Chapter XI

ZENITH OF THE SPANISH-JEWISH CULTURE: JEHUDA HALEVI.

The Jews under the Almoravides--Joseph Ibn-Sahal, Joseph
Ibn-Zadik--Joseph Ibn-Migash--The Poets Ibn-Giat,
Ibn-Abbas, Ibn-Sakbel and Ibn-Ezra--Abulhassan Jehuda Halevi
--His Poems and Philosophy--The Chozari--Incidents of his
Life--Prince Samuel Almansur--Jehuda Halevi's Pilgrimage to
Jerusalem--His Death.

1105-1148 C. E.

The Jews of Spain, even those of Andalusia, could still consider this land of culture as their home. Even under the barbarous Almoravides, who had become masters of the south, they lived in security and peace, for these people were no fanatics. Only on one occasion did a prince of the Almoravides, named Yussuf Ibn-Teshufin, attempt to compel the Jews of his district to accept Islam. He was traveling through Lucena, and noted the populous Jewish community, which through Alfassi had become the most influential in Spain. The prince called together the representatives of the Jews, and announced to them that he had read that Mahomet had bestowed religious liberty on the Jews on condition that their expected Messiah should arrive within 500 years, and that if this space of time after the Hejira passed without his appearance, the Jews must, without opposition, accept Mahometanism; that the Jews of Mahomet's age had accepted the condition, and the time having now elapsed, he (Yussuf Ibn-Teshufin), the leader of the Faithful, expected them to fulfil the condition, or his protection would be withdrawn from them, and they would be outlawed. The Jews of Lucena, however, by gifts of money and through the intercession of his wise vizir, Abdallah Ibn-Allah, induced Yussuf to alter his intention.

Under the second ruler of the Almoravide dynasty, Ali (1106-1143), the Jews not only lived in peace, but some of them were entrusted with the collection of the poll-tax from Jewish and Christian inhabitants, and distinguished men received posts of honor at the court. Science and poetry were the qualifications for high dignities. A Jewish physician and poet, Abu Ayub (Solomon Ibn-Almuallem), of Seville, was the court-physician of the Caliph Ali, and bore the titles of prince and vizir. Alcharizi says that his verses rendered eloquent the lips of the dumb, and illuminated the eyes of the blind. The physician Abulhassan Abraham ben Meïr Ibn-Kamnial, of Saragossa, likewise occupied a high post at Ali's court, and also bore the title of vizir. The greatest poets of the time celebrated his nobility of soul, his generosity and his interest in the welfare of his co-religionists: "A prince who treads the earth, but whose aim is in the stars. He hastens like the lightning to do good, whilst others only creep along. The gates of his generosity are open to his compatriots and to strangers. Through his fortune he saved those doomed to death, and rescued the lives of those doomed to destruction. The prince (Ibn-Kamnial) is a protection and a guard unto his people; he dwells in Spain, but his loving-kindness reaches unto Babylon and Egypt." Abu Ishak Ibn-Mohajar also bore the title of vizir, and was similarly immortalized by the poets. The prince Solomon Ibn-Farussal, likewise praised by his contemporaries, appears to have been in the service of a Christian prince, and was entrusted with an embassy to the court of Murcia. Shortly before the battle of Ucles, at which the Mahometan forces obtained a signal victory over those of the Christians, Ibn-Farussal was murdered (1108, 20th Iyar--2nd May). The young Jehuda Halevi, who had composed a song of praise for the reception of the vizir, had to change it into an elegy on the mournful news of the vizir's murder.

An astronomical writer, Abraham ben Chiya Albargeloni (b. 1065, d. 1136), occupied a high position under another Mahometan prince. He was a sort of minister of police (Zachib as-Schorta), and bore the title of prince. He was held in high consideration by several rulers on account of his astronomical knowledge, and he debated with learned priests, to whom he demonstrated the accuracy of the Jewish calendar. But he also practised the pseudo-science of astrology, and drew a horoscope of favorable and unfavorable hours of the day. He calculated in the same way that the Messiah would appear in the year 5118 of the world (1358 C. E.).

Thus men of influence and knowledge were not wanting at this period in Spain, but none of them acted as a center, like Chasdaï Ibn-Shaprut and Samuel Ibn-Nagrela, from which might go forth the impetus that would rouse to activity slumbering talents, or mark out the road for literary efforts. The first half of the twelfth century produced a vast number of clever men in Jewish circles, poets, philosophers, Talmudists, and almost all their labors bore the stamp of perfection. The Jewish culture of this period resembled a garden, rich in odorous blossoms and luscious fruits, whose productions, though varied in color and taste, have their root in the same earth. The petty jealousy that rendered Menachem ben Saruk and Ibn-Gebirol unhappy, the inimical feelings existing between Ibn-Janach and Samuel Ibn-Nagrela, between Alfassi and Ibn-Albalia, were banished from this circle. The poets eulogized each other, and cordially praised the men that devoted their powers to other intellectual work. They took the greatest interest in one another's successes, consoled one another in misfortune, and regarded one another as members of one family. The cordial feeling which Jewish poets and men of learning entertained for one another is the completest testimony to their nobility of mind.

It is difficult in a history of these times to record and describe all the important personages. There were seven distinguished rabbis in this period, almost all disciples of Alfassi, who, besides studying Talmud, showed taste for poetry and science, and in part devoted themselves to these pursuits. In Cordova, Joseph ben Jacob Ibn-Sahal (born 1070, died 1124), a disciple of Ibn-Giat, was the rabbi. He appears to have met with trouble in his youth, and in his verses he complains that his own efforts have lacked appreciation, and that poetry in general is not honored. To Moses Ibn-Ezra, who was his bosom friend, he wrote a versified letter of lamentation. Ibn-Ezra, who also craved sympathy, consoled him in a poem written in the same rhyme and meter as Ibn-Sahal's. The verses are easy, flowing and smooth, though without much depth.

His successor in the rabbinate of Cordova, Abu-Amr Joseph ben Zadik Ibn-Zadik (born in 1080, died 1148-49), was even more celebrated. Although Ibn-Zadik is known as an expert Talmudist, his works are not Talmudic, but consist of philosophical treatises in the Arabic language. Ibn-Zadik dedicated his religio-philosophical work (Microcosmos) to a disciple who had asked to be instructed about the greatest good for which man can strive. The thoughts developed by Ibn-Zadik are by no means new, they were current in the Arabic philosophy of the times, but were modified by him so as to fit into the system of Judaism. Knowledge of self leads to knowledge of God, to a pure conception of the God-idea, and to the recognition that the world was created out of nothing by the divine will. This will is contained in Revelation, in the Torah; God revealed it to man, not on His own account, for He is rich, sufficient unto Himself, and without wants, but to promote man's happiness in the world beyond. The first duty of man, of the Jew, the servant of God, is to cultivate his mind and acquire wisdom and understanding, so that he may honor God in a worthy and spiritual manner, and gain the bliss of future happiness. Ibn-Zadik also remarks that the rites of Judaism, such as the observance of the Sabbath, are consonant with sense and divine wisdom. Man having free will, it is natural that God should mete out to him reward and punishment for his actions. The reward of the soul is its return to its source, the universal soul, and the only conceivable punishment is the sinful soul's failure to attain this end. The soul of the sinner, stained with earthly failings, cannot wing its flight to heaven, but flutters without rest about the world; and this is its punishment. Ibn-Zadik's philosophical work, bearing the stamp of mediocrity, was but little noticed by his contemporaries and successors. His fame as a poet was not great, although his liturgical and other verses are light and pleasing. They are not the outpourings of a poetic soul, but are to some extent a tribute to fashion.

