Chapter XVIII (1)

EVENTS PRECEDING THE REVOLUTIONS OF FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1848, AND THE SUBSEQUENT SOCIAL ADVANCE OF THE JEWS.

Return of Montefiore and Crémieux from the East--Patriotic
Suggestions--General Indecision--Gabriel Riesser--Michael
Creizenach--Reform Party in Frankfort--Rabbinical Assembly
--Holdheim--Reform Association--Zachariah Frankel--The
Berlin Reform Temple--Michael Sachs--His Character--His
Biblical Exegesis--Holdheim and Sachs--The Jewish German
Church--Progress of Jewish Literature--Ewald and his Works
--Enfranchisement of English Jews--The Breslau Jewish College
--Its Founders--The Mortara Case--Pope Pius IX--The
Alliance Israélite--Astruc, Cohn, Caballo, Masuel, Netter--
The American Jews--The "Union of American Hebrew Congregations"
--The Anglo-Jewish Association--Benisch, Löwy--The
"Israelitische Allianz"--Wertheimer, Goldschmidt, Kuranda--
Rapid Social Advance of the Jews--Rise of Anti-Semitism.

1840-1870 C. E.

The return from the East of the Jewish envoys, who not only had saved a few men from death, but had rescued all Judaism from disgrace, was a veritable triumphal procession. From Corfu to Paris and London, and even to the depths of Poland, the Jewish communities were unanimous in expressions of thanksgiving to the rescuers, and sought by visible signs to evince their gratitude, and at the same time show their patriotic sentiments for Judaism. The tributes took the form of public orations, addresses, articles written in every European language, naturally also in Hebrew, and both in prose and verse. Attentions and gifts were freely bestowed upon the two chief representatives of Judaism, to celebrate in a worthy fashion the momentous events which had occurred in Damascus, and transmit the remembrance of these deeds to posterity. Crémieux, who was the first to set out on the return journey, received enthusiastic homage in Corfu, Trieste, Venice, Vienna, Fürth, Nuremberg, Frankfort, and Mayence (November-December, 1840). The large communities through whose cities he could not pass sent deputations and addresses. It was naïvely touching that old-fashioned orthodox rabbis, at a loss how to show their gratitude, bestowed upon him the title of Rabbi (Morenu), as the highest honor in their gift. Only the Jewish community in Paris behaved in a cool fashion, and prepared no fitting reception for their emissary, as if fearing to wound the sensitiveness of King Louis Philippe, whose ambiguous attitude had been striking.

Montefiore, who had remained in Constantinople a long time, in order to obtain a favorable Firman, and who began his return journey later, and traveled mostly by sea, did not come into contact with so many congregations as Crémieux, hence did not receive so much public homage. He was, however, overwhelmed with letters from all sides. By his watchful care, continually directed to the welfare and honor of his brethren, and without any idea of reward, he had in his simplicity put their enemies to shame. He obtained a promise from Cardinal Rivarola, the protector of all Capuchins in Rome, that the tombstone should be removed which had been erected in the Capuchin church at Damascus recording the murder of Father Tomaso by the Jews, and representing him as a martyr. He also compelled King Louis Philippe to appear pleased with what had occurred. At an audience obtained through the English ambassador, Lord Granville (February 22, 1844), Montefiore handed the king a copy of the Sultan's Firman which testified the innocence of the Damascus Jews, and tacitly condemned the French consul. Louis Philippe was compelled to swallow this humiliation, and assume a gracious manner for the sake of appearances, and congratulate Montefiore on the success of his journey and his mission. Queen Victoria thanked Montefiore all the more sincerely, through Lord Palmerston (who was prime minister at the time, and to whom he was presented on his return), for the succor which he had brought his co-religionists.

The entire body of Jews in Europe were at this time engaged in carrying out three objects: offering to their two rescuers an enduring and striking token of gratitude, perpetuating the memory of the deliverance effected by them, and finally, discovering, through combined action, a means whereby to prevent the recurrence of similar false accusations against Jews and Judaism. The leaders of the German Jews felt themselves especially moved to put on record their interest in the events, and their admiration for the two noble representatives of their race. They, the very ones who had hitherto taken the lead in advocating progress, had done little in connection with the sanguinary events of Damascus. A prominent Jewish scholar, Zunz, had completely refuted the alleged proofs, supposed to be drawn from the Talmud, of the use of blood by the Jews. The Jewish newspapers had boldly fought against anti-Jewish attacks and slanders. But this was all that had been done in Germany towards vindicating the honor of Judaism. Riesser might easily have joined Montefiore and Crémieux, might have accompanied them to Egypt as the representative of the German Jews, and used his eloquence on behalf of the sufferers; but no such idea was even suggested. Geiger, from hatred to the Talmud, had actually admitted that the anti-Semites were right in attributing misanthropical expressions to the Talmud. Certain high-minded Jews in Germany felt it the more necessary to take public action in the matter. Riesser, together with a few friends, desired to found societies, through which the Jews of the four chief countries of Europe were to offer some public recognition to their two representatives. But this plan of acknowledging their indebtedness fell through. In fact, the three objects desired by the people were only imperfectly carried out, because the right means to attain them were not pursued. The services of Montefiore were, however, acknowledged with fervent enthusiasm on his return to London by a public celebration in the synagogues, and a piece of plate was presented to him in remembrance of his success. A still greater distinction awaited him at the hands of Queen Victoria. She rewarded him with an addition to his armorial bearings (June 24), a great honor both to his race and himself. Yet more important than this toy for adults were the words of Her Majesty that accompanied the gracious distinction:

