic Legend in Agnon's "'Al 'even 'ahat" A ryeh Wineman .....................................................

197

(1914-1900)

' '1:-n nlnynl

nlu

lnn

Stanley N ash .......

nl r1nn

.............. ..........................

V

NOTES FOR CONTRIBUTORS 1. All scholarly articles directly bearing on some aspect of Judaica will be considered for publication in AJSreview. Two copies of each manuscript should be sent directly (no prior inquiries are necessary!) to the Editor, AJSreview, Widener M, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA 02138, USA. All correspondence should be directed to that address. 2. No article accepted by AJSreview may appear in any other publication, in whole or in part, in its original language or in translation, before its appearance in AJSreview. 3. Manuscripts must be submitted on regulation weight and size (81/2"X 11"-not legal size) paper. Xerox copy or photoreproduction of equivalent quality is acceptable. 4. ALL MATERIAL, including footnotes and indented quotes (extracts), must be typed in DOUBLE SPACE. Leave wide margins on every page.

5. A manuscript should be submitted only in its final, completed form. The cost of author's alterations made in galleys will be charged to the author. It should be remembered that a very slight change may result in the resetting of many lines of type. TYPESETTING IS COSTLY! As a matter of policy,

AJSreview will not publish lists of corrections. Authors should be as conscientious about the format of their articles as they are about the content. No author's alterations may be made in page proofs at all. Any alterations in the original manuscript must be made by typewriter and not by hand. If a manuscript is not neatly presented, it may be returned to the author for retyping. Standard American proofreaders' marks, as found in any style manual and many dictionaries, should be used for making changes or corrections. VII

VIII

NOTES FOR CONTRIBUTORS

6. The general guide for style is A Manual of Style, 12th ed., published by the University of Chicago Press. The authority for English usage and spelling in Webster's Third International Dictionary of the English Language. While fine writing and elegance are to be prized, excessively rhetorical or exotic language detracts from the flow of an argument. Faddish or pseudotechnical language should be avoided. While a writer should not refer to himself excessively, when he does so, the pronoun "I" should generally be used. The Editors reserve final judgment on all matters of style and usage. 7. Assemble footnotes in separate sheets at the end of the article. TYPEFOOTNOTES IN DOUBLE SPACE AND LEAVE WIDE MARGINS. Footnotes must be numbered consecutively: 1, 2, 3, 4-not 1, 2, 2a, 3 or 1, 1*, 2, 3. Please recheck manuscript to see that all footnote numbers and all footnotes are present and correspond appropriately. 8. Give place and date of publication (but not publisher) of all works cited except common handbooks. Full first names of authors, unless there are two initials, should be used: Andre Dupont, not A. Dupont; S. W. Baron, not S. Baron. The form of a name as listed by the Library of Congress is generally to be preferred. Place names are given in their customary English form. 9. In referring to publications previously cited in a footnote, short title and not "op. cit." or "loc. cit." should be used. 10. Use Arabic numerals in all references, including volume numbers of periodicals and multivolume works, unless there is a specific reason for using Roman numerals (as in page numbers of a preface). Dates should be written in the traditional fashion: December 12, 1956-not 12 December 1956. 11. Crossreferences to pages within an article cannot be given. One may make a crossreference to a footnote (see above, n. 23) or to a section within an article (see below, sec. 12). If an author feels he must use crossreferences, he should write his articles in numbered sections so as to make this possible. A few simple "see above" or "see below" references are acceptable as well. Please use "above" and "below" rather than "infra" and "supra." 12. Works in manuscript should be cited by library shelfmark and not by catalog number: MS Bodley Opp. Add. 4to, 38-not Neubauer 1373. The recto and verso of a folio are indicated by r and v respectively; columns by a

NOTES FOR CONTRIBUTORS

IX

and b: fol. 27va; fols. 16r, 17v. This does not apply to references to the Talmud or other printed Hebrew works, e.g., B.T. Shabbat 14b. 13. References to a passage extending over several pages should give the first and last page numbers. Do not use f., ff., or et seq. 14. In articles in English, words in Hebrew or other non-Latin characters should not be used unless it is essential to do so. Transliteration or translation is to be preferred. Foreign language material should be confined to footnotes. 15. Articles in Hebrew should follow the format of the Hebrew articles previously published in this journal. 16. The transliteration scheme for Hebrew is as given below. Dagesh bazaq is indicated by doubling the letter (except for sh and after the definite article or a preposition): ha-hishuvim ve-ha-shiqqulim ba-sefer. While it is recognized that some fields employ their own systems of transliteration with many diacritical marks, authors are kindly requested to adhere to our system whenever possible.

CONSONANTS

K ' quiescent K not transliterated · b :1 v

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g d n h v (where not a vowel) T z n bh t t ,

· :

y

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5

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a m 3 n 0

s

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q r V sh t

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s

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NOTES FOR CONTRIBUTORS

x

VOWELS

a a o u o ei

_ . short ',

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e i e e °o a

vocal sheva-e silent sheva-not transliterated The transliteration scheme for Yiddish follows. Hebrew words in Yiddish are to be transliterated according to standard Yiddish pronunciation, e.g., rmn = toyre. K not transliterated x a x o 3 b : v

',~

I g n n .,1 11 '1 T tT

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17. The Editors make every attempt to have manuscripts appraised as expeditiously as possible but no guarantee can be given concerning the amount of time required before a report can be returned to an author. AJSreview draws upon a wide, international body of manuscript appraisers

NOTES FOR CONTRIBUTORS

XI

who may or may not be members of the Editorial Advisory Council or, indeed, members of AJS. All manuscripts are read anonymously. The anonymity rule requires that no reader may know the name of the author of a manuscript nor may the author know the names of the readers. To ensure this, authors should avoid revealing their identity in a manuscript. Do not use such phrases as "See my article .. ," "I thank my teacher, John Doe," etc. No author or anyone acting on his behalf may approachthe Editors or any other person to ascertain the identity of manuscript appraisers.

Maimonides and Thomas Aquinas: Natural or Divine Prophecy? Author(s): Alexander Altmann Source: AJS Review, Vol. 3 (1978), pp. 1-19 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486419 . Accessed: 26/06/2011 20:34 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

MAIMONIDES AND THOMAS AQUINAS: NATURAL OR DIVINE PROPHECY? by ALEXANDER ALTMANN Brandeis University

The question whether prophecy is a natural phenomenon or a divine gift goes back to classical antiquity. A natural explanation of divination in sleep was first attempted by Democritus whose theory operates with the notion of 'images' (eidola) that affect the soul in dreams and foretell the future. Whence these images emanate does not seem to be too clear from the sources at our disposal.' Democritus is said to have described them as "great and gigantic . .. although not indestructible,"2and from this we may, perhaps, infer that he associated the images with the statues of gods to which the ancients ascribed an odd assortment of capacities.3 The 'images' may therefore signify certain emanations from those statues, especially since Aristotle distinctly speaks of Democritus' theory as one involving 'images and emanations' that derive from certain objects.4 The theory thus under1. See Werner Jaeger, The Theology of the Early Greek Philosophers (Oxford, 1947), pp. 180-1, 249, n. 36; Saul Horovitz, Die Psychologie bei den judischen Religionsphilosophendes Mittelalters von Saadia bis Maimuni (Breslau, 1898; reprint ed., Westmead, 1970), p. 189, n. 133. 2. Sextus Empiricus Adversus physicos 1. 19. 3. For references see Arthur Stanley Pease, ed., M. Tulli Ciceronisde divinatione(University of Illinois, 1920-23), 1: 271-72. 4. Aristotle De divinationeper somnum 2. 464al 1.

1

2

ALEXANDER ALTMANN

stood bears some resemblance to what Maimonides reports as the manner in which the Sabians explain prophecy: statues in temples and holy trees give prophetic revelation to people.5 Whatever the correct interpretation of Democritus' theory of dream visions, its intent was clearly scientific.6 This first effort to see divination in naturalistic terms-Cicero criticized it as far too crude7-was to be superseded by Aristotle's more sophisticated theory in his small treatise On Divination in Sleep which forms part of the so-called Parva naturalia. Aristotle posed the question: What is the cause of veridical dreams?, and he inclined to assume that the veracity of at least some of them was due to mere 'coincidence' (sympt6mata).8 Yet he pressed the search further. It seemed unlikely to him that divinatory dreams were "sent by God" (theopempta) since it was not "the best and wisest" who enjoyed such dreams but ordinary people and particularly those whose nature was garrulous and melancholic.9 Being a scientist, he followed this clue and he reached the conclusion that there was a natural link between the easy response of such people to internal stimuli during sleep and their divinatory ability. He was able to develop this theory within the larger context of his theory of sleep as a state in which the senses were at rest and the bond (desmos) of rational thinking was also relaxed, thereby allowing for the free play of imagination. This syndrome-dormancy of senses and all controls on the one hand and uncontrolled activity of imagination on the other-was destined to become the archetypal pattern for practically all theories of divination and prophecy. The natural process thus described was said by Aristotle to be 'demonic', for "nature was demonic, not divine,"'0 the term "demonic" signifying, as in Plato, something intermediate between the human and the divine." 5. Maimonides, The Guide of the Perplexed, 3: 45. 6. See Jaeger, Theology, p. 181. The notion of 'images' is used by Democritus also in connection with his theory of poetic inspiration. See Pease, De divinatione, 1: 237-38. 7. Cicero De natura deorum 1. 38-39; De divinatione 2. 67.137-39. 8. Aristotle De divinatione per somnum 1. 462b28, 463b1; 2. 464a5. 9. Aristotle De divinatione 1. 462b19-24, 463b13-18, 464a33. For Aristotle's dream theory referred to in what follows in the text, see his De somno et vigilia 1. 454b8-1 1; De somniis 3. 460b28-461a30, 461b27-462a32. 10. De divinatione per somnum 2. 463b13-15. 11. Sometimes Aristotle identifies the 'demonic' with the 'divine'; see Hermann Bonitz, Index Aristotelicus, 2d ed., p. 164, s.v. daimonios. For nature as below the divine see the statement of Themistius quoted by H. A. Wolfson, "Hallevi and Maimonides on Design, Chance and Necessity," Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 11 (1941): 148-49, 153 (republished in H. A. Wolfson, Studies in the History of Philosophy and Religion, ed.

NATURAL OR DIVINE PROPHECY?

3

This scientific or naturalisticexplanationof divinationin sleep was a markeddepartureby Aristotlefrom the view he had expressedin his early work On Philosophy."Whenthe soul is by itselfin sleep,"he had said then, "it takeson its propernatureand prophesiesand predictsthe future.And it is in this state also when it is beingseparatedfromthe body at the approach of death."'1 Echoesof this earlierview, whichis characteristicof Aristotle's Platonicphase, are found also in his EudemianEthics,as Shlomo Pineshas pointed out.'3 According to this Platonizingdoctrine,the human soul is akin to the divine and for this reason may have intimationsof things to come wheneveruntrammeledby the senses. Clearly,this view contains a theorythat vindicatesto the humansoul a naturalcapacityfor divinationon account of its god-like nature,not because of physiologicalconditions. The probablymost instructivedocumentationof the classicaland earlyHellenisticdiscussionof the theme is found in Cicero'sbook On Divination which, as Isaac Heinemannhas shown, drawsin the mainon Posidonius' work of the same title.'4The Stoics took a position radicallyopposed to Aristotle's scientific approach in that they ascribed all divinatory phenomenato divine Providence.If thereare gods who care about men, so the argumentran, there must be divination,a forewarningor cheeringby propheticdreams or in other ways.'5There are two kinds of divination, natural and artificial, the natural type comprisingveridicaldreams and frenzy (mania,furor, raptus),the artificialsignifyingthe interpretationof signs based on age-old empiricalobservationof sequencesthat correlates signs and events. The superiorityof naturaldivinationwas recognizedby Posidonius and Philo of Alexandria.16 Stoicizing Peripatetics like Isadore Twersky and George H. Williams [Cambridge, Mass., 1977], 2: 44-45, 49). For the development of the notion of the 'demonic' in the Platonic tradition, see Frank Regen, Apuleius philosophus Platonicus (Berlin and New York, 1971). 12. Sextus Empiricus Adversus mathematicos 1. 20-21, quoted by Cicero De divinatione 1. 30. 63 from either Cratippus or Posidonius, as suggested by Isaac Heinemann, Poseidonios' metaphysische Schriften (Breslau, 1928), 2: 354. Cf. Simon van den Bergh, trans., Averroes' Tahafut Al-Tahafut (London, 1954), 2: 167. 13. Shlomo Pines, "The Arabic recension of Parva Naturalia and the philosophical doctrine concerning veridical dreams according to al-Risdla al-Mandmiyya and other sources," Israel Oriental Studies 4 (1974): 141-42. 14. See Heinemann, Schriften, p. 328 and passim. 15. Cicero De divinatione 1. 38. 82-83, 39. 84; 2. 49. 101. The argument is reported in the name of Chrysippus, who wrote a treatise on divination, and others. The reverse argument: "if there is divination, there must be gods" is found in Aristotle's On Philosophy (see Sextus Adv. phys. 1. 20) and in Posidonius (see Heinemann, Schriften, p. 346). 16. Cicero De div. 1. 50. 113; Philo Vita Mosis 1. 277 (see Heinemann, Schriften, p. 333).

4

ALEXANDER ALTMANN

Dicaearchus and Cratippus considered natural divination alone to be legitimate subjects of philosophic inquiry. Cratippus in particular took issue with Aristotle's suggestion that the veracity of dreams might be purely coincidental, a view that had been adopted also by Carneades.17He maintained the Stoic notion of veridical dreams as sent by a solicitous Providence and the Platonizing view of the divine nature of the human soul which had also become part of the Stoic doctrine.'8 In his view, therefore, prophecy was natural in the sense that the soul possessed a natural capacity for divination. As has been shown in an important study by Shlomo Pines,'9 the Arabic philosophers had no inkling of Aristotle's treatise On Divination in Sleep in its original and authentic form but knew it only in an Arabic version (now lost) which can be partly reconstructed from Averroes' Epitome of it20and from some quotations found in the Risdla al-mandmiyya (presumably by Avicenna)2' and in Ibn Bajja's Tadbfral-mutawahhid.22According to this Arabic version, veridical dreams are bestowed by divine Providence, through the Active Intelligence, upon the human imagination which thereby receives the knowledge of future events either in clear terms ("as they are going to be") or in a "hidden," i.e., figurized form.23As in Cratippus, we find in this theory the assumption of divine origin combined with a naturalistic approach, seeing that both the activity of the Active Intelligence and the mimetic function of the imagination are natural as distinct from the divine initiative. It is this theory of veridical dreams which underlies the doctrines of prophecy developed by al-Farabi and Avicenna. It forms the starting point and structural nucleus of these more complex theories. Like veridical dreams, prophecy in its various higher forms is said to be due to an emanation from God mediated by the Active Intelligence, the difference being that 17. Cicero De div. 1. 13. 23; on Carneades see Heinemann, Schriften, p. 341. 18. Cicero De div. 1. 32. 70, 2. 58. 119. Heinemann (Schriften, p. 354) leaves it undecided whether Cratippus adopted the Stoic view or whether Cicero formulated Cratippus's view in Stoic fashion. On Cratippus see Pease, De divinitatione, 1: 59. 19. Referred to in n. 13. 20. See Harry Blumberg's edition of the Arabic text of Averroes' Epitome of Parva Naturalia (1972), his edition of the Hebrew translation of this text (1954); and E. L. Shields' edition (with H. Blumberg's assistance) of the Latin version (1949), all published by The Mediaeval Academy of America, Cambridge, Mass. 21. See Pines, "Arabic recension," pp. 120-1. 22. See Miguel Asin Palacios, trans., El regimen del solitario por Avempace (Madrid and Granada, 1946), pp. 22-24 (54-55); quoted and partly translated by Pines, pp. 137-38. 23. See the texts quoted by Pines, pp. 114-21, 137-38; Averroes' Epitome of Parva Naturalia: Arabic 72. 7, 73. 4-7, 79. 7-12, 84. 7-9; Hebrew 47. 9-10, 48. 1-3,51. 16-52. 3, 55. 3-5; Latin 101. 35-36, 102. 49-52, 109. 4-9, 116. 17-18.

NATURAL OR DIVINE PROPHECY?

5

in prophecy proper both imagination and intellect are involved. Averroes, who elaborated the doctrine of veridical dreams in his Epitome of the Arabic version of Aristotle's treatise, made the explicit point that essentially there was no difference between veridical dreams and prophecy or for that matter between the two and technical forms of divination (kihdna). The only difference was one of degree. For this reason it had been said that "dream was a certain part of prophecy." Averroes alluded here to a widely quoted and much varied hadith according to which Muhammad is said to have defined a dream as being the forty-sixth part of prophecy.24In his Epitome Averroes also pointed out that veridical dreams were confined to disclosures of future happenings and to information in the practical arts such as medicine, many cures having been revealed in dreams, but could not convey knowledge in the theoretical sciences. Revelations of the latter kind, particularly about things divine, were possible only in prophecy.25 Maimonides was not acquainted with Averroes' Epitome, as we happen to know from the letter written by him to his disciple Yosef ben Shime'on in 1190-91.26 Yet his discussion of veridical dreams in Guide 2: 36 is strikingly similar to Averroes'. He too makes the point that there is only a difference in degree between dreams and prophecy, and one of the rabbinic dicta (Berakhot 57b) quoted by him in support ("dream is the sixtieth part of prophecy") is probably the source from which the hadtth cited by Averroes ultimately derived. In other chapters (2: 37, 38), he made it clear that prophets alone received intimations of a theoretical nature in addition to knowledge of future events but whether or not the medical art stood to profit from dreams is not spelled out by him. Gersonides took it for granted that he denied such a possibility and that his psychological explanation of misguided prophetic claims in 2: 38 was a veiled attack against Galen who had attributed some of his cures to revelation in dreams.27We may safely as24. Averroes' Epitome: Arabic 67. 4-11, 84. 11; Hebrew 44. 3-9; 55. 6-7; Latin 116. 23. On the hadith and its many variations see M. J. Kister, "The interpretation of dreams ... ," Israel Oriental Studies 4 (1974): 71. To the list should be added: Franz Rosenthal, trans., Ibn Khaldun The Muqaddimah (Bollingen Series 43, 1958), 1: 208-9. 25. Averroes' Epitome: Arabic 67. 8-10, 73. 4, 88. 9-91. 3; Hebrew 44. 6-9, 47. 16-48. 1, 57. 14-59. 9; Latin 102. 48-49, 120. 7-123. 41. The attribution of medical prognosis to dream revelation is a well-known topos in ancient philosophy. For references, see Pease, De divinatione,2: 572. Heinemann, Schriften, p. 332 quotes a reference concerning the discovery, in a dream, of the efficacy of aristolachia against snake poisoning. 26. See Solomon Munk, "Notice sur Joseph ben-lehouda ...," Journal Asiatique 3d ser. 14 (1842): 22, 24-25, 31; D. H. Baneth, ed., Moses Ben Maimon Epistulae (Hebrew), vol. 1 (Jerusalem, 1946), p. 70. Baneth (p. 22) confirmed Munk's dating of the letter. 27. Sefer milhamot ha-shem (Riva di Trento, 1560), 2: 4, fols. 17c-18b.

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ALEXANDER ALTMANN

sume that Maimonides' accord with Averroes was due to the fact that both of them used the Arabic version of the Aristotelian treatise, and that both followed in the al-Farabi and Avicenna tradition that had grown out of it. It is this intellectual background that accounts in large measure for Maimonides' theory of prophecy. Thomas Aquinas' philosophical background was in many respects different. He shared with Maimonides a knowledge, at least to some extent, of the Arabic philosophers, particularly of Avicenna.28He was not acquainted, however, with the Arabic version of Aristotle's On Divinationin Sleep, even assuming that he knew the Latin version of Averroes' Epitome of the Parva naturalia which was, in part, based on that version.29This is evident from the fact that both he and his teacher Albertus Magnus quote the authentic Aristotelian view that veridical dreams cannot be sent by God, seeing that they do not occur to the wisest and best.30 Both Albert and he believed Aristotle to hold a purely naturalistic notion of veridical dreams, and this suited both of them very well. It enabled them to assign the phenomenon of prophecy as attested in pagan literature to purely natural agencies in contrast to biblical prophecy which they attributed to the agency of God and designated as divine prophecy.3' There were more differences in the intellectual heritage of Maimonides and St. Thomas. Maimonides' knowledge of the philosophical tradition concerning theories of prophecy was limited to the works of the Arabic and a few Jewish philosophers, whereas Thomas, like Albert, had at his disposal a large array of Latin sources as well.32 Moreover, Thomas could draw on an extensive body of patristic writings, especially St. Augustine's Twelfth Book in De Genesi ad litteram that dealt with prophecy.33 Finally, both he and Albert were quite at home with 28. For bibliographical details (translations, etc.) and texts quoted by St. Thomas, see C. Vansteenkiste, "Autori Arabi e Giudei nell' opera di S. Tommaso," Angelicum 32 (1960). 29. The Versio Vulgatais variously attributed to Gerard of Cremona (d. 1187) and Michael Scot (d. c. 1235). See Shields' edition, p. xiii. 30. Albertus Magnus, Opera Omnia, vol. 9 (Paris, 1891), Lib. III, Desomno et vigilia, Tract. 1, C. 2, p. 179; Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones disputatae (QD), 1, De veritate, ed. Raimondo Spiazzi (Turin and Rome, 1953), 12. 5 (4), 246a; idem, Summa theologiae, 45, ed. R. Potter (Manchester, 1970), 2: 2 (ST), 172. 4 (4). 31. Cf. Albertus Magnus, Opera, 3. 1. 1, p. 178: "hoc quod dicit Aristoteles plus accedit veritati, quam aliquid quod ante vel post scripsit aliquis Philosophorum, cujus scripta ad nos devenerunt." 32. Of the range of literature available to Albertus Magnus one catches a glimpse from the quotations found in his De somno et vigilia. 33. St. Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram, 12. 1-37, in J. P. Migne, Patrologiae cursus completum, Series latina, 34: 454-86.

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Maimonides'treatmentof the subjectin the Guideand madeampleuse of it, as has been shown in a numberof studies tracinghis borrowings.34 It is remarkablethat ThomasAquinascould adopt a greatmanypoints from Maimonides'theory of prophecy, notwithstandingthe radical differencein their fundamentaloutlook which may be summedup in the antithesisbetween'natural'and 'divine'prophecythat formsthe subjectof this paper. The ultimatereason for this differencemust be sought in the dissimilarityof ontological assumptionsthat divide them. Maimonidessubscribesto the Avicenniantype of ontology35whichsees the total reality,including God, as a continuumin which the flow of emanationsfrom God through the hierarchyof Intelligencesreaches down to the Active Intelligence as the immediatefountainheadof the activity of forms in the sublunar world. This entire universe is a system of free-flowinggrace as it were,36and does not requirespecialacts of divinegracefor specialpurposes. Heregrace is aboundingat all times, and its receptionand efficacydepend solely on the receptivityor dispositionof the recipient."Envyis banished from the celestialchoir," Plato had said,37and this statementis echoed in Avicenna'sdeclaration,"Yonder there is no veiling (ihtijdb)nor avarice (bukhl),"38a formulationthat reappearssomewhatabbreviatedin Judah 34. See Jacob Guttmann, Das Verhdltnisdes Thomas von Aquino zum Judenthumund zurjudischen Litteratur (G6ttingen, 1891), pp. 73-79; Ernst Salomon Koplowitz, Die Abhdngigkeit Thomas von Aquins von R. Mose Ben Maimon (Mir, 1935), pp. 89-93; and the excellent monograph by Jose Maria Casciaro, El didlogo teologico de Santo Tomds con musulmanes y judios, el tema de la profecia y la revelacion(Madrid, 1969). On some early polemics concerning the degree of Thomas' "dependence" on Maimonides, see the valuable essay by Joseph Mausbach, "Die Stellung des hi. Thomas von Aquin zu Maimonides in der Lehre von der Prophetie," Theologische Quartalsschrift 81 (1899): 553-79. 35. He does so with some reservations, as is evident from his remarks in Guide, 1: 72 infine. A searching analysis of the Avicennian ontology is found in Herbert Davidson's study, "Alfarabi and Avicenna on the Active Intellect," Viator Medieval and Renaissance Studies 3 (1972): 109-78. 36. I borrow this term from H. A. Wolfson's translation of Maimonides' definition of prophecy (2: 36) as "a free grace flowing from God through the medium of the Active Intellect to man's rational faculty first and then to his imaginative faculty." As Wolfson explains, the term faid, which is usually translated as "emanation," actually denotes the "element of liberality and generosity in the act of emanation" and is correctly rendered by largitas in the old Latin translation (Paris, 1520). See Wolfson, "Hallevi and Maimonides on Prophecy," JQR, n.s. 33 (1943): 71 (republished in Wolfson, Studies in the History of Philosophy and Religion, 2 [1977]: 60-119; cf. p. 108). 37. Phaedrus 247A; see also Timaeus 29E; Aristotle Metaphysics 1. 2. 12 938a2: "It is impossible for the Deity to be jealous." 38. See Fazlur Rahman, ed., Avicenna's De Anima (London, 1959), p. 178; S. van Riet, ed., Avicenna Latinus, Liber De Anima seu Sextus de Naturalibus(Louvain and Leiden, 1968), p. 29: et non est illic occultatio aliqua nec avaritia.

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Halevi, Joseph ibn $addiq and Abraham ibn Da'fid.39For Maimonides the flow of emanations that results in the bestowal of forms upon matter in the physical world is identical with the flow of emanations that constitutes the exercise of Providence and the gift of prophecy.40 The interposition of mediating agencies like the Active Intelligence does not detract from the divine character of the various bestowals. At the same time, the natural endowments of matter and of the material intellect of man, if properly conditioned, render the bestowal of the divine overflow a natural process. Maimonides says distinctly (2: 32) that "it is a natural thing for everyone who according to his natural disposition is fit for prophecy ... to become a prophet." True, he makes the actualization of the prophetic potentiality dependent upon the Divine Will that may or may not miraculously prevent it, but the "Divine Will"-designated here as mashi'a, not irdda-has to be understood as the primordial Will of God that is identical with God's Wisdom.41 Hence the gift of prophecy is not due to an ad hoc dispensation but is grounded in the ultimate mystery of the Divine essence in which Will and Wisdom are intertwined. Maimonides' stipulation that links prophecy to the Divine Will is not meant to annul its natural character; it only corroborates it. For the natural happening is thereby legitimized, as it were, as divinely preordained and as of an order above mechanical and blind necessity. Maimonides' insistence upon the operation of Will in the flow of emanations comes close to the way in which some modern interpreters have understood Plotinus' notion of emanation as a blend of necessity and will.42 It would therefore seem that even if Maimonides' stipulation meant to disguise his view-as some commentators assume it does43-his stress on the Divine Will does represent his true opinion and it allows, at the same time, for a naturalistic theory of prophecy. Thomas Aquinas, on the other hand, breaks with the Avicennian ontological scheme which had dominated the neoplatonic phase of Latin 39. Judah Halevi, Kuzari, 5: 10; Joseph ibn Saddiq, Microcosm, ed. Saul Horovitz, p. 38; Abraham ibn Da'ud, 'Emunah ramah, ed. S. Weil, 74. 9-10; 36. 37-41: ki 'ein sham kilut. 40. Cf. Guide, 2: 12 (Munk 26a); 3: 18 (Munk 37b). 41. See Avraham Nuriel, "Ha-rason ha-'elohi be-moreh nevukhim," in Tarbiz 39 (1970): 39-61. 42. See Paul Henry, "Le probleme de la liberte chez Plotin," in Revue neo-scolastique, 2d ser., 8 (1931); J. M. Rist, Plotinus: The Road to Reality (Cambridge, 1967); Klaus Kremer, "Das 'Warum' der Sch6pfung: 'quia bonus' vel/et 'quia voluit'? Ein Beitrag zum Verhdltnis von Neuplatonismus und Christentum an Hand des Prinzips 'bonum est diffusivum sui'," in Kurt Flasch, ed., Parousia, Festgabe far Johannes Hirschberger(Frankfurt, 1965), pp. 241-64. 43. See Joseph Kaspi, Moses Narboni and Shemtov ben Joseph ad loc. (2: 32).

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scholasticism, although he retains some of its Augustinian features.44The most radical step in this direction was the relocation of the Aristotelian active intellect from the semi-divine and transcendent position that had been assigned to in in the Alexander of Aphrodisias tradition down to Averroes. Thomas interpreted the active intellect as a part of the human intellect.45He adhered to the concept of Intelligences correlated to the celestial bodies but cancelled the emanationist theory and thereby did away with the notion of a divine continuum in which grace is a matter of free-flowing divine activity. In the Augustinian-Avicennian tradition the boundaries of grace and nature had been blurred. All cognition had been described as a seeing in the divine light. St. Thomas sharply differentiated between nature and grace. Gratia perficit naturam, which means that the two are not a single activity any more. Whereas in the al-Farabi-Avicenna type of epistemology the highest stage of human knowledge amounts to an act of mystical union with the Active Intelligence, and prophecy is this very act, termed variously the 'angelic intellect' or 'holy intellect' or 'holy spirit' or 'divine power',46Thomas frees the cognitive act from any link with the transcendent. Hence for him prophecy cannot be a mere perfect act of the natural order of intellection. It becomes a pure 'gift of God' (donumDei or donum Spiritus sancti).47It is no longer the result of natural dispositions as in Maimonides. Nor can it ever be a habitus, since it is a transient gift, like light in the air.48At best, it may 44. See Gallus M. Manser, Das Wesen des Thomismus, 3d ed. (Freiburg, Switzerland, 1949), pp. 140-52, 166-79; Etienne Gilson, "Les sources greco-arabes de I'augustinisme avicennisant," Archives d'histoire doctrinale et litteraire du Moyen Age, 1929-30, pp. 5-107. 45. Cf. Martin Grabmann, Mittelalterliche Deutung und Umbildung der aristotelischen Lehre vom nous poietikos (Munich, 1936), pp. 47ff. 46. Angelic intellect: Avicenna, Tis' rasd'il (Cairo, 1326 A.H.), 122. 12 (al-'aql al-malaki); holy intellect: Avicenna, De anima (ed. Rahman), 248. 18 ('aql qudsi); holy spirit: Tis' rasd'il, 64. 2; holy spirit: De anima, 249. 1 (al-ruh al-qudsiyya); divine power: De anima, 250. 4 (quwwa qudsiyya). The notion of 'angelic intellect' is implied in al-Farabf's statement that one who has achieved contact with the Active Intelligence was considered an 'angel' (malak) by the ancients; see Al-siydsdt al-madiniyyab (Hyderabad, 1346 A.H.), p. 49. The Hebrew version (Sejer hahathalot, ed. Filipowski, p. 40, bottom line) reads melekh (king), and the reading malik (king) in the Arabic text is followed by Fazlur Rahman, Prophecy in Islam (London, 1958), p. 30 and Ralph Lerner and Muhsin Mahdi, eds., Medieval Political Philosophy: A Sourcebook (Chicago, 1963), p. 36. Paul Bronnle, ed., Die Staatsleitung von Alfarabi, Deutsche Bearbeitung (Leiden, 1904), p. 61 translates 'Engel', and this reading corresponds to the statement in Averroes' Epitome of Parva Naturalia. "These men, if they exist, are men only in an equivocal sense, and they are more nearly angels than men" (Arabic 90. 2-3; Hebrew 58. 12; Latin 122. 23-24). 47. QD, 12. 4, p. 245a; 12. 5, p. 246a-b; 12. 8, p. 253a; ST, 2. 2. 172. 1, 172. 2 and passim. 48. QD, 12. 1, p. 236a; ST, 171. 2.

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be a habilitas, a certain readiness or state of being attuned after previous experiences of that gift.49 At the same time, Thomas admits the naturalness of veridical dreams and of pagan prophecy. He offers two definitions of natural prophecy. The first of these is based on Aristotle's notion of the 'natural' as "that which has the principle of motion within itself," e.g., it being natural for fire to rise upward.50 Those who hold the soul to be naturally gifted to foresee the future take the term 'natural' in this sense of 'natural power'.51 Yet this theory must be rejected, he says, for various reasons, chiefly because the human mind cannot naturally arrive at a cognition to which no way leads from self-evident principles of knowledge.52The second definition of natural prophecy starts from the concept of 'natural' as a principle of dispositions or aptitudes insofar as these are the necessary preconditions for the attainment of certain perfections, e.g., the suitable disposition of the human body for the infusion of the rational soul.53Natural prophecy in this sense of the term would seem to be identical with the al-Farabi-Avicenna-Maimonides sponsored view that makes prophecy dependent on natural dispositions for the reception of the divine overflow. St. Thomas adopts this kind of theory, without its emanationist implications, as an adequate explanation of veridical dreams and natural prophecy. He rules it out of court as far as true prophecy-the one "about which we talk"-is concerned.54He believes that in the case of veridical dreams the natural aptitude or disposition enables the dreamer to receive certain 'impressions' from the celestial bodies in which the 'preparations' of future events reside. The soul, by virtue of its subtlety, is able to previsualize those events from certain 'similitudes' left in the imagination as a result of those impressions.55This theory goes back to Avicenna who attributes to the celestial bodies an influence upon the imagination of suitably disposed people, without, however, attaching too much significance to dreams produced in this manner.56St. Thomas ob49. QD, 12. 1, p. 236b; ST, 171. 2 (2). 50. QD, 12. 3, p. 241a. See Aristotle Physics 2. 1 192b-193al. 51. Thomas reports this view (which we discussed above, pp. 3-4) in the name of St. Augustine who refutes it. See De Genesi ad litteram, 12:13. 52. QD, 12. 3, p. 241a. 53. QD, 12. 3, p. 241a-b. Cf. Aristotle De generatione animalium 2. 3 736b28. Thomas Aquinas offers two different sets of definitions of the 'natural' in QD, De veritate, 24. 10, p. 454a and 25. 6, p. 479a. 54. QD, 12. 3, p. 241b: prophetia . . . de qua nunc loquitur; prophetia de qua loquimur. 55. QD, 12. 3 (ad 1 and 5), pp. 242b and 243a. 56. Avicenna, De anima (ed. Rahman), 180. 4-7; (ed. van Riet), 31. 29-33.

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II

viously assigns a far greater importance to the impact of the celestial bodies upon the human imagination. There is a great deal of evidence to show that in his view the celestial bodies are responsible for sublunar happenings that are not reducible to the elemental powers, including such occult phenomena as magnetism.57 As far as natural prophecy is concerned, St. Thomas believes it to consist in the reception of certain information from the Intelligences which, unlike Maimonides, he does not equate with the angels.58 He makes the point, however, that even information conveyed by the angels is still within the confines of natural prophecy.59 This theory of natural prophecy clearly follows the Maimonidean pattern but relegates it to a lower level. Defined in the most concise formulation offered by Thomas, natural prophecy is one "ex virtute creata."60This includes both intelligences and angels. It is obvious that divine prophecy, according to St. Thomas, can do without the dispositions which Maimonides laid down as conditional for the coming-into-being of prophecy.61If prophecy is but a gift of God, it will be unnecessary for the prophet to be endowed with a high degree of imagination and intellectual capacity, to have developed his mental powers through training, and to be possessed of moral perfection. All these preconditions were required by Maimonides under the assumption that only the most favorable preparation of'matter' rendered an individual fit for the reception of the divine emanation, i.e., for union with the Active Intelligence. More specifically, only at the stage of the acquired intellect could the divine influx assume such proportions as to set in motion the rational faculty as well as the imagination in adequate measure. On the one hand, Thomas adopts the phenomenology of the prophetic process described by Maimonides also for divine prophecy. He actually quotes Maimonides when referring to this process: "Prophecy begins in the intellect and is completed in the imagination."62For "from the fullness of the intellectual light a redundancy arises that spills over into imagination there to form an imaginativevision."63 57. See Thomas Litt, Les corps celestes dans l'universde Saint Thomasd'Aquin(Paris, 1963), pp. 113ff., 117, 122-23, 129. Litt analyzes Thomas's treatise "De occultis operationibus naturae" and shows that in his view of the celestial bodies he followed Albertus Magnus. For Avicenna's doctrine, see S. van den Bergh, Tahafut, 2: 166-67. 58. QD, 12. 3 (ad 1), p. 242b; (ad 5), p. 243a; 12. 4, p. 245; 12. 8 (3), p. 253a; ST, 172. 1 (2). 59. QD, 12. 8 (ad 3), p. 253b. 60. QD, 12. 3, p. 241b; 12. 4, p. 245a; 12. 8, p. 253a. 61. QD, 12. 4-5; ST, 172. 3-4. 62. QD, 12. 12 (6), p. 261a. 63. QD, 12. 12 (2), p. 260b.

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Yet in discussing the question "Whetherany natural disposition is reThomaspoints out that as a divine gift prophecy quired for prophecy,"64 cannot be due to any natural cause (ex virtute alicuius causae creatae). At

timesGod confersthis gift preciselyupon the seeminglymost unfitin order therebyto indicatethe operationof divinepower.65Henceprophecycannot be somethingmeritedby certainperfections.It is all a matterof unmerited grace.66

In thus divorcing the gift of prophecyfrom all natural dispositions, ThomasAquinassubscribesto the very view whichMaimonides(2: 32) had listedas the opinionof the ignorantmultitudeamongpagansandJews,i.e., the one that held prophecyto be independentof naturalcapacitiesand that consideredit purelya matterof DivineWill. At the sametime Thomasdoes not deny that dispositionalqualitiesare indeedneededto make the divine gift of prophecyoperational.He thereforeassumes that God, who is the creatorof both form and matter,suppliesnot only the lumenpropheticum but also the necessarydispositionin case it is lacking.Thus, in the absence of a sufficientlystrongpower of imaginationGod will amelioratethe complexionof the organthat is responsiblefor the imaginativefaculty.67This is an interestingcase of combining Maimonides' phenomenologyof the view of prophecy. propheticact with the exigenciesof a supernaturalistic The naturalisticpoint of viewremainsintactbut it is integratedinto a supernaturalisticframework.Divine grace createsthe naturalconditionsfor the effectivereceptionof the charisma. What is meant by this kind of divine interventionbecomesclear from Thomas' discussionof the role of angels in prophecy,anothertopos that bearssome resemblanceto Maimonides'doctrine.Beforeenteringinto this areaof discussion,let us first presentThomas'importantand fundamental distinctionbetweentwo aspectsof the propheticact whichhe calls acceptio (or receptio) and iudicium.68As Benoit Garceau has shown in his thesetwo termssignify,in this contextat least, monographon the subject,69 the imaginativevisionon the one hand and its intellectualinterpretationor meaningon the other. In a sense, acceptioand iudiciumcorrespondto the 64. QD, 12. 4, p. 245a. 65. Ibid. (ad 6), p. 245b. 66. Ibid. (ad 4). 67. Ibid. (2), p. 244b. 68. QD, 12. 7, p. 251a-b (see also 12. 3 [ad 1], p. 242b); cf. ST, 174. 2-3. 69. Benoit Garceau, Judicium, Vocabulaire, Sources, Doctrine de Saint Thomas d'Aquin (Montreal and Paris, 1968), pp. 38-39.

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terms ta$awwurand tadlfq, concept and affirmation, which form the two main divisions in the logical systems of the Arabic philosophers,70 and go back to Aristotle's distinction between the What and the That in the beginning of the Posterior Analytics (1. 1). Thomas Aquinas points out that the mere reception of an image in dream or vision does not make one a prophet. Pharaoh's dream vision did not amount to prophecy. Joseph, who received a iudicium, an intellectual understanding, of Pharaoh's dream, did thereby show himself to be a prophet. A fortiori, one who has both the receptio of a species or similitude and the intellectual iudiciumconcerning it is a prophet. He is the most superior prophet whose very receptio consists of an intellectual vision (unalloyed by imaginative components) as well as a divinely imparted iudicium.7' It is not difficult to recognize in this tripartite division the contours of Maimonides' three levels of prophecy, the lowest being purely imaginative (as in veridical dreams); the intermediate combining imaginative and intellectual cognition; and the highest involving the intellect alone (as in Moses' prophecy).72 70. See H. A. Wolfson, "The Terms Ta$awwurand Tasdiqin Arabic Philosophy and Their Greek, Latin and Hebrew Equivalents," Moslem World33 (1943): 1-15 (republished in Studies, 1: 478-92; cf. 2: 564-65). 71. QD, 12. 7 and 12. 12; ST, 174. 2-3. 72. Thomas's view derives, in the first place, from Augustine's. See De genesi, 12. 9 (Prophetiam ad mentem pertinere). As for the lowest level of prophecy, there is an echo of Maimonides' description of veridical dreams (2: 36) as novelet nevu'ah, a term quoted from Genesis Rabba, 17: 5, 44: 17. Thomas (ST, 173. 2) refers undoubtedly to this term when he says that mere imaginative apparitions are "called by some casus prophetiae" (this being the correct reading in place of extasis prophetiae, which makes no sense). The reference becomes perfectly clear from a passage in Albertus Magnus, De somno et vigilia, 3. 1. 3, p. 181: "propter quod tradiderunt Philosophi, quod somnium aliquod futurum praenuntians est casus a prophetia factus. Casus enim vocatur immaturus fructus decidens, qui tamen figuram et saporem fructus etiam aliquo modo praetendit." Manuel Joel, Verhdltnis Albert des Grossen zu Moses Maimonides (Breslau, 1863; 2d ed. 1876, here quoted), p. 25, first drew attention to the use in this passage (in the name of the 'philosophers') of Maimonides' quotation and interpretation of the midrashic phrase, casus being obviously the rendition of novelet (i.e., the fruit 'falling' prematurely off the tree) in the Latin version by Augustinus Iustinianus which was based on Judah al-Harizi's Hebrew translation (see W. Kluxen, "Literargeschichtliches zum lateinischen Moses Maimonides,"in Recherchesde theologie ancienne et medievale21 (1954): 23-50). Joel did not verify his assumption but the Paris 1520 edition of the old Latin version (reprint ed., Frankfurt, 1964), fol. 63b does indeed contain this term: Dixit etiam in eadem ratione quod casus prophetiae somnium est. Johannes Buxtorfjun. (Doctor Perplexorum, [Basle, 1629], p. 293) renders the midrashic statement: "Deciduum Prophetiae est Somnium." Cf. Jacob Guttmann, Die Scholastik des dreizehnten Jahrhunderts (Breslau, 1902), pp. 113-14. The dependence of the Thomas Aquinas passage on Maimonides was definitively established by Joseph Mausbach (see n. 34), p. 563, n. 1 by suggesting the reading 'casus' (following the note in the Bar-le-Duc edition). Jose M. Casciaro (see n. 34), pp. 165-66 adopts Mausbach's reading.

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Thomas Aquinas describes the acceptio supernaturalis,i.e., the divinely caused reception of some vision, as novaformatio specierum, i.e., as a new formation of images or similitudes, it being new either as signifying something not previously contained in the imagination, or as a novel combination of previously held images.73The formation of images he attributes to the activity of the angels in the sense that it is the angels' job to move the imagination. This assumption, he explains, follows from St. Augustine's and Dionysius' doctrine that all created corporeal nature is administered by created spiritual natures.74In light of this statement we may assume that the furnishing by God of the requisite quality of the imagination whenever necessary is to be understood as part of the angelic function. As for the iudicium supernaturale, he characterizes it as an 'infused light' (lumen infusum) or as an 'illumination of the mind' (mentis illustratio), a terminology somewhat reminiscent of the Maimonidean definition of prophecy as an 'overflow' (faid) from God through the Active Intelligence upon intellect and imagination. Thomas Aquinas must, however, not be understood as reverting to an emanationist position. He certainly does not consider the infused light to flow from God by way of the Active Intelligence; yet there remain certain ambiguities. On the one hand, he describes the lumen infusum in terms of its function, which is the 'strengthening' or 'preparation' of the human mind for the reception of the lumen propheticum.75On the other hand, he defines it as a process by which the lumen divinum,something utterly simple and universal, is communicated to the human mind. The lumen infusum is the filtering as it were of the incomprehensible divine light by way of the angelic intellect. By passing through the angelic intellect the divine light is somehow 'contracted' and 'specified' and thereby accommodated to the prophetic intellect.76 One is reminded of the kabbalistic doctrine of 'contraction' (simsum) which serves a somewhat similar purpose. It follows that in the doctrine of St. Thomas the supernatural act of prophetic illumination is not as direct and immediate as one might have assumed from its definition as donum Dei. It turns out to be an act mediated by angelic activity, not entirely unlike the view held by Maimonides. The revelation of prophecy, St. Thomas says, "descends from God to an angel, and from the angel to man."77 Maimonides, too, describes all prophecy, 73. 74. 75. 76. 77.

QD, QD, QD, QD, QD,

12. 8, p. 253a. 12. 8, p. 253a-b. 12. 8, p. 253a. 12. 8, p. 253a-b. 12. 13, p. 265b.

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with the exception of Moses', as mediated by angels but this parallel holds good only insofar as the role of the Intelligences as transmitters of the emanation is concerned. In all other respects the analogy breaks down. In Maimonides' doctrine the angels that are said to mediate prophecy are, as a rule, the imaginative faculty of each prophet, the term 'cherub' being used to denote the intellect.78 Thomas Aquinas does not accept Maimonides' designation of natural faculties or propensities as 'angels'.79Nor does he agree that the angels seen in prophetic dreams and visions are mere projections of the imagination. According to Maimonides, the 'created forms' which the prophet visualizes are but forms 'created' by the imagination,80 and they include the forms of angels and men. In St. Thomas' view, the role of angels in prophecy is of a metaphysical, not merely psychological, order. Their role is confined, however, to a subsidiary function, while the initiative and the content of the prophetic gift remain the preserve of God. Were angels to communicate to men any knowledge they possess on their own, without divine revelation as its source, the prophecy thus constituted would come under the rubric of natural, not divine, prophecy.81 Maimonides emphatically differentiates between Moses' prophecy and that of all other prophets. He goes so far as to say that the term 'prophet' as used with reference to Moses and to the others is 'amphibolous' (bitashklk).82We take the term 'amphibolous' to be used here in the sense of 'analogical'.83 This implies a relationship between exemplar and copy, and allows for both distance and proximity between Moses and the rest of the prophets. Moses is the "master of the prophets" and, at the same time, he shares with them the general characteristics of all prophecy, i.e., the naturalness of the prophetic act within the metaphysical continuum of a universe in which divine grace abounds and is freely available to all according 78. See Guide, 2: 45 in fine; 2: 6 (Munk 17b-18a). The 'separate intellects' that are said to appear to the prophets (ibid., Munk 16b) are figurized in corporeal form by the imagination (1: 49, 2: 41-42), which is the mediating agency par excellence in all prophecies, except Moses'. 79. See Jacob Guttmann, Das Verhaltnis ..., pp. 73-75. 80. Guide, 1: 46 (Munk 52b). Zvi Diesendruck, "Maimonides' Lehre von der Prophetie," in Jewish Studies in Memory of Israel Abrahams(New York, 1927), pp. 124ff., interpreted this passage in the sense of prophecy being a divine creation. This view cannot be upheld. 81. See n. 59. 82. Guide, 2: 35. On the various shades of meaning of this term see H. A. Wolfson, "The Amphibolous Terms in Aristotle, Arabic Philosophy and Maimonides," Harvard Theological Review 31 (1938): 151-73; idem, "Maimonides and Gersonides on Divine Attributes as Ambiguous Terms," Mordecai M. Kaplan Jubilee Volume (New York, 1953), pp. 515-30 (republished in Studies, 1: 455-77, 2: 231-46). 83. For this meaning of the term see Wolfson's two essays referredto in the preceding note.

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to degrees of receptivity. It has been suggested that, according to Maimonides, Moses' prophecy involved a direct bestowal of the prophetic gift by God, without mediation by secondary causes such as the Active Intelligence.84 This view cannot be upheld. Even Moses, it would seem, received his prophecy through the Active Intelligence. That this is Maimonides' view can be substantiated from a close reading of the way in which he interprets the biblical passages describing the uniqueness of Moses' prophecy. God spoke to him "mouth to mouth" (Numbers 12:8) is paraphrased: "The mighty divine overflow reached him" (2: 24), i.e., he received an abundant measure of the divine emanation that passes through the Active Intelligence. "Whom the Lord knew face to face" (Deuteronomy 34:10): "His apprehension was different from that of all who came after him" (2: 35). "And the Lord spoke unto Moses face to face" (Exodus 33:11) is said to mean: "as a presence to another presence, without an intermediary"; for "the hearing of a speech without the intermediacy of an angel is described as 'face to face"' (1: 37). In plain words: "The imaginative faculty did not enter into his prophecy, since the intellect overflowed toward him without the former's intermediation; for ... he did not, like the other prophets, prophesy by means of parables" (2: 37). It is the purely intellectual nature of Moses' prophecy that alone is held to justify the striking figures of speech used to characterize his supreme rank. St. Thomas clearly reflects Maimonides' view when he describes Moses' purely intellectual vision as an infusion of the divine light without angelic help.85 He makes the point, however, that even at this level of prophecy imagination is used, if only for the benefit of the multitude, while the prophet himself has no need for the figurization of the truth apprehended by him.86 Al-Farabi had expressed the same view when he said that the figurative language used by the Lawgiver-Prophet is invented "not in order to understand [for] himself the higher realities ... but as symbols and images for others."87 Maimonides could not have held otherwise since he was acutely aware of the need to interpret the figurative language of the Torah. His reference to Moses' faculty of imagination (2: 36) makes sense from this point of view.88The essential difference between Maimonides and 84. 85. 86. 87. p. 44. 88.

H. A. Wolfson, "Hallevi and Maimonides on Prophecy" (see n. 36), p. 71. QD, 12. 14, p. 266b. QD, 12. 12 (ad 2), pp. 262b-263a. See Rahman, Prophecy in Islam, pp. 76-77 (n. 37), quoting al-Farabi, Tahpilal-sa'dda, Guide, 2: 36 (Munk 80a). For a different interpretation see Kaspi, ad loc.

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Thomas is here, as elsewhere, the difference between natural and divine prophecy. In Maimonides' view even Moses' prophecy was the natural result of a specific disposition which, though unique, was still natural. The highest possible degree of perfection that is natural to the human species, he says, must necessarily be realized in at least one particular individual (2: 32). Moses was that individual. Hence, Moses is no exception to the general rule that prophecy is a natural phenomenon within a divinely controlled universe. Maimonides' portrayal of Moses' spirituality in Guide 3: 51 makes it evident that he considered the attainment of his exceptional rank to have been the natural result of his dispositions and mode of life. We might say that his union with the Active Intelligence was held to have been consequent upon his decorporealization as it were, a stage reminiscent of ibn Bajja's ultimate stage that arises from an existential break with matter.89We may also call it the achievement of merited grace. St. Thomas, on the other hand, sees Moses' prophecy as the ultimate degree of divine prophecy in the sense of unmerited grace.90 One final point. Avicenna had suggested that Providence which took such care of the comforts of the human race as to provide men with eyelashes and concave soles could not have left him without making provision for politically gifted men that would take care of law and order, thereby securing the survival of the species. For, as Aristotle had said,9' man was 'political by nature', i.e., in dire need of political organization.92 In taking up this theme Maimonides pointed out that the striking social divisiveness due to differences in character between men required the authority of rulers and lawgivers in order to neutralize the 'natural diversity' by the imposition of 'conventional accord'. In this way, "the law, although it is not nature, enters into what is natural" (2: 40). In other words, convention is designed 89. See Alexander Altmann, "Ibn Bajja on Man's Ultimate Felicity," Harry Austryn Wolfson Jubilee Volume (Jerusalem, 1965), 1: 74 and passim (republished in Alexander Altmann, Studies in Religious Philosophy and Mysticism [Ithaca, N.Y. and London, 1969], p. 96 and passim). 90. QD, 12. 14; ST, 174. 4. 91. Politics 1. 1. 9 1253a2; 3. 4. 2 1278b19; Ethica Nichomachea 1. 7. 6 1097b11; 9. 9. 3 1169b18. It can be shown that the manner in which the Arabic philosophers and Maimonides elaborate the statement presupposes some knowledge of its use in the Politics, not merely in the Ethics. This corroborates S. Pines's suggestion that some recension, paraphrase or summary of Aristotle's Politics was known to the Arabs. See his article "Aristotle's Politics in Arabic Philosophy," Israel Oriental Studies 5 (1975): 157. 92. Avicenna, Al-Shifd', Al-Ildhiyydt (2), ed. Ibrahim Madkour (Cairo, 1960), 10: 2, pp. 441-42.

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to help natureagainstnature.It is tacitlyassumedthat only the prophet,not the philosopher,is capableof effectivelyimposinga unifyinglaw upon a nation or groupof people. The prophetis thus seen as a necessityof nature,a view that inevitablyimpliesthat prophecyis a naturalphenomenon.Thisis, at any rate,St. Thomas'readingof the Avicennianthesisaccordingto which prophetsare indispensablefor the preservationof humanity.Thomas lists this viewpointas one of the nineteenargumentsadducedby him in favorof He quotesas a scripturalprooftext the naturalisticapproachto prophecy.93 Proverbs29:18:"Wherethereis no vision,the peoplecast off restraint,"interpreting'vision' as the exerciseof the propheticoffice. He may have hit upon this particularverseby his own intuition,and it is interestingto note that Gersonides,in his Commentaryon Proverbs,explains it in the very same way. ThomasrejectsAvicenna'sargument.The sociopoliticalorder, he says, will be taken care of with or without prophets. Nature will be responsiblefor the satisfactionof man'sneed.The prophetis not a necessity of nature.He is requiredto give directiontowardlife eternal,not to secure justicein the politicalorder.The supernaturalgoal is attainablethroughthe Thomashas nothing 'justiceof faith' of whichprophecyis the principle.94 of prophecy, at on the function furtherto say, in this context least, political a themeof tremendoussignificanceto Maimonideswho sees in the Lawof the Torah the perfectconstitutionof the ideal city.95 St. Thomas'silence on the political functionof prophecy-to be more precise:his denial of such a function-set him apart from the entireschool of thought, Islamicand Jewish,that rangeditself with the Platonicsearch for the 'ideal city' on earth. In developingthat tradition,the faldsifa and theirJewishpartisans,includingMaimonides,had good reasonfor stressing the role of imaginationin prophecy. It was the political function of the prophet that necessitatedthe veiling of metaphysicalnotions by figurization. By radicallyignoringthe politicalaspect,St. Thomasdeprivedhimself of the means of suggestinga cogent rationalefor the significanceof the imaginativeelementin prophecy.On the one hand, he fully subscribedto the interpretationof the propheticact as one involvingthe imagination.On the other, he had little to offer in explanationof this theory beyond the Yet the generalobservationthat truthwas hardof accessto the multitude.96 93. 94. 95. 96.

QD, 12. 3 (11), p. 240a; ST, 172. 1 (4). Ibid. (ad 11), p. 243a-b (ad 4). Guide, 2: 39-40, 3: 29-34. QD, 12. 12 passim.

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problem could not easily be ignored. Albertus Magnus had quoted the Greek poet Simonides who suggested that it was the envy of the gods that caused their revelations to be veiled in figurative language.97A decisive step toward a more appreciative evaluation was taken when the mimetic function of imagination in the service of the intellect was discovered, probably in Middle Platonism.98 In the Arabic version of Aristotle's On Divination in Sleep9 this new insight already plays some part, if only a minor one. Finally, al-Farabi put it into the service of the political interpretation of prophecy, and Maimonides took it from there. Yet how sensitive an area this was may be gauged from the fact not hitherto observed, that when listing the required dispositions of prophecy in his popular writings, Maimonides mentioned only intellectual and moral perfection but omitted imagination. He obviously considered it imprudent to disclose this particular requirement to the very audience that was to benefit from the veiling of the truth. To what extent Maimonides adopted the political view of prophecy and in what manner he modified it to suit his own purposes is another matter. There is, however, enough evidence to show that the adoption of this viewpoint reinforced his naturalistic concept of prophecy, while the rejection of it in St. Thomas was part and parcel of his supernaturalistic doctrine.

97. Albertus Magnus, De somno et vigilia, 3. 1. 2., p. 179: ut dicit Simonides, "Deus invidet hanc scientiam homini, et ideo velat eam sub metaphora et deceptione." On Simonides see Pease, De divinatione, 1: 194. 98. See Richard Walzer, "Al-Farabi's Theory of Prophecy and Divination," in Journal of Hellenic Studies 1 (1957): 144ff. (republished in Walzer, Greek into Arabic [Cambridge, Mass., 1962], pp. 211ff.). 99. See above, p. 4.

The American Connection of Canadian Jews: 1759-1914 Author(s): Michael Brown Source: AJS Review, Vol. 3 (1978), pp. 21-77 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486420 . Accessed: 26/06/2011 20:19 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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THE AMERICAN CONNECTION OF CANADIAN JEWS: 1759-1914 by MICHAEL BROWN York University

I Its French and English antecedents notwithstanding, Canada is an American country. From 1759 to 1776 Canada was merely the fourteenth American colony of Great Britain. Had the fortunes of war been different, Canada might well have become part of the United States, or part or all of the United States might have remained British, joined with the northernmost colony. The Treaty of Paris made formal in 1783 the division between Canada and the other thirteen colonies, now independent. The treaty did not, however, put an end to the intimate cultural, economic and personal relationships, which had already developed among all North Americans of British origin. In fact, as time went on, those ties became closer, despite the border and despite the sometimes divergent political interests of the two countries. For Jews, that Canada was an American country was of considerable importance. By European standards, England was remarkably tolerant and open. With its vast economic potential, empty spaces, and society-in-the-making, however, America represented the real land of 21

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opportunity-economic and social-for all eighteenth and nineteenthcentury Europeans, and especially for Jews. Jews everywhere thought of America in these terms. Particularly in nineteenth-century eastern and central Europe, Jews beginning to despair of the liberalization of the societies in which they lived, turned to America. There they hoped that the lack of a tradition of antisemitism and the absence of a "Jewish question," together with all the other favorable conditions, might offer them opportunity for a decent existence on an equal footing with Christians. Charles Freshman, the future Quebec rabbi and Ontario Lutheran minister, was typical. While still in Europe and still a Jew, he "had heard wonderful stories of the civil and religious liberty" of America and thereupon "resolved to make that ... [his] future residence."' Jews put America to the test, by coming in unprecedented numbers. They were well received. In the freewheeling atmosphere of the American colonies, and then in the young United States, Jews were quick to achieve a degree of public success then unknown anywhere in Europe. From 1657 on, New York (then New Amsterdam) Jews enjoyed most of the privileges and duties of citizenship. By 1850 American Jews were being elected to public office, appointed to positions in the foreign service, and even promoted to important posts in the armed services. By the end of the nineteenth century, Jews in the United States had achieved a degree of integration unparalleled in Jewish experience, except perhaps in contemporary England. The growing integration of the Jews into America was reflected not only in the personal achievement of individuals, but in the advancement of the Jewish community institutionally and culturally, and in the increasing identity of Jewish and American interests in the international arena. Early American Jews were not known in Europe for their piety or their intellectual activities. To many, America was the treyfe medine, the land where freedom often meant the license not to practice Judaism at all. As time went on, however, the United States outdistanced many older, European centers culturally and even religiously. World War I would catapult the American Jewish community to a position of paramount power, leadership and NOTE: All quotations are given here in English translation, for which the author is responsible. The titles of articles in the Yiddish Keneder odler (Montreal) and the Hebrew Ha-meli' and Ha-Sefirahare given in English as well. Hebrew dates are given with the secular year in the manner of the Hebrew and Yiddish press of the day. The author wishes to express his thanks to Professor Selig Adler of the State University of New York at Buffalo and to Professor Arthur Bowler of that institution for many valuable suggestions regarding this study. 1. Charles Freshman, The Autobiography of the Reverend Charles Freshman (Toronto, 1868), p. 50.

