XI. ZENITH OF THE SPANISH-JEWISH CULTURE: JEHUDA HALEVI…

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he (Yussuf Ibn-Teshufin), the leader of the Faithful, expected them to fulfil the condition, or his protection would be withdrawn from them, and they would be outlawed.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.

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Chapter XII

PERSECUTIONS DURING THE SECOND CRUSADE AND UNDER THE ALMOHADES.

Condition of the Jews in France--The Second Crusade--Peter the Venerable and the Monk Rudolph--Bernard of Clairvaux and the Emperor Conrad--Protectors of the Jews--Persecutions under the Almohades--Abdulmumen and his Edict--The Prince Jehuda Ibn-Ezra--The Karaites in Spain--Jehuda Hadassi-- The historian Abraham Ibn-Daud and his Philosophy--Abraham Ibn-Ezra--Rabbenu Tam.

1143-1170 C. E.

When the greatest neo-Hebraic poet complained, "Have we a home in the West or in the East?" his sensitive heart was probably filled with foreboding concerning the insecurity of his co-religionists. Only too soon was the Jewish race to realize the awful truth that it possessed no home on earth, and that it was only tolerated in the lands of its exile. As long as the intolerant religious principles of the Church and of the Mosque remained inoperative, either by reason of the indifference, or the inertia, or the selfish pursuits of their adherents, the Jews lived in comparative happiness; but when religious hatred was aroused, torture and martyrdom fell upon Israel, and again he was compelled to grasp the wanderer's staff, and with bleeding heart depart from his dearly beloved home. Although the Jews in general, and especially their leaders, the rabbis and sages, were, as a rule, superior to the Christian and Mahometan peoples in devotion to God, in morality, in refinement and knowledge, yet those to whom the earth belonged imagined themselves on a higher level, and with lordly haughtiness looked down upon the Jews as common slaves. In Christian countries they were declared outlaws, because they would not believe in the Son of God and many other things; and in a Mahometan realm they were persecuted because they would not acknowledge Mahomet as the prophet. In one land they were expected to do violence to their reason and to accept fables as sober truths, and in another they were asked to renounce their faith and take in its stead dry formulæ, tinged with philosophy. Both held out the cheerless choice between death and the renunciation of their ancient religion. The French and the Germans rivaled the savage Moors in the energy with which they strove to enfeeble still more the weakest of the peoples. On the banks of the Seine, the Rhine and the Danube, on the shores of Africa and in the south of Spain, there arose simultaneously, as though preconcerted, bloody persecutions against the Jews, in the name of religion, despite the fact that all that was good and divine in the oppressors' creeds owed its origin to this people. Hitherto persecutions of the Jews had been few and far between; but from the year 1146 they became more frequent, more severe, and more persistent. It seemed as if the age in which the light of intelligence had begun to dawn upon mankind desired to exceed in inhumanity the epochs of darkest barbarism. This period of suffering imprinted on the features of the Jewish race that air of suffering, that martyr's look, which even the present age of freedom has not effaced. "The meaning of the prophet," said Ibn-Ezra, "when he cries, 'He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth,' requires no commentary, for every Jew in exile illustrates it. When he is afflicted he does not open his mouth to protest that he is more righteous than his tormentor. He keeps his look directed only towards God, and neither prince nor noble assists him in his distress."

The persecutions that spread simultaneously over Europe and Africa had their sources in catastrophes that occurred in Asia and Africa. Whilst the Christian knights in the new kingdom of Jerusalem and in the neighboring princedoms were sinking into inactivity, the Turkish warrior, Nureddin, who had determined to drive the Christians from Asia, began his attacks upon them. The important city of Edessa fell into his hands, and the crusaders, now at their wits' end, were compelled to implore help from Europe. The second crusade was now preached in France and Germany, and bloodthirsty fanaticism was again aroused against the Jews.

King Louis VII of France, conscience-stricken, took the cross, and with him went the young and frivolous Queen Eleanora, together with the dames of the court, who transformed the camp of the warriors of God into a court of gallantry. The Abbot Bernard of Clairvaux, a truly pious man, of apostolic simplicity of heart, and renowned for his powerful eloquence, energetically exhorted Christians to take part in this crusade, and owing to his influence the troops of pilgrims marching against the infidels increased day by day. This time it was Pope Eugenius III who turned the attention of the crusaders towards the Jews. He issued a bull announcing that all those who joined in the holy war were absolved from the payment of interest on debts owing to Jews. This was an inducement for the numerous debtors of the Jews to participate in the crusade, and was in reality only a veiled permission to repudiate their indebtedness to the Jews. The Abbot Bernard, who at other times disdained to employ unholy means to compass a holy end, was obliged, at the command of the Pope, to preach this repudiation of debts. Another abbot, Peter the Venerable, of Clugny, desired to push the matter still further. He roused King Louis and the army of the crusaders directly against the Jews. He heaped charges upon them, exaggerating their offenses so as to incite the prejudiced monarch to persecute or at least plunder them. In a letter to Louis VII he repeated the sophistries and falsehoods which the marauding mobs of the first crusade had invented in order to palliate their plundering of the Jews in the name of religion.

"Of what use is it," wrote Peter of Clugny, "to go forth to seek the enemies of Christendom in distant lands, if the blasphemous Jews, who are much worse than the Saracens, are permitted in our very midst to scoff with impunity at Christ and the sacrament! The Saracen at least believes as we do that Christ was born of a virgin, and yet he is execrable, since he denies the incarnation. How much more these Jews who disbelieve everything, and mock at everything! Yet I do not require you to put to death these accursed beings, because it is written, 'Do not slay them.' God does not wish to annihilate them, but like Cain, the fratricide, they must be made to suffer fearful torments, and be preserved for greater ignominy, for an existence more bitter than death. They are dependent, miserable and terror-stricken, and must remain in that state until they are converted to the Saviour. You ought not to kill them, but to afflict them in a manner befitting their baseness." The holy man besought the king to deprive the Jews either altogether or in part of their possessions, since the crusading army, which was marching against the Saracens, did not spare its own property and lands, and certainly should not spare the ill-gotten treasures of the Jews. Only their bare life should be left to them, but their money forfeited, for the audacity of the Saracens would be more easily subdued if the hands of the Christians were strengthened by the wealth of the blasphemous Jews. This method of reasoning is certainly consistent; it is the logic of the Middle Ages. King Louis, though well-disposed towards the Jews, could not do less in obedience to the papal bull than allow the crusaders to absolve themselves from their Jewish debts. For the moment the persecution limited itself to the plundering of the rich Jews, who were reduced to the state of their poorer brethren. The friendly monarch and his wise ministers, together with the Abbot Suger, and especially the pious Bernard, who knew how to control men's minds, would not permit a universal bloody persecution.

