To renounce Judaism altogether, like Heine, Edward Gans, and many others, appeared to Steinheim dishonorable and wanton; and he therefore remained externally faithful. But, although he had recognized the truth that the mission of Israel consisted in being not only priests, but also sacrifices, he did not permit this knowledge to influence his course of life. This was not due to weakness of character in Steinheim, but to insufficient knowledge of Judaism in its many-sidedness. In spite of his predilection for its intellectual treasury, he was more at home in every other subject than in Jewish literature.
A deeper knowledge of Judaism was unexpectedly aroused in a country which cultured Jews like Riesser and Steinheim were accustomed to despise. As it was formerly asked, What good can come out of Galilee? so now it was said, What good can come out of Poland? Yet, from this very place there came fruitful seeds which developed into healthy blossoms. Two men especially, Nachman Krochmal and Solomon Jehuda Rapoport, profitably employed the knowledge gained in Germany. Both seemed destined to fill a gap, to which the scholars of Jewish science in Germany and France were unequal. They dug solid ore from the mines inaccessible in these countries, and showed how to procure and work it. They stirred up a spirit of rivalry, which within the short space of three decades, was instrumental in removing the ruins covering the great past of Judaism, and in bringing to light the Divine image hidden beneath. They were the founders of a new school, which may be called the Galician.
Nachman Cohen Krochmal (born at Brody, 1785; died at Tarnopol, 1840), the son of a well-to-do merchant interested in science, who was accustomed to make journeys to Germany, caught up the pale, dying light of the Mendelssohn school. Mendelssohn was the ideal upon which Krochmal modeled himself. Married at the age of fourteen, and transplanted to the little village of Zolkiew, where the method of instruction so destructive to science was still in vogue, Krochmal secretly became absorbed in the study of Hebrew literature. He also tried to obtain the writings of the German philosophers, especially of Kant, in order to expand and clear his mind with earnest thoughts. The more the strict Talmudists and heretic-hunting Chassidim of Poland endeavored to discover those who occupied themselves with works other than the Talmud or Kabbala, or who read a non-Hebraic book, in order to denounce them—the more did Krochmal and his fellows enjoy their stolen pleasure. Along with a mass of knowledge from the Talmud, Krochmal stored up many thoughts of a character hostile to Talmudism. But open war was never declared. Krochmal, probably on account of his health, enfeebled by continued mental activity, was too timid to venture out of the beaten track: he avoided disputes, and followed all the superstitiously pious Polish customs, exaggerating them indeed, in order not to jeopardize his peace of mind. He was too earnest and too prudent to overstep the bounds of habit; nevertheless, he could not altogether escape suspicion. He had carried on a harmless correspondence with a Karaite Chacham in the neighboring village of Kukizow. Certain pious persons knew this, and represented that he was hatching a conspiracy against the Talmud with the Karaites. They obtained one of his letters from the unsuspecting Karaite, endeavored to extract heresies from the innocent compliments paid his correspondent in verse, and spread it throughout the large community of Lemberg in order to excite the mob against him. This intrigue greatly affected Krochmal, and becoming yet more timid and cautious, he locked up his thoughts within his own breast, and for a long time could not be induced to publish anything.
But he revealed the treasures of his mind to his trusty friends and disciples, not within treacherous walls, but in the open field. His hearers, schooled in the Talmud, and accustomed to unravel dark and difficult problems, quickly understood his hints without diffuse explanations. By his laconic method Krochmal could turn everything topsy-turvy, and unfold a series of investigations, every link of which, if made public, would have stamped him in the eyes of his countrymen as a wicked heretic. What made his method of instruction and his investigations especially fruitful, was the clearness and finish of his thoughts, which were arranged in admirable sequence. Thus his teaching was a wholesome antidote to the chaotic contradiction and confusion from which the best Polish minds greatly suffered. His acquaintance with German philosophy had schooled his mind, and taught him logical discipline. Krochmal did not develop original philosophic thoughts, which he nevertheless seems to have thought his strong point. He was the first to take a philosophical view of history, especially Jewish history, and make a clear survey of its intricacies. He also pointed out how the mine of the Talmud could be utilized, and rendered valuable in historical research. Krochmal himself devoted his attention to this neglected and little valued literature, and applied his results to the elucidation of Jewish history. He succeeded in throwing so much light on the period from the Babylonian Captivity until the conclusion of the Mishnah, which Jost and Christian scholars had completely failed to understand, that it was an easy task for succeeding inquirers to follow in his path. He was the first to teach scholars to examine Talmudical sources of history through a microscope, or to reproduce half-obliterated features. This was, indeed, a great gain, and an immense advance compared with Jost's clumsy view of history. Krochmal's results do not always bear investigation, because having no access to non-Hebraic writings, he was obliged to content himself with secondary or tertiary sources. But his acuteness and sincere devotion to this study, did not allow him to stray from the right track often. He inspired his disciples to engage in research, and gave them the key to these hieroglyphic sources. Although he had not yet published many of his discoveries, his fame extended beyond the boundaries of his own country. The community of Berlin, which since the time of Friedländer had felt deep aversion to Poles and rabbis, entertained the idea of calling him as their rabbi. He was considered one of the leaders of the young science of Judaism, and had many admirers in Germany.