"Inasmuch as it was brought to our notice, that in consequence
of tidings from the East, which stated that, on account of
the accusation that they had murdered Father Tomaso, Jews in
Damascus and Rhodes had been imprisoned and tortured, that many
children had been thrown into prison and deprived of almost
all nourishment, and that many persons had been so cruelly
tortured that death ensued, ... our trusty and well-beloved Sir
Moses Montefiore, accompanied by Lady Montefiore, had quite
voluntarily journeyed to Alexandria with the view of proving
the falsehood of the charge and of conducting the affairs of
his unhappy and persecuted brethren; that he succeeded in
obtaining from the Pasha, Mehmet Ali, the honorable liberation
of the accused who were incarcerated, and the permission
for those who had fled the city to return home; that for
this purpose he procured a Firman in Constantinople from his
Imperial Majesty the Sultan Abdul Meg'id, which declared the
innocence of the Jews, and assured equal rights with all other
subjects to members of the Jewish religion under Turkish rule
--we have taken the above mentioned facts into our royal
consideration, and desire to give to Montefiore a special mark
of our royal favor, in memory of his persevering efforts on
behalf of his suffering and persecuted brethren in the East,
and of his nation in general."

It was an extract from the history of modern Jews related by the Queen herself.

In comparison with this distinction, the proposal of certain French congregations of the Upper Rhine to strike a medal in honor of Crémieux appears very trivial. They shared the general idea, "that it was important for future generations to perpetuate the memory of the events of 1840 affecting Israelites." But Crémieux declined the medal. In what manner these joyful, national memories were to be immortalized was a matter concerning which there was general indecision. Crémieux asked the French Jews and others to support the schools that he had established in Alexandria and Cairo by their contributions. Only a small amount, however, was subscribed: the maintenance of the Crémieux schools in Egypt was only accidentally connected with the main question, and was not likely to keep the exaltation of the Jews at a high pitch. One suitable proposition was made, but no notice was taken of it.

"It is not by ostentatious gifts, nor by clamorous
celebrations, that we can testify our gratitude. We would offer
the finest testimonial to the men who went to the rescue by
perpetuating this great historical event in a religious form
appropriate to its religious spirit. It should be commemorated
by an annual festival equal to the festivals of Chanuka and
Purim; for on those days it may be said that Israel was
delivered from bodily suffering, whilst on this day it was
delivered from spiritual servitude."

Judaism never knew a more effectual way of commemorating its liberation and victories and arousing a spirit of emulation in posterity than by establishing days of memorial, by means of which, time, the destroyer, is made the protector of historical events. If that most skillful master of the Hebrew language, Isaac Erter, had completed the narrative of the persecution and the deliverance in Damascus, which he had commenced in the simple biblical style, and if the heads of the Jewish communities had resolved to commemorate the most important day in the Damascus affair, and to read this "Scroll" (Megillah) in public, the lasting remembrance of these occurrences would have been assured, and at the same time a means would have been found of cementing afresh the bonds of fellowship. The Jews of Asia and Africa and on the whole globe would joyfully have accepted such a festival as an international memorial. Munk, whose voice carried great weight, remarked:

"Would that the sad Damascus incident might at least serve to
make us take cognizance of our disorganized condition, which,
though mournful to contemplate, is unfortunately a fact. Would
that it might show us that in times of danger we must rely upon
ourselves, and that the bond that formerly united us might be
renewed."

Instead of unity, however, a rupture took place within German Judaism, which, though caused by a trifling dispute that might easily have been settled in the commencement, grew to great proportions. The consciousness of opposition was present, and by chance it asserted itself on this occasion; but it might equally well have shown itself at any other time, so long as it was not allayed, or had not worn off. The Hamburg Temple, which twenty years before had first stirred up dissensions between the old-fashioned orthodox party and the reformers, again brought about a quarrel, which henceforth assumed a fiercer complexion. The congregation of the Temple had largely increased in numbers since its foundation. The younger members of the old-fashioned community had joined, because in the old synagogue they found no satisfaction for their devotional cravings, and they objected to the continual disorder that prevailed. The new congregation had already grown to nearly eight hundred members, and included a man who in his own person was a great attraction. After the death of Bresselau, the secretary of the congregation, Gabriel Riesser had accepted that post. He became closely connected with the Temple, and was elected to the office of second warden. As his name was in extraordinary repute, owing to his untiring zeal for the political and social emancipation of the Jews in Germany, his adhesion to the Temple shed new luster upon it. When the members of the Temple determined to erect a new and larger house of prayer, the old party by complaining to the senate threw obstacles in the way of the undertaking. The authorities of the Temple had also caused a new prayer-book to be compiled.