Affairs took a different course in Germany, and particularly in the cities along the Rhine, whose congregations had scarcely recovered from the wounds of the first crusade. Emperor Conrad III was powerless; the citizens who had as a rule taken the part of the Jews during the first crusade, and had afforded them protection, were now, at the beginning of the second crusade, prejudiced against them. A French monk, named Rudolph, left his monastery without the permission of his superior, and his fiery eloquence kindled the fanaticism of the German people against the Jews. He believed that he was accomplishing a holy work in securing the conversion or annihilation of the infidels. From town to town, from village to village, Rudolph traveled preaching the crusade, and he inserted in his addresses an exhortation that the crusade should begin with the Jews. Matters would have been much worse for the German Jews on this occasion, had not Emperor Conrad, who at first felt an antipathy to the extravagant feeling engendered by the crusade, looked after their safety. In the lands which were his by inheritance, he set aside the city of Nuremburg and certain other fortresses as cities of refuge for them, where the hand of the infuriated crusaders could not reach them. He had no jurisdiction over the territories of the princes and prelates, but he appears to have urged them all to extend their powerful protection to the Jews. But the word of the emperor had but little weight. In August, 1146, were sacrificed the first victims of the persecution stirred up by Rudolph. Simon the Pious, of Treves, whilst on his way home from England, tarried in Cologne. He was seized by the crusaders as he was about to go on board a ship, and refusing to be baptized, he was murdered and his body mutilated. Also a woman named Minna, of Speyer, who had suffered the terrible tortures of the rack, remained steadfast to her faith. These occurrences prompted the Jews dwelling by the Rhine to look round for protection. They paid immense sums to the princes, to be permitted to live in the fortresses and castles for safety. The Cardinal Bishop Arnold of Cologne gave them the castle of Wolkenburg, near Königswinter, and allowed them to defend themselves with arms. Wolkenburg became a refuge for many of the congregations of the district. As long as the Jews remained in their places of refuge they were safe; but as soon as they ventured forth, the Christian pilgrims, who lay in ambush for them, dragged them away to be baptized, killing those that resisted, after subjecting them to inhuman treatment. The prelates of the Rhine were, however, disgusted with the preaching of the crusade as carried on by the monk Rudolph, nor did they approve of the massacres of the Jews, particularly as these gave rise to dissensions and feuds, and Rudolph even emboldened the populace to disobey the bishops. The Archbishop of Mayence, Henry I, who was at the same time chancellor and prime minister to the emperor, had admitted into his house some of the Jews who were pursued by the mob. The riotous crowd forced its way in, and murdered them before his very eyes. The archbishop then addressed himself to the most distinguished representative of Christianity of that time, Bernard of Clairvaux, who had more power than the Pope. He depicted to him the outrages that Rudolph had fomented in the Rhine country, and prayed him to exercise his authority. Bernard, who strongly disapproved of the doings of Rudolph, willingly gave the archbishop his support. He despatched a letter to the Archbishop of Mayence, intended to be read in public. In this letter he energetically condemned the agitator; he called Rudolph an outlawed son of the Church, who had fled from his cloister, had been faithless to the rules of his order, maligned the bishops, and who, in opposition to the principles of the Church, preached to simple-minded Christians, murder and massacre of the Jews. The Jews ought, on the contrary, to be carefully spared. The Church hoped that at a certain time they would be converted en masse, and a prayer for that especial purpose had been instituted for Good Friday. Could the hope of the Church be fulfilled if the Jews were altogether annihilated? Bernard sent another letter written in the same spirit to the clergy and people of France and Bavaria, wherein he expressly admonished them to spare the Jews.

But the letters of Bernard made no impression upon Rudolph and the misguided mob; they were bent upon the complete destruction of the Jews, and on all sides lay in wait for them. The Abbot of Clairvaux accordingly found it necessary to protest in person against the slaughter of the Jews. When at about this time he made a journey into Germany in order to induce Emperor Conrad to take part in the crusade, he tarried in the towns on the Rhine in order to counteract the fiendish plans of Rudolph. He addressed him in very severe terms, and prevailed on him to desist from preaching the massacre of the Jews, and to return to his monastery. The deluded people murmured against the actions of Bernard, and had he not been protected by his sacred calling, they would have attacked him. Rudolph disappeared from the scene, but the poisonous seeds scattered abroad by him worked the destruction of the Jews. As the bulk of the people became inflamed by the sermons of Bernard on behalf of the crusade, its fury against the Jews increased. The people were more consistent than the saint of Clairvaux and the bishops, and their logic could not be shaken. They said, "If it is a godly deed to slay unbelieving Turks, it surely cannot be a sin to massacre unbelieving Jews." At about this time the lacerated limbs of a Christian were discovered at Würzburg, and the crusaders who were assembled there believed, or pretended to believe that the Jews had butchered the man. They took this pretext to attack the congregation at Würzburg. The Jews of this city were under the protection of Bishop Embicho, and dwelt in tranquillity in the city, not deeming it necessary to seek a place of refuge. The terror which seized them was therefore the greater, when they were suddenly attacked by a crowd of crusaders (22 Adar, 24 Feb., 1147). More than twenty met martyrs' deaths, among them the distinguished and gentle Rabbi Isaac ben Eliakim, who was slain whilst reading a holy book. Some were cruelly maltreated, and left as dead, but were afterwards restored to life, and carefully tended by compassionate Christians. The humane Bishop of Würzburg assigned a burial-place in his own garden for the bodies of the martyrs, and sent the survivors into a castle near Würzburg. The lot of the German Jews became still more lamentable when the emperor Conrad with his knights and army joined the crusading expedition, and the mobs who were left behind, unchecked by the presence of the emperor, were at liberty to commit fearful outrages (May, 1147).

