petty behaviour towards their ecclesiastical chief, they willingly
submitted to the authority of the Gaon (who was devoid of all official
authority). They revered him as a saint. To converse with the Gaon was
considered as a happy event in the life of a Jew in Wilna, to be of any
use to him as the greatest distinction a man could attain on earth. But
what is remarkable is the readiness with which even scholars acknowledged
the authority of the Gaon. Scholars are usually more slow in recognising
greatness than simple mortals. Every new luminary does not only outshine
their minor lights and thus hurt their personal vanity, but it threatens
also sometimes to obscure certain traditions which they wish to keep
prominently in view. But the literary genius of the Gaon was too great to
be opposed with success, and his piety and devotion to religion far above
suspicion. Thus the Gaon was very soon recognised by his contemporaries as
their master and guide; not only in literary questions, but also in
matters of belief and conduct.
It would lead me too far to name here all the Gaon’s disciples. It seems
as if all the great scholars in his country considered themselves to be
more or less his pupils. The Gaon used to give in the Beth Hammidrash,
which he founded, public lectures on various subjects, and the students
who attended these lectures also claimed the honour of being called his
pupils. I shall mention here only his greatest disciple, R. Chayim
Walosin, who, after the Gaon, influenced his countrymen more than any
other scholar of that time. This R. Chayim also did not occupy any
official post among his brethren. He was a cloth manufacturer by
profession, and was very prosperous in his business. But it did not
prevent him from being devoted to Hebrew literature, and he enjoyed a
wide‐spread fame as a great scholar. But as soon as the fame of the Gaon
reached him, he left cloth manufactory and scholarship behind, and went to
Wilna to “learn Torah” from the mouth of the great master. It must be
noticed that even the giving up of his claim to scholarship was no little
sacrifice. All our learning, said some scholar in Wilna, disappeared as
soon as we crossed the threshold of the Gaon’s house. He made every
disciple who came into close contact with him begin at the beginning. He
taught them Hebrew grammar, Bible, Mishnah, and many other subjects, which
were, as already mentioned, very often neglected by the Talmudists of that
time. R. Chayim had also to go through all this course. Some would have
considered such treatment a degradation. R. Chayim, however, became the
more attached to his master for it.
In such a way the life of the Gaon was spent, studying by himself or
teaching his pupils. It must be understood that to learn Torah meant for
the Gaon more than mere brain work for the purpose of gaining knowledge.
To him it was a kind of service to God. Contemporaries who watched him
when he was studying the Torah observed that the effect wrought on the
personality of the Gaon was the same as when he was praying. With every
word his countenance flushed with joy; with every line he was gaining
strength for proceeding further. Only by looking at matters from this
point of view shall we be able to understand the devotion and the love of
the Gaon for study.
There has been, no doubt, among the Russian Jews a strong tendency to
exaggerate the intellectual qualities of the Gaon. But one can readily
excuse such a tendency. He was gifted by nature with such a wonderful
memory that, having read a book once, he was able to recite it by heart
for the rest of his life. Not less admirable was his sure grasp. The most
complicated controversies in the Talmud, into which other scholars would
require whole days and weeks to find their way, the Gaon was able to read
by a glance at the pages. Already as a boy he is said to have gone through
in a single night the tractates _Zebachim_ and _Menachoth_,(57) containing
not less than two hundred and thirty pages, the contents of which are
sometimes so difficult as to make even an aged scholar despair of
understanding them. Again, he possessed so much common‐sense that all the
intellectual tricks of the casuistic schools did not exist for him. And
nevertheless his biographers tell us that he was so much occupied by his
studies, that he could not spare more than one hour and a half for sleep
out of twenty‐four hours. This is, no doubt, an exaggeration. But let us
say five hours a day. He had not time to take his meals regularly. He used
also, according to tradition, to repeat every chapter in the Bible, every
passage in the Talmud, hundreds of times, even if they presented no
difficulty at all. But it was, as already said, a matter of love for the
Gaon; of love, not of passing affection.
