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them to fulfil the condition, or his protection would be withdrawn from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.