Making Jews Dutch: Secular Discourse and Jewish Responses, 1796-1848

University of Groningen

Making Jews Dutch Rädecker, Tsila Shelly

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Making Jews Dutch Secular Discourse and Jewish Responses )1796–1848)

Tsila Rädecker To the memory of my grandparents

Salemon Jacobs (Blokzijl, 1907– Sobibor, 1943) z’’l Rachel Heijman (Rijssen, 1905 – Sobibor, 1943) z’’l

Acknowledgements

“I guess there’s no point in hanging on to this tuba, then,” I said. (Wonder Boys, 1995)

Curiosity and fascination with Jewish history went hand in hand in the preparation of this book. It resulted in a pleasant and perverse presence in these last few years of my life. Research was always there, lingering in the dark, plucking at my clothes and pulling me back to work. And now this sweet burden has flown the nest, leaving its creator empty handed and longing for a new research pet.

I have been privileged to spend this time in an intellectual playground. The Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies at the University of Groningen has provided me with a warm and inspiring intellectual climate, witty colleagues, and a life-long aversion to the carillon. Travelling to international conferences and participating in summer schools have further enriched my personal life and research.

In the course of my research I have encounterd many brilliant scholars, all of whom, both intentionally and unintentionally, contributed to this study. First of all I am grateful to my supervisor, Kocku von Stuckrad, who saw potential in my research proposal and from whose knowledge I greatly benefitted. His guidance, optimism, and sharp criticism not only improved the research but also helped me to better understand my research position and perspective. I am also very grateful to my second supervisor, Karin Hofmeester. With her knowledge of Jewish history and keen observations, she pointed me in the right direction and has prevented me from making errors. Her absolute trust in my ability gave me the confidence to complete this task. Yaniv Hagbi, my co-promotor, requires a special mention. He tutored me during my studies at the University of Amsterdam and encouraged me to pursue an academic career. His advice, comments, and suggestions have proven to be of great value.

I am grateful to my collegues at Groningen, my fellow PhDs and members of informal as well as formal PhD peer groups, who commented on my work in its early stages. I especially want to thank Froukje Pitstra and Michael Green for their kind advice. Collegues such as Bart Wallet and David Wertheim have contributed greatly to my research. I am also grateful to members of the groyse un klayne kraiz, under the guidance iii of Justus van der Kamp, as they have stirred up a long-lasting love for the Yiddish language. I also want to express gratitude to the assistant conservator of the Library Rosenthaliana, Rachel Boertjes, who tracked down many manuscripts and books for me. In addition, I thank my editor Alissa Jones Nelson for carefully (copy) editing the manuscript and patience with my endless requests.

This research would not have been possible without the generous funding of the Henriette Boas Stichting, Rothschild Foundation, Stichting, Association for Jewish Studies (AJS), Max Cohen Fonds, Goudse Stichting voor Joodse Sociale Arbeid, and the Vilnius Yiddish Institute. Their support enabled me to present my research at international conferences, visit archives, and enroll in summer schools.

I devote this last paragraph to my family. Firstly, I need to apologize to my father, whose library on Jewish history in the Netherlands I have plundered and pilfered. I am grateful for his suggestions and help. My husband David J. Knibbe has been invaluable. He not only engaged in lengthy discussions and provided me with helpful insights and perspectives, but also meticulously read and edited my writings. Without his input, I would not have been able to write this book. A special thanks to my sweet daughter Serle, who sat cozily in my belly during the writing of this book and who afterwards has been such a delight and a pleasure.

Contents Acknowledgements iii

Introduction 1

1. Between secularization and sacralization 2 2. Historiography on the emancipation of the Jews 5 3. An alternative research perspective 12 4. Chapter topics and outline 18 5. Notes on the chronological framework and the historical sources 26

Chapter one State, citizenship, and nucleation: The Dutch Jewish community in transition 31

1. Maskilic nucleation in the Netherlands 32 2. The naye kille 37 Jewish political participation 39 The ideal of equality 41 The Sephardic ideal 43 The alte kille’s response 46 Public shaming 47 The naye kille’s legacy 50 3. Orthodox nucleation 52 The Lehren family 52 Lehren’s private minyan 57 The Hasidic influence 60 Torat ha-qena’ot vis-à-vis Reform 62 Jews vis-à-vis the state 65

4. Conclusion 75

Chapter two Civilizing the Jews: The reform of language, education, and religion 70

1. The abandonment of Yiddish 71 Dutch in the synagogue 73 The translation of the Hebrew Bible 77 Pronunciation of Hebrew 79 The Hebrew pronunciation polemics 81 2. Educating Dutch Jews 89 Reform of the Jewish schools 90 A Jewish signature 94 3. Religious reform 98 The naye kille’s liturgy 100 Governmental religious reform 106 Romantic visions of the Jewish ritual: The case of hamankloppen 107 4. Conclusion 111

Chapter three Rituals: New, old, and invented 112

1. Judaizing the state ritual: The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen 113 The Additional Declaration 114 Rabbi Moses Löwenstamm’s resistance 117 The “For the Sake of Heaven” petition 120 The naye kille’s support of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen 121

2. The politicalized Jewish ritual: Purim productions 124 Addressing ‘the Jewish question’ 125 Jewish poverty 126 Jewish unproductivity 130 Critique of the Jewish religion in the character of Yerushalmi 133

3. The politicalized Jewish ritual: The sermon 136 The gunpowder tragedy in Leiden 138 Promotion of the Dutch language 142 The sermon as a moral message 144 The pastoral role 147 4. Conclusion 150

Chapter four Self-labelling and othering: Images of the Jew 152

1. The Jewish self-image 153 The Jewish beard 154 Samuel Berenstein’s beard 157 Eating as a Jew 161 The Jew as soldier 167 Jewish conscription 173 2. Perception of the Jews by non-Jews 176 The Jew as citizen 177 The coarse Jew 183 The Jew in need of regeneration 186 3. Conclusion 189

Chapter five

vii

The Dutch Jewish Community: Betwixt and between medicine, and religion 190

1. The Jewish burial controversy 182 Reform of Jewish burial in the Netherlands 193 2. Criticism on Jewish circumcision 199 Dutch reform of Jewish circumcision 200 Critique of meẓiẓah 204 The meẓiẓah controversy in the Netherlands 207 3. Conclusion 212

Conclusion: Making Jews Dutch 214

1. Modes of Jewish responses to secular discourse 214 Withdrawal 215 Rejection 216 Essentialization of contested Jewish practices 217 Embracing 218 Selective incorporation 219 Lip-service 221 2. Limitations of research 222 3. Future research 223

Summary in Dutch 226

Bibliography 228

Appendices 250

viii

Introduction 1. Between secularization and sacralization

The Church is separate from the State, but not the State from the Church. That means, in other words: the State has to watch over everything that goes on in the State. It cannot get involved in the inner affairs of the churches, but when it sees that the heads of a specific church are capable of violating the laws of the land, it is the State’s duty to step in. Otherwise a church administration could consider itself above the sovereign of the country and be capable of treating the people of that church really like subjects 1 and thereby breach the social and civil order.

In the above citation, the recently seceded Jewish community in Amsterdam discusses the repercussions of newly acquired citizenship for Jews.2 The Emancipation Decree issued on 2 September 1796 transformed the Jews from strangers with a semi- autonomous status into a religious minority under state authority. In this new political constellation, the relationship of the Ashkenazi community in Amsterdam vis-à-vis the state became uncertain and needed to be redefined. These developments arose after the French invaded the Netherlands in 1795 and founded their satellite state, the Batavian Republic. The Republic granted the Jews citizenship, while at the same time enforcing the enlightened political ideal of the separation between church and state. The gist of this ideological reorientation for Dutch Jewry was the loss of their punitive powers and relative sovereignty within the Dutch state. Previously, the Jewish community/ies3 had been a subordinated but semi-autonomous part of the Netherlands. They were referred

1 Joseph Michman and Marion Aptroot, Storm in the Community: Yiddish Polemical Pamphlets of Amsterdam Jewry 1797–1798 (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 2002), 480. 2 The intensity and meaning of the debates preceding the emancipation of Dutch Jewry has been at the center of Joseph Michman´s criticism of Huussen and the writers of the collection of articles Gelykstaat der Joden inburgering van een minderheid. According to Michman, they all failed to pay attention to the resistance of the Dutch to granting the Jews emancipation and also to the reluctance of the Jews to accept citizenship. See Joseph Michman, “Ideological Historiography,” in Dutch Jews as Perceived by Themselves and by Others, edited by Chaya Brasz and Yosef Kaplan (Leiden/Boston/Köln: Brill, 2001); Joseph Michman, “Gothische torens op een Corintisch gebouw. De doorvoering van de emancipatie der Joden in Nederland,” Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 89 (1976); Joseph Michman, “De emancipatie van Joden in Nederland,” Bijdragen en Mededelingen betreffende de Geschiedenis der Nederlanden 96 (1981); A.H. Huussen Jr., “De emancipatie van de Joden in Nederland. Een discussiebijdrage naar aanleiding van twee recente studies,, Bijdragen en Mededelingen betreffende de Geschiedenis der Nederlanden 94 (1979). 3 Throughout this dissertation, I use the term Jewish community for the Ashkenazi community and I use the plural when I refer to the Sephardic community as well. Both the term Jewry and Jewish community are used to refer to the Jewish community collectively, this is done for linguistic variety and it does not imply that there was a single, unified "Jewish community" in the Netherlands or a difference between Jewry and Jewish community. 1 to as the Jewish nation(s) and described by contemporaries as a state within a state.4 The Jewish community´s loss of political power turned Judaism into a religion and compelled the Jews to rethink their perception of Jewishness. At the same time, the shift of the locus of power from Jewish authorities to secular ones triggered a ‘civilization offensive’ with religious repercussions. The newly acquired citizenship was thus a double-edged sword. It gave the Jews equal rights, but it also undermined the legal basis of their community and thus forced them to reconsider and rearticulate their place in Dutch society. The abolition of Jewish semi-autonomy resulted in the dismantling of religious and political power. Underlying this reattribution was a new vision of religion’s place in society. According to Enlightenment thought, religion was a private matter that could not be forced upon the population; religion should be independent of political power and free from coercion.5 This restricted religion´s influence in the public sphere.6 The new discourse on religion separated political power from the religious sphere, and as such, it redefined religion’s content as well as its (permitted) sphere of influence. As Michel Foucault demonstrated, discourses are systems of thought and ideas that produce and regulate meaning. They affect the way we perceive the world and construct our thinking and behavior. Discourses are not steady and fixed but are constantly reassembled.7 This idea of discourse as a historical construct has been applied to the

4 Because of their differences in language, culture, and religious practices, the Sephardim and the Ashkenazim had their own distinctive communities. In 1602, the Sephardim founded their community in Amsterdam, and the Ashkenazim followed some years later in 1639. Since these foundations, some animosity has characterized their relationships, as the Sephardim looked down upon the mostly impoverished Ashkenazim while at the same time stressing their own noble Iberian heritage. Moreover, until the emancipation of Dutch Jewry, Jewish regulations prohibited marriage between the two groups. Cf. Joseph Michman, Hartog Beem, and Dan Michman, Pinkas. Geschiedenis van de joodse gemeenschap in Nederland, translated by Ruben Verhasselt (Ede/Antwerpen: Kluwer Algemene Boeken, 1992), 7–64; R. G. Fuks-Mansfeld, De Sefardim in Amsterdam tot 1795: aspecten van een joodse minderheid in een Hollandse stad (Hilversum: Verloren, 1989). 5 This conception of religion as a private matter developed during the Reformation and influenced several Enlightenment thinkers, including Baruch de Spinoza, John Locke, Thomas Jefferson, and Immanuel Kant. 6 The public sphere is the space between the state and the private sphere “made up of private people gathered together as a public and articulating the needs of society with the state” (Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society [Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1989], 176). On the privatization of religion, see Jose Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 7 Cf. Michel Foucault, The Birth of the Clinic: An Archaeology of Medical Perception (London/New York: Routledge, 2003); Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punishment: The Birth of the Prison (New York: Vintage Books, 1995); Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (New York: Vintage Books, 1994);.Talal Asad, Genealogies of Religion: Discipline and Reasons of Power in Christianity and Islam (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993). 2 religious and secular spheres by Talal Asad.8 According to Asad, the new discourse on religion simultaneously constructed the category of the ‘secular’ as something distinct from ‘religion’. Precisely in this period, the secular and the religious became conceptualized as separate spheres, establishing boundaries between the two.9 New discourses on religion and secularity were incorporated into the nation-state’s political constellation; consequently, the nation-state represented itself as secular and sovereign, independent of religion. This divided Dutch Jews as they negotiated, engaged, and resisted the new, restricted role of religion. Enlightened Jews (maskilim)10 heralded the diminishing power of the Jewish community, while others feared for the endurance of Judaism as a whole because they did not make a distinction between religion and political power. Various authors have since taken the theoretical implications of Foucault and Asad in new directions. They have pointed to the fluid boundaries between the secular and the religious and the “outcome of a variety of practices, concepts and institution[s]. And it shifts and changes. ‘Religious’ and ‘secular’ are not fixed categories; they are in active relationship with each other – a relationship that is constantly renegotiated via particular practices and policies.”11 Moreover, the ways in which the secular and the religious are conceptualized serve the dominant ideology and its power structures.12 This restructuring process between the secular and the religious affected Dutch Jewry in different ways and on various levels. On the social level, it redefined community ties by removing punitive powers and making membership in the Jewish community voluntary. Moreover, the granting of citizenship to the Jews turned them into subjects of the state

8 Talal Asad, Formations of the Secular: Christianity, Islam, Modernity (Stanford, Calif: Stanford University Press, 2003). Cf. David Scott and Charles Hirschkind, ed., Powers of the Secular Modern: Talal Asad and His Interlocutors (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006). 9 Asad, Formations of the Secular. 10 From now on, I will refer to Jewish enlighteners as the maskilim in order to stress their affinity with the Jewish questions. This does not mean, however, that I regard the Jewish experience as essentially different from the larger European Enlightenment context. 11 John Seed, “´Secular´ and ´Religious´: Historical Perspectives,” Social History 1 (2014): 3–13; David Biale, Not in the Heavens: The Tradition of Jewish Secular Thought (Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 2011), 2–4; Leora Faye Batnitzky, How Judaism Became a Religion: An Introduction to Modern Jewish Thought (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2011), 1–5. Cf. Asad, Formations of the Secular, 1, 2, 8–12; Asad, Genealogies of Religion, 27–43; Lucian Hölscher, “The Religious and the Secular: Semantic Reconfigurations of the Religious Field in Germany from the Eighteenth to the Twentieth Centuries,” in Religion and Secularity. Transformations and Transfers of Religious Discourses in Europe and Asia (Leiden/Boston/Köln: Brill, 2013). 12 Timothy Fitzgerald, The Ideology of Religious Studies (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000); William T. Cavanaugh, The Myth of Religious Violence: Secular Ideology and the Roots of Modern Conflict (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 59. 3 and members of a religious group. Because of their double affiliation, the question of double loyalty, conflicting values, and a hybrid Jewish identity arose. On the political level, the abolition of Jewish semi-autonomy enabled the state to encroach on the Jewish religion, and by issuing various decrees on the performance of religious rituals, the state incorporated religious objectives into its policy. The creation of and shifts in the boundaries between the secular and the religious also resulted in the employment of the religious infrastructure by both the state and the maskilim in order to disseminate their ideas. This clash of ideas on the content of religion frayed the boundaries between state and church. Because of the reconceptualization of the religious and the secular, the binary opposition between church and state fails to describe the Dutch Jewish experience. The intertwining, the overlapping, and the merging of those categories characterized their response to the changing times. In this grey area, Dutch Jews developed different modes of response and constructed their new Dutch Jewish identities.

2. Historiography on the emancipation of the Jews The emancipation of the Jews and the dismantling of the Jewish organizational structure have been one of the leitmotifs in the historiography of Dutch Jewish history. Historians traditionally described the abolition of the autonomy of the Jewish community as a separation between the national and the religious aspects.13 According to them, it characterized the emancipation and the later integration of Dutch Jews into ‘mainstream’ society. This portrayal of the new Jewish community after their incorporation into the nation-state goes back to Hendrik Jacob Koenen, who described the history of Dutch Jewry in his Geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland (History of the Jews in the Netherlands) as a transformation “from an autonomous nation into a religion, into a church society.”14 Other historians regarded the transition as a break with the Jewish national structure.15 In his book De opheffing van de autonomie der Kehilloth in

13 Cf. H.J. Koenen, Geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland (Utrecht: C. van der Post Jr., 1843); Bart Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders. De integratie van de joden in Nederland 1814-1851 (Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Bert Bakker, 2007); M.E. Bolle, De opheffing van de autonomie der kehilloth (Joodse gemeenten) in Nederland 1796 (Amsterdam/Jerusalem: Systemen Keesing and Rubin Mass, 1960). 14 Koenen, Geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland, 34. All translations from languages other than English are mine, if not indicated otherwise. 15 Cf. Mozes Heiman Gans, Memorboek. Platenatlas van het leven der joden in Nederland van de middeleeuwen tot 1940 (Baarn: Bosch & Keuning n.v., 1971), 273–275. 4

Nederland 1796 (The Abolition of the Jewish Communities’ Autonomy in 1796 in the Netherlands), Menachem Bolle analyzes the granting of citizenship (emancipation) in the light of the loss of a Jewish communal structure, which was characterized more by affinity or connection with other Jews than by the state wherein they resided.16 Joseph Michman, Renate Fuks-Mansfeld, and Bart Wallet especially stressed the Jewish communities’ loss of political power.17 For instance, in his Nieuwe Nederlanders. De integratie van de Joden in Nederland 1814–1851 (New Dutch. The Integration of the Jews in the Netherlands, 1814–1851) Bart Wallet views the separation between national and religious aspects in the light of the integration of Dutch Jewry and the maintenance of a Jewish identity. According to Wallet, the Hoofdcommissie tot de Zaken der Israëliten (Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs), a governmental organization for the Jewish communities, was a prominent factor. “‘In this organization, the Jewish elite cut the Gordian knot for their members, but not always to their liking.”18 Furthermore, he refers to the break as the separation between the civil and the religious and describes this separation in terms of a restriction of the power of the parnasim and the rabbinate.19 Wallet hints at the restructuring of the religious sphere when he describes the separation: “[N]ow it had to be decided what was religiously sanctioned and what wasn’t.” Unfortunately, however, Wallet does not elaborate, problematize, or provide an analysis of the separation between state and church.20 The historian Jaap Meijer likewise employs a political perspective. In the majority of his work, Meijer stresses the erosion of the Jewish community. According to him, the emancipation of Dutch Jewry was the end of Dutch Judaism. He criticized the Jewish entry into Dutch society.21 For Meijer, Judaism died during the period after the

16 Bolle, De Opheffing van de Autonomie Der Kehilloth, 4–21. 17 R.G. Fuks-Mansfeld, “Verlichting en Emancipatie omstreeks 1750-1814,” in Geschiedenis van de Joden in Nederland, edited by J.C.H. Blom, R.G. Fuks-Mansfeld, and I. Schöffer (Amsterdam: Olympus, 1995), 178; Jozeph Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period: Gothic Turrets on a Corinthian Building 1787–1815 (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 1995), 77–157; Michman, Beem, and Michman, Pinkas. Geschiedenis van de joodse gemeenschap in Nederland, 65–71; Salvador Bloemgarten, Hartog de Hartog Lémon, 1755–1823. Joodse revolutionair in Franse Tijd (Amsterdam: Aksant, 2007), 67–74. 18 Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders. De integratie van de joden in Nederland 1814–1851, 9–10. 19 Ibid., 148. 20 Ibid., 173. 21 Jaap Meijer has self-published books demonstrating a very negative attitude toward emancipation, lay leaders, and the rabbinate, as compared to work published in Jewish-community-financed publications. Cf. Jaap Meijer, Tussen verstrooiing en verlichting. De historiografie der joden in Nederland. Eerste fase (Heemstede, 1981); Meijer, Erfenis der Emancipatie. Het Nederlands Jodendom in de eerste helft van de 19e eeuw (Haarlem: Uitgeverij Bakenes, 1963); Meijer, Hoge hoeden, lage standaarden. De Nederlandse joden 5 emancipation, for which he blamed the Jewish elite and the rabbinate. He claimed they were more interested in prestige and worldly recognition than in preserving Jewish religion and culture. Meijer abhorred the blending of the nation-state with the Jewish community. For Meijer, it was either Judaism with sovereignty or no Judaism at all. “Emancipated Judaism was torn between two ideas and thus doomed. This does not detract from the fact that in this manner nothing real remained. The time was not far away when groups at the top would become embarrassed of the Jew, of Judaism, and of the carrier of Judaism especially. Social accomplishments became the norm.”22 Although Meijer does not problematize the transformation of Dutch Jewry in terms of a restructuring of the national and religious features of Judaism, he does regard political power and national aspects as intrinsically bound up with his idea of a true Judaism. Losing Judaism’s national aspects thus also ultimately entailed its destruction. Meijer’s nationalistic perspective on Judaism reveals his point of view as a Zionist, as he interprets Dutch Jewish history mainly in the light of the survival or endurance of the Jewish people. The same Zionistic outlook can also be ascribed to Joseph Michman.23 His negative perception of Dutch Jewish history and his emphasis on social discrimination and anti-Semitism reflects the Zionist meta-history of the Jews as a perpetually persecuted people. For instance, in his book Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period: Gothic Turrets on a Corinthian Building 1787–1815, a revealing chapter is titled “Emancipation or Pseudo-Emancipation,” wherein Michman recounts the troubled entry of Jews into Dutch society and the ongoing discrimination they faced, regardless of their juridical equality. Michman heavily criticized the emancipation because it “improved the position of the Jews but did not raise them to the status of first-class citizens, on a par with the Protestants, or even to that of second-class citizens, like the Catholics.”24 He

tussen 1933 en 1940 (Baarn: 1969, z.d.); Meijer, Het verdwenen ghetto.Wandelingen door de Amsterdamse Jodenbuurt (Amsterdam: Joachimstal, 1968); Meijer, Het Jonas Daniël Meijerplein. Bezinning op drie eeuwen Amsterdams Jodendom (Amsterdam: J.H. De Bussy, 1961). For an analysis of his work from a psychological perspective, see Evelien Gans, Jaap en Ischa Meijer: een joodse geschiedenis, 1912–1956 (Amsterdam: Bert Bakker, 2008). 22 Meijer, Erfenis der Emancipatie. Het Nederlands Jodendom in de eerste helft van de 19e eeuw, 9. 23 Renate Fuks-Mansfeld blamed both authors for their grudge against Dutch society and their perspective of viewing Dutch Jewish history through the prism of the Holocaust and their own experiences. R.G. Fuks- Mansfeld, “Moeizame aanpassing (1814–1870),” in Geschiedenis van de Joden in Nederland, edited by J.C.H. Blom, R.G. Fuks-Mansfeld, and I. Schöffer (Amsterdam: Olympus, 1995), 207. 24 In the Dutch Republic, Catholics were banned from public office and forbidden to publicly perform their religious services. Michman, “Ideological Historiography,” 207. 6 regarded the creation of the State of Israel and the emigration of many Jews to the new state as proof of a close-knit Jewish community that went beyond national boundaries. Michman thus defined Judaism in terms of a civilization with a shared history and culture.

All this can only be understood if we stop seeing Dutch Jews as part of the Dutch population and start viewing them primarily as part of a worldwide Jewish civilization with an old and rich history. Then we must also acknowledge the sham of supposing that Dutch Jewry was losing its identity. Judaism does not die. Wechajee olam nata’ 25 betochenu – He has planted eternal life in us – for better or worse.

In his phenomenological exposition of the Jewish essence, solidarity amongst the Jews is the underlying, enduring, eternal truth.26 Both Michman and Meijer view the Jewish emancipation as a not necessarily positive event in (Dutch) Jewish history.27 The loss of Jewish national aspects, the abolition of their semi-autonomous status, and continuing anti-Semitism, culminating in the Holocaust, were all consequences or unwanted results of the Emancipation Decree of 1796. Their national perspective relies heavily on Simon Dubnow, who emphasized Jewish self-government as pivotal throughout the centuries.28 Because autonomy is regarded as an essential feature of Judaism, its history is measured along these lines. For them, Judaism is intrinsically bound up with having a nation, land, or autonomy. Therefore Meijer constantly bemoans the loss of what he considers the true characteristic features of Judaism, and Michman repeatedly stresses that there is no place for Judaism in the Netherlands as he recalls the attitude of the Dutch government toward the Jews after their return from the camps.29

25 Michman, “Ideological Historiography,” 214. 26 Joseph Michman, “The Jewish Essence of Dutch Jewry,” in Dutch Jewish History II, edited by Joseph Michman, (Assen/Maastricht: Van Gorcum, 1989), 1–22. 27 In this respect, the book by Karina Sonnenberg-Stern should be mentioned. Although her book does not fit the Zionist mold, she shares with both authors the (over-)emphasis of anti-Semitism as a pivotal factor in Dutch Jewish history. See Sonnenberg-Stern, Emancipation and Poverty: The Ashkenazi Jews of Amsterdam, 1796–1850 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000). 28 Likewise, the Dutch historian Menachem Bolle places a similar emphasis on the Jewish communities’ autonomy. Bolle, De Opheffing van de autonomie der kehilloth. 29Joseph Michman, “Hoe verging het de joden in Nederland?” http://www.joodsleven.nl/jodendom/Joden- in-Nederland/De-Joden-in-Nederland-1.htm (accesed 17 June 2014); Joseph Michman, “Historische achtergrond,” in Rechtvaardigen onder de Volkeren. Nederlanders met Yad Vashem-onderscheiding voor hulp aan joden, edited by Joseph Michman and Bert Jan Flim (Amsterdam/Antwerpen: Uitgeverij L.J. 7

This negative appreciation of Jewish emancipation is a variation on the dominant teleological framework in which Jewish historiography has been cast since the nineteenth century, namely integration of the Jews into society more broadly. In this meta-history, the emancipation of the Jews is regarded as the most important event in their history. Their break with tradition, educational and religious reform, as well as their adoption of the dominant (Christian) culture is a sign of their integration and sometimes of their intellectual development. These types of historical writings can be found in international as well as in Dutch Jewish historiography. The first historian who employed this positivistic perspective was Heinrich Graetz (1817–1891). Graetz portrayed Moses Mendelssohn (1729–1786) as a harbinger of modern times. Later scholars of Jewish history mirrored his appreciation and regarded Mendelssohn as the pivotal figure in initiating the Jewish Enlightenment (Haskalah).30 Graetz’s focus on Germany had a major influence on Jewish historiography.

Jacob Katz (1904–1998), for instance, constructed from Graetz’s narrative an ideal German type of Jewish integration, which dominated Jewish history for decades. In his book Out of the Ghetto: The Social Background of Jewish Emancipation 1770–1870, Katz analyzes the transition of German Jewry from a community based on traditions to an integrated part of mainstream society. Katz deemed this break the most important event in Jewish history. His emphasis on ideal types, larger structures, and regularities reveals his appreciation of the social sciences in Jewish historiography. Consequently, Katz tends to look for a general theory of Jewish emancipation.31 According to him, German Jewry, more so than any other Jewish community, converted and assimilated into the dominant society. Their incorporation of German culture ultimately lead to political emancipation. German Jewry’s emancipation as a reward for their integration has become a compelling paradigm for European Jewish history ever since, and many scholars elaborated on Katz’s ideal German type.

Veen/NIOD, 2005), 16–25, esp. 17. 30 Historians who break with this dominant focus on Moses Mendelssohn and describe the period before him or other circles of maskilim include, respectively, Azriel Shohet, Im hilufei tequfot. Reshit hahaskalah bgermania (With the Change of Eras: The Beginnings of the Haskalah among German Jewry) (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1960); and Shmuel Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment, translated by Chaya Naor (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 2002). 31 Cf. Jacob Katz, “The Concept of Social History and Its Possible Use in Jewish Historical Research,” in Emancipation and Assimilation: Studies in Modern Jewish History (Westmead/Farnborough/Hants: Gregg International Publishers Limited, 1972); Jay Michael Harris, ed., The Pride of Jacob: Essays on Jacob Katz and His Work (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 2002). 8

Next to this German model of Jewish emancipation, there is a French or Dutch model in which assimilation followed legal emancipation.32 In the latter model, the state implemented emancipation and actively integrated the Jews into society. Consequently, government policy aimed at turning the Jews into participating, contributing citizens with a privately practiced religion. As the French invaded the Netherlands 1795, they imposed their model of Jewish emancipation on Dutch Jews. Notwithstanding the different manners in which the Jews received emancipation, both the German and the French/Dutch models regard legal and social integration as the most important events in modern Jewish history.33 These emancipation narratives profoundly influenced the historiography of Dutch Jewry. Revealing titles such as Nieuwe Nederlanders. De integratie van de Joden in Nederland 1814– 1851 (New Dutch: The Integration of the Jews in the Netherlands 1815–1851) and the volume De Gelykstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid (The Emancipation of Jewry: Naturalization of a Minority) reflect this.34 The focus in these histories is on Jewish adjustments to mainstream society, how the Jews became nationalized and acculturated. However, these histories do not problematize the changing religious discourse or identify Jewish modes of response to religious change. Under the influence of postmodern thought, most scholars replaced the German or French ideal type with a focus on variations in Jewish emancipation.35 Their work emphasizes local differences and internal power struggles. An important example of this type of historiography is the edited collection by Frankel and Zipperstein, Assimilation and Community: The Jews in Nineteenth-century Europe, which can be viewed as an

32 The ideal types of Jewish emancipation continue to inspire historians. Cf. Michael Brenner, Rainer Liedtke, and David Rechter, eds., Two Nations: British and German Jews in Comparative Perspective,(Tübingen: M. Siebeck, 1999). 33 Cf. Rainer Liedtke and David Rechter, eds., Towards Normality? Acculturation and Modern German Jewry (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Deborah Herz, How Jews Became Germans: The History of Conversion and Assimilation in Berlin (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007); David Sorkin, The Transformation of German Jewry, 1780–1840 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987); Michael Brenner, Vicki Caron, and Uri R. Kaufmann, eds., Jewish Emancipation Reconsidered: The French and German Models (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Marion A Kaplan, The Making of the Jewish Middle Class: Women, Family, and Identity in Imperial Germany (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991); Jay R. Berkovitz, The Shaping of Jewish Identity in Nineteenth-Century France (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1989). 34 Cf. Michman, “Ideological Historiography.” 35 Shmuel Feiner and David Jan Sorkin, eds., New Perspectives on the Haskalah (Oxford/Portland, Or.: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2001). Others focus on the relationship between discourse and Jewish experiences. Cf. Ronald Schechter, Obstinate Hebrews: Representations of Jews in France, 1715–1815 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003); Jay Geller, The Other Jewish Question: Identifying the Jew and Making Sense of Modernity (New York: Fordham University Press, 2011). 9 attempt to deal critically with the linear-development narrative. Various authors challenge the dominant view of the integration of European Jewry by counter-balancing the homogenizing forces of modernity with narratives highlighting Jewish agency.36 For instance, the collection by Birnbaum and Katznelson, Paths of Emancipation: Jews, States, and Citizenship, focuses on the different European Jewish responses to modernity.37 Although most historians nowadays admit that the road to emancipation was not a linear development, the plot nevertheless remains unrevised: the break with the shackles of tradition paved the way for Jewish political participation and social acceptance.38 Other historians concerned with European Jewish history have also tried to come to terms with this strong emancipation narrative and focus instead on the Eastern European Jewish road to modernity.39 The postmodern historian Gershon Hundert, for instance, emphasizes the unique development of Polish and Lithuanian Jewry and avoids the all-too-common criteria or leitmotifs such as Enlightenment, emancipation, and urbanization.40 He stresses the particular mentality of Polish and Lithuanian Jews as they created their own “positive evaluation of Jewishness.”41 Their acceptance of the Hasidic movement, for instance, proves that the simple dichotomy between tradition and change does not apply to them, nor does it describe Jewish experiences of modernity.42 In his book, Hundert proposes a new model of modernization, which is not contra religion but rather in close relationship to it.

36 Jonathan Frankel and Steven J. Zipperstein, Assimilation and Community: The Jews in Nineteenth-Century Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 37 Jonathan Frankel and Steven J. Zipperstein, eds., Assimilation and Community: The Jews in Nineteenth- Century Europe (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992); Pierre Birnbaum and Ira Katznelson, ed., Paths of Emancipation: Jews, States, and Citizenship (Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 1995). 38 Cf. Michal Meyer ed., German Jewish History in Modern Times, Vol II: Emancipation and Acculturation 1780–1871 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997); Shulamit S. Magnus, Jewish Emancipation in a German City, Cologne 1798–1871 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997); Rainier Liedtke and David Rechter eds., “Towards Normality”: Acculturation of Modern German Jewry (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). 39 Cf. Yiśraʼel Barṭal, The Jews of Eastern Europe, 1772–1881 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005); Iris Parush, Reading Jewish Women: Marginality and Modernization in Nineteenth-Century Eastern European Jewish Society (Waltham, Mass./Hanover: Brandeis University Press, University Press of New England, 2004). 40 Gershon David Hundert, Jews in Poland-Lithuania in the Eighteenth-Century: A Genealogy of Modernity (Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2004), 3. 41 Hundert, Jews in Poland-Lithuania in the Eighteenth-Century, 3. 42 Ibid., 3.

Hundert´s history challenges the secularization thesis in the Jewish emancipation paradigm, wherein the loss of religious identity markers accompanies or precedes the modernization process of Jewry.43 Becoming less visibly Jewish is equated with being more integrated. The adoption of modern dress, clean-shaven faces, or other changes in various aspects of appearance expose a Jewish abandonment of (some) religious traditions. Likewise, counter-trends in religion or the incorporation of Christian thought into Judaism are seen as forerunners of the inevitable modernization, which is, in this respect, a violation of religious prescriptions. This connection between modernity and secularization was recently reproduced in Shmuel Feiner’s book The Origins of Jewish Secularization in Eighteenth-Century Europe.44 It is precisely this notion of secularization, sometimes implicit and often very explicit, that characterizes a great deal of the historiography of Jewish paths to emancipation and which this study attempts to revise. However, contra Hundert´s account of a specific Jewish mentality, this study regards the discursive reconfigurations of the religious and the secular as an engine for cultural change and a producer of Dutch Jewish modes of response and different paths to emancipation.

3. An alternative research perspective This study views the transformation of Dutch Ashkenazi Jewry after the Emancipation Decree of 1796 not as part of a process of secularization, in which Jews becomes less religious, but rather in the light of the restructuring of the religious and secular fields.45

43 The secularization thesis holds that the world and its population are becoming less religious. This model of historical change has been challenged, and it divides scholars into supporters, opponents, and modifiers of the thesis. Cf. Peter L. Berger, The Sacred Canopy. The Social Construction of Reality: Elements of a Sociological Theory of Religion (New York: Anchor Books, 1967).; Peter L. Berger, ed., The Desecularization of the World: Resurgent Religion and World Politics (Washington, D.C./Grand Rapids, Mich: Ethics and Public Policy Center/W.B. Eerdmans Pub. Co, 1999).; Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge, Mass: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2007); Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World, 1994. 44 Shmuel Feiner, The Origins of Jewish Secularization in Eighteenth-Century Europe (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010). Like the historian Benzion Dinur (1884–1973), Feiner places special emphasis on the Sabbatian movement, but whereas Dinur regards them as proto-nationalists, Feiner views them as harbingers of modernity because of their incorporation of a secular moral, with which he describes their promiscuity and violation of religious prescripts. In this respect, he reflects a position taken earlier by Azriel Shohet in his book Im hilufei tequfot. Cf. Gershon David Hundert, “Reflections on the ´Whig´ Interpretation of Jewish History: ma’asei banim siman le’avot,” in Truth and Compassion: Essays on Judaism and Religion in Memory of Rabbi Solomon Frank, edited by Howard Joseph (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier Univ. Press, 1983 ),111–119.; Shohet, Im hilufei tequfot, 9. 45 Asad, Formations of the Secular; Craig Martin, “Genealogies of Religion, Twenty Years on: An Interview with Talal Asad,” Bulletin for the Study of Religion 1 (2014). Recently the Christian roots of the concept of the secular as traced by Asad have been challenged and replaced with a perspective which views the 11

Changing discourses on the secular and the religious created a grey area, wherein the boundaries between the secular and the religious were renegotiated. These changing constellations characterized the Jewish community´s transition to the status of a religious minority and also shaped new Jewish identities. This study investigates the various Jewish responses to cultural change in a secularizing environment, wherein the social and political functions of religion were absorbed by the state. It identifies the modes of Jewish response to secular discourse and provides an explanation for religious change. Although much criticized for the religious decline he predicted, José Casanova has introduced the fecund concepts of the privatization and differentiation of religion.46 The privatization of religion describes the banning of religion from the public sphere. After the French invasion of 1795, consecutive Dutch governments criminalized (Jewish) religious conspicuousness in public. Prayers in public, processions, and talith (prayer shawls) were outlawed by the state, making a private experience of religion the accepted one. The other concept, the differentiation of religion, a process in which the state absorbs the social and political functions of religion, can also be observed in the Dutch Jewish community. Government policy aimed at taking over the educational and charitable functions of the Jewish community. Education, poor relief, and health care were now provided by the state. As a result, the Jewish community lost its role as caretaker. As will become apparent throughout this book, the differentiation and privatization of religion are useful categories with which to describe Dutch Jewry´s transition to the status of a religious minority. However, privatization and differentiation of religion are more an ideal desired by some historical agents than a

encounter especially with Asian cultures as influential in the construction of the concept. See Heiner Roetz, “The Influence of Foreign Knowledge on Eighteenth-Century European Secularism,” in Religion and Secularity: Transformations and Transfers of Religious Discourses in Europe and Asia, edited by Marion Eggert and Lucian Hölscher (Leiden/Boston/Köln: Brill, 2013). Cf. Scott and Hirschkind, Powers of the Secular Modern. 46 Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World; Casanova, “Secularization Revisited: A Reply to Talal Asad,” edited by David Scott and Charles Hirschkind, n.d. Later, however, like many others, Casanova revised his idea on the decline of religious belief and the privatization of religion as part of secularization while maintaining the third aspect, namely the differentiation of religion. Cf. David Martin, On Secularization: Towards a Revised General Theory (Aldershot, England/Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2005); M. Chaves, “Secularization as Declining Religious Authority,” Social Forces 3 (1994): 749–74. For supporters of the theory of a decline in religious belief, see: Taylor, A Secular Age; Pippa Norris, Sacred and Secular: Religion and Politics Worldwide (Cambridge, UK/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 12 natural process or inevitability to which society progresses. After all, freedom of religion and the abolition of political power were forced upon the Jews. The new discourse on religion as a private matter stimulated many reform initiatives, both from within and from outside the Jewish community. The secularization thesis, however, erroneously represents two distinctive developments: namely, ideas about the place of religion in society and the consolidation and centralization of the government. Because of this interplay between ideology and state formation, it is important to analytically distinguish between the terms secular, secularism, and secularization. The term secular is not without ideological content, and it refers to a place or a sphere separate from religion. Although this meaning originally described the worldly or temporal function of religion, in its modern sense it has become conceptualized as a category in opposition to religion.47 Related to the modern category of the secular is secularism, an ideology of the restricted role of religion in society and in government. This doctrine envisions that the state should be free of religious affiliation or influence. As will become evident, this Enlightenment ideology profoundly influenced Dutch Jews in their transition from strangers to citizens. Secularism affected the government´s attitude toward the Jews and its legislation while also inducing the maskilim’s reform agenda. Likewise, it stimulated the narrative in (Dutch) Jewish historiography of Jews becoming less religiously inclined. It is this link between secularism and secularization that muddled the categories of the secular and the religious. The idea of a diminishing role of religion in public fits well with the idea that with the rise of the modern age, religion has become obsolete. In this way, secularization (religious decline, privatization, and differentiation of religion) is the inevitable consequence of secularism. The categories are descriptions as well as attributions; they are not without ideological content. Therefore, it is almost impossible to refer to the secular without invoking the teleological connotation of secularization. Moreover, the linear secularization narrative obscures the exchange and interplay between the secular and the religious. Many ‘religious’ functions and beliefs were incorporated by the state as it became concerned with orthopraxy. For instance, the various ordinances of the government concerning the appropriate performance of Jewish rituals attest to this. The government came to prescribe the when, the how, and

47 Asad, Formations of the Secular; Hölscher, “The Religious and the Secular: Semantic Reconfigurations of the Religious Field in Germany from the Eighteenth to the Twentieth Centuries.” 13 the why of Jewish rituals. Observance of Jewish rituals in this respect was part of the state´s policy. Although differentiation of religion describes the incorporation by the state of the ‘civil’ functions of religion, it does not explain ongoing state involvement with the performance of religious rituals. By taking over of the functions previously performed by religion and installing civic rituals, the state placed itself on a religious pedestal and sacralized itself. In this book, I propose viewing the religious and the secular fields as interrelated rather than dichotomous. This enables us to perceive Jewish modes of response as a process of Jewish repositioning between the state and the Jewish community. Moreover, it enables us to identify the reflexive, innovative, and creative responses from all angles of the Jewish spectrum. As a useful concept in my analysis of these reconfigurations, I introduce the term nucleation. Nucleation is used in the natural sciences to describe “the initial process that occurs in the formation of a crystal from a solution, a liquid, or a vapor, in which a small number of ions, atoms, or molecules become arranged in a pattern characteristic of a crystalline solid, forming a site upon which additional particles are deposited as the crystal grows.”48 Nucleation is the first step in crystallization, but the material can also remain in gaseous bubbles or dissolve in liquid. The stabilization of the nuclei depends on a variety of factors in addition to the formation of the nuclei themselves. Nucleation can also occur spontaneously or randomly, without a specific site. By employing the term nucleation, I can emphasize the dynamics, formations, and transitions of Dutch Jewry instead of focusing on an ideologically constructed end. For instance, nucleation better describes the formations of different maskilic or orthodox Jewish communities stemming from the same source, which can, under the right circumstances, develop into more solid and enduring forms. The term nucleation can overcome binaries, such as the orthodox and the enlightened or the secular and the religious, as it describes the phase rather than the content. Nucleation is the budding of forms, which can later crystallize into stable groups. Specific persons, groups, or places can function as a nucleation site, while historical events can induce spontaneous nucleation. A well-known example of a person serving as a nucleation site is Moses Mendelssohn, as he attracted a wide circle of admirers and followers. While in the

48 Definition taken from the Encyclopedia Brittanica.

Netherlands, outstanding maskilim such as Hirsch Sommerhaussen and David Friedrichsfeld functioned as local pivots for Dutch maskilim. Likewise, the Lehren family became the center of Dutch Hassidism. Historical events can also instigate nucleation, as the Emancipation Decree created Jewish citizens and also defined Judaism solely in terms of a religion. However, these nucleations depend on various factors and can easily dissolve. For example, the temporality of nucleation comes to the fore in the abolition of the naye kille and the disintegration of the Hebrew society Tongeleth. Both groups existed only temporarily, and their members integrated into the mainstream Ashkenazi community without keeping their distinctiveness. In order to explain and trace Dutch Jewry´s transition, I will take a Grounded Theory (GT) approach to the analysis of the (historical) data. The Grounded Theory method constructs theory after carefully organizing and categorizing the collected data by tagging it with codes. This method generates theory from the bottom up and developes concepts that explain human action regardless of time and place. In recent years this approach has been fruitfully applied in combination with discursive research methods.49 Following this research, I combine GT with the analysis of various discursive practices and formations. Throughout the book I employ the term discourse in a Foucauldian sense, wherein systems of knowledge construct behavior, texts, ideas, legislation, institutions, etc., and vice versa. Discourses can be defined as “practices that organize knowledge in a given community; they establish, stabilize, and legitimize systems of meaning and provide collectively shared orders of knowledge in an institutionalized social ensemble. Statements, utterances, and opinions about a specific topic, systematically organized and repeatedly observable, form a discourse.”50 It is important to stress that the basis of a

49 For a discussion on the objectivity of GT between its founder Barney Glaser and Kathy Charmaz, see Barney G. Glaser, “Constructivist Grounded Theory?” Historical Social Research / Historische Sozialforschung Supplement 19 (2007); Kathy Charmaz, Constructing Grounded Theory (London/Thousand Oaks, Calif: Sage Publications, 2006), 509–535. Cf. Barney G Glaser and Anselm L Strauss, The Discovery of Grounded Theory: Strategies for Qualitative Research (Chicago: Aldine Pub. Co., 1967). For the application of GT in a discursive theoretical framework, see Reiner Keller, “Analysing Discourse. An Approach From the Sociology of Knowledge,” Qualitative Social Research – Sozialforschung 3 (2005): 32; Jayson Seaman, “Adopting a Grounded Theory Approach to Cultural-Historical Research: Conflicting Methodologies or Complementary Methods?” International Journal of Qualitative Methods 7 (2008): 1–17. 50 Kocku von Stuckrad, “Discursive Study of Religion: Approaches, Definitions, Implications,” Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 25 (2013): 15. This understanding of discourse research is informed by the sociology of knowledge approach to discourse (SKAD), as introduced by Reiner Keller, “The Sociology of Knowledge Approach to Discourse (SKAD),” Human Studies 34 (2011): 43–65. For a recent overview of discourse research in the study of religion, see Frank Neubert, “Diskursforschung in der 15 discursive approach is the idea that “social communicational structures attribute meaning to the world and organize explicit and implicit knowledge.”51 Furthermore, a discourse is an analytical construct of the researcher and does not refer to a real entity; it is merely a tool to define, reflect on, and explain cultural change and knowledge construction.52 In order to apply a discursive analytical framework, it is important to identify the ways in which discourses come into being, work, and attribute meaning. A discourse is made up of other discursive strands, which provide partial meaning to the discourse. For instance, the discourse on Jewish circumcision in the nineteenth century also entangled the discourse on religion and other discourses on medicine, on government policy, on civilized behavior, etc. These entanglements form a discursive knot, which can be defined as “intertextual and interdiscursive relationships between utterances, texts, genres and discourses, as well as extra-linguistic social/sociological variables, the history of an organization or institution, and situational frames.”53 The discursive knot can be regarded as the construction of a new discourse. These entanglements and discursive formations constantly move the discourse from one meaning to another. Discourse expresses itself in various ways, and the apparatus in which the discourse comes into being is called a dispositive. A dispositive can be anything from government decrees to religious regulations and institutions and any other means in which the discourse evolves, expands, and is constructed. It can be defined as “the totality of the material, practical, social cognitive or normative ‘infrastructure’, in which a discourse develops.”54 Because community archives, quantitative material, government documents, and textual expressions such as literature, polemics, play, poetry, and satire all shed light on the construction of discourses, discursive knots, and their dispositives, they are equally relevant in their representations of the past, and no hierarchical distinction is made between them. This wide variety of historical sources enables the reconstruction and analysis of Dutch Jewish responses to secular discourse from a variety of angles.

Religionswissenschaft,” in Diskursforschung: Ein interdisziplinäres Handbuch, 2 vols., edited by Johannes Angermuller, Martin Nonhoff, Eva Herschinger, Felicitas Macgilchrist, Martin Reisigl, Juliette Wedl, Daniel Wrana, and Alexander Ziem, vol. 1 (Bielefeld: Transcript 2014), 261–275. 51 Kocku von Stuckrad, “Discursive Study of Religion," 11. 52 Ibid., 16. 53 Ibid. 54 Ibid., 15.

4. Chapter topics and outline This study describes Dutch Jewry’s transformation in light of the rearrangement between secular and religious spheres. In the course of this study, I will identify the different Jewish modes of response to a secularizing environment, including rejection, acceptance, selective incorporation, and negotiation. The first chapter starts with an analysis of the place of the Jewish community vis-à-vis the state. As a dispositive, the Emancipation Decree structurally changed the relationship between the state and its Jewish inhabitants. Furthermore, the state doctrine of secularism set in motion Dutch Jews’ transition from being strangers to becoming Jewish citizens and being considered a religious minority. At the turn of the nineteenth century, political chaos characterized the Netherlands. The French-supported Batavian Republic replaced the Dutch Republic, and a few years later Napoleon Bonaparte annexed the Netherlands. After Napoleon’s defeat, between 1813 and 1815 the Netherlands became a kingdom under the rule of Willem I. During this time, the foundations of the state were dismantled in favor of a new political constellation based on equality, liberty, and fraternity. The governments that came after the Batavian Republic lost much of their radical democracy but preserved equal citizenship regardless of religion. The shift in discursive constellations regarding religion’s role in society and its relation to the state triggered a variety of Jewish responses. In the first chapter, I will focus on two prominent responses to citizenship, first from the naye kille and later from the Lehren family. This focus also enables me to trace processes of nucleation. The classical opposition between Jewish enlighteners (maskilim) heralding political participation while rejecting the eternal validity of the Talmud and orthodox Jews ferociously defending the boundaries of Jewish identity, as postulated by scholars such as Shmuel Feiner and David Ruderman, is an overly simplistic representation.55 Sorkin, for instance, already observed how Jews incorporated cultural aspects of mainstream German society into their identity while at the same time maintaining religious observance. His study shows the expansion of meaning attributed to Jewishness. A

55 See for example: Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment; Feiner, The Origins of Jewish Secularization in Eighteenth-Century Europe; David B. Ruderman, Early Modern Jewry: A New Cultural History (Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2010); David B. Ruderman, Jewish Enlightenment in an English Key: Anglo-Jewry’s Construction of Modern Jewish Thought (Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2000); Jacob Katz, Out of the Ghetto: The Social Background of Jewish Emancipation, 1770–1870 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973); Jonathan Israel, European Jewry in the Age of Mercantilism 1550–1750 (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1997). 17 similar argument can be made for the chief rabbi of Amsterdam, Samuel Berenstein (1767-1838). He not only endorsed many enlightened initiatives, but he also regarded the Talmud as the sole foundation of Judaism and rejected attempts to reconcile the Jewish religion with the new (political) situation.56 Berenstein embodies both ends of the spectrum and shows how essentialized categories of ´enlightened´ and ´orthodox´ fail to describe the historical situation. As this study will show, the transformation of Dutch Jewry was far more complex than a simple binary opposition presupposes. During the above-mentioned political turmoil in the Netherlands, secular discourses affected Jewish positions as Jews struggled to find their place under a new political and social constellation. However, opposing Jewish factions show remarkable similarities in their solutions and proposed directions for the Jewish community. For instance, both the orthodox and the maskilim employed the discourse on human equality, even though their interpretation of it differed profoundly. Likewise, the Sephardim, in particular their liturgy, functioned as a model to adhere to for both the orthodox and the maskilim. These discursive practices challenge the idea that development and reform were typical maskilic ideals. This chapter demonstrates that even though Jewish factions responded differently to the new challenges, maskilim as well as orthodox factions of Dutch Jewry redefined – each in their own way – Judaism in relation to the state. The second chapter discusses the governmental reform policy that followed the Jews’ juridical emancipation. It traces how the ‘civilization offensive’, the call for regeneration, and enlightened discourse entangled and constructed the discursive knot of an uncivilized Jewry. At the end of the eighteenth century, various authors criticized (Dutch) Jews’ deplorable state as well as their social and political segregation. Numerous enlightened writings offered solutions for what came to be known as ´the Jewish question´, ranging from abolishing religious rituals and educating the Jews to moving the Sabbath to Sunday. The German Christian Wilhelm von Dohm (1751–1820), for instance, proposed in Über die bürgerliche Verbesserung der Juden that if the Jews wanted to be

56 As will become apparent throughout this book, Berenstein’s point of view resembles that of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808–1888), the founder of neo-orthodoxy, who envisioned Judaism with torah im derech eretz (Torah with the way of the land), combining Jewish observance with the modern world. Moreover, Berenstein can be seen as the personification of Hirsch’s mensch-yisroel, the enlightened religious Jew. Cf. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, Mensch-Yisroel: Perspectives on Judaism (Collected writings of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch Volume VIII) (New York: P. Feldheim, 1995). 18 part of society and be eligible for citizenship, they should reform their religion. An essay published in the Dutch spectatorial De Koopman (1770) made a similar critique. The writer, a so-called anonymous Sephard, suggested moving the Sabbath to Sunday in order to solve the problem of the poverty of the Jew.57 Both men held the Jewish religion partly responsible for poverty and juridical inequality. The idea that the Jews themselves were responsible for their deplorable state reflects nineteenth-century politics. Education, abolition of Yiddish, and reform of religious rituals became dispositives for both the government and the maskilim. By removing conspicuous Jewishness, the Jews would be civilly elevated and worthy of Dutch citizenship. Consequently, several government decrees attempted to Dutchify the Jewry, which Wallet characterized as a “paternalistic civilization offensive… to raise and educate the destitute Israelites.”58 Solving the Jewish question was a question of abolishing ‘backward’ Jewish rituals. This intrusion of Jewish rituals reveals that the boundaries between the state and the church were highly ambiguous. Moreover, by removing conspicuous religious aspects, the government redefined religion as something that needed to be experienced internally and consequently attributed a new meaning to the Jewish religion. The new nation-state employed the dispositive of the Jewish religious framework to nationalize and control Dutch Jewry. Gorski already pointed to religion as a disciplinary tool for the new discourse on the state in his provocative book, The Disciplinary Revolution: Calvinism and the Rise of the State in Early Modern Europe. He

57 De Koopman of Weekelijksche bij-dragen ten opbouw van Nêerlands koophandel en zeevaard, Vol. II (1770) nos. 54–57, 425–450. There is a discussion between scholars concerning the writer’s identity. Joseph Michman is of the opinion that it is Isaac de Pinto, while Odette Vlessing considers him unjewish because of his rigorous proposals, and lately Ton Jongenelen postulates that it was a fictional letter by the editor Willem Ockers himself–this was a technique often used by Dutch editors, as they usually singlehandedly wrote all the journal’s content. Cf. Joseph Michman, David Franco Mendes: A Hebrew Poet (Amsterdam: Joachimstal, 1951), 134;‘The Jewish Community in Transition: From Acceptance to Emancipation”, in H. Berg, J. Frishman, S.A. Herman, and A.K. Offenberg, eds., Proceedings of the Seventh International Symposium on the History and Culture of the Jews in the Netherlands. Expectation and Confirmation. Two Hundred Years of Jewish Emancipation in the Netherlands, Studia Rosenthaliana 1 (1996) 197; Ton Jongenelen, “Mordechai. Illusie en werkelijkheid in het spectatoriale blad De Koopman”, Mededelingen van de Stichting Jacob Campo Weyerman 2 (2003). J.C.E. Belinfante en Peter Buijs, “De gelijkstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid”, in De gelijkstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid, edited by Hetty Berg (Amsterdam, Zwolle: Joods Historisch Museum; Waanders, 1996), 8; Peter Buijs, “Tot nut en eer van ’t jodendom. Joodse genootschappen in Nederland”, in De gelijkstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid (Amsterdam, Zwolle: Joods Historisch Museum; Waanders, 1996), 17. 58 Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders. De integratie van de joden in Nederland 1814–1851, 96. 19 considers religion pivotal in constructing a certain mindset, which enabled the government to exercise control and build a strong nation-state.59 The Dutch government(s), however, primarily used rituals and institutions for communicating their message of elevating the Jewry. Their ‘civilizing offensive’ concentrated mainly on language, education, and religion; by these means the Jews could escape poverty and a destitute future. Various factions incorporated this new discourse on the Jew, and consequently the maskilim as well as conservative rabbis such as Berenstein and Lehmans endorsed this civilization offensive. All variations of the religious spectrum advocated reform and supported the idea of bringing Jewish rituals in line with modern times, modeled on Christian or Sephardic liturgy.60 In this respect, Jewish and governmental reform blended in their joint effort to integrate Dutch Jewry into the national framework. The civilizing efforts constructed decorum as an essential aspect of religion. Order, silence, and aesthetics were emphasized and contrasted with the perceived tumultuous, chaotic, and uncivilized customs of Ashkenazi Jewry.61 Consequently, discourses on decorum created a new Jewish image and also redefined Dutch Jewry as uncivilized. However, the pressure to abandon certain modes of behavior also resulted in the creation of an orthodoxy that resisted change. The civilizing offensive produced new discourses on the Jew, such as the coarse Jew and the religiously observant Jew, and simultaneously shaped the reactionists’ response. As a result, power struggles over the essence of Jewishness fostered the religious interpretation of daily aspects of Jewish life, such as language. The civilization of Jewish rituals triggered the sacralization of formerly secular aspects of Jewish identity. It thus generated new meanings with regard to what it meant to be Jewish. The third chapter examines the politicization of Jewish rituals by both the government and Jews. It reveals Dutch Jewry´s engagement with the new political constellation and shows how processes of Judaization and secularization characterized their responses. During the period of Dutch political turmoil, consecutive governments

59 Philip S. Gorski, The Disciplinary Revolution: Calvinism and the Rise of the State in Early Modern Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003). 60Cf. Ismar Schorsch, “The Myth Sephardic Supremacy,” Leo Baeck Year Book (1989): 47–66; Andrea Schatz, “Returning to Sepharad: Maskilic Reflections on Hebrew in the Diaspora,” in Sepharad in Ashkenaz: Medieval Knowledge and Eighteenth-Century Enlightened Jewish Discourse, edited by Resianne Fontaine, Andrea Schatz and Irene E. Zwiep (Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences, 2007). 61 For the civilization process, see Norbert Elias, The Civilization Process (Oxford: Blackwell, 1969).

20 aimed to create a unified sense of citizenship. In the transition to a nation-state, binding elements such as language and culture came to play an important role. The formation of a national identity was deemed pivotal for the nation-state’s strength, and its creation intertwined political and religious discourses. Religion was used as a tool to nationalize the Jewry as well as to consolidate state power. This can be seen especially in sermons or Purim festivities, which were a relatively open Jewish format with space for diverging opinions. Not surprisingly, these rituals became imbued with nationalistic propaganda and maskilic objectives; they became dispositives of the new discourses on citizenship. Moreover, the recently invented ritual of the proclamation of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen propagated the message of the government’s new foundations, linking the discourses on religion and the nation-state into a discursive knot. Secular agendas such as nationalization and political consolidation thus permeated Jewish rituals, stretching their content beyond the confines of religion and turning it into a political handmaiden. Ronald Schechter also observed the Jewish sacralization of the nation’s message in his Obstinate Hebrews: Representations of Jews in France 1715–1815. He convincingly showed that hybridity characterized Jewish responses to the challenges posed by citizenship. Jews actively engaged with the new nation-state and incorporated its values into their own discourse on religion. Or in Schechter’s words, “rather than being assimilated into France, they assimilated France into themselves.”62 Schechter’s emphasis on Jewish agency in facing modernity further builds on the thesis postulated by Sorkin, who described their responses in terms of a Jewish subculture.63 Likewise, several Dutch Jewish factions employed sermons and Purim productions as well as the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen to communicate their often- conflicting messages.64 The maskilim as well as the orthodox used the religious

62 Schechter, Obstinate Hebrews: Representations of Jews in France, 1715–1815, 252. 63 Years before David Sorkin, a Dutch historian had already analyzed the Jews in terms of a subculture. Carolus Reijnders, “Van ‘Joodsche Natiën’ Tot Joodse Nederlanders: Een Onderzoek Naar Getto- en Assimilatieverschijnselen Tussen 1600 en 1942,” (1969). 64 I will look at ritual from a functionalist perspective, focusing on its disrupting, stabilizing and transformative capacities. For the functionalist approach to ritual, see Émile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life (1912), transl. by Carol Cosman (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001); A.R. Radcliffe-Brown, Structure and Function in Primitive Society, paperback edition 1965 (New York: Free Press, 1952).; H. Hubert and M. Maus, Sacrifice. Its Nature and Functions (1898) (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1981); Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). 21 infrastructure of Purim to criticize Jewish society and to disseminate their ideals. Both groups engaged with newly invented state rituals, such as the proclamation of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, and used them for their own benefit. Consequently, rituals came to serve various political objectives, and the claims made on rituals drew them into political power struggles. Because these rituals had overlapping claims, they cannot be considered to belong to a certain camp; both the orthodox and the maskilim converted them into their distinctive power structures. Additionally, although rituals could be employed to support the dominant structures in society and foster social cohesion, the same rituals could also be a locus for resistance. As such, ritual functioned both as an expression of power relations and as a renegotiation of them. Moreover, as will become apparent below, these rituals functioned for Dutch Jews as a model for behavior and created a social context in which the new discourse on citizenship became internalized.65 The political use of Purim, sermons, and the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen counters both the differentiation and the privatization of religion; religion did not decline but rather blended with political discourses. The fourth chapter examines the interplay between Jewish self-labelling and othering. Underlying the (governmental) reform of the Jews was the representation of a backward, uncivilized, and desolate Jewry. This chapter discusses Jewish self-labelling and responses to discourses on Jewish citizenship and civility. It identifies non-Jewish responses to citizenship for Jews and analyzes how this altered representations of the Jew. I will demonstrate that Jewish self-identification crossed the line between the orthodox and the maskilim. Jews took an active role in the creation, transformation, and rejection of representations of Jews. The negative images of the Jew influenced Jewish discursive practices as they responded to their own representations. This hermeneutical play of what came to be essential or identifying characteristics of the Jew appear in both non-Jewish and Jewish discourses. As Jay Geller observed in his “not for the intellectually faint-hearted” book The Other Jewish Question: Identifying the Jew and Making Sense of

For the idea that rituals can also disrupt society and renegotiate power relations, see Catherina Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992); Jean Comaroff, Body of Power, Spirit of Resistance: The Culture and History of a South African People (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1985); Abner Cohen, Masquerade Politics: Exploration in the Structure of Urban Cultural Movements (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1993). Cf. Ursula Rao, “Ritual in Society,” in Theorizing Rituals: Issues, Topics, Approaches, Concepts, edited by Jens Kreinath, Jan Snoek, and Michael Stausberg (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2006). 65 Clifford Geertz, “Religion as a Cultural System,” in Anthropological Approaches to the Study of Religion, edited by M. Banton (London: Tavistock, 1966), 28–35. 22

Modernity, Jews reacted to and actively engaged with pejorative representations, which they used to sustain their own identity. As he observes, “these ascriptions not only identified ‘the Jew’ but also became, for those to whom they were ascribed, building blocks. These ‘intellectual bricoleurs’ drew upon these quasi-objects for self-fashioning as well as for thinking through their social situation for representing that thinking.”66 As will become apparent in this chapter, conspicuous Jewish regulations, such as dietary regulations and wearing a beard, developed into strong identity markers. This development contradicted the Jewish emancipation paradigm, which connected integration with the loss of religious identity markers: becoming less visibly Jewish equaled being more integrated, and the loss of conspicuous Jewishness67 hallmarked Jewish entry into society.68 Moreover, the emancipation paradigm is an example of the doctrine of secularism at work. Feiner, for instance, emphasized promiscuous behavior, adoption of fashion, and violation of religious prescriptions as the first steps toward Jewish secularization.69 However, being discernibly Jewish was still at the heart of the Dutch Jewish debate, and even so-called secularists or maskilim strongly adhered to specific Jewish regulations.70 There was not a clean break between traditionalists and ‘secular’ reformers. Both envisioned themselves as true Jews, and both groups identified themselves with perceptible Jewishness; they could not escape the new attributions of meaning to the Jew.