The altered liturgy of the Temple was published and announced as a general "Prayer-Book for Israelites," but was so objectionable to the orthodox party as to be utterly rejected. The circumstance that the new prayer-book claimed to be used by all Jews gave rise to great annoyance. Chacham Bernays therefore renewed on a Sabbath, in the three synagogues (Marcheshvan 1, October 16, 1841), the proclamation against heretics which the three rabbis had issued on the foundation of the Temple, forbidding any Israelite to use this prayer-book. In the reasons assigned, harsh expressions were employed charging that this prayer-book, even more than the former, gave wanton and frivolous treatment to the religious convictions contained in the Hebrew prayers. This denunciation naturally excited the Temple congregants, and transported even the cautious Riesser to inordinate lengths. Whilst the preachers regarded the insulting expression of opinion from a religious standpoint, Riesser saw in it an encroachment upon their rights, "because the Chacham had no authority over the Temple." The Temple committee then published a counter-declaration (October 24), in which Bernays was charged not alone with "arrogance, impotent partiality, and malicious ignoring of the contents of the book," but with "ignorance of all theological and liturgical literature." There now arose a violent dispute, conducted with such passion, that the senate was compelled to reprove both parties. The Chacham and the leaders of his congregation, who sided with him, circulated thousands of copies of the sentence of condemnation upon the prayer-book in many communities; whilst the authorities of the Temple (November) requested rabbis and preachers holding the same religious views to give their opinions as to the value or worthlessness of the innovations, expecting that the decisions would be in their favor. On this occasion, the changes which had taken place in the German communities during two decades became evident. Whereas formerly only three rabbis had ambiguously given their assent to the ritual of the Temple, and many others had condemned it, at this second discussion only the rabbi of Altona supported Bernays, whilst twelve or thirteen others pronounced judgment adverse to him; this was at the close of 1841, or the beginning of 1842. Then began the aggressive stage of the reform movement. Young rabbis or clergymen, pastors (as they preferred to be called), who had mostly drawn their wisdom from academies, and were enthusiastic for the reform which had become the fashion, now were at the head. The old rabbis, on the other hand, no longer ventured to oppose them. Thus it seemed as if all the Jews of Germany were in favor of innovations in the synagogue, and only a few wanting in spirit struggled against this tendency.

The contest concerning the Hamburg Temple bore no results in the city itself, as a terrible conflagration (May, 1842) transformed a great part of the town into a mass of ruins, and distracted attention from party interests. The flame of reform blazed up from another point, and threatened to spread far and wide. In Frankfort-on-the-Main, for some time past, there had been discontented persons who had broken away from the Judaism of the day. These disturbing elements partly originated in a school called the Philanthropin (which from small beginnings had grown into an important institution), partly in the first Jewish Freemasons' lodge. The managers and teachers of the school and the members of the lodge favored a radicalism repugnant to Judaism. For a long time Michael Creizenach (born 1789, died 1842), a teacher at the Philanthropin, formed the center of an invisible society. Creizenach, who was honest, judicious, but uninteresting, had published many pamphlets combating Rabbinical Talmudical Judaism, but owing to their temperate tone and want of depth, these writings made little impression. By his personal influence, however, he filled the circle of his friends and admirers with a passion for innovation and a deep aversion to antiquity.

After his death several of his adherents endeavored to form a congregation, and to establish a sect, even at the risk of separating from Judaism. Their aim was in a measure to remove the pretext of anti-Jewish politicians, who withheld equal rights from the Jews on the score of attachment to their nationality, to the Talmud, and to old forms, and they also desired to secure freedom of action for themselves. They were educated laymen, who, owing to the prevailing confusion, had lost mental balance, or they may have been misled by false leaders. They constituted themselves a Society of the Friends of Reform (October, 1842), and drew up a confession of faith, which clearly proved the perplexity of the times. They refused to recognize the Talmud as an authority. But the Bible? "They considered the Mosaic religion capable of continual development." First of all they wished to throw off the fetters of the dietary laws, because they "had originated in the ancient constitution of the state," and at the present day had lost their significance as a religious act or symbol. They definitely gave up all hope in the Messiah, or a return to Palestine, "because they regarded their native land as their sole fatherland."

The Creizenach Friends of Reform did not find many supporters. They therefore sought to interest Gabriel Riesser, whose importance was already acknowledged, and who might attract others. He was at first inclined to join them. He appears not to have overcome the excitement into which he had been thrown by Bernays' intervention in the affairs of the Hamburg Temple. He did not even shrink from total secession, although he had hitherto constantly desired to have "the shell of Judaism respected on account of its soul." The idea of freedom, which completely filled his mind, destroyed his emotional attachment to existing Judaism. He was therefore eminently in favor of the paragraph in the Creizenach or Frankfort programme which declared that it was optional with every Jewish father to have his sons circumcised, and that in case of the omission of this rite civil disabilities should not be entailed. Riesser wished to combat any presumptive right of forcing conscience. However, others who had been asked to join, took umbrage at this very question of circumcision. The founders of the Society of the Friends of Reform, therefore, saw themselves obliged to relinquish this point as well as the declaration against the dietary laws, and to adhere to only three out of the five resolutions of their original programme: that against the Talmud, that against the Messiah, and that enunciating the possibility of the development of the "Mosaic religion." This abridgment and enfeebling of the original confession, Riesser considered illogical and cowardly, and he withdrew his support. The power of attraction was lacking in the society, and as only a few joined, it perished at its birth. The question of circumcision was shortly afterwards brought forward from another quarter. Several unfortunate accidents at the circumcision of Jewish boys had induced the health officers in Frankfort-on-the-Main to issue an order (February 8, 1843) with the ambiguous wording, "Israelite citizens and inhabitants, if they desire to have their children circumcised, must employ the services of competent persons." From this it appeared that the Frankfort Senate made it optional with Jewish parents to perform the rite or neglect it, and did not regard it as a necessary mark of the Jewish religion. The Senate at the same time explained that they did not mean thereby to give untrammeled liberty to the innovators. But the reformers seized upon the words in order to have a pretext for abolishing the rite of circumcision. In consequence, Rabbi Solomon Trier invited the opinions of his brother rabbis upon the subject (1843-44) in order to dispose of the question forever. However, it caused but a slight sensation, seeing that even young rabbis favorably disposed to reform had decisively asserted the obligation and necessity of circumcision. Therefore, no seceding sect was formed among the Jews of Germany, although the elements existed, and an uneasy state of feeling was the result.

