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:
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:
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:
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:
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:
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.
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."