Joseph ben Meïr Ibn-Migash Halevi (born 1077, died 1141) surpassed his contemporaries in mastery of the Talmud. Grandson of an important man at the court of the Abbadides in Seville, and son of a learned father, he became in his twelfth year a disciple of the school of Alfassi, whose lectures he attended uninterruptedly for fourteen years. When Ibn-Migash married (in 1100), Jehuda Halevi composed a glowing epithalamium for the young couple. Before his death Alfassi chose him as his successor, and by that act showed the nobility of his character; for although he left behind him a learned son, he preferred as his successor his gifted disciple. The wisdom of choosing a young man of six-and-twenty seems to have been questioned by some of the members of the congregation (Sivan, May, 1103). Joseph Ibn-Migash deserved the praise lavished on him for his intellectual and moral qualities. His descent from an ancient and noble family, his high position as chief of the most respected community, did not affect his modesty, nor did the dignity of his important office strip him of his humility. Mild, however, as was his character, he employed the utmost severity when the welfare of Judaism was in question.

Spain was at this time in an excited state, and split up into parties. In Andalusia the native Arabs were opposed to the victorious Almoravide Berbers, and they attacked each other in secret and in open war; the Christians (the Mozarabs) settled in the neighborhood of Granada conspired secretly against their Mahometan landlords, and summoning the conqueror of Saragossa, Alfonso of Aragon, promised to hand Granada over to him. Christian Spain was no less divided, though Castile and Aragon ought to have been united through the marriage of Alfonso of Aragon and Urraca, Queen of Castile. This unhappy marriage was the cause of anarchy. One party sided with the king, another with the queen, and a third with the young prince Alfonso VII, whose teacher had incited him against his mother and stepfather. Christians and Mahometans were frequently seen fighting under one standard, sometimes against a Christian prince, sometimes against a Mahometan emir. The making and breaking of treaties followed each other in quick succession. Deception and treachery occurred continually, and even the clergy of high position passed from party to party, and fought their former allies, or assisted their former enemies.

The Jews of Spain did not remain neutral, and either willingly or perforce joined the one or the other party, as their interests or political opinions dictated. When Mahometans or Christians conspired, they could, in case of discovery, take refuge with their powerful co-religionists. The Jews, however, did not enjoy such protection, and could only hold together for safety. Treachery in their midst was, therefore, most disastrous for them, as the anger of the enraged rulers not only struck the conspirators or their congregation, but the entire Jewish population of the country. When, therefore, a member of the congregation of Lucena on one occasion threatened to betray his co-religionists, the rabbi and judge, Joseph Ibn-Migash, determined to make an example of him. He condemned the traitor to be stoned to death at twilight on the Day of Atonement. Joseph Ibn-Migash left a learned son, Meïr (1144), and a large circle of disciples, amongst whom was Maimun of Cordova, whose son was destined to begin a new era in Jewish history.

In the measure in which the study of the Talmud in Spain grew, Bible exegesis and the study of Hebrew grammar declined. These branches were arrested in their development. But on the other hand, this period was rich in poets. The Hebrew language, during the two centuries since Ben-Labrat, had become smooth and pliable, so that it was no difficult matter to make verses, and employ rhyme and meter. The involved forms developed especially by Solomon Ibn-Gebirol found many imitators. The Arabic custom of writing letters of friendship in verses, adopted by the Spanish Jews, made a knowledge of prosody a necessity: he who did not desire to appear illiterate had to learn how to versify. The number of poems which at this period saw the light of day was legion. Amongst poets worthy of record, who also occupied themselves with matters other than poetry, were Judah Ibn-Giat, Judah Ibn-Abbas, Solomon Ibn-Sakbel, and the brothers Ibn-Ezra. They were all surpassed by the prince of poets, Jehuda Halevi, recognized even by his contemporaries as a master of song.

Solomon ben Sakbel, a relative of Rabbi Joseph Ibn-Sahal, unlike Ibn-Giat and Ibn-Abbas, whose muse was serious, used the Hebrew language for light love-verses. The new form of poetry introduced by the Arabic poet, Hariri of Basra, induced Ibn-Sakbel to make a similar attempt in the Hebrew language; he wrote a kind of satirical romance, called Tachkemoni, the hero of which, Asher ben Jehuda, is exposed to disappointments and vicissitudes. The hero tells his adventures in rhymed prose, interspersed with verses; he relates how, together with his love, he had passed a long time in the forest depths, until, tired of the monotony, he longed to join a circle of friends who passed their time in feasting. Attracted by the letter of some unknown fair one, he set out to find her, and was introduced into a harem, the master of which, with grim "Berber mien," threatened him with death. This, however, was only a mask assumed by the maid of his lady-love in order to frighten him. At length he had hopes of attaining his end, but when he meets the supposed mistress, he finds the entire affair to have been the joke of a friend. This poem has no artistic merit, and is only an imitation of his Arab model. The ease with which Ibn-Sakbel employs the Hebrew language, and the skill with which he combines profoundly serious reflections with the lightest banter, are the only features to be admired.

The four brothers Ibn-Ezra, of Granada, were richly endowed; they were noble, learned, and wealthy. Their names were Abu-Ibrahim Isaac, Abu-Harun Moses, Abulhassan Jehuda, and Abuhajaj Joseph, the youngest. Their father Jacob had occupied an office under King Habus, or rather under his vizir, Ibn-Nagrela. One might know by their noble character, said a contemporary historian, that these four princely sons of Ibn-Ezra were of David's blood and of ancient lineage. The most celebrated amongst them was Abu-Harun Moses (born 1070, died 1139), who boasted that he was the pupil of his eldest brother. He was the most prolific poet of his time.