66 Geller, The Other Jewish Question: Identifying the Jew and Making Sense of Modernity, 5. 67 By conspicuous Jewishness, I refer to the display of Jewish behavior to foster one’s status as a righteous or ‘real’ Jew. This is a variation on the concept of conspicuous consumption postulated by Veblen, wherein it displayed one’s status and economic power. Cf. Thorstein Veblen, The Theory of the Leisure Class: An Economic Study of Institutions (New York: Macmillan Company, 1899). 68 For the general perception of the Enlightenment as a hallmark of secularization, see Peter Gay, The Enlightenment, 2 Vols. (New York, 1966). For Jewish secularization, see Ruderman, Early Modern Jewry; Ruderman, Jewish Enlightenment in an English Key; Todd M. Endelman, The Jews of Georgian England, 1714–1830 (Michigan: University of Michigan Press, 1999); Todd M. Endelman, Radical Assimilation in English Jewish History 1656–1945 (Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1990); Katz, Out of the Ghetto; Katz, Emancipation and Assimilation: Studies in Modern Jewish History (Westmead/Farnborough/Hants: Gregg International Publishers Limited, 1972); Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment; Feiner, The Origins of Jewish Secularization in Eighteenth-Century Europe. For the idea that the encounter with secular culture stimulated the creation of a distinct Jewish identity, see Sorkin, The Transformation of German Jewry, 1780–1840. 69 Feiner, The Origins of Jewish Secularization in Eighteenth-Century Europe. 70 Recently, Veerle Vanden Daelen analyzed the emergence of visible religious identity markers in the Orthodox Jewish community of Antwerp, where, compared to before WWII, the community adopted a more conservative dress, and where it became customary to wear kippot (skull caps) and tallitot (prayer shawls) in public. See Veerle Vanden Daelen, “Markers of a Minority Group: Jews in Antwerp in the Twentieth Century,” in Borders and Boundaries in and Around Dutch Jewish History, edited by Judith Frishman (Amsterdam: Aksant, 2011). 23

Jewish conspicuousness also influenced the perception of Jews by non-Jews. They discerned ‘the Jew’ by behavior and bodily features. Some writers exclusively depicted Jews negatively, while others employed a veiled stereotypical image. However, under the influence of recently acquired Jewish citizenship, other more positive discourses on ‘the Jew’ appeared. The enlightened discourse on regeneration explained negatively perceived Jewish qualities historically and welcomed the Jews as fellow citizens. Even though a plethora of different images of ‘the Jew’ developed, old perceptions and stereotypes, such as Jews being loud, remained in contemporary descriptions. As this chapter shows, the representation of ‘the Jew’ became entangled with the discourse on political citizenship and older discourses on the Jew’s anomalous body. Both non-Jews and Jews blended various discursive strands into their newly constructed identities. The fifth and final chapter demonstrates how the redefinition of secular and religious spheres legitimized religious governmental reform. It focuses on the only Jewish rituals, namely circumcision and burial regulations, in which the state came to determine the proper religious execution. These two rituals reveal the power struggles over secular and religious authority. This chapter will identify Jewish modes of response to state intrusion against the background of the medicalization of society. In the shifting discursive constellations between the medical and the religious realms, the civilization process linked with discourses on etiquette.71 These entanglements constructed the idea that Jewish rituals should be valued according to their civilized appearance. As Jews began to identify themselves as Dutch citizens and subjects of the state, they incorporated these new attributions of meaning into their religion. As a result, they began to view decorum, edification, and civilization as essentially Jewish aspects; as such, these aspects mirrored the Jewish inner core. All factions of the Dutch Jewish community subscribed to this new meaning attributed to the Jewish religion and supported the adjustments of Jewish religion to contemporary notions of good taste, albeit in a different manner. Under the influence of (Jewish) physicians, whom John Efron aptly termed “secular modernizers,” and through the advancement of medical knowledge, medical

71 Elias, The Civilization Process; for medicalization, see Peter Conrad, “Medicalization and Social Control,” Annual Review of Sociology 18 (1992): 209–231. 24 discourse became a tool to describe and reflect on society.72 For instance, Jewish rituals, the Jew, and his or her behavior were pathologized, and Jewish rituals were valued according to their damaging or healing capacities.73 These new discursive formations appeared at the end of the nineteenth century and were profoundly epitomized in dispositives such as health legislation.74 The discourse on health was entangled with the discourse on Jewish religion, and consequently defined Jewish rituals in relation to the health of the Dutch nation. These medical discourses shifted authority over the body to the government. Rituals that concerned the body, such as for instance circumcision and burial practices, were not only regarded as religious prescriptions but as medical practices as well. This, in turn, justified encroachment onto Jewish rituals. In this final chapter, I will argue that in the fertile ground of fear, disease, and contamination, discourses on medicalization and refinement of manners met and reinforced each other into a discursive knot, not only causing the transformation (with fear as legitimization) of religious practices in the nineteenth-century Ashkenazi community in Amsterdam, but also redefining the medical and the religious spheres.75

5. Notes on the chronological framework and the historical sources This study’s research focus is on the Ashkenazi Jews of Amsterdam. As the Yiddish nickname mokum olf (first place) for Amsterdam indicates, it was the place for Jews to settle in the Netherlands. The city´s central position resulted from a policy of free settlement Jews and the economic opportunities this afforded. The continuing arrival of Ashkenazim since the seventeenth century made it the largest Jewish community in the Netherlands. Around 1800, almost 20,000 Ashkenazim lived in Amsterdam, comprising a tenth of the city’s total population.76 Because the city retained its central position

72 John M. Efron, Medicine and the German Jews: A History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 66. In the Netherlands the physicians Hartog de Hartog Lémon (1755–1823), Immanuel Capadoce (1751–1826), and Samuel Elias Stein (1778–1851) played an important role in the modernization of Dutch Jewry. 73 Sander L. Gilman, The Jewish Body (New York, Oxon: Routledge, 1991). Cf. Susan Sontag, Illness as Metaphor (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1988). 74 Michel Foucault, “The Politics of Health in the Eighteenth Century,” in The Essential Works of Foucault, Volume 3: Power, edited by James D. Faubion (New York: The New Press, 2000), 90–105, Foucault, The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures at the College de France 1978–1979. 75 Thomas Shlich, “Medicalization and Secularization: The Jewish Ritual Bath as a Problem of Hygiene (Germany 1820s–1840s),” Social History of Medicine 3 (1995): 441–442. 76 Michman, Beem, and Michman, Pinkas. Geschiedenis van de joodse gemeenschap in Nederland, 56.

25 throughout the centuries, its Jewish inhabitants left their mark on Dutch Jewry as a whole.77 However, this does not mean that the relation between Amsterdam and the countryside was one-sided. Therefore, at times when it contributes to this research, developments outside of Amsterdam or Jews residing in other Dutch cities are discussed as well. This research project begins with the Emancipation Decree of 1796 because juridical equality changes the power relations between Dutch Jewry and the state.78 This is not so much a watershed but rather a turning point in Dutch Jewish history. Since Dutch Jewry´s transformation is part of the separation between state and church, it justifies a political periodization. In this respect, the research project ends in 1848, when the church is officially separated from the state. However, this separation reflects more a desired ideal than a lived condition, as contemporary references to God in, for instance, Dutch laws and the King’s and Queen’s speeches attest. Notwithstanding the continuing state and church relation and the various ways in which the Dutch government interpreted the separation between state and church, the proposed dates function as research demarcations.79 Sometimes, this research will cover the time preceding or following this period in order to stress continuities or ongoing developments. The dates are thus more reference points than absolute ruptures. Various scholars of Jewish history have called the proposed period the beginning of modernity. They relate this beginning to what they regard as modernity´s essential aspects. Modernity is a contested and charged term with as many usages as meanings, and consequently it has become an all-purpose word. Scholars who consider ideas and ideologies as motors of historical change trace its beginnings as early as the excommunication of Baruch de Spinoza. Because of his support for freedom and toleration, he functioned for them as the first modern Jew.80 Scholars interested in

77 As a result of the Emancipation Decree of 1796, Jews obtained the right to settle anywhere they liked in the Netherlands, and this in turn resulted in the establishment of several Jewish communities in the countryside. 78 For a discussion of the commencement and meaning of Jewish modernity, see Michael A. Meyer, “Where Does the Modern Period of Jewish History Begin?” Judaism 3 (1975); David Rechter, “Western and Central European Jewry in the Modern Period: 1750–1933,” in Oxford Handbook of Jewish Studies, edited by Martin Goodman, Jeremy Cohen, and David Sorkin (Oxford ; New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 383–388. 79 See for instance the reference to the general Christian values in the National Education Bill of 1806. 80 Meyer, “Where Does the Modern Period of Jewish History Begin?”; Daniel B. Schwartz, The First Modern Jew: Spinoza and the History of an Image (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). 26 political structures will stress the seventeenth century as modern, with its commencement of state regulation and state building and the abolition of the autonomous Jewish community.81 On the other hand, social historians and scholars working with the secularization thesis will stress irreligiousness and heterodox behavior as the starting points of modernity. In addition, for some, modernity has become almost identical with a decline of religion.82 Notwithstanding the many usages of modernity, in this study modernity relates to the beginnings of the nation-state. This development profoundly induced and influenced the transformation of Dutch Jewry. In this, it closely follows the ‘Anderson-Geller-Hobsbawm trinity’, which regards the nation-state as a product of modernity and vice versa. Their observations on the political roots of modernity and its construction (as opposed to viewing modernity as the inevitable result of historical progress) serves here as a backbone.83 Next to modernity, other contested terms will appear in this study. Emancipation is one such term. Reinhart Koselleck already pointed to the historical notion of the term and analyzed its changing meaning, from juridical equality to social acceptance and integration.84 In this study, I use the term both in a juridical and a social context. Other terms, which have been debated extensively in Jewish history, are acculturation and assimilation.85 Acculturation means adjusting to society while maintaining a distinctive Jewish identity, while assimilation is adjustment without holding on to a Jewish lifestyle. An example of assimilation is, for instance, conversion.

81 Cf. Jay. R. Berkovitz, “Social and Religious Controls in Pre-Revolutionary France: Rethinking the Beginnings of Modernity,” Jewish History 15 (2001); Bolle, De opheffing van de autonomie der kehilloth (Joodse gemeenten) in Nederland 1796. 82Peter L Berger, The Heretical Imperative: Contemporary Possibilities of Religious Affirmation (Garden City, N.Y.: Anchor Press/Doubleday, 1980), 28; Shohet, Im hilufei tequfot; Feiner, The Origins of Jewish Secularization in Eighteenth-Century Europe; Ruderman, Early Modern Jewry. A New Cultural History; Israel, European Jewry in the Age of Mercantilism 1550–1750. 83 For the term ‘Anderson-Geller-Hobsbawm’ trinity, see Murray Jay Rosman, How Jewish is Jewish History? (Oxford/Portland, Or: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2007), 28. Cf. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (New York, London: Verso, 1983); Ernest Geller, Nations and Nationalism: New Perspectives on the Past (New York: Cornell University Press, 1983); Hobsbawm and Ranger, The Invention of Tradition. 84 Reinhart Koselleck, The Practice of Conceptual History: Timing History, Spacing Concepts (Stanford, Calif: Stanford University Press, 2002), 248–264. 85 Cf. David Sorkin, “Emancipation and Assimilation – Two Concepts and Their Application to German- Jewish History,” Year Book of the Leo Baeck Institute (1990); Werner E. Mosse, “Introduction,” in Two Nations: British and German Jews in Comparative Perspective, edited by Michael Brenner, Rainier Liedtke, and David Rechter (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 2–11; Belinfante and Buijs, “De gelijkstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid,” 8. 27

Another issue with jargon is the use of Hebrew and/or Yiddish words or their translations. For the convenience of the reader, most Hebrew and Yiddish words are translated. An additional reason for translation is that too much jargon can communicate the message that the Jewish experience is essentially different, a category in itself, which cannot be compared to the outside world. An example of this is using the word maskil for Jewish enlightener. Using the Hebrew word emphasizes the Jewishness of the Enlightenment, while its translation refers to the many similarities and comparisons between the Jewish and the general Enlightenment. In this study, the maskilim are considered to operate in close relation to developments outside the Jewish world and not in isolation. However, regardless of the phenomenological connotation, in this book the word maskil is used because it is a familiar term in Jewish historiography, because of its relation to the Jewish world, and because the historical agents employ it themselves. The same applies to words such as mohel (Jewish circumciser), parnas (Jewish leader), alte and naye kille (Old and New Community), etc. Two exceptions to the above-mentioned explanations are the terms Ashkenazim for (Eastern) European Jews and Sephardim for Portuguese and Spanish Jews. The reason to refer to the Ashkenazi community instead of to the High German Jewish community (Hoogduitse Joodse Gemeente), as the historical agents themselves called it, is twofold. First, I use the term to point to the large network of relationships between Jews in Europe, including Polish, Lithuanian, German, Italian, and many other Jews with western, northern, and eastern European roots. Moreover, because the Ashkenazi community in Amsterdam also included Polish Jews, this term more precisely describes the various European backgrounds within the community. Finally, the term is common in Jewish historiography. In a slightly different manner, this study employs the (new) term Sephardim for Jews of Portuguese and Spanish origin. I am aware that they called themselves Portuguese Jews. However, as often happens in language, old terms are replaced with new terms, and as a result, the older terms lose their familiarity with a larger public. Maybe that is why both the Portuguese community and the Sephardic community appear in Jewish historiography. Yosef Kaplan, for instance, speaks of the Sephardi

28 community, and Miriam Bodian of the Portuguese community.86 Because both terms are correct, the aesthetic argument, namely a balance between terms in this book, tips the scale toward the word Sephardim. The research analyzes a wide variety of manuscripts and printed publications located in the city archives of Amsterdam and the Jewish libraries Ets Haim and Rosenthaliana. Important sources are the protocols of the Ashkenazi community of Amsterdam and the Berenstein collection that resides at the city archives of Amsterdam and has been digitalized. Those sources are written in Yiddish, Hebrew, or a combination of these. Rosenthaliana preserves the chronicle of Benjamin Wing, the pronunciation pamphlets, and the Diskursn. Ets Haim keeps the Purim productions. In addition to manuscripts, various transcribed, translated, and printed sources have been used, such as the printed Diskursn collection by Michman and Aptroot, the Benjamin Wing chronicle translated by Meijer Roest, the excerpts of Protocolbuch IV translated by D.M. Sluys, and the Torat ha-qena’ot translated by Els Kooij-Bas. The Hebrew is transliterated with the transliteration system of the Encyclopedia Judaica and the Yiddish with YIVO´s transliteration system. Besides manuscripts and printed Hebrew and Yiddish texts, this study employs various archives written in Dutch, which are located at the National Archives of The Hague. Examples include the archives of the High Consistory and the Supreme Committee of Israelite Affairs. Other Dutch archives include the naye kille archive, various parts of the Berenstein collection, and the archives of the Batavian and later governments, which can be accessed digitally.

86 Yosef Kaplan, An Alternative Path to Modernity: The Sephardi Diaspora in Western Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2000); Miriam Bodian, Hebrews of the Portuguese Nation: Conversos and Community in Early Modern Amsterdam (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997). 29

Chapter one State, citizenship, and nucleation: Dutch Jewry in transition

… The fear of the Lord and the king are like twin brothers. When the fear of heaven is lost, the fear of the king will also perish. And by the weakening of faith in the Lord, the love of the nation that is embedded in every man will weaken.1

In the above citation, Chief Rabbi of Rotterdam Menachem Mendel Löwenstamm rages against the Reform movement that was sweeping through Europe.2 New Judaisms emerged in the decades following the emancipations of European Jews, and Reform Judaism especially became a viable alternative for progressive Jews in Germany. Although Reform Judaism failed to get a foothold in the Netherlands, orthodox factions united in their efforts to challenge it. Like his orthodox contemporaries, Mendel Löwenstamm condemns Reform as unauthorized, heretical, and malicious and refutes this modernized form of Judaism. For him, newly acquired citizenship did not require a more lenient approach toward religious prescriptions. On the contrary, religion and love for the nation were two sides of the same coin. Moreover, without religion, the nation was weak. According to this rabbi, the tension felt by the Reform movement between citizenship and traditional Judaism simply did not exist. This chapter discusses the strategies of Dutch Jews for coping with the new political situation. It analyzes, in chronological order, the different Jewish responses to citizenship, from the radical democracy of the Batavian Republic to the moderate conservative government of Willem I. Dutch Jewry was divided on how to interpret and rearticulate their Judaism within the new demands of the nation-state. As a result, each Jewish faction engaged differently with its newly acquired citizenship and with political and military participation. Each found its own way to take part in or reject Dutch society. Jews who welcomed these new opportunities established the naye kille, wherein they

1 Els Kooij-Bas, “Nothing but Heretics: Torat ha-Qena’ot: A Study and Translation of the 19th Century Responsa Against Religious Reform in Judaism” (Tilburg University, 2006), 230. 2 It is uncertain whether there is a family relationship between Moses Löwenstamm and Menachem Mendel Löwenstamm. The family name of Mendel Menachem was probably based on the responsa collection pnei aryeh (lion’s face) of his father Rabbi Leyb Heiman Breslauer (1741–1809). Cf. http://www.dutchjewry.org/genealogy/duparc/114.htm (accessed 8 September 2014). 30 merged Judaism with the new political ideals. Others, like the Lehren family, resisted the nationalizing efforts but exploited the juridical implications of their citizenship. Remarkably, both groups shared discursive strands regarding religious reform, the Sephardic ideal model, and the common people’s burden. This chapter will show that Jews continued to be engaged with these new discourses on religion and citizenship. They defined their Judaisms in relation to the state and not so much in opposition to each other.

1. Maskilic nucleation in the Netherlands During the eighteenth century, the Ashkenazi community in the Netherlands doubled in size because of the continuing influx of immigrants from the German countries and Poland. The Ashkenazi population increased from 9,000 in 1720 to 22,000 in 1748, and it quickly outnumbered the Sephardi community.3 Besides this demographic shift, this century also saw the budding of new groups in Dutch Jewry. A large proletariat characterized Dutch Jewry, even though economic possibilities led to social mobility and the creation of new elites. The rise in memberships4 attests to this, as membership rose from six in 1708–1737 to 73 in 1737–1764.5 During the latter period and afterwards, German maskilic teachers and scholars regularly visited Amsterdam and introduced new ideas to the Jewry.6 They attracted many admirers and introduced their pupils to secular literature. Immigrants, such as Naphtali Herz Wessely (1725–1805), Tsvi Hirsch Sommerhaussen (1781–1853), Salomon Dubno (1738–1813), and many others, played a crucial role in the Dutch Haskalah.7 They functioned as cultural bridges for the German Haskalah, instigated the secession of the naye kille in 1797, and founded several enlightened Jewish societies.

3 Michman, Beem, and Michman, Pinkas. Geschiedenis van de joodse gemeenschap in Nederland, 56. 4 Membership in the Jewish community bestowed the right to possible honorable functions in the synagogue, the right to vote in elections for and be elected as a parnas, and the right to be buried at Muidenberg. Membership could be obtained for 250 guilders. See D.M. Sluys, “Het instituut van het lidmaatschap bij de Hoogduitsch-Joodsche Gemeente te Amsterdam,” De Vrijdagavond VI no. 47, 326–329; no. 48, 343–344; no. 49, 356–360. 5 Figures based on the content of ACA, 714: Protocolbuch I and the index of Protocolbuch II. Cf. A.M. Vaz Dias, “Over den Vermogenstoestanden der Amsterdamsche Joden in de 17e en 18e eeuw,” De Vrijdagavond 17 (1931), 263. 6 For the controversial view that the Dutch Haskalah was not at all influenced by the German Haskalah, see Irene E. Zwiep, “Jewish Enlightenment (almost) without Haskalah: The Dutch Example,” Jewish Culture and History 2–3 (2012). 7 For visitors to the Netherlands, see Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment, 26–32; Joseph Michman, “Ha- shavat yehadut germania al yehadut holand bemea ha-tesha asara,” in Michmanei Yosef. 31

The figure of David Friedrichsfeld (1755–1810) serves as the prototypical example of a cultural bridge that profoundly influenced the Dutch Jewish community.8 In Germany, he belonged to a circle of noted maskilim and counted among his friends Moses Mendelssohn (1729–1786) and Naphtali Wessely (1725–1805). In 1781 he migrated to the Dutch Republic, where, together with like-minded individuals, he established the Felix Libertate society, a patriotic society striving for Jewish juridical equality, which became one of the first sites of maskilic nucleation.9 Later on in 1797, Friedrichsfeld co-founded the naye kille. This small community, which was known for its maskilic ideals and religious reform and which became another important site of nucleation, was short-lived and in 1808 was dissolved by King Napoleon Louis (r.1806– 1810). Because of his prominence, Friedrichsfeld was vehemently attacked in the polemical pamphlets of the Old Community (alte kille), the Diskursn, where writers corrupted his pseudonym philosophes into falderappes (scum).10 Friedrichsfeld wrote several works advocating the emancipation of the Jews, such as De Messias der Joden (The Messiah of the Jews) and Ophelderingen over 't advies van den Burger van Swinden

8 For the relationship between the Dutch and German Haskalah, see: Frederique van Cleeff-Hiegentlich, “Reflections on the Relationship between the Dutch Haskalah and the German Haskalah,” in Dutch Jewish History I, edited by Joseph Michman and Tirtza Levie (Jerusalem: Tel-Aviv University, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1984); Irene E. Zwiep, “Jewish Enlightenment Reconsidered: The Dutch Eighteenth Century,” in Sepharad in Ashkenaz: Medieval Knowledge and Eighteenth-century Enlightened Jewish Discourse, edited by Resianne Fontaine, Andrea Schatz, and Irene E. Zwiep (Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences, 2007); Irene E. Zwiep, “A Maskil Reads Zunz: Samuel Mulder and the Earliest Dutch Reception of the Wissenschaft des Judentums,” in The Dutch Intersection: The Jews and the Netherlands in Modern History, edited by Yosef Kaplan (Leiden: Brill, 2008).; Joseph Michman, Michmanei Yosef: Studies on the History and Literature of the Dutch Jews (Jerusalem: Hebrew University, 1994), 245–262. 9 Because Dutch patriotic societies refused to admit Jews into their ranks, some Jews founded their own society, which was open to members from all affiliations. Cf. Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period: Gothic Turrets on a Corinthian Building 1787–1815, 54–56; Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 5–6. See for instance some of Felix Libertate’s publications: H.L. Bromet, Aanspraak, gedaan in de societeit Felix Libertate (Amsterdam: J.L. van Laar Mahuët en de erven Jac. Benedictus, 1795); E. Schabraq, Aanspraak, gedaan in de societeit Felix Libertate, op den 11 maart 1795, het eerste jaar der Bataafsche Vrijheid (Amsterdam: J.L. van Laar Mahuët en de erven Jac. Benedictus, 1795); J.L. van Laar Mahuet, Aanspraak, gedaan in de societeit Felix Libertate op den 18 Februarij 1795 (Amsterdam: J.L. van Laar Mahuët en de erven Jac. Benedictus, 1795); M. Schalekamp, Verslag wegens het Patriottisch Genootschap der Jooden. Vergadert in Amsterdam den 11 February, 1795 onder de zinspreuk Felix Libertate (Amsterdam: J.L. van Laar Mahuët en de erven Jac. Benedictus, 1795); M.S. Asser, Briev geschreven uit de societeit, alhier te Amsterdam opgericht, onder de zinspreuk Felix Libertate aan den schrijver van het geschrift over de constitutie, bijzonderlijk over deszelfs verkeerd begrip omtrent het stemrecht der jooden (Amsterdam: J.L. van Laar Mahuët en de erven Jac. Benedictus, 1795). 10 Falderappes derives either from the West Yiddish gualdrapa (horse shit), Hamburg Yiddish galderappes (rag), or Portuguese galdrapa (lean sow). Cf. Justus van de Kamp and Jacob van der Wijk ed., Koosjer Nederlands. Joodse woorden in de Nederlandse taal (Amsterdam/Antwerp: Uitgeverij Contact, 2006), 154; Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 216, 304, 420. 32 aan de Representanten des Volks van Holland (Clarifications concerning the advice of citizen Swinden to the representatives of the Dutch nation).11 Besides his theoretical work on the emancipation of the Jews, Friedrichsfeld also tried to realize his ideals. A couple of years after his arrival in the Netherlands, Friedrichsfeld showed his Enlightenment agenda when in 1788 he helped Verka, the wife of the merchant Joseph Moses Levy, in her battle against the chief rabbi of Rotterdam. Rabbi Breslau (1741–1809) condemned women wearing a hairpiece (bandeau) as immoral and forbade it because it resembled real hair and thus violated the obligation for married Jewish women to cover their hair. When the Jewish community fined Verka for wearing a bandeau, her husband, together with the lawyer Toussaint, subsequently asked the burgomasters of Rotterdam to negotiate on her behalf. The city authorities in their turn requested the opinion of Hendrik Albert Schultens (1749–1793), a professor in Oriental Languages at the University of Leiden. Both the professor and Verka questioned the basis of the rabbi’s prohibition in Jewish law. Moreover, the rabbis of The Hague and Amsterdam permitted women to wear false hair, which proved the lack of a Jewish consensus. Unfortunately for Verka, the burgomasters nevertheless decreed otherwise and upheld the rabbi’s ruling.12 A year later, Verka again ignored the chief rabbi’s ruling and was excommunicated. This time, Verka received help from within the Jewish community, as Friedrichsfeld stepped into the breach for her and tried to prove to the burgomasters that Breslau’s prohibition lacked a substantial Talmudic foundation.13 Whether their appeal had any success is unknown. However, it is clear that Friedrichsfeld felt obligated to support her struggle against rabbinic authority, especially when it hindered her in the free expression of religion and fashion. Another immigrant who was also repeatedly mocked in the Diskursn was the Polish mathematician and student of Mendelssohn, Juda Litvack (1760–1836). He was a leading figure in the emancipation of Dutch Jews, a member of the naye kille, and in 1806 he was part of the Dutch delegation of the Sanhedrin summoned by Napoleon, wherein

11 Cf. Dan Michman, “David Friedrichsfeld – a Fighter for Enlightenment and Emancipation of the Jews,” in Research on the History of the Dutch Jewry I, edited by Joseph Michman (Jerusalem, 1975), 151–199. 12 The chief rabbis of Hamburg and Frankfort also prohibited wigs. Cf. E. Slijper, “Een proces over de haardracht der vrouw bij de Joden te Rotterdam,” in Rotterdamsch Jaarboekje, edited by E. Wiersum (P.M. Bazendijk: Rotterdam, 1910); for a discussion of the wig vs. the veil in Judaism, see Leila Leah Branner, “From Veil to Wig: Jewish Women’s Hair Covering,” Judaism 1 (1993): 465–477. 13 Slijper, “Een proces over de haardracht der vrouw bij de Joden te Rotterdam.”

Jewish scholars needed to reconcile Judaism with the nation-state. Litvak worked as a teacher for the sons of Moses Salomon Asser (1754–1826), Eduard Asser (1809–1894) and Carel Asser (1813–1890).14 In the Diskursn, the character Yankev ridicules his Polish background.

It is a matter of public knowledge that a louse travels from East to West. Well, I have made a line on the paper and drawn a straight line, so the louse should march straight along this line. Litvak said: “Yes certainly.” But what does the creature do? He jumps across the line. I stood there and was amazed. How was it possible? But what did I do? I looked for what was wrong and stood there thinking for another half hour….but after much thinking and effort, I found the mistake. My room was slanted and pointed southeast. So the louse was right. Following that, Litvak said: “Indeed, an ingenious idea.” And he scratched his back as he was saying it.15

Yankev refers here to the many Eastern European betteljuden who immigrated to the Netherlands during the eighteenth century. Because of their poverty and their involvement in crime, they had a bad reputation.16 Representing Litvak as a louse connects poverty and bad hygiene with Eastern European Jews. Moreover, it emphasizes the supposedly parasitic nature of Eastern European immigrants, as they took advantage of Dutch hospitality. Also, the representation of the Eastern Jewish immigration as a mathematical law ridicules Litvak’s profession. The anecdote reveals the contempt in which many Eastern European immigrants were held and how the Dutch Jews defined themselves in opposition to them. Besides associating immigrants with poverty, Jews from the alte kille ridiculed the adoption of French manners. The maskilim, such as Friedrichsfeld and Litvak, whom they called ‘German beggars and vagrants,’ were especially to blame. According to the Diskursn character Yankev, it was Jewish curiosity over new scientific inventions that welcomed these German immigrants. But once they got a foothold, immigrants soon laid down the law:

14 Henriette Boas, “De leraar Hebreeuws van Eduard Asser: Samuel I. Mulder,” Amstelodamum 52 (1965): 126–128. 15 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 228. 16 Jewish gangs specialized in robbing churches and clerics. Florike Egmond, Op het verkeerde pad. Georganiseerde misdaad in de Noordelijke Nederlanden 1650-1800 (Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Bert Bakker, 1994), 146. 34

The children started to learn foreign languages and completely forgot our mother tongue… [They] started to absorb what those strangers taught them and wanted to read. German books were bought. At first short novels like Heerfort und Klärchen, or Hermann und Ulrike, and more of that kind. Hereafter, they were brought other books that were written in the manner of the philosophers. Things went so far that they no longer even thought about Judaism.17

In Yankev’s view, novels and philosophy badly influenced the Jews and seduced them to adopt foreign ideas and manners. Later on, he even stated that “[Friedrichsfeld and Litvak] destroyed the Jewishness in many houses.”18 Reading secular literature, speaking any other language than Yiddish, and affected or snobbish manners were perceived as non-Jewish behavior, ousting Judaism.19 Critique was also directed at the custom of housing maskilic teachers, who encouraged and stimulated aberrant behavior; it starts with curiosity and ends with reading the philosophes, the writers of the Diskursn argued. Teachers and writers hosted by rich families particularly served as contact points for the dissemination of secular knowledge. The Mulder family, for instance, known for their worldly lifestyle and their salon where the local Jewish youth gathered, offered lodging to Friedrichsfeld.20 During his stay there, he persuaded Samuel Israel Mulder, the founder of the Hebrew Society Tongeleth, to adopt the Sephardic pronunciation of Hebrew.21 However, the impact of maskilic teachers was also restricted, as families deprived of private tutoring or families with no interest in secular studies remained outside their zone of influence. Conservative Jews noticed the attraction of new ideas and scientific inventions. The character Yankev remarks, “You will see what will come of it. People started to become curious about these things. So they befriended these [immigrants], clothed and fed them. When the newcomers got this far, they turned their machines so that the sparks went right to the hearts of many of [the Amsterdam Jews].”22 A striking feature of these polemical writings is the emphasis on secrecy, seduction, and exploitation by

17 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 298–300. 18 Ibid., 300. 19 Chief Rabbi Moses Löwenstamm also feared the threat of secular literature. In a letter dated 27 July 1803, written to his son-in-law Samuel Berenstein, then Chief Rabbi of Leeuwarden, he complains about secular writings. See, ACA, 1241-4.1.1.24 20 Gans, Memorboek. Platenatlas van het leven der joden in Nederland van de middeleeuwen tot 1940, 223. 21 For the polemics on the Sephardic pronunciation, see chapter two. 22 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 298. 35 maskilic Jews. By using this polemical tool, the Dutch Jewish community is depicted as essentially naive, being distracted from the right path by childlike curiosity. The authors of the Diskursn of the alte kille held the maskilim and their naye kille responsible for deviation, assimilation, and the corruption of the Jewish mind. They vehemently condemned their role in seducing Jews into unjewish behavior. By depicting Jews as victims of moral corruption, they ensured that the Jewish community could not be held accountable. In this way, the community was appeased and all the blame was placed on outsiders. The foreigner, the immigrant, and the stranger seduced the Jews. By making a clear distinction between Dutch Jews and immigrants as well as assigning negative behavior to the latter, Dutch Jews could uphold the image of a pure, albeit naive, community. In this way, the alte kille juxtaposed themselves as pure Jews against the heretical naye kille.

2. The naye kille The naye kille’s foundation in 1797 was the result of maskilic discontent with the slow pace of reform after the installation of the Batavian Republic in 1795. The Batavian political constellation was a direct copy of the French Republic, modeled after the ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity. This new political situation paved the way for Jewish emancipation. Unfortunately for the maskilim, the desired Emancipation Decree of 1796 did not radically reform the Ashkenazi community. Consequently, twenty-one members, predominantly members of Felix Libertate, seceded and established a new community: Adath Jeshurun, also known as naye kille.23 The naye kille divided the Jewish community into opponents and supporters; these groups bitterly disputed each other, exposing what seemed to be a deep ideological rift within the community. The dispute centered around the question of whether the Jews should welcome this new opportunity, integrate, and become participating citizens. Ideas, however, internalize slowly, and the twenty-one members decided to build their new community based on the French political ideal of equality. Their name, Adath Jeshurun, which literally translates into “community of righteousness,” is one of the names denoting the Jewish people as a whole. Therefore,

23 For the chronicle of Benjamin Wing I use the translation by Meijer Roest as well as the original manuscript housed at Library Rosenthaliana. Meijer Roest, “Uittreksel Uit Eene Kronijk Van De Jaren 1795-1812,” De Israëlitische Letterbode II (1886, 1876): 32–33. 36 the name Adath Jeshurun was ubiquitous amongst congregations wishing to legitimize their interpretation of Judaism. For instance, German Orthodox congregations in the mid-nineteenth century named themselves Adath Jeshurun.24 The name is also common among many contemporary Reform communities throughout the United States.25 Not surprisingly, the naye kille chose this name because they regarded themselves as the keepers of true Jewishness. In their Diskursn, they tried to convince other Jews to join them. Both the naye and the alte kille used the same format, characters, and rhetoric in their Diskursn in order to establish the idea that there was only one true Jewish community. The naye kille presented themselves as a community that would abrogate all of the injustices caused by the former Jewish leaders, the parnasim. In this new community, Judaism would be restored to its true meaning, and only in the naye kille could real observance of Jewish law be experienced. Or as the character Yankev enthusiastically comments: “I went to their synagogue. It is as true as the Law of Moses. It couldn’t have been better in the Temple!”26 The writers of the naye kille thus represented themselves as ultimately traditional. Various prominent naye kille members, mostly affiliated with Felix Libertate, postulated the idea that the new political situation would restore the original, natural rights of humanity. For instance, E. Schabracq speaks of “rights that should be woken up,” Moses Asser urges a return to the true principles of society, and Hartog Bromet regards the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, the new political foundation of the French as well as the Batavian Republic, as a restoration of natural rights.27 Notwithstanding the initial resistance, many of the initiatives and enlightened ideas of the naye kille´s most prominent members gradually entered Jewish life, and what seemed at first new and revolutionary became common ground after a few years. Moreover, the Dutch Jewish community eventually largely supported the naye kille’s

24 Fred Skolnik and Michael Berenbaum, ed., Encyclopaedia Judaica, 2nd ed (Detroit: Macmillan Reference USA in association with the Keter Pub. House, 2007), 384. 25 Cf. Maxine Grossman (author) and Adele Berlin (editor), The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion(New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 18. 26 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 42. 27 E. Schabraq, Aanspraak, gedaan in de societeit Felix Libertate, op den 11 maart 1795, het eerste jaar der Bataafsche Vrijheid; Asser, Briev geschreven uit de societeit, alhier te Amsterdam opgericht, onder de zinspreuk Felix Libertate aan den schrijver van het geschrift over de constitutie, bijzonderlijk over deszelfs verkeerd begrip omtrent het stemrecht der jooden; H.L. Bromet, Aanspraak, gedaan in de societeit Felix Libertate. 37 supposedly radical idea of Jewish political participation. Therefore, the opposition between traditional Jews and progressive Jews cannot be made into a binary opposition, as enlightened discourse pervaded the entire Jewish community.

Jewish political participation The naye kille distinguished itself from other Jewish communities on three points: its political focus, its emphasis on equality, and its religious reform according to the Sephardic model. Jewish political participation was an important spearhead of the naye kille. Prominent members, such as Hartog Bromet (1725–1813) and Hartog de Hartog Lémon (1755–1823), were the first Jews ever to be elected to political office in the Netherlands.28 Political participation and representation along with civic duty characterized naye kille members. By embracing these political objectives, they envisaged a different kind of future for the Jews: a Jewish community that would break away from its insulation and contribute to society. The Diskursn’s character Yankev explains that the political changes in France inspired them. “I have been among the French, and there I learned and saw that the [voice of the] common man must also be heard. And that the miserable Jewish leaders have power that is not heard of anywhere in the world but here [in Amsterdam].”29 The democratic possibilities offered by the French Revolution encouraged and stimulated the naye kille’s wish for a community wherein political power was more equally distributed. The Jews should thus seize the opportunity and become involved in the nation’s politics. The Diskursn continuously report on the elections for the National Assembly and inform the Jews how to cast a vote: “[Y]ou give your vote to this or that elector. Consequently, he again chooses a good, honest man for the government in your name. So you take part in making the government. Isn’t that a great gift from Heaven?”30 According to the naye kille, citizenship encompassed civil rights as well as civic duty. Their idea of citizenship reflects the ideal of the political citizen postulated by various enlightened philosophers, such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778).31 The naye kille promoted an

28 For a thorough analysis of Hartog de Hartog Lémon’s life and contributions to the emancipation of Dutch Jewry, see Bloemgarten, Hartog de Hartog Lémon, 1755–1823. Joodse revolutionair in Franse Tijd. 29 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 32. 30 Ibid., 74. 31 See for instance Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Social Contract, and Discourses by Jean-Jacques Rouseau, trans. by G.D.H. Cole (Lonoon/Toronto: J.M. Dent and Sons, 1923). 38 active political attitude because the citizen was responsible for the creation and maintenance of a good government through casting a vote. “[W]hen I have the same rights as all the other inhabitants, when I can take part in the formation of a government, when we can have Jews in the government, when it has already come to this in our country, praise and thank God – [this] is to take care of the good and well-being of the country!’32 This active citizenship as a Jewish moral obligation was promoted throughout the Diskursn and in various pamphlets distributed by naye kille members. For instance, according to Bromet, Jewish political participation was God’s command.

See, Israel, by the happy Revolution, the horn of the house buds forth [Ez 29:21] through human rights and decreed liberty and equality – [this] has given you permission, too, in the midst of the nations, to open your mouth and stand up for your rights, where you and others take part. See there! Through my mouth, the whole of Israel is given the opportunity to speak out. This is the wish of the one and only Supreme Being, Jehovah the Lord.33

Bromet regards the Batavian Revolution and the new possibilities for Jewish participation as religiously mandated. God himself, he argues, urges the Jewish voice to be heard. He directly connects the new Batavian Republic with God’s commandments.34 By including the Jewish religion in the new political situation, the Diskursn, not surprisingly, promoted the election of two Jewish representatives—Bromet and Lemon—to the National Assembly.35 The naye kille’s response to citizenship does not mean that the alte kille rejected Jewish political participation; however, they objected to Bromet and Lémon as representatives of Dutch Jewry, as the character Yankev explains:

Look Anshel, if they had come to our community first, before having founded the assembly, and said: “We address [a petition to] you. Now, there are Liberty, Equality, and Brotherhood. All nations are equal now. Come, we shall help you. Cooperate for

32 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 78. 33 H.L. Bromet, Aanspraak, gedaan in de societeit Felix Libertate, 23. 34 Ibid. 35 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 38, 42, 78, 80, 82, 84, 92.

the good of Israel. We shall strike while the iron is hot.” Wouldn’t that have been better? But the conflict became a fight to the finish. One wouldn’t yield to the other.36

According to the alte kille, the naye kille instigated a power struggle and as a result divided the community. It is interesting that the alte kille speaks of equality between nations and interprets the change as pertaining to the whole of the community, while the naye kille refers to equality between individuals. Apparently, the alte kille did not object so much to equality an sich but rather to the idea of an individually experienced religion.

The ideal of equality Equality was another major pillar of the naye kille’s ideology. No rich man was better than any poor man, as they explained repeatedly in their Diskursn. They condemned the religious and social benefits the rich Jewry received in alte kille. Whether one is called up for the Torah, gets the best choice of meat, or receives a burial place should not be determined based on one’s economic position, they argued. Instead, the naye kille claimed to distribute the honorary (synagogue) functions and privileges equally. Their first Diskursn starts with criticizing the alte kille for favoring the rich over the poor. When Gumpel boards the ferry, he greets Anshel and discloses, “Last week on the Sabbath all the rich were called up, so I thought this Sabbath it must be the turn of the poor people.” “What do you think?” the character Anshel replies, “That it goes in our synagogue as in yours? That a difference is made between a rich and a common man? We are all equal: the manhig [leader] is no better than the common man.”37 In line with the Enlightenment ideals, the naye kille maintained that every man was equal before God and that “inherited” riches did not entitle someone to religious privileges. Because every person was equal in the eyes of God, public offices should be available to all Jews and not only some selected – and wealthy – families. Merit rather than inheritance should be the sole reason for granting someone public office. In their Diskursn, they mention the example of the inherited office of the chazzan in the Ashkenazi community. Inherited office was common in the alte kille. For instance,

36 Ibid., 232. 37 In order to distinguish between the usurpation by the alte kille and their own just management, the naye kille named their leaders manhiqim instead of parnasim, which literally translates as “providers of livelihood.” Ibid., 28. 40 affluent families fulfilled the functions of parnas because eligibility for elections depended on the amount of taxes paid. Moreover, the office of chief rabbi of Amsterdam had become almost hereditary since the appointment of Arye Leyb ben Saul Löwenstamm in 1740; the consecutive rabbis all belonged to this family. The naye kille condemned the tradition of hereditary offices because it hindered social mobility. It kept the poor out of office and solidified social stratification. “But if someone is a poor man, the parnosim will do their best to see that his children will enter their father’s profession and inherit his junk business. But to encourage them to buy guild-rights or citizenship…God forbid!”38 According to the naye kille, the alte kille was fully responsible for sustaining the Jewish “culture of poverty.”39 The naye kille emphasized its own rationality and empathy. It represented itself as an enlightened community in which the concerns of the common man were being respected and safeguarded. It condemned the alte kille’s cruel measures in collecting (tax) debts and portrayed the alte kille’s parnasim as greedy, without any consideration for the hardships of the poor.

But they shouldn’t humiliate him – God forbid – so he can’t come to synagogue any more, or hang him publicly. Or if someone dies at his home, the corpse should not be left in front of him, making him ill from suffering or even – God forbid – die.40 No, brother, listen. Everything you will see or hear at the naye kille will be humane and without aggression, whereas everything that goes on in the alte kille is just plain power, domination, and claims.41

A similar empathetic approach recurs in the naye kille´s policy regarding the misconduct of the meat hall director. The hall director, regardless of his transgression, was met with benevolence, and the problem was settled without public shaming, which would not have been the case in the alte kille.42 This handling clearly shows that the naye kille refrained from employing the religious control model of the alte kille and adapted their community to the new political situation, wherein membership of a religious community

38 Ibid., 126. 39 Cf. Oscar Lewis, Five Families Mexican Case Studies in the Culture of Poverty (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1963). 40 If someone failed to pay the community taxes or was excommunicated, the parnasim refused to bury the corpse. For a description of such an occurrence in 1740, see chapter five. 41 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 50. 42 ACA, 714:2.1.2362, 20-21.

41 was voluntary. The naye kille incorporated the new political ideal of equality not only in their management but also in their religious service. As such, community practice and policy consolidated the idea of an engaged Judaism.

The Sephardic ideal In addition to French political ideals, the Portuguese community of Amsterdam profoundly influenced the naye kille’s reform. For many maskilim, the Sephardim represented the ideal Jews because they engaged with secular literature, owned thriving international businesses, and mingled with Christians. The Portuguese synagogue of Amsterdam, by far the largest in Europe, epitomized Sephardic success and supremacy. Consequently, the way the Sephardim combined a Jewish lifestyle with worldly and secular knowledge inspired many maskilic reforms. Their social standing, education, and affluence became something to aspire to, and therefore their (religious) conduct and customs (minhagim) served as an example to enlightened Ashkenazim.43 The Sephardim likewise represented themselves as ‘ideal Jews’ in opposition to the ‘backward’ Ashkenazim, while they continuously stressed their own ´noble´ Iberian descent.44 Sephardi intellectuals employed the Ashkenazi-Sephardi distinction with its consonant air of superiority and condescension in their struggle for citizenship. Isaac da Pinto (1717–1787), for instance, refutes Voltaire´s attack on the Jews by heralding the cultural, economic, and social accomplishments of the Sephardim while denouncing the

43 Schatz, “Returning to Sepharad: Maskilic Reflections on Hebrew in the Diaspora,” 263–277; Ismar Schorsch, “The Myth of Sephardic Supremacy,” Leo Beck Year Book (1989): 47–66. Not surprisingly, the idea of a superior Sephardic history inspired scholars of Jewish history of Sephardic descent, such as Isaac da Costa (1798–1860) and Juda Palache (1886–1944). Irene E. Zwiep, “Pascal in potentia... Isaac da Costa on Spinoza and Pantheism,” Rosenthaliana 42–43 (2011–2010): 151–152.; Yaniv Hagbi, “Juda Palacha´s History of Hebrew Literature,” Studia Rosenthaliana 42–43 (2011–2010): 177. Moreover, contemporary historians also herald the ‘Golden Age’ of Sephardic history. Cf. Jane S Gerber, The Jews of Spain: A History of the Sephardic Experience (New York: Free Press, 1992); Zion Zohar, ed., Sephardic and Mizrahi Jewry: From the Golden Age of Spain to Modern Times (New York: New York University Press, 2005). However, this perspective has been challenged. Cf. Mark R Cohen, Under Crescent and Cross: The Jews in the Middle Ages (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1994); Darío FernándEH-Morera, “The Myth of the Andalusian Paradise,” The Intercollegiate Review 2 (2006): 23–31. 44 Cf. Kaplan, An Alternative Path to Modernity; Yosef Kaplan, “Gente Politica: The Portuguese Jews of Amsterdam vis-à-vis Dutch Society,” in Dutch Jews as Perceived by Themselves and by Others: Proceedings of the Eighth International Syposium on the History of the Jews in the Netherlands, edited by Chaya Brasz and Yosef Kaplan (Leiden/Boston/Köln: Brill, 2001); Yosef Kaplan, “The Portuguese Community in Seventeenth-Century Amsterdam and the Ashkenazi World,” in Dutch Jewish History I, edited by Joseph Michman (Jerusalem, 1989). 42

Ashkenazim for their degradation and debasement.45 Likewise, the proposal of Mordechai van Aron for the elevation of Jewry portrays the Ashkenazim as less honest than the Sephardim. “No doubt honesty is not pursued everywhere; however, this accusation [of dishonesty] is more applicable to the High German than to the Portuguese Jews.”46 Moreover, Mordechai van Aron praises the Portuguese for their part in international trade and banking, which brought prosperity to the Dutch Republic.47 The proposal by Abbé Grégoire in Essai sur la régénération physique, morale et politique des Juifs also portrays the Sephardim in a favorable light; he names Menasseh ben Israel and refers to the Jews of Toledo as examples of sophistication.48 Interestingly enough, these proposals for the elevation of the Jewish community all display a patronizing tone regarding the Ashkenazi Jews and consequently fostered the discourse of a desolate, destitute, and deprived Jewry. The Sephardim represented for the maskilim the possibility of integration while maintaining a Jewish identity. This was especially obvious to them in the works of Sephardic scholars, such as Moses Maimonides (1135–1204), Isaac ben Judah Abarbanel (1437–1508), and Menasseh ben Israel (1604–1657). All of them incorporated worldly knowledge into their Jewish writings and thus offered a model of engagement with the outside world. The works and lives of Sephardic scholars proved that a Jewish lifestyle did not need to be secluded or isolated. That is why the maskilic journal Ha-me’assef was especially interested in publishing the biographies of Spanish Jews.49 In the lives of Spanish Jews, the maskilim saw the realization of their ideas and ideals.

45 The ma’amad constantly distinguished between their own admirable status compared to the “impoverished and uncivilized” Ashkenazim. Cf. Yosef Kaplan, “Gente Politica: The Portuguese Jews of Amsterdam vis-à-vis Dutch Society.” Moreover, in France the Sephardim tried to acquire citizenship only for themselves, without including the Ashkenazim. Frederic Cople Jaher, The Jews and the Nation: Revolution, Emancipation, State Formation, and the Liberal Paradigm in America and France (Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 2002), 128. For an account of the Sephardic supremacy displayed in the Netherlands throughout the ages, see the forthcoming article by Jaap Cohen, ‘The Action Portuguesia. Legitimizing National Socialist Racial Ideology as a Dutch Sephardic Strategy for Safety, 1941–1944.” 46 Mordechai van Aaron, “Brief van Mordechai van Aron,” De koopman of Bydragen ten opbouw van Neêrlands koophandel en zeevaard 2 (1770): 429. 47 Ibid. 48 Abbé Grégoire, Nieuwe bedenkingen over de Joden, en bijzonderlijk over die van Amsterdam en Frankfort, door den heer Gregoire, oud bisschop van Blois, senateur, enz (Den Haag: Belinfante & Comp., 1807), 6–7. 49 David Joshua Malkiel, Reconstructing Ashkenaz: the Human Face of Franco-German Jewry, 1000–1250 (Stanford, Calif: Stanford University Press, 2009), 12. 43

The Sephardim thus offered the maskilim a new Jewish paradigm.50 As a result, Sephardic liturgy inspired the naye kille´s reform.51 The Melitẓ Yosher, a collection of liturgical regulations compiled by the son of the Isaac ben Abraham Graanboom, rabbi of the naye kille, list the naye kille’s new liturgy and regulations. All of the changes introduced are carefully substantiated by Graanboom, with reference to rabbinical sources and texts. The naye kille was particularly keen to adopt the decorous aspects of Sephardic liturgy. For instance, the Sephardic custom of reciting Kaddish (the mourner’s prayer) aloud together with the whole congregation replaced the Ashkenazi custom of reciting it individually.52 Moreover, the new community adopted the ritual of holding the Torah scroll in front of the congregation before the reading of the Torah. While the naye kille liturgy abolished various prayers, it introduced the aleinu prayer after the afternoon and evening service.53 In addition, the Sephardim’s pragmatic interpretation of the Jewish sources inspired the naye kille, which introduced the Sephardic food habits during Passover. At Passover Jews abstain from leavened food. According to the Ashkenazi rabbinical tradition, certain foods such as beans and rice are forbidden at Passover because they increase in size. The Sephardim, however, permit the eating of such legumes. The Sephardic Passover food habits inspired the maskilim, and the German Jewish scholar Saul Berlin (1740–1794) adopted the custom in his responsa collection Besamim Rosh, which was followed by later Reform communities. Graanboom likewise allows the eating

50 Schorsch, “The Myth of Sephardic Supremacy,” 47. In a similar vein, Louis C. Dubin regards Italian Jewry as the ideal model, mirroring the goals of German Jewry. Cf. Louis C. Dubin, “Trieste and Berlin: The Italian Role in the Cultural Politics of the Haskalah,” in Toward Modernity: The European Model, edited by Jacob Katz (New York: Transaction Publishers, 1987), 208. 51 There is a discussion between Ellenson and Michman about the nature of the naye kille. Michman is of the opinion that it is a political movement and that the religious changes are minor. Moreover, because they stay within the boundaries of Jewish law, he argues, it is not a forerunner of the Reform movement. According to him, the naye kille merely wanted to copy the Sephardim out of a sense of inferiority. Ellenson, on the other hand, regards the naye kille as a typical solution to the challenges of modernity, and in that sense he argues that the naye kille is a minor reform movement. Both authors assume that the reform movement is a break with Jewish tradition; however, many Reform rabbis employed the same Jewish sources to prove their point. I will not delve into this essentialist discussion of the true nature of the naye kille but instead focus on the historical context and self-labelling of their community. D. Ellenson, “Emancipation and the Directions of Modern Judaism: The Lessons of Meliẓ Yosher,” Studia Rosenthaliana, 1 (1996); Joseph Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period. Gothic Turrets on a Corinthian Building 1787–1815, 128–134. 52 Aron Moses Isaac Graanboom, Meliẓ Yosher (Amsterdam: 1808, n.d.), 2. 53 Ibid.

44 of such foods, and he considers the Ashkenazi practice an erroneous custom as well as an unnecessary economic hardship.54 The Sephardic stance on the interpretation of Jewish law also comes to the fore in its attitude towards the Jewish commandment not “to touch the corners of the face with a razor.” Images of naye kille members such as Moses Salomon Asser and Hartog de Hartog Lémon indicate that they followed the Sephardic policy of leniency towards shaving. The clean-shaven faces of the Portuguese attracted the attention of foreign travelers visiting Amsterdam.55 The Jewish scholar Moses Hagiz (1671–1750) condemned them for it, calling them a “nation of shaved men who wear wigs and travel in coaches.”56 The eating of legumes during Passover, the introduction of Sephardic liturgy, and the absence of a beard all reflected the naye kille’s efforts to adjust Judaism to modern times; they regarded the Sephardim as the first modern, integrated Jews. A new religious zeal characterized the naye kille. They argued that their community served God and Judaism best. Although the naye kille portrayed itself as restoring true Judaism, their regulations reflect contemporary discourses on politics and decorum. The reinvention of Judaism along political and Sephardic lines characterizes the naye kille’s response and helps explain the shifting boundary between religious and secular spheres.

The alte kille´s response The alte kille opposed the naye kille at every turn, maintaining that they violated Jewish law. Oblivious to the new situation, which annulled their semi-autonomous status and punitive powers, the leaders of the alte kille employed their outdated legal tools. They referred to Jewish community regulations, which stated that no one could leave the community, install a minyan (the quorum of ten Jewish men necessary for synagogue service), utilize other community’s institutions, or oppose any regulations or the

54 Ibid., 4. 55 Philip Skippon, “An Account of a Journey Made Thro’ Part of the Low Countries, Germany, Italy, and France (1663),” in A Collection of Voyages and Travels, vol. 6 (London, 1732), 406; Saskia Coenen Snijder, “Madness in a Magnificent Building,” in City Limits: Perspectives on the Historical European City, edited by Judith Owens, Glenn Clark, and Greg T. Smith (Toronto: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2010), 290; Gans, Memorboek. Platenatlas van het leven der joden in Nederland van de middeleeuwen tot 1940, 109. 56 Cited in Kaplan: Yosef Kaplan, “The Self-Definition of the Sephardic Jews of Western Europe and Their Relation to the Alien and the Stranger,” in An Alternative Path to Modernity: The Sephardi Diaspora in Western Europe (Leiden/Boston/Köln: Brill, 2000). 45 parnasim´s decisions.57 If one violated the community regulations, one was fined a thousand guilders.58 Rejection characterized the alte kille’s response as it obstinately held on to its regulations and refused to comply with the new political situation. The chronicler Bandit ben Eizik Wing reports in his chronicle Lezikorn (1795– 1812) that the parnasim threatened everyone who joined or considered joining the naye kille with a thousand-guilder fine.59

On 18 March 1795, the parnasim announce that they have heard that some members, the so-called provisional leaders, have made a request to the provisional government in The Hague to found a new community and try to seduce the members of our community to secede and join them. They argue that the church is separate from the state, and everyone can do as he pleases. The parnasim warn everyone not to listen to those people and be seduced to secede. They remind the community of Article 22 of the Jewish regulations and threaten whoever conspires against the community or establishes a meat hall, ritual bath, or synagogue with a fine of thousand guilders…[The names] of the ones who violate Article 22 or purchase meat outside the meat hall or use another ritual bath will be published.60

Unaffected by these threats, the members of the naye kille argued that they had no intention to return and were therefore excused from paying the thousand-guilder fine.61 “You have to pay a thousand guilders if you want to go back to the alte kille,” they argued.62 According to the naye kille and the new government regulations, every person was free in his service to God. Paying the fine was unnecessary in the eyes of the writers of the naye kille Diskursn. “[T]hey [announced the fine] in order to frighten the others, so that they will not run over to the other side. But brother, it won’t work.”63

Public shaming

57 ACA, Handvesten van Amsterdam, Jodenreglementen, art. 21–22. 58 Ibid., art. 22. 59 For a discussion of Wing´s conservatism, see Bart Wallet, “Ideologie, politiek en geschiedenis, Bendit ben Eizek Wing en zijn Amsterdamse kroniek Lezikorn (1795–1812),” De negentiende eeuw 29 (2005). 60 Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812.” 61 The thousand-guilder fine was a considerable amount of money, considering that the wages of an unskilled laborer were only around 300 guilders a year for a six-day workweek. Hubert Nusteling, Welvaart en werkgelegenheid in Amsterdam 1540-1860. Een relaas over demografie, economie en sociale politiek van een wereldstad (Amsterdam: De Bataafsche Leeuw, 1985), 252. 62 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 44. 63 Ibid., 42.

Many Jews viewed the naye kille members as dissenters and violators of Jewish tradition. The chronicler Wing, a strong supporter of the old regime, constantly spouts his criticism of the naye kille and its Felix Libertate members. He refers to them as unbelievers and destroyers of Judaism. Wing also reports how the common people disliked the members of the naye kille and condemned both sides for stirring up the masses.64 In a similar vein, the authors of the alte kille’s Diskursn persistently accused the naye kille of unjewish behavior. The members of the naye kille were supposedly oblivious to Jewish law and behaved more like Christians than like Jews. They wanted to marry Christian wives and disregard Jewish dietary laws.65 Surprisingly, the naye kille likewise accused the alte kille of violating Jewish law.66 Both sides used the same rhetorical religious critique to discredit each other. As such, strict adherence to Jewish law defined both communities. Although the new (revolutionary) government abolished institutionalized excommunication, religious observance still functioned as a powerful tool to ostracize deviance. Besides fining newly seceded members, the alte kille hung the names of naye kille members in a cage outside the synagogue. By publicly shaming these violators of the community’s regulations, the alte kille hoped to force them to rejoin. This form of social control was common in the alte kille, especially before Jewish emancipation. Violators of community regulations or Jewish law were exposed, fined, and excommunicated by the Ashkenazi community.67 However, in the new political climate religious observance became a matter of personal consciousness, which could not be compelled or publicly displayed. Nevertheless, despite the changing role of religion in society, the conspicuous display of a punishment still caused harm. Just how aggravating the public shaming of religious violators had become is demonstrated by the revolutionaries’ interest in the alte kille’s offenders’ list. On Friday 10 March 1795, after the list’s publication, French soldiers, patriots, and Jews marched into the synagogue. With the help of armed forces and the placement of soldiers on each side of the bimah (the raised platform for the reading of the Torah), the temporary

64 Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795-1812”, 35. 65 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 22, 190, 222. 66 See for instance, Ibid., 74, 76, 80 and 86. 67 Tsila Rädecker, Schuld En Boete in Joods Amsterdam. Kerktucht Bij De Hoogduitse Joodse Gemeente 1737- 1764, Menasseh Ben Israel Instituut Studies VIII (Amsterdam, 2013), passim. See for the exercise of religion social control in the Sephardic community, Kaplan, An Alternative Path to Modernity, 108–195. 47 revolutionary Jewish commission dismissed the former parnasim and installed itself in the synagogue. They also removed the list of ´offenders´ and handed it over to the newly installed Procurer-General. The chronicler Wing reports that after removal of the list, some “rascals” burst in and violently demanded the list. They “pushed onto the bimah and blasphemed.” Only after some people who were still present in the synagogue convinced them that the list was already removed did the “rascals” clear out.68 In the Diskursn, the public display of the names of naye kille members in a cage outside the synagogue functioned as a symbol of the power of the alte kille. As long as the parnasim could decide the norms with which the Ashkenazim should comply, they could control the community. The removal of such a conspicuous power symbol as the list communicated for the revolutionaries the message of the beginning of a new era, in which the power of the parnasim and thus religious authority generally was nullified. It epitomized the redefinition of religion as a private matter outside of the authority of rabbis, parnasim, and their ilk. The continued use of the cage by the parnasim in the conflict with the naye kille, however, showed its enduring effectiveness and the parnasim’s reluctance to give up their instruments of power. Another coercive measure was the restriction of the naye kille’s access to the community’s institutions, such as the meat hall, the synagogue, the cemetery, and the mikveh (the ritual bath). Those institutions facilitated the observance of a wide range of religious prescriptions. Because the naye kille founded its own institutions, it could in theory ignore this threat. However, for other social services, such as medical care, it remained dependent. The alte kille, aware of the thorny situation, used every measure imaginable to ostracize the deserters. For instance, according to the writers of the naye kille, the parnasim forbade doctors and midwives to assist naye kille members, which was a draconian measure considering the dangers of childbirth. Not surprisingly, the naye kille strongly condemned their exclusion from medical care. As the Diskursn character Yankev remarked, “You call those people human? Inhuman is what they are, jackass! A woman is already lying three days in childbirth, and they don’t allow her to see a doctor. Would they act differently for their own dependents?”69 Withholding medical assistance from naye kille members was related to the alte kille´s finances. The community employed two doctors to assist the poor. One such

68 Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812,” 41. 69 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 208–210.

48 doctor was Hartog de Lémon, who because of his involvement with the naye kille lost his appointment.70 A surprising element in all this is that naye kille members could have easily turned to a gentile doctor or midwife; no one forced them to utilize the community’s facilities. Their reliance on the Jewish healthcare system demonstrates the enduring interdependency of Jews in the Jewish quarters. A non-Jewish doctor was probably more expensive, and the poor economic situation of many naye kille members forced them to utilize the community health resources. Even though the naye kille replaced many other community institutions, the employment of doctors exceeded its financial resources. The ostracism of the naye kille was effective in some cases, as some of their members returned to the alte kille; this was probably due to social exclusion and the economic boycott of their products, because the alte kille regarded them as unkosher. Their exclusion from Jewish life compelled some naye kille members to reconcile with the alte kille and pay the thousand-guilder fine. In 1799, Ber ben Isaac Kampen requested to be readmitted to the alte kille. According to Wing, “he regrets that he has been persuaded to secede from the community, and he wants to oblige himself to help preserve as usual every community regulation, just as before.”71 Ber ben Isaac Kampen paid the thousand-guilder fine and returned to the alte kille. Around the same time, the son-in-law of Isaac Ger Welcher, Jehuda ben Lozi Kantman, also asked to be readmitted to the alte kille. After he recommitted himself to the community regulations and paid the fine, the parnasim granted his wish.72

The naye kille’s legacy Despite the naye kille’s extensive media campaign and its commitment to improve the social religious status of the common people, the community remained small and on the fringe. At its peak, it had only 500 members.73 Notwithstanding the return of some members who had formerly seceded and its abolition in 1808, the naye kille altered the ideological landscape of the Jews. A reason for this relatively strong influence was the role of its prominent members. With the establishment of the High Consistory in 1808

70 ACA 714: Protocolbuch IV, 122, 148. 71 HS ROS 74, Wing, LEHikorn, 115. 72 Ibid. 73 For an analysis of the number of members, see Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 59, in particular note 15. 49 by King Louis and the Hoofdcommissie, tot de Zaken der Israëliten (Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs) in 1814 by King Willem I, many of the naye kille members gained influential positions. These Jewish institutions became vehicles or dispositives in the nationalization or Dutchification of the Jews. They reorganized Jewish communities throughout the Netherlands, centralized their authority, and controlled their conduct. A French-based hierarchical system of smaller as well as larger synagogues organized into departments was installed. The institutions developed educational renewal, pushed through religious reform, and abolished Yiddish, the lingua franca of the Jews. Members of these institutions were appointed by the government, and in that way it directly influenced the direction of policies established by these members. Each department reported regularly and sometimes even daily to the general board of these institutions. Although the later governments of King Louis and Willem I lacked the radical democracy of the Batavian Republic, the maskilic reform agenda launched during the revolution carried effectively into these institutions. The maskilim took hold of these new positions created by the government. For instance, the Asser family fulfilled various functions within the new Jewish organizational structure, and throughout the nineteenth century this family affected the Jewish community. As lawyers and judges, they established themselves as leading figures in the community. Michel Henri Godefroi (1813–1882), related by marriage to the Assers, was the first Jewish minister in the Netherlands.74 The naye kille had thus been especially attractive to the budding administrative Jewish elite. Prominent maskilim such as the Assers left their mark on Dutch Jewry. With their strong ideas about Judaism and their leading positions in the new Jewish organizational structures, they reformed and altered many aspects of the Jewish community, such as the introduction of a secular curriculum in Jewish schools. Their strong political commitment and their ideal of Jewish political participation proved to be long lasting. Particularly interesting in the merging of what Bart Wallet called the “old and the new elite” at the beginning of the nineteenth century is that the former animosity between members of the naye and alte kille moved to the background. In the documents of the High Consistory and Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs, former naye kille members

74 Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 39–40. Cf. Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 139– 143. Until the present day, the name of Asser is connected with political office. 50 such as the Assers are not accused of having too much of an enlightened agenda or reprimanded for their previous membership in the naye kille. As a matter of a fact, the enlightened agenda and the ideals of a civilized and elevated Jewry would later become the norm. Discourses on equality, education, and citizenship became part of Jewish identity and imbued the policies of the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs, and in a few years these new discourses became internalized by the whole Jewish community. Jews were born citizens, and the idea of a separate nationality became an anomaly.

3. Orthodox nucleation Next to the maskilic nucleation, the Netherlands has been regarded by many Dutch historians as the bulwark of orthodoxy.75 For a long time, Jewish historiography depicted the orthodox opposition to Jewish reform as Jews staunchly clinging to tradition.76 In this paradigm, the maskilim equal modernism and are the harbingers of new times. The opposition epitomizes conservatism and adherence to the status quo. The orthodox failed to grasp the changing times; they remained stubborn and held on to old, ‘obsolete’ ideals. However, as Jacob Katz demonstrated, orthodoxy was as much a result of the changing situation as were the maskilic responses.77 Neither the maskilim nor the orthodox were consistent in their ideals, and their points of view were constantly renegotiated in opposition to each other. The rift between the orthodox and the maskilim was fluid, and the ideological content was continuously redefined. Moreover, both groups shared similar ideas and ideals. However, no group espouses the fluidity of the situation more that the Lehren family.