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responsibility among world Jewry. The community was by then prepared. One of the factors facilitating the maturation of American Jewry and its willingness to lead was the growing identity of Jewish and American interests in the international arena. Americans saw themselves as the standard bearers of democracy and freedom, the champions of the underdog. As such the government sought on a number of occasions to defend Jews. During the Damascus blood libel of 1840, the Mortara kidnapping case in Italy in 1858, and later during the Dreyfus Affair in France and the persecutions of Jews in Rumania and Russia, the American public and often the American government spoke out for Jews and at times actually came to their aid. One of the most dramatic events was the renunciation of the Russian-American trade treaty in 1911, as a result of Russian refusal to ameliorate the conditions of Jews living within their empire.2 To be sure, antisemitism was not unknown in America during these years. Already during the Civil War, considerable anti-Jewish animus had been in evidence. In the latter years of the nineteenth century, certain WASP groups, which had held the reins of power in the past, realized they were being elbowed aside by the vigorous newcomers. This decaying gentility often exhibited a most unpleasant antisemitism. Henry Adams, the writer, is a foremost example.3 The arrival of large numbers of Russian Jews brought underlying tensions between Jews and Christians to the surface. Prejudice against the easterners was fed by the cult of Anglo-Saxon superiority. As the years went by, it became increasingly clear that American xenophobia extended to Jews, as well as to Negroes, Orientals, Slavs and others.4 But America's dedication to freedom and equality was more in evidence during these years than nativism. Certainly Jews, bearing the wounds of Russian and Rumanian barbarity, were likely to appreciate America's broad tolerance, even with its admitted shortcomings. For them the United States was "naturally ... the ultimate hope."5 As the American Jewish community gained strength, and as more and more Americans came to accept Judaism as one of the major religions of the country, America appeared to be the new "promised land." 2. See Cyrus Adler and Aaron Margalith, With Firmness in the Right (New York, 1946), pp. 3-4, 20, 23, 261-70 and Bertram Wallace Korn, The American Reaction to the Mortara Case: 1858-1859 (Cincinnati, 1957), passim. 3. Compare, for example, his The Education of Henry Adams (n.p., 1907). 4. Claris Edwin Silcox and Galen M. Fisher, Catholics, Jews and Protestants (New York and London, 1934), pp. 16-17. See also, "Where from and Where to?" Ha-melis, Sivan 5, 1882; "We Have Reached Great Heights in America," Keneder odler, February 24, 1903. 5. Israelite Press, Winnipeg-The 100th AnniversarySouvenir (Winnipeg, 1932), p. 16.

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English Jews, no less than those of the continent, were most enthusiastic about America. The poor saw in the United States a land of economic opportunity vastly more promising than England or her colonies. The betteroff were attracted by social integration even easier in the United States than in England's stratified society.6 In England toleration often meant a willingness for Christians to accept Jews into the fold of Christianity. In America it was not unthinkable for Christians to become Jews. In 1846 the London Jewish Chronicle reported with astonishment, that at New York it frequentlyhappensthat gentlemendesirousof enteringinto the holy state of matrimonyfall in love with ladiesof the Jewishfaith, from whom, however, they receive no encouragement,except on condition of becomingcircumcisedand embracingthe law of Moses. Morethantwelveindividuals,inspiredby the one lovely rewardheldout to them,have latelysubmittedto those rigorousconditions.The rite is performedby a Portuguese,a most skillful operator.7 Although England grew ever more open and tolerant as the century progressed, interest in America did not wane. Even Jews who rose high in English society, like Sir Moses Montefiore, appreciated "the broad toleration in religious matters which exists in the United States of America.'T The actions of the American government, the sentiments of the American public, and the development of the American Jewish community in the nineteenth century, then, gave Jews reason to feel extremely close to the United States and to gravitate to it. American openness to Jews and concern with their welfare were reinforced by ideas and beliefs, which led Americans to feel close to Jews and to their culture. Many Christian Europeans, although by no means all, shared the Jewish enthusiasm for America. II Canadians lived close to the United States. Especially before Confederation in 1867, but afterwards as well, they lacked unity and a clear sense of national identity. Partly as a consequence of their own insecurity, they tended to be rather more ambivalent about the exuberant United States 6. Compare W. S. Shepperson, British Emigration to North America (Minneapolis, 1957), pp. 6-7. 7. July 10, 1846. 8. Sir Moses Montefiore, personal letter to Rabbi Abraham De Sola, Montreal, February, 1872, in McGill University Archives, De Sola Papers (hereafter referred to as ADSP).

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than Europeans. They feared with reason that "manifest destiny" might turn northward, and they grew increasingly protective of their autonomy. Canadians were heirs to a more conservative, nonrevolutionary tradition. Many Anglo-Canadians viewed American liberty as licentiousness, seeing events such as the Civil War as signs that the great experiment in democracy could never succeed. French Canadians, progressively more backward-looking, were coming to perceive Americans as the "sansculottes of the New World," much like the citizens of their bete noire, revolutionary France.9 Later in the nineteenth century, many French and Anglo-Canadians grew resentful of the growing Americanization of their country and felt ever more strongly the need to assert their own uniqueness. Canadians felt that their historical and political experiences made them different, despite the similarities between American and Canadian economics, social structure, and cultural ambience. Where uniqueness was not readily apparent, some Canadians searched for it and even invented it.'° Like other Canadians, Jews resented Americans, "who know little about this Dominion, yet imagine they know it all. ... "" As Anglo-Canadian nationalism, usually expressed as pro-British feeling, gathered strength during the latter years of the nineteenth century, antiAmerican feeling rose with it. Canadians were agitated by the American position on a number of issues of mutual concern, especially the dispute over the Canada-Alaska boundary which raged from 1898 to 1903. Canadians still feared American expansionism, and still with reason. Even the New York-oriented Keneder odler of Montreal expressed annoyance on occasion that the United States got "all the advantages" in trade with Canada.12

In such an atmosphere Canadian Jews at times became wary even of 9. S. F. Wise and Robert Craig Brown, Canada Views the United States (Toronto, 1967), pp. 8-9, 20, 26, 39, 48, 80, 83, 98. Compare also Robert T. Mullen, "Plutocracy and the Social Crisis," The Week, October 5, 1894. 10. See, for example, V.-E. Beaupr6, address, in Le Congres de la Jeunesse a Quebec, Rapport Officiel, 1910, pp. 6-25; Allen Smith, "Introduction," to Samuel E. Moffett, The Americanization of Canada (Toronto and Buffalo, 1957), p. xxiv; Wise and Brown, pp. 95-96. 11. "The Article 'Canada' in the Jewish Encyclopedia," Canadian Jewish Times, January 16, 1903. 12. See Norman Penlington, Canada and Imperialism (Toronto and Buffalo, 1965), pp. 34-45, 57; Robert Craig Brown, Canada's National Policy, 1883-1900 (Princeton, 1964), pp. 278-80; "Canadian-American Trade," Keneder odler, August 12, 1909. See also "The Relationship Between Canada and the United States," Keneder odler, May 20, 1910.

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their American Jewish brethren.13Certainly they feared American-Jewish radicalism and tended to blame the presence in Canada of socialism and radicalism on "professional agitators from the United States."14 Harris Vineberg, one of the leaders of the Montreal Jewish community and himself of Russian origin, felt that it was the eastern European immigrants from New York ... who bringto Montrealthe characteristicswhichare so objectionablein the greatercity. . . . The Jewishworkingmenof Canada... [are] respectable,reliablepeople.It shouldbe ourgreatobjectto see thattheyretain that characterand frowndown everyattemptto introduceNew YorkGhetto peculiaritiesinto Montreal.l5 Ultimately, however, such feelings, while ever present during the period under review, were submerged by the undeniable facts of the increasing integration of North American society and certainly of North American Jewish society. Even Canadians suspicious of the United States looked to that country as a model of dynamism, particularly before the Canadian economic and political resurgence that began in 1896. Canadian free-trade sentiment often masked a desire for a union of the two countries. It was felt by many, although seldom openly stated, that "unrestricted reciprocity," which the Liberal Party advocated prior to 1896, would lead to annexation. Not a few Canadians thought republican government more liberal and more free than their own system, and that in becoming "assimilated to the United States, Canada was fulfilling itself as a liberal and progressive society."'6 In any case, most Canadian Jews, like most Jews elsewhere and along with many gentile Canadians, agreed with "the sympathetic European view that the United States, this great experiment in popular republican government, was destined to be the education of the world."'7 In the 1830s and 1840s, they shared the annexationist sentiments of most Montreal merchants, who saw in union with the United States greater economic opportunity and a counterweight to the growing reactionary sentiment of 13. See, for example, Abraham De Sola, personal letter to Alexander Miller, Toronto, 1873, in ADSP. 14. "Socialism Among Jews in Montreal," Canadian Jewish Times, May 4, 1906. See also "The Strong Word," Keneder odler, October 23, 1910. 15. "Mr. Harris Vineberg on the New York Ghetto," Canadian Jewish Times, March 28, 1902. 16. Smith, p. xi. See also, Elizabeth Wallace, Goldwin Smith, Victorian Liberal (Toronto, 1957), pp. 20-39; Carl Berger, The Sense of Power (Toronto and Buffalo, 1970), p. 76. 17. Wise and Brown, p. 17.

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French Canadians. At most times they saw in America, as Rabbi Abraham De Sola of Montreal put it, "a land ... greatly favored .., of wisdom, justice, and liberty."'8 Jews, after all, had everywhere-including England, in medieval timessuffered from the tyranny of kings and felt, therefore, that there was little to fear from Republicanism. Adolphus Mordecai Hart, the historian grandson of Aaron Hart, the first Jew to settle in Canada after the British conquest in 1759, was typical in excusing the United States her well-advertised excesses. Hart did not deny that the United States had been "baptized in blood." Nonetheless he saw that country as representing to all mankind "the triumph of human right."19 Gentile Anglo-Canadians readily recognized that for Jews and other oppressed minorities, no country, including England and Canada, held as much promise as the United States. The Jewish Baron Ephraim, in Montrealer Mary Ellen Ross's 1878 proto-Zionist novel, The Legend of the Holy Stone, remarked that a man of talent has twice the opportunityof distinguishinghimself [in the UnitedStates] .... that he has ... [in Europe],surroundedas he is by people who areenviousof his popularity,and readyto detractfromhis meritin every availableway.20 To be seen in contrast to European antisemitism, according to the Montreal Star, were the rapid stridesthe Hebrewsare making [in the United States]and the influence they possess in whatevercity they make their home.21 III The overwhelming power of attraction that the United States had for all nineteenth-century Europeans, blurred their vision of Canada. Up to World War I and even beyond, emigrants "often failed to differentiate between the 18. As quoted in "Congress," Montreal Gazette, January 12, 1872. See also Wise and Brown, pp. 29-32, 46-47, 55-58, 70, 127; John Bartlet Brebner, North Atlantic Triangle (Toronto, 1970), p. 185. 19. Adolphus Mordecai Hart [Hampden], The Impending Crisis (New York, 1855), p. 4. 20. Mary Ellen Ross, The Legend of the Holy Stone (Montreal, 1878), p. 245. 21. "The Hebrews of New York," Montreal Star, October 15, 1887.

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United States and Canada," assuming that Canada was part of the United States. Frequently chance alone brought immigrants to Canada.22 Canada's indistinct image in the mind of European Jews was reflected in language. The term "America" was used in the nineteenth century to designate the United States, North America, and even South America. Newspaper accounts of Canada were frequently datelined, "Montreal, North America," or "Toronto, America." Since it was also common to write "Boston, North America," or "Pittsburgh, America," confusion was inevitable. Another linguistic complication was the Hebrew-Yiddish word, "medinah." That word was-and is-used to translate the English "country" (medinat Canada or medinot ha-berit for the United States), and also to designate the English "state" or "province" (medinat New York, medinat Quebec). The same word was also used at times for "hemisphere" (medinat America), and even, in its older, medieval usage, for "city" (medinat Vineland).Jews in eastern Europe, like other foreigners, might well have found North American political divisions bewildering. The task of sorting them out became almost impossible, however, when they were translated unclearly.23 Even when Canada was mentioned by name in the European press, accounts were often misleading, reflecting prevailing ignorance. If Jewish newspapers reported Canadian events at all, it was generally in the column reserved for "American" news. As late as 1906, even the London Jewish Chroniclecould report the election of Louis Rubin as president of the town council of Ashley, North Dakota, under the dateline, "Canada."24 Actually most nineteenth-century Anglo-Canadians were quite willing to foster abroad the notion that Canada was part of "America." Canadians wished to populate their country, and they knew that most Europeans favored the United States. Canadian conservatism had less appeal to Europeans seeking a freer atmosphere than they had known in Europe. Often what little Europeans knew about Canada was that the country suffered

22. See A. V. Spada, The Italians in Canada (Ottawa and Montreal, 1969), p. 91; Mark Wischnitzer, To Dwell in Safety (Philadelphia, 1948), p. 99. See also, Mordecai Richler, The Street (London, 1971), pp. 19-20. 23. See Wischnitzer, Safety, p. 149; B. G. Kayfetz, "Immigrant Reaction as Reflected in Jewish Literature," Bronfman Collection of Jewish Canadiana, Jewish Public Library, Montreal, Kayfetz File; Moshe Cryshtall, letter, Ha-Sefirah, Elul 1, 1887; Joseph Elijah Bernstein, letter, Ha-meliS, Iyyar 7, 1884; "Abroad," Ha-meliS, Ileshvan 8, 1883. 24. "Colonial and Foreign News," June 8, 1906. See also "Letters from Our Correspondents," Ha-Sefirah, Av 11, 1888; S. Talpis, "Abroad," Ha-meliS, Kislev 28, 1899.

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from an inhospitable climate and frequent economic depressions. Jews had heard of a Jewish community too small and primitive to be successful.25So greatly did Europeans favor the United States over Canada, that before 1860, seventy-two percent of all British emigrants went directly there, and still more went southward after only a brief stay in Canada. Emigrants from other European countries came to Canada in still smaller numbers.26 Among Jews only a tiny minority thought of Canada before 1900. In 1890, in answer to pleas from American Jewish leaders, the Alliance Israelite Universelle suggested to their counterparts in eastern Europe that emigrants be directed away from New York and toward Canada and South America. The east Europeans replied, that "Moses and Samuel . . . rise[n] from their graves" together would not succeed in redirecting emigration.27 America's virtues were too well known, as, apparently, were the drawbacks of Canada. Canadian and foreign shipping agents and transportation companies were aware of the eagerness of emigrants to reach the United States. It was, in any case, hard to sell tickets to the relatively unknown Canadian ports. Good business dictated that people not be reminded that these ports were not in the United States. Advertisers in late nineteenth-century Jewish journals and guidebooks to North America listed Quebec and Montreal as but two of the many "American" ports to which passage might be booked. In London, Herman Landau, who was connected with Canadian railroads, urged Montreal upon prospective emigrants. It was, he observed, a mere 200 miles from New York City. (The distance is, in fact, more than twice that!) In its early years the Grand Trunk Railway, in its European advertising, presented itself simply as a desirable route to the American interior, never mentioning Canada. Although the road had been designed to tap the trade of the American West, it might have been expected that it would at least have mentioned in its publicity the Canadian cities through which it passed. Thus untutored immigrants might well land in Montreal assuming that they were in the United States.28 After the turn of the century, the Dominion became better and more 25. See, for example, "Toronto-The Congregation," London Jewish Chronicle, September 26, 1862. 26. Norman Macdonald, Canada, Immigration and Colonization, 1841-1903 (Toronto, 1966), p. 77. 27. Letters quoted in Zosa Szajkowski, "The European Attitudes to East European Jewish Immigration (1881-93)," Publications of the American Jewish Historical Society (hereafter referred to as PAJHS) 41 (1951): 154-55. 28. See, for example, Aharon Yehudah Leib Horowitz, Rumania ve-America(Berlin, 1874), 2: 55, 63, and advertisements of Hamburg-America Line, Ha-melis, 1892; "Mr. Herman Lan-

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favorably known among Jews and other Europeans. Newspaper reports began to differentiate clearly Canada from the United States.29A few books appeared which spoke of both countries with some knowledge. One of the most notable, Max Raisin's Toledot ha-Yehudim be-America (Warsaw, 1902), included a brief but accurate section on Canada, which introduced the country to many prospective immigrants. Partly out of necessity, too, Jews began to take a second look at Canada. As the movement to restrict immigration in the United States and England gained force around the turn of the century, Ha-eefirah noted that more and more eastern Europeans were becoming "interested in Canada as a land for Jewish immigration." Now, according to that paper, Canada was "an unsettled country, with plenty of room for immigrants."30The growing restriction sentiment caused Baron de Hirsch, the philanthropist funding much Jewish resettlement, himself to become concerned about causing antisemitism in the United States by overpopulating it with Jews. "After careful examination, [he] ... became convinced that the Argentine Republic, Canada and Australia above all" other places, offered the "surest guarantee" for a secure Jewish future.3' Some Jews headed for Canada thinking it was a part of the United States; others, however, came because it was the next best place to go.

IV To a great extent, of course, Canada was a part of America. Canada had a three thousand mile border with the United States and was relatively unpopulated. People moved back and forth between the countries with ease, maintaining close business and family relations on both sides of the border. Except for the French Canadians, the people of both countries spoke the same language. In the case of Jews, and of many gentiles, Canadians and Americans participated in the same cultural, religious and fraternal organizations, which were generally based in the United States. Because the distance was so much less and the ease of communication that much greater,

dau on Canada and the Jews," LondonJewish Chronicle,January 19, 1906;and Macdonald, p. 27. 29. See, for example, "Brief Jottings," Ha-meliS, Kislev 7, 1901; "Abroad," Ha-Sefirah, Nisan 9, 1911. 30. "Canada as a Land of Immigration," Av 12, 1913. 31. As quoted in "My Views on Philanthropy," North American Review, July, 1891.

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these relationships tended to be at least as strong as those of Canadians with Great Britain, the mother country. Often they were stronger, despite the fact that the United States and Canada were two distinct countries. It was these ties, as well as those of sentiment toward the new "promised land," that bound Canadian Jews to the United States. Proximity, the open border, and many shared aspects of their social, political and economic systems made possible a large-scale "population exchange" between Canada and the United States. In the early years, Canada witnessed a "strong and persistent . . . drift of population . . . to the United States."32Lord Durham's 1839 report on the state of Canada estimated that sixty percent of the immigrants to Canada during the decade from 1829 to 1839 had gone on to the United States. The rate slowed somewhat afterwards, but it remained very high until about 1900. It is estimated that between 1851 and 1901 only one of every three intending settlers remained in Canada, the rest pushing on to the United States.33 The traffic of Europeans both Jewish and gentile through Canada to the United States, was considerable enough toward the end of the nineteenth century that Canadians complained of "maintaining an immigration corps to bring peoples to Canada as a way-house [sic] to the United States."34 When the Baron de Hirsch Institute in Montreal sought a new immigration officer in 1903, one of the most important qualifications was that he be able to deal with American immigration authorities.35 It was reported in 1902 that in the previous two decades, over 3,000 immigrant Jewish families had gone to Winnipeg intending to settle there. "Owing, however, to inducements held out to them by their friends in the States, many of these visitors [sic] ... joined their brethren across the border line." There were but 200 Jewish families left in the town in 1901.36 Contrary to what some scholars have thought, the outward bound included significant numbers of native-born Canadians of both French and 32. Marcus Lee Hansen and John Bartlet Brebner, The Mingling of the Canadian and American Peoples (New Haven, 1940), p. 214. 33. Canada, Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism, The Cultural Contribution of the Other Ethnic Groups, Report, Bk. 4 (1969), pp. 18-20; Hansen and Brebner, p. 182. 34. Ottawa Free Press, June 1, 1911, as quoted in The Canadian Annual Review, 1911, p. 396. 35. David A. Ansell, president, Baron de Hirsch Institute, letter to president, Jewish Colonization Association, Paris, June 5, 1903, in Letterbook of the Baron de Hirsch InstituteYoung Men's Benevolent Society (hereafter referred to as LBBDHI). 36. "The Jews of Winnipeg," Winnipeg Telegram, as quoted in Baltimore Jewish Comment, August 23, 1901.

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British origin, and of native-born Jews. The dimensions of the Canadian movement toward the United States were startling. The number of Canadian-born living in the United States rose from 717,157 in 1881 to 1,204,637 in 1911. These figures do not tell the whole story, since many, perhaps even most, of those who moved across the border were, as noted above, transmigrants born in Europe. Although they were often not considered or recorded as "Canadians," they brought with them, to the United States, both European and North American sentiments and habits. In addition there was a considerable movement of the children of Americans born in Canada back to the United States. By 1910 Massachusetts contained more people of Canadian stock than any province except Quebec and Ontario. In that year the eight largest "Canadian" cities were, in order of size: Montreal, Toronto, Boston, Quebec, Chicago, Ottawa, Detroit and New York. Although the percentage dropped substantially in subsequent years, as the population of Canada grew, in 1901 over twenty percent of all Canadian-born people in the world were living in the United States. This diaspora helped to cement a strong bond between the two countries.37 Jews and other Canadians who moved southward included the prosperous and the destitute, the well-educated and the unskilled. No Jews achieved the stature of the most famous gentile Canadian emigrants, such as the business leaders, Erastus Wiman and James J. Hill, and the famous educator, Andrew Dixon White. Some, however, were the scions of Canada's "first" Jewish families, probably, like others in the restless nineteenth century, just living out the wanderlust that gripped many people during the Great Folk Migration. Gershom Joseph, son of the wealthy pioneer trader, Henry Joseph, and brother-in-law of Rabbi Abraham De Sola, was born in Berthier, Lower Canada. In 1849 he followed the golden trail to California, where he made and lost two fortunes. During his fourteen years in the American West, Joseph was associated in business with a French-Canadian emigrant, a cousin of Narcisse F. Belleau (later Sir Narcisse), Lieutenant-Governor of Quebec, and he also doubled as a special correspondent of the Montreal Herald. In San Francisco Joseph acquired an American wife of French origin, Celine Lyons, with whom he returned to Montreal in 1863. There he became a respected lawyer and later served as 37. Hansen and Brebner, pp. 214, 246-47; Leon E. Truesdell, The Canadian-Bornin the United States (New Haven, 1943), pp. 6, 16; R. H. Coats and M. C. Maclean, The AmericanBorn in Canada (Toronto, 1943), p. 24; Moffatt, pp. 11, 13.

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president of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue, of which his nephew, Meldola de Sola, was by then rabbi.38 Many who crossed the border did not return. Frank N. Hart, a member of Canada's "first" Jewish family was the first Jew to complete his medical studies in Canada. A member of the first graduating class in medicine at McGill University in 1835, he left Montreal almost immediately upon graduation for St. Louis, Missouri, where he practiced medicine the rest of his life.39 Another member of the Hart family, Esdaile Cohen David, the youngest son of Dr. Aaron Hart David, had emigrated to Long Island some years before his death in 1890.40Abraham Pinto Joseph, the oldest son of Montefiore Joseph of Quebec and great-grandson of Henry Joseph, emigrated to Pittsburgh after receiving a degree in electrical engineering from McGill.4' The main motive of Jews, as of other Canadians moving south, was the search for a better livelihood. In the booming United States, Canadians hoped to find the economic security that often eluded them in Canada, even during the prosperous turn-of-the-century "Laurier years." The destitute were often assisted by Canadian-Jewish agencies to search for greater opportunity across the border.42As did their coreligionists elsewhere in this period, Canadian Jews looked upon emigration as the ideal solution to poverty. It removed the problem from sight at worst, and at best it enabled the poor to find available jobs elsewhere. In early years, synagogues in Montreal, Hamilton and elsewhere provided indigent members with funds to travel south.43 In 1883, when the influx of Jews to Montreal was still minimal, the local Jewish community panicked, sending immigrants as far

38. See Brebner, pp. 212, 233; Joseph Kage, With Faith and Thanksgiving(Montreal, 1962), p. 12, and other places; John Douglas Borthwick, Montreal History and Gazeteer (Montreal, 1892), p. 424. 39. "Canadian Jews in the Medical and Dental Professions," in The Jew in Canada, ed. Arthur Daniel Hart (Toronto and Montreal, 1926), p. 410. 40. Unidentified newspaper clipping, 1890, in Jewish Public Library, Montreal, Archives, Meldola De Sola Papers. 41. "The Late Abraham Pinto Joseph," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 430. 42. Extracts from the Minutes of the Board of Directors of the Young Men's Hebrew Benevolent Society, May 30, 1885, and October 31, 1886 (hereafter referred to as Extracts). 43. Minutes of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue, Montreal, September 3, 1855 (hereafter referred to as MSP).Edmund Scheuer, "Reminiscences of Canadian Jewry," appended to Arthur Brodey, "Political and Civil Status of the Jews in Canada" (Rabbi and Master's thesis, Jewish Institute of Religion, 1933), pp. 357-58.

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afield as possible. Some reached North Dakota, where they almost starved to death.44 By 1886 so many Jews were being sent out of Montreal that the Young Men's Hebrew Benevolent Society succeeded in getting wholesale rates for its clients on the Delaware and Hudson Railroad, the main route from Montreal to New York City.45 Up to 1906, when the American government cracked down on the practice, the Baron de Hirsch Institute considered one of its major tasks to be the shipping of poor Jews to the United States. As one of its reports openly stated, "in all cases where" pauper Jews "had relations, friends or acquaintances in ... the United States," they were promptly dispatched to them.46In some years as many as a fourth of all Jewish arrivals to Canada were helped by the Baron de Hirsch Institute to emigrate to the United States.47 Apparently some officials of the Hirsch Institute were so eager to be rid of immigrants, that they smuggled over the border those unable to meet American immigration requirements. A minor scandal erupted in 1905, when the Montreal Star focused public attention on the immigrant-running activities of Institute officials. Two years later, the Institute had to dismiss one of its employees, who was proved by an irate American Commissioner of Immigration in Montreal to have been engaged in immigrant smuggling.48 Not all the Jewish emigrants from Canada to the United States went in search of a better livelihood. Some Jews went to join relatives or to marry. Canadians in general tended to intermarry with Americans far more readily during these years than with Canadians of other provinces.49Canadian Jews often sought a mate in the United States, because their own community remained small and the choice of partners limited.50It was easier and less costly to pursue courtship in the United States than in England or Europe. Canadians were also pulled southward by the attractions of the larger and better-developed cities of the United States, where intellectual and cultural opportunities abounded as they did not in the northern backwater. By 1902 New York had become the largest Jewish city in the world. It would 44. "St. Paul, Minnesota," New York Jewish Messenger, February 15, 1884. 45. Extracts, June 14, 1886. 46. Baron de Hirsch Institute, Annual Report, 1892, p. 4. 47. Carroll Ryan, "Letter from Canada," Baltimore Jewish Comment, November 15, 1901. 48. William Evans Gordon, The Alien Immigrant (London, 1903), p. 210; W. H. Baker, secretary, letter to editor, Montreal Star, May 5, 1905, in LBBDHI;Extracts, August 1, 1907. 49. Coats and Maclean, p. 45. 50. See, for example, American Israelite, November 7, 1901 and January 9, 1902.

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have been surprising if Canadian Jews had not been drawn to the metropolis much as American Jews were and still are. Reuben Brainin, for instance, served as editor of the Keneder odler for a number of years just before World War I and made a major contribution to the development of the Jewish community of Montreal. He departed for New York after a relatively short stay in Canada, despite ambivalence about Jewish life in the larger city. In North America, it was only in New York that he could join the particular kind of Hebrew cultural circle which he sought.5' At all times during the period under review, Jews found it necessary to leave Canada if they were interested in a good Jewish education, although some subsequently returned. Still in the eighteenth century, Aaron Hart sent his four sons to Philadelphia and New York to live with Jewish friends and to receive both a Jewish and a general education. In later years others followed, and many did not return to Canada. Even at the turn of the twentieth century, Leon Judah Solway of Toronto had to be sent off to the new Rabbi Isaac Elhanan Rabbinical Seminary in New York for rabbinical training.52 Secular education and professional training also drew Canadian Jews and gentiles southward. Canadian graduate schools were as yet only beginning in the late nineteenth century. Even staunch nationalists such as Stephen Leacock went to the United States for doctoral studies.53Among the Jews who studied there in the early years of the twentieth century were Montrealers Solomon Vineberg and Nathaniel Fineberg.54 Jews had a unique motive for doing graduate and professional work outside of Canada. By the turn of the century, most schools on the continent restricted the number of Jewish students. Since there were very few schools in Canada altogether, it was often necessary for ambitious Jewish students to look elsewhere. This was especially the case with those desiring to attend professional schools. Not surprisingly, the most numerous group of Jewish emigre students was made up of those in the medical professions, medicine, 51. Reuben Brainin, Kol kitvei Reuven ben Mordekhai Brainin (New York, 1940), vol. 3, passim. See also Ha-Sefirah, Shevat 27, 1902. 52. Louis Rosenberg, "The Earliest Jewish Settlers in Canada: Facts vs. Myths," in Canadian Jewish Reference Book and Directory, 1963, comp. Eli Gottesman (Montreal, 1963), p. 140; Raymond Douville, Aaron Hart [French] (Trois Rivieres, 1938), p. 103; "Rabbis in Session," Montreal Star, July 7, 1897; "Dr. L. J. Solway, B.A., M. B., M.R.C.P., Toronto," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 415. 53. Berger, pp. 43-48. 54. Ethel Vineberg, The History of the National Council of Jewish Women of Canada (Montreal, 1967), p. 84; "Nathaniel S. Fineberg, M.A., B.C.L., Montreal," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 217.

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nursing and dentistry. Aspiring physicians often left for postgraduate studies, then still in their infancy in Canada. Many eventually returned to Canada to practice.55 Although educational and cultural facilities were improving in Canada as the nineteenth century drew to a close, committed Jews still often found the Jewish community too shallow or too uncultivated. Rather than recruit newcomers or strengthen existing institutions, they left for the United States. The acculturated were similarly drawn southward to the more developed centers. V While the United States succeeded in attracting large numbers of Canadians during the entire period under review, a smaller but still significant countermovement of Americans to Canada was taking place at the same time. Some of the same forces that propelled Canadians southward, motivated Americans to move northward. The movement was evident from the moment the British armies pushed north in 1759 from New York. As time went on its dimensions grew. Between 1881 and 1911 the Americanborn population of all Canada rose from 77,753 to 303,680, while that of Quebec and Ontario, where most Jews lived, rose from 64,859 to 85,519. In addition, a large number of partially Americanized transmigrants moved to Canada, as did a significant number of the children born to Canadians living in the United States.56Contemporaries estimated that by 1898 half the Jews in Canada had come from or through the United States. Between 1900 and 1920 perhaps 65,000 more Jews immigrated to Canada from there.57 The movement northward began slowly. At the beginning of the period Americans were as ignorant of Canada as Europeans. Jews were no exception. In 1889 at a lecture at the YMHAin New York City, Ferdinand Shack decried the "ignorance about Canada which prevails in the United States." Shack knew of a "college professor living in New York going to Montreal in 55. See Zvi Cohen, ed., Canadian Jewry: Prominent Jews of Canada (Toronto, 1933), pp. 116, 118; "Dr. J. J. Lavine, Toronto," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 425; Ross Hamilton, ed., Prominent Men of Canada, 1931-32 (Montreal, 1932), p. 422. 56. Coats and Maclean, pp. 24, 56; "A. C. Cohen, Vancouver," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 346; Hamilton, p. 537; and Truesdell, p. 6. 57. Alexander Harkavy, "Our Distant Brethren," Ha-Sefirah, Sivan 17, 1888; Louis Rosenberg, Canada's Jews (Montreal, 1939), p. 136.

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summer to cool off."58 In 1892 the New York Jewish Messenger chided its readers for their apathy regarding Canada.59 An article on "The Jews of Canada" in the 1893 American Jews' Annual discussed only the period before 1853.60In 1898 the Canadian Jewish Times still found its American colleagues printing "frequent gross, inexcusable misrepresentations of persons and things Canadian."6' After the turn of the century things improved somewhat. In 1900 and 1901 Carroll Ryan, the gentile editor of the Canadian Jewish Times, published a series of articles in Baltimore's Jewish Comment.62Other periodicals also began to cover Canada more carefully. Perhaps because he knew Canada at first hand, Alexander Harkavy, the noted lexicographer who had been a Hebrew school teacher in Montreal, included a well-written section on British North America in his Compendium of Mathematical, Physical and Political Geography [Yiddish] (New York, 1911). Abe Cahan, the editor of the New York Forverts,in his History of the United States [Yiddish] (New York, 1912) discussed Canada's French era in full. These works helped Yiddish-speaking American Jews to become at least superficially acquainted with Canada. Still, not all that much was known about America's northern neighbor even in the first decades of the twentieth century. Moreover, as had been the case earlier and was still the case in Europe, a good deal of what was known about the country in the United States was uncomplimentary. Although Carroll Ryan asserted that "Israel [was] happily at home in Canada," he could not deny the existence in 1901 of virulent French-Canadian antisemitism.63 New York's Yiddish papers were particularly sensitive to Canadian antisemitism, as they were to antisemitism anywhere.64 American Jews were also aware of the weaknesses of the CanadianJewish community in comparison to their own. The partisan antics of Rabbi Meldola De Sola, for instance, made Montreal appear to many to be a 58. "A Half-Hour in Canada," Toronto Globe, April 27, 1889. See also Harold Martin Troper, Only Farmers Need Apply (Toronto, 1972), pp. 41-42. 59. "At Montreal," September 30, 1892. 60. American Jews' Annual, 1893-94, pp. 85-86. 61. "A Critic Criticised," October 28, 1898. 62. See, for example, "Jews in Canada," December 7, 1900. 63. "Letter from Canada," Baltimore Jewish Comment, May 3, 1901. 64. See "Is Canada a Land for Jewish Immigration?," Keneder odler, July 5, 1908; "The Varhayt Bluffs," Keneder odler, October 21, 1910.

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hotbed of the most "ignorant and fanatic orthodoxy."65 To most Americans, dedicated to separation of church and state, religious involvement in public education in Canada appeared offensive. Many Jews felt that Quebec's system worked to their particular disadvantage.66 When Americans did decide to come to Canada they felt they were taking a risk. Herman Abramowitz, long-time rabbi of Montreal's Shaar Hashomayim Synagogue, arrived at his post in 1902 from New York. He later recalled that coming to Canada "was like pioneering on distant foreign fields."67

Not a few Americans, who emigrated to Canada during the pre-1914 period, went because they viewed Canada as almost their own, as an extension of the United States. American periodicals often treated Canada as another part of the United States. Canadian items were "domestic news" and not "foreign news" in the American Israelite and the American Hebrew. The annexationist movement retained considerable strength into the early twentieth century on the American side of the border, and few felt that the United States would have difficulty in digesting her northern neighbor.68 Canadians, hungry for Anglo-Saxon immigrants, were even more eager to present their country as congenial to Americans than they were to convince Europeans of their American credentials. Official recruiting literature pictured Canada as a country which shared American democracy, "government of the people, for the people and by the people."69The country's newfound prosperity was said to resemble that of the United States. So too did the boosterism of her natives. Carroll Ryan claimed that Jewishimmigrants[to Canadaand others]have found ... a veritablelandof promise, where they have experiencedbut little difficultyin ... laying the foundationsof futurefortunes.70 A significant factor impelling Americans to move at the end of the nineteenth century was the disappearance of the American frontier. To the land-

65. See, for example, "Current Topics," Reform Advocate, August 7, 1897. 66. Carroll Ryan, "Letter from Canada," Baltimore Jewish Comment, May 3, 1901. 67. As quoted in Bernard Figler, Rabbi Dr. Herman Abramowitz, Lazarus Cohen, Lyon Cohen (Ottawa, 1968), p. 89. 68. See Robert Craig Brown, pp. 182-83, 238; "At Montreal," New York Jewish Messenger, September 30, 1892. 69. "The Canadian West," as quoted in Troper, p. 87. 70. "Letter from Canada," Baltimore Jewish Comment, May 3, 1901.

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hungry, Canada represented the "last, best West." A vigorous Canadian government recruiting policy, sparked by a desire to settle the country rapidly, dovetailed with mistaken American fears that their own lands were all occupied. From the 1890s on, the Canadian government offered direct subsidies to American newspapers agreeing to publish favorable articles about life in Canada. Under the direction of Agriculture Minister Clifford Sifton, paid agents fanned out over the United States to attract immigrants to Canada. Singled out for special attention were ethnic and religious groups, which were thought to have better chances of "holding landless offspring on farms."71Although the Jews were not a preferred group, they too were influenced by the campaign.72 Very few Jews emigrated from the United States at any time. Unlike others, who often came to America to earn enough money to live comfortably in Europe, Jews came to stay. There was little nostalgia for Russian or Rumanian pogroms and much awareness that whatever the drawbacks of America, no place was better. From 1908 to 1924 Jews had the lowest rate of emigration from the United States (5.2 percent) of any immigrant group. (Rumanians, with 65.9 percent, had the highest rate, but even the Irish, the group closest to the Jews, left with much greater frequency, 10.1 percent.) The Jew stayed no matter how difficult conditions became.73 That some Jews did leave the United States for Canada is probably testimony to their assumption that that country was very much like the United States if not actually a part of it. In fact, American Jews in Canada tended to retain their loyalty to the United States. In 1931, Jews in Canada had the third highest rate of naturalization of all immigrant groups. American-born Jews, however, ranked fourteenth.74 Like the Canadians who moved south, the Jews who came to Canada from the United States during the period under review were both natives and immigrants, well-to-do and poor, educated and unskilled. Most came from the New York City metropolitan area, where about half the Jews in the 71. Donald Creighton, Canada's First Century (Toronto, 1970), p. 104; Howard Angus Kennedy, New Canada and the New Canadians (London, 1907), pp. 53-54; Macdonald, p. 36; Troper, pp. 41-42. 72. See, for example, Hansen and Brebner, pp. 191-92; Israelite Press Souvenir, pp. 14, 54-58; "Letters from Our Correspondents," Ha-sefirah, Av 11, 1888; Zvi Cohen, pp. 46, 67, 123, 188; "C. Benjamin, Calgary," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 366; Who's Who and Why (Toronto, 1920), p. 1324; Abe L. Plotkin, Struggle for Justice (New York, 1960), pp. 29-32. 73. Liebmann Hersch, "International Migration of the Jews," in International Migrations, ed. Walter Wilcox (New York, 1931), 2: 477. 74. Coats and Maclean, p. 136.

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United States lived from about 1850 on. Others, however, came from all over the United States.75 The economic motivation for moving north was one of the strongest. There is evidence of poor Jews, immigrants and natives alike, drifting into Canada from the United States in 1847, in 1863, in 1878, and at other times. Later the prosperous "Laurier years" attracted Jewish and gentile Americans, just as they did Europeans, to Canada. "Many ghettoites from New York ... discovered that industrial and social conditions in Canada ... [were] better than in that congested region. . . .76 Some who came to Canada from the United States during these years to seek their fortune, had been dispatched by American societies for aiding the indigent and the immigrants. Americans sought to export poverty, as did their Canadian and British counterparts. The Hebrew Emigrant Aid Society, hastily set up to meet the emergency of the unprecedented immigration of 1881-82, worked during its short lifetime to disperse immigrants from New York City. In May, 1882, a typical month, it shipped more than fifty newcomers to various destinations in North America, including seven to Montreal.77In 1901 the Baron de Hirsch Fund in New York established the Industrial Removal Office to help reduce the growing "congestion of the immigrant population

in ...

the East Side" of the city.78 Fear of an-

tisemitism as well as genuine concern for immigrants living in unsalubrious slums motivated the New Yorkers. In the twenty-one years of its existence, the Industrial Removal Office assisted almost 80,000 Jews to leave New York and to resettle in cities all over the continent.79 Yet another agency which encouraged Jews to leave New York was the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society (HIAS), a later incarnation of the 1881 Emigrant Aid Society. In

75. See, for example, Who's Whoand Why, 1915-16 (Toronto, 1916), p. 566; Hamilton, pp. 120, 507; Zvi Cohen, pp. 64, 66, 95; Arthur Daniel Hart, pp. 152, 368, 386, 406, 422, 429; Canada: an Encyclopedia (1898-1900), s.v. "Historical Sketch of the Jews of Canada," by Abraham Lazarus; "The Montefiore Club," Canadian Jewish Times, October 5, 1906; A. I. Willensky, A Doctor's Memoirs (Toronto, 1960), p. 4; "Montreal," American Israelite, July 20, 1883. 76. Carroll Ryan, "Review of Canadian Conditions," Baltimore Jewish Comment, February 6, 1903. See also Extracts, October 31, 1885; "Milton Blackstone, Toronto," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 528. 77. George M. Price, "The Russian Jews in America," trans. Leo Shpall, PAJHS 48 (1958): p. 42. See also Simon Belkin, Through Narrow Gates (Montreal, 1966), p. 26. 78. David Bressler, "Distribution," in The Russian Jew in the United States, ed. Charles S. Bernheimer (Philadelphia, 1905), p. 367. 79. Samuel Joseph, History of the Baron de Hirsch Fund (n.p., 1935), p. 204.

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1912, a typical year, HIAS assisted 844 clients to depart New York for other American cities, and as well for Cuba, Panama and Canada.80 For some of the immigrants, Canada proved to be the land of opportunity. Although no American Jews were as spectacularly successful in their new Canadian home as the gentile immigrant, William C. Van Home, one of the builders of the Canadian Pacific Railway, some did very well.8' Mark Workman, who emigrated to Montreal from his native Buffalo in the 1870s, became a director of the Dominion Steel Company and chairman of the board of the Eastern Trust Company in Montreal.82Abraham Blumenthal, who came from New York City, became a prosperous Montreal businessman and served on the Montreal city council from 1912 to 1918.83 Not all Americans came to Canada for economic reasons. Marriage between Canadian and American Jews attracted Jews to Canada just as it pulled Canadians to the United States. Often Canadian Jews sought matrimony in an American city. Women generally followed their husbands and contemporary mores dictated that women could not seek out their mates. The normal pattern was, thus, for Canadian men to seek brides in the more populous United States and then to return to Canada with them.84 These international marriages frequently involved the more prominent Jews. The wealthy were more mobile; community leaders were more concerned with the religiosity of their children. In 1816 Elkalah Seixas, the daughter of Gershom Mendes Seixas, minister of the Spanish and Portuguese Congregation in New York, was married to Benjamin Solomons of Montreal.85Some years later, Sara Gratz Moses, a niece of Rebecca Gratz, was married to Jacob Henry Joseph of Montreal, another of the sons of Henry Joseph.86 Later in the century socially prominent Abram Moses Vineberg and Clarence I. De Sola and others married American Jewesses.87 Sometimes American emigrants returned to the United States to marry. Rabbi Herman Abramowitz, then eleven years in Montreal, returned in 80. Mark Wischnitzer, Visas to Freedom (Cleveland, 1956), pp. 65-66. 81. Brebner, p. 212. 82. Hamilton, p. 349; Zvi Cohen, p. 88. 83. "Abraham Blumenthal, Montreal," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 363. 84. See, for example, "Isaac Rubenstein, Sault-Ste. Marie," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 152. 85. Joseph R. Rosenbloom, A Biographical Dictionary of Early American Jews (Lexington, Kentucky, n.d.), p. 154. 86. Rebecca Gratz, personal letter to her sister-in-law, Ann Boswell Gratz, May 5, 1854, in Letters of Rebecca Gratz, ed. David Philipson (Philadelphia, 1929), pp. 394-95. 87. "A. M. Vineberg," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 523; N. Taylor Phillips, "Clarence I. De Sola," PAJHS 28 (1922): 271.

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1913 to marry Theresa Bockar of Staten Island, New York.88 The less illustrious followed this pattern when they could. Some Americans came to Canada to lose a spouse. In 1884 Rabbi Meldola De Sola performed a marriage ceremony for Jacob Gluffen, a recent immigrant to Canada from the United States, and Dora Greenut of Montreal. Soon after, it was discovered that Gluffen already had a wife in the United States. He was subsequently arrested for bigamy.89A similar case was that of a Philadelphia milliner, who fled to Montreal in 1908 with his paramour. The Baron de Hirsch Institute assisted in tracking down the adulterous hatter, who was later brought to trial.90 Not all searches for deserting husbands were successful. The Baron de Hirsch Institute noted in 1906 that societies in the United States and Europe had helped "many ... deserted wives" to travel to Montreal on a fruitless search for their missing mates. Most arrived penniless and became charges of the Institute. In 1913, according to the National Desertion Bureau in New York, an extraordinary number of wife deserters was still disappearing annually across the northern frontier of the United States.9' Besides bigamists and adulterers, other types of criminals fled from the United States to hoped-for anonymity in Canada during these years. Hamelis noted in 1884 that the number of Jewish thieves in Canada "was not small," and that most of them had come to Canada from the United States. Criminals, of course, often seek to escape justice by skipping over borders. Doubtless Canada's image as a primitive and unsettled country, encouraged fugitives to think that disappearing in the northern wastes would not be difficult.92

Nineteenth-century wanderlust was another factor that moved Americans north as it did others in all directions. Joseph Simpson was born in Charleston, South Carolina in 1825, of a German-born father and a Nova Scotia-born mother. In 1849, like the Canadian Gershom Joseph, he set out 88. Figler, Abramowitz, p. 68. 89. "The Jewish Divorce Question," unidentified newspaper clipping, August 24, 1894, in Meldola De Sola Scrapbook (hereafter referred to as MDSB),Jewish Public Library, Montreal, Archives. 90. "She Is Coming from Philadelphia to Arrest Her Husband," Keneder odler, July 8, 1908. 91. Baron de Hirsch Institute Loose Leaf Book (hereafter referred to as LLB), December 28, 1906, Jewish Public Library, Montreal, Archives; Baron de Hirsch Institute, Annual Report, 1913, pp. 8-9. 92. "Montreal (Canada)," Av 20, 1884. See also, Carroll Ryan, "Jewish Immigration to Canada," Baltimore Jewish Comment, May 20, 1904.

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for California. In 1863, the same year that Joseph returned to Montreal, Simpson removed to Toronto. There he became a successful textile merchant, active in the Jewish community, and well-accepted by upper-class gentiles. Myer Runkel, born in Frankfurt, was taken in 1820, as a child, to Charleston, South Carolina, where he undoubtedly knew Simpson. In 1848 Runkel emigrated to Montreal, where he engaged in business for 18 years. He then returned to the United States, settling in Cincinnati, and later, in New York City. There were numerous others.93 Perhaps the greatest opportunity for wanderlust to be expressed comes in wartime. And, indeed, war in North America occasioned traffic both northward to Canada and southward to the United States. Of course, ideology and other motivations also lay behind the wartime movement. Some Americans, in wartime, fled to peaceful Canada to avoid becoming involved. Adventuresome Canadians went south to volunteer in American wars, looking for the excitement unavailable at home. Out of "loyalism or at least homesickness for British institutions," many residents of the thirteen original American colonies moved north during or following the Revolution. From that time on "United Empire Loyalists" made up a significant part of the Anglo-Canadian population. Among them was a number of Jews, such as the Montreal merchant, Levi Michaels, and his son, Myer. "Most of the Loyalists had relations and friends still residing in the States, and although they differed with them over the issues of the Revolution, they were interested in one another's personal fortunes and opinions. Letters and occasional visits kept their friendship alive .... "94 If the thirteen original colonies produced their Loyalists, Canada had many rebel sympathizers. Among these also were Jews. Levi (Levy) Solomons of Montreal was purveyor to American hospitals in Canada during the American invasion. He was exiled for his sympathies, and then eventually allowed to return to Canada. By 1778 Solomons had been sufficiently rehabilitated to be elected an officer of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in Montreal.95 Another Canadian Jew, who sympathized with the Revolution, was the Quebec merchant, Eleazar Levy. Levy, an associate 93. See S. J. Birnbaum, "The History of the Jews in Toronto," Canadian Jewish Times, January 24, 1913; "A Golden Wedding," The American Hebrew, October 20, 1893. 94. Hansen and Brebner, pp. 78-79; Rosenbloom, pp. 111-12. 95. Richard Morris, "The Jews, Minorities and Dissent in the American Revolution," in Migration and Settlement. Proceedings of the Anglo-American Jewish Historical Conjerence (London, 1971), p. 156; Irving A. Katz, The Beth El Story. Jews in Michigan Before 1850 (Detroit, 1955), pp. 35-36.

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of Aaron Hart, left for New York with the outbreak of war and remained there.96 David S. Franks, left Montreal for Philadelphia to aid the Revolutionary cause in 1775. He became aide-de-camp to General Benedict Arnold. After being acquitted of complicity in Arnold's treason, Franks became vice-consul for the United States in Marseilles. Doubtless the French he knew from his Montreal days served him well in France.97 Most Canadian Jews supported the loyalist cause during the Revolution, as did their gentile neighbors. Most American Jews supported the Revolution. But Jews did cross the lines, together with the minority of non-Jewish partisans. The Civil War, although it did not involve Canada in any direct way, also produced a significant movement back and forth across the border. Its bloody horrors sent a wave of draft dodgers, called "skedaddlers," and deserters scurrying over the northern border of the Union. As in more recent times, most returned home when they could, although some remained permanently in Canada. The draft law of 1862 produced the first large movement, and "every subsequent order of conscription provoked another wave in the current." At the same time, not a few Canadians were going south to fight the "battle for the glory of the Lord." Both streams contained a representative number of Jews.98 During the War, Mrs. Samuel Roman's Jewish boarding house on Chenneville Street in Montreal was the "rendezvous for a large number of men from the United States, who found a home under her hospitable roof."99In 1861 Joseph Moses, son of Dr. Gratz Moses of St. Louis, nephew of Rebecca Gratz, was packed off to his family in Montreal "to keep him out of the way of mischief."'00 Some Jews emigrated to Canada after having already served in the war, such as Samuel Stern, who arrived in Toronto in 1862. Perhaps they had seen enough bloodshed, or perhaps they wished to avoid further service.'10It is not unlikely that Gershom Joseph's return to Canada

96. Rosenbloom, pp. 89-90. 97. Morris, pp. 153-54; Benjamin G. Sack, "When Did David S. Franks Last Leave Canada?," PAJHS 31 (1928): 234. 98. Hansen and Brebner, p. 148. 99. D. A. Ansell, "Reminiscences of the Young Men's Hebrew Benevolent Society, etc., etc.," in Canadian Jewish Congress, Montreal, Archives, Ansell Papers. 100. Rebecca Gratz, personal letter to her brother, Benjamin Gratz, April 15, 1863, in Philipson, pp. 436-37. 101. See S. J. Birnbaum.

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in 1863 and that of other Canadians was hastened by the prospect of military service in the Union army. As many as 50,000 Canadians participated actively in the War, most of them on the northern side. Of these the largest number came from the ranks of Canadians resident in the United States, of whom there were some 250,000 in 1860.102According to Adolphus Mordecai Hart, four-fifths of the Canadians in the Union forces were French Canadians, who suffered some 15,000 dead.'03 Canadian Jews who fought included Hart's first cousin, Arthur Wellington Hart, at one time a newspaper editor in Scranton, Pennsylvania, who rose to the rank of colonel in the Union forces. Another was Montrealer, Jacob Rubenstein.'04 Canadian Jews, as well as French Canadians, generally sympathized with the Union cause in the war. Among Anglo-Canadians there was much more enthusiasm for the southern cause, just as there was in Britain. French Canadians already had come to view themselves as subject people, and might have been expected to align themselves against slavery, and perhaps also against a prosouthern Britain. Jews retained memories of persecution, and found it hard to make peace with the subjugation of others. Although southern Jews and some northern Jews saw things differently, and although Anglo-Montreal was a "community ... full of southern sympathizers," Canadian Jews remained stubbornly pro-Union. The Jacob Henry Josephs of Montreal were typical. They held fast to their northern loyalties even when sympathy for the southern cause peaked in Canada, as at the time of the raid on St. Albans, Vermont, organized from Montreal in 1864. They were, no doubt, influenced by their American relatives, who lived in the North.'05 The Civil War was an American and not a Canadian affair. Its spillover into Canada clearly demonstrated, however, that despite the border, North America was, in many ways, one. As was not often the case, Jews, like other Canadians, had to choose between English and American sympathies. The 102. Brebner, pp. 165-66. 103. Adolphus Mordecai Hart [Hampden], The Political State and Condition of Her Majesty's Protestant Subjects in the Province of Quebec (Since Confederation)(Toronto, 1871), p. 54. 104. Raymond Arthur Davies, Printed Jewish Canadiana, 1685-1900 (Montreal, 1955), p. 24; David and Tamar De Sola Pool, An Old Faith in the New World(New York, 1955), p. 333; Zvi Cohen, pp. 200-1. 105. Rebecca Gratz, personal letter to her brother, Benjamin Gratz, April 15, 1863, in Philipson, pp. 436-37. See also Encyclopedia Judaica, 1971 ed., s.v. "Raphall, Morris J."

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Jews chose American, partly for historical reasons, and, no doubt, partly because their business interests and family connections inclined them to favor a northern victory. This was one of the few occasions when Jews did not see eye-to-eye with their fellow Anglo-Canadians. Canadians and Americans, then, moved across the border with impunity to settle in the nineteenth century. They thereby cemented the ties between the peoples of the two countries, and insured that they would be very much like each other. Most people were drawn north or south in search of a more secure livelihood. Others, however, emigrated to receive an education, to marry, or to find a community more to their needs and liking. Some Canadians were moved to seek out a larger and more developed Jewish community. This remained the case even at the turn of the century, despite the rapid growth of both the Montreal and Toronto Jewish communities. Jews generally followed the emigration patterns established by other Canadians, Americans and transmigrants. Like gentiles, they were responding to the widely held conceptions of Canada in the United States and of the United States in Canada, as well as to economic and emotional needs. Jews were also gravitating toward that country, which more than any other, seemed to offer a secure and bright future to them as individuals and as Jews, the United States. VI As they did in their relationships with coreligionists in England, Canadian Jews established a variety of links with American Jews. These ties were personal, economic, religious and communal. They were very strong and paralleled the connections of gentile Anglo-Canadians with Americans, reflecting their common origins. Such ties had a great deal to do with determining the character of Canadian Jewry. The border areas of the two countries were at all times to a great degree one economic and social unit. Citizens of both countries crossed the border to shop and to market their goods. Doctors and clergymen ministered to patients and congregants on both sides of the border.'06After the completion of the Canadian transcontinental railroad system, it was still easier and more natural for traffic, Jewish and gentile, to flow north-south than eastwest. All major Canadian centers of population were close to the American

106. Hansen and Brebner, pp. 76-77; Brebner, p. 133.

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border. Both Montreal and Toronto, where most Jews lived, were less than 100 miles from the United States, and even the Hirsch agricultural colony in Saskatchewan was but fifteen miles from the border. Being near to the United States facilitated contacts of all sorts in a period of increasingly rapid communications and population mobility. 07 The most immediate bond between American and Canadian Jews was that of family and friends. Most Canadian Jews had close relatives in the United States.108In addition, Jews who moved from one country to the other retained sentimental ties to their place of origin. American Jews who emigrated to Canada during the period reserved "a warm corner in their hearts for the 'Stars and Stripes,"'"while Canadians in the United States kept up associations with their place of birth.'09Hiram N. Vineberg, for example, was for a time president of the McGill Graduates' Society in New York, while I. G. Ascher, a founder of the Young Men's Hebrew Benevolent Society of Montreal, kept in touch with the affairs of the Society long after he had moved to New York.110 As the nineteenth century progressed and communications, especially the railroads, improved, tourist and family visits across the border became more frequent. Jews, generally prosperous, participated in these visits alongside other Americans and Canadians able to afford travel. American Jews with Canadian relatives went to Canada to visit;"' Canadians more frequently went south. Canadians were to be found at popular American watering places even during the turbulent Civil War years. The Jacob Henry Josephs were regular visitors to Cape May, New Jersey, Silver Spring, Maryland, and Saratoga, New York, in the mid-nineteenth century. They also frequently visited their family in Philadelphia. 12Rabbi Abraham De Sola traveled more than most.

107. See Moffett, pp. 52-73; E. N. Adler, "Visit to the Jewish Colony at Hirsch, Saskatchewan, Canada," London Jewish Chronicle, December 27, 1907. 108. See, for example, "The Death of Mrs. A. De Sola," Montreal Daily Witness, May 13, 1898; Montreal Star, June 19, 1902. 109. Lazarus. 110. "Canadian Jews in the Medical and Dental Professions," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 410; and I. G. Ascher, personal letter to president, Young Men's Hebrew Benevolent Society, August 31, 1890, in Extracts. 111. Rebecca Gratz, personal letters to her sister-in-law, Ann Boswell Gratz, September 3, 1851, and May 5, 1854, in Philipson, pp. 377-79, 394-95. 112. Rebecca Gratz, personal letters to Benjamin Gratz, January 2, 1848, and to Ann Boswell Gratz, September 15, 1848, April 22, 1849, May 7, 1852, and January 27, 1863, in Philipson, pp. 342-43, 350-52, 358-59, 382-84, 433-34.

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His journeys, often undertaken in connection with publishing ventures or to deliver an address, also included considerable social visiting in the United States. In New York City he visited his sister, Jane Belais, and his nephew, Rev. H. Pereira Mendes, after 1877 minister of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue there. He was invited to special events in Plattsburg, just across the border from Montreal, and he spent time with the fashionable people of the day, like Rebecca Gratz in Philadelphia, to whom he was distantly related by marriage.13 By the end of the nineteenth century, travel between the two countries was swift and inexpensive. "The average Canadian . . . [became at least] as familiar with an American as with a Canadian of another province.""14The social columns of the Canadian Jewish Times record frequent visits to New York, Chicago, Detroit, Boston, Philadelphia and other American centers. Old Orchard, Maine became a favorite watering spot of wealthy Montreal Jews. Abraham De Sola and two of his sons, Meldola and Clarence I., would all die while visiting in the United States, Abraham in 1882, Meldola in 1918, and Clarence in 1920."5 Americans also traveled a great deal to Canada by the end of the century. The urge of Americans to visit a foreign country was great, and transAtlantic travel was still slow and costly. Canada provided an inexpensive foreign alternative. Probably the most noteworthy American-Jewish tourist in Canada during the period was Oscar Straus. In 1906 Straus, then Secretary of Commerce and Labor, came to Canada partly on government business. While in Montreal, he visited the Baron de Hirsch Institute."6 Like the later visit of Herbert Samuel, the Jewish Postmaster-General of Great Britain, that of Straus probably served to remind Canadian Jews that their brethren in other English-speaking countries were advancing farther and faster in public life than they themselves were."7 113. Abraham De Sola, various personal letters to Jane Belais and to Henry Pereira Mendes; invitation to the silver wedding anniversary reception of Mr. and Mrs. William Cane, Plattsburg, October 21, 1872; undated invitation for a social evening from Rebecca Gratz, all in ADSP.