Nothing on earth could be more despicable to the Gaon than amateurs who
dabble with ancient literature. To understand a thing clearly made him
happy. He is said to have spent more than six months on a single Mishnah
in the tractate _Kilayim_,(58) and felt himself the happiest man when he
succeeded in grasping its real meaning. Not to be able to go into the
depth of a subject, to miss the truth embedded in a single passage, caused
him the most bitter grief. A story told by his pupil, R. Chayim, may
illustrate this fact. One Friday, narrates R. Chayim, the servant of the
Gaon came to him with the message that his master wanted to see him as
soon as possible. R. Chayim went instantly. When he came into the house,
he found the Gaon lying in bed with a bandage on his head and looking very
ill. The wife of the Gaon also reported to him that it was more than three
days since her husband had taken any food, and that he had hardly enjoyed
any sleep all this time. All this misery was caused by reason of not
having been able to understand some difficult passages in the Talmud of
Jerusalem. The Gaon now asked his disciples to resume with him their
researches. Heaven, he said, might have mercy upon them and open their
eyes, for it is written, “Two are better than one”: and lo! Heaven did
have mercy on them; they succeeded in getting the true meaning of the
passage. The Gaon recovered instantly, and master and disciple had a very
joyful Sabbath.
He is also reported to have said on one occasion, he would not like to
have an angel for his teacher who would reveal to him all the mysteries of
the Torah. Such a condition is only befitting the world to come, but in
_this_ world only things which are acquired by hard labour and great
struggle are of any value. The German representative of truth expressed
the same thought in other words, which are well worth repeating here: “Did
the Almighty,” says Lessing, “holding in His right hand Truth and in His
left Search after Truth, deign to tender me the one I might prefer, in all
humility and without hesitation I should select Search after Truth.”
This absorption of all his being in the study of the Torah may also, I
think, account for the fact that his biographers have so little to say
about the family of the Gaon. Of his wife, we know only that she died in
the year 1783. Not much fuller is our knowledge about his children. The
biographers speak of them as of the family “which the Lord has blessed,”
referring to his two sons, Rabbi Aryeh Leb and Rabbi Abraham, who were
known as great scholars and very pious men. The latter one is best known
by his edition of a collection of smaller Midrashim. Mention is also made
of the Gaon’s sons‐in‐law, especially one Rabbi Moses of Pinsk. But this
is all, and we are told nothing either about their lives or their
callings. From his famous letter which he sent to his family when on his
way to Palestine, we see that he was rather what one may call a severe
father. He bids his wife punish his children most severely for swearing,
scolding, and speaking untruth. He also advises her to live as retired a
life as possible. Retirement he considers as a condition _sine qua non_
for a religious life. He even advises his daughter to read her prayers at
home, for in the synagogue she may get envious of the finer dresses of her
friends, which is a most terrible sin. The only tender feature in this
letter is perhaps where he implores his wife to be kind to his mother on
account of her being a widow, and it were a great sin to cause her the
least annoyance. From other passages we may gather that his family had at
times to suffer hunger and cold by the excessive occupation of their
father with the study of the Torah and other religious works. In short,
the Gaon was a one‐sided, severe ascetic, and would never have deserved
the title of a good father, a good husband, an amiable man or any other
appellation derived from those ordinary “household decencies” which, as
Macaulay informs us, half of the tombstones claim for those who lie behind
them. But I am very much afraid that many a great man who has made his
mark in history could never claim these household virtues as his own. I do
not want to enter here into the question whether Judaism be an ascetic
religion or not. But even those who think Judaism identical with what is
called “making the best of this life,” will not dispute the fact that
Jewish literature contains within it enough ascetic elements to justify
the conduct of our greatest men whose lives were one long‐continued self‐
denial and privation. “The Torah,” says the Talmud, “cannot be obtained
unless a man is prepared to give his life for it,” or as the Talmud puts
it, in another place, “if it be thy desire not to die, cease to live
before thou diest.” This was the principle by which the Gaon’s life was
actuated. And as he did not spare himself, he could not spare others. We
could not expect him to act differently. The Scriptures tell us: “Thou
shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” But how is it with the man who never
loved himself, who never gave a thought to himself, who never lived for
himself, but only for what he considered to be his duty and his mission
from God on earth? Such a man we cannot expect to spend his time on
coaxing and caressing us. As to the charge of one‐sidedness at which I
have hinted, if the giving up of everything else for the purpose of
devoting oneself to a scholarly and saintly life is one‐sidedness, the
Gaon must certainly bear this charge; but in a world where there are so
many on the other side, we ought, I think, to be only too grateful to
Providence for sending us from time to time great and strong one‐sided
men, who, by their counterbalancing influence, bring God’s spoilt world to
a certain equilibrium again. To appease my more tender readers, I should
like only to say that there is no occasion at all for pitying Mrs. Gaon.