The Lehren family The Lehren family’s opposition to the reform-minded policy of the semi-governmental Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs was instrumental in the construction of Dutch

75 R.G. Fuks-Mansfeld, “Moeizame aanpassing (1814–1870)”, 226–227; Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 174– 176; Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 158–183. 76 See for instance Jaap Meijer, Erfenis der Emancipatie. Het Nederlands Jodendom in de eerste helft van de 19e eeuw, 21–23; Jaap Meijer, Moeder in Israël. Een geschiedenis van het Amsterdamse Asjkenazische jodendom (Haarlem: Uitgeverij Bakenes, 1964), 74; Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 180; Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment, esp. 82–83, 312, 331. 77 Jacob Katz, Divine Law in Human Hands: Case Studies in Halakhic Flexibility (Jerusalem: The Magness Press, The Hebrew University, 1998), 216–217. Cf. Moshe Samet, Ha-hadash asur min ha-Torah. Prakim be toledot ha-Orthodoxia (Yerusalem: Carmel, 2005); Moshe Samet, “The Beginnings of Orthodoxy,” Modern Judaism, 3 (1988): 249–269. 51 orthodoxy. The Lehren family and their circle of admirers functioned as a site for nucleation and took the lead in developing an orthodox response to Jewish emancipation. During the nineteenth century, three sons of the parnas Moses Lehren, who resided in The Hague, left their mark on the Jewish community. The eldest brother Herschel (1784–1853) together with his father-in–law was director of the bank Hollander and Lehren.78 He was co-founder of the organization Pekidim ve-Amarkalim (Officers and Treasurers), established in 1809, which collected money for the yishuvim (religious communities) in the Holy Land.79 The second brother, Jacob Meijer (1793– 1861), was president-curator of the Jewish Seminary from 1827 until his death.80 After the death of his elder brother Herschel in 1853, Jacob and his brother Akiba (1795– 1876), supervised the Pekidim ve-Amarkalim. The youngest Lehren brother, Akiba Moses, functioned for many years as a parnas in the Jewish community of Amsterdam.81 Because of their wealth, Jewish scholarship, and authority in the Jewish community, the Lehrens were not only able to develop their own Judaism but also to inspire many other Jews. Just like the naye kille before them, the orthodox faction postulated an answer to the question of ‘Dutch’ Jewry’s future. The Lehren family and their circle strongly opposed any infringement on their religious authority. They envisaged a Jewish community firmly rooted in tradition, which looked more to other Jews for its sense of belonging than to the new state and its national citizenship. In Eastern European Jewish scholarship the Lehrens found a solution for the future of the Jews, and they introduced Talmudic scholarship as an essential aspect of Jewish identity.

78 In 1805, Herschel married Hannah, the daughter of David ben Joseph Hollander-Levy. In 1806, his daughter Tsiporah-Gelle was born; his wife probably died in childbirth. Three years later Herschel married again, this time to Jannetje Simon Goldsmith. The marriage remained childless, which was typical of many other Lehren marriages. See http://akevoth.org/genealogy/ashkenazi/8423.htm (accessed 6 June 2013). 79 This organization, co-founded with Abraham Prins and Salomon Reuben, centralized the collection of funds for the Holy Land. Previously, the Sephardim also collected the funds for the Ashkenazim. Out of dissatisfaction with the large portion of these funds distributed to the Sephardim, the Ashkenazim, under guidance of Prins, Reuben, and Lehren, founded their own organization. Joseph Michman, Michmanei Yosef: Studies on the History and Literature of the Dutch Jews, 229–234. 80 Jacob was married to Frederica Levy Samuels in 1817 and had three daughters with her. See http://akevoth.org/genealogy/ashkenazi/12969.htm (accessed 6 June 2013). Cf. Meijer, Erfenis der Emancipatie, 21. 81 Akiba married his 15–year–old niece Tsiporah-Gelle in 1822. The marriage remained childless. Although according to the law of the Dutch Republic marriages in the third and fourth grade, for instance between uncle and niece, were forbidden, the Ashkenazi and Sephardic communities were often exempted. Donald Haks, Huwelijk en GEHin in Holland in de 17e en 18e eeuw (Utrecht: Hes Uitgevers, 1985), 44–46. 52

The Lehren family welcomed many impoverished Jews and Jewish scholars to their table out of concern for the common man and his burdens. The late Chief Rabbi Dünner (1833–1911) appreciated the charitable efforts of Akiba toward Eastern- European Jewish immigrants. “With courtesy, honesty, and humility were they received in his house. Because of their strange morals, customs, and traditions, they did not have refuge in our community.”82 In addition, Karl Marx regarded the Lehrens’ charity positively. “Like the great London Jew Sir Montefiore, Lehren sacrificed a lot for those who remain in Jerusalem. His office is one of the most picturesque one can image. Large groups of Jewish agents [of banking houses] gather each day, together with numerous Jewish theologians, and at his doorstep all kinds of beggars perch.”83 Surprisingly, the Lehrens found in Marx a staunch supporter, as both pushed for the improvement of the lower classes. The Lehrens’ charitable efforts can be seen in light of the adoption of Hasidic customs and the practices of the Lurian Kabbalah. In the Kabbalah, there is the idea that the Divine Spirit was stored in vessels. At one point these vessels broke, causing the Divine Sparks to scatter throughout the world. The performance of a good deed restores the content of the vessel. This repair, or tikun olam, secures redemption and thus the coming of the Messiah.84 Charity, in this kabbalistic sense, receives an extra spiritual dimension. This additional religious meaning could explain why the Lehren family devoted so many more of their financial resources to benefit poor Jewish immigrants than did other well-to-do Jewish families. The hospitality of the Lehren family towards Eastern European Jewish immigrants received a negative response from the members of the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs; they distrusted the many admirers the Lehren family attracted. In a report from 1822, they already speak of a thousand supporters of the Lehren family, and they feared their influence on the modernization of the Jewish community. So many Jews from Eastern Europe, with their distinctive dress and strong adherence to Jewish tradition, could frustrate the enlightened policy set out by the Supreme Committee for

82 Cited in: Gans, Memorboek, 348. 83 Ibid. Cf. Meijer, Erfenis der Emancipatie, 21–22. 84 Sabbatai Zvi and especially Jacob Frank argue the other way around and hold that evil deeds repair the broken vessels and thus hasten the coming of the Messiah. Cf. Gershom Gerhard Scholem, Sabbatai Sevi: The Mystical Messiah, 1626–1676 (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1973); Pawel Maciejko, The Mixed Multitude: Jacob Frank and the Frankist Movement (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 2011). 53

Israelite Affairs. Or as a functionary of poor relief in The Hague, Salomon Zurkann, articulated:

[The Lehren sect’s] intention is to promote zealotry and superstition among people of lesser means, and to halt the advancement of civilization and Enlightenment as well as to hinder the advancement of useful handiwork and crafts, which is especially dangerous because Sir Lehren is rich and affluent, and his influence on the lower classes is great and can thus become dangerous.85

Samuel Elias Stein, secretary of the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs, likewise calls Herschel Lehren a “fanatic” and a “zealot” who wished to split and divide the community.86 In his view, the Lehrens’ charity was nothing more than an attempt to attract as many followers as possible. According to Stein, the Lehrens founded a separate Jewish community by means of distributing favors and alms. “He established a separate, mystical, kabbalistic liturgy. By the use of various fanatic means, within ten years he gained ten thousand proselytes. In order to maintain their respect, he called the sect Hasidim, pious people.”87 Moreover, the Jewish community in the first half of the nineteenth century, already burdened by the many Jews dependent on poor relief, was reluctant to accept the arrival of so many destitute immigrants. “[T]he natural consequence of [the Lehren sect] will be that strange and needy foreign Israelites will nestle in the community, hoping to be financially rewarded when they join the Lehren sect of the wealthy Sir Lehren.”88 In various maskilic writings, the Eastern European Jew symbolized backwardness and stubbornness.89 This negative image intensified in the Netherlands,

85 NA, HC, inv. 360, 14 January 1825. Cf. Jacob Belinfante, Jaarboeken voor Israëliten in Nederland, vol. 4 (´s- Gravenhage: H.P. de Swart en Zoon, 1837), 176, 183. 86 NA, HC, inv. 360, 14 January 1825. 87 Ibid. 88 Ibid. 89 For the negative maskilic attitude towards Polish Judaism, see Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment, 274– 276, 281–284. At the end of the nineteenth century, however, the Eastern European Jew came to symbolize the ‘real’ Jew. Sander L. Gilman, Jewish Self-Hatred: Anti-Semitism and the Hidden Language of the Jews (Baltimore/London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 270–286. This image of the real Jew is apparently hard to resist, as the commissioners of Oostjoodse Passanten en Blijvers. Aankomst, opvang, transmigratie en vestiging van joden uit Rusland in Amsterdam en Rotterdam, 1882-1914 consider the Eastern European Jew to be more Jewish then the Jew from Amsterdam. Peter Tammes ed., Oostjoodse Passanten en Blijvers. Aankomst, opvang, transmigratie en vestiging van joden uit Rusland in Amsterdam en Rotterdam, 1882–1914, vol. IX (Amsterdam: Menasseh ben Israel Instituut Studies, 2013), 7. 54 probably because of the influx of so many Eastern European Jewish immigrants; they were pejoratively called Pollaken.90 A roman à clef from 1877, titled Episode uit het Leven van R. Awroom Prins (Episode from the Life of Rebbe Awroom Prins), reflects this pejorative depiction as it uses the Lehrens’ house and their many Polish guests as décor. This novel narrates the imaginary life of Abraham Prins, co-founder of the Pekidim ve- Amarkalim, wherein the author derogatively describes the groups of poor Jews gathering around the Lehrens’ house, waiting to be (financially) endowed:

There was no fellow believer from far-away Poland or Jerusalem who did not first take up his residence at the home of R. Abraham [Prins], who usually delivered him to the fatherly concerns of the Lehren family, who appreciated hosting at their table Polish Israelites who, on their turn, did not fail upon their return to their fatherland to praise this family, which caused literally the migration of a nation of Jews from Poland and Jerusalem, who all feasted at the well-appointed table of the Lehren family in Amsterdam; they had no other luggage with them besides their distinctive clothing and a good portion of Talmudic knowledge, learned at a yeshiva, a Talmud school, and they flaunted their knowledge, all to make the Lehrens’ family Sabbath more pleasant.91

By inviting poor Talmudic scholars to their table, the Lehrens influenced the religious landscape, as Hasidism became one of the many Judaisms available to Dutch Jewry. The steady influx of Eastern European Jews introduced this type of Judaism to the Netherlands, and the facilitation of Hasidism by the Lehrens contributed to the budding of circles of Hasidic scholars. Contrary to the maskilic refutation of the Talmud as an essential part of the Jewish identity, the Hasidim endorsed and constructed their Judaism around a renewed appreciation of it. Moreover, by endorsing Jewish scholarship, the Lehrens fostered a new spiritual élan. Religious study and scholarship were essential aspects of their Jewish identity. Like the naye kille before them, the Lehren family judged someone on the basis of their merits instead of their financial means; religious honors should go to the pious and not to the affluent. Surprisingly, even

90 Analyses of the immigration of Eastern European Jews to the Netherlands regrettably rarely pay attention to perceptions of them. See Tammes, Oostjoodse Passanten en Blijvers, 36, 42, 46. For the use of the word pollak (polak, polk), see Justus van de Kamp and Jacob van der Wijk, Koosjer Nederlands. Joodse woorden in de Nederlandse taal, 484–485. 91 L.B. Perel, Episode uit het Leven van R. Awroom Prins (Amsterdam: J. de Jong, 1877), 17–18.

55 the isolated Lehrens internalized the concept of equality in their version of Judaism. As such, the Lehrens show that it was their context more than their ideological differences that brought them into conflict with the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs. Two conflicts in particular typify their resistance and their new take on Judaism. The first is the establishment of the Lehrens’ private minyan, and the second is the media campaign they launched against the Brunswick Rabbinical Conference in 1844.

The Lehrens’ private minyan In 1817, Herschel Lehren founded his own private minyan, wherein he followed the Sephardic version of the Ashkenazi rite. The religious gatherings took place at the Lehrens’ house, located on Rapenburgerstraat.92 Lehren´s struggle to maintain his private minyan can be divided into several stages. At first, the conflict was only between the parnasim of the Amsterdam Ashkenazi community and Herschel Lehren. With reference to the community regulations, the Ashkenazi community forbade private minyanim.93 Also, the semi-governmental Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs joined the conflict and prohibited Lehren’s minyan. They referred to the Constitution of 1815, which granted freedom of religion only to existing denominations.94 The commission therefore constantly tried to prove the sectarian nature of Lehren´s private minyan. Later on, the Dutch authorities also intervened, which resulted in the temporary approval of Lehren´s private minyan. With reference to a Napoleonic law, the code pénal 291–294 that forbade gatherings of more than 20 persons, the private minyan was legally sanctioned in 1822 by both a lower and a higher court in Amsterdam.95 Because the meetings hardly ever exceeded 20 persons, Lehren could maintain his separate services. Here Lehren successfully employed state law in defense of his private minyan. The Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs, frustrated by the legalization of the minyan, continued its quest against Lehren and requested both the State Council (Raad van State) and King Willem I to prohibit the minyan. Lehren, reluctant to await the

92 Jaap Meijer, Het Verdwenen ghetto. Wandelingen Door de Amsterdamse Jodenbuurt (Amsterdam: Joachimstal, 1948), 77–78. 93 Since the Emancipation Decree of 1796, the Ashkenazi community could not impose their regulations on Dutch Jewry. However, oblivious to the new situation, the parnasim constantly tried to wrest control by reference to many obsolete community rules. An additional argument the parnasim used for the prohibition of a private minyan was their loss of income, as they could no longer sell the mitzvoth (honorary functions) in the synagogue. See, HC, inv. 38, nr. 46. Cf. Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 181–182. 94 Meijer, Het verdwenen ghetto, 78. 95 Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 182.

56 outcome, moved to The Hague in 1824. There he also met fierce resistance from several maskilim in the community. Finally, with the royal decree of 30 March 1827, the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs triumphed, stating that every private minyan had to be suspended. However, when Lehren returned to Amsterdam in 1834 he ignored the royal decree and continued his private minyan, despite various attempts of the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs to stop him.96 In the end, the Lehren ‘sect’ prevailed, exposing the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs’ relative lack of authority and powerlessness. Lehren used several legal strategies to authorize his private minyan. At first, he used the existing church regulations to his own benefit. According to the Jewish regulations in Amsterdam, a private minyan could be established when a person was in poor health, which Lehren claimed to be. However, considering Lehren’s ascetic lifestyle, this argument was contested by the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs, who disputed Lehren’s fragile health. In a meticulous report of 41 pages, the committee argued that Lehren’s sickness was his own fault and resulted from a strict physical and mental regime. “It would be no surprise if he is to blame for it, as he sacrifices his health to the benefit of his soul with chastisements, fasting, excessive bathing, not wearing broadcloth, and other more extravagant and superstitious actions.”97 According to this line of argument, Lehren intentionally caused his own health problems, and because he was to blame for his own poor condition, he could not use this as an excuse to have a private minyan. In fact, the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs argued, Lehren was not ill at all. The second ‘health’ argument the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs used to deny the legality of the minyan was Lehren’s illness itself. “One who chastises himself, day and night, at untimely hours, abides in the open air, and who eventually travels abroad to a hundred-mile distance, cannot be sick.”98 Lehren’s extensive activities and ascetic lifestyle were thus held against him by the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs. For the committee, Lehren’s appeal was questionable and highly unlikely. Strangely enough, the committee refrained from demanding a doctor’s declaration and only speculated on the supposed dishonesty of Herschel Lehren.

96 Ibid., 182–189. 97 NA, SCIA, inv. 298, 5 November 1822. 98 Ibid.

However, not every member of the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs was so eager to abolish Lehren’s private minyan. Immanuel Capadoce (1751–1826), for instance, unsuccessfully requested that his fellow members allow Lehren’s minyan. Capadoce believed Lehren to be an honest and sincere man with only noble intentions. “I am of the opinion…not to hinder the man in the observance of his religious principles as long as it does not pose any real danger to the state’s peace or to order in the community to which he belongs. We all know him to be a respectable and honest man.”99 He also rejected the idea that Lehren’s private minyan was indicative of a new sect of Judaism. Capadoce´s intention was to settle the dispute with Lehren and come to some sort of financial compromise, as Lehren would no longer attend the regular synagogue services. For him, Lehren’s private minyan could perfectly coexist with the Jewish community. However, Capadoce’s efforts were futile. The maskil Stein, who was known to be a fervent opponent of the Lehrens, argued otherwise. According to Stein, Lehren was a menace to society, a dangerous Hasid. With his private minyan, he tried to split the Jewish community. Stein argued that the establishment of a private minyan counted as the foundation of a new Jewish community, and he refused to “give any footing to the establishment of new sects.” He connected the minyan with the emerging Hasidic movement in Eastern Europe, a completely separate rite.

It is madness to try to prove that a temporary service with ten persons on some occasions at some Israelite’s house would amount to a new community. However, if someone devotes a room in his house to be a synagogue, prays there three times a day with ten or more persons, and uses a liturgy – whether acknowledged or not –…. [A]nd if one wants to argue that no community can go without a separate administration and the authority of a rabbi, than one understands the case wrongly…[C]ommunities can exist without the authority of a chief rabbi.100

For Stein it was clear: Because Lehren devoted a room in his house to prayer, it proved his wish for separation. The issue here circled around the question of the definition of community and, more precisely, the essential elements of an independent community. Not surprisingly, Stein excluded Jewish institutions such as the meat hallmeat hall and

99 SCIA, inv. 360. 100 Ibid.

58 the mikveh from his definition, as he employed the definition of Judaism as a religion. For Stein, the theological principle defined the community. In this line of argument, every alternative liturgy served as an indicator of a community. Stein states, “All gatherings of more than ten persons of the age of thirteen or older can be regarded from a religious perspective as a religious community.”101 Stein’s definition closely followed that of Chief Rabbi of Amsterdam Samuel Berenstein, which was no wonder, as Berenstein in general endorsed the enlightened initiatives employed by the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs. Moreover, Berenstein showed a similar dislike for the Lehrens, whom, like Stein, he regarded as a dangerous sect and a threat to Jewish unity. It therefore suited Berenstein to define a community in strictly liturgical terms, namely based on the ability to have a minyan. “[A]ccording to Israelite religious law, the appointment of ten Israelite men who have reached the age of thirteen to execute the Israelite religion in itself amounts to an entirely religious Israelite community.”102 Interestingly enough, with the help of Berenstein, Stein employed a religious concept of community to serve his purpose, namely the establishment of a single authoritative Jewish community and rite.

The Hasidic influence For his private minyan, Lehren used the Lurian liturgy, which was a mixture of the Polish Ashkenazi rite and the Sephardic rite of Palestine, which was a novelty in the Netherlands but very common among Hasidic sects in Eastern Europe. One of the important differences was that the Lurian liturgy added kabbalistic thought to the service: meditations supplemented prayers and religious acts, because the correct ´spiritual´ mindset should accompany religious observance.103 This mindset would enable one’s connection to the Divine. Furthermore, special secret meanings and numerology were read into existing songs and hymns. A notable example of this addition of kabbalistic thought is the Sabbath hymn Lecha Dodi, which celebrates the Sabbath by employing sexual metaphors. Also, the Lurian liturgy introduced meditations (cavanoth)

101 Ibid. 102 Ibid. 103 A.Z. Idelsohn, Jewish Liturgy and its Development, Dover Edition reprint 1995 (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1932), 49. 59 that helped to discern the name of God by employing certain text combinations.104 Furthermore, the Hasidim included extra fasting days beyond the traditional Jewish religious calendar. Ascetic behavior, including flagellation, was an important aspect of the Hasidic lifestyle. Lehren was known for his eccentric behavior as well as his strict, ascetic regime. On the Sabbath he spoke only Hebrew and wore white garments. He immersed himself daily in the mikveh, which was at that time not heated. Moreover, he exposed himself to cold weather, flagellated, and fasted. How exceptional this kind of behavior was for enlightened Jews comes to the fore in their reports on the Lehren family. Stein in particular considered these Hasidic restrictions alien to the Jewish religion and referred to several important opponents of Hasidim (Misnagedim), such as the Vilna Gaon, to underscore his opinion.105 “Chief Rabbi Elias from Vilna… Chief Rabbis Ezekiel from Prague, Steinhardt from Fürth, Lobel from Nowogzodeck, and Chief Rabbi Lemberg… all demonstrate the harmfulness of this sect.”106 Asceticism also characterized other Lehren family members. A seminary student wrote a letter to the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs in 1847 complaining about the strict, harsh culture imposed by Meijer Lehren at the seminary. Despite the introduction of a secular curriculum, the seminary remained a bulwark of orthodoxy.

It is probably known to Your Honor that every student studying at the seminary is obliged to go to synagogue at Governor M. Lehren’s instead of attending our synagogue. There they use the Portuguese rite, and every morning after morning prayers a full hour is devoted to Talmudic study. The morning services are held very early; before Purim they start at half past five. Meanwhile at [our] synagogue it starts at a quarter past seven. [Services at the Lehrens] take more than twice as long as in [our] synagogue, making the services and the Talmudic study’s duration no less than three hours.107

The long sessions at the Lehrens’ minyan, the student complains, kept him from study and sleep. “Because we have to wake up at five and there´s no time left in the morning, I

104 Ibid. 105 NA, SCIA, inv. 360. 106 Ibid. 107 NIW, 26 January 1940, reprint by D.S. van Zuiden. Cf. Gans, Memorboek, 364.

60 ask, when can we study?”108 Moreover, because of the strict time schedule, there is no time to devote to the sciences, which were an integral part of study at the the seminary. Also, being educated within the Hasidic tradition contributed, according to the student, to the general Jewry’s contempt for and unfamiliarity with the German rites. Concluding his letter of complaint, the author refers to the Lehrens’ power and connections; this compelled him and his fellow students to complain anonymously. “I know you would say, ‘Who can account for the truth in this unsigned letter?’ But weak and helpless creatures like us are afraid of the schemes of the mighty family Lehren. I do not dare to sign my name.”109 It is this image of the Lehren family as (perhaps much too) serious Jewish scholars, whose interest lay mainly in the endorsement of Talmudic study, which comes to the fore in many historical documents. Moreover, it is precisely the return to an exclusive Jewish lifestyle which frustrated the Supreme Committee of Israelite Affairs in its efforts to establish a unified and emancipated Jewry. The Lehren family became a nucleation site for Hasidic scholars, who were mostly impoverished immigrants from Eastern Europe. These immigrants brought Jewish scholarship and religious observance back to the table as an essential and respected aspect of the Jewish lifestyle. They were warmly welcomed by the Lehrens, but their inward Judaism and emphasis on Jewish texts and sources countered the espousal of secular discourse by the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs. The committee’s rational and integrated Judaism collided with the Lehrens’ kabbalistic reinvention of traditional Judaism. Although their ideas about the place of Judaism in society differed profoundly, the example of Lehren’s private minyan shows that both the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs and Lehren used the existing political framework for their own benefit. The Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs tried to establish religious unity by prohibiting any deviation. Lehren, instead, used the new religious freedom to legitimize his own version of Judaism and thus fostered Jewish religious plurality. In this sense, both antagonists developed their Judaisms in close relation to the state’s new constellation. Of particular interest in Lehren´s liturgical reform is the employment of the Sephardic rite, which apparently served as a model for both the maskilim and their opponents. Liturgical reform characterized both antagonists

108 Ibid. 109 Ibid.

61 and was thus not a typical Enlightenment endeavor. The Lehrens’ orthodoxy was thus similar to the committee´s reform, mostly driven by the wish for renewal.

Torat ha-qena’ot vis-à-vis Reform In an attempt to halt what they considered the ongoing intrusion on Judaism, the attraction of Jews to the new Reform movement, and Jewish conversion to Christianity, the Lehrens assembled orthodox scholars to condemn leniency towards Jewish observance. The media campaign orchestrated by Herschel Lehren and Abraham Prins in defense of their interpretation of Judaism and the validity of the Talmud and against infringement on ‘orthodox’ authority by Reform rabbis differed in its scope, range, and unity from previous Dutch orthodox resistance.110 Lehren and Prins attracted 69 scholars and 37 responsa from Holland, Germany, Bohemia, Hungary, Alsace-Lorraine, and Krakow to join them in their struggle against Reform Judaism. The immediate cause for the collection of 37 responsa against Reform Judaism was the Brunswick Rabbinical Conference in 1844, which abolished the Kol Nidre (the opening prayer of Yom Kippur) and permitted inter-faith marriage. Both Lehren and Prins regarded the conference as a horror and a threat to Judaism. One main theme of the responsa collection, torat ha- qena’ot,111 was the question of authority.112 All of the authors rejected the authority of the Reform rabbis and the possibilities of intermarriage and set out to establish the validity of contested Jewish rituals such as circumcision, Jewish liturgy, adherence to the Sabbath, and dietary laws.. Although the responsa did not formulate a coherent view on Judaism, it nonetheless contributed to a meaningful response to what the writers perceived as the horrors of the modern time, namely the increasing divergence from Jewish tradition and the Reform movement’s rejection of the Talmud. Five contributions, from both the Ashkenazi and the Sephardi communities, came from the Netherlands. Responses came from Rabbi Menachem Mendel Löwenstamm

110 Compare for instance, Haim’s petition, the pronunciation polemics and the Diskursn of the alte kille. 111 Torat ha-Qena’ot means law of jealousy and it refers to Numbers 5:29. The law proscribes what to do in case of suspicion of an adulterous wife. The suspected wife had to be brought for a priest, who let her drink a bowl of bitter water. If she was innocent, the bitter water did not harm her, if not she was cursed. Cf. Numbers 5: 11-28. Interesting is the question why Lehren and Prins choose particular this name for their responsa collection. Did they envision Reform to be an adulterous wife, who revolted against her husband, the true Judaism? Or did they perceive Reform to be adulterous because they incorporated foreign knowledge and things alien to Judaism? 112 Kooij-Bas, “Nothing but Heretics”, 55. Cf. Katz, Divine Law in Human Hands. Case Studies in Halakhic Flexibility, 216–254. 62 from Rotterdam (d.1868); Chief Rabbi Baruch Bendit Levy Dusnus from Leeuwarden (1811–1886), a family member of the Lehrens; Chief Rabbi Jacob Ferares (1819–1882), the Sephardi chief rabbi of The Hague; Moses Abraham from Amsterdam; and the son of Chief Rabbi Samuel Berenstein, Berisch (1808–1893), who after his father’s death became rabbinical assessor instead of chief rabbi because of internal political objections. All of these influential figures responded to the call of Prins and Lehren, some more extensively than others. Moreover, the authors developed various attitudes concerning the pace and speed of Jewish adaptations. For instance, Berisch Berenstein contributed with an elaborate and substantial response to strengthen the Talmud’s authority. The moderate and beardless113 Jacob Ferares wrote a response, as did the conservative Rabbi Dusnus, who is remembered as the last rabbi to ever preach in Yiddish.114 The Dutch contributions thus came from both ends of the religious spectrum. Although their attitudes toward the ´modernization´ of the Jewish community differed profoundly, all of the contributions denied the Reform rabbis’ authority in interpreting the Talmud. Moreover, they all established the authority of the Talmud and its validity as a divinely ordained source. For instance, Menachem Mendel Löwenstamm wondered why the Reformists would adorn themselves with a rabbinic title. “If this band of traitors – what it actually is – denies the oral Torah and the power of the Talmud, how can they crown themselves with the beautiful laurel of the masters of the Talmud, flattering themselves with the name ‘rabbis’?”115 The other Dutch responses made a similar argument, denying the Reform rabbis´ authority as they misunderstood and distorted the Jewish sources. Dusnus formulates it as follows:

All these words show the observer that this meeting like every other meeting has no power or authority to abolish any custom of the holy customs of Israel, let alone the power or authority to permit a prohibition of the Gemara [part of the Talmud] and the posqim [deciders of Jewish law]. Therefore, there is no substance in what the men of this assembly will permit, be it during this assembly or – which we do not hope – in case they will assemble again. Everything is null and void like a broken jar; every teaching that is against Gemara and the posqim is null and void.116

113 See chapter four for a discussion of the beard as a Jewish identity marker. 114 Gans, Memorboek, 372, 461. 115 Kooij-Bas, “Nothing but Heretics,” 225. 116 Ibid., 262.

Besides validating the eternal truth of the Talmud, the writers of the responsa accuse the Reform rabbis of apostasy. They repeatedly use the abusive word apikoros, a common Greek Talmudic word for heretic. Other words generally used to denote their withdrawal from Judaism include traitors, liars, deceivers, rebels, transgressors, and many other negative descriptions.117 Most of the Dutch responses barely engage with the arguments put forward by the Brunswick Assembly. The (Dutch) contributors depict the Brunswick participants unfavorably and do not shy away from polemical argumentation. Although Menachem Mendel Löwenstamm explicitly states that his responsum is not a polemic, he nonetheless constantly accuses the Reform rabbis of deception. “They will disguise themselves and act like a stranger, and they will gouge out the eyes of these people. These are the ways of all flatterers and hypocrites, in whose heart denial and heresy struck root.”118 Questioning their honesty and sincerity serves as a motivation to instantly reject their arguments and proposals for religious reform. The supposedly detrimental influence of the Brunswick Assembly on the masses concerned the respondents. In light of the decline of synagogue attendance and the struggle over the hegemony of Judaism, they feared that Reform Judaism would win the hearts of the Jews. They sincerely dreaded leniency towards Jewish rituals and customs, which, according to the arguments of the contributors to the torat ha-qena’ot, was only a means to attract followers. “I am speaking to the masses of Israel, heaven forbid that one will deviate from the ways of the Torah and of worship that our ancestors have followed,” Dusnus remarks. Berish Berenstein also worries about the possible attraction of the Brunswick Assembly. “Our brothers, sons of Israel know that we did not oppose them for the sake of our own honor, but in order to protect the innocent from being captured in their snare.”119

Jews vis-à-vis the state Another important theme in the torat ha-qena’ot is the relationship between the state and the Jewish community. Both Löwenstamm and Berish Berenstein address this issue. They considered it important to make sure that the laws of the state and religious observance harmonized. This was especially important since an often-heard criticism

117 Ibid., 225. 118 Ibid., 226. 119 Ibid., 413.

64 concerning the Jewish community was their double loyalty and their favoring of the Jewish tradition above the well-being of the state. Their responses are thus an attempt to show that the Jewish religion and citizenship did not conflict. Moreover, Löwenstamm claimed that the government’s wish was that Jews would meticulously observe their religion. According to Löwenstamm, observance of Jewish religion and obedience to the government were two sides of the same coin.120 Rejecting a strict observance, as the Brunswick Assembly proposed, amounted to disobedience and rebellion against the state. The polemical depiction of the Assembly as a rebellion against all authority fits neatly into the overall argument of torat ha-qena’ot that the Reform rabbis did not respect any authority. Berish Berenstein also emphasizes the relationship between good citizenship and a stringent adherence to Jewish law. For him, the two supplemented each other. One problematic aspect of this position was the questions raised at the 1806 Sanhedrin assembly in Paris. This body of rabbis, ordained by Napoleon, had to deal with questions concerning the relationship between Judaism and the state, and in particular the question of whose authority prevailed. One result was that the rabbis approved intermarriage to counter the accusation of disloyalty, as allowing marriage only between Jewish couples would send the message that the Jews did not want to mingle with Christians or regarded themselves as better than their fellow citizens. With reference to the decision made at the Sanhedrin, the Brunswick Assembly also adopted the possibility of intermarriage. Berish Berenstein, however, stresses the dissimilarities of the two assemblies: the Brunswick Assembly was freely attended, while the Sanhedrin was forced upon the Jews. “The latter did not gather because they themselves wanted to, but because a brutal ruler had asked them whether our law opposed the laws of that country.”121 A bit further on in the text, Berish Berenstein states that disregard for state laws places someone in the rabbinical category of rodef, someone who pursues a person in order to kill him. According to some interpretations of rabbinic law, such a person can be ‘legally’ murdered in order to prevent the killing of an innocent. “They depended on the words of Jeremiah, and were not blind to what is written in Ḥoshen Mishpat 425 that someone who transgresses the laws of the country causing the desecration of God’s

120 Ibid., 230. 121 Ibid., 408.

65 name belongs to the category of rodef.”122 Berish Berenstein thus argues that the decisions made at the Sanhedrin were made under a threat to life and that the Jews could ‘kill’ the rulings of the Sanhedrin. In addition, he also holds that the Assembly “misinterpreted their words and abbreviated where they should have extended.”123 Either way, the Sanhedrin could not be held responsible for their decision to validate intermarriage, and one could even argue that they did not validate intermarriage at all. Löwenstamm also posits that Judaism is compatible with obedience to the government by referring to the law dina de-malkhuta dina, the idea that the law of the country is binding. “Lift your eyes and see, for true faith is found in the words of the Talmud. It orders us to preserve, observe and establish all the commandments and laws of the King, under the shadow of the wings of his kingdom in which we take refuge.”124 Löwenstamm here appeases possible objections against the Talmud as being outdated and hostile to the new nation-state. By stating that the Talmud requests state obedience of Jews, Löwenstamm solves the question of Jewish disloyalty; he argues that the dina de-malkhuta dina “puts upon us the great obligation to always pray for the welfare of the kingdom and its house and for the welfare of the entire nation, and to strive for its welfare and good always.”125 In order to stress continual Jewish loyalty to the government, Menachem Mendel Löwenstamm praises Jewish military participation. This argument seems a bit peculiar, since Jewish subscription was a total failure and the late chief rabbi of Amsterdam, Moses Löwenstamm (1747–1815), went to great lengths to prevent it.126 However, unhindered by Moses Löwenstamm’s efforts or by historical accuracy, Menachem Mendel Löwenstamm praises biblical Jewish military accomplishments. “We did not refrain from teaching the children of Judah how to use a bow, we sent our sons to the battlefield with a courageous heart, to drive out the enemy and the avenger from the borders of our country.”127 Moreover, the Jews sacrificed themselves for the well-being

122 Ibid., 409. 123 Ibid. 124 Ibid., 229. 125 Ibid. 126 ACA, 1241-480. Cf. Michman, Dutch Jewry During the Emancipation Period, 184–202; Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812.” 127 Kooij-Bas, “Nothing but Heretics," 229.

66 of the state. “A lot of blood was spilt and their lifeblood fled from their eyes.”128 For Löwenstamm, military participation and good citizenship were divinely ordained in the Talmud. By emphasizing the harmony between the Talmud and state law, he attempted to prove the eternal historical validity of the Talmud and thus its plausibility in modern times. The various orthodox Dutch responses all stressed the relevance of the Talmud for the present day and refused to accept any incongruence between Jewish law and the state. By denying any authority to the Reform rabbis and accusing them of heresy, they blotted them and their ideas out. The respondents in the torat ha-qena’ot considered the Reform movement as outside the Jewish framework and approached the movement as any would any other sectarian group in Jewish history. Moreover, they represented their interpretation of Judaism as eternally valid regardless of historical changes, and as such represented orthodoxy as the genuine answer to the questions of modern times.

4. Conclusion National identity and the introduction of citizenship as a new dispositive compelled Jews to rethink the place of Judaism in society. Several patterns of responses, often conflicting, can be identified in the wake of the legal transformation of Jews into citizens. Decades after legal emancipation, the modes of implementating citizenship continued to be disputed. This chapter identified two central modes of response. The maskilim heralded the new opportunities and embraced the idea of Judaism as a religion stripped of its civil powers. They welcomed civic duties, which enabled them to fully integrate into Dutch society, and viewed themselves firstly as citizens and secondly as Jews. Their response was to embrace and incorporate secular discourse. The Lehrens, on the other hand, opposed assimilation and developed ways to strengthen and impose their vision on Judaism; withdrawal characterized their response. However, to portray these two ends of the spectrum as a dichotomy between traditional and progressive does not do justice to the historical situation. The boundaries between Jewish groups were flexible, fluid, and much more complex than a simple binary opposition presumes. Although the historical actors portrayed themselves in terms of reform and orthodox or new and old, they engaged with the same discursive

128 Ibid., 230.

67 strands. For instance, both the maskilim and the so-called ‘orthodox’ formulated ways to reconcile Judaism and citizenship. Secondly, a concern for the common Jew characterized both groups. Additionally, the Sephardic liturgy was an ideal that inspired the Lehrens and the naye kille alike. As such, reform of religious rituals and the incorporation of enlightened ideals were not restricted to the maskilim. Both the Lehrens and the naye kille were part of the same constellations, yet each constructed its own ideal Judaism. Asides from the above-mentioned shared discursive strands, each also added its own particular discourses on Judaism to the mix. The maskilim were influenced by secularism and the Lehrens by Hassidism. This lead to diverging attributions of meaning to Judaism. In relation to the state, two discourses developed. The Lehrens formulated a transnational Judaism. They looked to other Jews for their sense of belonging. They felt they were part of a larger Jewish community stretching beyond national borders, sharing history, religion, and faith. The maskilim, however, constructed Judaism as part of the structure of the modern nation-state. As Jews, they felt intimately connected to their fellow citizens. They declared their loyalty through the performance of civic duties, the adoption of the national culture, and the endorsement of Judaism as a religion rather than as a nation. As a result of citizenship for the Jews, the unified Dutch Jewry broke into different voices.

Chapter two Civilizing the Jews: The reform of language, education, and religion

Yes, that Hamankloppen! Haman, was that not the age-old personification of the Jew- hater? When the megille was read on Purim and his name reverberated, then the Jew expressed his feelings through loud knocking. He vented all of the sorrow and suffering of his ancestry, all of the contempt, all of the injustice to which he was exposed daily; others whistle, he knocked; he was after all at home, he was after all in 1 sjoel by himself.

In the above citation, the late historian Hartog Beem (1892–1987) sees in the Jewish ritual of hamankloppen the essence of Judaism: the enduring oppression and survival of the Jewish people. For Beem, the Jewish body communicated the inner life and the Jews’ struggles. As such, seeing the Jew is knowing the Jew. This idea of a relationship between inner life and outward appearance also comes to the fore during the call for the reform of the (Dutch) Jewish community. Reforming Jewish behavior would elevate the Jew from his pitiful state and would make him a useful member of society. Various proposals from Jews and non-Jews aimed at reforming Jewish religion, the educational system, and Jewish language; the Jew’s outward appearance should mirror a civilized inner core. The following paragraphs discuss reforms directed toward elevating the Jewry in fundamental domains, such as language, education, and religion. As will become apparent, discourses representing the Jews as uncivilized and backward legitimized the (governmental) reform policy and functioned as a motor for religious change. The abolition of Jewish conspicuousness was regarded as a solution for the deplorable state of Jewry: ‘the Jewish question’. Therefore, the Jews were ordered to abandon Yiddish, to reform their religion according to modern tastes, and to adopt a secular curriculum. These reforms were widely endorsed by various factions in Dutch Jewry. However, the pressure on the Jewish way of life also contributed to resistance, which resulted in

1 Hartog Beem, De verdwenen Mediene: mijmeringen over het vroegere joodse leven in de provincie (Amstelveen: Amphora Books, 1982), 82–83. Pronunciation of the Hebrew differs in Yiddish, as they pronounce the ‘a’ vowels as an ‘o’. Beem uses the Yiddish pronunciation of the Hebrew; however, I use the more common spelling hamankloppen. 69 sacralizing the contested Jewish conspicuousness of the Yiddish language and expressive rituals. This chapter identifies Jewish responses to these civilizing efforts, and it will show that such efforts in some cases resulted in the essentialization and (romantic) appreciation of Jewish expressiveness, and in others lead to the refutation of such expressions.

1. The abandonment of Yiddish The promotion of the Dutch language and the fight against Yiddish were central to the Enlightenment programs of reform in the Netherlands. Already at the end of the eighteenth century, a proposal published in De Koopman regarded the vernacular as key to elevating the Jewish masses. The naye kille and their supporters considered language crucial in the civil improvement of the Jews, and accordingly published many pamphlets in Dutch. Moreover, they introduced Dutch in the synagogue for their announcements, sermons, and calling people up to the Torah, expecting that the linguistic reform of religious rituals would elevate, emancipate, and nationalize Dutch Jewry.2 Members of the naye kille found welcome support for their reform program in the government of King Louis. The High Consistory (1808) had numerous members of the naye kille and Felix Libertate among its ranks. After King Louis’ 1808 decree of the unification of the naye and alte kille, typical naye kille endeavors such as the promotion of Dutch, the reform of Jewish rituals, Jewish military service, and the education of the Jews became part of the High Consistory’s policy. For instance, in 1808 the High Consistory convinced King Louis to ordain a translation of the Pentateuch in Dutch and to require Jewish educators to teach in Dutch. The translation enforced the idea of a citizen-Jew, as it blended Dutch and Judaism. The maskilim also dominated the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs, founded in 1814 by Willem I, and consequently both commissions became dispositives and developed dispositives for ‘modernizing’ the Jewish community.3

2 Despite their ferocious support of the Dutch vernacular, even the naye kille members were not versed enough in Dutch, and consequently they wrote their regulations in Yiddish. Their minutes, however, are written in Dutch. See D.M. Sluys, “Het reglement van de Adath Jescherun (de ‘neie k’hilloh) te Amsterdam,” Reprint speech, NIW 12 and 19 June 1931 (nr. 5 and 6), 5; for the minutes, see ACA, 714: 2362 3 See for the influence of the maskilim on the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs, see Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders. De integratie van de joden in Nederland 1814–1851, 30–43. 70

From the foundation of the naye kille onwards, Jews opposed the abandonment of Yiddish and considered the use of Dutch unjewish. The use of Dutch (names) promoted intermarriage, was a sign of irreligiosity, and eventually led to the abandonment of Judaism. “Mourning over Jews like that! They want to take Kaatje and Mietje for a wife!” cries the Diskursn character Gumpel.4 He associates speaking Dutch and carrying Dutch names with Christianity. For the writers of the alte kille Diskursn, to be Jewish was something linguistic; a Jew should speak Yiddish and carry a Jewish name. Therefore, the use of Dutch was equated with conversion and a deviation from the Jewish way of life. “And then should I bring shame over myself and sign my Jewish name for a Christian? Maybe the Christian makes a mistake and thinks that that person isn’t a Jew. Is it a disgrace to be a Jew?”5 Moreover, Gumpel also ridicules the habit of many maskilim of using a Latinized version of their name. According to the alte kille, using a Dutch name was a sign of embarrassment about one’s Jewish background.

A certain son of Moushe Shoukhet, his name is Kalmen; he signs himself Carolus, and Leyb Veyzp, Louis, and the absent Arn Haker, Arnoldus. Let’s see if the forefathers of those people have signed like that. But it will appear again that they are ashamed of themselves because they are Jews. You’ll see that Carolus is going to have children one day. He is going to call [his son] Gerrit, so he is going to be called up in synagogue (N.B. if he remains a Jew): Habokher Gerrit ben hagvir Carolus!6

Clearly, only Jews who were uneasy with their Jewishness removed their distinctive Jewish features in order to pass as Dutch men. Not surprisingly, this argument continues in a Diskursn parody of the speech of Salomon de Jonge Meyer, a prominent Felix Libertate member. “The blind coincidence that gave me a Jew as father did not change any of my human qualities or rights,” de Meyer proclaimed.7 The citation was, however, changed into the following: “‘How can I alter my fate that my father was a Jew, and had me circumcised when I was eight days old?’’ Well, is that an argument for a Jew?”8 Accusations, such as being ashamed to be recognized as a Jew, were repeatedly directed

4 Joseph Michman and Marion Aptroot, Storm in the Community: Yiddish Polemical Pamphlets of Amsterdam Jewry 1797–1798, 226. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. 7 S. De Jong Meijers, Aanspraak gedaan in de Societeit Felix Libertate op den 18 Februarij 1795 (Amsterdam: J.L. van Laar Mahuët en de erven Jac. Benedictus, 1795), 3. 8 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 228 and 284.

71 at the maskilim. According to the writers of the alte kille’s Diskursn, the adoption of non- Jewish behavior was a combination of the wish to be socially accepted by Christians and embarrassment over a Jewish background. Moreover, they challenged the maskilic idea of Judaism as a private religion. As such, the alte kille’s resistance toward the Dutch language reflects their ideal of a distinctive, discernible, and conspicuous Jewishness.

Dutch in the synagogue In their discursive formations of Jewish identity, the authors of the alte kille’s Diskursn established the boundaries of Jewishness. They considered the use of Dutch ridiculous and unsuitable for a Jew. It was inappropriate for a Jew to remove the distinctive characteristics of the Jewish way of life. To eliminate the linguistic boundaries between Jews and Christians was perceived as mixing two incompatible things, a view that is emphasized when the writers use the Jewish theological concept of making a distinction (lehavdel) to describe the incompatibility between Jews and Christians. “Come here and see: Have we Jews not always been regarded on an equal footing with – to make a distinction – Christians?”9 However, this view contradicted the aim of many maskilim to be different only in religion. Because the alte kille authors regarded the distinctiveness of Jewish life as essential to Judaism, they fervently defended the preservation of all aspects of the Jewish way of life. Although Yiddish was at first merely a fact of life, they now interpreted its use religiously. Yiddish was not merely a language used by Jews; it was also an inextricable part of Jewish identity.10 For the alte kille authors, any alteration or novelty was a direct attack on Judaism and should therefore be rejected out of hand. The use of Dutch in the naye kille’s synagogue was especially targeted. When the Diskursn character Tevele tries to start a conversion in Dutch, he is immediately rebuked. “Persistent fool! Why do you speak Dutch with me? We’re not in the synagogue, are we?”11 By exaggerating the customs of the naye kille’s use of Dutch, the author attempts to expose the ridiculousness of speaking the nation´s vernacular. Interestingly enough, inexperience with Dutch did not serve as an argument against its use in the synagogue. Instead, a Jew speaking any other language than Yiddish functioned as an example of a despicable deviation from the social norm.

9 Ibid., 226. 10 There is a profound difference between Yiddish and Hebrew. Yiddish was the Jewish vernacular, while Hebrew was the holy language and was used in religious contexts. 11 Ibid., 304.

According to the alte kille, speaking Dutch was embarrassing and a violation of Jewish etiquette. The naye kille´s custom of using Dutch for its announcements countered normal, appropriate Jewish conduct. “Why else are we Jews? We must speak Yiddish among ourselves. How would it look if people in synagogue were standing together speaking Dutch!”12 Moreover, the new French manner of greeting was seen as being as detrimental and as ludicrous as speaking Dutch.13

Reb Sender: “Do you speak Dutch in your synagogue?” Yankev: “Yes, what do you think about that! On Yom Kippur, their rabbi went before minkhe to the manhig-hakhoudesh, paid him a compliment in Dutch with a blown kiss, and asked him about the news in the newspapers.”14

Speaking foreign languages and adopting new ways of communication was nothing more than affectation and was negatively contrasted with normal Jewish religious conduct. The Diskursn writers adopted this anti-Frenchification discourse from Dutch spectatorial and satirical literature. French culture was used in opposition to the construction of a Dutch identity in which obtuseness was seen as something positive.15 Interestingly, the alte kille’s Diskursn authors blended this discursive strand into their idea of Jewishness. Jewish identity now mirrored typical Dutch identity markers, such as sobriety and self-restraint. The writers of the alte kille voiced a widespread complaint, articulating the strong Jewish opposition to the use of Dutch in the synagogue. The chronicler Wing reports on the proclamation of the announcement of a day of thanks and fasting16 in Dutch in 1810: “Many left the synagogue, knocked on the desks, and stomped, and in every synagogue a decent proclamation was impossible.”17 Wing challenged the High Consistory’s reform initiatives. The abolition of what the maskilim considered “a

12 Ibid., 396. 13 Cf. Ibid., 298. 14 Ibid., 306. 15 Willem Frijhoff, “Verfransing? Franse taal en Nederlandse cultuur tot in de revolutietijd!” Bijdragen en Mededelingen betreffende de Geschiedenis der Nederlanden 104 (1989): 594–595. 16 Since the Middle Ages, the Dutch government decreed special days of thanks and fasting for the well-being of the country, for victory in war, for protection against deadly diseases, etc. These days of thanks and fasting were observed by all religious denominations and communities in the Netherlands. This tradition carried on well into the nineteenth century. 17 Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812,” 191.

73 horrible jargon” was one of the main objectives of the Dutch Haskalah.18 Therefore, the quest of the High Consistory to replace Yiddish with Dutch cannot be seen as separate from the German Haskalah and Mendelssohn’s aversion to Yiddish and promotion of German. Despite Jewish resistance to the use of Dutch, on 23 February 1813 the High Consistory decreed: “No one shall be called up for the books of Moses, or in the synagogue, or on any other occasion with another name than the one he normally uses and under which he is known in the Register of Births, Deaths and Marriages.”19 This decree served two purposes, namely the support of the Napoleonic Civil Code regarding the registration of citizens and the Dutchification of the Jews. The High Consistory forbade the Jewish custom of having both a civil and a religious name because it challenged the idea of a single national identity. Moreover, a Jewish name emphasized the otherness of the Jew. The decree aimed at the eradication of Jewish distinctiveness, while at the same time introducing the vernacular into the religious service, fostering and establishing the maskilic and governmental vision of Jewishness. The introduction of this dispositive, however, also triggered resistance and reinforced the status of traditional identity markers. On 12 December 1813, 42 Jews from Amsterdam who were against the introduction of Dutch in the synagogue requested that Willem I abolish the High Consistory in order to halt what they considered the ongoing intrusion on Jewish religion. In particular, they rejected the High Consistory’s authority.

And still the Consistory builds on the principles of the French Constitution, such as the separation of state and church and the idea that everyone can decide whether or not he wants to serve God. Immoral principles and godless purpose are as clear as the sun in the afternoon: the Consistory, through its employment of some useless paid clerks and civil servants, exhausted our funds for the poor so greatly that it can no longer distribute the necessary relief. Moreover, it has caused immeasurable debts. [We

18 Cf. Irene E. Zwiep, “Yiddish, Dutch and Hebrew: Language Theory, Language Ideology and the Emancipation of Nineteenth-Century Dutch Jewry,” Studia Rosenthaliana 1 (2000): 56–60; Bart Wallet, “’End of the Jargon-Scandal’ – The Decline and Fall of Yiddish in the Netherlands (1796–1886),” Jewish History 20 (2006): 333–348. 19 ACA, 1241-76.

request that you] abolish and destroy [the High Consistory] and allow this community to restore its own administration.20

According to the signatories, these high employment costs and community debts proved the High Consistory’s mismanagement. Moreover, they blamed the High Consistory for disseminating immoral doctrine, such as the free interpretation of religion. In their request, they asked for the restoration of the old regulations and administration, calling people up to the books of Moses in Hebrew and the right to make announcements in Hebrew. The Hebrew family names were, in their view, essential to the religious service. “Because it is part of calling people up to the books of Moses, which is part of the religious doctrine, it should therefore be observed, and it is absurd to change. [Dutch names] are heard with contempt by every right-minded Israelite.”21 The use of Dutch violated the Torah’s holiness, and they considered any change in the religious service outrageous. Their view of correct Jewish behavior dominated the signatories’ request, stating that announcements in Hebrew were for the “true Jew the easiest to understand.”22 Surprisingly, they asked for the return of Hebrew even though it was customary to use Yiddish. Apparently, the negative attributions of meaning to Yiddish as a ´horrible jargon´ made them reluctant to ask for its return. It remains open to question whether the majority of Jews were able to understand Hebrew at all, as most of them were uneducated. However, it was not understanding of the language that was at stake, as a real Jew could understand Hebrew. For the signatories, Dutch simply did not belong in the synagogue, and it certainly was not used by those they considered to be authentic Jews.23 The High Consistory’s civilizing efforts resulted in a renegotiation of appropriate and inappropriate Jewish behavior. As we have seen, Jews fiercely resisted the mandated abandonment of Yiddish. They regarded Yiddish as ingrained in their Jewish identity. Their response was characterized by a refusal to abandon traditional identity markers. Consequently, a cultural phenomenon such as the Yiddish language became a

20 ACA, 1241-81. 21 ACA, 1241-81. 22 Ibid. 23 One of those who signed, Eliazer Jonas Benjamin, had already requested on 16 May 1813 that the High Consistory allos him to use his Hebrew family name. See HC, inv.33. 75 focal point of strife. The language was religiously interpreted, and as such, the conflict turned into a power struggle over the authority to make religious changes.

The Hebrew Bible translation The abolition of Yiddish was part of the national language politics of King Louis Napoleon. Besides Yiddish, other so-called dialects or deviations from the ‘pure’ Dutch language, such as the Frisian language, needed to be eliminated as well.24 Later, the language politics of Willem I became central to the unification of the Netherlands and the creation of a Dutch identity.25 The Dutch translation of the Hebrew Bible became an important dispositive in the promotion of the vernacular. In imitation of Mendelssohn, who translated the Hebrew Bible into German, Dutch maskilim likewise advocated a Dutch translation. According to the Dutch maskilim, the translation was an excellent opportunity to reform Jewish education because the translation forced both teachers and students to learn Dutch. In 1809, they convinced King Louis Napoleon, who had already begun a campaign for the creation of a Dutch national identity, to issue a decree ordering a Dutch translation of the Jewish Bible. Wing reports on this maskilic effort: “This happened upon the request of the High Consistory to eradicate the Jewish language and to introduce Dutch among the Jews.”26 The decree stated that “the much-neglected use of the Dutch language should be encouraged and their so-called Jewish language abolished.”27 This new Hebrew Bible translation was to become the only ‘authentic translation’ allowed to be used in the religious instruction of Jewish children. The High Consistory urged teachers and rabbis to encourage the use of Dutch and permitted only teachers who were well versed in Dutch to teach. By appointing religious instructors, the High Consistory firmly controlled the implementation of the use of Dutch. Moreover, the use of any language other than Dutch during religious instruction was criminalized. If the

24 Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 97. 25 Cf. A. de Jonghe, De taalpolitiek van koning Willem I in de Zuidelijke Nederlanden (1814–1830). De genesis der taalbesluiten en hun toepassing (Brussel, 1943); Jeroen van Zanten, Schielijk, winzucht, zwaarhoofd en bedaard. Politieke discussie en oppositievorming 1813–1840 (Amsterdam: Wereldbibliotheek, 2004); Bas Kromhout, “De Neerlandisatiepolitiek van Willem I,” Historisch Nieuwsblad, 2008; Lode Wils, “De taalpolitiek van Willem I,” Bijdragen en Mededelingen betreffende de Geschiedenis der Nederlanden, 92 (1977). 26 Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812,” 110. 27 Ibid.

76 teacher violated this rule for the first time, he was suspended for six months; the second time, he lost his teaching permit permanently.28 Notwithstanding government support for the Dutch translation of the Hebrew Bible, many rabbis thwarted its appearance or showed some ambivalence toward it. Although they never explicitly rejected the new translation, their actions can be considered as delay tactics.29 For instance, Berenstein reluctantly reviewed the new translation. He excused the delay and sparse commentary by stating that he was not sufficiently well versed in Dutch to judge the new translation.30 Considering his upbringing in the Netherlands and his many Dutch publications, this is quite remarkable. Moreover, he first requested a raise in salary for his commentary on the new Bible translation:,”That you will see to a considerable yearly contribution, which would provide me with a worry-free life, which would enable me to embark on such a work with a spirit free from worries.”31 Contrary to his hesitation in this case, Berenstein continuously promoted the Dutch vernacular and emphasized the importance of a Dutch translation of the Jewish Bible.32 Berenstein feared that an improper (read: Christian) translation would corrupt Jewish youth. “These translations are offensive, pernicious, and very dangerous for Israelites. The translators do not know anything of the oral law or tradition of our sages from Sinai…[F]or them, it is only history…and therefore, they omit and add letters and words.”33 Besides the undesirable Christian influence, Berenstein regarded Dutch as unsuitable for religious instruction, even with a rabbinically approved translation. According to Berenstein, Mendelssohn thought likewise. “The famous Mendelssohn, even though he was well-versed in High German, published his commentary on his

28 HC, Staatssecr. Louis Nap., 10 Hay month 1809, no.6. Cf. Joseph Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period: Gothic Turrets on a Corinthian Building 1787–1815 (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 1995), 173–177. 29 Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 175. Cf. Meijer, Problematiek per post. Brieven van en over Joden in Nederland. Verzameld en toegelicht (Amsterdam: Joachimsthal, 1949), 36–37; Meijer ed., Maandblad voor de Geschiedenis der Joden (1947/48): 36–43. 30 Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 175. HC, Leeuwarden, 27 June 1810. 31 NA, SCIA, inv. 38, 15 March 1825. Berenstein quite often asks for a raise in salary; see for instance NA, SCIA, inv. 1, 1 July 1814; ACA, 1241-47, 17 March 1813. 32 For instance, ACA, 1241-47, letter to the commissary-general from 17 March 1813, wherein Berenstein supports the promotion of the Dutch vernacular. 1241-49, letter to the Supreme committee for Israelite Affairs, 10 November 1819. 33 Letter of acceptance of his function as school inspector, 19 April (year unknown) ACA, 1241-49.

77 famous translation in Hebrew.”34 Berenstein did not object to the Dutch translation a priori but hesitated to eliminate the Jewish languages, as not everyone could understand Dutch. He considered it important that everyone, from the well educated to the less educated, should be able to receive Jewish education. “Every Israelite with some mental capacities is obliged to study the Talmud, which contains the oral law, but even those lacking these mental capacities are obliged to be instructed on Bible commentaries and religious law.”35 For Berenstein, Jewish religion was inextricably bound up with Hebrew. Although in many history books Berenstein came to be known as the first rabbi to preach in the Dutch vernacular, his archival records tell another story. Contrary to his printed Dutch sermons, the majority of his sermons for Shabbat, the High Holidays, and special occasions such as national days of thanks and fasting were written in Hebrew.36 Although Berenstein endorsed the promotion of the Dutch vernacular, he was reluctant to implement it in religious instruction and writings. His argument that not everyone could understand Dutch is undermined by his written Hebrew sermons, which of course were incomprehensible for uneducated Jews. Therefore, an inability to understand the content of the sermon could hardly have been the only objection he had against Jewish instruction in Dutch. Moreover, in an earlier sermon he postulates the importance of reaching the audience, while at the same time continuing to preach in a high-flown Hebrew. Berenstein clearly shows ambivalence towards the use of Dutch. He presents himself to the High Consistory and government authorities as willing to comply with the modernizing efforts, but continues to preach and instruct in Hebrew. This paying lip- service-to change while maintaining the old structure characterized his conduct. As such, Berenstein’s actions demonstrate that a simple dichotomy between opponents and supporters of reform hardly does justice to the complex historical situation.

Pronunciation of Hebrew In addition to rejecting Yiddish, the maskilim also condemned the Ashkenazic pronunciation of Hebrew. According to them, its sound corrupted the pure Hebrew. Biblical Hebrew was a focal point of Dutch maskilim, and they used it to restore pride in

34 Ibid. 35 Ibid. 36 ACA, 1241-122-144

Judaism. From the seventeenth century onwards, an abundance of Hebrew grammars, poetry, and prose were produced and printed in Amsterdam.37 Moreover, in special societies such as Tongeleth (1815), Jews wrote and recited their newly created Hebrew poetry.38 Hebrew was a vehicle to reclaim the bygone, heroic biblical past and a way to elevate the Jewish community. The maskilim thought that the Sephardic pronunciation refleced the biblical Hebrew more precisely, which was no surprise given the high representation of Sephardim in these societies. Moreover, the maskilim used the admirable Sephardic history and cosmopolitan culture as a model for the regeneration of the Jewish community.39 As such, the Ashkenazi pronunciation entangled with the discourses on ‘the Jewish question’ and the Sephardim. The idea that the Sephardic pronunciation reflected Hebrew’s original sound was a new scientific insight. Until the beginning of the seventeenth century, scholars did not differentiate between the Sephardic and the Ashkenazic pronunciation, and before that period there is hardly any evidence of the problematic status of Hebrew pronunciation.40 However, under the influence of Christian theologians, who mostly adopted the Sephardic pronunciation of the Hebrew, this pronunciation came to be regarded as scientifically more accurate and correct.41 The adoption of Sephardic Hebrew by the theologians was probably due to the close contacts between Christian and Sephardic scholars, which in turn lead to a better appreciation for the Sephardic pronunciation.42 The first maskil to opt for the Sephardic pronunciation was Naphtali Hirsch Wessely (1725–1805), who wanted to rejuvenate Ashkenazi Jewry according to the Sephardic model. Wessely held the Sephardim in such a high esteem that he adopted their customs and arranged to be buried in a Sephardic cemetery. In his Words of Peace

37 For an extensive analysis of the revival of Hebrew in the Netherlands in the eighteenth century, see Zwiep, “Jewish Enlightenment Reconsidered: The Dutch Eighteenth Century.” 38 Cf. I. Maarsen, “‘Tongeleth’, een joodsch letterkundige kring in de 19e eeuw,” De Vrijdagavond; van der Heide, “Problems of 'Tongeleth'–poetry,” Studia Rosenthaliana 2 (1985); A.J. Hanou, “Joden en Nederlandse genootschappen 1750–1850,” in De Gelykstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid, edited by Hetty Berg (Amsterdam, Zwolle: Joods Historisch Museum, Amsterdam & Waanders Uitgevers, Zwolle, 1996), 25–34; Buijs, “Tot nut en eer van ’t jodendom. Joodse genootschappen in Nederland.” 39 Ismar Schorsch, “The Myth of Sephardic Supremacy,” in From Text to Context: The Turn to History in Modern Judaism (Hanover/London: Brandeis University Presss, University Press of New England, 1994), 71. 40 H.J. Zimmels, Ashkenazim and Sephardim: Their Relations, Differences, and Problems as Reflected in the Rabbinical Responsa (London: Oxford University Press, 1958), 83–85. 41 See further Joels W. Davidi, “Ashkenazim and the Sephardic Pronunciation of Hebrew,” 8 January 2010, http://ha-historion.blogspot.nl/2010/01/ashkenazim-and-sephardic-custom-and.html (accessed 21 November 2013). 42 Cf. Ruderman, Early Modern Jewry: A New Cultural History, 159–190.

79 and Truth, Wessely emphasizes the pleasant sound of the Sephardic Hebrew. “One cannot believe how superior the correct pronunciation of our brethren in the East and West is to that in use among ourselves; for the beauty and the pleasantness of the sound of their vowels for the ear makes an impression on the soul of the speaker.”43 Wessely connects the pronunciation with decorum and believes that the Sephardic pronunciation could elevate and regenerate the Jewish community. Moreover, like his fellow maskilim, he tried to recapture and relive the time when he believed the Jewish religion had been pure (namely biblical times) and not yet corrupted by Ashkenazi customs. Despite Wessely’s lack of success in convincing the Jews to adopt the Sephardic pronunciation, some years later the Dutch maskil and Hebraist Moses Lemans (1785– 1832) considered it time for the Jews to adopt the “scientific and more religiously correct” Sephardic pronunciation. This was the start of a ferocious pamphlet war over the correct pronunciation of the Hebrew. The pamphlet war exposes the tension between maskilic intellectuals and their opponents on the question of Jewish scholarly authority, and more precisely the question of who had the authority to change, annul, or install a new minhag. Because both sides regarded themselves as the only ones capable of interpreting Jewish law, they considered the others to be non-Jews and deviants. Central to this dispute was the question of authority, and consequently the pronunciation polemics primarily focused on discrediting the other side and developed into long tirades against the other’s supposed heresy. Moreover, these polemics demonstrate how the maskilim constructed their Jewish identity in opposition to Ashkenazic customs, which were perceived as irrational, erroneous, and offensive. The maskilic advocation of the Sephardic ideal resolved the issue of the negative connotations associated with the Ashkenazic lifestyle and with backward Jewish linguistic elements and was perceived as a step forward in the Jewish community’s civic improvement. Because of the pressure on the Ashkenazic pronunciation, opponents ferociously defended what they perceived to be essential for Jewishness and for the Jewish religion; they embraced the Ashkenazic pronunciation as an indispensable linguistic marker. As such, Hebrew pronunciation demarcated and constructed the boundaries of Jewish identities.