This feeling was especially noticeable among the younger rabbis, who were not very clear about the purpose and extent of the reforms to be instituted, or met with continual opposition on one side or the other in their congregations, and in their isolation were without support. At this time the fashion of assemblies and societies had come into vogue; railways had already been built between the great cities, and had facilitated personal intercourse. Thus the invitation calling a conference of rabbis met with approval. This meeting of rabbis and preachers who were, to some extent, at one upon the subjects under discussion, at first awakened a certain expectancy; it was a novelty, and this always possesses a certain amount of charm. However, at the first session only twenty-two rabbis assembled in Brunswick, the majority coming from southern and western Germany. The remainder waited until the resolutions of the assembly should be made known, and according as they agreed or disagreed with them, they would decide whether to join or to hold aloof. Few rabbis attended who adhered to the Judaism rooted in the Talmud; most of the members had partially, or wholly, severed themselves from the Talmud, although they did not practically manifest this severance in their religious practices.

The first Rabbinical Assembly was dominated by a man possessing all the qualities calculated to widen the breach and bring about a complete separation. This was Samuel Holdheim (born at Kempen, 1806; died at Berlin, 1860). It is a curious yet natural fact that Talmudism, which had acquired its power and extensive range through Polish students, should be attacked by a Pole with unsparing severity. On emerging from boyhood Holdheim displayed not only extraordinary acquaintance with the Talmud and Rabbinical literature, but also such remarkable versatility in dialectics and the art of discussion that he won the admiration of grey-bearded rabbis, and was considered a highly-skilled Talmudist.

Like Solomon Maimon, Holdheim when he already had a son began his secular education in the academy at Prague, skipping the lower grades. All that he heard in the philosophical lecture-rooms in this not very distinguished university was new to him, astounded and dazzled him, and resulted in great perturbation of mind. He quickly assimilated such elements of knowledge as were connected with his previous acquirements, such as Christian theology and the commonplace philosophy tolerated in Austria under Metternich. But he had no appreciation of solid, disciplining branches of learning, and even the subjects which attracted him he had first to reproduce in a Talmudical form. Holdheim's knowledge therefore was only of a fragmentary nature, and contained numerous gaps. He was, however, sufficiently careful and practical to devote himself to useful work, to acquire a good style, which had been neglected in his education, and cultivate pulpit eloquence. Owing to his poverty, he was compelled to devote himself to professional studies, and was thus unable to spend time upon his favorite subjects. The Bible which had hitherto been a closed book to Holdheim, or had only been examined by him through Talmudical glasses, he studied solely to obtain verses for his sermons. It is not granted to everyone to possess ideals and regulate his conduct by them. There must also exist dry, calm, doubting natures, occupied only with the world of real things, who build themselves huts here below, and look with contempt on all sublime and ideal sentiments as being froth and folly. Such Mephistophelian temperaments, the incarnation of the spirit of doubt, are as necessary in the sphere of moral life as opposition in nature. Holdheim had this tendency, and his Talmudical culture nourished and developed it. He knew of no enthusiasm, neither for the calm light of pale memories, nor for the dim, cloudy dreams of the future. The firm ground of the present was more to his taste. Since Judaism consists of memories and hopes, Holdheim was not heart and soul devoted to it, but sought to remodel and alter it, so that he might not be inconvenienced.

Mecklenburg-Schwerin, where the typical brutality of the Middle Ages had been preserved, and where mere caprice wielded the scepter, was at this time ruled by a prince, who, instead of making his Jews free in action, wished them to be Freethinkers. They were to cast off all old memories and forms and remodel themselves. A superintendent was appointed for the disciplining of the congregations, and Holdheim was made chief rabbi (1840) to assist in reforms, and stamp innovations with the rabbinical seal. Here he felt untrammeled, and could abolish whatever was distasteful to him. He who formerly had had no conception that divine service must possess dignity, now discovered that disorder in the synagogue was unseemly, and determined to remove everything not countenanced by the spirit of the times. As, however, a desire for changes in the synagogue did not originate from any impulse of his own, he looked around for patterns, and introduced the Würtemberg ritual, undisturbed by any consideration as to whether he was forcing the consciences of the mostly old-fashioned orthodox congregations.