It would be a miserable world indeed if a good digestion and stupidity
were, as a certain author maintained, the only conditions of happiness.
Saints are happy in their sufferings, and noble souls find their happiness
in sacrificing themselves for these sufferers.
Another severe feature in the life of the Gaon showed itself in his
dispute with the Chassidim. I regret not to be able to enter here even
into a brief account of the history of this struggle. I shall only take
leave to say that I am afraid each party was right, the Gaon as well as
the Chassidim; the latter, in attacking the Rabbis of their time, who
mostly belonged to the casuistic schools, and in their intellectual
pursuits almost entirely neglected the emotional side of religion; but
none the less was the Gaon right in opposing a system which, as I have
shown above, involved the danger of leading to a worship of men.
Excepting this incident, the Gaon never meddled with public affairs. He
lived in retirement, always occupied with his own education and that of
his disciples and friends. It is most remarkable that, in spite of his
hard work and the many privations he had to endure, he enjoyed good health
almost all his life. He never consulted a doctor. It was not until the
year 1791, in the seventieth year of his life, that he began to feel the
decline of his health. But he was not much interrupted by the failure of
his powers. As a means of recovery, he esteemed very highly the
conversation of the preacher Jacob of Dubna, better known as the Dubna
Maggid,(59) whose parables and sallies of wit the Gaon used to enjoy very
much. On the eve of the Day of Atonement in the year 1797, he fell very
ill and gave his blessing to his children. He died on the third day of the
Feast of Tabernacles, with the branch of the Lulab(60) in his hands. The
Feast of Joy, relates a contemporary, was turned into days of mourning. In
all the streets of Wilna were heard only lamenting and crying voices. The
funeral orations delivered on this occasion in Wilna, as well as in other
Jewish communities, would form a small library. His disciples wept for
their master, the people of Wilna for the ornament of their native town,
and the feeling of the Jews in general was that “the Ark of God was taken
away.”
After the foregoing sketch, the reader will hardly expect me to give an
account of the Gaon’s literary productions. The results of so long a life
and such powers of mind devoted to one cause with such zeal and fervour,
would furnish by themselves the subject of a whole series of essays. The
tombstone set on his grave by his pious admirers bears the inscription,
“The Gaon gave heed and sought and set in order”—that is to say, he wrote
commentaries or notes on—“the Bible, the Mishnah, both Talmuds, the
Siphré, Siphra, the Zohar, and many other works.” Inscriptions on
tombstones are proverbial for exaggeration, and we all know the saying,
“as mendacious as an epitaph.” But a glance at the catalogue of the
British Museum under the heading of Elijah Wilna, will show that this
inscription makes a praiseworthy exception. We will find that this list
might be lengthened by many other works of great importance for Jewish
life and thought. His commentary to the Code of R. Joseph Caro, in which
one will find that in many cases he knew the sources of the religious
customs and usages, put together in this work, better than its compiler
himself, would have been sufficient to place him at the head of Halachic
scholarship, whilst his notes and textual emendations to the Tosephta and
Seder Olam, to the restoration of which he contributed so much, would have
sufficed to establish his fame as a critic of the first order. And this is
the more astonishing when we consider that all this was done without
manuscripts or any other aid, and by mere intuition. We cannot wonder that
scholars who had the opportunity of visiting great libraries and saw how
the emendations of the Gaon agreed sometimes with the readings given in
the best manuscripts exclaimed very often: “Only by inspiration could he
have found out these secrets.” We have no need to go so far; we shall
simply say with the Talmud, “The powers of the real sage surpass those of
the prophet.” Nay, even had we possessed only his _Gleanings_, which form
a kind of _obiter dicta_ on various topics of Jewish literature, the Gaon
would have remained a model of clear thinking and real ingenuity for all
future generations.