43 Library Rosenthaliana, Naphtali Herz Wessely, Dibre Shalom ve-Emeth, Fourth Letter, (Berlin: Jüdische Freischule, 1785). I used the English translation cited in Zimmel p. 87. 80

Hebrew pronunciation polemics In 1808, at the young age of 23 and probably unintentionally, Lemans started the pronunciation polemics with a short Hebrew article of only a couple of pages, titled Ma’amar imrei tserufa (Article on Pure Speech). In it, Lemans employed scientific as well as theological arguments for the abandonment of the Ashkenazic pronunciation. This publication on the correct pronunciation of Hebrew fitted well into his later educational program, as he published a Dutch translation of the Bible, a Dutch-Hebrew dictionary, and various Hebrew grammars. Moreover, he was a member of Tongeleth and founded the society Hanokh la na’ar al pi darkho (Train a child in the way he should go, taken from Prov. 22:6), which used Dutch translations of the Bible and of Hebrew prayers as educational tools.44 The publication of Ma’amar Imrah Tzerufa should be seen in the light of his educational program, which had a strong emphasis on the proper use of Hebrew and which regarded language as a means of edifying the Jewish community.45 Because of the general maskilic disavowal of rabbinic authority and the use of the scientific method, Lemans did not seek rabbinic approval for his publication.46 As a matter of a fact, he argued that his proposition was perfectly in line with Jewish tradition. “This article is about the phonology of the holy language, the forefathers and their history, and correct pronunciation, according to the testimonies of the first grammarians and Masoretes, Talmud scholars, and Tiberians, regarding the true holy language.”47 He continues by stating that his work is flawless and widely endorsed. “Because there is nothing [religious] forbidden or permitted, pure or impure in this article, it does not need a letter of rabbinic approval.”48 Lemans was confident in his argument and powers of persuasion; publishing arose out of a desire to bring about the truth. “I did it for the truth, as you and I know. I

44 Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 170. Cf. Meijer, Problematiek per post, 37. 45 Cf. Irene E. Zwiep, “Yiddish, Dutch and Hebrew: Language Theory, Language Ideology and the Emancipation of Nineteenth-Century Dutch Jewry,” Studia Rosenthaliana 1 (2000); Irene E. Zwiep, “Imagined Speech Communities: Western Ashkenazi Multilingualism as Reflected in Eighteenth-Century Grammars of Hebrew,” in Speaking Jewish – Jewish Speak: Multilingualism in Western Ashkenazic Culture, edited by Shlomo Berger, Studia Rosenthaliana 36 (Leuven/Paris/Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2003). 46 It was a widespread custom to ask for rabbinic approval of a Jewish religious work. Sometimes, the granting of haskamot (rabbinic approval) caused a dispute between rabbis or revealed their opposing views. Cf. Yitzhak Eric Zimmer, Gahlatan shel hahamim: peraqim be-toledot ha-rabanut be-Germanyah be- me’ah ha-shesh-eshreh uve me’ah ha-shiva-eshreh (Be’er Sheva: Ben Gurion University, 1999). 47 Moses Lemans, Ma´amar Imrah Tzerufa (Amsterdam, 1808), 1. 48 Lemans, Ma´amar Imrah Tzerufa, 1.

81 loved the truth and not money and all that is tedious. The publication of this article was to establish truth and not for the sake of profit.”49 Just as Wessely did, he emphasizes the truth as the motivation for the reform of Jewish rituals. For Lemans, it was important to establish his sincerity and authority. In his introduction, Lemans identified himself as part of a group of maskilic reformers, as his brochure was requested by “devotees to Ashkenazi Jewish students like me.”50 By establishing the adoption of the Sephardic pronunciation as a widely supported desire, Lemans legitimized his reform proposals. Lemans regarded religion and science as equally important in establishing what he called the “true pronunciation of the holy tongue.” In Lemans’ eyes, history, linguistics, and Rashi (1040–1105) provided reliable evidence for the correctness of the Sephardic pronunciation of Hebrew. Lemans derived his authority from the Jewish sages as well as from secular sources, such as scientific analysis and historical accounts, and he developed three distinctive scientific arguments to prove his case. According to Lemans, the Sephardic pronunciation was more authentic, but had unfortunately been forgotten. The adoption of this pronunciation was therefore not a new invention, but a return to the old situation.51 Furthermore, linguistic theory and phonology demonstrated the correctness of the Sephardic pronunciation.52 Its phonation was more closely related historically to the languages spoken in Egypt, and hence more accurate than the Ashkenazic pronunciation.53 Lemans’ scientifically based Jewish exegesis resulted from the shifting discursive constellations of science and religion. The blending of science and religion, which were already apparent in the methods of German biblical scholars, legitimized and established the later Wissenschaft des Judentums, which provided Judaism with a scientific basis. Lemans’ scientific method also comes to the fore in his publication on Talmudic mathematics in 1816.54 Furthermore, the large amount of space in Lemans’ brochure devoted to historical facts can also be seen in the light of the German maskilic use of history to formulate and legitimize their own sought-after Jewish future.55 That not

49 Ibid. 50 Ibid, 3. 51 Lemans, Ma´amar Imrah Tzerufah, 4. 52 Ibid., 5–6. 53 Ibid., 11. 54 Moses Lemans, Proeve van Talmudische Wiskunde, waarin gehandeld wordt over de kundigheden.... (Amsterdam: Geysbeek & Comp., 1816). 55 Shmuel Feiner, Haskalah and History: The Emergence of a Modern Jewish Historical Consciousness, trans.

82 everyone appreciated this new historical foundation for the Jewish language was well acknowledged by Lemans. In his final appeal, he once again highlights his use of secular and religious sources when he refers simultaneously to God and Plato. “The one who loves Socrates also loves Plato, but he loves the truth most. Even though I am young, I 56 please God with my knowledge.” Lemans had already anticipated what would soon become a ferocious pamphlet war, and he tries to appease his audience. “I ask of every reader, that they shall study these things quietly and moderately and not hurry to jump on and divide up the new things that you have heard, even if it is against what you have thought until now to be a certain truth.”57 Moreover, by insisting that he only wants to discuss the matter, he hopes to circumvent a polemic not based on solid arguments. His attempt to keep the discussion grounded in purely rational arguments was futile, however, and his young age especially would become one of the focal points of criticism. Soon after Lemans’ proposal, an anonymous pamphlet was published arguing against the adoption of the Sephardic pronunciation. The pamphlet, aptly titled Divrei Mesharim (Words of Righteousness), warned “our brothers, Jewish students, that they should not enter into the heated argument of the writer.”58 In the very first lines, the author(s) discredited Lemans based on his age, and throughout the pamphlet Leman´s ignorance will be given as the reason for his erroneous thoughts. Because of his youth and presumed lack of knowledge, he misinterpreted the Jewish sources and strayed from the righteous path. “[A]nd here, as if he outweighs [the tradition of the Ashkenazi pronunciation, he] pokes his nose between great scholars and Gaon, who were not challenged by any sage of that time.”59 The anonymous writer(s) blamed the former naye kille and Felix Libertate member David Friedrichsfeld for corrupting the mind of the young Lemans as well as other students.60 They claimed that he manipulated the young Lemans into proposing

Chaya Naor and Sondra Silverston (Oxford,/Portland, Ore.: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2004), 31. 56 Lemans, Ma´amar Imrah Tzerufah, 4. 57 Ibid. 58 Anonymous, Divre Mesharim : Ve-hu Neged Divre ha-meḥaber Maʾamar Imrah Tzerufah... (Amsterdam, 1808). 59 Ibid. 60 David Friedrichsfeld was highly influenced by the ideas of Mendelssohn and Wessely on the Hebrew language. He was under the patronage of the Mulder family and taught Samuel Mulder, founder of the 83 such an outrageous idea. “Who is he, and for what purpose is it, that [Lemans’] heart was filled with abomination of the Lord and [consequently he argued] to abolish the pronunciation. For evil! And enough with the persuasion of the evil waters61 that are in every heretic and in the books of Be Abedan.”62 According to the anonymous writers, Friedrichsfeld’s ideas went beyond a proposal for reform; his heretic thoughts placed him outside of Judaism: he was an unbeliever and an apostate. By rejecting the possibility of a historically developed phonation and making accusations of heresy and wickedness, the discussion quickly turned into a ferocious dispute. Friedrichsfeld was blamed for corrupting the youth in order to enlarge his group of followers. According to the anonymous writers, Lemans misinterpreted sources and wrongly employed philosophical arguments to establish the rules for the vocalization. “If there would be a rule in it,” the writers argue, “it would be recounted by the Gaon.”63 Immediately after the anonymous polemic against Lemans was published, two of his teachers published pamphlets in his defense.64 Both of these polemics, one from Tzvi Hirsch Sommerhaussen (1781–1853) and one from David Friedrichsfeld, were printed by the publishing house Emden and Son. Sommerhaussen continues the harsh polemical tone and calls the Divrei Mesharim authors “destroyers” and “saboteurs,” expressions indicating that it is they who are damaging Jewish religion. Sommerhaussen regards himself as “a friend against the destroyers; they are liars that consolidate crookedness and slander the young man, the writer of Imrah Tzerufah.”65 Like Lemans, he justifies himself by stating that “some outstanding individuals asked for honesty and the truth.” By referring to the approval of high-standing individuals, Sommerhaussen tried to establish his credibility and sway Jewish public opinion in his favor.

Hebrew society Tongeleth and translator of the Hebrew Bible. Besides teaching Samuel Mulder, he also instructed the young Lemans. 61 This is a rabbinic expression for bad thoughts. 62 Be Abedan was a meeting place of early Christians where religious disputes were held. The term is used as an expression for the books of heretics or Jewish sectarians. See further Talmud Bavli, trans. Sorincon, Sabbath 116a. Anonymous, Divre Mesharim, 1. 63 Ibid., 1. 64 It is also no wonder that the three of them were later members of the Letteroefenend Genootschap Tot Nut en Beschaving (Literary Society for the Common Good and Civilization) founded by Sommerhausen and active in Tongeleth, an organization for the promotion of the Hebrew language. Cf. Buijs, “Tot nut en eer van ’t jodendom. Joodse genootschappen in Nederland;” Maarsen, “‘Tongeleth’, een joodsch letterkundige kring in de 19e eeuw.” 65 Tzvi Hirsch Sommerhaussen, Rodef Mesharim (Amsterdam: van Emden en zoons, 1808), 2.

In return, Sommerhaussen accuses the writers of Divrei Mesharim of heresy. The pamphlet opens with Isaiah and reveals his argumentation: “Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that change darkness into light, and light into darkness; that change bitter into sweet, and sweet into bitter! (Isaiah 5:20).”66 By opening with this verse, Sommerhaussen compares the anonymous defenders of the Ashkenazi pronunciation with the persons rebuked by Isaiah. They were mistaken and twisted good into evil, just as the anonymous writers corrupted Lemans’ sincere proposal. According to Sommerhaussen, two opposite camps emerged in the community, either adhering to the Sephardic pronunciation or opposing its implementation. “And we hear an opposite voice, and we see groups with competitors and participants proding each other, and the wise man in between vigorously calls, and [as a result] the voices of the snakes will disappear.”67 Here Sommerhaussen compares the advocates with the wise and characterizes the opponents as snakes, and thus presents the pronunciation dispute as a struggle between good and evil, rationality and irrationality. Consequently, Sommerhaussen emphasizes his own rationality and moderation.

[A]nd if the good messenger’s voice hears peace? Or if the vigorous man helps as an endowed hero and publicly declares to them his orders and his doctrines and teaches the righteous way to every man who desires life? There will be darkness if we approach the mist and remove the light. Because if the fool hears a perverted and 68 twisted man speak in the name of many, he will likewise be perverted.

At the end of Sommerhaussen’s denouncement, he lists several arguments against the writer(s) of Divrei Mesharim. First, Sommerhaussen challenges the accusation against Friedrichsfeld for corrupting the youth, which he calls “an absolute lie.” Moreover, he objects to the anonymous authors’ claim that Lemans’ work is “worthless, ridiculousness, foolish, and confusing.” According to Sommerhaussen, the “boy is true and honest in his belief.” He also wonders why “those envious fools did not arise openly to rebuke him.” Sommerhaussen refers here to the anonymity of the writer(s) of Divrei Mesharim. He believes jealousy was their incentive, because if they objected to Lemans’ proposition honestly, they would have faced him openly.

66 Sommerhaussen, Rodef Mesharim, 1. 67 Ibid., 2. 68 Sommerhaussen, Rodef Mesharim, 2.

In addition to Sommerhaussen, Friedrichsfeld also intervened and defended his former student Lemans. He wrote a Ma’anah Rah (Gentle Answer) to “the furious and the enraged” who “published evil slander” and accuses the writers of Divrei Mesharim of being “liars” who “even hid their names,” and he hopes that God may wipe them “away from the entire universe on earth.”69 Like Lemans and Sommerhaussen, he starts his pamphlet by addressing the Jews in Amsterdam in an attempt to get public opinion on his side. “You all are sons of Jacob, those residing in Amsterdam; teachers and rabbis, leaders and acquaintances, brothers, friends, and companions are you. I chose to come to you to judge between me and my wicked enemies as sinners of the soul.”70 Friedrichsfeld’s tone is extremely polemical as he mercilessly faults the anonymous writers. He calls the writers “dead men” and compares them with “vermin, which crawls on the surface of the earth” and with “dogs.” They are a “shame and a disgrace, and they hide behind the mask of flattery.” He rages throughout his pamphlet against the anonymous writers, who he considers “stupid” and “evil.” He cannot understand why someone could possibly object to Lemans’ proposal. “As if we said to abolish customs and traditions….and not to believe in the covenant anymore.”71 With this remark, Friedrichsfeld touched upon an important aspect, namely the question of who had the authority to change or reform Jewish customs. Not surprisingly, a response came from the defenders of the Ashkenazi pronunciation. This polemic, called Meshiv Hema (Furious Answer), was, like the Divrei Mesharim, anonymous. Why these authors concealed their names is puzzling. Maybe the highly polemical tone and tirades against Lemans, Sommerhaussen, and Friedrichsfeld were easier to write anonymously. Another reason could be the dominant position of maskilim in the High Consistory. Because they were also responsible for the distribution of many jobs, such as teaching positions, it was probably wise not to antagonize the sitting maskilic elite.72 Although many motives can be discerned, it remains striking that the maskilim choose to openly publish their opinions while their opponents hid their identities.

69 David Friedrichsfeld, Ma’anah Rah (Amsterdam: van Embden en zoons, 1808), 2. 70 Friedrichsfeld, Ma’anah Rah, 2. 71 Ibid. 72 Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 35-50.

In Meshiv Hema, the author sets out “to strengthen belief and annul the words of Rodef Mesharim and Ma’anah Rah.”73 This author, like his predecessors, is of the opinion that he is honoring God’s commands. In this respect, both supporters and opponents of the Sephardic pronunciation of Hebrew regarded their point of view as perfectly compatible with Jewish law. Moreover, both parties saw fit to emphasize their belief in the Jewish religion and their observance of Jewish law. Because of this shared understanding, the polemicists accuse each other of violation of Jewish law and of apostasy. “Who of us is greater than those people [the rishonim and achronim] upholding our traditions in order to strengthen our faith?” the anonymous author rhetorically asks74 To doubt the ancient Jewish sages was unthinkable in his eyes, and he attempts to set it straight and “not like the writer of Rodef Mesharim to foster arguments and to tell lies about the righteousness ancients in words of pride and disdain.”75 The author refrains from accusing Lemans of heresy, as “he has more important things to discuss.” For instance, Sommerhaussen misinterprets the late chief rabbi of Amsterdam, Saul Löwenstamm, when he claims that this scholar favored the Sephardic pronunciation.76 In the opinion of the anonymous author, Sommerhaussen is “stupid” and “speaks nonsense and lies.”77 And after accusing the supporters of the Sephardic pronunciation of being “sinners” and “heretics,” the writer clarifies why he so zealously defends the Ashkenazic pronunciation. The anonymous author lists three arguments for his defense. Firstly, the author reveals one of the most important aspects of orthodoxy, namely the equating of tradition and Torah. “Everyone should speak in the known language, and so much the more as the minhag of Israel is law, impossible to annul.”78 This is a position held by many in the orthodox camp, and it explains why they accused anyone who deviated from the current tradition of apostasy and heresy. A second argument, deriving from this point of view, is the absolute authority of the Jewish sages. “They follow the twisted and perverted path, and secondly it is called heresy, as everyone who mocks the words of the sages is a

73 Anonymous, Meshiv Hema (Amsterdam, 1808), x. 74 Ibid., 2. 75 Ibid. 76 Anonymous, Meshiv Hema, 2. 77 Ibid., 2–3. 78 Ibid., 3

87 heretic.” And thirdly, to a “lesser degree,” they “enlarge their evil group.”79 In short, the anonymous author ignores the arguments of Lemans’ and subsequent authors. Instead, he denounces the maskilic writers as evil heretics, incapable of interpreting the Jewish sources. Additionally, this last polemic in the Sephardic pronunciation controversy does not put forward any new arguments. Just like Friedrichsfeld’s polemic, accusations and attempts to besmirch the opponent’s reputation make up most of the content. Neither camp shies away from tirades and ad hominem attacks. Friedrichsfeld in particular devotes several pages to his fury, which, considering his depiction as someone who corrupts the youth, is not surprising. Both opponents and defenders of the Sephardic pronunciation were convinced that they were voicing the correct religious truth, and as such, each challenged the other’s religious authority and credibility. Moreover, they connected the Hebrew pronunciation with their Jewish identity. For supporters of the Haskalah such as Friedrichsfeld, Sommerhaussen, and Lemans, the Sephardic Jew was the ideal, and they regarded their pronunciation as superior and authentic. In contrast, the anonymous writers considered all historically developed traditions authoritative, and they perceived any attempt to change these as heresy and a threat to religion. Both camps regarded each other as heretics, incapable of interpreting the Jewish sources. Their conflicting points of view reveal their different ideas on the future of Judaism, either reformed to fit the Sephardic ideal or preserved in adherence to the status quo.

2. Educating the Dutch Jews Education was an important tool in the elevation of impoverished Jewry. It functioned as the dispositive of the new discourses on nation(-building), citizenship, and Jewishness. In this new discourses however, the Jewish religion and the Yiddish language as aspects of Jewish education were pushed to the side in favor for the secular (state) discourse. Education became a means to install and communicate the nation’s values. Not surprisingly, European maskilim focused their efforts on the reformation of the Jewish school system. Educating Jewish youth was, according to them, a first step in the regeneration of the Jewish community. Likewise, the High Consistory attempted to

79 Ibid., 4

88 reform the Jewish educational system.80 Their efforts concentrated especially on schools for the poor.81 Teaching them Dutch and providing them with the ‘essential’ religious values would, as most maskilim assumed, deter them from begging and laziness. By learning useful skills, poor youth would be able to rise from poverty and participate as honest Jewish citizens in society.

Reform of the Jewish schools Both the Sephardic community and the Ashkenazi community provided religious education for poor Jewish children. From the start, discourses on education were intrinsically linked to religious discourses. School names such as Talmud Torah attest to this discursive entanglement, and curriculum consisted mostly of Hebrew grammar, Jewish prayers, and biblical and Talmudic texts. Sephardic schools were held in high esteem, while the Ashkenazic school system was considered seriously flawed.82 The evaluation of school systems was linked to discourses on the Jew, which came to regard the Sephardim as ideal Jews in contrast to the ‘backward’ Ashkenazim. As a result of this constructed binary, the Ashkenazic schools for the Jewish poor, with their traditional curriculum, became a focal point for Dutch maskilic reform, and this motivated the

80 These attempts should be separated from the Dutch Education Act of 1806, which established a public school with a Christian orientation. Because of this Christian identity, Jews were reluctant to send their children to these schools, and public schools often refused to take Jewish children as they threatened Christian identity. Moreover, middle-class Jews sent their children to either private, ‘religious’ schools, which were rated as second class, or employed private tutors. Cf. Marjoke Rietveld-van Wingerden and Siebren Miedema, “Freedom of Education and Dutch Jewish Schools in the Mid-Nineteenth Century,” Jewish History 17 (2003): 31–54; N.L. Dodde and M.M.P. Stultjens, “Jewish Education in Schools in the Netherlands from 1815 to 1940,” Studia Rosenthaliana 1 (1996): 67–87; Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 137–141; D.S. van Zuiden, “Een geschiedenis van het Israelitisch Kerkgenootschap tot ca. 1870. School- en ArmenwEHen,” Studia Rosenthaliana 2 (1971): 199–207; Dan Michman, “Jewish Education in the Early 19th Century – from Independence to Governmental Supervision,” in Studies on the History of Dutch Jewry II, edited by Joseph Michman (Jerusalem: “Daf-Chen” Press Ltd, 1979), 89–138. 81 A typical feature of Jewish schools was the segregation between religious and secular education. Jewish education encompassed three types of schools, namely religious schools, secular schools, and separate seminaries. Religious schools had three levels. At the first level, the students learned Hebrew grammar and the daily prayers, and at the second level they also learned the translation of and commentary on the Hebrew Bible. Only at the third level was the Talmud taught. Seminary education comprised Jewish law and the Talmud. Contrary to religious education, the secular school was primarily devoted to language. The students learned Dutch spelling, writing, and reading as well as writing Hebrew letters and arithmetic. Some schools also taught the students French, history, and geography. Dodde and Stultjens, “Jewish Education in Schools in the Netherlands from 1815 to 1940,” 68–78. 82 Marjoke Rietveld-van Wingerden, “Van segregatie tot integratie. Joods onderwijs in Nederland (1800- 1940),” in School en cultuur. Eenheid en verscheidenheid in de geschiedenis van het Belgische en Nederlandse onderwijs (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2006), 57. 89 foundation in 1808 of an educational organization called Hanokh la na’ar al pi darkho.83 This organization developed teaching methods and published several manuals. It also promoted a secular curriculum, which would provide Jewish youth with the tools to earn a decent income. The organization used education as a tool to battle poverty, simultaneously establishing and legitimizing the new maskilic Jewish ideal type. This emphasis on educational reform was not only a maskilic effort. During the French period and afterwards, the government issued various decrees on the improvement of the educational system, and the Education Act of 1806 can be considered as the most important one, making education an important dispositive of the new nation. Under the auspices of the High Consistory, reform of the Jewish educational system leapt forward. The improvement of the educational system was one of their key goals, and they considered Jewish youth as pivotal in transforming the Jewish community into good citizens. Moreover, education provided many opportunities to introduce the Dutch language and a secular curriculum. In order to map the problems of the Jewish educational system, the government appointed J.D. Meyer as a school inspector. His task was to make an inventory of the Jewish schools for the poor. On 17 January 1809, he described how he witnessed several problems during his inspection. First, the classrooms were too small and unhealthy, which was “contrary to the hygiene regulations.”84 Meyer refers here to the new Education Act of 1806 for state schools, which ordered that “classrooms should be clean and hygienic, and should be aired in between class times and cleaned twice a week.”85 The Education Act also prevented over-crowded conditions, as it stated that a single teacher should not teach more than 70 students at one time.86 Views on clean and fresh air were applied to the teaching conditions of schools. According to the educational reformers, unhealthy conditions hindered a stimulating learning environment. Therefore they directed the first reform efforts toward the establishment of healthy

83 Joseph Michman, Hartog Beem, and Dan Michman, Pinkas. Geschiedenis van de joodse gemeenschap in Nederland, 72–73. The Jewish educational system was also segregated along economic lines. Affluent Jewish families employed private teachers, while Jews from the middle class sent their children to private schools. R. Reinsma, “Pogingen tot assimilatie en emancipatie van het Joodse kind in Nederland na 1796. Israëlitische scholen onder de koningen Willem I en II,” Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 4 (1964): 448–466. 84 HC, inv.1, 17 January 1809. 85 From the Verzameling van wetten betrekkelijk het Lager Onderwijs in Zuid Holland. Gorinchem, J. Noorduyn en Zoon, 1846. 86 Article 4. “When the number of students exceeds seventy people, an assistant or second teacher, if possible, shall be employed.” Verzameling van wetten betrekkelijk het Lager Onderwijs in Zuid Holland. 90 classrooms. At the end of the nineteenth century, the connection between healthy surroundings and moral elevation would also be applied to housing for the working class and the poor. Even though the act restricted the number of students, it did not entirely provide for a spacious educational environment. The Ashkenazi Talmud Torah School of the Uilenberger synagogue, for instance, was referred to in 1822 as the “Uilenberger storehouse.”87 In addition, the moral conduct of both teachers and students was in dire need of improvement. According to Meyer, “the behavior of both teachers and students is such that it contributes more to a detrimental effect on their morality than it improves their capabilities.”88 He was appalled by the teachers’ punitive abuse. “[I]n these schools, we can say, punishment is abused, causing not only cruelty, insensitivity, and shamelessness, but also arousing and fostering lecherous thoughts, which should not come to mind, especially not among children.”89 Meyer´s vision of punishment resembles the educational views of the eighteenth-century German pedagogues known as the philantropines. Following Rousseau, they emphasized rewarding good behavior instead of punishing bad behavior. In addition, the Maatschappij tot Nut van ‘t Algemeen, a voluntary organization which aimed at elevating the masses, advocated rewarding instead of punishing. They even distributed educational material that enabled the educator to list the students’ good behavior.90 Meyer’s third point of criticism concerned the teachers’ capabilities and education. The Education Act of 1806 devotes a large section to the professionalization of the teacher. A system of examination was installed to improve the quality of teachers.91 As such, governmental reform of the educational system became a means to control and internalize the new national values. Teachers who displayed ignorance and misconduct received a single warning and then lost their teacher’s permit.92 Although the act attempted to ban untrained teachers, it lacked proper implementation and supervision. Thus Meyer could visit a Jewish school were the teacher obviously lacked

87 Rietveld-van Wingerden, “Van segregatie tot integratie. Joods onderwijs in Nederland (1800-1940),” 60. 88 From the Verzameling van wetten betrekkelijk het Lager Onderwijs in Zuid Holland. 89 Ibid. Although the government prohibited corporal punishment in class beginning in 1820, until the 1950s it was customary for teachers to use a stick. 90 Arianne Baggerman and Rudolf Dekker, De wondere wereld van Otto van Eck. Een cultuurgeschiedenis van de Bataafse Revolutie (Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Bert Bakker, 2009), 64–86. 91 From the Verzameling van wetten betrekkelijk het Lager Onderwijs in Zuid Holland. 92 Ibid.

93 competence; Meyer described him as “over 84 years old and blind.” In short, the school Meyer described, with its packed classroom, corporal punishment, and incompetent teacher(s), symbolized the detrimental state of the Jewish educational system. The Education Act of 1806 and the improvement of state schools influenced the High Consistory to intensify their reform efforts. Despite their endeavor change was slow, and in 1813 the High Consistory reported to the Amsterdam School Commission: 94 “The Israelite schools are, compared to the general school system, backward.” The High Consistory blamed physical hindrances and a disregard for their regulations for this failure. In 1817, the reform efforts received support from important legislation. Willem I banned Yiddish and restricted religious instruction in favor of a secular curriculum, allowing only half of class time to be devoted to religious education. As a result of the shifting discursive formations of the Jew, the use of Dutch and economic independence replaced religion as more important elements of Jewishness. For secular instruction the children could attend a public school, which many students did. However, some Jewish schools also provided a secular curriculum.95 Moreover, the same Education Act barred untrained teachers and made school inspection a state concern. Although many changes had been implemented, the quest for better schooling continued. Fifteen years later, in 1828, Jewish education and school facilities were still lacking, according to the Amsterdam school commission: “[T]he Jewish population of this city [Amsterdam] is… very backward in education; although the Israelite schools for the poor have been much improved, there is nonetheless a lack of possibilities for Jewish children to get an education.”96 Despite various implemented improvements, school attendance remained low. Less than 60% of all children aged six to twelve, including Jewish children, attended school. Social and economic circumstances were responsible for the reluctance of the Jewish poor to attend school, because some families depended on the income of all family members, including the children. Even though the school board held the parents

93 HC, inv.1, 17 January 1809. 94 HC, inv. 17, 12 January 1813. 95 Wingerden, “Van segregatie tot integratie. Joods onderwijs in Nederland (1800–1940),” 59. 96 SCIA, inv. 51, 31 January 1828. It is important to remember that the reform efforts were directed at schools for the Jewish poor. Private schools, such as the Ashkenazi Talmud Torah, and private teachers, who were hired by affluent Jewish families, remained outside the sphere of influence of the High Consistory and later the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs. 92

97 accountable, families often kept children at home. A second reason for low school attendance was the lack of schools for the poor. Only half of the Jewish children in Amsterdam could find seats in a classroom. In a city such as Rotterdam, the opportunities were even less favorable, and in 1840 the schools still turned away one 98 third of the children. Consequently, school attendance among the Jewish poor was minimal. Ironically, the scarce schooling opportunities were an unwanted consequence of the Education Act of 1806. The combination of a restricted number of teaching permits and a lack of trained Jewish teachers resulted in a teachers’ shortage. That is why teachers from Poland and Germany still found employment in Jewish schools, even though they had little knowledge of the Dutch vernacular. According to a governmental report in 1806, these teachers turned their students into “de petites Polonaise ou Allemandes.”99 Despite these educational efforts, the elevation of the Jewish poor continued to be a point of concern. Although the school system offered many opportunities to remodel the Jewish poor into worthy Jewish citizens, a combination of lack of schools and indifference prevented the poor from fully benefitting.

A Jewish signature A central issue in reform of the Jewish educational system was religion. Half of the curriculum comprised religious instruction, and some schools offered solely religious teaching. For the secular curriculum, most Jewish children attended state schools. There were two problems Jewish children faced when attending these schools: they had a Christian character and were open on the Sabbath. The statutes of the state schools explicitly stated their religious orientation, “educating [the children] into all social and 100 Christian virtues.” Therefore, some Jewish parents hesitated to enroll their children in a Christian environment. This happened mostly outside of Amsterdam, because in the Jewish quarter of Amsterdam the state schools enrolled many Jewish students, and the

97 ACA, 714, Minutes, 27 June 1798 t/m 1806, p. 34. 98 Dodde and Stultjens, “Jewish Education in Schools in the Netherlands from 1815 to 1940,” 71. 99 Cited in: Dodde and Stultjens, “Jewish Education in Schools in the Netherlands from 1815 to 1940,” 74. 100 From the Verzameling van wetten betrekkelijk het Lager Onderwijs in Zuid Holland. Gorinchem, J. Noorduyn en Zoon, 1846. Rules for the lower school system within the Batavian Republic 1806, art. 22. 93

Christian identity proved to be a hollow phrase.101 On the other hand, some state schools refused Jewish children, fearing they would jeopardize the Christian character of the 102 school. Regardless of the nationalizing policies of the successive governments, Dutch society remained segregated along denominational lines.103 The entanglement of the discourses on Christianity, citizenship, and nation(- building) in the Dutch educational system proved to be an obstacle for the integration of Jews. As a result, the employment of Christian teachers at Jewish schools was considered problematic by both sides. Christians hesitated to teach in an all-Jewish environment such as the Jewish quarter, and Jews considered a Christian educator incapable of teaching their children the essentials of Jewish life. Because of the restricted Jewish access to Christian schools, Jews sent their 104 children to Jewish schools. Educational segregation also characterized the policy of the Amsterdam School Committee in 1828 as it proposed to employ two ‘unqualified’ Jewish teachers in vacant positions, because Christian teachers did not want to become Jewish schoolteachers or live in the Jewish quarter. “It is clear that an Israelite, although unfavorable compared to the other candidates, could be of great value. And we favor… seeing Jewish schoolteachers within [the school] walls. We propose to let only Jews fill the vacant positions.”105 In order not to arouse opposition from the maskilim because it promoted Jewish segregation and jeopardized the principle of equality, a specific job description was drawn up in order to attract Jewish applicants. Thus, besides teaching the regular courses, knowledge of Hebrew and of Judaism were required. The city council even proposed omitting the word Israelite because that would be “inappropriate and too conspicuous.” According to them, the ability to teach Hebrew would suffice, as that would only attract Jews, because “the civilized Israelite” knew Hebrew. Because both the

101 Dan Michman, “Joods onderwijs in Nederland 1616–1905,” in Stichting Joodse Scholengemeenschap JBO (Amsterdam, 1973), 24–25. 102 Dodde and Stultjens, “Jewish Education in Schools in the Netherlands from 1815 to 1940.” 103 See for instance the later school struggle, schoolstrijd, between 1848 and 1917, which revolved around the question of whether religious schools were eligible for state financial support. Surprisingly enough, and contrary to Christian schools, Jewish schools were financially supported by the government, albeit scarcely. 104 Contrary to Roman Catholics and Protestants,until 1848 Jews were encouraged to establish their own schools. Cf. Rietveld-van Wingerden and Miedema, “Freedom of Education and Dutch Jewish schools in the Mid-nineteenth Century,” 31–54. 105 SCIA, N152, letter dated 31 January 1828.

94 committee and the city council knew that according to Dutch law religious affiliation could not be a selection criterion, they hid their intentions by emphasizing the Jewish 106 nature of the school. Their wish to employ Jews probably resulted from the fact that Jewish education was already segregated. Moreover, pragmatic considerations, such as a lack of teachers, contributed to their willingness to set aside equality. The president of the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs, Jacob Mendes de Leon, disapproved of religious educational segregation. Via a friend, he discovered the committee´s letter to the city council. “There is great evil in entrusting to the less capable candidates the primary education of our fellow believers only because the candidates are Jews. If the school committee fulfils its duty, it cannot employ incapable 107 people for the education of useful members of society.” Even though he admits that there is a lack of educational possibilities for affluent Jews and that other schools reject Jews, Mendes de Leon considers the incorporation of Hebrew and Jewish religion into the curriculum as the essential problem. The entanglement of religious and secular discourses in the Jewish educational system formed an obstacle to the integration of Jews in Dutch society. “Only rarely do affluent Israelite fathers request that their children be educated in Hebrew and Jewish religion.” According to Mendes de Leon, such an emphasis in Jewish education would lead to “segregation and not fraternization.” Mendes already hints at the trend among affluent Jews to disregard religious prescriptions and embrace secular culture.108 Mendes de Leon preferred a universal school, where “general concepts of religion could be taught, which could be accepted by all denominations.” Contrary to his enlightened view of religion, the majority of the Christian denominations opposed general education and argued instead for the right to establish their own religious 109 schools. According to him, a specific Jewish curriculum, which included Hebrew grammar and Jewish religion, was better left in the hands of private tutors. Mendes de Leon probably had in mind the maskilic custom of sending their children to two separate

106 Ibid. 107 Ibid. 108 See for instance the diaries of Netje and Eduard Asser. Cf. Henriëtte Boas, “De dagboeken van Netje Asser en Eduard Asser,” in Herlevend Bewaard. Aren lEHen in joods Amsterdam (Amsterdam: Keesing Uitgeversmaatschappij, 1987), 45–57. 109 A.A. de Bruin, Het ontstaan van de schoolstrĳd : onderzoek naar de wortels van de schoolstrĳd in de noordelĳke Nederlanden gedurende de eerste helft van de 19e eeuw: een cultuurhistorische studie (Barneveld: Bolland, 1985); P.Th.M. Boekholt and E.P. de Booy, Geschiedenis van de School in Nederland (Assen: Van Gorcum & Comp., 1987), 132–148. 95 schools. For education in secular subjects Jewish children attended Christian state schools, and for religious education they attended independent Jewish schools. However, the majority of the Jewish community disliked this two-tier system and preferred schools where both religious and secular subjects were taught.110 Even though the majority of Jewish children were taught at Jewish schools, Berenstein still feared the decline of Jewish religious education and the abandonment of Judaism. He considered affluent Jews especially liable to moral deterioration, as their children no longer received a Jewish education.

Some egoists, in love with their own views, spoiled by metaphysical inventions, overwhelmed with sophism….disturbed the vineyards of the Eternal, and unfortunately their poison spread swiftly among the less religiously educated, while their unjust doctrines freed them from religious education. The penetrating poison travelled, especially among the more affluent segment; they violated the godly commands but also did not educate their children in the religion, so they did not have any knowledge of religion. Therefore, it is no surprise that they do not live according to the rules of the holy religion. Every clairvoyant should have foreseen the decay of 111 the religious schools.

For Berenstein the loss of religious education indicated the renunciation of religion, and he blamed the maskilim for the assimilation of affluent Jews. Berenstein is probably referring to rich families, for instance the Asser family, who were known for their 112 acculturated, non-Jewish lifestyle. Only religious education could, as Berenstein presumes, halt the abandonment of the Jewish religion. However, his warnings were futile; with the Education Act of 1857, which divided primary education into state and independent schools, Jewish parents predominantly sent their children to state schools. Consequently, beginning in 1857 Jewish religious education declined, while general school attendance for secular education, provided at Dutch state schools, increased. Moreover, the loss of the subsidies from the government for religious education also contributed to a decline in religious schools.113 The

110 Dodde and Stultjens, “Jewish Education in Schools in the Netherlands from 1815 to 1940,” 75. 111 ACA, 1241-47. Concept letter to Lord and King, undated. 112 Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 47–51; Gans, Memorboek, 389. 113 Karina Sonnenberg-Stern, Emancipation and Poverty: The Ashkenazi Jews of Amsterdam, 1796–1850, 139–140; Karin Hofmeester, “‘Een teeder en belangrijk punt’. Opinies over openbaar onderwijs in joodse 96 separation between religious and secular education eventually contributed to a lesser appreciation of religious education. Despite efforts such as the distribution of clothing, and bread and rewarding regular Jewish school attendance with books and certificates, Jewish parents were reluctant to enroll their children in Jewish schools. A combination of economic dependence on children for the family income, the full educational program at state schools, and the decline in religious observance meant that Jewish school attendance among Jewish children between the ages of six and twelve dropped from 39.8% in 1870 to 1% in 1918.114 Jewish religious education at the beginning of the twentieth century was no longer part of the Dutch Jewish lifestyle, and this fits well into the picture of a predominantly non-observant Dutch Jewry. The civilizing efforts that aimed at educating the Jewish poor into god-fearing and nation-loving citizens came at the cost of a decline in Jewish school attendance.115 Despite the enthusiastic efforts of the government, the maskilim, and Berenstein, the complicated educational structure, the overloaded curriculum, and the socio-economic problems hindered religious instruction. For a long time, the reformers were unable to bridge the gap between the needs of the poor and the importance of education. Despite the various obstacles the Jewish community faced in reforming the educational system, the dispositive of education nonetheless delivered the nationalistic message. At the end of the nineteenth century, most Jews attended public schools, and Yiddish ceased to be the lingua franca of Dutch Jewry.116 The reform of the educational system opened up and established a new way of looking at the Jews, namely as a group within Dutch society that only differed in religion. The dispositive of education broke down the walls of the Jewish nation and turned the Jews into citizens.

3. Religious reform

kring, 1857–1898,” in De eenheid en de delen. Zuilvorming, onderwijs en natievorming in Nederland 1850– 1900 (Amsterdam: Het Spinhuis, 1996), 158. 114 Dodde and Stultjens, “Jewish Education in Schools in the Netherlands from 1815 to 1940,” 79–83. Peter Tammes, “Sabbatsontwijding onder joodse families in Amsterdam in 1900,” in Problemen en Theorieën in Onderzoek. Een staalkaart van de hedendaagse Nederlandse empirisch-theoretische sociologie, edited by G. Kraaykamp, M. Levels, en A. Need (Assen: Van Gorcum & Comp., 2011). 115 In contrast to Sonnenberg-Stern, who regards educational reform as a failure, I argue that Dutch Jewry embraced secular education, which came at the cost of religious education. Sonnenberg-Stern, Emancipation and Poverty: the Ashkenazi Jews of Amsterdam, 1796–1850, 141–148. 116 Hofmeester, “‘Een teeder en belangrijk punt,’” 172–174; R. Reinsma, “Pogingen tot assimilatie en emancipatie van het Joodse kind in Nederland na 1796. Israëlitische scholen onder de koningen Willem I en II,” 466. 97

Besides banning Yiddish and restructuring the educational system, religious reform was another important dispositive in the discourse on ´the elevation of the Jewry´. Religious reform emphasized decorum, especially in the synagogue. Improvement of synagogue behavior was, however, not a new or even and uniquely maskilic phenomenon. Beginning in the eighteenth century, the parnasim had constantly warned the congregation not to cause disturbances when entering the synagogue, not to sing along with the hazzan (the Jewish cantor), and not to place children on the almemmer (the elevated platform in the synagogue where the Torah is read).117 Because of the synagogue’s double function as a house of prayer and gathering place, the services were noisy and characterized by people constantly entering and departing.118 Notwithstanding the many functions of the synagogue, throughout the eighteenth century the parnasim were constantly concerned with appropriate synagogue behavior, as Article 23 of the Jewish community regulations from 1737 shows: “Everyone shall behave peacefully and in the fear of God in the synagogue, and anyone who, against regulations, addresses someone improperly or with abuse shall immediately leave the synagogue and will not be readmitted unless he pays, to the benefit of the poor, a fine of six guilders.”119 Moreover, the community regulations also prohibited interrupting the hazzan during the service: “That in the synagogues no one shall start the prayer out loud before the hazzan, or interrupt, or cause any disorder in the prayers; the transgressors shall lose four guilders for the benefit of the poor.”120 However, at the end of the eighteenth century the discursive constellations changed, linking discourses on ´the Jewish question´ with decorum. As a result, the issue of noise changed from an internal matter to a matter related to the ‘Jewish question.’ The turbulent services came to symbolize Jewish incivility and an inability to internalize appropriate behavior. The clinging of the Jews to their uncivilized rituals was regarded by persons such as Wilhelm von Dohm and Abbé Grégoire as reason for withholding

117 On the almemmer, see for instance Protocolbuch II, 253; on entering the synagogue, see Protocolbuch II, 501; on fighting during the service, see Protocolbuch II, 401. 118 Cf. Tsila Rädecker, Schuld en Boete in Joods Amsterdam. Kerktucht bij de Hoogduitse joodse gemeente 1737–1764 (Amsterdam: Menasseh ben Israel Institute Studies viii, 2012), 33. 119 Handvesten van Amsterdam, art. 23, 482. 120 Ibid., art. 86, 493.

98 emancipation from the Jews.121 Therefore, one of the foci of the maskilim’s quest for civil equality was the reform of synagogue practices, and in particular those practices with a cacophonous and chaotic appearance. In this way, the former concern of the Amsterdam community regarding appropriate synagogue conduct transformed into a political objective entangled with discourses on the supposed incivility of the Jew. Moreover, by abrogating inessential Jewish rituals, religious reform also redefined the essence of Judaism as an elevated and decorous religion.

The naye kille´s liturgy The naye kille used the dispositive of religion to introduce several liturgical changes, with the aim of a decorous and orderly service. The compilation of their new liturgy, the Sefer Meliẓ Yosher, describes their service and also provides Chief Rabbi Graanboom’s legitimization of reform. An important objective was to banish the communities’ multivocality, which was considered a cacophony. For instance, the mourner’s prayer (kaddish), which formerly every congregant had prayed for himself, was now to be recited together and aloud. In addition, the penitential prayers (seliḥot) were now said verse by verse, and some were excluded from the service. Furthermore, flowers were prohibited on the Shavuot as they disturbed the congregant’s spiritual mindset.122 The Diskursn of the naye kille heralds their new service and emphasizes the naye kille’s superior take on Jewish liturgy. An important aspect of their reform was that the rituals should edify the community, and they judged all minhag according to this criterion. The Diskursn character Gumpel hints at this point when he claims that the naye kille´s service was also popular with members of the alte kille: “Why not? They get more pleasure from the naye kille’s minhogim.”123 According to the maskilim, external behavior reflected a person´s inner self, and consequently silence and order in synagogue services mirrored one´s civility and adherence to Judaism. Religious rituals in this respect were not only intended to serve God, but also an important marker of one’s sociability. This connection between the manner in which the liturgy was performed and one’s place in

121 Christian Wilhelm von Dohm, Über die bürgerliche Verbesserung der Juden: 2 Teile in 1 Bd (Hildesheim ; New York: Olms, 1973); Grégoire, Nieuwe bedenkingen over de Joden, en bijzonderlijk over die van Amsterdam en Frankfort, door den heer Gregoire, oud bisschop van Blois, senateur, enz. 122 Aron Moses Isaac Graanboom, Meliẓ Yosher, 2, 4. 123 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 148.

99 society was supported by both the maskilim and by the alte kille’s parnasim, who also continuously stressed the need for decorous services. The maskilim identified themselves as civil citizens and regarded the liturgy as their representation. This additional meaning attributed to religious rituals legitimized reform. Moreover, the emphasis on decorous liturgy also enforced the idea of the synagogue as a house of worship. In the synagogue, the congregants could experience spirituality and come close to God. No wonder the Diskursn character praises their orderly and decorous services. “I went to their synagogue. It’s as true as the Law of Moses. It couldn’t have been better in the Temple! During the shmoune-esre [the central prayer of Jewish liturgy], no one is heard praying aloud. During the repetition of shmoune-esre no one sits down.”124 And later on, he continues: “[I]n that synagogue the people pray and they don’t talk. They are – by God – the best Jews one can imagine.”125 Yankev starkly contrasts the alte kille’s synagogue, where everyone talked and disregarded proper conduct during prayer, with the decorous liturgy at the naye kille. In this binary construction, the alte kille represented the old, traditional order, with their backward manners and displays of ill behavior, behavior which the naye kille regarded as essentially unjewish. Their redefinition of Judaism was constructed in opposition to their representation of the alte kille. Decorum was now essential to the Jewish religion. Moreover, in another pamphlet Yankev explicitly states that being a proper Jew is connected to reciting the shmoune-esre silently. To be Jewish was now a matter that extended beyond the boundaries of religious observance. The performance itself was elevated as a religious prescription. It differed from the kavana, which aimed at right intention in prayer, as it moved from the inner motivation to the experience of others. How others perceived the religious ritual was fundamental to the proper execution of Jewish liturgy. As such, the performance of the Jewish prayers was as important as their content. Moreover, in this discursive entanglement, moral etiquette such as orderly and calm behavior became part of religion. “You know, you people pray shmoune-esre aloud and you shout among yourselves. But at the naye kille it is a minheg [custom] that shmoune-esre is always prayed quietly. It has satisfied all pious and knowledgeable Jews, and they’ve enjoyed this minheg.”126

124 Ibid., 42. 125 Ibid., 44. 126 Ibid., 156

100

Jewishness consisted of silent reciting as well as critical reflection on religious practices. To think for oneself, the Enlightenment adage, was applied as justification for the reform of the rituals. To be truly Jewish was to rethink and reevaluate Jewish tradition. The search for what being Jewish entailed was important. Again, this thinking, regardless of power structures or doctrines, was contrasted with the conduct of the alte kille. According to the naye kille, fear and usurpation motivated adherence to certain traditions. It is unclear whether Yankev in the previous citation is alluding to the custom of selling honorary functions or referring to the dominance of affluent Jewish families in office. Graanboom is here represented as a truly enlightened soul, averse to worldly weaknesses. Contrary to the alte kille, he searches for the real and untainted Jewish liturgy. The link between morality and order also comes to the fore in the description of the parnasim’s social behavior. They lacked etiquette, did not know how to start a decent conversation, and refused to listen to other people´s arguments. With their rough behavior, they represented themselves as uncivil and lacking respectable manners. This depiction of the parnasim contrasted starkly with the enlightened ideal of rationality and the emphasis on polite conversion and exchange of opinions. Politeness was associated with the upper class, and they developed a taste for the display of correct etiquette in their salons. This preoccupation with society´s rules was also noticeable in various spectatorials and journals, wherein readers were reminded how to behave in public.127 According to the naye kille, the parnasim were clearly unaware of these developments and oblivious to society´s demands.

You know that at the alte kille, when there are four people, they talk at the same time, as if there were nine. Well, the men who ran and fro [trying to reconcile the two killes] – poor things – did that for the well-being of everybody. As you can imagine, they received them with every honor at the naye kille. No loud words, no two people talking at the same time. Everybody was given the opportunity to ask questions and given a reply in turn. Everything in order with the greatest politeness. Well, when they returned to the alte parnosim in order to report, there was as much screaming among

127 Cf. G.J. Johannes, Barometer van de smaak. Tijdschriften in Nederland 1770–1830 (Den Haag: SDU uitgevers, 1995). 101

them as in a Polish Diet. Screams everywhere – one couldn’t figure out what the other 128 was saying or wanted.

Revealing in this account of the parnasim´s conduct is the comparison with the Polish Diet. Eastern Europe functioned as a metaphor for the backwardness of Jews, and their customs, language, and physical appearance were used as a contrast with the enlightened and acculturated Western Jews. Therefore, describing the parnasim’s conduct as Polish—and thus as backward, maladjusted, and unreasonable—helped to foster the newly invented image of the adapted, civilized, modern Jew. Moreover, by referring to the Polish Diet, they tried to discredit the chief rabbi of Amsterdam, Moses Löwenstamm, as they alluded to his Polish origins and to the many Polish schoolteachers working in the Jewish community. In the Diskursn of the naye kille, being Polish was considered something entirely negative. Through the removal of redundant prayers and minhagim, the naye kille´s Rabbi Graanboom tried to recapture the essence of Jewish rituals. Thus the exclusion of some of the seliḥot emphasized the meaning of the text, and repetition after the hazzan created a sense of harmony. Graanboom also eliminated prayers that he considered redundant, and several piyyutim (liturgical poems), which were mostly additions dating from the Middle Ages, were seen as an unnecessary prolongation of service and omitted because they only led to “idle talk and distracted the congregation.”129 All of these novelties contributed to a new liturgical structure. In that sense, these adjustments to the Jewish service resembled the later German Reform, which likewise removed ´redundant´ prayers. By abbreviating the Jewish liturgy, the naye kille connected the idea of usefulness with the essence of the Jewish service. In addition to prayer, other customs or minhagim were judged according to their utility and decorum. For instance, the custom to walk in front of a funeral procession with an alms box was abolished.130 In the Diskursn, Yankev explains why: “The alms box is just a custom. Do you know why they use an alms box? With the rattling, they can warn the kohens so that they will stay at four yards distance from the corpse. But when a

128 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 158. 129 Graanboom, Meliẓ Yosher, 4. 130 By 1920 this custom was no longer in use. Jehoeda Brilleman, Minhagee Amsterdam. Joodse religieuze gebruiken in Amsterdam in de loop der eeuwen (Amsterdam: Nederlands Israëlitisch Seminarium, 2007), 247; See also the painting by H.J. Burgers (1834–1899), Een begrafenis in de Amsterdamse Jodenbuurt reproduced in Gans, Memorboek, 401. 102 shames (secretary) and gaboim (trustees) go in front, then one can easily see that a funeral is approaching.”131 Jewish conspicuousness and noise were no longer considered appropriate for funeral processions. Silence should accompany the dead to their last resting place. The naye kille feared that the custom of making a round through the neighborhood and stopping at various synagogues displayed the Jews as a noisy, attention-attracting horde. The call for decorum and efforts to restrict conspicuous religious consumption also come to the fore in the elimination of the selling of mitzves (honorary functions or mitzves ausrufen). This practice was regarded as distasteful and therefore came under attack.132 Moreover, it made a distinction between rich and poor, because only the affluent good afford mitzves. The customs regarding the appointment of the hatan torah and hatan bereshit (the ones to read the last and the first sentence of the Torah during Shemini Atseret and Simhat Torah) were likewise changed. Those appointments resulted in high expenses for the hatanim, as they were expected to organize elaborate festivities. Refusal of the honorary function resulted in a fine of fifty guilders.133 Because of the burden the festivities put on the poor, the naye kille altered the custom. “On shemini atseret they sold the mitsves of khosn-toure and bereyshis. But they announced beforehand that one can also honor someone else with it. And so that nobody shall ruin himself with expenses or treats or something else.”134 The naye kille represented itself as enabling the poor to observe the Jewish religion in all of its facets. This inclusive attitude towards all Jews is constantly emphasized in their Diskursn, and they contrasted it with the alte kille’s conduct. Conspicuous religious consumption, especially of affluent Jews, not only counteracted contemporary notions of etiquette but also countered the political ideal of equality. The naye kille also applied the idea of equality to synagogue dress code. In order to enable the poor to attend synagogue, they abolished the custom of wearing sargenes (a white shroud) during the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. With the abandonment of such a garment, the congregants appeared to be equal in the eyes of the community. Moreover, it emphasized a private experience of religion. “[T]hey have

131 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 412. 132 Graanboom, Meliẓ Yosher, 4. 133 Brilleman, Minhagee Amsterdam, 194. Cf. Gans, Memorboek, 152–153. 134 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 156.

103 realized that the wearing of sargenes is just a fashion. Therefore, one can pray devotedly 135 without the sargenes.” Additionally, abolishing the custom of wearing sargenes helped the poor because the garment was expensive. “Some [wear sargenes] to impress other people. And it can happen that someone has his sargenes in the pawnshop and stays away from the synagogue out of shame. And many go to enormous troubles – poor things – to get their sargenes out of the pawn shop.”136 Religion was thus experienced in the mind of the religious believer and not through the conspicuous display of clothing. The Sefer Melitẓ Yosher provides an additional argument against the sargenes custom, namely that putting on and taking off the robes disturbed the service and affected correct devotion to the prayers.137 As such, decorum and utility reinforced the idea of the need for religious reform. In the naye kille´s new liturgy, the idea of equality and decorum fostered the abolition of conspicuous religious rituals. Too openly showing off with either money or the performance of Jewish rituals was considered tasteless and rude. For the naye kille, Jewish rituals were measured against contemporary values. Rituals that countered the idea of respectability or equality were useless and therefore could not be essentially Jewish. The question of what was an authorized minhag and what was not stood at the foundation of the naye kille´s liturgical changes. Was the ritual essentially Jewish, or was it mistaken and erroneous? The naye kille, just as many Jewish reform communities after them, believed that a minhag was a historically developed custom. A minhag could be abrogated if it countered what they considered the appropriate performance of Jewish law. As such, although the liturgical changes appear to be cosmetic, they reveal the naye kille´s different approach to the minhag as a historical construct. Various discursive strands blended together in the naye kille´s liturgical reform. Ideas about appropriate behavior as well as the new political ideal of equality blended with the wish to alter Jewish rituals according to contemporary taste. Jewish rituals should elevate and edify the community. Moreover, every Jew should be able to perform in the synagogue service regardless of their financial means, making the political ideal of equality essential to Jewish liturgy. Furthermore, the display of conspicuous religiosity was banned. The proposed reforms of the naye kille tried to fit Jewish practices into

135 Ibid., 148. 136 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 148. 137 Graanboom, Meliẓ Yosher, 4.

104 contemporary discourses on etiquette and taste. This resulted in a paradoxical situation in which Jews were on the one hand prohibited from showing off their religiosity, and on the other hand encouraged to alter the rituals in accordance with fashion. The liturgical reform shows how political objectives were drawn into the religious sphere, while at the same time religious expression was restricted. As such, the naye kille’s liturgical reform exposes the ambivalent boundaries between the secular and the religious spheres.

Governmental religious reform The shifting constellations of secular and religious discourses also come to the fore in the dispositive of government law. During the time of the Batavian Republic, the government began to issue ordinances concerning appropriate religious behavior. Following the French example, the government banned religious expressions in public space, and the chronicler Wing reports on 2 September 1796 that “the government issued an order to the parnas of the month that hazzanim and shamashim were not allowed to go around in the street wearing a talith [ prayer shawl] and a jabot.”138 Three days later, a government decree prohibited other Jewish public religious activities, such as building sukkot (temporary huts) on the Jewish streets for the feast of Tabernacles and saying the prayer of the new moon (maanvieren), which was done outside in a minyan or another sort of group.139 This decree was followed by yet another prohibition of public prayer when on 3 October the parnasim forbade the tashlikh prayer, a prayer said by natural flowing water in order to cast off previous sins after the first day of Rosh Hashanah and before Yom Kippur. The prayer was banned as a “religious ceremony.”140 Likewise, Catholic public rituals such as processions were restricted. The government pushed religious expressions out of the public sphere and replaced them with rituals praising the state. The state promoted civic religion by planting the Freedom Tree, a custom introduced during the French Revolution, and ordering all churches to uphold the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. Discursive entanglements of secularism and religion underlay these dispositives restricting religion in the public sphere.

138 Benjamin Wing, LEHikorn, 24. 139 Ibid. Cf. Protocolbuch IV, 174. 140 Benjamin Wing, LEHikorn, 26.

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The subsequent government of Willem I further legitimized the state´s encroachment on religious authority, and in 1813 decorum in and outside the synagogue became a government concern. As a result, the High Consistory, in cooperation with the government, ordained a list of articles prohibiting supposedly inappropriate aspects of the Jewish religion. Two articles especially restricted public performance of Jewish religion. Article 4 prohibited “any religious ceremony, such as the carrying of the books of Moses or the performance of the blessing of the moon, on the streets and in public space,” and Article 5 stated, “It is also forbidden to be on the street or in public space wearing religious clothing and ornaments, such as shrouds [sargenes], tefillin [phylacteries] and talith.”141 The regulations restricted the authority of the rabbinate in matters relating to religion, but also defined religion as something private that needed to be observed outside the public realm.

Romantic visions of the Jewish ritual: The case of hamankloppen Pressure on Jewish rituals also resulted in a nostalgic appreciation of former rituals that came to be considered indecorous and had been abolished. Exuberance and liveliness came to be regarded as authentic expressions of Jewishness, reflecting its essence. This is especially noticeable in the case of hamankloppen, a ritual performed during the reading of the megillat Esther (Esther scroll) at Purim. Whenever the name of the wicked Haman is mentioned, Jews, especially children, make noise with rattles or by stomping with their feet. The first to condemn the hamankloppen was the naye kille. Their members disapproved of it because it countered what they regarded as decorous behavior, and accordingly they eliminated it from their liturgy. Not surprisingly, the naye kille´s reevaluation of Judaism according to modern tastes attracted, criticism from the alte kille. In a fictitious Diskursn regulation, they ridicule the naye kille´s quest for decorum. “All are obliged to attend the reading of the megile at Purim, so the khazn must learn to read the megile in the evening and in the morning. But the children are forbidden to use their noisemakers. That is no custom for respectable people.”142 Jewish communities outside Amsterdam also attempted to abrogate or reform the custom. For example, in 1805 the Jewish community of Leeuwarden permitted hamankloppen only for young boys allocated a special place in the synagogue. Instead of

141 ACA, 1241, 76. 142 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 412.

106 stressing the need for decorum, the community gave pragmatic and religious reaons for the reform. They feared potential damage to the interior of the synagogue if people would stomp their feet. Moreover, the community claimed that the congregation was unable to hear the reading of the megillat Esther because of the noise. Therefore, the hamankloppen resulted in a violation of the commandment to hear the megillat Esther. To ensure the congregation would obey, the parnasim imposed a fine of one rijksdaalder (two and a half guilders) “on anyone besides the young boys who would disturb the reading.”143 Notwithstanding the alte kille’s resistance to the abolition of hamankloppen, this naye kille reform, among many others, was supported by the High Consistory, and in 1809 it abolished and criminalized the hamankloppen. Likewise, Chief Rabbi of Amsterdam Berenstein condemned the custom.144 However, hamankloppen was still practiced, and years later, in 1824, Chief Rabbi Berenstein was still attempting to abolish it. On Saturday 13 March 1824, at the request of the parnasim, Berenstein announced that “making noise and rattling in the synagogue during the reading of the Esther scroll is not religious and is against order and decorum.”145 Yet former parnas S.M.A. Prins publicly contested the chief rabbi’s authority during the reading of the megillat Esther, and the parnasim complained about the incident in a letter addressed to the chief of the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs.

[S]uddenly a noise arose and the chief rabbi acted in accordance with us and asked the crowd to behave silently in the synagogue, because making noise is not religious and does not derive from religious principles. S.M.A. Prins, the old parnas treasurer and financing member of the Great Synagogue Board of the Community, replied with a loud voice and a mocking gesture of his finger to the chief rabbi: “You don’t have a say 146 over it; you need to be silent; this is a matter for the parnasim.”

The parnasim tried to remove Prins from the synagogue, but they failed. After the incident, both the parnasim and the chief rabbi expected that Prins would be remorseful and that they could “cover it again with the cloak of compassion.” However, Prins held

143 Beem, De verdwenen mediene, 83–85. 144 ACA, 1241, 78. 145 SCIA, inv. 35, Jan–March 1824. 146 Ibid.

107 his ground, and consequently the parnasim lodged a complaint against him with the prosecutor. If Prins would offer his apologies to the chief rabbi, they would retract the complaint. They end the letter with the wish that the Commission will support them in the maintenance of order in the synagogue and “that all means will be used to restrain whatever hinders the performance of religion in the synagogue.”147 The issue of hamankloppen divided Amsterdam Jewry and became a locus of power struggles. A person such as Prins regarded it as an essential part of the Purim celebration. Prins’ opposition reveals the continuing tension between the Jewish lay leaders and the rabbinate. 148 Notwithstanding Prins’ position as a lay leader, his adherence to the Lehren family probably also contributed to his resistance. Almost 50 years later, in 1872, the issue of hamankloppen still lingered. In a letter sent to the weekly Nieuw Israelitisch Weekblad (New Israelite Weekly), a reader with the revealing pseudonym Veritas complained about the hamankloppen and the extinguished candles in the Great Synagogue on the eve of Tisha B’Av, which was in his view against “our contemporary understanding of decorum and decency.” He continues, “[W]henever Haman is mentioned, [students] hammer against the chandeliers. You see, I believe that both things need to be cleared away. Truly, if those things belong to the essence of Judaism, then our religion is pathetic.” 149 A couple of weeks later, a certain Y. answered his letter. Y. was of the opinion that although the “children of the Talmud Torah School are invited, they do not knock against the chandeliers. They are merely given a hammer, which, if one moves it, creates a sound, and which does not hinder [the service] at all.” And he continues, “[M]aybe in the past there may have been disturbances, but because of repeated warnings, there are none anymore;” but he contradicts himself by adding, “[A]nd although it is written that every good thing has its drawback and can be used for the wrong purpose, it does not 150 mean that the thing itself is bad.”

147 Ibid. 148 Since the foundation of the Ashkenazi community, the parnasim and the rabbinate challenged each other’s authority. In 1712, for instance, the power struggles between the parnasim and the chief rabbi resulted in the dismissal of Haham Tzvi, one of the great scholars of his time. D.M. Sluys, “Hoogduits-Joods Amsterdam van 1635 tot 1795,” in Geschiedenis der joden in Nederland, edited by Hk Brugmans and A. Frank (Amsterdam: Van Holkema & Warendorf N.V., 1940), 344–352. 149 Nieuw Israelitisch Weekblad, 26 July 1872. 150 Ibid.

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According to the author, the custom, like many others, was established in order to capture the attention of the masses (especially the children) and place emphasis on the commandment, “You shall blot out the remembrance of Amalek (Deut. 25:19).”151 The writer clearly sides with Veritas in agreeing that the hamankloppen was contrary to modern taste and decorum, but he stresses the impact the ritual could have on less educated Jews, namely to get them involved in Judaism. Furthermore, he concludes that one should not abolish a minhag Israel authorized by the Shulkhan Arukh.152 For this writer, hamankloppen was not a faulty custom, but rather a useful tradition with a solid textual basis. As both letters show, hamankloppen was still in use despite efforts to eliminate it from the Purim festivities, and the question of what belonged to Jewish tradition was matter of perception, which did not walk the thin line between respectability and utility. In addition to the anonymous writer Y., others also incorporated discourses on usefulness into the establishment of expressive Jewishness and bemoaned the abandonment of theatrical rituals. For instance, in a periodical of the orthodox rabbi Samuel Hirsch (1808–1888), an author regrets the changes made to the rituals and reminisces that in his grandfather’s time, during Purim the houses were “filled with shouts” and “masked masses filled the streets.”153 In this exposition, nostalgia and the longing for a joyous Judaism expressed in Purim rituals became entangled with what was perceived as the true meaning of Purim, namely that Mordechai was a proud Jew who defended the Jews from their enemies.154 A century later, nostalgia with its implicit critique of the rationality of the enlightened reform is also noticeable in historian Hartog Beem’s descriptions of the vanished, forgotten Jewish world after the devastation of World War II. In his oy un vey portrayal of Jewish life, he muses on the loss of expressive and festive rituals.

Decorum almost became the idolized ideal. Many picturesque old customs, wherein the masses were a bit too loud for the new taste, were regarded as not churchy

151 Amalek is the biblical archetype of the enemy of the Jews. Haman was an Amelkhite, and by making noise whenever his name is mentioned, he is blotted out. 152 NIW, 30 August 1872. 153 Anon., “Ansprache eines nüchteren Trunkenen in einer Versammlung trunkerer Nüchterner, gehalten auf dem großen Marktplatz zwischen dem Rheine und der Ode am Purim 5617,” in Jeschurun, vol. 3 (1857): 377. 154 Sander L. Gilman, “The Problem with Purim: Jews and Alcohol in the Modern Period,” Leo Baeck Year Book (2005): 227. 109

enough and sacrificed to this idol. The making of hakofes, the calling for the kol haneorim, and many other uses of the Simhat Torah were abolished. It was not decent to dance in exuberant joy with the Sifree Torah or to just leave one’s place to honor the beloved scrolls. It didn’t go much better with the custom of selling mitzves, 155 miesjeejirtse calling, and the Hamankloppen.