But Holdheim was not to win laurels by introducing innovations into the synagogue. He marked out a wider field for himself. He wished to alter the whole of Judaism in its threefold form, with its Biblical, Talmudical, and Rabbinical components, to confuse all ideas and stultify the consciences. Since Paul of Tarsus, Judaism had not known such an enemy in its midst, who shook the whole edifice to its very foundations. But Holdheim possessed no original ideas to use as a lever for overthrowing Judaism: he had only a certain ingenuity which he had gained from the Talmud. He was therefore obliged to make use of such thoughts of others as had become public property. His acute intellect, however, enabled him to piece together these disjointed, half true premises, and give them a coloring of truth. Judaism, he said, consists of a close combination of religious and moral ideas with national and political elements. Holdheim accepted this definition in order to separate the religious from the national ordinances, the latter having lost all significance since the downfall of the Jewish state. Which laws are national and therefore temporary? Holdheim gave a wide application to the term, calling all observances national and political which are inconvenient, and require a certain amount of self-denial, such as keeping the Sabbath, the Jewish laws of marriage, and even the acquisition of the Hebrew language, which he desired to banish from the midst of the Jewish race, because it is a national bond of union; and still more national is a hope in the Messiah. To this sophistry Holdheim added other quibbles. He considered every state, however constituted, even Russian despotism, an all-devouring Moloch which continually demands victims, and whose lust for sacrifices can be satisfied only by the abnegation of independence, freedom, and every religious sentiment. The culminating point of Holdheim's theory was that Talmudical Judaism itself, in the expression "the law of the state is law for the Jews" (in civil relations), obliges every Jew to subordinate his religious affairs to those of the state; Judaism, in other words, prescribes its own suicide, if the state provides it with a silken halter. Had he lived in the time of the Maccabees, Holdheim would have joined the renegade Menelaus in urging the Jews to worship the Greek Zeus, because the state, which was then called Antiochus Epiphanes, had so commanded. In the time of Hadrian, like a second Acher, he would have lauded the cult of Jupiter of the Capitol, and in the days of Philip of Spain and Emanuel of Portugal he would have advocated the worship of the cross. The millions of Jewish martyrs, according to his theory, were malefactors against the state, inasmuch as they had opposed the laws given to them. Holdheim, the son of the Talmud, struck down Talmudical Judaism with the weapons which it had bestowed upon him. The authority and power which the legislative Synhedrion had formerly possessed, or is said to have possessed, Holdheim wished to see transferred to the Christian state, even the right of interfering with matters of conscience. These ideas he propounded with sophistic casuistry, unmistakably according to the method of the Polish Rabbinical school. It was difficult for Holdheim to decide what Judaism actually was, and what would be left of it, after everything in any way connected with national political life had been excluded, and when supreme authority was besides vested in each state, to change, command, or prohibit religious practices.

The majority of the members of the first assemblage of rabbis in Brunswick looked upon Holdheim with awe as a Talmudical scholar and a reckless reformer, and he obtained distinct influence over the discussions and resolutions of the meeting. Less attention was paid to the letter and spirit of Judaism "than to the state, the exalted German governments," and the intangible, whimsical "spirit of the age." The Talmud was sacrificed by most of the delegates as a scapegoat. Yet the debates and conclusions of the Brunswick conference of rabbis (June, 1844) produced but little effect. The congregations troubled themselves as little about it as they did about the protest from seventy-seven rabbis of Germany, Bohemia, Moravia, and Hungary, which, set on foot by an upright, self-sacrificing, disinterested, but bigoted zealot, Hirsch Lehren of Amsterdam, utterly condemned the assembly of Brunswick.

Events in the Christian world at about this time demonstrated more effectually than this laboriously constructed protest, that Judaism with its ancient confession had not yet become superfluous. The exhibition of the pretended holy coat of Jesus in Treves, to which more than a million Catholics from all countries made a pilgrimage and bent the knee (August-October, 1844), showed that the "spirit of the age" was a deceptive standard. In consequence of this excess of mediæval superstition and credulity, there arose in Germany what promised to be an influential anti-Catholic movement. A German Catholic Church was established (January, 1845), and next to it, in the bosom of Protestantism, "Communities of the Friends of Light" were formed, who threatened Christianity, its belief in the Trinity, and the Divine Incarnation, with imminent dissolution. Every period has its delusions, and Jews can always be found ready to imitate strange customs. Here and there voices were raised in favor of founding a German Jewish Church after the pattern of the German Catholic. In Breslau the agitation for this new scheme was only artificially kept alive, but this movement was somewhat more energetic in Berlin. In this city a popular preacher, Stern, had been delivering lectures upon Judaism and Jewish history, and had characterized Jewish doctrines as a capricious system. At his suggestion, some twenty men, whose opinions upon these topics were in accord with his own, assembled for the purpose of establishing a sort of Church system of a peculiar type, called the Reform Association (April 2, 1845). They believed that the majority of German Jews had disowned all attachment to ancient Judaism in their hearts, and would gladly adopt a new creed. The founders of the Berlin Reform Association therefore issued a summons to all Israel to attend a synod, in order to establish a new Jewish religion. In their programme they naturally tabulated only negative principles, such as the rejection of the Talmud and of the Messianic doctrine, because they belonged with body and soul to their Berlin home; they advocated a return to Holy Writ, not to its literal sense, but to its spirit. The affirmative principles were: "We desire faith, positive religion, Judaism." The confusion of ideas at this time was as great as when the Christian communities of old were first originated from semi-Jewish elements, and even clear heads became affected.

The matter did not, however, result in a synod for the discussion of reform, which would indeed have marked the Jews as slavish imitators of the Church and of the "Friends of Light." The speeches in favor of the movement made in various quarters proved full of hollow phrases. The Berlin Society adhered to its programme, and as this found no favor in the eyes of the masses, it was to be ratified by the second Rabbinical Convention held in Frankfort (July, 1845), as being in consonance with Judaism.