A misfortune seems to have aroused his muse. He loved his niece, by whom he was loved in return. The brother, however, refused to give him his daughter, and the other brothers approved the decision. Moses fled from his father's house, and wandered to Portugal and Castile (1100). He was tortured by pangs of love, and time did not heal his wounds. False friends seem to have widened the breach between him and his brothers. His love found expression in verses, and the muse became his comforter. He sought to drown his sorrow in earnest study and to find in knowledge a solace for the loss of his brothers and his beloved. He indeed won friends and admirers who remained true to him until death. A man of high position in Christian Spain, who is represented as a benefactor of the Jews, took an interest in the unhappy Moses, on whom he bestowed his friendship. Moses Ibn-Ezra in many respects resembled Solomon Ibn-Gebirol. He also complained of deception and jealousy and of the hardships and faithlessness of the times. Like the poet of Malaga, his own emotions inspire him; there is no great aim in his poetic effusions. But Moses Ibn-Ezra was neither so tender nor so impressionable as Ibn-Gebirol, nor was he so sad or complaining, but at times sang lively songs, and dallied with the muse. He was far behind Ibn-Gebirol as a poet. His poetry was labored and stilted, his verses often hard, without sweetness and freshness, and neither rhythmical nor harmonious. Moses Ibn-Ezra was especially fond of using words of the same sound, with different and often opposite meaning, a habit which he had adopted from the Arabic poets. His command of the Hebrew language, the abundance of his poetical works, and the variety of meters with which he enriched Hebrew poetry are alike admirable. He composed a song-cycle, which he called a string of pearls, composed of 1210 verses in ten divisions; they were dedicated to his patron Ibn-Kamnial. These verses are as varied in form as in contents. The poet in this collection alternately sings the praise of wine, love, and joy, of voluptuous life amidst leafy bowers and the song of birds, complains of the separation from friends, of faithlessness and the approach of old age, incidentally recommends trust in God, and lastly, praises the art of poetry. Moses Ibn-Ezra also composed three hundred poems, in more than ten thousand verses, for special occasions, and also two hundred prayers for New Year and the Day of Atonement, portions of which were incorporated in the ritual of many congregations (of the communities of Spain, Montpellier, Avignon, and of the Romagnoles). But few of his religious poems have true poetic fervor; they are all composed according to the rules of the art, but true beauty is wanting. Moses Ibn-Ezra wrote, in Arabic, a dissertation on the rules of the poetic art, called "Conversations and Recollections," which at the same time is a sort of history of Spanish-Jewish poetry from its first beginnings. This work, dealing also with Arabic and Castilian poetry, is a treasure for the literary history of Spain. The poorest work of Moses Ibn-Ezra is his so-called philosophical treatise, written in Hebrew, wherein he expounds the barren philosophy of the times according to Arabic models.

Notwithstanding his comparative insignificance as a philosopher and his mediocrity as a poet, Moses Ibn-Ezra was held in high honor by his contemporaries on account of his facility in writing. He stood on a friendly footing with all important personages of the time, and they praised him in prose and verse, and he likewise praised them. He became reconciled to his brothers, when the love of his youth died in giving birth to a boy (1114). On her deathbed she spoke of him, and her words, which became a holy remembrance to him, inspired him to write an elegy which, imbued with true feeling, was far more poetical than his other works. This elegy Moses Ibn-Ezra sent to his eldest brother, and it was the first step toward their reconciliation. As his brothers departed this earth one by one, the survivor was overwhelmed with grief, and dedicated to their memory verses full of feeling. Moses Ibn-Ezra retained his poetic gift until a great age. Jehuda Halevi wrote a touching tribute to his memory.

The brilliant luminary of this period and its chief exponent was Abulhassan Jehuda ben Samuel Halevi (Ibn-Allevi), born in Old Castile in 1086. In the annals of mankind his name deserves a separate page with a golden border. To describe him worthily, history would need to borrow from poetry her most glowing colors and her sweetest tones. Jehuda Halevi was one of the chosen, to whom the expression, "an image of God," may be applied without exaggeration. He was a perfect poet, a perfect thinker, a worthy son of Judaism, which, through his poetry and thought, was ennobled and idealized.

When Spain shall have discarded its prejudices, and shall no longer estimate the greatness of its historical personages by the standard of the Church, then Jehuda Halevi will occupy a place of honor in its Pantheon. The Jewish nation has long since crowned him with the laurel-wreath of poetry, and recognized the wealth of piety and pure morality that he possessed.

"Pure and faithful, ever spotless
Was his song, even as his soul was:
Soul, that when the Maker fashioned,
With his handiwork delighted,

Straight he kissed the beauteous spirit;
And that kiss, in sweetest music
Echoing, thrills through all the singing
Of the poet consecrated."[1]

His deep moral earnestness was closely united with a cheerful, serene philosophy of life. The admiration which was showered upon him did not destroy his modesty, and despite his devotion to his friends, he still preserved his own peculiar characteristics and the independence of his views. His rich store of knowledge clustered about one center, and however great a poet, in the best sense of the word, he may have been, he was keenly conscious of his own feelings, thoughts, and actions. He prescribed rules for himself, and remained true to them. Deep as were his sentiments, he was far from excess of feeling, or sentimentality.

Jehuda Halevi's biography contains little that is extraordinary. Born in Christian Spain, he attended the college of Alfassi at Lucena, because Castile and the north of Spain were still wanting in Talmudical scholars. When but a youth, as in the case of Ibn-Gebirol, the muse aroused him; not, however, as the latter, with mournful tones, but with pure, joyous strains. He celebrated in song the happy experiences of his friends and comrades, the nuptials of Ibn-Migash, the birth of the first-born in the house of Baruch Ibn-Albalia (about 1100). Fortune smiled upon this favorite of the muses from his youth, and no harsh discord ever issued from his poetical heart. In the south of Spain he became acquainted with the noble and cultured family of Ibn-Ezra. When he learnt that Moses Ibn-Ezra had met with a disappointment in love, and had exiled himself, the young poet sought out his older brother-poet to comfort and soothe him with his songs. The latter, struck with surprise at Jehuda's beautiful verses and overflowing sentiments, answered him in poetic productions.

Jehuda Halevi appears to have been in Lucena when Alfassi died, and Joseph Ibn-Migash succeeded him in the office of rabbi (1103). On the occasion of his death Halevi composed a beautiful elegy, and celebrated the accession of his successor in a poem expressing his homage and deep respect. The young man also experienced the pleasure and the pain of love; he sang of the gazelle-like eyes of his beloved, her rosy lips, her raven hair. He complained of her unfaithfulness and of the wounds which rent his heart. His amatory poems breathe the fire of youth, and display rash impetuousness. The southern skies were portrayed in his verses, the green meadows and the blue streams. His early poetry even bears the stamp of artistic polish, of rich fancy and beautiful symmetry, of warmth and loveliness. There is no mere jingle of words, no thoughtless utterance--all manifests harmony and firmness of touch. Jehuda Halevi appears to have completely suppressed the pangs of love, for no traces whatever are to be found thereof in his later life and poems.

