The Kabbala boasted that it had disclosed the secret of Judaism much better than Maimuni, and had shown its relation to the higher world, and to the shaping of the future. The Kabbala had unlimited play for its fantastic interpretations. In distortion of the Scriptures, the Kabbalists out-ran the Alexandrine allegorists, the Agadists, the Church Fathers, and the Jewish and Christian religious philosophers. Azriel, indeed, coquetted with philosophy, and endeavored to make the Kabbala acceptable to thinkers. But another Kabbalist of this time, Jacob ben Sheshet Gerundi, of Gerona (who wrote in about 1243 or 1246), deliberately opposed his secret lore to the explanations of the philosophers. He repudiated any truce with them, and could not find scorn enough for philosophical "heretics and despisers of the Law." Gerona, the native place of Ezra and Azriel, of Jacob ben Sheshet, and Nachmani, was the first warm nest for the fledgeling Kabbala. This occult science, which made its appearance with a flourish, rests on deception, at best, on the self-deception of its founders. Its theory is not old, as it pretended, but very modern; at any rate it is not found in Jewish antiquity, but dates from the twilight of Greek philosophy. The Kabbala is a grotesque distortion of Jewish and philosophical ideas. In order to make it appear ancient and authentic, the compilers had recourse to fraud. They circulated a Kabbalistic manuscript which purported to have been composed by an honored Talmudical doctor, Nechunya ben ha-Kana, and others. In vain the highly respected Meïr ben Simon and Rabbi Meshullam of Béziers called attention to this forgery, which bore the title Bahir (Luminous), and condemned it to be burnt, as it contained blasphemies against the greatness of God; the book Bahir maintained its ground, and was in later times used as evidence of the great age of the Kabbala.
The labors of Azriel and Ezra in behalf of the secret science might have had but poor results, if Nachmani had not ranged himself under their banner. At first blush, it is indeed hard to conceive how this clear, keen-witted, subtle thinker, who, in the province of the Talmud, had the ability to shed light upon every obscurity, could be induced to join the votaries of the Kabbala, and permit himself to be blinded by the false light of the Bahir. But on deeper examination of his way of thinking, this phenomenon ceases to be a paradox. Nachmani belonged to that numerous class of men who can form a correct judgment on single objects, but are unable to comprehend a great whole. Maimuni's philosophical line of argument repelled him on account of its prosaic nature; the Kabbala, on the other hand, attracted him because his belief in miracles and respect for authority found nourishment therein. When he, a pious rabbi and deep Talmudist, had acknowledged the truth of the Kabbala, its authority became established; where Nachmani believed unconditionally, those less gifted dared not doubt. A poet, Meshullam En-Vidas Dafiera, an opponent of the Maimunists, accordingly ranges him with Ezra and Azriel, as a defender of the truth of the secret lore.
"The son of Nachman is our stronghold sure,
Ezra and Azriel know the hidden things.
They are my priests; my altar they illume;
They are my stars that never cease to shine;
They can compute the meanings of God's words,
Only from fear of scoffers are they silent."
Thus Nachmani became a chief pillar of the Kabbala, the more so because he spoke of it only casually, and concealed more of it than he revealed.
Thus, within barely four decades after the death of Maimuni, Judaism was divided into three parties; and this was the beginning of a retrograde movement which led to degradation. A marked division was established between the philosophical school, the strict Talmudists and the Kabbalists. The first named, who regarded Maimuni as their chief, strove to interpret the doctrines of Judaism in a rational manner; they either adhered to the arguments of their leader, or deduced, from his premises, bold conclusions which had escaped his notice, or which he had not desired to infer, and they almost entirely broke away from the Talmud. The strict Talmudists occupied themselves exclusively with Halachic controversies, and had no desire to become acquainted with philosophical notions; they were averse to science and to inquiry in the domain of religion, and they interpreted the Agadas in a purely literal sense, but they also turned aside from the Kabbala. Lastly, the Kabbalists were prejudiced against both the literal Talmudists and the rationalistic Maimunists. At first, they maintained friendly terms with the Talmudists because their numbers were few, and the conclusions, at variance with Judaism, which could be drawn from their system, were not yet recognized, for both had to combat a common enemy. Hence the Kabbalists at first directed their attacks solely against the Maimunists, but before the end of the century the Kabbalists and the Talmudists had become enemies, attacking each other as vigorously as they had formerly assailed their common opponents, the philosophers.
