The Jews of Pinsk, 1506 to 1880 9780804783088

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The Jews of Pinsk, 1506 to 1880

Stanford Studies in Jewish History and Culture e d i t e d by

Aron Rodrigue and Steven J. Zipperstein

The Jews of Pinsk, 1506 to 1880 Mordechai Nadav Edited by Mark Jay Mirsky and Moshe Rosman translated by moshe rosman and faigie tropper

stanford u n i ve rs i t y p res s stan f o rd, ca l i f o rn ia

Stanford University Press Stanford, California ©2008 by the Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University. All rights reserved. The Jews of Pinsk, 1506 to 1880 was originally published in Hebrew in 1973 under the title Toledot Kehillat Pinsk-Karlin: 1506-1880 ©1973, the Association of the Jews of Pinsk in Israel. Prefaces by the editors and Introduction ©2008 by the Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University. All rights reserved. This book has been published with the assistance of the Littauer Foundation, the Taube Center for Jewish Studies at Stanford University, and the City College of New York and the Simon Rifkind Fund. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of Stanford University Press. Printed in the United States of America on acid-free, archivalquality paper Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Nadav, Mordechai. The Jews of Pinsk : 1506 to 1880 / Mordekhai Nadav ; edited by Mark Jay Mirsky and Moshe Rosman ; translated by Moshe Rosman and Faigie Tropper. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8047-4159-0 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Jews--Belarus--Pinsk--History. 2. Jews--Lithuania--History. 3. Jews--Poland--History. 4. Pinsk (Belarus)--Ethnic relations. I. Mirsky, Mark. II. Rosman, Murray Jay. III. Title. DS135.B382P56 2007 947.8’9--dc22 Typeset by Bruce Lundquist in 10.5/14 Galliard.

2007006903

In Memory of my brother Natan (ben Pinhas) Katzykovich and my grandfathers Binyamin Katzykovich and Yosef Shuster, all victims of the Holocaust in Janow near Pinsk; and my mother Doba (Dobka), who died in a displaced persons camp in Germany, Passover eve, 1947. —Mordechai Nadav

Contents

Preface: Pinsk: A Novelist in the Blottes Mark Jay Mirsky Preface: Introduction to Pinsk Translation Moshe Rosman

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List of Abbreviations 

Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

xlvii 1

The Political History of Pinsk up to the Mid-Sixteenth Century  6 From Principality to Royal Domain  10

1.

From the Founding of the Community Until the Union of Lublin (1506–1569) The Founding of the Community:   The Basic Privilege of Pinsk Jewry  13 The Jewish Quarter and the Direction of Its Expansion  18 Population Growth Estimate Based on the 1552–1555   and 1561–1566 Lustracje  23 Communal Organization  26 The Basic Privilege  31 Transition from Private Holding to Royal Domain  35 Adjudication  36 Taxes  37 Economic Life During the Era of Prince Feodor  38 Loans  40 Leases of Customs, Liquor, and Salt Monopoly Rights  43 Agricultural Properties and Other Real Estate  48 Commerce  51 Intensification of Economic Activity  55 Artisanry  58

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Contents

2.

From the Union of Lublin Until the 1648–1649 Chmielnicki Persecutions (1569–1648)

59

Development of the Community: Population Growth  59 Topography of Jewish Settlement  62 Expansion of Settlements in the Pinsk Vicinity  63 Legal Status: General Privileges  67 Pinsk’s Magdeburg Privilege  71 The Pinsk Jews’ Privileges  73 Jurydyki  75 Jewish Status in Practice  76 The Jews of Pinsk Within the Christian Environment  79 Economic Life  86 Latifundia Leasing: The Olewsk Leasehold  86 Arendy as a Source of Livelihood for Pinsk’s Jews  98 Tax and Customs Leases  99 Liquor and Mill Leases  102 Commerce  103 The Timber and Grain Trade  107 Trade and the Status of the Pinsk Jewish Community  108 Large-Scale Commerce  111 Middling and Petty Commerce  112 Loans  113 Handicrafts and Hired Employees  115 The Kahal Organization: The Structure and   Competence of the Kahal  116 The Rabbi, Chairman of the Court  119 Adjudication  122 Taxes  124 Special Taxes and Levies  130 How Did the Kahal Finance Its Budget?  131 Relations Between Pinsk and the Surrounding   Communities  134 Pinsk’s Place Among the Chief Communities  138

3.

From the Chmielnicki Persecutions of 1648–1649 Until the Peace of Andruszow The 1648–1649 Persecutions in Pinsk  141 The Penetration of the Cossacks into the Pinsk Region  142 The Capture of Pinsk  144

141

Contents The Jews of Pinsk During the 1648–1649 Persecutions  146 The Testimony of Jacob Rubinowicz  146 The Testimonies of the Hebrew Chronicles  148 The Townspeople and the Jewish Community  150 The Flight of the Jews of Pinsk I  152 Loss of Life  152 Renewal and Rehabilitation of Communal Life:   Continuity of the Activities of the Kahal Leadership  156 Economic Life  161 Commerce and Credit  161 Arendy  163 Pinsk During the Polish-Muscovite War (1655–1659)  163 War Preparations  164 The Attack on Pinsk and Its Capture  166 The Occupiers and the Urban Population  167 The Flight of the Jews of Pinsk II  168 The Effect of the Events on the Townspeople   and the Jews  171 1656–1659: Pinsk at the Center of Political Activity  173 The Controversy over the Liquor Business  175 Credit  176 1660  178 The Capture of Pinsk by Mikhail Kurhan  178 The Second Muscovite Occupation  179 1660–1667: Polish Rule Restored  180 The Life of the Jews of Pinsk in the 1660s:   Demographic Changes  183 The Spread of Bartending  185 The Middle Class and the Wealthy  185 Commerce  187 Pinsk’s Hinterland  189 The Change for the Worse in Christian-Jewish Relations  190 Religious Hatred and Attacks Against Jews  191

4.

From the Peace of Andruszow Until the Conquest of Pinsk by the Swedes (1667–1706) The Development of the Jewish Community: Demographic   Growth and Geographic Expansion  193 The Surrounding Vicinity  194

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Contents Economic Life  197 Commerce  197 The Affluent Class  198 Customs  201 Leasing of Estates, Liquor Rights, and Villages  205 Moneylending  209 Jews Lending to Christians  209 Kahal Loans  210 Loans to Individuals  217 Organization of the Kahal  219 Internal Problems of the Kahal Leadership  219 Pinsk as a Chief Community and the Dispute Between   the Chief Communities  222 Internal Life  226 Education of Children  226 The Yeshiva  228 Study of Torah  229 The Synagogue  230 Daily Life  231 The Rabbis of Pinsk  232 The Image of the Rabbinate  235 Summary: The Pinsk Jewish Community’s   First Two Hundred Years  236

5.

From the Conquest of Pinsk by the Swedes Until the Second Partition of Poland (1706–1793) The Jews of Pinsk at the Beginning of   the Eighteenth Century  242 Population Growth  243 Jewish Population in Pinsk According to the 1766   and 1784 Censuses  244 The Pinsk Vicinity  251 The First Dispute with the Subordinate Communities  253 Renewed Conflict with the Subordinate Communities  257 Karlin and Its Ties to Pinsk  262 Debts  264 Debts of the Pinsk Community  271 Personal Debts  278 Economic Life  279

242

Contents Taxes, Income, and Expenditures of the Kahal  288 Head Tax  288 Other Taxes  289 The “Skhum”  291 The Kahal Budget  293 Pinsk and Karlin—Hasidim and Mitnaggedim  294 Rabbi Rafael Ha-Kohen (Hamburger) and Hasidism  295 Rabbi Eliezer Ha-Levi  298 The Maggid’s Letter to Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Hayyim  299 Rabbi Levi Yitzhak ben Meir of Berdichev  301 Rabbi Avigdor ben Hayyim (1785–1795)  304

6.

From the Russian Annexation of Pinsk Until Tsar Alexander III and the Bilu Movement (1793–1880) Rabbi Avigdor’s Battle with the Hasidim of   Pinsk and Lithuania  312 Rabbi Avigdor’s Renewed Battle with the   Hasidim and the Kahal  322 Saul Levin Karliner and the History of Pinsk-Karlin   Jewry (1793–1834)  329 Saul of Karlin  330 Karlin’s Role in the Battle Between Hasidim   and Mitnaggedim  331 Economic Life  335 The 1820s and the Beginning of Economic Revival  337 The Economic Activity of Saul Levin Karliner  339 Saul Levin’s Activities as a Community Leader  340 Emigration to Eretz Israel and Aid to the   Ashkenazic Community  344 Saul Levin of Karlin: The Culmination of One Era   and the Beginning of Another  345 Growth of the Jewish Population  346 Legal and Political Status  350 The Kahal  354 Taxes  355 Military Recruitment  359 Economic Life After 1835  366 Agents of Pinsk Merchants in Ukraine  374 The Timber Trade  376

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Contents Industry  379 The Beginnings of Jewish Industry  380 Trades  381 Iwaniki  385 Pinsk’s Economic Profile and the Changes of the 1860s  388 Migration to Ukraine  392 Economic Crisis  394 Welfare  396 The Haskalah  400 Rabbi Uziel the Judge  403 Reuben Holdhor and His Divrei Shalom Ve-Emet  404 Perushim  407 The Turning Point  410 Knowledge of Russian  411 Clerks  412 The Intelligentsia  414 The Circles of Maskil Writers  417 The Circle of Shomer  418 Newspaper Articles  419 Reading  421 Enlightened Members of Wealthy Families  422 Fundamentalist Circles  425 Educational Institutions  428 The Government School  429 Girls’ Schools  435 Rosenberg’s Private School  436 Secondary Education  437 The Gymnasium  439 Commercial School  441 Talmud Torah  441 The Pinsk Talmud Torah  442 The Karlin Talmud Torah  446 Hadarim, Melamdim  451 Societies and Benevolent Institutions  454 Pinsk Hevrah Kaddisha (Burial Society) and   Hevrah Ketanah (Small Society)  455 Pinsk Bikkur Holim (Society for Visiting the Sick)  455 Pinsk Hevrat Linah (Assistance to the Sick)  455 Pinsk Hevrot Limud Torah (Torah Study Societies)  455

Contents Pinsk Hevrot Gemilut Hasadim (Free Loan Societies)  456 Karlin Hevrah Kaddisha and Hevrah Ketanah  456 Karlin Hevrah Shas (Talmud Society)  457 Karlin Hevrot Gemilut Hasadim  457 Karlin Somekh Noflim Society  458 Karlin Bikkur Holim  458 Karlin Hevrah Lomdei Shas  458 Other Societies  458 Hospitals  459 The Pinsk Hospital  459 The Karlin Hospital  460 Synagogues and Study Houses  462 The Great Synagogue of Pinsk  463 The Karlin Synagogue  465 Rabbis of Pinsk and Karlin  465 Rabbi Hayyim ben Peretz Ha-Kohen  466 The Court  468 Appeals  469 The Scholars’ Circle (Asefat Ha-Lomdim)  469 Crisis in the Rabbinate: Rabbi Joseph ben Benjamin  470 Rabbi Aaron of Krotingen  470 Rabbi Mordecai Zakheim  471 Rabbi Elazar Moses Horowitz  471 The Rabbis of Karlin  477 Rabbi Samuel, Rabbi of Karlin and Antopol  477 Rabbi Jacob ben Aaron Barukhin  478 Rabbi Isaac ben Aaron Minkovsky  481 Rabbi Samuel Avigdor Tosfa’a  482 State-Appointed Rabbis  485 Hasidism in the Second Third of the Nineteenth Century  489 Pinsk and Karlin  493 Summary of the History of the Pinsk Jewish Community   (1706–1880)  495

Notes

505

Bibliography

585

Index

595

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Figures and Maps

Figures Figure 1. A light boat on the Pina.  309 Figure 2. Jewish river workers taking apart a raft.  309 Figure 3. Houses in Pinsk.  310 Figure 4. The Luria brothers, Alexander and Leopold.  310 Figure 5. The Great Synagogue.  311 Figure 6. Crossing the Pina.  311 Maps Towns and rivers surrounding Pinsk.  xlix Map 1. Pinsk under the rule of Lithuania, 1360.  15 Map 2. Spread of Jewish population in Pinsk-Karlin, 1506–1750.  20 Map 3. Pinsk under the rule of Poland, 1648.  132 Map 4. Pinsk under the rule of Russia, 1815.  342 Map 5. Pinsk in 1864.  498 Map 6. Pinsk, connections by river, canal, railroad, and highway.  503

Preface Pinsk: A Novelist in the Blottes Mark Jay Mirsky

Pinsk was a place that I absorbed with my first spoonfuls of cereal. It was a town I caught sight of in my grandfather’s ice blue eyes, as an infant before I began to speak. When I knocked myself unconscious at three and a half and he rushed to the house, I touched it in the ­a ffectionate rub of his nose against mine. Even as I learned English he taught me the songs of Pinsk in Yiddish; the place echoed at the edge of his speech and in his proud bearing as the reader of Torah, and ­shammos in our synagogue. After his death, when I was four and a half, Pinsk lived in the stories my father would tell of his own childhood and tales he had heard as a boy. I still recall the one about my great-grandfather, Moses (or Maishe, as his name was pronounced in the Yiddish of the city). As Maishe was marking timber in the thick forests that surrounded Pinsk, he lost his way. Going round and round, day after day, threatened with cold and starvation, he found wolves dogging his heels. Suddenly he recognized his own axe strokes in the birch bark and found his way home. I was born in 1939. My father, Wilfred, and his sisters in the aftershock of the Nazi exterminations in Belarus, or “White Russia,” were not anxious to undertake a sentimental journey—even in memory—to a Jewish world now extinct. My grandfather, Israel, had come to America in 1910, but his wife and children were not able to leave Pinsk until the end of 1919. My aunts, like my father (who was thirteen when he left), rarely mentioned what they had suffered during World War I. Nor did they allude to the nightmare of their crossing the Atlantic, apart from a few wry remarks, turning it all into a joke. Still, now and then, something would flash in my father’s speech.

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Going on in my father’s footsteps to Harvard College from the Boston Public Latin School, I began to write fiction. The faint timbre of Yiddish in the speech of Boston’s Jewish neighborhoods—Dorchester, Mattapan, and Roxbury—through the 1940s tickled my dialogue. I asked my father to repeat his stories of Pinsk. I still have the fading manila sheets on which I typed as quickly as I could as my father began to reminisce, trying to catch Wilfred Mirsky living in his childhood again. Caught up in my curiosity, he even sat down and wrote a few pages about the house of his mother’s father, Joseph or “Yossel” ­Lieberman, in which Wilfred grew up after his father (my grandfather, Israel Mirsky) fled to America in 1910, without a word to Yossel, his father-in-law, in whose house after a business debacle Israel took up residence. It was not clear whether Israel’s wife knew that he was leaving. I doubt it. In our interviews, my father broke off as this painful moment surfaced. A long silence followed those pages, though now and again at family meetings my father and his sisters, the few surviving cousins from the large family in Pinsk, and some in Canada, Israel, and another branch in Argentina would reminisce with him. I would take up a pen and begin trying to write down details on napkins or whatever scraps of paper were on hand. My father liked to boast about his maternal grandfather, Joseph Lieberman, known, in the family and down the thoroughfare of ­Lahishinergasse, for his irascible temper as Yossel Muhzik (uh pronounced like the u in “humbug,” meaning Yossel the peasant in Russian or Yossel the ox that gores in Hebrew), his nickname a wry pun. My father insisted, “He was the second richest man in Pinsk.” Delving into the Nadav and Shohet histories of Pinsk, I found this to be a tall tale. My great-grandfather, I realized, even though well off was small potatoes. He owned a slew of shops in the marketplace and like many small businessmen in the town dealt in real estate and timber. Yossel did own lots on which the circus and traveling theaters pitched. His comfortable house was opposite the Russian marshal’s, and that gave my father, Velvel or Wolf (in America, Wilfred), a firsthand view of World War I when the German armies marched into the city. From behind the front yard fence, or the cellar windows, Velvel at nine or ten years old watched battles between Cossacks on horse-

Preface by Mark Jay Mirsky

back and the bicycle-mounted Germans. He suffered the starvation of the following years, dodged shells in the street, and witnessed the inroads of Bolshevik and Polish armies from 1915 to 1919, events catalogued in the second of the Pinsk histories in Azriel Shohet’s volume, The History of the Jewish Community of Pinsk, 1881–1941 (Toledot Kehillat Pinsk: 1881–1941). My father’s maternal grandfather, Yossel, however, played but an obscure part next to the major figures of the town, men and women from the Levin and Luria families. These plutocrats of Pinsk, “Pinsker ­Gevirim,” rescued their small city from the slow extinction toward which it was heading. Pinsk was in danger of being marginalized as the eighteenth century turned into the nineteenth, by the ­exchange of Polesie, the south central district of Belarus in which Pinsk sits. Minsk became the administrative capital of Belarus. As the latter territory passed from Poland to Russia, Pinsk, Polesie’s natural capital, would be developed as a key terminus in its rivers’ traffic of lumber and grain. I recognized some family names in the 450-odd years of Pinsk’s history, but in particular the Shostakofsky family into which my grandfather Israel Mirsky’s sister, Tsirrel, married. Still, in the network of related families, Mirskys, Liebermans, Shostakofskys, only one person from the hours of my father’s memories that I taped plays any significant part in these two histories. My great-uncle, Menahem Lieberman, Yossel’s son, appears in Shohet’s volume. A clerk in one of the Luria factories, Menahem was murdered by Polish troops. His execution with those of thirty-four other Jewish men, many from the educated elite of the city, in 1919 almost stopped the Versailles conference. This massacre also briefly brought Pinsk into the consciousness of an international community. The story rang out as my father’s throat and cheeks flushed red. He remembered a Polish soldier pushing him away from his uncle with the butt of a gun as his uncle was herded from the Jewish Community House to the monastery wall in the marketplace. Lined up with the other leaders of the Pinsk Jewish community, Menahem was shot without benefit of trial. The screams of the women, the cries of his grandparents as they huddled behind the doors of the family house, the sound of wagons trundling the dead to the graveyard—all were still vivid to my father forty, fifty, sixty years later. Menahem Lieberman

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had served as a father to Velvel and his sisters for nine years, in the ­absence of their own father. As a writer of fiction, an editor of a magazine of fiction, and an English professor, I wonder at this point in my Preface why I devoted so many years to combing, with my coeditor and translators, over these historical monographs. In these books I found a lost family that was mine, its joys, its sadness, its memories. And beyond these two volumes lies another important part of the history of this Jewish town: the Nazi destruction of Pinsk. It motivated the men and women in Israel, the United States, and across the world in South America, Canada, and Africa who were part of the Pinsk Association to commission these monographs and assure their publication. Certainly these survivors of the last generation to live in Pinsk, to whom this was not merely history but family history, knew why they were interested in the longer story of their streets, the marketplaces, and the personalities and events that had come before them. Why should anyone beyond the descendents of those who left or fled from Pinsk, however, find the small city’s history a compelling document? Ben-Zion Gold, the rabbi at Harvard Hillel, gave me an answer before I thought to ask the question. It is the reason I embarked on this project. Ben remains an elder brother to me, a role he has played since my days at college. Fluent in Yiddish, Hebrew, English, he possesses both scholarly and rabbinic learning, while being enthusiastic about the literary culture of America and Europe. As a young Jew in Poland, Ben was also interned in the Nazi death camps. I brought the Pinsk or Yizkor histories to him a few months after learning about them. There were English sketches of the history of Pinsk in the volumes, but they whetted my appetite to know more. My Hebrew was too fragmentary to ascertain whether the dense pages (whose English condensation was obviously a cruel abridgment) were crucial. Did I need to know what was in them to understand the world from which my father and grandfather emigrated? Ben-Zion asked me to leave the histories with him for a few days. When I returned to his door a week later, he met me and said with uncharacteristic sternness, “You have a duty to perform. You must bring these books into English.” In a slightly gentler voice, he continued: “They show what was lost in the Holocaust. Not one generation of Jews, but a whole world, four and a half centuries of Jewish

Preface by Mark Jay Mirsky

culture, torn out of the heart of Europe.” His hand touched his own chest. I found the importance of these volumes echoed by Zvi Gitelman in a remark about Pinsk: “Because the city included every social, political, and cultural movement, it is almost a paradigmatic case of that culture which was destroyed by the Holocaust.” The minutiae of leases; court cases; bills of lading; battles for control among Poles, Swedes, and Ukrainian Cossacks; and struggles between rabbis as they unfolded in the pages the translators forwarded gave me a sense of Pinsk’s real and teeming life. Ben was right. I had lost not just one generation but a birthright that went back five hundred years, not just the world of my fathers but of half a millennium of Jewish life. Just a year ago, at a moment when I was especially frustrated in grappling with the sea of details to be mastered in editing these monographs, I asked my wife, “Why am I doing this?” The answer she gave is also part of the riddle: “For your father.” When it became obvious, after his heart attack, that my father was extremely frail, I tried earnestly to tape his memoirs and those of surviving family members from Pinsk. The Pinsk histories, as I read the translations in English, set these fragmentary notes in context. All great drama, one of my fellow novelists once remarked to me, “is about the family.” Readers will find here not just my forebears or those descended from the inhabitants of Pinsk (among whom are Congresswoman Elizabeth Holtzman and the poet Alan Ginsberg) but their own. Pinsk was not only a Jewish center. It was a town where Poles, Belarussians, Russians, and Ukrainians lived. It was a true ­European community in its diversity of languages. The Jews, who came to represent a majority of its citizens, often spoke some or all of these tongues in addition to Yiddish, Hebrew, and German. Seen from the perspective of a future world in which a wealth of traditions may be the boast of any urban center, the extinction of Jewish Pinsk and places like it by the Nazis was a singular disaster. The morning after the massacre of thirty-five Jews, teachers, young activists in the political parties, some of whom had gathered to distribute Passover supplies to the needy, in 1919 (among whom was my great-uncle, Menahem), a Polish priest in the city and its Polish mayor protested. The latter was “deposed and placed in a detention camp” for defending Jews. It was a testimony to a social compact that was possible among what at times seemed irrec-

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oncilable worlds, even as it is an indictment of the Polish military that captured the city. At the root of all civilized existence is the story of a family, however diverse, trying to create a way of life that in persisting can share a set of values beyond each individual’s particular gain. I understand this as the quiet message of the Biblical book of Genesis. The Pinsk volumes are chronicle and more: the tale of a far-flung family that, reaching back into antiquity, assembled itself into a coherent community over the span of almost five hundred years at the crossroads of a city deep in the swamps of Eastern Europe. Pinsk was not a community isolated by distance from the larger centers of trade and intellectual life but rather linked to their intellectual and economic trends. As a professor of English at the City College of New York, I know that the family histories of my students are always where the “shock of recognition” begins—the understanding of how important writing is. The memory of Pinsk as a Jewish place and its preservation in history has a Biblical echo for me, like the writing down of the texts that were carried as oral documents in the wake of historical catastrophe. As a young man, I often wondered why my father brought up Pinsk with some pride as his birthplace. For those who have heard of the town, it is largely the terminus for a series of shaggy dog stories, about the train from Pinsk to Minsk, known as much for its rhyme as its riddle. My father coming to America as a child mastered English in a single year. He entered Boston Public Latin, the oldest public school in the United States, and won its prestigious classical prize when (as he used to scold his less talented son) “I had an English dictionary in my back pocket.” Going on to Harvard College and the Harvard Law School, elected to the Massachusetts state legislature, as a fluent Hebrew speaker, and author of a bill that expressed the Commonwealth’s support for the fledgling state of Israel, he was delegated to greet its first prime minister, David Ben Gurion. As chairman of the state House of Representatives’ Committee of Education, in the early 1950s, he helped build the University of Massachusetts into a prestigious school and wrote some of the most important legislation of the state’s Democratic Party. Why would his ironic boast be that he was a “Pinsker,” a place whose economic situation was so desperate at the moment of my grandfather’s departure (as I learned from the histories) that 10 percent of its population every year was fleeing abroad?

Preface by Mark Jay Mirsky

In the wake of my father’s heart attack—the melancholy that descended on my father, aware of the sword hanging over his head—his memories of Pinsk became a lifeline between us. More and more of the truth—which my father had been careful to avoid telling me: the terror of war and starvation in Pinsk, the nightmare transit to the United States and Boston in 1919—began to filter into my consciousness. I sat down with a tape recorder and with the help of a grant from the National Endowment of the Humanities recorded what he remembered. When Ben-Zion Gold made the importance of the Pinsk histories clear, I applied again to the National Endowment for the Humanities for translation funds. An assistant there suggested that I ask for a matching grant. For more than half a year I collected small contributions. One was from the Pinsk Burial Society, which, I discovered, though founded at the turn of the century still existed; another was from a friend, the novelist and theologian Arthur Cohen. A former graduate student, who the previous year volunteered to type up transcripts of tapes I had made of my father’s sisters about their childhood in Pinsk, sent me a news clipping. It mentioned a philanthropist in Florida who had just given a large contribution to a Catholic cause. The article mentioned that he came from Pinsk. On the odd chance that he might be interested, I sent him a letter describing the project. Three days later I got a call. “Is this Mark Mirsky?” “Yes?” “Are you the son of Velvel Mirsky?” “Yes,” I answered, startled at the sound of my father’s name in Yiddish. “Did he go to Zev Boshes’s school?” After attending David Levin’s class (one of those murdered with my great-uncle, Menahem), my father had indeed studied with a teacher called Boshes. “Yes.” “I remember your father. How much do you need?” I told him the matching sum that we were required to raise, and detailed the limited amount we had raised so far. “Why chase nickels?” Shepard Broad replied. “I’ll send you a check for the rest.” Broad was a source for valuable information about the massacre of the

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thirty-five. Polish soldiers had kicked him away from an older friend who was marched to the wall and shot. Broad witnessed the arrival in Pinsk of Ambassador Henry Morgenthau, whom President Woodrow Wilson dispatched to investigate the massacres in the city. To hear Morgenthau’s speech attended by the elders of the city, the boy climbed onto the roof of the synagogue and listened through the skylight. He was outraged by the ambassador’s remarks. Broad cried out again as he recounted it to me: “We were all very much shaken by the fact that he blamed the Jewish community for its problems and troubles, inclusive of the massacre. We had no business holding gatherings. . . .” It was a very different portrait from the one Morgenthau painted of himself as the soul of compassion in his trip to the starving city. (His nephew, Arthur Goodhart, in Poland and the Minority Races, gives a more realistic picture of Morgenthau’s attitude toward the troubles of Pinsk and the Jews in Poland.) Broad entertained me with insights into the men who had provided funds for publication of Yizkor histories in Hebrew. In my contacts with the Pinskers in Israel, I had already begun to grasp the reason for my ­father’s ironic boasting. I called on the Pinsker Association in my second trip to that country. They insisted that I meet the “old man,” Wolf Zeev Rabinowitsch, in Haifa. I can still recall his beaming face as he received me in his study, and we talked about this world of forgotten ancestors. One of the Pinsk Association members, Nachman Tamir Mirski, immediately sought me out. Were we related? Although he remembered a branch of my family in Pinsk vividly, we could never work out a genealogical link. No matter; he became my uncle and comrade. Despite a heart condition, he traveled with me through Israel, to give me a sense of Pinsk. I met the heads of the association: Barzilai; former cabinet ministers such as Moishe Kol; and the former head of the Histadrut, the all-powerful trade union association, Yeruham Meshel. They sat with me and recalled the nightmares of 1918 and 1919, moments indelibly stamped in the memories of my father and his sisters. To their own children, Pinsk was often a subject best forgotten. Though like Chaim Weizmann, Israel’s first president (born in Motele or Motol, a small town near Pinsk), these men were the founders of a state, the memory of their childhood city was important. I was the scribe of a holy place. As a Jewish boy from Dorchester, Mattapan, Boston’s “ghetto,” at Harvard College I had felt the amused condescension of my classmates, the

Preface by Mark Jay Mirsky

Yankee aristocracy. In Israel as a “Pinsker,” I was from a town that was the Zionists’ Mayflower. Nachman was a fount of songs and stories and loved to retell Chaim Weizmann’s joke: “Why does a ‘Pinsker’ have a crooked little finger? Because every time he starts a speech, he puts his forefinger over the crook of his little finger, and says, ‘Erster, ich binn a Pinsker’ ” (First of all, I am a Pinsker). Tales of Weizmann’s pride in his native city poured out of Nachman: How the first president of ­Israel embraced every immigrant from Pinsk, eager for news, taking a personal interest in the fate of the new arrival. Golda Meir too used to laugh, according to Nachman, looking around her cabinet and seeing so many Pinskers and children of Pinskers. One of my adventures was to seek an interview with the scholar Saul Lieberman, whose work is considered seminal by both the religious and nonreligious to contemporary study of the Talmud. During supper at Lucjan Dobroszycki’s with Lieberman’s colleague at the Jewish Theological Seminary, David Weiss Ha-Livni, and his wife, I asked if Lieberman, notoriously short-tempered and intolerant of the ill-­prepared, would talk to me about Pinsk and its satellite village Motele, his birthplace. “Motele,” laughed Mrs. Weiss. “Talk of Motele? He talks of nothing but Motele.” When I finally tracked Lieberman down in New York, he agreed to meet me, but in Jerusalem. There, while dismissing my inept questions about rabbinic sages, he spoke for hours in loving detail about Motele—the awe that he felt before the sages in its small synagogue when he returned there after World War I, and his pride in being related to the great rabbinical figures in Pinsk, who included Rabbi Elazar Moses Horowitz. Pinsk had a vivid presence in Israel. Shrugging off severe medical problems, Simha Ziv, whom Tamir insisted I must meet, rode several buses to take me to a kibbutz founded in memory of the 1919 massacre. A few weeks before I stood on the brow of a hill by the cemetery, in northern Israel at Simha’s kibbutz, Ayyelet ha-Shahar, as he laconically pointed out where a handful of men swapped six or seven rifles among themselves and a few hand grenades but stopped two thousand Syrian troops and their tanks in the 1948 War. Nachman Tamir once told me with a twinkle in his eye, “David Ben Gurion said, ‘Two more Simha Zivs, and we could have gone to the Euphrates.’ ”

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In the enthusiasm these men showed for my questions, the way they bowed before one of their old teachers now in his nineties who inspired them to come to Israel, I discovered a world I had misunderstood. As a boy I saw only its chauvinism, its limitations; but now the bitter taste of Hebrew school was wiped away, the aftermath of its bored, uninspired teachers breathing irritation. I felt the spirit of the dream that stirred these pioneers in the Pinsker blottes, the damp swamps. My grandfather, Israel Mirsky, died when I was four and a half, but his tall and imposing presence is still as vivid to me as it was when he came to our house with his pockets full of candy, or when he took me up to a seat among the velvet-clad Torah scrolls on the bema at the Fowler Street synagogue. Searching for clues to my grandfather’s education in Pinsk after my father’s death, an aunt suggested that I ask Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, one of the outstanding rabbinic figures of the last century. “He was really quite close to Rabbi Soloveitchik,” my aunt remarked. Emboldened by this, I asked the Rav (or “Teacher,” as he was affectionately known) for an interview. Although he was crippled by Parkinson’s disease and subject to a demanding schedule, on hearing that I was Israel Mirsky’s grandson he spent an hour recalling his friend to me: Your grandfather was the shammos at the Fowler Street shul. But he was the only shammos I ever knew who was not a shammos but a rav. . . . He was a good-humored man, always smiling—it would give you a good feeling to meet him. He was full of stories of Pinsk and Karlin, those two twin cities, of Rabbi Dohvid Karliner and Rabbi Maishe Elazar Horowitz. He had a real background in learning. He didn’t talk much about himself. Always in a wonderful mood. Never let people know if he was in distress. He was a revolutionary.

Here Rav Soloveitchik paused, and beamed: “He was a revolutionary— a shining face.” I saw that face again and again, among the Pinskers. Mordechai ­Nadav, the author of this first volume of the Pinsk histories, is happily still active as this book goes to press. Over a period of almost twentyfive years since I first met him, he became both a friend and a mentor. He explained several of the mysteries of my family’s wanderings, in particular why the Mirskys, who were originally from Slonim to the north, would settle in Pinsk during the mid-nineteenth century (many more opportunities!). I visited Azriel Shohet in his home several times. He

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urged me to send him my notes about the additional material I gathered from family members and others who were witness to the massacre of the thirty-five in 1919 so that he could include them in a revision of his history. Sadly, he passed away before I completed my work. I hope, however, in an introduction to the book Shohet authored on the history of Pinsk from 1881 to 1941, to speak further as his disciple on this subject. In 1993, I found myself, as the editor of the literary magazine ­Fiction, invited to a conference in Berlin. The distance on the map by rail between Berlin and Pinsk seemed minimal, a day’s trip if measured by the time it would take to travel west from Germany. With a leap of faith (though the travel agent in Berlin could only sell me a ticket as far as Brest-Litovsk), I took a train. My adventures in reaching my father’s city, the unexpected hospitality I found there (due in part to Zvi Gitelman, who had carried news of my project to Rita Margolin, a director at the museum there), are detailed in an abridged account I published in the magazine Another Chicago. The family house on ­Lahishinergasse no longer existed, and Sonya’s shul, the house of prayer where my greatgrandfather, Maishe Mirsky, served as cantor, rabbi, and shammos had also disappeared. There were few remnants of the Jewish Pinsk my father recalled. The Great Synagogue was gone, although my guide, Rita Margolin, pointed out the place where it had stood. The monastery wall, where my father’s cousin Reuben, the son of the murdered ­Menahem Lieberman, told me he had seen his father’s blood as he walked to school in the late 1920s, had also been razed. The Jewish cemetery where I might have searched for family gravestones was erased, its stones used as building materials by the Soviets after World War II. Pinsk as a town, however, was caught in a time trap. Its industry was negligible, its waterfront deserted. It had lapsed into a literal back­ water—and so retained in its back streets many houses and buildings from before World War I. Churches had been lovingly reconstructed to resemble the structures of that era, though the synagogue was gone, and the monastery wall where my uncle was shot no longer existed. It was closer than I could have hoped to the place my father recalled, though in fact it was much diminished. As Moshe Rosman remarks, “It was more of a backwater than when your father lived there.” Taking a bus from Brest-Litovsk to Pinsk, I passed through a green, wet world like a northern Everglades, the blottes or swamps that Weizmann, my

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father, and others remembered. Rita would arrange for me to go deep into the blottes, where storks still nestled on roofs of thatch and clothes hung on crucifixes at the crossroads like tribal fetishes. Seeing a low clay box like a radiator snake out of the kitchen through doors from room to room in our hosts’ cottage, I understood my father’s stories of sleeping on top of a warm oven in his bedroom. On many small streets in Pinsk, cords of wood, the principal means of heating in the bitterly cold winter, were stacked up to the roofs of hay thatch. Fruit trees and vegetable gardens crowded the front yards of most houses, a constituent of urban subsistence farming. Even the narrow strip between the sidewalk and the road was cultivated. As we walked about, Rita talked about Chernobyl and the radiation that rained down on her city. There were signs of it in the trees—and in the illness that was measurable, particularly in children. In the house deep in the blottes where I was received with overwhelming generosity, cheese, vodka, bread, yogurts, fish, pressed upon me, I asked if the milk was safe. “You will drink it this one time,” Rita remarked. “We have to drink it all year ’round.” To my surprise, some Jews had continued in Pinsk and the out­lying villages. I was introduced to several, some of them quite old. My Yiddish was too paltry, and Rita’s English too limited, for me to learn much. The Stoliner Rebbe, whose Hasidic dynasty once flourished in Pinsk, had sent a young rabbi to search out surviving Jews and organize a new congregation. He traveled back and forth from Pinsk to Brooklyn, but he boasted that he had assembled more people for the High Holiday services in Pinsk than Minsk could muster. Although I spent less than two days in the city, I felt its melancholy charm. Staring across the Pina from the Orthodox monastery, one saw the lazy river landscape of a lost eighteenth-century world, broad wet meadow rolling on and on. As horsedrawn wagons piled two stories high with hay trundled over its bridge, the sense of a sleeping town, which one or two enterprising souls could awaken, touched me. I sensed the possibilities that must have drawn Jewish entrepreneurs in past centuries. In the eager, open faces of my Belarussian hosts, the good-natured young women at the museum, the couple farming in the blottes, there seemed to be an invitation to return and bring my energies to the town. “Come back,” they said, over and over, with a sincerity that was moving. Pinsk was a small but unique place. I like to think of it as a Jewish

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Florence because its influence was far out of proportion to its size. One of the founders of Yiddish literature, Shomer, had his home there. The rabbis of the city, particularly in the late nineteenth century, were among those who helped create the ideology that we call Modern Orthodoxy. They were seeking to reinterpret traditional law so as to fit religious men and women to an active intellectual life in the secular culture that was becoming dominant. The history of Pinsk is also a commentary on Jewish life, and the life of most of us in the United States who are immigrants from other worlds. The elders of the Pinsk Society in Israel urged me to collect further documents, to create a whole shelf to augment the three massive volumes that contain the Nadav and Shohet histories, Rabinowitsch’s pages on Lithuanian Hasidism, and a host of short biographical pieces on some of the principal figures in Pinsk, as well as Nahum Boneh’s account of the extinction of the Jewish populations at the hands of the Nazis. A number of valuable documents have come to my attention in the past few years, including part of a manuscript by Paul Lurie (his family’s spelling of Luria), who emigrated to Western Canada with his family from England after being imprisoned in Vienna by the Nazis in 1938, describing his meeting with Prince Radziwill in the twilight before that extinction. The final chapter on Pinsk as a Jewish place is yet to be written. As a novelist, and in the tradition of the Talmud—that a little pepper improves the reputation of a sage—I ask myself, What is missing from these volumes? We have little sense of the sexual life of Pinsk’s inhabitants, Jewish or Gentile. Did men and women step outside the bounds of marriage? Only here and there do we glimpse the romantic world of Jews and Gentiles in the city. I know from our family history that my great-grandfather, Yossel, chose his bride, Yehudiss, when he was about thirteen years old, and she twelve. Their grandchildren loved to repeat the tales of their courtship and marriage: how her first glance at him was peeking through a keyhole where she saw him smoking, and how he sent back a matrimonial contract to a girl he was previously betrothed to after he saw Yehudiss. The two ran into the street after the marriage ceremony to play with their toys. Even in the meticulous accounts of the Luria and Levin clans, as a storyteller I wish for more anec­dote. At the moments of crisis, the expulsion of an unpopular rabbi from the city, mass starvation during World War I, and the horror of

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the 1919 massacre, the voices of Pinsk men and women ring out. Nadav documents the cruelty of the Tsar’s recruiting policy in Pinsk, which seized on the poor and helpless and took them off for endless military service—and here the chronicle takes fire. According to the text in Toyzent Yor Pinsk, the Yiddish history assembled by the Workman’s Circle, in which my great-great-grandmother Sulya’s picture appears, as a young woman she hid Jewish orphans from the Tsar’s recruiters in her shop. I wish there were more moments like those in which Shohet describes the attempt to drive out cholera by paying the dowry of a bride who would agree to hold her wedding in a graveyard. Both historians mention the two rabbis, Maishe (Elazar Moses) Horowitz of Pinsk and Rabbi David Friedman of Karlin, whose scholarship, piety, and enthusiasm for the early Zionist movements enhanced the reputation of the city. My grandfather, Israel, was witness (according to Rabbi ­Soloveitchik) to a moment in the dispute between these two luminaries. Rabbi Friedman had questioned the kashruth, or legal correctness of the sukkah, the booth of boards and branches that Rabbi Horowitz erected for the harvest festival. As a child sitting with his father and others in the sukkah of Rabbi Friedman, Israel Mirsky saw the elderly Rabbi Horowitz burst in late at night, waving a volume, his finger on the line of proof, exclaiming, “See, I told you. It’s kosher.” The Pinsk histories were the framework, however, in which to under­ stand such anecdotes. My father’s stories of starving as a child, told when I complained about having to wait for a meal, were no longer moral tales. They became part of my own experience of Pinsk. Except for my desire to have more, I might have ignored the musty legal binders left in our garage when my father passed away. There in a packet of my grandfather’s papers were letters sent from Pinsk on my great-grandfather’s death. At a conference on Jewish life, I heard a historian speak about the ancient custom of circling in religious processions. According to a letter written in 1927, my great-grandfather, Maishe, a religious judge or dayyan with a reputation for piety, had his coffin carried in hakoffis, or circles, through the city, before he was buried. The facts in these two histories often contradict the assertions of broader surveys that speak about Europe’s economies and cultures in generalizations. For that reason, both Rosman and myself were not only respectful of the work of Mordechai Nadav and Azriel Shohet; we felt, as Rosman has remarked,

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that the sanctity of them was in the details. At times, the guiding inspiration or “agenda” of the Nadav volume, like that of the Yizkor books, may seem obvious, as in this summation: “The study societies [in Pinsk] compounded the socio-cultural influence of residents who succeeded in merging traditional religious education with the moderate Hebrew Haskalah. They created a population that was conscious of a profound connection to the nation and its culture.” Yet the Nadav and Shohet histories render exactly that sense of paradox lived with relish in this small city’s streets. It was a city with a Jewish majority, but also a city that Jews could feel patriotic about. That, in the long, often gloomy history of the Jews in Eastern Europe, is a rare flicker of light. When women burst into the men’s section on Simhas Torah, bringing feminism into the orthodox synagogue, and when the most revered rabbinical scholar of the city sends his grandson to study secular subjects, we are in the presence of moments that justify the historian’s enthusiasm for what was happening in Pinsk during the late nineteenth century. What was so unique about Pinsk? At my father’s funeral, I quoted from an article in the Yizkor books that was translated in the same volume in which the Nadav history appears, but that was originally published in the Pinsker Shtime in 1930: One of the hasidic rabbis in Poland had been on a visit to Pinsk. On his return he told his Hasidim that he had found venerable learned men in Pinsk, religious men—may their number increase—but also licentious free-thinkers—may they be damned. “What is so surprising about that,” his Hasidism wanted to know—“after all, one finds such men in every town.” “What is so astonishing about it, is the fact that in Pinsk these are not two different kinds of Jews. The same Jew is both learned and an atheist, religious man and a free thinker, all in one.”

Or as Aharon Appelfeld, the Israeli novelist, once put it to me, describing the quintessential Litvak (Pinsk is in the far south of “Liteh,” Jewish Lithuania, and the Jewish inhabitants of Pinsk have always referred to themselves as Litvaks): “For a Litvak, a paradox is everything. A Litvak lives for a paradox.” In his introduction, Moshe Rosman has given me more credit than I perhaps deserve. He began as the translator of these books, but from the beginning he was much more. Working with Moshe has been a

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privilege; I have often been his student. I do not think either he or I realized at the outset just how many questions the metamorphosis of these histories into another language would involve. Moshe’s co-translator, Faigie Tropper, did endless backbreaking work on the text. This was a labor of love of many people. Among others without whom we could never have reached this point, I have to mention Steve Zipperstein, who oversaw the long and difficult gestation of the final version; my sister, Deanna Mirsky, who spent many days with me carefully going over the translation of the Shohet; and the scholars, Jewish and non-Jewish, who were its readers as I circulated the proposal for the translation. At an early stage of this project, Omeljan Pritsak, director of the Ukrainian Research Center, and Adam B. Ulam of the Harvard University Russian Research Center; David Stern, Shaul Stampfer, Zvi Gitelman; the writers Arthur Cohen and Cynthia Ozick; Beverly Gribetz Greenstein; Edward Kunofsky, of the Pinsk Burial Society; and Mark Pinson and Lucjan Dobrosczycki all were critical to its success. Their encouragement and insistence on the importance of the books, despite their daunting bulk, kept me at the task. For a time, while my father was alive, I had his sympathetic encouragement. As the details of the years of starvation in Pinsk under German occupation during World War I were translated into English and became part of my consciousness, I understood how he understated the swollen belly he carried during that frightening time. I was never able to hug him hard enough.

Preface Introduction to Pinsk Translation Moshe Rosman

Modern critics have not been kind to literary and other attempts to capture the essence of Jewish life in Eastern Europe in the centuries preceding the Holocaust.1 The classic Yiddish and Hebrew fiction portrayals by Scholem Aleichem, Mendele Mokher Seforim, Y. L. ­Peretz, and S. Y. Agnon; the problematic anthropological study by Mark Zborowski and Elizabeth Herzog, Life Is with People: The Culture of the Shtetl; Abraham Joshua Heschel’s The Earth Is the Lord’s, a lyrical homage to “the inner world of the Jew in East Europe”—these and others have been trenchantly criticized for reducing the kaleidoscopic variety and fractal complexity of the Jewish community in Eastern ­Europe to a single concept: the shtetl, literally the predominantly Jewish small town that contained and typified much of Jewish life in what was ­PolandLithuania from the sixteenth century until the late eighteenth and then became Galicia, Congress Poland, and the Russian Pale of Settlement under Austrian and Russian rule through World War I.2 However, in most incarnations the shtetl did not serve as a rubric under which to elucidate actual small-town Jewish life. Rather, it was code for “the golden period in Jewish history,” “a transnational universal Diaspora,” or a “­Jerusalem-in-­Exile . . . the Jewish Polity par excellence.” 3 “­Yiddishkeyt (Jewishness) and menshlikhkeyt (humanness) were the two major values of the shtetl community around which life centered.” 4 The encoded shtetl was an unacculturated and unadulterated Yiddishland where all was authentically and quintessentially Jewish, which included high standards of morality and interpersonal decency. It was “a state of mind” 5 into which Jews withdrew to live in their own selfcontained, isolated, and homogeneous community according to their

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own traditions and values, decisions, and rhythms. More reified ideal than real place, the shtetl’s geography was spiritual and cultural, rather than physical, economic, or political.6 As Heschel put it, “The Jews in Eastern Europe lived more in time than in space.” 7 Geography, then, was of little concern, but measured time was not so important either: “People lived not chronologically, but in a fusion of past and present.” 8 Most depictions of the shtetl failed to define its parameters in historical time. They implied that it was timeless, existing from as long ago as memory served; lasting until it was eroded, abandoned, or destroyed; but in between, the shtetl never developed or changed in response to the events and trends of history.9 This shtetl could be appropriated for many purposes: to celebrate or legitimate various expressions of Jewish culture, endow American Jewry with a birthright, serve as precursor to Zionism or Diaspora nationalism, memorialize and eternalize the martyrs of the Shoah, combat anti-Semitism, do fundraising to ensure the continuity of the shtetl’s heritage, gain Jews a place at the table of multiculturalism, discredit contemporary religious Orthodoxy, and power Jewish renewal. There were few items on the Jewish cultural agenda that might not benefit from claiming to derive from the authentic shtetl. Of course, it was this very malleability and adaptability of the shtetl construct that raised the critics’ hackles. A Jewish polity par excellence as portrayed by the romantics and the satirists never existed, but the Jewish community in Eastern Europe did. Its constituent parts could be located on a map and its history traced and written in annotated detail. Although memory conjured up an ahistorical shtetl subtly subordinated to the cultural requirements of contemporary society, practitioners of history could reconstruct many shtetls (or rather, historical Jewish communities) that shared values and traditions, to be sure, but that were an integral part of general society and culture, constantly negotiating the terms of their individual and collective existence with both their own past and their non-Jewish neighbors. Stripped of the ethereal light of essentialist, “authentic” Jewishness, these communities could be portrayed in a realistic chiaroscuro where the struggle for existence and echoes of eternity intermixed in a calculus of life lived in many modes and keys.10 Even in terms of basic ecology, the shtetl as small town was but one style of Jewish settlement. Jews also lived isolated in villages, in more

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populous provincial cities, and in identifiable sections of the main cities such as Cracow and Warsaw.11 Distinctions as gross as this and as fine as the difference between Poalei Zion Left and Poalei Zion Right were lost in the idealistic portraits of the shtetl. If it was authenticity that the consumer of culture was after, then historians were equipped to delineate the all-important details and present a historically authentic Jewish Eastern Europe. Over the past half-century, they have been busy doing just that. The renaissance in the academic study of the history and culture of Jewish Eastern Europe, since the end of the Second World War, and especially as the Cold War wound down and ended, is astounding. Conferences, journals, research institutes, projects, study groups, university courses, ethnographic expeditions, archival surveys and investigations; and thousands of books, dissertations, and articles document and narrate the story of the Jews in what were historically the territories of Poland from the end of the Middle Ages until the Holocaust. They do this to a degree of precision and from a wealth of perspectives that could scarcely have been imagined in 1945.12 Contemplating this cornucopia of scholarly plenty, however, one finds intruding the realization that despite its vast erudition, careful analysis, and often overwhelming documentation historical scholarship suffers in comparison with the simplistic, idealized shtetl by at least one measure: comprehensiveness. The encoded shtetl presented a complete culture that embraced the fundamentals of Jewish existence, however the period and the territory in question might be defined. It supplied a model that could be used to understand the overall contours of its subject. Historians cried foul because this all-embracing concept was based so much on ideology and faulty memory but so little on research. Yet what they offered in its place was no more than fragments, myriads of fragments: the Traditional Piety of Ashkenazic Women, Approaches to the History of the Jewish Family in Early Modern Poland-Lithuania, Polish Jews in the Gdansk Trade in the Late Seventeenth and Early Eighteenth Centuries, the 1764 Census of Polish Jewry, Hasidism as Mysticism, the Jewish Tavernkeeper and His Tavern in NineteenthCentury Polish Literature, Rabbi Israel Salanter and the Musar Movement, the New Zionist Organization and the Polish Government, the Jews in Poland After World War II.

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Each of these scholarly efforts was a hard-earned glimpse into the past, and each was a worthy endeavor. But how did all of these pieces fit together? Was there even any guarantee, aside from the memories of the rejected popularizers, that they did fit together? Did all of these parts compose an integral, comprehensive whole? Was there a historical entity that could be fairly entitled “Jewish Eastern Europe” in the articulation of which each of these fragments had a firm place? Perhaps the historians’ research was no more than a pedantic corrective to the encoded shtetl, of use to antiquarians but beside the point to students of Jewish life. Perhaps, ironically, on its most fundamental level historical research was determined by a metahistory derived from the spurned shtetl construct, not from some vaunted historical empiricism. Maybe historians’ critical posture overlooked the possibility that they took for granted whose existence they needed to prove. Had all their positivist efforts succeeded even in independently defining, much less resurrecting, the subject they sought to study?13 This book is an antidote to the fragmentary approach. It presents a case study of a community, Pinsk (in the eighteenth century grown into twin communities, Pinsk-Karlin), over more than four hundred years and examines its demographic, political, economic, social, cultural, and religious dimensions during that entire longue durée. With so many intersecting perspectives concentrated on one point over time, it is a portrayal that can contend to wholeness. With Pinsk, we can learn one continuous, complex, nuanced story from beginning to end, with all of its pieces in juxtaposition. It is a story that contains virtually all of the elements alluded to by the “fragmentary” studies: water-­carriers and industrialists, luftmenshn and tailors, rabbis and crown rabbis and heretics, preachers, tavernkeepers, doctors, and musicians; Hasidim and Mitnaggedim, Maskilim, Kabbalists and Musarniks, Bundists and Zionists, Agudists, and socialists of various stripes; pogroms, persecutions, and privilegia; conscription into the Russian army, indebtedness, negotiation, and taxation; synagogue, heder, heder metukan, bet midrash, kloyz, yeshiva, rabbinic courts and Hasidic court, secularized elementary schools, gymnasium, bathhouse, and mikve; autonomy, kehilla, kahal, va’ad, and mitzvah and charity confraternities (havarot); politics, politicians, parties, and elections; migration, industrialization, and proletarianization; pilpul, holy tomes, and modern library; arenda,

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trades, moneylending, commerce, and businesses; etc. etc. etc. Whatever scholars posited as present in Jewish Eastern Europe was to be found in Pinsk-Karlin. It really can be seen as a microcosm of the Eastern European experience—and not only its Jewish components. Thus of particular note in Pinsk (and in this book) is what was most obviously missing from the encoded shtetl: goyim, the minority of non-Jews whose existence was not defined by their service as “Sabbath Gentiles” but who had their own institutions and lifestyle, values and traditions, and who, together with the Jews, made Pinsk-Karlin the vibrant town (and eventually provincial twin cities) that it was. All of the characteristics ascribed to Jewish Eastern Europe were not only to be found in Pinsk but manifest in context. The accounts in this book depict not disconnected, timeless elements but an organic whole that actually functioned, developed as a system of parts in relationship with each other, and possessed a measure of continuity yet continued to change through time. If there is meaning to the term Jewish Eastern Europe, it is surely present in the description of this predominantly Jewish town over such a long period, with such a wealth of material and the capability of rich contextualization. If there can be a real-life counterpoint to the encoded shtetl, this should be it: a place that appears to fit the demographic, social, and cultural parameters established for the shtetl but that challenges the ideal stereotypes at every turn by showing that Gentiles counted too; that there was violence as well as charity; that the relationship between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim was not necessarily hostile; that there was social and religious rebellion alongside continuing and vibrant traditional, and neotraditional, forms; that there were both heated disputes and impressive cooperative efforts; that there were great rabbis and hog merchants; and on and on. Geographically locatable and historiographically recoverable, yet resonant in myth too, Pinsk facilitates the interpretation of history, as well as evaluation of traditional notions. The material presented in this book was translated from Hebrew into English. Its origin is in the post-Holocaust phenomenon of community memorial books (Hebrew: sifrei zikaron; Yiddish: memorbikher or yizkerbikher; Anglicized: yizkor books) that Shoah survivors and prewar émigrés from the Jewish communities destroyed by the Nazi regime in

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Europe undertook to produce as a way to symbolically bury the murdered and eternally memorialize their communities and the people who lived in them. Begun spontaneously under difficult conditions in displaced person camps in Europe immediately after the war, hundreds of such books (more than four hundred are dedicated to Polish communities alone) have been published, ranging in size from a few pages to thousands of pages and in quality from typescript and mimeograph to sophisticated printing techniques. The heyday of publication was the 1960s and 1970s, but a few books, edited by survivors’ children, have appeared over the last two decades.14 Typically, the memorial books contain descriptions of life in the community written by people who lived there; personal memoirs, anecdotes, vignettes, folklore; profiles of prominent people, institutions, and movements; examples of belles-lettres and other writing by community residents; photographs, illustrations, maps, lists of names of town residents, and sometimes historical or other essays written by professional scholars. Most of the books emphasize the period within memory of the writers, that is, between the wars and the Holocaust. Pinsk: A Book of Testimony and Memory for the Community of PinskKarlin (Hebrew: Pinsk: Sefer Edut Ve-Zikaron Le-Kehillat Pinsk-Karlin) is, in part, representative of the memorial book genre. When correspondence from demobilized Red Army soldiers and partisan fighters with reports of the destruction of Pinsk-Karlin (located in today’s Belarus) began to reach pre-State Israel in late 1944 and 1945, Pinsk émigrés there organized a committee to plan ways to help survivors and memorialize the communities that had been. In 1946, a mimeographed booklet in Hebrew by the survivor Aryeh Dolinko titled “Thus Were Destroyed the Communities of Pinsk and Karlin” was published by the committee. Twenty years later, in 1966, the “Association of the Jews of Pinsk in Israel” published the first volume of Pinsk, edited by Nachman Tamir (Mirski). At 655 pages, it was one of the longer memorial books, but its contents were typical. Nearly one hundred contributors wrote about multiple aspects of the people, organizations, institutions, movements, and atmosphere of the town during the last century of its existence. One section, written by Nahum Boneh (Mular), was devoted to “The Holocaust and the Revolt in Pinsk” and included a list of those murdered.

Preface by Moshe Rosman

Formally, this first volume of Pinsk to appear was called “Volume II.” This was because the association had decided that in addition to this typical memorial volume concentrating on the town as it was still remembered they would publish “Volume I,” The Story of the Jews of Pinsk, 1506–1941, which would be a history of the Pinsk-Karlin community “from its origin until its destruction” and serve as an introduction to Volume II.15 By this decision the association departed from the characteristic memorial book pattern and bequeathed to us a unique historiographical treasure, which is reproduced here for a new audience. Volume I, the history, was edited by Dr. Wolf Ze’ev Rabinowitsch. By the time it was completed, it consisted of two separate books. The first (465 pages) was published in 1973, the second (724 pages) in 1977. These volumes contained Hebrew and English essays by Rabinowitsch on Hasidism in Pinsk-Karlin (with a foreword by Simon Dubnow, dating from 1933), on the wealthy people in the community, and a general summary and evaluation of the history of Pinsk (this last in Yiddish as well). There also was an English version of Boneh’s history of the Holocaust in Pinsk. In addition, the Hebrew sections contained Zvi Kaplan’s disquisition on some of the prominent rabbis in Pinsk-­Karlin, Yehoshua Gottlieb’s “The Legend: Pinsk,” and Haim Karolinski’s description of Pinsk in post-Holocaust ruin. There were Yiddish essays about Pinskers in various places in the world and an abundance of supplementary material: lists, documents, bibliographies, maps, photographs, indexes, and more. However, the bulk of the two books that composed Volume I was devoted to two academic monographs in Hebrew (with accompanying summaries in English and Yiddish) that presented the history of PinskKarlin from the resettlement of the Jews in 1506 (after their expulsion in 1495) until July 4, 1941, when the Nazi army entered the city in the wake of the retreating Soviets. The author of the first monograph, titled “The History of the Pinsk-Karlin Community, 1506–1880,” was Mordechai Nadav (originally, Polish: Markiel Kaczykowicz). Nadav was born in the small town of Janow near Pinsk in 1920. Educated in the Tarbut Hebrew gymnasium schools in Pinsk and Vilna, he arrived in Eretz ­Israel in 1941 and studied at the Hebrew University, where he eventually graduated from the School of Librarianship and earned a Ph.D. in Jewish history. Nadav headed the Department of Manuscripts and

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Archives at the Jewish National and University Library in Jerusalem from 1968 until his retirement in 1986. He also taught Jewish history at Ben-Gurion University. He lives in Jerusalem. In addition to the Pinsk history, he left another indelible mark on scholarship with his edition of Pinkas Kahal Tiktin, 1621–1806 (The Minutes Book of the Jewish Community Council of Tykocin, 1621–1806), Vols. I–II (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities), 1996–1999. Azriel Shohet wrote “The History of the Pinsk Community, 1881– 1941.” Born in 1906 in Motol (Yiddish: Motele), also in the vicinity of Pinsk, Shohet had a traditional education in various heders and subsequently with a private teacher. He experienced firsthand the privations of World War I as Motol changed hands several times. In 1926, Shohet emigrated to Eretz Israel, where he studied at the Hebrew Teachers Seminary in Jerusalem and later the Hebrew University. In 1964, ­after a career as a high school teacher and an instructor at the Hebrew Teachers Seminary, he joined the faculty of what was to become the University of Haifa, where he was professor of Jewish history until his retirement in 1975. He died in 1993. Among Shohet’s publications, aside from the Pinsk history the one that stands out is Im Hilufei Tekufot (Beginnings of the Haskalah Among German Jewry; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute), 1960. In its day, this book seriously challenged the regnant evaluation of the history of Jewish Enlightenment (Haskalah) and still holds its place as an important milestone in the study of this subject. As native sons of “Greater Pinsk,” Nadav and Shohet evinced enthusiasm and empathy for the history project initiated by the association. More important, they were both professional historians who possessed the linguistic skills in Hebrew, Yiddish, Russian, Polish, and German and the research experience required to write books that would be ­thematically comprehensive and academically sound. Most notable is the array of sources that each man assembled: a plethora of published and unpublished manuscript documents from numerous archives, rabbinic sources of various types, travelers’ accounts, government reports, rare and less rare monographs and journal articles, newspapers and magazines, personal correspondence, published and unpublished memoirs, and more. Further, the amount of documentary material reproduced and translated, in full or in part, in these books turns them into a portable archive that gives readers direct access to a mine of primary material.

Preface by Moshe Rosman

If “God is in the details,” then these books may be viewed as a gift of Clio, the muse of history. The aggregate of facts, data, items, cases, points, particulars, events, texts, phenomena, persons, places, and so forth specified in these books is at times overpowering. However, the authors skillfully organized all of these trees into forests so that reading the books empowers readers to arrive at a profound understanding of the structures, processes, and contexts of life in Eastern Europe—for Jews as well as their neighbors—in ways that are simply unavailable elsewhere. For example, Nadav explicated the demographic history and social topography of Pinsk, demonstrating how it turned into a “Jewish town” by the late seventeenth century and eventually comprised a population that was consistently more than 70 percent Jewish. Concomitantly, he shed important light on the demographic and geographic development of urban Poland-Lithuania in general. He also gave a detailed analysis of the legal framework, occupational structure, commercial network, and economic profile of Pinsk in every period, which again has significant ramifications for understanding the larger Polish-Lithuanian polity and economy and complements the political, legal, and macroeconomic studies of various Polish scholars. Another noteworthy topic is his discussion of taxation, both general and Jewish, where his research resulted in precise definitions of difficult technical terms and allowed a thorough assessment of the economic significance of taxation, its political effects, and its social import. Nadav discussed many known specific episodes and ended up with completely new accounts of what transpired and what it signified at the time. For example, using both Jewish and non-Jewish source discoveries he presented a step-by-step description of the fate of Pinsk Jews and Pinsk as a whole during the Chmielnicki Uprising and its aftermath that significantly changes the traditional view of how both attackers and Jews acted. His analysis has forced scholars to reconsider the number of victims of the attacks by the rebels on the Jewish communities throughout the territories affected by the war and to rethink the long-term demographic and social effects of the destruction. Similarly, Nadav reevaluated the early career of the famous Hasidic leader LeviYitzhak of Berdichev, who, prior to his arrival in that town, was rabbi in Pinsk from 1775 to 1785. With this and other surprising material on

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the development of Hasidism and on the relationship between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim in Pinsk-Karlin, Nadav proved that the two groups could relate to each other out of mutual respect and cooperation, there and probably elsewhere as well. The picture of unmitigated hostility between these camps that was standard in the classic historiography on the subject is no longer tenable. Nadav’s refreshing revisionism, based on painstaking archival work and cross-matching with existing secondary sources (some as rare as archival documents), enlightened topic after topic: delineation of Pinsk’s status as one of the “chief” or “main” communities in the system of Jewish autonomy in early modern Lithuania and how it related to the communities subordinate to it; new information on both the Muscovite (1654–1655) and Swedish (1706) invasions of Poland; the appointment of Rabbi Avigdor ben Haim as rabbi of the town, the attempts to remove him, and what this showed about the involvement of the state authorities in the business of the Jewish communities; Haskalah in Pinsk; and much more. Shohet also single-handedly conjured out of the sources he discovered full-blown portrayals of such important historical processes as the industrialization of Pinsk and the proletarianization of a fair-sized sector of its Jewish (and non-Jewish) population; the emergence of skilled crafts as main Jewish occupations; and creation of a new Jewish professional class. This, together with his description of changes in communal organization and educational institutions, yields a picture of modernization in Pinsk—and by implication in Eastern Europe—that has the virtue of specific and systematic details and statistics, rather than conventional generalities punctuated by examples from hither and yon. Another complex subject that Shohet attacked head-on is organizational and political life in Jewish Pinsk. He presented a vivid outline of the numerous Jewish political parties and their activities. He was especially strong in describing Zionism and modern Hebrew culture in Pinsk; but the most lasting impression his depiction leaves is of the coexistence, albeit not always peaceful, between these multiple groups and the totalizing ideologies they represented. Potentially confusing, but attaining clarity in Shohet’s skilled hands, is the subject of the Jews during the 1905 Revolution and especially during World War I, when Pinsk was often close to the front. Shohet

Preface by Moshe Rosman

concretizes the Jews’ problems and demonstrates how they grew directly out of the shifting tides of the war. Shohet broke more valuable new ground in the careful original research and analysis he did with regard to the killing of thirty-five Jews by Polish soldiers in a famous incident that occurred in 1919. In connection with this episode, he also was one of the first to investigate the activities of the American Joint Jewish Distribution Committee in Pinsk, pioneering work that has paved the way for systematic study of the Joint’s activities all over Eastern Europe. Shohet concluded his book with the story of the interwar years. Here he managed to convey the sense of economic decline and the threats and hardship posed by growing anti-Semitism, while still pointing to signs of modernization and political and cultural vitality. Nadav’s and Shohet’s erudite research and far-seeing analysis of Pinsk-Karlin make a strong argument for the potential of local history to illuminate the larger picture. With the high level of analytical resolution that the abundant sources allow, virtually all of the conventional wisdom about Jewish (and, in great measure, non-Jewish) Eastern Europe demographically, religiously, economically, socially, culturally, and politically can be illustrated, confirmed, or challenged by examination of its manifestations in Pinsk. Conversely, these monographs also demonstrate that for all its value as an example of the contours of life in Eastern Europe, Pinsk-Karlin was a uniquely important community in its own right. Perhaps most striking is the number of prominent people who were either born in Greater Pinsk or spent a significant period of their life there (to name a few: Rabbi Rafael Ha-Kohen, later famous for his leadership of communities in Germany; the aforementioned Hasidic leader Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev; the important maskil Judah Leib Gordon; the industrialists Saul Levin and Hayya Luria; the talmudist Saul Lieberman; and the Zionist and Israeli leaders Chaim Weizmann, Moshe Kol, and Golda Meir).16 The status of Pinsk as one of the two most Jewishly populated cities in Eastern Europe (the other was Berdichev) and as a chief community within the system of Jewish autonomy; its position as a commercial and industrial center; its being the home of important developments in early Hasidism and Haskalah; its housing so many political movements; its role in the Zionist movement; the educational

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institutions it fostered—these and many other characteristics make it a place worth studying for its own sake. We owe a great debt to Mordechai Nadav and Azriel Shohet for having done so. This book is intended to bring their work to the attention of many who could not use it in Hebrew, but for whom it can be highly valuable. Not only Jewish historians but scholars of Eastern Europe, researchers on identity and ethnicity, genealogists, university students, and general readers seeking to understand the historical Jewish community that underlies the myth of the shtetl will find much to help them here. That being said, it is also important to point out that for all of their precision and academic integrity the Pinsk monographs also have a distinct tone and an identifiable scholarly style. As noted, both Nadav and Shohet were Pinskers who cherished the memory of their original homes. They also both lost close family members in the Shoah and were committed Zionists and proud Israelis. All of these background features combined to make their books into what might be termed (in prepostmodern terminology) at least partially partisan histories. Although there are virtually no overt apologetics, there is a tacit presumption that Jewish actions were usually positive, and they are even occasionally presented in a triumphalist manner. Also, the Jewish role as victim of Gentile hostility on various levels is frequently emphasized, although Jewish-Gentile relations are probed in a generally sophisticated and sometimes profound way. To their credit, the authors have included many facts that open the door to appraisal different from their own. As to style, both writers’ Hebrew can be classified as “late-maskilic Jerusalem academic Hebrew.” By this I mean that the language is generally flowery, with long and sometimes convoluted sentences using adjectives rather than verbs for emphasis. In addition, argumentation is marked by litotes, over- (even false) modesty, occasional pedantry, and sometimes unnecessarily exhaustive notation (see below). Both the tone and style of Pinsk presented translation problems beyond what might be expected from a contemporary scholarly Hebrew text. In all scholarly translation, the basic challenge is to maintain faithfulness to the original while creating a new text that readers of its language will find readable and be able to relate to, as the original audience was expected to relate to the original text. In the case of the Pinsk monographs, this had several practical implications, meaning that the

Preface by Moshe Rosman

discerning reader will find places where the translation obviously differs from the original. First of all, some introductory sentences that especially featured the stylistic characteristics mentioned above and that English readers would find irritating and distracting were cut. Each author approved these cuts one by one. Similarly, the authors were asked to reconsider some of the statements they had written in the 1960s and 1970s as to whether they still wanted to convey the tone connoted there. In many cases, they decided to modify or delete such statements, and this was done. Where they decided to leave the statements as they were, their wishes were respected. Rarely, sentences, paragraphs, or even subsections of a chapter were judged to be repetitive, of no interest to a nonHebrew audience, or too arcane; they were also deleted, again with the agreement of the authors, often with a footnote referring the reader to the Hebrew original. In addition, a few mistakes in the originals were corrected in the translation, some material was shifted from the text to the notes or presented in tabular form, and occasionally sentence order was changed. Most important, in the Nadav book, the footnotes were often overly sufficient, both in number per paragraph and in length of detailed argumentation with various scholars. Under Nadav’s supervision, the notes were consolidated by combining several in the same paragraph into a single one, and they were shortened. In principle, the translated note contains primarily references with most scholarly disputes omitted. Such material was left in only when a scholarly dispute conducted in the notes seemed of interest to the non-Hebrew reader. In some cases, the reader is explicitly referred to the notes in the original Hebrew. Readers should also be aware of a few technical points. Pinsk is in what is today southern Belarus. For all of the period until the second partition of Poland in 1793, it was part of “Lithuania.” At the time, this term denoted one of the two components of the “Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth” and included all of present day Belarus, Lithuania, Latvia, and most of Estonia. In Yiddish this was then and ever after referred to as Liteh (Hebrew: Lita). It is in this sense that the term Lithuania is used in this translation. After the second partition, this area, together with Ukraine, Congress Poland, and so-called New Russia (southern Ukraine), became the Jewish Pale of Settlement.

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Geographic names were transliterated either according to conventional English forms (e.g. Warsaw, Cracow) or as follows: in general, when discussing the period of Polish rule the Polish name was given; for the period of Russian rule transliteration of either the Russian or Yiddish name was given, depending on the context. Personal names deriving from the Bible were usually rendered in conventional English forms, for instance Abraham, Isaac, Jacob. Other Hebrew, Yiddish, and Russian personal names were transliterated from those languages. Surnames taken directly from Polish were given in Polish form. Other names were transliterated from Yiddish or Russian depending on the context. The spelling of place names, personal names, and surnames was often not consistent in the original languages, and this is sometimes unavoidably reflected in the transcription here. Polish diacritical marks could not be included in the text. I want to thank Barbara Pendzich and Adam Heimrath for their advice on Polish grammar and orthography. Any mistakes, however, are my responsibility. Faigie Tropper and I translated the material. Ms. Tropper drafted the translation of the Shohet and approximately the last two chapters of the Nadav; I wrote the draft of the first four chapters of the Nadav. Subsequently, I edited the entire translation from academic and language perspectives and all along the way was responsible for conferring with the authors regarding the changes outlined above and for consolidating and shortening Nadav’s notes, which he checked. Finally, Mark Mirsky served as the general editor. He was the moving force behind this project. He conceived it, initiated it, raised the money for it, kept it alive (over its more than twenty year lifespan) when my efforts flagged, and negotiated with potential publishers. He also invested untold time and energy as general editor, addressing issues of logic, sources, consistency, tone, and style. In good Eastern European tradition, he served as mavi le-vet ha-defus, literally he who brings the book to press: reviewing and correcting the manuscript, putting it in the proper form, assembling all of the supplementary material, and acting as liaison with the publisher. This book is very much his. jerusalem, 14 elul 5766, september 7, 2006

Abbreviations

In the Bibliography and endnotes, when both a volume and the language in which it was written are cited, the abbreviation for the book precedes the language, which comes at the end of the citation. [AGAD] Archiwum Glowne Akt Dawnych (Polish Historical Archive) [AGPP] Archiwum gospodarcze Prymasa Poniatowskiego (Poniatowski Archive) [APML] Halpern, I. (ed.). Addendum and Supplements to Pinkas Medinat Lita. [H] [ASD] Arkheograficheskii Sbornik Dokumentov (Collection of Archival Documents) [AVAK] Acts of the Vilna Archival Documents Commission [R] [AZR] Akty Zapadnoy Rossii (Acts from Western Russia) [BEF] Belorussya v epochu feodalizma (Belarus in the Era of Feudalism) [BYP] Halperin, I. (ed.). Bet Yisrael Be-Polin (The House of Israel in Poland) [EH] Encyclopedia Hebraica [H] Hebrew [HJP] Schiper, I. In History of the Jewish People [R] [HPPP] Bardach, J. (ed.). Historia panstwa i prawa polskiego (History of Polish State and Law) [HUCA] Hebrew Union College Annual [JNUL] Jewish National and University Library [LY] Litovskye Yevrei (Lithuanian Jews) [MGWJ] Monatsschrift fur Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums (German language periodical) [P] Polish

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[PAN] Biblioteka Polska Akademii Nauk (Library of the Polish Academy of Sciences) [PH] Przeglad historyczny (Polish periodical) [PHeb] Original Hebrew edition of this book (PHebI = Nadav volume, PHebII = Shohet volume) [PML] Dubnow, S. (ed.). Pinkas Medinat Lita (Record Book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council) [PSL] Pinsker Shtot Luakh (Pinsk Town Calendar) [PVAA] Halperin, I. (ed.). Pinkas Va’ad Arba Aratzot (Minute Book of the Council of Four Lands) [R] Russian [R.] Rabbi (personal title, e.g., “R. Akiba”) [RN] Regesty i Nadpisy (Registers and Inscriptions) [RPP] Reviziya Pushch i Perekhodov v 1559 (Inventory of Forests and Roads for the Year 1559) [RY] Russky Yevrei (Russian Jews) [RYA] Bershadskii, S. A. Russko-Yevreiskii Arkhiv (Russian-Jewish Archive) [SG] Slownik geograficzny Krolestwa Polskiego (Geographical Dictionary of the Polish Kingdom) [TB] Talmud Bavli (Babylonian Talmud) [TY] Hoffman, B. (ed.). Toyzent Yor Pinsk (Pinsk: A Thousand Years) [U] Ukrainian [VL] Volumina Legum [Y] Yiddish [ZDDA] Zbior dawnych dyplomatow i aktow miast minskiej gubernii (Collection of Old Documents and Acts from the Towns of the Minsk Province)

The word lustracja means “survey” and refers to the Record Book of the Pinsk and Kleck Principality, which is found in the Bibliography under Pistzovaya Kniga Pinskavo I Kletzkavo Knyazhestv.

Towns and rivers surrounding Pinsk. Adapted by Inger J. Grytting from a map in Pinsk: A Thousand Years.

● Rivers ● Towns Northern towns and rivers 1. Sluck [Slutzk] 2. Nieman River 3. Szczara River 4. Slonim 5. Volkavisk 6. Baranovichi 7. Ruzhany

Central towns and rivers 8. Oginsky Canal 9. Kartuza Bereza 10. Jaselda River [Yasiolda] 11. Motol 12. Pinsk 13. Janow [Yanov ] 14. Pripet [Pripyat, Strumen] River

15. Turov 16. Pina River 17. Royal Canal 18. Kobryn 19. Muchawiec River 20. Brisk (BrestLitovsk) 21. Bug River

Rivers and towns south of Pinsk 22. Pohost 23. Stolin 24. David Horodok 25. Styr River 26. Horyn River 27. Slutsch River 28. Ludmir 29. Rovno

Introduction Mordechai Nadav

There are, as yet, no comprehensive monographs on the history of the important Jewish communities of Lithuania: Brest (Brzesc), Horodno (Grodno), Vilna (Wilno, or Vilnius), Sluck, and others. This has hampered research about the history of the Jews in the country. Since the Russian historian Bershadskii’s comprehensive and thorough study of the Jews of Lithuania until 1569, published in 1883, little progress has been made. What is especially lacking is a description of the various stages in the rise and strengthening of the Lithuanian community from the late sixteenth century on, including the period of the Lithuanian Jewish Council (Va’ad Medinat Lita, literally the Council of the State of Lithuania), also barely researched. Suffice it to point out that even today we do not know the details of how the Jews of the various communities behaved during the time of troubles accompanying the Cossack and Muscovite wars. We do not know the fate of these communities at that time, with the exception of certain facts about specific communities that were hurt in 1648–1649 (Chmielnicki Uprising, Gezeirot Tah-Tat), 1655, or 1660 (Muscovite invasions) and consequent decisions that were chronicled in the record book of the council. There is still no convincing historical explanation for the process of growth and spread of the Jewish community in Lithuania, which despite its neighboring the community in Poland developed along its own lines within a context that was ethnically, religiously, economically, and socially different from Poland proper. With regard to the eighteenth century, until the second and third partitions of Poland (1793 and 1795) the state of research is also deficient. There are, of course, the monographs about Jewish Vilna by





Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

I­ srael Klausner, which include much documentary and factual material relating to this community and Jewish Lithuania in general in the second half of the eighteenth century. There is also Zvi Honik’s survey, Toyzent Yor Pinsk (Pinsk: A Thousand Years), based on archival material that became inaccessible after World War II. Many problems in the history of Lithuanian Jewry, however, still await clarification and research. Only the tiniest bit is known, for example, about the first quarter of the eighteenth century, when the first great rifts appeared within the Lithuanian Jewish Council. The same is true about developments in economic and social life in the first half of the eighteenth century.1 The state of research into the history of the Jews of Lithuania-­Russia in the nineteenth century is better, but for this period too there are many phenomena that require investigation. The establishment of the modern Jewish settlement in Ukraine has not been properly studied; nor has the role of Lithuanian Jews in founding and developing new communities in Ukraine, or how Jews became incorporated into the highly contradictory capitalist policy of Russia under Nikolai I.2 Even well-studied problems, such as the history of the Jewish Enlightenment (Haskalah) in Russia, the development of Jewish education, and ­Hasidism and Mitnaggedism should be examined from the perspective of the history of individual communities. Such examination would add a new dimension to the understanding of these questions and of the tortured passage of Eastern European Jewish society into modern times. In this study, we attempt to elucidate the path of historical evolution of the Pinsk Jewish community from its establishment (sometime shortly before 1506) through the development that brought it, fifty years later, to being a leading Lithuanian community; and, during the period of the Lithuanian Jewish Council, to the status of one of the three chief communities (alongside Brest and Horodno; later Vilna and Sluck were added) ruling over its district. A further objective is to explain the historical factors that in the course of a two-hundred-year process contributed to imprinting on Pinsk the mark of a Jewish city. During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries Pinsk was indeed in character a Jewish city. Its status as a leading community in Lithuania and as the chief community of its district, however, declined in parallel to the Jewish autonomous framework in Poland and Lithuania on all levels—national, regional, and local.

Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

With regard to internal life, we reexamine the appearance and rooting of Hasidism in Pinsk and Karlin in the last third of the eighteenth century. We also attend to the changes in the lives of the Jews of PinskKarlin brought about by the transfer of the city to Russian rule in 1793; the new legal status of the Jews in Russia; and complicated Russian Jewish policy in the areas of economics, social life, religion, enlightenment, and education. The significance of the discussion here goes beyond the local; it aids in understanding various subjects in the history of Lithuanian Jewry in general. The outline of the description of the history of the Pinsk Jewish community, from 1506 to 1880, is largely determined by the nature of available documentary material. No communal record book or local archive has been preserved. The non-Jewish documents that serve as the foundation for this study come from different documentary collections. In Bershadskii’s collection, Russko-Yevreiskii Arkhiv, and in the Akty that were published in Russia in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries—especially in the Akty published by the Vilna Archeographic Commission—there is rich material relating directly to the history of the Jews of Pinsk and illuminating the context of their lives. The collection Regesty i Nadpisy was also extensively used; however, the versions of the documents that appear there are mostly abridged and so an attempt was made (usually successfully) to locate the original version in each case. General documentary collections were used extensively to elucidate problems in the history of Pinsk and the region. For the eighteenth century, there were population censuses for Pinsk and Karlin and archival documents that my friend Jacob Goldberg copied for me from the state archives in Poland before he immigrated to Israel on the eve of the Six Day War. I want to express my deep gratitude to Professor Goldberg for his great help. With no access to material in the state archive in Vilna, I made broad use of the documentary material incorporated in Toyzent Yor Pinsk, especially with regard to the separation of Karlin from Pinsk and the dispute between the two communities in the mid-eighteenth century. The Hebrew sources for the history of the Jewish communities up to 1648 are much poorer. Aside from one document dating from the 1560s and some fragmentary information, the only useful Hebrew source is the record book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council, which





Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

begins from 1623. It contains a certain amount of documentary material touching directly on the history of Pinsk Jewry and much material connected to the general history of the Jews in Lithuania that has implications for Pinsk. For the period after 1648, there are the Hebrew chronicles that mention events in Pinsk during the fighting and persecutions (Gezeirot) of 1648–1649; rabbinic endorsements appearing at the beginning of various books; several rabbinic literary works of the period; and especially the writings of two Pinskers, Rabbi Judah Leib Puhovitzer and Rabbi ­Naftali Hirsh ben Yehonatan Segal. Other rabbinic books, Hasidic sources, and secondary sources on Hasidism were useful for understanding some subjects concerning internal life in the second half of the eighteenth century, including the place of Hasidism in Pinsk-Karlin. The sources for the history of Pinsk Jewry in the nineteenth century are much more numerous and variegated: population censuses; Polish travel accounts from the first half of the century; official surveys, evaluations, and summaries included in a wide-ranging book about Minsk province edited by General Zelensky; Yanson’s study of Pinsk commerce; Saul Levin of Karlin’s will; the record book of the Karlin Talmud study society (hevrah shas); books and book endorsements written by Pinsk rabbis; lists of prepublication book subscribers (prenumerantn) from Pinsk; memoirs (primarily those of Miriam Shomer-Zunser and Mordecai Kerman); books and articles of authors and maskilim from Pinsk; and articles from the Hebrew and Russian press beginning in 1857 (when the newspaper Ha-Maggid was started). This aggregate of sources covers only some parts of the period; there are years for which the information available is scarce. For the 1550s and 1560s and the period 1630–1660, for example, non-Jewish material is diverse and relatively plentiful, while concerning 1580–1620 almost nothing is known. The uneven nature of the source material necessitated a methodology designed to wring out of it as much information as possible. Repeated examination of the same documents from a variety of perspectives and comparison of documents with each other was the basis for critical analysis of their content. A card index of individual persons, wherein was recorded every piece of information about Pinsk Jews mentioned in the documents, not only resulted in fuller infor-

Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

mation about certain people but enabled consideration of the history of families and served as an often illuminating new source in and of itself. Sometimes finding the link and proper relationship between documents was as important as what was written in the documents. Similarly, precise recording of all of the serendipitous data about the streets of Pinsk relevant to the Jews incorporated in the documents, and comparison with what is known about the city’s geography in general, enabled consideration of the social topography of the Jewish community. Using expedients of this kind bridged documentary gaps for some periods and answered certain questions. Even with such efforts, however, it is not possible to illuminate aspects of communal life in every period. For example, we understand very little about the inner life of the Pinsk community for most of the sixteenth century. Everything that is known about Pinsk communal organization is based on the record book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council, mostly by way of interpretation of the general statutes it contains. There is no other documentary material. Sometimes it was necessary to clarify problems in the general history of Lithuania that had not been dealt with anywhere else; only then was it possible to turn to their expression in the Pinsk Jewish community. The description of the economic life of Pinsk Jewry in the eighteenth century is schematic and abbreviated because of the shortage of source material compared to the relative abundance of documents on economic life in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Even with regard to the nineteenth century, with its large source base, the lack of ordered archives on the history of the city and its Jewish community made it difficult to thoroughly analyze problems such as the structure of the leadership of the Pinsk communal council (kahal) and its mode of operation, or Jewish army conscription and the kidnapping of recruits in Pinsk under Nicholas I. The first part of this study is based on my doctorate, done at the Hebrew University under the direction of my teachers, the late Israel Halpern and Shmuel Ettinger, and supported by the Foundation of the Association of the Jews of Pinsk-Karlin in Israel and by the Warburg Fund. I am grateful to the Jewish National and University Library in Jerusalem, where I have worked for twenty years, in whose book treasure stores I found the vast majority of the material needed to produce





Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

this volume. As noted already, I also thank Jacob Goldberg of the Hebrew University for documents that he copied and photographed for me in Poland; the Central Archive for the History of the Jewish People for photocopies of documents found in Polish archives; Avraham ­ShishaHalevy of London, who made available to me manuscripts from his collection; and Rabbi Bezalel Landau, who furnished photocopies of a number of documents that were in the collection of the late Rabbi Y. L. Maimon. I also appreciate the important comments on the first part of the study that were offered by H. H. Ben-Sasson and Azriel Shohet. My special thanks to Pinsk natives Minister Moshe Kohl, Dr. Zeev Rabinowitsch, and Ya’akov Barzilai, chairman of the Association of the Jews of Pinsk-Karlin in Israel, who initiated the project to study the history of the Pinsk community. They accompanied this long and arduous research project with generous spirit and great understanding.

The Political History of Pinsk up to the Mid-Sixteenth Century The Principality of Turow-Pinsk3 was one of the early Russian principalities that existed in the tenth through thirteenth centuries on the territories that later formed two large independent countries, the Grand Duchy of Lithuania and the Duchy of Muscovy. By the tenth century, the principality of Turow existed and included the area where sometime before 1097 Pinsk was founded. Turow and Pinsk were located on the important trade route that led from Kiev to Poland and Lithuania; commerce between Kiev to the east and Poland and Mazowia to the west was conducted through them. In the eleventh through thirteenth centuries, this principality was an important political entity covering a large amount of territory, stretching from the Dnieper in the east to west of Pinsk and from Nieswiez and Sluck in the north to Wolyn in the south. At first the principality was subordinated to Kievan Rus, but from the mid-twelfth century it succeeded, under the leadership of Prince Yuri Yaroslavych, in gaining its independence. In the late twelfth and early thirteenth century period, the principality was subdivided into the separate Turow, Pinsk, Kleck, and Sluck principalities that were under the influence of the princes of Halich-Wolyn.4 In the thirteenth century (circa 1200–1263) the separate principalities

Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

of Lithuania began to unite under Mindaugus into one large, strong state that spread southward and brought under its aegis the area of Polesie. The Pinsk principality, together with other Rus principalities, was annexed to Lithuania in 1318 during the reign of Grand Duke Gedymin (1316–1341), who continued Mindaugus’s consolidation of the Lithuanian state, expanded its borders, and made it into a regional power. From then until the partitions of Poland at the end of the eighteenth century, the fate of Pinsk was tied to the fate of Lithuania.5 The Rus principalities that were annexed to Lithuania by Gedymin and his successors were given to Lithuanian princes, most of them the sons and grandsons of Gedymin. Sometime around the 1340s, ­Gedymin granted Pinsk to his son Norimunt, while giving the principality of Kobryn to his son Olgerd. His son Lubart inherited the territory of Wolyn. These new rulers helped to stabilize Lithuanian military and political rule in the annexed territories but did not disturb the accepted social and economic arrangements of the region or intrude on the customs and faith of the inhabitants. In fact, the new Lithuanian princes quickly moved toward the religion and customs of their subjects, adopting the Orthodox Christian religion and the Russian language. For its part, the local population willingly accepted Lithuanian rule because Lithuania could protect the region from Tatar attacks and guarantee the welfare of those residing on the territory under its control.6 As long as the interests of the local princes did not conflict with those of the Lithuanian grand duke and they loyally fulfilled their ­vassal obligations toward him (supplying tax monies, land and water transport services, and army troops in time of war), Pinsk and the other principalities could continue to exist as “separate political microcosms” and “small states within the state.”7 In internal affairs the authority of the local prince in his principality was analogous to the authority of the grand duke over all of Lithuania. The local prince could judge his subjects, grant land and serfs to boyars (noblemen) or to church institutions, confirm privileges bestowed by earlier rulers permitting individuals to hold their estates, and free individuals from the judicial jurisdiction of his judges, giving them the right to be judged by him alone. Many fifteenth- and sixteenth-century legal documents attest that the princes of Pinsk made wide use of these prerogatives. Intervention by the grand dukes in the internal affairs of the principalities and the administered





Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

territories ruled by ducal appointees was minor. In Lubavsky’s opinion, this political system turned Lithuania into a federation, united only by virtue of the overall feudal rule of the grand duke over the territorial units that composed the country.8 From the rule of Gedymin on, supreme political authority was concentrated firmly in the hands of the grand duke. Without appointment from the grand duke, no prince could reign in his principality; nor could he bequeath his authority to his son without the explicit, written consent and affirmation of the Lithuanian ruler. At his discretion, the grand duke would transfer princes from place to place, confiscate their territories, or depose them from their positions. Usually these ­powers sufficed to hold the authority of the central government over the princes; hence the minimal intervention in the internal matters of the principalities.9 Developments in foreign relations and the internal affairs of Lithuania led to intensification of centralizing trends during the reigns of the Lithuanian Grand Dukes Witold (1392–1439) and Casimir the ­Jagiellonian (1440–1492, from 1447 simultaneously king of Poland).10 These trends brought about systematic abolition of most of the large principalities. Only the small, locally based principalities of Pinsk, Horodok, Kleck, Kobryn, and Mstislaw remained in their traditional status, although it may be assumed that the involvement of the grand duke in their affairs grew. In 1501 and 1506, the townspeople of Pinsk complained to Grand Duke Alexander (1492–1506, king of Poland 1501–1506) about the prince and princess of Pinsk in connection with changes in the transport obligations of the inhabitants toward the rulers that the complainants regarded as an infringement of their rights. In considering the 1501 deposition, Alexander decided in favor of the townspeople, but in 1506 he announced that he did not wish to interfere in the internal affairs of the principality.11 From 1471, the position of the princes of Pinsk weakened and the hold of the central rulers on the principality grew stronger. Casimir the Jagiellonian used Pinsk to further his political objectives in the territory of Kiev, whose population showed signs of impatience with Lithuanian rule. In 1471, both the last hereditary prince of Pinsk, Yuri ­Semionovich, and the prince of Kiev, Semion Olelkovych, died, the former without a direct heir. In a bid to reinforce Lithuanian hegemony

Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

in Kiev, Casimir gave the Pinsk principality to Semion Olelkovych’s widow, Maria (a member of the ruling Gasztold Lithuanian noble family), and to her son Vassily, and granted Kiev freedoms that significantly expanded the rights of the landowning, fighting boyars and the townsmen there, thus gaining their support. The privilege appointing Maria and Vassily Olelkovych as the rulers of Pinsk reserved to Casimir the right to take back Pinsk, in the event that he deemed it necessary, on payment of compensation equal to the value of the principality. It also defined the obligations of the Pinsk ruler to the grand duke with regard to providing soldiers and transport services.12 When Vassily died in 1495, his share of sovereignty over Pinsk passed to his sister Olena (Alexandra). In 1498, she married Prince Feodor Yaroslavych, the son of Ivan Vassilevich, the ruler of the local principalities of Kleck and Horodok (Dawidhorodok, Dawidgrodek), which were also in Polesie, north and east of Pinsk respectively.13 After Princess Maria died in the spring of 1501, authority in Pinsk was completely vested in Feodor and Olena. Sometime between 1503 and 1506, a group of Jews received permission to settle in Pinsk, and in 1506 the Jews there received a privilege that defined the rights of the new Jewish community in Pinsk.14 Adding Pinsk to the patrimony, Prince Feodor’s rule required affirmation by the Lithuanian grand duke and Polish king, Zygmunt I. His consent was contingent on a political payoff. An agreement signed in 1508–1509 stipulated that if Feodor and Olena were to die without heirs, then they voluntarily willed all of their lands to the king. For his part, the king offered them in 1509 a privilege guaranteeing their authority throughout the territories of Pinsk, Kleck, Horodok, and Rohaczow, as well as the king’s patronage, for as long as they lived.15 The town Pinsk thus became in actuality the capital and center of a territorial unit much larger than the original Pinsk principality, eventually turning into the Pinsk powiat (district) and the headquarters of its ruling starosta. Pinsk’s status as the capital of an independent principality probably hindered development of municipal autonomy in the town, although its residents were quite interested in the fate of their city and aggressively defended their rights. The Pinsk townsmen received Magdeburg-style autonomy rights only in 1581, from King Stefan Batory, much later than other cities in Lithuania.16



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Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

In 1518, Olena died childless, bequeathing her estate to her husband, Prince Feodor. Zygmunt I’s privilege of May 30, 1518, allowed the prince to take over his wife’s properties until the end of his life. It also reinforced supervision by the king (who was ultimately to gain ownership over the entire territory) of the territorial integrity of the principality and limited Feodor’s discretion in allocating lands. Feodor ruled until his death in 1521.17 The 1508 and 1518 documents are good evidence for the policy of Zygmunt I, who destined the Pinsk principality for dissolution, giving it a reprieve until the deaths of its rulers. A similar agreement with the rulers of Kobryn, at the same time, shows that the royal rulers of ­Poland-Lithuania were determined to gradually eliminate the local principalities. This policy was a function of general economic and ­social developments in Poland-Lithuania and Zygmunt and Queen Bona Sforza’s plans to increase revenues for the royal house and firm up its position. There was no place for semi-independent princes ruling over local principalities. Already on April 10, 1518, while Prince Feodor was still alive, Zygmunt transferred his right to Pinsk (scheduled to revert to him only on the prince’s death) to Bona Sforza in order to improve her circumstances, as “a sign of special love.” On the very same day, the king also transferred to the queen his rights to the Kobryn principality, which was slated to pass to him only after the death of its prince, Waclaw Kostewicz.18

From Principality to Royal Domain When Prince Feodor died in 1521, the expanded Pinsk principality, including Dawidgrodek, Kleck, and Rohaczow, became the possession of King Zygmunt I. Pinsk went from principality to powiat and one of the king’s councilors, Yuri Iwanowicz Ilinicz, was appointed administrator (namiestnik) to temporarily run the new district.19 During his tenure (1521–1522), his primary responsibility was to pay off Prince Feodor’s debts and set administrative matters in order, in preparation for the transfer of the district to the queen. After preliminary moves in late 1522, the next year the queen established her formal rule over the city and district of Pinsk. Under her reign, three successive starostas

Introduction by Mordechai Nadav

administered the city in her name: Iwan Michalowicz (1524–1543), Piotr Kirdejewicz (1544–1551), and Stanislaw Palczewski (1552–1556).20 Zygmunt I’s transfer of the principalities of Pinsk and Kobryn to his wife, Bona Sforza, facilitated creation of a huge royal domain. This was the private property of the queen and was intended to strengthen the royal house and ensure for their son, the future Zygmunt II August, the double throne of Poland and Lithuania. Acquired in 1523, Pinsk was the nucleus of Bona Sforza’s private latifundium. Later she took possession of the Kobryn principality, territories of the Salc latifundium, lands in the Slonim district, and the long narrow strip to the north between Podlasie and East Prussia on one side and Horodno and Kovno on the other.21 All of these areas were close to each other and constituted a contiguous territory. This geography fostered economic development of the region in line with a clear plan outlined by the queen and a group of her advisers, which was executed gradually but steadily over the course of a generation (1523–1556). The climax of Bona Sforza’s enterprise was agrarian reform that united her lands and then redivided them into standardized units (wloki). This reform, and Bona Sforza’s economic policy in general, gave tremendous momentum to the economic ­ development of the region, which was typified by intensive settlement, development of the latifundium economy, increased agricultural production for export, expansion of the towns, and cultivation of commerce. A Tatar attack in 1527 brought the marauders up to the walls of the city, but the damage was not serious and the effects of the attack were quickly dissipated. The young Jewish community in the city of Pinsk skillfully and successfully fit itself into the accelerated economic activity of the region.22 Under the queen’s rule, in Pinsk the position of the townspeople of the city was apparently strengthened. Pinsk’s legal status was inferior to that of many Lithuanian cities that enjoyed Magdeburg privileges granted them in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries (Vilna and Troki in 1387, Brest in 1390, Kovno and Horodno in 1391, Minsk and others from 1498). Its felicitous geographic position at the hub of water transport routes aided commercial development under Bona Sforza, but the lack of autonomy of the townspeople in Pinsk tied the merchants’ and artisans’ hands in cultivating their city and allowed the starostas to pile

11

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on taxes and imposts. Their rising economic strength and political clout encouraged Pinsk residents to demand broadening of their rights.23 In response to their petition in 1551, the queen granted the Pinsk townspeople a writ that entitled them to political rights prefiguring the bestowal of full Magdeburg rights to the city by King Stefan Batory in 1581. In this writ, Bona Sforza established new procedures for tax collection, according to which the Pinsk residents were not to pay their taxes directly to the starosta but rather to a commission comprising the wojt (mayor of the city) and five townsmen chosen by the city. These five men were to take an oath before special representatives of the queen. Disputes between taxpayers and tax collectors were to be heard by the starosta sitting together with the wojt and the five sworn members. The queen’s document also eased the obligation of transport services that burdened the inhabitants, requiring them to supply transportation only to the king and queen and to the men of the grand duke’s council. As for the starosta, he was entitled only to demand twelve oarsmen for his trips to Dawidgrodek or Newel. In other cases, those needing transport had to pay for services. For their part, the townspeople had to pay sixty kopy (or 3,600 grosze) annually to the royal treasury. The writ also defined legal procedures and the level of litigation fees to be paid to the starosta, his deputy, and the court scribe and bailiff.24 The increase in the power of the Pinsk townspeople, demanding their rights as the city’s development accelerated, paralleled the strengthening of the Pinsk Jewish community during Bona Sforza’s rule. Her policy boosted both its economic vigor and numerical size. When Bona Sforza left Poland in 1556, her rule over Pinsk ended and the district passed to her son, King Zygmunt II August (1548–1572). He changed the status of Pinsk from autonomous royal domain to royal city and normal powiat, headquarters of a starosta who represented him and executed his will. The first half of the sixteenth century was a period of great changes in the situation within Lithuania and in the status of the Pinsk principality within Lithuania. It was especially conducive to rapid growth of the Jewish community founded in Pinsk shortly before 1506.

O n e  From the Founding of the Community

Until the Union of Lublin (1506–1569)

The Founding of the Community: The Basic Privilege of Pinsk Jewry The privilege granted to the Jews of Pinsk in 1506 is the most important source on the beginning of the Jewish community of Pinsk. Careful reading of its contents and systematic analysis of the subjects mentioned in it, in comparison with the privileges of other Lithuanian communities, allow a general description of the community when it was founded and clarification of the rights it secured for itself. It is proper, then, to begin with the text of the basic privilege.1 I Prince Feodor Ivanovych Yaroslavych and my Princess Olena inform by this writ all who ought to know that they should honor it and obey it. Our Jews from Pinsk, Josko Meirowicz, Pesah Ezofowicz, Abraham Ryzkiewicz, and other Jews of ours from Pinsk, bowed before us [by way of request]2 to grant them a place to establish a synagogue for them and another place for a cemetery. They requested that we confirm their right to these places in our privilege. And we, because of their bowing before us,3 decided: we hereby confirm to them the two said places for the synagogue and cemetery by this our writ, forever eternally. They also requested from us that we grant them the same rights, parallel to the rights and privileges that our hospodar, His Majesty the King, granted to the Jews of Brest and to other Jews in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania who live in the fortresses of the Grand Duke. And we, in response to their request, have also done this: we have granted

13

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The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

them the same rights that our hospodar, His Majesty the King, granted to his Jews; thus we have granted them the rights. We, and our surrogates, who shall be appointed by us, shall consider and judge them according to the rights and the privilege of the hospodar. Therefore we have granted them this writ of ours and for greater validity we have set our seal on this our writ. Written in Pinsk 1506, the ninth of August.

Prince Feodor Ivanovych Yaroslavych’s4 privilege, dated August 9, 1506, was granted to Jews who were already in Pinsk and were known by name: Josko Meirowicz, Pesah Ezofowicz, and Abraham ­Ryzkiewicz. They negotiated with the prince over the grant of the privilege representing themselves as well as the other Jews living in Pinsk at that time. There is no evidence of a Jewish community, or individual Jews, in Pinsk before the expulsion of Lithuanian Jewry in 1495. Therefore we can assume that the community there started after 1503, when Grand Duke Alexander permitted the Jews to return to Lithuania and a group of returnees either could not or would not go back to their former homes and decided to establish themselves in a new place.5 How did this happen? After the expellees were permitted to return to Lithuania, a new reality was created. To be sure, according to the privileges Alexander granted to the Jews of Brest and Horodno in 1503 (privileges that were to apply to all of Lithuanian Jewry)6 the Jews were to regain their preexpulsion rights and confiscated property and were entitled to collect the debts owed them by Christians. In practice, however, restitution of property met with numerous obstacles. After the expulsion, the grand duke allocated the Jewish homes and lands to Christians who paid him for them. The new property holders made investments and improvements and some properties changed hands. Naturally, those who controlled the Jewish assets, especially if they had incurred expenses, were not prepared to return them to their former owners. For example, despite the explicit instruction of the 1503 privileges to Brest and Horodno to return Jewish property, in 1505 the Jews of Brest needed a special privilege specifying the return of their synagogue, which had become a hospital and church.7 A 1507 privilege of Zygmunt I to the Jews of Horodno,8 confirming anew the Jews’

6 12

26 28

8 22

25

5

1 2

17

21

14

9 10

24

23 4

15

31 11

3

30 16

7

13

27 20

19

29

18

Map 1. Pinsk under the rule of Lithuania, 1360. Data from a map in Pinsk: A Thousand Years.

1. 2. 3. 4.

Baltic Sea Courland Danzig Dvinsk [Daugavpils] 5. ESTONIA 6. FINLAND 7. Grodno [Horodno]

8. Gulf of Finland 9. Gulf of Riga 10. Kalmar 11. Kovno 12. Lake Lagoda 13. LITHUANIA 14. LIVONIA 15. Memel [Klaipeda]

16. Minsk 17. Öland 18. Pinsk 19. POLAND 20. Poznan 21. Pskov 22. Revel [Tallinn] 23. Riga 24. RUSSIA

25. Stockholm 26. SWEDEN 27. Torun 28. Uppsala 29. Warsaw 30. Vilna 31. Vitebsk

16

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

right to receive back their homes and fields, also specified that Jews returning from expulsion who wanted to regain their property from Christians who occupied it had to indemnify them for all of their expenses in connection with acquiring the property and improving it. Thus the process of property restoration continued for many years and often entailed compensation for its Christian holders.9 It would seem therefore that in many cases the resolution of the problem was not restitution of real estate, and many of the returnees had to establish new homes. There was also another group, whose members possessed neither homes nor property to be reclaimed and had to build. They were the children of those expelled, who in the course of the eight-year exile reached maturity and established their own families. Such new families, together with those who did not recover their property, constituted a population prepared, given the proper political conditions, to engage in settlement activity in new locales. The first settlers came to Pinsk before the grant of the privilege, something that could have happened only between 1503 and 1506.10 The Jews who came to Pinsk—with the expulsion and its attendant hardships fresh in their memory—took care that their rights be clearly defined as quickly as possible on their arrival and settling in. Jews who came to settle in Pinsk probably did so with the knowledge that the local prince wanted them to settle there and that he was prepared to grant them rights similar to those possessed by other Jews in Lithuania. The granting of the privilege was delayed for a time, perhaps because of negotiations over the formulation and ­a rrangements for financial payment, which was to be made to the prince in exchange for bestowing the privilege. We may assume that Jews originally from Brest-Litovsk laid the foundation for the Jewish settlement in Pinsk.11 The Jewish presence in Pinsk was not the only one created in this manner. It was, however, the first to mark the direction in which the Jewish population in Lithuania would grow and expand in the wake of the return of those expelled to their former homes. From then on, the established communities supplied settlers for new communities deeper into Lithuania’s interior, generally to the east or northeast of the older communities. The émigrés from the established Lithuanian

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

communities were joined by Jewish emigrants from the west (Germany) and others arriving from the south (Bohemia) with the great wave of ­immigration to Poland and proceeding from there to Lithuania in the first half of the sixteenth century. It is possible that people such as these were also among the founders of the Jewish settlement in Pinsk.12 The process of settlement and expansion was made possible within the framework of the Lithuanian grand dukes’ (Alexander’s and Zygmunt’s) general policy of town development; the Jews became desirable as an urban, settling element. This was one of Alexander’s considerations when he allowed those expelled from Lithuania to return to their country. The first Jewish settlers came to Pinsk not as individuals but almost certainly as an organized group with financial means at its disposal. The explicit intention was to establish in this place an organized Jewish community. Indeed, with the securing of the basic privilege the legal right of the Jewish population to exist as an autonomous community was ensured.13 In the short period preceding the granting of the privilege, the first settlers lived in Pinsk as individuals only.14 The privilege was granted, as noted above, to the three Jews named in it and to other Jews from Pinsk. Apparently, by contemporary standards their number sufficed for establishment of a community.15 These Jews had leaders who negotiated with the local rulers, Prince Feodor Yaroslavych and his wife Olena, over the elemental rights that were to create the legal basis for the existence and development of the community. It will become clear that this leadership knew what it wanted to obtain from the local rulers and that the rulers, for their part, were prepared to bestow the desired rights for reasons stemming from their general policy regarding Jewish settlement. This fit into the framework of a colonization program that aimed at development of the towns and the populating of the immense, sparsely settled countryside. In 1506, the Jewish leadership succeeded in obtaining from Prince Feodor—of course in exchange for a suitable ­financial consideration—the privilege that provided the legal foundation for continuous development of the Jewish community in Pinsk.

17

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The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

The Jewish Quarter and the Direction of Its Expansion When Jewish settlement began in Pinsk, the Jews who came took up residence on one street that, beginning in the mid-sixteenth century, is referred to in the sources as Zydowska Street (ulica zydowska, Jew Street).16 Designated for settlement of the Jews in Pinsk, it was located in the center of the town near the prince’s castle, not far from the marketplace (see Map 2, “Spread of Jewish Population in Pinsk-Karlin, 1506–1750”). Neither Prince Feodor nor his successors legally limited Jewish residence to a specific street (or streets). The settlers, however, concentrated at first on one particular street, which the prince had put at their disposal. The prince’s choice of location must have been made with the consent of the Jewish settlers. The site chosen was close to the castle, which indicates the importance that the Jewish settlers attached to the patronage and protection of the prince. The marketplace also appears to have been easily accessible from Zydowska Street. One infers that the Jewish settlers in Pinsk were wise enough to ensure conditions conducive to their security and economic activities. These conditions encouraged rapid development of the community. A concentrated residential pattern was also desirable to the pioneers of the Jewish community because it diminished the newcomers’ feeling of alienation and loneliness, and it was a requisite of the patriarchal structure of their family life.17 After only a few years, the young community began to grow and expand. A hitherto unnoticed document, dated August 18, 1513—­almost certainly after new families were added to the original settlers—demon­ strates the Pinsk Jews’ need for the active support of the prince in solving the problem of how to increase their area of residence. The document makes it clear that Prince Feodor asked the Orthodox bishop of Pinsk, Jonas, to exchange with him three town courtyards and adjoining buildings for the purpose of serving as residences of the Pinsk Jews. The bishop granted the prince’s request, exchanging the desired courtyards for those of three Christian inhabitants of Pinsk. The document records that the exchange was made in perpetuity.18 It is not hard to guess what had happened. The Jews, it seems, acquired three courts from their owners. These courts were not close to their own

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

homes, and the new owners sought the prince’s aid in effecting a trade with the bishop, whose property bordered Zydowska Street. The Jews’ desire to live together in one contiguous area is obvious, and the ruler’s support was instrumental in realizing it. The courts marked for exchange may have passed first to the fictitious ownership of the prince.19 The lustracja20 conducted in the years 1552–1555 specifies seventeen lots on Zydowska Street belonging to Jews, including the synagogue lot, while six lots belonged to Christians. There were probably houses on most of these lots. The total area of the Jewish-owned lots was 52 prety, and of the Christian-owned ones 20S prety. The 1561–1566 lustracja indicates fifteen lots on Zydowska Street with houses, totaling 53F prety in area and another six garden lots with an area of 6 prety.21 Our assumption is that almost all of the Jewish families who came to Pinsk on establishing the settlement concentrated on this street. Afterward, there were no far-reaching changes and for the first fifty years of the community’s existence only a few houses were added, as for example the three built in 1513. There were, however, changes in ownership of both homes and lots. The growth of the Jewish population in Pinsk resulted in the spread of the Jews to other streets. First and foremost is their penetration to Wielka or Main Street near Zydowska Street. Here the wealthy and prominent among the town’s inhabitants acquired lots and homes. Pesah Ezofowicz was apparently the first Jew, already at the time of Prince Feodor in 1513 or shortly before, to live on Wielka Street, taking possession of the Diagilew court. At about the same time, another court on the same street (the Szostakow court) came into the possession of Israel Pesachowicz, the eldest son of Pesah Ezofowicz. In fact, the 1552–1555 lustracja shows among the property owners on the left (northern) side of Wielka Street Israel Pesachowicz holding a 7 prety lot and Nahum Pesachowicz owning a 7S prety lot. In addition to them, Elijah Mojszejewicz owned an 8 prety lot (the single largest urban lot owned by a Jew in Pinsk), and Golda, the wife of Isaac, held a 3 prety lot there. It appears that in the 1550s Israel Pesachowicz lived in his other home on Zydowska Street, while his son, Moszko, lived in the house on Wielka Street. At this time there were fifteen Christian-owned lots (six of them on church property) on this street.

19

What is 13? (see key on original map) Can’t find 16 and 32 Where should marsh label go (#33)?

29

17

45 6

39

2

5 52

23

35

36

16 3

15

Church Jewish Cemetery Catholic Cemetery Orthodox or Uniate Cemetery gate fence [wall] and canal internal fence outer limit of Jewish settlement in 16th century marshes marshes Boundary in Prince Fedor’s time, 1506/20 Boundary during the first lustration, 1552/55 Boundary during the second lustration, 1561/66 Boundary before 1648 Karlin boundary in mid-18th century

34

Map 2. Spread of Jewish population in Pinsk-Karlin, 1506–1750. Data from a map in Pinsk: A Thousand Years.

1. Bogoiavlenskii Orthodox Church and Monastery: Pravoslav [i.e. Russian Orthodox] 2. Bogoiavlenskii Orthodox Church and Monastery 1690 3. Bishop’s Palace 4. Spaskii Bridge 5. Troitskii Gate and Tower

6. Vladichnyi small bridge 7. Zolotarnyi [Golden] Gate 8. Burned Gate on old Vilna road 9. Unnamed Gate 10. Sever [Northern] Gate Lishcha Gate [Leszcza] 11. Vladichnyi Gate and Tower

12. Court of the head of the Monastery at Halishtsii 13. Court of the head of the Lishchii Monastery 14. Albrechtov Road [Albrechtow] 15. Harbor 16. Bazylian Street 17. Brest-Litovsk Road 18. Fedorovskii Street

37

40

21 38 30 53

8

32

7

9

19

50 46

47 49 4

10 26

43

28

12 20

14

24

25

22

11

18

31

13

1 42 51

27 44 48

33

19. First Grodziskii Street 20. Fortress (?) 21. Glinskii Street 22. Great Spaskii Street 23. Great Yasiolda Road 24. Jewish cemetery 25. Jew Street 26. Karlin (1690-1750) 27. Kopaniets (Kopaniec) 28. Kovalsky (Kowalskii) 29. Kreinovich Road 30. Linishches 31. Lishcha Road [Leszcza]

41

32. Logishin Street [Lohishin] 33. Marshes 34. Markovschina 35. Michailowski Street 36. New Cross 37. New Vilna Road 38. Northern (Sever) Street 39. Old Brest-Litovsk Road 40. Old Vilna Road 41. Orlitsa [Orlicka (Polish)] 42. Pina River

43. Rubaich [Rubaits] Canal 44. Rybolovka [Rubolowka (Polish)] 45. Second Drzisk Street 46. Spaskii Street 47. Stepan Street 48. Strumen 49. Synagogue 50. Vidzer Street 51. Vinitsa 52. Yasiolda 53. Zagorodiia [Zahorodiya]

22

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

In the 1561–1566 lustracja we find on this street, besides Nahum P­esachowicz and Golda, the son of Israel Pesachowicz, Moszko (­Moses), and the son of Elijah Mojszejewicz, Israel Ilczycz. There were new ­Jewish-owned lots and houses on the right (southern) side of the street also. Between 1555 and 1566, several people settled here. Among them were the rabbis Zalman and Noah and Abraham Markowicz, one of the wealthier inhabitants of Pinsk and a grandson of Josko ­Meirowicz, a founder of the Jewish community, who purchased a lot here. During this period, a total of eight lots—five with houses—on the right side of the street passed into Jewish hands, and the area of town lots owned by Jews increased from 26 prety to approximately 66 prety (including 26S prety of gardens). In the course of these eleven years, Wielka Street became almost one-half Jewish, and the wealthy, influential stratum of the Jewish town population began to concentrate there.22 The Pinsk Jews gradually spread to other nearby streets as well. The 1561–1566 lustracja demonstrates that during the 1555–1566 period the Jews acquired several of the built-up lots and an empty one, from a total of nineteen lots on Soczeczynska Street.23 Within ten years, almost half of the street came under the ownership of Jews, mainly children of veteran Pinsk residents included in the 1552–1555 lustracja.24 In 1555 on Stepanska Street, the shamash owned an empty lot, while Nathan Mojszejewicz owned two separate lots (one empty) and a garden. ­ According to the 1561–1566 lustracja, Jews owned three lots on Stepanska Street and resided in the houses built on them. Two of these homes appear to have been new. On the continuation of this street in the direction of the river, next to the fence, there were in 1555 six lots— several of them undoubtedly with houses—in Jewish possession.25 On ­Kowalska Street (the continuation of Soczeczynska Street) in 1555, Kosko (Ezekiel) Pesachowicz owned one lot. In 1566, an additional Jew, Eliezer the butcher, owned a lot and house on this street. From 1565 a Jew owned a house, lot, and garden on Lijszkowska Street.26 At the same time a built-up lot on Stara Street 27 came into the possession of Nahum Pesachowicz. In short, the Jews of Pinsk gradually spread from Zydowska Street to adjacent streets in every direction. Although there were cases where a

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

lone Jew settled on a completely Christian street, the trend was for Jews to concentrate in contiguous areas such that as a rule the Jews of Pinsk continued to live as a unified bloc.