114. Coats and Maclean, pp. 43-44; Moffett, p. 67. 115. Figler, Abramowitz, pp. 169-70; unidentified newspaper clippings, Jewish Public Library, Montreal, Archives, Meldola De Sola Papers; N. Taylor Phillips, p. 272. 116. Montreal Star, July 3, 1907. 117. The same kind of unfavorable comparison of the lot of Canadian Jewry to that of coreligionists in other lands was made on the occasion of the visit of the Rt. Hon. Herbert Samuel, Postmaster General of Great Britain, to Montreal in 1913. See, for example, "L'Hon. M. Samuel au Montefiore Club," Montreal La patrie, October 10, 1913.

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As important as the ties of sentiment and blood in cementing the Canadian-American relationship, were the business and institutional relationships that developed during the period. This was a time during which trade between the United States and Canada grew many fold. In earlier years Canadian trade with Great Britain generally outstripped that with the United States. By 1876, however, Canadian imports from the United States exceeded those from Britain, and by 1905 they reached a value two and half times that of goods imported from Britain. After 1875 the value of Canadian exports to the United States regularly exceeded the value of exports to Britain. All this growth took place in the face of increasingly high American tariffs and lower British tariffs.'8 Canada's "national policy" encouraged the establishment of branch plants. The movement of capital, machines and know-how was accompanied by the movement of men. American speculators and entrepreneurs were to be found everywhere in Canada in the nineteenth century. American stocks were traded on Canadian exchanges and New York quotations were telegraphed to Canada. Even the Roman Catholic Church in Quebec participated with Americans in development schemes. Increasingly there was but one business community in North America."9 Many Canadian Jews were petty traders, second-hand dealers and retail merchants. As such they had few American business ties. Others, however, participated in the continentalization of Canadian business. AmericanJewish firms established Canadian branches. Canadian-Jewish firms sold American-made products or otherwise traded across the border. Canadian Jews traveled to the United States to sell their wares and Americans came north to do the same. A great many Canadians went south to shop, where goods were cheaper and of greater variety than at home.'20 Occasionally even disreputable business was conducted across the border. In 1908, for instance, a New York Jew was jailed in Kingston, Ontario, for smuggling furs into Canada.'2' A few Canadian Jews were involved in the increasing penetration of 118. See Moffett, pp. 79-81, 84-85. 119. Hansen and Brebner, pp. 241-42; Moffett, pp. 107-10; William F. Ryan, "The Church's Contribution to Progress, 1896-1914," in One Church, Two Nations?, eds. Philip LeBlanc and Arnold Edinborough (Don Mills, Ontario, 1968), pp. 85-87. 120. See Dominion of Canada and NewfoundlandGazeteer and Classified Directory, 1915, p. 1358, and other such directories; Arthur Weir, ed., Montreal Illustrated, 1894 (Montreal, 1894), p. 248; "The Late Mr. Baruch Bloomfield," Canadian Jewish Times, January 17, 1902; and Israel Hoffer, "Recollections and Reminiscences," Saskatchewan History 5 (1952): 32. 121. "Jew from New York a Prisoner," Keneder odler, October 17, 1910.

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Canada by American big business. Lester Rice, a native of Russia, who worked for the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, was transferred from New York to Montreal in 1904. Archibald Coplan, another Russianborn Jew, had worked for an American company while still in Vilna. He was transferred first to Germany, then to the United States, and finally to Ottawa in 1905.122Mortimer Davis of Montreal sold out his large Canadian tobacco firm to the giant American Tobacco Company, an international monopoly, early in the present century. Davis then served as president of the Canadian operations of the firm. He was also a director of the United States Rubber Company.'23 Like businessmen Canadian laborers had growing contacts with their American counterparts during these years. Much of the early unionization in Canada occurred under American influence. American unions sent organizers into Canada. They supported Canadian laborers in their strikes and also exported some of their own labor problems. In 1912 a Montreal tailors' strike came about largely as a spillover of the major strikes which had occurred earlier that year in New York and other large American cities. Already by 1909, Canadian-American labor ties were sufficiently close for the American Federation of Labor, headed by the English-born Jew, Samuel Gompers, to hold its annual convention in Toronto.'24 Jewish labor unions in Canada were generally the offspring of American parent unions. In 1890 the first congress of Jewish labor organizations in North America, held in New York City, decided to found a central union, the Hebrew Labor Federation of the United States and Canada. Among the few delegates of the Congress from places other than New York were Montrealers.125 The Jewish or largely Jewish unions with the closest American connections were those in the needle trades. Jewish tailors in Montreal organized the first Canadian branch of the United Garment Workers of America in 122. Zvi Cohen, pp. 151, 230. 123. Hamilton, p. 359; The Vision and Understandingof a Man (Montreal, 1951), p. 11. 124. Moffett, p. 93; Joseph Levitt, Henri Bourassa and the Golden Calf (Ottawa, 1969), p. 13; A. Suffrin, "Reminiscences in the History of Local No. 115," 35th Jubilee Journal of the Montreal Bakers' Union, Local 115 (Montreal, 1938); interview with Arnold Rose, regarding the activities of his father, a former union organizer, Toronto, December 11, 1974; "Jewish Bakers Still Out," Montreal Gazette, May 31, 1906; Jacob Leib Becker, Dertseylungen un zikhroynes (Montreal, 1956), pp. 254-55; Canadian Annual Review, 1908, pp. 113-15. 125. Elias Tcherikower, The Early Jewish Labor Movement in the United States, trans. and rev. Aaron Antonovsky (New York, 1961), pp. 330-31.

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the early 1890s.'26The Cloakmakers'Union, the AmalgamatedClothing Workersand the Capmakers'and Pantsmakers'Unions also established brancheson both sides of the border.127 Businesswas not the only aspectof North Americanlife that was becoming continentalizedduringthese years.So too wereculturaland intellectual affairs.Not only for Jews,but for all non-FrenchCanadiansin this period, the hubs of the intellectualuniverse lay outside Canada. The European centerswerefar away. It was, however,no more difficultfor Montrealersor Torontoniansto communicatewithNew York than it was for themto communicate with each other. Although intellectual and scholarly activity developedin both cities in the nineteenthcentury,they remainedprovincial outposts for a long time. When, in 1849, RabbiAbrahamDe Sola received the covetedappointmentof lecturerin Orientallanguagesat McGillUniversity, the "university"had only a handful of students, a muddy, brokendown, undevelopedcampus, and an unpaid faculty, includingthe principal.'28In contrast,the United States had largercities, older institutions (Harvardhad been foundedin 1636.),and, by the mid-nineteenth century,an establishedintellectualtradition. If the United States had rough cultural edges by Europeanstandards,it was Athens in the classicalperiodin comparison to Anglo-Canada.Understandablythen, Canadianswith intellectual aspirations, and the Jews among them, sought to be part of the Americanscene. Just as frequentlythey invited Americanintellectualsto come north to enlightenthem. The first Canadian-Jewishliteraryfigure,IsidoreGordon Ascher,contributed his poetry to the New York Jewish Messenger and to other Americanpublications.When his 1863 volume of poetry, Voicesfrom the Hearth(Montreal),receivedcriticalacclaimin Boston,he felt secureenough to return to England to continue his endeavors.'29Adolphus Mordecai Hart, one of the early intellectualsof CanadianJewry,wrote on American themes and publishedin the United States. Hart lived for seven years in New York, where he was active in DemocraticPartypamphleteeringand 126. Abraham Rhinewine, "The Jewish Labour Movement in Canada," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 460. 127. David Rome, comp. and ed., Early Documents on the Canadian Jewish Congress, 1914-1921, Canadian Jewish Archives, n.s., no. 1 (Montreal, 1974), p. 44. 128. Cyrus MacMillan, McGill and Its Story, 1821-1921 (London, 1921), pp. 195-96. 129. Hyman Edelstein, "Canada's First Jewish Poet," Toronto Jewish Standard, October, 1951; Henry J. Morgan, Bibliotheca Canadensis (Ottawa, 1867), pp. 12-13.

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other activities. It is an indication of the extent to which Canadians were at home in American intellectual and political circles, that Hart could cross the border, write effective tracts on behalf of New York Governor and Democratic presidential candidate, Horatio Seymour, and then return home to Montreal to practice law and write political tracts dealing with Canadian issues.'30 Abraham De Sola published and spoke extensively in the United States. He wrote for the Occident and American Jewish Advocate in Philadelphia, the Jewish Messenger, the Asmonean and the American Hebrew in New York, and the Cincinnati Hebrew Review. The prayerbook he edited was published in Philadelphia. His writing and public appearances in the United States were of sufficient volume to invite offers from American lyceum agents to represent him and to make him a welcome guest in American publishing houses.'3' From the significance the rabbi placed on his American connections, it is possible to understand a great deal about Canadian attitudes toward the United States. It was very important to De Sola to be accepted by the more sophisticated American public. In 1872 the rabbi delivered the invocation before the United States House of Representatives. He was not the first Jew to do so, but he was the first foreigner. The event was of some note, but only a provincial on the make could possibly have created the fuss over the appearance that De Sola did. He and his friends regarded the offering of a prayer in the American Congress as the capstone of his long career. At home and in letters to England the appearance was touted. It was dubiously claimed that the invocation had been commanded by President Ulysses S. Grant. No one of De Sola's acquaintance was permitted to remain ignorant of the great event. The rabbi's attitude bore all the marks of a sense of inferiority regarding the United States, one not unique to De Sola among Canadians of the Victorian period.'32 130. See his History of the Valley of the Mississippi (Cincinnati, 1853); Life in the Far West (Cincinnati, 1860); The ImpendingCrisis (New York, 1855); The Political State and Conditionof Her Majesty's Protestant Subjects in the Province of Quebec (Since Confederation)(Toronto, 1871). See also, "Adolphus Mordecai Hart," Bronfman Collection of Jewish Canadiana, Jewish Public Library, Montreal, Adolphus Mordecai Hart File; David Rome, The Early Jewish Presence in Canada, A Booklover's Ramble ThroughJewish Canadiana(Montreal, 1971), pp. 10-12. 131. Letters of Willett J. Hyatt, Secretary of the Athaneum Bureau of Literature, New York, March 9, 1880, to Abraham De Sola, and of J. Gardner, Montreal, July 2, 1868, to James Fields of Ticknor and Fields, Boston, in ADSP. 132. New York Jewish Messenger, January 12, 1872; Sir Moses Montefiore, personal letter to Abraham De Sola, February, 1872, in ADSP.

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By the turn of the century, as many Canadians as could were shuttling back and forth between the two countries, speaking and publishing on both sides of the border. On one occasion the prime minister, Sir Wilfrid Laurier, spoke at a banquet in New York, and the Montreal Jewess, Edith (Ellen?) Ballon, a music student, also appeared on the program.'33Goldwin Smith, Toronto professor, intellectual panjandrum and antisemite, was a frequent visitor to the United States, as were other Canadian scholars,'34 and American guests were a must at Canadian cultural events of all sorts. Canadians belonged to American scholarly and intellectual associations. Max Steinkopf of Winnipeg, for instance, a cousin by marriage of Oscar Straus, was treasurer of the Archaeological Institute of America for a number of years during the period.'35Other Jews participated in AmericanJewish cultural organizations. Clarence I. De Sola was a member of the American Jewish Historical Society and an active participant in its proceedings. 36 Canadians grew accustomed to reading American journals and books. One reason for this fact was that up to 1906 Canadian postal rates for American periodicals were significantly lower than those for British and other "foreign" publications. But even thereafter reading habits did not change a great deal. 137 Minority groups in Canada, with their small and recently-arrived population, tended to rely more heavily than other Canadians on the United States for their cultural fare. Only in 1910 did Canadian Slovaks first try to publish their own journal. Even then it had to be edited and produced from Chicago.'38 Although Italians in Canada after 1895 had their own paper, Corriere del Canada, they tended nonetheless to read Italian-American publications.'39 Canadian Jews had no periodical of their own until 1897. They read the American Israelite, the American Hebrew, the Jewish Messenger, and the Hebrew Standard.'40The amount of Canadian news in those journals, in 133. "Canada," London Jewish Chronicle, February 26, 1909. 134. Robert Craig Brown, pp. 244-55. 135. Who's Who and Why, 1915-16, pp. 532-33. 136. See "American Jewish Historical Society," New York Jewish Messenger, December 31, 1897; "Proposed American Jewish Historical Exhibition," Baltimore Jewish Comment,July 5, 1901. 137. Moffett, p. 63. 138. Joseph M. Kirschbaum, Slovaks in Canada (Toronto, 1967), p. 287. 139. Spada, p. 119. 140. See Meldola De Sola [Old Timer], "Re-introduction of Orthodoxy in Forty-Fourth Street," New York Hebrew Standard, December 21, 1891.

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comparison with what English journals printed, indicates that Canadian Jews preferred the American publications. Some Canadians, most notably Rabbi Abraham De Sola, wrote for the American-Jewish press, and after 1897 Canadians freely reprinted articles from it.'4' On occasion Canadian Jews wrote for the general American press.'42 When Montrealers were finally able to found a Yiddish-language paper in 1907, they still found themselves dependent on the United States. Technicians came from New York to set up the Keneder odler, which, throughout its history, has provided full coverage of the New York Jewish scene. (So too did other Montreal papers. The Star, for instance, had a regular column, "New York Gossip," at the turn of the century.)143 Yet another Canadian-Jewish cultural institution which drew heavily upon the United States for models and manpower was the Yiddish theater. In Montreal it was a Russian-Jewish immigrant from New York, who first brought Yiddish theater to the city; and two years later, in 1898, a whole troupe of American players from Boston immigrated there. The FrenchCanadian Monument National was transformed into a Jewish playhouse by "Yiddish theatrical companies from New York" in the early years of the twentieth century. In Toronto, as well, the New York Yiddish theater was much in evidence.'44 As well as in the cultural realm, extensive exchanges between Canadians and Americans occurred during these years in the religious sphere. Contemporary lists of ministers show that Canadian Christians were quite dependent on the United States in the early nineteenth century, partly because Canadians had not yet begun to train clergy on a large scale.'45Along with England, the United States was Canada's chief source of Jewish ministers and of lesser synagogue officiants as well. The United States was the main destination of departing Canadian clergy all during the period. In later years pulpits were exchanged frequently. 141. See Lazarus, p. 150; "Rag Journalism," New York Hebrew Standard, March 10, 1899. 142. For example, Meldola De Sola, "The Future of Judaism in America," New York Herald, November 26, 1905. 143. Hirsch Wolofsky, Journey of My Life (Montreal, 1929), p. 218. 144. "The Jewish Theater in Montreal," Keneder odler, August 8, 1915; 1. Rabinovitch, "Yiddish Theater in Montreal," CanadianJewish Year-Book, 1940-41, p. 167; Olivar Asselin, "The Jews in Montreal," The Canadian Century, September 16, 1911; Augustus Bridle, "The Drama of the 'Ward,"' The Canadian Magazine, November, 1909, p. 6. 145. See Newton Bosworth, ed., Hochelaga Depicta: The Early History and Present State oj the City and Island of Montreal (Montreal, 1839), passim, on the churches and synagogue of the city.

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During the tenure of Rev. David Piza in Montreal between 1838 and 1845, Myer Levy of New York came to fill in for him from time to time. In 1846, when the newly hired Abraham De Sola could not arrive in Montreal before the High Holy Days, the congregation turned again to Levy.146Sextons and teachers of the two early Montreal synagogues both came from and went back to the United States; and when the Toronto Hebrew Congregation took on its first clergyman, they hired Rev. Hyman Goldberg of New York, a combination rabbi, cantor and ritual animal slaughterer.'47 The Hamilton congregation engaged as its first rabbi, Wolf Landau, late of Zanesville, Ohio, and Honesdale, Pennsylvania.'48 Generally the Jewish clergy who came to Canada were immigrants and not native Americans. Often they were not first-raters. One of the earliest sextons of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in Montreal, Mr. Mendells never performed satisfactorily and constantly demanded more pay. Letters were written to New York and Philadelphia on several occasions in an attempt to find a replacement. At last Mendells was sent packing to an unsuspecting congregation in the western United States.'49 In later years the Canadian pulpit became largely Americanized, and the caliber of men attracted to Canada improved steadily. Toronto, Hamilton, Ottawa, Winnipeg, Regina, and other cities were served by clergy who came from the United States. In Montreal the American presence was especially marked. 50 In 1881 the Anglophile German and Polish Synagogue of Montreal called to its pulpit Rev. Samuel Marks of Chicago. From 1898 on that pulpit was occupied exclusively by rabbis who were Americans or who had American training. In that year Bernard Michael Kaplan, a recent graduate of the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York, was summoned to the congregation. Kaplan stayed in Montreal for four years, after which he left

146. MSP,August 24, 1846; "History of the Jewish Communal Bodies of Montreal," Canadian Jewish Times, December 11, 1899. 147. MSP,June 2, 1861; New York Jewish Messenger, April 20, 1875; Birnbaum, December 20, 1912. 148. "Biographical Sketches of Rabbis and Cantors Officiating in the United States," American Jewish Year-Book, 1903-4, p. 64. 149. MSP,February 17, 1847, May 19, 1847, June 2, 1847, and March 7, 1852. 150. Carroll Ryan, "Letter from Canada," Baltimore Jewish Comment, February 1, 1901; Leo M. Schapp, "Judaism in Western Canada," London Jewish Chronicle, May 8, 1905; Sch. N. Gottlieb, 'Ohole Shem (Pinsk, 1912), pp. 293, 300; "The Holy Blossom Toronto Hebrew Congregation," in Arthur Daniel Hart, pp. 105-7; Zvi Cohen, pp. 203-4.

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for Sacramento, California, where he assumed a Reform pulpit. Kaplan's successor at the synagogue was Herman Abramowitz. Abramowitz, like Kaplan, was Russian born, and a graduate of the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York. He was enormously successful in Montreal, serving the congregation until his death in 1947.151 The Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue was led throughout the period the Rabbis De Sola. But it, too, was touched by American presence. Its by assistant minister from 1882 to 1902 was Abraham Kirschberg, who had spent a number of years in New York, and who had close family connections there. Other lesser officiants over the years also came from or through New York.152 Some of the synagogues of the eastern-European immigrants, who came to Canada after 1881, were also headed by clergymen, who had been at least partially Americanized. Solomon Beir Sprince, rabbi of Montreal's Beth Midrash Hagodal Chevra Shaas Synagogue after 1902, had previously served in Patterson, New Jersey and Portland, Oregon. 53 Sprince's predecessor was Aaron M. Ashinsky. Rabbi Ashinsky, who had a major impact on the Montreal Jewish community during his five years' tenure, had spent a decade in the United States before coming to Canada. He knew English well and had become acquainted with American communal innovations, such as the afternoon Hebrew school, which he introduced to Montreal. 54 The most American of all Canadian-Jewish pulpits were those of the few Reform congregations. Hamilton's Reform congregation was generally served by American ministers, while Toronto's Holy Blossom Temple was steadily pushed in the direction of Reform by congregants, who had lived in the United States. Among the laymen who founded Montreal's Temple Emanu-El in 1882 were several who had become acquainted with Reform Judaism while living in the United States. From its inception that congregation was served by clergy who came from the United States. Since 1901 every rabbi of Emanu-El has been a graduate of the Hebrew Union College 151. "Montreal, Canada," New York Jewish Messenger, October 21, 1881; "Montreal," American Israelite, October 24, 1901; "Biographical Sketches of Rabbis and Cantors Officiating in the United States," p. 67; "Rabbi Herman Abramowitz," Canadian Jewish Times, October 9, 1902; Figler, Abramowitz, passim; and many other places. 152. "The Late Abraham Kirschberg," Canadian Jewish Times, August 15, 1902; MSP, January 31, 1907, November 13, 1907. 153. "Beth Midrash Hagodal Chevra Shaas," Canadian Jewish Times, April 11, 1902. 154. "Rabbi A. M. Ashinsky, a Zionist Leader, 87," New York Times, April 3, 1954; Irwin A. Swiss and H. Norman Shoop, Rabbi Aaron M. Ashinsky (Pittsburgh, 1935), passim.

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in Cincinnati, the Reform seminary, or of its New York branch. The most distinguished American rabbi of the congregation during the period under review was Russian-born and New Orleans reared Nathan Gordon. In 1908 Gordon succeeded to Abraham De Sola's old post at McGill, as lecturer in Oriental languages. In 1916 Gordon became a lawyer, and subsequently served for many years as president of the temple of which he had once been rabbi.155 Since there were always many fewer Canadian than American congregations, clergymen seeking a new pulpit naturally looked to the south. Those who had originally come from the United States were, of course, drawn there. For others, eager to become part of the freewheeling Judaism of the United States, conservative, but North American Canada served as a way station on the journey from Europe. Barnett Elzas and Abraham Lazarus, for example, both of whom had come to Toronto's Holy Blossom Congregation from England, went on to more successful careers in less traditional American congregations.'56 Isidore Meyers, who came to Shaar Hashomayim in Montreal from Australia in 1896 and moved on to San Francisco a year later, is another example of a European who paused in Canada on the way to the United States.'57 Discontented clergymen, like other Canadians during this period, were attracted to the United States and hoped to find there greater opportunity. When Jacob Raphael Cohen had to sue the Montreal congregation for his wages in 1782, he moved on to New York.'58 Abraham De Sola himself threatened to leave Montreal for Philadelphia in 1850, when his salary fell into arrears. Two years later, he was elected to the ministry of Micve Israel Congregation in Savannah, Georgia. He chose not to leave, however, as he did not in 1868, when he was offered the prestigious pulpit of the recently deceased Isaac Leeser in Philadelphia. 59 Joseph Kornfeld was a Montreal rabbi who came from the United States and returned there. Rabbi of Temple Emanu-El from 1904 to 1906, 155. See Michael Brown, "The Beginnings of Reform Judaism in Canada," Jewish Social Studies 34 (1972): 323-24; "Canada," London Jewish Chronicle, May 27, 1904; "Nathan Gordon, M.A., B.C.L., Montreal," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 125; "Nathan Gordon," Keneder odler, January 12, 1909; William Henry Atherton, Montreal from 1535 to 1914 (Montreal, 1914), 3: 283-84. 156. See Michael Brown, passim. 157. A. Eliasson, "Abroad," Ha-meliS, Nisan 18, 1897. 158. Benjamin G. Sack, "A Suit at Law Involving the First Jewish Minister in Canada," PAJHS 31 (1928): 181-86; Pool, p. 431. 159. MSP,April 28, 1850; February 26, 1852.

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Kornfeld left the pulpit some time after his return to the States. Later he became minister to Persia under President Warren G. Harding, and still later an insurance salesman. Service in Canada and other places had apparently discouraged the rabbi thoroughly with his sacred vocation.'60 From the earliest years, Jewish clergymen crossed the border to assist congregations not having their own rabbi. During the thirty years between 1810 and 1840, when Montreal Jews had no regular clergyman of their own, it was not uncommon for a rabbi and especially a mohel to make the arduous trip from New York to attend to their needs. The mohel (ritual circumciser) would ride circuit, circumcisingall the male children born since the previous such visit.'6' In later years that favor would be reciprocated, when Montreal mohalim would visit Plattsburg and other American border towns to initiate Jewish males into the covenant of Abraham.'62 Once railroad transportation became fast enough to make it practicable, there was considerable exchange of pulpits between New York and Montreal. Rabbi Morris J. Raphall of New York came to Montreal to speak at the cornerstone-laying ceremony of the new German and Polish Congregation in 1859. A year later at the consecration of the completed building, yet another New York minister, Samuel Meyer Isaacs, was the speaker.'63Interestingly, both men had emigrated to the United States from England (although Raphall was Swedish-born, and Isaacs Dutch-born), and both retained strong ties to the mother country of Canadian Jews. When Abraham De Sola died in New York in 1882, his nephew, Henry Pereira Mendes, and several lay leaders of New York's Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue accompanied the corpse back to Montreal. Mendes delivered the eulogy at the funeral.'64 Americans frequently preached at Toronto and Montreal synagogues on special occasions in subsequent years. 65 160. Bertram Jonas, "Refugees from the Jewish Pulpit," Canadian Jewish Chronicle, October 18, 1935, pp. 5, 16. 161. Benjamin Joseph, Berthier, Lower Canada, circumcision certificate, November 2, 1811, in ADSP.

162. MSP,various documents. 163. Carroll Ryan, "Jews in Canada," Baltimore Jewish Comment, December 7, 1900; "The Shaar Hashomayim Synagogue, Montreal," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 93. 164. Minutes of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue, New York, June 6, 1882 (hereafter referred to as SPNY).

165. MSP,September 15, 1897; Minutes of Temple Emanu-El, Montreal (hereafter referred to as MTEE), March 3, 1896, September 12, 1897; "Consecration of a Montreal Synagogue," American Hebrew, September 5, 1890; "Montreal," New York Jewish Messenger, September

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Although as a group they were less conspicuous in the much larger American Jewish community, Canadian religious figures made guest appearances in the United States with some frequency especially during the latter years of the period. Rabbi Abraham De Sola preached in New York synagogues and officiated at weddings and other ceremonies in Plattsburg and Ogdensburg, New York, and in other places.166Meldola De Sola was a fixture in New York, where he preached often at the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue and elsewhere. At meetings of the Union of Orthodox Congregations, of which he was one of the founders, De Sola's outspoken presence was always felt.'67 Even ex-Jews of the convert subculture moved north and south during these years. In the 1870s, the newly converted Charles Freshman and the earlier Canadian apostate, Isaac Hellmuth, exchanged visits with "Mr. Meyer, a converted Jew of New York."'68 In Toronto in 1911 a two-and-ahalf hour riot followed the proselytizing sermon of a Jewish convert to Christianity from Louisville, Kentucky. 69 The religious connection between the American and Canadian Jewish communities consisted of much more than exchanges of clergymen. During his long tenure in Montreal, Abraham De Sola's writings in American publications made him so well known, that he received questions about religious practice from American Jews, and gentiles wrote to him about converting to Judaism, healing by electromagnetism, and any number of other issues. 70In the early years, New York was an important source of liturgical supplies for Canadians.'71Later, American prayerbooks came to be used in 23, 1892; "To-morrow's Anniversary," Montreal Star, December 29, 1893; "A Denver Rabbi Taken to Account," Montreal Daily Herald, July 10, 1897; CCAR Yearbook, 1897, pp. vi-xiii; "Abroad," Ha-melis, Av 10, 1898; "Montreal, Canada," American Israelite, December 26, 1901; "Noted Jewish Scholar Visiting City," Canadian Jewish Times, February 17, 1911. 166. Abraham De Sola, personal letter to Rev. J. L. Meyer, December 26, 1871, and other documents in ADSP;unidentified newspaper clipping, "An Israelitish Wedding," 1878, in MDSB. 167. See, for example, "Congregation Shearith Israel," New York Jewish Messenger, March 15, 1889; "Congregation Shearith Israel," New York Jewish Messenger, May 23, 1892; The Jewish Sabbath Observance Association, Report, 1894; "Congregation Zichron Ephraim," American Hebrew, January 4, 1895; "Nineteenth Street Temple," New York Jewish Messenger, January 8, 1897; "Congregation Shearith Israel," New York Jewish Messenger, May 21, 1897; "New York," American Israelite, November 24, 1898; "Call to Orthodox Jews," New York Sun, January 7, 1902; MSP,November 29, 1906; "Married," unidentified newspaper clipping, in MDSB; SPNY, New York, May 26, 1896; The Jewish Year Book, 5663 (1903), p. 282. 168. Freshman, The Autobiography, p. 120. 169. "Religious Riot in Toronto," Canadian Jewish Times, June 23, 1911. 170. Various letters in ADSP. 171. MSP,September 23, 1856.

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many Canadian synagogues.'72 The unleavened bread eaten on Passover was imported from New York, by many who "preferred New York biscuits" to those baked in Montreal.'73 In New York's Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue, a perpetual memorial prayer was recited on certain holy days for Rabbi Abraham De Sola after his death.174From time to time Americans from Boston to Austin, Texas gave religious artifacts to the Spanish and Portuguese Congregation of Montreal.'75 In 1918, after the death of Rabbi Meldola De Sola, his widow reciprocated by presenting a Torah pointer in his memory to the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in New York.176 Requests for charitable contributions crossed the border in both directions. Their small number made Canadians more often the recipients of aid, but occasionally they sent funds to needy American Jews, as they did in 1853, to the yellow fever victims of New Orleans' Shangarai Chassed Congregation.'77 In later years Americans, like their English counterparts, grew reluctant to aid the increasingly prosperous Canadians especially as American needs for charity increased, because of the large influx of Russian Jews.178 Probably the most significant American-Jewish religious influence on Canadian Jews was ideological. The religious movements into which American Jewry came to be organized by the first years of the twentieth century spilled over into Canada. All three branches of American Judaism found their adherents in Canada, and Canadian Judaism, too, began to be organized along tripartite American lines. The Jewish Theological Seminary and its offspring, the Conservative Movement, established a Montreal branch, largely for fund raising, in 1904. The sponsors were Hiram Levy, Lazarus Cohen, and Rabbi Herman Abramowitz of Shaar Hashomayim Synagogue.'79 That synagogue became 172. See "Montreal," New York Jewish Messenger, June 16, 1899; CCAR Yearbook, 1897-98, p. xxviii. 173. "An Interesting Bread Story," Montreal Daily Herald, January 19, 1892; Meldola De Sola [A Well-Known Israelite], letter, Montreal Daily Herald, January 19, 1892. 174. SPNY, June 11, 1882.

175. See "Montreal, Canada," New York Jewish Messenger, October 5, 1888; "A Venerable Book," Montreal Daily Witness, April 24, 1893. 176. Pool, p. 115. 177. MSP,September 12, 1853. 178. SPNY, May 6, 1885, July 1, 1885, June 2, 1887; MSP,April 3, 1892; MTEE, January 7, 1892. 179. Figler, Abramowitz, p. 12.

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over the years one of the leading institutions of the Conservative Movement, closely affiliated with the American synagogues in that group. Rabbi Abramowitz felt that Conservative Judaism had arrived in Montreal just at the right time. Radical religioustendencieshad begun to manifest themselvesand weremakingheadway.Butthesewerechecked... by the successfulharmonizationof Jewishtraditionwith modernity[thatcharacterized AmericanConservatism].'80 In fact, Canadian Jews, with their British connections, were never religiously innovative. From the beginning, those who were affiliated witl the Conservative Movement found themselves on the right of the movement. The radical tendencies of American Reform made many Canadian rabbis and congregations hesitate about even slight deviations from Orthodoxy. Thus Meldola De Sola, when invited to become a member of the new Seminary, refused, fearing it was not sufficiently traditional.'81 Already in 1893 De Sola and his brother Clarence were agitating in the United States for the formation of an "Orthodox Organization." Five years later the Union of Orthodox Congregations was formed with Rabbi De Sola, who remained active to his death, as its first vice-president. A number of Canadian congregations affiliated with the Union.'82 The oldest of the American-Jewish denominations made slow headway in Canada. As late as 1953, there were but three Reform congregations in the entire country.'83 Reform rites were adopted in 1882 in both Hamilton and Montreal, although the two congregations and their rabbis were not quick to affiliate formally with the Union of American Hebrew Congregations and the Central Conference of American Rabbis. Only in 1901 did Montreal's Temple Emanu-El join the Union. In 1897, when the Central Conference of American Rabbis held its convention in Montreal, Rabbi Hartog Veld, the host rabbi was not yet a member.'84Toronto had no official Reform synagogue until after World War I, when Holy Blossom Temple joined the movement. But, as noted earlier, the Temple moved steadily 180. As quoted in Figler, Abramowitz, pp. 89-90. 181. SPNY, January 7, 1886. 182. See Meldola De Sola, "Orthodox Organization," New York Hebrew Standard, February 17, 1893; Clarence I. De Sola [An Orthodox Layman], "Orthodox Union," New York Hebrew Standard, March 3, 1898; The Jewish Yearbook, 5663 (1903), p. 282. 183. Michael Brown, p. 323. 184. See CCAR Yearbook, 1897-98.

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in the direction of Reform for years with American encouragement. One of the changes that occurred in American-Jewish life around the turn of the century was the increasing variety of communal activities accompanied by the growth and proliferation of quasi-secular institutions. America was becoming a land of organizations and institutions, and American Jews were following the patterns of their gentile neighbors. The new organizations represented a response both to the increasing complexity of society and to the growth of leisure time. As was the case with Jewish cultural and religious affairs, organizational life embraced the whole continent, although to some extent Canadians transformed American models and ideas to meet Canadian conditions. The Social Gospel movement, with its belief in human improvement through the reform of society, affected both Jewish and gentile North Americans.'85 Like their American and English cousins, Canadian Jews were inspired to establish Young Men's and Young Women's Hebrew Associations. These, like the YM and YWCA'S after which they were modeled, were designed to provide a wholesome setting for uprooted and newly urbanized people to meet together. In Montreal the YMHA was founded in 1908. Four years later it was the second largest in the world, with over 1,200 members, just behind New York's. By 1913 the movement had spread to Toronto, Vancouver and Winnipeg.'86 Other institutions copied from New York included the Montreal Jewish Library, which had modest beginnings as a reading room in 1903, and the Jewish People's University. The latter was founded by Reuben Brainin in 1914 to provide adult education for the Montreal Jewish masses. Its work was similar to that which Brainin had seen in the Educational Alliance on New York's lower East Side.'87 Two major institutions of Canadian Jewry were direct translations of American models, although they evolved out of local needs and acquired their own distinctly Canadian personality. By 1914 Montreal Jews, like their counterparts in many American communities, had become increasingly disturbed by waste and duplication in Jewish welfare services. Up to that time, 185. See J. S. Woodsworth, My Neighbor, 2d ed. (Toronto, 1913), pp. 52, 72-73; Richard Allen, "The Social Gospel and the Reform Tradition in Canada, 1880-1925," Canadian Historical Review 44 (1968), passim. 186. The YM-YWHA Beacon Dedication Issue, 1950, p. 2; The Jewish YearBook, 1914, pp. 141-49. 187. Evelyn Miller, "The Montreal Jewish Public Library," Congress Bulletin, November, 1973, p. 13; Brainin, 3: 262.

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some thirty American-Jewish communities had managed to federate their community services, thus insuring efficiency. At the behest of the Baron de Hirsch Institute, Montreal's largest and most successful agency, a study was undertaken of the New York Federation. It was recommended that Montreal adopt the New York model "and show the way to the rest of Canada."'8 Federation was eventually achieved in Montreal, and an American was hired to head the new superagency. 89Other communities followed suit. More important was the movement toward a national Canadian-Jewish organization. The Congress movement sought to unite all Jewish organizations in the Dominion under one roof. It did not achieve even limited success until 1919, just beyond the period under review. Its genesis was in the early years of the twentieth century, however, and it began to gather steam seriously in 1914. No little inspiration was gained from the short-lived Kehilla (united community) movement in New York City with which Canadian Jews were quite familiar from their own press. The American Jewish Congress, finally established in 1918, was originally intended to be a Zionist, national, popular roof organization. It provided another model. This was also a period in Canada when the union movement among Protestant churches was gaining strength, and that, too, may have provided a spur to the Jewish Congress movement.'90 It was not only models that American Jews provided their Canadian coreligionists. There were few American-Jewish organizations of the period which did not actually colonize Canada. Charitable, fraternal and national institutions, all established Canadian branches or enlisted Canadian members in American chapters. One of the most naturally international charitable endeavors was immigrant aid work. Hebrew Emigrant Aid Societies existed in Montreal and Toronto in 1881 and 1882 as well as in American cities from New York to St. Louis. In June, 1882, the various societies convened a conference in New York "to arrange for the proper reception and distribution of Russian refugees." Among those who attended the conference were Mona Lesser and Ferdinand Boas of Montreal and Mark Samuel of Toronto. Boas

188. Louis Lewis and David Dainow, "Report on the Visit to New York Charities," Montreal, 1914, p. 2. 189. "History of the Federation of Jewish Philanthropies of Montreal," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 196. 190. See Keneder odler, 1907-14.

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became a national director of the Hebrew Emigrant Aid Societies and Lesser was one of the nine members of the committee on rules.'9' This conference marked the beginning of joint American-Canadian efforts on behalf of Russian refugees. It was not a very promising start. The delegates recommended that immigration cease at once. Sir Alexander T. Gait, Canadian High Commissioner in London, telegraphed to the conference that Canada could accept no additional refugees. The American delegates, largely of German-Jewish origin, were no more eager to have them in their country.192 The later Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society was a more successful venture, although Canadian participation was minimal. In 1913 the National Board of Directors of the Immigrant Aid Society had 918 American members, two Canadians, and one Puerto Rican.'93 There was more Canadian-American cooperation in the North American operations of the Jewish Colonization Association-Baron de Hirsch Fund, with headquartersin New York. When originallyasked for help by the Young Men's Hebrew Benevolent Society of Montreal in 1890, the Fund refused. It was felt that its endowment had been given by Baron de Hirsch for use exclusively in the United States. After the turn of the century, however, the Fund undertook to assist Jewish settlers in Canada as well as in the United States. Assistance was given through the daughter agency of the fund, the Jewish Agricultural and Industrial Aid Society. Loans were made to individual settlers, and the Society sent its personnel to Canada to inspect and advise. Eventually the Baron de Hirsch Institute of Montreal assumed responsibility for all purely Canadian matters.'94 Still more successful cooperation characterized the new Zionist movement. Although for the most part Canadian Zionism developed independently of the American organization, there were some important areas of interconnection. In 1892, even before the first Zionist Congress, New

191. Gilbert Osofsky, "The Hebrew Emigrant Aid Society of the United States (18811883)," PAJHS 49 (1960): 176; "The Conference," The American Hebrew, June 9, 1882; Proceedings of the Conference of Hebrew Emigrant Aid Societies and Auxiliary Committees, New York, 1882, pp. 6-7. 192. "The Conference," The American Hebrew, June 9, 1882. 193. Wischnitzer, Visas, p. 62. 194. Benjamin G. Sack, History of the Jews in Canada, trans. Ralph Novek (Montreal, 1965), pp. 220-21; Leonard G. Robinson, "Agricultural Activities of Jews in America," American Jewish Year-Book, 1912-13, p. 54; Arthur A. Chiel, The Jews in Manitoba (Toronto, 1961), p. 53.

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York's Shavey Zion Society had set up a branch in Montreal. A year later a joint Canadian-American delegation traveled to Palestine to investigate settlement opportunities, since the group actually expected that its members would settle in agricultural colonies in Palestine. After the delegates returned, a fund was established to purchase lands for colonization, although few Canadians or Americans ever took advantage of it.'95 Other American Zionist groups also established early Canadian beachheads. Perhaps the strongest was that of the labor Zionist organization, Poalei Zion. This group, the forerunner of the present-day Israel Labor Party, was born in Europe. By the turn of the century it had a widespread network of chapters including several in the United States. In 1905 the New York chapter established a branch in Montreal. A year later groups had been formed in Toronto, Winnipeg and Hamilton. In 1910 the American Poalei Zion held their annual convention in Montreal, bringing to the city major Zionist figures and greatly stimulating Canadian interest in Zionism. During its entire history, the Canadian group has remained under the influence of New York headquarters.'96Other Zionist organizations, which spread from the United States to Canada, were the left-wing Farband Labor Zionist Order, the Orthodox Zionist organization, Mizrahi, and the Federation of Young Judea.'97 Besides their formal organizational ties, Canadian and American Zionists cooperated in other ways. The Zionist-Yiddish orator, Zvi Hirsch Masliansky, visited Montreal from time to time after 1898, as did other Zionist personalities.'98 Sometimes Canadian Zionists addressed their confreres in the United States.199Zionists, who were mostly first-generation, eastern-European Jews, thought of themselves as Jewish nationalists. They had little enthusiasm for any nationality other than Jewish nationality. They regarded as their landslayt (countrymen) Jews wherever they lived; and all gentiles, Canadian, American or other, were goyim (foreigners, outsiders). 195. Zvi Hirsch Masliansky, Kitvei Masliansky (New York, 1929), 3: 221; Leon Goldman, "History of Zionism in Canada," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 291; "The Zionist Organization of Canada," Canadian Jewish Year-Book, 1939-40, p. 292. 196. Rome, Early Documents, p. 12; American Jewish Year-Book, 1907-08, pp. 44-46; "Poalei Zionists Meet," Montreal Daily Witness, October 19, 1910; Baruch Zuckerman, Zikhroynes (New York, 1962), pp. 331-35; Brainin, 3: 265. 197. Louis Rosenberg, "Chronology of Canadian Jewish History," Canadian Jewish Chronicle, October 30, 1959, p. 25; Moe Levitt, "The Federation of Young Judea of Canada," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 289. 198. See Masliansky, 3: 218. 199. See, for example, The American Hebrew, January 6, 1899.

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The Jewish world of North America in their eyes formed a cultural continuum.200 Perhaps the most "American" of all Jewish organizations were the fraternal orders. These orders served as mutual-aid societies and as social clubs providing vital services for their members in an era when governments offered little in the way of social welfare benefits. Jews figured prominently in bringing the largest nonsectarian European order, the Freemasons, to America. Jewish orders had their origins in America. From the first, Canadians affiliated with the American orders, such as the B'nai B'rith, the Ancient Jewish Order Kesher Shel Barzel, and the Deborah Ladies' Aid Society.20' They also joined American lodges of gentile orders, such as the Masons, when Canadian lodges placed impediments in the way of Jewish membership.202 The oldest and most successful of the orders was the International Order B'nai B'rith (hereafter referred to as IOBB). Most of its early members were German Jews, who were not very numerous in Canada. Perhaps for that reason the Ancient Jewish Order Kesher Shel Barzel was, at first, more successful in Canada, and the IOBB got off to a slow start. The first Canadian lodge of the B'nai B'rith was established in Toronto in 1875, thirty-two years after the founding of the order. Six years later a lodge was established in Montreal and in 1886 an additional one in Victoria, British Columbia. The Canadian lodges were under the jurisdiction of American "Grand Lodges," the eastern ones under New York and the Victoria lodge under San Francisco. But Americans were more enthusiastic about the IOBB than Canadians. By 1894 the Toronto Lodge had surrendered its charter, and in 1903 Montreal gave up as well.203 A dramatic upsurge in the Canadian fortunes of the IOBB came about in the second decade of the twentieth century. By that time the order had lost much of its "German" aura and was considered very "American." In the

200. Compare Zuckerman, pp. 275-77, 329-30; and Jacob Zipper, Leyzer Zuker gedenkbukh (Montreal, 1968), passim. 201. Louis Rosenberg, "Two Centuries of Jewish Life in Canada, 1760-1960," American Jewish Year Book, 1961, p. 40; various letters in ADSP; Joseph Kage, p. 49; N. W. Goldstein, "Die jiidischen Bruder Orden in den Vereinigten-Staaten," Zeitschrift fuir Demographie und Statistik der Juden 8 (1912): 30. 202. Douville, p. 49. 203. Rosenberg, "Earliest Jewish Settlers," p. 189; Nathan Phillips, "The B'nai B'rith in Canada," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 433; "Montreal," New York Jewish Messenger, May 5, 1899; Maxwell H. Tucker, "Montreal Bnai Brith in Retrospect," Canadian Jewish Chronicle, May 25, 1934, p. 3.

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United States, eastern European Jews, eager to Americanize now, flocked to the IOBB.In Canada, there was renewed interest. Partly under the influence of American immigrants, such as Rabbi Nathan Gordon, new Canadian IOBBlodges were established in Winnipeg (1909), Vancouver (1910), Edmonton, Regina, Fort William, Ontario, Montreal (1913), and Victoria (1914). As if to emphasize the orientation of the order, the new Regina Lodge was named after the prominent American Jew, Louis D. Brandeis.204 Other orders which came to Canada from the United States, were The Sons of Benjamin and The Independent Order B'nai Jacob.205Rather more important, was the Arbeiter Ring or Workmen's Circle, a combination fraternal order, labor union, and mutual benefit society. Eleven years after its founding in New York in 1895, the Circle reached Montreal, where it enlisted large numbers of members, including some organized in the Karl Marx Branch.206 Another less important American order-sick benefit society was the Pride of Israel, which established a Toronto branch early in the twentieth century.207 The other American Jewish organization to attract significant numbers Canadian members during the period was the National Council of Jewish of Women, which dated from 1893 (hereafter referred to as NCJW).Although Rabbi Meldola De Sola eventually became an outspoken critic of the NCJW, because of the Reform leanings of several of its organizers, it was his wife who brought the group to Canada in 1896. At her invitation, the then president, Miss Sadie American, came to Montreal to proselytize the local ladies. The first Montreal chapter president was Mrs. De Sola herself, who traveled to Toronto in 1896 to spread the gospel. Soon there was a Canadian division of the NCJWwith Mrs. De Sola as vice-president. In 1909 the NCJWheld its first "international" Congress, in Toronto, and Canadian chapters have existed since in major Jewish centers.208 204. Tucker, p. 7; Nathan Phillips, pp. 433-37. 205. "History of the Jewish Communal Bodies of Montreal," Canadian Jewish Times, December 11, 1899, pp. 18-19; American Jewish Year-Book, 1900-01, p. 132; "A Grandiose Plan," Keneder odler, November 9, 1910. 206. "The Workmen's Circle," Canadian Jewish Year-Book, 1939-40, pp. 280-81; Rome, Early Documents, p. 47. 207. Pride of Israel Golden Jubilee (Toronto, 1955). 208. See Meldola De Sola, Jewish Ministers? (New York, 1905), p. 27; "An Interesting Episode," New York Hebrew Standard, November 27, 1896; Meldola De Sola [Maccabeus], "The Lady of the Torah," American Hebrew, February 9, 1900; Meldola De Sola [Yehudi], "The Latest Chutzpah," New York Hebrew Standard, February 9, 1900; "Jewish Women Organize," Montreal Star, August 30, 1896; "Jewish Women's Council," Montreal Star, October 21, 1896; "Canada," London Jewish Chronicle, March 6, 1908.

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Besides all these popular organizations, several American Jewish organizations appealing to special-interest groups also appeared on the Canadian scene during the latter years of the period under review. In the first decade of the twentieth century a Jewish Literary Society was organized in Montreal in close cooperation with parent groups in New York.209In 1907 the Jewish Chautauqua Society had chapters in Toronto and Hamilton as well as in sixty-one American cities.210 Chautauqua sought to spread Jewish culture, much as the general Chautauqua Society attempted to spread Christian and general culture. In 1913 the Jewish college fraternity, Zeta Beta Tau, formed its first Canadian chapter at McGill. A year later a Canadian, Nathaniel S. Fineberg of McGill, was elected Supreme Sofer at the fraternity's New York convention. Among the sponsors of the fraternity in Montreal was Rabbi Herman Abramowitz, who had belonged to it while a student in New York.211

The multiplicity of Jewish organizations in the United States on the eve of World War I seems staggering in comparison with the earlier period, but, of course, the same was true of gentile community life. Organizations, old and new, enjoyed an "astonishing growth" between 1880 and 1914. These organizations, Jewish and gentile, spread into Canada often through the agency of American immigrants. There they "had a marked assimilating effect."2'2 Because of the institutional connections of Canadians and Americans, some observers felt that Canada's whole "way of living ... [was coming] completely under the influence of New York."2t' Despite its strong bonds with England, the Canadian Jewish community now seemed "nearer the United States than England, not only topographically, but also typographically."2'4 In fact, by 1914 "the Jews of Canada ... [were well] ahead of their neighbours in maintaining an entente cordiale with the United States."215

209. Bernard Figler and David Rome, The H. M. CaisermanBook (Montreal, 1962), p. 82. 210. American Jewish Year-Book, 1907-08, pp. 90-94. 211. Upsilon Chapter of Zeta Beta Tau, 1913-1923, A History (Montreal, 1923); Figler, Abramowitz, p. 68. 212. Moffett, p. 88. 213. Andre Siegfried, The Race Question in Canada (New York, 1907), p. 126. 214. Isaac Landman [Ben Sirach], "Canadian Jews and Judaism," American Israelite, November 21, 1901. 215. "Canadian Jewry," The Jewish World, February 17, 1899.

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Yet one other bond between the Canadian and American Jewish communities developed during the nineteenth century, as a result of American leadership in matters of concern to world Jewry. Although that leadership did not come into its own until after World War I, there was manifested already in Mordecai Noah's Ararat plan to settle Jews on Grand Island in the Niagara River between Buffalo and Toronto in the 1820s and in the 1858 Mortara affair a glimmer of things to come. As they would in many serious crises yet in the future, in 1858 Canadian Jews joined their protests to those of their American coreligionists.2'6 Ties of sentiment and birth and personal and communal bonds, then, connected Canadian Jews with America all during the nineteenth century, no less, and sometimes more, than they connected them with England. As the century progressed the number of people involved grew vastly larger, the variety of American Jewish life imported became incomparably greater, and the demography of the North American Jewish community altered. In the first half of the nineteenth century, American Jews were largely of German origin, while many Canadians were of English origin. Later, most on both sides of the border had originated in eastern Europe. But whether of English or east-European origin, Canadian Jews were quite ready to adopt American habits and sentiments. Given the number of Canadians with American antecedents, the attachment of Jews everywhere in the world to the United States in the period, and the attractions of the vital, large and variegated American Jewish community, it is not surprising that Canadian Jews prior to 1914 evinced genuine enthusiasm for "the great American republic." Like other Anglo-Canadians at the turn of the century, perhaps even more so, Jews maintained a high level of interest in American affairs. Events in the United States touched them almost as much as they did Americans. In 1901 when President William McKinley was shot, Meldola De Sola, like other Montreal clergymen, offered special prayers and, after the president's death, spoke warmly of his "noble ... character."2T7 The Keneder odler kept its readers informed on all contemporary American issues, from trust-

216. See "The Mortara Abduction," New York Herald, December 5, 1858; "The Mortara Meeting," New York Jewish Messenger, December 10, 1858; Isaac Goldberg, Major Noah: American Jewish Pioneer (Philadelphia, 1936), passim. 217. Montreal Daily Witness, September 16, 1901. See also, "Special Prayers in City Churches," Montreal Star, September 9, 1901.

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busting to the Philadelphia general strike of 1910, and it even took sides in American presidential elections.218 American national holidays were celebrated in partial manner by Canadian Jews. Lincoln's birthday annually inspired an enthusiastic article in the Keneder odler,2'9and it was a matter of course for the paper "to honor the pilgrim fathers" on Thanksgiving Day.220 In 1892 Montreal's Temple Emanu-El held a service in honor of the 400th anniversary of the discovery of America. The service concluded with "an invocation for the citizens of the United States, . . . who had so nobly treated all the persecuted."22' As time went on, American-Jewish affairs involved Canadians more and more. The two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the settlement of Jews in the United States was celebrated in 1905 by Canadian Jews as if it were their own.222 On the twenty-fifth anniversary of the death of Isaac Leeser, Meldola De Sola mourned the "National loss" from the pulpit of his Montreal synagogue.223Canadian Jews read about and were interested in the Jewish agricultural school at Woodbine, New Jersey, the Jewish theater in New York, and the New York Yiddish press, which many disdained as a "literary whore."224 In general, the Canadian-American relationship was so close in the period under review that it remained, for the most part, impervious to the vicissitudes of international affairs. There were, of course, the dislocations of the American Revolution and the War of 1812, which affected Jews as they did other North Americans.225But except for these two brief periods, the human and cultural interchanges that generally characterized CanadianAmerican relations continued despite political differences, with an expected upsurge when tensions abated. (Rabbi De Sola's appearance before Congress occurred just after the conclusion of the Anglo-American Treaty of Washington in 1871.) 218. See, for example, "The Battle Against the American Trusts" July 8, 1908; "The Strike in Philadelphia," March 10, 1910; "True and False Partisans," June 17, 1908. 219. See, for example, "Lincoln's Birthday," February 11, 1909. 220. See, for example, "Today Is Thanksgiving Day," October 31, 1910. 221. "Montreal," New York Jewish Messenger, October 14, 1892. 222. See, for example, CanadianJewish Times, December 15, 1905; Meldola De Sola, "The Future of Judaism in America," New York Herald, November 26, 1905. 223. "Canada," London Jewish Chronicle, March 17, 1893. 224. See "The Woodbine Agricultural School," Canadian Jewish Times, September 30, 1898; "The Jewish Theater in New York," Keneder odler, January 13, 1909; "The Comrades' Mire," Keneder odler, November 4, 1910. 225. See Morris.

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Even during the low period of Canadian-American relations between 1864 and 1871, marked by the Fenian raids, by American annexationist pressure, by the possibility of an American-British war over the Alabama Claims and other Civil War-related issues, Jews, like other Canadians and Americans, continued to move back and forth across the border freely. American Jewish journals arrived in Canada; Rabbi De Sola continued his peregrinations; emigration from Canada to the United States continued apace.226In later, less tense years, at Montreal Jewish functions, such as the cornerstone laying of the new Baron de Hirsch Institute building in 1901, the United States consul was a regular guest.227To a great degree, then, Canadian Jews of the period under review felt that they were "Americans" and acted as if they were. VII The sentiments of Canadian Jews in the Victorian Era and the multiplicity of relationships they built up with the United States, which concretized their admiration for American freedom and opportunity coincided with the general Jewish attitude toward America. They might well, however, have conflicted with the loyalties which all Canadians, and especially AngloCanadians, were expected to have towards Great Britain, Canada's mother country. In general, the links of Anglo-Canadians with the mother country remained strong during the period under review. There were spurts of antiAmericanism too. For the most part, however, the British and the American affiliations of Canadian Jews dovetailed. Even after the American Revolution, Britain continued to transmit to the United States and, of course, to Canada, as well, ideas and culture. She also continued to export goods, capital and men to a receptive North America and to import a great deal from there. From this traffic arose shared "tastes and ... social and political principles ... "228 Moreover, Englishmen, and certainly English Jews, also greatly admired the freedom and opportunity that seemed synonymous with America. Over the years there was created a "North Atlantic Triangle," an Anglo-Saxon civilization

226. Brebner, pp. 269-73; Penlington, p. 3; Scheuer, pp. 357-58; letters in ADSP;and C. Freshman, The Jews and the Israelites (Toronto, 1870), p. viii. 227. LLB, June 7, 1901. 228. Shepperson, p. 242.

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comprising Great Britain and her two North American daughters, the United States and Canada. By 1850 there were approximately 3,000 English Jews in the United States, and a few hundred more in Canada.229Many of these at one time or another lived in all three countries. From the conquest of Canada, one of the main routes of settlers from England was via New York. The first Jews to settle in what would later be Canadian territory were English Jews, who settled in Nova Scotia in the 1750s, after stopovers of varying durations in New York and Newport.230Aaron Hart had spent some time in New York, before settling in Trois Rivieres in 1759.231 After the American Revolution, too, English Jews, and eastern and central European Jews who had passed through England, continued to make their way to Canada via American ports. They frequently scattered relatives in all three countries.232 Traffic between the United States and England, as well as three-way traffic with Canada, increased in the latter years of the period under review. Thousands of Jews annually described the triangle. Between 1904 and 1912 from 3,300 to 14,000 Jews a year emigrated directly from England to the United States and still more emigrated to the United States from England by way of Canada. Others went from England to Canada by way of American ports, cementing bonds among the three countries.233 In addition to those who actually lived in all or two of the three countries, there were others who traveled among them, sojourning for various periods of time. These too helped to create the ambience of the English-speaking, North Atlantic world. Canadian doctors, in the early days of the country, frequently studied in both the United States and England, before returning home to practice. Aaron Hart David, distinguished Montreal physician, received his medical degree at Edinburgh in 1835 and studied in the United States as well. Dr. David kept up professional ties in both countries, retaining his personal friendships, even while

229. Jacob Neusner, "The Role of English Jews in the Development of American Jewish Life, 1775-1850," YIVO Annual of Jewish Social Science 12 (1958-59): 135. 230. Rosenberg, "The Earliest Jewish Settlers," p. 139. 231. History of the Corporation of Spanish and Portuguese Jews of Montreal, Canada (Montreal, 1918), p. 11. 232. Lloyd P. Gartner, "North Atlantic Jewry," in Migration and Settlement, pp. 118-19; Birnbaum, November 29, 1912; David Rome, The First Two Years (Montreal, 1942), pp. 15-16; "The Late J. P. Davies," in Arthur Daniel Hart, p. 561. 233. Wlad. W. Kaplun-Kogan, "Die juidische Auswanderung der Neuzeit," Zeitschrifi Jfur Demographie und Statistik der Juden 8 (1912): 171.

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he served as surgeon to the Sixth Fusilliersduring the Fenian Raids of 1870.234

Other intellectualsmoved about in a similar fashion. Sir J. William Dawson, long-time presidentof McGill and the man who providedthe movingspiritfor that university'sgrowthfrom a countryschool to a major university,spoke and publishedin Englandand the UnitedStatesandwas a memberof scholarlysocietiesin both countries.In 1875he deliveredthe Phi Beta Kappa Orationat the Harvardcommencement,and some yearslater His Jewishcounterrefusedthe presidencyof a largeAmericanuniversity.235 De Sola. That his and Abraham contemporary McGill colleague, part was De Sola was born in London, lived most of his adult life in Montreal,and died on a visit to New York is symbolicof the role he playedin the "North Atlantic Triangle." Evenwar provedto be a unitingfactor.At least two CanadianJews felt sufficientlyenthusiasticabout both the United Statesand Englandto go to war for both countries. Joseph Franklin, a Montrealerborn in eastern Europe, and Dr. Hyman Lightstone,also of Montreal, both fought as volunteersin the Spanish-AmericanWar and the Boer War. Franklindied of fever at Bl6mfontein.236 The interconnectionof the three countries was perceptible at the workwas organizationallevelas well as at the personallevel. Immigrant-aid New coordinated York and Montreal.237 The London, among frequently B'nai B'rithlodges in all three countrieslooked to Grand Lodge No. 1 in New York as headquarters.238 Jewishlabor unionsin Englandand Canada reliedupon the more developedAmericanunionsfor leadership.239 In some areas both North American countries learned from England. In others Englandlearnedfrom North America.Therewas give and take of all sorts in both directionsacross the Atlantic.240 234. Borthwick, p. 26; "David, Aaron Hart, M.D.," Dominion Annual Register and Review, 1882. 235. J. William Dawson, Fifty Years of Work in Canada (London and Edinburgh, 1901), pp. 145-61, 165, 173, 307-8. 236. Canadian Jewish Times, June 7, 1901; April 26, 1901; November 23, 1900. 237. See Mordecai Yahalomshtein, untitled article, Ha-melis, Av 3, 1882. 238. "Die jidischen Ordensbriderschaften in England," ZeitschriJtfur Demographie und Statistik der Juden 8 (1912): 149-50. 239. John A. Garrard, The English and Immigration, 1880-1910 (London, 1971), pp. 169-70. 240. See, especially, "English and American Jews," London Jewish Chronicle, June 10, 1904; "England and America: the Interchange of Ideas," London Jewish Chronicle, June 17, 1904.

