The Angel of Jewish History: The Image of the Jewish Past in the Twentieth Century 9781618113597

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Emunot: Jewish Philosophy and Kabbalah

Series Editor Dov Schwartz (Bar-Ilan University)

Editorial Board Ada Rapoport-Albert (University College, London) Gad Freudenthal (C.N.R.S, Paris) Gideon Freudenthal (Tel Aviv University) Moshe Idel (Hebrew University, Jerusalem) Raphael Jospe (Bar-Ilan University) Ephraim Kanarfogel (Yeshiva University) Menachem Kellner (Haifa University) Daniel Lasker (Ben-Gurion University, Beer Sheva)

BOSTON  /2014

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: A catalog record for this title is available from the Library of Congress.

Copyright © 2014 Academic Studies Press All rights reserved ISBN 978-1-61811-348-1 (Cloth) ISBN 978-1-61811-359-7 (Electronic) Cover design by Ivan Grave On the cover: Paul Klee, Ad marginum, 1930, 210 (E 10)/ 1935-1936 (acc. No.G 1960.32), 43.5 x 33 cm Kunstmuseum Basel. Bequest of Richard Doetsch-Benziger, Basel 1960 Photo credit: Kunstmuseum Basel, Martin P. Bühler

Published by Academic Studies Press in 2014 28 Montfern Avenue Brighton, MA 02135, USA [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com

To my children Shira, Noa, Itamar and Neta

Table of Contents Acknowledgments Part One: Transcendence, Immanence, and Jewish History in an Era of Secularization

IX 1

Introduction 1. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break A. “God” B. The Jewish Collective Memory and Modern Jewish Historiography C. Wissenschaft des Judentums and the Inevitable Break D. The Individual and the Jewish Collective Memory: Passivity and Restraint 2. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and Continuity A. “Remove the Reference to God” B. Collective Memory and “Historical Consciousness” C. The Historical Continuity Thesis D. The Secularization and the Static Nature of Jewish History E. Subject, Subjectivism, and Relativism F. The Wissenschaft des Judentums and the Historian’s Power 3. History Between Transcendence and Immanence

34 34 36 42 48 53 60 63

Part Two: Gerschom Scholem (1897–1982): History, Continuity, and Secret

73

1. History and Metaphysics A. Historical Observation B. Metaphysical Observation 2. Methodical Motifs: Contradiction, Dialectic, and Demystification A. Distance, Identification, and Tension B. Metaphysical Contradictions and Contents Contradictions C. Dialectics and Demystification 3. The Historical Continuity Thesis A. Intuition, A priori Requirement, and Substance B. The Metaphysical View of Continuity

3 5 5 10 17 20

75 81 99 114 114 115 123 129 129 130

Table of Contents

VII

C. The Historical View of Continuity D. The Historian, the Chronicler, and the Status of the Individual in History E. Conservatism and Dialectical Daring F. Vitality, Paradox, and the Presence of the Nothing 4. Present-Day Jewish Reality: Anarchy, Secularization, and Utopia A. Secularization and Transcendence B. Anarchy, “Torah from Heaven,” and Historical Continuity C. The Temporary Nature of Secularization and the Religious Horizon of Anarchism D. “The Utopian Hope for the Affirtmative” E. “The Dual Way”: The Possibility of Mysticism in a Secular Reality 5. Mysticism, Messianism, and Secret 6. The Final Stage: The Relations between Immanence and Transcendence 7. In Praise of Dualism

203 215

Part Three: Baruch Kurzweil (1907–1972): Break, Poetics, and Continuity

217

1. Yearning for Transcendence 2. Methodical Motifs: Biography, Transcending, and Hermeneutics 3. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and Transcendence A. The Advantage of Literature over History B. Literary Realism and its Limits C. Dualism Transcendence: Over and Concealed D. The Reality in the Hebrew Language E. Reality, Absence, and Certainty F. “The Non-Literary Attitude to Literature”: Fiction, Style, and Aesthetics G. Withdrawing the Creator from the Work 4. The Ahistorical Element in Jewish History A. Metaphysics and History B. Sacred History, Presence, and Depth C. “Living Myth,” Demythologization, and Remythologization D. Archetypes, Uniformity, and “Synoptic Vision”

138 145 147 152 162 162 166 168 172 181 190

219 225 233 233 235 241 244 246 249 254 257 257 259 261 264

VIII

Table of Contents 5. Secularization, History, and Historiography A. “Autonomous Secularity” and Transcendent Presence B. Wissenschaft des Judentums, Jewish Studies, and “Biased Subjectivity” 6. Break and Continuity A. “Does it exist or not?” B. “Three Approaches to Shaping Time” C. Continuity, Tension, and Polarity 7. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity: Passivity and Activity A. The Passive Subject B. The Active Subject 8. Litarary Realism and Metaphysical Historicism

270 270 273 284 284 286 302 307 307 316 328

Part Four: Nathan Rotenstreich (1914–1993): Philosophy, History, and Reality 331 1. Philosophy and History 2. Past and Present: The Philosophy of History A. Realistic Ontology of the Past B. Constituting Epistemology in the Present: Historical Consciousness C. Ontology and Epistemology 3. From Beliefs and Opinions to Reality: The Primacy of the Presence 4. The Historicization of Judaism and the Wissenschaft des Judentums 5. Tradition and Historical Consciousness A. Judaism as a Religion of Tradition B. Tradition and Revelation C. The Seriousness Regarding Time D. Contemporary Historical Consciousness E. “The Subjective Jew” F. Content and Time 6. Secularization and Historical Continuity A. The Reality in Secularization B. The Present Reality as Transcendence C. Real Continuity D. The Radicalism of Immanence E. “The Eclectic Jew”

333 339 339 345 349 354 362 373 373 374 375 378 380 382 389 389 393 394 397 399

Table of Contents

IX

7. Zionism Between History and Reality A. Zionism: Spirit and Action B. The Past of Zionism: Epistemology and Passivity C. The Present of Zionism: Ontology and Activism D. From Passivity to Activity E. “An Archimedes Point that is not Useful” 8. Summary: “Real Contents”

402 402 402 408 415 419 424

Epilogue: The Old Angel

425

Works Cited

430

Index

454

Acknowledgments I would like to thank my friends and colleagues who have accompanied me on the journey resulting in this book: Prof. Dov Schwartz, the series editor, who found the book worthy of inclusion in the series. I would also like to thank the readers of the Hebrew version of the book, published by Magnes Press, the Hebrew University: Prof. Avi Sagi, who read and gave instructive comments, and helped raise the funds to enable its publication; Prof. Ron Margolin and Prof. Amon Raz-Krakotzkin, who read the manuscript carefully and made helpful comments; Prof. Avidov Lipsker, who read the sections of the book dealing with Baruch Kurzweil; and Prof. Dov Herzenberg, for his unlimited support and appreciation. I owe a special debt of gratitude to the students of the Program for Hermeneutics and Cultural Studies and the Philosophy Department at Bar-Ilan University for the mutual inspiration and pleasure of our shared studying, whose fruits are apparent between the pages of this book. I thank my close friends for their love and support: Ben Avner Hecht, Shaul Contini, Orit Kalfish, Nir Cohen, Dr. Iris Braun, Netanela Ben David, Dr. Yehudit Waldman Parnas, Dr. Ayelet Banai, Yehudit Oppenheimer, Hava and Guy Schwartz, Dan Grossman, Hefzi and Simon Montague, Lia Koch-Stolov, and Dr. Yehuda Stolov. My deep gratitude to the book’s translator, Ruth Ludlam, who worked tirelessly to find the language and tone that would convey not only the content but also the spirit of the text. I would also like to thank the editors of Academic Studies Press, Sharona Vedol and Deva Jasheway, for their efforts and positive attitude. Last but not least, my children Shira, Noa, Itamar, and Neta. This book is dedicated to them with love and hope. Ronny Miron, Summer 2013

Part one

YOSEF HAYIM YERUSHALMI AND AMOS FUNKENSTEIN: TRANSCENDENCE, IMMANENCE, AND JEWISH HISTORY IN AN ERA OF SECULARIZATION

Introduction Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi and Amos Funkenstein, two of the most important Jewish historians of the twentieth century, focused on the relationship between the past and the present in the historical space — as an arena for events, as a field of research and knowledge, and as an object of reference and memory for individuals and groups. These two historians faced a shared historical datum: the dissipation of the transcendent presence in modern Jewish existence, along with the loss of religious practice in the era of secularization.1 In light of the special status of transcendence in the pre-modern Jewish experience, as an object of abstract theological study and as a reality represented in the practices of real life, it could have been expected that the two would view the new reality of secularization as expressing a break with Jewish tradition, and as a loss of historical continuity with it. However, as will be seen below, the two understood the nature of the datum in Jewish history in different ways, and in particular, interpreted differently the reality that served as a backdrop for the changes taking place during the modern era. They formulated differing perceptions of the collective Jewish memory, the growth of modern Jewish historiography, and the issue of historical continuity. Yerushalmi believed that the experience of the break between modern Jews and their past is an inevitable element in the era of secularization, where the connection to the traditional practices and beliefs on which classical Judaism was based has become weakened to the point of fracture. He believed that these processes are reflected directly in modern Jewish historiography, which is one of the explicit expressions of secularization: Western man’s discovery of history is not a mere interest in the past, which always existed, but was a new awareness, a perception of a fluid temporal dimension […]. The main consequence for Jewish historiography is that it cannot observe Judaism as

1



Berger, 1990, 170. Berger stresses the changes in practice as unique characteristics of secularization in the Jewish world.

Part one. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi and Amos Funkenstein…

4

something absolutely given and subject to a priori definition. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 91)2

In contrast, Funkenstein perceived the transition of the Jews into the modern era as a gradual process, with deep and lasting processes in its background. Moreover, in his opinion, despite the changes that took place in the Jewish being in the era of secularization, the possibility to experience a  relationship of continuity between their present lives and their tradition and past remained open to the Jews. In this spirit, Funkenstein understood Jewish historicism, as established by Wissenschaft des Judentums, as an expression of the efforts of modern Jews to link themselves to their past and as a link in the chain of Jewish tradition and history. The exposition and analysis of the approaches of Yerushalmi and Funkenstein, to be the focus of discussion in this part of the book, will serve as a basis for constructing two metaphysical models for understanding the meaning of the Jewish past, tradition, and history in the era of secularization. The model based on Yerushalmi’s approach will be named the “break model,” while the one anchored in Funkenstein’s approach will be termed the “continuity model.” The following parts of the book will examine the influence of the approaches at the basis of these models —whether as a positive source for adoption, or as an object for rejection and criticism —on the views of Gershom Scholem, Baruch Kurzweil, and Nathan Rotenstreich, three major figures in the Israeli historical and philosophical discourse regarding historical observation and the phenomenon of Jewish secularization.

2



Emphases in citations are mine, unless stated otherwise.

Chapter One

Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break A. “God” More than once, Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi required God in characterizing Jewish history. The most direct and explicit reference appears in Zakhor, one of the most evocative and stimulating treatises written by a Jewish historian in the past generation1: I submit that no Jewish historian today […] would bring himself to write an explicit “reasons-from-God” epilogue […] what would be inconceivable in a history of the English, the French, or the Dutch is still possible in a serious twentieth-century historical work concerning the Jews. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 91)

These words, appearing in a treatise Yerushalmi himself described as “part history, part confession and credo” (Yerushalmi, 1989, xxxiii), are joined by an interesting statement in the context of describing his historical approach: The author’s intention was something sacred to me. I grew up on the intention of the literary reviewer or historian being to reach, as much as possible, the author’s original intention. (Yerushalmi, 2005, 18–9)

1



From the appearance of the treatise Zakhor in 1982 until today, articles and reviews about it have been published constantly. See in particular: Myers, 1992; 1998; 2003; Funkenstein, 1993; 1992; Neusner, 1995; Graetz, 1983; Shavit, 1985. The journal The Jewish Quarterly Review (JQR) devoted the fourth issue of volume 97 (see Myers, 2007) to Zakhor, discussing the wider context of Yerushalmi’s historical approach. And the list goes on.

Part one. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi and Amos Funkenstein…

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Perhaps there is a connection between Yerushalmi’s approach to the status of God in Jewish history and the author’s intention, defined here as original and “something sacred.”2 In any case, what is presented as a “credo” and a hypothesis appears in his book Freud’s Moses as an actual historical argument. As Yerushalmi put it: For to be a Jew without God is, after all, historically problematic and not self-evident, and the blandly generic term secular Jew gives no indication of the richly nuanced variety within the species. (Yerushalmi, 1991, 9).

Elsewhere, Yerushalmi states unequivocally: For me secular Judaism is a contradiction. If you want something Jewish and secular, do not call it Judaism, because this semantically empties the word of all meaning. You have to find another word. (Yerushalmi, 2005, 14)

Yerushalmi, of course, did not deny the existence of a real phenomenon of secularization among the Jewish people, but he saw it mainly as a  cultural expression of Judaism, and elsewhere stressed that “culture […] cannot do what religion can do […]. In the end, secularism was not and is not sufficient to nourish the soul” (Yerushalmi, 2005, 15). Either way, as a hypothesis, a belief, a research-based argument, or a statement about reality, for Yerushalmi God was an axiom in Jewish history. The fourth chapter of Zakhor is central to the discussion in this ­section. Its title, “Modern Dilemmas: Historiography and Its Discontents,” openly refers to Freud. Like Freud, Yerushalmi seeks to establish something general or encompassing about the modern era, while at the same time stressing a personal statement, a sort of credo. In another place, Yerushalmi again indicates his connection with Freud: There is, after all, something in common between psychoanalysis and historical therapy. One raises the individual’s sub-terra-

2



Elsewhere I have discussed the connection between Yerushalmi’s approach to history and Schleiermacher’s theory of hermeneutics, where the author has a very dominant role. See Miron, 2007b, 190–221.

Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break nean memory, and the other refers to groups. […] If we define simplistically the purpose of studying history, it is to penetrate the past in order to know ourselves. (Yerushalmi, 2005, 11)

What Yerushalmi identified in Freud’s Moses and Monotheism— “Here, as always, the crucial task was to lay bare its roots” (Yerushalmi, 1991, 19) —denotes a basic feature of his own search. Yerushalmi seeks for the elements, the origin, that point in time when a new thing occurred that touched directly the original connection between God and Jewish history. He locates this in an event he considers to possess dramatic significance with wide-reaching implications in Jewish history —the establishment of Wissenschaft des Judentums3 at the beginning of the nineteenth century, the first modern Jewish historiographical appearance. He opens the fourth chapter as follows: As a professional Jewish historian I am a new creature in Jewish history. My lineage does not extend beyond the second decade of the nineteenth century, which makes me, if not illegitimate, at least a parvenu within the long history of the Jews. It is not merely that I teach Jewish history at a university, though that is new enough. Such a position only goes back to 1930 when my own teacher, Salo Wittmayer Baron, received the Miller professorship at Columbia, the first chair in Jewish history at a secular university in the Western world. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 81)4

Yerushalmi lists here several elements whose connection he will later seek to explain —the nineteenth century, the Jewish historian, secularization, and as mentioned earlier, God. All these together

3

In Hebrew, Hochmat Israel (.‫)חכמת ישראל‬

4

Moshe Idel characterizes this “new creature”: “One of the latest mutations among many that have existed in the past is the appearance of the historical Jew” (Idel, 2006, 188). In his opinion, “The nineteenth century can be described as an era in which a new Jewish type was born, the historical Jew. While many Jews identified in the past through their ritual […], in the nineteenth century the self-identity of the Jew was crystallized based on the nation’s historical experience” (ibid., 174). However, he later clarifies that “the transition from a transcendental perception of history to a secular perception, meaning an immanent perception, had hardly ever occurred prior to the mid twentieth century” (ibid., 175).



7

8

Part one. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi and Amos Funkenstein…

may grant meaning to the modern Jewish being, for whom historiographical writing served as a channel of expression and a means for acquiring meaning. From Yerushalmi’s point of view, Jewish historiography is not merely a genre dealing with the history of the Jews, but is itself a phenomenon of Jewish history —the Jews writing about their own history in order to achieve self-understanding. Moreover, he interprets the nineteenth-century Jewish historicism and its descendants as a statement about God, or more precisely, about the original connection between God and Jewish history. We discover that at the turning point at which the Jewish nation was constituted as a modern nation, secularization and the historiography the Jews wrote about themselves were joined. Yerushalmi emphasizes that this was not an event that occurred suddenly. Furthermore, “The historian in the nineteenth century begins his work still rooted in the organic life of his people” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 114). Despite this, he considers that there is something significant in the inclusive, collective, and practical way in which God was rejected in modern historiography. Even though Yerushalmi recognizes already in Spinoza, at the end of the seventeenth century, “a secularization of Jewish history in the literal and radical sense” (Yerushalmi, 1983, 176), in practice he finds that it was actually Freud, a twentieth-century figure, who lived in a secular culture of which Jews were an inseparable part, who “has a better claim than Spinoza to be considered the archheretic of Judaism in modern times” (Yerushalmi, 1991, 35). In his opinion, the presence of the transcendent in the Jewish collective memory —whether it is identified as God or presented in Halakhah —is original and unconditional. He therefore understands the connection between God and Jewish history in ontological and substantive terms. Accordingly, his approach to modern Judaism assumes that despite the reality of the phenomenon of secularization, God continues to be present and active in Jewish history, influencing its path and serving as a source for understanding and meaning. However, Yerushalmi’s argument about the permanent presence of God in Jewish history, which was the basis of his approach that a  break exists between modern Jewish history and the Jewish past, should not be understood as identifying Jewish history as sacred or as needing to be examined using unreal criteria. As a  historian, Yerushalmi frequently referred, even in works serving as a stage for presenting his personal world view (and even in Zakhor), to the influence of real processes on the history of the Jewish

Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

people.5 In fact, even Yerushalmi would agree that historical thinking is not so alien to the Jewish religious tradition, as long as it is founded on the historical-real level of past events.6 Moreover, Yerushalmi does not dispute the common historiographical approach whereby up to the modern era the Jews perceived the history of their nation as sacred, as directly and overtly guided by a transcendent factor. It is the continuation of the Jewish tradition of perceiving history as sacred that can in principle enable continuity with the modern nineteenth-century historicism, despite its unique features, in contrast to the break indicated by Yerushalmi. It seems that alongside the analysis of the basic processes that shaped the Jewish being in the era of historiography and secularization, Yerushalmi’s main interest in Zakhor is directed at the metaphysical dimensions that determine the character of Jewish history. This work devotes ample scope to his personal approach that history serves simultaneously as both a field of appearance and an arena of representation for God or for an ahistorical transcendent entity, whose real presence in Jewish history is certain in his eyes.7 The hint at the discontent characterizing modern culture in Freud’s approach, appearing already in the title of Chapter Four of Zakhor, is now fully developed. God’s absence from secular Jewish historiography cannot push him aside, let alone negate him completely from its contents. Like Freud, Yerushalmi distinguishes between

5

E.g., Yerushalmi, 2005, 13; 1989, 93.

6

This opinion is shared by Idel. See Idel, 2007, 495. Idel wishes to prove that despite the marginality of historical thinking in the Jewish tradition, approaches have always existed within Judaism that believed in an immanent history with its own internal logic. As an example, he cites the messianic approach of Rabbi Abraham Abulafia (ibid., 496–501). Dealing with Yerushalmi’s arguments in Zakhor on a real level is common among writers addressing this issue. Apart from Funkenstein’s critique, to be discussed in detail below, see also Rosenfeld, 2007, 511–15. For more about pre-modern historical writing, see also Bonfil, 1997.

7

Myers believes that although Yerushalmi was aware of historical phenomena in general modern culture dealing with historiography and collective memory, and although he thought they represented and deepened the break in collective memory caused by modernism, he did not find a parallel for them in the Jewish world (see Myers, 1992, 133). This argument suits the suggested interpretation in which the real context in the being of modern Jews has a minor role in shaping Yerushalmi’s approach to the Jewish collective memory.





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Part one. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi and Amos Funkenstein…

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memory as a mental space, to which repression and sometimes denial have contributed, and history or events as take place in real reality.8 The innovation that Yerushalmi identifies in Freud’s Moses and Monotheism —the dynamic of the tradition in which the repression takes place and later the return of the repressed9—touches upon his very interest in Jewish history. God cannot disappear from Jewish history as Yerushalmi understands it. The discontent Yerushalmi addresses in Zakhor is related to the modern Jew’s experience of the absence of what should be present, the experience of the break from something to which the attachment was original, so it cannot be breakable. Yerushalmi testifies to this in the first person: “I live within the ironic awareness that the very mode in which I delve into the Jewish past represents a decisive break with that past” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 81). In Chapter Four, Yerushalmi wishes to sketch the components and features of the stormy arena in which the modern Jew wishing to understand his past finds himself,10 even before the historical investigation has begun, meaning the discussion of the present or absent God in the collective Jewish memory, and above all, the discussion of the discomfort and break between historical research and the traditional perception of the Jews’ past.

B. Jewish Collective Memory and Modern Jewish Historiography Yerushalmi determined that Jewish collective memory has two central features. The first, dealing with the origin of this memory, is “a function of the shared faith, cohesiveness, and the will of the group itself” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 94). According to Yerushalmi, this faith crystallized around two premises: “the belief that divine providence is […] an active causal factor in Jewish history, and the related belief in the uniqueness of Jewish history itself” (ibid., 89). In his opinion, the Jewish faith has been “transmitting and recreating its past through

8

See Freud, 1955, 170–1.

9

See Yerushalmi, 1991, 79.



10



In this context, see the similar opinion of Graetz, that Yerushalmi “did not wish to deal merely with remembering, but […] with “the Jews’ reference to their past,”” (Graetz, 1983, 430).

Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

an entire complex of interlocking social and religious institutions that functioned organically to achieve this” (ibid., 94). Yerushalmi depicts pre-modern Jewish existence as a medium bearing the Jewish collective memory without time and place leaving their impression upon it. The assumption that a transcendent element is permanently present in the collective memory and Jewish history as a whole does not permit a real interpretation to be given to the processes undergone by the Jewish people, or even those that granted its history uniqueness. Like the divine laws, the two features of Jewish collective memory have a substantive character, leaving a stamp of permanence and non-conditioning on the memory. Moreover, the lack of reference to the subject’s involvement contributes to the understanding that Yerushalmi’s approach to collective memory is based on a metaphysical world view, organized around a substantive power. Another feature of the Jewish collective memory, according to Yerushalmi, stems from the selective nature of collective memory itself. As a result of this selectivity, “Certain memories live on; the rest are winnowed out, repressed, or simply discarded by a process of natural selection” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 95). This feature, revealing the historical nature of the Jewish collective memory, clashes with both of the components of the first feature. First, the selectivity implies that the collective memory is exposed to processes of change and development with external origins. However, Yerushalmi’s approach regarding the contents of the collective memory raises the difficulty of the possibility that the selection principle could also apply to the uniqueness of Jewish history, due to the divine providence to which Jewish history is subject. In other words, the contents of the Jewish collective memory as understood by Yerushalmi clearly appear to be in severe contradiction to the processes of historical selection. Second, the selectivity Yerushalmi addresses is not unique to the Jewish collective memory in particular, and it probably occurs in the collective memories of other nations too. The question arises: Can the Jews claim this uniqueness when the same processes apply to other cultures as well as their own? The gap, or even contradiction, between the two characteristics of Jewish collective memory reveals a basic tension in Yerushalmi’s approach. Assuming that his description seeks to trace what he perceived as the origin of this memory, meaning the formative power of the transcendent element in Jewish history, we should reject the possibility that historical selection apparent in Jewish collective memory

11

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Part one. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi and Amos Funkenstein…

originates in conscious and real processes, in favor of an explanation that contains both the uniqueness of Jewish history due to its guidance by divine providence, and the phenomenon of historical selection. Indeed, it appears that Yerushalmi’s starting point in this issue depends upon the understanding that the involvement of real processes in the collective memory is problematic and may even harm the collective memory itself, even if they would prevent the selection process: “The point is that all these features cut against the grain of collective memory which, as we have remarked, is drastically selective” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 95). It transpires that in Yerushalmi’s approach, preserving historical selectivity is part of protecting the permanence of the Jewish collective memory, even if in practice this selectivity is inevitably accompanied by changes. Recognizing the historical selectivity as a permanent feature of the Jewish collective memory necessitates refraining from intervening in it. This is not a formal demand to avoid intervention —which could change the character of the Jewish collective memory —but rather understanding this memory as shaped by ontological-transcendent forces that are beyond the subject’s control. These forces are aimed at preventing the possibility that real historical selective processes could leave their immanent mark on this memory and disrupt the image of Jewish history as sacred, a perception that according to Yerushalmi is common to both Jews and non-Jews. But the notion that Jewish history is on the same level of reality as any other history, subject to the same kind of causality and accessible to the same types of analysis, did not find its way into actual historical writing until the nineteenth century. Long after an essentially secular view of world history had permeated ever-widening European circles, a providential view of Jewish history was still held tenaciously, albeit for very different reasons, by Jews and Christians alike […] Of all histories, that of the Jewish people has been the most refractory to secularization because this history alone, as a national history, was considered by all to be sacred to begin with. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 89–90)

All this was true up to the modern era, or more precisely the early nineteenth century, when the establishment of Jewish historiography and secularization joined forces. In Yerushalmi’s opinion, these two greatly weakened the transcendent presence in whose existence the Jewish collective memory was ancho-

Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

red.11 Providence no longer denoted the presence of an independent transcendent power, but at most an idea subject to the interpretation of subjects and incessantly exposed to the real contexts in which they act. Similarly, the selectivity apparent in the collective memory was perceived for the first time as part of the processes of change and development in general historical reality. The weakening of the transcendent entity in the consciousness of modern Jews thus enabled the entry of immanent elements into the collective memory. This was apparent in the stamp left upon the memory by real-historical and human forces, primarily the penetration of secularization and historiography into the Jewish world. As Yerushalmi put it: […] at a  time that witnesses a  sharp break in the continuity of Jewish living […] For the first time history, not a sacred text, becomes the arbiter of Judaism. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 86)

Furthermore, Yerushalmi attributes a  similar meaning to the two cultural phenomena: If the secularization of Jewish history is a break with the past, the historicizing of Judaism itself has been an equally significant departure. It could hardly be otherwise. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 91)12

11

In his study of Zionist historiography, Yitzhak Conforti argues that Yerushalmi did not sufficiently appreciate the vitality of engaging in history for the collective memory in the modern era. Conforti refers in this context to several treatises emphasizing the historian’s contribution. See in particular Salo Baron’s work, written after Zakhor, though not as a response to it, and noting the relevance of history for the lives of Jews in the present (Baron, 1986, 1–4, 95–8 [cited in Conforti, 2006, 208, n. 70]).

12

The influence of Maurice Halbwachs, and later of Pierre Nora, on Yerushalmi’s approach regarding the contrast between history and memory has long been mentioned in research literature about Zakhor. See Conforti, 2006, 5–8, 57–60. See also Hutton, 1993, 73–90; Wachtel, 1986 (cited by Conforti). Idel links the idea of the break in Yerushalmi and other modern Jewish historians (Graetz, Baron, Bonfil, and others) to their religious background, and mentions their rabbinical training. In his opinion, “Thus we can describe a smoother transition from the transcendental form of understanding history or historiosophy among religious thinkers in the Middle Ages and the first generations of Jewish historians, to the analysis and





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Thus it transpired that in Yerushalmi’s approach, the appearance of modern Jewish historiography, just like the appearance of secularization, denotes the pushing aside of the various appearances of transcendence from the Jewish being, and also from the collective memory. Likewise, from Yerushalmi’s point of view, the break between the collective memory and historiography denotes not only the gap that had formed between personal and collective memory, but the sovereignty that individuals had achieved in relation to this memory, apparent in the interpretation of its contents, which had damaged its original metaphysical essence. It seems that for this reason Yerushalmi distinguishes the phenomenon of historicism from the general human interest in the past. In his opinion, Western man’s discovery of history is not a mere interest in the past […] but a new awareness, a perception of a fluid temporal dimension from which nothing is exempt. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 91)

The contradiction erupting between the Jewish historian and his profession is the result of these processes: Only in the modern era do we really find, for the first time, a Jewish historiography divorced from Jewish collective memory and, in crucial respects, thoroughly at odds with it. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 93)

The centrality of the entity element in the perception of the Jewish collective memory makes clear the “major consequence for Jewish historiography” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 91). As we recall, this historiography “cannot view Judaism as something absolutely given and subject to a priori definition” (ibid., 91). However, what makes the break inevitable is not the explicit rejection or denial of the idea of providence —which would imply a severing rather than a break —but the increasing weaknening of the transcendent presence in modern Jewish being.13 As a re-

­ espair typical only of Jewish historians in the past generation. It seems d that only in our time are historians formed mainly in universities, and only marginally in Rabbinical colleges’ (Idel, 2006, 204). 13



Amnon Raz-Krakotzkin accepts in principle Yerushalmi’s position, whereby a break in the Jewish collective memory took place in the modern

Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

sult, not only was the Jewish collective memory’s typical permanence and uniformity diminished, but it also became possible for subjective and real immanent-historical forces to leave their overt stamp on the lives on modern Jews. Yerushalmi’s interpretation, identifying a break between the collective memory and modern Jewish historiography, is thus based on a perception of the original presence of the transcendent being within Jewish history, and of its great weight overshadowing the various appearances of immanence in Jewish existence. On the continuum ranging from “epistemological transcendence” or “immanent transcendence,” denoting the viewpoint of the consciousness of the external world, to “metaphysical transcendence” typical of the classical approaches aiming to characterize the reality located outside of space and time, Yerushalmi’s perception of Judaism is clearly located within the realm of metaphysical transcendence.14 Although the historical “given” appears in real reality, it is perceived as related to an entity that is a priori and transcendent in relation to human and real experience, autonomous in relation to the subject, and which can easily be identified with God. The emphasis on transcendence, depicting a decisive dimension of God’s character, enables the presence of the transcendent dimension in Jewish history to be characterized in terms of revelation. Just like transcendence, so too does revelation denote a basic gap in the relation to the immanent being, and just like God, so too does transcendence gain presence in the real world through revelation. We discover that Yerushalmi’s view of Jewish history does not assume an approach of absolute transcendence. Moreover, despite the constituting status of transcendence in Jewish history, Yerushalmi

era, but he proposes a correction. In his opinion, the break line in the perception of the Jewish past is not, as Yerushalmi claims, in the rejection and denial of the idea of Providence, but in the rejection by Jewish historians of the exile paradigm. Raz-Krakotzkin argues that when Jewish historiography rejected the concept of exile, it adopted in effect the perspective of modern history, which is in fact the perspective of Christian history (RazKrakotzkin, 2007, 530–31). He proposes viewing Yerushalmi’s article about exile as a sort of complement to Zakhor, even though it hardly mentions the exile paradigm (ibid., 532). See also Yerushalmi, 1977. 14



On the distinction between the two types of transcendence, see Wood, 2007; Schrag, 2007. On Heidegger’s critique of the metaphysical perception of transcendence, see Heidegger, 1984, 186.

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still recognizes the regularity or at least the principles characterizing the real being of Jews. This insight is at the basis of his implicit criticism of contemporary trends in Jewish historiography, which not only denied Jewish history its transcendent dimension, but also refused to recognize the existence of permanent dimensions in the history of the Jewish people: Today the wave is growing that argues that it is not possible at all to speak about normative Judaism —in any period. Even so: after all, there was some unity in the Jewish diaspora […] but even beyond that: there were principles that the entire Jewish world possessed, and we can talk about a Jewish world of thought that was accepted in its entirety as an unviolable law. They indeed spoke Greek, adopted much of Greek and Roman culture […] but to worship the emperor in the synagogue —to that they would not agree. (Yerushalmi, 2005, 10)

In this context, Yerushalmi asks: “Even if we assume there were Judaisms, plural, would this completely negate the general perception of uniform norms?” (Yerushalmi, 2005, 12). Later we can see clearly that the permanent dimensions in Jewish history are still connected to God’s impression upon it: There were indeed sects in Judaism […]. But if we take the most important sect, the Karaites […] then in terms of the overall history of the Jewish people at least two questions arise: First, can the importance of Karaism be compared to the importance of “Rabbinical” Judaism? Second […] did he [Anan Ben David] not act within the categories of the Halakhah? (Yerushalmi, 2005, 12)

In any case, unlike other twentieth century thinkers, whose handling of the implications of the secularization of modern Judaism led them to admit the superiority of the Halakhah, Yerushalmi does not reach this explicitly.15 Only in a note, referring to Gershom Scholem’s words about the Kabbalistic ritual —which in Scholem’s opinion

15



See Levy, 1996. Nathan Rotenstreich is an example of a radical secular approach that still granted importance to the Halakhah. This issue will be discussed in depth in Part Four. In the current context, see Idel’s references

Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

expressed “the community of generations, and the identification of the pious with the experience of the founding generation which received the Revelation” (Scholem, 1965, 121) —does Yerushalmi raise the question “whether Rabbinic halakhah, ritual, and liturgy are not today in a position analogous to that of Jewish mysticism and kabbalah” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 129 n. 26). It seems that the deep intimacy he expresses toward Jewish history, not diminished by his critical work as a historian, is preserved thanks to his ability to leave the transcendent dimension of history as an unsolved riddle, and at the same time as a reality whose certainty is beyond doubt.

C. Wissenschaft des Judentums and the Inevitable Break The understanding that the Jewish collective memory has typical and fixed features was in the background of Yerushalmi’s criticism of the modern Jewish historiography established by the Wissenschaft des Judentums. Yerushalmi was concerned with the question of the nature of the discipline of history in the Jewish context, and with the question of the formative status of being scientific and objective in the historicistic method.16 However, these questions were not reflected in his treatment of methodological issues relating to the historian’s work, or in explicit writing about them, but stirred in the background every time Yerushalmi discussed the nature of the premises underlying modern historical writing. It seems that Yerushalmi’s understanding of the reductionistic nature of method and the aims it is devoted to achieve led him to draw a straight line from the constitution of history as a discipline at the beginning of the nineteenth century to its aiming for objectivity and adopting the scientific method. As he put it: […] the term […] “Science” […] [means] the new critical historical spirit and historical methodology that were sweeping

to this comment of Yerushalmi in his critique of Gershom Scholem’s approach: Idel, 1997, 84 n. 12; 1998, 54 n. 46. 16



On the ideal of science early in the establishment of German historicism, around the time of Wissenschaft des Judentums, see Ringer, 1969, 102–13. On the reception of the ideal of science by the founders of Wissenschaft des Judentums, see Mendes-Flohr, 1991, 25–37.

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Germany and that would soon become one of the hallmarks of nineteenth-century European thought. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 84)

In his opinion, the historical method that was an essential component of modern historicism influenced the historian’s understanding of the nature of the studied subject, the way of writing it and teaching it (Yerushalmi, 1989, 81); through it the founders of the society Verein für Cultur und Wissenschafte der Juden were able to distinguish “the original from the late addition” (ibid., 84).17 Yerushalmi links the historian’s profession to the objective, scientific, and independent method that guides him.18 In this context, the ability to compartmentalize his beliefs from his field of research, or even to overcome them altogether, was perceived as a basic component of the socialization of the historian that historicism wished to shape.19 Yerushalmi describes the founding historians of Wissenschaft des Judentums as being subject to the authority of the historicistic method, which did not —and could not —leave any space for expressing the particularity of Jewish history. This critique of the influence of the historicistic method over the Jewish collective history affirms Yerushalmi’s assumptions regarding the basic connection between the constituting of history as a modern research discipline and its being guided by method and by aiming at objectivity in general. There also exists a  structural similarity between the understanding of method as an independent element and the nature of the “given” being studied —meaning that there is a particular entity raised above any real context in which it might appear. The premise of directing an objective method to study a particular “given” was probably that the method would not detract from its individuality and

17



The words of Immanuel Wolf, one of the founders of the society Yerushalmi mentions, are quoted by Mendes-Flohr, 1980, 415. In the literature, the emphasis on science has been linked to the absence of the word “history” from the society’s title or from other names proposed for this society. See Michael, 1993, 210–11; Wieseltier, 1984, 138. Myers adds to this explanation the relation between the term “history” and the German nationality, (see Myers, 2003, 24).

18

Objectivity was considered an ideal that guides modern historiography in general; see Conforti, 2006, 27–9. On the scientific ethos that guided Jewish historiography in the nineteenth century, see also Nipperdey, 1983, 445 (cited in Myers, 2003, 180 n. 65).

19

See Mendes-Flohr, 1991, 135–40.





Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

would succeed in leaving the particularity intact. If indeed this was the case, then the break in the nineteenth century between the historicistic method and the Jewish collective memory is an inevitable result. In fact, the transcendence Yerushalmi attributes to this memory makes it a priori inaccessible to any method, or alternatively, subject to errors in any method claiming access to it. This is a hermeneutic problem that does not and cannot have any solution in an approach like Yerushalmi’s, which on the one hand assumes the commitment of the historical method to objectivity and on the other hand identifies the “given” of Jewish history as transcendent. In fact, in Yerushalmi’s perception, the Jewish collective memory is particular not only because its features are different from those of other cultures’ memories, but because it includes an argument about the particularity of Jewish history. While the collective memory is expressed in real human institutions, which as such exist in a particular place and time, they also represent an autonomous transcendent presence. Yerushalmi does not propose an alternative method for revealing the Jewish collective memory, and we may assume he did not believe such a method existed (the historicistic method was certainly not such a method in his opinion). The Jewish collective memory may only be accessed through a Halakhic connection to Judaism, or through literature and ideology, which Yerushalmi considered had greater success in shaping the attitude of modern Jews to the past, in a way that did not involve a break from the original Jewish collective memory.20 There is no doubt that the nature of the historicistic method on the one hand and of the Jewish collective memory as its “given” on the other hand greatly determine the status of the content in the memory, or more precisely, the very possibility of the memory to be portrayed in contents. Here too is an inevitable result of the clash in Yerushalmi’s

20



See Yerushalmi, 1989, 100–1. Elsewhere, Yerushalmi stresses the connection and the similarity between the work of the historian and the author. See Yerushalmi, 2005, 16–7. Anita Shapira also believes that the historian was not appointed alone to shape the collective memory, but other “agents’ were also involved: politicians, educators, publicists, thinkers, artists, and poets. See Shapira, 1997, 246–7. Sidra Ezrahi criticizes Yerushalmi’s approach to Hebrew literature and its connection to the Jewish past and to myth (see Ezrahi, 2007). In this context, see the unique essay of Harold Fisch about the interrelations between history and the literary form (Fisch, 1985).

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approach between understanding this method as objective and identifying the “given” of the Jewish collective memory as transcendent.21 In principle, contents assume the conscious connection and involvement of subjects. However, such involvement does not accord with the extreme demand for objectivity, and even less with the understanding of the collective memory as an expression of a transcendent entity. Yerushalmi’s statements regarding the relations between the Jewish collective memory and modern historiography transpire again as indicating the inevitable —the break between the collective memory and Jewish historiography and the real historical context in which it occurs. It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the break from the collective memory is structured a priori into the perception in which transcendence receives such a dominant status. This break lies in wait for the collective memory, bearing Yerushalmi’s features, whenever a mental link anchored in real time is directed at it. At the same time, the meaning of the break that Yerushalmi claims occurs is far from unambiguous. At least two opposing ways of understanding it exist. On the one hand, the occurrence of a break in the Jewish collective memory in the modern era, when secular culture has achieved significant influence, may serve as a retroactive confirmation of what existed earlier and was broken. In other words, were the Jewish collective memory not anchored in recognition of the presence of a transcendent entity in Jewish history, secular culture would not have been able to form a break within it. On the other hand, the occurrence of the break can show the fragility of this memory, thus contradicting the permanence and unconditional existence that Yerushalmi originally attributed to it. In other words, recognizing the reality of the break may undermine or even disprove the premises of which the break is an inevitable result.

D. The Individual and the Jewish Collective Memory: Passivity and Restraint The status granted to the subject is one of the basic problems arising from Yerushalmi’s view of modern Jewish historiography and of the

21



For additional critiques of historicism, based on a similar principle, see Husserl, 1965; Geertz, 1977, 193–233.

Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

historian’s scientific endeavor. Without doubt, the subject is the protégé of the secular enlightenment, and as such enjoys activity and sovereignty, embodied among other things in the mental connections he directs at the world. In describing the different attitude of the memory and of modern historiography toward the Jewish past, Yerushalmi stresses the “unprecedented energy” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 94) directed at revealing details of the past that had been omitted or filtered out of the memory. He clarifies: The historian does not simply come it to replenish the gaps of memory. He constantly challenges even those memories that have survived intact. [. …] He seeks ultimately to recover a total past […] even if he is directly concerned with only a segment of it. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 94)

Finally, Yerushalmi states that “the historian, uninvited, disturbs and reverses [the process of historical selection]” (ibid., 95). It stands to reason that the actual occurrence of the process of historical selection could indicate that the protective bonds aimed at ensuring its permanence have been loosened. However, Yerushalmi did not view the natural selectivity of the collective memory as a threat to its completeness and uniformity. The static nature his approach attributes to Jewish history is achieved through divine providence, ensuring its uniqueness and separateness compared to the histories of other nations. In other words, there is a strong connection between the static nature of Jewish history and the permanent presence of the transcendent entity within it. The Jewish collective memory is anchored in the certainty of its unconditional reality. The reason for Yerushalmi’s perception of the historian’s activity —which on the face of it seems to protect the contents of the collective memory from loss and forgetfulness —as problematic is that subjects exceed their proper role. Moreover, Yerushalmi explains that “though modern historiography may give the illusion of both mneme and anamnesis” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 114), when the mneme denotes what is essentially unbroken while anamnesis refers to what has been forgotten (ibid., 107), historiography is neither of these but “a  radically new venture” (ibid., 114). In the depth of the matter, precisely where the Jewish collective memory is revealed as defensible, and perhaps even in referring to it as such, the status of the transcendent entity is diminished, and so is the static nature that it is supposed to realize in Jewish history.

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Against this background, we can easily understand that the activity and vitality shown by the historian, who dares do things he was not requested to, are unacceptable in an approach like Yerushalmi’s. In contrast, the centrality granted to the transcendent reality dictates a minimal involvement by the subject, in terms of his consciousness as a frame of reference for the contents and their interpretation, especially since in Yerushalmi’s approach the contents are not what fill the Jewish collective memory. It transpires that the subject is required to show restraint and passivity, whose purpose is to affirm the autonomous existence of the transcendent being, and in Judaism as a legalistic religion, to respond to the heteronomic normative system derived from this entity. It appears that instead of realizing the sovereignty the modern era had intended him to have toward the objects of his consciousness, in Yerushalmi’s approach the subject is expected to appear at most as affirming their external and independent presence. The passivity of the subject should serve as a reliable reflection not only of his correct place in the hierarchy, compared with the transcendent entity, but also of the nature of the past at the basis of the collective memory, which in Yerushalmi’s approach denotes an ahistorical, permanent reality independent of human attempts to understand it. We can therefore conclude that the transcendent foundation depending on the divine presence guiding Jewish history is not solely responsible for ensuring the permanence and independence of the Jewish collective memory. In addition, Yerushalmi understands the transcendent element of the Jewish collective memory as existing above and outside the immanent frame of reference. In any case, this understanding does not open the transcendent to different interpretations, but rather blocks the possibility that it could absorb into itself difference originating from a  variety of subjective references (in  the past, present, or future). In other words, the system relating to the transcendent entity and the immanent system requiring passivity and restraint from the subject operate together to realize the permanence and independence for the Jewish collective memory.22

22



The emphasis on the Jews’ passivity throughout history led to criticism in the literature about Zakhor. Thus, for example, Michael Graetz: “It is difficult to agree with the nostalgia expressed by Yerushalmi in the final chapter […] Here it is as though forgotten that the transformation of the messianic idea was a bitter necessity for the Jewish nation. It was necessary to redeem it

Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

The emphasis on the transcendent entity in Yerushalmi’s view of the collective memory, requiring the marginality of the conscious dimension involved in it, thus frustrates the conscious-interpretative reference to the external reality surrounding the subject. Within these limitations, the transparency of the elements of the collective memory may be diminished in the subject’s eyes, and perhaps even the ability to assimilate them into the mental world of the bearers of the memory. But it seems that these implications of the perception of the collective memory would not necessarily be considered a defect in Yerushalmi’s eyes. Perhaps even the opposite, since unlike the immanent objects of consciousness, the transcendent ones can never achieve full transparency. Also, the withdrawal of the subject from involvement in the contents and from judgments about the Jewish past indirectly ensures the particularity of the Jewish collective memory. To a certain extent, the subject’s passivity facing the Jewish collective memory can be considered a declaration by the subject, affirming the power of the transcendent entity regarding him, or alternately the permanent metaphysical gap between immanence and transcendence.23 Thus the past to which the collective memory refers denotes the connection of ideals or information that the subject identifies as transcendent not only in terms of their origin, but due to their being inexhaustible by human consciousness. As a  result, the individual’s existence appears in Yerushalmi’s perception of Jewish history as taking place vis-à-vis a total otherness or transcendence. It is important to clarify that the subject’s passive status is preserved even in the future Yerushalmi sketches regarding the collective memory, which he believes is beyond the realm of historiography:

from passivity, from over-emphasizing the future at the expense of the present […] for politicization and self-liberation. This transformation indirectly contributed to the unprecedented momentum in the profession of historical writing” (Graetz, 1983, 435). In contrast, the interpretation proposed in this book justifies and affirms the idea of passivity on the metaphysical level, against the background of the ontological and metaphysical premises inherent in Yerushalmi’s approach. 23



It is worth comparing Yerushalmi’s approach regarding the relation between the transcendent being and the subject with the Platonic position in which the transcendent element acts without a subject. Harold Bloom referred to another aspect of Platonism, mimesis, which has a formative power in the Jewish being and not only in modern times. See Bloom, 1989, xxiv-xxv.

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Many Jews today are in search of a past, but they patently do not want the past that is offered by the historian. […] they are not prepared to confront it [history] directly, but seem to await a new, metahistorical myth. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 97–98)

The myth, unlike the historian’s typical treatment of the past as an object of research, is aimed at indicating the existence of an independent transcendent entity that is not stained by the real historical process.24 Elsewhere, Yerushalmi links the historical myth to imagination and states that it is essential to the historian’s work, despite his aim at objectivity: When I speak about [historical] myths, I mean an approach to history that also requires imagination. After all, imagination is one of the historian’s tools —even though we aspire to be completely objective, it is impossible without these symbols and myths. (Yerushalmi, 2005, 11)

The difference between experiencing myth and the historian’s experience can be likened to the difference between the “experience of presence” and the “experience of making present.” In the former, the subject is passive in relation to the being (God or the divine providence apparent in history), while in the latter he has an active role, enabling the appearance, or even the constituting, of the being in the experience. This means that in an experience of making present, “God” and “divine providence” are merely objects of reference or products of a culture in a given place and time. It should be clarified that for its own part, the transcendent entity is autonomous and independent of any stance of the subject toward it. But the subject’s passivity enables the presence of the transcendent entity in its world.25 We shall return to this point later.

24

Perhaps Yerushalmi’s words in this context are influenced by modern perceptions of myth, such as that of Paul Ricoeur, who sees it as a means for people’s self-understanding. In this context, the myth functions as a traditional story explaining the rituals used today and the attitudes of people to events from the distant past. See Ricoeur, 1969, 5.

25

For more on the phenomenology of presence, see Fuchs, 1976, 6–36.





Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

Against this background, it is no wonder that Yerushalmi did not refer at all to the concept “historical consciousness,” denoting the mental connections directed at the collective memory. This concept stood at the focus of Amos Funkenstein’s thought, stressing the continuity of the Jewish collective memory. Yerushalmi indicated mainly the existence of the collective memory and the break between it and modern Jewish historiography. Furthermore, apart from a particular, indirect, and late reference, under the title “Reflections on Forgetting,” in the postscript to the second edition of Zakhor (Yerushalmi, 1989, 105–17), Yerushalmi does not refer to questions regarding the character of the bearers of the Jewish collective memory, the mechanisms at their disposal, or the relations between collective memory and personal memory.26 These aspects, directed toward the subject, are marginal in the perception of the collective memory, which according to Yerushalmi is almost completely conquered by the power of the transcendent presence. Their place is filled by the static nature he attributes to Jewish history, which simultaneously traps the permanence and the independence attributed to the transcendent being and the passivity required of the subject. It is understandable that Yerushalmi chose to locate the break that occurred in the Jewish collective memory with the appearance of secularization rather than with the Haskalah, which he understood as its early ideology: […] it was not the Haskalah that fathered modern Jewish historiography, though it unwittingly helped prepare the ground for it by hastening the secularization of significant segments of the Jewish people […] The Haskalah itself did not attain a conception of history fundamentally different from those that prevailed earlier. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 82–3)

It seems that the minor role of consciousness in the perception of the Jewish collective memory accords with the diminished weight

26

Yerushalmi’s Freud’s Moses can serve as a basis for understanding the mechanisms of the collective memory in Yerushalmi’s approach. The application to the Jewish collective memory of Yerushalmi’s words about Freud requires a  methodological explanation and justification, which are beyond the scope of the current discussion.

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Yerushalmi attributes to abstract mental processes, such as those involved in the phenomenon of Haskalah in the Jewish world. In contrast, the general activism Jews demonstrated in the secular era, whose extreme elements wished to remove the expressions of the transcendent presence in the world and lifestyle of modern Jews, seems to Yerushalmi much more dramatic in terms of its implications for the Jewish collective memory. Just as Yerushalmi’s critique of the historicistic method reveals his fundamental attitude regarding the discipline of history, so do his references to modern historians reveal their character in his opinion. Yerushalmi writes: Yet those who would demand of the historian that he be the restorer of Jewish memory attribute to him powers that he may not possess. Intrinsically, modern Jewish historiography cannot replace an eroded group memory which, as we have seen throughout, never depended on historians in the first place. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 93–4)

This negative implies the positive, meaning that Yerushalmi shares the original demand directed at the historian to reconstruct the Jewish memory. The reconstruction action emphasizes the subject’s aiming at the object, and at the same time the transcendence of the object in relation to that subject. Adopting the stance of the historian as the reconstructor of the Jewish memory suits the nature of this memory as permeated by transcendent presence. However, in Yerushalmi’s opinion, historians fail at this, and to a certain extent the character of the historian in the modern era is tragic.27

27



Yitzhak Conforti believes that the pessimistic tone of Zakhor regarding history’s ability to contribute to the modern Jewish collective consciousness is slightly exaggerated, but he believes that the distinction Yerushalmi makes between history and memory is important (see Conforti, 2006, 205, 208). It is possible to argue that Yerushalmi’s words contain an inherent expectation, which is disappointed, that historians will serve as “priests of memory” (to use Carl Becker’s term), not necessarily in the practical aspect of the role, but in preserving and maintaining the memory for members of the present generation (see Becker, 1966, 233–55). On the distinction between modern historians and priests of memory, see ibid., 253.

Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

Perhaps the historian’s failure in reconstructing the Jewish past does not result from his inability to realize the ideal of objectivity proclaimed by the historicistic method. The very existence of a method does not stand in the way of access to a given with an entitycentered or even transcendent character. Indeed, the method in itself is always external to the objects at which it is directed, and to a certain degree the surrender to an external object independent of the subject, such as the one identified with collective memory in Yerushalmi’s approach, can also suit the demand for objectivity. In contrast, the priority and importance granted in the objective approach to the real historical context of the historical given, which does not apply to the given permeated by a transcendent presence that lifts it above the real context where it appears, is problematic. In other words, it is not the approach to the given, which can be based on one or other objective method, but the original perception of the given itself as transcendent, which determines its status in relation to the subject’s world, formed by epistemic connections. The belief, which appears quite rigid, that a  contrast exists between the transcendent reality and the epistemic connections of the subject illuminates Yerushalmi’s approach to modern Jewish historiography. In his opinion, it failed to reconstruct the Jewish past as shaped in the collective memory due to the lack of the theological foundation essential for an approach directed at a given perceived as transcendent: “If the secularization of Jewish history is a break with the past, the historicizing of Judaism itself has been an equally significant departure. It could hardly be otherwise” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 91). We now clearly understand Yerushalmi’s linkage between the inability to “view Judaism as something absolutely given and subject to a  priori definition” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 91) and the “perception of a fluid temporal dimension from which nothing is exempt” (ibid., 91). Since the modern Jewish historian is secular, he cannot reconstruct the transcendent given that constitutes the Jewish collective memory, whose reality he does not recognize. In Yerushalmi’s approach, the secularity of the Jewish historian serves as a stumbling block when he comes to represent the transcendent elements that determine the character of Jewish history, and all the more so makes it difficult for him to experience their presence himself. Without doubt, these insights, present in varying degrees of clarity in Yerushalmi’s approach, fed his fear of the penetration of relativism into the perception of Jewish history, which would mean a  significant weakening of the Jewish ­collective

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memory.28 At the same time, we should clarify that Yerushalmi does not simply join his partners in this fear. He explains that “Anti-historical attitudes alone cannot explain the lack of resonance that modern Jewish historiography has encountered” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 97). In his opinion, the reasons are related to the limitations of the historicistic approach itself and its inability to fulfill the expectations of modern Jews (ibid., 97–8). Thus, Yerushalmi identifies a degree of weakness in Jewish historicism, rather than only strength necessitating resistance against its threat.29 In the context of the interpretation proposed for his approach, this weakness can be understood as expressing the power of the transcendent presence that determines the character of the Jewish collective memory, or alternatively, as proof of the weakness of mental processes compared with substantivistic ontological elements, whose dominance in Jewish history Yerushalmi stresses. The range of views connected to the status of the subject in Yerushalmi’s perception of Jewish collective history raises a series of problems. First, it should be clarified that there is no essential connection between consciousness of temporal fluidity and the development of a relativistic attitude toward history and its contents.30 So, for example, in German historicism this consciousness existed alongside a rather rigid and inclusive metaphysical worldview about the exis-

28

The fear that historical knowledge would lead to relativism has accompanied historicism since its inception, and is regularly raised in discussions of the crisis of historicism in Weimar Germany after World War I. In this context, see Heussi, 1932; Mandelbaum, 1938. In the American context, we can mention Higham, 1965, 117–31 (cited in Conforti, 2006, 54, 97). Paul Mendes-Flohr indicates the special problem relativism poses for the historian who faces his own religious and cultural tradition (see Mendes-Flohr, 1991, 312–13). See also Rotenstreich, 1973b, 24–35; Harvey, 1966. David Myers states that among all the modern movements, historicism poses the greatest challenge for orthodoxy (see Myers, 2003, 157; 1998). Myers also lists relativism and the crises of theology in the modern era as factors that shaped the “resistance to history” movement, and crowns Yerushalmi as the leader of this movement (see Myers, 2003, 1–12).

29

This need is stressed by Myers. See Myers, 2003.

30

The non-relativistic horizon of the historization of the past, and the historian’s ability to blend his values with historical facts, were noted by the Italian historian Benedetto Croce; see Croce, 1941, 19–22. In the Jewish context, David Myers noted that historicism does not necessarily contradict religious faith; see Myers, 2003, 172.





Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

tence of one truth, accessible in principle to human consciousness. The efforts historians directed at historical reconstruction were very weak. Only when the classical modernist worldview about the existence of one truth was undermined did consciousness of temporal fluidity lead to the development of a relativistic attitude toward history. In this respect, Yerushalmi’s criticism of modern historiography suits the status of historiography in the twentieth century, but the roots of this criticism are not in the early nineteenth century but about a century and a half later, with the rise of postmodernism.31 Second, a relativistic worldview may promote a multi-culturism that may contain room for a religious metaphysical world view, whose place would not be recognized in a reality of a strict secular idealistic view.32 In this respect, even if the relativistic approach becomes established, it should not necessarily disrupt the character of the Jewish collective memory, which Yerushalmi perceived in substantive terms that connected it to the transcendent entity. It seems that Yerushalmi did not notice that the world of the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums in the nineteenth century could not have been as distant from the Jewish collective memory as he described it. Yerushalmi states: “Wissenschaft was still certain that there must be an essential “Idea” of Judaism behind the shifting forms that history casts up to our view” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 92). This view, internalizing the understanding that the real reality does not exhaust existence but bears in its foundation an idea, may in principle enable the recognition of the existence of a transcendent being. Thus, applying the historicistic approach to the study of Jewish history, anchored in a modernistic worldview that assumes the existence of truth in historical reality, should not necessarily cause a break with the Jewish collective memory, as Yerushalmi believed. Third, Yerushalmi was not aware of the contradiction between his awareness that those entrusted with the preservation of the Jewish collective memory are social and religious organizations and institutions, immanent and real bodies in time, and the permanence and

31

A great deal of literature has been written about the influence of postmodernism on historical research and writing, including the current relativistic trends. For a concise analysis of the basic trends on this issue, see Jenkins, 1997. See also Munslow, 1997; Breisach, 2003.

32

In this context, see Mendes-Flohr, 1991, 55–61.





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­ niformity he attributed to this memory. Moreover, the fact that the u interest in the past is conducted by subjects cannot alone subjectivize its object or make it immanent. The influence of the subject’s reference over the meaning of the object depends on the nature of the reference, not on its mere existence. Perhaps if the Jewish historian treats the past with respect and enables the voices arising from it to be heard, if his description and analysis are guided by the phenomenon itself, and he avoids as much as possible forcing his preconceptions on his objects — then the act of reference alone will not damage the object, indeed, it will enable it to be exposed as it is. It appears that the severe contrast between historiography and its object, around which Yerushalmi’s approach crystallized, was partially based on an incorrect understanding of the act of objectification that is a  basic part of human experience. From a  philosophical-phenomenological point of view we can state that Yerushalmi blurred the difference between two basic concepts of intentionality: one describes the structure applying to every conscious occurrence relying on its object, which can be immanent or transcendent;33 the second denotes an approach whereby the subject’s intentional reference constitutes its immanent object and determines its contents. The transition from one concept to the other indicates not only the fixation of the object in the immanent realm, but also a change from an epistemological attitude, from understanding that the world “exists for me,” to a metaphysical statement about the world as “deriving from me.”34 Finally, the various difficulties arising from Yerushalmi’s view of the collective memory drain into the arena of history, which falls victim to a problem without a solution. Jewish history for him is an arena of occurrence and a reality beyond the individual, and in any case outside the activity areas of the individual’s subjective consciousness. In this

33



See Husserl, 1953, section 36.

34



As Husserl put it: “The Objective world, the world that exists for me, that always has and always will exist for me, the only world that ever can exist for me —this world, with all its Objects, I said, derives its whole sense and its existential status, which it has for me, from me myself, from me as the transcendental Ego, the Ego who comes to the fore only with transcendental-phenomenological epoché” (Husserl, 1960, 26). And: “By my living, by my experiencing, thinking, valuing, and acting, I can enter no world other than the one that gets its sense and acceptance or status in and from me, myself” (ibid., 21). See also Ricoeur’s critique of this phenomenon in Husserl’s thought (Ricoeur, 1967, 85–90).

Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

approach, the individual, including the historian, is placed in synchronous relations aimed at affirming the superiority and independence of the transcendent being in the real human reality. This approach cannot accord with an immanent understanding of history, seeing it as a diachronic context where the mental actions and references of individuals and groups are expressed in the reality of which they are a part. Thus the clash between Yerushalmi’s perception of the historicistic approach to the past and his perception of the Jewish collective memory became a reflection of the metaphysical gap between immanence and transcendence, as he said: “history becomes what it had never been before —the faith of fallen Jews” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 86).35 Perhaps a degree of awareness of this problem led Yerushalmi to propose a sort of “solution” to the break he himself identified —and even enhanced —between the Jewish collective memory and modern historiography. Despite the limitations characterizing the status of the subject and consciousness in general in Yerushalmi’s concept of the Jewish collective memory, he appoints individual subjects and consciousness in general —and in fact also the Jewish historian —to “reconstruct” the Jewish past, a task he considers the historian is given both by himself and by and for “us all” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 93). Thus the historian may apparently regain his status as a “physician of memory”: As a physician must act, regardless of medical theories, because his patient is ill, so the historian must act under a moral pressure to restore a nation’s memory, or that of mankind. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 93)36

35

Moshe Idel believes that this statement of Yerushalmi may be “an exaggeration.” In his opinion, the separation from traditional Judaism “involves a separation not only from traditional faith, but also from the new versions of the “sacred history” proposed by other historians’ (Idel, 2006, 202). In Idel’s opinion, Yerushalmi expresses a strict perception of tradition as rigid and unchanging, but this perception does not accord with the multifaceted dynamism of the Jewish tradition throughout its generations, which enables it to accept even historical approaches that emphasize the power of immanent processes, without this being considered a break. See Idel, 2007, 494–6. Idel believes that tradition is a “cumulative, flexible, and developing system” (Idel, 2006, 188), and presents his approach “in order to solve what seems to be a state of loss of faith or despair” (ibid., 203).

36

Cited from Rosenstock-Huessey, 1966, 696.





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The link between the collective memory and psychiatry openly alludes once more to Freud. Just as the psychoanalytical patient wishes to remove the veil that memory spreads over the past, and thus enable access to the original occurrence, the historian is called to restore the original picture of the Jewish collective memory.37 It is difficult to say that there is a  real “solution” here to the basic problems arising from Yerushalmi’s approach, some of which are structured into his premises. In any case, the programmatic aspect revealed in calling upon the Jewish historian to reconstruct the past does not exhaust the depth of Yerushalmi’s argument, which was mainly identifying the Jewish collective memory’s basic pattern: the presence of a transcendent power, external and independent, responsible for guiding the real immanent reality.38 This pattern is what echoed in his criticism of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, and it illuminated his path when he sought to establish an approach regarding the break of modern Jews from their past. To a  certain extent, Yerushalmi maintains this pattern in directing his appeal at the historian, since the latter is shaped as an entity-like and transcendent power existing beyond the real events, capable of guiding them with his abstract ideas until they return to their proper track, when the God of Jewish history will return and take his place. We can expect that should this indeed happen, Jewish history would no longer require any immanent subjective support, which in the present era is embodied by the historian. As if to remove doubt, Yerushalmi repeatedly stresses that historiography cannot replace the collective memory, nor does it seem to create an alternative tradition that could be common to us all. However, the historical destiny remains and appears more urgent than ever. Yerushalmi states that in the world in which we live it is not just decay of the collective memory and a sinking of the consciousness of the past, but also an aggressive rape of what remains in the memory, a deliberate destruction of the historical reporting, “the invention of mythological pasts in the service of the powers of darkness’ (Yerushalmi, 1989, 116). But against the destroyers of the collective memory —“the agents of oblivion, the shredders of documents, the assassins of memory, the revisers of encyclopedias, the ­conspirators of silence” (ibid., 116)—only

37

See also the essay on “false memories” in Freud, 1922, 65–73.

38

The programmatic aspect is stressed in Rosenfeld’s critique. See Rosenfeld, 2007, 511.



Chapter One. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932–2009): Transcendence and Break

the historian can serve as a shield, whose destiny is passion for facts, proof, and evidence. With Friedrich Nietzsche’s statement about the damaging surplus of historical research in mind, Yerushalmi is urged to explain that in this era, in the absence of a clear Halakhah to demarcate the boundary between shortage and surplus, with the terror of forgetting being much stronger and more decisive than the power of memory, the option of historiography should be chosen. Yerushalmi ends with a heart-felt appeal: Let the accumulated facts about the past continue to multiply. Let the flood of books and monographs grow, even if they are only read by specialists. Let unread copies lie on the shelves of many libraries, so that if some be destroyed or removed others will remain. So that those who need to can find that this person did live, those events really took place, this interpretation is not the only one. So that those who may someday forge a new halakhah may sift and retrieve what they require. (Yerushalmi, 1989, 117)

In these words, Yerushalmi softens to some extent the tragic dimension accompanying his earlier observation of the character of the historian, and perhaps they also show an opening for a spiritual reform or “tikkun.”39 It appears that Yerushalmi’s first metaphysical stance seeks its safety, some would say its final resort, in the sort of realism at which a positivistic historian aims. The discussion above shows that there is not necessarily a contradiction between these things. At the depth of the metaphysical certainty lies an approach regarding the real reality of the transcendent being, of which the Halakhah may be considered one of the undisputed representations. In fact, Yerushalmi finds the two saying more or less the same thing: God is present in Jewish history.

39



In this context, see Salhuv, 2001.

33

Chapter Two

Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and Continuity A. “Remove the reference to God” “Remove the reference to God,” wrote Funkenstein when asked about the Hatam Sofer’s attitude toward the “evils” of the Jewish nation in the diaspora, “and you are left with a common Zionist argument since Herzl’s Judenstaat [sic]” (Funkenstein, 1995, 6). The thought that one can remove God from the frame of reference and remain more or less in the same semantic space is typical of Funkenstein’s approach to Jewish history and to European history in general. In this view, supernatural or extra-human factors do not usually serve as explanations of the historical process, and are certainly not considered a real element of it, whatever the meaning of such an element. Furthermore, in Funkenstein’s approach, God does not even enjoy the status of master. Funkenstein formulates a sort of manifest that he presents as the “Emancipation of Man from the Slavery He Brought upon Himself,” and declares that “secular Judaism is the type of Judaism we wish to recommend and promote” (Funkenstein, 2005, 81). Naturally, a programmatic appeal by a scholar does not form a plan of action, and in this case it does not even constitute a theory of secularization with all that implies. His secular approach is based primarily on the immanent structure it embodies, focusing his gaze on the conscious, real, and abstract aspects that constitute the cultural phenomena occupying his research. It is difficult to miss Funkenstein’s consistent effort to reveal that secularization in the Jewish sources was original —or even primeval — as if it were part of historical factuality long before the constitution of modern historicism at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Two research tracks in Funkenstein’s writings are harnessed to this. The first track concerns establishing that the pre-historic gaze was rooted in various areas in the middle ages, which in his opinion is particularly

Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

apparent in the law and in theological treatises.1 In the Jewish context, this orientation is especially prominent in Funkenstein’s writings dealing with Maimonides’ work, particularly the perception of the reason for the Mitzvoth (religious commandments) and Messianism. In the Christian context, traces of this view are apparent in the perception of the law and the medieval accommodation principle, whereby God’s supra-temporal consciousness is capable of adapting itself to developments on the human and earthly level.2 The second track deals with the theological roots of historicism itself, and here too the study of Maimonedes’ thought dominates.3 These two research tracks are united in Funkenstein’s thoughts, so that revealing the early instances of a historical viewpoint simultaneously serves as evidence for the early secularization of theology itself and for its preceding the secularization of modern historicism. In this spirit, Carlo Ginzburg summarized Funkenstein’s contribution: “The kernel of the current historiographical paradigm is a secularized version of the [medieval] model of accommodation.”4 These basic trends, appearing throughout Funkenstein’s writings, will be in the background of the discussion here, devoted to clarifying and critiquing his opinions regarding the basic issues in the historical and philosophical discourse about modern Judaism, especially collective memory, historiography, and historical continuity. As will transpire, Funkenstein’s approaches conduct an interesting and

1

See for example Funkenstein, 1984, 125–26. In this context, see also Arieli, 1992, 135–200.

2

For the medieval pre-historical view, see Funkenstein, 1983; 1993, 22–5, 62– 81, 110–56; 1984, 125–35; 1970; 1974, 3–7. Moshe Idel presents an approach similar to Funkenstein’s: “After all, we can define certain patterns of thinking in the middle ages or the modern era, on the one hand, and modern history, on the other hand, as types of culture faced by the Jews, who rejected certain aspects of them and adopted other aspects through synthesis or adaptation” (Idel, 2006, 203).

3

The theological roots of historicism are discussed in almost all the chapters of the work Theology and Scientific Imagination from the Middle Ages to the Seventeenth Century. See especially Funkenstein, 1986, 222–43, 209. However, this thesis appears already in his doctoral dissertation (Funkenstein, 1965). For a critical discussion of this issue, see Moyn, 2004. For more on the theological roots of historicism, see Megill, 1997; Howard, 2000.

4

Ginzburg, 2001, 155 (cited in Moyn, 2004, 650).







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complex dialogue with Yerushalmi’s approaches to the same issues. On various occasions, Funkenstein sought to clarify that his stance on collective memory and historical consciousness was not a response to Yerushalmi or an attempt to argue with him (Funkenstein, 1992, 147). However, in the Jewish historiographical discourse, which spread following the publication of Yerushalmi’s Zakhor, Funkenstein’s approach has been understood as responding to Yerushalmi, and this is largely how it will be discussed below.5

B. Collective Memory and “Historical Consciousness” At the basis of Funkenstein’s approach to the Jewish collective memory is the general view of this concept, establishing two central features. One feature is that collective memory is “a mental act, and therefore absolutely and completely personal” (Funkenstein, 1993, 4). The other feature connects personal memory to the collective memory: “even the most personal memory cannot be removed from its social context. […] Even the very act of self-consciousness is far from being isolated from society” (ibid., 4).6 There is no contradiction between the two. As personal as the first may be, it is not stamped with a particular seal, but denotes a universal element that applies to every remembering individual. At the same time, the extra-personal or social dimension contains the personal within it. The two features rescue the access to the phenomenon of the collective memory from the bonds of the Cartesian viewpoint —observing human consciousness as existing within the boundaries of an autarkic individual —and lead to a Hegelian orientation, binding within the historical sphere the subjective and the objective, the individual and society.7

5

See for example Myers, 1992. Yitzhak Conforti argues that the criticism directed at Yerushalmi was directed mainly at Halbwachs (see Conforti, 2006, 208).

6

Without doubt, Funkenstein’s words directly adopt the thesis on which Hegel’s dialectic of mastery and slavery is based. See Hegel, 1988, 127–36. On Hegel’s deep influence on Funkenstein, see Moyn, 2004.

7

For more on the relations between objectivity and subjectivity in Hegel’s perception of history, see Beiser, 1993; O’Brien, 1975.







Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

These two aspects of the collective memory already bear the mark of the mentioned immanent foundation with its two facets: the entity-like facet and the consciousness facet. From the point of view of being, memory takes place in a real reality of people in a concrete time and place. From the point of view of consciousness, immanence reflects the personal memory as borne in the consciousness of these people and how they interpret it to themselves and to others. These entity-like and consciousness expressions of immanence are an inseparable part of the individual who remembers in a given place and time, and of the social context in which the act of remembering itself is rooted. We discover that the duality Funkenstein identified in the collective memory permeates each of its two components and accords with the immanent sphere in whose realm the collective memory itself is crystallized and located. It should be clarified that the immanent foundation in which the collective memory is anchored in Funkenstein’s approach is no barrier to the entry of a transcendent dimension, and does not rule out the possibility that objects perceived as transcendent could be presented in this memory. In Funkenstein’s approach, immanence and transcendence are not generally mutually exclusive. However, unlike transcendence in Yerushalmi’s approach, which appears as original, rigid, and inaccessible to epistemic reference, Funkenstein’s transcendence is at the disposal of the individual’s reference mechanisms. These make it closer to the world of the individual in real present space and time. Whereas in Yerushalmi’s approach the originality attributed to the transcendent dimension of the collective memory relied on the dominance of the past, raised to the realm of atemporality, in Funkenstein’s approach the rigidity of transcendence is dissolved and the originality attributed to it is also diminished. Thus we can expect that according to Funkenstein, when the transcendent dimension enters the individual’s immanent consciousness, it does not become a given forcing itself on consciousness or on reality, as Yerushalmi believed. This is because like the other components in Funkenstein’s approach, the transcendent dimension too is placed into the same immanent reference mechanism within whose boundaries the meaning of the given is determined anew each time. Moreover, the meaning produced through the act of reference may receive the status of truth. However, in the current context, truth does not denote a match between an occurrence in the present and a transcendent atemporal given, but expresses the exposure or discovery of

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a possibility that already exists in the real relation between the present and the past.8 In Funkenstein’s approach, the possible presence of a transcendent dimension in the collective memory is not required by the realism of being, meaning the very existence of forces external to consciousness, which are not accessible to the individual bearing the memory or referring to it. This aspect in his approach accords with the basic view on which immanent approaches are based, maintaining their self-sufficiency and the impossibility of imposing anything on them from the outside. Furthermore, Funkenstein’s words imply that the personal memory can absorb into itself components of the collective memory and of the past in general. These may serve as permanent elements in the immanent consciousness, granting it its features and stability. Thanks to the immanent consciousness’ ability to absorb transcendent elements through its act of reference, personal memory is no longer perceived as merely private, and is not tied to the boundaries of the real experience of the individual bearing it. Indeed, the permanent penetration of real and transcendent elements into the collective memory rescues the act of reference from the boundaries of personal experience. Thus, the constant expansion of the individual’s immanent consciousness throughout the individual’s life experience enables the very formation of the collective memory. This is the core of Funkenstein’s approach, linking the personal memory to the collective memory.9 The strength of the immanent foundation mentioned is also apparent in Funkenstein’s perception of the collective memory, which he originates from two basic ideas: one focuses on the “historical consciousness” that “developed first and primarely in ancient Israelite faith,” and the second is the traditional idea of the Jewish people being chosen (Funkenstein, 1993, 11). Funkenstein’s main argument is that this complex of contents has no one specific obligatory meaning, since the meaning is created anew each time in a concrete context involving

8

Compare with the idea of the “primary truth” as analyzed by Heidegger (see Heidegger, 1993, § 44).

9

The idea that the self includes the other within it is one of the central ideas in Hegel’s famous chapter “Master and Servant,” and is summarized in the first sentence: “Self-consciousness exists in itself and for itself when, and by the fact that, it so exists for another; that is, it exists only in being acknowledged” (Hegel, 1988, 127; English translation in Hegel, 1977, 111).



Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

real people and historical circumstances. Unlike Yerushalmi, who saw the Jewish collective memory as a receptacle for ahistorical transcendent and super-human powers, Funkenstein placed at the center of his approach conscious and immanent patterns filled by contents that are constantly understood and interpreted. However, the contents themselves may represent a transcendent element or even God, perceived by individuals as external to consciousness and independent of it. Here we reach a basic concept in Funkenstein’s perception of the collective memory —historical consciousness —which denotes the “attempt to understand the past, to question its meaning” (Funkenstein, 1993, 11), and reflects the “degree of creative freedom in the use of interpretation of the contents of collective memory [… that] differs at different times in the same culture or at different social environments at any given time within the same culture” (ibid., 10). Historical consciousness first and foremost indicates the accessibility of historical contents to the group that identifies them as belonging to it. As such, historical consciousness can serve as a framework for various ideologies, which among other things may contain perceptions regarding the ontological and conscious status of the contents of the collective memory. However, historical consciousness is not merely a mechanism of filling, containing, and changing for the collective memory. Along with assimilating the external into the collective memory, historical consciousness also functions as its mechanism of expression, and as such it is also historical writing. Funkenstein states explicitly that the term “historical consciousness” is intended to serve as “an additional interpretative dynamic construct to explain how the second [recording history] arises out of the first [the collective memory]” (Funkenstein, 1993, 9). In other words, historical consciousness mediates between the personal and the collective memories, a mediation of which historiographical creation is a synthetic expression. In addition, this consciousness enfolds within it the epistemology of the mediation act itself, meaning the basic principles on which the consciousness involved in the act of mediation is based, and their theorization. The philosophical tradition from Kant onwards has seen the term “consciousness” as an element that mediates and synthesizes between different elements that seem alien to one another, for example, between sensory input and its mental representation. Funkenstein’s term “historical consciousness” clearly follows this tradition. The mediating nature of the historical consciousness makes it capable of preventing

39

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Part one. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi and Amos Funkenstein…

the contrast and break, sketched by Yerushalmi, between the collective memory and historiography, and also, as we will see below, of enabling historical continuity. It is completely clear that the presence of historical consciousness as a component of the collective memory, responsible for the changes that occur within it, does not break the immanent framework at the basis of Funkenstein’s perception of the collective memory. As noted, this framework is not identified with any particular contents, and it is free of any commitment to a particular meaning, including one that was recognized as an authentic component of the collective memory in the past. In fact, the perception of historical consciousness as an inseparable part of the collective memory largely explains the fact that the collective memory frequently undergoes changes and innovations, since historical consciousness serves as an immanent facet of this memory. Thus it changes whenever subjective references are directed at its contents, which also change frequently. In this context, the consciousness component is responsible for the collective memory’s constantly confronting otherness, absorbing the expressions of historical consciousness, and assimilating them into the experience of the members of the group that bears it. This means that the collective memory and historical consciousness occur in one immanent framework, conducting within itself a constant practice of self-reference and self-interpretation. In this context the changes of contents move from the collective memory to the historical consciousness, which refers to them and thus reshapes them, and back from the historical consciousness to the collective memory. Thus the fluidity of certain contents of this memory is also an inseparable part of the permeation of the membrane, sometimes very thin, separating the collective memory from the historical consciousness, and it is not merely the result of erosion and changes taking place in them over the generations. Understanding consciousness as an active element in the collective memory, as a result of which the collective memory becomes a wide arena of expression for the subjects that bear it and refer to it, is also reflected in Funkenstein’s perception of history itself. In his opinion, history does not represent an autonomous transcendent entity in relation to the consciousness referring to it. Like historical consciousness, history too is the product of immanent subjective activity. In other words, even though historical consciousness and history as a distinct discipline are not identical, from Funkenstein’s point of view they are based on the same mental act that enables the connec-

Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

tion between them and represents the active involvement of subjects in forming their perceptions and the objects of their reference. Through the concept of historical consciousness, Funkenstein’s approach historicizes the collective memory and grants it and its contents immanent meaning that permanently relates to conscious and real processes in time. As a result, the past is brought from the “there” that has already taken place to the “here” that is still occurring.10 Specifically, the immanentization of the collective memory brings its contents closer to the consciousness and world of the present-day people, as individuals and as a collective, and naturally introduces the transcendent elements into the real historical process. At the same time, a transformation occurs in the perception of the past itself: its meaning as an ahistorical reality is muted, and it appears in the world of the individuals and the group referring to it as a “remembered present” (Funkenstein, 1993, 7). The contents filling the collective memory do not denote permanent elements within it, but express a  real reference, in a given place and time, on the part of the group members who identify it as belonging to them. The contents element, which of itself does not require a clear or conscious link to real time, is united in Funkenstein’s approach with the element of historicity, which also bears a real dimension. Thus, the view that Jewish history is subject to unique divine providence, compared to world history, is perceived by Funkenstein as an expression of the Jews’ self-perception. This means that in practice there is no significant difference between what is perceived as collective memory and historical consciousness itself, since this memory itself denotes a conscious and mental framework. In other words, the collective memory, the historical consciousness, and the mechanisms of mediation and access, all take place on the immanent conscious level. Of course, historiography is merely one of the possible expressions of historical consciousness, and just as it has no special status among the various ways consciousness is expressed, so

10



On perceptions of history as anchored in the reality of life in the present, see for example Croce, 1941, 19–22; Collingwood, 1993, 202. In the Jewish context this approach was expressed by several historians of the Jerusalem school. See for example Baer, 1931, 2–3; 1940, 2–8 (cited in Shapira, 1995, 160); Dinur, 1972. For further discussion and critique of this approach, see Katz, 1979, 230–43; Ben Sasson, 1984, 408–28; Shapira, 1995, 160–61; Fleischmann, 1958; Scholem, 1976A, 509–18; Myers, 1995, 109–50.

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no power can be attributed to it to cause a  break between personal memory and collective memory. It transpires that the immanent system in which Funkenstein’s approach is anchored creates the foundation that on the one hand grants the subject power and influence over the collective memory through the historical consciousness, and on the other hand restricts the subject by the very fact that there are wide real processes to which he is subjected himself. In any case, even considering the relatively reduced power of the individual subject in relation to the collective memory, we can state that not for nothing is the concept of historical consciousness absent from Yerushalmi’s approach. In fact, the components that constitute historical consciousness —the subject, contents and interpretions of them, the need for mediation between the personal memory and the collective memory, and the need to express the latter —are marginal in Yerushalmi’s perception of the Jewish collective memory, which was largely occupied with the power of the transcendent presence.

C. The Historical Continuity Thesis Yerushalmi’s interpretation of the concept of the Jewish collective memory contained the seeds of the thesis that with the transition to the modern era a break occurred in the Jewish collective memory. Similarly, Funkenstein’s understanding of the collective memory lay the foundation for the historical continuity thesis, according to which “the transition from the precritical historiography to historicism, however revolutionary, was not altogether sudden” (Funkenstein, 1993, 9).11 Unlike Yerushalmi, who identified the Jewish collective memory with transcendent elements, or elements with transcendent mean-

11



Moshe Idel expressed a similar approach to that of Funkenstein: “This view of Jewish history through the glasses of history was constructed on top of a tradition that dealt with history much less, although of course it operated within history. This proposed a new definition of Judaism: not a primarily moral or religious-intellectual system, but a cultural-religious system, defined by its history. The modern addiction to history was constructed on top of the self-awareness of traditional thinkers who seemed completely apathetic to this sort of thinking” (Idel, 2006, 190). In this spirit, Idel states that “The “historical Jew” is a sort of identity that grew slowly” (ibid., 201).

Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

ing, an identification that made his contrast theory almost inevitable, Funkenstein explicitly aims “to refrain from postulating an unbridgeable gap between collective memory and the recording of history” (ibid., 9). On this point his words are unambiguous: “Yerushalmi […] inevitably polarizes the contrast between historical narrative and “collective memory.” It is my contention that, with or without historiography proper, creative thinking about history —past or present —never ceased” (ibid., 10–11).12 Like the concept of the collective memory, the historical continuity thesis is anchored in the immanence that applies to its two basic constituent dimensions —consciousness and reality. The continuity denotes an ongoing process of conscious reference to sources and contents from the tradition, and at the same time denotes the role of real reality as a permanent object and context for the act of reference itself. However, this immanent foundation does not dictate the historical continuity, since it depends on the realization in the present of conscious references toward the past. In fact, Funkenstein’s perception of historical consciousness as a mechanism that mediates between the personal and collective memory already entails the understanding that historical continuity is not guaranteed. In any case, just like the continuity between the collective memory and historiography, it does not take place of its own accord. Even though historical continuity is not guaranteed, the mediating nature of consciousness is capable of preventing the contrast Yerushalmi sketched between the collective memory and historiography. The continuity is not equivalent to identifying with a particular content or meaning granted to any event or aspect of the collective memory, but denotes this memory being a permanent object of reference of the group members. Since these references are rooted in a different context and conducted by different subjects each time, the contents of the collective memory change frequently, and sometimes new contents permeate it. The continuity is therefore a sort of empty

12



In this context, see the similar attitude of Amnon Raz-Krakotzkin to this issue. In his opinion, the fact that modern Jewish historians rejected the perception regarding divine providence revealed in history does not necessarily imply a fracture line. To a great extent, this process is parallel to one that took place in non-Jewish history, when the religious approach of the past was replaced by a secular and more immanent approach. See RazKrakotzkin, 2007, 531.

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­ attern filled each time with the entire act of reference directed to the p collective memory.13 To the extent that the memory embodies a reference to the reality that occurred in the past, it is one of the representation modes of this reality by the individuals and groups that bear it in the present. The concept of historical consciousness plays a decisive role in the formulation of the continuity thesis. First, since consciousness is mechanism of reference and generalization, individuals may transcend into the group with which they identify. At the same time, individuals also absorb into their personal world meanings and significance offered to them by the collective memory. Since the conscious reference is always anchored in a given present, while the memory contains a range of contents and realities from the past, the continuity between the individual and the group also enfolds the basic connection existing between the present and the past. Moreover, in Funkenstein’s approach, historical consciousness becomes a condition for the realization of the historical continuity, due to the accommodating nature of this consciousness, thanks to which it actualizes, adapts, and adopts contents and elements from the past into the reality of present-day life. Since the collective and the personal memory occur, according to Funkenstein, on the level of immanent human conscious action, the mentioned condition is a given of the immanent system itself. Eventually, the inclusion of the collective memory, historical consciousness, and historiography within one immanent framework diverted from the center of discussion the question of the status of the ideas —a subject at the focus of Yerushalmi’s approach, finding them to have the power of a  transcendent presence. Instead, it opened the door to discussing the contents of the collective memory and of historical consciousness itself. Thus, historical consciousness indicates that the relation to the collective memory is mainly one of content. Funkenstein found evidence for his position regarding the immanent-content emphasis of the relation to the past’s sources in the Halakhic literature in which, in his opinion, “Here we find distinctions of time and place throughout: […] exact knowledge of the place and time of the messengers and teachers of halakha, the estimated monetary

13



On the protection of the perception of tradition from identification with particular contents, see Shils, 1981, 12.

Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

value of coins mentioned in the sources […]. In the realm of halakha, every “event” was worthy of preserving, including minority opinions” (Funkenstein, 1993, 17). The halakhic writing sketched by Funkenstein shows similarities to that of the modern historian, whom Yerushalmi describes as follows: “No subject is potentially unworthy of his interest, no document, no artifact, beneath his attention” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 94). For Yerushalmi, these features embody the break separating modern historians from the collective memory, while from Funkenstein’s point of view: Normative Judaism did not preserve a continuous record of political events in the form of chronicles or historical studies. It did, however, preserve a continuous and chronological record of legal innovations and until the nineteenth century, Jews viewed the raison d’être of their nation in the halakha. Innovations of halakha were genuine “historical” happenings, and the term “innovation” (chidush) itself indicates that every halakhic ruling had to have historical, even if fictitious, legitimacy. (Funkenstein, 1993, 18)

Funkenstein’s understanding of halakhic innovations (chidushim) as expressing each era’s attempt to explain the past sources in its own way, while relating to the context in which the ruling was performed aiming to fulfill the concrete needs arising from real life, enabled him to view their continuous chronological record as an expression of the historical consciousness contemporary to their writers.14 Funkenstein’s argument that nineteenth-century Jewish historicism “was not altogether sudden” (Funkenstein, 1993, 9) now receives

14



David Myers compares the approaches of Funkenstein and Jacob Katz, who also famously saw the halakhah as a historical source. According to Myers, Funkenstein takes a further step beyond Katz’s approach and asks what historical consciousness is reflected in the halakhic sources. Funkenstein’s answer is that historical consciousness is apparent in the innovations. But Myers criticizes Funkenstein for not proposing a sufficient explanation for the category of historical consciousness, which is so central in his approach. He adds, correctly, that Funkenstein’s position in this context makes a leap from the validation of a halakhic argument, which traditionally established itself through references to past scholars (asmachta), to the western historical consciousness. See Myers, 1992, 131–2.

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its full meaning. The fact that immanent references to the collective memory change regularly according to the context from which they are made does not enable a particular phenomenon to be defined as an innovation. Simply, the innovation is built into the immanent infrastructure, and therefore an innovation always exists from the very reference to the context, which is constantly subject to changes or alterations. Nothing is permanent in contrast to which something can be declared as new. It is interesting that precisely on the issue of the possibility of innovation regarding the Jewish collective memory, a surprising meeting takes place between Funkenstein’s approach and that of Yerushalmi. As we recall, Yerushalmi’s approach stressed the permanence and uniformity of the Jewish collective memory due to its relation to the transcendent entity, and explicitly rejected the possibility of innovation. Yerushalmi saw the appearance of new phenomena as expressing the weakening and destabilization of the collective memory. In contrast, Funkenstein sees “innovation” as a phenomenon built into the immanent system, within which the collective memory is contained. Perhaps this understanding largely neuters the meaning of the halakhic “innovation,” but it serves Funkenstein in establishing his continuity thesis, and not just because in this context he identifies halakhic writing as historical documentation, which strengthens his basic argument that the start of historical consciousness was much earlier than the establishment of Jewish historicism in the nineteenth century. The weakening and blurring of the dramatic aspect of innovation in favor of stressing the immanent context in which it is rooted accord with the continuity thesis, whose immediate meaning is that the history of the Jewish people did not experience sharp transitions. Against this background, historical consciousness, in Funkenstein’s approach, transpires as a frame of reference to subjects that interest the group that bears it. But the very existence of this framework does not depend on a fixed or agreed object to which the references of the group members are directed, or on a specific meaning they attribute to it. Undoubtedly, the choice to anchor the continuity of the historical consciousness in the contents causes shifts in the collective memory originating with the changing interpretations of these contents. However, it seems that in Funkenstein’s approach it is actually the contents, whose crystallization indicates the active relation of historical consciousness to the collective memory, which can serve as a foundation for the realization of the continuity without guaranteeing a particular meaning of any specific content. Funkenstein’s approach even

Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

assumes the possibility of completely new contents being introduced. This approach is radically different from Yerushalmi’s approach, which did not see the collective memory as a conscious-subjective act but rather as a receptacle for a transcendent entity. Thus, when this entity’s power was weakened, the relation to the Jewish collective memory was also harmed. While for Yerushalmi a break and detaching occur as a result of moving away from the particular contents and the recognition of their status as embodying a transcendent being, for Funkenstein they take place when the mental frame of reference directed at the contents of the collective memory as an object is harmed, meaning when historical consciousness is weakened. Funkenstein’s understanding of the immanent framework within whose boundaries the collective memory and the historical consciousness are formed, which included the possibility that they could contain and refer to transcendent elements, enabled him to identify the obligatory and conserving element in the process of historical selection. While Yerushalmi focused on the aspects of subtraction and diminution occurring within this process, and connected them to the weakening of the transcendent element in the modern Jewish collective memory, for Funkenstein historical selection is an expression of the active involvement of the group members in referring to their past and interpreting it, an involvement without which the collective memory as such cannot exist. Furthermore, in his opinion, even if what survives the historical process is not consciously recognized by the collective as a permanent element in the collective memory, its presence in the collective memory shapes it as such (Funkenstein, 1993, 9–10). Like Hegel, Funkenstein recognized the connecting and preserving dimensions of human experience and their power to overcome the selection processes active in human history. The particular and the private, which by nature are temporary and rooted in a specific context, are removed in favor of the general and the universal, which are preserved and sometimes even crystallized as archetypes that rise above time and place (ibid., 20–1). Against this background, it is no wonder that Funkenstein did not list selectivity as a distinct feature of the collective memory, let alone as a problem threatening to disrupt its image. In any case, he did not consider problematic the processes of filtering and distinguishing that regularly occur in historical research. Fundamentally, the selection process is an inseparable part of the immanent framework in which conscious references are constantly occurring, and Funkenstein’s approach is decisively rooted.

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D. The Secularization and the Static Nature of Jewish History Funkenstein adopts the standard explanation in modern historiography, linking the approach that viewed the Jewish past as static with the political reality of the exile: “The communities of Israel, in the diaspora and in Israel […] saw themselves as political objects rather than subjects. Wherefore the political events of their own history as it developed did not seem to them “worthy of memory’: it was not their history” (Funkenstein, 1993, 16). Against this background, he clarifies that he is not opposing Yerushalmi’s basic statement that “until the nineteenth century Judaism lacked a continuous historiographic tradition” (ibid., 15). The two historians shared the view linking the perception of Jewish history as static and its understanding up to the modern era as religious history anchored in a deep connection to God.15 However, as we will now see, each of them gave the static nature in this context his own meaning. For Yerushalmi, the static nature does not denote a feature of the self-perception of Jews up to the modern era, but rather a real dimension in the Jewish collective memory itself. To a large extent, this static nature is one of the most important embodiments of Jewish history subject to divine providence, making it unique and distinguishing it from the histories of other nations. The static nature of Jewish history thus captures both the permanence and independence attributed to the transcendent entity and the passivity characterizing the subject in the Jewish collective memory. Funkenstein, in contrast, interpreted the static nature as the contents of the Jews’ self-perception up to the modern era. In his opinion, the real context plays a decisive role not just in shaping any certain historical perception, but first and foremost regarding the status granted to history itself as a discipline and as a source for understanding human phenomena. In this spirit he wrote: “History did not win its royal status in the nineteenth century due to a new methodical discovery, but due to the new role of history in the European nation states after the French revolution” (Funkenstein, 1995b, 337). It is precisely

15



For further discussion, see also Amnon Raz-Krakotzkin’s interpretation of the idea of static in Jewish and Christian history, Raz-Krakotzkin, 2007, 533–7.

Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

because Funkenstein links the idea of a static nature and the religious orientation toward history that he believed (somewhat naively): You may expect that the career of this topos ended with the dawn of modern historical reasoning, when even Jewish historians ceased to view “the eternity of Israel” as a divine premise and promise and had to introduce evolutionary paradigms into the study of Jewish history or even Jewish religion. (Funkenstein, 1995a, 7)

This statement is reminiscent of the one that opened our discussion, dealing with the reality of the possibility to sidetrack the character of God. “But this was not the case” (ibid.). Attempts to separate a stable “essence” which accounts for the continuity of the Jewish past as against a margin of changing “appearances,” or attempts to separate that which is original and therefore homegrown, autochthonous, from that which has been absorbed —these characterize not only the traditional selfperception of Jews but, in a transformed and more nuanced language, also the perception of many, if not all, Jewish historians even today. (Funkenstein, 1995a, 5)16

This carries over the “rooted position against assimilation” from its religious origin to the context of an approach that is “secular-cultural today,” or in other words: […] only carried the distinction between the stable “essence” and assimilatory “appearance” over from a theological into a  historical idiom, i. e., instead of assuming the continuity of Israel to be a divine, transcendent premise and promise they tried to prove it immanently, within history. (Funkenstein, 1995a, 8)

16



The article where these words appeared was written in 1996. Needless to say, it is difficult to guess whether his assessment would have been different today.

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The phrase “carry over” once again testifies to the essential marginality of God, thanks to which one can preserve more or less the same framework even when he has been removed from it. Funkenstein’s overtly secular approach, devoted to discovering the immanent dimensions of Jewish history, is constructed step by step in this context. In the first stage, Funkenstein locates the religious interpretation of Jewish history within the realm of historical consciousness, and accordingly interprets it as planted in a concrete time and place. Thus he determines that Yerushalmi “approached […] the truth in traditional Jewish historical consciousness” (Funkenstein, 1991, 25).17 The connection Funkenstein makes between Yerushalmi’s approach and historical consciousness, a term absent from Yerushalmi, seeks to rescue the Jewish collective memory from the chains binding it to the transcendent. These chains, embodied in Yerushalmi’s approach in the fixed particular content that is responsible for the static shaping of Jewish history, are replaced, upon the introduction of historical consciousness into the discussion, with the immanent framework based mainly on contemporary mental connections. Thus Funkenstein rejects not only the general meaning Yerushalmi granted to the static element in the perception of the Jewish past, but also the meaning of the static nature itself. Now it no longer denotes an unchanging given but rather a conscious element, constantly subject to interpretation and change.18

17

Funkenstein considers that “In emphasizing the typological element in traditional Jewish historical consciousness, Yerushalmi exaggerates” (Funkenstein, 1993, 16). In his opinion, the typological position is the exception that proves the rule, which does not suit the typological and ahistorical framework Yerushalmi set regarding the Jewish collective memory. Funkenstein demonstrates his words with reference to Nachmanides. See his article “History and Typology: Nachmanides’s Reading of Biblical Narrative,” ibid., 98–121.

18

In this context it is interesting to compare Leon Wieseltier’s interpretation of the concept of static. In his opinion, the static nature actually reflects the ethos of Jewish historicism in the nineteenth century, which sought to remove from the Jewish past the essentiality of the mystical traditions; see Wieseltier, 1984, 138–9. From this point of view, the static nature of the collective memory was not the object of the harm the scientific ethos caused, but its result. If Yerushalmi and Wieseltier’s approaches are joined together, it can be argued that following the nineteenth-century Jewish historicism, one static nature was replaced with another.





Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

The connection between the weight granted to the static element and its meaning in Funkenstein’s approach is clear: the immanent perception of this element cannot grant it a fixed status and meaning, transcendent in relation to real events, since like any conscious contents, the meaning and weight of the static element in the perception of the Jewish past are liable to change. In the second stage, against the background of establishing the alternative immanent approach to Jewish history, Funkenstein turned to an idea close to that of the static nature, regarding the uniqueness of Jewish history compared to that of other nations. Inevitably, the radical immanent approach stabs at the heart of the idea of the uniqueness of Jewish history. As with his understanding of the static nature of Jewish history, Funkenstein also understood the classical ideal of the uniqueness of Jewish history as anchored in “a transcendent assumption [whereby] “Israel has no guiding star”—Israel is outside the laws of nature, it is unique in its law” (Funkenstein, 1995b, 341). Accordingly, the path of the Jewish people in history is not exposed to the traces of time. Funkenstein states explicitly that Jewish history was regularly subject to the influence of its surroundings: “Yet no conscientious historian dares to deny the obvious, namely that Jewish culture exhibited always and everywhere formidable mimetic forces, that it adjusted to the most diverse climates” (Funkenstein, 1995a, 6). Typically, Funkenstein faces a metaphysical idea using real immanent tools. In this spirit he states, “The question: what is original and therefore autochthonous in Jewish culture, as against what is borrowed, assimilated and therefore of alien provenance —that question is more often than not wrong and ahistorical” (Funkenstein, 1995a, 10). In his opinion, it is not possible to distinguish between “essential “assimilation” and accidental “adjustment,” the one bad and evitable, the other good and inevitable” (ibid., 6), or between endogenous and exogenous sources acting on culture (ibid., 9). Eventually, “assimilation and self-assertion are truly dialectical processes” (ibid., 11), since, as Hegel taught, “in order to become ourselves, we have to become “the other”” (ibid., 11). This means that contact with otherness, and its absorption into the Jewish being, are basic elements of Jewish history. Although, unlike Yerushalmi, from Funkenstein’s point of view the otherness is not transcendent but participates in the same immanent context in which the individuals composing the collective take part. In the third stage, the evaluation that the distinction between endogenous and exogenous, between autochthonous and alien, is

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groundless led Funkenstein to reject in principle the search for the original and primary, and with it the nineteenth-century historicistic ethos based upon it: “We rather ought to look for originality in the end product, not in the origins of its ingredients. The end product, no matter which sources fed into it, is original in some respects if it is unlike anything in its environment” (Funkenstein, 1995a, 10). This creates a fundamental reversal in the hierarchy of temporal dimensions. Instead of the static understanding of Jewish history, placing in its center the Jewish past as a source that is a criterion for evaluating the present events, the present itself is awarded the status of a source precisely due to the stamp of change imprinted within it. Despite this, the continuity of the collective memory is guaranteed by constant reference to a shared “given.”19 However, the meaning of this “given” is determined each time anew, in the act of reference itself: in the collective memory, in the personal memory, in the historical consciousness, and in each mental act involving a reference to the given. The debate between Yerushalmi and Funkenstein regarding the continuity of the Jewish collective memory in the modern era is not about the contents of the Jewish collective memory, although they did not see eye to eye on this aspect either. For Yerushalmi, the central content is faith in divine providence of Jewish history and the uniqueness of this history (Yerushalmi, 1989, 90), while for Funkenstein the content is the consciousness of the origin in historical time and the choice of the Jewish people (Funkenstein, 1993, 11). Funkenstein’s response to Yerushalmi’s argument that the Jewish collective memory has shriveled in the modern era (ibid., 254) does not rely on facts dealing with the scope of the collective memory among nineteenthcentury historians, though Funkenstein still argues that “the historian is aware […] that every generation reinterprets the past with its biases but also with its new canon of fruitful questions” (Funkenstein, 1993, 25). These statements could have at most provided ad hoc answers to the traditional perception of the Jewish collective memory expressed by Yerushalmi. However, it appears that Funkenstein sought more than that: he aimed to propose a complete substitute for the meta-

19



The idea is that the canonical text —the “given”—is not closed, and that the sages require the text but constantly pour new meaning into it. For an analysis of the halakhic tradition in this spirit, see Berkovitz, 1981; Halbertal, 1997; Sagi, 1998, 216–56.

Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

physical worldview centered on the transcendent reality, in the shape of a radical immanent perception of the Jewish collective memory. The processes of immanentizing the collective memory and of historicizing the traditional Jewish past, to whose establishment the continuity thesis is devoted, led Funkenstein not only to crown the present as the decisive dimension in shaping the collective memory, but also to understand the relation of present-day people to the collective memory as primarily practical. The continuity denotes the active presence of an actual context of referring to the past and of the subject producing meaning and value from this reference. But the actual connection to the past is not solely responsible for the continuity. Present-day people’s acts of referring to the collective memory already encompass the past presence, preventing the possibility of separating the personal memory from the collective memory or the past from the present. At this point, Funkenstein’s words are illuminating: “memory, not even the most intimate and personal, can be isolated from the social context, from the language and the symbolic system molded by the society over centuries” (Funkenstein, 1993, 5).20

E. Subject, Subjectivism, and Relativism The unqualified anchor in immanence raises the problem of subjectivism: do the different referrals to the past subject not subjectivize it? Funkenstein was aware of this problem and even stressed the central role of the subject as an essential part, without which no human experience could take place at all: Any attempt to destroy completely the status of the subject is a philosophical illusion. A thorough examination will show that it always inherently assumes another subject: there is no escape

20



The perception of the present as permeated with past presence is developed and extensively analyzed in Gadamer’s hermeneutic theory. Elsewhere I have discussed the hermeneutic relation between the continuity model and Gadamer’s approach. See Miron, 2007, 201–12; 2013b.