The most receptive and gifted among his disciples, Solomon Jehuda Rapoport (born Lemberg, 1790? died Prague, 1867), contested with him for preëminence, and even overshadowed him, partly by reason of his more fertile productions. Rapoport was descended from a respected Jewish family, a race of learned rabbis, one of whose branches had been transplanted from Italy to Poland. Traces of his hereditary nobility were apparent in his bearing and appearance. Of a gentle nature, which won for him all hearts, having a fund of genial humor, and of a sociable disposition, Rapoport was a well-beloved and attractive person in every circle. These qualities softened the severity of his astonishing learning. Nothing of especial importance occurred during his youth. At an early age he was admitted to the study of the Talmud, and soon was at home in its labyrinths, owing to his extraordinary memory and penetrating acuteness. He also married young.
During his youth, Rapoport became partly false to Talmudical study, inasmuch as he favored its rivals—science and poetry. He has graphically described the painful path trodden by him and his peers in order to arrive at the tree of knowledge. It was difficult to obtain any scientific book, most difficult to secure one written in a European language. The index of books prohibited by public opinion was much more comprehensive than that of the popes. If one thirsting for knowledge secretly procured such a book, and it was scented out by the prying eyes of his relatives or friends, he was implored to throw it aside, or his friends, on their own responsibility, confiscated the heretical work, so as to preserve the student from fanatical persecution by the Chassidim. Even clear-minded men were doubtful whether, according to the Talmud, the study of profane sciences was not forbidden.
Rapoport was not alone in his longing for knowledge. Here and there, in Galicia, the germs of a fresh spirit awoke, which struggled hard to remove the yoke of an unthinking, fanatical public opinion. Intercourse with Vienna, the Napoleonic wars, in general, communication with the world, caused many old forms to fall into abeyance. The spread of the Chassidistic cult and its presumptuous, outrageous, and increasingly frantic actions, stimulated thoughtful, reasonable men to meet it with firm opposition, for it filled them with passionate hatred, and drove them to invent expedients whereby to crush it. The most appropriate method seemed to be to remove the boorish ignorance in religious and secular matters and the childlike credulity, by means of education. Although the Austrian government had declared it a duty of the Galician congregations to establish schools, the lower officials had not shown much zeal in causing this order to be carried into effect. This neglect was to some extent advantageous, as the self-deliverance of the Jews was the more effectual by reason of the struggle undergone. Since the wars with Napoleon, there had arisen small circles in the three largest Galician communities of Brody, Lemberg, and Tarnopol, banded together for self-culture, the promotion of education, and a war of annihilation against Chassidism. The beginning of this movement was made in Tarnopol by Joseph Perl (born at Tarnopol, 1773; died, 1839). With great sacrifice of time and money, and with unswerving perseverance, he founded a pattern High School for the middle classes. He made incisive attacks upon the Chassidim in a work, intentionally written in a corrupt, barbarous jargon, which was in no way inferior to "The Letters of Obscure Men" in the monkish Latin of Rubianus and Hutten, perhaps slightly more artistic. This bitter enemy of the Chassidim entered into communication with the Jewish representatives of education in Germany, and was elected an honorary member of the Berlin Society for Culture. In Brody, where Jews engaged in extensive foreign trade, the rich merchants, who traveled in Germany and Austria, introduced the desire to imitate the German Jews. In Lemberg, where Rapoport lived, a kind of literary circle was founded, at whose head was a wealthy, highly-cultured man, Jehuda Löb Mises (died 1831). He provided ambitious young men in Lemberg with money, counsel, and, what was of especial value to them, with an excellent library of Hebrew and European books.