However, a real appreciation of the Gaon’s greatness as a scholar would
only be possible either by a thorough study of his works, to which I have
alluded, or by giving many specimens of them. The short space I am limited
to makes such an undertaking impossible. I shall therefore use what
remains to me to say a few words on the salutary influence the Gaon had on
his countrymen, the Russian Jews.
The Russian Jew is still a riddle to us. We know this strange being only
from the Reports of the Board of Guardians or from bombastic phrases in
public speeches; for he has always been the victim of platform orators,
So over violent or over civil,
That every man with them is God or Devil.
From all, however, that I can gather from the best Jewish writers in
Russia, I can only judge that the Russian Jew, when transplanted to a
foreign soil, where he is cut off from the past and uncertain of his
future, is for the time at least in a position in which his true character
cannot be truly estimated. His real life is to be sought in his own
country. There, amidst his friends and kinsmen who are all animated by the
same ideals, attached to the same traditions, and proud of the same
religious and charitable institutions, everything is full of life and
meaning to him. Thus, a certain Russian writer addresses his younger
colleagues who find so much fault with the bygone world: “Go and see how
rich we always were in excellent men. In every town and every village you
would find scholars, saints, and philanthropists. Their merits could
sustain worlds, and each of them was an ornament of Israel.” And he
proceeds to give dozens of names of such excellent men, who are not all
indeed known to us, but with whom the Russian Jew connects many noble and
pious reminiscences of real greatness and heroic self‐denial, and of whom
he is justly proud.
The focus, however, of all this spiritual life is the Yeshibah (Talmudical
College)(61) in Walosin. I hope that a glance at its history and
constitution will not be found uninteresting. The intellectual originator
of this institution which bears the name _Yeshibah Ets Chayim_ (Tree of
Life College),(62) was the Gaon himself. Being convinced that the study of
the Torah is the very life of Judaism, but that this study must be
conducted in a scientific, not in a scholastic way, he bade his chief
disciple, the R. Chayim already mentioned, to found a college in which
Rabbinical literature should be taught according to his own true method.
It would seem that, as long as the Gaon was alive, R. Chayim preferred to
be a pupil rather than a teacher. When, however, the Gaon died, R. Chayim
did not rest till he had carried out the command of his master, and in the
year 1803 the College was opened in Walosin. The cloth manufacturer and
disciple now became Rabbi and master. He began on a small scale, teaching
at first only a few pupils. But even for the sustenance of a small number
he had not sufficient means, and his pious wife sold her jewellery to help
him in accomplishing his favourite plan. This is the best refutation of
the French proverb _Avare comme une Rabbine_. The number, however,
increased daily, and before he died (1828), he was fortunate enough to
lecture to a hundred students. The number of students in the year 1888
amounted to 400, and the Russian Jews are thus right in asserting that
they have the greatest Talmudical College in the world. It is evident that
no private charity by a single man, however great, could suffice to
maintain such large numbers. Thus R. Chayim was already compelled to
appeal to the liberality of his Russian brethren. The name of R. Chayim,
and the still greater name of his master, were recommendation enough, and
besides private offerings, many communities promised large sums towards
supporting the students in Walosin. From time to time also messengers are
sent out by the committee to promote the interests of the Yeshibah. The
writers to whom I owe these data tell us that these messengers travel to
all parts of the world to collect offerings for Walosin: so that it is a
standing joke with the students that the existence of the mythical river
Sambatyon(63) may be questioned after all, otherwise it must long have
been discovered by these messengers who explore the whole world in their
journeys. But it would seem that this world is only a very small one. For
the whole income of the Yeshibah has never exceeded the sum of about
£1800. Of this a certain part is spent in providing the salaries of the
teaching staff and proctors, and on the repairs of the building; whilst
the rest is distributed amongst the students. Considering that no
scholarship exceeds £13—it is only the forty immortals of Walosin who
receive such high stipends—considering again that the great majority of
the students belong to the poorer classes and thus receive no remittance
from their parents, we may be sure that the words of the Talmud: “This is
the way to study the Torah; eat bread and salt, drink water by measure,
sleep on the earth, and live a life of care,” are carried out by them
literally. But it would seem that the less they eat and the less they
sleep, the more they work. Indeed the industry and the enthusiasm of these
Bachurim (_alumni_)(64) in the study of the Torah is almost unsurpassable.