Population Growth Estimate Based on the 1552–1555 and 1561–1566 Lustracje The available documentary material makes it possible to investigate the genealogy of several families whose patriarchs were among the founders of the Pinsk community and study the geographical expansion of the Jewish colony in Pinsk. As noted already, two lists of Jews who owned real estate and houses in Pinsk, together with descriptions of their property, have been preserved and are accessible: the lustracja of 1552–1555 and of 1561–1566.28 Collation and comparison of these lists with other sources create a new prospect for describing the development of the community. We begin with information from the 1550s and 1560s. The 1566 lustracja lists thirty-nine names of property and homeowners in Pinsk. In other records, seven Pinsk Jews are mentioned who do not appear in the lustracja.29 Thus we can list by name forty-six heads of households in Pinsk. Twelve of these names also appear in the 1555 lustracja.30 There is no doubt that these twelve are mainly the elderly among the inhabitants; almost all of them belong to the second generation of Pinsk settlers. Study of the twenty-seven names from the 1566 lustracja that do not appear in the 1555 listing, comparing their patronymics with the first names of the landowners listed in the 1550s, reveals that some of them were children of Pinsk residents who reached maturity in the period between the two lustracje and established their own families. The others were new to the city; neither they nor their fathers were mentioned in the previous lustracja or in other contemporary records. Who were these people? Among them were the rabbis Noah Pesacho­wicz and his son-in-law Zalman, whose influence as rabbis extended beyond the confines of Pinsk; they participated in the Lithuanian Jewish Council, which was probably established in these years 31; Rabbi Meir Mojszejewicz; Michael (Mikhel) Chamycz (Chimicz, Chomicz, ­Chumicz), who dealt in large-scale potash

23

24

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

­ roduction; Wosko (Josko?) Medenczycz, who leased, together with p Gershon Abramowicz, the right to produce and sell alcoholic beverages; Samuel Fiszelewicz, not recorded among the property owners in the lustracja, who also dealt in potash (either production or trade); and two clerks of the salt and customs lessees in Pinsk. Almost all of these people were economically well off and were attracted to Pinsk because they found their livelihood there. The additional Jewish population that settled in Pinsk was primarily an economically strong and viable element. The preceding makes clear that in the 1550s the Pinsk community underwent a process of accelerated growth as a result of changes in the general economy of the area, which created broad opportunities for the Jews of Pinsk. In the period between the two lustracje (1555– 1560), the number of Jews almost doubled, while growth during the fifty years between the community’s establishment and the first lustracja (1506–1555) was gradual. Until the 1550s, the number of Jews in Pinsk increased by 100 percent or a bit more. During the same period, the Pinsk community provided settlers for Kleck and apparently for other nearby places.32 It is probable that during this period growth was based primarily on natural increase, with the effect of immigration on the growth of the Jewish population very slight. What was the number of Jews in Pinsk in the period under consideration? Any attempt at estimating the size of the Pinsk Jewish community must be based, first of all, on the data contained in the two lustracje. The size of the nucleus of founding settlers can be put at twelve to fifteen families. If we accept the opinion that at this time the average Jewish family numbered five souls,33 then at the time of its establishment the Pinsk community contained at least sixty to seventyfive people. The 1552–1555 lustracja lists twenty-nine property owners, and they can definitely be considered heads of households. The total number of families, no doubt, was larger than this. We counted forty-six names of heads of households in the 1561–1566 period, of which only thirty-nine were listed in the lustracja of those years; in other words, more than 11 percent did not own property but lived in Pinsk. According to the same proportion, the number of households at the beginning of the 1550s can

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

be increased by three from twenty-nine to thirty-two. We may assume that there was a like number of families not listed in the records ­either because they were poor or because they were young couples, living with their parents, who had not yet acquired property. On this basis, the number of Jews in Pinsk in the mid-1550s can be estimated at thirtyfive families, or at least 175 souls. Increasing, by the same proportion, the number of household heads in Pinsk in the 1560s, the figure climbs to fifty families, or at least 250 souls. It seems that the new economic opportunities opened to the Pinsk Jews in the 1550s increased migration from other Lithuanian communities. Large-scale lessees from Brest and Kobryn found a field for their activities in Pinsk, and some brought with them clerks and assistants. Likewise, the way was opened in Pinsk for more modest types of economic initiative through exploration of the forests, grain export, routine commerce, and provision of services—in which endeavor not only native Jews but also new settlers took part. The latter, like Zalman Isakowicz (clerk to the Brest lessee, Nehemiah Rubinowicz), who rented in Moses Israelewicz’s house, had to live in rented quarters.34 One can thus confidently estimate the number of Jewish families in the 1560s at approximately fifty-five, and the number of souls at about 275. The numerical growth of the Jewish community in Pinsk, according to our calculations, can be summarized as in Table 1.1. This is a minimum estimate of the Jewish population in Pinsk. It may be that the population was actually larger, much larger.35

table 1.1 Numerical Growth of the Jewish Community in Pinsk Year

Number of Families

Number of Souls



1506

15

75



1555

35

175



1566

55

275

25

26

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

Communal Organization In 1514, the Jewish communities of Lithuania obtained Zygmunt I’s confirmation of the general privilege issued by Alexander I to the Jews of Lithuania in 1503. This privilege granted to those who returned following the expulsion all of their former rights, as set forth in the Witold privilege, and specified some tax and judicial prerogatives.36 The communities that lobbied to secure Zygmunt’s confirmation were the veteran communities of Troki, Horodno (Grodno), Brest, Luck, and Wlodzimierz (Ludmir) and the new communities of Pinsk and Kobryn. This privilege confirmation is the first document that mentions Pinsk alongside the well-established Jewish communities of Lithuania. The very fact that Pinsk and Kobryn are cited here demonstrates that eight years after its founding the Pinsk community had managed to attain a degree of importance and join the ranks of the more significant communities. A document dating from 1507—seven years earlier—that tells of the attempts of the Lithuanian communities to get Zygmunt to confirm the 1388 Witold privilege mentions the names of the five senior communities only: Brest, Troki, Horodno, Luck, and Wlodzimierz; then it adds the catch-all “other communities.”37 Neither Pinsk nor Kobryn is named. This does not necessarily mean that in 1507 Pinsk was unimportant. Because of its special status at the beginning of Zygmunt’s reign as a community within an independent principality, it may not have been appropriate to include Pinsk in a request on behalf of the Jews of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. But whatever its status in 1507, Pinsk Jewry was well established by 1514. When one compares the basic privilege granted by Prince Feodor to the Jews of Pinsk with privileges and documents relating to the history of the Jews in other places in Lithuania, it seems that with the privilege the Jewish settlement in Pinsk received official sanction to exist as an independent community. This is so despite the omission of the term “community” from the privilege and later documents. The first section of the basic privilege records that the Jews of Pinsk paid Prince Feodor a special payment and requested sites for a synagogue and cemetery. The prince granted to them in perpetuity the two desired locations. No Jewish community could exist without a synagogue and cemetery,

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

for without these institutions a Jew could not fulfill fundamental commands of his faith—public worship and burial of the dead in a Jewish cemetery. The early documents relating to the older Lithuanian Jewish communities such as Brest, Horodno, Luck, and Tykocin contain information on synagogues and cemeteries in these places and on the tremendous importance attached to them. Jews who lived in small settlements and in rural areas of nobility-owned estates maintained a connection with centers of Jewish settlement that had synagogues and cemeteries. Particularly instructive is the case of Tykocin, for there too nine Jews from Horodno secured for themselves, at the time of the establishment of the community, the right to a synagogue and cemetery. Without doubt, by guaranteeing their right to a synagogue and cemetery the Jews of Pinsk were in effect establishing the organized Jewish community there.38 Our information on the Jewish community in Pinsk during the period under consideration (until 1569) is random and scanty. The Pinsk community is included in an order of King Zygmunt to the Lithuanian communities dating from 1529 concerning a one-time one thousand kopa levy for the purpose of maintaining the army between Troki and Horodno in the north and Brest, Kobryn, Kleck, Luck, Wlodzimierz, and Nowogrodek in the south.39 Both the need to apportion the tax among the communities and the organized efforts to obtain confirmation of a general privilege for all of the Jews of Lithuania must have resulted in intercommunal cooperation. It is possible that the first signs of an umbrella organization for all of the Jews of Lithuania were already present from the beginning of the 1530s. In a document dated 1533, King Zygmunt instructs all of his representatives holding administrative offices in the Grand Duchy that they must carry out the judicial decision made in the case of a dispute between two Lithuanian Jews. The two had taken their case before “their rabbis, when they were in Lublin” at the time of the fair. From here it is evident that judges acting on behalf of all Lithuanian Jewry held court at the great fairs in Lublin.40 It is certain that when necessary the communities could muster representation that functioned in the name of all of the Jews of Lithuania.41 Such an instance is the 1555 application of ­Nahum ­Pesachowicz of Pinsk to the king, in the name of all of the Jews of Lithuania, against

27

28

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

the townsmen of Kiev, who placed restrictions on the commercial activity of Lithuanian Jews in their city.42 Since it was the most distinguished Jewish inhabitant of Pinsk, without doubt one of the leaders of the community, who was honored with such an important mission on behalf of all Lithuanian Jewry, it may be that Pinsk already held an elevated position in the ranks of the Lithuanian communities. Up to the 1560s, we know nothing about the organization of the Pinsk community. It is clear, however, that beginning in the late 1540s, with the population growing and economic activity intensifying—a result of the economic shifts occurring in Lithuania at that time as well as of certain events influencing the tenor of the relationship between the Lithuanian authorities and the Jews—the strength of the community was on the rise. We encounter a joint organization of the Lithuanian communities in the 1560s, with Pinsk filling an important role in it. A section of a Hebrew document dating from the mid-sixties and containing otherwise unknown statutes of the Lithuanian Jewish Council sheds light on the genesis of the council.43 The document records how elected representatives from all of the Lithuanian districts met and framed statutes for the conduct of all of the Lithuanian communities. The law provides that nine “district heads” (rashei medinah) and three rabbis be chosen from the communities. At the Lublin fair three of the heads were present, “to see to the general welfare so that no disturbance or trouble besets us, God forbid, whether originating from among ourselves or, God forbid, from the government. They must be on guard to investigate and examine for the sake of the general welfare and to punish sinners and rebels. . . .” The statute declares that at the next fair the elderly rabbi of Pinsk, Noah bar Pesah, should participate alongside the heads, the representatives of Brest, Wlodzimierz, and Ostrog. If the rabbi is not able to attend, then his son-in-law, Rabbi Zalman Ha-Levi, will take his place.44 The document further indicates that the district heads were selected by the communities and that any two heads had the right to call a meeting of all of the district heads in the event of an emergency created by one “of the three notorious false accusations, which are: bastardy, defiled bread and proselytes” (that is, blood and desecration-of-host libels and converting Christians). In such a case, the district heads are obli-

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

gated to come, “and if, God forbid, the head from a particular district is prevented from coming . . . then the community in question must choose another man in his place.” Another section in the same document determines that at every fair “the aforementioned heads will choose three judges who will be prepared to sit in judgement . . . both in cases involving large sums and in cases involving small sums . . . and whoever will act insolently and disregard their rulings will be placed under the ban and ostracized. . . . The judges must not delay their decision more than three days.” This document is also the first to give us a glimpse of the organization of the community in Pinsk and the important role played by the elderly rabbi, Noah bar Pesah. Like the other Lithuanian communities, Pinsk selected a district head45; the rabbi of Pinsk actively participated in the affairs of the intercommunal organization, and certainly in the affairs of the Pinsk community as well. In the lustracja list of the 1550s, no rabbi is included among the house and landholders. In contrast, the one from the 1560s lists three rabbis, two of whom (those mentioned above) actually served in a rabbinic capacity. One was old; the other, his son-in-law, assisted him and was apparently designated as his substitute. It may be that the third rabbi, Meir ben Moshe, did not hold a rabbinic position.46 A batch of official documents from the years 1563–1567 all deal with the head tax and special taxes placed on the Jews of Lithuania as part of the extraordinary measures, proclaimed from time to time by the Sejm, which came in the wake of the Muscovite conquest of Polock and the Polish-Russian war over Livonia.47 These records also contain information on the organization of the Lithuanian communities, including Pinsk. In 1563, King Zygmunt August announced that in response to the lobbying effort of the heads of the Lithuanian communities he was decreasing the tax placed on them from twelve thousand kopy to four thousand. This sum was apportioned among the communities according to ability to pay. Each community was asked to pay the amount it owed within two weeks. The king ordered that in any community protesting against its assessment a census be taken, with one zloty to be collected per person (including guests). In addition, property was to be evaluated and six grosze collected per kopa of

29

30

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

value. From the total of four thousand kopy levied on all of the communities of Lithuania, Pinsk was charged with six hundred kopy.48 Three years later, in 1566, in the wake of ever-increasing demands on the empty treasury, the king imposed new regular and special taxes on the various groups that made up the Lithuanian state. The taxes placed on the Jews were more numerous than the norm. An order was issued in early January 1566 concerning the collection of a head tax from all of the inhabitants, in accordance with the decision of the Sejm in Vilna. The amount the Jews were obliged to pay—fifteen grosze per person—was higher than the amounts imposed on the members of other groups. In August 1566, the Sejm decided, in view of the arrears in the collection of the head tax, to exact from the Jews the sum of 6,000 kopy, which was collected in its entirety. Besides this payment, the Jews were assessed a special levy of 4,150 kopy that was apportioned among the Lithuanian Jewish communities, similar to the tax of 1563. Pinsk’s share of this sum was 500 kopy, while Brest paid 1,300 and Horodno paid 200. Compared to the amounts imposed on other communities, Pinsk’s obligations appear to be high and are an indication of either its relative wealth or its large population. In 1567 the treasury again tried to collect from the Jews, on the basis of a decision of the Sejm in Horodno, the sum of 6,000 kopy. This time three Jews from Brest, representing all of Lithuanian Jewry, lobbied against the tax, claiming that it was too heavy to bear. The amount was reduced to 3,000 kopy. The payment was to be made by all of the Jews of Lithuania by way of their individual communities.49 The government placed the task of apportioning all of these taxes on the representatives of the Lithuanian Jewish communities. This created conditions conducive to a permanent intercommunal organization and tended to strengthen the local community institutions. The intercommunal organization took upon itself the job of distributing the tax burden equitably among the communities, and each community received the authority to rule over the individuals who lived in it, particularly with regard to tax assessment and collection. At the same time, there seems to have been a revival of Torah study and intensification in the rule of the Torah in all areas of life. Although the extant sources relating to this matter are meager, it appears that this was the direction of devel-

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

opment in the period. It is not a coincidence that the 1561–1566 lustracja lists the three rabbis mentioned above, and that in 1568 the rabbi who occupied the rabbinate of Pinsk was Rabbi Samson, considered then to be one of the greatest rabbis in Lithuania.50 These rabbis raised the level of Torah study in Pinsk and increased the town’s influence at the sessions of the Lithuanian Jewish Council and at the courts, which functioned at the Lublin fairs. The elevation of the level of Torah study was a result of intensive development of the Jewish communities in Lithuania, including Pinsk, from demographic and economic perspectives.

The Basic Privilege The privilege granted to the Jews of Pinsk by Prince Feodor Yaroslavych in 1506 states: They51 also requested from us, that we grant them rights similar to the rights and privileges that our Hospodar,52 His Majesty the King, gave to the Jews of Brest and to other Jews in his state in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, living in the castles of the Duke. . . .

This passage implies that the Jewish settlers in Pinsk were familiar with the privilege of the Jews of Brest and tried to obtain for themselves rights similar to those that the Brest Jews had received. In order to understand the legal position of the Jews in Pinsk, it is therefore necessary to know which Brest privilege is referred to. Was it the privilege granted by Witold to the Jews of Brest, and of Lithuania in general, in 1388? Although it is true that the Pinsk Jews secured the rights included in the basic Witold privilege (see below), the lines quoted above do not relate directly to that document. Rather, the Pinsk privilege cites the document given to the Brest Jews by “Our Hospodar, His Majesty the King,” that is, the grand duke of Lithuania, who was also the king of Poland. This could not have been Witold, who was never king of Poland. The language of the Pinsk citation also makes it clear that the ruler in question was still alive at the time of the grant of the Pinsk privilege.53 There can be no doubt, then, that the reference is to King Alexander Jagiello and the privilege he granted to the exiled Jews of Brest who returned there when, in 1503, all the Lithuanian exiles were given permission to come back to their country. The contents of

31

32

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

this Brest privilege were so well known both to the Jews coming to settle in Pinsk and to the ruler of the Pinsk principality that they did not even bother to quote its provisions. In two places Bershadskii spoke about this privilege as if it were extant.54 In his opinion, it was the original vehicle by which permission was granted to the Jews of Brest (the largest and most important Lithuanian community) and the Jews of Lithuania in general to return to their homes. In this privilege, Alexander ordered that confiscated property be restored to returning Jews and confirmed their previous rights. This privilege served as a model for similar ones secured by the previously existing communities of Horodno, Troki, Luck, Wlodzimierz ­Wolynski, and Krzemieniec—as well as by new communities, among them Pinsk, founded after the expulsion. Elsewhere Bershadskii claimed that the Brest privilege established a new tax policy with regard to Lithuanian Jewry and certain concessions in judicial matters. There is no published document stating explicitly that it was granted by Alexander to the Jews of Brest and predates the first privilege of the Jews of Horodno (March 22, 1503). Alexander did give the Jews of Lithuania a privilege that released them from the obligation to furnish one thousand cavalry riders in time of war (evidently an obligation assumed by Lithuanian Jewry when it received permission to resettle), made them equal to townsmen in matters of taxation, and abolished the fine to be paid to the duke in the event that the Jews refused to avail themselves of the government’s courts. This privilege was silent with regard to the question of restoration of property and rights. Moreover, this document has virtually nothing in common with the 1503 Horodno privilege; it therefore does not seem possible that it could have served as the model for the latter.55 Even if Alexander did give this document to the Jews of Brest, there is no basis for assuming this was the privilege that served as the model for the one granted by Duke Feodor Yaroslavych to the Jews of Pinsk. There must have been another privilege for the Jews of Brest that served as the basis for the Horodno privileges and set the legal foundation for the renewal of Jewish settlement in Lithuania. Its exact contents, however, are not known. It would be wrong to assume that the Brest privilege granted fewer rights than the Horodno ones in which the king

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

affirmed for the Jews of Horodno and all of Lithuania that they might return to their former homes, regain their confiscated property (individually owned lands and houses, communally owned synagogues and cemeteries), and collect outstanding debts owed to them from before the expulsion by Christians. In a general way, these documents declare that the Jews of Horodno may retain their houses, agricultural holdings ( folwarks), and pasture lands according to previous custom and engage in commerce as they did in the days of Casimir IV the Jagiellonian, Alexander’s father.56 In effect, the Horodno privileges guaranteed the fundamental legal rights essential to the existence and development of Lithuanian Jewry. The provisions permitting Jewish real estate holding and Jewish commercial practices current under the regime of Casimir IV imply that the Jews were to regain all of the rights that the 1388 Witold privilege granted them.57 If the Horodno privileges really were similar to the one granted to the Jews of Brest, then the Brest privilege must have included at least those rights that were given to the Jews of Horodno. It follows that the Jews of Pinsk, by relying on the privilege of Alexander to the Jews of Brest, indirectly secured for themselves the fundamental rights contained in the basic privilege that Witold conferred on the Jews of Lithuania. The available sources relating to the actual rights of Pinsk Jewry support this assumption. Jews who settled in Pinsk had the rights of such free men as szlachta or boyars (Polish and Lithuanian terms for noblemen). They were promised protection of body and property; freedom to deal in moneylending, commerce, and crafts; and the right to organize their internal affairs according to the dictates of their religion. This meant autonomous communities maintaining their own synagogues, cemeteries, and judicial institutions.58 According to the Witold privilege, matters for adjudication between a Jew and a Christian were to be submitted to the grand duke or the starostas appointed by him and representing him. In this connection, the basic privilege granted by Prince Feodor declares that with regard to the judicial prerogatives of the Jews of Pinsk: We and our deputies who will be appointed by us will try to judge them according to the rights and privilege of the hospodar.

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This change was a function of the special nature of the Pinsk principality. In it (in theory at least), the prerogatives reserved to the grand duke were exercised by the local ruler. In matters of land apportionment and adjudication, these rights were actually administered by the local prince, although it is not at all clear whether Prince Feodor was the supreme judicial authority for the Jews of Pinsk or whether they could also file suit or appeal in the grand duke’s court.59 Within several years, the extent of the authority of Prince Feodor over Pinsk Jewry began to change. In 1507, when the communities of Brest, Troki, Horodno, Luck, and Wlodzimierz Wolynski negotiated with Grand Duke Zygmunt I over the confirmation of the Witold privilege, Pinsk was not included. The Pinsk Jews were content with the privilege they had received from Prince Feodor fourteen months earlier. By 1514, when the Lithuanian communities were lobbying Zygmunt I to confirm the privilege of Alexander, the communities of Pinsk and Kobryn were represented in the delegation. This means that by 1514 the Jews of Pinsk considered themselves to be subordinate not only to the local Prince Feodor but to the grand duke of Lithuania as well. We do not know how the authority over Pinsk Jewry was divided up between the local prince and the grand duke. The expanded authority of the grand duke probably stemmed from intensification of centralist tendencies under Zygmunt I and his growing involvement in the affairs of the local duchies.60 The few sources relating to the period of Prince Feodor demonstrate that the Jews of Pinsk—like the Jews of the Lithuanian Duchy generally—enjoyed several of the liberties that were rooted in the Witold privilege. Pesah Ezofowicz and Abraham Ryzkiewicz, among the economic and social elite of Pinsk Jewry and benefiting from the special protection of the prince, owned land. The former owned the Diagilew courtyard in Pinsk; the latter owned the estate in Krajnowicze. They both exercised the full rights of members of the nobility estate (szlachta and boyars). The prince exempted Ezofowicz’s property from municipal payments and taxes, except for the obligation to participate in building the city wall. Ryzkiewicz received from the prince the ­Krajnowicze estate, including croplands, forest, pasture, and three serf peasant families. The prince released Ryzkiewicz from the obligation to serve in the

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army during wartime and also (along with several boyars) from some other service obligations. The only requirement was to aid in fixing part of the bridge over the Jasiolda. Ezofowicz and Ryzkiewicz’s descendants remained owners of these properties until the 1660s. The fact that they too were exempted from various taxes and obligations owed to the prince testifies to their nobility-equivalent status. These Jews also had the right to hold serfs and benefit from their labor dues just as nonJewish noblemen did. Such subjugation of serfs to Jews was unusual in Lithuania after the 1503 return.61

Transition from Private Holding to Royal Domain The transfer of the Pinsk principality to the sovereignty of the king was arranged through an agreement between the king and Prince Feodor and his wife, Olena, dating from 1507–1508. As a result of the agreement, Zygmunt I intensified his supervision of the Pinsk principality. When Princess Olena (Alexandra) died without heirs in 1518 and willed her estate—Pinsk—to her husband, Prince Feodor, King Zygmunt gave him a privilege that allowed him to retain the principality. However, in 1519, with the prince still very much alive the king bestowed a privilege upon his own wife, Queen Bona Sforza, according to which Pinsk would pass into her ownership after the death of Feodor. Zygmunt inherited the principality and took control over it beginning in 1521. By March 1522, Pinsk was for all practical purposes under the rule of Queen Bona. In 1523, Zygmunt transferred authority to her formally in a privilege granting her administrative and judicial authority over the entire population, Christians and Jews.62 Under Bona, the legal status of the Pinsk community did not change. She confirmed the basic privilege granted by Prince Feodor without modification in 1533.63 While the queen ruled, the Ezofowicz and ­Ryzkiewicz families continued to hold their patrimonies according to the conditions promised them in the privileges obtained from ­Feodor, including their right to serf labor. In addition, Marek ­Joskowicz, the son of Josko Meirowicz (the third charter member of the Pinsk community), is also recorded as an owner of land, in the Posienicze latifundium. The land was mortgaged to him to guarantee a loan and passed

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into his ownership as a result of default on the debt. Later it was inherited by his son Abraham Markowicz and remained in his possession until the 1560s. According to the 1552–1555 lustracja, most of the Jews in Pinsk held lots and garden plots both inside and outside the city limits. Some were owners outright, and some were lessees who were obliged to make an extra fixed annual payment (czynsz) to the queen. In theory, Jews’ right to own property did not change until the Union of Lublin in 1569. In practice, there were far-reaching changes in the system of land ownership as a result of the reforms of both Queen Bona and her son, King Zygmunt August, dividing the land into wloki.64

Adjudication The Feodor privilege prescribed that judicial authority over the Jews would belong to the prince or his appointee. There is, however, no evidence that any cases involving Pinsk Jews were heard by the prince or his representative. Under Bona and later Zygmunt August, cases in Lithuania in which one of the litigants was a Jew fell within the jurisdiction of the starosta and were tried in the hospodar’s castle—in accordance with Lithuanian practice prior to the Union of Lublin.65 This was also the custom in Pinsk when Jews litigated with Christians. Queen Bona’s regional representative, the starosta of Pinsk, heard the suit of a Christian against Marek Joskowicz, probably sometime in the 1530s. The Christian was claiming his father’s estate, which had been mortgaged to Marek and come under the latter’s ownership when the debt was left unpaid. The suit failed, and the estate remained Marek’s property. In 1561, King Zygmunt August appointed Stanislaw Dowojna as the starosta of Pinsk and Kobryn. His letter of appointment states explicitly that he has the right to judge the Jews of Pinsk, Kobryn, and the villages associated with these cities, and the right to collect and use the money fines that are placed on them. In the 1560s, there were many suits between Jews and Christians, with Pinsk Jews appearing as plaintiff or defendant. Most of these suits were tried by the deputy starosta (podstarosta).66 The dispute between the customs lessees and the bishop and the one

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between the salt lessees and the townsmen of Pinsk were heard before Queen Bona and King Zygmunt August, respectively. This was due to the special status of the lessees of the customs revenue in Lithuania, being subordinated exclusively to the jurisdiction of the king.67 An appeal of Pesah Ezofowicz to Queen Bona in 1550 indicates that disputes between Christians who were subordinate to the bishop and Jews were sent to an adjudicating bishop.68 None of the extant sources records any lawsuit litigated between two Pinsk Jews, whether before a Jewish or Polish court. On the other hand, there is evidence of a dispute between Jews where one party was from Pinsk and the other from elsewhere; it wound up in the non-Jewish courts. There is no information on the beginning of the autonomous Jewish court in Pinsk; but there is no doubt that at the end of the 1550s the authority of this court increased.69

Taxes In matters of taxation, the Jews of Pinsk were equivalent to townsmen. Both paid a special defense tax (srebszczyzna) imposed by the Lithuanian grand duke when deemed necessary.70 Townsmen and Jews who owned real estate were obliged to share in providing transportation services to the duke. Since there is scant information as to the amounts in taxes paid by Lithuanian Jews before the mid-sixteenth century, we cannot determine how much of a burden the srebszczyzna tax was. The same is true for transport duties, although the little evidence there is suggests that they imposed a real hardship.71 Pesah Ezofowicz and Abraham Ryzkiewicz, as noted above, enjoyed special protection from Prince Feodor. With respect to Ezofowicz’s Diagilew courtyard and Ryzkiewicz’s Krajnowicze estate, each was exempted from all obligations to the city as well as from duties owed to either the local prince or the grand duke.72 The earliest report of a tax imposed on Lithuanian Jewry (including Pinsk) dates from 1529 and relates to a one thousand kopa levy.73 Although this piece of information is significant for estimating the number of Jews in Lithuania in this period, it does not add much to our knowledge about the Jewish community in Pinsk except to say that it was included as one of the Lithuanian communities. As

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already noted in our discussion of communal organization, documents concerning taxes imposed on Lithuanian Jewry in the 1560s contain important facts regarding the history of Pinsk.

Economic Life During the Era of Prince Feodor The three members of the new community in Pinsk, in whose names the privilege was given by Prince Feodor, were the richest among the settlers and the most active economically. Information on the activities of two of them can be gleaned from the sources. Around 1513, Prince Feodor granted Pesah Ezofowicz ownership over the Diagilew courtyard and exempted him from all municipal payments and obligations with the exception of the duty to participate in the construction of the city wall. Actually the courtyard had been acquired previously by Ezofowicz from Iwan Ignatowicz Diagilewicz. Prince Feodor then bought it from him and later gave it back to him—in the words of one document, “bestowed it as a gift”—under the conditions described.74 The details of this transaction are far from clear,75 but some points are fairly certain. When a document states that the prince granted or bestowed a gift it means that this act was preceded by the payment of a handsome sum by the grantee.76 The transaction in question, then, was essentially a deal arranged between the prince and Pesah Ezofowicz. In exchange for the payment he made, Ezofowicz received the courtyard together with the special exemption. This privilege put him on a par with the boyars of the Pinsk principality to whom the prince would also grant occasional exemptions from obligations to himself, the municipality, or the grand duke of Lithuania.77 A document from 1562 allows the conclusion that the courtyard was mortgaged to Ezofowicz as a loan guarantee and passed into his possession when the loan was not repaid (similar to the Posienicze estate, which in the 1530s was acquired by Josko Meirowicz’s son, Marek).78 What is not obvious is why Prince Feodor purchased the courtyard from Ezofowicz and later gave it back to him. The fact that forty years later one of Iwan Diagilew’s grandsons claimed the courtyard for himself implies that the sale of the courtyard to Feodor was not a normal one. It may be that the sale and subsequent transfer to Ezofowicz were

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legal fictions intended to add weight to Ezofowicz’s ownership claims to this property.79 This unusual transaction also indicates that Pesah Ezofowicz was close to Prince Feodor and that the sale was probably a vehicle by which he assured himself of continuing special treatment from the prince. It may be assumed that through Ezofowicz Feodor realized some of the hopes he had placed on Jewish settlement in Pinsk, and this led to the close relationship between the two. Abraham Ryzkiewicz received from Prince Feodor the Krajnowicze estate, including the village, fields, forest, pastureland, and three serf families. Feodor exempted Ryzkiewicz from all labor and service dues except for the obligation to share in the maintenance and repair of the bridge over the Jasiolda, just like the other boyars of Pinsk.80 There is no direct evidence concerning the economic activity of the third founder of the Pinsk Jewish community, Josko Meirowicz. The activities and economic standing of his son, Marek Joskowicz, and of Marek’s sons81 lead to the conclusion, however, that their patriarch was in the same class as Pesah Ezofowicz and Abraham Ryzkiewicz. A document dating from 1522, the beginning of the rule of Queen Bona Sforza, around a year and a half after the death of Prince Feodor, names two Pinsk Jews—Leyzer Markowicz and Abraham ­ Wolczkowicz—as owners of stores on the marketplace.82 These stores are termed “new,” implying that they were built during the reign of the prince. Leyzer Markowicz was the grandson of Josko Meirowicz and the son of Marek Joskowicz; Abraham Wolczkowicz was also apparently the son of one of the founders of the Pinsk community. Both of these second-­generation descendants of the original settlers turned to commerce and built stores in the newly developing commercial center of the city.83 The available evidence points to three directions in the economic activity of the first generation of Jewish settlers in Pinsk: ownership of estates under conditions similar to those enjoyed by the boyars, moneylending, and commerce. The larger capital accumulations were applied to gaining ownership of estates and lending money; only later (and in some cases simultaneously) did capital begin to flow to commerce. In the early period, no Pinsk Jews were as yet large-scale lessees of the Lithuanian customs revenues, and the scope of business in Pinsk is difficult

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to determine. The richest people continued to concentrate in the more established communities, especially Brest. It is probable, then, that in comparison to these places economic activity in Pinsk was quite modest. Were the expectations that Feodor placed on establishment of a Jewish settlement in Pinsk, as well as the hopes of the Jewish settlers, fulfilled? The answer is probably yes. The Jews brought with them a certain amount of capital and entered areas of economic activity where there was no direct competitive threat to the livelihoods of the townsmen. They were largely responsible for the accelerated pace of economic activity. The evidence from the 1540s onward indicates that the sons and grandsons of the first settlers were well established in the aforementioned three spheres of activity (estate ownership, moneylending, and commerce). Within the space of one generation, they managed to amass enough capital so that when the great economic changes of the 1550s came along and Pinsk became one of the rising commercial centers of Lithuania they were able to engage in new types of activity: commerce, leasing, and the forest industry.

Loans The few sources testifying to the credit transactions of Pinsk Jews in the period 1530–1570 show that those involved in moneylending were among the rich and powerful of the community. In 1533, the boyar Fedko Iwanowicz Wlodkiewicz mortgaged his share of the family inheritance in the village of Posienicze (including his house, fields, meadow, water, and forests) to Marek Joskowicz as security for a thirteen kopy loan. His brother Denis did the same for a loan of seven kopy.84 According to the terms of the mortgage, in the event of default Fedko was obliged to work his own and his brother’s land with threefourths of the produce belonging to the creditor, Marek Joskowicz. If Marek were to prefer cash to holding the estate, then Fedko had the right to mortgage the land and use the money to pay off the loan. If Fedko could not obtain money, then Marek had permission to mortgage the property to whomever he saw fit. All duties and obligations pertaining to the land85 would continue to be borne by the borrower. Fedko and Denis did not succeed in paying back the loan, and the

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entire Posienicze estate became Marek’s property. Fedko’s son protested to the starosta against this, but the latter held that the estate had passed into Marek’s possession legally. In 1554, during the first lustracja (1552–1555), Abraham Markowicz, the creditor Marek’s son, presented the mortgage bill to the registrars as proof that the Posienicze estate was legally his.86 Marek’s second son, Elijah Markowicz, also dealt in moneylending. In 1550 he presented a claim against Prince Semion Jurewicz Dobrowicki, charging that he had not taken money from his deceased brother’s estate to repay a 265 kopy loan that the brother, Wladzimierz Jurewicz Golszynski, had borrowed (probably sometime in the late 1540s).87 By comparing this sum with the amount the Wlodkiewicz brothers borrowed from Elijah’s father, Marek, it is evident that the Golszynski loan was a large one, even considering devaluation of the currency in the meantime.88 The results of the lawsuit are unknown. The very same year, Queen Bona Sforza commanded the ­namiestnik89 of Horodno, Wojt Kimbar, and the bishop of Pinsk and Turow, Wasian, to expedite the suit of the Israel brothers and Nahum Pesachowicz versus two townsmen, one who was subordinated to the king and the other under the jurisdiction of the bishop. The two had mutually guaranteed a 366 kopy 15 grosze loan that was not repaid.90 This was also an extremely large sum. The nature of the security that Elijah Markowicz, the Israel brothers, and Nahum Pesachowicz received for their loans is not known; but there can be no doubt that they demanded security. In 1561 Nahum Pesachowicz lent to the estate owner Grigori Iwanowicz Gricjanowicz and his wife the sum of thirty-three kopy and five buckets of honey. As security the borrower gave the lender six of his serfs in Porecze together with their lands. The taxes and feudal dues that, by custom, they were required to pay were to serve as a substitute for interest payments by the borrower. These dues were to be remitted to the lender until the principal of the loan was repaid. The mortgaged serfs were each to pay Nahum twenty grosze, a barrel of barley, a wagonload of hay, and one day of labor per week, and to work for him in high season (during the harvest and before the sowing).91 When Grigori gave over only five serfs instead of six, Nahum sued

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him in court. According to some of the documents connected with the suit,92 Grigori’s brother, Kornilo Griczyn, was a partner to the loan, but the two brothers apparently had a falling out. Kornilo neglected to pay his share of the loan, while Grigori refused to bear this debt— ­although he was the guarantor for it. Nahum did not succeed in getting Kornilo imprisoned for failure to pay because he had been conscripted into the army. So Nahum sequestrated several serfs from the estate and held them. Once Kornilo returned from the army, he compromised with his brother over the payment due to Nahum, but the debt was not quickly repaid. Two months later, on May 25, 1562, Nahum recorded in the court register that one of the six serfs mortgaged to him was forced to flee to another estate owner because his master Griczyn (apparently Kornilo) robbed him of his ox and threatened that after the debt was repaid he would take everything else the serf owned. After six weeks, the serf returned to Nahum voluntarily and promised not to run away so long as Nahum would treat him fairly. In the end, the loan was repaid and the serfs returned to their master. Another instance of Jewish moneylending in Pinsk in the same period (circa 1563) involved Icko Mojszejewicz and Prince Bogusz Lubocki. Icko lent the prince one hundred kopy and held as security two gold chains, a silver-plated sword, knives, and a sharpening stone.93 These documented examples of substantial loans demonstrate that the wealthy Jews of Pinsk lent money in large sums. These same people had other business interests as well—trade, monopoly leases, and estate management—so the scale of their loans is an indicator of the size of the capital they controlled. The securities they received fully guaranteed the loans; either the money would be repaid or the pledge would become their property. The examples we have show that both real estate and valuable chattels served as security.94 Although the documents do not clearly state the amount of interest the lenders charged, it does appear that the money and labor feudal obligations of the serfs, which passed over to the lender along with the mortgaged property, were the interest on the loan. In other places in Lithuania, Jews both lent and borrowed money. The documents from Pinsk, however, do not contain any cases of Jews borrowing money from Christians. The same is true of small-scale

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loans made by Jews who were not well-to-do. There is a large collection of sources from Horodno dating from the early 1540s attesting to such activity, but there is virtually no evidence of Jewish participation in this type of moneylending in Pinsk.95

Leases of Customs, Liquor, and Salt Monopoly Rights Although the Pinsk community was affluent, until the end of the sixteenth century none of the great lessees of the Lithuanian customs revenues were Pinsk Jews.96 If several Pinskers managed to amass capital and achieve a certain measure of wealth, this was due to estate management, trade, and moneylending—not customs leasing. During the first half of the century, the rich Jews of Pinsk probably were not rich enough to enter into the field of customs leasing.97 In view of the huge amounts of capital required, only the most prodigiously wealthy representatives of Lithuanian Jewry dealt in these leases, whether individually or in partnerships. Customs leases were their means of making their fortunes even greater. Pinsk Jews first began to invest in leases in the middle of the sixteenth century. By that time, the reduction in the number of royal holdings and the customs exemptions granted to various individuals and to all noblemen who were exporting produce or importing products for their own use had greatly decreased the potential customs revenue, and in turn the attraction of customs leases.98 The leases were still important, however, because of the status they conferred on the lessees, making them subordinate solely to the king.99 This strengthened their position vis-à-vis the townsmen. On the other hand, there were now new possibilities: the rights to sell salt and to manufacture and sell liquor became state monopolies, leased out to the highest bidder. Beginning in 1550, Pinsk Jews became involved in various types of leases. That year, Queen Bona Sforza leased out the Pinsk, Kleck, and Horodok taverns and the customs revenues to be collected on the roads and bridges in the same areas to a group including the brothers Israel and Nahum Pesachowicz and Hoszko Moszejewicz. These lessors took on Abraham Wolczkowicz and Eliezer Markowicz as partners for managing customs matters.100 The lease was given for three years and renewed for

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an additional three years as a result of special efforts of the Pesachowicz brothers, who formulated and signed the contract. For the second term of the lease, the lessees paid the extremely large sum of 875 kopy and twenty-five stones101 of wax. It is noteworthy that to consummate this transaction five of Pinsk’s leading Jewish citizens formed a partnership, enabling them to raise enough money to pay the lease price in cash in advance. It is also significant that this syndicate held the lease for six consecutive years. The leading members of the group were the Pesachowicz brothers, who apparently inaugurated participation by the Pinsk Jewish community in this important branch of the economy. There is no way of knowing how many taverns and customs stations were operated by this partnership, but there can be no doubt that it employed many Pinsk Jews as clerks and inspectors. Most of the lessees themselves were busy with their commercial and moneylending activities and needed people to man the taverns and customs stations regularly.102 Jewish lessees from Kobryn and Brest were also active in the Pinsk region. In 1562, Fajbisz Joskowicz from Kobryn leased the market and weights-and-measures taxes for all of the towns and villages in the Pinsk district. That same year, the Rubinowicz brothers apparently leased the customs revenues and taverns in Pinsk for three years, at a cost of 500 kopy payable in two installments103 (this was in addition to the lease of the salt warehouse, to be discussed below). In 1565, the lease of these taverns was given over to David Szmerlewicz from Brest, who paid fifty kopy more. In comparison with the leasing deals of Brest Jewry, the activities of the Jews of Pinsk in this sphere were modest in terms of both money invested and geographic extent. The lessees from Brest held leases in far-flung regions of Lithuania: Zmudz, Vilna, Pinsk, Nowogrodek, and Podlasie. In each locale, they invested several thousand kopy.104 Still, the Pinsk Jewish lessees did operate in large and small partnerships, and most of them belonged to the rich, founder families of the Pinsk community. They entered the field of leasing at the age of sixty or seventy, having already succeeded in the standard enterprises of trade, moneylending, and estate management. For them leasing was a supplement to, not a substitute for, their established businesses. This pattern illustrates the gradual economic maturation of the most active group

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of Pinsk Jews as they attained a certain degree of affluence, though not fabulous wealth. The lease of the salt warehouse of Pinsk is a chapter unto itself. On August 8, 1561, Nehemiah and Hayyim Rubinowicz, Tuvia ­Bogdanowicz, and Isaac Mojszejewicz—all Jews from Brest—leased the salt warehouse for three years. The lease was granted to them by means of a privilege from King Zygmunt August stipulating that in exchange for a yearly rent of 220 kopy they would enjoy exclusive rights to bring salt to Pinsk from Kolomyja and Luck and to sell it in Pinsk and the surrounding area.105 The privilege specified the reasons the king had decided to bestow the rights to the Pinsk salt trade on these lessees: inflation of the price of salt to as much as twenty grosze and more per one thousand “heads” of salt, particularly in seasons when the roads from Kolomyja and Luck were in bad condition; and the need to organize the salt trade so that the royal treasury would receive income from what was a state monopoly.106 The new lessees undertook to sell white salt at all times, even when the roads were out, at a maximum price of fifteen grosze per thousand saltheads. In exchange for this commitment and the yearly fee, the king prohibited the purchase of salt in Luck and its sale in Pinsk without the permission of the lessees. Any salt that was purchased illegally or sold to individuals was liable to confiscation, half of it going to the royal treasury and half to the lessees. Anyone interfering with the lessees or their agents was subject to a one thousand kopy fine. Soon after the privilege was issued, disputes broke out between the salt lessees and the inhabitants of Pinsk, Christians and Jews. The Pinskers felt cheated, and when many of them had significant quantities of salt confiscated they filed a legal claim against the lessees. The Pinsk judge, Iwan Afanasowicz Furs, referred the case to the royal court and the king himself issued the final decision.107 This example sheds light on leasing procedures and the means by which the rights bestowed by the privilege were enforced by the lessees of the salt monopoly in Pinsk. In the sixteenth century, salt and the trade in it were much more critical than in modern times. Salt was not only an essential commodity but a relatively expensive one. It had to be hauled over long distances,

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and the high cost of transport greatly increased its price. Salt was a state monopoly, providing income for the royal treasury; however, the question of cheap salt was also a sensitive political issue and the Diets endlessly debated how to ensure a steady supply at a reasonable price. In fact, the price was more or less stable throughout the sixteenth century. The salt mines of Crimea and Rus—especially Kolomyja—supplied the needs of Lithuania. The salt was transported from Kolomyja to Luck and from Luck via the river Styr or overland to Pinsk. From Pinsk, it was distributed to all of Lithuania. The first mentions of salt shipments from Luck to Pinsk is in a privilege issued by Zygmunt I in 1530, permitting customs payment on salt at the customs stations in Horodok or Pinsk. Part of this salt was intended for sale in northern Lithuania. The main distributors of the salt were townsmen from the Pinsk region—politically subordinate to the Pinsk administration—who hauled the salt commercially.108 The role of the Pinsk Jews in the salt trade in the period 1530–1560 is not clear, but the Jewish merchants of Pinsk must have included salt in their stock-in-trade. When the townsmen complained about the salt lessees from Brest, the Pinsk Jews Abraham Wolczkowicz, Ezekiel Joskowicz, Abraham Markowicz, and Moszko Abramowicz joined in the complaint. The lessees’ inspector, Abraham (Abraszka), together with agents of the administration, had confiscated salt that these people purchased before the salt monopoly was let to the lessees.109 Like the Christians, the Jews protested that the confiscated salt was kept in their homes for private consumption. The amounts were large, however, and one of these men, Abraham Wolczkowicz, is known as one of the chief merchants of Pinsk.110 It is likely that the other three also were commercial dealers. In short, the salt trade was in the hands of the Pinskers and they suffered a severe blow when the monopoly was leased to the group of Jews from Brest,111 who attempted to impose the monopoly quickly and in a preemptory fashion. In the spirit of the lease privilege, which divided confiscated salt equally between the lessees and the royal administration, the local royal administrators (their eyes on potential income) gave the salt lessees their full backing. The lessees had agreed to sell the salt for a set price of fifteen grosze per one thousand heads and

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stuck by the letter of their commitment; however, since they were eager to increase their profits, they circumvented this commitment by selling salt in small pieces or in granules rather than in full heads. This practice resulted in soiling of the salt and reduction of its weight and value. The lessees inventoried and recorded the salt that was not intended for private consumption. At first, they did not intend apparently to infringe on the right of the Pinskers—Christians and Jews—to sell their stocks. Soon, however, Josko Koskowicz, Abraham, David, and other (anonymous) inspectors working for the lessees began making raids, accompanied by representatives of the local royal administration. They sequestered salt belonging to many Christian townsmen in Pinsk and Newel and to the Jews Wolczkowicz, Joskowicz, Markowicz, and Abramowicz, mentioned above. Salt confiscated from Jews was probably paid for at the rate of ten grosze per tolpa (a standard-size block of salt obtained after the evaporation process was complete). Christian-owned salt was also supposed to be confiscated and compensated at the same rate, but instead the Christian townsmen were required to pay a special customs duty on their salt. Later on, they claimed that this levy was illegal, and most of them produced Hebrew receipts to prove they had indeed paid it. The receipts, however, merely stated that they were receipts for salt that had been sold to the townsmen, and not for duty paid by them. In fact the inspectors had collected five grosze per tolpa and construed the transaction as if they had purchased the salt from the townsmen for ten grosze per tolpa and then resold them the same salt at fifteen grosze per tolpa. For their part, the townsmen insisted that the receipts were inaccurate and the duty illegal. All of them—including the Jews—­asserted that the salt was intended for private consumption or had been acquired before the leasing of the salt monopoly. The king agreed with the townsmen that the lessees had exceeded their authority and decided to shorten the lease period by one year, returning control of the salt trade to the townsmen. In July 1563, two years after the lease began, the salt warehouse was transferred to the wojt (head of the municipal court, appointed by the king) and townsmen of Pinsk.112 There is no doubt that the lessees stirred up strife in Pinsk. They went to extremes in their aggressiveness and use of force and did not

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always behave honestly. The townsmen turned this kind of behavior against them. Although the lessees, as clerks of the king, were under his jurisdiction and could easily deflect most accusations leveled at them by taking an oath, they could not resist attack by the townsmen. What is interesting is that on this issue the Jews of Pinsk allied themselves with the townsmen and submitted a joint complaint with them, while in 1564 Jewish lessees from Pinsk displaced four Christians from the lease of the liquor monopoly by outbidding them—offering 220 instead of 200 kopy per year.113 The attitude of the Christian townsmen toward the Pinsk Jews is not clear. There is no evidence of a campaign by the townsmen against the Jews, although the battle against the Brest Jewish salt lessees probably did affect the townsmen’s feelings toward the Pinsk Jews as well. Soon the Christians and Jews of Pinsk were to be locked in a severe economic struggle.

Agricultural Properties and Other Real Estate Most Pinsk Jews owned gardens alongside their homes, probably from the beginning of Jewish settlement there. As already noted, some of the wealthy and influential families became estate owners under the rule of Prince Feodor and of Queen Bona Sforza. Pesah Ezofowicz, Abraham Ryzkiewicz, and Marek Joskowicz acquired, respectively, the Diagilew courtyard and the Krajnowicze and Posienicze estates; they were the bona fide owners of these properties and their status was identical to that of boyars. There must have been serfs who worked the lands of these Jewish-owned estates in payment of their feudal dues.114 The fact that these properties remained in the families of their Jewish owners for decades implies that estate holding was profitable. The 1561–1566 lustracja does not mention any of these Jewish-owned estates. Sometime between 1552 and 1555, when the land was being divided into wloki, the Posienicze estate was taken away from the brothers Abraham and Eliezer Markowicz. At first they received no compensation, but after they protested they were granted, in exchange for a fixed payment, two wloki of pastureland near the city, next to the ­Sielec ­folwark. We do not know what happened to the Posienicze estate, which as late as 1554 was controlled by Gershon Abramowicz. In this connection, it is interesting to note that sometime between 1561

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

and 1566 one wloka of land from this village was supposed to go to ­Nahum Pesachowicz in payment of a lapsed debt. Instead of a wloka from Posienicze, he was given a wloka in the village of Koszczycz. The official explanation for the substitution was “so that he will not interfere with the serfs of Her Majesty.”115 The 1552–1555 and 1561–1566 lustracje present a precise picture of the land holdings of the Jews of Pinsk. Most Jewish householders possessed small gardens adjacent to their homes. The first lustracja recorded that nine of the twenty-nine real-estate-owning Jews owned additional garden plots, most of them on the road to the village of Kuszewicze. Each plot measured one morg (approximately 1.6 acres). These gardens belonged to the rich and well-to-do Jews in Pinsk, people such as the Pesachowicz brothers, Abraham Wolczkowicz, Herszko (Hoszko) ­Moszejewicz, and the Markowicz brothers. They obviously did not farm these plots themselves, occupied as they were as merchants, lessees, and moneylenders. Some Pinsk Jews owned fields (see Table 1.2). According to the 1561–1566 lustracja, eight of the one morg plots along the road to Koszczycz remained in the hands of the same owners indicated by the first lustracja. Nahum Pesachowicz increased his leased holdings in Koszczycz to three wloki, four morgi, twenty-four prety, and also acquired six morgi of pasture lands south of the Pina, near Knubowo. Upon his death sometime during the period of the second lustracja,116 Israel Pesachowicz’s land in Koszczycz along with a few extra morgi passed to the brothers Isaac and Moses Pesachowicz. table 1.2 Pinsk Jews Who Owned Agricultural Land Name

Amount of Land

Location

Israel Pesachowicz

2 wloki, 3 morgi

Koszczycz vicinity

Nahum Pesachowicz

2 wloki, 3 morgi

Koszczycz vicinity

Eliezer Nachimowicz

1 wloka

?

Josko Lazerowicz

25 prety, average land + 1 morgb 20.5 prety pasture

Stetyczewo

a

notes: a May have been the son of Eliezer Markowicz. b 1 morg = 30 pr et y source: Lustracja 1555, pp. 75, 170; RYA 2, no. 33 (p. 300 of this source should be corrected in ­ iving the garden sizes; rather than “pret” it should read “morg”). g

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All of these gardens and fields were permanently leased by their Jewish possessors. The Jews’ share in agricultural lands in Pinsk was more or less proportional to their percentage in the population. The gardens of Pinsk totaled 195 morgi117 and the Jews held between nine and ten morgi, or around 5 percent. This compares to twenty-eight Jewish ­property­owning householders out of approximately eight hundred (3.5 percent). The land measured in wloki was ploughland. That measured in morgi was for pasture or truck gardening. Land that was outside the city limits was held by the better-off families, and the ploughlands were held by the very wealthiest. A one wloka plot was large by contemporary standards, and Christian townsmen or peasants would rent such fields in groups of two to five people.118 People such as Nahum and Israel Pesachowicz did not settle on farmland like this themselves; they certainly did not work it with their own hands. They probably organized cultivation of their lands in the same way nobility estate owners did. They had enough capital to finance cultivation, and the agricultural land they possessed was just one more investment enterprise. There is no information regarding what the Jews grew on the garden plots outside the city along the road to Kuszewicze; but whatever it was, as we have emphasized, these affluent, businessmen owners did not work the lands with their own hands. These gardens, like the ploughlands, were more of an economic investment than a main occupation. The actual labor was probably done by hired hands or sublessees who worked as tenant farmers. The gardens adjacent to the Jews’ homes were no more than auxiliary in nature. It was normal that in a large city such as Pinsk (three or four thousand inhabitants), where the population was more occupied in agriculture than in commerce and crafts, the Jews would also have gardens by their homes. This situation was customary far into the twentieth century; but the Jews did not engage in agriculture per se. For those of average means and for the poor the home gardens were, in summer, a source of fresh vegetables. People might also have kept a cow and a few chickens for their own needs, but certainly none of this can be construed as agriculture. As far as the out-of-town gardens and fields held by Jews are concerned, we have already emphasized that they were more in the nature of investments than primary

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

occupations. So although Pinsk Jews were familiar with agricultural work, agriculture should not be listed as one of their occupations.119 Did changes occur in the terms governing Jewish land ownership in Pinsk during the period under study? Legally speaking, no change took place. The Jews continued to hold lands and own houses at the time of the two lustracje. Practically speaking, however, there were farreaching changes in the conditions of land possession. Krajnowicze and Posienicze demonstrate this. By the time of the 1561–1566 lustracja, neither of these estates—which were held by two of the most influential families in Pinsk—remained in Jewish hands. The process of parceling the duchy’s lands into wloki was intended to unify Queen Bona Sforza’s lands so that they could be subdivided into whole wloki. One method of accomplishing this was to exchange land parcels with private landowners. This was the pretext employed to expropriate Posienicze from the brothers Abraham and Eliezer Markowicz.120 On the other hand, by parceling the land into wloki and proceeding energetically and aggressively, the queen created the opportunity for Jews too to lease land for cultivation at a set rental price. There was no limit to the size of the lands that were leased out; anyone could lease as much as he wanted and could cultivate.121 Like members of the other free classes—the clergy, the nobility, and the townsmen—the Jews received land to the extent they were able to pay for it.122 So to some degree the Jews of Pinsk participated in the queen’s agrarian reform and attempted to make the leased royal lands into one of their sources of livelihood. There is, however, a fundamental difference between freehold ownership of land and leasehold possession of it. In Lithuanian society, only ownership could give security and prestige. The transition from ownership to rental is one sign of the change in Jewish legal status from what obtained under Lithuanian rule to what it was to become after the Union of Lublin in 1569—from equality with the nobility to social isolation and transformation into a closed class.123

Commerce There were a number of objective factors that fostered commercial development of Pinsk and created conditions conducive to the growth

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of Jewish commerce. Pinsk is located near three main transportation arteries. The first is the Pripet (Pripyat) River, coming into Pinsk as the Strumen and linking the city with the commercial centers on the Dnieper and, via the Pripet’s tributaries, with centers in Wolyn. The second artery is the road connecting Brest and Pinsk. This route became important at the end of the fourteenth century as a function of the rise of Brest as the economic and commercial center in Lithuania. The third artery is the road leading from Lithuania to Wolyn and Ukraine in the period of Lithuania’s peak power during the fifteenth century. It crossed Polesie near Pinsk. These geographic features contributed to the economic development of Pinsk as a commercial center in all periods.124 Pinsk served as a transfer point in the trade between Lithuania and the south. The trade between Lithuania and the regions near the Black Sea was extremely active, and at the end of the fifteenth century the income from the customs houses at Luck and Kiev was greater than the income from the customs houses in the other regions of Lithuania. Merchants from Kiev, Luck, and Wolyn could travel to Lithuania via Pinsk. In its customs house or in that of Dawidgrodek, they paid customs on the merchandise that they brought from the east. From there they took the merchandise northward to Lithuania proper. In the sixteenth century, there were political and economic changes that further increased Pinsk’s commercial significance. As a result of the express policy of the Lithuanian Grand Duchy to evade the Polish customs houses on the way to Brest from Luck, commercial traffic was diverted from the area of Kiev (whence it would move to Poland by way of Wlodzimierz and northern Wolyn) to the Pinsk-Brest route. The value of this route for the transit trade from southern and eastern Rus to Poland was increased inestimably.125 A document relating to the public and economic activities of Nahum Pesachowicz of Pinsk attests to the lively trade carried on by Lithuanian Jewish merchants, including some from Pinsk, with Kiev in the mid-­sixteenth century. In the 1550s, Lithuanian Jews conducted a broad-based commerce with Kiev. Kiev townsmen did try to prevent Lithuanian Jews from trading in their city, at first through curses and threats and later by legal limitations. These attempts failed as a result of the complaint that Nahum Pesachowicz lodged with the king.126

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

Zygmunt August ruled that the townsmen must treat the Jews in accordance with established custom and not change the rules to their detriment, nor curse or threaten them. The document implies that the commerce of the Lithuanian Jews with Kiev had a long history. The sudden appearance of aggressive opposition on the part of the townsmen in the 1550s probably means that this trade developed gradually until in this period it achieved significant proportions. In the sixteenth century, Pinsk established trade ties with Lublin, the Polish city that was close to Lithuania and Rus. Lublin was an extremely important commercial center at this time. The Lublin fair was held twice a year and attracted merchants from the south (Turks, Armenians, Italians), from the west (Germans, French), and of course from Poland and Lithuania. In addition to merchants from Brest, ­Nowogrodek, Troki, Vilna, Polock, Sluck, Smolensk, and Vitebsk, the Lublin fair was attended by both Christian and Jewish merchants from Pinsk. The Lublin customs house record for 1530–1531, published by Rybarski, contains the earliest evidence regarding the trade of merchants from Pinsk. The customs roles also specify the merchandise that the Pinsk merchants transported and differentiate between goods belonging to Christians and goods belonging to Jews. Both groups of merchants transported primarily one type of merchandise: furs. The amount of furs that the Christians transported was more than double what was brought to Lublin by the Jews (108 pelts as against 47). A Jewish merchant from Pinsk brought with him a lump of czerwiec, the material that until the mid-sixteenth century served in the manufacture of dye. The Jews were active in the trade in this commodity, intended exclusively for export. In the opposite direction, from Lublin to Pinsk, ten wagons loaded with iron passed through the customs house at Lublin; there was also other merchandise amounting to thirty kopy. These other goods, however, belonged to Christians. The customs registers do not contain any explicit mention of Jewish merchants on the return trip, but it cannot be that the Pinsk Jewish merchants returned from Lublin empty-handed.127 The customs house registers from Ostrzeszow and Poznan dating from 1547–1548 also contain references to the merchants from Pinsk.

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The Ostrzeszow register listing the goods liable to the “old customs duty” indicates 173 furs from Pinsk. The Poznan registers list various textile goods and knives that were bound for Pinsk. These registers do not specify whether the merchants were Jewish or Christian, but they do constitute evidence as to the continuation of fur export from Pinsk and the types of goods imported to Pinsk.128 These few sources consisting of fragmentary testimony concerning the trade between Pinsk and Kiev to the east and Pinsk and Lublin and Poznan to the west are not sufficient to draw a detailed description of the development of Pinsk commerce in general or of the Jewish role in that commerce. They can, however, indicate the general features of commerce in Pinsk. Until the 1550s, the products of the abundant forests around Pinsk (fur pelts, honey,129 and forest products, especially potash) were what the Pinsk traders sold at the fairs held in the commercial centers of Poland. Who were the Jewish merchants of Pinsk in this period? Two of them, Eliezer (Leyzer) Markowicz and Abraham Wolczkowicz, were named in the 1522 document discussed above.130 By the 1550s, these two merchants were conducting wide-ranging business activities and without question achieved a certain amount of wealth through their commerce.131 In 1550, Nahum Pesachowicz, the central figure in the Pinsk economy, appears as a store owner.132 His commercial ties with Kiev have already been mentioned; he was the man who filed the complaint against the townsmen of Kiev when they tried to restrict the trade of Lithuanian Jews in their city. He protested in his own name and in the name of all of the Lithuanian Jewish merchants who were harmed by this restriction. Obviously, he was one of the most important of them. In the 1560s, the Pinsk Jewish merchants included Eliezer Markowicz’s brother, Abraham; Moses (Moszko) Abramowicz; and Ezekiel Joskowicz, all of whom, together with Abraham Wolczkowicz and the townsmen of Pinsk, complained against the lessees of the salt monopoly from Brest about the confiscation of large quantities of salt from their homes—intended, they claimed, for their personal consumption.133 Abramowicz and Joskowicz were, it seems, young men belonging to the third generation of Pinsk Jews. Moses Abramowicz was probably the son of either Abraham Wolczkowicz or Abraham

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

Markowicz, and ­ Ezekiel Joskowicz the offspring of Wasko (Josko?) Medenczycz (who in 1564 leased the liquor monopoly along with Gershon Abramowicz). In other words, Nahum Pesachowicz, Abraham Wolczkowicz, Eliezer Markowicz, and perhaps Abraham Markowicz were the biggest and richest of the Pinsk merchants. It is all but certain that alongside them there were Jewish merchants whose dealings had a much narrower scope.134 There is not enough data to allow a precise statement of the ratio between Jewish and Christian merchants in Pinsk. It is possible, never­ theless, to ascertain that the Christian merchants were more numerous.135 There is no evidence of commercial warfare between the Jews and Christians before the late 1550s. Prior to this time, Pinsk’s share in Lithuania’s commerce was extremely modest and not in any way comparable to that of Brest.136 Pinsk gradually came to play a more active role in the lively Lithuanian-Polish commerce of the period and the Jews’ part in the city’s business grew apace.

Intensification of Economic Activity The economic activity of the Pinsk Jews showed marked intensification from the late 1540s through the 1560s. There are many documents from this period that indicate a significant increase in the Pinskers’ economic weight, a broadening of the scope of their existing business in familiar fields, and penetration into new sectors of the economy. This was the period when the Pinsk Jewish community grew rapidly and entered the ranks of “chief communities” of Lithuania. This growth was assisted by a number of general changes taking place in the sixteenth century, in Poland at first and then in Lithuania. In the sixteenth century, Poland’s economy was marked by ever-­increasing ­demand for its agricultural and forest products both domestically to supply the growing cities and in western and northern Europe where there was an excellent market for exported Polish grain, lumber, and forest products. The noblemen latifundium owners wanted to take advantage of the prospects that had been created in order to increase their income; they tried to gear their methods of agricultural production to the requirements of the new situation.

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In light of this, in the sixteenth century there was increasing growth of latifundium folwarks (feudal agricultural farms) and a growing trend toward changing peasants’ feudal landholding dues, which were mostly in the form of the czynsz money tax, to courvee labor on the latifundium, thus binding the serfs ever more tightly to the land. Within this process of change in the economic and social structure of Polish agricultural production, Jews—who had the economic skills, financial experience, and administrative ability to develop latifundium operations—also played a role, and the amount of latifundium leases held by them increased.137 In Lithuania—confederated with Poland, with a small population, primitive agriculture, and an economy that in general was still at a low level of development138 and largely based on natural production, where the local population supplied most of its own needs by its own efforts—the economic reality was much different. Marketable surplus production was small, and what was intended for export came mainly from animals hunted for their fur and from natural beehives. But in the sixteenth century, there was some economic progress in Lithuania too. There also conditions conducive to the export of timber, forest products, and grain stimulated exploitation of the plenitude of trees in the forests and use of new forms of agriculture. The increasing tendency in agriculture was to replace the system of permanent leasehold for czynsz with the feudal-style folwark system (where most land was concentrated in the owner’s demesne).139 In Polesie, the signs of the new economic regime were apparent from the mid-sixteenth century with the colonizing policy and methods of agricultural management that Queen Bona Sforza introduced in her properties. Peasants who wanted to settle on the queen’s lands, which required clearing or other preparation, were given every incentive to do so. Royal officials were explicitly ordered not to put obstacles in their way.140 The queen aimed to increase grain and forest-product production, and in Polesie her policy initiated export of some grain surpluses.141 More important was the variegated exploitation of the forests both for timber, consumed in the West in huge quantities, and for semi-industrial products such as potash, tar, and resin.142 These products were transported by wagon from all over Polesie to the Muchawiec

The Founding of the Community to the Union of Lublin

River (near Kobryn) or to the Bug and floated to Gdansk as part of the general export trade to Western Europe.143 This development raised the importance of the roads joining east and west Polesie, and in particular the Pinsk-Brest route. The entire region, originally important primarily as a transit depot for trade between east and west and north and south, now began to take on economic significance for its growing export potential. Forest exploitation was very profitable. The price of potash, tar, and wood in Gdansk was several times the cost of production and presented opportunities for huge profits.144 Pinsk Jews quickly adapted to the excellent conditions for forest exploitation. A number of documents, dating from 1561 and 1562, detailing an attack by the hired hands of the nobleman Matwej Witajchowicz on the potash and log preparation plant managed (and apparently partly owned) by the Pinsk Jew Michael Chamycz lend a vivid picture of this type of enterprise in the forests surrounding the villages of Woroczewicze, Bielin, and Simonowicze in the Pinsk vicinity.145 The attackers wrecked the potash hut, chased out the workers (after beating and injuring some of them, including Samuel the Jewish foreman),146 and robbed many items, in particular axes, saws, steel stones[?], nine wagonloads of merchandise, and coarse woolen clothing belonging to the workers. The plant was owned by the Wojewoda of Vilna, Nikolaij Radziwill, in partnership with Michael Chamycz. Such a typical partnership between a Pinsk Jew and a great Lithuanian magnate provided real protection in the dispute in question, and the attackers were quickly captured and punished. Exploitation of these forests gave rise to disputes with neighboring latifundium owners over ownership, which was sometimes ambiguous. There is no doubt that the high yield of the enterprise aroused the jealousy of some of the other owners who also wanted to enjoy the profits and even resorted to robbery.147 In August 1563, Samuel Piszelewicz of Pinsk obligated himself to the podstarosta of Pinsk, Grigori Massalski, to produce in the forests of Kobryn and to prepare for shipping by river (Muchawiec-Bug-Vistula) 105 laszts of potash for 1,400 zlotys.148 At the same time, Tuvia Bogdanowicz, an arrendator from Brest (who, two years earlier, had leased in partnership with two other Brest Jews, Nehemiah Rubinowicz and Isak

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Mojszejewicz, the Pinsk salt monopoly), attempted to acquire a forest from two noblemen for the purpose of producing potash. In response to Wojewoda Radziwill’s opposition, however, the two noblemen were forced to renege, and Tuvia Bogdanowicz wanted the matter recorded at the Pinsk magistrate.149 As with the example of Michael Chamycz, who conducted the forest trade as the partner of the Vilna Wojewoda, it is clear that Pinsk Jews who were involved in this commerce took full advantage of the aggressive patronage of Radziwill to prevent competitors from gaining a foothold. From the mid-sixteenth century on, forest exploitation and trade came to fill an important role in the economy of Pinsk Jewry and was a significant factor in its relatively strong economic position. Forest production constituted a basis for both industry and manual labor, which developed earlier and more extensively among Jews in Pinsk than in other areas of Lithuania.

Artisanry We know virtually nothing about the place of crafts in the economy of Pinsk Jewry in this period. In the first lustracja, there is no mention of even one Jewish artisan (there were twenty-eight Christian ones).150 In the lustracja of 1561–1566, there is one Jewish butcher (Eliezer), and no doubt there were others as well—certainly at least one Jewish tailor because no Jewish community could exist without a butcher to supply kosher meat and a tailor to sew “kosher” clothing, that is, containing no admixture of linen and wool.151 Considering that the list of Christian artisans contains no tailors, it may be that there were several Jewish tailors who served the Christian population as well.

Tw o

From the Union of Lublin Until the 1648–1649 Chmielnicki Persecutions (1569–1648)

Development of the Community: Population Growth The growth of the Jewish population of Pinsk that began in the 1550s and 1560s continued virtually unabated until 1633. This was the year that Wladyslaw IV confirmed the Magdeburg privilege originally granted by Stefan Batory to the townsmen in 1581, adding to it some new provisions. One of them was a limit on expansion of the area of Jewish residence. Wladyslaw IV prohibited Jews from buying or other­ wise gaining ownership of additional houses and obligated them to pay the same taxes as the non-Jewish townspeople on houses acquired “recently,” meaning since 1610.1 There is no way of knowing what effect this prohibition had on acquisition of property by Jews. It may be that Jewish expansion was temporarily halted; however, in the long run the prohibition failed to achieve its primary goal of limiting the growth of the Jewish community. By the 1640s the number of people and houses in the Pinsk Jewish community was several times higher, and the residential area was considerably larger than in the 1560s. These increases were the result of continuous growth, indicating that the community succeeded in circumventing the prohibition on acquiring new houses. No census, lustracja (detailed local inventory), or taryfa (detailed local tax list) from the period under discussion has survived. The only statistical data that exist relate to the head tax and others levied as a lump sum on the communities of Lithuania or on the Pinsk community and vicinity.2 Critical analysis demonstrates that the sums of these taxes cannot serve as a basis for estimating the number of Jews.3 This

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lack of data complicates the task of estimating the size of the Pinsk community. Fortunately, there are a number of regesty (legal court documents) from the years preceding the 1648–49 persecutions and some documents from the period immediately following the persecutions that are useful in evaluating the size of the community in the 1640s. The dearth of known facts about the 1569–1640 period means that any attempt to analyze the growth of the community from the time of the union must be extrapolative in nature, resting on a comparison of what can be learned from the later sources with the statistics of the 1560s. A composite list of the names of Pinsk Jews mentioned in various sources yields a reasonable minimum estimate of the size of the community. I have compiled a list for the years 1640–1650.4 There is ample source material for this decade, and the period is short enough to merit the assumption that the same name appearing in various sources denotes the same person. This list, then, may be regarded as a reasonably accurate roster of the heads of Jewish households who lived in Pinsk on the eve of the 1648 persecutions. The initial sources for the names were the regesty, akta books, and the record book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council. They were supplemented with the names of Pinsk Jews mentioned in documents dating from after the persecutions, in particular one from April 1650 enumerating ninety-nine Jewish-owned houses in Pinsk and recording the names of ninety-four Jewish householders, barely a year and a half after the destruction of the city.5 The composite list includes a total of 145 names of adult Jews resident in Pinsk, 94 mentioned in the 1650 document and 51 in the other sources. A more accurate estimation, correcting for people probably counted twice, would limit the number of household heads known by name to 1406 and add to it 13 more living in 1650 in the homes of their neighbors and not mentioned by name and 5 who lived in the synagogue, the hekdesh (community hostel), and in three houses belonging to the bishop. These eighteen households were almost certainly from the poorer strata of the community and were not mentioned in the legal documents from the 1640s, probably because they conducted no business and did not require the services of the courts. By adding them, or most of them, to the list of Jewish householders the total comes to a minimum of 150–155,7 two and a half times the number of Jewish families that lived in Pinsk in the 1560s.

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Actually the number of Jewish heads of household in Pinsk in 1648 was higher than 150–155. A number of householders would not have been mentioned either in the court documents or in the April 1650 list. Not every Jew in Pinsk was involved in court proceedings, and exclusion from the later list could have resulted from a number of reasons: they died at the hands of the Cossacks during the conquest of the city in late October and early November 1648; they survived the persecutions, like most Pinsk Jews, but did not return immediately, or ever, after the danger passed; or they were arrendators and lived on their rural leaseholds, at first temporarily but after the persecutions they loosened their ties to Pinsk and did not return there.8 It would not be far amiss to add another forty-five to fifty families and put the Pinsk Jewish population at two hundred households or approximately one thousand people. Even this number is probably too small because Jews from Pinsk played an important role, especially as arrendators, in settling the new towns and villages near Pinsk being populated at this time.9 It is probable that the growth of the Pinsk community was due mostly to migration.10 The flow of immigrants, which turned toward the unsettled lands in the eastern part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, was directed not only to the wide-open spaces of Ukraine but likely also to Lithuania, including Pinsk.11 There is no direct evidence for immigration of Jews to Pinsk, but names in the documents indicating German or Moravian origins constitute indirect proof for this phenomenon. A document from 1583 mentions a Pinsk merchant named Leib Bendetowicz.12 He was probably not a native of Pinsk since neither his name nor his father’s name appears in the lustracje of the 1550s and 1560s. The name Bendet (Barukh) indicates a German or western Polish origin13; this man could have arrived in Pinsk in the 1570s. In the 1630s and 1640s, the sons of Jacob Morawczyk—­Nathan‑Zelig, Zalman, Noah, and David14—achieved influential positions in economic life and in the leadership of the kahal. The name Morawczyk would imply that their land of origin (or their father’s) was Moravia. If the assumption concerning immigration to Pinsk in this period is correct, then it is evident that its impact on the established settlers was not critical and the immigrants integrated well into economic life—taking up commercial enterprises, moneylending, and leaseholding—while ­attaining powerful positions in the communal leadership.

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Topography of Jewish Settlement There is scant information about the streets where the Jews lived in Pinsk in this period. The only available source for examining this problem is the April 1650 list that enumerates the Jewish houses liable for the hearth tax (podymne)15 following the persecutions of 1648–1649, when the city was in a shambles and half burnt out. This document does not specify the streets where the Jewish homes stood, but it does record the jurydyka16 in which each house was located. Fifty-two houses were in the district that belonged to the zamek; thirty-two (three plus twentynine) were in Ropiszcze, the jurydyka of the bishop17; one house was on land belonging to the nobleman Krupko; five houses were on the priest Stawecki’s property; and eight were on the property of the abbess of the Convent of Saint Barbara.18 In sum, forty-six houses were located in private districts and fifty-two on land controlled by the zamek.19 The 1650 list cannot be considered a full register of the Jewish homes standing before the persecutions because it is probable that not all of the homes burned during the battles over the city were reconstructed immediately. With regard to the question of the direction of Jewish expansion in the city, however, the information on the dispersal of the houses among the various jurydyki leads to some significant conclusions. The Jewish houses located in the jurydyka of the zamek in 1650 were in all likelihood the same houses that appeared in the lustracje of the 1550s and 1560s. According to the lustracja of 1561–1566, the jurydyka of the bishop included Lyszkewiczka, Spasska, Jassolze, Stepanowska, Horodziszczka, and Kowalska streets, the ones west of Stepanska (Lohiszyn) Street up to Brest Street.20 Michajlowski Street,21 west of Stepanska Street, was the jurydyka of the abbess of the Convent of Saint Barbara. This means that the direction of Jewish residential expansion was primarily westerly and contiguous with the area of original Jewish settlement. At the time of the 1561–1566 lustracja, there were ninety-six homes on the bishop’s property, but not one of them belonged to a Jew.22 This would indicate that the settlement of Pinsk Jews on church land (belonging to both the Orthodox and Uniate Episcopates, as well as to other church bodies) occurred during the period beginning with the Union of Lublin.

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There is no clear information about the first stages of this settlement. A 1640 privilege23 given by Bishop Pachomej Oranski to Jacob Rubinowicz, Mordecai Samuel Izawelewicz, and all the Jews living in church-owned areas states that it was granted on the strength of a previous privilege from Rafal Korsak when he was bishop of Pinsk as well as a confirmation of the earlier privilege by the same Korsak when he was metropolitan of Kiev.24 This suggests a connection between the 1633 prohibition on acquisition of additional homes by Pinsk Jews, contained in the Magdeburg charter confirmation granted by King ­W ladyslaw IV to the Pinsk municipality, and the privilege, authored by Bishop Korsak, allowing Jews to settle on church property. It is reasonable to assume that after the promulgation of the prohibition the Jews looked toward the areas that were not subject to the zamek and the limitations of the Magdeburg charter: the lands of the Orthodox and Uniate Churches. The legal significance of Jewish settlement on church property will be clarified later on,25 but at this point it should be noted that the prohibition on expansion added to the charter issued to the townsmen lost all meaning once the Jews were permitted to live on church land and engage freely in their normal occupations. In the church areas, the Jews lived mixed together with the Christian inhabitants.26 Much later, these streets became predominantly Jewish. The Jewish residential areas were contiguous, but there was no defined Jewish neighborhood in Pinsk. The nucleus of Jewish residence remained Zydowska Street, with the Jews fanning out to nearby streets from there. The farther away they went, the less Jewish and more Christian the neighborhood became.27

Expansion of Settlements in the Pinsk Vicinity Information on the expansion of Jewish settlement in the towns and villages around Pinsk is scanty. As early as the 1520s, at the beginning of Bona Sforza’s rule over the duchies of Pinsk and Kleck, several of the first-generation families left Pinsk and founded the Jewish community in Kleck.28 Under Queen Bona, other Jewish communities were organized in the vicinity of Pinsk, as implied by King Zygmunt August’s 1561 appointment of Stanislaw Dowojna as starosta of Pinsk and Kobryn, specifically including judicial authority over the Jews of

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Pinsk and Kobryn and the communities subordinate to them.29 In 1578, King Stefan Batory informed both the Jews of Pinsk and the Jews of the towns, villages, and inns in the Pinsk region that they had to pay a seventy-seven czerwone zloty (literally, “red zloty,” or golden ducat) tax still owed from the previous year.30 The names of some of the communities subject to Pinsk are mentioned in the record book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council. A 1623 council statute setting the boundaries of the regions around Brest, Horodno, and Pinsk states that the “vicinity of Pinsk” includes “Kleck, Lachowicze, Chomsk, Brahin, Dombrowica (Dubrowicz), Wysock, Turawa (Turow), and the settlements of the so-called ‘Niz’ area in the east Polesian plain.”31 Some Polish sources also provide details about Jewish settlement in some of these towns. In addition to the case of Kleck noted above, documents dating from 1605 indicate that in Chomsk, belonging to the Pinsk district (powiat), there was a Jewish community. There is no documentary evidence in the Slonim court records (which include matters pertaining to Chomsk) as to a formal link between its Jewish community and the kahal of Pinsk, but the fact that the important arrendator in the Chomsk area was Isaac Michajlowicz, a descendant of Michael ­Ezofowicz of Brest, might indicate a connection to that community. The town as a whole was, however, subject to Pinsk, making it likely that its Jewish community was under the aegis of the Pinsk kahal as well.32 Janow, located thirty-seven kilometers from Pinsk on the road to Kobryn and Brest, also contained a Jewish settlement. Janow itself was probably not founded before the last quarter of the sixteenth century, and although there might have been a Jewish community by the 1620s the first direct reference to Janow as part of the Pinsk district, and to a Jew who was a permanent resident there, appears in a document from 1646. This tells of the merchant Jacob Abramowicz, living there, who traveled on business from Janow to Bedziez. There are also explicit mentions of Jews living in Janow in the 1650s. By the 1640s, there was a Jewish community in Janow subordinate to the chief community in Pinsk.33 The story of the attack by Berko Moszkowicz, from Turow, and his men on the servant of one Pan Kopciewicz demonstrates the existence of a Jewish community in Turow.34 The source reporting the story mentions the names of several other Turow Jews, and one of the streets in Turow was called Zydowska (Jew) Street.

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In 1646, Jacob Szmuelowicz was the lessee of Wysock on the Styr River, a town belonging to the nobleman Henryk Kaszewski. Szmuelowicz also was in charge of collecting the customs duties from the river traffic. Once a petty nobleman from Turow, transporting salt there from Stefan, tried to evade the customs. Szmuelowicz and his men arrested him and put him in prison. There is also evidence that in 1649, soon after the Cossack persecutions, there was a Jewish cemetery in Wysock as well as Jewish families who leased estates and manufactured liquor. When the Cossacks neared the town, the Jews fled. This community dated from before 1623 and was one of several established on nobility latifundia at the beginning of the seventeenth century.35 The Jewish community in Dombrowica appears in a document concerning “David Jakubowicz, a Jew from Dombrowica,” who leased, as a secondary arrendator, the Zlota latifundium together with its village from two Pinsk townsmen who were the primary lessees.36 Like Wysock, Dombrowica belonged to a nobleman and its Jewish community was typical of those located on private lands. How a new Jewish community was established on a nobility-owned latifundium as a by-product of the leasing process can be surmised from the documents describing the lease of the Zyrowicze latifundium near Slonim in 1602–1604 to Isaac Michaelewicz from Chomsk (subject to Pinsk). The nobleman Iwan Sultan, who, beginning in 1602, leased the Zyrowicze estate to Michaelewicz, complained in 1605 that the lessee had brought with him to the latifundium his friends, Jews from Slonim. Sultan named individuals from at least ten Jewish families who settled in Zyrowicze.37 Michaelewicz was extremely rich, as indicated by a list of his property. The scope of his business interests was extensive, and this one large arenda alone afforded a livelihood for a significant number of families. In a similar fashion, the founding of the Jewish settlements in Kozan­grodek, Lubieszow, and Pohost was concomitant with latifundium leasing deals.38 Two documents from 1646 contain references to the first Jewish residents of the privately owned town Kozangrodek.39 They mention the town arrendator, Marek Dawidowicz, and his sonin-law, Pesah Zalmanowicz. Dawidowicz had wide-ranging business interests and concluded large-scale financial transactions. A 1660 document indicates that Dawidowicz began as lessee of the town and­

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l­atifundium in 1624 40; he resided in Kozangrodek and can be considered the founder of the Jewish community there. Kozangrodek was formally part of the Nowogrodek province (wojewodztwo), but the lessees were linked to Pinsk. The records of the Pinsk court contain copies of a suit contested by the arrendator and a would-be usurper of the Kozangrodek lease. Once the arrendator received a debt note from a Pinsk Jew, which he signed over to a nobleman, demonstrating commercial ties between the Kozangrodek arrendator and the Jews of Pinsk. By 1678, Kozangrodek is explicitly mentioned as a community subject to Pinsk,41 which is probably just confirmation of a relationship that had existed for several decades. The origin of the Jewish community in Lubieszow is also connected to latifundium leasing deals. In 1646, the lessees of Lubieszow, south of Pinsk, were four Jews who had held the lease since 1634. Their lease encompassed the latifundium, including the village of Lubieszow, two manors (folwarki), and six other surrounding villages. A lease of this size naturally attracted to the area subarrendators and hired workers who also settled there, so it is reasonable to assume that the nucleus of the Jewish settlement was formed in the 1630s and that by the 1640s Lubieszow contained a typical community. By 1678, Lubieszow, now a town, was listed as one of the communities subordinate to the chief community in Pinsk.42 The Jewish community in the private town of Pohost was established apparently through the extensive economic activities of the Pinsk-based lessee Eliezer Szymszycz and his family. The scope of Szymszycz’s enterprises was broad, and with the aid of his family, clerks, servants, and subarrendators (Jews hailing mainly from Pinsk) he managed the lease of the Pohost town and latifundium, as well as the leases of Lulin on the Pinsk-Kozangrodek road and of Porochonsk.43 Large-scale Jewish lessees from Pinsk were also active beyond the Pinsk region. In 1628, Abraham Chackielewicz and Joshua Abramowicz leased the town of Olewsk in northern Wolyn. From all indications, this was not an isolated case. Pinsk Jewish entrepreneurs, apparently the richest of the Pinsk Jews, reached territories far away from their hometown, perhaps even before the Union of Lublin in 1569. Eighteenth-century documents confirm that the Pinsk community’s hegemony extended to parts of Wolyn. Olewsk, Owrucz, Baracze, Iczomierz, ­Czernobyl, and

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Ostrorog were subordinate to Pinsk through the middle of the century. The affiliation of these northern Wolynian communities with Pinsk was a direct result of the economic and colonization activities of Pinsk lessees and men of wealth, which forged a link to Pinsk that entailed a measure of dependence. For the entire period from the 1569 Union of Lublin until the late eighteenth century, however, there is no explicit reference to the rule of Pinsk over these areas; our knowledge about it comes from the attempt of the subordinate Wolynian communities to protest Pinsk’s hegemony in the eighteenth century.44 In considering the serendipitous data reported in the sources concerning the expansion of Jewish settlement in the Pinsk region, one fact stands out. Establishment of Jewish communities in the towns was a by-product of large-scale leasing deals that created a need for an economic and administrative infrastructure. The general lessees’ subarrendators and hired hands made up this infrastructure and formed the basis of many communities, particularly in privately owned towns. This process was aided by the hazakah (right of tenure) that the general lessee obtained from the community, which made it difficult to change lessees and ensured a great measure of continuity.

Legal Status: General Privileges The Union of Lublin in 1569, which brought about the confederation of Poland and Lithuania, did not cause any formal change in the legal status of Lithuanian Jews. The first sign that the Jews of Lithuania took any steps to confirm their rights and freedoms came only after the death of Zygmunt August in 1572, when the communities of Troki, Nowogrodek, Brest, Horodno, and Pinsk attempted to do so. Their lobbying efforts met with success when in 1574 Henri de Valois, the first elected king of Poland, approved upon his coronation a special previously agreed privilege confirming in full and in perpetuity all of the rights and freedoms granted to the Jews of Lithuania, “collectively and individually,” by the kings of Poland and the grand dukes of Lithuania.45 Henri’s privilege also confirmed local agreements made between various city councils and Jewish communities and the rights they conferred. The Henri privilege did not spell out the rights and

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freedoms in question but did state at the end that the object was to confirm whatever was contained in the “old statute.” This is, without question, the 1388 Witold privilege confirmed by Zygmunt I in 1507. The privilege and confirmation were included in some manuscripts of the First Lithuanian Statute, dating from 1529.46 With the ascension to the Polish throne of Stefan Batory in 1576, the Lithuanian Jewish communities, including Pinsk, moved to have their rights confirmed. In that same year, Batory granted the Jews of Lithuania a privilege confirming all of the rights bestowed by previous rulers, from Witold to Henri de Valois. He also confirmed rights stemming from individual agreements that some communities had concluded with local municipal authorities. Batory’s privilege went beyond blanket confirmation of previous privileges, specifying the rights to be confirmed, and emphasizing in its last part that the general and local customs pertaining to commercial and other occupational activities of Lithuanian Jewry were to remain in force. This meant that the Jews were assured of the freedom to engage in commerce and artisanry. The privilege also stressed that the Jews were under the jurisdiction of the administration and judiciary of the king and his representatives, the wojewody and the starosty, and not subject to any other authority. They were to be judged solely according to the principles set forth in their privilege.47 In addition to confirming their general privilege, Stefan Batory granted the Jews two privileges intended to protect them against blood libels and accusations of desecration of the host. One of these documents prescribes the death penalty for anyone who, after accusing a Jew before the starosta’s court of killing a Christian child, fails to prove the accusation.48 The second privilege, promulgated a month later, is a confirmation of two privileges granted by Zygmunt August according to which any blood libel or host accusation had to be brought for adjudication before the king and his council during the session of the Sejm.49 Obviously, returning these matters to the exclusive jurisdiction of the king and his court was in response to the Jews’ lobbying efforts, which were based on faith in the king’s strong protection in the face of such accusations. The Lithuanian Jews’ right to remain under the king’s jurisdiction was guaranteed once again after establishment of the Lithuanian

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Tribunal in 1581.50 In a letter to the tribunal, Batory declared that the Jews of Lithuania were not subject to the jurisdiction of the tribunal and that it was forbidden for the tribunal to judge in cases concerning them.51 Zygmunt III Wasa, who ruled Poland-Lithuania 1588–1632, also confirmed the rights and freedoms of Lithuanian Jewry in the wake of lobbying by representatives of the Lithuanian communities, including Pinsk. His 1588 confirmation writ repeated Batory’s 1576 one, virtually word for word,52 although Zygmunt was somewhat more explicit in defining the legal status of the Jews. The matter of the Jews’ subordination to the administration of the king and his representatives was defined both positively and negatively. It was clearly stated that the Jews were not subject to any other authority, meaning in particular the authority of cities possessing Magdeburg rights.53 The Jews’ judicial status was also clarified. The confirmation says that the Jews were to be judged only according to the Lithuanian Statute54 and the privileges they possessed. The exclusive judicial competence of the king and his representatives over the Jews had not always been respected in practice. It fell victim to the ambiguous phrasing of the general privileges; frequent attempts of municipalities to assert, in the name of their Magdeburg rights,55 judicial authority over the Jews; and the willingness of some Jews to submit to nobility-sponsored courts. Lithuanian Jewry tried to make the subordination to the royal judiciary as explicit as possible, as evidenced by the increasingly detailed privilege confirmations beginning in Batory’s reign. Zygmunt III granted several privileges that were intended to clarify or expand existing rights. For example, according to the 1588 privilege confirmation the Jews were guaranteed freedom to engage in commercial and other pursuits. Later privileges specify that the proffered occupational freedom includes crafts in addition to commerce, and that Jewish artisans need not belong to the guilds. The privilege Zygmunt III granted in 1629 once again confirmed the exclusive subordination of the Jews to the local royal courts (sad zamkowy) seated in the local castles (zamek), rather than to the tribunal courts with only the right of appeal to the king’s court. This privilege also fixed the tax Jews paid on their homes as equal to what Christians paid and exempted Jews from other taxes in consideration of the fact that they had to pay a capitation tax.

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According to the privilege, disputes between Jews were to be judged in a Jewish court, Jews could not be summoned to any court on the Sabbath, and a Jew who was required by a non-Jewish court to swear was to do so either on the “Ten Commandments” (presumably the Torah scroll—for serious matters) or while holding on to the synagogue doorhandle (for minor cases). As King Zygmunt August had assured Polish Jewry in 1571, the Lithuanian Jews were now to be allowed to put a widow’s claim to her husband’s estate ahead of that of his creditors. In addition, the promise of freedom of commerce and of exemption of Jewish artisans from membership in the guilds was repeated. This privilege was particularly detailed with respect to the question of litigation between Jews and Christians. It affirmed several practices of Jewish law and tried to prevent desecration of the Sabbath by Jews sued before non-Jewish courts. The hand of the Lithuanian Jewish Council and rabbinate is obvious here. It was probably they who raised these issues and drafted the original proposals, which were accepted by the king.56 The desire to make Jewish juridical rights explicit is even more pronounced in the privilege issued by Wladyslaw IV, confirming all of the Lithuanian Jewish privileges from before 1569 through the reign of Zygmunt III.57 Here the influence of the Jewish leaders in pressing for the inclusion of specific legal points is even more pronounced than in the Zygmunt III privilege. The Wladyslaw privilege states specifically that no Jew may be judged for the debt or crime of another Jew; nor could legal responsibility be transferred from father to eldest son or from husband to wife or vice versa; Jews were not to be robbed in their homes or on the road; young children could not be disinherited; the style of the Jews’ oath was to remain as before; and the Jews were guaranteed the right to worship and to use their synagogues and cemeteries unharassed. With regard to adjudication, the privilege states that fees levied by the chancellery or the courts must be collected as previously with no additional charges; that imprisoned Jews were to be held in the zamek jail; and that a Jew who was injured was entitled to the same compensation a noblemen would get in a similar case.58 Jews were to be allowed to sell unredeemed pawns after half a year, at a price of their own choosing and without notifying the owner.

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In a 1646 privilege that Wladyslaw IV granted to the Jews of Vilna, he prohibited Christians from living in Jewish residential areas even if they had taken ownership of Jewish homes there after foreclosing mortgages they held.59 In Pinsk Jews and Christians lived interspersed, so this provision must not have applied there. Wladyslaw IV issued a privilege in 1646 renewing the exclusive subordination of Lithuanian Jewry to the king and his administration, and abolishing the capitation tax that some sejmiki had levied on the Jews living within their jurisdictions. The privilege emphasized that no new taxes were to be imposed on Jews or on townsmen without the agreement of the king and the Sejm.60 This privilege was registered in the Pinsk zamek record book by representatives of the Pinsk kahal shortly after it was promulgated.

Pinsk’s Magdeburg Privilege The general privileges we have been discussing were the legal foundation for the existence of the Pinsk Jewish community and applied to it just as they applied to the other Jewish communities in Lithuania. The other groups in Pinsk (townsmen, clergy, and nobility) had their own privileges, and they entailed limits on the legal status of the Jews. In 1581, Stefan Batory granted the townsmen of Pinsk Magdeburg rights, allowing them broad autonomy. This privilege was the result of vigorous lobbying by the Pinsk townsmen and demonstrates the prestigious position the city had reached within Lithuania. This privilege contains the first expression of the townsmen’s aim to restrict the freedom of the Jews in commerce, leasing, and crafts.61 The townsmen’s privilege began by exempting them from the centrally legislated law of the land and removing Pinsk from the jurisdiction of the king’s agents (the starosta and his assistants). Instead there would be two municipal courts, one presided over by the head of the municipal council and one headed by the wojt. The wojt was appointed by the king for life; his court was to judge criminal matters. The council head (burmistrz) was elected by the townsmen for a limited term; his court would handle civil matters. Decisions of these two courts could be appealed to the starosta’s court and eventually to the king. The privilege further granted the city the right to hold four fairs per year, and

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market days every Monday. All residents of Pinsk were exempt from the market tax, but all other taxes remained in force. In exchange for a yearly payment of five hundred kopy, the municipal council obtained the lease of all of the taverns and bars in the city, as well as the rights to various taxes collected in Pinsk itself, surrounding villages, and the towns of Motol, Nevel, and Pohost. The starosta’s monopoly on liquor production and sales was canceled. Additional revenues that accrued to the municipality were income from the bathhouse, the town scales, the barbershop, and the bread and salt stores. The council received the rights to the bridge and gate tolls but had to use the money to maintain these facilities in good condition. Empty, ownerless lots were to be handed over to the city. The townsmen had the right to fish in the river and in the starosta’s ponds and to cut wood for their own use from the king’s forests. The townsmen were freed from all royally imposed obligations except for those pertaining to time of emergency. If representatives of the royal administration altered the boundaries of the city, the townsmen were to receive compensation. Finally, the city was granted a crest in the shape of a bow and arrow.62 In 1623 the starosta, Jerzy Zbaraski, gave the townsmen a writ empowering them to raze several stores—some belonging to Jews, some to Christians—on the marketplace in order to build a city hall (ratusz) there. The ratusz was to be exempt from the royal real estate tax (czynsz) normally collected by the starosta. The municipality was also given the right to collect a tax of two pieniadzy per week from petty merchants who lived on nobility or church property. The starosta’s men were forbidden to intervene on behalf of these merchants.63 The 1633 confirmation of the Magdeburg rights, issued by Wladyslaw IV at the time of his coronation, included some explicitly anti-­Jewish provisions. It prohibited construction of stores on the marketplace without permission of the municipality and required Jews who had earlier purchased homes to pay the same taxes as the townsmen. In the future, Jews were to be barred from acquiring homes.64 These additions to the original rights of the townsmen indicate the desire to restrict Jewish economic activity as well as the spread of Jewish presence through the city. As we will see, they did not have much practical effect.

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The Pinsk Jews’ Privileges The Jews of Pinsk received their most detailed privilege to date in 1632, the last year of Zygmunt III’s reign.65 It prohibited judging Jews of Pinsk before the nobility courts or the Lithuanian Tribunal, insisting on the practice of judging Jews before the castle court (sad zamkowy) belonging to the royal administration. Even this applied only in disputes between Jews and Christians; suits between Jews were to be judged by the kahal’s own court. Jews could not be summoned to court on the Sabbath or holidays. The privilege confirmed the Jews’ right to engage in commerce freely in Pinsk and in Lithuania in general, and to practice crafts without belonging to guilds. In accordance with the privileges issued by Bona Sforza and Zygmunt I, they were permitted to build and own homes and stores. They were to pay a tax on their private property to the starosta, but their cemetery and synagogue were exempt from all levies. They were permitted to maintain butcher shops near the synagogue and to use municipal plough and grazing lands according to established custom. As another source points out, in the same year the Lithuanian chancellor confirmed the Jews’ right to a third of the available liquor leases, this with the consent of the municipal council.66 All of these rights had already been included in previous documents that were still officially valid. The realization of recognized rights was often stymied, however, by the conditions of real life. There was the rising political importance in Lithuania of the nobility, consequent intensification of the peasantry’s enserfment, and development of the feudal style folwark system. In Pinsk itself, the townsmen had received Magdeburg rights that partially contradicted the Jews’ rights. In time it became necessary to resolve the conflicts between the rights of the Jews and the prerogatives of other groups in an official document that would constitute an authoritative interpretation of Jewish rights. The 1632 privilege reflects the reality in which the Jewish community lived; its provisions are, in effect, solutions to problems the Jews faced daily. The Jews of Pinsk succeeded in preserving their fundamental juridical, commercial, occupational, and religious rights. They even anticipated the restriction on acquiring new homes that, in response to the Pinsk townsmen, Wladyslaw IV was to include in the 1633

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Magdeburg privilege. By securing permission to build new homes and stores on their own property, they effectively vitiated the Magdeburg restriction. The Jews of Pinsk received a royal privilege on March 3, 1633, the same day that the Christian townsmen had their Magdeburg rights confirmed. This was also eighteen days after Wladyslaw IV promulgated a general privilege for Lithuanian Jewry (February 15, 1633), confirming their previous rights and bestowing some new ones.67 According to the Pinsk Jewish privilege, since customarily the Jews paid one-quarter of the municipal tax burden they would be entitled to one-fourth of the leases in return for a payment of 125 kopy—equal to one-fourth of the combined price for all the leases in the city.68 The privilege asserts that Pinsk Jews may buy merchandise from foreign merchants and sell it retail. The privilege exempted Jews from paying tax on their homes as well as from other taxes—this ­despite the fact that the Magdeburg privilege required the Jews to pay the real estate tax just as Christian townsmen did. The Jewish exemption was justified on the grounds that the Jews had to pay a special capitation tax (poglowne zydowskie). The Jews were also still liable for payment of one-quarter of the annual tax to the municipality and to contribute transport services, along with the Christians. The 1633 privilege was in actuality a supplement to the 1632 Zygmunt III privilege. Both were obtained after an intensive campaign by the kahal leadership, calculated to result in redefinition of Jewish legal status before the townsmen and members of the other municipal corporate groups could learn of it. Their lobbying, in addition to attaining confirmation of basic rights, repelled the attempts of the townsmen to restrict the Jews with regard to housing acquisition, legal process, liquor monopoly leases, commerce, and artisanry. They also were able to obtain tax breaks that offset the Jewish head tax. Their share of the liquor monopolies, however, was reduced from one-third to one-fourth. These two privileges should be considered as laying the legal foundation for the Pinsk community’s geographic expansion, continuous demographic growth, and rapid development in the primary spheres of business: estate and village leasing, commerce, money trade, and crafts.

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Jurydyki Royal administrative and judicial authority did not extend to all the Jews of Pinsk. Nor were all of them liable for municipal taxes or subject to the new housing restrictions the townsmen succeeded in obtaining from Wladyslaw IV in 1633. Part of Pinsk Jewry lived in jurydyki, autonomous districts belonging to nobility or clergy independent of the municipality.69 In 1740, the bishop of Pinsk and Turow registered a complaint against the starosta and wojt of Pinsk, claiming that they violated his prerogatives in his jurydyka. From this complaint, it is evident that the bishop possessed old royal privileges removing his jurydyka from the jurisdiction of the municipality. Jews resided in this jurydyka beginning in the 1630s, as authorized by a special proclamation of the Uniate bishop, ­Rafal Korsak, who brought them under his protection. Later, certain clergyman tried to collect payments from these Jews, which they were not legally required to pay. Their representatives protested and the bishop restated their rights and obligations. The only tax the Jews of the jurydyka were liable to pay was the czynsz (leasehold tax on their homesteads) due to the bishop’s treasury. No other clergy had the right to collect any payments from them or impose any other duties (such as troop quartering, courvee labor, guard duty, or transport services) on them. The Jews were to be allowed to build homes and other structures; have tenants; and use their buildings as taverns, distilleries, breweries, or bathhouses as they saw fit. Buildings that had been burned or were in disrepair could be rebuilt. In case of fire, the leasehold charge was to be reduced in consideration of the damage. A Jew could sell his home to another Jew, and the seller’s rights would be transferred once the purchaser paid the leasehold fee. This confirmation of the Jews’ rights was signed by the bishop and the church council and affirmed by the Uniate Metro­politan of Kiev, Rafal Korsak, who when he was bishop of Pinsk gave permission to the Jews to settle in the jurydyka. The bishop held judicial authority over the Jews in disputes between them and Christians. In the jurydyki belonging to the Convent of Saint Barbara and to the priest Stawecki, the Jews probably enjoyed the same rights.70 Jewish settlement in the jurydyki meant that the municipal restrictions on Jews regarding liquor production and

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tavern leasing as well as attempts to limit Jewish expansion in the city came to nothing.

Jewish Status in Practice Were the legal rights of the Jews realized in practice? Documents dating mainly from the 1640s afford the opportunity of examining how at least some of these rights were applied in everyday life. The sources demonstrate that, as a rule, the Jews’ prerogatives were respected. Jews would deal with occasional attempts to violate their rights by appealing to the proper authority, who usually decided the issue in the spirit of the various privileges granted to the Jews. In particular, the municipal authorities and townsmen in Pinsk did not try to apply Magdeburg law to the Jews and judge them in the municipal courts, a common practice elsewhere in Lithuania.71 The Jews of Pinsk enjoyed freedom to trade, lend money, lease customs rights and estates, and maintain the serfs attached to them. They also seem to have been permitted to engage freely in crafts. Their privilege rights assured them of a significant degree of security for their lives and property. In a case of murder or injury, Jews insisted on compensation and punishment of the perpetrator. Usually, with the help of the administrative authorities and the courts, they prevailed. In the responsa of Rabbi Meir ben Gedaliah (called Maharam, 1558– 1616) of Lublin, for example, there is the case of the murder of a Pinsk Jew, Simha ben Jacob, by a Christian around the year 1600. The document states: She girded herself with strength and made a determined attempt to avenge the blood of her husband. She sued the murderer in their [that is, the non-Jewish, probably starosta] court; but did not succeed. They did not sentence him to death; only ruled that he must pay compensation.72

The murdered Jewish man’s widow was not satisfied with the verdict, but the accused must have been a nobleman, who, not having been caught in the act, was liable, according to the Third Lithuanian Statute of 1588, to make monetary restitution only.73 As the continuation of the responsum indicates, the compensation was equal to that paid for the death of a nobleman and was considerable.

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Pinsk Jews sued for large amounts of money in cases of bodily injury where the defendant was a nobleman.74 When a Jew was the attacker (such cases were fairly common), he would also be summoned to court in the same manner as a nobleman, and on the basis of the same laws. There were instances of injuries, attacks, and harassment perpetrated by individuals and groups against Jews,75 but it is still true that the Jews of Pinsk enjoyed the protection of the courts over their lives and property. Lawlessness and violence were prevalent generally, in the Christian community too; the primary victims were peasants subject to the nobility. The fact is that sometimes Pinsk Jews were accused of attacking Christians.76 The underlying cause of the violence was the weakness of the government and its agencies. The sources also show that sometimes Jews who were sued by Christians were given preferential treatment by the judicial authorities. In one case, a verdict against two Jews from Pinsk was left unenforced for several years and brought to trial again at a much later date.77 It can be assumed that bribery played a crucial role in such instances. In court suits between Jews and Christians, one of the important means of proof was the oath. There are several cases from Pinsk, heard before both the castle court and the independent jurydyka authorities, where Jews accused of serious crimes were obliged to confirm their pleas of innocence by taking an oath. The peasants of the Lulin latifundium sued the two arrendators of the estate for fraudulently collecting from the peasants’ harvest a larger proportion than they were entitled to. The abbot of the monastery there obliged the arrendators and five of the leading members of the Pinsk kahal to swear as to their innocence in the synagogue. The peasants and bailiff (wozny) of the castle court came to the synagogue in order to be present at the oath taking, but the arrendators did not show up at the designated time and consequently were sued for damages.78 A Christian hatter sued Mordecai Litmanowicz before the castle court, claiming that in the wake of a dispute between them Mordecai had forced him out of his home and injured him. The court decision required the defendant and two trustworthy and honorable Jews to swear as to his innocence. In accordance with the general privilege of Lithuanian Jewry, the oath was executed in the synagogue “on the Ten Commandments” (the Torah). The interesting point in this and the previous

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cases is that the defendant’s own oath had to be reinforced by the oaths of representatives of the kahal for him to prove his innocence.79 Most cases pitting Jews against Christians were heard in the zamek (castle), the headquarters of the starosta or his deputy. In the 1640s, in part of the cases the podstarosta, a judge, and a scribe sat as a court of the nobility. Sometimes the podstarosta sat alone by the authority of the court of the Jews.80 In 1646, David Jakubowicz, one of the most important of the Pinsk arrendators, appealed a verdict reached by a nobility court in Pinsk. David, together with his nobleman lord, Lukasz Olkowski, had been accused of killing a peasant who worked in Olkowski’s distilleries. The nobleman was fined sixty-four kopy for damages, but the Jew claimed that according to the Jews’ privilege the nobility court was not competent to judge him. The judges (who included the podstarosta) accepted this argument, and his case was referred to the podstarosta’s court sitting in its capacity as the sad zamkowy, which was empowered to judge Jews.81 After this precedent was established, the podstarosta’s castle court became the venue for trials involving Jews. It is surprising, therefore, that some Jews were still tried by the nobility court and did not protest. The privileges were ambiguous in this connection,82 and the Jews’ lack of certainty about their rights in this area seems to have prevented them from always demanding them. It might not have mattered very much to a Jew if he sued a Christian, in the words of an act of the Lithuanian Jewish Council in 1623, ordering any Jew about to sue a Christian in court to consult the leaders of his kahal,83 “in the royal court, the tribunal, the grod, or the zamek.” The Jews probably insisted on strict application of their privilege rights to be judged exclusively by the royally sponsored court system only when they felt that the nobility courts violated their rights and that the judgment of the starosta or his deputy would be preferable. Litigation between Jews was heard in the Jewish community court, as specified by the privileges. In this period, resort to Polish courts in intra-Jewish matters was extremely rare. The only documented case is the suit of a Pinsk Jew against his neighbor, a Jew from Krynki, who stole clothing and other items from his home.84 With regard to execution of verdicts, Jews sentenced to imprisonment by the Pinsk Jewish community court served their punishment in the communal jail, not

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in the castle. This was contrary to the terms of the 1633 privilege. 85 ­Prisoners were guarded, however, by men employed by the castle.86 It is evident that in Pinsk cooperation between the leadership of the Jewish community and the Polish authorities, who judged the Jews in litigation with Christians and carried out judicial decisions, was closer than what the privileges mandated.

The Jews of Pinsk Within the Christian Environment The Jews of Pinsk lived their religious and social lives as a separate class, segregated from Christian society. Their right to live their lives according to their tradition was protected by the general privileges of Lithuanian Jewry as well as by the privileges of the Pinsk Jewish community. On the other hand, there was extensive daily contact between Jews and Christians in Pinsk. Apart from the Jews who resided in a concentrated mass unto themselves on Zydowska Street, most Jews lived dispersed among the Christian population. Despite the growth of the community, in the seventeenth century Pinsk’s Jews still remained a small minority in the city. The population was mainly Orthodox or Uniate with a small group of Polish Catholics concentrated around the castle and the two monasteries, one Franciscan and the other Dominican. The Jews’ occupations brought most of them into daily contact with members of other groups in the city. As merchants and moneylenders, they drew customers from every level of Christian society. As arrendators, they dealt with the nobility and clergy who gladly leased their latifundia to Jews. They also, in line with the economic realities of the period, profited by the feudal labor and tax obligations of peasant serfs bound to leased properties. The authorities were obliged to protect the Jews’ lives, freedoms, and well-being.87 What, however, were the relationships of the various groups in the Christian population of Pinsk with the Jews? The factual material available to formulate an answer to this question comes primarily from the official summaries of trials held between 1628 and 1648. These documents do not give an unambiguous answer, but if the conclusions they imply truly reflect the reality in Pinsk then the conventional assumptions about Christian-Jewish relations in PolandLithuania are only partially applicable to Pinsk. This is especially true

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with regard to relationships between the Jews and the high and middle nobility, and between the Jews and the townsmen. The first step in understanding the Jews’ relationships with the surrounding society is to clarify some basic facts about the Christian population of the city. By the 1650s, the population numbered some four thousand souls and was, as it had always been, predominantly Ortho­dox. The Polish-Catholic rulers were constantly trying to bolster the influence of the Catholic Church in the city and its vicinity. Queen Bona Sforza established a Benedictine monastery in Pinsk and brought a large number of Polish-Catholic settlers to the area. When the land of the region was divided into wloki in the 1550s and 1560s, Catholic latifundium owners acquired a considerable amount of land at the expense of the Orthodox Church, but Pinsk remained an Orthodox bastion.88 The 1569 Union of Lublin brought the Orthodox nobility into closer contact with Polish culture and mores, and it led to some attenuation of the religious and cultural differences separating them from the Polish nobility. In line with its political aims, the Polish government encouraged such tendencies. The high Orthodox clergy, themselves from noble families, feared that religious desertion by the Orthodox nobility would leave their church without a social base. Their response was to communicate willingness to move closer to the Catholic Church, a move welcomed by the Polish authorities. For the Poles, this was an opportunity to bring about an alliance between the Orthodox Church under their control and the Church of Rome, thereby weakening the Orthodox Church’s autonomy as well as its ties with Moscow. The outcome of this development was the 1596 Union of Brest, a religious union between the two churches.89 The first attempt to supplant the Orthodox Church in Pinsk proper was connected with an event in the history of the Jews there. In 1582 or slightly thereafter, Moses Abramowicz, a son of Abraham Wolczkowicz (one of the second generation of the Jewish community and one of the first Jewish merchants in Pinsk), converted to Orthodoxy. According to the Orthodox bishop, Cyril Terlecki, Moses converted out of conviction as to the truth of Christianity. He changed his name to Mitropan and donated his house on Zydowska Street, located very close to the synagogue, to the Orthodox Church.

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Hoping many Pinsk Jews would follow Moses into the church, the bishop decided to turn this house into a church and placed a priest with his family there. One day, forty men in the employ of the podstarosta attacked the new church in the heart of Zydowska Street, expelled the priest and his wife, broke the church bell and the cross, and took away the ritual objects from the church. The podstarosta’s reply to the bishop’s protest over the incident was that his action was in conformity with orders given by the wojewoda of Braclaw, who also happened to be the starosta of Pinsk.90 The source that documents this incident makes no mention of any role played by the Jews, but it may be assumed that Jews would not abide a church established, for purposes of proselytizing, in the house of an apostate Jew in the center of their neighborhood, opposite the synagogue. Might it not be that the Pinsk Jews took advantage of the growing anti-Orthodox tendencies of the authorities and contributed to Catholic efforts to remove the Orthodox church? This case of apostasy by a member of one of its leading families was an isolated incident that left no impression on the history of the Pinsk Jewish community. The attack on the church, however, marked the onset of an aggressive struggle between the Catholic authorities and the Orthodox Church in Pinsk. The Magdeburg privilege, which the townsmen of Pinsk were granted in 1581, enhanced their status, multiplied their rights, and restricted the Jews in certain ways. Since Pinsk served as the home of an Orthodox bishop, it was also the seat of the Pinsk-Turow bishopric. Given the large number of Orthodox churches and monasteries in Pinsk, it must be considered one of the strongholds of the Orthodox Church in the commonwealth around the turn of the seventeenth century.91 Once the Magdeburg privilege was promulgated there, however, the Pinsk Orthodox population found itself on the defensive, facing the combined pressure of the Catholic Church and the Polish government. The religious antagonism that developed in Pinsk was probably rooted in the declared policy of the Polish authorities to bring about a union of the Orthodox and Catholic Churches. The Polish government and the Catholic Church moved aggressively and consistently to effect a union, and the high Orthodox clergy and Orthodox nobility were willing to join such a union.92 Two of the four Orthodox bishops who convened in Belzec in 1590 and agreed to join a Uniate Church

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were Leonty Peleczycki, bishop of Pinsk, and Cyril Terlecki, bishop of Luck. (Eight years earlier, Terlecki had led the struggle of the Orthodox Church against the Pinsk starosta’s henchmen.) Their application to the Polish king in the matter of union produced results. Positive publicity began to appear, and the number of supporters of the idea grew from day to day. A conference held in Brest formally decided on establishment of the Uniate Orthodox-Catholic Church in 1596. The union aroused protest from among the lower Orthodox clergy and masses. This movement was stronger in Pinsk than elsewhere, and from Pinsk the call went forth to neighboring areas to unite and wage war against the union and for the existence of an independent Orthodox Church. The leaders of the protest were priests associated with the Leszcze monastery. In the same year as the union, they submitted an official petition against the renegade Orthodox bishops and against their decision to establish the Uniate Church. This campaign of the Orthodox in Pinsk resulted in a temporary setback; the Pinsk-Turow episcopate joined the union immediately. The Convent of Saint Barbara also joined in 1596, and by 1615 there was not a single Orthodox church left in Pinsk. The 1614 attempt to set up an Orthodox monastery and chapel in a house built and donated by the noblewoman Rayna Garaburdina led to serious conflict with the Uniate bishop, Paisi. After prolonged litigation, Garaburdina agreed to hand over the building to the Uniate bishop in exchange for his willingness not to collect the fine levied on her. The Orthodox Church was not reestablished in Pinsk for the duration of Zygmunt III’s reign. This, despite the continuing loyalty of the local population to their church.93 There is no documentary evidence that would allow assessment of the effect of the antagonism between the Polish-Catholic rulers and the Orthodox population of Pinsk, opposed to the religious union, on the Jewish community. In general, documentary sources relating to the Jews are almost completely lacking for this period. It is a fact, however, that in the many documents from the period of the struggle over the religious union there is no mention of Orthodox townsmen taking action against the Jews. During the 1595 Cossack uprising led by Nalevaiko, Pinsk was among the places he captured, and its residents greeted him joyfully. The Jews, however, were not harmed in any way. Only the pro-Uniate Bishop Peleczycki was harassed.94

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Persecution of the Orthodox Church in Pinsk and gradual elimination of its churches and convents lasted almost through the entire reign of Zygmunt III. This seems to have distracted the townsmen from their campaign, begun with the formulation of the Magdeburg privilege for the city, to restrict Jewish freedoms in Pinsk. The settlement of the Jews in the bishop’s jurydyka began during the period of religious strife and might have been connected to it in some way. The Uniate bishop who allowed the Jews to settle in the jurydyka of his church probably took this step for reasons aside from the desire to increase his revenues. Perhaps he also considered the balance of forces in the Pinsk population. It would have been desirable to have in his district, in addition to opponents and supporters of the union, a significant number of people who had no stake in the religious struggle and whose loyalty to him was beyond question. The lack of sources precludes proving these assumptions, but it is clear that it was precisely during the time of religious tensions that Jewish settlement spread to the Uniate Church– ­controlled districts of the city. Townsmen who frowned on the growth and expansion of the Jewish population did try to stop the move of the Jews into the church jurydyki, but they were starting from a position of weakness and did not achieve much. In the end, they made their peace with the new reality. Once Wladyslaw IV took the Polish throne in 1633, the position of the Orthodox Church in Pinsk improved. Orthodox control was restored over the wooden Saint Feodor Church and the Orthodox gained permission to establish an association that could serve as the focus of church activities.95 During the first year of his reign, Wladyslaw IV also reconfirmed the Magdeburg privilege granted the townsmen by Stefan Batory and Zygmunt III. He added a provision forbidding Jews from acquiring additional homes from the townsmen. The townsmen were not able, however, to conduct a campaign against the Jews to prevent their economic development and geographic spread. In addition to the ensured protection of the Jews’ safety and welfare by the Polish government, the Jews also enjoyed the guardianship of the high Uniate clergy whom they served in economic and administrative capacities as merchants, lessees of various revenues, and especially as arrendators of liquor monopoly rights.96

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In the face of such support for the Jews, the only gain the ­townsmen made was the grant of permission in 1623 to raze stores—some of which belonged to Jews—to make room for erection of a new town hall (r­atusz) on the marketplace. Such an achievement stands in pale contrast to the fact that the townsmen, having resisted since the 1560s, were forced to hand over a quarter of the municipal monopoly leases to the Jews.97 In this period Christian-controlled commerce was still dominant in the city.98 Both Christian and Jewish merchants maintained market ties with Lithuania, Wolyn, Poland, and even Koenigsberg. It may be that the general prosperity of Pinsk, and Lithuania as a whole, cooled the competitive ardor between the Christian townsmen and the Jews. Pinsk Christian and Jewish merchants would travel together and even help each other when in trouble.99 There is no evidence of serious disputes between Jewish and Christian merchants in Pinsk in the 1640s. The common types of conflict that did arise revolved around questions of indebtedness to Jews resulting from loans or purchases made on credit, collection—sometimes forcible—of debts by Jews, and accusations of theft leveled at Christian servants and wagon drivers. It was between Jewish and Christian craftsmen that there developed economic friction bearing religious and ethnic overtones.100 The sympathetic attitude of the high Uniate clergy toward the Jews was not shared by the lower clergy, Uniate or those who remained within the original Orthodox Church. These priests derived no benefit from the Jews living in the bishop’s jurydyka and were jealous of the Jews’ prosperity and the bishop’s income from them. Their reaction was to attempt to usurp authority over the Jews and collect various revenues from them. When the Jews complained about this, the bishop, steadfast in his commitment to them, asserted his guardianship over them. Even the Orthodox metropolitan of Kiev confirmed the privilege of the Jews of the jurydyka, counteracting the designs of the priests. The Jews’ economic contribution was also important for the operation of the latifundium belonging to the Orthodox Dziatlowicze monastery. The head of the monastery protected them as a matter of course and never placed restrictions on their activities. The rank-andfile monks, on the other hand, intervened on the side of peasants in the latter’s quarrels with Jewish arrendators.101 A countercomplaint of

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a cleric who supervised the latifundium, replying to charges lodged by the arrendators of Pohost and Lulin, included sharp anti-­Jewish assertions clearly inspired by traditional Christian accusations. This is an obvious example of a priest spreading strident anti-­Jewish propaganda, serving as the mouthpiece of peasant hostility and positioning himself as a leader of moves directed against the Jewish arrendators.102 Widespread leasing activity brought many Pinsk Jews into contact with noblemen and the peasants who lived on their latifundia. In this period, the peasant serf of the Pinsk region did not display any particular hostility toward the Jews. The area was still in the process of being colonized, and the peasants still enjoyed a measure of freedom.103 They were indifferent as to the question of who would exploit them. Christian noblemen and arrendators were no less likely to take advantage of peasants than were Jewish ones.104 The only recorded cases of serfs acting against Jewish arrendators in particular involve incitement by their nobleman master who fell out with the arrendator, or instances where the Jew committed some egregious injustice that clearly went against custom or law.105 With regard to the attitude of the Pinsk area latifundium-owning nobility toward the Jewish arrendators, the abundant available source material reflects an ambivalent stance. During the 1620s, 1630s, and 1640s, the large landowners would lease out to the Jews large-scale arendy. Sooner or later, once the handsome profits of the leasehold became apparent, the arrendators would become embroiled in controversy with the owners or their heirs. In most cases the noblemen, wanting to increase their own income, attempted (usually unsuccessfully) to oust the Jewish arrendators from their leaseholds before the termination date, by force or litigation or both. The record book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council preserves the record of “a nasty business” that occurred in Pinsk in 1637.106 This was probably an attack on Jews by students (schillergelauf ) that entailed large expenses for the Pinsk kahal and for the council. This was, however, the solitary case of this type mentioned in the sources. For the most part, Jews lived their lives and conducted their business in peace. Any religious or social hostility in the atmosphere was largely overcome by the prevailing constellation of religious, economic, and social factors.

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Economic Life Economic reality in Pinsk was multifaceted. The Jews had a broad range of occupations by means of which they could earn a livelihood. Pinsk’s integration into the economic and political processes of Poland began in the mid-sixteenth century and continued through the first half of the seventeenth century. Located at the intersection of major transportation routes, Pinsk became one of the most important commercial centers in Lithuania. The process of colonizing this region and developing the latifundia was at first slow and deliberate. It came into full force in the third, fourth, and fifth decades of the seventeenth century. The Jews played an active role in the colonization, and it exercised a profound influence on their economic life. Through it they entered the sphere of leaseholding, an endeavor that was beginning to become an important occupation.107 Pinsk Jews also had far-ranging commercial and moneylending interests. They penetrated several crafts and occasionally had the opportunity to lease taxes and customs, something prohibited to them by law. The economic foundation for the existence of the Pinsk Jewish community remained broad.