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from a subject, not in epistemology, not in history, and not in life. (Funkenstein, 1995b, 346)21

Indeed, the problem of subjectivism arises only when one identifies the subject as an individual who arbitrarily and freely creates systems of meaning. If one assumes, like Funkenstein, a different perception of subject, the problem is completely removed. Funkenstein, under clear Hegelian influence, describes the subject as the epistemological basis for every area of life, and therefore there is no possibility of consciousness and knowledge without a knowing subject. But the subject is not the creator or the constitutor of consciousness, since he is himself constituted by the conscious activity in which he is involved. The subject is his own action throughout history, and does not emerge ex nihilo or transcend his own space of action.22 This historical-cultural perception of the subject rescues him from subjectivism. This approach also gives space for a transcendent element, interpreted as a dimension exceeding the consciousness of the collective members at a given time, even if the recognition of the transcendent element relies on an immanent understanding of history. Thus the historical-cultural approach does not involve surrendering substance as a real element in historical events. Moreover, anchoring the historical consciousness in the present does not require denying the element of historical accumulation, since the subject itself is historical and thus cannot transcend history.23 Funkenstein states explicitly that “continuity is an inviolable condition for identifying the historical subject” (Funkenstein, 1995b, 342), meaning identifying the permanent substantive dimension in history, filled by the details of individual events.24 Moreover, according to Funkenstein, even when historical consciousness forms as a “proto-narrative,” perceived as an extra-subjective and sometimes transcendent element in the consciousness of

21

For further expansion on the essentiality of individualism, see Frank, 1986. Funkenstein himself refers to Frank in 1995b, 346 n. 33.

22

See Funkenstein, 1995b, 336.

23



For further discussion of the principle of historical accumulation, see Nathan Rotenstreich’s discussion of historical causality and regularity, Rotenstreich, 1973, 134–80.

24



On the issue of the historical subject, see Rotenstreich, 1962, 53–77. This issue will be discussed in Part Four, dealing with Nathan Rotenstreich’s thought.



Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

the collective members, this does not detract from the subject’s status in shaping the collective memory; it functions as a dominant element in the history of that group: Since the proto-narrative is the identity of the subject and the subject himself —each I lives the proto-narrative he shaped not just in his words, but in his actions and his life —the attempt to renounce the proto-narrative is nothing but an illusion. While the authentic story does not attempt to smooth over contrasts and even contradictions in self-identity, there is an authentic story of the past, even if the criteria for its construction and identification are ad hoc and not subject to being phrased as an algorithm. The real reality and its image in the narrative are not tested by a naïve relation of representation, adequatio rei ad intellectum, but by a very complicated dialectical relation of mutual shaping. (Funkenstein, 1995b, 346)

Funkenstein was aware of the postmodernist trends, in particular deconstructionism, that flourished in the second half of the twentieth century, one of whose prominent consequences was the annihilation of the presence of the subject. It appears that he sought to ensure that the central status granted to the subject in his perception of history, as part of its immanent foundation and in particular as a vital element in constituting conscious links to the past, would not affiliate it with these trends.25 Funkenstein’s consistent appeal to the immanent foundation of consciousness determines the meaning of the concepts of past, historiography, continuity, and collective memory. These denote a network of relations between different subjective consciousnesses, between history and memory, and between past and present. Particular, c­ hanging,

25



For Funkenstein’s critical position regarding postmodernist trends in current historicism, see Funkenstein, 1992. Interestingly, it was Yerushalmi’s approach, in which the centrality of the subject in modern being did not enable the Jews to maintain their consciousness of their past, that left room for a quite extreme subjectivisitic postmodernist reading. An example of such a reading can be seen in Shalhuv, 2001. Yerushalmi himself admitted that “Many things in post-modernism worry me and I reject them.” However, according to his testimony, his personal connection with Derrida “turned all this into something else for me” (Yerushalmi, 2005, 20).

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and dynamic contents exist within this network. The relativistic appearance arising from this description seems to threaten the continuity thesis at the center of Funkenstein’s approach. He insists that placing the conscious framework as a  general context within which historiography and the Jewish collective memory take place does not in any way reduce the possible contact with certain incommensurable contents. In this spirit, he states “the modern historian is saturated not only with a sense of proximity to the objects of his historical investigations, but also with a sense of right that was very far from his professional predecessors: the past is unique and almost untranslatable” (Funkenstein, 1991, 29). Thus Funkenstein’s approach views immanent consciousness as a general frame of reference, and in principle also as a receptacle for particular contents. This means that recognizing the immanent fixation of the historical “given,” meaning recognizing the shaping weight of the present and the subject on the historical given —the fact, the source, the memory, the symbol, the myth, and so on —does not necessarily distance it from the fixed and unchanging structure present in it, or deny the substantive dimension as a real element in the historical occurrence. In other words, even an approach anchored in a solid immanent structure, such as Funkenstein’s, leaves room to understand the different references to the past as expressing different interpretations of the substantive, whether perceived as unique or as universal. Indeed, the immanent relations to the past given change for different subjects at different times, but since the subjective being is not restricted to its own boundaries, it too preserves the substantive dimension that exceeds the boundaries of the individual’s reference.26 Therefore, the permanent presence of an unchanging element in the various appearances of references to the collective memory and to the past in general functions as a counter-balance stabilizing the wide anchor of the continuity thesis in immanence, which might provide a guarantee against the arbitrary relativization and subjectivization of the collective memory by the actual consciousness.27

26

See also Funkenstein, 1993, 25.

27

The problem of subjectivism also threatens approaches anchored in immanence that assumes a Cartesian subject. Funkenstein was aware of this problem, and stressed the subject’s role as an essential part, without which no human experience could exist at all (Funkenstein, 1995, 346). For a wide



Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

Funkenstein’s continuity thesis connects the two elements that compose the immanent foundation in which his approach is anchored: the real, which may eventually form a substantive and permanent dimension of the collective memory; and the conscious, originating in real relations of members of different times. The first element denotes the ontological dependence of present-day people on the past reality, while the second denotes the epistemic dependence of the collective memory on the references of present-day people. As a result, the continuity transpires as a structural framework that does not embody an obligation to any fixed or particular content. In fact, the secret of continuity depends on protection from a priori identification with a particular content. As a result, the changes in the contents, forming within the boundaries of the relations directed at the past given, cannot harm the very givenness of the given as a significant element for present-day people. No less than continuity constitutes an indication of the continued interest in the past given itself, it testifies that it is not constituted by the very intentional relation directed at it. Indeed, the constitution of this relation is based on the recognition or even the declaration of its givenness. This means that the immanent foundation in which the continuity thesis is anchored affirms the existence of the collective memory, and simultaneously shapes its continuity. However, the immanent foundation in which the Jewish collective memory is anchored does not restrict its meaning to the real experience of its contents. The dimension of “anticipated present” (Funkenstein, 1993, 7) entailed in the collective memory enables the memory to contain a potential future element. Thanks to this element, even those who have not actually experienced facing the “original” entities, with which the collective memory populates itself and which are sometimes formed as mythologies, can appropriate them as a source of meaning and belonging. If the past to which the collective memory in the continuity thesis refers is subject to constant interpretation and change by present people, the “future” of this memory, meaning its significance and status for future generations, is even more so. Thus the openness of the present to both its directions, past and future,

perspective on the problem of subjectivism and following it relativism, see Bilen, 2000; Bambach, 1995.

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guarantees the continuity of the collective memory.28 Consciousness enables the mobility of contents and meanings appearing in the collective memory from the particular to the universal level. However, even what is perceived as a transcendent element in real life is conditioned upon the affirmation of consciousness and its shaping as such through it. In this respect, consciousness and the subject bearing it create the axis around which continuity is formed as a real experience. Without doubt, the immanentization of the collective memory caused by the continuity thesis has a shaping impact on the status of the subject and of consciousness, the building blocks of the immanent structure in which Funkenstein’s approach is anchored. In fact, the status of consciousness cannot be separated from the shaping of the subject’s character, as might be possible in Yerushalmi’s approach, since for the subject it is precisely his consciousness that is stressed. In general, the conscious activity is founded on the subject’s activism. This is apparent in his role as a judge of the objects of his consciousness, as attributing features to them, and as determining their identity and relation to other objects. The conscious object is always silent compared to the subject referring to it. The implication of this for the perception of the collective memory in the continuity thesis is clear: what is decisive about the contents or status of the memory in the collective members’ eyes is the subject’s conscious shaping, including cases where transcendence is attributed to the content. However, even though Funkenstein’s continuity thesis granted the subject a central status, and stressed the activism he demonstrated toward the objects of his consciousness, the subject does not become omnipotent. This is not only because he requires an object to realize his being as a subject. It was also helped by Funkenstein’s early and probably conscious distancing from the Cartesian perception of the subject at the basis of forming the immanent structure itself. This distancing enabled, among other things, allocating space in his immanent perception to the expressions of the transcendent itself. This means that the intentional relation the subject directs at the past that serves as his object does not necessarily entail an argument regarding the constitution of the past by the subject himself, since he is not considered the sole sovereign of his past in the continuity thesis. Thus, even

28



For more on this context, see the concept of openness in Gadamer, 2004, 268; 350–60.

Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

if a difference arises between the past on which the collective memory is based and the one seen in the historians’ work, these two types of past are located on one sequence of constant reference to the past, which does not detract from the comprehensiveness of the past, which in itself does not exist outside the act of reference itself. Finally, the continuity thesis places at its center the possibilities of access to the collective memory, and the problem of alienation from its sources, but marginalizes the discussion of the ontological status of this memory, and is completely free of concern about preserving the original or particular meaning of its contents: […] the distance between secular Jews […] and traditional Judaism was created not by the lack of historical knowledge and symbols, but by their alienation from texts and textual messages, the halakha and the midrash. (Funkenstein, 1993, 21)29

Naturally, concern for access to the relics of the past clearly involves appropriate modes of relation to the collective memory and an attempt to ensure them. Since originality depends on the finished product without any connection to the sources that fed it (Funkenstein, 1995a, 10), both the past given and the subject of the Jewish collective memory constitute part of an inter-generational discourse that rescues any reference to the past from the individual boundaries of the referring subject and places it in one continuum with references by other subjects in both the present and the past. Now it transpires that the past can never be considered a static given, since it is constantly shaped by active human consciousness. Thus the meaning of the object of reference taken from the collective memory cannot be fixed in advance, but always retrospectively. As a result, both the given and the subject referring to it may change, just as the reality in which people live and act is subject to processes

29



However, it is difficult to ignore the fact that a significant part of the connection to the past and to the collective memory in Funkenstein’s approach depends on realizing epistemic relations to the canonical sources of the culture. The problematic nature of this approach can also be seen in Assmann’s approach, according to which what attracts individuals to their culture and its memory is not primarily intellectual curiosity, interested in acquiring knowledge about its past, but the need for identity and belonging. See Assmann, 1995, 131.

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of change and development. As paradoxical as it may appear, in Funkenstein’s continuity thesis the change category transpires as an integral part of the mechanism of explaining and referring to the collective memory. This insight is directly expressed in Funkenstein’s attitude toward the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums.

F. The Wissenschaft des Judentums and the Historian’s Power At the basis of Funkenstein’s approach to the Wissenschaft des Judentums is the argument that the extensive differences between the perception of history arising from the Bible and the historicism developed by nineteenth-century Jews do not destabilize the continuity of the Jewish collective memory. Unlike Yerushalmi, who assumed a contrast between the transcendent entity at the basis of the traditional collective memory and its representation through historical tools in the consciousness of the modern subject, Funkenstein’s immanent approach has no room for such a contrast: […] historical consciousness, throughout the ages, does not contradict the collective memory, but is rather a developed and organized form of it. The same holds true of historiography proper. (Funkenstein, 1993, 18–19)

As we recall, in his approach immanent consciousness is capable of recognizing entity-like beings, including a transcendent object. The very accessibility to consciousness, including historical consciousness, does not include within it a position regarding the objects themselves being immanent. Thus in principle the transcendent being can be represented using historical tools. Also, even if there is a  difference between the past on which the collective memory is based and the one emerging in the work of the historians, these two pasts are located on one continuum of constant reference to the past. This reference does not detract from its comprehensiveness, which does not exist outside it. Understanding the collective memory as free from fixation by particular contents also echoes in Funkenstein’s interpretation of the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, which in his opinion was aimed at establishing the universal dimensions of Judaism: “[…] in the

Chapter Two. Amos Funkenstein (1937–1995): Historical Consciousness and…

nineteenth century, this consciousness has been turned upside down; for the generation of gradually emancipated and secularized Jews, the uniqueness of Israel came to mean its universality” (Funkenstein, 1993, 20). However, recognizing the immanent fixation of the given by the relation to it does not involve distancing from the permanent and unchanging or even substantive foundation of the past given. Moreover, the differences between the various references to the Jewish past arise from different interpretations of an essentially substantive element, whether Jewish-particular or universal. With each reference the relation to the given exceeds the subject’s individuality, and in this context, the historian’s individuality. Funkenstein states “[…] historiography likewise reflected the accepted norms and ideals of the society it served” (Funkenstein, 1993, 21). In this respect, there is no reason to assume that among the various references directed from the present to the past, the historian or his work have a special status, such as Yerushalmi attributed to them. Funkenstein explains: While it is true that during the nineteenth century historiography became professionalized and, therefore, less accessible to the reading public, it is likewise true that at the same time the historian was given a special position as a high priest of culture, responsible for the legitimation of the nation state. (Ibid., 19)

The readers of historical research and members of the profession “faithfully reflected the desires and self-image of nineteenth century Jews craving emancipation, the mood of the “perplexed of the times”” (Funkenstein, 1993, 19). Even if the national consciousness of a particular group relied on elements taken from its past, as Funkenstein states, that “In the nation-state of the nineteenth century, “collective memory” was in part constructed by historians,” who were the natural candidates for this due to the assumption that “writing history can best be done from the inside” (ibid.).30 Funkenstein believes that the historian’s status reflects widespread processes in the society in which he operates. Thus, just as “[American and European] society has lost its faith in its own homogeneity, and even in its right to impose cultural or political homogeneity, the historian has lost faith in

30



On this basis, Funkenstein linked the crisis of the nation state during World War I and the crisis of historicism. See Funkenstein, 1993, 19.

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the homogeneous proto-narrative. The status of the proto-narrative was only destabilized because the status of the historical subject of which the historian was a part was destabilized” (Funkenstein, 1995b, 340). Similarly, Funkenstein states that “[…] in the history of Zionism and the Jewish settlement of Palestine, historiography likewise reflected the norms and ideals of the society it served” (Funkenstein, 1993, 21). Thus, instead of arguing like Yerushalmi that the radical historization of Judaism distanced the nineteenth-century Wissenschaft des Judentums people from the Jewish collective memory, Funkenstein suggests examining “The collective memory of the community in which the Wissenschaft des Judentums was embedded” (Funkenstein, 1993, 19). This means examining the Wissenschaft des Judentums not in light of an ideal picture of the Jewish past, such as the one on which Yerushalmi’s approach was based, but in relation to the present and the context in which it formed. While Funkenstein did not conduct this examination himself, he seemed convinced it would be capable of revealing that the Wissenschaft des Judentums was a link in the chain of various attempts by Jews in the past and present to achieve selfunderstanding in relation to their place and their time. In this context, a perception of a past not formed within and through human experience cannot have a meaning. In Funkenstein’s perception of the past subjectivity and objectivity, immanence and transcendence, the changing and the substantive are thus constantly joining together. There is no point in criticizing the Jewish historian for what he cannot do as a human being —detach himself from the collective memory. To the extent that the subject identifies the Jewish past as his own past, he inevitably chains himself to it as a member of the present and as someone facing the future.

Chapter Three

History between Transcendence and Immanence The phenomenological gaze directed at the approaches of Yerushalmi and Funkenstein sought to retrieve from them the features of the modern Jewish being, against the background of the processes of historicization and secularization it experienced. The different metaphysical foundations of the two approaches, revealed in the discussion and presented as the source of the differences between them, enable two paradigm models for dealing with the metaphysical problem of the relations between transcendence and immanence in the historical space. The model based on Yerushalmi’s approach is largely crystallized around the element of transcendence, and it will be named here the “break model.” In contrast, the model based on Funkenstein’s approach, relying on the consistent relation to the immanent space, will be called here the “continuity model.” The break model is based on the recognition of the forceful presence of the transcendent given, overcoming the many shades of immanence, and especially consciousness, the subject, history, and time in general. The surplus of the transcendent given over its immanent expressions is apparent in its characteristic unconditional fixity, thanks to which it does not absorb the historical and concrete temporality, and thus it is not supposed to encounter the problem of historical continuity between different eras. To the extent that one can attribute to the break model a  temporal dimension, it would have a metaphysical nature that is not the result or expression of a constituting conscious act.31 Real time, the framework within which historical research takes place, is considered in the break model as a sort of

31



In this context, compare with Eliade’s “time of origin” myth. This myth is directly linked to the “fear of history” theme in his thought, and to his critique of historicism, which has interesting similarities to that of Yerushalmi. See Eliade, 1971; 1987. Compare in this context the idea of “islands of time” in Assmann’s cultural memory theory (Assmann, 1995, 129).

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substrate on which the events appear, without constituting an active dimension in them. When real time becomes an active element, when it influences the nature or determines the meaning of events occurring within it, a break takes place, denoting the transition from atemporality to temporality and historicity, or alternatively, the transition from metaphysical to real temporality.32 In contrast, in the continuity model, the dominant power that constitutes the meaning and significance of human existence resides in immanence, with its range of expressions. The unity that forms in the break model due to the power of the fixity and independence of the transcendent given are replaced in the continuity model by multiplicity, variance, and constant change. The organizing element of continuity is the subject’s conscious act, revealing activity toward the real events comprising the human world, in both the past and the present. In this context, the transcendent given can find space, but the subject’s conscious act has primacy and precedence over it. Thus the continuity denotes the structure that organizes the occurrences on the historical, real, and temporal level. Of course, the organization of events or occurrences on one continuum does not necessarily imply the existence of a shared meaning. Indeed, the structure of continuity overcomes the changing contents that appear on the axis of real time, and it unconditioned on particular contents. In any case, continuity itself is an expression of conscious content bearing a permanent structure. From a phenomenological point of view, the various givens at the basis of the two models require a different disposition. The disposition that suits the transcendent object requires first and foremost restraint of the drive (on the part of the individual) to grant this object meaning through consciousness, from the recognition that the sovereignty the subject displays toward the objects of his consciousness is out of place when the object is transcendent, since its meaning is not the fruit of the subject’s conscious constitution. Through constant criticism of the active disposition toward the object, the subject’s activity

32



David Myers notes that throughout history Jews lived in two areas of temporality, between which there existed relations of tension and contrast: the sacred, controlled by providence, and the secular, denoting their connection to the political-economic-social world that linked them to the calendar of their surroundings. See Myers, 2003, 13.

Chapter Three. History between Transcendence and Immanence

is channeled to restrain and moderate the drive to represent objects.33 The peak of the activity directed at the subject is portrayed in the achievement of a passive position, whose existence is constantly fed by the restraint that withdraws the subject from controlling the space of objects, and thus creates the space in which the transcendent entity can appear before him. More precisely, the subject’s passive disposition enables the transcendent entity to be made present precisely in its transcendence, rather than an immanent representation of it.34 It is important to clarify that for its own part, the transcendent entity is autonomous and independent of a particular shaping of the subject’s disposition. However, in order to enable its present in his world, the subject is required to adopt a passive stance toward it. There is no doubt that these restrictions consciousness has to accept in order to face the being of transcendent entities may detract from the transparency of these entities for the subject referring to them and the subject’s ability to assimilate them into his mental world. But this is precisely how he can experience the transcendent nature of beings whose accessibility to human consciousness is difficult or perhaps even blocked. Indeed, unlike immanent objects, the transcendent ones will never achieve complete transparency and thus always remain opaque. In contrast, the disposition suiting the immanent object is primarily active, and appears first and foremost in fixing the object as an object of the knowing subject. This positioning makes consciousness active and the object its acted-upon element, meaning that the conscious activity is founded on a clear hierarchy between the act of knowing and the object at which it is directed. The subject judges the object, attributes qualities to it, determines its identity, and decides the relation between it and other objects. The object is always silent, and the subject is the one that constitutes the object. At the depth of this issue, these two models are based on different perceptions of the concepts of immanence and transcendence and

33

Hedwig Conrad-Martius, an important though unknown phenomenologist, dealt extensively with the need to restrain the tendency of consciousness to represent objects and grant them meaning in order to enable facing an entity (see Conrad-Martius, 1916, 386). For more on the critique of the active disposition, see Avi Sagi’s discussion of Levinas’ approach (Sagi, 2005, 94–100).

34

See Fuchs, 1976, 6–36.





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of the relations between these terms. In the break model, these terms denote real modes of existences of entities: immanence denotes the intra-worldly existence of humans rooted in time and space, and the real reality surrounding them. Transcendence denoted God and his mark, for example in providence over historical reality. This conceptual perception thus determines an unbridgeable gap between immanence and transcendence, and the relations between them are fixed and hierarchical. Transcendence has the primary status, while immanence is subject to it and determined by it. Conversely, in the continuity model immanence and transcendence do not denote entities with independent existence, but two dimensions of the subject’s mental activity: immanence denotes the intentional action of consciousness directed at objects, while transcendence is identified with the object of conscious activity that exists beyond it and is not necessarily the fruit of its own creation. Since even a transcendent object is part of consciousness’ immanent framework, in Husserl’s terms transcendence in the continuity model can be characterized as “immanent transcendence,” meaning: “the Objective world does not, in the proper sense, transcend that sphere or that sphere’s own intersubjective essence.”35 Despite the fact that in the continuity model no hierarchical relations exist between immanence and transcendence, logical precedence is still granted to the immanent element, since it is the subject of the entire range of mental activity, including the activity that posits the transcendent.36 In any case, since in the continuity model the two terms, immanence and transcendence, denote two dimensions simultaneously present in the same immanent framework, they should be understood as equally primary. Furthermore, the two models are based on different concepts of truth. The break model is ruled by a split between transcendent, a priori, and non-experiential elements on the one hand, and a particular real human reality on the other hand. The concept of truth suiting this split system is the accommodation concept, in which there is

35

Husserl, 1960, 107. For a discussion of this concept, see e. g., Kockelmans, 1994, 288–90.

36

This precedence applies also to Husserl’s own approach. Even though the intentional relation places the mental act and its object on the same level, the act has precedence over its object, as its constituent element. See Mohanty, 1970, 140.



Chapter Three. History between Transcendence and Immanence

a hierarchy between a particular given and independent transcendent criteria, according to which the truth or falsity of the given is determined. This approach is trapped in a rigid dichotomy that could lead to identifying the truth with a particular content, as indeed happened in Yerushalmi’s approach. Thus, any deviation from the character of the transcendent element, or any change in it, is translated into break and contrast, preventing any possibility of innovation. Conversely, the continuity model assumes a concept of truth that is none other than the meaning shaped each time through the reference to the past object. This perception of truth, largely characteristic of Funkenstein, expresses the exposure or revelation of a  possibility existing in the immanent relation between present and past. In no way does it reflect an accord between present occurrences and a transcendent and atemporal given perceived as belonging to the past.37 The differences revealed by the analysis of the two models may explain the marginal influence of the shared starting point in the shaping of the two models in the Jewish context —the dissipation of the transcendent presence in modern Jewish existence —on the basic and largely a priori perception of human existence by the two historians. Being guided or constituted by a transcendent power, the break model is anchored in an approach that can be defined as an “experience of presence.” In contrast, Funkenstein’s model, which is centered on the intentional experience turning to the objects of consciousness and seeking to determine their meaning, and sometimes even their being, presents an “experience of making present.” These differences are clarified in light of the different concepts of the absolute shaped in the two models. The “experience of presence” reflects a rigid disjunctive perception of the absolute, alternating between two extreme options of confirmation or rejection; while the “experience of making present” is flexible and adapts to the changing historical circumstances.38 Also, each type

37

This concept of truth is close to Heidegger’s concept of “primary truth.” See for example Heidegger, 1993, § 44.

38

A  similar approach, linking the historical perspective to a  flexible understanding of tradition, was expressed by Moshe Idel: “In light of my premise that tradition is a multi-faceted concept, and in fact we should speak about a whole system of traditions —a cumulative, flexible, and developing system —we must eventually include “traditional Judaism” within this system. This does not depend on an abstract Jewish tradition, but on the place the



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of experience corresponds to a different character of subject: the subject in the break model is largely passive. In principle, all that is required of him is to affirm the presence of the transcendent entity as an external reality independent of him, and to adopt the meanings already attributed to it in the collective memory. Perhaps the best way to characterize the experience of the transcendent being at the basis of the break model comes from the world of myth, depicting an independent and transcendent entity not stained by the real historical process.39 The myth, unlike the historian’s treatment of the past as an object of research, is intended to indicate the existence of an independent and transcendent entity, on which the real historical process does not leave any trace. In contrast, the subject of the continuity model shows activism and initiative, whose purpose is to achieve meaning and significance for his existence as an individual and as part of a group. Against this background we can note the main failings of the two models. Recognizing these failings will complete the phenomenological analysis of the models from a critical point of view. As we have seen, in the break model, the past is perceived as representing perfection, independence, and aprioriness.40 Accordingly, this model sketches a relation of contrast between the past or tradition, as a system of ways of life, and the turning of members of a given present to understand and interpret their past. This is perceived as liable to subjectivization and relativization of the past and of the collective memory.41 It appears that the main failing threatening this model is the reduction of the collective existence to the interpretation of the contents of the collective memory and of the past in general. This reduction distorts the transcendent meaning of the past itself. However, although the interpretation of reality, or of a content related to it, can never be identical to experiencing this reality, there is no reason to assume that there is

transmitters of historical Judaism will occupy within the general structure of the Jewish nation” (Idel, 2006, 188). 39

See Yerushalmi, 1989, 97–8: “Many Jews today are in search of a past, but they patently do not want the past that is offered by the historian. […] they are not prepared to confront it [history] directly, but seem to await a new, metahistorical myth.”

40

On the total nature of the past, see Thompson, 1996, 91; Sagi, 2003, 16–7.

41

On the gap between tradition as a living reality and the references to it and attempts to understand it, see Bauman, 1992, 149.





Chapter Three. History between Transcendence and Immanence

necessarily a contradiction between them. Moreover, even awareness of the fluidity of time does not necessarily create such a contrast. In fact, experiencing a certain reality or entity is meaningless, and cannot even be considered an experience, without the human effort to refer to this entity that immediately makes it present. This statement is true also regarding experiencing an entity or reality consciously perceived as transcendent. Indeed, recognizing a particular element as transcendent in itself expresses the fact that it has meaning in a certain immanent context. The existence of this meaning does not necessarily imply that it is constituted by a real subject. In contrast, what is absolutely transcendent cannot be discussed, and to use Wittgenstein’s phrase, “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.”42 Thus, the understanding of the past as a transcendent given does not necessarily imply that its perception is inaccessible to the experience of present-day people. An understanding attributing transcendence to the past can at most serve as a starting point for understanding the past. However, any attempt to progress beyond this starting point introduces into that understanding immanent elements originating in the referrer’s subjective being and in the reality from which the interest in the past arises. The penetration of the conscious dimension into the discussion of the transcendent given is not only inevitable, it is desirable, since without it the given of the past of human experience is negated. Unlike the break model, in the continuity model the transcendent given and the human transcendental experience directed at it do not necessarily exclude each other. The term “transcendent” refers to the status of the object as a being in the world, while the term “transcendental” is epistemological, and as such deals with the conditions of knowledge and the subject’s reference to the world of objects. However, there is no gap, let alone contrast, between the two, since the subject’s very reference to a particular object does not entail a position regarding the ontological status of this object.43

42

Wittgenstein, 1922, 90, § 7.

43

Modern neo-scholastic approaches can serve as an example of the absence of contradiction between a transcendent given and the immanent relation to it. These approaches express desire to the transcendent given on the one hand, but do not see the immanent dimensions accompanying it as threatening the representation of the given with its transcendence on the other hand. See for example Schmücker, 1956.



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Furthermore, the fact that those entrusted with preserving the collective memory are social organizations and institutions, that is, immanent and real present-day bodies, does not accord with the fixity and uniformity attributed a priori to the collective memory in the break model. It is entirely clear that the fact that the interest in the past is that of subjects is not in itself sufficient to subjectivize its object or make it immanent. The influence of the reference on its object depends on the nature of the reference, not just on its occurrence. Thus, for example, if the historian shows commitment to the phenomenon he is studying and enables the different voices within it to be heard, he may find an appropriate way to present it according to its spirit. The sharp contrast between historiography and its object, which is one of the implications of this approach, reflects an incorrect understanding of the very act of objectification. Neither is the continuity model is without problems. Like any approach anchored in immanent consciousness, this model is at risk of not preserving the qualified status of consciousness as a  receptacle for the contents and the references to them, and it would become a constituting authority for the contents themselves.44 The deep awareness of the transcendental nature of human experience that serves as a basic foundation for the continuity model may eventually lead to denying the experience of transcendent entities, whatever the meaning of this experience. The risk of denying that the transcendent entities are entities is critical in the context of this discussion, and may be decisive for the applicability of the continuity model in the interpretation of traditional cultures formed around reference to a transcendent entity or perceiving their history as sacred. To a large extent, perceiving the contents of the collective memory as constituted by the real consciousness of people at a given historical time and place does not accord with the perception of experience anchored in a hierarchical relationship, restricting the subject’s status compared with the status granted to transcendent entities. Moreover, the dominance granted to consciousness and the sovereignty it enjoys in the continuity model raise the risk that the interpretation relying on this model will not be able to preserve the incommensurable character of contents in the col-

44



This argument summarized the main criticism the Munich School directed at Husserl. See Ricoeur, 1967, 115–42; Avé-Lallemant, 1975.

Chapter Three. History between Transcendence and Immanence

lective memory, contents that are an inseparable part of any culture and personal identity.45 The problems revealed in the two models return us to the premises underlying them. But this is not sufficient to dispute the possible hermeneutic applicability of these models for the historical space, since illuminating the boundaries of the explanation typical of each model also clarifies the possibilities they contain to grant meaning to certain aspects of historical existence. The approaches of the three next thinkers to be discussed in this book —Gershom Scholem, Baruch Kurzweil, and Nathan Rotenstreich —demonstrate different modes of dealing with the dichotomous perspective required for one model of explanation or a  single orientation, be it past or present, in favor of a  more complex view, recognizing the mutual interweaving of past and present. In fact, these three approaches reveal the possibilities embodied in each of the two paradigm models, and in this respect they can be considered as second- and third-order attempts to deal with the basic problem that served as a starting point for constituting the approaches of Yerushalmi and Funkenstein, meaning the presence of transcendence in an era of secularization and historical consciousness. Analyzing these three approaches, in the next parts of the book, will seek to reflect on the far-reaching consequences of the two basic paradigms, whose main attributes are represented in Yerushalmi and Funkenstein, but whose implications and impressions go far beyond the influences of nineteenth-century Jewish historicism on the Jewish collective memory and on modern Judaism’s attitude toward tradition and the Jewish past in general.46

45

For a general analysis of the incommensurable argument, see Statman, 1995, 80–6.

46

For further discussion of the two models proposed, and an additonal third model, the tension model, see Ronny Miron, 2013b.



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Part two

GERSHOM SCHOLEM: HISTORY, CONTINUITY, AND SECRET

Chapter One

History and Metaphysics “A metaphysician by inclination and a historian against his wishes,” wrote Yitzhak Baer about Gershom Scholem.1 Within this duality between historian and metaphysician-philosopher echoes the possibility of a “dual path of secular and holy,” which Scholem wondered whether “in our progression we are approaching?” (Scholem, 1995b, 41).2 This serves as a starting point in the interpretation proposed for Scholem’s oeuvre. The following discussion seeks to retrieve the metaphysical approach underlying his writings —his research, essays, and biographies. This worldview also shaped his research approach and directed his view of contemporary issues, and at the same time was shaped by them. Metaphysics has two facets in this context: it denotes an argument about the nature of Scholem’s search, seeking to discover

1



Baer, 1967, 129. Many scholars have attempted to define Scholem’s oeuvre. For example, Josef Dan describes him as a “historian of religious life” (Dan, 2010, 64), who formulated general conclusions regarding the nature of mysticism and religion in general (Dan, 1987, 8–9), taught at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (Dan, 2010, 35–56), and established an extenstive library of the printed works of Jewish mysticism (ibid., 18–34). Nathan Rotenstreich defined him as a scholar who was also a philosopher (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 3) and a bibliographer (ibid., 144). Eliezer Schweid stressed Scholem’s being a researcher and historian, but believed that his research contained a perception of Jewish philosophy rooted in the Middle Ages (see Schweid, 1982–1983). Moshe Idel defines Scholem as “the thinker and theologian” (Idel, 2006, 179). Others stressed the broad expanse of his oeuvre. Avraham Shapira claims that “it is somewhat restrictive to define Scholem as only a historian” (Shapira, 1988, 13). David Myers lists several areas of specialization of Scholem’s: philologist, historian, philosopher, publicist, theoretician and critic of Zionism, and also mathematician. In his opinion, this wealth makes it difficult to locate Scholem within a defined discipline (see Myers, 1995, 153).

2



References to Scholem’s work appear in the text, using the name-year format. Emphases in these citations are mine, unless stated otherwise.

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the realities that determine the character of historical reality; and it describes in this context an understanding of the nature of the object at which this search is directed, that is Scholem’s perception of history and Jewish reality in general as bearing a secret, a depth, and a meaning exceeding the realm of exposed real events. In other words, metaphysics is characteristic of Scholem’s approach as a researcher and a creator who offered a metaphysical meaning to historical reality, and at the same time it denotes his approach regarding the nature of Jewish history as an event whose realization is not delimited by the boundary of reality. While his work contains some of the historiosophic aspect seeking to establish his research worldview in the historical realm, as well as some of the history of religious life and the history of ideas, Scholem’s oeuvre transcends these two aspects. My basic argument is that his research touches upon the wider and more general field of metaphysics, searching for the meaning of existing entities, although it does not contain an organized metaphysical theory like those sometimes proposed in the writings of philosophers.3 Before I discuss the essence of the relation between history and metaphysics in Scholem’s thought, it is worth noticing that this duality marks a commonality with Yerushalmi and with Kurzweil. This is apparent in Yerushalmi’s statement: “I submit that no Jewish historian today […] would bring himself to write an explicit “reasons-from-God” epilogue to a work of scholarship. […] what would be inconceivable in a history of the English, the French, or the Dutch is still possible in a serious twentieth-century historical work concerning the Jews.”4 While the reference here is to God, as the discussion in Part One has shown, this concept is perceived by Yerushalmi in terms of presence, and in this respect the perception of the concept of God denotes the metaphysical element. Kurzweil shared Yerushalmi’s perception of Jewish history, and expressed it in many ways, such as writing that “the sphere of history leaves space for metaphysics, and by nature

3

Anita Shapira and Eliezer Schweid linked Scholem’s oeuvre to the realm of historiosophy. See Schweid and McCracken-Flesher, 1985; Shapira, 1997. Schweid’s approach was criticized by Josef Dan, who believed characterizing Scholem as a historiosopher did not accord with his work as a historian (“Gershom Scholem: Between History and Historiosophy,” in Dan, 2010, 62–105).

4

Yerushalmi, 1989, 91.





Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

[…] does not contradict it.”5 Furthermore, in his opinion “It is impossible to distinguish between metaphysical aspects and historical aspects […]. Even the apparent separation between theology and history has not succeeded, because the theological or anti-theological element is also part of the historical process and its description.”6 However, on this shared dual foundation, each of the three formulated a different perception of the Jewish past and of the modern Jewish being. Briefly, in Yerushalmi’s approach the status of the metaphysical element is so dominant and decisive that it seems to swallow the historical dimension, which was originally intended merely to serve as a tool for representing God in Jewish history. Thus he considered that “secularization of Jewish history is a break with the past”7 and the formation of secular Judaism was a “contradiction.”8 In Kurzweil’s approach, too, there exists an essential gap between history and metaphysics, though compared with the gap typical of Yerushalmi’s approach it is more moderate, thanks in part to a multifaceted hierarchy in which it is anchored, where place is allocated to each of the components of the duality. Despite these differences, the perceptions of Yerushalmi and Kurzweil can be located on one continuum, since for both of them simple relations exist between history and metaphysics. In contrast, as will transpire from the following discussion, Scholem’s approach is completely different, in its representation of the most complex perception of the relations between history and metaphysics, involving tension, contradiction, and dialectics. The basic argument regarding Scholem’s oeuvre, that history and metaphysics (or philosophy) acted in his work as two impulses that fed each other and joined together in his personal world view, is directly expressed in the following words: “I was interested in two levels for understanding Judaism: my interest in historiosophy, in the dialectics revealed in spiritual processes, and in another respect —in the philosophical-metaphysical realm. I tried to understand what sustains Judaism” (Scholem, 1976a, 28). But the parity between the two impulses is undermined in other contexts, where Scholem describes

5



Kurzweil, 1970a, 103.

6



Ibid., 142.

7



Yerushalmi, 1989, 91.

8



Yerushalmi, 2005, 14.

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himself as having to decide between them or at least to arrange them hierarchically. Thus, he sometimes presented the general interest in history as background for his interest in Judaism: “Before I reached the Jewish issue I was very interested in history” (ibid., 14). However, elsewhere the dominance of his philosophical search is more prominent, when he expresses the proximity and unreserved appreciation he feels toward the metaphysician: What originally led me to all these studies and brought me against my will to devote myself to philological inquiries whose boundaries I do know: to answer the question: Does Kabbalah have value or not? […] and I will admit without shame that it was precisely this philosophical interest that helped me during my philological and historical research. (ibid., 63)

Or elsewhere: “I entered this field not intending to write the history but rather the metaphysics of Kabbalah” (Scholem, 1990, 29).9 In contrast, in other contexts Scholem wishes to moderate or even qualify his relation to the philosophical-metaphysical dimension, and locates his oeuvre within the clearly defined context of historical research. Thus, for example, he declares: “I should add, though, that [Walter] Benjamin’s intellectual perspective […] prevented me from taking very seriously university teachers of philosophy who were not historians’ (Scholem, 1980, 119). In this spirit, Scholem declares that he avoids speaking of that which is “the task of prophets, not of professors” (Scholem, 1941, 350),10 clarifies that in his lectures in the Hebrew University he did not teach wisdom but history,11 and once more selfidentifies as a  “historian” only.12 This trend was destabilized again when Scholem described dissatisfaction with his identity as a histo-

9



This is a citation from Scholem’s letter to Zalman Schocken dated 29 October 1937. The letter was translated by Rivka Horowitz and Scholem checked the Hebrew translation; see Shapira, 1995a, 173. Ita Shadelzki states that the letter refers to the three years after the separation from Buber, before his decision to devote himself to studying the Kabbalah (Shadelzki, 1997/8, 83).

10

See also Scholem, 2009, 22.

11

Cited in Idel, 2006, 188, note 49.

12

For example, Scholem 1976a, 594; 1990, 114. Ehud Ben Ezer stresses the importance Scholem attributed to the impersonal dimension of the Kabbalah,



Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

rian: “I am a historian more than a philosopher, unfortunately […]” (Scholem, 1990, 114). In other words, his respect was given to philosophers, but he identified himself as a historian.13 It is fascinating that Scholem describes, almost with the same words, the two elements on which his oeuvre rested —the historical and the metaphysical —as also constituting the work of the Kabbalists. The relation to the metaphysical dimension in the Kabbalist’s being, where the involvement of a transcendent dimension is apparent, arises from his characterization as “receiving tradition from the ancestors” and “being graced by the [blessed] creator” (Scholem, 1948, 100).14 In contrast, the historical facet, at least the one dealing with the relation and reference to the past reality, is expressed in the description of the Kabbalah’s development as “processing old raw material and insights of individuals who have received an opening first in the wisdom of the Kabbalah” (ibid., 97). Similarly, Scholem describes his own way to the Kabbalah: My interest in the Kabbala —Jewish mysticism —manifested early on, and probably very varied motives were responsible for it. Perhaps I was endowed with an affinity for this area from the “root of my soul,” as the kabbalists would have put it, or maybe my desire to understand the enigma of Jewish history was also involved […]. (1980, 112)

The echo of Scholem’s personal experiences in the description of what was revealed to him from the world of the Kabbalists —sometimes reaching identification with them —exposes a  deep personal involvement in his hermeneutic work. This involvement, frequently expressed in Scholem’s texts, is prominent in contexts where he defends and sometimes even justifies the Kabbalists in the face of the exclusion and criticism they had received throughout Jewish history.15

which he believed applied to Scholem himself, who presented himself solely as a researcher and historian. See Ben Ezer, 1977, 219. 13

Compare also Scholem, 1995b, 112.

14

Here Scholem is citing the words of Rabbi Yizhak Hacohen of Soria.

15

See Scholem, 1948, 160, 174, 190. The question of Scholem’s identification with his sources, i. e., the Kabbalists, has interested some of Scholem’s scholars. See, for example, Weiler, 1976, 123. David Biale even argued that the question had driven some of “[Scholem’s] interpreters to despair” (Biale,



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However, Scholem’s involvement in the world of the Kabbalists did not divert him from the historical and metaphysical research tracks he applied to the study of the Kabbalah, but permeated and fed them constantly: the historical level established his personal commitment to correct what he saw as deliberate exclusion from the very beginning of Jewish historiography in the activity of the Wissenschaft des Judentums (Scholem, 1990, 319).16 In this context, Scholem states that “Liberating our religious thinking from the quarantine of a distorting ideology that is alienating the sources of its vision, both heavenly and earthly —requires destroying the wall of this quarantine built over generations” (Scholem, 1976a, 399); and that the correct constituting of historical science would face the “problems [… that] are full of great historical vitality and deep significance for us all” (ibid., 400). On the metaphysical level, there is expression of the most abstract and general depth dimensions with which Jewish mystical literature deals, and of his personal involvement in the world of the Kabbalists, sometimes to the extent of affection clearly exceeding the criteria dictated by scientific philological rigor. Thus history and metaphysics denote the guiding directions or dimensions in Scholem’s study of the Kabbalah. Each of these dimensions developed to a somewhat distinct observation that left a  unique stamp on the discipline of Kabbalah studies founded by Scholem, and on his views regarding contemporary matters. Furthermore, later it will transpire that the dual foundation and the various strategies Scholem employed to preserving this duality, particularly the relations of contradiction and dialectic, distanced him from the boundaries of binary discourse about Jewish History.

1979, 94). Joseph Dan believed that this approach, which he identified in Biale, leads to “absurd conclusions’ and stated that “There is a clear path for distinguishing between Scholem and his sources; one must simply read them” (Dan, 1979, 360–1). 16



Scholem also criticizes the attempts of the revival generation to skip over the periods of exile. In his opinion, this attempt is problematic and cannot be achieved. See Scholem, 1990, 371. In another context, Scholem also denounces the Ultra-Orthodox’s damage to continuity: “[…] thus the Ultra-Orthodox severed the continuity of the connection with the strongest religious forces that were active in the period prior to them, and the Kabbalah was forgotten by western Judaism, and this seal of historical forgetting —forgetting from fear, from opposition, from will —is stamped in all the attempts to express Jewish reality in the past century” (Scholem, 1976a, 415).

Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

The discussion that follows seeks to study the metaphysical world view scattered, with various degrees of transparency, in Scholem’s texts. It is usually implied during discussions of specific topics, and has to be deduced through careful textual study. However, even in places where Scholem himself declares it, discovering the meaning in his overall oeuvre and unifying it remain the tasks of the interpreter. In any case, the philosophical-hermeneutical reading of Scholem’s writings does not seek to take a stand regarding the value and reliability of his research into the Kabbalah, or to make arguments about the contents or meanings of the Kabbalah or of the distinct historical phenomena Scholem discussed.

A. Historical Observation: Objectivity, Immanence, and Phenomenology Scholem’s historical observation is at the basis of the spectrum of objectivity and truth-seeking in the study of Jewish history.17 However, these are not crystallized into a uniform and general object to which historical research is directed. At least on the immediate level, Scholem attributes equal weight to the various appearances of the historical phenomenon under examination. Against this background he states: “As a historian I do not believe there is one Judaism. I was not able to find it in all the years I dealt with its problems’ (Scholem, 1990, 195). This insight accords with the historicistic ethos demanding that historians liberate themselves, as much as possible, from preconceptions or authoritative positions, and devote themselves to the historical appearances of the phenomenon they face. This approach can be described as phenomenological diachronic observation, focused on the immanent layers of the historical phenomenon, meaning the real expressions of the phenomenon and the consciousness of those who partook of it.

17



In this context, see Scholem’s essay about Ben-Zion Dinur, in which he criticizes him for the lack of objectivity in his oeuvre: “Dinur […] is merely a universal historian of that universe known as the Israeli nation, the historian who followed the light of ideology” (Scholem, 1976a, 510). Some saw this approach as “the pot calling the kettle black” (see for example Shapira, 1995a, 171). David Myers also stressed the criticism Scholem shared to some extent with the Jerusalem School regarding the rigidity typical of classical Jewish historicism (Myers, 1995, 152, 167).

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This contrasts with an approach explaining the phenomenon in causal terms or through another theory. The principle of this observation is apparent in Scholem’s statement that “the Judaism of each period is closer to its own world than it is to the later Judaism. I am certain that Maimonides’ Judaism was closer to the Christianity or Islam of his contemporaries than to the Judaism of present-day Jews” (ibid., 195), or elsewhere: “Many believe that the Jews are Jews only because the haters of Israel made them Jews […] But more important and decisive were those who wanted to be Jews because they looked into the depths of their souls and discovered their link to their past, and no less to their future” (Scholem, 1976a, 128–29). In this spirit, when addressing the question “Why did the Kabbalah, a mystical movement, an aristocratic movement of the elect few […] become a public and historical force, a motivator with immense power in history?”, he replies: “The Kabbalah succeeded precisely because it answered the most decisive question for Jews of those generations —the question of the essence of exile and the essence of redemption” (ibid., 202). This approach seeks to negate the possibility of a historical phenomenon being understood in the genealogical terms that direct the viewer outside the boundaries of the reality in which it occurs. In the essay “On Understanding the Messianic Idea in Israel,” Scholem writes: “The following words do not refer to the preliminary development of the messianic idea, but to the various and changing appearances by virtue of which, after its formulation, it became a  power acting in historical Judaism” (ibid., 156). However, the Kabbalah’s link to historical reality may be complex, and is reflected in the Kabbalists’ symbolic form of expression: “The more sordid, pitiful, and cruel the fragment of historical reality allotted to the Jew amid the storms of exile, the deeper and more precise the symbolic meaning it assumed, and the more radiant became the Messianic hope which burst through it and transfigured it” (Scholem, 1965, 2). This complexity is apparent when “Often one type of source shed light on another type. Only by combining and analyzing all kinds of sources in light of historical criticism can the one gain a true picture of the age” (Scholem, 1976c, x). In any case, Scholem determines that the myths and symbols of the Kabbalah “became transformed, in my eyes, into invaluable keys to an understanding of important historical analysis” (ibid., x). Scholem states that the myths and symbols of the Kabbalah “open before us a window to understanding the constant historical influence they had” (ibid., x). The diachronic view demonstrated in

Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

these citations indicates the trend of seeking the meaning of phenomena on the exposed level of overt real reality and the meanings given to it by people involved in it at the time, in contrast to interpretations assuming the influence of aspects from the past, of a transcendent factor, or even of God in Jewish history. The diachronic approach in the study of history bears within it features typical of the phenomenological approach, and Scholem himself recommended it as a tool for “seeing things as a whole” that complements the “gift of historical analysis” (Scholem, 1965, 3). First, it seeks to distance itself as much as possible from providing abstract explanations, whose origin is outside the real and distinct appearances of the historical phenomenon under discussion. In this spirit, Scholem states: “It is clear and no justification is required that the Messianic idea came into the world not only as an expression of an abstract idea regarding humanity’s hope for redemption, but also grew within very special historical circumstances” (Scholem, 1976a, 158). Second, the detailed description of the discussed phenomenon, a central tool in phenomenological observation, aims to achieve a varied, complex, and as rich as possible picture of the historical appearance. The premise is that the appearances of the phenomenon, rather than patterns or prepared definitions of it, are the key to its essence, which cannot be separated from its particular dimensions. Scholem describes it as follows: I usually believe that a  historical phenomenon can be defined from within history alone. There is no uniform and real content here: what is the connection between the Judaism of the days of the patriarch Abraham, or Moses, and that of the Ba’al Shem Tov. The phenomenon called Judaism does not end at a particular year or date, and I do not believe it is likely to end as long as a  living Judaism exists […] A  formulated definition […] is beyond me. This is a  matter for the almighty. (Scholem, 1990, 106–7)

Elsewhere, Scholem clarified that the attempt to realize external or early goals through historical research can deplete Judaism of the dynamism and vitality, which he connected to its perception as an organism.18 Indeed, these features will be addressed outside the

18



See Scholem, 1976a, 591.

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boundaries of historical observation, in the metaphysical observation discussed below.19 Essence, Theology, and Orthodoxy One of Scholem’s guiding principles in directing a phenomenological approach at studying texts from the Kabbalistic tradition requires denying the existence of one of Judaism’s constituting essences.20 Scholem writes about his lack of knowledge “what exactly is permitted within the boundary of Judaism and what is not […] I am sorry […] and I am happy […] simultaneously” (Scholem, 1990, 103).21 For the same reason, he also rejects the theology identified with a  dogmatic position determining “what is true” (ibid., 239). He reveals: “I never found pleasure and satisfaction in traditional rational Jewish theology” (Scholem, 1976a, 43), and adds “I  have no positive theology of immovable Judaism” (ibid., 557), and “I  have not written as a theologian.”22 The expression theology in these citations denotes the-

19

Hagai Dagan offers another interpretation, linking the criticism of theology and its dynamism (see Dagan, 2005, 253). The roots of the perception of the Jewish past as a living organism are in the romantic influences of nineteenth century German historicism (see Myers, 1995, 127). This approach developed as a response to the perception of the Jewish past and Judaism in general as a fossilized relic of the past, which started with Hegel and was further developed by Toynbee (see Toynbee, 1962, part ix, section 5, titled “The Modern West and the Jews”). See also Walter Kaufman on Toynbee (Kaufman, 1980, 387–427). On the organic perception of Jewish history in the Jerusalem School, to which Scholem belonged, see Conforti, 2006, 173–5.

20

However, it is not essential to presume that a phenomenological approach cannot accord with the assumption of the existence of an essence, which appears repeatedly in Husserl’s writings. Dealing with its consequences is at the center of the metaphysical interpretations of phenomenology. In this context, see Mohanty, 1970.

21



David Myers argues that the multiple disciplines in which Scholem’s oeuvre was includes accords with his approach, whereby “Judaism does not have one essence” (Myers, 1995, 153). According to R.J.Z. Verblovsky, Scholem’s rejection of the existence of essence in Judaism and Kabbalah expresses his dialectic view of history. See Verblovsky, 1985/86, 125–8. On Scholem’s dialectical perception of Jewish history, viewing it as a merging of conservative and anarchistic forces, see also Horowitz, 1992.

22

This sentence of Scholem’s appears as a footnote to a review Hyam Maccoby wrote of David Biale’s book (see Maccoby, 1979). The origin is Scholem,







Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

ories or even dogmas “regarding God and the Creation and regarding man’s place within this state of affairs” (ibid., 541). The denial of such theories within the historical observation is intended to enable openness to the various historical appearances in the history of the Jewish people, including those that contradict and conflict with theories that eventually formed into dogmas. The issue of the contradictions will be discussed below (Chapter Five, section B). It seems that Scholem links the assumption of the existence of a single essence in Judaism with an uncritical theological approach. Therefore, the essence has no place in historical research aiming at objectivity and truth. For the same reasons, he rejects the possibility that a system of a priori qualities or conditions would determine the history of the Jewish people: If Judaism cannot be defined in some dogmatic way, then neither can we assume that it contains a priori qualities that are innate or that may arise in it. It is true that Judaism, being an ongoing and developing historical force, undergoes transformations throughout all the stations of its history. (Scholem, 1990, 119)

The aim to focus attention on the historical occurrence itself, free of the influence of external considerations or preconditions, is also apparent in Scholem’s demand that researchers significantly restrain their identification with the objects of their research: “I  now believe that whoever completely identifies with his subject loses a  research ability without which there can be no research. A scholar is not a priest, and it is a mistake to make a scholar into a priest” (Scholem, 1979, 467).23 Elsewhere, Scholem added: I believe that science is based on distance. Science that seems to identify completely with its object must be limited and cannot have existing scientific value for very long. In my opinion, a scholar can achieve sustainable results only if he practices this

Archive ARC. 4º 1599/2. The sentence is cited by Myers, 1995, 176. In this context, see also Gershon Weiler’s argument that Scholem does not speak as a theologian but as a mystic (Weiler, 1976, 126). 23



See references to this citation in Myers, 1995, 175; Shadelzki, 1997/98, 84.

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Part two. Gershom Scholem: history, continuity, and secret distance, which is essential for the scientist to understand his subject and refer to it. You cannot deny this without harming your aim, this is my strong opinion. Undoubtedly, I stick to the basic principles of scientific research that I have adopted, meaning the principle of historical criticism, without which Jewish scientific research cannot achieve lasting value. (Scholem, 1990, 126)

Despite this, Scholem’s writings contain contexts wherein he presents a  positive attitude toward orthodoxy, which is presented as a primarily practical approach relating to the overt and accessible dimensions of Judaism as a reality that is beyond doubt. In this spirit he states: I did not aim at people with an orthodox opinion, with whom I have no dispute about what is Jewish and what is not Jewish […] My words were written against the really “modern” authors who philosophize about Judaism without being orthodox and even in their lack of faith still do not know exactly what is permitted within the boundaries of Judaism and what is not. (Ibid., 103)

In the spirit of these words, he writes that the explicit definitions in the scriptures oblige “the real strict [Jews], and with them we have no dispute […] Indeed, the problem is of people who do not adopt the strict views […]” (Scholem, 1976a, 592). These expressions of empathy are supported elsewhere, when Scholem shows understanding to orthodoxy’s critique of the other options for modern Jewish existence: “The problem is: can secularity be a tradition, or should our tradition be more than this? For this reason I  believe that the rabbinate and orthodoxy’s big fear of conservative and Reform Judaism is justified” (Scholem, 1995b, 101). Perhaps the background to these statements about orthodoxy is contained in the unbiased devotion to the transcendent truth that illuminated his way as a historian and philologist to objectivity and the truth. Although Scholem complains “I do not understand why the majority of our nation must be subject to the law, which has no root and foundation in its historical perception and in our entire Jewish consciousness” (Scholem, 1976a, 596), and declares that he cannot “accept its oral law,” he states explicitly: “Each generation sees its Torah as an echo of the giving of the Torah and there is

Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

no room for the individual’s freedom of decision. In principle, therefore, orthodoxy is right.” (Scholem, 1990, 95) The Individual in History Scholem’s positive expressions towards the devotion aimed at a fixed, objective, and independent reality, placing the historian on common ground with orthodoxy, contains an important basis for his perception regarding the status of the individual in history. Scholem believes that a prominent historical figure is “A holistic personality incorporating the whole generation’s culture” (Scholem, 1948, 147). This statement applies to the prophets, whose tidings, in his opinion, “appealed to all people and predicted natural and historical events […] These visions are never related to the individual person as an individual […] The words of the seers of the apocalyptic visions contain a displacement of this approach in the contents of the prophecy” (Scholem, 1976a, 156). Scholem also believed that for most of the Kabbalists the rule was “each individual was the totality” (Scholem, 1965, 2).24 He stressed that this understanding was also shared by the Kabbalists themselves, who did not refer to their knowledge or even their experiences as a personal matter relating to their experience alone. Quite the opposite: they considered their mystical knowledge as more complete and purer the more it touched upon the whole of humanity (Scholem, 1941, 12). Perhaps this also explains the involvement of the Kabbalists with their surroundings, for example “Nahmanides does not close himself with God just as he is not closed within the four walls of the Halakhah. This was not the way of the great Kabbalists. He was involved in the contemporary problems of his period and takes clear positions” (Scholem, 1948, 148). The Kabbalists’ relations to the social situation in which they operated was complex and included simultaneous rebellion and a wish for

24



Scholem’s perception of the relation between the individual and history clearly hints at Hegel’s concept of the individual as someone whose being and actions contain the essence of the period. As in other contexts, here too Scholem does not mention his connection to Hegel’s philosophy, but its influence over him is clear. Moshe Idel likens the scholar in Scholem’s approach to a psychologist of the masses, since in his opinion, “Scholem assumes that the Kabbalah expressed the trauma shared by the whole collective” (Idel, 1998, 59).

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­incorporation.25 Scholem believed that alongside learning the abstract theosophical approaches, studying their involvement in their surroundings could provide a basis for a broad historical evaluation, and as we will see below, this understanding served as an important component of his theory of continuity. In any case, Scholem states that historical reality itself does not depend on these individuals and is not exhausted in their actions. To demonstrate this, he likens the surprise that might be aroused by the independence of history to a force that could raise the dead from their tombs: “All these three [Zunz, Steinschneider, and Geiger] did not imagine that their work would serve as the seed for excitement about national Jewish values that were inadvertently discovered by them, and who would be more surprised than Zunz or Steinschneider if they heard that these dead emerged from their graves and came to life” (Scholem, 1976a, 393). This means that the more subjects are involved in historical reality, enabling their work to be understood as its expression, the more historical reality itself is basically autonomous and thus can in principle contradict their intentions and be realized against the actions of those involved in that realityit. Scholem indicates that when historians see themselves as having sovereign power that can determine the character of historical reality, a real barrier is placed between them and it, and its creative power creates lies and chaos, as shown in the example of Abraham Geiger, one of the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums: Abraham Geiger was made of sterner material […] The one who knew how to build in the world of changes a great structure of chaos, to make dissembly into a scientific construction to which the lie of “pure spirituality” lends a sort of reflection of reality. […] His words reek of tonsured hypocrisy, priestly arrogance, and bishoply ambition. His talent for shining combination and merging contains the same sovereign power that makes the great historian into a rapist of facts for the sake of construction and clarifying the contexts from a  historical intuition, a  powerful and creative force […] and what a  shame for Jewish history to be

25



Scholem frequently referred to the complexity of the Kabbalists’ relations with their social surroundings (for example, Scholem, 1941, 29). In this context, see also Myers, 1995, 242, note 66.

Chapter One. History and Metaphysics offended  by  this tonsured-liberal historiography. (Scholem, 1976a, 392–3)

This severe criticism expressed in burning words, protesting against the personal creativity displayed by the historian, which might in extreme cases make historical reality into a reflection of the spirit of the observer, demonstrates history’s entity-like power that overcomes the historian’s action.26 Scholem’s main point is not the power embodied in the actions of prominent figures in history, but instead their restriction compared with history, which has its own rules. Indeed, Scholem later attributes a “very modest” influence (ibid., 395) to the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums over modern Jewish history. The criticism Scholem expresses in his famous essay about the Wissenschaft des Judentums opposes the sovereignty, and perhaps also the excessive rationalism, typical of their approach toward the overall progression of Jewish history. Unlike them, Scholem assumes that the past’s presence in the present reality has a life of its own. This presence may emerge from the depths of history and take center stage or even breach the rational path some of the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums predicted for it. The independence of Jewish history, in Scholem’s perception, is an important expression of its entity-like and holistic nature, thanks to which the various layers that compose it are woven together, and, as will be shown below, the continuity of Jewish history is enabled. Scholem’s approach regarding the relations between the individual or the historian and historical reality can be clarified by comparing it to those of the other figures discussed in this book, and as with every point differences appear that enable sharing from another direction. In this context, Scholem’s approach demonstrates proximity to the approaches of Yerushalmi and Kurzweil, and significant ­differences

26



Rotenstreich proposed a different interpretation, assuming parity between the epistemic dimension and the entity-like dimension in Scholem’s work: “The symbolism on the one hand and the denial of the mystical union along with the denial of pantheism on the other hand are the mutually linked two axes of the discussion. These two axes are the conscious and entitylike aspects of Scholem’s interpretative oeuvre” (Rotenstreich, 1978, 145). A shorter version of this article of Rotenstreich’s (“Symbolism and the Divine Area”) appears, with a new subtitle (“Following Two of Gershom Scholem’s “ahistorical articles’”), in Scholem, 1990, 39–42.

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in relation to the approaches of Funkenstein and Rotenstreich. As we have seen, Yerushalmi addressed the sovereignty the first Jewish historians displayed toward the Jewish past and tradition, and stated that “only in the modern era to we really find, for the first time, a Jewish historiography divorced from Jewish collective memory and, in crucial respects, thoroughly at odds with it.”27 Similarly, Kurzweil —who mentions Scholem in this context —characterizes the Wissenschaft des Judentums as raising “historical criticism to the status of a supreme authority regarding the phenomena of the Jewish religion.”28 In the end, Yerushalmi and Scholem gave these processes a different weight. Although Yerushalmi argued that literature and ideology had a  greater success in shaping the attitude of modern Jews toward the past, which did not involve a split from the past or from Jewish tradition,29 in his opinion history has garnered great power in the modern era, placing it in a position of strength vis-à-vis the past and tradition, which are in a constant process of weakening: History is no longer a handmaiden of dubious repute to be tolerated occasionally and with embarrassment. She confidently pushes her way to the very center and brazenly demands her due. For the first time it is not history that must prove its utility to Judaism, but Judaism that must prove its utility to history, by revealing and justifying itself historically.30

In this context, Scholem’s approach is more similar to that of Kurzweil, whose close study of the problems involved in the activity of the Wissenschaft des Judentums led him to determine that “It is ridiculous to blame individuals of “sins” against processes that are not subject to our control.”31 In another context, he added a more symbolic expression: “The I cannot construct its world around the pole of unrestricted individuality due to the brakes of the collective I in the

27

Yerushalmi, 1989, 93.

28

Kurzweil, 1960, 20.

29

Yerushalmi, 1989, 97–8.

30

Ibid., 84.

31

Kurzweil, 1970a, 194.



Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

soul of heroes.”32 Thus there is something wider, more encompassing and inclusive, that necessarily overcomes individual phenomena, as powerful as they may be, or the actions of individual, even those connected with the Wissenschaft des Judentums, which Kurzweil himself believed had such a formative influence over modern Hebrew literature.33 Moreover, the certainty, which in the approaches of Yerushalmi and Kurzweil is preserved for the presence of the transcendent entity or God in Jewish history, is attributed by Scholem to Jewish history itself. Thanks to the deep trust Scholem felt for this history’s ability to maintain itself despite and through the crises it experienced, he was convinced that it could overcome any expression of sovereignty directed at it, and even stick its tongue out at those who saw themselves as its shapers, let alone prophets of its future.34 More significant are the differences that distinguish in this context between Scholem’s approach and those of Funkenstein and Rotenstreich. The frequently arising tension between contemporary individuals and the past and tradition, which is at the center of the approaches of Scholem, Yerushalmi, and Kurzweil, does not play a role in the approaches of Funkenstein and Rotenstreich, and sometimes they even seem to deny it ostentatiously. Funkenstein perceived historical reality as a mediating framework that continuously creates anew the meeting between the individual and the historical reality. But the individual’s presence and stamp on historical reality are guaranteed: “Any attempt to destroy completely the status of the subject is a  philosophical illusion. A  thorough examination will show that it always inherently assumes another subject: there is no escape from a subject, not in epistemology, not in history, and not in life.” Furthermore, Funkenstein believed that the subject’s presence does not weaken the power of tradition:

32

Kurzweil, 1960, 246.

33

See also: “Modern Hebrew literature repeats the whole tangle of problems with which the members of the Wissenschaft des Judentums struggled […]. The historicization of Judaism, the principle assumption of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, becomes, consciously or unconsciously, a spiritual element of our new literature” (Kurzweil, 1960, 20).

34

For more on faith in history and its connections to mystical perceptions of redemption, see Niehbur, 1949.





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Since the proto-narrative is the identity of the subject and the subject himself […] the attempt to renounce the proto-narrative is nothing but an illusion. While the authentic story does not attempt to smooth over contrasts and even contradictions in self-identity, there is an authentic story of the past, even if the criteria for its construction and identification are ad hoc and not subject to being phrased as an algorithm. The real reality and its image in the narrative are not tested by a naïve relation of representation […] but by a very complicated dialectical relation of mutual shaping.35

Similarly, Rotenstreich did not identify any problem in the approach of the founders of Wissenschaft des Judentums being mainly epistemic. Indeed, the epistemic link to the past even responded to the basic character of the Jewish tradition, which Rotenstreich understood as a collection of beliefs and opinions. Therefore, in his opinion there is no point seeking in the epistemic links or their expressions influences on the real reality in which Jews lived or on the reality continuing from it: “The line of Jewish creation, continuing for generations, ceased and the Wissenschaft des Judentums does not come to continue this creation from reawakening, but to understand the past creation by observing it.”36 Unlike Funkenstein and Rotenstreich, as we will see, Scholem saw the past as an “exploded force” (Scholem, 1976a, 396) in relation to the present in general, and even more so regarding the actions of individuals within it. The Historian, Appearance, and the Paradox in History Scholem’s hypothesis, “It is of course possible that history, at its base, is no more than an appearance” (Scholem, 1990, 30), may explain the reduced status his approach attributes to the individual in history, since what history presents to the individual may not necessarily be true. However, the awareness of the potential for falseness entailed

35

Funkenstein, 1995b, 346. See also 1993, 9.

36

Rotenstreich, 1987, 35. As we will see in Part Four, dealing with Rotenstreich, the ontological dimensions entered the realm of Jewish existence and actually replaced the epistemic links to it much later than historicism, only with the foundation of the State of Israel.



Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

in the appearances of historical reality did not lead Scholem to reject their value, since he believed that “without this illusion it is impossible to penetrate from time into understanding the things themselves” (ibid., 30).37 This means that even if history is no more than a mask that hides the real historical reality, that is the “things themselves,” the appearances of history, which are part of the reality surrounding the historian, should still serve as a starting point for understanding history or the “things themselves.”38 It seems that as much as the appearances of historical reality may serve as a barrier to the things themselves and as much as the presence of the subject can lead to falseness and chaos, historical reality may still be accessible, and might even be the truth itself at the basis of the mystical approaches: “In the unique magic mirror of philological criticism, for the first time for a contemporary person, is reflected in the cleanest way, in the agreed order of interpretation, the same mystical complex of the system whose existence necessarily disappears completely when projected into historical time” (ibid., 30). Scholem adds on a personal note: “My work is fed today

37

In his suspicious approach to historical texts, although they are the only raw materials available to the historian, there is great similarity to Freud’s dream theory. Freud understood the dream as a  text that expresses innoccently and sometimes distortedly an unconscious wish, and tasked the psychoanalyst with reconstructing the true text (see Freud, 1913, chapters 2–3). See also Ben Shlomo’s transparently Hegelian interpretation of this passage, whereby unlike the rationalist philosophers who “saw their main role as determining antitheses to myth and pantheism and “disproving them,” perhaps the Kabbalists started to do what Scholem says is worth doing: “raising them to a higher level and cancelling them there”” (Ben Shlomo, 1997, 124). Scholem’s words in this citation were taken from Scholem, 1990, 30.

38

Moshe Idel suggests another interpretation of this passage. In his opinion, Scholem in his early days believed that through deciphering symbols he could “breach the wall of history. Since the mountain —the things themselves —does not need a key at all” (Idel, 1998, 50). However, in his opinion, in his mature work Scholem sought “a direct meeting with the non-symbolic core of reality,” while symbolism is perceived as “a barrier to understanding the non-symbolic reality” (ibid.). According to Idel, Scholem perceived history as “a wall separating him from the mountain, which serves as his metaphor for metaphysics” (ibid., 51). See also the interpretation of Harold Bloom, according to which Scholem’s main contribution is the insight that a normative tradition is a collection of masks. See Bloom, 1987a, 220; Yerushalmi, 1989, 94.





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just like in my early days by the force of this paradox, from an expectation to receive a response from the mountain, a slight almost imperceptible motion of history, that the truth will be allowed to be stated from what seems as “development”” (ibid., 31). In this spirit he notes elsewhere that the paradox is a  “bone of the essence” of Messianic Judaism, and that his sources reach contradictions between biblical verses (ibid., 264). It is no wonder that Scholem chose these words from Dilthey as a motto for his great work about Sabbatai Sevi: “Paradox is a characteristic of truth. What communis opinio has of truth is surely no more than an elementary deposit of generalizing partial understanding […]” (Scholem, 1976c, viii). Passivity, Distance, and the Entity-like Dimension in History Despite the wonder and paradox permeating the historical reality, Scholem believes that the historian may play an essential role in revealing it, when the historian shares the immanent level with the reality. In fact, this is the basic rationale behind the diachronic observation: it aims to describe a historical reality that is also the reality of the observing historian. Moreover, historical reality is accessible in principle to the historian’s observation thanks to it being determined itself by human forces. But it seems that realizing the access to the historical reality requires the historian to display a basic passive stance whose purpose is to affirm the autonomy of the historical reality in relation to observations directed at it, or alternatively, to prevent it being understood as a creation of the historian’s own spirit. In this spirit, the historian is described as awaiting a “response from the mountain” and expecting the emergence of the “truth” from the reality under observation. Recognizing the existence of an autonomous reality beyond the subject observing the overt reality, which is at the foundation of the passive stance, clearly arises from Scholem’s description of his position as a researcher vis-à-vis his objects: I do not engage in propaganda for my opinions. I am not a Hassid and I am not a neo-Hassid […] I wish to understand the history of my nation. […] I  try to understand Jewish history from the forces I can observe, without looking left or right […] My evaluation is born from observing the facts. If I do not understand the facts, of course —that is a shame […] I am not an apologist for anything. I do not fight religious wars […] I come

Chapter One. History and Metaphysics to phrase the facts subject to rational consideration. More than I am a Kabbalist I am a rational person […] I do not know what the truth is […] What I have said here stemmed from completely rational historical consideration […] I have described to the best of my ability or the best of my conscience, this is an objective description of this phenomenon. (Scholem, 1990, 238–9)

Similar sentiments appear in the introduction to Sabbatai Sevi, with an emphasis on the distance between dealing with history and with theology: I have tried to learn from my predecessors while evading their pitfalls and their partisanship. This book was not written for the sake of an apology nor as a condemnation but in order to elucidate all aspects of the very complex phenomenon known as Sabbatianism. No doubt, it would also be possible to write on this subject from a metaphysical and theological, ahistorical point of view. This book however, was not written as a treatise on theology but as a contribution to an understanding of the history of our nation. Insofar as theology is discussed —and a great deal of theology, for that matter —it is done in pursuit of historical insight. (Scholem, 1976c, xiii)39

This background makes clear the criticism Scholem expressed toward Geiger, and by implication toward the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, regarding the activism and hegemony they demonstrated to Jewish history. In his opinion, within this approach was formed the illusion in which historical reality appears as clay in the hands of the creator historian, who can treat it with what he called “tonsural arrogance.” However, the activism and hegemony that sometimes typify mental links have no place when facing the autonomy attributed in the passive stance to historical reality. More importantly, these links did not allow the entity-like power of the reality —which will come “from the mountain,” meaning a higher level than that where the historian and the observed reality are located —to be expressed at all. It seems that the depth of the diachronic-­passive

39



See also: “The fact that I have opinions […] does not make me an apologist or a condemner” (Scholem, 1990, 100–1).

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disposition of the historian already contains, though not necessarily consciously, recognition of a permanent entity-like dimension that is active in historical reality. Just as this dimension is present in the human reality where people live and act, at the same time it is transcendent regarding it. The surplus of the transcendentism of reality over its observers constructs its autonomy —not just regarding the subjects operating within it, but regarding real processes that take place within it and comprise historical reality itself. One of the tangible expressions of this surplus is the distanced stance toward the object of observation, be it transcendent or real.40 In any case, this surplus of the transcendent over the immanent does not reach breaking point; the two are inseparably intertwined in Scholem’s metaphysical approach. The basic components that constitute Scholem’s passive stance, distanced from the event itself and acknowledging reality’s autonomy in relation to the subject, also appear in the two other speakers, who internalize these elements in their approaches. For Yerushalmi, the passive stance is inherent in his criticism of the excessive activism demonstrated by the modern Jewish historian, who directs “unprecedented energy” to the past, “challenges” it, “seeks […] to recover” it, and “winnow[s]” it.41 Yerushalmi distinguishes between this problematic approach and the more suitable approach, in his opinion, of Jews who “are in search of a past” but “are not prepared to confront it [history] directly.”42 The subject’s passive stance appears more explicitly and in greater detail in Kurzweil, who identified it in Hebrew authors who described real reality as autonomous in relation to the characters that populate it in their works. Here too the autonomy attributed to reality serves as a reflection of the hierarchy in which the individual observes from a subordinate position and sometimes even surrenders to the reality in which he or she is planted. In this spirit, he describes Agnon: “This reality of the Jewish town is his reality […]

40

In his interpretation of Scholem’s work, Rotenstreich stresses the link between the distance and the transcendent object: “The distance is a premise of all the interpretations we suggest of the absolute, and so there is no other way but the one turning to intermediate areas of symbols aiming to represent the absolute […] to represent it as sacred” (Rotenstreich, 1978, 144–5).

41

Yerushalmi, 1989, 94–5.

42

Ibid., 97–8.





Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

he surrenders to it as a natural given,”43 and elsewhere: “[as much as Agnon] exists […] in constant search for the lost time […] that lost time that is not for him something that depends on subjective experience, on diving into the springs of the self and on reviving as an aesthetic subjective fiction.”44 Reality’s autonomy is achieved, among other ways, by distinguishing between the creator and the creation. In this context, Kurzweil interprets the historical distance as “the artistic distance required for an epic writer,” and finds “the great distance separating the artist from the faith of his heroes” in “stories where the narrator ceases to be omnipotent and is swept along by the flow of actions,” arguing that “only someone who does not share the faith of Rabbi Yudil can commemorate him and his period.”45 Thus the original sovereignty attributed to the creator is expropriated, and he is conquered by the reality with which his work deals. Kurzweil describes in this context the creator subject as avoiding deciding between the various and even contradictory forces revealed to him from observing reality: “His non-decision […], his standing ideationally between two opposing worlds, is actually his decision.”46 Similarly, Kurzweil sketches a dialectical movement in the space served by both yes and no,47 between the subject’s connection to the reality that serves as the object of observation and the power the reality has over the subject. Either way, the subject’s direct involvement in the reality of which the literary work serves as a reflection is thwarted. The constituting of the passive stance towards the past —appearing in Yerushalmi, Kurzweil, and Scholem —is thus intended to remove the possibility that the mental relations directed at reality would subjectivize it, and as a result it would be interpreted as a personal expression of individuals or as an exhaustion of the conscious forces they direct to the outside world. In contrast, the self-restraint and selfrestriction by subjects can help them experience the ­autonomous and

43

Kurzweil, 1962, 10.

44

Ibid., 232.

45

Ibid., 329 (emphasis in the original).

46

Ibid., 346 (emphasis in the original).

47

Ibid., 344.



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transcendent dimensions of reality, which do not depend on the subject’s disposition, including the passive one.48 Against the background of this shared basis, an interesting diversity is possible, which serves as a  reflection of the worldviews of all three. In Yerushalmi’s approach, the subject’s passivity toward the past in its testimony about reality is permeated with a transcendent and autonomous presence that creates a significant gap not only between it and the subject, but also between it and historical and real processes in general. As we have seen, the passivity is already inherent in his criticism of the activism of modern historians, and it comes across as an essential component in the ontological approach that suits Jewish history. In general, in Yerushalmi’s approach passivity does not denote a stance constituted by the subject, and it appears to serve as an additional means to fortify the status of the transcendence that is dominant in his world view, or alternatively, it is a reflection of the marginality of the conscious and subjective dimension in it. Therefore, it is not surprising that the passive stance in Yerushalmi’s approach was not accompanied by the complementary active stance that appears in Kurzweil and Scholem. We will return to this point later. The centrality of the transcendent entity in Yerushalmi’s worldview is no less than that in Kurzweil’s approach. While for the former the subject’s passivity is derived from the dominant status of transcendence in his worldview, for the latter this stance is the result of the creator’s own constituting, and its purpose is to enable observation of the real-historical reality itself. Precisely because the subject is not marginal at all in Kurzweil’s approach, it is necessary to restrain and locate it in the passive stance essential for observing a reality in which a transcendent being is present. For Kurzweil, the creator’s passivity is the result of active self-constitution, enabling the creator to realize special access to transcendence. It appears that the passive stance in

48



From a phenomenological point of view it is necessary here to distinguish between intentional reference to the object, characteristic of any conscious event that often revolves around its object, and the constituting perception that attributes to the intentional action and to the subject the constitution of the object. Through this reference, the object becomes immanent and its features are determined by the subject. This transition denotes a change from an epistemological attitude, whereby the world “exists for me” (für mich) to a metaphysical statement about the world as “stemming from me” (aus mir). See Husserl, 1952 (1913), § 36.

Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

Yerushalmi’s approach diverts the subject to the margins of the real historical occurrence and makes the subject at most a witness affirming the transcendent presence. In contrast, the passivity Kurzweil identifies in the creator serves as a tool for sketching the image of the real-historical reality, although this already contains a transcendent presence within itself. Compared with Yerushalmi and Kurzweil, the passivity attributed to the historian in Scholem’s approach seems a moderate position, for several reasons: first, the diachronic nature of historical observation places the historian and the historical reality on one shared immanent level, unlike Yerushalmi, who assumed a contrast between historian and object, and Kurzweil, who saw historians as “servants” of history.49 Also, the consistent dualism of the historical and the metaphysical in Scholem’s approach does not allow the transcendent element to take the dominance that characterizes it in Yerushalmi and Kurzweil’s approaches, and in any case the historian Scholem describes requires a lot less restraint when sketching the image of the historical-real reality under discussion. Finally, the degree of the historian’s self-constitution in Scholem’s approach is not only reduced compared to that Kurzweil attributes to the creator and Yerushalmi to the subject, it also has a different purpose. While for the latter two it is a tool in forming the correct relation with the transcendent presence in Jewish existence, for Scholem the passive stance enables the historian better access to historical reality itself.

B. Metaphysical Observation Individualism and Identification Along with the effort to achieve individuality while realizing distance and separation from the object of his research as a historian, the metaphysician’s viewpoint was also active in Scholem’s work. It directed his attention to the personalities of the Kabbalists whose writings he studied and helped him reflect on his choice to research the Kabbalah in general. It appears that the passive disposition that guided his observation as a historian and aimed to establish s­eparation and

49



See Yerushalmi, 93–4; Kurzweil, 1970a, 271.

99

100

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i­ ndependence between the subject and the external reality did not exhaust his perception regarding the status of individuals in history. The historical observation directs the observers from the outside into the reality revealed to them, while the metaphysical observation directs individuals to the depths of their internality, now transpiring as pathways to the secrets of reality itself. Thus, for example, Scholem finds the mystical determination to focus “on the hidden force of the divine word” “a  strong foundation for religious individualism [… that] keeps for itself the possibility of special inspiration, which is not given except to a  specific individual or one whose soul was formed from the same root or its sparks” (Scholem, 1976a, 79). In this spirit, he considers Nahmanides’ work on mystics and the Kabbalah to represent “the deepest layer of his being” (Scholem, 1948, 147). Indeed, within the boundaries of the metaphysical viewpoint, Scholem was also able to grant expression to his identification with the object of his study, and it appears that his “volatile disposition,” as he defined it (Scholem, 1980, 32), resonated there. The personal dimension involved in his appreciation for the metaphysical element in history arises clearly from this statement: Personally I believe in the existence of absolute values, because I believe in God. The wonder is where are the absolute values in our history. Certainly, in the past claims of absolute values have appeared. To the extent that absolute values are portrayed in history —this is history worthy of the name. (Scholem, 1990, 114)

Later, Scholem wrote: “The Sabbath is Judaism? Certainly. This is a sign that there are particular things, absolute values that connect us as Jews” (ibid., 117). Belief in God and in absolute values, which Scholem expresses here and in other contexts, does not necessarily denote a religious worldview from which norms and laws are derived. Scholem clarifies this explicitly in another context: “Faith in the existence of God […] can be drawn in our soul without any dependence on revelation. No theology stems from it […] It is possible to require the existence of God, even when we are unable to draw fixed theological conclusions from this” (Scholem, 1976a, 570). It is precisely the severing of the dependence between faith in God and theology in this sense that enables the presence of the personal dimension in the metaphysician’s point of view. One of the important outcomes of this move, for understanding Scholem’s metaphysical world view, is turning the

Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

search for a connection to the absolute, whether it is a moral value or even God, into a deep personal expression that cannot be generalized. Genesis, Synthesis, and Substance The metaphysical observation is not exhausted in granting expression and realizing the being of the individual bearing it. Beyond its appeal to the hidden and sometimes inaccessible dimensions of Judaism as a historical phenomenon, and without denying the real dimensions it also contains, the metaphysical observation is interested in forming a  synthetic view of different and even contradictory phenomena in Jewish history. Unlike the historical observation, directing a diachronic look at the appearances of the historical phenomenon in a given time, these syntheses performed by the metaphysician conduct a unique genetic observation seeking to study the fixed elements in the historical reality, thanks to which it is possible to treat it as a whole. Of course, this does not mean that historical reality is shaped into a simple unity, as Scholem believed that in the dark abysses, both those from which Judaism “escaped” and those that are “the main cause in history of [the] formation [of abysses]” (Scholem, 1990, 104), the meaning of Jewish history could be found.50 Through the genetic syntheses at the center of the metaphysical observation, Scholem wished to give individual phenomena, especially those from the world of Jewish mysticism, but also contemporary processes, a  much wider and more encompassing significance and meaning than the diachronic context in which they appeared. His interpretation of the appearance of these phenomena on the stage of Jewish history seeks to “explore the depths” of the “hidden regularity” that creates and explains them in terms of necessity and even urgency (Scholem, 1990, 116). Thus, for example, Scholem states that “The messianic idea, when it appears as an essential force in the world of Judaism […] is always closely linked with the apocalyptic. In this

50



A subtle, almost disguised criticism of the simplistic view of the unity of Jewish history appears in an essay written by Scholem about BenZion Dinur when he reached the age of seventy (“The Path of a Hebrew Historian”). The difficulty in hiding the apologetic tone is apparent in the following words: “It is clear that Ben-Zion Dinur knew well what he did. He never hid the tension I  have stressed here with excessive sharpness” (Scholem, 1976a, 513).

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form the messianic idea contains both a faith-religious content and a live, vivid expectation. The apocalyptic appears as an essential form of enthusiastic messianic expectation” (Scholem, 1976a, 158). The search for the wider regularity of the mystical phenomena and the attempt to locate the essential and perhaps even universal dimensions that control them, rescues Scholem’s study from the boundaries of observing the real dimensions of the historical phenomenon as such. This approach was probably at the basis of his reservations, sometimes reaching opposition to understanding the process of redemption as an individual process —an approach that might make redundant its historical observation and detract from the power and depth of the messianic idea as depicting a reality with a wide area of influence. In this spirit it is also possible to understand his words regarding “This messianic tiding of the prophets [that] appealed to all of humanity and predicted natural and historical events [and] through which God announces his word and in which the end of days is foretold or realized. These visions are not related to the world of the individual person as an individual” (Scholem, 1976a, 159). The emphasis on the plurality and diversity characterizing Judaism as a historical phenomenon, typical of Scholem’s approach as a historian, is replaced in the context of metaphysical observation by positivistic and decisive statements assuming a concept of Judaism, such as: “The constant survival of the Jewish nation indicates that the Jews were chosen by someone for something” (Scholem, 1990, 119); or elsewhere: “True, the Halakhah as a historical phenomenon is an impressive and important aspect in Judaism, but it is not identical to the phenomenon of Judaism itself” (ibid., 120).51 No less than these determinations reflect an effort to exhaust the meaning of historical phenomena, they open a window on the original intuitions and on the certainties that populated Scholem’s personal world and formed his metaphysical approach to Jewish history. It is interesting that the meaning Scholem gives to his rejection of the existence of essence in Judaism, which guided his viewpoint as a historian, opens a window on his viewpoint as a metaphy-

51



Steven Wasserstrom argues that Scholem —along with Mircea Eliade and the scholar of Islam Henry Corbin —founded a new sort of religiosity or monotheism that is not bound to a specific ethics, at whose center are symbolism, hermeneutics, and Jung’s theory of archetypes (Wasserstrom, 1999).

Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

sician: “I said that each generation interprets Judaism for itself, and this implies that one should not define once and for all what Judaism is. I  said what I  said as an explicit anti-theological definition, and against the dogmatic trends that I do not share” (Scholem, 1995b, 36). Elsewhere, just after his declaration “I  do not believe in one essence,” Scholem adds: I am certain there is something special that forces Jews to ask and seek an answer, and I am sure that this substance in some form will be crystallized anew in different clothing. But this substance of Judaism cannot be defined, it is one of the holistic, total things that cannot be phrased, but it is present in our reality. (Scholem, 1990, 195)

And also: “When we speak about Judaism we are speaking about something that exists, that is difficult to define, and that I believe needs not be defined” (Scholem, 1995b, 34).52 The terms “substance,” “presence,” and “holistic,” which Scholem uses in different discussion contexts, reveal an assumption regarding the existence of a fixed independent element that maintains Jewish history. It appears that Scholem believed the concealed nature of this element was an inseparable part of its essence: “I  do not believe that everything in it [Judaism] has already been revealed. I believe it is still possible to discover in it supreme and hidden things beyond imagining!” (Scholem, 1990, 107).53 Activism, Discovery, and Deciphering The devotion of the viewpoint to its object, intended to allow it to serve as the object’s reflection, characteristic of the historian’s point of view, is also apparent in the metaphysician’s view. The state of relative

52

In this context, compare the interpretation of David Myers regarding the dynamism and anti-essentialism characteristic of Scholem’s work. See Myers, 1995, 164.

53

The interpretation offered here differs from that of David Myers, who identified Scholem’s dynamic perception of Jewish history with an anti-essentialist approach. See Myers, 1995, 164. Myers links this to the attempt of the Jerusalem School, to which Scholem belonged, to overcome the onesided trends of the Wissenschaft des Judentums. See ibid., 167.





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exposure in which the datum from the past appears to the historian requires an attitude of passivity, aimed at preventing the forcing of personal thought patterns on the object of observation. Similarly, the hiddenness and even mystery of the metaphysical element in real reality requires the metaphysician to demonstrate initiative and activism, whose purpose is to uncover and decipher the transcendent and hidden dimensions active in Jewish history. While the historians’ activity is focused on organizing and reconstructing the whole from the parts revealed to them,54 metaphysicians create new patterns that are mainly the fruit of their own spirits. This observation is demonstrated in the following passage: Here new concepts and new categories, a new intuition, and new courage are required […]. From now on the creative destruction of scientific criticism that studies details in the documents of the past has another function: no longer washing and embalming the deceased, but discovering the hidden life by removing the screens that hide and the misleading inscriptions. From its fertile dialectic, from a radical break through to the turning point in its path […] historical criticism from now on serves also as the productive deciphering of the code of the past, of the great symbols of our lives in history. (Scholem, 1976a, 399)55

The activism involved in the metaphysical observation clearly exceeds interpreting the historical sources; penetrating the depths of the

54

See Scholem, 1990, 142.

55

Avraham Shapira links the productive deciphering of the code of the past, described above, to what will later, in Another Thing, be presented as the teacher’s need to select from the factual historical material aimed at clarifying the past as a living force (Shapira, 1995a, 174). See also Scholem, 1990, 106. Moshe Idel argued that this is the sort of research characteristic of the school Scholem founded in Jerusalem, which he calls a “new Jewish “group” or “class”” (Idel, 1997/8, 65). Elsewhere, Idel refers to the encyclopedia entry in which Scholem stated that at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem a “historical-critical school” was formed (see Scholem, 1977) (Idel, 2006, 187). According to Idel, the creativity required of the historian is similar to that of the Kabbalist “to penetrate, to create new combinations, and to decipher code” (ibid., 184). Elsewhere, Idel likens the character of the researcher in Scholem’s work to “a psychoanalyst uncovering the psychological process that created the symbol” (Idel, 1998, 59).



Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

historical events is achieved through destroying the overt and static layer characterizing its appearance in the present in favor of new syntheses that restore to the past events the vitality that characterized them when they occurred. In assuming the basic connection between the covertness of the transcendent dimension in Jewish existence and the constituting of the active disposition of its observer, Scholem shared Kurzweil’s position. Furthermore, the two saw this covertness as a basic given of Jewish existence and at times of human existence in general: Scholem describes the reality in which human experience takes place as saturated with the hidden and the secret, and in one of his poetic attempts he wonders about the “depth” he sought to research: “Is it really revealed to me?” Later he adds: “But what the time births remains in cycles, in mystery, and in alienation.” It is fascinating that in this poem, Scholem chooses very similar expressions to those of Kurzweil: “In a cruel gaze the time in its cycle/ watches us, with no return to the past” (Scholem, 1990, 47). Kurzweil, in contrast, defines transcendence as a “cruel potential reality” and states that despite its being “the most real thing,” “it exceeds all the boundaries and all the possibilities that the power of the human mind and imagination can grasp.”56 It appears that the need for the active stance arises due to the essential and independent hiddenness of the transcendent entity itself. The active reference may enable the subject to experience the presence of this entity in reality, without its typical transcendency being denied or thwarted. This insight, shared by Kurzweil and Scholem, may explain the absence of the subject’s active stance in Yerushalmi’s approach. As we have seen, he shared with Scholem and Kurzweil a similar position regarding the presence of transcendence in Jewish history. However, his opinion regarding God’s mark in Jewish history —making it unique compared to the histories of other nations57—actually presents transcendence as an overt and exposed reality, however paradoxical and contradictory this may appear. By the logic of overt realities, they do not require an active stance on the subject’s part, which is essential precisely regarding the covertness of the transcendent entity. Moreover, Kurzweil shared with Scholem the approach regarding the special access of creators to transcendence, though each

56

Kurzweil, 1973a, 36.

57

See Yerushalmi, 1989, 91.



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c­ onceived of this access differently. Kurzweil, who attributed the activism to authors and poets, interpreted it as evidence of their greater devotion to their calling as “granting reality” to themselves and their people,58 and as expressing the depth of their transcendence of their own boundaries, at the peak of which it might reach a mystical union.59 Activism in Kurzweil’s approach depends mainly on the creator-subjects’ devotion to the reality beyond themselves, and to grant expression to the dominance of the reality in relation to the subjects. In contrast, the activism attributed to the Kabbalists in Scholem’s approach recruits their mental skills, particularly the objectification and reflection involving a degree of sovereignty toward their objects (Scholem, 1948, 97; 101). Scholem believes activism is a  basic given in modern Jewish existence: “Our experience in Israel —and the history of the Jews in the past sixty years —has made clear to us that we should always ask: what are we doing? […] Such a thoughtless life somehow does not work.” He also states that “A  Jew must […] think constantly about being Jewish. Perhaps because of his immanent tradition and perhaps because the non-Jews have made him self-aware —both possibilities are true” (Scholem, 1995b, 98). The strength of the transcendent and metaphysical dimension in reality, which Scholem shares with Kurzweil, does not rely on agreement between the two dimensions regarding the subject’s status. It appears that on the issue of reflection, Scholem was distant from Kurzweil and even more so from Yerushalmi, who saw its modern appearances realized by historians as a threat to the world of tradition. In fact, Yerushalmi believed that this danger was realized in modern historicism, and as a result history had become “the faith of fallen Jews.”60 In this respect, the transcendent dimension in Jewish existence appears in Yerushalmi’s approach as more vulnerable to damage by subjects compared with its status in Scholem’s approach. It transpires that among the three who devoted significant space and importance to the transcendent dimension in Jewish reality —Yerushalmi, Kurzweil, and Scholem —the latter is the only one who managed to maintain the status of the subject, and at the same time to preserve the tension entailed in this. This

58

Kurzweil, 1962, 187.

59

See Kurzweil, 1973a, 48, 131; 1960, 19.

60

Yerushalmi, 1989, 86.



Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

significant difference seems to be attributable to the continuous presence of the historical observation, along with the metaphysical one, in Scholem’s work —a  presence that cannot allow the shifting of the subject to the margins of reality, in which the transcendent element appears and influences. However, Scholem’s approach is not exhausted by his recognition of the integral importance of reflection in modern Jewish existence —an understanding that in his eyes made Judaism accessible in principle to generalization and criticism, and that was an axiom in the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums. Scholem uniquely interprets reflection as a source for appearances of the particular dimensions of Judaism as a historical phenomenon. In other words, Scholem assumed that in Jewish existence there exists a special relation between particular expression and an anchor in the immanent-historical level, and took metaphysical conclusions from this relation. This feature of Scholem’s approach is also stressed in Funkenstein’s critique of it: “Even Scholem, who refused to differentiate between “essentially Jewish” and “un-Jewish” phenomena […] still devoted much time and energy to prove that the origins of the Kabbala are Jewish, or that the origins of secularization are internal rather than external.”61 The background to this criticism is Funkenstein’s significantly different approach, which perceived the historical Jewish being in immanent terms, but did not see this as its unique characteristic. Furthermore, he sharply criticized the anti-assimilation ethos of Judaism, which he characterized as an “obsession,”62 and more generally rejected the very possibility of distinguishing between internal and external regarding a  given culture, since in his opinion, “[…] more often than not they [endogenous and exogenous] are inseparable. How misleading this contraposition of “assimilation” against “self-assertion, self-expression” is, can be seen from the very way in which Jews asserted their uniqueness.”63 In principle, the anchoring of Judaism in an immanent substrate, which constitutes Funkenstein’s approach, does not

61

Funkenstein, 1995a, 8. This evaluation of Scholem’s historical approach is shared by Josef Dan; see Dan, 1987, 325–6.

62

Funkenstein, 1995a, 5. In Funkenstein’s opinion, the origins of this ethos are religious, but in the present it has taken on a secular-cultural form. See ibid., 6.

63

Ibid., 9.





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­ revent the possibility of also expressing the transcendent dimensions p that accompanied Jewish existence —although this substrate usually weakens the appearance and influence of the particular dimensions in Jewish history. Furthermore, Scholem’s approach is distinct from those of Yerushalmi and Kurzweil in attributing particularity to real historical phenomena in Judaism. The latter two connected the particular dimensions of Jewish existence to the basic relation of Judaism to transcendence and even to God. As we have seen, Yerushalmi wrote: “I submit that no Jewish historian today […] would bring himself to write an explicit “reasons-from-God” epilogue […] what would be inconceivable in a history of the English, the French, or the Dutch is still possible in a serious twentieth-century historical work concerning the Jews”; Kurzweil stated: “It is clear: God along, constantly present, has solutions to the riddles of time.”64 Finally, Scholem’s approach also differs from that of Rotenstreich. Like Scholem, Rotenstreich saw reflexivity as an essential means to express the particular dimensions present in historical Jewish existence: “Historicalness is inherent […] within the internal world of constant reflection; it is the source and its own content.”65 However, while Rotenstreich concluded, from the joining of reflexivity to particularity, the dominance of the present in the modern Jewish being, Scholem interpreted the connection between reflexivity and particularity in Jewish existence in metaphysical terms, regarding the permanent presence of the hidden and mystical dimension in Jewish existence. Autonomy, Difference, and Seeking the Absolute The uniqueness and importance of the metaphysical observation Scholem directed at the history of the Jewish people is achieved to a  significant extent thanks to its complex relation with the historical observation realized in parallel with it. This is apparent, first and foremost, in the activism directed at the secrets of historical reality

64

Yerushalmi, 1989, 91; Kurzweil, 1960, 127. Yerushalmi’s approach is the most extreme among those mentioned. He assumed that in the Jewish context, reflection directed at historical reality and recognition of the presence of a transcendent reality within it were mutually exclusive.

65

Rotenstreich, 1972b, 38.





Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

not making their possible decipherment into a  personal expression of the observer, despite the metaphysical observation also involving personal and even private dimensions. Fundamentally, Scholem does not assume a contradiction between the mental reference in which the subject is present and active and the metaphysical observation anchored in recognition of the existence of a transcendent entity that is autonomous in relation to the subject. Moreover, the autonomy of the transcendent entity is guaranteed not only through the metaphysical observation that assumes it, but also through the historical observation, whose aim for objectivity preserves the difference between the observer and the object despite them existing on a shared immanent plane. This difference is undoubtedly a primary and essential condition for thinking about transcendence. The understanding that the historian and the object exist on one shared ground —historical reality —does not lead, in Scholem’s approach, to any erosion or blurring of what distinguishes them from each other. Indeed, the real level to which the historian’s gaze is directed is a plane of variance and difference, and studying its historical appearances encourages the metaphysical observation that seeks their meaning. The sharp contrast Yerushalmi assumes between historian and object66 is neutralized in advance, in Scholem’s approach, through each of the observations separately and through them all together. Either way, whether by the historical observation that often encounters the presence of the hidden and absent, or by the metaphysical observation that assumes the hidden in advance and therefore views the Jewish past as a “cipher” (Scholem, 1976a, 399), Jewish history transpires in Scholem’s approach as a cipher of transcendence.67

66

Yerushalmi, 1989, 84.

67

The perception of immanence —including of historical reality —as a cipher of transcendence was developed extensively in the philosophy of Karl Jaspers. See my discussion on this issue; Miron, 2012, 227–62. Moshe Idel proposes a different interpretation of Scholem’s historical approach to the Kabbalah, in which he distinguishes between historical symbols and “theosophical or metaphysical symbols.” This falls into line with his argument that Scholem’s metaphysical search is focused in his early years, while the historical search belongs to a later stage; see Idel, 1998. However, in my proposed interpretation, metaphysics is regarded as an inseparable part of the historical clarification.



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Second, as much as the reality of the transcendent dimension in Jewish history was certain for Scholem, he did not position its full decipherment as an achievable or even desirable target from the beginning. Although he believed in the existence of absolute values in history and ceaselessly repeated his faith in God —whatever this faith meant —he state “I cannot discover in history the values themselves” (Scholem, 1990, 114).68 This means that the solid evident basis of the metaphysical observation does not diminish the presence of the historical observation, which is realized in parallel with it. The power of the latter is responsible for the metaphysical yearning to discover the hidden returns to the “struggle for higher values” (ibid.), despite the recognition of the permanent presence of the transcendent dimension in Jewish history. Moreover, Scholem adds that “to the extent that a particular culture or a particular tradition of generations has imagined values and fought for their realization —thus is its historical value measured” (ibid.). At this point, the personal dimension present in the metaphysician’s viewpoint is strengthened and receives an emotional expression: “If it failed the struggle, it raises doubts and uncertainties and even disappointment and nausea. Yes, nausea. Every history also raises these emotions” (ibid.). These feelings toward the absolute influences illuminates the struggle of the historian’s work. As a result, Scholem states regarding historical research: “Perhaps there is no science here, since there is a struggle for the sake of science” (Scholem, 1976a, 65).69

68

The contexts where Scholem declares explicitly his faith in God are many. For example, Scholem, 1976a, 41, 51, 566; 1990, 97, 111, 114; 1980, 118; 1995b, 42, 101.