This Assembly aroused greater excitement and fiercer passion than the first, because, on the one hand, the Berlin Reform Union participated in it, in order to infuse their own spirit or to effect its downfall, whilst, on the other hand, a skillful leader of the orthodox party temporarily joined it, in order to show how Judaism should be purified, or to throw obstacles in the way, if the Reformers should seem to rush to reckless extremes. The orthodox leader was Zachariah Frankel (born 1801, died 1875). He somewhat resembled Holdheim. Both were profoundly learned in the Talmud, and both acquired their secular education when advanced in years, but their points of dissimilarity were yet more striking. In Holdheim's character the prominent features were his innate or acquired love of scoffing at, and his utter contempt for, the past. In Frankel one is struck by the moral earnestness which, together with his warm-heartedness, rendered him worthy of respect by his true regard for inherited forms, his conscientiousness in every matter, and his firm but somewhat peculiar character. Holdheim loved the present and the practical, Frankel the future and the ideal: the former strove to erase from men's memories all traces of the Talmud and Rabbinical Judaism, if not of Judaism altogether; whilst the latter justified and glorified the Talmud. The main aim of Frankel's scientific activity was to demonstrate that Talmudical tradition was correct, and that another Talmud had been known even before ours. He sought traces of this original tradition in the ancient Greek translation of the Pentateuch, in the compositions of the two Judæo-Greek authors, Philo and Josephus, and especially in non-Talmudical sources. Such comprehensive studies were possible only in a man of his marvelous intellectual power and wonderful constitution.

Although Frankel labored to maintain the glory of the Talmud and to prove that reverence was due to Jewish antiquity, he was not averse to religious reforms, nor was he blind to the necessities of modern times. However, although he would not recognize the claim of an individual to institute reforms, he was ready to appeal to a scientific tribunal and the voice of the people, the whole Jewish world. He did not desire to revive obsolete forms into a semblance of life, even though they had formerly been of importance, and was willing to abolish such existing customs as scientific inquiry pronounced to be unjustified or hurtful. Frankel wished to see a conference of rabbis, or, more correctly, of notables in the foremost rank of Jewish learning, so that the chasm between the old and the new systems might be bridged over. He therefore joined the assembly of rabbis at Frankfort, hoping to counteract the eager desire for reform by the weight of his name, which, owing to his distinguished position as a writer, was already famous, and to aid in guarding against imprudent measures, or at least in modifying them. Like Holdheim and Geiger, who brought their programmes of reform with them, he brought his, and in it he endeavored to reconcile antiquity with progress.

Harassed by the contending influences of Frankel and the reformers, the conference grew vacillating. The first motion brought forward, which was not wholly unexpected, that the Hebrew language should, if possible, be eradicated from the minds and memories of the whole Jewish race, obliged Frankel to sever his connection with the assembly publicly, and the applause that his conduct called forth revealed the fact that the Rabbinical Convention did not represent the entire body of the German Jews, but only a small, active party. Unconsciously the Frankfort Assembly had lost its balance. Its members were obliged to dissemble before the Reform Society. They had to praise its actions, or they would have lost its support. On the other hand, they did not dare openly to espouse its hollow views, or they would have lost favor with the congregations. A subterfuge helped them out of this perplexity; they promised to support the efforts of the Reform Association to the utmost, if the latter would "agree with the principles by which they thought reform in Judaism ought to be guided," which sounded like a hidden reproach.

The Reform Society was not repelled by this partial condemnation; they knew that the leaders of the conference, especially Holdheim, sided with them, and they deceived themselves with the delusion that they were creating an essentially new form of Judaism. They formed themselves into a congregation of about two hundred members, and celebrated a consecration (April 2, 1846), when Holdheim as high priest offered up clouds of incense. The congregation and their pastor were well fitted for each other, and however much they resisted at first, in the end they had to embrace in friendship. Thus a "German Jewish Church" was established with a temple, a preacher, and a ritual of its own. It seemed as if time had gone back some seventeen centuries, and that they were in some town of Syria, or Asia Minor, or in Rome, when, out of the conflict of ancient Judaism with semi-Christian and semi-pagan elements, new congregations had arisen, retaining only faint traces of Judaism. The new customs prevailed in the Reform Temple in Berlin. Praying with uncovered heads especially marked it as of foreign growth, and repulsed even some who otherwise approved of reform. Hebrew was retained only in a few prayers and in the readings from the Pentateuch. The Reform Temple, in fact, assumed a Germanic tinge, and threw off its Jewish cosmopolitan character. The trace of its Jewish origin was visible only in the divine service; in their mode of living the members could not be recognized as the descendants of Jews. Perhaps Holdheim was even more fanatically desirous of seeing every Jewish custom abolished than his free-thinking congregants. He disregarded not alone Rabbinical Judaism and the Talmud, but also duties ordained by the Holy Scripture. But even in the reform community it was evident that Jewish self-reliance had progressed greatly since the time of Friedländer. The reform party had completely overcome its inclination towards Christianity. Of its constituents, who number one thousand souls, not one member nor any of their children joined the Christian Church. They do not desire to be considered a separate sect, but as an integral element of the Jewish race.

The Berlin reformers, however, remained isolated, and found no following in Europe. In their own midst, a lukewarm spirit crept in, sooner even than their opponents had anticipated. From want of visitors to the house of prayer, the Sabbath worship had to be transferred to Sunday, the same change that had been made by the Jewish Christians in the first century. The question of Sunday worship cannot be discussed here; it belongs to the immediate present. Such lukewarmness and lack of interest should have convinced the founders, who lived to witness them, that they had committed some mistake. To give an account of this blunder in its entirety cannot be attempted in this history; it would be overstepping the bounds of a record of events. One circumstance, however, must not be forgotten, that the Berlin Society of Reform had an antagonist in its vicinity. This enemy, of whom it had taken no account, was the more dangerous, as he used his incisive eloquence and every fiber of his being to protest against the new sect founded by the Berlin Committee. This opponent was Michael Sachs, who was born at Glogau, 1808, and died at Berlin at the beginning of 1864.