The savage spirit of murder in the name of piety was rapidly communicated from Germany to France, on the assembling of the crusaders in the spring. In Carenton (Department de la Manche) there was a determined battle between the Christian pilgrims and the Jews. The latter had gathered in a house, and defended themselves against invasion. Two brothers, with the true courage of Frenchmen, fought like heroes, dealing wounds right and left, and slew many crusaders, until their foes, infuriated by the loss of so many men, found an entrance into the court, attacked the Jews in the rear, and massacred them all. Among the martyrs of this time in France was a young scholar named Peter, a pupil of Samuel ben Meïr and Tam, who, in spite of his youth, had already distinguished himself among the Tossafists. At no great distance from the monastery of Clairvaux, under the eyes of the Abbot Bernard, the savage bands of the crusaders continued undismayed to carry on their bloody work. They fell upon the Jewish congregation at Rameru on the second day of Pentecost, forced their way into the house of Jacob Tam, who was the most distinguished man among the European Jews on account of his virtues and his learning, robbed him of all his possessions, tore to pieces a scroll of the Law, and dragged him into a field, intending to put him to death by torture. As Tam was the most famous man among the Jews, the crusaders desired to avenge on him the wounds and death of Jesus. They had already inflicted five wounds on his head, and he was about to succumb, when fortunately a knight with whom he was acquainted happened to pass along the road. Tam still retained sufficient consciousness to implore his help, which the knight promised to afford, on condition that he receive a fine horse as a reward. The knight then told the band of assassins to hand the victim over to him, and he would either prevail on him to be baptized, or else return him to their hands. Thus was saved the man who was the leader and model of the German and French Jews (8 May, 1147). Through the influence of Bernard no Jew hunts took place in France, except at Carenton, Rameru and Sully. In England, where since the time of William the Conqueror many Jews had settled, who were in communication with the French congregations, there were no persecutions, as King Stephen vigorously protected them. The Jews of Bohemia, however, again suffered severely when the crusaders marched through their country, 150 of them meeting with martyrs' deaths. Directly the French army of the crusaders had marched through Germany, and had advanced beyond its borders, the Jews were able to leave their places of refuge in the castles, and were not molested. Even those Jews who had weakly submitted to forced baptism could now return to their ancient faith. A certain priest who was as pious as he was humane, but whose name unfortunately has been lost, gave them very great assistance. He led those Jews who had been forcibly baptized into France and other countries, where they remained till their former adhesion to the Church was forgotten. They then returned to their homes and their religion.

On the whole, the fanaticism of the second crusade claimed fewer Jewish victims than the first. This was partly owing to the protection afforded to the Jews by the spiritual and temporal dignitaries, and also because the participation of the German Emperor and the King of France did not permit such crowds of crusading marauders as had accompanied the expedition of William the Carpenter and Emicho of Leiningen. But the Jews were compelled to pay a high price for the shelter which was granted them, the price being their whole future. The German Emperor from this time forward was regarded by the Jews as their protector, and he considered himself as such, demanding in return the fulfilment of certain duties. The German Jews, who had hitherto been as free as the Germans or Romans, henceforth became the "servants of the chamber" (servi cameræ) of the Holy Roman empire. This hateful name at first only signified that the Jews enjoyed immunity from all attacks like the imperial servants, and had to pay a certain tax to the emperor for the protection thus granted to them, and that they had to perform extraordinary services. But in later times the word was employed in its original, odious sense, and the Jews were looked upon as bondmen and dependent slaves. The German Jews who were on the point of raising themselves from a state of barbarism, were thus hurled into the depths of an abyss of degradation, from which they were enabled to raise themselves only after a lapse of six hundred years. For this reason, their intellectual efforts bore the stamp of degeneracy, their poems consisted only of elegies and lamentations, which, like their speech, were tasteless and barbaric, and even in the study of the Talmud very little work of note was accomplished. The German Jews were pariahs in history till the end of the eighteenth century. In France, on the other hand, where other political and social conditions prevailed, Jewish culture was vigorous enough to put forth blossoms.

Whilst the Jews of France and Germany still stood in dread of the crusaders, a persecution broke out in the north of Africa, which was of longer duration, and produced different results. It was stirred up by a man who combined the characters of philosopher, reformer and conqueror, and manifested a peculiar political and religious enthusiasm. Abdallah Ibn-Tumart, who came from the northwest of Africa, while living in Bagdad, was inspired by the moral enthusiasm of the mystic philosopher Alghazali. On his return home to Africa, he preached to the simple Moorish tribes simplicity of living and dress, hatred of poetry, music and painting, and war against the Almoravide kings, who were devoted to a life of refinement. On the other hand, Ibn-Tumart rejected the Sunnite teachings of Mahometan orthodoxy, and the literal interpretation of the verses of the Koran, which affirmed that God had the feelings of man, and was affected by the same emotions as man. He obtained a large following among the Moors, and founded a sect, whose members, from the fact that they maintained the true unity of God without any corporeal representations (Tauchid), were termed Almovachides or Almohades (Unitarians). This sect acknowledged Ibn-Tumart as the Mahdi, the heaven-sent Imam of Islam. With the tocsin of rebellion and the sword of war against the reigning Almoravides, Ibn-Tumart spread his religious and moral reformation in the northwest of Africa. After his death, his disciple Abdulmumen succeeded to the leadership of the Almohades, and was recognized as the Prince of the Faithful (Emir al-Mumenin). He achieved victory after victory, and in his onward progress he destroyed the dynasty of the Almoravides, and became monarch of the whole of northern Africa. Abdulmumen, however, was a fanatic, and as he had extirpated the Almoravides with fire and sword, not only for political reasons, but also because they professed another belief, he would not suffer any other religion in his kingdom.

When the capital, Morocco, after a long and obstinate siege, fell into the hands of Abdulmumen, the new ruler summoned the numerous Jews of the town, and addressed them in the following terms: "You do not believe in the mission of the prophet Mahomet, and you think that the Messiah, who has been announced to you, will confirm your law, and strengthen your religion. Your forefathers, however, asserted that the Messiah would appear at the latest about half a century after the coming of Mahomet. Behold! that half a century has long passed, and no prophet has arisen in your midst. The patience with which you have been treated has come to an end. We can no longer permit you to continue in your state of unbelief. We no longer desire any tribute from you. You have only the choice between Islam and death." The despair of the Jews at this stern proclamation was very great. It was the second time, since they had come under Mahometan rule, that the mournful alternative was offered to them, either to surrender their life or their faith. Moved by the representations that were made to him, Abdulmumen modified the edict by allowing the Jews to emigrate. He also allowed them a certain time to dispose of such property as they could not take with them. Those who preferred to remain in the African kingdom were obliged to accept Islam under penalty of death. Those, however, to whom Judaism was precious left Africa, and emigrated to Spain, Italy and other places. The majority of them, however, ostensibly yielded, and took the disguise of Islam whilst hoping for more favorable times (1146).

The persecution was directed not only against the Jews of Morocco, but against all who lived in northern Africa, and as often as the Almohades captured a city, the same edict was promulgated. The Christians also suffered through this persecution, but as Christian Spain stood open to receive them, and they might expect to be received with open arms by their co-religionists, they were more steadfast, and departed from the country in large bodies. Synagogues and churches alike were destroyed throughout the land of the Almohades, which extended by degrees from the Atlas mountains to the boundary of Egypt, and no traces remained of the former Jewish and Christian residents.