69

The meaning granted to the struggle as a criterion for evaluation reveals a basic metaphysical connection between Scholem’s perception of history and Leibowitz’s perception of the mitzvoth as “man’s striving to attain the religious goal” (Leibowitz, 1995, 16, emphasis in original). The relations between Scholem’s thought and that of Leibowitz, and the connection to existentialist thought, deserve a  separate study. For a  preliminary study of these connections, see Shashar, 1999. Elsewhere, where the element of struggle appears in Scholem, a deeper connection transpires regarding the perception of faith: “If there is real interest in God, the very struggle to believe in Him is lofty” (Scholem, 1990, 111). I  have discussed the metaphysical meanings of Leibowitz’s approach extensively in two contexts: see Miron, 2005, especially 166–8; 2007a. Despite the criticism and even disrespect Scholem expressed toward the existentialist tradition (Scholem,





Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

At last, Scholem’s precise attitude toward theology emerges, illuminated in a  different light through the metaphysical observation: “The real history of Jewish theology […] looks different” had it not been distorted “by apologetics’ (Scholem, 1990, 210). Elsewhere, Scholem writes that theology is an essential component in Jewish existence, and even defines it as opposed to history: “There is no reason for the Jews to exist like the Serbs. The Serbs have a  reason to exist without theology, without an ahistorical dimension” (Scholem, 1976a, 41); and he states unequivocally: “The truth is that I am interested in theology” (Scholem, 1990, 412). While Scholem admits that the typical orthodox position, stating “that one approach is Judaism and another is not Judaism” is remote from him, in the same place he adds “It is certain that the theological-dogmatic approach, to the extent that it portrays such higher affairs”—meaning the absolute values embodied in history—“is Judaism” (ibid. 114). Perhaps the most favorable expression toward theology exists in his essay on Kafka’s The Trial: “If we can say that prose, in order to be assigned absolute greatness, must necessarily open a window on theological being —contents in the realm of language —then this book can serve as confirmation of this’ (ibid. 337).70 In these citations, demonstrating the presence of the metaphysical view point, Scholem requires the study of Jewish theology as part of the connection with the absolute dimensions in Judaism, although he does not require its predetermined contents.71 This is “anti-theological theology,” and Scholem found in Kafka’s The Trial one of its most dialectical expressions, behind his statement that in this work, “the real Talmudic thinking diffracts its light into a  spectrum of colors” (ibid., 337).72

1976a, 68), the presence of the element of struggle in his approach constitutes an existentialist dimension in his work. The element of struggle was extensively developed in Karl Jaspers’s philosophy. See Jaspers, 1985, 257– 9; 1994a, 233–46. 70

In this context, see Arviv, 2007. Hagai Dagan also discussed the relations between Scholem and Kafka, see Dagan, 2005, 253–4. See also Bloom, 1987b.

71

Hagai Dagan distinguishes between theology Scholem opposes (due to its dogmatism) and anti-theological theology in the spirit of anarchism, which reflects the correct theology in Scholem’s opinion. See Dagan, 2005, 253.

72

Avraham Shapira states that Scholem’s relation to Kafka can illuminate “opposing forces whose friction kindled Scholem’s own creative genius. In the substrate of absurdity and lack of meaning in the Kafkaesque universe, the





111

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It seems that in the context of the metaphysical observation of Jewish history, a change takes place in Scholem’s appreciation of the influence of theology on historical research. Now it transpires to him that the connection to theology, and the sensitivity to its meanings and its implications, constitute an essential tool in historical research: “Any scientific method […requires] a  basic conceptual framework within which it operates […and which] has a relation to philosophical and even theological assumptions” (Scholem, 1990, 489). In his opinion, scientists are supposed to be aware of the meanings of what they do. Furthermore, the personal dimension involved in the metaphysical observation illuminates scientific objectivity in a different light, so it appears less severe and less real than it does from the historian’s point of view. In response to a review of his book Sabbatai Sevi, he writes: So what is this dispute as if I did not know that history cannot be written objectively? […] There are things in which my position leads me to think something good about the Sabbatians, and there are opposite things, and it should not be difficult to find examples of both approaches, and both are merely results of one position […] I do not think you discovered a great secret if you found that “understanding” means introducing an element of evaluation that I do not deny at all. (Scholem, 1990, 101)

Scholem did not mark the path that leads from the “opposite things” to his “one position.” In any case, in these words he confirms his personal involvement that accompanied his historical research, and as it transpires, also served as a foundation for the constituting of the metaphysical observation. This background enables us to state that Scholem’s criticism of Jewish theology did not reject it in principle. Quite the opposite; in this context he complains about “the weakness of theology in our generation” (Scholem, 1976a, 413), and the lack of sufficient daring and determination on its part regarding the phenomenon of Jewish Messianism:

Scholem x‑ray revealed a hidden and other world.” According to Shapira, “Kafka actualizes for Scholem “an infinite drive” to search for the key to the meaning of revelation, even when the key itself is lost” (Shapira, 1988, 14). Scholem himself states that this situation belongs to the tradition of Jewish mysticism itself (Scholem, 1990, 14).

Chapter One. History and Metaphysics

“Theologians, who are usually lukewarm in Judaism, that is their way” (Scholem, 1990, 236). This criticism is the opposite of his critique of the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums. The latter were excessively active, or alternatively, inappropriately active, while Scholem believed that Jewish theologians showed weakness and indolence precisely in the place where activism and personal daring were required. It seems that the criticism, and sometimes even rejection, Scholem expressed as a historian toward the issue of essence in Judaism and regarding Jewish theology, are not self-explanatory. With the help of the metaphysical observation, Scholem found a way to express his aim to avoid dogmatism and the possibility of it restricting the understanding of the metaphysical dimension in Jewish history, without this involving a complete rejection of theology. Typically, Scholem found the right daring and courage, which he viewed as conditions for fulfilling this aim, among the Kabbalists, and he interpreted them as stemming from the confidence and certainty that filled their actions.73 It seems that no less than this statement expresses his position as a historian, the metaphysician’s observation is apparent in it.

73



See Scholem, 2003, 186, 189, 207.

113

Chapter Two

Methodical Motifs: Contradiction, Dialectic, and Demystification A. Distance, Identification, and Tension The combination of the historian and the metaphysician can in principle realize “the tension between distance and identification,” which Scholem indicated “was decisive regarding my activity” (Scholem, 1979, 467). So, on the one hand, Scholem responds to the basic demand of the historian as a scientist and researcher to describe and analyze his objects and avoid searching for syntheses. Against this background, he stresses the contradictions he identified in the Wissenschaft des Judentums: “We should not understand […] the development of the Wissenschaft des Judentums except with attention to the deep contradictions […that] show their signs in its features […] its role as a historical force in our history is related to these contradictions in its essence” (Scholem, 1976a, 386). On the other hand, Scholem significantly exceeds the boundary of description and analysis, and gives expression to his personal worldview, which on the surface seems to denounce the presence of contradictions on the historical level. Thus, for example, he writes: “The dangerous tension in the mentioned trends [of the Wissenschaft des Judentums] is released [… in] an orgy of mediocrity […] This mediocre track appeared as the safest withdrawal line of “historical and positive science” from the attack of these contradictory trends that crush it,” and of this mediocrity there remains “nothing, in terms of their scientific approach” (Scholem, 1976a, 393– 94). Finally he considers the three contradictions he identified in the Wissenschaft des Judentums —to be discussed extensively below — responsible for its limited ability to influence the course of events in our nation (ibid., 394). How should we understand the difference and sometimes contrast existing between the fruits of the two viewpoints, historical and metaphysical? Do the identification and containment of the contra-

Chapter Two. Methodical Motifs: Contradiction, Dialectic, and Demystification

dictions, which the historical viewpoint enables and even nurtures, become so problematic within the metaphysical viewpoint directed at the same phenomena that one has to decide between them, which might undermine the infrastructure of Scholem’s oeuvre, composed of their shared presence? In other words, is loyalty to the two viewpoints simultaneously even possible? The answer to this complex question may be found in Scholem’s attitude toward the issue of contradictions, and in the methodical strategies he employed, particularly dialectic and demystification.

B. Contents Contradictions and Metaphysical Contradictions Scholem’s approach to the contradictions he discovered in historical phenomena was based on the assumption that their appearance indicates that these phenomena were undergoing formation processes that had yet to be completed. For example, he states: In the Bahir there are prominent attempts to introduce order and a more or less regular system in the use of these symbols regarding certain spheres, but this has yet to achieve complete crystallization. The attempts contradict each other very clearly, and you can no longer, nor should it be necessary, unify them through harmonizing and mediating interpretations. (Scholem, 1948, 31)

These words show that as long as an event has not reached crystallization, contradictions will appear in historical phenomena. Those who wish to study these phenomena are required to reflect them in their intermediate givenness and to avoid a harmonic observation that would solve the contradictions or examine them according to what they might imagine as the final crystallization of the events themselves. This means that the presence of the contradictions cannot in itself indicate any problem or error. Moreover, from Scholem’s words elsewhere it transpires that the contradictions are a very basic given in human existences, since “reality is dialectical and full of contradictions by its very essence” (Scholem, 1990, 187). Accordingly, he states that each stage in the development of Judaism’s religious world “contained tensions and was full of contradictions” (Scholem, 1976a, 559), and adds that this also applies to Zionism (ibid., 125), and does not

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skip over the endeavor of the State of Israel, which in his opinion is also “built on contradictions” (Scholem, 1995b, 63). Scholem reveals that in his eyes the importance of the Kabbalah is in the special commitment shown by its creators to the contradictions that are a basic given of human and Jewish existence: It is not the degree of the Kabbalists’ success in their various explanations that is important to us; perhaps their means of thinking are faulty and their concepts are not as polished as they could be. But their very seeing the internal contradiction in the existence of every created thing and their very desire to plumb the depths of this contradiction and not to escape from it, and the very raising of the question of the power of evil in all its nakedness and without delusions contain dialectic daring and striving that is worthy of respect. (Scholem, 1976a, 228)

Elsewhere, Scholem indicated explicitly the “contradiction at the basis of Kabbalistic thinking,” assuming that “something of the foreign mythical worlds” (Scholem, 2003, 97), meaning gnosis, exist within it, despite the fact that it “grew, at least in part, out of the struggle against Judaism’s victory over myth” (ibid., 97). In fact, Scholem not only requires the existence of contradictions but also argues that the “multiple contradictory trends” in the early Kabbalah enfolded the mystical and theoretical possibilities of the next generations (ibid., 98).1 In the depth of the matter, the contradictions reflect a lack of decision between the religious possibilities in real reality. In this respect, the existence of the contradictions is equivalent to, and dependent upon, that of the mystical possibilities. Scholem explains, “To the outside observer who has not seen in it the living experience of the mystic,” and who lacked “speculative concepts sufficient to express it in the language of the generation,” the Kabbalah did indeed seem paradoxical (Scholem, 1948, 160). However, this explanation, or even the lack of awareness of the antinomistic possibilities inherent in the Kabbalists’ theories,2 does not resolve the contradictions or deny their reality. Indeed, Scholem finds that the link between the contradictions

1



See also Scholem, 1948, 98, 189.

2



See Scholem, 2003, 188–90.

Chapter Two. Methodical Motifs: Contradiction, Dialectic, and Demystification

or paradox and mysticism contains the vitality of historical reality as an arena of events and becoming not yet fixed. In other words, the contradictions contain the secret of the vitality of the historical phenomenon as a vivid reality, and as will be seen below, they also fill a role in realizing the continuity of the generations. Against this background, the precise meaning of Scholem’s famous criticism of the Wissenschaft des Judentums becomes clear. His main anger is not directed at the contradictions revealed in its activity, but at these contradictions not serving as a source for requiring Judaism as a living reality with a future: “The historical consciousness [of the Wissenschaft des Judentums people] did not allow its owners the positive usage entailed in their method, and the romantic science appears for them as an alarming burial ceremony” (Scholem, 1976a, 389). This flaw is the one due to which in Scholem’s eyes the first Jewish historians appeared as “wise liquidators” and “gravediggers” of Jewish existence (ibid., 392).3 In clear contrast to the position of Amos Funkenstein, who attributed the continuity of Jewish existence to the realization of the references to its cultural contents and assets, for Scholem the Wissenschaft des Judentums is an example showing that even an intellectual endeavor impressive in its scope and dimensions can also be an expression of a very profound break with tradition.4 The extreme characterization of the first Jewish historians as the gravediggers and liquidators of Jewish existence appears to be a direct result of what Scholem interpreted as an attempt to remove the dynamic and vivid factors in Jewish history in favor of a uniform and calm portrayal of it:

3

See also the following quote: “In those days I  reflected quite a  bit about this group of scholarly liquidators, and in 1921 I planned to write an article about the suicide of Judaism being carried out by the so-called Science of Judaism” (Scholem, 1980, 122). Scholem’s criticism of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, stressing its burying and liquidating activity, has been criticised by several historians. See Shoresh, 2000, 452–6; Breuer, 1986, 190–1). See also Myers, 2003, 6.

4

This position of Funkenstein is inherent in his statement that “[…] the distance between secular Jews (or secular Israeli culture) and traditional Judaism was created not by the lack of historical knowledge and symbols, but by their alienation from texts and textual messages, the halakha and the midrash” (Funkenstein, 1993, 21). This statement of Funkenstein’s will be discussed later on.





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Removing the irrational sting and distancing the imaginative fervor from Jewish history through excessive theologization and spiritualization. This is actually the original sin that decides them all on the pan of the scales. This alarming giant: our history, is called to testify, to the Torah, and to document — and this enormous creature, full of explosive strength, composed of vitality, evil, and perfection, lowers its stature, shrinks, and declares itself to be nothing […] idyllics —faking the past by blurring the disruptive elements, which rebel and burst out in history and in thought […] how they hid away what was important to us and emphasized the trivial, and if they did not completely hide it —what lack of wise judgment in evaluating it and using it! (Scholem, 1976a, 396)5

On a personal note, Scholem tells us that even early on he “had not been able to stomach” the perception of Judaism as “a spiritual church” (Scholem, 1980, 154), and elsewhere he criticizes more generally the excessive rationalization of modern man, who in his opinion missed the “irrational value hidden also in the general rational concept.” Thus, Scholem rejects the binary view that locates rationality and irrationality at two opposite poles. In this spirit he states: “At the boundary of the purest concept there is the possibility to turn it into a new mythic picture” (Scholem, 1948, 138). It is fascinating that the awareness of the problematic entailed in spiritualization, which Scholem indicated in his criticism of the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, he identifies in Nahmanides’s Kabbalah. In his opinion, this problematic was solved in the field of Kabbalah by the positive dimension intertwined in its spiritual endeavor: “The Kabbalist in Nahmanides knew the danger of spiritualization and was not afraid of it in the realm of the occult, since the hidden is necessarily connected to the visible and to action, without which the mystical symbol cannot exist at all” (ibid., 152). More generally, Scholem believes that in the historical test the Kabbalah was more successful than philosophy, since it was better at answering the basic human urges, met humans in the dreads their life and death,6

5



This passage has received extensive attention in the research literature, see: Myers, 1995, 23, 167; Biale, 1979, 3–4; Idel, 1998, 67–8, 71; 2006, 185; 2004.

6



See Scholem, 1941, 23, 26.

Chapter Two. Methodical Motifs: Contradiction, Dialectic, and Demystification

and showed “awareness […] of the “night terrors”, of the dark side of life” (Scholem, 1976a, 228). Moreover, unlike philosophy, the Kabbalah did not turn its back on the “primitive side of life” (Scholem, 2003, 97–8).7 In its symbolic interpretation of the sources of tradition, the Kabbalah avoided “destroying the living texture of religious narrative” (Scholem, 1941, 26) and served as a reliable reflection of the “deeper and hidden sphere of reality” (ibid., 28).8 All this is achieved through significant effort on its part to find a formula of expression that would give as little offense as possible to the philosophers (ibid., 11).9 According to Scholem, the Kabbalah’s appropriate approach to human reality with all its complexity and darkness, “escaped the fate of the early Kabbalists who always remained a small aristocratic sect” (ibid., 81) and became a  “motivator of great power in history” (Scholem, 1976a, 202). In other words, there is no paradox here, and the Kabbalists were influential because they lived among their nation.10 If that was not enough, Scholem adds elsewhere, almost casually: “For the interest of these Jews was not in philosophical accuracy but in speaking about the living God” (Scholem, 2003, 155–6).11 This means

7

Ibid., 34–5.

8

In this context, see the different interpretation of Nathan Rotenstreich, who explained the centrality of the symbolic dimension in Scholem’s work in the openness and the innovative potential embodied in this dimension as a means of reference to transcendence (Rotenstreich, 1978, 4–5).

9

Scholem refers to the functioning of Kabbalah as an opposition to philosophy (Scholem, 1941, 354, n. 23). He also repeats the advantage of Kabbalah over philosophy in dealing with the world of Rabbinical Judaism, not only in interpretative aspects but also in Halakhic matters (e. g., ibid., 28– 31). Scholem’s argument regarding the unsuitability of the philosophical language to deal with Jewish history is equivalent to that of Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi regarding modern Jewish historical writing (see Yerushalmi, 1989, 85, 97–8). Yosef Ben Shlomo claims that Scholem’s arguments for the precedence of Kabbalah over philosophy are all historical and phenomenological, while the only historiosophical implication arising from the empirical historical description refers to the dynamism, vitality, and multifacetedness of Jewish history and Jewish thought (Ben Shlomo, 1997, 115).





10

See also Scholem, 1948, 148.

11

Here Scholem is citing the interpretation of Benno Jacob to the term “God’s image” from Genesis (Jacob, 1934, 4). However, Scholem stresses that even in the Kabbalah’s effort to maintain its connection to the living God, it paid a high price due to its inevitable closeness to the world of mythology



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that in the Kabbalah a more correct stance facing contradictions is apparent. It does not make haste to resolve them in favor of a spiritual position, but actually sees them as part of the real human experience. In this spirit, Scholem explains that while in the “world of concepts” there is no solution to the contradictions arising from the writings of the Kabbalists, in the “historical world,” meaning the one involving inseparably both speculative thought and actions, the Kabbalists were able to overcome the contradictions (Scholem, 1948, 160). The connection between the irrational dimension and the contradictions is clear, as is the link between the “mystical possibilities” and “the new mythic picture.” These expressions can be included in what Scholem defines as “the ontological side of the Kabbalah” (ibid., 137), and they can be used to express the power of the Kabbalah to capture the metaphysical complexity of the reality apparent in contradictions, irrationality, fears, and death. It should be clarified that the contradictions present in the historical field are not uniform, and naturally require different references from historians. In this context, two types of contradiction can be distinguished: content contradictions and metaphysical contradictions. In content contradictions, distortions appear that diminish the possibility of achieving the correct understanding of the phenomenon under discussion. These flaws create an abyss between observers and their objects, and reduce the possible access to the phenomenon. One example of this may be the first contradiction Scholem identified in the Wissenschaft des Judentums, characterized as “a contradiction between the repeated declarations about “pure and objective science,” which is merely a branch of science in general and which has no purpose outside it —and the prominent fact of the political role” intended for it (Scholem, 1976a, 387).12 Since the dimension of content

(Scholem, 1941, 36). On the central role, Jewish mysticism allocated to the idea of the living God; see also ibid., 11. 12



The term “political role” refers in this context to the desire of the German Jews to realize the emancipation and not to the national dimension traditionally connected to the Jews’ yearning for Zion. Yerushalmi understood similarly the work of the founding scholars of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, who in his opinion “reconstructed a Jewish past in which the national element was all but suppressed” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 88). Dan stresses the dominance of the first contradiction in Scholem’s criticism of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, arguing that it did not revolve around their

Chapter Two. Methodical Motifs: Contradiction, Dialectic, and Demystification

is dominant in this contradiction, the key to resolving it may be found in constituting a coherent alternate approach. Undoubtedly, the content contradictions are avoidable, and historians play an important role in preventing them in advance or proposing a framework that could settle the difference between the contents involved in the historical phenomenon. Scholem also identified mixtures of different things in the other two contradictions he saw in the work of the first Jewish historians: the second contradiction refers to the fact that while most of the members of the Wissenschaft des Judentums were enlightened, their program was romantic; and the third contradiction deals with what Scholem calls “the conserving trends and the liquidating trends in this science [that were] intertwined” (ibid., 389). These two contradictions also contain dimensions enabling them to be included together in the category “metaphysical contradiction,” which, according to Scholem, “already touches the depth of the things and is not at all dependent on the opinion and wish of the scientists” (ibid., 388). Beyond the relation of the metaphysical contradictions to the ontological substrate that determined the character of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, that is in the way its founders perceived the nature of Jewish reality, they show autonomy in relation to the intentions of its founders and their abstract perceptions. This autonomy is what makes these metaphysical contradictions inevitable and rescues them from the responsibility of human beings. Indeed, Scholem adds regarding the second contradiction that “by their very nature they could never deny its intellectual opinions and assessments” (ibid., 388), and regarding the third one that “there is no disadvantage in this hypocrisy: since they, who aimed at constructing a nation, did not feel themselves as grave diggers” (ibid., 389). So it transpires that not only did the Wissenschaft des Judentums carry “the contradictions of Jewish reality in that generation” (ibid., 393), Scholem himself admits that the destructive results he identified in their work were not preceded by negative intentions on their part, and in fact they had no control over it. If indeed the contradictions entailed in the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums were mainly inevitable, what in fact was

being scholars showing ignorance about Judaism, but around their studies not being reliable enough regarding historical facts, but touched by their personal worldviews (Dan, 1982, 171).

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Scholem’s criticism of this unique group of Jewish scholars? It turns out that in Scholem’s approach, individuals have a role in metaphysics too, and in this context he sees fit to indicate the problematic contribution of the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums. In his opinion, even if “the romantic science served an anti-Jewish role, and Jews had excellent reasons to fear it,” still “such a [romantic] plan would have been fine had it been directed at constructing the Jewish nation.” Moreover, “the historical critic must at every moment take into account the possibility of appearing conservative, at the closest turn of his work.” Without doubt there is a close connection between the conservatism mentioned here and the affirmation of the contents as a sustainable element in the reality of the researcher’s life. Scholem believes that this conservative and demanding position is “what gave the great [researchers] of romantic science their greatness” (ibid., 388–9). The aiming for the positive and for approval, which Scholem repeats here and in other contexts, is further established later when the turning points in history are classified as a “building point” (ibid., 399), revealing the existing pattern and not diverting its direction. The conservative position, directed explicitly at the permanent dimensions of reality, transpires as essential for the constituting of a suitable metaphysical observation of Jewish history, while the contradictions are merely an outcome of clashes in the present moment with this infrastructure. Furthermore, precisely the independence of this infrastructure in relation to the present reality is what makes the contradictions inevitable. It seems that even though Scholem identified in the Wissenschaft des Judentums unavoidable metaphysical contradiction, he still considers valuable and significant the individual’s stance facing them and the consideration an individual shows toward what is worthy and valuable. In this context, Scholem’s approach differs from Yerushalmi’s, which has a more tragic horizon,13 and is more similar

13



The tragic horizon in Yerushalmi’s approach is prominent in Zakhor: “Yet those who would demand of the historian that he be the restorer of Jewish memory attribute to him powers that he may not possess. Intrinsically, modern Jewish historiography cannot replace an eroded group memory which […] never depended on historians in the first place” (Yerushalmi, 1989, 93– 94). But, as we noted at the conclusion of the discussion of Yerushalmi in Part One, the tragic aspect was somewhat softened by Yerushalmi’s epilogue to the second English edition of Zakhor (ibid., 117).

Chapter Two. Methodical Motifs: Contradiction, Dialectic, and Demystification

to that of Kurzweil,14 where the subject is granted a role in relation to the transcendent reality.15 Scholem’s words imply that even the historian, and not only the metaphysician, may find a real space for demonstrations of activism, both toward the content contradictions and toward the metaphysical contradictions. Against the latter, individuals must show a conservative stance that reaffirms the permanent and independent dimensions that shape the character of historical reality. The tense combination of activism and conservatism is the essence of the dialectical approach whose absence among the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums Scholem bemoans: The tension is resolved between the drive to destroy and the drive to preserve, between rebelling against the national past that requires liquidization and the romantic demand to raise that pure and distilled past […] The tension of drives has also been diminished and become mediocre and exhausted when placed on the new basis of the mediocre track. How weak and infertile is the tension between these new trends of sentimentalization and spiritualization. Semi-rebellion on the one hand and semi-greatness on the other hand —complacency has no dialectic. (Scholem, 1976a, 395)

C. Dialectics and Demystification The contradictions are revealed in Scholem’s studies as one of the basic phenomena of Jewish history. The complexity of his approach to them, which transpired as distinguishing between those based on contents and others related to metaphysical aspects, did not enable him to see them as a problem demanding a solution. Thus, we can conclude from his approach that the role of the historian observing the history of the Jewish nation cannot be exhausted by revealing them, but must

14

For Kurzweil’s position attributing an active power to the poet, see e. g. Kurzweil, 1962, 187, 284.

15

David Engel distinguishes between Scholem’s pessimism in the essay “Thoughts about the Wissenschaft des Judentums,” written in 1945, and the optimism of his essay of fourteen years later—”Wissenschaft des Judentums: In Those Days and in This Time,” (1990, 133–42) (Engel, 2009, 17–8).



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c­ ontain them, meaning adopt a dialectical approach that naturally contains different and even contradictory elements. In this spirit, Scholem states that “historical criticism as a  scientific method cannot in any case avoid this dialectic by its nature” (ibid., 389). He admits his original interest “in dialectic revealed in spiritual processes” (ibid., 28), and adds that the dialectical perception of history and of processes in the life of society and human beings was not alien to him and the root of his soul (ibid., 43).16 These contradictions are undoubtedly the fuel of the dialectics. We can conclude that in Scholem’s opinion, it was not the very presence of contradictions in the work of the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums that was problematic —particularly not the second and third contradictions, which were metaphysical and therefore inevitable —but actually the attempts to resolve them. He describes this attempt with contemptuous comments about its “mediocrity,” “sentimentalization,” and “spiritualization.” These words are also supported by his words in a  different context, where he states that the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums “turned a blind eye to the paradoxes of Judaism, of the Jew’s reality in the world, of the Jew’s reality in history, of the ideas themselves, and simplified the matter” (ibid., 43). Instead of adopting what he called “fertile dialectics” (ibid., 399), the approach of the Wissenschaft des Judentums shrank into a pale and mediocre middle point that blocked the life horizon of the Jewish existence, and as a result also the possibility that change and development could be assimilated into modern Jewish existence.17 The ontological understanding of Jewish reality as permanently bearing contradictions and tension becomes for Scholem a demystifying interpretative position interested in revealing and containing the covert and hidden recesses of Jewish history.18 In those, it appears, he placed his hope to find the meaning of the metaphysical contradic16

On the school of historical criticism Scholem eventually founded at the Hebrew University, See Idel, 1998, 64; Scholem, 1977, 131–2.

17

Hagai Dagan stresses Scholem’s extensive use of the term dialectics, and this is indeed usually interpreted as Hegelian or semi-Hegelian (Dagan, 2005, 251). Moshe Idel also described Scholem as “a man who tended to dialectical thought” (Idel, 1997, 74).

18

Harold Bloom believes that Scholem’s unique contribution is showing that any normative tradition is a series of masks, and that the Jewish claim to continuity does not exist in practice (Bloom, 1987a, 220). For a critique of Bloom’s interpretation, see Handelman, 1982, 197–208.





Chapter Two. Methodical Motifs: Contradiction, Dialectic, and Demystification

tions threaded through it. The most basic premise of this interpretative position is plainly formulated by Scholem in his criticism of the Wissenschaft des Judentums. While it was forceful, it did state that “not everything happens in the visible area. This wisdom has a hidden history” (ibid., 393). In principle, the historian as a demystifier performs an opposite action than that of the esotericist.19 While the latter conceals and sometimes even misleads, aiming to blur the covert, the former tries to discover the hidden. Indeed, Scholem states that “the world is also what it appears to us, but it is not only what it appears to us” (ibid., 53). Elsewhere he warns against “the appearance [that] might mislead here too” (ibid., 386), and in a  more severe tone he declares “but in fact this is not how it appears” (Scholem, 1990, 233). Scholem characterizes this move as an action of “releasing our religious thought [… that] requires destroying this quarantine wall that has been built over generations” (Scholem, 1976a, 399). Scholem believes that Jewish mysticism is unique due to its effort to bring the internal essence to discovery and externalization, and states that “from a historical point of view one can observe […] from both sides, from the world’s internal facet and external facet […] as long as it is ensured that one will not cancel the other out” (ibid., 171). In stressing the gaps between covert and overt, the demystifier position transpires as a sturdy source for establishing the status of contradiction on this historical plane. Just as contradictions, particularly the metaphysical ones, are the food of the dialectical position, so they are also for the demystifier position. However, the latter contains a threat in relation to the dialectical position, since it grants clear priority to the hidden dimensions over the overt ones in a historical phenomenon. Later in the discussion of the basic issues interesting Scholem —secularization, anarchy, utopia, and continuity —it will transpire that this threat is not realized and the demystifier position functions as a means that deepens the dialectic without deciding it. It seems that the deep metaphysical interest that constantly feeds Scholem’s approach to the study of Jewish history is not only responsible for restraining the demystifier dimension in his thought, but it also overcomes dialectics itself. After all, the metaphysical position toward reality is so basic that this raises it to a certain degree above

19



On the hermeneutics of demystification, see Ricoeur, 1967, 20–56; Amado Levy-Valensi, 1979, 41–52.

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the real processes apparent in history. Therefore there is no contradiction between the increased power of the criticism of the Wissenschaft des Judentums and the repeated emphasis in his famous essay on its influence, which was in his opinion “very modest” (ibid., 395). Scholem’s positive attitude toward contradictions, both as a permanent presence in Jewish history and as a constituting power that is constructive and even innovative, determined their status as a basic given in Jewish existence and in the thought that seeks to study it. His demand to realize a dialectical approach to meet the complexity of the historical reality with its secrets and contradictions thus makes it impossible to order the two viewpoints in a hierarchy that would determine the degree of importance of each of them to understanding Jewish history.20 The different and even contradictory expressions of the two thus transpire as a reliable reflection of history, in which construction and contradiction are intermingled. Even in contexts where the primacy of the metaphysical observation over the historical one is apparent, the latter is never pushed aside as a result. Indeed, the basic given of the contradiction requires on the one hand both observations and on the other hand makes the contradictions themselves into a criterion of “their hermeneutical efficiency,” meaning a means of assessing their ability to locate and elucidate the contradictions and sketch through them the many reflections of the Jewish existence in the past and present. Furthermore, in the absence of a hierarchy between the historical and metaphysical viewpoints, and between their expressions, there is no possibility of clearly determining what is included in Jewish history and what constitutes a deviation or break from it, especially as the revealed and the hidden may be exchanged as masks: “And is it not said that following the Messiah’s coming the hidden will become visible —and perhaps it would be right that the visible would also become hidden? Whether this was said as praise or as condemnation —is it not true that the revealed in the history of Jewish wisdom

20



The proposed interpretation of Scholem’s work that links the two observations, the historical and the metaphysical, differs from that suggested by Idel. In his opinion, “Scholem’s basic early drive was explicitly metaphysical; while at the later stage, about from the start of the second world war, he was interested mainly in symbolism of a historical nature” (Idel, 1998, 50). He adds that “the search for the metaphysical is connected to an experiential and personal approach the declined in the later stage of [Scholem’s] academic work” (ibid., 51).

Chapter Two. Methodical Motifs: Contradiction, Dialectic, and Demystification

contain some hidden?” (ibid., 386). The difficulty and perhaps futility of obtaining a clear distinction between the two viewpoints stems, it transpires, from the understanding that the historical viewpoint can function as metaphysical, and vice versa. The dialectical relations between the two viewpoints are the deepest expression of the mutual interconnection of the historical and the metaphysical in Scholem’s thought. The deepest meaning of dialectics in Scholem’s thought can be clarified by comparing it to that of Kurzweil. The latter, like that of Scholem, was based on the basic duality in which the historical and the metaphysical found their place. But while for Scholem they formed two viewpoints, in Kurzweil’s thought the historical is part of the metaphysical, and both together are located on one side of the screen, while on the other side is located the personal-biographical element involved in literary creation as such. Moreover, the reflexive distance essential for the formation of a critical viewpoint protected from excessive personal involvement by the observer, which was at the basis of the constituting of the two observations in Scholem’s work, is lacking in Kurzweil’s approach to the historical and the metaphysical. Indeed, this lack of distance, and in particular the release from the strict criteria of historical research, enabled Kurzweil to surrender to the metaphysical drive that constantly fed his interpretative work. This overt metaphysical orientation led Kurzweil to establish a hierarchy in which the creator’s personal-biographical element is subordinated to metaphysical and historical dimensions he identified in the literary work. Eventually, the understanding of the historical and the metaphysical within a relationship controlled by hierarchy served as a  sufficiently efficient means of protecting Kurzweil’s thought from sliding into the binary space that places both on one plane. In contrast, the commitment to objectivity and reflexivity involved in Scholem’s thought required a more radical means to order the relations between the two elements constituting his thought. Thus, while the hierarchical framework predetermines the place of its components, Scholem avoided such a predetermining in advance due to both the existence of an objective system external to it, in the guise of historical criticism, and the constant inward motion caused by reflection. The dialectical relationship into which the historical and metaphysical are thrown in Scholem’s thought may enable this thought to deal with the conflict with the restless motion of its internal components, and to determine each time anew the stance of the historical and the metaphysical toward external criteria.

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Finally, the dialectic into which the historical and metaphysical are thrown in Scholem’s thought will transpire below as finding complete realization in the continuity theory, which connects the various branches of his thought. Scholem himself defined the continuity of generations in the Jewish nation as a “dialectical matter” (Scholem, 1990, 189), and added that the unity that characterizes its existence possesses a dialectic (ibid., 213). This dialectic exceeds the boundary of a methodical principle or an epistemic tool, since it touches upon the metaphysical essence of Jewish history itself. The two viewpoints serve as a sort of metaphysical introductions that simultaneously require and enable the continuity thesis: historical research enabled the enlarging of the range of religious phenomena included in Jewish history, and the metaphysical observation provided the “glue” to connect them to each other. The continuity thesis, to be discussed below, served as a  sufficiently broad and complex setting within which Scholem sought to contain a wide and rich variety of phenomena in the history of the Jewish nation. The vitality of the Jewish tradition and the secret of its continuity were attributed to the dialectic, conflict, and contradiction that characterized the relations of these phenomena in the present toward the past tradition.

Chapter Three

The Historical Continuity Thesis A. Intuition, A priori Affirmation, and Substance Scholem positions the thesis of historical continuity in the Jewish nation as a premise for studying its history. In this spirit he states that without “the assumption that there is continuity in our history” (Scholem, 1976a, 74), it is impossible to discuss the meanings and possibilities of mysticism in our time. The “intuitive affirmation of mystical theses” (ibid., 29), meaning the a  priori incorporation of mystical phenomena into Jewish history, is an essential condition for formulating the continuity thesis. This approach warns against the historicistic demand for the absence of presuppositions:1 “I started from advance premises […] I  was willing to assume things from a  philosophical point of view, which perhaps the mystics knew and other people do not know” (ibid., 28). The two observations work to establish the historical continuity thesis in Scholem’s thought. The historical one directs Scholem to reveal sources and chapters of the past, some of which were hidden and even suppressed, and to place them on the continuum of the historical process. In parallel, the premise underlying the metaphysical observation regarding the permanent presence of “substance” (Scholem, 1990, 195) and “something” undefined in the history of the Jewish nation (Scholem, 1995b, 34), establishes the intuitive affirmation of the mystical phenomena and grants depth to the thesis of continuity, which as a result cannot be exhausted on the plane of real occurrences. The two observations directed to the issue of historical continuity reflect upon it, and in this respect already deviate from the phenomena composing the real historical reality. However,

1



On the ideal of science during the early constituting of German historicism contemporary with the Wissenschaft des Judentums see Ringer, 1969, 102–13. On the reception of the ideal of science by the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, see Mendes-Flohr, 1991, 135–40.

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as we shall see, the deviation of the metaphysical observation is deeper and more thorough.

B. The Metaphysical View of Continuity The main mark of the metaphysical observation in Scholem’s continuity thesis is apparent in “Man’s personal decision […] requiring […] the continuity of our history” (Scholem, 1976a, 219, emphasis in the original). In Scholem’s various references to his occupation with mysticism he stresses, often in the first person, the personal dimension entailed in this choice: “I approached from curiosity that contained something of mine” (ibid., 28), and “I remained in my thoughts” where “once the hidden life of Judaism dwelt” (Scholem, 1990, 29). Scholem clearly links his interest in the Kabbalah to the sense of certainty that accompanied him regarding the continuing reality and vitality of the mystical tradition in Jewish existence: “A strong attraction to tradition arose in me, whose archaic nature was clear to me, and despite this I felt its pulse beats” (ibid., 301). A  reason for this attraction, and a  complement to it, can be found in the strong repulsion Scholem felt toward his parents” split and assimilated world, which he described as “the lie in the very Jewish existence” in Germany during his youth, or the “JewishGerman synthesis” which he reported as “a thing I could not stand all my life” (Scholem, 1976a, 28).2 Scholem reveals what he considers as a false representation: “Jewish reality seemed to be living, apparently flourishing,” but in fact “it was rotten” (ibid., 12), and he describes it as “an androgynous of a  double entity existing in self-deception”

2



See also: “The definition post-assimilatory Jew applies to me” (Scholem, 1982a, 11). Scholem explains that the search for dialogue characterized only the Jews, and their love for the Germans was not reciprocated (see also Scholem, 1976b, 61–2). On Scholems’ attitude toward historical influences originating from outside the Jewish world, David Myers argued that Scholem recognized the formative influence of non-Jews on ancient Jewish mysticism (Myers, 2003, 164). In this context, see also the approach of Peter Schäfer, according to whom Scholem moved between an attitude referring to the absorbtion of mysticism from external sources and an approach insisting on the existence of Jewish gnosis. According to Schäfer, these two forms do not enable a  cultural negotiation (Schäfer, 2002, 219 [cited in Myers, 2003, 228 n. 26]).

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

(Scholem, 1990, 215) or in “self-fraud” (Scholem, 1976a, 12). In another context he explains the oft-repeated term “self-deception”: I am referring to self-deception, and its discovery was one of the most decisive experiences of my youth. Most Jews lacked discrimination in all matters affecting themselves, yet in all other matters they mustered that faculty for reasoning, criticism and vision […] This capacity for self-deception is one of the most important and dismal aspects of the German-Jewish relationship. (Scholem, 1980, 26)3

For these reasons, Scholem opposed another form of Jewish appeal outwards during his youth, the one typical of the youth movement Jung Juda at his time, whose people “thought that for their Jewish pride and to maintain Jewish honor in the eyes of the gentiles they should do like them and return the battle to their gates.” Against these, Scholem stresses “I conducted a war on confusion. It seemed to me that the Zionists created assimilation within Zionism” (Scholem, 1976a, 20). So it transpires that the significant attention to the world outside Judaism, typical of his parents’ world at the end of the emancipation period, seemed problematic to Scholem even when it was accompanied by clear identification with the Jews and Judaism. Scholem himself sketches a straight line between his criticism of the world of his parents and their surroundings and the exposure to Jewish sources and the affirmation of himself as belonging to the

3



David Myers classifies Scholem as belonging to the post-assimilatory Jewish world, which could not leave its German roots (Myers, 2003, 175). Nathan Rotenstreich explains that Scholem saw German Judaism not only as selfdeception but also as an intellectual and moral flaw, involving individuals denying themselves and their identities. In his opinion, “the decision toward Zionism was moral rather than political.” He explains that “the moral decision involves returning to self-responsibility and the consciousness of continuity between the present and the past,” though “this return cannot in the end skip over the system of political conditions that are a sort of framework external to that process of realizing the moral decision” (Rotenstreich, 1983, 73). Another interpretation appears in Christoph Schmidt, who argues that Scholem’s theological interpretation of reality was aimed to create political results. In this context he compares Scholem’s political theology with that of Karl Schmidt (See Schmidt, 1995). See also Raz-Krakotzkin, 2007; Weiler, 1976.

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Jewish tradition: “I told my father he was deceiving himself [… and that] “I want to be Jewish” […] I announced I would study Hebrew. This is how my decision to rebel was expressed.” Thus, against everything that he saw as his parents’ delusion and self-deception, the young Scholem perceived as “very rational” his desire to learn Hebrew and deepen his interest in Judaism (ibid., 14). His path from Berlin to Jerusalem seemed to him “singularly direct and illuminated by clear sign-posts” (Scholem, 1980, 1).4 These words join the original intuition and attraction described earlier, and mark out to Scholem the path he will follow from now on: “Already from my youth I had a strong historical consciousness and a strong historical sense. I think that I started dealing with Jewish matters from reading books about Jewish history. From this I began thinking: At last this is me” (Scholem, 1995b, 120–1).5 Scholem, who testified that he had experience many breaks (see Scholem, 1976a, 41), apparently sought the connection to his internality, his selfhood, and a different Judaism than what he knew in his youth, even though he had already certainly known about its existence. But he did not seek the images of this Judaism only in his own soul, in the

4

Similar processes were in the background of Rosenzweig’s work, regarding which Rivka Horwitz wrote “his part was a return from assimilation to the Torah and Judaism, and from idealism —to existentialism” (Horwitz, 1987, 7). In this context, see how Scholem describes the world of the German Jews in his essay on Franz Rosenzweig, whom he described: “he came from the neglect and the desert of Jews in Germany for which the word assimilation gives only a restricted and limited concept […]” (Scholem, 1976a, 409). In a similar spirit, Martin Buber criticized Herman Cohen: “There are layers within the German Jews concerning which I hardly feel any more that I am facing a nation. They are not supra-national but rather sub-national, an offshoot, denying its roots, lacking memory and spineless” (Buber, 1964, 152).

5

Scholem’s texts, especially in the collections of articles in Hebrew that appeared shortly before his death and afterwards, are rich in expressions of personal connection to Judaism. This attracted his commentators: see Rotenstreich, 1983; Breuer, 1986, 191; Shapira, 1995a, 172. However, others regarded these writings as relatively marginal to Scholem’s work. Josef Dan, for instance, presents Scholem as “a historian who chose himself an area of specialization” (Dan, 2010, 67). In his opinion, Scholem’s writings did not contain any explanation as to “why he chose the Kabbalah in particular and what attracted his heart to its internality and secrets” (ibid., 67 n. 5). Harold Bloom also assumed a split between Scholem and normative Judaism (see Bloom, 1987b, 76–7). See also Dan, 1994.





Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

form of yearnings and personal intuitions, but also in the phenomena of Jewish history, both Jewish mysticism that was alien and distant even from his close intellectual surroundings, and in the contemporary Eastern European Jewish experience, what he called “a cult of Eastern Jews”: “The more we encountered the not at all infrequent rejection of Eastern European Jewry in our own families, a rejection that sometimes assumed flagrant forms, the more strongly we were attracted to this very kind of Jewishness” (Scholem, 1980, 43–4).6 Unsurprisingly, Scholem found expression of the connection to the personal dimension also in his basic view of Kabbalah: “The immense literature of the interpretations reflects not only the Jews” understanding of the book but also their self-understanding” (Scholem, 1990, 157). The words “a full world of deep personal and human experience, fitting into the nation’s historical experience, is opened here” (Scholem, 1976a, 67), through which Scholem described the work of the Kabbalists, may also be relevant to himself.7 It is important to clarify that the discussion of the presence of the personal dimension in the process of forming Scholem’s continuity thesis does not relate primarily to psychological elements of his personality, which hardly appear in his writings. Also, references to his biographical descriptions do not serve here as a source for psycho-biographical understanding of his work.8 The discussion here is mainly interested in his self-perception as a researcher, thinker, and as someone whose self-reflection and objectification stood in the background of his work. Scholem’s concrete image did not become a subject or an object of his thought.9 Furthermore, Scholem explicitly rejected the attempts to psychologize his work, mainly from the direction of psychoanalysis (ibid., 37). He even “agreed” reservedly with the general and common assumption that “there is proximity between

6

Concerning Scholem’s attitude the Eastern Jewish culture, see Biale, 1979, 69–72.

7

In this context, see the words of Fania Scholem: “Everything he did stemmed from his search for himself,” in a conversation held on August 12, 1986. The citation appears in Shapira, 1995b, 14.

8

The expression “volatile disposition” (Scholem, 1980, 32), indicating a personality and psychological dimension, is certainly an exception in Scholem’s writings.

9

For more on the image of the personal thinker, see Sagi, 2002, 25–6.







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a  researcher and his study” (Scholem, 1990, 102). This approach to psychology returns in his reference to the psychological dimension entailed in the mystical phenomena themselves. Thus, for example, he states: Unlike most Kabbalists, here and there we find a Kabbalist who did not conquer his personality nor his testimony regarding his path to God. But the Kabbalah’s great importance is not in such contributions, but in what it contributes to understanding the “historical psychology” of Judaism. Each individual in himself enfolded the entire whole. (Scholem, 2003, 6)

He explains that “the psychological categories are not at all identical with the historical categories” (ibid., 27), and later: “We should admit that if we knew more about the historical circumstances of the early Kabbalah, we might require psychologists less” (ibid., 277). In this spirit, he adds elsewhere: The use of psychological concepts amounts to emergency usage. I think that if we understood history better, we would require fewer psychological hypotheses to explain historical phenomena […] A  historical analysis and knowledge of the processes guarantee more than very hypothetical assumptions of psychology. (Scholem, 1976a, 37)

Finally, he states decisively that “the historian’s role ends where the psychologist’s role begins” (Scholem, 2003, 424). In the many expressions of personal attraction to the world of mysticism in Scholem’s writings, the primacy of the metaphysical observation over the historical one that guided him in the study of the Kabbalah is apparent. Indeed, many such expressions were made toward the end of his work, and denote reflexive references behind which his historical work of monumental proportions already stood strong. But the claim of primacy is not disputed as a result, and Scholem himself affirms it when he describes the operation upon him of “an attraction that contained little of wisdom and much of charm and love” (Scholem, 1976a, 64). The need for an intuitive and a priori relation, containing activism, connection, and personal involvement, arises due to the nature of the mystical object of the Kabbalists, which does not present itself

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

to the observer but is contained within a system of tensions and concealments: “You find yourself saying: It was not in a  static or backwards environment in the Jewish development of its generation that Kabbalah was discovered, but in an environment rich in dilemmas and high tension, which absorbed into itself rich assets of tradition, both overt and covert” (Scholem, 1948, 16). The mists of uncertainty shrouding the mystical traditions in Jewish existence are here revealed as a basic facet of the mystical object that grants it its permanent and independent transcendent nature. Thus, even if the strong attraction to the mystical is an individual’s experience, it cannot be considered a premise of the metaphysical observation in terms of its contents and meaning, since what forms it is a transcendent element experienced by the individual as an autonomous and external power that directs to what is beyond it. Already directing the self-search to studying the sources should serve as a barrier against being sucked into the realm of introspection. In another context, Scholem clarifies that transcendence itself remains completely unelucidated, and he wonders “whether there is such a special meaning” of “believing in God’s unity in the Jewish sense” (ibid., 149). Here too, Scholem’s insights as a Kabbalah researcher are reflected in his image of the Kabbalists: “Even for a Jewish thinker like Nahmanides the infinite personal God of the Bible is merely the dark element, the secret of the mystery, which is hidden even in the depths of the mystical zero, and it cannot be spoken of at all, let alone using personal adjectives” (ibid., 149). It transpires that standing in the face of the vagueness, hiddenness, and darkness that shroud the mystical object is essential for experiencing its transcendent essence. From the beginning of his path as a Kabbalah researcher, Scholem noted the severity of the problem of locating the precise starting point of research dealing with a human phenomenon: “The problem of the first beginnings is very complicated and requires detailed clarification” (ibid., 12).10 Later, concerning the development of the Kabbalah in Provence during the twelfth century, he leaves no answer to the questions he raised himself: “Some might say these are ideas and fragments of ideas, which pamphlets or scrolls or remnants of

10



Perhaps in the background to this statement was Scholem’s awareness of the problem of the beginning in the phenomenological approach. In this context, see Husserl, 1952, § 63.

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old literary ­material flowed with this stream” (ibid., 16). It seems that Scholem’s deep persuasion of the Kabbalah’s “feeding from hidden sources” (ibid., 27) enabled him to position its tradition within the continuum of Jewish history, despite his admission that “the pipes of the penetration [of the mystical tradition…] are still hidden” (ibid., 138). The assumption of continuity provides a sort of ad hoc answer, not only for the vagueness but also for the mentioned problem of beginnings: “In vain we seek an answer to the question: from whence could these terms and concepts have been born and formed during the twelfth century, were there not feeding from hidden sources related somehow to the ancient gnostic tradition?” (ibid., 27). Scholem does not indicate whether this is the ancient Jewish gnosis, which he perceived as part of the rabbinical establishment, or non-Jewish gnosis, whose influence apparently poses a problem for his historical continuity thesis. This problem may become even more severe in light of his words elsewhere, indicating the penetration of non-Jewish elements into the Kabbalistic tradition: The big pictures of the Kabbalah, even when they really stemmed from the depths of original Jewish creative forces, always contained something from the foreign mythical worlds. Without them the drives that acted among the first Kabbalists would not have reached formation […] and it is this in particular that gave the Jewish mystics quite a bit of their special language. (Scholem, 2003, 97)11

However, it appears that his conviction regarding the connection between the various mystical traditions within the Jewish tradition remained strong, even in cases where the transmission routes

11



Moshe Idel explains that “Scholem uses the term “gnosis’ without the anarchic and revolutionary connotations typical of his dicussion of the connection between gnosis and the Kabbalah in the middle ages. The ancient Jewish gnosis is presented as a thought pattern that was part of the Rabbinical establishment. In contrast, the influence of the gnosis —meaning the historical non-Jewish thought —on medieval Jewish mystics is described in terms of the penetration of perceptions that were suppressed” (Idel, 1997, 86 n. 25). Idel expands his discussion of these two sense in a separate article (Idel, 1997/98).

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

of these traditions were unknown and their starting point cannot be determined.12 The personal dimension involved in dealing with mysticism, which Scholem identified in himself and in the world of the Kabbalists, and the stress on the transcendent nature of the mystical object, cannot alone support his historical continuity thesis. These aspects were indeed not raised beyond what was essential for constituting the metaphysical observation. The focus of his interest was actually the importance and value of the non-subjective dimension in Jewish mysticism: “What makes the Kabbalah interesting is the power to turn things into symbols. And the symbols are not subjective. They are an objective illustration of the internal side of Jewish externality” (Scholem, 1976a, 53).13 Scholem approves of an approach seeking to minimize the concrete personality component both in relation to himself and to the positions of the Kabbalists themselves. He describes this approach: “The psychological root is connected to the feeling that it would be inappropriate for the Kabbalist to make himself prominent, let alone if he was blessed with hours of divine inspiration,” since alongside this

12

The proposed interpretation stresses the certainty dimension accompanying Scholem’s work that served as a solid substrate for the formation of his metaphysical worldview. Moshe Idel referred to the above citation on the factual level. In his opinion, Scholem’s argument regarding the presence of foreign mythical worlds within the Kabbalah has yet to be proven: “This turning to foreign sources, and even to the most anti-Jewish sources, as a key to the spirituality in Judaism reveals Scholem’s most basic uncertainty —or should we say his skepticism —regarding the spiritual forces residing in Judaism in its classical forms, starting with the Bible” (Idel, 1997, 81). However, reservations about this statement may be found in Idel’s words about Scholem’s expression in another context (Scholem, 2003, 97). Idel writes there that “Scholem’s discussion is basically paradoxical” (Idel, 1997, 84 n. 12).

13

The emphasis on striving for objectivity that directs Scholem’s work accords with the interpretation of Josef Dan, according to which even if Scholem “never claimed that his researches presented the absolute truth,” he did search for the objective meaning of the Kabbalistic texts he studied, and the work he dedicated to the bibliographical discussion was intended to put it to the objective test (Dan, 1979, 361). These words were written in a review of David Biale’s book, Gershom Scholem: Kabbalah and Counter-History, which in Dan’s opinion was wrong to interpret Scholem’s work as guided by his personal approach, seeing “mysticism [… as] a “model” Scholem used to express his perception of counter-history” (ibid., 360).





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c­ omponent there is also the “historical root connected with the desire to act upon the generation” (Scholem, 1948, 101). Finally, Scholem himself links the two —minimizing the self-presence and the leadership aspect —into the historical continuity thesis: “seeking the historical continuity and influencing the public are connected here with an element of modesty or a desire for personal anonymity” (ibid., 101). The affirmation of the “continuity of our history” (Scholem, 1976a, 219), at the basis of the metaphysical observation of the issue of continuity, now reveals its full meaning. This is not merely a description of a series of historical events that the Jewish nation experienced, since historical continuity requires a unique observation of a subject who assumes in advance the reality of something hidden. However, the continuity thesis does not denote mainly the observer’s personal worldview, but a statement regarding the historical reality upon which this thesis is based. This reality, it transpires, bears within itself some hidden portions whose reality must be assumed in order to form access to them, even if it always remains transcendent.

C. The Historical View of Continuity The metaphysical observation of historical continuity, which relied upon a personal decision and the experience of the transcendent nature of the mystical object, provided the abstract framework and the commitment essential for this thesis. However, the filling of this framework with contents required the activation of the historical observation, which would reveal “the small experiences of the human race” hidden in Jewish history (Scholem, 1990, 198) from “a willingness to know all the forces that revived and maintained the Jewish nation as a  living body throughout its historical incarnations” (Scholem, 1976a, 66, emphases in the original). Like the metaphysical observation of the issue of continuity, the historical one too reflects the images of the Kabbalists. However, now it is important to Scholem to determine the boundary distinguishing them from his own view of the mystical phenomena: “We do not approach this world of the secret as secret-owners, but not without a  tremor and awe” (ibid., 66). Unlike a  “secret-owner” who experiences discovery and presence, as a historian Scholem experiences the distance that is “essential to the scientist in order to understand the object and refer to it” (Scholem, 1990, 126). This approach is appar-

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

ent in his explicit statement: “I  am not a  Kabbalist or a  neo-Kabbalist […] I do not view Jewish history from the view of the Kabbalah” (ibid., 238–9). A  similar principle appears in other contexts too. For example: “I was not interested in educating” (Scholem, 1976a, 20), and elsewhere, “I, however, wanted to make an attempt to unlock these mysterious texts, written in peculiar symbols, and make them comprehensible —to myself or to others” (Scholem, 1980, 115).14 This distance, containing alienation, may enable avoidance of what he called in another context “overflowing weeping sentimentality” (Scholem, 1976a, 396).15 Thus the distance helps constitute the passive stance essential for the historian who seeks to approach without bias the range of appearances of the historical phenomenon. Indeed, Scholem himself testifies that “one thing was central for the great turning-point in the historical assessment of the phenomena that were the contents of my life’s work, and more than I caused this turning-point in my work, my work was caused by it” (ibid., 66).16 With hindsight, even the mathematics studies in his early days appear to Scholem to be a significant part that influenced his formation as a  historian: “Their impression

14

Scholem’s clear words in these citations are reflected in the assessment of Ita Shadelzki that Bergman’s demand from Scholem, implied in a letter wrote to Escha and Hugo Bergman (on December 15, 1947) was directed at the wrong person, who “had never pretended to be a “prophet” or “harbinger”.” Eliezer Schweid states that in Scholem’s opinion, historical research is perhaps the only authentic way a contemporary Jew living in modern times can create a connection to his national-religious heritage (see Schweid, 1982–83, 65–7; a similar approach appears in Verblovsky, 1985/86, 125). In any case, unlike Shadelzki, I believe the origin of Scholem’s choice to limit himself within the boundaries of the researching historian does not stem from a “constant sense of distance from unobtainable Judaism,” which she attributes to Scholem, but from the basic intuition behind his work that contained positive insights regarding Judaism (see Shadelzki, 1997/98, 84; the aforementioned letter of Scholem appears as an appendix to this article).

15

For more on “the weeping perception of Jewish history,” see Shoresh, 2000, 437–51. See also Moshe Idel’s argument that “Scholem appoints the historian to decipher the meaning of the symbols-tears that are the oracles for elucidating history” (Idel, 2006, 184–5).

16

Avraham Shapira quotes a question that “forced itself” upon him, “whether Judaism as a heritage or experience is still alive and even continues to grow, or exists just as an object for knowing?” (Shapira, 1988, 20–1).







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was apparent in a discipline that lit warning lights against the deviations and leaps of my imagination. My experiences with certain historians and literature researchers over the next fifty years taught me that the accepted methods in the research of these subjects were no barrier against weeds growing in the fields of historical imagination” (Scholem, 1982a, 128). The rational criteria restrain the wishes and can remove the distorting potential embodied in activity that involves deep personal engagement. More importantly, Scholem hoped that as a historian he would be able to illuminate “the flesh and bones of these phenomena [mystery in Judaism] as historical units, and even more: as one continuous living chain with historical meaning”; meaning to replace their previous representation by “philosophers and ideologues, aesthetes and poets […] not to mention the charlatans”; to illuminate these phenomena as “lonely, incomprehensible in their communication with each other and in their connection to larger historical processes in the Jewish and non-Jewish world” (Scholem, 1976a, 67). Scholem did not deny the constructivisitic dimension in his work, and did not attempt to hide it, despite the clear contradiction between it and the scientific ethos accompanying historical research from its inception. In fact, the absence of this dimension in the Wissenschaft des Judentums constitutes one of Scholem’s basic points of criticism of its founders: “The power of the Wissenschaft des Judentums to change anything was zero […] Many of these swift workers seem in our eyes as giants in knowledge and dwarves in opinions. And it appears that this is what the generation sought” (ibid., 395, emphasis in the original). In an open declaration of his connection to that rational ethos that was behind the establishment of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, Scholem writes: Rationality is a dialectical instrument that serves to construct and to destroy, but its successes are more apparent in destruction. The rational people tried to build positive thinking systems —but these systems were much less sustainable than the criticism, the creative destruction. I know this is a very painful point, and many of the admirers of reason (I belong to them myself) do not like hearing this opinion. But I tend to think that in summarizing historical researches, in the history of religion, in philosophy, and in ethics, that reason is a successful instrument of destruction. To construct one needs something beyond this. (Ibid., 38)

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

Against this background we can understand Scholem’s wish to find “in the historical failures the power that can seek its repair” (Scholem, 1990, 189). Typically, Scholem identifies a  similar move in the first Kabbalists after the expulsion from Spain: The Kabbalist’s persistence and profundity […] removed the flaw in history from trying to return the viewing of the world’s structure and creation to before that primeval deception […] that withdrawal and return to the depths of the primary elements of our being could have […] been the path of redemption: restoring things to their being, to their original state of unity and purity. (Scholem, 1976a, 263)

Like the Kabbalist, the historian too seeks a grasp in the reality that preceded the distortion, but he seeks it in history, assuming that this reality left its mark upon it. As a historian, Scholem therefore assumes that “the historical conditions” serve not only as the context for the appearance of mystical phenomena, but that these phenomena themselves testify to the historical conditions.17 So, in his opinion it is important to see the mystical phenomena naturally as part of the historical continuity. It is important to clarify that Scholem was far from seeing the historical observation as free of problems and flaws. Thus, for example, he states that historical criticism “is not a key that opens all the closed halls,” in which he had searched for the hidden all his life, and he describes it “as if it were a member of the “petit bourgeoisie”” compared to what the “intuitions and [… the] observations that descend […] to the foundations” seek (ibid., 67). But precisely to this restriction he attributed the possibility to act as a restraining and moderating force over the metaphysical observation: In the generation of boastful and empty “existential analysis” the scholar in the Humanities should rise up and declare where he stands. Anyone denying the methods of historical criticism and disrespecting its conclusions or trying to avoid them is building upon chaos and will end up paying the price of his

17



E.g., Scholem, 1948, 21, 38, 192.

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Part two. Gershom Scholem: history, continuity, and secret alienation. Intuition and faith have their respected place. Historical science rises and falls with historical criticism. (Ibid., 68)

Or elsewhere: Our picture about the past is changing, and we ask: what can we learn from it and can we learn from it at all. Jewish history can join a completely different combination than the one our ancestors saw in it […] Today we seek a picture of the past in order to transmit something to the next generation […] The essential interest we all show in the actualization of Jewish history contains a great danger, the danger of biased subjectivity […] The only guarantee is the desire for the truth. A man is required to seek the truth even if he knows it is beyond him […] but if he starts making combinations based on his desires […] we are buried in advance. (Scholem, 1990, 191)

Now the possible contribution of the historical observation to the formation of the continuity thesis transpires. The commitment to the truth that it nurtures, and its power to give “Jewish scientific research […] a lasting value” (ibid., 126), can serve as a tool for breaking through the walls of the conventions in which mysticism was granted a marginal status in Jewish history. The statement that gave “what beliefs are possible or impossible within the framework of Judaism” an important role in the question of “the “Jewishness” in the religiosity of any particular period” (Scholem, 1976c, 283), later gave way to the argument: “the consensus is insufficient, because they killed those who opposed or did not leave any trace of them” (Scholem, 1990, 105). However, “despite the rejections and reservations of religious sages, historical memory and mythical legend have joined together to preserve and maintain the memory of the Messianic attempts of Bar-Kochva or Sabbatai Sevi, which appeared periodically in Jewish history” (Scholem, 1976a, 169). The later approach is apparent in Scholem’s early work, Origins of the Kabbalah, in which Scholem noted the pointlessness of using defined criteria for examining early Jewish mysticism: If these early circles from which the Bahir emerged were Godfearing and complete in their faith, “Orthodox” in the theological sense of the purity of their formulas —is a vain question. […]

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis This concept has no relevance regarding the Judaism of those states unless you say that nobody is God-fearing and complete unless he believes in the way of Rabbi Saadya or Maimonides, and we end up saying that ninety-five percent of that generation were heretics. (Scholem, 1948, 58)

In his opinion, regarding the roots of the phenomenon, “we should not seek […] among the main speakers of the generation, but among those on the boundary between the sages and the people, and who share the qualities of both” (ibid., 59). The challenge Scholem expresses in Origins of the Kabbalah that research seeks to sketch the nature of a period while relying on an elitistic approach (ibid., 59) is repeated in his criticism of the historians of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, who limited themselves to the literary level of Jewish existence (Scholem, 1976a, 395–6), and as a result reached scientific esotericism that celebrates what he called “the cult of the zero” (ibid., 386).18 We shall return to this criticism later. In the present context, it is important to note Scholem’s emphasis on the element of continuity, which also repeats in the phenomena he found innovative: “You find here more of an attempt to speak about the divine things from a new approach that is in fact old” (Scholem, 1948, 58), or elsewhere: “Here [in the Bahir] something new is added whose analysis shows us it is merely a remnant of an old and forgotten world” (ibid., 36), and: “Despite this we learn from the analysis of several articles in the Bahir: if that gnostic approach ever existed or was resurrected during the middle ages —then from the very same premises, and from premises equal or identical to them, new mythical material might have been formed, in the spirit of the old material” (ibid., 38, emphases in the original). The perception arising from these citations, according to which the new clears its path from within the old that continues to be embodied in it, is very important for establishing Scholem’s c­ ontinuity

18



Scholem is implying here what is called the “fallacy of origins,” meaning the danger entailed in the archaeological approach to historical phenomena; or as Amos Funkenstein defined it, “the classical ethnographic topos of autochtony: it went hand in hand with the preconception that, by uncovering the origins of a nation, you lay bare its nature or essence” (Funkenstein, 1995a, 10). However, David Myers rightly notes that despite Scholem’s criticism, he was never interested in studying the Jews’ material existence (Myers, 1995, 23).

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thesis.19 It seems that Scholem’s approach to studying the Kabbalah is based on his understanding that a sort of “law of matter conservation” operates in history that does not allow the formation of vacuums in tradition. Thus, in words that might denote either a conclusion or even a future promise, Scholem states: “In the Middle Ages, when this tradition [the Talmudic tradition that we do not ask about creation with two people or about esoterics alone] with its original content had been long forgotten, the various trends came to fill it each in its own way” (ibid., 21). Thus it transpires that Scholem’s turning to the study of Jewish mysticism was based on very personal experiences, as he put it: “the personal, intimate element is what will decide. The main thing is if personal demands are demanded of us” (Scholem, 1976a, 144–5), his commitment is to “the continuity of our history” (ibid., 219), exceeding the boundaries of the personal story and the individual. Seeking approval for his selfhood as a Jew without making “propaganda for his opinions’ (Scholem, 1990, 238), which constitutes a significant component in the metaphysical observation, joins Scholem’s activity as a historian who took upon himself the responsibility for the array of phenomena in Jewish history. Through research free of conventions and external goals, he hoped to be allowed to deal with “the life of the nation requiring definition and refinement,” in what up to his time remained “concealed and hidden,” meaning “the flesh and bones of these [mystical] phenomena as historical units, and more: as one continuous living chain with historical significance” (Scholem, 1990, 67). The continuity itself is assumed as an almost cognitive matter or at least as a fact, and is not under investigation. It is the first layer and only after its assumption can Scholem declare “The work of digging

19



In David Myers’s interpretation, this position is linked to Scholem’s rejection of the argument that early forms of Jewish myticism in the ancient era were the product of Christian or non-Jewish influence. In Myers’s opinion, the fear of external influence accords with an immanent drive (Myers, 2003, 163). In principle, this suits my argument regarding the coherence of the continuity argument in Scholem’s work. But the proposed interpretation links Scholem’s position to his personal metaphysical worldview, while Myers’s interpretation adopts the alternative models to the influence and assimilation approach, offered by Funkenstein, Cohen, and Rawidowitz (ibid., 164–6). In this context, see also Shäfer, 2002, 210 (cited in ibid., 228 n. 26).

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

deep foundations and the construction work of placing stone on stone has started, and our hands are still outstretched” (ibid., 67).

D. The Historian, the Chronicler, and the Individual’s Status in History The basic commitment of historicism to an unbiased approach to the past, seeking “in the small details the key to our being” (Scholem, 1990, 188) and dedicated to “all the powers” (Scholem, 1976a, 66), enabled Scholem to view it as a positive means of establishing the historical continuity thesis. Like others, Scholem raises the fear that in the devotion to studying history, “we planted our tent pegs in an unfaithful place and sunk into false studies that have no benefit, and in general broken up the gold of the great clarifications and central problems into the small change of studying minor details.” He states, “there is even […] quite a  bit of the scientific esotericism game flourishing in the unrivaled pedantry and diligence, in the cult of the zero” (ibid., 386). However, it is important that despite the strong, determined style and tone of his words, they are “thoughts” rather than a  definitive “answer” or conclusion.20 This approach served as a basis for his positive attitude toward chroniclers: Our laughter at the ancient chronicler is completely unjustified and illegitimate since the chronicler is the only person who has real historical intuition. He opines that in principle nothing should be lost for the future. And indeed, those small details he recorded, which nobody noticed for thousands of years, one day become bodies of knowledge. (Scholem, 1990, 188)

It appears that Scholem’s criticism of the Wissenschaft des Judentums cannot simply be identified with total opposition to

20



The meaning of the term “thoughts” [hirhurim; ‫ ]הרהורים‬transpires in other contexts where Scholem refers to it, such as: “All I can offer on this matter is thoughts, since I have no answer” (Scholem, 1976a, 74), or elsewhere: “[…] the power of a tradition thousands of years old, was strong enough to shape my life and cause me to progress from the absorption of a learner to that of a researcher and thinker” (Scholem, 1980, 48).

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­ istoricism. Indeed, Scholem’s words in this context can be underh stood as a  favorable attitude toward the approach of modern historians, whose attempt to distance themselves from prejudice have led them to grant equal importance and value to each item or remnant of the past. A comparison between Scholem’s approach and that of Yerushalmi can clarify matters. As we recall, Yerushalmi was concerned about the influence of historical research on the image of tradition and the Jewish past. He presented the historian as someone who “constantly challenges even those memories that have survived intact” on the one hand, and as “uninvited, disturbs, and reverses” the process of natural selection in which “certain memories live on; the rest are winnowed out, repressed, or simply discarded.”21 Yerushalmi saw this action of historians as a direct outcome of the break the Jewish historicism of the Wissenschaft des Judentums had created. Scholem saw in a positive light what Yerushalmi treated as an object for criticism, that modern Jewish historical research is an attempt to “recover a total past [… in which] no subject is potentially unworthy of his interest, no document, no artifact, beneath his attention.”22 Without doubt, the differences in the approaches of Scholem and Yerushalmi on the issue of modern historicism arise from their perceptions of the subject’s status in history, which have implications for the issue of historical continuity. Yerushalmi, who internalized the enlightenment ethos on the question of the subject’s autonomy, stressed historians’ power to leave a mark of change on the objects of their observation, and assumed their tendency to shape them in their own image. This ethos is the basis for his argument that modern Jewish historiography as established by the Wissenschaft des Judentums is “divorced from Jewish collective memory and, in crucial respects,

21

Yerushalmi, 1989, 94–5.

22

Ibid., 94. David Myers lists Scholem among the opponents of historicism, and even refers to the essay “Thoughts on the Wissenschaft des Judentums,” and states that Scholem’s approach was an exception among the Jerusalem School (Myers, 2003, 6, 174 n. 26). Scholem’s identification as opposing historicism also arises from the words of Avraham Shapira, who states that Scholem’s words in this context are reminiscent of Nietzsche’s famous critique (Shapira, 1995a, 174 n. 33).



Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

thoroughly at odds with it,”23 and for his conclusion that a break separates modern historians, who seek autonomy for themselves, and their past. It is clear that the autonomous perception of the subject cannot accord with the commitment to historical continuity, let alone continuity guaranteed by the relation to a transcendent entity. To this, Scholem could agree. In Funkenstein’s approach as well, historical continuity is enabled thanks in part to the restraining and restricting influence of the social framework of the individuals participating in it.24 However, restriction by the social context, which appears in Funkenstein’s approach, cannot guarantee that all the forces acting in history would be revealed, which would provide what for Scholem was an essential but insufficient condition for obtaining historical continuity.

E. Dialectical Conservatism and Daring One of the interesting means Scholem employs to strengthen and establish his historical continuity thesis is the expressions of conservatism he found in the self-perception of the mystics, who, in his opinion, “saw themselves as guardians of Israel” [shlomey emunei Israel] (Scholem, 2003, 69) and adapted themselves to the “‘orthodox” vocabulary” that served as a vehicle for their thoughts (Scholem, 1941, 10). Scholem expresses this distinction in different contexts. For example: “The mystic is naturally conservative, even if he is revolutionary! He seeks to maintain the continuity of tradition, and therefore does not deviate from the framework and he leaves the existing values” (Scholem, 1976a, 195), or “This cautious use of the secret word and the special meaning it has for Nahmanides indicates the basic nature

23

Yerushalmi, 1989, 93.

24

It is interesting that despite the fundamental differences between Yerushalmi and Funkenstein, neither of them attribute to Jewish historians the ability to write an unbiased chronicle of past events. For Funkenstein this is true not only regarding modern historians, who in the first place are not required to do this (according to him), but also characterizes the pre-modern writers of history, who stressed innovation and change: “normative Judaism did not preserve a continuous record of political events in the form of chronicles or historical studies. It did, however, preserve a continuous and chronological record of legal innovations [… that] were genuine “historical” happenings” (Funkenstein, 1993, 18).



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of the Kabbalah for him: it appears for him already in its full force as a conservative power” (Scholem, 1948, 151), and: “It is worth stressing that such a pillar of strict Judaism in his time as Nahmanides did not see in these ideas any deviation from the one revelation” (ibid., 182). Scholem attributes the success of the Kabbalah, among other things, to its positive attitude toward the spiritual tradition of Rabbinical Judaism, which, unlike that of rational philosophy, was more deeply and vividly connected to the main forces operating in Judaism (1941, 23). He also found in the Kabbalistic interpretations the historical interest committed to Judaism’s authoritative heritage, not only in the contexts where the Kabbalists presented a  utopian interpretation of the written Torah. For instance, regarding the issue of granting the commandment tablets to Moses in Sinai, Scholem writes: It would be a mistake to term these passages antinomistic and anti-Talmudic. The author is far from wishing to do away with the Talmudic law, to which he accorded full validity and legitimacy as the historical form in which the Torah was given. The detailed discussions of elements of the Halakhah in these books are purely positive in character and show no sign of hostility. But there can be no doubt that the author expected the utopian and purely mystical aspect of the Torah to be made fully manifest and to enter into full force on the day of Redemption. (Scholem, 1965, 70)

In Scholem’s opinion, even the early writings of the Kabbalah bearing a  clear mythical character, “[mysticism] preserves its character as a specific historical phenomenon within a concrete religion” (ibid., 94).25 In this spirit, he interprets the world of mythical images of divinity in ancient Jewish mysticism as having a “completely orthodox Jewish character” and the connection of this literature to the secrets of the Merkabah as rooted in the center of Rabbinical Judaism during the period of the Tannaites and Amorites (Scholem, 2003, 170). The conclusion first appears at an early stage in Scholem’s work, when he states that there is something misguided in the common perception of mono-

25



See also Scholem, 2003, 113; 1941, 6. Scholem rejects in this context the possibility of a mystical religion, and argues that this is a “modern invention” (Scholem, 1976a, 71).

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

theism as opposed to myth, and that perhaps monotheism also contains room for every development of mythical knowledge at a deeper level.26 Similarly, the idea of the “mystical relativity of the Torah” (ibid., 74), that “the Torah’s absolute essence is relatively revealed” in different historical periods (ibid., 77),27 was intended to settle the gap between the basic undisputed commitment to the sources of authority, which Scholem identified in the Kabbalah, and the utopian and even antinomistic horizon arising from the Kabbalists’ interpretations of the sources of tradition (ibid., 85). It seems that the unreserved commitment to the sources of authority in Judaism, which Scholem found in the Kabbalists’ intentions and motivations, enable him to interpret in a conservative way even the idea of the “relativity of the Torah,” and to harness it to the historical continuity thesis. Scholem exposes some of the dialectics in which his personal approach was rooted when he indicates the “strong connection” between conservatism and innovation. In other words, “between the strict Jewish observance of the ways of the Torah given at Sinai and the vision of changing the Torah” is hidden “the most wonderful side” that attracts the historian of religion (Scholem, 1948, 187–8). Similarly, elsewhere he mentions “that paradox that charms and attracts the observer, and at the same time annoys and vexes his spirit” (Scholem, 2003, 86), and admits that “we are interested in the position of the Kabbalists, who in their interpretation deeply changed the Biblical world, while essentially continuing to hold it” (ibid., 189). The wonder and charm Scholem describes in the contexts in which he refers to

26

See Scholem, 1941, 23. This also contributes to establishing the continuity thesis, linking the Kabbalists to the world of the Sages, and stressing their conservatism. Moshe Idel’s interpretation stressed the gap between the world of the Sages and that of the Kabbalists, and between Halakhah and myth in Scholem’s approach. Idel determined that Scholem understood the Halakhah and the position of the Sages as “dry and sober” (Idel, 1997, 78), and “the ritual of Rabbinical Judaism [… as] completely detached from the layer of myth” (ibid., 76). Idel notes that Scholem “did not completely ignore the question” of “how the mythical and mystical approach to ritual grew out of the “dry and sober” mentality of the Rabbinical world” (ibid., 79), and reminds us that “Scholem even states explicitly that “the Aggadah literature includes a number of mythological elements”” (ibid., 80), but in general his interpretation stresses the contrast between the two areas.

27

These periods are known in ancient Kabbalist literature as cosmic cycles (shemmitoth). See Scholem, 1965, 77–81; 1948, 177–90.





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­ istinct Kabbalistic issues constitute essential components in the ford mation of his personal anarchic position, which will later challenge the identification of the continuity with the overt levels of history.28 In principle, metaphysical certainty can overcome the contrasts and gaps that raise the sense of wonder through their assimilation into one whole agreed complex. However, Scholem is not satisfied with this certainty, and constantly feeds it through the historical observation that expresses as a  “problem” the question “How can the mystic be conservative, an interpreter of religious and traditional authority, and the fighter of its wars?” Scholem replies that “These mystics […] repeatedly reveal from within themselves the sources of traditional authority. Their path returned them to the source from which that authority stemmed. Since this authority is revealed to them with the same face it had for generations, nothing motivated them to try to change it; indeed, they try to preserve it in its strictest sense” (ibid., 11). Scholem believes that the mystic’s education and raising within the religious tradition make it difficult for him to shed its heritage, especially when the religious authority itself tries to integrate him into itself (ibid., 30–1), but the mystic “usually does not wish to try this” (ibid., 20).29 Scholem adds that history teaches us that a mystic who has chosen another way, that is, a non-conservative one, is “the most halted and chained; since historical reality, as embodied in human society, prevents him more than it prevents any other mystic from being able to express his tidings as he wishes” (ibid., 32). Either way, it transpires that the mystic is subject to the authority of tradition and of history in general. Scholem explains that the conservative nature of mysticism is enabled by its duality: the absence of a typical form of the mystical experience on the one hand, and the mystic’s usage of ideas and symbols taken from the world of the traditional religious authority on the

28

David Biale stresses the dominance of the personal and identifying dimension, in comparison with that of the historian and researcher, in Scholem’s discussion of anarchy and Kabbalah. See Biale, 1979, 94–102.

29

In his opinion, this power of the tradition also operates on secular mysticism, which despite appearing to be unrelated to religious authority and even detached from and rejecting it, is still inevitably saturated in interpretations and images taken from the world of religious tradition. Scholem demonstrates this regarding non-Jewish cultures (Scholem, 2003, 20–1).





Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

other hand.30 In his opinion, “Only the most general formal elements remain identical in the different structures […and] through this process of constructing and destroying forms opinions frequently arise regarding the nature of reality, originating in the philosophical tradition and drawing their authority from it […and these] are now confirmed precisely in the mystical experience” (ibid., 12–3). Thus, not only does the mystic not break the boundaries of tradition, he also affirms tradition through his very mystical experience and his interpretation of its sources. It transpires that as innovative and ground-breaking as the mystical experience may be, it is still anchored in the world of authoritative religious tradition. So the mystic “adds […] validity, through his personal experience, to the religious authority to which he is subject” (ibid., 13). Indeed the interpretation the mystic directs to scripture reveals new dimensions in it, and “the divine speech that is a supreme authority deviates from its cage.” This interpretation acts as “a key to open the meaning of revelation” (Scholem, 2003, 16, emphasis in the original), meaning that it was there from the beginning. Thus from the metaphysical viewpoint the possibility is prevented in advance that any real innovation would penetrate the existing perception regarding the array of entities of which the ontology of religion is composed.31 It is important to clarify that the conservative nature of Jewish mysticism in no way forces uniformity upon it or guarantees its continued loyalty to tradition. Scholem explains:

30

In this context, see Scholem, 2003, 361–5; 1941, 240. For more regarding the philosophical sources from the world of Platonic and Aristotelian perceptions of the soul, which served Scholem in this context, see Ben Shlomo, 1997, 115.

31

Scholem also refers to the nihilistic horizon, which in extreme cases the mystical experience can reach and turn into the destruction of religious authority. In his opinion, only “in rare border-line cases […] mystical theories in themselves involve an inevitable clash with the authority” (Scholem, 2003, 29, emphasis in the original). However, his basic phenomenological approach leads him to state that the extreme case is not isolated “completely from the mystics” original drive […] and despite the revulsion is arouses in us, it is a legitimate outcome of the mental shock in mysticism” (ibid., 15). This means that even the extreme cases indicate the conservatism of mysticism.





151

152

Part two. Gershom Scholem: history, continuity, and secret By its very nature, the mystical experience involves the danger of deviating from traditional authority into the realm without control or the possibility of control. The community’s religious education still leaves an opening for many adventures of the spirit that could contradict the accepted teachings and images and to lead to a clash between the mystic and the religious authority as established within the community’s tradition […] The mystic’s path is full of obstacles and surrounded by danger; it leads over chasms of consciousness and requires a measured, steady step. (Ibid., 22)

So we should not be surprised that the mystic deviates, consciously or unconsciously, from the boundaries of his religion (Scholem, 1941, 9). Later, Scholem describes antinomism as “inevitable” and states that only through “religious feeling […] strong and unbroken” can it be overcome (ibid., 30). Scholem concludes that one cannot predict in advance the type of mysticism that would clash with tradition, and that this does not depend decisively on the personality of the mystic or his teachings, but “only on the historical circumstances, whose relation to the religious area —relations that change frequently and cannot be brought to a unambiguous common denominator.” Scholem states that history teaches that the clash with the religious tradition “is forced upon the people involved against their will, without any connection to the mystical teachings themselves, while it is required due to a specific historical situation” (Scholem, 2003, 28–9). The dialectical nature of the historical continuity thesis thus thwarts the possibility that unity, permanence, and predictability could control the character of Jewish history it sketches.

F. Vitality, Paradox, and the Presence of the Nothingess On the face of it, recognizing that mysticism is liable to breach the boundaries of tradition could undermine the permanent and independent metaphysical substrate on which Scholem sought to establish the historical continuity thesis. However, Scholem’s complex understanding of historical reality, which identifies in it the active and constant presence of constructive and destructive forces, was far from viewing this possibility as a threat, even when it was realized, for example, in the phenomenon of Frankism. It seems the continuity thesis is pro-

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

tected not just by the strength of the relation to the past and tradition, but also by the understanding of Judaism as a living and lively reality whose future horizon is open before it: I am among those who believe Judaism is full of vitality and with all its rich past —still eternally future-rich; that it is a phenomenon in which the not-yet-revealed, the concealed, and the visible are as abundant as the past assets remaining to us — still present. As a great German poet said: “The master of his futures —whoever can change” (Scholem, 1976a, 129).

In many contexts in his writings, Scholem makes the argument regarding the existence of continuity in Jewish history dependent on characterizing Judaism as a living and lively reality. It seems that both premises, or beliefs, were equally primary in his continuity thesis. They express the metaphysical desire for completeness embodied in both the observations constituting Scholem’s work: the continuity argument aims to recognize “all the forces, to remove from the heart those who sought or seek to restrict these forces, and to see only those whose action for some reason is convenient and agreeable to them,” while the vitality argument sees Jewish existence as “a living body, to remove from the heart those who saw or see our history as the embodiment of a mere idea, let alone of an idea forever enslaved to the definition they gave it” (ibid., 66, emphases in the original). In his criticism of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, Scholem connects the fact that “almost all the workers and creators of the study of Jewish history and the Wissenschaft des Judentums were theologians” to “the attempt to ignore what was a very living factor.” In contrast, he states: “The Jewish nation as a whole was always very vital and lively, and was always more than a phenomenon fixed once and for all, and certainly more than a matter that can be given a permanent theological phrasing and definition” (Scholem, 1990, 134). Moreover, Scholem believes that the “vitality point” in the Kabbalah is “a worthy tool for the historian and anyone interested in the thought of the generations of Israel” (Scholem, 1976a, 66), despite the difficulty it presents anyone trying to understand the contradictions of the past or to predict the future. Thus, for instance, he stresses the advantage of the Kabbalah after the Spanish expulsion as bearing “a living feeling and bursting power” thanks to which it should not be condemned (ibid., 263). Scholem admits that this perception was not the

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c­ onclusion of h ­ istorical research, but his starting premise: “Judaism as a living phenomenon attracted me. I wanted to enter the world of the Kabbalah from my thoughts and faith in Zionism as a living thing, as the renewal of a nation that had become very degenerate” (ibid., 26), or elsewhere: “During my search for the tradition that had been lost to my circle, a tradition that had a great attraction for me, the writings of the ancient Jews seemed infinitely rich and alive” (Scholem, 1980, 50).32 The personal attraction and the presuppositions described in these citations directed Scholem to seek in that “lost tradition” the reality of the continuity of generations: “I believed one should study and clarify which elements had been preserved in Judaism in their full vitality” (Scholem, 1995b, 89). Elsewhere he adds, “The Kabbalah in its final dialectical forms is the last theological area where the questions of my Jewish life found a  living answer” (Scholem, 1976a, 415). This is how the two observations, metaphysical and historical, are joined together: research clarifies the appearances of the vitality that cannot be dogmatically defined (see Scholem, 1995b, 36), but the very existence of this vitality is not the conclusion of historical research nor subject to discussion, being the fruit of metaphysical intuition. It transpires that Scholem’s observation of Judaism as a real historical phenomenon moves aside its dynamic aspects in favor of the study of the truth and objectivity, which in themselves denote supra-historical values. In contrast, the metaphysical observation, assuming the presence of a permanent entity-like element or substance enables the expression of the dynamic aspects related to Judaism as a real historical phenomenon full of vitality. As in other contexts, and having positioned and established the foundations of his discussion, Scholem turns to sketching the complex relations between historical continuity and the element of vitality: In my life I have been pulled between two poles that attracted my attention in the study of the Kabbalah. I will confess the truth that in my publications they have not been revealed to me in all their acuity. One pole —let us call it the overt —was the scientific

32



In this context, see Rotenstreich’s argument that Scholem attributed to Zionism a radical meaning beyond the survival of Judaism and Jewish culture. In his opinion, Scholem saw Zionism as a factor that would cause a revolution in Jewish existence (see Rotenstreich, 1983, 71–5).

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis interest I had in the literature of the Kabbalists, both from the historical aspect and from the theoretical-philosophical aspect […] Gradually, the full and immense dynamic in the development of this movement was revealed to me [… and enabled] the understanding of these internal processes involved in the significant roles the Kabbalah possessed as a historical and public factor in our history […] However, the second pole of my attention was not made equally prominent in my many publications over fifty years, though it was no less important to me, meaning to a man who saw and sees Judaism as a living, renewing, and changing body, that takes on various forms, that cannot be given a fixed and agreed definition. I am referring to the interest I found in the imaginative world of the Kabbalists […] the images and symbols that grew on this soil […] seemed to me as saturated in poetical and lyrical meaning equivalent to the theoretical meaning I had devoted myself to deciphering. (Scholem, 1990, 44–5)

On the face of it, it is not difficult to locate within the realm of the historical observation both the comment regarding the developmental dimension of Judaism and the recognition of the lack of an unambiguous definition of its living reality.33 Scholem himself links the two arguments: “If we knew how to define in formulas what is Judaism, there would not be a comprehensive spiritual phenomenon here, but we would have a body whose vitality is determined by definitions. I renounce this perception. I say that in the complex of life, the continuity of generations, some very different trends have developed in Judaism” (Scholem, 1995b, 37). The undefinable vitality of Judaism arises from a holistic observation of the continuity of its history. If so, what is the meaning of Scholem’s choice, in the above citation, to locate the two arguments at their respective poles —continuity at one end and vitality at the other? It appears that within the boundary of the historical observation there is no answer to this question, and indeed, in another context Scholem himself expressed his discomfort with the assumption of continuity as a tool for deciphering the vitality of Jewish existence: “We do not live on the level of citations from

33



While Scholem characterizes the first pole as a  “theoretical-philosophical aspect” (Scholem, 1990, 45), his description suits what I have defined as the historical viewpoint.

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the words of the ancients,” but on a living thing arising from the vital factors in history (ibid., 56). It is interesting that the need for a complementing metaphysical observation, containing a priori certainty regarding the meaning that has precedence over the details revealed on the overt level of the historical observation transpires to Scholem when he reflects on his work as a historian: We wanted to return to science with all its strictness and lack of compromise as we found it in the words of Zunz or Steinschneider, but we wanted to direct it towards the constructive and positive. We sought to invest ourselves in studying details and details of details. We were ravenous for the dry details, the “small and large,” to open with them the blocked well of lively vitality; because we knew: its place is there and that is where it is hidden, from there its water will rise and from there we will quench our thirst. We sought the light of the great scientific ideal that illuminates the details […] and we knew — is there any serious scientist whose heart does not contain that eternal quarrel?—that it dwells only in the details themselves. We knew the power of a “fact”—and knew that “nothing is more misleading than a fact” […] So we sought the tension of ideas within the facts and from the facts. (Scholem, 1976a, 400–1)

The “quarrel” and the “polarity” take place between the two viewpoints simultaneously active in forming the continuity thesis: the historical observation criticized the Wissenschaft des Judentums for ignoring, under the influence of romanticism, “what was the most alive factor, beating at the very heart of the nation as one perfection” (Scholem, 1990, 134), and therefore wished “to remove from the heart those who saw or see our history as the embodiment of a mere idea” (Scholem, 1976a, 66). From this point of view, Scholem’s achievement is that his approach was freed from dependence upon a rational idea and included within the history of the Jewish nation also mystical phenomena. In contrast, the metaphysical observation is presented here as seeking the “light of the scientific idea” and “the tension of ideas within the facts and from the facts” (Scholem, 1976a, 401). From this point of view, the argument that Judaism is a living body seems on the one hand to be the fruit of the historical observation that achieved continuity through absorption of details, and on the other hand seems to

Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

exceed the boundaries of the historical continuity itself and enter the realm of metaphysical observation.34 Scholem’s reference to the vitality factor in a completely different context enables us to focus upon it, beyond the general duality created by the two observations, the source of the polarity and tension: “The process of creation is […] a process of revelation. It has one main, unambiguous direction. This is not the case in the method of Luria. […] The idea of contraction seems paradoxical, but it is alive; and we could say: because it expresses life —it is full of paradoxes” (ibid., 208). Scholem’s “innovation” in this context is recognizing the “vitality point” in the Kabbalah, “while greater and better than him in previous generations did not see it” (ibid., 66). This is undoubtedly an innovation in the realm of historical research. However, Scholem’s metaphysical observation cannot be satisfied with this, and it constantly searches for the discovery of autonomous ontological guarantees intended to release his continuity thesis from dependence upon the thought that would confirm it through dogmatic conventions or interpretations, and even from the demand inherent in Funkenstein’s approach, which makes continuity dependent upon active interpretation. Thus, we can state that Scholem’s thought attributes the secret of the vitality of Jewish existence to its freedom from the chains of the thought thinking it, and in any case the historical continuity itself is liberated as well. Furthermore, the contribution of the metaphysical viewpoint is not exhausted in the meaning it granted to the relations between the claim that Jewish existence constitutes a living body and the argument that its history is characterized by continuity. The activism of the metaphysical observation, thanks to which Scholem was able to exceed the boundaries of the historical observation, reveals a section of a significant experience of absence and nothing that constantly feeds it. This experience was at the basis of Scholem’s wish “to know the Judaism that I did not know and that nobody could be found to explain” (ibid., 28). Unlike the experience of the historian and the Kabbalist, who address differently what appears to them as overt reality, the metaphysician seeks for a “hidden and concealed” world and wishes to study the distance of this world from real reality. In principle, the metaphysician addresses that “hidden rooted reality, which for its own part and by its own rules cannot be expressed” (ibid., 227) that filled the world of

34



Compare Scholem, 1995b, 36.

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the Kabbalists. However, while the Kabbalists experience its revelation and at least briefly dissolve the distance between it and them, the metaphysician constantly strives for the articulation of the distance and gap from this reality. Perhaps this is the meaning of the affirmation of the consciousness of the exile as an essential element in Jewish existence (ibid., 220). Beyond the implications and meanings of the issue of exile in the Kabbalistic world, which do not interest us here, its appearance in this context is an additional reference of the experience of nothing that constitutes an essential part of Scholem’s metaphysical observation. Thus it transpires that recognizing that “the faith in one-time revelation” fell victim to historical criticism on the one hand, and the understanding that there was not such a great distance from a subjective approach that transfers the revelation to a secular humanistic approach35 on the other hand, left Scholem no way other than that of the metaphysician, which also seemed to him appropriate for his time: “This is the situation in which the vast majority of those currently exist whose faith in the reality of God cannot be damaged by historical criticism” (ibid., 568–9, emphasis in the original). In another context, Scholem states: “What is fascinating is that Nietzsche’s famous cry “God is dead” first arose from the walls of a Kabbalist text warning against the creation of a golem and connecting God’s death with the actualization of the idea of the golem!” (ibid., 87). This excited statement reveals a more basic dimension in Scholem’s perception of continuity, which sought —it transpires —to contain not only “all the forces” in the Jewish world, but also the vacuums left behind them by those who are absent from the stage of its history, and perhaps this may include God himself. The difficulty of expressing this complex position with the tools of historical criticism and the language of metaphysics led Scholem to try his hand at poetry (Scholem, 1990, 338): Only thus is thy face revealed, God, To the generation that kicked you. Only your nothingness is everything In which you may be experienced.36

35



The anchoring of the revelation in the world of the individual creates in practice a secularization of religious symbols. In this context, see Katz, 1979, 81.

36

Part of a poem that was found on a copy of Kafka’s The Trial. The poem was originally written in Hebrew, and appeared in Shimon Sandbank’s Hebrew



Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

The metaphysical intuition regarding the existence of that “something special,”that “substance” Scholem was certain “is present in our reality” (ibid., 195), brings his approach closer to that of the Kabbalists, in which “Some flow, something of God’s, always flows anew into the nothingness” (Scholem, 1976a, 577). Scholem’s approach does not primarily express a pantheistic position, nor does it seek to serve as a counter-response to such a position: I was under the impression of the poverty of what they liked to call the philosophy of Judaism. The three only authors I knew — Saadya Gaon, Maimonides, and Hermann Cohen —angered me against them by seeing their role in determining antithesis to myth and pantheism and “disproving” them, while it would have been worthy instead to raise them to a higher level and undermine them there […] I  felt that that higher level was located in the Kabbalah, although it might have been expressed in a distorted way. It appeared to me that here […] there existed a realm of connections that should by rights have also had a link to our most human experiences. (Scholem, 1990, 29–30)37

The presence of the divine within human existence, including secular existence, bears a complexity that may explain the secret Scholem identified as a  permanent given in Jewish history, weaving into it simultaneously the being [ontos] and the nothing. This position is fundamentally different from the secular position, in which,

translation in the Culture and Literature supplement of Haaretz, December 2, 1977, dedicated to Gershom Scholem upon his eightieth birthday. 37



Eliezer Schweid notes that “the comparison between the mystical approach and the philosophical approach in the middle ages is almost a methodical principle in the essays of GS [Gershom Scholem] on central issues in Jewish thought” (Schweid, 1985, 17 n. 22). In this context, see Scholem, 1941, 1–39; 1965. In several contexts Scholem also refers to the issue of pantheism in the Kabbalah, e. g., Scholem, 1978; 1941, 252–3; 1971a, 601–6; 1948, 142–6. My interpretation is close to that of Yosef Ben Shlomo and Alexander Altmann, who stressed the dominance of the perception of God’s transcendence as a barrier to a pantheistic interpretation of the Kabbalah. See Ben Shlomo, 1965, 40–2, 74, 141–2, 166–7, 294–7; 1994; 1997, 124; Altmann, 1981, 30. This is not making an argument regarding the tendency of the Kabbalistic literature to pantheism, or its distance from it. On this issue see also Idel, 2003; Rotenstreich, 1978a, 144–7.

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a­ ccording to his description, “nothing remains of God but merely a  nothing,” and also from the Kafkaesque position, where there is a “nothing-of-God” (Scholem, 1976a, 577), since it enfolds a perception regarding the real presence of the nothing that is no lesser than that of the existing itself. In this spirit, Scholem describes the divine presence in the era of secularization: “God will appear as a non-God” (Scholem, 1995b, 52).38 The combination of the daring entailed in the metaphysical observation striving for self-understanding and the historian recognizing the boundaries originating in the context and horizon in which the individual seeking it is rooted was expressed in Scholem’s testimony that among the qualities required from “whoever wishes to enter this world and these studies,” he was gifted with two: “courage and humility” (Scholem, 1976a, 67, emphasis in the original). The courage enables him to respond to the basic demands of the metaphysical observation —to assume the living and continuous presence of what is hidden from view. The humility describes the historian’s self-withdrawal, thanks to which it may become possible to expose the details and the range of forces that maintained the Jewish nation in the iterations of its history. At the depth of the matter, fulfilling the requirements of the metaphysical observation can actually be considered courage from the viewpoint of the historian, who is expected to permanently avoid it. Similarly, the characterization of the disposition of self-withdrawal in the face of the overt historical phenomena as humility assumes the metaphysician’s criterion that constantly dares to the hidden. In other words, the courage that indicates the mark of the metaphysical observation contains the historian’s view, and conversely, the historian’s stance seems to be one of humility particularly to the metaphysician.39 The discussion of the historical continuity thesis in Scholem’s thought reveals the complexity with which the basic features of the

38



Scholem’s concept of nothing is similar to that of Heidegger. On Heidegger’s perception of nothing, see Motzkin, 1987.

39

The interpretation identifying in Scholem’s work a combination of the depths of self and an appeal to what is beyond the self is clearly expressed in Gadamer’s definition of Scholem’s approach as an “amazed identification” (erschrockene Identifikation). This term is taken from a text of Gadamer’s lecture found in Scholem’s estate and cited by Shadelzki, 1997/8, 84.



Chapter Three. The Historical Continuity Thesis

two observations, the historical and the metaphysical, permeated it and filled it with contents and meaning. Like other contexts in his thought, on this issue these two coexist so that the path of “most rational skepticism” serves at the same time as a foundation for what Scholem termed “intuitive affirmation of mystical theses” (Scholem, 1990, 29). This means that searching for the hidden in Jewish history presupposes its immanent connection to its continuity, and only later puts it to the test. At the same time, assuming the presence of a substantive reality present in Jewish history transcends this reality, but the transcending requires the immanent foundation to accept the presence of the substance.

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Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization, and Utopia A. Secularization and Transcendence Scholem’s historical continuity thesis that Judaism is a living reality and Jewish history contains a wide range of human and religious phenomena, some of which are rich in concealment and secret, serves as a  setting for him to clarifying the phenomenon of secularization in the Jewish nation. Like other themes Scholem’s thought addresses, the mark of both observations is apparent in secularization. On the immediate level, we can say that the historical observation discusses the phenomenon of secularization as a reality whose impact is apparent in the present-day real reality, while the metaphysical observation clarifies the perception of entities on which secularization is based, and in particular the implications of the rejection of the transcendent element. Scholem’s recognition of the reality of secularization does not detract from his certainty regarding the permanent presence of a transcendent and even religious element in Jewish existence throughout the generations. This duality contains the substrate shared by Scholem and Kurzweil. Just as Kurzweil sought to see secularism as “part of an autonomic secularism, from a secular world,”1 so Scholem states that “secularism is a powerful reality, and one must live with its meaning and deal with it directly” (Scholem, 1990, 122), since it is a real phenomenon “within Judaism” (Scholem, 1995b, 50) and part of “the process of our entry into history” (Scholem, 1976a, 41). Like Kurzweil, who criticized in this context the orthodox approach, which sought “to identify Judaism […] with that “sacred faith’”2 and thus remove secu-

1

Kurzweil, 1960, 43.

2

Kurzweil, 1970a, 109.



Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

larism from within its boundaries, Scholem also rejected the approach of Rabbi Kook, which saw secularism as “a disguise of sanctity not yet admitted as such” (ibid., 82). So, unlike this and similar orthodox approaches, Scholem and Kurzweil attribute to the phenomenon of secularization significant power and presence in modern Judaism. Finally, both stressed the metaphysical facet of secularization, meaning the rejection of the transcendent element from Jewish existence, and linked this facet to the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums. Kurzweil emphasizes the “sacred” and “ancient certainty” embodied in Jewish existence,3 and refers to the weakness of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, which did not discern the “sanctity of the source and its divine origin” and treated it “with secular eyes in its historical formation.”4 Similarly, Scholem too argued that the failure of the Wissenschaft des Judentums stemmed from failure to understand “that even accurate historical analysis cannot solve the riddle hidden in the unexplained essence of religion” (Scholem, 1990, 196). In this spirit, Scholem added in a different context that the existence of the Jewish nation “cannot be exhausted rationally” (ibid., 115), since “the lack of the language and the paucity of concepts […] are objective matters, not subjective matters. They do not depend on the weakness of the philosophers but on the state of affairs” (Scholem, 1976a, 48). According to Scholem, the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums did not note the inability of the tools of historical research to exhaust the transcendent dimension, and this damaged their ability to realize the optimism entailed in their rational ambitions, and made them fall prey to “the revenge of romanticism” and the illusion in which “all the great slogans reveal […] a dual face, to life and to death” (ibid., 390). The misguidedness of the founders of the Jewish historicism transpires to Kurzweil and Scholem as a direct result of the limited perspective, which was unable to establish an access route to the complex appearances of the religious dimension in Jewish existence. The approaches of Scholem and Kurzweil to the secularization phenomenon in the Jewish nation express a realistic understanding of the reality of present-day life without detracting from their metaphysical certainty regarding the reality of an autonomous t­ranscendent

3

Kurzweil, 1960, 16.

4

Ibid., 27.