For the author in the orthodox periodical as well as for Hartog Beem, the expressive rituals encompass a certain realness of experience. They are the reflection of the inner world of the Jew, connecting daily life with Jewish history. Emotion, empathy, and exuberance are necessary tools to understand the experiences of the Jewish ancestors. By reliving Jewish history, as in the festival of Purim, one’s negative experiences as a Jew are redeemed. In addition to this historical—and in a sense eternal—bond with the Jews from the past and the Bible, the body plays a pivotal role in communicating essential Jewish truths. Dancing, knocking, shouting—it all contributed to strengthening the bonds between Jews, history, and religion. It was with the body that they believed the Jew relived and revived religion.

4. Conclusion During the nineteenth century, the government and the maskilim held the Jewish way of life responsible for the unfortunate state of Dutch Jewry. Education, religious reform, and the abandonment of Yiddish in favor of Dutch were dispositives intended to elevate the Jews and integrate them into Dutch society. Reform aimed at removing those features that distinguished the Ashkenazi Jews from either the Sephardic or the Christian ideal. This construction of a binary between Ashkenazim on the one hand and Sephardim on the other hand attributed a negative meaning to Ashkenazic Judaism. In particular, conspicuous rituals such as hamankloppen and mitzve ausrufen were no longer regarded as befitting and belonging to the Jewish religion. In addition, other distinctive aspects such as the Ashkenazi pronunciation of Hebrew fell out of favor. The educational system, the religious framework, governmental policy, and the maskilim were all dispositives in the attribution of new meaning to the Jew, the Jewish religion, and its place in Dutch society. As a result, former elements of the Dutch Jewish community, such as Eastern European influence in the Jewish educational system and

155 Beem, De verdwenen mediene, 82–83.

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Yiddish, were no longer seen as part of it. The promotion of the vernacular through the educational system and the religious framework as well as the ban on foreign teachers and the ordination of the translation of the Hebrew Bible attest to this. As a result, the civilizing efforts constructed and stabilized a new ideal to which the Jews should adhere and also legitimized reform by depicting Dutch Jewry as backward and unmodern. This new discourse on the Jew and the redefinition of the Jewish community as uneducated, uncivilized, and backward produced its own discourse of rejection. Intertwined with the discourse on the elevation of the Jewry was the new attribution of meaning to Judaism as a private religion without expressive rituals. One response to these reform efforts was the essentialization of Jewish distinctiveness. Orthodox elements in Jewish society rejected the Dutch language and the new liturgical reforms because they fell short of what was perceived as typical Jewish Ashkenazi conspicuousness. Consequently, the civilizing and nationalizing efforts of both the maskilim and governmental committees attributed new meanings to Jewishness and triggered a plethora of Jewish responses. Depending on the situation, Jews took an orthodox or a maskilic point of view. They responded variously by embracing the reform proposals, merely paying lip service, or essentializing traditional identity markers. As such, the discourses on the civilization of the Jews produced and constructed the emergence of different Judaisms.

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Chapter three Rituals: New, old, and invented

Liberty gives everyone the power to do what he or she wants, unless it harms someone else in his or her rights. This natural regulation contains the statement: “One should not treat others in ways that one would not like to be treated,” and this a general rule from our holy Torah. [art.3].1

The above citation is part of an attempt by Chief Rabbi Moses Löwenstamm´s loyal assistant, Haim, to prevent the proclamation of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, the fundamental document of the French Revolution, in the synagogue. Spurred by the revolutionary spirit of the new Batavian Republic, Dutch patriots and maskilim welcomed this document that granted every citizen inalienable natural rights and freedom from religious coercion. They wished it to be proclaimed in the synagogue to demonstrate the victory of reason over religion and good government over oppression. However, the Ashkenazi community, under the guidance of Löwenstamm, resisted this infringement on their authority and the subordination of the Jewish religion to inalienable natural rights. By reworking the universal and secularizing content of the Declaration, Haim turned its meaning on its head. In the reworked version, the text supported the observance of Jewish religion and fostered the sovereignty of the Jewish community. Haim’s version is an example of how the Jewish community Judaized the secularizing messages of the government and how it tried to incorporate politics into a Jewish framework. This chapter analyzes how political objectives secularized Jewish rituals and how the Jews sacralized the newly invented state rituals. Purim productions and the sermons commemorating national events serve as case studies of how Jewish factions as well as the government imbued the rituals with political and social objectives. In these performances, discourses on religion, citizenship, and Jewishness blended. Besides the political use of Jewish rituals, newly invented civic rituals were introduced by the

1 Protocolbuch IV, 135. Cf. Sluys, “Uit Bange Dagen. Het begin van den Franschen tijd,” Vrijdagavond.

112 government to foster national identity.2 Jews used the new state rituals, such as the Declaration and the events surrounding the gunpowder explosion in Leiden, to develop responses to the new reality of citizenship. This chapter identifies various Jewish responses to the pressures of secular discourse. As will become apparent, the new discourse on national identity influenced Jews across the religious spectrum. Jews used both secularizing and sacralizing strategies to construct their Judaisms. As such, Jews displayed agency in the redrawing of the boundaries between the religious and the secular.

1. Judaizing the state ritual: The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen is an example of how Jews from both ends of the spectrum engaged with the state´s new foundations and how they incorporated secular discourse into their idea of Judaism. The reorganization of society along the lines of liberty, equality, and fraternity compelled the Jewish community to restate its relation to the state. The Declaration was the state´s foundation as well as its legitimation. The revolutionaries distributed and proclaimed the Declaration, forcing Dutch inhabitants to abide by it. One characteristic of this document was its universal appeal in demanding citizen participation. With the implementation of the Declaration, inalienable human rights became a common basis for all of the nation-state’s inhabitants. This declaration, created during the French Revolution, replaced the former religious foundation of citizenship with a secular one. It can be regarded as the epitome of secularism, as it pushed aside religion as an authoritative factor. Citizens should swear allegiance to the state, making religion a private matter. This new document, which was one of the first efforts of the Batavian Republic to impose a new, unifying national identity, became a focal point of strife between Jews who saw the new rule as an opportunity for emancipation3 and those who opposed the new state ritual as a threat to the existing religious order. The engagement of Jews with this document shows different strategies for Judaizing its secular content.

2 Cf. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, The Invention of Tradition; Ernest Geller, Nations and Nationalism: New Perspectives on the Past; Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities. 3 The naye kille or Adath Jeshurun even included the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen in their community regulations. Cf. D.M. Sluys, “Het reglement van de Adath Jeschurun (De ‘Neie K’Hilloh’) te Amsterdam,” (Amsterdam, repr. Nieuw Israëlitisch Weekblad 12 and 19 June 1931), 3–4. 113

The period between 1795 and 1796 can be characterized by the efforts of the maskilim and supporters of the Batavian Republic to declare the Rights of Man and of the Citizen in the lion’s den: the synagogue. From the beginning of the occupation on 17 January 1795, Felix Libertate members tried to convince the parnasim to proclaim the Declaration. Because of the parnasim´s refusal to meet with them, they submitted their requests to the newly installed Committee van Waakzaamheid (Committee of Vigilance) and later, on March 17, to the new revolutionary government in The Hague.4 In the Diskursn of the naye kille, the maskilim defended their support for the revolution by pointing at the possible benefits for Jews. In order to reach every Jew, Felix Libertate members translated the Declaration (see appendices) into Yiddish.5

But what was the consequence of it all? The French did want to make peace with us, but we had to accept the Rights of Man, as you have seen. Also, they immediately started to say “Citizen” and on all the posters, the government put “Equality, Liberty, Fraternity.” The clever Jews understood this and founded a club, which they called Felix Libertate. And immediately they started to tell the government (in the way Moushe fon Blerekom says :) “Keep your word. We are people and inhabitants too. We went through all the troubles with you. When there is something good to be had in the country, we also deserve it. The whole country is free and equal. The French gave freedom to the Jews as well as to the Christians.6

Interestingly enough, the Committee of Vigilance asked only the Jewish community, and not any other religious congregation, to attach to each synagogue entrance the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. This was probably because the Catholics and the Protestants were already considered citizens, unlike the Jews who, according to some, still belonged to another nation.7

The Additional Declaration

4 Cf. Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812,”. 1. 5 Reprint in Salvador Bloemgarten, Hartog de Hartog Lémon, 1755–1823. Joodse revolutionair in Franse Tijd (Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Aksant, 2007), 46–47. 6 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 104. 7 Karin Hofmeester, “Vertogen over gelijkheid, religie en ras in discussies over de gelijkberechtiging van joden in Frankrijk en Nederland,” in Grenzeloze gelijkheid. Historische vertogen over cultuurverschil, edited by Maria Grever (Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Bert Bakker, 2011), 86–97. 114

Together with the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, an additional declaration was drafted by the Committee of Vigilance, wherein the Jews would state their allegiance to the Batavian Revolution, admit their former deviation, and express their willingness to bear arms on the Sabbath. The Additional Declaration began with an appeal to join the revolution’s quest and to admit their former folly, namely their support of the Orange Party.8

Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity. Brothers of Israel, from the previous [Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen], every word is honest and fair. We will enjoy our rights and we will no longer be excluded from their privileges. The foundation is already there, and everyone should bring the building blocks. It will be a home for everyone; the joy of liberty, equality, and fraternity is holy and of incomprehensible value for you. You will enjoy its fruits, which were taken from you so wrongly, godlessly withheld from you by tyrants; open up your conscience, acknowledge that you were lost and deceived by the mask of hypocrisy, and honestly repent of your former behavior and enjoy with all of mankind the greatest happiness.9

This additional statement can be understood as an interpretation of the concepts of liberty, equality, and fraternity. Obtaining each of these common goods depended first on adherence to the revolution. Each of these three basic principles was interpreted in a particular way. For instance, liberty refers here to the possibility to be free of former political bonds. It is a positive freedom; the Jews had to break their former alliance with the Orange Party. They must “open up” their “conscience” and “acknowledge” that they were lost and “deceived by the mask of hypocrisy,” and they need to “honestly repent of former behavior.” Only when they support the revolution will they be worthy to receive

8 During the eighteenth century, many quarrels occured between patriots and Jews. Patriots accused the Jews of violating the guilds’ rules by working in the professions forbidden to them. At the end of the eighteenth century, the patriots also condemned the Jews for their support of the Orange Party and their reluctance to support the Batavian Revolution. For disputes between guild members and Jews, see Leo Fuks, De zeven provinciën in beroering. Hoofdstukken uit een Jiddische kroniek over de jaren 1740–1752 van Abraham Chaim Braatbard (Amsterdam: J.M. Meulenhoff, 1960), 106–122. For Jewish support of the Orange Party, see Bart Wallet, “Belgian independence, Orangism, and Jewish identity: The Jewish communities in Belgium during the Belgian Revolution (1830–39)” in Borders and Boundaries in and around Dutch Jewish History, edited by Judith Frishman, David J. Wertheim, Ido de Haan, Joël Cahen (Amsterdam 2011), 167–181; Joseph Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period: Gothic Turrets on a Corinthian Building 1787–1815, 1–22. For the idea that Jewry did not traditionally belong to the Orange Party, see Odette Vlessing, “The Jewish Community in Transition; from Acceptance to Emancipation,” Studia Rosenthaliana 1 (1996). 9 Sluys, “Uit Bange Dagen. Het begin van den Franschen tijd,” Vrijdagavond.

115 the common good, ‘liberty’. Their liberty will thus only be realized when they understand their erroneous former conduct. In addition, the concept of equality was conditional. Renouncing the enemy, namely the Orange Party, was necessary in order to be eligible for citizenship. “Promote the good peace and unity, and bear with all of your fellow citizens your burden of the necessary preservation of your beloved fatherland.” Commended are the “exemplary youths of your community, who already bear arms, and…keep the city’s peace on the Sabbath.” Bearing arms on the Sabbath symbolized true equality, as the Jews would thus put love of the fatherland before observance of Jewish law. Love for the fatherland and the willingness to bear arms is a prerequisite for receiving the respect of fellow citizens; only then “no one would be ashamed to be a Jew. He would be proud and declare: ‘I am a Jew, a lover of the fatherland, a caretaker.’” Fraternity referred to a collective adherence to the fatherland. Only when Jews supported the fatherland and acted as fellow citizens could they receive respect. According to the Additional Declaration, to be brothers meant to behave similarly. Moreover, in the last sentence of the Declaration, the request changes into a command, because if you do not “give respect and encourage them, you will make yourself punishable.” In this “if you are not with us, you are against us” line of argumentation, renouncing the former religious bond and ‘actively’ supporting the revolution had become compulsory. By supporting the revolution, the Jews could prove themselves worthy of equal rights. The Additional Declaration, with its emphasis on bearing arms on the Sabbath, urged the parnasim and Chief Rabbi Moses Löwenstamm to seek a solution, because both declarations conflicted with the political structure and religion of the Jewish community. Furthermore, Felix Libertate members had begun a media campaign for the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen to be proclaimed in the synagogue and for the conscription of Jews for the Civil Guard. Because of the precarious situation, the parnasim sought an alliance with the Sephardic community. Both communities decided that they would proclaim neither the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen nor the Additional ‘Jewish’ Declaration and that they would try to avoid and delay their implementation. However, they would refrain from using “the same means

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[to halt the Declaration], as it would bring upon them the suspicion that they had conspired together.”10

Rabbi Moses Löwenstamm’s resistance In an attempt to delay both declarations, the chief rabbi together with the shamash (beadle) Haim went to the Committee of Vigilance to express their concern. Upon their arrival, the chief rabbi addressed the members of the committee in Hebrew with the biblical Psalm 122:8–9: “For my brethren and companions' sakes, I will now say: 'Peace is within thee’. For the sake of the house of the LORD our God I will seek thy good.” Haim then translated the verses into Dutch and continued the discussion, since the chief rabbi was not well versed in Dutch. Haim convinced them that “bearing arms on the Sabbath was against the Jewish religion and that they could not declare such a thing.”11 The committee then agreed that this particular sentence could be removed from the Additional Declaration. However, the text from the other declaration, the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, could not be changed, but the Jewish community was allowed to change the order of the text and add additional sentences.12 The renewed declaration would become a complete reversal of the initial intentions of the revolutionary Committee of Vigilance. Haim twisted the text and added so many biblical citations that the original meaning vanished.13 In his swirl of biblical words, the revolutionary and secular intentions disappeared. Both the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen as well as the Additional Declaration had been altered in such a way that, instead of heralding the new national order, they replaced it with allegiance to God. Haim’s alterations praised the status quo and made observance of Jewish law compulsory, turning secularism into Judaism. In a mixture of Hebrew and Yiddish, the reworked additional declaration began:

One of the points is that everyone has the right to profess his religion and to worship God with all his heart. Therefore, sons of Israel, “ye that did cleave unto the LORD your God are alive every one of you this day” (Deuteronomy 4:4). “The kings of the earth

10 Sluys, “Uit Bange Dagen. Het begin van den Franschen tijd.” 11 Sluys, “Uit Bange Dagen. Het begin van den Franschen tijd.” 12 Ibid. 13 Felix Libertate members protested ferociously against Haim´s reworked version in their proclamation of 27 March 1795, “Een adres van eenige Joodse burger tegen de voorgevende qualificatie van den Coster Haim Moses Cohen,” copied into Protocolbuch IV, 143–147. 117

rise up, and the rulers take counsel together, against the LORD, and against His anointed” (Psalms 2:2). We come forward united with the covenant of the Eternal, your God, and make a contract to confirm our godly law. We will obey the law and the rules, and will not turn from any obligation, right or left, so that no one whose heart has been turned away from God can imagine that he would live in prosperity. Gentlemen, highly esteemed citizens of the Committee of Vigilance have recommended to the parnasim to bring to their fellow believers this publication that obliges everyone who carries the name of Israelite to observe the Jewish law.14

Besides the many biblical citations, Haim incorporated the liberal rights of liberty, equality, and fraternity into the Jewish tradition and claimed they depended on religious observance. By blending religious and secular discourses, Haim Judaized the ideals of the French Revolution. Haim´s strategy made these natural rights a reward for proper Jewish conduct instead of an inalienable right. Also, the intentions of the Committee of Vigilance were twisted in such a way that it seemed that the Committee had ordered religious obedience. Only proper Jewish behavior would lead to respect, and not, as the initial declaration had stated, allegiance to the fatherland. The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen received a similar treatment by Haim, who altered the Declaration’s first articles:

The natural human rights are equality, liberty, safety, property, and resistance against oppression, because all humanity is born with equal rights [art.2], as the word of Job said: “And he said; naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither; the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD” (Job 1:21). He decides who shall be elevated and who shall be humiliated, who 15 will be rich and who will be poor. Consequently, no one can take away the natural 16 rights of somebody else [art.1].

Haim’s alterations reversed the text’s original meaning with regard to religious freedom and the obligation to support the revolution. By adding sentences and reversing the order of the Declaration’s articles, Haim was able to construct a text supporting the religious structures of Jewish society. Based on a Jewish textual tradition of adding

14 Protocolbuch IV, 135. Cf. Sluys, “Uit Bange Dagen. Het begin van den Franschen tijd.” 15 Sentence taken from the Rosh Hashanah Liturgy, Blessing of Abraham. Rabbijn I. Vorst, ed., Mahzor lerosh hashanah, transl. I. Dasberg (Amsterdam: Nederlands-Israëlietisch Kerkgenootschap, 1981), 377. 16 Protocolbuch IV, 135. Cf. Sluys, “Uit Bange Dagen. Het begin van den Franschen tijd.”

118 additional interpretations and statements, he pacified the initial secular meaning and reversed it in such a way that, instead of proclaiming that every man is born equal, he made it conditional on God’s will. This play with Jewish literary genres, interestingly enough, also reappears throughout the centuries in various Jewish parodies.17 In this instance, the word play and imitation of biblical language in Haim’s declaration was not intended humorously but rather as a means to legitimize and authorize his version. “Only He decides who is rich and who is poor.” By quoting Job, Haim makes God responsible for social differences, not the general good, as is stated in the Declaration. Because it is God who bestows the natural rights in the first place, they cannot be taken away. Here, the Additional Declaration’s conditional liberty moves from the government to God. Allegiance to the government and freedom from religion are not prerequisites for obtaining natural rights. It is God who gives and takes, and not the government. In the initial Article 3, the claim that “the principle of all sovereignty resides essentially in the nation” was probably a bit hard to tackle. Haim omitted it and listed Article 4, stating that “Liberty consists in the freedom to do everything which injures no one else” under Article 3. Also, this article was, according to him, directly taken from Leviticus, and Haim changed the limitations of that right from the nation’s law to the Torah. In Article 18, Haim highlights the fact that the sovereignty of the people does not mean that one group can claim dominance. He implicitly criticizes the claim made by revolutionaries that they represent the people as a whole. Also, in Article 11, the confiscation by the French of ecclesial property is indirectly addressed: a fair and just government should compensate the loss of property. In rewriting both declarations, Haim replaced the authority of the people or natural law with the Torah. Haim’s solution of Judaizing secular law shows how Jews actively engaged with the pressure of secularism and tried to formulate their own answers. According to Haim’s version, everything derives from Torah and is present in Torah. By subordinating the sovereignty of the people to this authoritative text, the initial revolutionary meaning evaporates. Furthermore, instead of demanding the support of the Jews for the revolution, the Jews are ordered to observe Jewish law, as he states in Article 4: “Fear God and keep his commandments.” Additionally, the contradiction between the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen and the

17 Israel A.B. Davidson, Parody in Jewish Literature, vol. II (New York: The Columbia University Press, 1907). 119

Additional Declaration is exposed when Haim highlights the fact that liberty is not simply doing what you want but consists of being able to choose in favor of the revolution. In other words, liberty is a positive freedom. Haim adopts the use of positive freedom by the revolutionaries for his own benefit and regards liberty as enabling people to choose in favor of Jewish law. As such, Haim exposes that the revolutionaries’ liberty was not liberty at all.

The “For the Sake of Heaven” petition Haim’s point of view was widely supported by the petition of March 1795, wherein the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen was aligned with religious deviance.18 This petition, signed by 600 community members, was called Lema´an shamayim (For the Sake of Heaven). Naming the petition “For the Sake of Heaven” insinuated that the Declaration was anti-religious. However, the naye kille regarded the Declaration as perfectly in line with existing Jewish tradition and defended it in their Diskursn: “Does having equal rights make it impossible to be a good Jew?”19 According to the naye kille, the petition was a fraud. The majority of signatures came from Jews who could not read or write and were obviously fabricated. In the words of the character Gumpel:

I didn’t sign because I can’t write. But as I come onto the Houtmarkt, my relative Sender meets me. So he says to me: “Aren’t you going to the community’s office to sign up for Jewishness?” I tell him I can’t sign. So he says: “Just go, Reb Khayim Shames, signs for people like that.” I go upstairs. Who is sitting there? Moushe of Avrom Oubener and Reb Khayim Shames, may he rest in peace. He knew me from the New Synagogue. As he sees me he says to me: “You can go in the name of God. I already put your name down.” He did the same for fifty others. I also saw children signing their names themselves. But before I left I asked: “That’s for Jewishness, Reb Khayim. Isn’t it?” He was too busy, so Moushe Oubener nodded with his head in agreement, and I 20 left.

18 Protocolbuch IV, 137. 19 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 106. 20 Ibid.

120

According to the naye kille, the Jewish majority accepted the Declaration. Those who rejected it did so out of ignorance and not on the basis of a rational decision. The parnasim simply tricked Jews into signing.

Now think about it yourself. When someone must sign something, it should at least be read to him. So when they said to the government: “This was signed by so many people,” it was a lie. No one knew what it was about. And what was the result? [The Declaration of Human Rights] wasn’t allowed to be announced in synagogue that 21 everyone can and should have equal rights?

Moreover, the naye kille questioned the parnasim’s integrity. According to them, the drafted petition unjustly strengthened the parnasim’s authority. Under the guise of religion, they sought to secure their own positions. The criticism directed at the parnasim resembled the general enlightened critique of religious leaders’ abuse of power. “Yes, and you’re not even mentioning the biggest evil. [The parnasim] may have spent ten thousand guilders on legal advisors and on other expenses….Reb Yousef Prints and Reb Lipman Rintel have understood that it was ‘For the Sake of Heaven,’ but the money is for the sake of demons.”22 The naye kille took the opportunity provided by the Declaration to portray themselves as a community which stood up for the interests of the Jewish lower classes.

The naye kille’s support for the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen Contrary to the Judaizing strategies of Haim, the naye kille worked the other way around and integrated state laws into their version of Jewish tradition. The incorporation of secular law into Jewish law characterized the naye kille´s response. As a result of this strategy, the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen became the founding text of the naye kille. By merging this document with its community regulations, the naye kille wed the state to their religious framework. In fact, the naye kille justified their secession in 1797 by referring to the right to change or improve the government, which was an article from the Declaration. Equality and freedom of worship became pivotal

21 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 106. 22 Ibid., 88.

121 values of their new services. In the naye kille´s liturgy compilation, the Melitẓ Yosher explains the foundation of these regulations:

The following matters have we, the holy community of Adat Yeshurun, committed to uphold in the service of the house of God, because the old community violated the law. Her regulations are based on the oppression and robbery of the poor, as her meat hallmeat hall and similar matters demonstrate. Because of that and other matters that are in operation with them, and because of the sanctions [against us], we are obliged to act against our will in prayer and godly prescriptions. Now that the sanctions are withdrawn, we have taken it upon ourselves to create a community, to secede from them, and to formulate regulations on the basis of the law and the laws of the country, wherein the privileges mentioned and the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen come first. And the regulations for the synagogue service will be in accordance 23 with the provisions below and with the law and justice.

For the naye kille, the basis of their regulations was the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, and so the sovereignty of their religion was placed in both Jewish and secular law. By integrating citizen’s rights into their new version of a Jewish community, they sacralized the Declaration and also secularized their religious regulations. With their hybrid regulations, they tried to formulate an answer to the pressing Jewish question of poverty and the resulting religious inequality. The naye kille legitimized their incorporation of a secular document into their religious framework by pointing out the benefits for the Jewish community. Citizen’s rights were, according to the naye kille, essential in the elevation of the Jews and their liberation from the suppression of the parnasim. Consequently, the naye kille emphasized the positive implications of the Declaration for the Jewish religion. In their Diskursn, they propagated equality in religious services and offices while at the same time condemning religious coercion, such as excommunication and the imposition of fines. This idea of religion without authority was ridiculed by the alte kille. Moreover, they feared that religious freedom would ultimately lead to a decline in religious observance. Gumpel remarks on the naye kille’s services: “I only went to pray there for fun. Just to see what kind of people pray there during the week. So I asked the rabbi how

23 Translation from the Dutch, D.M. Sluys, “Het reglement van de Adath Jeschurun (De ‘Neie K’hilloh’) te Amsterdam” (1931) (first published in Nieuw Israëlitisch Weekblad 12 and 19 June 1931, nr. 5 and 6), 3–4. See, Israel Graanboom, Sefer Meliẓ Yosher (Amsterdam, 1809). 122 it could be that there still wasn’t a minyen for the prayers. He replied that according to the Rights of Man, no one can be forced.”24 It seems that the alte kille had a more pessimistic view of faith among the Jews; without firm control, they would deviate and renounce religious obligation. The alte kille denied that religion was a matter of individual choice. The naye kille regarded the proclamation of the Declaration as the first step in solving the problem of Jewish poverty and argued that its annulment would prevent the Jews from achieving social mobility. According to the naye kille, the parnasim hindered the Jewish community’s civic improvement. The parnasim kept the Jews backward and poor. Moreover, the naye kille argued that the rights were compatible with Jewish religion; the parnasim rejected the Declaration in order to maintain their positions of power. “Can’t we still – thank God – be good Jews [and also believe in the Declaration]? And by means of that [the parnasim] wanted to make it clear that we Jews are not useful for anything: not for offices or anything else.”25 Rejecting the Declaration, they argued, served the interests of the parnasim, as the Declaration rendered their ‘punitive’ powers obsolete. In a dialogue between Yankev and Anshel, the naye kille attempted to unmask the parnasim’s dishonest intentions and greed for power. Yankev explains: “[I]t’s written: everyone may serve his God in the manner he wants or doesn’t want. Now for the pious man that’s quite good, because he gets the full right as a person to serve God in the manner he wants.”26 According to Anshel, the parnasim feared loss of power and becoming accountable. Moreover, the parnasim hid behind the cloak of religion in order to maintain their power. The naye kille tried to argue that the rights were not at all against religion, but rather served the interests of the faithful Jew. In fact, the Declaration even enabled the Jew to be religious.

Excuse me, Yankev. You are not getting to the point. At the end of the Rights of Man, the following is written: “Everyone may change or improve the government and appoint others, if the present leaders aren’t good. The government is accountable to the people.” There is the problem, brother. If the common man has the right to that,

24 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 188. 25 Ibid., 86. 26 Ibid., 106.

123

[the community’s leaders] lie with their behinds exposed! They will be thrown out of the community offices if they abuse power. [The parnasim] say that anyone who argues with them is a criminal. But the Declaration of the Rights of Man proves the situation to be completely different: we don’t have to let violence be done to us. That’s why they drove the congregation crazy. It was ostensibly “For the Sake of Heaven.” 27 But it was for their own sake. Do you get it, Citizen, do you?

In the naye kille’s view, the parnasim abused religion, and their greed for power caused their rejection of the Declaration. For the naye kille, it all circled around the question of authority and the democratizing aspects of the Declaration. In the alte kille, only the few Jews who could pay the community taxes had the right to elect the parnasim. With the Declaration, however, if the Jews felt that the parnasim were not doing a good job, they could be overthrown by the common Jew. The abandonment of social distinction in the Declaration was what really bothered the parnasim, as the naye kille argued. By pointing to those aspects, the naye kille represented itself as the best solution for the worries of the common, religious Jew. In sum, the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen divided the Jewish community. The naye kille incorporated the rights within their new religious framework, while the alte kille went to great lengths to prevent its implementation. What is interesting in their handling of the Declaration is that both communities used it to serve their own interests. For the naye kille, its proclamation heralded a new era, as it legitimized their rejection of the parnasim’s rule and placed authority with the people. For the alte kille, it was the other way around. They used their altered version of the Declaration to foster and consolidate their power; the Declaration’s propositions were nothing more than a restatement of their version of Judaism.

2. The politicalized Jewish ritual: Purim productions Purim’s religious framework became a dispositive for discourses on Jewishness and national identity. The carnivalesque elements of Purim, such as the temporary suspension of hierarchy, provided the maskilim with instruments to criticize Jewish authority and disseminate their enlightened ideals as well as their reform proposals.28 In

27 Ibid., 106–108. 28 For how Carnival consolidated unity, emphasized equality, and temporarily suspended hierarchy, see M. M. Bakhtin, Rabelais and his World (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), 10. 124 the maskilic use of Purim, religious and political objectives became entangled. Moreover, its format of turning the world upside down and permitting the grotesque exchange between the profane and the sacred enabled maskilim not only to address thorny issues but also to reach the common person through comedy. Traditionally, Purim productions such as purimshpieln and purimkrantn (humorous papers distributed during Purim) spouted criticism, consolidated the social order, and made no distinction between the secular and the religious. The purimshpiel secured society’s moral structures by ridiculing the reversal and temporarily providing the people a reprieve from the rigid, hierarchical world. The majority of the purimshpieln were an elaboration on the Purim story, where Esther saves the Jews from destruction by convincing King Asheverus of the wickedness of Haman. In content as well as in language, the purimshpiel played with conventions. It was unstructured, full of transvestism and obscenities. For instance, the pious man Mordechai sings while addressing the king: “Happy New Year, stinking eggs. May the king’s balls grow and swell.”29 Men played Esther´s part, inverting her supposed beauty into grotesqueness, comparing her to a frog and calling her the daughter of a whore.30 By reversing the social order and showing the ridiculousness of deviation, subversive behavior was pacified. Many Jews enjoyed the Purim festivities, and its literature served many purposes, from a temporal relief from social order to a tongue-in-cheek pilpul. However, at the end of the eighteenth century, the new discursive formations on Jewishness came to imbue the Purim productions, making them a tool to communicate what Jewishness was all about.

Addressing ‘the Jewish question’ In addition, non-Jewish eighteenth-century theatre analyzed society, promoted social elevation, and disseminated enlightened ideals. For instance, Lessing’s play Nathan the Wise sought to foster tolerance between different religions both through the parable of the ring and by letting a Jew play the role of the honorable and enlightened Nathan. Also, Jewish enlighteners such as Isaac Euchel (1756–1804), with his play Reb Henoch Oder were tut me damit in 1793, and Aaron Wolfssohn (1754/1756–1835), with his play Leichtsinn und Frömmelei: Ein Familiengemälde in drei Aufzügen, used the theatre to

29 Cited in: Ahuva Belkin, “The ‘Low’ Culture of the Purimshpil,” in Yiddish Theatre: New Approaches, edited by Joel Berkowitz (Oxford/Portland, Ore.: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2003), 30. 30 Belkin, “The ‘Low’ Culture of the Purimshpil,” Yiddish Theatre: New Approaches, 40.

125 address issues; however, instead of blaming society for Jewry’s inferior position, as Lessing did, they critiqued the Jews for their inability to cope with the new times. The plays by Wolfssohn and Euchel describe the crisis of bourgeois German Jewry, with its generational conflict and sexual deviance, as well as the response of orthodoxy, with its rigidity toward anything new such as modern headwear and the maskilic study of and emphasis on (biblical) Hebrew grammar. For Shmuel Feiner, the themes developed in both plays exemplify the Kulturkampf between the orthodoxy and the maskilim with their different sets of rules and culture.31 The plays exposed and ridiculed tensions within Jewish society as well as introducing Enlightenment thought to a broad audience.

Jewish poverty In the Netherlands, the Kulturkampf between the maskilim and the orthodox centered on the immense poverty of the Jewish community, which was, according to the maskilim, caused by inequality and usurpation. Because the majority of Jews lacked financial resources, the price of food and clothing were import themes in Dutch Purim productions. During times of war, such as the fourth war with England (1780–84) and later the French invasion (1795), the cost of living increased. The Amsterdam Yiddish chronicles from Braatbard, Prints, and Wing constantly refer to economic decline.32 The chroniclers repeatedly mention the prices of various (food) items during their descriptions of events happening in the Republic as well as in their own Jewish community. For them, food prices were significant, and they imposed no hierarchy between questions of politics and daily maintenance. In addition to the general economic decline in the Netherlands, the Ashkenazi community continually struggled with its finances, and its minutes are full of references to the enormous number of poor Jews. During Pesach, the majority of them received matzes because the parnasim deemed the Jewish requirement to abstain from leavened bread extremely important. As scholars tend to count amongst the poor all of the Jews eligible for the matze distribution, the number of Jews eligible for poor relief is uncertain. According to the calculations in the Pinkas, poor relief peaked in 1799 at 87%

31 Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment, 357. 32 For an elaborate discussion of those chronicles, see Bart Wallet, Links in a Chain: Early Modern Yiddish Historiography from the Northern Netherlands, 1743–1812 (2012), 216–237. 126 of the Jews.33 However, according to Marco van Leeuwen, only 10% of the Jewish community was on structural poor relief, which included peat in the winter and a small allowance.34 Notwithstanding the exact numbers, Jews portrayed themselves as poverty- stricken. Not surprisingly, prices are important in the Purim productions. In a purimkrant written by Shloume Duikelaar, Di naye purim-krant: beshraybung fun di dray berumte sokhrim (The New Purim Paper: Description of the Three Famous Merchants), one of the humorous elements in the piece is devoted to a fictional pricelist, wherein worthless items are listed with absurdly high prices. For instance, one of the items on the list reads: “43 sleeveless shirts, torn in front, shat upon in the back, 40 Reichstaler, 4 baize skirts with fleas, ditto white ones with shlemazl [misfortune] in them.”35 Other issues concerning the deplorable state of the Jews were also addressed in various purimkrantn. For instance, in one of the purimkrantn, A naye purim lukh (The New Purim Calendar), the author claims to have had a conversation with the sun where they discussed the four principles of life, namely hunger, thirst, bad housing, and lack of peat for the winter.36 In Di naye befrorene Purim krant (The New Frozen Purim Paper), the problem of winter inspires the author to write the following verse:

What can we write about wintertime, dear folk? That we carried the yoke. This year there was a lot of snowfall, And also wind and squall. For the poor, the winter has never been so bad, And a bit of mercy we have not had. The people amused themselves this wintertime, And to us poor folk were not benign. Winter is good, they say;

33 Michman, Beem, and Michman, Pinkas, 59. 34 Marco H.D. van Leeuwen, “De Gelykstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid,” in Arme Amsterdamse joden en de strijd om hun integratie aan het begin van de negentiende eeuw, edited by Hetty Berg (Amsterdam/Zwolle: Joods Historisch Museum, Amsterdam & Waanders Uitgevers, Zwolle, 1996), 58–59. 34 See for instance the many references to the Ashkenazi communities’ poverty in the Protocolbuchen, in the Diskursn, and in Wing’s chronicle. 35 ROS, YidNed 450. 36 EH, 20B 67 (1) A naye purim lukh (The New Purim Calendar). In 20B 67 (10) the author speaks of the nine elements of life. 127

37 But our goods and chattel, we have eaten away.

In this production, Duikelaar pities the poor in their desolation: “[A]nd I have thought about the poor with no food and no goods. A household with small children, no bread to eat or fire to warm. And nebbich [pity] them all winter without earnings, and when I think of that my joy disappears.”38 Of course an important reason to include the winter hardships in the purimkrantn was largely connected to the date of Purim, which takes place somewhere between February and March. Poverty and the corresponding inability to repair or renew the Jewish communities’ facilities or collect taxes is also addressed in the play Alz der sof iz gut, allez iz gut (All is Well that Ends Well).39 This play was performed at the house of Chief Rabbi Moses Löwenstamm somewhere between 1794 and 1798. The play deviates from the biblical storyline of other purimshpieln and instead shares more similarities with Dutch comedies, such as Den bedroge bedrieger (The Betrayed Liar, 1683). In those plays, the plot focuses on revealing the truth and exposing the imposter, which is reflected in telling adjectives such as disguised, betrayed, deceived, etc.40 Likewise in this anonymous Yiddish play, the plot revolves around the unmasking of several characters.41 The play commences with a request to the Amsterdam Ashkenazi community to donate on behalf of the poverty-stricken community of Solnek in Poland. Their eruv (ritual enclosure) and keys to the mikveh are stolen, and because “there is no money, not in our pockets, not in our houses, and everything costs money, we send a young man

37 EH, 20B67 (5). Cf. Leo Fuks, “Van Poerimspelen tot Poerimkranten,” Het Maandblad voor de geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland 1947/1948, 172. 38 EH, 20B67 (5) 39 This name was given by its founder and translator into the West-Yiddish, Leo Fuks. 40 Leo Fuks, All is Well that Ends Well or The Uncovered Three-Fold Deceit: A Comedy in Three Acts. An Anonymous Yiddish Comedy from the End of the 18th Century, Introduction, notes, and modernized Yiddish version (Paris, 1955), XI–XII. 41 The comedy commences with the arrival of Yerushalmi at the house of the parnas of Amsterdam, Reb Lipman. Yerushalmi pretends to be a money collector for Jerusalem, who only speaks broken Hebrew. However in reality he is a swindler from Galicia and has tricked his wife, Lipke Yentes, by sending her a letter confirming his death. Yerushalmi is accompanied by a girl dressed as a boy, who he deceived into leaving her father’s house. Because Lipke Yentes presumes her husband is dead, she marries Reb Yoksh, a miracle-working rabbi from Galicia and a friend of Yerushalmi. Reb Yoksh, in his turn, also deserts Lipke Yentes and moves to Amsterdam. In the meantime, Lipke Yentes travels after him. In the house of Parnas Lipman, where eventually all the characters gather, the imposters are exposed. Yerushalmi returns to his wife Yentes, and Reb Yoksh marries the girls disguised as a boy who was the servant of Yerushalmi. 128 who shall visit cities and villages to collect money.”42 The first lines of the play show the tension between observance of the Jewish law and money. This critique reverberates in the naye kille´s condemnation of the parnasim for maintaining the difference between rich and poor, especially in the observance of Jewish law.43 Because only paying members were entitled to perform religious honorary functions (in the synagogue), and since membership was expensive, this meant that the poor were excluded. However, the writers of the alte kille’s Diskursn denied the parnasim’s responsibility for the Jews’ deplorable state. According to them, poverty was a constant factor and an inevitable evil. They defended inequality by claiming that it resulted in conspicuous religious consumption, which was taxed and therefore benefitted the community funds. The alte kille used the example of how Jews tried to prevent their interment at the Jewish cemetery at Zeeburg, which was predominantly used for the poor, so that they could be buried at the much more prestigious cemetery at Muiderberg.

Imagine that the community supports about 900 households at its expense, and all have received poor relief. As a matter of course, when such people come to die, they have to be buried at the expense of the community, which would have cost the poor relief fund a lot of money every year if they had all been brought to the cemetery at Muiderberg. They didn’t have a choice and bought this cemetery at Zeeburg, which is nearby, in order to save the great expense. And do you think that no good people have been buried there? Believe me, important people and great scholars of the world. And the result was also a financial gain: this cemetery has kept many people back because they didn’t want to lose their privilege [of being buried] at Muiderberg, so they went to extreme trouble in order not to go on the poor relief list. This also produced a lot of 44 money for the community over the course of time.

This critique of the price tag on Jewish law recurs in the Diskursn and is clearly explained in the bilingual yontef-bletter from Duikelaar, Nayen yors und ekstra simkhes- toure kurant benign Lekere Kheritkhe. Dialogue tussen rebe Henokh en eyshes khayel Gerritje (New Year’s and Special Simhat Torah Paper to the Tune of Lekkere Gerritje. Dialogue between Reb Henokh and His Accomplished Wife Gerritje). In this poem, Reb Henokh complains about the expenses of the High Holidays. He mentions, among other

42 Fuks, All is Well, 1. 43 See for instance Diskursn 1 of the naye kille; Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, passim. 44 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 354.

129 things, especially the costs connected with the observance of Jewish law. Thus he sighs about the price of “honey and sweet apples for Rosh Hashanah, the grapes to say Shehehiyanu [a special blessing of thanks] over, kosher wine for the Kiddush, a lulav [bundle of palm tree, myrtle, and willow] and etrog [lemon] for Sukkot.”45 This relation between religion and money is a beloved maskilic theme, as it provides an example of how inequality violates the self-realization of Jews.

Jewish unproductivity Another subject in purimshpieln that is connected with poverty is the question of Jewish productivity. The concern over Jewish labor productivity also comes to the fore in various proposals for the elevation of the Jews, such as the one from von Dohm and from Abbe Grégoire. They readily admit that discrimination and exclusion of Jews from the gilden contributed to Jewish over-representation in unskilled jobs, jobs that required no education. The inability for (Dutch) Jews to work in manufacturing starkly decreased their economic opportunities. This meant that the majority of the Jewish community was employed in unskilled labor, as porters, traders in second-hand goods, or peddlers.46 Duikelaar addresses this issue of unproductivity in Antvert an Shloyme Duikelaar. He describes how he tried many trades in order to provide for his family. The brochure starts with Duikelaar´s attempt to cash in a lottery ticket in strange places and continues with his employment in widely divergent professions. “I began with another job, namely corn cutter [i.e., corns of the feet] (all feet are filthy). The first [corn] I cut with a sharp knife until [the patient] was completely cut up at my hands[….] An apothecary and a doctor had to help. What was my luck? That I escaped quickly!”47 Duikelaar comically blended the inability of Jews to focus on one job and a supposedly Jewish ‘monkey business’ into this piece. According to Dessauer, the overrepresentation of Jews in trade was responsible for the Jewish community’s poverty.48 In a narrative song with the revealing name Arbeit

45 YidNed 523, fol. 2a. 46 Marco H.D. van Leeuwen, “Arme Amsterdamse joden en de strijd om hun integratie aan het begin van de negentiende eeuw,” in De Gelykstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid, edited by Hetty Berg (Joods Historisch Museum, Amsterdam 1996), 57. 47 Yid, 480. 48 Because of the shift in content and language and the lack of humor, both Fuks and Aptroot do not regard two brochures by Dessauer as proper Purim productions, even though Dessauer himself labelled them as purim productions. Fuks, “Van Poerimspelen tot Poerimkranten,” 176; Marion Aptroot, “Western Yiddish 130 und Fleiss, Dessauer encourages the Jews to learn a craft, and he explicitly addresses the question of Jewish productivity. In this song, two sisters are in search of an appropriate marriage candidate. Both a shoemaker and a tailor propose themselves. However, the sisters are reluctant, as they do not consider them honorable and eligible for marriage. “Oh no tailor, a tailor and a shoemaker, do you despise us? No, we want to marry merchants.”49 As the reaction of the sisters demonstrates, professions such as shoemaker and tailor were frowned upon. To boost the esteem of artisans, Dessauer lets the tailor answer the sisters. “The craftsman is just as good as any one else. If there were no craftsman, there would be no merchants.”50 And the shoemaker continues: “A human is a human being when he is human and honest. The world is divided under various stars. We cannot become everything.”51 Then the choir responds with the much-cited solution to ‘Jewish’ productivity: “We cannot all live from trade and live as merchants; variation in conduct can give us nourishment.”52 With this musical piece, Dessauer clearly intended to convince the Jews that working in crafts provided food and was therefore just as honorable as working in trade. Apparently, Jews were reluctant to try other professions, and as social mobility numbers demonstrated, Jews predominantly remained working in trade; their choice of these professions thus had as much to with culture as with exclusion.53 Towards the end of the song, the women are finally convinced of the respectability of the artisans and happily proclaim:

No, no, no, I will no longer tarry I should quickly marry As a woman ages Her appearance changes And if she doesn’t have a lot of capital A husband she will not get at all

Yontev-Bletlekh: Facing Modernity with Humor,” Jewish Studies Quarterly 15 (2008): 55. For Dessauer’s life, see Hetty Berg, “Thalia and Amsterdam Ashkenazi Jews,” in Dutch Jewry: Its History and Secular Culture (1500–2000), edited by Jonathan Israel and Reinier Salverda (Leiden/Boston/Köln: Brill, 2002), 198. 49 YidNed 497, Dessauer, Arbeit und Fleiss, 2. 50 Ibid., 3. 51 Ibid. 52 Ibid. 53 Frans van Poppel, Aart C. Liefbroer, and Jona Schellekens, “Religion and Social Mobility in Nineteenth- Century The Hague,” Sociology of Religion 2 (2003): 257–258. 131

Therefore an artisan it will be As he can provide for me Better one than none.54

In the last couplets, Dessauer explicitly connects the artisan’s productivity with usefulness. Being productive characterized many Enlightenment endeavors, and this preoccupation with utility is reflected in various civil associations. The word usefulness appears in names, institutions, and various writings, and it typifies the pivotal role attributed to civil society for social change. Things were only valuable if they benefitted humanity. For instance, the most important association aiming to civilize the masses was called the Association for the Benefit of the Common Good (Maatschappij tot Nut van ‘t Algemeen). In the same manner as the enlightened founders, Dessauer praises the products of the various crafts: “[S]o the carpenter hammers, the weaver weaves, and the cook cooks. They are respectable vocations as they all bring ‘bread to the table’.”55 In the final couplet, the link between respectability and usefulness is once again expressed when the choir sings: “Being useful is our goal... and the greatest art stays small when she is of no use to the world.”56 The Diskursn of the naye kille likewise draws a link between the inability to work in the crafts and Jewish backwardness. “I want to serve this country in which I have a share. And for my household, too, by making a living in an honorable way. If you have a trade, buy yourself into a guild. If you have a shop that isn’t free, buy yourself into a guild. Become a man. Don’t remain a Jew in abjection.”57 Here Dessauer presents manual labor as a cure for Jewish illness. The physical labor and the material result could turn the Jew into a citizen and a human being. The negative representation of Jewish breadwinning was further fostered by Jewish (circular) migration as a result of the shrinking opportunities for Jews to settle and earn a living in Eastern Europe and the German countries.58 Some Jews even joined gangs, and in the eighteenth century several of these were almost exclusively Jewish.59

54 Dessauer, Arbeit und Fleiss, 4. 55 Ibid. 56 Ibid., 5. 57 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 136. 58 For instance, Frederik II of Prussia issued a decree in 1744 restricting the settlement of Jews in Breslau, and in Russia Jews could only reside in the pale of settlement. 59 Florike Egmond, Op het verkeerde pad. Georganiseerde misdaad in de Noordelijke Nederlanden 1650– 1800 (Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Bert Bakker, 1994), 142–167. 132

This, coupled with a large group of betteljuden, added to the already negative image of the Jew.60 The strong image of the dishonorable Jew moving from one city to another is reproduced in two characters in the play Alz der sof iz gut, iz allez gut. One is Reb Yoksh, a baal-shem (miracle-working rabbi) from Galicia, and the other is the swindler posing as a shadar (or a shaliach derabanan, a legal emissary for the collection of settlements in distress or in the Holy Land), Yerushalmi. Both characters represent the wandering Jewish Eastern European immigrant. They do not have a craft or product, but instead pray on the goodness and naiveté of others. Reb Yoksh, for instance, is in search of a lucrative position as a teacher and extensively quotes from rabbinic literature, which he quite often twists to his own benefit. Thus when the host, Parnas Lipman, reacts a bit suspiciously and questions Reb Yoksh´s real intentions, Reb Yoksh changes the usual explanation “let another man praise thee, but not thine own mouth” (Proverbs 27:2) into:

Who is allowed to praise me? No more, no: it is written, let other men praise thee; that means a stranger who does not know you, he is allowed to praise. From that we derive that if a man knows someone, that is to say someone like you, who no doubt has heard of me, he is not allowed to praise. Therefore, if a man fulfills this obligation, he does 61 not praise. I obey this rule and praise only myself.

This rather bizarre explanation of the verse shows the capability of the writer to play with traditional Jewish texts and theological reasoning, while at the same time criticizing those who use Jewish religious sources for their own gain. Moreover, Yerushalmi symbolizes here the dishonest Jewish trader and his illogical chatter, behavior that prevented the Jews from becoming real citizens

Critique of the Jewish religion in the character of Yerushalmi Besides representing the Jewish reluctance to become productive, the character of Yerushalmi also exposes the abuse of religion.62 The shadar was a highly respected

60 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 136. 61 Fuks, All is Well, 4. 62 Cf. Ein sjein nay mayse fun eyn khosed, a play from 1746 about a religious hypocrite and thief. Leo Fuks, “Ein sjein naj majse foen a chosid,” Het Maandblad voor Geschiedenis der Joden (1947–1948): 103-108. 133 figure in the Jewish world, and this appointment was bestowed on outstanding scholars with a fair knowledge of foreign languages because the shadar visited various countries to collect funds. The shadar was a well-known figure, treated with respect, and Jews were urged to donate to communities in distress.63 Yerushalmi symbolized how religious authority figures abused the naiveté of the Jewish community and how they exploited their status for their own benefit. Abuse by religious authorities was a beloved enlightened theme, and Voltaire, for instance, devoted many pages to the injustice of the Catholic Church. Likewise, the maskilim condemned the rabbinate for deceiving and exploiting the Jewish community for their own gain. The figure of the shadar is related to the commandment of tsedakah (giving charity), as he collects money either for communities in distress in Eastern Europe or for Jewish religious settlements in the Holy Land (yishuvim).64 In the light of tsedakah, requests for help from the Jewish community were generously supported. Yerushalmi thus reminds the community of their Jewish responsibility of tsedakah and emphasizes that their gift will enable the Jews of Solnek to fulfill their religious obligations. “God will give you and your family a long life. Because there is no greater mitzvah then to repair the eruv and netilat yadayim (ritual washing of the hands), and to realize it, we hand over everything that you own, as it is written: ‘when you go, you shall not go empty’ (Ex. 3:21).” Withholding alms from the Jews of Solnek hindered them in fulfilling their Jewish duties; Yerushalmi makes their observance of Jewish law dependant upon the generosity of the Amsterdam community. Moreover, in his plea he reminds the community of the promised riches and liberation from the Egyptians in the Bible. By quoting this particular verse, he reminds the community of their shared history as well as Jewish responsibility; charity was a matter of solidarity. Trust lay at the foundation of this system of Jewish charity. However, with so many requests, it was difficult to tell if the intensions of every agent were honest. Thus in the play parnas Lipman sighs: “Nowadays, there have never been so many shlachim [legal emissaries]. One collects for the [victims] of an evil edict,65 another for the pidyon

63 See for instance a pogrom-stricken Brisek in Lithuania (Protocolbuch II, 44) and a collection for the yishuv in Jerusalem (Hebron and Safed, Protocolbuch IV, 6). 64 Cf. Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 180–183; and Michmanei Yosef, “Foundation of the institution Pekidim ve-Amarkelim of the Holy cities in Amsterdam,” 229–44.[Hebrew]. 65 For instance, the edict of the Archduchess of Austria, Maria Theresa, in 1745 prohibited Jewish settlement in Bohemia. 134 shvuyim [redemption of captives]. Who knows if they are honest with so many swindlers 66 in the world?” Distrust about the honest distribution of collected money was also one of the reasons for the Ashkenazi community to discontinue their joint collection efforts with the Sephardim for the yishuv in the Holy Land. The Ashkenazim established the organization Pekidim ve-Amarkalim (Officials and Administrators), with Hirsch Lehren as the leading figure. Because of its sacred nature, both the Lehrens and the Ashkenazi community regarded assistance to Jews studying in the Holy Land as more important than supporting their local students.67 Another issue that was also related to the abuse of religious legal structures was that of the woman trapped in her marriage, the agunah. Whenever a husband did not return from his travels or disappeared, the wife remained married, because in order to divorce the man had to write a letter (get) stating that he wanted to divorce his wife. Without such a letter, the woman was stuck. She could not remarry, and if she would have children with another man, they would be bastards (mamzerim), cursed for seven generations and only able to marry other mamzerim. For the maskilim, the agunah epitomized the errors and failures of the rabbinic system. In a famous poem by the Russian maskil Yehuda Leyb Gordon (1830–1892) titled Kotzo Shel Yod (The Point on Top of the Yod), the author ridicules the rabbinate for disapproving a get because it left out the letter yod, leaving the woman poor and miserable.68 This concern with freeing the Jewish woman from the bonds of orthodoxy is especially prominent in the late- nineteenth-century writings of Eastern European maskilim such as S. An-Sky (Shloyme Zanvl Rappoport 1863–1920) and Isaac Leyb Peretz (1852–1915).69 The issue of the agunah also appears in the play Alz der sof iz gut, iz allez gut, but here it is connected to the supposedly libelous behavior of the vanished husband. Travel was a major part of Jewish life, as many moved from one city to another to sell goods, study, or migrate. Yet travel also enabled husbands to disregard their responsibilities at

66 Fuks, All is Well, 2. 67 Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 180. 68 http://benyehuda.org/yalag/yalag_086.html (accessed 7 August 2014). 69 Cf. Gabriella Safran, Wandering Soul: The Dybbuk’s Creator, S. An-Sky (Cambridge, Mass: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010), 19; Simcha Fishbane, The Boldness of an Halakhist: An Analysis of the Writings of Rabbi Yechiel Mechel Halevi Epstein the Arukh Hashulhan: A Collection of Social-Anthropological Essays (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2008), 60–61.; Skolnik and Berenbaum, Encyclopaedia Judaica, 771; Menachem M. Brayer, The Jewish Woman in Rabbinic Literature (Hoboken, N.J: Ktav Pub. House, 1986), 72–73. 135 home.70 In the play, Lipke Yentes, the deserted wife of the so-called miracle-working rabbi Reb Yonkesh, left Poland in search of her lost husband in order to obtain a get so she could marry another man, Reb Getz. She finds her Reb Yonkesh in the house of Reb Liepman and demands a get. “Ah, you bastard. This time I found you, rue your cries. You left me there in Poland, suffering, while you fled to Ashkenaz. You would have let me be an agunah.”71 She convinces Reb Liepman, the host, to help her, and she eventually acquires her letter of divorce. The issue of the agunah is another example of how in this play Jewish religious concerns, such as the tsedakah, yishuv, or pidyon shvuyim, blended with popular theatrical themes. As such, this play exemplifies how the themes of Dutch theatre were integrated into a Jewish framework. Purim shows how the boundaries between the secular and the religious were more of an ideal inspired by the doctrine of secularism than something that could be applied to this Jewish tradition. The maskilim used this platform of social critique to infuse a religious festival with their secular ideals. Consequently, the Purim productions began to address issues related to ‘the Jewish question’.72 The combined frivolity and seriousness of the genre enabled the maskilim to reach the common man. Instead of merely reversing the social order, and thus emphasizing the ridiculousness of change, the focal point became the aspects of Jewish life that the maskilim wanted to reform. The themes of Jewish unproductivity and the cost of observing Jewish law entered and enriched the genre. In other words, religious and secular discourses entangled with the dispositive of Purim. Therefore, references to the differences between husband and wife, fictional images, and scatological humor blended with critique of the Jewish lifestyle. As a result, socio-political objectives became embedded within the religious framework of Purim. Critique of the differences between rich and poor, the price tag on Jewish observance, and the issue of Jewish productivity formed a discursive knot within the contemporary Purim tradition. In addition, local issues such as the collection for the yishuvim, the attractiveness of Amsterdam for betteljuden, and the harsh winters also found their way into the genre. It became a dispositive to educate the Jews on citizenship. But to say that Purim was hijacked by the maskilim would be a great

70 Cf. Nimrod Zinger, “Away from Home: Travelling and Leisure Activities among German Jews in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries*,” The Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook (2011): 53–78. 71 Fuks, All is Well, 7, line 19–22. 72 Davidson, Parody in Jewish Literature, II: 57–58. Because of these extra issues, Aptroot classifies them as ‘modern’. Aptroot, “Western Yiddish Yontev-Bletlekh,” 66. 136 exaggeration, as the rituals both fostered the social order and renegotiated power relations.

3. The politicalized Jewish ritual: The sermon In the nineteenth century, the sermon was an important dispositive for discourses on Dutch nationality and Jewishness.73 Patriotism and moral responsibility became essential virtues in the modern nation, which, now that the Jews had become citizens, had to be learned and internalized.74 Beginning with the French occupation, the government issued regulations regarding the content of sermons, and as a result, the sermon became imbued with nationalistic propaganda.75 The Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs deemed the government’s message so imperative that in 1814 it decreed that the sermon’s purpose was to instill love for the fatherland and educate the Jew into becoming a good citizen. It stated: “The rabbis or assessors are obliged to instill in their flock, by means of their sermons, love for the fatherland, their sovereign, and the professions and an aversion to laziness and begging.”76 This dispositive blended the enlightened ideal of utility with discourses on citizenship and religion. With this regulation, the rabbis became a vehicle for the promotion of national virtues. The sermon was originally not a significant part of the Ashkenazic liturgy. However, under the influence of both Sephardic and Christian traditions, it gained a foothold in Jewish life.77 Previously, the chief rabbi was only obliged to deliver a sermon twice a year, namely on the Sabbath preceding Pesach and on Yom Kippur.78 Special occasions such as national disasters, Jewish festivities, or requests from the government

73 For a discussion of the intertwining of religious and political (national) objectives within the sermon since the eighteenth century, see Robert Hole, Pulpits, Politics, and Public Order in England, 1760–1832 (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989); Peter van Rooden, Religieuze Regimes. Over godsdienst en maatschappij in Nederland, 1570–1990 (Amsterdam: Bert Bakker, 1996), 83–96; Jelle J. Bosma, Woorden van een gEHond verstand: de invloed van de Verlichting op de in het Nederlands uitgegeven preken van 1750 tot 1800 (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1997), 245–264. 74 In chapter three of his book, Peter van Rooden discusses how the idea of love for the fatherland became intertwined with the concept of appropriate religious behaviour in the government-decreed bededagen (days of fasting and thanksgiving). See van Rooden, Religieuze Regimes, 78–120. 75 I argue that nationalism imbued the ritual, which is contrary to Eric Hobsbawm, who regarded nationalism as a substitute for social cohesion through religion. Eric Hobsbawm, “Mass-producing traditions in Europe, 1870–1914”, in The Invention of Tradition, edited by Hobsbawm and Ranger (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 303. NA, HC, inv. 33 1813 76 SCIA, inv.1. nr. 2b. 77 Cf. Marc Saperstein, Jewish Preaching 1200–1800 (New Haven, 1989), 63–77; Bart Wallet, “Religious Oratory,” 185–189. 78 See for instance Arjeh Löwenstamm, Protocolbuch II, 58–59; Moses Löwenstamm, Protocolbuch IV, 85.

137 were also reasons to write sermons.79 During the nineteenth century, thirty-three Ashkenazi and Sephardi sermons were written or translated into Dutch and printed.80 Reasons for this, besides the endorsement of the use of Dutch, include the display of Jewish loyalty to the sovereign and their worthiness of citizenship.81

The gunpowder tragedy in Leiden The tragic event of the gunpowder explosion in Leiden became the symbol of the nation’s unity, a moment wherein the provinces presented themselves as part of one nation. The emotional appeal to the inhabitants of the Netherlands to help the victims spurred the feeling of mutual belonging as well as uniting Dutch citizens in their effort to relieve the burden. King Louis Napoleon (1778–1846) took the opportunity of the tragedy to present himself as the leader and the savior-king. He portrayed himself as a hero with little regard for his own safety as he supposedly rescued the victims from the devastating fire and comforted the destitute. The king became a role model. For the Ashkenazi community it was a moment to demonstrate their loyalty and commitment to the well-being of the nation. The Dutch chief rabbis used the tragedy to foster their own image as loyal subjects, praising the king and his efforts. The gunpowder explosion presented an excellent opportunity for self-promotion for both the king and the Jewish religious leaders. The tragedy happened on 13 January 1807, when a ship containing gunpowder exploded in the center of Leiden. The explosion killed about 165 inhabitants and injured an additional 2,000.82 Only a few hours after the explosion, King Louis Napoleon Bonaparte visited the area to inspect the damage and to support the victims. Numerous journals reported on the disaster and artists and writers commemorated the explosion in writing and painting.83 Among the casualties were several Jewish children, since their

79 Wallet, “Religious Oratory,” 174. 80 Ibid., 169. 81 Patriotism had already appeared in one of Mendelssohn’s sermons. Also, other German rabbis used their sermons to show their loyalty to the government. David Sorkin, “Preacher, Teacher, Publicist: Joseph Wolf and the ideology of Emancipation,” in Profiles in Diversity. Jews in a Changing Europe 1750–1870, edited by Frances Malino and David Sorkin (Cambrigde, Oxford: B. Blackwell, 1991), 119 Cf. Marc Saperstein, “Sermons to Central European Jews: 1756–1815,” Leo Baeck Institute Year Book (1993): 7. 82 For a quantitative analysis, see Arti Ponsen, “Een fataal evenement. De slachtoffers van 12 januari 1807,” in Het fataal evenement. De buskruitramp van 1807 in Leiden, edited by Arti Ponsen and Ed van der List (Leiden: Uitgeverij Ginkgo, 2007), 167–193. 83 For a discussion of the commemoration of the gunpowder explosion in Leiden, see Frans Grijzenhout, “Een ramp als erfgoed,” in Het fataal evenement, edited by Ponsen and van der List, 13–21. 138 elementary school was located near the explosion. The schoolteacher, David Haagens, lost his wife and four of his children. Another eleven children were killed, and three others were reported missing.84 The disaster left a deep impression on the Amsterdam Ashkenazi community, as the chronicler Wing reports: “[L]uckily David Haagens was spared because he had escorted children to their home. In addition, many leading figures and professors were killed. The synagogue was severely damaged, although – thank God – the aron hakodesh and the Torah scrolls were saved.”85 On the national authorities´ request, the Ashkenazi Community of Amsterdam organized a collection in its synagogues.

On 24 January, the parnasim received a request from the government to announce in every synagogue that everyone is invited to contribute, according to their ability, to relieve the burden of the disaster in Leiden. Next week in the community’s meeting hall daily from 11a.m.. until 2p.m., a parnas together with the municipal committee and a member of the municipal board accompanied by two other Christians will be present to collect the contributions. For those who know what they want to donate, a sign-up list will be present, while for those who want to donate anonymously, a box will be there to collect the amount.86

Moreover, because of the disaster´s national character and the many Jewish casualties, the Jewish rabbinate felt obliged to express their empathy. In a sermon given on Sunday 25 January, Rabbi Moses Löwenstamm laments the losses of “the lofty city of Leiden.” Wing refers to this sermon as “an appropriate sermon to urge the community members toward generous financial contributions, each according to their own ability.”87 According to Löwenstamm, “God” and “his compassion” saved the city from total destruction. “And if the fire had not been extinguished by God’s mercy, it would have completely destroyed the city.” The king, according to Löwenstamm, served as God’s instrument. He heralds the efforts of King Louis as he jeopardized his life by rescuing people from the fire as well as extinguishing it. “His made these efforts with diligence

84 Wing reports two children missing. See Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812,” 198. 85 Ibid. 86 Ibid. A national collection ordered by the king was organized for the benefit of the victims. See Hugo Landheer, “Nederlands eerst nationale collecte. De financiële hulpverlening aan de slachtoffers van de buskruitramp,” inHet fataal evenement, edited by Ponsen and van der List, 293–265. 87 Ibid.