Jehuda Halevi not only completely mastered the Hebrew language and the artistic forms of the neo-Hebraic poetry, but he also obtained a thorough knowledge of the Talmud, studied the natural sciences, penetrated even to the depths of metaphysics, and was skilled in all branches of learning. He wrote Arabic elegantly, and was conversant with the new-born Castilian poetry. He obtained a livelihood as a physician, practising medicine on his return to his native place. He appears to have been highly esteemed for his medical skill, for on one occasion he wrote to a friend that, living in a large town, he was busily engaged in the practice of his art. But, in spite of his constant care for the bodies of the sick and the dying, he did not forget his own soul, but ever maintained the ideals of his life. The following letter which, when advanced in years (about 1130), he wrote to a friend, is interesting:

"I occupy myself in the hours which belong neither to the day
nor to the night, with the vanity of medical science, although
I am unable to heal. The city in which I dwell is large, the
inhabitants are giants, but they are cruel rulers. Wherewith
could I conciliate them better than by spending my days in
curing their illness! I physic Babel, but it continues infirm.
I cry to God that He may quickly send deliverance unto me, and
give me freedom, to enjoy rest, that I may repair to some place
of living knowledge, to the fountain of wisdom."

The city of which Jehuda here speaks is Toledo, where he passed the years of his manhood. He longed, however, to depart thence, as Toledo had not yet become a center of Jewish learning.

The whole power of his creative genius was bestowed upon the art of poetry and a thoughtful investigation of Judaism. He had a more correct conception of poetry, which he valued as something holy and God-given, than had his Arab and Jewish contemporaries. He distinctly enunciated the view that the faculty for composing poetry must be innate, original, not acquired. He mocked at those who laid down laws about meter and rhyme, and were very precise on those points. The truly inspired poet carries the laws within him, and will never be guilty of any blunders or inaccuracies. As long as he was young, he dissipated the gold of his rich poetry on light, flimsy themes, and following the example of others, wrote sparkling lyrics, in which he glorified his numerous friends. He sang of wine and pleasure, and composed riddles. When his friends rebuked him for this conduct (about 1110), he retorted in youthful insolence,

"Shall one whose years scarce number twenty-four,
Turn foe to pleasure and drink wine no more?"

In these poetic trifles, it delighted him to display his skill in overcoming the difficulties of elaborate and involved meters. Very often he concluded a poem with an Arabic or a Castilian verse. One recognizes in the words and the structure the great master who had the power of presenting a complete picture by a few bold strokes of the pen. His delineations of nature may be placed side by side with the best poetical productions of all languages. We see the flowers bursting forth and blooming; we inhale in deep draughts the balm with which his verse is impregnated. The boughs bend beneath the burden of their golden fruit; we hear the songsters of the air pouring forth their sweet strains of love; he paints sunshine and the pure air with a masterly hand. When he is describing the turbulence of a tempest-tossed sea, he communicates to the reader all the emotions of sublimity and anxiety which he himself felt. But in all this the working of his great soul is not revealed; it was, in a measure, only the tribute which he paid to its human part and to the fashion of the time. Not even his religious poems, which in number were not exceeded by those of his older fellow-poet, Moses Ibn-Ezra, for they amount to three hundred, but which in depth, heartfelt fervor and polish, surpass his as well as those of other predecessors, disclose the true greatness of his poetical genius.

The importance of Jehuda Halevi as a poet lies in those poems that breathe a national-religious spirit. In these his ideas burst from the depths of his heart, his whole being rises upwards in ecstasy, and when he sings of Zion and its past and future glory, when he veils his head in mourning over its present slavery, we find the true spirit of his poetry, nothing artificial or simulated, but all pervaded by strong feeling. In all neo-Hebraic poetry Jehuda Halevi's songs of Zion may best be compared with the Psalms. When he is breathing forth his laments for Zion's widowhood, or dreaming of her future splendor, and depicts how she will again be united to her God and her children, we fancy that we are listening to one of the sons of Korah. The muse of Jehuda Halevi, in her maturity, had a lofty purpose; it was to sing of Israel, his God and the sanctuary, his past and his future, and to lament his humiliation. He was a national poet, and hence it is that his songs seize upon the reader with irresistible force. The complaints of Ibn-Gebirol about his own deserted condition can arouse only faint interest; the sufferings of Moses Ibn-Ezra on account of his unfortunate love leave us unaffected; but the affliction of Jehuda Halevi on account of his dearly beloved Zion cannot fail to move every susceptible heart.

The national poetry of Jehuda Halevi is of higher value, since it has its source not in mere poetical sentiments, but in earnest and impassioned conviction. He was not only the perfect poet, he was also the brilliant thinker; in him feeling and thought were completely blended. Poetry and philosophy were intimately united within him, neither being strange, borrowed, or artificially acquired, but each being an innate possession. Just as he gave expression to the national feelings of Israel in his songs of Zion, so he interpreted, if one may say so, the national thoughts of Judaism in an ingenious and spiritual manner. Poetry and philosophy were employed by him only to glorify and spiritualize the inheritance of Israel. He propounded original ideas on the relation of God and the world, of man to his Creator, on the value of metaphysical speculation, of its connection with Judaism, and on the importance of this religion as contrasted with Christianity and Islam. All these problems he solved not in a dry, scholastic fashion, but in a lively, interesting, and convincing manner. If in his lyrics we may liken him to a son of Korah, in the development of his thoughts he resembles the author of Job, but he is richer in matter, more profound, more comprehensive. From Job or from Plato, Jehuda Halevi borrowed the form in which his religious philosophical system is presented. He expounds his thoughts in the form of a dialogue, and like the author of Job, combines them with an historic fact, thus giving more intense interest to the theme, and conveying a lasting impression. When certain of his disciples asked him how he could defend rabbinical Judaism, and how reply to the objections hurled against it by philosophy, Christianity, Islam and the Karaites, he produced his answer in a comprehensive, erudite work in the form of a dialogue written in elegant Arabic. As its title denotes, the book was intended to demonstrate the truth of Judaism and to justify the despised religion.

A heathen, who knew nothing of the wisdom of the schoolmen, nor of the three existing religions, but who felt the necessity of uniting himself in a spiritual, affectionate union with his Creator, becomes convinced of the truth of Judaism. This heathen is Bulan, the king of the Chazars, who himself embraced the Jewish faith. Him the Castilian philosopher makes use of to give an historical character to his work, and hence it bears the name of Chozari (wrongly spelt Kusari). The clever preface, written in an appropriate style, stirs the interest of the reader.

An angel repeatedly appeared in a dream to the king of the Chazars, who was a zealous adherent of his idolatrous cult, but a man of pious mind, and addressed him in these very significant words: "Thy intention is good, but not the manner in which thou servest God." In order to ascertain with certainty in what manner the Deity should be worshiped, the king applied to a philosopher. The sage, a follower partly of the Aristotelian and partly of the neo-Platonic system, fostered in the king more of disbelief than belief. He told him that God was too exalted to come into any relation whatsoever with man, or to demand any reverential worship.