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In the religious sphere of life as much as in any other, Canada combined both English and American elements. Although the Anglicans and Roman Catholics do not fit the pattern for obvious reasons, most Protestant denominations and Judaism in Canada are blends from all three countries. The first two presbyteries to be established on Canadian soil were founded by emigrants from Scotland. By 1833, however, the Niagara Presbytery in Upper Canada was composed entirely of former American ministers. Canadian Baptists have almost always numbered in their ranks emigrants from both New and old England. The Methodists in Upper Canada were for a long time subordinate to the American Methodist Episcopal Church, a connection which caused them to be suspected of disloyalty to Britain. During the same period, the Methodists of Lower Canada were subordinate to the British Wesleyan Church. Finally in 1855 the two groups came together in an independent Canadian church.24' Canadian Judaism likewise had roots in both England and the United States. For Judaism as for the Protestant denominations, Canada was a way station between the two countries. It was symbolic of the nature of Canadian Judaism that the bylaws of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in Montreal in 1857 specified, that the "fixed prayers shall forever be read in the Hebrew according to the customs of the Great Portuguese Synagogue in London," and that the "hours for commencing the morning service ... be the same as in the Portuguese Synagogue in New York."242 A cursory glance at lists of prominent Jews gives some indication of the importance in the Canadian Jewish community of the triangular relationship. In S. J. Birnbaum's 1912-13 articles in the Canadian Jewish Times on "The History of the Jews in Toronto," every Jew mentioned had either a British or an American connection or both.243Of the eighteen identifiable Jews mentioned in Ross Hamilton's Prominent Men of Canada (Montreal, 1932), nine came from either the United States or Britain. A more representative sampling is offered by Arthur Daniel Hart in The Jew in Canada (Toronto and Montreal, 1926). Hart compiled profiles of 302 Jews prominent in Canada in 1926 or earlier. Of these 148 had lived either in Britain or the United States. Still more had close relatives-children or

241. John Gwynne Timothy, "The Evolution of Protestant Nationalism," in LeBlanc and Edinborough, pp. 31-36. 242. "By-Laws of the Corporation of the Portuguese Jews of Montreal," 1857. 243. November 29, 1912; December 6, 1912; December 20, 1912; January 3, 1913;January 10, 1913; January 24, 1913; February 14, 1913; March 14, 1913.

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siblings-living in one of the two countries. The breakdown by groups offers an even more telling picture. Of the clergy, 15 of 21 had American or British experience; of the journalists, one of three; of the doctors, 15 of 29; of the businessmen, 75 of 133; of the women, 11of 19. Clearly, then, English or American experience was a great help in rising to a position of influence in the Canadian Jewish community. It was also likely to strengthen the American and British ties of that community. The degree to which English and American Jews rose to the top of Canadian Jewish society paralleled the success of gentiles in the general society. English companies tended to bring over British personnel for top positions and American companies Americans. In 1931 the number of American-born in responsible positions in Canada was forty-three percent higher than the percentage of American-born in the general population.244 Similarly, the North Atlantic relationship helped Canadian emigrants and Britishers in the United States. Although no systematic studies exist, indications are that Canadians in the United States over the years achieved a high degree of success.245 So too did British immigrants, to whom the United States did not seem a "foreign" country so much as "this 'Greater Britain' in which we have made our home."246These immigrants, of course, did not have to overcome the usual language handicap. Reinforcing the trans-Atlantic movement of people, ideas, and institutions was the political rapprochement between England and the United States, which took place at the turn of the century. After the mid-1890s, when Britain awoke to the German peril, she became increasingly eager to better her relations with the United States. Outstanding issues were resolved, sometimes at Canada's expense, or so, at least, many Canadians felt. Americans, at the turn of the century, were eager for better relations with Britain. The WASPS, then in the driver's seat in the United States, but feeling a loss of power to the newcomers, began to play up Anglo-Saxon unity. Their racism derived partly from Darwin and de Gobineau and partly from fear that the new, post-1880 immigration from southern and eastern Europe, including the Jews, would be hard to assimilate and a potential threat to Anglo-Saxon hegemony. In Canada the growing friction between 244. Lloyd G. Reynolds, The British Immigrant: His Social and Economic Adjustment in Canada (Toronto, 1935), p. 121; Coats and Maclean, pp. 160-61. 245. Brebner, pp. 241-42. 246. As quoted in Rowland Tappan Berthoff, British Immigrants in Industrial America (Cambridge, Mass., 1953), pp. 132-33.

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French and Anglo-Canada prevented the development of a strong allCanadian nationalism and caused both groups to search for roots and connections with which to buttress their position. The alternative to Americanization for Anglo-Canadians was imperial sentiment. But proEnglish feeling was simply not a clear alternative. There were too many shared interests and values between the United States and England for imperial sentiment to cancel out North American sentiment. In the end both were strengthened. The North Atlantic Triangle, then, was vigorously alive during the period under review. It combined American and British elements and some Canadian. It was a relationship that made it possible for Canadians to live with creeping Americanization and yet to retain and even fortify their British connection. The rising tide of Anglo-Saxon racial spirit in Canada helped. Anglo-Canadians, for example, after a spurt of initial sympathy for Spain in the Spanish-American conflict, came around to almost unanimous support for the cause of the United States.247There was a growing feeling that Canadians, Americans and Britishers were "Anglo-Saxons, All."248 The North Atlantic relationship was far more important in AngloCanada, with its yet weak sense of nationhood, than it was in either Great Britain or the United States. Canadian churches were able to retain their ties to fellow communicants in both countries.249 Canadian universities manifested "the Anglo-Saxon influence ... in two forms-English and American."250And Canadian Jewry became at once both very British and very American. Over the years there developed in Canada a rationalization of the North Atlantic relationship, which included a new sense of Canadian mission. As intellectual leader, George M. Grant, and others saw it, Canada's "divine mission" was now to be the creation of a British North America, which would become a "living link" between England and the United States. Canada would heal the breach of 1776, mediating between the two great Anglo-Saxon peoples.25' Canadian Jews in the Victorian Era, then, shared with gentile Anglo-

247. 248. 249. 250. 251.

Penlington, p. 106. Montreal Daily Witness, February 18, 1898. Timothy, pp. 41-44. Siegfried, pp. 96-99. Berger, pp. 171-72.

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Canadians an English connection and an American connection, which made them part of an increasingly integrated North Atlantic world. Their bonds to England and America were in part unique to them. The admiration and affection they felt for both countries stemmed from the exceptionally tolerant manner in which both treated Jews. Those feelings were reinforced by the willingness of both countries to defend Jews in the international arena. Jewish affection was reciprocated by many Americans and Englishmen, who felt an affinity for Jews and for their heritage. But the bonds of Jews to England and America in this period were not only those of sentiment. Jews moved about from England to Canada to the United States. The extensive intercourse and the multiplicity of relationships they maintained among their communities in all three countries mirrored those of gentile Anglo-Saxons. To Canadian Jews the concept of a North Atlantic, Anglo-Saxon relationship was particularly congenial, since it allowed them to reconcile two ideals: England and America. Canadian Jews boasted of their dual loyalty, their admiration for the "Stars and Stripes" and their "wholehearted ... British citizenship."252It made sense in the Canadian context for Meldola De Sola to sign letters to newspapers, at times, "An American Jew," at other times, "Briton," and on still other occasions, "Canadian."253 Dependent upon and intimately connected with both England and the United States, Canadian Jews found the North Atlantic relationship to be a means of their own Canadianization, or, more specifically, their Anglo-Canadianization.

252. Lazarus, passim. 253. See various letters in MDSB.

The Hebrew First Crusade Chronicles: Further Reflections Author(s): Robert Chazan Source: AJS Review, Vol. 3 (1978), pp. 79-98 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486421 . Accessed: 26/06/2011 20:19 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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THE HEBREW FIRST CRUSADE CHRONICLES: FURTHER REFLECTIONS by ROBERT CHAZAN Ohio State University

In a previous article, I studied the short and anonymous Hebrew First Crusade chronicle.' The choice of text S as the starting point for an investigation of the three surviving records of Jewish suffering and heroism in 1096 was a natural one. The text, as it now stands, constitutes a wellorganized and coherent unit, broken off suddenly during the depiction of the destruction of Mayence Jewry. While it is certain that the chronicler did not witness personally all the events which he described, he did integrate his written and oral sources into an account which exhibits a broad and consis1. Robert Chazan, "The Hebrew First-Crusade Chronicles," Revue des etudes juives 133 (1974): 235-54. The three Hebrew chronicles were first published by Adolf Neubauer and Moritz Stern (hereafter N & S), Hebraische Berichte uber die Judenverfolgungenwdhrendder Kreuzzuge(Berlin, 1892), and were reprinted by Abraham Habermann (hereafter Habermann), Sefer gezerot 'Ashkenaz ve-$arefat (Jerusalem, 1945). We shall utilize in the present study the same designations used in the earlier one. S refers to the short chronicle (N & S, pp. 47-57; Habermann, pp. 93-104); L refers to the long chronicle (N & S, pp. 1-30; Habermann, pp. 24-60); P refers to the chronicle with poetic embellishments (N & S, pp. 36-46; Habermann, pp. 72-82). For the literature on these texts, see the references cited in the aforesaid article, n. 3.

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tent grasp of the unfolding of the First Crusade and the related violence which inundated Rhineland Jewry.2 L, the longest of the Hebrew First Crusade chronicles, is more difficult to analyze, partly because of the length of the text, partly because of its poor state of preservation, and partly because the awkwardness of the chronicler has left tantalizing hints regarding the process of editing. Like S, L is based on a series of written and oral sources. The editor of L, however, was less adroit than the editor of S in fusing his sources into a satisfying unit. Because of this lack of grace, the hand of the editor is more apparent in L, although the precise dimensions of his role cannot be fully clarified on the basis of the texts currently available. While the problems associated with L are vexing, its richness of detail and its power necessitate an effort to clarify some of these problems and to suggest tentative solutions. Many of our conclusions will be speculative; the state of the text and its sister texts will allow no more. *

*

*

The historical writings of medieval Ashkenazic Jewry tend to be circumscribed and episodic in nature. Numerous descriptions of specific events have survived, leaving the distinct impression that many similar records have disappeared over the ages.3 In a few instances Ashkenazic Jews tried their hand at depicting broader developments, by weaving a number of incidents into a connected narrative. The level of achievement varied. In the case of R. Ephraim of Bonn's account of post-i 146 crises, what emerged was nothing more than a melange of specific occurrences, with no organizing scheme whatsoever.4 By contrast, R. Ephraim left a coherent chronicle of the events associated with the Second Crusade, beginning with the efforts of Bernard of Clairvaux on behalf of the Jews, proceeding to a description of sporadic persecution in Germany, France, and England, moving on to a discussion of the return to relative normalcy, and concluding with general observations on the limited achievements of the Second Crusade and an 2. Chazan, "The Hebrew First-Crusade Chronicles," pp. 244-48. 3. Note, e.g., the account of a tenth century incident in Le Mans-Habermann, pp. 11-15; the records of the Blois incident of 1171-N & S, pp. 31-35: Habermann, pp. 142-46; and the description of the fate of Mayence Jewry in 1187-88-N & S, pp. 76-78; Habermann, pp. 161-64. 4. N & S, pp. 66-75; Habermann, pp. 124-32.

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entreaty for divine revenge against those who had massacred the Jews.5 Even more impressive is the organization of S's account of the call to the First Crusade, the initial hints of violence in France, the dangerous incident in Speyer, and the devastating attacks in Worms and Mayence. The goal of L is a broad one-the chronicling of a series of disasters related to the First Crusade. The achievement falls somewhere in the middle range, more impressive than the haphazard collection of post- 1146 materials compiled by R. Ephraim of Bonn and less impressive than the cohesive chronicles of R. Ephraim for 1146-47 and of S for 1095-96. To begin on a positive note, L is clearly not a random compilation. It opens with the calling of the First Crusade, details the catastrophes that struck Central European Jewry, and concludes with a gleeful rendition of the downfall of Peter the Hermit and the German bands that had decimated Rhineland Jewry. This is surely not accidental. The work was constructed by its editor in such a way as to present a total portrait of Jewish fate during the First Crusade. The achievement of L does not, however, reach the level of R. Ephraim or of S. Rather than a smooth account, L is broken up into a series of units. These include: (1) the development of the First Crusade and the attacks on the Jewish communities of Speyer, Worms, and Mayence;6 (2) the fate of Cologne Jewry, including the assault in Cologne itself, with few casualties, and the subsequent killing of most of Cologne's Jews in the seven neighboring castles to which they had fled for safety and security;7(3) incidents in a number of additional Jewish communities;8 (4) praise for those who were forcibly converted, yet remained loyal Jews;9(5) the decimation of the popular crusading bands that had clustered around Peter the Hermit and subsequently around lesser figures like Emicho of Leinigen, with explicit prayers that similar disasters be visited on those still joining the crusading effort.'0 The chronicler thus strung together a series of accounts in order to fashion his portrait of Jewish fate during the First Crusade. While this is in fact what R. Ephraim of Bonn did for the Second Crusade and S did for at least part of the First Crusade, the results in L are a bit less impressive. The technique 5. N & S, pp. 58-66; Habermann, pp. 115-23. On this chronicle, see Robert Chazan, "R. Ephraim of Bonn's Sejer Zechirah," Revue des etudes juives 132 (1973): 119-26. 6. N & S, pp. 1-17; Habermann pp. 24-43. 7. N & S, pp. 17-25; Habermann pp. 43-52. 8. N & S, pp. 25-29; Habermann, pp. 52-57. 9. N & S, p. 29; Habermann, p. 57. 10. N & S, pp. 29-31; Habermann, pp. 57-60.

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for joining together the disparate elements is a rather artificial one, less satisfying than the linkage supplied by R. Ephraim and by S. Having said this, we must proceed to ask whether it is possible to identify more fully the contributions of the chronicler. To be sure, he organized the narrative and supplied the necessary transitions from unit to unit. Beyond this, is it possible to indicate more specifically his role in the composition of the separate units out of which the chronicle is fashioned? This involves the following question: For each of the five units, is the chronicler an author, a compiler, or an incorporator? That is to say, did he actually write the section in its entirety; did he build it out of preexistent fragments; or did he simply add a total unit to his lengthy composite work? Clearly there is no reason to anticipate one role only for the chronicler. He may have functioned variously in all three modes. It seems quite likely that the last section, depicting the downfall of the popular crusading bands, was written by the editor himself. This is not the kind of material that would be independently in existence in the Jewish community; there is a definite sense that this description was penned by the editor as a fitting conclusion to his work. The point of this conclusion was to show that the process of divine retribution was already under way and to beseech the Lord to intensify the punishment of those who had savagely murdered the Jews. It is likewise possible that the fourth segment, depicting the loyalty of those forcibly converted, was composed by the editor. This too very much has the flavor of an editorial comment composed for this particular setting. It is with respect to the first three sections that the problem is most difficult and in some cases insoluble. Continuing to work backward, we shall deal first with the third segment, which describes the fate of a series of Jewish settlements. The opening paragraph of this section was almost certainly penned by the editor himself. Just as the enemy accomplishedtheir designs against the foregoing communities, as we have indicated,so too did they accomplishtheir designs againstother communities.... 1 Thus the organization of this unit can be readily attributed to the editor. Whether he actually composed the accounts concerning Treves, Metz, Regensburg, and xSv or simply compiled written reports available to him is 11. N & S, p. 25; Habermann, p. 52.

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a matter of speculation. Thus the chronicler may have functioned as author of the third unit, compiler of the third unit, or a combination of both. It may be noted, however, that the four descriptions-Treves, Metz, Regensburg, and x5t--are quite dissimilar. While the depiction of Treves Jewry and its fate is highly detailed, the remaining three stories are extremely cursory. Omitted, for example, are the exact dates of the tragedies, which are normally specified. It thus seems likely that the vague reports on Metz, Regensburg, and x5vt were penned by the editor himself, based on loose oral reports; the detailed recitation of events in Treves was probably introduced from a written local source. We can thus tentatively suggest that in the third unit the chronicler was both author and compiler. The role of the editor with regard to the Cologne unit is yet more problematic. Here the transitional observation is extremely brief-"Now I shall tell what the community of Cologne did, how they sanctified God's unique and sublime name."'2 Three possibilities present themselves: (1) the chronicler himself composed the entire unit; (2) he compiled this section from sources available to him; (3) the editor of the chronicle simply utilized an already available unit, which he introduced with the brief sentence just now quoted. I see at the present time no way of deciding definitively among these three alternatives. In any case, no matter who constructed the Cologne unit, it is quite well organized. It begins with a broad look at the entire period of this Jewish community's suffering. On the fifth of Sivan, the eve of Shavuot[= May 29, 1096],the news reached the city of Cologne .... They began to murder Cologne's Jews from Shavuot

[=May 30] down to the eighth of Tammuz [=July

1].13

After this overview, the editor or subeditor depicts the attacks in Cologne itself. This initial assault resulted in only a few Jewish casualties. On the tenth of Sivan, the bishop of Cologne removed the Jews from Cologne to seven neighboring locales, in a misguided effort to save them from harm. The narrative then follows the relentless attacks on these Jewish refuges, which resulted in the almost total decimation of the once proud community. The unity of the account, which is indicated at the outset, is reinforced by the closing paragraph. 12. N & S, p. 17; Habermann, p. 43. 13. Ibid.

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Of all the seven towns into which the communityof Cologne had been dispersed,only those few in the town of Kerpenwere saved.14 The Cologne segment, whoever might have been responsible for it, is surely a cohesive unit. This brings us to the first unit. In its broad outlines, this unit is a wellorganized narrative of the opening attacks on Rhineland Jewry. It begins with a rapid sketch of the development of the First Crusade and the evocation of anti-Jewish hostility, proceeds to brief accounts of the assaults in Speyer and Worms, and focuses on the catastrophe that destroyed the great Jewish community of Mayence. As with the third unit, it seems likely that the editor functioned as both author and compiler. There can be no doubt that the introductory statements in this section were written by the chronicler himself. At the same time, a series of lapses affords us the firmest evidence of the process of compilation of preexistent written sources. These signs of utilization of written sources fall into three categories. The first is simple and obvious maladroitness in organization. Thus, for example, the account of events in Mayence begins, quite properly, with the news of the disasters at Speyer and Worms. In a panic, the Jews of Mayence both prayed to their God and sought out the temporal authorities who could seemingly offer immediate protection. At this point, however, the chronological account is interrupted by the threat of Duke Godfrey to destroy the Jews prior to leaving for the Crusade and the Jewish success in fending off this danger through a combination of appeal to the emperor and bribery of the duke. This story clearly breaks the thread of continuity. The chronicler seems to have decided to introduce it into his Mayence account because of the role that R. Kalonymus of Mayence played in eliciting imperial support. The results, however, are far from satisfactory. This interruption is followed by a second, consisting of reflections on God's decision to allow the destruction of these Jews and the distorting slogans of the Crusaders which sounded inter alia the theme of God's abandonment of the Jews. Yet a third interpolation traces the announcing of the Crusade by the pope and the perversion of this call into an appeal for violence against the Jews, developments which had already been indicated. It is only with the story of the woman and her goose that we are brought back to Mayence and 14. N & S, p. 24; Habermann, p. 52.

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the burgeoning tensions in that particular city. There is in all this the strong sense of an editor who has not been fully successful in integrating materials that stood, in written form, at his disposal. The same sense flows from a second category of lapses, namely, internal repetitions. In the poorly organized opening remarks on Mayence Jewry we note one instance of such repetition, where the chronicler repeats in modified form the description of the onset of the Crusade which he had already supplied earlier. A second example of the same lapse can be found in the dual description of the negotiations with the bishop of Mayence. At the outset of the report on Mayence, the editor depicts vividly the fear that gripped the Jews and their turn to the local authorities.Later on in the same account, when he speaks of the arrival of the hated Emicho, he adds a second description of negotiations with the local authorities. It might be suggested that this second report is a background reminder of successful negotiations, meant to serve as a foil to the unsuccessful efforts with Emicho. This, however, is not the case. The second report is quite full, containing a number of details not available in the first. Again the sense is one of preexistent sources poorly fused. Finally, there are occasionally inconsistencies that point in the same direction. Thus, for example, the narrative on Mayence begins with reports arriving concerning the attack in Speyer and the two assaults in Worms, the second taking place on Sunday the first of Sivan (=May 18, 1096). Hearing this, the Jews went to the bishop and begged aid. His response was to suggest that they sequester themselves in his palace. Yet, further on in the account, there is a story about voices heard in the synagogue on the previous Friday night. From this story it is clear that, by Friday May 16, most of Mayence's Jews had already left their homes and fled to fortified places. From all three types of lapses, we gain the impression of a compilation of written records, with the editor failing to integrate fully his source materials. This analysis has been of necessity lengthy and detailed. It therefore seems wise to present the major conclusions: (1) The chronicle as a whole is not a haphazard melange but reveals the hand of an editor who provided sensible and meaningful organization. (2) Of the five major units of which the chronicle is constructed, two were probably written by the editor himself (units 4 and 5); two were partly authored and partly compiled from available written reports (units 1 and 3); and one may have been authored, compiled, or fully incorporated (unit 2). The chronicler thus emerges as pos-

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sessor of both written and oral reports, sometimes shaping these reports in his own words and sometimes quoting them at length in his narrative. *

*

*

It is obviously of some importance to raise the issue of dating. More precisely, is it possible to determine the point at which the editor collated and integrated his sources into the narrative as we now have it?"5In view of our conclusion that L is a composite work, the sources upon which it is based could surely have been composed at an earlier date. Many students of this text have been struck by the feeling of immediacy in the material. It is rich in detail and suffused with the kind of passionate feeling that smacks of a contemporary record. It is of course both possible and probable that the original sources out of which the chronicle was in part composed were written as local reports at the time of the tragedy itself. This leaves open, however, the question of when these reports were organized into the comprehensive chronicle which we now possess. In attempting to deal with this issue, we must begin with an observation concerning the terminus ad quem. It has often been suggested that this rendition of Jewish fate during the First Crusade was penned on the eve of the Second Crusade, in order to warn Jews of impending dangers and to impress upon them the ideal of martyrdom. However, a close reading of the text shows no allusion whatsoever to a new crusade. On the contrary, it seems most unlikely that a new crusade could have been in the offing without leaving some significant imprint in the edited text. It thus is plausible to date the chronicle some time prior to the mid-1140s.'6 A discussion of the dating of L must next address itself to the brief passage which seemingly offers direct evidence as to the date of composition. This passage, which has been widely quoted, remains highly problematic. The observation comes in the midst of the depiction of the downfall of Cologne Jewry. These Jews had been dispersed into seven fortified towns in order to afford them protection. The chronicler then traces the fate of each 15. The following analysis of the dating of L represents, it will be clear, a repudiation of the suggestion of early dating for L made in my previous study. The issue of the dating of S remains problematic. There is nothing in S to necessitate a late date of composition. 16. In the closing paragraph of his narrative, the chronicler notes an eclipse of the sun and a concomitant slaughter of Crusaders. He adds: "But the enemy have still not desisted from their evil designs. Every day they set forth for Jerusalem." This hardly sounds like the onset of the Second Crusade. For evidence in R. Ephraim's chronicle of the rumblings of the Third Crusade, see Chazan, "R. Ephraim of Bonn's Sefer Zechirah," pp. 120-23.

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of these seven groups, all but one of which were destroyed. After describing the martyrdom of the Jews at xK5', the fourth of these unavailing refuges, the chronicler adds:

U nnpnYn TE nx nSxuwOwn.KXYlXYmKn p12oiw13V 7.n.t;Wirp

5 11D ,-3iE vYD11ix'zx

1:n 'yDin

n 3o 57 53

X .ti1? SK1I Dn

n3 n nY p"nn rw ,nIWYDnDvTpin

Critical here are the first five words--nO 7"nn n3m; nian y. This phrase has often been taken to mean: "At this point it is 4900 [= 1140]." As noted by a number of observers, this is simply not the meaning of the Hebrew expression. These words can only mean: "Thus far the events of 4900." Such a statement makes no sense in the midst of an ongoing description of Jewish fate in 1096. The one suggestion that makes some sense of this troublesome clause was advanced by Ismar Elbogen.'8 The description of the tragedy at ends with the burial of the martyred Jews by those forcibly converted. Kxa^K During this effort they discovered a Jewess still alive among the corpses. They restored this woman to health, although the memory of the horror which she had survived remained with her for the rest of her life. As a result of her experience, she subsequently instituted harsh restrictions on her " r n av T7-u be -rnn eating habits. Elbogen proposes that the difficult v the to conclusion of the joined previous passage to read as follows: w:3v u'

mn3T ,31? ni n r5

01 n

x5x 5*x xi n1 5? K?K 3nyn ,i nw m 5 n1n iniKxi v nni ,'iTvnn .u-lib p"nn nmy y wiim

And fromthatday forth,she fastedeveryday, eatingonly once perday,except for Sabbathsand holidays and new moons, down till now, the year 4900 [= 1140].19

While possible, this suggestion of Elbogen is far from convincing. Methodologically, it thus seems wise to suspend judgment temporarily on this clause and to examine the text carefully for additional clues as to possible dating. 17. N & S, p. 21; Habermann, p. 48. In view of our analysis of this segment of the chronicle, it is possible: (1) that Solomon bar Samson is the person responsible for the entire chronicle; (2) that Solomon bar Samson is responsible for the Cologne unit; (3) that he is responsible for the account of a,'K alone. 18. Ismar Elbogen, "Zu den hebraischen Berichten iber die Judenverfolgungen im Jahre 1096," Festschrift zum siebzigsten Geburtstage Martin Philippsons (Leipzig, 1916), pp. 6-9. 19. N & S, p. 21; Habermann, p. 48.

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Two studies have focused on the concluding segment of the chronicle as the key to its dating. Yitzhak Baer has argued that, from the lack of reference to the capture of Jerusalem, it can be deduced that the original text which he postulates was composed prior to 1099.20In my earlier study, I claimed that, from the lack of reference to the decimation of Peter the Hermit's hosts at Civetot, it is clear that the text (minus the problematic clause referring to 1140, which I saw as a later interpolation) must have been composed almost immediately after the attacks on Rhineland Jewry.21Both of these suggestions, however, are based upon an insufficient understanding of the closing unit of the chronicle. In this final section, the chronicler beseeches divine vengeance for the crimes committed against the Jews and attempts to show that in fact the process of punishment had already begun. It is in this connection that the downfall of Peter the Hermit and the lawless German bands is related. Even if the chronicler were writing after 1099, he would not have spoken of the conquest of Jerusalem. That success was irrelevant, and indeed inappropriate, to his interests, for it was his desire to portray Crusader defeat. This same purpose must be kept in mind when reading the section on Peter the Hermit. The chronicler was not in search of accurate historical information. He was not particularly interested in where and how Peter's army was decimated; he was interested only in the fact that it was decimated. Thus for him it was sufficient to report that, when the Hungarians "trapped a hundred Crusaders together, they would kill them. On the morrow they would do likewise, and on the day following the same, until they killed them all, those traveling with Peter."22To expect the Jewish chronicler to write of Civetot is to anticipate an unwarranted level of historical interest and information. For him it was enough to know and to tell of the destruction of Peter's forces. One can learn from this description nothing significant concerning the dating of the text. While these suggestions for early dating thus fall by the wayside and while judgment on the problematic clause which specifies 1140 remains suspended, there are in fact a number of indications in the text that the editing took place some time after the events themselves. The opening lines of the chronicle are instructive. 20. Yitzhak Baer, "The Persecution of 1096" [Hebrew], SeJer AssaJ (Jerusalem, 1953), pp. 128-30. 21. Chazan, "The Hebrew First-Crusade Chronicles," pp. 242-44. 22. N & S, p. 30; Habermann, p. 58.

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And it cameto pass in the year4856 [= 1096],in the year 1028of our exile,in the eleventhyear of the 256th cycle, when we hoped for salvationand consolation . . ., that it was transformedinto sorrow and sighing, into weeping and wailing.23 This kind of elaborate dating is not normally used by those writing simultaneously with the events; it usually bespeaks the elapsing of a significant period of time. The same sense emerges from the beginning of the report on Speyer. In that year Passoverfell on Thursdayand the new moon of lyar on Friday and Sabbath.24 This observation as well would hardly be made by someone writing in 1096 or 1097. A similar sense of later writing and editing is conveyed by two interpolations in the Cologne story. Omitting the difficult reference to 1140, we may still note the indication that Solomon b. Samson "asked the elders concerning the entire incident," arranging his report on the basis of their testimony.25 Likewise in the account of the assault on Xantes there is mention of "my ancestors and the rest of the elders who occupy themselves with this matter, who saw this great deed."26 Both these interpolations imply a lapse in time between the events and their depiction. Finally, a closing remark by the chronicler reinforces the conclusion that the editing was late. After depicting the demise of the hosts of Peter the Hermit and Emicho of Leinigen, he notes: In those days the sun was eclipsed.On that day God broke the prideof our enemiesand their name was obliterated.27 The designation "in those days" is in itself a reflection of uncertainty and, in all probability, of distance from the events. Moreover, available knowledge of eclipses indicates that there was in fact no eclipse in the latter half of 1096, 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

N N N N N

& & & & &

S, S, S, S, S,

p. p. p. p. p.

1; Habermann, p. 24. 2; Habermann, p. 25. 21; Habermann, p. 48. 22; Habermann, p. 49. 30; Habermann, p. 59.

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the period during which the Crusader reverses took place. The only eclipse at approximately that time was observed in 1093.28Once again the impression is one of distance from the events and some confusion over details. A brief word concerning the provenance of the chronicle is also in order. It seems quite likely that the editor came from one of the Jewish communities described in the first segment of the narrative. Clearly these communities are the focus of his interest. Had the chronicler been a member of the Jewish community of Cologne, to which ample space is also devoted, it seems unlikely that Cologne Jewry would have been treated separately; it is far more likely that, if such were the case, the Cologne account would have been absorbed into, and would perhaps even have dominated, the opening section of the chronicle. To be sure, there is no certainty attached to this conclusion. We are merely suggesting that the structure and organization of the chronicle make it likely that its editor was a member of the reorganized Jewish community of Speyer or Worms or Mayence. Thus the following conclusions can be offered: (1) There is, throughout the chronicle, a sense of immediacy and rich detail, which reflects both written accounts composed at the time of the tragedy and later recording of eyewitness reports. (2) There is no evidence of early editing. (3) On the contrary, there are a number of signs of later editing. (4) The passage that specifies the year 1140 remains problematic. If one wishes to accept Elbogen's reading of the text, then it is possible to move beyond the generalization "later editing" and propose a specific date. (5) The chronicle, as we have it, probably originated in Speyer or Worms or Mayence. *

*

*

In my earlier study of S, I attempted to analyze a number of the major themes in the chronicle. These included attitudes toward the Crusaders, the burghers, the Christian authorities, the converted Jews, and the martyrs. It is striking to note that there are no significant differences between S and L on these issues. In a sense nothing new is thus added to our understanding of Jewish attitudes to the developments associated with the First Crusade. In fact, however, the correspondence in outlook between S and L is useful. It indicates that the views of S were not personal and idiosyncratic, but were shared throughout German Jewry. Indeed, since L, more clearly than S, is a 28. Theodor Ritter von Oppolzer, Canon of Eclipses, trans. Owen Gingerich (New York, 1962), charts 110-12. The next eclipse visible in areas of Germany was in 1133.

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composite work, based to some extent on prior written records, the sense of shared outlooks is yet stronger. In this regard then, L buttresses our understanding of the attitudes of Rhineland Jewry toward the disaster which overtook it. There is one section of L that merits particular attention. Since L is complete, the closing segment deserves special scrutiny.29It is highly significant that the chronicler chose to end his lengthy account with a unit devoted to signs of divine punishment, prayers for fuller vengeance against the Christian world, and concomitant hopes for redemption of the Jews. S and the remainder of L are of course not devoid of these themes. It is, however, striking that this is precisely the note upon which the editor of L chose to end. We have already noted that the fifth and final unit is devoted to an extensive description of the annihilation of the forces of Peter the Hermit and of the popular German crusading bands. The chronicler, in all probability writing himself, depicts gloatingly and erroneously the supposed decimation of Peter's hordes by the Hungarians, "until they killed them all. Thus the Holy One, blessed be He, avenged the blood of His servants upon them, leaving not a single man among them."30This is followed by an equally extensive depiction of the downfall of the German crusading bands, with special mention of the hated Emicho. According to the Jewish chronicler, these unruly groups found Hungary closed to them. Failing in their efforts to overcome the first major fortress along their way, they attempted negotiation. The four barons sent to negotiate promised the king of Hungary to produce the head of Emicho. The latter and his followers fled with the Hungarians in full pursuit. The rout extended to the Danube, where "they fled over a bridge constructed by Peter the Hermit. They broke the bridge and thousands upon thousands drowned in the Danube, until they walked on the backs of the drowned just as one walks on dry land. When the remnant returned, we heard and were happy, for the Lord showed us vengeance upon our enemies."3' Once more the account is a curious mixture of fact and fancy. There is far less concern for accurate historical reporting than in the body of the text. The reason for this is quite simple. The chronicler is interested above all else in conveying the impression of total destruction. The chronicle closes with the observation that crusading fervor was yet 29. Recall that S is incomplete. We do not know how S chose to end his work. 30. N & S, p. 30; Habermann, p. 58. 31. N & S, p. 30; Habermann, p. 59.

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in evidence and with a series of biblical verses predicting the downfall of Israel's enemies and the ultimate redemption of the Jews. The enemy have still not desistedfrom theirevil designs.Everyday they set forth for Jerusalem.Indeedthe Lord has appointedthem for slaughterlike sheep and set themapart for destruction."Turnback the wickednessof our "Paythem backfor theirdeeds,O neighborssevenfoldon theirown heads."32 Lord, pay themback what they deserve.Show themhow hardThy heartcan be, how little concernThou hast for them. Pursuethem in angerand exterminatethem from beneathThy heavens,O Lord."33"For the Lordhas a day of vengeance,a yearof requitingfor the injusticescommittedagainstZion."M4 However,"Israelwill be deliveredby the Lord,deliveredfor all time to come; they shall not be confoundedor put to shame for all eternity."-3 This is a striking conclusion to the long and horrifying record of slaughter at the hands of the Crusaders. The chronicler ends with the firm conviction that the crusading hosts, awesome as they might seem, fit neatly into the traditional pattern of Israel's enemies. They form but one more link in the chain and will meet the fate predicted by Israel's prophets. Conversely the weak Jewish community, which had fallen prey to the hatreds of the larger world around it, was the historical continuation of the true Israel which the Lord had long ago promised to redeem. At a number of points in the chronicle it had in fact been suggested that the Jews of the Rhineland had strengthened their claim to ultimate salvation by their unswerving dedication to God. Out of the test of 1096 came, in a sense, deeper certainty of eventual redemption.36 Beyond the themes associated with the crusading period itself, there are a number of underlying historiographic attitudes which may be noted. One of the most interesting of these concerns the principle of historical causation. The First Crusade itself is seen as a specific and sudden development in Christian society; there is no search for broad patterns of development. 32. Psalms 79:12. The translation has been taken from the New English Bible, but has been adapted slightly. Note the following verse which speaks of the joyful praise to be offered by redeemed Israel. 33. Lamentations 3:64-66. 34. Isaiah 34:8. Again the translation has been adapted slightly. 35. Isaiah 45:17, adapted slightly. The entire passage can be found in N & S, p. 30, and Habermann, p. 59. 36. This notion is developed more fully by R. Ephraim of Bonn in his account of the Second Crusade. See Chazan, "R. Ephraim of Bonn's Sefer Zechirah," pp. 123-25.

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Neither economics nor politics are adduced to explain the genesis of the crusade. The causative factors in the First Crusade lay, in the eyes of the Jewish observer, in powerful human volition directed toward religious goals. The crusade developed when the arrogantones, the barbarians,bitterand headstrong,the Frenchand the Germans,rousedthemselves.Theycommittedthemselvesto journeyingto the Holy City, whichhad beendesecratedby savagepeople,in orderto seek there the graveof theirdeity,to drivefromtherethe Moslemsandthe inhabitantsof the land, and to conquerthe land.37 In a subsequent passage, where the papal call to the crusade is mentioned, albeit in vague and shadowy terms, the essential factor is again the powerful emotional response which the papal exhortation evoked. Then Satancame, the pope of wickedRome, and announcedamong the peoples who believedin the Nazarene,i.e., the childrenof Seir,thattheyassemble and ascendto Jerusalem,on a path made smooth for pilgrims,and visit the graveof the abominationwhichthey acceptedfor themselvesas a deity.Thus this Satancame and mixedamong the peoples.They all gatheredtogetheras one manto fulfillthe command.Theycameas the sandon the seashore,witha noise like a violent storm.-3 The same sense that great historical developments proceed from human will, motivated largely in the direction of religious zeal, emerges from the description of the deflection of Crusader exhilaration against the Jews. Once more the decisive factor is human volition. And it cameto passwhenthey traversedtownswheretheJewswere,theysaid to one another:"Beholdwe journeya long distanceto seek the sanctuaryof our deity and to avenge ourselvesupon the Moslems. But the Jews, whose ancestorskilled and crucifiedhim groundlessly,live among us. Let us take vengeanceupon them first. Let us destroythem utterly,so that the name of Israelbe recalledno longer.Or let them be like us and acknowledgeJesus.39 The most striking expression of the centrality of human will in history lies in the key phenomenon depicted in the chronicle, namely, the re37. N & S, p. 1; Habermann, p. 24. 38. N & S, p. 4; Habermann, p. 27. 39. N & S, p. 1; Habermann, p. 24.

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markable Jewish readiness for martyrdom. Historical patterns and psychological predilections do not enter the picture; the central factor again is human volition, in this case the religious zeal of the beleaguered Jews. Every incident highlights the powerful commitment of the besieged Jewish community. Thus, for example, when the crusading hosts broke into the courtyard of a bishop's palace in Mayence, the doomed Jews cried out together-old men and young men, maidensand children,male servants and female servants-to their father in heaven. They wept for themselvesand for theirlives and acceptedthe heavenlydecree.They said to one another:"Let us be strongand sufferthe burdenof our sacredawe. For the enemy may kill us for the moment-indeed by the easiest of the four modes of death, i.e., by the sword-but we shall live forever.Our souls will liveon in Paradise,in greatdivinelight,to eternity."Theysaidwholeheartedly and willingly:"Ultimatelyone is not permittedto questionthe qualitiesof the Holy One, blessedbe He and His name,who gave us His Torahandthe commandmentto die and be killedfor the unityof His holy name. Fortunateare we if we do His will. Fortunateareall thosewho arekilledandareslaughtered and die for the unity of His name."40 Such descriptions abound throughout the chronicle. They reflect more than simply praise for the Jewish martyrs; they reflect more even than a sense of Jewish victory over the enemy; they reflect a view of history in which events are directed primarily by the workings of powerful human wills. This view of history as effected largely by the workings of human volition recognizes the reality of clash of wills. The tragedy of Rhineland Jewry in fact highlights such a clash, the battle between a large and powerful Christian society and its tiny Jewish enclaves. The Jewish chronicler recognizes that the force generated by powerful human emotions may be measured in a variety of ways. There is, first of all, the reality of physical power. No matter how intense Jewish volition might be, it was inevitably overcome in direct physical confrontation by overwhelming Christian numbers and force. In this-worldly matters, the Jewish chronicler is very much a realist. There is no miraculous salvation for the Jews; no extraworldly figures appear to spare the Jews from physical annihilation. The Jewish observer makes no effort to gloss over terrestrial realities. At the same time he advances another set of measures for evaluating human will-the goals 40. N & S, pp. 6-7; Habermann, pp. 30-31.

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toward which this will is directed. Thus, while recognizing the physical superiority of the Christian forces and their inevitable success in battle, the Jewish chronicler denies their victory nonetheless. The basis for this denial lies in the conviction that there is a God who will ultimately decide the fate of mankind, not on the basis of physical might, but rather on the basis of spiritual right. It is this second mode of evaluation which enabled the Jewish martyrs and those who recorded their deeds to emerge with a sense of victory in the clash between the wills of the two opposing religious camps. Thus the constant denigration of Christiantity is more than simply a gratuitous emotional response on the part of the Jews. It is essential in order to explain and to understand the outcome of the struggle. It is because the Christian world has committed itself to a meaningless faith, while the Jews worship the one true God, that the physical defeat is transformed into a spiritual victory. This emphasis on human will and the goals toward which it is directed accounts for a number of important characteristics of L and its sister texts. The first is a careful balance between the natural and the supernatural. The description is consistently "this-worldly," as we have noted. There is careful attention accorded to specific details and no effort made to introduce extraterrestrial forces. This does not imply, however, a modern naturalism. To the contrary, the naturalism of the description is the result of total religious conviction. Precisely because the Jewish authors were so totally convinced of the rightness of their cause and their ultimate vindication, they were capable of describing so clearly and so naturally a military defeat. This view of human history as an arena of conflicting wills accounts for yet another major characteristic of these Hebrew Crusade chronicles-their emphasis on the individual. This emphasis is all the more striking in view of the general tendency toward anonymity in Ashkenazic literature of this period. Thus, for example, R. Solomon b. Isaac of Troyes (Rashi) left a vast literary legacy of commentaries, responsa, and poetry, all of which reveals practically nothing of the man himself. Yet these comparatively brief Crusade chronicles are replete with a cast of unforgettable human beings. To be sure, we know little of the full personality of such heros as Rachel, the daughter of R. Isaac, or David b. R. Nethanel or Isaac b. R. David. They are nonetheless presented to us in their moment of sacrifice in full individuality. There is a distinct effort to capture the uniqueness of each individual character. Given the view that history is dominated by the forceful expression of human will, the effort to portray as fully as possible such

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heroic figures is entirely understandable. Indeed the view of history is a distinctly heroic one. History is seen as the working out of individual and collective wills. In such history economic or political process plays little or no role. The center of the stage is given over to the heroic group or the heroic individual. In this respect, while the Jewish observers differ profoundly from their Christian counterparts in their evaluation of these historical events, they agree as to the modes in which history is to be described. For both groups, overwhelming attention is accorded to the heroic. *

*

*

My earlier study, which has been mentioned a number of times, began with an analysis of the relationships among the three extant Hebrew Crusade chronicles.41 It seems fitting, at the conclusion of two lengthy studies of the two more important of these three Hebrew texts, to close the circle by returning briefly to this opening issue. The first two assumptions of our earlier analysis seem to require no additional discussion. The first was the assertion that there is no reason to posit one relationship among all three chronicles, for example, that all three flowed from one lost record or that two derived from one. Instead, it is possible that one kind of relationship exists between L and P and a different relationship between L and S. Second, it was emphasized that the precise limits of each text must be established before meaningful analysis can begin. This careful delimitation shows that L and P are complete, while S is truncated, with the narrative abruptly broken off. The third assumption in our earlier analysis was the existence of written local records upon which the edited chronicles were based. This assumption has in fact been corroborated by our close scrutiny of L. At a number of points we have concluded that written sources were adapted by the chronicler into sections of his narrative. Given this additional certitude concerning the utilization of preexistent written records, our earlier emphasis on the chronicler's role in ordering, introducing, and concluding the narrative still seems warranted. It was on this basis that we suggested that P is an abridgment of L, while S and L are essentially independent chronicles, based on common local records concerning Jewish fate in Mayence. To all this, one furtherelaboration, concerning the use of written sources by authors of this period, is in order. We fortunately find one instance in 41. Chazan, "The Hebrew First-Crusade Chronicles," pp. 236-41.

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which we possess both a local source and the subsequent utilization of that source by a later chronicler. This instance involves the bloody incident at Blois in 1171, graphically described in a contemporary letter written by the Jews of nearby Orleans and in a somewhat later reworking of this letter by R. Ephraim of Bonn.42 A comparison of the Orleans epistle and R. Ephraim's adaptation is instructive. There can be no doubt as to the dependence of the latter upon the former. There are many verbatim quotations. More telling yet is the direct reference by R. Ephraim to his source. After describing the events in Blois, he adds: All these matterswerewrittendown in Orleans,the city closest to the sacred martyrs.Thusthey informedRabbiJacobTam. It was furtherwrittenin their letter....

43

All this makes the dependence of R. Ephraim upon the Orleans letter certain. Yet it is striking to note the freedom with which R. Ephraim used his source. Phrases are quoted verbatim, but others are altered significantly. Indeed new details, obviously drawn from additional sources, are adduced. Thus, for example, the community is described as composed of "approximately four quorums of Jews"; the Jewess romantically linked with Count Theobald is designated as Polcelina; negotiations on behalf of the rest of the Jews of the county are indicated and the sum of one thousand pounds is specified. All these are details absent in the Orleans missive. Most noteworthy of all is R. Ephraim's alteration of the basic structure of the Orleans letter. This epistle begins with a vivid depiction of the death of the martyrs, then proceeds to sketch in the background, and concludes with some observations on the aftermath of the bloody events. Despite the artistry and impact of this arrangement, R. Ephraim decided to restructurethe materials which reached him. He opted for a simpler-and less impressivescheme, beginning with the unfortunate meeting at the bank of the Loire River and proceeding chronologically through the tragedy. The example of the Orleans letter and R. Ephraim's use of it thus reveals the freedom with which local records were treated by the Jewish chroniclers of our period. An awareness of this free use of sources has important implications for the analysis of the relationships among the three Hebrew Crusade chronicles. It means that the presence or absence of occasional details must not be 42. N & S, pp. 31-34 and pp. 66-69; Habermann, pp. 142-44 and pp. 124-26. 43. N & S, p. 68; Habermann, p. 125.

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overemphasized. Because authors treated the materials at their disposal freely-adding, deleting, and reorganizing, conclusions concerning the dependence of one text upon another cannot be based on incidental differences in detail. Specifically, this means that it is possible to argue that P is based upon L, even though there are instances of information in P which is not present in L. While clearly basing his narrative upon L, the editor of P did not feel himself constrained to follow his source slavishly. Likewise, the likelihood that S and L drew upon common sources in their depiction of the tragedy in Mayence is not diminished by minor discrepancies in the two accounts. Once more, an awareness of the license which editors of the period allowed themselves is necessary. Thus, in sum, these two related papers on the Hebrew First Crusade chronicles began with the suggestion that L was the source of P and that S and L were independent chronicles that utilized common sources for part of their narrative. Nothing in these two papers has served to weaken these suggestions. To the contrary, a number of the findings have indeed buttressed our original proposals concerning the problematic relationships among these three important Hebrew texts.

Gersonides on the Possibility of Conjunction with the Agent Intellect Author(s): Seymour Feldman Source: AJS Review, Vol. 3 (1978), pp. 99-120 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486422 . Accessed: 26/06/2011 20:20 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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GERSONIDES ON THE POSSIBILITY OF CONJUNCTION WITH THE AGENT INTELLECT by SEYMOUR FELDMAN Rutgers College

In De anima 3. 5 Aristotle distinguished two aspects in the activity of intellection or knowing: one active, the other passive. His remarks are notoriously obscure, and they have occasioned an enormous exegetical literature from antiquity to our own day. Besides laying the foundations of an epistemological edifice that remained intact for many centuries, Aristotle also suggested that the active factor in knowing is eternal and immortal. Thus, he retained in some form Plato's belief that there is a link between knowledge and immortality.' Several of the leading ancient and medieval interpreters of Aristotle developed this suggestion into a complex doctrine of immortality, the main thesis of which was the idea that human perfection 1. Plato Phaedo 72e-77b and Meno 81b-86b.

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consists in union or conjunction with the active power in knowledge.2 This essay intends to examine Levi ben Gerson's (Gersonides) critique of the theory of immortality as conjunction.3 We begin with the psychological presuppositions of the theory. Underlying the crucial passage in De anima 3. 5 is a specific model of cognition according to which knowledge is essentially a passive function in which the human mind receives its contents from external sources. The famous metaphor of the mind as a blank tablet-a tabula rasa, on which its knowledge is written-was suggested by Aristotle long before John Locke.4 Aristotle arrived at this conception of knowledge from an analogy made with seeing: just as the eye receives its visual images from external objects via the medium of light, which illumines both the objects and the eye, so too the mind receives its contents via some power that stimulates the cognitive act by doing something to both the mind and the objects from which the mind receives its information. The last clause is intentionally vague, since it is not clear in Aristotle what the active power is and how it performs its operations. A significant stage in the career of this theory was reached when Alexander of Aphrodisias (ca. 180-200 C.E.) commented upon Aristotle's obscure remarks about the soul and its activities. In Aristotle the active function in intellection is anonymous, although there is a name for the passive aspect- o67raOrTLtK6ovoO, 'the passive intellect.'5 Alexander gave the active 2. Sometimes it was claimed that the active power unites or attaches itself with the human intellect or with a part of it. Since the relation of union or conjunction is symmetrical, the verbal order is immaterial. 3. Gersonides uses the terms 'conjunction' (mp'n) and 'union' (n'nnxnn)interchangeably (Levi ben Gerson, Milhamot ha-shem [Leipzig, 1866, henceforth abbreviated as MH] 1. 1, p. 18; 1. 4, p. 28; 1. 6, p. 36; 1. 8, p. 52; idem, Supercommentaryon Averroes'Epitome of De anima, MS Bodley Opp. Add. 4to 3, fol. 248v; idem, Commentaryon the Pentateuch [Venice, 1547], pp. 41a, 56b). P. Merlan has claimed that the terms 'union' and 'conjunction' do differ in connotation in certain authors, although not in all (Philip Merlan, Monopsychism, Mysticism, Metaconsciousness [The Hague, 1963], pp. 18-29). Davidson too distinguishes between these two concepts in theories of Al-Farabi and Avicenna (Herbert Davidson, "Al-Farabi and Avicenna on the Active Intellect," Viator 3 [1972]: 169-71). For Gersonides, however, such differences can be ignored. 4. Aristotle De anima 3. 4. 430a1. John Locke, Essay on the Human Understanding,2. 1. 2. 5. In only one passage does Aristotle refer to the passive power of the mind as 'the passive intellect', which he claims is perishable (De anima 3. 5 430a24-25). This power is the potentiality for knowledge.

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power a name-'the

voov-,6 agent, or active, intellect', 6 TOLtrtKOSg

101 and in-

troduced a new name for the passive, or potential, aspect, 6 vXtLKovoOs,'the material intellect.'7 But he was not content with merely terminological contributions; he also provided an analysis of both the material and agent intellects that helped elucidate Aristotle's brief and puzzling remarks. In Alexander's reading of Aristotle the material intellect is interpreted as a potentiality, or disposition (dirtTb6eOt6rTS), for knowledge.8 As such the material

intellect is not to be hypostasized: it is not a substance, which for Aristotle would imply that it is a separately existing thing or capable of separate existence. Rather, the material intellect is a natural capacity, one among many, of the organism, through which it can engage in a specific kind of activity. The Agent Intellect, on the other hand, is for Alexander a separately existing substance, radically different from man and from any human capacity. To be sure, in cognition the Agent Intellect comes into contact with us and helps energize our intellectual powers. But it is primarily a transcendent entity. Indeed, for Alexander, the Agent Intellect is identical with God.9 Thus, in Alexander's interpretation of De anima 3. 5, we have two sharply differentiated entities, man and the divine Agent Intellect, the former having the potentiality to know, whereas the latter is always knowing. Nor is this all. Alexander describes in detail the career of this disposition. First, when it is put into action by the joint effort of the appropriate objects of knowledge (vorrTi) and the Agent Intellect, it becomes an intellect in act (o voOvKar' ivepyeiav), i.e., a mind that is engaged in the activity of knowing. But we are not always so engaged; unlike the Agent Intellect, we sometimes, if not often, fail to exercise our cognitive capacities. This does not mean, however, that we have lost our already actualized capacity to know or our acquired cognitive capital. On the contrary, the disposition to know that has been manifested and developed constitutes a habit that has been established in the organism, 'the intellect in habitu', 6 vovs KaO0''tlv.10 6. Alexander of Aprodisias, Commentary on De anima, ed. I. Bruns, Supplementum Aristotelicum 2 (Berlin, 1887), pp. 88-89. 7. Ibid., p. 81. Alexander uses the term 6 bvvauet voOs,'the potential intellect', more frequently than 6 7raOr7TtKoS vojS.

8. Ibid., p. 85. 9. Ibid., p. 112. 10. Ibid. p, 86.

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The latter can be viewed from another perspective: it is not only the actualized, but not always exhibited, power to know; it is also the set of accumulated cognitions, or pieces of knowledge, that have been acquired. Seen in this light this habit receives a different name: 'the acquired intellect', 1 By now it should be apparent that the brief and enigmatic 6 voOViTdiKTrroS. chapter in De anima has been fleshed out by Alexander into a full-grown theory with several clearly delineated characters. It is in terms of these conceptual and terminological innovations that the subsequent accounts of both the material and the Agent intellects are developed.'2 In general, this is the theory of the material intellect adopted by Gersonides. In spite of Alexander's important contributions, there was at least one point in Alexander's interpretation of Aristotle that was not sufficiently explicated. In what sense, if any, is man immortal?In several places Alexander explicitly claims that the material intellect is subject to decay and corruption.'3 After all, it is only the disposition of a body; when the body dies, its potentialities and capacities also perish. Yet, Alexander was not always so clear or consistent, and on occasion he suggested a different account; as we shall see, that was to be of great significance in this theory. Although Alexander's development of Aristotle's original remarks was to shape the subsequent discussions of this whole topic, his reading of De anima 3. 5 was not universally followed. In the next century, the Greek commentator Themistius offered an interpretation of Aristotle's psychology that significantly diverged from Alexander's reading in two central points. First, he rejected Alexander's dispositional and naturalistic analysis of the material intellect and claimed instead that the latter is an incorporeal substance having separate and independent existence. Second, the Agent Intellect is primarily an immanent and inherent power of the human mind; it is not merely an external, supervenient factor in human cognition.'4 These two claims of Themistius constitute a radically different psychology, some of whose implications will be explored in this essay. For the purposes of our subsequent exposition, it will be useful to represent the divergent interpretations of Aristotle's De anima 3. 5 in terms of a genealogical tree having 11. Ibid. 12. Besides Merlan and Davidson the following books on Alexander's psychology, and the general topic of the intellect in the Aristotelian tradition, are useful. Octave Hamelin, La theorie de l'intellect d'apres Aristote et ses commentateurs(Paris, 1953); Joseph Moraux, Alexandre d'Aphrodise: exegete de la noetique d'Aristote (Liege, 1942). 13. Alexander, Commentary,p. 90. 14. Themistius, In libros Aristotelis de anima paraphrasis,ed. R. Heinze (Berlin, 1899), pp. 99-105.

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Aristotle as its trunk and Alexander and Themistiusas its two main branches. This diagram portrays the salient facets of each of the two main branches of De anima 3. 5 interpretation and the family relationships of some of the subbranches. Throughout my exposition, I shall make use of the labels, 'Alexandrian' and 'Themistian' to refer to these alternative readings of De anima 3. 5. Aristotle ". .. in the intellect there are these differences" (De anima 3. 5): A. The intellect that becomes all things, the passive intellect. B. The intellect that makes all things.

Alexander

Themistius

1. The passive, potential, or material intellect (A) is not identical with the Agent Intellect (B). 2. The material intellect (A) is a. a disposition of the organism; b. corporeal; c. corruptible; d. many. 3. The Agent Intellect (B) is a. a transcendent substance, although it energizes the material intellect in cognition; b. incorporeal; c. eternal and divine; d. one.

1. The or potential, material intellect (A) is a substance and hence separable from the body. 2. The Agent Intellect (B) is immanent in the human intellect as well as transcendent.

4. The material intellect (A) can attain immortality if and only if it has reached the maximum degree of perfection possible to it, i.e., apprehension of the incorporeal forms. At this level it is 'the acquired intellect', and by virtue of such an achievement it has become identical with or 'like' the Agent Intellect. Alternatively formulated, the material intellect has apprehended the Agent Intellect, which also knows these incorporeal forms, and through this apprehension has been assimilated to it.

3. B constitutes, or is the essence of, the human soul. 4. Each human soul reducible to B.

is

5. B is one; or if many, there is one B' that is the primary Agent Intellect. 6. Immortality is possible through union with the Agent Intellect. 7. Immortality is nonindividual.

5. Immortality is nonindividual.'5

15. The notion of immortality in Alexander is not clear, especially since he did not develop it in any detail. Thus, it is no surprise to find divergent interpretations of this concept in the literature on Alexander. The problem is aggravated by textual questions, especially those differences in language and emphasis found in the Arabic translation of Alexander's On the Intellect (Davidson, "Al-Farabi," pp. 119-21; Merlan, Monopsychism, pp. 16-17, 38-41). Whether Alexander allowed for immortality individuated according to each person's intellectual achievements is also not clear. Davidson argues that Alexander did not, since, on Davidson's interpretation, only the thought of the incorporeal forms is, for Alexander, immortal (Davidson, pp. 130 and 144, n. 239).

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Gersonides

A verroes

1. A: as above.

1. A: as above.

1. A=B.

2. B: a. transcendent; b. not = God; c. one.

2. B: as in Gersonides.

2. There is one A or B.

3. A does not apprehend B. 4. Immortality is achieved through of the knowledge material forms. This knowledge constitutes the acquired intellect.

3. A can apprehend B.

3. A or B is eternal.

4. Immortality is attainable through a cognitive process culminating in the apprehension of the incorporeal forms and the Agent Intellect. At that point the material intellect has been perfected and is 'the acquired intellect', which becomes 'conjoined' or 'united' with the Agent Intellect, its form. 5. Immortality is individual, acto Rahman and cording Merlan; immortality is nonindividual, according to Davidson.'6

4. Immortality is possible through conjunction.

5 Immortality dividual.

is in-

5. Immortality is nonindividual.

By the Middle Ages, the Aristotelian theory of the intellect and its immortality, as it was developed by his commentators, became a standard doctrine of the philosophical world. But there was one feature of such a doctrine that proved troublesome. It appears that immortality could be purchased only at the price of giving up one's individual identity through union with the Agent Intellect. Averroes' formulation of the theory makes this consequence explicit. Averroes' influence was great, and in the Christian world his views on immortality and intellection were vigorously debated and occasioned considerable controversy. Siger of Brabant, a "Latin Averroist," appears to have adopted Averroes' theory and was questioned by the papal court on this matter.'7 Averroes' doctrine of the in16. Fazlur Rahman, Prophecy in Islam (London, 1958), p. 25, n. 20; Merlan, Monopsychism, pp. 52-54, n. 1; Davidson, "Al-Farabi," p. 143. 17. An English selection from Siger's treatise De anima intellectiva has been included in John Wippel's and Alan Walter's anthology, Medieval Philosophy (New York, 1969), pp. 359-65. On the Latin Averroists in general, consult Etienne Gilson, History of Christian Philosophy in the Middle Ages (New York, 1955), pp. 387-409.