Latifundia Leasing: The Olewsk Leasehold The earliest known lease contract on a latifundium held by Jews dates from 1628.108 Abraham Chackielewicz and Joshua Abramowicz (the latter known from other sources as a wealthy man who dealt in moneylending)109 leased the town of Olewsk with three ­villages—Snowidowicze, Dowgosieli, and Chiszyn—from the nobleman Aleksander Nemericz for three years at a price of 11,000 zlotys. The arrendators paid the large lease price in advance, so it is likely that both of them were rich members of the Pinsk Jewish community. The contract indicates that in addition to the lands and natural resources of the latifundium, the leasehold included the serfs and their courvee obligations, rents (­czynsz) due,110 taxes, transport, customs duties collected on latifundium roads, taverns, mills, and metal foundries. In 1630, one year before the expiration of the lease, the owner—for some unknown reason—forcibly repossessed the town and the villages, expelling the arrendators and

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confiscating much of their property. The arrendators sued him for two thousand zlotys in damages and demanded compensation for the breach of contract.111 This incident allows us to assume that, even though there is no evidence for earlier leasing activity by Pinsk Jews, they must have been in this field before 1628. An eleven thousand zloty leasehold in the first half of the seventeenth century was a huge enterprise that required both capital and much experience. Beginners could not have assumed such a large lease. The great distance between Pinsk and Olewsk also demonstrates the scope of the business links of the Jewish arrendators from Pinsk. So, despite the lack of documentation, Pinsk Jews probably began dealing in leaseholds in the 1560s when the conditions of landholding changed drastically. At that time, Jewish landowners lost their lands and became leaseholders.112 Lubieszow and Pniewno Jews were leasing the Lubieszow latifundium as early as 1634, and for the period beginning in 1646 there is detailed information about the lease. Nearby Pniewno was leased as a separate entity by two Jews in 1644, but in 1646, for unspecified reasons, it was incorporated into the Lubieszow latifundium lease. The 1644 Pniewno lease contract exists and sheds much light on the nature of leaseholding by the Jews of Pinsk in this period. It indicates that Simha Pesachowicz and Abraham Jozefowicz leased the Pniewno latifundium from the nobleman Adam Kotowski for a period of nine years at a rent of six thousand zlotys paid in advance. Kotowski and his wife leased out to the Jews: 1. The Pniewno estate with the house that stood on it; the village of Pniewno with its lands: gardens, fields (including fields already ­­fertilized and planted), meadows, pastures, uncultivated terrain, fish ponds, streams, marshes, other bodies of water containing fish,113 forests, groves, bushes and vegetation (including honey from beehives), and hunting areas. 2. The serfs residing in this village together with their wives and ­children, their labor dues, rents, money and kind obligations, the tax on honey extraction and on the use of wood from the forest,

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transport service for timber, and various other customary obligations of the serfs. 3. The village tavern and the right to manufacture and sell beverages; the mill, and the bridge toll. 4. The right to use latifundium pastureland for the grazing of oxen that the arrendators planned to purchase. 5. The right to govern the serfs, judge them, and punish them in accordance with the law.114

The nobleman latifundium owner pledged not to interfere in the management of the leased enterprises, to insure the latifundium against losses resulting from plague and fire, and to protect it from attack by brigand gangs or enemies. He would bear the cost of the military levy, and in the event that the Sejm raised taxes he would pay the difference between the new rates and the old. He promised to accept the latifundium from the lessees at the end of the contract period without demanding that they reclaim forest and shrub lands. The rights and obligations specified in the lease were to remain in force even in the event of the death of either party. The heirs were to succeed to all rights and accept all obligations. By 1646, two years after the lease was signed, the original lessees, Simha Pesachowicz and Abraham Jozefowicz, had taken on Zerah ­Simhowicz and Anszel Senderowicz from Pinsk as partners and employed other Jews from Lubieszow and Czerwiszcze in various functions connected with the arenda.115 At the same time, Pesachowicz (perhaps Zerah Simchowicz’s father) and Senderowicz were the arrendators of Lubieszow. The two leases were probably combined because of the close relationship between the lessees and the small distance separating the two latifundia. Also in 1646, eight serfs from Pniewno sued the arrendators, demanding high monetary compensation for damage resulting from various illegal acts.116 A widow charged that the lessees caused the death of her husband. Collectively the serfs claimed that the courvee labor required by the lessees was up to double the amount that was standard per wloka. In addition they demanded labor from the women that was not coming to them. The lessees also collected special taxes and forced the peasants to sell—largely on credit—their honey and other products to them exclusively. They had the serfs work as far as thirty miles

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from home, made them transport stones and lumber and work in home construction, and forced them to maintain and fatten the arrendators’ cattle for token payment only. The owner of the latifundium, Kotowski, also filed a suit against the lessees demanding they forfeit the six thousand zloty security they had posted on account of their having contravened the terms of the lease.117 They had illegally transferred part of the leasehold to other people who in turn settled on the property large numbers of Jews from Lubieszow and Czerwiszcze who had no contractual right to be there. Reviewing the complaints of the serfs, Kotowski asserted that the arrendators were harming the latifundium. The lessees’ reply to the charges of the serfs and Kotowski has not been preserved. We do know that when a district official ( general) arrived to investigate the complaints, the Jews reacted aggressively and certainly were not cowed by the accusations against them.118 It does seem that the peasants’ charges, though somewhat exaggerated, are basically true and reflect the real situation. An arenda was a complex economic undertaking that necessitated integration of a number of enterprises: first and foremost, latifundium agricultural production to be sold at market; the peasants, who represented a primary source of income in the form of labor or taxes; ­liquor production and sale of monopoly rights; the rights to tolls; and the exclusive right to mill the peasants’ grain, for which service they paid with a percentage of the product. The arrendators also dealt in the peasants’ own agricultural produce, fattened cattle for export, and sold semifinished lumber and forest products such as potash. Their profits were not extravagant. Zerah Simchowicz, one of the partners to the Pniewno lease, in 1646 financed his business with the aid of a huge loan. In 1647, he was imprisoned by the kahal court for failure to repay a loan of several thousand zlotys to Deborah, the wife of Isaiah Jakubowicz. The owner of Pniewno eventually freed him by force.119 One year or so after assuming the lease, he could not pay his debt. Jews leased the Lubieszow latifundium as early as 1634. In 1646, Andrzej and Barbara Dolski renewed the lease to Simha Pesachowicz, Anszel Senderowicz, Mendel Chaimowicz, and Zelig Aleksandrowicz. The contract, which cost sixteen thousand zlotys, paid in advance, and was to last for three years, included the villages of Lubieszow, Derewek

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(together with the Derewek-Pniewno folwark), Wolka Pniewienska, Czerwiszcze (together with the Wolka Lubieszowska), and Ilbiaz. The arenda included all latifundium lands, the serfs and their feudal obligations, road tolls, concession leases, mills, and a foundry. The lessees immediately sowed various crops—buckwheat, hemp, and flax. They did a lively trade in cattle, purchased from the peasants of the area, and the foundry and smithy on the latifundium had a large stock of coal, iron ore, and iron. The ore was processed at the foundry, and various tools and implements were fashioned at the smithy.120 Andrzej Dolski died several months after the lease was signed, and his nephew, Kazimierz Dolski, became the trustee of the estate. The arrendators complained prior to the owners’ death that some of his functionaries imposed illegal taxes on the peasants, forced them to work at locations far from their homes, and confiscated one hundred head of cattle from them. These moves resulted in the failure of the serfs to fulfill their obligations to the leaseholders, sometimes even fleeing the latifundium.121 Dolski’s local administrator denied everything and placed the blame for the peasant flight on the oppressive practices of the arrendators.122 Dolski was already ill, and his stewards had apparently decided to change their attitude toward the lessees. After Dolski’s death, his nephew filed complaints against the arrendators in his name as well as on behalf of many of the latifundium peasants. He charged that the lessees mistreated the peasants, burdening them with extra labors, collecting illegal levies from them and often confiscating their produce, buying from them on credit, and running up considerable unpaid bills. Aided apparently by his claim to be the natural patron of the peasants and his position as commander (chorazy) of the Pinsk regional military unit,123 the trustee succeeded in breaking the lease contract and removing the arrendators from the property. He may have eventually reached a compromise with them because according to a 1648 document Anszel Senderowicz, Aaron (his brother?), and their families escaped with their lives and much property from Cossack regiments advancing on Lubieszow.124 The opportunities created by the broad scope of the Lubieszow and Pniewno leaseholds attracted many Jewish settlers to the villages of Czerwiszcze and Pniewno, especially to Lubieszow, which grew to be a town.125

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Uhrynicze and Berezycze The leasehold of Uhrynicze and Berezycze was another large-scale enterprise operated by Jewish arrendators from Pinsk. On March 11, 1646, Icek Abramowicz and Mordecai Aronowicz leased this latifundium from Andrzej Dolski and his wife (the same people who owned Lubieszow) for three years at four thousand zlotys, paid in cash in advance.126 Dolski died several months after the lease went into effect, but there is no evidence that his heirs interfered with the conduct of their business as they had done in Lubieszow. Pohost and Lulin The Szymszycz family conducted the most large-scale and most diversified leasing activity in the area in the 1640s. In 1643, Eliezer Szymszycz leased Pohost and its folwarks from the nobleman Stetkiewicz. The lease included control over cattle, several villages (Kamien, Botowo, Czuchowo, Ploskina, Dalnaja Luka, Tereben, Dubnowyczy Lobcze) and the Chmielnik, and other unnamed folwarks, for four years. In 1645, he leased the Lulin and Kutec Dworaninowski latifundia and the village of Porochonsk for a period of three years.127 The documents do not specify how much was paid for these leases. We do know that the arrendators of Pohost were paid 4,000 zlotys in compensation for violation of their rights.128 The price of the leasehold could not have been less than this sum. The leasehold included129 forests, groves, rivers, ponds, timber, honeycombs, hunting and fishing rights, arable lands, peasants of noble birth,130 boyars,131 townsmen,132 and serfs together with their feudal dues (in labor, taxes, landhold fees, transport obligations, and so forth). The broad scope of the Szymszycz family leaseholds called for sophisticated organization. The large number of names of family members, clerks, and subarrendators involved in running the leaseholds mentioned in the various documents gives an idea of how extensive this organization must have been. The Szymszycz family had a house in Pinsk and spent the Jewish holidays there, but the adults who ran the leaseholds normally resided on the Pohost latifundium. From there Eliezer Szymszycz, the head of the family; his wife, Deborah; and his sons Jacob and Marek conducted the enterprises. After Eliezer died in 1645, his widow and sons

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inherited his leaseholds. Deborah was the boss, and Jacob represented her. The documents also record the name of Mordecai Lazarowicz of Horodec Litowski, Deborah’s brother, as one of those responsible for the business. He was evidently sent for after the death of his brother-inlaw and became a partner in the leaseholds.133 The affairs of the Pohost latifundium itself were conducted mainly by the Szymszyczes, personally. They were assisted by Isaac ­Mojszejewicz and Simha Ickowicz. There were other Jews on the latifundium in the service of the arrendators and almost certainly subarrendators as well, who ran the tavern and customs monopolies. Chanan Israelewicz was the lessees’ representative who saw to the day-to-day affairs of the Lulin latifundium.134 One market day in the village of Lulin, Deborah showed up together with her son, Jacob; their right-hand man, Daniel Leibowicz; Judka Moszkowicz and Leib Israelewicz, subarrendators of Lulin; Simon ­Jozefowicz, a Jew from Pinsk; and Joseph Israelewicz, the subarrendator of Dziatlowicze. This group forcibly confiscated all sorts of items from the peasants of Lulin on account of the latter’s refusal to pay customs duties. For their part, the peasants claimed these duties were illegal. In the process, twelve peasants were seriously injured by the Jews. Deborah Szymszycz’s arrendators and factors must have enjoyed real power, which enabled them to use force. The leaseholders’ representative who dealt with legal matters at the castle court in Pinsk was Eliezer Fajbiszewicz.135 Leaseholders made most of their money from the sale of agricultural products bound for export, manufacture and sale of alcoholic beverages, and customs duties. They also derived income from the forests. The primary forest products were timber and honey and the fishponds, which produced income either directly or by way of the charges to latifundium inhabitants for the right to use them.136 The arrendators’ authority over the assets of the latifundia was complete; they made sure that no one fished the ponds or cut timber in the forests without their permission. Their method of running the leasehold was stringent and exacting. The leaseholder was armed and employed servants and police officials who helped him supervise the property and preserve law and order. When, for example, the son of the bailiff (wozny) of the Pinsk district, Nowicki, tried to cut down trees in one of the forests, Eliezer Szymszycz assaulted him and confiscated

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his horse and ox. This occurred two months before Eliezer’s death. When the deacon and the son of the Pohost priest, together with some of their associates, tried to fish in the lake, Jacob Szymszycz with his Jewish assistants and non-Jewish servants chased them away from the boat and confiscated some of their belongings.137 The lessees took full advantage of the labor due from the serfs, and discipline was strict. The serfs had to work where the arrendators told them to; slackers were severely reprimanded and sometimes hit. (The feudal dues of serfs of noble origin, beyond payment of the czynsz, are not clear, however.) In Pohost the townspeople also had labor obligations. The lessees had judicial authority over the serfs and would lock up troublemakers in the latifundium jail. Like the noblemen from whom they leased the latifundium, the arrendators lived in the grand style. ­Jacob Szymszycz once organized a hunting expedition in the Pohost forests even before the end of the traditional year of mourning following his father’s death. He compelled many serfs and townsmen to join in.138 The arenda ran smoothly until the death of Eliezer Szymszycz. Then Stetkiewicz, castellan of Nowogrodek, decided to run his heirs off the latifundium. To do so, he allied himself with elements hostile to the lessees: the priest of Pohost, certain townsmen, and such people as the petty nobleman Jasman Nowicki, bailiff of the Pinsk district. Stetkiewicz tried to incite the serfs to mutiny against the arrendators by refusing to fulfill their obligations. His agents organized an attack—in the absence of the arrendators—on the Pohost latifundium in 1646, during the holiday of Passover. This resulted in extensive damage to the Jews’ property. The attackers also raided Lulin, expelling the Jewish employees of the lessees who were based there. Moreover, the Jewish lessees were accused of causing the deaths of three inhabitants of the Pohost and Lulin latifundia who allegedly died subsequent to being beaten by them. One of these people was a man from Pohost who was beaten because he had showed up late for a hunting trip. The other two, a brewer and a wojt, were punished for refusing to lend money to the lessees. Given the fact that these charges yielded no practical results and the arrendators held on to Pohost until the end of the term of their lease in 1647, it is apparent that they easily refuted what were obviously fabricated accusations. It also seems that the serfs remained relatively faithful to the lessees.139

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The Szymszycz family managed its leaseholds aggressively and boldly; its members were never put off by threats, including those issued by priests and monks. The widow Deborah Szymszycz was exceptionally striking in her pride, decisiveness, and aggressiveness.140 She was the one who effectively repelled the concentrated attack on the family’s leasing rights.141 The Lease of Lulin The Lulin area lands belonging to the Dziatlowicze monastery were leased out in 1643 to Joseph (Josko) Moszkowicz and Eliezer Israelewicz. The precise contractual details are not available, but the document reporting this lease contains some interesting information germane to our discussion of arenda. It is clear that Pinsk Jews were leasing a church-owned property under conditions that were not significantly different from those of any other leasehold. The document relates the complaint of the serfs of this latifundium against the Jewish lessees. They asserted that the Jews used false weights and measures to defraud them, taking a larger share of the produce than the peasants were obligated to pay. The bishop adjudicated this suit, ruling that the Jews must compensate the serfs for their damages by paying them one hundred kopy. The decision was not carried out, and the matter dragged on for several years. In 1646 a new bishop retried the case and decided that the lessees had to swear to their probity in the synagogue together with five leaders of the community.142 The point here is that under certain circumstances Jews who entered into lease agreements with the clergy could find themselves subject to the authority of ecclesiastical courts. From the case at hand, it does not seem that this authority posed severe problems; the Jews managed to avoid honoring the verdict for several years and eventually got the fine changed to an oath. Moreover, despite the fact that the bailiff and the serfs came to the synagogue on the appointed date to witness this oath, it was never taken. Other Leaseholds (Reczyca, Koszewicze, Krotowo, and Polkotycz) Between 1644 and 1646, the large leaseholds controlled by Jews from Pinsk included the latifundia of Reczyca, Koszewicze, Krotowo, and Polkotycz. The lessees of these properties mentioned in the sources

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were Nathan Lejzerowicz (one of the leaders of the kahal and a district head (rosh medinah) representing Pinsk to the Lithuanian Jewish Council)143; David ben Jacob Morawczyk and his brother Zalman (their father and one of their brothers were also kahal leaders)144; and two subarrendators, Jacob Hosiajewicz and Jacob Moszkowicz. In 1644, Nathan Lejzerowicz leased Reczyca for six years from Pan Andrzej Terlecki, paying twelve thousand zlotys. This leasehold of four villages—Reczyca, Wolka Reczycka, Wolka w Boru, Hewkowicze—­included all real estate, the serfs and their labor dues, customs payments from boat traffic on the Styr (especially salt barges: baydaki, czolny), a tavern, and a flour mill on the Strumen River. One of the contractual obligations was for serf beekeepers to supply the lessee with one hundred buckets of honey annually, something that proved difficult to fulfill. Nathan Lejzerowicz subsequently sublet the entire leasehold to Jacob Hosiajewicz and Jacob Moszkowicz of Pinsk.145 In 1645, David Jakubowicz and his brother Zalman (aided by their hired man, David) leased Kuszewicze, belonging to the noblewoman Ordzina. The sources do not specify the details of the lease but do mention that five serf families had run away from the latifundium, taking with them all of their property.146 Serf desertion was a common phenomenon in the seventeenth century, and the Polish nobility fought against it to the limit of their power. The main cause of such desertions was the ever-increasing exploitation of the serfs in the name of rendering maximum economic gain for the latifundium from the serfs’ feudal obligations. This was probably why the five families fled several weeks after the Jakubowiczes took the lease. In addition to the “push factor” of feudal demands at home, there could also be a “pull factor” at the destination: the readiness of owners of other latifundia to populate their lands by taking in runaway serfs and providing them with housing and arable land on favorable terms, despite legal prohibitions on doing so. This is precisely what happened with the Kuszewicze runaways. They found refuge in the nearby Czerniewicze latifundium, belonging to Pan Naruszewicz and leased by Solomon Abramowicz. David Jakubowicz, the Kuszewicze arrendator, considered the flight of the serfs to constitute serious damage and filed a report to that effect in court, reserving the right to sue the latifundium owner for compensation. Once the new location of the five runaways became known, the

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arrendator and the owner organized a large party of serfs to attack the fugitives’ new homes and destroyed them.147 This entire incident is a good illustration of the role of the Jews in the colonizing infrastructure of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The illustration is furthered by the fact that in mid-1646 David Jakubowicz sued Ordzina for the rights to the cistern near ­ Czerniewicze, which she had initially (at the time of the leasing out of this village) reserved to herself but never actually used.148 At the beginning of 1646, the same David Jakubowicz (also known by the last name Morawczyk) and Nathan Lejzerowicz leased the KrotowoPolkotycz latifundium in partnership under normal terms for four years at sixty-six hundred zlotys. The estate was the property of ­Andrzej and Bogumila Terlecki, who two years earlier had leased out Reczyca to Nathan Lejzerowicz. In Krotowo-Polkotycz, the arrendators managed the business themselves, assisted by a Pinsk Jew named Jacob and several Jewish youths. The lessees had at their disposal a trained, armed force that they and their assistants employed in defense of the property—even against noblemen. Landgrabbing attempts by neighboring noblemen met with resistance, and the lessees did not shrink from confiscating crops they thought had been harvested by strangers from land belonging to the leasehold.149 The wojt,150 who played an active role in administration of the leasehold, aided the arrendators in preserving law and order on the latifundium. In Krotowo-Polkotycz, he owed his loyalty to the lessees and not to the owner. When they traveled to Pinsk for the holidays, the wojt remained responsible for the estate. For some tasks, the arrendators might hire the serfs of other noblemen to work in Krotowo-Polkotycz. From the beginning of the lease, distilling was done by one such hired serf. This serf owed his labor dues to Pan Lukasz Olkowski (who held in deposit the latifundium of the serf’s real master, Pan Krupownicki, also in Polkotycz). Within a month after the operation began, David Jakubowicz was accused of beating this serf to death for refusing to distill on Sundays. Jakubowicz denied the charge, claiming that he did not know the serf in question and that on the day of the death he was tending to his other leasehold in Koszewicze. There appears to have been an arrangement made between Jakubowicz and Lukasz Olkowski because as a result of the suit

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brought by Krupownicki the Pinsk district nobility court (sad ziemski) decided that Olkowski should pay Krupownicki sixty-four kopy, the sum set by law as compensation for the killing of a serf by a nobleman. The nobility court transferred the indictment against David Jakubowicz to the judgment of the podstarosta, agreeing with the defendant that as a Jew he was outside their jurisdiction. Like Jakubowicz’s first lease, the Krotowo-Polkotycz contract did not work out well. The lessor, Andrzej Terlecki, died during the term and his widow, Bogumila, did not respect the terms of the lease, interfering and causing serious harm to the arrendators, although the contract did run to term.151 The Kozlakowicze Leasehold In 1644, Solomon Abramowicz leased Kozlakowicze from Pan Krzysz­ tof Naruszewicz for a period of five years. The leased estate included the villages of Kozlakowicze and Czerniewicze together with their serfs, the Sawinskie courtyard, and the rights to use the pasture lands in Welatycz to transport logs from there and grind grain freely for latifundium use. This leasehold was apparently middle-sized, although there is no information as to the price paid for it. In 1646, the Jewish arrendator was embroiled in controversy with the neighboring landowners. He chased away one of them who tried to appropriate the Jew’s fishing nets on the Pina, with the aid of Naruszewicz’s men, who fired on the poacher. The Jew also confiscated two horses from a landowner who seems to have been attempting to harm his property. In 1647, two years prior to the end of the contract, the leasehold was transferred to a Christian woman named Sultanowa, because the sellers needed cash.152 Tavern Leases Although small-scale arendy in the latifundia and villages of the Pinsk region were abundant, little is known about them; because of the small sums involved, they seldom came to the attention of the courts. There are only two documents relating to tavern leases. One indicates that in 1630 an arrendator named Solomon leased the inn and tavern in the village of Ilbiaz, belonging to Andrzej Dolski, owner of the large Lubieszow latifundium. The second document is much more detailed and comprehensive, yielding a vivid impression of how a tavern lease worked.

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In 1644, Leib Jakubowicz leased the tavern in Wyhonos from ­Mikolaj Dolski, the nephew of Andrzej Dolski. The lease was for three years at an annual rent of 125 zlotys.153 In addition to the tavern, the leasehold included a small mill, which added fifteen zlotys to the rental. The arrendator earned his living by selling liquor, for cash or on credit, to the peasants. He distilled the liquor himself in a distillery next to the tavern. The mill also provided some income. The barn contained one hundred zlotys worth of grain, eighty zlotys worth of hay, and fifty ­zlotys worth of seeds, so the arrendator must have added agricultural produce to his stock-in-trade. There were also two beehives for honey and a cow to provide milk for the arrendator’s personal needs. The tavern was separate from the lessee’s residence and was built by him at his own expense. In the courtyard there were several carts and sleds, and there were probably a horse and distilling equipment as well. The household furnishings of the arrendator were meager. At some point during the lease term, the owner of Wyhonos began acting violently toward the arrendator. The Jew requested cancellation of the lease and was given twelve weeks to clear out. In the meantime, he contracted with Andrzej Terlecki to lease the tavern in Czemeryn.

Arendy as a Source of Livelihood for Pinsk’s Jews In the 1630s and 1640s, some thirty Jews, heads of households, are singled out in the sources as earning their living by leasing latifundia. Since the documents we have refer primarily to litigation between lessees and lessors or between Jewish lessees and their Christian neighbors, this number should be regarded as a minimum. If we consider the dozens of families that lived off bartending and the liquor trade (also forms of leaseholds) within the city itself or in church-owned suburbs, then a conservative estimate would put the number at sixty households. Leasing was thus the livelihood of a broad sector of the Jewish population of Pinsk. A significant proportion of the Jews of Pinsk dealt in large-scale leases. The documents indicate approximately fifteen families who were involved in high-priced arendy, either as individuals or in large and small partnerships. Alongside these big leaseholders were the many Jewish sublessees and hired hands who owed their livelihood to the main

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arrendator. The main leaseholders were accorded great honor, on a par with the respect shown and status assigned to the nobility in Polish society. In official contracts through the 1640s, the nobleman was likely to address the Jewish arrendator as “Pan,” an honorific reserved for nobility. This was not a meaningless gesture. Powerful Jewish arrendators regarded themselves as noblemen, were in effect recognized as such by those around them, and behaved accordingly. Jacob Szymszycz, for example, arranged for hunting parties after the fashion of the nobility.154

Tax and Customs Leases There are a few indications in the available documents that rich Jews also leased taxes and customs duties. In 1605, the lease of the czopowe (liquor excise tax) was held by Jacob Lazarowicz and Abraham Nachimowicz from Pinsk.155 These two were likely the sons of Eliezer Markowicz and Nahum Pesachowicz respectively, two of the community’s leaders and wealthiest men in the generation preceding the Union of Lublin. The court gave full legal backing to the arrendators in their attempt to collect tax from the tavern and distilleries under the control of a certain nobleman. The nobleman refused to pay the taxes, claiming that leasing of tax revenues by Jews was illegal. Various decisions of the Sejm between 1562 and 1593 prohibited Jews from leasing customs duties, collecting taxes, and holding estates. This claim, which was, strictly speaking, correct, was rejected by the royally sponsored court, and the nobleman was obliged to pay double. Another proof that Jews leased the czopowe in Pinsk comes from a 1646 suit where the plaintiff, Zalman Jozefowicz the czopowe tax collector, sued the Christian arrendator of a latifundium in the Pinsk region.156 The court document does not say who the lessee of the tax was, but the rules concerning the czopowe that appear in the Lithuanian Jewish Council’s minute book for the years 1628–1632 imply that it was the kahal of Pinsk that leased this tax,157 and that Zalman Jozefowicz was the kahal’s official tax collector. If this is correct, then the lease of the czopowe tax probably had been in Jewish hands for a long time and perhaps bolstered the liquor commerce of Pinsk Jewry.158 In 1639 and 1640, Barukh Nachmanowicz held the lease on various taxes and imposts due the central administration from Pinsk and its

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vicinity. In 1640, he turned over 32,002 zlotys to the official in charge of revenues from the Pinsk district. This is a large sum of money and testifies to the scope of the leasehold as well as to the wealth of this Pinsk Jew, who in his business dealings handled tens of thousands of zlotys. The lease included such diverse revenues as real estate and fishing taxes in the town of Newel, forest use and legal fees in Horodno, liquor tax in Lohiszyn, royal grain tax, liquor tax in two estates, fur tax, wax tax, and so on. Barukh Nachmanowicz was both a merchant and an arrendator and assumed his revenue leases shortly before 1639.159 He collected taxes and fees personally, both in cash and in kind. His primary service to the government revenue official was to turn in all obligations owed— whether taxes, fees, or debts—in cash (high-quality coin). He paid his obligations meticulously, punctually, and in full. The document that serves as the source for our information was filed with the castle court in 1645, five years after the leases were contracted. It may be that Nachmanowicz held the leases through the entire period of 1639–1645. The policy of the Lithuanian Jewish Council was to maintain the position of Jews as customs lessees. Little is known about Pinsk Jews in this role. In 1630, for six hundred zlotys Litman Jakubowicz and Moses Hillelowicz leased the customs houses of Pinsk and vicinity from a nobleman who lived near Horodno.160 This is not a large-scale lease, and it is clear that the Jews were only sublessees. When a plague in the Horodno district reduced traffic and incomes, they could not meet their payments on time and requested a declaration from the court that they were not to be held responsible for the delay. In 1646 the lease on the Pinsk customs house was held by Eliezer Mojszejewicz, factor to the king and arrendator of part of the Lithuanian customs duty. His agent in Pinsk was Icek Boruchowicz, who ran the local customs operations and controlled a staff of clerk-collectors. There is a report that in this year Albrecht Stanislaw Radziwill, the chancellor of Lithuania, warned the burgomasters and city council of Pinsk to observe the law and refrain from smuggling merchandise and evading the customs duties owed to the royal treasury. According to a document dating from 1647, Icek Boruchowicz received the complete cooperation of the starosta in collecting customs from a large shipment of salt belonging to a certain Polish nobleman.161

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Jews also held leases on the customs houses in the outlying areas around Pinsk and on the roads leading to the city. Jewish customs arrendators in 1630 in Chernobyl on the Pripet (belonging to Pawel ­Sapieha) stopped seven boats carrying three hundred barrels of potash to Pinsk and collected 150 zlotys. The arrendator of Wysock, Jacob Szmuelowicz, held the customs house on the Horyn River in 1646 and is reported to have collected duty from a salt shipment traveling along the river to Turow. In both of these recorded cases, the money was collected by force with the assistance of men in the service of the lords of these localities. Customs lessees would sequester goods and sometimes molest and imprison the carriers until the customs obligations were paid.162 General estate leases usually included the rights to local customs duties. The contract with the Pinsk Jews who leased Lubieszow stated explicitly that the lease incorporated customs collected on the roads.163 Deborah Szymszycz and her son Jacob of Pinsk, arrendators of Lulin, confiscated all sorts of goods from the local peasants because of their refusal to pay customs at the fair.164 For their part, the peasants claimed that the payments demanded were unprecedented and illegal. The indications from all of the documented cases are that customs leases were not a central source of livelihood in the economy of the Jews of Pinsk. In the city itself, few made their living from such leases, and on the nobility-owned latifundia the customs duties were but one of many income-producing enterprises. What is also characteristic of tax and customs leasing is that the ­arrendators generally fulfilled their financial obligations conscientiously and collected the monies due aggressively. Operators of royal customs houses were supported by the force of the king’s authority, while those who leased on private latifundia could count on the assistance of the noblemen’s men, prepared to exert force against those who refused to pay taxes and customs duties. Customs lessees enjoyed a status that lent them power, authority, and social prestige. They commanded respect from burgomasters, municipal council members, noblemen, towns­ people, and peasants. In 1627, the Lithuanian Jewish Council granted a monopoly on leasing of general customs duties for Lithuania to Moses ben Eliezer, together with his sons and partners. This signaled a policy of favoring the transfer of customs leases from the nobility to Jews.165 To what extent

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was the customs leasing activity of the Jews of Pinsk coordinated with this policy? The temporal proximity of the council’s 1627 decision on the customs monopoly lease and the first sources from Pinsk with regard to customs and tax leases appearing in the 1630s and 1640s does not seem coincidental. By 1646, this same Moses ben Eliezer held the lease on the Pinsk customs house.166

Liquor and Mill Leases The lease of liquor rights in Pinsk was one type of middle- or smallscale arenda. According to the 1581 Magdeburg privilege granted to the city, liquor rights belonged exclusively to the municipality in return for a payment of five hundred zlotys. This meant that Jews were precluded from leasing taverns within the city. Unable to acquiesce in exclusion from such an important occupation, the Jews circumvented the restrictions of the municipality when they settled in the churchowned sections of the city during the reign of Zygmunt III. This is the conclusion to be reached on the basis of the 1640 privilege of Pachomej Oranski, the Uniate bishop of Pinsk, which allowed Jews to use their homes and other property as bars, distilleries, and breweries as they saw fit.167 But this was not enough; the Jews campaigned intensively to cancel the general prohibition. The primary justification they offered was that their share of municipal taxes entitled them to benefit from income-generating concessions controlled by the municipality. The prohibition was abolished in 1632, and the Jews of Pinsk were allowed to lease a third of the liquor leases in the city. This new right cost the Jewish community fifty kopy annually.168 There were probably dozens of Jewish families supporting themselves from leasing taverns in Pinsk.169 Latifundium mills were usually included in general estate leases as one of the concessions leased out. In addition, a 1646 privilege from King Wladyslaw IV to Pesah Jakubowicz of Pinsk entitled him to build, and lease for 100 zlotys a year, a flour mill near Pinsk.170 This privilege allowed Pesah to build a ramp along a canal, a bridge to the mill, the mill, and a grain storeroom. He could operate the mill, receiving a percentage of the flour as his fee. Pesah was also allotted several days’ worth of serf labor in the spring and fall to help with the building and

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maintenance of the ramp. No other buildings (except royal ones) were to be allowed in front of the mill, and no one else was to be permitted the use of the ramp, so as to preserve it. This was apparently a large mill designed to serve the needs of a section of the Pinsk district. Tavern leasing in villages and on latifundia was one of the most common occupations of the period. Taverns were leased directly from the latifundium owner or as subleases from general estate arrendators. Jewish petty arrendators operated taverns in various places in the Pinsk region.171

Commerce Most of the factors that encouraged development of commerce in Pinsk in the 1550s and 1560s continued to operate after the Union of Lublin. The abolition of customs duties on the Polish-Wolynian border, in the wake of annexation of Wolyn to Poland, did somewhat reduce the importance of the land transit trade route via Pinsk-Brest leading to Lublin, Warsaw, Poznan, and Gniezno. The commercial waterway, however, via the Dnieper-Pripet system in the east and the Muchawiec-Bug-Vistula in the west, remained strong.172 Merchandise was transported up the Dnieper and Pripet as far as Pinsk. There it was loaded on wagons and taken overland to Kobryn, reloaded on boats, and floated down the Muchawiec, Bug, and Vistula to its destination. Other merchandise made the return trip. The commercial awakening of Pinsk and its entire region coincided with general economic strengthening of Polesie in the mid-sixteenth century, which occurred as a function of the agrarian reforms of Queen Bona Sforza and King Zygmunt II August and continued ever stronger through the period following the Union of Lublin.173 The Magdeburg privilege as granted to Pinsk yields a sense of the city’s commercial nature. Pinsk had the right to hold four fairs each year, which were sure to attract merchants from distant places.174 Market day, every Monday, was intended to serve the needs of the local ­vicinity. Pinsk residents were exempted from market tax (a boon to trade), and the municipality was granted revenues from salt and bread stores. During the fairs, the merchandise of Pinsk residents was exempt from customs duties. At the end of the fairs, outside merchants were

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permitted to sell their wares to Pinskers who possessed Magdeburg rights. Outsiders and townsmen without permanent rights were not allowed to sell retail.175 The privileges intended to favor Pinsk commerce in general also aided in developing Jewish business in the city. The only areas restricted to the Jews were retail sale of bread and salt.176 Pinsk townsmen tried to interpret several provisions of the Magdeburg privilege to the Jewish merchants’ detriment, but King Wladyslaw IV confirmed that the Jews were allowed to buy merchandise from foreign merchants and sell retail. The Pinsk Jews’ commercial freedom was never seriously limited by the Christian townsmen. The Jews of Pinsk enjoyed the same commercial freedom that was granted to all Lithuanian Jewry, and King Zygmunt III put this in writing in a special privilege given to them in 1632. The king also guaranteed their right to build homes on their own land and to establish stores and stalls.177 Pinsk’s Magdeburg privilege relates to the city’s internal trade. Other documents indicate the variegated trade Pinsk carried on with various commercial centers throughout Poland and Lithuania. After the Union of Lublin, Pinsk merchants—Christians and Jews—continued to travel to Wolyn to trade, and in 1579 Stefan Batory confirmed their right to do so.178 They also continued to bring salt to Pinsk from the mines of Kolomyja. The salt was transported to Pinsk via Luck overland or on the Styr and Pripet rivers.179 The only detail we know about the Pinsk salt trade is that beginning sometime shortly before 1638 and through that year the salt lease in Pinsk was held by Jews.180 The Hebrew customs registers of 1580 from the Lukow customs house, which dealt primarily with commercial traffic from Lublin to Horodno and northern Lithuania, list two caravans of wagons carrying iron to Pinsk.181 The most significant information concerning the commerce of Pinsk and the Jews’ role in it in the 1580s appears in the registers of the Brest customs house for the period of February 4 to May 17, 1583.182 During these three and a half months, 169 wagons passed this customs house on their way from Lublin to Pinsk. Of these wagons, 116 were loaded with iron; the rest carried other products, especially manufactured goods. Another 119 wagons that passed through were on their way from Lublin to Vilna, and 89 others were headed for Sluck, Slonim, Nowogrodek, Minsk, Mohylew, Bobruisk, Troki, and Dworzec. In May there were

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10 wagons with manufactured goods going from Gniezno to Pinsk.183 These statistics imply that Pinsk was one of the most important commercial centers in Lithuania. The same Brest registers mention by name only a total of ten Pinsk Jewish merchants (with fifteen wagons among them); the rest are Christian. Out of the ten Pinskers who passed through Brest on May 17 on their way home from the Gniezno fair, which was held on April 17, six were Jews. It is likely that some of the Christians traveling from Lublin to Pinsk and named in the registers were drivers carrying in their wagons merchandise belonging to Pinsk merchants, some of whom were Jews. Of the fifty-nine wagons identified as belonging to Lithuanian Jews, fifteen were of Pinsk Jewish merchants (fourteen actually traveling to Pinsk), thirty-two were from Brest, and the remainder from other places in Lithuania.184 What kinds of goods did the merchants of Pinsk take to sell in Poland, and what did they bring back with them to Pinsk? The Brest registers specify the contents of only one Jewish-owned wagon going from Pinsk to Lublin: wax, skins, and furs. We can assume that the Pinsk Jewish merchants carried to Poland the same kinds of merchandise that Lithuanian Jewish merchants in general transported to Lublin overland. These were primarily skins, furs, wax, and suet.185 When the merchants from Pinsk returned home, their wagons were laden with metal, textiles, manufactured goods, wine, fruit, spices, and oriental delicacies. Almost all of the goods characteristic of the Polish import trade from both west and east reached Pinsk in quantity. The Brest customs records list merchandise transported by Pinsk Jews: iron, lead, copper, tin, scythes, knives, nails, needles, cloth of all qualities, expensive skins, paper, hats, belts, ribbons, playing cards, candlesticks, ropes, combs, buttons and sewing supplies, nuts, saffron, ginger, almonds, sugar, cumin, cinnamon, Muscat blossoms, onion seeds, wine, plums and other fruits, and oriental delicacies. The commerce between Pinsk and the large business centers of Poland was stable.186 The Akta illustrate aspects of the continuing commerce between Pinsk and western Poland. A 1639 document reports that a Christian merchant of Pinsk bringing a load of scythes there from Silesia sold them en route to a Jew from Brest. In 1645, three merchants from Pinsk attended the fair in Torun. Two were partners with each other and were Christian;

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the third was a Jew, Reuben Abramowicz Rabinowicz. The Christians were traveling on business from Torun to Lublin; the Jew was returning to Pinsk with two wagonloads of merchandise as well as the servant of the two Christians, in accordance with their request. In 1646, Moses Gretzer hired a townsman to drive two wagons with goods from Pinsk to the fair in Lukow and wait until the end of the fair so that he could transport merchandise on the return trip.187 The ten Jewish merchants from Pinsk mentioned in the 1583 Brest customs register were the biggest Jewish merchants in the city. Smalltime merchants could not afford to undertake a monthlong journey to Lublin or a two month trek to Gniezno. Travel to faraway fairs was by caravan, and Christians and Jews from Pinsk would set out together. In addition to the ten rich merchants known from the register, there must have been others who dealt on a large scale in the timber and grain trades. They would transport their merchandise by water and not appear in the land route records. There were certainly also middling and small merchants who did their business at the local fairs and marketplaces and did not travel great distances. A reasonable estimate of the number of Jewish merchants in Pinsk in the 1580s is twenty, and this constitutes a significant sector of the employed members of the community. It is also a sharp increase—within the space of a generation— from the five merchants known from the 1560s.188 From their names, nine of the merchants mentioned in the 1583 register can be identified as sons of families known from the 1560s. Six of them were from families that were already affluent in the earlier period. The economic circumstances of the fathers of the other three are not clear; it may be they represent a group of merchants who succeeded on their own. The tenth Pinsk Jew who passed through Brest, Lewko Bendetowicz, was apparently a newcomer to Pinsk who might have come from western Poland or Germany.189 Granted the rise in Jewish commercial activity from the last third or so of the sixteenth century, by the 1630s the scope of Christian commerce was greater than that of the Jews. A 1629 document numbers fifty-four Christian merchants in Pinsk, thirty-three townsmen, and twenty-one residents of the Uniate bishop’s district. The biggest of them conducted wide-ranging trade with Lithuania, Wolyn, Poland, and Koenigsberg. The number of Jewish merchants in the period was

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smaller than this, and competition between Christians and Jews was relatively muted. This might have been influenced by the fact that ­activity in the various branches of mainline commerce in Pinsk was divided along religious lines. Competition in petty commerce was more intense.190

The Timber and Grain Trade In 1577, Stefan Batory granted an export customs exemption to nine boats carrying potash and grain via the Muchawiec-Bug-Vistula river system to Torun. The 1583 Brest customs registers also demonstrate the fact of grain and forest product export from Polesie. Compared to Podlasie and Wolyn, this type of export from Polesie was not on a large scale, but magnate estate owners, small landowners, and Jewish arrendators all are recorded as exporters of grain and forest products, by water, in the direction of Gdansk.191 The Pinsk region supplied some of this trade, even if we do not have reports of the names of Jewish exporters specifically from Pinsk.192 The commodities were sent from Pinsk by wagon to Kobryn. From there they were floated on boats via the Muchawiec to Brest and on to Torun and Gdansk. Pinsk also served as a way station for products sent from as far away as Kiev and the regions bordering the course of the Dnieper-Pripet. In 1630, for example, seven boats loaded with 320 barrels of potash and originating in the latifundium of Konstantyn ­Korybut Wisniowiecki near Kiev made their way to Pinsk. There the potash was loaded onto wagons and taken to Brest. On the way, the shipment was stopped by the Jewish customs collectors of Chernobyl. A document dating from 1646 is connected with the grain trade. It speaks about Yerahmiel ­Israelowicz, the factor of a lord from the Kiev region, transporting grain by boat for sale in Pinsk. On one trip, he did succeed in selling his grain, but on another time the burgomasters forbade him to market it in the city. Israelowicz charged that the burgomasters actually wanted to buy the grain themselves and noted that the grain was being warehoused in Pinsk. This case demonstrates that by the mid-1640s Pinsk was a center of the grain trade, although the source says nothing about the role of Jews from Pinsk in this commerce. It would seem that the Jewish factor from Kiev was in contact with Jewish merchants in

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Pinsk. Jewish ­participation in the timber trade is attested by another 1646 document reporting on Joshua Jakubowicz, who sent timber from Pinsk to the estate of Lady Kosciuszko on the Muchawiec River. There her Jewish official, Jacob Dawidowicz, took care of the shipment. This wood was used to build a large grain transport ship.193 These fragmentary sources do not permit comprehensive analysis of Jewish participation in the timber trade. It is reasonable to assume that Pinsk Jews—who were among the pioneers of forest use in the 1560s— continued to deal in this branch of commerce.

Trade and the Status of the Pinsk Jewish Community The constellation of forces within the Jewish community in Lithuania, especially after 1623 when the Lithuanian Jewish Council assumed a more active role, was conducive to strengthening of Lithuanian Jewish commerce. It also lent preferred status to the merchants of the three chief communities, Brest, Horodno, and Pinsk, and led to development of Jewish commerce in Pinsk. Members of the three chief communities were permitted to do business freely in the communities subordinate to their kahal. Within the head communities, however, long-standing legislation prohibited nonresidents (“foreigners”) from trading with non-Jews. In 1623, the first year for which legislation of the council has been preserved, the council limited such people’s retailing activity (even for Jews) to certain days and under conditions to be specified by each chief community. Nonresidents were also forbidden to give their merchandise on consignment to local merchants. Such restrictions were protectionist measures designed to aid the commerce of the chief communities.194 In 1628, the restrictions on nonresidents selling by way of consignment to locals were tightened. In both the chief and subordinate communities, it was prohibited for residents to accept merchandise on this basis from Poland, even from close relatives. The prohibition extended to selling goods, originating from anywhere in Lithuania, in the chief communities through this method.195 Leasing of Lithuanian customs duties was primarily a Jewish enterprise, and Jewish merchants received a discount on their customs charges. This circumstance fostered strengthening of Jewish commerce.

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The protocol book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council states that “the benefit to the [Jewish] merchants when the customs is held by Jews is recognized by and known to all.”196 From the 1620s, the council’s influence was decisive in determining the arrangements for the customs leases. When Moses Leizers (ben Eliezer) was granted the monopoly of the customs leases in 1627, the council recorded in its protocols: “The customs collectors have been generous and kind, taking from Jews only half the scheduled duty. . . . In the three [chief] communities they will go according to established practice being lenient and not strict with the members of their community.”197 The council conducted a policy calculated to strengthen Jewish commerce in Lithuania. Its decisions with regard to leasing out customs monopolies were guided primarily by the criterion of what was good for Jewish commerce. Other rulings of the council are further illustrations of this policy. In 1634, for example, the council limited the right of Jewish customs collectors manning the customs houses to purchase goods passing through their stations. This was another way to protect the merchants from unfair competition (on the part of the customs agents themselves).198 The 1634 council provisions aiming to regulate the trade rights of Jewish merchants from Horodno, Pinsk, and Vilna in Sluck and of those from Pinsk and Horodno in Vilna are a sign of trade between Pinsk and the centers of Lithuanian commerce, Vilna, Sluck, and perhaps Minsk.199 One by-law, the result of a compromise between the leaders of the Sluck community and those of Horodno, Pinsk, and Vilna, provides that no more than four people will come to Sluck as a group. They were not to stay more than two weeks from the arrival of the first member of the group or sell to Christians during the first three days of their stay, and the next group of four was not to come until six weeks passed after the departure of the previous one. This ruling was valid “until the end of the generations.”200 At the council meeting of 1634, the Vilna community demanded the assistance of the council against outside merchants who came to Vilna and compromised the livelihood of the local Jews. The decision rendered in response to the complaint recognized that 201: All [Jewish] residents of Lithuania may do business in Vilna for all time; and the people of the Vilna community may not protest or stop

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them. However, as a special kindness, beyond the letter of the law, we saw fit to find a way and a proper arrangement so as to provide a livelihood and a future for the people of the community. . . .

What follows is a detailed description of severe restrictions on the commercial activities of residents of regular (nonchief) communities in Lithuania, as well as some limitations on the merchants of Horodno and Pinsk. Merchants from Brest were not subject to any restraints. Merchants from Horodno were required not to sell in Vilna merchandise acquired in Vilna, meaning that trade could be conducted only between visitors and locals and not between visitors and other visitors. Furthermore, visitors must pay a customs fee on every transaction (purchase or sale) with the Vilna kahal (visitors could not engage in retail trade). These enactments of the council indicate that Pinsk Jewish merchants frequented Sluck and Vilna. Although the Sluck ruling does not specify the commodities traded, the Vilna decision implies that, like others, the Pinskers brought the products singled out in the text: honey, skins, linen cloth, spices, glass utensils, liquor, and hops. The large-scale Jewish merchants of Pinsk succeeded in joining the ranks of the great Lithuanian wholesale merchants who played a central role in disseminating Polish products through the markets of Lithuania. The fact and content of the restrictions placed on the commercial activities of Pinsk merchants in Vilna and Sluck in 1634 are an indication of the vigor and skill of these big merchants, who for a long time conducted their affairs energetically and with broad scope. The Jewish merchants of Brest still held pride of commercial place in Lithuania, and their seniority and the prestige of their community lent them advantages over competitors from Horodno, Pinsk, and elsewhere. The restrictions imposed by Vilna and Sluck on outsiders, especially ­Horodnoers and Pinskers, did not apply to those from Brest. But their monopoly was broken, and the position of Pinsk Jewish merchants in the Lithuanian wholesale trade was strong. The 1581 Brest customs register shows, over a period of three and a half months, fifty-nine wagonloads of Jewish-owned merchandise: thirty-two belonging to Brest Jews, fifteen to Pinskers, and nineteen to members of other Jewish communities in Lithuania. This is testimony to the important place of Pinsk Jews in the general Lithuanian Jewish

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commerce. The Lithuanian Jewish Council’s restrictions on the activity of Pinsk merchants in Vilna and Sluck, dating from the 1630s, and the indications of commercial ties between Pinsk and centers in Poland in the 1640s demonstrate the continuity, development, and growth of Pinsker commerce. Part of the later antagonism202 between Brest on one side and Pinsk and Horodno on the other may be rooted in the competitive challenge posed by the Pinskers and Horodnoers in this period.

Large-Scale Commerce Documents in connection with the suit between Litman Jakubowicz and the Christian hatter Jasko Stepanowicz illustrate commercial activity and its ramifications on a much larger scale. In 1644, Litman foreclosed Jasko’s house as a result of the hatter’s failure to pay his debt. The two reached a compromise in 1645, but the terms are not clear because of later conflicting claims of the parties. According to Litman’s version, which was confirmed in part by the testimony of the hatter’s (Christian) apprentice and is more plausible, Jasko agreed to transfer his workshop to Litman’s home on Zydowska Street, near the synagogue.203 There he was to work together with his two apprentices filling a large order for hats. The payment for this order would be used to offset the debt to Litman, with any surplus being paid back in cash to Jasko. This agreement was reached after Litman refused to give Jasko woolen material for making hats on credit but consented to make a shack (next to Litman’s home) available to him and supply him with cloth there. In other words, the two men agreed at first that the hats would be Litman’s and the hatter was to function as a contractor carrying out the work. Jasko was forbidden to sell the hats without first paying Litman what was owed to him. In the middle of the project, however, Jasko began selling the hats without Litman’s knowledge. When Litman tried to stop him, their dispute turned serious, and the hatter sued Litman’s son for bodily injury and expropriation of his tools. This case is noteworthy from the perspective of the history of Jewish commerce in Pinsk because it demonstrates how a rich Jew who dealt in customs leases and commerce and who extended credit to a craftsman for acquiring raw material became, by force of circumstance,

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a sort of manufacturer who would later sell his product. This is an example of one of the directions to which Pinsk Jews turned their capital and shows the precapitalistic economy in formation.

Middling and Petty Commerce There is only fragmentary information available concerning middlescale and petty commerce. Among the many accusations leveled at the Jews by the Pinsk Christian townsmen in a 1717 complaint, there is reference to a 1641 charter, prohibiting Pinsk Jews from preempting Christians in the purchase of merchandise and foodstuffs, which the Jews circumvented. This unexplicated and unsupported charge may be a response to the spread of Jewish commerce and the increase in commercial competition between Jews and townsmen. Travel to the distant fairs was limited largely to the great merchants, but traders on a smaller scale did business at the weekly markets and periodic fairs in Pinsk itself and in the surrounding region. A 1646 document mentions Berko Aharonowicz from Pinsk, who traveled with his servant to a fair in Kobryn. There is also scant information on Jewish-owned stores in Pinsk. Getzel Israelewicz complained, in 1646, about a breakin at his store near his home in the marketplace and theft of merchandise worth two hundred zlotys, a cash box containing ninety zlotys, and a list of debts in connection with merchandise given on credit. Moses ­Zalmanowicz, a petty merchant from Pinsk who probably operated out of his own home, told in 1647 how he fell victim to a fraud perpetrated by the Jew Shakhna of Krynki, who came to buy various types of goods in Pinsk. Shakhna stayed near Moses’ home and became friendly with him as part of doing business together. He eventually stole clothing, hats, cloths, kerchiefs, and other merchandise from the house in Moses’ absence and then disappeared from Pinsk. There were also petty merchants who bought up whatever they came across. A 1647 complaint by a Pinsk Christian townsman against the Jewish couple Hirsh and Tzirel, who lived in his neighborhood, asserts that, without her husband’s knowledge, the Jews induced the townsman’s wife to sell to them clothing, women’s jewelry, and all sorts of other things from the household.204 It seems clear that Jewish commerce in Pinsk in this period continued to be concentrated in stores on the marketplace. In addition, there

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were also Jewish stores attached to residences, and residences that doubled as stores both on the marketplace and away from it.

Loans The information available on loan transactions stems from the 1640s. Those involved in credit operations were among the rich and well connected of the community. Almost all of the documents relate to loans of money by Jews to townsmen and noblemen from Pinsk and the surrounding region. The biggest and richest moneylender was apparently Joshua Abramowicz, known elsewhere as one of the lessees of the town of Olewsk and its three subordinate villages for eleven thousand zlotys in 1628.205 In 1646, the noblewoman Raina Solomereckaja owed him 15,840 zlotys, and in her will she asked her heirs to pay off this debt. The heirs were in no hurry to do so, and Abramowicz filed suit in the matter.206 He also lent small sums. In 1639 he extended to a nobleman 170 zlotys and in 1645 claimed his debt through the courts.207 Abramowicz won the case, and the court awarded him 702 zlotys to cover the loan principal, interest, damages, and expenses. His claim was bolstered by the fact that he presented a note for the sum of the loan, while the defendant’s assertion that the sum was paid but that the creditor refused to return the note was rejected as unsubstantiated. In 1646, Abramowicz’s son-in-law, Hirsh, apparently in partnership with his father-in-law, lent the regional treasury official, ­Krzysztof ­Naruszewicz, the sum of five hundred zlotys against a note and a security deposit.208 When the borrower came to redeem his note and pledge, Abramowicz, in Hirsh’s absence, returned the pledge in very bad condition. Naruszewicz filed a complaint against the Jewish creditors as well as against a Christian named Malejewski. The document does not specify the nature of the relationship between Malejewski and the Jewish moneylenders, but the facts we do know209 illustrate the scope of ramified credit transactions of one of the wealthy Jews in Pinsk who lent money to government officials and noblemen all over the region. Isaiah Jakubowicz, a leader of the Pinsk kahal, was another Jew who dealt in large-scale loans. In 1646, a nobleman peasant sued Jakubowicz and his son, Leib, demanding they admit that the receipt he held was

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confirmation of payment of his debt to them. The sum of the loan was not mentioned, but another document indicates that Jakubowicz lent a large amount (several thousand zlotys) to the Jew Zerah Simchowicz from Pinsk, one of the lessees of the Pniewno latifundium. ­Simchowicz, unable to honor his obligation, was summoned to the Jewish communal court and sentenced to time in the community jail.210 In 1647, the leaders of the Pinsk Jewish community held a note worth 4,959 zlotys obligating the Lithuanian Jewish Council. It is likely that the community or several of its leaders had lent this money to the council. The rabbis of Pinsk, Naftali Katz (in Pinsk 1639–1644) and Jacob ben Ephraim Zalman Shor (Rabbi Katz’s successor) also were among the important moneylenders in the community. From the council minute book, we know that in 1643–44 the council owed Rabbi Katz 2,275 zlotys and in 1646–47 it owed Rabbi Shor 6,000 zlotys in principal and 1,000 in interest.211 There are many other records of middle-size credit transactions involving Jews from Pinsk. In 1645, the lessee of the Kuszewicze estate, Zalman Jakubowicz Morawczyk, declared that a nobleman owed him 193 zlotys as proven by a note he held. Morawczyk’s brothers, Noah and Nathan Zelig, also lent money. In 1646, Zalman and Noah confiscated barrels of unrefined wax as payment of a debt after the borrower died and his remarried widow refused to honor the obligation. Nathan Zelig lent the owner of Pliotnica seven kopy and thirteen grosze in 1646.212 There were additional medium-sized loans in 1646. Moses Jerachmielewicz lent the castle court judge, Jan Protasowicz, six hundred zlotys for three years, putting his house on Michajlowski Street in possession of the creditor for that period as collateral. According to the terms of the loan, the debtor could not redeem his house before the termination of the loan period. Furthermore, if at that time he did not notify Jerachmielewicz of his intention to redeem the house, then the latter could retain it in his possession for three more years. In the same period, Eliezer Fibiszewicz sued the owner of Doboje for 593 zlotys he had lent to him.213 Taken together, these records give a well-defined picture of the broad scope of the credit activities of the Jews of Pinsk. Some of the moneylenders possessed large sums of capital, and lending was not their sole occupation. Sometimes they were also arrendators. There was also a

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distinct group of affluent people who lent money in exchange for highquality securities. Their customers were primarily landed nobility and royal officials, and secondarily townsmen. From this period, there is not one record of a loan made by a Christian to a Jew from Pinsk.214 Because of the dearth of Hebrew sources, there is precious little material on loans from Jews to Jews, but there is no doubt that such transactions were common. The prevalent form of security the lenders received for their money was a note, sometimes together with a pledge or mortgage on a house. This type of collateral evidently sufficed; unlike the sixteenth century, in this period there is no recorded case where a latifundium was mortgaged or transferred to a Jewish creditor. Christian houses, however, could pass into Jewish hands through foreclosure. In 1644, for example, the townsman Jasko Stepanowicz’s house was transferred to ­Litman Jakubowicz in lieu of an unpaid, moderate-size debt.215 The city’s Magdeburg privilege did protect the townspeople against transfer of their houses to Jews. In this case, however, the house was located on Michailowski Street, in the southwest section of the city (see Map 2) in a jurydyka controlled by nuns and exempt from the restrictions. In this way, several homes went over to Jews.216 If the usual securities were not adequate, sometimes Jewish creditors took the law into their own hands and collected what was coming to them by force.217 Despite the scarcity of documentary evidence, it is fair to assume that Pinsk Jews dealt in moneylending throughout the period 1569 to 1639. This occupation continued to be one of the accepted sources of Jewish livelihood in Pinsk.

Handicrafts and Hired Employees Following the Union of Lublin, handicrafts grew in economic importance for the Jews of Pinsk. First, the right of Jews to practice artisanry outside the framework of guild membership was guaranteed. This right was granted to all Lithuanian Jews by King Zygmunt III in 1629 and to the Jews of Pinsk, specifically, in 1632 as part of their charter from the king.218 The extension of this right was probably made necessary because the rise of Jewish handicrafts elicited opposition from the townsmen’s guilds to this Jewish competition.219 With the waves of

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immigration from the West, abandoned boys arrived in Pinsk (twelve of them in 1638–39); it is likely that those who were not suited for Torah study were directed to handicrafts.220 In the 1650 list of householders liable for hearth tax,221 a number of artisans are listed: two tailors, one barber,222 one goldsmith, and one bookbinder. There also must have been butchers because there were several butcher shops on Zydowska Street.223 Part of the Jewish population in Pinsk worked as salaried employees. First among these was the rabbi, head of the Jewish community court. There were also the ritual slaughterer, named Jacob; two shamashim (executive officials, one for the kahal and one for the synagogue); a customs clerk; a clerk who worked for a timber merchant; and at least six people who worked at various tasks for general arrendators.224

The Kahal Organization: The Structure and Competence of the Kahal The Pinsk kahal record book is not extant; nor are there other sources available originating from the community leadership. The history, structure, and activities of the Pinsk kahal, then, cannot be described on the basis of local sources. The record book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council, describing the judicial and legislative work of the council and dating from 1623, contains factual material on the elected representatives of Pinsk to the council, the rashei medinah (literally, the heads of the country, that is, the heads of the entire Lithuanian Jewish community) as well as on the “Rabbis of the chief communities” who also participated in the sessions. It is one of the main sources for what we know about the Pinsk kahal leadership. The structure of the kahal leadership and its modus operandi can be deduced from the general prescriptive ordinances, dating from 1628, included in the record book. They reflect the operational framework that is common to the majority of Jewish communities in Lithuania and confirmed by information stemming from specific communities in Poland-Lithuania in this period. We can assume that the general operational framework of the kahal was similar in Pinsk. Real-life situations were, however, more complex than the record book regulations might

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imply, and therefore our description must be considered an outline lacking in detail. In the Jewish communities of Poland-Lithuania, it was customary on the intermediate days of Passover to elect the kahal leadership and appoint its officials for their one-year term.225 The kahal leadership was made up of the groups of officials, ordered according to their importance: rashim (heads), tovim (associates, literally the good men, boni viri), and ikurim or ikurei ha-kahal (main people).226 In chief communities, the number of rashim, tovim, and ikurim together with the communal judges was approximately fifteen.227 The actual governance of the kahal was in the hands of the rashim of the kahal and the rashei medinah, who represented Pinsk and its vicinity on the central council. In chief communities, it is not always possible to distinguish between the responsibilities of the two sets of leaders. Sometimes the rashim of the kahal were also the rashei medinah, and sometimes such double office holding was prohibited by the Lithuanian Jewish Council. The rashei medinah from a given community were the representatives of that chief community and the communities subordinate to it. When meeting together to organize the affairs of the entire Lithuanian Jewish community, the rashei medinah from all of the chief communities were called the Council of the Medinah (literally, the state; what we have been referring to, for the sake of clarity, as the Lithuanian Jewish Council). This council legislated ordinances binding on all the Lithuanian Jewish communities, served as a court for certain purposes, and performed executive functions including budgeting and apportionment of the collective tax burden. The rashei medinah were obligated to participate in the meetings of the council; its decisions had the force of law and were a factor in shaping the collective life of Lithuanian Jewry.228 Before 1628, the rashei medinah from each individual community were chosen from among the heads of the kahal, who numbered five.229 In 1628, the council passed a by-law ordering the separation of the positions of rosh medinah and rosh kahal. This provision was canceled in 1631 but reinstated in 1637.230 Usually two representatives from each chief community participated in meetings of the council. A 1634 ordinance mandated each chief community to appoint three rashei medinah but allowed them to remain with only two if they so desired.231

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What was the status of the rashei medinah in the chief communities? From the statutes of the council record book, it seems that as late as 1623 their position was not well established. Gradually, with the increasing power of the council, the status of the rashei medinah who served on it was reinforced; they acquired broad political powers, exercising great influence on administration of the kahal. One of the council regulations, passed in 1623, forbade the kahal of any chief community from considering matters connected to the medinah without including the local rashei medinah in the session. Another regulation directed each chief community to appoint two special supervisors to ensure “observance of the regulations.” These officials were to have judicial authority over transgressors of the council’s enactments. Five years later, in 1628, overseeing of compliance with the council’s directives was given to the rashei medinah, and the kahal lost the right to become involved in any matter relating to the medinah. Within the space of a few years, the rashei medinah had become, by virtue of their status as members of the council, responsible for the execution of the council’s policies. They rapidly accumulated political power and practical authority. One of the main tasks of the rashei medinah of each chief community was to apportion among the communities within their district the overall tax assessment assigned to their district by the council. They were also responsible for collecting taxes and had the power to decide how the money would be spent.232 The by-laws passed by the council in 1623, the oldest council enactments extant, deal with the question of how to distribute the tax burden and arrange for tax collection. The main thrust of the council’s efforts was to institute as quickly as possible an orderly method of collecting taxes. The council meeting in 1628 gave the rashei medinah the authority to coerce the kahal and individuals to sign together with them on loan agreements when they decided to borrow money to finance the needs of the medinah. Although this power was limited in 1631, making it contingent on the agreement of the local rabbi, it is clear that the rashei medinah’s control over tax apportionment and collection generated for them a decisive influence in other spheres of kahal operation as well. They were primarily responsible for supervision of the subordinate communities in their district, even though they were obliged to consult the kahal heads and the rabbi. They shared with the rabbi the authority

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to interpret the council by-laws, and they executed the council’s economic policies. This included decision-making power and judicial authority over some of the most important facets of kahal operations such as tax and customs leases and general lease licenses (hazakot).233 Daily administration of community business was in the hands of the heads of the kahal. Every month, one of them was chosen as chairman of the month (parnas ha-hodesh) and was responsible for the smooth functioning of the kahal. The kahal heads (rashim), the tovim, and usually the rabbi as well held the judicial authority of the kahal, and the heads exercised several executive and supervisory functions. The most important matters of kahal operation were decided by the kahal heads in conjunction with the rashei medinah, and sometimes with the rabbi. Supervision of the subordinate communities, for example, was primarily within the purview of the rashei medinah, but a rule instituted in 1623 established that any directive emanating from the chief community, whether to individuals or to communities, must be signed by the rashei medinah, the heads of the kahal, and—beginning in 1628—by the rabbi as well. In theory, then, all three shared supervision of the subordinate communities.234 It is likely that when the kahal leadership considered the expulsion of someone from the community, something that was within the competence of the Pinsk kahal, the decision and execution were actually jointly implemented.235 The kahal heads and the rashei medinah also sat together in judgment on arenda matters.236 The only matter of local concern where the kahal heads were completely excluded was customs collection, which was under the aegis of the rashei medinah of the three chief communities according to a by-law passed in 1628.237 The people who wielded the power and held the leadership were customs lessees, arrendators of large latifundia, merchants, and moneylenders—the wealthy sector of the community.238 From this perspective, there was no change from the period preceding the Union of Lublin.

The Rabbi, Chairman of the Court The rabbis of the three chief communities in Lithuania, including Pinsk, held an especially influential position. The rabbi was a teacher and spiritual guide of the community in its study and fulfillment of the Torah

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and observance of daily ritual prescriptions. He also took an active role in conduct of the kahal. In many instances, the regulations or acts of the kahal were validated only after the rabbi confirmed them. In this period, it was customary in Lithuania, Poland, and Ashkenaz for the rabbi to be hired by a community for a period of three to five years. At the end of this period, he was free to accept another appointment, and the community was free to engage a different rabbi. It was common for rabbis to change jobs when their contract expired, and this was true as well of the rabbis who served in Pinsk and its subcommunities. Those participating in the process of choosing the rabbi were “the rashim, tovim, judges, gabbaim, and ikurim of the community.” The appointment of a rabbi to the post in Pinsk was an important occasion and must have been preceded by intense negotiation. The Pinsk kahal wanted the occupant of its rabbinate to be an important and famous rabbi.239 The first obligations of the rabbi were to teach the residents of the community and subcommunities the laws of what behavior was forbidden and what behavior was permitted, and to judge in cases involving monetary dispute. In performance of these duties, the rabbi was aided by an assistant rabbi (moreh hora’ah) and by judges who took care of easy and routine matters. Complicated and important questions, as well as court cases involving large sums of money, would come for judgment before the rabbi in his capacity as chairman (av bet din) of the three-member court. The rabbi’s court was empowered to adjudicate civil cases and appeals from the surrounding subcommunities. Surrounding communities also turned to the rabbi for rulings in ritual and behavioral matters.240 The statutes of the council list among the duties of the rabbi supervision of ritual slaughterers (and all matters pertaining to kosher slaughter) and of the itinerant preachers who were supposed to get permission to preach from both the rabbi and the kahal heads.241 An arrendator on his way to take up residence at the seat of a nearby arenda where there were no other Jews would come to the rabbi to learn “the way in which to walk and to act in relating to his wife, his household and his male and female children as well as conduct in other forbidden and desecratory matters.”242 Another duty of the rabbi was to maintain a yeshiva and to supervise education of the youth. In regulations of the Lithuanian Jewish Council dating from before 1648 it is taken for granted that the rabbi is obliged

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to maintain a yeshiva. In 1623 the council required rabbis of chief communities to give admissions preference to local boys over those who came from outside the district.243 The council meeting of 1634 limited the number of students that a rabbi was permitted to have study in his yeshiva, “according to his status and the status of his community”; this means according to the terms of his contract. The problem was that sometimes many students flocked to the yeshiva of a great rabbi, and then his community was overburdened with having to feed and care for them. In 1639, the council obligated rabbis to closely monitor their students’ progress in their studies.244 The rabbis also supervised the elementary teachers (melamdim) of their communities. These council regulations, which were intended to advance elementary education and Torah study, probably were appropriate to the educational situation in Pinsk in the 1630s and 1640s.245 The sources of livelihood for the rabbi of Pinsk were the salary paid to him by the kahal as specified in his contract,246 a special levy called kvertnir gelt that residents of both the main and subcommunities paid, and payments from individuals on whose behalf he performed specific services. In 1623, the chief communities sent messengers to the subcommunities to collect the kvertnir gelt “from every person, rich or poor, male or female . . . , one fund for those who are subject to kahal tax and another fund for those who are exempt from kahal tax.”247 The session of the council in 1631 decreed once more that with respect to kvertnir gelt every chief community had to establish, at its discretion, “a set amount for all of the surrounding communities.”248 In addition, the rabbi of the chief community earned money for performing weddings (a small percentage of the value of the dowry) and for drawing up divorce documents, both in his own community and in outlying settlements. There were by-laws preventing other rabbis from officiating in the subcommunities, thereby competing with the chief community’s rabbi.249 The chief community’s rabbi was involved in conducting communal affairs. With the strengthening of the council and crystallization of Jewish self-government, the position of the community rabbis was reinforced as well. Beginning in 1628, they started to participate regularly in the meetings of the council together with the rashei medinah. By 1631, they held joint responsibility for enforcing the council’s enactments in their district. The rabbi took an active judicial role in the

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kahal administration and had great influence in a variety of matters. In 1628, for example, it was decreed that any missive from the chief community to the subordinate ones had to include the rabbi’s signature. In 1631, the council declared that a rosh medinah might take a loan on behalf of the district or make an announcement regarding the needs of the district only with the consent of the rabbi.250 One explanation for the enhancement of the rabbis’ status is their independence. The fact that the rabbi did not see himself as permanently tied to the community allowed him freedom from the narrow interests of certain circles within the kahal leadership. The rabbi was in a position of moral superiority derived from the absolute cogency of the ­halakhah—his guide in leading his people—in daily life, as well as the rabbi’s personal authority as a Torah scholar. From this vantage, the rabbi could watch out for the interests of individuals and subordinate communities liable to mistreatment at the hands of the leaders of the kahal.

Adjudication To resolve controversies among themselves, the Jews of Pinsk resorted to their autonomous judicial institutions. Not one of the many documents published from the records of the Pinsk castle court in the 1640s indicates that Jews sued Jews in this court. In Pinsk, as in all of Poland-Lithuania, the permanent, institutionalized, autonomous judicial configuration was one of the obvious signs of Jewish autonomy in general. The main source for describing the Jewish judicial framework in Pinsk and its subordinates are the rulings contained in the Lithuanian Jewish Council record book (pinkas). With the exception of the case of an imprisoned debtor mentioned earlier in this chapter, there is no direct evidence available concerning the actions of the Jewish, autonomous, judicial institutions of Pinsk. Judicial authority was vested in two bodies: the kahal leadership and the kahal-sponsored court. A 1639 council law defined the divergent competence of the leadership and the court: “The leaders of the community shall judge in matters of quarrels, strife, arenda, czopowe, fines and punishments; the judges of the community will judge in monetary matters. The leaders must not stick their heads into monetary matters,

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and the judges should not stick their heads into things that don’t concern them. . . .” This division of judicial labor had developed earlier and lasted as long as the council did.251 The judicial body within the kahal consisted of the rashim and tovim. Sometimes the rabbi, an active partner in administration of kahal affairs, joined them. Decisions reached by the kahal leadership in conjunction with the rabbi had the force of Torah law. The statutes of the Lithuanian Jewish Council also established the procedures for appealing decisions of the kahal leadership in one of the subordinate communities. Cases of delation were also investigated by the kahal leadership, but for reasons of secrecy by a subcommittee consisting of the rabbi and two rashim or two rashei medinah chosen by the rabbi.252 The court, which judged in monetary matters, was probably composed of three judges, chosen for one year on the intermediate days of Passover along with the other kahal office holders. The outgoing judges had a hand in choosing the electors of the office holders. The judge’s position was one of honor, and it was forbidden to disqualify a judge from sitting in judgment, harm a judge, or relate to him with disrespect. The judges received no communal salary but did receive “decision money” (service fees from each side, assessed as a small percentage of the value of the suit). The court in Pinsk was the main court for the small communities in its vicinity.253 Judges from the chief communities also participated in the court sessions held at important fairs in Lithuania and at the fair in Lublin. The first mention of judges from Pinsk sitting on such courts dates from 1644.254 That year, the council passed two regulations intended to govern participation of judges from the chief communities in the judicial affairs of the Lithuanian Jewish community at the Lublin fair. According to the first enactment, for two consecutive fairs the Lithuanian judge on the Jewish court at the Lublin fair would come from Brest, then for one fair he would come from Horodno, and then for one fair from Pinsk. This order was to be followed for fourteen years. The second rule, adopted at the end of the council’s deliberations, amended the first so that for the next six years the Lithuanian court representative at the fair would be from Brest and only thereafter would the rotation be put into effect. This implies that originally the Lithuanian slot on the fair court was reserved for a judge from Brest.

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A 1647 by-law ordained that at the Kapulia fair the court would be made up of two judges from Brest and a third alternating from ­Horodno and Pinsk.255 The fair judges from Brest dominated those from Horodno and Pinsk.

Taxes The Jews of Pinsk paid taxes to the king, the municipality, their own kahal, and the Lithuanian Jewish Council. Like the other Jews in Lithuania, they paid the two royal imposts, the powrotne (a tax connected to real estate; see below) and the poglowne (head or capitation tax) via the kahal. The tax to the city consisted of a set percentage of the municipal budget. According to the Wladyslaw IV charter of 1633, the Jewish community of Pinsk, in line with ancient custom, was obliged to pay one-fourth of the total tax load of the city. The amount of the tax is not known.256 To the Jewish autonomy institutions, the Jews of Pinsk contributed enough to cover the Pinsk kahal budget as well as Pinsk’s share of the council expenses. The ability of the Pinsk community to pay taxes was a measure of its strength. The best-known and best-documented royal tax paid by the Jews was the poglowne. It has always been considered to be the primary royal tax placed on Lithuanian Jewry. The powrotne does not appear in the Sejm tax regulations, and other Polish sources mention it only sporadically. The record book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council, however, devotes much space to this tax. It was probably no less important for Lithuanian Jewry than the head tax and should be characterized and analyzed. In Bershadskii’s opinion, this was a national tax imposed initially on Jews in several Lithuanian cities beginning in the mid-sixteenth century. Later on, he thought, it was converted into a general tax for all Lithuanian Jewry. To Schiper, the powrotne was a tax levied on the Jews as the price of permission to return to Lithuania in 1503, and they continued paying it after that. Halpern defined the powrotne as a royal tax customarily collected from the Jews of Lithuania by their council.257 The council record book shows that Lithuanian Jews who owned houses were liable for the full amount of this tax, while people who rented—even wealthy ones—paid half of the rate levied on homeowners. Therefore the powrotne appears to have been a type of real estate tax.258

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After the Union of Lublin, the powrotne was paid steadily. There is a document dating from 1578 telling of a letter that King Stefan Batory sent to the Jews of Pinsk and of the surrounding area, informing them that he was about to dispatch one of his men to collect from them, in cash, the seventy-seven golden ducats (approximately 400 zlotys) they still owed from the previous year. Similar letters were sent to most Jewish communities in Lithuania.259 The subject of the debt seems to have been the powrotne. Given that the document speaks of the balance owed, the amount of tax levied on Pinsk cannot be determined with accuracy. But even the amount specified is not much lower than the two hundred zlotys that Pinsk Jews paid on account of the poglowne and was somewhat greater than the seventy ducats the council obligated the Jews of Pinsk and vicinity to pay as powrotne in 1623.260 There is more information on the powrotne from the 1590s. In 1591, King Zygmunt III ordered Halecki, the treasurer (podskarbi), to forcibly collect this tax because “for some reason, the Jews did not and do not want to pay this tax.” On May 14, 1594, the king repeated this order almost verbatim.261 The king also wrote to the vice-chancellor of Lithuania, Gabriel Wojna, indicating inter alia that in 1592 Wojna had collected the ­powrotne from the Jews and that in 1593–1594 he had attempted to collect it again and thereby control the right to collect this tax for the rest of his life. The king objected that such a monopoly would go against custom, harm the royal treasury, and bring the Jews (“who are now obligated to pay the poglowne”) to the brink of collapse. Therefore the king forbade Wojna to collect the powrotne from the Jews, ordering him to leave this matter to the treasury.262 What these documents indicate is that (1) the powrotne tax was customarily collected from Lithuanian Jewry, (2) the mode of collection was not fixed, (3) the amount of the tax was significant, and (4) the Jews did not pay it willingly—in fact, they resisted paying it, especially after institution of the poglowne. The struggle over this tax began after the Lithuanian estates, and later the Sejm, decided to levy a separate head tax on Lithuanian Jewry, in 1577–1578.263 As implied by the letter of the king to Wojna, the Jews of Lithuania must have claimed that they could not bear the double burden of the powrotne and the poglowne. During the 1580s and 1590s, the Jews of Lithuania were engaged in

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an intense dispute with the government over the question of taxation. This was also a period when the king was experimenting with methods of collecting the tax. By the end of the century, the institutions of Jewish autonomy were given the right to collect the Jewish taxes in exchange for a fixed payment to the government. Beginning in 1604, the powrotne amounted to four hundred ducats and was collected by the Lithuanian Jewish Council.264 Every document that mentions the powrotne tax notes the amount of the tax in ducats. The council record book powrotne apportionment list for 1623 adds up to 477 ducats (twenty-four hundred zlotys).265 This amount is 20 percent higher than what the council was required to pay to the government. Assuming that the 1623 figures reflect the amounts paid throughout the first quarter of the century, the Jews of Pinsk paid approximately 15 percent of the powrotne assessment for all Lithuanian communities, around seventy ducats annually. The powrotne was a greater burden on Lithuanian Jewry than the poglowne. The authorities encountered serious difficulties in trying to collect it in the latter part of the sixteenth century, and the council record book shows that in the seventeenth century there were many complaints and much bitterness expressed in connection with the tax, as well as obstacles in apportioning and collecting it.266 Why did Lithuanian Jewry object to the powrotne while they were more or less willing to comply with the poglowne? Comparison of the amounts paid in powrotne and poglowne can supply a partial explanation. The two lists of poglowne amounts contained in the council record book add up to 848 kopy (1623) and 844 kopy (1631), averaging out to 2,000 zlotys annually. The powrotne in 1623 was 477 ducats (2,400 zlotys), significantly greater.267 The legal basis of this higher tax was not sufficiently clear, particularly after institution of the poglowne, and this constituted a reason to oppose it. The poglowne tax was first levied on Lithuanian Jewry during the reign of Zygmunt August before the 1569 Union of Lublin. At the time, it was a special tax imposed to finance defense needs in time of emergency. The poglowne zydowskie (Jewish head tax) for the Jews of Crown Poland is explicitly mentioned in the decisions of the Sejm that decided on the union in 1569. Lithuania, however, remained fiscally autonomous, and the first evidence after the 1569 union for a Jewish head tax there

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dates from 1577 and 1578. In 1577, the Lithuanian estates decided to collect taxes for the purpose of protecting the borders of the country and imposed on Lithuanian Jewry a twelve grosze per person tax. In 1578, the poglowne of Lithuanian Jewry was set and recorded by the Sejm.268 These 1578 Sejm resolutions determined that the Jews of Crown ­Poland and the Jews of Lithuania would each pay one zloty per person without consideration of amounts paid previously or of what had become customary. The kahal elders promised to swear that the population figures they presented would be genuine, and they were given the responsibility to pay the tax to the treasury in a lump sum after having collected it from the Jews. The collection of the poglowne did not, however, work out as hoped. In 1580, two years later, the rate was raised to 1S zlotys per person and the Sejm decided not to assign collection of the tax to the community elders. The treasury official (podskarbi) was given the power to decide on how to make best use of the poglowne, in consultation with special representatives of the Sejm, called szafarze, who were appointed to help.269 In 1581, the total head tax imposed on all of the Jews of the ­PolishLithuanian Commonwealth was fifteen thousand zlotys. This was the first time the head tax was charged as a global sum rather than collected via the expensive and unwieldy per-person method. In 1588, the head tax was once again charged on the basis of 1S zlotys per person from each Jew in the commonwealth; an order was issued mandating censuses of the Jews in each locality. This order was not implemented successfully. A year later, in 1589, all the Jews of the commonwealth were assessed a lump sum of twenty thousand zlotys to cover the cost of sending an army to Ukraine. This hike in the head tax was followed by grants to the commonwealth Jews of exemption from other taxes. The first mention of a separate Jewish lump-sum head tax, charged to the Jews of Lithuania, is in 1590. In that year, when the Jews of Crown ­Poland were charged the global sum of twenty thousand zlotys, the Jews of Lithuania were to pay an additional six thousand zlotys. It is only with the 1589 and 1590 Sejm decisions, taken near the beginning of Zygmunt III’s reign, that the poglowne became a standard tax levied on Lithuanian Jewry, alongside the already established powrotne. It may be that from the initial 1578 decision to collect the head tax from the Jews until 1590 there was no clear distinction between the powrotne and the poglowne,

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with the former being counted as head tax until Zygmunt III’s new tax policy set the two taxes separately.270 In the 1596–1611 period, Lithuanian Jewry was assessed the poglowne at one zloty per person; the total sum to be collected is not specified, but beginning in 1596 the starosty, local representatives of royal authority, were put in charge of collection.271 The early seventeenth century was a turning point for Lithuanian Jewish taxation. Statutes dating from 1603 gave the Jews the right to lease the poglowne as an arenda and thereby collect the tax themselves.272 The poglowne was doubled in 1616, set at two zlotys per head with the total to be collected put at the customary six thousand zlotys.273 In 1618, the rate was reduced back to one zloty, and the responsibility for determining the correct number of Jews was transferred to the communal elders. Once again, it was specified that the kahal was to pay the tax in a lump sum or lease it and be responsible for collection from the individual Jews. Payment of the poglowne would exempt the Jews from occupational and servant taxes.274 Here is a summary of the global amounts of poglowne tax assessed (for documented years, demonstrating that the amount of the ­poglowne was not constant): Year 1590 1613 (?) 1620 1621–1623 1624 1626 1627 1629 1631 1633 1635 1643 1647

Amount 6,000 zlotys 9,000 9,000 9,000 3,000 9,000 6,000 8,000 9,000 9,000 15,000 3,000 (?) 12,000

From 1620 on, the amount of tax levied against Lithuanian Jewry varied between three thousand and fifteen thousand zlotys. The base sum was three thousand zlotys,275 which was sometimes doubled, tripled, or

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multiplied even higher. The raising or lowering of the tax was generally a function of the current fiscal needs of the state.276 In Lithuania, the poglowne almost always freed the Jews from other taxes.277 The amount actually collected seems to have always fallen short of the estimated revenues. This explains the lack of consistency and frequent changes in methods of estimation and collection. Eventually, the procedure that evolved was for the royal authorities to reach comprehensive agreement with the authorized representatives of the Lithuanian Jewish communities as to the total amount of poglowne tax, which the Jews as a whole would pay. This arrangement rendered the original connotation of the name of this tax—a head tax paid by each Jew on himself and on each individual dependent member of his family over one year old—meaningless. Responsibility for payment of the tax was effectively transferred from the individual to the representative body of the communities, which decided how to apportion the tax burden among the communities. In Lithuania, this method took hold in the early seventeenth century. By 1623, when the general meeting of the councils of the communities of Lithuania took place, this method of collecting the poglowne was already well established. In the tax regulations of the Sejm from 1620 on, there is no hint of the old way of assigning and collecting the poglowne. The Lithuanian Jewish Council record book attests that apportionment of the poglowne obligations among the communities and collection of the tax from them was one of the council’s permanent duties.278 Did the Jews in Lithuania pay the entire sum assigned by the Sejm? Evidence is sparse, but certain references in the council record book raise doubt as to whether the sums set by the Sejm were actually collected. Accounting of the apportionment of the poglowne among the Lithuanian Jewish communities for 1623 shows that the total assessment was approximately 850 kopy (around 2,125 zlotys). In 1631, the total was similar; so in both years the amount that was actually handed over by the council was only around two thousand zlotys.279 Compared to the amounts set by the Sejm shown in the preceding list, this implies that there was negotiation between the council and the authorities and the Jews paid only the amount settled on as a compromise between the two sides. As the tax for all Lithuanian Jewry, this assessment does not seem overburdening. Perhaps this is why there are no recorded complaints by the Jewish communities protesting the size of the royal poglowne bill.

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The Jews of the Pinsk district paid, in 1623, approximately 220 zlotys of the 2,125 zloty total, a little more than 10 percent. In 1631, they paid slightly less than 10 percent.280 Roughly, it would seem that the Jews of the Pinsk region supplied 10–12 percent of the combined poglownepowrotne bill for all Lithuanian Jewry. A 1623 ruling of the Lithuanian Jewish Council demonstrates how the poglowne was collected in the 1620s. Once the local communities undertook poglowne collection, the custom was to collect full tax shares from the rich and middle class only. Those who were poor were charged only one-half, one-third, or even less of what the more affluent paid. A committee of three—“a rich man, a middle class one and one who was still less middle class”—was chosen to decide the order of tax collection. This procedure did not last long; a council statute from 1632 indicates that the custom then was to collect the full amount from each person.281

Special Taxes and Levies The Jews of Lithuania, and of Pinsk, paid special assessments in addition to the regular annual taxes. One was a payment made to soldiers who bivouacked in the city. In the council record book, this payment was called “Zelner Gelt” (soldiers’ money). According to a 1628 council statute, all members of the community were required to participate in defraying this expenditure; it was collected “one third according to tax bracket, one third according to capitation and one third according to house value.”282 Besides paying the soldiers, the Jews were required to quarter them in their homes; this too was regulated by council law.283 Whenever the regional sejmik (dietine) met, the leaders of the chief communities, including Pinsk, had to be on the alert, and all communities in the area were obliged to share the cost of lobbying. If the king and his entourage or other officials passed through a community, it was expected to present the guests with gifts—entailing considerable expense. Council statutes established a formula for sharing the burden of expenses between the central council and the chief communities.284 The communities incurred additional expenses in connection with “rotten business” of various sorts: avenging the murder of a Jew, preventing or turning aside a blood or desecration-of-host libel or a Jesuit school

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student riot (eingeleif ). Sometimes individual communities could not ­afford to bring rioters or murderers to justice or to defend against libel. The Lithuanian Jewish Council set up procedures for sharing the financial burden with the community concerned.285 In Pinsk, there was an episode referred to as “the avenging of Pinsk” in 1623 and another instance of “rotten business” around 1637. Although the council record book, the source for these occurrences, gives no details, it does note that the considerable expenses in both cases were shared by Pinsk and the council.286

How Did the Kahal Finance Its Budget? The tax monies collected by the kahal on account of the royal taxes were intended to be forwarded to the royal treasury, not used to cover the expenses of the kahal itself. The tax sums actually assigned to the regions and local communities did, however, take into account the costs of collection, lobbying, and creating a reserve to cover the tax obligations of communities that came up short. In 1623, for example, the council collected 477 ducats on account of the powrotne but turned over to the royal treasury only 400. The poglowne assessed in that year was almost 850 kopy, but the council probably needed only two thousand zlotys (800 kopy) to pay the royal authorities.287 The tax that primarily covered the expenses of the autonomous Jewish institutions was an internal tax referred to in the council record book as the “Skhum Medinah” (amount paid to the medinah or central council), or the “skhum” for short, differentiating it from the tax paid to the community, the “skhum ha-kehillah.”288 The skhum served mainly to finance the needs of the central council; the chief communities were required to collect it from their citizens and the citizens of their sub­ ordinate communities and forward the money to the council. The skhum was usually based on a person’s total wealth. According to a 1623 council by-law, the assessors were to set it on the basis of how much money a person had, including profits from all types of arendy. At first, the practice was to determine the skhum someone owed on a basis of 50 percent to be paid per capita and 50 percent to be paid according to ability to pay. By 1637, the basis was “each person’s ability to pay as is customary, including earnings, income from other sources; excluding borrowed money, silver, gold, and pearls—these do not count toward

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Map 3. Pinsk under the rule of Poland, 1648. Data from a map in Pinsk: A Thousand Years.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Abu Baltic Sea Bornholm Danzig Dunaberg [Dvinsk] 6. EAST PRUSSIA 7. Elbing 8. Estonia

9. FINLAND 10. Gavle 11. Helsinki 12. Kalmar 13. Koenigsberg [Kalingrad] 14. Kovno 15. Lake Lagoda 16. LITHUANIA 17. Livonia

18. Memel [Klaipeda] 19. Minsk 20. Mogilev 21. Öland 22. Pinsk 23. POLAND 24. Poznan 25. Pskov 26. Revel [Tallinn]

27. Riga 28. RUSSIA 29. Stockholm 30. SWEDEN 31. Torun 32. Uppsala 33. Vilna 34. Vitebsk 35. Warsaw

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determining the skhum to be paid to the medinah.” This implies that the skhum was a tax on liquid capital. In 1637, the assessors were required to send to the council a register listing large and small homes separately. This procedure was instituted in response to complaints from many communities about the double burden of the powrotne and the skhum. It was designed to introduce a progressive aspect to taxation, preventing flagrant inequities in collection of the skhum.289 For the Jews of Lithuania, the skhum was a serious tax, comparable to the powrotne or the poglowne. In 1631, the total skhum imposed on the Lithuanian communities was close to 700 kopy, compared to 844 kopy for the poglowne and four hundred ducats for the powrotne. In the same year and the next one, the Pinsk district paid 60 kopy skhum and 80 kopy poglowne.290 The registers of the skhum ha-kehillah (amount paid to the community), written up in the local communities every year on the intermediate days of Passover, served as a basis for the council’s division of the skhum among the districts. There were cases of deception where the local communities understated the skhum ha-kehillah in order to pay a lower skhum ha-medinah.291 The skhum ha-kehillah itself served to finance the operating costs of the community. After the persecutions of 1648–49, the income from the skhum ha-kehillah was also used to pay off the debts of the kahal and to aid the refugees.292 Within the communities, the level of skhum ha-kehillah that an individual was assessed determined his social status. Anyone whose ­income assessment was more than two thousand zlotys was entitled to wear expensive clothing. Orphans and widows paid only half of the skhum ha-kehillah they owed on the basis of their property assessment alone. Poor people were altogether exempt.293 The assessors set the level. They could require the taxpayer being assessed to swear as to the truth of his income declaration. They were empowered to search the home and audit the financial records of any taxpayer suspected of swearing falsely.294 There were cases of tax evasion that came to light when the evader bought real estate that exceeded his means as declared. In 1632, the council intended to clamp down on flagrant evasion by requiring taxpayers who bought houses “for an amount greater than what seemed appropriate for them based on the

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[declared] value of their property” to add to their tax assessment “one half the value of the houses.”295 The communities collected other taxes to cover their expenses. As noted earlier, all residents of a chief community and its subordinates were required to pay kvertnir gelt for the benefit of the rabbi of the chief community. Money was also collected to cover the costs of the cantor and shamash.296 The kahal gained income from fines as well. They did not go into the general fund but were reserved for special expenses—particularly charity. The local rabbi would decide how this money was to be spent.297 In the years 1628–1632, the chief communities received significant revenues from Moses ben Eliezer, arrendator of the customs duties for all of Lithuania. This money, paid in compensation for the monopoly granted him by the council, went toward the tax obligations of the chief communities. Of a total of twenty-one hundred zlotys annually, Brest received twelve hundred, Horodno five hundred, and Pinsk four hundred. These amounts covered a significant proportion of the tax obligations (poglowne, skhum) of these communities. Sometimes wealthy Jews bequeathed sums of money for special public projects. In 1639, for example, Pinhas ben Isaiah, in fulfillment of his father’s will, endowed a six thousand zloty fund for the support of students (both beginners and advanced) studying Torah. Pinsk received two hundred zlotys from this fund (Horodno got two hundred and Brest six hundred), which it was to share with its subordinate communities.298

Relations Between Pinsk and the Surrounding Communities What was the nature of the relationship between Pinsk, as a chief community, and the surrounding communities subordinate to it? The sources available to us are, once again, provisions found in the record book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council. They date from 1623 and in this instance were designed to regulate the interaction between the chief communities—Brest, Horodno, and Pinsk—and their subordinates. The regulations denote the context of this interaction and reflect the process of crystallization of dependent relations between the chief community (such as Pinsk) and those subordinate to it, within the organi-

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zational framework of Lithuanian Jewry. The 1623 regulations were the product of an effort to make these relationships uniform and indicate a well-defined constellation. Before these rules were formulated, matters must have been more fluid, and there might have been regional differences in the nature of the powers of the chief communities. The rules concerning division of the tax burden and actual collection of taxes are a practical illustration of the degree of subordination of the outlying communities to the chief one. The chief community, responsible for collecting the taxes in its district, had a decisive voice in apportioning the tax obligation among the communities. Its power to collect taxes was also an expression of its hegemony. Almost every meeting of the central council from 1623 on passed resolutions with respect to the duty of the chief communities to apportion and collect taxes. In 1627, for example, an enactment passed in response to less-than-successful collection of taxes from small communities described the situation: Some of them pay a lot and some pay a pittance . . . the strong prevail, going easy on themselves and dealing stringently with the weak . . . we don’t even know the number of outlying settlements where the communities close to them divide them up to assist those communities [in paying taxes] and the medinah derives no benefit from them. There are some that hold the rope at both ends and do not bear the yoke of the medinah at all.299

Settlements, then, tried to ease their load as much as possible at the expense of other localities. Some even succeeded in remaining outside the recognized institutions of autonomy that mandated subordination of small Jewish settlements to nearby full-fledged communities and their dependence in turn on the chief community. The chief communities themselves lacked data on the size and economic strength of the outlying settlements of Jews. As a remedy, the council decided to appoint three representatives from the three chief communities, whose job was to visit the small settlements and conduct a survey of all the Jewish communities and settlements, defining which settlement belonged to which community and to which chief community both were subordinated. They were also supposed to check the material status of the residents of these places so as to allow fair division of the tax burden among rich and poor. These delegates were empowered to appoint from among the wealthy people in the settlements two or three who

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would be personally responsible for local payment of taxes and would have coercive collection power. The council delegates were given broad powers to set up collection procedures as they saw fit and render decisions in cases of tax controversy. The delegate from Pinsk was Aaron ben Moses; his task was, together with the delegates from Brest and Horodno, to reorganize apportionment of taxes and procedures for collection in the Pinsk district.300 The degree to which the new arrangements succeeded in solving the problems of tax apportionment and collection is difficult to know. Assertions of unfairness and accusations of evasion continued even after the delegates of the chief communities accomplished their mission. In 1631, the council ordered the communities to pay the poglowne and other imposts immediately, forbidding them to hold back on account of purported claims. As to these claims, “they should bring suits before the medinot when they meet to deliberate.”301 In 1632, the council required the heads of the districts (rashei medinah) to check the assessments of the communities and change them if warranted. It also required the chief communities to decree that their subordinate communities prepare for use of the council registers listing the names and assessments of all local taxpayers. Many communities continued to complain about the level of their skhum and powrotne, and only a few produced their taxpayer registers at the council meeting of 1637.302 The enactments of the council meetings held in the 1640s do not indicate complaints from the outlying settlements about unfair tax apportionment procedures. This silence may mean that eventually the council overcame the many problems and the communities actually sent in registers detailing apportionment of the community taxes among residents and a list of the houses in the community that the local rabbi was required to certify. The chief community had the authority to dun the surrounding Jewish settlements for special levies needed to cover specific outlays, which might include the costs of lobbying at the regional sejmik, or of sending gifts to the sejmik’s delegates to the Sejm, or of defense against some criminal accusation against a member of the community whom the chief community saw fit to defend. The chief community and its subordinates also split the costs of appointing a shamash, who handled

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the business of the district as a whole as well as the budget of the district charity fund, disbursed by the district council.303 When, in 1628, the central council decided to cover the expense of marrying off thirty poor young women, the Pinsk district (Pinsk and its subordinate communities) had to pay two hundred zlotys for eight of them (Brest twelve and Horodno ten). Similarly shared were the costs of absorbing fifty-seven young refugees, imposed by the council in 1639.304 The council record book notes one instance in 1639 where the Pinsk community received charity money, which it was required to share with the outlying communities.305 Residents of the chief communities enjoyed certain commercial, customs, and leasing privileges in the subordinate communities—privileges relating to the most lucrative occupations. For example, though it was forbidden for a member of one community to outbid a member of another for a lease in the latter’s own town, this prohibition applied only to residents of subordinate communities; members of chief communities were free to lease taxes and estates in any town. A 1623 central council by-law granted residents of Pinsk membership rights in all of its subordinate communities, meaning they could live, work, and trade freely in any Jewish settlement in the district.306 Sometimes chief communities benefited from special revenues. Thus of the twenty-one hundred zlotys that Moses Leizers gave the council in exchange for the monopoly over the general Lithuanian customs lease, four hundred went to Pinsk for its exclusive use. Residents of the small communities could appeal to the elders of Pinsk only if the competition of the Pinskers proved excessive. They did not enjoy reciprocal rights in Pinsk. The rights of “peripheral residents” in their main community were only marginally better than those of outsiders; for example, peripherals had preference in being accepted as students to study with the community rabbi.307 As a chief community, Pinsk enjoyed several other privileges. A 1628 council ordinance established that a community without a rabbi was not allowed to hire a rabbi, even to decide questions of halakhah, without the approval of the rabbi of Pinsk, so as not to jeopardize his livelihood. Only someone approved by the rabbi and elders of Pinsk was allowed to preach in public anywhere in the district. In some extreme cases, Pinsk had the right to expel from Lithuania a family living in its district.308

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Unfair treatment of the satellite communities was not unusual. The council’s ordinances imply resistance and claims of unfairness against the chief communities, who arrogated to themselves exaggerated powers and granted to their members unwarranted privileges in the other communities. The smaller communities had limited options for defending themselves against such encroachment. Any progress they made was likely due to legal struggles against perversion of justice.309 How did Pinsk and the other chief communities acquire their privileges in the satellite communities? We can assume that in general the origin of these privileges lay in the fact that the small communities around Pinsk developed out of large-scale arenda enterprises established by wealthy arrendators from Pinsk. At the time of their founding, the preferential rights belonged to Pinsk because the arrendator was from Pinsk. His subarrendators were the ones who set down roots in the place and with time became the settlers in the new community. Throughout the early stage, the new settlements were completely dependent on the mother community; only later did the consciousness of being a separate community develop. The organizational framework of Lithuanian Jewry, and the style of governance of the communities, turned the relational matrix that evolved into a permanent arrangement. Only thoroughgoing economic and demographic changes occurring within Lithuanian Jewry more than one hundred years later were able to undermine this structure.

Pinsk’s Place Among the Chief Communities As early as the 1560s, Pinsk was numbered among the chief Jewish communities of Lithuania.310 There is much material in the council record book, dating from after 1623, illustrating the position of the Pinsk community and the activity of its representatives on the Lithuanian Jewish Council. During this period, the communities of Brest, Horodno, and Pinsk were the chief communities of Lithuania, and their rashei medinah and rabbis constituted the Lithuanian Jewish Council, the central institution of autonomous Jewish rule for Lithuanian Jewry. The community of Brest was the most important of the three. It was the oldest, richest, and largest in Lithuania and from time immemorial had the status of central community speaking in the name of all Lithu-

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anian Jewry. Its superiority over the other communities was taken for granted. In many enactments in the council record book, its primacy is officially codified. Second place was reserved for Horodno. This was probably because it was one of the oldest communities in Lithuania— compared to the young Pinsk, which was founded only after the 1503 readmission of the Jews to Lithuania following the 1495 expulsion. In the council record book, the representatives of Pinsk nearly always signed documents after the delegates from Brest and Horodno. This practice began as a custom but was set as law in 1644.311 Brest was a quasi capital for the Jews of Lithuania, and its representatives on the council enjoyed the status of first among equals. In 1637, the council decided that in a case of nonemergency costs incurred in connection with accusations against Jews in the Pinsk or Horodno districts, those communities would have to inform Brest, and only if it agreed would the council cover the expense. If, however, the accusation occurred in Brest, then it would inform either Pinsk or Horodno as it chose, and after one of them agreed then the council would pay the costs. In other words, Brest was always involved in the decision.312 A series of resolutions, passed in 1644, reinforced the Brest-­HorodnoPinsk ranking. In addition to ordaining the order of signing on documents, they also established that in the event of a dispute between leaders in one of the chief communities over issues related to the medinah there would be a set order of consultations. Brest would send an initiative to Horodno, and Horodno to Pinsk. Pinsk or Horodno would send its recommendation to Brest and Brest to the remaining community, either Pinsk or Horodno; “No community may send out any document individually without the knowledge of the second community.”313 The venue of the cycle of seven council meetings was also legislated: Brest, Horodno, Pinsk, Brest, Brest, Horodno, and Pinsk. We have already noted the enhanced status of the judges from Brest on the council court.314 The superiority of Horodno to Pinsk was apparent only. In internal strength and external influence, they were roughly equal, and in geographic area the Pinsk district was larger. The amount of skhum that the council imposed on the Pinsk district was greater than that placed on Horodno. This may be an indication of the relatively better economic circumstances of the Jews in Pinsk.315

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Brest’s advantage over Pinsk and Horodno was decisive mainly because the number of its satellite communities was much larger than the number attached to Pinsk and Horodno. The area of Brest’s district was also much greater than the combined area of Pinsk’s and Horodno’s, and the same is true of its population size and tax assessments.316 Other large communities attempted to free themselves from the hege­mony of the chief communities or even become chief communities themselves. In the first half of the seventeenth century, they did not succeed. In 1634, the council adopted a decision against the arrogance of certain communities and ordered the three chief communities to punish them severely.317 In the period preceding 1648, the functioning of the Lithuanian Jewish Council was based on coordination and consensus among the rashei medinah representing the three chief communities. There is no evidence of serious controversies among them, but there are hints in the record book about competition among the chief communities. The fact that in 1644 the council codified the formal primacy of Brest implies that there were attempts to challenge its position. Pinsk and Horodno did not yield to Brest’s arbitrary acts, which contravened the council by-laws. Their representatives decided against the Brest community in 1636 in a case where its elders prevented individual Brest Jews from lodging a complaint against the kahal before the central council. Brest had acted on the basis of an internal statute of its kahal that prohibited this practice, while the council twice explicitly approved it. The anti-Brest decision was formulated in stinging language and declared that the Brest statute “fundamentally destroys, annuls and uproots the confederation of the medinah.” A statement such as this demonstrates that the rashei medinah of Brest could not ride roughshod over the council. The delegates from Pinsk and Horodno were active partners in designing and executing council policy.318

T h r e e From the Chmielnicki Persecutions of

1648–1649 Until the Peace of Andruszow

The 1648–1649 Persecutions in Pinsk In the spring of 1648 the Cossacks, led by Bogdan Chmielnicki, revolted against Poland. This revolt brought havoc and destruction to the Jews in Ukraine and seriously upset the established ways of life of Polish Jewry. In the collective Jewish popular memory, this time of trouble was recorded as the Persecutions of 1648–1649 (in Hebrew, Gezeirot Tah-Tat). In the course of the events of 1648, the Cossack regiments reached the southern area of the Pinsk region, and later Pinsk itself. However, the general monographs dealing with the Chmielnicki revolt have not given proper attention to what happened in and around Pinsk. Kostamarov, in his monograph on Chmielnicki, is the only one to devote several lines to the matter. He tells how in various places in Lithuania the peasants organized themselves into Cossack units and joined the revolt. Peasants from around Pinsk joined the forces of Pulkownik (Colonel) Niebaba, who operated south of the Pripet, and began to destroy the non-­Orthodox population, that is, the Poles and Jews. Within a short time the rebels crushed all resistance. However, the Lithuanian hetman, Janusz ­Radziwill, soon sent a force headed by Wolowicz against ­Niebaba. Wolowicz surprised the Cossack army as it was crossing the Pripet and chased it back into Pinsk.1 The Jews of Pinsk were included among the victims of the rebel Cossacks of 1648. In the Hebrew chronicles of the Persecutions, Pinsk is mentioned as one of the communities where the Cossacks conquered and victimized the inhabitants. In the evolution of events that year

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from the time the Cossack forces entered the Pinsk region, what happened to the Jewish communities in Pinsk and the surrounding area?

The Penetration of the Cossacks into the Pinsk Region The non-Jewish documents and testimonies preserve a fair amount of information on the events of 1648 in the Pinsk region. They are the main source for rendering what is a detailed picture of the events as they developed. There are several documents that recount the flight of the Jewish lessees Anszel Senderowicz and his brother, Aaron, from the Lubieszow estate, and Mordecai Aronowicz from the Uhrynicze estate, which are quite useful in the situation from the beginning, when the first signs of the danger that lay in store for Pinsk appeared. These three Jews and their families left their leaseholds a day or two prior to September 6, 1648, and set out in the direction of Brest, which apparently seemed to them to be safer than Pinsk. They had horses and wagons, so their escape was easy and orderly. The men were large-scale lessees, and they took with them a considerable amount of property—cash, jewelry, clothing, and chattels. On the night of September 6 and 7, while they were camped in a field near the village of Osowiec, they were attacked by a gang of local men posing as Cossacks, who broke open four of the trunks in the wagons and stole cash, silver utensils, and valuables.2 The lessees’ plan to go directly to Brest was ruined. Instead, two weeks later we find them in Pinsk, involved in legal proceedings in connection with the attack and trying to get their property back. It is obvious from how matters developed that the lessees encountered no particular difficulty in initiating judicial action. They summoned the plebian kopa3 court of the region that Osowiec belonged to in order to conduct an investigation, according to law and custom, that would lead to discovery of the attackers and return of the stolen property. The kopa investigation, done with customary severity, succeeded in identifying the guilty parties. They turned out to be four serfs of the noble­man Buchowiecki, the owner of Osowiec, who were interrogated by the kopa. According to the documents, during the interrogation three of

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the accused managed to escape and the fourth was placed in the ­Osowiec prison, presumably pending the capture of the other three. Only one of the escapees was caught. The other two—who were the primary suspects and were aided in their escape by the town wojt and one of the estate officials of Osowiec—were not apprehended. It seems that the kopa was not summoned a second time, and the case was brought for judgment before the nobleman Buchowiecki, the lord of the accused serfs. Buchowiecki gave up his claims to the escaped serfs, thereby giving the aggrieved Jews the right to catch them and bring them to trial. ­Buchowiecki sentenced to death the two serfs who had been captured and imprisoned. Since the Jews did not have an executioner on hand,4 the prisoners remained in jail in the Jews’ custody and were later brought to Pinsk. In Pinsk, the complaint was transferred to the castle court, where the investigation of the case started over again by way of interrogating the accused via torture. The interrogation was conducted publicly in the Pinsk marketplace not far from the zamek. The two accused admitted to participating in the robbery, told who organized the attack, and described how the loot was divided. The documents do not reveal the final fate of the accused, nor whether the Jews had their property restored. It is also not clear as to where the Jews went after the trial. From other records, we learn that the fleeing Jewish lessees did survive the Cossack incursion and later returned to their leaseholds. There is no question that by fleeing at an early stage, by wagon, carrying with them a considerable amount of cash and goods, the lessees of Lubieszow and Uhrynicze saved themselves, their families, and perhaps part of their property. In their complaint about the robbery, the lessees mention in passing that they were not the only ones to flee and that in trying to save their lives they followed the example of other people who ran away from the advancing Cossacks.5 The developments surrounding the case of the Lubieszow and Uhrynicze lessees lend insight as to the situation in the Pinsk region in September 1648. Rebellious Cossack units first appeared at the beginning of September in the area of Lubieszow, south of the Pripet River in the southern part of the region. These units were probably those of Niebaba, who had penetrated from Wolyn to Polesie, reinforced by local people who attached themselves to them. As usual, the rebels

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a­ ttacked estates and towns and vented their fury on the Polish noblemen and the Jews whom they found. In areas adjacent to the rebellious Cossacks’ operations, their impending arrival raised expectations among the Ruthenian Orthodox population, which sympathized with the rebels and was prepared to cooperate. Here and there, apparently, local groups—like the one that attacked the lessees—organized themselves into Cossack-style units for the purpose of robbery and plunder. The time was not necessarily ripe for mass enlistment in the revolt. Polish rule was still strong; most of the population still observed the accepted conventions of life and was not yet committed to active resistance to Polish authority and open revolt. Wherever the Cossacks conquered, the local population was enthusiastic about their entry, and the peasants not only cooperated with them but joined the Cossack ranks and took part in the attacks and plunder. Judging from the complaints filed by estate owners after the Cossacks were expelled from the area, Polish noblemen were the main targets of the peasants’ wrath. (The court documents do not contain any complaints by injured Jews against local peasants, probably due to the small number of Jews in these localities and the fact that the few who were there fled in time.) The peasants of Newel and Moroczno who joined the Cossacks came with them to Pinsk and apparently participated in its capture.6

The Capture of Pinsk Pinsk was captured by Niebaba’s Cossacks on Monday, October 26, 1648 (10 Heshvan, 5409), without a fight. The Orthodox townsmen, who had been aiding the rebel advance, opened the city gates wide before them. A force of several thousand men entered Pinsk and was joined by the townsmen. Together they began to riot—robbing, destroying, and killing Poles and Jews.7 In a complaint filed on December 17, 1648, less than two months after the first pogrom that took place in Pinsk under Cossack auspices, the rector of the Jesuit College indicates the fate that befell the Poles of the town. According to the him, the townsmen and Cossacks systematically killed Polish noblemen and Catholic priests, destroyed the Jesuit church, and looted whatever they could. They even desecrated graves,

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exhuming bodies and stripping them of their clothes and jewel­ry. Similarly, they ravaged the nearby Jesuit-owned estates of Duboje and Birkuze.8 The Cossacks held Pinsk for two weeks. Radziwill sent several units to put down the revolt, and after the Cossacks and townsmen rejected the ultimatum offered by the commander of the siege force, Lukasz ­Jelski, marszalek of Pinsk, the city was taken by storm in a fierce counter­ attack. The ultimatum demanded surrender as the price for sparing the women, children, and innocent at the hour of reckoning for the traitors. The Cossacks and townsmen decided to fight to the end and immediately began to fortify the city walls. All of the Orthodox inhabitants—men, women, and children—participated in the defense of the city against the Polish attack. On November 9, the Polish army, aided by heavy cannon, stormed the city at two points and conquered it despite vigorous defense by the rebels. The Poles captured house after house, slaughtering the Orthodox as they went. Many tried to escape or hide from the rage of the Polish soldiers, including a large number who tried to take refuge in two floating water mills on the Pina. However, the tremendous added weight caused the mills to sink and the people in them were drowned. On November 10, the fortress was conquered and the few Cossacks who escaped from it to the estate of the Orthodox bishop, in an attempt to break through to safety, fell into the hands of the Poles and were killed. The Poles set fire to Pinsk on November 11 and burned down much of the town.9 The Poles conquered a city that was practically destroyed, desolate and emptied of most of its inhabitants. At the end of December 1648, Pinsk was still virtually devoid of Orthodox inhabitants. Some had been slaughtered by the Poles, in revenge for their treachery. Some had scattered throughout the countryside. The testimony of the court ­bailiff, who attempted to carry out the orders of the tax commissioner and collect overdue taxes from the townsmen on December 28, 1648, is instructive in this connection. He tells how he approached the townsmen and inquired about the city councilmen (burmistrze, rajcy, and lawniki), and the members of the merchants and crafts guilds.10 He wanted to question them directly as to why they had not paid their taxes. The ­bailiff found only a few citizens—none of them city councilors—who

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told him that they did not know who had collected taxes and that the city’s population either fled or was killed when the Cossacks were driven from Pinsk.11 At the same time, in late 1648, there were a few Poles in Pinsk, people who had accompanied the victorious Polish army. There were also a small number of Jews who had survived in hiding or who, after having fled during the five weeks between September 20 and October 25, gradually returned as the fighting subsided and the situation was clarified. These were the people who began rehabilitation of the city after the events of 1648.

The Jews of Pinsk During the 1648–1649 Persecutions What happened to the Jews during those fateful months when they were faced with the threat of massacre by the advancing Cossacks? What new conditions were created? How did they respond?

The Testimony of Jacob Rubinowicz There are several documents from 1649 and 1650, as well as from later years, that elucidate developments in Pinsk during the 1648 revolt. The first Jewish source is a private complaint of Jacob Rubinowicz against the townsmen, recorded in the castle court record books on May 31, 1649, some eight months after the bloody events. Although the original complaint is not extant, a countersuit filed by the townsmen on August 26, 1650, contains quotes from it. By way of negating Rubinowicz’s accusations that they participated together with the Cossacks in murder and robbery, the townsmen’s suit paraphrases the Jew’s claims12: We have seen in the castle court record book the complaint of this Jew [Jacob Rubinowicz] against us, the living, and against our dead fathers, and against all of the townsmen; filed last year on May 31, 1649 and stating: that when we [the townsmen] heard about the Cossack traitors, we supposedly brought them into Pinsk, intentionally, in order to root out the Jews, wreck their homes and destroy their property; that when the Jews heard this they, with their wives and

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children, abandoned their homes and property, and we, the citizens,13 supposedly made league with the Cossacks, bringing them into Pinsk on December 12, 1648,14 at which time they proceeded to kill Jews; that his son, Chackiel Jakubowicz Rubinowicz, and daughter-in-law, whom we supposedly agreed to protect, were killed, not by the Cossacks, but by us; that the Jews buried zinc, copper and bronze, and gave over to the townsmen certain articles and trunks for safekeeping, and that we supposedly took for ourselves various debt bills. This false, inaccurate and insulting complaint further alleges that (when the Polish army attacked) we, the entire community of Pinsk townsmen, supposedly defended the Cossacks and didn’t allow the army to enter; that we burned and dismembered [Rubinowicz’s] house, located on Lohiszyn St. not far from the gate, in order to use the material to set up barricades during the fighting15; that we looted a second house, on Zydowska Street, and tore out its windows and doors; and that we burned yet a third house in Polozowszczyzna, near the Pina—all of this as set forth in detail in the false and insulting complaint. . . .

Later on in this document, the townsmen categorically deny Jacob Rubinowicz’s accusations. They assert that they did not ally themselves with the Cossacks; did not bring them into the city in order to root out the Jews; did not assure Rubinowicz’s son Chackiel that he did not have to flee the city because they would protect him; did not participate in the killing of Chackiel and other Jews; did not take from Rubinowicz any zinc, copper, bills, or anything else; and did not destroy or dismantle his homes during the Cossack occupation of the city. Furthermore, they claim, when the Polish army attacked the city and began to kill, burn, and seize property, they themselves had to hide and were not even aware of what was happening to their own homes, property, and families. It was then that Rubinowicz’s house near the gate as well as his other homes were burned down, followed by the houses of the townspeople in Jassolze. Around a week after the Polish entry into the city, Pan Pawel Szawjalka intentionally burned several hundred houses. Yet the Jews, who themselves abandoned Pinsk and traveled to various other towns, make insulting accusations. The claims of the Jews, as paraphrased by the townspeople trying to deny them, can be considered the earliest known firsthand account of what happened to the Jews of Pinsk during the 1648–1649 persecutions.

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It is evident that the Jews’ claims against the townspeople are essentially reliable and convincing, while the townspeople’s denials, submitted fifteen months later in a political climate much more hospitable to them, are written in an obviously self-righteous tone and are false.16 Be that as it may, the document indicates several essential facts with regard to the Jews of Pinsk during the Persecutions. First, most Pinsk Jews fled the city before the Cossacks took it. Second, there were Jews who came to an understanding with townsmen and deposited property with them for safekeeping, while some even received assurances from townsmen that they would not come to any harm. Third, some Jews buried their property. Fourth, there were Jews (evidently a small number) who remained in the city at the time of the Cossack conquest, and some of them were killed by the Cossacks in the course of their occupation.

The Testimonies of the Hebrew Chronicles The information about Pinsk during the persecutions contained in the Hebrew chronicles of the period as well as in other documents, some of them dating from a later time, reveal what happened. There are three Hebrew chronicles with passages on Pinsk during the 1648– 49 persecutions: Zok Ha-Itim (Cracow, 1650), by Meir ben Samuel of Szczebrzeszyn; Yeven Metzulah (Venice, 1653), by Nathan Nota Hannover of Zaslaw; and Tit Ha-Yeven (Venice, ca. 1656), by Samuel Feibish ben Nathan Feitel of Vienna.17 Using their own experiences and reports from others as source material, these writers18 attempted to tell both their own and future generations the story of the great calamity that befell the Jewish nation in 1648–1649. The stories about Pinsk in these chronicles are hearsay testimony because none of the authors was an eyewitness to what transpired there. What follows are the stories about Pinsk as they appear in the chronicles. Zok Ha-Itim19 The people of the holy community of Pinsk when they heard the faint sound [editor’s note: of the approaching attackers] fled. The heirs to the ancestral faith promised gifts to the townsfolk so that they would

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stand guard, on every corner, over the city, from all four directions that Jew [Zydowska] Street not be burned; that the lovely synagogues and study halls not be destroyed by the rebels. And when the enemy came, lo, the ambushers, the good Greeks [Ruthenians] of the city saved some poor, importunate Jews who, due to their helplessness, had not fled. They were killed, cruelly, in expiation. When the noblemen heard this, the men of war, the mighty shields attacked the city from every direction. The worthless ones [the Cossacks] were inside the city and the camp of Edom [the Poles], mighty as giants stood outside at the crossroads and set fire to the city at the four corners. And the wanton ones, the witless nation, wanted to flee in boats and ships. The noblemen cast them into the water, “They sank like lead in the majestic waters.” [Exodus 15:10] Many were burned in the city by the besiegers. Prince ­Radziwill and the warriors took revenge on the rebels and in an uproar burned the city. For miles around Pinsk the Jews met with terrible troubles; the rebels committed pogroms against them.

Yeven Metzulah20 Of the people in the cities of Sluck, Pinsk, and Brest, some escaped to Great Poland, and others by waterway, to Gdansk, on the river ­Vistula. Several hundred of the poor people who remained in Brest and in Pinsk were martyred. The enemies also pursued several hundreds of wagons of fleeing Jews in the countryside around Pinsk overtaking them at the narrow places, and killing large numbers of them. The Poles, however, avenged themselves on the Greeks of Pinsk. When the general, Duke Radziwill, hetman of Lithuania, heard that the people of Pinsk had rebelled and had permitted the scoundrels to enter the city, he and several thousand Poles besieged the city and set fire to it on its four sides. The wanton ones within the city tried to escape by water in boats and all of them were drowned. Some were burned and killed. Thus the Jews were avenged.

