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

by Heinrich Graetz

The advance of the Jews in Germany had been completed in an amazingly short time, as appears when we contrast Mendelssohn's reticence in touching upon religious and political conditions in Christendom with the boldness of Börne and Heine, who displayed them in their naked form. And mark the progress made in France! Here the Jews had become men, dauntlessly encountering every opponent, and ready to avenge with the sword insulting remarks on their origin. Judaism, however, was less rapid in casting off servile forms than its followers. For nearly two thousand years it had struggled for existence against every new people and every new tendency which appeared on the stage of history. With Greeks and Romans, Parthians and Neo-Persians, Goths and Slavonic tribes, with Arabs and mediæval knights in armor, with monks of every order and fanatic Lutherans, it had maintained ever-recurring contests, and had of necessity become covered with disfiguring scars and foul dust. To defend itself against the assaults of so many hostile powers and during so long a period, Judaism had been compelled to surround itself with an impenetrable coat of mail, to isolate itself completely, or withdraw into a shrine of its own, every access to which was carefully barricaded. So accustomed had the Jews become to their heavy armor, that it seemed to have grown into their very being; nor could it be discarded so long as new battles were imminent. Left to its own resources, and excluded from the external world, especially since the expulsion of its members from Spain and Portugal, and their simultaneous banishment from many German districts, Judaism had created a dreamland for itself. It had admitted magical formulas into its world of thought and fancy to distract the minds of its adherents from pangs of torture, so that they might endure them with greater ease, or forget them entirely. Suddenly its sons were awakened from their dreams by the dazzling sunlight, and beheld the real world, to which they were utter strangers. At first they closed their eyes the tighter, in order to retain the pleasant dream-pictures. In this new age, and in the new conditions, they could not at once find their proper level, and they feared that the altered state of affairs was a mere stratagem, a novel method of warfare in disguise, which their ancient enemies expected to use against Judaism.

During its long journey through the world, and its acquaintance with many nations, Judaism, in spite of its exclusiveness, had admitted various perverse ideas, which became as thoroughly a part of itself, as if derived from the original stock. Memory had been weakened through persecution and martyrdom; the power of thought had also suffered somewhat through daily increasing afflictions. At first it was too distracted to apply tests, to distinguish foreign and unfit elements from native and essential parts and remove them. Among the Jews in Germany, England, and France, the adoption of the uncultivated Polish manner had conferred a barbarous aspect upon Judaism, and among the Portuguese and Italian Jews, owing to Isaac Lurya and Chayim Vital, it had assumed a Kabbalistic form. This disfigurement of Judaism existing among the Portuguese along with external decorum, and its neglected condition in Polish and German communities, affected every element of religious life—divine service, sermons, marriages, interments, in short, every ceremonial, especially those of a public nature. The official representatives and expounders of Judaism, the rabbis and leaders of divine service, were repulsive, either semi-barbarians or visionaries. The foreign additions and excrescences, the fungous growth attached to the original trunk, were regarded by these leaders of Judaism as integral elements. The times had not yet matured men, who, by a delicate perception of the inner kernel of Judaism (as contained in the Bible and the Talmud), by wide vision, and clear insight, could recognize the abuses that had accumulated in the course of time, and separate them from the essential parts. To remove these objectionable excrescences gradually, and with a gentle hand, without giving offense, required profound understanding. A necessary reform, not prompted by external considerations, had been suggested several centuries earlier by far-sighted men; but the modern generation had no knowledge thereof. Neither was there any adequate representative body in the Jewish world. There was, to be sure, an organization, possessing, or in a position easily to obtain, a sort of official character and authority, namely, the French Synhedrion and Consistory. But the chiefs, David Sinzheim and Abraham di Cologna, had not the needful discernment to accomplish the ennoblement and rejuvenescence of Judaism. Sinzheim was only an orthodox Talmudist, and Di Cologna an interesting preacher. The right men were wanting to undertake and promote this much-needed reform, not of the religion itself—for neither the leaders nor the rank and file had lost any degree of morality through the deterioration of Judaism—but of its exterior, to beautify it and remove excrescences. No men being forthcoming, time effected the changes, and so quarrels and contentions were produced. It was destined to be no easy work for Judaism to cast its slough.

