I.
YOUTH.
The disruption and final partition of the Polish kingdom by its three neighboring states occurred in 1795. With its dissolution a new era began in the history of the numerous Jewish communities in that part of the Polish territory which passed under Prussian and Austrian sovereignty. The event that thus ushered them into the world of Western civilization may justly be considered as marking for them the transition from the middle ages to modern times. Prussia allowed no interval to elapse between the act of taking possession of her newly acquired domain and its organization. It was incorporated into the state as the provinces of South Prussia and New East Prussia. But after 1815 the Prussian crown remained in possession only of the Grand Duchy, or the Province, of Posen, the district that had constituted the kernel of Great Poland. This piece of land was of extreme importance to the Jews, being the home of the most numerous, the oldest, and the most respectable congregations. It was situated at only a short distance from the Prussian capital, to which it appeared to have been brought still nearer by the organic connection established with the older parts of the state. It was natural to expect that, in consequence of the political union, the economic relations with Berlin, always close, would become more intimate and more numerous, and would develop new business advantages. On the other hand, the capital was viewed with distrust as the home of the movement radiating from Mendelssohn and his school, which aimed at something beyond the one-sided Talmud study then prevalent, and strove to bring modern methods of education and modern science within reach of the younger generation.
The rigorous system of organization by which the Polish districts were placed upon a Prussian basis induced so radical a transformation of all the relations of life that the Jews experienced great difficulty in adjusting themselves to the new order of things. Opposition to the state authorities and the economic conditions was futile; there was nothing for it but to try to adapt oneself without ado. By way of compensation, the efforts to keep religious practices and traditional customs pure, untouched by alien and suspicious influences, in the grooves worn by ancient habit, were all the more strenuous. Talmudic literature was to continue to be the center and aim of all study and science, and religious forms, or habits regarded as religious forms, were not to lose an iota of their rigidity and predominance. The urgent charge of the Prussian government to provide properly equipped schools to instruct and educate the young in a manner in keeping with the spirit of the times was evaded, now by subterfuges, now by promises. But in the long run the influences of the age could not fail to make themselves felt. Sparks from the hearth of the emancipation movement were carried into the Province, and burst into flame in one of the great congregations, that of the city of Posen, particularly proud and jealous of the Talmudic renown and the hoary piety of its Ghetto.
The position of rabbi in Posen had become vacant, and in 1802 it was proposed to fill it with Samuel ben Moses Pinchas from distant Tarnopol, the brother of the deceased rabbi. He was the author of בית שמואל אחרון {Hebrew: Beyt Shmuel Acharon}, and an arch-Talmudist of the old stamp. Under the shelter of assumed names, a number of the younger men ventured to send the government a protest against the choice of an “uncouth Polack.” It was alleged that the mass of the people favored him on account of
“the Kabbalistic fable which constructs a genealogy for this Podolian that makes it appear that he belongs to the stock from which the Jewish Messiah is to spring, etc.”
The government took the petition into consideration, and so informed the signers. On account of the fictitious names the answer went astray. Instead of reaching the petitioners, it fell into the hands of the directors of the congregation and into those of the deputy rabbis, the B’ne Yeshiba.
“They immediately assembled all so-called scholars and Talmud disciples after the manner of the ancient Synhedrin, and invited the parents, parents-in-law, and relatives of all persons suspected of harboring heterodox ideas. Then they summoned each of us singly, put him into the center of a terrifying circle of rough students, and upbraided him in the following words, accompanied by the most awful curses: ‘Thou devilish soul that hast vowed thyself unto Satan! Thy appearance gives evidence of thy antipathy to our statutes; thy shaved beard, thy apparel (thy Jewish garb is only a sham), everything proves thee, thou impious one, a betrayer of Jewish mysteries to Christians. Thou readest German books. Instead of holy Talmud folios, thou keepest maps, journals, and other heathenish writings concealed in thy attic. Therefore, confess thy sin, that thou art one of the authors of the accursed memorial! Do penance as we shall direct. Deliver up to us thy unclean books immediately. Subscribe without delay to this sacred election of our rabbi; else, etc., etc.’”[1]
The hotly contested election of the rigidly Talmudic yet none the less gentle rabbi was carried, but no effort availed to check the spread of the new spirit. Steadily though slowly modern views gained the upper hand, and in 1816 a Jewish private school of somewhat advanced standing was successfully established in Posen. Now and again men of independent fortune mustered up courage to send their children to the Gymnasium or to the higher Christian schools, of which, to be sure, not a large number existed at the time. In 1824 the state interfered, and ordered the establishment of German elementary schools in all the Jewish communities of the Province giving evidence of vitality. The situation now assumed a peculiar aspect. General culture, acquaintance with the classic literature of Germany, France, and England, came to be esteemed an accomplishment and a personal charm; yet beyond the three R’s the rising generation was not given the opportunity of acquiring a general education. On the contrary, the desire was to limit study to that of rabbinic and Hebrew writings. In the larger communities, like Posen and Lissa, the centers of Talmud study, a conscious effort was made to frighten off young people, especially Talmud disciples, from the acquisition of secular culture. It should be mentioned, however, that in many of the smaller communities the longing for education was encouraged as much as possible. So it came about that the highly endowed, ambitious spirits of that generation in the Province had to struggle most bitterly and painfully to make headway. But their hardships were counterbalanced by the advantages they derived from the conflict. Their intellectual energy and self-reliance came forth from the contest steeled. Impregnated as almost all of them were with the spirit of the Talmud, they had pierced to its essence, and, filled with enthusiasm for the rabbinical heroes, they had breathed in devotion to the ideals of Judaism.
This was the soil upon which Heinrich Graetz grew up, and such were the conditions and agencies moulding the development of a man destined to create an historical work, at once monumental and popular; embracing thousands of years, the most widely separated regions, and the most diversified fields of human activity; retracing with all the resources of learning and ingenuity the magic, faded, illegible characters of the evolution of Judaism, and illuminating them with colors of fairy-like brilliance;--an historical work, which, by reason of the warmth of its narrative style, has come to be a book of edification, in the best sense of the word, unto the author’s brethren-in-faith.
Heinrich Hirsch Graetz was born October 31 (Cheshwan 21), 1817, in Xions (pronounced Kshons), a wretched little village of 775 inhabitants in the eastern part of the Province of Posen. In a family of two brothers and one sister he was the first-born. His father, Jacob Graetz, was a man of tall stature, who, dying in 1876, reached an age of over ninety years. His mother, Vogel, of the family of Hirsch of Wollstein, was of average height and robust physique, with lustrous gray eyes. She died in 1848 only fifty odd years old. To her the son showed most resemblance, both spiritually and physically. A little butcher-shop yielded them an honest but paltry livelihood. In the hope of improving their material condition, the family removed to Zerkow, a few miles off, some years after Heinrich’s birth. At the time the village contained not more than 800 inhabitants, among them a single person able to read, a real estate owner, to whom all letters were carried to be deciphered on the open street in solemn public assembly.[2] But the Jewish congregation consisted of one hundred members, and a remarkable increase in the population of the little town seemed to give fair promise of a prosperous future. It is worthy of mention, besides, that the scenery of Zerkow, wreathed round with hill and stream, forest and meadow, is not so flat and unattractive as that of most parts of the Province.