139 and not with laziness.” Moreover, he continues to praise the king as he urges the community to help: “it is not time to complain but to help.” By praising the king’s actions and by depicting him as a hero who, with complete disregard for his own safety, rescued the inhabitants of Leiden from the devastating flames, Löwenstamm fostered the image of the savior-king as well as demonstrating his allegiance to this representative of God.88 In addition, his son-in-law Samuel Berenstein, at that time chief rabbi in Groningen and Leeuwarden, wrote a special sermon to commemorate the victims of the gunpowder explosion. Löwenstamm and Berenstein differed in their views of the future of Dutch Jewry, but nonetheless found each other in their wish to show Jewish loyalty to the king. Berenstein’s wish to announce his support for the king and the compassion he felt for the victims of the explosion was so great that he ordered a Dutch translation of his sermon, which was printed shortly after the disaster.89 In the introduction to the sermon, Berenstein excuses himself for his inability to deliver the speech directly in Dutch. He emphasizes the importance of the spiritual leader as a moral guide, leading his flock on the righteous path. Furthermore, he states that a rabbi should advise and comfort the community with love and words. Moreover, he expands on how he perceived the members of the community and how a sermon should be preached. Berenstein clearly took the opportunity of the national disaster to set out his own reform plans. Like his father-in-law, Moses Löwenstamm, Berenstein used his speech to praise the king for his contributions in Leiden. The sermon elaborates on Psalm 112 verse 9: “He hath scattered abroad, he hath given to the needy; his righteousness endureth forever; his horn shall be exalted in honor.” Charity and love for one´s neighbor are the main subjects of the sermon. According to Berenstein, compassion was not only part of human nature but of nature itself. In addition, because it was inherent in nature, it was perfectly compatible with, if not inseparable from, pure reason and wisdom.90 Therefore, it was against nature and the human condition to be miserly. Not being compassionate

88 Roest, “Uittreksel Uit Eene Kronijk van de Jaren 1795–1812 (II),” 198. ACA, 1241-480. 89 His German was, however, written with Hebrew characters. ACA, 1241, 137. 90 Samuel Berenstein, Leerrede over psalm CXII: Vers 9 (transl. J. van Coevorden) (H. Eekhof Hz: Groningen, 1807), 17. 140 toward human beings was not only one of the biggest deviations from the right path, but also caused much greater sins, such as the murder of Abel by Cain.91 In the sermon, Berenstein used the king’s charity as an example for all Jews. By emphasizing the king´s good character and praising his honest intentions, Berenstein endorsed the king´s rule.

Behold! On the wings of love comes forward as a saving angel our beloved and benevolent king to the horrifying place, as a loving father among his children. With the speed of an arrow, we see our lovely father hasten to the sorrowful area. Clearly, he shows that he only wishes to reign in the hearts of the citizens.92

Berenstein further employs lofty psalms to praise his actions. Using the king as a role model for virtuous behavior emphasized Jewish support for the king and his government.93 Like the gunpowder tragedy, the sermon commemorating the Belgian Revolt provides Berenstein with an excellent opportunity to represent the Jews as loyal subjects of the state.94 The Belgian Revolt started in 1830 and lead to the independence of Belgium, a direct result of the unifying and nationalizing efforts of Willem I. Condemnation of Belgium served as proof of Jewish support for Willem’s policy. The sermons added to the already growing mythologization of the virtue of the king, which Moses Löwenstamm’s sermon clearly shows when he describes the king’s conduct as heroic and bold. As such, the sermons helped foster the image of the savior-king. In his praise Berenstein resembles his father-in-law Löwenstamm, who also devoted several lines the king’s heroic actions. Despite their laudatory praises, the style of the sermons is very different. Berenstein was clearly influenced by contemporary ideas on preaching, which emphasized its moral capacities. A sermon should inspire the congregants to good behavior and should be accessible and understandable for all. Therefore the preacher used examples from daily life and subordinated scholarly

91 Ibid., 22. 92 Ibid., 36–37. 93 In the sermon commemorating the Belgian Revolution, Berenstein compares the actions of the king with important biblical figures such as Jacob, King Solomon, and David. Samuel Berenstein, Neêrlands bededag op den 2den December 1832 of Verslag der viering van dezen dag, zoo als dehelve heeft plaats gehad in de Nederlandsche Israëlitishe synagoge, te Amsterdam ingesteld door S. Berenstein, Opperrabbijn der Nederlandsche Israëlitische Hoofdsynagoge aldaar (Amsterdam: D. Proops Jacobszoon en van Embden en C., z.d.), 2–20. 94 Compare for instance the poem by Moses Lemans, the “Sin of Belgium,” in Michmanei Yosef: Studies on the History and Literature of the Dutch Jews, edited by Joseph Michman, 493–524. 141 exegesis to the moral message. Berenstein broke with the sermon tradition of his father- in-law. Löwenstamm’s sermon was written in the old style: a series of biblical quotes clarified the original text, and he did not compare the Bible with secular texts or with the daily experience of the congregants. Moreover, Löwenstamm’s sermon was written in Hebrew, which was probably not understood by the less-educated Jew, while Berenstein’s initial sermon was written in German, which resembled the lingua franca of the community: Yiddish. Furthermore, the intended audience differed. Berenstein clearly addressed every congregant, and the translation of the sermon into Dutch enabled him to represent himself to Dutch society as a loyal subject, committed to the well-being of the nation. In contrast, Löwenstamm’s sermon was more intended for a learned public and the Jewish community. Although the styles differed considerably, their intention was the same, namely the representation of Jewish support for the king and fatherland. In the newly invented national ritual of gathering support for the victims of the gunpowder explosion, different religious translations developed.95 Löwenstamm’s was the incorporation of the national ritual within the then-common textual tradition of writing sermons; Berenstein was the promulgation of a new type of sermon. Berenstein especially took this opportunity to set out his own ideas for the renewal of the chief rabbi’s position and the role of religion in Jewish society. His sermon was not a showpiece of scholarship as his father-in-law’s was, but rather a program for Jewish reform and the role of the rabbinate in it. Despite their different uses of the sermon, both men used the opportunity of the gunpowder tragedy to show their alliance to the king and to represent the Jews as concerned and loyal citizens. As such, their engagement with the new dispositive of the sermon reveals different Jewish strategies of incorporation.

Promotion of the Dutch language Next to presenting the Jews as loyal Dutch citizens, the sermon was an instrument to familiarize the Jews with the vernacular. Promotion of the vernacular was a typical maskilic endeavor, and the ability of the Jews to speak the nation’s language became an

95 In the river floods of 1808 and 1809, King Louis Napoleon Bonaparte likewise publicly showed his compassion and empathy with the victims by visiting the disaster area and representing himself as the savior-king. Cf. A. M. A. J. Driessen, Watersnood tussen Maas en Waal. Overstromingsrampen in het rivierengebied tussen 1780 en 1810 (Zutphen: Walburg pers, 1994). 142 important aspect of maskilic Jewish identity. This was one among many other reasons why Mendelssohn initiated the German translation of the Pentateuch. In his words: “This is the first step to culture from which, alas, my nation has held itself so aloof that one might almost despair of any possibility of improvement.”96 Likewise, Dutch maskilim regarded knowledge of Dutch as a necessary condition for civil elevation. Holding on to Yiddish hindered the Jews in their economic as well as in their educational development. In 1827, he Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs encouraged the writing of Dutch sermons by organizing a yearly competition for the best sermon written in Dutch and granting a silver medallion to the winner.97 Promotion of the Dutch vernacular was, however, problematic. The majority of the rabbinate came from the German countries and Eastern Europe and was not well versed in Dutch. Although the royal decree of 26 February 1814 ordered all rabbis to be versed in Dutch, practice proved otherwise. Not until the establishment of the Dutch Jewish Seminary in 1837 did Dutch Jewry have the ability to train their own rabbis. In the seminary, Dutch was an essential part of the rabbis´ training, and besides the emphasis on the vernacular, a secular curriculum was added to prepare the aspiring rabbi for his worldly tasks.98 Another reason for the rabbis´ reluctance to use Dutch was its status. Some rabbis considered the Dutch language, like Yiddish, inferior to Hebrew. The reform-minded Chief Rabbi Jacob Fränkel of Zwolle (1814–1882), for instance, supposedly refused to learn Dutch. Some rabbis, such as Chief Rabbi of Amsterdam Samuel Berenstein and Chief Rabbi of Rotterdam Joseph Isaacsohn (1815–1885), continued preaching in German, probably because they considered Dutch to be a dialect of German. The majority of Berenstein´s sermons are written either in Hebrew or in German with Hebrew letters, even when they concerned special days of thanks or other national events. He did, however, publish some sermons in Dutch, but given the comparative number of Hebrew and German sermons in print, he probably only rarely preached in

96 Cited in Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment, 128. 97 Meijer, Erfenis der Emancipatie, 8. Cf. Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 164–165. 98 Besides the Ashkenazim, the Sephardim were also encouraged to abandon Portuguese and to replace it with Dutch. Here, too, the use of the vernacular posed some problems; opponents feared that it would ultimately lead to the loss of their identity. However, some community members thought otherwise, and in 1850 many left the service in the synagogue during the Portuguese sermon and returned after it was over. Their departure was due to their inability to understand the Portuguese language. Cf. Wallet, “Religious Oratory”, 178–179. 143 the Dutch vernacular.99 Moreover, in his Dutch-translated sermons he stressed that he was not well versed in Dutch. This is remarkable since he had lived in the Netherlands since his early youth at his father-in-law Moses Löwenstamm’s house. Berenstein’s archive contained much Dutch correspondence with no trace of any difficulties with the Dutch language. His publishing of Dutch sermons probably had more to do with presenting himself as a Dutch Jew and endorsing national values than representing the preaching practices in the synagogue. This hybridity characterized Berenstein, who on the one hand promoted the Supreme Committee of Israelite Affairs’ elevation of the Jews of and on the other hand held on to the status quo by frustrating many of their initiatives, such as the translation of the Hebrew Bible into Dutch and the reform of the Jewish educational system.100 Notwithstanding Berenstein’s preference for preaching in Hebrew, his Dutch sermons serve as a good example of how he both served the government and wished for an extension of the chief rabbi’s authority.

The sermon as a moral message Berenstein’s sermon for the victims of the gunpowder explosion in Leiden is an example of the replacement of the scholarly sermon with the moral lesson. His sermons lack many references to Jewish texts and emphasize instead the moral implications of religious observance.101 The Christian sermon was a model for his new version of the Jewish sermon (darasha). Instead of comparing a Bible verse with various rabbinical texts, which was customary in the homilies of his father-in-law, Moses Löwenstamm, a single Bible verse was explained.102 The Christian preacher Johannes Henricus van der Palm (1763–1840) was especially influential for many rabbis, and they copied his baroque and imaginative language. Even though Christian books in the libraries of Dutch rabbis were scarce, Berenstein and theology teachers such as Levi Godschalk Wanefried and David Ezechiel Sluijs possessed a copy of van der Palm’s Bible translation.103

99 ACA, 1241-82-144. In the sermon translated into Dutch and published for the bededag on 2 December 1832, issued during the Belgian Revolt, Berenstein blamed his reluctance to preach in Dutch on his German accent. Berenstein, Neêrlands bededag op den 2den December 1832 of Verslag der viering van dEHen dag. 100 See chapter two. 101 See for instance the sermon for Shabbath Bereshit, ACA, 1241-82. For a characterization of Samuel Berenstein as a transitional figure, see Meijer, Erfenis der Emancipatie, 23–25. 102 ACA, 1241, 480. 103 Wallet, “Religious Oratory”, 186–187.

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In Berenstein’s sermons, only the idea of the verse was discussed, leaving considerable room for a moral exposition. The Bible verse served in this way as a useful leg up to an elaboration on virtues and correct behavior. As such, the sermon on the gunpowder explosion in Leiden as well as his sermon commemorating the Belgian Revolt provide a model for appropriate religious conduct. Berenstein defends his moral exposition of a Bible verse by explaining that “ideas that depart from the norm bring one’s goal closer.”104 Thus for Berenstein a sermon should not have to focus only on biblical exegesis. Instead, his purpose was to reach his audience and to deliver his enlightened moral lesson. This message is so important that he strongly condemns pilpul (casuistic argumentation). His criticism repeats the general enlightened critique of the rabbinate and its textual analysis. “Also among my fellow believers, and maybe among others too, there is the detrimental method of addressing deeply complicated matters and solving and elaborating on them with wit. This abuse, so deeply rooted, is made the predominant goal, while everything else seems to be forgotten.”105 He further condemns those who use pilpul because they neglect the community’s moral needs for the benefit of intellectual prestige. They fail to “remind the community of their obligations…and to enlighten their spirit and to make their hearts amenable to moral lessons.”106 According to Berenstein, the congregants should be able to understand the message: the sermon should serve the people and not the rabbi. Berenstein displays some knowledge of new pedagogic insights, wherein positive encouragement was regarded as more effective than brutal admonishment. Likewise, Berenstein tries to positively motivate the Jews into religious observance instead of threatening them with the Lord’s eternal wrath. Following these insights, Berenstein presents himself as a loving father. Only through “warmth and honesty could [the rabbi] win the trust and love of the community. A passionate imagination would render him with a penetrating eloquence to enlighten reason in their spirits.”107 Reaching out to the public and making himself familiar with the needs of community meant that the rabbi had to “mingle with all human classes and lower his tone in their ordinary and often

104 Berenstein, Leerrede over Psalm CXII: Vers 9, 2. 105 Ibid., 12–13. 106 Ibid., 13. Cf. Berenstein, Neêrlands bededag op den 2den December 1832 of Verslag der viering van dEHen dag, 2. 107 Berenstein, Leerrede over Psalm CXII: Vers 9, 3–4.

145 trivial conversations; there he should acquaint himself with their moods, shortcomings, flaws, and ruling desires.”108 And he continues: “Not everywhere can one convince with cold ingenuity, rules of wisdom, or quotation of the sage’s writings.”109 Berenstein subordinated intellectual prestige to the needs of the Jewish community.110 What is interesting, however, is that he, in contrast to the enlightened adage regarding the capability of human beings to think for themselves, employs a cynical and paternalistic point of view regarding the intellectual capabilities of the Jews. According to Berenstein, the Jewish community’s backwardness compelled him to trick the Jews into employing reason. Berenstein challenges the idea that religious leaders should abstain from politics. On this point, he agreed with his father-in-law Löwenstamm.111 According to Berenstein, there is a connection between irreligiosity, war, and political turmoil. He justifies his political stance by claiming that immorality and disbelief precedes war. Installing religiosity in his congregants would prevent riots and foster the king’s rule. Berenstein makes an explicit political statement when he condemns the Belgians’ wish for independence, and he uses his sermon to show his loyalty and support of the king. Or as he states: “to show our beloved king that we are warned and abhor these horrors.”112 According to Berenstein, loyalty to the House of Orange in particular and the government in general not only characterized Dutch Jewry’s conduct but was mandatory according to Jewish law.113 Berenstein thus made state nationalism part of the Jewish religion. Related to Berenstein´s display of Jewish loyalty was his wish to portray the Jews as honest. Berenstein tries to counter the wave of anti-Semitism that arose, especially in France, after the Jewish convert Deutz deceived Duchesse de Berry in the restoration of the Bourbon dynasty during the French Revolution of 1830. This was a political episode connected to the Belgian Revolt which once again called Jewish loyalty into question. Berenstein condemns Jewish converts to Christianity. According to Berenstein, converts were inherently bad Jews and treacherous by nature. He referred to them as “those

108 Ibid., 3. 109 Ibid., 6. 110 Berenstein, Neêrlands bededag op den 2den December 1832 of Verslag der viering van dEHen dag, 2. 111 See the paragraphs above on the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen and Jewish conscription. 112 Berenstein, Neêrlands bededag op den 2den December 1832 of Verslag der viering van dEHen dag, iv. 113 Ibid., 32–33.

146 fortune seekers, driven to convert only by opportunity and scandalousness.”114 Berenstein displays this perception of the Jewish convert as opportunistic and in search of social acceptance in other writings.115 His negative view of Jewish converts was probably also fueled by the high number of German Jewish converts, particularly among the higher echelons of Jewish society. However, in this case Berenstein uses his negative perception of the Jewish convert to counter accusations of Jewish disloyalty and treacherousness. Denouncing the convert provided Berenstein another chance to display his loyalty to the king and the Dutch nation.

The pastoral role Berenstein presents himself as a moral leader and coach. His vision of the chief rabbi´s role differed from that of his father-in-law Löwenstamm, who refused to learn Dutch and presented himself as a Jewish scholar. Ironically, he never published anything of value, nor was he praised by others for his intellectual capabilities. These were facts that the Diskursn employed sardonically as they played with his short stature and small intellect.116 The few remains of his archive attest to his small intellectual contribution. Berenstein is a key figure in the new attributions of meaning to the rabbi as mentor. His understanding of the chief rabbi’s office was in line with the expansion of the rabbi’s responsibilities for nineteenth-century Reform and Orthodox Jewry alike.117 The rabbi’s involvement was no longer confined to halakhic matters but included the general well- being of community members. This was inspired by the Christian example as well as a result of the dissolving of the Jewish communities’ health care system. Rabbis filled the social vacuum and began to offer moral support. Because the rabbi’s responsibility extended to various fields of life, a rabbi had to acquaint himself with worldly knowledge. As such, the political change actually extended the rabbi´s authority. The extension of rabbinic responsibilities opened up the way for authoritative secular sources. This new development reverberates in the naye kille, as its members favored secular literature and strongly condemned the ignorance of the alte kille’s parnasim. “They have never read a book or newspaper in their life. They only progress

114 Ibid., 37. 115 See the paragraphs on ´Berenstein´s beard´ in chapter four and a ´Jewish signature´ in chapter two. 116 Michman en Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 238, 320, 322, and 422. 117 Marsha L. Rozenblit, “Jewish Identity and the Modern Rabbi: The Cases of Isak Noa Mannheimer, Adolf Jellinek, and Moritz Güdeman in Nineteenth-Century Vienna,” Leo Baeck Year Book (1990): 103. 147 very slowly. They really are stupid jackasses.”118 “There is no knowledge or science in this world that is forbidden for the Jew. On the contrary, the more one wants to study, the better of he is.”119 Although it may seem contradictory, years later Berenstein displayed a similar approval of the acquisition of secular knowledge. “The history of our own days. and the history of the human heart from previous ages, kept in lofty scriptures, should eventually be the main subject of the truly perfect teacher.”120 Knowledge of history, medicine, and economics were essential to the performance of a good village teacher.121 For Berenstein, the multitasking efforts of the village rabbi were an example to strive for. Berenstein’s ideal rabbi expanded religious authority beyond the confines of Jewish scriptures and created room for the incorporation of secular knowledge and literature. This was not a new phenomenon but was already a common tradition since the Middle Ages and Early Modern times, and later even the Orthodox included literary references in order to spice up their preaching.122 However, Berenstein explicitly states the use and value of secular works in his sermon and thus almost brings these works on a par with Jewish scholarship. Instead of extensively quoting from Jewish sources, he mentions Socrates’ dialogues as an example of how to unravel the false cleverness of the Sophists. In addition, he also praises contemporary moral literature.123 “Our time is extremely rich in its abundance of texts concerning these subjects from which enlightened wisdom can be created. In more than a thousand appearances, in anecdotes, in truth, in histories preserved by us; he who has a researching spirit will find immeasurable treasure for his elevation.”124 However, the inclusion of secular sources also served another purpose, namely the representation of Berenstein as open-minded, someone who challenged the idea of an insular Judaism.125 Berenstein presents himself here as a man of the world embracing the universalistic values of the Enlightenment and thus receptive to other authoritative sources.

118 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 82. 119 Ibid., 100. 120 Berenstein, Leerrede over Psalm CXII: Vers 9, 3. 121 Ibid., 3–5. 122 Saperstein, Jewish Preaching, 1200–1800, 93–100; Saperstein, Jewish Preaching in Times of War, 1800– 2001 (Oxford/Portland, Or: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2008), 21–22. 123 Berenstein, Leerrede over Psalm CXII: Vers 9, 7. 124 Ibid., 14. 125 Cf. Berenstein, Neêrlands bededag op den 2den December 1832 of Verslag der viering van dEHen dag, 5.

148

Berenstein pushes the appreciation and usefulness of secular literature to the extreme as he extensively refers to playwrights as a source of inspiration and praises their oral techniques in attracting the attention of the audience and their ability to deliver a clear and compelling moral message.126 Moliere, Shakespeare, Klopstock, and Schiller all inspired him.

In all times, ours not excluded, we observe with amazement what the play brings about and accomplishes through great actors in the theatre. How often whole nations are made passionate. How often patriotism is inflamed with enthusiasm. Here one can see every virtue in her true and natural beauty. Here one sees the same in her soft and humble value. Here she unconditionally conquers hearts. Here all crimes appear in their truly awful appearance. Here one learns the ridiculousness of follies. And who 127 will deny the extended usefulness brought by this noble poetry?

By using the theatre as an inspiration for eloquence and persuasion, Berenstein closely follows the writers of sermon manuals, such as the Calvinist Le Faucheur (1585–1657) and the German reformed minister Johann Ludwig Ewald (1748–1822). Especially the latter referred to Klopstock and Shakespeare as a means to enliven the emotions and cultivate the heart and compared the oratory of the pulpit to the stage techniques of an actor.128 Reason was replaced by the power of emotion in Berenstein’s romantic vision of the sermon. In his almost-blind admiration for theatre and his appreciation of art, Berenstein distanced himself from his rabbinical predecessors, who during the eighteenth century vehemently criticized attendance at the theatre.129 Moreover, he positioned himself firmly within the maskilic reinvention of the purimshpiel (the plays performed during Purim) as a moral mirror. Berenstein’s main concern was the younger generation, since they were easily distracted from the right path. He was clearly influenced by the common understanding of his time of the child as a tabula rasa, as first postulated by John Locke (1632–1704),

126 Berenstein´s appreciation of oratory techniques closely follows Maimonides’ argument, as put forward in his Guide for the Perplexed; however, this comparison is outside the confines of this research. 127 Berenstein, Leerrede over Psalm CXII: Vers 9, 9–10. 128 Herman Roodenburg, “On Eighteenth-Century Pulpit Delivery in England, Germany and the Netherlands," in Preaching, Sermon and Cultural Change in the Long Eighteenth Century, edited by Joris van Eijnatten (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 319–336. 129 D.M. Sluys, “Uit den Amsterdamschen Jodenhoek. De strijd tegen de dans- en speelhuizen in de 18e eeuw,” De Vrijdagavond 9 (1932), 136–138 and (part II) 152–154. Leniency was only given during Purim, when it was customary to perform purimshpieln, 149 who was of the opinion that children developed by experience and confrontations with their environment. It was the responsibility of the parents to show their children righteous conduct.

You, sensitive fathers, who love your children with true tenderness, do not tread them to your current mood, whether too gentle or too strict. You, who do not consider them to be a plaything or a working machine, you, who feed with earnestness the wish to 130 shape your children for the virtues and educate them for science and wisdom.

The sermon changed from a scholarly exposition into an educational tool to instill the right virtues in the minds of the young. Berenstein did not refer in his sermons to correct Jewish moral conduct, but instead emphasized universalistic virtues, such as charity and love for the fatherland. This was a common phenomenon in many other sermons of the new style.131 Berenstein’s sermons stress universal values without references to any particularistic Jewishness. His sermons could for that matter also be read in a Christian church, and no one would notice that they had been written by a Jew. Berenstein wishes his audience to regard the Jews as citizens on a par with the Dutch, with no visible differences. In this respect, religion became a handmaiden for the promotion of the state and its national identity. In Berenstein’s sermons, several discursive strands became entangled, including Dutch nationalism, universalism, and religious leadership. The sermon communicated various messages; it served as a dispositive for Jewishness, state control. and citizenship. As such, the sermon’s manifold functions reveal the reconfigurations between religious and secular spheres.

6. Conclusion At the turn of the nineteenth century, Jewish ritual creatively blended religious and secular discourses. The government employed religious discourses such as the Jewish sermon to disseminate their nationalistic propaganda, and a person such as Chief Rabbi Berenstein used his sermons to set out his own Jewish reform agenda. The government used the dispositive of rituals to enhance its power and legitimate its reforms, such as in

130 Berenstein, Leerrede over Psalm CXII: Vers 9, 10. 131 Rozenblit, “Jewish Identity and the Modern Rabbi,” 109, 115.

150 the case of the public sermon, or to strive for emancipation, as in the case of the newly invented state ritual proclaiming the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. In other cases, the new state rituals entangled with discourses on Jewish tradition, which transformed them in such a way as to support religious authority. The intertwining of religious and secular purposes politicized the rituals, while at the same time political authority relied on religion by employing the religious framework. Put differently: religious and secular discourses were dependent on and legitimized one another in various constellations and power structures. In these restructurings, both Judaizing and secularizing modes of response can be identified. The naye kille incorporated state law into their reformulation of Judaism and constructed a Judaism without authority. This in turn legitimized their secession. The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen authorized the naye kille’s version of Judaism. The orthodox also employed the idea of religion without authority, and state law likewise enhanced, enforced, and legitimized their version of Judaism. Interestingly enough, their respective religious authorities depended on the same Declaration. Both the maskilic and the orthodox factions employed religious discourses to serve their own political purposes. The sermons, for instance, as a dispositive of their own, were an excellent opportunity for consecutive chief rabbis of Amsterdam to demonstrate their allegiance and loyalty to the state as well as to foster their interpretation of the role of the rabbi as a scholar or moral leader in Jewish society. Moreover, the orthodox faction engaged intensely with the state rituals, such as the Declarations and the collection for the gunpowder tragedy in Leiden, and tried to incorporate them into their existing power structures, reconciling their vision of Judaism with what became known as ‘modernity’. The political exploitation of Jewish rituals by both camps counters the idea of a simple dichotomy between the orthodox as defenders of Jewish tradition and the maskilim as forerunners of secularization. As these examples of the politicization of Jewishs ritual demonstrate, secular purposes blended perfectly into the religious infrastructure.

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Chapter four

Self-labelling and othering: Images of the Jew

[…H]ow it would carry unpleasant and tragic consequences if I would shave my beard; every power in Amsterdam and Holland knows I have worn it since my childhood.1

In a letter to a reform-minded friend, Chief Rabbi of Amsterdam Samuel Berenstein writes the above defense of his facial hair. The beard was the identity marker of Berenstein’s position; it signaled his devoutness, his commitment to Judaism, and his religious leadership in the community. Shaving would send the message that he would relinquish his Jewish standards in order to obtain worldly recognition. The beard was not merely a religious observation, but proof of his stature and Jewishness. Jews themselves viewed it either as an important signal of one’s commitment to Judaism or as a mandatory religious rule. However, the beard was also critiqued. Non-Jews and the maskilim regarded the beard as a sign of Jewish backwardness, associating it with Eastern European immigrants and a strict adherence to the Jewish religion. The beard epitomized Jewish maladjustment. In spite of these negative associations, many Jews saw the beard as a sign of religiosity and credibility. The beard is just one example of how Jews identified themselves. This chapter identifies various modes of response in the way Jews labelled themselves. Visibility to Jews and fellow citizens was pivotal. Some old identity markers such as the beard and observance of the dietary laws were shared by the orthodox and the maskilim alike, while a dispositive such as military service became an identity marker for the maskilim. Jews and non-Jews actively engaged with Jewish recognizability. The formation of images of the Jews constructed and legitimized governmental policy. Moreover, citizenship for Jews altered Jewish self-perception as well as how Jews were perceived by those outside the community. In a response to the (budding) emancipation of the Jews, non-Jews portrayed a wide variety of Jewish images. This chapter discusses the new, emerging images of the Jew as citizen as well as the enlightened regeneration discourse that constructed an image of the backward Jew, a victim of prejudice,

1 ACA, 1241-48.

152 persecution, and discrimination, images that displayed the Jew as inherently ‘other’. These new discourses on the Jew influenced and legitimized governmental reform of the Jewish communities. But this was not a one-sided process; the interaction between negative and positive discourses on the Jew also contributed to processes of self- labelling. Jews did not merely reject pejorative and well-known Jewish representations but used them as building blocks for their own identity. Both the Dutch Jewish communities and their (Gentile) surroundings thus contributed in closely interrelated ways to shaping the Jewish image. As such, the construction of the Jewish image is a continuing process, revealing Jewish agency and reflectiveness in shaping their own identities in a secularizing environment.

1. The Jewish self-image In the Jewish emancipation narrative, the break with tradition is an important step towards social acceptance and juridical equality.2 Removal of distinctive Jewish features, such as clothing and hairstyle, are seen as forerunners of integration. Secularization in this meta-history is thus prefaced by the adoption of Western dress.3 Dressing according to the latest fashion, however, does not inevitably signal assimilation and religious decline. Fashionable dress is, after all, a matter of social mobility. This is especially striking considering the fact that a large number of Dutch Jews were poor and lacked proper clothing. This poverty was apparently so ubiquitous that in 1813 the Amsterdam municipality forbade Jews to go around naked.4 Moreover, the protocols (pinkasim) only rarely documented warnings against the adoption of ‘modern’ fashion.5 There is no necessary connection between assimilation and the abandonment of Jewish dress. Jews wore the same clothing as others. A book from 1758 listing and

2 See for instance Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment; Feiner, The Origins of Jewish Secularization in Eighteenth-Century Europe; Ruderman, Early Modern Jewry: A New Cultural History; Israel, European Jewry in the Age of Mercantilism 1550–1750. 3 The loss of religion and the abandonment of traditional clothes was a development which Israel believed was spurred by disappointment in Judaism, brought on by the exposure of the false messiah Sjabbatai Zvi in the seventeenth century. However, Israel does not clarify what exactly the traditional Jewish costume was. Furthermore, Israel also fails to distinguish between the costumes of the Sephardim and the Ashkenazim. Jonathan I. Israel, European Jewry in the Age of Mercantalism 1550–1750 (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1997), 277–278. 4 One can wonder however, whether this decree was based on a real situation or merely reinforced the already prevailing image of Jewish incivility. For the decree, see Salvador E. Bloemgarten, “De Amsterdamse Joden gedurende de eerste jaren van de Bataafse Republiek (1795–98) II,” Studia Rosenthaliana, 2 (1967): 62. 5 Protocolbuch I, 143, 144; Protocolbuch II, 243.

153 describing criminal Jews does not mention a distinctive Jewish style of dress.6 The Dutch juridical archive likewise records no black garb or sidelocks (peyes) as distinctive Jewish features but only wigs and dark hair and eyes.7 Therefore, the idea that the adoption of foreign dress was an ongoing trend in Jewish integration into Dutch society is contested by the lack of distinctive Jewish clothing.8 Although Dutch Jews were not discernible by a specific style of dress, looking Jewish and behaving in a Jewish way remained important aspects for the construction of a Jewish self-image. As a matter of a fact, conspicuousness Jewishness, however it may have been variously defined by different Jewish factions, was pivotal for their self-image.

The Jewish beard Notwithstanding the absence of Jewish attire, some male Jews, especially scholars, rabbis, and devout Jews, were recognizable by their beards. Because of this distinctive feature, Nicolaas Hoefnagel, an author of satirical periodicals, pejoratively dubbed Amsterdam Jewry the “bearded nation,” a sarcastic word play on the political autonomy of the Jewish community before 1796.9 The Jewish beard custom resulted from the biblical prohibition to shave the corners of the face or to touch the skin with a razor (Lev. 19:27). Local variations in interpretation caused many different beard styles throughout Europe. For instance, some scholars were of the opinion that the ruling only referred to razors and permitted trimming the beard with scissors.10 Others interpreted the ruling kabbalistically, connecting the beard to divine grace, believing that through each separate beard hair godly energy was channeled. Isaac Luria (1534–1572), founder of the Lurianic Kabbalah, was known to keep his hands off of his beard in order to

6 J.J. Bierbrouwer, Beschrijving van verdagte joodse dieven (Cassel, 1758) and C.P.T. Schwenchen, Notizen über die berüchtigsten jüdischen, Gauner und Spitzbuben, welche sich gegenwärtig in Deutschland und an desser Gränzes umhertreiben nebst genauer Beschreibung ihrer person. Nach Criminal-Akten und sonstigen zuverlässigen Quellen bearbeitet und is alphabetischer Ordnung zusammengestellt (Marburg, Cassel, 1820). 7 Florike Egmond, “Contours of Identity: Poor Ashkenazim in the Dutch Republic,” in Dutch Jewish History III, edited by Joseph Michman (Assen, Maastricht: Van Gorcum, 1993), 213. 8 Notwithstanding the lack of evidence, the perception of the Ashkenazi Jew as someone dressed in traditional clothing is strong. In an analysis of the etchings of Bernard Picart, Samantha Baskind describes the Ashkenazim as wearing traditional clothing and the Sephardim as dressing according to the latest fashion, while in fact both of them wear similar clothing. The only difference between them is that the Ashkenazi bride wears a marriage belt. Samantha Baskind, “Bernard Picart´s Etchings of Amsterdam Jews,” Jewish Social Studies: History, Culture, Society 2 (2007): 49–50. Cf. Alfred Rubens, A History of Jewish Costume (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1973), 204–211. 9 van Cleeff-Hiegentlich, “Eerlyke smousen – Hoe zien die ’er uyt myn heer?” 60. 10 Mishnah Mak 3,5, Sifra, Kedoshim 6.

154 prevent hairs from falling out.11 Generally, kabbalists avoided touching their beards and kept lost beard hairs in their prayer books. The ex-assistant conservator of the Library Rosenthaliana, Bianca Oortwijn, regularly complained to me about the appearance of beard hairs in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Jewish prayer books. The custom of preserving beard hairs was thus also common in Amsterdam.12 In particular, the beard identified Eastern European Jewish immigrants, as they were accustomed to growing facial hair. The custom of Polish Jews to let their facial hair grow was influenced by both the beard fashion in Eastern Europe and by the Hasidim who attached a special kabbalistic meaning to beard hairs. A Huguenot diplomat in London observed in 1729 that “if one saw a Jew wearing a beard…one could be certain that he was either a rabbi or a very recent immigrant.”13 In addition, in a purimshpiel (1798) from Amsterdam, the Polish character, pretending to be a Hasidic miracle- working rabbi, speaks about his beard: “What? Shall I shave my beard? I am not an Ashkenazi mamzer [bastard]! My beard, which I have grown with wisdom, shall I shave? My enemies will not survive that!”14 It was apparently so extremely funny and outrageous to shave one’s beard that his enemies would die from laughing. He contrasted the beard fashion of Polish Jews with the clean-shaven faces of German or Ashkenazi Jews and by calling the latter bastards; thus he placed them outside of the Jewish framework. The beard was, however, also a common Jewish feature in the Ashkenazi community.15 During many Jewish Holidays, such as the intermediate days of Sukkot and Passover, as well as during periods of mourning, Jews were prohibited to shave. In the predominantly observant Jewry, this ruling, at least temporarily, resulted in the appearance of facial hair. Not wearing a beard was a transgression, or at least a sign of one’s immorality, a view which can be found in a letter to the chief rabbi of Amsterdam, Moses Löwenstamm. In the letter, the writer complained about the immoral conduct of a fellow Jew. According to the writer, this man seduced a widow into a forbidden sexual

11 Elliott Horowitz, “Beard,” http://www.yivoencyclopedia.org/article.aspx/Beards. 12 I would like to thank Bianca Oortwijn for sharing this information with me. Serendipity is indeed found in unexpected places. 13 Cited by Elliott Horowitz, “The Early Eighteenth Century Confronts the Beard: Kabbalah and Jewish Self- Fashioning,” Jewish History 1–2 (1994): 109. 14 Fuks, All is Well, 7. 15 See for instance several reprinted etchings in Gans, Memorboek. Platenatlas van het leven der joden in Nederland van de middeleeuwen tot 1940, 318,319, 322, 323, 328, 335, and 345. 155 relationship and to the writer’s great horror had been seen “without a beard and with the sides [of his face] shaved.” The complainant had failed in leading the transgressor to the right path, and he asked if the rabbi could intervene.16 Unfortunately, the response of Moses to this letter is unknown. The letter shows that a clean-shaven face was connected with irreligiosity and immorality. Moreover, shaving was regarded as a deviation from common Jewish conduct, and the letter shows how disturbing such behavior was for some Jews. A clean-shaven face was associated with modernity. Beginning in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the beard gradually fell out of fashion in Western Europe, developing from the van Dyke beard, a then-popular stiletto beard, to a clean-shaven face, which came to symbolize the civilized West.17 The association of shaving with being modern is particularly striking in the portraits of Dutch maskilim. Dressed in the latest fashion and without a beard, they look confidently modern. The faces of maskilim such as Jonas Daniel Meijer, Hartog de Hartog Lemon, and Samuel Elias Stein resembled the clean-shaven faces of the Sephardim. Isaac de Pinto (1717–1787), a Dutch Sephardic Jew, connects the Sephardic outward appearance with sophistication and cosmopolitanism and accordingly praises their shaving and dressing habits. “The manners of the Portuguese Jews are also very different from the rest, the former have neither beards nor anything peculiar in their dress. The rich among them vie with the other nations of Europe in refinement, elegance and show, and differ from them in worship only.”18 Even though the Kabbalah was highly admired by many Sephardim, they refrained from attaching a kabbalistic interpretation to the beard and opted instead for a beardless face. Sometimes the more trimmed the beard was, the more inclined the wearer was to Enlightenment thought. For instance, the portrait of Chief Rabbi of Zwolle H.J. Hertzveld

16 ACA, 1241-466. 17 Peter the Great was well aware of the power of appearance and issued a royal decree in 1698 that all state officials were obligated to shave. In 1705 his decree was further extended to include all citizens. The social message of the beard and its connection to the Western lifestyle did not go unnoticed by other political leaders. Instead of coercing all of the population into a modern outlook, they opted for a firm distinction between Jews and Christians. Thus, in 1705 the Jews of Köningsberg were prohibited to remove their facial hair, and in 1748 Frederick the Great of Prussia ordered that all married Jews should wear a beard. The beard was here transformed into an important, coercive Jewish identity marker. Cf. E.V. Ansimov, The Reforms of Peter the Great: Progress through Coercion in Russia, trans. J.T. Alexander (M.E. Sharpe: New York, 1993), 218–219; Elliott Horowitz, “The Early Eighteenth Century Confronts the Beard: Kabbalah and Jewish Self-Fashioning,” Jewish History 1–2 (1994): 108–109. 18 Cited by Horowitz, “The Early Eighteenth Century Confronts the Beard,” 110.

156 shows a short, trimmed beard with only some hair on the sides of his face, while his moustache is almost completely absent.19 Hertzveld clearly modeled his beard according to the latest fashion in men’s facial hair, where the sides of the beard were prominently grown. However, the portrait of the likewise Enlightenment-inspired Chief Rabbi of Amsterdam Samuel Berenstein shows a luxuriant beard with no sign of trimming or cutting.20 Clearly the dispositive of the beard fashion did not develop according to the lines of ‘conservative’ or ‘progressive’ thought, but entangled various secular and religious discursive strands.

Samuel Berenstein’s beard Shaving or wearing a beard was an important Jewish identity marker, signaling someone’s adherence to one of the many currents in the Jewish world. In a lengthy letter in 1813, Samuel Berenstein addresses the issue of someone in the Jewish community who had recently shaved his beard.21 Throughout the letter, this person is called S.22 Berenstein knew the letter’s recipient through his work at the Jewish seminary. In the letter, Berenstein elaborates on the meaning of the beard, its place in Judaism, and his own personal feelings concerning the clean-shaven face of S., showing his proclivity towards the Sturm und Drang movement. Struggling with his role as the religious conscience of the community, Berenstein is torn between maintaining their friendship and setting a moral standard. The internal conflict shows the increasing politicization and polarization of the interpretation of Jewish law, in which the beard functioned as a metaphor for conservatism. Berenstein begins his letter with an exposé of different opinions in Jewish sources concerning the beard. “I shall explain my reasons and you can judge my conduct,” he tells his fellow scholar in the “theological institution,” to which the letter was addressed.

Shall we judge by our Law that all shaving of the beard should be forbidden, according to the law in the book [Lev.] 19:17 and according to the priestly law 21:5? Yes, it is

19 Picture in Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 169. 20 Picture in Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 102. 21 ACA, 1241-460. 22 It appears from the letter that the person was part of the same religious institution as Berenstein. I suspect that he is referring to the Hebraist Samuel Israel Mulder (1792–1862). 157

true the law only says you shall not damage the corners of your beard. However, shaving should be forbidden, particularly as the great sages are in doubt as to where exactly the corners of the beard are; therefore the God-fearing absolutely do not touch their beard with a razor. So, if we take the law literally, shaving of the beard is totally forbidden.

He concludes that the Talmud does “not forbid shaving itself but rather the use of a razor.” Berenstein further proposes a kabbalistic defense of the beard. “Only the Kabbalah or secret science recommends the observance of wearing a beard,” Berenstein expounds as he refers to a century-old dispute between the writers of Be’er Esek (R. Shabbtai Baer, d. 1674) and the writer of divrei Yosef (R. Yosef Ergas, 1685–1730).23 The latter “explains extensively that the ones who remove their beard attach credence to the Talmud and that the commandment [not to remove their beard] is only applicable for the kabbalists.” Berenstein recalls here a well-known debate between Rabbi Baer and Ergas about the question of whether Rabbi Menachem Azariah de Fano (Rama m’Fano, 1548–1620), heir to Lurianic Kabbalah, wore a beard or not.24 Berenstein continues, “[A]lthough the Portuguese made many of their regulations according to the Kabbalah, I unfortunately have no knowledge of the Kabbalah or secret science,” and he complains that he never met a person who could transcend the explanation beyond its textual description. Here, Berenstein distances himself from reading the commandments through the lens of the Kabbalah and shows his hesitance about giving an extra spiritual meaning to the biblical ruling. Moreover, it displays his dislike of irrational knowledge and shows his proclivity toward Enlightenment thought. After reviewing the scholarly debate, Berenstein reveals that, according to him, the beard is a conditional Jewish commandment. He “respects the man with a beard as much as the man without a beard” and clarifies that “people wearing it could be ignorant and people who do not could be great scholars; one could not tell.” He does not automatically presume that a beard is a prerequisite for either scholarship or correct

as he also writes it as gnesek with the typical (עסק( In this letter, Berenstein is in doubt how to spell esek 23 ng sound the Sephardim use to pronounce the Hebrew letter ayin. 24 Cf. http://seforim.blogspot.nl/2006/08/jews-beards-and-portraits.html (accessed 16-11-2012); Horowitz, "The Early Eighteenth Century Confronts the Beard,,95–115; and also by Horowitz, "On the Significance of the Beard in Jewish Communities in the East and in Europe in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times," Pe'amim (1994): 124–148 [in Hebrew]. 158 moral conduct. By regarding the beard as optional and granting the right to personal interpretation of Jewish law, Berenstein displays an open-mindedness that, compared to his father-in-law Moses Löwenstamm, with his emphasis on machmeir (strictness), sounds surprisingly enlightened.25 In the second part of the letter, Berenstein addresses an issue quite common in the German countries, namely the progressive assimilation and conversion of German Jewry as a means of obtaining civil rights and acceptance in upper-class circles.26 Berenstein considered the removal of conspicuous Jewish features, such as the beard, in order to acquire a better position as betrayal. “I judge totally differently the man who wore his beard for many years and suddenly removes it, only to gain worldly benefits… How could I respect him, someone who does not care about the general opinion?” Berenstein continues, “[E]ven though I would not condemn this behavior, and would treat him with respect, I would jeopardize the love and respect of my community, which I need so badly.” In other words, his personal position becomes questionable if he respects S.’s choices. The pressure of public opinion, which apparently was in favor of keeping the beard, compelled Berenstein to condemn the behavior of S. Moreover, Berenstein positions himself as a moral leader. “Would my behavior and thinking not have the greatest influence on their moral conduct?” Berenstein rhetorically asks, defending the community’s favoring of the beard. “Because [the community] ha[s] the opinion that S. committed a great crime, [in my support] I would be guilty of their moral corruption.” Since the community regards the shaving of the beard as a criminal act, he cannot side with S., as this would mean he would permit deviant behavior. It appears that many people in the community still regarded violation of Jewish law as a criminal act, even though the letter was written 20 years after the Ashkenazi community lost their punitive powers. The community still expected that transgression of Jewish law was to be punished, and consequently Berenstein succumbed. Berenstein argues that the welfare of the community should take priority and that he, therefore, must sacrifice his friendship with S.

25 ACA, 1241-460. 26 For an analysis of personal motives for Jewish conversion to Christianity, see Herz, How Jews became Germans: the History of Conversion and Assimilation in Berlin. 159

The pleasure that I had in being acquainted with him would have overcome my disapproval. The habit of conversing with him about important scientific issues has made him dear to me. Only this publicly coming forward, which has so many important and dangerous consequences, obliged me to distance myself from him. Nevertheless, I cannot hate him, and will always have the highest regard for his virtues and knowledge. Unfortunately, out of carefreeness, persuasion, and seduction, he took a plunge that could mark him for all of his life… Thus, I had to distance myself from him for the benefit of the not-so-enlightened part of me.

However, Berenstein is willing to welcome his friend back if he repents. “Even though it is painful to me, it is possible that after his behavior has been corrected, there will be a time that I will have the power to approach him again. But now I have to give the world proof of how much his wavering displeases me.”27 Public figures like Berenstein and S. had a moral responsibility to demonstrate proper religious conduct for the Jewish community. Even the slightest leniency in observance was not a personal matter but had become politicalized; removal of a visible Jewish identity marker signaled the adoption of a different set of values. By prioritizing public opinion over his own religious authority, Berenstein’s actions betray a shift in power from the learned to the public. In this case, the community demarcated the boundaries between right and wrong. Berenstein’s motivation to ignore and distance himself from S. was not based solely on textual religious obligations. He feared jeopardizing his moral leadership and image. Moreover, he felt compelled to set a moral example, and being on friendly terms with S. would send the wrong message. Apparently Berenstein not only regarded the beard as a religious obligation, he also identified with it. For him, the sheer idea of having to go without it horrified him and deeply touched his perception of Judaism. He was, for better or worse, a symbol of Jewishness, and his position compelled him to wear a beard. Unluckily for his friend S., this meant that Berenstein sacrificed their friendship in order to maintain his moral image. Although Berenstein welcomed many enlightened initiatives, the shaving of the beard was a step too far. For Jews, the beard signaled their adherence and commitment to a particular group. Yet each specific group attached different, sometimes overlapping and contradictory meanings to it; in the dispositive of the beard, both secular and religious

27 ACA, 1241-48.

160 discourses knotted in various ways. For instance, for some the absence of the beard signaled one’s adoption of Enlightenment thought, while others considered its absence a religious transgression or merely a Sephardic custom. Kabbalists regarded the beard as an instrument of connection to the Divine Spirit, while Berenstein used his beard to show his commitment to the Jewish community. Others considered the beard a sign of ones ‘backward’, Eastern-European background. Thus a traditional identity marker such as the beard triggered a phletora of Jewish responses. As these cases show, the responses and meanings attached to the beard departed from the lines of either ‘orthodox’ or ‘enlightened’, ‘modern’ or ‘traditional’, or even ‘observant’ or ‘non- observant’.

Eating as a Jew 28 Embracing traditional identity markers was not a response uniquely characteristic of the orthodox faction. In the case of eating kosher, both the orthodox and the maskilim identified their Jewishness with the Jewish dietary laws. Throughout the history of the Ashkenazi Jewry in Amsterdam, the meat hallmeat hall symbolized the intertwining of Jewish and civil law. The meat hallmeat hall combined the Jewish sense of community, economic interests, and Jewish law. It was the only kosher meat hallmeat hall and the community’s main source of income. The transition of the Jews from foreigners to citizens ended the monopoly of community-run institutions such as the meat hallmeat hall. Well after the formal abolition of the parnasim’s power to enforce a kosher diet on the Jewish population, observance of the dietary rules continued to be an important aspect of being Jewish. Not eating kosher was a visible sign of one’s disbelief, and it demarcated for many the boundaries of their Jewish identity.29 Consequently, kashrut (Jewish dietary laws) and the meat hallmeat hall’s management became polemical focal points. Before 1796, the parnasim required the Ashkenazim to purchase meat at the community meat hallmeat hall. Meat bought elsewhere was considered unkosher (treyfe) and the parnasim punished offenders severely from 1649 onwards with fines and bans. Transgression of Jewish law, the parnasim believed, was a “stumbling block for

28 Parts of this paragraph were previously published in Tsila Rädecker, “Uniting and Dividing: Social Aspects of the Eighteenth-Century Ashkenazi Meat Hall in Amsterdam,” Zutot 1 (2010): 81–88. 29 Rädecker, “Uniting and Dividing,” 82.

161 the prosperity of the Jewish community” and was therefore an offense against the whole community.30 The case of Tsadok Abraham in 1740 serves as an example of the parnasim´s exceptionally harsh rulings. Tsadok was caught eating and selling non-kosher meat. The latter transgression, selling treyfe meat, caused many other Jews to sin and so provoked the wrath of the Lord. The sad coincidence of the death of one of his children was used by the parnasim as a punishment. They refused to bury his child until he repented of his sins.31 This example shows that the parnasim sometimes went out of their way to protect the virtue and income of the community.32 The meat hallmeat hall was an important source of income for the parnasim. For every pound of meat, one five-cent piece (stuiver) was taxed. This was a high tax rate compared to the kosher fat price of 25 cents a pound. Compared to non-kosher meat, which had a price that ranged between 10 and 15 cents a pound, kosher meat was not only expensive but also heavely taxed.33 A study by D.M. Sluys shows that for the years 1742–1743 the parnasim made 23,948 guilders in profit on meat taxes. The following year the profit increased to 27,907 guilders, an enormous sum compared to the average wage of one guilder per day for an unskilled laborer.34 However, these profits were not for personal use; most of it went straight into the poor relief funds. The need for the parnasim to levy taxes on meat was a result of the poverty of the Ashkenazim. Because of the high number of Ashkenazim on poor relief, the parnasim were in constant need of money in order to provide for the structural monthly allowances for the poor (kitsves), for the distribution of matzes during Passover, and for peat in the winter months. Since the majority of Jews living in the Jewish quarter lacked a taxable income, the parnasim had to use indirect taxation on kosher food to sustain the community. During the eighteenth century, congregants attacked the parnasim for the way they handled the finances, and modern scholars tend to agree with this criticism.35 The

30 See for example Protocolbuch II, 7. 31 See Protocolbuch II, 64. Cf. Sluys, “Het halwezen bij de Joodsche gemeenten te Amsterdam,” 118. According to him, the child was buried on 20 November 1740 at the cemetery in Zeeburg. 32 For more on the delayed burial, see chapter five. 33 Sluys, “Het halwezen bij de Joodsche gemeenten te Amsterdam,” 103, 173, and 181. 34 Ibid, 153. For wages in the early modern period in Amsterdam, see H. Nusteling, Welvaart en Werkgelegenheid in Amsterdam 1540–1860 (Amsterdam: De Bataafsche Leeuw, 1985), 252. 35 Marco van Leeuwen, “Arme Amsterdamse joden en de strijd om hun eigen integratie aan het begin van de negentiende eeuw,” in De Gelykstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid, edited by Hetty Berg (Amsterdam 1996); Judith Bellifante, “The Ideal of Jewish Tradition Versus the Reality of the Jewish Poor,” Studia Rosenthalia. Tijdschrift voor joodse wetenschap en geschiedenis in Nederland 1 (1996); S.E. 162 maskilim from the naye kille especially condemned the manner in which funds for the poor were raised. They considered the taxes on meat unfair because they made no distinction between the rich and the poor.36 Furthermore, they accused the parnasim of being corrupt by taking advantage of their monopoly and selling inferior meat to the poor.37 Consequently, the Diskursn of the naye kille concentrated their critique on the meat hallmeat hall. For example, comments made in the Diskursn indicate that the best cuts were only sold to the rich: “the breast, the ribs, the shoulder. The poor man doesn’t live to see them.”38 According to the naye kille, the manner in which the alte kille butchered the animals was a deviation from Jewish tradition. The naye kille ridiculed the alte kille’s shokhtim (ritual slaughterers) for their mishandling of the cattle and their clumsy behavior. The mocking is full of allusions to sex, common in many Purim plays (purimshpieln), especially when referring to men handling cattle.39 Thus Yankev satirizes the alte kille’s slaughterers:

The parnasim said that Herts Purim-ponem [Carnival-face] should go out and slaughter, but Leyzer Peyger and Zalman Shoukhet should go with him. So a kriye, [ritual of tearing clothes as a sign of mourning], I mean a trio [threesome], of shokhtim went out: a feeler, a groper, and a thruster. This is the explanation: the feeler, Leyzer Peyger, in order to take care of the knife; the groper, Zalman, in order to check if the cattle are fat; the thruster, our teacher, the Rabbi Herts Purim. Those three arrived at Kasper Zomerkamp’s in the Elandstraat. Our teacher and rabbi, Yoel the porter, was there with all the other porters and peelers. Herts Purim-ponem said: “Porter, hold the head. I want to slaughter.” But the others didn’t want to. Herts gave a butcher’s boy a blow, so he held the head. Purim-ponem starts to slaughter, and instead of the blessing he says: “Oh, oh I hit him.” But the butcher’s boy says: “Stinker, mean man, do

Bloemgarten, “De Amsterdamse Joden gedurende de eerste jaren van Bataafse Republiek (1795–1798),” Studia Rosenthaliana 1 (1968); D.M. Sluys, “Hoogduits-joods Amsterdam van 1635 tot 1795” in Geschiedenis der joden in Nederland, edited by H. Brugmans and A. Frank (Amsterdam, 1940). 36 Fair distribution of the poor tax on meat also inspired Mendele Moyker Sforim in 1869 to write a play about the tax on meat and the corruption of the community officials regarding its distribution to the poor. See Di Takse, in Ale Verk, V: Di Takse; Entdekung fun Vohlin; A Shtodt in Mizrekh-vant (Warschau, 1914). 37 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community. 38 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the community, 34. 39 Evi Butzer, “Die Anfänge der jiddischen purim shpiln in ihrem literarischen und kulturgeschichtlichen Kontext” (Buske, 2003), 155. 163

you want to be a slaughterer? You have killed it but you’ve made it treyfe!” And the boy goes and cuts the windpipe and the gullet. Only then does the cow start to bleed.40

Besides references to sexual behavior, the anecdote adopts a literary device of the purimshpil, namely inversion of the ‘social order’, or turning the world upside down.41 Reversal is used as a polemical tool to parody the alte kille’s administration of kosher butchering (shechitah). Consequently, everything is turned upside down, as the shokhtim transgress almost every rule of the shechitah. They injured the cow and failed at cutting its neck with one stroke; therefore they made the meat unfit for kosher consumption.42 According to the writers, the alte kille behaved in a manner that was unkosher and demonstrated ignorance of Jewish law, a claim often made in the Diskursn.43 The alte kille, in its turn, accused the naye kille of transgression. According to its members, the naye kille sold unkosher meat and violated the Jewish dietary laws. The separation between secular and religious authority enabled the naye kille to establish their own meat hall. This annoyed the alte kille and also reduced their income. Not surprisingly, the alte kille constantly accused the naye kille of transgressing Jewish law. Criticism was directed either at the naye kille´s mismanagement or at individual naye kille members. For example, in the Diskursn of the alte kille the characters Gumpel and Yankev accuse Dovid Kurlander, the head of the naye kille´s meat hall, of corruption. They charge him with eating the best pieces of meat while selling the inferior cuts to the customers.

“The maid of a rich man from your naye kille has told me that they often had to throw meat out into the water last summer because they couldn’t swallow it.” Yankev: “They don’t have to do that anymore. Mr. Kurlander has taken care of that. Because he was afraid that the meat would – God forbid – become spoiled (because it is, alas, in very

40 In Jewish ritual slaughtering, the animal should be healthy without signs of defects and the butcher should cut the veins of the neck quickly in one blow with the use of a very sharp knife. As the story indicates, the cow wasn’t slaughtered according to the Jewish regulations. 41 Ahuva Belkin, “The ‘Low’ Culture of the Purimshpil,” in Yiddish Theatre: New Approaches, edited by Joel Berkowitz (Oxford/Portland, Oregon: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2003), 40. 42 Injured and crippled animals are unfit for Jewish consumption, and the knife of the shokhet should be razor-sharp so it will immediately cut through the veins. 43 For instance, in the Diskursn the alte kille is often ridiculed for their supposed ignorance. Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 158, 160, 210, 242, 244, 250, 252, 278, 280, 290, and 324. 164

little demand), he has eaten it himself. Namely, he hasn’t wronged the poor. He has only eaten the choicest meat, poor thing.”44

In another Diskurs, Kurlander appeared again in a fictitious list of upcoming plays as The Great Meat Scoffer from Kurland.45 Although many accusations made in the Diskursn should not be taken seriously, this accusation had a solid basis because the naye kille’s community records mention his fraudulent conduct.46 Personal attacks on well-known members of the naye kille were a rewarding subject. Besides general accusations of naye kille members as scum and lowlifes, the violation of Jewish dietary laws, according to the alte kille, underlines their turn away from Judaism. Interestingly, the German maskilim’s flirtation with the Sephardic lifestyle is also parodied in yet another allusion to an imaginary play in the Diskursn:

Next Friday, 16 Shevat 5558 [2 February 1798] a company for the club Adas Kourakh [Rebellions] will perform in their theatre: Arnoldus, or: The Great Crook a play in very many acts, by Mr. Haker. Afterwards: The Slanderer, a play in 3 acts by Mr. de Jong. To conclude, an Allemande will be danced by Signor D…Hes and Signora R… de Jong. N.B. The foreigner Johann Friedrichsfeld will seek the recommendation of the esteemed audience for The Slanderer. Begins at 4 o’clock exactly.47

On this topic, Gumpel remarks, “I would like to know whether they’ve sung Tsur mushelo akhalnu at their meal.”48 Here Gumpel makes a wordplay on the Sabbath hymn, “the rock from which we have eaten” (tsur mishelo akhalnu), and turns it into “the mussels [mushelo] from which we have eaten.” Mussels are, of course, not kosher. The persons accused of eating non-kosher meat were all members of the naye kille, such as manhig Aaron Hakker and David Friedrichsfeld. The writers Christianized their names in order to indicate that the person in question adopted too many Christian manners, turning David into Johan and Aaron into Arnoldus. The pun on the original Jewish name was intended to expose the non-Jewishness of the naye kille members.

44 Ibid., 266. 45 Ibid., 384. 46 ACA, 714-2362 Notulen van de directeuren 1804–1808, 5–6. 47 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 310. 48 Ibid.

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The writers also charged the naye kille members for their assumed leniency towards the Jewish dietary laws. Thus, when the character Anshel asks for something to eat, Gumpel immediately replies, “Why don’t you take a slice of bread with butter and meat? You’re with the naye kille, aren’t you?”49 In a fictional theatre announcement, the writers emphasize the naye kille’s supposed transgression of the dietary laws as the announcement divulges: “the audience will be served meat and milk, capons with butter, sausage with cheese, as well as crabs, oysters, the best pork, and more such dishes.”50 The array of treyfe food was intended to ridicule the naye kille’s leniency towards kashrut. Accusations of religious transgression were a powerful polemical tool in the Diskursn. Before the Emancipation Decree, any violation of kashrut was punished with fines and excommunication. But with the Emancipation Decree, the parnasim lost their punitive powers and could no longer force the Jewish population into religious observance. As the naye kille members were considered supporters and instigators of this decree, the connection with leniency toward Jewish law was easily made. How important the observance of kashrut was and how deeply the split between the naye and the alte kille divided the Ashkenazi Jewry is exemplified in a complaint from 1819. More than eleven years after the forced unification of the communities, some Jews still connected the naye kille members with the violation of kashrut. In a letter, Benedictus Jacobs van Lier complains to the chief rabbi of Amsterdam, Berenstein, that he had seen Abraham Memram, former baker for the naye kille, eat shrimp while remarking, “They are much tastier steamed.” Other Jews supported van Lier’s claim and affirmed that they had often heard Memram make comments “irreligiously and unfavorably about the Jewish religion at the meat hallmeat hall located at the Deventerhoutmarkt.” They therefore requested his excommunication. In a snappy answer, Berenstein reminds the complainants that excommunication was only possible with the parnasim’s permission. Furthermore, he considers the accusations false; Memram was a member of the Sephardic community and he never violated any regulations. The fact that the complainants directed their request to the ‘outsider’ director-general of the Staatszaken der Hervormden really annoyed Berenstein.51 Jewish

49 Jewish dietary laws forbid the simultaneous or consecutive consumption of meat and milk products. 50 Ibid., 228. 51 SCIA, inv. 1819 October–December.

166 leaders still struggled with their loss of authority, while the Jews had already found their way to secular administration. Apparently, the transition to a Jewish community without punitive powers was not internalized. Members of the Jewish community still sought punishment for what they considered very disruptive behavior, and Berenstein also abided by the disciplinary tool of excommunication; he was mainly concerned with who was authorized to excommunicate. Even twenty years after the formal separation between civil and religious authorities, religious social control continued to be a community concern. The idea of religious observance without coercion remained alien to the alte kille, while the naye kille embraced this restricted role of religion in the public sphere. Although both camps differed in their attitudes toward the privatization of religion, they still used the same religious power structures. As such, one can see through the example of the kashrut the changing discursive formations of Judaism and the introduction of new elements, such as the idea of religion without authority. As will become apparent in the next section, the maskilim actively integrated secular discourses on citizenship and freedom of religion into their Jewish identity.

The Jew as soldier In addition to the religious and physical aspects of Jewish identity, the question of Jewishness in relation to the state became important. This was fostered by the new political constellation of the Batavian Republic, which required of its citizens active political and military participation. Military service functioned as the dispositive of citizenship. In the maskilic invention of the Jewish citizen, it became an essential part of Jewishness. Proof of the compatibility of Jewish life and state citizenship focused especially on the issue of bearing arms on the Sabbath. The willingness of Jews to set aside the Sabbath’s rest symbolized and functioned as a litmus test of Jewish loyalty to the state. The maskilim actively incorporated the military aspects of citizenship into their version of Jewishness. Moreover, they regarded joining the Civil and National Guard as a means to acquire civil rights and social acceptance. By showing the Jewish community’s support for the nation, they assumed that emancipation would soon follow. Accordingly, Felix Libertate members published a plethora of writings proving their support for the Batavian Republic and pushing for civil rights. For instance, Bromet distributed two brochures urging the Jewry to join the National and Civil Guard, and the

167 printer Joachim from Emden published a pamphlet entitled “A Conversation between Uri and Hirsh,” which included a Yiddish translation of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. Not everyone, however, welcomed the efforts of Felix Libertate to acquire civil rights. According to the chronicler Wing, their efforts were a final, futile attempt to convince “ignorant” and “stupid” Jews to become a “God-denier and desecrater of the Sabbath.”52 The use of Jewish sources to legitimize and construct national Jewishness characterized much of the maskilic response, and Bromet accordingly tried to prove the permissibility of bearing arms on the Sabbath with reference to the Talmud.53 A salient detail in his plea was the examples he used of his life as a slave trader and plantation owner in Dutch Surinam.54 He recalls the punitive expeditions of Jews against runaway slaves and states, “In those Jewish military expeditions that have been very successful, it is impossible to accurately observe the Sabbath and many other commandments. However, all of the expeditions in the jungle are being observed without comment or disapproval by Jewish scholars.”55 According to Bromet, the slave hunts in Surinam sufficiently demonstrated that bearing arms and observance of the Sabbath were perfectly compatible.56 The same argument also occurs in the Diskursn. “Now you tell us: In the West Indies Jews have [the right to bear] arms.”57 Bromet was oblivious, like the majority of his contemporaries, to the similarities between the deplorable juridical state of the Jews and that of the slaves. His example of the Jewish slave hunt on the Sabbath as proof that Jews sometimes subordinated Jewish law for the ‘common good’ underscores the idea that some were indeed more equal than others. Bromet’s view obviously excluded slaves from citizenship. Ironically, others also regarded the Jews as ineligible for the concepts of liberty, equality, and fraternity. Or as Gogel, first minister of finance of the Batavian Republic and the Kingdom of Holland,

52 Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812.” 53 Lemon Bromet, Brieve van H.L. Bromet … ten betooge dat de wapening der Jooden, zelfs op den Sabat, voor de vrijheid in den burgerstaat en de defensie van het land, volgens haare wetten, geoorloofd en geboden is. 54 Surinam was a colony of the Dutch Republic. Many ‘impoverished’ Sephardic Jews were sent to the colonies. See also Tirtsah Levie Bernfeld, Poverty and Welfare among the Portuguese Jews in Early Modern Amsterdam (Oxford/Portland, Oregon: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2012), 41–46. 55 Lemon Bromet, Tweede briev aan alle leden derzelver societeit, 26 March 1795. 56 Salomon Bloemgarten, “De Amsterdamse Joden gedurende de eerste jaren van de Bataafse Republiek (1795–98),” Studia Rosenthaliana 1 (1967), 86. Cf. http://www.historici.nl/Onderzoek/Projecten/BWN_1780tot1830/lemmata/data/Bromet (accessed on 13-09-2012). 57 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 108.