Tit Ha-Yeven21 And from there [Minsk] he went to Rintsk [that is, Pinsk] where there were 300 [Jewish] householders, and almost all of them were killed. And from there he went to Sluck. . . . And from there [Sterlicz] he went to the great holy city of Pinsk where there were 800 extremely

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rich householders and almost all of them were killed. And from there he traveled for about eight days in a region where there were no Jews and afterwards came to the vicinity of Briskofa [perhaps Brisk—that is, Brest—is intended]. . . .

The three stories have been arranged in the chronological order of their printing, which also happens to correspond to their ranking in importance and credibility as historical sources. For our discussion, only the stories in Zok Ha-Itim and Yeven Metzulah are important. The stories in Tit Ha-Yeven, one of which states that in Pinsk there were some “three hundred householders and almost all of them were killed,” and a second of which asserts that there were “eight hundred householders and almost all of them were killed,” should be discounted as unreliable and worthless. They contradict both the other two chronicles and historical reality.22 The accounts in Zok Ha-Itim and Yeven Metzulah give the impression that the Jews of Pinsk did not suffer as much as might have been expected, because most of them managed to run away from the city. With regard to the flight, the two chronicles agree on some details and are complementary on others. The account in Zok Ha-Itim is particularly important because it supplements the meager information we have as to what went on in Pinsk on the eve of the Cossack conquest, what the mood of the Jews was, and what decisions were made and actions were taken during the few fateful days prior to the fall of the city. Similarly, this description adds a bit to our knowledge of the mood of the townspeople and of the relations between Jews and townsmen.

The Townspeople and the Jewish Community Jacob Rubinowicz’s complaint spoke of a sort of agreement between himself and townsmen whereby the latter obligated themselves to protect his family and guard his property. Zok Ha-Itim implies that the understandings reached between Jews and townsmen were in the nature of an agreement between the Jewish community and the city fathers. This is confirmed by the fact that Jacob Rubinowicz’s complaint was lodged against the townsmen collectively, and that in their

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countersuit the townsmen claim that Rubinowicz was incited to file his complaint by the “Jews of Pinsk”—that is, the kahal. The existence of this agreement probably means that relations between the Jews and the townspeople were good up to the final days preceding the entry of the Cossacks. Pinsk Jews handed over to townspeople, for safekeeping, property that they could not take with them. The kahal entrusted them with the task of guarding the synagogue and the homes on Zydowska Street (and certainly on adjacent streets as well). For their part, it seems that the townsfolk were, at the beginning, prepared to demonstrate some kindness toward their Jewish neighbors. Zok Ha‑Itim does mention “the good Greeks [Ruthenians] of the city” who saved some poor Jews. These Jews were killed, however, after the Cossacks entered the city. Perhaps the fact that seventy-eight Jewishowned buildings, including the synagogue, were not burned and survived the events of 1648 intact is an indication that the townspeople actually did try to keep their promise.23 It is also possible that at one stage of the Cossack conquest certain Jews saved themselves with the aid of townspeople, but only after agreeing to convert (to Orthodoxy). It is a fact that more than a few Jews converted in Pinsk at that time. This is clear from the declaration (Polish: uniwersal; English: universal) issued by King Jan Kazimierz to royal officials and to the municipality of Pinsk on May 2, 1650, allowing Jews (men, women, and children) who converted to Orthodoxy, willingly or by force, during the Cossack War to return to Judaism if they so desired. Christians were no longer to keep them in the church by force and must let them return to their homes, property, and commercial occupations. The Jews were to enjoy all of their former rights. This declaration was granted after intense lobbying on the part of the kahal, which had complained bitterly about Jews who were forced into apostasy, kept in Christianity for more than a year and a half, and prohibited from having contact with other Jews who returned to their homes. The document speaks of a large number of converts, and it is clear that whole families survived in this way. The document states explicitly that some converted out of fear, while some did so only after they were forced to by torture. Apparently, the converts were held together in a special location under the watchful eye of the Orthodox Church. The phenomenon

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of converts, and especially forced ones, shows that at least at a certain stage the Cossacks gave the Jews remaining in Pinsk the choice between death and conversion. Moreover, they preferred (perhaps in response to local church influence) converting Jews to killing them.24

The Flight of the Jews of Pinsk I All of the sources cited mention the flight of the Pinsk Jews, for which they probably had four or five weeks to prepare.25 The wealthy among them, who could arrange immediate transportation for themselves, apparently managed to save a large proportion of their belongings and flee to destinations that were farther away and thus safer.26 For the rich merchants who as part of doing business always maintained means of transport (horses and wagons), the problem of transportation was much easier. They owned their own teams and wagons and could also afford to hire wagons, even at inflated prices.27 The problem of transportation was, it seems, more serious for the plebeian classes. These people continued fleeing until the very last days, and there were some who, by the time the Cossacks came, had managed to run—perhaps literally—only a short distance from Pinsk. Many of these Jews fell victim to the Cossack attackers.28 The Jews who did not succeed in running away and remained in Pinsk were probably mainly the poor of the community, although there were some affluent people among them. It is impossible to know how many stayed in the city, but the number seems to have been small. The stories about Pinsk in the chronicles speak at relative length about the Polish victory over the rebels and the revenge that they exacted. Here the chronicles are in substantial agreement with the Polish account of the taking of Pinsk from the Cossacks and are reliable sources. It must be that the news of the fall of the Cossacks in Pinsk spread among the Polish Jews, and they could recount it in detail.29

Loss of Life Concerning one matter, the sources do not give a clear-cut answer: What was the number of Jews who fell victim to the Cossacks and their allies in Pinsk? It seems that the accepted view among the Jews of Poland and Ashkenaz was that Pinsk was one of the communities

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hardest hit.30 This opinion is reflected in the words of Nathan Nota Hannover, who notes that in Brest and Pinsk several hundred people were martyred. Several hundred victims means at least three or four hundred in the two communities combined, with about half in Pinsk. This is a large number and classifies Pinsk as a community that was badly hurt. The author of Zok Ha-Itim, however, gives a slightly different impression. He speaks only of “some” Jews who did not manage to get out of Pinsk and were killed and of others who met with “terrible troubles” and were attacked by the Cossacks in the vicinity of Pinsk (although there is no specific mention of murdered victims). Also, the complaint of Jacob Rubinowicz against the townsmen, though noting in passing the murder of Jews (in the plural), does not indicate that besides his son and his wife the number was particularly high.31 Systematic examination of all available information about the Jews of Pinsk mentioned by name in the documents, before and after the persecutions, can shed light on this problem. Of central importance to such examination is a document recorded in the castle court by the shamash of the kahal, Marek Moszkowicz, on April 13, 1650. This document includes a list, by name, of Jewish householders in Pinsk a year and a half after the persecutions. The list specifies the old Jewish houses that remained (seventy-eight) and the new homes built to replace those burned or wrecked by the Cossacks. The list names ninety-six Jewish householders, including twelve widows. In addition, the document lists two homes that survived the Persecutions, not according to the names of the actual owners. One of them is registered in the name of “Berko’s son”; the other in the name of “Abraham Judycz’s son-in-law.”32 As we shall see, besides the son and daughter-in-law of Jacob ­ Rubinowicz mentioned earlier, it is nearly certain that the large majority of the “missing” householders (the husbands of the twelve widows and Berko and Abraham Judycz) were also victims of the Cossack attacks on the Jews of Pinsk in October 1648. Thus the number of victims can be estimated at approximately fifteen. On the basis of what the documents actually say, no larger number can be adduced. Comparison of the names of the Pinsk Jews known to us from before the Persecutions with the names of those who remained alive and are mentioned in documents dating from immediately after the events

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may yield a more realistic estimate of the number of victims. The 1650 list of householders is a key source here. We can compare the names listed in it and in several other contemporary documents with the list of Pinsk Jews compiled in the 1640s, before the Persecutions. Such comparison shows that a significant number of household heads who lived and worked in Pinsk before the Persecutions do not appear in the later sources. We have arranged the names of these people in two lists: the first, Jews who both resided permanently and worked in the city; the second, Jews who (at least mostly) came from Pinsk, earned their living in connection with arendas, and lived in leased villages or nobility estates at the time of the Persecutions. The reason for two lists is that the probability is higher that those in the first group who did not return to their homes were killed by the Cossacks. Those in the second group, lessees and their employees, usually lived at the site of the lease, and it may be that after the Persecutions, having returned to the leasehold and not to Pinsk itself, they were not recorded in the 1650 list of Pinsk householders. Some of those who, before the Persecutions, maintained an official residence in Pinsk while living on the leasehold might have cut all ties to the city after 1648. However, there is no question that some of the lessees were longstanding ­Pinskers— as examples, the Szymszycz family, David Jakubowicz Morawczyk, Solomon Abramowicz, Simon Jozefowicz, and others (see the references attached to the second list).



1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

Missing Persons—Permanent Residents of Pinsk (Numbers in Parentheses Refer to Documents in AVAK, Vol. 28) Abraham Hillelowicz (198) widow of Barukh (281) Batia (Baska) Parcewiczowa (274) Berko Aharonowicz (239; his son, 281) Eliezer Chackielewicz (278) Eliezer Pesachowicz (270) Elijah Abramowicz (275) widow of Hayyim (281) Isaac Badar (203)33 Israel Abramowicz Bienkiewicz (270)34 Jacob Davidowicz (201)

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12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

Joshua Jakubowicz (201) Judah Hosiewicz (197) Judah Malachlowicz (210) widow of Mikhel (281) widow of Mordecai (281) Moses Grecer (274)35 Moses Jerachmielewicz (161, 179) Moses Rubinowicz (269) Moses Zalmanowicz (274) Nathan Maniewicz (197) widow of Ruben (281)

23. 24. 25. 26.

Persons Who May Have Been Killed widow of Joseph (281)36 Mordecai-Samuel Izawelewicz (141)37 husband of Riska (a widow in 1650) (281) husband of Shifra Bolbierka



Missing Persons—Lessees in the Pinsk Vicinity38 Daniel Leibowicz (241) David [Ickowicz]? (268) David Jakubowicz [Morawczyk] (158, 182, and many others) Deborah Szymszycz (242, 276, and many others) Eliezer (Lazka) Israelewicz (267) Chanan Israelewicz (175) Jacob Hosiewicz (193–194, 262) Joseph Israelewicz (264) Joseph Moszkowicz (267) Judah Moszkowicz (264) Leib Israelewicz (264) Leib Jakubowicz (213) Marek ben Eliezer Szymszycz Simha Ickowicz (217, 224) Simha Pesachowicz (273 and others) Simon Jozefowicz (264) Solomon Abramowicz (169, 277, and others) Zelig Senderowicz (273) Zerah Simchowicz (184, 237, and others)

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

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Persons Who May Have Been Missing 20. Abraham Jozefowicz (237) 21. Jacob Lejzerowicz Szymszycz (175, 276, and many others)39

On the basis of a comparison of the names of the widows with the names of Jewish residents of Pinsk in the 1640s who are not mentioned after the Persecutions, it can be assumed that the husbands of some of the widows were killed during the Persecutions.40

Renewal and Rehabilitation of Communal Life: Continuity of the Activities of the Kahal Leadership During the Gezeirot Tah-Tat Persecutions, along with Pinsk, Brest—the largest and most important of the main Lithuanian communities—and a number of smaller communities were hit. However, the communities of Horodno, Vilna, and many others were not harmed. In fact, according to Hannover in Yeven Metzulah, people from the communities in Lithuania that the Cossacks did attack fled to these places.41 On January 3, 1649 (2 Shevat, 5709), a few weeks after the bloody events, the Lithuanian Jewish Council met to discuss the new situation that had been created. The decisions taken at that meeting give a concept of the severe problems calling for urgent deliberation and action. The enactment—”regarding exiled poor people wandering and roaming through [alien] countryside. They are not spread equally over the country. Rather, the responsibility for them falls upon a few communities whose members are well-off, while some communities cannot afford such a large expense”—conjures up the picture of masses of penniless refugees, mainly from Ukraine it seems, flooding Lithuania and becoming a burden on many communities.42 Such was the situation shortly before the council’s resolution was adopted, that is, in December (Tevet) 1648, the same time that the Jews of Pinsk began returning to their city. Therefore it cannot be assumed that the description of refugees inundating Lithuania was meant to include Pinsk, although it is possible that sometime after this refugees came along with returning Pinskers. At that time, the Pinsk community’s problems were quite difficult. A

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large community, almost totally uprooted for a number of months, was beginning to return to its place: a partially burned out city, missing most of its population. They had to bury their dead, heal their wounds, and rebuild their lives under completely new conditions, in the context of an unfamiliar reality. Yet it is clear that the Pinsk community succeeded in renewing its activity quickly after the events of 1648. The fixed framework of kahal leadership took charge of the situation and the existing organizational tools of Jewish self-rule dealt with the severe problems of the hour.43 The Lithuanian Jewish Council session that culminated with the enactments of January 3, 1649, must have convened at least a few days prior to this date in order to consider the burning issues of redemption of captives, apportionment of the growing tax bill owed to the government, and collection of money needed to deal with urgent problems. Since the district heads from Pinsk were among those who signed the enactments of the council,44 it may be deduced that by December 1648, about a month after the Cossacks were driven out of the city, the leaders of the Pinsk kahal had already met for consultations. On February 17, 1649, a month and a half after the council meeting, a delegation representing the important Lithuanian communities appeared before King Jan Kazimierz—who ascended the throne on November 20, 1648, in the midst of the Cossack Revolt—and received from him confirmation of the charters of Lithuanian Jewry. Barukh Nachmanowicz, a leader of the Pinsk kahal, was a participant in this delegation.45 To be sure, it is impossible to say with certainty that the kahal leaders were already residing in Pinsk at this time. They could have convened at one of the places outside Pinsk where they sought refuge. However, the 1649 Lithuanian Council enactments imply that life in the three main communities, including Pinsk and Brest, began returning to normal and the kahals in them started functioning as before.46 The complaint of Jacob Rubinowicz against the townspeople of Pinsk, filed on May 31, 1649 (cited earlier in this chapter), appears to be a private suit but in reality was filed with the consent of the Pinsk kahal47 and is testimony to activity on its part. The men who presided over reconstruction of the community and renewal of its way of life were the district heads (rashei medinah)—­Isaiah

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ben Jacob and Joseph ben Mordecai Kopelmans—and the rabbi of Pinsk in the years 1647–1649, Rabbi Jacob ben Ephraim-Zalman Shor. The first two men signed the regulations issued by the council sessions held in 1649, 1650, and 1652. The rabbi represented Pinsk only at the council session of 1649. Together with these men, the aforementioned ­Barukh Nachmanowicz, known to us as one of the wealthy men of Pinsk and as a kahal leader from the period preceding the Persecutions, also participated in the council. Another Pinsk representative was Ezekiel ­L ejzerowicz, the youngest of all of these men, who apparently began his activities in the communal leadership shortly before Gezeirot Tah. The regulations of the 1650 council session state that Ezekiel from Pinsk gave, on behalf of the Lithuanian Council, to Samson from Lublin a note cover­ing two thousand zlotys out of twenty-three hundred that the council borrowed from the latter. It is nearly certain that this Ezekiel, mentioned again as a kahal leader in documents dating from 1669, was a rich member of the community. One of the oldest of the kahal leaders, Joshua ben Abraham Segal, participated in the council session of 1652.48 In point of fact, the kahal leadership did not change much. The leaders known to us from before the Persecutions continued to lead the community after the events of 1648. From this perspective, the Pinsk community was not exceptional. The Brest community also revived quickly, and its leadership likewise immediately began trying to find a solution to the severe problems of the time. Thus the Lithuanian Council was able to rouse itself straightaway and set to the task of remedying the plight of Lithuanian Jewry—all the while keeping sight of the overall interests of the Jewish people. The regulations that were adopted at the emergency session of the council in early January 1649 related to the most serious problems requiring immediate attention. The first problem taken up was both urgent and one that entailed large expenses: redeeming captives. All communities, even small ones, were given the authority—and encouraged—to disburse money for this purpose and charge it to the council.49 The council did not have enough time at its January 1649 session to deal with the pressing problem of numerous refugees. It did no more than put this matter on the agenda for a coming session and depended on the individual communities to fulfill their obligations toward the

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refugees. To enable it to deal with the problems of the hour, the council decided to levy immediately a special surtax on liquor excise tax leases. The district heads together with the community rabbis were to set the amount of the surtax, which could not exceed 4 percent of the value of the lease.50 Fourteen months later, in March 1650, when the council reassembled, once again the Persecutions and their aftermath were the main subject of the deliberations. This time, it seems the council entered into a detailed discussion of the refugee problem. It decided that refugees who could support themselves were to be allowed to live and work in the communities where they currently were located, with the proviso that they participate in communal expenses. However, the communities themselves were obligated to provide for refugees without means. Rough criteria were set up dividing the burden of supporting the refugees according to the size of the community or according to its proportional share of the total tax burden of Lithuanian Jewry. This regulation required every community to feed and support a number of refugees. A proposal was made that guards be posted at the Lithuanian frontier to stem the flow of refugees, but it was agreed to consider this idea at a later date and leave the matter open for the present. The council also decided to impose a prohibition on luxurious clothing and music and to minimize celebrations. These limitations were intended as a way of demonstrating the shock of the nation at the calamity that had befallen the Jews of Ukraine and Lithuania at the hands of the Cossacks, as well as showing solidarity with the masses of mourners of the House of Israel in Poland. It is probable that an additional motivation for these prohibitions was the desire to play down the contrast between the dire poverty of the masses of refugees and paupers on the one hand and ostentatious wealth on the other. There is explicit evidence in the documents that in Pinsk too after the Persecutions there were rich people possessing abundant expensive clothing and jewelry. The regulation must have been directed at them and those like them in other communities.51 The council’s treatment, at the same session, of the matters of education, Torah study, and observance of the commandments testifies to an organized effort to return life to normal. Together with the

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c­ ommunities of Brest and Horodno, Pinsk played a part in this effort. It seems that in the first years the major communities fulfilled their role successfully, although the serious issues of maintaining the masses of poor refugees and bearing the costs of redeeming (via Constantinople) the captives taken by the Tatars during the Persecutions continued to occupy the council into 1652, when it met in Chomsk, near Pinsk.52 The collective life of Lithuanian Jewry returned to normal rather quickly. The council sought to foster this normalization by placing at the top of its agenda the questions of education, Torah study, and observance of commandments and laws, and by formulating policy in these spheres. Already in 1650, a regulation was passed renewing an older law dating from 1639, which by placing the onus of maintaining students on the communities was designed to extend the obligation of study to all boys in all communities and settlements during most months of the year and to increase as much as possible the number of students studying Torah in the yeshivot and with community rabbis.53 The 1650 regulation even broadened the duty of the communities to maintain students, to include the breaks between semesters (in the spring around April, and in the summer during part of August and September). This problem was not easily solved, and a 1652 regulation indicates that “many youths wander around the countryside . . . wasting their time”; it obligates every community with a rabbi to maintain a yeshiva: “Any condition they may have agreed upon with the rabbi, to eliminate a yeshiva, is totally null and void.”54 In 1650, the council adopted a regulation requiring all communities and settlements to be careful not to arrange an engagement or marriage for any widower or divorcé unless he produced a certificate from a rabbi confirming that he was indeed widowed or divorced. Likewise, newcomers who had been exiles were not to marry each other without prior clarification of exactly who they were so that a person would not enter into an incestuous marriage.55 At this time, the rabbi and yeshiva head in Pinsk was Moses ben Nathan Shapira, the second son of Rabbi Nathan Shapira, the rabbi of Cracow and author of Megaleh Amukot. Thanks to the efforts of Rabbi Moses and his brother, Rabbi Solomon, their father’s book was published in Cracow in 1637. With florid, poetic language, the two broth-

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ers showered praise on the book and on their father, its author. Rabbi ­Moses ben Nathan signed his introduction, “the son-in-law of the notable, the head, the nobleman, the dignitary, the honorable and learned Leyzershen of Vilna.”56 Rabbi Moses ben Nathan was a wealthy man; in 1650 the Lithuanian Council owed him 8,210 zlotys. In 1652, he signed in the name of the Pinsk community on a decision of the council regarding the naming of Vilna as a fourth “chief” community, and in 1655 he also signed council regulations on behalf of Pinsk.57

Economic Life Our information on the economic life of the Jews of Pinsk immediately after the Persecutions is spotty. The impression is that within a short time the community succeeded in reviving. A large proportion of the Jews’ homes were not damaged during the troubles; seventy-eight remained standing. Some Jewish homes were, of course, burned down; however, less than a year and a half after the expulsion of the Cossacks from the city, the Jews built eighteen new homes. By April 1650, only thirteen families were living in homes that did not belong to them, but they did have a roof over their heads.58 The Jews immediately tried to resume their former occupations and apparently succeeded. The king was interested in the rehabilitation of the city, and in two years’ time the townspeople were forgiven their treachery. On December 31, 1650, their Magdeburg rights were confirmed anew.59 The Jews’ economic initiative was desirable. By all appearances, during the Persecutions the Jews of Pinsk succeeded in saving a large part of their wealth. This helped them restore communal life once they returned.

Commerce and Credit We do know that in the years between Gezeirot Tah-Tat and 1655 several Pinsk Jews were involved in wide-ranging credit and commercial activities. Sometime before 1651, probably in 1649–1650, Asher Abramowicz of Pinsk dealt in moneylending. One of his debtors was a nobleman, the judge Dadziburg Mackiewicz, who owed Asher three hundred ­zlotys and paid his debt in full.60 Jacob Aharonowicz Bielczycz and Jacob Lejzerowicz were in the textile trade, traveling to fairs in Gdansk

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and Gniezno.61 Their stores were full of imported merchandise: various types of textiles and sewing goods, oriental delicacies, and different sorts of metal products. In addition, these men were rich in jewelry and expensive clothes and had large amounts of cash at their disposal.62 These two Jews were certainly wealthy by any standard, possessing much property in goods and cash. Isaiah Jakubowicz—who lent money before the persecutions and who we know as one of the kahal leaders— and his son Leib were textile merchants and did business on a large scale during those years. They also lent money on pledges. They owned a large amount of merchandise, and the store of clothing, jewelry, and household goods in their possession was impressive.63 Another of this circle of wealthy merchants was Mordecai Litmanowicz, also a textile merchant. He lent money on pledges and took possession, probably as the result of loan deals, of the houses and lots of townsmen who needed cash. His brother, David Litmanowicz, also seems to have been one of the rich men on the kahal; he made his living primarily from moneylending.64 These men or their fathers were the wealthy people of Pinsk before Gezeirot Tah-Tat as well, and if they had not saved their property at the time of the Persecutions, it is hard to believe they could have gained such wealth. How they saved it is not clear; it is possible to draw an analogy from the examples of the Jews who fled Pinsk in 1655 (see below). Part of their wealth was invested in expensive jewelry, gold, and silver—things that are easy to bury or carry off during flight. It seems that the majority of Jews were prudent enough to leave Pinsk while there was still time, taking part of their expensive merchandise, clothing, and household goods with them in wagons. A large proportion of this property was saved and was the basis for renewing their former businesses. It is obvious that these Jews managed to use part of their capital for making loans, primarily to townsmen who, it seems, were more thoroughly impoverished than were the Jews in the 1648 war. For these Jews moneylending was a sideline accompanying their main occupation in various commercial enterprises (a fact that testifies, by the way, to the liquid capital available to the rich merchants of Pinsk). For a short period, the Pinsk Jews managed to continue their enterprises on a grand scale, even though their moneylending deals were mainly small and medium-size.

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Arendy We know very little about the dealings of the Pinsk Jews in leases during these years. We may assume that the arrendators (such as Icek Abramowicz, of Uhrynicze, or Anszel Aleksandrowicz, of Lubieszow) who remained alive after the Persecutions returned to their leaseholds and continued to earn their living from them. The two men just mentioned escaped from their estates in 164865 but returned once things calmed down. It is possible that Jews from Pinsk or its periphery tried their hand at leasing entire estates as they did before, but we have little information in this connection.66 It appears that in this period the economic position of certain arrendators was badly undermined because of developments in the southern part of the Pinsk region. When the Tatars invaded a given area, plundering, killing, and taking captives, they did not discriminate between Jews and non-Jews. Similarly, if an area was destroyed in the wake of such an incursion, then the economic basis of the existence of the Jewish arrendator in that area was also destroyed— even if he did manage to save his life. Icek Abramowicz, who, after the Tatars robbed all of his property in December 1653, fled empty-handed and penniless with his family, was not the only one despoiled. It is almost a certainty that the economic state of the Jewish arrendators wherever the Tatars attacked was badly destabilized.67 Also in 1653, the various fighting forces operating in the Pinsk region filled it with plundering, robbery, and murder. As a result, the decline of the great arrendators was etched clearly alongside the deterioration of the masses of peasant inhabitants and middle nobility. The decline and deteriorization went unchecked after 1655.

Pinsk During the Polish-Muscovite War (1655–1659) For about seven years, until late 1655, relative calm lasted in Pinsk. Peace was shattered in the southern part of the Pinsk district by the end of 1653 as the result of incursions by Tatars. After running riot, attacking local populations, robbing them of everything fit to be plundered, and burning anything they could not steal, the Tatars took captive entire villages and settlements.68 In this way settlements, villages, farms, and

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latifundia were depopulated. All that remained after these attacks were the smoldering ashes of settlements gone up in smoke, blood, and the tears of masses of unfortunate people who were to be sold on the slave markets. Thus were destroyed in December 1653 and January 1654 the Uhrynicze-Berezycze latifundium (leased by Icek Abramowicz, who, with his family, was miraculously saved while losing most of his belongings), the villages of Dolsk and Lubiaz, the Zadolze and Kuchecze latifundia, and the town of Newel—all of them south of the Pripet. Some villages in the Stolin region were also damaged by attacks. The Tatars did not harm Pinsk itself, or any part of the region north of the Pripet. However, it is not hard to imagine the pall of the threat they posed and the terror of the population in anticipation of the worst.69

War Preparations The Tatar invasion was the prelude to a new war between Poland and Moscow. Chmielnicki and representatives of the tsar, Alexei Mikhailovich, signed the Perejaslaw agreement in January 1654, annexing Ukraine to Moscow and obligating the tsar to go to war against Poland. With this, hostilities became unavoidable. The Poles immediately began preparations for war against the Muscovite army. As soon as February 16, 1654, Janusz Radziwill, the hetman of Lithuania, ordered a troop levy to assemble near Orsza, there to confront the Muscovites.70 In Pinsk the response to the draft call was lackadaisical. Many of the szlachta (Polish nobility) who were liable for conscription either failed to enlist or joined units that operated outside the regular military framework, roving the countryside and robbing the populace.71 In a universal (August 8, 1654), the king declared his intention to destroy these gangs: From the Pinsk region there have been complaints that in our ­kingdom there are people who pose as our officers and without orders from the Hetman roam with their gangs among the villages, robbing the people.72

This occurred before the fateful battles near Szklow (August 12) and Szepielowicze (August 24), where Radziwill’s army was soundly beaten by the Muscovites and forced to retreat to Minsk.73 From midAugust on, the draft calls directed at the szlachta and townspeople of

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Pinsk ­became more frequent; but the szlachta displayed no inclination to obey the August 16 and September 4 orders of Korwin-Gosiewski, the Polish hetman.74 Nor did they heed his exhortations that they must unite and prepare for war against the combined forces of the Cossacks and Muscovites. Most of the szlachta simply did nothing. Perhaps the reason for this is in the King’s September 15 universal, which assured the citizens of the Pinsk district that the army they raised would remain to defend Polesie.75 The szlachta apparently feared that if the Pinsk force joined the main Polish army, local considerations would go by the wayside with Polesie left exposed to a surprise attack by the Cossacks. The local nobility was primarily interested in defending the Pinsk region, and some of them might even have been in favor of reaching a separate arrangement with Chmielnicki and the Tsar.76 These tendencies on the part of the Pinsk szlachta as well as the general weakness in the administration and discipline of both the government and army of Poland led to the phenomenon of the rebellious officers with their roving gangs whose first target was the local population. A joint force made up of Chmielnicki’s Cossacks and Muscovite soldiers commanded by Buturlin was designated to attack the Polish-held western Ukraine across the Dnieper, while three other joint forces invaded Lithuania. In July 1654, a large unit of Cossacks moved on the Pripet to a point near Turow, approximately one hundred kilometers from Pinsk. In October, another army penetrated more deeply into Pinsk territory, capturing Turow, Dawidgrodek, Stolin, and Wysock. As was customary, murder and pillage accompanied these conquests. With the coming of winter, hostilities eased and were renewed only in September 1655.77 Pinsk was in imminent danger. Both sides realized that whoever ruled Pinsk ruled Polesie.78 The authorities and citizens of Pinsk had ample time to prepare the defense of the city. Finally, the citizens of the Pinsk region were called to general mobilization, this time to defend the district and its capital. However, the lack of discipline and effective government and military leadership allowed army units to turn into robber bands (like Felicjan Rudakowski’s “volunteer” battalion). The result was that the royal militia in the area of Pinsk had to waste time apprehending these renegades instead of preparing itself and the territory for the coming battle.79

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It is likely that during this period there was some degree of cooperation between the Jews and the townspeople against the incursions of the ­military-cum-robber bands. This is implied by a document from July 14, 1655, reporting how the commander of a Polish unit, camped in ­Kamieniec, demanded from the Pinsk townspeople and Jews jointly to turn over to him within a week a man accused of brutally attacking the commander’s emissary Koscialkowski as he left the inn where he was staying.80 The Polish commander accused the townspeople of still being rebels against Poland (an allusion to their joining the Cossacks in 1648) and of causing riots. This is somewhat surprising. The lesson of 1648 was still fresh, and the behavior of the Cossacks and Muscovites, even toward the Ruthenian Orthodox population, was not such as to arouse enthusiasm for supporting them. It is therefore unlikely that the Pinsk townspeople were thinking of revolt. It makes even less sense for the Pinsk Jews, whose loyalty to the Polish regime was well established, to be included in the accusation. Perhaps this incident was connected to defense against the wildness of the Polish army, which sorely and mercilessly pressed the local population. The residents of Pinsk, Christians and Jews, had to worry about themselves, their homes, their families, and their property. What the Christian townspeople did, we do not know. They seem to have adopted a wait-and-see attitude.81 The Jews, however, decided at the end of the summer of 1655 to flee from Pinsk, just as they had run away in 1648. They took their families and belongings to a safe haven, waiting for the storm to pass.82

The Attack on Pinsk and Its Capture On September 1, 1655, a small invasion force under Prince Dmitri Wolkonsky was sent to the Pripet area parallel to the main thrust against the western Ukraine.83 The initiative for this attack probably came from the Cossacks, who wanted to place Pinsk and its district under their political protection and thereby serve the expansionary aims of the Cossack state. Despite the importance of Wolkonsky’s account and his attempt to describe the operation as a purely Muscovite

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affair, ignoring the Cossack’s role, it is clear that Hrushevsky was right to emphasize the decisive role of the Cossacks in this campaign. The reports and the many complaints about the injuries sustained by the local population in this attack always specify a joint MuscoviteCossack force.84 On September 1, this force attacked, by water, the towns of Polesie in Lithuania, capturing Turow, Dawidgrodek, and Stolin. By September 27, the invasion force had traveled along the Horyn, Pripet, and Pina and reached the outskirts of Pinsk. According to Wolkonsky, there were in Pinsk the marszalek, Lukasz Jelski (head of the local szlachta); the official Jan Kadrowski; and “according to rumor, 700 cavalry and infantry, townsmen; and some 3000 Jews.”85 This Polish force fought off the attackers and did not let them land their boats—neither in the city itself nor at a nearby harbor. The Muscovite-Cossack army had to keep sailing and tied up at the village of Pienkowicze. Here there was a fierce battle that ended with the retreat of the Poles back to the city. There the fighting continued along the canal and the battery until the attackers prevailed and the Poles fled. Lacking cavalry, the invaders could not pursue the Poles. Polish soldiers who were caught in the city were beheaded, except for nine of them kept alive for interrogation purposes. The Poles later staged a counterattack, but the Muscovites retreated easily. Near Stachow on the Pripet, another long battle took place, and then the invaders sailed up to the vicinity of Kozangrodek. The citizens of this town and of Lachwa surrendered to them.

The Occupiers and the Urban Population There are detailed descriptions of what happened in the city after Wolkonsky’s force occupied it. They are contained in protests concerning damages caused to the city and its inhabitants by the invaders, lodged by townspeople and the Uniate Bishop on October 15. The townspeople’s protest indicates that on October 5 a force of several thousand Muscovites and Cossacks approached in boats. They attacked and captured the city and held it for two days. During these two days the occupiers brutalized the city’s inhabitants, torturing and killing many, including women and children. They stole cash, merchandise,

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metal, grain, household goods, and whatever else they could. They burned the castle, churches, stores on the marketplace, urban folwarks, and two municipal warehouses. Finally, before leaving the city they set fire to whatever was left. The protest, confirmed by the court bailiff, asserts that the charters and privileges of the city were destroyed in the fires. After the conquerors withdrew on October 7, the only structures left intact were a few houses in one of the neighborhoods at the edge of the city. The homeless townspeople were roaming around the nearby villages and towns in search of shelter. The conflagration also destroyed the houses in the jurydyka belonging to the Uniate bishop, who complained about the terrible state of the people living under his jurisdiction. In addition, the townspeople, in their protest, mentioned a plague that struck Pinsk.86 The Cossack and Muscovite invaders also attacked the villages around Pinsk, looting property and burning houses. Most of the victims in these places were Ruthenian Orthodox peasants—ethnically, linguistically, and religiously close to their Muscovite and (especially) Cossack attackers. This visitation by their brethren left them greatly impoverished.87

The Flight of the Jews of Pinsk II There are some testimonies of Pinsk Jews who fled the city for fear of the coming invaders but later fell victim to robber bands. The complaints, which they filed in the Pinsk court, are the basis for general reconstruction of what happened to both the Jewish community as a whole and to individuals within it in late 1655. On November 16, 1655, David Litmanowicz reported in the court records of Pinsk: When we escaped with our wives and children from Pinsk and the advancing Muscovite enemy—attempting to save our lives and our meager possessions—we reached Drohiczyn, near Pinsk. There we heard about the “Lisowcy,” who terrorized the cities, towns, latifundia and villages, plundering and murdering. I, Litmanowicz, was then in ­Drohiczyn, on the latifundia of Pan Polubienski, who himself was present on his estate. The Lisowski gang attacked the town and latifundia like an army at two in the morning [on November 12]. They

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took everything from me: gold, silver, pearls, zinc, bronze, clothing, cash, various pawns that I was holding for different people—everything. They left me, the plaintiff, and my wife and children naked; only our lives were spared. Our meager possessions that were taken were worth by conservative estimate—not including the pawns owned by other people—around 5,000 Polish zlotys.88

A similar fate befell Isaiah Jakubowicz and his son, Leib, who fled the Muscovites and Cossacks on their own wagons with their families and their possessions and made it to Drohiczyn and Pan Heliasz Oleszewski’s neighboring Dowieczorowicze estate. These people were also attacked on November 12 by Lisowski’s armed men, who robbed them of the considerable property they had succeeded in bringing out of Pinsk and taking with them. Their complaint indicates they lost much cash, jewelry, clothing, household goods, pawns from various people, and textiles and food delicacies that were merchandise intended for sale. The total value was thirteen thousand zlotys. They must have been among the affluent merchants of Pinsk Jewry.89 Even more illuminating is the case of Jacob Bielczycz and Jacob ­L ejzerowicz. They asserted that they left Pinsk together with other Jews and found refuge in Chomsk, on the Zabierz estate belonging to Pan Wladyslaw Komar and under lease to Pan Michal Lewalt Jezierski. The two Jacobs and their families reached the latifundia with twentysix (!) wagons loaded with all sorts of merchandise. Lisowski’s men attacked them on November 13, the day after their attack on the Pinskers in ­Drohiczyn. The robbers took their merchandise, especially cloth they had previously purchased at fairs in Gdansk and Gniezno, as well as money, jewelry, clothing, and various utensils. Bielczycz’s loss was put at eight thousand zlotys and Lejzerowicz’s at thirty-four hundred zlotys. These Jews had been forewarned of the danger—word of the attack on the Jews in Drohiczyn probably reached them the day it occurred—and they made preparations to flee again. One of the citizens of Chomsk, however, put them under guard and did not allow them to move from the place. The result was that they fell victim to Lisowski’s band. The striking fact about these Jews’ report is that they (primarily Bielczycz) succeeded in removing so many goods and could, in the midst of all the confusion, organize a twenty-six-wagon caravan.90

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The Pan Lisowski gang, operating in the Drohiczyn-Chomsk area, was the one that attacked and plundered all of these Jews. The victims filed their complaints in the Pinsk castle court on the sixteenth and twenty-seventh of November. After they were robbed, they all apparently returned to Pinsk. In other words, they were away from the city at least from the beginning of October, approximately one and a half to two months or even longer. What happened to Mordecai Litmanowicz was somewhat different. He and his family also escaped with the refugees from Pinsk. While ­ David Litmanowicz (probably his brother) went only as far as ­ Drohiczyn, Mordecai kept going until he reached Horodec, near ­Kobryn. He did not return to Pinsk with the others but remained in Horodec until May 1657, more than a year and a half. Mordecai was also transporting considerable possessions back to Pinsk. Unfortunately, he was in Janow when the Hungarian cavalry attacked, plundering the Jews of the town—including Mordecai. In addition to the usual textiles, clothing, precious metals, and pawns, he lost deeds to houses and lots. During the attack, he abandoned his possessions and ran with his family to the forest. Everything in his wagons was taken or destroyed. It is somewhat surprising that he returned to Pinsk just at the time when it was under the threat of transfer to Chmielnicki’s control. Perhaps he fled back to Pinsk to escape a more pressing danger.91 Another case of Jewish flight from Pinsk is alluded to in the introduction to Rabbi Samuel ben David the Martyr of Lublin’s Hesed Shemuel. Rabbi Samuel thanks God for saving him “from the terrible persecutions that occurred on the eve of Sukkot in Lublin . . . and the second kindness: He saved me when I was on the road at an inn in ­Reisen near Lissa [Leszno] together with an honored and righteous man, Mr. Yehezkel Katz of Pinsk, who was killed at my side, yet the God of my Father saved me.”92 This Yehezkel must have also fled in 1655 and traveled far away. It was there in the distant Poznan district that his stars crossed and he met his death. Our information relates to refugees who recorded their stories ­because of their misfortune. Many more refugees did not report what happened to them in official documents because they escaped unharmed and saved at least some of their belongings.

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Jewish flight from Pinsk in the face of imminent Cossack-Muscovite attack was general. The sources yield the impression that the majority of the Jews of Pinsk, including the poor ones, abandoned the city.93 Those who were robbed by Lisowski’s brigands were all people of means and had many wagons. They did not leave Pinsk in a panic. They had time to plan their escape and to decide which possessions to take with them. They apparently were even able to contact local noblemen and arrange for haven on their latifundia. Some of these refugees were unlucky; they were robbed even in their places of refuge. Many more, however, must have emerged from the troubles unharmed.

The Effect of the Events on the Townspeople and the Jews The fact that much movable property was saved is important in evaluating the Cossack-Muscovite conquest of Pinsk in October 1655. The wealth of the affluent Jews of Pinsk was invested mainly in expensive merchandise that was easy to transport. They possessed some precious metals, jewelry, expensive housewares, and in most cases considerable sums of cash, which they could keep on their person. A planned escape gave them the option of burying goods in their yard as a hedge against potential danger on the road, or because the items were too bulky to haul with them. This is the key to the differential effect the war had on the Jews and the Christian townspeople. The townspeople remained in the city, and their property was plundered or burned (this occurred only a few years after similar things at the end of 1648, during the harsh repression of the revolt by the Poles once the city had been liberated from the Cossacks). The Jews returned in late 1655 or in the period following, to a burntout city—but with part of their property. They could immediately begin to build their homes anew and set themselves up in some sort of business. From this starting point, matters progressed and determined the direction of subsequent development of the Jewish community in Pinsk. Another important factor is that the Pinsk Jews kept abreast of ­political developments, making an effort to obtain reliable information quickly. When the time came, they were ready to move. Jacob Bielczycz and Jacob Lejzerowicz were poised to leave Chomsk, with all of their

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caravan, within hours after receiving word of the attack on the Pinsk Jews in Drohiczyn, twenty-two kilometers away.94 Jews were psychologically prepared to flee even when subject to a surprise attack, and even without their possessions. In the final analysis, this was the only way to save their lives and some belongings. Examples of this are the arrendators of Uhrynicze and Berezycze, who fled the sudden onslaught of the Tatars in late 1653; and Mordecai Litmanowicz and his family, who ran to the forest when the brigand soldiers attacked in May 1657.95 Escape was easier for the rich than for the poor. The affluent had their own horses and wagons and could arrange additional means of transportation if necessary. In almost every case recorded, the victims complain about being robbed of wagons (totaling a high number). The overall impression is that these Jews, among the affluent people in the community, each left at the head of his caravan. The question is whether, in addition to the obvious planning and time to do it that use of caravans reflects, there was some central leadership and management. Was there a guiding hand, or was it every man for himself? The stories of the flight of the Jews of Pinsk do not mention panic or desperation on the part of the refugees. This makes it likely that during these difficult times the Jews of Pinsk were served well by their forethought and resourcefulness in maneuvering to save themselves and their property. The refugees’ chosen destinations, Chomsk and Drohiczyn, are seventy to eighty kilometers west of Pinsk. Chomsk’s Jewish community was subordinate to Pinsk, with Drohiczyn’s organized Jewish settlement established not long before this time.96 The Cossack-Muscovite incursion in the direction of Pinsk was limited to the main waterway of Polesie; its objective was to reach Pinsk.97 If the Pinsk Jews had this information—and their obvious interest in and use of intelligence about the progress of the war makes it likely they did—then it is clear why they felt fleeing to these nearby locations was sufficient. Also significant is the fact that the Jews from Pinsk sought asylum on nobility-owned latifundia. This implies that in this time of turmoil the nobility could offer the fleeing Jews more protection than could the royal representative in Pinsk, the starosta, and his administrative and judicial apparatus.

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The conquerors held on to Pinsk for two days only (October 5–7, 1655). Afterward they were beaten back and forced to retreat. Jewish residents slowly began to return to their city. Those who had fled to Chomsk and Drohiczyn and been robbed by Lisowski’s men were back in Pinsk by the second half of October. There is evidence that the Pinsk kahal was functioning at least by the beginning of September 1656. This implies that a large proportion of the Jews, though not all of them, had returned by then.98

1656–1659: Pinsk at the Center of Political Activity In 1656–1657, Pinsk was the locus of political activity aimed at removing Pinsk and all of Polesie from Polish rule. This was after the Swedish attack on Poland in the summer of 1655, which brought about a temporary change in the Polish-Muscovite war because of the tsar’s fears of Swedish conquests and expansionism. Most Polish territory was then occupied by either the Swedes or the Cossacks and Muscovites. The little that remained under Polish control was exposed and undefended. Pinsk was still Polish territory, but both the Muscovites and their subordinate though autonomous allies, who ruled Ukraine, coveted Polesie and its capital. On January 17, 1656, the general prosecutor of Lithuania addressed a letter to the citizens and nobility of Pinsk advising them to submit to the rule of Moscow. He reminded them of their religious and linguistic link with Russia and Ukraine and suggested they accept the protection of the tsar, who promised them security, restoration of property that had been plundered, and payment for the local troops. This appeal did not have the desired effect. The Polish king’s rescript to the Pinskers on November 6, 1656, indicates that the nobility of the region were hostile to the Muscovites. In his order, the king announced that there was about to be a cease-fire confirming the status quo, with each side keeping the territory it held. He warned the Pinskers against attempting to rout Muscovite forces from any of their positions.99 The cease-fire did not bring peace to the Pinsk region. The Polish and invading armies pressed the impoverished population with taxes, food confiscation, and requisition of storage space. When the nobility, the

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church, and the arrendators of royal estates protested to Pawel Sapieha, the Lithuanian hetman, he issued a universal on their behalf forbidding the armies to do these things (May 1657).100 At the same time, at Chmielnicki’s headquarters in Chyhiryn political activity intensified, aimed at bringing the Pinsk district ­under Ukrainian control. Chmielnicki’s governor (namiestnik), Anton ­Zdanowicz, advanced with his forces and informed the szlachta of the Pinsk district, on May 14, 1657, that the Ukrainian hetman was taking the population of Pinsk under his protection, sending a garrison force to ensure the city’s safety; he issued a severe prohibition against looting nobility latifundia.101 In response to this announcement, old Lukasz Jelski the marszalek and leader of the local szlachta called a meeting of the nobility on May 23, 1657, to consider affirming acceptance of the proffered protection. Jelski was one of those who were in favor of accepting Chmielnicki’s authority. As a result of the meeting, a delegation of the Pinsk area szlachta, headed by Jelski, went to Chmielnicki in Chyhiryn, requested his protection, and swore allegiance to him. This oath contained this section: “We are obliged to root out both the Uniate religion and other alien religions which oppose and menace both sides, together with all who accompany them; not to leave any place or refuge in the region for this pollution of Christian souls.” This passage, which does not explicitly mention Jews, was obviously directed primarily against the Jews of Pinsk. The next part of the oath says that Uniate priests might seek atonement from the Orthodox metropolitan in Kiev, but others—Jews—were offered no recourse.102 The szlachta of Turow and Dawidgrodek confirmed the agreement and accepted Chmielnicki’s protection. Fortunately for the Jews, those among the Pinsk area szlachta who were loyal to Poland opposed the agreement with the Cossacks. A manifesto of the citizens of the Pinsk District (August 20, 1657) declared they were rejecting this pact between Chmielnicki and their representative. They wanted only neighborly relations and protection against marauding bands, but by virtue of his oath Jelski was selling them into eternal slavery. The signers accused Jelski of accepting money and favors for himself and his family as well as receiving from the Cossacks confiscated properties and goods.103

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In the period between the oath avowal and publication of the manifesto rejecting the pact, Chmielnicki died (August 6, 1657). It is likely that his death emboldened the opponents of the pact, and only a few remained committed to it. Once the agreement was renounced, the Ukrainian hetman’s representative in Pinsk left the city together with the Ukrainian garrison force.104 In September, the peace was broken and Cossack bands went on the rampage. These groups upset daily life, but the citizens of Pinsk, fighting with only their own resources, succeeded in bringing temporary relief to the area. By the end of 1657, life began to go back to normal. 1658–1659 was a period of relative tranquility for Pinsk. Both Christians and Jews made efforts to rehabilitate their ruined economy.105

The Controversy over the Liquor Business The Cossack-Muscovite occupation brought about a great change in the circumstances of both Christian townspeople and Jews in Pinsk. Most sources of livelihood were ruined. The Jews were hurt less because, as in 1648, they had run away in time with a substantial portion of their goods. Despite the damage inflicted by roving bands and the fact that some of the wealthiest of the Pinsk Jews suffered heavy losses, what the Jews did save made it much easier for them to renew their economic activities. The economic weakness of the impoverished Christians opened the way to a deepening of Jewish involvement in the liquor business in Pinsk. Jews did hold around one-third of the liquor leases in Pinsk, as early as 1632; this did not change after the events of 1648 or 1655. In 1658, however, the first serious dispute between Christians and Jews over Jewish competition for liquor leases broke out. This might have been connected to the new Polish fiscal policy beginning in that year. The trend was to rely more on excise tax as a substitute for the direct real estate tax that many poor people could not afford to pay.106 The excise tax served as an additional route—alongside the czopowe and customs duties—for Jews to enter the liquor business. On December 23, 1658, the Christian townspeople of Pinsk submitted a caustic complaint against Judah Ilycz (supervisor of the one-third of

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the municipal lease held by the kahal), his son-in-law Zelig ­Szmuelowicz, and several other Jews. They were accused of not enforcing on the Jews the quota of one-third of total Pinsk liquor sales and using their share of the municipal lease as a cover for smuggling additional liquor into the city for Jews to sell. This practice, the plaintiffs asserted, caused great harm to the municipal liquor concession, essentially forcing the city to concede the other two-thirds of the lease also to Jews and at a low price. There were townspeople who were opposed to this leasing arrangement and protested against it, leading to a search of the homes of seven Jews. According to the complaint, in all of these homes the investigators found liquor imported from outside Pinsk. The Jews were charged with fraud, sabotage, and perjury. Besides this affair, the townspeople sued the Jews for payment of their third of the lease money at the rate of 50 kopy for each of the eleven years from 1648 until 1658, a total of 550 kopy. (The curious failure to collect the money over such a long period while allowing the Jews to benefit from the lease is unexplained.) The Jews’ response to this suit is lost, but a 1669 document shows the Jews had paid the lease money through 1657 and claimed they complied with the terms of the charter they held.107 The transfer of the liquor lease to the Jews in Pinsk must have been caused by economic considerations; however, this transfer inflamed resentment and hatred toward the Jews. It was the Jews in Pinsk who had the capital needed for expanding the liquor business—the revenues from which were of special importance to the king. In 1659, he gave the Jews of Pinsk the liquor lease in Sambor (in East Galicia) in exchange for the kapszczyzna (tax on drinks). The complaints of the townspeople were effective. By 1660, the Jews once again held only a third of the Pinsk liquor lease. The other two-thirds remained under the control of the Christian townspeople.108

Credit In this period there were also Jews who made their living from moneylending. A 1660 document presents an illuminating example of a petty Jewish moneylender at work. The Jew Bendet Michaelewicz

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complained that he was robbed during the Cossack attack on Pinsk in December 1659. The robbers took silver, gold, clothing, jewelry, and pawns belonging to twelve borrowers. The type of pawns indicates that Bendet dealt in small sums. The borrowers were mainly townspeople, although there were a few noblemen, one serf, and the high noblewoman Terlecka, owner of the Krotowo and Polkotycze latifundia, mired deeply in debt. She needed petty cash and gave a gold necklace as her pledge for a loan totaling approximately fifty zlotys. Compared with the period before 1648, the loans during the 1650s were small to middling. There is no evidence for loans in the thousands of zlotys, as were made in the earlier period. Instead of magnates or owners of large latifundia borrowing large sums for capital development or middle-size sums in the hundreds of zlotys for purposes of personal consumption, borrowers in the 1650s were mainly townspeople and poor noblemen. Pinsk Jews still could afford to set aside part of their capital for lending, but the reduction in the scope of the business is striking.109 In this period, the Jews of Pinsk did not yet need to borrow much from Christians. There is one four hundred zloty debt recorded that three Jews owed to Pan Jan Karol Dolski. The borrowers could not pay on time (in 1660) and were forced to sell the creditor a lot on the marketplace for seven hundred zlotys.110 This first documented example of Pinsk Jews borrowing from Christians was multiplied many times over into a common occurrence in the 1670s. The 1650s were a difficult period for Pinsk. The city was impoverished; royal demands for taxes and local army requisitions for troop quartering increased the residents’ burden. The Christian townspeople attempted to charge the Jews for half of the nonscheduled expenses of the city, instead of the customary third, and require them to quarter troops. Jews had been exempted from housing troops according to charters dating back to the kings who preceded Jan Kazimierz; they refused to accept a change and obtained a new royal charter confirming their exemption. This did not help to smooth over the bumpy relations between Christians and Jews. They did, however, as we shall see, continue to cooperate when it was in the essential interest of both sides.111

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1660 By November 1659, the weakness of the Polish-Muscovite moratorium was obvious. Renewed war between Poland and Moscow became a certainty.112 On November 21, the Lithuanian hetman ordered the citizens of Pinsk to obey his instructions only. He urged them to engage the Cossacks and Muscovites, who were wreaking havoc near Mozyr, Petrykow, and Turow.113 Pinsk was in jeopardy of attack from the direction of Turow-Dawidgrodek—places that had submitted to Chmielnicki’s protection in 1657 and remained under Cossack and Muscovite rule according to the terms of the cease-fire.114

The Capture of Pinsk by Mikhail Kurhan In December 1659, a few thousand marauders, mainly peasants from Turow, arrived in Pinsk under the command of Col. Mikhail Kurhan. They captured Pinsk on December 19 and held it for five days. These raiders were content to rob and plunder and did not cause any loss of life. As one document reads: “They committed various perverse acts against both townsmen and Jews; confiscating goods, attacking nobility estates near the city and stealing anything that came to hand.”115 The invaders left Pinsk after receiving a two thousand zloty ransom paid to them jointly by the town’s Jews and Christians.116 This payment is testimony to the possibility of a certain degree of cooperation between the Jews and Christians when their mutual interest required it, even under the adverse conditions of those days. The Cossacks practiced extortion against the entire population; the Ruthenian Orthodox population of Pinsk no longer viewed the Muscovite or Cossack forces as redeemers or liberators. The despoiling of the Jews of Pinsk by Kurhan’s band is illustrated by the complaint of Bendet Michaelowicz (January 17, 1660). Bendet charged that in December 1659, while he was fleeing Pinsk to get away from the invaders, he was arrested near the estate of Pan Godowski, beaten, and robbed of silver, gold, clothing, jewelry, and pawns he was holding.117 This is the only known case of running away, but it probably indicates that, as in earlier episodes, Jewish flight from the city in search of refuge on the nobility estates was widespread.

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Kurhan and his men left Pinsk proper but continued to operate in the district. In April 1660, the Jewish customs collectors from Pinsk protested that they could not collect customs as normal because of incessant interference against commerce and liquor production resulting from the rapacity of Kurhan’s Cossacks, the attacks of the Muscovites from the direction of Brest and Lachowicz, and the resultant panicked flight of the people.118 Turmoil in the region increased, and the breakdown of law and order became serious. The local szlachta avoided mobilization to war against Moscow, despite draft orders, organizing instead their own bands and attacking and robbing each other.119

The Second Muscovite Occupation In the summer of 1660, a large Muscovite force attacked Poland with the objective of conquering Warsaw. Engaging the Polish army in Lithuania, the Muscovites suffered several defeats. The advance of the Muscovite army still caused great hardship for the Jewish communities in the cities it occupied. In this war, Polesie was a secondary theater, but on July 4, 1660, Pinsk was taken in a surprise attack by a force made up of Cossacks from nearby, Muscovites, and the local gang from Turow-Dawidgrodek, probably led by Kurhan. This occupation, which lasted a maximum of two weeks, was a dreadful trial for the Jews of Pinsk.120 On July 23, 1660, the shamash of the Pinsk Jewish community, Leib Jozefowicz, filed a manifest at the castle court in the name of the kahal. The suit claimed that when the attackers looted the city, They tortured and murdered a significant number of Jewish men, women and children. They took captives and stole Torah scrolls, ritual objects, various ornaments, gold, silver, books, merchandise, clothing, and jewelry from the Jews’ stores, warehouses and homes. The invaders also took debt contracts, pawns, and leasehold agreements from private individuals; and charters, tax records, deeds and other documents from the kahal. The occupiers burned the city, setting fire to the synagogue and the Jewish homes on streets and in the marketplace; bringing the Jews to severe poverty and causing them inestimable damages.

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The court official who attested to the veracity of the kahal’s manifest gave a vivid description of what he saw: At first [we inspected] the synagogue, the exterior of which was burnt and charred all around, as was the courtyard. We also [inspected] all of the streets of the Jews and the stores on the marketplace. Where there had been buildings, homes and warehouses, we saw only smoldering ashes and piles of embers.121

We may assume, despite the lack of evidence, that this time too anyone who could took flight, although many more remained in the city since the attack was a surprise and “a significant number” were killed with others taken captive, as the manifest asserted. It appears that in this conquest the Jewish community in Pinsk was damaged more than during the occupations of 1648 and 1655. In the previous incursions, the Jews managed to save much of their property, while in 1660 they suffered severe losses and the community was seriously impoverished. Reports from settlements around Pinsk tell of attacks on Kozangrodek and Pohost by the same combined force that invested Pinsk. According to a complaint filed at the castle court on July 31, 1660, the arrendator of Kozangrodek, Marek Dawidowicz, fled to Pohost. On June 27, 1660, the invading force attacked Pohost and set fire to it. The arrendator was wounded, several members of his family were killed, and his possessions and documents were plundered.122

1660–1667: Polish Rule Restored After Polish rule was restored, rehabilitation of the city and life in it began. In response to the impoverishment and destruction of the incessant battling, in 1660 both Jews and Christians were granted a four-year exemption from military imposts.123 There is virtually no information available on the rehabilitation efforts of the Christian townsmen, but the documents do illustrate resourceful and diligent attempts by Jews to reconstruct. Jews whose homes were burned down rebuilt. For example, the Jesuit monastery lodged a complaint (August 30, 1660) against a Jew named Hirsh, who, they alleged, hired people to take bricks from the ruins of the monastery to build a room

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and brewery for himself in place of his house, destroyed during the occupation. This Jew also managed to build a new residence in four to six weeks. In general, Jews repaired damaged homes and stores quickly and carried out public development projects as well. Jewish initiative was especially prominent in successful efforts to ensure new sources of livelihood, such as the right to sell liquor in villages and to lease the tobacco customs duty.124 Though the period between 1661 and 1664 was relatively peaceful in the Pinsk region, soon enough outrages on the part of the Polish army further beleaguered the Jews of Pinsk. The war-impoverished population tried to rehabilitate itself, but before it could succeed war tension between Moscow and Poland renewed in 1664. The king and hetman again ordered the szlachta of Pinsk to mobilize for war against Moscow. Troops from Poland and Lithuania were moved into the region. Lack of discipline in the army and the wanton, irresponsible behavior of the soldiers caused severe suffering to the entire population, Jews and Gentiles. Complaints multiplied around 1665. One of them, registered at the castle on March 2, 1665, is typical of the situation where lives of the local residents were forfeit to the whims of the soldiers. The complaint was against the soldiers of the battalion commanded by Col. Kalsztyn, which entered Horodnie (south of Pinsk), belonging to Pan Jan Karol Mlocki, in late 1664. The document states that on February 30 [sic] the wife of the captain commanding the garrison ordered by way of her servant that the Christians and Jews of Horodnie assemble at the inn of Jacob Benaszewicz. She demanded that those assembled supply her with fish. One of the Christians, who claimed that distance from the river made this too difficult, was harshly beaten. Jacob Benaszewicz, who spoke up for the beaten man and seconded his protest, was beaten so severely that he died a few days later. His son Beinisz brought the body to Pinsk so that the castle court official would see it and file an affidavit as to what he saw.125 The outrages of the Polish-Lithuanian army stationed in the Pinsk district reached the city itself, taking the form of demands to house troops and confiscation of possessions and food. Such burdens impoverished the peasants, the owners of the smaller land holdings, and the city itself. From dozens of localities of all sizes, including Pinsk, there

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were complaints about threats, coercion, and robbery, perpetrated by members of the regular army as well as by Cossack and Tatar units allied to Poland.126 A good illustration of these complaints is the one from the Uniate bishop of Pinsk, Marcin Bialozor, against the commander of a Cossack unit in the Lithuanian army for damages they caused him for a period of several months during 1665. When the unit arrived in Pinsk in May 1665, members broke into the bishop’s own courtyard, next to the Cathedral on Soborna-Dominikanska Street, and began helping themselves to whatever they saw, until they were interrupted by worshippers who were coming to the church. Later the officers sent their men to the bishop’s folwark near Pinsk. There they beat peasants and stole twenty-five oxen as well as all of the horses, preventing the peasants from working either at their own plots or on the bishop’s demesne. The army commanders also imposed unprecedented special taxes on the clergy-owned lands. A specific order from the Lithuanian hetman to his armies not to harm the bishop’s property had no effect. Once again, in October, the bishop complained that the commonwealth’s soldiers who were bivouacked in the city overburdened the citizens with quartering demands and confiscated horses, cattle, and grain, leading to peasant starvation in the villages. Some serfs abandoned their homes, unable to pay the chimney tax (podymne) and in search of a means of livelihood. In the bishop’s holdings in Pinsk and its vicinity, barely twenty-six people were able to pay the chimney tax on their property. Because of their poverty, these people also had to leave their homes to find a way to support themselves elsewhere. Appended to the bishop’s complaint is the affidavit of the castle court official who saw for himself the abandoned homes in the bishop’s jurydyka in Pinsk.127 There is also a declaration by the townspeople claiming that in all of Pinsk controlled by the municipality, only forty-five people were able to afford the tax. In this 1665 declaration, the townspeople of Pinsk explain their inability to pay the chimney tax by citing the damages they suffered during the course of the entire period, not just in 1665.128 The number of Christians in the city in 1665 who, according to the bishop’s and townspeople’s (probably distorted) declarations, could afford to pay the tax was no more than seventy. Another source indicates

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that in 1667 there were a total of 299 houses (chimneys) belonging to the Christian townspeople in Pinsk.129 Both numbers imply that in the wake of the destruction of sources of livelihood the Christian population of Pinsk had dwindled, especially compared to the lustracje of 1552–1556 and 1561–1566 listing approximately eight hundred Christian taxpaying property holders.130 The documents give the impression that the Christian population stayed put during the dislocations of these fateful years and was seriously hurt during the occupations. Those who abandoned the city, leaving empty homes behind, did so only after they were rendered penniless and forced to go in search of some way to make a living. The twenty years between 1648 and 1667 were more portentous for the future of Christians in Pinsk, who left it with nothing and had no economic basis for survival, than for the Jews, who succeeded in saving part of their property as a basis for renewing their life.

The Life of the Jews of Pinsk in the 1660s: Demographic Changes By the late 1660s, after two decades in which the Jews of Pinsk were caught between opposing forces in a region that was in deep distress, many changes had come about in their status, social structure, and economic life. One of the most obvious differences was the new ­demographic structure of Pinsk. In contrast to the great shrinking and impoverishment of the Christian population of the city, the Jewish community in Pinsk not only succeeded in preserving its numerical strength and much of its wealth but even grew. In this period of economic contraction and serious crisis, the Jews managed to keep their position in many of their traditional occupations and develop new areas of economic endeavor that were occasionally opened up to them by the financial policies of the commonwealth. They filled the vacuum left in some fields as a result of abandonment by the Christians. There is no statistical material on the size of the Jewish population in Pinsk in the 1660s, but information on topographic expansion of Jewish settlement in the city is plentiful and reflects the increasingly Jewish aspect of the city. In 1669, at the beginning of the reign of Michal Korybut Wisniowiecki, the city elders, the guild elders, and the citizens of the city lodged

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a protest against the kahal leadership and the Pinsk Jewish community as a whole. Some of their allegations were stereotypical anti-Jewish ­libels. The tone of religious hatred that they radiate is one sign of the change in attitude of Pinsk Christians toward their Jewish neighbors. They went from neighborliness and fairness before 1648 to resentment and hatred now.131 Some of the claims against the Jews, however, depict a more or less accurate picture of the reality of Pinsk in the 1660s. As the townspeople saw the new situation, “[The Jews] have stuck their heads up, building several dozen distilleries. . . . They have taken over many fields and lots, building houses, stores and stalls in the marketplace, on the streets and around their synagogue without the knowledge of the municipality.” The complaint continued with assertions that the Jews owned the large beautiful houses, while townspeople—who could not feed themselves— abandoned their homes or sold them to the Jews “for a pittance.”132 The Jews, filing a counterprotest, did not challenge the claims regarding their physical spread through the city. In a second countercomplaint, they rejected the allegation that they built on land not belonging to them but affirmed that they did build new houses on lots they purchased.133 This altercation between the townspeople and the kahal implies that immediately after the 1648 persecutions the Jews in Pinsk successfully reclaimed their holdings that townspeople had occupied when the Jews fled in September 1648.134 According to the townspeople, the Jews usurped municipal lands; but as we shall see, the Jews’ claim that they came into ownership legally was probably true. Jews built new houses on these properties, increasing the percentage of Jewish homes on the streets where they were already living as well as expanding into additional streets. The increase in the amount of real estate owned by Pinsk Jews and the transfer of townspeople’s homes to Jewish ownership are confirmed by a document indicating that sometime prior to 1655 Mordecai ­Litmanowicz took ownership of two houses with attached gardens, originally belonging to the townsmen Filipejkowicz and Piotr Silmanowicz, as well as lots belonging to other townspeople. Litmanowicz also had bills of sale for these properties signed by Roman Plawuszka, mayor

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(burmistrz) of the city in the 1640s. Litmanowicz was probably not the only Jew who made deals and acquired Christians’ houses and lands. This may be what the townspeople had in mind when they alleged in 1669 that the Jews were guilty of impoverishing the townspeople and causing their dispersal (rospedzenie) from the city.135

The Spread of Bartending The Jews did, of course, suffer from the severe economic crisis,136 and they too were set back financially. Many of them were forced to seek new and unfamiliar occupations. The protests of the townspeople mention the extraordinary spread of small bars owned by Jews and the crowding out of Christians from this business. As noted above, after 1655 the Jews’ share of the liquor market climbed. This expansion continued though the 1660s. The armies camped in the district were an important liquor customer, and Jews did their best to supply the needs of the large market for this product.137 Most of the bartenders conducted small-scale businesses, but they were diligent in their work and would bring the liquor up to the army camps as well as to the cities and towns in the area. They made a living from this trade, and some even grew rich.138

The Middle Class and the Wealthy There were Jews in Pinsk in the 1660s who dealt in business on a large scale. After the Sejm decided in 1660 to make tobacco commerce a monopoly, Abraham Ickowicz and Jacob Mojzeszewicz leased the monopoly for the Pinsk district—an expensive proposition.139 There were Jewish customs and tax lessees, among them ­Szmerlewicz and Jacob Michaelewicz, who held the Pinsk area customs houses and collected the excise tax in 1658–1660.140 The turmoil in the region hurt tax and customs collection badly in 1660. Normal commercial links and liquor production were disrupted, and acts of violence—committed by both customs collectors and merchandise transporters—proliferated. Even if these lessees eventually left these leases, however, it is likely that they remained well off.141

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The sources report on a number of Jews who preserved a substantial portion of their wealth despite the vicissitudes of the period. The brothers Solomon and Gabriel Ajzjaszewicz were able to invest thirtyeight hundred zlotys in an estate lease in 1669. These two were probably the sons of Isaiah ben Jacob, an elder of the Pinsk kahal and one of the community’s wealthiest members. He was probably killed during the Muscovite-Cossack conquest of Pinsk in July 1660. Gabriel Ajzjaszewicz’s wife was the daughter of Nissan Judycz, a kahal elder in the second quarter of the century, still listed as a householder in 1650. So this family too must have retained part of its wealth.142 Another lessee of large estates in the 1640s, Nathan Lejzerowicz, also seems to have successfully maintained the greater part of his property through the 1650s and 1660s. In 1664, the Lithuanian Tribunal issued a decision in his favor ordering Pani Terlecka, whose estates Lejzerowicz had leased in the 1640s, to pay him the substantial sum of 69,205 zlotys. When she did not pay, she was sentenced to banishment and an order was issued to attach her property. After the 1648 persecutions, Lejzerowicz continued to serve as a leader of the kahal and a rosh medinah, representing Pinsk at the 1655 Lithuanian Jewish Council session and signing a debt note on behalf of the kahal in 1660. He died in late 1664; his son, Joseph, who was his partner, carried on the business.143 Barukh Nachmanowicz, who grew rich at a young age from leasing various taxes and revenues in the early 1640s, was another Pinsk Jew who kept much of his wealth. He served as spokesman and lobbyist for the Pinsk Jewish community in dealings with government authorities and other outside bodies and was one of the most important members of the Lithuanian Jewish Council. Nachmanowicz joined the representatives of the other chief Jewish communities of Lithuania in lobbying King Jan Kazimierz in 1649 and King Michal Korybut Wisniowiecki in 1669 to confirm the Lithuanian Jewish charters. It was he who reached agreement with Mayor Plawuszka regarding the two thousand zloty ransom payment to the Cossacks of Col. Kurhan in December 1659. He was also one of four kahal elders against whom the Pinsk townspeople lodged their protest regarding domination of the Jews at the expense of the Christians. Nachmanowicz was clearly the first among the kahal leaders of Pinsk. His son Joseph Boruchowicz was a moneylender in

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1667–1669, and another son, Noah Boruchowicz, traded merchandise in 1684. Isaac Boruchowicz, a kahal elder in 1689, might have been a third son of his.144 David ben Aryeh Leib Morawczyk, one of the four signers on the summary of the Lithuanian Jewish Council’s accounts in 1664, signed a debt note on behalf of the Pinsk Jewish community—possibly together with other representatives—in 1660. This demonstrates that he was another of the rich people in the kahal in the 1660s.145 The nature and scope of affluent Pinsk Jews’ occupations changed after 1648. Large-scale estate leases disappeared almost completely. The 1669 estate lease of 3,800 zlotys contracted by the Ajzjaszewicz brothers, mentioned above, is the only one known in the later period and was, by the financial standards of the 1660s, only a middle-size deal.146 Jews who were accustomed to managing large enterprises now turned the remnant of their capital to whatever business opportunity presented itself, especially tavern keeping. For example, the lessee of the tobacco customs also operated a bar on Stepanski Street. The grandson of Barukh Nachmanowicz, Nahman Nowachowicz, was accused, in a later period, of buying stolen property.147

Commerce The Jews of Pinsk continued to deal in commerce, even penetrating new fields despite the difficult conditions of the time.148 In the 1660s, there was still a market in Pinsk for imported and luxury merchandise, with merchants (including Christians) bringing goods long distances. Aaron Mordechajewicz was attacked in late September 1660 by the clerk of the Pinsk customs house, who struck the merchant on the hand and took 308 zlotys in cash after Mordechajewicz passed his merchandise through the customs house. The report gives the impression that Mordechajewicz was one of the important merchants in Pinsk.149 Information about the commercial ties of Pinsk Jews with Wolyn comes from the 1666 account of an attack on Israel Moszkowicz as he was returning to Pinsk from a business trip; he was robbed of money and various merchandise. In 1669, the Jews of Pinsk claimed that—probably a few years earlier—the townspeople had expropriated merchandise from Jewish-owned stores as a contribution to the army.

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The one thousand zlotys’ worth of fabrics, spices, liquor, wine, honey, beer, Turkish boots, and skins that they took exceeded, according to the Jews, the Jews’ rightful share of the impost. This incident also demonstrates that there were expensive imported goods in the Jews’ stores and that commercial life continued even under the crisis conditions of the 1660s.150 Normal Jewish commercial activity was badly hurt, however. Jewish merchants had to struggle and adapt to the realities of economic distress; in this the Jews of Pinsk displayed initiative, energy, and resourcefulness. In 1669, the townspeople accused the Jews of taking over the grain trade, causing prices to spiral and taking the bread out of the mouths of poor citizens.151 There may have been some cases of speculation, but it is clear that it was not the Jews of Pinsk who caused the shortage of bread, but rather the prolonged battling between the Muscovite-Cossack army and the Polish army, both of which behaved like marauders and destroyed the economic capacity of the local population. The same document that sets forth the charges of the townspeople contains a description of the Jewish methods of purchasing grain: “They come first and buy the grain that the peasants and others bring in wagons . . . even on the street and in the roads, so that the sellers don’t get to bring the product to the market for sale.”152 The Jews did not deny this accusation; they traded in skins, wax, honey, and other commodities in the same way.153 Jews seeking a livelihood were prepared to adapt to the new, difficult reality, and the resulting trading practices gave rise to petty merchants who bought the peasants’ produce on the roads and in the streets before they reached the official marketplace. The spread of petty Jewish commerce is typical of the 1660s. The townspeople complained in 1669 about many new stores opened by Jews and about creation of a new commercial center around the synagogue on Zydowska Street. They accused the Jews of using fraudulent weights and measures and of evading commercial taxes owed to the municipality. The Jews refuted most of these charges but admitted that Jewish women, like Christian women, peddled baked goods in the streets, and that Jews set up closed stalls (budki) in the marketplace— but with the knowledge and approval of the municipality.154

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It is likely that a broad sector of working-class Jews developed during this period, composed of petty merchants, bartenders, and artisans. There is no direct information on Jewish craftsmen in the 1660s, but the large number of Jewish artisans in the eighteenth century implies that artisanry as a Jewish occupation was ascendant already in the mid-seventeenth century. It may also be that social tensions between this working class and the affluent merchant class, which controlled the kahal, were exacerbated to some degree at this time.155

Pinsk’s Hinterland The 1648 persecutions and the events occurring in Lithuania in the 1650s and 1660s—especially the war between Moscow and Poland in 1655—had a great impact on outlying Jewish communities, on their dependency relationship with the chief communities, and on relations among the chief communities themselves. One result of this troubled period was mass population movement, both Gentile and Jewish. Many people were uprooted periodically from their homes and wandered, voluntarily or by coercion, to new locales, whether a short or long distance away.156 Like the Jewish community in Pinsk that in large part exited the city at least twice, in 1648 and 1655, the surrounding communities also moved.157 Like Pinsk, most of these small communities were reestablished, mainly by the original inhabitants, once the danger passed. These communities also underwent changes in character as a result of the demographic dislocations. Moreover, even though not every community was resurrected temporary refuges sometimes turned into permanent new settlements. Some of the Pinsk Jews who fled to nobility latifundia in 1655 might, in appreciation of the security and economic opportunities offered there, have become attached to these new places and settled permanently.158 After 1655, new Jewish settlements were established in small places, and some of them contained the minimum ten households to qualify as an official community. Such settlements took root primarily in the western part of the Pinsk district, the direction of flight of the war refugees. These new small communities became the focus of controversy between the Jewish communities of Pinsk and Brest.159

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The events of the 1650s also promoted the process of attachment of the arrendator class to the places where they made their living. Arrendators spent most of the year on the leasehold. Over the course of time, many of them weakened ties to their hometown and began to see themselves as permanent residents of the outlying settlements, particularly if these places developed into full-fledged, small communities, officially subordinate to Pinsk.160

The Change for the Worse in Christian-Jewish Relations The economic retreat of the Christian townspeople of Pinsk and concomitant reinforcement of the Jews’ position brought about a fundamental change in daily relations between Jews and Christians. The shift in attitudes is mirrored in Christian complaints against the Jews after 1648. If earlier relations between Jews and the Orthodox Christian townspeople could have been described as decent, from the 1650s there was a decisive change for the worse. The Ruthenian townspeople joined the Cossack rebels in 1648 and participated—voluntarily or otherwise—in killing Jews who remained in the city. During the subsequent incursions, though they had no desire to make league with their co-religionist Cossacks and Muscovites (who had treated them like an enemy population in an occupied country), they did adopt the doctrine of Jew hatred. This combined with the objective fact that the Christians of Pinsk were losing strength while the Jewish population was increasing; economic competition between the two groups was intensifying. Against this background, it is possible to understand the growing hatred reflected in the complaints of the townspeople against the Jews. The Ruthenian townspeople in Pinsk were not completely trusted by the Polish authorities because of their participation in the 1648 revolt. The Jews enjoyed protection to the extent the Poles could provide it. In the first few years following 1648, the townspeople did not dare to come out openly against the Jews. But in late 1658, they had the opportunity to do so. The official protest (December 23, 1658) of the municipal council against the Pinsk Jewish community charged the Jews with smuggling liquor into the city and secretly selling more than the

The Chmielnicki Persecutions to the Peace of Andruszow

one-third quota allowed them. They were also accused of usurping the city arenda, in addition to the allegations against the arenda supervisor, Judah Ilycz, referred to above. According to the plaintiffs, Ilycz collaborated in the smuggling and illegal sale of liquor “in order to bring the plaintiffs to total ruin and to destroy the city arenda; apparently in consultation with the kahal elders and with the support of the Jews of Pinsk.”161

Religious Hatred and Attacks Against Jews The increasingly sharp complaints against the Jews on the part of the townspeople of Pinsk display a prominent streak of religious hatred. In 1663, the townspeople complained that three years previously the Jews had supposedly desecrated the Christian cemetery and exhumed dead people’s bones when the Jewish cemetery was expanded. They also allegedly damaged the cross placed there by the Jesuits. This charge demonstrates how the Pinskers were swept up by the religious and nationalistic hatreds growing stronger at the time, reaching their peak expression with the Woina blood libel in the middle of the same year.162 In 1666, relations between the Jews and the Orthodox were strained much further. There were a number of attacks on Jews in the vicinity of the Cerkiew Bratska church on the main street. The complaints of the Jews state that on several days in March 1666 gangs of toughs came out of the monastery next to the church and attacked Jews passing by the church, knocking off their hats, grabbing their coats, hitting, and cursing them. Sometimes they attacked Jewish homes. In one case they smashed windows, broke into the house, chased out its inhabitants, and stole much of the contents. In another incident, David Encelwicz was severely beaten and dragged to the monastery, and his fur coat was stripped from him. The merchant Israel Moszkowicz was robbed as he was returning from a business trip to Wolyn.163 The ringleader of the attacks was the carpenter of the monastery, ­Gabriel Snicer, but they probably had the sanction of the monks and the abbot. The leaders of the kahal intervened forcefully against the attacks. Barukh Nachmanowicz went to the monastery demanding that they stop, but the cook struck him with a brick. The monk Wonsacki

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promised the shamash of the kahal, Leib, immediate action after he was told that the Jews would file a complaint with the metropolitan in Warsaw, but he did nothing. Since direct contact did not work, the Jews turned to the authorities. In response to the complaints of the Jews, the abbot of the monastery lodged a counterprotest in which one Jew was accused of insulting him and the Jew Noah (probably the kahal elder Noah Morawczyk) was charged with insulting the abbot’s servants and the pupils from the nearby school when they were sent to Morawczyk to claim a dog and ask for compensation for damages done to the monastery. The connection between the abbot’s complaint and the Jews’ is not clear. The abbot did not deny the Jews’ accusations about the attacks. The abbot’s affidavit strengthens the impression that the Orthodox Church circles in Pinsk were committed to a campaign against the Jews there.164 The complaints of the townspeople against the Jews in 1669 bear an even stronger religious and nationalistic animus. One document reads: “The Jews are a nation that has long desired the demise of Christianity. . . . They cause damage by sly undermining and dishonesty. . . . When they saw the remnant of the Christian townspeople at the nadir, destroyed by the Jews’ cunning; they humiliated them, pressed them and insulted the Christian religion with mocking words.”165 The Jews succeeded in repelling the acts of hatred directed at them. Their legal status did not change, and it is certain that the Polish authorities—remembering the treachery of the Orthodox Ruthenians—continued to lend their support to the Jews to the limit of their power and authority. In the context of general weakening of governmental authority, sporadic wanton acts against Jews were unavoidable. The Jews could not be dislodged, however, from the new positions they assumed.

F o u r From the Peace of Andruszow

Until the Conquest of Pinsk by the Swedes (1667–1706)

The Development of the Jewish Community: Demographic Growth and Geographic Expansion The growth and expansion of the Jewish settlement in Pinsk continued steadily after the Peace of Andruszow, through the last decades of the seventeenth century. Precise statistics are lacking, but the fact of growth is well attested. The townsmen complained in 1679 against the kahal elders, alleging failure of the Jews of Pinsk to pay their share of the chimney tax. The complainants stated that in 1667 the Jews had sworn as to the number of chimneys (that is, houses) they owned, but afterward they purchased several dozen more homes as well as other structures and lots on which they neglected to pay the tax.1 Significant population growth among the Jews of Pinsk in the late 1660s and 1670s is eminently plausible, and there is no reason to relate skeptically to the townsmen’s report. Moreover, though in the 1660s there was one synagogue in Pinsk by 1678 there were three.2 Addition of two synagogues within fifteen years is clear evidence of population growth. Another indication of growth is the number of houses—as many as two hundred or more—that were transferred to Jewish ownership during the 1680s.3 Regarding the number of Jewish-owned houses in Pinsk, a 1717 complaint of the townspeople mentioned six hundred homes in their possession. Multiplying this number by an occupancy factor of five would make a total of approximately three thousand Jews in Pinsk at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Both this number and six hundred houses seem too high for that period; fifteen hundred is a

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more reasonable estimate. If this evaluation is correct, then the thousand or so Jewish population of the 1640s grew in the half-century after 1648 by 50 percent.4 By the end of the seventeenth century, Pinsk was a predominantly Jewish city. There is virtually no information available concerning the topography of Jewish residential expansion in the city, but it is certain that in this period Christian-owned homes were transferred to Jews primarily in the western section, on the same streets where before 1648 there were few or no Jews. The Christians abandoned most of the important economic positions in the city, vacated most of their homes and streets, and moved toward the outskirts of the city and the surrounding countryside. Economically, they shifted to manual labor occupations, mainly in agriculture.5

The Surrounding Vicinity The demographic changes in the towns near Pinsk beginning in the post-1648 period continued through the last third of the century.6 Two debt notes, from 1679 and 1698, mention communities subordinate to Pinsk. The 1679 contract for a loan the kahal took from the Jesuits lists other communities (“synagogi”) as cosigners. Fourteen are named: Lachowicze, Kleck, Chomsk, Janow, Drohiczyn, Motol, Turow, Dawidgrodek, Kozangrodek, Lachwa, Stolin, Wysock, Dombrowica, and Lubieszow. The 1698 note names twelve of them as guarantors.7 Eight of the communities named in the loan contracts do not appear in a 1623 ordinance of the Lithuanian Jewish Council listing settlements “on the borders and in the vicinity [of Pinsk].”8 Of these eight, the place names that appear in sources prior to 1648 are Janow, Kozangrodek, and Lubieszow.9 Janow was the only one of the three that was a town in the 1640s. Kozangrodek and Lubieszow were latifundia-cum-villages leased by Jewish arrendators. The only evidence of Jews in the remaining five locations comes from after 1650. This means that these places became permanent Jewish communities, subordinate to Pinsk, in the period between 1650 and 1679. How did this happen? In the 1630s and 1640s, large leaseholds ­attracted groups of Jews from Pinsk. In places where the arrendators

The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

continued in their leaseholds for many years, these groups became the nuclei for new communities. In the 1650s, the ties of the arrendators to the leasehold locations became stronger than their links to Pinsk.10 A good example of this process is Lubieszow, which was leased out for the first time in 1634 and held by the same group of arrendators for many years. In the 1640s, one of them was Anshel Senderowicz, called “a Jew from Pinsk” in a document. His leaseholds, in partnership with others, were in Lubieszow and Pniewno close by. He remained connected to Lubieszow until he died. In 1660, he was called “the arrendator of Lubieszow.” Sources from the late 1670s speak of the brothers Leib and Leizer Ancelewicz, one leasing Nowy Dolsk and the other Stary Dolsk. These two were in all probability the sons of Anshel. Both father and sons became residents of the area, thanks to their leasehold business interests. Only the third son, David, remained in Pinsk.11 Anshel Senderowicz’s family was not unique. Isaac Abramowicz, lessee of Uhrynicze from 1646 till 1654 and of Lubieszow in 1660, settled permanently in this area.12 In 1679 the Ickowiczes, an arrendator family including a father and two sons, also were bona fide permanent residents.13 With this background, it is possible to understand how ­Lubieszow became, in the 1670s, a community in its own right and a center for Jews in the nearby villages. From the 1660s to the end of the century, the number of Jews in the villages of the Pinsk district kept on increasing. The sources indicate the names of many villages where Jews who lived by petty or middlescale leaseholding (primarily liquor-related) resided. The economic aspect of this development will be analyzed later on,14 but this is the place to note the relationship between this phenomenon and the general shift in the demographic structure of the Jewish community in Pinsk and the surrounding region in the direction of quantitative growth and territorial expansion. Some of the small-scale arrendators and bartenders found in the villages in the last forty years of the century were descended from families that in the 1640s and to some degree in the 1650s derived their livelihood from the large leaseholds. Some village Jews were new people who migrated from outside the Pinsk region, and some were Pinsk

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Jews who came to the villages seeking their living from bartending in places such as Stawek and Morowino.15 With the encouragement of the nobleman owner, arrendators from Pinsk who became village bartenders were apt to weaken their connection with the mother community if they continued in the lease for an extended period. Elijah Lejnowicz is a good example. In 1662, he leased the liquor and flourmill monopolies of Morowino until 1684 or later. Lejnowicz maintained a house in Pinsk but did not live in it and ultimately transferred formal ownership of the Pinsk house to his nobleman, severing his link, officially at least, with the main community.16 The Jewish community in Karlin was also established at the end of the seventeenth century. In 1690, the Sejm granted the marszalek (the head of the local szlachta), Jan Karol Dolski, a libertacja17 on the undeveloped lands, lots, mill, and fields near Pinsk. Dolski founded on these lands the town of “Karolin.” Many dispossessed townspeople, occupied in manual labor, moved to the new locale, and it developed a large population of impoverished former Pinskers. At the same time, the first Jews also moved into Karlin. A document dating from 1700 tells of a Karlin Jew named Zalman who was a partner with several other Jews in the Kozangrodek leasehold; he is specifically called “a citizen of Karolin.” If this was the case in 1700, then he must have settled there a few years previously and perhaps as early as 1692, when he assumed his lease. This Zalman was probably well off and one of the founders of the new city, although not the only Jew there.18 The demographic changes in the Jewish community of Pinsk and its surrounding area were the product of multivectored population movement. Inhabitants of Pinsk left it in search of work in the countryside. At the same time, the Jewish settlement in Pinsk itself continued to grow at a modest pace thanks in part to an influx of population from outside the region. This additional population probably came from Ukraine and Belarus—where the Cossacks and Muscovites were wreaking havoc—and from Poland. These newcomers settled in both the small communities around Pinsk and in Pinsk itself. Their number increased from the mid-1660s on.19

The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

Economic Life The commonwealth’s economy continued to languish during the last third of the seventeenth century. There was a shortage of capital, money was steadily devaluating, and good currency fled the country. Agriculture, after the frequent wars and subsequent disadvantageous shifts in agricultural export market conditions, remained depressed and fed the general recession. Even after peace was concluded in 1667, the commonwealth’s political leadership could not formulate a long-term policy that would revive the economy and strengthen the country. Under the circumstances, the position of the Christian citizens of Pinsk as merchants and artisans was dealt a severe blow. Having no resources to revive their businesses, they turned to agriculture. The Jews of Pinsk, who succeeded in restoring their economic life in the 1660s, continued energetically to develop economic initiatives in relatively quiescent conditions. Opposition from the townspeople diminished as the Christians were distracted from their anti-Jewish policies by renewed religious strife over the Uniate Church. It was at this time that the economic profile of Pinsk Jewry was forged and the lines were drawn that would be reflected in the later economic and social structure of the community.20

Commerce The general commercial privileges enjoyed by Lithuanian Jewry provided the legal framework for the commercial freedom of the Jews of Pinsk. In 1682, this freedom was renewed in a charter granted by King Jan Sobieski to the chief communities of Brest, Horodno, Pinsk, and Vilna. The real aim of this charter, however, was not to regulate relations between the Jews and the authorities but to resolve a dispute among the chief communities.21 A 1717 townspeople’s complaint against the Jews indicates that by that time the Christians no longer controlled a significant share of Pinsk’s commerce. It also implies that the decline of Christian commerce in Pinsk occurred at the beginning of the eighteenth century, perhaps as a function of the Swedish occupation in 1706.22 Regarding the commerce of Pinsk Jewry in this period, there are only sporadic notices. For example, there is a 1684 document talking

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about the Jew Fajbisz Jozefowicz from Chomsk, who came to Pinsk as the agent of a Christian merchant of Chomsk to redeem two blocks of wax from the Pinsk customs house and purchase another three hundred zlotys’ worth. Fajbisz could not fulfill the latter instruction because he did not find any wax for sale. This and other incidents demonstrate how Pinsk continued to serve as a center for the wax trade in the region through the end of the seventeenth century.23 Pinsk was also a center for wholesale and retail trade in skins, furs, and grain. A 1699 document reports on two Jews from Wysoki who traveled to a fair in Pinsk in early March, carrying with them in a wagon various Polish merchandise and a considerable sum of cash. Pinsk, then, attracted long-distance merchants because in its marketplace they could find buyers for finished goods and they could buy local products there.24 A few Pinsk Jewish merchants are mentioned by name in the documents of this period. Two who were apparently among the most important were Lipman Mowszowicz and Moses Nahmijowicz, who took loans from time to time. Between the early 1680s and 1697, they borrowed large sums for commercial purposes from a royal official. They repaid faithfully and enjoyed the trust of the lender.25

The Affluent Class From documents of the 1680s and 1690s, it is possible to identify a whole group of well-to-do people in the Pinsk Jewish community. Some are from families that were well off in the 1650s and 1660s, or even as far back as the 1640s. The information about them comes from the paper trail connected to the business deals they executed. The Bielczycz family is typical. Jacob ben Aaron Bielczycz was one of the richest people in Pinsk in the 1650s. He lost most of his wealth in 1655 to marauding Polish soldiers, but he must have rehabilitated himself economically because in 1669 he was mentioned together with four honored kahal elders who filed a counterprotest against the townspeople.26 Jacob’s brother was Leib Aharonowicz, appearing on a list of householders in 1650 as the owner of an old house in the jurydyka of the nunnery. In 1678–1680, together with the kahal elders of Pinsk and its other

The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

representatives he signed on three loan contracts totaling ten thousand zlotys, which the kahal borrowed from the Pinsk Jesuits.27 Leib’s two sons, Elijah and Icek Leibowicz Bielczycz, were occupied with a petty nobleman who attacked and injured Elijah and his wife in their home in a dispute over a debt totaling a miniscule twenty-five grosze.28 All that can be said about their business is that they had ties to szlachta and were involved in small deals. Another affluent person in Pinsk was Chaskiel Lejzerowicz, who signed debt notes in the name of the Lithuanian Jewish Council in 1648–1650. Lejzerowicz kept his wealth and his position as a leader of the kahal until the end of the 1660s. Barukh Chackielewicz, probably Chaskiel Lejzerowicz’s son, was also relatively wealthy. A 1698 document names him as the recipient of a two thousand zloty loan from a nobleman and cites the creditor’s faith in him. He seems to have served as a supplier or factor to the nobleman. Both Chaskiel and Barukh appear to have been important businessmen whose main interest was commerce.29 The family of Isaiah Jakubowicz, one of the kahal elders and wealthy members from 1630 to 1660 (when he was probably killed), belonged to this same class. His son Nehemiah Isaiaszewicz was involved in a 1658 episode of contraband liquor found in his and others’ homes. He was an active kahal leader between 1673 and 1691. Nehemiah’s son Moses was an important merchant.30 We can assume that members of the affluent class named in this discussion were the major merchants of Pinsk. Like their counterparts from the other chief communities, they participated in the fairs at Mir, Nieswiez, Stolowicze, Kapulia (Kopyl), and Kleck.31 The first four were opportunities for the leaders of the chief communities to gather and take care of the affairs of the entire Lithuanian Jewish community. It was these prosperous Pinsk Jewish merchants, dealing primarily in wholesale and other large-scale trade, who typically traveled to the fairs that were a good distance from Pinsk. Their activity indicates that in this period Pinsk conducted lively commerce with the rest of Lithuania. There is no testimony regarding continuation of trade between Pinsk and Wolyn or Ukraine during this period. The commercial route from Lithuania to Wolyn that passed through or next to Pinsk continued to

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function, to some extent, so it is likely that trade with Wolyn persisted; but the importance of this route was apparently no longer so great.32 There is also little evidence for trade of Pinsk Jews with Poland. It may be that that the commercial ties of the Pinsk merchants with ­Poland weakened and that Jewish merchants from other places, especially Wysoki (whose merchants did visit Pinsk), replaced the big wholesale traders from Pinsk.33 There is similar lack of documentation for links between Pinsk Jewish merchants and foreign countries at this time. The fairs in Pinsk and Brest were then of local importance only and did not attract foreigners.34 Therefore, as we shall see, the momentum of large-scale Jewish trade in Pinsk slackened, and some of the wealthy merchants of the era conducted middle-size and even small transactions. On the other hand, it seems that at this time small-scale business in Pinsk continued to proliferate. A 1717 complaint of the Christian townspeople repeats their emphatic charge of 1699 that the Jews buy foodstuffs and other merchandise from the peasants coming to the city before the Christians can. The Jews were always on the roads or the outskirts of the city, where they purchase the peasants’ goods. Thus, they claimed, the Christians were pushed out of Pinsk commerce. As early as 1690, they had no foothold in the commercial and real estate markets and were so impoverished that they had to turn to manual labor in order to make a living.35 The townsmen’s complaint exaggerates in places as to their being driven out of commerce, but the substance of their claim that they no longer occupied a significant role in the commerce of the city seems correct. The commerce referred to was primarily small-scale, which proliferated in the 1660s, as described in Chapter Three, and continued to increase through the end of the seventeenth century. The general economic situation remained poor under King Jan Sobieski. There was a severe cash shortage and the run of problems that typically accompany a recession.36 People grasped at the slightest economic opportunity and had to labor hard to support their family. Even illegal commercial methods were employed. A number of sources from this period relate to trade in stolen goods on the part of Pinsk Jews. In 1680, five Jews from Pinsk were accused of

The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

buying ritual objects that the bell-ringer had stolen from the ­Orthodox Church. Two of the accused were probably members of wealthy families in the community.37 It is likely that the suspects were generally occupied as merchants. In 1684, Nahman Nowachowicz, a scion of one of the most prominent families in Pinsk, was charged with purchasing, from a Christian boy, pieces of a silver crown stolen from the Franciscan church.38 The impression from the sources is that this and the earlier incident were part of a trend of increasing trade in stolen goods, a result of the worsening economic conditions of the commonwealth in the wake of the prolonged wars.39 The Lithuanian Jewish Council passed a by-law as early as 1670 against buyers of stolen goods; the custom was to announce the occurrence of robberies publicly in the synagogue. Buyers were supposed to inform the kahal if they acquired stolen goods; whoever did not was subject to expulsion from his community and loss of the right to reside in any Lithuanian Jewish community. Sometimes the sanction was actually applied. The Council of Four Lands also took a stand against “fencing” goods, in 1672.40 The two councils’ ordinances did not stop this practice, which sometimes involved prominent families and was one of the dark corners of Jewish life of the period.

Customs In the 1670s and 1680s, customs leases continued to be a source of livelihood for a section of the Jewish population in Lithuania. The treasury would lease out the customs revenues for a year or more to the highest bidder (in theory; in practice, sometimes other considerations intervened), and the lessee would set up customs houses in appropriate locations. By law, Jews were forbidden to lease customs revenues, but they still managed, through loopholes or evasion, to be among the customs lessees in both halves of the commonwealth. Members of the szlachta, seeing how lucrative these leases were, wanted them for themselves and fought against Jewish participation in this branch of the economy. Once noblemen began to control customs leases, however, they often brought Jews into the business as partners, sub­ arrendators, or clerks and collectors. The szlachta were interested in

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the income from the customs, not usually in doing the actual collecting. They gladly assigned this responsibility to others, including Jews, who had experience in the field and could easily set up the staff and procedures the enterprise required.41 Jewish participation in customs leasing in and around Pinsk in the 1680s and 1690s is attested by several sources. The Lithuanian Treasury leased out the customs revenue of Pinsk and its subordinate customs houses directly to Jewish lessees in 1693. On November 10, the Lithuanian treasurer, Benedict Sapieha, declared in a universal to all of the inhabitants of the Brest, Pinsk, and Wolkowysk regions that the customs houses of Brest, Pinsk, Jalow, Kameneck, and their substations were leased out together with their guards to the Jews Isaac ­Nachumowicz and Isaiah Jakubowicz. They were granted permission to collect the new customs as well as the surcharge (donativum kupieckie) on the merchants themselves. The universal specifies that the lease was given to the Jews so that customs collection would proceed in the best possible fashion.42 In 1694, Pan Jerzy Sowinski took up the lease on the Pinsk customs.43 It may be that Nachumowicz and Jakubowicz, who had leased the Pinsk customs house in 1693 for two years, were forced to give up the lease in the middle of the term. Perhaps there was pressure from szlachta who protested the legality of the lease to the Jews. Alternatively, Jewish competitors might have been at work, using Pan Sowinski as a cover. This transfer of the Pinsk customs lease from the Jews to Sowinski does not mean that Jews were banished from the customs collection business in Pinsk. Only noblemen were allowed to lease the customs, so with this move the lease was put on an acceptable legal basis. Jews still ran the Pinsk customs house because Sowinski put Gershon ­Beniaszewicz of Pinsk and Mark Jakubowicz of Brest in charge. The sources provide a record of Gershon Beniaszewicz’s activities as a customs collector. As early as 1684, he was collecting customs duty in Pinsk. There is a record in that year of Fajbisz Jozefowicz of Chomsk paying Beniaszewicz duty on two blocks of wax, which he purchased in Pinsk on behalf of a certain townsman in Chomsk. The same document, it is interesting to note, observes that previously the customs clerk had been a nobleman named Piotrowski who no longer served

The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

in this capacity, having given the job over to someone else. This was probably Gershon Beniaszewicz. Given that Fajbisz Jozefowicz was attacked by Piotrowski on the road to Chomsk, who took the wax and three hundred zlotys claiming that the customs payment was still owed to him, it is apparent that the nobleman’s removal from the customs job was involuntary. The document does not define the position that Gershon occupied, but it was at least customs clerk, perhaps customs subarrendator, or even partner.44 A 1698 complaint against Beniaszewicz and his partner Mark Jakubowicz sheds light on his customs collecting activities between 1694 and 1698. When, in 1694, Jerzy Sowinski leased the customs revenues of Pinsk, Jakubowicz approached him presenting himself as an expert in the Pinsk customs business, asking that Sowinski add him to the lease and promising to pay the quarterly payments due to the treasury. Since Sowinski did not have the money required by the contract, he entered into this sort of partnership or sublease, with the Jews conducting the business while he was assured of an income. Later Jakubowicz was deposed as customs clerk because he did not keep his part of the bargain, failing to pay the first quarterly payment on October 1, 1694. Sowinski paid it himself. After losing his position, Jakubowicz, according to the document, succeeded “by Jewish cunning” in convincing Sowinski that they should work together. Jakubowicz then robbed the Pole of one of the customs seals, moved to another customs house, and set himself up as a customs clerk. “For a considerable period of time” Jakubowicz collected customs and issued receipts, causing Sowinski six hundred zlotys’ worth of damage. Once Jakubowicz finally lost control over customs collection, he joined with Gershon Beniaszewicz, giving him the customs seal, and Beniaszewicz started collecting the customs in Pinsk. Jakubowicz was arrested, brought to Icek Meirowicz’s home, and set free in exchange for two thousand zloty bail paid by Gershon. ­Jakubowicz then left Pinsk. Beniaszewicz was given official responsibility for the Pinsk customs house in 1697; but the document implies that in reality he did the collecting from late 1694 until the end of February 1698.45 In 1698, there was a quarrel between Beniaszewicz and two representatives of Sowinski. One was the lessee’s plenipotentiary, Pan Stefan Lukaszewicz; the other was a Jew, Calel Kozaczek. The dispute

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broke out when these two attempted to collect the customs at the fair in ­Dawidgrodek in early January. Kozaczek (who may be identical with the Bezalel who was involved in the bell ringer robbery just recounted, pp. 200–201) was severely beaten and prevented from collecting the duty. Beniaszewicz continued to be the sole customs collector. The origins of this controversy went back to July 1697, when Sowinski and Beniaszewicz disagreed as to the amount of money actually collected and Sowinski accused Beniaszewicz of hiding the true accounting from the treasury. This episode, as narrated in the document, is full of curiosities and inconsistencies. The claim that Jakubowicz stole the customs seal and set up an unauthorized customs collection operation is suspicious since Sowinski also stated that he tried to convince Mark to remain involved in the business. Unexplained is the nature of the relationship between Jakubowicz and Beniaszewicz. What was the legal basis for Beniaszewicz’s activities in the Pinsk customs house through 1697? On the other hand, the sources do present several conclusions. ­Beniaszewicz was in charge of customs collection in Pinsk in 1684 and 1694–1698. It makes sense that in 1684–1693 he was also making his living from customs collection, although the sources are silent on this point. It is unlikely that the partnerships between Beniaszewicz and S­owinski and Beniaszewicz and Jakubowicz were coincidental. ­Beniaszewicz evidently had an established right to collect the customs in Pinsk, no matter who the official customs lessee was. Beniaszewicz was a leader of the kahal; if he dealt in the customs business it would have been with the agreement of the kahal elders, in accordance with council regulations from 1670, 1676, and 1684.46 Competition between Jews and Christians and between Jews and Jews, whether for the customs lease or for the position of customs clerk, was fierce. It took the strong support of the kahal for the person with the established right (hazakah) to maintain his position. Gershon ­Beniaszewicz, his partners, and his assistants were the experts on customs collection; they also financed, to some extent, the lease formally held by the Polish nobleman. The Pole in actuality was a figurehead who, in exchange for a part of the income, handed over administration of the enterprise to the experienced Jewish customs clerks. These people probably also had backing—in the form of the hazakah—from the kahal.

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In the Pinsk district, there were also small customs houses controlled by the starosty (local royal administrators). These were leased out to Jews as well. On October 1, 1683, for example, Andrzej Niemcewicz, starosta of Hniewczyce, leased out collection of one of the customs duties to the arrendator of the village of Hniewczyce, Israel Lejzerowicz of Pinsk. The price was three hundred zlotys for one year. Whether or not this customs house was a substation of the Pinsk customs house, it was a small operation and actually one component of the general village lease. Such customs leasing arrangements must have been typical in the Pinsk area.47 The available evidence yields the impression that Jews made up the bulk of the customs collecting bureaucracy, either as clerks who were really partners of the lessee or as collectors and supervisors. The power of arrendators and clerks over customs matters was great. If they wanted to fulfill their obligations toward the treasury and turn a profit for themselves, they had to conduct themselves aggressively. Gershon Beniaszewicz managed to protect his status as Pinsk customs clerk by violence. He probably had armed assistants who obeyed him, repelling the competition and compelling the Dawidgrodek fairgoers to pay their customs to Gershon and no one else.48 Gershon’s story demonstrates the Jews’ role in the customs collection business and the power in the hands of Jews who operated customs houses—even if officially they were only clerks.

Leasing of Estates, Liquor Rights, and Villages In the preceding chapter, we established that large-scale leases of lati­ fundia in the Pinsk region disappeared in the 1660s. The lease on Kostrow and Tywrowicze in 1669 for four years at thirty-eight hundred zlotys was the only one recorded in the decade. After it, there is not one arenda of this type reported for the rest of the century.49 The Kostrow and Tywrowicze lease contract indicates that the two estates were leased to Solomon and Gabriel Izeszowicz (both called Pan)50 and their wives, including the buildings, the fields, the uncultivated land, the serfs, and their feudal obligations. The arrendators were entitled to conduct the estates as they saw fit, govern the serfs, and be their judges. These conditions were typical of the pre-1648 period when

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large estate leasing was flourishing. There were additional provisions, however, reflecting the experiences of the 1650s and 1660s when the lawlessness and violence accompanying war and revolution caused great hardship and unforeseen expense to Jewish arrendators. The leasing lord promised to return the lease money in cash in the event of attack by an enemy army, or destruction as a result of an act of war; collect various taxes from the serfs and submit this money to the tax collectors; and bear the expense of any general mobilization. The arrendators were given the liquor rights in these villages. If they were to build a mill, all its revenues would go to them and they would be reimbursed by the lord for the building costs. In pre-1648 contracts, liquor monopoly leasing is almost never mentioned, but in this contract it occupies a prominent position. This reflects the new emphasis in the period on leasing liquor and milling enterprises. The large-scale Jewish arrendator became a rarity. In his place, there developed the broad class of small-scale arrendators and Jews employed as factors of the magnates. An example of the second category is Moses Polak, factor to Stanislaw Czeranowicz, the aggressive manager of his lord’s affairs. Moses enforced Czeranowicz’s orders and performed, in the nobleman’s name, arbitrary acts and confiscations of property directed against both Jews and Christians. There were also many factors who conducted the affairs of Pan Zubacki, owner of a latifundium near Drohiczyn.51 As described in the last chapter, the liquor business of the Jews of Pinsk expanded in the 1650s and 1660s. From the late 1660s on, the Christian townsmen controlled virtually none of the liquor leasing in the city. On the other hand, there is much evidence of an increase in the amount of middle-size and small Jewish liquor leaseholds in the villages and towns near Pinsk. By the end of the seventeenth century, the liquor business was one of the primary occupations of the Jews of Pinsk and the surrounding region.52 Many village arrendators are named in the sources. Some were located in places where Jews held leases before 1648 and in the period preceding 1667.53 It is likely that the leases on the rights in these villages and in other ones passed into Jewish hands in the post-1667 period. Large-scale leases are rare in this period. Most leaseholds were medium to small, and the contracts involved small sums of money. The

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lease of Morowino, assumed by Elijah Lejnowicz in 1662, is an example of a medium-size leasehold. It consisted primarily of the lease of the Morowino latifundium mill and of liquor rights in several villages included in this estate. Beniaszewicz held this lease for at least twenty-two years running and enjoyed a good relationship with the leasing lord.54 Another middle-size leasehold was the lease of the tavern in the royally owned village of Stawek. In 1681, this was a new arenda, leased by the Jew Olaf Szostakowicz for three years (until 1684), including the mill and the right to produce and sell liquor. The arrendator also had a large number of oxen, cows, and horses, as well as workers and servants. This staff was completely under the arrendator’s command, if the complaint of his neighbor, the Orthodox priest, is to be believed. This priest claimed that Szostakowicz owed the church a tithe from the income of the leasehold—this according to an old privilege granted the church before the confederation of Poland and Lithuania. At Szostakowicz’s order, his men attacked the priest’s home, wounded two of his servants, and confiscated some cattle and horses belonging to the arrendator, which the priest had appropriated as compensation for the owed tithe. In other words, the arrendator was determined not to pay what the priest demanded. The priest also asserted that at a hearing where both sides aired their claims Szostakowicz grossly insulted him, threatening to kill him and burn his property. Even allowing for a measure of exaggeration on the part of the priest, the weakness of his position in relationship to the combative Jewish arrendator is obvious. Perhaps this incident should be seen in the context of renewed persecution of the Orthodox Church, beginning in the late 1660s and reaching a peak in the 1680s with beating and robbing of Orthodox priests by szlachta and soldiers becoming commonplace.55 The process of the expansion of the liquor leaseholds in the Pinsk area can be illuminated by the example of the 1690 lease of a distillery kettle in Dolha-Hata by Abraham Kopelowicz from Pan Teodor ­Malejewski. Having signed the contract, Kopelowicz was allowed to live in a house near the court of the nobleman. After he moved there, Pan Malejewski, planning a trip with his family to a distant location for a long period, put the young arrendator in charge of his household. Every­thing went smoothly until the distilling kettle, worth about eighty zlotys, was

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s­ tolen. Kopelowicz then left his house and the estate he had been left in charge of, returning to his father in Mala-Hac. The “people’s court” (kopa) that tried to investigate the burglary of the kettle did not succeed, and Kopelowicz (along with three other Jews) was sued to make good the loss. A second investigation, conducted on the return of Pan Malejewski, also failed to turn up the thief. Since Abraham Kopelowicz had no home or property and could not put up a guarantee, Pan Malejewski was allowed to “seize his arrendator in his person.”56 This case permits several conclusions. The Jew in Mala-Hac and his son who contracted with the nobleman Malejewski were without resident rights and probably came to this region from a faraway location in search of their livelihood. The son, and probably the father, both found work as arrendators. Malejewski granted Kopelowicz the lease and trusted him to manage this small estate even though the young Jew had nothing to his name. This may serve as an example of how small village leases, based on liquor rights, multiplied in the late seventeenth century. The phenomenon is connected with the intensification of serfdom and exploitation of the serfs by the szlachta.57 One of the serfs’ feudal dues was the obligation to patronize exclusively the lord’s mill and liquor facilities. Taverns, which also served as inns for travelers, proliferated as a means of maximizing szlachta income. In this field, Jews occupied a central role. A Jewish arrendator in a village was sometimes susceptible to the arbitrariness and extortion of hostile szlachta. The arrendator had to be prepared to defend himself and his business by force, and in this period it was conceivable that arrendators in the Pinsk region could do so against priests and noblemen. The process of expansion of the liquor business in towns was probably similar to what happened in the villages. This can be surmised from the 1679 complaint of Michal Botwina concerning the failure of at least ten bartenders to pay the bung tax (szelegowy) in Drohiczyn. That is, there were at least ten bartenders in this small town of several dozen families, a good example of the important role the liquor business filled in the occupational structure of the Jews in Pinsk and the surrounding area.58 According to the complaint, the recalcitrant bartenders insulted and attacked the tax collector and drove him from the town.

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The Pinsk district was an anthropological maelstrom, with sharp religious and ethnic differences between the government and PolishCatholic nobility on one side and the local Ruthenian, mainly Orthodox, population on the other. The Ruthenians were also divided among themselves over the renewed question of the Uniate Church. The complaint against the Jewish bartenders shows that within this constellation the Jewish rural liquor arrendators knew how to manage their affairs forcefully and present the profile of a hardworking person who was tough and even able to defend his interests militantly.

Moneylending A major shift occurred in the Jewish credit business from the late 1660s on. After 1669, there is no documentation of Jewish credit extended to Christians. There is much testimony regarding both kahal and individuals borrowing money from Christians, especially from church institutions and nobility magnates. This does not prove that Jewish lending to Christians ceased completely,59 but it does imply that the dimensions were so shrunken as to minimize its significance as a factor in the economic life of Pinsk Jewry.

Jews Lending to Christians The last example of a Jew lending to a Christian nobleman in Pinsk occurred in 1667. Joseph Boruchowicz lent Pan Abram Dostojewski fifty zlotys in consideration of a golden chain given in pledge. Two years later, when Dostojewski came to pay the debt and take back the pawn, the lender refused to accept the money or return the chain. It took a lawsuit for Boruchowicz’s father, Barukh Nachmanowicz, to declare that his son was ready to carry out the transaction.60 The available documents do not explain why the lender refused at first to accept the debt repayment and return the pledge. There is also no explanation for his sudden change of heart once sued, nor why it was his father, a veteran leader and primary shtadlan of the Pinsk Jewish community, who announced Boruchowicz’s altered intentions to the court. Perhaps the original refusal was connected to the sharp drop

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in the value of Polish money between 1667 and 1669 and the consequent loss to the lender outweighing the interest he had received over the same period.61 If this hypothesis is correct, then the diminution of Jewish credit in Pinsk is understandable. The Jews had preserved part of their capital during the war years, and some of them must have been able to lend money after the 1660s. Rapid devaluation, however, would have rendered moneylending a less-than-worthwhile endeavor.62

Kahal Loans The first example of the Pinsk kahal taking a loan from Christians is described in a debt note filed on November 11, 1678, at the Pinsk castle court. The lender was the Lohiszyn Church of the Jesuit Collegium in Pinsk, and the note was signed by twelve leaders of the kahal. It details the provisions of the fifteen hundred zloty loan to the kahal “when it needed money.” The conditions attached to this loan were typical. The Pinsk kahal undertook to pay the lenders “profit” (pozytek, a euphemism for interest) of 150 zlotys per year (10 percent) in “good” (that is, not debased) currency. The lenders promised not to collect the principal—ever, so long as the interest was paid regularly and on time. Any one missed payment would lead to collection of the entire debt. The guarantees on this loan were the mutual responsibility of the residents of Pinsk and its subordinate communities, who mortgaged their synagogues, homes, stores, merchandise, money, and bodies toward the payment of this loan. If the kahal were dunned for the principal and did not pay, the lenders would have the right to confiscate the three synagogue buildings in Pinsk as well as the synagogues in the nearby communities, and the merchandise, homes, lands, and cash belonging to the Jews of both the city and the outlying towns and villages. They could also imprison the debtors and their wives, children, and other heirs until the loan, with interest and triple compensatory damages, was paid. The Jews agreed, in advance and of their own free will, to forgo any rights granted them by privileges, letters of patent, or “iron letters” from the king that might interfere with the terms of this loan. They also promised not to excuse failure to pay by claiming force majeure (plague, fire,

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or war). The only acceptable reason for delay of payment would be occupation of the city by an enemy. In such a case, the payment would be due four weeks after the enemy’s withdrawal.63 Less than two months later, January 16, 1679, another debt contract was registered and signed by fifteen kahal leaders regarding another, similar fifteen hundred zloty loan from the Jesuits. The only significant difference was that this time the kahal was supposed to return the loan in three years (in 1682), and the periodic payments were referred to as “rent” (czynsz), not profit.64 In June 1680, the kahal transacted a third loan with the Jesuit Collegium in the sum of seven thousand zlotys, a much higher sum at lower (8 percent) interest. Like the first loan, the lenders pledged never to reclaim the principal so long as the interest was paid on time. This loan was also signed for by fifteen kahal dignitaries and again guaranteed by the property and persons of the Jewish inhabitants of Pinsk and its subordinate communities.65 On May 24, 1680, the townsman Anton Sankiewicz, a merchant and member of the municipal council, recorded in the books of the castle court a complaint against the kahal in connection with a loan of 5,620 zlotys that it had received from him. His allegations indicate that the Pinsk kahal had gained a special privilege from the king that permitted it to postpone payment of its debts for three years. The lender had a regular note documenting his loan, according to which the kahal agreed to pay interest and principal at set times. The kahal’s iron letter from the king allowed them to delay payment to Sankiewicz and freed them from the obligation to make good on the guarantee or pay compensatory damages on the unpaid loan.66 Why did the Pinsk kahal require loans in ever-increasing amounts? There are hints in the debt contracts that the kahal needed the money mainly to pay off former debts and taxes.67 In this connection, the information on the financial status of the Pinsk community contained in the Lithuanian Jewish Council record book sets a helpful context. In 1664, Pinsk was still one of the communities to which the central council owed money.68 By 1667, however, the summary of the accounts of the council indicate that the Pinsk community had suffered a reversal and was no longer a council creditor. This change may have been a

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function of Pinsk’s involvement in large expenses in connection with what the council record book called “the affair of the false accusation of the Pinsk community in the vicinity of Horodnie,” when the council agreed to bear one-third of the expenses of the Pinsk community, “whatever they must pay in order to pacify the priest of Pinsk.”69 By 1670, the central council owed the Pinsk community a small sum, but this was almost completely offset by a debt of the community to the council. In 1673, the council owed large amounts to Brest and ­Horodno, while the Pinsk kahal still owed the council the same amount (1,481 zlotys) it had owed in 1670. Between 1673 and 1676, the kahal paid off most of this debt as the council had ordered it to do, but there was still 490 zlotys outstanding. The kahal also owed various sums on account of its yearly tax obligations to the council. These it promised to pay within two years at the Stolowicze and Kapulia (Kopyl) fairs.70 Pinsk’s position as a debtor to the council is put into sharp relief by the fact that in the same period the council owed money to Brest, Horodno, and even Vilna. During the next three years, the Pinsk community’s financial balance deteriorated further, while the other chief communities continued to prosper. Pinsk’s debt to the council grew to 3,062 zlotys, which was supposed to be settled by February 1682. The loans totaling 25,620 zlotys, which the Pinsk kahal had received from Christians, were used in part to pay off accumulated debts and tax obligations, and in part to take care of other pressing obligations.71 The Lithuanian Jewish Council showed some consideration for the Pinsk Jewish community’s financial predicament and lowered the tax burden it imposed on the Pinsk kahal twice in succession, at the council sessions of 1679 and 1684.72 The situation’s seriousness warranted the ­kahal leadership itself embarking on several initiatives. First of all, the kahal went in search of cheap credit. It also attempted to do what the Vilna Jewish community had done as a precedent in 1663–1664: pay its debts with the obligations owed to it rather than in cash. In the summer of 1679, Wolf Jakubowicz, the shamash of the Pinsk kahal, recorded the documents relating to the Vilna debts in the castle court books. This action was probably taken after due consideration within the kahal and lobbying of the authorities to accept the Vilna precedent. This lobbying reached the royal palace, because the Jews were granted a royal morato-

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rium on the payment of all of their debts for three years beginning sometime before May 1680.73 The problem of pressing debts was solved temporarily by paying some while postponing others for three years. The kahal managed to pay off its debts to the Lithuanian Jewish Council almost completely by 1684. Overall, its financial position remained tenuous. Before the 1684 council session, only 115 zlotys of the Pinsk kahal’s debt was outstanding, but at that meeting the Lithuanian Jewish communities were presented with a 1,000 tax payment unit (one tax payment unit = a skhum, of indeterminable money value in this context) levy to be applied toward the debts of the medinah. Pinsk’s share was 3,300 zlotys, an amount that the Pinsk kahal apparently could not pay because the council granted it a special dispensation. The process of levy and dispensation was repeated at the 1687 council session.74 In the 1690s, Pinsk continued to lag behind in its tax payments to the central council. Every summary of council accounts records Pinsk’s arrears, while the other chief communities’ accounts were balanced.75 The 1695 council session obligated the Pinsk kahal to pay its accumulated debt over the next two years in nine equal installments of 1,066 zlotys each, for a total of 9,594 zlotys. Of this amount, the kahal submitted two and a half payments (2,632 zlotys), still owing 6,962 zlotys.76 Did the Pinsk community pay this debt? A legal document from 1698 describes two loans that the Pinsk kahal received. In 1695 the widow of Jan Karol Dolski, marshal of Lithuania and starosta of Pinsk, Anna ­Dolska (she was his second wife), lent eight thousand zlotys, with the kahal promising to pay a yearly sum in return. In 1698, the same woman made an additional huge loan of thirty-two thousand zlotys, bringing the total owed to her by the kahal to forty thousand zlotys. The first security for the sum consisted of the synagogue buildings of Pinsk and its surrounding communities. All Jewish residents were collectively responsible with their property and their persons for payment of the debt. The yearly assessment owed to the creditor was four thousand zlotys, 10 percent in two semiannual payments. These were guaranteed by an obligation to return the forty thousand zloty principal in case of failure to pay. The surety for the four thousand zloty yearly assessment—itself a hefty sum—which Pani Dolska demanded and received was the meat

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tax (korobka) collected by the kahal. If the tax fell short of four thousand zlotys, the kahal would make up the shortfall, while the noblewoman promised to refund any tax collected in excess of the guaranteed loan assessment. Pani Dolska was entitled to transfer the meat tax to whomever she wished. She or her heirs could demand payment of the forty thousand zloty principal at any time by giving at least twelve weeks’ notice prior to October 1 by way of announcement in the synagogue. The kahal agreed to pay the debt without claiming that the loan had been given in perpetuity as a wyderkauf.77 The creditor also included a condition that if the loan transaction came to legal litigation the court would not be allowed to accept any material, no matter how justified, in defense of the debtors. Nor might the court permit appeal of this condition to a higher court. Twelve leaders of the Pinsk kahal signed this obligation in the name of both the Pinsk Jewish community and its subordinates: Lachowicz, Kleck, Janow, Drohiczyn, Motol, Turow, Dawidgrodek, Kozangrodek, Lachwa Stolin, Wysock, and others. The first loan, eight thousand zlotys, was probably intended to pay off the debts of the Pinsk Jewish community to the Lithuanian Jewish Council that had accumulated in 1691–1695. What was the urgent purpose of the second, thirty-two thousand zloty loan, necessitating the mortgaging of one of the main sources of kahal income, the meat tax? In 1697, the heads of Lithuanian Jewry held an extraordinary assembly in Mir to deal with urgent business. The council record book describes the session: What is well-known requires no proof, because of the great pressure and stress on the medinah applied by the podskarbi [treasurer] (may his glory be elevated), the referendaries, priests and other creditors, noblemen, rushing to oppress all of the medinah; we have seen that many break away and cast off the yoke of taxes and levies and the royal poll tax, not making sure to pay the imposts due from them. It is impossible to exact payment by force because every single one protects himself with as many, and as prestigious, noblemen as is possible and thus the debts have grown and clustered about us. It is impossible to fulfill our obligations, to pay the poglowne to the podskarbi (may his glory be elevated), and the powrotne, as well as to pay the other creditors of the medinah. We fear lest some disaster result from this. Therefore we, the undersigned, have seen fit to repair the breaches of the generation and

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to make a guard fence and an emergency ordinance to prevent this practice and to establish proper procedure from now on, from today until the Council session which will take place, God willing, in our medinah, and this is it: all meat tax, in every district, will be subordinated, from now on, to payment of the levies of the medinah, poglowne, powrotne, and the skhumim [internal Jewish taxes] that are imposed. As of today no district may lease out its meat tax to anyone in the world, unless the lessee undertakes to pay the levies of the medinah with the first monies collected from the meat tax.78

This passage implies that the central council was in ever more straitening circumstances around this time because of heavy, and apparently unexpected, pressure from many Christian creditors, while cases of tax evasion by means of nobility protection multiplied. Since the council was not able to withstand the wave of creditor claims, it took such drastic measures as subordinating the revenue from the local meat tax of the Jewish communities to payment of the levies and debts it owed, tightening discipline within the communities, and granting partial exemption from payment of their obligations to their own communities to wealthy people who contributed toward paying the council’s debts.79 General weakening of the governing institutions, decline of public morality, arbitrary and wanton actions, and robbery by soldiers were the hallmarks of these years.80 In this situation, the discipline of the central Jewish autonomous institution also weakened, and the opportunities for avoiding obligations by hiding behind the authority of a nobleman with authority grew. At the same time, it became impossible to rely for debt collection on the central royal government, which, as usual, stood by the central Jewish institutions. Perhaps the creditors who suddenly rushed the council demanding their money were seized with panic. The royal treasury also intensified its pressure, and the council was forced to take extraordinary measures to deal with the situation. Apparently, the unusual thirty-two thousand zloty loan from Pani Dolska, coming on the heels of the original eight thousand zloty one, was connected in some way to the 1697 decision of the Lithuanian Jewish Council meeting in Mir. The Pinsk kahal seems to have accepted the council decision and taken steps to implement it. At the time, the Pinsk community was led by a generation of young

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leaders.81 The loan these men took, even though it mortgaged the kahal’s property and its meat tax, revived Pinsk’s standing in the central council to some extent. After this, Pinsk is no longer mentioned in the sources as being in tax arrears compared to the other communities, and it no longer required special dispensations. In its actions, the Pinsk community seems to have put its full weight behind the decision of the central council. The large loan also helped in consolidating the kahal’s debts and reducing immediate pressure on it. The yearly assessment or interest the Pinsk kahal had to pay on the loans described in the sources was low. On three of the five discussed in this section, the interest was 10 percent, 8 percent, and a rate not mentioned. The loans taken from the Jesuits included the condition that the interest and the debt be paid in undebased currency. This is understandable in view of the continual devaluation of Polish money and was customary in financial transactions of the period.82 The loans presented here, whose contracts have been preserved, were given to the Jews as wyderkauf contracts.83 Two of the three loans from the Jesuits were given as fictitious gifts, with the lenders promising not to collect the principal if the interest were paid punctually and fully. One of the loans from the Jesuits and one from Anna Dolska were given in the form of fictitious real estate transactions. The proximity of the dates on which the kahal received the three loans from the Jesuits and the two from Pani Dolska, and the low rate of interest, demonstrate the faith of the lenders in the borrowers and the borrowers’ ability to pay both the interest and the principal. The guarantees that the creditors received from the kahal satisfied them, and they considered lending money to Jews to be a good, profitable business.84 These were not the only loans that the kahal took. The sources documenting the loans described here themselves hint at other loans of the Pinsk kahal.85 The long 1768 register of the kahal’s creditors to whom it owed large sums (totaling 309,140 zlotys) includes loans originally taken as much as one hundred years previously. The Pinsk kahal received money from other creditors, but the sources do not preserve the details of the loans.86 As already discussed, priests, wealthy noblemen, and to a lesser degree townsmen regularly lent money to the Pinsk kahal beginning in

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the 1670s and continuing into the 1760s. The kahal may also have taken high-interest loans from Jews. So much borrowing is evidence of a great need for cash. It also indicates how easily the kahal located sources of funds at reasonable rates, although this easy money encumbered the community with complicated and difficult obligations for the future. The creditors must have seen these loans as a sound, profitable investment and the kahal’s guarantees assured them—even if there was some degree of risk that the loan would not be repaid or would be difficult to collect. The Jesuit Collegium, and probably other monasteries as well, were well versed in the financial affairs of their time and protected themselves with all sorts of securities so that even an iron letter from the king would not damage their ability to collect their money. From the perspective of eighty years of borrowing, it seems reasonable to conclude that the Pinsk ­kahal, with its occasional financial difficulties, was able to bear the obligations it undertook.