Although many north-African Jews had accepted Islam, there were but few who became real converts. Nothing was demanded of them except to profess belief in the prophetic mission of Mahomet, and occasionally to attend the mosque. In private, however, they scrupulously practised the Jewish rites, for the Almohades employed no police spies to observe the actions of the converts. Not only the common people, but also pious rabbis maintained this outward semblance of belief, soothing their conscience with the reflection that idolatry and denial of Judaism were not demanded of them, as they were simply required to utter the formula that Mahomet was a prophet, which in no way suggested idolatry. Some consoled themselves with the hope that this state would not long continue, and that the Messiah would soon appear, and deliver them from their misery.

Under the disguise of Moslems, the Maghreb Jewish scholars even pursued the study of the Talmud with their usual zeal, and assembled at their colleges the studious youth, who at the same time were compelled to engage in the study of the Koran. But truly conscientious and pious men were unable to play this double part for any length of time. They threw off the hateful mask, and openly professing Judaism, suffered martyrdom, as happened in Fez, Segelmessa, Draï and other towns.

The victorious Abdulmumen was not content with the possession of all Barbary; he cast longing eyes upon the fair land of Andalusia, thinking it an easy task to wrest it from the power of the Almoravide and Christian rulers, and annex it to his realm. The conquest of the Mahometan territory in southern Spain proved easy on account of internal dissensions. Cordova, the capital of Andalusia, fell into the power of the fanatical Almohades in June, 1148, and before the end of a year the greater part of Andalusia was in their hands. The beautiful synagogues which the piety, the love of splendor, and the refined taste of the Andalusian Jews had built, fell a prey to the destructive frenzy of fanaticism. The aged rabbi of Cordova, the philosopher Joseph Ibn-Zadik, witnessed this sad downfall of the oldest and most distinguished congregation, but died soon after (at the end of 1148 or the commencement of 1149). The renowned Jewish academies at Seville and Lucena were closed. Meïr, the son and successor of Joseph Ibn-Migash, went from Lucena to Toledo, and with him all those able to escape. The remainder followed the example of the African Jews, yielding for the moment to coercion and pretending to acknowledge Islam, though in private they observed their ancient faith, till they found an opportunity of openly professing Judaism. Women and children, together with the property of the exiles, fell into the hands of the conquerors, who treated feeble captives as slaves.

In this dark epoch, when the center of Judaism was destroyed, a favorable change of fortune created a new center. Christian Spain, which had developed great power under the emperor Alfonso Raimundez (1126-1157), became a refuge for the persecuted Andalusian Jews, and Toledo, which had been made the capital of the realm, became a new focus, whence the rays of Jewish science emanated. This favorable change was due to the work of a man who deserves to be ranked with Ibn-Shaprut and Ibn-Nagrela. The wise and philanthropic Emperor Alfonso Raimundez had a Jewish favorite in the person of the still youthful Jehuda Ibn-Ezra, the son of that Joseph Ibn-Ezra, who, together with his three brothers, is celebrated in Judæo-Spanish literature. On taking possession of the border fortress of Calatrava, between Toledo and Cordova (1146), the emperor, probably as a reward for his bravery, appointed Ibn-Ezra commander of the place, and invested him with the dignity of a prince (Nasi).

Jehuda Ibn-Ezra was the guardian-angel of his unfortunate co-religionists, who were fleeing before the fury of the victorious Almohades. He assisted them to find homes and employment in Christian Spain, and used his riches in ransoming captives, in clothing the naked and feeding the hungry. The congregation of Toledo was very much increased by the immigrant Jews. Meïr Ibn-Migash opened an academy for the study of the Talmud, and numerous pupils attended it. Jewish learning under the protection of the Christian king, now flourished in Toledo after its expulsion from the Mahometan kingdom.

Jehuda Ibn-Ezra rose still higher in the favor of the Spanish emperor, and was appointed steward of the imperial palace (about 1149). This Jewish prince, in his zeal for Rabbanism, hurried into a persecution which forms a blot on his fair fame. The Karaites who had settled in Christian Spain, and who towards the end of the eleventh century had suffered persecution at the hands of a Rabbanite, Joseph Al-Kabri, had since that time again become a numerous body, and strove to regain their ancient splendor. They brought the large literature of their Eastern and Egyptian leaders into Castile, and were thereby strengthened in their deep antipathy to Rabbinical Judaism. At this time a Karaite of Constantinople, Jehuda ben Elia Hadassi, who styled himself "a mourner for Zion" (ha-Abel), renewed the battle against the Rabbanites, and wrote a comprehensive book under the name of "Eshkol ha-Kofer," in which he discussed with great warmth the oft-disputed differences between the two Jewish schools (1149), and rekindled the flame of hostility. Jehuda Hadassi wrote with intense passion, but employed harsh language, alphabetical acrostics, and a wretched, monotonous rhyme. This hostile work was probably introduced into Castile, and re-opened the conflict. Instead of having this polemical book confuted by some able Rabbanite, Jehuda Ibn-Ezra called in the aid of the secular arm, and besought the permission of the emperor Alfonso to persecute the Karaites. He did not consider that the dormant fire of persecution, if once rekindled, would sooner or later blaze around the head of the persecutors. With the emperor's permission, Jehuda Ibn-Ezra humbled the Karaites so sorely that they were never again able to raise their heads. Their fate is not known, but they were probably banished from the towns wherein Rabbanites dwelt (1150-1157). The favorable condition of the Jews in Castile did not last long. After the death of the emperor and of his eldest son, the King of Castile (1158), Jehuda Ibn-Ezra lived to see troublous times. During the minority of the Infante Alfonso a bitter civil war broke out between the noble houses of De Castro and De Lara, in which the other Christian kings took part; the fair land was devastated, and the capital, Toledo, became the scene of bloody fights. The Christian monarchs were not powerful enough to defend their borders against the continual irruptions of the Almohades, and were obliged to leave this task to the fanatical orders of knights, which were now again called into active service. The Spanish Jews, unlike their German and French brethren, did not remain mere indifferent spectators during these political struggles and wars, but took the liveliest interest in all that was going on, joining one or the other of the opposing sides.