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e­ lement within it. However, this shared substrate contains a fundamental contradiction that leads to an unavoidable clash between metaphysical consciousness and the observation whose exhaustion may be realized in the arena of real history. Due to Scholem’s consistent commitment to both historical and metaphysical observation, this contradiction created a greater difficulty for him than on Kurzweil’s approach, which included a preemptive solution or at least a possibility of significantly blunting the contradiction. We can state that in the latter, the metaphysical certainty that there exists a transcendent reality that influences Jewish existence is more primary and dominant than the recognition of the mark secularization has left on Jewish being in the modern era. Kurzweil also characterizes the relations between these two dimensions in his perception of Jewish history as dialectical and paradoxical. In his opinion, from the “historical paradox” the solution emerges and arises that guarantees the continuity of the transcendent presence in Jewish existence: “Precisely at the historical time when the certainty of faith ceased to be the nation’s supreme asset, this nation identifies with its past, requires first and foremost its own essence, although it can no longer live its past and its essence according to the normal categories.”5 Perhaps the explanation of the inherence of the solution within the context that gives rise to it stems from the decisive ontological nature of Kurzweil’s perception of history, which wraps it in certainty that does not stand the test of time. In Kurzweil’s approach, the ontological aspect takes precedence over the epistemic dimensions involved in individuals’ connection to their past6 and the transcendence’s independence of real reality, which serves as an arena for its discovery, is preserved. The decisive and even forceful character Kurzweil’s thought grants to the transcendent dimension in Jewish existence makes the epistemology of transcendence unnecessary, especially since it is not clear whether such epistemology is possible. In contrast, in Scholem’s thought the ontological and metaphysical element is constantly confronted with the historical reality, and the meeting between them creates a dialectic whose solution cannot be

5

Ibid., 31–2.

6

This interpretation differs from that of Moshe Schwartz, which stressed the tension between the romanticism and intellectualism in shaping Kurzweil’s aesthetic approach, thus anchoring it in a cultural-epistemological framework. See Schwartz, 1976, 180.



Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

immediate or even guaranteed. Indeed, the complexity creates a deep delay that serves as a space not only for the appearances of the transcendent entity in Jewish history, but also for the expressions of real historical processes. The weakness of the historical observation, which is prominent in light of the described complexity, directs Scholem’s gaze to the metaphysical one. However, it immediately transpires that the metaphysical observation does not contain the solution to the contradiction to whose formation it had contributed. Instead, it contains the ability to establish the stance of the individual or the historian before that “‘something’—the secret of its being, the secret of the nation’s reality,” before the “very wonderful riddle […] how this living body that survived in special circumstances that other nations did not face” (Scholem, 1990, 115–6). Beyond its accessibility to the entitylike dimension of historical experience, the vitality of the metaphysical observation stems from its ability to absorb into itself the experience of what is hidden and shows itself as a nothing, about which Scholem testifies in this context: “Beyond all the disguises, masks, and philological games at which I excel, something hidden […] must have operated me” (Scholem, 1976a, 52), and “I had an opinion that perhaps there was a hidden internal side in the historical process taking place here, that it might have a metaphysical-religious aspect” (ibid., 49). Throwing the secularization phenomenon into the furnace of metaphysical observation may explain Scholem’s choice to turn, in this context, to theology, since as “a discipline […] that deals with man’s internal and darkest possessions, trying to find the puzzle in his concrete life and indicating to him the action that should be taken […] that owns concrete questions” (ibid., 413). However, it seems that even theology cannot deal with what Scholem called “the puzzle of Jewish history,” since the power of real circumstances to manifest internal factors is denied here by another unexplained force, hiding even deeper in realm of the overt than the previous one. The puzzle Scholem identified in Jewish history stems from the translation of the apocalypse, in fact of all the appearances of the crisis on the historical level, into a secret (ibid., 160). In his opinion, the very manifestation of the essence creates contrary processes of hiding and shrouding, which feed anew the messianic drive seeking to rescue the essence from its hiding-place in history. The result is confusion, in which “we are not entitled to distinguish completely between secularism and religion.” Scholem states that “we should be precise in using the concepts “secularism” and “religiosity.” It is clear that there is secularism that is not at all

165

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related to religion, but we should note that sometimes secular phenomena appear in religious clothing” (Scholem, 1990, 196). Scholem’s thought that confronts the metaphysical with the historical prevents in advance the possibility of finding a “solution” to the described contradiction, to the point that from his phrasing it sometimes seems that there is no possibility of demarking the boundary that distinguishes them. At this point, another of the fundamental differences between Scholem’s approach and that of Kurzweil, sketching a picture of reality in which a hierarchy exists between the preferred status of the transcendent appearances and that of the real appearances, including secularism, emerges.

B. A  narchy, “Torah from Heaven,” and Historical Continuity Scholem’s complex perception of the phenomenon of secularization, which revealed the tension between the historical observation and the metaphysical one, is behind his choice to place anarchism as a starting point for the discussion of the situation of present-day Judaism: “Our problematic arises because the formulated religious tradition has crumbled and we have entered a no-man’s-land, anarchy in evaluation, and no boundary” (ibid., 116). Within the “no-man’s-land” of history are displayed the phenomena that compose Jewish existence as candidates for doubt and evaluation, while the certainty and truth attributed to them by tradition, with which Scholem himself identified, are suspended. Scholem connects the anarchic position directly to the loosening to the point of loss of the principle of “Torah from Heaven”: “The anarchic point enters only in that we do not know what the religious authority is today. Whoever has lost faith in Torah from heaven must today decide according to the best of his understanding and conscience” (Scholem, 1995b, 40). From Scholem’s point of view, this is a far-reaching turning point. The principle of “Torah from heaven” contained within it the foundation of Jewish mysticism, since it embodied Great certainty […] in the hidden power of the divine word, a certainty nothing can exceed, which served, therefore, in the past as a basis for the mystical decision that could be based on studying this word […] This opinion is the climax of the

Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia Kabbalists’ perception in the ancient generations and it opened the gates to mysticism [… and was] the foundation of the whole tradition of Jewish mystics, and without it there would be no formation of shapes with general meaning. (Scholem, 1976a, 79–80)

The basic perception in Kabbalah that “every word, every letter [… is] a  discovery of the shekhina, and discovery of sanctity is “Torah from heaven”” (ibid., 78) provided, it transpires, a metaphysical anchor to the mystical creation, originating in the certainty of the decisive reality of the higher power. Also, this principle transpires as a component in the past achievement of historical consciousness: “Not only does the Torah have seventy faces, each of which may be revealed perhaps in its generation and according to its consciousness, but it has sixty thousand faces […] This great certainty in the power hidden in the divine word […] is what served, therefore, in the past as a basis for the mystical determination that could be based on the study of this word” (ibid., 79). From both the historical and the metaphysical point of view, we can state that as mysticism developed in Jewish history it preserved its connection to the principle of “Torah from heaven.”7 In view of Scholem’s overarching statement that “today we are all, to a large degree, anarchists from a religious point of view, and this should be said openly,”8 raises a question regarding the implications of the concept of anarchy on the perception of “Torah from heaven” and the issue of historical continuity: “When the degree of confidence in Torah from heaven declines […] the question is asked: where can it [our nation] find a  stable basis for that continuity, for that feeling that the gates of interpretation have not been locked before the infinite wealth of the divine word known for its simplicity?” The mark of the historical observation is apparent in determining the factuality of anarchism, since it embodies avoidance of the retroactive commitment to

7

Schweid explains that although Scholem stresses the centrality of Torah from heaven to Jewish mysticism, he did not see the halakhah based on the myth of the revelation of Sinai as more than an established framework, meaning an external framework rather than the living contents containing a religious experience of special selfhood (see Schweid, 1985, 17).

8

See Naomi Frankl’s essay, according to which Scholem tried all his life to solve the problem of Jewish identity in a generation of the breaking of the vessels (shevirat kelim) (Frankl, 1982).





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the existence of distinct essences in history, let alone the argument that history can present them. Moreover, this observation is also apparent in Scholem’s determination that “Jewish continuity in religious conception is today beyond this principle of Torah from heaven. This conclusion necessarily leads to anarchic forms of religion” (ibid., 80). This means that anarchism denotes a sober view of the reality in which the separation from the principle of “Torah from heaven” and from the perception of continuity based upon it has started. However, in Scholem’s opinion this does not rule out the possibility of historical continuity or even of the continuity of religious perception. It appears that the fundamental connection between the perception of Judaism as a living reality and the continuity thesis enables the inclusion of the secularization phenomenon and even of anarchism along with the other real appearances in the present-day reality. This thesis expands the horizons of Jewish history toward the past, thus enabling the inclusion of the Kabbalistic tradition and toward the new phenomena revealed in the present, including anarchism and future utopian possibilities.

C. The Temporariness of Secularization and the Religious Horizon of Anarchism The inadequacy of the historical observation directed at the presentday reality, which initiates the constituting of the metaphysical observation and constantly feeds it, serves as a reflection not only of the limitations of anarchism as a real state of affairs, but also of secularization as a possibility that has already been realized within it. So, despite his self-identification as an anarchist (ibid., 80) and his estimation that anarchism is “the only social theory,” Scholem admits: “I knew this was not achievable in terms of the human race, in history. This is a sort of messianic vision to which transition is impossible using the forces acting in history.” Scholem states that this theory is “the least possible in practical terms. It has no chance because it does not take human beings into account” (ibid., 39). These words are directly explained elsewhere, where he determines that secularization is temporary: Secularism is merely a short transition from one religious dogma to another. Secularism will last as long as no sacrifices are required on its altar; it leaves when people are required to die for something […] People have not been killed for secular-

Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia ism in history, and are not be killed today either. People give their lives only for a value they consider absolute. (Scholem, 1990, 197)9

Or elsewhere: Without God, values or morality that have true validity —do not exist. Faith in God, even if it does not have a positive expression in each generation, will be revealed as a power even within concealment […] I do not believe in moral relativism […] A secular rule opens more possibilities for discovering the positive forces in man that are related to something that contains a spark. I believe that God will be revealed with greater authority, although I am not certain this will be the words of the shulhan arukh, though that is not impossible. (Scholem, 1976a, 42)

The perception of human nature reflected in these passages accords with Scholem’s argument in a different context: “The religious impulse, the religious force in man’s soul, is not necessarily related to a one-time divine revelation. It stems from the very root of the human soul as we know it today” (ibid., 192), or “secularity contains the religious dynamic” (Scholem, 1995b, 63, emphasis in the original). Scholem never tires of stating: “I do not think that the secular vision of Zionism is the final vision, the end” (Scholem, 1976a, 40), and “I am convinced that the religious question in Judaism has not reached its conclusion and exhaustion, and that secularism is not the end” (Scholem, 1995b, 43). Scholem presents faith in God as the foundation of morality and the foundation of worthwhile human existence in general. Furthermore, in a  wide range of references he expresses his personal reservations about the secularization of the Jewish nation. For instance: “I am a man with a religious root” (ibid., 63), or “I do not call myself secular. My secularity is fundamentally flawed […] by the fact that I am

9



The transition from the level of the historical observation that sketches the possibilities available in reality to the level of judgment and evaluation is also apparent in Scholem’s discussion of the issue of the false messiah: “I argue that the vision of the false messiah is intolerable for the Jewish tradition as a positive thing, but I do not say that this aspect is not a possible and legitimate examination of the Jewish tradition” (Scholem, 1976a, 40).

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a ­religious man, because I am certain of my faith in God. My secularity is not secular” (Scholem, 1976a, 51), and “I never said that the transition through secularism appealed to me! Perhaps it frightens […] me too” (Scholem, 1990, 124, emphasis in the original).10 Or elsewhere: […] from God I  never detached myself. I  do not understand atheists. I cannot understand them, not as a young man and not as an old man. I think that atheism is understandable only when one requires the unlimited rule of impulses, without values. I am certain there is no morality with internal meaning without a religious basis. I do not believe in the absolute authority of man, that he makes himself and that the world creates itself. (Scholem, 1976a, 41)11

Alongside these personal expressions appear Scholem’s general and decisive statements regarding the lack of purpose of secularization and even the danger entailed in it: “I have no doubt that pure secularity is insufficient and cannot succeed,” and he admits, “from the beginning I  had doubts regarding secularism” (Scholem, 1995b, 99). He stresses the “risk” embodied in Jewish secularism “as in any destruction” (Scholem, 1976a, 41). With retrospect, he describes “the danger of death, the loss,” the “barbarization” of secular culture, and states sadly that these are “serious processes in which it is difficult to detect the seed of a future, a fertile seed” (ibid., 30).12 It appears that 10

From a letter Scholem wrote to Ehud Ben Ezer (dated February 1, 1976), in Ben Ezer, 1986, 27–8.

11



Gershon Weiler argues that there was no recognition of natural theology behind the expressions dealing with Scholem’s faith in God. See Weiler, 1976.

12

Scholem’s references to the issue of secularization from the educational aspect repeatedly stress the severe criticism he directed at his parents’ assimilated world. Thus, he notes that “the secularization of education […] contains a large degree of cheating, of self-deception. We assume that the documents we teach about at school are national documents that have nothing positive for us […] Completely consciously we remove from the documents those values due to which they were preserved, became memorable. And my heart is not quiet” (Scholem, 1990, 192). Eliezer Schweid indicates a development on this issue. While at first Scholem believed, like other Zionist thinkers, that Jewish life in Eretz Israel and knowledge of the historical sources would be sufficient for creating Jewish cultural renewal, at a later stage, portrayed in the article “Thoughts on Jewish Theology”





Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

while the historian can observe, even tranquilly, phenomena such as anarchism and secularization and see them as part of the appearances of the human spirit, the metaphysician nurtured in Scholem’s thought is depicted as rising up against these phenomena because they challenge the certainty he bears regarding the existence of transcendent entities that appear and influence in Jewish history.13 In observing the reality of present-day life, a paradox emerges between the two observations, so that the historical that is basically anchored in real reality reveals abstract dimensions within itself, while the metaphysical transpires as holding onto what has already reached realization. Scholem repeats, at various levels of severity, his position regarding the religious stage expected at the other side of secularism. Among the many examples: “The Lord is such that even if you forget him for three generations he will live in the fourth” (Scholem, 1995b, 63, emphasis in the original);14 “I think that this transition through secularity to something that will emerge again is inevitable, it is within the spirit of what we are doing here” (Scholem, 1976a, 48); “I am convinced that behind the whole secular front of its structure Zionism potentially enfolds within itself religious contents, and that this religious content is much stronger than all those actual contents […]” (ibid., 587–8); “I  do not believe in the “like all nations,” secularity is impossible, and it will not be realized. I do not believe we will destroy ourselves […] I do not believe in a world of complete secularism, in which the religious element will not be revealed with doubly renewed strength” (ibid., 41); and finally:

(1976a, 557–90), he has reservations about this and requires a  connection to tradition and recognition of a transcendent layer in Jewish existence. See Schweid, 1982–83, 67–9. 13

Viewing anarchism as a distinct dimension or stage in the development of modern Judaism has been blurred in Biale’s interpretation, which presents Scholem’s anarchism as a sort of modern version of the Kabbalah that might protect Judaism against dogmatism. See Biale, 1983.

14

In another context, Scholem similarly stresses the inability to avoid dealing with the religious meaning of history: “[…] such questions: the eternal life of the eternal nation before the eternal God cannot be forgotten. After the Zionist movement turns to realization, the old question that the Jewish nation is not free to dispose of or ignore should have awoken and arisen with double force and the quivering vitality involved in any real question, the question: where are we headed […]” (Scholem, 1976a, 416).





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What we blur today will burst out with greater strength tomorrow, at a different turning. You do not know at all where the religious problem embedded in our historical memory appears, where it will appear tomorrow, the day after tomorrow. This cannot be predicted in advance. It is very difficult to describe the possibility of historical continuity in Israel is we deny this problem. (Scholem, 1990, 192, emphasis in the original)

Like anarchy, Scholem characterizes the secularization phenomenon as a temporary but necessary stage. In principle, these two phenomena represent in his reading challenges to present-day Jewish existence, in stressing its real and exposed dimensions, and naturally the historical observation serves as an essential tool in clarifying them. However, the historical observation cannot exhaust them, and so the need arises for the metaphysical observation to burrow behind the screens of the overt historical phenomena, reveal the essence that constitutes them, and channel the fundamental threat they entail in favor of the ongoing establishment of the continuity, which Scholem believes is not in question at all.

D. “The Utopian Hope for the Affirmative” Scholem finds the realization of the position requiring the existence of God in a reality in which his presence is not overt in Martin Buber’s “religious anarchy,” which he defines thus: “The precise meaning of “religious anarchy’: do what you do, but do it in a way of “commitment’; meaning […] put in it your full moral strength and responsibility, or in one word —your heart” (ibid., 413). In principle, Scholem defines himself as a  “religious anarchist” (Scholem, 1995b, 42).15 However, while Buber “refused to say to what thing” the commit-

15



In this context, see Kurzweil’s criticism that Buber stresses the religious dimension while Scholem stresses the anarchic dimension: “In Buber we can speak about anarchic religion, while in Scholem about anarchism whose subject is religious” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 179, emphasis in the original). David Myers argues that in a moment of honesty, Scholem could have agreed with these words of Kurzweil’s (Myers, 1995, 174). But as will transpire later in the discussion, anarchism is just a stage in Scholem’s move, and in no way does it seal his approach. See also Josef Dan’s argument denying the as-

Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

ment is aimed, Scholem focuses it on “the struggle for higher values” as part of faith in God and in general (Scholem, 1990, 114). In his opinion, “If one is really interested in the Lord, the very struggle to believe in him contains something of the lofty” (Scholem, 1995b, 42). He adds, however, “We are not a generation without mitzvoth, but our mizvoth have no authority” (Scholem, 1990, 97). The anarchism in his position stems from the inability to “discuss any phenomenon in the past and determine whether they were right or wrong,” But this does not contradict the requiring position itself, nor the effort that will find expression channels: “There is room for a struggle in view of the appearance of ideas that demand their expression” (ibid., 111). The familiar echo between his personal perceptions and his findings in the field of historical research is apparent in this context in his search for the appearances of the affirmative and commitment in Sabbatianism: “Even in the book on Sabbatai Sevi I showed how strong was the element of hope for the affirmative even in the words of the Sabbatianists” (Scholem, 1976a, 40). In other words, in Scholem’s opinion, despite the destruction and nihilism associated with the Sabbatianist movement, it contributed to the vitality of modern Jewish existence and thus also to its historical continuity.16

sumption that Scholem was attracted to researching mysticism due to his mystical tendencies, and also strongly opposing the argument that Scholem was attracted to studying Sabbatianism due to anarchistic tendencies (Dan, 1987, 12–5). Dan mentions that Scholem devoted to the study of the early Kabbalah and the ultra-conservative Kabbalist circles no less time and effort than he devoted to the study of Sabbatianism and Frankism. But his readers were less interested in his learned textual studies and much more interested in his study of the heretical and anarchistic sects, and this was how Scholem’s anarchistic and “Sabbatianist” image was formed (ibid., 13–5). 16



In this context, see the Preface to Scholem’s book on Sabbatai Sevi (Scholem, 1976c, ix-xv). For David Biale’s discussion of the contribution of Sabbatianism to the formation of Scholem’s perception of modern Judaism, see Biale, 1979, 155–65. Eliezer Schweid believes that the combination between anarchism and continuity in Scholem’s approach constitutes a  paradox in his thought (Schweid, 1985, 37–8). David Myers speaks of an “interplay” between destructive and constructive forces in Jewish history during and after Sabbatianism, originating in a  dynamic perception of the nature of mysticism in history. In his opinion, among his partners in Jerusalem, Scholem was the most stubborn in seeing the radical instability of historical development, and in contrast —the least seeking an essentialistic and monistic scheme of history (Myers, 1995, 167).

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Scholem’s testimony “I was not swept away with the revolution” (Scholem, 1976a, 13), referring to his youth in Germany, served as a cornerstone in his criticism of modern socialism, striving for the revolution from certainty “in the transition time advancing us toward it.” However, as a historian seeking to realize an unbiased observation of his findings, Scholem states that “history […] does not recognize such transition periods” to revolution (Scholem, 1990, 198). Scholem appears in this context in the image of the artist, as defined by Kurzweil, who grants his readers “the general summary of the face of the world about whose image [he] wonders.”17 Like Kurzweil’s poet, Scholem as an anarchist thinker seeks only to serve as a “transparent medium”18 in relation to the reality revealed in his works, without actively participating in its shaping. The boundary placed here for Scholem’s anarchism stems from the fact that no less than the historian —and perhaps even more so —the metaphysician cannot be a revolutionary. Assuming the existence of one fixed essence that constitutes the world of phenomena, on which the metaphysical observation is founded, thwarts the very possibility of revolution. Scholem warns against the dangers entailed in secularism, which “sent simple solutions and avoided a religious revolution,” and states that “at any time, man is destined to create the revolution of redemption and even committed to create it, if religion constitutes a  living force within him” (Scholem, ibid., 198). However, this does not express his call for a revolution, but for the realization of the vitality embodied in Judaism and at the basis of the observations of both historian and metaphysician.19 However, Scholem’s anarchism is not exhausted by challenging the existing order, which often seems to provoke the achievements of the historical observation in absorbing various historical phenomena in Jewish history from the past and the present, or denying the great power it contains, causing the “loosening of the old ties that are emptied of their meaning in the new situation” (Scholem, 1976a, 173). These important substrates, located within the boundaries of the historical observation in which the anarchistic position is primarily formed, will

17

Kurzweil, 1962, 164.

18

Kurzweil, 1973a, 102.

19

Rotenstreich believes that Scholem’s understanding of history’s process nature was behind his opposition to identifying Zionism with messianism or with secularism (Rotenstreich, 1983, 73–5).



Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

find fertile ground for their realization in the realm of the metaphysical observation, in which history is revealed as an arena “in which people yearn for their redemption” (Scholem, 1990, 198). The directing of the metaphysical observation toward the new anarchic order, which on the overt level seems to lack a dimension of authority, is intended to help expose and discover the essence encoded in the world of phenomena.20 Now the metaphysical observation is summoned to induce the transcendent presence that has already been realized in reality, or at least serve as a  mirror for it. So, for example, Scholem raises the hypothesis, somewhat tentatively, regarding the Sabbatianist cult from Podolia: “Could more positive yearnings have joined together here that had no outlet in that way of life, yearnings for human release and relief, dressed in the costume of liberation from the mitzvoth and a vague vision of fundamental value change?” (Scholem, 1982b, 107). In other contexts, Scholem’s language is even more strident, bearing the nature of an evident metaphysical determination: “I have never departed from the opinion that the element of destruction, with all the potential nihilism it contains, was always also an element of utopian hope for the affirmative” (Scholem, 1976a, 40). In these words we can see a response to Rosenzweig’s criticism that missed the positive complement entailed in Scholem’s metaphysical vision and presented him as a “nihilist” assuming the “nothing,” meaning the impoverished emptiness of present-day Judaism. There is a degree of irony in the term “something,” through which Rosenzweig wished to affirm the existence of assets that served as the basis for spiritual and religious renewal, claiming that “perhaps Scholem too will learn this,”21 later served Scholem himself in different context where the existence of a substantive entity as a fundamental given of Jewish existence was assumed beyond any doubt.22 The anarchic position shows independence not only in relation to the image of Judaism held as an ideal by the “guardians of Israel,” but also toward the image viewed by the historical o ­ bservation

20

Scholem defines metaphysics as the study of order. See letter no. 57 (addressed to Ludwig Strauss), in Scholem, 1989, 148–50. Also cited by Shadelzki, 1997/8, 83.

21

In this context, see Rosenzweig’s letter to Rudolf Hallo, 1987, 230.

22

For appearances of the term “something” in Scholem’s work, see Scholem, 1990, 115, 119, 189, 195, 197; 1976a, 42, 48–9, 577; 1995b, 34.





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focused on the overt levels of the world of phenomena. However, Scholem makes a significant effort to anchor the anarchic position in immanent processes taking place within the historical reality itself. Thus, Scholem finds in historical reality itself the roots of the drive for affirmation and realization entailed in destruction and negation embodied in the anarchic position: At one significant point the secularized apocalyptics of the revolution remains […] attached to the Jewish-theological drive from which it grew (even if without admitting this). Such is even the one rejecting the extreme internalization of the concept of redemption […] In all its historical forms Judaism has rejected with both hands the version arguing for internality, so-called pure chemically refined internality of redemption, internality that was not also expressed in externality, and was involved in this expression in all ways, was not considered here at all. The leap to the inside involved a leap to the outside. Returning everything to its right place —and this is redemption —restores the whole, which does not recognize any separation between inside and outside. The utopian element of the messianic idea, controlling Jewish tradition, deals with this whole and nothing else. (Scholem, 1976a, 579–80)

The arising from the historical arena itself of forces striving for affirmation and realization conclusively put an end to the identification of history with the world of phenomena, and to the picture of continuity based upon it. Furthermore, loosening the connection between history and realism, which among other things enabled the entry of the metaphysical observation into this historical arena, serves as a suitable substrate for the anarchic position itself. The process of restraining the subject observing history while facing the overt appearances of historical reality is an important tool for the anarchic position. This, it transpires, does not itself disrupt the overt order presented by historical reality to the observer. Quite the contrary, its degree of restraint enables it to show particular sensitivity to the demystificatory process stirring within the historical arena itself, a process that enables the externalization of what was previously shrouded in the invisible internality of historical phenomena. It seems that this is the background to the statement that anarchism is “the only social theory with meaning — even religious meaning” (ibid., 39). The anchor of the anarchic position within the historical arena enables it to serve as a social theory. At

Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

the same time, since in anarchism the order in which the exposed historical phenomena are arranged is disrupted and their internality is rescued from its hiding place, it is indicated by Scholem as a source for “religious meaning.” Finally, the affirmative and negative dimensions entailed in the anarchic position become clear, as reflections of the forces of conservatism and utopian revolutionism active in Jewish history itself. Scholem identifies these powers in the medieval messianic idea, before its connection to modern era secularization was formed: The restorative contains something of the utopia and the utopia something of the restoration. The very idea of restoring things to their previous state is largely fed and nourished by utopian forces that seem as a projection backwards instead of a projection to the future. The reason is understandable. A utopia that presents the Jewish person of those periods with the ideal vision he would like to realize, is naturally divided into the two types. It could take on a radical form of seeing the hoped-for content of the future in restoring past glory, returning the ancient ideal content. And sometimes into this restorative utopia sneak, consciously or unconsciously, elements of a completely new vision and hope for a new status of the world that did not exist in the past. (Scholem, 1990, 231–2)

So, the joining together of the restorative and the utopian is a reflection of the fact that anarchy being a basic element in the attempt to exhaust, to the point of discovery, the forces existing in history, it serves as a source for a new utopian order —which is not more than the first revealing of the forces already hidden within existing historical reality. These are the forces the metaphysical observation exposes as appearances of a transcendent presence. This demystificatory reading of Jewish history, seeking to remove the shroud from forces that had been denied or suppressed within it, does not become a revolution or nihilism that are part of the attempt to destroy the existing order.23 Scholem’s

23



In this context, see the interpretation of Avraham Shapira, who distinguished between Scholem’s perception of utopia anchored in historical reality, and the messianic one expressing the intrusion of any transcendent power into reality and the end of history. In Shapira’s opinion, Scholem’s entire perception of Jewish history is utopian (see Shapira, 2001).

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statement that in the world of Kabbalah, the perception that “it is not necessary for it [the restoration of things to their original state of otherness and purity] to always be realized […] in the historical arena” (Scholem, 1976a, 263) acted as a defense, clearly indicating that history does not reliably reveal the range of forces active in the world. In contrast, the efforts directed at affirmation and establishment, from the evidence of the metaphysical observation, may fill in the gaps in the picture revealed by the historical observation and thus serve as an efficient brake against the anarchist position turning into a revolution or nihilism. One of the important contributions of the interpretation proposed here to Scholem’s religious anarchism stems from it being a context for clarifying the unique dialectic taking place between the two types of observations. The dual connection of the anarchic position — on the one hand to the historical observation that views the overt reality without bias, and on the other hand to the metaphysical observation through which the signals of the transcendent presence are revealed — makes it a very tense subject in Scholem’s thought, and eventually creates a strong clash between the two observations. The exhaustion of the metaphysical observation seems to lead to pushing aside the historical one. An expression of this may be found in Scholem’s words: “perhaps we are anarchic, but we are against anarchy” (Scholem, 1990, 97), meaning that the historian can and perhaps even should be an anarchist, or at least aspire to this, but only a historian who is also a metaphysician can be simultaneously an anarchist who rejects anarchy, or alternately, someone whose “secularism is not secular (Scholem, 1976a, 51). At the same time, like the Hegelian perception that interconnects affirmative and negative, here too the pushing aside of the historical observation does not bear a negative character at all, and Scholem attests to this in the first person: “A lot attracted me in anarchy, especially its positive utopia” (ibid., 39). Finally, the pushing aside of the historical observation can and should be temporary and partial, since the “materials” from which the “affirmative” will be constructed, meaning the new utopian order, are taken from the world of the Jewish tradition and serve as a direct object of the historical observation. There is also a life of tradition based not only on continuation and on the conservative nurturing of the community’s heritage. This too is certainly a meaning of tradition […] but tradition is also something apart from this. There are areas of tradition that have been covered up and hidden among the fallen rocks of the generations, and

Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia they are awaiting their uncovering and activation. There is a return to the forgotten or to things that have not yet reached exhaustion. There is an uncovering of hidden treasures within tradition, from whose power a living relation is formed, and to this must be attributed much of the Jewish consciousness in our generation, even when it exists outside the orthodox framework. (ibid., 139)

These words imply that the tradition to which Scholem directs the historical observation is not fundamentally static, and even in the reality of the secularization of tradition it appears with life bubbling within it. The aim for holism that guides the historical observation is itself permeated with certainty regarding the presence of additional forces active under the surface of real reality. Like Yerushalmi, Scholem expresses an ontological approach viewing the past as an arena in which transcendent forces are present and active. While for Yerushalmi this approach contributed to the formation of a static picture of Jewish memory, for Scholem the understanding that “memory was one of the great forces in the lives of the Jews” (ibid., 129) did not shape it into a static and ahistorical layer in Jewish existence. Scholem explains that what is remembered is not perceived as: […] a mythical story of events, as something that happened in another time dimension, but as the real history of the nation; no magic action accompanies this ritual that it entirely saturated in history. The remembrance ceremonies do not act, they do not create an unmediated connection between the Jew and the world and nature surrounding him; what they raise in the Jew’s soul […] is in fact the “memory,” the commonality of the generations and the identification of the believer with the experience of origin of the generation that received the Torah at Mount Sinai. (Scholem, 2003, 115–6, emphasis in the original)24

24



Idel concluded from this section that Scholem believed that “the ritual of rabbinical Judaism was completely detached from the layer of myth” (Idel, 1997, 76). However, he qualifies his words in a  note: “While I  agree that Scholem’s discussion is fundamentally paradoxical, it appears that this paradox is constructed upon a biased presentation of the Judaism of the Sages” (ibid., 84 n. 12).

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180

The involvement of present-day people —including the historian —in the past, even in the process of historical selection, is not perceived as damage or disruption to the preservation and continuity mechanisms embodied in memory. While Yerushalmi stressed the problematics entailed in the process of historical selection25 and sought to harness the historian to face what he termed “the terror of forgetting,”26 Scholem explains, “Memory also involved forgetting, and this is no less important than remembering. When I think about the history of Judaism and the Jews, it seems to me that forgetting is more important than remembering, even though we are commanded in the founding documents of Judaism to remember as a primary element. Remember, remember, remember!” (Scholem, 1990, 189). The balanced relationship between immanence and transcendence in Scholem’s approach, which will later receive a separate discussion, enables him to assimilate within the wider context of the continuity thesis the two components of intentionality, as well as the subject —remembering and forgetting, referring and rejecting —and everything that is beyond the subject and may serve as an object for historical and metaphysical observation —history, religion, and the complex of values and contents accumulated in the past tradition. Unlike Yerushalmi, Scholem is not disturbed by the loss of the religious or transcendent dimension, and it appears that he cannot imagine a human existence from which this dimension is absent. Anarchy serves a positive role here, since it helps, albeit in a very complex manner, to dull the boundaries (which in Yerushalmi’s approach are overemphasized) placing on either sides of the border the individual and the group, remembering and forgetting, religion and secularism, tradition and utopia.

25

See Yerushalmi, 1989, 94.

26

Ibid., 117.



Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

E. “ The Dual Way”: The Possibility of Mysticism in a Secular Reality One of the important issues that interested Scholem is the possible formation of a “new Kabbalah” (Scholem, 1976a, 78), meaning mysticism in the reality of present-day life, despite or perhaps even because of secularization. Scholem himself connects this possibility to the fundamental processes taking place in a reality controlled by religious anarchy, and adds: “Here is hidden the stumbling block that serves as a barrier to the formation of Jewish mysticism with a public meaning today” (ibid., 80). In other words, the separation from the principle of “Torah from heaven,” in which mysticism was anchored and which tied it to historical continuity, seems to threaten the possibility of a new mysticism forming. This possibility touches upon what Scholem called on various opportunities a “religious problem” regarding the drive embodied in religious possibilities to reach realization even in a reality whose historical appearance is of secularization and anarchy (Scholem, 1990, 192).27 It is fascinating that the phrase “religious problem” also appears in Kurzweil: “The new Hebrew literature […] is literature of the religious problem” despite the fact that it “arises from a secular world.”28 Like Scholem, for Kurzweil the term denotes the permanent presence of the transcendent dimension also in the secular reality that sought to remove it categorically. In addition, for Scholem the term denotes the tension of the boundaries of the historical continuity toward the future, toward what is not yet a phenomenon and in any case cannot be accessible to the historical observation. The premise regarding the presence of a transcendent entity within the secular reality, in the background of what he called a “religious problem,” thus directs the discussion regarding the possible formation of a “new Kabbalah” to the realm of the metaphysical observation, so that it could track what from a historical viewpoint might be missed or identified as a contradiction, the transcendent presence in real reality. This observation might enable handling the trap entailed in the recognition that on the one hand it is precisely “absolute faith in something” that is the foundation of historical continuity in the Jewish

27

The expression “religious problem” is repeated in various contexts, and its meaning is similar in all of them. See also Scholem, 1990, 196; 1976a, 398.

28

Kurzweil, 1960, 110.



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182

nation, and on the other hand this faith is “an enormous stumbling block, not to say a  complete barrier, to many of us, after all we do not believe in Torah from heaven.” The “stumbling block” deals with the possibility of finding a new substrate for mysticism, to replace the principle of “Torah from heaven,” which has lost its hold in the present-day Jewish reality. As Scholem puts it: “Can a clear, objective element be found to translate the new Jew of our generation, which is the translation of attempts of no less important significance than those of other generations? Since this generation has had taken from it the very basis on which the ancestors rested” (Scholem, 1976a, 79–80). To the extent that these questions relate to the abstract substrates of Jewish mysticism, suited to the metaphysical observation, they also reveal the involvement of the historical observation that deals with the real aspects embodied in its actual realization. It seems that what excites Scholem about the messianic idea in Judaism stems from the interweaving of metaphysical and actual aspects within it: “[the messianic idea] has proved itself, despite all the softenings, in its secular incarnation too, as an idea of supreme actual power. It was capable of bearing reversal and change from sacred to profane better than the other ideas” (ibid., 577–8). Indeed, as a historian, Scholem cannot guarantee that that “objective element” will be found in the future, so he responds to the question he had raised regarding its possibility: “To this we have no answer” (ibid., 80). It appears that as a sober historian, Scholem had to doubt the possibility that “the power and force to create forms known in their belonging to the sacred realm that could have universal meaning for us beyond this” would indeed be found. However, it seems that this sober evaluation was overridden by the thought or perhaps the hope that “a dual path of secularism and sanctity might be possible, that in our progression we are approaching? Maybe mysticism will be discovered not in the traditional costume of sanctity […]” (ibid., 82).29 This “dual way” clearly breaches the realm of the historical observation, since the phenomenon of secular mysticism, such as the contemporary “new age,” had not yet occurred in Scholem’s time. Also, this possibility clashes with one of the fundamental substrates of Scholem’s historical continuity thesis, whereby “the mystic is naturally conservative, even if he is a revolutionary! He seeks to preserve the continuity

29



An almost identical phrasing appears in Scholem, 1995b, 41.

Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

of tradition, and therefore does not deviate from the framework, and leaves the existing values” (ibid., 195). The following words show that Scholem was well aware that the discussion of the possibility of secular mysticism exceeds the boundary of the historical observation: Perhaps the mysticism will be revealed not in the traditional costume of sanctity […]. Perhaps this sanctity will be revealed within the innermost depths of this secularism, and the mysticism is perhaps not known in its new forms in the concepts of tradition? Perhaps this mysticism will not suit the mystics’ concepts of conservative tradition, but will have a secular meaning. This matter, at which I am hinting, is not pure invention. There are many who have seen the secularism of our lives and the construction of the nation as the reflection of the mystical meaning of the secret of the world. (Scholem, 1995b, 41–2)30

Breaching the boundary of the historical observation is supported by a profound metaphysical insight, which Scholem expresses in the question “Who knows where the boundaries of sanctity are?” (ibid., 41), and more generally, “Who knows the way of the spirit?” (Scholem, 1982a, 126).31 Scholem adds: “This is a problem that Rabbi Kook asked in the most controversial issues of his teachings.” The controversy that Scholem as a historian had with this teaching of Rabbi Kook does not overshadow the fundamental appreciation he expressed within the context of his metaphysical observation, aimed at the “daring in his words” and revolving around his ability to notice the possibility of Jewish mysticism in secular clothing (Scholem, 1995b, 41). These words reveal the deep openness to the possible entailed in the metaphysical observation. This openness is apparent not only in its daring but also in its power to moderate the rigidity forced by the overt and real appearance of things to which the historical observation is bound.

30

It appears that David Myers believes the term “normative Judaism” has become doubtful since Scholem’s work, which in his opinion performed a “reconstruction of Jewish intellectual history” (Myers, 1992, 131).

31

The phrase “As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit” (Eccl. 11:5) is also cited in Scholem’s letter to his parents dated 2 February 1919, in Scholem, 1998, 35.





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184

Further, in comparison with the historical observation, the openness embodied in the metaphysical observation enfolds a much wider and more complex understanding of transcendence, and naturally also of the individual’s access to it. For historians, at least in the first stages of their work, the whole of reality appears as one transcendent compound, demanding that they withdraw themselves to a passive stance. In contrast, the activism demonstrated by metaphysicians crumbles this compound and thus discovers within it various degrees of transcendence, and therefore various possible approaches to it, without detracting from the certainty regarding the unconditional presence of the transcendent element in reality. Thus, the metaphysical observation becomes aware of transcendence’s various means of revelation, and so it is possible that secular mysticism could be one of them. Scholem states that even if in the period of secularization the grasp of the principle of “Torah from heaven” has been greatly weakened, let alone faith in God, the repeated reference to them, even if they are from an examining and criticizing stance, remains significant for present-day people: “[the question] what is our relation to the tradition of Judaism and to its history as the history of a nation […] has not become weightless, let alone been removed from the agenda even in an era of secularization” (Scholem, 1976a, 557–8, emphasis in the original). Scholem expresses his belief that “the feeling that the world has a secret,” meaning the feeling that fed the Kabbalists’ search for that objective element, will not disappear in the future (ibid., 54). Elsewhere, his words are even stronger: “Well, there will also be an atheistic mysticism, which does not require God to digest those attempts of the internal reality that the religious mystics had. God will appear as non-God. All the divine and symbolic matters can also appear in the clothing of atheistic mysticism” (Scholem, 1995b, 52). Thus we can state in principle that mysticism in our time is possible. A brief comparison with Funkenstein’s perception of historical continuity may help clarify and understand Scholem’s complex position. Paradoxically, to the extent that the “objective” element enables the historical continuity in Scholem’s approach, this continuity bears the particular features that link it to the Jewish historical tradition. In contrast, Funkenstein, who was bothered by the “alienation” of presentday people “from texts and textual messages —halakaha and midrash,”32

32



Funkenstein, 1993, 21.

Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

that is, from the assets that determine the nature of classical Jewish culture, expressed indifference toward the persistence of particular Jewish aspects in the future. It seems that the consistent metaphysical interest Scholem showed in Jewish history, through which he sought to locate the ontological elements that guaranteed its continuity, served as a barrier before over-abstracting his discussion, as a result of which the possibility of secular mysticism would be detached from the real field of events. This means that daring and openness to the transcendent, which introduces the metaphysical observation into the issue of the possibility of secular mysticism, does not wear down the historical observation directed at it. The historical observation is revealed in this context as establishing restrictions to the metaphysical observation, and thus the historical nature of the continuity thesis is preserved. The reason for this is clear, since if indeed through the metaphysical observation a horizon of secular mysticism becomes apparent, the realization of this possibility in practice will take place within the historical arena. From Scholem’s point of view, when secular mysticism becomes a real phenomenon, it will realize both historical and metaphysical possibilities. In contrast, the explicitly epistemic nature of the connection to the classical sources of Judaism in Funkenstein’s approach grants an inevitably subjective nature to his perception of continuity, which in any case cannot guarantee the persistence of the factors that accompanied Jewish history and shaped its permanent elements. In a profound sense, Funkenstein’s approach cannot, even if requested, provide a historical or metaphysical guarantee to the possibility of secular mysticism or continuity, even in the sense he attributed to it. The discussion of the two problems that arose in the discussion of secularism and anarchism answers in the affirmative both questions —one to which the historical observation did not enable access, and the other that arose from the metaphysical observation itself. This means that mysticism is a fundamental phenomenon in the history of the Jewish nation, and the objective element for modern Jewish existence will be found that will enable the continuation of the historical continuity in its history. These two answers are actually one: precisely because the mentioned objective element will be found, secular mysticism is a real possibility in modern Jewish existence. The implication is that although faith in God and the principle of “Torah from heaven” are among the foundations of Scholem’s continuity thesis, the possibility of secular mysticism does not depend on accepting them, and thus secular mysticism is possible. The metaphysical observation, which

185

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noted the autonomy of historical reality over the individuals acting within it, thus finds further support in Scholem’s approach regarding the possibility of Jewish mysticism in our time. Furthermore, Scholem’s approach is unique compared with those of the other thinkers discussed here not only because he answered these two questions in the affirmative, but first and foremost due to the severity with which he raised them. Funkenstein, for whom continuity was almost inevitable, certainly could not have asked these questions, which in principle could be answered in the negative, thus making historical continuity conditional. In Rotenstreich’s approach, as in Funkenstein’s, continuity does not appear as a problem. His choice to anchor his view in a physical perception of time, and the assumption of the “disputing of Judaism’s integrality,” remove the sting of the continuity issue, and in any case leave no place for questions about problems relating to it. In fact, Kurzweil assumes the existence of a reality that answered both these questions in the negative. But in this context, his perception of the decisive and forcing status of the transcendent entity in Jewish existence is more important. This dulled in advance the sting of these questions, so from his point of view a negative answer to them is impossible. Finally, Yerushalmi’s position regarding modern Judaism, stressing the erosion of the past and tradition in the era of secularization, declared the issue of continuity as the dimension that absorbed the greatest damage. It is clear that in such a situation there is no room to ask about the possibility of mysticism, which would seem to refer to second order problems. Against the background of Scholem’s complex perception of present-day Jewish reality, in which secularization, anarchy, and the possibility of future mysticism are mixed together, we can also understand his consistent refusal to see the messianic idea in Jewish history as a significant threat to historical continuity. In Scholem’s opinion the messianic idea “exhausts the power” of Jewish history, and a gap separates this drive from “the real history of the Jewish nation” (Scholem, 1976a, 582). However, this gap may serve as a reflection of the complexity of Jewish history, in whose ruins are hidden buried snatches of life from the past, which Scholem depicts as waiting for the right time in which to emerge and take their place in the real Jewish being: “This very living experience, the force of whose action we cannot always imagine, joins as a shaping force the utopian drive rooted very deep in the human soul. The mythical imagination is fed and nurtured from the living historical experience” (Scholem, 1990, 233).

Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

The deep connection of the Kabbalistic oeuvre to the historical reality of its period, thanks to which the Kabbalists’ writings may serve as a historical source, also arises from other contexts. For example: “Even symbols grow and quench their thirst from the historical experience” (Scholem, 2003, 7); “The historical experience of the Jewish nation mingled here inseparably with the mystical experience in the world in which sanctity was engaged in a final, desperate struggle with the satanic” (ibid., 141); and also “Half-articulated mutterings about mystical secrets, symbols, and images, all rooted in the world of esoterica and in the abstruse speculations of the kabbalists, became transformed, in my eyes, into invaluable keys to an understanding of important historical processes […]” (Scholem, 1976c, x).33 The element of vitality, so dominant in Scholem’s continuity thesis, does not enable the positioning of real barriers between the dimensions of past, present, and future, and certainly does not enable the acceptance of what Scholem called in his criticism of orthodoxy and liberalism “a  command […] of historical passivity [… that] sat very badly with the deep impulses of messianism, and in fact completely distorted them” (Scholem, 1976a, 581). This means that if the messianic idea did in fact establish a “deferred life” (ibid., 190) on those who devoted themselves to it, it had a vital influence on Jewish history.34 This replaces the tragic sense surrounding Yerushalmi’s approach, in which the historian functions in relation to the Jewish collective memory as “at best a pathologist, hardly a physician,”35 to say nothing of being capable of preserving its contents. In contrast, from a utopian viewpoint in which Judaism possesses a vitality that enfolds the possibility of discovery and development on the one hand, and the correcting of what has been missed in the past on the other hand, “The past does not become living without some utopian element, without a hope for something standing behind all our historical elements to rescue something from the past. As though in the light of a new trend that is destined to rise we will understand the failures of the past trends” (Scholem, 1990, 189).

33

See also Scholem, 1971, 141. Idel states that “This sublimation of the historical experience into a mystical vision of reality took place through a symbolic understanding of reality” (Idel, 2006, 183).

34

On the expression “deferred life,” see Idel, 2003, 484; Myers, 2003, 158.

35

Yerushalmi, 1989, 94.





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Scholem presents the possibility that “Many things […] were as they should be in the past and are destined to be, perhaps with greater vitality, in the future” (ibid., 108), as a result of the historical observation, within whose boundaries “We are not a party among the representatives of opposing trends, we do not affirm or deny” from the “appearances that have already been revealed and have taken on a historical form” or “those things that seem rich in future.” The metaphysical observation contributed no less and perhaps even more to the perception of Judaism as bearing “utopian content” (ibid., 107) or “utopian aspects” (Scholem, 1995b, 37), focusing his studies on that transcendent “something” that is present in Jewish history due to which not only the future but also the present and the past cannot be crystallized and fixated. Just like transcendence, utopia denotes a reality in Jewish existence; but its hidden means of presence in the present requires a deviation from the boundary of the historical observation, focused on the overt levels of phenomena, to the realm of the metaphysical observation. To the extent that there is interest in our history, it is precisely in this hidden adaptation to the ideas of the future, with the nation’s great choice to pay the price of the messianic direction of its history. This messianic direction is responsible for the failures of Jewish history […]. Had these Jews not had religious hallucinations, they would have improved their situation seven times through their own strength without making it dependent upon the idea of salvation (for which they paid an enormous price) […] Even the most radical attempt to deny the reality of the questions of transcendence in our lives, even the most radical desire must encounter […] the question of religion. (Ibid., 194)

The affirmative element embodied in the secularization phenomenon and in fact also in anarchy thus stems from the connection of these two to utopia, which is based on recognition of the permanent presence of the transcendent element in the Jewish world. In this respect, both anarchy and utopia may serve as means to overcome the damage of secularization, especially the pushing aside of the transcendent dimension from Jewish existence. Scholem reveals that as much as he was attracted to anarchy, “it also always filled me with horror” (Scholem, 1976a, 39), probably arising from its nihilistic horizon. Since the possibility for correction is utopian, Scholem could not

Chapter Four. Jewish Reality in the Present: Anarchy, Secularization and Utopia

be certain as a historian that “we will really have the power here” to bring about the historical correction of what had been damaged throughout history, since this “depends on a range of many factors that do not depend only on us.” Scholem states explicitly: “If the Jews try to explain themselves only through the historical dimension, they must reach thoughts of total annihilation and destruction” (ibid., 41). The metaphysical observation, containing the undecided complexity of the historical reality, in which the hidden and the visible are simultaneously intertwined, finds its expression here in these thoughts and hypothesis: “But who knows? Perhaps we cannot undergo crises differently… going down for the sake of arising” (ibid., 30). The synchronistic genetic dimension in the metaphysical observation thus enables Scholem to observe the present-day secularization phenomenon, taking into account both its horizons —past and future. This observation helps Scholem overcome the despair that sometimes takes hold of him in view of the impoverishment of Jewish life in the present,36 and elsewhere he agrees with Dostoyevsky’s famous phrase, “even in the secular forms […] a hidden echo of religiosity emerges” (ibid., 133). He expresses his certainty that “even if the world is atheistic —the religious matters will not disappear” (Scholem, 1995b, 52), and takes the risk of futurism in estimating that “there will also be atheistic mysticism” (ibid.).

36



See also: “I  live in despair and I  [cannot] act except from despair,” from Scholem’s letter to Escha and Hugo Bergmann, dated 15 December 1947 (Scholem, 1947; also cited in Shadelzki, 1997/8, 78). Hagai Dagan attributes Scholem’s relation to Kafka, among other things, to the author’s expressions of despair toward the modern world, from which the divine presence is absent. See Dagan, 2005, 96–8.

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Chapter Five

Mysticism, Messianism, and Secret The issues of mysticism, messianism, and secret arise in all the contexts composing Scholem’s writings —in texts that proposed a philological analysis of Kabblistic texts, in those with a  more philosophical character, in the biographical essays, and in those dealing with the current affairs of his time. However, the reader will not usually find references to the general and philosophical substrates that shaped Scholem’s thinking on these issues. The metaphysical perception of truth appearing in the Hebrew Preface to his great study on Sabbatai Sevi is a rare moment in his writings, and perhaps it is symbolic that this essay was lost for many years and only discovered after the book had been published. The opening words of this essay serve as a starting point for his philosophical observation of the mentioned issues: There is no mistake greater than the truth being simple […] The truth that has yet to enter the furnace of the historical test, the truth that does not fight for its veracity, the abstract truth —perhaps this can sometimes be “simple.” It was simple when it was first given and sparkled over the “mountains of the heart.” And perhaps even when it came into speech and was phrased in human language. Truth that serves as a slogan aimed at awakening and exciting people and the masses —is simple as slogans are. But how pathetic is this truth carried on people’s lips or on their flags! Its praised simplicity is merely an impression. Examining a sign shows that more than it reveals and declares, it conceals. This simplicity of the truth is merely the non-revealing of its complexity and contradiction. (Scholem, 1975, 15)

On the immediate level we can state that the simple truth is ahistorical, while the complex truth is formed within the realm of history, which serves as an arena of struggle that rescue it from its original, abstract simplicity. Scholem’s words show that human contact does indeed reveal the internal contradictions existing in the truth and

Chapter Five. Mysticism, Messianism, and Secret

denoting its internal and hidden layer. What can be called the “dialectic of truth” teaches us that only on the surface does the truth appear simple, while in fact it is complex (ibid., 16). Scholem states that “the world of historical life and the world of the great historical ideas are subject to this law” (ibid., 15–6). Therefore, contradiction and concealment characterize simultaneously both real historical life and the world of the spirit, the world of concepts and the world of ideas. The mystical phenomenon can perhaps be interpreted as an expression of history itself possessing overt and covert dimensions. Indeed, Scholem characterizes the Kabbalah as “a secret doctrine with a dual sense,” since it refers to matters of human life that are hidden deep, and is also delimited within the boundaries of a small group of select people (Scholem, 1941, 21). This means that the secret refers not only to the content of the mysticism but also to those possessing it. Since the content is only accessible to very few, in any case mysticism is formulated as esoteric wisdom. The expression “hidden life,” frequently appearing in Scholem’s writings1 and usually denoting his personal intuition regarding the dimension of vitality in Jewish history or its hidden dimension, whose traces are buried within its sources, serves in this context to characterize the truth Jewish mysticism is devoted to discovering: Some say that even the concept a hidden life has its own dialectic and its solid permanence and simplicity are merely an illusion. And what are the concepts that in a world perceived so that the living ideas require human effort to realize the truth in them on earth, even more so. Any virtue, when you plumb its depths and seek to exhaust it, then during its complete revelation its opposite develops. (ibid., 17)

It seems that Scholem’s perception of the metaphysical truth as a law of historical reality in general was behind the efforts he devoted to the study of the Kabbalah. The uncovering of this truth and deciphering of the mark it leaves upon historical reality, he believed, serve as the main tools in anchoring the Kabbalah as part of the continuity of Jewish history. The effort involved in revealing the truth seems to be

1



For the term “hidden life,” see Scholem, 1976a, 227, 399; 1990, 29; 1948, 27, 31; 1982a, 52.

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an o ­ utcome of it containing hidden dimensions. In addition, the activism required for this indicates the dominance of the metaphysical observation in formulating the perception of truth in Scholem’s thought. Despite its metaphysical nature, this truth does not denote an abstract element detached from human beings’ real experiences. As we have seen, the first purpose of the metaphysical observation Scholem directed at the objects of his research was to study in depth the historical reality that itself serves as a field for the existence and realization of this truth. Scholem is not satisfied with anchoring the Kabbalah within the realm of Jewish history. From his point of view, the uniqueness and value of the Jewish mystical tradition stems from its function as a  reliable reflection of Jewish history, along with being an inseparable part of it. His fundamental argument is that even if the purpose of mysticism is universal (Scholem, 2003, 9), and mystics sought to act on the whole of humanity (Scholem, 1941, 21), they still constitute part of the particular history of their nation, since they operate within the context of a historical tradition (Scholem, 2003, 20) and in the realm of a  defined religious system (Scholem, 1941,  6; Scholem, 2003, 92).2 Scholem also supports his arguments with the literal meaning of Kabbalah in Hebrew, denoting “tradition” (Scholem, 1941, 21), and sees this as additional evidence for the historical character of Jewish mysticism. This means that just as the truth requires the historical foundation to be exposed in its multi-faceted complexity, mysticism also required a sufficiently complex historical reality to serve as a foundation for its formation. Indeed, Scholem argues that only when human consciousness reached maturation —after religion appeared in an institutionalized form —could mysticism have appeared in history and realized, consciously or unconsciously, the deviation from organized religion (ibid., 8–9). Thus, although the metaphysical truth may be elucidated on the abstract conceptual level, it penetrates historical reality and alters it. In Scholem’s opinion, the appearance of the Kabbalah on the stage of Jewish history made real changes to the character of ancient Judaism (ibid., 23).

2



In this context Scholem adopts the approach of Evelyn Underhill. See Scholem, 1941, 3, 6, 252. Scholem refers to her famous book (Underhill, 1948), ibid., 425.

Chapter Five. Mysticism, Messianism, and Secret

However, just as Scholem assumed that the mystical phenomenon was anchored to the historical reality of his time, he characterized the connection of mysticism to historical reality as “amazing” and “paradoxical” (ibid., 21).3 These expressions reflect his fundamental understanding of history as an arena that is not only a space of discovery, as it is sometimes commonly thought, but also of concealment and mystery. This means that to the extent that the appearances of historical reality conceal the metaphysical truth that serves as a sort of legislative idea for it, so too in the depths of this reality the discovery of metaphysical truth takes place, finding paths —sometimes different, paradoxical, or even incomprehensible —through which it is revealed also in the historical world of phenomena. Scholem provides additional expressions of his perception of historical reality as bearing within itself significant gaps or elements that on the face of it do not add up to one. Thus, for example, he characterizes mysticism as “A meeting point of two worlds or developmental stages of human consciousness,” the primitive and the developed or the mythological and that of discovery (ibid., 21). This argument is demonstrated in his interpretation of the Zohar and the Lurian Kabbalah, in which he finds evidence that religious thought does not abandon mythological thinking. In this context it is also worth mentioning his rejection of the contrast between the rational concept and the myth, claiming that even the most pure, rational concept may become a new mythical image thanks to the irrational depth it conceals (Scholem, 1948, 138).4 Perhaps in Scholem’s eyes it is even more amazing to discover that while the appearance of mysticism on the stage of history enables the presence of a complex, secret-bearing truth, at the same time the primary and original simplicity that characterized it as a myth, before it was tangled up in the hidden depths of history, is still preserved. This perception of mysticism makes it into an arena where not only

3



See again Gadamer’s definition of Scholem’s approach as “astonished identification” (erschrockene Identifikation). This is taken from the text of Gadamer’s lecture found in Scholem’s estate and cited in Shadelzki, 1997/8, 84.

4



In this context, it is worth recalling Scholem’s criticism of the belief that there is a  contrast between monotheism and myth (Scholem, 1941, 22–3). See also Idel’s discussion of this issue (Idel, 1997, 76–80).

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the amazing in history can be discovered, but also its holistic nature.5 It transpires that the hidden dimensions of history challenge its overt dimensions, which show remarkable resistance in the historical arena, to the extent that they are borne above time and place and dispute the power of history to replace the old with the new. It turns out that the appearance of mysticism itself embodies the active reality of a complex truth bearing within it hidden and esoteric dimensions, and through the horizon of history the possible reappearance of the primary simplicity in the image of myths and mythologies is visible. The simple truth is not just the history of what has passed, but also the possible future of the metaphysical truth itself. Either way, what is amazing in history depends on both its hidden and its overt dimensions, which challenge in different ways its being understood as the arena of the overt and the passing. Finally, just like the metaphysical truth, history is shrouded in concealment on the one hand and immune to time and space on the other. This understanding of truth and of history, at the basis of Scholem’s approach to the study of mysticism, reveals a new depth in his perception of continuity. To the extent that this approach refers to the historical reality, it transpires as enfolding within itself ahistorical dimensions with a distinctly metaphysical character. The elucidation of the continuity thesis in the light of these dimensions, whether they denote what has yet to be discovered in real reality and whether they portray the fixed and independent in its history, joins Scholem’s most fundamental certainty regarding the permanent presence of a transcendent dimension in Jewish history. In this context, transcendence is characterized by duality: it denotes both the presence of past forms within real reality, and also the future horizon that is not simply a direct continuation of the present. For a moment the mathematician in the young Scholem emerges when he states that “Historical continuity […] is equivalent to a continuous line with no direction: the tangential line in geometry may serve as a comparison, since it too con-

5



Here, as in many other contexts of Scholem’s thought, it is hard to avoid associations with Hegel’s historical thought. For more on this context, see O’Brien, 1975. Like many of his generation, Scholem knew Hegel’s perception of history as was deeply influenced by it. See for example Karl Löwith’s book (Löwith, 1949), identified with the neo-Hegelianism of the mid-twentieth century.

Chapter Five. Mysticism, Messianism, and Secret

tains continuity at every point, while it has no continuation anywhere” (Scholem, 1990, 196). This metaphor opens a window to the thinking behind Scholem’s effort to anchor in Jewish existence two phenomena that seem to directly dispute its historical continuity —Sabbatianism and secularization. Scholem frequently stresses the connections existing between them, as arises from the statements that have already become the starting point in any study dealing with these phenomena and their origins in his canonical essay “A Mitzvah Achieved through a Wrongful Act [aveira]”:6 I wish to show here that there is a clear dialectical development leading from faith in Sabbatai Sevi to the religious nihilism of Sabbatianism and Frankism, to the teaching that shook the soul of Judaism to its core that “cancelling the Torah is keeping it,” and from nihilism as a religious stance founded upon the sources of religion themselves to the new world of the haskalah […] I wish to show that the Judaism crisis in the generations after opening the ghetto had already been prepared from the inside, in the hidden corners of the Jewish soul and in the holy of holies of the study of mysticism and the Kabbalah itself […] In the period before the French Revolution the historical conditions were missing to make this hidden power into an overt revolutionary force, so this power remained as the cause of a revolution in the internality and the hidden areas of Jewish consciousness and Jewish life, but we would be very mistaken not to think they are connected. (Scholem, 1982b, 14)7

Scholem’s attitude toward the phenomenon of Sabbatianism and its offshoots is not what interests us here. However, in the words cited above, we can see an expression of the primary importance of the search for continuity that assumed the hidden and the lost as a source of meaning and significance for the contradictory appearances on the

6

Eric Jacobson discussed the unclear dating of this essay between 1936–1937. See Jacobson, 2003, 269 n. 70.

7

Scholem refers to the connection between Sabbatianism and secularization in other contexts, e. g., Scholem, 1995b, 103; 1982b, 9–10. Regarding the thesis in this essay on the connection between Sabbatianism and secularization, see also Dan, 1982; Feiner, 2011, 50.



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historical level. Just like the metaphysical truth, the historical arena bears within its immanent space what seems to challenge it, without expropriating it. In other words, the truth does not cease to be truth due to its contradictions, and history does not lose its reality due to the dimensions that are not subject to its powers. Scholem’s perceptions regarding truth, history, and transcendence join together and are reflected in his understanding of the historical continuity in the Jewish nation as religious. Scholem expresses this directly: “The question […] of the continuity of generations for us is […] the question of religion. The Jewish memory of Jewish history is a religious memory” (Scholem, 1990, 191). In principle, the religious understanding of Jewish memory and history is also behind the approaches of Yerushalmi and of Kurzweil, who linked historical continuity to religion. Yerushalmi stresses the religious interpretation of Jewish history,8 and as we recall states that in a historical essay dealing with the Jews it is appropriate to discuss “reasons-from-God.”9 Similarly, Kurzweil refers to God as a comprehensive object of meaning and presence in history. Thus, for instance, he writes regarding the words “God who knows, why it is thus” in the poem by Uri Zvi Greenberg: “It is clear: God alone, who is always present, has solutions to the riddles of time.”10 Indeed, the argument regarding the religious nature of Jewish collective memory in the perceptions of Yerushalmi and Kurzweil expresses primary evidence, while for Scholem it appears as a historical determination. At the same time, the three of them share their recognition of the dominance of the transcendent dimension in Jewish history, and perhaps not only Yerushalmi and Kurzweil but also Scholem would be willing to identify this dimension with God. But here, as in other contexts, the shared basis serves simultaneously as a source for different perceptions, and it seems that among these three, Scholem expresses the most complex perception of the relations between religion and history. As we recall, Yerushalmi interpreted the relations with the collective memory from a historical point of view, as existing in a severe contrast to the religious essence of this 8



In this context, Yerushalmi mentions Löwith’s position. See Yerushalmi, 1989, 90; Löwith, 1949, 194–5.

9



Yerushalmi, 1989, 91.

10



Kurzweil, 1960, 127.

Chapter Five. Mysticism, Messianism, and Secret

memory. In the absence of space in his approach for the existence of dialectic, enabling various connections to the transcendent dimension of this memory and its formulation in religious tradition, Yerushalmi stated that modern Jewish historiography “[…] must at least functionally repudiate premises that were basic to all Jewish conceptions of history in the past. In effect, it must stand in sharp opposition to its own subject matter […] concerning the vital core: the belief that divine providence is not only an ultimate but an active causal factor in Jewish history.”11 Yerushalmi’s approach does not leave space for any real possibility of dialectic because the gap between immanent and transcendent elements in his perception of Jewish history is very dramatic. Yerushalmi wrote explicitly: To address […] meaningfully […] all the many modern Jews who have experienced the other radical “breaks” that modern Jewish existence has entailed, some reorientation is required. The task can no longer be limited to finding continuities in Jewish history, not even “dialectical” ones. Perhaps the time has come to look more closely at ruptures, breaches, breaks […] to see how Jews endured them, to understand that not everything of value that existed before a break was either salvaged or metamorphosed, but was lost […].12

However, an unbridgeable gap is not the only result of disrupting the hierarchy in which immanence and transcendence are ordered. The comparison to Kurzweil, who shared this hierarchical approach with Yerushalmi, shows that there is an opening for more complex relations between religion and the transcendent entity and real history: This dialectical tension is a tragic element in our literature. It is the fruit of the historical paradox that precisely at the historical time when the certainty of faith ceased to be the nation’s supreme asset, this nation identifies with its past, affirms first and foremost its own essence, although it can no longer live its past and its essence according to the accepted categories; and as a result it feels

11

Yerushalmi, 1989, 89.

12

Ibid., 101.



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through the power of its life wish in the direction of the past, now requiring a new explanation and approach.13

So it transpires that despite the dominance granted to the transcendent entity in the historical arena, a “dialectical tension” and even a  “paradox” feed the struggle between the various forces active in Jewish history. In Kurzweil’s approach, this dialectic is destined to cease when the power of the transcendent and religious elements identified with the past overcome the immanent ones active in Jewish history and in the reality of life in the present. This means that in Kurzweil’s perception of Jewish history, dialectic is not persistent, since the immanent and the transcendent forces are thrown into a hierarchy that will overpower it. Scholem’s approach is unique in not placing religion and history into a hierarchy. For Yerushalmi, the hierarchy was broken and the framework of the collective memory was torn, its fragments scattered in the wind, while for Kurzweil this system persists and will even overcome the dialectic existing between the various forces active in Jewish history. Unlike both of them, Scholem does not require a framework to organize the immanent space in which history occurs, since from the beginning it is perceived as an active, bubbling arena of forces and processes not all of which are identified with religion. Scholem declares explicitly the fundamental dialectic inherent in the historical layer and its power to shape the continuity formed within it: “The continuity of the generations is a dialectical matter. The images of the generations may change, perhaps it is even essential that they change with every development of our consciousness, with every possibility of raising new symbols (of the past) that were forgotten or placed out of thought” (Scholem, 1990, 189). The assumption of the existence of “continuity from dialectic” serves as a basis for his determining “the first rule that denotes […] messianism in Israel, the history of the messianic idea, and the history of the messianic movements” (ibid., 263) —and also the secularization phenomenon —which are understood as “part of the dialectic of development” in Judaism (Scholem, 1995b, 50). Scholem writes elsewhere in greater detail: “I always thought that the transition through secularism is essential, and there is no possibility of avoiding it […] Without the secular awakening we would not have reached

13



Kurzweil, 1960, 31–2.

Chapter Five. Mysticism, Messianism, and Secret

what we have. A direct, non-dialectical turning point […] is not possibly historically, and even I have personally not achieved it” (Scholem, 1976a, 40). Without doubt, this understanding of the historical continuity of the Jewish nation as full of contrasts and contradictions creates constant tension with the transcendent element as a possible source of meaning for them, but at the same time distances the expectation for solving the contradictions. Thus, at the depth of Scholem’s perception rests the explicit understanding that there is a space between the transcendent dimension present in Jewish history and its crystallization established in the lifestyle dictated by religion. This space is the field where consciousness and dialectic operate, and it guarantees the persistence of contrasts and contradictions in Jewish history. As much as Scholem’s approach devotes real space to the conscious connections of Jews to their past and to the basic patterns that shaped their culture, his approach still differs from Funkenstein’s, stressing the conscious component in Jewish history throughout the generations in the shape of “consciousness of historical origin,” or “consciousness of the formation in time [… that] accompanied the Jewish faith from its first expressions.” For Funkenstein, Jewish history is merely an expression of the efforts of Jews over the generations “to understand the past and give it meanings” and of “the degree of creative freedom” they demonstrated during these efforts.14 Scholem’s statement “I  do not believe in a  contemplative attitude to history” (Scholem, 1990, 191) clearly distinguishes his approach to Jewish history from that of Funkenstein. It seems that the problematic of the conscious relation to history stems, from Scholem’s point of view, from the sovereignty secular people demonstrate toward the religious contents in Jewish history, while in his opinion they require a different relation, more similar to that shown by the religious person, permeated with a degree of acceptance and unconditionality: We are in a more radical situation than that of other nations, where even the most revolutionary of them did not deny their past like we do […] The question of our continuity with the generations of our ancestors is very difficult because it requires a decision: must we deny any cultural formation in that it has a religious form we are perhaps unwilling to accept, or can we

14



Funkenstein, 1993, 10.

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Part two. Gershom Scholem: history, continuity, and secret continue to turn over the affair and say that this great suffering of the generations requires us too. This is a fundamental question, particularly in our secular lives. It is simpler for the religious Jew, but the religious Jew does not currently determine the face of the generation. (ibid., 191–2)

Indeed, the conscious element is essential for the dialectical and fruitful confrontation with the various forms of the transcendent within the realm of the historical. The problematic entailed in the era of secularization stems from creating a reversed hierarchical system in which, through thought and consciousness in general, the immanent elements are given importance and precedence over the transcendent ones. This system is a sort of mirror image of the approaches of Yerushalmi and Kurzweil. At one end of their discussion is tested the very necessity of an active immanent space that serves as a field for the varied connections of subjects to their past and to their religion. Scholem is committed to rejecting these approaches just like the secular one —demonstrated here by Funkenstein, and also echoing in Rotenstreich’s thought —because they thwart the dialectic which he saw as the life breath of Jewish history and the secret of its continuity. In Scholem’s approach, gushing with holism, there is room for the “kingdom of earth” and the “kingdom of heaven” in the historical arena. In this spirit he describes his work method in researching Sabbatai Sevi: The methods on which the following chapters are based is clear: understanding the Sabbatian movement depends, in my humble opinion, on the success in joining the kingdom of earth — which is the realm of history, with the kingdom of heaven — which is the Kabbalah, and interpreting each from the other. For “royal majesty on earth is as that in heaven.” In fact, they are one “kingdom” and one area —the area of the movement of the human experience that is not only “conceptual” and not only “social” but multi-faceted, and each of its facets reveals that basic movement. One clear continuous movement and development […]. (Scholem, 1975, 25–6)

The power of history to serve as a receptacle for “heaven” and “earth” makes it into an efficient epistemic tool for Scholem’s continuity thesis. Perhaps precisely because this is not an epistemology over

Chapter Five. Mysticism, Messianism, and Secret

which individuals are in charge, but history itself that functions as epistemology, history can serve simultaneously as an ontological touchstone for both the overt and hidden presence of the various and contradictory forces that operate in the history of the Jewish nation. From this metaphysical viewpoint, even the hidden and concealed, which Scholem’s research constantly chased, seems revealed and exposed just for a moment. In this spirit, Scholem answered the question “Is there hiding by the sages in the ancient apocalyptic literature […]?” by saying “I do not think that such traditions of the nation remained hidden. I am somewhat suspicious of hiding forces” (Scholem, 1990, 240). In another context, the power to reveal and externalize on the stage of history is presented as Judaism’s most basic principle: The special status of Judaism in the history of religion is that it did not consider at all the pure-chemical internality as that of redemption. I do not say: did not consider much, but did not consider at all. Internality that does not position itself in the outside realm and is not related to that outside in any shape and form is considered here as completely valueless. According to the dialectic of Jewish mysticism, striving for the essence is at the same time a divisive striving. Returning everything to its right place, which is the act of redemption, creates a whole that does not recognize any separation between internality and externality. The utopian element in messianism aims exclusively at the whole. From a historical point of view, this whole can be viewed from two sides, from the internal side and the external side of the world, as in the Lurian Kabbalah, as long as it is guaranteed that one does not cancel the other. (Scholem, 1990, 171)

Scholem’s approach in this quote, from which the strong aroma of the Hegelian idea of externalization arises, thus rejects out of hand not only the contrast between religion and history, which ruled Yerushalmi’s perception, but also the modifications of the contrast itself. These include both the one that led to deciding in favor of the epistemic connections to the past in Funkenstein’s approach, and the more complex one apparent in the thought of Kurzweil and Yerushalmi, which preserved the supremacy of the transcendent and subjugated the historical arena to it. Scholem’s statement about mysticism, whereby “the language of the hearts dresses in the language of the tradition of generations” (ibid., 192), shows that the subjective and

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most personal dimension that individuals can carry in a given time and place does not contradict tradition and thus cannot threaten continuity, and even joins history and its language. This principle is fundamental in Gadamer’s hermeneutics, and the connections revealed between Gadamer and Funkenstein enable us to indicate here an important and rare point of proximity between him and Scholem.15 Typically, where Scholem’s approach is related to Funkenstein’s, it reveals a contrast to Yerushalmi’s position, interpreting the constituting of mental connections to Jewish history as a threat to the possible presence of transcendent forces in history. Like Funkenstein, Scholem too perceived the constituting of historical consciousness as part of the movement of tradition itself, and believed that “this is a very undesirable and inappropriate step, to try and influence the process of forming historical consciousness” (Scholem, 1995b, 44). His premise was that just as the individual’s complete being cannot be defined, so society and history contain within themselves all the essence and the creative forces that will be discovered in the future; recognition of these essences and forces is what should be given as inheritance to future generations (Scholem, 1990, 108–10).16 As we have seen, we should not conclude from this that in Scholem’s approach everything depends on the very formation of mental connections to the past.17 Rather, the presence of transcendent elements within the mental connections is no less binding, and it can never be exhausted in the realm of consciousness. This insight is particularly stressed in Scholem’s famous essay “Ten Unhistorical Aphorisms on Kabbala,”, which the discussion below will interpret.

15

For a critical discussion of the interpretations of Gadamer’s perception on this issue, see Wacherhauser, 2002.

16

On historical consciousness in Scholem, see Scholem, 1995b, 120–1; 1982a, 213–4.

17

The argument that the relation to the past depends decisively on mental connections arises in critiques whereby Gadamer’s thought extends to relativism. In this context see the comprehensive study of Osman Bilen, offering a thorough disputing of this argument, Bilen, 2000.



Chapter Six

The Final Stage: The Relations between Immanence and Transcendence In his essay “Ten Unhistorical Aphorisms on Kabbala,” Scholem gives his readers a one-time opportunity to learn about the deepest and most abstract metaphysical substrate that shaped his world as a whole.1 The complexity of this essay vastly exceeds the single “moments” scattered throughout his entire oeuvre, including that portrayed in the early Preface to his book on Sabbatai Sevi.2 The feeling of lack of exhaustion that regularly accompanies the reading of this unique essay and that does not leave its readers stems first and foremost from its riddling nature, differing significantly from Scholem’s fluent and lucid writing elsewhere. Beyond this, the philosophical depth emerging from in between its lines invites a reinvestigation of the relations between immanence and transcendence, which transpire as the depth structure of the range of issues Scholem’s work addresses, and which are also encoded within this short essay.

1

Moshe Idel claims that “these aphorisms are a series of thoughts about Jewish mysticism that reveal the way Scholem understood the metaphysics of the Kabbalah more than the way he understood its perception of history” (Idel, 1998, 60). As we have seen, the interpretation I have proposed of Scholem’s metaphysical worldview does not separate the two observations —metaphysical and historical. Idel adds that the aphorisms “do not deal with the way Scholem understood reality […] but with the way he understood the Kabbalah. [… They represent] his conceptual description of the metaphysics of the Kabbalists’ (ibid.). As mentioned, according to the proposed interpretation, this essay contains the essence of Scholem’s metaphysical worldview.

2

This essay has received particular attention from the main researchers in the study of Scholem. See ibid., 60–5; Biale, 1979, 83–4, 93–114; 1985, 67–93; Rotenstreich, 1978a, 144–55; Ben Shlomo, 1994, 465–9; Dan, 1986.





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Scholem opens the discussion in the first aphorism with the argument, which seems to dispute his entire oeuvre, that a fundamental irony is embodied in the philological study of mysticism. In his opinion, the mist surrounding the mystical tradition is the very heart of mysticism itself, and the attempt to diffuse it through philological and historical research misses the heart of the matter (Scholem, 1990, 32). Now the question arises: Did Scholem not himself attempt to uncover the hidden mystical traditions and shed the light of meaning upon them? It appears that the dialectic through which the immanent and the transcendent have become interwoven has been replaced here with a dualism that melts the threads Scholem worked on weaving together. As a result, the Kabbalah is located in the realm of the transcendent on the one hand, while the immanent of which history is a part is declared as a realm in which the essential element in mysticism itself has disappeared on the other hand. Furthermore, positioning an unbridgeable gap between the metaphysical truth in the Kabbalah and the historical reality, of which Scholem never tired of presenting mysticism as one of the expressions, also tests the historical continuity thesis sketched by Scholem as an arena where struggle and dialectic exist between the immanent and the transcendent.3 It is possible to interpret Scholem’s words as expressing an insight common among metaphysicians regarding the difficulty —to the extent of inability to represent appropriately —of the transcendent in the immanent space.4 Yerushalmi adopted this position, when he deduced from the contrast between religion and history the unbridgeable gap between the ontology of the transcendent and its epistemology. Indeed, Scholem too states explicitly that the truth of mysticism is “everything except that it is transmissible,” and that whatever is transmitted of this tradition does not contain the truth in it. The “hidden life” that peeked above the historical sources, to whose study Scholem devoted his life, becomes as early as the first article the be-all and endall, and so he states: “the true tradition remains hidden” (ibid., 32). A more precise study reading between the lines reveals a more complex perception in the first aphorism. Unlike Yerushalmi, who

3

According to the interpretation of Josef Dan, Scholem dealt in this aphorism with the area beyond the symbol, meaning the hidden mystical symbolized that is eternal and outside history (Dan, 1986, 365).

4

See a discussion of this issue in Kern, 1977, 137.





Chapter Six. The Final Stage: The Relations between Immanence and Transcendence

identified Judaism with an adherence to the ideal of absolute transcendence, in this article too Scholem marks indications of transcendence within the realm of immanence, for example, in the image of mist, irony, and uncertainty.5 These examples are the expressions of the human experience in face of transcendence. Scholem’s statement “mist that bursts from within itself,” meaning from the mystical matter itself, and the element of irony that “exists […] already in the subject of the Kabbalah itself,” return and reweave the immanent and the transcendent together. Moreover, even the crumbling of the mystical tradition that takes place during its transmission does not exhaust it. This is because “In crumbling it is apparent in its full height” (ibid., 32). This means that already in the immanent space, a degree of accessibility and even representation of the transcendent realm, where mysticism is located, is enabled. While Yerushalmi’s approach remained within the boundaries of rigid dualism, in the current essay dualism is a primarily methodological starting point, which softens as the discussion of its components deepens. The question whether “the essential element within [the body of the mystical matter] disappears in this projection to the historical space?” (ibid., 32) thus receives a negative answer. The presence of the transcendent element does not disappear and cannot disappear in the immanent-historical space. It seems that it is not the duality embodied in dualism that bothered Scholem, whose work is pervaded by both observations, but the possible progression of the dualism in two problematic directions: on the one hand, a reduction to the immanent or the transcendent, and on the other hand placing these two into hierarchical relations. These alternatives are well represented in the works of the other thinkers appearing in this book: Funkenstein and Rotenstreich represent the clear bias toward the immanent, while Yerushalmi and Kurzweil represent the clear decision in favor of transcendence placed in a hierarchical relation that grants it priority and precedence compared with immanence.

5



Of course, the clearest indications of the mystical matter are the symbols that fill mystical literature throughout the generations. In this context, see Tishbi, 1994, 11–22. The issue of the mystical symbols in Scholem’s thought is not what interests us here, and it has been widely discussed in the existing literature. See in particular: Idel, 1998; 1990, 213–36; Dan, 1986; Rotenstreich, 1978a, 144–55; Biale, 1979, 123–7; Handelman, 1991, 83–114.

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On the face of it, we can conclude from these words that among the described approaches, Funkenstein’s is the closest to Scholem’s, since it too proposes a flexible continuity thesis explicitly distancing itself from the rigid contrast relations that threatened it and sought to make it into a conditioned occurrence. However, against this shared background, the uniqueness of Scholem’s approach stands out; his flexibility is not attributed to the involvement of subjective consciousness but was the expression of reality itself containing both immanent and transcendent elements.6 Thus even the lack of certainty the philologist dealing with mysticism frequently experiences is itself translated into certainty regarding the existence of a  transcendent entity that exceeds the realm of history. Josef Dan, who stresses the centrality of the uncertainty element in the first aphorism, rightly comments that the phrase “lack of certainty” expresses Scholem’s refusal to determine a trivial status from the point of view of contents and interest for the historical and philological study of Kabbalah and its history: “It is a mistake to think that uncovering the history of the symbol and its dynamic life within external reality […] does not reveal to a known degree its internal essence.”7 It seems that the presence of transcendence within immanence removes from the latter any dimension of triviality in favor of the complexity that irony represents in this context. Scholem’s claim that “we cannot remove the irony from” the study of mysticism positions irony as an ideal striving to preserve the transcendence in immanence itself. Now it transpires that the irony was not intended to affirm, let alone strengthen, the fundamental uncertainty accompanying the experience of the mystical truth, but rather to serve as a bridge to lead to another certainty regarding the presence of the transcendent element within historical reality. But walking on the “bridge” of irony does not take place only in one direction, whose final destination is crossing from the immanent field into the transcendent one. Such a  path would have led to

6



7



See Funkenstein, 1993, 10–11: “Yerushalmi […] inevitably polarizes the contrast between historical narrative and “collective memory.” It is my contention that, with or without historiography proper, creative thinking about history —past and present —never ceased. Jewish culture was and remained formed by an acute historical consciousness, albeit different at different periods.” Dan, 1986, 367.

Chapter Six. The Final Stage: The Relations between Immanence and Transcendence

the removal of the irony in favor of a rigid binary field of reference. In contrast, from Scholem’s viewpoint, the purpose of the irony is not to be cancelled but to persist as an ideal, in whose attempt at realization another fundamental given is clarified. This means that not only is immanence not trivial, but the presence of transcendence in historical reality is also not trivial, and demands a special effort from immanence itself. In this spirit, Scholem wrote in a different context: “[…] it becomes completely clear, that even in the smallest step we take in reality there is no safety, let alone in the transcendent realm” (ibid., 356). At this point the gap reappears between Scholem’s dialectical metaphysical position and the hierarchical one demonstrated by Kurzweil, let alone that of Yerushalmi. Scholem and Kurzweil shared the awareness of the difficulty and the failures awaiting those who seek to study the “mysteries of what is,”8 and those who in Kurzweil’s words face ““the divine in earthliness.””9 In other words, the two were unanimous regarding the complex, misleading, and even illusive presence of the transcendent entity within real reality.10 However, in the hierarchical framework sketched in Kurzweil’s thought, the transcendent reality is destined to force itself upon the immanent space and show significant autonomy in relation to the immanent and historical processes in general. In contrast, Scholem’s thought, constantly fed by dialectic, protects both immanence and transcendence from the triviality that ceaselessly threatens them. This difference radiates directly upon the continuity perceptions of these two. As much as their historical continuity is anchored in the ontological substrate of the transcendent entity, in Kurzweil’s approach this makes historical continuity inevitable, while for Scholem, its realization constantly requires connections originating in the immanent historical space, and this means that in his approach the continuity is not trivial. On the face of it, the duality between immanence and transcendence placed at the start of the first aphorism is reconstructed in the second aphorism, which opens with these words: “The publicity of the basic books created in the ancient Kabbalistic literature is the greatest guarantee for protecting its secret” (ibid., 32). This means that if

8



Kurzweil, 1973a, 148.

9



Ibid., 132.

10



Ibid., 133.

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the publicity is fulfilling its role properly, immanent reality occurs “clean” of transcendent presence, thus preserving the split between immanence and transcendence. But just as in the first aphorism, in this one too the very placing of the dualism is disputed by the term “secret” adjacent to it. In the immediate sense, this term does not simply denote an absence; quite the contrary, simplicity is removed from the space in which the secret appears. Positively, the secret embodies a situation of impregnation, meaning that it is composed of two different entities. In this spirit, Scholem defines elsewhere the mystical meaning in a secular world as “the secret of the world” (Scholem, 1976a, 82). The deep connection between these two different entities echoes in this context in Scholem’s claim that the role of publicity is to preserve the secret. Again, this is a bi-directional occurrence: the secret indicates the thing it wishes to conceal, and the publicity of the real hides it and thus affirms its secrecy. Either way, the primary dualitycausing split is removed in favor of a relationship of connection and dialectic. The important innovation of this aphorism compared with the previous one stems from the anarchic aspect Scholem integrates into it: “Are we interested again in that mystical-anarchical line of action that is more successful in covering the secrets by giving them voice than by silencing them?” (Scholem, 1990, 32–3). As in other contexts, here too anarchy denotes the “no-man’s-land” (ibid., 116) where it has not determined which of those appearing within it has the authority — immanence, meaning history and everything human, or transcendence portrayed by the mystical (see Scholem, 1995b,  40).11 The absence of a decision enables the shared presence of both elements, the immanent and the transcendent, and in principle this does not undermine the dualism. For Scholem, as we recall, anarchy is only a stage and in no way an ideal to whose realization one should aim intentionally. At the depth of the matter, anarchy is an opportunity to examine freely the relationship between the immanent and the transcendent on this historical level while removing the mistaken interpretations that assume in advance dualism, hierarchy, or even separation between immanence and transcendence. Furthermore, Scholem’s anarchical position is radical due to the accompanying demystificatory dimen-

11



Josef Dan identified anarchy in this context with reversal and paradox (Dan, 1986, 368).

Chapter Six. The Final Stage: The Relations between Immanence and Transcendence

sion that strives to remove the shroud from what has been declared as hidden and what has been considered overt. The expression “mystical-anarchical line of action” (Scholem, 1990, 22–3) attributes to mysticism activism in hiding itself, and from here we can also understand Scholem’s call for a counter-measure from the immanent arena to help make present transcendence in the historical arena. The action of anarchism required here is more powerful in comparison with the ideal of irony presented in the previous aphorism, since it is not exhausted only in the realm of consciousness but is directed to the reality existing beyond the individual —historical and then transcendent reality. The pattern familiar from the first two aphorisms is preserved in the third, meaning the dualism between transcendence identified in this context with the written law, and immanence portraying the tradition of oral law. The dualism is phrased here in its most rigid form: “Here [in the Kabbalah] consciousness is, in the end, merely a question established in God that no answer can suit. The “who” is the final word of any discussion, and it is quite remarkable that this study leads to elevating to such an extent the “what” in which it originated” (ibid., 33).12 However, despite the excessive emphasis granted to the autonomy and inaccessibility of the transcendent element compared with the immanent one, the dualism they create does not amount to a split and detachment between them, but is harnessed to fortify the strength of transcendence within the immanent space. The trend apparent in the first two aphorisms continues in the third, which complements it from the opposite direction. While the first two aphorisms established the continuity stretching from immanence to transcendence, in this aphorism another axis appears in which the continuity forms from the transcendent space to immanence. On this axis transcendence, or the “who” in the written law, cannot serve as an object due to its origin in a space where it is not “usable” (ibid., 33); immanence is now the object to which transcendence itself turns and in whose area it may become “transmissible,” and naturally also the object of reference.

12



Josef Dan clarified the separation between the “what” and the “who” as expressing a paradox dividing the Kabbalist from the objects of his observation, meaning that the Kabbalist seeks to deal with the God hidden in the infinity of the Torah, but his consciousness ends up dealing with the Torah and its contents (Dan, 1986, 371).

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The process of fortifying the transcendent entity in real reality that accompanied the first three aphorisms, which was particularly stressed in the third, now reaches maturation in what appears to be Scholem’s separation from the dual starting point he had held so far. Scholem opens the fourth aphorism with the hypothesis: “Could the system of symbols that requires these images and expressions actually be the heart of the matter itself”? The deep meaning of identifying the symbol anchored in the immanent world with the “heart of the matter” or the transcendent “who” is that immanence and transcendence are in fact one and the same. In this spirit, Scholem sketches total equivalence between the two components of dualism in the words: “It neither adds nor detracts if we say we are subject to this law because it is the law of the divine life itself, or that it is “apparently” “copied” onto the divinity too. The law’s realm of action encompasses everything, and it does not matter from which viewpoint we observe it” (ibid., 33–4), in other words, from the direction of immanence or that of transcendence. In principle a situation of equivalence does not contradict dualism or even dialectic, since both the components that constitute it are preserved. In this respect, the fourth aphorism can be seen as containing both types of argument at once: historical and metaphysical. The former deals with the reduction describing a real historical process from which God’s presence is absent, while the latter revolves around occurrences in the divine transcendent realm.13 Later, especially at the end of the aphorism, it transpires that the duality, and as a result also immanence and transcendence, enter the transcendent realm, characterized as ahistorical: “The view of the Kabbalists as mystical materialists with a dialectical approach would indeed be completely non-historical, but would not be entirely lacking in meaning” (ibid., 34). In this context, materialism expresses the solid ontological

13



Moshe Idel terms the historical argument “submersion” and the metaphysical argument “projection” (Idel, 1998, 62). It is interesting that Idel himself notes that Scholem “denies the importance of choosing one of the two meanings.” However, faithful to his interpretation that the articles “do not deal with the way Scholem understood reality” (ibid., 60), Idel states that “Scholem is not interested in the historical sequence but in the atemporal vision,” and wonders “whether Scholem managed to avoid history in this paragraph” (ibid., 62). However, these difficulties do not arise in the interpretation offered here, which sees in this essay and in Scholem’s work in general an inseparable cohesion of two drives: to history and to metaphysics.

Chapter Six. The Final Stage: The Relations between Immanence and Transcendence

dimension, overcoming the immanent relativism, and it seems that this is the reason for mystical materialism being unhistorical.14 We will later see that the increasing strengthening of transcendence throughout the four aphorisms discussed so far does not lead to the complete pushing aside of history and immanence in general from Scholem’s perception of the Kabbalah, but instead places them in a sort of “suspension” that will be completed only after Scholem is able to offer a sufficient answer to the feeling of insecurity regarding the transcendent realm (ibid., 356) that fed his discussion from its inception. Perhaps the expression of the strength of transcendence, achieved over the first four aphorisms, is apparent in what seems as the return of dualism to the discussion in the fifth aphorism. Scholem interprets the separation appearing in the ancient Kabbalah between einsof and the first sephira thus: “It cannot be otherwise than that God’s full essence that remains transcendent of any consciousness (even intuitive) turned into nothing in the primal act of emanation, meaning in the pure turning to creation in general” (ibid., 34). It will become clear that the dualism that served as a starting point in the first aphorisms does not play the same role in this aphorism. The former, which posits a fundamental gap between immanence and transcendence, threatens the very possibility of transcendence being present in immanence. In contrast, the dualism here is not really dualism, but an expression of an internal distinction within transcendence itself between the part that is inaccessible to immanence and the part that touches upon it and may be present in the historical world. The internal distinction within transcendence is one of the expressions of the intensive focusing upon it, thus continuing and even deepening the trend typical of the four previous aphorisms. Scholem’s addressing in this aphorism the issue of pantheism is understandable,

14



This interpretation of the fourth argument accords with that proposed by Josef Dan. In his opinion, this article expresses Scholem’s deep sense that the symbols (in Luria’s Kabbalah) are not mere symbols, that the implying of the materialistic process is not merely symbolic, and that the Lurian symbols cannot be exhausted in an approach that sees them as a tiny part of the symbolized (Dan, 1986, 373). Dan’s interpretation and mine differ fundamentally from that of Idel, in which the fourth article contains the only significant discussion of symbolism among the ten articles, and it implies a preference of history and its translation on the symbolic level over metaphysics and its submersion as a source of meaning (see Idel, 1998, 62).

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since this approach removes the distinction between the two parts of transcendence in favor of its complete identification with immanence. Indeed, from Scholem’s point of view in the absence of this distinction the essential dialectic between immanence and transcendence is rejected, and eventually the meaning of transcendence as such dissipates: “Without transcendence the nothing here sinks into something […] The mystic who processes his experiences in a non-dialectical way inevitably reaches pantheism” (ibid., 35). The complete identification with immanence is based on the erosion of the experience of tension and even of concealment, which for Scholem were conditions for the vitality of Jewish existence, and as we have seen, also for historical continuity itself. Thus it transpires that dialectic does not constitute for him just a means of epistemic clarification, but also bears religious value. In the sixth aphorism, Scholem addresses the attempt of the Kabbalists to enter history: “The Kabbalists sought to grant popular moves to the deepest secrets of the mystical teachings […] They sought a mystical leap of the Jewish nation and of Jewish life” (ibid.). The term “mystical leap” denotes the turn from the transcendent level to immanence and history. In this respect, transcendence continues to serve as a starting point in this aphorism. A degree of transparency of transcendence is achieved through this turning of the Kabbalists to the historical level, and is apparent in that “the stone wall of the law of halakhah becomes more and more transparent in Kabbalah: a spark of the reality enclosed by it and hinted in it breaches it” (ibid., 36). Scholem identifies the paradox entailed in this step of the Kabbalists: on the one hand their action makes what is “less transparent,” i. e., transcendence, transparent; on the other hand it does not damage the requiring validity of the mitzvoth themselves, as we could have expected from the fact that the human world is the field of the halakhah’s realization. In his interpretation of this aphorism, Josef Dan stresses the advantage of the mystical symbol over the allegorical philosophical interpretation, in which one allegory can be replaced by another that could express the same meaning: “The mystical symbol is tightly related to its hidden symbolized, and they form one inseparable whole. […] The allegory does not necessarily lead to orthodoxy, while mystical symbolism does so.”15 However, Dan believed that the bal-

15



Dan, 1986, 378. In this context, compare the almost opposite interpretation of Nathan Rotenstreich, stressing the open nature of symbols, thanks to

Chapter Six. The Final Stage: The Relations between Immanence and Transcendence

ance between the two facets of the Kabbalah never seemed stable to Scholem, and “the internal contradiction between the Kabbalah and the halakhah […] eventually leads, in Scholem’s opinion, to breaching the fence and the blowing of new winds through the breach.”16 The real processes in the present, especially anarchy and secularization, are in the background of Scholem’s attempt in the sixth aphorism to note the danger entailed in the increasing erosion of transcendence in the historical world —a danger that was indeed realized in the Reform movement, in which the original transcendent dimension, to which the halakhah refers, melts into “simplified humanism” (ibid.). As we have seen, from Scholem’s point of view there is value in preserving the paradox embodied in the action of the Kabbalists, which continued to maintain —though in a softened form —the transcendence of the halakhah itself. This insight also accords with his criticism of the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, who, in his opinion, suffered from the excessive spiritualization of Judaism (Scholem, 1976a, 396), and also with his overt sympathy for Kabbalists such as Nahmanides, who in his opinion was aware of the danger of spiritualization and dealt with it well even in the esoteric world (Scholem, 1948, 152). The seventh aphorism shows that the Kabbalists are not immune to what we could call “the weakness of transcendence,” which in them was expressed in the theory of emanation (atzilut): “the real disaster of the Kabbalah […] should perhaps be seen as the theory of emanation” (Scholem, 1990, 36). Scholem indicates the distortion of the “structure of what is” reflected in this theory, and it is completely clear that the problematic stems, in his opinion, from removing the distinction between immanence and transcendence that is essential for any dialectic. The criticism of the theory of emanation thus continues his words about pantheism and reform in the sixth aphorism. The expressions “comfort,” “laziness of thinking,” and “lack of talent,” through which Scholem characterizes the theory of nobility, express leniency toward the results of the problematic he identified in the actions of the Kabbalists who adopted this theory. They reaffirm that in principle even the theory of emanation, which is problematic in Scholem’s view, cannot really threaten the transcendencism of transcendence.

which new symbols may be created and new meanings granted to old ones (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 4–5). 16



Dan, 1986, 379.

213

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Indeed, his description in the fourth aphorism, the “reversing view [… that] reveals all the worlds, even the secret of einsof itself, in the place where I stand” (ibid., 37), meaning within the immanent historical arena’s boundary, once again clearly indicated the persistence of the recognition of the transdentism of transcendence in the Kabbalah. Similarly, the ninth aphorism shows that even the stammering of the Kabbalists, which arose in the discussion of emanation in the previous aphorism, affirms transcendence itself: “Holisms cannot be transmitted except through the secret. God’s name is addressable but is not pronounceable. Because only the segmented in the language makes it pronounceable. The “real” language cannot be spoken, just as the completely concrete cannot be performed” (ibid., 37). The loss of the “who” or the object described in the third aphorism is thus relieved in these words, since despite transcendence originating in the space where it is not “usable” (ibid., 33), “God is addressable.” The deep meaning of this is that it is possible to experience the transcendent not as an object but as a presence. This insight may explain the existence in principle of the possibility of “presenting in a secular formulation the Kabbalistic feeling of the world” (ibid., 37) in Kafka’s writings, which Scholem indicates in the tenth aphorism that ends this essay. It is hard to overestimate the importance of these ten aphorisms to understanding the depth structures of Scholem’s work. For the interpretation offered in this book, focusing on Scholem’s metaphysical worldview, one of the central phenomena arising in these aphorisms is particularly important, the one involving the stubborn return of the dualism into a field of discussion in whose horizon even the rigid binary alternative appeared. The reader cannot miss the fact that while Scholem developed a  complex approach in which dialectic, contradictions, and demystification served simultaneously, he constantly saw the binary obstacle that seemed to him to threaten to make trivial both immanence and transcendence. Scholem’s repeated need in this essay to repulse binarism establishes binarism as a powerful starting point even for someone who, like him, developed a complex approach. The ten aphorisms reveal the power of the binary approach as a  simple and available, too available, solution to complex metaphysical problems. Scholem’s facing the binary challenge, in this essay and throughout his writings, should serve as a model for those who like him are constantly seeking the metaphysician’s viewpoint.

Chapter Seven

In Praise of Dualism In the history of philosophy, systems characterized by dualism —overt or implied —have been the object of harsh criticism, usually seeking to overturn them. The common premise is that dualism indicates a problem in the connection between the system’s parts —a connection that has yet to be found, or even worse, does not exist at all. Even if a uniform and fully cohesive approach is not indicated as a worthy alternative to an approach “suffering” from dualism, criticism tends to locate the contradictions and obstacles the dualist approach raises within the space between its two parts. On the face of it, the argument that Scholem’s thought is anchored in two viewpoints, the historical and the metaphysical, may bring upon his oeuvre the “fate” awaiting approaches containing dualism. But in this case, this is unjustified for deep reasons. As we have seen, the explication of Scholem’s thinking sought to reveal his metaphysical worldview. The expression “worldview” denotes in this context the deepest personal dimension embodied in his work, and as such is not subject to the requirement for cohesion between its parts. In principle, this worldview can contain contingent components or even components lacking meaning and significance. The “metaphysicality” here denotes the deviation from the transparent conscious givenness in favor of a transcendent object or meaning that has yet to be clarified. Moreover, the absence of complete transparency is one of the fundamental features of transcendence, indicated as one of the objects of the transcending itself. Thus, the focus of the discussion in Scholem’s work on the metaphysical worldview removes in advance the sting of the criticism directed at dualistic approaches. The deepest reason that removes Scholem’s thought from the typical criticism directed at dualistic approaches stems from the nature of dualism itself, which is sometimes not clear to its critics. Indicating dualism as a problem does not denote a formal principle, but requires justification, displaying the problems and difficulties created by the dualism itself, or alternatively, revealing that the dualism is a barrier to

216

Part two. Gershom Scholem: history, continuity, and secret

a possible solution of these problems. Tracing the impressions of these two observations in the formation of his approach, in the fundamental issues that occupied Scholem, has clearly shown the need for both of them. More precisely, it has shown that one necessitates the other, and in this respect they have exposed cohesion in Scholem’s writings. In addition, it has often transpired that the metaphysical observation rescues the historical one from incomprehension, and vice versa. If the presence of the two mentioned observations indeed indicates dualism in Scholem’s work, this is therefore not a problem but a fertile source for the understanding of his metaphysical worldview.

Part three

BARUCH KURZWEIL: BREAK, POETICS, AND CONTINUITY

Chapter One

Yearning for Transcendence Baruch Kurzweil’s interpretative oeuvre is animated by a metaphysical yearning that directs him to search for the traces of the transcendent entity in modern Hebrew literature and in Jewish history as a whole. This yearning is not born in a vacuum, but relies on his certainty regarding the presence of this entity in the reality in which Jews live and act, and regarding its power to influence it and constitute a source for meaning and significance.1 The metaphysical and abstract nature of this entity does not enable it to be fully embodied in the immanent space that serves it as a field of revealing and appearance. Thus the observation directed at Hebrew literature and at Jewish history cannot be exhausted by an analysis of immanent real processes, and we should not expect to obtain a complete congruence between the metaphysical and the historical, or between transcendence and immanence in general. The permanent presence of a residuum that cannot be assimilated into the immanent and real framework in which it appears, or be interpreted through it, once again testifies to the transcendent dimension of Jewish existence. This residuum, as we will see later, contributes to preserving the historical continuity even in a reality in which deep changes are taking place in the field of tradition, and the secularization phenomenon appears. Eventually, the yearning for the transcendence transpires as the central source of meaning of the two main themes around which Kurzweil’s thought crystallized: modern Hebrew literature and Jewish history.

1



The use of the term “transcendent entity” during the discussion of Kurzweil’s thought, rather than the term “God,” denotes the fundamental connection between his thought and the phenomenological ontological discourse existing around the concepts of entity and transcendence. However, there are certainly contexts in which the term “transcendent entity” can be interpreted in the sense of “God.”