Loans to Individuals In 1684 Leib ben Jacob Minsker (Minski) and another Jew named Grybicz took an 1,100 zloty loan from Pani Joanna Hatowska. Leib is known as one of the elders of the Pinsk kahal and apparently one of the rich people in the city. The document mentioning the loan concerns a protest that the lender brought against Leib and his family, accusing them of stealing the debt note from the casket where it was kept in Leib’s house. This complaint resulted in issuing a warrant for the arrest and imprisonment of Leib, his wife, and two sons. They were freed on a 10,000 zloty bond put up by the rabbi and kahal elders.87 The results of the case are not known, but the document demonstrates how borrowers received money on the basis of collective guarantee of all the partners. Each was responsible for full repayment in the event the other partners were dead or unavailable or otherwise unable to pay. Lack of funds was no excuse. Private loans of this type to Jews from Christians were common and normal in the 1680s and 1690s. In one document (May 30, 1698), two Jews from Pinsk, Lipman Mowszowicz and Moses ­Nehemjowicz,

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complained about Kazimierz Michael Pac, appointed that year as administrator of the royal holdings in the Pinsk district, that he forced them to sign a note for a loan they had received earlier from the ­namiestnik of the royal property, Jan Chocianowski, that was largely paid off. ­Chocianowski lent considerable sums to Jews in Pinsk over a long period. The merchant plaintiffs in this case claimed they had received money from him in various amounts from time to time and repaid on demand. In this fashion, they took a loan in 1697, signing two notes: one for 1,000 zlotys, the other for 100 taler (666 zlotys). By November of the same year, they had repaid 60 taler, and a few months later they returned another 517 zlotys in the presence of witnesses, but without written receipts. When the new administrator arrived, Chocianowski was apparently accused of something and was forced to submit to the new official all of the notes of Jewish debtors in his possession in order to redeem himself from prison. The two debt notes of Lipman and Moses were included with the rest. When they were requested to pay what they owed, they took with them the balance of the debt and traveled to the administrator in Bohuszow to settle their account and receive their notes. They were promised that any dispute over the previously paid sums would be settled in court. The administrator, however, admitted to repayment of only 30 taler, and when the Jews tried to return to Pinsk to file a court suit he arrested them, took their money by force, and tried to make them sign two new notes, for 400 and 440 zlotys, including highly irregular conditions contravening the accepted customary law (prawo pospolite). When Lipman and Moses tried to refuse, Pan Pac had them shackled and threatened them with imprisonment. They gave in and signed the notes, but on their return to Pinsk they quickly filed their protest.88 This case involves a short-term loan where the namiestnik, who commonly lent money to Jews throughout the 1680s and 1690s, and the borrowers related to each other on the basis of trust. The loan itself was most likely needed to finance the borrowers’ commercial activity. It is noteworthy that they were prepared to repay the loan on demand. Another document registered with the castle court on June 27, 1698, also concerns a loan made to a Jew of Pinsk, Barukh Chackielewicz, by the same namiestnik, Jan Chocianowski. After Chocianowski was

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accused and deposed from his position, Pan Pac’s deputy ordered him to sue Chackielewicz for the two thousand zloty balance of a loan of twenty-six hundred. Since Chocianowski had no note for this loan, the suit relied on the testimony of two Jewish arrendators from Bohuszow and Motol, who depended on the former namiestnik for their livelihood. Chackielewicz asserted that he had received 200 taler (1,333 zlotys) and proved that he had repaid 1,306 zlotys, in cash and by paying some of Chocianowski’s obligations.89 This was a relatively large loan, but it was given by the Christian lender to the Jewish borrower on the basis of an oral contract without a written note. The court ruled that the borrower should swear as to the sum he had received and with that dismissed the suit. The descriptions of the common practice of individual Jews taking loans from Christians demonstrate that it was not necessarily financial distress that prompted these loans but lack of ready capital to finance commerce. The borrowers did not find it onerous to repay their debts and usually fulfilled their obligations precisely. Three of the five borrowers mentioned in the sources were themselves (or relatives) of families that were among the leadership and economic elite of the Pinsk Jewish community. This implies that in the 1680s and 1690s Jewish borrowers in general were the richest merchants from the most prominent families.90

Organization of the Kahal The momentous changes in the lives of the Jews of Pinsk after the 1648 persecutions did not shake the rule of the kahal. It remained fundamentally strong and stable, led and represented at the Lithuanian Jewish Council by the same social group from before 1648 until the end of the century.91

Internal Problems of the Kahal Leadership At the outset it should be stated that the admittedly meager fund of sources available does not contain any indication of a struggle based on rich-poor class divisions or of active opposition to the kahal on the

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part of groups wishing to gain influence in the conduct of communal affairs. It may be that the social base of the kahal leadership was broadened in the late 1690s,92 which might have been preceded by internal tensions and social strife. In the absence of sources, it is impossible to say. Even if there was a struggle over power and tax apportionment, it was probably a moderate one with the traditional leadership keeping the situation well in hand and exhibiting wisdom and resourcefulness in solving the problems of the time. The moral criticism of Rabbi Judah Leib Puhovitzer93 (see page 233 for biography) directed at the failings of the kahal leadership is neither abundant nor extreme. There are places where he speaks about the leaders of the kahal with respect and admiration, expecting their behavior to be an educational example to the people. He demands that they exercise their influence to guide the people along the moral path “because they have a rod and strap in their hand.” The preacher also suggests that the elders, together with the rabbis in the chief communities, order the rabbis in their subordinate communities to “supervise and reprove the people in their communities.”94 Elsewhere he declares, “one must be careful not to slander the honest charity wardens by alleging that they steal and play favorites.”95 This said, it is likely that murmuring and rumormongering against the kahal elders was as common in Pinsk as elsewhere; the leadership certainly had its share of faults. Some leaders attained their status through chicanery and were dishonest in making appointments, in apportioning tax obligations, and in legal rulings.96 This type did not, however, determine the profile of the kahal leadership. There was, for instance, a man like Naftali Hirsh ben Jonathan ­Segal, a scholar (author of the book Netiv Ha-Yashar), leader, dignitary, and kahal elder (rosh kahal). Around 1700, he retired from public life and dedicated himself exclusively to the study of Torah.97 How typical was he of the communal leadership? It does seem that there was a covenant between the scholars and the kahal leadership; together they composed the elite that led the community. R. Puhovitzer viewed this elite as the allies of the preacher attempting to move the people to penitence. One public issue in Pinsk that related directly to the conduct of the kahal was the question of tax exemptions for Torah scholars. Such

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e­ xemptions had gained wide currency and aroused resentment. R. ­Segal treated this problem in the introduction to his book: The reason Torah scholars are exempt from tax is that anyone who studies Torah is considered to have sacrificed an offering . . . since through his study he fulfills [the commandment to bring] sacrifices and is not required to bear the yoke of government [that is, taxes]. . . . These scholars go from city to city teaching Torah. If one studies in a strange city his study is certainly for its own sake, which is not the case if he studies because of envy or in order to profit or so that he will be honored. . . . If study is not for its own sake then the scholar must certainly bear the yoke of taxes. . . . The masses when they behold a scholar study, even not for its own sake, exempt him from taxes because they don’t know if his study is for its own sake or not.98

This passage echoes both the controversy and the decision reached by the kahal, probably in consultation with the scholars. The condition for exempting a scholar from tax was that his study be for its own sake. The proof of this was that he travel from city to city teaching, or that he study in a city other than his own. It was the common people who tended to broaden the exemption to include scholars whose study was not for its own sake (as defined by these criteria). For R. Segal, this matter was related to the general problem of tax evasion, which at the time was becoming serious in all of Lithuania, including Pinsk.99 The rabbi presented the view of the kahal leadership advocating payment of taxes: “Paying taxes will save one from Hell; for paying taxes is like giving charity and charity saves from the judgment of Hell . . . and according to our words if one bears and pays taxes he is exempt from bringing sacrifices and if he studies for its own sake he is exempt from Hell.”100 R. Segal’s words indicate something about how the kahal dealt with the problem of tax collection, which lagged behind budgetary needs. The kahal tried to limit the number of people eligible for tax exemptions as scholars and to urge everyone in the community to pay their taxes. Another phenomenon in this period that was criticized by R. Puhovitzer was the custom growing popular “in several communities . . . for the burial wardens to assess the living to pay for a burial place for

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the dead according to their desire and whim without any criterion as to how much a person—rich or poor—should pay.”101 Rabbi Puhovitzer considered this an inheritance tax and raged against it, mainly because of the huge financial burden it placed on the relatives of the deceased and the lack of consistent standards in setting the amount of the payment—sometimes leading to desecration of the dead. It may be that his description is based on the situation in Pinsk at the time and reflects another public issue in the community.102

Pinsk as a Chief Community and the Dispute Between the Chief Communities The Pinsk Jewish community’s size and strength stood it in good stead at the end of the period of wars, and the community preserved its place among the four chief communities. Despite greater indebtedness compared to its sisters, the community’s position was not weakened and influence did not decrease. Relations among the chief communities grew complicated as a result of the shocks that passed over the Lithuanian Jewish community during the prolonged turmoil. Occasionally, the stabilizing balance was upset, and conflict and controversy broke out. In 1670, a dispute among the chief communities over the control of subordinate communities was brought to court. The court, made up of the rabbis of the chief communities and the rashei medinah, ruled that any settlement or city with at least ten householders before 1654 and subordinate to Brest would remain under Brest forever. A 1683 decision supplied commentary on what the court had said in 1670: “The cities and settlements that were settled by ten householders from 1654 on may choose for themselves a great court and which of the chief communities they will belong to.”103 The controversy about jurisdiction over certain outlying communities probably began in the late 1660s. The roots of the dispute can be found in the demographic changes within the Jewish communities in the wake of the mobility of the Jews during the 1650s. There were evidently cases of residents of one community near Pinsk suddenly moving

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en masse to a small settlement near Brest, or establishing a new settlement near a community connected to Brest—or the opposite. Trying to decide which chief community would have jurisdiction over such new or renewed communities became a source of contention between Brest and the others. This problem was not easily solved, and arguments ensued among all of the chief communities, but especially between Pinsk and Brest, since the communities in the Pinsk region were affected by the wars of the preceding period more than elsewhere. It can be assumed that the small communities that were the subject of dispute made use of the unsettled situation and took their time responding to taxation demands presented to them by chief communities.104 The problem was not solved after the 1670 court decision, and the disputes among the chief communities continued and intensified. Relations between Brest and the others deteriorated in another sphere as well. In 1673, the Lithuanian Jewish Council decided to renew an ordinance from 1644 reestablishing the custom of sending “­reports,” regarding affairs of the medinah, from Brest to the other chief communities. The reports were to be sent first to Horodno and then with Horodno’s reactions to Pinsk, which would add its opinion and return the documents to Brest. This statute left out the Vilna community, in accordance with a 1670 decision ordaining that Vilna would receive only reports relating to financial matters. The need to renew the 1644 ordinance shows that the ranking of the chief communities in order of their importance—Brest, Horodno, Pinsk, Vilna—was sometimes not observed. A 1676 codicil to the 1673 decision makes it plain that the Horodno and Pinsk communities were holding the Brest community to strict procedure in administrative matters. In response to their pressure, Brest agreed to be punctilious in observing legislated procedures and to specify in its reports that “nothing will take effect until it informs the two communities and one of them agrees.” These measures were designed to limit the governing powers of Brest. They demonstrate another source of tension in intercommunal relations in the 1670s.105 Around 1680, the festering dispute suddenly broke out into the open with the Brest community resorting to coercion to enforce its jurisdictional claims. At fairs, on the road, and in customs houses,

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there were attacks, arrests, sequestrations, and confiscations of merchandise and money from merchants who came from communities where Brest felt entitled to tax money. It became apparent that the central council was powerless to prevent these actions. The ambiguous nature of the 1670 decision gave rise to new arguments. It was soon clear that the ruling did not help, and the dispute became more acrimonious. The course of events through the 1670s is not known in detail. Two declarations of King Jan Sobieski (Oct. 23, 1681, and Jan. 20, 1682) ordering the representatives of the communities to settle their differences and a 1683 verdict of the rabbinical court of the Council of Four Lands shed some light on the matter. The 1681 royal rescript indicates that the heads of the Lithuanian government informed the king that the chief communities were in serious conflict and accusing each other of ruling over communities in the countryside that did not belong to them. Each tried to force its opinion on the others. The Council of Four Lands court decision speaks of scandals, quarrels, acts of violence, and coercion. The situation was so out of hand that the Lithuanian Jewish Council could not take control and restore order. The chief communities began to turn to the commonwealth authorities with complaints about each other. At this point the king intervened, directing the chief communities, in October 1681, to arbitrate the dispute and settle it within twelve weeks. Failing this, the matter would be turned over to a panel composed of the rabbis of the four Lithuanian chief communities, two representatives of Brest, and three rabbis from Polish communities. This body would issue a final ruling.106 The chief communities did not succeed in resolving their conflict within the framework of the Lithuanian Jewish Council, and so the dispute was submitted to a court of Polish and Lithuanian rabbis.107 This court, meeting in Miedzyrzecz, issued its decision on December 1, 1683. The decision alluded to some of the circumstances leading to deterioration of relations with the new communities, a situation that had been rankling for probably fifteen to twenty years. The 1683 court ruling clarifies that the three communities of Horodno, Pinsk, and Vilna had united against the community of Brest. The main issue was the apportionment of the taxes due the medinah among the various

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J­ ewish administrative districts ( gelilot) of Jewish settlement. The question of jurisdiction over outlying communities was one aspect of this. The situation had reached the point where Brest wanted to secede from the central council and in effect trigger its dissolution. The seriousness of this threat is hard to gauge, but it is clear that Brest decided to put an end to the aspirations of settlements in its district—particularly Sluck, Minsk, and their satellites—to cut their ties to Brest. Brest also wished to cast its authority over communities whose subordination to a particular chief community was not clearly defined.108 Effective control over as many satellite communities as possible was essential to the ability of each chief community to collect the quota of taxes demanded from its district. The problem of impartial tax apportionment was central. The great demographic and economic shifts coming as a result of the events of the 1650s and 1660s upset conventional arrangements for tax apportionment, which were ill suited to the new realities. The Brest community, first among equals and enjoying many prerogatives, was the main proponent of the status quo. ­Horodno, Pinsk, and Vilna did, however, exercise power in the Lithuanian Jewish Council, and other communities such as Sluck and Minsk were becoming strong enough to feel entitled to the status of independent chief communities. It might have been Brest’s attempt to lighten the tax burden and increase the obligations of the other districts that prompted the other chief communities to form something akin to an opposition alliance against Brest. Once the opponents gained a majority on the central council, they tried to supplant Brest’s arrangements with their own system of tax apportionment. The Brest community did not accept this move and reacted with systematic opposition on another front. The customs collecting bureaucracy in many areas of Lithuania was controlled mainly by Jews from Brest. These collectors tried to gain, by force, what Brest was claiming for itself from merchants and travelers from other communities. The Brest men were especially fierce when dealing with merchants from Minsk and Sluck, confiscating their merchandise and property on the road and at fairs. The commonwealth government wanted the controversy settled because, in view of the concentration of Lithuanian commerce in Jewish

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hands, continuation disturbed trade and decreased the revenues to be gained for the treasury. The king’s intervention did not yield immediate results, but the special court the king ordered to consider the problem—made up primarily of Polish and Lithuanian rabbis—did establish a basis for resolving the conflict. Their verdict, which rested on both rabbinical and royal authority, decided most of the issues in dispute and was apparently accepted by the chief communities, making it possible to convene the Lithuanian Jewish Council in 1684. At that session, the representatives of the chief communities agreed to create a new institution comprising two trustees, one from Brest and one from the other three communities, in rotation. These two trustees were to have the authority to decide on apportionment of the tax burden in the medinah. In this fashion, the 1683 court decision led to restoration of a significant measure of Brest’s influence.109 This compromise, mediated by the rabbis, demonstrates how their authority enabled them to resolve a difficult conflict.110 It is also testimony to the fact that the Polish and Lithuanian rabbis still had the moral strength and political wisdom to be able to check developments that threatened to destroy the institution of Jewish autonomy in Lithuania. Their actions gave it staying power for another eight decades.

Internal Life Our only sources for learning about the daily life of the Jews in Pinsk are the sermons and admonitions of Rabbi Puhovitzer. The background to his words was the reality of Pinsk. There is no way to determine the frequency or how representative the matters he preached about were, but in the absence of more revealing sources his words are of interest because they reflect, in part at least, real life.

Education of Children R. Puhovitzer’s books contain much information on the educational institutions and teaching methods of the last third of the seventeenth century. In Derekh Hokhmah, written in Frankfurt/Oder in 1682 on the basis of notes the author carried with him into Germany, he wrote

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about the common people who could not understand Hebrew, did not know what they were saying in their prayers, and could not pray with the proper intent: And all of this is because in their childhood they don’t learn scripture except for the meaning of words in isolation. If they could learn how to connect the verses they would be used to reading the Holy Tongue in which the prayers were composed. . . . None of the methods of learning is perfect . . . before the child knows to reject the bad and choose the good he is given over to a teacher to teach him Bible, a few verses from the first portion in Genesis [Bereshit], and the next week a few verses from the second [Noah] and so on. The teacher does not teach him anything except the translation of the individual words and not the meaning of the verses together. Even if the teacher learns with the pupil the entire portion, he does not teach him the connection between the subjects. Then the pupil begins to learn Mishnah or Gemara and he does not yet know of the unity of God, may His name be blessed, nor of the acceptance of the yoke of his awe and commandment.111

Ultimately the child forgets what he learned “and doesn’t know any commandment to perform it properly, nor any of the ethics a child needs, because the teachers don’t care about anything except receiving their salary.” The rabbi continued, complaining about children’s and adolescents’ lack of discipline and manners, blaming their parents who spoiled them and the teachers who, wanting to flatter, misled the parents with exaggerated praise of their children. The children remained empty.112 R. Puhovitzer also suggested a reformed course of study entailing graduated learning and progression from easy to difficult material. The first subject taught should be Pentateuch, with commentary and emphasis on understanding the intention of the connection between the subjects . . . And after he has already learned all of the Bible and is adept at God’s commandments, then he should be taught mishnahs, beginning with those that apply in these generations and then from the tractate Kodashim, and impurity and purity which are not so essential; and then he can learn Talmud also. If he is not up to this study he can learn in place of it the Early and Late Prophets and the Writings. Every day he should be guided in ethics and the fear of God.113

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Even if his critique is exaggerated and his description relates to the methods of education in Lithuania and Poland in general, it must apply as well to Pinsk, where the preacher lived for many years prior to writing his books. From his portrayal, it is obvious that every Jewish boy studied from childhood. The rabbi does not specify at what age the boys began school, but we can assume the custom in Pinsk to be similar to the general practice of starting at age four. The rabbi himself remarks that children of six and seven would be taught Talmud; therefore children of four and five were learning the alphabet, the prayer book, and the Bible. The teachers were paid tuition by the parents, but poor children also learned in heder (room) schools, undoubtedly with the subvention of the kahal. R. Puhovitzer did not complain about children of school age sitting idle out of school.114

The Yeshiva The rabbi of Pinsk was given the dual title of Av Bet Din (chairman of the court) and Rosh Metivta (head of the academy). According to the by-laws of the Lithuanian Jewish Council, the rabbi was obliged to maintain a yeshiva where boys and adolescents from Pinsk and its hinter­land would study. According to R. Puhovitzer’s description, before 1648 this was self-evident. The rabbi who headed the Pinsk yeshiva would ensure that it was full of students. His aim was to spread Torah “and to maintain great academies with both rich and poor students. The students would be supervised so that they not waste time away from the phrases of Torah.”115 As R. Puhovitzer described it, however, in the 1670s the situation changed, with students’ status determined not by their devotion to study but by the size of the “gifts” they presented to the rabbi who headed the school. Poor students and scholars were largely left to fend for themselves.116 R. Puhovitzer wrote forcefully in his later work: In our generation the verse [Judges 6:6] “And Israel became very impoverished” has been fulfilled due to our many sins. In general yeshivas are not maintained during the course of the entire year and in small communities they don’t support yeshivas at all. They do not

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budget any rabbinic salary unless the rabbi learns and teaches and gives lessons to the members of his community day in and day out and every Sabbath as well [as opposed to paying him to teach yeshiva students]. . . . A rabbi does not accept boys to study at his yeshiva unless the student gives him a worthy gift.117

He criticized the study arrangements in the yeshivas that prevented the sons of the poor from learning Torah: “This evil practice should be abolished; because of it poor boys who have nothing to give must stand and wait on householders and leave Torah study, as I have seen with my own eyes.” He continued with the example of a poor orphan from a good family whom the rabbis rejected for enrollment at any yeshiva because he had nothing to pay them.118 The preacher’s demand: every householder individually or in combination with one, two, or three others should support a student of Torah.119 The yeshiva method of study, emphasizing pilpul (casuistic argumentation) and the study of hilukim (subtle arguments interrelating legal and other texts in unexpected ways) was also a target of severe censure. R. Puhovitzer repeated the work of the author of Zera Berakh that ­pilpul is a form of deceit and lying; “such a totally false form of study” ought to be eliminated.120 This assessment has implications regarding the state of Torah study in Pinsk and the issues facing the Torah learners there. R. Puhovitzer was a militant advocate of his views; he may have been one-sided in his presentation or overstated his case. In the absence of other sources, his allegations and their correspondence to reality cannot be examined critically. It is apparent, however, that this subject was controversial and led to many disputes.

Study of Torah In the period under consideration, Pinsk was a Torah center where excellent scholars were engaged in study. R. Puhovitzer, one of his generation’s outstanding moral preachers, chose to place special emphasis on his Pinsk origins and called Pinsk “a place of Torah.”121 His and Rabbi Naftali Hirsh Segal’s books identify several scholars who belonged to the city’s circle of bona fide scholars.

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R. Puhovitzer mentioned Rabbi Zev Wolf ben Judah Leib,122 “my friend and colleague the analytical and knowledgeable rabbi . . . from the holy community of Pinsk,” quoting one of his innovations in connection with rabbis’ salaries.123 R. Puhovitzer also named his own son, Elijah, “My analytical and knowledgeable son, the honorable teacher and rabbi, Elijah,” citing his innovation based on Kabbalah regarding Sabbath distance parameters.124 R. Segal was probably part of this circle, and the discussion in his book about the problems of tax exemptions for scholars indicates that the scholarly group in Pinsk was considerable.125 Study of Torah for its own sake was one of R. Puhovitzer’s cardinal principles. He demanded that every Jewish community establish permanent study houses and support Torah learners so they could occupy these academies steadily. He called for a decree that every Jewish man set aside time every day to study according to his ability. Study would bring him to deed and repentance. R. Puhovitzer seems to have played a significant role in elevating routine, organized Torah study to a place of paramount importance for elite scholars and common Jews.126

The Synagogue The synagogue was the focus of communal life. Its first function was as a place of public worship, but it was also the place where the populace and the kahal leadership came into contact. From its pulpit, or through its doors, the issues facing the community were brought to light. In the 1670s, probably as a result of population pressure, two new synagogues were built, one serving the butchers and one made of wood.127 In his sermons, R. Puhovitzer railed against the shortcomings of the synagogue. There was the practice of people praying individually rather than attending communal prayer services in the synagogue both morning and evening (“Praying morning and evening is on shaky ground among some of our people”). His ire was fired most by the talking that occurred in the synagogue during services. He opposed “the scholars who engage in pilpul during the time of prayer and drown out the congregation with their shouting.” He was also against announcements not connected to public affairs being made from the pulpit during prayer services.128

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He discoursed at length on the talking problem, saying in part: “­Because of our great sins a few people . . . stand immersed in laughter, gaiety, and idle talk in the synagogue; the praying is secondary. Some of the elite people preside over ruin and one sin brings another, for not only is their talk commonplace, but they even joke and gossip and don’t even care to answer amen. . . . Woe for such shame!”129 Concerning unwarranted announcements, the social critic said: “If all of the announcements related to public affairs, I would be silent for the majority of the public could not function without them. However, the announcements in connection with wine sale and matters of food and drink are without question a sin and a show of contempt for the holiness of the synagogue. It would be well to eliminate them completely.”130 He protested the cantors who gloried in their beautiful voices and dragged out their melodies in order to be popular. They were not careful about pronouncing the words properly, and their intention was purely material. Even worse were those who hired these cantors, seeking a candidate with a pleasant voice. It was the cantor’s voice that was important to them, more important than his knowledge and understanding in Torah and prayer.131 One or both of the two new synagogues in Pinsk were apparently study houses (bet midrashim). R. Puhovitzer demanded that study houses be established and scholars and wise men be put in them so that anyone who wanted to enter and study could do so. He himself was a teacher and moral preacher in one of the new study houses and would preach and exhort there every day, while offering a homily based on the weekly Torah portion on the Sabbath.132 He even tried unsuccessfully to seclude himself in one of these study houses to compose his first book, Kenei Hokhmah.133

Daily Life R. Puhovitzer’s writing gives testimony to the atmosphere of daily life. The Jews of Pinsk, like the commonwealth’s Jews in general, lived their lives in line with tradition and Jewish law. Observance of the commandments was taken for granted, although there were many

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obstacles and within the framework of the tough economic and social reality there were numerous cases of overstepping the bounds of what was permitted by the halakhah.134 There are a few vivid descriptions of actual life in his books that shed some light on the lifestyle of the Jews in Pinsk. For example, his censure of certain Sabbath customs: Great is the guilt of those who amuse themselves on the Sabbath by reading stories about kings and their wars, saying that the joy of the Sabbath is eating to satiation, getting fat on good things, and reading chronicles [popular historical accounts]. They have no knowledge or understanding; this is not rest and this is not recreation . . . and even more so those who gather in klatches and groups on the Sabbath and festivals; here a group of jokers, there a group of gossipers.135

To the powerful moralist, idle conversation on the Sabbath was just as prohibited as work, and he reproved his audiences for engaging in such talk. In his reproach, he told how “from this has come an unhappy custom so that on the Sabbath people go in groups to visit their friends and relatives and thus surely come to engage in idle conversation. . . .”136 Regarding intimacy between engaged couples: “I also cry out against the terrible practice of the bridegroom sitting next to his fiancée before their marriage, even hugging and kissing her.”137 Other common practices he criticized were joking around, playing cards, and gambling.138 Some of the things he objected to were not, strictly speaking, sins. Such customs as visiting relatives, talking to friends, and eating a good meal on the Sabbath just did not harmonize with the stringent standards of the moral, mystical preacher. People lived their lives, and alongside the obligatory behaviors that took shape as a function of mandatory ritual observance—such as synagogue attendance, Torah study, and Sabbath observance—they created forms of behavior in sectors of life that were halakhically neutral. Generally, the two coexisted in peace.

The Rabbis of Pinsk Because Pinsk was a center of Torah, its rabbinate was one of the most prestigious in the commonwealth. Through the end of the seventeenth

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century, some of the greatest rabbis in the generation occupied this position. Relatively little information bearing directly on the activities of these men is available. Aside from technical details regarding the dates of their service in Pinsk and hints about disputes and financial affairs, the sources do not permit portrayal of their personalities or their achievements.139 An exception to this is Rabbi Puhovitzer, born in Pinsk circa 1630. His father, Joseph, was the son of the preeminent scholar Rabbi Judah Leib Partzover, who was “from the stock of the great gaon [sage] of his generation the honorable teacher and rabbi, Isaac son of Rabbi Bezalel of blessed memory from Ludmir [Wlodzimierz], and his son-in-law the great gaon, the honorable teacher and rabbi, Abraham Polak.” Rabbi Joseph, R. Puhovitzer’s father, probably came to Pinsk from western Poland and settled there no later than the 1620s. As a child R. Puhovitzer studied Torah with Rabbi Naftali ben Isaac Katz, rabbi of Pinsk 1639–1644.140 In 1659, R. Puhovitzer was the rabbi in Bychow. On the twentyninth of Kislev, the city was conquered by the Muscovites, who slaughtered its Jewish inhabitants; “Almost 300 souls of our brothers the Children of Israel were killed.” R. Puhovitzer talked at length of the occupation of the city and how he was miraculously saved.141 Two residents of the city, Or Shraga Weiss, from Szklow; and his son-in-law, Phineas ben Menahem (probably R. Puhovitzer’s fatherin-law and brother-in-law), came and urged the rabbi to flee the town. Together with his wife and one of his daughters, he escaped along the route suggested to him, and they were saved. The Muscovites murdered his younger daughter, Sarah, who was sick and could not go with them; she was ten years old. R. Puhovitzer saw in his escape a divine miracle and felt it had happened as reward for his having exhorted and admonished his flock daily during the twenty-nine weeks he was under siege.142 There are no sources indicating when he assumed the Bychow rabbinate or the names of other communities he had previously served. He probably studied Torah until the 1648 persecutions and then began to work as a professional rabbi. On the basis of his surname, one surmises that his first position might have been in Puchowice near Minsk.

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After he was saved from the Muscovite occupation of Bychow, the rabbi recounted: I was privileged to seclude myself in great study houses for several years. The first to accept me as the master of their study house were those who from of old were of the first rank in holy and reverent ­affairs, the holy community of Sluck, may God preserve them. Next I was in the holy community of Pinsk, the place of my birth. There our custom was to energize the people daily with courses of study, words of admonition and exhortation; and every Sabbath new interpretations of the week’s Torah portion. . . . As a teacher of righteousness in several communities, this was my practice daily and on Shabbat.143

In other words, after he escaped from Bychow the rabbi was a preacher and teacher for several years in the “great study houses,” in Sluck and several other places, until approximately 1667. He then came to Pinsk; his son, Elijah, was probably born around the same time. From then on, it appears that R. Puhovitzer remained in Pinsk as a teacher and preacher. He also worked as an itinerant preacher and gave exhortatory sermons, in communities close to Pinsk and in major communities elsewhere in Lithuania and Poland.144 He was very learned and expert in halakhah, midrash, ethical literature, and mysticism. He applied his erudition, intellect, and rhetorical skills to his specialty: critical and ethical preaching. His sermons were methodical and organized, as were his demands for educational reforms. Contact between the rabbi and non-Jews is implied in his report of how once he argued “with one of the Gentile sages” who claimed “the Jews also don’t all observe the religion of Israel according to one mode.”145 In 1681–1682, R. Puhovitzer was in Frankfurt/Oder overseeing publication of his two-part work, Kenei Hokhmah and Derekh Hokhmah. This book would never have been printed, he asserted, were it not for the aid of Menahem Mann ben Eliezer, a Viennese exile who resided at the time in Frankfurt. This man took R. Puhovitzer into his household and supported him with loans.146 The first section of Kenei Hokhmah consists of homilies that R. Puhovitzer preached as rabbi and teacher in several communities. It appears that he had his notes for them, and when he was living in Pinsk he decided to use them as the basis for a homiletic-ethical book to benefit

The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

the greater Jewish community.147 The homilies he brought to Frankfurt from Pinsk were included in the first part of the book; those in the second part (in Derekh Hokhmah) were edited while he was in Frankfurt, mainly after Kenei Hokhmah was printed. On the title page of each part of the book, he called himself “R. Judah Leib, resident of Pinsk”; it is nearly certain that he returned there once the book was published. R. Puhovitzer lived in Pinsk in the 1680s as well, and there wrote his second book, Divrei Hakhamim (in two parts: Da’at Hokhmah and Makor Hokhmah), printed in Hamburg in 1692.148 Why he traveled to Hamburg to publish the book is not explained in the introduction, but while the book was being printed he enjoyed “rest and a bit of reinforcement in the great study house, the kloyz in the holy community of Altona, near Hamburg.” There he was in contact with Rabbi Zvi Hirsh ben Jacob (Hakham Zvi), and Meshulam Zalman Neumark, rabbi of the triple community of Altona-Hamburg-Wandsbeck. Both of these men drew close to him and supported his efforts.149 Shortly after the appearance of his second book, and before returning to Pinsk, R. Puhovitzer published in Hamburg his Iggeret Le‑Hakhmei Yerushalayim (Epistle to the Sages of Jerusalem).150 In 1699, he was in Venice on his way to Eretz Israel. During the winter spent there, he authored Kevod Hakhamim, consisting of selections from his previous books; it appeared in Venice in 1700.151 R. Puhovitzer did arrive in ­Jerusalem; he died there.152

The Image of the Rabbinate During the last third of the seventeenth century, the image of the rabbinate was the subject of public controversy, which found expression in the writings of R. Judah Leib Puhovitzer. We have already described the attitude of some rabbis toward yeshiva students from poor families and mentioned the weakening of institutionalized study of Torah in the yeshivas and their decline in the second half of the seventeenth century. In Derekh Hokhmah, R. Puhovitzer admonished, “Nowadays most make it a point to hire the rich as rabbis.” In fact the majority of the rabbis of Pinsk were wealthy men and lent large sums to individuals or to the Lithuanian Jewish Council. In this connection, R. Puhovitzer stressed that “the generations preceding us were

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The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

accustomed to doing things right and hiring rabbis who taught Torah even if they were poor.”153 The rabbi was not quite accurate in this critique because it is well established that the resort to wealthy rabbis and purchase of the rabbinate for money existed before 1648; even some of the great rabbis of Pinsk before the 1648 persecutions were rich men.154 It does seem, however, that this phenomenon was more widespread after the persecutions. With signs of decline within the rabbinate and rabbinic pursuit of income from various sources, the contrast between the affluent rabbis and the largely impoverished public was more pronounced at the end of the seventeenth century. R. Puhovitzer wrote about the rabbis of the outlying areas. Most of them traveled to these communities not to teach the inhabitants laws and customs but to gain the money they received for such teaching— “to fill their baskets with grain and food and their sacks with money, while they don’t teach anything . . . This is not honor for the Torah, to be like one who makes the rounds of the threshing floors.”155 He did not complain about the level of scholarship of the rabbis but about the damage to the honor of the rabbinate, which it was imperative to keep without blemish. It is impossible to know which, if any, of the rabbis of Pinsk were the target of this criticism. The overall impression is that these men fulfilled their main task of inculcating and spreading Torah study among the people. In this, they had the active cooperation of the class of Torah scholars. R. Puhovitzer’s praise of Pinsk’s reputation as a center of Torah was not empty. It was not a coincidence that some of the greatest rabbis of the era served in the Pinsk rabbinate. Pinsk was indeed an important place of Torah, and its rabbinate was one of the most prestigious in the commonwealth.

Summary: The Pinsk Jewish Community’s First Two Hundred Years The first half of this book has described the history of the growth and development of the Jewish community in Pinsk—one of the largest and most important in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth—from

The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

its founding sometime before 1506 until the closing of the first circle in its historical development at the turn of the eighteenth century. The community began modestly. A nucleus of twelve to fifteen households gained a foothold in a new place, the capital of an independent principality, in a large (by the standards of the time) city with an almost exclusively Orthodox Christian population. Two generations later, in the 1560s, around the time of the Union of Lublin, the Jewish community in Pinsk had grown fourfold to approximately fifty-five households, 275 people in a total urban population of 4,000 (7 percent). In 1648, before the persecutions, the number of Jews had increased to more than a thousand, constituting approximately 20 percent of the total, while the Christian population held steady. By the early eighteenth century, Pinsk Jewry numbered more than fifteen hundred, and they were the majority in the city whose Christian population had greatly diminished. Alongside the community in Pinsk, there grew up a Jewish settlement in Karlin that attracted some of the Jewish Pinskers. By 1700, the Jews dominated most of the commercial, arenda, and artisan occupations in the city, while the Christians—to the extent they remained—concentrated in the suburbs, engaging mainly in agriculture. Within the space of two hundred years, the demographic and economic profile of Pinsk went from one extreme to the other. This Orthodox Christian city had acquired a distinctly Jewish flavor. The stage was set for continuation of Pinsk’s development as a Jewish city and for the structure of its demography from the second half of the nineteenth century until the destruction of its Jews in 1942. The possibility of building autonomous Jewish life in Pinsk depended on the legal foundation for the Jews’ existence there. From its inception, the Jewish community in Pinsk was granted fundamental freedoms in the basic privilege of Prince Feodor, the general PolishLithuanian royal privileges for all Lithuanian Jewry, and the special charters bestowed upon the Pinsk Jewish community. The legal framework was not, however, the only determinant of the pace and direction of development. There were objective factors, static and variable, that contributed to the evolution and stabilization of the Jewish community.

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The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

The most important constant was the fact that Pinsk was located at the intersection of land and river transport routes, making the city a commercial hub. Economic competition in the sixteenth century and the first half of the seventeenth between Christian townsmen and Jews was moderate; the success of the townsmen in their attempts to restrict the Jews was slight and inconsequential. This can be explained in part by the general prosperity of the city up to 1648 and the affluence enjoyed by both Christian and Jewish merchants. There is another aspect to the progress of Pinsk Jewry, and perhaps of other Jewish communities in Lithuania–White Russia. From the 1580s, with the opening of the campaign against the independent Orthodox Church and in favor of religious union between the Catholic and Orthodox Churches, until the annexation of these areas to Russia in 1793, the ethnic-religious conflict between the Ruthenian-Orthodox populace and the Polish-Catholic regime had great significance for the Jews of Pinsk. This conflict was in addition to the ongoing antagonism—characteristic of Poland—between the members of the szlachta (who controlled the governing institutions) and the townspeople. The opposition of interests of these two groups created opportunities for Jews to fill important economic roles in the service of the nobility and the regime. These religious-ethnic and social tensions provide a fuller explanation of the political circumstances that were conducive to strengthening the Pinsk Jewish community until 1648, its quick recovery after the persecutions and wars, and its continued growth. The Jews could almost always count on the protection and encouragement of the institutions of government both in Pinsk and in the Polish capital. Over the course of these two centuries in the history of Pinsk Jewry, 1648 marks a dividing point between two very different periods— ­a lthough the general trend of growth and progress was not reversed. Until 1648, development was sometimes moderate and sometimes rapid, but always present. The period between 1648 and 1667 was a time of retrenchment, which changed the character of the process of development and altered its direction. From the early sixteenth century until 1648, the Jewish community was established, stabilized, and grew under conditions of political

The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

stability and peace. The legal foundation of the community remained strong throughout. The Jews of Pinsk made good use of the freedoms they were promised and knew how to exploit the economic opportunities with which the rapidly developing region presented them. In the sixteenth century, colonizing activity, at first sluggish and cautious but then energetic and aggressive, began in the Pinsk district. The Jews’ capital, commercial traditions, administrative ability, and diligence gave them entrée to many fields of endeavor in which they became established and successful. The Jews were able to conduct their lives in peace, while they were full of creative tension and the challenge of achieving. From the leader­ ship circle of the founders, who became land-owning grandees, to their children, who held on to those estates while skillfully taking up positions in large-scale commerce and leasing, to the great merchants and lessees of the large latifundia of the mid-seventeenth century, there is a straight line of Jewish involvement in initiating and channeling the commercial and agricultural development of Pinsk and its region. A broad class of Jews from Pinsk fulfilled a pioneering role in the colonizing effort, often in places far from the city. From the lower echelons of this class came the founding groups for many new settlements. The richer members, the big arrendators, directed, in part, the agricultural development effort; conducted lucrative businesses; participated in the shaping of large enterprises; and concentrated money, power, authority, and influence in their hands. These arrendators and their associates, the large wholesale merchants, had the drive and broad perspective of men of the world. They could supply leadership that knew how to evaluate the possibilities and limitations inherent in the political situation, prepare for unfavorable developments, and maintain contacts with the right people in the government so that their paper rights would be applied. The lower classes also demonstrated economic importance and initiative. Most supported themselves adequately—and some handsomely—through small-scale leasing, commerce, moneylending, artisanry, and community service jobs. From an internal perspective, the Pinsk Jewish community’s strength kept increasing. This reinforcement was evident in the creation of

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The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

strong governing institutions, the kahal organization, and forms of public life. Pinsk and the other Jewish communities in Lithuania were fortunate that the Polish government gave them the responsibility for collecting taxes from the Jews, at first occasionally but ultimately as a permanent obligation of the communities’ representative bodies. The Lithuanian Jewish communities used tax collection as a springboard for development of their autonomous rule, which soon went beyond inter­communal cooperation to creation of the Lithuanian Jewish Council (Va’ad Medinat Lita), a common self-governing framework for all of the Jews of Lithuania. The Pinsk community participated in the council from its inception and was a full partner in shaping its policies and operations. The vigor of the community was also reflected by the rise in Pinsk’s prestige as a center of Torah study. By the second half of the sixteenth century, the tradition of Torah study took root in Pinsk, in accordance with the same canons observed in the other important Lithuanian communities. The greatest rabbis came to occupy the Pinsk rabbinate and enhanced Pinsk’s status as a place of Torah. The Jews of Pinsk also maintained a lively spiritual and cultural life, centered around children’s education and adult study. All of this, combined with favorable external circumstances, made the community strong, stable, and self-confident. The period between 1648 and 1667 was marked by contraction. Wars, occupation, robbery, and turmoil characterized this time of troubles. As a group, the Jewish community of Pinsk withstood the trials of 1648 and the years following rather well. The leadership, lay and rabbinic, performed its duties skillfully and responsibly, foreseeing developments and managing to find a way out of difficult situations. The ordinary people demonstrated resourcefulness and alacrity in the face of danger, saving themselves and part of their property from great jeopardy. The Jews of Pinsk knew when to flee and how to protect their property from total loss. With the coming of calm, the Jews quickly and energetically renewed their businesses or found new sources of livelihood. The kahal leadership dealt decisively with the serious problems that arose, reestablishing the kahal organization after each calamity and working aggressively to restore the life of the community. This leadership was also involved in the burning issues facing all of Lithuanian Jewry under

The Peace of Andruszow to the Conquest of Pinsk

the leadership of the Lithuanian Jewish Council: refugees, redemption of captives, and rehabilitation of the educational framework. In the wrecked and impoverished Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, it was impossible for Pinsk Jewry to return to their pre-1648 circumstances. Large-scale leasing and wholesale commerce were in crisis; many were left poor while others were forced to find new, unfamiliar livelihoods. A large proportion of the Jews of the city turned to the liquor trade, mainly on a small scale. Jewish commerce had to fight for its existence and adapt to the reality of economic depression. Part of Jewish commerce now became petty retail, while the business that was once grand tried to maintain itself at a moderate level—with the help of capital loans from noblemen. The Jews of Pinsk not only survived but grew in number, continued cultivating Torah study and education, and established a wide circle of Torah scholars. The greatest rabbis of the age continued to serve as Pinsk’s rabbis, preserving the continuity of the city’s tradition as a ­center of Torah. The deeds of the Pinsk Jews, collectively and as individuals, laid the foundation for the economic, social, and cultural image of the Pinsk Jewish community over the next two hundred years.

241

F i v e From the Conquest of Pinsk by the Swedes

Until the Second Partition of Poland (1706–1793)

The Jews of Pinsk at the Beginning of the Eighteenth Century

242

The eighteenth century inaugurated a new era in the history of the Jewish community of Pinsk as it emerged as a distinctly Jewish city. The 1706 conquest of Pinsk by the Swedes may be regarded as a turning point. The war inflicted damage upon the city and its population (primarily the Christian part) but was followed by an extended period of calm. In the course of the “Northern War” (which broke out in 1700 between Sweden on one side and Denmark, Saxony, Poland, and Russia on the other), the Swedes gained control over most of Poland, Saxony, and large portions of Russia. At one point, as Charles XII, King of Sweden, attempted to block the retreat of Russian army troops from Horodno toward Ukraine, elite Swedish troops entered Pinsk. They remained in the city almost six weeks, from April 24 to June 3, 1706. The Swedes did not originally intend to stay in the city but instead continue their advance toward Wolyn. Because spring flooding had turned the swampland into a lake, King Charles decided to give his weary troops a respite and remain in the city awaiting reinforcements.1 The Swedes saw Pinsk as “a very big place, populated by Jews and people of other religions. It also has a Jesuit college with a dispensary, a rarity in these lands.” They considered Pinsk’s inhabitants more industrious than others and its products the best known and finest in the entire commonwealth.2 In early June 1706, before the Swedish army departed for Wolyn, Charles gave orders to blow up the palace of Prince Wisniowiecki, the starosta of Pinsk and owner of Karlin, and set the latter on fire. “And all the houses, along with the stores, were turned to ashes.”3

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

We do not know what befell the Jews of Pinsk during the Swedish conquest of 1706, but apparently they remained in the city and were not especially harmed. A 1717 complaint by Pinsk townsmen accused the Jews (eleven years after the fact) of protecting only their own homes from fire, while making no effort at all to save the homes of the noblemen and other Christians. Many townsmen and noblemen fled the city at the time. The complaint shows jealousy over the fact that Jews managed to save their property, while many of the Christians’ homes were destroyed by fires set by the Swedes. Following the conquest, more Christian Pinskers settled in Karlin, and their number in Pinsk diminished.4 Jews too relocated to Karlin. The Jewish community, which suffered less from the Swedish conquest, seems to have recovered more quickly as well.5

Population Growth There are enough data available to make feasible an estimate of the Jewish population of Pinsk in the eighteenth century. Bershadskii and Honik had access to statistical summaries, from the latter half of the eighteenth century, which were based on archival material of the censuses of Lithuanian Jewry in 1765–1766 and 1784. Additional archival sources include (1) a 1762 census of home and property owners in Karlin, (2) a 1764 property inventory of the city of Pinsk, (3) a 1778 property inventory of the city of Pinsk, and (4) the 1717 Christian complaint against the Pinsk Jews that contains testimony on the number of homes owned by them and is important in determining Jewish population growth.6 Examination of all these records yields several conclusions regarding the demographic development of the Jewish community in Pinsk and Karlin. In the 1717 complaint, the Pinsk Christian townsmen claimed that the Jews owned six hundred homes. If we assume an average of five people per home,7 Pinsk would have had a Jewish population of almost three thousand at the time, an unreasonably high figure that casts doubt on the basis of the calculation. The townsmen presumably exaggerated their estimate of homes

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The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

owned by Jews. According to inventories of home and property ownership, Jews and Christians together owned no more than 327 homes in 1764, and no more than 350 in 1778. It is unlikely that in 1717 the Jews alone owned 600 homes; we have no information on subsequent natural disasters or epidemics. Jews undoubtedly owned many fewer than 600 homes in 1717 (although it is possible that they did own more than in 1764), for reasons to be discussed. The townsmen’s assertion that Christian property was transferred to Jewish hands between 1706 and 1717 should not, however, be entirely dismissed. Without more statistics, any attempt to assess the number of homes owned by Jews in 1717 remains conjecture. A reasonable one is that in 1717, Pinsk Jews owned 250–275 homes at most, containing approximately three hundred Jewish families, or about fifteen hundred people, some in rented quarters.8

Jewish Population in Pinsk According to the 1766 and 1784 Censuses The official censuses of 1766 and 1784 serve as the main basis for assessing the Jewish population of Pinsk, Karlin, and the surrounding area. Jews in Pinsk, Karlin, and neighboring communities were counted from age one—males and females, householders and tenants. Comparing the 1717 estimate of 1,500 to the 1766 census figure of 1,277 (Table 5.1), it might seem as if the Jewish population decreased during the fifty-year period between 1717 and 1766. This comparison is invalid, however, because Pinsk and Karlin were sister cities that had originally been one. Although the 1766 census tallied their inhabitants separately, the combined population was at least 1,888 (1,277 plus 611). Examination of the statistics proves that even the population of Pinsk alone increased. Babies under one year of age were not counted and a significant proportion of the Jewish population was “concealed” from the census takers in 1766. If these numbers for Pinsk are estimated (see below), there were in 1766 1,613 Jews in Pinsk (see Table 5.2), despite the fact that many of the residents had left the city and moved elsewhere. The Pinsk population thus grew considerably but was highly mobile in its search for livelihood. One expression of demographic growth was establishment of Karlin as a separate community and the exodus to surrounding towns and small communities linked to Pinsk.9

table 5.1 Jews in Pinsk and the Vicinity According to the Census of 1766 Place

Pinsk (the city) Zarzecze (right of the Pina) Zagorodie (left of the Pina) Total Karlin Total

Population

1,277 581 352 2,210 611 2,821

Lubieszow

385

Dabrowica

404

Dawidgrodek

408

Turow

316

Stolin

408

Horodnie

109

Wojnowo

108

Janow

422

Drohiczyn

510

Chomsk

539

Motol Lohiszyn

98 209

Wysock

85

Pohost

193

Total

7,015

sources: Based on TY, p. 62. The results of the census for Lithuania have never been published. According to LY, p. 4, the raw census material was in the Vilna Central Archive ledger 3633 and “Large Bundle” 3965. This material was used by Israel Klausner in the 1930s; see his History of the Hebrew Community in Vilna, pp. 47–48. Honik also used this archival material with regard to the statistics for Pinsk and vicinity. In Honik’s table (TY, p. 62), twelve communities are missing (approximately thirty-six hundred people). According to Rabbi Avigdor ben Hayyim, around 1790 there were more than ten thousand Jews in the Pinsk region, Wilensky, Hasidim and Mitnaggedim, vol. 1, p. 255.

246

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland table 5.2 Population of Pinsk in 1766, Augmented by Infants and “the Concealed” Place

1766 Census Figures

Infants 6.35%

“The Concealed” 20%

Pinsk

1,277

81

255

1,613

933

59

187

1,179

2,210

140

442

2,792

611

39

122

772

Pinsk, Zarzecze, Zagorodie, 2,821 Karlin combined

179

564

3,564

Pinsk, Karlin

120

377

2,385

Zarzecze, Zagorodie Total Karlin

1,888

Corrected Figures

The populations of Zarzecze and Zagorodie are listed in the census immediately following the figure for Pinsk and preceding that for Karlin. The reference is clearly not to Jews living in suburbs of Pinsk but to residents of settlements and towns in the vicinity, directly linked by communal ties to Pinsk, although they did not live in the city proper. Zarzecze apparently refers to the towns in the area south of the Pina and Pripet rivers, in the direction of Wolyn, a region covered by swamps, rivers, and lakes. Zagorodie probably refers to towns in the area of the junction of the Pina and Jasiolda rivers, higher in altitude and more populous than Zarzecze.10 In the eighteenth century, Jews of Pinsk must have continued to leave the city, seeking work close by in the towns and small settlements of Zarzecze and Zagorodie.11 These people’s financial obligations were probably to the Pinsk kahal; they were more closely linked to it than were the residents of neighboring Karlin. This would explain the order of the census listing. The 1766 census gives us a picture of the Karlin community, which had grown and developed since the early 1700s into a sizeable settlement. Karlin was built, for the most part, by former Pinskers seeking to relocate. This movement took on significant dimensions in the 1730s and 1740s and had considerable impact on Pinsk’s capacity to live up to its financial obligations.12

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

According to Table 5.1, Pinsk had a population of 2,210 people (1,277 in Pinsk proper, and 933 in Zarzecze and Zagorodie) and Karlin had a population of 611.13 Although the 1766 census, executed with great care, was more accurate than others, it is fairly certain that the Jews concealed their true numbers, since the purpose of the census was to assess the head tax. According to the Polish historian Korzon, official figures for the Jewish population were always too low, and census takers in both the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were unable to arrive at accurate figures.14 Rafael Mahler’s study of Jewish population figures in Poland, based upon the 1764–1766 census, illustrates that the official figures must be augmented by 6.35 percent for infants below the age of one year, and by approximately 20 percent for those concealed.15 His conclusion should apply to Lithuania and Pinsk as well. The corrected figures would then read as shown in Table 5.2. According to Mahler’s formula, the corrected population figure for Brest would be 4,012, and for Vilna 6,716.16 In 1784, toward the end of Polish rule, another census was taken of the Jewish population. Neither the authorities nor the census takers put much stock in the necessity for a census. Bershadskii rightly commented on the inaccuracy of its totals.17 This is most striking in the Pinsk data, particularly compared to the 1766 census (Table 5.3).

table 5.3 Jewish Population of Pinsk-Karlin and Vicinity in 1784 Place

Jews Who Could Pay Head Tax; No. Families / No. Individuals

Jews Who Couldn’t Servants Pay Head Tax; No. Families / No. Individuals

Total Families

Total Individuals

Pinsk

207 / 537

92 / 179

106

299

822

Zarecze

99 / 438

41 / 109

—

140

547

Zagorodie

87 / 354

31 / 87

—

128

441

Karlin

78 / 306

37 / 90

9

115

396

—

11 / 35

—

11

Karlin vicinity

Total source: Based on TY, p. 63.

35 2,241

247

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The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

Comparison of the total in the 1784 census with the total in the 1766 census yields the picture shown in Table 5.4. The comparison shows a decrease in the Jewish population of Pinsk by 18.1 percent, and of Karlin by 30 percent.18 This ostensible decline in the Jewish population, demonstrated by the 1784 census, is indicated for other communities in the Pinsk area, and for Lithuania in general. Bershadskii (followed by Honik) and Korzon proved, however, that a decline in Jewish population between 1766 and 1784 is implausible.19 This does not render the 1784 statistics totally useless. The figures for individuals are inaccurate, but not so the figures for families or households. Table 5.3 shows that the total number of families in Pinsk, Zarzecze, and Zagorodie was 567 (299 + 140 + 128). The total of individuals was 1,810 (counting servants), leading to the conclusion that the average Jewish household in Pinsk consisted of 3.19 persons. In Karlin and the vicinity, there were 126 families, and a total of 431 individuals (not counting servants), or an average of 3.42 persons per family. These averages are very low and can be explained only by assuming that, in order to lower the aggregate tax, there was widespread concealment of family members who were supposed to be counted. Before 1784, average family size was not less than five persons; by the end of the eighteenth century, this rose to approximately six, and in the nineteenth century the estimate should be even higher.20 Calculating the Jewish table 5.4 Comparison of Censuses of 1766 and 1784 Place

Total Individuals, 1766

Pinsk

Total Individuals, 1784

1,277

822

Zarzecze

581

547

Zagorodie

352

441

2,210

1,810

Pinsk, Zarzecze, Zagorodie Karlin and vicinity Total

611 2,821

431* 2,241

note: * The total here is 35 greater than in TY, table 3, p. 63. This includes the 35 people who lived on the outskirts of Karlin, which Honik did not take into account. They are included in our Table 5.2.

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland table 5.5 Estimate of the Population of Pinsk-Karlin and Vicinity in 1784, Based on Number of Families Place Total Families

Pinsk

299

Total Individuals (at Average 5 per Family)

Total Individuals (at Average 6 per Family)

1,495

1,794

Zarzecze

140

700

840

Zagorodie

128

640

768

Total

567

2,835

3,392

Karlin

126

630

756

Total

693

3,465

4,148

Pinsk

299

1,495

1,794



106

106

Total, Pinsk

1,601

1,900a

126

630

756



9

9

Total, Karlin

639

  + servants Karlin   + servants Pinsk-Karlin

425

2,230

765b 2,665

notes: a 106 servants have been added to the total number of Pinsk Jewish residents on the assumption that that they were not counted in the census as members of the families they served. For statistical purposes, these servants are considered to be individuals and not family heads. b The nine servants were added to the total.

population of Pinsk, Karlin, and vicinity by multiplying the number of families by a realistic average per family, we receive the statistical picture shown in Table 5.5. I tend to consider the higher figures better estimates of the Jewish populations of Pinsk and Karlin: 1,900 in Pinsk, and 765 in Karlin, for a total of 2,665 inhabitants in Pinsk and Karlin.21 The only data available on the total population (Jews and Christians) of Pinsk are the figures of Busching and Szacfaier. Busching sets the number at 2,250 and Szacfaier at 4,500. Korzon rejects Busching’s estimate and accepts Szacfaier’s.22 Property inventories taken in 1762 and 177823 offer the information on homes and land owned by Jews and Christians in Karlin and Pinsk shown in Tables 5.6 and 5.7.

249

250

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland table 5.6 Owners of Land and Homes in Karlin in 1762

Jews

Christians

Total



94

49

143



65.7%

34.3%

100%

table 5.7 Owners of Land and Homes in Pinsk in 1764 and 1778



1764





1778



Jews

Christians

Total

Jews

Christians

Total

Pinsk

182

143

325

200

132

332

0

2

2

3

15

18

Total

182

145

327

203

147

350

Percentages

55.7

44.3

100

58

42

100

Suburbs

source: Inventories (lists of houses and real property) in Pinsk from 1764 and 1778; Kontrym, p. 2; SG 8, p. 176.

The numbers for property owners (families) depicted in these two tables do not necessarily enlighten us about the ratio between Jewish and Christian families in Pinsk and Karlin. Table 5.5 shows that in 1784 there were 299 Jewish families in Pinsk—that is, 96 more than in 1778. Most of them presumably lived in rented quarters and were not among the property owners. It is also reasonable to assume that the Christian population did not increase between 1778 and 1784,24 and that the number of property owners among them matched the number of families. In the early 1780s, therefore, the 147 Christian families of Pinsk, at six individuals per family, numbered 882 people. In 1784, accordingly, the total population of Pinsk was: Jews Christians Total

1,900 882 2,782

68.3% 31.7% 100%

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

Table 5.7 illustrates another point. Between 1764 and 1778, the number of Jewish property holders grew by 10.1 percent, and the number of Christian property holders by only 1.4 percent. The Christian population migrated, in significant numbers, from the city to the suburbs; the number of Christian property holders in Pinsk proper decreased by nine, while the number of Jewish property holders there increased by eighteen. In the suburbs, Christian property holders increased from two to fifteen, and Jewish property holders from zero to three. Assuming that this process continued to 1793, on the eve of the second partition of Poland the Pinsk population was approximately 70 percent Jewish and 30 percent Christian. This ratio is probably applicable to Karlin as well. Between 1766 and 1784, the Jewish population of Pinsk increased from 1,613 to 1,900, a growth of 17.8 percent or about 1 percent each year. If we posit similar growth—an increase of 8 percent—between 1784 and 1793, we may assume that at the end of Polish rule the Jewish population was: Pinsk 1,900 + 171 = 2,071 Jews Karlin 765 + 69 = 834 Jews Total 2,905 Jews

Charting the figures for the Pinsk Jewish population, from the beginning of the eighteenth century to its close, we find: 1717 1766 1784 1793

1,500 1,613 (including Karlin, 2,385) 1,900 (including Karlin, 2,665) 2,071 (including Karlin, 2,905)

Over a period of nearly eighty years, the combined Jewish population of Pinsk and Karlin grew by 93.3 percent. Pinsk and Karlin became decidedly Jewish in their demographic makeup.

The Pinsk Vicinity Several developments left their mark on Poland’s political character in the eighteenth century: progressive disintegration of administrative order and government institutions; the nobility’s growing power and influence in the commonwealth; and the unlimited, often irresponsible,

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authority of nobles over their own estates. These factors led to the imminent demise of Poland as an independent state by the end of the eighteenth century. The central government, headed by an elected king who was dependent on the graces of the nobility, lacked power; executive and judicial institutions were too enfeebled to exercise real authority. This situation had significant repercussions for the self-rule enjoyed by the Jews of Lithuania. In the latter half of the seventeenth century, the Lithuanian Council managed to continue as the central ruling body, overcoming crises that threatened to limit its power and capacity to impose discipline. In its concern for public welfare, the council was able to garner the cooperation of the Lithuanian communities, even though by the mid-seventeenth century administrative order was already disintegrating in the country as a whole. The situation changed in the eighteenth century. Starting in the 1720s, individuals and groups tried to secede from the larger community and breach conventional frameworks. This was the start of a new trend, rooted in political and social developments in Poland-Lithuania no less than in circumstances within Jewish society. In 1712, the magnate Mikolaj Radziwill brought suit before the Lithuanian Tribunal, on behalf of the community of Zdzieciol (Zhetl). Radziwill filed against the five chief communities (including Pinsk), appealing against a substantial rise in the head tax, whose previous rate was 625 zlotys. He claimed that the Jews of his town had recently suffered an epidemic and the tax increase was liable to destroy the community. Radziwill also argued that a directive from the officers of the tribunal’s treasury indicated that the Jews were not obligated to pay more than the sum they had paid till now. The heads of the five chief communities, with their excessive demands, had caused damage and losses in the sum of thirty-three hundred zlotys to the community of Zdzieciol. The community demanded repayment of this amount, by coercion if necessary, and called on the tribunal to sentence the heads of the chief communities to exile. The tribunal accepted Radziwill’s arguments and handed down a verdict canceling the increase in head tax and obligating the heads of the chief communities to pay the Zdzieciol community thirty-three hundred zlotys in damages and expenses.25 Although this suit does not pertain directly to Pinsk, it is relevant

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

because it demonstrates developments in the relationships between the chief communities of Lithuania, including Pinsk, and their subordinate communities. The case contains all the elements of the communal particularism soon to be common in Lithuanian communities and is characteristic of what would happen in the Pinsk district during the course of the century. We may infer that (1) a small community directly subject to the council turned to the courts in its dispute with the council; (2) situated on private land, the Zdzieciol community assured itself of not only protection by an influential nobleman but also his active intervention (he appeared as the claimant on the Jews’ behalf); (3) serious accusations were advanced, reflecting a severe conflict of interest between small communities and the chief communities, and a conscious decision was made to take the dispute out of the Jewish arena; and (4) the tribunal’s acceptance of the claimant’s arguments and its order to the council to reduce the head tax and pay compensation struck a serious blow at the foundations of Lithuanian Jewish autonomy. This case was but the first of many like it in the Pinsk district and other areas.

The First Dispute with the Subordinate Communities Between 1650 and 1679, eight permanent communities were established that remained subordinate to Pinsk.26 Little is known about these and other new communities formed in the Pinsk vicinity between the 1680s and the 1760s. From the 1720s and 1750s, we know of Karlin and of several communities in North Wolyn (Olewsk, Baracze, Jezomyrz, Chernobyl, Ostrorog) that attempted to secede from the Pinsk district. In the 1760s, before the dissolution of the Lithuanian Council, communities in the district revolted against Pinsk. The communities declaring their independence were Janow, Wojnowo, Motol, Drohiczyn, Chomsk, Lohiszyn, Stolin, Dabrowica, Horodnie, Lubieszow, Lachowicze, Kleck, Kozangrodek, Lachwa, Turow, Dawidgrodek, Wysock, Petrykow, Narovel, Turovec, Slaweczna, Ozoricz, Lelczyc, Kopitkewicz, Mozyr, and Reczyca. Of the twenty-six settlements in the Pinsk district named in the 1760s, fourteen existed in 1679. All the others were formed, or developed as separate communities afterward, in the eighty years between 1680 and 1760. This was a period of serious economic hardship

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for communities and individuals, growing difficulties for social institutions, and breakdown of discipline within the council; yet new Jewish settlements were established throughout the district.27 Impoverished Jews as well as young people seeking a means to earn a living turned to these new settlements, particularly on the latifundia of the high nobility. In the 1660s, the issue of control over new satellite communities led to serious disputes among the chief communities. Each main community sought to enlarge the area under its jurisdiction, to maximize opportunities for tax collection.28 These disputes involved only the chief communities, and a few of the larger communities (Minsk, and perhaps Sluck, which became a “chief community” only in 1691); the smaller places were not parties to the debate. In the 1700s, the problem of the relationship between chief communities and their subordinates was more complex and far more pressing. Numerous conflicts concerning jurisdiction over the surrounding communities erupted between 1720 and 1770. These were no longer squabbles among the chief communities but confrontations between the chief communities and the subordinate ones, revolving around the desire of the latter to be independent. The single regulation enacted in Chomsk by an ad hoc session of the Lithuanian Jewish Council in the winter of 172129 illustrates the opposition of the smaller communities in all districts to their respective chief communities and to the Lithuanian Jewish Council. Allocation of an increased head tax, legislated by the Sejm in 1717, had already been worked out by a committee in Amdur in 1720.30 The apportionment provoked a general uprising, and the Lithuanian Jewish Council was forced to assemble in Chomsk only one year later to deal with the new state of affairs. The regulation describes the situation: “Many are those who protest the head-tax calculated at the last Council session in Amdur, and they save themselves [from paying] by appealing to various noblemen; thereby wrecking the status and position of the medinah [that is, Lithuanian Jewry as a whole] by arousing hatred on the part of His Excellency the General towards the whole medinah because of the unpaid obligations of certain communities and districts.”31 The regulation incorporated a strong resolution with respect to communities evading the head tax. The council heads, on behalf of the chief communities, were responsible for collecting taxes, and any community

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

or settlement refusing to fulfill its duty would suffer the strictest ban. A penalty of double the outstanding tax would be imposed, and those who abetted or incited, that is, “whoever they may be, individual or leader or rabbi, who takes any action, even simply speaking whether to a lord or a common nobleman, or whether before the community or the district, assists transgressors and rebels, will be banned, ostracized and expelled from all Jewish communities with all due severity.” A distinguished committee was promptly appointed to supervise ­execution of the resolution governing collection of the head tax. The conflict between the council and the smaller communities that rebelled against paying taxes did not remain within the Jewish camp but erupted openly before the Polish courts. Various communities in Belarus, Zmudz, and other parts of Lithuania filed suit against the five chief communities. (The Chomsk resolution apparently did not produce immediate results.) The chief communities were charged with collecting one hundred thousand zlotys over and above the amount legislated by the Sejm in 1717, and, on October 28, 1721, approximately eight months after the Chomsk session, the tribunal of the treasury pronounced them guilty. The court ordered them not to collect more monies than required by law, and to refrain from easing their own tax load by increasing the burden of the subordinate communities.32 The revolt against tax-paying arrangements that broke out in certain communities in the Pinsk district, even before the Amdur and Chomsk sessions of 1720 and 1721, was essentially no different from the rebellion referred to in the Chomsk regulation. The harsh words addressed to dissident communities were pertinent in the Pinsk area as well. The earliest evidence of bad relations between Pinsk and the surrounding communities is a document from January 19, 1719. The leaders of the Pinsk community applied for and received a royal proclamation (universal), ordering the surrounding communities not to evade paying taxes to Pinsk. The text indicates that the Jews of Pinsk had appealed to the king through the royal council and court officials. They claimed that in order to pay their taxes to the king as required by the Sejm, as well as their debts to the monasteries and other creditors, the Jews of the communities under their jurisdiction (in both Lithuania and Poland) must submit payments regularly33: “Now certain surrounding communities

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resist authority; making excuses and using protekcja [influence, clout], they evade payment of the taxes imposed upon them. This is liable to destroy [the Jews of Pinsk], for they cannot pay their taxes and meet their obligations.” The king concurred with the Pinsk request and ordered communities in Lithuania and Poland that had long belonged to Pinsk to continue to obey the Pinsk community and remit their share of the taxes and obligations.34 Assuming much time had to elapse between Pinsk’s dispute with its surrounding communities and the granting of the proclamation (likely the result of vigorous lobbying), the controversy probably began in mid-1718 at the latest. The language of the document implies that the reason for the agitation was the division of the tax burden within the Pinsk district, which was similar to the cause of the 1712 dispute between Zdzieciol and the Lithuanian Jewish Council. There was probably a connection between the 1718 outbreak of the Pinsk dispute and the 1717 act of the “Pacification Sejm” raising the head tax of Lithuanian Jewry to a total of sixty thousand zlotys.35 This decision led to revival of the Lithuanian Jewish Council, which had hardly met since 1700.36 As specifically noted in the proclamation, the Pinsk community had already raised taxes in order to pay debts to monasteries and private creditors. In 1717, it was suddenly forced to collect a total of 4,750 zlotys from its district, a sum nearly seventeen times higher, in nominal terms at least, than that collected at the end of the seventeenth century.37 The Sejm had authorized the chief communities to allocate and collect taxes, and they evidently fulfilled their obligation with fervor, collecting larger sums than required to cover other communal needs. King August II’s universal was entered in the Owrucz court records on October 30, 1719, nine months after it was granted, by an envoy of the Pinsk kahal, Jacob Mowszowicz. The kahal probably dispatched him to record the universal specifically in Owrucz, probably because it was the locus of opposition to Pinsk’s jurisdiction over a group of communities in North Wolyn. In this first contest in the Pinsk district, the Owrucz community was the loser and was forced to continue under Pinsk’s authority.38

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

Six years later, in 1725, a dispute between Pinsk and Ostrorog concerning the former’s jurisdiction over the latter reached the court of the Council of Four Lands. Pinsk prevailed once more. The Ostrorog representatives claimed in court that their community had never belonged to Pinsk. The court dispatched a committee to investigate the matter and decreed that since all the surrounding communities in the Kiev region had belonged to Pinsk in the past they would belong to Pinsk in the future as well. The Pinsk community was authorized to banish and punish anyone who rebelled against the court’s order.39 The Ostrorog community presumably accepted the judgment; the problem did not arise again until the 1750s.

Renewed Conflict with the Subordinate Communities A legal document dated January 2, 1750, sheds light on a renewed dispute between the Pinsk community and the Council of Wolyn Jewish Communities over control of several communities in North Wolyn: Baracze, Olewsk, Jezomyrz, and others. Evidently, in 1749 the heads of the Wolyn communities had managed to obtain a directive from the tribunal of the treasury in Radom, which stated that villages and cities in the Owrucz district belonged to the Wolyn council. The Wolyn council (composed of representatives of Ostrog, Wlodzimierz [Ludmir], Dubno, and Krzemieniec [Kremenetz]) had invested much in the lobbying effort needed to obtain the directive. It is not clear whether it came as a surprise to the leaders of the Pinsk community, or whether they just were unable to thwart its release. In any case, Pinsk refused to accept the order and set out to protect its rights. First, the community induced several noblemen in key positions to submit, on January 2, 1750, an official complaint against the heads of the Wolyn council. The complaint contains facts about the causes of the severance of the North Wolyn communities (Baracze, Olewsk, Jezomyrz, and others) from Pinsk, and their annexation to the Wolyn district. The Wolyn district lobbied the authorities in Radom, and representatives of Ostrog, Wlodzimierz, and Dubno submitted notes to the treasury for the head tax of the Wolyn district. Following this, the Wolyn council was granted the authority to collect the head tax in the communities of

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the Owrucz area. The document includes the Pinsk community’s legal arguments: the communities of Baracze, Olewsk, and Jezomyrz had not willingly aligned themselves with the Wolyn district; there were deceptions (suptelnym podesciem) involved; the heads of the Wolyn district collected excessively high taxes and required taxes even from communities that were exempt because they had suffered severe damage during the war. From the evidence, it is not clear whether Baracze, Olewsk, and Jezomyrz initiated and actively participated in the dispute between Wolyn and Pinsk or whether, as argued by the spokesmen for Pinsk, they considered their interests better served under Pinsk jurisdiction.40 A letter from the leaders of the Wolyn district to the community of Chernobyl, filed in the records of the Owrucz court on February 8, 1750 (five weeks after the noblemen working for Pinsk submitted their complaint against the heads of the Wolyn district), indicates that the Chernobyl community at the least was not enthusiastic about the new arrangement. The community leaders of Dubno, Krzemieniec, and Wlodzimierz attempted to convince the heads of Chernobyl to come to Owrucz on February 19 or 20, for a meeting of communities of the ­Owrucz area with the heads of the Wolyn communities. At that time, the head tax would be divided between all the communities in the ­Owrucz area and a decision would be made regarding where Chernobyl should remit payment. The delegates of the Wolyn district, apparently those who signed the notes to the treasury in Radom, were pressing to bring the matter to a close by allocating the taxes so that they should suffer no personal damage. Another document, noted in the Owrucz court records at the end of February, shows that the Chernobyl leaders did come to Owrucz for the meeting on February 19 or 20, but they waited in vain for the Wolyn leaders. That the Chernobyl leaders wanted the fact of their appearance recorded by the court indicates they were not in agreement with the heads of the Wolyn district and came to Owrucz because they were summoned. They probably preferred the old arrangement of affiliation with Pinsk, and it may well be that the noblemen’s complaint against the leaders of the Wolyn district was submitted on behalf of Chernobyl and other such communities.41 Pinsk’s opposition to the Wolyn annexation met with partial success. The issue of jurisdiction over Baracze, Olewsk, and Jezomyrz was

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

brought up for renewed debate before the Polish minister of finance, Karol ­Odrowaz Siedlnicki, who referred the decision on November 7, 1750, to a 1751 session of the Council of Four Lands. Siedlnicki declared that until the council handed down a verdict, the communities would remain within the Pinsk district.42 The Pinsk community apparently succeeded in presenting a sound and convincing case, supporting its claims with privileges and other documents and perhaps enlisting the aid of certain communities that did not wish to align themselves with the Wolyn district. We do not know if the Council of Four Lands became involved in the dispute; if it did, we do not know what its verdict was. From late 1750 until 1761, we have no information on other conflicts between Pinsk and Wolyn, and this may mean Pinsk succeeded in obtaining a verdict that sanctioned its demand for jurisdiction over the communities of Wolyn. In the face of opposition from the Wolyn district, maintaining practical control over the Northern Wolyn communities was difficult and complicated. Pinsk managed to do so for a number of years, but in the late 1750s the situation became precarious once more when people of the Wolyn district turned to force. A 1761 enactment of the Lithuanian Jewish Council, discussing allocation of the head tax for the Pinsk community over a period of six years, states that the community should deduct 200 zlotys annually from the sum it must pay (2,860 zlotys) “to cover what was stolen by people of the Polish region.”43 “People of the Polish region” probably refers to the Wolyn council. The renewed dispute was not quickly resolved. In 1765, the Lithuanian Tribunal dealt with the conflict and declared that the Pinsk community possessed authority over these areas (in North Wolyn).44 This was of dubious significance, however, since the Polish Sejm had already dissolved the Lithuanian Jewish Council in 1764. Although the Pinsk community made valiant attempts, it found itself between 1763 and 1766 unable to stem the tide of massive secession by communities formerly under its jurisdiction. On February 4, 1763, the Pinsk community succeeded in obtaining an order from Michal Jozef Massalski, the head of the Lithuanian army: “I hereby order you, once and for all . . . to make soldiers available, as requested by the Pinsk community, in the numbers required, to enable

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the community to collect the head-tax in the Pinsk district, in the districts of Mozyr and Rzeczyca and also in the region of Novogrodek.”45 Pinsk no longer had the power to sustain routine tax collection in its district; the organizational framework was weak and the city could not project its authority. Surrounding communities were probably aware of plans to abolish the Lithuanian Jewish Council and change the method of tax collection and took advantage of the situation. More distant communities, such as Mozyr and Rzeczyca and those in the Nowogrodek region (perhaps Lachowicze and Kleck), acted first. In 1764, the year it dissolved the Lithuanian Jewish Council, the Sejm demanded that the Lithuanian Financial Commission, recently established to perform the task of liquidating debts of the Jewish communities, assist Pinsk in its fight with the fractious communities. Even the Sejm’s intervention (following intensive lobbying on the part of the Pinsk kahal) was ineffectual. Before long, nearly all the subordinate communities rebelled against the Pinsk community and declared their independence. The revolt was total; Pinsk was powerless to halt, even partially, the collapse of organized Jewish self-rule in its district between 1763 and 1765.46 The connection of the collapse to the 1764 Sejm decision to abolish the Lithuanian Jewish Council is not just temporal. The sudden change in legal status of the Lithuanian communities’ general organization gave final impetus to communities—their subordination to their chief community being already appreciably attenuated during the course of the eighteenth century—to completely shake off any organizational link to the chief community. It seemed to the subordinate communities that Pinsk no longer had any role in collecting the head tax, because the government intended to collect the tax from the Jews directly and locally rather than through the council. If, previously, along with the head tax Pinsk collected additional sums to cover interest payments and debts, now the subordinate communities could conveniently free themselves from the collective responsibility of repaying Pinsk’s onerous debts. The Pinsk community was in a difficult position. The community served as the creditors’ address for repayment of loans taken on by any entity or individual connected to it. It could not carry the burden of interest payments and debts with only its own resources to draw on.

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

Pinsk had no alternative but to carry on a legal battle for continued domination of the district, which in practice would force the communities to share the burden of debt repayment. Otherwise, the Pinsk community was destined for bankruptcy. In 1766, Pinsk brought its dispute with the subordinate communities before the court of the Committee for the Liquidation of Jewish Debts. Pinsk sued the recalcitrant communities, demanding reinstatement of its former rights, on the basis of the 1764 Sejm decision that the Lithuanian Financial Commission must assist Pinsk in its contest with the fractious communities because of its difficult fiscal position. The defendants—the small communities—cited the Sejm resolution that abolished the council’s countrywide authority together with the established method of tax collection. Matters did not proceed in Pinsk’s favor in court, and once its representatives saw that the decision was about to go against them, they requested that the court at least obligate the small communities to share in Pinsk’s communal debt repayment, which was actually the responsibility of all the communities in the district. The court did not comply and instead transferred the entire matter to the financial commission.47 We have no direct information on the outcome of the appeal, but it seems that the Pinsk community’s suit found an attentive ear on the part of the authorities. In view of the complex tax issues complicating relations between the Lithuanian Jewish Council and the authorities, and given the related problem of the communities’ heavy debts to church institutions and prominent nobles, the law of 1764, which was meant to release the individual Jew from dependence on the rule of the kahal, was simply not practicable. The authorities could not implement the new law immediately. The census in 1765–1766 (censuses were to be held every five years) convinced the authorities of the difficulties of the change.48 A memorandum from circa 1770 presented by the community of Pinsk to the Lithuanian Financial Commission describes the existing relationship between Pinsk and the smaller communities in the late 1760s. The chief community complained that the small communities did not remit the head tax and therefore Pinsk found itself in the devastating position of having to raise an additional one thousand zlotys. The community could not force payment because the local tax authority had

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but a single soldier at its disposal; the kahal could not collect the tax because of the danger involved: the “owners” (nobles on whose ­estates the small communities were located) threatened violence, and the Jews of these places did not hesitate to ignore kahal directives. When representatives of the Pinsk community came to these privately owned towns to force the Jews to pay by means of bans or excommunication, they were caught and beaten by the nobles. The Pinsk community saw no alternative but to request transfer of tax collection from the small communities to the government tax authority, which might be able to get these communities to pay their taxes.49 Several conclusions may be drawn from this memorandum. 1. The government supported the Pinsk community in its struggle to make the small communities share the responsibility to pay taxes, but it was incapable of providing assistance in collecting taxes when force became necessary. 2. In their battle with the chief communities, the Jews of the small communities frequently used the active assistance of the noblemen,50 whose power and influence in eighteenth-century Poland were ­paramount. 3. Restoration of the reciprocal relationship between the subordinate communities and Pinsk was impossible in the political and social climate of Poland on the eve of its loss of independence.

The outcome of the contest between Pinsk and the surroundings was decided between 1760 and 1770. Pinsk’s successes in its legal struggle had no real effect, because in the new situation the organization of the Lithuanian communities and its leadership (including the rabbis) lacked the power to resist the trend to break up and divide jurisdiction. Any attempt to maintain the framework through coercion, depending on a government incapable of enforcing its will, was doomed to failure.

Karlin and Its Ties to Pinsk The start of Jewish settlement in Karlin, during the final decade of the seventeenth century, has already been discussed,51 but little is known of Karlin’s development in the first half of the eighteenth century.

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

Documentation is available only from the mid-eighteenth century, when Karlin succeeded in organizing itself as an independent community, thereby arousing powerful opposition from Pinsk. The dispute was brought before the authorities as well as the council. Records from the period relate primarily to Karlin and its ties to Pinsk in the 1750s. But because they contain references to earlier events, a picture of the first half of the eighteenth century can be drawn retrospectively. Poor Christian townsmen from Pinsk continued to settle in Karlin in the early 1700s, around which time ownership was transferred from the Dolski family to Prince Michal Wisniowiecki. The new settlers were exempted from taxes for several years, and the settlement apparently improved opportunities for work or livelihood of some sort; perhaps this was due to the prince’s conscious desire to develop the area. Jews as well continued to settle in Karlin.52 By the mid-eighteenth century, Karlin had grown into a significant Jewish community, capable of sustaining itself as an independent entity. Scattered data in documents from the 1750s show that as early as the 1740s the Karlin Jewish community had a synagogue, a rabbi, judges, shamashim, and teachers of its own, even before it separated from the Pinsk community. In 1751, Karlin also received permission to establish a cemetery, wherever it chose, and surround it with a fence. The permit stated that anyone desecrating the cemetery would be subject to a fine of one thousand imperials.53 The livelihoods mentioned in these documents attest to a fairly ­established settlement. The Jews of Karlin were engaged in small-, medium-, and even large-scale business enterprises, and some owned distilleries and taverns.54 Permission to establish a separate cemetery marked a milestone in the development of the Jewish settlement in Karlin. Karlin’s synagogue was not indicative of separatist tendencies, because the Pinsk community had grown at the end of the seventeenth century and there were several additional synagogues there.55 It was reasonable that the expanding quarter of Karlin should have its own house of worship. Another rabbi as a halakhic authority to serve Karlin’s Jews was natural too. Establishment of a cemetery, however, was different56; even communities several times larger than Pinsk made do with one cemetery. A separate cemetery—and the tremendous lobbying effort it

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required—signified secession from the mother community. This probably took place in the late 1740s, or early 1750 at the latest. Karlin’s separatist move should be seen in the political and social context of eighteenth-century Poland and Lithuania, where powerful aristocrats were able to extend tangible assistance to “their” Jews. Noblemen could protect a small community from coercion by its chief community if it wished to be free of sharing heavy debts, or if it felt that leaders of the chief community were unfairly lenient toward the rich and powerful while dealing harshly with the middle and lower classes.57 Precedents for a new relationship between Karlin and Pinsk were easy to find. In 1741, the Jews of the Jesuit-owned section of Brest, with the rector of the Jesuit colony serving as their spokesman, threatened to secede from the main community. In 1744, the Jews of Vilna’s Antokol quarter signed an agreement with the Vilna community that granted them broad autonomy; it resembled the compromise agreement that would be worked out between Pinsk and Karlin. Karlin’s attempt to secede from Pinsk was, even more likely, related to the secessionist movement of the Northern Wolyn communities from the Pinsk district, discussed earlier. The idea of secession—Karlin from the Pinsk community, and Northern Wolyn from the Pinsk district—evolved in the late 1740s, and first steps were taken in 1751. The specific charges and complaints against Pinsk are unknown, but the timing was probably not coincidental, coming against the background of the issues of shared tax collection and shared responsibility for debt repayment. Karlin and Northern Wolyn were the first to rupture conventional organizational structures because they could seize on legal arguments for independence—Karlin as a new community, under the patronage of a powerful noble, and Northern Wolyn since Wolyn belonged to Poland, while Pinsk was in Lithuania. The Pinsk community realized the significance of the permit to establish a cemetery in Karlin and reacted forcefully, not hesitating to employ pressure tactics. On August 5, 1751, about five months after permission for the cemetery was granted, the Lithuanian minister of the treasury, Grigori Fleming, sent a letter to all the superintendents, scribes, and clerks in the customs houses of Lithuania. He gave strict

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

orders not to discriminate against Karlin merchants and not to charge them excessive fees. The implication is that Pinsk exploited its special status as a chief community and the influence of the Lithuanian Jewish Council in customs affairs to harass Karlin traders, in retaliation for their community’s separatist tendencies. Open insurrection was not long in coming; Karlin simply refused to pay its taxes to Pinsk. The Pinsk kahal responded by suing Karlin’s leaders in the court of the kahal. When the leaders refused to appear, suit was filed against them in the local Polish court. Its head, the Pinsk starosta, Michal Oginski, suggested a compromise. Pinsk thereupon sued Karlin before the Lithuanian Jewish Council, which decided that Karlin should choose one of the chief communities and its court would decide the dispute. Karlin opted for Horodno, and on November 10, 1755, the Horodno court pronounced that Karlin must pay a total of 60,206 zlotys 8 grosze and 2 shillings, in two payments, as penalty for secession from Pinsk. In addition, Karlin must pay the sum of 3,600 zlotys annually, also in two payments, to cover repayment of debts incurred by Pinsk on behalf of subordinate communities, including Karlin.58 This was a harsh verdict. The Karlin community had a population, at most, of five hundred inhabitants, or approximately ninety to one hundred families,59 meaning that each family would have to remit 650–700 zlotys in taxes and penalties to Pinsk. The Karliners refused to comply and conflict was renewed, lasting for another six or seven months. A compromise was finally reached on July 2, 1756, following intervention by Michal Oginski, the starosta of Pinsk; and Adam Brzostowski, the owner of Karlin, who imposed a settlement on both sides.60 The terms of the agreement were that Karlin agreed to pay 20,000 zlotys plus interest in five installments.61 This was a debt owed by Pinsk to ­Samuel Orda, judge of the Pinsk district court; for the next twelve years, Karlin would pay Pinsk (1) 800 zlotys annually, in two payments, and there­after (2) 750 zlotys annually (this sum included taxes of 500 zlotys, 50 zlotys for wagons for transporting itinerant poor out of the city, a salary for the rabbi of 50 zlotys, and miscellaneous expenses of 150 zlotys).62 If the Karlin community ever became impoverished, Pinsk pledged to reduce the sum by 100 zlotys annually, even during the first twelve years; if the head tax was increased, the increase would not apply

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to Karlin for the first twelve years and could only be raised afterward by the same proportion as for other Pinsk subordinate communities. In matters of jurisdiction, if a Jew from Pinsk were to sue a Jew from Karlin, the court would be composed of two judges from Pinsk, two judges from Karlin, and a fifth judge selected by the plaintiff from the residents of Pinsk. If the plaintiff were from Karlin, the rabbi of Pinsk would serve as the fifth judge. Disputes between Jews from Karlin and Jews from other locales would be heard in the Karlin court, and Pinsk would not have the right to interfere. Bailiffs of the court in both Pinsk and Karlin would be sworn in and execute their duties honestly and completely; matters related to Jewish ritual law would come up before the Karlin court, but appeals would come before the Pinsk court; appeals in matters between Jews of Karlin and Jews elsewhere could come before the Pinsk court. The agreement also stated that the Jews of Pinsk and Karlin were permitted to trade with one another in the city and on the river bank, act as agents, build stores for themselves, or sell them without taxes or other fees. The Pinsk rabbi and kahal would have no authority over Karlin and were forbidden to collect taxes, other than those stated in the agreement; nor could they coerce the Jews of Karlin by means of the ban. If either party were to break the agreement, it would suffer a fifty thousand zloty penalty. The agreement was ratified by oath in the Pinsk synagogue, and both sides formally agreed to abide by it forever. The chief communities of Brest, Horodno, and Sluck added their affirmation, and on July 20, 1756, the agreement was registered in the books of the local Polish court.63 The agreement guaranteed the Karlin community a large measure of autonomy, with dependence on Pinsk reduced to a minimum. Karlin obligated itself to pay a share of the debts owed by Pinsk and to remit the head tax and certain other fees. In terms of jurisdiction, Karlin won almost total victory: Pinsk had no right to interfere in Karlin’s affairs, except in the event that one of the litigants was from Pinsk, in which case the rabbi of Pinsk’s authority was formally recognized, especially in appeals. Less than three weeks later, on July 21, 1756, the Jews of Karlin

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

­ btained a privilege from the noble Adam Brzostowski, which authoo rized new ­juridical status for their community on the basis of the agreement between Pinsk and Karlin and formulated Karlin’s basic rights. The noble emphasized that the charter was granted for the purpose of strengthening the Karlin community and guaranteeing the rights and freedoms of its population: “He confirmed the agreement with respect to the legal separateness of the two communities, and reaffirmed the rights of Karlin’s Jews to their cemetery, synagogue and the kahal buildings used by the rabbi, cantor, sexton and melamdim [elementary school teachers]. As for the butcher shops, ‘without which the Jews cannot manage,’ it was permissible to use them on condition that they were properly repaired.” Anyone settling in Karlin was exempt from paying taxes to the noble’s court for five years. After that time, Karlin residents were required to pay taxes on their plots and on their vats for boiling liquor, according to the old custom—one czerwony zloty.64 Karlin’s Jews were obligated to pay their taxes to the government and for the military, together with the Christian townsmen. The noble promised to set the number of fairs and market days and their dates, as was customary in other cities. The Jews were exempted from providing wagons for the noble’s transportation needs as well as from other obligations. Disputes among the Jews themselves were to be brought to the Karlin rabbinical court, and appeals could be presented to the noble himself. Matters involving Jews and non-Jews were to be judged in the noble’s court, by a forum composed of the nobleman’s representative (wojt) in Karlin and one of the leaders of the Jewish community. Jews were to pay taxes to their community for the right to trade and maintain taverns. Karlin’s Jews were exempt from paying taxes to Pinsk, except for those specified in the agreement between the two cities. The Jews of Karlin were free to establish confraternities to perform various religious and social functions; these societies would have their own budget, like those in other cities. Brzostowski permitted the Jews of Karlin to maintain a court for civil matters and another for questions of religious law (personal status, ritual matters) as well.65 Brzostowski also assisted Karlin’s Jews in paying Pinsk the stipulated twenty thousand zlotys. The Karlin community could not raise this

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sum even over a five-year period. Karlin probably had no more than one hundred Jewish families during the 1750s, meaning each family had to pay an average of two hundred zlotys, or forty zlotys annually, for five years—a considerable sum. Brzostowski took it upon himself to pay Pinsk the twenty thousand zlotys over five years, and the Karlin community undertook to pay him three thousand zlotys annually, to cover the principal and interest of this loan, which, in effect, it was forced into taking at a 14 percent interest rate.66 On August 26, 1756, less than two months after the signings, Pinsk registered a protest against the agreement. The ostensible reason was that the agreement had been signed in the absence of the Pinsk ­starosta. Without him, a royal official, Pinsk could not withstand the pressure of Brzostowski’s representatives. Now the starosta wanted the agreement canceled. It is no wonder that Pinsk regretted agreeing to Karlin’s virtual independence in return for minor concessions and formal acknowledgment of Pinsk’s hegemony. Pinsk’s complaint was not accepted and the agreement remained in force for eight consecutive years, until 1764, the year of the great transformation of Lithuanian-Jewish self-rule. In 1764, the year the Sejm dissolved the Lithuanian Jewish Council and with it the head-tax collection function, the head tax of the Karlin community was increased to 1,226 zlotys. According to the new legislation, the tax was to be collected directly by the treasury, rather than by the council. Karlin therefore paid Pinsk only 150 zlotys for kahal needs, as per the agreement, and paid the head tax directly to the treasury. Pinsk reacted vehemently, claiming that Karlin had abrogated the agreement. Karlin’s Jews were persecuted. They were forbidden to trade in Pinsk, or sell or mortgage their houses in Pinsk; they were badgered for taxes; and Pinsk interfered in Karlin’s internal affairs. The situation deteriorated into open warfare. The matter was finally brought before the Lithuanian Financial Commission, which ordered the dispute referred to the Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts.67 The case came before the committee on August 6, 1766. Pinsk accused Karlin of breaking the agreement by failing to pay the head tax and sued Karlin for the 50,000 zloty penalty, plus 10,000 zlotys in legal expenses and 1,300 zlotys for head tax not paid the previous two

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

years. Pinsk also demanded reconfirmation of the 1756 agreement. The Karlin representatives claimed in their defense that the 1764 legislation had abolished the Lithuanian Jewish Council, thereby canceling the need to pay taxes to the chief community. Furthermore, Karlin was willing to pay 150 zlotys to Pinsk for internal needs, but Pinsk objected to this sum, and Karlin then deposited the money on Pinsk’s account in the castle court. Karlin could not acquiesce to Pinsk’s demand for the head tax, because that would mean paying the tax twice. Karlin accused Pinsk of attempting to bring about its destruction and requested that the court reject the suit, judge Pinsk guilty of contravening the agreement, and penalize it in the sum of 50,000 zlotys. Why did Pinsk react so sharply to Karlin’s nonpayment of the head tax, a relatively small sum of five hundred zlotys annually, when in any case most of the tax went to the treasury? The Pinsk leaders probably perceived this breach as the first step in disintegration of financial order, and a blow to Pinsk’s ability to pay its debts. One of Pinsk’s demands from Karlin was that the latter cease to accept Pinsk townsmen within its boundaries. Karlin had begun to attract Pinsk residents who couldn’t or wouldn’t stand the heavy burden of Pinsk taxes and fees and released themselves by moving to Karlin.68 The committee lent an attentive ear to Pinsk, but it could not refute Karlin’s reasonable claim, which was based on the new legislation of 1764. At an impasse, the committee transferred the whole matter to the financial commission for consideration and a verdict. We do not know the result. The matter was apparently not resolved to Pinsk’s satisfaction, and at the end of the eighteenth century the two communities were still embroiled in chronic disputes. Besides the administrative and financial issues, a deeper division arose with the advent of Hasidism and the ensuing rift between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim.69

Debts At the start of the eighteenth century, debt repayment became a burning issue for Lithuanian Jewry. Many legal documents from the first decade

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of the century attest to suits brought against the chief communities for nonpayment of debts and taxes, which resulted in harsh verdicts by the Lithuanian Tribunal. On May 7, 1700, the tribunal sentenced the kahal heads of Brest, Horodno, Pinsk, and Vilna to loss of rights (infamja) and death, for nonpayment of 30,835 zlotys in head tax and 1,000 zlotys in expenses. Three months later, on August 9, 1700, the tribunal ordered the representatives of all five chief communities (including Sluck) to pay an outstanding debt of 40,000 zlotys to Franciszek Mojszejewicz and decreed loss of their personal rights until they did so. In February and March of the following year, the tribunal sentenced the leaders of the Brest kahal and all the Jews of Lithuania to loss of rights and death, as well as payment of one debt of 8,790 zlotys to the Bulhak brothers and another debt of 31,835 zlotys for defense costs and penalties for injuries incurred by tax collectors. The Lithuanian Jewish Council had encountered financial difficulties in the late seventeenth century and early eighteenth century and was unable to meet obligations to the state treasury and its creditors. The verdicts of death and loss of rights had no practical significance, but they did empower the institutions of implementation to attempt confiscation of kahal and individual property. In 1703, the Lithuanian chief communities were compelled to take out a large loan of 2,000 zlotys in silver thalers, in order to hold off creditors and perhaps cover the special tax levied to finance the Northern War. In 1714, the council was sued for nonpayment of this debt; the Lithuanian Tribunal sentenced it to payment of the debt, loss of rights, and expulsion. A similar verdict against the five communities, for nonpayment of a debt of 29,000 tynfy to Franc Winkowicz, was pronounced in 1720.70 The severe punishments meted out by the Lithuanian Tribunal during the first fifteen years of the eighteenth century were almost all against the five communities, that is, the Lithuanian Jewish Council. The council’s financial situation significantly worsened around 1700, and it was unable to recover sufficiently to pay its taxes and debts. The deterioration began early in the rule of King August II and was probably related to events of 1697, when the Lithuanian Jewish Council was suddenly inundated by creditors’ demands and forced to take unusual

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steps to withstand the pressure, as described in the 1697 enactment, discussed earlier.71 The Northern War and the Swedish conquest of many Lithuanian cities, along with the prevailing anarchy in Poland in the years (1697– 1706) when the country was ruled by two rival kings—August II and Stanislaw Leszczynski—precluded council sessions and impeded regular functioning.72 The links between the chief communities and their subordinate communities were undermined. The chief communities probably did not maintain communication even among themselves during this period. Many communities suffered during the war and could not shoulder the tax burden. For 1713–1714, the head tax of Lithuanian Jewry was raised suddenly and significantly. Once the situation in Poland was more or less stabilized, the council met in 1713 in Brest to allocate the tax and again in 1714 in Vilna for further deliberations. The regulation dealing with allocation of the tax, considered by the leaders to be an enormous sum, describes the situation: “And it is also impossible for the medinah to fulfill its financial obligations because the general assessment has not been made. . . . Much time has elapsed and several communities and districts . . . have deteriorated seriously and they cannot meet the assessment made against them so long ago, and there are other problems and misfortunes that have befallen the whole medinah.”73 Against this background, it is possible to understand the council’s enactment from 1720, which forbade individuals “to purchase a debt instrument (shetar hov) or a promissory note (ketav hov) whether obligating the medinah or an individual community,” and stated that those who had already done so could redeem them only for the amount paid plus 10 percent annual interest.74

Debts of the Pinsk Community Information on the debts of the Pinsk Jewish community at the end of the seventeenth century is contained in the documents of that period, discussed earlier.75 In 1768, the Committee for the Liquidation of Jewish Debts summarized the debts of the community as of that year, on the basis of claims presented to the commission by creditors. The sum of

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the debts of the Pinsk kahal in 1768 was 309,140 zlotys.76 Here is a list of creditors who lent monies to the Pinsk community at various times:

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

Church Institutions77 Rector of the Jesuit College in Pinsk and Nieswiez Abbot of the Franciscan Monastery in Pinsk Abbot of the Dominican Monastery in Pinsk Abbot of the Bernardine Monastery in Karlin Abbot of the Carmelite Monastery Priest of the Communitarians in Karlin Prosecutor of the Pinsk Consistory Abbess of the Brygita Convent in Horodnie Abbess of the Basilian Convent in Pinsk Abbot of the Basilian Monastery in Buchowiec

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

Private Creditors Land judge (Sedzia Ziemski) of the Pinsk district Vice-starosta of Pinsk (directly responsible for Jewish affairs) Gorodniczy (senior city official) of Pinsk Young daughter of the starosta of Amdur Krajczy (an official) of Starodub Regent of the land court of the szlachta Heirs to the widow of the regent of the court of the castle Scribe of the land court of the szlachta

The list also included other private Christian creditors and one female Jewish creditor. The list is conspicuous in its division of creditors into two groups: church bodies (primarily monasteries) and private creditors (members of the nobility who filled an official administrative role). The nobles were people who lived in Pinsk at the time the Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts was functioning. Their loans were new and relatively short-term. To a large extent, the monasteries and other church institutions in the first group lent the Pinsk community money “forever” (that is, on the basis of wyderkauf loans, where the principal is never repaid and the relatively low interest payments go on indefinitely). Those debts were older; the earliest dated to loans from the ­Jesuit College in 1678–1680, and from various monasteries. Such loans were more

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

advantageous than private loans, which were generally repaid as soon as possible.78 Pinsk was not the only community mired in debts. The situation was similar in Vilna, Brest, and Horodno. This table compares the debts of these communities: Place Pinsk Vilna Brest Horodno

Population 2,210 5,310 3,175 2,418

Debts 309,140 zlotys 722,800 zlotys 222,720 zlotys 386,571 zlotys79

The list of creditors cited earlier does not state the dates or sums of the individual loans, so it is hard to trace the growth of the debts and their distribution over the period 1678–1765. Without access to records of the Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts, it is difficult to ascertain the reasons for taking loans or to correlate heavy and light borrowing with particular periods. Study of the list, together with allusions from other documents, can however further our understanding of this complex issue to some degree. Pinsk entered the eighteenth century, a new era in its history, encumbered by an onerous debt of at least fifty thousand zlotys. A portion of the debt, ten thousand zlotys, was owed to the Jesuit College, and the rest, forty thousand zlotys, to the widow of the noble Jan Karol Dolski. In the 1760s, only the Jesuit College was referred to as a creditor, and it can be assumed that it was the largest of the Pinsk church institutions to which the kahal owed money. The debt of forty thousand zlotys was presumably repaid to Dolski’s widow according to the terms in the promissory note, although we have no record of repayment.80 Pinsk definitely needed loans throughout the first half of the eighteenth century, and this led to accumulation of debt. Although documentation from the early part of the century is lacking, the 1768 list shows that Pinsk owed money to the monasteries of the Communist and Bernardine orders in Karlin and to the Carmelite order. The Communist order in Karlin was established in the late 1690s, the Bernardine monastery in Karlin was founded in 1717 by Prince Michal ­Wisniowiecki, and the Carmelite monastery was set up in 1734. In each

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case, several years probably elapsed before these institutions could invest funds in loans to the Pinsk kahal. During the first two decades of the eighteenth century, Pinsk apparently required large sums of money for community needs. The severe sentences decreed against the chief communities of Lithuania by the Lithuanian Tribunal between 1700 and 1715 obliged Pinsk to take out additional loans to cover the debts for which the Lithuanian Jewish Council was sued. The chief communities were forced (if only to ensure the safety and freedom of their leaders) to mobilize funds unavailable in the council treasury to pay the required sums. The Swedish conquest of large portions of Lithuania in 1706 also led to large outlays as the Swedes demanded penalties from the Jewish and non-Jewish populations, particularly in areas (including Pinsk) where the leaders displayed sympathy for the lawful king of Poland, foe of the Swedish king.81 Records from the 1750s, and especially the 1760s, document the disputes between Pinsk and Karlin, and Pinsk and the communities of Northern Wolyn, indirectly illustrating the severity of the debt problem. The bitter struggle between Pinsk and the surrounding communities that rebelled against its authority revolved mostly around the question of debt repayment. Primary responsibility to creditors was borne by Pinsk. When the Pinsk community refused to capitulate to the smaller communities regarding payment of the royal taxes (mainly the head tax), the claim was not convincing because the formerly subordinate communities were not released from their obligation to pay royal taxes, only from their obligation to pay them through Pinsk. For Pinsk, the problem was that tax collection in the subordinate communities included their share of debt repayment, along with the royal taxes. Pinsk’s assertion that the debts were incurred directly by loans taken on behalf of the Jews in the district was at least partially correct. Together with all the subordinate communities, Pinsk was probably capable of covering the interest and principal payments of the short-term loans. Had this capability been in question, the monasteries and individuals would not have continued to grant loans on standard terms throughout the first half of the eighteenth century. Even in the early 1750s, when the Lithuanian communities (including Pinsk) were on the verge of bankruptcy, there were still institutions and individuals that lent money to

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

the kahal. They must have retained faith in the kahal’s capacity to pay its debts. Refusal to make loans in the early 1760s was apparently a matter of exercising caution in a new situation: the reorganization of the communal structure, based on the 1764 Sejm legislation abolishing the Lithuanian Jewish Council.82 The problem was not the financial crisis of the Jewish community but the crisis of autonomy. As the structures of self-rule began to disintegrate, the authority of the council and of the chief communities was denied, and it grew difficult to fulfill obligations. The chief communities could not exert authority in the face of insurrection by the smaller communities. The latter refused to cooperate. The government was unable to provide significant support such as soldiers, yet legitimate decisions recommended by the Polish authorities and the courts could be imposed only by force. The Pinsk community feared it would now find itself shouldering the brunt of debt repayment, and occasionally it succeeded in convincing the authorities that the debts were the responsibility of its former subordinates as well. The 1764 legislation ended the responsibility of the council for royal taxes and placed collection of the head tax and other taxes directly in the hands of the communities, effectively abolishing the council as an authoritative body. But this took place after Lithuanian Jewry had already seriously undermined the council’s status and impaired its ability to exert its legitimate authority. The Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts, established by the Sejm in 1764, was a practical necessity, because the Sejm did not intend to waive the claims of creditors who had lent money to Pinsk (the chief community in its district) or to the other chief communities. The Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts held sessions for almost six months, from August 7, 1767, until the following January 8. Creditors presented their claims to the committee. The committee listed debts that were confirmed (see the table presented earlier) for a total of 309,140 zlotys, and it outlined a practical method for debt repayment over a reasonable period of time. Pinsk was required to pay an annual interest rate of 3 percent, for three and a half years, starting in 1766, and thereafter an annual interest rate of 4 percent for as long as it would take to repay the principal. In other words, between 1766

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and 1769 Pinsk would have to pay 9,273 zlotys in interest annually, and thereafter 11,591 zlotys in interest annually. Dividing these sums by the approximately 560 Jewish families in Pinsk at the time, the average payment per family between 1766 and 1769 was 16.5 zlotys annually, and thereafter 22 zlotys annually, for interest alone. A similar calculation shows that each family’s share of the principal was 550 zlotys. To return that sum over a period of twenty years, each family had to pay approximately 27.5 zlotys each year. Together with the interest payments, that made for a total of approximately 44 zlotys each year, and after 1769 50 zlotys each year. These sums were arrived at following concessions granted by the committee, but they still constituted a most onerous burden for each individual, in addition to the usual direct income taxes and indirect excise taxes. The average annual sum that Pinsk had to collect might have been even higher, because the committee’s list of creditors probably did not include lenders who did not hold administrative positions, or Jewish creditors.83 If Pinsk were to share this burden with the surrounding communities, which numbered at least twenty-six, the situation would be different. Assuming an average population of three hundred in each town, the total population was about seventy-eight hundred. Were all these people to participate in debt repayment, the problem would not have been so great. It is easy to see why Pinsk made repeated attempts to restore its jurisdiction over the smaller communities.84 The Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts did not deal with the problem of the formerly subordinate communities. It limited itself to lowering the interest rate and devising new guidelines for handling financial affairs. The community was forbidden to take on new loans or lease out debts. Supervision of financial matters was transferred to the castle court, which was also required to assist the kahal in tax collection. The kahal was obligated to present an annual account of income, to ensure that it was used only for interest and debt payments. The leaders of the kahal probably underreported revenues; otherwise they would not have been able to maintain the kahal administration or provide essential services to the community.85 The procedure proposed by the committee for paying off Pinsk’s debts was not workable. The city remained in tight fiscal straits through-

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

out the 1760s and was officially recognized as such, as attested by the Sejm constitution of 1764, which granted Pinsk certain reductions. The kahal’s income, as reported to the Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts, totaled 37,500 zlotys from direct and indirect taxes; this sum could not suffice for all the kahal’s needs.86 Only half a year after the Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts concluded its activities in Pinsk, in 1768, one of the private creditors, Dyonisius Lutostanski, a functionary in the castle court, obtained a court ruling enabling him to expropriate Jewish property in Pinsk, and he immediately proceeded to do so. The Jews responded with vigorous lobbying efforts, and on July 28, 1768, nineteen days after the original ruling, they managed to obtain a letter from the king forbidding the creditor to collect his debt for the next six months, until the conclusion of all litigation (apparently including an appeal).87 The outcome of the case is not known, but the incident illustrates the severity of the problem of debt repayment for the kahal leaders, immediately after the Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts had finished its work. Complete implementation of the committee’s directives was unfeasible, and the authorities were aware of it. All the kahal could do was renew its attempts to force the surrounding communities to share the burden and put out fires, as in the case of the letter from the king postponing execution of the verdict for six months.88 This was the context for Pinsk’s appeal to the Lithuanian Financial Commission, described earlier. The convoluted and corrupt system of supervision by self-seeking political appointees made execution of the directives of the Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts impossible. Little progress was made toward the main objective of debt resolution. Moreover, the 1775 Sejm law, authorizing the Lithuanian Jewish communities to take out new loans totaling five hundred thousand zlotys in order to pay back debts owed to the Jesuits,89 created more debts for the communities, among them Pinsk. The government itself thus repeated past mistakes and thwarted a solution to the debt problem. The government officials responsible for implementing the policy of the Committee for Liquidation of Jewish Debts realized that their job could furnish them with a fine income. In Pinsk in 1784, there were six

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people, two starostas and four vice-starostas, who collected the mandated payments plus a like sum for themselves while paying nothing at all to Jewish (and perhaps even non-Jewish) creditors. The kahal complained that the starosta and vice-starosta were becoming an increasing burden on its budget, impeding rather than improving its capacity to pay back debts.90

Personal Debts Personal debts also weighed on the kahal during this period. Many Jews owed money to noblemen. Those who could not keep up regular payments were in a predicament, as the biographer of Rabbi Rafael ben Yekutiel Ha-Kohen, who served as Rabbi of Pinsk in the 1760s, recounts in this connection:91 [Rabbi Ha-Kohen] showed great courage and saved those taken to die there; he redeemed many Jewish captives, among them innocent children who were taken prisoner for the debts of their fathers, in order to convert them, as was the custom in those days. . . . During his tenure as Rabbi in Pinsk, a Jew was taken captive by a noble who claimed a debt, and he died in prison. After the man’s death, the noble took his young son and daughter, all that the man had left behind, imprisoned them for their father’s debts and converted them.

This passage implies that the practice of incarcerating debtors was not exceptional. Individuals from Pinsk and the smaller communities who owed money to aristocrats or public officials and could not repay were seized, or their children were seized, and imprisoned. There were cases of children who were baptized after being held in captivity for a long period. Seizure of the debtor or his children was a very effective means of pressuring the Jewish community to repay debts. The leaders of the community would rally to free the captives; the religious obligation of redeeming captives was a high priority, and it was the rabbi of the community who urged action in emergency cases. When pressed, the community was apparently able to find funds to ransom imprisoned debtors, but it surely involved special exertion, with the local rabbi playing a pivotal role.