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tellect and its immortality was criticized by Albert the Great and Thomas Aquinas;'8 in 1270 and 1277 it was condemned, along with other philosophical and theological theses, by the Bishop of Paris.'9 The Jewish philosophical world also felt the impact of Averroes. Moses ofN arbonne (d. after 1362), for example, adopted the theory of conjunction and incorporated it into his Treatise on the Soul.20Gersonides, however, rejected this account of immortality, despite the deep influence Averroes had exerted upon him. Although he developed "radical" views on such issues as creation, divine foreknowledge and miracles, on this topic Gersonides was more "conservative" than either Averroes or Moses of Narbonne, and perhaps even Maimonides.2' Before we begin our exposition of Gersonides' argument against the possibility of conjunction, three methodological points should be mentioned. First, Gersonides develops his views out of a debate with specific philosophers, such as Alexander, Themistius and Averroes. Although he almost always mentions by name the participants in the debate and often cites the literary sources of their views, he himself had only minimal access to the standard medieval philosophical literature. Knowing neither Greek, Arabic nor Latin, at least to the extent of being able to read philosophical texts in these languages, he had to rely upon Hebrew translations for his knowledge of his philosophical predecessors. In fact, almost all his knowledge of Aristotle was derived from Averroes' commentaries, not from Aristotle himself.22 His acquaintance with the views of the Greek commen18. Albert the Great, On the Oneness of the Intellect; Thomas Aquinas, Summa contra gentiles 2. 73; idem, On the Unicity of the Intellect: Against the Averroists. 19. The Condemnationof 219 Propositions, in Ralph Lerner and Muhsin Mahdi, Medieval Political Theory (Ithaca, N.Y., 1972), pp. 347-49. This document is also found in H. Denifle and A. Chatelain, Chartularium Universitatis Parisiensis (Paris, 1889), 1: 486-87. 20. Alfred Ivry, "Moses of Narbonne's 'Treatise On the Soul': A Methodological and Conceptual Analysis," Jewish Quarterly Review 57 (1967): 271-97. 21. The position of Maimonides on this question is not clear. It has been argued that he held a conjunction theory identical with or similar to that advanced by ibn Bajja, whose doctrine is Alexandrian in character (Alexander Altmann, "Ibn Bajja on Man's Ultimate Felicity," Harry WolfsonJubilee Volume [Jerusalem, 1965], 1: 47-88; Shlomo Pines, introduction to his translation of Maimonides' Guide of the Perplexed [Chicago, 1963], pp. ciii-civ). It is interesting to note that Gersonides makes no mention at all of Maimonides in his treatment of this topic, a surprising fact since he frequently discusses Maimonides' views and often criticizes them (David R. Blumenthal, "Maimonides' Intellectualist Mysticism," Studies in Medieval Culture 10 [1967]: 51-67). 22. Isaac Husik, A History of Medieval Jewish Philosophy (Philadelphia, 1948), pp. 329, 332. Charles Touati, La pensee philosophique et theologique de Gersonide (Paris, 1973), pp. 38-41.

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tators on Aristotle and the philosophies of Al-Farabi and Avicenna are primarily second-hand, taken from Averroes' reports of their positions.23 Accordingly, Gersonides' discussions of these opinions have to be understood under these conditions. Second, Gersonides' knowledge of Averroes' writings on the topic of conjunction was not complete. He did not know Averroes' Long Commentary on Aristotle's De anima.24Nor was he familiar with Averroes' essay On The Possibility of Conjunctionwith the Agent Intellect, which was rendered into Hebrew in the year of his death 1344, nearly ten years after the completion of his major philosophical work, The Wars of the Lord.25Gersonides' discussions of Averroes' psychology were based upon Averroes' Middle Commentary on Aristotle's De anima (Moses ibn Tibbon translation), the Epitome of De anima, and his three short essays known collectively in Hebrew as "Three Letters." On the latter two works Levi wrote supercommentaries.26In this discussion of Levi's presentation of Averroes' views, I have supplemented his citations from Averroes with references to the works that he did not know in order to indicate that his knowledge of Averroes, although not complete, was generally accurate. Third, the present analysis of Levi's critique of conjunction will depart somewhat from the structure of his own exposition. As does Levi, it begins with a general discussion of the nature of the intellect as this topic was conceived in the early Aristotelian tradition. In addition, I have distinguished two kinds of interpretations of Aristotle's psychology and, following Levi, Averroes has been located in the Themistian tradition. I now proceed to consider the thesis of conjunction, but this topic will be treated within the 23. The exceptions are: Themistius' Commentary on Book XII oJ Aristotle's Metaphysics, which had been translated into Hebrew in 1255; Al-Farabi's Treatise on the Intellect, translated into Hebrew in 1314; and Al-Ghazali's Intentions of the Philosophers,translated into Hebrew at the end of the thirteenth century (Georges Vajda, Isaac Albalag.-averroistejuiJ,traducteuret annotateur d'AI-GhazdlF[Paris, 1960]). 24. The Long Commentary on De anima survives only in Latin translation and has been edited by F. S. Crawford in the Corpus commentariorumA verrois in Aristotelem published by the Medieval Academy of America in 1953. Harry Wolfson has discussed the question of possible Hebrew translations of this commentary in his "Plan for the Publication of a Corpus Commentariorum Averrois in Aristotelem," Speculum 11 (1931) and reprinted in Harry Wolfson, Studies in the History of Philosophy and Religion, ed. Isadore Twersky and George Williams (Cambridge, Mass.,1973), 1: 430-54. 25. Moritz Steinschneider, Hebrdische Ubersetzungen(Graz, 1956), pp. 191-98. Moses of Narbonne wrote a commentary on this work, a critical edition of which has been prepared by Kalman Bland to be published by the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. 26. Steinschneider, Ubersetzungen,pp. 198-204.

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framework of the two-branched genealogical tree I have constructed. Accordingly, corresponding to the two theories of the intellect previously described, two different theories of conjunction deriving from them will be distinguished and considered. Levi himself does not differentiate these accounts of conjunction in this manner, although it was one of his criticisms of the Themistian-Averroistic theory of the intellect that suggested to me the method of analysis here adopted. In his writings, I have found the materials for fashioning a two-tined lance with which to assault the entire concept of conjunction as an explanation of immortality. One tine impales the notion of conjunction with the Agent Intellect in its Themistian-Averroistic form; the other tine impales the theory of conjunction with the Agent Intellect in its Alexandrian version. In Levi's own exposition we have initially a critique of the Themistian-Averroistic theory of the material intellect and then the rejection of the general claim of immortality as conjunction. Here his argument is restructured within the framework of my distinction between Themistian and Alexandrian theories of intellection, from which I derive the two corresponding theories of conjunction, using Levi's analysis of the Themistian theory of the intellect as the basis for the critique of Themistian conjunction and his discussion of conjunction in general as the framework for the critique of Alexandrian conjunction. II The theory of Themistian-Averroistic conjunction consists of the following four theses. 1. The material intellect is ontologically identical with the Agent Intellect. This equation results from the fact that on this theory the material intellect is not merely a pure disposition, as Alexander had maintained, but is itself a separate substance or a dimension of a separate substance, i.e., the Agent Intellect. This equation stems from Themistius' reading of De anima 430a 13.27For Themistius, both the material and Agent intellects are constitutive of the human intellect. The material intellect is a substance, and not a disposition; the Agent Intellect is immanent, a part of the human mind, as well as transcendent. Indeed, for Themistius, the nature and essence of man is constituted by the Agent Intellect. Whether there is, for Themistius, only one Agent Intellect or many such intellects subordinate to one primary Agent 27. Themistius, Paraphrasis, pp. 99-101, 103.

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Intellect, as some scholars have suggested, is not clear.28But in so far as we are all constituted by the Agent Intellect, as Themistius claims, we are reducible to the Agent Intellect. It would appear then that for Themistius the material intellect is relegated to the background as a secondary feature of our being subordinate to the Agent Intellect. Averroes, however, makes explicit the implicit identity, suggested by Themistius, between the material intellect and the Agent Intellect. For Averroes there is really only one intellect that is involved in thinking, although this one intellect exhibits both receptive and active roles, or functions, or, as Alfred Ivry has put it, the Agent Intellect is "the substantiality of the material intellect."29Since the Agent Intellect is clearly one for Averroes, it is equally evident that the material intellect is also one.30It was this latter consequence in particular that elicited the critical response of Thomas Aquinas. 2. The Agent Intellect has a two-fold existence: a) it can exist by itself; b) it can be embodied in individual human beings. As the former it is the Agent Intellect in propria persona; as the latter it is the material intellect. Or, alternatively formulated, when the Agent Intellect exists per se it is the Agent Intellect essentialiter, but when it is embodied in man, it is the material intellect accidentaliter.3' When the Agent Intellect is embodied in individual humans it is 'materialized' not only in the sense that it is found in a body, but also in the sense that it acquires objects of knowledge that are themselves instantiated in and derived from bodies. These are the 'material forms' as they are apprehended by some embodied intellect. By and in itself the Agent Intellect is capable of a very different kind of intellectual activity: self-cognition, which is its proper activity.32 28. Gerard Verbeke, Themistius. commentairesur le traite de I'dmed'Aristote (Paris, 1957), pp. xlii-lxii. 29. Averroes, Middle Commentary on De anima, quoted in Salomon Munk, Melanges de philosophiejuive et arabe (Paris, 1955), pp. 445ff.; Averroes, Drei Abhandlungen,ed. J. Hercz (Berlin, 1869), first essay. Averroes, Commentariummagnum in Aristotelis de anima libros, ed. F. S. Crawford (Cambridge, Mass., 1953), 3: 389, 395, 432. Gersonides, MH 1. 2, pp. 16-18; Alfred Ivry, "Averroes on Intellection and Conjunction," Journal of the American Oriental Society 86 (1966): 77-79; Octave Hamelin, La theorie de l'intellect d'apres Aristote et ses commentateurs (Paris, 1953), p. 63. 30. Averroes, Commentariummagnum,pp. 401, 406, 499. Gersonides, MH 1. 4, pp. 26 and 30. Octave Hamelin, Theorie, pp. 41-42. 31. Averroes, Drei Abhandlungen,first and second essays. Alfred Ivry, "Averroes on Intellection," pp. 79-80. 32. Averroes, CommentariumMagnum, pp. 430, 443; Drei Abhandlungen,third essay, p. 17.

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3. Every human mind is, therefore, a composite entity consisting of sense-images as stored in the imagination (0avirauara, nl':31'rnmnli) and the material intellect, or the Agent Intellect in its accidental guise. Or, expressed differently, every human mind is a composite comprising a) senseimages and b) the material intellect, which in turn is a composite of a disposition and a form, the Agent Intellect.33 Sharing one and the same intellect, each human mind is, therefore, differentiated by the sense-images it has acquired. The purely intellectual, or rational, component of the mind is common to all men. These individuating features are corporeal, deriving from sense-objects, and hence are transitory and corruptible.34 4. If the intellect in all human beings is ontologically one in number, and if mental individuation is a function of the sense-images, then when the latter are not operative or are no longer in existence, there is no longer any individuation. If immortality is construed as the survival of the intellect by means of conjunction with the Agent Intellect, this condition will be nonpersonal, or nonindividual.35 These four theses constitute the main elements of the doctrine of the intellect and its immortality as developed by Averroes on the basis of Themistian themes. Now it should be observed that the Themistian-Averroistic thesis of conjunction is really a trivial consequence of these four postulates. Indeed, it turns out that conjunction is no more than the return of the Agent Intellect to its primordial and pristine state of separate existence, shorn of its embodiment in individual corporeal knowers. Given the initial ThemistianAverroistic equation of the material intellect with the Agent Intellect, the possibility of conjunction ceases to be a significant question. For on this account of the matter conjunction necessarily occurs whenever the individuating conditions that differentiate each human mind disappear or are no longer operative. Alternatively, conjunction is universally realizable because ab initio the material intellect is identical with the Agent Intellect. Themistius' claim that we are the Agent Intellect already suggests this equaGersonides, MH 1. 2, pp. 17-18; Supercommentaryon Averroes' Epitome of De anima, MS Bodley Opp. Add. 4to, 38, fol. 246; Commentary on Averroes' Three Letters, ibid., fol. 263. 33. Munk, Melanges, p. 447. Ivry, "Averroes on Intellection," p. 78. 34. Averroes, Commentariummagnum, pp. 389, 409. Gersonides, MH 1. 4, p. 27; Hamelin, Theorie, p. 67. Thomas Aquinas, On the Unity of the Intellect Against the Averroists, trans. B. Zedler (Milwaukee, 1968), p. 49. 35. Averroes, On the Possibility of Conjunction, ed. L. Hannes (Halle, 1892), pp. 10, 53. Ivry, "Averroes on Intellection," p. 83; Hamelin, Theorie, p. 64.

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tion, and the subsequent development of this theme by Averroes makes this claim quite clear. The logic of the preceding remark underlies and supports Gersonides' first criticism of the Themistian-Averroistic doctrine of the intellect. For if everyone exhibits one and the same intellect, then when each of us dies or when the corporeal conditions that particularize one are no longer in force, all that remains is the Agent Intellect. 'Conjunction' has been paradoxically achieved by the elimination of one of the elements to be conjoined. For Gersonides this has the unhappy result that the intellectual achievements of one individual have made no difference in his attainment of immortality, since the latter condition is achieved no matter the level of intellectual perfection. Instead of spurring individuals to follow the life of the intellect, the Themistian-Averroistic doctrine would actually discourage them from this pursuit, since the goal to be reached is attainable by each and every person regardless of his intellectual efforts and accomplishments. Indeed, the very question or notion of conjunction becomes empty.36 Our problem turns out to be different from that which we had initially posed. We are no longer concerned with the possibility of conjunction, in the terms in which Averroes has formulated this question-a question which is now seen to be otiose; rather, we want to know whether the initial identification of the material intellect with the Agent Intellect is plausible. It is this equation that endows Averroes' theory with its special flavor, and it is to this point that we must now turn. We shall see that Gersonides rejects this equation and follows instead Alexander's reading of Aristotle's discussion in De anima 3. 4-5. In criticizing the identification of the material intellect with the Agent Intellect, he marshalls several kinds of arguments, which for simplicity we shall categorize as metaphysical and epistemological. The fundamental metaphysical difficulty that Averroes' equation faces is a version of a basic problem in Plato's metaphysics. In the first half of the Parmenides, Plato exposes some of the latent difficulties of his own theory of

36. Gersonides, MH 1. 4, pp. 25-26; Supercommentaryon Averroes'Epitome of De anima, fol. 246; Judah Halevi, Kuzari 5. 14. Alfred Ivry has shown that in the essay On the Possibility of Conjunctionwith the Agent Intellect Averroes advanced the view that conjunction is attainable even in this life, albeit rarely and only briefly. As I have indicated earlier, Gersonides did not know of this work of Averroes and its special doctrine of this-life-conjunction. This latter idea might provide an Averroist with a way of meeting the above objection. But since for Averroes himself this-life-conjunction is only rarely attained, it could hardly serve as a goal that would excite even the intellectual elite (Alfred Ivry, "Averroes on Intellection," pp. 83-84).

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the Forms. Plato points out that if a Form is believed both to be a unitary thing and at the same time to be manifested in many particular objects, it is not clear how the Form can preserve its unity and simplicity. The young Socrates attempts several solutions to this problem, but all dissolve under Parmenides' dialectic, and we are left in the dark as to whether Plato ever solved this problem. Now this is precisely Averroes' predicament. The Agent Intellect would be analogous to a Platonic Form: it is alleged to be one yet instantiable in the many without suffering any disintegration or loss of identity. But how can one be at the same time many? It would be many either in its role as Agent Intellect or in its role as material intellect. But if the former, then how can that which is ex hypothesi incorporeal be multiplied without losing its specific identity? Incorporeal entities, for some of the Aristotelian medievals including Averroes, can be individuated only by type, or kind. If there are many incorporeal substances, they would each have to be specifically different, but the Agent Intellect is for Averroes one! But if the one intellect is diversified in its role as material intellect, then it would cease to be a separable intellect. For the diversification would result from material conditions, and this defines a body, not an incorporeal substance. There is therefore, no way we can account for its multiple embodiments without either giving up its specific identity or its incorporeality.37 This Platonic perplexity becomes aggravated when we relocate it in an Aristotelian setting, for various features of Aristotle's philosophy make this problem even more vexing. Consider, for example, Averroes' characterization of the Agent Intellect as having the property of self-knowledge, a feature that is essential to it as Agent Intellect, and his characterization of the material intellect as having the essential property of knowing material objects. Now, according to Aristotle's theory of definition, any two things that are given two significantly divergent definitions are specifically dijferent, i.e., they belong to two different species, or kinds, and things that are specifically different are obviously numerically different. Yet Averroes' theory is committed to the claim that the Agent and material intellects are numerically one, and this entails that they must be specifically one. For how can two specifically different entities be numerically the same? Nevertheless, the two radically different cognitive operations of self-knowledge and empirical knowledge assigned respectively to the Agent Intellect and to the 37. Plato Parmenides 130a-135c. Gersonides, MH 1. 4, pp. 30-31; Averroes, The Incoherence of the Incoherence, trans. S. van der Bergh (London, 1969), 1: 28; Thomas Aquinas, On the Unity of the Intellect, pp. 65ff.

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material intellect require that these two intellects be of different kinds. For, as Aristotle and Gersonides like to stress, different functions are signs of different forms or substances.38 When we introduce one of the basic metaphysical notions of Aristotlethe distinction between actuality and potentiality-, Averroes' theory becomes even less plausible. Remember that the original motive for introducing the Agent Intellect was the need for an active power that makes intellectual activity possible. It turns out, however, that for the theory under investigation, since the material intellect is identical with the Agent Intellect, this alleged active power is energizing itself! But for Aristotle one and the same entity cannot be both in potentiality and actuality with respect to the same activity. And if it is argued that the Agent Intellect is potential relative to empirical cognition but actual relative to self-cognition, and that the converse is true of the material intellect, then the Agent Intellect would possess an essential potentiality, which is inconsistent with its active function. Second, it would imply some internal change within the Agent Intellect. Finally, the Agent Intellect is supposed to be a cause of human cognition, but if it is the material intellect under a different guise, it is the cause of itself insofar as it brings about its own potential empirical cognition! What has actually happened here is a transformationof the Agent Intellect into something that is considerably different. It is not merely a question of a change of garb. An essential change has taken place here which has not only engendered the previously cited defects, but is also unaccounted for. After all, who or what brings about the embodiment of the Agent Intellect? Or, how is it that the Agent Intellect is changed so that it is accidentally cognitive of material objects, whereas previously it was essentially cognitive of itself? There is prima facie nothing implausible in a thing taking on new roles or activities. Yet unless we are prepared to deny the law of causality, and certainly Averroes would not have denied it, we have here a transformation of character that needs to be explained. Shall we introduce another Agent Intellect?39 The theory of the Agent Intellect, let us recall, was originally introduced to explain cognition, and it is to this latter phenomenon that Gersonides' critique now turns. If the identity of the Agent Intellect and the material intellect is maintained, what kind of epistemological theory results? An adequate theory of knowledge ought to explain all or most of the salient facts of knowing. But there seem to be several common epistemological phenomena 38. Gersonides, MH 1. 4, pp. 27-28. 39. Ibid.

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that are either falsified or are not captured by the Themistian-Averroistic theory of the intellect. Consider, for example, the all too human feature of error. Suppose A affirms correctly p but B denies p. Yet, since A and B have, on Averroes' theory, the same intellect, B ought to affirm p!40Averroes might reply that B lacks the relevant sense-data, and hence is not in the position to affirm p, the sense-data constituting for Averroes the differentiating constituent of each human mind.4' But it is quite frequent that two individuals have the same generic sense-data, yet one makes the correct judgment about them whereas the other does not. After all, Epicurus claimed that the sun is no bigger than a coin! Or, what about the case where A and B are such that A knows p, but B does not, i.e., B is ignorant of p? Since A and B have, on this theory, the same intellect, B ought to know p! And again, the presence or absence of the relevant sense-data will not account for the difference between A's and B's epistemic claims, for the sense-data are not always sufficient or necessary conditions for correct judgments. This is especially true in mathematics, where sense-data need not be used and different conclusions may be inferred by different people from the same set of premises. Finally, suppose A asserts p at ti, but B asserts q at ti, A and B having qualitatively the same set of relevant sense-data. For example, A looks at an object w and says that w is a fish, whereas B, looking at w, claims that it is a mammal. If they both have the same intellect and the same sense-data, how is this situation possible? These phenomena indicate that as an epistemological theory this doctrine is inadequate. Together with the metaphysical difficulties previously adduced, they make the Themistian-Averroistic theory of the intellect and its special version of conjunction untenable.42 We have seen that on the Themistian-Averroistic theory of the intellect it is not an interesting question to ask whether conjunction with the Agent Intellect is possible, since on this theory such conjunction is guaranteed ab initio. Given its psychological postulates the possibility of conjunction ceases to be a meaningful question, since conjunction is a state that is universally and uniformly attained. It is otherwise with the Alexandrian account of the intellect and its immortality. Instead of Themistius' interpreta40. Ibid., pp. 30, 33. 41. Averroes, Commentarium magnum, pp. 411-12. Selections included in Hyman and Walsh, Philosophy in the Middle Ages (New York, 1967), p. 324. 42. A similar line of argumentation is found in Halevi's Kuzari 5. 14. Gersonides never, to my knowledge, mentions Judah Halevi or his work. Indeed, he mentions no Jewish philosophical works other than those of Maimonides.

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tion of the material intellect as a substance and of the Agent Intellect as both immanent and transcendent, Alexander claimed that the former is only a disposition or capacity of the human organism to know and that the latter is a transcendent, incorporeal substance identical with God. Since as a disposition this capacity for knowledge is a function of the human body, it ought to perish along with the corruption of the body. Yet for Alexander this is not so. In several passages, he suggests that under certain conditions the human intellect can attain immortality through some kind of attachment with the Agent Intellect, a notion that will be shortly analyzed. At the outset, it should be observed that on the Alexandrian account of conjunction this state takes place, if it occurs at all, only at the end of a specific kind of activity. It is a goal that some reach but others do not. This kind of conjunction theory was also advanced by some of the medieval Muslim Aristotelians such as ibn Bajja and al-Farabi, at least in some of the latter's writings.43 Despite his general acceptance of Alexander's psychology and epistemology, Gersonides rejects even Alexandrian conjunction as a theory of human immortality.44To understand the basis for his criticism of Alexandrian conjunction it will be important to discuss briefly some key features of Gersonides' concept of the Agent Intellect. In Aristotle, the function of the Agent Intellect is to stimulate and bring about human intellectual activity. To some of the medievals the Agent Intel43. Altmann,"Ibn Bajja"; Davidson, "Al-Farabi"; Merlan, Monopsychism, pp. 52-54, n. 1. Al-Farabi's views on this topic appear to have changed from an early affirmation of conjunction to a later denial of it. The belief in conjunction is found in his Al-madinaal-fdaila [The Perfect State], ed. F. Dieterici (1896), p. 58 and in his Risdlafil-'aql [The Letter on the Intellect], ed. M. Bouyges (1938), p. 22. The latter has been translated in part and included in Hyman and Walsh, pp. 215-21. However, Al-Farabi rejects the possibility of conjunction in his later work, the Commentaryon Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics, as Averroes noted in his Commentariummagnum on De anima, pp. 433, 481, 485-86 (Davidson, "Al-Farabi," pp. 134-54). For ibn Bajja consult the previously mentioned items by Altmann and Merlan. For al-Kindi's views on this topic see Jean Jolivet, L'intellect selon Kindi (Liege, 1971). 44. It is even possible that at times Averroes himself and/or some of his disciples in the Jewish and Christian philosophical worlds also conceived or spoke of conjunction in Alexandrian terms (Averroes, Commentariummagnum,pp. 450-51, 499; Hannes, Possibility oJ conjunction, pp. 50ff.). In the chapters where he criticizes specifically the notion of conjunction Gersonides groups Alexander, Themistius, Al-Farabi (in his Letter on the Intellect) and Averroes as all believing in immortality qua conjunction or union with the Agent Intellect (Gersonides, MH 1. 8-12). As we shall see, the criticisms that he levels against this notion are more pertinent to the framework of Alexander's psychology and the account of conjunction that is associated with it rather than to the psychological framework of Themistius and Averroes and the notion of conjunction that follows from it. Gersonides' criticisms of Themistian-Averroistic conjunction are embedded in his detailed criticism of the psychology from which it is derived.

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lect assumed several additional roles, e.g., it was also regarded as the source of the forms for terrestrial substances or as the agent of generation of such substances. Aristotle himself suggested something like this in one of his biological works.45 Now either in its cognitive or generative capacity the Agent Intellect is not only an efficient cause but also a formal cause: it exemplifies in actuality that which the recipient of its influence has only in potentiality. The Agent Intellect is then a cause of knowledge because it possesses in actuality the knowledge that it either stimulates in or dispenses to the material intellect.46An analogue to this notion is the Logos of Philo. For Philo the Logos is the 'place of the Forms' or the 'intelligible world', which serves as a blueprint for the creation of the world. Although the primary task of Philo's Logos is cosmological rather than epistemological, it, like the Agent Intellect, serves as a formal cause of both knowledge and natural processes. Indeed, it is actually embodied in the universe as an 'immanent Logos'.47 Now the Logos and the Agent Intellect have at least one thing in common: they both function as plans. They have this role because they are, so to speak, the domicile for the Platonic Forms. Insofar as the latter are the ultimate patterns of rationality and order in the universe, they serve as the formal causes of both knowledge and generation. Indeed, these forms now become efficient causes because they exist in the mind of an active cause, the Agent Intellect. Thus, in Gersonides' version of the Agent Intellect theory, the force of one of Aristotle's criticisms of Plato's doctrine of the Forms has been blunted: for Aristotle Platonic Forms are not efficient causes, and hence are of no importance in explaining nature.48But, Gersonides suggests, insofar as the Agent Intellect is an active force and insofar as the Agent Intellect possesses the Forms, these Forms are now efficient, as well as formal, causes.49

This view of the Agent Intellect is one that was held by Gersonides and other medieval thinkers. However, there are several respects in which his own account of the Agent Intellect departs from that of Alexander and from 45. Aristotle On Generationof Animals 2. 3 736b27-29; Davidson, "Al-Farabi," pp. 125ff. 149ff., 158ff.; Gersonides, MH 1. 6, 5. 3. 1-4. 46. The medievals discussed the various kinds of knowledge that the Agent Intellect had, but they agreed that it did possess knowledge of the theoretical sciences of mathematics, the natural sciences and metaphysics (Averroes, Epitome on the Parva naturalia, trans. Harry Blumberg [Cambridge, Mass., 1961], pp. 42-43; Gersonides, MH 1. 7, pp. 49-50) . 47. Philo De opificio mundi 4-6; H. A. Wolfson, Philo (Cambridge, Mass., 1948), 1: 200-94, 325-46. 48. Aristotle Metaphysics 2. 991a8-18. 49. Aristotle Physics 2. 7 198a25-26.

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that of some of his medieval predecessors. First, unlike Alexander, Gersonides sharply distinguishes the Agent Intellect from God. The former is an incorporeal, transcendent, intellectual substance; but it is clearly subordinate to and derivative of God.50 Second, a common medieval view of the Agent Intellect maintained that this substance is the last link in the chain of separate, incorporeal intelligences, whose first member is God, each such intelligence emanating from its predecessor.5' The Agent Intellect, emanating from the ninth intelligence, the mover of the sphere of the moon, is, however, not associated with any particular heavenly sphere; its "domain" is the terrestrial sphere, the world of man. Gersonides rejected one of the main features of this widely held theory. In his view, the Agent Intellect does not emanate from the ninth intelligence; rather, it emanates from all the other intelligences that function as movers of the heavenly bodies. This difference is important. Whereas each of the separate intelligences that are movers of specific heavenly spheres is limited to its "sphere of influence" and apprehends that which emanates from its heavenly sphere alone, the Agent Intellect, since it emanates from all the latter intelligences, apprehends all that which they know only severally and partially. Thus, the knowledge possessed by the Agent Intellect is more comprehensive and systematic: it includes the wholeplan exemplified in the sublunar world and apprehends this plan as a unified system. It is no wonder that the Agent Intellect occupies such an important role in Levi's philosophy.52But despite its importance for Levi, we do not obtain immortality through conjunction with the Agent Intellect. Let us see why. In Alexander's version of conjunction, man attains immortality as the result of a long, arduous process of intellectual activity, terminating in union (Evoats)with or assimilation (6oioiwoas)to the Agent Intellect. When this state is attained the human intellect becomes the Agent Intellect, for the former has achieved cognitive identity with the latter.53 Remember the Aristotelian epistemological axiom: in the state of knowing, the knower and 50. Gersonides, MH 5. 3. 12-13. 51. Judah Halevi, Kuzari 5. 21; Maimonides, Guide 2. 4, 10-12; H. Davidson, "The Active Intellect in The Kuzari and Hallevi's Theory of Causality," Revue des etudesjuives 121 (1972): 353-55. 52. Gersonides, MH 5. 3. 13; Touati, La pensee, pp. 345-58. 53. Strictly speaking, it is the acquired intellect that for Alexander has achieved immortality. In the Wars of the Lord, Gersonides usually does not observe this verbal point, although in his supercommentaries he occasionally does (Gersonides, Supercommentary on Averroes' Three Letters, fol. 259).

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the object of knowledge are identical.54 Now since the Agent Intellect is always knowing, it is always identical with its objects of knowledge, which are for Alexander the incorporeal forms (av'Xa edbsr).Since the latter are eternal, so is the former. But if the human intellect can apprehend these eternal forms, it will have become, by virtue of the above mentioned axiom, one with them, and hence acquire their incorruptibility. Or, since these forms are in some sense identical with the Agent Intellect, the human intellect will have become identical with the Agent Intellect. The Alexandrian version of conjunction is then a synthesis of both Platonic and Aristotelian elements, which is as it should be, since Aristotle's De anima passage is itself a Platonic heirloom.55 Gersonides rejects this theory. If it were possible for man to be sufficiently like the Agent Intellect in his cognitive operations and achievements, it would be possible for him to attain a perfect apprehension of the Agent Intellect, and then identification with the Agent Intellect would result. But the antecedent of this conditional is false, and it is false because the material intellect is not like the Agent Intellect in some very important respects. First, the material intellect is significantly unlike the Agent Intellect in its cognitive operations. The material intellect is a potential knower that acquires knowledge successively, cumulatively, and intermittently. The Agent Intellect is an intellect that already possesses its knowledge, i.e., the Agent Intellect does not derive its cognitive capital by any accumulative process over time; its knowledge is coterminous with itself. Second, it is not only with respect to the way in which the material intellect gets its knowledge that it differs from the Agent Intellect; it differs also with respect to the nature of what it knows. The domain of human knowledge is the world of the 'material forms' (nrm'r,nn nmrnt;), i.e., those general natures (o,55:in Ovn, no),or essences, that are embodied in physical substances. By a process of abstraction from sense-data, we can apprehend this formal structure. In this cognitive process the human intellect needs the cooperation of the Agent Intellect; but the latter is itself not for Levi the object of knowledge of the material intellect, nor is the Agent Intellect a sufficient condition for most types of knowledge. The object of knowledge is for us the formal structure of nature as it is embodied in physical substances ap54. Aristotle Metaphysics 12. 9 1074b39-1075al 1; Alexander, Commentary, pp. 90-91. 55. Alexander, Commentary,pp. 87-89; Merlan, Monopsychism,pp. 16-43; Moraux, Alexandre d'Aphrodise, p. 101.

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prehended through sensation. In the natural sciences and even in metaphysics there is no short-cut to knowledge.56Now this formal structure of nature exists as an object thought for the Agent Intellect, but in a different manner. The Agent Intellect exemplifies these general natures in abstracto. these forms exist in the Agent Intellect in a departicularized and dematerialized manner. After all, the Agent Intellect is the 'home of the Forms'. True, there is, thanks to the divine plan for all reality, a conceptual isomorphism between the incorporeal Forms in the Agent Intellect and the material forms exhibited in physical substances. Yet, these two sets of forms are ontologically distinct: the former are ungenerated (except for creation) and incorruptible and are always the thought-objects of the Agent Intellect, whereas the latter are continuously generated and embodied in corruptible material objects and are intermittently apprehended by individual knowers.57 Finally, human knowledge is essentially incomplete and fragmentary. No matter how successful we are in our cognitive pursuits, we can never attain complete apprehension of the formal structure of the sublunar world, our domicile. To be sure, there are facts about this domain that are either of no interest or importance to us, and we can ignore them with impunity. Nevertheless, there are facts about our world that are of importance to us, but about which we are in ignorance for most of our life and perhaps always so. This is the human predicament. However, in the system of forms represented in the Agent Intellect, the plan of our world (rrv:inn n-mn) is complete. By virtue of the completeness of this plan the Agent Intellect apprehends all of the logical and causal relationships among the many substances of nature. Thus, in the Agent Intellect this plan exhibits systematic unity, as well as conceptual completeness.58Since, however, our knowledge of nature is incomplete, we cannot apprehend all the internal relations among natural phenomena, for without all the relevant data these relationships cannot be known.59To illustrate this point, let us take an example from our own time. Consider an ecological life system wherein a certain kind of insect, which is quite annoying to us, plays an essential role in the preservation of some other organism, which is very useful to us. Ignorant of this fact, we destroy the former animal at every opportunity. 56. Gersonides, Commentary on Song of Songs (K6nigsberg, 1860), pp. 2b, 9a, 20a. 57. Gersonides, MH 1. 10, pp. 61-62; Supercommentaryon Averroes'Epitome oj'De anima, fols. 249-50. 58. Gersonides, MH 1. 6-7, esp. pp. 85-86, 88; 5. 3. 8, 5, 13. 59. Thomas Aquinas, Summa contra gentiles 3. 44.

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Had we a more comprehensive understanding of the internal relationships among natural phenomena, we would not kill that insect. Our ignorance of the total system of biological phenomena proves to be harmful to ourselves. These various disparities between our intellect and the Agent Intellect pose, therefore, ineluctable obstacles to the attainment of the cognitive identity requisite for conjunction. Accordingly, conjunction is not possible.60 This limitation upon the cognitive capacity of man is nicely expressed in Gersonides' interpretation of Jacob's struggle with the angel in Genesis 32:30. After the angel had given Jacob a new name and wanted to depart, Jacob asked the angel to reveal his name. The angel replied, "Why do you ask me about my name?," and refused to disclose his identity. The denial on the part of the angel to comply with Jacob's request indicates to Gersonides both man's desire to know the essence of the Agent Intellect, i.e., to apprehend it fully and perfectly, and yet his inability to do so. Indeed, it is implied that apprehension of the Agent Intellect is not his goal, that human perfection is to be sought and attained by a different manner.61 The doctrine of conjunction with the Agent Intellect in its various forms is an example of a perennial philosophical-religious theme. In many traditions man is always seeking to return to his source, and in those traditions in which the source is construed as divine, the goal is frequently formulated in the language of some kind of mystical contact or unification with some transcendent being. As some scholars have noted, this theme is also found in philosophical authors, and it is not always easy to distinguish between the philosopher and the mystic in a given text. In such a case any clear cut 60. In a few passages, Gersonides appears to admit the possibility of conjunction (Gersonides, MH 1. 4, p. 26; 4. 4, pp. 164-65; Supercommentaryon A verroes'Epitome on De anima, fol. 250v). But a close examination of these passages reveals first that Gersonides usually adds a qualifying phrase, such as nxp, nonT9K indicating that conjunction in the important sense, nml5wv mnlpri,is not admitted, and second that he is concerned only with what Merlan calls 'epistemological union', i.e., some epistemic relation between the human intellect and the Agent Intellect that transpires only in the act of cognition (Merlin, Monopsychosis, pp. 18-29). Gersonides' denial of conjunction in the sense of 'ontological union' is clearly expressed in the eighth lesson at the conclusion of his discussion of the pericope Shemot. There he says: "It is impossible for man to apprehend completely the Agent Intellect. ... In this some of the recent philosophers have erred, thinking that man could apprehend completely the Agent Intellect and become numerically one with it, and that herein lies human happiness ... and human immortality" (Gersonides, Commentaryon Pentateuch, p. 56b). In the light of the last passage, as well as the argument of this paper, Vajda's claim that for Gersonides human perfection consists in "la jonction de l'Intellect Agent avec l'ame," or in the gradual elevation of "l'intellecthylique a l'union avec l'Intellect Agent" must be revised. Georges Vajda, L'amour de Dieu dans la theologie juive du moyen age (Paris, 1957), pp. 251-52. 61. Gersonides, Commentary on Pentateuch, pp. 41a, 42a (ninth lesson).

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demarcation between philosophy and mysticism may be impossible to draw. Philip Merlan's use of the phrase 'rationalistic mysticism' in this context is quite apt.62 Gersonides' critique of immortality as conjunction with the Agent Intellect can accordingly be regarded as a defense of philosophy against the encroachment of mysticism. If the latter is generally characterized by the aim to achieve some kind of unio mystica-whether ecstatic or not is immaterial-, Gersonides rejects this whole enterprise. His goal is more modest. Man is to devote himself not to the union with some supernal being but to the acquisition of what is humanly attainable: knowledge of the world in which he lives. This is possible by virtue of and through cooperation with the Agent Intellect, but it does not require identification with it.63Indeed, beyond the Agent Intellect there is another Intellect that is the source of truth and being to which the Agent Intellect is subordinate. This is the First Intellect, or God.64 As a good Jew, Gersonides could not accept any idea of identification with God. If conjunction is alleged to be our goal, we might as well go all the way. But since we cannot, why posit this as a goal at the outset? In Book 6 of the Republic, Plato suggested that truth and being are made possible by the Form of Goodness, which is not only distinct from all particular instances of goodness but from all other Forms. True, Forms serve as the patterns of order and intelligibility for our physical world, but they are ontologically and epistemologically distinct from it. The immutabilityessentially possessed by each Form is not even accidentally shared by any particular; the perfection of each Form is at best only approximated asymptotically by any particular. No identification with a Form is then possible for a particular. In these respects, Gersonides' Agent Intellect is like Plato's Form of the Good. No union with the Agent Intellect is possible or necessary, no more than it is possible or necessary for Plato's philosopher-king to become one with a Form. For both Plato and Gersonides, human happiness consists in the pursuit and attainment of human wisdom, a goal that leads man to recognize the existence of some transcendent entities that are needed for the achievement of his quest. But this goal does not terminate in the obliteration of the self in a transcendent being.

62. Merlan, Monopsychism, pp. 20ff.; Altmann, "ibn Bajja," pp. 70, 87. 63. Gersonides, Commentary on the Pentateuch, p. 14a. 64. Gersonides, Commentary on Song of Songs, p. 14b; MH 5. 3. 11, 13.

A Sociological Portrait of German Jewish Immigrants in Boston: 1845-1861 Author(s): Stephen G. Mostov Source: AJS Review, Vol. 3 (1978), pp. 121-152 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486423 . Accessed: 26/06/2011 20:20 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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A SOCIOLOGICALPORTRAIT OF GERMAN JEWISH IMMIGRANTS IN BOSTON: 1845-1861' by STEPHEN G. MOSTOV Brandeis University In the growing literature on the socioeconomic characteristics of the constituent immigrant groups of America's cities during the mid-nineteenth century,2 German Jews have been sadly neglected.3 The reasons are primarily practical ones. Because "Jewish" or "Hebrew" was neither a census nor immigration category during this period, German Jews are difficult to iden1. I wish to thank Kathleen Neils Conzen, Professor of History, University of Chicago, who first motivated me to undertake this study and without whose patient guidance and insightful editing it could not have been written. I am also grateful to Michael P. Conzen, Professor of Geography, University of Chicago, for drawing the map which appears in this article and to Professors Leon A. Jick and Marshall Sklare. 2. The reader is referred to Dean Esslinger, Immigrantsand the City: Ethnicity and Mobility in a Nineteenth-Century Midwestern Community (Port Washington, N.Y., 1975), chap. I and nn., for a succinct summary. The only work, to my knowledge, which includes a separate analysis of Jewish social and economic mobility is Stephan Thernstrom's The Other Bostonians: Poverty and Progress in the American Metropolis 1880-1970 (Cambridge, Mass., 1973), pp. 145-75. Even that, however, is a cursory analysis, based as it is on three samples, the largest of which included only thirty-eight individuals. 3. I am fully aware of the current debate within the field of American Jewish history over the correct nomenclature for the estimated 225,000 Jewish immigrants who arrived in the

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tify in public records.4 Furthermore, they generally comprised only a small minority of the total immigrant population in American urban centers prior to the 1880s. Even those specifically interested in American Jewish history have seldom gone beyond cursory analyses of the socioeconomic characteristics of the German Jews, reflecting both the traditional emphasis in Jewish communal histories on institutions and their leaders, and the focusing of attention in such social histories as do exist on the larger and seemingly more significant Eastern European Jewish immigration beginning in the 1880s.5 There is no dearth of scholarly evidence that American Jews are a distinctive group socially and economically, as well as religiously and culturally.6 That American Jews' patterns of geographical and occupational distribution, and social and economic status, are unique among the nation's ethnic groups is an assumption nearly universally shared and acted upon by intellectuals, politicians, journalists, and the general public alike. The relevant question for social historians is how the contemporary sociological patterns of American Jews have evolved, and why they are unique in comparison to those of other American ethnic groups. There are many possible explanations for American Jewish exceptionalism.7 Some emphasize the nature of the Jewish historical experience in Europe, in which adaptability to radically new environments was an imperative virtue, and which funneled Jews into mercantile pursuits. Others United States between 1815 and 1880, before the mass immigration of Eastern European Jews began. Since, as is shown in this study, the vast majority came from areas incorporated in Germany after 1871, and were German speaking, for convenience and clarity's sake they are referred to in this study as "German" Jews, with the understanding that some emigrated from other neighboring areas of Western, Central, and Eastern Europe. For a full discussion of this issue see Rudolf Glanz, "The 'Bayer' and the 'Pollack' in America," Jewish Social Studies (hereafter cited as JSS) 17 (1955): 27-42, reprinted in idem, Studies in Judaica Americana (New York, 1970), pp. 187-202. 4. For a discussion of this problem, which is an ongoing one for demographers and sociologists, see Sidney Goldstein and Calvin Goldscheider, Jewish Americans: Three Generations in a Jewish Community (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1968), pp. 14-17. Because of the high premium placed on separation of church and state, a question on religion has never appeared in a decennial U.S. census. United States immigration records, however, included the classification "Hebrews" between 1899 and 1943. 5. Among the most notable exceptions are the numerous articles by Rudolf Glanz, collected in Studies in Judaica Americana, and the most recent studies, listed below in note 9. 6. Cf., for instance, Marshall Sklare, America's Jews (New York, 1971), pp. 37-72 and idem, ed., The Jew in American Society (New York, 1974), pp. 93-162, and bibliography, pp. 388-97. 7. For a succinct listing of possible explanations see Thernstrom, Bostonians, pp. 160-75.

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stress purely cultural or religious factors as the crucial variable, whether it be the traditional importance Jews have placed on education and careers to which it is the key, or, classically, divine favor. The relative merits of the various explanations aside, one still confronts the as yet unanswered historical question of precisely what the earliest American Jewish social and economic patterns were, and at what point the present patterns emerged. The true character of German Jewish mobility has too often been obscured by a facile invoking of the rags to riches myth. Precise analysis has frequently been sacrificed for apologetic, literary, and polemical ends.8 The few recently completed Jewish communal studies which do include broad-based analysis suggest that the fixation of old with the relatively few German Jews who amassed great fortunes and patronized local Jewish institutions has overshadowed the equally significant, if more mundane, mobility patterns of the German Jewish masses.9 It is time for historians and sociologists to move beyond stereotypic and superficial descriptions of early Jewish mobility, and to begin generating a body of empirically verifiable data. This essay is an attempt, through a case study of Boston Jewry between 1845 and 1861, to go back to the beginnings of significant Jewish immigration to the United States, in order to reconstruct as precisely as possible a demographic and sociological portrait of ordinary first generation German Jewish immigrants. It is hoped that such a portrait, once established, will provide a sound basis for future research into the historical dynamics of American Jewish mobility. The specific chronological limits of the study ex8. In the early part of this century German Jewish spokesmen were eager to differentiate themselves in the eyes of the general public from the "new" immigrants from Poland and Russia-a bias which colored their descriptions of German Jewish mobility. For later historians the tendency to describe Jewish communal dissension as a by-product of GermanEastern European rivalry, with class overtones, has perpetuated the usefulness of a stereotypic view of German Jewish mobility. For the most recent discussion of this problem see Oscar Handlin, "A Twenty Year Retrospect of American Jewish Historiography," American Jewish Historical Quarterly(hereafter cited as AJHQ) 65 (1976): 295-301. Stephen Birmingham's best selling Our Crowd: The Great Jewish Families of New York (New York, 1967) has served once more to popularize the mythic image of old. 9. These studies include: Seth Bernstein, "The Economic Life of the Jews in San Francisco During the 1860's," American Jewish Archives 27 (1975): 70-73; Robert Rockaway, "From Americanization to Jewish Americanism: The Jews of Detroit 1815-1914" (Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 1970); Kenneth Roseman, "The Jewish Population of America, 1850-1860: A Demographic Study of Four Cities" (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew Union CollegeJewish Institute of Religion, 1971); Marc Lee Raphael, "The Early Jews of Columbus Ohio: A Study in Economic Mobility 1850-1880," in Bertram Korn, ed., A Bicentennial Festschriftbor Jacob Rader Marcus (New York, 1976), pp. 435-47; Steven Hertzberg, "The Jews of Atlanta, 1865-1915," (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Chicago, 1975).

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tend from the beginnings of significant Jewish settlement in Boston through the end of the community's formative period and the eve of the dislocations of the Civil War. Singling out Boston's German Jews for special analysis at first seems an unlikely choice, inasmuch as German Jewish immigration is commonly associated with New York, Philadelphia and the river cities of the Midwest. However, Boston's public data for this period are intact and accessible, and the several published social histories of Boston greatly facilitate comparison of Boston's Jews with other ethnic groups and with the city's population as a whole.'0 Furthermore, since Jews did not emigrate directly to Boston, the community there developed at roughly the same time and same rate as those in the interior cities. Solid evidence can be adduced that Boston's midnineteenth century Jewish community was, in fact, quite typical of German Jewish communities dispersed throughout the United States. THE JEWISH BACKGROUND Jews arrived in New York City (then New Amsterdam) as early as 1654, but as late as 1820 the Jewish population of the United States was fewer than 3,000 in a total population of 9.6 million." The first Jews to arrive were predominantly of Dutch, Spanish, and Portuguese descent. Because they were primarily engaged in overseas commerce they tended to settle in the colonies' most active ports, Boston excluded. In 1790 the nation's only Jewish congregations were located in Newport (Rhode Island), New York, Philadelphia, Richmond, Charleston and Savannah. By 1820 two-thirds of the nation's Jews resided in but four locations: Charleston, New York, Philadelphia, and Richmond.'2 Thus, at a time when the nation's population was overwhelmingly rural and agrarian, the incipient American Jewish community was urban and commercially oriented.

10. Oscar l-andlin, Boston's Immigrants,1790-1880, 2d ed. rev. and enl. (New York, 1968); Peter Knights, The Plain People of Boston, 1830-1860 (New York, 1971); Thernstrom, Bostonians. 11. Estimating the Jewish population in the United States for any period is a hazardous proposition, and especially so for the nineteenth century. For the most precise estimates of the number of Jews enumerated in the federal censuses of 1790 and 1820, and a discussion of the problems involved, cf. Ira Rosenwaike, "An Estimate and Analysis of the Jewish Population of the United States in 1790," AJHQ 50 (1960): 23-35 and idem, "The Jewish Population of the United States as Estimated from the Census of 1820," AJHQ 53 (1963): 131-49. 12. Rosenwaike, "1790," pp. 33-35; idem, "1820," pp. 148-49.

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By 1750 the influx of such Sephardic Jews had all but ceased. Subsequent Jewish immigration to the United States was almost exclusively of Central and Eastern European origin. Sustained Jewish immigration began after 1830, peaked in the 1850s and again in the 1870s, and rose to unprecedented levels in the 1880s which were maintained through 1914. Between 1845 and 1860, the period under consideration, the Jewish population grew from roughly 40,000 to 150,000. 3 The established pattern of Jewish concentration in a few large port cities continued until the large increase in immigration during the late 1840s and 1850s. By 1840 the nation's largest Jewish community was in New York City, where consistently one-fourth to one-half of the nation's total Jewish population has resided down to the present. The number of Jews in New York rose from approximately 15,000 in 1847 to 40,000 in 1860 and 80,000 in 1880.14The only other American cities with sizable numbers of Jews were Philadelphia, Baltimore, Charleston, New Orleans and Cincinnati. The skewed distribution of the nation's Jews as late as 1840 seems to have been a function of shipping routes from German port cities, religious necessity, and commerical opportunities. Most Jews, as noted below, began as peddlers, petty merchants, tailors, or artisans, and were neither by training nor inclination interested in agrarian or other rural-based pursuits. The propensity of Jewish immigrants to settle in commercial centers became so axiomatic in the popular mind that the arrival of Jewish peddlers and small businessmen in a developing outpost came to be seen as an auspicious sign of potential commercial growth.'5 The large increase in the number of Jews arriving after 1845, as well as the rapid growth of cities and rural settlements in the Midwest and West, led to a rapid dispersal of the nation's Jewish population, and the establishment of Jewish communities in areas of secondary settlement. The growth of Boston's Jewish community from literally a handful in 1840 to some 20

13. There are simply no reliable estimates for this period. In the standard secondary sources one or another person's educated guess serves as the basis for subsequent ones. The figure of 40,000 is an extrapolation between an estimate of 6,000 made by Isaac Harby of Charleston, S.C. in 1826 (see S. Gilman, North American Review, July 1826), and a contemporary estimate of 49,000 in 1845, which seems too high (see Cincinnati Miscellany [1845; reprint ed., New York, 1971], p. 171). The 150,000 figure is an estimate inferred in the Occident and American Jewish Advocate (Philadelphia), 12 (1856): 413. 14. Encyclopedia Judaica (hereafter cited as EJ), s.v. "New York City," col. 1070. 15. Cf. Steven Hertzberg, "The Jewish Community of Atlanta from the End of the Civil War Until the Eve of the Frank Case," AJHQ 62 (1973): 251 for a specific example.

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families in 1860 mirrors simultaneous growth in such cities as Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland, Milwaukee, St. Louis and San Francisco.16In addition to these large cities Jews were now increasingly found in smaller cities, and even towns and villages where Jewish run general stores often served as a base for Jewish peddling in rural and frontier areas.17 Isaac Leeser, the editor of the Occident and American Jewish Advocate, a Jewish monthly (weekly after 1859) published in Philadelphia, documented this trend in 1856 when he assiduously compiled a list of all known Jewish congregations in the nation as of that year-a congregation containing a minimum of ten men. He conservatively estimated there to be 118 congregations nationally, 86 of them outside of the Eastern Seaboard, and scattered in 24 states. Significantly, he prefaced this list with the remark that "it is but a few years ago that one could count on his fingers the cities where Israelites had formed separate communities."'1 That the exodus of German Jews to the United States was an integral part of the general German emigration is indicated by the similar emigration curves for both groups between 1820 and 1880. General German emigration was slight before 1830, moderate through 1845, and high during the 1850s and 1870s-thus paralleling the figures for Jews. Precisely what motivated Jewish and non-Jewish Germans alike to set out for America is a complicated matter in which economic, technological, political, and psychological factors all played a part. Between 1830 and 1845 in Germany the rural lower middle class, which included the majority of German Jews at this time, faced a severe crisis caused by a growth of population without a corresponding growth of economic bases, and by the increased cosmopolitanization and liberalization of the economy. As local tariffs were abolished, transportation improved, and factories established, rural artisans and traders were faced with an ever shrinking market. With prospects dim16. Chicago's Jewish community grew from 20 families in 1840 to 1,500 persons in 1860 (EJ, s.v. "Chicago," cols. 410-11); Milwaukee from 47 families in 1845 to 200 in 1860 (Louis Swichkow and Lloyd Gartner, The History of the Jews in Milwaukee [Philadelphia, 1963], chap. 1); Detroit from 60 persons in 1850 to 200 in 1860 (Rockaway, "Jews of Detroit," pp. 1-38); St. Louis from less than 100 persons in 1840 to 600-700 persons in 1860 (EJ, s.v. "St. Louis," cols. 662-63); and San Francisco's from none in 1840 to 2,500-5,000 in 1860 (Bernstein, "Jews in San Francisco," p. 70). 17. There is a large body of literature on Jewish peddling, but unfortunately most of it is excessively anecdotal. For the most analytic article see Glanz, "Notes on Early Jewish Peddling in America," JSS 7 (1945): 119-36, reprinted in Judaica Americana, pp. 104-21. 18. Occident 12 (1856): 411-13. Leeser's figures are credible both because of his high caliber of reporting and his extensive travel for the sole purpose of visiting Jewish communities.

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ming, young men seeking to establish themselves faced the alternatives of becoming proletarianized, leaving for urban centers, or emigrating to a place where, it was hoped, traditional patterns could be maintained.'9 In addition to general factors encouraging emigration, German Jews had their own special motives for leaving. In a number of the German principalities, Jews were subject to special restrictions and taxes which further aggravated their plight and, in several instances, led to a mass exodus of all young couples from a given village. In Bavaria, a major source of Jewish emigration, the number of Jewish inhabitants in each district was controlled by linking marriages to the number of deaths and selectively granting citizenship. As times grew harder for everyone, there was less inclination among young Jews to attempt to evade regulations and taxes through bribery or deceit. Rather, those who were willing and able emigrated, either for the cities or abroad. The end result, according to the contemporary German Jewish press, was that "in many a place out of a Jewish population of 30-40 families, 15-20 people have emigrated, mainly the young and employable."20

Emigration is by nature selective, but when it entails crossing an ocean and settling in a totally foreign and frontier environment, it is especially so. In the case of German Jews the most urbane and well educated, the most religious, and the wealthiest were not likely to trek to America, since there was little to lure them there. That those who did come were disproportionately young, poor (but not indigent), provincial and poorly educated, and that economic security rather than adventure or personal transformation was their primary goal was bound to affect their patterns of social adjustment once they arrived. THE ARRIVAL OF JEWS IN BOSTON There was never more than a sprinkling of Jewish families in Boston, or in all of New England for that matter, before the 1840s. Only in Newport, where the stately eighteenth-century Touro Synagogue still stands, had there been a flourishing, albeit ephemeral, Jewish community prior to that decade.2' Only an occasional itinerant appeared in Boston, and the few who 19. Mack Walker, Germany and the Emigration, 1816-1885 (Cambridge, Mass., 1964), p. 47. 20. Glanz, "The Immigration of German Jews up to 1880," YivoAnnual2/3 (1947-48): 91, reprinted in Judaica Americana, p. 95. 21. The Jewish influx into Newport commenced about 1740. The Touro Synagogue was

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actually settled assimilated into the general population.22 Why Boston and the rest of New England remained virtually Judenreinfor so long is a matter of speculation. During the Colonial period religious intolerance was no doubt a major factor, but for the Early National period one must look for more specific reasons, given the virtual absence of all foreign born immigrants, other than Englishmen and Irishmen, in Boston as late as 1860.23 Oscar Handlin explains Boston's peculiar lack of immigrants as a product of the city's stagnant economy and rigid social structure. He claims that only a group such as the Irish, who emigrated directly to Boston and, upon arrival, "could not go elsewhere because poverty deprived them of the means, and despondence of the desire," would have settled in large numbers.24For more mobile and ambitious immigrants, Handlin asserts, "as against the promise of the broad fields and the new cities of the west and south, Boston offered few opportunities to those who lacked the twin advantages of birth and capital."25

Closer analysis reveals that Handlin's explanation is not definitive. Despite Boston's relatively low rate of population growth in the early nineteenth century and its loss of shipping preeminence to New York and New Orleans, the city remained the nation's fourth largest (after New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore), with a diversified and dynamic local economy. The basic industries of shipbuilding, textiles, boot and shoe manufacture, leather, printing, brick and glassmaking, and ironworks, which in 1880 accounted for one-half of the state's $150 million annual industrial product, had a continuous history in Boston from the Colonial period.26 By 1840 there were already more than five industries annually producing one-half million dollars worth of goods or more, and another dozen industries producing over $100,000 worth, with a total estimated industrial product of $30 million.27 These statistics suggest that factors more dedicated in 1763, but immediately following the Revolutionary War the Jewish community, like the town itself, virtually disappeared. 22. Rosenwaike, "1790," pp. 24-25; "1820," pp. 141-42. 23. Cf. Handlin, Boston's Immigrants,tables 6-9, pp. 242-46; Knights, Plain People, table 3:2, p. 36. As late as 1850 there were less than 1,800 Germansout of a total population of 137,000, an equal number of Scots, and even fewer Scandinavians. Knights reports that a mere 2 percent of his 1840 sample were born in continental Europe, and only 5 percent as late as 1860. 24. Handlin, Boston's Immigrants, p. 37. 25. Ibid., p. 12. 26. Carroll Wright and Horace Wadlin, "The Industries of the Last Hundred Years" in Justin Winsor, ed., The Memorial History of Boston 1630-1880, 4 vols. (Boston, 1881), 4: 69. 27. Ibid., pp. 88, 92-93. Handlin may have in part based his conclusions on uncritical ac-

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complex than simple lack of economic opportunity must have been at the root of the city's unique ethnic mix. There may have been instead a variety of both rational and incidental reasons, among which shipping routes, natural paths of migration from other port cities, perceived social or religious intimidation, and "frontier fever" would have to be included. A permanent minyan, the ten man minimum required by Jewish tradition to establish a congregation, could be gathered in Boston for the first time in the fall of 1842.28By 1843 Jews had designated a room in a coreligionist's house as a place for regular prayer, and had organized the Chevra Ahabas Achim (Society of Brotherly Love), which served as a mutual aid and burial society.29Their first request for exclusive use of a 100 square foot corner of the East Boston City Cemetery having been denied, in July of 1844 the Boston City Council approved the local Jews' second petition for the right to purchase a separate plot of land to be used as a burial ground.30The Commonwealth granted its first charter of incorporation to a Jewish congregation to the members of Ohabei Shalom in 1845, but a synagogue building was not constructed until 1852. Public notice of the nascent community was first evidenced in a letter to the Boston Mercantile Journal on September 23, 1844, in which a Reverend Wells, having attended the Jewish "synagogue," remarked that it was "not a comfortable or decent place for the performance of the service which thousands of years ago swelled through the arches of Solomon's Temple." He further noted that some forty men were in attendance.3' Why Jewish immigrants suddenly began filtering into Boston in the 1840s is explainable in part by a factor previously alluded to, namely, the sheer increase in the number of Jews entering the country. The heightened ceptance of the State Industrial Censuses of 1837 and 1845 which list Suffolk County's industrial product as only $10 million and $13.8 million respectively. Wright and Wadlin, however, directors of the State Bureau of Statistics in 1880, convincingly argue that these early censuses were "exceedingly unsatisfactory, both from many omissions of important industries and methods" (p. 90). The figures cited here are their estimates of the correct totals. 28. Albert Ehrenfried, A Chronicle of Boston Jewry (Boston, 1963),pp. 332-37. 29. Besides providing emergency financial aid, the Chevra and its successor, the Chevra Gemiloth Chesed (free loan society) founded in 1853, also provided for the visiting and assisting of the sick, guaranteed a proper burial, and even provided families with funds for the seven day period of mourning. See "Minutebook of the Chevra Gemiloth Chesed," deposited in the American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, Ohio. 30. Ehrenfried, Chronicle, pp. 338-39. Subsequently Congregation Ohabei Shalom purchased a 10,000 sq. ft. lot on the corners of Byron and Homer Sts. for $200, which was paid for by assessing members $5 each. 31. Ibid., pp. 337-38.