Part three. Baruch Kurzweil: Break, Poetics, and Continuity

220

The dominance granted to the presence of transcendence in Jewish existence, and its perception as a source of meaning and significance in Jewish history and its creative expressions, reflect the deep commonality between Kurzweil’s approach and that of Yerushalmi. As we may recall, Yerushalmi believed that in a historical work discussing the Jews it is possible to refer to “reasons-from-God,”2 meaning the dimensions that are not exhausted in the immanent field in which they appear, and furthermore, “For to be a Jew without God is, after all, historically problematic and not self-evident.”3 Yerushalmi added elsewhere, on a personal note: “For me secular Judaism is a contradiction. If you want something Jewish and secular, do not call it Judaism, because this semantically empties the word of all meaning. You have to find another word.”4 Like Yerushalmi, in Kurzweil’s writings the reader cannot usually find a systematic discussion of the transcendent entity or of its essential connection to Jewish existence and its varied manifestations; these are assumed in the writings of both authors as a given whose certainty is not disputed. Kurzweil refers to God as “the great, real hero” of all events, and as a source of explanation for them (Kurzweil, 1970a, 125),5 that is as an overall object of meaning and of presence: The main reason for the tragic or atragic essence of the comings and goings should not be sought in the hero’s actions or in their guilt. We have different fates, different structures of human character, i. e., factors independent of man […] It is clear that the reason for the cruel fate, or for the grace, should not be sought in man, but in the sphere of God, revealed or hidden […] The incomprehensible and hidden divinity is the source of suffering. (Kurzweil, 1962, 201–2)

The phrase “it is clear” portrays the certainty connected to the image of God and the transcendent entity in general, and it reappears in other contexts, such as the reference to the words “God knows why

2

Yerushalmi, 1989, 91.

3

Yerushalmi, 1991, 9.

4

Yerushalmi, 2005, 14.

5

Emphases in citations are mine, unless stated otherwise.



Chapter One. Yearning for Transcendence

this is so” in a poem by Uri Zvi Greenberg. About this, Kurzweil wrote: “It is clear: God alone, the always present, has solutions to the riddles of time” (Kurzweil, 1960, 127). Kurzweil also refers to the transcendent entity when he criticizes key figures in modern Jewish thought. In this spirit, he argues that in the thought of Ahad Ha’am concepts “such as “sanctity” [and] “holy spirit” […] no longer receive their weight and value from their rootedness in transcendence. They originate in worldliness and their tendency is worldly. The God of Ahad Ha’am was created by the nation. His prophets are messengers without a sender” (ibid., 203). In this context, as in other contexts, God does not only denote a reality that is undisputed, that serves as a source of explanation and meaning for every significant event, but is also a fact that is taken for granted. The identification of the transcendent entity with God, appearing in both Yerushalmi and Kurzweil, notes the most basic ontological core of the perception of this entity.6 The attempt to characterize the transcendent entity or even the very reference to it inevitably encounters the classic problematic of expressing the transcendent using linguistic-epistemic means, a problematic based on the fundamental gap between the transcendent that exists “there” and the conscious ways of referring to it.7 At this point, an essential difference arises between Kurzweil and Yerushalmi, despite the shared substrate in which their approaches are anchored. As we recall, Yerushalmi believed that directing the historicistic method to the Jewish collective memory in the modern era created a break within it, since in his opinion the transcendence attributed to this memory makes it inaccessible to any method, or alternately, liable to create flaws in any method claiming to access it.8 For Yerushalmi, making transcendence into an object for study and research, and not just denial of it, is problematic because it changes the subject’s proper 6



The influence of Paul Tillich’s theology on Kurzweil’s work, and especially the connection between culture (including secular culture) and religion, is at the center of Goultschin’s study (see Goultschin, 2009, 117–43). On Tillich’s approach in this context see Tillich, 1957, 55–65. Kurzweil himself lists Tillich as one of his teachers (Kurzweil, 1980, 114).

7



One of the main methods of handling this issue is in the context of the problem of knowledge in Husserl’s philosophy. Extensive literature exists on this subject. For such handling from a metaphysical perspective, see Byers, 2002, 3–6.

8



See Yerushalmi, 1989, 93.

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r­ elationship with it. Instead of facing the collective memory from subordination and passivity, affirming the decisive power of transcendence in Jewish existence, the subject realizes the sovereignty the modern era has granted him toward the objects of his consciousness by marking them as targets for referral and interpretation. However, what was for Yerushalmi an unsolvable hermeneutic problem, the existence within one setting of an objective method and a given perceived as transcendent, becomes for Kurzweil a challenge he constantly faces by tracing the expressions of transcendence on the subject’s part in modern Hebrew literature. In fact, the epistemic involvement entailed in this transcendence is revealed in its being conditioned upon recognizing the limitations of human understanding of the transcendent dimensions of human existence. Thus there is no real separation between the ontological and epistemic dimensions involved in yearning for transcendence. Moreover, for Kurzweil, as much as epistemic connections from the subject’s part are involved in the attempt to transcend, the main points about the transcending is what it reveals about transcendence itself, which is its power of revelation in human reality and transcending this reality. Finally, unlike Yerushalmi, for whom the only stance of the individual appropriate for transcendence is passivity on the subject’s part, for Kurzweil an active disposition of the subject also appears. These two dispositions, and the possibilities they opened for Kurzweil’s thought to understand the challenges of modern Jewish existence, will be discussed in detail below. In any case, at this stage it is important to clarify that Kurzweil’s attempts to achieve direct characterizations of the transcendent entity do not express a search for the epistemology appropriate for the transcendent entity. Perhaps such a search would have made the transcendent presence conditional upon suitable means of access, which would not accord with Kurzweil’s position. In contrast, dealing with the characterization of this entity focuses on revealing through it the transcendence’s response to the subjects, and naturally reaffirms its presence in Jewish existence. The focus of the proposed interpretation of Kurzweil’s thinking will be clarifying his metaphysical worldview and elucidating its formative role in his perception of the basic issues constituting his interpretative work as a whole: modern Hebrew literature and Jewish history. The discussion will be organized around two fundamental questions. First, what makes poetry and prose into means through which Jewish existence receives proper expression, and what is their

Chapter One. Yearning for Transcendence

advantage in this respect over historiography?9 Second, what perception of Jewish history was behind the interpretation Kurzweil granted to Hebrew literature, and did this perception leave its traces?10 Kurzweil’s interpretation of modern Hebrew literature and Jewish history sought an understanding regarding Jewish reality in the widest sense of the word, the one finding its expression in real historical life, and the metaphysical one embodied in religious practices and trickling into the range of modes of human and Jewish existence, including literary work. The answer to the first question will therefore serve as a foundation and substrate for the discussion of the second question. The connection between the historical phenomenon and the literary work is one of the most important discoveries in European philosophy and culture as it developed between the end of the nineteenth century and the middle of the twentieth century.11 This approach shaped Kurzweil’s interpretation of modern Hebrew literature; under its influence he sought to connect the various aspects of the literary work with those involved in history and its understanding. Kurzweil’s use of the term “the soul of history” (Kurzweil, 1973a,  92) as denoting the essence of the uniqueness of Jewish history was intended to indicate the inevitable meeting between the author’s internal reality and the external reality serving as the object and context of his work. The approaches Kurzweil formed against this background, and more generally in dialogue with the European culture that shaped him as a scholar and researcher, transpire in the proposed interpretation of his work as standing in the core of his personal metaphysical worldview. However, although this contains elements also typical of the traditional Jewish world, they do not amount to identification

9



The discussion of this question originated in my article, Miron, 1999.

10

The foundations of this discussion exist in Miron, 2013b; 2013a.

11

The thesis regarding the connection between historical phenomena and literary work was already developed by Hegel, but reached the climax of its development in Dilthey. Without doubt this was a formative insight for Kurzweil in his ontological perception of Hebrew literature. In this context, see also the interpretation of Schwartz, particularly stressing the ontological dimension of language, enabling “the determination of entity-sentences regarding its creators” (Schwartz, 1976, 193). See also ibid., 176, 189–94.



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with a ­religious position, orthodox or otherwise, which Kurzweil frequently rejected.12 Kurzweil’s general and wide approach on issues of Hebrew literature and Jewish history is not presented as a clear system, but is inherent within his interpretation of specific literary works. Furthermore, in his various books different emphases appeared, and sometimes contradictions emerged between statements he made in different contexts of discussion. Therefore, the proposed interpretation of Kurzweil faces the challenge of clarifying the metaphysical dimensions embodied in his criticism oeuvre. Moreover, Kurzweil’s writing is crystallized around identification with works or authors, often without the accompaniment of a  comparative examination of his perceptions in different contexts. Such writing requires a  decision between different voices existing in the text in order to extricate the metaphysical worldview and achieve coherent meaning for Kurzweil’s interpretative work. In any case, the discussion’s philosophical orientation does not argue that Kurzweil’s work can be considered to form a systematic philosophical approach. Nor does the philosophical analysis take a position regarding the value of the literary criticism Kurzweil offers in his writings.

12



See Kurzweil, 1973a, 416; 1970a, 182. In his autobiographical book, Yacov Katz stresses Kurzweil’s criticism and even derision for Orthodox Judaism (see Katz, 1979, 75–6). The existing literature about Kurzweil’s work portrays him as an ideologue, including of orthodoxy. See in particular Dan Miron, 1987, 121–3; 2005, 83. Regarding Dan Miron’s interpretation, see Goultschin, 2009, 164–6. Researchers mainly present Kurzweil’s work from a diachronic angle, focusing on subjects arising from his literary criticism, without studying his thought patterns and the a priori substrate that shaped his approach as a researcher and interpreter. This applies to most of the articles collected in the Baruch Kurzweil Book. See e. g., Luz, 1975, 139–50; Zadof, 2007. An exception to this rule is Moshe Goultschin, who presents him as an interpreter of culture and rescued him from the clear ideological framework (see Goultschin, 2009, 25–6).

Chapter Two

Methodological Motifs: Biography, Transcending, and Hermeneutics Kurzweil’s interpretation of modern Hebrew literature is founded on the perception that a solid biographical element is active in the depth of the literary work, and hence there is a connection between the author and his characters, and between the author and the approaches appearing in the work. Kurzweil expressed this both regarding the work of others and regarding his own work. Thus, for instance, he contended that the external changes described in the story’s plot are not the main thing, but instead “the fatal change that took place in the poet’s soul” (Kurzweil, 1962, 81). Similarly, “The epic poet Mendele does not stand outside the circle of his characters [… and there exists] a “shared life” of the author with his heroes” (Kurzweil, 1960, 174); “It is most interesting that the two types, to whom Agnon grants complete individuality and a name, he actually perceives as part of himself” (Kurzweil, 1962, 140); “From the words of the shopkeeper Agnon speaks’ (ibid., 184). Along with the interest he showed in the biographical and personal aspects of the authors whose work he studied, Kurzweil testified about himself, in the first person, “I did not read the books of Löwith, Popper, Whitehead etc. in order to write a book or an essay. Their importance to me is secondary. The main thing —is my own thoughts and opinions about Judaism, about literature, and about Jewish studies. I […] am a thinker from myself” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 159). These statements grant a  justification in principle for extricating his personal worldview from his writing dealing with the analysis and critique of modern Hebrew literature. However, the biographical aspect does not have an autonomous status in Kurzweil’s interpretation of modern Hebrew literature, or in his own work, but transpires with further study as a criterion for the ontological aspects embodied in reality and in Jewish history as such. This reveals another element of Kurzweil’s thought, dealing with his realistic perception of the literary work, which he saw as a reliable reflection of real historical events. Moreover, Kurzweil sought to

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harness both the biographical and historical elements to the general yearning for transcendence that motivated his interpretative work. In this respect, the meaning and weight of the biographical aspect exceed the boundaries of the literary work and its interpretation, and also the period in which both the author and the interpreter live. The effort to connect the work to the biographical element, along with its transcending, is often expressed in Kurzweil’s writing, which moves between the personal form of expression and the presentation of general positions on the issues he discusses: I am not satisfied with the role of just a  “literary critic,” not because I wish to be more, but because spiritual restlessness and a cruel drive give me no rest […] I am concerned about the future of Judaism, and the future of the Jewish nation […] The subjective concern of a Jew for the fate of Judaism and naturally for the fate of his nation […] My very love of Hebrew literature written after 1850 indicates my subjectivity […] There is no objectivity in my studies. But the lack of objectivity does not mean arbitrariness. It means —my research cannot give me “truth,” and this fact returns my attention again and again to religion. Religious faith, and it alone, can give the believer any certainty. (Ibid., 160–1)1

The self-perception of Kurzweil’s work, transcending the boundaries of his personal interest in Hebrew literature and referring to Jewish reality in the general sense, also permeated his perception of the relation existing between the literary works with which he dealt and their authors. Thus, after arguing that “the story does not describe only the fate of the narrator” (Kurzweil, 1962, 172), he states, “we cannot be satisfied with determining the “tear” in the poet’s soul” (Kurzweil, 1960, 155), and even if “indeed we should take into consideration psychological facts […] we can never decipher the secrets of the work” (Kurzweil, 1972a, 326). Actually, precisely “because [Brenner’s] personality was great and rich in its possibilities […] the subjective in his writings attains a high degree of objective validity” (ibid., 324). In this context, the term “objective validity” does not express Kurzweil’s attempt to give his perceptions a scientific aura, in the spirit of Jewish

1



On the perception of writing as answering an existential need, see Sagi, 2007, 44–54.

Chapter Two. Methodological Motifs: Biography, Transcending, and Hermeneuticsn

historicism, but the opposite. Kurzweil often distinguished himself from this approach, declaring that he was “a person who does not believe in “objective science” and certainly not in “objective historical research”” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 138). I will return to Kurzweil’s place in the polemic around the Wissenschaft des Judentums and the meaning of Jewish historicism later. In any case, Kurzweil’s hermeneutics transcending the boundaries of the subject as an individual, which was apparent in his attitude toward being both author and interpreter, was essential for the formulation of his approach to Jewish history and to the realization of his yearning for the transcendent in general.2 The personal element and what is beyond it —history and transcendence —denote two basic spaces whose clarification, and the elucidation of the relations between them, serve as a key to Kurzweil’s hermeneutics. The basic duality indicates common ground with Scholem’s work. Furthermore, this duality plays an important role in liberating the two perceptions from the narrow boundaries of the binary space, appropriating it in favor of establishing the decisive superiority of a single element. However, this liberation is realized in different ways, contributing to the different shaping of the two men’s worldviews. The different is apparent first and foremost in the nature of the elements composing the duality itself. As we have seen, for Scholem the personal element joined the metaphysical dimension, and together they were distinguished from the historical, which was fundamentally immanent. It appears that Scholem’s deep commitment to the strict criteria of historical research required him to remove the personal dimension from the clear realm of immanence, and thus establish the historical picture on as general and objective considerations as possible. This means that in Scholem’s thought transcendence is embodied in the personal element itself, which is strengthened as the transcending is realized. In contrast, for Kurzweil the duality is organized differently, with the historical and transcendent elements joining each other, while the personal element remains distinct from them. Here transcendence is realized by extrication from the boundaries of the personal element into the realm of the historical and metaphysical. However, it will later transpire that as the yearning for transcendence is realized in Kurzweil’s philosophy, it leaves behind it the personal

2



This approach is reminiscent of the subject’s status in Gadamer’s hermeneutics. See Gadamer, 2004, 290–300.

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element, which will take its place in the immanent-historical realm. In this respect, the transcending creates an extensive transformation of the whole system, shifts its focus to another field, and changes the field from which it originated. Another difference, no less important, concerns the relations between the two components of the duality. As we recall, in Scholem’s thought the dialectical relations sketched between the two elements, and enhanced with their crystallization into two viewpoints —historical and metaphysical —constantly thwart the possibility to found an internal hierarchy between its components. As a natural result, they transpire as an effective shield against the ills of the binary framework, primarily the reductionism into one or other of the components. In contrast, for Kurzweil dialectic is not the main tool in handling the reductionist obstacle entailed in the binary position. In the absence of commitment to the strict criteria of historical research, he was able to devote himself directly to the metaphysical goals that led his interpretative work. This directness prevented the crystallization of the two components of the duality —the personal-biographical and the historical on the one hand and the metaphysical on the other hand —into two viewpoints, and enabled Kurzweil to found a hierarchy in which the personal-biographical element is subjugated to the metaphysical dimensions that became the pillars of his worldview. However, the transcending from the realm of the personal element, as marked by Kurzweil, in no way considers the author an insignificant component. While Scholem’s metaphysical worldview constantly had to deal with his commitment to the historical viewpoint, in Kurzweil’s worldview many of the difficulties were directed toward dealing with the personal element. This was probably necessitated by the very fact that a literary work is produced by the single personality of the author. Indeed, a careful examination of Kurzweil’s treatment of the personal dimension reveals it to be a focus that absorbed great complexity. Kurzweil’s text reveals two layers of transcending the creative “I.” The first layer is the aim to include the author’s character in such a way as to extricate it from the particularity characterizing him as an individual, and enable seeing him as an archetype of Jewish existence: “The life of Brenner the man and his work are also an expression of one of the tragic possibilities in Jewish life in general” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 324). Beyond the deep connection of Jews to the religious lifestyle, upon which Kurzweil relies in various contexts of discussion,

Chapter Two. Methodological Motifs: Biography, Transcending, and Hermeneuticsn

this context stresses the connection to the Jewish nation, its history, and its unique fate: The poet’s despairing lamentation for the loss of his God is much more than a personal expression of his mental orphaning. Feierberg is revealed at this point too as a profound thinker, perceiving his personal fate as a symptom of the fate of his nation. (Kurzweil, 1960, 167) The poet’s I is connected to the most distant past. It originates in the great distance, and bears within it the events of his ancestors’ lives. (Kurzweil, 1973a, 79) From exclusive and obstinate devotion to the burning fire in his soul, his poetry obeys only the immanent truth of the history of his nation. (Kurzweil, 1960, 125–6)

All these are experienced in the modern context of the loss of faith as a “private disaster” (ibid., 161). Furthermore, Kurzweil makes a more severe argument regarding the author’s ontological connection to Jewish reality when he describes the author as forced by the historical reality of the nation’s collective being: It is not Alterman’s fault. It is the fate of his contemporaries, who lost the roots of ecstatic-religious faith and as a result the dialogue they have with the dimension of history is peripheral. Something volitional, compulsory, programmatic, became an obstacle in the path to great lyricism. (Kurzweil, 1973a, 266)

Thus, stressing the connection between the Hebrew author and the Jewish faith and history extricates the author from the boundaries of his privacy and reveals the deep connection the author and his work have to the Jewish collective and to Jewish reality in the wider sense. This interpretative move combines two opposing trends: one generalizes the author’s private work, which appears as a representative of the Jewish nation and a spokesman for its fate; and the second particularizes the work in relation to the universal analysis tools of literary criticism. As a result, it stresses the uniqueness of the literary work as a Jewish work requiring an appropriate perspective. While tension sometimes arises between these two trends, it does not amount to a contradiction; the two trends are harnessed to finding and explicating the context in which modern Hebrew literature was ­constituted

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and in which the cultural influence of the authors’ surroundings acted, along with a consistent effort to find a means of expression for the particular dimensions of the Jewish being. On the second layer, the transcending of the boundaries of the “I” denotes a break in a more general metaphysical direction, essentially transcending the boundaries of the real-historical being. Kurzweil considered the literary work as one of the most significant tools of expression of this transcending. Thus, the deep relation of the literary work to transcendence is also revealed, and the work is perceived as a suitable source for realizing the more general yearning for transcendence. In this spirit, Kurzweil writes: “The dialogues […] were written from a view of a new reality, wider and deeper than that in the field. This reality is supra-individual, supra-temporal. The mental existence in it is beyond the personal and above the personal” (Kurzweil, 1962, 309). In Kurzweil’s opinion, “The experience of the most personal landscape is at the same time transpersonal and indicates beyond itself […] The I  versifies and discovers himself and the landscapes exclusively with the view of a “second reality,” beyond time and beyond the personal” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 78–9); “The art of the story aims here at the depths of existence beyond and beneath the rationalistic layer that is reality in the field” (Kurzweil, 1962, 309). Elsewhere, Kurzweil describes the experience of this reality as an experience of “the sudden eruption of transcendence into the split immanence […] The sublime unity, which is supra-individual, and which cancels the separation between person and person, between a person and his maker, and which creates the happy experience, the supreme joy of “one unit,” of “one body.”” Kurzweil stresses, particularly in his interpretation of Agnon’s work, the author’s self-surrender and even self-denial, and compares the author’s transcending the boundaries of his “I” to “any mystical experience” (Kurzweil, 1962, 280). Like any mystical experience, the one involved in the literary work originates in the individual, but the meaning granted to the experience itself does not bear his personal stamp. The connection of the literary work to the transcendent being will be discussed in a section below. One may ask what is the relation between the two transcendings of the self: the one aimed at the Jewish collective and the one breaching the boundaries of reality? On the face of it, the second transcending denotes an escalation and deepening of the first experience, since it achieves greater distance from the self. In this respect, it could be said that the second transcending makes the first redundant, since

Chapter Two. Methodological Motifs: Biography, Transcending, and Hermeneuticsn

breaching the boundaries of real reality also crosses those of the particular Jewish existence by penetrating it with universal dimensions. However, it appears that in Kurzweil’s perception the two transcendings create a circle, the track of which leads necessarily to the individual who served as a starting point for the experience of transcending. Kurzweil contends that the author’s self-surrender “is also the proof of the strength of the artist’s stubborn, demonic will to be fortified within the dimension of sacral art in order to achieve perfection and to reward his nation with the unity it had lost” (ibid., 287). This means that the author’s relation to the collective being of his nation does not dissolve completely when he creates a link to the transcendent entity. Indeed, the Jewish collective is permeated by the presence of the transcendent entity, and in this respect the connection with it is part of the connection to the transcendence itself. The author’s uniqueness, as we will see later, stems from his unique access to the transcendent being, due to which he is also entrusted with portraying it for members of his nation. In any case, Kurzweil determines that the experience of transcending the boundaries of his “I” to a different reality serves as the author’s tool to connect to himself: The poet can understand the meaning of his life, himself, only in the process of full mental communion with the internal meaning of the history of his nation […] We are not just us. We are important only to the extent that we know how to live and also enliven the burden of the past. The poet is a creature with deep historical consciousness, and only to the extent that his poetry at least hints at its historical connections does it acquire the depth dimension that preserves it from becoming a passing phenomenon. (Kurzweil, 1973a, 106–7)

Thus, even if the author expresses things in the first person, through the characters that are the product of his imagination, “all the subjective-confessional in them [the characters] is one of the most important symptoms of that state of mind that sees the loss of faith in the living, personal God as a disaster, an existential shock” (Kurzweil, 1960, 199). In preserving the status of the “I” in the described experience, Kurzweil deliberately withdraws from the mystical characterization of transcendence, in which the author is swallowed into the boundaries of the metaphysical reality into which he transcended. Thus the transcending from the boundaries of the self, first to the

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collective and then to the transcendent entity, transpires simultaneously as a source for deepening and establishing the boundaries of the self. The transcendent depth in Kurzweil’s metaphysical worldview, entailed in requiring the presence of the subject and the creative meaning granted to it, makes his approach unique among those identifying the transcendent entity as a  fundamental given in Jewish existence. And as we will see, this aspect has a formative influence on Kurzweil’s perception of the issues of secularization and historical continuity.

Chapter Three

The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and Transcendence A. The Advantage of Literature over History Kurzweil’s worldview, whereby a transcendent entity is present in the Jewish being and influences it, positioned his approach upon the path of tracing the appearances of this entity in Hebrew literature. Kurzweil did not ignore literature’s being “One of the expressions of the life of the human spirit” (Kurzweil, 1970a, v), but this aspect barely plays a role in the interpretation he proposed to modern Hebrew literature, and sometimes is even presented as a factor that makes it difficult to achieve pure ontological characterizations of the transcendent entity. For Kurzweil, the recognition that “Literary problems are much more than merely literary problems; or they are not also literary problems” (ibid., 54) is fundamental. This metaphysical observation deliberately removes from the literary work the primary autonomy granted to it as a work of art, and turns it into a framework that might transpire to have aspects and issues that vastly exceed its boundaries as such. On the face of it, the yearning for transcendence should have led Kurzweil to engage philosophically in metaphysics or to study Jewish history, but he believed that the ontological dimensions of the Jewish being might find their most perfect expression precisely in Hebrew literature, and more generally in faith. Thus, he contends that “poetry has precedence over science” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 98), and also, “Poetry before history. In revealing the portrait of our nation in the twentieth century, there is undoubtedly greater authenticity in the poems of Bialik or U. Z. Greenberg than in the studies of Klausner, Yitzhak Baer, G. Scholem, or Shalom Baron” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 268).1 Elsewhere, he

1



On the advantage of the poet over the historian and researcher, see also Kurzweil, 1970a, 239.

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states: “It sometimes seems that our great poets are closer in their poetic vision to the truth than all the sages of Jewish Studies combined” (ibid., 239). In this spirit, Kurzweil even attributes historical consciousness to the poet. For example, he states that “even an ecstatic poet like Greenberg […] cannot just imitate categories of the past without examining the difference in the situation” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 19). In answer to the question phrased as a rhetorical question, “Was faith in Judaism just a dream? An immature dream,” Kurzweil cited the words of Greenberg’s poem, whereby not only “there is no immature dream; in the perfect it exists,” but the poet’s “spiritual matters […] are eyes that are not wrong” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 239–40). Kurzweil adds that the poet has precedence over the historian in access to the transcendent entity, and not only this, but the former’s work has an advantage over that of the latter: “Poetic visions have precedence —thanks to their authentic truth and their coherent ability to exhaust the essence of the realities — over describing history and over historiosophic theories” (ibid., 270). Kurzweil does not propose a  theoretical explanation for his metaphysical perception of Hebrew literature, which will later reveal itself as an accurate reflection of the real-historical life of the Jewish nation and of the transcendent entity present in it. It is completely clear that literature, anchored in a personal and even biographical element, may enable the transcending of the creative individual toward the reality of which the work serves as a reflection.2 In this spirit, he states, “This fruitful turning inwards, diving into the layers of the self, [is] a sort of sole means of approaching what is in the world […]” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 116). Moreover, Kurzweil’s conviction regarding the connection of literature to the real and transcendent reality is so deep that it allows him to extricate from it the “phenomenal vision of [the] particular reality” through discovering “the immanent regularity” of the work itself (Kurzweil, 1960, 5).3

2



The origin of the approach of attributing to the work of art access to the entity, and even seeing it as a portrayal of the entity itself, is found in Hegel’s thought, and was continued and developed in Heidegger’s philosophy. See for example Hegel, 1977, § 699–747; Heidegger, 2008, 24, 57; 1977c, 21, 66. Elsewhere, I have extensively discussed the connections between Kurzweil and Heidegger; see Miron, 2013a.

3



The origin of the connection between art and essence, which Kurzweil indicated here, is in Hegel, but was developed in the Heideggerian perception

Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and…

B. Literary Realism and Its Boundaries The understanding that the literary work contains a reliable description of real human reality with all its difficulties and challenges finds its most extensive expression in Kurzweil’s interpretation of Agnon’s work, as we can see from the following words: “With real objectivity, Agnon shows us the positive sides of the religious framework, which is, first and foremost, what gives society its form. The religious values are what still determine man’s actions to a large degree. They give pace and measure to the life of the family and the society.” Kurzweil finds, in Agnon’s stories that take place in Shibush-Buczacz, a  testimony “to the struggle between the community’s way of life […] and the aim to create social life based on an individualistic experience […] This struggle between two different perceptions of social life is eventually revealed as a  struggle between different generations”; and in “In the Prime of Her Life” and “A Simple Story,” “the heroes” aim to continue life at the same point where the previous generation did not succeed is noticeable” (Kurzweil, 1962, 40–2). The perception of literary reality is also apparent in Kurzweil’s interpretation of Greenberg’s poetry. He attributes to it the ability to understand Jewish history and grant it expression. Kurzweil states that Greenberg’s poems are “proof” of processes that took place “recently” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 40). In this spirit, he defines Greenberg’s poems as an “event” in literature and places them on the same level as no less than the event of the establishment of the state of Israel: “The two events have the same meaning. They are the deepest and most exciting symptom of what has happened in our time and what cannot be given a  mere intellectual explanation. And these two events are evidence of the strength of the experience of loss and the yearning for redemption” (ibid., 40).4 Now it transpires that literature takes its materials from real reality: “I do not believe that poetry and literature

of art, with which Kurzweil was undoubtedly familiar. See Hegel, 2000; Heidegger, 2008, 57; 1977c, 66. For further discussion, see Jaeger, 1961. 4



In this context, see also Kurzweil’s statement discussed above: “The poet’s despairing lamentation for the loss of his God is much more than a personal expression of his mental orphaning. Feierberg is revealed at this point too as a profound thinker, perceiving his personal fate as a symptom of the fate of his nation” (Kurzweil, 1960, 167).

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emerge and arise from some vacuum. They are always an expression, consciously or unconsciously, of what is happening, or what is about to take place within society, within the nation from which they grow and rise” (ibid., xiii-xiv). Also, the literary work, more than the historical study, serves and the internal truth of the events of history: Literary discoveries are much more real and greater than historical studies […] Above and beyond the inner truth of the poet, of the great author and his work, the essence of the truth of the contemporaries is opened up to the readers eyes […] With all the renouncing of historical pretension —perhaps it [Greenberg’s book] is entitled to demand to become a sort of modest contribution of marking chapters in the path of our literature in the twentieth century. (Ibid., xiv-xv)

The literary work’s rootedness in the world of present-day life, and its ability to serve as a historical indication, grant it its enforcing character due to which “there is no avoidance and no escape” from it. In this spirit, Kurzweil determines that even if a person sought to “seal his ears” or to avoid it, “history comes, the bitter fate of your nation comes and slaps you in the face. And they force you to note the amazing match of a certain regularity discovered in them, between the voice both sweet and grating of the poetry you were trying to ignore” (ibid., 4). Kurzweil adds to these words, referring to Greenberg’s poetry, a rule he believes applies to literary work as a whole, or at least to Hebrew literature: “To the same extent that an artistic endeavor becomes an exhaustive and symbolic expression of the society and nation from which it rose and grew, thus it thwarts any attempt to avoid its message” (ibid., 3). The deep rootedness of literature in human life and in history in general does not lock it within the boundaries of the exposed real being. Just as history exceeds the boundaries of chronicle, meaning the listing and organizing of past events, so the literary work transcends the concrete appearances of history in its dual approach to the present and the future. On the one hand, Kurzweil’s words show that the rootedness of the literary work in the present world enable it to understand the limitations imposed upon it by space and time. Thus, the poet and author cannot “just imitate categories of the past without examining the difference in the situation.” The internalization of these limitations is essential for

Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and…

a reality in which the revival of the past and of myth serve as constituting forces in the consciousness of present-day people. Kurzweil clarifies that even “Greenberg, who knows well what is life in the categories of myth, cannot avoid the awareness that modern man cannot live the past myth completely. The process of development is what destroys the illusion of reaching complete actualization of the myth” (ibid., 19). He adds that although the present dilutes the glory of the past, “This myth feeds from the national historical past and the near past, from the poet’s youth.” Someone who encounters the present and intensively experiences the life of the myth is required to deal with the “legitimate question of forming present-day life from” the myth (ibid., 21–2), since “the actualization of the myth forces on the poet the great truth, and the rule of contradiction no longer exists.” (ibid., 26) On the other hand, along with the literary work’s commitment to the present, the turn to the continuing future is apparent in it. Thus, while the connection to the present expresses the “authority of time” (Kurzweil, 1962,  68), in facing the future —as a harbinger, visionary, or prophet —its active element is embodied. In this spirit, Kurzweil writes about Agnon: The great epic visions of S. Y. Agnon reflect, unconsciously, our new situation […] Before the Second World War Agnon already announced the loss of the diaspora. Shibush-Buczacz has since been a symbol of the fate of our nation there. But even the process of relativization of the accepted values and concepts, is exposure from the epic confession is what grants this great epic work [“A Guest for the Night”] its spiritual depth. (Kurzweil, 1973a, 5)

Concerning the poetry of Uri Zvi Greenberg, he states that it “summarized […] everything that was raised in our new literature as a criticism of the lives of the complacent Jews, as a proof against the fiction of their reality […]” (ibid., 6); he saw it as an expression of “a transition […] from the passivity of the eulogist to the activism of the harbinger [… of] the vision of loss […], but at the same time also the tidings of redemption” (ibid., 8). In his opinion, Greenberg’s poetry is “a complete and profound testimony” to the loss of the Jews of Europe and the establishment of the State of Israel as the revolutionary realization of the yearnings for redemption (ibid., 9–10). Understanding the literary work as having the ability to predict the future does not

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really express a mystical view of the literary work in itself. The mystical aspects embodied in the work, to be discussed later, do not appear in the contexts in which Kurzweil sought to link it to historical reality. Conversely, the connection to history appears as a “demanding presence” (ibid., 92), and it restrains and restricts the subject and is apparent in the choice of topics for the work, its object, and its style. This duality that characterizes the perception of the literary work, attributing to it the ability to exhaust the historical process but also a power enabling it to transcend it and foresee the future, allows us to examine closely the boundaries of the connection existing between the literary work and the real being in Kurzweil’s approach. It appears that as much as a real connection exists between literature and the transcendent entity, a connection thanks to which literature serves as a historical testimony to the presence of this entity, it transpires that the literary work is not exhausted by this: The landscapes in Greenberg’s poems are not primarily real landscapes but landscapes of the poetic vision, which brings tidings from pre-existence, trans-personal, and pre-personal entities. These landscapes are […] identical with the ancient landscapes of history, rising above the time dimension in depth, the denoted and divine time […] His poetry is a special appearance of historical sight. In its first stage —it is an anticipation of things to come. An ancient landscape, trans-personal […] The historical sight grows and this is the source of the anticipation of things to come […] It is not possible to separate pure lyricism and current poetry in Greenberg. They originate in the same source: the poetic sight of mythical landscapes. (Ibid., 75–6)

Kurzweil states that Greenberg’s poetry became “the most faithful mirror of the burden of fate of its nation and its period,” and adds that “from its beginning it is warlike and it faces a revolutionary change of what was considered by the majority as the normal reality in the life of the individual and the national public” (ibid., 48–9). This means that as much as Greenberg’s work reflected the secular world in which he lived and acted, and was permeated with his typical innovation and change,5 it also criticized and sought to change it.

5



See Kurzweil, 1960, 19.

Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and…

On the face of it, the perception in Kurzweil’s interpretation of various works of literary work as rooted in historical reality does not imply that this reality is directly reflected in the literature. However, against the background of the metaphysical substrate of Kurzweil’s thought, we can state that the connection the literary work forms with historical processes, and even its ability to foresee them, are an outcome of its connection to the transcendent entity that exceeds the boundaries of givenness, both the one identified with the past events and the one delimited within the realm of the present. Kurzweil’s words on this point are straightforward: The same cruel potential reality that disturbed the poet’s rest, many years before it became the actual reality of us all, is the most real and actual thing, and at the same time it transcends all the boundaries and all the possibilities the human mind and imagination is capable of perceiving. And although the poet foresaw the disaster before it happened, he knows well that all his poems are a sort of struggle with the impossible —that no expression, even the most powerful, could express. (Ibid., 36)

To these words, Kurzweil adds the argument regarding the poet’s skill in gazing into the future: “The landscape of Jewish childhood, the landscape of the poet’s soul” or “the remnants of a great past, which are the hope of the future, and for their sake alone the world is worthy of existing” are the basis “that serves him as a bridge from past to future” (ibid., 40). Perhaps the predictive ability embodied in the literary work expresses the limitations of linguistic expression or those of the collective consciousness of the contemporaries. In other words, for the poet these are “the mental landscapes of the present, the meaning of the historical events of our time,” meaning that they refer to the present, but the poet still transcends from the present because its meaning “was not revealed to the eyes of his generation” (ibid., 50). In any case, Kurzweil’s deep recognition of this character of the literary work enables him to argue that he had found in Greenberg’s texts “the internal regularity of our fate” (ibid., xiii), and that Greenberg’s poetry exhausted the “historical process […] before it partially became reality” (ibid., 24). The metaphysical meaning of the terms “history,” “historical process,” and “historical regularity” is clear in this context: it binds together both the hidden transcendent entity and the visible real being. Kurzweil thus connects historical reality and the transcendent entity, and distinguishes them

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from the realistic understanding of the tangible reality and the reality arising immediately from the literary work. In any case, whether the literary work serves as a historical testimony permeated with consciousness of the present, or breaches the boundaries of the present, Kurzweil places both of these on one continuum: “What seems most important: the existence of this Jewish being was a double support, in both directions, up and down, to the earth and to the heavens, and it enabled the continuity of historical consciousness” (ibid., 40). The realistic understanding of the literary work imprisons it within the concrete boundaries of the here and now of the present and the distinct events of the past, but Kurzweil’s understanding seeks more than this, without detracting from the literary work’s ability to express a historical reality. Even though the literary work is chained to human reality in the present, Kurzweil states that “Whatever the face of the present, it itself […] bears within it […] islands of another reality” (ibid., 39–40). This reality is transcendence, whose presence Kurzweil indicates unambiguously, for example, in stating that “the way of poetry is what opens the channels of power, but this power is “transcendent,” a point of “signal from distances”” (ibid., 144). Primarily, the certainty regarding the existence of a  transcendent reality, in which Kurzweil’s general approach to the study of Hebrew literature was anchored, removed the possibility of complete congruence between the real being that serves as an object of the literary work’s direct and overt reference and the ontology of the literary work itself. This insight directed Kurzweil’s interpretation to seek for expressions affirming the presence of the transcendent entity itself, transcending the immediate contexts of real life reflected in the literary work and from the work itself. In this spirit, literature is presented as one of the human modes —and according to Kurzweil one of the most noble of them —of reference to the transcendent reality: Shoshana, like all the other women in Agnon, is not a symbol and not an allegory. She is the presence, the constant crystallization of the Jewish beauty, reflecting beyond itself, beyond reality, the transcendence that is its homeland. (Kurzweil, 1962, 299) A key issue in Agnon’s writings is connected […] to the topic of the home […] distancing from the home, the threat to the home, always symbolize serious disturbances in man’s relations with others, but also in man’s relations with his creator. The religious problem is what gives the motif of the home and the key its

Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and… depth. The landlord in the story “The House” is a super-human character, and something of the fear and submission between the created and the creator is felt in the narrator’s relations to this landlord. In the story “From Apartment to Apartment” the transcendent weight of the apartment is felt, which is, like any symbol, both itself, a concrete apartment, but also symbolizes a metaphysical world, from which the narrator cannot separate. (Ibid., 64)

C. Dualism in Transcendence: Overt and Concealed The decision to trace the expressions of transcendence in Hebrew literature inevitably confronted Kurzweil with the fundamental dualism typical of this entity, containing two modes of appearance: overt and concealed. This dualism embodies the basic difference distinguishing a transcendent entity from an earthly or immanent one, for which the only appearance is overt. Thus, after mentioning that the literature of previous generations is a value, Kurzweil adds: By its very nature, the value cannot be merely formal. The formal appearances of any value testify to what they possess. The form raises the question and the curiosity about the nature of the what. The what implies the reality of the essences. The essences are hidden. They might form, but their formation and their being are dumb. The forms […] freeze the infinite, dumb, and invisible essences into a limited presence visible to all. Without essences there are no forms. Without forms the essences remain in their dumb silence. (Kurzweil, 1970a, v‑vi)

Detaching the dependence of the transcendent entity from its appearance, and seeing concealment as its ontological characteristic, provided Kurzweil with an essential substrate for his interpretation, which saw in “modern Hebrew literature […] the literature of the religious problem” despite the fact that it “arises from the secular world” (Kurzweil, 1960, 110). In his opinion, despite the secular nature of modern Hebrew literature, which expresses a human reality from which the image of God has been removed, the transcendent entity is present in it.6 This means that just as realism does not exhaust everything

6



In this context, see Berger, 1990, 110–2.

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that is present in reality, the literary work is not exhausted within the boundaries of the real being that serves as an object of reference and a  source of inspiration. The complex relations between the exposed real reality, serving as a source for the literary work and also reflected in it, and the transcendent reality, reach exhaustion in the occurrence of gaps to the point of contradiction in the literary work, and naturally also in the literary realism, which transpires as a partial and limited reflection of the complete reality. Against this background, Kurzweil portrays himself as seeking to go so far as to argue that the typical and distinct in this reality [of the author] should be seen in reality ceasing to be in all senses a uniform reality. Past, present, and future clash in it […] The awareness arises that worlds that contradict each other have found their dwelling in the poet’s soul at the same time. This recognition itself would be sufficient to explain why the accepted realistic description […] no longer seems as an artistic expression appropriate to the new conscious experience. (Kurzweil, 1962, 84)7

With these words, Kurzweil once again connects the limited accessibility of reality to human consciousness with the metaphysical position that cannot be exhausted within the boundaries of realism. His words clearly show that the literary work cannot be exhausted within the boundaries of the human reality with which it deals, though the drive to transcend it is already contained within the human experiences of contradiction, of the limitations of consciousness, and of dissatisfaction.8 Several stages may be noted in the crystallization of Kurzweil’s argument regarding the presence of the transcendent entity in litera-

7

A similar attempt to make direct ontological arguments regarding the reality of a  different reality, alongside the human one, is expressed in the analysis of the meaning of Jerusalem in Agnon’s stories. Kurzweil saw it as “a pattern for a reality worthy of its name” (Kurzweil, 1962, 304).

8

The connection between experiencing dissatisfaction and the evidence for the existence of another entity denotes a  Hegelian element. In Jaspers’s approach this connection is linked to the transcendent entity. For further discussion, see Miron, 2005a.





Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and…

ture. First, the characterization of the transcendent entity present in Hebrew literature already stems from the perception of literature as historical testimony. The argument that Hebrew literature is rooted in the reality of the present and contains within it “another reality” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 39–40) indicates a  transcendent horizon existing beyond it and the relation between them. However, it appears that significant progress in the characterization of the transcendent entity, within the discussion of Hebrew literature, was expressed in Kurzweil’s noting the dominance of the themes of loss, absence, and negation in Hebrew literature. On the immediate level, these themes describe the exposed reality of the present, the one from whose observation Kurzweil concludes that “The world is not repaired, it is not divine, it is coincidental. And in such a world there are no houses, no clothes, and no more books” (Kurzweil, 1962, 181). Kurzweil finds in modern Hebrew literature various expressions of the disrupted situation in the present. There are expressions related to the individual’s experience, such as suffering, the problem of eros, and loneliness: In Brenner only Jewish existence seems as a  closed system of a  completely negative reality, with its suffering and insulting sorrow. (Kurzweil, 1973a, 276) […] deep down in their souls, Brenner’s heroes know that what causes the pathetic process of the thinning of the eros is the “religious collapse,” meaning a Jewish world without God, a human world without a creator, without Gods. (Ibid., 299) Loneliness is cosmic, the self is isolated from “the whole world” and cannot find its repair due to the modern curse of singleness that prevented it from communing with the God of mercy and forgiveness […] The single self did not receive what all the world was blessed with. (Kurzweil, 1962, 257–8)

Additional expressions of loss and absence also refer to the individual’s experience, but they express a more general social reality. In this context, Kurzweil turns to the secularization phenomenon, in which “all the authorities and all the titles of the divinity [are transferred]—to poetry […] The use of all the concepts of religion and mystery transfers to poetry and the poet the validity of the divine tidings” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 151). At the center of the secularization phenomenon a new concept of transcendence forms, anchored in the individual

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and in world reality: “The secularization process in our new literature reached its climax precisely in poetry that opens to us a new transcendence that is in fact an internalization and diving into the wells of the I” (ibid., 149). Like any experience of transcending, the one experienced by the secular author also expresses yearning for the entity and the search for “the mysteries of what is” (ibid., 148). But Kurzweil states that “diving into the wells of the I,” meaning the transcendence anchored in the individual, is not merely “a dangerous adventure of the I with himself,” imagining that he is rising above a given reality, while “his rise […] on the ladder is in fact a descent and diving into the wells of the I” (ibid.). It leads eventually to “the illusion of transcendence […] leading to the false unity in which a person is a bridge to himself” (ibid., 133). Moreover, seeking “the divine in the earthly” nests in “proximity to the nothing” (ibid., 132). This means that the reality anchored in the individual is controlled by the lack and the absence, and cannot grant a  metaphysical experience of facing the entity.

D. The Reality in the Hebrew Language As part of his discussion of the secularization phenomenon, Kurzweil also addresses the formation of modern literature in the Hebrew language. The profane nature of this literature serves as a reliable reflection of the real reality of the Jewish nation, which became distanced from its tradition and its religion: “Modern Hebrew literature is a reliable reflection of all the contradictions that are immanent in the path of Israel and Judaism since Judaism ceased being the unchanging authority” (Kurzweil, 1973a, ix). Kurzweil clarifies that the connection between literature and the real reality is not embodied in the aesthetic or thematic means typical of the literary work as such: “It is not possible to replace affinity for motifs, for the signs of an epic reality, with artistic attachment to this reality” (Kurzweil, 1962, 329). Indeed, “In the struggle with a language that is completely sacral, the Hebrew poet must always taste anew the infinite distance between the new meaning he grants to the Hebrew word and its original meaning” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 233), which is primarily religious. However, the author’s experiences of distance and absence are not interpreted by Kurzweil as self-standing. In his opinion, “What exists —lacks value and entity as if it did not exist, and what has passed and gone is the existing thing

Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and…

by whose value everything is measured” (Kurzweil, 1962, 243). With this far-reaching statement, the possibility of identifying reality with its appearances is rejected, since, as we recall, the dualism that connects over and concealed is a fundamental characteristic of the entity as such (Kurzweil, 1973a, v‑vi). Thus, the experiences of absence and distance can become the mediating medium to the transcendent entity, or alternatively affirm its reality to the subject. Additionally, these words express Kurzweil’s wider attitude toward the weight of consciousness and of mental processes in the whole metaphysical experience. He rejects the possibility that the connection to the world of faith could rely on a conscious basis.9 In fact, his discussion here shows that the mental means actually serves as a content-saturated indication of the gap and break between the present and the past element embodied in the language. Indeed, access to the language can enhance the experience of the break and reveal its dimensions,10 as we can learn from Kurzweil’s discussion of the Haskalah literature: “Intellectual “solutions” of the Haskalah authors cannot serve as a substitute for a Jewish society, which did not exist in the perception of the Haskalah authors” (Kurzweil, 1962, 39).11 He does not imply that only the practical adoption of the religious norms can enable an experience alternative to that of the distance and the break. Such an experience requires the appropriate disposition on the subject’s part, to enable him to experience the presence of the transcendent entity in Jewish existence. This issue will be discussed extensively below.

9



The anti-mental perception of the entity, and of faith, was developed in the phenomenology of Roman Ingarden (see Ingarden, 1989). This approach is opposed to the idealistic perceptions of art, which saw consciousness as the arena in which art takes place. See for example Collingwood, 1993.

10

This position of Kurzweil is radically different from that of Funkenstein. In a certain respect, Kurzweil fills with content the gap that Yerushalmi only declared. In his interpretation of Agnon, he demonstrates the possibility of a break permeated with fullness.

11

The understanding of the mental element as secondary in importance, compared with the processes occurring in real reality, permeates his interpretation of specific works. For example, see Kurzweil, 1962, 45.





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E. Reality, Absence, and Certainty Kurzweil’s approach to subject and author’s experience of break, distance, and absence indicates that from his point of view the present cannot be perceived as a total reality. In basic contrast to the realistic worldview, relying on the appearance of things, in a metaphysical worldview such as Kurzweil’s, immanent reality cannot portray the sum of what is, and certainly cannot exhaust it. On the immediate level, the absence denotes the experience of the author (and subject) of a transcendent reality that is not present to him. However, on a deeper level the experience of absence turns to a more primary intuition regarding the existence of this reality, an intuition without which the experience of absence would be meaningless. The daring move Kurzweil makes in this context is not exhausted in the negative facet of rejecting the realistic worldview, but also addresses the positive facet, an explicit definition of the hidden and the absent in terms of an actual reality: Sometimes beyond the real conditions of life, which cannot be overcome and which demonstrate the complete rule of alarming time, poetry clears its paths to see the discovery of a second reality, standing outside the rule of the normal cycle of time […] We are dealing with the “internal” time, the “human” time, that is not subject to the authority of external, non-human time. (Kurzweil, 1973a, 258)

Furthermore, Kurzweil has certainty regarding the existence of the reality that transcends the boundaries of the real being, and not only this, but he also identifies it with the transcendent entity revealed in the Jewish religion and tradition. Now it transpires that Kurzweil does not distinguish between the transcendent entity and its religious content, as depicted in the real being of the Jews. His phrasing always links them together, as we can see in several contexts: The most personal experience of landscape is at the same time transpersonal and hints beyond itself […] The I  versifies and discovers himself and the landscapes exclusively with the sight of a “second reality,” beyond time and beyond the personal. […] The poet I is closely related to the most distant past. It originates

Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and… in the great distance and bears within it the events of the lives of his ancestors. (Ibid., 78–9) The same poetry reveals […] a completely different picture, essentially positive, ideal, a picture of yearning for some world that was completely pure. It is interesting that this magic picture […] totally saturated in an atmosphere of harmony and perfection belongs to the past, the distant or near past […] (Ibid., 13)

In other places the expression “two realities” returns, one attributed to the present and the other to the past (e. g., Kurzweil, 1962, 178).12 The certainty regarding the existence of a  transcendent entity is not diminished when this entity is hidden, and it even overshadows the overt reality in the present, even though it does not negate it. As a result, the overt reality is described in terms of absence and lack: “The present world as it is only exists due to coincidence, following some cosmic “negligence’; it is actually not worthy of existing after what happened. Of course this is a  world without clothes, without a house, without books —and here into this external reality breaks a  character, born of the hidden, internal reality” (ibid., 179). These words express another attempt by Kurzweil to grant expression to the importance of the transcendent reality in his worldview, seeking to reflect the absence of this entity in the modern Jewish being and at the same time to affirm it through revealing the experience of the hiddenness of this entity itself. The search for the meaning of the experience of absence relies, at different specificity levels, on the testimony to the existence of the transcendent entity. This testimony affirms that like any interpretative process, Kurzweil’s turn to modern Hebrew literature does not take place in a vacuum. More precisely, Kurzweil retrieves from this testimony the key to an ontological-metaphysical understanding of concrete literary phenomena that he identifies in modern Hebrew literature. Thus, after discussing the denying experience portrayed by the suffering as “an accusation not directed at any address” in Brenner’s stories, he determines that “the suffering of the single, lonely person, despite his lowness, is the reality of realities” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 290). While Kurzweil does not blur the fact that the direct affirmation of the existence of the transcendent reality is not given in Brenner’s work, his

12



See also Kurzweil, 1962, 253; 1973a, 49, 80.

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interpretation notes the paradoxical nature of experiencing the lack (ibid., 291), and states that “the pathos of negative religiosity indicates its origin. It seems that Brenner’s heroes will never forgive God for not existing for them” (ibid., 286–7). This interpretation draws a bridge leading from absence and negation to certainty and affirmation of the reality. It seems that from Kurzweil’s point of view the very reference to transcendence —even if it is a negating reference —can affirm the existence of the transcendence. The fact that this affirmation is not expressed directly by the author or his heroes does not detract from Kurzweil’s certainty regarding the presence of the transcendence in modern Hebrew literature. This approach is continued in the interpretation he offers to the problem of the eros, in which relying on the transcendent reality as a source for the meaning of the experience of absence is even more direct. Thus, having determined that “God’s mysteries give way to the mysteries of nothing” (ibid., 287), he adds, “The eros cannot release the I from itself […] because Brenner’s heroes lack faith in the transcendent meaning of the eros.” In contrast, Kurzweil himself knows that “without faith in mystery, in something transcendent, the eros too is something “naked,” “monochromatic,” a false worship” (ibid., 294–5). He grants a similar meaning to the experience of loneliness, which he interprets as directed at an external reality exceeding the boundaries of the I: The flaw lies with the “I.” But in parallel with the internal emptying the external emptying is described […] The flaw is internal. The lonely person wants to pray and cannot […] External reality is imaginary, is of the flawed time. What is, the truth, belonged to some reality whose memory is only preserved in the depths of the poet’s soul. Where is that reality? There, in the great distance, in the good time, in the correct period that had its values, before the split, before the great abandonment and loneliness. (Kurzweil, 1962, 241–2)

Kurzweil’s approach to the individual’s personal experiences of suffering, his relation to eros, and his loneliness, gave expression to the negating character of these experiences, but at the same time sought to give them meaning by revealing the way in which they refer to transcendence. This approach once again casts its reflections into his perception of secularization and the modern use of the Hebrew language. He sees secularization as a general and principled position:

Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and…

“‘Secularity” does not generally express this or that detail, it is the atmosphere of the spiritual breath of a particular period” (Kurzweil, 1960, 46). In addition, he understood the gap created between secularization and the religious worldview as creating tension, “which actually has no solution” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 155). However, he states that despite the secular nature of Hebrew literature in the twentieth century, “it is guided and lifted by the vague knowledge of the existence of the eternal, inseparable connection that links the essence of the nation with the breath of its Torah, with its spiritual destiny,” and “on one point our great authors are unanimous: there is no redemption without the search for the unity that was lost, there is no revival without it, ignoring it reveals the horrors of loss and braking” (Kurzweil, 1962, 283). In a  similar spirit, he raises “the question regarding the boundaries established for secularization in its journey of conquest within the sacral sphere. And this question is identical with concern for the legitimacy of the linguistic expression lest it risk replacing the linguistic case with the living words of God” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 154). Kurzweil believed that as much as the language is “a means connected to place and time,” no less than this it is saturated with “hints” and performs a  “signaling action” (ibid., 144).13 This means that the language, like secularization or the individual’s personal experiences discussed above, is not exhausted in its own immanent boundaries, but indicates what exists beyond it, and in fact, the metaphysical substrate in which these experiences are anchored a priori. I will return to the issue of secularization extensively later.

F. “ The Non-Literary Attitude to Literature”: Fiction, Style, and Aesthetics Kurzweil’s metaphysical observation, which interpreted modern Hebrew literature not only as a reflection of real reality and its processes, but also as a  field in which the presence of the transcendent

13



In assuming the connection of the Hebrew language to sanctity, Kurzweil shares the approaches of Scholem and Rotenstreich (see Rotenstreich, 1953c). On the general meaning of the turning of the generations and of language as an expression of early historical experience, see for instance Rotenstreich, 1961, 220–1; Scholem, 1976a, 50.

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entity is apparent, entails some heavy implications. First and foremost, this approach removes the possibility of viewing the literary work as fiction. Kurzweil refers to Uri Zvi Greenberg’s work unambiguously: “The poetry of U. Z. Greenberg represents the daring attempt […] in our literature to renew our nation’s ancient myth. This myth is not a fiction, it is the real of the real” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 23). Kurzweil explains that “[…] since every real work of art is the phenomenal appearance of a certain reality, it is consciously or unconsciously saturated with the problems typical of the exposed reality” (Kurzweil, 1960, 5), and also “the epic truth […] is subject to the authority of time” (Kurzweil, 1962, 68), and “each work bears with it the signs of its time” (ibid., 11).14 He contends that “Modern Hebrew is a reliable mirror of all the contradictions that are immanent in the path of the Jewish nation and Judaism since Judaism ceased being an unchanging authority” (Kurzweil, 1970a, ix). This means that just as reality forces itself upon people, so it forces itself upon literature and does not allow it to avoid its role (Kurzweil, 1973a, 3). Kurzweil makes this argument more severe, to the point of making the connection to reality into a sort of threshold condition for evaluating the literary work. In this spirit, he writes about the renewal of the ancient myth in Greenberg’s poetry: “The fateful question is whether we are dealing with a real, that is a religious, myth, or if the myth has become merely a political means. I have no doubt that the myth in Greenberg is a religious presence” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 23). A similar meaning arises from the following passage, referring to the work of Mendele Mocher Sefarim: With which means Mendele approaches his epic “reality,” how it appears to him, and to what extent we are entitled to identify the author’s artistic reality with the reality of diaspora Judaism — these three questions are different questions, although there exists an internal connection between them. Clarifying them [these questions] largely depends on the correct understanding of Mendele the epic poet and determining his place in the history of the problematics of our literature. The two first ques-

14



See also Kurzweil’s words: “No literary work is clarified by a  process of a sort of antiseptic analysis that ignores the background, the work’s world” (Kurzweil, 1971). Kurzweil himself applied the rule that evaluates literature according to its connection to reality. See in particular Kurzweil, 1982, Part I, 15–115.

Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and… tions aim at the essence of the realism in Mendele’s writings. The answer to the third question contains the final evaluation of his epic world as a partial or general expression of the lives of the Jews. (Kurzweil, 1960, 179–80)

Kurzweil’s choice to define the two first questions, which on the face of it appear as aesthetic questions, related to realism, while the third question dealing with the connection to reality as related to “the literary value,” which as such also deals with aesthetic considerations, is illuminating. Kurzweil, it transpires, does not assume a real difference between the epic reality and the real reality or environment in which the author himself is rooted. More precisely, the requirement that the epic reality be unconditionally harnessed to represent the external reality did not leave much of the former. Kurzweil goes further, subjugating to the demand that literature represent the reality existing beyond itself —real and transcendent —even the literary style itself. The principles of his approach on this matter are phrased in sort of rules: The choice of literary form is binding. (Kurzweil, 1973a, 417) Each literary form has a world of its own. It is no coincidence that a certain period and a certain society see this or that literary form as their artistic expression. (Kurzweil, 1962, 18) Something decisive in the cultural consciousness of a particular nation is what channels the development of the spiritual work in a new direction. (Kurzweil, 1960, 15)

Kurzweil does not list the styles suiting different realities, but regarding Agnon’s work he states: “These stories should be seen as an important contribution in the path of searching for a new artistic expression, suiting our situation […] The withdrawal to the world of yesterday is barred in a logical way. The paradoxical way and the way of repentance are wide open” (Kurzweil, 1962, 187). This means that the nature of the entity revealed to the subject or hidden from him dictates his literary expression —logical or paradoxical. Thus, the distinction between the “logical way” and the “paradoxical way” is an ontological distinction with hermeneutical implications, rather than vice versa. The forcing nature of the ontological dimension is directly expressed in Kurzweil’s declaration that Agnon was forced by reality not only in terms of the topics of his work but

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also in terms of its style, so that “with such a principled change of the world, the technique of the story changes too” (ibid., 165). Kurzweil adds that Agnon shaped the epic material in any two works “from two different perceptions of reality. These two perceptions are what dictate to the artist the performance ways that are expressed in the choice of various epic forms, every time upholding the premise from which the artist approaches reality” (ibid., 199). Thus Kurzweil rejects the interpretative approach that sees the overt text as the sum of all the reality embodied within it —that is, the neo-critcism approach that treats the text as an autonomic unit —in favor of an approach that strives to reveal the text’s hidden depths, and in our context, to the representation of real and transcendent reality in the literary work. Also, Kurzweil’s position regarding the style accords with the explicitly limited weight he grants the aesthetic aspects involved in the formation of the literary work. This is merely another expression of the increasing power of reality compared to any other dimension: […] The renewal of the myth does not merely have an aesthetic or religious-moral function; the actualization of the myth has an explicit political meaning […] All the poet’s life, every line he [U. Z. Greenberg] wrote in the past decades, can already today serve as historical testimony that here something has happened that is completely different from devotion to nationalliterary games. The consistency in the poet’s life and work that announce the myth that has reincarnated and found in this personality and in his poetry a symptomatic expression forces the examiner to choose only one path in encountering this poetry: the most serious and difficult one. (Kurzweil, 1973a, 23)

The described attitude to the aesthetic aspects involved in the literary work gives Hebrew literature precedence over general literature, in Kurzweil’s opinion. Thus, while “Thomas Mann’s attitude to biblical myth in The Tales of Jacob and his use of biblical metaphors and symbols is artistic,” and, more generally, “regarding other poets the elements of the religions and cultures are tools and slaves of artistic expression,”15

15



Moshe Schwartz interprets this citation from Kurzweil in a way that presents the external reality as continuing and even identical to the internal

Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and…

in Hebrew literature is apparently “a living presence of the historical mythical appearance […] Metaphors do not merely transfer words from here to there, and because of this they are not merely a cultural or aesthetic medium. They enliven the historical situation as a demanding presence.” Finally, Kurzweil concludes regarding Greenberg: “The attitude of our greatest poet to literary elements is non-literary” (ibid., 91–2). The described “nonliterary” attitude, assuming an important and clear hierarchy between the work’s components, is made even more severe for Agnon, regarding whom Kurzweil presents the aesthetic consideration as a temporary scaffold, and perhaps even as an illusion. These are sidelined in a step described as “cruel” to the margins of attention and interest from the moment the reality is revealed for which the literary work serves as a medium: This work [The Bridal Canopy] actually returns to the world of the epic. A sort of illusion is created consistently here as if that world, enabling and explaining a character like Reb Yudel, still existed […] There is no doubt that in this work we encounter a literary innocence that originates from romantic nostalgia for the lost mental unity. But this also notes the difference in principle between The Bridal Canopy and the Greek or medieval epic […] This return, like any late return, cannot fully succeed: The innocence in the story also clashes with the signs of destruction in the Jewish world, and those gaps alarmingly endanger the artistic illusion of the completeness of the Jewish world and its absolute value […] This is a romantic irony, which can destroy in an eye blink the complete world of illusions […] But no less cruel is the ironic exposure of the world’s relativity, appearing to him as total […] Here the weakness of that world transpires in its inability to overcome reality […] Agnon embroiders with extreme consistency the romantic complement of the complete and total world that contains the miracle as the tried and necessary solution. In this he is closer to the epic than Cervantes. But this proximity, in terms of the apparent

reality. Accordingly, he understands Kurzweil’s position as opposed to the modern perception regarding “the unatoned separation between subject and object” (Schwartz, 1976, 175). As the discussion below will show, the distinction between the subject and the object is critical for Kurzweil’s interpretative work, which sought to face the multidimensional clash between the two and to grant it meaning.

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essence [emphasis in the original] stands. The moment the reader feels from within the story that the poet has discovered the illusive nature of his heroes, we are no longer in the presence of real epic. (Kurzweil, 1962, 22–4)16

The only suitable way of approaching the literary work is “the most serious and difficult,” precisely because it does not know any “break,” “illusion,” or any degree of “innocence” that would divert attention from the reality upon which “weakness” and “destruction” have left their clear marks. In the depth of the matter, both the author and the reader are forces by the same external reality, denying them the ability to devote themselves to the characters in the work or to any other aesthetic means involved in it. Elsewhere, the decision in favor of the realistic dimension (that is, its preference over the aesthetic one) is justified: “The impression might arise that the new category of sanctity avoids the category of the aesthetic-beautiful in our meaning. The pure beautiful is always released —with the loss of the world of sanctity. The aesthetic becomes holy with the dimming of the world of sanctity” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 96). The metaphysical meaning granted in these words to the minor importance give to the aesthetic dimension in comparison with the representation of reality is clear: the work cannot bear them together, since the power of one diminishes the other.

G. Withdrawing the Author from the Work In Kurzweil’s approach, the author himself is subject to the same restrictions imposed upon the literary work —restrictions apparent in the issues of fiction, style, and aesthetics. Just as the work is harnessed to represent (indirectly and complexly) real reality and transcendence, the author himself is described by Kurzweil as functioning “only as a  transparent medium” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 102), without involving in his work his selfhood and his personal purposes. In this spirit, Kurzweil defines the author as offering his readers “the gen-

16



In these words, Kurzweil elides the assumption that the connection between literature and reality is even stronger in Hebrew literature than in world literature. To this point, relying on the classical approach regarding the uniqueness of the Jewish nation and its history, I will return later.

Chapter Three. The Metaphysical Perception of Literature: Realism and…

eral summary of the face of the world, about whose character [he] wonders” (Kurzweil, 1962, 164), and as “struggling to discover its [the world’s] truth and reality that only he, the poet, is called and destined to grant to him and to us” (ibid., 161).17 Furthermore, Kurzweil believes that the ontological perception of literature accords with the reader’s expectation of the literary work: “The profound reader will be grateful to the author for the honesty in his stories, to the extent that they reflect our reality” (ibid., 187). These words are reminiscent of those of Yerushalmi, who appointed the historian to the task of reconstructing the Jewish past —a task he believed is given to the historian both by himself and by “us” and “to us.”18 However, we should note that the demand directed in these citations at the subject is given a marginal status in Yerushalmi’s approach, while in Kurzweil’s position it enfolds the transcendental complexity typical of experiencing transcendence, involving simultaneously the subject’s passivity and activity. We shall return to this issue later. The lesser weight of the author’s subjective personality has wide hermeneutic implications. First and foremost, this relates to the understanding of the work’s narrator: “With all the importance of the mental process” and the biographical one, and even though Kurzweil himself granted it great importance in constituting the work, he clarifies that “we must avoid the mistake that this is merely an individual matter. Because Greenberg’s poetry expresses intensively and exhaustively what has been happening in the nation’s consciousness recently, consciously or unconsciously” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 40). This means that even if the author experiences the creative process as an individual, this experience also involves matters of the collective to which he belongs, and the relation to the external reality he and they share. Thus, the work should also be understood as an expression of the nation’s selfconsciousness. Also, the reduced status of the author in the creative process projects onto the understanding of the work: “It is not the individual personality that is the main subject of this appearance, but the fate of the great self, the suffering and fighting individual, the representative, who takes on forms and sheds forms” (ibid., 100). Thus it

17

On the perception of literature as filling a social mission, see Abrams, 1971, 14–21.

18

Yerushalmi, 1989, 93. However, the two thinkers’ perceptions do not share the same understanding of the subject.



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transpires that the collective serves simultaneously as both the work’s subject and its object. Kurzweil even describes the author as someone whose internal reality is completely conquered by the external reality he is forced to represent: “Internal reality encounters external reality. It cannot withdraw, surrender” (ibid., 92). The commitment to the historical reality creates a clear continuity between restraining and reserving the subjectivity in favor of the collective self and the reduction in the weight of the aesthetic considerations and the distancing from the fictional language. The freedom and sovereignty the author realizes in employing aesthetic considerations or in choosing a unique mode of expression or style are not available, in Kurzweil’s opinion, to Hebrew authors. History, the real being, and transcendence indicate in advance the path down which they will guide their works and themselves.

Chapter Four

The Ahistorical Element in Jewish History A. Metaphysics and History The fundamental principle guiding Kurzweil in his approach to Jewish history is that “The sphere of history leaves room for metaphysics, and by its nature […] is not opposed to it” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 103).1 In his opinion, “It is not possible to distinguish between metaphysical aspects and historical aspects […] Even the false separation between theology and history did not succeed, because even the theological or anti-theological element is part of the historical process and its description […]” (ibid., 142). The duality composed of history and metaphysics constitutes a shared substrate for Kurzweil, Yerushalmi, and Scholem. As we recall, Yerushalmi granted expression to the relation between the historian and metaphysics in these words: “I submit that no Jewish historian today […] would bring himself to write an explicit “reasons-from-God” epilogue […] what would be inconceivable in a history of the English, the French, of the Dutch is still possible in a serious twentieth-century historical work concerning the Jews.”2 For Scholem, the connection between history and metaphysics, which he sometimes identified with philosophy, arises from words such as these: “I was interested in two levels for understanding Judaism: I was interested in historiosophy, in the dialectics revealed in spiritual

1

This statement is made in the context of Kurzweil’s argument with Gershom Scholem, who sought to distinguish between historical writing about Sabbatianism and referring to it from a metaphysical and theological viewpoint. See Kurzweil, 1970a, 99–134. For further discussion, see also, Zadof, 2007; Myers, 1986.

2

Yerushalmi, 1989, 91. As we recall from the discussion in Part One, Yerushalmi perceived of God in terms of presence, and so he serves as the metaphysical element in the mentioned duality.





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­ rocesses, and in a different way —in the philosophical-metaphysical p field. I tried to understand what maintains Judaism.”3 On the shared infrastructure comprising history and metaphysics, each of the three formed a different perception about the Jewish past and the modern Jewish being. In Yerushalmi’s approach, the status of the metaphysical element was so dominant and decisive that it appeared to consume the historical dimension that was originally intended merely to serve as a tool for representing God in Jewish history. Thus he considers “the secularization of Jewish history is a break with the past,”4 and the formation of secular Judaism a “contradiction.”5 Scholem, who admitted his original interest in “dialectics revealed in spiritual processes,” agreed in another context that the dialectical perception of history and of processes in the life of society and man is not alien to him and to the root of his soul,6 and required the presence of contradictions in the historical picture. In his opinion, the historian’s role is not only in revealing the contradictions appearing on the historical level, but also facing them appropriately. Compared with the approaches of Yerushalmi and Scholem, Kurzweil’s approach, as will transpire from the following discussion, appears as a middle ground. On the one hand, he shared the perception expressed by Yerushalmi, seeing Jewish history as an arena for the representation of God, and therefore having excessive dominance of the metaphysical element over the historical one. However, in contrast with Yerushalmi, in Kurzweil’s perception the gap is too moderate for one to be consumed by the other, and the preservation of the duality is guaranteed in the hierarchical relationship it portrays. On the other hand, the dialectical element symbolizing Scholem’s historical approach is not alien to Kurzweil, but precisely in the relations between the historical and the metaphysical it does not play a significant role. In any case, the equivalence of the historical and the metaphysical, arising from the citation opening this chapter, is not the be-all and end-all of the relations between them in Kurzweil’s approach.

3

Scholem, 1976a, 28.

4

Yerushalmi, 1989, 91.

5

Yerushalmi, 2005, 14.

6

Scholem, 1976a, 43.



Chapter Four. The Ahistorical Element in Jewish History

B. Sacred History, Presence, and Depth The metaphysical element in Kurzweil’s approach is expressed in contexts where he refers to the mark of the transcendent entity in Jewish history, or where he describes it as divine or sacred history (Kurzweil, 1973a, 87). This aspect is particularly emphasized in his interpretation of the work of Uri Zvi Greenberg, which played a central role in crystallizing his perception of history, since it was in his opinion “a special appearance of historical vision” (ibid., 75), and “a poetic vision of history” (ibid., 86). In general, Kurzweil states that “The special connection of his poetry to history is known. The landscapes of history are the source of his poetry” (ibid., 80). Greenberg’s work also reveals the connection between history and God, and naturally reveals the metaphysical nature of Jewish history itself: It is clear to us beyond all doubt that the origin of all the fire metaphors so abundant in Greenberg’s poetry is the eternal presence of the divine fire of Sinai. (Ibid., 62) [His poetry] emerges and arises from the wells of primary, authentic vision that sees history, with all its images and its metaphorical power, whose essence is the living presence of divine history. (Ibid., 93)7

Just as the divine presence is not continuously apparent in real human existence, so too does the perspective identifying Jewish history as divine reveal only “sparks of moments,” “particles of the divine time.” However, “the restrained fire” present in these moments “illuminates a divine time […] enabling to see the landscapes of divine meta-history” (ibid., 62–3).8 The term “divine time,” which Kurzweil employs in this context, expresses a  new modality of time in which

7



This perception linking the past, history, and the entity is directly influenced by Löwith. See Löwith, 1949, 17–9; see also Löwith, 1953; 1973. This influence is also mentioned by Etkes, 2008, 197. Kurzweil himself mentions Löwith several times in his writings; e. g., Kurzweil, 1973a, 159.

8



The understanding of the experience of divine history and time as taking place in “sparks of moments’ is similar to that of the late Heidegger, characterizing the entity as epochal, meaning as simultaneously hidden and revealed, exposed only for eye blinks. See for example Heidegger, 1977a. See also Miron, 2013b.

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the split and fragmented appearances of the transcendent presence are joined together. The poet bearing a poetic perspective (ibid., 98), thanks to the special access to reality with which he is blessed, may reveal this continuity. We shall discuss the issue of continuity in detail below. The perception of Jewish history as permeated with divine presence realizes a rigid dimension in the relation of this history to the transcendent entity. This relation has additional expressions —also possessing a clear ontological character, though less general than the identification with God —through which Kurzweil is able to fill his perception of Jewish history with content. First and foremost, the ontological aspect is apparent in Kurzweil’s attempt to characterize Jewish history in terms of “reality” and “presence”: The poetic landscape […] is the same historical landscape of the presence of the living myth. And myth here does not mean legend, nor aesthetic fashion, nor artistic game [… but] the reality of realities! The historical-mythic vision is for the poet an absolute truth, not an experiment, a sort of “let’s assume this once happened.” There are those who live with profound knowledge of the “wisdom of the ages,” which is the wisdom of the living historical presence. (Ibid., 86)

Although Kurzweil characterizes Jewish history in explicitly ontological terms of “reality” and “presence,” in no way does he identify them with the overt world of phenomena, and this explains the need for special access to the hidden levels of reality, with which he believes the poet is blessed. In fact, the dominance of the concept of God in his discussions of Jewish history may testify that Kurzweil’s interest is not in the overt dimensions of reality. An expression of this can be found in his statement linking the historical and the unrevealed or the hidden: “We must note that there exists a great difference between the concept “history” in our scientific sense and the appearance of the historical landscapes in Greenberg’s poems. The history of the scientists is a certain thing that is unrelated to realities hidden from our minds” (ibid., 80–1). The identification of history with the concealed dimensions of human existence is also apparent in the repeated use of the term “depth” in contexts where Kurzweil addresses the issue of Jewish history, such as “time in depth” (ibid., 69, 75); “history in depth” (ibid., 82, 85, 87); and also in his description of the historical

Chapter Four. The Ahistorical Element in Jewish History

consciousness the poet experiences as “a primary experiential given” and “a very deep historical-conscious layer” (ibid., 171). Jewish history as Kurzweil understood it is not identified with the overt level of phenomena, and from Kurzweil’s descriptions it even seems to take place behind the phenomena themselves. Kurzweil’s frequent use of the terms “reality” and “presence” thus denotes his attempts to obtain a  solid ontological characterization of the concept of Jewish history, independent of the interpretations directed at it. Just as in his discussions of modern Hebrew literature, so also in those dealing with Jewish history the desire to grant an ontological expression sometimes pushes into his concept the epistemic dimensions that accompany it, and in any case contributes to emphasizing the mark of the transcendent entity.9 So it is no wonder that Kurzweil alternately uses the expressions history and meta-history to characterize his approach, as if these concepts were equivalent (ibid., 59).10

C. “ Living Myth,” Demythologization, and Remythologization The perception of history as containing concealment and depth immediately raises a question regarding the meaning of the real overt reality. Does this reality deceive its observers? Does the statement that reality is permeated with “living myth” deprive the being of the real phenomena of the ability to possess meaning and value? Kurzweil’s position regarding the real layer of reality appears to be anchored in a demythologizing observation of history, whose purpose is to peel back the immediate or external layer of the phenomena and of real reality in general, though not to remove it completely, and thus remove the myth itself. This observation distinguishes between two fundamental dimensions of myth —one figurative or concrete, and the other with a mainly metaphysical and abstract meaning —and it

9



10

For a  discussion of this phenomenon in the context of the perception of Hebrew literature, see Miron, 1999, 238–9.

See also Kurzweil, 1973a, 63, 92, 93. Kurzweil reveals a “meta-temporal” perspective also in his analysis of Agnon’s work. See for example Kurzweil, 1962, 289.

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wishes to remove the former and place the latter in the center. Modern people, whom Kurzweil characterizes as having difficulty “living the past myth in full” (ibid., 19), may thus use the demythologizing observation to the extent that it could help extricate the myth from its concrete and immediate portrayals, alien to the world established upon science and technology.11 Kurzweil’s approach to myth may seem even more radical, since his recognition of the necessity of myth to modern people expresses a remythologizing approach seeking deliberately to preserve myth as an undamaged picture of reality.12 The importance of the remythologizing approach in the discussion of Kurzweil’s perception of history stems from the myth not being perceived as primarily contradicting religion and the historical memory or even the poetic references to myth, which from his point of view can and should be harnessed to understanding Jewish history.13 The issue of the relation between history and myth also interested Yerushalmi and Scholem, who like Kurzweil opposed the treatment of myth as an inferior form of consciousness and of truth. As we recall, Yerushalmi stressed the necessity of myth for the modern Jew: “Many Jews today are in search of a past, but they patently do not want the past that is offered by the historian […] they are not prepared to confront it directly, but seem to await a new, metahistorical myth.”14 Moreover, for Yerushalmi, along with imagination, myth is an essential tool in the historian’s work, despite his striving to be objective and scientific.15 Scholem too expressed a  favorable opinion of myth, stating that there is something wrong in the prevalent per-

11

The modern demythologizing observation of the past and the origins of tradition is identified with Bultmann. For the principles of this approach, see Bultmann, 1961, 1–5.

12

For a  systematic discussion of the differences between a  hermeneutic demythologizing position (whose roots are in Bultmann’s theological-hermeneutic position) and the remythologizing position (developed in the thought of Buber, Levy-Strauss, and others), see Levy, 1988, 205–27. A general reference to Kurzweil’s approving attitude to remythologization also appears in Schwartz, 1976, 172–3.

13

Levy sees Buber’s approach as representing the remythologizing position. See Levy, 1988, 215–24. Levy refers directly to Buber as representing this position, ibid., 216–7.

14

Yerushalmi, 1989, 97–8.

15

Yerushalmi, 2005, 11.









Chapter Four. The Ahistorical Element in Jewish History

ception of monotheism as opposed to myth, and that perhaps monotheism contains room for the development of mythical knowledge at a deeper level.16 Elsewhere, Scholem wrote: I was under the impression of the poverty of what was called Philosophy of Judaism […] I was angered by [… those who] saw their main role as creating antitheses to myth and pantheism and “disproving” them, while they should actually have raised them to a higher level and negated them there […] I felt that that higher level existed in Kabbalah […]. It seemed to me that here, beyond the distinctions of my generation, existed a realm of connections of contexts that should rightfully also have had a relation to our most human experiences.17

The common ground shared by these three regarding myth, and the absence of real discussion of this issue in Rotenstreich and Funkenstein, are not coincidental. The approaches of the latter two were anchored in a primarily epistemic immanent framework, whose relation to real events and mental experience constantly confronted it with processes of change and development. Myth can have no place in these approaches, since it portrays a permanence that is not stained by the real historical process. This permanence grants myth a status of transcendence in relation to the changing world of phenomena; and indeed, the perceptions of the three —Yerushalmi, Scholem, and Kurzweil —are anchored in certainty regarding the existence of a transcendent presence. Even so, Kurzweil’s approach to myth is the most complex of the three. For Yerushalmi and Scholem, myth appears as a simple whole, and the central question regarding it relates to its very necessity and its value for modern Jews and people in general. Kurzweil accepts all this, but for him myth carries the full complexity entailed in the relations between the real and the metaphysical in the historical

16

Scholem, 1941, 23.

17

Scholem, 1990, 29–30. These clear words of Scholem’s, rejecting the contrast between myth and monotheism, do not accord with Idel’s criticism of Scholem’s perception of traditional Judaism, whereby he adopted the contemporary perception of rabbinical Judaism, seeing it as “dry” and focused on rituals (see Idel, 1997, 78).



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arena. It appears that the duality typical of myth, the present aspect and the one existing in the “depth,” reflects one of the facets of transcendence itself, which also has two appearances: present and hidden (or absent). The demythologizing and remythologizing observations are the means that Kurzweil’s thought recruits, consciously or unconsciously, to deal with the complexity of the myth, and they are not essential for approaches that assumed a much simpler understanding of myth, like those of Scholem and Yerushalmi. Furthermore, the generally positive attitude toward myth as a component of Jewish history did not become a guiding element for Yerushalmi and Scholem. It is completely clear that as historians they could not hold a position like Kurzweil’s, harnessing the historian to the activity of demythologizing and remythologizing, and focusing him explicitly at the mythical depth behind or within the layer of overt events, where, Kurzweil believed, the mark of the transcendent entity itself was also apparent. From Kurzweil’s point of view, in this entity and in the myth depicted as having a basic connection to it were hidden the meaning and significance of real events, rather than in the historian’s work, which at most helped remove obstacles from the path to understanding reality, but not to serve itself as a source for its understanding. Indeed, Kurzweil appoints those he believes as gifted with “historical vision,” meaning “the preaching poet and the leader,” “to tear the cover from the face of history, to remove its masks,” to reveal what is “behind the abundance of seductive phenomena,” and to free us from “the mask magic of history” (ibid., 50).

D. Archetypes, Uniformity, and “Synoptic Vision” The marginality granted to the layer of real events in Kurzweil’s perception of Jewish history is apparent in his choice to characterize it as archetypical, uniform, repetitive, and consistent. In his opinion, these features contain the essence of the uniqueness of Jewish history: [Greenberg’s] poetry wishes to remind us that the laws and conditions of our existence were dictated once and for all, and history is only a constant repetition of basic situations derived ever since […] Behind the abundance of phenomena [… exist] the proto-portrait […] the archetypes […] the most primordial state of history. Only the archetypes in the forefront of the histori-

Chapter Four. The Ahistorical Element in Jewish History cal situation can teach us the truth, our truths toward ourselves and toward the world of the gentiles […] His poetry never tires […] of showing us the one and only within the multiplicity of phenomena in time and space. Portraits, times, and places change, but the truth, the laws of life and fate are firm and abiding and rooted in the fundamental situations of historical archetypes. (Ibid., 50–1)

In the same spirit, Kurzweil also describes the Jewish tradition: The ancestral tradition is the Sinai tradition. The father and the mother are the sources of the light transmitted from Sinai! […] But the eternal presence of the revelation at Mount Sinai is so super-potent, it fills the space-time of all generations. After it there is no innovation […] If Sinai is the eternal presence, it cannot be otherwise. Eternal truth is static. Each and every generation is “the Sinai generation.” What was considered as historical development is merely the eternal return of the same truth. (Ibid., 57–8)

Kurzweil does not himself connect the Jewish past, as accumulated in tradition, and the transcendent entity, but the permanence and independence of Jewish tradition in relation to the real present-day historical being transpire throughout his writings as reliable indications of the mark of the transcendent entity. In addition, the permanent presence of tradition in the lives of Jews over the generations gives the Jewish past the character of a “logos,” in whose absence — as Kurzweil believed happened in late Sabatianism and Frankism — distortion and danger threaten the Jewish being (Kurzweil, 1960, 98). This means that the permanence does not only portray an ontological reality but also bears an epistemic mark, originating in the Jewish past being a constant object for the references of Jews. In any case, recognizing the existence of an epistemic element, revealing the relation of the transcendent entity to the human world, does not detract from this entity’s ontological reality or its independence on the human references directed at it. Indeed, Kurzweil himself clarifies the difference between the usual concept of the past and the one stamped with the mark of the transcendent entity and identified with God. The former is controlled by the chronological order in which the past is identified with what has passed and the present is perceived as leading to the future, while the latter denotes a static and supra-temporal or even a‑temporal level in which all three t­emporal

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dimensions are united. In fact, the transcendent “time” is not time but reality, in which “the barriers between past and present” are eliminated (Kurzweil, 1973a, 106);18 in which “what happened “as if promoted generations,” characters, and events from thousands of years ago […] as if […] they live among us. They are reality, existence […]” (ibid., 35).19 At the same time, the present enfolds fragments of time from the past that join together —a joining that expropriates from the present its distinction from the past and prevents the possibility of identifying it with the real being. Thus, the real being portrays contemporary phenomena, it bears with it the past presence that grants it meaning and significance that breach the boundaries of the present. In this spirit, Kurzweil states that the “religious traditional world,” which serves as an “epic object,” denotes the “appearances of Jewish life” that have their own justification and internal reason “within [the] reality above all the realities” (Kurzweil, 1962, 200). This means that the traditional world does not only bear its meaning within its own boundaries due to the power of the transcendent entity that constitutes it and is portrayed in it; like the transcendent entity itself, with whose presence it is permeated, the world of religious tradition conquers an ontological status that is not dependent on the real reality in which it is present without being assimilated: “God is the truth […] but since reality is also the truth, and despite everything it is not possible to answer as a result that God is reality —because he is more than it” (Kurzweil, 1970a, xiii-xiv).20

18

For more on the renewed time, see Eliade, 1971, 50–84.

19

The origin of the perception that the presence bears within it a real past, necessarily intertwined with it, is in the thought of Heidegger and Gadamer, with which Kurzweil was familiar. See Heidegger, 1993, § 72– 7. See also Barash, 1988; Gadamer, 2004, 177, 240–50, 284–97. Kurzweil was undoubtedly influenced by Heidegger’s approach, developed and refined by Gadamer. But his approach went further, and perhaps under Jungian influence interpreted the past presence in terms of myth and archetype.

20

The relation between the entity and truth is a central theme in Heidegger’s late thought. The truth in this context is considered both as portraying the entity in its appearance or its non-concealment (aletheia) and the entity itself (Sein). Under the influence of the Pre-Socratic philosophers, Heidegger defines truth as the entity’s original exposure and revelation. See e. g., Heidegger, 1977b, § 5, 6; 1993, § 44–5.





Chapter Four. The Ahistorical Element in Jewish History

The observation that recognizes the unique features of Jewish history is capable, in Kurzweil’s opinion, of exposing “a  synoptic vision of the past, present, and future,” or “a uniform vision of the past, present, and future […] saturated in archaic elements […]” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 69), as well as the living and active presence of myth within it (ibid., 86).21 Kurzweil clarifies that the ahistorical dimension present in Jewish history is in fact its past and the element of its reality. In his approach, the metaphysical features of Jewish history do not detract from its reality, and it seems that thanks to this it can exist within the realm of real human history, although as a distinct and unique channel of events. However, the “synoptic vision” Kurzweil sketches is not exhausted by its abstract meanings. Kurzweil attributes to it the power to influence the real context in which Jewish existence takes place. In his opinion, this vision is capable of releasing from the “double tragedy” originating in the “deceptions of false beliefs, the belief in progress and humanity” on the one hand, and from the false allure of the “now” on the other hand; and from the failure in which the “skins of history” are exchanged for “its core” (Kurzweil, 1960, 128–9). It can extricate us from the perception that identifies the substantive element of Jewish history with the real present-day appearances. In this context, the past is granted a decisive weight in understanding processes in the present and in constituting the vision of the future: “Everything that is revived, everything that is rebuilt in the fatherland, does not float and rise by itself. The nation’s past, two thousand years of exile, imprint their stamp upon all the new” (Kurzweil, 1962, 133). Beyond the unconditionality and permanence granted to Jewish history due to the dominance of the past presence within it, Kurzweil believes that it is the past that gives this history its fullness and vitality, rather than the present relations to it or its assumed implications for the picture of the future. This can be understood from his review of S. Yizhar’s Days of Ziklag:

21



The archaic unity and archetypes also serve as criteria for the ontological status of the literary work itself. On the synoptic view and its connection to what Kurzweil calls the tragedy of modern Hebrew literature, see Kurzweil, 1960, 127–9. Elsewhere, Kurzweil refers to “the unity of Jewish culture,” and refers to Max Wiener’s story, “The Jewish Religion in the Emancipation Era” (Wiener, 1964) (see Kurzweil, 1960, 17). Goultschin refers to Kurzweil’s relying on Wiener in several places. See Goultschin, 2009, 29 n. 4, 47 n. 20, 45.

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[…] This crumbling of time into an endless row of “now” prevents the formation of the epic time-unity. That unity is not possible, of course, if being, of the individual and of the group, is saturated with emptiness and nothingness. […] [The theme] of Days of Ziklag, the eulogy for the great emptiness engulfing everything and the vindictive exposure from painful desire of the nothing at the bottom of all that exists. […] That sense of emptiness, the zero, […] is also an expression of a  non-historical relation to life, to the landscape, and to the role imposed upon people. We can say that almost everyone […] has lost the connection to history, and this is no surprise. For they are only present, believers in the now! […] The non-historical now is described. The past is dead for the young fighters in the name of its demands! (Kurzweil, 1973a, 420–1)

The positive features that Kurzweil identifies in Jewish history, from which in his opinion its uniqueness stems —the archetype, the repetitiveness, the eternality, the staticness in which the three temporal dimensions are unified —fill his perception of history with contents and moderate the rigidity of its characterization in terms of divinity, reality, and presence. However, they cannot open it to the understanding and interpretation of subjects of a given time, which also involves epistemic dimensions. The lack of those is not coincidental, and is even done deliberately by Kurzweil, who explains in reference to the nineteenth-century Jewish historicism that “Judaism and its truths are not dependent on a state of mind and the historical reality that passes and leaves” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 109). The “renunciation of universality” (Kurzweil, 1960,  126) that Kurzweil identified in Greenberg’s poetry constitutes a  radical expression of the independence of Jewish history on real processes. Kurzweil states categorically that “Greenberg’s poems cannot announce another, more convenient, “more realistic” truth, since then they would lose the authenticity” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 86).22 Finally, detaching the dependence of the transcendent entity on its appearance, and seeing hiddenness as a more reliable feature of its ontology, established in Kurzweil’s perception of history a clearly ahistorical element. Like Yerushalmi, for Kurzweil the ahistorical is closely

22



Opposition to realism also guided Kurzweil’s attitude to Marxist realism, based on “belief in history as a total process” (see Kurzweil, 1976; 1973b, 74).

Chapter Four. The Ahistorical Element in Jewish History

related to recognizing the permanent and influential presence of the transcendent entity in Jewish history. However, while for Yerushalmi the connection to this entity exhausts the ahistorical, Kurzweil offers a detailing of the ahistorical into its historical appearances, meaning archetypes, repetitiveness, eternality, and staticness. These join together and extricate Jewish history from the varied interpretations directed at it: “Jewish history is ahistory. It is without a future and present […] “only the past remains”” (Kurzweil, 1960, 251).

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Chapter Five

Secularization, History, and Historiography A. “Autonomous Secularism” and Transcendent Presence The hiddenness of the transcendent entity, which played a key role in forming Kurzweil’s metaphysical approach to Jewish history, serves as a starting point also for understanding his position regarding the secularization phenomenon among the Jewish nation. In principle, the absence of God from secular Jewish existence is not perceived as his ontological absence, since his reality is not conditioned upon his appearance or any epistemic affirmation that might be granted to it in a  given time. Kurzweil states explicitly that God’s character is independent of the meaning attributed to it, for example in the orthodox worldview: “It is not possible to identify Judaism […] with that “sacred faith,” whether the “guardians of the Jewish faith” approved it or not” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 109). His self-identification as having “strong anti-orthodox tendencies’ and “opposing […] forcefully the mixture of realms between Judaism as a religious faith and Judaism as a body of “historical phenomena”” (ibid., 182) adds a personal dimension that contributes to fortifying the independence of God’s ontological reality on epistemic, faith, or ideological relations toward religion and toward real historical phenomena.1 So this is the firm ground on which Kurzweil deals with the penetration of secularization into modern Jewish existence, and with its creative expressions. At the same time, Kurzweil recognized the reality of secularization in the Jewish nation and noted its dominance in the formation of modern Judaism and of the artistic works developed within it. His assumption of a fundamental connection between literature and the historical reality in which a serious turning took place is apparent in the following words: “A crossroads in the periods of literature

1



In his autobiographical book, Yacov Katz stresses Kurzweil’s criticism and even derision for Orthodox Judaism (Katz, 1979, 75–6).

Chapter Five. Secularization, History, and Historiography

is no coincidence, nor is it an artificial thing. Something decisive in the nation’s cultural awareness is what steers the development of the spiritual creation in a new direction.”2 Kurzweil stresses that secularism is not expressed in any particular detail or in “treatment of a particular secular topic” (Kurzweil, 1960, 15–6). Also, the change does not derive from the very appearance of secular elements. Kurzweil writes that “There were indeed already before the eighteenth century […] individuals in our literature whose attitude to the “unity of Jewish culture” in the traditional sense became problematic.” Furthermore, he states, “A sacred life may also contain secular elements” (ibid., 17).3 While in the past the secular aspects served as “an integral part of the world of religious sanctity,” the contemporary secularization phenomenon is, in Kurzweil’s opinion, revolutionary due to its being part of “an autonomous secularism, from a secular world” (ibid., 43), “emptied of the ancient certainty of a background of sanctity tangential to all the phenomena of life and measuring their value” (ibid., 16). In his perception, secularization is not limited to the loss of the social control of the religious establishment, but denotes an overall reality in which the place of the transcendent dimension is pushed aside.

2

Kurzweil interpreted Jewish history in secular terms in his famous polemic with Halkin, who argued that the Haskalah literature and that of the Wissenschaft des Judentums continued the ancient Jewish literature from biblical times, which was never absolutely religious, but also dealt with human and general matters (see Halkin, 1950). Kurzweil claimed that the separation between these two dimensions was a revolution (see Kurzweil, 1960, 40–9), and connected Halkin’s approach with the Zionist approach that sought to detach Judaism from its link to religious contents, and with Scholem’s arguments in his famous essay “A Mitzvah achieved through an Offense” (“Mitzvah Haba’ah BeAveira”) (see Scholem, 1982b, 9–67) regarding the Haskalah and the Sabbatianism that preceded it as the fruit of internal Jewish developments (Kurzweil, 1960, 79–96). For more on the polemic between Kurzweil and Halkin, see Zadof, 2005.

3

In principle, a position assuming detachment from religious certainty does not necessarily imply the total negation of God’s existence, but only the declaration of his irrelevance to human existence, as a result of which reality is perceived as empty of God. In this reality, religion can continue to fill various roles in the human experience, but its contents lose some of their original significance and are subject to earthliness, which determines itself the meaning of sanctity, aimed at and originating from man (see also Kurzweil, 1960, 43). The roots of the modern perception seeing the world as empty of divine presence is in the Protestant tradition. On this issue, see Berger, 1990, 43.





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So, Kurzweil’s perception of Jewish history connects the metaphysical position regarding the independence of the transcendent entity on real reality and on the subjective relations to it on the one hand, and the recognition of the significance and comprehensive presence of the secularization phenomenon in the Jewish nation on the other hand, although the status of these two is not equal. Without doubt, the influence of the transcendent entity on Jewish history is more dominant and significant than of the secularization phenomenon, although the latter is not overpowered by the former. Kurzweil characterizes the relations between the transcendent presences and secularization as dialectical tension, and remarks that it is “the fruit of the historical paradox that precisely at the historical time when the certainty of faith ceased to be the nation’s supreme asset, this nation identifies with its past, affirming first and foremost its own essence, though it can no longer live its past and its essence according to the accepted categories” (ibid., 31–2). The historical nature of the tension enfolds not only its collective character breaching the boundaries of the world of the individual author, who could not escape the connection to the nation’s past even if he wanted to. Moreover, in this context the historical also bears an ontological flavor, overcoming the epistemic dimensions involved in the individual’s connection to his past. The dominance of the ontological element is thus apparent not only in aspects dealing with the transcendent entity or God’s image, but also in the approach to the real phenomena of Jewish history.4

4



This interpretation differs from that suggested by Schwartz, stressing the tension between romanticism and intellectualism in shaping Kurzweil’s aesthetic approach, and thus anchoring them in a cultural-epistemic framework (see Schwartz, 1976, 180). I also have reservations regarding Goultschin’s interpretation, arguing that “two opposing starting points” ruled Kurzweil’s hermeneutics (see Goultschin, 2009, 45–52). In this context, compare with Zadof, whose interpretation of Kurzweil’s argument with Scholem presented “three different, intertwined circles of criticism, the ideological circle, the moral-religious circle, and the personal psychological circle, with all three of them developing in parallel over the years” (Zadof, 2007, 315). As mentioned, I claim that the metaphysical element is dominant and decisive in shaping Kurzweil’s hermeneutic work, and that its roots are in the discourse with the European culture that shaped his world as a scholar and researcher.

Chapter Five. Secularization, History, and Historiography

B. Wissenschaft des Judentums, Jewish Studies, and “Biased Subjectivity” Just as recognizing the transcendent entity positioned Kurzweil’s interpretation of Hebrew literature on its path of discovery, it also guided his studies in the contemporary polemic regarding Jewish historiography as founded by the Wissenschaft des Judentums. In principle, Kurzweil believes that “Modern Hebrew literature is repeating the tangle of problems with which the members of Wissenschaft des Judentums struggled,” since in both the “crisis of faith” became a fact, and religion “became, in principle, an object of research” (Kurzweil, 1960, 20). In his opinion, turning to the sources of the past, both in modern Hebrew literature and by the creators of the Wissenschaft des Judentums does not rely on belief in “the source’s sanctity and divine origin,” but expresses “overtly or silently” a reference seeing them “in secular eyes in [their] historical formation” (ibid., 27). Without doubt, these premises contain the basic connection Kurzweil found between secularization and the historical perspective in the modern Jewish world, and their elucidation is essential to the understanding of his metaphysical perception of Hebrew literature. Kurzweil’s interest in the Wissenschaft des Judentums was not limited to “the historization of Judaism, the assumption in principle of the Wissenschaft des Judentums [… being] a  spiritual element of our modern literature” (ibid., 20). From his study of the historicistic worldview at the basis of the constituting of Jewish Studies ever since the Wissenschaft des Judentums, whether directly or indirectly through his interpretations of Hebrew literature, Kurzweil was able to indicate a new metaphysical perspective of Jewish historicism as a whole. In principle, Kurzweil did not see the Wissenschaft des Judentums and its founders as a dramatic milestone in modern Jewish history. He argued that “The historization of Judaism started to be a reality for part of the nation even before the Wissenschaft des Judentums” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 194), and the knowledge of “historical facts” “was always common among the nation” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 87). This approach is fundamentally different from that of Gershom Scholem, who described the appearance of the Wissenschaft des Judentums in dramatic and even demonic terms: “The metaphysical platform of the Wissenschaft des Judentums contains something scary. Souls detached from their bodies and wandering naked in the

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desert”5; and “This horrific giant […] this immense creature, full of explosive force, composed of vitality, evil, and perfection […].”6 Kurzweil’s approach also differed from that expressed later by Yerushalmi, who emphasized that the secularization that created the break in modern Jewish existence did not stem from the Haskalah period but from the formation of historiography at the beginning of the nineteenth century,7 which in his opinion offered a positive alternative to the traditional Jewish way of life: “[…] history becomes what it had never been before —the faith of fallen Jews. For the first time history, not a  sacred text, becomes the arbiter of Judaism.”8 Unlike the approach expressed by Scholem and later Yerushalmi, Kurzweil expressed a degree of affirmation and appreciation toward the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, who in his opinion “knew well that without living Judaism the Jews have no future. History in itself never became for them a substitute for Judaism or its essence” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 218). Thus, Kurzweil was unknowingly able to reply in almost the exact same term to Yerushalmi, who dealt with this issue much later.9 Furthermore, Kurzweil states categorically that “It is ridiculous to accuse individuals of “sins” against processes that are not under our control” (ibid., 194). In his opinion, even in the world of literary creation the individual cannot conquer the space: “The I cannot raise his world around the axis of unqualified individuality, due

5

Scholem, 1976a, 390.

6

Ibid., 396.

7



See Yerushalmi, 1989, 82–3. See also ibid., 74–5. As we recall, Yerushalmi opened the chapter in which he addressed the phenomenon of Jewish historicism as established by the Wissenschaft des Judentums by mentioning the fact that “a professional Jewish historian” appears only from the “second decade of the nineteenth century” onwards (ibid., 81).

8



Yerushalmi, 1989, 86.

9



Kurzweil’s positive attitude in principle toward the Wissenschaft des Judentums usually remained unnoticed by his critics, who concluded from his metahistorical position that he objected to the historization of Judaism. Thus, for example, argues Amir: “In his [Kurzweil’s] eyes, this attempt [of Zionism to introduce Judaism into history and grant it a historical interpretation] continues the path of the Wissenschaft des Judentums and of the reform that sought […] to deprive Judaism of its metahistorical nature in principle and to subject it to the rules of history. Such a subjection means the death of Judaism” (Amir, 2004, 322). See also Myers, 2003, 159.