The king of the Chazars did not feel at all satisfied with this comfortless exposition. He felt that acts intended to honor God must be of absolute value in themselves, and without these, pious and moral thoughts could be of but little merit. It was impossible to understand why, if the form of worshiping God was to be an altogether indifferent matter, Christianity and Islam, which had divided the world between them, should war against each other, and even consider mutual slaughter as holy work whereby paradise might be attained. Both religions, moreover, appeal to divine manifestations and wise prophets, through whose agency the Deity has worked miracles. God must then, in some way, be in relation to mankind. There must exist something mysterious of which the philosophers have no notion. Thereupon the king determined to apply to a representative of the Christian faith and to a Mahometan, in order to learn from them the true religion. He did not think of asking the counsel of the Jews at first, because from their abject condition and the universal contempt in which they were held, the degraded state of their religion was sufficiently apparent.

A priest acted as the exponent of the tenets of the Christian belief to the king. Christianity, he said, believes in the eternity of God and the creation of the world out of nothing, and that all men are descended from Adam; it accepts as true all that the Torah and the Scriptures of Judaism teach, but holds as its fundamental dogma, the incarnation of the Deity through a virgin of the Jewish royal house. The Son of God, the Father and the Holy Ghost form a unit. This trinity is venerated by the Christians as a unity, even though the phrase appears to indicate a threefold personality. Christians are to be considered as the real Israelites, and the twelve apostles take the place of the twelve tribes.

The mind of the king was as little gratified by the answer of the Christian as by that of the Philosopher, the reply not being in accordance with the dictates of reason. The Christian, he thought, should have adduced positive, incontrovertible proofs, which would satisfy the human intellect. He, therefore, felt it his duty to seek further for true religion.

Thereupon he inquired of a Mahometan theologian as to the basis of the faith of Islam. The Moslem believe, as he affirmed, in the unity and eternity of God, and in the _creatio ex nihilo_; but reject anthropomorphic conceptions. Mahomet was the last and most important among the prophets, who summoned all people to the faith, and promised to the faithful a paradise with all the delights of eating, drinking, and voluptuous love, but to the infidels, the eternal fire of damnation. The truth of Islam depends upon the fact that no man is capable of producing so remarkable a book as the Koran, or even a single one of its Suras. To him also the king replied that the fact of the intimate intercourse of God with mortals must rest upon undeniable proofs, which the internal evidence for the divine origin of the Koran does not afford, for even if its diction is able to convince an Arab, it has no power over those who are unacquainted with Arabic.

As both the Christian and the Moslem had referred their religions to Judaism in order to verify the historic basis of each, the truth-seeking king at length determined to overcome his prejudice against Judaism, and to make inquiries of a Jewish sage. The latter made the following statement of the tenets of his creed, in reply to the request of the king: "The Jews believe in the God of their ancestors, who delivered the Israelites from Egypt, performed miracles for their sake, led them into the Holy Land, and raised up prophets in their midst--in short, in all that is taught in the Holy Scriptures." Thereupon the king of the Chazars replied, "I was right, then, in not asking of the Jews, because their wretched, low condition has destroyed every reasonable idea in them. You, O Jew, should have premised that you believe in the Creator and Ruler of the world, instead of giving me so dry and unattractive a mass of facts, which are of significance only to you." The Jewish sage replied: "This notion that God is the Creator and Ruler of the universe requires a lengthy demonstration, and the philosophers have different opinions on the matter. The belief, however, that God performed miracles for us Israelites demands no proof, as it depends upon the evidence of undoubted eye-witnesses." Starting from this point, the religious philosopher, Jehuda Halevi, has an easy task to unfold proofs of the truth and divine character of Judaism. Philosophy discards God and religion entirely, not knowing what place to assign to them in the world. Christianity and Islam turn their backs on reason, for they find reason in opposition to the cardinal doctrines of their religions. Judaism, on the contrary, starts from a statement of observed facts, which reason cannot possibly explain away. It is quite compatible with reason, but assigns to reason its limits, and does not accept the conclusions of reason, often degenerating into sophistry, when certainty can be attained in another way.

In his correct view of the value of speculative thought, Jehuda Halevi stood alone in his own time, and anticipated many centuries. The thinkers of his time, Jewish, Mahometan and Christian, Rabbi, Ulema and Churchman, bowed the knee to Aristotle, whose philosophical judgments upon God and His relation to the world they placed above Holy Writ, or at least they strained and subtilized the Biblical verses until they expressed a philosophical idea, and thus they became at once believers and sceptics. Jehuda Halevi alone had the courage to point out the limits set by nature to human thought, and to proclaim, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no further." Philosophy has no right to attack well-accredited facts, but must accept them as undeniable truths; it must start with them for bases, bringing to bear its power of co-ordinating the facts and illuminating them by the aid of reason. Just as in the realm of nature the intellect dare not deny actual phenomena when they present themselves, however striking and contrary to reason they may appear, but must strive to comprehend them, so must it act when touching on the question of the knowledge of God. This excellent and irrefutable idea, which of late years, after many wanderings in the labyrinth of philosophy, has at length discovered a way for itself, was first enunciated by Jehuda Halevi. In a poem, which is as beautiful as its matter is true, he thus expresses his opinion of the Greek spirit which studious disciples of philosophy so eagerly affected:

"Do not be enticed by the wisdom of the Greeks,
Which only bears fair blossoms, but no fruit.
What is its essence? That God created not the world,
Which, ever from the first, was enshrouded in myths.
If to its words you lend a ready ear, you
Return with chattering mouth, heart void, unsatisfied."

Judaism cannot, according to this system, be assailed by philosophy at all, because it stands on a firm basis, which the thinker must respect, the basis of historical facts. The Jewish religion entered the world not gradually, little by little, but suddenly, like something newly created. It was revealed to a vast multitude--to millions of men--who had sufficient means of inquiring and investigating whether they were deceived by some trickery. Moreover, all the miracles that preceded the revelation on Sinai, and continued to occur during the wandering in the desert, took place in the presence of many people. Not only on one occasion, the beginning of Israel's nationality, was the evident interference of God manifested, but it revealed itself often, in the course of five hundred years, in the outpouring of the spirit of prophecy upon certain individuals and classes. By virtue of this character, of the confirmed authenticity of these facts, Judaism is invested with a certainty greater than that established by philosophy. The existence of God is demonstrated more powerfully by the revelation of Sinai than by the conclusions of the intellect. Jehuda Halevi believed that he had not only cut away the ground from beneath the philosophical views of his time, but that he had also undermined the foundations both of Christianity and Islam, and laid down the criterion by which the true could be distinguished from the false religion. Judaism does not feed its adherents with the hope of a future world full of bliss, but grants them here on earth a glimpse of the heavenly kingdom, and raises, through an enduring chain of indisputable facts, the hope of the immortality of the soul to the plane of absolute certainty.