Meanwhile Jewish learning was in nowise impaired by the unfavorable conditions which existed in almost every land of the exile, but still took its place in the vanguard of culture. Two men, both from Toledo, added to its luster; these were Abraham Ibn-Daud and Abraham Ibn-Ezra, who, dissimilar in character, aims, and in their life's history, were yet alike in their love for Judaism and for learning. Abraham Ibn-Daud Halevi (born about 1110, died a martyr 1180), who was a descendant on the maternal side of Prince Isaac Ibn-Albalia, was not only well versed in the Talmud, but was also conversant with all the branches of learning then cultivated. He also engaged in the study of history, both Jewish and general, as far as in its neglected state during the Middle Ages it was accessible to him. This branch of learning was but lightly esteemed by the Spanish Jews. He was a physician, and was a diligent explorer of the realm of science. Ibn-Daud possessed an intelligent, clear mind, which enabled him to penetrate with precision into the knowable, and to illumine the obscure. With brilliant perspicuity he gave expression to the most difficult ideas, and made them comprehensible. He centered all his attention upon the highest problems of the human intellect, and was at a loss to conceive how any one could spend his life in trifling pursuits or in the study of philology, mathematics, theoretical medicine, or law, instead of directing his mind to the holiest task of life. This task, according to the view of Ibn-Daud, consists in philosophical study, because its object is the knowledge of God, and herein lies man's superiority over the world of created things. He emphasized this point strongly in opposition to a certain class of his co-religionists in Spain who had a positive dislike for philosophy. Ibn-Daud was well acquainted with the reason for their mistrust of independent research. "There are many in our time," he remarked, "who have dabbled a little in science, and who are not able to hold both lights, the light of belief in their right hand and the light of knowledge in their left. Since in such men the light of investigation has extinguished the light of belief, the multitude think it dangerous, and shrink from it. In Judaism, however, knowledge is a duty, and it is wrong to reject it."

The aim of all philosophical theory is the practical realization of moral ideals. Such ideals Judaism presents. None of his predecessors had so definitely and clearly expressed this important thought. Morality produces positive virtues, a healthy family life, and based upon this, a sound constitution of the state. According to this view, all the religious duties of Judaism may be divided into five classes. The first class inculcates the true knowledge and the love of the One God and a purified belief in Him. The second class treats especially of justice and conscientiousness, the chief of all virtues, of forgiveness, kindness, and the love of enemies, all of which have their origin in humility. The third class of precepts treats of the relation of the head of the family to his wife, children, and servants, according to the principles of right and affection. The fourth division, which comprises a large group, prescribes the relation of the citizen to the state and to his fellow-citizens; it inculcates the necessity of loving one's neighbor, of honesty in commerce, and care for the weak and suffering. There is, finally, a fifth class of laws, such as the sacrificial and dietary laws (laws of the ritual), whose purpose is not easily comprehended. These five groups of duties are not equal in importance, faith taking the highest position and the ceremonial laws the lowest, and therefore the prophets also often gave greater prominence to the former. Starting from different premises, Ibn-Daud arrived at a conclusion differing from that of Jehuda Halevi. According to the latter, the pure ritual ordinances constitute the essence of Judaism, whereby the prophetic nature of man is to be kept alive, but for Ibn-Daud they are only of second-rate importance.

Abraham Ibn-Daud was, however, not only a religious philosopher, but also a conscientious historian, and his historical labors have proved of greater service to Jewish literature than his philosophical studies. The newly-aroused conflict with the Karaites of Spain led him to inquire into their history. After the death of the emperor Alfonso, and the subsequent downfall of his favorite, Jehuda Ibn-Ezra, these people again raised their heads, and re-commenced issuing their polemical writings. Thereupon Ibn-Daud undertook to prove historically that rabbinical Judaism was based on an unbroken chain of traditions which began with Moses, and extended to Joseph Ibn-Migash. To this end he compiled the history of Biblical, post-exilic, Talmudical, Saburaic, Gaonic, and rabbinical times in a chronological order (1161). He entitled this work, which was written in Hebrew, "The Order of Tradition" (Seder ha-Kabbalah). The information which he imparts concerning the Spanish congregations is of the greatest value; he obtained his knowledge from the original labors of Samuel Ibn-Nagrela, and from independent historical researches. His account is brief, but accurate and authentic, and much may be read between the lines. His Hebrew style is flowing, and not altogether wanting in poetic coloring.

A still more erudite, comprehensive, and profound mind was that of Abraham ben Meïr Ibn-Ezra of Toledo (born about 1088, died 1167). He was a man of remarkable ability, conquering with equal skill the greatest and the smallest things in science; he was energetic, ingenious, full of wit, but lacking in warmth of feeling. His extensive reading in all branches of divine and human knowledge was astonishing; he was also thoroughly acquainted with the literature of the Karaites. His, however, was not a symmetrically developed, strong personality, but was full of contradictions, and given to frivolity; at one time he fought against the Karaites, at another, he made great concessions to them. His polemical method was merciless, and he aimed less at discovering the truth than at dealing a sharp blow to an antagonist. His was a spirit of negation, and he forms the completest contrast to Jehuda Halevi, to whom he is said to have been closely related. Ibn-Ezra (as he is called) combined in his person irreconcilable contrasts. His clear vision, his sharp, analytical perception, his bold research, which was so far advanced as almost to bring him to Pantheism, existed side by side with a veneration for authority, which led him, with fanatical ardor, to accuse independent thinkers of heresy. His temperate mind, which examined into the origin of every phenomenon, did not prevent him from wandering in the twilight of mysticism. Though filled with trust in God, into whose hands he quietly resigned his lot, he believed in the influence of the stars, from which no man could possibly withdraw. Thus Ibn-Ezra was at once an inexorable critic and a slave of the letter of the Law, a rationalist and a mystic, a deeply religious man, and an astrologer. These contradictions did not mark successive stages in his life, but they controlled the whole course of his existence. In his youth he toyed with the muses, sang the praises of distinguished persons, and feasted with Moses Ibn-Ezra. He was likewise acquainted with Jehuda Halevi; they often conversed brilliantly upon philosophical problems, and it is clear that they did not agree in their methods of thought.

Although Ibn-Ezra was acquainted with the artistic forms of Arabic and neo-Hebraic poetry, he was, nevertheless, no poet. His verses are artificial, pedantic, uninteresting, and devoid of feeling. His liturgical poetry, produced at all periods of his life, bears the same impress of sober contemplation. It consists of wise maxims or censorious admonitions; there is no outpouring of religious feelings which absorb the soul, and which characterize fervent prayer. In the religious poetry of Ibn-Ezra there is lacking what is so manifest in the compositions of Ibn-Gebirol and Jehuda Halevi; the spirit of sublime joyousness which expresses itself in inspired hymns, the exalted majesty which aspires to the highest, and attains it. He was, however, inimitable in wit and pointed epigrams, in riddles and satire. His prose is, moreover, exemplary, and it may even be said that he created it. He abstains from over-embellishment and empty phraseology.