Chapter Five. Secularization, History, and Historiography

to the brakes of the collective self in the soul of the heroes” (Kurzweil, 1960, 246). So Kurzweil argues that the processes that shaped the image of modern Judaism preceded the appearance of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, which in itself did not mark for him the break point in modern Judaism. Moreover, Kurzweil believed that individuals as such cannot have a dramatic role in history, which in his opinion bears a metaphysical power exceeding the individual’s boundaries. Kurzweil did indeed criticize the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums for feeding from external sources of culture, and in particular the Hegelian sources that fed German historicism in the early nineteenth century, and in this context he asks: “What does the Jewish nation have to do with the scientific nerves and the historical idols of the gentiles?” In his opinion, turning outside the Jewish sources portrays “a nausea of self-alienation,” and more importantly, it misses the uniqueness of Jewish history, which he characterized as the “pluralism of abnormality” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 206–7).10 But still, in his opinion its founders “were more aware of the problematics of their work than their present-day heirs,” to whom he directed his criticism (ibid., 197). These were in his eyes only “apparently the heirs and legitimate speakers of Judaism” (ibid., xvii). So, for instance, he notes, “Heine well understood the connection between Judaism’s new situation and a new interpretation of messianic yearnings. […] Today, the self-satisfaction of the complacent dialecticians anaesthetizes and silences any self-criticism, and they are far from understanding what people like Heine and Gans realized, that science cannot take the place of poetry and certainly not of religion” (ibid., 197). In general, Kurzweil believes that the relation to Judaism cannot take place on the intellectual level alone, and even declares categorically that “Jewish Studies cannot stand alone; it is not a “pure” science and research filed, withdrawing when necessary into the realm of

10



In this context, compare Leopold Zunz’s programmatic words in his famous essay “Something on Rabbinical Literature”: “The problem of the Jews is approached just like their literature, and both are pounced upon with biased enthusiasm, whether to raise them to the zenith or lower them to the pit” (in Mendes-Flohr, 1980, 83). However, the dialectic between the ideal of scientific objectivity and the need for intimate familiarity with the sources as a condition for studying their truth accompanied the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums and echoes even in this essay of Zunz, whose discussion exceeds the scope of the current context.

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­ istory, philology, and archaeology” (ibid., 218).11 So the problem stems h from the status granted to the historical viewpoint, which seeks to conquer for itself the totality of the Jewish existence that preceded it. In this situation, the historical viewpoint becomes a reliable reflection of the state of Jewish existence: “The more the faith of the Jewish nation in the fountains of its existence, meaning the sacred texts announcing the dual abnormality of its existence, is reduced —due to studies speaking in the name of historical truth, in the name of historical reality —the greater the danger to its continued existence as the Jewish nation” (ibid., 209). The dangerous separation between Jewish Studies and the existence of Judaism, which in Kurzweil’s opinion characterizes Jewish Studies in his time, did not characterize the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, as “even the most apostate among them still show a deeper understanding of the essence of Judaism and the seriousness of its problems than a large proportion of contemporary Israeli intellectuals and thinkers” (ibid., 214). Unlike the latter, described as showing “provincial complacency,” doubting themselves and enjoying the achievements of Jewish Studies “that are in fact the perpetuation of the worship of the giant mountain of dead paper,” Kurzweil states that the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums actually “understood the close connection between the efforts to find a cure for the Jews” situation and the necessity to deal again with the problem of the Jews.” And that the Jews and Judaism cannot be separated, and even “started to guess that the Jewish existence has no future without the existence of Judaism” (ibid., 216–7), or alternately, “realized that without living Judaism there is no future for the Jews. History in itself never became for them a substitute for Judaism or

11



Against the background of the connection Kurzweil finds between the phenomenon of historicism and modern Hebrew literature it is not surprising that he also identifies in it a greater emphasis on the intellectual level. “The Hebrew author knows that his critical problem is only a symptom of his nation’s disease, which only reached complete consciousness in this generation. Every decisive encounter with the forces of life will cast a mark of disgrace on the I, which is the member of a nation that knew how to develop “knowledge” at the expense of “life itself”” (Kurzweil, 1960, 246–7); “We Jews are […] calculating and knowledgeable precisely in those matters that are greater than calculation and knowledge, meaning in life itself; life […] has been removed from us due to books” (ibid., 247).

Chapter Five. Secularization, History, and Historiography

its essence” (ibid., 218).12 Kurzweil even deduced from the name this group of Jewish scholars chose for itself —Society for the Culture and the Scientific Study of the Jews —that “they were still deterred by the later recognition regarding the artificiality in separating the problem of the Jews and the problem of Judaism” (ibid., 217). In addition, Kurzweil believed that the problem did not stem from directing the historical gaze to Judaism;13 indeed, this viewpoint could help deal with the spiritual aspects of Judaism. Thus, for instance, he argues about the author Feierberg, whose secularism was a declared matter, “since the feeling was awake in his soul for the process of historical formation of Judaism, there is no poet before him in our literature who noted as much as he did the extent of the spiritual crisis” (Kurzweil, 1960, 154). In his opinion, scientific research can even accord with a real and direct relation with Jewish existence, and states: “The very research into the problems of Judaism brings to a renewed and fateful meeting with the essence of Jewish existence, and this means that the question of Jewish Studies becomes, naturally, an existential problem” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 218).14 In his opinion, this meeting already took place in the period of the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums:

12

In this context, Kurzweil considers favorable to the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums what was for Gershom Scholem the first of three contradictions that determined the failure of the Wissenschaft des Judentums: “The contradiction between the repeated declarations of “pure and objective science,” that is merely a branch of science in general and that has no purpose outside it —and the prominent fact of the political role that this science came to play, sought to play, and was accepted by public opinion in order to play” (Scholem, 1976a, 387).

13

In this context, compare with Yerushalmi’s approach, which unlike Kurzweil’s considers the problematic to stem from the very turning of Jewish history into an object of research, and stresses the innovation and revolutionism in this act (see Yerushalmi, 1989, 84).

14

Kurzweil made a similar argument concerning modern Hebrew literature, which, despite its secularism would be capable of expressing appropriately the truth of Judaism: “We should not lose hope that the secular basis of our nation’s life, whose guarantee is the renewed kingdom of Israel, will also enable a renewed, fruitful meeting with the spiritual religious contents of our culture, and then modern Hebrew literature will discover its renewed identity with our ancient literature” (Kurzweil, 1960, 146). This citation will be discussed later in another context.







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The belief in history as if it enabled the Jewish intellectuals in nineteenth-century Europe to identify with the picture of Judaism in the past, as apparently raised by the “objective” historical research, after the character of present-day Judaism no longer left room for personal identification. Studying the past history thus raised hopes for the renewal of the character of Judaism in the future. (ibid., 144–5)

Marking the turning point in modern Jewish history as prior to the appearance of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, and expressing his appreciation to its founders while stressing the difference between them and their successors in Jewish Studies, seem like an attempt on Kurzweil’s part to defend Jewish historicism and to turn attention to wider processes, whose tangible impressions he identified in the situation and study of Judaism in his time. The minor role he attributed to the Wissenschaft des Judentums in comparison with these processes is even more apparent when he criticizes typical features of this phenomenon as detached from it. Thus, for example, he rejects the very possibility of objectivity in the humanities (ibid., 184), without linking this to the vision of the Wissenschaft des Judentums. Kurzweil even shows contempt for the historicistic viewpoint, calling it “the historiosophic game” (Kurzweil, 1960, 66), and states that it thwarts the possibility of achieving the original target that guided it: obtaining an objective evaluation of the past.15 On the surface, Scholem expressed a  similar criticism of the “repeated declarations about “pure and objective science”” among the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, and argued that “such objectivity has not and cannot be.” Yerushalmi also claimed that “[…] those who would demand of the historian that he be the restorer of

15



On viewing objectivity as an influential ideal in the formation of Jewish historiography, see Conforti, 2006, 27–54; Wieseltier, 1984. In the general context, see also Novick, 1993; Iggers, 1997, 51–64. Iggers shows that up to the 1970s general historiography was ruled by two approaches: the first was developed by Ranke, dominated during the nineteenth and twentieth century, and was centered around the historical event described on a diachronic continuum with constant striving for objectivity; the second was influenced by scientific positivism, and absorbed influences from the social sciences (Iggers, 1997, 1–19).

Chapter Five. Secularization, History, and Historiography

Jewish memory attribute to him powers that he may not possess.”16 However, while for Yerushalmi, and even more so for Scholem, scientific objectivity was a  personal aspiration and a  worthy goal that should guide research in Jewish Studies, for Kurzweil “absolute historical objectivity is not possible” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 130), and indeed he even considers it generally undesirable and even irrelevant regarding Jewish history: The truth of the “scholars of history” did not provide for the nation; it is only important to historians, it is a modern myth, [… relying] on subjective axioms of “facts” and such private beliefs, […] without being able to breach the vicious circle of mere subjectivity. The truth of the “scholars of history” acts under the commands of the god of historicism, who is the god of the science of the normalization and historization of Judaism. But [… this] is not the God of Israel. (ibid., 209)17

Furthermore, Kurzweil even states that “there is nothing wrong with biased subjectivity.” In his opinion, “when the historian views it correctly, admits it and the natural limitations of his research,” it even has two advantages: it does not turn the present into “merely a transition step.” Also, by shifting the emphasis from the importance of the past to the present with its complete revolutionary meaning, the historian relinquishes the effort or aim, in his relation to the past, “to know things as they really happened” (ibid., 223).18 Kurzweil’s c­riticism

16

Scholem, 1976a, 386–91; Yerushalmi, 1989, 93–4.

17

Against the background of these words, and Kurzweil’s critical attitude to Scholem’s work, Myers lists Kurzweil with the anti-historicistic trend. Myers connects this opposition to Kurzweil’s orthodox position, and also includes the approach of Yeshayahu Leibowitz (Myers, 2003, 157–8). However, the commonality between Leibowitz and Kurzweil on this point is very limited and topical. First, unlike Kurzweil, Leibowitz is referring to historical knowledge rather than to the historicistic trend with its unique characteristics. Second, and more important, while Kurzweil’s considerations are primarily metaphysical, those of Leibowitz are mainly practical (even if they bear metaphysical implications). On Leibowitz’s attitude toward history, see Leibowitz, 1982, 140–69; 1988, 112.

18

One of the problems raised by recognizing the pointlessness of the attempt to achieve a complete and accurate understanding of the past is the rel-





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of Ahad Ha’am —who sought in his opinion to interpret Judaism as a system of moral imperatives and thus return to the “innocent haskalah position” that abandoned the relation to the transcendent reality of the living God (Kurzweil, 1960, 121) —shows that the origin of the filledness of subjectivity in Kurzweil’s approach is not primarily epistemic. This is actually the main point of his criticism of historicism and of Jewish Studies. While the historicistic position is directed at the past and portrays a reference to it on the epistemic level, aiming at obtaining understanding and objectivity, in Kurzweil’s perception the present is granted importance in the world of subjectivity, and the representation of the past bears an ontological stamp that preserves the presence of the transcendent dimension. Subjectivity in Kurzweil’s approach has a  double role: it makes the immanent existence space cohesive, and this cohesion enables the relation to the transcendent. In contrast, the ideal of objectivity exposes the immanent space to external factors that damage its internal cohesion, and do not help in the formation of a relation to the transcendent. I shall return to this point later. Thus Kurzweil completes his criticism of the detached and objective ethos that would over the years adhere to the Wissenschaft des Judentums and its heirs. His approach shows that subjectivity can enjoy the fullness of the past, which can find fertile ground for its realization in the present. I will return to the issue of subjectivity later. Kurzweil’s radicalism is particularly prominent in his criticism of the concept “historical reality,” at the basis of historicism, which he believes lacks any connection to real Jewish existence. Kurzweil even testified that he did not himself know what historical reality was (Kurzweil, 1970a, 154). So this is not a criticism of the first Jewish historians, who apparently aimed at a worthy target but did not approach it with the right tools. In fact, Kurzweil believes that the target these historians aimed at was not real, and thus the effort to achieve it was pointless from the beginning: “Historical reality” exists exclusively in the research books, good or bad, or the researchers and workers of history. […]

ativism of historical knowledge. This problem has been widely handled in the discourse that developed around Gadamer’s hermeneutics. See Bilen’s extensive study (Bilen, 2000). A similar approach was expressed by Funkenstein, 1993, 21.

Chapter Five. Secularization, History, and Historiography The nation’s life did not and does not take place according to this “historical reality,” which is merely a  pretentious fiction. Because of this, there is decisive importance to the portraits of Abraham, Jacob, Moses, David […] as they are preserved in the nation’s consciousness. The arbitrary selection of “facts,” of endless papers, will change nothing. It is the interest of the historicism workers, the devotees of Jewish Studies. Even tens of thousands of “documents” and of “scientific facts” do not create any “historical reality.” (ibid., 209)

Disputing the concept “historical reality,” criticizing the ideal of objectivity that guided modern historical research, and the attempt to position subjectivity as an alternative reality that bears its past within it, are interlinked in Kurzweil’s approach. He sees Judaism as a stronger reality than the intellectual states of mind, and even than the historical process of secularization or the appearance of Jewish historicism that its history brought it. His approach was not exhausted by marking the breaking point in the modern Jewish being at a different, earlier point of time than that proposed by his colleagues to the polemic regarding the Wissenschaft des Judentums, or by a unique understanding of the phenomenon of Jewish historicism. He sought to make radical arguments in which his metaphysical worldview clearly resounded. His perception of Judaism as a unique phenomenon, bearing its meaning within its own boundaries, is an outcome of understanding real Jewish existence as independent of changing and passing historical phenomena. This accords with his metaphysical-ontological perspective, which evaluated real Jewish existence as a  reality independent of its abstract expressions and the access paths derived from them. Kurzweil’s critical positions join his basic disputing of the classic historicistic approach that sought to study Judaism using general criteria. In contrast, he sought to stress the uniqueness of Judaism as a historical phenomenon, bearing its meaning within its own boundaries. While in the discourse common among historians the Wissenschaft des Judentums was portrayed as a phenomenon split between what Scholem called “the preserving trends and the destroying trends in this science,”19 in Kurzweil’s approach, the power and autonomy of Jewish

19



Scholem, 1976a, 389.

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existence overcame the problematic aspects he identified in Jewish Studies at the time, let alone those originating from the Wissenschaft des Judentums, to which his approach attributed a minor influence, and with whose founders Kurzweil identified expressions of connection and affirmation toward Jewish existence.20 Thus Kurzweil expanded the boundaries of the discourse in the polemic that developed around Jewish historicism as founded by the Wissenschaft des Judentums, and positioned this phenomenon as an intellectual and historical phenomenon on a wider continuum of basic processes in the history of modern Judaism. In this, Kurzweil reversed the position believing that the historization of Judaism caused a break in Jewish existence. His words show that despite Judaism being a historical phenomenon that is not ignored by the impressions of time, the ontological meaning of Jewish existence is independent of its epistemic perceptions or even its history. This is a thorough observation of the limited weight of intellectual phenomena in Jewish existence. In any case, Kurzweil does not argue that Jewish existence constitutes a  continuation of the pre-modern Jewish existence, and admits that “the loss of the innocent faith has acquired new dimensions in the modern era” (ibid., 194). It is possible to argue that precisely because he did attribute to the Wissenschaft des Judentums, as both a historical and an intellectual phenomenon, excessive influence over the formation of modern Jewish existence, he could not see it as an obstacle to the continuity of this existence. Additionally, Kurzweil interpreted

20



Kurzweil’s position on the autonomy typical of Jewish existence is more radical than the one at the basis of the autonomous approach to the study of history, relying primarily on methodological considerations, which sought to guarantee the uniqueness of historical research within the humanities, against those who wished to integrate methods from the social sciences. Conforti shows that as a result of this methodological polemic, two approaches to the study of history formed: the autonomous approach, preserving a unique place for history not among the social sciences but among the humanities; and the assimilatory approach, locating the historian within the social sciences (Conforti, 2006, 48). Conforti states that the Jerusalem School preferred the autonomous approach, while Katz preferred the assimilatory approach (ibid., 44 n. 57). In Kurzweil’s approach, historical continuity denotes first and foremost the continuity of the transcendent entity, but it is not possible to condition Jewish existence upon mental processes, let alone guarantee that the results of these processes will indeed ensure it.

Chapter Five. Secularization, History, and Historiography

the persistent transcendent presence in modern Jewish existence and the artistic creation accompanying it, despite the break caused in it by secularization, as evidence for Judaism’s resilience and its status as a reality that is not dependent upon subjective references to it. Thus, from the appearance of the break, the reality of continuity arises. This brings us to the issue of continuity.

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Break and Continuity A. “Does it exist or not?” The question whether the Judaism that the Wissenschaft des Judentums sought to historicize continues the Jewish existence that preceded it, or whether it caused a break or even a rift in Jewish existence, which constantly interested modern Jewish historiography, also appears in Kurzweil: “Does it [Judaism] exist or not?” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 182–3).1 This dichotomous presentation undoubtedly reflects the tension that split the founders of the Society for Culture and the Scientific Study of the Jews (1819) between those who saw Judaism as a phenomenon whose time had passed and perceived historical research as a “science [that] demands an account of what has been finished,”2 and those who believed: “there is not merely a historical interest in Judaism, not something that has passed, whose time has ended, a principle that was not preserved except in the pages of the records of time; it still lives. And many still belong to it.”3 Like Yerushalmi, who claimed that

1

Elsewhere Kurzweil asks, “In what sense does Judaism today remain a living value?” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 149), and recalls Akiva Ernst Simon’s famous essay, “Are We Still Jews?” In the background of this question, asked repeatedly in various forms, was the famous statement of Moritz Steinschneider, one of the founders of the Society for Culture and the Scientific Study of the Jews (1819): “Judaism is already dead, we seek to bring it to a decent burial”.

2

The words of Zunz cited by Mendes-Flohr, 1980, 82. Some see this perception of science as an expression of Hegelian influence. See for instance ibid., 82, note. However, this identification expresses a partial interpretation of the Hegelian perception of science, since along with the reductionistic process, according to the Hegelian approach, the phenomenon of preserving the achievements of the human spirit is also apparent in history.

3

See Emmanuel Wolf, “On The Concept of the Wissenschaft des Judentums,” in Mendes-Flohr, 1980, 79.







Chapter Six. Break and Continuity

“only in the modern era do we really find, for the first time, a Jewish historiography divorced from Jewish collective memory and, in crucial respects, thoroughly at odds with it”;4 and like Scholem, who believed that “Historical criticism, the living soul of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, could only fill its mission from a secular, actually antitheological frame of mind”;5 and like Rotenstreich, who claimed that “The Wissenschaft des Judentums is actually based on the assumption that the distance from the world of tradition is an existing fact, that it is necessary to accept and impossible to deny”6—Kurzweil too understood the Wissenschaft des Judentums as an effort to realize on the intellectual and creative level the fundamental values of secular culture: The historization of Judaism, the assumption in principle of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, consciously or unconsciously becomes a spiritual element of our modern literature […] This recognition, denying once and for all Judaism as an absolute value, is merely the logical result of a world that perceives its secularism as a  principle […] A  secular state of mind is what changed the world of our modern literature. This secular literature could therefore only emerge in a period that accepted historical criticism as a supreme criterion. (Kurzweil, 1960, 20–1)

The historiographic perspective of the issue of continuity, focusing on aspects relating to historical research, could not reflect Kurzweil’s metaphysical worldview, which shaped his hermeneutic work. His understanding that “Modern Hebrew literature is repeating the whole tangle of problems with which the members of the Wissenschaft des Judentums struggled” (ibid., 20), led him to trace the path of the historicistic approach in modern Hebrew literature, which he perceived as a reliable reflection of real Jewish reality.

4

Yerushalmi, 1989, 93.

5

Scholem, 1976a, 397.

6

Rotenstreich, 1987a, 35.



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B. “Three Approaches to Shaping Time” “[The] three approaches to shaping time” (Kurzweil, 1962, 235), which Kurzweil identified in Agnon’s work, will serve as a starting point for the discussion of the issue of continuity that was his focus in Jewish history. These are in fact three paradigms of the relations between the present and the past and between reality and its interpretation. The first indicates continuity between the pre-modern Jewish existence and the one that the Wissenschaft des Judentums sought to shape under the influence of historicism; the second indicates a break between the two periods; and the third denotes the effort at extrication from this binary position. The first two possibilities represent the two poles of the dichotomy that formed in the polemic around the Wissenschaft des Judentums, stamped with the mark of Scholem’s comment about “the preserving trends and the destroying trends” apparent in it.7 The third possibility contains the first two but denotes the effort at extrication from the binary position. Kurzweil does not himself connect the authors he discussed with one of the three possibilities he identified. However, his interpretation enables us to connect those authors to one of the three possibilities, according to the characterization he gave them. Understanding Kurzweil’s approach to the issue of continuity will therefore be constructed upon studying the traces of these three possibilities in his interpretation of literary works. Later it will transpire that his criticism of the three possibilities did not allow his approach to be exhausted within the boundaries they delimit, and led him to transcend them in favor of an independent perception.  he “First Possibility”: Physical Time, “Godless Theology,” T and Denying the Break The “first possibility” is defined as “a poetic reconstruction of the past with its unique temporal fluidum, without stressing and emphasizing the tension between the present and the time that has passed and gone” (ibid., 235). This approach represents the classical continuity thesis, which under the influence of the historicistic school perceives the present as a direct continuation of the past. The physical element of time typical of the “first possibility,” the “fluidum,” meaning the continuing

7



Scholem, 1976a, 389.

Chapter Six. Break and Continuity

flowing (ibid., 235), serves as an anchor for Kurzweil’s radical criticism of this approach, since this element is indifferent to the conscious reference to tradition and human intentionality in general. Even if Kurzweil seeks to anchor historical continuity in independent metaphysical elements, he does not see continuity as a guaranteed or independent occurrence, and as will transpire, human intentionality and the subjective dimension in general has a real role in its realization. So it is not surprising that in his discussion of the “first possibility,” Kurzweil directs his criticism at the perceptions that in his opinion denied the metaphysical dimension embodied in historical continuity, and that dimmed the subjective dimension involved in it. While the overt objects of his criticism are Scholem and Jacob Katz, in fact, the representative par excellence of this “first possibility” is Ahad Ha’am: What is frightening in these opinions is not the absence of any religious faith, but that there is a  sort of attempt to create a Godless theology. What is suspect and dangerous in all this method, which is interwoven throughout all of Ahad Ha’am’s writings, is particularly prominent in the incessant dealing with the values of the religious world and turning them automatically into building blocks for a world established upon the ruins of religious faith. What is seductive and deceptive is the pretense that there is continuity here, when in fact continuity assumes from silence the final loss of belief. And all this is done quietly, modestly, without a tone of polemic. The peace and quiet know how to disguise the total destruction of the religious faith basis. (Kurzweil, 1960, 212–3)

Through the term “Godless theology,” Kurzweil seeks to challenge the attempt at the basis of the continuity approach to avoid referring to the Jews using ontological-metaphysical terms.8 His words here are reminiscent of those of Scholem regarding the “excessive theologization and spiritualization” of the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums.9

8

On the attempts to interpret Judaism as a religion without metaphysics, see Sagi, 2003, 386–407.

9

Scholem, 1976a, 396. Idel argues that Scholem’s approach in this context “certainly owes a little (in my opinion —too much) to the theological background” (Idel, 2006, 186).



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Just as the spiritualization sterilizes the spirit of Judaism, so the theologization removes the sting of Jewish theology, denying the God at its basis. Kurzweil studies this approach in depth and seeks to make his final metaphysical conclusions. From his words it seems that this approach reluctantly expresses an ontological decision, even if it tries to hide this through what he called “the intellectual excuses,” which in Ahad Ha’am’s thought were apparent in the effort to interpret Judaism as “as system of moral imperatives.” In this context, Kurzweil adopted Franz Rosenzweig’s famous phrase “unfortunate slice of reality” to describe the problematic entailed in the revival from which God’s character is absent. From his metaphysical point of view, Kurzweil considered “national revival [as] assuming national loss” (Kurzweil, 1970a, xiii), and as “death” (ibid., xiv). The avoidance of the metaphysical, on which the perception of continuity in the “first possibility” is based, enfolds an attitude of dismissal toward “the religious faith background from which it finds its abstractions [that] was not considered in its eyes as having value in itself!” (Kurzweil, 1960, 214). It seems that from Kurzweil’s point of view this attitude does not enable the adoption of the self-perception of those who accepted this possibility and to see them as continuing the past. No less than the metaphysical determination at the basis of the continuity position, Kurzweil was concerned about the state of mind that surrounded it, which he interpreted as an expression of denying the turning point and the crisis in the Jewish being in the modern era. In this respect, his criticism of the “first possibility” also has realistic foundations. He interprets the approach of, “the sages of Jewish Studies […] apparently the heirs and legitimate spokesmen of Judaism” to the study of Jewish history “as if nothing happened” (ibid., xvii) as an expression of false consciousness, since it did not notice the gap and the break separating the pre-modern Jewish existence from the secular one. Elsewhere, Kurzweil calls the approach based on “national secular reasons” “false continuity” (Kurzweil, 1960, 63), “excessive simplification,” and “pretense” (ibid., 292). In Ahad Ha’am’s work, he even finds a dimension that borders on deception: “Ahad Ha’am uses the crumbs of the Judaism he dismantles to prove its continuity after he uses the crumbs to build a thought structure that is completely alien to Jewish thought” (ibid., 216–7). In Kurzweil’s eyes, turning to the sources of the past, apparent in the writings of thinkers belonging to this “possibility,” does not express a renaissance, and not only that, but it is a pretense “as if one can believe again the way people believed in the past,” while “in

Chapter Six. Break and Continuity

view of everyone the human tear and the trend of escape to the past is apparent in their soul” (ibid., 27). In the literary context, Kurzweil finds expression of this false consciousness in some of Agnon’s stories, presenting a reality in which “[…] everything just as if remains unchanged” (Kurzweil, 1962, 24). In his opinion, under the influence of the historicism as represented by the Wissenschaft des Judentums, modern Hebrew literature expresses a false presentation, as if the connection to Judaism can rely on a merely intellectual infrastructure: It is well-known that our modern literature […] almost reveals its absolute incapacity to reach a position that enables evaluating the past objectively. […] The historiosophic game comes in our literature in the place of a comprehensive historical understanding, and the purpose of this game is to prove apparently the spiritual historical continuity between modern explicitly secular phenomena and the past sacred world. (Kurzweil, 1960, 66)

Furthermore, Kurzweil believes that the attempt to interpret modern Jewish reality as if it expresses continuity actually reveals “the weakness of that world in its inability to overcome reality” (Kurzweil, 1962, 23), in which crises and break leave their mark. Ignoring them or even being unable to notice them may explain the “illusive character” that in Kurzweil’s opinion characterizes the heroes of this world (ibid., 21–5). However, Kurzweil believed the choice of the “historiosophic mask,” whose roots he located in the nineteenth century, would not succeed (Kurzweil, 1960, 214). In his opinion, the perspective relying on mental abstractions or on identification with moral ideals, as worthy as they may be, cannot deal with “real religious questions” relating to the loss of the reality of God in the secular experience (ibid., 212). “The sense of vacuum, the zero” (Kurzweil, 1973a,  420), which Kurzweil connects to the absence of God in the secular being, in no way portrays the continuity for which it argues but seeks to remove the past in favor of the present alone. However, in the life delimited only in the “now” (ibid., 421), he believed, only a false revival could be realized. Moreover, to the extent that modern Hebrew literature is subject to the problematic influences of the continuity approach entailed in the “first possibility,” it simultaneously reveals the lie in turning away from the heritage of the past in favor of the present-day secular reality. One of the repeated expressions in this context deals with the dimension of

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death, which he considers dominant in the national revival, lacking any ability to disguise it: Berdichevsky’s great discovery, expressing in prose what serves as a central motif in Bialik’s poems, stems from knowing that the intellectual release from the ancestral heritage does not change much for the individual regarding the irrational burden of the historical past. […] The individuum torn between different mental forces and existing in a constant struggle between reason and irrationality, unwillingly lives the pressure of all the preceding generations without believing in the need for this pressure. And because of this he is actually persecuted by his ancestors, even though his mind and consciousness have long ago shaken off the burden of the past […] The synagogue, the college, the ancestral tradition raise the atmosphere of the cemetery, which is an extreme contrast to life. (Kurzweil, 1960, 242–4)

From Agnon’s work, Kurzweil learns that: The flawed period lives an imaginary, artificial life. […] The narrator-confessor cannot sink roots in the soil of the present. […] Agnon cannot break free of the connection with his nation’s tradition. Instinctively he knows that the life of the time without the connections of tradition is detached […] If even the present time becomes problematic and flawed in comparison with the past time, and in terms of affirmation it is even meaningless, then it does not lack its negative meaning —it consumes and annihilates man. It is reminiscent of death. (Kurzweil, 1962, 238–9)

Eventually, the person who “denies the past” “returns to it as one” (Kurzweil, 1960, 293). The reason for the denial, the escape, and the falsehood being unable to succeed stems from Kurzweil’s recognition that the unconditional transcendent entity overcomes the subjective appearances, including those called “objective” that claim to be historical and even scientific truth. In the end, the “first possibility” that seeks to sketch continuity between the past and the present transpires as self-disproving, and is rejected absolutely. Among the worldviews discussed in this book, Funkenstein’s and Rotenstreich’s show significant proximity to the perception of con-

Chapter Six. Break and Continuity

tinuity entailed in the “first possibility,” to the extent that the removal of the figure of God and pushing aside the transcendent dimension from modern Jewish existence serve as a fundamental substrate to the secular approach of these two thinkers. However, each of them realizes a  different dimension embodied in the perception of continuity in the immanent space, in which the “first possibility” is anchored. Rotenstreich shares with it the perception of physical time, meaning the real following of the present after the past, as a starting point to clarify the continuity issue: “The continuous physical time, in which the historical occurrence is determined, is a condition for assuming the chain of historical events. The chain of historical events is a special layer established on the basic layer, meaning continuous time.”10 While Rotenstreich identified tension between the physical time framework, in which all the different occurrences are included indiscriminately, and the issue of continuity that assumes a certain process of selection, in which specific events are marked as having excessive importance compared with others —a process resulting in the historical occurrence being evaluated as “determined not within continuous time but above it.”11 Still, in his opinion the processes of historical selection do not disrupt the historical continuity, and this persists thanks to the function of the physical time framework as an unconditioned reality. In this spirit, he determined that “We can seek the guarantee for continuity only within the historical occurrence and in the connection between its events, and not beyond the occurrence […] Reluctantly we seek the element of continuity within the occurrence. This means that the guarantee of continuity is in the relations between different events and it is not prior to these events. Continuity is the problem of the process’s order and regularity.” In general, perceiving the physical time framework as immanent dictates that the field in which the meaning of the continuity issue should be immanent as well, within the realm of the occurrence itself, “in the relations between the events themselves,” and not in their connection to “a subject standing behind them,” meaning “the persisting or identical subject”12 standing outside or above the layer of occurrence itself. So we can state positively that

10

Rotenstreich, 1962a, 64.

11

Ibid., 65.

12

Ibid., 65.



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the concept of the historical subject was rejected from the boundary of the interpretation anchored in an immanent framework, since this is a transcendent element whose relation to the real occurrence embodies separateness and perhaps even a degree of foreignness. However, Rotenstreich’s assumption of the physical time framework in his discussion of the continuity issue, along with the general emphasis on the real dimensions of the present day reality discussed in the section of this book devoted to his thought, led him to deliberately reject the conscious dimension from the immanent context and determine explicitly the marginal status, if any, of the contents of tradition in the continuity issue: A modern Jew is a Jew seeking to live in the real world of the present in which he exists, with consciousness of the continuity with the generations that preceded him; he does not live with consciousness of the continuity of the contents regarding these generations. In the world of the modern Jew there is a separation between the component of belonging and the component of the continuity of the contents of the generations […] A person can see himself as a member of generations who lived according to the system of beliefs and opinions without seeing himself as subject to the norm of past generations. He bears in his heart a consciousness of proximity and continuity without interpreting it as the consciousness of continued devotion to the contents of past generations. This separation between continuation and continuity is a component —perhaps a decisive component —of the portrait of the modern Jew. It is part of his self-consciousness […] In practice the consciousness of continuity is not identical to the consciousness of continued devotion to a particular defined heritage.13

Precisely at the point where Rotenstreich’s perception excludes itself from the horizon of the “first possibility” noted by Kurzweil —by pushing aside the epistemic dimensions involved in realizing historical continuity —is where Funkenstein’s connection to this possibility resides. Rotenstreich did not see the epistemic connections to the past, which served the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, as an ele-

13



Rotenstreich, 1972b, 34.

Chapter Six. Break and Continuity

ment of continuity: “The line of Jewish creation, continuing for many generations, ceased and the Wissenschaft des Judentums does not come to continue this creation from a new awakening, but to understand the creation of the past through observing it”;14 while Funkenstein argued that the continuity between the present and the past is mediated by the consciousness that refers to the contents appearing in the canonical sources: “The same holds true for Jewish studies since the nineteenth century. How deeply did the radical historization of Judaism separate scholars from “collective” Jewish memory? Yerushalmi thought that this separation became almost total. I doubt it.”15 Even if the realization of the historical continuity in Funkenstein’s approach is not dependent upon achieving a uniform or agreed understanding of the sources of the tradition, or a binding interpretation of them, his perception of continuity was still permeated by a deep belief regarding the ability of the past contents to adapt to the world and being of present-day people. The complex relations between the various approaches of Rotenstreich and of Funkenstein to the constituting principles of the “first possibility” open a window on the complexity of this possibility, which is not clarified and detailed in Kurzweil’s representation. Furthermore, the fundamental tension between the ontological emphasis characterizing this possibility and apparent in Rotenstreich’s connection to it and the epistemic dimensions revealed through its tangent points with Funkenstein’s approach enables a deeper understanding of Kurzweil’s critique of it. As we have seen, this noted both the ontological determination entailed in “Godless theology” and the epistemic emphasis that accompanies it in the form of “intellectual excuses.” As we will see later, the ontological problematic embodied in this possibility concerns Kurzweil more than the epistemic links, which he will himself try to find room for in his own perception of continuity. From this we can conclude that on the issue of continuity the distance between Kurzweil and Rotenstreich is greater than that separating him from Funkenstein.

14

Rotenstreich, 1987a, 35.

15

Funkenstein, 1991, 19.



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The “Second Possibility”: Double Tragedy The second paradigmatic possibility is defined as “The clash and meeting between different temporal dimensions, with their contents and their values” (Kurzweil, 1962, 235). This possibility is based on recognition of the essential break between past and present in a reality of secularization, and naturally also on criticism of the continuity approach, claiming that it is no longer possible to bridge the worlds. These two constituting elements of the “second possibility” emerge from Kurzweil’s interpretation of the writings of Bialik, Brenner, Feierberg, and Agnon, which stressed the dominance granted in their work to the experience of break and loss that accompanied the distancing from the world of religious faith. For example, Kurzweil wrote about Brenner: “The burden of his Jewish fate […] became a nightmare [… and] the tragedy of the Jew who has lost his religious faith reaches its peak here” (Kurzweil, 1960, 125); and about Feierberg’s “Where To”: “It is an outpouring of sadness about the loss of the faith certainty of Judaism and its uniform culture” (ibid., 158). The “motif of personal loss” (ibid., 123) was prominent in the works of those included in this “possibility,” and Kurzweil also identifies in these works the presence of “something supra-personal” (ibid., 199), which “portrays the full weight of the danger of national loss” (ibid., 123).16 In his opinion, precisely “out of the formation of the most personal and profound experience” of the creator arises “the objectification of the tragic fate of his nation” (ibid., 123). In this context, Kurzweil presents Feierberg as “one of the most sensitive to the signs of the spiritual loss of the entire nation, revealed to him in extreme clarity by his spiritual turmoil” (ibid., 156). In the end, the subjective experience of these authors is exhausted in its appropriation from the private domain of each of them and its formation into a reliable reflection of wide collective processes that serve as the context for clarifying the continuity problem. The collective dimension in the work of those included in this “possibility” receives further support when Kurzweil attributes to them the ability to see historically. Thus, while Ahad Ha’am is described, following Feierberg, as suggesting “intellectual excuses”

16



For more on the perception of Jewish existence in Brenner, and the differences between this and that of Ahad Ha’am, see for instance Sagi, 2007, 156–74.

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for secularization (ibid., 121),17 Feierberg is described as “the first in our literature who calls upon it and those who affirm it without reservations, secularism, and the historization of Judaism, to face the courtroom” (ibid., 199), as “a romantic [… who rejects] any explicit rationalistic approach, whose lack of flexibility and absence of any intuitive emotion blind its eyes from seeing cultural and historical phenomena correctly” (ibid., 158), and as “awake in his soul […] the sense of the process of the historical formation of Judaism” (ibid., 154). So it appears that the work of those who can be identified with the “second possibility”—more than those included in the “first possibility,” whom Kurzweil saw as direct continuers of the Wissenschaft des Judentums (ibid., 212) —receives the status of objectivity: From the end of the nineteenth century the modern trend in our literature becomes increasingly prevalent, trying to adopt an objective attitude to the values of the past, to Judaism, to the Bible, and to the rabbinical literature. We cannot see the spiritual motive of this change [… while] our literature is not able to refer again to the “source,” to the values of traditional Judaism, with an attitude from before the fateful change that took place since it became secular literature. But it is indeed capable of overcoming the anti-religious effect whose time has passed, and to meet the “source” objectively, in a meeting full of affection and admiration, that also knows about the loneliness and the separation pain that might dwell in the heart after the meeting. Thus I have marked with a few words the attitudes of Bialik, Feierberg, and Agnon to the values of Judaism. (ibid., 36–7)

What enables the thing called “objectivity” in this context does not involve making the conceptual tools more sophisticated and does not depend on the efficiency of the study methods. In principle, Kurzweil could have attributed these “advantages” to the representatives of the “first possibility” too. Additionally, it seems that the moderation of the unbiased intellectual passion and the preferring of mental and emotional processes are what grant the person who experiences them “immanent vision” regarding the interior of modern Judaism:

17



See also Kurzweil, 1960, 199.

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Part three. Baruch Kurzweil: Break, Poetics, and Continuity Feierberg’s reaction emerges and arises from vital spiritual levels, it is an instinctive response that pulses within him from his Jewish being. It is a desperate and stormy protest of his poetic soul, going to battle for its most valuable assets. […] The history of his nation and its culture, its traditions with its flaws, Feierberg sees […] inside, an immanent vision. (ibid., 151)

The historical vision and even the objectivity that Kurzweil identifies in the work of the characters populating the “second possibility” enable it to be classified as a  critical position in relation to that expressed by the authors of the “first possibility.” The criticism clearly shows that in Kurzweil’s eyes authors such as Ahad Ha’am and those who showed him his path adorn themselves with borrowed plumes. In contrast, the representatives of the “second possibility” were filled with a sharp consciousness that “The people of Israel, the divine presence, and the young poet have something to mourn for, something to weep for” (ibid., 152). In Kurzweil’s interpretation of the works included in the “second possibility,” the denial and lies attributed to the speakers of the “first possibility” give way to a clear awareness of the break and loos of what is irreplaceable. Moreover, the criticism Kurzweil found in this approach also portrayed demystificatory power, through which they were able to uncover “the vulgar answer of secular nationalism [… that] supports frivolity and safe superficiality over the abysses of the individual and the group” (ibid., 120–1), and to expose the lie, the wretchedness, and the failure embodied in “the false attempt to raise national secularism to the level of a new nation faith” (ibid., 122). In this spirit, Kurzweil adds: “Not only did Feierberg know that the haskalah had failed in its efforts to conquer for the Jew the wide world of progress and humanity, and that this world […] was in fact only a  dream […]” (ibid., 118), moreover, he states, “[Even] the interest in religious problems or religious subjects seemed to Feierberg as a wretched substitute for faith in “the great and terrible Lord God”” (ibid., 120). Similarly, Kurzweil described Brenner’s “passionate hatred” for “the substitutes of the absolute value, the substitutes of the world of religious faith!” (ibid., 136), and later he quotes him in the first person: I hated with absolute hatred the preachers of the revival, who, instead of theology, instead of faith in God, which we have all lost forever, invented some new, blind faith in the great forces,

Chapter Six. Break and Continuity hidden, concealed powers of our nationalism […] No, this mistake I never wished to receive. I have not discussed from this the existence of the nation in the future, whether Israel will live or die in conditions such as these, but I have seen and learned that its life is certainly no life. (ibid., 136–7)

In this context, Kurzweil stresses that “In sharp contrast to the Hebrew authors of the nineteenth century” (ibid., 161), the visionaries of “the wide world of progress and humanity” (ibid., 118), for the representatives of the “second possibility” “the estrangement from faith and the past tradition is perceived […] not as progress but as the nation’s disease, as the most serious damage to the roots of its existence” (ibid., 161). It seems that for Kurzweil, the contribution and value of these authors is apparent precisely in their position “that there is no […] solution for our central problem in the western orientation” (ibid., 170), and also, “It is almost impossible to find a real solution, which could only be the fruit of the effort of generations if there is any chance at all for such a solution” (ibid., 156). Against this background, Kurzweil identifies in their work what he called a “double tragedy,” in which on the one hand “we did not succeed in conquering universality for ourselves, we were disappointed by all the illusions of progress and humanity […] and on the other hand, we lost the foundations of our souls, we lost our faith” (ibid., 122). Finally, the sharp awareness of loss and the consciousness of the dead end that accompanied their work are intensified by the theme of death that frequently appeared in the work of the authors whose work echoes the “second possibility”: Since return is no longer possible, and since all the tracks to the living God have become confused, any hope has also run out and there is no place for vision —except for the vision of death and the I’s return to himself, to the depths of his soul. […] From the secular world we cannot expect revival. Without the living God there is no revival of the nation. The attempt to grant a new meaning, purely secular, to the nation’s path, the daring to declare the nation’s revival without the living God —have failed. […] But the false revival, from the false vision that means deifying man, is the loss. It leads “to the grave,” […] and instead of shelter “under the wings of providence” man finds “soft shelter in the corners of the black gown” of death. (Ibid., 124–5)

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This is the same death that also arises in contexts where the stamp of the “first possibility” was apparent, with one important difference: in the context of the “first possibility,” Kurzweil himself is the one who declared the presence of this dimension as criticism of its speakers, who failed to see it as the substrate of their vision on the issue of national revival. In contrast, the authors populating the “second possibility” themselves speak about death as a given of Jewish reality, which has lost its grasp of the religious certainty. We can therefore state that the “second possibility” reveals the truth that was hidden from the representatives of the “first possibility,” if not deliberately concealed by them. In contrast, the authors speaking for the “second possibility” showed that “in different respects the total detachment from the past was very difficult, it was difficult to erase the traces of religious life from the lives of the individual and the group,” and revealed the “inability to say amen over this separation” (ibid., 149). The vivid awareness of the loss and the “distance [… from] the “desired source,”” at the heart of the work of the representatives of the “second possibility,” does not prevent them from “appreciating and loving what we have lost.” However, “this love has ceased to be a naïve love” and is permeated with sobriety “from the intoxication of hope that misted our evaluation” (ibid., 37), lacking by authors such as Ahad Ha’am, but whose presence in the works of Brenner and Feierberg granted them a certain degree of tragedy. The clear relation between the collective and the religious tradition organized around a transcendent element enables in principle the linking of individuals’ attempts to distinguish themselves from the collective and their rejection of the transcendent element. However, Kurzweil’s interpretation of the work of authors populating the “second possibility” shows that authors whose writing granted expression to the experience of loss and the break of individuals from traditional Judaism, and their desire to escape the burden of the collective, also showed sensitivity to the depth dimensions of continuity in Jewish existence, which in Kurzweil’s opinion was linked to the presence of the transcendent entity in this existence. The complex continuity consciousness characterizing the authors included in this “possibility” transpires, in Kurzweil’s interpretation, as capable of bearing the experience of the break and at the same time of casting a horizon through which it appears that Jewish existence persists. In the “second possibility” sketched by Kurzweil, the familiar pattern identifying continuity with the collective experience and its

Chapter Six. Break and Continuity

absence with the individuation processes of individuals is reversed. Kurzweil is able to distinguish this possibility due to his metaphysical worldview, according to which the Jew as an individual can never enjoy complete autonomy. From his point of view, such autonomy will always be detracted by the presence of the transcendent entity in Jewish existence, operating in this context as a restraining power not only for individuals but in relation to wider intellectual processes such as the haskalah, secularization, and historization. Eventually, the continuity of Jewish existence, guaranteed by the entity-like and independent presence of transcendence, overcomes the attempts of individuals to escape it and even wider intellectual and historical processes, as deep and influential as they might be. The main characteristics of the “second possibility” described by Kurzweil connect it to Yerushalmi’s worldview. As we recall, Yerushalmi addressed the break from tradition and the loss of continuity in the reality of secularization in an era where the historical perspective formed. The connection between these is stronger for Yerushalmi, who describes them as existing in an almost causal relationship: “Only in the modern era do we really find, for the first time, a Jewish historiography divorced from Jewish collective memory and, in crucial respects, thoroughly at odds with it.”18 Like Kurzweil, who attributed to authors such as Brenner and Feierberg “historical vision” that observes the Jewish being through the overt appearances of the break in it, Yerushalmi attributed to literature access to the depth dimensions of Jewish existence, from which the historical continuity still realized in this existence can be seen.19 The emphasis on the personal dimension alongside the treatment of the collective aspects, or in Kurzweil’s words “something supra-personal” (ibid., 119), returns in Yerushalmi’s work, which he defined as “part history, part confession and credo,”20 but he still devoted it to elucidating the Jewish collective memory and its history. Even the world of images of health and sickness, which Kurzweil addressed in this context, appears in Yerushalmi, who referred to the sickness of the collective memory in

18

Yerushalmi, 1989, 93.

19

Ibid., 97–8. For a criticism of Yerushalmi’s perception of modern Hebrew literature, see Ezrahi, 2007.

20

Yerushalmi, 1989, xxxiii.



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which historiography has imprinted its stamp.21 Finally, recognition of the value of what has been irreplaceably lost and mourning for it, typical of the authors representing the “second possibility,” also arise from Yerushalmi’s words: “A culture […] cannot do what religion is capable of doing […] In the end secularism was not and is not sufficient to nourish the soul.”22 These tangential points in Yerushalmi’s thought enfold aspects with which Kurzweil’s thought could not have identified, except for one important point that is the authority of history in relation to the religious (and transcendent in general) dimension of Judaism. As Yerushalmi said: “[…] at a  time that witnesses a  sharp break in the continuity of Jewish living […] For the first time history, not a sacred text, becomes the arbiter of Judaism.”23 Kurzweil could certainly not have agreed to putting the transcendent presence in Jewish existence to any test, since in his opinion its power overcomes any real or cultural process: “God is the truth […] but since reality is also the truth, and despite this it is impossible to argue as a result that God is reality —because he is more than it” (Kurzweil, 1973a, xiii-xiv). In this respect, Kurzweil’s thought lays a solid substrate for solving the break, whose identification and metaphysical meaning are common to him and Yerushalmi.  he “Third Possibility”: “The Simultaneity of the Various T Temporal Forms” The “third possibility” Kurzweil identified in the work of Agnon is defined as a  struggle “over the time [that] seeks release in the complete cancellation of the objective time differences and in describing the conscious process of simultaneity of the various temporal forms, with all the contradictions in them” (Kurzweil, 1962, 235). In his opinion, in this possibility a unification occurs between “times with different qualities, with one hostile to the other” and also the loss of belonging “to an unambiguous time, well-defined by its demands, its quality, and its contents” (ibid.). The individual experiencing this possibility,

21

Ibid., 94.

22

Yerushalmi, 2005, 15.

23

Yerushalmi, 1989, 86.



Chapter Six. Break and Continuity

which Kurzweil discusses in relation to the epic poet, “becomes lost on the paths of the various periods with their different times, without being able to achieve rest and security in any of them. His consciousness encounters different periods, wants to grasp time, but the times do not grant the man a mental haven. Man cannot control them, they thwart him” (ibid.). The synthetic element in this possibility, in relation to its predecessors, is immediately apparent. The facet of cancelling the differences between the various temporal dimensions may indicate a connection to the consciousness of continuity typical of the “first possibility,” while the experience of wandering between the various periods and the accompanying loss of direction connect it to the “second possibility,”, in which the break between the present and the past emerges. The important difference embodied in the “third possibility” stems from the new perspective it entails regarding the various temporal dimensions. The “first” and “second” possibilities grant dominance to one of the temporal dimensions —the connection to the present constitutes an experience of continuity, while the focus on the past generates the experience of the break and thus thwarts the possibility of continuity. In contrast, the “third” possibility does not contain the various temporal dimensions, recognizing that it is impossible to separate between them. This is the meaning of the phrase “simultaneity” that Kurzweil uses in this context, and perhaps this dimension explains the difficulty in finding representatives of the “third possibility” in his interpretation of literary works as he did for the previous possibilities. Also, the individual’s status within it alters. The dominance the individual enjoyed in the other two possibilities, in the “first” as the one who positions himself as a direct continuation of the previous generations, and in the “second” as the one whose emotions and experiences and their meanings are at the center of the work, is not apparent in the “third possibility,” in which the individual appears as helpless vis-à-vis the various temporal dimensions that do not surrender to his choices and do not grant him shelter.24 It appears that the

24



In the history of hermeneutics, the third possibility is developed in Gadamer’s perception of tradition, developing the idea that the past is always there in the horizons of the present, and that turning to the past is saturated with the motivations and perceptions of the present. See in particular the thesis about the “history of influence” in Gadamer, 2004, 300–7. Kurzweil was familiar with Gadamer’s thought and assimilated the

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helplessness typical of this “possibility” stems from the experience of time not being formed within a  specific experience that could have served as a reflection for its being. Thus the experience of the “third possibility” leaves the individual to wander.

C. Continuity, Tension, and Polarity What was Kurzweil’s position regarding the three “possibilities” whose traces he identified in modern Hebrew literature? Did he indeed see them as sufficient alternatives for the modern Jew? Against the background of his ontological interpretation of Hebrew literature, we can state in principle that he perceived the three “approaches to the shaping of time” that he identified in Agnon’s work as portraying real historical realities in the modern Jewish being. However, his interpretation of works in which the traces of these “possibilities” is apparent shows that their status was not equivalent in his eyes. The most worrying for Kurzweil was the “first possibility,” due to the connection to historicism and the vision of the Wissenschaft des Judentums. This was a problem whose scope was as wide as that of modern Hebrew literature as a whole, as arises from his sweeping statement that Hebrew literature “repeats […] the whole tangle of problems with which the members of the Wissenschaft des Judentums struggled” (Kurzweil, 1960, 20). Kurzweil lists “the historization of Judaism with all its conclusions” among the “external causes” (ibid., 52). However, he sees it as a threat, as indicated by the “demonic” nature he attributes to Ahad Ha’am, who seems to be a representative par excellence of this “possibility,” and as arises from his claim that “the very historicity sweeps the man and he has to protect his soul against it. Historians are the interpreters and servants of historicity” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 271). His criticism revolves around what he sees as an attempt to draw a straight line between the present and the past, and to claim continuity between the modern Jewish being and its predecessor, while blurring the tension caused by secularization with its tragic dimensions. Like the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, in the works of the authors included in this possibil-

­ ermeneutic and philosophical discourse that developed around it. See also h Goultschin, 2009, 25–63; Schwartz, 1976, 239 n. 6.

Chapter Six. Break and Continuity

ity Kurzweil identified “a secular state of mind, actually antitheological” (Kurzweil, 1960, 21), based on the problematic contrast between history and metaphysics —whose separation he saw as false.25 From Kurzweil’s point of view, this approach blurs the break and the loss entailed in secularization, which enabled it to make a false presentation of continuity that is like “real acrobatic art in paradoxically hovering over abysses” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 103). In Kurzweil’s eyes, the continuity presented under the influence of the Wissenschaft des Judentums is an illusion, and its meaning is innovation, fraction, and break. Against this background, Kurzweil presents modern Hebrew literature as portraying the “various stations of disappointment, neglect, and deception, stations that are all also stations of reevaluation. This reevaluation means a break in the continuum of divine history […] This is the meaning of [our literature’s] secularism” (ibid., xiv). Kurzweil considered the “break in the continuum of history [… as] final” (ibid., xvi). Thus he never tired of stressing the “history of researchers,” who were like the “traders” in Greenberg’s poem, “who approach what they call history with their small, poor mind,” from whose eyes the “meaning of history” is hidden (Kurzweil, 1973a, 82). As a result they miss “the real dimension of history,” revealed in the range of phenomena between “the response of the versifying I to the immanent command in the history of the depth” (ibid., 85) and “those listed among the owners of the “great minds” […] who direct the nation’s ideal history, which is the history in the depth” (ibid., 82). The approach portrayed in the “first possibility” is perceived by Kurzweil not only as expressing a  distortion of the image of present-day Jewish existence, as if

25



See Kurzweil, 1970a, 142. Kurzweil chose to cite Scholem, 1976a, 108, but these words do not capture Scholem’s position, who even accused the Wissenschaft des Judentums of “excessive theologization and spiritualization” (Scholem, 1976a, 396). Kurzweil classifies Scholem in the worldview of the “first possibility,” but this classification indicates a stereotypical perception of the historicistic worldview that identifies it with the aim for objectivity and accordingly with the striving to achieve a scientific method. But this understanding of historicism is far from being necessary, and so is the separation between historicism and metaphysics. In this context, see my reference to the distinction between “methodological historicism” and “metaphysical historicism,” Miron, 2007b, 169–70. Moyn believed that methodological historicism denotes a development and secularization of the metaphysical historicism that preceded it, but in no way a separation from it (see Moyn, 2004, 647).

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c­ ontinuity ­relations existed between it and the past, but also as a distortion of the image of the past itself, and thus of Judaism in general. Regarding the “second possibility,” its prominent advantage stems from its function as a reliable reflection of present-day Jewish existence, and in this respect is answers the criticism Kurzweil directed at the “first possibility.” Kurzweil undoubtedly shared with its representatives the sharp awareness of what Brenner called “the shame of our present lives” (Kurzweil, 1960, 137). However, the “sorrow and sentimentality” over the loss of the world of religious faith, prominent in the works of its representatives in Hebrew literature, did not leave enough room for what Kurzweil considered the main thing: positive recognition of the power of the constant elements in Jewish existence throughout the generations, despite the deep secularization processes that permeated it and caused deep transformations within it: “We will not lose the hope that the secular basis of our nation’s life, whose guarantee is the new kingdom of Israel, will also enable a renewed, fruitful meeting with the spiritual religious contents of our culture, and then modern Hebrew literature will discover its new identity with our old literature” (ibid., 146). It seems that Kurzweil could not be satisfied with the expressions of lack and criticism directed by the authors of the “second possibility” toward the secularization reality, although he shared with them the understanding that this reality cannot be denied or blurred. The essential difference between him and them stems from fact that for them, the ahistorical and unconditional reality, guaranteeing the real Jewish existence was very weakened in the modern era, while he believed that this reality continues to flow in the depths of its appearances of weakness and emptiness, and that its time would come to be discovered. Finally, Kurzweil’s approach could not be located within the boundaries of the “third possibility” either, despite its prominent metaphysical character compared with the others. This is not only because the ahistorical reality that served as the foundation of his approach did not echo in it explicitly enough, but also because blurring the distinctions between the various temporal dimensions does not enable the expression of the real historical phenomena at which Kurzweil casts his gaze. No less problematic in the “third possibility” is the lack of the element of tension, dominant in Kurzweil’s approach that recognizes the permanent presence of the transcendent entity dimension in Jewish being, but still does not close its eyes to the secularization phenomenon that has spread within it in the modern era.

Chapter Six. Break and Continuity

Kurzweil’s criticism of the three possibilities may provide the outlines of the space in which he wished to anchor his positive approach to the issue of historical continuity in the Jewish nation. His approach differs from that expressed in the “first possibility,” which in his opinion presents a false continuity; from that expressed in the “second possibility,” whose speakers identified the break and loss that were irreparable; and also from that of the “third possibility,” which in his opinion eroded the differences between the various times. Unlike these three, Kurzweil sought for continuity in which tension and polarity cohabit. In his opinion, “It is [not] possible to create sustainable values of culture and faith without consciousness of this continuity” (ibid., 404). Kurzweil found an expression of such an approach in Greenberg’s poetry: “From its beginning, Greenberg’s poetry was marked by polarity. The partitions of time are cancelled and annihilated in its spiritual landscapes. […] Greenberg’s poems raise an amazing unity of being, in which past, present, and future cohere. There is no other like Greenberg […] whose entire poetry expresses continuation and living continuity of the nation’s assets” (ibid., 50). These words show that even though Kurzweil recognized the presence of the secularization phenomenon in the modern Jewish being, he believed it had a limited influence on the reality of Jewish existence, and characterized the “crises of faith”—meaning the real and creative appearances of secularism —as “more precisely, the variety of artistic certainty” (Kurzweil, 1960, 18). Like Kurzweil’s references to the transcendent entity, those dealing with the issue of continuity are shrouded with certainty cleared of any doubt. Fundamentally, Kurzweil’s continuity perception is necessitated by the recognition of the power of the transcendent entity to shape Jewish existence. Furthermore, the continuity is that of the transcendence, which Kurzweil believes is present as a “hidden reality” in Jewish history and also reflected in the creations of Jewish culture. Kurzweil’s position on the continuity issue is not exhausted in the certainty regarding its unconditional existence. As in other cases, he addressed here the metaphysical infrastructure did not make it unnecessary to deal with the real appearances that seemed to challenge it. Moreover, Kurzweil’s reading of modern Hebrew literature as overtly secular cannot exempt him from facing the two types of reality, metaphysical and real. The presence of the transcendent entity is clearly apparent in the former, while in the latter it is concealed. Kurzweil, who required both of them, could not avoid dealing with the

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gap that appeared as a repeating pattern in the relations between the various components of Jewish existence his interpretation addressed: the ahistorical and historical dimensions; divine presence and secularization; continuity and the signs of break. It seems that the metaphysical perspective that shaped Kurzweil’s interpretation of Hebrew literature did not help him decide between the two; even the clear hierarchy in which he arranged them expressed an awareness that the shared presence of both was essential. The question that opened our discussion of the continuity issue—“Does it [Judaism] exist or not?”— received a positive answer in principle. Judaism exists. Secularization did not deny the transcendent reality, and historicism did not exterminate the mythical, the divine, and the ancient, which received expression in the literature that Kurzweil himself defined as “secular […] because it emerges and arises from a world emptied of divine sanctity” (ibid., 18). However, while Kurzweil’s discussion holds on to the ontological dimensions arising from modern Hebrew literature, he was unable to fill his idea of continuity with real contents. This possibility arises, as we will see now, with the discussion’s breaking into the subjective space.

Chapter Seven

The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity: Passivity and Activity The position of tension in which Kurzweil wished to position his thought did not enable him to adopt a realistic secular position, denying the presence and influence of the transcendent dimension in human existence, or alternatively to adopt a religious position, requiring in advance the presence of the transcendent entity and its influence over real reality. Kurzweil’s choice to adopt the classical distinction between reality and its appearances in the world of phenomena enabled him to maintain two perspectives in his thought simultaneously —realistic and metaphysical. The conclusion of this choice is to detach the dependence between the transcendent entity and its appearances, or alternatively to establish its understanding as an autonomous entity in relation to real processes. This means that the transcendent entity exists whether it is revealed or hidden. Kurzweil’s continuity perception moves in the space in which the appearances of a metaphysical reality and a real reality appear simultaneously, or alternatively, in the space in which transcendence appears and hides in real reality. Kurzweil was not satisfied with delineating the space appropriate for the clarification of the continuity issue. His interpretation seeks to examine the status of the subject in relation to the transcendent entity, and reveals two different dispositions responding to two fundamental appearances of the transcendent entity itself in real reality: the passivity addressing the overt appearances of transcendence, and the activity seeking for its hidden appearances.

A. The Passive Subject The subject’s passive stance enfolds the ability to stand at a certain distance from occurrences in the historical-real reality, and also a recognition of an autonomous transcendent dimension that determines the character of this reality. These basic components, which also play key

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roles in the thought of Yerushalmi and Scholem, serve as a basis for crystallizing the subject’s passive stance. For Yerushalmi, the passive stance is inherent in his criticism of the excessive activism shown by the modern Jewish historian, described as directing “unprecedented energy” to the past, “challeng[ing]” it, and seeking to “recover” it.1 Yerushalmi distinguishes this approach from another, more suitable in his eyes, which he finds among Jews who “are in search of a past,” but “are not prepared to confront it [history] directly.”2 The stance that recognizes the autonomy of historical reality in relation to its observer also appears in Scholem, who describes his work as feeding “from the expectation to receive a response from on high, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of history, that would allow the truth to be pronounced from what seems like “development.””3 The passivity typical of his stance vis-à-vis his sources is apparent in his words, “I try to understand Jewish history from the forces I can observe, without glancing left and right […] I am not an advocate for anything […] I do not know what the truth is.”4 Like Yerushalmi and Scholem, for Kurzweil the purpose of the passive stance is to remove the possibility that the mental connections the subject directs at reality would subjectivize it, and as a result reality would be interpreted as a personal expression of the subject or as an exhaustion of the conscious powers he directs at the outside world. In contrast, self-restraint and self-restriction on the subject’s part might help him experience the autonomous and transcendent dimensions of reality, which in themselves do not depend on his disposition toward them, including the passive one. However, in comparison with Yerushalmi and Scholem, the passive stance arising from Kurzweil’s writings is much more explicit and developed. He identifies it in authors whose work he believes convey the effort to express the autonomy of real being in relation to the characters populating the work. In this context, autonomy contains a clear hierarchical system in which the power of the external reality is stressed in relation to the individual subject to it. Thus, Kurzweil describes Agnon as someone for whom “this reality of the Jewish town

1

Yerushalmi, 1989, 94.

2

Ibid., 97–8.

3

Scholem, 1990, 31.

4

Ibid., 239.



Chapter Seven. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity…

is his reality, […] he surrenders to it as a natural given” (Kurzweil, 1962, 10). One of the most important means of achieving the autonomy in this context is the distinction between the author and the work. The purpose of this interpretative move is to remove the possibility that the author’s connection to reality would subjectivize it, as a result of which external reality would be constituted as a human creation. Thus Kurzweil stresses: From the clear recognition that he was a  member of a  flawed generation, Agnon exists in constant search of the lost time. But that same lost time is not for him something dependent on subjective experience, on diving into the springs of the self and raising anew as a  subjective aesthetic fiction. The fateful connection between Agnon and the Jewish tradition, a connection that exists despite the poet being swept into the noise of the murky flow of a flawed period, is what allows the lost time to rise again, to grasp the present self and to overpower it a little or a lot. (Ibid., 232–3)

Moreover, to establish the distinction between the author and his work, Kurzweil harnesses the secularism of modern Hebrew literature. He interprets secularism as an expression of the unbridgeable gap between the character of reality in the traditional Jewish being with which the work deals, and the reality in which the author lives and acts.5 Kurzweil states, regarding Agnon, that “the artist is not identical with his characters. As a result, the faith of Menashe Hayim, Reb Yudel […] is not the faith of Agnon. […] Modern reality is what separates Agnon from “our friends” [‘Anshei Shlomeinu’]” (ibid., 329). Kurzweil also stresses that “from the beginning of his literary work he felt […] that the same world of harmonious balance, apparently, the world of safe and unambiguous qualities and values, is no longer our world.” So he rejects the possibility to understand the works of Feierberg, Y. L. Peretz, and Agnon as a “return to the source” (ibid., 11), and Hebrew literature in general as containing a “real renaissance

5



On Kurzweil’s reference to the biographical-personal dimension of authors, see Kurzweil, 1960, 174; 1962, 84, 140. For his reference to this aspect of his own work, see Kurzweil, 1970a, 159. On this aspect of Kurzweil’s work, see Miron, 1999, 231–2.

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motif.” In his opinion, “The people of our modern literature […] do not believe in the source, but see it overtly or silently with secular eyes in its historical formation” (Kurzweil, 1960, 27). The difference emphasized in these citations between the author who is part of a secular reality and the traditional Jewish reality with which Hebrew literature deals responds to the requirement for separation and distance so essential for the constituting of the author’s passive stance. Another aspect contributing to the fortification of the distinction between the author and the work is embodied in the lack of decision in favor of the traditional reality of the past or in favor of the secular reality of the present. This situation characterized the three constitutive elements of the literary work: the characters appearing in it,6 the reality it describes,7 and the author himself, whom Kurzweil describes as someone whose “lack of decision […], his standing from an ideational point of view between two contrasting worlds, is actually his decision” (Kurzweil, 1962, 346). In other words: Agnon’s stories are a special appearance of the fundamental religious design in our secular literature […] What is special about the artistic design of the religious problem in Agnon is in the exposure of the contrasts, especially those that challenge traditional Judaism, without taking a  stance of decision […] The author requires the contrasts, lives them without achieving a decision by himself […] The mental assumption of this process is the author’s renouncing his decisive personality. We encounter in all these stories a sort of situation of passivity, of willingness to follow [his heroes]. (Ibid., 330–2)8

6



See Kurzweil, 1962, 224.

7



Ibid., 225.

8



The non-decisive stance Kurzweil identifies in Agnon’s work contains a  central element in his interpretation that rejected its identification with orthodoxy. In his opinion, Agnon’s artistic language is a  “dispute of the ways of religious Judaism for hundreds of years” (Kurzweil, 1962, 347) and reflects “his dialectical view of the religious tradition of his nation” (ibid., 201). Kurzweil addresses the issue of the contrast between Agnon and the orthodox position in various contexts in his book about Agnon (ibid., 12, 16, 325, 328, 331, 343, 345).

Chapter Seven. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity…

The immediate effect of the absence of decision in this context is to prevent the author’s involvement in the reality the work is intended to reflect. The premise inherent here is that the subject’s presence could have a  detracting influence regarding the reality presented in the literary work, since the author could never exhaust it. In contrast, the stance of non-decision that Kurzweil identifies in modern Hebrew literature may enable the reality to appear holistically. Thus its autonomy in relation to the subject will become clarified, and the separation between the subject and the reality external to him will be established and deepened. However, the absence of a constituting power toward reality by the subject, who reveals a passive stance toward it, does not damage his connection to it or his ability to refer to it or even desire to become part of it. In this spirit, Kurzweil writes: “We must not forget that Agnon actually remained faithful to the principles of the world of the ancestors, that he would honestly have liked to see himself as one of the faithful in his stories” (ibid., 84). Kurzweil clarifies that the author does not express in this an attitude of neutrality regarding reality (ibid., 239) — of the past or of the present (ibid., 241). In his opinion, “Only someone who loves his epic topic […] he alone can draw the portrait of our real life, with all the great and precious it contained” (ibid., 12). This is not “love” that leads the author “to escape to some idealization of the past, to amuse himself in romantic worlds” (ibid., 39), but this is “the confession of strong love that does not hide the weaknesses, it is a sad eulogy for the loss of harmony” (ibid., 133). Kurzweil even connects the author’s relation to and love of reality with the “desire for objectivization” and defines it as “objectivity-from-love” (ibid., 27). Within the boundaries of the relation to real reality is embodied the possibility of achieving a degree of distance from it, which is expressed in the “feelings of esteem” (ibid., 300) and “awe” to the world of tradition and the past (ibid., 13). The transcending from reality the author experiences, of which his work is the fruit, is not contrary to his fundamental relation to this reality. While the “feelings of esteem” and “awe” toward reality position the distance of the author from his work, the dimension of the lack of decision establishes and deepens the separation between the subject and the reality external to him. This separation reaches its climax in the disposition of silence, which seems to enfold within itself both the distance and the separation. The comparison Kurzweil makes between Mendele and Agnon shows that the silent subject enjoys fundamental access to the real reality:

311

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Part three. Baruch Kurzweil: Break, Poetics, and Continuity The dynamic in Mendele is mainly external. All the alarmed and rapid activity of his heroes, the business and running around of these Jews, who constantly speak and perspire, their crazy and wretched activism, is typically expressed in the main motif of Alter: “briefly and nothing” [emphasis in original]—this dynamic and this external tension are clear evidence of the grotesque twitching without any real purpose, of the fictitious character of Jewish reality. This reality, like the external dynamic that makes it noisy, is imaginary. (Ibid., 15)

In contrast to the bustle arising from Mendele’s work, this is how Kurzweil describes Agnon’s work: The tension and the dynamic revealed to the reader who studies in depth the “simple” types of Agnon’s stories are internal [emphasis in original] in a  double meaning. First of all, externally almost nothing happens; more precisely, the main occurrences are not external. As evidence of this, Agnon’s characters are never loquacious. Perhaps even their silence is their most real and faithful expression [emphasis in original] […] Agnon’s dialogue is entirely reserved [emphasis in original]. The things said are a camouflage of the main thing, which cannot be expressed, and which causes tension. It hovers in its silence between the lines of the story’s sentences and grants them their depth and this particular perfection, at the basis of which is the reserved tension, like the silent reflection of deep water. The simplicity of Agnon’s characters is profound, and therefore it is only superficially simplicity. But their reality is very very real. (Ibid., 15–6)

The activity displayed by the subjects in Mendele’s work makes its impression twice. It makes ridiculous the presence of the characters, and not only that, it detracts from their ability to experience the external reality and to grant it suitable expression. Eventually the chattering activism harms not only the appearance of the subjects but also that of the external reality. Neither of them portrays a reality that might exist. In contrast, the restraint and the gathering into themselves of Agnon’s characters shows that the independence of reality in relation to the subject referring to it is not granted to him but demands of him to display initiative and activism. In other words, experiencing the existence of an external reality that bears itself and is constituted

Chapter Seven. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity…

in relation to the individual entails an action of self-constituting from the individual, which allows him to experience the reality that exists beyond him, and as a result enriches him. The depth of the interpretation Kurzweil thus offers to modern Hebrew literature stems from the ontological orientation that pervades his hermeneutic work refraining from abandoning the subject experiencing it. His discussion simultaneously follows the impressions of this experience on both realities — internal and external. When the subject is silent, the reality speaks from the literature. So it transpires that the author’s restraint and subjectivity do not exhaust the passive stance in Kurzweil’s approach, since they serve only as a means to enable the experience of the presence of the reality external to the individual. Indeed, Kurzweil’s discussion aims to produce from the difference between the author and the real reality the possibility to grant expression to reality itself. Now the historical distance is translated into “the artistic distance the epic poet requires,” arguing that “only someone who does not share Reb Yudil’s faith is capable of immortalizing him and his period.” Kurzweil finds proof of “the great distance separating the artist and the faith of his heroes” in stories “in which the author ceases to be omnipotent and is swept along by the flow of actions” (ibid., 329, emphasis in original). This description of the author as conquered by the reality with which his work deals contains signs of the fruits of the passive stance that shapes the power relations in which the author’s sovereignty is appropriated by the objects of his work, and thus the power reality possesses in relation to him is also clarified. This insight becomes extreme to the point of detaching the work from its author, who becomes a sort of servant for reality, as if it was independent of him. In this spirit, Kurzweil states that “Agnon’s stories are no faith documents but artistic documents” and that they portray an “artistic observation position” (ibid., 329–30). Indeed, the “traditional formula” that “Agnon knows how to impose on his stories […] is only the external shell. It also serves as a mask in the contact between the artist and his readers” (ibid., 330). Kurzweil’s choice to emphasize in this context the artistic facet of the literary work —a choice in clear contrast to the secondary status his interpretative work granted the aesthetic facet in general —reveals a deep insight in the basis of his thought: external reality is unconquered by the relation the subject directs at it, and this is why it is necessary to devote himself to it through various approaches that reveal different facets of its power.

313

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In addition to the detail characterizing the passive stance in Kurzweil’s thought, a  greater complexity is also apparent compared with the positions of Yerushalmi, and even that attributed to the historian in Scholem’s perception. As we may recall, Yerushalmi considered the passivity shown by the subject to his past to stem from the testimony about reality it presents, meaning that it is permeated with transcendent and autonomous presence that creates a  significant gap not only in relation to the subject but also to historical and real processes. The passivity is inherent in his criticism of the activism shown by modern historians, and it appears as a sort of expectation from the subject who has internalized the correct ontology determining the character of Jewish history. In general, passivity does not denote a constituting position of the subject, and it appears to serve as an additional means of fortifying the status of transcendence that was dominant in his worldview. Alternatively, it is a reflection of the marginal status of the conscious and subjective dimension within it, a marginal status giving the passive stance in Yerushalmi’s approach its extreme character compared with the others. Like Yerushalmi, Scholem is unreservedly certain of the presence of the transcendent entity in Jewish history. But the consistent duality of the historical and the metaphysical in his approach did not enable the transcendent element to gain the dominance it held in Yerushalmi’s approach, and in any case the historian he describes requires much less restraint in sketching the images of the historicalreal reality with which he deals. No less important, the constitutive dimensions involved in shaping the historian’s character in Scholem’s perception were mainly intended to allow him better access to the historical reality itself, and unlike what Yerushalmi believed, they are not a tool in shaping his correct attitude toward the transcendent dimension. The perception of passivity crystallized in Scholem’s approach was defined as a  medium position, in part because it was unable to achieve total devotion to the transcendent dimension, and it was constantly subject to restriction by the power of the immanent historical arena that served as its object. If the passive stance at the basis of Yerushalmi’s approach is located at one pole, in which the subject is denied almost any constitutive involvement, and Scholem’s passivity is characterized as medium, the passivity appearing in Kurzweil’s perception takes the opposite pole of self-constituting by the author. The uniqueness of the subject’s passive stance in Kurzweil’s approach stems from it demanding that

Chapter Seven. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity…

the subject constituting it display an active effort expressed in selfrestraint and self-restriction, whose purpose is to enable him to stand vis-à-vis the transcendent entity without it being interpreted as his own personal expression or as an exhaustion of the conscious power he directs toward the external world.9 This involvement of the subject is not perceived as staining the transcendent entity with his subjectivity, but as a condition for experiencing this entity. It appears that the status of certainty regarding the autonomous existence of this entity is primary and constitutive in the subject’s passive stance, and thus his involvement is not perceived as threatening this certainty. The dialectical movement sketched by Kurzweil’s interpretation of the subject’s connection to reality and the power reality employs upon him is the essence of the passive stance. On the one hand, this stance is anchored in reality’s autonomy in relation to the subject and in the hierarchy that is an outcome of this autonomy. On the other hand, it reveals a complex connection of the subject to the reality external to him, and the activism, the striving for objectivization, and the consciousness of distance it involves grant the subject an experience of transcendence. The individual experiences transcendence as a power excessive to him, and this naturally empowers him despite the selfrestriction and self-restraint demanded of him. In fact, the individual’s power is what enables him to experience the fullness of the ­reality

9



From a phenomenological viewpoint, it is necessary to distinguish between intentional reference to the object, typical of any conscious occurrence that frequently involves its object (see Husserl, 1952, § 36), and the perception attributing to the intentional action the constitution of the object; through this reference, the object becomes immanent and its qualities are determined by the subject. This transition denotes a change from an epistemological attitude, meaning the world as “existing for me” (für mich), and a metaphysical statement about the world as “stemming from me” (aus mich), and in Husserl’s words: “The Objective world, the world that exists for me, that always has and always will exist for me, the only world that ever can exist for me [für mich]—this world, with all its Objects, I said, derives its whole sense and its existential status, which it has for me, from me [aus mich] myself, from me as the transcendental Ego, the Ego who comes to the fore only with transcendental-phenomenological epoché” (Husserl, 1960, 26). And: “By my living, by my experiencing, thinking, valuing, and acting, I can enter no world other than the one that gets its sense and acceptance or status in and from me, myself” (ibid., 21). See also Ricoeur’s critique of this phenomenon in Husserl’s thought (Ricoeur, 1967, 85–90).

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existing beyond him. Thus it is no wonder that the passive stance enables the author to present the world of Judaism “according to his rules” (ibid., 293) and thus serve as a witness to transcendent reality. In the end, the passive stance toward the entity that Kurzweil identifies in modern Hebrew literature appeared to him to enable the author not only to overcome “the aggressive anti-religious effect” (ibid., 25),10 meaning the position that sought to deny the existence of the transcendent reality, but also to create “the internal distance that creates the objectivity” (Kurzweil, 1960, 176) —objectivity that in Kurzweil’s perception in no way removes the recognition of the transcendent entity’s existence, but is part of it. Thus the passive disposition of the subject becomes the space that contains “both the yes and the no” (ibid., 344), thanks to which an author like Agnon was able to show “loyalty to the immanent truth in his heroes” (ibid., 27) and to grasp “the diaspora Jewish society mainly from its positive sides” (ibid., 25). The active dimensions embodied in the passive stance will find their full development and realization in the position whose direct appearances are of initiative and activism on the subject’s part.

B. The Active Subject The substrate for constituting an active stance toward the entity or transcendence has been laid in Kurzweil’s general perception of the author’s role, as entrusted with presenting reality to himself and his readers (Kurzweil, 1962, 187) and as responsible for ensuring the preservation of what exists (ibid., 284).11 The perception of reality at the basis of the active stance is wider than that on which the passive stance rests. It includes not only immanent reality; also apparent in it is the overt directedness to the transcendent entity hidden from the society with which the literary work deals and from the target audi-

10

In this context, see also Kurzweil’s argument that “An effective approach, whatever its psychological justification, blocks in advance the path to objective formation of the subject and the perception of its generality” (Kurzweil, 1960, 149–50).

11

“The most profound reader will be grateful to the author for the honesty in his stories, to the extent that they reflect our reality” (Kurzweil, 1962, 187). For further discussion, see Miron, 1999, 242.





Chapter Seven. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity…

ence he addresses: “The poet [raises] before our eyes magical, preexisting landscapes. […] They are suddenly a presence of grace within our landscapes; they are a sort of breach of supreme existence, of transcendent reality, within our reality” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 68). Kurzweil clarifies that “It is not possible that the same world of the “origins of things” [with which the literary work deals] could be perceived through normal realistic means” (Kurzweil, 1962, 97). The author’s activism is therefore necessary not only in a historical reality of secularization —a reality in which the criticism of religion and sometimes its rejection were linked to the pushing aside and even denial of God and any transcendent dimension. The need for constituting an active stance of the subject arises first and foremost due to the hiddenness of the transcendent reality, which Kurzweil saw as a fundamental given of human existence, without any connection to its possible identification with God. Kurzweil calls transcendence “a cruel actual reality,” and explains that despite its being “the most real thing,” “it exceeds all the boundaries and all the possibilities that the human mind and imagination can perceive” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 36). In the described connection between the hiddenness of the transcendent dimension in Jewish existence and the constituting of the active disposition on the part of its observer, and seeing this hiddenness as a  fundamental given of human existence, Kurzweil shares Scholem’s perception. As we have seen, initiative and activism arise from Scholem’s description of the approach necessary for the historian seeking the meaning of the hidden dimensions of Jewish history: Here new concepts and new categories, a new intuition, and new courage are required […]. From now on the creative destruction of scientific criticism that studies details in the documents of the past has another function: no longer washing and embalming the deceased, but discovering the hidden life by removing the screens that hide and the misleading inscriptions. […] historical criticism [serves] from now on also as the productive deciphering of the cipher of the past, of the great symbols of our lives in history.12

12



Scholem, 1976a, 399; also 106. For more in this context, see Shapira, 1995a, 174; Idel, 2006, 184.

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The need to form an active stance arises in this context due to the hiddenness of the transcendent entity itself. The subject’s activism seems to seek to capture this entity that continues to live in concealment, meaning its “hidden life.” Yerushalmi also entrusted the historian with the task of reconstructing the Jewish past —a task he believed the historian was given both by himself and by and “for us all.”13 These things, appearing in the margins of his discussion, did not crystallize into the phrasing of a real active stance. The reason for this is clear. As we recall, in his opinion two basic components determine the character of the Jewish collective memory and of Jewish history in general —the belief in divine providence and the uniqueness of Jewish history.14 These components denote the overt and exposed stamp of God in Jewish history, while the need to form an active stance by the subject arises precisely in face of the hiddenness of the transcendent entity. Furthermore, Kurzweil shares with Scholem the position regarding the special access of authors to transcendence, although this access is translated differently by each of them. Activism, which in Scholem’s approach is attributed to the Kabbalist, recruits all of his mental abilities, especially the objectification and reflection that involve a degree of sovereignty toward his objects.15 Moreover, in Scholem’s opinion, activism is a fundamental given in modern Jewish existence: “Our experience in Israel —and the history of the Jews in the past sixty years —has made clear to us that we should always ask: what are we doing? […] Such a thoughtless life somehow does not work.” He also states that “A Jew must think constantly about being Jewish. Perhaps because of his immanent tradition and perhaps because the non-Jews have made him self-aware —both possibilities are true.”16 Like Scholem, Kurzweil too required the activism he attributed to authors and poets. However, the metaphysical hierarchy in which his approach was so deeply rooted interprets the subject’s active attitude

13

Yerushalmi, 1989, 93. However, the perceptions of the two do not share the same understanding of the subject.

14

Ibid., 89.

15

Scholem stressed the access of the kabbalists to higher dimensions particularly in his early work Origins of the Kabbalah: see for example, Scholem, 1948, 97, 101.

16

Scholem, 1995b, 98.





Chapter Seven. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity…

as evidence of his great devotion to his destiny as the “granter of reality” to himself and to members of his nation (Kurzweil, 1962, 187), and as an expression of exceeding his own boundaries, at whose climax he might reach mystical union (Kurzweil, 1973a, 131).17 Kurzweil explains that the presence of the transcendent reality is apparent in the author’s personal experience: Two situations […] divide the experiential world of the I in the accepted sense. As a result, we are entitled to speak about wandering into transcendent realms, whose reality the conscious I lives in the act of mystical experience, in a sort of unia mystica with the depths of his soul, which are the guarantee of the existence of ancient unity, which is both the starting point and the final station. (Ibid., 131)

The author’s action is described in this context as follows: “Through poetry it opens the horizons of objecthood, but this objecthood is “transcendent,” it is the point of a  “signal [from] distances” […]. The secret in the poet’s soul, his wonder —are his uniqueness and individuality” (Ibid., 144). Or elsewhere: The great and unique poetry [of Greenberg] in our modern literature confirms what has been said in general about the purpose of any real great art. The great painter Paul Klee phrased this purpose: “Art does not reproduce the visible; rather, it makes visible.” Greenberg’s poetry inestimably expands the horizon of our vision […] by raising before us with crushing severity what it is our duty to know and to see. (Ibid., 99)

Kurzweil interprets the duality he found in the works of modern Hebrew literature, which on the one hand expose “mercilessly the depths of the religious crisis,” but on the other hand open a window on the transcendent reality pulsing within Jewish existence, as “a shocking expression of modern man’s yearning for religion” (Kurzweil, 1962, 344). In his opinion, “Every venture of his heroes on adventurous conquests in the kingdom of the new, seducing and denying the old, is accompanied by the yearning to return to the source, this

17



See also Kurzweil, 1973a, 48; 1960, 19.

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despite the questionable and repulsive in it” (ibid., 284). More important, the hidden transcendent reality bears meaning for the overt reality described in the literary work: “The religious element is for Agnon more than just an artistic motif; it always leads to the center of the struggle for the meaning of Jewish existence” (ibid., 344). It appears that not only the fundamental access of the author to the transcendent reality entrusts him with the task to reveal its presence in his work. The consciousness of the author’s requirement is made deeper and more urgent in the time Kurzweil terms a “flawed period” (ibid., 230– 4, 277), meaning the present including the authors of modern Hebrew literature, which lacks the protection that the certainty and faith of the past granted (Kurzweil, 1973a, 187), and whose “secular substitutes” did not provide a suitable response (ibid., 158).18 Finally, the statement that the author is capable of altering reality receives its meaning when Kurzweil compares the author’s ability to grant overt expression to the hidden transcendent reality by creating a new reality, and states that this is the task of art: What is every true art if not the effort to create a new reality, which is also the start of a new unity, with the loss of ancient unity? Here the artist reaches the total annihilation of the forces of chaos and his poetic appearance realizes the ancient sacral unity that was once an everyday reality. Every art is an attempt to create a sort of “small eternity” […] because art is an essential push toward constituting a new order, a new unity, instead of the primal unity before the separation. (Kurzweil, 1962, 278)

The “new reality,” which is none other than the appearance of the transcendent entity, exists certainly and unconditionally in art or its author, and thus should not be understood as the result of a constituting action on the author’s part or as an expression of him.19 In this context, Kurzweil defines the poem as a “transcendent wonder” and clari-

18

The term “flawed reality” appears in many contexts in Kurzweil’s writings, and has a similar meaning. See Kurzweil, 1962, 231–2, 234, 268, 277; 1973a, 244.

19

On the relations between the author’s subjective experience and the exceeding of the boundaries of the personal matter, see Sagi, 2007, 31–5; 2009, 149–75.





Chapter Seven. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity…

fies: “Transcendence […] is not within the person himself, the person is not a god and not a substitute for divinity” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 144–5), and in this respect the poet’s ascension does not lead to cancelling the barriers between the immanent human world and the transcendent being, meaning that the hierarchical ontology is preserved even though the desire to negate it continues to pulse in the poet. Thus, for example, regarding the poetry of Shin Shalom (Yosef Shapira), Kurzweil states that “it never ceased to believe in the ability of poetic expression to break through “the other’s boundary.” Even greater: the wonder whose secret is devoted to the miraculous redeems the I from the chasm, from the abyss, from the chaos, from death” (ibid., 146). The subject’s activism is apparent in this context in his ability to realize his special access to the concealed traces of the transcendent entity in real being, but this cannot breach the boundaries of the human world to which the poet is subject: Every real poetry is a response to the challenge of reality. Things have never been described as they are, and were they to be described as they are —they would not be poetry. It transpires from this: every poetry, every art, is a response, is an echo of the fruitful tension between the subject and the objects, the worlds, the realities, whose challenge demands the response. […] Reality itself remains dumb, and is it is —it has no redeemer. On the other hand: there is no art without a connection to reality, to worlds. “Pure” art as if purified of contents, art detached from realities, without answering them —has never existed. (Ibid., 181)20

The definition of the artist as one who deals with the “challenge of reality”—more moderate than the definition presenting him as the “creator of reality”—once again mentions the gap between the author’s rootedness in the real reality and his access to the transcendent entity. As long as this gap is preserved, it affirms the autonomy of reality in relation to the subject, and naturally detracts from the activism the author displays toward the transcendent reality. In fact, the assumption of the foundation of his work already qualifies in advance the active

20



See also Kurzweil’s words: “Without the constant and profound response to the challenge of the realities, which is also a challenge of contents, there would be no work of art and no aesthetic worthy of its name” (Kurzweil, 1976). See also Kurzweil, 1973b, 15; 1970b.

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stance and presents it with a metaphysical boundary it will not be able to cross. Kurzweil rejects in advance any possibility of perceiving reality “through ordinary realistic means” (Kurzweil, 1962, 97), and adds in another context that “without an idea there is no future of the state, there is no future of the diaspora. And the source of the idea is —the hidden treasures of the Jewish religion. […] The state declares its very entity, its living immanence, as the presence and realization of transcendence” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 255). The hiddenness of the transcendent reality remains a fundamental fact of modern Hebrew literary creation, described therefore as one in which “[…] we are interested in that revolutionary expansion of the epic reality. His language is only feeling in its attempts to define the nature of this deepening and expansion. Some speak about revealing the pre-existing layer […] and some imagine reaching a sort of “transcendence in immanence”” (Kurzweil, 1962, 309). This means that the author’s activism cannot be fully realized, since the world of phenomena that serves as an immediate and natural context of the activism of subject is only partially accessible to them. Perhaps a deeper and more direct gnawing at the activism embodied in the creative subject’s stance vis-à-vis reality stems from the fact that exposing the transcendent reality is necessitated by the metaphysical evidence of its existence, which only allows the rejection of the “total renouncing of any transcendence whatsoever, which is a principle” of the secular worldview (Kurzweil, 1973a, 158). The “craftiness of the transcendence,” borrowing Hegel’s term, thus deceives the secular author, even and perhaps particularly when he seeks to create “the great anthem of secular mysticism” (Ibid., 131). From this metaphysical perspective, Kurzweil discovers that modern Hebrew literature is merely “the secular transformation of the orders of sacral reality! Jewish heritage, religious and moral, celebrates a strange revival in secular clothing” (ibid., 165). In Kurzweil’s interpretation, the subject is granted the powers of initiative and activism, as long as these are employed in the service of exposing the hidden transcendent reality. But from the moment this reality acquires modes of discovery in the literary work, the author’s activism is qualified step by step, and a window naturally opens to the passive stance. The characterization of the author as “dubbing reality” (ibid., 157)21 captures the non-total nature of the location of the sub-

21



See also Kurzweil, 1973a, 187, 273.

Chapter Seven. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity…

ject and reality in the active stance that has been qualified and diminished. The action of dubbing itself does not create a reality, but refers to it as existing and implies access to it. The author’s words address the past and the past Jewish reality “the way one speaks only about hidden things that have vanished and no longer exist, that have no redemption”; but transcendence, which in secular reality does not receive the affirmation of subjects who sometimes completely deny it, regains its presence through the literary work: “The words […] revive them again from their eternal sleep” (Kurzweil, 1962, 97). This is why the author and the literary work are essential; without them the transcendent reality will remain hidden, and not only that, the ability of real reality itself to appear will be diminished: “Reality itself remains dumb, and as it is —it has no redeemer” (Kurzweil, 1973a, 181). The dubbing action of the author, which first turns to the hidden transcendent reality, is thus also apparent in the real reality the author and his audience share. The author’s importance is not embodied in his ability to shape a new ontological being, but in the fact that the story he wrote “always dubs the no-mans-land of unsaid things” (Kurzweil, 1962, 346). Kurzweil’s statement regarding the “unsaid things” and those that “avoid any freezing of the ideological format prepared from the left and from the right” (ibid.), provides an essential clarification regarding the power of the subject in relation to transcendent reality. The author starts the process of extricating the transcendent reality from hiddenness, but does not determine the contents or the way in which the transcendent presence itself is portrayed in them. In general, the dubbing is not a constitutive action, and in any case its contribution to making present the transcendent reality does not leave a subjective stamp on this reality. Thus the process of qualification that takes place in the active stance from the moment of its constitution by the subject is exhausted. Just as the subject’s passive stance contains an active and agitating element, so does the active one contain a restraining and qualifying element. This means that both of the subject’s dispositions toward the transcendent entity act as connected vessels in the literary work. Simply, the dialectic with which each of them is permeated does not enable their isolation from each other, and even sets them against each other. As the subject’s restraint becomes established, it enables the experience of the reality existing beyond him and the actuality surrounding him. The strong contact the subject has with real reality in the first disposition does not disappear in the second one,

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which could grant it a comprehensive mystical character. On the contrary, the passive disposition remains in the background of the active one, and is responsible for the subject’s contact with the transcendent being included within the boundaries of historical and real reality. The importance of this stage in characterizing the transcendent entity stems from its preserving the basic duality, and thus tension, between actuality and transcendence, givenness and transcending, and passivity and activity. Thanks to this duality, Kurzweil is able to develop a complex metaphysical perception that is significantly immune to reduction to a  specific religious position. Thus Kurzweil’s metaphysical perspective receives its subjective complement, enabling it to avoid deciding in favor of real reality or transcendence, or alternatively between the historical dimension and the ahistorical one. What do these dispositions teach us about Kurzweil’s position on the historical continuity issue? What is the relation between recognizing that the subject is essential in relation to historical continuity — in the passive or active disposition —and his position attributing a limited influence to secularization in Jewish existence, and the certainty regarding the existence of a  transcendent entity? Does the meaning granted to the subject in this context join his awareness of the reality of secularization and accord with it, or does it mainly help establish the status of the transcendent entity in his perception? As we have seen, the basic position of tension Kurzweil employed as a thinker deliberately leaves such complex questions undecided. However, the depth of the treatment of the relations between the subject and the transcendent presence exposes a very basic insight regarding it; transcendence has no exclusive or individual expression or portrayal, and the subject hold an essential role regarding its appearances. This does not contradict the autonomy attributed to the transcendent entity; this is a fundamental statement regarding transcendence being an object of human beings to experience. Moreover, the meaning granted to the subject in this context also requires history to be a space of realizing the appearance of transcendence.22 Without doubt, this metaphysical perspective,

22



In this context, see Fackenheim’s interpretation of Hegel’s perception of history as a  space for the appearance of transcendence, granting an infinite meaning to finality and immanence (Fackenheim, 1982, 138–49). A  deep sharing, though not complete identity, is apparent in this context between

Chapter Seven. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity…

appearing with various levels of explication in Kurzweil’s texts, finally extricates (if this is necessary at all) his position from the boundaries of the classical religious position. The stance of the subject, active or passive, serves as an essential link in translating the continuity of the transcendent entity into historical continuity that may also have real expressions. In this respect, we can state that in Kurzweil’s thought reality’s interest does not exclude the subject’s interest. Thus modern Jewish existence can —or better, cannot not —exist within a  space of meaning whose principles are anchored in metaphysical elements. It is difficult to avoid the impression that Kurzweil ponders his ideas through dialogue and even struggle with the binary perspective that posited contrast relations between history and metaphysics, and between modernity and secularization and the transcendence that accompanied Jewish studies since its origins in the constituting of the Wissenschaft des Judentums. As we have seen, the rejection in principle of this perspective by Kurzweil already appears in the fundamental principle that guided him: “The sphere of history leaves room for metaphysics, and by its nature […] is not opposed to it” (Kurzweil, 1970a, 103).23 Moreover, Kurzweil’s words also contain a reference to each of the poles composing the dichotomy, meaning that he recognized the break that secularization created in modern Jewish existence and indicated its traces in the literature formed in it. However, he believed that the continuity was still preserved due to the force of the presence of the transcendent entity within it, a presence not conditioned upon real historical processes. His approach reflects an effort to overcome this dichotomous perspective of modern Jewish historicism in favor of a continuity perception in which historical and metaphysical elements join together. The answer offered by Kurzweil’s approach

the Hegelian perception of transcendence as present in real reality and that of Kurzweil. This interpretation differs from that proposed by Schwartz, which did recognize the dominance of the transcendent dimension in Kurzweil’s work, but believed that it existed outside the boundaries of the literary work and thus also outside the real arena of history: “The spiritual assumptions of modern Hebrew literature demand for themselves the recognition of the serious truth that the origin of the essences […] of the literary work is not history […] but that dimension of sanctity, not of this world, that breaks with hidden ways the long-standing gates of historical reality” (Schwartz, 1976, 189–90). 23



See also Kurzweil, 1970a, 142.

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to the continuity issue —anchored in mental reference —is clear, and its principle exists in the critique of the “first possibility”; that is, the existence of the transcendent entity as an autonomous and valuable factor in Jewish existence denotes certainty that does not require establishment or proof. Furthermore, the continuity denotes first and foremost the continuity of the presence of the transcendent entity. In Kurzweil’s opinion, Jewish existence should not be conditioned upon mental processes, let alone should continuity be conditioned upon achieving a guarantee or affirmation that the results of these processes will indeed ensure it. On the face of it, these words lead to the understanding that Kurzweil’s position on the continuity issue is located at the opposite pole. However, in light of the interpretation that revealed the role and significance of subjectivity in relation to the issue of continuity, it seems that we cannot simply locate his perception at the opposite pole, containing approaches that concluded from the connection between historicism and secularization that a break and detachment separate modern Jewish existence from what preceded it. While Kurzweil shared the general yearning of these approaches for the entity that expresses Jewish reality, his approach uniquely grants the subject a significant role in relation to the presence of the transcendent entity, and thus also in the realization of the continuity. The ontological orientation, which guided Kurzweil to search for transcendence in modern Jewish literature and in Jewish history, trickles into his concept of subject —the author, the literary character, or the interpreter of the work —which transpires as having access to the transcendent entity. In exposing and elucidating the role granted to the subject in Kurzweil’s perception of continuity, his ontological orientation is given its precise meaning. This is ontology that does not make the epistemic discussion redundant, and in this respect it is not surprising that it mines its insights from studying literary works. Moreover, the presence of the subject in Kurzweil’s ontological orientation serves as a barrier against the reduction of his metaphysical position, composed of a realistic entity argument that can easily be linked to Orthodox or some other ideology. If Kurzweil’s ideas —which reached their peak of maturity in his interpretation of modern Hebrew literature —add up to “metaphysics,” this is neither realistic nor naïve, because it is able to maintain a transcendental horizon requiring the presence of the subject within it. This horizon also embodies the power of Kurzweil’s approach,

Chapter Seven. The Subjective Disposition toward the Transcendent Entity…

whose ontological orientation did not close in on itself or lead to a reductivistic position, of which tension is the immediate and frequent “victim.” No less important, unlike those with whom he shared the recognition of the essential break secularization caused in modern Jewish existence, his position did not convey the tragedy originating in the inability to find substitutes for the world of certainty and faith that maintained the Jewish nation in the era that preceded secularization.24 Perhaps the explicit ontological nature of the tension position formulated by Kurzweil protected him from tragedy originating in the inability to settle the gaps on the epistemic level. At the bottom of the matter, in Kurzweil’s perception the tragedy can be mainly epistemic and cannot be transferred to the ontological level, since the status of the metaphysical and real dimensions in history is not equivalent. The unconditioned presence of the transcendent entity in Jewish existence, as perceived in Kurzweil’s thought, thus embodies not only protection from secularization’s completely overpowering Jewish existence, but even protection from the tragic horizon of this existence. However, the subjective chapter in Kurzweil’s metaphysical worldview showed clearly that the subject or author refers —willingly or unwillingly — to the transcendent entity and naturally affirms it with the vary act of referring, without detracting from the original autonomy of this entity: “Every great work of art is transparent in essence to both directions: toward the great eternity and toward the small eternity, to the extent that its small eternity better reflects the reality of the great eternity without speaking about it, and without daring to reveal it, it succeeds in bringing us closer to our being” (Kurzweil, 1960, 320).

24



The tragic dimension is inherent in Yerushalmi’s approach, and is discussed in Part One of this book. In this context, see Conforti’s words about the exaggerated and pessimistic tone (Conforti, 2006, 205, 208); see also Shalhuv, 2001.

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Chapter Eight

Literary Realism and Metaphysical Historicism The proposed interpretation of Kurzweil’s work sought to show the formative power of his metaphysical worldview regarding his perception of modern Hebrew literature and Jewish history as a whole. The classical approach, in which an external transcendent reality shapes Jewish existence, receives in Kurzweil’s hermeneutic work an expansive interpretation, attributing to it not only influence in the real immanent reality but also in Jewish creative work, and even in that context self-identifying as secular. This resulted in a marginalization of the personal and aesthetic dimensions of the works Kurzweil discussed in favor of the ontological expressions appearing in modern Hebrew literature. Following this, Hebrew literature itself was perceived as rooted in real life, and particularly in the break caused by the destabilization of the traditional world and by secularization. Against this background, the literary references to the transcendent element Kurzweil identified in Hebrew literature are understood as evidence for the existence of a transcendent entity, and naturally the possibility of granting them an immanent-realistic interpretation is rejected. The certainty of the presence of a transcendent entity and of its formative influence on Jewish existence leaves its mark on Kurzweil’s perception of Jewish history, interpreting Judaism simultaneously as a historical phenomenon with real dimensions and as an ahistorical reality. This dualism transpires as a reflection of the transcendent entity itself, which serves as an object and content of the historical-real Jewish existence, but is in itself autonomous and ahistorical. Thus, in Kurzweil’s perception the evident consciousness regarding the presence of the transcendent entity and its role as a source of meaning and significance for Jewish existence does not take from this existence its real dimensions, which expose the solid factuality of the secularization phenomenon. Moreover, both aspects —the ahistorical and the historical —are essential in the perception of Judaism, as is also apparent in Kurzweil’s attempt to establish in his approach a clear hierarchy between the temporal dimensions —the present is anchored in the real being and the past refers to the transcendent entity. Thanks to the

Chapter Eight. Literary Realism and Metaphysical Historicism

power of the transcendent entity, the past and the traditional world in general gain an ontological status independent of the real Jewish existence; and this status enables the influential presence of the Jewish past in every being of real Jewish existence. However, the meaning and contents attributed to the Jewish past remain permanent and are not assimilated into the frequently changing present reality. Anyway, the special status of the transcendent entity and of the past exist in relation to a present-day real reality, and are not detached from it. One of the questions raised by the proposed interpretation of Kurzweil’s work relates to the meaning of the radical sharing between the ontological understanding of literature and the metaphysical understanding of Jewish history. Are these in fact two tangential themes, so that elucidating one of them makes the other redundant? My answer is negative. Kurzweil developed his approach to Hebrew literature —the overt and declared object of his work —independently, and not only does his approach toward Jewish history and the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums stand in its own right, it was also received as such in the historiographic discourse of its time. Even if the traces of one theme are found in the other, this does not mean their understanding requires mutual dependence, and so it is possible to discuss them separately. Furthermore, the ontological understanding of literature does not necessarily lead to historiosophy, and the latter is not required to contain a metaphysical perspective on literary works. However, in Kurzweil’s interpretation, a special continuity forms between these two themes. Literature serves as an arena for history, and history casts its reflection into the literary work, and also, the Hebrew author at the center of the literary work fills an essential function in the continuity issue, in which Kurzweil’s perception of history reaches its full crystallization. In fact, the subject that sealed the ontological perception of history also served as a starting point for the interpretation of the literary work. The joining of these two themes contains not only the secret of the cohesion of Kurzweil’s hermeneutic oeuvre, but also the key to understanding its total character. Like that of Hegel, Kurzweil’s totality is formed within a network of relations, none of whose components receives an independent or separate status. More precisely, as long as one of them receives such a status, this is evidence for the primacy of the understanding and the partiality with which its objects appear before it. However, as the understanding matures, the separation of each of the components fades in favor of the clarity and transparency of the whole, at which it was aimed in the first place.