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G. MOSTOV

commercial opportunities in the city following the arrival of Boston's Irish may have been another factor. An inordinate number of the Irish peasants fleeing the famine and tyrannical landlords of their homeland ended up in Boston. A city whose entire population in 1840 was 85,000, received by 1850 over 35,000 Irishmen, and by 1855 more than 50,000-about 30 percent of Boston's total population in that year. The abundant supply of cheap labor which the unskilled and exploited Irishmen provided was a boon to Boston's manufacturers, who had long bemoaned the city's shortage of laborers and relatively high wages.32But the concentration of Irishmen in Boston's compact neighborhoods must have meant also lucrative opportunities for those, like the Jewish immigrants, who specialized in providing consumer goods and services. Also contributing to increased commercial activity in Boston at mid-century were the eight railroad lines extending from the city by 1860, creating a new trading area extending as far west as the Berkshires and north to the Merrimac Valley, with Boston as its hub.33One further attraction of Boston for Jews during this period, given the large number trained as tailors, must have been the developing ready made clothing industry, which grew appreciably in Boston in the decades following its inception by John Simmons in the early thirties. The invention of sewing machines by Elias Howe in Cambridge, Massachusetts in 1846 and I. M. Singer in Boston in 1850 ensured an ever increasing demand for tailors, of whom over 1,500 were locally employed by 1850.34The precise nature of Boston's attraction to Jewish immigrants in the 1850s is further clarified by an analysis of the characteristics of those who chose to settle there. A DEMOGRAPHIC PROFILE Recounting in October 1851 his recent visit to the New England states, Isaac Leeser remarked that "we think that there are at least 120 [Jewish] families in Boston, who though mostly in moderate circumstances, are all

32. Wright and Wadlin, Memorial History, 4: 80. That Boston's manufacturers profited immensely from the Irish influx is evidenced in the doubling of the city's annual industrial product to $64 million between 1840 and 1860: see ibid., p. 93. 33. Charles Francis Adams, "The Canal and Railroad Enterprise of Boston," Memorial History, vol. 4, chap. 5. 34. Wright and Wadlin, Memorial History, pp. 90-91; Handlin, Boston's Immigrants, pp. 75-77. There is still some disagreement among scholars as to whether tailoring was a skill Jewish immigrants brought with them, or whether they acquired it only after arriving in the United States.

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able to support themselves."35Both Leeser's estimate and the earlier observation of Reverend Wells (a minimum of 40 families in 1844) are in line with the estimates of Boston's Jewish population derived from the sample data. Forty-three sample members are known to have already been in Boston in 1845, and their numbers increased to 81 in 1850, 102 in 1855, and 118 in 1861 (see table 1). If one extrapolates the 2 to 3 ratio of sample members to the estimated total of Jewish families in 1851 to 1861, then there were over 180 Jewish families in Boston by that year.36 The stream of Jewish immigrants into the city was fairly constant throughout the period under consideration, excepting a slight decrease in the late 1850s (see table 1).37 TABLE 1 YEARSAMPLE MEMBERS ARRIVED INBOSTONa Year(s) 1840-1849 1850-1854 1855-1859 1860-1861 Unknown Total

NumberArriving 72 63 47 21 43 247

1845 1850 1853 1855 1858 1861

Numberin Boston 43 81 79 102 101 118

%b 29 26 19 9 17 100

a Seenote37 for datalimitations. b Equalsthepercentof totalnumberarriving1840-1861.

35. Occident 9 (1851): 380-81. 36. Handlin's estimate of 200 Jewish families in Boston by 1850 (cf. Boston's Immigrants,p. 52), derived from contemporary accounts in the Boston Pilot, appears to be too high for that year. 37. My figures on year of arrival are unfortunately subject to a number of qualifications. The most precise way to gauge when individuals arrived is to consult passenger lists-a laborious task I have yet to undertake. Since a number of Boston's Jews arrived via New York, lists for both Boston and New York would have to be checked. My calculations were based first of all on census data, which list the state in which all members of the family were born. Since most families had children every two years or so, one seemingly gets a good idea of how long they had been in Massachusetts. There is no way, obviously, of determining whether a family first lived somewhere in Massachusetts outside of Boston. For those not found in the censuses I used the first year they were found in the tax assessment lists or city directories. In these cases

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The sources employed in collecting the sample data referred to include manuscript censuses, city directories, and tax assessment lists. The names of persons identified as Jewish-meaning any adult male who would have identified himself as such or would have been so identified by others-were first sought independently of these sources.38A core of 122 verified Jewish individuals was compiled from available primary and secondary sources. These included periodicals, two lists of persons contributing money to Palestinian emissaries (meshullahim)and the names previously culled from communal records and personal recollections by Dr. Albert Ehrenfried, a long time Boston resident, in a privately published study (see table 2).39The core members were subsequently traced in the Boston city directories of 1845 to 1861 in order to obtain addresses and occupations, and then in the manuscript federal censuses of 1850 and 1860, the state census of 1855, and city tax assessment lists of 1850, 1855, and 1860. These sources provided such additional information as age, family size, country of origin, and taxable wealth. Most, but not all, individuals were found in one or the other of TABLE 2 DERIVATION OF NAMES OF BOSTON'S JEWS PRIMARYSOURCES

Type 1. Periodicals 2. Palestinian messenger lists Overlap Total

SECONDARYSOURCES

Number Type 1. Ehrenfelda 47 35 10 72

Number 88 1. 2. 3. 38

Overlap Total 50 Total Sample = 247

INFERRED

Criteria Relativesb Surnamec Other Overlap Total

Number 14 71 40 9 125

a AlbertEhrenfeld,A Chronicle of BostonJewry(Boston,1963). b Thatis, a manwiththesamesurnameandlivingat the sameresidenceas a verifiedJew. c Thosewiththe samesurnameas a verifiedJew,providedthe surnamewas a characteristically Jewishone. (See note 40.) they may well have arrived a few years earlier. Cf. Knights, Plain People, apps. A and B, pp. 127-43. 38. Women were not included as sample members because they were rarely listed in city directories or tax assessment records. The wives and children of sample members, however, were included in the demographic analysis. 39. Albert Ehrenfried, A Chronicle of Boston Jewry (Boston, 1963). The Palestinian messenger lists for 1850 and 1861 are found in Salo Baron, "Palestinian Messengers in America, 1849-79," JSS 5 (1943): 115-62, 225-92, reprinted in Jeanette Baron, ed., Steeled By Adversity. Essays and Addresses on American Jewish Life (Philadelphia, 1971), pp. 158-266.

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these sources but rarely in all three. A summary of the precise breakdown is given in table 3. TABLE 3 SOURCES IN WHICH SAMPLE MEMBERS WERE FOUND

Source 1. City Directories 2. Censusesa 3. Tax Assessmentsb Total number searched Total located in at least one source

NumberFound 200 79 76 247 221

a Federalcensusesof 1850and 1860,andstatecensusof 1855. b

Citytax assessmentsof 1850,1855,and 1860.

In the process of tracing names through the various sources an additional 125 persons presumed to be Jewish were added to the sample, based upon strict criteria. Fourteen were relatives of sample members-that is, they had the same surname and same address as a verified member. Another seventy-one of those added had the same surname as a verified member and a pentateuchal first name, provided the surname was judged to be a characteristically German Jewish one.40Others added had either distinctively Jewish first names or surnames (for example, "Moishe," "Yitzhak," "Shlomo," "Levi," "Cohen") and lived at the same address as known Jews. Inevitably the sample data contain built-in biases. Jews active in communal affairs, and therefore possibly of higher status, were the most likely to be included. Similarly, city directories and censuses are known to have excluded a disproportionate number of unemployed and transient persons.41

40. Cf. Glanz, "German Jewish Names in America," JSS 23 (1961): 143-69, reprinted in Judaica Americana, pp. 278-89. Glanz notes the distinctiveness of Jewish-German as opposed to German surnames. Specifically, -heimer and -steiner endings referred to Jews almost without exception, as did scenic-geographical endings such as -feld, -thal(er), -baum, -berg, -wasser, -dorf. 41. Cf. Knights, Plain People, pp. 127-47; Thernstrom, Bostonians, pp. 265-88. Peddlers were especially likely to be underenumerated because they were self-employed, and likely to be out of town at the time of enumeration. That a number of Jews were being overlooked is evidenced by the eight sample members found in censuses or assessments but not city directories, and by the thirty-one who appeared only intermittently in the city directories.

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Finally, since the public records were not searched systematically for "inferred" Jews, those who were included were likely to resemble, and therefore possibly unfairly reinforce, the core sample. It is doubtful if such biases can be feasibly eliminated. Mitigating these is the fact that the sample is meant to be representative of those Jews likely to transmit their identity to subsequent generations. The fact that information was gleaned on some 220 men and their families in a decade in which, by all estimates, there were never more than 200 Jewish families in Boston at one time, seems to suggest that the sample is indeed representative of a large segment of the antebellum Boston Jewish community.42 Determining the precise European origins of Boston's Jews is a difficult task given the vagueness of census descriptions. Nonetheless the sample data provide some valuable insights. Jewish immigrants arriving in Boston between 1845 and 1861 were not a socially and culturally homogeneous group. The major distinction among them was between those from Southwest Germany (Baden and Bavaria), and those from Posen, Polish Prussia, and other parts of Northeast Germany. By 1860 a preponderant number of Boston's Jews apparently came from the northeast German region (see table 4).43Although both the "Bayers" and "Polishers" lived in the same general neighborhood and both groups were German speaking, cultural and social differences very early led to communal factionalism. Only two years after the dedication of an expensive synagogue in 1852, most of the Bavarian Jewish families seceded and formed what eventually became Temple Israel. They soon built their own structure, established their own 42. The issue of methodological purity in sample selection is a controversial one. However, I agree with the argument recently set forth by Thernstrom, that in dealing with "the complexity and messiness that we inevitably encounter when we venture into territory not already wellcharted by previous researchers," tolerance for reasonable methodological improvisation is a necessity (Historical Methods Newsletter 7 [1975]: 112ff.). 43. The percentage of sample members from Northeast Germany is an educated guess. What later became the nation-state of Poland was at the time divided between Prussia, Russia, and Austria. That "Polish" Jews of the mid-nineteenth century were in fact mostly from Prussia is evidenced by the fact that they were German speaking and were commonly referred to by Bavarian Jews as "hinter Berliners." Cf. Glanz, "'Bayer' and the 'Pollack,'" p. 189. Some of the "Prussians" may have been from the Rhineland (West German) area, but it is doubtful if this applies to very many. Because Bavarian Jews were likely to identify themselves as such, it may also be assumed that many of those identifying themselves as "German" were from Eastern Prussia. Cf. ibid., where Glanz states, "The place of origin listed next to the names of East European Jews is shown as Germany or Prussia, as well as Austria, Poland, or Russia." He estimates that "at least a third" of America's Jews were of Eastern European origin by 1880 (ibid.).

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school, and unsuccessfully sued for legal rights to the name and property of the original congregation. The stated reason for the rift was the Bavarians' resentment of the preponderance of "Polish Jews, whose ceremonies are somewhat different," in the original congregation.44By 1858 a third group, consisting chiefly of persons from Posen, had also broken away and established Congregation Mishkan Israel. Besides its effect on the internal cohesion of the Jewish community, the relatively large number of German Jews from the Eastern provinces undoubtedly also inhibited social and cultural interaction between Jewish and other Germans in Boston, given the very low proportion of all German emigrants coming from that region (see table 4). TABLE 4 BOSTON JEWS' PLACE OF BIRTH AND COMPARISON WITH ALL GERMAN IMMIGRANTSa

REGION

1. 2. 3. 4.

Prussia Poland Posen Russia Total N.E. Germany 5. Bavaria 6. Baden 7. Saxony Total S.W. Germany 8. Germany (but unspecified) 9. Other Unknown Totals

SAMPLE MEMBERS (1840-1861)

Number 20 20 3 3 46 7 10 3 20 28 l0d 143 247

%c 19 19 3 3 44

ALLGERMANSb (1840-1864)

%

lie

6 10 3 19 27 10

51g

100

100

38f

a For data limitations see note 43. b SOURCE:Wolfgang Kollman and Peter Marschalck, "German Emigration to the United States," Perspectives in American History 7 (1973), table 3, p. 520. c Equals percent of all sample members of known origins. d Hamburg, Holland, and Surinam. e East Prussia, West Prussia, Posen, Brandenburg, Pomerania, and Silesia. f Wirttemburg, Baden, the Palatinate, and Bavaria. g Westphalia, the Rhineland, and Mecklenburg.

44. Ehrenfried, Chronicle, pp. 345ff. The ostensible reason for the split was differences in

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Analysis of the age distribution, marital status, and family size of Boston's Jews reaffirms the selective nature of the Jewish immigration, and reflects the tempo of their demographic integration into the community as a whole. The immigrant character of Boston's Jewish community as of 1850 was clearly reflected in its skewed age structure. Persons over forty were a distinct minority of the adult Jewish population, while fully 40 percent of the adults were age thirty or under (see table 5). By contrast, the median age of Boston's entire adult population in 1850 was thirty-seven. By 1860, Boston's Jewish community had largely shed the immigrant character of its age structure, as reflected in the rise of the median age to thirty-seven and a more normal proportion of old persons (see table 5).

TABLE 5 BOSTONJEWS' AGE DISTRIBUTIONa (ADULTS ONLY)

1860

1850 Agesb

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Over 50 46-50 41-45 36-40 31-35 26-30 18-25 Median Age N

Number

%c

4 2 7 21 18 22 18

4 2 8 22 20 24 20 31 92

All Bostoniansd

37 249

Number

%c

13 15 18 21 6 21 18

12 13 16 19 5 19 16 38 112

All Bostoniansd

39 252

a Includes both sample members and their wives. b Data on ages are subject to a certain margin of error. It is obvious from the comparison of two or more sources on the same individuals that most did not know their precise age. Cf. Knights, Plain People, app. B, pp. 140-43. c Equals percent of all sample members (and wives) of known age in that year. d SOURCE: Ibid., pp. 90-93. Data for specific age categories are not available.

The sample data affirm that Jews emigrating to Boston were not only disproportionately young, but also tended to bring few dependents with them. Typically, a young married couple would settle in the city and then religious practices and liturgy, but more general cultural and social factors were also clearly involved.

137

IMMIGRANTS IN BOSTON

immediately begin raising a large family.45Almost two-thirds of the Jewish couples had no foreign-born children, but by 1860 these same couples already had an average of 3.8 children each with 70 percent of them still of prime child-bearing age. Over one-fourth of these families already had at least 6 children in that year (see table 6). Besides the young married couples, there were also a sizable number of young single Jewish men in Boston, and a lesser number of single women. Commonly, one or two brothers settled in the city and were joined in succeeding years by younger brothers. Single Jewish women, by contrast, tended to settle with older married couples rather than with sisters, often earning their board by serving as domestics.46 These demographic characteristics of the Jews settling in Boston between 1845 and 1861 provide a composite picture of a small but growing community of young married couples and single brothers, the majority of whom were from either Southwest or Northeast Germany, and most of whom were in the process of raising large families. Theirs indeed appears to

TABLE6 BOSTON JEWS' MARITAL STATUS AND FAMILY SIZE

MaritalStatus(1845-1861) 1. Married 2. Single FamilySize 1. Families, 1860b 2. Children, 1860 3. Children per family 4. Families with foreign born children, 1860 5. Families immigrating childless

Number 72 46

%a 61 39

Number 46 174 3.8

%

18 28

40 60

a Equalspercentof all menof knownmaritalstatus. b Includesall knownmarriedcouples,withor withoutchildren.

45. This was determined by noting where children and wives were born. With but three exceptions both spouses were born in the same place, indicating that the majority immigrated together or in close succession. There is, of course, the possibility that the couples met and married immediately after arriving, but this seems unlikely. Cf. Glanz, "'Bayer' and the 'Pollack,"' p. 190: "... brides were often taken along or sent for a little later." 46. That this was not unique to Boston Jewry is evidenced by the fact that 53 percent of the 151 women admitted to New York's "Jews' Hospital" in 1856 and 1858 reported their occupation as "domestics." Cf. Occident 14 (1857): 581 and 16 (1858): 592.

138

STEPHEN G. MOSTOV

have been a strikingly rational immigration, in which the young and employable predominated. Both this and the fact that most Jewish children were native born augured well for future economic and social mobility. Boston Jewry's residential, occupational, and wealth patterns, however, indicate that German Jews' foothold in American urban society was still quite precarious as of the mid-century. PHYSICAL ADJUSTMENT The German Jews' patterns of residential integration into Boston's urban environment provide a different perspective on their socioeconomic status and mobility. A necessary preface to such an analysis is a brief synopsis of Boston's unique topographical development prior to 1845. Pristine Boston had been a rough, hilly peninsula whose total land mass was barely one square mile. Practically an island, only a narrow isthmus connected it with the Roxbury Highlands to the southwest. The Back Bay area, which now connects Boston with the western suburbs of Brookline and Brighton, was at the time a mud flat, and much of the present shoreline to the northwest and southeast was swampland. Confined as it was, Boston's land early became expensive and scarce. As the population increased there was a continuing need to create new residential areas, either through simple outward extension by bridges, or through the infilling of shoreline and the leveling of hills. By 1845, although the Back Bay was yet to be reclaimed, the city already had been greatly transformed physically. The compact and socially homogeneous town of 25,000 of 1800 had become a densely populated city of over 100,000. The creation of new neighborhoods, in most cases geographically distinct owing to unsynchronized street patterns and natural barriers,encouraged social segregation. The principal residential sections by this time were the well-to-do West End and Beacon Hill, the densely populated, predominantly Irish North End and Fort Hill, and the more suburban, middle class South End, South Boston, and East Boston (see map).47 Although non-Irish foreigners on the whole tended to be evenly distributed among Boston's various neighborhoods during the 1850s, this was not the case with the city's Jewish population.48Jews who arrived in Boston in the 1840s and early 1850s settled either in the South End or on certain 47. Walter Muir Whitehill, Boston. A Topographical History, 2d ed. enl. (Cambridge, Mass., 1968), chaps. 1-6 passim. 48. Handlin, Boston's Immigrants, map p. 92.

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140

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streets downtown and in the North End. By the late 1850s, however, the sample data indicate that nearly all the city's Jews were living within close proximity of each other in the South End (see table 7).

TABLE7 PATTERNS BOSTONJEWS'RESIDENTIAL Area

1. "Park Square" South End 2. South Cove 3. Fort Hill and Central Business District 4. North End 5. Otherb N

Wardsa

9, 11 8, 10 7, 4 1, 3 2, 6,12

18601861

All Bostonians 1860

%

%

67 11 2

66 19 1

% 17 15 13

18451846

18501851

18551856

% 67 16 16

% 63 16 7

2 1 52

12 2 75

10 10 103

6 8 116

18 37 177,800

a Wards according to boundaries of 1855-1860. b Includes: West End and Beacon Hill, South and East Boston, Chelsea, Charlestown, Dorchester, Neck area.

The part of town designated the "South End" has varied so greatly in Boston's history that any use of the term requires precise definition. In the nineteenth century, the South End designated the area between the Central Business District and the Neck-the isthmus connecting the peninsula with Roxbury. The South End "moved" as the business district expanded and the Neck was substantially widened. This process began in 1804 with the filling in of what is now Harrison Avenue and was completed in 1839 when the reclamation of seventy-five acres of mud flats created the South Cove area. As of 1840 the South End thus meant all of Boston south of Summer Street and the Common. Washington Street was the major artery connecting this area with the heart of the city (see map). What is presently called the South End, namely the area surrounding Columbus and Huntington Avenues, was filled in only in the 1870s.49 The specific part of the South End in which most arriving Jews settled was the area surrounding what is today Park Square. Its general boundaries were the Common and Summer Street on the north, the mud flats (Back Bay) on the west, the Neck (new South End) on the south, and Washington

49. Whitehill, Boston, chaps. 5 and 6.

IMMIGRANTS IN BOSTON

141

Street on the east. A lesser number settled in the adjacent South Cove area. Between 1845 and 1861, at any one time, two-thirds of the city's Jews, in contrast to only 17 percent of all city residents, lived in the "Park Square" area. As many as 85 percent lived in the South End, as compared to onethird generally (see table 7). The type of neighborhood Boston's Jews lived in provides a preliminary indication of their relative social and economic status within the community as a whole. Property values suggest that the South End of the 1850s was solidly middle class. Less than 10 percent of the 1,632 houses in the city valued at less than $1,000 in 1850 were located in the South End, but at the same time only 30 of the South End's 1,700 houses were valued at more than $20,000. Nearly all houses were in the $2,000 to $6,000 range typical of the city as a whole.50 Socially the South End never developed a special character, in contradistinction to the city's other neighborhoods. The wellto-do for whom the South Cove area was designed simply did not move there. This was originally due to the panic of 1837 and the abandonment of grandiose plans to locate new port facilities there and was later due to the sudden vogue of newly opened parts of the Back Bay. The specific neighborhood where the Jews concentrated was a relatively undesirable part of the South End because of its proximity to the railroad tracks and the mud flats (see map), but was too high priced and inaccessible for the city's poorest residents. Other than the Jews, the neighborhood seems to have been claimed by an odd assortment of artisans and small shopkeepers eager to escape the slums of the North End and Fort Hill but unable to live in the other more desirable suburbs. Handlin characterizes the Irish living there during this period as "largely intelligent tradespeople and mechanics." When the city began to expand once more following the establishment of a horse-railroad line to Roxbury in 1855, the heart of the South End gravitated further away from the central city. The "Park Square" area rapidly declined, and within a decade became "a slum region of tenements and lodging houses."5' The fluid socioeconomic character of the South End in the 1840s and 1850s in a city of increasingly well-defined neighborhoods undoubtedly was

50. Boston tax assessment records, 1850 (deposited in the Boston Public Library but uncatalogued). 51. Handlin, Boston's Immigrants, p. 99. For another description of the "Park Square" area, cf. Edward Stanwood, "Topography and Landmarks of the Last Hundred Years," in Memorial History, 4: 63.

142

STEPHEN G. MOSTOV

a major factor in the initial Jewish settlement. Also influencing this pattern may have been the very railroad depots discouraging others. Because, as we shall see, most of Boston's Jews were peddlers and merchants, access to the hinterland and to shipping facilities was undoubtedly important. This is particularly evident in the North End, where Jews lived almost exclusively on the streets surrounding the depots of the Lowell and Maine railroads (see map). However, once the first Jewish synagogues were constructed on Warren and Pleasant Streets, it was only natural for the "Park Square" area to remain the center of Jewish settlement. All known Jewish owned butcher shops were within a few blocks of the synagogues, so that availability of kosher meat as well as proximity to communal institutions and strong ethnic ties militated against the generally devout German Jews residing outside of the South End. Even this area of highest Jewish concentration, however, had relatively few Jewish residents. No more than 500 of the 10,428 inhabitants of the "Park Square" area in 1860 were Jewish. The dichotomy of social marginality and middle class stability and prosperity evident in Boston Jews' choice of neighborhood also characterized their residential mobility and persistence. Boston's Jews were a group constantly moving from one rented dwelling to another during the 1850s. A conservative estimate of their mobility ratio (that is, total moves/ total residence years) comes out to .301. This means that at least one-third of the Jewish population was changing residence in any given year (see table 8).52 There was no apparent system to Jewish residential movement. The majority of moves were within the same ward, often involving distances of a few blocks.53Interward moves were equally aimless, with the same family or individual sometimes moving to several different wards over a number of years, only to end up back in the one in which they began. As of 1861, Boston's Jews apparently had not yet found a suitable area for second settlement. The instability and lack of roots reflected in the high rate of residential mobility was counterbalanced by an unusually high propensity to remain in Boston. In his study, P. Knights concluded that "the most mobile members of the population were the least persistent," and found that only 30 percent of Boston's foreign-born in 1850 remained ten years later.54By contrast, 52. 1 say conservative because by using city directories, a maximum of one move per year can be detected. Cf. Knights, Plain People, pp. 60-64. 53. Based upon the sample data 57 percent of all moves were intraward and 43 percent interward. 54. Knights, Plain People, pp. 62-63.

143

IMMIGRANTS IN BOSTON

close to one-half of the Jewish persons known to have been in Boston in 1850 were still living there in 1860, a persistence ratio even higher than that of Boston's native born, indicating that their residential flux notwithstanding, Boston's Jews must have been reasonably optimistic about their prospects in their adopted city (see table 8). TABLE8 RESIDENTIAL MOBILITY AND PERSISTENCE OF BOSTON JEWS

1. 2. 3. 4. 1. 2. 3.

1. 2. 3. 1. 2. 3.

Mobility(1845-1860) Members Sample Persons of known address Total moves Total residence years Mobility ratioa Total Boston Populationb Mobility ratio of native born Mobility ratio of foreign born Mobility ratio of all persons Persistence (1850-1860) Sample Members In Boston in 1850 Still in Boston in 1860 Persistence ratio Total Boston PopulationC Persistence ratio of native born Persistence ratio of foreign born Persistence ratio of all persons

Number 145 284 943 .301 .247 .373 .293

81 39 .481 .426 .306 .369

a Mobilityratioequalstotal moves/totalresidenceyears.The firstyearandfirst residencewere excludedfor each individualin this calculation. b DerivedfromKnights,PlainPeople,tables4: 9,11,12, 62-65. pp. c Derivedfromibid.,table4: 10,p. 63.

ECONOMIC ADJUSTMENT The most precise indicators of Boston Jews' economic status in the 1850s are their occupational distribution and relative wealth. The distinctiveness of the Jews among Boston's foreign born indicated by their residential concentration and high persistence is further evidenced in both of these measures. Handlin stresses the extraordinary occupational diversity of Boston's working force as a whole. He specifically points to the German community, in which there was an average of only six persons per occupation, as in-

144

STEPHEN G. MOSTOV

dicative of this tendency.55The sample data, however, suggest that Boston's Jews did not at all conform to this pattern. Seventy percent of all employed Jews were in one of six general occupations (see table 9). Peddlers, tailors, TABLE9 BOSTON JEWS' OCCUPATIONALDISTRIBUTION

SAMPLE MEMBERS (1845-1861) Occupation(s)

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Peddlers/Traders Tailors/Capmakersc Clothing/Millinary Dry/Fancy goods Clerks Watchmakers/Opticiansd Other N

BOSTON GERMANS (1850)b

BOSTON RESIDENTS (I 850)

Numbera

%

/%

63 42 21 15 18 16 77

25 17 8 6 7 7 30

5 5 3 3 2 1 81

75

929

43,567

208

3 4 5 5 8 *

OCCUPATIONAL STRUCTURE

SAMPLE MEMBERS (1845-1861) Categories

I. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Manual labor/Setvice Petty merchants/Peddlers Artisans Clerical Established merchantse Semiprofessional Professional N

BOSTON GERMANS (1850)b

BOSTON RESIDENTS (1850)1

Number

%

/%

%'

3 67 90 21 19 6 2 208

2 32 43 10 9 3 1

22 9 57 3 1 61 2 929

32 9 20 8 16 2 385

* Less than 1%. a Includesall occupationsof all persons.Consequently, the totalnumberof occupationsheld(251) exceedsN. b Derived from Handlin, Boston's Immigrants,table 13, pp. 250- I.

c Includesalsocutters,carvers,andfurriers. d Includesalsojewelersandsilversmiths. e Fordefinitionseenote56. f DerivedfromKnights,PlainPeople,table5:2, pp. 86-87.

55. Handlin, Boston's Immigrants, pp. 57, 250-52. His statement that "as the [ethnic] group grew smaller, its miscellaneous character progressively increased" certainly does not apply in the case of Boston's Jews (p. 57).

IMMIGRANTS IN BOSTON

145

and clothing or dry goods merchants alone accounted for over one-half of the Jewish employment, and another one-seventh were either clerks or jewelers. These same six occupations accounted for only 16 percent of all employed Germans in Boston (10 percent of whom were Jewish) and 20 percent of the city's entire work force (see table 9). Besides their skewed occupational distribution, the types of occupations in which Jews concentrated also set them apart. Adopting with modifications the socioeconomic classification scheme of Knights and Thernstrom, all occupations fall into one of seven categories: (1) menial labor, semiskilled, and service, (2) petty merchants and peddlers, (3) artisans, (4) clerical and sales, (5) established merchants, (6) semiprofessional, and (7) professional.56One-third of Boston's entire work force, and one-fifth of the city's employed Germans in 1850 worked in menial, semiskilled, and service jobs, in contradistinction to a mere 2 percent of the Jewish employed (see table 9). Conversely, Jews were four times as likely as other workers to be in an occupation falling in the petty merchant category, and twice as likely to be artisans.57Even the apparent correlation between the high percentage of Jewish and German artisans is illusory. While most skilled Germans were bakers, shoemakers, and smiths, their Jewish counterparts were almost exclusively tailors, opticians and watchmakers, cigarmakers, and furriers. On the upper end of the occupational status continuum, Jews were disproportionately few, with virtually no professionals. The wealth trends of Boston's German Jews, no less than their occupational distribution, attest to their quintessential middle class economic status, despite their essentially immigrant character. For the purposes of this study Jews have been ranked economically according to their taxed wealth (that is, personal and real property), employing criteria developed by Knights. The poorest persons are considered to be those with less than $200, the lower middle class those with less than $1,000, the upper middle class those with up to $10,000, and the wealthiest those with even higher assets.58

56. Cf. Thernstrom, Other Bostonians, app. B, pp. 289-302, and Knights, Plain People, app. E, pp. 149-56. An established merchant is one whose taxed wealth exceeded $1,000. 57. The proportion appears to be somewhat less skewed in table 10, but one must correct for the percentage of Jews included in the "Germans" and "all workers" categories. 58. Cf. Knights, Plain People, pp. 89-93. Knights elaborates upon the limitations and possible biases in tax assessment data. He concludes that wealth was probably understated, especially in the case of individuals with extensive assets.

146

STEPHEN G. MOSTOV

The two middle class categories included less than one-third of the city's taxpayers, but from one-half to three-fourths of all Jews (see table 10). The poorest Jews tended to be tailors and peddlers, while the wealthiest were clothing, jewelry, and dry goods merchants. The majority were ensconced in the city's lower middle class, while virtually none, in accord with their occupational distribution, had attained elite status. TABLE 10 DISTRIBUTION OF WEALTH AMONG BOSTON JEWSa

TaxedWealth($) 0-200 1. 2. 201-1,000 3. 1,001-10,000 4. Over 10,000 N

1850

1860

SAMPLE MEMBERS

ALL MEMBERS RESIDENTSb SAMPLE

Number 3 23 4 0 30

% 10 77 14 0

% 57 14 16 13 249

Number 23 7 15 0 45

% 51 16 33 0

ALL RESIDENTSb

% 56 10 20 14 252

a Incurrentdollars.DataderivedfromBostontaxassessmentlistsandcensuses. b DerivedfromKnights,PlainPeople,table5: 3, pp. 92-93.

Precisely how upwardly mobile Boston's first generation Jewish immigrants were between 1845 and 1861 is difficult to gauge.59Indications are that Jews were somewhat more likely than other persons in the city to have increased their taxable wealth during this decade, but a considerable number either suffered a decline in assets or stayed the same. The median increase over the ten year period, corrected for inflation, was about $850.60 Patterns of upward mobility for those who were succeeding were fairly consistent. Those who began as artisans, such as tailors and cutters, opticians and watchmakers, or cigarmakers would become merchants of these products, establishing clothing, jewelry, and tobacco stores. Petty merchants succeeded through gradually accruing greater inventories, while peddlers often, although not always, established small stores after they had lived in the community for a few years. In general, Jews rarely changed to 59. This is due to the fact that only a relatively small number of Jews were located in more than one tax assessment. 60. The estimated inflation during the decade was 13 percent. Cf. Knights, Plain People, p. 80.

147

IMMIGRANTS IN BOSTON

radically new occupations, a reflection both of their economic stability and the degree to which they were specialized. Thus, while on the average one in three sample members was moving every year, only one in twenty was changing to an unrelated occupation. In a pattern reminiscent of earlier observations on age distribution, the distribution of wealth became increasingly skewed as the Jewish community matured and came to more nearly approximate that of the city as a whole. In 1850 and 1855 nearly all tax assessments fell within the $200-$1,000 range, but by 1860 most were either in the $0-$200 or $1,000 plus category (see table 10). Many of those who had arrived in the late 1840s and early 1850s were prospering, while those just arriving were more likely than before to have virtually no money. The key variable in this increasing skewedness was years residing in Boston-more so than age (see table 11). Controlling for both among Boston's poorer and wealthier Jews in 1860, one discovers that while the poorer Jews had lived in Boston an average of only two years, the more prosperous had lived there an average of seven years. Prosperous Jews were somewhat older than their less prosperous coreligionists, but younger than most persons of the same wealth in the city as a whole-one further indication of the economic precociousness of the Jewish immigrants.

TABLE 11 YEARSIN BOSTON,AGE, ANDWEALTH(1850-1860) AVERAGEAGEa

Taxed Wealth 1. $0-$999 2. $1,000-$10,000

Sample Members 37.3 40.1

N (50) (25)

All ResidentsC N 37.4 (347) 43.0 (89)

YEARS IN BOSTONb

Sample Members 2 7

N (73) (34)

a Figuresrepresentthemean. b Figuresrepresentthemedian. c DerivedfromKnights,PlainPeople,table5:2, pp. 92-93.

CONCLUSION The specific social, demographic, and economic characteristics of Boston Jewry between 1845 and 1861 depict a relatively small community of recent immigrants, at one and the same time cohesive yet heterogeneous,

148

STEPHEN G. MOSTOV

prospering yet insecure, and inconspicuous yet distinctive. Most were young adults, "in moderate circumstances," raising large families, yet "all able to support themselves," just as Isaac Leeser so aptly described them. That they were indeed a "community" is evident in their residential concentration in a part of the South End, in their construction of two synagogues, in their founding of burial and fraternal societies, in their fundraising efforts for Jews in distress both in Palestine and in other parts of the United States, in their issuance of proclamations, and in their establishment of their own schools.61 The factionalism within the community was rooted at first in cultural and later also in economic diversity. Already in the 1850s there was an adumbration of the tensions between Central and Eastern European Jews which were to become so acute a generation later with the beginning of the mass immigration. In its incipient stage, however, the differences were still largely between German Jews from two different regions. Occupationally, Boston's Jews recreated the pattern prevalent in Germany, as they became petty merchants and certain types of artisans. The poorest Jewish immigrants did not become laborers, as did so many of their Irish and German counterparts, but rather became peddlers and tailors. Successful Jews were neither professionals nor semiprofessionals, but rather manufacturers and store owners. Boston's Jews were economically comfortable but not wealthy. By 1854 they could afford a $7,000 synagogue, but it was an unpretentious wooden structure on a small (thirty-five by seventyfive foot) lot.62Jewish parents spent $24 a year to send their children to a Jewish parochial school; yet according to a despondent letter writer, many were "little able to bear the burden, being as they are, dependent on their daily toil for sustenance."63 Socially, one would expect Boston's Jews to have been too few and too residentially isolated to have been much noticed by other Bostonians, but such was not the case. In a city as explicitly and formally religious as midnineteenth century Boston, the arrival of the first sizable number of Jews caused something of a sensation. The dedication of the Commonwealth's 61. Ehrenfried, Chronicle, pp. 350ff. In 1850 and again in 1861 a combined total of over fifty Jews donated money to be sent to Palestine. In 1856 two B'nai B'rith lodges were founded, augmenting the two burial societies and one women's group. On September 19, 1858, a public mass meeting was held to celebrate Baron Rothschild's admission as the first Jew in the English Parliament. In the same month $240 was sent to the Jewish community of New Orleans to aid victims of a yellow fever epidemic. By 1855 two Jewish schools were maintained. 62. Ibid., p. 342. 63. Boston Evening Transcript, reprinted in the Israelite (Cincinnati) 1 (1855): 251.

IMMIGRANTS IN BOSTON

149

first synagogue attracted many of the city's most prominent clergy and business leaders-a number of whom had contributed to its building-as well as the mayor and several aldermen. The event was extensively covered in the local press, whose reports reflect intense curiosity as to who these people were.64Curiosity, however, did not translate into total social acceptance and integration, as is evidenced in the practical exclusion of Jewish children from the public schools by the continued inclusion of religious prayer and study in the curriculum.65The high residential mobility of the city's Jews further attests to a degree of social instability. Given the socioeconomic status of Boston Jewry between 1845 and 1861, the crucial question is to what extent their experiences were representative of other first generation German Jewish immigrants in other cities in other regions of the nation. The state of the field being what it is, any claim of a definitive answer to this all-important question would be presumptuous. Nonetheless, certain tentative claims can be put forth. The tendency of German Jews to form well-defined but internally fragmented communities is well documented. Jewish communities large and small had both Bavarian and Polish congregations.66An exasperated Isaac Leeser, attempting to unify and mobilize the nation's Jews in 1856, despaired: "Our strength is frittered away by every community's acting independently of all others; since scarcely two congregations, in any one city even, have a mutual good understanding between them."67Comparison of the sample data on place of birth with comparable samples of Jews in New York City and Milwaukee is inconclusive, but indicates that different regional subgroups of Jews predominated in different communities.68 In Milwaukee, for instance, as of 1855 there were very few Polish Jews but a 64. Boston Herald, March 27, 1852, reprinted in Occident 10 (1857): 104-8. 65. Cf. above n. 63. For a more general discussion see Lloyd Gartner, "Temples of Liberty Unpolluted: American Jews and Public Schools, 1840-1875" in Korn, Bicentennial Festschrifi, pp. 157-89. 66. Cf. Glanz, "'Bayer' and the 'Pollack,"' pp. 193-95. He claims the tendency was strongest in the West, but prevalent all over. More recently see Leon Jick, The Americanization of the Synagogue, 1820-1870 (Hanover, N.H., 1976), pp. 44-57. 67. Occident 14 (1856): 412. 68. The New York sample is derived from the annual report of "Jews' Hospital" (later renamed Mt. Sinai) in two of its first four years of operation, 1856 and 1858. For each patient admitted (216 in 1856 and 280 in 1858), occupation, age, and place of birth were recorded. The hospital was little more than an infirmary at the time, with a total staff of nine persons (one doctor), and was opened for the specific purpose of treating Jewish patients. It is presumed the patients represented a fair cross-section of New York's lower and middle class Jews. Cf. Occident 14 (1856): 581-82; 16 (1858): 592-93.

150

STEPHEN G. MOSTOV

considerable number of Bohemian and Austrian Jews. Boston, by contrast, apparently had an unusually high proportion of Polish Jews (see table 12). TABLE 12 COMPARATIVEANALYSIS OF PLACE OF BIRTH (BY PERCENT)

Region 1. East and North East Germanya 2. Southwest Germany and Bavariab 3. Bohemia and Austria 4. Unspecified, but Germany 5. Other N

Boston (1845-1861)

New YorkCity (1856and 1858)

Milwaukee (1844-1855)

44

37

4

19 * 29 8 104

* 4 51 8

32 43 15 6

444

47

* Lessthan1%

a EastandWestPrussia,Poland,Posen,Pomerania. b Bavaria,Baden,Wirttemburg,Hesse. SOURCES: "AnnualReportof Jews'Hospital,"Occident14 (1856):581-82, 16 (1858):592-93; Swichkow and Gartner,Jews in Milwaukee,app. 1, pp. 467-68.

The seemingly unlikely conjunction of continual residential movement along with a propensity to remain in the same city also was not unique to Boston. Among the German Jews of Columbus, Ohio, who constituted a smaller and more homogeneous community, the tendency was even more pronounced. More than 40 percent of that city's Jews moved in a given year during the 1860s, but virtually no one left for another city.69The Columbus study also serves to verify the prolific childbearing of German mothers indicated in the sample data. Marc Lee Raphael, the author of the Columbus study, made the following observation: ". . . most of the immigrant Jewish families were quite large. The usual pattern, and its consistency is quite remarkable, was for the wife to bear a child every other year. Indeed there is much to suggest that only age or exhaustion put an end to childbearing."70 The highly distinctive occupational distribution of Boston's Jews is strikingly similar to that of German Jews in four other widely scattered cities; New York, Detroit, Columbus, and San Francisco (see table 13). The major discrepancy is in the proportionate number of artisans, which was 69. Raphael, "The Early Jews of Columbus, Ohio," pp. 445-46. 70. Ibid.

151

IMMIGRANTS IN BOSTON

significantly higher in the East. This apparently reflected the more highly diversified and specialized nature of the large eastern cities' economies, and the greater amount of manufacturing activity in them. Thus, while most of Columbus's early arriving Jews were clothing retailers, many of Boston's were skilled tailors. Common to the Jewish experience in these four disparate cities, however, was the highly disproportionate number of Jews employed as either peddlers or merchants. The 40 percent of Boston's Jews so employed, which was nearly twice the city's norm, was actually the lowest in the four cities for which data are available. Unskilled and manual labor was an occupational category simply not applicable to the nation's Jews. The same can also be said for the professional and semiprofessional categories at the opposite pole of the status scale.

TABLE 13 COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS

Categories

OF GERMAN JEWISH OCCUPATIONAL

Boston (1845-1861)

1. Manual labor and semiskilled 2 a. Peddlers 3241 2 b. Merchants 39} 3. Artisans 43 4. Clerical 10 5. Semiprofessional and professional 4 N 208

STRUCTURE (BY PERCENT)

New YorkCity SanFrancisco (1856and1858) (1860s) *

Detroit (1870s)

Columbus (1870)

2

*

6

3946 7}46 43 9

162 52462 10 16

2 228

6 1167

20 50

82 82 17 9

2 15

2 245

1 48

* Lessthan 1%. SOURCES: "AnnualReportof Jews'Hospital,"Occident14 (1856):581-82, 16 (1858):592-93; Bernstein, "Jewsin San Francisco,"pp. 70-73; Rockaway,"Jewsof Detroit,"pp. 31-33; Raphael,"Early Jews of Columbus,Ohio," table 4, p. 443.

The social and cultural marginality of Boston's Jews reflected in their undistinguished institutions and particular choice of neighborhood also appears to be indicative of other American Jewish communities at the midcentury-excepting, perhaps, those in cities with large German minorities.71

71. On this last point cf. Glanz, "Jews in Relation to the Cultural Milieu of the Germans in America," Judaica Americana, pp. 203-55.

152

STEPHEN G. MOSTOV

This was inevitable given the nascent character of most of the nation's Jewish communities. The most persuasive evidence to this effect is, once again, a contemporary admonishment by Leeser: Whenwe are askedfor our literature,for our preachers,for our colleges,for our hospitalsand asylums,for our chieftainsand leadingmen of authority, [we] have nothingof the kind worth the name to exhibit.... We shoulddo somethingwhichwill be regardedas an evidenceof our presencein the land. The Americanpeoplewill pronounceour condemnationif, with the progress of our growth,we remain... wherewe wereplacedthroughthe paucityof our early numbers,and the insignificanceof the meansthen at our command.72 In sum, the first generation German Jewish immigrants were a uniquely distinctive component of the mid-nineteenth century American city. Once correctly identified, the social, economic, and demographic characteristics of these Jews can in fact be reconstituted through the use of public data and communal records. The portrait of Boston's Jews presented here is intended to serve as a case study, indicative of the experiences of first generation German Jews in urban centers throughout the United States. Once similar studies on other cities are completed, a more sophisticated understanding of the beginnings and actual paths of Jewish economic and social mobility will emerge. Given the selective nature of the German Jewish immigration, their inclination to settle in urban centers, and their concentration in mercantile pursuits, it is readily apparent that first generation German Jews early on positioned themselves and their progeny on a potentially favorable mobility track. It is equally evident, however, that most first generation German Jewish immigrants were not destined to become the highly sophisticated tycoons of their invariable stereotype.

72. Occident 14 (1856): 413.

Can Halakhic Texts Talk History? Author(s): Haym Soloveitchik Source: AJS Review, Vol. 3 (1978), pp. 153-196 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486424 . Accessed: 26/06/2011 20:20 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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CAN HALAKHIC TEXTS TALK HISTORY? by HAYM SOLOVEITCHIK Yeshiva University

Not how halakhic texts tell stories about other things, but how they tell stories about themselves is our concern here. Confronting us is not the problem of extracting evidence regarding trade or communal organization from law, but the question of how one cracks the colorless and highly impersonal mold into which the thought of the medieval period was cast to reveal a world of individuality, development, and ambivalence. Can the fragmentary and recalcitrant halakhic texts be made to talk history? Attempting to argue for the affirmative, I would like to trace the origin and fate of one doctrine over the course of some two centuries. Instead of a running account, it seems wisest for our purposes to interrogate each piece of evidence separately, hoping to see if a continuous narrative emerges from the cross-examination, and whether parts of the story are of wider significance. (The importance of the story as a whole would emerge only in the framework of a much larger study.) In brief, I should like to try to reconstruct step by step a small chapter in the history of the halakhah. As the technique employed is that of piecemeal analysis, I hope that the reader will forgive the temporary lapse from brevity. NOTE: Most of the sources, both in print and in manuscript, cited in this essay have been collected by the author in a lithographed volume entitled Yabasha-gomelin bein ha-halakhahve-hamefi'ut published by the Akademon of the Hebrew University. Armed with it, the reader can stalk the errors with ease.

153

154

HAYM SOLOVEITCHIK

The topic chosen is an aspect of yein nesekh (henceforth y.n.); the time and place-Ashkenaz in the high Middle Ages. *

*

*

The Talmud had imposed a severe ban on drinking and trading in Gentile wine or wine that a non-Jew had so much as touched. The social difficulties that this injunction entailed are common knowledge; the economic burdens, though less known, were no less great. Wine played a far greater role in the Middle Ages than it does now. Water was not generally drunk, and tea and coffee had not yet come to Europe. Fresh fruits were unavailable for a good part of the year, and whiskey was still undiscovered. Thus thirst could be quenched only by beer and wine. And the thirst was great; partly because the meats were heavily spiced (no other method of food preservation was available), partly because drink was the only escape for the poor and the major entertainment of the wealthy. So drink people did, and on a heroic scale. Indeed the quantities consumed stagger the imagination. The importance of wine in the daily fare gave to it a role in the economic life of the period that we would scarcely dream of. How were the men of the North, England and Scandinavia-great drinkers all-to quench their thirst? Mead and beer were available-indeed, in England a full third of the grain crop at the time of the Conquest was used for beer production-but these were looked upon as lower class drinks. The well-to-do drank wine, and wine was to be had primarily by import. So as Pirenne first perceived and Dion then magisterially chronicled, wine was a major, and in some places in the eleventh and twelfth centuries the major, commodity of international trade.' Many a city grew to prominence and many a merchant attained wealth because of wine. Domestically wine was our water, coffee, and liquor wrapped into one. Economically it was analogous to the modern plastics or electronics industry. The laws of y.n. did not then regulate some All manuscripts except those of Cambridge University, Hechal Shelomoh, Jerusalem, and the Jewish Theological Seminary of America were viewed at the Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts of the National and University Library in Jerusalem. 1. Henri Pirenne, "Un grand commerce d'exportation au Moyen Age: Les vins de France," Annales d'histoire economiqueet sociale 5 (1933): 225-43; Roger Dion, Histoire de la vigne et le vin en France des origines au XIXe siecle (Paris, 1959) (with exhaustive bibliography). The purpose of this essay being methodological, I will hold the technical aspects of wine production to a minimum. Its proper place is in a full length study of y.n.

155

CAN HALAKHIC TEXTS TALK HISTORY?

peripheral delicacy or minor foodstuff but reached in and affected a major area of household activity and of daily livelihood. *

*

*

Basic to any discussion of y.n., whether from the point of view of the development of Jewish law or in terms of its impact on the life of those who chose to abide by halakhic restrictions, is the question, At what stage of the wine making process do the manifold restrictions come into play? Halakhically the problem is at what stage does the must (crushed grapes) cease to be simply grape juice and as such indistinguishable from any other fruit extract (mei perot, mashqinha-yoSe'in),and take on the unique status of "wine."2 Economically, what lies at stake is until when may Jewish and Gentile operations be meshed and the forms of Jewish enterprise indistinguishable from the general ones, and, from what stage must Jewish wine production be conducted in isolation and in a more expensive fashion. Tannaitic opinion on this point underwent change. Originally the cutoff stage given was either the liquid's entrance into the wine pit (yeridah la-bor, qippui), or a later phase, the introduction of the wine into the wine barrel (shillui be-haviyyot). Subsequently it was advanced to a stage known as hamshakhah and this advancement was ratified by the Talmud. 1) As the entire discussion in the Middle Ages revolves around seven or eight lines in the Talmud, and as Rashi's position on this problem will occupy a good part of our study, it seems best to cite the relevant passages together with his comments.3 2. The halakhah (like common law) prefers local definitions and what may be defined as "wine" in regard to y.n. may very well be grape juice in other areas of Jewish law, and vice versa. The formulation here presented is medieval, not talmudic. The Talmud did not discuss the problem in terms of "wine" status; it views the juice as "wine" immediately upon extraction from the grape. It spoke rather of darkan le-nassekh-at what stage of the wine process do Gentiles begin to use it for libation (Tosefta, ed. M. S. Zuckermandel [reprint ed., Jerusalem, 1963], 'Avodah Zarah, 7:3). Medieval authors saw the matter differently. Rashi (below) spoke of nip 1P n'nnn inrm n5,nn ,r'y 1l Do ," while the commentator par excellence of Provence, R. Abraham b. David of Posquieres, explained thus: Da" "T. 1r5Y n51i 17"n-nn r5yn1mn1 m,n inn (Perush ha-Rabad 'al 'AvodahZarah [New York, 1961], p. 148). One may see in this perspective a shift from genuine fear of libation to formal definition, indicative of the transition from libating societies to non-libating ones. One should note, however, that the move to formal definition was begun by the Babylonian Talmud when it defined the stages of the receptivity to libation by the categories of gemar melakhah operative in the laws of tithes (see text, sec. 1). 3. 'Avodah Zarah 55a-56a with two emendations from Diqduqeisoferim, ad loc. All texts

156

HAYM SOLOVEITCHIK

Rashi :S1:':

nmbi

Talmud

nt3Y:: .n"1Y: n" D rrV2y 3 KSITx Dra[Y*:2** 1,lnn ln "t::1t nrol

5z n5'*o .mn^^m3inS :n"*'*nnw rrlP2

1nwyA .F»3n npl* "! y gm IT3 xrrtO Ini3i Lui3 3iy 21Y D:331 ;lVYV . -n"'1:nTtr t

ir'xKl ,m"n1 J3 '[" ltwiy

,p"ttr t"YS: ,mDnnp mnipnnnnnrD:]y 03 11n xK p1'nK3ni3opi 'n,w ty j'l .l~lK :1y'lt 1: yA3 DX 1~:W:

nrn ,1[ l',Tyn

ntS :11r

:

*n) n:2 1:p Dvinx

n:rn 1nvu

uw

1"in

,"DV371b

]iKl

lln:

wpS ju innwn

ln3 '5p*:1

rrl rD:

.rDo 11l: Xll

' nAr'v .'rn, Snnn .t3 np1nwnr*ait,y in I= xonyvi jnnnn -y p5iyn mnlu3 1.:.n 5"Y 1"l"t3nipp=S't .np'lps...:" 'llp r:23Yl ,rK5n: "t1: 1 5 ,-t " 51l ',/ i"

inipnnTtKXi1"[ mriI? x1 lpnn 5xK -y *3npKx1 .1iwpt7 .-nrY ot uno3ty ^ nra3'^ :lt'tn3*n K11rD]' ^ 53K115 f7 2 1 KxrKn n3 ='3ynixnri .n^t inpip! ]r"l

rrz m^

pp! ^lov

rY nsrcn

:rn i x:n xK1.ilnm un n::TDn xe^m nx2tvnn :np-?iItt=r3lml nT* nnnnr ... .xKn :v*S Iwn KSi ... :inln i3rN'w 1:nYl]b lt 'rS* ly I1p bpw

,[.i3 19]

D .KiY n^ntw1: 1Ow5

)io n:otr xnlin x!p 1:)

l 'n ^y a^^nn-nDtY :1n:: n3 exionIV

n In 1ru5ip'11 w: no .nmpwD,YK'I Kx -1i1:5 * x1w imlNlt,.niun ;z1wt5Y win 11i mlpD.musm: In :in:K5)x1i3 2a1.nnv5 .vlnKp-11r Dp t 1[" n pnrn ,Kw nrn p vbipnjp?a '^X1 *np^n z3 'I :7: .ni 5yk 1i3z'Y .KwYWu nl :n: .nr'n" nw"t1t :x'Y71it 'n ::" '"3nn:

,[.io 1-'i5n] D1'n Ip n ;* i:lOl pt 1pi ,':n:2 In3;* n1-n in r- n5^r ,[:32 91] 5Y1iwn nx r13;n: w"3 an-D Y"ni51 -1:5 -nTtyn 1:2-* '3np 5'Yhi :nDp''TO

'~wru5 Lrinnni1'r: 1F Kx3f1 1 1vK .'Jl I n-Viy:2n lnpl5 13n .lo3 1'["nutny 2 m3il 5u1"3 XInltt "K1" D3l1 fI1Ynl .iNX5Kl npipD nA Kx3rn:1 ix .mnn5 "ii35Dnt1w Ty 03 w-n 1fVK1 nny 13Krx" tt

, no n':5 n,t tt"n .nxL5mnpip~n=33"n IK1 Ii1

xIK."sI l

x

K :1::nt 3n1n

,2 -r:213 i3. IK Kp r Ki Dtt:n tK: U]i ... DI:'lK 1* 3,"]ltt"l::"'-n3 .nilln" :Y D"yD1:'l't )]'"tl*'n K5l "ln::3D:':3 't

DIy

n

... .Kx3

Kx. .. r5

Tirnllm" Kx31n71

:1t Dw)ltn"m:3 D:'3'

1ty

w3nrl :13:5 nu J -tY jo3 ^ 1 rnrny i3Kxi 13 'xr" y"-1 xn Kp T ?"n5FpIV ixlK y-i" q1:5 T'-n K,rnt'1"" 'P3r1 K

m lpr 1i1x15 !"yK1 nspi t .n"U l:,'JaKp

n1 ?Yy, ."'n,pl') * ,:2n 1D" tw,n ?n*n3

1:i',

i',p nJ"- ."nmin

"- '?1v x3l1 ': Tnvt?r '[F 1T :TnT31 ,3nli ?"nlr: n: 5rfa'D DiixK Y"i1 n"pq -ii1:5

'13'ntt,= -n,,=pl,T,",~n n,"n .'11 ",n3,l:n

'1n1,03 nn

rD nDll y"i ,n"p'l

157

CAN HALAKHIC TEXTS TALK HISTORY?

Rashi's remarks are straightforward enough and passed the intensive scrutiny of the Tosafists without critique or comment. 2) If we leave the printed page of the Talmud to explore the literature of the eleventh century, seeking to enter the milieu which produced Rashi's lucid exposition, the first discussion that we encounter is a private one between Rashi and his son-in-law, R. Meir of Rameru.4 It goes thus: "r "n 'r, n1mntt1nn¥1, x'w 1"in .'11n1 n'nr'ni ''nnn Te cont r;lly nal,and not*1 by5ac n5n it dd thenrnms .ponsu i .lilnn 3Trp;lw innn "nRx1in TO5 i3rmaeand .nnl inoHisicall oivion nnn pn 5 ,1t rDinl s nthe m oDf t rnyhoe afnnnrn gp, xKbox,v-g3n; ri since nspt1x1 out ] work.As we ann [i at ISxlen en r .ri, lnordicen n5nn x1in nsl, Rashiwrote, nll. pAndas13txher ,3Tis nnn onto nxt an'n evey rs a 5 1 t pnrep . .. anteates

i131'a X5N

] n"'WI n 1 l n is55D1ha

.,I-T "m:*

f- D'3Do3n3Imilp031 D1-n

tnn nth .n'tws effort reflcting a rethinking .Diend protrah The content is halakhically banal, and not by accident did the responsum fall into oblivion. Historically this "banality" is both informative and explicable. Informative it is that R. Meir did not at the time possess his fatherin-law's commentary; otherwise he would never have had to inquire as to the meaning of gat et,r, ve-gargutni, since those terms are spelled out at t , or dictated no less (NeRaYork w rote, length in that work. As we shall seein than four commentaries on the tractate 'Avodah Zarah;6this query clearly a salt s antedates ig passa l.kenrm ery reason to assume that this repeated endeavor was a protracted one-each effort reflecting a rethinking on the part of the author-it would appear then that this responsum issues from an early period in Rashi's career and mirrors his initial views before they found formal articulation in his writings. The "banality" is explicable by the fact that the tractate of 'Avodah cited in this study were checked against manuscripts. For the reader's convenience, however, I have generally cited the printed text, adducing only those variants which are of significance. 4. TeshuvotRashi, ed. Israel Elfenbein (New York, 1943), no. 58, to which add the following manuscripts of the 'Issur ve-heter: Jerusalem 8° 2623 (fol. 42), 4' 749 (sec. 156); Frankfurt Stadt- und Universitatsbibliothek 8° 69 (fol. 39r-v) (correct TeshuvotRashi, introd. p. XLIX, accordingly). This passage is taken from a larger responsum as MS Bodley Opp. 276, fol. 34v demonstrates. 5. Note that outside the 'Issur ve-heter it was not reproduced in any other work that emanated from Rashi's school, not to speak of being preserved in later collections. 6. See text, sec. 6.

158

HAYM SOLOVEITCHIK

Zarah was neither studied nor taught in certain circles, and the Rhine academies generally had but an imperfect knowledge of it. This is a surprising, indeed almost unbelievable fact in light of the centrality of a tractate which treats y.n. and all other aspects of Jewish-Gentile relations, but it is a fact nevertheless. No less a figure than R. Eliezer b. Isaac known by his contemporaries as R. Eliezer Ha-Gadol (the Great) did not know that milk forbade meat products only be-noten fa'am, because he had never studied (or had but imperfectly studied) 'Avodah Zarah.7 If a scholar of such stature could err on so basic a matter, it was small wonder if men of lesser mold sometimes found themselves at sea in the tractate. Rashi's fourfold efforts in this tractate stem from this fact: in 'Avodah Zarah he was starting from

7. Rashi reports (Teshuvot, no. 382): 1,in nunw* ,1,n pnr I1''n 'nS'pv Y1K1'r "v ,Y ,r'y nim n -ilwnni xb mn x? ^ -i*Tb mDrn p"Na3i Nrnrnni: pjr-y K 1rIn tsupin i13"3ttwmiprb: ,-,5 nn3 K "XK1,m ,T"yn~Oan31wnn K13', ' KSm ,K 1 ,D1-n:,- inpn TK n', 'nV 1,:n T"Y n ,mnnKxano ... T"ynon 'npos 1X5 'K'n'nwi. R. Meir b. Samuel testified that R. Isaac Ha-Levi told him that mr 311 ,T"Y''OD3'5 K0 nvrAn '"nln nr tu)w, KM 'TY5K'" pi{ (Siddur Rashi [Berlin, 1912], sec. 594 and parallel passages there cited). These texts prove something only about two leading scholars of Worms. An in-depth study, however, of the literature of the Worms and Mainz academies, found in the Ma'asei ge'onim, Pardes, and Ha-'oreh, shows the imperfect grasp that the Rhine scholars had of this tractate, one not even vaguely on par with their command of H ullin for example. A simple example of the heavyhanded belaboring of the halakhically obvious in this period (and inconceivable in any later one) is found in Ma'asei ge'onim (Berlin, 1910), p. 81: nmry5xYU',K rtw 5y. Contrast this with the one line disposal of the problem by Rashi toward the close of the responsum cited above. The fact that the Makhirites thought these proofs worthy of being included in their work says a great deal indeed. I am not contending that no commentarial tools on 'Avodah Zarah were available. Rashi's talents alone could never have divined the meaning of Persian or Greek words; only a commentarial tradition could provide him with this information. The 'Arukh cites a Mainz commentary on this tractate twice, or possibly four times (s.v. 'nr I, n'vnpoS,5n VIII, '51 II), but all these are explanations of difficult words or gnomic remarks in the Talmud. Not one is topical or thematic. There is all the difference in the world between a lexical handbook like that of R. Nahshon Gaon (Teshuvot ge'onim qadmonim [Berlin, 1848], pp. 39bff.) or other skeletal aids and an in-depth, running commentary. ([a] The statement of R. Meir b. Samuel is reported thus in MS Bodley Opp. 276, " :n ut~,s uw,n 5' twln inn 1,5ft 'rnn fol. 12v.wrmnnin -mnn 1T5ft 'I 5KX.I would m:: m 'o" of the Siddur Rashi, Pardes and Shibbolei ha-leqet for the simple the common reading prefer reason that no scribe would dream of adding on his own T"yn o- rbSKnyn5K 'i ni K. e Actually the two texts say the same thing. I doubt that R. Eliezer Ha-Gadol literally never studied the tractate; rather, he did not have a firm grasp of it. Functionally, however, not to be clear about a basic matter and not to have studied it is one and the same thing. [b] The text of Teshuvot Rashi, no. 81 published in the Monatsschrift [cited by Elfenbein] also contains the report KSm R '"'1. However, I have doubts whether this reading is authentic. [c] R. t"Y 'on ;n3t ;; n Hananel's commentary or fragments thereof may have penetrated France during Rashi's lifetime [Tarbi; 4 (1933): 27; Sefer Rashi, ed. J. L. Maimon (Jerusalem, 1956), p. 311, n. 18; Froim Kupfer, Perush Rashi 'al Mo'ed Qatan (Jerusalem, 1961), introd., p. 15], but there is no evidence for such an inroad in the Rhinelands.)