Whilst thus giving the general principles of Judaism, he had so far not justified it in all its details. In order to do this, Jehuda Halevi propounded a view which is certainly original and ingenious. The truth of the creation, as related in the Torah, being pre-supposed, he starts from the fact that Adam was in soul and body completely perfect when he came from the hand of the Creator, without any disturbing ancestral influences, and the ideal, after which man should strive, was set forth in all its purity. All truths which are accessible to the human soul might have been known to Adam without any wearisome study, by his innate consciousness, and he possessed, so to speak, a prophetic nature, and was therefore called the son of God. This perfection, this spiritual and moral endowment, he bequeathed to those of his descendants who, by virtue of their spiritual fitness, were capable of receiving it. Through a long chain of ancestors, with some slight interruptions, this innate virtue passed to Abraham, the founder of the family of the Israelites, and thence to the ancestors of the twelve tribes. The people of Israel thus forms the heart and kernel of the human race, and through divine grace, and especially through the gift of prophecy, it was peculiarly fitted for this position. This ideal nature elevates the possessor; it may be said to constitute the intermediate step between man and the angels. In order to attain and preserve this divine gift, it is necessary to have some place which, by reason of the circumstances of the climate, is of help in promoting a higher spiritual life. For this purpose God selected the land of Canaan. Like Israel, so the Holy Land was specially chosen; it was selected because it lies at the center of the earth. There the rule of God was made manifest by the rise of prophets and by extraordinary blessings and curses, which were supernatural. The precepts and prohibitions which Judaism ordains are means whereby the divinely prophetic nature in the Israelite nation may be nurtured and preserved. To this end the priests of the house of Aaron were appointed, the Temple erected, the sacrificial laws and the whole code established. God alone, from whom all these laws emanated, knows in how far they aid in furthering this great aim. Human wisdom durst not find fault with or change them, because the most unimportant alteration might easily cause the grand end to be lost sight of, even as nature brings forth varied productions by slight changes of the soil and climate. The duties of morality, or the laws of reason, do not constitute the peculiarity of Judaism, as many imagine. These are rather the bases on which the commonwealth was established, as even a robber band cannot dispense with justice and fairness if it wishes to hold together. The religious duties are the true essentials of Judaism, and are intended to preserve in the people of Israel divine light and grace and permanent prophetic inspiration.

Though the exact significance of the religious laws is rightly withheld from human understanding, the wisdom of their originator is yet reflected in them. Judaism involves neither the life of a hermit nor ascetic mortification; and, the opponent of brooding melancholy, it desires to see in its followers a joyful disposition. It indicates the limits of the soul's activity and the promptings of the heart, and thus maintains the individual and communal life of the nation in harmonious equipoise. A man deserving to be called pious from a Jewish point of view, does not flee from the world, nor despise life, and desire death in order more quickly to obtain eternal life; he does not deny himself the pleasures of life, but is an upright guardian of his own territory, that is, of his body and soul. He assigns to all the faculties of the body and the soul what is due to each, protects them against want and superfluity, thereby making them docile, and employs them as willing instruments, enabling him to rise to the higher life which emanates directly from the Deity.

After Jehuda Halevi had discovered the great value of religious deeds, it was an easy task for him to prove the superiority of Talmudical Judaism over Karaism, and also to invest it with more resplendent virtues than those distinguishing Islam and Christianity. The condition of slavery into which Israel had fallen, whilst scattered among the nations of the earth, is, according to the view of the poet-philosopher, no evidence of its decay, nor a reason for abandoning hope. In the same manner, the temporal power, on which Christians and Moslems equally pride themselves, is no proof of the divinity of their doctrines. Poverty and misery, despised in the eyes of man, are of higher merit with God than inflated pride and greatness. The Christians themselves are not so proud of their mighty princes as of humble men, such as Jesus, who commanded that "whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also," and of their apostles who suffered the martyrdom of humiliation and contumely. The Moslems also take pride in the followers of their Prophet, who endured much suffering on his account. The greatest sufferer, however, is Israel, since he is among men what the heart is in the human organism. Just as the heart sympathetically suffers with every part of the body, so the Jewish nation suffers most keenly for every wrongdoing among the nations, whether consciously or unconsciously perpetrated. The words which the great prophet represents the nations of the world as saying apply to Israel: "He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows." The Jewish people, in spite of the unspeakable agonies it has gone through, has not perished; it may be likened to a person who is dangerously ill, whom the skill of the physician has entirely given up, but who expects to be saved by some miracle. The picture of the scattered, lifeless bones, which at the word of the prophet unite, are clothed with flesh and skin, have new breath breathed into them, and again stand erect, also applies to Israel; it is a complete description of Israel in its despoiled and low condition. The dispersion of Israel is a miraculous, divine plan, devised to impart to the nations of the earth the spirit with which Israel is endowed. The race of Israel resembles a grain of seed which, placed in the ground, apparently rots away, and appears to have been absorbed into the elements of its surroundings. But when it buds and blossoms forth, it again assumes its original nature, and throws off the disfiguring husk which envelops it, and finally displays its own vital force according to its kind, till it, step by step, attains its highest development. As soon as mankind, prepared for it by Christianity and Islam, recognizes the true importance of the Jewish nation as the bearer of the divine light, it will also pay due honor to the root, hitherto looked upon with contempt. All mankind will adhere to Israel, and having developed into glorious fruit, will finally enter the Messianic kingdom, which is the true fruit of the tree.

Certainly the exalted significance of Judaism and the people that confess it was never more eloquently preached. Thought and feelings, philosophy and poetry, all combined in this original system of Jehuda of Castile, in order to set up a sublime ideal, the point of union between heaven and earth.

Abulhassan Jehuda did not belong to that class of men who form noble conceptions, and lead a contemptible life. In him thought and deed were identical. As soon as he had come to the conclusion that the Hebrew language and the land of Canaan possessed a peculiarly divine character, that they were consecrated means for a holy purpose, this conviction governed his conduct. The treasures of his poetical genius were left uncultivated for a long time, because he considered it a profanation to employ the Hebrew language in imitating the Arabic measures. The philosopher-poet was firmly convinced, moreover, that the Holy Land bore traces of the divine grace. His poetic soul was filled with the spiritual glory of Palestine. From the decayed splendor of its desolate condition there still breathed a higher inspiration. The bitterest pangs of sorrow penetrated his heart at the thought of the sacred ruins. For him the gates of heaven were to be found now as ever at the doors of Jerusalem, and thence poured forth that divine grace which enabled the appreciative mind to attain to happiness and a higher state of repose. Thither would he go, there live according to the dictates of his innermost heart, and there would he be animated by the divine breath. When he began his work on the philosophy of religion, he spoke in mournful tones of the fact that he, like many others, was so insensible to the merits of the Holy Land, that, whilst with his lips he expressed a longing for it, he never attempted to realize this desire. The more, however, he meditated upon the importance of the Holy Land as a place where the divine gift of grace could be obtained, the stronger his determination grew to journey thither and there spend his last days.