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

Economic Life Available source material about the economic life of the Jews of Pinsk during the eighteenth century is random and not extensive, precluding thorough explication. The picture here is perforce general, fragmented, and based in part on circumstantial evidence. One document that is helpful in portraying the demographic and economic changes in Pinsk during the second half of the seventeenth century is a complaint registered against the Jews, on September 11, 1717, by Jozef Plaskowicki, the magistrate of Pinsk. The complaint was brought on behalf of poor townsmen who engaged in labor rather than business. The complaint accused the leaders of the kahal and the shamash, “who disturbs Christian peace and good will,” of hurting the townspeople in numerous ways from 1581, when Pinsk had received its Magdeburg charter from King Stefan Batory, up to the present day, with emphasis on recent events. Here in digest are the (rather vitriolic) claims of the townsmen specified in the document. On January 20, 1581, Pinsk received its Magdeburg charter from King Stefan Batory, which was confirmed on June 15, 1589, by King Zygmunt III in Vilna, and again on March 5, 1633, by Wladyslaw IV, who granted the city additional rights. Pinsk was given lease rights to income from a mill, a wax factory, the tax on weights and measures, and the right to freely elect a magistrate. The Jews, who owned only eighteen homes on Zydowska Street (plus an indeterminate number on other streets), were barred from purchasing new homes or lots and were obligated to share the tax load equally with the townspeople. All this, along with many new rights, was reconfirmed by King Jan Casimir on December 31, 1650, and again by Kings Michal Korybut Wisniowiecki, Jan III S­obieski, and August III. The malevolent Jews knew of all the privileges and also knew what rights were granted to the townspeople in 1641 and 1661 forbidding Jews to precede Christians in buying merchandise or food. They were aware of the constitutions of 1538, 1565, and 1662 among others, which proscribed employment of Christian servants, under penalty of one hundred grzywien, and provided that the Magdeburg cities were to enforce prohibitions on Jews. The Jews circumvented all the prohibitions and privileges, rendering them meaningless and bringing

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the Christian townspeople to ruin. They purchased all the homes and lots of the Christians; they pretended to purchase the buildings belonging to the craft guilds—tailors, furriers, blacksmiths, butchers, shoemakers—but in fact simply took them over. They consistently used false weights and measures; they had once paid the municipality forty zlotys annually for control over the municipal weights and measures, but for the past twenty years (since 1697) they had paid nothing. In 1660, a poor man had run a stand selling drinks, from which the city received an income; the Jews ousted the man and the kahal took over his business. By 1717, there were at least six hundred homes owned by Jews. In 1660, the Jews had undertaken to pay the city thirty zlotys annually from their liquor business, and they had given a commitment to that effect. Not only didn’t they pay as promised, but they persecuted poor townsmen and insulted them and the magistrate (wojt) himself.92 In 1706, during the Swedish occupation, the Jews saved only their own homes, leaving the homes of the szlachta and the Christians unprotected from fire. The home and yard of the magistrate Plaskowicki went up in flames, along with most of the documents which could have proven the Jews guilty; only some documents were saved, which would be presented as needed at the time of the trial. In 1690 a constitution had been granted releasing Marshal Karol Dolski’s lands, mills, and meadows from taxes. In those years, the number of houses greatly diminished. In 1667 townsmen confirmed by oath the existence of 299 chimneys, corresponding to a like number of households. Their number dwindled, because of the Jews, to a mere fifteen in 1690.93 Some poor townsmen with no property or business, who made their living from manual labor, moved to Karlin, where residents were exempt from taxes, and others sought refuge with the local clergy or noblemen. Plaskowicki stressed that in 1712, in Warsaw and Vilna, he had pressed to free Pinsk from the hiberna tax (for army supply) on the homes and lands of those who had left the city and moved to Karlin. When the chancellor’s office actually issued an order stating how much hiberna the Jews and the Christians respectively should pay, the magistrate presented a list of the lands and the residents remaining in Pinsk. But the “bloodthirsty” Jews, ever eager to harass the Christians, brought a suit against the townspeople, hoping to further oppress them, believing

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

that the townspeople had no will or desire to defend themselves against Jewish oppression after their privileges were burned and that the Jews would be able to burden them further. The complaint was insistent upon several issues: the division of the hiberna tax should remain as determined by the district magistrate; taxes from the liquor business should be collected for the previous fiftyseven years (since 1660, when the Jews signed an agreement), at 30 zlotys for each year (a total of 1,710 zlotys), to cover expenses for repairs to the city hall and debts incurred by the municipality to pay the hiberna and to cover the cost of lawsuits against the Jews; the Jews should pay an annual tax of forty zlotys on weights and measures, which they formerly paid but had not remitted for the past twenty years (since 1697), altogether 800 zlotys; the Jews should not keep weights and measures secretly;94 the Jews should be forbidden to engage Christian servants, and they should be fined for having done so until now; they should be barred from preceding Christians in purchasing food and merchandise by running to the city limits and the roads leading to the city; the Jews should stop taking over streets, buying city lots, and erecting buildings without the knowledge of the municipality; they should return the craft guild buildings to the city; and they should bear their share of municipal fees and cease their persecution of poor Christians. So ends our digest. There is no parallel Jewish document rebutting the charges made by the Christian townspeople. We can rely only on the verifiable information in the complaint, in an attempt to build a description of the economic life of the Jews of Pinsk during the first two decades of the eighteenth century. For the most part, the complaint is filled with incorrect and imprecise statements,95 and its general tone is one of intense hatred for the Jews of Pinsk. It was written out of a sense of affront and helplessness, in a period when the townsmen’s retreat from their traditional positions in the economy reached a nadir. Some of the assertions, however, do fairly reflect the economic reality of Pinsk in the second decade of the eighteenth century. The claim that the townsmen no longer had a foothold in commerce rings true, as does the fact that most or all commerce was transferred to Jewish hands. The complaint emphasized petty trade, especially the petty liquor trade, indicating

281

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The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

that the expansion of Pinsk Jews into this sphere, originating in the 1660s, continued into the 1700s.96 The townspeople’s accusation that the craft guild buildings were taken over by the Jews implies reduction in the number of townsmen in craft occupations. This fits the general pattern of departure from the city for satellite settlements and private latifundia, and the trend to manual labor. As for increasing participation of Jews in crafts, there is no explicit evidence, from the beginning or the middle of the eighteenth century, but we do have confirmation from the end. A Polish document describing the economic situation of the Pinsk townspeople in 1787—a period of recovery and relative prosperity, when the policy of urban rehabilitation and commercial development began to show results—asserted that the Jews had taken over commerce and almost all branches of crafts. The document listed a not-insignificant total of 115 Christian craftsmen in Pinsk, as well as occupations where Jews were numerous: gold, silver and copper smiths, millers, hallah bakers, lacemakers, shopkeepers, tailors, furriers, bakers, bartenders.97 There are some data on Lithuanian commerce during the reign (1764– 1795) of Stanislaw August Poniatowski. Large quantities of linen and canvas were sent from Lithuania to Koenigsberg, Kurland, and Riga. Wood products of all sorts—logs, lumber for ship building and for general building, for carpentry, kindling, and barrels—were sent abroad via the waterways to various ports on the Baltic Sea, especially to Koenigsberg. Lithuania also exported significant quantities of potash (produced by burning wood), tar, honey and wax, cattle (particularly bulls), milk, and other products. Some of this merchandise was sent by land to the West, mainly to Germany. Among the items Lithuania imported during this period were metals of all sorts, metal utensils and implements, paper, books, textiles and fabrics, cotton, silk, wines, colonial delicacies, and other items. For the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, systematic research remains to be done, but existing lists of products exported and imported yield the impression that the situation was similar to that in the eighteenth century.98 By virtue of its location at a trade crossroads of both land and water, Pinsk continued as a center of commerce during the eighteenth century. A survey of the roads, conducted in 1765, showed that the

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

overland route from Pinsk to Brest (via Janow, Drohiczyn, Antopol) was the main artery traversing the length of Polesie and proceeding to Poland and the West. Branching off the road from Pinsk, bypassing Brest, was another route, Pinsk-Kobryn-Czerwaczyce-Wysokie, which linked up near Wysokie with the major highway leading from the south to Danzig and Koenigsberg. The roads to Wolyn and Ukraine were not of much use during this period, but during the reign of Stanislaw ­August transportation between north and south was improved, thanks to the efforts of Mateusz Butrymowicz, starosta of Pinsk. This was part of a general movement beginning in the 1760s toward improving land and water transit with the goal of enhancing the trade routes crossing Polesie. In 1765, work was begun on a canal connecting the ­Niemen River, via its tributary the Szczara, with the Jasiolda, Pripet, and Dnieper rivers. Construction was completed in 1784; it became known as the ­Oginski Canal (see Map 6). Between 1781 and 1784 the Lithuanian Treasury carried out a similar project, digging a channel through the heart of Polesie to link the Dnieper and the Pripet rivers with the Muchawiec-Bug-Vistula waterways, known as the Royal Canal (Kanal Krolewski; see Map 6). Located at the center of these two transportation systems was the Pina River, as always the vital artery of Pinsk’s commerce.99 A newspaper article from 1784, written to mark the opening of the two canals, extolled Pinsk’s geographic location and its excellent water transportation. The water crossroad created superb conditions for a port. Various boats from Chernobyl and Kiev could reach the city, bearing soap, wheat, milk, and other merchandise. In Pinsk, commodities were cheaper than anywhere in Poland-Lithuania outside of Ukraine. The article implied that the canals would enhance Pinsk’s already brisk business by facilitating continuous haulage from the south along the Dnieper-Pripet-Pina route, in the direction of the Niemen to Koenigsberg, and in the direction of the Vistula to Danzig. The riverbank had always been the nucleus of trade in Pinsk; the marketplace was, not coincidentally, located near the river. In a mid-eighteenth-century document, the riverfront’s role as a center of commerce was self-evident, and even the new city of Karlin conducted its commerce in Pinsk and on the Pinsk riverbank.100

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Regulations of the Lithuanian Jewish Council from 1761 mention trips by Jewish businessmen from the Lithuanian communities to fairs in Prussia, Danzig, Koenigsberg, and Breslau as being standard practice. Although we do not have explicit testimony on Pinsk commerce with Koenigsberg and Danzig, it is reasonable to assume that Jewish merchants from Pinsk took an active role in Lithuanian trade with these cities. A few documents from Breslau testify to the notable role played by Pinsk Jews in Breslau’s dealings with Lithuania. These documents indicate that in the early 1700s merchants from Pinsk maintained active business links with Breslau, which was the most important center for commercial connections between Poland and Germany. Information from 1720 relates that a suit for nonpayment of two notes was brought in Breslau against the Jew Joseph from Pinsk, probably a veteran in the Breslau trade.101 In August 1722, there was a census of the Jews in Breslau; included were 159 Jews from Poland-Lithuania, among them nine Jewish merchants from Pinsk. Of the other large Lithuanian communities, only one other Jewish merchant, from Sluck, is listed; Brest, Horodno, and Vilna are not represented. This indicates the important role played by Pinsk Jewish merchants in Lithuania’s trade with Breslau at the beginning of the eighteenth century. The connection had probably existed for several decades since Jewish businessmen from Lithuania initiated business ties with Breslau in the 1670s. Around the turn of the century these ties stabilized and expanded, as the Breslau authorities encouraged the arrival of Jewish merchants from Poland-Lithuania in their city and granted them concessions.102 Between 1758 and 1767 Rabbi Mordecai of Szklow, son of Rabbi Israel Isserl (the rabbi of Pinsk from 1747 to 1761), served as the “Lithuanian Representative” (Shamash Shel Lita) in Breslau. A 1763 request to start a synagogue for Lithuanian Jews in Breslau was signed by Jews from Tykocin, Sluck, Szklow, Mohylew, Luck, and Karlin. Business links between Lithuanian Jews and Breslau were common in those years, as testified by several regulations and court decisions noted in the record book of the Lithuanian Jewish Council. Jewish merchants from Pinsk and Karlin must have been frequenting the city and its fairs throughout

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

the 1750s and 1760s as Breslau continued to be a hub of trade between Germany and Poland-Lithuania.103 The data pertaining to Lithuanian commerce, and in particular the connection between Lithuanian Jews and Breslau in the late seventeenth century, indicate a revival of large-scale trading in Pinsk and renewed involvement of Pinsk merchants in the export-import business, after a period—approximately 1650–1720—in which such business greatly diminished.104 A temporary recovery was already noticeable in the 1720s, but most information on burgeoning commercial links comes from the second half of the eighteenth century. At that time, Pinsk Jews apparently engaged primarily in small­- and medium-size businesses and in crafts. In 1764, merchants and craftsmen in Pinsk paid to the starosta a czynsz (annual leasehold fee) for eighty-eight shops, seventy-five of them used by Jews and only thirteen by Christians. In 1778, Jews paid the starosta for sixty shops, the Christians fifteen.105 There are very few documents that illuminate the economic life of Pinsk Jewry during the eighteenth century. One is a plea, presented around 1740 by the syndic of the Pinsk kahal, on behalf of Icek Abramowicz, a bartender and father of a large family who married off two sons. The sons built themselves a small house in their father’s courtyard. The house was confiscated for use by a soldier, leaving the sons without a roof over their heads and bringing them to ruin. This account illustrates one of the factors behind Jewish migration to Karlin and neighboring villages.106 Another document, dated May 21, 1753, is a complaint registered by the procurator of the Kobryn monastery against Michal Oginski, a noble, and his steward, Antoni Wolinski, for frequently commandeering Jews’ wagons in order to transport merchandise from Pinsk, causing damage to the state and the plaintiffs by not paying customs duty. The procurator also claimed that Oginski’s men led more than one hundred oxen onto the monastery fields and did not allow the Pinsk Jew herding the animals to pay the requisite fee. The procurator noted that he was taking action in order to protect the monastery’s property and servants, and the Jewish lessees.107

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The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

In a similar case, filed on July 30, 1755, the procurator of the Kobryn monastery complained about the Jesuits of Pinsk and especially about their regent, Father Michal Lominski, for herding oxen across the monastery lands without paying duties at the bridges belonging to the monastery. Furthermore, the regent caused damage by taking various people under his protection, including Jewish cattle traders, and collecting one czerwony zloty per animal from them. Lominski beat the bridge tax collector, robbed him, destroyed his house, and chased him away. In Pinsk, Lominski also caught a horse that was the property of the Kobryn monastery and returned it only after the monastery seized three horses from a Jew named Mordecai Litmanowicz, who was the teamster of the Jesuit jurydyka in Pinsk.108 These incidents involved disputes between monks and a nobleman, or monks and other clergy. Each party had its Jews, who tried to use the protection of the nobility or clergy to make a living. The Pinsk Jews here were engaged in cattle and other trading, and one of them was a teamster. Nobility- (or clergy-) sponsored protection certainly entailed giving the patron a portion of the earnings. The contempt exhibited by Oginski and Lominski for the rights of the Kobryn monastery over its own lands was typical of the lack of law and order prevailing in Poland at the time. Niemcewicz published, with certain deletions, the contents of an agreement leasing the rights to distill and sell liquor in Pinsk: Between the treasury of the distinguished lord Przezdziecki, vice chancellor of Lithuania, starosta of Pinsk, and, Haim Meszelowicz and ­Gershon Benaszewicz, Jewish residents of Pinsk, hereafter known as the main lessees. [They were] selected from among [the residents of] Pinsk as lessees, received and undertook the Pinsk municipal lease with all its profits and income, as stated in this contract and described in detail in the property inventory, for one year, starting on June 24, 1765, and ending one year later, 1766, also on June 24, in exchange for the sum of twenty thousand zlotys in the current royal currency, undamaged; the dates of payment of the lease fee to the Pinsk treasury [to be] in two installments: the first on the Holiday of the Three Kings [January 6], 1766—ten thousand zlotys, and the second and final payment at the end of the leasing year, on St. John’s Day, that is June 24—the balance of ten thousand zlotys. [If not paid on time] the lessees will be subject to indictment and punishment for fraudulent dealings and violation of

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

obligations. The lessees, Haim Meszelowicz and Gershon Benaszewicz, are empowered to sell liquor, beer, mead, sherry, brandy, and other drinks, and to obtain [their needs] from the wax factory and the scales, according to instructions and without interference on anyone’s part.109

A year earlier, in 1764, the liquor lease and the commercial lease (apparently the lease of the scales and the wax factory) were also held by Jews, providing the Pinsk starosta with an income of nineteen thousand zlotys. In 1778 as well, the liquor lease and other incomes were held by Jews. These documents110 imply that, starting in the 1760s, if not earlier, the liquor lease and other sources of income were in Jewish hands. A hitherto unknown document is the 1792 request of the Karlin Jewish shopkeeper Emanuel Feibish, presented to Prince Poniatowski, the owner of Karlin. Emanuel, who dealt in furs, Turkish merchandise, belts, and the like, requested permission from Poniatowski to purchase various fabrics from the inventory of the king’s factory, in the sum of three thousand (florins?) with credit up to one year and the customary 6 percent discount. The trader undertook to supply the factory with flax as required, of the same fine quality as that supplied by other merchants. Poniatowski agreed to the request for credit and gave orders to grant the discount. This document is evidence of business initiative on the part of a Karlin Jew during the period of economic recovery at the end of Stanislaw August’s reign, and it sheds some light on Karlin’s economic development.111

Taxes, Income, and Expenditures of the Kahal Head Tax In 1713, an increased head tax of sixty thousand zlotys was levied upon Lithuanian Jewry. The Lithuanian Jewish Council, which had not met since 1705 (because of the Northern War and the Polish civil war), convened in Brest specifically for the purpose of allocating the tax. The leaders apparently regarded the elevated tax as a one-time demand and therefore divided it among the communities, as was customary. When the council assembled in Vilna one year later in 1714, the delegates brought

287

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with them concrete knowledge of the difficult economic circumstances in various communities that were unable to pay the required sums. They were also aware of the financial status of the council, which could not pay its debts or fulfill its obligations. At this session, nevertheless, the leaders apportioned the increased tax of sixty thousand zlotys as they had in 1713, resolving to convene the leaders of the chief communities and their rabbis the following year for review of the situation.112 The planned 1715 meeting never took place. In the meantime, the Polish Sejm had decided that the sixty thousand zloty head tax, considered “extraordinary” in 1713 and 1714, and explained as partially retroactive, would now be collected regularly. The lobbying of Lithuanian Jewish leaders against this tax was ineffective, and the sixty thousand zloty head tax remained in force from 1717 until 1764, when the Sejm abolished the council and enacted direct collection of the head tax by the authorities. Between 1714 and 1761, whenever the council met it did so ad hoc with less than a full complement of delegates, primarily to allocate the head tax. Thirteen lists of the allocations among the communities of Lithuania are extant (see Table 5.8).113 Comparison of the allocations for the Pinsk district with those of the other chief community districts is instructive. Table 5.9 arranges the sums of the head tax for the Pinsk district, including Kleck and Lachowicze,114 in chronological order. The list shows that the head tax levied on the Pinsk district decreased gradually between 1713 and 1740 (when it reached its lowest point), rose somewhat in 1751, and then went down again. The taxes allocated to the Brest and Horodno districts, by comparison, remained more constant, while as Table 5.8 shows the tax allocated to “Russia” (Eastern Belarus) gradually rose. These increasing or decreasing amounts probably reflect the capability of a community to pay its taxes. The overall progressive reduction in the head tax for the Pinsk district between 1713 and 1740 implies a decrease in population or economic capacity, or both; after 1740, the population might have risen to, or exceeded, former levels, and the economy might have improved. In the absence of sources, however, this remains conjecture.

1,140

3,700

“Russia”

Minsk

Minsk region

4,000

1,000

9,000

5,200

1,700

600

600

5,200

4,400

5,200

1714

4,000

1,000

9,800

4,700

1,700

600

600

4,750

4,200

4,900

1717

4,200

1,300

9,000

3,430

1,100

625

625

3,750

4,500

5,150

1720

4,200

1,300

8,700

3,440

1,100

600

550

3,600

5,000

5,635

1721

4,708

1,398

10,308

4,568

1,025



220

4,758

6,105

5,782

1727

4,000

1,000



4,600







1,650

5,200

5,200

1729

4,000

5,500

5,000

1731

4,100

1,500

9,500

3,760

1,400

4,000

970

10,000

4,300

700

Included Included with with Pinsk Pinsk

Included Included with with Pinsk Pinsk

3,530

8,000

4,500

1730

4,000

970

12,700

3,545

879





3,245

4,645

5,000

1739

3,640

4,700

4,520

1751

3,031

3,750

4,185

1761

4,600

920

12,700

3,000

4,260

980

11,500

3,120

4,500

1,022

14,580

1,560

805 1,150 586 (discounted)



2,860

4,145

4,600

1740

source: APML, nos. 60–63, 71, 74, 75, 77, 79–81, 87; PML, no. 948; VL 6, p. 183; RN 2, no. 1596; I. Klausner, Hebrew Community, p. 143.

6,000

10,500

Sluck

1,700

Vilna

600

5,500

Pinsk + region

Lachowicze

4,400

Horodno + region

550

4,700

Brest

Kleck

1713

Year

Apportionment of the Head Tax (Poglowne Zydowskie) Among the Lithuanian Jewish Communities, 1713–1761

table 5.8

290

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland table 5.9 Head-Tax Sums for Pinsk District Year

Zlotys

Locale

1713

6,650

(Pinsk 5,500; Kleck 550; Lachowicze 600)

1714

6,400

(Pinsk 5,200; Kleck 600; Lachowicze 600)

1717

5,950

(Pinsk 4,750; Kleck 600; Lachowicze 600)

1720

4,980

(Pinsk 3,730; Kleck 625; Lachowicze 625)

1721

4,750

(Pinsk 3,600; Kleck 550; Lachowicze 600)

1727

4,758

1729

1,650 (2)

1730

3,530

1731

4,000

1739

3,245

1740

2,860

1751

3,640

1761

3,031

Other Taxes The increased head tax of 60,000 zlotys annually exempted Lithuanian Jews from other royal taxes (powrotne, transportation tax; and sympla kwarty).115 In the council regulations of 1761, the groszowy was imposed for the first time. The total tax was 6,025 zlotys, which was apportioned to the large communities for 1762 and 1763 as follows116: Groszowy Tax (zlotys) Brest 585 Horodnie 500 Pinsk 404 Vilna 78 Sluck 208

Pinsk Jews apparently participated, in some way, in payment of the hiberna (defense tax) together with the Christian population and paid the municipality a tax on weights and measures. They might also have

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

paid the municipality thirty zlotys annually from their liquor businesses as previously.117

The “Skhum” According to the records of the Lithuanian Jewish Council for the eighteenth century, the council had to apportion the skhum ha-­medinah (levy of the “state”—a special tax imposed on the entire collective organization of Lithuanian Jewry; see Chapter Two) among the various communities only twice, in 1731 and 1761. In 1731, the money was intended just, or primarily, for debt repayment by the council. Pinsk’s share of this levy among the districts and major communities was small relative to the city’s size and importance. In 1761, the council apportioned the skhum ha-medinah once again, but the records show only the proportional division, without listing the actual sums for the various communities or the total sum. In 1731, the Pinsk district’s share in this levy was roughly 3.8 percent, and in 1761 it was 5.1 percent. In 1731, the district’s share of this tax was therefore significantly smaller than its share of the head tax that year (6.6 percent). In 1761, however, the shares were about equal, with the share of the head tax slightly over 5.05 percent. The ratios of 1761 more or less reflect the Pinsk district’s proportion of the total population of Lithuania. The Jewish population of the Pinsk district was then approximately 12,500 out of a total population of 250,000 in all of Lithuania. The reason for the smaller share of the skhum ha-medinah in 1731 is not known. Perhaps the same reasons that led to reduction in the head tax during this period also produced a smaller share in the skhum ha-medinah.118

The Kahal Budget Documents that would provide information on the Pinsk kahal’s sources of income and its expenditures are locked away in the government archives in Vilna. We must rely on general summaries by Bershadskii and Honik, which are based on these documents. In 1767, the total income of the Pinsk kahal was 37,500 zlotys, from excise taxes on salt, tobacco, pickled goods, tar, resin, and other products; a levy on craftsmen; a percentage of dowries; one-third of the income of the municipal

291

Various Revenues

19,575

Total revenues

Total kahal payments







From the weekly skhuma

From korobka tax on meat

From korobka tax from merchants

From etrogim (citrons)

From kotlowy tax (on distilling equipment)

From Karlin

Kahal Payments

note: a In Vilna the skhum was collected with the korobka tax; see I. Klausner, Hebrew Community, p. 158.

1,691 1,084

From pretowy (land leasehold payment)

16,800

900

1,200

600

1,500

100

12,500

From stores

  Total

From the rabbinate

From the hetman’s tavern

From the flour mills

From the czopowe tax (on drinks)

From imported drinks

From local drinks



General Income and Kahal Payments (in zlotys)

Pinsk Starosta’s Revenues and Payments Received from the Kahal, 1778

table 5.10

21,650

5,200

8,000

6,500

1,000

500

450

The Conquest of Pinsk to the Second Partition of Poland

flour mill leased by the kahal; and indirect taxes on liquor bars, kosher meat, and other merchandise.119 A list of the Pinsk starosta’s revenues (including payments received from the kahal) in 1778 gives a clearer picture of the kahal’s income, as shown in Table 5.10.120 The sums collected by the kahal were obviously considerable. With its income, the kahal covered a number of expenses: payments to the starosta, hiberna, head tax for poor people, and salaries to the official in charge of Jewish affairs and to the vice-starosta. In addition, the kahal was responsible for certain levies on products such as meat, fish and various vegetables. Whenever an army unit passed through Pinsk or camped in the city, the kahal was required to provide it with candles, oil, paper, meat, fish, and so on. The kahal also spent its income on salaries for the rabbi, judges, and other functionaries, and it had to cover unforeseen expenses. The sources do not mention the direct tax (the skhum ha-kehillah or community levy), which was traditional in Lithuanian communities since the early seventeenth century and served to finance the running expenses of the kahal and repay debts. This tax surely continued to exist in Pinsk, but its importance decreased with the proliferation of indirect taxes.121 In Pinsk the question of taxes during the eighteenth century was inextricably linked to the burdensome debt repayment schedule. The kahal leadership suffered chronic financial hardship, in large part the result of disputes with the smaller communities (including Karlin) and a legacy of heavy debts. Pinsk’s budgetary predicament in 1761 was explicitly described in the constitution of the Coronation Sejm:122 Since the community of Pinsk123 was destroyed by fire several times, and it is burdened by a heavy load of wyderkauf debts and the obligation to pay the hiberna; [and moreover] it does not hold any municipal properties and has suffered injustice; therefore, in order for the community to bear the burden of public taxes we [the Sejm] instruct the Lithuanian Financial Commission to take into consideration Pinsk’s difficult situation, as well as the discrimination the community suffers while not receiving any relief from the general head-tax, and the commission should take into account requests [by the community], which accord with the law and the truth, and do not conflict with

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other orders, and grant concessions, rightfully due in difficult situations, as well as pass sentence in the disputes between Pinsk and the communities and settlements in the surroundings [that have] severed [their ties] to it.

The Pinsk kahal did not extricate itself from these and other difficulties during the 1770s and 1780s, and its leaders expended the better part of their energies seeking resources to finance the needs of the kahal.

Pinsk and Karlin—Hasidim and Mitnaggedim Even at a time of serious crisis for the Polish-Lithuanian Jewish communities, during the eighteenth century Pinsk’s rabbinate was among the most prestigious, and some of the greatest rabbis of the generation served there. In addition, there were other important sages who wrote learned books and filled teaching, judicial, and preaching roles.124 Besides them, there was a large group of scholars (talmidei ­hakhamim) who studied Torah for its own sake, many of whom also wrote books in halakhah and homiletics in the spirit of the teachings of the ­seventeenth-century Rabbi Judah-Leib Puhovitzer and his associates. As Rabbi Eliezer Leyzer Katznellenbogen remarked, “The city has always been full of sages, authors and those who understand knowledge.”125 It was mainly among the members of this group, it would seem, that the teachings of Hasidism were quickly and easily assimilated, and they supplied its promoters. During the 1760s, Hasidism became entrenched in Karlin, spreading from there to the communities of Lithuania and Belarus. Rabbi Aaron of Karlin (1736–1772), the distinguished disciple of Rabbi Dov Ber, the Maggid of Mezerich, played a central role in disseminating Hasidism in Lithuania and in organizing its adherents. Because of Rabbi Aaron, by the 1760s Karlin had become one of the two main centers (Mezerich [Miedzyrzecz] was the other) of the young Hasidic movement. “Karliner” first became synonymous with Hasid around the 1770s and remained in use as an appellative for several decades.126 R. Aaron’s vigorous and productive promotion of Hasidism in Belarus and Lithuania coincided with Rabbi Rafael Ha-Kohen’s tenure

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as rabbi of Pinsk (1763–1772). After R. Aaron died at the age of thirtysix during the intermediate days of the Passover holiday in 1772 (a few months before R. Rafael left the rabbinate of Pinsk), his position was assumed by his loyal disciple, friend, and colleague, Rabbi Solomon of Karlin (1738–1792), also a disciple of the Maggid of Mezerich. Until 1784, R. Solomon led his Hasidim from Karlin, and thereafter, until his murder in 1792, from Wlodzimierz (Ludmir) in Wolyn.

Rabbi Rafael Ha-Kohen (Hamburger) and Hasidism Historians of Hasidism, examining R. Rafael’s attitude toward the Maggid of Mezerich, have relied only on testimony by Mitnaggedim. They have disregarded both R. Rafael’s biography (written by his sonin-law) and information from Hasidic sources.127 A critical evaluation of these sources is essential in clarifying R. Rafael’s stance on Hasidism and his role in the battle against it, as well as to understand the position of Pinsk Jews in general and their part in the anti-Hasidic offensive. In 1766, the rabbi paid a visit to the Maggid of Mezerich, in the course of a trip to the cities of Northern Wolyn on behalf of the Pinsk community (which made attempts to return these communities to its juris­ diction, as instructed by the Polish Tribunal). The purpose of the visit was to probe the nature of the new movement and the character of the Maggid. A mitnaggedic source, R. David Makow’s Shever Posh’im, links R. Rafael’s trip to the phenomenon of visits to Mezerich made by rabbis and scholars to see the Maggid and hear the famous man’s explication of Hasidism at the time. It distinctly emphasizes that Rafael’s impression of the Maggid was lukewarm and that, when queried by the Gaon of Vilna, R. Rafael voiced a negative opinion of the Maggid’s talmudic erudition and expressed reservations about his knowledge of Kabbalah.128 Dubnow quoted at length this first dated testimony on the subject, and Rabinowitsch cited it in his book, both without attempting to explore this source’s significance. They did not realize that this is not the only evidence of R. Rafael’s attitude toward Hasidism, or that in conjunction with other information it has greater import than is immediately apparent. One must view the rabbi’s trip to Mezerich against the background of the ferment and excitement in scholarly circles in Pinsk

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and Karlin about the new ideas of Hasidism. R. Rafael’s opinion on the Maggid, expressed to the Gaon, should be understood as establishing a neutral position about the new movement, a position that he maintained until the end of his tenure as rabbi in Pinsk.129 There is no evidence that the opponents of Hasidism in Szklow, Vilna, and other Lithuanian communities received any support from R. Rafael for banning Hasidism. Hasidic sources contain at least two accounts of his impartial attitude toward Hasidism and his disapproval of harassment by means of the ban (herem). One account deals with the slander spread about R. Aaron of Karlin in Pinsk, and the public inquiry held in the synagogue by R. Rafael Ha-Kohen. According to the source, some “good for nothings” attempted to falsely accuse R. Aaron. One witness had been bribed to commit perjury, but when another witness confuted his testimony, R. Rafael slapped the perjurer in the face.130 Another legendary Hasidic account supports the assumption that R. Rafael did not accept the persecution of Hasidim espoused by the Gaon of Vilna and declined to sign a letter signed by the Gaon because he did not agree that Hasidism should be combated by the severe means of bans and excommunication. R. Rafael’s biographer, his son-in-law, also had nothing to report about activities against the Hasidim.131 Crucial in this connection is the issue of R. Rafael’s participation in the harassment of Hasidim in Lithuania during 1771–1772, and the related question of when he left the Pinsk rabbinate. According to Dubnow, R. Rafael served as rabbi of Pinsk until 1771,132 meaning that he departed before the outbreak of controversy and the declaration of bans against the Hasidim. R. Rafael was definitely absent from Pinsk from the end of 1771, for more than half a year. (He was in Berlin seeing to the publication of his book Torat Yekutiel). He returned to Pinsk upon the book’s publication, during the second half of 1772. His stay at that time was brief; on the return trip from Berlin he had made contact with the Poznan community and was appointed to the rabbinate there, which he took up in the beginning of October 1772, before Yom Kippur. R. Rafael completed his affairs and left Pinsk for good, apparently in late September 1772, after having served as rabbi there for approximately ten years.133

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During the very months that R. Rafael was in Berlin, the Vilna community, along with the other great Lithuanian communities, set out to do battle with Hasidism and declared bans in Vilna and elsewhere.134 It seems odd that he chose to travel to Berlin to print his book just then, leaving his community on its own. He was surely aware that Pinsk, one of Lithuania’s chief communities, had been asked to take part in the holy war against Hasidism led by the Gaon. If R. Rafael decided not to remain with his community during those critical months, this might be explained as refusal to be part of the persecution of the Hasidim. His trip to Berlin obviated his taking an open stand for or against the Gaon. In fact, his position remained neutral, and the Hasidic assertion that he refused to acquiesce to the Gaon’s request to join the ban is credible. It is unlikely that Hasidim suffered persecution during R. Rafael Ha‑Kohen’s tenure in the Pinsk rabbinate, although there were probably certain groups who insulted them and attempted to drive them out.

Rabbi Eliezer Ha-Levi Eliezer ben Meir Ha-Levi was rosh yeshiva (head of the yeshiva) of Pinsk during the 1760s and 1770s, rabbi in Chomsk in the early 1780s, and again rabbi and preacher in the kloyz of Pinsk during the 1780s and 1790s. During his tenure in the kloyz, his two great books of Kabbalistic homily were published: Si’ah Ha-Sadeh (Szklow, 1787) and Re’ah Ha‑Sadeh (Szklow, 1795). The title pages and endorsements of these books (particularly the endorsement by Rabbi Avigdor ben Yosef Hayyim to the first book) indicate that Eliezer Ha-Levi was a descendant of the Maharsha (Hebrew acronym for Rabbi Samuel Eidels, a prominent seventeenth-century Talmudist), and that he came to Pinsk from Chomsk, where he had served as rabbi shortly before publication of Si’ah Ha-Sadeh.135 Hasidic sources contain information about R. Eliezer and his activities in Pinsk during the 1760s and 1770s—that is, before he took on the position of rabbi in Chomsk. One account relates that he was rosh yeshiva in Pinsk and that: He was the son-in-law of the great Gaon, Rabbi Israel Isser, the rabbi of the community of Pinsk and a member of the Council of Four Lands,

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and the Gaon Rabbi Israel Isser was the son-in-law of the Rabbi of the last generation, the Maharsha, and on the other side of the family Rabbi Eliezer Ha-Levi was a grandson of the Maharshal [Hebrew acronym for Rabbi Solomon Luria, a leading sixteenth-century Talmudist].

This is convincing evidence that R. Eliezer was the son-in-law of I­ srael Isserl, rabbi of Pinsk between 1746 and 1763. Tracing the lineage of R. Eliezer and his father-in-law to the Maharsha and the ­Maharshal136 is significant, and it may be concluded that R. Eliezer ben Meir Ha‑Levi, author of the books just mentioned, was the same R. Eliezer mentioned in the Hasidic source. R. Eliezer was undoubtedly a pivotal and influential figure among the scholars of Pinsk in the final third of the eighteenth century. His style as rabbi and preacher in the Pinsk kloyz were reminiscent of that of Rabbi Judah Leib Puhovitzer who lived and was active in Pinsk a century earlier. He preached every Sabbath, taught Torah to the general public, and admonished his listeners. A Hasidic source notes that R. Eliezer merited admiration from R. Aaron of Karlin; that he “had passionate, boundless love” for Rabbi Levi Yitzhak (later famously of Berdichev) “for he had been rabbi in Pinsk” (that is, in the late 1770s); that Rabbi Pinhas of Koretz (­Korzec) was very fond of R. Eliezer and often spoke in his praise; and that R. Eliezer used to pray with Rabbi Solomon of Karlin in the same prayer hall (shtibel). The Maggid of Mezerich, furthermore, wrote to R. Eliezer and to R. Hayyim, another member of the learned circle in Pinsk, some time between 1769 and 1772, regarding the Hasidic activities of R. Aaron and a consequent dispute, apparently among the Hasidim themselves.137 These assertions and the letter from the Maggid elicit speculation about R. Eliezer’s affinity for Hasidism and its central figures during the 1760s and 1770s. It may very well be that subsequently (perhaps influenced by the struggle against the Hasidim between 1781 and 1784) he retreated from Hasidism or moved to the opposing mitnaggedic camp. The fact that Rabbi Avigdor ben Hayyim, successor to R. Levi ­Yitzhak as rabbi of Pinsk in 1785 and a fiery opponent of Hasidism, wrote an endorsement for R. Eliezer’s books in 1787 and 1791 implies that at that point R. Eliezer did not have Hasidic leanings.138 His homiletical

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works, published when he was distant from Hasidism, await a monograph to clarify his homiletic method and the extent of his attachment, if any, to the doctrines of Hasidism.

The Maggid’s Letter to Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Hayyim A letter sent by R. Dov Ber, the Maggid of Mezerich, to R. Hayyim and R. Eliezer Ha-Levi of Pinsk is an important source for determining R. Eliezer’s relationship to Hasidism, as well as the attitude of the scholarly circles of Pinsk toward the movement. According to Rabinowitsch, the letter was written at some point between 1769 and 1772 and demonstrates that around 1772 the Pinsk community was actively opposed to Hasidism. The letter reads139: May the Lord grant peace to my beloved friend, the eminent venerable scholar, our master, Rabbi Eliezer Ha-Levi, may his light shine, and to another like him, the distinguished scholar, praised by all, our master, the rabbi, Rabbi Hayyim, may his light shine. After extending greetings, I have come to arouse them to seek peace in their abode and to be bound as one with our colleague, the honorable eminent Rabbi Aaron, may his light shine. As we know, his teachings find favor in God’s eyes, for what wrong, Heaven forbid, could there be to suspect, Heaven forbid. Let them remove evil thoughts of the evil inclination, so there should be no division between them. Let matters be restored, let this not be a small matter in their eyes, and let there be peace. From me to my beloved whose peace I seek and ever wish for their welfare. Dov Ber son of our master, the Rabbi, Rabbi Abraham, of blessed memory. And the distinguished scholar, our master, the Rabbi, Rabbi Solomon may his light shine—all this is addressed to him as well, to endeavor with his wisdom that there should be peace within your camp.

The letter was written during R. Aaron’s lifetime, that is, before Passover of 1772,140 during the tenure of R. Rafael Ha-Kohen. The letter implies that people in Pinsk and Karlin had begun to look askance at R. Aaron’s activities, perhaps arousing controversy. The Maggid intended to warn them against divisiveness; he requested that the two rabbis take action to ensure “peace in their abode” and “no division.” The letter prompts two questions. What were the doubts or controversy concerning R. Aaron’s activities? Why did the Maggid turn to

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R. Eliezer and R. Hayyim? (Outside of this letter, nothing is known about R. Hayyim; therefore the discussion must focus on R. Eliezer.) According to Rabinowitsch, one can deduce that Pinsk Mitnaggedim had begun to persecute the Hasidim and their leader, R. Aaron; that R. Eliezer was foremost among those who persecuted the Hasidim; and that the Maggid appealed to the leaders of the Mitnaggedim and tried to influence them to stop the harassment of R. Aaron and make peace in their community.141 Rabinowitsch’s conclusions do not rest on clear proof and pose several problems. In such a serious matter, why would the Maggid turn to these two scholars when an appeal to the rabbi of the city, Rafael Ha-Kohen (who had official authority and could take practical measures), would have been customary? If indeed the Hasidim in Pinsk were severely harassed by the Mitnaggedim, why is there no evidence that the Pinsk kahal and R. Rafael joined in the persecutions and ­excommunications of 1772? How can one explain selection of the Hasidic Rabbi Levi Yitzhak, one of the great disciples of the Maggid, as rabbi of Pinsk just a few years later?142 The letter should be explained otherwise. R. Eliezer was close to the local Hasidic leaders—R. Aaron and R. Solomon of Karlin, and R. Levi Yitzhak—and he was a friend of R. Pinhas of Koretz. The salutation of the Maggid’s letter and its general tone imply that the Maggid was personally acquainted with R. Eliezer143 and was aware of his affinity for Hasidism. Knowing that R. Eliezer was influential in the community, R. Dov Ber requested his intercession to prevent a schism and establish peace. The letter was written on the eve of the first wave of organized opposition to Hasidism, and it may be that it was related to nascent opposition to Hasidism in Pinsk. Echoes of this could be heard in the Hasidic account of the libel against R. Aaron, and the public inquiry conducted by R. Rafael Ha-Kohen.144 The failure to undermine R. Aaron’s status, by means of a verdict of R. Rafael and his court, suggests that Pinsk’s Mitnaggedim were weak. In contrast to the case with Brest and its rabbi, Abraham Katznellenbogen,145 there is no evidence linking Pinsk with the Gaon and his Vilna community on this issue, an absence consistent with the internal situation in Pinsk. In 1771–1772, the year of

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the first bans against Hasidim in Szklow, Vilna, and Brody, there was no real strife between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim in Pinsk. The Pinsk community was in no hurry to join the controversy, or to wage war against Hasidism.

Rabbi Levi Yitzhak ben Meir of Berdichev Within this context, we should reexamine the choice of Rabbi Levi Yitzhak ben Meir, known subsequently as “the Berdichever,” as rabbi of Pinsk, toward the end of 1775 or 1776. His selection should not be explained as a conspiracy to capture the community (Dubnow); nor does it suffice to state that R. Levi Yitzhak, a renowned Torah scholar, was chosen during a lull in the battle between Mitnaggedim and Hasidim (Rabinowitsch). His accession to the Pinsk rabbinate confirms that in the 1770s people with Hasidic leanings had considerable influence within the community leadership and scholarly circles. Were the leadership strongly opposed to Hasidism, even a temporary suspension of strife would not account for the choice of R. Levi Yitzhak, one of the most famous Hasidic leaders, the author of a unique vision of Hasidism and Hasidic life. The Hasidim of Pinsk never seized the leadership of the community, but they did function in a sympathetic atmosphere free of interference.146 Moreover, we have already noted that R. Eliezer Ha-Levi “had passionate, boundless love for R. Levi Yitzhak.” R. Solomon, the rabbi of Karlin following the death of R. Aaron, also maintained ties with R. Levi Yitzhak; the two joined forces to gain followers for Hasidism. During the 1770s, then, religious leadership in Pinsk and Karlin was in the hands of two distinguished Hasidic leaders and one leader with Hasidic leanings. A 1774 letter sent by the Gaon and the Vilna community to Pinsk stated, “Although your community has always had renowned and God-fearing men, since those of the aforementioned sect are dominant, they are impotent and powerless.” It is therefore not surprising that up to 1781 R. Levi Yitzhak was not bothered at all, and after 1781, when the battle accelerated and the second ban on Hasidism was declared, he still continued to enjoy significant support in Pinsk for several years.147

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In 1781 and 1784, R. Levi Yitzhak was attacked by opponents of Lithuanian Hasidism. We have some information about his role in the controversy and the effect of the struggle on the balance of power between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim in Pinsk.148 Some time before late August 1781, R. Levi Yitzhak encountered R. Abraham Katznellenbogen, the rabbi of Brest-Litovsk, in Warsaw and was forced to engage in a public debate over the doctrines of Hasidism, in the synagogue in the Warsaw suburb of Praga. In a letter calling his community to bitter battle against the Hasidim, written from the fair at Zelwa on August 23, 1781, R. Katznellenbogen boasted that he had bested R. Levi Yitzhak, “their head goon,” who “was like a mute, unable to open his mouth,” and that he (Katznellenbogen) had succeeded in publicly disgracing him and the Hasidim before a jubilant audience. Other testimony shows that R. Levi Yitzhak had no intention of debating with R. Katznellenbogen and didn’t reply to his arguments; “on the contrary, [R. Levi Yitzhak] was insolent, jesting and mocking in a way inappropriate towards an elder and a rabbi such as [R. Katznellenbogen].”149 On August 23, 1781, emissaries from the Vilna community persuaded Pinsk leaders present at the Zelwa fair to address a letter to their community, notifying them that they sided with the ban against the Hasidim declared in Vilna.150 It is doubtful that this moderately worded letter undermined R. Levi Yitzhak’s standing in Pinsk. Despite reservations of one sort or another on the part of the kahal leadership, up to 1784 his position was secure. R. Levi Yitzhak’s standing in Pinsk did not change until 1784–1785, as a consequence of outside pressure exerted on him and the community. Sometime before July 1784, R. Katznellenbogen tried to challenge R. Levi Yitzhak to a second public debate. The latter refused to engage in verbal debate but agreed to respond to questions in writing; indeed, Rabbi Abraham sent a letter posing his questions and requesting replies.151 In the letter, it can be observed that R. Katznellenbogen addresses R. Levi Yitzhak with the respect due to a rabbi and learned scholar. On June 25, 1784, just two days before R. Katznellenbogen wrote, accusing him of “behaving in certain ways and matters which I and all who see

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the truth do not find appropriate,” the Vilna kahal sent a forceful letter to the Pinsk kahal urging it to expel its rabbi (R. Levi Yitzhak) and declare a ban against the Hasidim in Pinsk, Karlin, and the Pinsk district. The letter was signed by Rabbi Samuel ben Avigdor, the Gaon, Rabbi Elijah of Vilna, and twenty of the Vilna kahal leaders.152 It clearly stated that the leaders of the Pinsk kahal had earlier (apparently between 1781 and 1784) refused to remove the rabbi from his position and hoped that perhaps “he would repent of his mistaken ways and no longer lead the people on the unpaved path.” They even obtained the Vilna kahal’s endorsement for this policy. The Pinsk leaders, despite having joined in the second ban on Hasidism by the Vilna kahal at the Zelwa fair, did not draw the logical conclusion and remove R. Levi Yitzhak from his position. The reason, as stated in the Vilna letter from 1784, was the strength of the Hasidic camp,153 and perhaps also the moderation and hesitancy of the mitnaggedic camp, which included most of the kahal leadership. The fact that a full year elapsed before the demand of the Gaon and the Vilna community was met shows that there was still strong resistance to removing R. Levi Yitzhak. Hasidic tradition relates that the Mitnaggedim made life miserable for members of the rabbi’s household in Pinsk. If this is so, it took place in that same year—between June 1784, when the letter from Vilna was written, and June 1785, when R. Levi Yitzhak left Pinsk.154 The harassment was presumably the work of fanatic Mitnaggedim who did not have the upper hand. It is reasonable to assume that during the course of the year there was a struggle over allowing R. Levi Yitzhak to continue as rabbi. The moderate Mitnaggedim prevailed, and R. Levi Yitzhak was permitted to serve one more year, perhaps thereby completing his contracted tenure.155 In R. Levi Yitzhak’s endorsement for the book Meir Netivim by Rabbi Meir Margoliot, dated May 8, 1791, he signed his name as “Rabbi and Head of the Yeshiva of Pinsk and its district, at present Rabbi of Berdichev,” indicating that he continued to consider himself rabbi of Pinsk, having left the city under duress. It was the Gaon, applying the full force of his personal influence, who finally succeeded in tipping the scales against the Hasidim of Pinsk and their rabbi, Levi Yitzhak. In Hasidic Karlin, there was likely a significant non-Hasidic camp

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that was incited by the Gaon to act against Hasidism. The 1784 Vilna letter to Pinsk refers to “those who call themselves by the title of Rebbe and leader of the sinners, who must be uprooted and eradicated,” probably alluding to Rabbi Solomon of Karlin, who left at about that time and settled in Wlodzimierz.156 Apparently the Karlin community treated Rabbi Solomon the way neighboring Pinsk treated R. Levi ­Yitzhak and forced him to leave his home and his Hasidim in PinskKarlin and the surrounding towns.

Rabbi Avigdor ben Hayyim (1785–1795) With the expulsion of R. Levi Yitzhak, the Hasidim in Pinsk were forced into retreat and ostensibly accepted the situation. From subsequent developments, it is evident that they were waiting for a new opportunity to resume growth, and that they were not prepared to remain in humiliation and under restriction. They soon succeeded in demonstrating their strength, with their revival going as far as seizure of the reins of kahal rule. However, their apparent initial acquiescence in the choice of a rabbi opposed to Hasidism requires explanation. Selection of a candidate for the position of rabbi of Pinsk and the thirty surrounding communities and settlements was made at a time when serious concerns plagued the kahal leadership, notably strong pressure from the authorities to repay heavy debts and interference on the part of the starosta and his assistants in communal budgetary affairs.157 The decision rested with those who effected the departure of R. Levi Yitzhak. Their aim was to install a rabbi acceptable to the Gaon and the Vilna community—in other words, an opponent of the Hasidim, capable of weakening their power and influence. Otherwise, what point was there in removing R. Levi Yitzhak? In a break with Pinsk’s venerable tradition of installing a prominent scholar as rabbi, those responsible did not give much weight to the personal qualities of the aspirant. Owing to the city’s economic hardships, the leadership was pressed to take an action that, although prevalent in eighteenth-century Lithuania and Poland,158 was novel for Pinsk: the kahal decided to accept payment from an applicant for the position of rabbi.

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Rabbi Avigdor ben Hayyim, a vehement opponent of Hasidism, was willing to pay a respectable sum for his appointment. He was not known as a great scholar or teacher,159 and all that he could say on his own behalf was that he had served as rabbi in Inowroclaw (Lesli) and lived for several years afterwards in Warsaw, where he “came and went in the courts of the nobles and great men,” probably meaning that he was a syndic, engaged in lobbying on behalf of the Jews. While residing in Warsaw, he apparently did not serve in the rabbinate,160 but the rabbinate of Pinsk and the Pinsk district appealed to him and he presented his candidacy. Following negotiations with the kahal leaders over terms, he assumed the Pinsk position. According to R. Avigdor, he paid three thousand czerwone zlotys for his appointment, of which twenty-six hundred was apparently paid to the starosta and four hundred constituted a loan to the kahal.161 The sum for the starosta was also a form of payment to the kahal; at that time the starosta was authorized to supervise the kahal’s budget, and all incomes and expenditures of the kahal were conducted with his knowledge. He used monies to repay debts as he saw fit and also helped himself to considerable sums.162 In return for R. Avigdor’s payment, the Pinsk kahal conferred on him the position of Rabbi of Pinsk and the Pinsk district, for a period of ten years.163 The letter of appointment, which is not available, apparently included several paragraphs about projected incomes from his position. It may be that, among other things, it mentioned specific incomes from the thirty surrounding communities and settlements that were subject to Pinsk, and certain leases were granted to him, perhaps a monopoly on the sale of specified commodities.164 R. Avigdor took up his post very shortly after R. Levi Yitzhak left Pinsk, in June 1785, beginning his tenure no later than August 1785.165 In 1800 and 1801, he wrote of his efforts to uproot Hasidism from Pinsk and its surroundings. He asserted that he did not wish “to enter into any dealings with the sect that had arisen there” and tried with all his might “to restore them to the proper path,” but he was forced to admit “that his action had no effect.” The result was actually the opposite of R. Avigdor’s intentions. The Hasidim gained in power during his tenure. They continued to disseminate their doctrines and literature

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publicly. They defied R. Avigdor’s word and left him with no way to enforce his will, “because the majority in all the cities under my supervision already belonged to that sect.” This means that in Pinsk and the surroundings the Hasidim, having been defeated with the expulsion of R. Levi Yitzhak in 1784, once more seized the initiative, reorganized, and increased their strength, until R. Avigdor himself was forced to admit that they had become the majority. He thought of publicly burning Hasidic texts but did not dare to do so since most of the populace was not under his control.166 The years of R. Avigdor’s tenure were years of great internal tension within the Jewish community of Pinsk. The Hasidim had good reason to oppose him, because he did not conceal his animosity toward them. But apparently many non-Hasidim were similarly repelled by the new rabbi, who conducted his affairs imperiously, not by virtue of greatness in Torah or personal authority but thanks to his wealth and political power. Toward the end of Polish rule, the Pinsk community was in turmoil, and it was difficult for opponents of Hasidism to carry through their plans. Sale of the rabbinate to the wrong person led to results contrary to those hoped for by the kahal leaders who chose R. Avigdor. The Hasidim, who had been subdued during 1784–1785, openly renewed activities and succeeded in attracting new forces and gaining public sympathy. R. Avigdor sensed that the ground was burning beneath him even before he was dismissed from his position. He was banned from three communities under Pinsk’s authority: Zlobin, Stolin, and Dobrowica. These were private towns; the nobles (or “city-rulers”) who owned them assented to requests by the local Jewish leaders, mostly Hasidim, and forbade R. Avigdor to enter. It may be that leadership of these towns remained in the hands of the Hasidim from 1785 to 1793 as well, and the inhabitants refused to accept the rabbi’s authority once they understood his intentions and personality. The strength of the Hasidim steadily increased in Pinsk and in other communities of the Pinsk district.167 R. Avigdor made attempts to halt the growth of the Hasidic camp. He realized that moralizing was ineffective, and that he did not have enough power to burn Hasidic books. It may be that while the Poles

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still ruled Pinsk he had already attempted to draw the Gaon’s attention to the matter of circulation of Hasidic works in Pinsk as well as to his personal situation, requesting the Gaon’s advice and guidance.168 In any case, the Hasidim became the majority in Pinsk and in other communities in the Pinsk district. Despite the strengthening of the Hasidim and their majority status in Pinsk and the surrounding communities, as long as Polish rule continued R. Avigdor retained his post. The Hasidim waited patiently for an opportunity to retrieve power and dismiss him. They could, of course, have waited until the end of his tenure, in 1795, because the position was granted for only ten years. An opportunity arose earlier, however, in 1793, around the time of the second partition of Poland, when Pinsk was transferred to Russian rule. During the first generation of Hasidism (until the early 1780s), like its neighbor Karlin Pinsk was a center of the Hasidic movement. The non-Hasidic segment of the population did not, or could not, display active hostility towards Hasidism. Given the Hasidic character of Pinsk, it is understandable that Pinsk did not join the ban against the Hasidim in 1772, and how R. Levi Yitzhak could be chosen as rabbi of Pinsk, for a tenure that lasted nearly ten years. There was a striking absence of tension between the Hasidim and the non-Hasidim from the start of the Hasidic movement in the 1760s until the early 1780s. Spiritual leadership, power, and influence, in both Pinsk and Karlin, were in the hands of the Hasidim, and the opposing camp remained basically neutral. Only heavy pressure exerted by the Vilna community and the Gaon caused the Mitnaggedim to take a more active stance alongside the Lithuanian opponents to Hasidism, temporarily putting the Hasidim on the defensive. This took place simultaneously in Pinsk and in Karlin; when Karlin was dominated by the Hasidim, so was Pinsk, and when the Mitnaggedim gained power in Pinsk, so did their counterparts in Karlin. In retrospect, the decision of the Pinsk leadership to accept R. Avigdor’s candidacy because he was willing to invest a substantial sum of money in exchange for his election was a grave mistake. As long as Pinsk’s rabbis were great scholars possessing personal authority and serving as educational models, they could maintain their independence

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and enjoy the confidence of the majority. Such was the leadership of R. Rafael Ha-Kohen and R. Levi Yitzhak the Berdichever, between 1763 and 1785. These rabbis did not purchase their posts. They were chosen and were capable of conducting their rabbinate from a position of moral authority while the people accepted their jurisdiction and guidance. R. Avigdor not only failed to endear himself to the community but also caused internal tension, alienated people of all types, and degraded the honor of the rabbinate. He finally brought about a popular revolt, which resulted in transfer of authority to the Hasidim, communal schism, and lengthy conflict.

Figure 1. A light boat on the Pina, early twentieth century. From an album of the Bund. YIVO Institute for Jewish Research.

Figure 2. Jewish river workers taking apart a raft, circa 1924. Photographer Kascyzne Alter, Forward, Dec. 7, 1924. YIVO Institute for Jewish Research.

Figure 3. Houses and synagogue in Pinsk. From an album of the Bund. YIVO Institute for Jewish Research.

Figure 4. The Luria brothers, Alexander and Leopold, circa 1870.

Figure 5. The Great Synagogue, early twentieth century.

Figure 6. Crossing the Pina, early twentieth century.

Six

From the Russian Annexation of Pinsk until Tsar Alexander III and the Bilu Movement (1793–1880)

Rabbi Avigdor’s Battle with the Hasidim of Pinsk and Lithuania

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Between April and June 1793, at the time of the second partition of Poland, Pinsk was transferred from Polish rule to Russian. Though no accounts describe the situation in Pinsk during the final days of Polish dominion and the beginning of Russian control, we do know that in 1792 a large force of the Russian army had already penetrated eastern Poland (Lithuania and Ukraine), with the approval of Polish aristocrats who were opposed to the Constitution of May 3, 1791. The Polish nobility was split between proponents of the constitution and those who had joined the Targowica Confederation and willingly accepted the entry of the Russians. Polish control over the government apparatus (never particularly efficient) was greatly weakened in Lithuania, including Pinsk. The transition from Polish to Russian rule was rather prolonged; in Pinsk, Polish authority no longer existed during the second quarter of 1793, but many months passed before Russian rule was stabilized. Although the Polish administrative and judicial systems were dissolved during the transition period, it took time for the new government to gain control and apply legislation and practices, adopted in Belarus between 1772 and 1793 following the first partition of Poland, to the new areas under its control.1 Events and sentiments within Pinsk may be inferred from Rabbi Avigdor ben Hayyim’s letter to Tsar Paul I. R. Avigdor described his dismissal from the rabbinate and his struggle for reinstatement and compensation. Because of its importance, the document is cited at length (as translated in W. Z. Rabinowitsch, Lithuanian Hasidism,

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pp. 44–47, with slight modification), with linear numbering to facilitate analysis. 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12) 13) 14) 15) 16) 17) 18) 19) 20) 21) 22) 23) 24) 25) 26) 27) 28) 29) 30) 31) 32) 33) 34) 35)

. . . I am now emboldened to lay my petition in fear and awe before Your Majesty’s revered throne. I confess that when I was chosen as rabbi of Pinsk and of the thirty small towns belonging to the city [i.e. the district], I did not wish to have any dealings whatsoever with the sect that had arisen there, and I was very pleased not to have any. However, I endeavored through preaching to persuade them to return from their errings to the right way, but when I saw that this effort had no effect on them at all, and when there came into my hands their clandestinely printed books in which law and justice were most insolently distorted, I was perplexed in mind, for I did not know how to frustrate their designs. Even though I was the rabbi, I no longer had the power to burn their books publicly, for in all the towns under my jurisdiction the majority already belonged to that sect. I was accordingly obliged to inform the late Gaon, R. Elijah of Vilna, of what had happened, since he was the greatest of our sages, both in the exoteric Torah [Talmud] and the esoteric Torah [Kabbalah]. I told him of the contents of the books of this sect and requested wise counsel from him, for I feared that since their books contain, for the most part, vain and insolent words, and since they call themselves our brethren, the matter might come to the notice of the great government ­authorities, and therefore [action must be taken] to prevent the innocent from suffering for the crimes of evil-doers. Moreover, I proved to him [the Gaon] that, since their books lead the simple man astray from the straight way, according to the Mosaic Law their books should be publicly burnt in the presence of all the people. And this was indeed done in Vilna, where the order was given to burn the books of this sect in public in front of the synagogue [the book burned was Zava’at Ha-Rivash]. When this became known to the sect and they discovered

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36) 37) 38) 39) 40) 41) 42) 43) 44) 45) 46) 47) 48) 49) 50) 51) 52) 53) 54) 55) 56) 57) 58) 59) 60) 61) 62) 63) 64) 65) 66) 67) 68) 69) 70) 71) 72) 73) 74)

that I was opposed to their ideas, they rose up as one man against me, and deprived me of my livelihood, and even eventually incited the others [Mitnaggedim] not to give me my due. For who would not lend a willing ear to such advice? And so I was greatly impoverished. In the three towns of Zlobin, Stolin and Dabrowica, which were under my jurisdiction but where the heads of the community were in each case members of this sect, they many times prevailed on the local authorities to forbid me to set foot in them. Afterwards they grew stronger and more numerous in Pinsk and, before the term of my appointment had come to an end and it was time to choose another rabbi, they took the post from me by force and, to my great shame, removed the chair intended for my use from the synagogue, and on the place where it had stood scattered sand and earth. . . . According to the religion of Israel it is a custom among us that who serves as rabbi, even if he has been appointed for a certain period only, cannot be dismissed [from his position before the end of his term of office]. But the sect did not observe this custom, and expelled me with great ignominy two years before the appointed time, and deprived me of all my income. When I saw how they were treating me, without consulting me, unlawfully, I lodged a complaint against them, in accordance with Your Majesty’s decree, before the magistrate [municipal council and court], who ordered that it be publicly announced in our synagogue that I was to remain in the rabbinical seat until the court should pronounce its decision. In furtherance of the execution of this order, the magistrate sent its secretary to the synagogue to announce the decision in person. When this became known to the sect, they determined, on solemn oath, to bring about the annulment of the magistrate’s decision. They chose one of their persuasion as head of the community and, when the secretary tried to enter the synagogue in order to announce [the decision], they took up their stand in front of him and did not let him enter. According to Your Majesty’s exalted decree it is laid

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75) 76) 77) 78) 79) 80) 81) 82) 83) 84) 85) 86) 87) 88) 89) 90) 91) 92) 93) 94) 95) 96) 97) 98) 99) 100) 101) 102) 103) 104) 105) 106) 107) 108) 109) 110) 111) 112) 113)

down that, in every town where there are people of our religion, the rabbis shall be the judges in all matters pertaining to our faith. They must be men of learning. But the sect dismissed the men of learning and chose in their stead the people they wished, totally lacking in experience. They elected Hershel Kolodner as head of the community, only because he and his family belonged to the sect. He traveled to the governor of the province, Nepluyev, and in return for libelous tale-bearing against me obtained an injunction not to pay me the remainder of the salary due to me, both for the last six years and for the years before that. Further, Kolodner ordered, and this, too, in the name of the governor of the province, that it be publicly announced that everyone whom I had either treated dishonestly or from whom I had taken money unlawfully should make a declaration to this effect in the town hall before the governor of the province. Despite the profound humiliation caused me by this order, I was glad of it, for I was sure that even among the sect there would not be a single person capable of saying ill of me. I had never favored a wealthy man, if he was guilty, and thereby ignored the rights of a poor man. On the contrary, I had always desired, to the utmost of my ability, to help the poor. When a full year had passed after the publication of this same announcement and no complaints against me had been received, the governor of the province issued me a certificate of probity. After the magistrate had thus been convinced that I was in the right, my enemies drew out the matter almost six more years. All this time I did not cease to demand the 3,000 chervontsy. And although I subsequently went to Minsk more than ten times, and showed the magistrate [in Pinsk] the order issued by the governor of the province and by the governor-general, Tutolmin, my efforts have still not borne fruit. My case drags on and on, and meanwhile I have been so greatly impoverished that I have been forced to sell all my possessions. I and my family have been left in

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114) 115) 116) 117) 118) 119) 120) 121) 122) 123) 124) 125) 126) 127) 128)

utter destitution. But I have not lost my faith in Almighty God, as it is written: “If you do mistreat them, I will heed their outcry as soon as they cry out to me” [Exodus 22:22]. I have placed my trust in our exalted laws, that offer refuge to the oppressed. And, indeed, who is better fitted to [offer such refuge] than our mighty master Tsar Paul I?. . . . It is, therefore, with a heart bursting with indignation, that I humbly and respectfully present this petition to Your Majesty. In years past I was rich, whereas now, in my old age, I have been reduced to poverty together with all my family. I therefore wait hopefully for Your Majesty’s decision, seeing that it is beyond my power to demonstrate by witnesses the harm done to me by the sect. . . .

Rabbi Avigdor’s letter, unfortunately, was poorly and illogically structured. To analyze the contents and draw conclusions about Pinsk, we must classify events according to the chronology of the Polish and Russian periods. 1. The period of Polish rule, second half of 1785 through first half of 1793. (a) lines 2–16 (“I confess . . . belonged to that sect”): R. Avigdor’s avoidance of any dealings with the Hasidim in Pinsk; his attempt to return them to the proper path through moralistic preaching; the Hasidim became the majority in Pinsk and all the cities under his authority. (b) lines 40–46 (“In the three towns . . . numerous in Pinsk”): The communities of Zlobin, Stolin, and Dabrowica obtained permission from “the rulers of those cities” to prevent R. Avigdor’s entry.

2. The second partition of Poland, spring and summer 1793. (a) lines 69–70 (“They chose one of their persuasion as head of the community”) (b) lines 35–40 and 46–58 (“When this became known to the sect . . . greatly impoverished”; “before the term of my appointment had come to an end . . . all my income”): Avigdor’s complaint about his dismissal and the removal of his special chair from the synagogue.

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3. Following the second partition of Poland, second half of 1793 to end of 1796. (a) lines 17–34 (“I was accordingly obliged to inform . . . in front of the synagogue”): R. Avigdor’s intention of burning the Hasidic texts and his inability to do so; his appeal to the Gaon and the burning of books in Vilna. All or most of these events took place between mid-1793 and the spring of 1794.2 (b) lines 58–69 (“When I saw how they were treating me . . . the magistrate’s decision”): R. Avigdor’s complaint to the magistrate (the municipality) of Pinsk about the injustice done him by the Hasidim, and the magistrate’s response and directive to annul the dismissal, until the matter could be clarified in court. (c) lines 71–78 (“when the secretary tried . . . the men of learning”): The Hasidim’s opposition to the secretary’s attempt to announce the magistrate’s directive, canceling the dismissal, in the synagogue. (d) lines 82–104 (“He traveled to the governor . . . convinced that I was in the right”)3: Hershel Kolodner’s trip to Nepluyev, the governor of the Minsk district, in 1794, and Nepluyev’s approval of the dismissal; the kahal’s announcement permitting claims against R. Avigdor.

Events (b), (c), and (d) took place between mid-1793 and March–April 1794.4 (e) lines 105–110 (“All this time I did not cease . . . not borne fruit”): R. Avigdor’s repeated trips to Governor-General Tutolmin between the second half of 1795 and the end of 1796.5 R. Avigdor pressed him, unsuccessfully, for official support of his financial claims against the Pinsk kahal. (f) line 104–105 (“my enemies drew out the matter for almost six more years”). (g) lines 110–114 (“My case drags on and on . . . utter destitution”): Lines 104–105 and these lines summarize the events from the end of 1796 to 1799, during the rule of Paul I; acknowledgment of the success of the Pinsk Hasidim. (h) lines 114–128 (“But I have not lost my faith in Almighty God” to end): Conclusion, with a personal appeal to the tsar.

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The political affairs of 1793 greatly influenced events within the Jewish community of Pinsk. The continuing tensions between the Hasidim on the one hand and the rabbi and those members of the leadership who remained loyal to him on the other finally led to R. Avigdor’s dismissal that year, and the transfer of authority within the kahal to the Hasidic majority. According to Rabinowitsch, this took place in 1793.6 Examination of the political background facilitates understanding of developments in Pinsk. In 1793, during the second partition, Minsk and its district were annexed to Russia, and the Russian border moved west of Pinsk, whereas the western portion of the Pinsk district remained within the Polish borders for another two and a half years.7 Vilna, Horodno, and Brest also remained within Poland. Pinsk’s political dissociation from Poland, and the severance of the link with Vilna (the residence of the Gaon Rabbi Elijah) greatly affected the chain of events in Pinsk. Episodes listed in Rabbi Avigdor’s statement—before, during, and after his dismissal from the rabbinate—can be reconstructed, along with certain details in the pronouncements of the governors of Lithuania and Minsk during 1800–1801, in the course of the investigation of Rabbi Avigdor’s denunciation. This should cast additional light on the battle between the Mitnaggedim and the Hasidim following the Gaon’s death. R. Avigdor provided the kahal with a loan and also paid the starosta a sum of money to win the appointment as rabbi of Pinsk and the district. The payment to the starosta guaranteed R. Avigdor his support as well. The starosta’s backing and the strength of the Mitnaggedim in the kahal leadership made it impossible for the Hasidim to remove the rabbi from his position. In late-eighteenth-century Lithuania, the strongly intertwined concerns of kahal and government—due to the problem of liquidating Jewish debts to monasteries, churches, and nobles—ensured R. Avigdor and his faction the support of the starosta, the local ruler. After the Russian annexation, the situation in Pinsk changed completely. The new rulers had not been involved in the issue of R. Avigdor’s selection. At first, they could not give any attention at all to internal Jewish problems; it was quite a while before they reorganized the administration to suit the new political situation.8 Support from Vilna, the bastion of opposition to Hasidism, was not forthcoming ei-

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ther; in the spring of 1794 normal routines in Lithuania were disrupted by the Polish rebellion. It is doubtful that the Russian authorities approved of strong ties between Pinsk and Vilna, Horodno, and Brest, all three of which remained within Polish territory. Russia’s Jewish legislation differed from that of Poland, and it was imperative to adapt to the new circumstances before making contact with communities remaining beyond the border. The new circumstances especially suited the aims of the Hasidim. Public sympathy lay with them and not with R. Avigdor, and many Pinsk residents joined their camp; apparently they even managed to draw Mitnaggedim in the kahal leadership to their side.9 First of all, the Hasidim took the initiative in the public sphere and assumed leadership of the kahal. We do not know how it happened, but R. Avigdor himself attests to this, and from his statement it seems that this occurred during regular elections for the kahal leadership, in a legitimate manner. The new leader and spokesman of the Hasidim was Hershel Kolodner.10 This took place in 1793, around the time of Pinsk’s annexation to Russia. Once authority resided in the hands of the Hasidim, they needed only an excuse to dismiss the rabbi. Complaints were not lacking: seven years later Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Ladi noted that R. Avigdor had forcibly extracted unwarranted sums from the residents and that he had been accustomed to drinking intoxicating beverages.11 The public, moreover, expressed no empathy—and even felt animosity and contempt—for the rabbi who had purchased his post and exploited it. According to a Hasidic tradition, R. Avigdor erred in a halakhic [Jewish legal] matter. His opponents used this to prove to their followers that it was a disgrace for a community such as Pinsk to be subject to the authority of a rabbi like Avigdor whose knowledge of Talmud and commentaries was limited.12 We have no information to contradict this tradition, and it may be correct. It is clear that R. Avigdor refused to recognize the decision to dismiss him, relying on his letter of rabbinic appointment and the accepted practice of not removing a rabbi from his post before the end of his tenure. He disregarded the decision to dismiss him and attempted to continue functioning as rabbi and judge as if nothing had happened. At that point, the Hasidim removed his designated chair from the

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synagogue and, according to R. Avigdor’s testimony, spread sand and dirt in its place.13 It may be that R. Avigdor would not have resisted so stubbornly and would have relinquished his position had the kahal agreed to compensate him for the money he had invested acquiring it. But the kahal could not acquiesce in R. Avigdor’s demand for repayment of his investment, because he had already served eight of his ten years; the kahal also held counterclaims with respect to the money due him for the remaining two years and refused his demands. Moreover, Hasidim and Mitnaggedim were in agreement over this issue.14 The rabbi did not accede to his dismissal and resolved to fight for his rights. First of all, he knocked at the Gaon’s door. In his testimony, R. Avigdor speaks only of turning to the Gaon regarding Hasidic literature. He apparently linked the appearance of the book Zava’at Ha-Rivash (The Will of Rabbi Yisrael Ba’al Shem Tov), and its wide distribution, with his personal matter and did succeed in arousing the Gaon to action in 1794, when the book (but not, as he said, “the books”) was burned in the courtyard of the synagogue in Vilna. He was unable to advance his own cause, however, perhaps because of the administrative division between Pinsk and Vilna, and the political­military events of 1794.15 Once Avigdor realized that he could not rely on assistance from the Gaon, he decided to avail himself of the new circumstances. According to current Russian law, Jews belonged to the urban or merchant class, and the municipal institutions were supposed to adjudicate in their internal disputes.16 Since the Jewish court of Pinsk was no longer under his control, the rabbi turned over his dispute to the magistrate (municipal court, a Gentile body), which intervened in his favor. The Pinsk magistrate, which had under Polish rule repeatedly presented suits and legal complaints against the Pinsk kahal, was only too happy to apply its jurisdiction over the Jews according to Russian law. On receiving R. Avigdor’s request, the magistrate issued an order to retain him in his post until the court (of the magistrate, of course) issued a decision; it even dispatched a functionary to the synagogue to make a public announcement to that effect. The Jews of Pinsk, as yet unfamiliar with the laws and customs of the new authorities, forcibly prevented his entry into the synagogue.17

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Hershel Kolodner, the leader of the kahal, now realized that Russia was not Poland; he traveled to Nepluyev, the governor of the district, in Minsk18 and explained the position of the Pinsk kahal regarding R. Avigdor’s financial demands and other matters that aroused the community’s opposition. Kolodner succeeded in convincing Nepluyev to issue a directive exempting the kahal from any payment whatsoever, and allowing him (Kolodner) to announce that anyone who had a claim against R. Avigdor, for treating him unfairly or unjustly taking money from him, should attest to that effect at the magistrate. R. Avigdor termed the intercession by Kolodner—a representative of the Hasidim—denunciation. In fact, it was merely a defensive response to R. Avigdor’s appeal to the Pinsk magistrate. Kolodner undoubtedly managed to present the kahal’s case effectively and persuaded the ruler of the district that the kahal was right. According to the rabbi, over the course of a full year not a single claim was filed against him by the Jews of Pinsk. In hindsight, he could state that the public announcement enabling anyone to press financial or other claims against him was beneficial to him; he was certain that no one would speak ill of him, and then his righteousness would be manifest. It may be that the Jews of Pinsk refrained from approaching the authorities while Nepluyev was busy conducting a war against Polish rebels in Lithuania19 and afterward left the rabbi alone. A year later, in 1795, R. Avigdor received confirmation of his honesty from the ruler of the district (lines 101–102). The matter is not clear; this apparently refers to a confirmation based on the fact that no one came forward to complain of mistreatment by R. Avigdor. But this did nothing to advance his main priority, his financial claims against the kahal; he displayed persistence and doggedness in pursuing his fight. After his appeals to Nepluyev failed, he concentrated his efforts on Governor-General Tutolmin, ruler of the areas annexed to Russia in the second partition of 1793 and thus the superior of the Minsk district ruler.20 R. Avigdor turned to Tutolmin approximately ten times between mid-1795 and the end of 1796. Tutolmin apparently procrastinated and perhaps finally gave the rabbi some document that was insufficient to compel the kahal to pay him. The rabbi was forced to admit that his efforts had failed (“my efforts have still not borne fruit”; line 110). Without an explicit order from Nepluyev or Tutolmin,

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the magistrate could do nothing against the kahal, which persisted in its refusal to pay any monies to R. Avigdor. Meanwhile, Tsaritsa Catherine the Great died, and in late 1796 Paul I ascended the throne. This resulted in numerous personnel changes within the ruling establishment. Nepluyev was replaced, and Tutolmin was deposed.21 Rabbi Avigdor seems not to have pursued his claims with the new rulers,22 but he did not give up and “the matter dragged on and on” for several more years (from 1797 to early 1800). When he renewed his struggle, he did so in cooperation and coordination with the mitnaggedic leaders of Vilna and Sluck under circumstances that seemed more conducive to a favorable resolution of his personal demands, and to restraining and suppressing the Hasidic movement.

Rabbi Avigdor’s Renewed Battle with the Hasidim and the Kahal R. Avigdor’s futile appeals to the various Russian authorities left him dispirited, and he abandoned the fray for more than three years.23 The only remaining option was an appeal to the tsar himself, which required diligent preparation. What turned out to be the final period of Tsar Paul I’s reign (he was murdered in March 1801) might have been opportune for R. Avigdor, who thought that the tsar would be willing to reopen his case. He thus readied himself for the ultimate battle in his crusade and waited for the appropriate opportunity. R. Avigdor regarded his struggle with the Pinsk community and its Hasidic leadership as part of the overall controversy between the Mitnaggedim and the Hasidim, and he considered himself the Gaon’s loyal aide and promoter. Following the Gaon’s death (during the Intermediate Days of Sukkot, October 9, 1797), the war led by the Vilna Mitnaggedim entered a new, more intense stage. They conceived a strategy to suppress the Hasidic movement by more severe and extreme measures. In late 1797, the Mitnaggedim had not yet planned on recourse to the government. Since the Hasidim would not passively resign themselves to harassment, however, the Mitnaggedim considered the possibility of turning them over to the authorities, although in practice they

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were in no hurry to do so. The Vilna Hasidim, who especially suffered from persecution, hastened to make the first denunciations to the authorities about irregularities in the conduct of kahal affairs involving taxes and use of funds, and shortly afterward another accusation that the kahal had collected monies unjustly. The Russian rulers in Vilna quickly conducted an investigation into the matter; they had no difficulty uncovering improprieties, and the kahal leadership found itself in great danger.24 The Mitnaggedim, for their part, responded with a libelous letter about the foremost Lithuanian Hasid, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Ladi, and a number of Russian Hasidic rabbis, accusing them all and R. S­hneur Zalman in particular of “acts detrimental to the empire.” This led to the famous first imprisonment of R. Shneur Zalman together with twenty-two other Hasidic leaders. They were initially brought to Vilna, where fifteen were promptly released after a brief inquiry. The others, together with R. Shneur Zalman, were sent to St. Petersburg, but when they reached Riga an order was received to release the other seven, and only R. Shneur Zalman was taken to St. Petersburg for imprisonment and investigation.25 R. Avigdor’s name does not appear in the documents as one involved in the denunciation of R. Shneur Zalman and the other Hasidim. It may be, however, that he had a role in preparing the accusations; it is interesting that the Hasidic traditions concerning this episode retain only the names of the leaders arrested who were connected to Karlin and Pinsk: Rabbi Asher of Stolin (the son of Rabbi Aaron the Great of Karlin), Rabbi Mordecai of Lachowicze (a student of Rabbi Solomon of Karlin), and Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev, who preceded Avigdor as rabbi of Pinsk.26 The Mitnaggedim’s denunciations of R. Shneur Zalman and the others were unsuccessful. Not only were the twenty-two leaders summarily released but even R. Shneur Zalman was freed after a few months in prison, on 19 Kislev 5599 (November 16 [Old Style], 1798). R. ­Shneur Zalman succeeded in rebutting the charges against him, and the Hasidic movement was acquitted at a trial before the central Russian authorities in St. Petersburg. In Vilna, the Mitnaggedim continued to persecute the Hasidim and denied them any appointments in the kahal.

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Once they were acquitted by the authorities, however, the Hasidim felt free to act. They denounced the Mitnaggedim again, leading to disbanding of the Vilna kahal leadership (after February 4, 1799). In the new elections, the Hasidim seized control and elected one of their own, Rabbi Meir Rafaels, as head of the kahal.27 This was precisely what had happened in Pinsk six years earlier when Hershel Kolodner, a Hasid, was elected head of the kahal. The Mitnaggedim in Vilna, and in Lithuania in general, were in a serious predicament. The tsar rejected their request to restore the former kahal leadership and the rights of the Jewish court, and to issue a ban against the dangerous Karliner sect. They were aware of the precedent set in Pinsk, where Avigdor was rendered impotent by the Hasidic leadership, despite numerous efforts and incessant lobbying of the authorities. Avigdor recognized the similarity between what happened in Vilna and what transpired within his community—this even though, unlike in Pinsk, Vilna’s Mitnaggedim enjoyed broad communal backing. The Mitnaggedim resolved to bring the matter before the authorities once more, in the form of a far more radical denunciation. Rabbi Avigdor took the task upon himself, seeing this as a chance to win his personal suit while presenting an overall defamation of the Hasidim28 as people who endangered the Russian government. He figured that even partial success would be worthwhile. A general ban on Hasidism would lead to dismissal of the Hasidic leadership of the Pinsk kahal, even without confirmation of his individual financial claim. On the other hand, even if the general denunciation of the Hasidim were rejected, he still had a chance of winning his own request for compensation for damages caused him. R. Avigdor planned his approach carefully and designed a document calibrated to please a fanatic autocrat. He went beyond the usual phrases of submission and included citations and homiletics to justify Paul’s method of rule. The Mitnaggedim well knew that Paul was very sensitive to any hint of opposition and was prepared to employ radical methods to eradicate resistance.29 R. Avigdor had his Hebrew appeal officially translated into Russian and presented it to the tsar in St. Peters­ burg sometime prior to April 23, 1800.30 In the first portion of his statement, R. Avigdor set forth his case

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against the Hasidic movement, and in the second part (the document quoted near the opening of this Chapter) he presented his personal claim and deplored the injustice perpetrated by the Pinsk kahal. Although R. Avigdor’s document did not excel in lucid style or logical construction, he knew exactly what he was doing. He never used the expression Karliner,31 because in 1798 the government found no fault with them; had Rabbi Avigdor referred to them, the tsar’s functionaries would not have bothered to delve into his argument. Instead, the rabbi accused them (falsely) of being remnants of the Sabbatians, a sect rejected in Turkey and Poland because of its dangerous political aims.32 To obscure the distinction between them and the Hasidim, he cannily inserted phrases and sentences that would mislead the investigators. Thus, for example, at the beginning of the complaint he wrote about “the great hardships that I suffer in Pinsk from the new sect recently born there.” Elsewhere, “I did not wish to enter into any dealings with the sect that had arisen there” (lines 5–6), as if he were not referring to the Hasidim, hardly a new group in Pinsk after thirty-five years of organized existence.33 R. Avigdor’s claim indiscriminately mixed money matters with matters of religion and faith, but he might have done this deliberately. After the Mitnaggedim’s failed denunciations—the first to the chief prosecutor and the second to the tsar—it seemed more opportune to present this claim as a private protest by an individual who had suffered a grievous wrong. Avigdor regarded himself as an agent for a great cause. The weapon of denunciation was resolved on long ago, because all other avenues of internal warfare were blocked under the political conditions of Paul’s Russia; the community’s autonomous rule had been severely restricted, and the courts were denied the right to adjudicate in internal affairs.34 In his final letter of denunciation, written after March 1801, Avigdor described how he coordinated his actions with the mitnaggedic leaders in Vilna: In order to expose the mendacity of the aforementioned sect, I traveled to the great city of Vilna in Lithuania, since the majority of its kahal leaders are enemies and persecutors of that sect, and they [the kahal leaders] had burned the book written by their Rabbi, and I took down

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all the deeds done by the heads of the aforementioned sect, and particularly what was discussed in the book that had been burned there. And I traveled to the royal city of St. Petersburg and presented my protest against that sect to Tsar Paul, may he rest in peace, [requesting] that they pay me the stated sum as well as the damages caused by obstructing, for several years, the income due me from the rabbinate.35

In another letter of denunciation, from the end of 1800,36 the rabbi explicitly wrote: “And the people of Vilna and of Sluck know about all the things I wrote.” The first stage of the investigation did not advance R. Avigdor’s cause at all; the governor-general of Lithuania saw through his rhetoric and expressed his opinion that the Sabbatian sect of which R. Avigdor spoke consisted of Karliners, “few of whom were to be found in the districts of Lithuania, Minsk, Podolia and Belarus,” and who posed no threat to the government. As to R. Avigdor’s demand for ten thousand czerwone zlotys, the governor-general said that since the claim could not be proven by documents but only by oath, the tsar would have to decide the matter. Being a matter of deprivation of income and not theft or violence, he (the governor-general) was doubtful of the justice of the claim. The governor-general proposed rejecting R. Avigdor’s request “that only Jewish sages should adjudicate in Jewish affairs,” and not members of another religion, because this was against the law of the land.37 On October 3, 1800, R. Avigdor received a reply from the ­procuratorgeneral, ostensibly more favorable than the negative recommendation made by Golnishchev-Kotozov. The procurator-general informed the rabbi that he had, by order of the tsar, instructed the officers of the various districts, including Karneyev of the Minsk district, that “if the ­kahals in districts under their jurisdiction had received these monies, they must make recompense to the claimant [Avigdor] and compensate him for damages caused by loss of his post.” This reply was of no help to R. Avigdor; because Pinsk was not mentioned specifically, it was not bound by the directive.38 The fact that the procurator-general evaded mention of Pinsk, despite receipt of two reports from the Lithuanian governor-general that were based on information from the Minsk district, attests to a neg-

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ative ­ attitude at all levels of the administration toward R. Avigdor’s denunciations. The procurator-general’s reply may have been sent only to satisfy the tsar. Karneyev, who should have known (and did know) more than anyone, understood the hint, and in his reply he noted that he did not know which kahal had received the money being claimed: The Rabbi himself is not here now and it is known only that he is a resident of Pinsk. I have therefore suggested that the Pinsk magistrate request a document proving payment from him or from his representative, clarify from whom to demand payment, pass judgement on compensation for damages caused, and attempt to resolve the matter as soon as possible.39

The procrastination was probably intentional and constituted the end of the dispute between R. Avigdor and the Pinsk kahal, although the battle against Hasidism continued. Suddenly, at the end of 1800, the Russian authorities were prompted to reinvestigate R. Avigdor’s allegations against the Hasidim and R. Shneur Zalman (accused of sending funds from Russia to Turkey), following a harshly anti-Semitic pronouncement by the poet and nobleman Derzhavin. In 1799, Derzhavin was first sent to Belarus to investigate a dispute between the Jews of ­Szklow and the nobleman Zoricz, and in 1800 to inquire into the causes of poverty and famine among the farmers of the area. Derzhavin’s statement blamed the Jews for the farmers’ dire circumstances and included strong charges against R. Shneur Zalman and the Hasidim in general. As a consequence of this statement and the renewed investigation of R. Avigdor’s imputations, R. Shneur Zalman was imprisoned again, on November 21, 1800, and brought to St. Petersburg for questioning. R. Avigdor seized on this new development and directed his fire at R. ­Shneur Zalman. He prepared a list of nineteen questions for the rabbi.40 R. Shneur Zalman apparently provided definitive answers and was released. R. Avigdor presented additional denunciations of R. Shneur Zalman and Hasidism and continued to demand his money from the Pinsk kahal, even after the tsar was murdered and the matter was handed over to the Senate for clarification.41 There it was shelved until after publication of the new Jewish constitution in 1804. This document led to abatement of the battle between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim, and finally to coexistence between them.

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In view of all this, the accepted historiography of the struggle between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim in Pinsk-Karlin should be revised. Pinsk undoubtedly remained essentially Hasidic up to the beginning of the nineteenth century, and despite temporary reversals events of the 1780s did not seriously affect the local movement’s vitality and inner strength. The Hasidic court of Karlin suffered more far-reaching consequences, in the late eighteenth century, when that exclusively Hasidic city began to assume a mitnaggedic character, preventing the return of Rabbi Asher from Stolin until after 1810.42 Dubnow’s theory—that in the 1790s, the early years of Russian rule, the Mitnaggedim and Hasidim of Lithuania and Pinsk renewed their strife by means of mutual slander and bribery of the rulers—seems overly simplistic and in need of correction. In Pinsk, the Hasidim legitimately elected their own people to kahal leadership, without resorting to government functionaries (as posited by Dubnow).43 One must also note the distinction, throughout the controversy, between recourse to the courts and denunciation to government officials. R. Avigdor’s account of court battles with the Hasidim over a period of six years44 can be accepted at face value. Similarly, the turn to the courts during Russian rule must be seen against the background of changing political reality and the new legal status of the Jews. The two sides were forced to adjudicate their internal affairs before the Gentiles, since the Jewish courts had forfeited their authority to judge civil and administrative issues, even though some time did elapse before boundaries and limitations were explicitly and decisively stated. To the end of Catherine the Great’s reign, Avigdor’s battle with the Hasidim of Pinsk and their rejoinders, although brought before the governor of Minsk and the governor-general of the annexed territories, were not really delatory denunciations. Both camps walked a fine line between assertion and denunciation. In the seven years (1793–1800) following his dismissal, R. Avigdor did not cross the border between complaint and slander, and if he finally did so it was due in no small measure to the Russian bureaucratic establishment, which in theory accepted his claims for damages but in practice procrastinated and avoided taking a clear-cut stand in the case. The rabbi was destituted in the course of his dispute with the Pinsk community; this led to a sense of impotence

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and a decision to break the vicious cycle even if by illegitimate means. R. Avigdor was convinced that he was fighting for the sake of heaven, along with his personal struggle for financial compensation, and that he did so with the support and approval of rabbis and leaders of Vilna, Sluck, and other communities. Nevertheless, the choice of tactics was Avigdor’s, and it was here that he seriously failed. He did not properly distinguish between personal financial matters and affairs of religion and faith. Nor did he grasp that the Hasidic movement, which in many communities embraced the majority of the Jewish population, could not be quashed by police tactics without repressing an entire populace. His use of libels and lies, and his attempt to present the true situation by glossing over facts or describing them ambiguously while using innuendo or warped and arbitrary inter­ pretation, sentenced him to history’s negative judgment. He accomplished nothing of substance for himself or for the Mitnaggedim, while giving the Russian authorities material that the tsar, his ministers, and officers could exploit as they went about formulating a policy to restrict the rights and curtail the existence and advancement of Russia’s Jews. Within the Jewish community, the struggle between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim had far-reaching consequences. Mutual attrition of forces and a formidable assault on the honor and status of the rabbinate opened the door to a new development: Haskalah (Jewish Enlightenment), a social force whose primary bearers were the new capitalists.

Saul Levin Karliner and the History of Pinsk-Karlin Jewry (1793–1834) A packet of documents preserved in the Russian Senate archives in St. Petersburg, and published by Gessen and Dubnow, facilitate reconstruction of the battle between R. Avigdor and the Pinsk community in the late eighteenth century. Other aspects of Jewish history in PinskKarlin, during the late eighteenth century and the first third of the nineteenth century, are more difficult to recount. Most of the available material is related in one way or another to the activities of Saul ben Moses Ha-Levi Levin of Karlin.45

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Saul of Karlin Saul ben Moses Ha-Levi Levin was born in Karlin. His family was presumably among the founders of the Karlin Jewish community that seceded from Pinsk. Saul’s father, Rabbi Moses ben Pinhas Shemriner Ha-Levi, served in the rabbinate, first in Hlusk in the Minsk area and then prior to 1762 returning to Karlin. He resided there in a home inherited from his father Pinhas, and it may be that he served as rabbi of Karlin. Moses and his wife, Udel, died in Karlin and were buried in the Karlin cemetery. Moses’ sister Gitel was married to Judah Leib Kalonymous of Pinsk. Moses’ brother, Michael ben Pinhas, apparently lived in Karlin too. If Ginzburg was correct that Saul Levin was born in 1775,46 then at his marriage in 1790 to Mirka, the daughter of Samuel Klaczko, he was fifteen. In 1791, their eldest daughter, Hayya, was born. (She was later known as Hayya Luria.) Saul received excellent Talmudic training and was known as a distinguished scholar who devoted every free moment to Torah study. In Pinsk-Karlin Saul, who entered the world of business at a young age, was also known as a rich merchant.47 In 1819, Saul composed his will in Minsk. In 1827, the will was rewritten in Warsaw, and in 1831, as cholera raged in Russia, he added two codicils.48 It reveals Saul’s inner world and religious perspective, and it provides information on his descendants and his relationship with family. Saul had nine sons and daughters. The sons were Zalman, Moses Isaac (1802–1872), Asher Wolf (Wolfke), and Leibish (born in Saul’s old age). The daughters were Hayya (1791–1873), who was first married to Gad Asher Roke’ah and, after his death in 1815, to Jacob Aaron Luria of Mohilev; Vitia, who married Herzl Bernstein (1813–1873), one of the leaders of the fundamentalists in Lwow; Akhsah, who was married to Rabbi Jacob Meir Padua, later a rabbi of Brest; Reizel, who married twice (first to a man named Margolis and then to a man named Papernik) but died by 1834 (Reizel’s daughter Feige was Saul’s favorite granddaughter); and Dinah (died 1865), who was married to Issachar Berush Levin of Vilna (died 1868).49 Before he wrote the first version of his will (1819), Saul had a falling out—in connection with business and accounting matters—with his

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daughter Hayya Luria. They did not reconcile until the end of Saul’s life. Relations between Saul and his son Moses Isaac also were strained.50 In the second 1831 codicil to his will, Saul effectively disowned Hayya Luria and transferred her share to the two sons from her first marriage, Heshel and Gad Asher (the latter born shortly after his father’s death). Gad Asher apparently grew up in Saul Levin’s house and even took on his grandfather’s surname; he was known in Pinsk-Karlin as Gad Asher Levin.51 The children and grandchildren of Saul Levin of Karlin made up the Levin and Luria clans, based in Karlin. They were known throughout the nineteenth century for their extensive enterprises, great wealth, communal involvement, and generous philanthropy.

Karlin’s Role in the Battle Between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim The Hasidim of Pinsk won a decisive victory over R. Avigdor. What was the role of the Karlin Hasidim in the struggle? Why did the leader of the Karlin Hasidim, Rabbi Asher ben Aaron, not return to Karlin during the 1790s, following R. Avigdor’s downfall? How much power did the Karlin Mitnaggedim have? In one of the documents pertaining to R. Avigdor’s denunciations, stored in the Russian Senate archives in St. Petersburg, Golnishchev­Kotozov, the governor-general of Lithuania, wrote: “Yesterday, I received a reply from the aforementioned Governor, [stating] that the erstwhile Chief Rabbi Hayyim, had been chosen for this position in the Minsk province from the community of Pinsk and Karlin, and since the Vilna kahal had no connection with this . . . it [the Vilna kahal] has no obligation to fulfill the demands of the Chief Rabbi Hayyim.”52 At first glance, it seems that the combination of “Pinsk and Karlin” in the citation is of no significance; Governor-General Golnishchev­Kotozov, who was based in Vilna, knew very little about Pinsk and Karlin and might have simply cited a stock phrase. However, other sources and various oral traditions indicate that Golnishchev-Kotozov’s use of the term might not have been inadvertent. Judah Appel’s memoirs contain an account of Karlin’s secession from Pinsk.53 Appel attested that he heard the tale from Gregory Luria, during

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a visit to Pinsk (circa 1900). As they strolled through the city one evening, the conversation turned to Karlin’s secession from Pinsk. The story in brief: There was once a large estate in Karlin, which served, among other things, as a government mail depot. The estate belonged to someone known throughout the vicinity as Meir Karliner. He “was a big businessman and his trade expanded internationally, for he purchased forests and cut down many trees and sent by river rafts to Danzig; he became very prosperous and powerful.” Meir Karliner was tightfisted in matters of charity, and he abstained from sharing in community expenses in spite of his wealth. This angered the local leadership, and they resolved to get even with him upon his elderly father’s death; “besides the requisite burial fees, they would take money for the other charitable institutions in the city, collecting back contributions with substantial interest.” When his father died, however, Meir designated a portion of the estate as a cemetery and buried his father there. The Pinsk leaders discovered—after investigating the matter—that with the help of the Pinsk district governor Meir Karliner had managed to obtain official affirmation from Minsk, the capital of the province, that Karlin was situated three miles from Pinsk, and he registered his estate as a separate town. Rabbi Meir Karliner’s action infuriated the Pinsk leaders, who decided to send their own delegate, Hayyim Finkelstein, to intercede in Minsk “to present their petition before the seat of law.” The defendant, Meir Karliner, also engaged a lobbyist to defend him. A special emissary was sent from Minsk to check the accuracy of the Pinskers’ claim that Karlin was adjacent to Pinsk and indivisible from it. When the emissary arrived at the Karlin mail depot, a large feast was held in his honor (at Rabbi Meir Karliner’s behest, of course), and “the protocol was [promptly] drawn up with his signature, that Pinsk was truly three miles distant from Karlin, and all was fit and proper.” The Pinsk community’s appeals were of no avail. A committee dispatched from St. Petersburg, joined by the emissary from Minsk, also confirmed the decision and the Pinskers were forced to accept the situation. Appel’s account, written from memory, perhaps long after it was originally heard, lacks credibility on several counts. We know that Karlin was founded in the 1690s and became an independent community in the 1740s and 1750s. Appel described Karlin under Russian rule—that

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is, after 1793—as an estate and not a city, and the establishment of the Karlin community as the whim of one wealthy and forceful individual. The names Meir Karliner and Hayyim Finkelstein are unfamiliar, and the whole story sounds fabricated. It is, however, clear that it refers to Saul of Karlin, Hayya Luria’s father. Judah Appel apparently distorted the name because he recorded the event from memory some time after he had heard it. Gregory Luria, the grandson of Hayya Luria and greatgrandson of Saul, related a family tradition,54 according to which Saul brought about Karlin’s separation from Pinsk and its independence. One detail is confirmed by documentary evidence: Saul Karliner’s father was actually buried in the Karlin cemetery.55 Similarly correct is the description of Meir (that is, Saul) Karliner as owner of an estate, and as a great merchant who handled a sizable business in the lumber trade and export to Danzig. Other testimony, also based on family tradition, confirms the ­basic premise of the story. According to this tradition, Saul Karliner was “one of those who interceded before the government to draw boundaries between the twin cities of Pinsk and Karlin, and divide them into two cities and their inhabitants into two communities. This is how the government regards them today in communal affairs, both secular and religious.” This source also deemed Saul responsible for the division of Pinsk and Karlin. The tradition was current among the descendants of not only Hayya Luria but also Saul’s daughter Akhsah and her husband, R. Jacob Meir Padua of Brest. A similar belief was popular among the residents of Pinsk.56 It may be true. Returning to the 1800 statement of the governor-general of Lithuania—that R. Avigdor was elected by the communities of Pinsk-­Karlin— can we assume this was really so? We have seen that the rabbis Levi Yitzhak and Solomon of Karlin were forced to leave Pinsk and Karlin respectively at the very same time. Was this coordination between the leaders preceded by a renewed union of the two communities? In light of the evidence, it may be assumed that the two communities indeed reunited in 1784–1785.57 R. Avigdor served as rabbi of both Pinsk and Karlin. After his dismissal the Hasidim took over the kahal and Saul Levin, then in his twenties and a sworn opponent of the Hasidim,58 brought about the renewed secession of Karlin from Pinsk.

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The Hasidic leader of the kahal, Hershel Kolodner, also had certain connections in Minsk. The chain of events implies that the Pinsk kahal attempted, with the help of the Minsk provincial government, to prevent Karlin’s secession, but this time the kahal was at a disadvantage. Saul succeeded in effecting the division and for a time turned Karlin into a mitnaggedic stronghold. Mitnaggedim from the wealthy and scholarly classes of Pinsk-Karlin began to concentrate in Karlin. Karlin, once the cradle of Hasidism, gradually became a mitnaggedic center, independent of Pinsk. This theory offers at least partial answers to the questions, What happened to the Pinsk rabbinate after R. Avigdor was removed from his position? Why didn’t the leader of the Karlin Hasidim, Rabbi Asher ben Aaron, return to Karlin? The sources provide no specific evidence on these matters. We do not know who succeeded R. Avigdor, or who served as rabbi of Pinsk until 1807, or if anyone at all was appointed to the post before R. Hayyim ben Peretz Ha-Kohen was accepted in 1807. In any case, it is clear that the Pinsk rabbinate did not regain its previous prestige for a long time and on occasion suffered serious crises. Karlin, on the other hand, grew in terms of Torah scholarship. Thanks to the personalities who served there, its rabbinate became one of the most important in Lithuania-Russia. For at least several decades, the Karlin rabbinate fell heir to Pinsk’s status and importance. This development may explain why the Hasidim’s victory of the 1790s was not reflected in R. Asher’s return to Karlin. It took at least seventeen years, until sometime after 1810 and following a period of reconciliation and changes in the balance of power in Pinsk and Karlin, for him to come back. Perhaps an armistice and resignation to coexistence facilitated restoration of R. Asher, the son of the founder of Karlin Hasidism, to his birthplace and his father’s synagogue. From then on, Hasidim and Mitnaggedim lived side by side in Karlin. The Hasidim were still numerous and united, constituting a potent public force even in Karlin; they undoubtedly exerted much influence on the conduct of communal affairs. Saul Levin of Karlin and his circle of the scholarly and affluent had no choice but to accept the situation. To consolidate mitnaggedic influence, Saul apparently resorted to another tactic. He established houses of study, in his name, in both Karlin and Pinsk. These became

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centers for Torah study in the Lithuanian style. The Karlin rabbinate was occupied by great Torah personalities, while the doors of the mitnaggedic academies were open to students, so-called Perushim, who began arriving from various places. Each camp lived its religious life by its own lights. Although the Hasidim had the upper hand in both Pinsk and Karlin, there is no doubt that Mitnaggedim and Hasidim alike were weakened, and after the government legislation of 1804 imposed joint kahal leadership on both sides they apparently agreed to a cease-fire and coexistence, without yielding on ideological questions. The Mitnaggedim fortified themselves within their houses of study, founded a society for study of the Talmud, established charitable organizations, and converged around the rabbi of the community, typically one of the foremost scholars of the generation. The Hasidim for their part rallied around their master, the rebbe of Karlin, oblivious to the other camp. The coexistence between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim, which began around 1810, lasted about fifty years, until its disruption in the 1860s by the rich and powerful Hayya Luria (Saul Levin’s daughter) and her sons, Moses and David, under entirely different circumstances.59

Economic Life The economic recovery realized in Pinsk toward the end of Polish rule apparently came to an end between 1793 and 1795, the period of the second and third partitions of Poland. During the brief reign of Paul I (1796–1801), there was severe regression in Russian commercial activity in general. Not even the Jews of Pinsk could display initiative and develop economic activity because of the tsar’s strange and extremist policies, which led, among other things, to liquidation of the Russian export business and serious impairment of internal trade. This may explain why the 1801 census classified only eight Jews as merchants in the entire Pinsk district. These merchants were probably from Pinsk or Karlin, and the fact that at the beginning of the century no more than eight people in the two communities had capital in excess of five hundred rubles attests to constricted commercial activity in general.60 The situation improved in the first decade of the nineteenth century, during Alexander I’s rule. In 1811, Pinsk took first place in White Russia’s

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salt trade. That year, 724,675 pud (18,117 tons) of salt passed through the city.61 In the 1811 census, the number of merchants in Pinsk and Karlin whose capital exceeded five hundred rubles was twenty-nine, twelve in Pinsk and seventeen in Karlin.62 The significant increase in people who declared capital above five hundred rubles is convincing evidence for intensified commercial activity as compared to the period of Paul I. It may be that trade was restored to the levels of the Polish period. The war with Napoleon caused general destruction in Russia and severely damaged the economic standing of the Jews of Belarus and Lithuania, impoverishing many.63 Although we have no specific information on Pinsk from the early years following the 1812 war, it is probable that the reduction of commercial activity characteristic of Russia in general was true for Pinsk as well. In 1819, the Polish author and historian Julian Niemcewicz visited Pinsk. The description of his travels furnishes unique evidence of the economic conditions in Pinsk seven years after the war with Napoleon. After the last partition, the city did not recover but rather continued to deteriorate. Subsequent to the fire of several years earlier, the streets and homes were indeed more spacious, but there are no signs of industry, trade, or wealth. After Niemcewicz noted that the Pina and other rivers in the vicinity of Pinsk were deserted and neglected, he went on to say: The [political] integration of the Dnieper and Black Sea basins did not greatly revive economic activity. A few years ago, approximately 100 sailing vessels used to arrive here . . . bringing 1,500 pud [about 60 tons] of salt. Now, since the import of Prussian salt has been permitted, no more than 40 pud arrive. . . . The vessels [which carry about 24 tons] arrive in Pinsk upstream of the Dnieper twelve weeks later. Their sole cargo is salt, sold at the price of one ducat (czerwony zloty) per barrel. The entire trade is in the hands of a Jew by the name of Rabinowicz. The ships, for the most part, return empty. Some carry a little liquor, and when they reach Niz, that is, the region of Mozyr, they load tar and coal. Pinsk is thus one big salt warehouse for the entire area of Lithuania, but I have not seen there either warehouses or commercial traffic.64

Niemcewicz’s testimony is essentially reliable. During his stay in Pinsk, he culled information from Polish noblemen and the Catholic

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clergy. He examined and copied some ancient archival material on the city’s history and also made his own inspection of the city. His assessment of the Jewish population (three thousand) was correct, or very nearly so; but he estimated the number of Orthodox townspeople at only two hundred, much lower than in fact. Niemcewicz’s description was congruent with Russia’s harsh economic situation and the general decline of the cities between 1811 and 1820. In the account of his journey from Polesie, he expressed his opinion on the other troubles that afflicted the region’s economy, and his report furnishes additional explanation of Pinsk’s difficult economic circumstances around 1819.65

The 1820s and the Beginning of Economic Revival Between 1819 and 1829, there was significant development in the economic life of Pinsk Jews. In 1829, Kazimierz Kontrym was dispatched on a journey to Polesie by the Polish Bank. His task was to examine the economic situation in the region linking Poland with southern Russia and the Black Sea ports, and to clarify what contribution the Pinsk district could make to increased export of Polish industrial products to Russian markets.66 Kontrym’s factual account is virtually the only source for knowledge of the economic life of Pinsk Jewry in the 1820s. In 1819, Niemcewicz noted the dearth of commercial shipping on the Pina River; in 1829, Kontrym presented an encouraging picture of the river traffic. He saw frequent shipments of logs, destined for export, tied into rafts and used as transport for various other merchandise. He described the method of recruiting oarsmen for the rafts from among the peasants of the vicinity, and he stated that Jews journeyed on the rafts in the role of supervisor, clerk, or factor (agent) of merchants who were themselves Jews. According to Kontrym, Karlin merchants owned thirty-two shipping vessels that served the needs of commerce between Pinsk and the area of the lower Dnieper. Because of the poor condition of the Dnieper-Bug Canal and problems with the Oginski Canal, Pinsk became the terminal for the transport route on the upper Pripet; cargoes were unloaded at Pinsk and forwarded by wagon to their destination. The main merchandise brought to Pinsk

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was salt, sent from Kremenchug or Kiev; iron was also shipped from Kiev. Pinsk sent raw or partially processed timber to Kremenchug, and sometimes wheat was dispatched for sale along the way. Kontrym reported that merchants from other places such as Mozyr tried to concentrate their trading activities in Pinsk.67 It is clear, then, that the Dnieper system was used to forge trade links with Ukraine, and Ukraine’s importance as a commercial center was increasing. Kontrym made no mention of marketing surplus agricultural produce of the Ukraine region; this would happen several years later. In a concluding note, Kontrym remarked that commerce was entirely in Jewish hands (except for some Christian competition in the salt trade), but the majority of Jewish merchants were poor and in need of credit and loans. Only a few were well off, he said; large family fortunes did not exist, nor had they ever existed. On this last point, Kontrym did not have accurate information. Saul Levin, a merchant of the first guild, his daughter Hayya Luria, and his son Moses Isaac were great and prosperous merchants. It is hard to understand why Kontrym did not find family-based capital in the city. Without such fortunes, it would be difficult to explain the economic leap made by Pinsk in the 1830s–1840s.68 In his discussion of the economy of the region, Kontrym took the opportunity to argue with Christians who claimed that the Jews dominated commerce. According to Kontrym, Jews turned to areas neglected by others and did so for lack of other options. He maintained that it was not right to hinder the Jews in their activity; rather, one ought to treat them properly and all would go well. Kontrym spoke for the St. Petersburg ruling circles, which were influenced by liberal Western economic views. Such ideas were prevalent among people who favored Russian economic development and were undoubtedly a most important factor in accelerating the economic activity of Pinsk Jews. It was no coincidence that the economic life of Pinsk-Karlin Jews underwent recovery in those years. The Jews were aware of what was happening and integrated quickly and successfully into the new economic policy of the Russian authorities, aiming to develop industry and trade and to expand the consumer market for agricultural produce.

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The Economic Activity of Saul Levin Karliner The central figure in the economic life of Pinsk-Karlin Jewry during this period was Saul of Karlin. Description of his business activities can shed light on the city’s economic development from a new vantage point, against the background of changes already described here. Saul took up commerce and leasing at an early age and was very successful. An account of how a Torah scroll was recovered from a monastery in 1795 stated: In those days there was, in the city of Pinsk, a young man, honest, noble and magnanimous, the Rabbi, the Gaon, Rabbi Saul Ha-Levi of the renowned Levin family. . . . And the man Saul was beloved and favored by Israel and the nations: he was a distinguished scholar and a great sage since his youth and owner of properties and large estates and had many servants and maidservants on his holdings. . . . And it came to pass afterwards that Saul invited his neighbors, nobles and ­officers, to a feast in his lovely home on his estate of Telechany.69

If this indeed took place in 1795, then Saul, described as “a young man,” was only twenty years old but already acknowledged as a businessman of stature and influence by the Jewish community as well as by the nobility of the Pinsk district. Numerous and varied sources offer information about the broad scope of his economic activities. Besides estate management, Saul engaged in the salt trade and in the lumber business, including export of timber to Kherson and Kremenchug down the Dnieper and to the Baltic ports of Koenigsberg and Danzig; he was also involved in industry. Saul amassed great wealth and was known as an extremely rich man. He was apparently hurt in business dealings with the authorities, because in his will he warned his sons “not to trade in merchandise prohibited by the law of our ruler, the Tsar, and not to have any business with the Treasury.” Saul might have been one of the greatest salt merchants in Pinsk. He was also a wouldbe Russian industrial pioneer, founding a porcelain factory on his Telechany estate, prior to 1819. The hopes he pinned on this enterprise were not realized. Raw materials had to be transported by land, and the products were not of high quality. The factory did not live up to expectations and was closed after a short while. An official document

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from 1823 referred to a factory (actually a workshop) for production of copper utensils and buttons as belonging to the merchant Saul Levin. The enterprise was founded before 1821 and employed three workers. It was still in existence in 1832. In general, however, Saul’s industrial efforts ended in failure.70 An 1813 newspaper article, published after Russia’s victory over Napoleon in 1812, reported on the deeds of Saul ben Moses Levin, a merchant of the first guild and owner of an estate in Telechany, who succeeded in saving the Oginski Canal (which linked the waterways of the Dnieper and the Niemen) from destruction. Despite French capture of the area, Saul took adroit action for the public good, managing to preserve the hydrotechnic structures of the canal and maintaining order along with facilitating shipping. He hired watchmen to guard the dams and workers to rebuild a bridge burned by the French. The Russian government publicly expressed its appreciation in the newspaper.71 At an early age, Saul’s daughter Hayya and her second husband Aaron Luria also acquired a measure of wealth through independent commercial activity. By the second decade of the nineteenth century, they were well established in their business and renowned for their affluence.72

Saul Levin’s Activities as a Community Leader Saul’s outstanding capabilities and wide business contacts, his learning, and his wealth elevated him to a leadership position within the Jewish community both locally, in Pinsk and Karlin, and nationally, in Russia. His will and the epitaph on his grave73 indicate that as a public figure and a leader Saul was heavily involved in Pinsk-Karlin communal business during the late eighteenth century and the first third of the nineteenth century. His role in the transformation of Karlin into a mitnaggedic community at the end of the eighteenth century was indicative of great, if not decisive, influence on the conduct of affairs in Karlin. From later reports, it seems that Saul returned to active participation in the Pinsk community as well, apparently after the severe tensions between Mitnaggedim and Hasidim abated and the two camps came to accept coexistence.

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Saul not only shared in the expenses of the Pinsk community and paid taxes but also donated money to numerous charitable causes in Karlin and Pinsk (Karlin, as his residence, was given priority). For instance, he built two batei midrash, one in Karlin (which he referred to as “my bet midrash”) and one in Pinsk. Part of the interest of the fund he designated for philanthropy was set aside after his death for proper maintenance of these houses of study. Similarly, he allotted sums for societies for care of the sick in Pinsk and Karlin and for a society for ­Torah study in Pinsk. By the time he wrote his will in 1819, Saul believed that his philanthropy had earned him the right to ask the kahal leadership to excuse him if he did not completely fulfill his duty with regard to “taxes or assessments.”74 Saul’s will shows that he served as advisor for a few communities and settlements in the vicinity of Pinsk. He set aside sums from his legacy for Lubieszow, Stolin, Lohiszyn, Pohost Zagorodzki, Pohost ­Zarzeczny, and Horodnie and asked their forgiveness if he had, “God forbid,” given them poor advice. In the political and legal reality of Russia, the Pinsk community’s authority over the surrounding Jewish settlements became a matter of patronage on the part of one strong, wealthy individual. In counseling these small communities, Saul was also acting as a representative of the Pinsk community.75 By virtue of his position and occupation, Saul came into contact with aristocrats, officials, and merchants from various cities in Russia and other countries. He spoke Polish and was worldly-wise. He knew how to win the confidence of government bureaucrats in Pinsk and in the capital of the province, Minsk. During the Napoleonic War, his reputation may have reached the ear of the tsar himself. After the victory, he might even have merited an audience in the tsar’s court and a boon for his important patriotic deed, saving the canal during the Russian war effort.76 Saul’s contacts with the bureaucracy, the rulers, and the aristocracy were undoubtedly useful to the Pinsk leadership. The epitaph on his tombstone in the old Karlin cemetery, later damaged, was written in florid Hebrew that is virtually untranslatable. Anton Luria noted that the epitaph alludes to Saul’s activities on behalf of individuals and the community. The inscription emphasizes that Saul was instrumental in

341

6 9

16

7 32

12

34

10

23

28

31

21 4

13

27

11

1

29

22

30 5

18

36 3

15

14

17

8 33 26

35

25

19

20

2 24

37

Map 4. Pinsk under the rule of Russia, 1815. Data from a map in Pinsk: A Thousand Years.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Baltic Sea Bialystock Danzig Derpt [Tartu] Dunaberg [Dvinsk] 6. FINLAND 7. Gavle 8. GERMANY 9. Gulf of Bothnia 10. Gulf of Finland

11. Gulf of Riga 12. Helsinki 13. Kalmar 14. Koenigsberg [Kalingrad] 15. Kovno 16. Lake Lagoda 17. LITHUANIA 18. Memel [Klaipeda] 19. Minsk

20. Mogilev 21. Novgorod 22. Öland 23. St. Petersburg 24. Pinsk 25. POLAND 26. Poznan 27. Pskov 28. Revel [Tallinn] 29. Riga 30. RUSSIA

31. Stockholm 32. SWEDEN 33. Torun 34. Uppsala 35. Vilna 36. Vitebsk 37. Warsaw

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releasing captives.77 The other points are not clear, but apparently they refer to his intercession on behalf of Jews and against their enemies, and the fact that he was often called on for counsel. Saul’s extensive business connections, which took him to various places, enabled him to represent Pinsk-Karlin before the authorities as well as in contact with the Jewish community in the provincial capital of Minsk, which had become a sort of chief community for cities in the province.78 The opinions of the former Lithuanian chief communities and of the communities in the main cities carried weight in Russian Jewry’s internal consultations during the first and second decades of the nineteenth century,79 and the community of Pinsk could find no better envoy than Saul. On the other hand, without the backing of the Pinsk community and its wealth of historical experience within the framework of the central representative institutions of Lithuanian Jewry, he could not have been among those who spoke for the Russian communities before the rulers. After the 1812 war, Saul was recognized as one of the leaders of Russian Jewry as a whole. He participated in the 1816 convention of delegates from Jewish communities of Lithuania and Belarus, which was to select a delegation to submit the petitions of the Jewish populace to Tsar Alexander I. (This was in accordance with the tsar’s instructions to Zundel Zonenberg of Horodno and Eliezer Dilon of Nieswiez, syndics who, during an audience in Baden, Germany, received his expressions of sympathy for Russia’s Jews after the victory over Napoleon.) Saul’s name was among the signatories to the acts of the communal delegates. Subsequently, as the attitude of the Russian central authorities toward the Jews worsened, Saul was a member of Russian Jewry’s representative delegation.80 Saul was active in uncovering the truth during the Velizh blood libel of 1816, thereby removing the decree threatening the Jews of Velizh and averting the danger posed to all Russian Jews. He was among the founders of the renowned yeshiva of Volozhin, and in the 1820s he played a central role in the assistance rendered by Lithuanian-Russian Jewry to the young Perushi (mitnaggedic) community in Eretz Israel.81

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Emigration to Eretz Israel and Aid to the Ashkenazic Community During Saul’s lifetime, Pinsk and Karlin played prominent roles in the emigration of Perushim, students of the Gaon of Vilna, to Eretz Israel.82 In the 1820s and 1830s, emigrants from Pinsk and Karlin became distinguished members and emissaries of the AshkenaziPerushi community there. In 1819, Barukh ben Samuel, a scholar and physician, emigrated from Pinsk. In Palestine, and later as emissary to the “Ten Lost Tribes” in Yemen, he emerged as a brave fighter and adventurer. A number of Pinskers could be found in Eretz Israel during the 1820s and 1830s: Hayyim ben Peretz Ha-Kohen, rabbi of Pinsk (who emigrated at the end of 1826); Isaiah ben Issachar Ber Bardaki, Hayyim ben Avigdor, Abraham Dayyan Wolfson, and Hayyim ben Ha-Gaon Rabbi Jacob of Karlin. In 1833, an eight-year-old child, Samuel Muni Zilberman, emigrated to Palestine with his uncle. Ordinary Jews presumably emigrated too during this period, people who were not prominent and whose names were not preserved in any documents. This emigration created a vibrant link between Pinsk Jews and Eretz Israel, strengthening love for the land and assistance to the community there.83 Vilna became the center for aid to the Perushi community in Palestine shortly after the emigration of the Gaon’s disciples in 1808–1815. A packet of letters pertaining to the mission of the emissary, Solomon ben Israel Pah, from Jerusalem to Russia, indicates that Pinsk-Karlin served as a secondary center for collection and dispatch of monies to Eretz Israel.84 A letter sent on 25 Tishrei, 5584 (September 30, 1823), from Vilna to Solomon in Odessa, said: “We are sending a 615 ruble note worth 55 czerwone zlotys, to your honor, via the honorable Mr. Saul of Karlin, may his light shine, and he, may his light shine, will write to Odessa to properly transfer to your honor all the documents and receipts and other items, large and small, via the emissary from Karlin.”85 The center in Vilna apparently used Saul’s commercial ties with Russia to transfer monies to the main emissary in Odessa. A second letter, dated 16 Kislev, 5584 (November 19, 1823), from Vilna to Solomon shows that Solomon reached Karlin from Odessa and notified Vilna

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accordingly. Vilna informed him that an emissary, Rabbi Tobias, was to come to Karlin from Vilna to meet with him, and requested that he keep all letters, receipts, and bills with him until arrival of the latter. Two days later, they wrote once more about Rabbi Tobias’s advent. Another letter, from 27 Shevat, 5584 (January 27, 1824), shows that Solomon remained in Pinsk-Karlin for approximately two months. Once it became clear that he would not be able to set out on the return trip until after Passover, he asked to visit certain places in Lithuania for the purpose of collecting donations. The rabbis of Pinsk and Karlin gave him a letter of recommendation so that he would be received in a manner befitting his standing when he arrived to visit “his relatives and acquaintances in our country.” The letter was signed by Hayyim Cohen, rabbi of Pinsk; Jacob ben Aaron, rabbi of Karlin; and Hayyim ben HaGaon Rabbi Avigdor. Further information about the ties of Pinsk Jews to Eretz ­Israel is available only from the 1850s, but it may be assumed that the link remained firm throughout the nineteenth century.86

Saul Levin of Karlin: The Culmination of One Era and the Beginning of Another In his final years, Saul of Karlin became a patron of Isaac Ber Levinsohn, one of the early maskilim and among the disseminators of Haskalah in Russia. It seems that Saul began to give money to Levinsohn, who was then a resident of Krzemieniec in Wolyn, following publication of the pathbreaking book Te’udah Be-Yisrael, published in Vilna in 1828. It may be assumed that Saul read the book and was favorably impressed by the ideas expressed. His support for Levinsohn was well known even outside Pinsk.87 Saul’s patronage of Levinsohn toward the end of his life should not be viewed as a change in his philosophy or way of life. In this, Saul was similar to many other distinguished representatives of traditional Jewish society: learned, middle-class, mitnaggedic Lithuanians who considered it no offense to study languages and certain secular subjects, for the same reasons espoused by the Gaon and his disciple, Rabbi Barukh of Szklow.88 Saul appreciated Levinsohn’s literary activity and promotion of Haskalah—moderate Enlightenment via Hebrew language,

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­ eticulous as to religious observance and propounding a new vision m of Jewish life and ideal education. This viewpoint, rooted in the diverse layers of traditional religious literature, harmonized with the needs of the successful merchant who had maintained broad contacts with the outside world for several decades. The beginnings of integration into the new capitalist activity of tsarist Russia demanded, furthermore, shrewd assessment of the intellectual baggage essential to a man of ­action, a Jewish businessman, attempting to participate in the commercial and industrial development of the country, aware that his initiative was desirable and that his efforts were welcome. At the end of his life, Saul Levin—merchant, burgher, scholar, loyal son of traditional Jewish society—presaged a new era in the lives of Pinsk-Karlin Jews that symbolized gradual adoption of moderate Haskalah in its Hebrew form.