The consequences, on the one hand, of the degradation of the Jews, through the papacy, and on the other, of the internal discord, soon made themselves felt, and produced an unhappy condition of affairs. The happy contentment, the joyousness, the delight in original, intellectual work, which, combined with spiritual activity, had borne such beautiful fruit, had all long since passed away. Sad earnestness filled the hearts of the Spanish and Provençal Jews, and weighed down, as with lead, every lofty aspiration of their souls. The joyous singers became silent, as if the icy breath of the gloomy present had suddenly caused their warm blood to freeze. How could a Jew pour forth merry strains of song with the badge of dishonor on his breast? The neo-Hebraic poetry, which, for three centuries, had produced such noble works of genius, perished altogether, or bore only faded leaves. The satires and epigrams which the Maimunists and anti-Maimunists hurled against each other were the last products of the neo-Hebraic muse of Spain. But these verses no longer bubbled over with laughter and merriment; they were full of earnest logic and argument. They were no longer like the epigrams of the flourishing era of poetry, which resembled prattling maidens, but were like quarrelsome scolds who had lost the charm of youth. Poets themselves felt that the source of the neo-Hebraic poetry had been exhausted, and they fed on the memories of its Golden Age.
The last representatives of the neo-Hebraic poetry were Jehuda Alcharisi, the untiring translator and warm partisan of Maimuni, then Joseph ben Sabara, and lastly Jehuda ben Sabbatai. These three men, as if acting in collusion with one another, created the satirical romance. This consisted in the introduction of fictitious characters, and the use of exuberant rhetoric; but there is more of strained attempt at wit than of graceful skill in their poems. Alcharisi, in his romance, "Tachkemoni," under the disguise of Heber the Kenite, and in dialogues with the poet, introduces a variety of subjects, both humorous and serious, intermingling rhymed prose with verse, and interweaving little episodes. This method was pursued also by the poet, Joseph ben Sabara, probably a physician in Barcelona, in his romance, "Diversions" (Shaashuim). The third poet of this class, Jehuda ben Isaac ben Sabbatai, also of Barcelona, was considered by Alcharisi to be one of the best masters of the art; his performances, however, do not in any way justify this opinion. His dialogue, "Between Wisdom and Wealth," is very poor in poetical ideas. His satirical romance, "The Woman-hater," is not much better; he lacked entirely the broad conceptions of his contemporaries.
The decay of the neo-Hebraic poetry was very rapid. After the death of Sabbatai it fell into a yet more forlorn condition, and a century passed before a worthy successor made his appearance. Original power of poetic production had died out, and those who were acquainted with the manipulation of language, and could construct tolerably good rhymes, merely imitated the work of their predecessors. Abraham ben Chasdaï, a Maimunist, of Barcelona, re-wrote, from an Arabic translation, a moral dialogue between a worldly-minded and a penitent man. This he put into a Hebrew form under the title of "The Prince and the Nazarite."
A poor copyist, Berachya ben Natronaï Nakdan, called in the dialect of the country Crispia (flourished about 1230–1270), turned his attention to fables, which had been popular among the ancient Hebrews. He was, however, unable to invent, but chiefly elaborated in the neo-Hebraic form the productions of earlier fabulists. Among his one hundred and seven Fox Fables (Mishlé Shualim) there are very few original ones. Berachya desired to hold a mirror up to his contemporaries, "who spurned the truth, and held out the golden scepter to falsehood"; plants and animals were employed to describe the perversity and depravity of mankind.
The only merit possessed by the fables both of Berachya and of Ibn-Sahula, a minor poet of northern Spain (1245), who also moralized in perfervid words in the "Fables of Ancient Times" (Mashal ha-Kadmoni), as also by the moral tale, "The Prince and the Dervish" of Abraham ben Chasdaï, consists in the happy imitation of the Biblical style, and in the ingenious application of the verses of Scripture to an entirely different line of thought. This it is which, in the eyes of scholars, imparts to their language an air of uncommon wit, attractiveness and piquancy. It is doubtful whether Joseph Ezobi should be included among the poets of the time. It is showing too much honor to his writings to term them poetry; and they would be silently ignored when neo-Hebraic poetry is referred to, were it not that, through frequent transcripts and the multiplication of copies in Latin and French translations, the attention of the historian of literature has been drawn to them, and they have acquired a certain fame. Joseph Ezobi (or Esobi) ben Chanan, of Orange (near Avignon, about 1230–1250), dedicated to his son Samuel an epithalamium, called "The Silver Dish" (Kaarat Kesef), in which he laid down admonitions and rules of life. Among other things, he commanded him "to hold aloof from the wisdom of the Greeks, which resembled the vine of Sodom, and implanted the seeds of disease in the mind of man." He suggested to him to study Hebrew grammar and the Bible; but to devote his attention chiefly to the Talmud. This is sufficient to characterize the man and the bent of his mind. Joseph Ezobi's verses show a fair command of language, but they are deficient both in power of expression and in gracefulness; he is one of those versatile poetasters who arose at this time in large numbers, especially in Provence.