The changes in Judaism, like those in the Jews, began in Germany. To the German Jews (because Mendelssohn had come from their midst) a task was allotted similar to that achieved in earlier times by the Alexandrian and Spanish, and in part by the Provençal Jews, that of reconciling Judaism with culture. But when these efforts commenced, the situation was already one of great confusion, and the method by which they were conducted only intensified the difficulties. During the struggles of the German Jews to secure emancipation, when every step towards freedom was accomplished only after the most strenuous exertions, when each advance was met with scorn and neglect, when they were continually being hurled back into their humiliated condition and reminded of their despised state, two equally unpleasant phenomena manifested themselves. Those who, improved by culture and education, swam with the stream, estranged themselves from Judaism, disowned all connection with its official acts, and despised it as the obstacle to their civil or social advancement. To them Judaism appeared as a mummy, a petrifaction, or a specter, which restlessly and aimlessly flitted through the centuries, a picture of grief beyond help. Only a few of this educated class, like Heine in his bright moments, when not led astray by wantonness, were clear-sighted enough to recognize life in this mummy, capable some day of bursting its cerements and engaging in combat with its enemies. On the other hand, the majority of the Jews, who still bore in their hearts deep love for the wrinkled mother of all religions, clung to those unessential forms to which from youth they had been accustomed, because they perceived the treachery of the opposite party, and did not wish to be classed amongst the betrayers of Judaism. "They loved stones, and treasured dust." Theirs was no longer the innocent piety of bygone days which had no opposition to contend with, but an active, passionate feeling. The representatives of the old school became anxious and suspicious about the growing weakness of religious feeling, the loosening of all bonds of union, the manifest symptoms of apostasy, and the contempt for their origin. Judaism seemed a gigantic structure composed of tiny cubes, supporting each other and the whole. They feared the downfall of the whole edifice, if a single support became loose. They had no confidence in the permanence of the structure, for whose maintenance they were ready to sacrifice their lives. They would give up not even the use of their miserable jargon, defiant of every grammatical law, in the ritual, nor their indecorous habits, nor any particular of their disorderly system. Every sign of yielding, any departure from the old order, appeared to them an act of treachery to Judaism.

It seemed impossible to find a means of uniting these opposites. Nevertheless, an attempt was made, but in a rough, unskillful manner, the result being that the advance of Judaism was retarded for a considerable time. The first to undertake some sort of reform was Israel Jacobson. He was especially fitted for the leadership of a new party by his attachment to his faith, his admiration for beauty and external qualities, his activity, wealth, and high position. Immediately after the Westphalian Consistory had been appointed, and he had been placed at its head, he came forward with innovations of a two-fold nature. From the public service in the synagogue connected with the newly-erected school in Cassel, he removed all objectionable and noisy features, especially the sing-song reading so much in use. He naturally insisted upon the delivery of sermons in German. He also introduced new forms and methods borrowed from the Church, such as German as well as Hebrew prayers, insipid German songs by the side of the psalms pregnant with thought, and the ceremony of confessing the faith (Confirmation) for half-grown boys and girls—an idea without meaning in Judaism.

Jacobson exercised such power over his associates in the Westphalian Consistory, that they unresistingly accepted these innovations. He then proceeded to introduce his reforms into all the communities of Westphalia, with the threat that he would have such synagogues as refused to adopt his regulations closed. This compulsion, however, aroused the feelings of the orthodox party; the introduction of the German language into divine service being particularly objectionable to the majority. A rabbi of mild temperament, Samuel Eger of Brunswick (died 1842), had the courage to protest against the arbitrary conduct of the president of the consistory. He prophetically expressed the conviction, that by employing German prayers and hymns the Hebrew language would fall into disuse, and finally die out, and the bond uniting the Jews dispersed throughout the world would thereby be relaxed. Jacobson appears to have paid no heed to these warnings and signs of opposition. The dissatisfied Jews must have lodged complaints about him and his new schemes with King Jerome, for the king reprimanded him for his autocratic interference in matters of conscience and his ardor for reform.

Jacobson's glory ended with the speedy downfall of the Westphalian kingdom. Having moved to Berlin, he furnished a room in his house as a synagogue (1815), although he had formerly been opposed to private synagogues, and introduced his reformed service with German prayers, songs, and a choir. At first there was no room for an organ. Afterwards Jacob Beer, the banker, the father of Meyer Beer, provided a large chamber (1817), where an organ could be put up. After the victory of the Germans over Napoleon, it became the fashion to be religious, and it infected Jews who had previously not experienced the slightest necessity for devotional exercises, and had been quite indifferent to religious ceremonial. Such sentimentalists, who had no regard for Judaism, attended the services of Jacobson, in order to "edify themselves" and "be devout," as the new phrases ran. The "Society of Friends" furnished members. This was the origin of a Reform party, a tiny community within the community, which however, as could be easily foreseen, had a future, owing to the energy displayed at the commencement and the repulsive form of the ordinary divine service. The great attraction in the new form of service was the German sermon, which Jacobson usually delivered. His addresses exercised great power, because the so-called "homiletic discourses" of the rabbis and the Polish or Moravian itinerant preachers, were dull and unattractive.