Though Ibn-Ezra holds no high place in poetry, he is entitled to the first rank as a thorough expositor of the Holy Scriptures. As such, he displayed great tact, since he was guided by the strictly grammatical construing of the text. He was a born exegetist. He was able to bring to bear his wide knowledge and brilliant ideas upon the verses of Holy Writ without being compelled to connect them logically. His restless, inconstant mind was not capable of creating a complete and systematic whole. He had not the power of methodizing Hebrew philology, and of synoptically arranging his material. In Biblical exegesis, however, he was thoroughly original. He raised it to the degree of a science, with fixed principles, so that he was for a long time without a rival in this department of learning. It is worthy of remark, that he never felt called upon to cultivate the field of Biblical interpretation whilst at home, although he possessed most remarkable talent for this work. As long as he remained in Spain he was only known as a clever mathematician and astronomer, not as an exegete. In general, he produced nothing of a literary character in his native land, except perhaps some Hebrew poems of a religious or satirical character.

Ibn-Ezra was induced by straitened circumstances to leave the war-stricken and impoverished city of Toledo. He was never possessed of much wealth. In his epigrammatic way, he made merry over his misfortunes, which condemned him to poverty: "I strive to become wealthy, but the stars are opposed to me. If I were to engage in shroud-making, men would cease dying; or if I made candles, the sun would never set unto the hour of my death."

As he was unable to earn his livelihood at home, he started on his travels (about 1138-1139) accompanied by his adult son Isaac. He visited Africa, Egypt, and Palestine, and communed with the learned men of Tiberias, who prided themselves on the possession of carefully written copies of the Torah. As he could find no rest anywhere, he journeyed further, towards Babylonia, visiting the city of Bagdad, where a Prince of the Captivity, with the consent of the Caliph, again exercised a sort of supremacy over all Eastern congregations. During the course of this extensive journey, Ibn-Ezra made many careful observations, and enriched the vast stores of his mind.

It is difficult to understand why, on his turning homewards from the East, he did not again visit his native land. In Rome, he at length found the long-desired rest (1140). His appearance in Italy marks an epoch in the development of culture among the Italian Jews. Although they enjoyed freedom to such a degree that the Roman community was not bound to pay any taxes, the Jews of Italy still remained in a low condition of culture. They studied the Talmud in a mechanical, lifeless manner. They had no knowledge of Biblical exegesis, and neo-Hebraic poetry for them consisted of wretched rhymes. Their model of poetry was the clumsy verse of Eleazar Kalir, which they considered inimitable. Their sluggish minds were prone to all the superstition of the Middle Ages. What a contrast to them did the Spanish traveler present, with his refined taste for art, his healthy ideas, and his philosophical education! The time of his arrival in Rome was favorable to the revival of the higher culture. Just at this time there arose a bold priest, Arnold of Brescia, who asserted that the popes did not rule according to the spirit of the Gospel: that they ought not to hold temporal sovereignty, but should live as true servants of the Church, and act with proper humility.

An earnest spirit of inquiry and a striving after freedom arose in the home of the papacy. The people listened eagerly to the inspired words of the young reformer, threw off their allegiance to the papacy, and declared their state a republic (1139-1143). Just at this time, Ibn-Ezra lived at Rome. It is most probable that youths and men gathered in large numbers in order to hear the great traveler, the deeply learned Spanish scholar, who knew well how to enchant them by his terse, lively, striking, and witty conversation.

In Rome the first production of Ibn-Ezra, who had now reached his fiftieth year, appeared, an exposition of the Five Megilloth. His exegetical principles were made evident in his earliest efforts. Everything that was obscure disappeared before his clear vision, unless he purposely shut his eyes so that he might not see what was right, or else pretended not to see at all. Was it the doubt that was agitating his mind, or was it his weakness of character which made him shrink from rudely dispelling the dreams of the multitude? It cannot be gainsaid that Ibn-Ezra often denies the truth, or conceals it in such a manner that it is recognizable only by men of equal intellect.

Great as were Ibn-Ezra's exegetical talents, they did not enable him to comprehend and thoroughly to analyze doubtful Biblical passages so as to bring them into some sort of connection as an organic whole, or as a beautifully constructed work of art. His mind was more directed to individual, detached questions, his restless thought was never concentrated on one thing, but always had a tendency to digress to other subjects only slightly connected with the original matter. Ibn-Ezra was the first to convey to the Roman Jews a conception of the importance of Hebrew grammar, of which they were completely ignorant. He translated the grammatical works of Chayuj, from Arabic into Hebrew, and wrote a work under the title of "The Balance" (Moznaim), the only interesting part of which is the well-written historical introduction reviewing the labors of his predecessors in the sphere of Hebrew philology.

In the summer of 1145 he was at Mantua, and here he composed a new grammatical work upon the niceties of the Hebrew style (Zachot). In this book he charged those with heresy who deviated from the Massoretic authorities. This conduct appears the more incongruous, since he himself, though secretly, took still greater liberties with the text of the Bible. He remarks of the grammatical works of Ibn-Janach, that they ought to be thrown into the fire, because the author suggests that more than a hundred words in the Bible ought to be read or understood in another than the accepted manner. His condemnatory judgment was of such effect that the important productions of Ibn-Janach remained unknown to the following generations, and inquirers were compelled to quench their thirst at broken cisterns.

He does not appear to have stayed long in Mantua, but to have betaken himself thence to Lucca, where he dwelt for several years, and gathered a circle of disciples about him. Here he occupied himself very much with the study of astronomy, drew up astronomical tables, and paid great attention also to the pseudo-science of astrology, which was diligently studied by Mahometans and Christians. He wrote many books under different titles on this subject (1148).

After recovering from a severe illness, he determined to write a commentary on the Pentateuch, a self-appointed task from which he shrank on account of its great difficulty. He was now in the sixty-fourth year of his age (1152-1153). But there are no signs of old age to be found in the work, which bears the stamp of freshness and youthful vigor. The exposition of the Pentateuch by Ibn-Ezra is an artistic piece of work, both in contents and in form. The language is vigorous, flowing and witty, the interpretation profound, temperate, and bearing the impress of devoted work. His rich store of knowledge, his extensive reading and experience enabled him to make the Book of books more intelligible, and to scatter the misty clouds in which ignorance and prejudice had enshrouded it.