CAN HALAKHIC TEXTS TALK HISTORY?

159

commentarial scratch. Bereft of any guides, R. Meir approached the talmudic passages (sugyot) treating y.n. and soon dispatched a request for help. But if the first question of R. Meir is comprehensible, the second is not. He inquired of his father-in-law whether the decision lay with the mishnah 'aharonahor not. Could the decision possibly lie with the mishnahrishonah? If a court reversed itself, would any tyro imagine that one would follow its earlier decision?! The amora R. Huna, moreover, endorsed the mishnah 'aharonahand no dissenting voice is to be found in the Talmud. In light of this what other ruling is conceivable?8 Rashi's reply is no less problematic-on closer scrutiny. He explains the stucture of talmudic treading floors and translates it into contemporary terms. The cuve(gigit, wooden tub),9 now in use for pressing, corresponds to the gat, the receptacle under the pipe to the bor. Rashi then proceeds to inform the inquirer that the decision lay with R. Huna. If the juice becomes y.n. even in the gat (as R. Huna contended) and the contemporary cuve is equivalent to the gat, the wine then in the cuve becomes y.n. in the strict halakhic sense. Yet Rashi carefully refuses to draw that conclusion and writes instead: i3mnK [!] n;rin , rL,y T" Uo. Note that it becomes y.n. not legally, but only as a result of common custom. In sum, we have here an astonishing query from Rameru and a reply with a non sequitur. 3) We have no other writings of R. Meir which we might probe for a possible solution, but we do have some of Rashi. As the problem hinges around the application of R. Huna's ruling, let us concentrate our attention there. It will be recalled that Rashi commented on the rule ;niv lju?vn1?,rnnmn p,': T" r m rv 1m 1", thus: 1" 'ip pnnn;n t' lpy,n Kn iV nm1Yvp1n mlvy nflrv. However, R. Isaac of Dampierre, the great Ri (d. 1198), in a responsum discovered by R. Hayyim 'Or Zaru'a (d. late thirteenth century), reports a : different version;10,"tt n" ynvv ;n ,,Yn [nm1O?n ;np] ;ipvlv o'v n: ;nn 8. One could object that there is no clear indication that R. Meir actually asked a pointed question whether the decision lay with the mishnah 'aharonahor not. He may simply have asked for a general clarification of the sugyah. Personally I do not believe this to be the case; see text, sec. 8. If, however, the reader disagrees, he should feel free to strike this paragraph from the text. 9. Arsene Darmesteter and D. S. Blondheim, Les glosesfrancaises dans les commentaires talmudiques de Raschi (Paris, 1929), p. 39, s.v. cuve. 10. TeshuvotMaharah 'Or Zaru'a (Leipzig, 1860), no. 174 (fol. 58d). The text was published from what is now Frankfurt Stadt- und Universitatsbibliothek 4° 4. Corrections in the citation are from that manuscript (fol. 135). Cf. Revue des etudes juives 53 (1907): 267-69. (The responsum was written between the years 1171-1184. R.T. had passed away [fol. 59a: D'r'i 5:

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" 1'"m "I1rot;nn [m"npnix] "-wvntlunnnrrrwIrnn tn:3"2 nrmr" iw¥TS'nnn '" XnWVptYrn mritW [nan '] (n.rm) -T p5yn tarYn lb mnmnat pnnnnn K1tlv '1n TI 'ip. The additional three words nay;n In mn:am are no minor matter. Hamshakhah means "flow," and simply read, R. Huna's doctrine gives the moment of flow, the moment the liquid begins to move, begins to descend downward, as the time when the grape juice assumes the status of wine and becomes subject to y.n. And Rashi's comments in the Talmud only locate the first occurrence of such a flow in the normal process of wine production. Not so the doctrine reported by Ri. The principle there enunciated is one of separation of the liquid from the pulp. Grape juice ceases to be just "grape juice" and becomes "wine" when the sifting of the juice from the pulp begins. In other words hamshakhah, flow, is not a criterion in and of itself, but simply a means to an end. As water seeks its own level, liquids will descend more rapidly than pulp, and the process of separation thus sets in with the onset of this downward flow. If the halakhah must draw a line between "grape juice" and "wine," it is reasonable to contend that so long as the grape lies interspersed with the juice, the liquid is viewed as "grape juice." Only when it is separated does it become an independent entity-"wine." Why, however, should liquidity or flow be determinative? True, wine is a liquid, but so is grape juice. Why is flow more a characteristic of one than of the other? 4) As the doctrine of separation is sharper and more comprehensible than that of liquidity, one might be inclined to suspect that later generations put point and clarity into Rashi's doctrine, and that, as so often happens in legal history, a great jurist (Ri) unconsciously transformed the older doctrine of flow into the more acute one of straining and distillation. An anonymous little handbook on y.n. found in MS Paris Alliance 482 reports, however, the same version of Rashi, and we read there (fol. 33v): ,"'tn t,'m 5I 1·"fKXl n plinn rriy nxm;iyysKi 5s1 71S"[nn p11 J5K '"*3ynmwn p,5*-Yn 3mi the two texts between The ... r nip TK pnnn¥. m3sn3t relationship ',3Yn merits now a few remarks. Had we only the Alliance manuscript, we would simply disregard it, for the first half of the sentence ('l5K 15'Kca, n n3Do) is (as we shall see later 2) an edited version of another work, and we would be justified in asvoya 1ir:r-mn:a].Ri's son, R. Elbanan, however, was still alive [fol. 59d]. R.T.'s death cannot be inferred from the o"r found after his name; this may easily be a scribal addition.) 11. I.e., Rashi would have viewed this as an instance of hamshakhah. 12. See text, sec. 4, end.

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161

sumingthat the author similarlyedited the latterpart. But his citationcorresponds almost precisely with that of Ri. Had we Ri's words alone, we

would have suspected him of unconscious sophistication of Rashi's doctrine.Togetherthe two reportsseem to corroborateand validateeach other. But are they independentwitnesses?Ri clearlycould not havecopied from MS Alliance for the author of this little guide to y.n. lived a century later. Butcould MS Alliancehave takenhis informationfromRi?R. Isaac's responsumwas discoveredby R. Hayyim'Or Zaru'a,that is to say, at the close of the tosafist period. It is not found, to the best of my knowledge,in any other source in print or manuscript.'3Nor is this late appearanceaccidental.An investigationof the writingsof the Tosafists(Ri's own pupils) on mattersof hamshakhahshowsthat they wereunfamiliarwith this responsum.'4To all appearances,it was a privatenote to an individualparty,'5of which no copy was kept in Dampierreand which surfacedfortuitouslya centurylater.Thereis nothingto make us suspectthat the authorof the Alliance manuscript,an epigoneof the Frenchschool,'6was awareof it. Certainly the rest of his handbookbearsno markof such an acquaintance.To all appearancesthe witnessesare independent. Unableto shake Ri's report,we turnto the printedtext of Rashiand ask whether it may not be in error or whether perhapsthe several readings reflect the different editions (mahadurot) of Rashi's commentary. Mahadurotare a thorny problemin Rashi studies,but there is little doubt that Rashi did reworkhis commentaryon the tractateof 'AvodahZarahalthough,as J. N. Epsteinand, more recently,J. Frankelhave insistedthe editingtook the form of specific(small-scale)emendationsratherthan that of actualrewriting.7The text in frontof the Tosafistswas generallyuniform 13. Not even in the encyclopedic work of R. Hayyim's father, the 'Or zaru'a. 14. They. do not discuss, for example, the problem posed by mDn5 Inlmllrn I=1 or that of Dlnp submerged pulp. Note also that R. Judah of Paris attributes to R.T. the reasoning of n.wvrIn nrwnrinx itK (Shitat qadmonim 'al 'AvodahZarah, ed. M. Y. Blau, [New York, 1969], p. 266) and is followed in this by our Tosafot, ad loc. and the Semag, injunction 148. From Ri's responsum it is abundantly clear that R.T. forbade what he did on emotional grounds, and that the argument of ltK is Ri's own rationale. See below, n. 94. 15. Not too much can be garnered from the opening remarks of R. Isaac nx nSKxvan, as the term rnxis used loosely in the tosafist period, not even signifying at times a relative. 16. The work is wholly derivative of the Sefer ha-terumahand the Semag. It is entitled mrn m-' -1"nr t" m r (fol. 33r). This unknown writer should not be confused with the Provencal author of the Toledot 'Adam ve-Havvah,as the most cursory study of the two works will indicate. 17. J. N. Epstein, "Perushei ha-Riban u-ferushei Worms," Tarbiz4 (1933): 189-92; Jonah Frankel, Darko shel Rashi be-ferusho le-Talmud Bavli (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1968),

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and the same uniformity confronts us in the manuscripts. Only one manuscript of Rashi on 'Avodah Zarah has come down to us, MS Parma 1292,18but luckily it would seem to be in some sense a different mahadurah or, more accurately, to have retained some readings of another mahadurah.9 In the definition of hamshakhah, however, its reading is identical with the printed text. The Rashi on the Alfasi is of problematic origin, but on 'Avodah Zarah it too contains readings of different mahadurot,20and David Blondheim long ago drew attention to the rich manuscript collections of such Rashis. But on our problem, again, they only corroborate the printed version.21 Testimonia work equally against us. The printed Tosafot ad loc. pp. 1-13 and passim. For bibliography on the problem, see A. N. Z. Roth, "Mi-perushei R. Yehudah b. Natan," Sefer ha-yovel li-khevodS. K. Mirsky (New York, 1958), pp. 285-86. See also the remarks of Shama Friedman, Perush R. YonatanHa-Kohen mi-Lunel 'al Bava Qamma (Jerusalem, 1969), pp. 28-29, and J. Frankel's rejoinder in the published version of his thesis of the same name (Jerusalem, 1976), pp. 14-19. 18. MS 172 described by Moritz Steinscheider in his Catalog der HebraischenHandschrifien in der Stadtbibliothek zu Hamburg (Hamburg, 1878) as a commentary of Rashi on 'Avodah Zarah, contains the text of the Talmud only. 19. Rashi long wavered, for example, over whether imn of a Gentile forbade wine;r';N, and our printed text, being a mixture of two mahadurot,shows inconsistencies. See 58b s.v. n0ox (and Tosafot, ad loc., s.v. xKx);60a s.v. xvnn (and Tosafot ad loc., s.v. -tny) and the little summary found at the end of the chapter, 61b s.v. lm; which if not actually written by Rashi, was dictated by him to his pupils (see Pisqei ha-Rosh, ad loc., sec. 13 and Tosefot R. YehudahmiParis [above, n. 14], pp. 281, 294). The Parma manuscript (fol. 104v) reads for the passage 58b 1nm Yxhn s.v. nonD: xnorX imnSpn "Y1 and in 60b s.v. xlnn lacks the -n'.Y nprnn ia 1 n3n3 rn Y sinx 3,ur5of the printed text. (From the language of all the Tosafists cited above it is clear that they viewed the concluding appendix on 61b as the work of Rashi. However, in MS Mantua Comunita Israelitica 30, [see below, n. 34] the signature Qtt"n pr5 is found. For this type of problem, see text, sec. 4, end.) 20. For example: Rashi was long perplexed by the problem of whether rotehin and qinsa are effective in purging tarred vessels (see 'Avodah Zarah 33a-b), and in the course of his lifetime held different opinions. In the printed text (33b s.v. xn5nm,and similarly MS Parma and a citation in the Temim de'im [Tummat yesharim (Venice, 1662), no. 96] he denies the efficacy of both, even post facto. Rashbam, however, reports that Rashi was willing to admit qinsa post facto and go along with the use of rotehin ('Or zaru'a [Jerusalem, 1887] 4: 170). And in the Rashi on Alfasi the entire section of the printed text fromp,v'Yw a:n; onward is missing. And a similar text was before the Rashba (Torat ha-bayit [Jerusalem, 1963], 5: 6), and it is doubtful whether the passage against rotehin was in the texts that the Tosafists used. See carefully the printed Tosafot and Tosefot R. 'Elhanan (Husiatyn, 1901), ad loc., s.v. RXo'p. This observation together with the one in the previous footnote points out a lacuna in the current discussion of the problem of mahadurot. No doubt the first step is to scour medieval literature to find citations of tinx DTQIn' or nMnKnvirnn of Rashi and to compare them with the printed text or manuscripts. This alone, however, is inadequate. Only by a close study of the literature of Rashi's school, where his shifts in position are reported, can we ascertain whether other variants in manuscripts or differing citations of Rashi by other medieval scholars are actually instances of other mahadurot, though not called so explicitly. 21. Of the seven manuscripts cited by Blondheim (above, n. 9), p. LIV, six were available to

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report Rashi as printed, as do the recently published Tosafot of R. Judah of Paris.22The latter are doubly problematic. These Tosafot were written in the beit midrash of Ri under his own instruction, as was common in the Middle Ages.23This fact joined with R. Isaac's letter leads us to the impossible conclusion that Ri cited one text when teaching, another when writing. The solution is a simple one. Riban's commentary was not an independent work, but one written "before Rashi," under his dictation or tutelage ' nr 1"D -'."T tIy (a"f'n [ "ln r).24 From a literary point of view, the commentary is Riban's; halakhically it is Rashi's. It contains Rashi's views, and it is his authority that gives the work weight. Making halakhic pronouncements, both Ri and MS Paris Alliance could justly quote Riban's commentary and attribute them to Rashi, for it was the latter who spoke in the work. Any doubts regarding this matter are laid to rest by the opening remarks of the *tv 1pi 155S115xs D':y;n ;n3w-which, Alliance manuscript-y-:x: as we shall soon see, is a practical halakhic ruling taken directly from Riban's work, which none can suspect of having appeared in Rashi's commentary. The task of an editor is completed. He may publish the standard text of Rashi confident that it is the correct one; though with a chastened awareness of the dangers of making literary attributions on the basis of halakhic statements. But the historian's problems have just begun. Why should Rashi have written one interpretation and yet dictated another? 5) Further on in his responsum, Ri cites another passage from Riban which provides us with a clue. muDm1.D13 " 'I1y lVw'5~,nnnwi1~'0 'n ,m3~n :n3 ,n73nn p 3Kp311 nx,m;~1 mpD

nmbn am; n;nnmb n* nxDn 3 ;n 1lx: 1"nVY3xvnvI15 ['-]Sbx .10r3 L rnox3 manucript npresently sat the Nationa l1a (The 'm.

,n,,a: 1nln7vY

nversty Lbrry n

D DJusal

T".n^iy1 8nbn^nAn;Iyn .51"y 3 r[' me. (The Livorno manuscript is presently at the National and University Library in Jerusalem and entered as MS 4° 621. The Turin manuscript was destroyed in a fire.) The phrase ',yn In mnmntis similarly missing in the commentary of R. Jonathan of Lunel ad loc. (below, n. 90). For conjectures to which this commentary could give rise, see below, n. 35. 22. See above, n. 14, pp. 264-65. 23. E. E. Urbach, Ba'alei ha-tosafot (Jerusalem, 1955), pp. 19ff.; cf. Beryl Smalley, The Study of the Bible in the Middle Ages (reprint ed., Notre Dame, 1964), pp. 200ff. 24. See text, sec. 5. 25. 'vtn became "w '-i and was then written out in full. The emendation ['n] is made on the basis of the Rashbam. See below, text, sec. 6.

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Rashi is of the opinion that the principle of hamshakhah is that of separation. If so the contemporary tub (cuve) in which the grapes are trodden and which possesses no spigot to let the juice out is legally a npipD n Motion and flow do take place (if only as a result of the pressure n;r'i. from the treading), but there is no flow away from the pulp, no separation of liquid from solid. Wine in the cuve is therefore not subject to y.n. Universal custom however treats it as such. And Rashi chose to hold his peace out of deference to the minhag 'avot. This decision for silence was in character with Rashi's retiring nature. While he could if necessary battle for his convictions,26 there was in him nothing of that imperious urge which so dominated his grandson, R. Jacob Tam, to bend his surroundings to his convictions. But here the silence reflected deeper forces. It arose, as we shall see, from an uncertainty on Rashi's part as to the claims of theoretical analysis vis-a-vis those of custom, the accumulated wisdom of the generations. And this hesitancy and ambivalence left its mark on his work. He was willing to have others, indeed, saw to it that others reported in his name the principle of separation, provided that they also added that he did not intend by this doctrine to alter the current injunctive practice. But in his own writings he refused to challenge overtly or even impugn the ancient tradition. He explained hamshakhahas pnnnnnt5 p5yn wrt t3 xl;lt n;vlY without the key words of mDntv, an interpretation which would imply separation to one D'm3Yn n3 already familiar with the idea, but which would be taken by the uninitiated as simply clarifying how the flow ordinarily occurred. Indeed Rashi's words were read in Germany for close to a century without anyone dreaming of the revolutionary doctrine that they harbored.27 Logically the posture he assumed was, of course, inconsistent, but psychologically the ambivalence was comprehensible, especially in view of the remarkable emotional force that the traditional injunction had, as we shall see, for Ashkenazic Jewry. Rashi's position could be interpreted as the result of extreme caution, but later evidence will, I hope, show just how long and how deeply he wrestled with himself as to the truth claims of minhag 'avot. The general injunctive custom referred to by Riban explains R. Meir's original inquiry. He too sensed that the principle of hamshakhahwas one of separation, but if this was so then the contemporary practice of viewing the juice in the cuve as subject to y.n. made no sense. Lacking any commentarial

26. E.g., Teshuvot Rashi, nos. 59-62, 81, 382. 27. See text, sec. 12, end.

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aids he began to question whether he had not misunderstood the Talmud. (Presumption was always in favor of custom.28)And so he dispatched an inquiry to Rashi requesting an explanation of the wine instruments mentioned in the Talmud (gat, bor, gargutni) and whether the decision indeed lay, as one would naturally assume, with R. Huna. Sensing the thrust of the question, Rashi replied diplomatically. He declined to formulate any critique of regnant practice. Rather he explained as requested the utensils mentioned in the Mishnah, assured his son-in-law that R. Huna's dictum was binding, and then added that as far the juice in the cuves Il'nlm [!] An*on 'D

1'5Y I"

ta,

confident that R. Meir would catch the critique coded into the formulation. Rashi's position in the responsum is one with that enunciated by the Riban-with one significant difference. At the time of R. Meir's inquiry, he had not yet done any commentarial work on 'Avodah Zarah (see above, sec. 2), and so he declined to confide his criticism even to his inner circle. When dictating to Riban at a later stage in his career, Rashi was clearly more confident as to his opinions and was willing to have his views brought to public attention, though his feelings were divided as to his own role in their promulgation. The stages of Rashi's commentarial activity now demand our attention. Before committing ourselves to an interpretation positing ambivalence which led Rashi to a logically inconsistent public posture, we should explore the simpler alternative: that the responsum and Riban's work record an early phase in Rashi's thought, and that his commentary (without ;nmtw ',3yn p3)sets forth a later one. The two reports simply reflect a shift in position. 6) Fragments of R. Samuel b. Meir's commentary on 'Avodah Zarah have come down to us. And on the topic of hamshakhah it runs thus:29 r 1' 31i1 n,Y Wty no5n pr ]" l nninw xznn nplln-n nxwnr inin '315K '3Kw3 1 Tw ,nDx "0 1,T-"w -n11 tY jwi rK(l) mnnlmrD,11 1KxvTP'(1K)Kxi-in* nr1 ilKl 1vr rt A1ma n Tnn15 n o^K 115 KxK 'lnxKnlDllm13x5 0w -'D nr x51 , x5n ri,nvn:2 n3na riit Ityn nx 13 annwntn ,on ;Y llau pin ix1 npx .t]3x .rw·a npiptDn aD1

.

Note too the conclud n

1 in'quirywhether

mnw,

' w

n'wbidenin f5or

.5"DY '03 l' l nwVY3 1s lIT;

nr3whichs

rmv wa 1'5

:2 '3?

28. Note too the concludinginquirywhetherDr, ano was forbiddenin ;nKnwhich seems equally to have been generated by the conflict between the simplest meaning of the Talmud and what R. Meir witnessed every day. 29. 'Or zaru'a (above n. 20), sec. 213. 30. This last sentence of Rashbam will be explained below, text, sec. 7.

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Rashbam's work no less than Riban's was written under Rashi's direction. Indeed a comparison with the passage of Riban cited above (sec. 5) shows that R. Samuel's work is simply an emended version of his uncle's (Riban's) commentary.3' Taking the unquestioned existence of two mahadurot of Rashi's work on 'Avodah Zarah together with Riban's and Rashbam's composition, we may conjecture the following pattern of Rashi's literary activity. Returning home from the Rhineland and academies, Rashi begins his great commentarial synthesis. 'Avodah Zarah, a crucial tractate, is without any serious commentary whatsoever, and from his first scanning of the material he finds himself at variance with common practice and popular interpretation. New however to his labors, and without accomplishment in the particular topics of the tractate, he absolutely refuses to voice any criticism of regnant ideas even to his own pupils and family. Time passes and Rashi's activity begins to encompass 'Avodah Zarah. He may have begun with a rough basic draft analogous to his work on 'Arveipesahim,32or he may have bided his time until the full commentary crystallized in his mind and then set it down with his usual brevity and clarity.33Rashi continues with his protean labors and, aware that in 'Avodah Zarah he had begun from scratch, he restudies his commentary and finds to his satisfaction that there is little to correct. He decides that the time has come to provide his people with a vade mecum for this central tractate, so that they may possess for the first time

31. This is a pattern which repeats itself in Rashbam's lesser writings. See our remarks in the Proceedings of the American Academyfor Jewish Research 28-29 (1972): 242, n. 63 and the material from 'Eruvin cited by Epstein (above, n. 16), pp. 185-86 should be read in this light. See also E. E. Urbach, "Mi-toratam shel bakhmei 'Angliyah mi-lifenei ha-gerush," Tiferet leYisra'el, Sefer ha-yovel li-khevod Y. Brodie (London, 1967), p. 28. In our case, so mechanical was the copying that Rashbam did not realize that he had switched the terms for cuve in mid-paragraph (from gigit to guma) and, more seriously, had been led into stylistic obscurity. His addendum should not have come at the end, for then the section beginning mnli 13*rKWv DSseems to be explaining innr,'KS1T1D'KK when actually it refers to why Rashi is ,rni'n ,nhn(see below, sec.7, beginning). Had Rashbam been writing freely nn ' 'K1,'r:W 1z the passage would have run thus: '1mnnr' t1Kh7D'K K't mrI5 1mn 5Y1 nhinK5Kmin zAun. '1i D'RnK rnlll n 1''L*'KW l3'rJt':w 32. I personally have found inconclusive the objections to the authenticity of the commentary on 'Arveipesahim. If the reader differs, he should feel free to strike this sentence from the text. 33. It is indicative of Rashi's genius that there is no unevenness in his commentary on this tractate, nor does he give any indication of this being a pioneer effort, just as no difference can be detected in Maimonides' writings between the sections on Sefer zera'im which he hammered out by Herculean labors, and those in Sefer mishpatim where he built on the work of others.

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both an extensive commentary and a practical guide based on talmudic sources instead of having to rely on the traditional rules of thumb in use up to then. The Spartan literary discipline which he had imposed on himself prevents him from doing this in his own work. So he calls his son-in-law and pupil, R. Judah b. Nathan (Riban), and dictates to him a three-tiered commentary of exegesis, halakhic decision (pesaq) and practical application.34 Time passes. More and more tractates fall conquest to Rashi's exegetical skills, and he returns once more to 'Avodah Zarah and revises it here and there. The changes are important but few. Finally, toward the close of his life, he decides to give that tractate a final review and update the expanded version that he had dictated to Riban. He calls his grandson, Samuel, tells him to take up his uncle's commentary and together they revise it. The picture we have drawn is speculative and the specific sequence certainly conjectural, but this much seems certain: Rashi dictating to his grandson a revision of his son-in-law's work, itself but an expanded version of his own, is a scene which occurred quite late in his life. This fact taken together with the responsum he had written to R. Meir before he had undertaken any literary activity allows us to say that from the earliest period in his career until its close Rashi was of the opinion that the principle of hamshakhah was one of separation. Yet he ever declined to enunciate it in his own oeuvre!35 7) Not caution but reverence for traditions of his fathers dictated Rashi's position. For throughout his life he sought to understand, or at the very least, to find some rationale for the ancient injunctive practice. Success 34. In light of my remarks in n. 31, I have taken the liberty of transferring the structure of Rashbam's commentary to the work of Riban. Too little of Riban's commentary has survived to establish its structure independently, though our specific citation corresponds to the threestoried structure of Rashbam. Since Rashbam's work was a revised edition of Riban, it is no wonder that it displaced the latter. (A few more citations of Riban are to be found in Tosefot hakhmei 'Angliyah 'al Niddah, 'Avodah Zarah [Jerusalem, 1971]. Rashbam's commentary on 'Avodah Zarah is cited in extenso in the 'Or zaru'a and a sizable fragment was discovered by Abraham Epstein and published in 'Osar tov, Magazinfuir die Wissenschaftdes Judenthums 14 [1887]: 1-10. Large fragments of this work are also to be found in MS Mantua Comunita Israelitica 30 ranged around the text of Alfasi. This voluminous manuscript is unfortunately unpaginated. Our tractate, 'Avodah Zarah, is found some fifty-five pages before the end.) 35. If one should insist contra Epstein and Frankel that the mahadurahqamma of Rashi was considerably different from the final commentary (see above, n. 17), and further argue (as 1 never would) that since R. Jonathan of Lunel in other tractates incorporated Rashi's earlier mahadurahinto his work, his remarks in 'Avodah Zarah, ad loc. (see below, n. 90) should be taken as being those of Rashi, then the word "ever" should be struck from our formulation in the text above. Rashi initially articulated the doctrine of separation, then thought better of it, excised it and maintained this silence to the end.

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finally crowned his efforts, and he instructed his grandson, R. Samuel, to :»n 5:K make note of it. And Rashbam wrote:36 i3R'K:1 1i3r'Tw m l rnnn5 nrln K 5l K1m 135 '? 'E n pn 31 Inrn 'K? 1w5rn anK nllan lno 'pvirtnln 1KW n,n a n The t r In' D'nTrran . Tlinn1r, nfn operative word here is :m be-havit. Since wine was left in the vats (as if it were a barrel) for some length of time to acquire color and body,37it was viewed by his predecessors as falling within the pale of y.n., even without separation from the pulp. In other words, if one viewed the tubs as treading floors (as Rashi had hitherto done), then indeed no "wine" had come into existence. If, however, one looked upon the cuves as barrels, as vessels of storage, the juice contained therein came within the injunctive orbit of y.n. If barrels are the controlling consideration, the halakhic front is shifting from hamshakhah to mi-sheyeshalleh be-haviyyot. Rashi's interpretation could exist on two premises only. The doctrine of the early tannaim, it will be recalled,38had been that grape juice took on the name of wine only when already in the wine pit or in the barrels. In the wine pit a process known as qippui was required; in the barrel one described as shillui. The first premise of Rashi's conjecture must be that the doctrines of qippui and shillui were not actually rejected by the later tannaim when they cited hamshakhahin the wine press as the moment of entrance into the class of wine; rather, they had simply advanced that moment. The old definition was still binding, though it would rarely be invoked, since the wine would ordinarily have become subject to y.n. long before, by virtue of the hamshakhah on the treading floor. If, however, the first stage were to be skipped, the old ruling would proceed to subject the wine to y.n. The second assumption was that the doctrine of shillui be-baviyyotdid not embody any principle of separation. Shillui means drawing off, drawing up, or removing of one thing from the midst of another. It could refer either to the drawing up of the wine in barrels from the pit, or to the removal of impurities from the body of wine. In his commentary on a passage in the tractate Bava MeSi'a, identical with the one found in 'Avodah Zarah, Rashi specifically interpreted shillui as 36. 'Or zaru'a, sec. 213 and see above, n. 31. 37. In MS Modena Comunita Israelitica 30 we find the Rashbam cited thus: n;in 'l 5eK l', (n)y?iwv wi ... .'rnnS. The same time span is echoed nr nn'atn r" I' m'n'awv ,D'tnK 1IK n'tnni5 in the Sefer ha-terumah(Venice, 1523), p. 169. This was about par for the Parisian region as we learn from Oliver de Serres, Les thedtres d'agriculture et menage des champs, 2 vols. (Paris, 1804-1805), vol. 1, pt. 2, bk. 3, chap. 8. 38. See text, sec. 1.

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separation using these words:39rpl npibl nnsmimnrr oon KmnnrinInn7w pItmi nmnni Imtxr'lwrnMrnpini iDrl tanpinr5y? p1jip. And again in tractate Besah, in his lexical note on sholeh, he wrote:40 n"510iZ a WDr .n5r nyn i%vw rn 1n3? ninnn !r n anm y tDs3n canrn 'rrvt'i n'5wy Iw= n5iDoi. Yet in his commentary on our passage in 'Avodah Zarah, he defined shillui simply as the introduction of the wine into the barrels: n1an;z I;,n n,vwn m nrn: mInr5!Significantly, most commentr5,D nxr lwn" na" twn pl tators, predecessors and successors alike, whether of Spanish, Italian or Franco-German provenance,4' concurred with Rashi's other interpretation of shillui as separation. His interpretation of the process which takes place in the wine pit, qippui ba-bor, was similarlycolored. ;nspmay indicate the hardening42or the formation of a floating upper crust,43or, it may be used privatively to denote its removal.44 In the passage in Bava Mesi'a, identical with that in 'Avodah Zarah, Rashi interpreted the term in the latter fashion:45 )itp,a .nDp'a3 nn, m 5? trlnnn. Indeed the remark r,a i'mttr ooin mnr;15 na;n wttmr there of the Talmud when discussing qippui, "he that draws it [up] is the one who does the qippui," clearly indicates that qippah is a transitive verb indicating an action performed by a person, rather than an intransitive process on the part of the wine. Rashi moreover states that the surfacing referred to takes place during the process of fermentation, some time after the entrance of the liquid into the wine pit. In 'Avodah Zarah, however, he writes on the identical passage, and again he stands almost alone among 39. 92b s.v.n;lrwn (printed text corroborated by MSS British LibraryOr. 73; Add. 27, 196; Jewish Theological Seminary, Rabbinica 833; Bodley Opp. 387; Vatican 131; Cambridge Add. 478). 40. 14b s.v. n;l (corroborated by MSS Sassoon 517; Munich 216; Parma 808; Frankfurt 8' 158; Bodley Opp. Add. 4' 23; Jewish Theological Seminary, Rabbinica 808; 840; Parma 1299). In the last manuscript the word Tm' is missing; the meaning however is the same. 41. (a) Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Ma'asrot 3:4; idem, Perush ha-mishnayot,ed. J. Kafib (Jerusalem, 1963), 1: 7, and see Alfasi, 'Avodah Zarah, sec. 1240; (b) Perush Ri Malki $edeq (of Simpont), Ma'asrot 1: 7; see the first explanation in 'Arukh s.v. anp IV; (c) Perush Rash miSens, Ma'asrot 1: 7. 42. Maimonides, Perush ha-mishnayot, Terumot 4: 11. See Wilhelm Bacher, "Beitrage zur semitischen Sprachvergleichung bei Moses Maimuni," Recueil des travaux rediges en memoire du Jubile Scientifique de M. Daniel Chwolson (Berlin, 1899), p. 135 (referred to by Tosefot he'arukh ha-shalem, ed. Samuel Krauss [Vienna, 1937], p. 369). 43. Rashi, 'Avodah Zarah, ad. loc. and numerous parallel remarks cited by Isaac Avinery, Millon perushei Rashi (Tel Aviv, 1949), s.v. nDp,to which add Zevabim 6a, s.v. ,mlp. 44. Above, nn. 41-42. 45. 92b s.v. np;lD', readings corroborated by all manuscripts cited above, n. 39.

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commentators:46 P1n 5Y 'inn nDt' , m D0 xt31inn p 31: ,~ Itt15 :n1D'V?tv rY,t m1i=m xin:. Thus the mixed juice is brought within the injunctive domain

of y.n. briefly after its introduction into any vessel, precisely as regnant custom had it. Rashi's general interpretation would have yielded a unified interpretation of the sugyah: hamshakhah, qippui, and shillui are all stages in the process of purification. The controversy among the tannaim is, as it were, intramural: which stage of separation marks the advent of "wine"? In our sugyah in 'Avodah Zarah Rashi realizes the implications of his insights and systematically eliminates the notion of separation in each and every term. Caution might have led Rashi to muffle his doctrine of hamshakhah,but it could never have induced him to misinterpret the Talmud, to distort his lifework, to compromise his artistic integrity. Only a profound conviction that minhag 'avot(or this minhag at least) was one manifestation of truth and that a proper reading of the Talmud must allow for47the accommodation of this truth could have led Rashi to redefine qippuiand shillui and to code into his oeuvre a potential vindication of ancient custom. The fact that Rashi is not alone in his comments, that Maimonides in his work on the Mishnah understood qippuiafter the manner of Rashi and that the 'Arukh adduces a similar explanation of shillui,48shows that Rashi's remarks were.lexically sound and contextually valid. And any lingering doubts are laid to rest by the fact that Rashi's comments passed 800 years of intensive scrutiny without question or comment.49Yet a careful reconstruction of the literature of his school shows his writings to be equally a vindica-

46. Only Me'iri(Beit ha-behirah[Jerusalem, 1965], p. 202) explainsqippui thus. Maimonides in the first mahadurahof his Perush ha-mishnayotprinted in the standard edition of the Talmud, interprets qippuias floating, as does R. Nahshon Gaon in Teshuvotge'onim qadmonim,fol. 40a. However, the surfacing they refer to takes place after the fermentation has begun. Rabad (op. cit., p. 152) explains it as the settling of the lees, which even in the warmest climate takes place some time after Rashi's qippui. 47. Though not necessarily oblige. 48. Lexically, that is. For qippui, see above, n. 46, for shillui, see 'Arukh,s.v. nDpIV. Shillui is explained not as separation but as transfer from barrel to barrel. This occurs after qippui which, according to the'Arukh, is separation. Doctrinally then there is no relation between this explanation and that of Rashi; lexically they are one. Me'iri adopts Rashi's explanation of qippui in toto. 49. In the course of close to a millennium, several scholars did note in passing some of these contradictions, i.e., R. Solomon Algazi, Lehem setarim (Venice, 1664), 'Avodah Zarah, ad loc.; R. Solomon Luria, Hokhmat Shelomoh, Bava Mesi'a, ad loc.; R. Moses Sofer, IHiddushei Hatam Sofer (New York, 1957), Bava Mesi'a, ad loc.; R. Samuel Strashun (in Rom Talmud), 'Avodah Zarah, ad loc. They made, however, no ado about them.

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tion of contemporary mores. Rashi's commentary, like all great works of art, is multileveled in meaning. It here moves simultaneously on the plane of timeless commentary and on that of contemporary reference. It has the dimension of objective clarification and that of a defense of the traditions of the world from which he came. Rashi in the matter of hamshakhah is both an immortal commentator and a faithful son of the pre-Crusade Ashkenazic community. To all appearances no work seems less tinctured with the character and attitudes of the author than that of Rashi. More than any other figure of the Middle Ages he resembles Keats' poet, in that he seems "to have no self, to have no identity but to be constantly informing and filling another body." The historian contemplating his oeuvre, which baffles all search for personality and posture, knows the despair that Schiller spoke of in his encounter with the classics. "Wholly unconfiding [the classical poet] flees the heart that seeks him .... The object possesses him utterly.... Like a Deity behind this universe, he stands behind his work.. . . Misled as I was through acquaintance with modern poets to seek at once the poet in the work, . I could not bear that in this instance the poet could nowhere be seized and would nowhere abide my question."50Yet unless we succeed in "seizing the poet," in perceiving the personal in the objective, unless we uncover the polysemy of the work which forms a watershed in Jewish history, seeing its contemporary import alongside of its permanent meaning, we shall never truly understand Rashi or fathom his greatness or begin to write the history of halakhah. *

*

*

The practical implications of Rashi's interpretation were considerable. Grapes upon harvest were placed in cylindrical baskets (hotes) which were strapped to the backs, carried to the cuve and emptied into it. When the vat was filled and closely packed, the treading began and the liquid was emitted via a spigot near the base of the vat. Only then was the pulp taken to a press for the last drop of wine to be extracted. If the spigot remained closed, no separation of wine from pulp would occur, and the entire first phase of wine production would be released from the injunctive domain of y.n. In other words, so long as the crushed grapes 50. Cited in M. H. Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp; Romantic Theory and the Critical Tradition (New York, 1958), p. 238.

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remained interspersed with the wine-and since the reddish color and "body" of wine is obtained from the skin, the pulp was in fact left in for a week or so5--one need not guard against Gentile contact. Non-Jewish labor could be employed without qualm, and wine transported and stored without the onerous requirements of special and double seals. Vineyards that might previously have been left untended because of the impossibility of Jewish supervision could now be cultivated and harvested.52Jews could contract wine from Gentiles, requesting only that it be delivered in a mixed state. Jewish communities were generally tiny, averaging from a handful to a score of families and tended (in the county of Champagne) to make their own wine. As the crude state of barrel making made the ageing of wine and its long-range storage impossible,53wine was usually produced anew every fall. An entire year's consumption had to be provided for in the treading of September and early October, but since the High Holidays and Sukkot fell in these months, the time available for grape pressing was limited indeed. In contrast, the quantities of wine consumed in this age was (as we have already noted) enormous, and it was taxing in the extreme to tread so large a quantity in so short a time with so little manpower. It is difficult to see how this was accomplished without the concerted effort of the entire community.54The use of non-Jewish help in the treading and the possibility of 51. See above, n. 37. 52. Suggested by Ma'asei ge'onim, p. 81. This would have allowed them to make full use not only of their own distant vineyards but also those offered in mortgage to them. 53. M. W. Labarge, A Baronial Household of the ThirteenthCentury(New York, 1965), p. 106. Rashi himself makes reference to the short life span of wine in a query on another matter to R. Isaac b. Judah: (!) D'tlDmn o'D1;n I' .nWp 'IV D (!)1'Tn i[]XY Y lirnnrt D' 'v "tml Dta, tw nnin" i tnpr D-pnn rxKui: rn ,Kx X- 'nn,'rxl. MS Bodley Opp. 276 fol. 35v. prmnn ir,nx l-in

54. It is this (rather than any professional occupation as a vintner) that explains Rashi's oft-

cited remarks (Teshuvot, no. 382), nx xiTY 'In'1nn,Y',

pir,'3p, nY

7

'1tu'inan

ntu rn,' 5n

,5, irnp. The average Champagne household in the month of September very much resembled our own before Passover. The second passage usually cited in support of Rashi's supposed occupation (Ha-'oreh, p. 214, Teshuvot,no. 159) refers most probably to R. Isaac b. Judah. In the literature of his school Rashi is never called hn'uni3'2, but the former scholar is regularly referred to this way by the Makhirites in the Ma'asei ge'onim. Indeed the presumption is against anyone being a winegrower in Troyes. Its chalky soil to this day is inhospitable to viticulture, and not surprisingly Elizabeth Chapin has found no references to vines in local documents (Les villes des foires de Champagne des origines au debut du XVIe siecle [Paris, 1937], pp. 97-98. Contrast this with their frequent mention in the Bar-sur-Aube region, ibid., pp. 77-92.). A generation or so before Rashi there seems to have been one solitary owner or, perhaps, more accurately, only one major owner of vineyards among the Jews of Troyes (Teshuvot R. Me'ir mi-Rotenburg [Budapest, 1895], no. 941 and note ad loc.). Undoubtedly there were some local vines, probably for private use (Rashi's words almost imply as much), but that they should

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contracting wine deliveries constituted an enormous lightening of the load. The ruling would have been a boon to any age, but it was particularly advantageous in the waning years of the eleventh and early years of the twelfth century as the Jewish community began its retreat from landowning55 and its control over wine production became progressively more difficult. An allowance such as this cannot long be suppressed. If Rashi rendered tacit obedience to those customs in which he had been raised and whose validity had been unquestioned in the academies where he had studied, these held no sway over the minds of the young scholars who had gathered around him, whose thinking he had shaped and whose halakhic world was his teachings. Rashi's reservations were primarily emotional and these stand little chance of survival when opposed by both logic and convenience. Law by its nature tends to adopt articulated positions and discount personal hesitations. His pupils dutifully noted his reservations but themselves joined, apparently, in promulgating the doctrine which freed wide tracts of wine production from all restraints.56 8) The next development is the appearance of the doctrine of R. Jacob Tam (henceforth R.T.). Ri reports:57]Wvv 'lnn[vn "',n",-i ... . . "1N r t winT n nin -nv n rw ipinaz n*125mnnnum '1 InT m7r13 Kt "Yx 1Y rnpi7*p1 nnn Ymn. Hamshakhah according 5 nrpj 1irttmNKr1 npippnn '1 ,5 x15iS to R.T. is not the downward flow of the juice on the pressing floor, but the flow of the juice out of that place. The unique category of "wine" came into existence only when the liquid left the press. While on the trading floor, it remained ever "grape juice" (mashqinha-yoSe'in).Only when removed from its place of origin could it assume the independent category of "wine." This was no academic doctrine. Care would have to be taken, according to Rashi's interpretation, that no pulp was ever pushed to the side or scooped out to make for easier treading, for then hamshakhah would take have regularly produced a surplus sufficient to afford a living is asking a great deal of them. Despite all this, Rashi may nevertheless have been a vintner; but by the same measure he may have been an egg salesman. 55. Bernhard Blumenkranz, Juifs et chretiens dans le monde occidental (Paris, 1960), p. 20; idem, "Cultivateurs et vigneronsjuifs en Bourgogne du IXe au XIe siecle," Bulletinphilologique et historique du Comite de travaux historiques et scientifiques, 1959, pp. 131-36. 56. 'Or zaru'a, sec. 215, cited in text, sec. 12. I say "apparently" because the respondent's remarks about Rashi are not quite accurate; see text, sec. 12. However, I do not believe we would be justified in questioning the statements about R. Meir and R. Samuel. In light of our analysis of R. Meir's query (text, sec. 5), his joining in on the promulgation of the allowance would be expected. 57. Tosefot R. Yehudahmi-Paris, op. cit., p. 264.

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place and the wine would be subject to y.n.58Ideally, a Jew would have to be constantly present to insure that no such minor scoopage took place. Doubts naturally arise as to just how feasible such control was. It is easier at times to observe a blanket injunction than to confine an allowance within a framework of onerous precautionary measures. R.T.'s doctrine swept away the need for any such measures. So long as the wine remained in the cuve where it was initially trodden, it was totally immune to any injunction. The question presenting itself immediately is, What was the relationship of this doctrine to the felt needs of the time? The bearing of halakhah toward reality-the patterns of resistance and response, of attentiveness and indifference-is a complex one and forms too large a topic to be treated here. For the moment let me say that nothing could be farther from the mind of any religious person, not to speak of a man of the Middle Ages, than an attempt of set purpose to align a divine norm with temporal needs.59 Response, when it came, flowed from a conjunction of a distinctive communal self-image with certain premises of the dialectical method, and as often as not halakhah turned a deaf ear to common need. But under certain specific conditions, circumstances did play a role (if only mediately) in the birth of ideas, and the question which arises is whether R.T.'s doctrine of hamshakhah was an instance of this. Every case is of course unique, but two criteria can be mentioned. The first is temperament; is such an awareness in character with the propounder of the doctrine. Some scholars are oblivious of reality, others well aware of it. The second is an uncharacteristic flaw, and I emphasize the word uncharacteristic. Is there some defect in the doctrine that leads one to infer that unless something impinged, wittingly or not, upon the mind of the author, he would not have arrived at what he did? The criterion of character is in most cases circular. We know next to nothing about the temperament of most halakhists. Fortunately this is not the case with R.T. His intense awareness of his people's needs and his boldness in thought and action are well documented.60 Rabyah (R. Eliezer ben Joel of Mainz, d. ca. 1225) leveled against R.T.'s doctrine of hamshakhaha critique from the Tosefta.6' But this proves nothing. Even the 58. Ibid., p. 265; n3;lvrn-'r 5' nnmu,'Kmi and the printed TosaJot 55b s.v. 'IK, end. 59. See the important remarks of H. H. Ben-Sasson in Behinot 9 (1957): 46-49. 60. Schalom Albeck, "Yahaso shel Rabbenu Tam li-ve'ayot zemano," Zion 19 (1954): 103-41. The article should be qualified by Ben-Sasson's observations referred to in the preceding note. 61. Rabyah (MSS Bodley Opp. 66, Jews College 115), sec. 1069, (see now Sefer Rabyah le-

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great R.T. could overlook a Tosefta. More damning is the well-nigh universal stricture that hamshakhahsimply does not mean "pouring" in mishnaic Hebrew; "pouring" is called mn*,p,or in our case ni1n rrrv.62 Had R. Huna wished to express what R.T. claimed he did, he should simply have said Hamshakhah refers invariably to a flow across a surface n1in nn r,nnnnwn. Rashi had as explained it. Few men in the Middle Ages had a finer lexical sense than R.T., and it is difficult to see his explanation other than as an attempt, conscious or unconscious (and subject to the restrictions we outlined elsewhere), to ratify general practice and to insulate much of Jewish wine production from any religious proscription.63 Such may be our conclusion-if R.T.'s pupils understood him properly. R. Jacob's own words have not come down to us. Our knowledge of his position comes from reports of the Tosafists, and they, inspired primarily by the formulation of R. Judah of Paris who wrote his Tosafot at the feet of R. Isaac of Dampierre (no mean source!), speak uniformly of mn*,p,and by so doing exposed the doctrine to withering lexical criticism. It is an even chance, however, that R. Jacob of Rameru was imperfectly understood. Wine in Talmudic times did not pour out of a press into a pit. The press was built on one level, the pit on a lower one and a pipe connected the two. In a letter which we shall presently discuss,64 though unfortunately not one in masekhet 'Avodah Zarah [Bene Brak, 1976]), cited in 'Or zaru'a, sec. 214; "Sefer 'Amarkal," Le-David $evi, David Hoffmann Festschrift (Berlin, 1914), p. 13. 62. See the critique of the Spanish and Provence school and that of R. Asher: HiddusheihaRamban, ed. C. B. Chavel (Jerusalem, 1970), ad loc.; Hiddushei ha-Rashba 'al 'Avodah Zarah (Jerusalem, 1966), ad loc.; Hiddushei ha-Ritba and R. Nissim of Gerona's commentary to Alfasi, ad loc.; Beit ha-behirah'al 'AvodahZarah (Jerusalem, 1965), pp. 205-6; Pisqei ha-Rosh, 4: 3. (As to the identity of the author of the Hiddushei ha-Rashba 'al 'Avodah Zarah, see Abraham Rosenthal's remarks in Kiryat Sefer 42 [1967]: 132-39). The only medieval scholar known to me to endorse R.T.'s position is Ri (Tosefot R. Yehudahmi-Paris, loc. cit.), but his position was influenced by the difficulties he encountered in explaining mDn5lminrp 5tunof the Mishnah (see his responsum cited above, n. 10). There is no evidence that R.T.,was motivated by this consideration. 63. Haym Soloveitchik, "The Tosafist Conception of Law." Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Association of American Law Schools, Houston, Texas, December 28, 1976. See text, sec. 17, end, for the measure of inner conviction that this interpretation carried for R.T. (In passing, I should add that there is no evidence, to the best of my knowledge, that R.T. earned a living from the sale or production of wine [see Urbach, op. cit., p. 57]. The presence of a large ot, in a house proves nothing, especially in view of the quantities then consumed. Moreover the 2py' "i there mentioned is not R.T. but a prominent member of his community. See Temim de'im, sec. 86: vnm tTy3p, ',1,5 Rittn ... py,,-' 3nan n,'r S,x n,nY and this reading is corroborated by MS London Beth Din and Beth Midrash Library 14, fol. 146v: 'inl n-" rKtn ... 3py,, " -aran.) 64. Sec. 12.

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which he presseshis own position, R.T. evincesan awarenessof this fact, writingnia p1,on T nl n'min pm. The exit of the liquidfromthe pressdid not then entailpouring,but a downwardmotion acrossthe innersurfaceof the pipe, preciselyas demandedby the termhamshakhah.R. Jacob'spupilsinadvertentlyformulatedhis doctrine in terms of medievalrealia and thus The flawmay be in the tosafisttransmissionrather cameto speakof mnl,p.65 thanin R.T.'sinitialpositionand one of our two criteria(for detectionof influence) has not been met. One could contend that despite the apR.T.'s interpretationwas still too appropriatenessof the termhamshakhah, to posite to contemporaryneed be wholly fortuitous.This may well be, but there is no way of provingit, for one lacks the crucialangle of deflection that is necessaryfor any demonstrationthat extraneousfactors were impinging upon the course of immanentdevelopments. In brief,if no breakdownoccurredin tosafistcommunication,if no misunderstandingarosein the centralyeshivahof Dampierre,R.T.'s interpretation bears the imprint of contemporarychallenges.If such a misunderstanding did indeed arise and R.T.'s doctrineis actually lexicallysound, thereis no way then of evaluatingits genesis,other than by personalintuition. It would be wisest, perhaps,to eschew such divinationin the initial phaseof halakhichistoriographyand to adhereas closelyas possibleto the criterionof "measurabledeflection,"if we wish to avoid the pitfalls of a simplisticsociologyof law. Let us lay the foundationsof Jewishlegalhistory with insightspossessingsome measureof certaintyand only then fill in the intersticeswithimpressions.Onlyafterthe halakhicterrainhas beencharted withsome certainty,and skillsacquiredandintuitionstestedin the courseof that arduousmapping,shouldwe then ventureinto the territoryof conjecture and surmise. Be that as it may, R.T.'sallowanceswereafterall but the cappingstone of Rashi's.Whatof that initial revolutionarydoctrine?Was it a productof the felt needs of the time? Recall Rashi's guarded languagein his early responsumto R. Meir, his protractedsilence, his excision of the words D:,a:Ynn i:n:w and his novel explanationsof qippuiandshillui.If evera man sought to hide his discoveryit was Rashi. What emergesis the pictureof a great commentatorarriving,on this occasion as on hundredsof others, at the precisenuanceof a term. Perceivingthe consequencesof the downward 65. It will not do to argue that n7p can also mean motion across a surface as in Zevahim 25b. It almost invariably does not, and the Tosafist did not use Hebrew after an archaic or idiosyncratic fashion, certainly not when writing expository prose.

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flow in terms of the unequal rate of descent of liquids and solids, he transformed sharpened fact into principle (that of separation), and invested the law with coherence. And then he stopped dead in his tracks! It was his pupils whose halakhic world was his teachings and who felt no deference to a Rhineland where they had never studied, who promulgated the new creed-one which the people rapidly and profitably embraced. The acceptance of this major innovation, almost revolution, in y.n. and its refinement by later hands is attributable to circumstance, its inception is not. The initial breakthrough was here an immanent development. And lest anyone attempt to generalize, let me add that in the next case the situation could be the reverse and the one after that altogether different. Be that as it may, the joint doctrine of Rashi-R.T. liberated much of the production, transportation and storage of wine from the injunctive domain of y.n. Small wonder that the old injunctive custom was swept away! The new doctrine won such wide acceptance in the Champagne that by the last quarter of the twelfth century, the great R. Isaac of Dampierre (Ri) neither knew nor had even heard of the original custom, and added that in R.T.'s day the allowance was equally universal.66 9) But we are anticipating. Our printed Tosafot reports in the name of R. Judah of Paris: ir-'r n'a 'miwa; r'nmrn, 1 r, wi ly;wn,TY, In KlX5 1, 1nV iwY» Kih 1inlvi wY

Kx K Dnluni35 n1

-ni1

-y npy

ya)i

,mwnwn np nlri

nuny

ny; and the Semag (R. Moses of Coucy), R. Judah's pupil, gives a similar report.67In the actual Tosafot of R. Judah the evaluation o,u;n ,)yn inxirX1 is not found and Ri too, in a report that we shall soon consider, omits this assessment.68The problem is both textual (what is the correct reading in the Tosafot of R. Judah?) and historical (is the report a later evaluation or an actual description of the motivation of the participants?). Y.n. had long been considered a classic example of insolentia Judaeorum. One of the earliest anti-Jewish (possibly antisemitic) tracts written in the Middle Ages, that of Agobard of Lyons, mentions with bitterness that Gentile touch defiled liquids and made them unfit for Jewish consumption. From privilegia granting to the Jews the right to sell their wine, one can see 66. Teshuvot Maharah 'Or Zaru'a, no. 174, fol. 59a. 67. Tosafot, ad loc., s.v. vux, end; Semag, injunction 148. A similar report is found in Tosefot R. Peres cited in Teshuvot Ri Qolon, no. 32. Another pupil of Ri, the editor of MS Bodley Opp. 49 gives (in sec. 164) a similar report. (Parts of this work were published by Simhah Assaf in Sefer ha-yovel li-khevod A. Marx [New York, 1950], pp. 9-22, from MS Schocken 1952. On the relationship of the two manuscripts, see Urbach, op. cit., p. 196, n. 7. R. Judah of Paris may be the editor of this manuscript; see ibid., p. 197, n. 10.) 68. Op. cit., pp. 265-66; Teshuvot Maharah 'Or Zaru'a, no. 174.

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how deeply resented was the implied Jewish superiority contained in the y.n. ban. No less a person than Innocent III lashed out at this presumptuousness.69 Whether the specific merchants mentioned by R. Judah were motivated by the desire "to find favor in Gentile eyes" or not, is not really important; that y.n. engendered disfavor is. And this is the point of significance. Gentile good will was needed by all; y.n. was an omnipresent irritant and everyone had much to gain by its allowance. Any evaluation of developments in y.n. must take into account the high price in Christian bitterness that Jews were willing to pay for this injunction. Too often our attention focuses on the allowances made, forgetting that these were "ad hoc" alleviations within an injunctive framework, and that that framework was maintained despite its contributing to and acerbating antisemitism-which in this period translated itself rapidly into persecution. Occasion presented itself to the Tosafists to wipe y.n. from the books, and it was rejected with shock.70Spanish Jewry, for example, were lax in their observance of this injunction, and attempts were made to rid themselves of this annoying restraint.7' I have found, however, no evidence for any of this in France or Germany. The Ashkenazic community was animated by a fierce sense of the heroic in the face of persecution and intensely felt their dissimilarity to the heathen world around them. Y.n. seemed to them an appropriate symbol of this distinctiveness, and they did not begrudge the price they had to pay for it. The people's identification with the injunction and their pain-filled and costly efforts to maintain it go a long way in explaining, psychologically, the inclination of the halakhists to alleviate points of particular stress. 10) In his responsum, Ri provides us with further details of the story:72 69. J. P. Migne, Patriologiae Cursus Completus: Series Latina, 104: 826; 117: 170; Julius Aronius, Regesten zur Geschichte der Juden in frankischen und deutschen Reiche bis zum Jahre 1273 (Berlin, 1902), p. 90; Robert Hoeniger, "Zur Geschichte der Juden Deutschlands im Mittelalter," Zeitschrift fir die Geschichte der Juden in Deutschland 1 (1887): 141; Solomon Grayzel, The Church and the Jews in the XIIIth Century, rev. ed. (New York, 1966), pp. 73, 127-28. See also Speculum 42 (1967): 343. 70. See Jacob Katz's discussion in Bein yehudim le-goyim (Jerusalem, 1960), pp. 55-56. 71. E.g., Maimonides, Hilkhot ma'akhalot 'asurot 11: 10; Teshuvot ha-Rambam, ed. Yehoshua Blau, vol. 2 (Jerusalem, 1960), p. 269; Abraham b. Nathan Ha-Yarhi, Sefer hamanhig (Jerusalem, 1961), p. 157. 72. Teshuvot Maharah 'Or Zaru'a, no. 174, fol. 59b. It is worth noting that though Metz was part of the Empire, culturally we see it was under French sway. The exact boundaries of $arefat and 'Ashkenaz have yet to be delineated, just as the halakhah still awaits its Klimrath line setting off Northern France (Sarefat) from Provence. Until we have such maps we will not be able to use properly the growing number of place names that manuscripts are beginning to provide us. A question coming from a city under French influence might be insignificant, but if it arose in a German area it could indicate a major change.

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3i 13: 21r n TDV]KrpK':I5nW1V o-n1V rimn 15'pi ,D'l ""Y iNrlnrm f rO mn o DTK ,10Tttrl 01Wp

L8na 1b5p1p5

r 1b5'pab ,apYi3m O21ny lnlr 1O»15

D)artrr

nl5n

1 »n3

ny niT5 wv l tt,p Kx K Dn un3i5vi. He reports that n;r:avTm5nn ,32I5p?. The complaint and outcry were general, but from Rabyah we know that R. Shemaryah of Spires wrote the actual letter.73The letter was sharp enough to put R.T. on the defensive. And writing thus to R. Jacob Tam was no simple matter. The spirit of talmudic dialectics which had been dormant (in any significant fashion) since the fifth century had sprung to life again in R. Jacob Tam, and in him and through him the halakhah embarked upon a new period of massive creativity. He was working a revolution and he knew it; and through him flowed the imperious sense of bringing a freshly wrested vision of truth to the world. His contemporaries (even his critics) sensed this, and their relationship to him was not one simply of respect or reverence, but of awe-awe before the unforseeable and the unique. Fear of his intellectual thunderbolts and the force of his leonine personality often made timid men of those who had dealings with him. A report of another encounter of R.T. with R. Shemaryah has come down to us, and from it we may hazard a guess that when the time had come for Germany to register a protest in Rameru, the choice of R. Shemaryah was not wholly accidental. R. Isaac 'Or Zaru'a relates:74'"i nnin pnxr Kx nanDt.Sa ann lfar n surpassed ItX h n hs pEnolezer .Nbe nsugsted that 5tT o3irn *1 isn -Tw nU v15 n yi-Trrm Tn Uf*, nv nu3nn Kxt5 51in Urip12 p Dew xUvn t8n mn1zr (11515) ?] 13-In .[5ll muv11 IImt ,15 lni rn13 ni:rn .T5"Y KbUJ 1K wmnKxitUYlnr5in 1*1w15 - inInalp nx ny15pn 77z5nl plwuz vy 7tnumi 5113, v1n* 5: ny rn 3rnW3por1. R. 1»in nx Dn Inn 5nil .n511351 ITLnr y1 Shemaryah was certainly not the greatest German scholar of his time. R. Eliezer ben Nathan and R. Joel far surpassed him. It has been suggested that R. Shemaryah happened to be then passing through Troyes or Rameru, and this is what occasioned the inquiry.75And indeed had R.T. dispatched a letter to Spires, there would have been an automatic delay of burial for at least a week or so. But even granting R. Shemaryah's presence at the time in the Champagne, the story is still remarkable. First, R. T. was the last man to ask for advice regarding a decision. Indeed this is the only case known to

73. Rabyah, sec. 1050, published by I. A. Agus in Teshuvot ba'alei ha-tosafot (New York, 1954), pp. 75-76 and in Sefer Rabyah (above, n. 61), p. 16. 74. 'Or zaru'a, 3: 199, correction from MS British Library Or. 2859, fols. 278-79 from which the text was published. 75. E. E. Urbach, op. cit., pp. 163-64.