But the private synagogue in Berlin, owing to complaints made by some of the orthodox party, was closed by the Prussian government. The king of Prussia, Frederick William III, was averse to all innovations, even in Jewish circles, and hated them as being revolutionary plots. A young preacher from the school of Jacobson thereupon betook himself to Hamburg, having been invited to conduct a free school established by certain rich Jews. Here he set on foot the plan of erecting a reform temple on the model of Jacobson's.

This young minister, Kley, had brought from Jacobson's synagogue a complete scheme, which included German hymns and prayers, sermons, and the organ. He composed a so-called "religious song-book," in imitation of the Protestant liturgy, an empty and feeble work, suited only to a race of children, ignorant of the psalms, the pattern sources of religious devotion. But there were men in Hamburg who, although they approved of modern ideas, were yet unwilling to break entirely with Judaism and its past, and who decidedly objected to the omission of Hebrew in their prayers. The chiefs of this movement were M. J. Bresselau, himself a good Hebrew stylist, and Sæckel Fränkel (died in Hamburg, 1833), likewise a Hebrew scholar, who had retranslated several of the Apocryphal books into the sacred language. These two men compiled a selection from the Hebrew prayers in use, in order to amalgamate them with the newly-adopted German songs and prayers, a discordant medley in contents and form, which somewhat called to mind a friendly compromise among contending parties. About fifty families joined, and thus arose the Reform Temple Union in Hamburg. This mongrel birth was ushered into the world without love and enthusiasm. Its promoters were so prosaic that the anniversary of the battle of Leipsic was chosen for the day of the consecration of the Temple (October 18, 1818). The preacher Kley, in order to have ample material for a discourse, had to use as a starting point the German wars of freedom, which had caused the Jews in Germany to retrograde rather than to advance. Young maidens sang hymns with the young men, in order to create the sensation which the cause itself could not awaken, and this gave great offense. Kley could not have kept the Temple community together for long, had not the Templars, as they were called, found an efficient preacher in Gotthold Salomon, of Dessau (died 1862), who was well acquainted with biblical and Jewish literature, and knew how to conceal the bareness of the new movement. On the one hand, he invested the Temple with Protestant attributes, and on the other, by reason of his conceit and ostentation, he gave it an aggressive character. With Salomon the influence of the preacher among the German Jews commenced; the pulpit took the place of the school, and from it there often resounded the hollow phrases which conceal thought, or the lack of thought. The Temple Union had officially given up the belief in the Messiah, without exactly defining what position Judaism was to assume with reference to Christianity. Some of the zealous reformers meditated a complete rupture, and the refusal to contribute to the communal funds.

The originators and leaders were filled with the delusive idea, which at first appeared justifiable, that the Temple, through its modern and attractive form of service, would bring back to the fold those alienated from Judaism. They hoped that the less stringent religious forms would overcome the dislike felt by worldly men against everything Jewish. In a few instances those who had fallen away from Judaism were restrained from overstepping the threshold into the Church, but it was not a remedy with permanent effect. Nevertheless, the achievements of the Hamburg Temple, commonplace though its origin was, are not to be underrated. At one stroke, without much hesitation, it banished the rubbish of centuries from the synagogue, swept away with youthful impetuosity the holy cobwebs which no one had ventured to touch, and awakened a taste for a well-regulated service, for decorous behavior at divine worship, and for order and simplicity. The injury inflicted on Judaism by the aping of foreign customs, and the dilution of its own strength, cannot be altogether attributed to it.

Naturally the establishment of the Hamburg Temple produced a split in the Jewish world. Hitherto there had existed only the "old-fashioned" and the "new-fashioned" people, as they termed each other, but no distinct sects possessing a banner, a password, and a confession of faith. Not even the old-fashioned orthodox section constituted a definite party. For, although the adherents of the past, who would not swerve a hair's breadth from former practices, were so numerous, that even in Hamburg they might have suppressed the innovators if they had chosen, they did not act as a body. Only the faint remonstrance of single individuals was heard lamenting the ruin of Judaism through its betrayers, and these oft-repeated wailings were pitiful. The old party had no chiefs, no leaders; respect for the rabbis had vanished in a single generation. The wretched dispute for and against Jonathan Eibeschütz, and the satires of Hebrew writers of the period of the Measfim, had completely undermined their authority. In the larger German congregations the empty rabbinical chairs were permitted to remain untenanted. They no longer wished to have rabbis from Poland, because these could not speak the language of the land, and in Germany there were no great rabbis of recognized authority. Berlin set the example, which was followed by the community of Prague, after the death of the wise Ezekiel Landau, by Hamburg after the retirement of the zealot Raphael Cohen, and by Frankfort-on-the-Main after the death of the ultra-orthodox (Chassidic) Pinchas Hurwitz. The assistants (Dayanim) of the rabbis administered the rabbinical office—hybrid creatures, too dependent to have an opinion of their own, and too weak to oppose the demands of reckless leaders of communities.