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NATHAN ROTENSTREICH: PHILOSOPHY, HISTORY, AND REALITY

Chapter One

Philosophy and History Discussion of the nature of historical reality and the meaning people grant it in their consciousness and behavior appears throughout the writings of Nathan Rotenstreich —those dealing with abstract philosophical issues and the essays in which he addresses Zionism and Israeli society. He wished to direct his philosophical oeuvre at educated people and intellectuals pervaded with the consciousness that “vigorous decisions and vigorous actions do not solve everything,” those concerned with the spiritual problems they considered no less pressing than the real and concrete ones (Rotenstreich, 1953d, 192– 3).1 In this spirit, Rotenstreich wrote in the opening to the second volume of his book Jewish Thought in the Modern Era: “The book can shed light on the questions themselves, raise them to the threshold of consciousness, indicate their validity and reality, and through this serve as a motivating force to their solution” (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 5–6). At the same time, Rotenstreich also directed his words at practical and constructive people, who usually “shrug” when they encounter abstract problems (Rotenstreich, 1953b, 192–3). It appears that this is also the type of reader he envisioned when writing in the same introduction “I do not believe that the power of a book will suffice to solve this problematic [of the generation] or to settle it, since it did not grow in the field of books, and neither will its solution take place there” (Rotenstreich, 1987b, 5, emphasis in original). Rotenstreich’s handling of the issue of history was accompanied by awareness of the complex relationship existing between real reality and subjective human consciousness. His approach was shaped out of deep familiarity with the Husserlian phenomenological tradition, at the center of which are the clarification and elucidation of the relations between the “given” external to consciousness and the attempts

1



Emphases in the citations are mine unless stated otherwise.

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to grant it meaning through that consciousness.2 The influence of the phenomenological tradition on shaping Rotenstreich’s approach to history is apparent on three levels. The first deals with the use of the fundamental structure of intentionality as a  tool for examining the relations between the subject and the objects of his consciousness, including time. In this context, this involves the exposure and interpretation of the system of relations forming between historians and thinkers and their period and members of their culture, and in particular between these figures and the remnants of the shared past appearing in the present. The second level refers to the fundamental phenomenological requirement to suspend the ontological questions, that is to assume the existence of the objects of thought without studying and proving them. This aspect is directly expressed in Rotenstreich’s approach to the past and to history in general: “We do not answer the question: why is there history? We answer the question: history —how is it possible?” (Rotenstreich, 1974a, 23). The question “Why is there history” revolves around the very existence of history or of phenomena with a historical nature. In principle, there can be two answers to this question: the affirmative answer means that people share in creating the reality in which they live, and thus reality must be examined through study of their actions; and the negative answer, sometimes forming the foundation of religious approaches, stating that people do not create the reality in which they live and cannot influence it. Rotenstreich, who chose the affirmative answer, focused his gaze on human activity and its power to shape the reality in which human beings live. The third level relates to the aspect of the contents themselves, and influenced Rotenstreich’s perception of historical reality as reflexive consciousness: “The very definition of the concept of historicity is connected to the special relationship between historical occurrence and historical consciousness” (Rotenstreich, 1955, 27). The reflection seeks to examine the connections existing between the “given” that

2



Rotenstreich himself did not declare the phenomenological orientation he employed, and his writings contain few overt references to Husserl. This can be attributed to his writing style, tending to the essay genre, but it appears that this is also rooted in Husserl’s identification with idealism, which did not accord with the ontological orientation typical of Rotenstreich’s discussion of the concept of reality.

Chapter One. Philosophy and History

has survived from the past and consciousness directed at it. Historical consciousness forms “through clarifying the relation between it and the historical process” (ibid., 5). In this context, Rotenstreich also notes the tension between historical consciousness’s desire to understand the real occurrence that was “there” in the past, and this consciousness being an intra-conscious occurrence, with an individual subject behind it each time it takes place (ibid., 24). The focus on the “past” pushes aside the nature of the conscious reference toward it, while the awareness that the past —like other objects of consciousness —is influenced by consciousness undermines the possibility of discussing historical reality itself. Rotenstreich justified his choice to avoid deciding between these two alternatives as follows: The advantage of examining the reflexive reference —which is also a certain content reference —is that in this way we are able to examine the entire historical space: both as an occurrence and an intention, both history as the lineage [toldot]of actions and events and history as the chronicle of the people who relate actions and events. These two sides of history depend on a reflexive reference and are also two particular actualizations of this reference […] The reflexive reference constructs itself a  particular realization in this double standing of man in history: as a person within the occurrence, and as referring to the occurrence —a reference of observation and a reference of construction and constitution. These are different matters but still interconnected. (Rotenstreich, 1974a, 26)

In addition to the connections of Rotenstreich’s thought to the phenomenological tradition, it also conducts a dialogue with the great modern philosophical traditions that dealt directly with history, especially the approaches of Hegel, Marx, and Heidegger, who stressed in different ways the roles of reflection and human consciousness in shaping history (Rotenstreich, 1963a, 3–21; 1974a, 10–26). Following Hegel’s philosophy of history, Rotenstreich addressed the two facets of the concept “history,” the objective and the subjective. The former refers to the occurrence itself, to events in the past, and to the chronological order in which they appeared, which with hindsight appears as a  closed and static reality. The latter deals with the telling of the occurrence by human beings, revealing the many facets of the past event and the dynamic relations of present-day people to it

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(Rotenstreich, 1955, 10). Along with the use of the terms “static and dynamic,” “objectivity and subjectivity,” Rotenstreich also characterized these two facets of history using the terms “lineage and chronicles,” “being and becoming,” “being and history,” “unit and process,” “ontological dimension and epistemological dimension,” and others. These pairs of terms are not completely equivalent to each other, and their main purpose is not to reveal contradictions or contrasts existing within the historical realm (Rotenstreich, 1942, 30), but to indicate the two fundamental dimensions that determine the nature and meaning of the concept of history and of the historical reality in the past and in the present. Rotenstreich also addressed the perceptions that alongside the discussion of the various aspects of consciousness also stressed the various modes of activity involved in references to history (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 24). In these contexts, Rotenstreich presented man as subject to the factuality of history and as referring to it not only through observation but also through actions that repeat and influence the observation (Rotenstreich, 1963–64, 340).3 His critical discussions of the great philosophical perceptions that shaped his thought demonstrate the effort to locate the modes of reference to history, and to elucidate the meaning and significance granted through them to past events and to history in general.4 The discussion in this part will propose a “fundamental phenomenological observation”5 of Rotenstreich’s perception of history in order to reveal its basic patterns (arché). The metaphysical worldview of the other thinkers in this book was determined by typical thought patterns, but it appears that in the writings of Rotenstreich, the only one of the five who was not a historian, their influence is more

3

See also Rotenstreich, 1974a, 21; regarding the relations between nature and history, see ibid., 45–70. Rotenstreich’s understanding of the nature of the human relation to history as composed of a conscious attitude and a practical activity reflects the two main sources of influence that shaped his thought —the phenomenological and the Marxistic.

4

Rotenstreich discusses the thought of Hegel, Marx, and Heidegger in several contexts. See in particular Rotenstreich, 1963a, 11–36; Rotenstreich, 1974a, 10–26.

5

The term “fundamental” refers to Rotenstreich’s phenomenological interpretation, whose roots are planted in the philosophy of Heidegger and Husserl. See Heidegger, 1993, 4; 1988, 5. For further discussion of fundamental thinking, see also Boelen, 1968, 61–2.







Chapter One. Philosophy and History

prominent and helps makes it accessible to philosophical discussion. The proposed interpretation will focus on exposing and elucidating Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history, and in analyzing his understanding of the processes of historization, secularization, and nationalism that shaped the character of modern Judaism against the background of realizing the Zionist vision in the State of Israel. In this context, we will examine the complex relations between his philosophical works, reflecting his character as a scholar and as a researcher, and the writings in which he conveyed his opinions about the Jewish tradition and about Zionism, formed with constant relation to contemporary events, from which his character as an intellectual and visionary emerges.6 On the face of it, Rotenstreich’s decision to examine history through the analysis and criticism of historical consciousness could be interpreted as tending to emphasize the epistemological aspects over the ontological ones involved in history. This impression accords with the classical phenomenological orientation, which influenced his thought, and which by its very focus on the subject’s processes of consciousness stresses the epistemological aspects.7 However, the proposed reading of Rotenstreich’s work seeks to reveal his fundamental tendency aiming to extricate, sometimes from within the epistemological discussion and sometimes from outside it, fundamental ontological aspects relating to the real reality in the present. Rotenstreich’s general philosophical works demonstrate a transparent philosophical observation of the issues and problems arising in the writings of others, discussed in this book. Rotenstreich’s unique contribution to the discussion stems from his use of language, concepts, and analytical tools that were not available to the other thinkers in this book, and which were borrowed in the sections dealing with their works from fields that were distant or even alien to them. However, as will transpire, the philosophical language and consciousness available to Rotenstreich do not protect his thinking from the difficulties and patterns encountered by the other four thinkers, who like him addressed the fundamental problems of modern Jewish being. This is particularly prominent in the writings in which Rotenstreich

6

On characterizing Rotenstreich as a “fighting humanist,” see Kadari, 1964. See also Bareli and Gorny, 2003.

7

On the epistemological nature of the phenomenological problematic, see Husserl, 1973, 21–5; Ströker, 1993, 20.



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discusses current events and seeks to handle Judaism as a real historical phenomenon, with an emphasis on the Zionist enterprise. Perhaps the solid philosophical infrastructure at the basis of Rotenstreich’s work makes the criticism of his positions more severe compared with that directed at the works of the other authors discussed in the book, who lacked this infrastructure. However, since Rotenstreich’s work shared with them some common features and problems, it supports the observation regarding the formative influence of fundamental processes and issues that determine the character of modern Judaism in the eyes of his contemporaries, particularly the historization of Judaism as established by the Wissenschaft des Judentums, secularization, Zionism, and the founding of the State of Israel.

Chapter Two

Past and Present: The Philosophy of History A. Realistic Ontology of the Past The ontological infrastructure of Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history is laid directly and overtly in his concept of the past, which is not limited to human history (Rotenstreich, 1972a, 98), or to the known past, which in his opinion will always be “narrower and poorer” than the past in general (Rotenstreich, 1953b, 602–3). This concept also includes the history of things existing in the world, including those that have never served as objects for human beings’ reference. Rotenstreich argues in principle that the past is a real reality that man did not invent through his reflective reference (Rotenstreich, 1972a, 98), but rather it is an occurrence with “its own immanent meaning” (Rotenstreich, 1955, 27). In this context, Rotenstreich criticized Collingwood’s approach, in which “the past exists only insofar as it lives in the presence, it does not exist in itself.” In Rotenstreich’s opinion, “if the past was once a present, i. e. an occurrence bound up with an actual sensation, there is no power capable of abolishing its reality” (Rotenstreich, 1958, 112– 3).1 In other words, human consciousness never creates the past itself (Rotenstreich, 1972a, 102). In this context, Rotenstreich sometimes adopts a radical realistic position and argues that “We do not invent the event of the past” (ibid., 98), and not only this, but “The past qua explanation of the present exists ideally, but the past as having a present of its own appears as a self-contained domain, at a distance from the present but really existing nonetheless” (Rotenstreich, 1958, 112). Finally, Rotenstreich determines that the material and immediate facet of the past is apparent in its typical closed, permanent, and static nature (ibid., 6). This ontological-realistic understanding of the past finds its expression in the statement that there is an “abyss of entity” ­stretching

1



See Collingwood, 1993, 1–13.

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between the past and the present where the historical consciousness takes place, and that the duality between the “lineage” or historical events and the “chronicles”—as told by present-day people —is unsolvable.2 In this context, the choice of the term “abyss” was not primarily intended to mark the fixed distance between the present and the past as two different temporal dimensions, but to indicate that the presence of the past in the present, embodied in the remnants or “givens” from the past, does not obey its original character as it occurred at the time. While the real occurrence is characterized by dynamism, and sometimes even lacks direction and purpose (ibid., 22–3), the “given” appears to present-day people as a final and closed “crystallized datum” (ibid., 13) and thus the reference to it sees it as a finished and lifeless fact (Rotenstreich, 1972a, 96).3 The presence of the past in the present breaks the closed nature typical of its immediate appearance, which formulated it into a “given.” It seems that in the present-day people’s act of referring to the past, this closedness begins to fracture. The careful description and analysis directed to the past motivate an ongoing process of softening and moderating its static and rigid nature; these are gradually replaced by a more varied and dynamic appearance of the past, from which the past reality appears as a whole being, in relation to which the “given” appearing in the present is just a remnant lacking its original meaning and context. On the face of it, this change in the mode of appearance of the past reality to present-day people should be attributed to the epistemic relations directed at it. In other words, it seems reasonable that the description, analysis, and interpretation of the past given by human beings are responsible for breaking the wall of closedness that surrounded the past given and opening it to the consciousness of the present-day people. However, Rotenstreich believed that the epistemic relation alone cannot extricate the past from its closedness and cause a change in its ontological essence, but that the past itself had powers that help in this.4 It appears that as much as the stamp

2

On the duality existing in the realm of history, see also Rotenstreich, 1942, 29–30.

3

See also Rotenstreich, 1962a, 54–9.

4

It seems that in perceiving the past as possessing its own powers Rotenstreich was influenced by Hegel. See in particular the chapter “Power



Chapter Two. Past and Present: The Philosophy of History

left by the epistemic connections in the past occupied Rotenstreich in detail, he also sought to grant precedence and meaning to the ontological dimensions of the past and to examine their autonomy in relation to the epistemic dimensions, originating in the subjective relations directed at the past. The first ontological facet denoting the past reality, as described by Rotenstreich, deals with the quality of self-transcendence embodied in the past as a reality, which in its time constantly breached the boundaries of the present in which it was anchored.5 In his opinion, the fact that this occurrence constituted in its time the active fullness is responsible for the first appearance the remnants of the past display in the present, i. e. the context-less “givens,” does not persist. The consciousness referring to this reality is fed by the dynamism it contains on the one hand, and on the other hand it is revealed through the connection of present-day people to the past. Either way, it is not possible to delimit the past within the sealed boundaries of its surviving “given.”6 Thus the dynamism embodied in the past reality when it was the present has found its continuation and future within the boundaries of the time that continued from it and became the present. Thus the present serves as an arena in which the past’s self-transcending quality finds its release. Since this quality is revealed in the space in which present-day people constitute their connections to the past given, Rotenstreich believes it exists in the past itself and that is what is responsible for its opening to the present-day people. The past’s self-transcending quality already assumes two modes in which it appears in the present: static and dynamic. The former describes the material remnant of the past, portrayed in the past relic, that is the “given”; and the latter denotes the content or ­internal

and Understanding” in Hegel, 1977, 79–103. 5

For more on the idea of self-fullness exceeding its own boundaries, see Lovejoy, 1976.

6

In this context, two possible influences on Rotenstreich can be indicated. The first originates in Hegel’s perception of objectivity, referred to throughout his writings. See, e. g., Rotenstreich, 1963a, passim; 1962a, 42–6, 320–2. The second influence is Bergson’s perception of “duration,” to which Rotenstreich refers in many contexts. See in particular, Rotenstreich, 1955, 38–9; 1962, 276–7.



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f­ullness of the past as an active entity.7 The immediate intuition regarding the existence of an “abyss of entity” (ibid., 22) stretching between the past and the present and separating them now transpires as concealing the active power embodied in the fact that the “given” is the remnant of a reality which in its time enfolded an active reality. This fact is responsible, among other things, for the past being able to acquire presence in the reality of the present. The original nature of the ontological observation of the past is now fully clarified. This observation stresses the ability of that past reality to obtain presence in the present despite it being a different space of reality than it and having its own activity. In this respect, it is possible to state that the abyss stretching between the past and the present is not fundamentally “entity-like” but denotes the distance between the first appearance of the “given”—as a fossilized and lifeless remnant of the past — and its primary essence as a carrier of an active and living reality.8 In this spirit, Rotenstreich states that the past is a “spreading span,” and as such has eternal influence (Rotenstreich, 1953b, 601–2). The second ontological facet of the past deals with the meaning of the events of which it is composed. Rotenstreich states that “a meaning of a past event cannot be considered as exterior to it” (ibid., 599); it is part of the “given” itself, and even of the “lineage” itself (Rotenstreich, 1984, 102). The meaning of the past is clarified beyond its boundaries, through the attempt of subjects in the present to attribute meaning to it. Rotenstreich stresses that this action does not itself create the meaning of the past, but rather, the ontological infrastructure of this meaning is already contained in the past reality itself.9 Thus the many meanings that may be discovered in the “given” (Rotenstreich, 1955, 19) are not expressions of different views of it or even of the ideational complexity it contains. Moreover, they are not the result of the sub-

7

Elsewhere Rotenstreich discusses the idealistic approach in which the “content” element of history is described as a primary and hidden element, or as an idea of which the historical process is a development (Rotenstreich, 1942, 30).

8

On the difference between the first appearance and primacy, see Marion, 2002.

9

These words were said in a polemic with the approach of Paul Weiss, to whom Rotenstreich referred in several contexts, e. g., Rotenstreich, 1953b, 597; 1955, 44; 1972a, 100.





Chapter Two. Past and Present: The Philosophy of History

ject’s constituting or signifying action, but stem from time itself, from the signified thing. Rotenstreich states that the different interpretations of the past are “commensurable,” and explains that this quality expresses the past’s original dynamism, which is not “closed” within its remnants in the present (Rotenstreich, 1953b, 599–600). This means that even if the present-day people play an active role in exposing this meaning, which is sometimes implicit or concealed, it is not identified with them or with their actions but with the past itself. This unique ontological perception of the past has several central implications that Rotenstreich himself notes. First, he states that history cannot be completely analyzed through universal ontological distinctions (Rotenstreich, 1972a, 98). This is because the universalization of the ontological categories misses the past “given,” which is by its nature particular. In this respect, the universalization of the ontology may transpire as disproving it. Second, the past’s ontological reality cannot be exhausted by the brute factuality (factum brutum) of which it is composed, since the meaning of the past events is a fundamental part of the past reality itself. Finally, he argues that “historically speaking, the meaning [Bedeutung] of a fact cannot be detached from the significance [Bedeutsamkeit] of the fact” (ibid., 101).10 This means that the past occurrence itself contains not only the meaning or “sense” of the givens that have survived from it, but also their value judgment. Thus, step by step, the sovereignty and autonomy of the subject regarding the past reality is withdrawn. Indeed, the subject is the person to whom the past givens appear, but he is not responsible for determining their meaning or significance, but is the person through whom the past speaks. To the extent that history starts with human consciousness of the past’s existence, and embodies, among other things, reflective references to it, in Rotenstreich’s opinion this consciousness turns to the world’s ontological dimension without assimilating it and without shaping it in the image of human consciousness. In Rotenstreich’s terms we can characterize it thus: consciousness of the past is not only a source for the creation of “chronicles,” but can also embody the “lineage,” meaning the ontological reality embodied in the past occurrence itself (Rotenstreich, 1974a, 26). The durability of the past reality in the face of the epistemic processes, as a result of which a complete representation of the past

10



The German terms were added in the original.

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can never be obtained, is reflected in the definition of the interpretative activity directed at the past as “semi-autonomous” (Rotenstreich, 1972a, 98). This means that the interpretation of the past is not completely free, but neither is it pre-determined. Rotenstreich’s words show that two types of powers detract from the interpretation’s autonomy in this context: the first involves the fact that people bear within them human experience as a real element of their being, and thus their relation to the past is not simply exterior to them (ibid., 102). This means that the epistemic position of the person observing the past and interpreting it does not simply build a bridge from the “outside” to the ontological levels of the past occurrence embodied in its remaining givens. The second relates to the past itself portraying an ontological reality that does not surrender to the epistemic reference directed at it. Quite the opposite, the epistemic activity itself is guided by the ontological sequence (ibid., 98) in which the “given” constitutes a link.11 So it transpires that three factors breach the primary closedness of the past without undermining the fundamental ontological essence that Rotenstreich finds in it: the past’s self-transcendence; the meaning it carries within it for present-day people; and its durability in the face of the epistemic references they direct at it, thanks to which it is not assimilated into them. While the first two constitute the past’s attitude toward the present, the third preserves its separation from it. Since Rotenstreich considered them inherent ontological elements of the past itself, the openness to the present, and naturally the epistemic references directed at it, cannot detract from its fundamental ontological power. Rather, one of the things revealed in the past’s opening to the present is the past’s durability and distinctiveness that reveal its nature as an entity. These complex relations between the present and the past, opening the past to present-day people and at the same time expressing its durability against them, are enfolded in Rotenstreich’s

11



Gadamer expressed a  similar position connecting the epistemic process taking place in the present with the traditional past object to which the interpretation is directed (Gadamer, 2004, 290, 297). Apart from a general mention in the entry “tradition” (Rotenstreich, 1994, 317), Rotenstreich never referred to Gadamer in his writings. However, I assume that Rotenstreich formulated his opinions regarding the relations between the past and the present independently. The principles of his approach appeared in his book Between Past and Present, first published in Hebrew in 1955, about five years before the publication of Gadamer’s great book Truth and Method.

Chapter Two. Past and Present: The Philosophy of History

phrase “the open-closedness of the past” (Rotenstreich, 1953a, 603). In this context, openness constitutes a dimension of closedness itself rather than an element that might disprove it. The past’s ontology sketched by Rotenstreich thus reflects the complex effort to follow the character of the past while it was a present reality. A degree of paradox is embodied in this observation of the past, expressing a  sort of attempt to overcome the fact that people’s fundamental reference to the past seeks it precisely as a past and not as a presence that once was. Rotenstreich does not solve this paradox, but realizes it in his perception of modern Judaism, centered —as will transpire below —on the precedence of Jewish existence in the present.

B. Constituting Epistemology in the Present: Historical Consciousness Parallel with the ontological substrate reflected in the concept of the past, Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history also addressed its epistemological dimensions, dealing with the human references to the past reality and their critical observations from the new reality of the present. These dimensions are present implicitly in the ontological perception of the past, which also included within it the meaning and evaluation of the past itself. However, Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history also contains a direct and explicit discussion, mainly around the historian’s historical consciousness, of the epistemological dimensions of the past that thicken the meaning of the present in his thought. At the heart of the discussion of historical consciousness is the argument: Historical consciousness, to the extent that it is experiential rather than speculative consciousness, deals with the given in the present and not with the real occurrence in the past […] Historical research touches the real occurrence through the given, which is the crystallization of this occurrence, but research never refers to the past occurrence directly. (Rotenstreich, 1955, 12)12

12



See also Rotenstreich, 1955, 15. This approach, viewing history from the perspective of the present, also exists in the writing of Michael Oakeshott. Rotenstreich was familiar with Oakeshott’s approach and integrated it into his studies. See Rotenstreich, 1963b, 71; 1954.

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As we have seen, the ontological observation of the past interprets the meaning of facts and events as an inseparable part of their occurrence (Rotenstreich, 1972a, 101). From an epistemological point of view, Rotenstreich states explicitly that the concepts of historical consciousness are not inherent to the given, but external to it (Rotenstreich, 1962c, 19). While in his ontology the “given” appears as portraying the closed past presence, in the epistemological context the “given” is presented as a result of the constituting of the historical consciousness, which isolated it from the real occurrence and fixed it in the presentday reality: “Without the historical consciousness the given would not exist at all, for without it we would always exist in the sphere of the real process that faces the future” (Rotenstreich, 1955, 13). In the movement of the historical consciousness from the given that is a remnant of the past to the fullness of the past reality, a relationship, or to use his term, a “crystallized datum,” is formed between the given and the process of which the present is a part. In fact, historical consciousness performs a double retreat —from the present to the past and from the “given” to the occurrence (ibid., 14). However, in Rotenstreich’s opinion, the relationship between the present and the past, formed through the historical consciousness, cannot serve as a reliable testimony to the material nature of the past occurrence. In his opinion, the anchoring of the historical consciousness in the present makes its access to the past as an ontological reality difficult: We cannot seek the basis for the perception of history in an object that was and that is detached from us. We cannot go in studying history along the path from the past object to us, but in the opposite direction: from us to the object. We cannot determine the reality from the isolation of the object from the system but within the system, meaning that the reality we do not determine in the past but within the whole process […] Research has no other way but to go out of the present and walk from it to the past. (Rotenstreich, 1962a, 55)

This means that historical consciousness does not and cannot have contact with the past occurrence itself. Rotenstreich states that historical consciousness changes the nature of the historical process in two ways. First, it grants the “given” in the present a decisive status in explaining and interpreting the past occurrence. This expresses

Chapter Two. Past and Present: The Philosophy of History

the synthetic nature of the historical consciousness regarding the past occurrence, portrayed in the meaning that consciousness gives it (Rotenstreich, 1955, 16). Second, “Historical research gathers the process in the present, but it builds itself a  new process, different from the real process, since it is a process of only selected links” (ibid., 18). In this spirit, Rotenstreich stresses in the description of the historical consciousness the activism shown by the historian toward the object of research: The historical research detaches the occurrences and the actions from their real existential sphere. It selects from the field of occurrence in its being a few events [… and reduces] the occurrence by gathering it in the present […] Historical consciousness reduces the real process by the very action that places itself in the focus. It makes the process gather in the present, and having reduced it, it seeks its expansion in order to explain the reduction. (Ibid., 17–8)

These expressions emphasize the constitutive character of historical consciousness, which naturally reflects a distance from the real past occurrence. In Rotenstreich’s perception, historical consciousness not only performs reproduction —reconstructs the past occurrence — it also first and foremost serves as a reproductive tool through which a new picture of the past is constituted, different from its real image at the time. Without doubt, these changes historical consciousness brings about in the image of the past reality could place it in contradiction with its ontological understanding. First, the past is identified with the events and a hierarchy is determined granting meaning the supremacy of a constitutive status, and perhaps even precedence over the occurrence that was. Here, meaning is not perceived in an ontological manner, as a component of the being of the past, but as the product of the constituting of the historical consciousness of a present-day historian. Now, not only is the past identified with what historical consciousness has recognized as a past occurrence, it transpires that the past does not appear in consciousness as a fullness, that is as a reality that is not exhausted by events or facts. The requirement from historical consciousness that it “[break up the past’s] uniform real being into given and occurrence” (ibid., 16) transpires as a decisive condition for establishing the superiority of historical consciousness over the past

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occurrence, and accordingly, of the present over the past. The inevitable gap historical consciousness bears, which is actually a  reflection of it, is summarized in Rotenstreich’s statement: “From now on say: complete accord between historical consciousness and historical occurrence is never possible” (ibid., 19). The positioning of historical consciousness within the domain of consciousness in general, and the emphasis on the unbridgeable gap between it and the real occurrence in the past, clearly connect it to the epistemological dimensions. These appear as almost a reversed mirror image of the ontological dimensions as sketched by Rotenstreich himself: Historical consciousness is unable not to explain history through history itself. Biological, physical, climatic, and other such factors, acting in history are not acting for their own sake, but in their involvement in man’s actions and reactions. They cease to be factors of the nature outside man and become factors of meaning, of construction, and of shaping by man. The decisive side of this matter is not the entity-like origin of the acting factor, but its real status and action. In terms of the real status even the climate and even the landscape become parts of history. Thus history cannot be reduced and made to rely on a primary entity, apparently. History is an autonomous authority that constructs itself. (Ibid., 33)

In this context, Rotenstreich adds that “any attempt to make the historical realm rely on another entity-like realm,” meaning a realm that does not exist within the boundaries of consciousness, “is invalid in principle.” In his opinion, such an attempt involves the denial of “the very essence of the historical realm, built on interrelations between the occurrence and consciousness, on the raising of consciousness from the occurrence, and its sinking into it” (ibid., 33). In other words, consciousness is the source for explaining the occurrence and the meaning produced from that explanation; this is eventually re-assimilated into the consciousness itself. The supremacy granted to consciousness in relation to the past occurrence is stressed to an extent that finally leads to the identification of the historical consciousness with history itself, and to the presentation of this consciousness as an autonomous realm.

Chapter Two. Past and Present: The Philosophy of History

C. Ontology and Epistemology How should we understand the relation between the epistemological perception and the ontological perception of the past? Rotenstreich himself did not address this question, just as he did not transparently sketch the two fields of which his philosophy of history is composed. However, a profound study of his writing may offer an answer to it. Without doubt, the characterizing of historical consciousness as detached from the past occurrence is problematic in several respects. First, this detaching does not accord with the fundamental perception of history, connecting the “lineage” with the “chronicles.” Rotenstreich expresses this position explicitly: “The epistemic does not invent the ontologic, but the ontologic does not just stand opaquely there. […] It is not only that the epistemic interacts with the ontologic but that the ontologic structures and moulds the epistemic as well.” Rotenstreich determines that the balance existing between the ontological dimension of the past and its epistemological dimension is an essential feature of historical literature. This is because the epistemic author, the historian, is the recipient of the historical fact —a recipient who does not only know the facts but also integrates them into his life-world (Rotenstreich, 1972a, 101–2), i. e. the real contemporary present-day reality. History transpires as a  field of meeting in which the shared ground between the ontological and the epistemic becomes clear and evident. Moreover, detaching the historical consciousness from the past occurrence that serves as its object cannot enable the historiosophical project of Rotenstreich himself, who expressed commitment to the ontological and epistemological dimensions of history (Rotenstreich, 1955, 10). Second, this characterization of historical consciousness contradicts the fundamental insights that arose from Rotenstreich’s concept of the past, stressing the ontological nature of the “meaning” it possessed. Rotenstreich states that “Historical consciousness [… is not] making a  statue from raw stone, but making a  statue from a  statue” (ibid., 27). Indeed, “Historical consciousness creates the given by making itself a focus, but the lights gathered on this focus are not its own lights, but the lights of the real process in the past” (ibid., 13–14). This means that historical consciousness does not contain its own origin, but relies on a  reality external to it for its very existence. This statement is merely the positive side of the argument that “historical consciousness is never a matter of interest for the real

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occurrence” (ibid., 15). This argument affirms the existence of the reality beyond the historical consciousness —a reality preventing the possibility that the two of them become detached from each other. The relations of negation and contrast that form between historical consciousness and the past reality are now properly clarified: as these relations express the presence of the past’s epistemological dimensions, they also affirm the reality of the ontological entity characterized, among other things, by its restricted accessibility by human consciousness. This means that the gaps and difficulties arising in the attempt to understand the past’s remnants appearing in the present may also establish the strength of the ontological understanding of the past, without denying the importance and significance of its epistemological dimensions. We can state that to the extent that the historical consciousness transcends the realm of consciousness to the reality external to it —that is, the past —this reality is assumed in it as an element whose existence does not depend upon it. Rotenstreich distinguishes between the expansion typical of the historical occurrence and that taking place within the boundaries of the historical consciousness: the former is “original and primary wideness that existed in its connection to the actual process,” while the latter “is methodical: it is merely a hypothesis of consciousness” (ibid., 18). This distinction contributes to the establishment and strengthening of the weight of the ontological dimensions in his perception of history. Similarly, Rotenstreich characterizes the openness of historical research as “a quality of [its] method” (ibid., 19). However, the meaning he grants this openness — connecting the given to the occurrence and the ability to reveal new links or new meanings in the “given”—does not leave any doubt that the openness revealed in historical research is openness toward the entity of the past occurrence; and entity portrayed in the “given” serving as a starting point for the historian’s research. Indeed, historical consciousness may express a  significant degree of creativity and even addition regarding the real occurrence from the past, whose clarification it addresses. But this occurrence constitutes for the historical consciousness a guiding substrate due to which it cannot be any more than semi-autonomous, and which prevents it becoming “the consciousness of chaos […] and open to any arbitrariness” (ibid., 32). The issue of the objectivity of the historical consciousness, or alternately, the problem of subjectivism, whose details are not relevant here, arises in Rotenstreich’s discussion precisely in face of the

Chapter Two. Past and Present: The Philosophy of History

recognition of the enforcing element hidden in the reality of the past occurrence.13 Furthermore, the dominance of the ontological element in Rotenstreich’s perception of the past, and the special problematic that historical consciousness causes regarding it, require the subject to formulate a restraining stance that withdraws his sovereignty and autonomy as a conscious creature in favor of the entity-like element existing beyond him. In achieving this stance toward the past the subject may express recognition of the priority and primacy of the past entity in relation to the epistemic connections directed at it by individuals in general and by historians in particular. A restrained subject can contribute to the correct ontological understanding of the past, since his stance toward the past contains the recognition of the limitations of his understanding, thus revealing in it a fundamental fact about the past entity itself, that only partial and limited appearances of it are revealed while its encompassing entirety remains concealed. This concealment does not denote a negative facet of the knowledge about the past, but a positive feature of its entity. Finally, it transpires that one of the appearances of the entity itself is revealed, and not only this, but is also requires a suitable disposition on the subject’s part to enable the appearance of the entity. This disposition, composed of a multiplicity of foci of reference, weakens the ability to become fortified in one dominant perspective that would lead to a reductive understanding of the entity, and also expresses the entity’s centrality as an object to which the various references are directed. Thus, for instance, in the philosophy of history the past reality is not immediately revealed in its first appearance, the “given,” and this is why a directed search by the subject is necessary, and therefore clarifying the epistemological dimensions involved in this search is essential for understanding the entity itself. At the same time, Rotenstreich stresses in his analysis of the historical consciousness its distance from the past reality and the problematic entailed in the objectivity of the historical consciousness. This expresses the understanding that the past is not completely assimilated in the human

13



On the problem of the objectivity of historical consciousness, see Rotenstreich, 1955, 25–33; on the problem of subjectivism and its treatment, see Rotenstreich, 1953b, 601–3. Gadamer also handled this problem; see Gadamer, 2004, 292, 295, 309–21.

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attempts to understand it, and is not clay in the hand of the historian searching for meaning. The researching historian is thus required to place himself at his object’s disposal, and naturally to restrain to the best of his ability the human tendency to enforce upon the objects of his historical consciousness the general categories of consciousness, or his personal beliefs and opinions. Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history raises the need to create an appropriate ontological discourse about the past, which would enable access to the real dimensions it embodies and would contain the internal variance portrayed by the past reality, composed of an element of material and an element of meaning. Moreover, this discourse should prevent a hierarchy between these elements, or a decision in favor of one or the other. The subject’s part in this discourse should be restrained, and is primarily to enable the past to achieve presence in the present, beyond being an object of reference. We should recall that such a presence cannot be predicted a priori due to its transcendent nature, which contains hiddenness and surprise. In this context, consciousness of the hiddenness of the past entity should prevent its identification with the events or facts of the past. In the end, in Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history relations of correlation and joining exist between the epistemological and ontological aspects of the historical sphere. The formation of these relations is not only a testimony to the subject’s ability to overcome what Rotenstreich called the “abyss of entity” between the past and the present. These relations may be interpreted as a reflection of the past’s fullness —a fullness that also enables it to transcend itself. This complex understanding of the relations between the past reality and the human attempts to study it helps put to the test the fundamental substrates of the perceptions examined throughout this book. Rotenstreich’s consistent striving to achieve an ontological understanding of the past, distinguished from its epistemic connections and at the same time enabling access in principle to itself using the tools of the historical consciousness, fundamentally undermines the two paradigmatic approaches expressed by Yerushalmi and Funkenstein. Rotenstreich’s systematic philosophical discussion thoroughly disproves the perception of the past appearing in Yerushalmi. As we recall, the attempt to achieve a radical ontological perception of the Jewish past, at whose center was the decisive reality of the transcendent, was perceived by Yerushalmi as requiring consistent effort to remove this perception from the possible influence of epis-

Chapter Two. Past and Present: The Philosophy of History

temic references to it, and naturally also from the influence of real processes in the present from which these references were directed at it. Rotenstreich’s special emphasis on the ontological dimensions of the past also undermines Funkenstein’s approach, focused on the epistemic relations of present-day people toward the past. But Rotenstreich’s undermining of Yerushalmi’s position is more radical than the one directed at Funkenstein’s position, which despite perceiving the Jewish past as a treasure of contents did not overtly dismiss the possibility of understanding the Jewish past in ontological terms. Finally, Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history also opposes the dialectical thought of Kurzweil and Scholem, with its tension between the ontological interest in experiencing the presence of the past and the epistemic desire to understand the past in the present. Unlike the others, Rotenstreich presents an approach containing the shared presence of ontological and epistemological dimensions in history, without it leaving behind a mark of tension or difficulty. His philosophy of history makes redundant the need to extricate a one-sided decision from dialectic thought —whether the decision Yerushalmi adopted, tending to stress the ontological aspects of history, or the one that in the spirit of Funkenstein’s approach follows the epistemic and epistemological dimensions entailed in the relation of present-day people to their past.

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From Beliefs and Opinions to Reality: The Primacy of the Present The consistent and dual observation around which Rotenstreich formed his philosophy of history, directed at the past and the present and simultaneously turned to their ontological and epistemological dimensions, serves as a starting point for his studies of modern Judaism. His extensive oeuvre, seeking to examine modern Jewish thought and the reality in the State of Israel, distinguishes between two dimensions—“lineage” and “reality”—that also appear as subheading of the first volume of his great book Jewish Thought in the Modern Era. In principle, the former dimension enfolds the range of components belonging to the past, and the second dimension contains those involved in the present-day real reality. However, the characterization of these two dimensions in the book’s opening as the “dimension of beliefs and opinions” and the “dimension of existence” shows the main distinction between the past and the present in the context of Jewish existence in Rotenstreich’s perception. The first dimension denotes the ontological dimension of Jewish existence, or the “reality.” It is identified with the reality of present-day life, also called “the real historical being of the Jewish nation” (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 1). It portrays the very being of the nation, since in Rotenstreich’s opinion, “A nation is a historical entity to the extent that it is an entity in the present” (ibid., 3). The second dimension denotes the epistemic dimension in this existence, meaning “Various attempts to interpret the nature of Judaism as a system of positions or beliefs and opinions, and also the directions of interpreting man’s status in the world and the world’s status in general” (ibid., 1). Immediately afterward, Rotenstreich identifies the epistemic aspect with the past of Jewish existence, which is accordingly characterized as a  “treasure of positions and concepts” (ibid., 3), and thus the “beliefs and opinions” dimension is connected to the component of “lineage.” Rotenstreich does not deny that Jewish existence in the past bore the nature of real reality, and even states that “the literary docu-

Chapter Three. From Beliefs and Opinions to Reality: The Primacy of the Present

ment with its interpretation is not merely an artistic-theoretical document, it is also a cornerstone for the real life of the public.” His emphasis is clearly on this being a “historical […] life reflected in the literary document,” and from this he concludes that “it is necessary that the literary document will also be the creator of the historical continuity of this public and be the constitutor of the historical life of this public” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 12). In a  different context he distinguishes between praxis in the Marxist sense, meaning “a category of historical behavior, a factor explaining how history moves and how it changes,” and “the act discussed in Judaism [that] is a daily act, not what moves and creates the historical movement.” In his opinion, “Judaism did not distinguish between ritual and the everyday […] but saw the everyday intertwined in the system of norms” (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 35), and in this respect it did not create a  special place within itself for the human activity that creates history as a real reality. In general, in Rotenstreich’s perception of Judaism the element of existence is attached to the present-day real reality, while the element of beliefs and opinions is attached to the epistemic dimensions dealing with the abstract perceptions that Judaism formed in the past. Rotenstreich admits that “there exists […] a connection between the issue of existence and the issue of beliefs and opinions” (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 2, emphases in original). However, when he discusses the Jewish past, he stresses that among the three “enfolded aspects” of the concept of the Jewish tradition —the documental text of the Bible, the religious work in its interpretative side, and the historical lives formed around the connection to the interpretation of the literary document —he is only interested in “the two contents meanings of the concept of tradition, that is, the deciphering interpretation and the historical lives related to the literary document” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 12, emphases in original). Later, Rotenstreich even declares, “We are entitled and perhaps even required to distinguish between the topics of discussion […] the theoretical interpretation of Judaism on the one hand and the analysis of the way of life of the Jewish nation on the other hand” (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 5). As will transpire, Rotenstreich’s choice to distinguish sharply between the beliefs, opinions, and ways of life and the real Jewish existence in general will create a fundamental dichotomy with extensive implications for the shaping of his position regarding the issues of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, tradition, historical continuity, secularization, and the character of the Jewish nation in its state.

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The key to understanding Rotenstreich’s perception of the change that took place in the Jewish nation in the modern era lies in his identification of the Jewish past with beliefs and opinions and the present with reality and real existence: “One of the identifying features of Jewish thought in the modern era is actually paying attention to the historical reality, meaning the reality in time, of the Jewish nation, with special attention to the present (meaning that of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries)” (ibid., 1). Rotenstreich does not only focus on the processes of change in the present-day reality, but also understands this reality as an object at which the processes themselves are directed. Indeed, the changes in the present-day real reality were also accompanied by changes and developments on the epistemic level, meaning also in the dimension that he defined as “beliefs and opinions.” These led in his opinion to innovations “in the contents of the concept systems of Jewish thinkers in the modern era.” In this context, there also existed wide cultural processes that were an outcome of the establishment of the “scientific worldview [that] restricts the steps of the religious-traditional worldview.” Rotenstreich notes that in the Jewish context this was apparent in basing the religion on morality, which contributed to the development of universalistic interpretations of Judaism (ibid., 2). In his opinion, the spiritual change that denotes the formation of modern Judaism is “a side-effect of the change of eras in the chronicles of the Jewish nation in the past generations” (ibid., 9). Moreover, the changes themselves expressed a response to real processes in real reality, which reflected the new focus of Jews in the present: “The prominence of the combination of thought systems with historical processes, a combination that naturally influences the ways of life and tendencies that result from them, is probably an appearance from among the appearances of the power of these processes in the path of the Jewish nation in the past generations and in the present generation in particular” (ibid., 7). Against this perception of the relations between beliefs and opinions and the real Jewish existence, and of the relations forming between the present and the past, Rotenstreich determines the preferred status of the reality of life in the present: “We are dealing with reality and not just with its historical or ideational evaluation, which cannot replace reality even if the evaluation is correct” (Rotenstreich, 1966, 60). To the extent that the Jewish past bears within it directed values and norms, in Rotenstreich’s opinion “It did not contain that decisive side that exists in the present of Eretz-Israel and the hints of the

Chapter Three. From Beliefs and Opinions to Reality: The Primacy of the Present

present to the future: life in the real world […] The Jewish past, with all its greatness, existed instead of reality […] and therefore it cannot replace the meeting with reality” (ibid., 57–8). Rotenstreich declares the preferred status he grants to real reality in the present over past contents of the sources and their interpretation: The new Jewish reality shapes our thought: unlike the Jewish thought from previous generations, whose main interest was in a systematic-essential interpretation, a philosophical interpretation, of documents, we are interested here not only in interpreting documents but also in interpreting reality. This is a great change that has taken place in Jewish history: standing in reality and considering it. (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 37–8)

In Rotenstreich’s opinion, the new status of reality in the Jewish being gives Jewish thought the challenge of dealing with the “innovation in reality” (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 6), and it should not “fulfill its duty with the analytical approach”; it must examine “the weight of the changes in reality concerning the directions of study in the thought systems” (ibid., 5). Undoubtedly, from Rotenstreich’s point of view the most important event in present-day Jewish reality is the founding of the State of Israel and the formation of Israeli society (Rotenstreich, 1966, 54). In his opinion, the occurrence in reality also enfolds an explicit demand for the realization of a reality that does not appear as a derivative of an abstract thought process: The affirmation of the land of Israel, in its real sense, entails a  demand for a  Jewish reality different to that of the diaspora Judaism, that cannot be built on the foundations that are within the power of objective consciousness […] There is no affirmation that does not also contain negation; affirmation is the other side of negation. In the affirmation of the land of Israel, in this fundamental sense, there lies a demand that has no meaning unless another reality is denied, just as the affirmation of a life of activity is naturally a  denial of a  life of passivity. This affirmation, whose other side is negation, is not the negation of Jews who live differently, but the negation of the assumption that there might be a collective Jewish existence with power and historical status that does not exist according to the Judaism of the Jews of the land of Israel. (Ibid., 55)

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There is a clear connection between determining the importance and superiority of the present-day reality over the past reality, and crowning the State of Israel as the most important event in modern Jewish reality. In other words, the supremacy of the present-day Jewish reality (compared with the past) is naturally also its supremacy over the thought identified with the Jewish past. Rotenstreich identifies the past and tradition with the epistemic dimensions of history, and the present and real reality with the ontological dimensions; this is unprecedented in the other approaches discussed in this book. Rotenstreich’s approach is distinguished first and foremost from those of Kurzweil and Scholem, who hardly differentiated between the ontological aspects of the change that took place in the being of the Jewish nation in the modern era and its epistemic dimensions. As we recall, Kurzweil stresses the dominance of the transcendent presence in Jewish existence. For him, its direct and reliable expression is found in the formation processes of the literary work. While consciousness and the subject in general play an active role in the work of art, this is perceived mainly as granting reality, and in this respect the literary work is an ontological representation. For Scholem the picture is slightly more complex. On the face of it, like Rotenstreich, for Scholem there exists a basis for distinguishing the epistemological and the ontological in the two observations pervading his thought. The historical one has a connection to the epistemic level, while the ontological aspects are at the center of the metaphysical observation. However, the active role attributed to the historian as the person who reveals the epistemic dimensions of the past in Rotenstreich’s perception does not accord with the restraint and passivity attributed to the historian in Scholem’s thought. Also, the expressions of activism by the metaphysician observer sketched by Scholem contrast with the restraint of the subject in the face of the ontological dimensions of the past stressed in Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history. Moreover, the deep connections between the two observations mentioned in Scholem’s approach undermine the primary possibility to identify the historical observation with the epistemic dimensions of Jewish history, and the metaphysical one with the ontological dimensions. Rotenstreich’s approach also differs from that of Yerushalmi and Funkenstein, who also distinguished, at different levels of explicitness and for different motives, between the ontological dimensions of Jewish existence and the epistemic dimensions involved in it. On this issue, Rotenstreich’s approach is farther away from that of

Chapter Three. From Beliefs and Opinions to Reality: The Primacy of the Present

Yerushalmi. As we have seen, for Yerushalmi the first Jewish historians created a fundamental change in the understanding of Judaism, and their work and heritage can be understood as declaring the superiority of mental and conscious processes over the reality of Jewish life that preceded the appearance of the Wissenschaft des Judentums. In other words, not only does Yerushalmi’s approach consider the constitutive event of modern Judaism as an event in the realm of thought or in the field of epistemology; in his eyes the very meaning of this event is the removal of Jewish reality in favor of thoughts and ideas. From a philosophical historical perspective, the difference between the two can be characterized in terms of the gap between the Marxist and the Hegelian approaches: the former, closer to that of Rotenstreich, emphasizes the power of reality to determine thought; the latter, sharing common themes with that of Yerushalmi, sees thought as the most important event taking place in reality. The fact that, on the issue of understanding the nature of the occurrence in the modern era, the approaches of Yerushalmi and Rotenstreich are at opposite poles is further evidence that their paradigmatic status is not absolute but is primarily a methodical tool, tested in its hermeneutic efficiency in elucidating the central issues under discussion in this book. In this context, what differentiates Rotenstreich’s approach from that of Funkenstein, with which Rotenstreich shared the understanding of the Jewish past in epistemic terms, stems from the fundamental perception of the epistemic relation itself. The rigidity with which Rotenstreich perceived the epistemic relation led him to identify the Jewish past with beliefs and opinions, and left no room for understanding this past in ontological terms; a complete being of life that is not exhausted only in the relation to abstract contents, let alone dogmatic contents. This is the same rigidity that characterized Yerushalmi’s approach, but for him it was expressed in his interpretation of the epistemic processes that modern historicism introduced to Jewish existence. Rotenstreich and Yerushalmi thus share the emphasis on the dramatic differences between present-day Jewish reality and the traditional Jewish reality of the past, and even took from them a similar conclusion, whereby in the Jewish context the relation and the discussion of the traditional contents of the religion and the full Jewish lifestyle exist on two sides of the fence, and there is no possibility of building a bridge between them. While Rotenstreich perceived the Jewish past in epistemic terms, Yerushalmi understood it in ontological terms, those of the transcendent entity present in it. Even in the

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epistemic processes that have taken place in Jewish existence since the appearance of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, he discusses in terms of their ontological meaning, which is pushing aside the presence of God from Jewish existence. Compared with Rotenstreich and Yerushalmi, Funkenstein displays significant flexibility in the perception of the epistemic relation to the sources of religion. Funkenstein’s approach leaves room for the possibility that modern Jewish reality could be interpreted in ontological terms, including traditional terms. He usually does not identify the conflict that an epistemic relation to traditional contents could arouse in a changing reality in a given present. Without doubt, Funkenstein’s missing the conflict that could arise between this relation and traditional concepts is responsible for his perception of historical continuity as an almost inevitable process. In contrast, Rotenstreich, who assumed a  significant gap and conflict between the perception of Jewish reality in the present and that of the past, could not have assumed the possibility of realizing historical continuity, and therefore proposed an alternative interpretation of the relations between the present and the past. One could argue that the differences between Rotenstreich and Funkenstein are not actually so significant, and as proof of this —neither of them has the rhetoric of the break, dealing with which was a  significant part of the approaches of Yerushalmi, Kurzweil, and Scholem. Like Rotenstreich, Funkenstein too could have admitted that even if the Jewish past is interpreted in ontological terms, this is still an epistemic relation to it. This aspect differentiates the approaches of these two from the patterns of relation sketched in the thought of Yerushalmi, Kurzweil, and Scholem. Even if the mentioned differences are considered minor, they still indicate Rotenstreich’s rigid modernism, or perhaps the formative contribution of Jewish thought in the Middle Ages, which under contemporary Christian influences stressed the dogmatic dimensions of the Jewish religion. Either way, these contributed to Rotenstreich’s understanding of the religion as a collection of faith dogmas, without being able to consider the fullness of the religious being, which is not exhausted by abstract perceptions regarding God or in relation to religion, but which bears a wide meaning capable of permeating the range of dimensions and practices of human existence. In this respect, the constant striving to understand the past as a reality that in its time was the present —the climax of Rotenstreich’s

Chapter Three. From Beliefs and Opinions to Reality: The Primacy of the Present

philosophy of history —almost did not permeate his observation of modern Judaism. It appears that there is not and cannot be a dialogue between two approaches located at the opposite poles of a paradigm. However, comparing the positions of Rotenstreich and Yerushalmi on this issue to that of the other thinkers may help to clarify Rotenstreich’s position, which for reasons relating to the status he granted present-day Jewish reality created a sort of epistemologization of the Jewish past. Unlike Rotenstreich and Yerushalmi, the other three —Funkenstein, Kurzweil, and Scholem —avoided the decisive context in shaping the character of modern Judaism. Each of these three, for his own metaphysical reasons, discussed in detail in the section devoted to his thought, identified processes of continuity between modern reality and the preceding reality. The comparison between the two positions expressing an epistemic perception of the Jewish past —those of Rotenstreich and Funkenstein —thus shows that what determines the place of Rotenstreich’s positions as an extreme pole stems from the dogmatic shaping of the Jewish past in terms of beliefs and opinions rather than from his very perception of the Jewish past in epistemic or ontological terms, and not even from his recognition of the real processes of secularization in present-day Jewish reality, which he shared with the other thinkers. Indeed, it seems likely that an epistemic perception of the past and an ontology focused on the present would not make it difficult to form a  relation to the past, since such a  relation does not depend upon adopting behavioral norms that might be archaic and detached from the present. Also, participating in the present-day Jewish reality is not tied to external norms but mainly to the actual processes taking place within it. Thus it transpires that the positioning at an extreme pole is an outcome of the nature of the concepts of epistemology and ontology on the basis of the various approaches. Rotenstreich’s position is a tangible example that the epistemic shaping of the past might transition into a dogmatic and rigid position no less than the one perceiving the past in ontological terms, originating in the pre-modern Jewish being.

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The Historization of Judaism and Wissenschaft des Judentums The central problem raised by the decisive dominance granted in Rotenstreich’s perception to the present-day reality involves the removal of the past’s ontological understanding from the center of his philosophy of history. The question is: why is Rotenstreich’s philosophical understanding of the past as a real reality, not identical to or conditioned upon the epistemic references directed at it, absent from his interpretation of modern Judaism? The answer may be found in Rotenstreich’s understanding of the historization of Judaism as a process that uproots its particular dimensions. In this spirit, Rotenstreich described the historical observation as viewing Judaism as “a historical link, one of the historical links,” as part of the non-Jewish world. Therefore, in his opinion, “Any attempt to uphold the special value of Judaism, let alone its absolute value, encounters a fundamental problem” (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 13). The process of the historization of Judaism thus transpires in Rotenstreich’s approach as part of a process of weakening Judaism’s particular dimensions. Since these dimensions stem from the past traditional existence —which Rotenstreich identifies with beliefs and opinions, that is with the array of epistemic relations directed at Judaism —we can state that the ontological perception of present-day Jewish reality expresses an attempt to understand it in general terms. This interpretation accords with Scholem’s interpretation of the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, which in his opinion caused “theologization and spiritualization” of Judaism,1 with one important difference: Scholem saw it as a distorted approach and criticized it sharply, while Rotenstreich’s description of the process is neutral and even calm.

1



Scholem, 1976a, 396. This criticism of Scholem’s has received extensive discussion in research. See Myers, 1995, 23, 167; Biale, 1979, 3–4; Idel, 2003, 67–8; 2006, 186.

Chapter Four. The Historization of Judaism and Wissenschaft des Judentums

In the inclusive observation of Jewish history that Rotenstreich presents, religion is perceived as equivalent to religious consciousness, and thus everything related to the way of life, norms, and ritual, embodying its particular dimensions, is removed from the religion. Accordingly, Jewish thought is entrusted with “maintaining Judaism in its separateness and its self-value, within and against the background of the general historical process” (ibid., 14). It appears that as much as Rotenstreich grants precedence and superiority to the present-day reality, his perception of Judaism as an abstract problem leads him to task the thought with connecting and mediating to real reality: “Jewish thought dealing with Jewish reality, with its shades and aspects, should address this factual combination and its significance, and not be satisfied with the analytic approach” (ibid., 5).2 This means that the identification of the Jewish past with the aspect of “beliefs and opinions” (ibid., 1) is an outcome of this inclusive observation, permeated with the modernistic assumptions entailed in the historicistic worldview as Rotenstreich understood it: “The historical process has infiltrated Judaism itself. Not only is the connection between Judaism and other religious units a connection against the background of the historical process —even Judaism in itself, within its own boundaries, contains development, changes, and alterations” (ibid., 14). The detachment between thought and reality, at the basis of Rotenstreich’s perception of modern Judaism, is not only a result of identifying the tradition and the pre-modern religious existence with beliefs and opinions, but also of his more fundamental understanding of Judaism as detached from the real historical level. In other words, not only in its being identified with thought is Judaism detached from reality, this break is also a more fundamental feature of pre-modern Judaism. The perception of pre-modern Jewish history as a static being existing outside of the historical processes is shared by Rotenstreich with Yerushalmi, Funkenstein, and Kurzweil. However, while they saw this static nature as an expression of the self-completeness of the Jewish being, and even as evidence for its self-sufficiency, Rotenstreich interpreted the static nature as an expression of detachment and narrowing.3 The processes of change that took place on the real levels of

2

See also Rotenstreich, 1978a, 185; compare ibid., 160.

3

See Yerushalmi, 1989, 94–5; Funkenstein, 1993, 15–6; Kurzweil, 1973a, 35, 57–8, 106. The exception is Gershom Scholem, who saw the past Jewish tra-



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modern Judaism also project onto the epistemic dimensions typical of it. Rotenstreich describes this as follows: Tradition is not perceived in its cumulative character but the tendency is in a […] selective […] direction. The status of these is not necessarily the status of a norm due to the connection between tradition and the source, but due to the matters with a directing status within the immanent historical process —are matters belonging to the way of life of the nation as a historical existing thing and not necessarily as a  thing existing in relation to revelation. (Ibid., 7)

Rotenstreich argues that the processes occurring on the real level of modern Jewish existence contributed to “the question regarding the theoretical content of Judaism arising with more urgency” (ibid., 16, emphasis in original). From his point of view, the changes taking place in the real-historical realm not only do not dispute the identification of Judaism with epistemic contents, they even lend support to its deep study as theoretical content. In this spirit, he states that “The theoretical dogma must fulfill the role of the halakhah” (ibid., emphasis in original). However, despite Judaism’s identification with beliefs and opinions, Rotenstreich believes that the selection that has taken place within the contents of the tradition in the modern era is not necessarily a detracting and diminishing process. The selectivity denotes a new attitude toward them, not granting them the status of a directing norm, and is an outcome of the first introduction of the dimension of reality into the Jewish being. This approach of Rotenstreich differs from Yerushalmi’s, whereby the process of historical selection inevitably causes the thinning and diminishing of the contents of tradition, and is similar to Funkenstein’s approach in that it does not see historical selection as a negative process but as an inseparable part of Judaism’s being a real historical phenomenon.4 The common ground between Funkenstein and Rotenstreich on this point is first and foremost an expression of their perception of modern Judaism being free of any dimension of break. However, while Funkenstein’s positive approach

dition as a stormy, multi-faceted being possessing influence over the reality in both the present and the future; see e. g. Scholem, 1976a, 139. 4



See Yerushalmi, 1989, 94–5; Funkenstein, 1993, 18.

Chapter Four. The Historization of Judaism and Wissenschaft des Judentums

to the process of historical selection relies on the understanding of historical consciousness as a framework that can affirm and preserve the deep contents of the tradition, Rotenstreich’s approach assumes the rigidity and original dogmatism of the contents. These features of the contents of tradition protect their completeness and their immunity not only to historical consciousness but also in relation to the real historical process itself; historical consciousness and the historical process do no leave their mark on these contents. In the end, in his opinion the identification of Judaism with the epistemic contents remains standing. If Judaism is originally an accumulation of beliefs and opinions, what did the historicism of the Wissenschaft des Judentums actually do? How did Rotenstreich understand this phenomenon, whose meaning and implications so worried members of his generation? Rotenstreich locates the Wissenschaft des Judentums within the more general phenomenon of the crystallization of Judaism as a historical phenomenon in the modern era: The first respect in the historical perception of the Wissenschaft des Judentums […] reduces history […] to the real and complete knowledge of the religious idea. The religious idea does not develop; it is as it was given. One of the identifying features of Judaism is that its religious content does not develop but is given by revelation; [The second respect…] We must recognize how this line liberated the historical process from the connection to the abstract religious idea and emphasized the connection between the process and real public life. (Ibid., 42–3)

It appears that while Rotenstreich perceived the intellectual work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums as a reflection of the real reality typical of the Jewish nation in the nineteenth century —i. e. the involvement of Jews in wide historical processes in their cultural surroundings —in his opinion the Wissenschaft des Judentums is not responsible for the identification of Judaism with the accumulation of beliefs and opinions. This is Judaism’s original character, and being identified with a religious idea, it is not liable to change or development. It appears that in Rotenstreich’s approach it is possible to consider the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums as positioning Judaism as the object of historical research without this changing its understanding. In this spirit, he states, “The Wissenschaft des Judentums […] did not come

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to add anything to the given content of Judaism, but to study this content with conceptual tools. [… It] draws its historical approach not from feeling the change that it was introducing into the world of Judaism, but from stressing the distance between it and this world” (ibid., 36). Furthermore, “The Wissenschaft des Judentums is based, in fact, on the assumption that the distance from the world of tradition is an existing fact that must be accepted and cannot be denied” (ibid., 35). Rotenstreich finds justification for his opinions in Zunz, who, in his opinion, perceived Jewish creative work “by its very essence [… as] a reflective work, coming to understand the works of the past, without being its continuation,” and in the Hegelian approach, whereby science and conceptual knowledge are the result of distance that contains no new contents (ibid. 35–6, emphasis in original).5 This perception that there exists a break between reality and thinking about reality is also described independently by Rotenstreich: “The systematic attempt to define the essence of Judaism uproots, by its very nature, the contents of Judaism in the field of beliefs and opinions from the historical process […] The role of the systematic study is to determine the essence of Judaism as a system of beliefs and opinions despite [emphasis in original] its historicity” (ibid., 15). So the historization of Judaism, like any conceptualizing and generalizing approach, created an uprooting from the real historical level. It seems that from Rotenstreich’s point of view, this process does not denote an essential change in Judaism, since, in his opinion, the original uprooting occurred on a level that is “uprooted from historicity” in the first place —the realm of beliefs and opinions. This means that the appearance of the Wissenschaft des Judentums on the stage of Jewish history did not undermine the contrast between life and history and thought, characteristic of Judaism from its inception. Rotenstreich posits that the founders of the Society for Culture and the Scientific Study of the Jews were themselves subject to the influence of this fundamental contrast, which in his opinion does not make modern Judaism unique:

5



On the ideal of science in the constituting of German historicism contemporary with the Wissenschaft des Judentums, see Ringer, 1969, 102–3. On the reception of the ideal of science among the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, see Mendes-Flohr, 1991, 25–37.

Chapter Four. The Historization of Judaism and Wissenschaft des Judentums The appearance of Jewish vitality is literature, and in any case the standstill of the literary work emphasizes the standstill of Jewish vitality. The assimilation of the spiritual factor as the contents of the work (in accordance with the concept of the spirit that was current in that generation) enabled the Wissenschaft des Judentums to divert its attention from the social life of the Jewish public in the present, which cannot be treated with the distance of scientific-objective observation. (Ibid., 46)

Rotenstreich’s stance on this issue, as opposed to the other thinkers, is complex, since at each point of commonality differences arise that themselves enable commonality from another direction. Rotenstreich shares with Yerushalmi the perception assuming a fundamental contrast between the focus on the epistemic dimensions of Judaism and the involvement of Jews in real historical processes. For Rotenstreich, the origin and crystallization of the epistemic dimension as a dominant element stems from the pre-modern Jewish existence, but continues after it too. In contrast, from Yerushalmi’s point of view, the penetration of the epistemic relation into Judaism as a result of secularization was intended to serve as a substitute for the transcendent ontological presence on which the Jewish tradition was established, but it was denied in the historicistic era: History is no longer a handmaiden of dubious repute to be tolerated occasionally and with embarrassment. She confidently pushes her way to the very center and brazenly demands her due. For the first time it is not history that must prove its utility to Judaism, but Judaism that must prove its validity to history, by revealing and justifying itself historically.6

The contrast between the epistemic relation and the ontological reality, shared by Yerushalmi and Rotenstreich, serves different purposes in their approaches: For Yerushalmi, this contrast serves as a tool for establishing the power of the past in Jewish history, a past conquered by the transcendent entity. The persistence of the contrast constantly denotes the essential surplus of transcendence over any process or dimension involving the immanent reality. Conversely, for

6



Yerushalmi, 1989, 84.

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Rotenstreich the gap between the epistemic relations and the ontological reality is harnessed precisely to establish the supremacy of presentday reality, which in his opinion is apparent in its independence of the way of life as shaped in the Jewish tradition of the past. Rotenstreich shares with Funkenstein the perception of the modern era’s connection to the Jewish tradition as primarily epistemic. While Funkenstein saw the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums as a link in an ongoing sequence of interpretative tradition, and even attributed the continuity itself to the epistemic connections formed each time from within the reality of present-day life, Rotenstreich did not condition the possibility of continuity upon epistemic relations. These relations, as we will see, can themselves embody the fundamental gap existing between the past as a thought element and the present as a real reality. The epistemic relation to the past responds to the fundamental character of the Jewish tradition, identified in Rotenstreich’s approach with an accumulation of beliefs and opinions, and in no way should the relations themselves be considered evidence for the existence of historical continuity. In Rotenstreich’s opinion, the Wissenschaft des Judentums is a prominent example of the epistemic relation to the Jewish tradition, even very developed and complex, that was not accompanied by a real presence in the world of present-day people at the time: “The line of Jewish creation, continuing for generations, was broken and the Wissenschaft des Judentums does not come to continue this work from reawakening, but to understand the work of the past through observing it” (ibid., 35, emphasis in original).7 Similarly, Rotenstreich shares with Scholem and Kurzweil the recognition that the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums was based on a relation of distance from Jewish life, portrayed in an abstract and theoretical relation toward it.8 While these two addressed the problematic entailed in this relation, and believed that the dialectic typical of Jewish history could act to replace the distance with proximity and to reignite the vitality and essentiality of modern Jewish existence, Rotenstreich displayed an attitude of acceptance toward the distance, and did not even note the fundamental tension it contained for the reality of present-day life. For Scholem, the distance from traditional Judaism and the

7

See also Funkenstein, 1993, 10–11.

8

See Scholem, 1976a, 396; Kurzweil, 1960, 20.



Chapter Four. The Historization of Judaism and Wissenschaft des Judentums

range of problematics he identified in the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums bear the nature of a result more than they express the deliberate intention of its founders, described by him as themselves falling victim to its contradictions. The deep element determining the differences between Rotenstreich and the other thinkers relates to the degree of autonomy of real historical reality. The supremacy granted to the actual present-day reality at the core of Rotenstreich’s approach expresses a more extreme perception of autonomy. Rotenstreich’s argument that the Wissenschaft des Judentums did not portray in its time a  dramatic shift in the lives of the Jews, and particularly that it did not undermine the identification of Judaism with religious contents, does not mean that no change occurred in the being of Jews in the modern era. Rotenstreich believes that along with the Jews’ participation in the historical process, and with the direction of the historical observation to their identity and their past, the permanent essence of Judaism as a treasure of beliefs and opinions was positioned against a new background. Rotenstreich characterizes this change using different terms with one interest: a  transition from revelation to tradition, “a transition from the metaphysical-transcendent realm to the historical-immanent realm,” or alternatively “a  transition from metaphysics to history” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 15), in which “the distinction of eternity from time was undermined” (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 186). This transition has two facets: temporal and content-related. The former embodies the temporal dimension in the transition, through which revelation is perceived for the first time as an event that took place in time. The latter deals with the understanding of tradition as an interpretation of the contents of the revelation, which is henceforth perceived as a historical event: “The revelation serves for tradition as both a starting point in time and an origin for contents, an origin that is, in fact, the stock of contents for tradition” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 15). This characterization displays the mark of Rotenstreich’s loyalty to the perception that identified Judaism with contents, or in philosophical terms, interpreted its metaphysical component in epistemic terms. This means that in Rotenstreich’s perception, the transformation of revelation into tradition, in the shape of the content appearing in the present-day reality, is not just a historical description of Judaism, but also denotes its very formation as a historical reality bearing real expressions. Indeed, Rotenstreich characterizes both revelation and tradition in entity-like terms: the former “exists in an entity-like realm

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defined as absolute,” and the latter “exists in an entity-like realm that is primarily a realm of relationships, and even a realm of relationships with the absolute entity-like realm” (ibid., 16). It is completely clear that from his point of view the understanding of the Jewish essence in ontological terms could only have become possible with the transition to the modern era, with the formation of a Jewish reality exceeding the ahistorical realm of content whose origin and meaning are eternal. Phrasing this essence in ontological terms is an expression of a new observation. Rotenstreich posits a sharp boundary between the revelation and the tradition referring to it —the former denotes content while the latter denotes reality. “Tradition is thus a transformation of the content of the revelation and is not a development-emanation of revelation’s special entity element” (ibid., 16). Even if the revelation was at the time considered as an occurrence in real reality, in which real people participated —that is, the revelation had features that could be counted as ontological —these did not survive the historical process in which Judaism was crystalized as a tradition. In the end, during the historical process revelation underwent a transformation that shaped it as content. Tradition is precisely this content, although in itself tradition is formed in an era in which Judaism also acquired ontological features due to the Jews’ participating in the real historical process. It is important to clarify that when Rotenstreich identifies ontology with history and the real being, this does not contradict the conscious expressions of the historical observation in the field of research and creativity in general. Rotenstreich states that the history of human existence entails inseparably man’s involvement in the reality of his life, which locates him in the temporal process, and the transcending from it thanks to the power of man’s consciousness and rationality. Under the influence of the classical phenomenological tradition, Rotenstreich stresses that consciousness’ transcending to what is beyond it is inherent in consciousness itself, and does not express the power of the objects or of the reality external to it (Rotenstreich, 1961, 221–2). In his opinion, man’s very historicity is enabled thanks to the ability of human consciousness to release man from the circumstances in which he exists in the present through his references to the past and to the future —the two fundamental modes of historical reference (ibid., 218). This means that in the real reality of the present the cohesion of the epistemic level with the ontological one may be possible in principle. Even the epistemic expressions of the essence of Judaism

Chapter Four. The Historization of Judaism and Wissenschaft des Judentums

are part of its ontology, which was realized in Rotenstreich’s view only upon the entry of Judaism into the modern era. The historical observation at the center of the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums is thus perceived in Rotenstreich’s thought as a position that contributed greatly to the understanding of Judaism in epistemic terms, and even to its establishment in the present-day reality; a reality that becomes the substrate of historical research: “The starting point of historical research is in the present [… and] the role of historical research is to understand the given and explain it” (Rotenstreich, 1962a, 55). Rotenstreich defines historical research itself as “a necessity of consciousness” originating in the presence of remnants of the past. In his opinion, because historical reality is anchored in the present, “we are not free not to study it, and against our will we require historical research if we can explain the present given by the formation that preceded it” (ibid., 56). In Rotenstreich’s approach, even if the Wissenschaft des Judentums is identified with referring to Judaism in abstract terms, even detached from real reality, the phenomenon of Jewish historicism as a whole is part of the wide process of establishing the supremacy of present-day reality over that of the past. Perhaps the primary rigidity that stemmed from the perception of Judaism as a treasure of beliefs and opinions is what caused the detaching of Judaism from the field of historical occurrence, and it even left its mark in Rotenstreich’s perception of the treatment of the thought dimensions of Judaism as a necessity. The position connecting historicism and the perception of Judaism as abstract content is shared by all the thinkers discussed in this book, though only Rotenstreich and Funkenstein identify the original Judaism with epistemic relations to its religious contents, and accordingly do not see the appearance of Jewish historicism as a significant innovation. However, the uniqueness of Rotenstreich’s position emerges precisely against the background of this wide sharing with the other thinkers. Kurzweil and Scholem saw the identification of Judaism with abstract contents as an outcome of the distance of the first Jewish historians from Jewish life. Here we should mention Scholem’s severe criticism of the theologization and spiritualization of Judaism in the work of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, which he perceived as disrupting and distorting the real image of Judaism.9

9



Scholem, 1976a, 395–6; 1982a, 138.

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Rotenstreich, conversely, despite also assuming as a fact the distance from traditional Judaism (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 35), did not see this process as an expression of an immanent transformation that took place in Judaism; in his opinion the historical observation only revealed the original essence of Judaism, as a treasure of beliefs and opinions, and did not add to it any new content or meanings. However, in Rotenstreich’s opinion, the Wissenschaft des Judentums and Jewish historicism contributed to the formation of Judaism as a tradition, and thus established the supremacy of the present-day reality over the revelation and the past.

Chapter Five

Tradition and Historical Consciousness A. Judaism as a Religion of Tradition At the basis of Rotenstreich’s perception of Judaism, directing the ontological observation at the present-day reality and identifying the Jewish past with epistemic content, is his unique approach whereby “The Jewish religion is primarily a religion of tradition” (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 156). What does this statement mean? Is this a  hermeneutic argument regarding the nature of the Jewish religion, that is a religion centered around the process of transmission from generation to generation? Or is this a  historical argument regarding the formation of Judaism in real reality? Is Rotenstreich presenting here a philosophical argument regarding the Jewish religion, or a historical argument about the history of the Jewish nation on the real level? The test of the first argument is theoretical and relates to its coherence in relation to the other components of Rotenstreich’s thought, while the second one addresses empirical reality, which historians and researchers of culture seek to investigate. In the contexts in which Rotenstreich discussed the concept of tradition, he addressed both levels: one embodied in the elements of meaning and contents of revelation, and the other dealing with the real time serving as a substrate for the references to the contents of tradition and their transmission. The effort to grant expression to the Jewish tradition on the abstract level is apparent in Rotenstreich’s distinguishing of three concepts of tradition. The first is “the Bible’s documentary text, in terms of the precision of reading and writing, in terms of the cut of the words, etc.”; the second “revolves around the entire system of religious creativity in its theoretical and legal aspect, related to giving a particular interpretation to the Bible”; and the third refers to “the complete area of the nation’s life throughout the generations,” organized around the literary work and its interpretation. Rotenstreich distinguishes the two meanings of the concept of tradition: the one dealing with the “deciphering interpretation” and the other ­addressing

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the “historical life involved in the literary document,” He characterized both meanings as “contents-related” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 11–2), and thus indicates his fundamental approach to tradition, focusing on its abstract meanings and not taking into account that it was also a realizable framework within the historical-real reality. In this spirit, Rotenstreich writes: “The tradition identifies the historical being with the content meaning. It does not consider that the transition from the meaning to the being entails a change in the meaning and a change in the being” (ibid., 21).

B. Tradition and Revelation The meaning Rotenstreich gives to the conscious aspects of his concept of tradition reveal more clearly the dominance of the revelation and of the abstract substantive element in shaping the essence and character of the Jewish tradition in his approach. In this spirit, he states that the traditional historical consciousness does not see the content of the revelation as “its own immanent content” or as the content of historical consciousness at all, but as “content that was given to it in the act of revelation.” This means that to the extent that the reference to tradition involves subjective human consciousness, it is directed to the reality existing beyond it. It appears that the purpose of this consciousness is to protect against the breaching of the boundary between immanent and transcendent, which would end with “a  simple identification of the religious content with the historical substance” (ibid., 16). Rotenstreich even clarifies explicitly that “aiming at the revelation and the reliance upon it is in terms of its content dependence on the word of God, which can be understood as existing beyond time” (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 156). In his opinion, the traditional consciousness moves between “identification with its content and consciousness of the absence of ownership of its content.” Either way, consciousness and its content both depend on God, that is on the transcendent element that determines the character of tradition (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 16–7). So, “not only [is] the historical consciousness of the generations determined by the belief content […] but also the historical reality is determined by this content” (ibid., 21–2). In the end, “The decisive causal-constitutive factor is meaning and not being, and the meaning here is the property of the past, or more precisely, it is the past itself. This power of the past as the totality of meaning is no longer a histori-

Chapter Five. Tradition and Historical Consciousness

cal power, but it arises due to its relation to the absolute content in the revelation” (ibid., 22). The discussion of these contexts, in which Rotenstreich addresses the issue of tradition, transpires as a clarification of his tendency to make positive statements regarding the nature of the Jewish being in the past, at whose center was the experience of the revelation that granted a decisive status to the transcendent dimension in Jewish existence.

C. The Seriousness Regarding Time Rotenstreich’s approach is not exhausted by abstract statements regarding the Jewish past. Sometimes he also referred to the historical dimensions originating in the relation of tradition to the temporal dimension and to the real reality in general: “The Jewish religion is primarily a religion of tradition. Therefore the attitude to time is embedded within it, since tradition involves transmission from generation to generation.” Despite the fact that “The attraction and obedience to God’s word are primarily —in terms of content —dependence on God’s voice, and in terms of the temporal status—[this is] dependence on past occurrence.” The “seriousness regarding time,” which in Rotenstreich’s opinion characterizes Judaism as a religion of tradition, is inherent in the preferred status of the past in constituting the Jewish reality. To the extent that the past serves as a “stage of revelation,” that is an occurrence that receives an ahistorical meaning, or a meaning beyond history, he believes that from the moment that God’s word was given, it was positioned in time (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 156). This means that even if the focus of the religion of tradition is in the past, and even in the elements of meaning and content determined in it, the past’s existence as a real dimension anchors the Jewish tradition in a historical reality. Based on this, Rotenstreich proposes an ontology of the Jewish religion, in which the present receives a dominant and decisive status. In this respect, the characterization of the religion of tradition in historical-ontological terms may itself embody the superiority that present-day reality receives, despite the fact that in the tradition itself the past has decisive importance, so that in relation to it, the present is perceived as “a branch in terms of [the] meaning” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 22). The question of the relation between the two components of tradition is phrased by Rotenstreich as follows: “What is the place

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of ­history and its consciousness within the realm of religion? Is the connection between the two through man as a historical being or is it a  direct connection […]?” (ibid., 19).1 In other words, the question is whether religion is exhausted in its abstract meanings, and only man connects it to the real being of which he is part, or whether religion itself, along with the abstract aspects involving its contents, also contains references to the real-historical reality. Rotenstreich’s answer, that “Tradition cannot be without the tension between its existence in the absolute meaning-consciousness realm and its existence in the realm of history and time” (ibid., 20–1), does not decide between these two possibilities. It affirms the relation between the two fundamental components of the perception of tradition, the abstract and the historical-real, but does not clarify whether the mentioned tension is an outcome of the attempt to realize tradition in reality, or is an immanent element within tradition itself. Particularly important to our discussion is the metaphysical problematic inherent in Rotenstreich’s perception of tradition, as a result of which a change occurs in the entity-like array that determines it. This means: the very constituting of Judaism as a tradition is part of a radical modernistic and secular perception that removed the transcendent element from it; however, Rotenstreich himself admits that the transcendent dimension has a constitutive status in the contents composing tradition itself.2 Thus, revelation embodies a permanent transcendent presence in the past Jewish existence. However, with the transition to the era of tradition, shaped by the internalization of the historical critique of religion, the presence of the transcendent dimension is pushed aside significantly in favor of the processes in the present-day reality. Rotenstreich’s position clearly connects recognition of the presence of a transcendent reality in Jewish existence

1

In this context, Rotenstreich presents as a hypothesis also a third possibility, originating in the connection between spirit and history in Hegelian thought, but this possibility is beyond the scope of the current discussion (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 19).

2

For the analytic problematic of the concept of tradition, see for example, Bauman, 1992. For an extensive discussion of this problematic, see Sagi, 2003, 15–9. Sagi also refers to the practical problematic entailed in the perception of tradition; see Sagi, 2009, 102–7.





Chapter Five. Tradition and Historical Consciousness

and the time dimension in which the status of the transcendence in Jewish existence was pushed aside to the extent of removal from it. Rotenstreich’s perception of tradition raises a long list of questions. What happened to the transcendent entity that was pushed out of Jewish existence? Did this entity take on new forms in Jewish existence? What was the cultural price of this change? What mark did the removal of the metaphysical dimension leave in the reality in which the transition from revelation to tradition has already occurred, meaning the real present-day reality? These and other questions are not answered in Rotenstreich’s writings. In addition to internal difficulties in Rotenstreich’s perception of tradition, it also raises problems regarding its relation to his entire oeuvre. Rotenstreich does not address the process of translating and transforming the revelation into an array of contents; he does not explain how the temporal and concrete dimension is understood in ontological terms, in which the element of meaning receives a marginal status. These problems become more acute in light of the fact that although Rotenstreich distinguished between the revelation and its content —the revelation was identified with the content and the tradition with the real process in time —he himself connects them inseparably: “In terms of entity and materially the tradition depends on the revelation, while in terms of consciousness the revelation depends on consciousness” (ibid., 16). If indeed tradition depends on revelation, Rotenstreich’s entire perception of modern Judaism becomes incomprehensible. As we recall, Rotenstreich stressed on the one hand the marginality of consciousness in pre-modern Jewish being, and on the other hand the dominance of the real processes in present-day reality, in contrast to the fundamental perceptions formed in Judaism’s past, which in Rotenstreich’s opinion provided its array of beliefs and dogmas. No less surprising is the fact that despite Rotenstreich’s recognition of the entity turning point that occurred in the transition from revelation to tradition, the perception of Judaism as a treasure of beliefs and opinions remained unaltered for him. On the surface, we could conclude that revelation has no formative role in the perception of Judaism, or alternatively that the present-day real reality has no influence on the character of Judaism. It is clear that these two conclusions are problematic, and Rotenstreich himself indicates the occurrence of a fundamental turning point from an era of revelation to tradition.

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D. Contemporary Historical Consciousness The varied difficulties raised by Rotenstreich’s perception of tradition are undoubtedly an outcome of his observation, which sought to exhaust tradition within the boundaries of an objective observation. It seems that even if Rotenstreich assumed that tradition was a process taking place in time, and that the contents composing it testified to the involvement of subjective relations, the dominance of the substantive and ahistorical dimensions made it difficult for his perception of tradition to serve as a context for the elucidation of the subjective and historical dimensions it involved. These stand at the center of the concept of historical consciousness, in which tradition is treated as part of the real historical process, whose constituters are subjects of a given place and time. Rotenstreich sketches the portrait of historical consciousness almost as a mirror image of his perception of tradition. First and foremost, this reversal is apparent in the meaning granted to the temporal dimension in the context of historical consciousness. On the face of it, this is not a radical difference, since in the matter of tradition Rotenstreich perceived time in real terms. However, in his perception of tradition, time serves as a sort of substrate on which the word of God is positioned and on which the process of transmission occurs (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 156), without this contradicting the overall ahistorical nature of the revelation itself: We should distinguish here between the supra-historical origin of the matters revealed in history and the very process of the revelation, its rhythm in time and the medium of the revelation within history […] The person who receives the revelation is within time and history […] The historical influence of the revelation […] is within time due to man’s nature and not due to the nature of the revelation […] The historical tradition does not mean that its origin is historical [… but it is] in revelation […] History and continuity in time are here also an introduction to the raising to the supra-historical level of revelation and also the barrier to contact with this level. (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 25–6)

It appears that to the extent that tradition positions revelation in time, time itself does not have a role or influence regarding revelation. Indeed, within Rotenstreich’s perception of tradition, time does not disturb the permanence and persistence of revelation. In contrast,

Chapter Five. Tradition and Historical Consciousness

in the context of the historical consciousness, time is portrayed in the changes and processes occurring within it: “Change itself is not only a given fact revealed to the observer. It is a fact that contains a norm or invitation for additional changes” (ibid., 27). Change serves as a central category for understanding the temporal dimension that lies at the basis of the historical consciousness. Another change, which might have more significance and more implications than the temporal dimension, is apparent in the status and nature of contents from the canonical sources, in the two contexts. As we have seen, Rotenstreich’s perception of tradition stresses that the origin of the contents is in revelation rather than in the immanent consciousness of the bearers of the tradition (ibid., 16). In his opinion, what fills the tradition are articles of faith and abstract perceptions rather than real contents, whose place is in the historical consciousness in which tradition is translated into “the content of the past” (ibid., 26). This means that while the status of the contents in tradition is transcendent, the contents filling the historical consciousness appear in it as completely immanent. The role of the contents in the historical consciousness is to expand the realm of immanence beyond the boundary of the present. In this spirit, Rotenstreich characterizes the interest of the historical consciousness as follows: “It comes to show the person existing in the present that no existing human reality can exist by its own force, but that it is created by people in their particular circumstances, from their intentions to create it and from their efforts at this creation.” It also involves “Creating in the person existing in the present his relation and his connection with what used to be, whether to appreciate what used to be or whether to follow what was once created and has weight even beyond the time of its creation” (Rotenstreich, 1966, 317). The perception of historical consciousness as a framework filled by contents accords with his understanding that present-day people, the constituters and bearers of historical consciousness, seek “to understand the authentic meaning of the sources” (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 29). While tradition mainly depends on a process of transmission of the past sources, historical consciousness thus embodies not only the fact of the accessibility of the past contents to understanding and interpretation, but also the attempt to understand the contents themselves. The fact that Rotenstreich himself distinguishes in this context between traditional historical consciousness and that of the modern Jew brings into focus his fundamental perception of the

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past Judaism as a treasure of beliefs and opinions. It appears that in Rotenstreich’s opinions, these historical consciousnesses are not primarily in the contents portrayed in them, or in their meaning or the attempts to understand and interpret them, but in their status that positions them as articles of faith or as religious dogmas.

E. “The Subjective Jew” The emphasis on the contents filling the historical consciousness is merely an expression of its active nature. Rotenstreich, aware that the concept of consciousness is identified primarily with abstraction and permanence, found fit to remind us in the current context that “The historical consciousness we are discussing is itself subject to historical alterations,” including developments and changes (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 36). The active nature of consciousness is responsible for man participating in the creation of history, since “He has his own experience regarding the events that occurred […] and he has the lesson he learned from the living occurrence in the present in whose formation he was an active participant” (Rotenstreich, 1966, 318). In this spirit, Rotenstreich also addresses the weight of “our own starting point” in understanding the authentic meaning of the sources (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 29); a  weight that is an outcome of historical consciousness being “An actual polemic field between the generations and within the generation itself” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 30). Rotenstreich characterizes the involvement of consciousness regarding history and the past in general as the subjectivization of Judaism,3 denoting the turning of the tradition into a medium of intergenerational reference (ibid., 26). At the center of this process —or perhaps as the product of this process —stands the “subjective Jew,” and in this context, subjectivity has several expressions. First and foremost, it embodies the fact that the constitutive relation to historical consciousness is established by the individual’s personal decision to adhere to the heritage: “Even when a person decides in favor of devotion by the power of the order in the heritage, and he exists in the internal circle of devotion to that treasure […] he is the one who decides,

3



On the expression “subjectivization of Judaism,” see Rotenstreich, 1972b, 36.

Chapter Five. Tradition and Historical Consciousness

at least to some extent, from his own reasons, from his own situation, and not only from being the passive echo of the generations.” It appears that the dominance of the personal presence within the decision extricates the relation to the tradition from the abstract realm and grants it a degree of “real authority.” Second, subjectivity here portrays the centrality of consciousness in shaping real life and its significance. Thus, the subjective Jew is the one “whose consciousness is his source and whose consciousness is his testimony, and perhaps it is even the decisive content of Judaism” (ibid., 36–7). Rotenstreich also states that when the subjective Jew seeks his path to heritage, he continues to see his own consciousness as a supreme value that shapes his attitude toward it. Whether he is able to constitute a relation or not, his own subjective boundaries are interpreted as “devotion to the nation and its heritage” (Rotenstreich, 1984, 83). In this respect, consciousness also enfolds the element of historicity: “The historicity is implicit here in the internal world of constant reflection; it is the source and its own content,” and as such it denotes “an ongoing situation that does not emerge from man’s internality” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 38). So historical consciousness is interpreted as one of the prominent appearances of the reflexive references operating on the experience of the transition of generations: There still exists the given fact inviting the historical interpretation, to the extent that it is itself not historical in its givenness. This relates to the interpretation man gives to the fact of the transition of generations […] His very noticing of this process already contains the buds of reference to time […] This means the elementary attempt the owner of reflexive consciousness interprets in the historical-structural direction, meaning in the direction of the openness of time […] Consciousness that becomes historical has an elementary grasp of the point of each person’s place in the chain of generations and his experience of this. (Rotenstreich, 1974a, 24–5)

The reflexive reference also revolves around our being subject to a given language. Rotenstreich states that: In language man notes that there is a creation he himself did not create, that is given to him in the progression of the generations, that it —language —is a historical creation, and he —man —is

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In the end, the reflexive reference captures simultaneously the dimensions of contents and of time involved in historical consciousness. In these two objects, man is extricated from himself as an individual, and observes a process he has in common with “any person in the chain of generations” and with members of his species as a “desert-dweller” (ibid., 25). Rotenstreich clarifies that the subjectivization that occurs in historical consciousness is “a more radical process than the previous one that created the historization of Judaism, although it feeds from that process, just as it received from it its preliminary impetus” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 36). While the historization is dedicated to the givens of the past, perceived in it as true topics in their own right, historical consciousness submerged in the present-day reality is directed at itself —a self that is the origin of the search and at the same time its complete epilogue.

F. Content and Time The typical dualism appearing throughout Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history, moving between the relation to the abstract and the anchor in actuality, does not cease, and leaves its mark also in the concept of historical consciousness. So along with stressing the active nature of consciousness and along with its creative access to contents from the past, Rotenstreich notes that “[in] the perception basing the systems of history on immanent relations between human beings in the medium of their autonomous creations and the autonomous contact between the generations,” that is in the context in which historical consciousness is crystalized, “time is […] an essential addition to content. The occurrence in time is evaluated according to the meaning of the content” (ibid., 31). The addition, it transpires, does not strike the contents and the time against each other, but a sort of hierarchy exists in which the content determines the nature of the processes in time, and in practice it places a clear boundary to the changes occurring in the historical consciousness. Rotenstreich clarifies that historicity should not be fully identified with change: “The process in time is a  process with

Chapter Five. Tradition and Historical Consciousness

a relation to content and is not itself the exclusive content” (ibid., 32). In this spirit, he adds elsewhere: “This historical consciousness is not created without a historical narrative, without the story of the events that occurred in the past and matters that once were” (Rotenstreich, 1966, 318). The content dimension in historical consciousness, portraying a stable and ahistorical element within it, may moderate and even restrict the changes and the influences originating in the temporal dimension. The restraining and restricting aspect embodied in the content dimension stems from the historical and past nature of contents transmitted in the historical consciousness. It appears that stressing the content dimension in this context is intended primarily to liberate the concept of historicity from its unambiguous perception that would predetermine the character of historical consciousness (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 29). In addition, historicity, in which the relation of joining of the dimensions of time and contents to each other, follows the historicistic understanding of history —an understanding that leaves a double mark upon the concept of historical consciousness: first and foremost it causes the very “problematic of historical consciousness,” dealing with the fact that “the authentic meaning locates the source in its environment and its system of concepts; while the search for the chain brings about a reinterpretation of the sources, from our own starting point” (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 29). At the same time, the idea of science and especially the demand for neutrality it entails, in which the historicistic understanding is anchored, may moderate and restrict the changes in the field of historical consciousness, and thus be counted among the change-restraining forces originating in the subjective relations to actual reality. Moreover, the subjectivity of the “subjective Jew” is not exhausted in the expressions of autonomy on the individual’s part, but also includes a fundamental heteronomous dimension. The subjective Jew is also aided by historical vision exceeding his own boundaries; through it he may make contact with previous patterns of Jewish existence and decide to adopt them or some of them, despite the fact that for others of his generation they are perceived as meaningless for autonomous Jewish existence. Rotenstreich clarifies: The subjective Jew we are discussing is not subject to the heritage of generations […] to the extent that he is a Jew conscious of belonging to the Jewish nation with its generations, he cannot

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avoid adopting a  position toward the tradition of the generations or toward the Jewish religion in general […] The meaning of the subjective Jew differs according to the objective data from the interpretation that was accepted for generations. But this meaning is his self-consciousness, and this does not uproot him from the shared being. (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 39–40)

Thus it transpires that the heteronomy enfolded in historical consciousness serves as a substrate for the relation to Jewish collectiveness in general. Furthermore, Rotenstreich states that this heteronomy also contains “the problematic of Jewish existence […] according to the historical path of the Jewish nation and the consciousness of the Jewish generations, which was a consciousness of the contact between the human realm and the supra-historical realm” (ibid., 42). Finally, it transpires that the anchor the subjective Jew establishes in the Jewish collective being enables him to achieve historical consciousness, and is even a condition for the realization of the Jewish nation as a subject in history, meaning as one that has a degree of continuity and persistence in its historical appearances: “The old aim to be a subject in history is not sustainable in the real reality without human collectiveness. There is no whole subject in history, but an independent national collective is more a subject than gatherings of Jews who are not independent” (Rotenstreich, 1966, 57).4 It appears that under the influence of the Hegelian perception identifying the historical subject with historical reality and its collective dimensions, Rotenstreich sought to address the wider contexts involved in shaping historical consciousness; contexts thanks to which historical consciousness cannot be identified with the subjective being that bears it in the actual present-day reality. In this spirit, Rotenstreich states that historical consciousness dealing with the dependence on the past should not turn the past into an axe to grind, but should see it as: A source for absorbing […] a treasure of occurrences, achievements, ideas, and efforts; and its status does not depend upon it serving the purposes of the present, but that it is a matter of the past and precisely in it being a matter of the past it has directing

4



For more on the issue of the subject in history, see Rotenstreich, 1962a, 53–77. I will return to this issue later.

Chapter Five. Tradition and Historical Consciousness weight […] The real problem is to maintain the past as it is as the past [emphasis in original], without it becoming part of the present’s landscape of sensations, and at the same time to maintain the devotion to this past. Devotion through the status in the present is not devotion to the past. (Ibid., 319)

How should we understand the joining of content and time in Rotenstreich’s perception of historical consciousness? Is this not a reflection of the duality that appeared already in his perception of tradition, once again stamping its mark into the concept of historical consciousness? The rigidity typical of the perception of tradition is indeed more apparent in relation to the past dimension, while the one seen in Rotenstreich’s concept of historical consciousness is more prominent in aspects connected to the present-day reality. It appears that the origin of the duality in the two contexts is shared: the clash between the substantivistic perception of the Jewish tradition and the ideal regarding the supremacy of the present-day reality. Now it transpires that this clash harms the identification of the real dimensions inherent in tradition as part of the real process, and shapes the understanding of the Jewish past as an abstract element. Since the concept of the past, crystallized in Rotenstreich’s perception of tradition, also permeates the concept of historical consciousness, the possibility that the latter would serve as a context for expressing the particular aspects of Judaism, which had been marginalized in his perception of tradition, was naturally thwarted.5 While Rotenstreich stated that, in principle, “Judaism by its nature does not support separation into realms: the realm of faith and the realm of practice,” he immediately added, “Although it does not support separation, due to the historical fate of the Jewish nation it was charged with upholding this sort of separation” (ibid., 91). To the extent that the present is the arena in which the historical fate is revealed, the meaning of Rotenstreich’s concepts of tradition and historical consciousness stems from his fundamental belief in the supremacy of the present-day reality: “If we need a metaphysics of Jewish history, it is not a metaphysics that would survey the overall temporary continuation of the occurrences with its rises and

5



In this context, see Avi Sagi’s criticism of Rotenstreich’s perception of tradition (Sagi, 2009, 105).

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falls, but a metaphysics that would listen to the very rhythm of the action and occurrence” (Rotenstreich, 1987b, 295). The rigidity typical of the concepts of tradition and historical consciousness in Rotenstreich’s thought reveals the radical modernistic position that shaped his philosophy more generally. This made it difficult for him to access the possibilities of representing transcendent reality and meaning in an era of secularization. His approach, identifying the pre-modern Jewish existence with super-neutral elements and the modern being of the Jewish existence with real reality, actually decides the tension existing between history and metaphysics. As a result of this, the ontology, of which the present-day Jewish reality is the subject, does not contain a transcendent element. Furthermore, the presence of transcendence in Jewish reality —both in the past and in the present —is almost completely denied. In the end, Rotenstreich’s approach is crystallized as a rather radical idealistic position in which the ontology anchored in present-day reality and the transcendence identified with the Jewish existence in the past, formed around the revelation, exclude each other. The epistemic implications of the rigidity Rotenstreich showed in the perception of the relations between history and revelation and metaphysics in general transpire in its comparison to the two fundamental approaches that create the paradigm serving as the starting point of the discussion in this book. The basis for the comparison between Rotenstreich and Yerushalmi stems from their shared understanding of the entry of Judaism into the modern era as a turning point from metaphysics and revelation to history. As we recall, Yerushalmi too understood this turning point in entity-like terms, that is, as harming the presence of transcendence in the world of modern Jews. In his opinion, the epistemic expressions of the turning point are an outcome of the strengthening of the status of the subject in Jewish existence since the constituting of Jewish historicism as founded by the Wissenschaft des Judentums. Yerushalmi does not believe that in the modern era the modes of expression —both epistemic and ontological —of transcendence have been completely blocked. He also expresses his belief and hope that their path will be repaved and the obstacles caused by the historical observation with the secular ideology will be removed. In contrast, as much as in Rotenstreich’s approach the transition from the language of revelation to the language of tradition is perceived as an epistemic change, it is apparent in the constituting of a new Jewish reality, or the formation of Judaism as reality. In

Chapter Five. Tradition and Historical Consciousness

Rotenstreich’s approach, the only portrayal of transcendence in Jewish existence, in both past and present, is concentrated on the epistemic level, though in the past it conquers it entirely and creates the fundamental system of Jewish theology, while in the present it is an object of reference and development of the current discourse of tradition. This sharp distinction between the epistemic dimensions and the ontological dimensions of revelation and transcendence in Jewish existence, which created complex relations of similarity and difference between the perceptions of Rotenstreich and Yerushalmi, is absent in the perceptions of Funkenstein, Kurzweil, and Scholem, who opined in different ways that historical continuity connects the modern era with the preceding Jewish existence. In addition, the pushing aside of the transcendent dimension from the understanding of modern Judaism creates a path of commonality between Rotenstreich’s approach and that of Funkenstein. For Funkenstein, the basis of historical continuity is in the mental process of reference to the contents of tradition and their interpretation. The continuity depends on the existence of a frame of reference to the contents, and in no way on a specific meaning granted to these contents, or on awareness of the very process of transmitting the tradition from generation to generation. His approach implies that it is the insistence on a particular meaning of the contents of tradition, and the requirement for achieving consciousness regarding the process that causes the tradition, that might endanger historical continuity itself. Of course, it is impossible to prevent in advance the consciousness of human beings, or the possibility that particular meanings will persist throughout history, including those that affirm the continuity of the transcendent dimension in the modern Jewish being. None these are posited in Funkenstein’s approach as conditions for realizing the relation to tradition, nor are they conditions for historical continuity. In contrast, Rotenstreich, who identified Judaism with beliefs and opinions, required real involvement in the contents of tradition and in the basis of the relation toward it. In his opinion, the recipients of the tradition “know explicitly that they are […] connected to the chain,” even if they are not always able to give this knowledge conceptual and conscious expression (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 156). The fundamental difficulty raised by Rotenstreich’s approach in this context stems from the fact that the supremacy he granted to the present-day reality may endanger the status of contents from the past and as a result also endanger the relation to the tradition involving these

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contents. In this respect we can say that in granting a special status to the present-day reality, Rotenstreich’s perception involves a degree of accepting the damaging, and perhaps even the extinction, of contents from the tradition. In other words, the reality of life in the present and the real historical process can act as a double-edged sword regarding the contents of the tradition —this reality requires the reference to them, but their fate and status are subject to real processes that are autonomous in relation to the contents of tradition and the past in general. Even if the past is indeed submerged in the present in the form of the “givens” that are remnants of the past, the meaning granted them and the references to it do not depend upon its contents embodied. Similar to Funkenstein’s approach, Rotenstreich’s may transpire as a framework enabling the preservation of the contents of tradition, but the origin for this is different: for Rotenstreich this is attributed to the autonomy of historical reality in the present, while for Funkenstein it stems from the autonomy of the contents of tradition itself. The decision between history and metaphysics, proposed in Rotenstreich’s perception, is not necessitated at all. The assumption that historical reality and metaphysics exclude each other had a decisive weight in shaping the dichotomous approach that served as a starting point for the discussion in this book, or more precisely for Yerushalmi’s thesis that a break separates the modern Jewish existence from the preceding way of life, at whose center was the experience of revelation. In contrast, Funkenstein’s approach shows that granting significance to the processes that occur in real historical reality does not have to push aside any transcendent component. Thus it transpires that on the issue of the relation to the fate of the transcendent dimension in modern Jewish existence and its epistemic implications, Rotenstreich —and not Funkenstein —adopts the paradigmatic extreme position.