In his introduction he describes in a very striking and clever manner the four customary and unsuitable methods of interpretation which he desires to avoid. Confident of success, he puts himself above his predecessors, and completes the task which he had set himself, to fix the natural meaning of the text. Ibn-Ezra, by means of his commentary to the Pentateuch, became the leader of the school of temperate, careful, and scientific expositors of the Bible, and held the first place among the few enlightened minds opposed to the obscurity of Agadic explanation, of which Rashi was the leading exponent. For although he denounced as heretical every interpretation that differed from the Massora, yet rationalists considered him their leading authority, and even unbelief looked to him for support. In fact, Ibn-Ezra gives us abundant reason for reckoning him among such men as Chivi Albalchi, Yitzchaki, and others, who called the authority of the Pentateuch into question. In a vague and mysterious way, he suggested that several verses in the Torah had been added by a later hand, and that whole passages belonged to a later period. It is difficult to know whether he was in earnest in his scepticism or in his firm belief. In Lucca, Ibn-Ezra wrote his brilliant commentary on Isaiah (1154-1155), and other less important works. After the completion of his commentary on the Pentateuch (1155), Ibn-Ezra left Italy, and went to the south of France, which, on account of its connection with Catalonia, possessed more of the Spanish-Jewish culture than the north of France, Italy, or Germany. In Jewish history Provence forms the dividing line between two methods, the strictly Talmudical, and the scientific and artistic. The Jewish Provençals worked actively according to both methods, but did not attain any degree of excellence in either, merely remaining admirers and imitators. Ibn-Ezra introduced a new element into this circle. In the town of Rhodez he lived several years (1155-1157), and wrote his commentaries to the book of Daniel, the Psalms, and the Twelve Prophets. His fame became wide-spread, and attracted admirers. The greatest rabbinical authority of the time, Jacob Tam, sent him a poem of homage. Ibn-Ezra was very much surprised, and replied with an epigram, half complimentary, half insulting. His love of travel led him, now in his seventieth year, to foggy London, where he found a liberal Mæcenas, who treated him with affection. Here he composed a kind of philosophy of religion, written, however, with such extreme carelessness and haste, that it is absolutely impossible to follow his train of thought. On the whole, Ibn-Ezra accomplished as little in this branch of learning as in general philosophy.

After this work on the philosophy of religion, while still in London, he wrote a defense of the Sabbath, which is interesting on account of its introduction. He begins by telling a dream which he had had, and in which the Sabbath in person handed him a letter. Herein the Sabbath complains that a disciple of Ibn-Ezra had brought writings into his house in which the Biblical day was said to begin in the morning, and that consequently the evening before the Sabbath possessed no sanctity. The apparition thereupon commanded him to take up the defense of the Sabbath. He awoke from his dream, and by the light of the moon read the impious writings which had been brought to him, and, in truth, found therein an assertion that the Biblical day began in the morning and not in the evening. This unorthodox doctrine, which, it may be remarked, was propounded by the grandson of Rashi, the pious Samuel ben Meïr, aroused Ibn-Ezra; and he felt himself in duty bound to controvert it with all his might, "lest Israel be led into error." In pious wrath he writes, "May the hand of him who wrote this wither, and may his eyes be darkened." The defense, which consists of the interpretation of Biblical verses and of astronomical explanations, bears the name of "The Sabbath Epistle." Although he was in prosperous circumstances whilst in London, and had many pupils, he left that city after a short stay. In the autumn of 1160 he visited Narbonne, and later on (1165 or 1166) he was again at Rhodez, where in his old age he revised his commentary to the Pentateuch, and abridged it, retaining the most essential portions, and finally composed his last book, a grammatical work (Safah Berurah). His vigor and freshness of intellect, which he retained even to the end of his life, are wonderful; his last productions, like his first, bear the imprint of vivacity, confidence, and youthful power. Besides his exegetical, grammatical, astronomical, and astrological writings, he was also the author of several works on mathematics. It appears that in his closing years Ibn-Ezra longed to return to his native land, and began his homeward journey. When, however, he reached Calahorra, on the borders of Navarre and Aragon, he died, and it is said that on his death-bed he wittily applied a Bible verse to himself: "Abraham was 78 years old when he escaped from the curse of this world." He died on Monday, 1st Adar (22d January), 1167. He left many pupils and a talented son, who, however, did not add glory to his name.

The Jewish community in France at this time also possessed a highly gifted man, who not only concentrated within himself the chief characteristics of the French school, and thus became an authority for several centuries, but who also partook of the spirit of the Jewish-Spanish school. Jacob Tam of Rameru (born about 1100, died 1171) was the most distinguished disciple of the school of Rashi. Being the youngest of the three learned grandchildren of the great teacher of Troyes, Tam could not have acquired anything from his grandfather, whom he knew only in the early years of his childhood. However, he attained so high a degree of excellence in the study of the Talmud that he outshone his contemporaries, and even his elder brothers, Isaac and Samuel (Rashbam). The interminable paths and the winding roads of the Talmudical labyrinth were familiar to him, and he had a rare knowledge of the whole region. He united clearness of intellect with acuteness in reasoning, and was the chief founder of the school of the Tossafists. None of his predecessors had revealed such profound knowledge and so marvelous a dialectical ingenuity in the sphere of the Talmud. Although not in office, and engaged in business, he was esteemed the most famous rabbi of his time, and his renown traveled as far as Spain and Italy. Questions upon difficult points were sent to him exclusively, not only from his own land, but also from southern France and Germany; and all the rabbinical authorities of the period bowed to him with the deepest reverence. In his youth he was surrounded by pupils who regarded him with veneration as their ideal. He was so overwhelmed with the task of answering questions sent to him that he sometimes succumbed. The fanatics of the second crusade, who almost deprived him of life, robbed him of all his possessions, and left him nothing more than his life and his library. Nevertheless, he composed his commentary to the Talmud just at this troubled period. He was a man of thoroughly firm religious and moral character, in which there was only one blemish: he took usury from Christians. Indeed, he, to a certain extent, disregarded the rigid Talmudic laws on usury, in contravention of the practice of his grandfather.

Jacob Tam is almost the only member of the school of northern France who overcame the partiality for Talmudical study, and displayed great taste for the diversified studies of the Spanish Jews. He studied their art of Hebrew versification, and wrote liturgical prayers and secular poems in a metrical form. He corresponded with Ibn-Ezra, the representative of Jewish-Spanish culture, and, as related above, exchanged poems with him. Poetry led Tam, who did nothing superficially, to a thorough course of inquiry into the Hebrew language, and he became so far advanced in the knowledge of grammar that he was able to act as arbiter in the grammatical controversy between Menachem ben Saruk and his opponent Dunash.

The large numbers of learned rabbis in northern France and in Germany, and the universally acknowledged authority of Tam, brought about a new departure, which for the first time made its appearance in the post-Talmudical period. Under the presidency of the Rabbi of Rameru, the first rabbinical synod assembled for the purpose of deciding important questions of the day. Probably the councils which had been convened in France by the fugitive popes, Pascal, Innocent II, Calixtus, and Alexander III, gave this suggestion to the rabbis. The rabbinical synods were not attended with that pomp which transformed such councils into theaters in which vanity and ambition are fostered. Those who took part in the proceedings met at some appointed place frequented by Jews, such as Troyes and Rheims, without any splendor or ceremony, and without ulterior motives or political intrigue. The decisions of the rabbinical synods included not only religious and communal matters, but also questions of civil laws, as the Jews still possessed their own jurisdiction.