Growth of the Jewish Population At the end of the eighteenth century, when Pinsk was annexed to Russia, the Jewish communities of Pinsk and Karlin together totaled almost three thousand individuals, and with Zarecze and Zagorodie at least forty-five hundred. In terms of the size of its Jewish population, Pinsk-Karlin was on par with Brest and Horodno. They were second only to Vilna, which had grown significantly during the eighteenth century. Minsk, the provincial capital, was similar in size to Pinsk. At the start of Russian rule, therefore, Pinsk was among the largest Jewish communities of Russia.89 In the nineteenth century, the Jewish population of Pinsk and Karlin increased considerably. At the end of this period, it numbered close to twenty thousand individuals, having multiplied five or six times within the first ninety years of Russian rule. Tables 6.1 and 6.2 depict the population and demographic growth of Pinsk-Karlin. The figures cited in the tables should not be regarded as actual statistics; they are not accurate even for the 1860s, and certainly not for the first half of the 1800s. The numbers become more reliable only from the 1870s on. The imprecise data at our disposal can nevertheless be used to analyze the trends of demographic growth in Pinsk.90

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Here is the percentage growth of the Jewish population of Pinsk: 1819–1847 1819–1861 1819–1871 1819–1886

68% 130% 356% 533%

These numbers affirm moderate growth until the mid-1850s, rapid growth from the late 1850s through the 1870s, and very rapid growth during the 1880s and 1890s. The pace of Pinsk’s demographic growth during the first half of the nineteenth century corresponded to the overall trends of demographic change among Russian Jews in cities within the Pale of Settlement during the nineteenth century.91 Between 1820 and 1880, the Jewish population of Russia grew by approximately two-and-a-half times. For the second half of the century, growth in Pinsk was about double that (five times) or more.

table 6.1 Population of Pinsk Including Karlin, 1857, on Basis of Finance Ministry Data Nobles Priests, monks

142 56

Rabbis

2

Honorary citizens

2

Merchants Townspeople

65 (45 men, 20 women) 4,804 (2,301 men, 2,503 women)

Citizens (nobles who had lost their property)

180 (89 men, 91 women)

Peasants

128 (64 men, 64 women)

Servants

219 (133 men, 86 women)

Foreigners Wives and children of draftees and cantonists Total in Pinsk Military personnel Total

3 243 (159 male, 84 female) 5,844 (2,906 men, 2,938 women) 272 (including 27 policemen and firemen) 6,116

347

19,017

22,053

21,819

21,065

1878

1886

1896

1897



7,303

6,345

4,432

3,950

3,937







4,179



4,397

2,682

2,848

3,185







2,226





















1,867

1,716

1,082

739







2,138

Catholics















81

34

20

13







15

Other

74.3

77.5

83.3

83

77.7







61.4



81.6









% Jews

25.7

22.5

16.7

17

22.3







38.6



18.4









% Non-Jews





28,368

28,164

26,485

22,567

17,618

18,000

15,000

13,060

11,135

4,623**

6,116* (2,489 women)





Total Population

sources: Yevreiskaya Entsiklopedia, vol. 12, p. 511; Alexandrov, vol. 4, p. 72; Niemcewicz, p. 413; TY, pp. 32 and 82; Zelensky 2, pp. 461 and 518; SG, vol. 8, p. 173; Yanson. In 1811, the 1,406 Jews in Pinsk included 703 men (12 were merchants, 58 were in the home for the aged); the 652 in Karlin included 326 men (17 merchants, 43 in the home for the aged, 260 townsmen). * This according to Zelensky 2, p. 461. TY, p. 82 (apparently on the basis of Zelensky 2, p. 518) says 5,051, including 2,437 men. ** This according to TY, p. 82. SG, vol. 8, p. 172, says 8,600.



13,681

1871

1869

1870





1866

6,956



1860

1861





Orthodox

200 townsmen



Men: 1,970; 849 women: 2,162; total: 4,132

5,050



4 merchants, 1,367 townspeople (in district)

Non-Jews

1857

3,000

Pinsk: 1406; Karlin: 652; total: 2,058

1811

1819

8 merchants, 1,592 townspeople (in district)

1801

1847

Jews

Year

Jewish and Non-Jewish Population of Pinsk in the Nineteenth Century

table 6.2

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Although after midcentury the growth of Jewish Pinsk was several times greater than the growth of the general Russian Jewish population, Pinsk was not unusual compared to many other cities in Russia. During the nineteenth century, a process of progressively greater concentration of Jewish population in the large- and medium-sized cities took place, resulting in significant expansion of many communities owing to internal migration.92 Table 6.3 illustrates the pace of Pinsk’s growth compared to that of other Russian Jewish communities, particularly the new communities in southwestern Russia that developed rapidly under Russian rule. These figures indicate that toward the middle of the nineteenth century Pinsk began to lose its ranking as a large, leading Jewish community. Comparison of the communities in the second half of the century shows that many cities in Russia overtook Pinsk in their more rapid demo­graphic growth. In Lithuania-Belarus, Minsk, Bialystok, Horodno, and Brest outranked Pinsk. Most conspicuous was the rise of the new communities in southwestern Russia; they developed quickly under Russian rule and Pinsk contributed to their growth, in no small measure at its own expense, as will be shown.

table 6.3 Growth of Pinsk Compared to Other Russian Jewish Communities Pinsk

1819: 3,000 (approximately)

1847: 5,050

1897: 21,065

Brest

1797: 4,000 (maximum)

1847: 8,136

1897: 30,608

Horodno (Grodno)

1816: 8,422

1857: 10,300

1887: 27,343







1897: 22,684

Bialystok

1765: 761

1861: 17,458

1897: 41,905

Minsk

1802: 2,716

1847: 12,976

1897: 47,562

Vilna

1797: 6,000

1847: 23,050

1897: 63,996

Odessa

1795: 246

1855: 17,000

1897: 138,915

Yekaterinoslav

1804: 320

1857: 3,365

1897: 40,009

Kiev

1797: 207

1863: 3,013

1897: 31,801

source: For Brest, Grodno, and Bialystok, Yevreiskaya Entsiklopedia, vol. 4, p. 958; vol. 5, p. 174, vol. 6, p. 792. For all other cities, see Baron, pp. 81–82.

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In the second half of the nineteenth century, Pinsk dropped from the group of the large communities and joined the medium-sized ones. Because of the character of its economic activity in contrast to the ­direction of general Russian economic development, Pinsk did not succeed in completely integrating into the process of urbanization coming in the wake of intensified capitalistic activity in industry and railroad building during the second half of the nineteenth century. As opposed to the conspicuous change in Pinsk’s status among the larger Russian Jewish communities, the city retained and even strengthened its standing as a demographically Jewish city. Reliable data concerning the ratio between Jews and non-Jews in Pinsk are not available from the first half of the nineteenth century. The figures from 1819, 1857, and 1861 seen in Table 6.2 are not reconcilable, but we can safely assume that in the first half of the century the proportion of Jews in the city was at least 70 percent, and at the end of the period, in the 1880s, Jews constituted 80 percent or more of the total population (the figures and percentages for the Christian population included Russian army troops camping in the city). The economic prosperity of Pinsk during the second third of the nineteenth century led to a significant rise in the Jewish population, while the Christian population grew only negligibly.93

Legal and Political Status The legal standing of Jews residing in areas annexed to Russia during the partitions of Poland at the end of the eighteenth century underwent a fundamental alteration. First of all, their status became in theory identical to that of the Christian townspeople. Under the Polish system, the Jewish communities maintained juridical independence; now, administrative and judicial authority were assumed by the municipal magistrate.94 In 1793, very shortly after Pinsk’s annexation to Russia as a result of the second partition of Poland, the municipality became the judicial and administrative forum for Pinsk Jewry. For so long as Pinsk remained under Polish rule, it retained in practice (if not in theory) its status as one of the chief communities of Lithuania, despite offi-

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cial dissolution of the Lithuanian Council in 1764. After the second and third partitions of Poland, however, Pinsk’s position changed. Following administrative redivision of the new areas into provinces and districts, the communities in the provincial capitals rose to prominence, and the former chief communities, which were not provincial capitals, declined in importance. From the beginning of Russian rule, Pinsk relinquished to Minsk its rank as a chief community. In 1796, with the knowledge of the provincial authorities, leaders of the Minsk ­kahal sent copies of the Gaon’s proclamation against the Hasidim to the communities of the province. The proclamation was to be read publicly, regulations declared by the Minsk kahal were to be imposed by the others, “and every district and administration shall order the cities in its vicinity . . . And we have it in our power to repel them and pursue them, for we possess, with God’s help, the authority and the force of our Governor General.” Although no national organization of communities existed, for practical purposes the authorities recognized the existence of a regional organization of the communities, headed by the one in the provincial capital. It had jurisdiction over the major communities in the province, which in turn held authority over the smaller communities in their districts. At one stroke, Pinsk lost its stature as a chief community, and its authority was limited to communities within the immediate district (uyezd). A similar fate befell Brest.95 To the east of Pinsk, the new district of Dawidgrodek was created. Communities to the west of Pinsk—Janow, Motol, Drohiczyn, Chomsk—that passed into Russian control only after the third partition of Poland in 1795 were assigned to the Slonim province (as of 1800, the Horodno district).96 Pinsk authority over surrounding communities was confined to Livshei, Stolin, Lohiszyn, Pohost Zagorodzki, Pohost Zareczny, and Horodnie, and perhaps a few more settlements. What form authority or influence over these settlements took is not clear. After the abolition of the kahal in 1844, the last vestige of Pinsk’s authority over the smaller communities apparently disappeared.97 If the dependence of the small communities on the district cities, and of the district cities on the provincial capital, preserved in some measure the traditional organizational structure of dominion by chief communities over surrounding communities, everything else related to

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the Lithuanian Jewish Council—such as meetings of the chief communities of Lithuania—obviously ceased to exist. The Pinsk region, in the form it had assumed under Polish rule, no longer functioned. This change in legal status, which especially affected the institution of the kahal, remained operative throughout the nineteenth century. The only modifications were those necessitated by Russian legislation, particularly the law of 1844 that abolished the kahal as an institution of autonomous rule.98 Several nineteenth-century accounts from Pinsk confirm the administrative and judicial subservience of the Jewish community to the municipality. Thus, for instance, in 1829 the mayor (burmistrz) and the representative of the police were present in the synagogue when army recruits took the loyalty oath to the authorities and to their officers. In the 1870s, the head of the municipal council and the chief of police were present in the Great Synagogue of Pinsk during elections for the statesponsored rabbi; in effect, they conducted the voting.99 Russia’s urban population was composed primarily of people legally classified as townspeople; a smaller portion belonged to the merchant category and a few to the nobility. Residents who paid a double head tax of 2.5 rubles per person were considered townspeople. Merchants were individuals who possessed substantial capital and paid taxes proportionately, entitling them to membership in the third, second, or first merchant guild. According to this system, the Jews of Pinsk were divided into townspeople (the vast majority) and merchants (a small minority). Merchants enjoyed more privileges than townspeople. The latter had firm, legally protected ownership rights to chattel property and real estate (this was their great advantage over the peasants). But a townsman’s freedom to travel from his city to another was limited, since this was dependent on obtaining a passport, for which purpose he had to remit all government and municipal taxes. Many townspeople were thus deprived of mobility. They were also subject to the draft, by quota, as were the peasants. Merchants had no difficulty obtaining passports, enjoyed full mobility, and were exempt from the draft. Laws applicable to Christian merchants pertained to the Jews in that category as well. When the draft law was applied to the Jews in 1827, the merchants remained exempt. This state of affairs sharpened class differences within the Christian

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­ rban population and Jewish society, where most of the populace sufu fered dire poverty. In Pinsk, however, starting in the 1830s there was an economic upswing that apparently tempered the inequalities.100 Little information is available about the Pinsk municipality, its structure, and the Jews’ role in it.101 There are partial accounts of Jews serving in official positions in the magistrate, but few details. Given the special demographic character of Pinsk as a conspicuously Jewish city, this is a subject with much potential significance. Mikhel Berchinsky (1820–1904) was an active member of the municipal council and almost certainly exerted great influence on the conduct of city affairs from the late 1840s or the early 1850s. In the latter half of the 1870s, Zev Wolf Neidich was elected to membership in the city council, headed by Baron Von Witte. From the 1850s to the 1870s, Jews were also engaged as clerks in the municipal police department and in city and district offices, until their abrupt collective dismissal in 1879.102 In Pinsk, as all over Russia, however, real control over the conduct of city affairs lay in the hands of the police. In nineteenth-century Russia, there was no practical demarcation among the roles of the police, the city’s elected institutions, and the courts; involvement of the police in municipal affairs was a common phenomenon. Administration was, for practical purposes, in the hands of an all-powerful apparatus of bureau­crats and police personnel of all sorts, who were responsible for tax collection as well. Russian townsmen were powerless against their tyranny,103 Jews all the more so. The bureaucrats and the police were dependent in large measure on the wealthy class of townspeople, from whom they received various favors. In Jewish-dominated Pinsk, there was a special affinity between the authorities and members of the large merchant families, especially the Lurias. In his memoirs from the 1870s, Kerman noted that the police were always ineffective in dealing with the prosperous Karlin merchants, because they profited from them before holidays or the New Year. These bribe-facilitated connections softened the despotism of the police and the bureaucracy, to the benefit of the Jewish population, even though under certain circumstances the wealthy were capable of gaining the support of the authorities against their opponents within the Jewish community.104

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The Kahal The 1844 legislation that terminated independent jurisdiction and autonomous rule on the part of the kahal in the Jewish communities of Russia brought about the end of kahal leadership in its traditional form. But leadership did continue, however, through adapting to the new legal circumstances and conducting public affairs to the extent possible. Much of the kahal’s authority was concentrated in the position of the tax collector (sborshchik), who also dealt with communal matters having no direct connection to tax collection, such as army induction. For example, it was the seal of the tax collector that was affixed to a copy of an 1857 letter by the rabbis of Pinsk and Karlin, whose accuracy and veracity were confirmed by the signature of witnesses on behalf of the kahal and “the seal of the kahal.”105 The traditional roles of the kahal leadership were assumed by the available institutions: the tax collector and communal benevolent societies.106 In Russia, this led to a distortion of the character of the communal leadership. Men in key positions exploited their status more than once and pressured the poor while exhibiting leniency toward the rich. This was especially obvious and offensive in the matter of army induction. The situation in Pinsk was perhaps more favorable than elsewhere, thanks to propitious financial circumstances and the broad stratum of influential, wealthy people who excelled in generosity and philanthropy. In Pinsk, this upper class, and not the tax collector and his assistants, wielded influence over public affairs. The community was capable of raising the tax monies required from it, without resorting to the sborshchik’s authority, which would have entailed pressure and coercion. Articles and memoirs from Pinsk contain nothing of significance, positive or negative, about the communal tax collector. There are accounts, however, of wealthy people who carried communal burdens, saving much of the populace from contributing to community expenditures. Issues between the Jewish community and the authorities were also frequently solved by personal contact between members of prosperous, well-connected families and local bureaucrats, police, or clergy. This diminished the authority and influence of even those communal institutions that were allowed to function.107

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In the 1860s, certain kahal activities were revived. Zvi Hirsh Shereshevsky began to serve as the community scribe. He was a young maskil in his early twenties who sent articles on public issues and maskil-style scholarly essays to the Hebrew press. In 1862, in his capacity as town scribe, he published an appeal in Ha-Melitz, requesting information about the whereabouts of a man who had abandoned his wife and left her an agunah. Two years later, he sent greetings from the Pinsk community to Moses Montefiore, on the occasion of his successful intercession for the benefit of the endangered Jews of Morocco.108 In matters of public significance to the Jews, the city scribe acted openly on behalf of the Pinsk community. Tsar Alexander II’s liberal policy at the beginning of his reign presumably enabled the communal leadership to broaden its scope of activity and led to this revival. The position of communal scribe existed during the 1870s as well. An article from 1877 recounts the sale of the position, for two hundred rubles, to an unemployed individual; the Hasidim in Pinsk raised the necessary payment.109

Taxes According to Russian law, the Jewish population in each city and town was organized as a community, which dealt with tax payment and military recruitment. The community was responsible to central and local authorities for taxes the inhabitants were obligated to pay, and for the number of recruits they were required to provide.110 The Jewish communal institution was formally accountable to the municipal council (duma) or the municipal administration (magistrate). When the provincial government instructed the local authorities to collect taxes, an order was issued by the magistrate to the tax collector and his assistants as to what the community was to pay, and to the person responsible for recruitment as to the number of recruits the Jewish population was to furnish. The law provided that, once the written order was received, the members of the community were to assemble and decide on the number of recruits and the individual tax burden. The decision would then be presented to the municipality for confirmation and executed.111

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An official survey of Minsk province in the early 1860s noted that, in practice, affairs were conducted differently. Decisions were made by a small committee composed of the tax collector, the draft official, and the state-sponsored rabbi, and their decision was binding.112 These were usually the most powerful individuals in the community, with de facto unlimited control over kahal affairs. By law and accepted practice, Russian Jews, including the Jews of Pinsk, paid both direct and indirect taxes.113 Official statistical data from 1857 give some idea of the taxes paid by Pinsk Jews (see Table 6.4). According to the table, for the purpose of calculating taxes there were 2,643 Jewish males subject to taxes in Pinsk.114 They paid 8,870 rubles in direct taxes, 9,550 in indirect taxes (korobka plus candle tax), and 123 as a direct levy for particular expenses, for a total of 18,543 ­rubles. Among the townspeople, the average direct tax per Jewish male was 3.40 rubles annually (3.35 + 0.05), and the average indirect tax was 3.61, for an average total tax of 7.01 rubles. This applied to Jews belonging to the legal class of townspeople. Those considered merchants paid according to the guild to which they belonged. table 6.4 The Korobka and Other Taxes in Pinsk-Karlin in 1857 Item

Rubles

Total back taxes

890

Total general korobka

7,801

Total candle tax

1,749

Average korobka per individual

2.95

Average candle tax per individual

0.66

National taxes and levies collected per individual “townsperson”

3.3475

Korobka expenditures for kahal needs

334.22

Average of the above per individual Direct levy for specific expenses Average of the above per individual

0.13 123.40 0.05

note: The male Jewish population of Pinsk was 2,643 (of whom 1,148 were children, poor, or elderly). Double this number is 5,286 people, at least for the Jewish population in Pinsk-Karlin somewhat more than the number in the official census of 1857; see Table 6.2. source: Zelensky, table opposite p. 667. With regard to the korobka, Karlin was considered to be part of Pinsk.

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In 1857, there were sixty-five merchants in Pinsk, of whom approximately fifteen belonged to the second guild and fifty to the third guild. The other merchants and shopkeepers were classified as townspeople. The vast majority of direct taxes went to the royal treasury; only a small percentage was designated for the province and military maintenance.115 Also in 1857, the Jews of Pinsk paid more indirect taxes—the general korobka and the candle tax—than direct. The korobka in Pinsk was collected from ritual slaughter of cattle, sheep, and fowl; from sale of kosher meat; and from fines related to transgression of the korobka laws.116 Information on korobka allocation is available only from 1857, but comparison with the figures for the early twentieth century indicates that there was probably no significant change during the course of the nineteenth century. Here is the korobka revenue for 1857:117 For Each Funt of Meat (Approx. 410 Grams), in Kopeks Beef 3 Veal 2.50 Mutton 2 Fat 3 For Ritual Slaughter, in Kopeks Bull 60 Cow 50 Calf, sheep 20 Goat, lamb 5 Turkey 15 Small turkey 10 Goose, duck 10 Chicken 2.50 Young chicken 1.50–2

The annual income from the korobka in 1857 was 7,801 rubles (see Table 6.4), which was virtually the only source of income for the ­kahal’s operating budget. The authorities closely supervised use of income from the korobka.118 The korobka revenues were used primarily to cover frequent arrears in general taxes (in 1857, Pinsk had a tax debt of 890 rubles); settle other

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kahal debts; establish and maintain public elementary schools; assist Jews learning agriculture (that is, fund the government policy of “rectifying Jewish life”); pay the leasehold fee (czynsz) for plots used by the kahal; prepare the register books; finance transportation services and road repair; and provide a budget for the committee that dealt with rabbinical matters, charitable expenditures, and care of the poor. The korobka income also served other communal needs and constituted a stable and effective financial base for the budget of the Jewish community of Pinsk. Articles from 1880 to 1883 reported on use of the korobka for internal communal purposes. In 1880, korobka funds reduced the price of potatoes for the poor, from twenty-five to fifteen kopeks per pud. In 1882, the meat tax yielded a sum of five thousand rubles, with five hundred designated to cover part of the sum needed to compensate people with exemptions (who were drafted in place of people without exemptions who had hidden). An article from 1883 related that the rich people of the city resolved to establish a trade school. At a meeting held on the day of Tsar Alexander III’s coronation, they decided “to donate 2,000 rubles of their own money, plus 3,000 rubles from the meat tax; while for the annual upkeep of the school, they would contribute 1,000 rubles, and 1,400 rubles from the meat tax.”119 Even during the economic crisis of the late 1870s and early 1880s, the korobka sufficed to fund new expenditures for the community’s internal needs. The meat tax was increased in the 1880s, but presumably the situation was tenable before that and korobka income could finance the kahal budget. In most Russian Jewish communities, it was customary to lease out the korobka, usually for four years. In Pinsk, it seems that the kahal itself administered the korobka. Kerman, relating in his memoirs an event that took place in 1878, mentioned an elderly Jew named Israel who worked as a bookkeeper for the korobka. He also referred to a building called the korobka shtibel where Israel Elijah, the slaughterer of fowls, lived. During the 1860s the provincial authorities, cognizant of irregularities in collection and use of funds, voiced criticism of leasing the korobka. Both the authorities and the communal representatives in Minsk province, however, considered the korobka the best and most efficient means for financing the communities’ budgets.120

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In 1857, in addition to the korobka the Jews of Pinsk paid a candle tax of 1,749 rubles. This sum was forwarded to the Ministry of Education to be applied toward establishment of government-sponsored Jewish schools.121 The system of indirect taxation—korobka and candle tax—discriminated against the lower classes, taking a higher percentage of income from them than from the affluent.122 But in the flourishing economy of the 1850s and 1860s, this was apparently not an unbearable burden for Pinskers. The sources contain no complaints about bias against the poor in taxation. Such feelings were apparently mitigated largely thanks to the generosity and philanthropy of wealthy Pinskers and the charitable institutions they established.

Military Recruitment In 1827, Tsar Nicholas I enacted a law pertaining to recruitment of Jews for the army. The law obligated Jewish communities in Russia to furnish recruits for military service of twenty-five years, according to quotas determined by the authorities; it was intended primarily to lead the Jews to convert. Induction procedures and service were modeled on those of the townspeople since, in terms of legal status, most Jews were regarded as townspeople. (Jews did have the additional burden of the cantons. That is, they could be drafted from as young as twelve years old and until age eighteen served in paramilitary educational camps. The twenty-five-year term of military service for such cantonists did not commence until they joined the regular army at eighteen.) Russian Jews considered the law an evil decree and a catastrophe, but their desperate attempts to overturn it were to no avail, and the first conscripts were drafted that same year.123 The earliest Pinsk account of induction of a Jewish recruit, on the basis of Tsar Nicholas’s law, dates from the end of 1829. This document124 is the text of the loyalty oath sworn by a Jewish recruit. The blank portion of the paper below the oath contains a protocol of the induction ceremony, in Russian. Here is the text of the oath: I hereby swear in the name of the eternal God, the Lord of Israel, that I wish to serve the Russian Tsar and the Russian government, in any

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way that I will be ordered to do so, during my entire service, in total submission to my officers, and with the same faith as if I were obligated to serve in order to save our land and our Holy Torah. I do not nullify the content of this oath in my heart, but I take the oath as charged by those who administer it, and I invalidate any statements that I have made or will make to revoke this oath. In principle, I will never, God forbid, request or accept any ruse to annul this oath. Should I sin on my own or by instigation, I will transgress this oath by which I swear today to serve faithfully as a soldier, and I will be excommunicated together with my family in this world and the world to come.

Translation of the protocol attached to the text: In the year 1829, on the twelfth day of November, in accordance with a promise sanctioned by excommunication, in the synagogue of Pinsk, the Jewish recruit Yankel Haim Makhlin, sent by the kahal of Stolin, took an oath and since he did not know how to write, he signed in his own hand with three circles—OOO. The oath was administered to the above recruit by (the secretary of the court) the Jew Isaac ben Israel. Present on this occasion were [the signatures appear in Hebrew and the names in Russian]: Court (Bet-Din): Joseph son of Benjamin125 Judah Leib son of Joseph Zev son of Rabbi Zvi Witnesses (Minyan): Nisan son of Zvi Katz Zelig son of Jacob Judah Leib son of Hayyim (Leizer son of Meir)126 Yudel son of Fishel Liebman Elijah son of Joseph Eliezer son of Joseph Samuel son of Kalman Katz Judah Leib son of Isaac Joseph son of Azriel

Present during the oath taking: Ludvik Rozenstein, who passed from his Jewish faith to the Christian sect.127

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The reverse side of the document bears authentication by the authorities. At the end of the document are two lines, ending with two indecipherable signatures—apparently those of the representative of the police or army and the head of the municipal administration of Pinsk. This document illustrates several points: (1) The government induction order was turned over to the kahal for execution by the mayor and the city agency of the central government (the police?), in accordance with the legal status of Russian Jews as townspeople subject to the same municipal governance as Christian townspeople. (2) The Pinsk kahal was responsible, at least at the start, for recruitment in the communities under its jurisdiction within the district; this recruit was brought from Stolin. (3) The formality and ceremonial nature of the event in the synagogue attest to the importance that the authorities attached to it, and their desire to impress both the kahal leadership and the Jewish public. (4) The fact that the recruit was illiterate reflects the tendency to place the burden of military service on “undesirable” elements of society.

The Jews of Pinsk, like Jews all over Russia, were alarmed by the new edict and by the danger that their sons would be dispatched for twentyfive years (in the case of cantonists, up to thirty-one years) of army service.128 Miriam Shomer Zunser recounted in her memoirs that her grandfather Mikhel Berchinsky was redeemed from recruitment agents by his father, Zadok Moses, in the 1830s, when he was about sixteen years old, married, and father to his first child. Zadok Moses paid a very high sum for his son’s release, even though he was a poor man.129 Another instance of turning an individual over for recruitment, in Pinsk of the 1840s, was related in Shomer Zunser’s memoirs and was also linked to her grandfather, when he was already a lawyer, a man of stature, and a member of the communal leadership. After ­Berchinsky succeeded in solving a series of horse thefts, and following prolonged and systematic investigation that revealed the thief to be a stalwart young man, Danielke, Berchinsky had to decide what to do with the thief. Instead of bringing him over for trial, which would have resulted in exile to Siberia, Berchinsky decided that it would be preferable to turn Danielke over to Tsar Nicholas’s army as an undesirable element.

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Danielke was the only son of a widow and by law exempt from military service. At Berchinsky’s initiative, one thousand Pinsk residents signed a request to the governor to draft Danielke. The young man was indeed inducted but ran away from the barracks in Minsk—that is, he deserted—and returned to the vicinity of Pinsk. With the covert assistance of Berchinsky (whom he had targeted for revenge), Danielke fled abroad.130 Shomer Zunser described another tactic for evading army service during Nicholas’s reign: purchase of an exemption certificate (kvitantsia). Production of these very expensive documents ceased at some point, but anyone who already had one in his possession guarded it zealously, because it remained valid and could be sold for a large sum. According to Shomer Zunser, her grandfather purchased such a certificate from a noble for one of his sons, who was born after abolition of the cantonist law in 1856, following Alexander II’s ascent to the throne and enactment of a more generalized draft obligation. Berchinsky wanted to ensure his son’s exemption from army service if the need arose in the future.131 In Pinsk, conscription of recruits was consistent with the system accepted in other Russian communities. Undesirable elements and sons of the poor were the individuals usually drafted. Because of its cruel nature—the army was regarded as exile, servitude, and severance from family, people, and faith—evasion of service was universally considered legitimate. Yet for the kahal noncompliance with the authorities was unfeasible and unthinkable. The kahal had no alternative but to resort to kidnapping children and handing them over to the cantons, for unimaginable suffering and frequent apostasy. This dark chapter in the history of Russian Jewry led to strife and contention between those with exemptions—the upper and middle classes—and the poor general public, whose sons were in danger of being seized or kidnapped and who therefore despised the kahal and its leadership.132 In Pinsk too, there were people who kidnapped children at the behest of the kahal. The youngsters were handed over to the authorities to fill the quota. In the biography of Jacob ben Aaron, rabbi of Karlin, a grandchild of his brother, Isaac ben Aaron, tells of R. Jacob’s intervention on behalf of a woman whose son was kidnapped for army service. The woman burst into the synagogue in the midst of the Sabbath prayers, and the leader of the kahal tried to chase her out. The rabbi strongly

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rebuked him for his behavior, and in consequence the prayergoers broke into the home of the kahal leader and released all the kidnapped children held captive there.133 The source of the story and its veracity are unclear. In his memoirs, Kerman related that Pinskers used to tell stories about Shaike the “snatcher”; Kerman also mentioned Yohanan the cooper, one of Nicholas’s soldiers, among the characters he knew in Pinsk during the 1870s. Nicholas’s soldiers and snatchers from the neighboring village of Motele (Motol) were also mentioned in Hayyim ­Chemerinsky’s memoirs.134 A chart from an 1864 statistical survey shows the quota of recruits imposed on the communities in Minsk province between 1846 and 1855. The number of draftees and kidnapped children grew significantly during these most difficult years, as pressure for conscription increased.135 Year Recruits per 1,000 Jews 1846 2 1847 7 1849 8 1850 7 1852 7 1853 10 1854, January 10 1854, April 10 1855 10

According to this chart, Pinsk, whose Jewish residents numbered approximately five thousand, was obligated to furnish recruits as shown here: Year Total Number of Recruits 1846 10 1847 35 1849 40 1850 35 1852 35 1853 50 1854, January 50 1854, April 50 1855 50

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We have no means of confirming or negating the figures, which seem quite high. No information is available about the problems of army induction in Pinsk between 1856 (the year that the law of the cantonists was abolished by Alexander II) and 1874, the year of the reform in Russian military service, which reduced the term of service to four years, freed communities from responsibility for recruitment, and made all Russian citizens liable to military service from the age of twenty. Certain categories of candidates were entitled to reduction of various sorts.136 The new law of 1874 reawakened the question of the draft among the Jews of Russia. In theory, the law was welcomed by the Hebrew press and those active in Jewish public affairs who identified with Haskalah in its various forms. In practice, however, the people directly involved—Jewish men of draft age and their families—regarded army service of even a few years according to the new law as a personal tragedy and did everything they could to evade the draft, or at least shorten their service as much as possible. A Hebrew article written by the moderate maskil Moses Ha-Kohen Feigelson, sent from Pinsk shortly after publication of the law, enthusiastically welcomed the new law and issued a dramatic call to the Jewish public to rally to the military effort. The article undoubtedly reflected the mood among Pinsk supporters of Haskalah. They were deeply impressed by the purported intention of enacting universal army service in Russia, as was becoming customary in western European countries, on the basis of equality between ethnic groups and social classes.137 This was to replace the previous system of coercion that had hurt primarily the poorer classes while discriminating in favor of the rich and the middle class. The maskilim presumably believed that the spread of enlightenment among Jews was one of the factors giving rise to equality of obligation in military service, and they hoped that the law heralded the start of a new era in which “faith and reason would walk hand in hand on the road of life . . . for [the new law] is a clarion call for liberty of the [Jewish] nation from enslavement to stupidity, and complete redemption.”138 Exactly what complete redemption meant was not explained, but the maskilim probably entertained the idea of civil equality to come.

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It is doubtful that this enthusiastic call had any influence on candidates for recruitment. Before long, young men of Pinsk, even those who studied in the Talmud Torah, were diligent in learning Russian, apparently in hopes of shortening their term of military duty.139 The results of the 1874–1875 draft apparently did not justify the authorities’ expectations. Although bachelors and family men were drafted, there were apparently a large number of men who did not appear for induction, particularly from among the “disappeared”—that is, those not listed in the register books. In the fall of 1875, the governor of Pinsk, Baron Von Witte, invited the Jews of the city to a meeting in the synagogue and attempted to convince them that the fear of those liable for the draft, particularly the disappeared, was unwarranted. He sought to coax and persuade them that they should not hesitate to seek his advice. The effect of Von Witte’s speech is not ascertainable. Kerman related in his memoirs that in 1877, on the second day of Shavuot (Pentecost), Von Witte addressed the congregants from the pulpit of the Great Synagogue, in the presence of Rabbi Elazar Moses Horowitz. He requested that reservists holding a red card present themselves at his office, since a draft had been declared on the eve of the war between Russia and Turkey. According to Kerman, all the reservists from Pinsk appeared and were drafted, but no one from Karlin came, claiming that Von Witte had not specifically referred to Karlin. To avoid unnecessary danger, the Karlin reservists immediately left by cargo boats and rafts to hide in the forest. They were in no hurry to be drafted, and the police did not even search for them. Kerman added that the police were always ineffective against the merchants and rich men of Karlin because they were so beholden to them.140 Unwillingness to serve in the army was prevalent among the Jews of Russia, and it found expression in the multiplicity of tactics used to evade conscription. The government took immediate measures and in 1876–1878 issued amendments to the law of military service, designed to facilitate induction of Jews by the draft boards for the purpose of filling the quotas.141 These amendments, along with administrative directives, violated the principle of formal equality between Jews and non-Jews embodied in the original law.

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An 1879 article, written in Russian by Aaron Luria of Pinsk, related an incident that took place in Pinsk and aroused great excitement. A man by the name of Dvozhetzky, who was visiting in Pinsk, was drafted into the army, apparently to fill the Pinsk quota of recruits. A reply to Luria’s article appeared in the same issue of the periodical, explaining that this was done legally and that there were many such cases in Russia. They derived from the 1876 amendments to the law relating to Jewish draftees in the Pale of Settlement.142

Economic Life After 1835 In 1869, Yuli Yanson, a Russian economist and lecturer at the University of St. Petersburg, published a report entitled “Pinsk and Its Region,” describing the economic situation and outlook for the future there.143 Yanson’s account was actually a summary of a study based on extensive field work, official statistics, and testimony from commercial companies, merchants, nobles, farmers, and other economically interested parties. His study also made extensive use of an in-depth survey of Minsk province by Colonel Zelensky, published in 1864. In his informative and persuasive document, Yanson asserted that Pinsk was the capital and heart of an “economic empire” that stretched across southwestern Russia, and that exercised a key function in the Russian economy tied to its domination of agricultural export from Ukraine. Yanson referred to Pinsk as “this Jewish city” and noted that its population at the time numbered approximately fifteen thousand inhabitants, about twelve thousand of them Jews.144 Intended to serve as the basis for recommendations pertaining to the future of trade for Pinsk in agricultural and forest products from southwestern Russia, Yanson’s study presents an authoritative description of the Pinsk economy in the 1850s and 1860s. Reports by Yanson and Zelensky demonstrate that by the mid-1840s Pinsk was involved in large-scale commerce and subsequently filled a growing role in agricultural export from southwest Russia. This commerce peaked in the 1850s and then continued, somewhat diminished (owing to the 1863 Polish uprising), into the 1860s.145 Sources unavailable to Yanson date the start of Pinsk’s prominence

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in the agricultural export trade, and the beginning of its economic prosperity, even earlier, to the mid-1830s. In 1837, the Polish author Ignacy Kraszewski visited Pinsk and recorded what he saw there. His description testifies to major advances in economic activity, compared to what Kontrym witnessed in the city in 1829. Progress was visible mainly along the Pina waterfront, which Kraszewski portrayed as the locus of springtime revival. With the spring thaw, masses of people swarmed along the riverbanks; the river bustled with commercial activity. A multitude of vessels delivered salt and other products to Pinsk and carried away liquor, grain, barrel hoops, coal, and other items. Jews accosted new arrivals and invited them to nearby taverns. Wagons laden with grain, salt, resin, and other products reached Pinsk by land from as far away as Kobryn and Pruzany in Polesie. These commodities were unloaded in the city and others were put on the wagons to be carried away. The shops in Pinsk were spacious and well stocked, offering customers a large variety of merchandise. There was only one thing Kraszewski disliked: the Jews were the driving force behind all of this activity, and he considered their behavior no more than unrestrained ambition for profit and greed for money. This contrasts with Kontrym’s appreciation and liberal assessment of the Jews’ role in developing the economy and trade.146 Kraszewski’s journalistic-literary description of the economic revival of Pinsk is supplemented by statistical data from the Transport Ministry for 1836–1837, written by the person in charge of freight transport in the Pinsk basin. The figures show that in that fiscal year or the preceding one merchandise worth 1,004,083 rubles reached Pinsk via the waterways, and commodities worth 554,456 rubles were dispatched. Comparison of these sums with the value of cargo that passed through Pinsk between 1844 and 1846 shows that the value of Pinsk transit commerce in 1836–1837 was roughly equivalent to that of the mid-1840s. Examination of these facts against the background of general trends in grain cultivation in Russia and its export to the west indicates that 1836–1845 were the years of the first sizeable and stable increase in grain production. Pinsk’s commercial awakening in the mid-1830s was a consequence of increased grain production in Ukraine and the concomitant need to market a high volume of product.147

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The grain was destined for western Europe; the sole means of transport from Ukraine to the large ports of Danzig, Koenigsberg, and Memel was by ships, boats, and rafts along the river routes, via the two canals near Pinsk that connected the Dnieper with the Niemen and the Vistula. It was preordained, given Pinsk’s geographic position, that it would be the transit point for loading and unloading within this transportation system. Haulage of cargo required a fleet of sailing vessels of various sorts to suit conditions on the rivers and canals in all the seasons of the year.148 The merchants of Pinsk-Karlin took the initiative and used their financial resources to invest in the grain trade and in creating the apparatus for transporting saleable crops to the ports. The 1830s improvement in the economic situation for Pinsk can only be understood within the context of developments in the Russian economy. Research by Russian historians demonstrates that economic policy formulated during the 1820s (at the end of the reign of Alexander I and at the beginning of that of Nicholas I) began to bear fruit in the mid-1830s. The initiator and executor of the new economic policy was Minister of the Treasury Kankrin, who charted a plan for restoring transport routes and developing commerce and industry along capitalistic lines. Kankrin’s program was somewhat inconsistent and selfcontradictory, since it was designed to preserve the feudal structure of the economy and agricultural production alongside the new capitalistic trade policy.149 Kankrin’s economic program led to positive consequences: during the 1830s and 1840s commerce and industry began to develop significantly. Great traders of the old school (of whom there were few in the Russian cities) quickly adjusted to the new rhythm of economic life and activated their capital for trade ventures. It became common for an affluent merchant to extend the scope of his business to locales far from home, with the assistance of agents acting on his behalf.150 In the expanding industrial areas of southern and central Russia, new urban centers were established and towns were transformed into major cities. The port cities along the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov burgeoned: Odessa (with a conspicuously rapid rate of growth), Nikolayev, and Taganrog. Harbors along the Baltic Sea also received a strong spur to commercial development as a result of the improved transport

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routes. Only after these developments were the benefits from the economic union of Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, and Lithuania realized.151 Russia’s new economic policy, diligently applied by Kankrin, was the foundation for the accelerating tempo of Pinsk’s economic activity and its improved material circumstances. Improvement began in the 1820s, and economic prosperity set in during 1835–1837. The repair of the river system, with Pinsk at the center, transformed the city from an inconsequential mooring area into a hub for export of produce from southern Russia, Wolyn, and Polesie to ports on the Baltic Sea, as well as for haulage of imports and goods from southwestern Russia.152 The Levin and Luria families, descendants of Saul Levin, played a pivotal role in this commercial activity from the very beginning. They were the first to invest money and effort in developing the new markets. Alongside them, a new class of large merchants arose, people who managed to become wealthy and amass capital from the thriving trade with southwestern Russia.153 Business within Pinsk consolidated during the same period, and the number of shopkeepers steadily increased. In 1860, there were approximately 250 shops, 244 owned by Jews. Only eighteen of these enterprises, however, belonged to people of the merchant class (probably of the third guild); 206 were owned by small businessmen of townsman status.154 Inland trade was almost completely in Jewish hands. Yanson offers reliable information about the large merchant class during the 1850s and 1860s. The wealthiest company was owned by the Luria family: Hayya Luria, the brothers Moses and David Luria, and in the 1860s Aaron the son of Moses Luria. In addition to their trade in grain and other agricultural products, the Luria family dealt in credit and lending money to finance trade activities on the part of other Jewish merchants who were also involved in the grain and tallow businesses. Moses Isaac Levin and his son Meir Levin’s business was similar.155 In addition to the Luria and Levin firms, Yanson lists Lifshitz and Greenberg among the large concerns. According to Yanson, the ­Lifshitz family ran its business in modern style, with an office and systematic bookkeeping. The Greenberg firm, headed by the father, Leib Greenberg, and Ephraim and Moses Greenberg, apparently his sons,

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also conducted extensive dealings. As to the scope of these companies’ operations, it is worth noting that the Luria, Levin, and Lifshitz firms acquired steamships during the 1850s and 1860s.156 Three other merchants—Isaac Eliasberg, Joseph Ettinger, and Shabtai Simhovitz—were related by marriage to the Levin and Luria families, and during the 1870s and 1880s they belonged to the class of philanthropic aristocrats. One might also add to this category an intermediate group in terms of affluence and the scope of their activities: Hersh Pomerantz, Nehemiah Kolodny, Wolf Neidich, a Mr. Rosenthal, and a Mr. Davidov. According to Yanson, only the Luria family maintained direct ties with Danzig; the others sold merchandise destined for Danzig via agents or merchants from Brest or Warsaw. Bookkeeping and correspondence were conducted in Hebrew or Yiddish, as were transactions and billings.157 The merchants of Pinsk-Karlin held a prominent position in selling the agricultural produce of southwestern Russia. They organized an extensive purchasing, transport, and marketing network, covering large areas of Wolyn and Ukraine. As a consequence, all manner of sailing ships from Ukraine began to arrive in Pinsk, at the head of the Dnieper and the Pripet. The ships were laden with cargo of various grains, hog and cattle fat, flax, sheep’s wool, skins, wood, salt, and other items. Merchandise purchased in many and varied locations reached Pinsk from Yekaterinoslav and the regions of Poltava, Chernigov, Mohilev, Orlov, and Wolyn as well as districts close to Pinsk. The products were unloaded in the Pinsk port and then reloaded, with the majority forwarded via the Dnieper-Bug Canal (the Royal Canal) or the Oginski Canal to ports on the Baltic Sea—Memel, Koenigsberg, and Danzig—and cities along the canal routes within the Russian interior. Very small amounts of merchandise made their way along the canal routes in the opposite direction, from Pinsk to southwest Russia. In the mid-1850s, 94.7 percent of the merchandise was loaded in Pinsk and dispatched along the Dnieper-Bug and ­Oginski canals, and only 5.3 percent was shipped downstream along the Pripet and the Dnieper. The value of the exports and imports that passed through Pinsk during the peak of trade with Ukraine in 1855– 1857 reached approximately fifteen million rubles.158

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Tables 6.5 and 6.6 depict the scope of Pinsk commerce between the mid-1830s and the late 1860s. Table 6.5 depicts the development of import and export trade in Pinsk during 1837 and 1844–1857. The high monetary value of imports to Pinsk during 1837 is surprising. Between 1844 and 1846, the figures show a decrease in imports of approximately one-half and then, starting in 1847, a renewed increase that crested in the mid-1850s. In the peak year of 1855, table 6.5 Pinsk Import and Export: 1837, 1844–1857 Year

Import

Export

Ships Rafts

Cargo Value, Ships Rafts in Rubles

Cargo Value, in Rubles

1837

?

?

1,004,456

?

?

558,456

1844

144

105

508,329

481

420

441,563

1845

7,199

468.5

596,548

1,159

415

690,432

1846

8,333

89

502,656

1,038

330

691,554

1847

7,559

158

984,326

960

496

1,221,967

1848

7,219

230

875,943

732

392

1,586,283

1849

9,392

511

1,135,464

737

318

1,211,209

1850

6,518

316

1,222,173

703

149

1,042,290

1851

7,449

919

1,404,968

915

177

1,107,665

1852

9,725

68.5

1,261,262

1,518

283

937,360

1853

8,672

34

1,372,516

1,473

556

1,042,083

1854

8,055

—

2,248,621

2,164

487

1,760,429

1855

3,283

—

3,547,835

2,342

191

2,514,727

1856

906

48

2,757,190

1,853

219

3,010,792

1857

368

11

1,454,449

726

315

1,261,181

notes: According to Zelensky 2, p. 311, the statistics in general are not precise and in his opinion should be consistently raised by one-third. The types of merchandise that passed through the port of Pinsk from 1855 to 1860 were wheat, legumes, beans, liquor, alcohol, turpentine, textiles, potash, tar, resin, lumber, shingles, salt, rye, barley, oats, spelt, millet, flour, groats, flax, flax seeds, hemp, hemp oil, tallow, tobacco leaves, soap, candles, wool, and more. For these years, the total value of exports was 9,916,967 rubles and of imports 11,555,896 rubles, for a negative trade balance of 1,638,929 rubles; see Zelensky 2, pp. 307–309. sources: For 1837, Zhurnal Putei So’obshchenya (see endnote 147 of this chapter), p. 104; for the other dates, TY, p. 74; and Zelensky 2, pp. 294–304.

371

372

The Russian Annexation to Tsar Alexander III table 6.6 Turnover in Agricultural Produce in Pinsk (in Tons) 1860–1868 Year

Grain (Seeds)

1860

6,556

1861

31,920

1862 1863

Grain (Flour)

Total Tallow Salt Seeds

Produce Sediment

112

7,265

6,918

5,760

480

2,232

544

34,312

6,288

4,144

544

9,800

3,392

608

13,800

6,624

1,872

352

2,400

304

112

2,816

4,400

2,240

336

1864

1,113.6 1,408

232

2,760

4,624

3,200

448

1865

5,576

688

11,376

5,200

2,320

544

736

3,712

640

3,392

2,688

448

1867 1868

497.6

Oil Seeds

5,112

6,812.8 1,376 16,832

4,128

496 880

8,684.8 21,840

source: Yanson, table 10; cf. SG, vol. 8, p. 174, for statistics on 1887.

the value of imports reached more than three and a half million rubles, and for exports more than two and a half million rubles.159 Official statistics from 1855–1860 show that the most financially significant product was tallow. More than 25,350 tons of it, worth 4,864,405 rubles, arrived in Pinsk from Yekaterinoslav, Kremenchug, Kriukov, and Krilov. Approximately one-sixth remained in Pinsk (apparently as raw material for the candle and soap factory); the balance was dispatched to ports on the Baltic Sea and to Brest, Warsaw, Novogeorgievsk, Telechany, Slonim, Kovno, and elsewhere. Fats constituted 41.6 percent of all the merchandise passing through Pinsk. Grain took second place in the Pinsk trade. Imports during the period amounted to 3,193,441 rubles, and the value of grain exported from Pinsk reached 3,372,366 rubles. Total turnover was 6,565,807 rubles, or 30.6 percent of all Pinsk trade. Most of the grain was brought from the Dnieper districts and from Wolyn and was sent to Warsaw, Grodno, Kovno, and the Baltic Sea ports. The grain trade was subject to great fluctuations; in 1855, the turnover was greater than in all five preceding years. Third in importance was the wool trade. Total turnover (import and export) was 2,150 tons, equivalent to 1,270,024 rubles, or an annual

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a­ verage of 211,671 rubles. Eighty percent of the finest wool was purchased by the Skirmunt textile factory in Porecze. Next in rank was the salt trade, notable, like the tallow trade, for its consistency and lack of fluctuation. Each year, an average of 4,480 tons of salt was brought to Pinsk from Kremenchug and Kriukov as well as Yekaterinoslav; about 1,600 tons were sent to Brest, Kobrin, Slonim, Telechany, Zaloza in the Nowogrodek district, and various locations in the Grodno and Wolyn regions. The turnover over a six-year period equaled approximately 36,540 tons worth 1,141,917 rubles. Flax seeds were fifth in importance with an annual turnover of 817,140 rubles. This volatile trade was substantial during 1855–1856 but insignificant thereafter. In the vital liquor trade, approximately 80 percent of the vodka and alcohol exports were produced in the districts of Mozyr, Reczyca, and Pinsk. The main customers for liquors were Brest, Kobryn, Slonim, ­Horodno (Grodno), Ratno, and on occasion also Troki and Kremenchug. Tobacco and timber were important in Pinsk commerce as well. Almost all the tobacco brought to Pinsk from the Mozyr district was sent to Brest and Warsaw; the average annual export was 489 tons. Tobacco for the city’s own needs was grown mostly within the Pinsk district. The timber industry is discussed separately in this chapter. Pinsk also exported other merchandise (including industrial products of the city and the region): fabrics, goods from overseas colonies, groceries, metals, soap and candles, and so forth. The turnover of these products totaled 1,257,716 rubles. Most of these items were destined for Poland and Brest, and some for Kiev, Kremenchug, Yekaterinoslav, and Mozyr; a certain portion remained in Pinsk. Machinery also constituted a commercial commodity. Over a six-year period, 189,898 rubles’ worth of machinery was imported to factories, and 186,947 rubles’ worth was exported.160 Table 6.6 shows that through the 1860s tallow, various kinds of grain or flour, and oil seeds were the mainstay of Pinsk commerce. Patterns of the 1850s continued, with the grain business remaining volatile while the tallow trade held steady. The salt trade did decline, and the Polish rebellion of 1863 dealt a serious blow to all commerce during 1863–1864.

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Ukraine was the focus of Pinsk merchants’ business activity. Although Jewish merchants from other locales also functioned there, according to Yanson the Jews of Pinsk controlled the area’s agricultural export. Yanson reported their reputation for honesty, integrity, and good faith even as price fluctuations caused losses. The Pinsk Jews’ willingness to assume risk earned the confidence of landowners and peasants, enabling the Pinskers to supplant Jewish competitors from other cities.161 The critical role in maintaining commercial ties with Ukraine was played by the great merchants of Pinsk-Karlin, wealthy individuals who could finance large purchases and bide their time until investments bore fruit and yielded returns. But when conditions were favorable, there was room for more modest capitalists and small businessmen to operate in the same markets. According to Yanson, Ukraine and Wolyn accommodated an army of several thousand men, officially classified as townsmen and not part of the merchant guild, who conducted business in line with their capacities. They bought and sold large quantities of grain and other merchandise, transported them as far as Brest for sale there, or sold them to the larger Pinsk merchants. Smaller merchants had the flexibility to reach places where the harvest happened to be good and prices reasonable, to purchase any merchandise liable to turn a profit. What they lacked was the expertise and connections to permanent sources of supply, characteristic of the large commercial houses. There were also grain and produce merchants who engaged in buying and selling as traders, and in commissions as brokers for other concerns. These ­arrangements relegated the risks and the insurance expenses to the larger firms. Some of the smaller merchants accumulated capital, rose to the status of large merchants, and established sizeable trading firms. The affluent class in Pinsk-Karlin grew significantly during this period.162

Agents of Pinsk Merchants in Ukraine The Pinsk merchants’ control of Ukrainian markets was made possible by establishment of a network of brokers close to the markets. Agents, nearly all of them Jews from Pinsk, resided in cities and towns throughout the Dnieper region adjacent to Yekaterinoslav and Kremenchug,

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as well as across Wolyn and the Niz area (eastern Polesie). The larger businessmen engaged their own private representatives, and smaller and medium-sized businessmen shared services. First and foremost, the broker supplied intelligence about everything related to projected harvests and prices and, naturally, placed his employer’s orders. He enjoyed the employer’s confidence and received considerable personal credit from the merchant, who furnished him with enormous sums of money to make purchases. The agent spent most of his time traveling, meeting with local Jewish merchants or with estate owners. Once a year he returned to Pinsk to visit family and meet with his patron­merchant to present a verbal report on the situation in his territory. In the event of rising demand in a given annual commercial cycle, the Pinsk merchants sent out temporary agents, from among their clerks, who would arrive at the purchasing points around February. Their hosts would introduce them to the area and the people.163 The agents involved in tallow commerce were in an especially strong position. Their purchasing network stretched from Kremenchug, encompassing that region as well as those of Yekaterinoslav and Krilov, and they effectively maintained a monopoly on the tallow trade in Ukraine. They had the power to prevent outsiders from penetrating the market and competing with them. The tallow sellers were, for the most part, aligned with the Pinsk brokers and preferred to sell to them exclusively; they were accustomed to this arrangement and found it profitable.164 Vis-à-vis the estate owners and farmers who supplied the product, the agents acted as independent procurers, taking care of financing and arranging for transport.165 Emissaries of the large commercial houses were greatly assisted by the services of middlemen. They furnished the brokers and merchants who were willing to pay the highest price with information on places and people from whom to purchase produce. Because of the geographic dispersal of available agricultural surpluses, the efforts of the middlemen were crucial to the brokers and the merchants and were acceptable to the (mainly Polish) estate owners. It was the middleman who frequently introduced the agent of the Pinsk merchant to the estate owners or the farmers willing to sell produce. He was compensated for every transaction executed with his assistance.

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Jewish taverners in villages and estates were a source of information for the middlemen and the agents; they were keenly aware of the state of the harvest and the supply in the estates and villages in their vicinity. They too were remunerated for their contribution to the trade.166 The active and extensive commercial involvement of Pinsk-Karlin Jewry with the surplus agricultural produce of southwestern Russia peaked in the 1850s and continued into the 1860s, when signs of crisis first became apparent, threatening Pinsk’s pride of place in export of Ukrainian produce, its flourishing economy, and the wealth of its residents. The city’s economic prosperity and widespread links to regions of commercial activity had serious ramifications for the economic and social structure of the Jewish population of the city. On the one hand, Pinsk absorbed immigrants drawn to prospective livelihoods; on the other hand, it gave up residents to seek occupations elsewhere. The mobility of the population was one of the identifying marks of the city and the driving force behind its economic enterprise.

The Timber Trade In the flourishing agricultural commerce with Ukraine, the timber business seemed subordinate to trade in grain and tallow and at times appeared to serve merely as a means of supplying transport along the waterways for the far-flung Pinsk merchants. In fact, timber constituted a traditional, stable, and consistent component of Pinsk Jewry’s economy. The dependable timber trade made an important contribution to Pinsk’s relative affluence even before trade in agricultural surplus from Ukraine came to dominate Pinsk commerce, and it adapted to new conditions during the 1870s crisis in the grain business (to be discussed). Saul Levin’s extensive timber business in the early nineteenth century has already been related. His daughter, Hayya Luria, and her second husband, Aaron Luria, also prospered from trade in timber during the second and third decades of the century. Gad Asher Levin, Hayya Luria’s son from her first marriage and one of the heirs of his grandfather Saul Levin, inherited forests and apparently engaged in the timber trade all his life; he was considered one of the richest men in Pinsk.

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Saul’s other sons might also have taken part in the forest and timber trade from the 1820s on.167 A semiofficial Russian survey by Babitsky in 1851,168 which described the exploitation of the forests in the Minsk district in the 1840s, noted that in the southern regions of the district, including Pinsk, the forests were one of the important branches of income for the nobles, and the export of trees from Polesie had significant economic value. According to the survey, the timberlands were being sold one after another by the aristocrats to the Jews, who felled the trees and converted them into saleable wood. This accelerated exploitation, over a single decade (the 1840s), led to destruction of the forests.169 An 1862 memorandum from Pinsk merchants to the Governor of the Minsk district noted the forests in the Polesie and Wolyn regions were so overcut that they were threatened with disappearance. Although the complaints about destruction of the forests were exaggerated, both Babitsky’s survey and the Pinsk merchants’ memorandum attest to the wide scope of the forest business conducted by Pinsk traders and its value to the economy of Pinsk and Polesie in general. Timber was one of the area’s most important exports from the end of the eighteenth century to the mid-1830s. From the 1840s on, the logs also served as an important means of transport for surplus agricultural produce from southwestern Russia to the Baltic seaports. Pinsk’s commercial ties with Wolyn were originally based on purchase of agricultural crops, in tandem with purchase of forests; haulage of products along the length of the Pripet tributaries (Horyn, Slucz, Styr) was facilitated by the rafts fashioned from logs cut down in the Wolyn forests during the winter. The logs were also intended for sale in the Baltic ports. Grains, tallow, and other merchandise reaching Pinsk from Ukraine on barges and other sailing vessels were usually unloaded in Pinsk and reloaded on rafts made from trees of the Polesie forests. There too, the trees were felled in the winter and brought by wagon to the bank of a river; in the spring, they were floated down to Pinsk as rafts and then loaded with shipments of grain or fat. Construction and navigation of the rafts was a distinct enterprise, and most of the contractors in this business were from Pinsk.170 The forest business required huge capital investment and efficient

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organization. Experts, called “brokers,” had to appraise the volume and value of the trees that were still standing in the forest, prior to purchase. Workers were hired and the cutting and hauling had to be organized. Finally, sale was arranged. Only wealthy merchants, members of the Pinsk “aristocracy,” could finance and manage a large-scale timber business. They generated much economic activity and many a livelihood in Pinsk and the surrounding towns, from brokers who supervised the overall enterprises to the village lumberjacks, teamsters, and bargemen, to the raft contractors and various suppliers.171 The memoirs of Hayyim Chemerinsky of Motele (Motol) are a vivid portrayal of a timber merchant from Pinsk. His father, Samuel Itche Chemerinsky, was a famous expert in the forest business: “He knew everything: the quality of each and every bough, the quantity and quality of logs to be cut from it for marketing in Prussia; each and every nobleman landowner, what he had to sell, and at what price; and most important—he knew arithmetic” and was able to grade the trees and obtain the highest prices. This Samuel Itche, while yet a young man (presumably in the 1850s), was appointed supervisor of the great forest business belonging to the celebrated Pinsk aristocrat Shaitse (Saul) Levin—apparently one of the grandsons of Saul Levin of Karlin—“respected throughout the region as the chief,” who once arrived in Motele on business in a carriage harnessed to four horses, in order to consult with Samuel Itche, whose wise management increased the profits.172 Chemerinsky subsequently decided to leave the business and became a raft contractor (other Jews from Motele also did so). He finally entered the timber business himself in partnership with the son of a Pinsk aristocrat, and he even succeeded in establishing a direct link with a German importer, bypassing the services of the German middleman at the port of shipment. Other Motele Jews made a living from arranging bargemen to float the rafts from Pinsk to the ports.173 Besides the big businessmen, there were small and even petty merchants engaged in the timber trade. They purchased logs unfit for export and sold them as kindling or bought up small tree groves. Explicit information about smaller timber merchants is available from the end of the century, but this enterprise undoubtedly was prevalent before the 1880s as well.174

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Industry Up to the mid-1850s, manufacturing was not a major element in the economy of Pinsk Jewry. In 1843, the city had only three small factories, for manufacture of copper utensils, which had been in existence since the early 1820s. There is no evidence at all for Jewish participation in these enterprises.175 Some of the commodities brought from Ukraine, such as tallow, flax, hemp, and oil seeds, could serve as raw materials for manufacture. The Pinsk region itself had an abundance of trees, and the city was a naturally convenient and reasonable location for manufacture to be based on all of these plentiful and inexpensive commodities, using steam-­propelled machinery introduced in Russia at that time. Large commercial firms with sufficient capital for investment in industry did not, however, exhibit initiative and imagination. The key figures in the Pinsk economy did not realize the necessity of establishing factories at an early stage, and when they finally did so they proceeded with great caution. The industrial pioneer in the Pinsk area during the period of commercial prosperity was the Polish noble Alexander Skirmunt, owner of the estates of Kolodne (between Pinsk and Stolin) and Porecze (near Motol). In 1837, Skirmunt established a textile factory in Porecze. The plant produced excellent quality cotton, satin, and wool fabrics that were widely marketed. The factory was equipped with modern machinery, and technicians brought from Germany supervised production. It employed about three hundred workers, mainly from among the local peasants. Jewish girls, most or all of them from Motol, were engaged in tasks requiring a high level of precision or training. The goods produced were sold locally (in Pinsk and the vicinity) and in the markets of Vilna, Minsk, Kiev, Odessa, Berdichev, Warsaw, Moscow, and St. Peters­burg. Jewish teamsters from Pinsk transported the fabrics great distances, even to Moscow.176 In 1860, Skirmunt founded a sugar refinery on his Porecze estate. This plant was also equipped with steampowered machinery and used Jewish teamsters from Pinsk to transport the product to distant markets.177 In 1850, Robert Bota, a non-Jewish German merchant from Warsaw, established a steam-powered candle and soap factory in Albrechtowo

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near Pinsk. He selected Pinsk as the place to produce candles and soap because supplies of tallow, the raw material needed for this industry, were readily available. Nor was there any difficulty delivering wood directly to the factory by boat. During the 1860s, the enterprise employed sixty to seventy workers. The products were of high quality and much sought after in the markets of Russia and Poland. Jews were the main customers for the candles. The demand for the factory’s candles and soap grew steadily, and between 1857 and 1861 its output increased more than threefold. In 1872, the factory passed into Jewish hands.178 In the 1860s, Pinsk had a second plant for candles and soap, belonging to a German named Fischer, whose output was about half of Bota’s plant.179 The fate of this factory is not clear, but undoubtedly the scope of its production during the 1860s was significant.

The Beginnings of Jewish Industry During the 1850s, the Jews of Pinsk also turned to industrial production. Official statistics of the 1850s indicate that even then Pinsk exported large quantities of oil and flax, as well as flaxseed residue for cattle fodder, a by-product of oil production. Between 1855 and 1860, Pinsk exported an average of approximately ten thousand pud (160 tons) of these products annually. The large quantity of flaxseed imported to Pinsk from Ukraine constituted a stimulus for this industry. Rather than forwarding the seeds as raw material, they were processed in three or four plants in Pinsk; the oil was exported to Warsaw or the Baltic ports, while the residue was marketed locally or sent on with the oil.180 The leading Jewish entrepreneur of modern industry in Pinsk was Moses Luria, who, together with his brother David, built the oil factory and a flour mill in 1860 or shortly afterwards. The flour mill, owned by the Luria brothers and their partners, was the first in the entire Minsk district to be powered by steam. Its grinding capacity was eight hundred pud (12.8 tons) of flour a day.181 In 1872, the merchant Samuel Rabinowich, son-in-law of Gad Asher Levin, and his brother purchased the Bota family candle factory for 120,000 rubles. The new owners ceased production of soap and of fat and wax candles, concentrating instead on manufacture of stearine can-

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dles. These were successfully sold both in the vicinity and in the large commercial cities of Russia and Poland.182 According to data cited by Honik, in 1871 there were two tobacco processing plants in Pinsk. By 1876, two additional tobacco plants, two factories for manufacture of bricks, a tannery, a grinding mill, a sawmill, two rope factories, and a winery producing approximately 100,000 rubles of product were established. Pinsk’s chemical industry produced 34,000 rubles’ worth of product annually.183 All of them were apparently small establishments, and at this point industry played a modest role in the economy of Pinsk Jewry. Most Jewish energy and capital were invested in the transit trade and export of agricultural produce from Ukraine.

Trades It is impossible to paint a precise picture of the role of trades in the economy of Pinsk. Nevertheless, it is clear that most crafts were concentrated in Jewish hands, and that a broad stratum of Jewish craftsmen and apprentices made a living from the trades.184 No information is available about trades and tradesmen in Pinsk during the first half of the nineteenth century. Reports from the end of the eighteenth century, however, testify to the significance of artisanry among the livelihoods of Pinsk Jewry toward the end of Polish rule.185 Assorted evidence from the second half of the nineteenth century also shows that many Pinsk Jews made a living from the trades, that the variety of handicraft employment options for Jews tended to increase, and that the Jewish presence in this sector of the economy became stronger. Russian research into the history of the economy during the first half of the nineteenth century has noted that in Pinsk the trades were significantly developed and Pinsk competed successfully with the commercial development and the output of Minsk; Pinsk commerce and production were intended not only for local consumption but also to serve the needs of the wider region. Specialization in specific crafts was a phenomenon characteristic of the development of the trades in Pinsk—for example, watchmaking, in which it particularly excelled.186

381

591

Bakers Butchers Tailors Shoemakers Milliners and designers Hatters Chimney sweeps Bricklayers Locksmiths Blacksmiths Carpenters Coppersmiths Tinsmiths Harness makers Builders (in wood) Painters Glaziers Teamsters Veterinarians Watchmakers Construction workers Coopers Confectioners Fishermen Bookbinders Cotton-makers Total

57 44 214 138 7 29 — 55 — — 85 9 — 10 2 — — 54 1 35 — — 740

1861

54 44 219 137 7 29 — 55 — — 77 9 — 7 1 — — 54 1 21 — — 715

1862

source: Zelensky 1, p. 595; TY, p. 80; SG, vol. 8, p. 173.

1857

Trade

59 46 220 137 7 29 — 58 12 42 78 12 3 8 2 — — 49 — 23 — — 785

1863

72 60 275 204 8 36 — 70 2 7 97 19 — 11 2 2 2 75 1 2 — — 945

1864

83 41 237 197 8 35 5 64 10 14 105 23 4 11 2 6 7 75 2 7 10 8 954

1865

(approx.)

16 (6 + 10 apprentices) 90 (40 + 50 apprentices) 5 8 15 24 (10 + 14 apprentices) 4 944

64 (30 + 19 apprentices + 15 dyers) 8 (6 + 2 apprentices) 98 (81 + 17 carriage owners?)

45 (20 + 25 apprentices) 19

64 33 172 (90 + 82 apprentices) 170 (80 + 90 apprentices) 7 19 (7 + 12 apprentices; includes furriers) 15 68 (43 + 25 apprentices)

1885

Trades in Pinsk in 1857, 1861–1865, and the 1880s

table 6.7

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Official statistics on the trades in Pinsk are available for 1857, 1861– 1865, and 1885. They are tabulated in Table 6.7, even though official statistics are notoriously unreliable as precise indicators.187 Traditionally, Eastern European Jews were contemptuous of the trades, and Pinsk was no exception. This derision was characterized in an 1860 article complaining bitterly that “it is an ancient heritage among Jews to consider crafts despicable.”188 It seems, however, that in Pinsk people began to relate to the trades positively earlier than elsewhere. The ambitious philanthropic activities of Gad Asher Levin in educating orphans and children of the poor to be artisans; the repeated attempts by influential, wealthy individuals to convince the poor to learn a trade; and a persistent public campaign by Pinsk Maskilim to elevate the value and importance of work all contributed to the respectability of workers in craft occupations. Moreover, there were craftsmen known for their scholarship and virtues who served as examples for others. Kerman wrote enthusiastically in his memoirs about Hayyim Solomon Zylberman, the tailor, beloved in all walks of Pinsk society for his modesty, his goodness, and his charitable deeds; he distributed Luria family charity funds. Abraham Leizer, the water carrier, was outstandingly honest and righteous. He was considered fortunate in that his daughters married religious scholars of wide reputation, and some of the wealthiest and most learned men of the city appeared at his Purim holiday table. Kerman himself was systematically and thoroughly trained as a tailor in his youth. He benefited from traditional schooling as a child and later received an excellent Haskalah education. He became an activist among the craftsmen and a local leader of the Zionist movement.189 The total figures for 1861–1865 show that a significant number of heads of household in Pinsk earned a living from a trade, even though the figures include apprentices as well as craftsmen. The high standard of the crafts in Pinsk drew apprentices from far away as well.190 Gad Asher Levin’s craft education program was based on excellent local craftsmen who trained fine workers. Typically for the Pale of Settlement, the income and standard of living of tradesmen in Pinsk was low and entailed long work-hours. In the 1860s, however, there were signs of improvement in their financial

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status. All testimony shows that a craftsman was able to support himself and his family, and that there was a demand for quality products made by reputable artisans. Circumstances improved considerably once artisans were allowed to move to southern and eastern Russia, even outside the Pale of Settle­ ment, where there was a shortage of craftsmen. They earned good wages in their new location. Some returned to Pinsk after saving a little money; others moved away permanently and were among the emigrants who built the new settlements of southern Russia. Some of them came back to Pinsk to marry, or returned in their old age.191 During this period of prosperity for Pinsk, there were tradesmen who became quite wealthy. The teamsters were particularly fortunate. Some transported merchandise to the Russian interior, even to Moscow and St. Petersburg, bringing textiles and sugar from the Skirmunt factories, and stearine candles and soap. On the return trip, they carried imports and tea. Other wagoners, such as the Mamtakim family, were involved in haulage along the riverbank. In an eight-month season, they could earn up to fifteen to twenty rubles a day, an enormous sum in those times.192 Tradesmen’s improved social standing is substantiated by the fact that the 1870 entering class of the Horowitz school (discussed later in this chapter) included two shoemakers, Gershon Pomerantz and Israel Krulik, and five of Gad Asher Levin’s proteges, alongside the sons of Aaron Luria and other important citizens.193 In the late 1870s and the early 1880s, in active cooperation with the St. Petersburg–based Jewish fund for the advancement of farmers and artisans, Pinsk began selecting tradesmen candidates for emigration to the Russian interior as a way of ameliorating the situation within the Pale of Settlement. In 1880–1881, the Pinsk Jewish community raised one of the highest amounts during the campaign for the fund, a sign of the growing success of the struggle for productivization and the spread of trades among Pinsk Jews. A Russian article from 1880 noted significant progress in activities on behalf of the fund in Pinsk. The first appeal resulted in pledges of 2,500 rubles and contributions totaling 1,500 rubles. The article attributed the success to consistent and methodical organization, despite the

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fact that Pinsk seemed to be a poor city. Of twenty-seven participating communities, only St. Petersburg, Kharkov, and Minsk collected more than Pinsk; only Odessa, Minsk, and Elisavetgrad mustered more donors.194 In 1881, Aaron Luria informed the fund’s administration that, as part of the overall campaign to settle Jews in Russia, fourteen tradesmen who wished to settle in various places in the Russian interior were deemed suitable by the special committee that examined them. The central committee confirmed a grant of assistance to three candidates: one heading for the Caucasus, one to Liskovo, and one to Tambov; each received assistance to cover transportation expenses along with one hundred rubles for basic supplies. At the same time, there were twenty-three candidates willing to become farmers. The propaganda for productivization was conducted by the intelligentsia, particularly those active in the Russian-Jewish press.195 Ever since the 1870s, there had been a demand for a new track in the Talmud Torah, for instruction in the trades. A permit was finally obtained in 1881, but the track was not opened until 1888.196

Iwaniki In 1855, at the height of Pinsk’s economic boom, a Jewish agricultural settlement was established in the nearby village of Iwaniki. Conclusive information about its origins is unavailable. In 1864, nine years after the settlement’s founding, Zvi Shereshevsky, the Maskil writer, painted an enthusiastic, idyllic picture of the farmers’ life. Shereshevsky attributed no significance to the fact that there were a mere ten Jewish households in the divided village, “Christian farmers on one side [of the road], and the Jews on the other.” Because one can infer that there were fifteen founding Jewish families, within nine years the number had decreased by a third.197 Shereshevsky wrote: Their population is small and their households are but ten in number, but their actions and deeds are in inverse proportion to their size, and they were recently able to build a handsome bet midrash. The building cost over 200 rubles, besides the labor invested, for they carried out

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construction almost entirely on their own. They purchased the trees in the city of Pinsk, since Iwaniki is located far from a forest. They harnessed their horses and transported the trees to the village and, with their children, chopped the wood. . . . They inaugurated the building on the occasion of the marriage of one of the residents. . . . They also wrote a Torah scroll for themselves . . . and intend to write another.

Shereshevsky, the ardent Maskil, was effusive in his admiration for Jews working the land: How delightful to see them basking in pleasant tranquility! How I would embrace their lot, for it is gracious and agreeable! When I beheld them contented and replete with joy and gratification . . . then I said to myself that this is the most blessed portion on earth, and I was convinced of the folly of city dwellers who detest and abhor working the earth, and who are mainly attracted to business. . . . Each and ­every day shows . . . that wealth is false and riches are vanity . . . and the ways of business are obscure and uncertain. . . . Not so working the land, which, like the land itself, remains forever.

These lines were penned shortly after the 1863 Polish uprising, in which the export trade of southwestern Russia was disrupted, seriously affecting the economic circumstances of Pinsk Jewry. The farmers’ situation was undoubtedly more favorable than ordinarily, and surely preferable to that of merchants whose businesses were hurt. This lent a certain validity to Shereshevsky’s poetic praise of the workers. Shereshevsky cited one of the settlers in confirmation of his statements: How could we be untrue to ourselves to favor the life of the city, where a man commits a crime for a slice of bread . . . and now in difficult times . . . there is no profit in business. Not so our lives, for our bread and our water are ever assured.

Shereshevsky could therefore disregard the decline in population and relate only happy tidings to his readers: It has been approximately nine years that they have labored and toiled to take root in this place, with government authorization, and it has become their property, and they reside there in finished homes, with cow-sheds and yards and fences and oxen and horses, and cattle and

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sheep and all sorts of poultry. They work their land skillfully and diligently, and eat their harvest . . . and lack for nothing in life.

According to a resident of Iwaniki, that year they succeeded in ­enacting: the righteous regulations formulated in our midst, and the various payments for religious needs and appointing a rabbi, and everything is conducted wisely and fairly. The liquor business was franchised to one among them for a fixed sum. And each and every one of the residents must give one grosz each week, and all perform this charity gladly.198

The article made no mention of special ties between the Jewish settle­ ment and Zev Wolf Levin, said by hearsay sources to have been its founder. According to statements by veteran Iwaniki inhabitants before the Second World War, Zev Wolf Levin (the son of Saul Levin of Karlin) interceded in St. Petersburg to obtain a permit for establishing the settlement, and it was he who purchased the land with his own funds and settled the fifteen families, the majority from Lohiszyn and some from Pinsk, providing for all their needs. This testimony attributed the Jews’ willingness to settle the land to the exemption granted their sons (as with guild merchants) from the standard twenty-five-year term of army service required during Nikolai’s reign.199 Oral tradition contradicts Shereshevsky’s mellifluous description of 1864. It claims that farming actually served as camouflage to gain exemption from taxes and army service. Officially, it was the residents’ primary pursuit, but in practice they continued to engage in urban occupations. The men, for the most part, could be found in Pinsk working at various trades, while the women remained in Iwaniki to tend the livestock. Even adolescent boys sought their livelihood in Pinsk.200 As to Iwaniki’s semirural character, it did not differ from other settle­ments where Jews engaged in agriculture,201 and it should not be perceived as more than a fleeting episode in Pinsk Jewry’s attempts at productivization. Although the settlement survived until the Second World War, its existence had no impact and was irrelevant to the formation of Pinsk Jewry’s public consciousness toward the end of the nineteenth century. During the severe financial crisis of the late 1870s, there were ­renewed

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attempts to settle Pinsk Jews on the land. According to an 1880 article in Ha-Melitz: Several individuals went out with a large sheet of paper and wrote down the names of all those who wished to acquire a plot of land to work and maintain.

This was not a serious project, however, even though the railroad magnate and banker Poliakov was behind it. The writer stated: I see that many of the signatories do not know what they are signing, and the idlers outnumber the workers who make their living from regular jobs, and they put their name to the paper in order not to ­embarrass those soliciting signatures, and many came to me afterwards seeking an explanation of what Mr. Poliakov wants from them.202

Only a few individuals actually opted for agricultural settlement, but this article and other sources attest to a general awakening among Pinsk Jews. Not only was the notion of agricultural settlement discussed seriously but significant sums of money were donated to the Fund for Farmers and Artisans. In 1881, Aaron, the son of Moses Luria, presented a list of twenty-three people willing to transfer to agricultural settlement to the All-Russian Committee of the Fund. The committee replied, however, that it could not undertake a search for suitable plots of land and suggested that the candidates, in groups of ten families, find land on their own and then present plans and requests to the committee. This was apparently the end of the matter, because there is no subsequent information about organizing for settlement; the pogroms in southern Russia took place shortly afterward, removing the topic from the agenda, even though in Haskalah circles the issue was debated a while longer.203

Pinsk’s Economic Profile and the Changes of the 1860s Export of agricultural produce from Ukraine and the traditional timber trade were the primary factors in Pinsk’s economic ascendance and the prosperity of its inhabitants during the middle of the nineteenth century. This in turn accelerated activity in other branches of the Pinsk economy—local commerce, shipping, crafts—which further contributed to economic vitality. Newspaper articles, memoirs, and

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other personal testimony from the end of the 1850s and the 1860s convey a feeling of satisfaction with the fine material circumstances in Pinsk. There are no complaints about poverty or hunger, which were common in other cities and towns of Lithuania and Belarus. Pinsk’s material standard rose far above the average for Lithuania during the period, and in difficult times it could even extend assistance to other places. A new concept entered the lexicon of Pinsk-Karlin and vicinity: “the Pinsk aristocrats” or the “wealthy men of Pinsk.” This did not refer to specific individuals but to an entire class of patricians existing in Pinsk and making its mark, in more than just the financial sense. Thanks to their philanthropy and generosity, they had great influence in social, cultural, and spiritual matters.204 In 1857, an anonymous writer in Ha-Maggid205 described Karlin as “crowned and mighty,” competing with all the great and splendid cities of Russia, by virtue of its beauty and its commercial undertakings. In 1858, Samuel Avigdor Tosfa’a, the rabbi of Karlin, expressed his feelings about his community: “The city of Karlin, crowned with men of wisdom, honored dignitaries, and renowned aristocrats . . . God has led me to tranquil waters, silent and peaceful.”206 In the 1870s the writer Shomer (pen name of Nahum Meir Shaikevich) described Pinsk in his first short story. He opened his introduction with these words: “The city of Nipsk [i.e. Pinsk] is one of the great commercial cities of Lithuania, with [Jewish] people belonging to all classes: aristocrats, noble householders, paupers and beggars.” He then elaborated on the Jewish upper class, satirizing their wives’ behavior and the men’s tendency to flaunt their wealth and seize influential public positions.207 It is no surprise that between 1830 and 1850 Jewish migration to Pinsk continued. A number of individuals, some of them prosperous merchants whose business led them to Pinsk, and some from other classes, arrived from nearby areas, from Lithuania, and even from Poland, settling in the city.208 Migration was apparently significant and seems to have continued on a more moderate scale even during the 1860s and 1870s, when many Pinsk residents started to leave the city. In the 1860s, during the reign of Tsar Alexander II, certain phenomena began to threaten the future of Pinsk transit trade. They were connected to changes in the liberally oriented economic and social policy

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enacted during the period of great reforms, in the first decade of the rule of Alexander II. In practice, Pinsk’s economic status was not much altered in the course of the 1860s. Except for the two or three years of regression due to the Polish rebellion, Pinsk continued to thrive until the early 1870s. Changes did occur, however, in Russia’s social order and economic doctrine. The freeing of the serfs in 1861 facilitated establishment of an open market for hiring industrial laborers, and after a brief adjustment period industry developed along purely capitalistic lines. The new economic order (associated with the minister of the treasury, Reitern) incorporated the specific goal of increasing national productivity in industry and in grain, Russia’s main export. Realization of this objective was linked to development of the railroads, which were to serve as a cheap and rapid means of transporting grain.209 About 1860, the Warsaw-Bialystok rail line was built; other lines were planned or begun, including a route from Odessa via Kiev to Moscow and Riga, to afford a simple and convenient connection between regions of production and ports. The plans of the 1860s overlooked Pinsk, however. Jewish merchants attempted to protect the city’s economic future. In 1862, with the encouragement of local authorities, they presented a memorandum to the governor of Minsk with a proposal to safeguard Pinsk’s role in the export business of southwestern Russia.210 The merchants anticipated the dangers to Pinsk commerce from the inability of the slow, cumbersome water route to compete with the new, developing railway freight system, and from structural changes in the agricultural production patterns of southwestern Russia. They were aware that in the long run Pinsk was doomed as the central transit point for export of Russian grain, because with the advent of trains a continuous water route—via Pinsk—was no longer indispensable to grain transport. The merchants also felt that grain farmers would gradually turn to other crops with smaller volume and higher return, which too could be better expedited by rail. There was not much that the Pinsk merchants could do, because Russian economic trends could not be stopped. The Pinsk traders attempted to salvage whatever was possible from the imminent commercial debacle and assign their city a specific role in the evolving economic order. They were willing to relinquish the

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city’s preeminence as a supplier of grains for export to western Europe, while preserving its standing as the main supplier of grain to Lithuania. They also wanted to rejuvenate the salt trade from the Crimea to Lithuania, and restore Pinsk’s central role as purveyor of salt for all of ­Lithuania. Merchants spotted an opportunity to expand production in the Polesie region by raising hogs for export. All of these plans depended on construction of a railroad line from Pinsk to Bialy­stok. Previously considered by the Russian government, this line could link Pinsk to the existing Warsaw-St. Petersburg route. According to the Pinsk merchants, this would enable them to continue exporting products from Wolyn, which would still arrive in Pinsk via the Pripet tributaries, and be sent by rail from Pinsk to the markets of Poland and Russia. The trains would also serve for transport of surplus agricultural products of Polesie itself.211 The Pinsk merchants’ proposal was rejected by both the district authorities and the central administration in St. Petersburg. The primary consideration was that without river freight from the Dnieper region (where rail transport was being increasingly used) and from Wolyn (where the rivers required cleaning and dredging) there was no economic justification for building a railroad, because in ­shallowwater season there would be nothing for Pinsk to export. On the other hand, some of Pinsk’s commerce could be saved by repairing the Oginski and Bug-Dnieper canals, a minimal investment compared to railroad construction.212 Rejection of their proposal discouraged the merchants and thwarted further initiatives. Renewed export trade from Ukraine following suppression of the Polish Uprising of 1863 distracted attention from the looming dangers. Subsequent to the depression of 1863–1864, exports began to increase once again, peaking in 1867 (although lower than the 1861 high). This improvement might have prompted Yanson’s conclusion, in 1869, that the railroad would not greatly influence traditional water transport, which was still cheaper and more conducive to large shipments (a clear advantage for large-scale merchants). Even though export of fat from Ukraine by rail, circumventing Pinsk, was bound to be more convenient, Yanson did not foresee a serious threat to the volume of Pinsk’s transit trade.213

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Migration to Ukraine The recovery of the late 1860s did not restore the economy to its former prosperity; nor did it expunge the sense of impending crisis. Russia entered a period of vigorous economic activity in industry and banking, accompanied by rapid urbanization, particularly in southern Russia in the vicinity of Odessa, Nikolayev, Kherson, Taganrog, Rostov, Novocherkask, and Astrakhan, whose populations displayed outstanding growth.214 Businessmen who transferred their base of operations to the developing cities of Ukraine, where Jewish Pinskers and their capital were already active as outsiders, were rewarded with good prospects, as opposed to the uncertainty of the economy at home. Under these circumstances, the strong ties among Pinsk, Ukraine, and other commercial centers led to migration of Jews from Pinsk 215 to Ukraine and, to a smaller extent, other centers in Russia. Sources from the mid-1860s report on Pinsk Jews who moved to new locales. Hayyim Chemerinsky wrote in his memoirs: Pinsk youngsters, lively, energetic, active individuals, flee Pinsk without a penny to their names. They cross the Dnieper empty-handed, and then earn tens of thousands (one of them, David the son of Simon Margolin, eventually became a millionaire).216

Chemerinsky was referring to young people without means who were prompted by the prospect of gaining a good livelihood to try their luck in southwestern Russia. An article by Zvi Ha-Kohen Shereshevsky of Pinsk illustrated one such case. As the official town secretary, Shereshevsky published an announcement in Ha-Melitz, in 1864, about a young man of thirty from a village near Dawidgrodek who, several years earlier, had deserted his wife, leaving her unable [by Jewish law] to remarry. Rumor had it that the husband was seen in Odessa, and Shereshevsky assumed that “he was serving in the home of one of the aristocrats or in some commercial firm.” The husband did reach Odessa; “a man from Pinsk living in Odessa” recognized him and notified Pinsk. In 1866, Shereshevsky announced in HaMelitz that his article had borne fruit.217 Shortly afterward, apparently in 1867, ­Shereshevsky himself left Pinsk for Melitopol in the Crimea. He took a position with Zeidner, a big merchant, and in 1868 moved

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to Odessa in order to work with Alexander Zederbaum in editing Ha-Melitz.218 Ukraine also attracted members of the autodidactic Haskalah intelligentsia. There were opportunities for them, especially as teachers in the homes of the wealthy. In 1861, Abraham Dov Dobzevich moved to Yekaterinoslav to work as a teacher; he returned to Pinsk but in 1874 could be found as a teacher in Brodsky’s house in Kiev. Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg, the government-appointed rabbi of Pinsk in the 1870s, had been a teacher in Kiev in the 1860s. Moses Aaron Shatzkes was also a teacher in Kiev. Moses Kot, from Pinsk, resided in Rostov in 1867 and dispatched an article from there to Ha-Melitz. In 1878, Y. L. Frankel of Pinsk was chosen as rabbi of Odessa. In 1878, Shomer, the storyteller and popular dramatist, helped establish the Yiddish theater in Odessa; his home served as a meeting place for Yiddish literati and artists. These examples indicate that Pinsk émigrés were active in molding the culture of developing communities in Ukraine.219 Important merchants and their agents also emigrated to Ukraine, as well as to other commercial centers in Russia. At the end of the 1870s, the outstanding and extremely wealthy scholar Rabbi Meir, the son of Moses Isaac Levin, moved from Karlin to Kiev. Hayyim Chemerinsky’s memoirs tell of another descendant of the Levin family, Saul (Shaitse) Levin, who moved to Kiev, perhaps as early as the 1860s or 1870s, bringing 200,000 rubles in cash from Pinsk. In Kiev, he was close to ­Brodsky and enjoyed unlimited credit. Many commercial agents apparently set up permanent residence wherever they conducted their business activities, although clear and unequivocal documentary evidence to that effect is not available. In the 1860s and 1870s, merchants formerly of Pinsk could be found in Vilna, Minsk, Warsaw, and Moscow.220 Pinsk craftsmen also sought homes and livelihoods in the region of Ukraine. A Jewish shoemaker, one of Gad Asher Levin’s trainees, was sent by his benefactor to Cherkasy, where he established himself. Leib Zylberman, a Pinsk harness maker, moved to Kiev and worked at his profession there.221 Migration from Pinsk to the Russian interior was made feasible by the Russian government’s relatively liberal policy during the rule of ­A lexander II in the 1860s, which hesitantly opened the gates of the large

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cities and ports in Ukraine and the interior districts to educated Jews, merchants, tradesmen, and a certain number of domestic servants.222 The commercial network established by Pinsk businessmen in the lower Dnieper basin, prior to the wave of migration, certainly eased the move from Pinsk to Ukraine.

Economic Crisis Newspaper articles in the Russian and Hebrew press during the 1860s still implied affluence, but at least one hinted at change for the worse. An 1868 article in Ha-Melitz223 praised the fine arrangements and the practical regulations enacted by Pinsk and Karlin leaders “for the general welfare, and particularly for the poor.” Reading between the lines of commendation, it seems that there were many poor and destitute people in the city, including some on the verge of starvation. At the initiative of wealthy philanthropists and the Pinsk and Karlin rabbis, assistance was quickly tendered; the needy were sold food at reduced prices in order to prevent starvation. Even though signs of economic regression were felt, commercial activity continued into the mid-1870s. In 1875, a Polish newspaper described lively business activity between Pinsk and Wolyn and between Pinsk and the Dnieper region. Pinsk merchants attempted to adjust to changing conditions. Steamships, introduced in the mid-1850s, continued to ply the route from Pinsk to Kiev and other places in Ukraine, transporting passengers and cargo in both directions. The article emphasized primarily the commerce in regional produce: timber and forest products of all sorts, besides the trade in surplus agricultural produce from southwestern Russia. According to this article, however, business was being diverted to the railroad in the Minsk area. Clearly, Pinsk’s stature as an important transit point for export of Ukrainian agricultural surplus gradually weakened during the 1870s; although the port’s diminished commercial role did not spell its end. Even in the 1880s respectable amounts of merchandise still passed through the city in both directions.224 The final blow to Pinsk’s standing as the hub of transit trade, and to its general economic situation, was dealt by the Kiev-Brest railroad,

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which replaced the old water route that had Pinsk at its center. The reason for the city’s economic decline was elucidated in a Russian article from 1882: The primary occupation of our residents in the past—except for the few owners of textile concerns, proprietors of notions stores, and grocers—was the grain trade, and transport of grain on the Pina and Dnieper Rivers. Merchants and laborers found a livelihood in this occupation. But for several years now, since the construction of the Kiev-Brest railroad, which carries grain directly to Brest in Lithuania, completely circumventing our port, the above trade has been totally eliminated, and river transport is now very limited in our area. The workers, therefore, don’t earn a living. . . . Many Jews engage in brokering and grain jobbing; due to the collapse of the grain trade, their situation is very difficult.225

An 1875 article complained about “these hard times, when many sources of livelihood have dwindled, dried up, and been depleted,” and about the increase of Pinsk poor in need of support.226 Three years later, in Karlin, an article described “the numbers of poor and destitute who pervade the city like locusts, impose themselves on others and plunder the produce of people who manage to feed their households only by dint of great physical and emotional exertion.”227 A similar description appeared in an 1879 article from Pinsk: “To our distress, [the poor] spread in our midst like locusts.”228 The poverty was felt mainly in Pinsk, where the majority of the indigent concentrated in Bolotna Street and the Linishches quarter.229 In 1879, a steep rise in the price of bread hit hard, increasing the number of poor people in need of aid.230 Even at the peak of Pinsk’s prosperity, there were poor people, widows, and orphans who required assistance, but their number was small and the organized charitable institutions of Pinsk-Karlin, together with generous individuals, met their needs. In the late 1870s, however, a significant deterioration took place in the material circumstances of the Jewish population of Pinsk, and a broad class of unemployed workers and entrepreneurs without income arose as a consequence of changes in Pinsk’s commercial status and the economic crisis afflicting the city. This created a serious internal problem, which prompted the community to seek appropriate solutions for new contingencies.

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Welfare Pinsk-Karlin Jewry’s organized response to poverty took two forms: charity and constructive assistance. Even in the 1850s and 1860s, the era of abundance and plenty, there was no dearth of poor and unfortunate people. Until the economic crisis struck in full force, however, acts of kindness by the generous and affluent sufficed to meet their needs. For example, in a year of hunger Mikhel Berchinsky announced in the synagogue that the needy could eat their fill at tables set up in his courtyard; for several consecutive months many people actually did so.231 Memoirs by Kerman and Kotik describe well the manner in which Moses Isaac Levin disbursed charity. According to Kotik, Levin’s bene­ ficence knew no bounds. At his place in the synagogue he kept a box for petitions, and each day, after removing his prayer shawl and phylacteries, he took the box and saw to fulfilling the requests. On the eve of the Passover holiday, Levin’s bet midrash became a welfare office. His assistants conveyed appeals, and clerks dealt with distribution of charity. Hayya Luria and many other wealthy individuals also excelled in extending aid.232 Gad Asher Levin, Hayya Luria’s son by her first marriage, was opposed in principle to dispersal of charity. He considered it corruptive as well as demeaning to the recipient. Instead, he took it on himself to provide for orphans and children of the poor by arranging occupational training under an accomplished craftsman and Torah study with a good teacher, while furnishing the boys with clothing and food.233 These methods proved adequate until the beginning of the 1870s. During the economic crisis, the problem became more acute. The predicament of the needy demanded immediate solutions to prevent starvation. At the initiative of the wealthy, and in cooperation with the rabbis of the city, a welfare system was promptly organized. Help was proffered not in the form of donations but mainly by means of chits that allowed the needy to purchase bread at a reduced price. The leaders of the community and the Maskilim did not regard this as a long-term remedy. Articles from 1875 on considered the problem and the possible solutions; they illustrate the trends of thought prevalent in various circles and the proposals raised in public discourse.

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In 1875, an article from Pinsk appeared in Ha-Levanon,234 relating that “once word appeared in Ha-Maggid about the purchase of Eretz Israel and the ‘Land of the Hart’s’ imminent ingathering of its sons,” a group of the poor organized and “resolved to sell their homes . . . and take their wives and children and travel to the Holy Land.” The writer, Zvi Ha-Kohen Moshevitzky of Nesvezh, stated that he had attempted to dissuade them, claiming that serious disappointment awaited them in Eretz Israel, for “our land is not yet available for purchase by Montefiore and Rothschild, as you may think.” The issue should not be forced and one must wait for the appropriate time. People who had prepared to emigrate refused to be convinced, claiming that “what was reported in the newspaper was not a trivial matter . . . and if Ha-Maggid spoke of this, it surely knows what is transpiring, and as soon as we arrive, we will receive fields and orchards.” Only after Rabbi Yehiel Michael (Mikhel) Pines openly stated in Ha-Levanon (1875, number 11) that the time was not yet ripe for ascending to settle Eretz Israel was the plan canceled. The awakening of 1875 undoubtedly laid the groundwork for prompt and serious reception of Hibbat Zion ideology in the early 1880s. The search for a solution to the distress of broad classes of the population aroused sensibilities. Various signs attest to the fact that the Pinsk intelligentsia made serious attempts to wrestle with the problem. One suggestion was “to set up much-needed workshops and factories”—in other words, establish trades and industry—but because of the small number of enterprises and workers involved they could not make a tangible contribution to solving the problem of the unemployed. Another proposal involved teaching the unemployed a profession “in a trade or industry” because there was a great shortage of craftsmen in cities in the Russian interior and the government permitted craftsmen to settle outside the Pale of Settlement. To this end, a suggestion was made that generous, wealthy men of the city contribute funds to open a trade school for children of the poor who were not fit to concentrate on Torah study, to train them to be self-supporting and also furnish basic Russian language instruction. This would solve the problem of a livelihood once they came of age, and also their habits would be improved and the sting removed from anti-Semitic claims “that we are a nation of ease-seekers, who only profit unjustly from fraudulent usury.”235

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In 1878–1879, Pinsk Jewry gave earnest consideration to a proposal to establish a trade school. In an 1879 article dedicated to the great philanthropist Gad Asher Levin on the second anniversary of his death, S. Z. Kaminetzky indicated that it was clear that opening a trade school and obtaining the necessary government authorization would require “much money and much lobbying.” An alternative proposal was put forward to establish an association whose purpose would be “to assign poor youngsters and neglected, abandoned orphans to diligent craftsmen, for training according to their individual abilities.” The suggestion was directed primarily to the son-in-law of Gad Asher Levin, whose father-in-law had in his lifetime sponsored the education of thirty orphans; upon Levin’s death in 1878 the boys began to disperse. This proposal was made to other rich men of Karlin as well, and it merited the support of the Luria family in particular. The idea of establishing a trade school remained on the agenda; activist Maskilim continued to urge its establishment during 1879–1880. Zeliviansky, writing in Ha‑Melitz, accused the rich of indifference to the idea of a school and to the fate of “the many stray, wandering unfortunates, vagabonds without a chance of ever finding a reliable way to subsist in the future.” The wealthy of Pinsk did in fact share in the national effort to encourage the trades and farming; within a short time the sum of 1,500 rubles was collected in cash, along with 2,500 rubles in pledges. In the opinion of “G-n,” who reported this in the Russian press, the campaign was efficiently organized and obtained excellent results. The monies were apparently designated primarily for founding the trade school, which had engaged attention for several years. In 1884, conditions were right for its establishment, and a sum of money was raised to facilitate the opening shortly thereafter. By 1886, the school was open and classes were in session.236 Productivization [editor’s note: a virtual technical term used in discussing nineteenth-century Russian Jewry; this was always an issue concerning the Jews—that they should get into “productive” work (that is, crafts and agriculture) and out of “nonproductive” work (commerce and the money trade)], by its very nature a long-term project, did not detract from provision of immediate assistance to the needy. In the winter of 1879–1880, a comprehensive relief project was orga-

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nized to combat inflated grain prices. As an 1879 article written in Pinsk reported: Our city is not bereft of generous benefactors . . . and they have mercy on the poor and indigent and hasten to succor and save them . . . for in these times grain prices have soared. . . . They saw the distress of their brothers . . . and collected donations large and small, and purchased bread for the hungry, lowering the price for a loaf weighing ten pounds by four kopecks, and each Monday and Thursday a man sits and distributes chits (for ten pounds of bread) to anyone who pays the price, and many . . . pay him the fixed amount, and approximately 800 slips are distributed each and every week.237

Another article, from Karlin, appeared in the same issue of Ha­Zefirah: When prices rose . . . our rabbi and teacher, Rabbi David Friedman, may his light shine, and the rabbi and charitable aristocrat, Rabbi ­Zalman Levin, may his light shine, arose and collected donations. The Luria family set aside up to 800 rubles, and raised money from the city’s philanthropists. The rabbi and noble, our Rabbi Meir Levin, who has already moved to Kiev . . . took part in the charitable effort, and from the sum collected, they prepared flour to sell cheaply to the poor. Each pud of bread was sold for seventy-two kopeks instead of the previous ninety kopeks.238

In anticipation of the Passover holiday, flour was sold to the needy at a reduction of thirty kopeks per pud for types one, two, and three, and a reduction of forty-five kopeks for type four; the price of potatoes was reduced from twenty-five to fifteen kopeks per pud.239 Why didn’t the great wealth amassed in Pinsk sustain the city in a time of crisis? The answer may lie in the manner in which capital was employed and the lack of sufficient understanding by the wealthy of the role of industry. The pioneers of commercial development in the 1830s and 1840s were the Levin and Luria families, all descendants of Saul Levin, who died in 1834. The capital in their possession was family wealth, designated in part for trade and transport and in part for interest-bearing loans, not for modern banking. Saul Levin’s sons and grandsons were, until the 1870s, among the wealthiest Jews, excelling in scholarship, generosity, and benevolence. Their great wealth completely

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disappeared. They are not known to have established a single industrial enterprise. The wealth of two family members, amassed in doing business with Ukraine, was ultimately invested in Ukraine. It may be assumed that the wealth of others also left Pinsk, ventured mainly in Ukraine and to a lesser extent in other areas. The Luria family is credited with the industrialization of Pinsk, by virtue of the activities of Moses, Hayya Luria’s son. The oil press and flour mill he established, however, were steam-powered and did not employ many laborers. A lasting contribution to the water transport system was the introduction of steamship transportation by some of the great Pinsk merchants, starting in the 1850s. This was a distinctly capitalistic venture that modernized transport, although with respect to economic recovery during the crisis years its contribution was not significant. In summary, a number of conclusions may be drawn: 1. Of the two goals of Kankrin’s economic policy of the 1820s and 1830s—intensification of agricultural production and marketing, and development of industry—Pinsk Jews were associated with the first aspect only. 2. Jews were not involved in the second, essentially capitalistic, economic program that unfolded between the 1860s and the 1880s. 3. The fact that industrialization came too little and too late explains why Pinsk’s population growth was moderate; in the 1880s, it did not exceed twenty thousand, of which 80 percent was Jewish. Although the Jewish population increased nearly fivefold from the beginning of the century, Pinsk could not compare with larger ­cities in its rate of urbanization. Toward the end of the century, Pinsk was merely a middle-sized city. 4. The capital and the talents of Pinsk inhabitants greatly facilitated development of large urban settlements in Ukraine, and to a lesser degree in Russia.

The Haskalah Studies on the history of the Haskalah in Russia-Lithuania mention Pinsk tangentially, with reference to Judah Leib Gordon’s short sojourn

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there in the mid-nineteenth century and in connection with the literary activity of a few Pinskers such as Shatzkes, Dobzevich, Shereshevsky, Shomer, and Rosenberg in the 1860s and 1870s. Discussions of the early Haskalah period, when the activity of Isaac Ber Levinsohn and the Vilna circle took center stage, do not include Pinsk at all.240 Even Toyzent Yor Pinsk—a monograph on Pinsk—contains no observations on the Haskalah in Pinsk in the early period. The evidence is clear, however, that the Haskalah appeared in Pinsk before heretofore realized, as early as the 1830s, a time when the ­Haskalah was still in its first stages as a movement and the ideas were just beginning to spread and make an impact. People saw in the Haskalah an expression of their desires or an answer to real needs that arose from the new socioeconomic situation in the city. A combination of factors affected the penetration into Pinsk of ­Haskalah ideology (in its Hebrew version), as formulated and expressed by its main luminaries and activists in Russia-Lithuania. The drawnout struggle between the Hasidim and Mitnaggedim, continuing into the beginning of the nineteenth century, drained the spiritual energies of both camps. Undoubtedly, after the quick reconciliation between the two sides a feeling of discontent and disappointment remained among broad sectors of Jewish society. Naturally, these dissatisfied people were open to new ideas. Second, in Pinsk, as in many other places in Lithuania, there were some within the circle of Torah scholars who looked positively on the study of arithmetic, geometry, and grammar. A few of these people also engaged in philosophical speculation and in systematic study of Jewish philosophical books. These men, members of the traditional rabbinic-scholarly class, paved the way for the influence of the ideas of the Haskalah.241 The changes in the economic life of Pinsk-Karlin in the 1820s and the beginning of prosperity in the city in the 1830s opened new vistas for the merchants and men of money and initiative who began to get involved, successfully, in capitalistic development of Russia. A class of bourgeois businessmen was created—sons of the longstanding learned merchant class—who came into contact with centers of commerce and culture in Russia, Poland, and Prussia. This phenomenon also accelerated penetration of Haskalah ideas in a way that was suitable to the

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peculiar circumstances of a Jewish city and that gradually began to change the lifestyle and education of significant sectors of the Jewish population of Pinsk-Karlin.242 In our discussion of Saul Levin of Karlin, we mentioned his sponsorship of Isaac Ber Levinsohn. The appearance of the latter’s book, Te’udah Be-Yisrael (Vilna, 1828), can be considered a benchmark of the beginning of the Haskalah in Pinsk. As opposed to many other communities in Lithuania, because there was no one in Pinsk or Karlin who subscribed to the book in advance it can be assumed that there were no declared Maskilim in Pinsk prior to publication. On the other hand, the special tie between Levin and Levinsohn probably means that the book reached Pinsk-Karlin and made a strong impression, first and foremost on Saul Levin but without question on scholars and learned merchants (mainly in Karlin) as well. They were influenced by Levinsohn’s exhortation in favor of the study of non-Jewish subjects (“outside wisdom”), changes in education, elevation in esteem of artisanry and vocational training, and acquisition of useful knowledge connected with practical life. All of this was placed on a theoretical basis that did no harm to the regimen of religious life or to fulfillment of the Torah and the commandments. Changes in the attitudes of the members of various groups can be detected already in the early 1830s. The course of development of Levinsohn’s influence demonstrates that the transition from the 1820s to the 1830s was the beginning of the rise of Haskalah as a social force in Pinsk-Karlin.243 Haskalah ideology fit the needs and demands of people who had begun to participate energetically in expansion of the Russian export trade. By the 1830s, traditional, scholarly Pinsk-Karlin was relatively moderate, tolerant, and open to the new ideas of the moderate Haskalah that Levinsohn was preaching. If it was kosher in the eyes of Saul Levin, the leader of the community and the representative par excellence of the learned-mitnaggedic class, what could others of his circle find wrong with it? The tolerant, moderate response to a Haskalah that accepted as self-evident the holy tradition of Torah study as well as meticulous religious observance in effect determined the nature of Haskalah in Pinsk. It remained true to the cultural and religious heritage. This eased creation of mutual tolerance between the vast majority of those loyal to

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traditional society and those who, slowly and gradually, ventured toward changes in education, in socioeconomic structure, and in general lifestyle as envisioned by the Haskalah.

Rabbi Uziel the Judge The story of Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg about his father Rabbi Uziel is testimony concerning a distinguished scholar, a member of the ­rabbinic-scholarly class who by virtue of his broad intellectual interests and fresh approach to education paved the way to Haskalah. Rabbi Uziel, born in Pohost and residing in Karlin, was a judge (dayyan) in the court of Jacob Aaron Barukhin, rabbi of Karlin from 1825 until 1844. Rabbi Uziel was the type of Lithuanian scholar who did not limit himself to contemplation of Talmud and Jewish law codes but also showed interest in the study of language and grammar, and in books of speculation and theory—primarily books of religious philosophy.244 Men like him established a new attitude toward these subjects, at the same time preparing the ground for new ideas. Rabbi Uziel combined scholarship with broad erudition in the Talmud and codes. He had great interest in the study of Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed as well as a bent for mysticism, so much so that he regularly set aside time for study of the Zohar and its commentaries. This man, so righteous and moral that he was popularly known as “the angel Uziel,” was also interested in Hebrew grammar, knew almost by heart Naftaly Herz Weisel’s (Hartwig Wessely’s) books Gan Na’ul and Yayn Levanon, read Mendelssohn’s German translation of the Bible (Bei’ur), and publicly praised Weisel’s commentary on Leviticus. In this, Rabbi Uziel considered himself to be the disciple of the Vilna Gaon and cited Maimonides to prove that the study of Hebrew was a religious obligation and that logic and theoretical speculation were pleasing to God.245 In the 1840s Rabbi Uziel taught his son, Abraham Hayyim (later Rosenberg), and his son’s schoolmate, Isaac Jacob Reines, instructing them in Hebrew language, grammar, and Bible. He also taught Talmud and codes, using a pedagogic method by which the student progressed from easy topics to difficult ones until he attained a knowledge that was at once broad and deep.

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Rosenberg ascribed his pursuit of Haskalah to his father’s influence and to his father’s method of teaching in the 1840s. It appears, however, that already in the 1830s, and perhaps even earlier, Rabbi Uziel encouraged others to learn grammar and study theoretical and speculative books. It is certain that in Pinsk, during those years, there were copies of the Bible with Mendelssohn’s translation as well as books of grammar and books of speculation from the Maskilim of Berlin.246

Reuben Holdhor and His Divrei Shalom Ve-Emet Pinsk-Karlin became a venue of the literary-journalistic efforts of the Haskalah movement at a very early stage. One of its Maskilim, Reuben Holdhor of Karlin, wrote the small book Divrei Shalom Ve-Emet (Words of Peace and Truth), printed in Hebrew and Russian) in 1836. It attests to the role that Holdhor played in the public campaign that the Jews were forced to conduct in order to defend their interests.247 In the early 1830s—as the 1835 “Constitution of the Jews” was being drafted—rabbis, community leaders, and Maskilim banded together in a common effort. They aimed to refute accusations then current in ruling circles in St. Petersburg against the Jews, their Torah, and their way of life, as well as to forestall actual blood libels that were then taking shape.248 Holdhor’s book can be considered a contribution to this undertaking. The title page indicates the purpose of the book. It says that Divrei Shalom Ve-Emet is: A treatise examining and explaining the matters appearing in the books of the Israelites pertaining to the laws of the faith of the nations in whose midst we are; how there have not been concealed between the lines any negative trace or opposition, but rather they speak directly to the demand for truth and peace. . . .

The author’s intention is present in these lines but formulated so awkwardly and obscurely that it is not easily fathomed. The Russian version of the title page is much clearer: This treatise demonstrates that in all of the Jewish books that relate to matters pertaining to the laws of the state, and which supposedly appear opposed to the laws of the Gentiles in whose midst the Jews

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dwell, there is in fact not the slightest contradiction [to the laws of the state]; moreover, these books teach every Jew to love peace and truth, as is clear from certain passages from these books cited herein.

Holdhor is more explicit in the introduction: I have heard many people maligning and railing against the books of the Talmud and other books found among our Israelite nation 249 [that] they contain various matters contradicting the laws of the nations, nations in whose midst we dwell; and contradicting the usages of the state and the law of the Tsar250 and which are beyond the bounds of good sense and honesty . . . and some of the great men of the nations . . . have poured scorn and calumny on our nation and our books with excess vengeance and spitefulness; and we knowing ourselves that we and our books are innocent of this guilt.251. . . I aroused my mind, saying . . . rise up and reveal the truth hidden between the lines of the compositions, how there is not concealed in them any negative trace or opposition, but rather they all aim for the target of seeking truth and peace as the citations I have collected in this book will show; and I have called this work Words of Peace and Truth because of my confidence that it will increase peace and remove slander, as the glory of the truth is revealed to all.

Holdhor’s words in both Hebrew and Russian are apologetic and polemical. The book was aimed, to a large extent, at the non-Jewish reader belonging to the ruling class or the Orthodox Church, groups that were then intensely scrutinizing the faith and law of the Jews. Under the influence of European anti-Jewish literature, the Talmud was represented in these circles as a barrier keeping the Jews from drawing nearer to recognition of the truth of Christianity. This is what Holdhor had in mind when he said “and some of the great men of the nations . . . have poured scorn and calumny on our nation and our books.” He, of course, attempts to prove to the Russians who follow these authorities that they are mistaken. Thus Holdhor tries by way of his book— which praises the Talmud as, in his opinion, directed toward peace and truth—to fulfill a public mission on behalf of Russian Jewry. It is possible that Holdhor’s book was intended to serve as a counterweight to another one, Derekh Selula (Paved Road), written by the apostate Temkin and printed in Russian and Hebrew in St. Petersburg

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in 1835.252 This book was full of slander against the Jewish religion and the Talmud, and against other books that in the author’s opinion had a bad influence on the Jews’ character. The book was sent to Orthodox churches to serve as a weapon in the hands of the priests. It was also certainly sent to people within the ruling circle in the capital and was attuned to the growing anti-Jewish attitudes there. It is probable that in replying to Temkin Holdhor was under the influence of Isaac Ber Levinsohn; perhaps when he began writing Divrei Shalom Ve-Emet he was even in direct contact with the famous Maskil. Levinsohn himself wrote a polemic in answer to Temkin’s book, called Yemin Tzidki (My Righteous Right Hand), which he completed in late 1836 or early 1837. In its conclusion he turns to the apostate Asher Temkin with these words of admonition and reproof: Please tell our Christian brothers of the wise and understanding men among them (your brothers the House of Israel); of the honorable, sage and wonderful sayings found in the Talmud and in our many other books; of the good laws which our rabbis instituted in our nation in every generation; and of the good character and morality, and the charity which the Jews perform toward their poor and their sick and toward poor and importunate students. . . .

In Divrei Shalom Ve-Emet, Reuben Holdhor writes about these very things. By adducing citations from the Bible, Talmud, and Shulhan Arukh, he tries to prove not only that Israel’s Torah does not contradict the laws of the nations among whom they live but also that the Torah of Israel is a moral law, its ideas aim for truth and peace, and the sages of Israel deserve respect and honor from the nations of the world. Divrei Shalom Ve-Emet was completed shortly before Levinsohn finished Yemin Tzidki. Holdhor’s book, however—like Temkin’s and unlike Levinsohn’s—was printed in Hebrew and Russian immediately after it was written. It was in effect the sole literary response to Temkin’s libel. (Levinsohn’s book remained in manuscript for forty-four years and was printed only in 1881, fifteen years after the author’s death.)253 Holdhor wrote in the form and style of the theoretical Haskalah that was at the time taking its first steps in Russia. Even though the book is not distinguished by its profundity or originality, it does indicate that in the 1830s a man lived in Karlin who knew Russian and Hebrew, took

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an interest in what was happening in the country, knew the accusations against the Jews and their religion, and even tried to refute them. It can be said that with him the Haskalah made its open appearance as a new force in the communal life of the Jews of Pinsk and Karlin. The actual influence of the Haskalah in those years is reflected in a concrete way in adoption of Haskalah by Mikhel Berchinsky (discussed later).254

Perushim There is no evidence for the existence of a yeshiva in Pinsk in the nineteenth century, although it was customary for the community to maintain such an institution through the eighteenth century. Nonetheless, Pinsk-Karlin continued to be a city of great rabbis and important scholars; much Torah was learned in its batei midrash, while many of its distinguished citizens and the greatest of the wealthy people were also genuine scholars. A common type in Pinsk was the porush, a learned person usually not native to the locality but who established a place for himself in one of the study halls and occupied himself with Torah study for several years, living by “eating days” (that is, taking his meals with various families on a rotating basis) until ultimately he received ordination from the rabbi of Pinsk or Karlin.255 Then he returned to his home or was appointed to a rabbinic position in a community. It is noteworthy that two of the Perushim who came to Pinsk around the middle of the nineteenth century exercised a tremendous influence on the development of Haskalah there and perhaps even bestowed its specific local character: Rabbi Ezekiel of Sluck, and Rabbi Avigdor Stein, the latter known in Pinsk as “the Porush from Amdur.” The polemic literature surrounding the book Ha-Mafte’ah (The Key), by Moses Aaron Shatzkes of Pinsk,256 supplies reliable information about the special influence that R. Ezekiel had on the young Torah scholars. Judah Leib Levin, in his articles attacking Shatzkes in HaShahar and Ha-Melitz, quotes Rabbi Yitzhak Isaac Eliasberg. His account states: There was a Jew in Pinsk by the name of R. Ezekiel Slutzker. He came to live there from Minsk because a congregation of zealots gave him no rest and were it not for the rabbi, the high priest, Rabbi Yekutiel Ziesel

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Rapoport, of blessed memory, who out of respect for R. Ezekiel’s learning and wisdom gave him sanctuary, the zealots would have snuffed out his life. R. Ezekiel set up residence in the study hall of the Gaon Rabbi Moses Isaac Levin, of blessed memory, and lived with the aid of generous people and youths who, in those days, he enlightened with the light of understanding. His critical voice did not make them recoil and they thirstily drank his words; for R. Ezekiel was truly sharp­witted and proficient in the chambers of Torah, explaining the words and enigmas of the rabbis intelligently. One of his students was A.M.S. [Moses Aaron Shatzkes is meant] who came to gather bones from under R. Ezekiel’s table and did not budge from there. He must have always managed to write down on paper everything that he heard from R. Ezekiel in aggadah and new interpretations of the Torah; for when we were privileged to see Ha-Mafte’ah printed in black ink on white paper, many many things echoed in our ears as old teaching that we heard from R. Ezekiel when he would dine at his table on the Sabbath and holidays. This man Moses has enriched [us] from the shards of the tablets of that man [R. Ezekiel]. . . . 257

R. Ezekiel from Sluck, despite his being a man of the traditional study hall, was caught up in his own way in the Haskalah. He would probe and criticize, and because he excelled at explaining and teaching he attracted a following of listeners and students in Pinsk. Moses Aaron Shatzkes was probably his outstanding disciple. The members of the family of Asher Wolf Levin and his son-in-law Eliasberg used to host R. Ezekiel in their homes on Sabbaths and holidays and listen with rapt attention to his ideas and meditations. He who in Minsk was treated as someone who sinned and became a heretic was able to study and teach in one of the kloyzim (privately subsidized study academies) in Pinsk. Young men of Pinsk who wanted an education gathered around him to learn Torah and knowledge. There is no doubt that R. Ezekiel was very talented, had original ideas, and inspired the thoughts of the young people of his generation. Many of them later went over to Haskalah. It is probable that R. Ezekiel from Sluck was active in Pinsk principally in the 1840s.258 The second porush who exercised an influence in the direction of propagation of Haskalah in Pinsk was R. Avigdor Stein. The influence of the porush from Amdur was felt primarily in the mid-1850s. In his

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autobiography, Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg tells of the particular influence of this porush on him and on his boyhood friend and fellow student, Isaac Jacob Reines (later the rabbi of Lida and one of the founders of the Mizrahi movement).259 With his keen intelligence, R. Avigdor succeeded in demonstrating to the two young students “with explicit prooftexts from the Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds, with profound logical arguments and with subtle dialectics based on the earlier and later medieval rabbinic authorities,” that the selfsame passage in the Talmud could be interpreted in a number of diametrically opposed ways. In this fashion he proved to them that the foundations of talmudic casuistry were weak. Then he began to explain to them that they ought to “gain an education in order to be among the seekers of truth, and to master first of all” arithmetic and measurement. He even agreed to teach them these disciplines himself. Eventually, he taught them nature, astronomy, and physics. The rabbi was an excellent pedagogue, and the influence he exerted on his students “in the Volper [Wolpe] study house in Karlin was deep and strong.”260 In addition to the studies mentioned here, Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg was later active in Haskalah-related activities in Pinsk and elsewhere. Moreover, even Rabbi Isaac Jacob Reines, who continued to study at the Volozhin Yeshiva and was known there as “the genius from Karlin,” was influenced by R. Avigdor Stein. In the yeshiva that he eventually established in Lida, he instituted the study of “outside subjects” alongside Torah learning.261 It is clear that significant developments were taking place in the kloyzim and batei midrash of Pinsk in the mid-nineteenth century. These were places of Torah learning where there echoed as well the new ideas of the Haskalah. Traditional learning and the new ideas achieved coexistence. Perushim could, within these institutions, espouse views that would not have been tolerated elsewhere. In 1850, the nineteen-year-old Judah Leib Gordon stayed in Pinsk for a few months and managed to leave his mark by sowing seeds of Haskalah. According to his account in a letter to Aaron Luria written in 1863, Gordon came to Pinsk in 1850 or 1851, on a business trip as a representative of his father (he was to collect a debt from a man who was

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a teacher in the Pinsk school). Being detained in the city, he decided he would have to make a living and obtained a position as tutor in the household of Moses Luria. He taught the latter’s son, Aaron, one of the most talented members of the family both as a merchant and industrialist and as a public figure active in the Haskalah movement in Pinsk. Although Gordon remained in Pinsk for a number of months only, the ties formed between him and his student were close, as is evident from the correspondence between them in the 1860s and 1870s. Similarly, he became well acquainted with Aaron’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Moses Luria, and with his grandmother, Hayya Luria, and his uncle, Joseph Ettinger.262 Gordon’s correspondence with Aaron, and his rather thin story “Aharit Simha Tuga” (“The End of Joy Is Grief), describing Hayya Luria and her family and their fight against the Hasidim of Karlin, make it clear that the aggressive and wealthy Luria family attuned its lifestyle and modes of educating its children to the spirit of the Haskalah and that ideology. To Gordon, the Luria family was in step with the spirit of the times; a family of Haskalah. Gordon bore in his memory impressions of Pinsk from 1850, which imply that in the middle of the nineteenth century the Haskalah had a certain influence in Pinsk-­Karlin. In the 1860s, Gordon asked if Pinsk and Karlin “have ascended the stairs of Haskalah further, or gone back down.”263

The Turning Point The turning point in determining the public role and influence of the Haskalah in Pinsk came in the transition from the first half of the nineteenth century to the second. By the 1860s, there was in Pinsk a significant group identified openly in one way or another with the ideology of the Haskalah. This identification was expressed in several ways: the desire to study systematically Hebrew, Russian, other languages, and certain secular studies; the aim of giving a good and more systematic education to the young generation in the various new schools; expression of an opinion as to the reasons for the economic strength or weakness of the various classes, and the possibilities for improving what needed improving; the desire to know what was happening in

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both the Jewish and non-Jewish worlds; and adoption of new norms of reading and study. Particularly salient is the growing connection with the new-style periodical, created with the appearance of Ha-Maggid in 1857. In this journal one could not only read about what was happening in Russia, in foreign countries, and in Jewish communities both nearby and far away but also feel the periodical’s desire to inform one about what was going on in the city. Various people tried their hand at writing and began to submit to the new journals articles in Hebrew and Russian.