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HAYM SOLOVEITCHIK

me wherehe did so. Not that he did not find himselfin quandariesat times, but he invariablyfoundhis own wayout of them.The passiverole described in 1lr'T nx nl hT'pl is also out of character,especially in view of R. Shemaryah'sastounding line of reason. The case at hand involved the n, suspensionof two pentateuchalmiSvot,the imperativeof ar i3'ipn inap and the injunction of rpn ¥w ln'73 r,n KX.Argument D,nfKn¥-p ,n Kmnn mLfn

was madefrompermissiongrantedby the Talmudto open a gravefor a moment to ascertainwhetherthe deceasedwas a minor or not. The natureof the ban on graveopeningremainsobscureto this day,76but it is probably not pentateuchaland certainlynot evenvaguelyon a parwith the injunction of r5n x'. Openinga grave brieflyand leaving the dead unburiedare two totally differentthings,and no one neededto be told of this less than R.T. How he couldhaveacceptedsuchan argumentis littleless thanastonishing. The solution to these problemsmay lie in an observationof E. E. Urbach, who noted that all that we possess of R. Shemaryahare reportsof practicalrulings-pesaqim.77Indeedhis judicialtalents,his abilityto chart the appropriatepath to the desireddecision, displayedthemselveseven in his studentdays,78and his practicalorientationearnedfor himthe sobriquet (uniqueamong the Tosafists)of aryn 5y:. R. Shemaryah,in other words, was a poseqnot a dialectician,a man who operateswith ideas ratherthan a creator of them. The mind of the poseq does not so much focus on the ultimateimplicationsof an idea(andits coherencewith others)as on the optimummannerof its implementation.More than it examinesideas,it assesses their place in a world of men and things. Such an intellectweighs the contendingclaims of tradition, opinion, and practicaleffect against the monolithicdemandsof logic. Balanceratherthan acutenessdistinguishesit. Few contrastscould be greaterthan that of R. Shemaryah,the practically oriented morehhora'ah,and R.T. the boldest halakhic iconoclast of the The two types repreMiddleAges and possiblyits greatestrevolutionary.79 76. See J. J. Greenwald, Kol bo 'al 'avelut, reprint ed. (New York, 1973), pp. 217ff., 223ff. and Pithei teshuvah, Yoreh de'ah, 363: 7-8. Menahem Alon in his Ferut ha-perat be-darkhei geviyyat hov ba-mishpat ha-'ivri (Jerusalem, 1964), pp. 238-40 has already raised this point. 77. Urbach, loc. cit. 78. IK 53rinn n p

oz 5vr D"nri

oDn ,nlnm'im

mxm K

m ,x-n K"'1 3D0 Vb7

ritiw 13 1

15?in ,K I1?dK .-Ml 'lnK jnmOs I

ln

"1 n "m", ,mzw 1m:l 1?1iKn,'m ?1y-IYxa K"m

n pK1 ,lXt1D n103m"3

,rn yn,

K c1 K rrYn

KXInIDYowy yK 1yu

?nmn1nK ,on .rp rnYxn ,5,n3

1ni rvY

,3? T'?

ns

(cited ibid.). 'n:n [nnr:i] pnyi mrnni,*'K.5ix 79. Objection will immediately be made that R.T. himself was a great poseq. Indeed he was (see above, n. 60), but he was a creative poseq not a manipulative one. He did not balance off multiple factors or seek technical shortcuts to a goal, but forged bold new doctrines and ruled

CAN HALAKHIC TEXTS TALK HISTORY?

181

sent two principlesin any legal system-stability and dynamics,tradition (precedentif you will) and theoretical(shifting)truth,practicalityand logic. Whenpersonalitiesclash, the poseq looks upon the dialectician,especially the revolutionaryone, as an unsettlingelementin the systemand perhaps even too clever by half, while the theoreticianlooks down on the moreh hora'ahas a technicianand a dullardto boot. When sympatheticrelations reign, however,each may see in the other a necessarycomplementto his own workand call upon himfor aidwhen he feels his own tools unequalto a situation. Peoplein the MiddleAges felt no strongobligationto payoff debts,and even respectablemembersof the communitydefaultedwithout qualmsof conscience.It has alreadybeen noted in this connectionthat delayingburial was at the time an accepted form of coercion for liquidationof debts.80 Among Jews, of course,the obligationwas clearcut and therewas the dictum of m;lY m n : nyn,D,8'but waywardness in these matters is often infectious. R.T. was apparentlyconfrontedwith a recalcitrantdebtor.(Note the twice redundantphrase r nn"n ;rrnw ylrmr; which occurs in the question and againin R. Shemaryah'sreply.82)The questionarosewhethersome new means of constraintcould be applied and the common delayal of burial seemed the most effectiveone at hand. No one knewbetter than R.T. the seriousnessof the injunctioninvolved;yet no one in the MiddleAges was more aware of contemporaryforces and needs. Caughtbetween the contradictorypulls of logic and the need for pressingaction,he turnedto a well knownposeqand ba'alma'asim,R. Shemaryah,who happenedto be passing through. If this distinguishedrepresentativeof the Rhinelands would recommendholding up burial, he, R.T., would go along. Working from analogy ratherthan deductionas jurists (though not dialecticians)do, R. Shemaryahsuggestedjust that and on the basisof the talmudich1,5. And in the words of 'Or Zaru'a, ri': nKn-'i :1pi. Quite intentionally this ruling was

not a productof R.T.'s halakhicinitiative,but one in which he purposely chose to play a subsidiaryrole. on their basis. His greatness in this area stemmed from the fact that his daring and creativity were not confined to theory but overflowed into practice. 80. M. Alon, loc. cit. 81. Ketubbot 86a. 82. Strike both phrases from the text and the responsum reads naturally. The opening already stated nn py Ilv nn1 :3,n ,nr,v pliK: ... nrvY. If the debt were in doubt one could not have collected it from Reuben even if he were alive, not to speak of heaping disgrace on his body after his death.

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HAYM SOLOVEITCHIK

Be that as it may (our reconstruction is after all only a conjecture), R.T. relied on R. Shemaryah in no less a matter than suspending a biblical injunction. If the burial story antedated our case of tub treading, the choice of R. Shemaryah was a shrewd one. The imperious genius of Rameru could hardly claw his critic and try to prove him a fool (as he had done to others who dared question his ways), for that would mean that he had relied upon a fool previously. If the case of the debtor occurred after the one of y.n., it speaks doubly of the respect that R. Shemaryah commanded and, incidentally, of R.T.'s character. This encounter ended, as we shall see,83 with R.T.'s discomfiture; yet that proud scholar still esteemed his critic enough to turn to him later for guidance. At all events a professional poseq of conventional thought was chosen, one who would have to be replied to on his own terms, and upon whom the dialectical thunderbolts of R.T. would be wasted. 11) The text of R. Shemaryah's letter has not come down to us, but we do possess a letter of his to R. Joel describing the correspondence:84 D 1w an n-1 w'n-tt nr n Y'nx DA nlm5xo D10, 833y -L,1 5"XTy p Y '39 Iryv -.n II n3rV mn 3 T1 vY Xnr (nM) 'K ,K1n7T ir nm tV n1a npMi17* 1; ,lnnmno[nm] c nn an rl) we gauge the depth .13'From the o ingY[X]rem ,'II of5 l'npim), 1 (X-11 no nn5rl .no lnpiln np1p91 nX^D ni 102n'zrn nnntr 7blKn"n[r] Iluy n-.n nm1 2y in "Gen commun 1en ountered ,1t ,shock the that r then ltxperi ncedwnp it

R.11Shemaryah, nnthe FrenchxntD py ?11npt

n ?Isnn ys ix rofthe Rhn 1 lan

ln[t] 'O^tT'Sl lnpnna pn :n1lDnnzrnals 53K,31005X1tt' ^5Yn KStV nlx nKt en f3n n- -53nnol ...Knt n-n 'EtMtr lb1 'npnr: lotIY ,1lo ;Xm n rnll 5 K1130

= .,1 .*onon

D"9Y1 .Xnnlrn

Xtt 1^5;nnnon

1"n1n1DR .S1D711 From the opening remark (a?nnwT mY =m rryt;l), we can gauge the depth of the shock that the German community experienced when it encountered the French practice. R. Shemaryah, the esteemed scholar of the Rhineland, fears to be disbelieved by his friends, and so, like anyone else about to tell a scandalous story, he prefaces it with the remark that he has it on good 83. Sec. 17. 84. See above, n. 73. The first emendation is from the manuscript; the second is my own. I after R.T. found in the text. This could easily would not attach too much importance to the 5"YT be a scribal addition. R.T. is referred to as y"n in R. Joel's reply that follows immediately in the manuscript (fol. 287v). From experience, however, I have learned to be very wary of such notations. (See below, n. 86 and note the surprising absence of any mention of R.T.'s doctrine of 'o' 'w,' for hames). See above, n. 10 and below, n. 115.

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CAN HALAKHIC TEXTS TALK HISTORY?

authority. Gentile tub treading is simply inconceivable to them, as is any Gentile contact with the cuve. From his report it would appear that he dispatched two letters to R.T. In the first he challenged the latter's decision on the basis of the possibility of an admixture of y.n. Later he found a passage in the Yerushalmi which supported his position, and dispatched this proof to R.T. This second note went unanswered, at least at the time of his communication to his colleague. 12) R.T.'s reply has been preserved by the 'Or Zaru'a, and as we shall have to make a detailed analysis of it, it is best to cite it at length.85 10 enxli.5 5vtt [X5]rn^";T Xtr 1TT1 an3'3

Ixv Iny :31nloil1,

n 5rD :p nnfv ' IVP mn 1VY

1rmVy1

n DOwx5nuY rspD nn n.nwanI,xv ivnin i-inx,nxiin D13mn

-o'11 v 5 nnnro ln 31 n :3 nz5snmr n9!n1 ct nn I.In ll nIl" XU'V!l trw*11D I'YD3 Io3 n lo nsDD n13? uYDa^Oot Dn '"DnY DR I=3 .1TA1 x3Dn I 151z* ni'I'l ,pi/p nr3'KX n ... " nun (rnn') i 1 'lni n, xmr upip9 nngn RK rK '9v 1K1 'pips ha [Knln] cTnrote nshow1ntha,ntnpaincdi notl3n3tD83Yn 5tt ,nxi1oa nanexpiclitta3muicbd did flV ,131, 1 ,ary ntin'T3K1 nAnthe Xte1V^ ;1 R.nem tndrl KX11V! 1i"1 K DvDae 1O1K 3''n;13 V1con .K-'-ta,,tphp ru1i, ni PK

1 T1'271 pdanntV ^ na1 gen .lrYoL5^nnnp'»ip xnns no5 nom I? n^5nnnnxUnyJ7nYr;

Dlonol:3 niml ?j1newj1?neK,l3n sin l 13x IfXn,3m: . .. i n',13 "'KXDf5 Ojpa Tspx 1n^h 3l;n D33 aD033yn; 13rt ... '1. alK .1*Y Dlftl .1*3 nf55n np171Pnn 1ix 5ne

flXt

1KOx '13 3p7

There is no reference whatsoever to either of R. Shemaryah's objections. This clearly is a reply to another letter which R. Shemaryah did not mention to R. Joel. R.T. here answers two charges-first a general one that he was lax in matters of y.n. (T'5n 1isK ninvsr pn h ), second, that French practice controverted R. Huna's ruling of hamshakhah (n5rT nnvw lnsr rin5 r ni Kl13n rn 5). Clearly this was R. Shemaryah's opening salvo. Only when shown that these practices did not violate an explicit talmudic dictum, did R. Shemaryah advance the second contention-that they ran the danger (wvn) of an admixture. To return to the rebuttal. R.T. feels compelled to emphasize that he, too, is stringent (mahmir) in matters of y.n. This is the only case known to me where the great R.T. had, as it were, explicitly to assert his religiosity. One 85. Sec. 215. The correction KUis made on the basis of the Mordekhai, sec. 845, and see above, n. 56.

184

HAYM SOLOVEITCHIK

can see how deeply the Ashkenazic community felt about y.n. when a suspicion of laxity could put even the leonine R.T. on the defensive. Aware, perhaps, of his reputation as a revolutionary,86R.T. opened by pointing out that the current practice was not his innovation. Behind him, no less than behind R. Shemaryah, stood a tradition (5linw ':n1 "Ybnnbrvi1'1n mrn 1p nTiT ,'nKKn1 5"r). While the merchants of Metz may have given R.T.'s name as authority and cover, the allowance was not of his making. It would seem, however, that he shaded the story a bit by stating that Rashi instituted (ran;;)the practice. As far as we know (barring a radical change of heart in his last days), Rashi provided the theoretical basis for the allowance but hardly advocated or instituted it. Personal hesitations, however, have no place in law. (The Tosafists, for example, cited Rashbam's report without bringing the tale of Rashi's self-imposed silence.87)Legally Rashi did make the allowance and so pressure of circumstance together with legal outlook allowed R.T. to write as he did and in a sense quite accurately. This is not historical but legal narration. The concept of historical narration, as we conceive it, hardly existed at the time, certainly not among halakhists. R. Shemaryah, as we shall soon see, acted after a similar fashion. To our mind this might seem a cloak for personal discomfiture. Perhaps it was, but it was a cloak worn naturally and with a sense of honor. R.T. then turned to the basis of French practice and presented the sugyah of hamshakhahas interpreted in France. Note, however, that he did not set forth his own doctrine of hamshakhahbut that of Rashi.88It may be that at this time his own interpretation had not yet crystallized or his writing here may be an instance of a skillful fusion of tact and legal accuracy. The Germans were mounting a frontal attack on the French practice, and an effective defense demanded a presentation of Rashi's doctrine. R.T.'s own position was, for practical purposes, but a fine point, a further insulation of the wine in the cuve from y.n. Why then complicate the defense, especially since he strove to present a French tradition over and against the injunctive one of the Germans. Having shown how his countrymen's practices were rooted in R. Huna's 86. Note incidentally the concluding remarks of R. Shemaryah (I. A. Agus, op. cit., p. 76). No halakhic discussion follows. This is simply the report of one German rabbi to another of R.T.'s activities as a poseq. In each of these decisions, R.T. was breaking either German tradition or that of his fathers (ir, T1,).See the vociferous German reaction to his ruling that hames was '03o't in Raban, sec. 10. 87. Tosafot, 55b s.v. ixK. 88. There is no mention of flow out of the press; Tpr rather is made the criterion.

CAN HALAKHIC TEXTS TALK HISTORY?

185

n5 ; ni dictum, R.T. wrote perplexedly to R. Shemaryah n,hr nannwIns ;nn 3;11'n 75.We may infer from this, as already noted, that R. Shemaryah first

challengedR.T. by claimingthat Frenchconductran counterto R. Huna's ruling. And this is of triple significance. First, the objection makes sense only on the assumption that hamshakhahmeans flow or liquidity-both of whichoccur in a closed cuve. Indeed our remarksat the outset of the essay that the Rhinelandcommunities interpretedhamshakhahthus (i.e., that the regnant injunctive customhad a theoreticalbasis)werelargelybasedon R. Shemaryah'squery. They werefoundedalso on the fact that in the Seferha-pardes(whichin the subjectof y.n. containsRhinelandratherthan Frenchtraditions)the dictum of R. Huna is cited without comment.89If hamshakhahbe merely"flow," then R. Huna's remarksare indeedself-evident,for that is simplywhat the is but a meansto an end andthat end wordmeans;if, however,hamshakhah is separation,this obviouslyrequiresarticulation.Eleventhcenturythought, in other words, is not self-contained,and anythingbut articulate.While an intensivestudy of the Pardes, Ma'ase ge'onimand the like is certainlya desideratum,it will rapidlyproveinadequate.In ourcase the existenceof an injunctivecustom is mentionednowherein the literatureof the period.Our knowledgecomes from a fragmentof an eleventhcenturywork (Riban) cited by a twelfth centuryscholar (Ri) whose writingssurfacedin the late thirteenth century (R. Hayyim 'Or Zaru'a). More significantly the theoreticalbasis for the practice,which served as a startingpoint for all halakhicdevelopments,can be educedonly from an assumptioncontained in a reconstructedquery sent by a scholar of the twelfth century taken togetherwith an earliercommentarialsilence.Yet reconstructthe eleventh centurywe must. For withouta knowledgeof pre-Crusadethoughtwe shall never fully grasp the activity of Rashi and his school, and much of significancethat transpiredin Germanyin its morefamouscenturieswill go undetected. Second,it is significantthat R. ShemaryahomittedtellingR. Joel of this first letter. The innate superiorityof the principleof separation as the dividingline betweenwine and grapejuice overthat of flow or liquiditywas apparentto all halakhists.Once promulgated,Rashi's doctrineswept the field entirelyand was adopted by all schools whetherof French,German, 89. Pardes (Constantinople, 1802), fol. 16a, s.v. I'np'5(sec. 259 in the Warsaw edition). See also Teshuvothakhmei $arefat ve-Lotir(Vienna, 1881), no. 9; TeshuvotRabbenuGershomMe'or Ha-Golah (New York, 1957), no. 22.

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HAYM SOLOVEITCHIK

And R. Shemaryahwas no exception. ProvenCalor Spanishprovenance.90 His objection,he realized,was groundlessand the old Rhine doctrinewas now of unprovenworth. But why publicizetradition'sproblematicnature? A responsumis a halakhiccommunique,not a diaryor historicalnarrative. The substantivepartsof the correspondencewerethe laterones andthesehe conveyed to R. Joel. The third point that may be inferredfrom R. Shemaryah'suse of R. Huna is that the commentariesof the Rashbam(or Riban) had not yet penetratedGermanyto any sizableextent.9'If they had, Germanscholars would have known full well the basis for the Frenchpractice.A generation later, in Rabyah'stime, these workswerecommon knowledge.Determination of the date (or period)of a doctrine'sdiffusionis prejudicialto all questions in the historyof halakhah.We tend to assumethe influenceof an idea to be coextensivewith its publication,but little could be fartherfrom the truth. Some fifty to seventyyears after their compositionneitherRiban's work nor that of the Rashbamhad penetratedsome 150 miles eastward. Rashi's work did reach Germany;Raban used it constantly. Since it is highlydoubtfulwhetherthe Germanscholarswould have firedoff a sharp letterto R.T. without firstcheckingRashi'scomments,one can furthersee how well Rashi had succeeded(by the elision of threewords)in camouflaging his revolutionarydoctrine.92 13) R.T. concluded his letter with these words: '"oKlntrr 'nrn o:n,5 :x * n55,5nnip1pl nm:iK nr,,. The French allowance had extended to Gentile 90. Rabyah, sec. 1069; Roqeah, sec. 492; Pisqei ha-Rosh, 4: 3; 'Or zaru'a, sec. 213-15; R. Jonathan of Lunel on Alfasi, ad loc. (found in the edition of the Talmud published by 'El haMeqorot and Pardes-Israel, Inc. [Jerusalem, 1963]); Beit ha-bebirah,ad loc. Both Nahmanides (Hiddushim, ed. C. B. Chavel, ad loc.) and R. Jonah Gerondi (Hiddushei talmidei Rabbenu Yonah[New York, 1957]) realized Rashi's accomplishment and added this accolade: nuv K'nIT nD'l Dl "'un. Anyone familiar with the writings of medieval halakhists nmYlDn 1r 1it' DrB'D b knows how rare compliments are. (Rabad too perceived the principle of separation [op. cit., p. 149, s.v. p"?, and Temim de'im, sec. 107], but could not explain as smoothly as Rashi did how this process inevitably occurred on the treading floor. And his successor, R. Jonathan, abandoned the Provencal explanation for that of Rashi.) 91. R. Joel apparently had sections of either Riban's or Rashbam's commentary which had penetrated Germany anonymously. See his closing remarks (MS Bodley Opp. 66, sec. 1050, , rYm Om K I5 nKlm Sefer Rabyah (above, n. 61), p. 20: i'lri Do",, .[!] i ,nnS?lnr pon D ,nKYDl n , n,n, 115,w nm ~ *,n rnmlAnIDn a,x'nvn D= oxKI.The term "gaon," as is well ,i, r,Yx131 1", known, was used in thirteenth and fourteenth century Germany for distinguished predecessors, especially of the period before the rise of the Tosafists. But outside of this fragmentary reference there is no evidence of penetration. From Raban's remarks in his work ad loc., it is equally clear that he does not know of any doctrine of separation. 92. Similarly, Raban never elicited this doctrine from Rashi's words (see previous note).

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CAN HALAKHIC TEXTS TALK HISTORY?

touch only; it had never, countenanced tub treading. And Ri tells us that R.T. proceeded to act upon his words:93 1ofrlV Xb DK Dn'1r lVXK1,D'lt

tin5 n'nixa

nrn3

A' p 1 D'*l V'5pbp

xiiw ft T-,po 1n

n 5 5ypo

T orDwmnrrinwT

irnr

^iw xb n^nn linn Dnixi

lx .3nllxa n,n3 burvwin n ,xvor iD' 5D3oD'wtrn3n -nt p n*ayaoo Dnir ...

KXltv' i T1 ,a T'1

[Ipj' '1] ODYi .-TO nlwy7 xbw

lr Dnx 'nl,3

3 DA3

1 94, ID,'1

wDi n 1- iTr

Legally, as Ri himself noted, the merchants of Metz were correct (nrrwv nYrv Kxn i5nn lnr miK). If wine in the cuve was not subject to y.n., why not have Gentile treading? Indeed when the doctrines of Rashi and R.T. were studied in Spain, scholars there considered this the obvious inference.95 Nevertheless the French community declined this allowance, despite the enormous conveniences that it offered! Within less than one month wine had to be made for twelve, and we must remember the quantities consumed in the Middle Ages. The use of Gentile labor, not to speak of the possibility of ordering outright trodden cuves, would have lightened the load considerably. Yet throughout the twelfth century, while Jews were being forced out of landholding and wine production was becoming for them ever more difficult, they stubbornly declined to avail themselves of the permissible. This refusal on the part of the people to maximize their al93. Teshuvot Maharah 'Or Zaru'a, no. 174, fol. 59b. 94. In light of Ri's explicit statement here and elsewhere (ibid., fol. 59c bottom), one should discount the report of R. Judah of Paris in his Tosafot (ad loc.) that R.T. forbade treading because of the mishnah 'aharonah.This was Ri's conjecture as to a possible legal basis for R.T.'s ban. Law, however, dislikes visceral reactions and soon Ri's thoughts were viewed as the reason motivating R.T.'s stand. In some schools though memory of the non-halakhic nature of R.T.'s stand lingered on even after its transformation, and we read in the Semaq Zurich (e.g., MSS British Library Add. 18,684; Parma 172; 583), ad loc.: nmt ' -noxK'? n"i ynrl1 1 ,iK 'p Tjrnpm MbT '73-;1 ywo net .xron rinvn nx K on 'zs nTu ,n3'lnN 5QxD-i n8 xN-i -r?px5x xSp n?m "'s-pnnn 1RK3.

95. R. Nissim of Gerona wrote: ',nnr'm ' Kxl;n 3n' i1* r'p, 5"T " m'in1Xni3,nlml T,'ii,nxp m3 ;llrtvy ;l nrim m %;m5*y ;rinnnn .mx i1u5-tVpn,snnr;vrnxmn-p tpn5 ;rntn n5D mD15 ;oon ',NT 5 npjip mn3D"liyn n (Alfasi, ad loc.). Nahmanides (Hiddushim, ed. Chavel, ad loc.) followed by R. Aaron Ha-Levi (Perush ha-Rah in Shitat qadmonim'al 'Avodah Zarah, ed. M. Y. Blau, [New York, 1959], p. 135) do indeed forbid treading on the basis of the mishnah 'aharonah. However, their views were not accepted by their own disciples. See Torat ha-bayit 5: 2; Hiddushei ha-Rashba 'al 'Avodah Zarah and Hiddushei ha-Ritba, ad loc. It must also be remembered that even Nahmanides' doctrine (and that of Rah) is premised on the assumption that hamshakhahcan take place on the treading floor. This being so, a precautionary ordinance against Gentile treading makes sense. R.T.'s doctrine, however, ruled out such a possibility and R. Isaac subscribed to it (see above, n. 62). on ,-D3n D;1I rnr* Dont1

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lowances, their desire to uphold at heavy cost even that which could be discarded, must be taken into account when time comes to evaluate the posture of the Tosafists toward communal needs. The idea of Gentiles treading Jewish wine awakened revulsion in the Ashkenazic psyche and the anger of R.T. and the language of Ri ('in 1 'Mnr," m:ml nmo96) only reflected a general repugnance. The roots of this sentiment are difficult to uncover97(it clearly antedates all literary remains of the community), but one suspects that this aversion played its part in Rashi's stubborn efforts to sustain, or at least understand, minhag 'avot. It was not simply a question of ancient custom. Rashi like any other halakhist took issue, at times, with established practice. But here he realized that his interpretation of hamshakhah allowed Gentile tub treading, and he asked himself in amazement whether it was possible that the religious sensibilities of the entire Ashkenazic community had gone astray. Could so deeply felt an injunction be a figment of the imagination, and had the toll in drudgery and antisemitism all been paid in vain? It was, one suspects, questions like these and the conflicting pull of intellectual certainty that led Rashi into ambiguity. 14) R.T.'s letter, presenting the French position, had its impact. The 96. This phrase should be taken quite literally.There may be an allusion to 'l",nn 1Tpnin for -n: 1 the full sentence reads: rrn,n 1iK1lw'v' D,'V ': ,5N'n' 5' 1"na'1an'P Or nl: nll n131b ... D'D11-m Dn ' 1n '5 mi..... These are but rationalizations and 3i''r np11r' nn D1np, K' 1pinirlK poor ones at that. For if there is a fear of hamshakhahor of 1y'n,rn, Gentile touch should then be forbidden equally, and Ri explicitly permits it. (Indeed treading possibly creates a less serious danger of y.n. than touch, for plm rtr ' KO'7r Tr03['Avodah Zarah 56b].) 97. It is possible that the repugnance was heightened by the fact that Gentiles trod barefoot (Friedrich von Bassermann-Jordan, Geschichtedes WeinbausunterbesondererBerucksichtigung der Bayerischen Rheinpfalz [Frankfurt, 1907], 1: 254-56; Moriz Heyne, Funf Bucher deutscher Hausaltertilmer von den altesten geschichtlichen Zeiten bis zum 16 Jahrhundert [Leipzig, 1899-1903], 2: 259-60) while the Jews, as Innocent III already noted, wrapped sheets around their feet (Grayzel, above, n. 69). It would further appear (Bassermann-Jordan, op. cit.) that in the Rhine country even Gentiles did not tread barefoot, but rather beat the grapes with sticks; this might explain the utter shock of German scholars at the French practice. (Note R.T.'s concluding remarks to R. Shemaryah, text, sec. 12.) I would add that the Ashkenazic reaction to tub treading shares little in common with that which R. Abraham b. David of Posquieres registered in Temimde'im, sec. 83. In the case under discussion there, the upshot of a certain doctrine would be to destroy a good deal of the raison d'etre of y.n. That is to say, the logical conclusions of a theory are so startling that they cast overwhelming doubts as to the validity of its premise- a common enough mode of reasoning. In Gentile treading, however, no accepted principle of y.n. is endangered, and no premise in turn challenged. The repugnance is self-contained and logically indefensible. I can see no other basis for it other than a religious (and possibly an aesthetic) one.

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parting words of R. Shemaryah to his colleague were m y:i 5pnKxD"9YKl.98 in D"i; rather he advises maintaining the ox Note that he did not write 1iK old injunctive practice. Rashi's doctrine of separation had an innate persuasiveness which R. Shemaryah fully realized, and in fact tacitly admitted by his silence regarding his first critical letter to R.T. But the difficulty in accepting an allowance running counter to habit and upbringing, and the instincts of a poseq, which insist that time must elapse before even the most plausible new idea proves itself, led R. Shemaryah to counsel holding fast to the traditional ruling. 15) Time passes, and a generation arises that comes into early contact with the theory of separation. It comes as no surprise if, in the works of Rabyah and even in that of R. Eleazar of Worms (who represents a far more conservative school), we find Rashi's doctrine accepted without demur.99 16) And then we read in the Taqqanot Shum (signed by both the above r m l rr3,K1 I100 The acceptance of the principle of separation writers) 1T,;1nT5 left the ancient prohibition without a leg to stand on, and German merchants in and about 1220 began to draw the same conclusions as had those of Metz some half-century earlier. Lacking any figure of the awesome proportions of R.T., Rhineland scholars fell back on communal ban to shore up faltering custom. Was it successful? We do not know. R.T.'s threat was effective for some time, though by the latter half of the thirteenth century it had spent its force.'0' It would be an ironic ending to our story if Gentile treading succeeded in establishing itself in Germany before it made headway in France. 17) But tub treading, it will be remembered, was not the only thing R. 98. See above, sec. 11. 99. Rabyah, sec. 1069; Roqeah (Fano, 1505), sec. 492. 100. Louis Finkelstein, Jewish Self-Governmentin the Middle Ages, reprint ed. (New York, 1964), p. 225. 101. R. Isaac of Corbeil makes no mention of R.T.'s ban or of any injunction against treading in his influential Semaq ([Constantinople, 1509?], sec. 225, in later editions sec. 223). His contemporary R. Perez reports: a -"' -"y p'r-nla,m1 r,ns1,l ns.x1i ,r10KX?K 'n-Q o"?t1 (Teshuvot Ri Qolon [Venice, 1519], no. 32). As R. Perez, to the best of my knowledge, never referred to Provence in his Tosafot, we might suspect that the closing remark is a later gloss. This report of French practices, however, is corroborated by R. Aaron of Lunel, who wrote disapprovingly in his 'Orhot bayyim (Berlin, 1902), 2: 248: amnl ,D'niamrY' nrra '-pn'pa, 1 nsi:t K1n ni; ([a] The printed text of the Semaq, with the absence of any mention of R.T., is corroborated by all manuscripts of the work that I checked. [b] On the Provencal practice, see Beit ha-behirah,p. 206, top; She'elot u-teshuvotmin ha-shamayim,ed. Reuben Margulies [Jerusalem, 1917], p. 30. It is possible, however, that Me'iri's statement refers to northern France.).

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Shemaryahhad objectedto. The Frenchalso left cuvesunsupervisedin Gentile houses,and that exposedthem, R. Shemaryahcontended,to the danger of Gentilesmixinggenuiney.n. in the vat. R.T., as far as we know,brushed this aside.'02Then R. Shemaryahcame acrossthe passagein the Yerushalmi whichprohibitedwine (even if still mixedwiththe pulp)that had beenleft, unsupervised,with non-Jewsand dispatchedthis objectionto R.T. At the time of his communiqueto R. Joel, R. Shemaryahhad no replyfromR.T. But it would seem that an answerwas finally forthcoming,and that in it R.T. admittedthat his critic was in the right. And this is the evidence for our last statement:After reproducingthe of hamshakhah, the critiqueleveledby RabyahagainstR.T.'s understanding authorof the Sefer 'Amarkal(a pupil of R. Asher)concludeswith the fol* I1K lowing statement:'03

*r 11 1 'nn1 ; ,'TlnrnnI'mv"'i'm "' n"

n KX3m mnlwn"1

nrw;n.If this reportis takenat face value we mustpostulatethreemoreletters. First, after he had taken care not to present his own doctrine of hamshakhah,R.T. changed his mind for some reason and informedR. Shemaryahof his position.'04R. Shemaryahthen anticipatedRabyah's proofs from the Tosefta and wrote of them to R.T. and finally received anotherletter from R.T. admittingthe cogency of the objections.The old warningagainstmultiplyingentitiesbeyondnecessitycomesimmediatelyto mind. The entirediscussion,moreover,was irrelevantto the issue at hand. The Frenchpracticecould do quite well on the basis of Rashi's doctrine alone. Aptowitzerhas alreadynoted that 'Amarkalis not to be reliedon,'05 so we need never infer such heavy communicationbetween Spires and Rameru.Inaccuratethe authorof 'Amarkalmay be, but he is not a liar. He 102. In the century-long discussion by the French Tosafists of the Yerushalmi (see below, n. 117) no mention is made of the fear of admixture (with the exception of Tosefot R. Yehudah mi-Paris, under the special circumstances that y.n. is adjacent and would ordinarily be added). Their entire discussion revolves around the fear of hamshakhah.R.T.'s rejection was probably based on the fact that the Mishnah ruled that n;umin, npL7.If R. Judah Ha-Nasi feared not an admixture, it would be gratuitous on the part of others to fear it. See also 'Avodah Zarah 12a and the discussion in the 'Or zaru'a, ad loc. The German school, i.e., Roqeah (sec. 492) and Rabyah (sec. 1069) interpreted the fear of the Yerushalmi as being one of admixture. In other words, the instinctive apprehensions to which R. Shemaryah gave voice in the first letter became the interpretational basis of the second. 103. Op. cit. (above, n. 61), p. 13. 104. Or if R.T. only later arrived at his doctrine of hamshakhah(see text, sec. 12, middle), then we must assume that he hastened to inform R. Shemaryah that France was moving yet one more step toward leniency. 105. Victor Aptowitzer, Mavo le-sefer Rabyah (Jerusalem, 1938), p. 152.

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had heard some report of a retraction by R.T. in matters of hamshakhahand naturally assumed it to be a retreat by that scholar from his own doctrine. On this basis alone, I would hesitate to state that R.T. actually conceded, but there is a difficult passage in the Mordekhai which now claims our attention. After citing R.T.'s letter to R. Shemaryah defending the French position (above, sec. 12), R. Mordecai wrote'06 1 nr,man nr, n"1 oV,'nxtK ',1i nma.If the juxtaposition be taken seriously the note could mean one of two things, both equally difficult. The new equation of gigit and gat may be m, tv, which referring to the opening remarks of R.T., n,r,n 1",, na nnmn mean that R.T. his would own but also subsequently abandoned not only Rashi's analysis of hamshakhah, even though no cogent criticism had been leveled against the latter. Or it may be referring to his closing remarks (as found in the printed text) about basket carrying and the beating of grapes , m 'n with sticks: T1t K,1;11 q'1;1 DP ',sprD 1XnK r' n5'?xnrK : T'l,rn1 13Knrnm 5pnn DQ'3Y;1n *iv1 15"K iK. The trouble with this reading is that in R.T.'s time grapes were never brought to a press but to the cuve,107 and so there was nothing to be stringent about. In the 'Or Zaru'a the passage runs thus: rnnm ": ,'n,nn 13Kx.Its correctness is evident: this is a reply to the charge mennv nDw 7n 5y. And indeed most tioned by R.T. in his opening: ,5,Pt 13KUi manuscripts of the Mordekhai itself contain the 'Or Zaru'a's reading.'08 106. Sec. 845, thus in MSS British Library Add. 19,972, Vienna Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek 73. The printed text reads K ':nn "r"nmml. See below. 107. All Hebrew and Gentile sources attest to this. See text, sec. 2; Bassermann-Jordan,op. cit., pp. 250ff.; Roger Billard, La vigne dans l'antiquite (Lyons, 1913), pp. 439-42. The average person could hardly afford to build a winepress, even if he lived in an area where the right of press was not one of the lord's banalites. I have been unable to find one manuscript illumination or frieze from the Middle Ages showing contemporarytreading in any other place than in a cuve. (I say contemporary treading, for an illustration of a biblical verse where a winepress is mentioned would, not surprisingly, portray a winepress.) See J. C. Webster, The Labors of the Months in Antique and Medieval Art till the end of the Twelfth Century(Evanston and Chicago, 1938) and the literature there cited; J. Senecal, "Les occupations des mois dans l'iconographie du Moyen Age," Bulletin de la Societe des antiquairesde Normandie 25 (1924): 33-90. (The illustrations given on pp. 38-40 are symbolic and not descriptive.) All the manuscript illuminations referred to by O. Hassel in his unpublished Subject Index of Illuminationsin the Bodleian Library under the headings "pressing" and "treading" were personally checked and no press was found. I would like to thank Mr. Hassel and his staff for the unfailing courtesy that they extended to me. 108. MSS Hungarian National Museum at Budapest 2' 1; Sassoon 534; Cambridge Add. 490.1 (see gloss); British Library Add. 19, 972; Vienna Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek 72; 73; Hechal Shelomoh, Jerusalem, 4; 5. The only manuscripts known to me to contain the reading gat are that of Hechal Shelomoh 3 and apparently some copy of the 'Or zaru'a used by

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HAYM SOLOVEITCHIK

Even granting the printed text of the Mordekhai, no objection was ever raised against stick beating or against a Gentile's carrying grapes. Why R.T. should have had a change of heart on the matter is incomprehensible. There is, furthermore, a puzzling lack of uniformity in R. Mordecai's note. The printed text reads xKm-'Inn "nin,ll. Some manuscripts have it in the first person, 'nKm '3K1;others bring it simply as a K"'l and some omit it altogether. 09 The section immediately following in the Mordekhai reads thus: 1p"'o ' v D"5?Y7n 1Oom.132?1r'r'Y r" XKwKim nn n'13n *"3nn. .nuliy -r'iun 1y ni 1rnpTi v '"1 V'?u;l'vnpsn"K . R. m1lolon1'n Tx nK"X nK"'51 nrnl Iwtn t'K"V nK?oD1nf1z DRnK ix Mordecai, we know, did not live to complete his work. His students, upon his martyrdom, rounded it out from his notes."0 R. Mordecai, I suggest, came across a report of R.T.'s retraction and made a note of it"' alongside of his following discussion of the Yerushalmi for future reference and expansions which, tragically, never came. And copyists acted as copyists do with ', glosses. Some omitted it altogether, others quoted it cautiously as a a'VIDK and some simply incorporated it into the text. It was the students and copyists, unaware of the meaning of the cryptic note, who appended it, quite naturally, to the preceding letter of R.T. (in which gat and gigit are manifestly contrasted and R.T. explicitly mentioned) rather than to the fragmentary discussion of ,y nn5y; for which it was originally intended. What the words na r: n ra,' l,rnn vwv meant was that R.T. anticipated (and not for the first time)"2 later attempts by the Tosafists to distinguish between gat and gigit and thus neutralize the Yerushalmi."3 He rejected them and said that the Yerushalmi's ruling applied equally to the contemporary cuve. It was this that he communicated to R. Shemaryah, and it was the printers of the 1598 Cracow edition of the Mordekhai. (Our printed 'Or zaru'a is an accurate transcription of MS British Library Or. 2860, fol. 62vb.) 109. MSS Hungarian National Museum at Budapest 2° 1; Vienna Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek 73; British Library Add. 19,972; Hechal Shelomoh 5 have it in the first person, the citations from the Mordekhai in the commentary ranged around the Blondheim Alfasi (above, n. 21) have x"'n, while the passage is missing entirely in MSS Sassoon 534, Cambridge Add. 490.1, Hechal Shelomoh 4. 110. Sinai 12 (1943): 103-4. 111. In MS Hechal Shelomoh 5 it actually appears as a gloss in the margin, though this could have arisen simply from a scribe who having skipped it in his initial transcription then proceeded to add it to the margin. 112. A close study of the Sefer ha-yashar will show just how much of subsequent tosafist thinking R.T. anticipated. The printed Tosafot do not reflect the protean nature of R.T.'s thought. 113. Below, n. 117.

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echoes of this concession that were picked up by the author of the 'Amarkal some hundred and fifty years later. R.T.'s conduct here may perhaps serve as a useful reminder of the measure of inner conviction that a thinker demands before he sets forth a doctrine which, to our eyes, appears (and may in a sense ultimately be) a justification of the status quo. If the reports of the Tosafists are accurate,"14 R.T. would interpret hamshakhah as pouring, but he would not distinguish between a winepress and a cuve. To our minds the reverse might seem more reasonable. Hamshakhah as pouring ran contrary to the basic use of mishnaic Hebrew, a distinction between gat and gigit ran contrary to nothing. It was always a legal possibility. But to R.T. things appeared differently, and the fact that the equation of cuvewith the press condemned French practices could not move him to assent to a doctrine of which he was not convinced. 18) But if he could not subscribe to the vindication of contemporary practice, neither would he proclaim its guilt. It will be noted that French sources knew nothing of his retraction and even Germany had but the barest notion of it. R.T., I suspect, delayed his reply until the tumult subsided and then, out of intellectual honesty, sent a quiet note to R. Shemaryah"5 conceding the point but made no mention of the matter to his pupils. Ever the realist, he knew that the authority of a Yerushalmi could not roll back long entrenched forms of Jewish wine production, and he saw no need to proclaim to his people, struggling at high cost to uphold y.n., the problematic nature of their conduct. 19) But the Yerushalmi passage was discovered independently in France. The aged R. Joseph Porath came across it and showed it to Ri."6 The emergence of the text simultaneously in both countries indicates that its surfacing was more than coincidental. It was a hallmark of the broadening of the halakhic horizons of the twelfth century, which confronted the previously insulated Ashkenazic community with a wealth of new material, the contents of which did not always concur with common practice. And upon the

114. See text, sec. 8, middle. 115. If someone insists that R.T. was no longer alive at the time of the correspondence (see above, n. 84), he may either discount our reconstruction or assume that R.T. quietly notified someone, but not R. Shemaryah, of his retraction, and reports of this note were picked up by late thirteenth century editors. (I suspect that the word 'omn, above, n. 106, should be read nlmna, i.e., in a gloss, and should not be understood as a reference to any of the famed novellae of the French academies. No one in France, to the best of my knowledge, was aware of R.T.'s retraction.) 116. Teshuvot Maharah 'Or Zaru'a, no. 174, fol. 59c.

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HAYM SOLOVEITCHIK

successors of R.T. fell the task of explanation. While uniformly recommending taking precautionary measures, all the Tosafists nevertheless did their utmost to defend established practice."17This phenomenon of vindication repeats itself again and again in their discussion of y.n. and of other contemporary problems. A proper understanding of it is essential to any evaluation of the mentality of the Tosafists and of the relationship of their thought to the world around them. But it is too large a topic to be treated here. 20) The Yerushalmi posed problems in France, but it only bolstered tradition in Germany. Thanks to it and to the strong stand taken by the rabbinic authorities, Germany continued to abstain from leaving vats unsupervised with Gentiles well into the early years of the thirteenth century. Or so it would seem from Rabyah. He wrote:"8 XV 1npy nxK ,;K'5^ lpXip

nplTnP* xn "'11 7n1=3y T71O vyna l'ry nx Xir' [rnvii] (n3=3z)i*15 i'71XSnnn ,

' KD5; KV Kximn pI

T" 'OyU '5n113T 1 Dt53ftDK5:X 13na

W" "MnM Tn p mUiy nl'rl Tnpl5 n srxrlK 42»a KWylns 103T"nlynL rvin tp X n ' 1K nPn 1poFT '? n n tXn? ,XrnnTn 1 V 1 ,ntKflVXl KX51 n?nVn ''l7 T'' T"nsy KX'xK nmn n5nm KX51 .m03 KXK [!] a1n,nn1v1 .m,"!,: t', ,linip D'b',,Il,nn n tpNxyix .n:5n w [nn»nKx](nnmlX:) "'3 "'K

The implication is that this is a French and not a German practice. Note too the shift in argument that has occurred. The ancient ban knew nothing of ), but the Yerushalmi (remember R. Shemaryah's words ,wv'1n: 'nxra:v ' not included only unsupervised was rooted in R. Huna's dictum and storage, but Gentile touch and tub treading as well. Yet within one generation (from R. Shemaryah's note to R. Joel to the work of the latter's son, Rabyah) the old injunction was transformed, and the Rhineland interpretation of hamshakhah simply evaporated. Only somewhat less remarkable than the retentive capacity of a traditional society is its ability to forget at times what it must. It then innocently pours new content into old forms and renews their mandate. 21) Rabyah's pupil, R. Isaac 'Or Zaru'a, treats at length the problem of hamshakhah, and that discussion, like Gaul, may be divided into three parts.'19 He opens with a full citation of Rashbam's commentary on 117. Ibid., no. 174, fol. 59c-d.; Tosefot R. Yehudahmi-Paris (op. cit.), pp. 264-66, 294-96; Sefer ha-terumah, sec. 169; Semag, injunction 148; Semaq, sec. 225 (223); Tosafot, ad loc.; "'Amarkal," (op. cit.), pp. 13-14; Pisqei ha-Rosh, 4: 3. 118. Sec. 1069. 119. Secs. 213-15.

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'Avodah Zarah (cited above, sec. 6), then quotes in extenso the critique that Rabyah directed against R.T.'s doctrine of hamshakhahand concludes with the latter's reply to R. Shemaryah defending French practices. There is nothing new in what he says, but of great significance is his silence. No mention is made of the Yerushalmi. Indeed he copies the text of Rabyah up to the passage cited above-and then stops. There is no reference to the injunctive tradition of Germany or to the problematic French custom. This pattern repeats itself many times over in the 'Or zaru'a. Rabyah and R. Eleazar of Worms (Roqeah) represent a German tradition. R. Isaac 'Or Zaru'a belongs as much to France as to Germany. There is a great deal of Germanic material in that work, but it is not a work of Germanic tradition. From the days of R.T. and Ri French influences press hard on the Rhineland culture and in the second quarter of the thirteenth century succeed in overwhelming it. R. Meir of Rothenburg is intellectually no more German than French and the same holds true for R. Mordecai. As for R. Asher (Rosh), who would know of the achievements of Raban and Rabyah if he took his instruction from the Pisqei ha-Rosh?There is far more of Spain and Provence in that work than there is of his homeland. Germany as a distinct halakhic culture ceases to exist somewhere after the year 1230,120 and the disappearance of the old injunctive tradition from the pages of the 'Or zaru'a is just an example of this general dissolution. If R. Isaac 'Or Zaru'a, R. Meir of Rothenburg and their successors one and all did not think the ancient ban worthy of mention,'2 it is difficult to see how the ordinary businessman could feel himself much bound by it. We have every reason to assume that now, like his French compatriots, he too left his cuves unsupervised. France and Germany melded into one halakhic community and as the awesome figure of R.T. receded into memory and the emotional bias against

120. Intellectually that is. Distinctive practices and customs continue for quite a while. 121. R. Meir of Rothenburg, the Tashbe5and the Haggahot Maimoniyyot make no mention of the matter altogether, while R. Asher (ad loc.) adopts the French position. R. Mordecai cites Rabyah's fears of admixture alongside the French allowance and makes no mention of the ancient injunctive custom. (The first sign of the weakening may be found in Roqeah, sec. 492, if our printed text is correct. It is corroborated by the one extant manuscript of the Roqeah, MS Bibliotheque Nationale 363, fol. 188r. One would much prefer better support, since this is a late fifteenth century copy and closely related to the manuscript from which the Roqeah was published. Personally, I suspect that a gloss has crept into the text. I should add that if the text is authentic, our case is not typical. The Roqeah generally is a very conservative work and free of substantive French influences. See Haym Soloveitchik, "Three Themes in the SeJer Hasidim," AJSreview 1 [1976]: 348-49.)

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treadingwaned,'22the peoplebeganto reapthe richfruitsof R. JacobTam's laborsand those of his grandfather.The curtainfalls on Ashkenazaround the year 1300 with Gentiles treadingand Gentiles touching and Gentiles handlingthe entire first phase of Jewishwine production. *

*

*

In the still of the fourteenthcenturyafterall the Titanshad departed,a last protesting murmurwas heard-almost as an epilogue-in the now empty halls of the Tosafists. The editor of a much copied compendium ranged around the Alfasi123could not refrain from interruptinghis Kn xmrr' transcriptionof Rashi on our sugyahwith this resignednote: r,m viv

nnwnn Uy 7nwm trni

p[n 7nrr trmy nixfn nrln 'npi7M2w.124

In the Bodleymanuscript'25 of this work the scribehas omittedthe last word. Intentionally?

122. See above, n. 101. 123. The Blondheim Alfasi referred to above, n. 21. 124. Popular practice relied, apparently, upon the language of flat allowance found in the Mishnah. See above, n. 102. 125. MS Bodley Mich. 613, fol. 64r. NOTE:Due to relocation, I was unable to collate the manuscript given to this journal and the galleys printed therefrom with my original manuscript. I would like to register the following corrections in my article "Three Themes in Sefer Hasidim, "AJSreview 1 (1976): 316, 11. 4-6 reads: 322, 1. 24 346, 1. 3 347, 1. 14 347, n. 117, 1. 2 348, bottom line 347, n. 118 (P. 348, 1. 11) P. 351, 11. 20-2 2 P. 354, 1. 14 P. P. P. P. P. P. P.

The world . . . Himself. extrapolated facilities remarks that is still (1954) indeed, it could Yoreh De'ah 1'51:16 not through ... authority Talmud was

should read: "The world ... extracted faculties remarks still (954) indeed could

Himself."

Yoreh De'ah 251:16 "not through . .. authority" Talmud were

The Metamorphosis of a Hasidic Legend in Agnon's "'Al 'even 'aḥat" Author(s): Aryeh Wineman Source: AJS Review, Vol. 3 (1978), pp. 197-201 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486425 . Accessed: 26/06/2011 20:20 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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THE METAMORPHOSIS OF A HASIDIC LEGEND IN AGNON'S "'AL 'EVEN 'AHAT" by ARYEH WINEMAN Amherst, New York

The use of tales and fragments of tales concerning the Baal Shem Tov is not infrequent in the works of Shmuel Yosef Agnon; in fact, an entire collection of such stories is included in his volume, Ha-'esh ve-ha-'esim.'The story which will concern us in this study, however, is " 'Al 'even 'ahat"2("On One Rock") which first appeared in 1934. The story is of interest because it relates to a legend from Shivhei ha-Besht (The Praises of the Besht),3 the very first collection of tales about the Baal Shem Tov to be published, even 1. "Sippurim na'im shel Rabbi Yisra'el Besht," Kol sippuravshel Shemu'el Yosef'Agnon, vol. 8, Ha-'esh ve-ha-'eSim(Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, 1962), pp. 91-107. The collection appeared previously in Molad 18 (1960): 357-64. 2. Kol sippurav,vol. 2, 'Elu ve-'elu, pp. 302-4. First appeared in Ha-hed9 (1933-34), no. 10, p. 23. 3. Sefer Shivhei ha-Besht, ed. Sh. A. Horodetsky (Tel Aviv, 1947). The work which first appeared in 1815 has been translated and edited by Dan Ben-Amos and Jerome R. Mintz, In Praise of the Baal Shem Tov. The Earliest Collections of Legends about the Founderof Hasidism (Bloomington, 1970).

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198

ARYEH WINEMAN

though the figure of the Besht himself does not appear in the story by Agnon. Shivhei ha-Besht mentions Rabbi Adam as the person who had found manuscripts in a cave and who designated, on the basis of a dream-question, that these writings be given over to Israel ben Eliezer from Okopy. Upon the death of Rabbi Adam, his son faithfully moved to the town of Okopy in order to find the person designated and worthy of acquiring these mystic writings. In this way the manuscripts came to the hands of the Baal Shem Tov who later sealed those writings in a stone which then closed, and he placed a watchman to guard the site of the hidden writings.4 In "'Al 'even 'abat," Agnon did not retell this tradition concerning Rabbi Adam and the documents hidden in a stone; rather, he composed a story which relates to that tradition in a way which very subtly invites comparison with the hasidic source itself. "'Al 'even 'ahat" is a story told in the first person by one who was writing about Rabbi Adam and who envisions the secret writings in their entirety. Those writings, however, are forever hidden in order that they will not reach a person unworthy of receiving them, as such a person might then bring the entire world to a state of chaos. According to Agnon's story, it is not the Baal Shem Tov but rather Rabbi Adam himself who placed the writings in a closed stone to be permanently hidden from mankind. The absence of a Besht-figure from the story tends to suggest that there is no one worthy of receiving these teachings, and in this sense Agnon has given his reworking of the hasidic legend a pessimistic ambience. As the thematics of the story emerge from the inner parallels, relationships and antitheses within his story, it becomes clear that Agnon has molded his source in a way which suggests a very different kind of theme from that found in Shivhei ha-Besht. The writer at work on his project concerning Rabbi Adam is described as sagur u-mesuggar (closed) (p. 302) emphasizing the quality he shares with the stone which contains the documents. He is also parush min ha-'olam (separated or withdrawn from the world) (p. 303) and in seeking to pursue his writing and research on Rabbi Adam without danger of disturbances, he leaves the town for the woods where he is able to devote himself completely to his writing. In envisioning the hidden documents down to the last letter, he is still able only to look at the writings but not actually read them since they do not belong to the root of his soul (p. 303). The sense of distance and detachment of the writer4. Horodetsky, pp. 42, 51.

A HASIDIC LEGEND IN AGNON

199

figure from the secret writings is expressed also by way of analogy, "and my eyes encompass them as metal which encompasses precious stones while the precious stones do not mix with it" (p. 303). The narrator then goes on to outline both his limitations and his attainments: "But if I have not had the merit of reading them, I have had the merit of telling of their contents. If we have come to the world to place in order that which previous generations have left for us, I am able to say that in several respects I have been successful in giving orders to things" (p. 303). The narrator has defined the task of the historical scholar and the Wissenschaft which he embodies at this point of the story along with a sense of the limitations of historical scholarship which grow out of the scholar's detached relationship to his subject. There is a certain similarity between this story and those of Sefer hama'asim5 which Agnon began to write in the early 1930s: both utilize the first-person narrator-figure together with a task or quest, the fulfillment of which is foiled by interruptions and indecision. The narrator, who should have been able to complete his writings, is disturbed in his endeavor when he saw an old man lost in the forest and took it upon himself to lead the man back to town. In doing so, the narrator broke out from his state of being closed and withdrawn from the world, but he also forsook his writing project and actually left his papers and writing instruments lying upon the rock, easy prey to wind and beast alike. The momentary abandon of his task in itself did not prove harmful for he later returned to the forest to find his work lying on the stone, quite miraculously, just as he had left it. The familiar pattern of the interruption which prevents the execution of a task or quest, so familiar from Sefer hama'asim, is avoided, but only for the moment. Just as the narrator later senses regret that he left to lead the old man to town while he could have brought his work to completion, the rock opens and closes, forever concealing his manuscript. It seems that the narrator-scholar is not the type worthy of acquiring the knowledge of Rabbi Adam's secret documents. While the narrator has reiterated all along that it is impossible to locate the stone in which the documents are hidden, the reader grasps that it is in fact the very stone in the forest upon which the narratorwas writing, for this stone has now opened to absorb the papers of the narrator and has then closed again. The moment of apparent failure, however, becomes a turning point in 5. Kol sippurav, vol. 6, Samukh ve-nir'eh.

200

ARYEH WINEMAN

the story and brings it to a positive end; the narrator acquires insight which overshadows the permanent loss of the knowledge he had sought concerning the documents of Rabbi Adam. Having no more reason to remain in the woods, he returns to the town, a move which suggests a return from withdrawal to concern. With the darkness of evening, every stone along the way appears illumined and, moreover, discloses itself to him: "And every single rock which came up before me on the way would glow, and every ridge and crease and vein in them stood revealed before me. I encompassed the rocks with my eyes as the sand of the earth which encompasses the rock, and in which the rock is firmly fixed" (p. 304). The new analogy contrasts with the former figure of the metal which serves as a frame for jewels while detached from the jewels themselves; the sand, unlike the metal frame, touches the rock. The detachment of the scholar is abandoned and the metamorphosis of a hasidic legend becomes in this case a metamorphosis of the scholar. Instead of deciphering a secret of the past and a hidden body of mystic teaching, he has found a world full of mystery: "What does it matter to me whether it be that rock which absorbed the writings or these stones" (p. 304). Upon first reading the story, we noted that the tradition from ShivheihaBesht is reflected, but with the conspicuous absence of the Baal Shem Tov himself. Now, following the insight acquired by the narrator who abandoned his scholarly pursuit, he himself mirrors something of the Baal Shem Tov. The experience of every stone giving off light suggests the principle of the Besht that leit 'atar panui minneh (there is no place empty of Him); the mystery and sense of God's presence pervades all. The transformation of the narrator-figure has to it still another dimension. The title of the story mirrors a rabbinic comment on the biblical account of the setting of Jacob's dream, a comment which explains the use of the words 'avneiha-maqom(rocks of the place) in Genesis 28: 1, while later in the same episode the singular word 'even(rock) appears in Genesis 28:18. Of this apparent inconsistency, rabbinic aggadah created a tradition that while Jacob gathered together twelve rocks from the altar upon which his father Isaac had been bound, the rocks merged to become one rock as a sign that the twelve tribes of Israel which will emerge from Jacob will similarly form one people.6 While in the rabbinic sources the many rocks join

6. Hullin 91b; Pirqei de-Rabbi 'Eli'ezer 35; Yalqut Shime'oni 1:119.

A HASIDIC LEGEND IN AGNON

201

together to become one rock, in "'Al 'even 'ahat" the one, unique rock gives way to a multitude of rocks as each rock along the way now appears to the narrator as something "beloved and pleasant" (p. 304.). The reversal of direction from that of the aggadic source and the abandon of the quest of the one particular rock in favor of the beauty and disclosure of every rock along the way suggest in turn the differentiation which Aristotle defined between the concerns of the historian and the poet.7 The narrator, prior to the turning point, is the historian whose concern is in the detail that has happened, the individual event, the singular occurrence. Following his transformation he is the artist whose concern is with the universal which can repeat itself in time and which was, for Aristotle, more philosophical and more significant than history. In this moment of insight following the frustration of his research, the narrator-figure is transformed from a detached scholar to a Besht-like figure; he is also transformed from an historian to an artist.

7. Aristotle Poetics 9.

‫( תמונת מחוג שוחרי העברית בברלין‬1914-1900) Author(s): ‫שלמה נש‬ Source: AJS Review, Vol. 3 (1978), pp. 1-26 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486426 . Accessed: 26/06/2011 22:17 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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n nrin sis lI(N ewYork,19)

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3 .26 ,13n George Mosse, Germans and Jews (New ;1nx ,310 'y ,n 1-n ,"D,3nD" nynpn uy nlny "DtruDum"n1A311oIl DliWlA-in nK n1b0*WI K? :York, 1970), p. 84

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