It is most probable that it was at one of these synods of the rabbis, in whose minds the persecution of the second crusade was still fresh, that it was decreed that no Jew should purchase a crucifix, church appurtenances, vestments of the mass, church ornaments or missals, because such an act might involve the whole community of Jews in great danger. At a great synod, in which took part one hundred and fifty rabbis from Troyes, Auxerre, Rheims, Paris, Sens, Drome, Lyons, Carpentras, from Normandy, Aquitania, Anjou, Poitou, and Lorraine, headed by the brothers Samuel and Tam, and by Menachem ben Perez of Joigny, Eleazer ben Nathan of Mayence, and Eleazer ben Samson of Cologne, the following resolutions were passed: (1) That no Jew should summon one of his co-religionists before the courts of the country unless both parties agreed to it, or unless the accused refused to appear before a Jewish court of law. (2) Any damages which might accrue to the defendant through this ex parte litigation at a non-Jewish court of law should be paid by the complainant, according to the assessment of seven elders of the congregation. (3) That no person should apply to the secular authorities for the office of president or provost, or obtain the office by stealth, but that the president shall be elected in an open manner by the majority of the members of the congregation. A ban of excommunication was pronounced against all who transgressed these and other decisions of the synod; no Jew should hold intercourse with such transgressors, nor partake of their food, nor use their books or utensils, and not even accept alms from them. The edict of excommunication against informers and traitors was also revived at this synod.

At a synod held in Troyes, over which Tam presided, all those were threatened with excommunication who dared find fault with any bill of divorce after it had been delivered to the wife. Hyper-critical or wicked men often criticised a bill of divorce after it had been granted, causing the divorced parties much annoyance. Other decisions were made by the synods, and these possessed the force of law among the French and German Jews. Thus it was decided that the ordinance of Gershom for the prevention of polygamy could only be abrogated by a hundred rabbis from three different provinces, such as Francia, Normandy, and Anjou, and only for the most weighty motives. The rabbis did not, like the Catholic prelates, use this power of the synod against the people, but in accordance with the feeling of the nation and for the welfare of the community. Hence their decisions once made did not require frequent renewal.

In his old age, Tam witnessed a bloody persecution of the Jews in his vicinity, in Blois, which is memorable not only on account of the severity with which the martyrs were treated, but especially for the lying accusation, then for the first time brought against them, that they used the blood of Christians at the Passover. It was a base intrigue which kindled the fire at the stake for the innocent.

A Jew of Blois was riding at dusk towards the Loire in order to water his horse. He there met a Christian groom, whose horse shied at a white fleece which the Jew wore beneath his cloak, and growing restive, refused to go to the water. The servant, who was well aware of the Jew-hating character of his master, the mayor of the town, concocted a story which served as ground for an accusation. He asserted that he had seen the Jewish horseman throw a murdered Christian child into the water. The mayor bore a grudge against an influential Jewish woman named Pulcelina, who was a favorite of his lord, Count Theobald, of Chartres, and took this opportunity of revenging himself. He repeated the lie about the murder of a Christian child, and the charge read: "The Jews crucified it for the Passover, and then threw it into the Loire." Count Theobald thereupon commanded that all the Jews should be put into chains, and thrown into prison. Pulcelina alone, for whom Theobald entertained a particular affection, remained unharmed. Relying upon this, she quieted the fears of her suffering co-religionists with the assurance that she would prevail on the Count to release them. But soon the imprisoned Jews learned that there was no hope of human aid.

Pulcelina, on account of the affection shown for her, had incurred the bitter enmity of Isabelle, the wife of the Count, and she planned the destruction of the Jews. She had a watch set over Pulcelina, and prevented her from meeting the Count. The Jews had but one glimmer of hope: an appeal to the notorious avarice of the Count. He had sent a Jew of Chartres to ask what sum they were willing to pay in order to be acquitted of this charge of murder. Thereupon they consulted with friendly Christians, and it was arranged that one hundred pounds of ready money, and one hundred and eighty pounds of outstanding debts--probably the whole wealth of the small community--would be sufficient. At this point, however, a priest took part in the proceedings, and addressing the Count with warmth, besought him not to treat the matter lightly, but to punish the Jews severely in case the accusation against them was well founded. But how could any one ascertain the truth, seeing that the whole charge rested merely upon the statement of the groom, who could be said to have seen no more than a body thrown into the river? In the Middle Ages such doubts were readily solved. The water test was applied. The servant was conveyed to the river in a boat filled with water, and as he did not sink, the Count and the whole of the Christian population were firmly convinced that his statements were really true. Count Theobald issued an order condemning the entire Jewish congregation at Blois to death by fire. When they were brought out to a wooden tower, and the fagots around them were about to be kindled, the priest begged them to acknowledge Christianity, and thus preserve their lives. They nevertheless remained steadfast to their faith, and were first tortured, and then dragged to the stake. Thirty-four men and seventeen women died amid the flames whilst chanting the prayer which contains the confession of faith in One God (Wednesday, 20 Sivan--26 May, 1171), Pulcelina dying with them. A few Jews only, through fear of death, accepted Christianity. The Christians, relying on the water test, were firmly convinced that the Jews had rightly deserved death at the stake, and the chronicle narrates in terse fashion: "Theobald, Count of Chartres, caused several Jews of Blois to be burnt, because they had crucified a Christian child at the celebration of their Passover, and had thrown its body into the Loire."

When the news of the martyrdom of the Jews reached Tam, he decreed that the day should be observed as a strict fast and a day of mourning. The congregations of France, Anjou, and the Rhine country, to whom the great teacher sent letters of request, willingly obeyed his decrees. This fast day, in memory of the martyrs of Blois, at the same time commemorates the beginning of the utterly false and groundless fabrication that the Jews use blood on their Passover, which in the course of half a century was the cause of the death of hecatombs of victims. This decree was the last public act of Tam, for a few days afterwards he died (Wednesday, 4th Tamuz--9th June). One of his pupils, Chayim Cohen, remarked that if he had been at the burial, he would have assisted in the final disposition of the body in spite of the law that a descendant of Aaron may not touch a corpse, because for so holy a man the sanctity of a priest may be laid aside. Rabbi Tam concludes the series of creative minds of the French school, just as Ibn-Ezra marks the end of the original element in the Spanish school. There now arose a personage who completely reconciled both schools, and with whom a clearly marked transformation in Jewish history commenced.

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