The official hours alone extend from nine in the morning until ten in the
evening, while many of the students volunteer to continue their studies
till the middle of the night, or to begin the day at three in the morning.
As to the subject of these studies, it is confined, as may be imagined, to
the exploration of the old Rabbinic literature in all its branches. But it
would be a mistake to think that the modern spirit has left Walosin quite
untouched. It would be impossible that among 400 thinking heads there
should not be a few who are interested in mathematics, others again in
philosophy or history, while yet others would conjugate the irregular
verbs of some classical language when moving to and fro over their Talmud
folios and pretending to “_learn_.” Indeed, almost all the writers who
demand that these subjects should be introduced as obligatory into the
programme of Walosin, belonged themselves to this Yeshibah. And it is
these writers who betray the secret how secular knowledge is now invading
the precincts of Walosin, as well as of other Talmudical Colleges in spite
of all obstacles and prohibitions. In conquering these difficulties seem
to consist the pleasures of life of many Bachurim at Walosin. Look only at
that undergraduate, how, after a heavy day’s work he is standing there in
the street reading Buckle’s _History of Civilisation_ in the moonlight!
Poor man, he is not so romantic as to prefer the moonlight to a cheerful,
warm room, with the more prosaic light of a candle, but he has got tired
of knocking at the door, for his landlady, to whom he has neglected to pay
rent for the last three terms, made up her mind to let him freeze to‐
night. But still more cruel to him is his fellow‐sufferer, who is also
wandering in the streets with an overloaded brain and empty stomach; he
roughly shakes him out of his dreams by telling him that Buckle is long
ago antiquated, and that he had better study the works of Herbert Spencer,
who has spoken the last word on every vital subject in the world. Still
these two starving and freezing representatives of English thought in
Walosin form only an exception. The general favourites are the
representatives of Jewish thought. That such books as the _Guide of the
Perplexed_, by Maimonides, the Metaphysical Researches of Levi b.
Gershom,(65) and other philosophical works of the Spanish school are read
by the Walosin students it is needless to say. These books now form a part
of the Rabbinic literature, and it would be almost unorthodox to suspect
their readers. But is worth noticing that even the productions of the
modern historico‐critical school, such as the works of Zunz, Frankel,
Graetz, Weiss, are very popular with the Bachurim, being much read and
discussed by them.
Thus Walosin deserves rightly to be considered as the centre of Jewish
thought in Russia, in which the spirit of the Gaon is still working.
I have very often, however, heard doubts expressed as to the continuance
of this spirit when, as it is to be hoped, better times come for the Jews
in Russia. Is it not to be feared that liberty and emancipation will
render untenable ideas and notions which arose under entirely different
circumstances? There is no need of entertaining such fears. Rabbi Jedaiah
of Bedres(66) concludes his philosophical work _Examination of the World_,
with the following words: “The conclusion of the whole matter is, go
either to the right, my heart, or go to the left, but believe all that R.
Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides) has believed, the last of the Gaonim by
time, but the first in rank.” About five hundred years have passed away
since these lines were written. Time, as we have seen, has brought another
Gaon, and probably Time will favour us in future with still another. But
times have also altered. The rebellious hearts of a liberal age are not
likely to obey always the command, “believe all that the Gaon said.” But
the heart of man will in all ages retain idealism enough to love and
revere the greatest of men and to follow what was best in them.
IV. NACHMANIDES(67)
R. Chayim Vital, in his _Book of the Transmigrations of Souls_, gives the
following bold characteristic of the two great teachers of Judaism,
Maimonides and Nachmanides. Their souls both sprang forth from the head of
Adam—it is a favourite idea of the Cabbalists to evolve the whole of ideal
humanity from the archetype Adam—but the former, Maimonides, had his
genius placed on the left curl of Adam, which is all judgment and
severity, whilst that of the latter, Nachmanides, had its place on the
right curl, which represents rather mercy and tenderness.