Chapter Six

Secularization and Historical Continuity A. The Reality in Secularization Rotenstreich’s approach to the phenomenon of secularization in the Jewish being is based on a radical perception of modernity, according to which not only is Jewish existence without a  relation to religion a real possibility, but assuming this possibility is a condition for understanding the secularization phenomenon itself. This position refers to the abstract portrayals of the phenomenon of secularization within the realm of modern Jewish thought: The secular [emphasis in original] direction within modern Jewish thought has no meaning unless you assume the possibility in principle of observing the Jewish public without a relation to the Jewish religion […] The development of Jewish thought has separated this connection [between the public and religion] into its two elements and has tried to nurture each one of them separately. (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 17–18)

In this context, secularism denotes “an attempt to extricate the Jewish being from its submergence in this particular meaning of tradition,” a meaning that is “the property of the past, or more precisely, the past itself” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 22). Also, this understanding of secularism refers to the real appearances of the phenomenon in the real present-day reality, in which “the Jew seeks to maintain himself beyond the relation between him and the culture of the generations in its decisive embodiment —the Jewish religion” (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 18). In this context, Rotenstreich explains that “Secularism is an attempt to raise the present from the level of a branch to the level of an independent force” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 22). Assuming the possibility of a Jewish existence without a relation to the Jewish religion reveals a deep connection with Funkenstein’s

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worldview,1 and distinguishes Rotenstreich and Funkenstein from the other thinkers in this book. To be precise: recognition of the factuality of the secularization phenomenon in present-day Jewish existence is common to all of them. As we have seen, Scholem believed that “secularism is a powerful reality, and one must live with its meaning and deal with it directly,” being a real phenomenon in Judaism.2 Similarly, Kurzweil’s observation of modern Judaism saw it as “part of autonomous secularism, of a secular world,” and Yerushalmi takes as a fact “the secularization of significant segments of the Jewish nation.”3 Moreover, none of these three considered as a real possibility that the religious dimension could be completely eradicated from the present-day Jewish existence, and all three of them experience a degree of break with the past, which for Yerushalmi is the most dominant and formative experience. The most explicit and decisive position regarding the fate of the religious dimension in modern Jewish existence is expressed by Scholem and Kurzweil: the former stated that “without God, values or morality that have true validity —do not exist,” while the latter believed that national revival lacking the religious dimension is like death.4 Scholem and Kurzweil believed that secularism could not acquire a permanent grasp in Jewish reality, and that eventually the transcendent presence permanently present in Jewish reality would overcome it. Even Funkenstein, who tried to think about Jewish existence without the “reference to God,”5 did not express Rotenstreich’s radical and explicit pushing aside of the transcendent dimension. Funkenstein did not rule out the possibility that this dimension would continue to serve as a pole of reference for secular Jews, and even be presented as a transcendent dimension in present-day reality; while Rotenstreich replaced the transcendent representations with epistemic dimensions, and in this he constitutes a living example of the realization of the anxieties that fed Yerushalmi’s interpretation.

1



See Funkenstein, 1995a, 6: ““Remove the reference to God […]”; 2005.

2



See Scholem, 1990, 122; 1995b, 50; 1976a, 82.

3



Kurzweil, 1960, 43; Yerushalmi, 1989, 83.

4



Scholem, 1976a, 42; Kurzweil, 1970a, xiv.

5



Funkenstein, 1995a, 69.

Chapter Six. Secularization and Historical Continuity

The question is asked, what is the meaning of the possibility to realize “the separation […] between Judaism and the Jews”? (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 17), indicated in Rotenstreich’s opinion by the appearances of the secularization phenomenon in present-day Jewish thought and existence. First and foremost, this separation expresses the special status that reality has conquered as an autonomous force in real Jewish existence. Rotenstreich explains the new status of reality as “an attempt to base the principle on the public side while detaching the connection to religion,” and as an outcome of recognizing the insufficiency of the previous existence patterns, “which were mainly in the realm of the religious act [emphasis in original],” and were aimed at establishing the separateness of the Jewish public —a separateness he believed within the wave of changes had also “met its end” (ibid., 16–7). The perception of secularization, at whose center stands the directedness at processes in real reality and their interpretation, reaffirms the supremacy granted in Rotenstreich’s perception to the present over the past. Rotenstreich indicates that this special status of reality shaped with actions of his generation as a whole: Allow me to say something that is not an autobiography but that presents the generation in which I am included in terms of its thought. This should be said not in our favor, but in favor of the new Jewish reality that has shaped our thought: unlike the Jewish thought of previous generations, interested mainly in systematic-essential interpretation, philosophical interpretation, of documents, we are interested not only in interpreting documents but also in interpreting reality. This is the great change that has taken place in Jewish history: standing in reality and considering it. (Rotenstreich, 1974b, 41)6

In addition, the new status of reality in Jewish existence also influences the nature and character of the relations to the crystallizing

6



These words were said in response to a discussion upon the publication of the essay “Jewish Existence in the Present Age,” concentrating most of Rotenstreich’s perceptions regarding secularization. The discussion, held at Beit Hasofer in Jerusalem on April 12, 1973, with the participation of Prof. Yehoshua Arieli, Prof. Jacob Katz, Abraham Shapira, and Nathan Rotenstreich himself, was published in Tefusoth Hagola (see Rotenstreich, 1974b).

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Judaism, as a theoretical and abstract element. Rotenstreich explicitly connects several factors: “religious crisis,” undermining the innocent feeling and the recognition of the problematic nature of the accepted patterns, the cancellation of the “element of thought” (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 34), and the more urgent floating to the surface of “the question regarding the theoretical content of Judaism, which is not inherent in ritual or in actions that do not have an absolute character” (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 16, emphasis in original). Elsewhere, Rotenstreich presents the handling of past sources as following the innovations that have already taken place in reality, and as part of the dialectic that seeks to understand the foundations of the innovation and to establish the innovation after it has been realized and become a fact (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 32). In his opinion, the separation between Judaism and the Jews, which led to his focus on the present-day reality, is simultaneously a source for understanding Judaism as theoretical content and an impetus for clarifying the contents themselves —a clarification that Rotenstreich characterizes as “an attempt to base the principle on the dogmatic side while renouncing the living public” (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 17). Either way, the past is portrayed in the present as epistemic content and the relation to it is primarily theoretical and abstract. The past, “both as a dimension and as a treasure of beliefs and concepts” (ibid., 3), is examined in terms of “its status” in the context facing innovations and changes in the future (ibid., 2), and not as a source for constitutive norms in the present. Obviously, the identification of Judaism with theoretical content cannot enable access to the Jewish existence in which religion was embodied in concrete patterns of life, that is, access to the revelation stage before it became tradition. The question raised in the discussion of Rotenstreich’s concepts of tradition and historical consciousness —that is, how revelation was translated in his approach into a system of contents, and how the temporal and concrete dimension was understood in ontological terms in which the meaning element receives a marginal status —now receives its full meaning. Understanding Judaism as abstract content is not only part of Rotenstreich’s radical secular worldview, which diverted from its field of vision the possibility for religious realization in modern reality. This perception even assumes that this possibility has already been realized, and so nothing is left of Judaism but abstract contents that appear to lack a relation to the living reality in the present. Perhaps the historical viewpoint in which Rotenstreich’s discussion was anchored, and which was in the background of the

Chapter Six. Secularization and Historical Continuity

discussion of the concept of historical consciousness, moderated his personal secular worldview, which, it appears, found expression precisely in his discussion of the secularization phenomenon in presentday Jewish reality. Rotenstreich’s secularization perception is not exhausted in the renewed affirmation and establishment of the precedence of the present. The fundamental dualism that has accompanied the discussion of his thought so far, split between abstraction and reality, now reaches exhaustion. As a result, the active dialectical element that shaped his approach to the various themes he addresses now achieves a degree of rest in the shape of the hierarchy in which a clear and distinct place is preserved for the past and the present in his secular position. Rotenstreich does not depart from the identification of the past with content and abstraction and of the present with ontological and real dimensions. Indeed, this identification is presented as a  fundamental given of his secularization perception —expressing the peak of his interpretative oeuvre, thus exceeding the boundary of thought in the direction of the real reality. The new present-day reality is now placed center stage and considered the decisive power. In contrast, “the past is a background whose meaning and image are determined in the currency of the present,” and Rotenstreich states explicitly concerning the past that it does not contain: That decisive side that exists in the present of Eretz Israel and the hints of the present to the future […] The Jewish past, with all its greatness, existed instead of the collective reality in a real move, and so it cannot replace the meeting with reality, which is itself the collective being of Eretz Israel. (Rotenstreich, 1966, 57–8)

B. The Present Reality as Transcendence One of the profound phenomena occurring in Rotenstreich’s perception of secularization involves the fundamental transformation of the ontological status of the present and the past. The common identification of the past with transcendence and the present with immanence, characterizing the approaches of Yerushalmi and Funkenstein as paradigms based upon it, is switched round. Now the present-day reality receives

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the status of transcendence and is declared as a mystery that is a target for deciphering (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 4). The deep meaning of the relation between secularism and “raising society to a level of an autonomic realm” (ibid., 18) stems from autonomy being in this context a facet of transcendence, which is none other than the present-day reality itself. The question arising in Rotenstreich’s perception of tradition regarding the fate of the transcendent entity that was pushed aside from Jewish existence thus receives its answer in his perception of secularization: transcendence migrated from the realm of revelation and the past, and settled in the boundaries of the present and real reality. Without doubt, the penetration of the transcendent dimension into the present reflects upon the metaphysical status of the Jewish past, at the basis of Rotenstreich’s perception of secularization. His perception of the past as an accumulation of beliefs and opinions immanentizes the past, which may enable access to those beliefs and opinions, and perhaps even understanding of them. In contrast, the mystery, immediately connected to transcendence and the past, is reserved in Rotenstreich’s approach to “the factuality in the reality as such” (ibid., 4). It appears that the ethos attributed to the past in the historistic perception, as a hidden deciphered using immanent tools, is transferred in Rotenstreich’s approach to the present. He perceives the present as completely immanent, and accordingly anchors access to it in the two fundamental dimensions of immanence itself —real reality and consciousness. There is no contradiction between this statement and Rotenstreich’s characterizing the present as a transcendent element, since this transcendence does not entail a dimension of inaccessibility or alienness, which are the signs of transcendent objects. The meaning of transcendence is merely a developing reality possessing power toward the future, which indeed exists beyond the present as such. The fundamental contradiction that accompanied modern historicism from its inception, directing immanent tools to the study of the past that was understood as a transcendent element in relation to the present, is thus unraveled in Rotenstreich’s approach, which moved the transcendence of the past into the reality of life in the present.

C. Real Continuity One of the important implications of the new metaphysical system sketched in Rotenstreich’s perception of secularization involves the

Chapter Six. Secularization and Historical Continuity

new meaning granted to the concepts of continuity and break that frequently accompany the discussions of modern Judaism, and which are also at the basis of the paradigmatic framework that served as a starting point for the discussion in this book. Rotenstreich identifies the Jewish past with content, to which access is epistemic, and the present with the reality of life phrased in ontological terms. This identification turns the paradigmatic framework on its head, and naturally creates a profound transformation in the terms of continuity and break that were formulated within it. As we recall, Yerushalmi interpreted the break in ontological terms, which he identified with the relation to the transcendent entity and the Jewish past. However, in Rotenstreich’s approach, believing that “a nation is a historical entity to the extent that it is an entity in the present” (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 3), the object of ontology is replaced from the past to the present. The understanding of the present reality as a solid fact, embodying the very ontology of the present, removes from the perception of modern Judaism the dimension of the break and even the potential for a break. In other words, when the break is understood in ontological terms (in the sense Rotenstreich granted them) it is not an appropriate description of modern Judaism. Rotenstreich did recognize that the past is “an element [… that] activates life and also throws itself on that dimension of reality that is not present.” In his opinion, the sphere of the present is more decisive, since the processes occurring in it, including disputes regarding “matters in the present,” take over everything and do not distinguish between the “spheres of life and reality” (Rotenstreich, 1966, 320). In this spirit, he notes: “Man in his reality cannot live on ideology alone, and we are interested in the connection to reality and not just in the historical evaluation or its ideas, which cannot replace reality even if the evaluation is right” (ibid., 60). Rotenstreich’s approach also rejects the continuity represented in the paradigmatic framework by Funkenstein, who based it on the realization of epistemic relations to the sources of tradition. Rotenstreich’s starting point in clarifying the issue of continuity in anchored in a physical perception of time, dealing with the real following of the present after the past: The continuous physical time, in which the historical occurrence is determined, is a condition for assuming the sequence of the historical events. The sequence of historical events is a special layer founded upon the basic layer, meaning continuous time

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Part four. Nathan Rotenstreich: Philosophy, History, and Reality […] The question is asked, how are we entitled to assume the continuity of historical events when we assume that historical events are certain events, meaning that they are a section removed from the continuous temporal sequence? (Rotenstreich, 1962a, 64)

Rotenstreich identifies tension between the physical time framework, in which all the various occurrences are included indiscriminately, and the issue of continuity that assumes a certain process of selection, in which specific events are marked as having surplus importance compared with others —a process that distinguishes the historical occurrence as “determined not in continuous time but above it” (ibid., 65, emphases in original). Despite this, in his opinion the processes of historical selection cannot disrupt the historical continuity; this persists thanks to the function of the physical temporal framework as an independent reality. In this spirit, Rotenstreich states: The guarantee of continuity we can seek only in the historical occurrence and in the connection between its events, and not beyond the occurrence […] Against our will we search for the element of continuity within the occurrence. This means that the guarantee of continuity is in the relations between the various events and is not prior to these events. The continuity is the problem of the process’s order and regularity. (Ibid., 65)

The perception of the physical time framework as utterly immanent ensures that the field in which the meaning of the issue of continuity should also be immanent, that is in the realm of the real occurrence itself. This means that continuity is apparent “in the relations between the events themselves” and not in their relation to “the subject standing behind them,” meaning “the persisting or identical subject” standing outside or above the level of the occurrence itself. In Rotenstreich’s opinion, the question of the “possibility” in the realm of history does not denote “wondering about the given basis, but […] a question about the facts within the system”; it is always asked “within the boundaries of the process, and it does not apply to its origin […] It is an immanent concept and does not remove us beyond the realm. This means we are not entitled to condition the use of the concept of possibility on a historical subject” (ibid., 65–7). Affirmatively, we can state that the concept of the historical subject was rejected from

Chapter Six. Secularization and Historical Continuity

the boundary of the interpretation anchored within an immanent framework, since this is a transcendent element that enfolds alienation toward the real occurrence itself.

D. Radicalism of Immanence The understanding of the “historical subject” as denoting an extrahistorical transcendent force, and the resolute attitude toward it, is shared by Rotenstreich, Kurzweil, and Yerushalmi. As we recall, for the latter two transcendence is not placed as an implied or anonymous element, but is identified with God, who denotes its most inclusive meaning. Yerushalmi writes: “I submit that no Jewish historian today […] would bring himself to write an explicit “reasons-from-God” epilogue […] what would be inconceivable in a history of the English, the French, or the Dutch is still possible in a serious twentieth-century historical work concerning the Jews”;7 and Kurzweil wrote: “It is clear: God alone, the always present, has solutions to the riddles of time,” and elsewhere: “It is clear that the reason for the cruel fate, or for the grace, should not be sought in man, but in the sphere of God, revealed or hidden […] The incomprehensible and hidden divinity is the source of suffering.”8 Kurzweil’s approach, and even more so that of Yerushalmi, denotes a “radicalism of transcendence,” since for these thinkers the “historical subject” is identified with the transcendent entity, and contains the deepest meaning of Jewish history. In contrast, Rotenstreich deliberately removes from his perception the concept of the “historical subject,” which he perceives as an epistemic abstraction that applies “a conscious principle into the realm of reality” (ibid., 65), and as such is alien to the real reality in the present. As a result, Rotenstreich’s approach is anchored unambiguously in the realm of immanence, but this is perceived in ontological terms and leaves behind its back the epistemic dimensions that it identifies with the past. Thus Rotenstreich’s decision to establish historical continuity on the real dimensions of immanence becomes clear. It seems that the supremacy granted to the present reality, guiding Rotenstreich’s

7

Yerushalmi, 1989, 91.

8

Kurzweil, 1960, 127; 1962, 201–2.



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worldview in a wider sense, is also responsible for the issue of historical continuity being anchored in the real historical occurrences rather in the abstract aspect relating to the past and tradition. Against the approaches of Kurzweil and Yerushalmi, Rotenstreich’s approach offers an observation that we could call a  “radicalism of immanence.” This radicalism contains the precise meaning of the fundamental transformation in the ontological status of the present and the past, as a result of which the present reality is declared as transcendent. The meaning of this transcendence is that the present denotes a reality that shows autonomy in relation to the epistemic dimensions it involves. In this respect, the transcendence is the complete exhaustion of immanence, or alternatively, its radicalization. In the end, assuming the physical time frame, in the discussion of the issue of continuity, enables Rotenstreich to use the present-day people’s self-evaluation of the situation as a starting point for clarifying the continuity issue: The Jew and Judaism are no longer satisfied with the living feeling of the continuity of tradition and can no longer see this continuity and the interweaving of the ways of the generations as a  sufficient and exhaustive sign of the essence of Judaism. (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 16)

However, Rotenstreich is not satisfied with this general statement, which only adds a layer to the already strong status of the present in his perception. The radical emphasizing of the real dimensions in the present-day reality, which led him to push aside from the immanent framework the consciousness dimension, determines explicitly the (at best) marginal status of the contents of tradition in the issue of continuity. On this point too Rotenstreich anchors his position in the present-day person’s evaluation of reality: A modern Jew is a Jew seeking to live in the real world of the present in which he exists, with the consciousness of the continuity regarding the generations that preceded him; he does not live with the consciousness of the continuity in the content regarding these generations. In the world of the modern Jew there exists a separation between the belonging component and the continuity component of the content of the generations […] A person can see himself as a member of the generations that

Chapter Six. Secularization and Historical Continuity lived according to the system of beliefs and opinions, without seeing himself as subject to the norm of the previous generations. He possesses a consciousness of proximity and continuity without interpreting it as consciousness of continued devotion to the content of past generations. This separation between continuation and continuity is a component —perhaps a decisive component —in the portrait of the modern Jew. It is part of his self-consciousness, it activates a certain trend of his historical consciousness. […] In practice, the consciousness of continuity is not identical to the consciousness of continued devotion to a  particular defined heritage. (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 34, emphases in original)

E. “The Eclectic Jew” Perhaps Rotenstreich’s awareness of the central status of the past content in immanent perceptions with a secular orientation similar to his exists in the background of his decision to explain explicitly the reason for pushing aside the content dimension from his perception of continuity. The origin of this explanation exists in the perception of the contents of Jewish tradition as expressions of beliefs and opinions, of which dogmatism is a significant part. Rotenstreich himself declares, regarding his position, that “here arises an undermining of the integrality of Judaism” (ibid., 34–5). Integrality in this context concerns coherence, gathering together contents with a dogmatic nature, and it is perceived as evidence of the lack of vitality and dynamism characterizing these contents —qualities that are the outcome of the rigid gap between the Jewish past and the present-day reality of life. It is clear that this perspective did not allow Rotenstreich to conclude, from the fact that the contents as such are subject to interpretation and change, that they are capable of adapting and perhaps even being harnessed to the dynamic processes in the present. Therefore, he distanced reality from the contents of tradition. At this point, Rotenstreich’s extremism emerges again, compared with Funkenstein, despite their shared adoption of the immanent framework as the infrastructure for their approach. Funkenstein was convinced of the ability of the past contents to adapt and suit themselves to the world and being of present-day people. In contrast, Rotenstreich’s rigid understanding of the past contents, ­attributing

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dogmatism to them, also permeated his perception of the present, which was also depicted as distinct from the past and its contents. The most prominent expression of the rigidity of Rotenstreich’s thinking in this context is apparent in his identifying the concept of continuity with the persistence of content, and thus proposing to replace it with the concept of “continuation.” It appears that Rotenstreich perceived this alternative concept as closer to the physical framework of time, and he gave it precedence over the concept of continuity, since he believed it contained independence in relation to the abstract or external factors that might detract from the autonomy of the presentday reality. Rotenstreich coined a new term, the “eclectic Jew.” The constituting of this concept is based positively on the crumbling cohesion of tradition and its contents. These ceased to serve as a norm, and certainly do not possess “exclusive weight” and are what “deserves attention” (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 34). The “eclectic Jew” denotes the way the “subjective Jew” faces the sources and contents of tradition. On the one hand, from his point of view, only “one of the factors […] exists in Jewish heritage” (ibid., 40). On the other hand, he recognizes that “the problem of the norm has not disappeared from the horizon of Jewish life and Jewish thought in the change that has taken place” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 44). The narrow crevice devoted to tradition in Rotenstreich’s approach enables it to be counted, along with positions he identified with the “phenomenon [… of] extricating a permanent factor from the dynamic change, in an attempt to overcome the relativity of all the processes in order to preserve the permanent elements […] so that the specific gravity of tradition would continue to exist even at a  reduced extent, even with a  historical meaning that operates within the present and refers to it” (ibid., 48). Thus the requirement for eclecticism should be understood as an attempt to answer the absence of crystallization and accumulation from present-day real reality, thrown together with tradition into a living and beating complex of universal influences. In Rotenstreich’s opinion, the presence of tradition in the being of present-day life is conditioned upon the realization of the references to it and its traditions (ibid., 48). However, he stresses that even within the boundaries of historical consciousness —one of whose principles is the interpretative freedom of present-day people—”there is no escape from the boundaries of historical-factual reality.” The “normative side”—for which Rotenstreich expressed some recognition

Chapter Six. Secularization and Historical Continuity

of its essentiality even in an era of changes and secularization—“is based on other norms such as justice and truth and they are norms of principle and not of tradition […]” (ibid., 29).9 Eventually, the decisive supremacy and superiority of the present-day reality is preserved without dispute. It seems that Rotenstreich himself felt uncomfortable with the term “eclectic Jew,” which stresses the weakness of belonging to the contents of tradition, and thus added that “we should not say that this is ideal, but perhaps this is the closest to the data of reality” (Rotenstreich, 1978, 35). These words, depicting Rotenstreich as surrendering almost against his will to what he considers “reality,” reveal something about his perception of the present being. This, it transpires, appears to him as an uncontrollable realm of powers, perhaps even chaotic powers, and clearly the individual’s status cannot be guaranteed in it.

9



On his attitude affirming the reference to the halakhah in the new reality while reshaping it, see Rotenstreich, 1972b, 71–2; 1973, 111–30. It is not surprising that Rotenstreich’s interpretation of Leibowitz’s thought —which stressed the normative dimension and the precedence of the epistemic facet of abstract faith —encountered difficulties. This is indicated by the rhetorical question directed at Leibowitz’s thought: “What are the needs of religion —is not religion a phrases system of beliefs and opinions and is not even the halakhah, which is the empirical given in Leibowitz’s approach, but an example of a direction, and is it not a prototype and binding norm of this direction?” (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 94). On this issue, see Zeev Levy’s discussion of the status of the halakhah in Rotenstreich’s thought. Levy believes that it is strange that Rotenstreich chose to base his approach on a philosophical phrasing of the halakhah rather than the agadah (Levy, 1988, 63). In my opinion, Rotenstreich’s choice of the halakhah (in this context) accords with the original identification of Judaism with a dogmatic system of beliefs and opinions, and there is no room to interpret this as a call to implement the halakhah in the way of life in the present. In this respect, Levy’s suggestion of comparing Rotenstreich and Leibowitz seems strange.

401

Chapter Seven

Zionism Between History and Reality A. Zionism: Spirit and Action Rotenstreich’s discussion of Zionism, which was at the heart of the practical and spiritual reality of life during the present of his period, seems natural in light of his aim to appeal to both intellectuals and practical people, though in practice he referred to it as an abstract object rather than as a real occurrence. Kurzweil, and even more so Scholem, also formed their own approaches to Zionism, and there are undoubtedly important relations between it and their general metaphysical world views. But the issue of Zionism is even more important in the discussion of Rotenstreich’s worldview, due to the supremacy granted to the present in his perception of modern Judaism. His view of Zionism not only contributes to establishing his secular perception, but is also a chapter in his philosophy of history. Rotenstreich’s general philosophical features also recur in his perception of Zionism; in it the past is identified with aspects of content and consciousness, and accordingly is accessible through epistemological relations, while the present-day reality is perceived as an ontological reality.

B. The Past of Zionism: Epistemology and Passivity The general perception of the past as a conscious dimension dealing with content (Rotenstreich, 1953c, 111)1 is apparent in Rotenstreich’s understanding of the revival movement as “revival of the sources or roots of the past,” and the central role granted to the Bible within it (Rotenstreich, 1978b, 49) as representing a basis and source for Jewish creativity in its roots (Rotenstreich, 1991, 13). Moreover, in his opinion, the very name of the Jewish rivival movement —Zionism —indicates

1



See also Rotenstreich, 1949.

Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality

the symbolic and contents connection, since Jerusalem appears in it “[as] a focus for content” (ibid., 141). This means that Zionism’s realizing generation distinguished between the Jewish past and the real process in the present, and saw the past as an abstract element, though “crystallized,” just as the historical “given” appears to the historian: “By the meaning […] of the fixation of the present by the past […] we mean historicity not as a real process in which we exist but as clear precedence of the formations of the past in the present and regarding the present” (Rotenstreich, 1984, 102). Rotenstreich presents the past at the foundation of the Zionist endeavor as follows: The past is a matter for consciousness and remembrance and the present is a matter for real experience and involvement in real processes […] It transpires […] that Eretz Israel is the historical land of the Jewish nation […] that is, the land of the past of the Jewish nation. But it is the land of the past, its status in the past determined the life consciousness of Jews in the generations following this past […] The matter discussed does not relate to the genealogical relationships between the generations in the biological sense of this concept, but is a matter of the life consciousness of the Jews in the generations after the first generations. (Ibid., 103)

This understanding of the Jewish past, in terms of content and consciousness, formed the fundamental infrastructure of the perception of Zionism in Rotenstreich’s thought. Through it, Jewish existence is placed on the immanent level, caused and interpreted by human beings. The similarity arising here to the concept of “collective memory” in Funkenstein’s thought should not be a surprise, considering the secular position both of them declared. As we recall, for Funkenstein the element of consciousness is dominant in two components of the perception of the Jewish past —in the “collective memory,” composed of “consciousness of the historical origin” or “its formation in historical time”; and in “historical consciousness,” which denotes the attempt “to endow history with “meanings.””2 Funkenstein assumes the flexibility and mobility of the contents of consciousness throughout Jewish history, while for Rotenstreich these qualities are absent from the contents of the Jewish past that were formed as beliefs and

2



Funkenstein, 1993, 12.

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opinions. Even in their rigidity, these contents do not form an entitylike object whose status is transcendent in relation to the historical and real context, and thus inaccessible to present-day human beings. This means that the different fate of the past contents in Rotenstreich’s perception does not extricate them from the immanent context in which they are perceived as originally rooted. However, the perception of the past as a conscious element and a treasure of contents does not exhaust the meaning it was granted in Rotenstreich’s perception of Zionism. As in his philosophy of history, in his discussion of Zionism the epistemological understanding of the past was accompanied by an ontological understanding, which also contributes to the secularization of Jewish history. In the same place where he describes history as a theoretical process, or in terms of the “chronicles,” he states: “We sometimes wish to say that what is history is factual, and as such it contrasts with legends or stories” (ibid., 102). History also appears in Rotenstreich’s Zionist discourse as “lineage,” a real occurrence in the past that is not the product of the interpretation or imagination of present-day people, seeking to draw meaning from it for themselves. From this point of view, Rotenstreich states that among the Zionist movement that led to the establishment of the State of Israel, “an ideational assumption was made not only regarding the authority of the people present in it, but also regarding the people and generations not present in it” a physical and daily presence (ibid., 201), as in the verse “But with him that standeth here with us this day […] and also with him that is not here with us this day.”3 The previous generations, including the events of the past, are also among the ontological embodiments of the past in the present-day Zionist being. The ontological understanding of the past is also apparent in its power to continue leaving a mark on real processes in the present. Rotenstreich stresses that “being fed by what is beyond them [the processes] do not cease being real processes” (ibid., 103). Through the memory the past becomes a sort of “authority” that crosses the historical sphere of the past into the real circumstances in the present, and acts there as a  stimulating and operating force (ibid., 210). This means that the ideational representations of the past cannot exhaust it within the boundaries of the subjective consciousness or detract from its reality. Not only is the “consciousness of the relation [to the past]

3



Deut. 29:15.

Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality

not influenced by real processes” (ibid., 104), the reality of the present shows activism toward the past and the relation directed at it by present-day people. This relation constitutes the future that continues from it, whose expected coming from the present is evidence of the present’s own extra-conscious reality (ibid., 103). Like the other three thinkers whose perception of the past included an ontological entity dimension —Yerushalmi, Scholem, and Kurzweil —for Rotenstreich too the perception of the past is accompanied by an understanding of the subject as passive.4 However, while Scholem and Kurzweil stressed in this context the dimension of distance, typical of the subject’s stance facing the transcendent in Jewish existence, in Rotenstreich’s secular approach the object of this stance is replaced, and is now identified with completely human factors. Thus, the subject’s passivity is presented as being embodied in his lack of originality and as a result of the basic fact that no human reality exists by itself, but is created by the actions of preceding people (Rotenstreich, 1964, 3). In this spirit, “historical consciousness” is presented as accepting or receiving what exists beyond itself. Rotenstreich explains that even if this consciousness is possessed by the individual through his relations to its contents, it does not appear in the human reality as influenced by him, because it contains the collectivity of the historical Jewish nation: “Jewish culture is a culture based on the past […] For the idea of the revival had fascination and attraction within Jewish thought and within the problematic of the Jewish nation” (Rotenstreich, 1991, 17–8). Thus, Rotenstreich’s approach once again draws closer to that of Funkenstein, connecting the personal memory to the collective memory: “even the most personal memory cannot be removed from its social context. […] Even the very act of self-consciousness is far from being isolated from society.”5 The connection with Funkenstein revealed at this point helps achieve a more precise understanding of the passive stance in Rotenstreich’s approach, and to distinguish it

4



The issue of the subject’s disposition is discussed extensively in the sections devoted to each of these thinkers. See in particular Yerushalmi, 1989, 93, ­97–8; Scholem, 1990, 30–1; 239; Kurzweil, 1962, 232–3, 330–2, 246.

5



Funkenstein, 1993, 4. Without doubt, Funkenstein’s words directly adopt the thesis on which Hegel’s dialectic of mastery and slavery is based (see Hegel, 1988, 127–36). On Hegel’s deep influence on Funkenstein, see Moyn, 2004. Similar assumptions may be made about Rotenstreich in this context.

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from that appearing in the thought of the other three thinkers. While for Yerushalmi, Scholem, and Kurzweil the passivity originates in recognizing the power of the transcendent entity, acting as a restraining force on the subject, the one appearing in Rotenstreich’s thought is the result of a collective existence that by its very nature does not enable the individual unrestricted rule. From a metaphysical point of view we could say that while the passive stance in the perceptions of the three involves a meeting of two different entity dimensions —transcendent and immanent —the passive stance in Rotenstreich’s approach is completely submerged in the immanent level, in which the subject or subjects constitute decisive factors, and thus the otherness the subject confronts is moderate. Another dimension in the ontological perception of the past that also contributes to establishing Rotenstreich’s secular position involves understanding the meaning of Zionism as regards relationships with other nations. In this context, Zionism is presented as expressing a withdrawal from the world of the other nations among whom the Jews used to live, and a desire to connect to a past source in order to renew the Jewish sovereignty in the present. As we recall, Yerushalmi and Kurzweil interpreted the separateness of the Jewish nation (from other nations) as an expression of the mark of the transcendent presence in its history, and therefore argued that Jewish history contains a fundamental ahistorical dimension.6 In contrast, Rotenstreich expressed an approach similar to that of Funkenstein, stressing the empowerment of the present dimension in the history of the Jewish nation. As we recall, Funkenstein did not rule out the possibility of transcendent elements entering Jewish existence, and believed that the metaphysical meaning of the past as an ahistorical reality unravels in real reality, and thus he characterized the past as “remembered present.”7 Similarly, Rotenstreich too emphasizes that

6

This theme is discussed extensively in Part One and Part Three of the book. See also Kurzweil, 1960, 251; 1973a, 69; Yerushalmi, 1989, 91.

7

Funkenstein, 1993, 7. Funkenstein considered that Yerushalmi exaggerated “In emphasizing the typological element in traditional Jewish historical consciousness” (ibid., 16). In his opinion, the typological position is the exception that proves the rule, which does not suit the typological and ahistorical framework Yerushalmi set regarding the Jewish collective memory. Funkenstein demonstrates his words with reference to Nachmanides.



Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality

this withdrawal should not be seen as a negation of the real world or as a withdrawal to a “historical apocalypse,” but as a step of creating history in the sense of a real actualization of the reality of the presentday Jewish nation. In this spirit, he writes: Zionism should be the guardian of the walls of Jewish reality, struggling for its content, prepared for personal decisions and public consciousness. A Zionist should be considered someone who recognizes that there exists a general and personal Jewish question, and who admits that a solution is available for it not only in the future but also in the present of the State of Israel hinting at the future. Zionism will be built by a merging of realism with utopia […]. (Rotenstreich, 1966, 61)

For understanding the ontological dimensions, which in Rotenstreich’s opinion were hidden in the Jewish past Zionism requires, it is important to stress particularly the separation of the Jewish nation from other nations rather than the separation of other nations from it. In his opinion, the assumption that accompanied the Zionist movement throughout its history was that “The State of Israel […] were it […] not to exist for a mission, were it not a representative of the Jewish nation […] then there would be no real powers that could maintain the state and prevent the assimilation of Israeli society in  the surrounding world” (Rotenstreich, 1966, 167). Elsewhere, he added: [Regarding] the essence of Zionism, we must repeat and say to ourselves that Zionism is a unique national movement because it is the movement of a nation that wished to return to its land. It is not a movement of a nation that wished to express itself through political independence, borne by people present within the existing national framework, and seeking to crystallize this framework by means of statehood. If we understand the essence of Zionism […] we will always have to take into account that this uniqueness may be interpreted as a deviation from the framework not

See his article “History and Typology: Nachmanides’s Reading of Biblical Narrative,” ibid., 98–120.

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only historically but factually, here and now. (Rotenstreich, 1991, 145–6)8

The ontological dimension stems from the fact that in transcending “to beyond the natural and given situation and circumstances,” denoting its very historicity and the constituting of the culture in general, “man creates a situation with its own entity-like status” (Rotenstreich, 1962c, 11). The secular dimension thus emerges clearly, and illuminates more extensively the ontological understanding of the past that is completely surrounded by the immanent space.

C. The Present of Zionism: Ontology and Activism Along with clarifying the concept of the Jewish past in his perception of Zionism, Rotenstreich also addresses the concept of the present, related to “giving expression to the Jewish nation in the real historical reality” (Rotenstreich, 1991, 140). Moreover, his most general approach, that granted supremacy to the present, finds its continuation and even becomes more extreme in his perception of Zionism, somewhat undermining the importance of the “forces of the past that fed us,” which appear as quite an abstract idea: One of the great reasons for the revolution we wished to create ourselves was that we no longer relied on the historical heritage of the Jewish nation and of the forces of the past that fed us. We sought to build a reality of the present that would have patterns and modes of expression and action within it. [emphasis in original] Reality was for us an object of yearning —and how can we examine an object of yearning using criteria external to it, apparently?

8



The idea that places the State of Israel as an independent culture alongside other cultures was developed in the thought of Mordechai M. Kaplan, although in a different way than that of Rotenstreich. For Kaplan, the Jewish civilization does not depend on the constituting of a Jewish state and is not primarily Zionist. This perception of Kaplan’s has appeared in all his writings. See in particular Kaplan, 1994; 1970. For Rotenstreich’s reference to this distinction, which originated in German literature (and which Kaplan adopted while reversing the concepts of “culture” and “civilization”), see Rotenstreich, 1962c, 10.

Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality Achieving the reality was the very idea, and how can we criticize reality from an idea? (Ibid., 285)

The secular perspective that identified the past with the content dimensions and thus anchored it in the immanent level subject to the actions and control of human beings is continued and established in the basic understanding of the present as a reality that pushes aside eternity, that is as a reality submerged in the transcendent level: Zionism is fed, among other things, by the loss of faith in the ability of eternity to maintain Jewish existence […] Zionism is based on the observation that the traditional perception is expropriated because the Jews are devoted to the affairs of the world and so they push aside their own heritage, which is both a system of values of their own and also a factor that preserves the collective existence. Zionism emerged from the assumption that the tradition factor that was already pushed aside —cannot fill the function it had been allocated, by distraction and knowingly, over the generations. (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 187)

Now is revealed another facet, perhaps even a contrasting one, of the idea of revival on which the perception of the past in Zionism was based. The need to deepen the treatment of the past contents as part of the Jewish revival movement now gives way to a practical approach determining explicitly the marginality of contents within it. Rotenstreich presents the focus on the present-day reality as a state of affairs behind which the pushing aside of tradition is taken as a fact. Elsewhere, the negation of the past is even more explicit: “Infusing new life does not mean by definition returning to the sources of the Jewish nation [… but] contact with the ground of real life,” to the extent that a contradiction emerges between it and the return to the roots (Rotenstreich, 1991, 13).9 Just as in his philosophy of history, in the discussion of Zionism too the present is identified with the space of real reality: “History [is] the totality of real circumstances in which real people act and from which there is no escape […] We must distinguish between a fundamentalistic approach and a historical approach, and

9



Rotenstreich identifies this position with M. Y. Berdichevsky, but included it as a component in his concept of revival.

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Zionism feeds from the latter” (ibid., 141). However, while in the philosophy of history subjectivity denoted consciousness in its formation, and objectivity denotes the past occurrence, in Rotenstreich’s perception of Zionism these seem to be reversed: Zionism in its stages distinguished […] between historical consciousness that stimulated it and actualizing and constructive activity. […] The stimulating motive of historical consciousness is not naturally a motive that shapes the real space of the actualization of Zionism; history is in these matters more a  factor of atmosphere than a guiding factor that gives shape to policy and the steps resulting from it. The atmosphere of history does not necessarily face the problem of what is possible, while the attempt to give shape to geography is taking place here and now and is more open for taking into consideration the circumstances, including the constraints. (Ibid., 139–40)

So historical consciousness denotes the relation to the past, but since the past expresses a conscious element, this is primarily a subjective and abstract relation, and as such it is connected to the epistemological dimensions. In contrast, the real reality or the occurrence deals with the present, and as such appears as objective and therefore as having a clearer relation to the ontological dimensions. This move, anchoring the past in the conscious element, sketches a loose connection between the past and the present. The past is an “atmosphere” in the background of the real occurrence in the present, and is not considered to possess the real constitutive power that is preserved for the actions of present-day people. These people leave their mark in the contents of the past and perform in them an act of “melting,” seeking to shape the remnants of the past in the image of the present in which they appear (Rotenstreich, 1953c, 111).10 The shape and the crystallization granted to the past by present-day people thus extricate it from the original conscious sphere to which Rotenstreich classified it, and grant it a real character to which one can refer with ontological terms.

10



The use of the term “melting” in this context may indicate a possible link to Gadamer’s hermeneutic theory, at the center of which is the concept of “horizon melting” (Horizintvershcmelzung). For Gadamer’s use of this concept, see Gadamer, 2004, 306–7, 374–5.

Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality

Rotenstreich’s decision to grant dominance to the present component (over the past component) in his perception of Zionism is related, among other things, to his negative attitude to the messianic dimension of the Zionist revival movement. His argument, repeated in various contexts, was that Zionism succeeded in making its mark in history precisely because it withdrew from the classical Jewish past, in which the messianic idea occupied a central role. In his opinion, the messianic idea as formulated by Sabbatai Sevi and as continued to exist in a different form in Hassidism, and as was even present later on in the thought of pre-Zionist thinkers such as Kalisher and Alkalai, was too distant from the members of the present generation, who could not maintain it in their consciousness, let alone see it as an ideal they could realize (Rotenstreich, 1957c, 23).11 In his opinion, any use of an idea of a messianic nature regarding historical reality cannot but be metaphorical (ibid., 27–8). In contrast to messianism, which he understood as a transition from a historical level to a meta-historical level, or alternatively as a conflict between two levels of reality: immanent and transcendent, Zionism is perceived by Rotenstreich as a transition from one historical stage to another historical stage, that is as a movement occurring entirely within the immanent level. In his opinion, Zionism can at most be interpreted as “a new, limited image of the messianic idea,” but in no way as “a relation of continuity of connection between the being of our generation and the messianic idea in its original sense” (ibid., 23). In this spirit, Rotenstreich notes that in Zionism a “dialectic of return” is active, and clarifies that this is not return in the total and messianic sense, whose origins were religious and whose basis assumed a conscious separation between the real drive to solve the problem of the Jews in the diaspora and the messianic hope for a utopian future. Quite the opposite, in his opinion Zionism expresses a realistic position whose feet are planted firmly on the soil of reality (Rotenstreich, 1957a, 13). In this context, the return to history is presented in the sense of a return to the past as an only partial realization

11



This position regarding Zionism led Nathan Rotenstreich in 1957 to his famous polemic with David Ben-Gurion, who saw Zionism as a return to the classical Jewish past. The exchange of letters in which the polemic took place has been published in Ohana, 2003, 306–25. For more on the polemic between Rotenstreich and Ben-Gurion, see Keren, 1984, 71–5; Levy, 1988, 53. On Ben-Gurion’s perception, see Ackerman, 1982.

411

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of the general Jewish principle “in those days, in this time.” In fact, it was not possible to return to “the past in itself” in its accurate and original thought. The members of the Zionist generation experience the remnants of the past only through the tools of the present, and in this sense their situation is similar to that of the historian turning to the past —like him they turn to the past to retrieve from it some meaning for their stance in the present. Rotenstreich cannot deny that the transition to actualizing Zionism was also a “leap” to another temporal dimension. However, he refused to abandon in the name of this leap the historical continuity in favor of a meta-historical messianism in which Zionism would appear as an achievement whose dimensions and meaning are absolute or anchored in metaphysical elements, as Yerushalmi, Kurzweil, and Scholem believed. In the contexts in which he addressed the issue of Zionism, Rotenstreich removed himself even from perceptions of continuity like that of Funkenstein, with whom he shared the understanding of Jewish history in immanent terms. As we recall, according to Funkenstein, basing the perception of continuity on the mental relations constituted by subjects in a given time to the past sources made continuity into a permanent element in Jewish history. In contrast, in addressing the issue of continuity, Rotenstreich prefers to reduce the immanent space in which his approach occurs in the first place, and to make the possibility of historical continuity dependent upon the needs test of real reality. The two terms integrated into Rotenstreich’s discussion of Zionism—“revival” and “leap”—clearly express the grasp on the past and the absorption from it as a lever and justification for the present. The important difference between them deals with the boundaries of the past to which they refer and the way it is accessed. The concept of “revival,” which assumes historical continuity, refers to the near past to which the relation is formed by natural historical processes, such as generational continuity. In contrast, the concept of the “leap” refers to a particular chapter in the collective past, which is distant from the present and can be accessed by non-historical forces, to the point that this chapter of time is crystallized as a meta-historical reality that is detached from its original time and context. Rotenstreich believed that “No revival movement can skip over the near past as it seeks to grasp onto the distant past. The yearning and relation to the distant past did not arise in us without the mediation of the analysis of the near present and the near past” (ibid., 13).

Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality

The connection to generations close in time is, according to Rotenstreich, a mental-private need, and at the same time a historical-collective need. On the mental level, a person cannot connect to something remote and alienated from his real concrete being. The present being functions for people as a sort of receptacle that cannot fill its function when the contents and materials it holds are in too sharp a contrast to its material qualities. Too extreme a gap between the receptacle and its content will necessarily lead to rejection and a  break of the present generation from its past (Rotenstreich, 1957c, 20). Rotenstreich believed that if we allow only the distant past to support us, eventually it will not support us and we will remain “past shallow” (Rotenstreich, 1957a, 13). In this spirit, he stated: “We will not benefit our youth if we too follow this path of raising our own achievement to a messianic status; we will root our youth in our world more by emphasizing the relativity of each human achievement as a historical achievement, and not by mixing the areas between a supra-historical criterion and historical reality” (Rotenstreich, 1957c, 27).12 Unlike messianism, identified with the ahistorical Jewish past in which the return to Zion appeared as an abstract idea and as an object of vague yearning, Zionism is planted in the ground of the present, and as such it is aimed at the areas of society and policy that are explicit areas of the present and that possess a real character. Rotenstreich saw the fact that present-day people were able to employ their past for purposes of the concrete reality they sought to create as evidence that the gap between the past and the present was not too large, and did not reach an extent that would cause the present-day people a spiritual and ideational break as a condition

12



Rotenstreich’s position toward Zionism, as described above, contained the essence of his classical secular approach, which was insufficiently conscious of the messianic potential naturally contained in the very return to the historical sources of the Jewish past. The possibility that the meeting between the character and spirit of the secular Zionist generation, usually liberated from the bonds of tradition, and the “building blocks” of the Zionist endeavor —renewing the language and the return to the land —would cause a renewed outburst of Jewish messianism —a danger that Gershom Scholem called “the price of messianism”—was not tangible enough for Rotenstreich. Scholem referred to this problem in a  letter he sent Franz Rosenzweig in 1926 (Scholem, 1990, 59–60). For further discussion, see also Ravitzky, 1998, 13–7.

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for constituting a  relation to the Jewish past (ibid., 22). In his opinion, “rephrasing the past” was, in the circumstances created, a sufficient condition for reducing the gap separating the present-day people from the Jewish past, and it appears to have enabled the positive reception of elements from this past and their absorption into their world, primarily the attitude toward Eretz Israel13 and the Hebrew language,14 which functioned as collective and entity-like anchors in their current consciousness.15 In this spirit, Rotenstreich presented Zionism as a pragmatic movement and as a purposeful conclusion “built on the analysis of the reality [of the Jews under emancipation], from which it grew and which it sought to change” (Rotenstreich, 1991, 31). In this respect, Zionism came to solve the Jewish question (Rotenstreich, 1957c, 23). It did not only seek to return the Jewish nation to history, but also strove to realize this aim in real historical circumstances (Rotenstreich, 1991, 77) in the form of determining a real status for the Jewish nation in the present (ibid., 15).16 Zionism also contains a rich and developed ideational system that fed the self-consciousness of its actualizers, but in Rotenstreich’s opinion the meaning of this idea was perceived by them as dependent upon its ability to obtain tangible expression in the present (ibid., 300). Precisely the focus on the social and political realms — explicit present realms —enabled the integration of the Jewish past into the essentially modern Zionist revival movement.17 Rotenstreich stated: It would be a one-sided perception to think that only the idea influenced this process. The dynamism of Jewish life is connected, of course, also to the large processes that occurred […] The change that took place in the Jewish way of life [..] was the product of an amazing dynamism, a dynamism of conclusion, but it changed the portrait of the Jewish nation, transferred its cen-

13

See Rotenstreich, 1984, 104; 1987a, 183.

14

See Rotenstreich, 1987a, 284–6; 1991, 35.

15

Ibid., 29.

16

See also ibid., 139.

17

For a discussion of the modern character of Zionism, see for instance the article “Between the Present of Zionism and its Sources,” in Rotenstreich, 1991, 24–35.



Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality ter and its attention and uprooted the popular Judaism from its place and from its roots and removed it from the world. (Ibid., 16–7)

There is no doubt that the emphasis on the relation of Zionism to the present and to actualization in the concrete field, which naturally linked it to modern reality, weakened its uniqueness as a Jewish movement —a uniqueness that was actually made prominent in the ontological understanding of the Zionist past —and loosened its connection to the Jewish past. This is merely the result of the modern Jewish aim for the “normality of the Jewish nation” (ibid., 32), and at least should be seen as an expression of this aim. In Rotenstreich’s opinion, the normalization that “is entirely a matter of making ourselves equal to others” (ibid., 15), created in Jewish history “an accelerated dynamic, and this is not independent of the large processes of the world and the accelerated process typical in the past few generations of the culture of man in general” (ibid., 17).18 Normalization, embodying the third facet of the idea of revival (ibid., 15), expresses a view with ideational aspects, but from Rotenstreich’s point of view, it mainly functions as a reality-causing element. In this respect, normalization contributed another layer to the present’s ontological essence in his perception of Zionism.

D. From Passivity to Activity The fundamental relation between Rotenstreich’s perception of Zionism and the basic principles that guide his philosophy of history is readily apparent to the observer. The two contexts are conquered by an element that was granted a central status due to its ontological depth: in the philosophy of history it is the past, while in the perception of Zionism it is the present. Just as in the first context, the past’s ontological meaning also permeated the epistemic dimensions it contains, so in the second context the realistic orientation granting dominance to the present marginalizes its epistemic dimensions.

18



For reference to the ideal of the normalization of the Jewish nation see also Rotenstreich, 1953c, 112–3; 1966, 9–23; 1978b, 74–85. On the acceleration of historical time, see Rotenstreich, 1952a.

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However, it appears that unlike the objects of philosophizing that remain on the abstract level, the enforcing nature of the concrete reality in relation to which Rotenstreich formulated his Zionist approach led him to re-examine the separation between the past’s ontological and epistemic dimensions. In this spirit, he discovers that “granting a status to the land and the language was not only a conscious step. It was a step of granting a foundational status to real life in the present, with this life in its reality continuing into the future and aimed at it” (Rotenstreich, 1984, 103).19 This insight does not lead Rotenstreich to withdraw from his original identification of the past with content and the present with reality. But understanding that a conscious element could have acquired a  hold in real reality starts a  reflexive process which eventually causes a change in the access of the subject’s disposition toward the past contents. Thus passivity is replaced by activity. Rotenstreich states that “the return to heritage should not be understood as granted to us in advance” (Rotenstreich, 1991, 15), and so the individual must show initiative and activism in order to obtain the meaning and significance of the past. In this context, the relation to the past —whatever its meaning —appears as having priority over the concrete and immediate historical reality: “The return to the sources cannot have a merely knowledge meaning. We must nurture the knowledge side and the studious side, because without doubt a historical culture cannot exist without the mediation of studiousness. There is no direct access to culture” (ibid., 22).20 The choice of the expression “studiousness” with the traditional connotation should not mislead us, as if this is the nurturing of intellectualism for its own sake or a shift to a  stance that accepts the authority of these sources. Furthermore, this activism is not connected to the awareness of the existence of hidden dimensions in the reality in which human beings act —an awareness that was at the basis of the constituting of the subject’s active stance in the approaches of Kurzweil and Scholem.21 Quite the opposite, in the active stance

19

Regarding the Hebrew language, see also Rotenstreich, 1953a. On the general meaning of the changing of generations and language as an expression of a prior historical experience, see Rotenstreich, 1961, 220–1.

20

For more on Rotenstreich’s concept of culture, see also Rotenstreich, 1962c.

21

In this context, see Scholem, 1948, 97, 101; Kurzweil, 1962, 187, 284. The subject’s active in Scholem’s perception was discussed in Part Two of the book,





Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality

sketched by Rotenstreich, the individual displays sovereignty toward the contents that fill his consciousness in order to contribute to shaping the concrete reality with its needs and constraints: “It is necessary that the approach […] guide us in our way of life, not only as individuals but as a whole. The approach is intended to guide us in the constant effort to shape reality” (ibid., 146). Along with the activity aimed at restoring the “factual continuity,” that is the refounding of a sovereign state in Eretz Israel, Rotenstreich indicated the need for a parallel effort to help restore the “conscious continuity”: “We see ourselves today in a state in which the conscious continuity is not given. We must reconstruct the conscious continuity against the background of a new reality […] This is actually one problematic system” (ibid., 18). Rotenstreich defined the turning to the past as “a  relation of both explanation and content”; that is, “the occurrence in the present came into the world and exists in the present by the power of another occurrence, which took place in the past” and serves as “a reason for a particular behavior in the present.” At the same time, the actions in the present are shaped not only as a “symbolic act” in memory of a past event, from the present-day person thinking that “if he does this he is doing as his ancestors did in the past, when the events actually happened” (Rotenstreich, 1955, 135). The realization in the present of contents from the past enables the past to acquire presence that exceeds the dimension of epistemic abstraction and makes its entity-like mark in the present. Despite the objects of the active stance being content-related, it is harnessed to the realization of Rotenstreich’s consistent vision regarding the fortification of the supremacy of present-day real reality. In this spirit, Rotenstreich states that “the past is submerged in the present not in terms of its content but in terms of its being,” and that “The past has [existence] within the present, it is included in actions taking place in the present” (ibid., 135–6). Turning to the ideational and abstract level embodied mainly in the past sources expresses a transcending from the present —more precisely, from its immediate and everyday level. However, the products of this transcending, Rotenstreich believed, can and must be apparent in the concrete reality in the present.22

while Kurzweil’s was discussed in Part Three. 22



See Rotenstreich, 1978b, 49; Rotenstreich, 1984, 103. Maintaining the connection to the concrete reality of the present and its precedence over the

417

Part four. Nathan Rotenstreich: Philosophy, History, and Reality

418

No less than the requiring of the past was intended to answer the lack of ideational and abstract elements, which it transpires Rotenstreich too recognized, it was also intended to respond to a concrete need (Rotenstreich, 1953c, 111), whose expression in the present is itself concrete.23 In Rotenstreich’s opinion, unlike the classical Zionism that created mainly ideology, in the reality in which the State of Israel is an existing fact we require consciousness that is “above the ideological consciousness that was the living spirit in the previous generation,” and is not “consciousness on the side of that ideological consciousness.” This consciousness must consider the need for real and even entity-like expression: We would make a serious mistake if we thought we could instill in the youth a historical Jewish consciousness without a relation to the documentation and being of the Jewish nation in the world. No youth in any nation maintains a connection with the past unless this past is portrayed before its eyes, and in its real experience in the present, in the realm of institutions, traditions, language, acts of culture, etc. (Rotenstreich, 1957a, 15)

The concrete reality of the present must draw the shared, even if separating, line between things that have conscious expression and actions whose traces in real reality is clear and living. Only thus, Rotenstreich believed, can we avoid creating “a Jew with a new “break in his heart,”” that is the break between the factuality of his existence and the consciousness of his existence (ibid., 15).

past, typical of the relation to tradition, distinguish it from the relation to religion. The latter stresses man’s relation to God and demands of him to possess a closed and defined system of beliefs and opinions, while the former emphasizes the “consciousness of the continuity of the generations, while deciding about the changing validity of the contents existing in this chain of continuity” (Rotenstreich, 1994, 10). See also Rotenstreich, 1973e, 14–8; 1972b, 11–24. For further discussion, see Sagi, 2009, 88–107. 23



See Rotenstreich, 1952b.

Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality

E. “An Archimedes Point that is not Useful” The low wind blowing above the concept of the “eclectic Jew,” which appears as a pale and weak reflection of the “subjective Jew,” returns once more toward the end of our discussion of Rotenstreich’s perception of Zionism. It seems that in its declared directedness at the present-day reality of life, which he visualized when he gave precedence to pragmatic solutions over abstract philosophical explanations, it was not able to dim the consciousness of the crisis, which recognized that “the disaster for Zionism in Israel is the loss of the ideational criterion” (Rotenstreich, 1972b, 152). This disaster was undoubtedly perceived by him as also being a direct result of the rise of the present’s independent status, which led to the reduction of the past’s influence (ibid., 156), which almost ceased to serve as a shaping force in the individual’s real cultural life (Rotenstreich, 1987a, 178).24 The intellectual and thinker, who had devoted his energy “to the ideational side behind these changes” (Rotenstreich, 1960, 135), and at the same time sought “to make the ideational consciousness into a living, activating, and actual factor […] not to be satisfied with big ideas […] but to translate [them …] into the language of application” (Rotenstreich, 1962b, 5), found himself facing the limitations of the view that declared the supremacy of the present. So in the margins of his discussion, there appeared an appeal for solutions that would join the old with the new, the past with the present: “Old-new” […] is actually the essence of Zionism as a movement that came into the world in order to renew the old, to grant it meaning in those days and in this time. There is no repeating the old, but there is an ongoing process of its renewal, a process that characterizes the way of the Jewish nation in its return to Eretz Israel. (Rotenstreich, 1991, 76)25

Rotenstreich addressed elsewhere the problematic entailed in seeing the present as the only factor in the life of the nation, alienated from the Jewish past —particularly the recent past —from which

24

For other contexts where Rotenstreich analyzes the crisis, see also Rotenstreich, 1978a, 186; 1984, 82; 1953c, 102.

25

See the chapter “Old-New” in Rotenstreich, 1991, 76–78.



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420

among other things the classical Zionist thought was formed. He concludes from this that turning to the past must contain a degree of empathy and of distancing from the present’s time features, otherwise no person, including the historian representing the systematic mode of turning to the past, can grant his existence and the being of his time the meaning and significance he identifies as “the internal problem of the Jewish revival” (Rotenstreich, 1953c, 111). Finally he states that “There is nothing dynamic that does not contain some sketch of staticness” (Rotenstreich, 1991, 66),26 and that “There is no escaping the need to restrain modern society, and this restrain requires an Archimedes point that is not useful” that could be revealed mainly “in admission by human life of the purpose beyond itself [… life] that contains an innovation of construction in contrast to what nature has given. All these things are not useful, and they [still] contain the creation of culture or the shaping of life” (Rotenstreich, 1960, 138). The personal need of present-day people is identified with dynamism, due to the activism and changes it involves, while the past represents the permanent and static element of reality, which cannot be changed. The concepts of static and dynamic, appearing in the writings where Rotenstreich presented his philosophy of history and even in some of the writings about Zionism, receive new content in the contexts where he addresses the character of the State of Israel as the arena in which Zionism is realized. Now the staticness, also called in this context “Jewish inertia,” expresses the “normality” of Jewish society in the State of Israel, thanks to which the Jewish nation was able to become an active factor in history (Rotenstreich, 1978b, 78).27 In Rotenstreich’s opinion, Zionism cannot be satisfied with this normality, which enfolds the essence of the static reality in the present. He noted that the factors capable of bringing any nation together —

26

See also Rotenstreich, 1972b, 152.

27

Rotenstreich lists three qualities that in his opinion typify Jewish society in the State of Israel: the conscious decision and effort to constitute the State of Israel; it being a crystallization of the collective existence of the Jewish nation that sought consciously to continue being a “community of fate”; and the transcending from the traditional symbolic level in the idea of the “Return to Zion” to the concrete reality of a sovereign state (Rotenstreich, 1985, 13). In his opinion, these three qualities give the Jewish state its “normality,” in which the collective being relies on factors that maintain the nation’s national being (Rotenstreich, 1978b, 74).



Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality

meaning the “normal normality” relying on factors such as shared religion, tradition, territory, fate, and being —are insufficient in the Jewish-Zionist context. The fact that the Jewish settlement “Possessed the consciousness that expresses not only its own aim for national sovereignty but also the aim of the whole Jewish nation for this sovereignty” (Rotenstreich, 1978b, 79), gave Zionism its special flavor, which Rotenstreich termed “abnormal normality”: The State of Israel as a Jewish state, that is as a state not detached from the Jewish nation, refutes normalization in the […] simplistic and unambiguous sense. The “abnormal normality” of the Jews maintains this connection between the State of Israel and the Jewish nation. (Ibid., 80–1)

The abnormality embodies not only the prominent and deliberate search for real expression and presence of the past in the present life and its customs, but particularly the consciousness of this search. For present-day people, the past does not represent only contents that consciousness can think or refer to, but it is the very existence of consciousness accompanying the real reality in the presence. This identification of the past with consciousness accompanying precisely the present reality declares this consciousness as a dynamic element, not only because its contents are available for interpretation and explanation, but also because the problematic itself that requires the contents of the past is put to the test: The spiritual meaning of the problems is in the problematic itself and not in the solutions that the historical hour has yet to raise […] The Jewish spirit is facing the test of historical responsibility, the test of responsibility for real life and a real society […] Not only are the spiritual values put to the test, but the very test is a spiritual value. Spiritual creativity does not come into the world through a monopoly. It is open to all. It might come into the world from life and it might come into the world against life. It might come into the world to raise life and it might come into the world in order not to let life assimilate its values. There is no room here for a programmatic argument […] but since every Jewish spiritual creation is made in this generation with the clear consciousness of the status of the Jewish nation in the world, no Jewish c­ reation

421

422

Part four. Nathan Rotenstreich: Philosophy, History, and Reality can skip over the problematic status of the Jewish spirit in Israeli society. (Rotenstreich, 1953a, 45)

The abnormal nature of Zionism is thus portrayed in the importance granted to the past contents in shaping the present-day reality. Rotenstreich was of course aware that most of the national cultures were concerned with the formation of a canonical infrastructure as part of the project of constructing a nation and creating what he called “historical collectivity.” The uniqueness of the Zionist movement is that in addition to the desire to create historical collectivity, relying on the past generations that aimed at a state and on those born into it (Rotenstreich, 1978a, 57–8), it was formed around what he called “heritage collectivity,” crystallized by the religious and cultural values and norms that were shaped over the generations (Rotenstreich, 1984, 83). It appears that in Rotenstreich’s opinion, the abnormal element in this collectivity stems from the fact that “The modern Jew — and this is his modernity —seeks to decide his relations to heritage too. He does not believe these are removed from the authority of decision, even when he knowingly seeks his way to heritage. Return to heritage should not be understood as implying that heritage is given in advance” (ibid., 82). From the point of view of Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history, a reversal of concepts takes place in his perception of Zionism. The subject’s transition in the present from the passive disposition toward the contents of the past to an active approach, aimed at ensuring their concrete portrayal in the reality of present-day life, leads to the exchange of the objects of staticness and dynamism. Now it is the present that embodies the static, while the past is identified with the motivation of dynamic processes. This once again demonstrates the power of the starting point that saw the present as a “given” on which Zionism was planned, since Rotenstreich did not renounce this starting point, but made the changes within its boundaries. What transpired is that the first appearance of the past in the presence, that is its portrayal in the contents, did not exhaust the past and the need arose to portray it also in concrete reality. This opened a window also for expressing the ontological dimensions embodied in the past as an occurrence that was active in its time. Now the temporariness of the separation between content and reality is clarified, and naturally undermines the relation between the passive subject and the past and the relation between the active subject and the present. In the end, the complex understanding

Chapter Seven. Zionism Between History and Reality

of Judaism, arising from a profound dialogue with the fundamental insights of Rotenstreich’s philosophy of history, did not enable the separation between the actual dynamic being in the present and the permanent element of its past origin to endure any longer.

423

Chapter Eight

Summary: “Real Contents” The relations between historical consciousness and the real reality in the past and present have interested many Jewish historians and intellectuals, but Rotenstreich’s contribution in this context is unique. His approach brings to the discussion significant philosophical strictness in the form of the Jewish past in the twentieth century, and even undoes the completely unnecessary tie that had become fixated between the ontological orientation and the perception of the break, and between the epistemological orientation and the position of continuity —a tie that was the basis for the constituting of the two paradigms that served as a starting point in this book. For Rotenstreich, like the break, continuity is epistemological to the same degree that it is ontological; for epistemology is directed at affirming the past entity and constructing the reality in the present, while the entity acquires its presence and reality for the present-day people through the attempts to understand it and to grant it meaning. These two important achievements also permeate his perception of continuity, which is based on the assumption that “bridging the entity-like abyss between the past and the present remains a bridging of consciousness, and you cannot remove it from consciousness,” but “historical research comes after it to discover the real contents” (Rotenstreich, 1955, 22). It appears that the expression “real contents” enfolds the essence of Rotenstreich’s perception of continuity, which maintained his double view of the epistemological dimensions of history and also of the ontological ones. Despite this, the aim to establish the supremacy of the ontological discourse over the epistemological one, in his philosophy of history and in his perception of Zionism, encounters at the end of the discussion a field in which metaphysics might grow. Thus, in the depths of Rotenstreich’s thought, a window is opened again to Yerushalmi’s words regarding the possibility of presenting “‘reasons-from-God” […] in a  serious twentieth-century historical work concerning the Jews.”1

1



Yerushalmi, 1989, 91.

Epilogue: The Old Angel In the ninth thesis from Walter Benjamin’s famous essay “Theses about History,” he describes the image of the angel of history, based on a painting by Paul Klee. “His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, and his wings are spread,” motionless. He observes what appears before his eyes, seeking to delay his gaze and perhaps even cause the impossible, that is awakening the dead of the past against the attractive power of the future. His wings are not strong enough; they will not bear him far from the catastrophe that surrounds him, the ruins, in which there must be piles of bodies that will never rise from the dead. The angel of history thus absorbs its sights and becomes one of them. Benjamin states that “this is how one pictures the angel of history,”1 and this means it cannot be otherwise: the sight becomes a mirror. Many scholars have referred to Benjamin’s essay,2 including Gershom Scholem, who adds a measure from his personal world, or perhaps a personal touch from the way he took in stating “Thus he runs as a messenger before this storm-wind, called in secular language “progress.” He announces the future, from which he comes, but he faces to the past.”3 One of the questions that remains standing, together with others seeking the meaning of this enigmatic essay, is who is the angel of history? In our context, who is the angel of Jewish history? Is it the Jewish historian, whom Yerushalmi presented as a “new creature,” or in the first person, “My lineage does not extend beyond the second decade of the nineteenth century”?4 Is it the mystic, whom

1



Benjamin, 1969, 257. The section “Theses on the Philosophy of History” appears on pages 253–64.

2



Ariella Azoulay reviews the main interpretations of this essay (see Azoulay, 2006, 89–92).

3



Scholem, 1990, 455, my emphasis. The subheading to the ninth thesis is a four line poem by Scholem, titled “Gruss vom Angelus”: “My wing is ready for flight,/ I would like to turn back./ If I stayed timeless time,/ I would have little luck” (Benjamin, 1969, 257). Scholem referred in detail to Benjamin’s essay (see Scholem, 1990, 416–50).



Yerushalmi, 1989, 81.

4

Epilogue: The Old Angel

426

Scholem described as having “received tradition from the ancestors” and having “been gifted by the blessed creator,”5 and thanks to this he is able to address that “hidden rooted reality, which in itself and by its own laws has no expression”?6 Is it the poet, who according to Kurzweil’s description raises “before our eyes miraculous landscapes, pre-existing [… that] are suddenly a blessed presence within our landscapes; they are a sort of outbreak of supreme existence, of transcendent reality within our reality,”7 the poet who “struggles to reveal its [the world’s] truth and reality, which only he […] is called and destined to grant him and us”?8 Or perhaps it is the practical man working unknowingly to build his nation, whom Rotenstreich described as “shrugging his shoulders” when he encounters abstract problems?9 Is it possible that it is the God of Jewish history, the ruler of all the angels, the same epochal transcendent entity that hides in its appearances and emerges from its concealment? Funkenstein and Rotenstreich rejected the possibility that God is guiding Jewish history, and it is not clear whether they thought this history required an angel to observe its convolutions. The approach of Yerushalmi, Scholem, and Kurzweil is different. They shared the assumption of God’s real presence within Jewish history. Yerushalmi believed that there was room for “‘reasons-from-God” […] in a  serious twentieth-century historical work concerning the Jews”; Scholem argued that “God is such that even if you forget him for three generations he would live in the fourth generation”; and Kurzweil stated: “It is clear: God alone, the always present, has solutions to the riddles of time.”10 Even if these three could have agreed that God was the angel of Jewish history, their work faces what appears to be his absence from it in the modern era. Therefore, these three also took upon themselves the task that Funkenstein and Rotenstreich adopted in their own way. Like the angel of history in Benjamin’s essay, whose sight became the appearance of his face, these

5

Scholem, 1948, 100.

6

Scholem, 1976a, 227.

7

Kurzweil, 1973a, 68.

8

Kurzweil, 1962, 161.

9

Rotenstreich, 1953d, 192–3.



10



Yerushalmi, 1989, 91; Scholem, 1995b, 63, emphasis in original; Kurzweil, 1960, 127, emphasis added.

Epilogue: The Old Angel

five thinkers have transpired as marked with the image of their objects of observation, and the uniting of the sight and the mirror has taken place in their metaphysical worldviews. These five have become, willingly or not, the angels of Jewish history. What can we learn from Benjamin’s decision to describe Klee’s Angelus Novus as the “angel of history”? Can the same work of art simultaneously describe the new and refer to history? Does history always include the new, and so the angel of history is also new, or is history everything that contains no innovation, and so the angel of history cannot be new? Ariella Azoulay’s interpretation of Benjamin’s essay proposes an answer to this question. When she discusses the relation between the theory of the angel’s image in the text and the visual image in Klee’s painting from which this description arose, she explains that “the angel of history’s being “new” is an essential quality of his, meaning that this is not a quality that is true in a particular historical moment, until the following new appears, and then it no longer characterizes him. This is a quality of the angel of history that is always necessarily true: the very appearance of the angel involves the appearance of the new.”11 Accordingly, she states that the angel of history “exists at a  sort of zero point preceding any stable image or description, any fixation […] The angel has no time of his own and no space of his own.”12 Without doubt, as long as the image of the angel of history is stamped with the mark of its new sights that are always renewed, it cannot be other than new. The surprises shown by his constant sight position the observer before that “zero point,” since the sights never repeat themselves and the observation is constantly restarting its way. If Benjamin’s angel of history is marked by the new that refuses to cease, his path separates from that of Jewish history. While this history has indeed known constant innovations and surprises, the choice to make the new portray the essence of history does not accord with the reflections of Jewish history arising from the metaphysical worldviews behind the work of the five thinkers discussed in this book. As much as fundamental differences were revealed between their

11

Azoulay, 2006, 94, emphasis in original.

12

Ibid., 95. Azoulay states this against the background of the two following dramas to which, in her opinion, Benjamin’s angel of history is subject: the drama of place and the drama of time. See ibid., 93.



427

428

Epilogue: The Old Angel

approaches, the basic pattern of relations between immanence and transcendence, between what is overt and exposed in the real occurrence and what exists above and beyond it, kept appearing in their work, as if it was an ancient text requiring deciphering, as they key to understanding Jewish history. Following Benjamin, we can characterize these two as the wings of this history. Just as the angel is known by his wings, so is Jewish history known by the immanence and transcendence on its shoulders. The enigma of the relations between immanence and transcendence transpired throughout the book as having a typical dynamic: it nurtures the search without finding release in its achievements, that is in the insights regarding the works of the five thinkers. This enigma is preserved within their worldview as a core that refuses to dissolve in the work in which it was crystallized. It appears that the rigidity and stubbornness of this core thwart the possibility that their metaphysical worldview could form into a uniform texture. The deep meaning of this discovery is that it contains an element that is not content-like but probably entity-like, for which the individual’s epistemic assets are insufficient. This element diminishes man’s sovereignty over his worldview, which cannot avoid facing the enigma of the relationship between immanence and transcendence in Jewish existence. Now we can phrase the difference distinguishing a metaphysical worldview and a point of view directed at a distinct object: the latter exists on the epistemic level within the boundaries of the individual’s consciousness, while in the existence space of the metaphysical worldview there is an entity-like element concerning which consciousness cannot achieve complete transparency. Indeed, the way each of the thinkers faced the enigma of the relations between immanence and transcendence was marked with the fundamental lines of his metaphysical worldview, marking the paths along which he would lead his ideas. This rule applies not only to those who recognized a transcendent element in Jewish history and chose to face it bravely, that is Yerushalmi, Scholem, and Kurzweil. Funkenstein and Rotenstreich, too, who deliberately chose to anchor their perceptions in a radical immanent framework, referred in their own way to the transcendent element in Jewish history. In the end, it transpired that each of the five referred to this enigma and affirmed it as a  fundamental pattern of Jewish history. The question regarding the strength of the wings of the angels of Jewish history to withstand the storm that continues to rage around

Epilogue: The Old Angel

them in the present, and the storms the future will bring, may be given new answers, different from those provided by the five thinkers whose metaphysical worldviews were clarified in this book. For now, it appears that it is not the storms that give the angels of Jewish history their facial appearance, but their facing the special problematic entailed in the relationship between immanence and transcendence that has accompanied the history of the Jewish nation since its inception. The stubborn appearance of this aspect to its observers once again indicates that the angel of Jewish history is an old angel.

429

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453

Index A Abramovich, Shalom Yacov, 225, 250–251, 311–312 absolute transcendence, 205 absolute values, 100, 253, 285, 296, 362 absolutism, 67, 100, 108–113, 169, 375–376, 392, 412 Abulafia, Abraham, 9n6 active stance of subject, 317–318 Agnon, Shmuel Yosef, 96–97, 225, 230, 235, 237–238, 240, 242, 245, 251–253, 261, 286, 289–290, 294– 295, 300–02, 308–313, 316, 320 Ahad Ha’Am. see Ginzburg, Asher Zvi Alkalai, Yehuda Hai, 411 Alterman, Nathan, 229 anarchism, 166–168 affirmation and realization element in, 172–180, 188 religious anarchy, 172 Angelus Novus, 427 Arieli, Yehoshua, 35n1, 391n6 Azoulay, Ariella, 425n2, 427, 427n11–427n12 B Baer, Yitzhak, 41n10, 75n1, 233 Baron, Salo W., 7, 13n11–13n12, 233 Benjamin, Walter, 78, 425–428 Ben Shlomo, Yosef, 93n37, 119n9, 151n30, 159n37, 203n2 Berdichevsky, Michah Yosef, 290 Bergson, Henri, 341n6

Biale, David, 79n15, 118n5, 133n6, 137n13, 150n28, 171n13, 173n16, 203n2, 205n5, 362n1 Bialik, Hayim Nachman, 233, 290, 294–295 Bloom, Harold, 23n23, 93n38, 111n70, 124n18, 132n5 Bourdieu, Pierre, 438 break model of collective memory, 10–17, 63–70 as an experience of presence, 65–66 dispositions, 64–65 immanence and transcendence entities, 65–66 subject’s passive disposition, 65, 68 Brenner, Yosef Hayim, 226, 228, 243, 247–248, 294, 296, 298–299, 304 Buber, Martin, 78n9, 132n4, 172, 172n15, 262n12–262n13 C Cohen, Hermann, 132n4, 144n19, 159 collective memory. see Jewish collective memory Collingwood, Robin George, 41n10, 245n9, 339 Conforti, Yitzhak, 13n11–13n12, 18n18, 26n27, 28n28, 36n5, 84n19, 278n15, 282n20, 327n24 Conrad-Martius, Hedwig, 65n33 conscious continuity, 417

Index consciousness. see historical consciousness, concept of continuity model of collective memory, 4, 36–42, 53n20, 63–64, 66–70 dispositions, 64–65 immanence and transcendence entities, 66, 69, 69n43 problems with, 70–71 continuity thesis. see historical continuity thesis Croce, Benedetto, 28n30, 41n10 D Dagan, Hagai, 84n19, 111n70–111n71, 124n17, 189n36 Dan, Josef, 75n1, 76n3, 80n15, 107n61, 120n12, 132n5, 137n13, 173n15, 195n7, 203n2, 204n3, 205n5, 206, 208n11, 209n12, 211n14, 212, 213n16 Days of Ziklag, 267 deferred life, 187 Dilthey, Wilhelm, 94, 223n11 Dinur, Ben-Zion, 41n10, 81n17, 101n50 dualism Kurzweil, Baruch, 241–244 Scholem, Gershom, 215–216 Yerushalmi, Yosef Hayim, 205 E eclectic Jew, 399–401, 419 Eliade, Mircea, 63n31, 102n51, 266n18 emanation, theory of, 213 epistemological relation, 402 implications of rigidity, 385–386 of past, 349–353 with past, 349–353

Zionism and, 415–418 essence in Judaism, 85, 102–103 Ezrahi, Devorkin Sidra, 19n20, 299n19 F Fackenheim, Emil L., 324n22 Feierberg, Mordechai Zeev, 27, 229, 235n4, 277, 294–296, 298– 299, 309 Feiner, Shmuel, 195n7 fertile dialectics, 124 Fisch, Harold, 19n20 Freud, Sigmund, 6–10, 25n26, 32, 93n37 Funkenstein, Amos, 3, 202, 206, 353, 358–361, 364, 371, 387–388, 399, 403 approach to Jewish collective memory, 36–42 continuity model, 4 God, status in Jewish history, 34–36 historian’s individuality, 61–62 historical consciousness, concept of, 38–42 historical continuity thesis, 42–47, 58–59, 184 innovation, 46 Jewish historicism, 4 normative Judaism, 45 personal memory, 38 postmodernist trends of historicism, 55n25 religious interpretation of Jewish history, 49–51 secularization of Jewish history, 34–35, 48–53 static nature of Jewish history, 48–53, 50n18

455

456

Index subject and problem of subjectivism, 53–60 transition of the Jews, 4 vs Yerushalmi’s approaches, 35–36, 42–43, 47, 50 Wissenschaft des Judentums, 60–62 G Gadamer, Hans Georg, 53n20, 58n28, 160n39, 193n3, 202, 227n2, 266n19, 280n18, 301n24, 344n11, 351n13, 410n10 Geertz, Clifford, 20n21 Geiger, Abraham, 88, 95 Ginzburg, Asher Zvi (Ahad Ha’Am), 221, 280, 287–288, 294, 296, 298, 302 Ginzburg, Carlo, 35 Godless theology, 287–293 Graetz, Michael, 5n1, 10n10, 13n12, 22n22, 23n22 Greenberg, Uri Zvi, 196, 221, 233– 239, 250, 252–255, 259–260, 264, 268, 303, 305, 319 connection between history and God, 259 H halakhah, 8, 16–17, 33, 45n14, 87, 102, 148–149, 167n7, 212–213, 364, 401n9 Halakhic connection to Judaism, 19 halakhic literature, 44–45 Halbwachs, Maurice, 13n12, 36n5 Halkin, Simon, 271n2 haskalah, 274, 280, 296, 298 haskalah (enlightenment), movement, 25–26, 195, 245, 271n2, 274, 280, 296, 298

Haskalah phenomenon, 26 Hatam Sofer. see Sofer, Moshe Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 47, 51, 54, 84n19, 87n24, 93n37, 124n17, 178, 194n5, 201, 223n11, 234n2–234n3, 242n8, 275, 284n2, 322, 324n22, 329, 335, 336n4, 340n4, 341n6, 359, 366, 376n1, 384, 405n5 Heidegger, Martin, 15n14, 38n8, 67n37, 160n38, 234n2–234n3, 235, 259n8, 266n19–266n20, 335, 336n5 Heine, Heinrich, 275 hermeneutics, 6n2, 19, 53n20, 71, 79, 81, 102n51, 125n19, 126, 202, 222, 225–232, 251, 255, 262n12, 272n4, 280n18, 285, 301n24, 313, 328–329, 359, 373, 410n10 historian’s activity, perception of, 22, 24, 26, 349–352, 358–359, 371, 373, 397, 403, 412, 420, 424–425 Funkenstein’s views, 45, 51–52 historical consciousness, 345, 347 Kurzweil’s views, 234, 255, 258, 262, 264, 278–280 modern Jewish historian, 145–147, 308 objective approach to historical context, 27 reconstruction action, 26 Scholem’s views, 75n1, 76, 78–79, 81, 86–89, 92–96, 99, 102–104, 106, 108–110, 112–113, 117, 120–121, 134, 139–140, 143–147, 149, 156–157, 160, 174, 178, 182–183, 314, 317 Wissenschaft des Judentums and, 60–62 Yerushalmi’s views, 29–33, 60–62, 67–68, 146, 184, 187, 318

Index historical consciousness, concept of, 25, 38–42, 403, 424 as a framework for ideologies, 39 immanent dimensions, 41–42 as a mediation of expression, 39, 43 as a part of collective memory, 40 as a “proto-narrative,” 54 Rotenstreich, Nathan, 385 Rotenstreich’s approach, 333–334, 345–348, 374–375, 378–380 transcendent entities, 65 historical continuity thesis, 42–47, 53, 56–60, 128–162, 168, 180, 182, 185, 187, 194, 200, 204, 206, 286 action of historians, 146 attitude toward chroniclers, 145– 146 break between past and present in a reality of secularization, issue of, 293–300, 303–304 in characterizing Judaism as a living and lively reality, 152–153 dialectical conservatism, 147–152 of dialectics, 198–200 historical consciousness, role of, 44 historical view of, 138–145 immanence dimension, 43–46 intuitive affirmation, 129–130 Kurzweil, Baruch, 286–306 metaphysical observation in, 130– 138 modern historicism, 146 mysticism and, 194 physical element of time, 286– 293, 302–303 and simultaneity of temporal forms, 300–301, 304 subject, status of, 58–59

vitality argument, 152–161 historical figure, 87 historical observation, 81–85, 99–100, 156, 179, 185 historical space as an object of references expressions of secularization, 3 pre-modern Jewish experience, 3 relations between transcendence and immanence, 63 historical subject, individual, and subjectivity, 20, 61–62, 99–101, 291, 384, 396–397 historicism, 4, 8–9, 14, 18, 28, 34–35, 42, 45–46, 60, 71, 106, 145–1446 Husserl, Edmund, 20n21, 30n33– 30n34, 66, 70n44, 84n20, 98n48, 135n10, 221n7, 315n9, 333, 334n2, 336n5, 337n7 I Idel, Moshe, 7n4, 9n6, 13n12, 16n15, 31n35, 35n2, 42n11, 67n38, 75n1, 78n11, 87n24, 93n38, 104n55, 109n67, 118n5, 124n16–124n17, 126n20, 136n11–137n12, 139n15, 149n26, 159n37, 179n24, 187n33– 187n34, 193n4, 203n1, 205n5, 210n13, 211n14, 263n17, 287n9, 317n12, 362n1 immanence, 295, 428 dimension in Jewish collective memory, 37–38, 43–46, 55–58 duality between transcendence and, 207–211 immanent approach to Jewish history, 51 radicalism of, 397–399 individual, individuality, 18, 61, 90, 99, 225, 274, 319

457

Index

458

Ingarden, Roman, 245n9 intentionality, 30, 180, 287, 334 J Jaspers, Karl, 109n67, 111n69, 242n8 Jewish collective memory, 10–17, 196 act of self-consciousness, 36 anticipated present, dimension of, 57 appearance of secularization, 25 arbitrary relativization and subjectivization of, 56–57 break model, 10–17, 63–64 contents of, 11 continuity model, 36–42, 63–64 entity-like facet and consciousness facet, 37 features of, 11 immanence dimension, 37–38, 43–46, 55–58 individual, relation between, 20 Jewish historian and, 61–62 metaphysical stance of, 28–31, 33 metaphysical world view of, 11 occurrence of a break in, 20 ontological-transcendent forces, 12–13, 20 preserving historical selectivity, 12 role of consciousness, 25–26 selective nature of, 11–13, 21 subject’s passive status in, 23–24 transcendent dimension, 37–38 Jewish-German synthesis, 130 Jewish historiography, 55 in the activity of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, 80, 273–274 contrast between object and, 30, 70 God, status of, 5–10

Jewish collective memory and, 31–33, 35, 40, 43–44, 56, 90, 285, 299 modern, 26–29, 48, 146, 197, 284 objectivity, role in, 278n15 penetration of relativism, 27–28 transcendent entity in, 12–13, 20, 23 Jewish history, static nature of, 48–53, 50n18 central content, 52 distinction between endogenous and exogenous evaluation, 51–52 immanent approach to Jewish history, 51 processes of immanentizing collective memory, 53 religious interpretation of Jewish history, 49–51 self-perception of Jews, 48 Jewish inertia, 420 Jewish memory, 10, 26, 179, 196, 279, 293 Jewish secularization. see secularization of Jewish history Jewish tradition, traditionalism, 3–4, 9, 9n6, 31n35, 67n38, 90, 92, 128, 132, 136, 169n9, 176, 178, 265, 309, 337, 355, 367–368, 373–375, 385, 399 Jung, Carl Gustav, 102n51, 266n19 K Kabbalah, study of, 79–80, 82, 134– 135 contradictions, 115–120 Jewish mysticism, 129–130, 130n2, 133–134, 137, 144 Kabbalists’ relations to the social situation, 87–88 myths and symbols, 82–83

Index penetration of non-Jewish elements, 136 persistence and profundity fo Kabbalists, 141 Kafka, Franz, 111–112, 158n36, 160, 189n36, 214 Kafka’s The Trial, 111, 158n36 Kant, Immanuel, 39 Kaplan, Mordecai M., 408n8 Karaites, 16 Katz, Jacob, 41n10, 45n14, 158n35, 224n12, 270n1, 282n20, 287, 391n6 Klausner, Yosef, 233 Kook, Abraham Yizhak Hacohen, 163, 183 Kurzweil, Baruch, 4, 76–77, 90–91, 123, 127, 162–163, 166, 174, 186, 207, 360–361, 371, 426 aesthetic aspects, attitude to, 252– 254 on Agnon’s work, 251–253, 290, 309, 310n8, 312, 316 Ahad Ha’am concepts, 221, 279– 280, 287–288, 294, 296, 298, 302 author’s subjective personality, 254–256 autonomous secularism, 270–272 connection between Hebrew author and Jewish faith, 229 critical attitude to Scholem’s work, 279n17 demythologizing and remythologizing observations of history, 261–264 distinction between “logical way” and “paradoxical way,” 251 duality of historical and metaphysical viewpoint, 228 experience of break and loss of faith, 293–300, 303–304

459

exposed real reality vs transcendent reality, 242 expressions of transcendence in Hebrew literature, 241–244 fiction, 250 “first possibility” of continuity, 286–293, 302–303 God concept, 196, 220–221 Haskalah literature, 245 historian and metaphysics, relation between, 257–258 historical continuity, 285–288 historical reality, 280–281 influence of Paul Tillich’s theology, 221n6 intentional reference to the object, 315n9 Jewish history, nature of, 259–261, 264–267 Jewish past as character of a “logos,” 265 Jewish tradition, 265 layers of transcending the creative “I,” 228–230 literary reality, perception of, 235–241 literature of previous generations, 241 living myth, dimensions of, 261–264 loneliness, 243, 248 loss of faith as a “private disaster,” 229 metaphysical perception of Hebrew literature, 234, 328–329 metaphysical worldview, 222– 223, 231–233, 327 modern Hebrew literature, interpretation of, 222–226, 242–243, 249–254, 261, 273, 276n11, 277n14, 285, 289, 302–305, 326, 328

Index

460

ontological nature of history, 164 perception of Jewish history, 198 personal form of expression vs presentation of general positions, 226–227 poetry, 233–234, 250, 320–321 positive features of Jewish history, 268–269 radicalism, 280 reality in the Hebrew language, 244–245, 251 religious problem, 181–182 scientific objectivity, 278–279 “second possibility” of continuity, 293–300, 303–304 secularization phenomenon, 163, 243–244, 248–249, 270–272 secular nature of Hebrew literature, 248–249 style of literary work, 249–252 subjectivity in historicistic position, 280 tension and polarity in continuity, 302–306 “third possibility” of continuity, 300–301, 304 transcendent entity, 219–224, 265– 266, 328–329 transcendent reality, 246–249 uniqueness of literary work, 229– 230 Wissenschaft des Judentums and, 273–285, 302–303, 329 L Leibowitz, Yeshayahu, 110n69, 279n17, 401n9 living myth, dimensions of, 261– 264 Luria, Yizhak, 157, 211n14

Lurian Kabbalah, 193, 201 M Maimonides. see Moshe Ben Maimon Marx, Karl, 268n22, 335, 336n3–336n4 Marxism, 355, 359 Marxist realism, 268n22 memory and history, 10, 26, 179, 196, 279, 293 Mendes-Flohr, Paul, 17n16, 18n17, 18n19, 28n28, 29n32, 129n1, 275n10, 284n2–284n3, 366n5 Messianism, 35, 112, 174n19, 187, 190–202, 411–413 metaphysical truth, perception of, 191–202 historical reality and, 193–194 internal contradictions, 190–191 metaphysical worldview, 28, 75, 137n11, 144n18, 203n1, 214–216, 222–224, 228, 231, 246, 281, 285, 298, 327–328, 336, 427–429 anarchic order, 174–175 autonomy of transcendent entity, 108–113 decision between history and, 388 historical continuity thesis, 130–138 individuality and identification with the object, 99–101 initiative and activism in, 103–108 personal dimension in, 112 of Scholem, 99–113, 141–142, 160, 165, 184, 215, 228 synthetic view of, 101–103 modern Jewish historiography, 3–4, 10–17 comparison between Scholem and Yerushalmi, 146–147

Index modern Judaism, 35, 71, 163, 186, 270, 275, 282, 295, 337–338, 345, 354, 356, 359, 361–364, 366, 377, 387, 390, 395, 402 Scholem, Gershom, 173–174 Moses and Monotheism, 7, 10 Moshe Ben Maimon (Maimonides), 35, 82, 143, 159 Moshe Ben Nahman (Nahmanides), 87, 100, 118, 135, 147–148, 213 Myers, David N., 5n1, 9n7, 18n17– 18n18, 28n28–28n29, 29n30, 36n5, 42n10, 45n14, 64n32, 75n1, 81n17, 84n19, 84n21, 85n22– 85n23, 88n25, 103n52–103n53, 117n3, 118n5, 130n2, 131n3, 143n18, 144n19, 146n22, 172n15, 173n16, 183n30, 187n34, 257n1, 274n9, 279n17, 362n1 mysticism, 167, 203n1 divine and symbolic matters, 184 historical character of, 192–193 irony and, 206–207 mystical symbol, 212–213 Scholem’s characterization of the Kabbalah, 191 in secular reality, 181–189 in terms of continuity thesis, 194 transcendent dimension, 194–195, 197, 203–205 myths historical, 24 living, dimensions of, 261–264 and symbols, 82–83 vs historian’s experience, 24 N Nahmanides. see Moshe Ben Nahman (Nahmanides)

Nietzsche, Friedrich, 33, 146n22, 158 Nora, Pierre, 13n12 O observation, synchronic or diachronic, 81, 94 orthodoxy, 28n28, 84–87, 187, 212, 224n12, 310n8 P passivity of subject, 23–24, 307–327 Peretz, Yizhak Leibush (Y. L. Peretz), 309 phenomenology, method and observation, 81–84, 84n20 postmodernism, 29 R Ranke, Leopold, 278n15 Raz-Krakotzkin, Amnon, 14n13, 15n13, 43n12, 48n15, 131n3 realism, reality, real reality, 354–355 existence of God in a reality, 172– 174 exposed real reality vs transcendent reality, 242 in the Hebrew language, 244–245, 251 historical reality, 93–94, 193–194, 280–281 individual and historical reality, 88 in the Jewish being, 356–359 Judaism as a living and lively reality, 152–153, 155 literary reality, 235–241 mysticism in secular reality, 181– 189 present-day reality vs past reality, 186, 189, 356–360

461

462

Index secularization and, 293–300, 303– 304 transcendent reality, 246–249 relativism, 53–60 Ricoeur, Paul, 24n24, 30n34, 70n44, 125n19, 315n9 Rosenzweig, Franz, 132n4, 175, 288, 413n12 Rotenstreich, Nathan, 4, 91–92, 290, 426 abnormal normality, 421 approach to history, 333–338 connection between issue of existence and issue of beliefs and opinions, 355–357 continuity and break, concepts of, 394–397 criticism of Collingwood’s approach, 339 dimensions—“lineage” and “reality,” 354–355 dimensions of revelation and transcendence in Jewish existence, 386–387 dominance of revelation in Jewish tradition, 374–375 eclectic Jew, 399–401 epistemic implications of rigidity, 385–386 epistemological perception of past, 349–353 heritage collectivity, 422 historical being of Jewish nation, 354–356 historical consciousness, concept of, 333–334, 345–350, 374–375, 378–380, 385 historical observation of Judaism, 362–372 historical subject, 397

Jewish collectiveness, 384 Jewish existence, 354–355 Jewish society, 420n27 Jewish Thought in the Modern Era, 333, 354 Judaism, perception of, 373–374 modern era’s connection to the Jewish tradition, 368 ontological dimensions of past, 349–353 perception of Judaism, 355 physical time framework, 395–396 physical time framework and issue of continuity, 291–292 present-day reality vs past reality, 356–359 processes in time in relation to content, 382–388 radicalism of immanence, 397–399 realistic ontology of past, 339–345 spiritual creativity, 421 status of reality in the Jewish being, 356–359 status of transcendence, 393–394 studiousness, 416 subjective Jew, 380–383 time dimension and Jewish existence, 375–377 tradition, perception of, 394 on Wissenschaft des Judentums, 365–369, 371–372 Zionism, 337, 402–423 S S. Shalom. see Shapira, Shalom Yosef S. Yizhar. see Smilansky, Yizhar Saadya Gaon, 143, 159 Sagi, Avi, 52n19, 65n33, 68n40, 133n9, 226n1, 287n8, 294n16, 320n19, 376n2, 385n5, 418n22

Index Schleiermacher, Friedrich Daniel Ernst, 6n2 Scholem, Gershom, 4, 16, 75n1, 358, 360–361, 371, 425–426 action of historians, 144, 146 anarchism, 166–168, 174, 208–209 approach to metaphysical intuition, 159 attitude toward chroniclers, 145– 146 constructivisitic dimension of work, 140 content contradictions, 120–123 contradictions, approach to, 115–123 criticisms of Wissenschaft des Judentums, 89–91, 113, 117–118, 120–123, 125–126, 140, 143, 145, 156, 163, 213 David Myers’s classification of, 131n3, 144n19, 146n22 demystifier position, 125–126 diachronic approach to study of history, 82–83 dialectical perception of history, 123–128 divine presence, 160 dualism, 215–216 dual path of secularism and sanctity, 182 essence in Judaism, 85 existence of God in a reality, 172– 174 functioning of Kabbalah, 119n9 guidelines to researchers, 85–86 historical continuity thesis, 182–183, 187. see also historical continuity thesis historical Judaism, 82 historical observation, 81–85, 99–100, 156, 179, 185

463

historical reality, 93–94, 152–153 individual and historical reality, 88 intuitive affirmation of mystical theses, 160–161 irony, position of, 206–207 issue of pantheism, 211–212 Jewish mysticism, 125, 129–130, 130n2, 133–134, 137, 144 Judaism as a living and lively reality, 152–153, 155 Kabbalah, study of, 79–80, 82, 100, 107, 116, 118–119, 119n9, 120, 130, 133–136, 137n11, 139, 142–144, 148– 149, 153–155, 157, 159n36, 167, 181, 191–192 Kabbalists’ relations to the social situation, 87–88 living God, 119, 119n11 metaphysical contradictions, 120– 123 metaphysical truth, perception of, 191–202 metaphysical world view, 99–113, 156 modern historicism, 146 myths and symbols of the Kabbalah, 82–83 oeuvre, aspects of, 76–78 Origins of the Kabbalah, 142–143 orthodoxy, 86–87 paradox, 92–94 passive stance of subject, 94–99, 139 perception of modern Judaism, 173–174 personal connection to Judaism, 131–133 present-day Jewish reality, 186, 189 relations between historical continuity and vitality, 154–155

464

Index relations between history and metaphysics, 77–79 religious anarchist position of, 172–178 religious problem, 181–182 Sabbatai Sevi, 94–95, 112, 142, 173, 190, 195, 200, 203 Sabbatianism, attitude towards, 173, 195 secular mysticism, 183 self-deception, 131 status of the individual in history, 87–92, 87n24 struggle and dialectic between the immanent and the transcendent, 203–214 subject’s active stance, 317–318 subject’s passive stance, 308 system of symbols, 210, 211n14 tension between distance and identification, 114–115 “Ten Unhistorical Aphorisms on Kabbala,” 202–214 theology, 84–85, 111–113 tonsural arrogance, 95 “vitality point” in the Kabbalah, 153–154, 157–158 Yerushalmi and, 89–90 Schweid, Eliezer, 75n1, 76n3, 139n14, 159n37, 167n7, 170n12, 173n16 secularization of Jewish history, 3–4, 77 anarchism, 166–168 autonomous secularism, 270–272 from educational aspect, 170n12 Funkenstein, Amos, 34–35, 48–53 Kurzweil, Baruch, 243–244, 248, 270–272 modern era, 177–180

mysticism in, 181–189 possibility of mysticism in, 181– 189 Rotenstreich’s approach, 389–393 as a source for a new utopian order, 172–180 temporariness of, 168–172 transcendent element and, 162–166 Yerushalmi, Yosef Hayim, 13, 27–28 secular Judaism, 220 Sefarim, Mendele Mocher. see Abramovich, Shalom Yacov Shadelzki, Ita, 78n9, 85n23, 139n14, 160n39, 175n20, 189n36, 193n3 Shapira, Anita, 19n20, 76n3 Shapira, Avraham, 75n1, 104n55, 111n72, 139n16, 146n22, 177n23, 317n12, 391n6 Shapira, Shalom Yosef, 321 Simon, Akiva Ernst, 284n1 Smilansky, Yizhar, 267 social theory, 176 society for the culture and science of the Jews. see Verein für Cultur und Wissenschafte der Juden Sofer, Moshe, 34 Spinoza, Baruch, 8 static nature of Jewish history. see Jewish history, static nature of Steinschneider, Moritz, 88, 156, 284n1 subjectivity, subjectivism Funkenstein, Amos, 53–60 in historicistic position, 280 Kurzweil, Baruch, 280 and problem of subjectivism, 53–60 Rotenstreich, Nathan, 380–382

Index subjective Jew, 380–383 subject’s passive status in collective memory, 23–24, 308, 314 transcend and immanent dimension of subject, 54–55 Yerushalmi, Yosef Hayim, 23–24, 308, 314 T “Ten Unhistorical Aphorisms on Kabbala,” 203–214 duality between immanence and transcendence, 207–209 fundamental irony of mysticism, 204–207 historical and metaphysical arguments of transcendence, 210–211 issue of pantheism, 211–212 Kabbalists at historical level, 212– 213 theory of emanation, 213–214 transcendencism of transcendence, 213 written law and transcendence, 209–210 Tillich, Paul, 221n6 “Torah from heaven,” principle of, 166–168, 184–185 Torah’s absolute essence, 149 transcendence, 386–387, 428 duality between immanence and, 207–211 exposed real reality vs transcendent reality, 242 expressions in Hebrew literature, 241–244 historical consciousness and, 65 Jewish collective memory, 37–38 in Jewish historiography, 12–13, 20, 23

Kabbalists and, 212–213 Kurzweil’s approach, 219–224 Scholem’s thought, 108–113 secularization and, 162–166 subject’s active stance in, 316–327 subject’s passive stance in, 307– 316 transparency of, 212 weakness of, 213 truth, concept of, 66–67 metaphysical truth, 191–202 V Verein für Cultur und Wissenschafte der Juden, 18 W Wieseltier, Leon, 18n17, 50n18, 278n15 Wissenschaft des Judentums, 17–18, 29, 32, 80, 89, 338, 355, 359–360, 386 Funkenstein, Amos, 60–62 Kurzweil’s approach, 273–285, 302–303 Scholem’s criticism, 89–91, 113, 117–118, 120–123, 125–126, 140, 143, 145, 153, 156, 213 Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 69 Wolf, Emmanuel, 18n17, 284n3 Y Yerushalmi, Yosef Hayim, 3, 76, 89–90, 186, 204, 360–361, 367, 424 break model, 4 connection with Freud, 6–7, 9–10 consciousness of modern Jews, 13 criticism of modern Jewish historiography, 17–20, 27, 29 dualism, 205

465

466

Index emphasis on transcendence in Jewish history, 15–16, 20, 23, 23n23 God concept in Jewish history, 5–10 historian’s activity, perception of, 22, 24, 26 historical myth, 24 historicistic method, critique of, 26 ideal of absolute transcendence, 204–205 Idel’s opinion on, 31n35 intentionality, concepts of, 30 Jewish collective history, perception of, 28–31 Jewish collective memory, 10–17, 50 Jewish history, perception of, 196–197 Jewish tradition of perceiving history as sacred, 9, 12 Judaism, perception of, 15, 22 link between immanence and transcendence, 205–206 mneme and anamnesis, 21 modern culture, 9–10 modern vs past Jewish history, 8–9, 14–15, 21

nature of discipline of history, 17–18 pre-modern Jewish existence, 11 present-day reality vs past reality, 357–360 secularization of Jewish history, 8–9, 13, 27–28 secular Judaism, 6 shared faith, 10–11 status of metaphysical element, 77 subject’s passive stance, 23–24, 308, 314 tragic horizon in Zakhor, 122n13 unprecedented energy, 21 Yizhak Hacohen of Soria, 79n14 Yizhar, S., 267 Z Zakhor, 6, 9 pessimistic tone, 26n27 Zionism, 171, 402–423 abnormal nature of, 421–423 ontological and epistemic dimensions, 415–418 past of, 402–408 present of, 408–415 Zunz, Leopold, 88, 156, 275n10, 284n2, 366