168 wrote in 1794 to the newly installed French government: “Almost all Jews are extremely fanatic and they hardly deserve to be admitted in the class of citizens, until they have proved they are worthy of that glorious name. They belong [to] the Orange party and do not deserve to be patriots, who have a burning desire for revenge.”58 Notwithstanding the non-Jewish resistance, Felix Libertate members sent their theological justification for bearing arms on the Sabbath to the Amsterdam municipality. They expressed their irritations about the stubbornness of the chief rabbis of both the Ashkenazic and Sephardic communities, who succeeded in preventing the proclamation of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. In emotional and high-flown language, typical of the Batavian Revolution, they blamed the rabbinate for “playing an evil role” in frustrating the proclamation. They had even printed the Declaration in “vulgar Yiddish.”59 However, after the Emancipation Decree of 1796, Jewish military participation was still lacking. Therefore, the Diskursn devoted large sections to demonstrating the religious consonance of Jewish military participation. “Don’t we find in our Torah how one has to behave when going to war? And in the Prophets, our Jewish kings: didn’t they fight? And weren’t there Jews who were soldiers, captains, and officers? And why wouldn’t this be possible nowadays too?”60 Maimonides, a much-cited author by the maskilim because of his efforts to reconcile philosophy with religion in his Guide for the Perplexed, affirmed the compatibility of the Jewish religion and arms in his Mishneh Torah. The maskilim heralded Maimonides as a modern Jew who proved that being an observant Jew and a participating member of society were not contradictory. This mixture represented for the maskilim a model and a proof of their (religious) reforms and solution to the Jewish question. “[It] is not only not forbidden, but absolutely allowed to take up arms in order to save one’s city and country. Enough has been written about it in the Yad khazakah.”61 The naye kille´s explicit use of the Jewish religious power structure legitimized Jewish military service as well as constructed the image of the maskilim as operating firmly within the boundaries of Jewish law.

58 Simon Schama, Patriots and Liberators: Revolution in the Netherlands, 1780–1830 (New York: Knopf, 1977), 164. 59 Protocolbuch IV, 142. 60 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 100. 61 Ibid., 394.

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Besides defending Jewish compatibility with military service, the naye kille also displayed their loyalty and commitment to the state. “There can be no better proof to the world that one is a good citizen and that he supports his country and his city than with a rifle. As soon as one obtains the rifle and swears the oath (and keeps it), he performs his duty and demonstrates that he’s willing to risk his life and his property for his brothers.”62 Being a participating member of society, in their view, would lead to juridical equality and be a ticket to social acceptance. “If he does all that, nothing remains of all that are called rights in a country that can deny him. In due course, because he has held his position honestly and faithfully, he’ll be accepted into the highest classes.”63 Their quest to prove to the outside world that the Jews were loyal and inherently the same as non-Jewish citizens characterized many maskilic endeavors as they engaged with the pejorative representations of the Jew as ‘other’ and disloyal. However, enlistment was only open to loyal Jews of the new revolutionary order. The maskilim used the dispositive of military participation to enhance their power and legitimize their version of Jewishness. As a result, the admittance policy constructed a distinction between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ Jews according to maskilic doctrine. “There are enough good, honest, right-thinking people among the Jews, and why should they be excluded? But to give it to everybody is also impossible. Just think of Herts Oliveyong and his brothers – may their name be blotted out.”64 They defended their selection by pointing at the possible benefits for a military participant, such as citizen’s rights. By only allowing the maskilim to take up arms, they constructed military service as a means of distinction. Only important and influential Jews would be eligible for military service. Military service thus served as a sign of Jewish loyalty and citizen’s commitment.

[W]hoever gets the right to bear arms can use it as proof of his importance and can benefit from it. And if he ever wants to ask the Government for something or other, he can say: “I am a Citizen of the Batavian Republic who keeps watch and serves, and 65 gives property and life for my city and fatherland.”

62 Ibid., 390. 63 Ibid. 64 Ibid., 392. 65 Ibid.

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The selection thus made military participation not only an important identity marker, it also confirmed the idea of bad Jews, who were not worthy of juridical and social equality. Some Felix Libertate members had apparently already joined the civil militia, and during the first service at the naye kille’s synagogue, according to Wing, they defended, their members against the ‘curious’ mob waiting outside. “Now many curious people gathered in front of Katz’s house, which caused a commotion, and some of the civil militia, who belonged to the party of the New Community, aimed a rifle [at them].”66 Thus the animosity between the naye and alte kille was not only expressed in the Diskursn verbally but also physically. This constant threat of riotous uproar characterized the Jewish quarters, known for their large proletariat and easily antagonized population.67 Years later, in 1798, Felix Libertate members assisted the civil militia during a patrol. Apparently they continued to carry arms and assist the local power. The conspicuous display of weaponry by Felix Libertate members also shed light on their overall youth as they ‘intentionally’ annoyed and attacked Jews. This provocative action reveals the tension between the literate and the students (like Felix Libertate members) on the hand and the unskilled and uneducated Jewish mob on the other hand,. It furthermore exposes how the Dutch Jewish community was divided along social and economic lines.

A civilian captain named Dunselaar walked around with his sword drawn at Marken (Valkenburgerstraat) and the Houttuinen and terribly struck some of our fellow Jews. However, he got what he deserved. The Jewish residents of these streets overpowered him and snatched away his sword. The club members [of Felix Libertate] who assisted 68 him also received heavy blows and rushed off to their holes.

Aided by the revolutionary regime, Felix Libertate members found themselves confident in their newly gained power. Moreover, it shows that the bearing of arms was not

66 Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812,” 34. 67 See for instance the Jews employed by officer Papagaay in order to halt the mob, who wished to plunder his house. Joseph Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period: Gothic Turrets on a Corinthian Building 1787–1815, 5–10. 68 Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812,” 64.

171 merely a sign of loyalty to the new nation-state but that it signified the victory of the renewed Judaism over the old. However, many Jews were reluctant to join the civil militia, especially given the random raids in the Jewish quarter. The militia consisted predominantly of patriots, who had already caused many disturbances in the Jewish quarter since the revolt of 1787. Quite often, Wing recalls the patriots roaming around the neighborhood, hitting Jews and destroying their merchandise.69 Moreover, the patriots violently entered the synagogue on several occasions.

When [the civil militia and patriots] arrived to proclaim, something strange came over them and they started to terribly strike our fellow Jews. They entered the synagogue armed and walked around the bimah [elevated platform] and hit the persons present and arrested others without reason. When they arrived at Marken (Valkenburgerstraat), they hit a Portuguese Jewish residential so hard that he was assumed dead. They took him to a magazine at Katteburg. After a while, however, he came to, but he had to remain at home for several weeks. In addition, many poor Jews were battered and captured. Later, the parnasim went to the government and made 70 sure they were released.

Economic motives also contributed to the Jews’ unwillingness to join the militia. First, the militia’s equipment, such as weaponry and clothing, was expensive. Every missed exercise or drill resulted in a fine, and because the drills were held on Wednesdays and on the Sabbath, the observant Jew had to pay a fine every week. Thus the costs for clothing, equipment, and fines probably exceeded the payment received for participation. Furthermore, Jewish employment in trade interfered with the drills. This is a point made in the Diskursn of the alte kille when Gumpel wonders how he could stand guard while travelling. “[B]ut I don’t know what to do about the night watch, because I would have to go to the city.”71 And later on he cries out, “What kind of Jew involves himself in such matters? I travel for my livelihood throughout the country.”72

69 For instance, Ibid., 2, 3, and 64. Cf. Leo Fuks, De zeven provinciën in beroering. Hoofdstukken uit een Jiddische kroniek over de jaren 1740–1752 van Abraham Haim Braatbard (Amsterdam: J.M. Meulenhoff, 1960), 106–122, especially 109. 70 Ibid., 2. 71 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 468. 72 Ibid., 470.

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The reluctance of Gumpel reflects the view of the majority, who regarded the militia as something unsuitable for Jews. Despite Felix Libertate’s media campaign, the National Guard excluded Jews, even after the Emancipation Decree. The reason given for their exclusion was supposed Jewish disloyalty.

The Jews cannot [join the guard] because their centuries-old humiliated status doesn’t make for a reasonable image of liberty. In general, their warmly demonstrated affection and zeal for the house of Orange, which was clear even after the revolution, contributed to the hatred of the newly recovered patriot militia because of their shameful behavior towards the patriots since the year 1787. All this led us not to trust 73 them with weaponry.

According to the National Guard, the former Jewish political alliance with the house of Orange prevented them from fulfilling their civil duties. The newly acquired liberty was, in their eyes, freedom from the former political bonds and hence a choice for the revolution. Their reluctance to support the revolution, their alliance to the house of Orange, and their unheroic history excluded the Jews from military participation and fostered the image of the dishonorable Jew. Despite the efforts of Felix Libertate members, the majority of the Jews as well as the National Guard regarded Jews as unfit for military participation. Their different historical experience and their questionable loyalty were the main reasons the National Guard excluded them from their ranks, while many Jews depicted military participation as something entirely unjewish.

Jewish conscription Oblivious to the widespread Jewish resistance against military service, the Batavian Republic nonetheless started recruiting among the Jewish population. Recruiting probably resulted from a shortage of voluntary labor. The supposed unjewishness of the military, the poor career prospects, and the hard life as well as the lack of proper food and clothing contributed to the Jewish reluctance to enlist.74 Unsurprisingly, Jews and

73 Dagblad Municipaliteit Amsterdam, 14 February 1798, 297–280. Also in other Dutch cities Jews were not admitted into the civil militia. 74 Johan Joor, De Adelaar En Het Lam: Onrust, Opruiing En Onwilligheid in Nederland Ten Tijde van Het Koninkrijk Holland En de Inlijving Bij Het Franse Keizerrijk (1806–1813) (Amsterdam: De Bataafsche 173 non-Jews alike resisted forced conscription.75 The chronicler Wing meticulously reports on involuntary recruitment among Jews.

On 6 September 1799, the citizens, including Jews, had to march to Muiden and Naarden. Because some citizens did not want to march, their comrades were ordered by their officers to bring them forcibly if necessary. Even a young man named Koshman ben Isaac Rintel, who could not march because of an unknown disease and was in possession of a physician’s statement, received notification. If he did not join voluntarily, he would be conscripted the next day, Saturday, with military force. What choice did he have? And so he went. Also, the citizens tried to fetch Zanwel [Samuel] ben Abraham Kanter. However, he helped himself and fled, no one knows where to.76

As it appears, the prospects were so poor that some Jews tried to escape military service and ignored the eventual consequences of deserting the army. Months later, the government started to recruit again, now with the help of two Jews who would enlist the young men. This recruitment failed, however, and most of the young Jewish men were exempted from participation.77 Years later, in 1809, King Louis Napoleon abandoned the idea of equality in the army and acknowledged the special status of the Jews. Apparently discursive constellations shifted in favor for the particularistic aspects of Judaism. A propaganda brochure, printed in both Yiddish and Dutch, urged the Jews to join the special Jewish Corps. The universal ideal had made way for Jewish particularity. The parnasim and the High Consistory warmly welcomed this initiative, since they regarded Jewish conscription as a solution for the growing number of poor Jews.78 The person responsible for enlisting the Jews was Jacob Marcus, and within two days he had already enlisted eighteen adolescents. According to Wing, he was of the “lowest sort.”79 Jews on poor relief were obliged to enlist their children if they wanted to keep their allowance. Recruiters visited each synagogue in order to convince the Jews to join the Corps.80

Leeuw, 2000), 180–184. Cf. Jaap Meijer, Problematiek per post. Brieven van en over Joden in Nederland. Verzameld en toegelicht (Amsterdam: Joachimstal, 1949), 32–33. 75 Joor, De Adelaar en het lam, 259, 260, 283–379. 76 Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812,” 68–69. 77 Ibid. 78 The increase in poverty among the Jewish population was due to the general economic decline as a result of the Napoleonic wars and the loss of the Ashkenazi community’s monopoly on the selling of kosher meat, which financed the poor relief funds. 79 Roest, “Uittreksel Uit Eene Kronijk van de Jaren 1795–1812,” 107. 80 Ibid., 108–109.

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Furthermore, the king issued a decree guaranteeing every Jew the possibility of religious observance. Wing nevertheless heaped criticism on the Jewish Corps and the king’s efforts.

We have a good king, but he is badly influenced by wicked and evil Jews. When Jews start doing such things, acting as Christians in language, concerning our doctrines, as well as regarding the military and more of these things, what will become of us Jews? Ay, ay! Woe to the eyes that have seen. Woe to the ears that have heard! In the present days, the verses of the book of Lamentations can be applied: “her adversaries have 81 become the head” (Lam. 1:5).

A couple of days later, Chief Rabbi Moses Löwenstamm gave a sermon stressing the compatibility between the observance of Jewish law and the military. Likewise, the chief rabbi of the Sephardi community, Rabbi Daniel Cohen d’Azevedo, gave a sermon promoting the Jewish Corps, which was translated into Dutch, printed, and distributed.82 According to Wing, many Jews avoided the synagogue, while others left during the 83 sermon. “Nobody dared to say a word.” Löwenstamm’s approval of the Jewish Corps was probably forced, as in an unpublished sermon he condemns Jewish conscription. In this draft sermon, probably meant to be proclaimed on a Sabbath, Löwenstamm stressed the importance of religious observance and allegiance to the king. He questions the possibility of observing Torah, in particular kashrut (Jewish dietary laws), during military service and lists pragmatic arguments for the incompatibility of religious observance with enlistment in the Jewish Corps.84 Löwenstamm’s refusal to permit Jewish conscription contradicts his father’s (Rabbi Saul) earlier approval in 1782 of enlisting Jews into the Navy. At that time, the Dutch Republic had started a fourth war with England (the English War 1780–1784). The parnasim, in accordance with the Admiralty of the Dutch East India Company, drafted specific Jewish regulations, including kashrut, prayers, and the exclusion of work on the Sabbath and High Holidays. Moreover, Chief Rabbi Saul blessed sailors personally,

81 Ibid., 111. For the Jewish conscription riots in 1811, cf. Joor, De adelaar en het Lam, 180–184. 82 Daniel Cohen d’Azevedo, Leerrede, uitgesproken in de gemeente der Hollandsche Portugeesche Israelieten te Amsterdam, den weleerwaarden heer Daniël Cohen d’Azevedo, ten tijde van het middag-gebed, op Sabbat den 23 Menachem 5569, of den 5 van Oogstmaand 1809. Uit het Portugeesch vertaald (Amsterdam, 1809). 83 Roest, “Uittreksel uit eene kronijk van de jaren 1795–1812”, 112. 84 ACA, 1241-480.

175 wishing them a safe voyage.85 As long as the Sabbath and kashrut were observed, Rabbi Saul had no objections against Jewish military service. Years later, the context had changed profoundly. Contrary to Jewish participation in the Navy, which had provided an economic opportunity for poor Jews, enlistment of Jews into the civil militia and the Jewish Corps became entangled with discourses on citizenship and the elevation of the Jews. These discourses in turn legitimized the blending of military service with Jewish tradition. This highly politicized context triggered Chief Rabbi Löwenstamm’s rejection. Interpretation of the Jewish law was no longer confined to the scholarly realm; the theological justification was a political tool in the hands of the maskilim and their opponents alike.86 Many Jews widely supported Löwenstamm’s resistance against active military participation.87 Despite Chief Rabbi Löwenstamm’s ‘false’ supporting letter, double payment, and extensive propaganda efforts, the Jewish Corps did not attract Jewish participants, and in 1809, only one year after its inception, the king disbanded the battalion due to a lack of interest.88 Despite the efforts of the maskilim, the government, and even the chief rabbi, Jews refused to enlist in the Jewish Corps. For many, the prospects of a (petty) military career countered their ideas of Jewishness and a decent income. As we have seen, both the orthodox and the maskilim strategically used the dispositive of military service to enhance and legitimize their power structures.

3. Perception of the Jews by non-Jews In this changing political constellation, discursive strands on citizenship entangled with negative attributions of meaning to Jews. The granting of citizenship to the Jews did not eradicate old stereotypes, and prejudices continued to persist. Various historians acknowledged this and pointed to the slow process of integration of the Jews as a result of discrimination, distinguishing between juridical and social acceptance.89 For instance,

85 J.S. Da Silva Rosa, Bibliographie der Literatur über die Emanzipation der Juden in Holland (Frankfurt am Maim: Kauffmann, 1912), nr. 27. Cf. Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 184–191. 86 Not surprisingly, Chief Rabbi Löwenstamm’s ruling closely followed the rising orthodoxy of Hatam Sofer with his famous adage, “everything new is forbidden by Torah” (kol chadash asur min hatorah). 87 Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period, 198. Notwithstanding this resistance, some Jews supported conscription. Cf. Meijer, Problematiek per post, 28–31. 88 For doubts about the authencity of Löwenstamm’s supporting letter, see J. Zwarts, “De gefingeerde brief van R. Jacob Mozes Löwenstamm (1809),” De Vrijdagavond 5 (7 December 1928): 156–58. 89 For Dutch governmental discrimination against Jews, see Sonnenberg-Stern, Emancipation and Poverty: the Ashkenazi Jews of Amsterdam, 1796 - 1850. Cf. Joseph Michman, Hartog Beem and Dan Michman, 176 many associations, such as the Felix Meritis and the Maatschappij tot Nut van ´t Algemeen, refused to admit Jews, and until the mid-nineteenth century Jews could not become members.90 Social mobility and political integration were likewise slow. Karin Hofmeester defined the nineteenth-century Dutch Jewish exclusion as both “mild und gemäßigt…verschleiert und heimlich.”91 According to her, the hidden character of anti- Semitism was due to the treasured Dutch self-image of itself as a tolerant nation. Moreover, an all-too-open dislike of Jews contradicted notions of good taste and was unbecoming in Calvinist culture, which still held the Jews in high esteem as “people of the book.”92 Discourses portraying the Jews as greedy, filthy, noisy, and dishonest continued throughout the nineteenth century and beyond. Besides these negative representations, other more positive images of the Jew, based on toleration and equality, also developed. Both the negative and the positive images of Jews sprung from the same changing political context, namely the entrance of Jews into Dutch society. Interestingly, both imaginaries regarded the Jews as inherently different and maintained a firm boundary between the two cultures.93 In that respect, the positive depiction also employed the image of the stereotypical ‘other’.

The Jew as citizen Jews continued to be perceived as alien or at least different from mainstream society. This came to the fore especially during the Batavian Revolution. The discussions of the

Pinkas. Geschiedenis van de joodse gemeenschap in Nederland; Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders; Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period; Hetty Berg, ed., De Gelykstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid (Amsterdam/Zwolle: Joods Historisch Museum, Amsterdam & Waanders Uitgevers, Zwolle, 1996). 90 Cf. Hanou, “Joden en Nederlandse genootschappen 1750–1850;” Merel Stikkelorum, “De joodse gelijkberechting en de ‘verlichte’ praktijk. De Maatschappij tot Nut van ’t Algemeen onder de loep 1796– 1798,” in Een veelzijdige verstandhouding. Religie en Verlichting in Nederland 1650–1850, edited by Ernestine van der Wall and Leo Wessels (Nijmegen: Uitgeverij Vantilt, 2008), 358–73. 91 Karin Hofmeester, “Antisemitismus in den Niederlanden im 19. and 20. Jahrhundert,” in Ablehnung – Duldung – Anerkennung. Toleranz in den Niederlanden und in Deutschland. Ein historischer und aktueller Vergleich, edited by Horst Lademacher, Renate Loos, and Simon Groenveld, Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur Nordwesteuropas 9, z.d., 604. Cf. Meijer, Problematiek per post, 67–70; Berg, De Gelykstaat der Joden. 92 Hofmeester, “Antisemitismus in den Niederlanden im 19. and 20. Jahrhundert,” 604, 606. 93 Karin Hofmeester makes a similar observation in her analysis of Jewish parliamentary representatives in the Netherlands, as they were regarded as representatives of the Jews and not of the Dutch population in general. Karin Hofmeester, “Jewish Parliamentary Representatives in the Netherlands, 1848–1914: Crossing Borders, Encountering Boundaries?” in Borders and Boundaries in and around Dutch Jewish History, edited by Judith Frishman (Amsterdam: Aksant, 2011). 177 newly installed National Assembly regarding Jewish eligibility for citizenship show the entanglement of discourses on citizenship and Jewishness. One reason to withhold citizenship from the Jews was the idea that the Jews already belonged to a nation.94 Moreover, contemporaries stressed their different lifestyle as proof of their separateness; they were foreign. Some members rejected Jewish participation or were at least uncertain about citizenship for Jews. They referred to the question of double loyalty, namely the idea that Jews could not be loyal to both the nation and their religious group. Others instead stressed the enlightened idea of inclusiveness, considered Jews equal and thus entitled to citizenship. With the creation of nations throughout Europe, the establishment of the modern concept of citizenship, and the formation of corresponding identities, the question of who belonged and who was excluded from the nation became relevant. Demarcating the boundaries of nationhood and creating an identity in opposition to the ‘other’ formulated the outlines of citizenship. However, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, being openly anti-Jewish contradicted enlightened notions of toleration and such views were therefore not openly expressed. In the course of 1795, many patriotic pamphlets appeared, arguing for the emancipation of the Jews. Jews, the patriots adduced, were equal human beings as well as part of the nation and should therefore be granted full citizenship. In their idiosyncratic style, zealously saturated with revolutionary rhetoric, the patriots produced a positive image of the Jew, an image of the Jew as a companion, a brother, and a fellow citizen. In one pamphlet J.S. Hespe (1757–1818), the only Christian member of Felix Libertate, urges the Dutch population to grant the Jews emancipation. He considered them equal and therefore entitled to the same citizen rights as Christians. To withhold them from their legal rights was contrary to the Christian religion, and reasons for doing so were based on false assumptions.95 Therefore, he supported “equality, liberty, and fraternity in matters of armament, voting, and representation of his good and able Jewish fellow citizens.”96 He rebukes those patriotic societies who excluded

94 Many contemporary Christian theologians regarded the Jews as a separate Hebrew nation, as described in the Bible. Cf. Anders Gerdmar, Roots of Theological Anti-Semitism: German Biblical Interpretation and the Jews, from Herder and Semler to Kittel and Bultmann (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2010). 95 J.C. Hespe, Gelijkheid, vrijheid, broederschap. J.C. Hespe aan ´t Volk van Holland en bijzonder aan de burgerij van Amsterdam (Amsterdam: Hendrik Gartman, 1795), 4. 96 Ibid., 11–12.

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Jews from participation and denied them their civil rights. For Hespe, everyone was “equal in respect to liberty and fatherland, regardless of their religion.”97 A brochure written by the patriot Jan Krap (1755–1797) likewise promotes the idea of the citizen-Jew. In De Joden Zijn Onze Medeburgers (The Jews are our Fellow- Citizens), Krap attempts to eliminate prejudices and negative attitudes towards Jews. “The sun of liberty should not only heat, but also enlighten – her radiations should chase away the veils of prejudice, caused by ignorance and fed by religion and hypocrisy, sustained under the authority of force.”98 For Krap, depicting the Jews as fellow-citizens was a moral obligation. In order to establish a more positive attitude towards the Jews, he refutes various old prejudices, such as “the deceitful Jew.”99 Granting the Jews emancipation and regarding them as equal participants in society contributed to moral elevation:

Well, fellow citizens… accept the Jews as fellow citizens, let them share in those rights in which the Almighty wants every human equally to take part! Do we back up our representatives in their intention to destroy those hateful laws, which exclude a considerable portion of our fellow citizens from society? Let us begin to grant every Jew civil rights and the trust that we show to each other; we shall win hearts, advance society, and good consequences shall crown our righteous deeds.100

The same patriotic zeal in promoting Jewish citizenship can also be found in literature. For instance, the illustrious nineteenth-century writing duo Elisabeth Wolff-Bekker and Agatha Deken reiterated Hespe’s point of view that a different religion was nevertheless compatible with love for the fatherland. Moreover, their poem reflects the idea of a universal religion. All religions, according to this view, worship the same deity, and only their customs differ. In this sense, the Jews are as morally inclined as the Christians. Therefore, it is erroneous and wrong to condemn the Jews, as they essentially worship the same God and are like Christians.

Yes brothers to your intuition

97 Ibid., 12–13. 98 Jan Krap, De joden zijn onze medeburgers (der vergadering van de provisioneele representanten des volks van Holland toegewijd en aanbevolen (Dordrecht: Jan Krap, 1795), 3. 99 Ibid., 6–9. 100 Ibid., 15.

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The fatherland’s position From prejudice desists The Jew is also a patriot And in the service of one God We are all co-religionists.101

A novel by Adriaan Loosjes (1761–1818) also promotes the idea of the citizen-Jew. A young woman and an old widow discuss the position of the Jews during a boat trip. The old widowed clergywoman constantly cites her late husband, who, to the horror of the young woman, objected to the presence of Jews. At one point, when the young girl is ready to burst with annoyance, especially after a young Jewish boy helped the clergywomen out of the boat, the young woman snaps “that it was especially the nation [the old woman] despised which helped her first.”102 The main character, Susanna Bronkhorst, displays the ideal of the enlightened spirit; she is tolerant towards others, eager for the civic improvement of the less privileged, and uses arguments to sustain her beliefs. Her appreciation of the Jews fits within the enlightened tendency to regard the Jews as human beings with inalienable natural rights, and thus as fellow citizens. However, not everyone regarded Jews to be on equal footing. Before the realization of the Emancipation Decree of 1796, many questioned Jewish loyalty and eligibility for citizenship. For instance, Ijsbrand van Hamelsveld (1743–1812)— preacher, professor, and later chairperson of the Dutch National Assembly in 1797— questions the desirability of full Jewish citizenship. According to him, the Jews belonged to a separate nation and had a distinct and incommensurable lifestyle. Moreover, he believed that too many differences interfered with fraternity. Distribution of equal rights could only befall the like-minded.

Can one grant fraternity to a foreign nation, which lives among us like strangers, which now will be equal with our own, native nation? This question gains importance in relation to the Jews, [and is] even more important the more their morals, laws, and

101 Elisabeth Wolff-Bekker en Agatha Deken, Gedichten en liedjes voor het Vaderland (Den Haag: Isaac van Cleef, 1798), 143. 102 Cited in: Jaap Meijer, Rationalisme/Romantiek/Risjes. Het joodse type in onze literatuur 1800–1850 (Heemstede, 1978), 23. 180

customs separate them from other nations, so that fraternization of this nation with other nations seems impossible.103

Too many differences hindered socialization and comradery with Jews.104 Citizenship was, according to van Hamelsveld, therefore reserved for the native Dutch people. His view resembles both the common Christian theological conception of the Jew as a member of the Hebrew nation105 as well as the pre-modern conception of citizenship, wherein a poorter or burgher either inherited or purchased his citizenship.106 For van Hamelsveld, the Jews were clearly excluded because of their minor civil contribution and their history. In van Hamelsveld’s The History of the Jews, he stresses the Jews’ separateness.107 “The Jewish people have been expelled from their fatherland and independence: as a free people, liberated among the nations, across the whole world, dispersed; but they nevertheless remained a separate nation, through all centuries until our time, unmingled with other nations.”108 Next to the creation of a Dutch identity, a recurrent discourse developed, namely the question of double loyalty. Could the Jews as a nation observe both religious and state law? This question is at the heart of the Grand Sanhedrin, summoned by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1806, wherein Jewish scholars had to mediate between adherence to the Jewish religion and state support. The Grand Sanhedrin had the difficult task of compromising between the two and solving the question of double loyalty. Not surprisingly, later scholars—especially the orthodox—rebutted their recommendations, such as the approval of intermarriage.109 In addition, in the Netherlands the question of

103 Citation in NA, Dagverhaal der Handelingen van de nationale vergadering representeerdende het volk van Nederland, nr. 140, Thursday 4 August 1796, reprinted in Meijer, Tussen verstrooiing en verlichting. De historiografie der joden in Nederland. Eerste fase, 45. 104 Van Hamelsveld also distrusted the Jews because of their alliance with the house of Orange. See ibid., 46. 105 For an excellent overview of the arguments of German theologians, see Gerdmar, Roots of Theological Anti-Semitism. 106 The burgher was an established member of society and participated in the civil militia (schutterijen). Privileges accompanied citizenship, and only citizens could become members of guilds. Being a burgher was an honor meant for citizens who by seniority or economic achievement proved their worth to the city. Maarten Prak, The Dutch Republic in the Seventeenth Century, transl. by Diane Webb (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 158–161. 107 Because of van Hamelsveld’s emphasis on nationalistic aspects, Jaap Meijer concludes that his interpretation of the history of the Jewish people would have suited the Zionist Assembly held three hundred years later. Meijer, Tussen verstrooiing en verlichting, 51. 108 Cited in ibid., 48. 109 Cf. Kooij-Bas, “Nothing but Heretics.”

181 double loyalty appeared in the political arena and was one of the obstacles to the granting of juridical equality.110 The politician, mathematician, and physician Henri van Swinden (1746–1823), for instance, postulated the idea that Jews still awaited the coming of the messiah, which would lead them to their holy ‘homeland’, Palestine.111 The eschatological future received in this respect a nationalistic interpretation. Or in other words, messianic expectations blended within the discursive constellation of Jewishness, nation(-building), and loyalty. Almost fifty years later, the entrance of Jews into society was still not self-evident. Although the Jews had gained juridical equality, they were generally excluded from social and political life. It took almost fifty years after the election of Hartog Bromet and Lémon de Lémon until Jews were represented in Dutch politics. In 1849, Henry Michel Godefroi was elected to Parliament, and in 1860 he became the minister of justice. For some Christian politicians such as Groen van Prinsterer, the ‘otherness’ of the Jew threatened Dutch Christian identity, and he questioned the desirability of Jewish emancipation. In a private letter to Isaac da Costa from 1851, he explains that he refrains from addressing ‘the Jewish question’ in his journal de Nederlander but nonetheless willingly tolerates the Jews.

A small word on the Jewish question; my opinion can be concisely summarized. The granting of political rights to Jews in a Christian state has in my eyes always raised objections. Now that everything has happened, I do not wish that their rights should in any way be taken from them. However, and I believe we should strive for this, political emancipation cannot be granted or enforced in the spirit and according to the principles of 1795, or 1798, or March 1848.112

Van Prinsterer envisioned a Christian nation-state, built on Christian principles, and in his vision of a modern state the Jews were strangers, excluded from partaking because of their religion. Moreover, they jeopardized Christian identity, which was for van Prinsterer, a strict Calvinist politician, an essential element of the state.

110 Salvador Bloemgarten is of the opinion that special circumstances, such as a temporary radical regime rather than a wholehearted support of Jewish citizenship, fostered the Emancipation Decree of 1796. See for instance Bloemgarten, Hartog de Hartog Lémon, 1755–1823. Joodse revolutionair in Franse Tijd, 57–70. 111 Ibid., 65. 112 Reprinted in Meijer, Problematiek per post, 63.

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The blending of discourses on nation, secularity, citizenship, and the ideals of the French Revolution with Christianity resulted in the rejection of the Jews as citizens. It fostered and reinforced the portrayal of the Jew as ‘other’. This otherness was negatively as well as positively displayed. It resulted in rejecting Jewish access to society or pitying the Jews for their deplorable state. Advocates of citizenship for Jews used it to demonstrate their own tolerance and open-mindedness, while opponents constructed their own identity in opposition to the Jew. Either way, years after the Emancipation Decree, the Jewish citizen was not self-evident.

The coarse Jew Jewish otherness also came to the fore in their misapprehension of social etiquette. The Jews lacked civility, acted loud and obnoxious. This image emerges, for instance, in a literary description of the course of events in the synagogue by the enlightener and patriot Willem Kist (1758–1841) in his debut novel Uit het Leven, Gevoelens en zonderlinge Reize van den Land-Jonker Govert Hendrik Godefroi van Blankenheim tot den Stronk. “Heavens above! said the Baron, blocking his ears with his fingers, “what a shouting! People will break. Look at the secretary, how black and blue this friend becomes in his face, look! With both hands he is holding his neck and ears in order to scream louder.”113 This depiction of the uncivilized Jew resembles the image created by Hoefnagel, wherein the Jew apparently seems incapable of lowering his voice. The stereotype of the loud screaming Jew probably derived from Dutch Jewry´s dominant occupation, namely (petty) trade.114 Jews predominantly worked as peddlers and street vendors, hawking their goods with blaring praises, a habit which, at least in Amsterdam, violated city regulations. During the eighteenth century, the parnasim warned the community members continuously to refrain from calling their prices aloud. Especially Jodenbreestraat, a main traffic artery notorious for traffic jams, was dense

113 Willem Kist, Uit het Leven, Gevoelens en zonderlinge Reize van den Land-Jonker Govert Hendrik Godefroi van Blankenheim tot den Stronk, Eerste Deel (Haarlem: François Bohn, 1800), 226. Cf. Meijer, Rationalisme/Romantiek/Risjes, 26–27. For biographical information, see Gerardus Petrus Maria Knuvelder, Handboek tot de geschiedenis der Nederlandse letterkunde 3 ( ’s-Hertogenbosch: Malmberg, 1977), 230–231. 114 This occupational structure continued well into the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Cf. Hetty Berg and Thera Wijsenbeek-Olthuis eds., Venter, fabriqueur, fabrikant: joodse ondernemers en ondernemingen in Nederland, 1796–1940 (Amsterdam: Joods Historisch Museum; NEHA, 1994). 183 and overcrowded.115 Not surprisingly, the stereotypical image of the noisy, rowdy, and obstructive Jew in connection to his employment appeared and reappeared in various descriptions of Jews.116 For instance, in a letter to his parents the great statesman, politician, and drafter of the Constitution of 1848, J. R. Thorbecke ( 1798–1872), accuses the Jewish lawyer S.P. Lipman (1802–1871) of being a “Jew and a loudmouth from Amsterdam.”117 The immediate cause for the pejorative characterization of Lipman was his book on the political history of great European nations.118 Thorbecke considered the book of little worth, and he was surprised that it attracted civilized readers, although he admits that it is “a popular book written for layman, and therefore it does not need the requirements of a work of history.”119 He also condemns the book. “It bothers me, and you cannot blame me, that among us someone dares to embark with unwashed hands on such an important task; that one can write on diplomacy with sloppiness, as if one translates a novel for a bookstore, and yet again be praised for it.”120 According to Thorbecke, an uncivilized Jew such as Lipman should refrain from embarking on a task that was clearly only intended for people with a certain kind of demeanor; Lipman was obviously too coarse and insensitive for the fine art of writing history, let alone formulating an opinion on import state matters. Other Dutch politicians and scholars show a similar dislike of Lipman. However, it is hard to say whether this image was due to his Jewish or his Amsterdam background, or whether these characteristics simply blended. The minister J.G. Verstolk assesses the writings of Lipman as “written in a highly heated spirit, which is nowadays common

115 Rädecker, Schuld en Boete in Joods Amsterdam. Kerktucht bij de Hoogduitse joodse gemeente 1737–1764, 38–40. Jodenbreestraat was also an important traffic artery during the nineteenth century . See the letter of J.D. Meyer to D’Alphonse, 13 April 1811, in H.T. Colenbrander, Gedenkstukken der Algemeene Geschiedenis van Nederland van 1795 tot 1840, vol. 6 (The Hague: M. Nijhoff, 1911), 1125. 116 For an analysis of the untrustworthy, hawking Jew, see M.J.P.M. Weijtens, Nathan en Shylock in de Lage Landen. De Jood in het werk van de Nederlandse letterkundigen uit de negentiende eeuw (Groningen: Wolters-Noordhoff, 1971), 31–36. 117 J.R. Thorbecke, letter to his parents, Leiden, 11 December 1830, in G.J. Hooykaas and J.C. Booyman eds., De Briefwisseling Van J.R. Thorbecke, vol. 1 (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1975), 69. 118 See S.P. Lipman, Geschiedenis van de staatkunde der voornaamste mogendheden van Europa, sedert der val van Napoleon tot heden, vol. 1 (1813–1820) (Amsterdam: Brest van Kempen, 1832). 119 Letter of J.R. Thorbecke to Groen van Prinsterer, Leiden, 19 October 1832, in G.J. Hooykaas and J.C. Booyman, De briefwisseling van J.R. Thorbecker, 342. 120Ibid., 343.

184 among the Dutch from the North.”121 The professor of law H.W. Tydeman (1778–1863) refers to Lipman pejoratively as “that little Jew Lipman.”122 Apparently Lipman had a bad reputation, because the salesperson H.J. Swarth explains, “His moral reputation is not very good: people blame him for being more engaged with despicable than with good matters.”123 Scattered throughout this personal correspondences appears an image of a Lipman who displays maladjusted behavior and social blunders in the upper circles. Years later, the same type of criticism also befalls the Jew Samuel Sarphati (1813–1866), a prominent figure in the development of social health care. According to the historian H.J. Koenen, he was “one of those figures who are not satisfied with their social rank.”124 Apparently, Jews lacked proper etiquette and misread the social codes. Jews rarely succeeded in being accepted by the upper class. Reasons for their slow acceptance in society were the prevailing notion of the inevitability of one’s social status and a dominant Protestant stamp, especially noticeable in friendly societies.125 Old prejudices and a strong sense of the elite’s group identity fostered the maintenance of the established order and disturbed the acceptance of Jews in the higher echelons of society. Together with unexpressed social codes of behavior, this contributed to an image of the Jew as one who deviated from the norm.126

The Jew in need of regeneration In addition to the representation of the Jew as a stranger, a more favorable regeneration discourse on the Jew appeared. This image was based on the Enlightenment notions of toleration and equality. The positive depiction, however, did not alter or repudiate the negative stereotypical images of the dishonest Jew. On the contrary, the apologetics for the Jew postulated by various authors further enhanced the stereotypical image of the

121 Letter from Verstolk to Falck, 3 December 1830, in Colenbrander, Gedenkstukken Der Algemeene Geschiedenis, 338. 122Letter from H.W. Tydeman to the conservative politician G.K. van Hogendorp (1762–1834) 24 November 1830 Ibid., 328. 123 Letter from H.J. Swarth to G.K. Hogendorp, 3 November 1830, see ibid.,268. 124 Letter from H.J. Koenen to Isaac da Costa dated 26 August before 1844, reproduced in Meijer, Problematiek per post, 68. 125 Boudien de Vries, “De joodse elite in Amsterdam 1850–1900: oude en nieuwe rijkdom,” in Berg, De Gelykstaat der Joden, 82, 90. 126 Social mobility depends as much on education as on knowing the social norms and codes of the social group one aspires to join. For an analysis of this principle, see the doctoral research on the social mobility of working-class children from the 1960s and 70s after their university degree. Mick Matthys, Doorzetters. De betekenis van de arbeidersafkomst voor de levensloop en de loopbaan van universitair afgestudeerden (Amsterdam: Aksant, 2010). 185

Jew.127 Historical context and development explained and justified the Jew’s unfavorable aspects. Ironically, the attempt to explain the undesirable aspects of the Jew with positive discourses on toleration and equality blended with older stereotypes and stabilized the negative attribution of meaning to Jewishness. As a result, the contextualization of the Jew’s undesirable aspects sustained popular pejorative ascriptions. In enlightened apologetics for the Jews, the lack of economic opportunity, exclusion from various crafts, and discrimination explained Jewish incivility and proclivity towards dishonest occupations. Jewish dishonesty, it was claimed, resulted from their historical experience, which excluded them from an honest way of living. Abbé Grégoire articulates this vision in his famous Essai sur la régénération physique, morale et politique des Juifs. In this essay, which follows the biblical narrative of paradise, paradise Lost, and paradise regained, Grégoire put forward his solution: the regeneration and thus redemption of the Jews.128 Grégoire postulates that the historical context of the Jews contributed to their undesirable situation. As he explains, “some Jews are usurers; almost all of them possess a distrusting, carnal character. This is the inevitable result of suppression, which has haunted them for so long.”129 As this citation shows, dishonesty was not part of the Jewish essence but a consequence of past hardships and exclusion. Historical experience rather than human nature created one´s proclivity towards good or bad behavior, and Grégoire continues to compare the Jewish situation with that of the slaves, “who, with a good education, good laws, free conduct, and above all religious principles, would be humans.”130 Both slaves and Jews could be turned into God-fearing, reasonable human beings. Grégoire’s emphasis on circumstantial causes echoes Montesquieu’s De l´esprit des lois (1748). In this philosophical tractate, Montesquieu blames the slave system for the slave’s stupidity and passivity; the system

127 Cf. Dohm, Über die bürgerliche Verbesserung der Juden; John Toland, Reasons for Naturalizing the Jews in Great Britain and Ireland, on the Same Foot with All Other Nations: Containing also, A Defence of the Jews Against All Vulgar Prejudices in All Countries (Dublin, Ireland: The Manuscript Publisher, 2013). 128 Schechter, Obstinate Hebrews: Representations of Jews in France, 1715–1815, 107–108. 129 Translated from the Dutch version. Grégoire, Nieuwe bedenkingen over de Joden, en bijzonderlijk over die van Amsterdam en Frankfort, door den heer Gregoire, oud bisschop van Blois, senateur, enz, 4. 130 Ibid.

186 prevented the slave from developing into a moral human being.131 According to Grégoire, Jews and slaves were both victims of their historical experience.132 Like Montesquieu, Grégoire believes that oppression morally corrupts the oppressor: slave-owners are “hasty, severe, choleric, voluptuous, and cruel” because of their “unlimited authority over [their] slaves.”133 Moreover, Grégoire believes that Christians deteriorated morally because of the unfavorable conditions of the Jewish community. Withholding civil rights from Jews and making a juridical distinction between Jews and Christians was contrary to Christianity. “How despicable and criminal are those who mock the dignity of the human race in the Israelite. Christian prosecutors did not read the Gospel, which is a crime; indeed, it is certain that they did not observe it.”134 For Grégoire it was a Christian requirement to treat the Jews as equals; any deviation from this principle was against the teachings of Paul, who advocated “belief, hope, and charity.”135 Wolff-Bekker and Deken employ a similar historical justification for Jewish insidiousness. Their hardships and exclusion from honorable professions condemned Jews to earn their living in (petty) trade.

How our human heart yearned for God, Because of an all-to-unfavorable lot; Those poor Jews and Jewesses, they Breathlessly and wrecked, Gasping, heavily packed, To earn a living, they convey.

There are a thousand sources of provision That will never give you admission; Trade is your only option. It deserves our sympathy, If you, by liability,

131 Charles Louis de Secondat, Baron de Montesquieu, Complete Works, vol. 1 The Spirit of Laws [1748] (London: T. Evens, 1777), 312, 315, 320. 132 Unsurprisingly, he explicitly mentioned how he welcomed the Slave Trade Act of 1807, which abrogated the slave trade. Grégoire, Nieuwe bedenkingen over de Joden, 27–28. 133 Montesquieu, Complete Works, vol. 1., 311. 134 Grégoire, Nieuwe bedenkingen over de Joden, 25–26. 135 Ibid., 26.

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Compensate for your financial contraction.136

In addition, in this case circumstances such as exclusion from various professions caused Jewish misconduct. Like Grégoire, Wolff-Beker and Deken do not question the dishonesty of the Jews itself; they merely justify Jewish misbehavior on the basis of discrimination. In other words, society and therefore historical circumstances are to blame for Jewish delinquency. By historically explaining the negative characteristics of Jewry as whole, they enforce and sustain the negative Jewish stereotypes. Furthermore, their historical justification displays their civility and tolerance more than it helps to correct or alter pejorative depictions of the Jews. Thus, the historical apology for the Jews unwittingly sustained the negative stereotype of the dishonest Jew. As we have seen, despite good intentions, the Jew was objectified and used as a means to display one’s own civility and privileged status.

4. Conclusion In the changing discursive formations of the Jew at the turn of the nineteenth century, Jews disagreed on what being a Jew entailed. Was a Jew recognizable as a citizen or as an observant Jew? Jewish modes of response ranged from adopting to refuting the new national identity markers. Despite these power struggles, Jewish conspicuousness continued to be viewed as an essential aspect of Jewishness. Both the orthodox and the maskilim identified with traditional identity markers. This was the result of employing the same religious power structures and strategically using dispositives to establish their own take on Judaism. In addition to the stabilization of conspicuous religious identity markers, the maskilim advocated the image of the Jew as soldier and citizen. They actively entangled the discourses on nation(-building), citizenship, and the Jewish religion in their idea of Jewishness. For them, being Jewish was also being part of the fatherland; they propagated the idea of the citizen-Jew and denied the otherness of the Jew. The dispositive of military service further divided the Jews and created the boundaries of appropriate Jewish behavior, which went beyond the confines of religious observance. The maskilic response and efforts to substantiate secular law with Jewish sources

136 Wolff-Bekker and Deken, Gedichten en liedjes voor het Vaderland, 133.

188 created the Jew who identified with the state; they labelled themselves as Jewish citizens. The blending of old stereotypes and new discourses on equality, tolerance, and citizenship stabilized the depiction of the Jew as ‘other’. Moreover, positive discourses on the Jew legitimized the negative attributions of the Jew as uncouth, deviant, and dishonest. Jewish conspicuousness was an important element in processes of self- labelling and othering. Despite efforts from within and outside the Jewish community to establish and legitimize the Jewish citizen, many Jews regarded themselves—as did the outside world—as other and different. As such, the blending of religious discourses with discourses on citizenship established both the Jew as other and the Jew as citizen. These processes of self-labelling and othering demonstrate how the dispositive of citizenship affected and constructed the new (hybrid) Jewish identities.

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Chapter five The Dutch Jewish Community: Betwixt and between politics, medicine, and religion

Should we then be so foolish as to believe that the abolition of a little sucking is dependent upon place or time?1

In the above citation, Berisch Berenstein, son of the late Chief Rabbi Samuel Löwenstamm, challenges the new medical knowledge that sucking the infant’s blood with the mouth after the circumcision (meẓiẓah) posed a health threat. In the nineteenth century, Jewish circumcision became a contested site between the maskilim, who wanted to reform Jewish religion and society, and the traditional rabbinate. The maskilim urged the professionalization of the Jewish circumciser and simultaneously criticized what they regarded as dangerous and uncivilized aspects of the Jewish ritual. Rituals concerning the Jewish body were under scrutiny and were condemned for their barbaric appearance as well as their possible health threat. The Jewish ritual was not only redefined in medical terms but also condemned for its indecorous appearance. This chapter analyses how discourses on ‘elevating the Jews’ became entangled with discourses on medicine and reforming Jewish rituals as well as the meaning this entanglement produced. Jewish rituals were no longer confined to the realm of the rabbinate but became a matter of national health, subjected to government control. Various Jewish responses can be identified in this process, ranging from lip-service to essentializing contested rituals to subordinating religious authority to secular knowledge. Two reforms in particular stand out, namely the reforms of Jewish burial and circumcision. Both rituals show how government policy and maskilic endeavor contributed to the redefinition of Jewish rituals. Underlying this religious change was the entanglement of discourses on morality and medicine that portrayed the Jewry as internally and externally sick. This in turn laid the foundations for the late-nineteenth- century representation of the Jew as a biological threat.

1 Kooij-Bas, “Nothing but Heretics,” 412–413.

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1. The Jewish burial controversy The burial controversy is a good example of the entanglement of religion with political and medical discourses, and it became a locus of power struggles on the authority of religion. The burial controversy attracted all of the leading Jewish intellectuals of that time. It started in 1772, when Duke Friedrich von Mecklenburg-Schwerin issued a decree delaying the burial of the dead for three days. He was influenced by the orientalist Olaf Gerhard Tychsen, who argued that the Jewish custom of early burial was not grounded in the Jewish classical sources but based on “non-authoritative kabalistic works.”2 The edict prohibited the Jewish custom of burying the dead preferably on the day of death. The burial controversy was a cultural campaign between proponents and opponents of the Enlightenment. It became a maskilic showpiece, and almost every known maskil contributed to this debate in writing. The burial controversy constructed the classic binary between the maskilim and the orthodox, where rabbis held on to old traditions, proving their argument with Talmudic reasoning, and the maskilim placed their faith in science and reason. According to John Efron, “the crucial issue at heart of maskilic medical texts was the battle to wrest control of the Jews’ bodies from traditional Judaism and its representatives, and to place control in the hands of the scientifically trained, and socially superior.”3 A vivid correspondence between the Jewish scholars Moses Mendelssohn and Jacob Emden (1697–1776), who were asked by Schwerin´s Jewish community to intervene, shows this classic opposition clearly, as both discredited each other for either ignorance or apostasy. According to Moses Mendelssohn, “no absolute criterion of certain death” existed, and therefore he recommended waiting until the signs of decomposition appeared. Because the early burial was conditional in his view, it could be postponed, for instance for the purpose of acquiring burial essentials such as a coffin or a shroud. Mendelssohn supported his argument with a Mishnah tractate, which stated that the deceased were placed in caves and catacombs before interment and watched for three days in a row for any possible signs of life.4

2 Jacob Joseph Schacter, Rabbi Jacob Emden: Life and Major Works (Ph.D. dissertation Harvard University 1988), 669. 3 John M. Efron, “Images of the Jewish Body: Three Medical Views from the Jewish Enlightenment,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 69 (1995): 365. 4 Schacter, Rabbi Jacob Emden, 670–671.

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Jacob Emden, however, accused Mendelssohn of atheism, since for Mendelssohn contemporary medical knowledge outweighed religious authority.5 Moreover, Mendelssohn’s compliance created a precedent for abrogation of Jewish customs if they conflicted with scientific knowledge. Emden feared this reasoning so much that even the possibility of saving a life (piquah nefesh), a rule of thumb in Jewish law, was set aside.6 This is not to say that Emden did not endorse science; in fact he gleefully proclaims, “Verily, natural sciences are different. They certainly constitute a permitted and commendable body of knowledge, necessary to observe the plan of the Lord and His great deeds which are wondrous.”7 However, when medical knowledge differed from rabbinical opinion, the latter should prevail.8 In this respect, the discussion between Emden and Mendelssohn reveals the power struggles over the new discursive entanglement between religious and medical discourses. When kabbalistic ideas entered the debate, this juxtaposition between the traditionalists and the maskilim became even more pronounced. According to Rabbi Ezekiel Landau of Prague, prolongation of burial caused the soul to linger, extending torment and suffering. He referred to the midrashic statement that “the first three days the soul hovers over the body, ready to return; when the face has undergone decomposition, the soul departs.”9 This kabbalistic view of the hovering soul appalled the maskilim because it was based on a mystical tradition and not on reason. The delayed burial served as a test case for the tenability of traditional and kabbalistic Judaism; according to the proponents, rabbis could either comply with science and modernity or remain insular with their perverted customs.10 The maskilim employed fear to motivate the change of the burial ritual, which was surprising because they accused the rabbinate of frightening Jews into believing.11 The use of fear in promoting delayed burial counters the claim of the secularization thesis, where scientific explanations diminished the role of religion as fear no longer substantiated belief.12 Here

5 Ibid., 681. 6 Moshe Samet, “The Beginnings of Orthodoxy,” Modern Judaism 3 (1988): 253. 7 Cited in Schacter, Rabbi Jacob Emden, 685–686. 8 Ibid., 688. 9 Cited in M.D. Samuel S. Kottek, “The Controversy Concerning Early Burial. A Historic Chapter in Halacha,” Jewish Medical Ethics 1 (1988): 33. 10 Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment, 331–335. 11 Ibid., 96. 12 Pippa Norris and Ronald Ingleheart, Sacred and Secular. Religion and Politics Worldwide (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 4-5. 192 it was the other way around; scientific discourses produced, fostered, and cultivated fear.

Reform of Jewish burial in the Netherlands The fear of being buried alive was widespread and motivated Moses Mendelssohn to note his desire for delayed burial in his testimony. Although the burial controversy appeared to be a cultural campaign between the maskilim and the rabbinical elite, in the Netherlands it was not the burial itself that created the problem, but rather the entanglement with discourses on the ´elevation of the Jews´ that made it a contested ideology. For instance, the Sever Minhagee Amsterdam, a compilation of Jewish religious practices in Amsterdam from 1716 to 1901, already mentions the custom of delayed burial in 1788. It says that when the deceased wrote in his/her will that he/she is not to be touched for 48 hours after his/her passing way, his/her wish should be observed and honored, thus leaving an opening to personal interpretation of how the burial ritual should be executed.13 In comparison to the German maskilim, leniency toward the burial ritual soothed the Dutch maskilim on this issue. Moreover, the Ashkenazi community commonly practiced delayed burial, since the more affluent cemetery at Muiderberg (1642) was a one-day journey from Amsterdam, and despite the fact that Jews who passed away on holidays or on Fridays could be buried at the nearby cemetery at Zeeburg (1714), designated for guests, children, and the poor. At Zeeburg there was a special row for affluent and important Jews, so that even in death they could maintain their status amongst the poor. Despite this alternative, many Jews bought their graves at Muiderberg.14 Already in 1758, relatives of the deceased could suspend the funeral if the deceased mentioned a preference for Muiderberg in their will.15 Sometimes the parnasim even used delayed burial to settle the deceased’s debt to the community. By refusing to allow the funeral to take place, they tried to force the defaulter to pay or the sinner to repent. A dramatic example of this is the parnasim´s refusal in 1740 to bury the deceased child of Tsadok

13 Brilleman, Sefer Minhagee Amsterdam, 246. 14 ACA, Protoculbuchen I-IV, passim. 15Brilleman, Sefer Minhagee Amsterdam, 246.

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Abraham as long as Abraham refused to pay his debts to the community.16 As such, postponed interment was commonly practiced in the Dutch Ashkenazi community, albeit not only for medical or scientific reasons; prestige, distinction, and occasionally force also motivated the delay. Because of this familiarity with delayed burial, the naye kille challenged the unequal burial practices of the Ashkenazi community instead of invoking the horrors of delayed burial.17 In its Diskursn, for instance, it displays the classical binary by praising its own sophistication in opposition to the alte kille´s chaotic and cruel burial rituals. Thus, in one of the Diskursn’s fictional polemical plays, the maskil Anshel explains to his ignorant friend Gumpel that in the naye kille a doctor confirms every death before burial.

Yes, brother. That is a rule in the naye kille. Not as it is with you. In the past a child died in the Kayzer family on a Friday or on the eve of a holiday, I believe, at three o’clock and at six it had already been wrapped [in shrouds]. Away with it! If a poor man had done that, [they would say he was] only [trying] to save on the shive and shloushim. And I know for certain that people often die [needlessly] because someone says that they’re dead and they’re then taken away. Where else does the name “Lipkhe the dead” come from?18

According to Anshel, the alte kille officials not only buried people alive, but also got away with shortening the mourning period because their actions were positively valued, in contrast to the poor man, whose actions were judged as selfish. Moreover, Anshel accused the alte kille of oppressing the poor with their faulty and malicious customs. Familiarity with delayed interment was probably one of the reasons why the parnasim and the rabbinical elite complied with the implementation of a Dutch law from 1815 requiring the dead to be buried only after 24 hours; indifference characterized their response. The law ordered that “no corpse could be interred before 24 hours have elapsed, [and then only] after the official confirmation of death by a medical doctor. Relatives of the deceased are permitted to delay the burial but never to advance it.”19

16 Tsila Rädecker, “Uniting and Dividing: Social Aspects of the Eighteenth-Century Ashkenazi Meat Hall in Amsterdam,” Zutot: Perspectives on Jewish Culture 1 (2010): 85–86. 17 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 50, 58–60, 102, 354. apparent death = Lipkhe the dead. Shive = 7 days of mourning; shloushim = 30 =ליהפכי טויטר .Ibid., 142 18 days of mourning 19 NA, SCIA, inv. 1, art. 19.

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This dispositive continued the policy of King Louis Napoleon, who based his decree on Carel Asser´s plan to reform the Dutch Jewry. Carel Asser’s plan and its proposed laws reflected the naye kille’s earlier demands, including reorganization of the slaughterhouse, ritual baths, early burial, etc.20 Because Asser presented the plan as a political program, the historian Joseph Michman deduced that it was “typical for the way in which the Enlightenment was pursued in The Netherlands, where the pressing nature of social problems permitted reformers only the most vicarious discussion of religious and philosophical issues.”21 Not surprisingly, King Louis Napoleon made a similar argument when he stated that he did not want to alter the essentials of the Jewish religion, as “this would be entirely opposed to our sentiments, which are inclined toward doing nothing that might offend the fullest freedom of conscience.”22 The discursive entanglement of discourses on citizenship, Jewishness, and ´the Jewish question´ blended and produced a new a meaning of what it entailed to be a Jew and an inhabitant of the Netherlands. In this new attribution of meaning, the essentials of Jewish religion clearly excluded the visible and ceremonial aspects of religion. Jewish physicians, such as Immanuel Capadoce (1751–1826) and Stein (1778– 1851), like their German colleagues, initiated the promotion of delayed burial.23 As members of the High Consistory, they enforced the implementation of the new burial legislation diligently. However, they met fierce resistance from within the Jewish community. In 1818, Capadoce bitterly reports:

…in some Jewish communities all of the deceased, whether from age, illness, or sudden deaths, who could be apparent deaths, received the same treatment of immediately closing the mouth with a bandage and placing heavy weights on the belly to prevent it from inflating. This is done before or shortly after 24 hours, and the corpses are put in coffins which are nailed shut, depriving the apparent dead of their last breath by killing them, as it was so unfortunately done in earlier days.24

Despite Capadoce’s efforts to reform this ‘faulty’ custom, Jews were buried before sunset. Although financial incentives and haste rather than religious objection

20 Michman, Dutch Jewry during the Emancipation Period 1787–1815, 120. 21 Ibid. 22 Cited in ibid., 122. 23 Efron, “Images of the Jewish Body,” 351. 24 SCIA, inv. 359, 10 and 11 November 1818.

195 compelled some Jews to disobey the delayed burial regulation, the focus here will be on theological rejection.25 Especially in The Hague, which in 1824 with the settlement of the Lehren family there became the bulwark of orthodoxy, Chief Rabbi Lehmans challenged the regulation to wait 24 hours before commencing the funeral rituals, such as the closure of the mouth with a bandage and the placing of a sand sack on the corpse’s belly to prevent it from inflating. Lehmans regarded the latter funeral rituals as religious regulations, which were therefore required. Moreover, the rituals did not hamper or hinder the potential awakening of an apparent death.26 Lehmans’ response shows the refusal to abandon what he regarded as essential aspects of the Jewish religion. In a response to Lehmans’ refusal, Capadoce went to great lengths to prove Lehmens’ theological misinterpretation. According to Capadoce’s reading of the Talmud, the Bible, and the Shulkhan Arukh,27 the Supreme Committee’s regulation was in accordance with Jewish law and refuted Lehman’s religious objection. Capadoce challenged Lehmans’ religious authority by showing his lack of knowledge of Jewish law.28 Capadoce’s response resembles the maskilic critique of the ignorance of the rabbinate and the wish to work within the boundaries of Jewish tradition. Lehmans, in return, challenged Capedoce´s medical authority by denying that the old burial rituals were life-threatening. Both men obviously disrespected each other´s expertise. With their refusal to compromise, the Supreme Committee sided with Capadoce and dismissed Lehmans´ demand.29 Many Jews apparently neglected the new burial regulations, causing the creation of additional procedures. There are, for instance, signs that The Hague ignored the new burial regulations, as the published burial regulations of Sefer Haim Lanefesh in 1876 mention the prohibition of closing the mouth and placing a sand sack on the belly on the

25 Haste and laziness rather than a clear theological point of view sometimes inspired disobedience, as a letter written by Abraham Sanders and M.P Heesten exemplifies. Both of them were confronted with the corpse of Lazarie de Jong, who was brought to the city early in the morning and left on the street. This compelled them to act quickly, which resulted in the burial of de Jong before dark without the consultation and confirmation of death by a physician. As becomes clear, the reasons for the premature burial were due to the unwillingness to provide the necessary, often costly, burial rituals, such as the hiring of undertakers’ clothing and a medical doctor to ascertain the (time of) death. NA, SCIA, inv. 27, N86. 26 D.S. van Zuiden, “Een conflict tusschen de Haagsche parnassijns en de Hoofdcommissie (1819) over het vroegtijdig begraven,” De Vrijdagavond, 29 (1929): 61. 27 Shulchan Arukh, legal compilation by Yosef Caro, 1563 28 Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 163. 29 van Zuiden, “Een conflict tusschen de Haagsche parnassijns,” 62.

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Sabbath, implying that on other days it was a common procedure.30 To supervise the precise implementation of the new burial regulations, only the parnas president was entrusted with a key to the cemetery. Moreover, a state representative supervised the proper execution of the ritual. In 1837, a civil servant needed to approve all death certificates before the funeral or burial rituals, and the certificates had to include the confirmation of time of death by a physician.31 Closely following the current ideas in the Netherlands with regard to elevating the masses, the call for decorum, and the creation of a moral citizen, the maskilic criticism also concentrated on the visible features of Jewish burial.32 They associated clean and decent clothing with moral behavior, and they pointed their criticism in particular at conspicuous rituals that attracted waves of spectators, such as the funeral procession. With the split between the naye and the alte kille, the new community was already boasting of their sophisticated funerals. Thus, in one of their Diskursn they proudly describe the orderly and tasteful burial ceremony of a child from the Vezep family.

Everything went in an orderly way. The shrouds were [sewn], the ritual cleansing of the body was done in time and on Monday morning at eleven o’clock…the funeral took place. The gaboim of the kabronim read the names of all the members of the khevre of the kabronim: six people in order to carry, three in front and three behind, all in black coats and three-cornered hats. Then they went slowly with the corpse from the Prinsengracht to the Portuguese synagogue. There the carriage stood. The shames of the kabronim went ahead and after him the gaboim with the manhig-hakhoudesh. What shall I say? They walked so sedately that it was a pleasure to watch. All along the way, it was swarming with people.33

This funeral was in all ways exemplary of the maskilim’s point of view on death, with the burial taking place on their newly acquired cemetery in Overveen (which was also for children), the delayed burial, the determination of death by a physician, and above all the elevated manner.

30 Ibid. 31 Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 163. 32 N.C.F. van Sas, De metamorfose van Nederland. Van oude orde naar moderniteit, 1750–1900 (Amsterdam University Press, Amsterdam 2004). 33 Michman and Aptroot, Storm in the Community, 142.

197

The implicit critique of the alte kille’s burial ceremony was part of a larger negative evaluation of the power of the khevre kedishe (the burial society). Those societies, mostly made up of prominent Jews, arranged all the funerals in the community, provided the poor with shrouds, took care of the cemetery, and ritually cleaned the corpses. According to the maskilim, the khevre kedishe usurped their power. The chaotic ceremonies characterized their mismanagement. In fact, the khevre kedishe and the parnasim symbolized usurpation and oppression; they contradicted the enlightened ideals of morality and refinement. Or as a High Consistory member bitterly declared in 1813: “burial among the Israelites is not only humiliating and against proper order, but is also very costly; the privileges and the arrangements of the burial society are absurd and abhorrent to the current manners.”34 The maskilim felt ashamed of the Jewish funeral rituals in comparison to the Christian funeral rituals, and they tried to reconcile the Jewish routine to ‘current manners’. High Consistory member Stein hoped that reforming Jewish burial ceremonies would contribute to a more positive appreciation of Judaism and would make Jews worthy citizens. His response shows the discursive entanglements between citizenship and Jewishness. Moreover, reform of Jewish burial provided him with an opportunity to subordinate religious authority to secular knowledge. “It is true that the defects of our education and the chaos during the burial ceremonies are probably the two main causes of the contempt our fellow-believers receive in the eyes of the Christian inhabitants of this nation.”35 With the French occupation, the maskilic ideas of appropriate undertakers’ clothing finally got a foothold. The royal decree of 1814 not only prohibited burial within 24 hours, it also ordered that burials should take place with “dignity and order.”36 Accordingly, the new burial regulations of the Amsterdam khevre kedishe in 1816 ordered that “all carriers of the bier and escorts wear a nice black cloak, a white jabot, a three-pointed cocked hat, and black socks and shoes.”37 The shifting constellations blurred the boundaries between the state and religion. As a result of this shift, the burial of the dead was not only dictated by the norms of religion but had become a state concern. Discursive strands such as protection

34 HC, inv. 36. 35 HC, inv. 35, 19 October 1813. 36 SCIA, inv. 1., art.19. 37 Brilleman, Sefer Minhagee Amsterdam, 56.

198 transferred from the religious realm to the state, legitimizing the dispositive of the law on delayed burial. Now the state protected the Jews against the horror of being buried alive. As a result of this encroachment on religious authority, the state came to determine the prerequisites of the Jewish funeral. Moreover, the dispositive of the delayed burial also established and produced the discourse of the Jew as backward, uncivil, cruel, and in dire need of reform. As such, this issue of delayed burial reveals how the boundaries between the secular and the religious are not fixed but are constantly renegotiated.