This irresistible impulse towards Zion, the favored city, gave birth to a series of deeply impassioned songs, which are as full of true feeling as they are beautiful in form. The songs of Zion, composed by Jehuda Halevi, represent the most excellent fruits of neo-Hebraic poetry, and they may well be compared with the Psalms:

"O city of the world, with sacred splendor blest,
My spirit yearns to thee from out the far-off West;
Had I an eagle's wings, straight would I fly to thee,
Moisten thy holy dust with wet cheeks streaming free."[2]

"In the East, in the East, is my heart, and I dwell at the
end of the West;
How shall I join in your feasting, how shall I share in
your jest,
How shall my offerings be paid, my vows with performance be
crowned,
While Zion pineth in Edom's bonds, and I am pent in the Arab's
bound!
All the beauties and treasures of Spain are worthless as dust,
in mine eyes;
But the dust of the Lord's ruined house, as a treasure of
beauty I prize."

This is the keynote of all the songs of Zion. But in how many and in what various ways does the poet skilfully manipulate his subject! What a wealth of sentiments, images and devices does he develop! The ancient days of Israel are idealized in his verses; the people of his own age at one time appear invested with the thorny crown of a thousand sufferings, and at another with the glittering diadem of a glorious hope. The contents of his lyrics unwittingly penetrate into the soul of the reader, and hurry him to and fro, from pain and woe to hope and rejoicing, and for a long time the deep impression remains, intermingled with feelings of enthusiasm and conviction.

The bard, who was thus inspired by the cause of his nation, busied himself in communicating to his brethren this deep longing for Jerusalem, and in arousing them to arrange some plan of return. One poem, in elevated and lovely strains, encouraged the people, "The Distant Dove," to leave the fields of Edom and Arab (Christendom and Mahometan countries), and to seek its native nest in Zion. But no answering echo was awakened. It was a sublime, ideal conception that enabled the pious poet-philosopher even to dream of so daring a flight.

The soul of Jehuda Halevi was drawn by invisible cords to Israel's ancient home, and he could not detach it from them. When he had concluded his immortal work, the dialogue of the Chozari (about 1141), he entertained serious thoughts of starting on his holy journey. He made no slight sacrifices to this remarkable, if somewhat adventurous, resolve. He exchanged a peaceful, comfortable life for one of disquietude and uncertainty, and left behind his only daughter and his grandson, whom he loved most dearly. He gave up his college which he had established in Toledo, and parted from a circle of disciples whom he loved as sons, and who in turn revered him as a father. He bade farewell to his numerous friends, who, without envy, praised him as a distinguished scholar. All this in his estimation was of little value in comparison with his love of God and the Holy Land. He desired to bring his heart as an offering to the sacred place, and to find his grave in sanctified earth.

Provided with ample means, Jehuda Halevi started on his journey, and his passage through Spain resembled a triumph. His numerous admirers in the towns through which he passed outvied each other in attentions to him. With a few faithful companions he took passage on board a vessel bound for Egypt. Confined in the narrow wooden cabins, where there was no room either to sit or to lie down, a mark for the coarse jests of the rough mariners, sea-sick and in weak health, his soul yet lost none of its power to elevate itself into a brighter sphere. His ideals were his most trusty companions. The storm which tossed the ships about on the waves like a plaything, when "between him and death there intervened only a board," unlocked the store of song within his breast. Of the sea he sang songs which for faithfulness of description and depth of feeling have few equals:

"The billows rage--exult, oh soul of mine,
Soon shalt thou enter the Lord's sacred shrine!"[3]

Delayed by adverse winds, the ship arrived at Alexandria at the time of the Feast of Tabernacles (September), and Jehuda betook himself to his co-religionists, with the firm determination to spend but a short time with them, and never to forget the aim of his journey. But as soon as his name became known, all hearts were drawn towards him. The most distinguished man of the Alexandrian congregation, the physician and rabbi Aaron Ben-Zion Ibn-Alamâni, who was blessed with prosperity and children, and was himself a liturgical poet, hastened to receive him as a noble guest, showed him the highest honor, and placed his hospitable mansion at the disposal of Halevi and his comrades. Under the careful treatment of cordial friends, he recovered from the effects of his sea-voyage, and expressed his gratitude in beautiful Hebrew verses. The family of Ibn-Alamâni were so urgent in their desire to keep him with them, that in spite of his great longing for Jerusalem, he remained for nearly three months at Alexandria, till the Feast of Dedication. He tore himself away by force from such dear friends, and meant to go to the port of Damietta, where dwelt one of his best friends, Abu Said ben Chalfon Halevi, whose acquaintance he had made in Spain. He was, however, compelled to alter the course of his journey, for the Jewish prince Abu Mansur Samuel ben Chananya, who held a high post at the court of the Egyptian Caliph, sent him a pressing letter of invitation.

Abu Mansur, who dwelt in the palace of the Caliph, appears to have been the head of the Jewish congregations in Egypt, bearing the title of Prince (Nagid). Jehuda Halevi was the less able to decline this flattering invitation, as it was important for him to obtain from the Jewish prince, whose fame was wide-spread, letters of recommendation, facilitating the continuance of his pilgrimage to Palestine. Abu Mansur's hint that he was willing to aid him with large supplies of money, he delicately put aside in a letter, saying, that "God had blessed him so munificently with benefits that he had brought much with him from home, and had still left plenty behind." Soon after, he traveled to Cairo in a Nile boat. The wonderful river awoke in him memories of the Jewish past, and reminded him of his vow. He immortalized his reminiscences in two beautiful poems. He was warmly received by the Prince Abu Mansur in Cairo, and basked in the sunshine of his splendor, and sang of his liberality, renown, and of his three noble sons. He made but a brief stay in Cairo, and hastened to the port of Damietta, which he reached on the Fast of Tebeth (December, about 1141, 1142). Here he was well received by many friends, and especially by his old friend Abu Said Chalfon Halevi, a man of great distinction. He dedicated some beautiful poems of thanks to him and his other friends. These friends also attempted to dissuade him from proceeding to Palestine; they pictured to him the dangers which he would encounter, and reminded him that memories of the Divine grace in the early days of the history of the Jews were connected also with Egypt. He, however, replied, "In Egypt Providence manifested itself as if in haste, but it took up a permanent residence for the first time in the Holy Land." At length he parted from his friends and admirers, determined to carry his project into effect. It is not known at what place he next stopped.

In Palestine, at this time, Christian kings and princes, the kinsmen of the hero Godfrey of Bouillon, were the rulers, and these permitted the Jews again to dwell in the Holy Land, and in the capital, which had now become Christian. The country, at the time of Jehuda's pilgrimage, was undisturbed by war; for the Christians who had settled in Palestine a generation ago, the effeminate Pullani, loved peace, and purchased it at any price from their enemies, the Mahometan emirs. The Jews were also in favor at the petty courts of the Christian princes of Palestine, and a Christian bishop complained that owing to the influence of their wives, the princes placed greater confidence in Jewish, Samaritan, and Saracen physicians than in Latin (that is, Christian) ones. Probably the reason was because the latter were quacks.

Jehuda Halevi appears to have reached the goal of his desire, and to have visited Jerusalem, but only for a short time. The Christian inhabitants of the Holy City seem to have been very hostile to him, and to have inspired him with disgust for life in the capital. It is to this, probably, that his earnest, religious poem refers, in the middle verses of which he laments as follows:

"To see Thy glory long mine eye had yearned;
But when at last I sought Thy Holy Place,
As though I were a thing unclean and base,
Back from Thy threshold was I rudely spurned.