If bountiful nature had determined to create a thorough contrast to Holdheim, she succeeded in Sachs. Externally, mentally, in appearance, speech, attitude, and tendency of mind, in his learning and character, even in habits and fancies--in everything the two men were so totally opposed, that at first sight they could hardly be recognized as members of the same race, devotees of the same calling. If Holdheim represented the Jewish Polish spirit, strung to the highest pitch by Talmudical dialectics, Michael Sachs called to mind the Jewish emigrants from the Pyrenean peninsula, ennobled by classic forms and æsthetic teachings. He resembled the noble Isaac Cardoso, or Isaac de Pinedo, or any one of the numerous poets and scholars of Marrano lineage in Holland and Italy, who combined deep devotion to Judaism with taste for poetical or philological studies.

Owing to his peculiar nature, and the twofold influence exercised upon his mind by Hebrew and Greek literature, Sachs became an ideal personality, like Gebirol and Jehuda Halevi, who could flourish only upon the clear heights of existence, and felt physical disgust at everything of a mean character. There was no equivocation in him; feeling, thought, and action all flowed from one source. He was, therefore, mercilessly bitter against falsehood, ambiguity, and hypocrisy, against all ostentation and pomposity, against noisy hollowness and vanity; he scourged them with the lash of his words and with his striking, brilliant wit. Noble-minded and self-sacrificing to a fault, humble before God and before man as bearing the impress of the Divine, Sachs was proudly repellent to all who in religion, art, science, or public life use counterfeit coin, and conceal their own self-seeking petty interests under the veil of a general, large purpose. If Sachs in respect to convictions, character, moral elevation, capacity for self-denial, and devotion to duty and his faith, was thoroughly Jewish, in his deep love of beauty he was Hellenic, and in his person contradicted the alleged impossibility of this dual nature, which had been asserted by Heine. Whatever was ugly, inharmonious, or ungainly, was as repugnant to him as the immoral and the untrue.

Judaism was dearest to his heart, for he considered it a revelation from the God who directs mankind, and the embodiment of all that is exalted and sacred; and he would not allow it to be subtly explained away by the philosophy of the times. Sachs did not fail to observe the objectionable excrescences which had arisen on its surface, but he knew their origin, and believed that time, which had produced, would destroy them. He hesitated, however, to lay hands upon them, for fear of injuring the sound, whilst removing the unsound and decayed parts. He would not trust himself, nor any one, with the task of making innovations. This suspicion of decisive reforms originated partly in his aversion to active measures, which was one of his failings. As he was only human he could not be without faults. Another error, which avenged itself upon him and the party he represented, was his unconquerable dislike to uniting for common action even with those who shared his opinions. Sachs would have joyfully subordinated himself to leaders whose loftiness of mind could have inspired him with respect. But as he found no such characters among his contemporaries, he would not attach himself to men in no way superior to himself, or who did not even attain to his own height. Thus he was equally unfit to be a party-leader and a partisan.

Sachs' great qualities and small failings forced his vocation upon him: he was destined for the pulpit. The easy stream of his eloquence, his depth of feeling, warmth of conviction, grace of gesture, the charm that he exercised when interpreting the prophets and Agadists, the brilliant wit at his command, the beauty of his voice and his smooth diction--all combined to make him unsurpassed by the best preachers of his time, and his only equal was Mannheimer. When standing in the pulpit, Sachs appeared to be transfigured and oblivious of himself; it seemed as if one of the prophets of God were exhorting the people, or encouraging the despondent by his tidings of an ideal future. Even those of his hearers who did not share his convictions were carried away by his eloquence, and were compelled to yield him a tribute of praise. Sachs, however, was a persuasive speaker not only in the pulpit, but also in ordinary conversation. His speech overflowed with the warmth of the sentiments which filled his heart. His impressive words, which issued from the depths of his being, attracted many faithful adherents to Judaism. Whosoever came into contact with him was drawn into a magic circle, and absorbed somewhat of his convictions. His influence was the greater because he never made an effort to persuade; he simply spoke out what was in him. Nothing was more hateful to him than the display of official dignity, sham devotional fervor, and the pastoral airs copied from Christian clergymen.

In Prague, where he roused the German-speaking inhabitants, both Christians and Jews, to a high pitch of enthusiasm, a happy chance brought him into contact with Rapoport (1840-44), one of the founders of Jewish science. An intimate friendship sprang up between these two men, whose education had been conducted on such different lines, and Sachs was introduced by his friend into the rich domain of Jewish literature, which had hitherto been only in part accessible to him, as his attention had been concentrated on the study of the Holy Scriptures and on classical literature. His talent of vividly perceiving the essential and excellent elements of a subject and storing them in his brain, soon made him master of this new material, and enabled him to impart it to a wide circle in a refined form. But Sachs never became fully acquainted with the dialectics of the Talmud, which was Holdheim's strong point, and this territory remained foreign to him. Though he deeply lamented this deficiency in his knowledge, it was no real defect, for such studies did not accord with the Hellenic side of his nature, and would have blighted the blossoms of his genius. As though destined to counteract the influence of the Jewish German Church, which was to assume form in Berlin, and to become the opposite pole to Holdheim's endless negations, he was elected by the congregation of Berlin as preacher and rabbi. Here, by instilling into the minds of his congregants the same Jewish confidence with which he was inspired, and a feeling of righteous pride in belonging to so ancient, noble, and cultured a race, he succeeded to some extent in curing them of their inclination to Christianity, and the evil habit of imitation to which they had so long been subject. This change in thought, which affected the most remote circles, weakened the antipathy towards the Jews of Berlin, which since the time of Friedländer had prevailed in other communities. Sachs was included among the most distinguished personages of the Prussian capital; the cultured Christian world lavished attentions on him, although he did not seek them. Had he given vigorous and energetic effect to his words, and created permanent institutions--for which plenty of opportunity would have been given him by the liberal Berlin community--perhaps the reform congregation might not have arisen.