2. Criticism of Jewish circumcision Another custom wherein fear and concern for national health legitimized the state´s interference with the Jewish religion was Jewish circumcision. For centuries, circumcision had been criticized as a barbaric and therefore a forbidden ritual. Although critiqued and outlawed, the ritual remained important in Judaism and survived the ages as a sign of the covenant between God and Abraham’s offspring. During the Enlightenment period, circumcision was once again under attack, in particular the last two steps of circumcision established by the rabbis, namely the periah (opening), which separated the foreskin from the glans more rigorously, and the meẓiẓah or the sucking up of the infant’s blood.38 The physical and bloody aspects of the ritual appalled ‘rational society’ and became entangled with notions of hygiene and contamination. Adding to the criticism was the new scientific discourse on circumcision, which regarded it as unauthentic and an adopted custom of the Egyptians. These new insights quickly spread from the English Deists to Voltaire, questioning the Jewish basis and tenability of the ritual.39 If circumcision was ‘essentially’ not Jewish, it could be abandoned, and this physical but hidden barrier between Jews and other citizens of the nation could finally be abolished. In this view, circumcision was not a divinely ordained law, but a meaningless adoption of a local custom. The underlying problem of circumcision was that it stressed Jewish particularity and therefore conflicted with the all-inclusive aim of Enlightenment ideas and its

38 Leonard B. Glick, Marked in Your Flesh: Circumcision from Ancient Judea to Modern America (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 44–45. 39 Jacob Katz, “The Struggle Over Preserving the Rite of Circumcision in the First Part of the Nineteenth Century,” in Divine Law in Human Hands: Case Studies in Halakhic Flexibility, edited by Jacob Katz (Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, The Hebrew University, 1998), 324–325. 199 discourses on the universal concept of humanity. Consequently, many maskilic Jews, especially in Germany, tried to reconcile Judaism with modern times by removing any references that might show a double loyalty. As a result, the maskilim eliminated allusions to the Temple and the coming of the messiah in Jewish prayer books. Various Reform communities likewise removed customs that, in some eyes, contradicted the Enlightenment ideal of rationality.40 However, most of the intellectuals of the Wissenschaft des Judentums hesitated to publicly object to circumcision. Moreover, reformers like Zunz and Geiger regarded circumcision as an inextricable part of Judaism. For instance, Geiger only privately describes the ritual as “ein barbarisch blutiger Akt” in a letter to his friend Zunz.41 This was contrary to Holdheim, who openly objected to circumcision because he regarded it as an “expression of an outlived idea” and emphasized personal consciousness instead, thus opposing circumcision “on principle.”42 In this changing climate of reconciling Judaism to modern times, some German maskilim refrained from circumcising their infants, while still expecting them to be members of the Jewish congregation.43 As such, the power struggles over religious authority resulted in a plethora of responses regarding the tenability of such a conspicuous identity marker as Jewish circumcision.

Dutch reform of Jewish circumcision Reform of circumcision followed a different path in the Netherlands. There was no intellectual opposition, such as that from German maskilim, to circumcision. An exception was Spinoza, who acknowledged the value of circumcision as a preserver of Jewish identity, but nevertheless rejected the Jewish claim to be the only people chosen by God and thus refuted the idea of Jewish particularism.44 Moreover, there are no known cases of Jewish parents refusing to allow their children to be circumcised while still trying to get them admitted as congregants. The reform of circumcision was partly due to Dutch governmental involvement. The occurrence of accidents during circumcision compelled and legitimized

40 Such as for instance the kol nidre prayer and customs such as delayed burial, hamankloppen, and ´redundant’ prayers such as the piyyutim. 41 Cited in Glick, Marked in Your Flesh, 121–122. 42 Ibid., 123. 43 Robin Judd, Contested Rituals: Circumcision, Kosher Butchering, and Jewish Political Life in Germany, 1843–1933, 22. 44 Glick, Marked in Marked in Your Flesh, 79–80.

200 circumcision legislation. For instance, in 1819 a complaint about a mohel (circumciser) came from the city of Delfzijl in the northeast of the Netherlands. This mohel, named Noortje, was very young and apparently lacked the skills to perform the circumcision. Mohel Noortje circumcised an infant crudely and consequently the second step of the circumcision, the periah, failed, causing the infant great agony and pain. Eventually another, more experienced circumciser redid the periah.45 Another report about a wrongly executed circumcision came from the city of Leek, which is also in the north of the Netherlands. This mohel, named Engers, circumcised an infant poorly and severely injured him; his recovery took 14 days, and it remained uncertain whether the child would overcome this faulty surgery at all. Apparently, Mohel Engers’ circumcision skills were extremely poor, and instead of only cutting the foreskin, he removed a piece of the penis as well.46 Lack of experience caused by the relatively small Jewish communities probably contributed to the overrepresentation of circumcision accidents in the countryside. These reports from the countryside compelled the government to establish a circumcision commission. However, this government control was not one-sidedly imposed; in fact, Jewish physicians, such as Bromet, Stein, and Capadoce, fostered and suggested it. Regulation of circumcision was a joint effort between the government, which wanted to protect its Jewish citizens, and the physicians, who because of their background and their medical knowledge considered circumcision to be a medical procedure. The physicians, not the mohelim, had the authority on matters concerning the body. By exposing the mohelim’s ignorance and incapacity, as the accidents clearly proved the danger of traditional techniques, the physician’s superiority was established. With the many circumcision accidents, the physicians convinced the government to side with them in their quest. Because one of the state’s objectives was health care and thus the well-being of its citizens, the maskilic objectives as well as the new government concern complemented each other well. In the transformation of the state from caretaker to caregiver, the government and the Jewish physicians became hand-in-glove in the matter of reforming circumcision. Unfortunately, there are no records of the number of incidents. Therefore, it is extremely difficult to judge the urgency of this preventative measure. Were the accidents

45 HC, inv. 17, N158. 46 Ibid.

201 incidents or were they structural? Nevertheless, the faulty circumcisions were the accepted reasoning behind measures introduced not only in the Netherlands but also in the German lands. A Frankfurter law from 1843, for instance, dictated that circumcisions could only take place under medical supervision.47 In the Netherlands, the perceived danger compelled King Willem I in 1820 to install a circumcision commission, supervising, controlling, and examining all mohelim in order to prevent any accidents happening out of ignorance and/or inexperience.48 These new regulations were widely endorsed by the maskilim and met with indifference from the rabbinate. The commission included five persons: the president of the commission, three mohelim, and one physician, who was also a member of the provincial medical committee. The physician was the only non-Jew in the commission, and therefore it appeared to be an entirely Jewish matter, albeit under government control. A further distinction was made between the Ashkenazim and the Sephardim, because their differences in culture and liturgy and their reluctance to cooperate with each other meant that each had their own circumcision commission. The same circumcision regulations, however, applied to both. The Dutch circumcision regulations made circumcision a state-approved and controlled procedure. The first article prohibited circumcisers under the age of 20, in order to prevent the entrance of incompetent youngsters into the profession. Inexperience was probably the reason why the circumcision by Mohel Engers turned out to be so disastrous for the reproductive organs of the infant. It also became mandatory to observe at least eight circumcisions.49 In this way, the new mohel would familiarize himself with the execution of a proper circumcision, instead of cutting away what appeared to be a foreskin. The circumcision law connected age with experience, as it assumed that an older person had observed more circumcisions. In this line of thinking, coupling age and experience enhanced the craft of surgery; circumcision was not fulfillment of a religious obligation but a skill acquired during medical training.50 The laws professionalized the craft of circumcision. Circumcision was only permitted to be performed by mohelim in possession of a diploma, which could be obtained after successfully completing a theoretical and practical examination. The

47 Katz, “The Struggle Over Preserving the Rite of Circumcision in the First Part of the Nineteenth Century,” 321. 48 HC, inv. 27. 49 Ibid. 50 Ibid.

202 theoretical part tested the anatomical, medical, and religious knowledge of an aspiring mohel.51 During the practicum, the aspiring mohel performed a circumcision under scrutiny of the commission, showing them his ability by executing an accident-free procedure. This indicates how religious knowledge was no longer sufficient and authoritative enough on its own; it needed to be complemented with secular knowledge. Although religious knowledge was still part of the examination, the medical elements outweighed it, as the central position of the practicum shows. However, this last measure, the compulsory exam, was only applicable to newcomers. Experienced mohelim appointed by the Jewish community received a diploma without having to pass an exam.52 This article in particular, which did not require an examination for circumcisers already working in the community, does raise the question of how often the whole procedure actually went wrong. Moreover, the non- compulsory exam for working mohelim countered the claim that the exam was intended to stop further circumcision accidents from happening out of ignorance and inexperience. If this was the only motivation, it would be even more reason to examine the current working mohelim as well. Moreover, there were complaints against both young and old mohelim. The new circumcision law was probably intended as more of a preventive health measure than to stop an abundance of clumsy mohelim from mutilating young infants. It was the idea of a possible botched circumcision, supported by various stories about incompetent mohelim and injured infants, that was already powerful enough to reform the profession. The physician’s prominent role further emphasized the diminishing authority of the mohelim. It was exemplary of the maskilic wish to subordinate religious authority to secular knowledge. Before commencing a circumcision, an official physician checked the infant´s health and ascertained whether the surgery could endanger its life. Only after his approval was circumcision permitted. Because of the prominence of the medical authority, the circumcision ritual was secularized. It was placed under government control and subjected to state law, which criminalized and punished circumcision without a permit. Moreover, the bureaucratization of circumcision provided it with the appearance of acceptance and made it a state-approved ritual, while the emphasis on the formal aspects of circumcision, such as certificates and examinations, further diminished

51 HC, inv. 27, Art. 5. 52 Ibid.

203 its religious meaning. Laws, regulations, and protocols all necessarily incorporated the Jewish ritual and made it into a national affair.

Critique of meẓiẓah In addition to the professionality of the circumciser, the method of the act was also criticized, especially condemning the last two steps, the periah and the meẓiẓah. The last step, the sucking of the infant’s genitals, attracted a wave of criticism. Meẓiẓah was barbaric, unhygienic, and lethal. The whole controversy surrounding meẓiẓah centered on two points of critique. Firstly, the image of a mohel sucking the blood from the infant’s genitals invoked horror, repulsion, and disgust. The idea of an elderly mohel with a blood-spotted beard conflicted with the image of a rational and civilized religion. Secondly, the fear of contamination through the mohel´s infectious saliva was reason for concern. According to current medical discourse on contagious diseases, meẓiẓah could be lethal. Numerous cases were known, especially in the German lands, of infants being infected with contagious diseases such syphilis, herpes, and tuberculosis. In 1811, the physician Johan Nepomuk Rust in his work Helkologie oder über Natur, Erkentniss und Heilung der Geschwüre links the deaths of recently circumcised infants with the meẓiẓah as a transmitter of syphilis.53 Infections caused festering abscesses, great agony, and eventually the infant’s death, making the procedure not only barbaric in its appearance but also in its outcome. The meẓiẓah controversy followed different paths in each European country. Around the year 1844, both France and the German countries abolished the ritual. Criticism of the meẓiẓah came from many sides: from within the Jewish communities, from the maskilim, from physicians, from the government, and even one orthodox rabbi considered it an unnecessary procedure. The great scholar Haham Sofer, the authority of orthodox Jewish scholarship, ruled that the meẓiẓah could be replaced with a sponge if the expert physicians “will testify faithfully that the sponge performs the same action as meẓiẓah by mouth; nothing else needs to be considered, in my opinion.” According to Sofer’s reading of the Talmud, the meẓiẓah was not “a necessary condition for the validity of circumcision,” and “it is not necessary to be stringent if the physicians have invented other remedies in its place.” Only kabbalists, he writes, clung to the practice

53 Shlomo Sprecher, “Meẓiẓah be-Peh-Therapeutic Touch or Hippocratic Vestige,” Hakirah, the Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought 3 (2006): 30–32. 204 because they ascribed a special mysterious meaning to it, but “we do not deal with hidden things when there is any reason to suspect danger.”54 For Sofer the meẓiẓah was clearly not an essential part of the circumcision, nor was it a Talmudic law, as other treatments such as placing bandages and cumin were also proposed; it was intended as a health measure. Therefore, he permitted replacement by equally beneficial remedies. For Sofer there was no hidden secret or intention in the meẓiẓah; it was practical and straightforward, to the benefit of the child, and if those benefits disappeared, so did the obligation to perform it. Because meẓiẓah was a medical remedy and not a religious one, the decision to either allow or abrogate it was left to the physicians. Later nineteenth-century orthodox scholars opposed Sofer’s leniency and instrumental approach toward the meẓiẓah. They regarded any alteration or slight reform of Jewish rituals to be a threat to Judaism. For instance, Rabbi Ettlinger (1798– 1871) passionately warned, “Examine how far things will go if you decide in favor of the scientists’ view over what we have received from the sages of the Talmud.”55 Moreover, instead of stressing Sofer’s pragmatism, his saying that “everything new is forbidden by the Torah,” was used to reject any adjustment of Jewish law or custom to modern society out of hand. They responded by essentializing contested Jewish rituals. Some orthodox scholars went out of their way to excuse his previous leniency or to prove the responsum’s fraud. Sofer’s students and family members, Rabbi Ettlinger, Maharam Schick (1807–1879), and other orthodox scholars regarded Sofer’s former leniency as a result of the pressure of previous authorities and the fear of a total abolition of circumcision. However, as the opposition between the orthodox and Reform communities increased during the nineteenth century, the controversy had become a battleground between innovators and traditionalists, and meẓiẓah’s abolition came to be seen as the harbinger of other religious reforms. Therefore, orthodox scholars regarded his ruling as invalid, since Sofer would prohibit in hindsight any alteration of the circumcision ritual. Moreover, he would have ferociously defended the meẓiẓah out of fear that its abolition would ultimately lead to the destruction of Judaism.56

54 Cited in Jacob Katz, “The Controversy Over the MEHizah: The Unrestricted Execution of the Rite of Circumcision,” in Divine Law in Human Hands: Case Studies in Halakhic Flexibility, 361. 55 Cited in Katz, “The Controversy Over the MEHizah,” 381. 56 Ibid, 374.

205

The reinterpretation of meẓiẓah as a biblical commandment further enhanced its necessity. Complicated pilpul (casuistic reasoning) now replaced Maimonides’ medical arguments in order to expose its biblical origin. For instance, Rabbi Judah Asaad from Hungary, which had become the cradle of the ultra-orthodox movement at the end of the nineteenth century,57 considered meẓiẓah to be an essential and indispensable part of the commandment to circumcise. “Moses certainly received the law at Sinai in this form, aside from the reason of the danger mentioned in the Talmud... and so according to the secret meaning, meẓiẓah by the mouth is certainly a commandment and is required.”58 In addition to Sofer´s reconciliation of Jewish practices with new insights, Jews exploited the available technical knowledge to circumvent the meẓiẓah ritual. From pumping devices to simple glass tubes, various invented tools prevented direct physical contact between the mohel and the infant. For instance, Rabbi Michael Cahn from Fulda found the solution in a simple pipe, and Alexander Tertis of London, who tried to be in line with the requirements of Maimonides “to extract the blood from remote parts,” invented a rubber pump as a substitute for sucking with the mouth. Various German orthodox rabbis approved both devices. This was in contrast to the Eastern European rabbinate, which held a rigid and kabbalistic view of the matter that prevented them from agreeing with any modifications to the circumcision ritual. Although the technical inventions appeared to be examples of the supremacy of medical authority, the new devices actually stressed an orthodox point of view because they substituted for the mouth and thus preserved the ritual of meẓiẓah. Moreover, the devices stressed the so- called medical benefits and confirmed meẓiẓah’s religious foundation. Their mode of response was the exploitation of secular knowledge in order to maintain the traditional structures. The technique served here as orthodoxy’s handmaiden. Others emphasized the medical benefits of meẓiẓah and futilely attempted to battle the scientists on their own territory as they employed medical discourse to support their religious claims.59 They tried to prove the validity of Maimonides’ ruling that meẓiẓah should be performed “in order to prevent danger.”60 Retrospectively ascribing health benefits to religious commandments also characterized other contested

57 Moshe Samet, “The Beginning of Orthodoxy,” Modern Judaism 3 (1988). 58 Cited in Katz, “The Controversy Over the Mezizah,” 375. 59 Ibid., 383. Even today various rabbis try to prove the medical benefits of meẓiẓah. For a detailed discussion, see Sprecher, “Meẓiẓahh be-Peh: Therapeutic Touch or Hippocratic Vestige.” 60 Maimonides (Code, Hilkhot Milah, 2:2)

206 rituals, such as ritual slaughter and the Jewish dietary laws.61 As such, meẓiẓah was only one of the many Jewish rituals stretching the boundaries between the medical and religious realms.

The meẓiẓah controversy in the Netherlands In the Netherlands, the meẓiẓah controversy had a relatively late reception. Contrary to the German countries and France, where the state abolished meẓiẓah in the 1840s, the discussion in the Netherlands started in 1864. The Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs requested from all of the Dutch chief rabbis a theological justification for meẓiẓah and asked whether the procedure could be replaced, for instance by rinsing off the blood with lukewarm water. Their request was a result of the recommendations of the North and South Holland provincial committees of health research to find a substitute for sucking with the mouth. Although the health commission initiated the request, the government only played a minor part in it, as the separation of church and state in 1848 restricted their authority in religious affairs.62 However, the perceived health threats of meẓiẓah legitimized the government’s summoning of the rabbinate. In the case of circumcision, the separation between church and state was not so clear cut. Minister of Justice Olivier supported and financially facilitated the initiative but refrained from intervention, as the “government tried to hold on to the principle of refraining from interference in church affairs.”63 The immediate cause for the concern of the provincial health committee and the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs was a complaint from 1856, where several infants died after being circumcised. A certain mohel from Den Bosch was accused of having a contagious disease, which he passed on to the infants with his saliva during meẓiẓah. According to the accusations, this mohel, named Lewyt, caused several deaths in the community. A father writes dramatically of how his son suffered severely from his circumcision. In 1849 Mohel Lewyt circumcised his son, but his son’s wounds did not heal. His son’s slow recovery compelled him to visit two doctors. They both blamed his son’s poor medical condition on an infection caused by meẓiẓah. In a desperate attempt to stop the infection, the doctors cauterized the stricken parts of his son’s genitals. After

61 Mitchell Bryan Hart, The Healthy Jew (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). 62 SCIA, inv. 427, 5 July 1864. 63 Ibid.

207 this second extremely painful operation, his son was ill for the following ten months, while the parents expected that the boy would succumb to his illness at any moment. However, to their great surprise, he recovered from his injuries. This case was not incidental; Mohel Lewyt was accused of many other disastrous circumcisions. Consequently, Chief Rabbi of Den Bosch Lehmans suspended him.64 However, Mohel Lewyt blamed the parents for the infants’ sudden deaths, and he regarded the accusations as slanderous and malicious. He maintained that he had many contented customers and that the parents had neglected and ignored their infants. Lewyt recalls a case where the mother of twin boys left with one child to sell goods door-to-door in Belgium only two weeks after giving birth, while she gave the other child into the care of a “strange women of low descent.” Apparently, this baby got ill and died.65 Because of the high infant mortality rate during the nineteenth century, it is extremely difficult to pinpoint who was responsible for the death of these infants. Almost a quarter of the babies born did not reach the age of one year.66 Therefore, the cause-effect relationship is uncertain. The Dutch Rabbinical Committee of 1864, however, regarded meẓiẓah as beneficial to the child’s health. In a series of assemblies, nine chief rabbis from the Netherlands discussed the halakhic status of meẓiẓah and their willingness to reform it. What followed was a philological discussion, resembling the discussion in the German countries and Eastern Europe, wherein they addressed the question of whether meẓiẓah could be replaced by any other ‘medical’ remedy, but not the question of whether meẓiẓah was an inextricable part of circumcision. Although two of the rabbis, Rabbinical Assistor Hirsch of Amsterdam and Chief Rabbi Landsberg of Maastricht, forthrightly questioned its necessity, their effort died a quick death because none of the other rabbis even considered it to be open to discussion.67 Meẓiẓah was apparently unanimously regarded as a fundamental aspect of circumcision.

64 SCIA, inv. 427. 65 Ibid. 66 Peter Ekamper and Frans van Poppel, “Zuigelingensterfte per gemeente in Nederland, 1841–1939,” Bevolkingstrends, 1e kwartaal 2008, Centraal bureau voor de statistiek. 67 After the death of Samuel Berenstein in 1848, the Jewish community in Amsterdam quarreled over the appointment of a chief rabbi, as the modernists prevented Berenstein’s son from fulfilling the office of chief rabbi. The duties were temporarily fulfilled by a rabbinical assistor. In 1874, the Jewish community finally agreed on appointing Dünner as chief rabbi. 208

The rabbinical committee was initially divided into two camps: the moderate and the strict orthodox. Soon the balance tilted in favor of the latter, outnumbering the moderates. Only Chief Rabbi Hillesum of Meppel, Chief Rabbi Landsberg of Maastricht, and Chief Rabbi Lehman of Nijmegen proposed a reform of the ritual. However, they sustained their arguments differently. According to Hillesum, the root of the word not only meant sucking with the mouth but also squeezing ,( מוץ) moz ,(מציצה) meẓiẓah with the hand, as can be found in different places in the Bible and the Talmud. Furthermore, Chief Rabbi Hurwitz of Vienna and Haham Sofer both allowed the use of a sponge as a replacement of meẓiẓah.68 Landsberg, on the other hand, emphasized the ritual´s purpose instead of the method. He denied the Talmudic basis for sucking with the mouth and claimed that it could be replaced with lukewarm water.69 Lehmans also agreed with the preservation of meẓiẓah and stressed that “with even the slightest doubt of danger he strongly advises substitution.” However, he falsely claimed that he had never personally experienced any danger in meẓiẓah.70 Lehmans was clearly short of memory, since he could not recall his dismissal of the mohel Lewyt in 1856. The chief rabbi of The Hague, son of the late Samuel Berenstein, opposed their instrumental view of meẓiẓah. Berisch Berenstein strictly adhered to a literal reading of Maimonides’ passage, while stressing that “the church was separated from the state” and therefore “it could not force him to act against his will.” Moreover, “as long as the physicians disagree, the state could not take health measures.”71 Berisch Berenstein feared most of all that leniency endangered the existence of circumcision and emotionally declared, “If we give in, than the periah will be next.”72 Unlike his father’s lip- service strategies, Berenstein rejected any change to the Jewish rituals. Berisch Berenstein mentions four arguments for the preservation of meẓiẓah. First, the slippery slope of change as the end of Judaism. If a single thing was changed, it set a precedent; other reforms would follow, and would therefore herald the end of Judaism. This argument was often heard in orthodox circles, and it justified a strict adherence to tradition, or what was thought to be traditional. According to Moshe Samet, it was strict observance “[w]ith respect to the mitzvoth [pious deeds], including

68 SCIA, inv. 427. 69 Ibid. 70 Ibid. 71 Ibid. 72 Ibid.

209 insignificant customs, stringent measures, and preventative measures whose underlying justifications are at best unclear” that characterized this “new historic innovation.”73 The second argument was the inclusion of meẓiẓah in the Shulkhan Arukh.74 Orthodox scholars denied the historical development of halakhic reasoning, and in an attempt to freeze “the traditional way of life” they boosted the Shulkhan Arukh as the new legal codex. Instead of constantly reinterpreting customs and legal references, one collection of customs became authoritative. Because the Shulkhan Arukh mentioned meẓiẓah, it was an essential part of circumcision A third argument referred to the authority of Maimonides´ saying “until the blood is sucked from the remote parts.” According to Berenstein, 1,000 years of meẓiẓah tradition proved its value. “What else could it be than with the mouth?” asked Berisch Berenstein rhetorically, as he dismissed out of hand other options and ways of extracting blood. Later on, he further elaborates on the connection between history and known], and if we propose] ודא Maimonides´ statement to prevent danger: “This is another procedure than meẓiẓah, we would not have the certainty of the prevention of unknown fact].”75 Berenstein refrained from] שמא danger], and this will remain a] סכנה asking why the “drawing of the blood from remote parts” prevented danger. Nor did he accept the physicians’ reports about the outbreak of contagious diseases among recently circumcised infants as proof of meẓiẓah´s health threat. Even if Berenstein had known that Maimonides’ saying most likely referred to the Hippocratic system of the four humors, wherein infections were explained by stagnated and decayed blood, he still would have adhered to his point of view, because the words themselves had become simultaneously purpose and proof. For his fourth argument, Berisch Berenstein used four testimonies from professors of the faculty of medicine at the University of Würzburg, published in the orthodox journal The True Guardian of Zion, who all testified to meẓiẓah´s medical benefits.76 By explicitly referring to those testimonies, he employed modern medical knowledge to sustain his orthodox point of view. Apparently, the physician’s medical claim about the mohel’s contagious saliva needed to be dismissed on scientific grounds.

73 Samet, “The Beginning of Orthodoxy,” 250–251. 74 SCIA, inv. 427. 75 Ibid. 76 Katz, “The Controversy Over the MEHizah,” 383.

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Their mode of response was to exploit secular knowledge to legitimize traditional rituals. It showed the ambivalence of the orthodox, that their dream to cast out everything new was an idealistic construction that even they could not uphold; it was the paradox of orthodoxy. Chief Rabbis Hirsch, Vaz Diaz, Dusnus, Isaacsen, and Ferrares followed Berenstein’s argumentation closely, as they declared more or less that the whole point of meẓiẓah was to prevent danger. It was a health measure, written in the Talmud and explained by Maimonides, who was after all a physician. Meẓiẓah was always meant to ,all have the same connotation מוץ dna ,מצה ,מצצ be done with the mouth, as the roots of namely sucking with the mouth. Failure to perform meẓiẓah threatened the life of the child, as according to Vaz Diaz, “ulcers, sores, and vesicles occurred without the practice.”77 Meẓiẓah became indispensable in fulfilling the commandment of circumcision. Even though it was initially installed as a health measure, it was given the status of minhag because of its long usage. Without this third step, the circumcision was not kosher and thus unsafe for the child. Consequently, the rabbinical committee decided that meẓiẓah was not dangerous and could not be abolished or replaced by a sponge. However, they made a small concession by adding that whenever there is a suspicion of danger, the mohel and the father should first consult a chief rabbi, who in his turn would consult a physician.78 With this last amendment, the committee of rabbis preserved the ritual and their strong alliance to orthodox thought without having to succumb to reform. If there was any danger, then they could always revoke their decision while still upholding their orthodoxy. This pragmatic approach to religious observance within an orthodox frame of thinking was typical for Dutch Jewry. It was the striving for accommodation, or what Bart Wallet has called “the Dutch inclination towards the middle (‘de Hollandse middelmaat’).”79 However, to view the discussion of the meẓiẓah controversy within this framework only disregards the innovative elements of it. Meẓiẓah not only stopped the bleeding, it had become a crucial part of the commandment to circumcise, elevated from a medical remedy to a minhag and even considered by some to be a biblical

77 SCIA, inv. 427. 78 Ibid. 79 Wallet, Nieuwe Nederlanders, 173–176.

211 commandment handed down on Mount Sinai. Moreover, even though the Talmud never explicitly stated that meẓiẓah was done with the mouth, it was assumed to be a valid and necessary way to do it, if not the sole way: the health benefit of meẓiẓah was now theologically interpreted. Hence, not only did medical knowledge encroach on the religious ritual, but a former medical requirement was also transformed into a religious rule. Jews responded to the pressure on meẓiẓah by condemning it as unhealthy, by employing medical knowledge to defend it, or by exploiting the technical aspects to maintain it. Clearly the interchange between theology and medicine was more complex than it appears at first sight, partly due to shifting boundaries and the renegotiation of authority, which far surpassed a simple dichotomy between the religious and the secular. Eventually the custom did die out, but only gradually and not because of state interference. A short revival of the controversy at the end of the nineteenth century in the journal Nieuw Israelitisch Weekblad (New Israelite Journal) undoubtedly contributed to its rejection by the Jewish majority.80

3. Conclusion As a consequence of the advances in medicine and national health care, the medical and religious spheres were renegotiated. The entanglement of discourses on medicine, religion, and ‘the Jewish question’ produced the idea of the Jews as a health threat. This in turn legitimized state interference when Jewish practices could threaten public health with their gloom of incivility and dirtiness. Thus the clothing of the pallbearer was formalized, circumcision was professionalized, and early burial was banned. These dispositives redefined the Jewish religion in medical terms. Medical discourse, however, extended beyond the boundaries of hygiene and blended with discourses on etiquette and morality. These entanglements attributed a new meaning to the Jew as both internally (morally and religiously) as well as externally (dressed in rags) unhygienic. The reforms targeted a mixture of religious practices in an attempt to halt the spread of disease. The Jew needed to be educated and reformed, not only for his own sake, but

80 But not among the ultra-orthodoxy in New York, as reports of infants who had undergone the ritual of meẓiẓah and died of infections compelled the local authorities to warn the Jewish communities about the damaging and dangerous effects of this ritual. See http://www.nyc.gov/html/doh/downloads/pdf/std/bris-statement.pdf (accessed 23 December 2013). 212 also for the sake of public health. The medical concept of hygiene legitimized state control and the criminalization of certain religious practices. Reform of religious rituals became a locus for power struggles and generated several modes of response within the Jewish community. It was not the proposed reform but rather the attack on their authority that aroused the rabbinate’s opposition; religious leniency was therefore only pronounced when it did not challenge the orthodox rabbinate. In a response to the pressure, orthodox opposition essentialized the contested rituals, such as early burial and meẓiẓah, and presented them as the traditional identity markers. Moreover, they explicitly employed scientific knowledge to sustain, legitimize, and maintain traditional religious structures. The maskilim, on the other hand, seized the opportunity of religious reform to gain power to the detriment of the rabbinate by subordinating religious authority to secular knowledge. However, these are the extreme angles of the modes of Jewish response. Betwixt and between, paying lip-service to reform, maintaining the traditional structures, and simple indifference to religious change had the upper hand. Both the orthodox and the maskilim employed secular and religious discourses to sustain their own take on Judaism. Their employment of the same strategic moves is yet another example of how the boundaries between secular and religious discourse are an ideological construct.

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Conclusion: Making Jews Dutch

Central to this study was the question of what happened to the Dutch Jews after the Emancipation Decree of 1796. How did they become part of the Netherlands, and how did it affect their identity, sense of belonging, and religion? I investigated the emergence of various Dutch Judaisms as a response to secular discourse and analyzed their transformation in light of the shifting boundaries between the secular and the religious. By closely examining the trials and tribulations of the Ashkenazi community in Amsterdam, this research has shown that citizenship is in the eye of the beholder. Five interrelated chapters focused on how the boundary construction between the secular and the religious redefined Judaism and the Jewish community. The first chapter discussed the changing relation between the state and the Jews. The Emancipation Decree altered this relationship fundamentally, and although the idea of equality lingered for decades before the actual Decree, the Decree legitimized government involvement and provided legal anchors to the Jewish citizen. Chapter two described government policy toward the Jews, which became possible after the Emancipation Decree. Making the Jews citizens created an incentive for their integration. As such, the Emancipation Decree enabled the Dutchification of the Jews and launched the ‘governmental’ civilization offensive. The third chapter departed from government policy and investigated how Jews internalized the new discourses on citizenship, religion, and Jewishness among themselves. This chapter focused on the blending of religious and secular discourses in Jewish rituals. The fourth chapter discussed the image formation of the Jews, which accompanied and legitimized governmental and maskilic reforms. Jews and non-Jews contributed to Jewish image formation. The fifth and final chapter analyzed the renegotiation of medical and religious authority and its effect on the Jewish religion. It showed the entanglement of medical and religious discourses in Jewish rituals as well as the redefinition of Jewish rituals as either beneficial or harmful to the body.

1. Modes of Jewish response to secular discourse This study identified different modes of Jewish response to the pressures of a secularizing environment. The Jewish entry into Dutch society, the acquisition of

214 citizenship, and the construction of various Judaisms resulted from changing discourses on equality, the state, and religion, as they spurred new attributions of meaning to Jewishness and Judaism. The creation of the Jewish citizen did not come about in a fortnight or result directly from the Emancipation Decree. The latter only laid the foundations, the fundamentals for the Jew as a full-blown member of Dutch society. Jews from all angles of the spectrum actively constructed and remodeled their religion and identity. Citizenship did not happen to the Jews; likewise the Jews did not integrate into a solid and immovable Dutch society, but reconstructed and redefined their place in the Netherlands. Jews were not sitting ducks for secularist hunters; nor did “Judaism die,” to paraphrase Jaap Meijer. The wide variety of different modes of response display Jewish agency as Jews actively turned themselves into Jewish citizens—for some a bit more citizen than Jew, and for others the other way around. Jewish responses ranged from adaption to adoption as Jews cherry-picked secular and religious discourses to sustain, construct, and legitimize their Jewishness. Because various responses have been identified throughout the chapters, I will discuss each mode of response individually. In some situations more than one mode of response is at work; therefore, I distinguish ideal types of Jewish responses. These responses, however, are not abstractions devoid of historical examples.1

Withdrawal Jews withdrew from (Jewish) society as a response to the civic duties, national obligations, and unspoken expectations that came along with citizenship. They refused the strings attached to this gift. The Lehren family became a nucleation site for Jews who refuted the moral and social implications of citizenship. This family became a symbol for an isolated Jewish community, inward-looking, with its back turned to Dutch society. Focal points of disagreement included the idea of Judaism stripped of civil powers and identification with the Dutch nation-state. The new mélange of secular and religious discourse on Jewishness countered the Lehrens’ conceptualization of Judaism as something only between Jews.

1 Max Weber, Basic Concepts in Sociology, translated by H.P. Secher (New York: The Citadel Press, 1962), 5, 25–58. Cf. Werner J. Cahnman, “Ideal Type Theory: Max Weber’s Concept and Some of Its Derivations,*” The Sociological Quarterly 3 (1965): 268–80. 215

The Lehrens aimed at fostering a unified sense of belonging among Jews. Their activities strengthened the mutual bond between Jews and continued the Jewish transnational network. With this idea in mind, the Lehrens invited and provided for Hasidic immigrants from Eastern Europe. Moreover, they collected funds for Jewish scholars and communities in the Holy Land. In addition, the Torat ha-Qenot responsa collection united rabbis throughout Europe to rally against Reform Judaism. For the Lehrens, the Jewish community was bounded by religion and not by national borders; they identified with other Jews. Jewish scholarship and religious observance provided for them with the glue of a Jewish community. They refuted the new hybrid Jewish identity, and Hirschel’s ascetic and Hassidic lifestyle stressed the Jewish status aparte. As such, being Jewish was internally and externally separate from Dutch society. This turning away from society particularly comes to the fore in Hirschel’s struggle for a separate minyan. With the establishment of a minyan, the Lehrens distanced themselves from the united Jewish community and the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs’ enlightened reform program. Typically, the Lehrens’ withdrawal was not a total rejection of everything new, but the creation of a new place for Jews; therefore Hirschel Lehren used the legal implications of citizenship to legitimize his minyan but refuted its social implications. Lehren’s introduction of a Sephardic liturgy became key for the Committee in criminalizing the minyan as an unlawful sect, enforcing their ideal of integration into Dutch identity. Interestingly enough, the Sephardic model in this context did not fuction as a maskilic ideal.

Rejection Besides Lehren’s reinforcement of a transnational Judaism, smaller Jewish initiatives appeared, refuting (religious) reform and the abolition of the Jewish community’s political power. The petition “For the Sake of Heaven” that requested the restoration of the old order stands out among these, as it actively collected and organized Jewish voices resisting the far-reaching implications of citizenship. In this respect, the request in 1819 from Jewish community members to excommunicate Abraham Memram for transgression of the dietary laws and blasphemy is also an example of Jews refuting the implications of citizenship. Oblivious to the new political situation, several Jews clung to the traditional power structures. They rejected the imposed privatization of religion or

216 the idea of religion without authority, as advocated by the maskilim. As it turned out, some Jews still regarded Judaism as a socially and politically experienced religion. Besides organized opposition, other Jewish responses show a refusal to incorporate the social, religious, and moral implementations of citizenship. They resisted the dispositives of the state. For example, evasion of military service was a common strategy among Jews. Despite the loss of poor relief, Jews refused to be admitted into the army. They fled, feigned sickness, or rioted. As a result of this widespread resistance, the Jewish Corps failed. The maintenance of speaking Yiddish and refusing to learn Dutch should also be seen in this light. Moses Lӧwenstamm’s use of an interpreter even though he had been raised in the Netherlands displays a rejection of Dutch citizenship. For centuries after the Emancipation Decree, Yiddish remained the lingua franca of Dutch Jews, and various rabbis preached in it until the middle of the nineteenth century. Even at schools for the Jewish poor, the introduction of Dutch was slow. Finally, Jews continued working in the trades despite the removal of restrictions and promotion of the crafts. Jews apparently resisted the universal appeal of citizenship and cooperation with the new power structures.

Essentializing contested Jewish practices Sacralization of contested Jewish practices was a mode of response creatively applied by orthodox factions in Jewish society. The pressure to abandon conspicuous Jewish practices let to a reappraisal of those same practices. Theological reinterpretation provided the contested practices with a new basis and legitimization. One of the most outstanding examples of this process is the religious interpretation of the Ashkenazi pronunciation of Hebrew. The pressure of scientific discourse on the foundations of the Ashkenazi pronunciation resulted in a religious reading of pronunciation. Defenders of the Ashkenazi pronunciation referred to authoritative Jewish sources to sustain and establish this custom as divinely ordained. Other contested rituals, such as Jewish burial practices and meẓiẓah, likewise received a renewed theological foundation. This — to paraphrase a Talmudic saying — erected a fence around Torah. This was done both intentionally and unintentionally. It was not the ritual an sich that required protection, but the political context that constructed it as a symbol of a corrupted Judaism. Conspicuous and therefore contested Jewish practices served as loci of power struggles. Government policy restricting and criminalizing the use of Yiddish in the

217 synagogue fostered the interpretation of Yiddish as an essential identity marker. Although Yiddish did not have a religious status, defenders of its use referred to discourses on Jewish etiquette and common consensus on how Jews were expected to behave. Yiddish was part of being a religious Jew. Other conspicuous practices, such as the beard fashion and hamankloppen, became essentialized as reflecting the real core of Jewishishness. The attribution of new meanings to Jewish visibility was a counter- response to the universalism of the Enlightenment. With the reappraisal of Jewish distinctiveness, Jews developed a counter-discourse and reclaimed the public space.

Embracing Not all Jews, however, looked suspiciously at religious reform and citizenship. The maskilim warmly welcomed the Emancipation Decree and imposed Dutchification. They internalized the political, social, and economic opportunities citizenship provided for the Jews and Judaized the national identity markers. Outstanding maskilic immigrants nucleated and established organizations such as Tongeleth, Felix Libertate, and the naye kille. They fulfilled pivotal positions in the High Consistory as well as the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs and profoundly influenced the course of Dutch Jewish history. With reference to political discourse on equality, the maskilim legitimized their handling of Jewish matters and refutation of the parnasim’s and rabbinate’s authority. Also, they strategically employed scientific discourse to authorize their religious reforms. The maskilim embraced citizenship as a decisive factor in Jewish life, which expressed itself in various ways. The naye kille explicitly used secular dispositives, such as the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, to authorize their secession. Their new Jewish regulations incorporated the Declaration and placed it alongside traditional Jewish community regulations concerning synagogue behavior and membership fees. Dutch maskilim defended their interference in the Jewish community, over and over again, by referencing the idea of equality. Political discourses on equality sustained their representation of the traditional Jewish community leaders as usurpers and persons luxuriating in power. Besides embracing political discourse, the maskilim legitimized their religious reform with scientific discourse. Circumcision, burial regulations, and Hebrew pronunciation were all judged and reevaluated according to new scientific insights.

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Meẓiẓah was condemned for its potential health risk and uncivil appearance. Likewise, early burial, considering the phenomenon of the apparent death, was risky. Scientific research on the development of languages and phonation, according to the maskilim, demonstrated that the Ashkenazi Hebrew pronunciation was a corruption of the original sound of Hebrew. Moreover, the maskilim incorporated the discourse on citizenship into their idea of Jewishness. Naye kille and Felix Libertate members began to regard political and military participation as essential aspects of Jewishness. According to maskilic reasoning, the ability of Jews to enlist in the military was a return to previous times and a restoration of rights. In this respect, Jews merely acted upon a lost privilege. Committees, such as the High Consistory and the Supreme Committee of Israelite Affairs, continued this blending of religious and secular discourses in their version of Jewishness. Numerous ordinations, decrees, regulations, reforms, and so on aimed at (re)building a Jewish community in accordance with Dutch identity. Removing the visible barriers between Jews and the Dutch nation became a key point for maskilic reform. And thus Yiddish needed to be replaced with Dutch, the educational system needed to be expanded with a secular curriculum, and religion needed to be modernized. In this respect, Jewishness and citizenship became two sides of the same coin. In addition to the authorization of Jewish rituals with secular discourse, Jews from all angles of the religious spectrum actively blended the discourse on citizenship with the religious framework of Jewish rituals. Samuel Berenstein creatively mixed his vision of Judaism with the discourse on national citizenship and introduced national boundaries into the idea of Jewishness. The maskilim likewise blended the discourse on citizenship into the existing religious framework. They explicitly used the popular genre of Purim productions to educate the Jews on citizenship. Moreover, they employed the genre to propagate their solutions to the Jewish question and legitimize their critical stance toward traditional Judaism.

Selective incorporation Orthodox factions in the Jewish community carefully selected secular discourse to authorize traditional Jewish structures. Haim’s alteration of the Declaration of Rights of Man and of the Citizen, for instance, is a fine example of adjustment. Haim Judaized the

219 secularizing message of the Declaration and twisted it in such a way that it placed sovereignty in the Jewish community and made Jewish law compulsory. Haim applied the concepts of liberty and freedom of religion to sustain and legitimize the authority of Jewish law. According to his version, Jews had the liberty to choose Judaism. By taking up the new political principles, Haim exposed the unspoken assumptions and expectations of the new revolutionary order that Dutch Jews would free themselves from the shackles of traditional religion. The petition “For the Sake of Heaven” also creatively applied the new political discourse and used the concept of the authority of the people to request a restoration of the traditional Jewish structures. As such, Jews Judaized the secularizing message of the new revolutionary order. They used the concepts of liberty and sovereignty of the people to maintain the status quo and expose the contradictionary discursive strands in citizenship. The struggles of Hirschel Lehren to legalize his private minyan should likewise be regarded as an attempt to employ the concept of freedom of religion. This strategy failed because the law only provided freedom for established religions. His wealth, however, enabled him to set aside the fines and continue. Even though Lehren was unable to successfully employ the legal structures, he nonetheless used the law to sustain and maintain his separatism. His aversion to the unspoken implications of citizenship did not prevent Lehren from using the system in order to reject it. The attempts of orthodox scholars to reinforce the status of meẓiẓah should also be taken into account. Referring to Maimonides as a physician and noting his approval of meẓiẓah as beneficial to the child’s health is an example of the selective use of medical discourse by orthodox scholars. Here, orthodox scholars insisted on the health benefits of meẓiẓah and used the argument of authority to validate their practices. Other scholars interpreted the words of Maimonides (“until it draws blood”) literally and invented a device that could replace the mouth. They employed modern technology to maintain a traditional practice. This pragmatic approach also comes to the fore in the events surrounding the gunpowder tragedy. Dutch rabbis were quick to use this event to enhance their status. As these examples show, the orthodox did not completely reject secular discourse but merely subordinated it to their version of Judaism. For them, secular discourse was only valuable so long as it could serve their power structures; Jews selectively shopped in the supermarkets of secular discourse.

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Lip-service The response for lip-service to the new political order while maintaining the traditional values and structures were epitomized in the person of Samuel Berenstein. His ambivalence in matters relating to the Dutchification of the Jews shows this particularly well. Although Berenstein presented himself in his Dutch sermons as an enlightened Jew advocating reform and the Dutch language, his actions and archives tell a different story. Berenstein continued preaching in Hebrew and German, although his Dutch writings demonstrate his proficiency in Dutch. However, he continuously employed the argument of not knowing Dutch in order to refrain from preaching in the vernacular. Moreover, with regard to the Dutch translation of the Hebrew Bible, he likewise feigned unfamiliarity with Dutch and delayed and frustrated its appearance. His father-in-law Moses Lӧwenstamm’s actions also show signs of paying lip- service. Lӧwenstamm’s welcoming the revolutionaries while at the same time sabotaging their regulations demonstrates this. Another example is his public approval of Jewish conscription while an unpublished sermon explicitly rules against it as incompatible with religious observance. The Hebrew language served Moses well, as the Dutch were unable to decipher his hidden agenda. The lip-service strategy frustrated reform policies. Numerous examples show slow implementation or even refusal to implement governmental decrees. For instance, Jewish teachers and rabbis from Germany and Poland without knowledge of Dutch continued to be employed. This hindered the introduction of Dutch and was a reason why rabbis continued to preach in Yiddish. Likewise, religious reform was frustrated. Early burial, the absence of black pallbearer clothing, and the maintenance of the custom of hamankloppen, although banned on paper, still remained in use. This holding on to traditional practices exposes the tensions between freedom of religion, citizenship, and Jewishness. For some Jews, the need for religious reform was not so self-evident. The refusal of former parnas and treasurer S.M.A. Prins to give up the custom of hamankloppen and his argument with Chief Rabbi Samuel Berenstein over the authority of religious change shows this. The refusal to implement the new regulations reveals the power struggles between top-down policies and the Jewish population. In this respect, the government-initiated Rabbinical Committee of 1864 concerning the abandonment of meẓiẓah fits the lip-service strategy. No real, serious attempts were made to reevaluate this practice, and the majority of the Dutch rabbinate merely used the opportunity to

221 theologically establish the religious necessity of the ritual. As such, their willingness to lend an ear to the call of the Dutch government appeared to be a sign of loyalty but was actually a way to retain the status quo and reinforce rabbinic authority. In between all of these types of responses was the overall response of indifference. Both the rabbinical elite and the Jewish masses stoically received the new ordinances and regulations from the Supreme Committee of Israelite Affairs. Despite the radical secession of the naye kille, refusal of conscription, and maintenance of Yiddish, the majority did not interfere with the changes. The parnasim and the rabbinical elite accepted the burial and circumcision legislation without resistance or objections. Also, the Jewish poor remained predominantly indifferent to the reform of the Jewish school system. For the poor, the daily struggles for sustenance and reliance on family income prevented them from enrolling their children in school, let alone formulating an answer to the changes or refuting the implications of the incorporation of a secular curriculum into the Jewish educational system.

2. Limitations of research Research is always bound by limitations, not least by the generalizations, abstractions, and abbreviations inherent in any analysis. This observation can of course also be applied to this study. First of all, the time period, the discursive framework, the focus of research, and the topics all narrow the historical events into several modes of response. Secondly, this study only employed examples from Dutch Jewish history in so as far they shed light on the restructuring between secular and religious spheres. This in turn means that the research focused especially on government policy in relation to the Jewish community. Besides the above-mentioned limitations, this research did not intend to exhaustively provide a detailed account of all events in Dutch Jewish history. For instance, it omitted details on orthodox nucleation and the Lehrens’ endeavors to foster a transnational Jewish identity. This study did not delve into their activities in the Holy Land, their sabotaging of the appointment of a new chief rabbi of Amsterdam after the death of Berenstein in 1838, or their battle against the reform-minded Rabbi Herzfeld from Zwolle. Also, the finer points of political history, the difference between consecutive Dutch governments, and the internal political changes in the Jewish community were omitted from this study.

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On the basis of an intensive analysis of the data, this study identified modes of response that reveal the interplay between secular and religious discourses. As a result of this Grounded Theory approach, this research overcoms the binary constructions that have characterized most descriptions of this historical development. The study explicitly focused on persons and not so much on institutions or political history. For instance, although I touched upon it, I did not address in detail the ongoing negotiations among the different religious currents within in the Jewish community. Therefore, this study did not focus on the Supreme Committee for Israelite Affairs’ negotiation techniques for soothing the orthodox faction while implementing reform policies in the Jewish community. A similar technique characterized the seminary, which carefully negotiated between implementing a secular curriculum while maintaining an orthodox direction.

3. Future research This book described the Dutch Jewish community’s transition from strangers to citizens and provided an example of religious change. The analysis of Jewish modes of response after the granting of citizenship offers a model for other religious minorities that have been granted citizenship or are the subject of integration politics. For instance, it took more than half a century of government policy before the Jews began to use Dutch, and even a century longer before they abandoned Yiddish all together. The different modes of response to integration politics can help identify the possible unwanted results of government policy and can give insights into the different trajectories minority communities can take. A remarkable outcome of Jewish reform and the representation of the Jews as in need of regeneration was radicalization. Instead of complying with the reform endeavors and taking on the role of Jewish citizen, some Jews turned away from society. Thus, instead of integrating Jews into society, the government policy and reforms backfired and alienated Jews. Not all Jews welcomed the social, political, and economic opportunities as positive; actually, the Jewish community was unified in constructing its own anti-discourse and nucleation process. The Lehrens continued to be attractive to Jews after the period discussed in this study. Moreover, Zionism became an option for Jews who saw no future for Judaism in the Netherlands. Citizenship for the Jews thus challenged Jewish religious unity. A result of citizenship was the inescapability of a hybrid identity. For better or worse, Jews were citizens. However, the interpretation of

223 what precisely citizenship entailed for the Jews and what implications it had differed profoundly and continued well after the period of this study. Citizenship divided the community, polarized, antagonized, and made it actually more difficult to reform the Jewish community. In addition to the conflicting results of government policy in relation to religious minorities, this research has given attention to the role of image formation in government policy. Discourses on the Jews as backward, uncivil, and unmodern spurred reform endeavors and legitimized legislation. What was regarded as true knowledge about the Jewish community created the wish for reform and problematized their religion, loyalty, integration, and so on. This goes back and forth from discourse to dispositive and image, creating an inescapable circle of self-affirmation. This study has highlighted the interactions between image formation and government policy, and as such can help us better rethink the hidden agendas behind portrayal and policy; namely, noting that helping a religious community to regenerate, however well-intentioned it may be, also characterizes that community as backward and thus, in a way, fosters stereotyping and discrimination. Besides the implications of government policy in relation to religious minorities, this study has attempted to problematize the definitions and categories the researcher uses as she steers the research results, perspectives, and conclusions. Defining the religious or the secular is a result of the way we structure and permit knowledge. Government policy and reform endeavors result directly from these knowledge systems or discourses. Related to this is the problem with binaries. The categorization of either- or narrows the research focus. It constructs the story of the maskilim progressing to modernity and the orthodox returning to former times. It obscures the overlapping of ideals between the groups, the fluid boundaries between ideas, and the fact that both groups both reacted and formulated answers to questions about Jewish citizenship. Finally, this study has hopefully provided a way of analyzing (Dutch) Jewish history without the pitfalls of teleological expectations and with sensitivity to the discourses that underlie our behavior and perceptions. In addition to fostering a new sensibility with regard to the analytical tools used in the study of Jewish history, this study has introduced a new term to describe group formation. The term nucleation emphasizes the temporality of boundaries and characteristics. By moving away from static descriptions, nucleation stresses that

224 history is always progressing and always unpredictable. Nucleation can likewise be useful in the analysis of new religious groups or identity formation. Because the term surpasses the essentialization of group characteristics and focusses on dynamics instead, it can shed light on how groups come into being, dissolve, or crystallize. In all of these ways, this book has drawn attention to the myriad ways of making Jews Dutch.

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Summary in Dutch

De vernederlandsing van joden. Seculiere vertogen en joodse reacties (1796- 1848)

De centrale vragen in deze studie zijn: wat gebeurde er met de Nederlandse joden na het emancipatie decreet van 1796? En op welke manier werden joden onderdeel van de Nederlanden en hoe beïnvloedde dit hun identiteit, gevoel van erbij horen en religie? Door de samenleving niet als één geheel te zien maar te bekijken als een kluwen van overlappende velden, zoals de seculiere, religieuze en medische, met elk hun eigen discussies, konden verschillende facetten van de joodse integratie in kaart gebracht worden. Deze studie toont aan dat de druk vanuit de overheid en joodse gemeenschap om te seculariseren leidde tot verschillende ideeën over burgerschap, sommige seculier maar andere juist religieus. Deze studie onderzocht de opkomst van verschillende Nederlandse jodendommen als een reactie op de druk van secularisatie en analyseerde de transformatie van de Nederlandse joden in het licht van de verschuivingen in de seculieren en religieuze velden. Door de beproevingen en problemen van de Ashkenazische gemeenschap in Amsterdam nauwkeurig te analyseren, heeft dit onderzoek het ontstaan van verschillende joodse identiteiten in kaart gebracht. Vijf onderling gerelateerde hoofdstukken richten zich op hoe de grensafbakening tussen het religieuze en seculiere jodendom, joodsheid, de jood en jodendom herdefinieerde. Het eerste hoofdstuk onderzocht de veranderde relatie tussen de staat en de joden aan de hand van de ‘nucleation’ of vorming van orthodoxe en verlichte joodse facties. Het emancipatiedecreet veranderde deze relatie fundamenteel en, alhoewel het idee van gelijkheid reeds sluimerend aanwezig was, legitimeerde het decreet uiteindelijk het overheidsingrijpen en verschafte de juridische middelen om van de jood een Nederlander te maken. Hoofdstuk twee analyseerde de hervormingspogingen van joden en overheid op drie gebieden, namelijk onderwijs, religie en taal. Als reactie op de druk van hervorming naar een geciviliseerd jodendom, ontstond een tegenvertoog dat juist expressiviteit als essentieel element van joodsheid zag. Een resultaat van de hervormingsdruk was dan ook het ontstaan van verschillende jodendommen. Het derde hoofdstuk onderzocht de vertogen die ten grondslag lagen aan de hervormingsdrang van de overheid en verlichte joden. Daarnaast analyseerde dit

226 hoofdstuk op welke manier joden de nieuwe vertogen over burgerschap, religie en joodsheid internaliseerde. Dit hoofdstuk richtte zich op de samensmelting van religieuze en seculiere vertogen in joodse- en staatsrituelen. Het vierde hoofdstuk analyseerde het zelfbeeld van de joden, die door de overheid en de joodse verlichters werd gebruikt om hun reformplannen en beleid te legitimeren. Zowel joden als niet-joden droegen bij aan de nieuwe en soms negatieve beelden van de joden. Zichtbaarheid speelde hierin een belangrijke rol. Het vijfde en laatste hoofdstuk onderzocht de medicalisering van het joodse begrafenis- en besnijdenisritueel. Een gevolg hiervan was dat het joodse ritueel gedefinieerd werd als schadelijk of heilzaam voor het lichaam. Dit hoofdstuk toonde de versmelting aan van medische en religieuze vertogen in joodse rituelen. Deze studie onderzocht verschillende joodse gedragsrepertoires als gevolg van de druk van een seculariserende omgeving. Het joodse gedragsrepertoire varieerde van aanpassing tot overname en joden gebruikte selectief religieuze en seculiere vertogen om hun joodsheid te construeren, te legitimeren en te behouden. De joodse entree in de Nederlandse samenleving, het verkrijgen van burgerschap en de constructie van jodendommen was het gevolg van veranderende vertogen over gelijkheid, de staat en religie. Deze zorgden voor nieuwe definities van joodsheid en jodendom. De creatie van joods burgerschap gebeurde niet plotseling noch was zij het directe resultaat van het emancipatiedecreet. Het decreet legde alleen het fundament voor de jood als volwaardig lid van de Nederlandse samenleving. Joden van alle kanten van het spectrum droegen actief bij en modelleerde hun eigen religie en identiteit. Zij reconstrueerden en herdefinieerden hun plaats in de Nederlanden. Joden vielen dus niet ten prooi aan secularisme, noch stierf het jodendom om Jaap Meijer te parafraseren. Integendeel, de grote verscheidenheid in het joodse gedragsrepertoire toont joodse ‘agency’. Joden transformeerden zichzelf in burgers, voor de één iets meer burger dan jood, en voor de ander het omgekeerde.

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Appendices Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen 1. Men are born and remain free and equal in rights. Social distinctions may be founded only upon the general good. 2. The aim of all political association is the preservation of the natural and imprescriptible rights of man. These rights are liberty, property, security, and resistance to oppression. 3. The principle of all sovereignty resides essentially in the nation. No body nor individual may exercise any authority which does not proceed directly from the nation. 4. Liberty consists in the freedom to do everything which injures no one else; hence the exercise of the natural rights of each man has no limits except those which assure to the other members of the society the enjoyment of the same rights. These limits can only be determined by law. 5. Law can only prohibit such actions as are hurtful to society. Nothing may be prevented which is not forbidden by law, and no one may be forced to do anything not provided for by law. 6. Law is the expression of the general will. Every citizen has a right to participate personally, or through his representative, in its foundation. It must be the same for all, whether it protects or punishes. All citizens, being equal in the eyes of the law, are equally eligible to all dignities and to all public positions and occupations, according to their abilities, and without distinction except that of their virtues and talents. 7. No person shall be accused, arrested, or imprisoned except in the cases and according to the forms prescribed by law. Any one soliciting, transmitting, executing, or causing to be executed, any arbitrary order, shall be punished. But any citizen summoned or arrested in virtue of the law shall submit without delay, as resistance constitutes an offense. 8. The law shall provide for such punishments only as are strictly and obviously necessary, and no one shall suffer punishment except it be legally inflicted in virtue of a law passed and promulgated before the commission of the offense.

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9. As all persons are held innocent until they shall have been declared guilty, if arrest shall be deemed indispensable, all harshness not essential to the securing of the prisoner's person shall be severely repressed by law. 10. No one shall be disquieted on account of his opinions, including his religious views, provided their manifestation does not disturb the public order established by law. 11. The free communication of ideas and opinions is one of the most precious of the rights of man. Every citizen may, accordingly, speak, write, and print with freedom, but shall be responsible for such abuses of this freedom as shall be defined by law. 12. The security of the rights of man and of the citizen requires public military forces. These forces are, therefore, established for the good of all and not for the personal advantage of those to whom they shall be entrusted. 13. A general tax is indispensable for the maintenance of the public force and for the expenses of administration; it ought to be equally apportioned among all citizens according to their means. 14. All the citizens have a right to decide, either personally or by their representatives, as to the necessity of the public contribution; to grant this freely; to know to what uses it is put; and to fix the proportion, the mode of assessment and of collection and the duration of the taxes. 15. Society has the right to require of every public agent an account of his administration. 16. A society in which the observance of the law is not assured, nor the separation of powers defined, has no constitution at all. 17. Property being an inviolable and sacred right, no one can be deprived of it, unless demanded by public necessity, legally constituted, explicitly demands it, and under the condition of a just and prior indemnity.

[Source: Frank Maloy Anderson, ed., The Constitution and Other Select Documents Illustrative of the History of France, 1789-1907 (New York: Russell and Russell, 1908), pp. 59-61.]

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Additional Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity. Brothers of Israel, from the previous [Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen], every word is honest and fair. We will enjoy our rights and we will no longer be excluded from their privileges. The foundation is already there, and everyone should bring the building blocks. It will be a home for everyone; the joy of liberty, equality, and fraternity is holy and of incomprehensible value for you. You will enjoy its fruits, which were taken from you so wrongly, godlessly withheld from you by tyrants; open up your conscience, acknowledge that you were lost and deceived by the mask of hypocrisy, and honestly repent of your former behavior and enjoy with all of mankind the greatest happiness. Let these experiences enlighten you and convince you to do everything necessary to maintain and consolidate what is of help for our marvelous revolution. You can be useful to the fatherland; it will claim your heart and request your aid in its survival. Well, brothers of Israel, do everything in your power to safeguard it against tyranny and despotism. Promote good peace and unity and bring with all of your fellow citizens your burden for the necessary preservation of your beloved fatherland. Do not doubt because of false, fabricated, horrifying news. Those who invent such things are your enemies, enemies of the fatherland. They are seeking your downfall, and they will leave you to moan in the ruins. Uncover their evil deceits and assaults, which you have endured too much. Let no metal close your fatherland’s hearts; despise such monsters, expose their evil deeds, and you will be righteous. If now your livelihood is less and the price of food is raised, do not murmur; it will be of short duration. You will receive happiness and blessing, and your trade will flourish. Imagine that you are invited to a wedding, and however hungry you may be, you will only be fed after a couple of hours. How will you be compensated[?] Compare yourself, your children, and your grandchildren, who will enjoy the fruits; poverty will be banned from all of Israel. No one will be ashamed to be a Jew. He will be proud and declare: “I am a Jew, a lover of the fatherland, a caretaker.” The exemplary youths of your community, who already bear arms and with their fierce fight for the restoration of your rights, are not taunted or mocked when they keep the city’s quiet on the Sabbath and protect your divine services. Give them your love and respect, encourage them, constrain the opponents, so that you will not make yourself punishable; and consequently you can and shall, like all of humanity, be free, be equal, and be their brothers.

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Haim’s altered Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen The natural human rights are equality, liberty, safety, property, and resistance against oppression, because all of humanity is born with equal rights [Art. 2], as the word of Job said: “And he said; naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither; the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD” (Job 1:21). He decides who will be elevated and who will be humiliated, who will be rich and who will be poor.2 Consequently no one can take away the natural rights of somebody else [Art. 1]. Liberty gives everyone the power to do what they want unless it harms someone else in their rights. This natural regulation contains the statement, “One should not treat others in ways that one would not like to be treated,” and this is a general rule from our holy Torah [Art. 3]. The natural liberty to do as one pleases can never be hindered, except when it serves the interest of civil unity [Art. 9]. Therefore such limitations of natural liberty shall not be made either by the people or by their representatives [Art. 10]. No one can be compelled to hand over his private property to the community unless it is requested by the people and/or their representatives, and his damage will be covered, as the prophet Isaiah has said: “In righteousness shalt thou be established; be thou far from oppression, for thou shalt not fear, and from ruin, for it shall not come near thee” (Isaiah 54:14) [Art. 11]. It is everyone’s natural right to make public their private thoughts and opinions, either through the press or in another way, as has already been said by the poet: “Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from speaking guile” (Psalm 34:14). “The end of the matter, all having been heard: fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man” (Eccles. 12:13) [Art. 4]. Safety only exists if one is certain he will not be hindered in the execution of his rights or in his peacefully acquired possessions [Art. 6]. The aspiration of the civil unity of humanity should assure the peaceful enjoyment of natural rights, as is said by the prophet Zechariah: “These are the things that ye shall do: Speak ye every man the truth with his neighbor; execute the judgment of truth and peace in your gates” (Zech. 8:16) [Art. 8]. The law is liberty and the unlimited exercise of free will, so that it is equal for everyone in punishment and reward, as Job said: “Who respecteth not the persons of princes, nor regardeth the rich more than the poor” (Job 34:19) [Art. 12]. No one can be rightfully accused, arrested, or incarcerated, except according to the law [Art. 13], and

2 This sentence is taken from the Rosh Hashanah Liturgy, Blessing of Abraham.

253 when it is necessary to incarcerate someone, he cannot be treated more harshly than necessary in order to secure his person. Or in the words of the wise: “Make plain the path of thy feet, and let all thy ways be established” (Prov. 4:26) [Art. 14]. Never can the smallest restriction be made to the rights of each citizen or to his [right] to put forward his interests, to which public power is entrusted. As the wise man said: “Care in the heart of a man boweth it down; but a good word maketh it glad” (Prov. 12:25) [Art. 17].

Now follow the fundamental principles of our new, future government: Everyone will have a vote in the new Wetgevende Vergadering of the whole Republic, either personally or through a representative of his own choosing [Art. 7]. The people always have the right to change, improve, or choose another government [Art. 19]. Everyone has the right to hold any state official responsible for his actions [Art. 16]. Because sovereignty is in the people and belongs to them, a fraction of the people cannot appropriate it [Art. 18]. All people are equal and therefore eligible for election to all offices and administration without privilege other than that of good conduct and capability, as the poet said: “Mark the man of integrity, and behold the upright; for there is a future for the man of peace” (Psalm 37:37) [Art. 15].

And see, your eyes perceive that all their words are based on dignity and justice, and that no one can think that he can simply do as he pleases thanks to liberty. Let everyone behave in a good manner and be committed to the laws. We Israelites are obliged to thank God, who gave us favor and mercy in the eyes of the higher governments of city and country, whose heart is benign to us; may God forbid that anyone would sow any discord or disturbance with lies. In peace and safety you shall live off the fat of the land, and God will bless our stocks; He will be merciful and bless us into eternity. Sela, Amen.

[source: Protocolbuch IV, 135. Cf. Sluys, “Uit Bange Dagen. Het begin van den Franschen tijd,” Vrijdagavond.]

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