From this circle arose an admired scholar, who deserves a golden page in the records of Jewish literature. This was Isaac Erter, born in a village near Przemysl, 1792, and died at Brody, 1851. He who by means of his magic poetry succeeds in showing the powers of renaissance dormant in a so-called dead language, unconsciously also demonstrates the vitality of the race in whose midst such artistic creations can arise, and can by many be understood, and admired. Erter's object was to scourge the perversity of Polish Judaism, the chaos of superstition and learning, and the coarseness of the Chassidim; but by the noble form in which he clothed his scorn and his righteous indignation he attested the immortality of the Hebrew language and people. Born in a wretched Galician village, he created beautiful Hebrew pictures, such as would have delighted Isaiah and the most refined Psalmists. Erter's father, though a poor man, little more than a peasant, had nevertheless not neglected the sacred duty of a Jew to have his talented son instructed in Jewish writings. The Talmud, to be sure, was the only work with which young Erter was thoroughly acquainted. Of the beauties of biblical poetry, like all Jews of Poland at that time, he had no idea in his youth. When he was thirteen years old his father imposed the bonds of marriage upon him, and shortly afterwards, having become a widower, the boy married a second wife. His second father-in-law, who had promised to support him, did not keep his word, and thus Erter tasted the bread of misery in his youth. To dispel his bitter cares he joined the merry Chassidim, taking part in all their follies; but his innate love of the beautiful made him feel disgust at the sight of their moral and physical degradation, nor could he believe in their miracles. A fortunate accident acquainted him with a cultured man, who introduced him to two ideals, Maimuni and Mendelssohn, and so he learned to understand, love, and imitate the highest models, viz., the prophet Moses and Hebrew literature. A new spirit was breathed into Erter by this old, still ever new revelation, working a change in his views and his relation to Judaism. To increase his culture Erter betook himself to Lemberg, where he hoped to find better means for satisfying his thirst for science. Here he found struggling sympathizers of his own age, who, like himself, had married early, had been tortured by material cares, but had nevertheless directed all their energies to the cultivation of the mind. Here he met Rapoport, to whom as the more learned he looked up with reverence. There was a peculiar charm in the intercourse of these young knowledge-seekers, each at once master and pupil. Whatever was beautiful and true in European literature they elaborated, for their own use and that of others, in the Hebrew language, which they employed as if it were a living language. The difficulties which members of this circle could not overcome were submitted to the wise master, Krochmal, and to him they made pilgrimages to Zolkiew as to a wizard. This intellectually idyllic life, which they remembered even in their old age as a golden dream, lasted for three years. But their occupation with profane literature and their actions and aims gave great offense.
One day a ban of excommunication (in the name of Rabbi Jacob Orenstein) was found affixed to the gates of the synagogue. It was directed against four men, who were said to teach the young their heretical views, viz., Rapoport, Erter, Natkes, and Pastor. The formal excommunication, customary in olden days, had been forbidden in Galicia since the time of Emperor Joseph: therefore the zealots chose this method. At the time when they had brought Krochmal under the accusation of heresy, they had determined to make a vigorous onslaught upon all apostles of culture. But, seeing that the ban was directed only against these four poor men, and that they dared not attack the wealthy, respected Mises, who openly poured ridicule upon Talmudical Judaism, their cowardice rendered their zeal ineffectual. The sentence of excommunication did not have the expected result, and Orenstein was compelled by the Austrian authorities to withdraw it. It hardly affected Rapoport, who had a fairly independent, if somewhat inferior position, and who had instructed the young gratuitously. In the eyes of the common people, however, he was a heretic; but this did not hinder him from becoming district rabbi of Tarnopol and afterwards chief rabbi of Prague.
Poor Erter, however, was severely affected, because he had to support himself and his family by teaching. Although the rabbi was obliged to recall the ban, Erter found that many parents did not care to entrust their sons to him, and he had to take up his staff and journey to Brody. But he had his revenge upon Orenstein and the zealots: he immortalized their bigotry and pettiness by his poetry. Indignation and anger at being persecuted by such tormentors forced the pen into his hand, and gave rise to his masterpieces of delineation. Erter harmed Orenstein with his poetical thunders of excommunication more severely than he himself had been made to suffer, and completely crushed him. In a poem he represented a court of justice which determined the value of objects from a standpoint dissimilar to that of the actual world. Books of immense size shrink to nothing, because their contents prove to have been stolen from various quarters, and the plagiarism is discovered; only the title-page remaining the property of the author. This satire was aimed at Orenstein, who had published a Rabbinical work in many volumes, which he was said to have adorned with borrowed plumes.