He combated the reform tendency with all his strength. In Holdheim and his allies he beheld only perverters of Judaism and false leaders of the people, and he openly expressed this opinion, for, as he often remarked, "Against insult and harsh words I am hardened and indifferent." From the pulpit he wielded the scourge of his annihilating scorn against the Jewish German Church, which had so limited the development of Judaism, that it could be contained in a nutshell. But even his opponents admitted that he employed only honorable weapons, the use of others being at variance with his noble nature. He did great harm to the Reform Temple. Persons who had heard Sachs' sermons were wearied by those in the reform synagogue. A comparison between Sachs and his opposite, Holdheim, who was a contrast to him in every way, always resulted in favor of the former. Whilst the Temple where Holdheim preached became more and more deserted, the synagogue in which Sachs officiated became more crowded week after week.

As Sachs performed great services in elevating and strengthening Jewish self-respect, so also he promoted Jewish knowledge. His contributions to the latter touch the form rather than the essence. In fact, he merely popularized Jewish subjects, and rendered them accessible to educated Christians. Sachs did not indeed promulgate novel, epoch-making truths, or discover new facts. Nor was he a poetical artist who could create brilliant pictures of ideal worlds. There was more poetry in his life and teachings than in his verses. His refined perceptions enabled him to recognize and reproduce the slightest shades in the beauties which other artists had created, and he idealized what other inquirers had discovered. The most decided bent of his intellect was towards the exegetical interpretation of Holy Writ. His fervent love of Judaism and its ancient scriptures, his profound knowledge of Hebrew, which was the language of his heart, and finally his delicate æsthetic feeling for philology, were all displayed in his exegetical work. Early in life Sachs conceived the idea, to which he ever remained true, of restoring to the Hebrew Scriptures their pure and original sense, and freeing them from all accretions and blemishes. Inspired by the example of Rückert, "the poet of the East and West, the learned master in translation and exposition," he commenced with the Psalms, which might have been the outpourings of his own pious heart. Afterwards, assisted by various fellow-workers, Sachs translated several books of Holy Scripture in an admirable style to form a "Bible for Israelites." But as he worked more with his heart than his brain, his biblical exegesis was wanting in a firm basis. The task of opening up new paths in this direction fell to the lot of Christian scholars.

Sachs took an active part in excavating the buried figures of the Jewish past, cleansing them from disfiguring incrustations, and placing them in their proper light. Three periodicals were particularly devoted to this purpose--the "Kerem Chemed" and the "Zion" in Hebrew, and the "Orient" in German. Young and old assisted in erecting a Jewish temple of fame, and contributions flowed in from all parts of Europe. The "forties" were especially prolific in the cultivation of Jewish science. It was not pedantic scholarship, but their heart that urged Jewish authors to bring forward clear proof that Judaism, in all its ramifications, went hand in hand with civilization. The Judæo-Spanish epoch exercised special attraction upon Jewish inquirers. It showed what the Jews had accomplished, and could accomplish in wealth of thought and beauty of form. Jewish science at the same time was to serve as an apology to the detractors of Jews and Judaism, and as an ideal for arousing emulation. The brilliant Spanish epoch was known to Jewish scholars alone, and to them only in rough fragments. Sachs undertook to reconstruct from these fragments an organic, beautiful whole, and by his eloquent language to attract those who had no religious interest in the subject. His "Religious Poetry of the Jews in Spain" (1845) offers more than the title indicates. Sachs attractively describes the series of the products of Jewish genius, from the time "when in terrible agony the limbs were torn from the living body," after the destruction of the Jewish center by the Romans, until the flourishing period of neo-Hebraic poetry in Spain. The attention of the cultured world was directed by Sachs' work to the wealth and beauty of Jewish literature in the Middle Ages, of which hitherto it had had no suspicion; even Heine was seized with admiration, and employed his golden pen in its cause.

At the same time the literature of the mediæval Jews in France and Germany, and of the Jewish poets of Provence was treated with copious detail, but in a style fitted for a learned audience. Zunz, the author of this work, justly rebuked his contemporaries for their contemptuous neglect of this branch of literature, to which Christian students of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had devoted so much attention.

Continuous devotion to the literature of the Middle Ages threatened to become too one-sided. That epoch, with its productions, was after all only the offspring of the national activity of bygone days, and the grandchild or great-grandchild of a still more important period. This obscure question, the dual origin of Judaism, from the Bible and the Talmud, was clearly illumined by the light of investigation through Jewish science in the "forties." The Talmud lay under a ban, and was treated with most offensive contempt. It was the scapegoat upon which all the guilt and misery of the Jews were laid. Like a leper it was shunned by respectable investigators. But this did not last; the question was raised whether the very writings which had served as the basis for Christianity had not been inter-penetrated with Talmudic elements. The proof of the affirmative answer to this question was boldly undertaken by Frankel. Yet more important was the fact that it was made apparent that the strong side of the Talmud lies in its ideas of justice and their development. The superiority of the Talmudic penal code over the legislation of ancient times was established. The result of a scientific treatment of the Talmud was that Judaism had no cause to be ashamed of it.