The burden of my folk I, too, must bear,
And meekly bow beneath oppression's rod,
Because I will not worship a false god,
Nor, save to Thee, stretch forth my hands in prayer."

The closing adventures of his life, beyond the fact that he was at Tyre and at Damascus, are not known. The Jewish community at Tyre rendered great honor to him, and the memory of this treatment was impressed on his grateful heart. In a poem to his Tyrian friend he grieves over his faded hopes, his misspent youth, and his present wretchedness, in verses which cannot be read without stirring up emotions at the despondency of this valorous soldier. In Damascus he sang his swan-song, the glorious song of Zion, which, like the Psalms of Asaph, awake a longing for Jerusalem. The year of his death and the site of his grave are both unknown. A legend has it that a Mahometan horseman rode over him as he was chanting his mournful Lay of Zion. Thus reads a short epitaph which an unknown admirer wrote for him:

"Honor, Faith, and Gentleness, whither have ye flown?
Vainly do I seek you; Learning, too, is gone!
'Hither are we gathered,' they reply as one,
'Here we rest with Judah.'"

This, however, does not convey the smallest portion of what this ethereal and yet powerful character was. Jehuda Halevi was the spiritualized image of the race of Israel, conscious of itself, seeking to display itself, in its past and in its future, in an intellectual and artistic form.

In Spain Jewish culture had arrived at its zenith, and had reached its highest perfection in the greatest of the neo-Hebraic poets. In France the beginnings of culture now became manifest. The reigns of the two kings of the house of Capet, Louis VI and VII (1108-1180), were as favorable to the Jews as that of Louis the Pious. The congregations in the north of France lived in the comfort and prosperity that arouses envy, their granaries were filled with corn, their cellars with wine, their warehouses with merchandise, and their coffers with gold and silver. They owned houses and fields and vineyards, cultivated either by themselves or by Christian servants. It is said that half of Paris, which at that time was not yet a city of very great importance, belonged to Jews. The Jewish congregations were recognized as independent corporations, and had their own mayor, with the title of Provost (præpositus), who was invested with authority to guard the interests of his people, and to arrest Christian debtors and compel them to pay their Jewish creditors. The Jewish provost was chosen by the community, and his election was ratified by the king or the baron to whom the town was tributary; Jews frequented the court, and held office. Jacob Tam, the greatest rabbinical authority of this time, was highly respected by the king. Jewish theologians freely disputed with the clergy upon religious questions, and openly expressed their honest opinions about the Trinity, the Virgin Mary, the worship of saints, about auricular confession and the miracle-working powers of relics.

Under these favorable circumstances of unrestricted tolerance, the Jewish sages of the north of France were able to follow in the path which Rashi had marked out for them. To understand and explain the Talmud in its entirety became a passion with the French Jews. Death had snatched away the commentator on the Talmud in the midst of his labors at Troyes; his pupils exerted themselves to complete whatever had been left unfinished by him. He had bequeathed to his school a spirit of indefatigable research and close inquiry, of acute dialectics, and the art of fine discrimination, and they richly increased their inheritance. The correct and precise understanding of the Talmud was so sacred a matter to the pupils of Rashi, that they did not hesitate to subject the interpretations of their master to a severe critical revision. But, on the other hand, their veneration for him was so great that they did not venture to offer their opinions independently, but attached them to the commentaries of Rashi as "Supplements" (Tossafoth). From this circumstance they were called the Tossafists. They supplied the omissions of Rashi, and also emended and expanded the explanations given by him. The chief characteristic of the method of the Tossafists is their independence of the authorities, they subjected all opinions to the scrutiny of their own reason. Their profound scholarship and great erudition comprehended the immense Talmudic literature and its maze of learned discussions and arguments with clearness and precision. Their penetrating intellect displayed remarkable ingenuity in resolving every argument and every idea into its original elements, distinguishing thoughts that appeared to be similar, and reconciling such as seemed to conflict. It is almost impossible to convey to the mind of the uninitiated any satisfactory notion of the critical acumen of the Tossafists. They solved the most difficult logical problems with the greatest ease, as if they were the simple examples set to children. The unyielding material of the Talmud became quite malleable under their hands, and they fashioned surprising Halachic (legal) shapes and substances. For the circumstances of modern times they found numerous analogies on record, which a superficial examination would never have discovered.

The circle of the earliest Tossafists was composed chiefly of the relatives of Rashi, viz.: his two sons-in-law, Meïr ben Samuel of Rameru, a small town near Troyes, and Jehuda ben Nathan (Riban); later, his three grandsons, Isaac, Samuel and Jacob Tam, the sons of Meïr; and finally a German, Isaac ben Asher Halevi (Riba) of Speyer, also connected with the family of Rashi.

The school of the Tossafists divided the study of the Talmud into two branches: theoretical discussion leading to a thorough comprehension of the text of the Talmud (Chiddushim), and practical application of the results of such study in the civil laws, in the laws of marriage, and in the religious ritual (Pesakim, Responsa). This ingenious method revealed new legal ordinances.

The study of the Talmud fully occupied the intellectual powers of the Jews of the north of France and the Rhine, and prevented the cultivation of other studies. Poetry did not thrive in a region where logic wielded the scepter, and where the imagination was brought into play only in order to invent new complications and hypothetical cases. The interpretation of Scripture was also treated in a Talmudical manner. Most of the Tossafists were Bible exegetes, but they did not pay much attention to the exact meaning of the text, studying it by means of Agadic interpretations. Tossafoth were written to elucidate the Pentateuch as well as the Talmud. Only two men can be recorded as famous exceptions, who returned from exegesis according to the Agadic method (Derush) to the strict and rational elucidation of the text (Peshat); these are Joseph Kara and Samuel ben Meïr (about 1100-1160). Both of these have the greater importance, since they were in opposition to their fathers, who adhered to the Midrashic system of interpretation. Joseph Kara was the son of Simon Kara, a compiler of Agadic pieces, the author of the Yalkut; and Samuel ben Meïr had been taught by his grandfather Rashi to pay great respect to the Agada. Both of them forsook the old way, and sought an explanation of the text in strict accordance with rules of grammar. Samuel, who completed Rashi's commentary to Job and to some of the treatises of the Talmud, had so thoroughly convinced his grandfather of the correctness of rational exegesis, that he had declared that if strength were granted him, he would alter his commentary to the Pentateuch in accordance with other exegetical principles. Samuel, called Rashbam, wrote, in this temperate style, a commentary to the Pentateuch and the Five Megilloth; and Joseph Kara wrote commentaries on the books of the Prophets and the Hagiographa. Samuel ben Meïr, in his interpretation of Holy Writ, sought for the sense and the connection of the text, and did not shrink from explanations at variance with the Talmud, or in harmony with the views of the Karaites.