Knowledge of Russian Knowledge of Russian on the part of the Jews of Pinsk-Karlin toward the end of the first half of the nineteenth century was probably much more widespread than is usually assumed. Undoubtedly, the great merchants were able to conduct their business by means of regular personal interaction with noblemen and men of the ruling class and by contact with government offices through the agency of clerks. People from this group were the first to be concerned with the spread of knowledge of Russian. The economic expansion of the city as well as its markedly Jewish character led to development of a considerable group of people who were fluent in Russian and who took an interest in events in the larger world. Some of them were certified lawyers or agent-lobbyists who came into contact with Russian bureaucrats or who represented clients in legal matters before the judicial authorities or government agencies. There were also clerks in offices and businesses whose occupation required good knowledge of Russian. Their style of dress and appearance and the nature of their work brought them close to the circles of Maskilim and their ideology. To be sure, this type of person was (and continued to be) part of traditional society, which responded to such deviation from accepted norms with tolerance and forgiveness since these individuals extended services to society that were essential and thus their unconventional behavior was considered a necessity. When circumstances changed, however, and Haskalah ideas began to circulate among the yeshiva students,

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the members of this social group proved to be a catalyst for accelerating society’s adaptation to the ideology of the Haskalah and to its demands for reforms. One documented case from this period is that of the imprisonment in 1838 of Nahum Basevich from Pinsk in St. Petersburg. Basevich was in the capital on an errand for the brothers Asher Wolf and Moses Isaac, the sons of Saul Levin. The mission involved the brothers’ money in St. Petersburg; Basevich carried a power-of-attorney to deal with their affairs. His correspondence with his employers was conducted in Hebrew, but there is no doubt that he could read and write Russian well. He was conversant in matters of law and knew his way around government offices. It can be assumed with near certainty that his manner and dress were different from those of his brethren living in Pinsk.264

Clerks Jews worked as clerks for the district and city police. Such clerks unquestionably knew some Russian to start with and mastered it in the course of their work. Young Jews who learned Russian were happy to gain a position with the police, for such clerking—officially classified as private—was the closest thing to government service for a Jew (Jews, lacking a university degree, could not gain a foothold in the civil service). Employment with the police was open to Jews in Pinsk until 1879; Jewish candidates for clerk positions probably began applying in the 1850s, if not earlier, despite the low pay. To these clerks must be added the clerks and agents who worked for the great merchants, as well as people who could write letters of petition to various government agencies, were knowledgeable in Russian law and bureaucratic practices, and were able to serve as representatives in affairs of business or other matters.265 From the 1850s through the 1870s, there were two men in Pinsk who were competent, if uncertified, jurists and who apparently were permitted to function as attorneys. One was Getzel Uchekhovsky; the other was Mikhel Berchinsky. Between them they competed both professionally and for influence in the Pinsk-Karlin Jewish community.266 It stands to reason that their manner, dress, and lifestyle and the education of their children strengthened the Haskalah camp in Pinsk.

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The example of Berchinsky is instructive.267 A self-taught lawyer, he was one of the pillars of the Pinsk Jewish community for more than a generation. The manner in which he learned Russian—at first, in secret without his father’s knowledge; later, against his father’s will—recalls the assumption of Haskalah by pioneers of the movement. He used his knowledge of Russian to master Russian law, and from the moment he was recognized as an attorney his father and Jewish society forgave him the “sin” of his studies. He himself never tried to sever his connection with the Hasidic camp; his membership in it continued to be taken for granted despite his trimmed beard and shorter-than-normal clothing. However, if Berchinsky did not change, such was not the case with his descendants. The history of his family was recorded faithfully and with literary skill by his granddaughter, Miriam Shomer Zunser.268 She writes with a profound historical consciousness; her book is an important document describing the changes that took place (in the course of two generations) in the lifestyle of a typical Hasidic family in Pinsk. Both Shomer Zunser and Kerman tell about Uchekhovsky in their memoirs.269 In a chapter entitled “Getzel the Writer,” Kerman points out that Getzel was one of the “old aristocrats,” that he presided over an “intelligentsia household,” and that even as an old man he went around his house with his head bare. His home was a meeting place for all of the “aristocrats” of Pinsk. In the 1850s and 1860s he wore short coats and pince-nez glasses. His son, Barukh Uchekhovsky, would travel on business to Vilna and St. Petersburg; his grandson (Barukh’s son) was named Marian Uchekhovsky. Kerman tells no details about Marian— except to say that the pious Hasidic father of the girl who fell in love with him and married him disinherited her because of the disgrace she engendered by her rashness—nor about Barukh, his father. It is obvious that both of them represented a new type, sons of the Haskalah generation. In contrast to all of this, concerning matters of charity Getzel was no different from his competitor, Mikhel Berchinsky. He was generous and behaved in accordance with the best in the accepted tradition of the wealthy people of Pinsk-Karlin. He would give large amounts of charity and also supported the education of poor students. Who were the aristocrats who frequented Uchekhovsky’s house,

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about whom Kerman speaks? He obviously was referring to a certain circle that began to form in Pinsk as early as the end of the 1840s or the beginning of the 1850s. These people influenced the lifestyle, behavior, and even speech patterns of members of the new middle class that began to achieve affluence as a result of the economic progress of the city. The home of Uchekhovsky (who was the legal adviser to the Luria family) served as a forum for people who had begun to separate themselves from traditional society and stood out from the others. Shomer describes these lords of Pinsk at the end of the 1860s with satiric irony: In spite of everything they fulfill an important function. Their manners are very lovely. Their wives and daughters are dressed up like Purim queens [referring to the custom of dressing up in costume like Queen Esther on the Purim holiday], interspersing their conversation, as it were incidentally, with German and French words. They understand very well that the new fashion requires making visits. . . . The men also fulfill their role well, blinding people’s eyes so that they will think them wealthy.270

The appearance of a social class that behaved in the manner described was not sudden. It must have been the result of a process—the chief representative of which was Getzel Uchekhovsky—that began in the early 1850s.

The Intelligentsia By the 1860s there was a broad class of people in Pinsk who could be classified as intelligentsia. This group was not homogeneous but included people from different sociocultural groups. There can be no doubt, however, that this class played a key role in shaping the spiritualcultural profile of Jewish Pinsk-Karlin. Articles in the Hebrew press, coming from Pinsk-Karlin beginning in the late 1850s, give a general idea of the nature of this intelligentsia. In 1857, shortly after Ha-Maggid began publishing, there appeared in it the first article we know of written by a certain anonymous author who had a knack for describing Karlin with grace, a sense of proportion, and a pleasant (if florid) Hebrew style. Within a few years, many people were

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sending in articles from Pinsk to the newspapers. The second article in Ha-Maggid, signed by Dodshe Foyker from Pinsk and Yossel Yoffe of Karlin, was trivial and silly, as were the next two, which reported on ­curiosities and were provincial even by the standards of the time.271 From 1859 on, the articles became more and more detailed in their information, and in the 1860s some of the authors were people who understood that the periodical was a forum for clarifying public issues. They knew how to take advantage of the forum to spread knowledge and enlightenment and to discuss issues that were of public concern in Pinsk. Between 1858 and 1860 Israel Berman of Pinsk published at least five articles in Ha-Maggid,272 most of them with factual information (three were about the rabbis of Pinsk, and one was about the special worship service held in the great synagogue on the occasion of the coronation of Alexander II at the end of 1859). In these articles, there was as yet no stance with regard to Haskalah or public issues. In 1861, the twenty-year-old Aaron ben Moses Luria joined the ranks of the article writers. He had an informal but systematic education in Hebrew and Russian and wrote well in both languages. In the 1860s, he sent his articles and reports from Pinsk principally to Ha-Carmel, both Hebrew and Russian sections. In the 1870s he wrote infrequently, probably because he became more and more involved in the conduct of his business affairs. In his articles, the trend toward Russian culture comes to the fore. He spoke, it seems, for a small group of wealthy Maskilim, a few activist teachers, and the class of Russian speakers in Pinsk. Luria was particularly sensitive to the question of the spread of general enlightenment and took a keen interest in the condition of the new state school. He also expressed his opinion on the state of Pinsk and its economic future as a commercial city. This he did in a memorandum submitted to the government on behalf of the merchants of Pinsk, later translated into Hebrew and published as a report from Pinsk in Ha-Carmel. Samuel Joseph (“Rashi”) Fuenn, the editor of Ha-Carmel, was so impressed by this memorandum that he attached to it a grandiose introduction in which he connected the ideas expressed in the memorandum with “the Haskalah that shall pour its spirit over all wisdom and labor, shall impart from its spirit to commerciality [sic] too, raising it to the level of knowledge and wisdom.” He concluded with

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these words: “And the entire nation shall know that there is understanding in Israel to know the deficiencies of the age.” Luria’s writing is clear-sighted, critical, and to the point. His public activity in Pinsk was connected with the Society for Promotion of Enlightenment in Russia, an “aristocratic” association from its founding.273 Zvi-Hirsh Ha-Kohen Shereshevsky was one of the Maskilim who sent news and feature articles from Pinsk in the 1860s. He was famous in his day among the Haskalah Hebrew literary circles in Russia in the 1860s and 1870s. In late 1867, Shereshevsky left Pinsk and migrated to southern Russia. His Hebrew writings from Pinsk appeared in Ha­Carmel and Ha-Melitz between 1841 and 1867. He occupied an official position as communal secretary (safra de-mata) in the kahal administration. This did not prevent him from writing candidly on important communal problems of the Jews of Pinsk from the perspective of a maskilic Hebrew writer. In his first article from Pinsk, he chided the worshippers’ apathy about the filth in the synagogue. He also admonished them in regard to such practices as women entering the men’s section of the synagogue on the holiday of Simhat Torah (when a spirit of informality and raucous joy predominates), cracking seed shells there, and in some cases seizing Torah scrolls. In other articles he supplied information about the liberal principal of the Russian gymnasium and the Jewish students there, the question of linking Pinsk to the railway system and the commercial future of Pinsk, the agricultural settlers of the Iwaniki settlement, and the problems of productivization. He found of interest news that he received in a private letter from Jerusalem that French archeologists had received permission to excavate near the Temple Mount. At the request of the Pinsk communal leaders, Shereshevsky formulated a letter of thanks to Moses Montefiore for having succeeded in saving Jews sentenced to death in Morocco. In his capacity as official scribe, he published an “announcement” that called on people to aid in locating a man from the Pinsk vicinity who had deserted his wife.274 Zvi-Hirsh Ha-Kohen was one of the autodidactic, moderate, Hebrew Maskilim who came to Haskalah via the traditional bet midrash. His numerous scholarly articles, published in Ha-Maggid and Ha-Melitz, deal with Hebrew grammar, language and content of the Bible and rabbinic literature, and aggadic material in Maimonides’ writings.275 All of

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this was of interest to people with a background acquired in yeshivas and batei midrash. Even in the 1860s, Shereshevsky was referred to in Pinsk as “the great Torah scholar.”276 His journalistic articles clearly echoed the problems that were occupying the Maskilim of Pinsk. The fact that in Pinsk a man like Shereshevsky could serve as official communal scribe indicates that the leaders of the community did not find anything wrong with his views or the image he projected. In Pinsk he was considered to be one of the moderate Maskilim as well as a Torah scholar, having immersed himself during childhood and youth in Torah; he was still attached to traditional-style study and continued with it. This is evident in his scholarly articles. Shereshevsky felicitously combined Torah and “outside wisdom.” His Hebrew Haskalah—in both its spirit and content—was acceptable to the rabbis and talmudists of Pinsk.277 The radicalization of his maskilic views and his attack on traditional Jewish education date from the late 1870s, after he had been away from Pinsk for a long time.278 During the 1860s, Moses Aaron Shatzkes from Karlin and Abraham Dov Dobzevich from Pinsk also sent in scholarly articles that were written in the spirit of the Haskalah yet were erudite in the talmudic style.279 Shatzkes concentrated on aggada; Dobzevich dealt with biblical commentaries, translation, and the works of the rabbis. These two men did not send in news articles to the periodicals, but the readers of Ha-Maggid, Ha-Melitz, and Ha-Carmel in Pinsk and Karlin must have been excited to see articles by these respected Maskilim who were making a name for themselves and their city. They influenced development of a class of Maskilim among the young yeshiva students.

The Circles of Maskil Writers In his memoir of the 1860s and 1870s, while describing a type of talmudic scholar and Maskil known as a complete heretic in his beliefs but who would not sin in deed, God forbid, Hayyim Chemerinsky tells of a circle of Maskilim in Pinsk: For example, the great and famous heretics in the large city of Pinsk— like Shatzkes, author of Ha-Mafte’ah, and Dobzevich, author of HaMetzaref, and all of their set—found a way to sin. They established for

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themselves a Wednesday Club; every Wednesday they met together in the house of one of the members, ate Sabbath foods—traditional in ­every detail: jellied calf’s foot, kashe, kugel, all kept warming in the oven from the previous day—and then, having eaten their fill, they smoked cigarettes.280

Even lacking other testimony on this club, there is no reason to doubt Chemerinsky’s account. This club was one of the forms of association of the Maskilim in Pinsk-Karlin in the late 1860s and early 1870s. The autodidactic Hebrew Maskilim, graduates of the traditional batei midrashim, led by authors who had acquired a modicum of fame among the Maskilim in Russia, created a club for camaraderie and discussion. This circle was a meeting place for people who shared new areas of interest and wanted to be together. There was clearly something that separated them from the traditional environment. The “heresy” of these Maskilim was expressed by eating Sabbath foods on a weekday (while smoking!), just as the heresy of the teacher Marcus Perl was revealed when in his home for the Friday night Sabbath meal they ate dairy. Such social gatherings had obvious “Bohemian” aspects.281 These salient features singled out members of the group and should be seen as modes of violating convention and going out into the larger world. The men of this circle can be classified with the rising common intelligentsia. This is a group that was firmly rooted in Hebrew culture and literature and remained faithful to its national heritage.

The Circle of Shomer In the late 1860s and 1870s, Mikhel Berchinsky’s house was a ­ center of activity for Maskilim in Pinsk. This is thanks to Nahum Meir Shaikevich, who was born in Nieswiez, married Mikhel’s daughter Dina in 1866, and came to live in her father’s house. Shaikevich was soon to become famous as one of the best known Yiddish storytellers, under his pen name Shomer.282 From Pinsk Shaikevich sent notes and articles to the Hebrew press.283 He quickly became known in Pinsk as an enlightened man and a Maskil. Young people, hungry for knowledge and Haskalah, began to gather around him, delving into the problems of the new Haskalah,

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spending their time in discussion and chess. Nahum Meir and Dina’s house soon became a center for the intellectuals of the city. Shomer’s brother-in-law, Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg, the crown (or state) rabbi in Pinsk; Dov-Ber Dobzevich; and Zvi-Hirsh Maslanski belonged to this circle in the 1870s.284 There is nothing to prove that there was a link of any kind between the men of this circle (with the exception of Rosenberg) and the affluent Maskilim such as Aaron ben Moses Luria. Likewise, we know nothing of how the members of this circle, centered around Shomer, felt about the Russian language and Haskalah in Russian. This Jewish intelligentsia of the non-elite grew and expanded to a significant degree in the 1860s and 1870s and shaped the cultural-social profile of Pinsk after 1880.

Newspaper Articles Between 1862 and 1865, numerous articles were written by authors who signed with pen names, or individuals who had relocated to Pinsk and now wrote about the city for newspapers in both Hebrew and Russian. These writings offer tangible evidence of public issues and the debate surrounding them. A piece signed by “Paran” initiated a controversy over the Karlin hospital, accused of refusing treatment to a poor patient. Several people came to the hospital’s defense, signing their statements with pseudonyms (Torat Kohanim, Mr. X); members of the hospital’s board of directors responded as well.285 Other correspondents, also using fictitious names, reported on the opposition of the Pinsk pious to the Haskalah, and the battle against the pious in the name of Haskalah and education. People wrote objections to the folly of sanctifying certain old customs, or about establishment of the government gymnasium (secondary school) for girls and overtures to prominent Jewish families to enroll their daughters, or about the “inane sermons” given by the Maggid of Kelm against the Haskalah.286 Several important Haskalah essays were dispatched from Pinsk by recent arrivals to the city, among them Samuel the son of Nahum ­Kornfeld of Butan, who penned important descriptions of the education offered in Pinsk and Karlin in his reports on the Talmud Torah institutions in

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both communities. G. T. Freiman, “a native of Poland, who resides in Pinsk,” described the pernicious influence of a maggid on a man who initially exhibited an affinity for the Haskalah and subsequently began to fight against it.287 Articles from Pinsk published in the Hebrew press between 1868 and 1878 were primarily informative and generally full of praise for Pinsk-Karlin and acts of charity and kindness by the affluent and the communal institutions. These expositions reflected a retreat from the combative Haskalah and concentration on internal problems, which became progressively more serious owing to the worsening economic situation. A number of articles were obituaries for wealthy men who excelled in philanthropic activities: Bezalel-Flohrs Voliveler (1869, including his will), Moses Isaac the son of Saul Levin (1872), Judah Leib Greenberg (1876), Gad Asher Levin (1877 and on the second anniversary of his death, 1879).288 Other articles told about the awakening of emigration to Eretz Israel on the part of the poor (1875); synagogues and Torah study circles; the need for Hebrew education for gymnasium students; and communal institutions such as the Talmud Torah, the hospitals, and societies for visiting the sick. One composition extolled the Hasidism of Pinsk and Karlin; it was written by a Hasid who affirmed, “I am a son of the hasidic community . . . in their righteous paths I, too, will walk.”289 Some articles appeared in the fundamentalist Ha-Levanon, which was published in Mainz. Only two 1875 articles on the matter of army service,290 promoting acquiescence to the draft on the basis of the 1874 law, were related to practical matters that required taking a stand. It is doubtful that the Maskil and non-Maskil communities embraced differing approaches to this issue. Renewed Haskalah fervor could be sensed in writings from 1878 to 1880. An 1878 treatise from Karlin aimed to inspire the city’s aristocrats “to establish workshops and factories . . . to minimize the numbers of poor and destitute who pervade the city like locusts.”291 The notion of productivization began to assume increasing importance in such disquisitions. In 1879, after an extended hiatus, Russian-language articles from Pinsk began to appear in the new weekly Rusky Yevrei.292 These arti-

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cles conveyed a renewed sense of the fighting Haskalah. Among the essays was one, signed by “Gura Sion” (Mount Zion), that mounted a scathing attack on the private school run by Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg. The article accused Rosenberg of running nothing more than a heder with melamdim as teachers; other educational institutions in the city also came in for criticism. The perspective of the article was Russified-leftist-Haskalah. The majority of articles, such as those by Rosenberg (including a rebuttal of the attack on his school) and Aaron and Grigory Luria, described factually the current situation in Pinsk and the problems engaging its residents, with emphasis on the need for productivization. The grave internal difficulties plaguing the public, in light of the aggravated economic crisis, along with heightened communal awareness and serious attention to current problems accounted for the relatively large number of articles written in 1879 and 1880. Among the correspondents were young people raised on Haskalah. The dominant trend was that of the moderate Hebrew Haskalah, capable of working in conjunction, and even in harmony, with the community’s rabbis and traditionalist circles. The trend to Russification was advocated by a few individuals only. The Hebrew correspondents from the late 1860s up to 1880 were not individuals renowned as authors or intellectuals among the Russian Maskilim. Shereshevsky, Shatzkes, and Dobzevich had left Pinsk and moved to southern Russia. Prominent among the writers were the young Moses Ha-Kohen Feigelson of Pinsk 293 and Zvi Hirsch Ha-Kohen Moshevitzky of Nieswiez. In the course of 1879–1880, Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg wrote several pertinent articles in Russky Yevrei. Many Hebrew articles and some Russian articles were written under pseudonyms or by people who tried their hand at writing on but one occasion.

Reading The advance of the Haskalah also found expression in an expanded reading public and establishment of reading circles. An 1872 report by the Society for Promotion of Enlightenment related that the stateappointed rabbi, Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg, had founded a reading

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circle for young people in his home and requested that the society send him reading literature. The society did forward books. The ones sent to Pinsk were all in Hebrew, primarily nonfiction for broadening knowledge in the spirit of Haskalah, whereas the books sent to the Szklow reading circle, for instance, were all in Russian. This attests to the Hebrew character of the Haskalah in Pinsk. Haskalah books and periodicals were available in Pinsk. The Maskilim of Pinsk read all the books in the area of Jewish enlightenment and Jewish Wissenschaft, frequently responding with comments.294 Pinsk’s influence on the neighboring villages is indicative of what was happening within the city during the 1860s and 1870s. In his memoir My Town Motele, Hayyim Chemerinsky told of a yeshiva student who used to buy Haskalah books in Pinsk and take them to be bound. The bookbinder did not hurry to complete his task and returned the books only after he had finished reading them himself. Even in a small town such as Motol (Motele), people read Haskalah literature, especially “romances in Yiddish, works by Shomer, Blushtein, and that entire group.”295 If that was the case in Motol, it was even more so in Pinsk.

Enlightened Members of Wealthy Families Members of the affluent families in Pinsk and Karlin influenced advancement of the Haskalah, but in a certain manner. If the Lurias and Levins, for example, lent assistance to the new educational institutions of the Haskalah (the government school, the Talmud Torah, and others) and introduced proper and efficient procedures in charitable institutions, their approach was altogether aristocratic-philanthropic. There was also the occasional paternalistic relationship with some ordinary person. In terms of social intercourse, the Luria and Levin families associated primarily with their own kind. There is no evidence of social contact between them and individuals belonging to the common enlightened intelligentsia.296 By the mid-nineteenth century, some of the wealthy were already quite liberal in their attitude toward ritual observance and sacrosanct customs; others maintained their status as genuine Torah scholars, or served as officials in the synagogues, the Talmud Torah, benevolent

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s­ ocieties, and charitable institutions, or were even able to present a lesson in Talmud to those studying in the synagogue, or participate in learned debate. All supplied their children with an excellent education, which included both traditional Jewish studies and secular studies. They engaged the finest melamdim and private teachers for this purpose. Gad Asher Levin (1816–1878), for example, was known in Pinsk as a liberal because he would study Jewish philosophical texts, was an independent thinker even in matters of religion and observance, and vigorously opposed all manner of hypocrisy (including religious). As for religious practice, his “heresy” was rumored to consist of washing and combing on the Sabbath. His unique approach to charity and welfare and his big occupational training project for orphans and the sons of the poor gained the respect of both the older generation and the Maskilim. Although Gad Asher Levin preferred his own company, his influence spread and contributed much to the social and cultural modern­ization of Pinsk.297 Moses Luria (1824–1906),298 businessman, merchant, and industrialist and half-brother to Gad Asher Levin, was a central figure in Pinsk economic life from the 1840s on. No information is available about his education, but there is no evidence that he was a merchant-scholar type. His mother, Hayya Luria, brought him into the business at quite a young age, and he apparently did not devote much time to studies. There is much information about his great success in business. The farflung interests of the Luria family extended from southern Ukraine to Danzig, and Moses Luria enjoyed wide contact with the outside world. He was a pioneer in modernization of the Pinsk economy. He conducted his business with continental-style organization, assisted by a staff of expert clerks and accountants. He also introduced steamships and steam-powered machinery into his mill and oil press. The education he gave his son Aaron in the 1850s was characteristically enlightened.299 He was among the founders of the Society for Promotion of Enlightenment. Jacob Eliasberg, his grandson, wrote in his memoirs that in religious matters Moses Luria also went his own way; he did not attend the synagogue frequently and abbreviated his prayers. His wife, on the other hand, a daughter of the Eliasberg family of Ivenetz, “devoutly kept all the customs incumbent upon a Jewish woman.” Jacob

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Eliasberg, of course, knew his grandfather only in old age, at the end of the nineteenth century, but apparently Moses Luria conducted himself in this fashion for a long time. Once, during Elazar Moses Horowitz’s tenure in the rabbinate, Moses Luria chose to ignore the rabbi’s summons to appear before him for adjudication. He sent his younger sons to study in universities.300 The Luria family maintained extensive contact with the city’s inhabitants in business matters, and as employers they assisted those who turned to them. In social affairs, however, they secluded themselves within the family circle and conducted an “aristocratic” lifestyle: high standard of living, luxurious home, carriage and coach for personal use, horse riding, and regular social gatherings spent in conversation or card playing. The attitude of the Pinsk Jewish population toward the Lurias was one of respect and esteem because the family was exceedingly charitable, willing to listen, and ready to give advice, guidance, a recommendation to the authorities, help in attaining a job, a contribution, a loan, and the like.301 In its own way, the Luria family influenced the modernization of Pinsk. There was, first of all, modern business administration. This required secular education, fluency in foreign languages, study of engineering and mechanics, and keeping up with developments in both fields, as well as familiarity with current Russian policy. Clerks, secretaries, and technicians operated within this environment and were surely affected by it. Other, smaller businessmen followed the Luria example and modernized their concerns. This resulted in the gradual evolution, even prior to establishment of a Jewish proletariat, of a class of clerks and administrative workers inherently more open to new ideas and accepting of the need for general education as self-evident. The Luria family exerted direct influence as employers and as officials and supervisors in public institutions; further, their aristocratic lifestyle also had indirect influence on the affluent class, which began to adopt new modes of speech and recreation. The younger generation of Lurias, Hayya Luria’s grandchildren, were apparently among the first to appropriate the habit of speaking Russian to their children at home. A few other families and members of the professional intelligentsia might have followed suit, but there is no sign that this phenomenon spread much further.302

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Fundamentalist Circles Pinsk had a small circle of extremely devout individuals who practiced the strictest religious observance. It was this group that succeeded, in the 1860s, in preventing study of Hebrew and Russian language and grammar in the Pinsk Talmud Torah. In the 1870s, their position weakened. An 1874 article by Moses Ha-Kohen Feigelson of Pinsk described the members of this group: “Those who fear for the word of God and His commandments . . . who guard the fortress of religion from even the slightest fissure . . . who continually sigh and groan . . . about the Haskalah with its power to seize the souls of the younger generation, thereby weakening the authority of faith . . . they are enveloped by anxiety.”303 These circles never actively fought the Haskalah. In 1875 and 1876, they even forfeited their influence over the Pinsk Talmud Torah. As a public force, their significance was miniscule and their influence negligible. Maggidim (itinerant preachers) who visited Pinsk from time to time were their mouthpiece.304 Jewish Pinsk, even with the triumph of Haskalah, remained in ­essence traditionally religious. In everything pertaining to observance and Torah study, the vast majority of Pinsk Jews conducted themselves as had their parents and grandparents before them. As for specific secular studies and Hebrew Haskalah, the majority opted for a middle road and willingly yielded to the need for study of secular subjects. This, a function of the new economic reality, was not difficult to justify with the reasoning often employed by Lithuanian rabbis and scholars: there was no conflict between Torah and knowledge. This approach was adopted in practice by the rabbis of Pinsk and Karlin, Elazar Moses Horowitz and David Friedman,305 two of the greatest Russian rabbis of the second half of the nineteenth century. The householder-scholars of Pinsk along with the majority of the city’s Jewish inhabitants accepted a school curriculum that combined traditional Jewish studies with secular subjects. The program reflected the desires and objectives of the wealthy and the middle-class merchants. The desirability of giving boys conventional religious learning combined with general education was self-evident, even for a man such as Moses Luria.306

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In the 1870s, among scholarly circles there arose an uneasiness that the balance between Torah study and Haskalah had been upset, in favor of Haskalah. The finer scholars set out to correct the situation, not by opposing enlightenment but by establishing popular study societies within the synagogue framework, in order to make Torah study accessible to all.307 The first to realize this need, in 1874, were congregants of the Shiva Keruim (Seven Elect) bet midrash in Pinsk. An article in the fundamentalist publication Ha-Levanon stated: Then they awoke and roused themselves. . . . Men of the spirit who felt the throbbing of holy religious fervor, and they said to each other . . . Come, let us strengthen ourselves for our Torah and form a group to study and teach and merge Torah and enlightenment, and so they resolved and formed a large society, the Talmud society in the Shiva Keruim bet midrash.

There was already a Talmud society in the bet midrash, at which a regular lecture was presented by “the rabbi and aristocrat, R. Jacob Kanel,” but this was a traditional study guild (hevrah), involving a small group, whereas the new society was meant to include the majority of the congregants. The society set down “rules and regulations to study Talmud with commentaries each day after morning and evening prayers, and, in the evening after the Minhah prayer, to hold a class in Meginei Eretz so that everyone could study practical observance.” On the Sabbath they would study Mesilat Yesharim (a moral guide) by Rabbi Moses Hayyim Luzzato. During the first year of its existence at least, study sessions were heavily attended. The congregants of the great bet midrash in Karlin followed the initiative of the Shiva Keruim and set up their own society for Torah study.308 In 1875, Rabbi Moses the son of Rabbi Mordecai Zakheim took the initiative “and called a meeting of young Jews who could not afford to hire themselves a rabbi to teach them the ways of the Talmud, and quenched their thirsty souls with the waters of the Talmud.” 309 ­Establishment of the circle for Talmud instruction for young people was most likely the result of discussion among the scholarly class that led to formulation of a program to inculcate knowledge of Talmud, Bible, and Jewish history in students attending institutions of general study,

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in order to fortify them spiritually and imbue them with love for their people and their Torah. One of the rich men of Pinsk “provided the necessary funds from his pocket.” This was an attempt to realize the plan proposed by rabbinic scholars and moderate Maskilim.310 This approach was rooted in the traditions and expectations of the Pinsk population. The study societies compounded the sociocultural influence of residents who succeeded in merging traditional religious education with the moderate Hebrew Haskalah. They created a population that was conscious of a profound connection to the nation and its culture. Kerman’s memoirs dealt extensively with Torah study, the behavior of Torah scholars, and the respect accorded them by the average person. We know the names and deeds of many scholars, both from the prosperous merchant class and from among the householders. Despite the relatively large size of the scholarly group, through the nineteenth century Pinsk was not an independent Torah study center. Great and honored rabbis, leaders in their time, and authors of important ­halakhic (Jewish legal) books presided over the Pinsk-Karlin rabbinate, but there is no firm evidence that a yeshiva existed in the city. Pinsk immersed itself in economic activity beginning in the second third of the nineteenth century, and this seemed to exhaust all of its resources.311 Pinsk did not play a role in the Lithuanian revival of Torah study. ­Perushim would arrive at the batei midrash to study on their own or with scholars, and the tolerant atmosphere prevalent in the city also attracted Perushim who were caught up in one way or another in ­Haskalah ideas. A Pinsker who wished to study Torah full-time would travel to one of the large Lithuanian institutions, generally the Volozhin yeshiva. It was, however, possible to attain a high level of talmudic and rabbinic erudition in the Pinsk and Karlin batei midrash, as did Rabbi Moses Aaron Shatzkes, who spent most of his life in the bet midrash of Rabbi Moses Isaac Levin in Karlin. In general, only a small number of people in the city devoted their lives entirely to Torah study. Pinsk and Karlin, as noted, used to import their melamdim (elementary teachers) from Lithuania.312 An 1885 article from Pinsk summarizes the situation: Our city of Pinsk is deficient in Torah as compared to the other cities of Lithuania and Samogitia [Zmudz], since it is a city of commerce,

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and few among the population concentrate completely upon Torah. There are, however, approximately eight men here worthy of occupying rabbinical posts, but they have not found positions.313

Such a statement could have been made about Pinsk during the 1860s and 1870s as well.

Educational Institutions During the first half of the nineteenth century, a single school with four classes served the non-Jewish population of Pinsk. This formerly Polish Jesuit school had been transferred to the administration of the Franciscan order in 1804 and took on the status of a district school. In 1832, the authorities turned it into a secular Russian school, apparently as part of the new policy adopted after suppression of the Polish Uprising of 1831. By 1855, the school was accorded the status of a humanities-oriented gymnasium, and subsequently, in the 1860s, it took on the status of a reali school (comprehensive high school).314 In a letter of March 1864 to Aaron Luria, Judah Leib Gordon referred to an incident concerning the first Jewish student in the gymnasium circa 1850 (when Gordon was in Pinsk): I recall that when I was in your home city, there was one Jewish student at the gymnasium, Abraham . . . by name . . . and the youngster would go as if sneaking to school, never walking through the street in the official school uniform: those clothes were left in the gymnasium building under guard, and the student would arrive in proper Jewish dress with long sidelocks. Once in the building he would fix his hair, curl his sidelocks behind his ears, don the student uniform, and be transformed into a different person.315

Through the middle of the nineteenth century, the Russian gymnasium had little relevance to the Jews of Pinsk, but apparently in 1850 it began to serve as an educational institution for the city’s Jewish children as well. Before surveying the role of the gymnasium in the cultural life of Pinsk Jewry, it is important to understand the history of nontraditional Jewish elementary schooling in Pinsk.

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The Government School The government school for the Jews of Pinsk was founded in 1853. Its establishment was one of a series of measures mandated by the 1844 law meant to impose enlightenment on the Jews through state-sponsored schools for them. This law was initiated by the then-minister of education, Uvarov, as part of a policy that aimed to “reform” the status of Russian Jews. Actual establishment of schools, based on the law, began only in 1847, and by 1853 fifty-one schools at the elementary level had been established; between 1854 and 1864, another forty-nine were founded.316 There were just a few Jewish state-sponsored secondary schools. The few facts available about the first twelve years (1853–1867) of the Pinsk school’s existence relate to statistics on the number of pupils317 and information about teachers working in the school. Year 1853 1854 1855 1856 1857 1860 1861 1862 1863 1864 1865 1866 1867

Students 28 32 28 22 33 33 33 38 34 36 31 35 at least 37

Ha-Carmel, 5 (1865), pp. 193–194, put the number for 1865 at 32. A Russian article in Ha-Carmel (Jan. 7, 1868) stated that in 1867 thirty-seven students from two classes took examinations.

During this period, according to official statistics, Pinsk had fiftyseven hadarim (traditional style one-room elementary schools), with a total enrollment of 291 students (the number was certainly several times higher than the official figure). An 1865 article from Pinsk, surveying the situation in the government school for Jews at the start of a new era in the history of general

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and Jewish education in Russia, sheds light on the history of the school from its establishment, describes something of the curriculum, and suggests indirect evidence of the Jews’ attitude toward the institution.318 The article makes it clear that in Pinsk, as in the majority of Russian Jewish communities, establishment of the school was not welcomed by the Jews. The Jews of Pinsk were aware that the Russian government’s enlightenment policy aimed to attract Jews to Christianity through the schools, although Haskalah circles in Vilna, Kremenetz (Krzemieniec), Odessa, and elsewhere responded positively and even enthusiastically to the plan.319 According to the article: Among other things that have improved over the years, thanks to the government, and particularly in relation to Jewish schools, our school has also been rejuvenated and favorably recognized, for the barrier, which had separated it from the residents of the city, has been removed.320

This statement, along with the statistics of the school’s enrollment, illustrates that from its establishment and until 1865 the school was less than successful and lacked the confidence of the population. The rest of the article shows that even when approximately twenty students registered at the beginning of the year most of them dropped out in the course of the term, and at the end there remained: only two or three youngsters who, due to poverty and want, found no place of refuge other than this school. . . . Sorzon and Horowitz, the teachers, sowed much and reaped little. . . . They did not harvest their sheaves joyfully, for when the students left the school, their knowledge left them, since they had never reviewed their studies; chaos reigned in the school, and there was no punishment for unruly boys.

An 1862 article from Pinsk further describes the situation in the school: No one cares about the school for Jewish youngsters, either; not a single one of the enlightened of our city, aristocrat or philanthropist has the courage to become supervisor for fear lest his name be dragged down among the masses and the lower classes and his detractors would be honored. Go ask one of the aristocrats . . . how many students are

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there in the school, who are they, do they have enough food, clothes to keep them warm in cold weather, what will they know if they succeed in their studies . . . ? For naught is all the toil of the respected, enlightened teacher . . . L. Horowitz, to establish new procedures . . . and there is no one to lend him support.321

The rich and enlightened were, accordingly, indifferent to the school’s fate; this article confirms the 1865 description.322 As elsewhere in Russia, the opening of the school in Pinsk was a matter of government fiat, with no recourse. The article mentions children who came to study in the school “due to poverty and want.” Like other communities, Pinsk was apparently obliged to find students in order to keep the institution going and probably drafted them from among the orphans and children of the poor.323 The government Jewish school in Pinsk was an elementary school. Students were enrolled at age eight, after they had studied with a melamed and learned Hebrew reading, basic prayers, and the stories of the first two books of the Bible.324 The official curriculum of government schools included study of the Hebrew language, reading and writing of Hebrew and the rudiments of Hebrew grammar, reading and writing in Russian and the rudiments of Russian grammar, and the four basic mathematical operations.325 In the Pinsk school, students were also taught Bible with German translation, Mishnah, Maimonides’ code, and Hayyei Adam (a digest of everyday Jewish practice).326 This was the custom in schools elsewhere in Russia too,327 as an accommodation to the majority of the Jewish population, which was well aware of the antitalmudic bias of the government schools. In ­elementary schools there were two classes, and that was the case in Pinsk. Graduates of these schools generally returned to melamdim to study Rashi’s biblical commentary and Talmud; this was the express desire of most parents.328 The principal of the Pinsk school, who also served as the Russian language instructor, was a Russian Christian, as was customary in government Jewish schools throughout the country. He was not suited for his task and was a failure as a teacher. The school had two teachers besides the principal: Simon Sorzon and Leib Horowitz, the latter a pillar of the school for many years and subsequently school principal in

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place of the Russian. When Horowitz was appointed to the position of principal, a new teacher was brought in from the Rabbinical Seminary in Vilna, apparently Leib Permut. In 1861, Sorzon and Permut received cash prizes from the authorities—fifty rubles each—as incentive and in recognition of their work.329 In 1865, there were four instructors in the school: the principal, Leib Horowitz, who also taught Russian (five times a week); Sorzon (seemingly the veteran member of the staff), who taught Bible with a German translation (in Hebrew transliteration), and Hebrew grammar; Rabinowitsch, who taught German and mathematics; and Permut, who taught “Hebrew composition, in a pure style . . . in addition to penmanship.”330 Starting in 1865, the school’s status somewhat improved. This probably resulted from changes in Russian educational policy, which left supervision of the elementary schools in the hands of the central administration while transferring the responsibility for founding and maintaining schools to the local authorities and the initiative of individuals and private societies.331 This policy reopened the question of the standing and purpose of the government Jewish schools. From the start, the new policy had a positive effect on the schools; the element of coercion disappeared and the atmosphere of suspicion dissipated. The Society for Promotion of Enlightenment, founded in Petersburg in late 1863 on the dynamic initiative of Baron Ginzburg, sponsored a lively public debate in 1864 concerning the position and future of the government Jewish schools. This event was, no doubt, instigated by the Russian minister of education.332 The society began to support the government schools and organized activists in the larger and medium-sized cities of Russia, including Pinsk, generally from among the wealthy and influential Maskilim who knew Russian. Gradually, enlightened Jewish circles began to show an interest in the schools. The society’s first report, from 1865, notes that a shipment of periodicals was sent to government Jewish schools, including the Pinsk school.333 In 1865, Moses Luria joined the Society for Promotion of Enlightenment as an active member. That same year, there were three such Pinsk members, classified as “payers”—that is, they donated funds to the soci-

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ety. This was during the era of liberal reforms under Alexander II, amid the tremendous communal consciousness raising that gripped Russian Jews; one of its prominent signs was a radical change in attitude toward the secular Haskalah. Many upstanding individuals began to consider enlightenment and affinity for Russian culture and society to be the panacea for the ills of Jewish society. Pinsk was part of this trend.334 Starting in 1865–1866, real improvement took place in the government Jewish school of Pinsk. Enrollment rose, the level of studies improved, and the attitude of the maskilic community changed for the better. The new government educational policy—oriented primarily toward Russification, and conscientious about school supervision—was probably the cause for deletion of Mishnah, Maimonides, and Hayyei Adam from the curriculum of the government Jewish schools, including the Pinsk institution. This apparently suited Haskalah circles, which saw intensification of Russian studies as a means to achieving political aims in anticipation of equal rights.335 A Russian article from 1868, written by Aaron Luria of Pinsk, disclosed that in 1867 the school maintained a morning session with at least thirty-seven regular students. There was also an afternoon session, for twenty-eight children, apparently heder students who arrived later in the day to receive instruction in Russian, arithmetic, and penmanship. In the official examinations of 1867, the superintendent of the city’s schools tested ninety-three students, among them the thirty-seven and twenty-eight just mentioned plus another eleven who had studied with private teachers. According to Aaron Luria, the students achieved satisfactory results; the grade two pupils exhibited good skills in Russian, German, and the other subjects. This description of the scholastic level and overall satisfaction contrasts starkly with the pitiful descriptions of the school’s first twelve years.336 Luria’s concern for the government school in Pinsk was a sign of the times and an indicator of involvement by the Pinsk Jewish intelligentsia in improving the institution in line with the ideals of the Society for Promotion of Enlightenment. In consideration of the requirement that Jews of merchant and townsman status teach their sons Russian whether in school or by private tutor, Luria praised the school for its fine achievements in Russian language fluency. The level attained by

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those with private tutors was low compared to the proficiency of those who studied Russian337 under Leib Horowitz, the school principal. Information about the government Jewish school from 1868 on is scant. The school did continue to exist into the 1870s; in 1872 it was mentioned among the schools that requested books from the Society for Promotion of Enlightenment.338 Despite the school’s improvement, and the interest Haskalah circles displayed in its advancement, the attitude of the larger society to the institution did not change much. In his memoir from the early 1870s, Kerman wrote about a meeting with a substantial group of people in the synagogue. Leib Horowitz, the school principal; Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg, the new state­appointed rabbi; and the principal of the government secondary school lectured to the audience, appealing to parents to enroll their sons in the school. According to Kerman, the crowd responded with vehement opposition and shouts of “Shkoles nie zhelayem” (“We don’t want schools!”). Only the presence of the police chief and Berchinsky’s tactic of demanding that all those without school-age children leave the hall saved the meeting. At the end, between thirty and fifty adolescent yeshiva students were registered for the school.339 This could only have happened prior to 1873, when official policy still entailed attracting Jewish students to the state-sponsored schools. The critical question is, What happened to the Pinsk school in 1873, when the government issued an order closing most of the governmentsponsored Jewish schools? Pursuant to the order, a private school was established in Pinsk that year. A Russian article from 1879 reports that the government Jewish school was then still in existence but functioning under miserable conditions, deficient in facilities and furnishings. Its capable principal, Horowitz, departed to take a position as teacher at the Pedagogical Institute in Vilna (which replaced the Rabbinical Seminary that closed in 1873). Horowitz’s successor at the school was apparently unsuited for the job, and between 1873 and 1879 the school grew demoralized, as teachers began to seek out private students and neglect their regular work, perhaps because salaries were not paid on time. The school lost public trust once again, even though the parents’ desire to grant their sons secular Russian education only intensified.340 On July 1, 1879, the school was reorganized, in accordance with

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the 1873 law, as a “beginners’ Jewish school,” with one class. Two new teachers were dispatched, who energetically recruited new students and managed, with the active support of the state-appointed Rabbi ­Beilin, to enroll sixty pupils within a few days. During 1880 and 1881, the school also benefited from the assistance of the Society for Promotion of ­Enlightenment, which provided books and equipment. Leib Horowitz returned from Vilna to head the school, assisted by the teachers M. Strick and M. Abramovitz.341 As an active trustee of the Society for Promotion of Enlightenment, Aaron Luria probably assumed a serious role in advancing school affairs. Horowitz remained as principal until 1891 or sometime later; the school then continued to function, under the leadership of Dronzik, till 1899 at the latest.342

Girls’ Schools According to Honik’s summary, by 1853 there was a school for Jewish girls; in the 1860s, it had two classes and an average of thirty-three students. The founder of the school was Marcus Perl, known from documents and other testimony as a successful private teacher. Six years later, in 1859, a private Russian school for girls was opened by the Markovsky sisters, also with two classes, and in the 1860s fifteen to seventeen girls attended annually.343 On August 30, 1865, a government gymnasium for girls was opened. An article in Ha-Melitz related that, with establishment of the gymnasium, the men in charge approached the city’s prominent Jewish families and asked them to send their daughters to the school, undertaking to treat them like the non-Jewish girls, without discrimination.344 It is doubtful that girls’ education was taken seriously by the Jews of Pinsk.345 During the 1860s, the number of female pupils was small. Evidence from the late 1870s indicates that many girls went to study in other cities that had gymnasiums for girls (implying that the one in Pinsk had closed down). The wealthy sent their daughters abroad for schooling, “where they receive German education.”346 A Russian article from 1879 mentioned a private girls’ school headed by a certain Mrs. M., where the tuition was very high, forty to seventy rubles a year.347

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Rosenberg’s Private School In 1872, Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg returned to Pinsk from the Rabbinical Seminary in Zhitomir, and that same year he assumed the position of state-appointed rabbi. He promptly became an active member of the Society for Promotion of Enlightenment in the city and in 1873 founded a private school. This move might have been related to the 1873 law, which led to the closure of most of the government Jewish schools in Russia (the one in Pinsk was not affected). The government schools’ uncertain future, despite the continuing official educational policy, created a need for a general educational institution for Jewish children in Pinsk, and it was probably for this purpose that Rosenberg opened his school. One of its main goals was apparently to prepare pupils for continuing study in the government school. The St. Petersburg Society for Promotion of Enlightenment supported Rosenberg’s school.348 According to Rosenberg’s biography, written by Moses Rabinson and based on Rosenberg’s own recollections, the school was his crowning achievement. Russian language and literature and mathematics were taught, of course, but the curriculum emphasized Hebrew studies: Bible, Hebrew language and grammar, Jewish history and religion, and Talmud. The school’s orientation was traditional Orthodox, which merited the approval of most of the community, to the extent that even Rabbi Elazar Moses Horowitz permitted his grandson to attend. Rosenberg brought in Zvi Hirsch Maslanski to teach Bible.349 The radical Maskilim, in favor of Russified general education, did not appreciate Rosenberg’s direction. In 1879, he was harshly attacked in a Russian article written by someone from Pinsk, who signed his name “Gura Sion” (Mount Zion). The writer complained that Jewish children in Pinsk really had no organized school, and admission to the govern­ ment secondary school (the “reali school”) was blocked by, among other things, lack of an institution to prepare students properly.350 The writer noted that there was one school (referring to Rosenberg’s institution), but in his opinion it was really a heder, because the teachers were not teachers at all; they lacked training and could command only a few dozen words in Russian. Hebrew instruction was in the hands of

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melamdim who spoke “jargon” (that is, Yiddish) rather than Russian. School tuition, moreover, was high—thirty rubles a year. Rosenberg himself replied to this unjustified and distorted attack in an article that appeared in Russky Yevrei in early 1880,351 refuting most of Gura Sion’s claims. According to Rosenberg, his antagonist had no idea what he was talking about and knew nothing about the school. In three years of existence, twelve of its students had been accepted to the government school, two of them to the second grade, and none were in need of tutoring. Several students who had transferred to the govern­ment school following its reorganization returned to Rosenberg’s school. Other students qualified for admission to the government school but met with parental opposition. In support of his claims, Rosenberg cited the 1877 evaluation of the Vilna district supervisor of education, which cited the achievements of Rosenberg’s school as satisfactory. Rosenberg considered Gura Sion’s article a malicious, unsubstantiated attack aiming to discredit his school in the eyes of Pinsk Jewry. Perhaps Rosenberg’s orientation did not match the Russification ideals current in the late 1870s, but it did very much suit the spirit and wishes of most of Pinsk’s Jews. The attack on Rosenberg’s school might have affected his position in the city. In 1881, he was called to fill the post of state-appointed rabbi in Nikolayev (having been the crown rabbi in Pinsk until 1876). With his departure from Pinsk, the private school closed down briefly, but one of the teachers, Leib Rubakha, reopened it that same year.352

Secondary Education Between 1879 and 1880, an argument was conducted on the pages of Russky Yevrei. According to an article from 1879, the local government secondary school (the realschule [reali school] with six grades) was literally filled with Jewish students. There were no vacancies; many pupils waited several years to enter, while others were never accepted. The other article, from 1880, maintained that Jews did not overpopulate the government school; they constituted only one-third of the enrollment, or around sixty Jewish students. This dispute confirms that it

437

180

189

1878

1879

source: Posner 2, pp. 68–73.

201

194

1877

1882

197

1876

195

175

1875

195

166

1874

1880

168

1873

1881

Total Students

Year



table 6.8

70

67

69

67

55

60

59

56

53

42

34.8

34.4

35.4

35.5

30.6

30.9

29.9

32

31.9

25

Jews % Jews

Pinsk Reali Schools

298

268

257

237

216

219

178

185

184

142

19.9

19.4

18.4

17

16.4

16.8

14.7

15

17.1

15.5

Jews % Jews

Vilna District Reali Schools

401

417

402

366

312

270

271

261

271

197

32.3

34.3

33.3

32.8

31

29.2

29.7

29.7

31.6

23.6

Jews % Jews

Vilna District Pro-Gymnasiums

Jews in Secondary Educational Institutions in Pinsk and the Vilna District, 1873–1882

994

961

838

754

696

641

609

585

585

541

24.4

24.8

23.6

22.4

21.3

20.1

19.4

19

18

17.6

Jews % Jews

Vilna District Gymnasiums

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had become fashionable to complete secondary studies at the Russian government school. Jewish pressure on general educational institutions toward the end of the period under discussion was an established fact. A Razsvet writer from Pinsk correctly assessed the situation and added that even fundamentalist parents began to support enlightened education, acknowledging that it was the only way to improve their children’s material situation.353 This all came to pass a mere thirty years after the first Jewish boy dared to register for the Russian gymnasium in Pinsk (see Table 6.8). The change in Pinsk Jews’ attitude toward non-Jewish schooling began early in the liberal reign of Alexander II and gathered momentum during the 1860s and especially the 1870s. These were the years of the great Russian Jewish awakening, marked by a sharp debate over the material, political, and cultural future of Russian Jewry. The debate was carried on in the newly flourishing Hebrew- and Russianlanguage Jewish press, as well as in the newly combative and engaged Hebrew literature. During the transition from the 1850s to the 1860s—the peak of Pinsk economic growth and prosperity—the city had a large group of active Hebrew-oriented Maskilim. Conditions were right for Pinsk to become an integral part of the economic trends spreading from the capital of St. Petersburg and the large cities of southwestern Russia, with which Pinsk had strong business ties. The city’s demographic character and its cultural-social traditions gave a local twist to the way in which Pinsk Jewry was caught up in Haskalah trends.

The Gymnasium Apart from Judah Leib Gordon’s testimony about the first Jewish student who attended the Pinsk Russian gymnasium in 1850, there is no explicit evidence about Jewish students in the gymnasium during the 1850s. Aaron Luria, the son of Moses Luria, who was Gordon’s pupil in 1851, received his general and Jewish education from private teachers, among them the principal of the Russian gymnasium,354 but he was not enrolled in the institution. It is probable that a number of Jewish students attended the Russian gymnasium in the 1850s, and even more

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during the transition years early in Alexander’s liberal reign. An 1862 article from Pinsk summarizes the work of Shulgin, the gymnasium principal, who was forced to leave his position in Pinsk that year to accept a post as head of the gymnasium in Mozyr: This wonderful person was concerned for the welfare of Jewish boys who were students at the gymnasium, [and he intended] to establish, alongside our school, another school for instruction in trade and purchasing, a realschule for Jewish children, without taking funding from the government.355

Shulgin hoped for support from wealthy Pinsk Jews, but before he could realize his plan he was compelled to leave the city. The article indicated that Shulgin strove to attract Jewish students to the gymnasium, attempting to reduce opposition to study there by exempting Jews from Saturday classes and organizing the schedule so that they missed the minimum.356 The 1860s were characterized by a great influx of Jewish boys into Russian secondary schools and intensified Russification tendencies within the Jewish community.357 Enrollment in a secondary school was often a daring personal decision made by the boy himself, in the face of parental opposition and sometimes even leading to estrangement. Another article from 1862 told the story of a talented boy of seventeen, from a poor family, who was a regular visitor in the home of a certain aristocrat. The aristocrat’s son-in-law, along with a few friends, decided to finance the boy’s study at the gymnasium, as well as hire a teacher to “instruct him in God’s Bible and the Jewish religion.” This aroused the ire of the “unforgivably benighted” pious people—apparently Hasidim, who attempted to reverse the boy’s decision and forcibly prevent him from attending the gymnasium. These fundamentalists prevailed on the boy’s father not to remain silent, prompting him to accuse his son’s benefactors of kidnapping a child from the arms of his parent. He swore “to lash his son’s flesh with whips and thorns” and succeeded in extricating him from the gymnasium.358 In the early 1860s, fundamentalist opposition to study in the gymnasium was intense but incapable of withstanding the rising tide of Jews pouring into the general schools. It was customary for Jews attending the gymnasium to engage in

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Hebrew studies, in addition to the religious studies offered there. In 1874, a writer in Ha-Maggid warned against the danger of students becoming alienated from Judaism, unless they learned Talmud, Bible, and Jewish history: Then they would not easily stumble on the road of Life. . . . With such knowledge, they would be able to confront their enemies. . . . Then we could have hope that the new generation would also enhance Torah and advance wisdom, to the credit of Judaism and the Jews.359

This summons was probably addressed to a minority of parents, because most Jewish students did receive a Jewish education.

Commercial School Awakened interest in general studies for Jewish children was related to the problem of the practical consequences of education. Starting in the 1860s, it became clear to broad sectors of the Jewish community that secondary education would improve the material circumstances of its recipients. At the same time, questions were raised about proper training for the primary occupation of the Jewish population: commerce. A Russian article from 1866 stated that Pinsk merchants initiated efforts to establish a commercial school for their children similar to the one in Minsk. By the mid-1870s, instead of the new school a commercial track was opened in the gymnasium. It failed to attract registration; in 1879, it had only two students, while pressure on the regular track of the school was intense. An 1880 article reported that the commercial track was to be closed down and replaced by a technical-commercial track, the school’s seventh class.360 During the same period of severe economic crisis in Pinsk, newspaper articles did not cease trumpeting the need for a trade school. The concept was realized only after 1880.

Talmud Torah During the 1860s, two Talmud Torahs were established in Pinsk and Karlin. From the start, the schools’ orientation tended toward expanding the curriculum beyond the subjects studied in the traditional

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hadarim. The Talmud Torahs were meant to serve primarily the children of the working class. Among the founders of the two institutions were the rabbi of Pinsk, Elazar Moses Horowitz, and members of the scholarly and wealthy merchant class. The Talmud Torahs in Pinsk and Karlin were a response to the times: the clamor for general education for Jewish children and the popularity of the Russian government school. The Talmud Torah perpetuated the traditional curriculum, while simultaneously offering instruction in both Hebrew and Russian language and writing as well as arithmetic.

The Pinsk Talmud Torah The Pinsk Talmud Torah was founded in 1862. According to a secondary source, the founding document—handwritten by Elazar Moses Horowitz, the rabbi of Pinsk, two years after he assumed his post—was preserved in the archives of the Talmud Torah (now lost). In this document, he pledged his community to give the Talmud Torah as much support as possible.361 On November 6, 1862, Ha-Melitz reported that Hayya Luria had contributed a sum of money to build a “large, splendid building” for the Talmud Torah, which cost almost three thousand rubles.362 The building was erected first, after a year or two of planning and construction, and the Talmud Torah was formally established and opened afterwards. The students were mostly from the working class and the poor. During the first year of the Pinsk Talmud Torah’s existence, 180 children studied in twelve groups, fifteen pupils to a teacher. Six groups, or half of the children, studied in “facilities provided by the synagogues” (that is, hadarim) outside the Talmud Torah building. From the age of five or six boys were accepted to the Talmud Torah, the majority of them “abandoned and orphaned.” Volunteers arranged daily “square meals.” With regard to the boys’ clothing, activists decided to purchase woolen fabric to prepare winter uniforms for the needy. Expenditures were to be covered by contributions from Jewish Pinsker donors.363 On January 13, 1863, a short while after establishment of the Talmud Torah, a Maskil-style article was sent from Pinsk,364 sharply criticizing the new institution. The article included information on plans drawn

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up by the founders (at least some of them) and the manner in which they were carried out. The core of the article dealt with the founders’ decision to give the students uniform woolen clothes, and the undoing of the project by someone called “Asahil, head officer.” Incidentally, the article included a detailed description of the Talmud Torah’s structure and developments during its first year. In his claim against the initiators of the woolen uniform, Asahil maintained: Their motives were not for the sake of Heaven, and an alien spirit moved them to dress these boys in Gentile clothes, like students who attend schools for non-Jews . . . for the thorns of this sin will ensnare more and worse abominations . . . since, if the students wear woolen clothes, the teachers will assume license to do the same . . . and take the liberty of wearing vests of the forbidden sort. Will the melamdim don forbidden shatnez [mixture of wool and linen]?

In other words, the fear that students’ uniforms (religiously permitted) would lead to teachers adopting fashionable clothing that would contain prohibited fabric mixtures prevented further distribution of uniforms, to the distress of those who had sponsored the idea, and of Maskil circles who scrutinized events in the Talmud Torah. Members of Asahil’s coterie succeeded in annulling the proposal to introduce the study of Hebrew writing (grammar and penmanship) and ousted the writing teacher, against the principal’s wishes. Study of the Russian language, contemplated by some of the Talmud Torah founders, as in Minsk and Odessa, was not introduced either. The style of Bible and Talmud study in the Talmud Torah followed that of the traditional hadarim.365 From these complaints, it is apparent that practices and programs planned by the founders—who served as officials and as principal of the school—were not implemented during the first year of the Talmud Torah’s existence, owing to opposition by the fundamentalists. The antagonists in the Talmud Torah controversy were the official administrators of the Talmud Torah and “Asahil, the head officer.” This name seems to refer to Heshel, or Joshua Heshel Roke’ah, Hayya Luria’s eldest son from her first marriage. Heshel Roke’ah, a man of the old school, had inherited his wealth and lived off the interest. Roke’ah

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was recognized as a distinguished Torah scholar and a pious man. He would not countenance expansion of the Talmud Torah curriculum and was vehemently opposed to innovations in traditional education. The article reported, “And the spirit seized Asahil the head officer, and he raised his voice like a trumpet to inform his people of their sin.” It went on to say that “his zealousness burns within him against the sons of Uriel.” “Sons of Uriel” apparently referred to members of the Luria family, the children of his mother Hayya Luria from her second marriage, and those related to them by marriage. Heshel Roke’ah was thus feuding with his own relatives. The article hinted broadly at the identity of the founding officials, who wished to modify the educational direction of the Talmud Torah, by adopting certain ideas of the moderate Haskalah. Facing off over the barricade were descendants of Hayya Luria, whose funds had built the Talmud Torah. A later article implied that the Talmud Torah officials opposed by Heshel Roke’ah were Moses Luria (Hayya Luria’s son), his brother-in-law Joseph Ettinger, and Shabtai Simhowitz.366 It is not surprising that representatives of the young commercial bourgeoisie, members of the Luria family, should have attributed importance to study of Hebrew writing and grammar and study of Russian. They furnished their sons with broad education and were of the opinion that a measure of enlightenment was necessary for Talmud ­Torah pupils, to prepare them for “real life” (“Everyone knows that one who is illiterate, gropes in the dark in the business world”), and that this was not biblically proscribed.367 At the end of the first school year, school officials from the Luria family made an attempt to restore their influence over the Talmud ­Torah. Samuel Kornfeld, author of the article, informed his readers several months later, on March 11, 1863,368 “that my comments on the local Talmud Torah had an effect, for they have begun to do as I wished.” Kornfeld indicated that Moses Luria agreed to assume the responsibility for running the Talmud Torah, and that Joseph Ettinger (his sister’s husband) and Shabtai Simhowitz were testing the boys and singling out those who did not excel in Talmud study, to place them with craftsmen for instruction in a trade. These boys attended the Talmud Torah only on the Sabbath, for a lesson on the weekly Torah reading

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and aggadah. According to this article, the officials intended to enact additional regulations “in order to enhance Torah, and weed out the poisonous root of laziness from our young people.” The writer understandably praised their aim of “arousing the desire and love for work,” especially since “the hope awaits us . . . that the gates of Russia will be opened before us . . . and who will be the first to enjoy its benefits, if not the artisans?”369 It is doubtful that the Talmud Torah officials were successful.370 Rather, it appears that members of Joshua Heshel’s group retrieved control and determined policy up to the mid-1870s. An 1876 article in Ha-Zefirah compared the Talmud Torahs of Pinsk and Karlin, painting a sad picture of the situation in Pinsk. Although “the sun of knowledge beamed its golden rays” on the Karlin Talmud Torah, of the Pinsk Talmud Torah the article said: A fog still hangs over this house in the city of Pinsk, even though ­people with vision are involved there, too, but they do not see the boys’ welfare clearly. . . . They have chosen antiquated ways . . . to ­despise knowledge and mock all reason, and the interior of the building is like its exterior, rays of intelligence cannot enter, they do not open windows to give light, the Talmud teachers still recoil in fear from the image of wisdom and the administrators dread its visage. . . . Moreover, they hasten in their jealousy to speak out against the arrangements of the house there [in Karlin].

Further on, the article reported that the rabbi of Pinsk, Elazar ­Moses Horowitz, “with his broad sagacity realized the harm of the state of affairs prevailing there, and several weeks ago, called a meeting to improve the situation.” The writer appealed to Mikhel (Ettinger) to apply the full weight of his influence in order to ameliorate the situation.371 In 1876, action was taken to remedy matters in the Pinsk ­Talmud ­Torah. That year, the thirty-four-year-old Samuel Goldblatt of Vilkomir was appointed principal of the Talmud Torahs in Pinsk and Karlin. ­Ettinger, the leading official of the Karlin Talmud Torah, was probably instrumental in the appointment. Goldblatt headed the two Talmud Torahs over the course of twenty years and succeeded in introducing improved practices and raising the level of studies in the Pinsk Talmud Torah to match that of Karlin. In 1880, the facilities of

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the Pinsk ­Talmud Torah were expanded thanks to an additional contribution from the Luria family, facilitating more improvements.372

The Karlin Talmud Torah In Karlin, as in Pinsk, the Talmud Torah was founded in the early 1860s;373 its building was constructed with funds contributed by Hayya Luria. An 1868 article written in Pinsk, glorifying Karlin’s institutional framework and philanthropy, opened with praise for Hayya Luria, “who volunteered to build a beautiful building for the Talmud Torah, for the benefit of the poor boys of the city.”374 In his memoirs, Kerman devoted a chapter to the scholarly Maskil administrator of the Talmud Torah, Meir Levin. Meir Levin was the son of the renowned aristocrat and philanthropist Moses Isaac, and the grandson of Saul Levin. Hayya Luria was his aunt, and Meir was himself an in-law to Hayya Luria’s son, Moses Luria. It is therefore no surprise that he was appointed administrator of the Talmud Torah built with Hayya Luria’s funds. Meir probably held this position from the opening of the Karlin Talmud Torah until the mid-1870s; by 1876, Mikhel Ettinger had taken over.375 Meir Levin established proper administrative procedures, hired good teachers, and put the school on a high level. He also implemented a course of study, which included secular studies, according to a predetermined curriculum. The educational head of the Talmud Torah was Eliezer Itche of Volkovisk.376 The 1876 article377 that described the dismal situation in the Pinsk Talmud Torah extolled the Talmud Torah in Karlin for its administration, its educational orientation, and the achievements of its students. In the writer’s opinion: This institution is well-suited for enlightening and thoroughly preparing their sons to walk in the right path . . . for Torah and [outside] wisdom issue forth together from this house, since their eyes are open and aware . . . so that everything is done by proper and appropriate regimen.

The administrator of the Karlin Talmud Torah at the time was Mikhel Ettinger, and the writer credited him with the successes and accomplishments.

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Also in 1876, 230 students from ten classes stood for public examinations before the rabbi of Karlin, David Friedman (Reb Dovid’l ­Karliner), and city notables. The students’ excellent achievements enhanced the school’s prestige. The Talmud Torah’s enrollment reached 300 and included students from Pinsk and outside the city. Study of Hebrew language and grammar, Russian language, and arithmetic were an accepted part of the curriculum during the 1870s, and it may be assumed that this had been the case from the institution’s inception. In 1876, as has been noted, Samuel Goldblatt of Vilkomir was appointed principal of both Pinsk and Karlin Talmud Torahs. His astute and vigorous direction consolidated the Karlin school’s image as an outstanding institution, respected for its religious studies and the study of Hebrew, Russian, and arithmetic. The curriculum was designed to give students Torah knowledge, as well as prepare them for activity in commerce, the crafts, or as clerks. Rabbi David Friedman approved of the Talmud Torah’s orientation and was involved in its supervision and activities. When necessary, he took steps to rally support for the school. As in 1876, the 1880 public examinations of Karlin students prior to Passover in the presence of Rabbi David Friedman and communal notables produced a sense of satisfaction on the part of those responsible for the Talmud Torah. According to an enthusiastic article by Samuel Zvi Kamenetzky, the level of accomplishment was high. What a great pleasure to see and hear how the children of the poor . . . understand the Bible. . . . Many of them know how to write and read clearly and pleasingly in our language as well as the language of the land, and the older ones know the Pentateuch and the Prophets almost by heart, and the portions of the Talmud that their teachers taught them, as well. They are properly familiar with Hebrew grammar and Russian grammar, to the extent that many write clearly and rapidly without mistakes or faults, and they are similarly capable in arithmetic.378

Hebrew Maskilim, like Kamenetzky, were pleased with the pedagogical practices and the curriculum of the Karlin Talmud Torah and saw it as a model institution. There were between two hundred and three hundred students in the Karlin Talmud Torah. The number of classes was not constant and ranged from seven to ten, depending on the size of enrollment. ­Until

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the late 1870s, the Karlin Talmud Torah apparently had no financial problems. Financing was mostly by donations (primarily from the Luria family and other affluent citizens), bequests, and endowments, and partly by tuition. Only a very small portion of the budget came from the communal treasury.379 In 1879–1880, a year of severe economic crisis, the income of the Karlin Talmud Torah was 3,132.29 rubles, while expenditures totaled 3,452.29 rubles. In other words, that fiscal year closed with a small deficit of 320 rubles. The budget for the Talmud Torah from Iyar 5639 until Iyar 5640 (1879–1880) was published in Ha-Maggid, 24 (September 1, 1880), p. 300, with the details given in Table 6.9. An article from Karlin about the financial problems of the Talmud Torah shows that the Karlin public regarded the deficit seriously,

table 6.9 Budget for Talmud Torah Contributions

Income

Heshel Levin

183.30 rubles

Moses Luria

110.00

David Luria

107.00

Estate of Hayya Luria

68.40

Zundel Eisenberg

59.00

Misc. contributions

1,004.22

Total contributions

1,606.99

Money from fundraising projects (Yom Kippur candles, “fasting fee” matzo money, Purim money, fast-day collection plates, meat-tax appropriation) 178.24 Tuition

1,347.06

Total income

3,132.29

Expenses: teachers, books, misc.

3,452.29

(Deficit)

(320.00)

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e­ specially because through 1880 the situation further deteriorated, the number of donors decreased, and many parents could no longer afford to pay tuition. In 1881, to contend with the crisis, two meetings were called, with the participation of R. David Friedman, and it was decided to organize a collection. The result of this decision is not known, but testimony about the Karlin Talmud Torah during the 1880s indicates that the deficit was eliminated. During 1879–1880, changes took place in the Talmud Torah administration and schedule. After Ettinger left Karlin for business reasons, supervision was transferred to Joshua Eliezer Ratin and Isidore (Isser) Luria. In practice, Ratin took charge, even though he was actually Luria’s assistant. Both were known as Maskilim.380 Shortly after assuming their positions, Ratin developed a new curriculum, at the initiative and with the cooperation of Samuel of Vilkomir, the Talmud Torah principal. Details are unavailable, but the underlying principle (according to ­Kamenetzky’s article) was that: It is not quantity of studies, which brings blessing to the boy, nor is that the way to arrive at perfect knowledge and development of talents, for a little [knowledge and talent] accompanied by sincerity, is preferable to much without.381

This probably refers to the decision to curtail the studies of less capable students and open a vocational track for them. The severe economic crisis of the late 1870s and the lively public debate in Pinsk over ways to ameliorate the situation (already discussed) apparently influenced those responsible for running the Karlin Talmud Torah too. They tried to involve the Talmud Torah in a constructive solution to the question of the economic future of the younger generation and altered the curriculum to emphasize training in crafts. It should not be assumed, however, that any attempt was made to reduce study time for pupils qualified for academic studies, or to upset the balance between religious and general studies.382 Ratin’s new program aroused serious controversy in fundamentalist circles, which had not approved of the previous curriculum either. When the Talmud Torah activists, along with Rabbi Friedman and Karlin Jewish aristocrats, met to consider how to raise funds to cover

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Talmud ­Torah ­expenditures for 1880, these circles took the opportunity to openly express their dissatisfaction not only with the new program but also with the educational approach espoused by the Talmud Torah since its inception. At the meeting, which took place in Rabbi Friedman’s house on ­October 7, 1880: The topic turned to the teachers and students and the program ­decided upon. . . . And those who called themselves . . . God-fearing and ­pious began to criticize and denounce the educational approach which was not identical to the one used during the last forty or fifty years. In the Talmud Torah the sons of the poor were taught . . . secular studies as well: our Hebrew language and the language of the land and arithmetic. They slandered . . . the heads of the Talmud ­Torah and its administrators, saying that they considered Talmud study of secondary importance, and other studies primary in importance, and the number of pages of Talmud covered during an entire semester was very small.383

A furor ensued, and matters reached the point that Ratin and Isidore Luria relinquished active administration of Talmud Torah affairs. The principal of the Talmud Torah, Samuel Goldblatt of Vilkomir, vigorously refuted the attacks, declaring: The teachers will not engage in deceit and will faithfully fulfill their obligations. The subjects taught to the students are absolutely necessary. . . . And if they [the God-fearing and pious] consider these studies and the other sciences, besides the Talmud, to be superfluous . . . not worth the money and the time invested, let them shoulder the responsibility of running the Talmud Torah.384

The principal’s strong stand, undoubtedly supported by many of the city’s Jewish elite, and the resignation of Ratin and Isidore Luria apparently accomplished their purpose. Those responsible for the educational orientation of the Talmud Torah took the offensive and convinced most of the public that it is a lie to say that study of Talmud is not highly regarded in the Talmud Torah and that it is discriminated against among the other subjects. This charge is fabricated by wicked and slanderous individuals.

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The activists pointed to Rabbi Friedman’s attestation to the students’ proficiency after he had examined them in Talmud, and his opinion that “the study methods are suitable and irreproachable.” 385 Samuel Zvi Kamenetzky’s appeal to Isidore Luria and Ratin, in the pages of Ha-Maggid, to return to supervision of the Talmud Torah followed the repulsion of the attack by “the God-fearing and pious” and ratification of the new program, which apparently merited the approval of the rabbi as well. No information is available about the fate of the fundraising campaign or the extrication of the Talmud Torah from its budgetary problems. Later data from 1887–1878 and 1895 indicate that the difficulties were resolved and the Talmud Torah continued to develop as an outstanding educational institution under the efficient stewardship of Samuel of Vilkomir, assisted administratively by officials from the Luria family.386

Hadarim, Melamdim The extended discussion of new types of schools and the Pinsk and Karlin Talmud Torahs might give the impression that the time­honored institution of Jewish education, the traditional heder, had collapsed and lost its importance. Such was not the case. The sources, unfortunately, contain little information about the hadarim and the melamdim (teachers), making it difficult to describe them in the period between 1850 and 1870. There are, however, clear signs that despite their defensive posture the Pinsk hadarim retained a strong hold. The general public clung loyally to the hadarim and melamdim and continued to entrust them with their children’s education.387 With the establishment of the Pinsk and Karlin Talmud Torahs in the early 1860s, traditional melamdim were incorporated into the new organizational framework. During its first year of existence, some of the Pinsk Talmud Torah pupils studied outside the Talmud Torah building “in facilities provided by the synagogues”—that is, with melamdim who were formally co-opted to the Pinsk Talmud Torah. Their educational methodology underwent no change, and even ten years later the traditional method of teaching Talmud reigned.388

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The sons of the rich studied religious subjects with private teachers. Aaron Luria’s letter of 1863 to Y. L. Gordon, describing his studies through the 1850s, is instructive: During this entire period, most of my time was devoted to Talmud, and I studied secular subjects only two or three hours a day. Of all my Talmud teachers, none had any understanding at all of their task, except for one old man, R. Moses Leib by name, who taught us when I was fifteen and sixteen years old. He was a very learned man, knew the Hebrew language (within the limitations of his generation) and loved the plain meaning of the text, and, especially, delved deeply into Rashi’s commentary on the Bible and the Talmud, for, in his opinion, there was no end to the profundity of this commentator’s thoughts on every letter and tittle. My teachers never taught Bible at all, considering such study not worth the time, or thinking that the words of the Prophets encouraged sinners.389

Kerman’s memoirs include a brief description of his early years of study, in the hadarim and then in the Karlin Talmud Torah. When he was three and a half, around Passover time in 1862, he was entrusted to his first melamed. As was the custom in Eastern Europe when a child was brought to the heder for the first time, he was wrapped in a tallit (prayer shawl) and raised to kiss the mezuzah (parchment scroll on the doorpost). Those present recited the shehehiyanu blessing of thanksgiving and added: “God willing, successfully into the heder and from the heder to the wedding canopy.” One year later, Mordecai advanced from the beginners’ teacher to the teacher of Pentateuch. Kerman commented that the latter did not know how to explain the text in words and explained with his hands (that is, he beat the children). A year later, in 1864, Kerman was transferred to the Karlin Talmud Torah for continuation of his studies. Of the difference between the Talmud Torah and the earlier hadarim, Kerman said, “There [in the Talmud Torah], at least, there is a floor and there are no cats, roosters, goats.” Kerman’s depiction of his early melamdim was not heartening. Of his first teacher in the Talmud Torah, however, he spoke with frank affection, not only because he was a fine melamed but also because he served as a model in his faith and his personal conduct. Similarly, Kerman favorably noted his melamed for Talmud at the Karlin Talmud Torah, “R. Itsele Antopolier.”390

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An 1880 article, written in Russian by Grigory Luria, noted that the number of melamdim in the city had decreased from 150 to 40. He was probably referring to the 1860s and 1870s. As for the figures themselves, it is doubtful they were accurate. Even though Luria’s article was intended to refute exaggerated figures appearing in an earlier Russian article, which told of a decrease in melamdim in Pinsk from 400 to 20 (!), on the basis of verifiable data on the numbers of melamdim and hadarim in Pinsk at the start of the twentieth century one can say that even Luria’s corrected figures are unlikely. Some of the melamdim who gave up their own hadarim were integrated, as noted, into the Talmud Torah institutions of Pinsk and Karlin; some surely found a livelihood in private tutoring, and apparently only a few were forced to find alternative means of making a living.391 Kerman wrote that Meir Levin, the administrator of the Karlin Talmud Torah during the 1860s and early 1870s, was also the supervisor of the Talmud hadarim and in this role imported melamdim from Lithuania. He brought them without their families, to prevent distraction and to make it easier to fire them if warranted. If the melamed from Lithuania proved himself during the trial period, Levin requested that he return after the semester break; otherwise, he was told to stay home.392 The first principal of the Karlin Talmud Torah was Eliezer Itche of Volkovisk. The second principal (who served concomitantly as principal of the Pinsk Talmud Torah) was Samuel Goldblatt of Vilkomir. Mordecai Kerman’s Talmud teacher was Itsele Antopolier. In 1875, Zvi Hirsh Maslanski arrived in Pinsk from Slutsk. He taught from the late 1870s until 1881 in the Talmud Torahs, in Rosenberg’s school and privately. Hirsh Zilberman, the “Slutsker melamed,” taught in Pinsk during a somewhat later period. A number of melamdim possessed of outstanding pedagogical skills and knowledge were concentrated in Pinsk and Karlin.393 It appears that teachers migrated to Pinsk-Karlin starting in the second half of the nineteenth century, during the period of economic prosperity. Melamdim, like the autodidactic Maskilim and the trained teachers, were attracted by the opportunity to earn a living, by the tolerant religious atmosphere, and by the Pinsk rabbis’ and scholars’ ­acceptance of the moderate Hebrew Haskalah. Even melamdim of the old school absorbed more than a little of the

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spirit of the times. Some displayed great interest in the Hebrew press, read Haskalah literature, and attempted to adapt their knowledge and teaching methods to the new era.394

Societies and Benevolent Institutions The first newspaper article from Karlin, printed in Ha-Maggid in 1857, stated, “There were many societies within [the city] for all good and productive purposes; for Torah, charity and acts of kindness.” 395 The statement was equally applicable to Pinsk. The earliest documentation of Pinsk and Karlin groups devoted to Torah, benevolence, and good deeds dates from the beginning of the nineteenth century. In his initial will (composed in 1819), Saul Levin of Karlin listed bequests of 200 zlotys each to the Pinsk Society for Visiting the Sick and the Pinsk Talmud Torah Society, as well as 400 zlotys to the Karlin Society for Visiting the Sick and 150 rubles to the Karlin Burial Society.396 Pinsk and Karlin also had a general benevolent society, because Saul Levin requested in his will that they see to proper procedure in administering the Benevolent Society, whose funds had been altogether depleted. All matters related to capital and interest, loans and savings, and procedures, should always be decided in conjunction with my wife and sons; if they do not agree among themselves, the majority should rule, and after their death, matters should in each case, be determined by the closest relative.397

In the course of the nineteenth century, the number of charitable associations significantly increased. An 1875 article in Ha-Levanon noted, “Many are the distinguished societies that have been established here for the love of man, in general, and the service of God, in particular.” Saul Mendel Rabinowitsch confirmed the proliferation of such groups in his 1895 article, “Pinsk-Karlin and Their Residents,” which listed them by name.398 Multiplicity of voluntary organizations was characteristic of Jewish communities in nineteenth-century Russia, as an outgrowth of limitations on autonomy and the formal abolition of the kahal in 1844. Pinsk’s enhanced economic status and its citizens’ diverse charitableness constituted a solid material base for the activities of the associations, many of which established impressive institutions and edifices.399

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Pinsk Hevrah Kaddisha (Burial Society) and Hevrah Ketanah (Small Society) Pinsk, like most Jewish communities, had a venerable hevrah kaddisha, whose task was to attend to the needs of the deceased. In 1799, the society’s records were burned, and in 1800 a new record book was opened. At the end of the nineteenth century, seventy Pinsk notables were members of the society. They themselves did not engage in burial; that responsibility was the province of the hevrah ketanah, under their supervision. In the late nineteenth century, this society numbered 170 members, mostly from the working classes.400

Pinsk Bikkur Holim (Society for Visiting the Sick) The Pinsk Society for Visiting the Sick was established by the beginning of the nineteenth century. It may be assumed that it functioned throughout the century to support the sick and provide for their treatment. An 1878 article reported that the society could not cover hospitalization costs for poor patients because of lack of funds. The article linked the society’s financial straits to Pinsk’s economic crisis, “and the outcry of the unfortunate is great.” Prominent citizens met to seek a solution and decided to establish a free health service, raising money to cover expenditures. Twelve distinguished representatives were chosen. Responsibility for hospitalization of poor patients was transferred from the society to the hospital, while the society continued to serve its other functions.401

Pinsk Hevrat Linah (Assistance to the Sick) Toward the end of the nineteenth century, Pinsk also had an association402 whose purpose was to provide nursing care for the infirm. It is not clear when the group was founded, nor whether it existed prior to 1880.

Pinsk Hevrot Limud Torah (Torah Study Societies) Pinsk had a Torah Study Society, the Hevrah Talmud Torah, at the start of the nineteenth century. By the 1890s, there were several Torah study

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groups: Hevrat Torah, Hevrat Shas (Talmud Society), Hevrat Mishnayot (Mishnah Society), Hevrat Ein Ya’akov (Aggadic Study Society), Hevrat Tehillim (Psalms Society), and Hevrat Shomrim La-Boker (early risers for the purpose of prayer and study). The Talmud Society, which functioned alongside the Shivah Keruim Synagogue, has already been discussed, as well as the new Talmud Society founded in 1874 to broaden study among the general public.403

Pinsk Hevrot Gemilut Hasadim (Free Loan Societies) At the end of the nineteenth century Pinsk had two free loan societies. The first, Hevrah Gomelei Hasadim, almost certainly existed before 1880. This society solicited donations from its members and from the population at large and supplied the needy with interest-free loans against pledges. When the Karlin Gemilut Hasadim Society was founded in 1882, along the same lines as the one in Pinsk, the members decided to dispatch three rubles each month to Jews inducted into the army, to enable them to eat kosher food. This was probably the practice in Pinsk too.404 Sources from the 1880s mention the Somekh Noflim societies, which supported people whose livelihood was suddenly ruined, and the Hevrah Honenei Dalim, an institution for lending money against pledges. There is no way to know whether these groups existed before 1880. In 1881 or 1882, a benevolent free loan society was organized by women.405

Karlin Hevrah Kaddisha and Hevrah Ketanah The Karlin burial society, imperative once Karlin became an independent community with its own cemetery, was founded during the 1780s. In his will, Saul Levin bequeathed 150 rubles to the Hevrah Kaddisha and requested that they not demand a higher sum from his heirs, because he had done his duty by fellow town residents during his lifetime. The sum of 150 rubles was, in effect, a burial fee, indicating that the Hevrah Kaddisha charged for its services in proportion to the wealth of the deceased. In terms of structure and responsibilities, the Karlin Hevrah Kaddisha and Hevrah Ketanah were similar to those of Pinsk.406

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Karlin Hevrah Shas (Talmud Society) A handwritten minute book (pinkas) of the Karlin Talmud Society from 1832–1842 includes information about Torah study and the structure of the society. This is an important and instructive source, even though the entries are few and somewhat haphazard. During the 1830s, fifty-six members were registered in the society as “systematically learning Talmud on a daily basis.” The society’s by-laws are not preserved, but its structure is clear. An individual wishing to be accepted to the society would pay a deposit “according to the regulations, undertaking to observe all the rules explained in the record book.” New members were officially admitted after five electors confirmed the candidate’s acceptance. One of the electors served as the society’s secretary.407 From among its members, the society elected four administrators ( gabbaim), two trustees (ne’emanim), two recording secretaries (mahzikei pinkas), four replacement administrators (nikhnasim), two chairmen (rashei hevrah), and three supervisors (mashgihim). Elections were conducted in secret, by the electors, apparently five in number. It is not clear from the record book how the electors were chosen, or what the precise responsibilities of the other officials were.408 Every member took upon himself daily Talmud study. The roster of members comprised the social and scholarly elite of Karlin. Among the members or candidates for membership were Rabbi Jacob ben Aaron Barukhin and his sons, the sons of Saul Levin, Moses Luria, Joshua Heshel Roke’ah, and young people who became famous later on, such as Aaron Moses Shatzkes (1836).409 It was certainly an honor to be a member of the Talmud Society, and it may be that these men constituted the “Scholars’ Circle,” which played a juridical role during the tenure of Rabbi Hayyim ben Peretz Ha-Kohen.410

Karlin Hevrot Gemilut Hasadim A free loan society existed in Karlin or Pinsk at the beginning of the nineteenth century, but it collapsed. In his will, Saul Levin left a certain sum to the society on condition that administration of affairs remain in the hands of his descendants or their relatives. There is no way to know when the society ceased to exist.411

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At the end of the nineteenth century, there were two benevolent societies in Karlin, which granted loans to the needy. The first was established in 1872 by contributions from various families, led by the Lurias. The society was run by the Lurias and extended assistance to approximately one thousand people annually. The second society was founded in 1882, by the Zeitlin family.412

Karlin Somekh Noflim Society The Karlin Somekh Noflim Society was founded about 1875, during the economic crisis that befell Pinsk and Karlin, by Miriam Leah Luria (Moses Luria’s wife) and Feigel Levin. As with its counterpart in Pinsk, the purpose was to sustain individuals whose livelihood had suddenly failed. The society provided the needy individual with a certain sum to enable him to continue running his workshop or business. The society was administered by the women (or men) of the Luria and Levin families.413

Karlin Bikkur Holim The Karlin Bikkur Holim Society existed, as in Pinsk, from the beginning of the nineteenth century; one may assume that it functioned continuously through the century.414

Karlin Hevrah Lomdei Shas It is not clear whether the Hevrah Lomdei Shas (also called Hevrat Shas, Hevrah Shas), discussed above, functioned continuously. In 1874, a Hevrah Shas was founded in the Great Synagogue of Karlin, along the lines of its Pinsk counterpart, to further Torah study among the general public. This society was still in existence at the end of the nineteenth century.415

Other Societies At the end of the century, Karlin also had a Hevrat Tehillim (Psalms Society) and a Society to Aid Poor Mothers.416 These groups might have been founded even earlier than 1880.

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Hospitals Among the important public institutions established in the second half of the nineteenth century were the hospitals founded by the Jewish communities of Pinsk and Karlin. These institutions were set up and developed primarily by donations from wealthy individuals, and their medical and administrative standards were excellent.

The Pinsk Hospital The Pinsk hospital for the poor (hekdesh) existed even before 1862, but it was small and inadequate to the needs of the population. In 1868, “the leaders of the city and its notables were roused to renovate the hospital (hekdesh) of Pinsk.” With an investment of six hundred rubles, they added spacious rooms and properly refurbished it. One year later, in 1869, the hospital was able to expand further, thanks to a bequest by the philanthropic aristocrat Bezalel the son of Zemah Flores of Sluck, of the Voliveler family, who left a sizeable portion of his wealth to charity (twenty thousand rubles). At the initiative of Nahum Eisenstein, a relative of the deceased, money from the estate was used to purchase a large (three desiatin) piece of centrally located property that included a garden and a building. The structure was renovated to serve as a hospital.417 A total of six thousand rubles was invested in the hospital: five thousand from Bezalel’s estate; a five hundred ruble gift from Minna, Zemah’s widow; and five hundred rubles from the treasury of the ­Bikkur Holim society. This made it possible to open the hospital at the end of 1868.418 The hospital fulfilled its mission, excelled in cleanliness and order, and was one of the city’s most impressive institutions. Patients paid hospitalization costs, according to their ability; the Bikkur Holim ­Society covered expenses for poor patients. In the mid-1870s, when the city’s economy declined, the number of poor patients increased and the Bikkur Holim Society was unable to meet the growing expenditures. At first the hospital administration refused to admit patients without payment. As a result of pressure from poor people, city leaders were forced to seek a way to improve the fiscal circumstances of the Bikkur Holim

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Society. A committee of “twelve representatives” was appointed from among the important citizens and charged with assisting patients and supervising the hospital’s budget. To replenish the society’s treasury, they operated a public fundraising drive. That same year, a clinic was opened on the hospital premises; for one hour each day, a physician accepted the indigent free of charge.419 In 1876, the hospital received a donation of five hundred rubles from the estate of the aristocrat Judah Leib Greenberg. In 1880, the hospital was able to make further improvements, thanks to the activities of Rabbi Elazar Moses Horowitz and the enlightened aristocrat Joseph Halperin, who prodded benefactors to earmark their Sabbath and holiday synagogue pledges for the hospital. A Russian article from 1882 praised both the Pinsk and Karlin hospitals, saying that they were well organized and properly equipped, with excellent sanitary conditions. Adjacent to the Pinsk hospital, other charitable institutions were set up, including an old-age home and a visitors’ hostel.420

The Karlin Hospital A short time before 1857, a modern hospital was established in Karlin in an appropriate building constructed by donations from philanthropists, mainly the Levin family, led by Zvi Hirsh the son of Issachar Berush Levin. The new hospital replaced the old Karlin hospital, which was no longer fit to provide professional medical care and served more as a shelter or hostel for the poor.421 The first known article written from Pinsk, published in 1857 in HaMaggid (which began to appear at that time), described the Karlin hospital: And now a hospital was re-established there [in Karlin]—a hekdesh for poor, sick Jews—based upon proper routines. An accredited physician visits them daily, and the patients are liberally provided with medication, food, and all their needs.422

A short while after the hospital was founded, new quarters, apparently containing eighteen beds, were constructed. The hospital was established at the initiative of the Levin family; for at least the first decade of its existence they donated most of the monies necessary for mainte-

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nance. The building and its equipment cost as much as five thousand rubles. Chief among the founders and administrators was Zvi Hirsh, the son of Issachar Berush Levin. Up to 1857, at least, he was assisted in administration of hospital affairs and construction of the building by the “renowned rabbi and aristocrat,” Nota Michael Sheinfinkel, of whom it was said that “he bent his shoulder to bear much labor in its construction.”423 On February 25, 1859, Rabbi Samuel Avigdor Tosfa’a helped to define “priorities for admission to the hospital.” Because of the pressure of chronic cases and feeble elderly patients, the hospital administration was forced to resolve that the number of beds reserved for charity patients not exceed fifteen, and that the hospital not treat the chronically ill or weak, whose rightful place was a “poorhouse,” even though such an institution did not then exist in Pinsk-Karlin. The regulations provided that only patients in need of medical attention in order to be cured would be admitted to the hospital: “The weak [chronically ill?] would be admitted for only a short time on a trial basis.” The hospital was administered by eight supervisor-officials from the Levin and Luria families.424 According to the rules, each official was responsible for supervising the hospital for one week at a time. The official who, in practice, administered the hospital was Zvi Hirsh Levin. Authorization by one of the officials was required for admission; discharge was effected by a doctor’s form. Those responsible for the hospital felt that they had established an exemplary institution, “that this house is unique among the charitable institutions of our city and our area, and has achieved its proper goal which is to treat all ills and ailments in spacious and sanitary surroundings, by expert and skilled physicians, and at minimal expense.”425 In 1863, a sharp debate over the hospital’s admission procedures erupted on the pages of Ha-Carmel.426 One of the regulars at the bet midrash died after the hospital refused to admit him for lack of official authorization. Although the man’s condition was critical, no official could be found to furnish the necessary documents; he died the next day while sitting near the Talmud Torah building in cold winter weather. The hospital administration claimed, in its defense, that the man was “one of the frail . . . who could not make a living for themselves,” and

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that he did not belong in the hospital. Furthermore, the hospital was completely full at the time, and for that reason too they were forced to turn him down. If tragedy had befallen him, it was for lack of a public shelter for poor people. The justifications presented by the administration and another writer did not satisfy everyone. Some continued to claim that internal squabbling within the committee, and most officials’ lack of involvement in administration, had disrupted proper procedures. But even those who attacked the administration conceded that the burden fell primarily on Zvi Hirsh Levin, who devoted most of his time to the hospital, along with Simha Simhowitz (when the latter was in town). They acknowledged that standards of cleanliness were commendably maintained in the hospital, which was proudly shown to visiting dignitaries. In 1863, for example, Maj. Gen. Graf Nastitz visited the institution and highly praised “the remarkable immaculateness and cleanliness of the building.” The death of the poor scholar was undoubtedly a tragic episode, but Karlin hospital affairs were nevertheless conducted according to the policy and direction determined by the founders in the 1850s. Shortly after the controversy, in 1865 (approximately) an old-age home was established adjacent to the hospital, as enjoined by members of the hospital administration. Contributions by Hayya Luria and Feigel Levin facilitated construction of a brick building to serve as Bet Osef Le­Zekainim. This solved the problem of the chronically ill aged who did not belong in the hospital.427 The 1882 Russian article from Pinsk, commending both the Pinsk and Karlin hospitals, mentioned that functioning alongside the Pinsk hospital were an excellent pharmacy, a shelter for the ill who could not be admitted to the hospital, and a home for the aged who could not work. Residents there received food and clothing and lacked for nothing.428

Synagogues and Study Houses Official statistics from 1854 listed two synagogues and twelve batei midrash in Pinsk and Karlin. The Pinsk synagogue was built of brick, the Karlin synagogue of wood. In actuality, the number of batei

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midrash was greater. An 1857 article describing Karlin noted that it alone had fourteen, twelve for “Ashkenazim” (Mitnaggedim) and two for “Sephardim” (Hasidim).429 According to Russian law, Jews had the right to organize as a congregation in a synagogue or bet midrash for the purpose of prayer and observance of religious ritual. Synagogues and batei midrash could be established only by government license. For every thirty Jewish homes, one bet midrash could be established. For every eighty or more Jewish homes, one synagogue could be maintained. By law, each congregation selected a rabbi to guide the community and clarify questions that arose in matters of prayer, customs, and faith; an administrator; and a trustee. These three individuals constituted the internal administrative body of the synagogue and were responsible for its upkeep once the government granted authorization.430 The discrepancy between the official figures and the actual number of synagogues means that in the 1850s there were several unlicensed synagogues in Pinsk-Karlin.431 At the end of the nineteenth century, Pinsk and Karlin had a total of thirty-two Jewish houses of worship. Pinsk had seventeen—fifteen for Mitnaggedim, particularly the venerable Great Synagogue, and two for Hasidim (Stolin Hasidim and Livshei Hasidim). Karlin had fifteen— thirteen for Mitnaggedim, of which the leading one was the Karlin Great Synagogue, and two for Hasidim (Stolin Hasidim and Horodok Hasidim).432 In the course of the nineteenth century, some twenty houses of worship were added to the twin communities. These figures are an additional indication of growth of the Jewish population of Pinsk-Karlin.

The Great Synagogue of Pinsk The Great Synagogue of Pinsk, constructed like a fortress and the oldest of the city’s synagogues, preserved its primary function as the central house of prayer. It was also used by the government and the kahal as a forum for announcements and a venue for official ceremonies.433 During the first half of the nineteenth century, the Great Synagogue was in theory mortgaged to church institutions, because of kahal debts

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dating back to the eighteenth century under Polish rule. The threat of foreclosure in the event of delayed payment of annual interest hovered over the synagogue. One year, in fact, the community could not remit payment on time, and the building was closed for the autumn holidays. Mikhel Berchinsky, a young lawyer, decided to investigate the matter. He examined the records and then sued to release the synagogue from yearly interest payments. The case reached the court in St. Petersburg, and Berchinsky succeeded in convincing the government of the validity of his claim; the annual payment was cancelled.434 An article from August 26, 1859, described the festive ceremony held in the synagogue in honor of the coronation of Alexander II. To the haven of our sanctuary thronged crowds of Hebrews and Christians alike, without distinction. . . . Candles shone like stars. . . . From top to bottom, the windows were purple with steely flames, the walls glowed with flashes of light in shades of green, a row of costly curtains brocaded with gold and purple girdled the interior of the synagogue. The Ark of Torah scrolls wrapped in precious jewels. . . . Seats were arranged on the dais [and] embroidered tapestries were spread on the floor of the dais. . . . Silver chandeliers sparkled for all to see. . . . On the splendid dais, sat all the city officials, led by the great official, the vice governor, Alexander Vassilevich . . . along with our own aristocrats, the distinguished gentlemen, the honored dignitaries of Pinsk and Karlin. . . . All ears were turned to the violin and harp, which exuded most pleasant and mellifluous sounds. . . . The honorable cantor . . . the pleasant singer of Israel, Barukh Kintsler, raised his dulcet voice in the blessing, “Who grants deliverance to kings,” with his sweetly singing choir. . . . And then he caroled, “Lord, protect the King,” in Russian, and joy went through the camp of the Hebrews. . . . Our leaders offered the officials fine wine in goblets of silver and gold.435

The Great Synagogue was a magnificent building, and the community endeavored to maintain it properly and enhance its beauty. In 1868, the administrators of the Great Synagogue, Akiva Basevich and a certain Noah, initiated a collection to refurbish the synagogue: They amassed large sums, fixed it, beautified it and lent it majestic splendor. . . . They erected a new tin roof, fixed the ceiling that was about to fall, painted it, built new benches, and installed a new stone floor. The repair required as much as two thousand rubles.436

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Kerman reported that in 1888, when the building was renovated once more, 260 invalid Torah scrolls were found (probably in the geniza or synagogue store for discarded books), including old scrolls from the sixteenth century.437 Bezalel the son of Zemah Flores of the Voliveler family, a wealthy merchant who died in 1869, bequeathed silver utensils to the Great Synagogue to make out of them “precious vessels, a pure silver basin and ewer for washing hands, for the Priestly blessing.”438 An article relating the history of the Great Synagogue noted that the synagogue burned down in 1831; important historical documents, including the records of the Pinsk district Jewish council and an ancient deerskin parchment prayer book, were destroyed. The synagogue suffered from fire again in 1853. Each time it was restored.439

The Karlin Synagogue The oldest and largest of the Karlin synagogues, founded when Karlin was established as a separate community in the eighteenth century, was the Great Synagogue of Karlin. During the eighteenth century, the shamash of the synagogue was Jacob of Yanov, father of Rabbi Aaron the Great of Karlin. The synagogue boasted a cantor and choir (though some of the congregants were not pleased with cantorial-style prayer). The original building was made of wood, but in 1872 a new brick edifice was constructed with money donated by Hayya Luria, who was granted the honor of affixing the mezuza, with the assent of the rabbi, who recited the blessing with her. Kerman related details of this synagogue’s history in his memoirs. It burned down in 1896 and was not rebuilt.440

Rabbis of Pinsk and Karlin It is not clear who served in the Pinsk rabbinate after Rabbi Avigdor ben Hayyim was deposed by the city’s Hasidic majority in 1793. The post evidently remained vacant until 1801, when R. Avigdor’s struggle for reinstatement ended in failure. We do not know if anyone was officially appointed to serve as rabbi during the early years of the nineteenth century, when the battle between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim subsided, in the wake of the 1804 constitution. It is doubtful that an

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important community such as Pinsk would have remained without spiritual leadership. Pinsk had qualified rabbis and judges, and it may be assumed that one of them filled the communal rabbinical functions during the stormy period of controversy between R. Avigdor and the Pinsk community after his expulsion. We know that Joshua the son of Shalom Roke’ah served in the Pinsk rabbinate at some point, presumably at the end of the eighteenth century, and perhaps for the first seven years of the nineteenth century as well.441

Rabbi Hayyim ben Peretz Ha-Kohen In 1807, Hayyim ben Peretz Ha-Kohen assumed the post of Rabbi of Pinsk; he served for nearly nineteen years, until the summer of 1826. In that final year, he emigrated to Eretz Israel and settled in Safed, where he died on February 11, 1831. During his tenure, R. Hayyim endorsed a large number of books, most of them published by the press in Slavuta.442 His approbation for the book Nahalat Azriel, by Rabbi Pinhas Ha-Levi, yielded biographical information about himself and his father. In their youth, R. Peretz Ha-Kohen and R. Pinhas Ha-Levi, the rabbi of Wengerow, had studied at R. Jonathan Eybeschutz’s yeshiva in Hamburg (1750–1764) and maintained their friendship later on. During R. Hayyim’s childhood, his father resided in Ciechanowce, where R. Hayyim was privileged to learn from R. Pinhas Ha-Levi. ­Because of his father’s various residences in Hamburg and Ciechanowce, R. Hayyim was known as Hamburger (and also Hamburski), or R. Hayyim ­Ciechanowcer. R. Hayyim was most likely born in Hamburg and moved in childhood to Ciechanowce. Before coming to Pinsk, he also lived in Vilna. He held no official position there but was certainly considered one of the city’s scholars.443 R. Hayyim ranked among the great and important rabbis of Lithuania and Russia. There are indications that he was accepted by both ­Mitnaggedim and Hasidim; perhaps this is why he was the right person to serve a community where a rabbi also had to be acceptable to Hasidim. In 1810, his endorsement appeared alongside approbations by the rabbis of Brest and Vilna for the book Hayyei Adam by Rabbi Abraham

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Danziger.444 His aforementioned 1814 approbation for Nahalat Azriel appeared together with that of Benjamin Broide of Horodno, rabbi of Brest, and the rabbis of other Lithuanian communities, mostly of the mitnaggedic faction.445 On the other hand, R. Hayyim Ha-­Kohen provided approbations for some books printed by the Slavuta press, which was known as a Hasidic enterprise.446 Among them was his 1824 endorsement of Menorat Hamaor, by R. Isaac Aboab. His approbation for this book appeared alongside those of R. Abraham Joshua Heschel of Apt and R. Ephraim, the assistant rabbi of Sudilkov. The latter was the grandson of the Ba’al Shem Tov.447 Rabbi Hayyim’s endorsement, appearing together with those of prominent personalities in the Hasidic movement, confirms that he was accepted by them. It may be assumed that he was active in promoting harmony between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim in Russia and subsequently in Eretz Israel (discussed later) and that his word was respected by all. By the force of his personality, he was able to restore the honor and status that the Pinsk rabbinate had enjoyed for hundreds of years, while reestablishing internal unity. This undoubtedly helped to strengthen the community and obscure the distinctions between ­Hasidim and Mitnaggedim. There is documentation448 of a verdict, rendered by R. Hayyim and other mediators, against a Pinsk resident who obligated himself to grant his wife a divorce after the woman’s father agreed to compensate him with one hundred rubles. The husband later disputed the validity of the bill of divorce, claiming that he had cancelled his agreement; there were rabbis in the Pinsk vicinity who supported his appeal. The Pinsk and Karlin “Scholars’ Circle,” as well as the courts of the two communities, confirmed the validity and legitimacy of the divorce. Because of the husband’s appeal, the great rabbis of the generation were asked to express their opinion, and R. Hayyim’s statements showed that R. Ephraim Zalman Margoliot of Brody and Rabbi Aryeh Leib Katznellenbogen of Brest corroborated the authenticity of the divorce. The issue was brought before Akiva Eger, rabbi of Posen, as well, first by the appellants and then by R. Hayyim Ha-Kohen himself, who detailed the matter at length in two letters, the first from October 15, 1825, and the second from November 30 of that year. R. Hayyim’s ­arguments

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to R. Akiva Eger demonstrate that R. Hayyim could firmly defend his position and properly support his verdict on the basis of Jewish law, in addition to logic and common sense. His letters preserve interesting details about rabbinical and judicial routines and the innovation of the Scholars’ Circle of Pinsk and Karlin, which assisted the rabbi in judicial and legal matters. R. Hayyim’s second letter stated, “It is appropriate for all the great men of the generation to restore the power of Jewish law.”449 R. Hayyim Ha-Kohen apparently acted on this principle to buttress the status of the rabbinate and the court, because his opinion was accepted by Mitnaggedim and Hasidim alike.

The Court Each of the twin communities of Pinsk and Karlin had its own court. The dispute over the divorce bill granted in R. Hayyim Ha-Kohen’s court showed that, in difficult or complicated cases, the courts met and decided jointly and in this case aimed to lend the divorce greater authority. The verdict in the case read, “We, the undersigned two courts, have dispensed the truth as clearly evident according to the testimony of the witnesses . . . when these two courts of Pinsk and Karlin met in joint session.”450 The judicial clarification and the divorce proceedings took place publicly, in the rabbi’s home and in the presence of a large crowd, some of whom squeezed into the anteroom outside the judicial chamber. In this case, R. Hayyim served as chief arbitrator for the purpose of prodding the two sides to a compromise on the monetary terms under which the husband would agree to divorce his wife. The court secretary, Yitzhak Isaac, a prominent rabbi in his own right, played a crucial role in hearing and recording evidence. The rabbi and the judges of Pinsk and Karlin based their positions regarding the appeal on his testimony. The appeal involved certain minor expenses. A total of three and a half rubles was deducted from the compromise sum of one hundred rubles that the woman’s father was to pay to the husband: one and a half rubles “for the cost of the bill of divorce, the scribe, the witnesses, etc.”; one ruble in court fees; and one ruble for expenses.

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Appeals The case of the divorce, and the controversy over its credibility, indicate something of the manner in which appeals were presented. In this instance, the question of the legality of the divorce arose because of something the husband had said to the court secretary in the anteroom of the rabbi’s home, outside the court chamber (“What will happen if I retract it?”).451 People familiar with the law seized on this ambiguous remark to dispute the validity of the divorce and urged the man to appeal. It seems that the man took two witnesses from the people assembled plus “one messenger on his behalf, and they went to the other city [?—the question mark appears in PHebI], Karlin, and gathered three visitors to form a court,” elsewhere called a “temporary court,” which invited witnesses to testify;452 and he even wrote up a document of twenty paragraphs (not preserved) that disputed the validity of the court verdict. The rabbi then assembled the Scholars’ Circle of both Pinsk and Karlin,453 which announced “that he should bring any witnesses he has in the matter of the dispute over the divorce, before the ‘Scholars’ Circle.’ ” 454 At the end, the Scholars’ Circle agreed that the divorce was valid, supporting the version of the rabbi, the court secretary, and the court. This, of course, did not end the matter, because as is usual in difficult cases controversy arose, especially after the case was referred to rabbinic leaders by R. Hayyim, and apparently also by the appellants. Finally, the case came before R. Akiva Eger. If typical, this case implies that presentation of an appeal was not simple, with well-defined rules.

The Scholars’ Circle (Asefat Ha-Lomdim) This incident indicates the existence of a higher judicial body, superior to the courts of Pinsk and Karlin, that functioned like a court— accepting testimony, endorsing verdicts by the rabbi and his court, and instructing the shamash to make public announcements. The Scholars’ Circle was an innovation unique to Pinsk, and it is not clear how it came into existence. Although the group was not mentioned subsequently and there is no way to know how long it functioned, it can be confirmed that a distinguished group of erudite scholars

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lent backing to the rabbi in judicial and other activities. R. Hayyim succeeded in consolidating his authority and was the first to retain his post for nineteen consecutive years. This was the beginning of the nineteenth-century Pinsk-Karlin custom of choosing rabbis to serve, in most cases, with lifetime tenure, which could mean several decades.

Crisis in the Rabbinate: Rabbi Joseph ben Benjamin Following R. Hayyim Ha-Kohen’s departure for Eretz Israel, in late 1826, the Pinsk rabbinate once again suffered a prolonged crisis. A new rabbi was not officially selected to replace R. Hayyim, and the maggid (preacher), R. Joseph ben Benjamin, filled the function.455 In 1829, R. Joseph (along with two members of the court and ten witnesses) signed the affidavit of a Jewish recruit from Stolin pledging loyalty in the Pinsk synagogue to the army and the Russian authorities.456 Two book approbations by R. Joseph are also extant.457 Jacob ben Aaron Barukhin, rabbi of Karlin during the same period, gave many more approbations.458 Authors visiting the area apparently preferred an endorsement by the rabbi of Karlin and ignored the lower-status spiritual leader of Pinsk. R. Joseph served in his position until his death.

Rabbi Aaron of Krotingen In early 1839, Pinsk chose a new rabbi named Aaron, a young man who had previously served as rabbi of Krotingen. R. Aaron’s tenure was brief; a little over a year later he took sick and died, leaving behind two young sons. During the final year of his life, he began efforts to publish his book Tosafot Aaron, in which he attempted to resolve the Tosafists’ questions on Talmudic material. He managed to obtain the endorsement of R. Jacob ben Aaron Barukhin of Karlin and gathered approximately four hundred prepublication subscribers, but because of his untimely death the book did not see print until 1857, when his grown sons were able to carry out their father’s wishes. The volume included the approbations of R. Barukhin and R. Jacob Hayyim Padua written on January 17, 1842, shortly after R. Aaron’s demise. R. Padua signed in his capacity as rabbi of Brest, but it is worth noting that in the 1830s

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he had resided in Karlin and might have known R. Aaron personally. He wrote: Since I knew the honorable, great, saintly, modest, Kabbalist, famous for his erudition and good deeds, our rabbi and teacher, R. Aaron, of blessed memory, the rabbi of the community of Pinsk, who during his brief residence in this area, became renowned for his remarkable righteous­ness and piety, and his superior powers in both exoteric and esoteric knowledge and reckoning wisdom and science; no secret escaped him, and he was able to resolve every enigma.459

In terms of character and scholarship, the Pinsk community had obviously found itself a worthy leader. R. Padua also noted incidentally that an unsuccessful attempt was made to publish the volume earlier, immediately after R. Aaron’s death.

Rabbi Mordecai Zakheim For several years after R. Aaron of Krotingen’s passing, the Pinsk rabbinate was unoccupied. Only in 1843 was the position filled by R. Mordecai Zakheim from Rozhany (Ruzhynoi), the rabbi of Ciechanowce. He served as Pinsk’s rabbi for some fourteen years, until his death on September 29, 1858. A letter of his, dated May 25, 1857, and addressed to the Hasidic zaddik R. Moses Polier of Kobryn, concerned Abraham ben Dov from Pinsk, a Hasid of R. Moses’ who had emigrated to Eretz Israel and lived there with his family in great poverty. R. Mordecai asked R. Moses to refer his Hasid to the Kollel of Kobryn for support.460 R. Mordecai did not leave behind published material. Oral traditions praised him greatly. His primary strengths lay in his scholarship, keen mind, and interpersonal relationships. R. Mordecai’s son Moses married the daughter of “the rabbi and aristocrat, R. Aaron Arkin,” and was himself a wealthy resident of Pinsk. He did not, apparently, grant approbations for books.461

Rabbi Elazar Moses Horowitz On the death of R. Mordecai Zakheim of Rozhany, Elazar Moses Horowitz, formerly rabbi of Monastyrszczyzna, assumed the Pinsk

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rabbinate.462 As was customary, when R. Horowitz reached Pinsk on July 5, 1860, many of the town’s inhabitants turned out to greet him. The city fathers and dignitaries traveled to the outskirts of the city to welcome him, seated him in a carriage, and entered the city together with him as the crowds hailed the carriage with “joy and song; drum and fife.” 463 R. Horowitz remained the rabbi of Pinsk until his death (July 23, 1890), an event that cast a pall of grief over the community. The elegy written by R. Horowitz’s son-in-law, R. Barukh Ha-Levi Epstein, is the main source for biographical information. He was born on the second day of Rosh Hashanah 5578 (October 2, 1818) to his father, R. Zvi Ha-Levi Horowitz, and his mother, Zertl (the daughter of Joshua Zeitlin [Zeitlis] from Szklow, a well-known businessman, philanthropist, scholar, and communal leader and an associate of the Vilna Gaon).464 Elazar Moses’ outstanding talents were recognized while he was still young. He did not, however, acquire his learning in a yeshiva or from a rabbinic tutor (with the exception of a brief period he spent with Rabbi Leibl Kovner). He forged his own path in the study of Torah and was not subject to the direct influence of others. Rabbi Horowitz kept away from casuistry and hairsplitting; his approach was to clarify every law and every Talmudic passage on the basis of the entire range of biblical, talmudic, and halakhic literature. He was soon recognized as one of the great lights of his generation. In addition to his prodigious expertise in Talmud and Jewish law, he was conversant in other fields of Jewish knowledge: Bible, Masorah, and Hebrew grammar. He also possessed an exemplary knowledge of mathematics, geometry, and the science of lunar calendar intercalation.465 At the beginning of his career, R. Horowitz attempted to support himself as a businessman, but his business failed. After losing his capital, he had to reconsider his decision not to become a professional rabbi. He accepted the post in Monastyrszczyzna and after several years was called to the rabbinate in Pinsk, where he served for thirty years. In 1882, Rabbi Horowitz was stricken with paralysis that impaired his walking and speaking abilities, though his mind remained as sharp as ever. After he was handicapped, two dayyanim—R. Hershele and his own relative, R. Jacob Meir Horowitz from Kovno—attended him and

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did his bidding, serving as intermediaries between the rabbi and those who needed his services. With their help, R. Horowitz led the community until close to his death. His children were all daughters. One of them married R. Epstein in 1878; another married R. Hayyim Judah Susnitser from Brody, who in 1884 was a candidate for the rabbinate in Vilna.466 Rabbi Elazar Moses Horowitz left an indelible impression on the inhabitants of Pinsk and was famous throughout Lithuania and Russia. His personality combined traits and virtues that were rare among rabbis. First and foremost, he was one of the great Torah scholars of his generation. R. Epstein said that his conversance with Talmud was not the run-of-the-mill knowledge “common to the scholars keen in Talmudic learning, casuistry, and debate. He had a thorough understanding of the foundation and heart of both the entire Talmud and the whole literature of the Jewish people. He was able to learn the essence of the words of the rabbis from the Bible and demonstrate through it the profundity of rabbinic wisdom and the basis of the laws. . . . For him the Bible and the Mishnah were individual parts of an integral whole.”467 Wherever he taught Torah, even to scholars and the greatest rabbis of the age, “all of them bowed before this sage of sages.” People from all over the country turned to him with their questions, and he determined the law, in each case, by virtue of the breadth of his intellect and knowledge. Unlike other great rabbis of his generation, when R. Horowitz was asked a difficult question concerning agunah or halitzah he did not labor several days clarifying the applicable law on the basis of the halakhic literature and then write a pamphlet explaining the results of his inquiry. He was able to review the literature on the subject in a short time and formulate conclusions fully based on proper precedents, succinctly, clearly, and persuasively—in the style of the scholars of the Middle Ages. R. Horowitz used to learn Torah in his home regularly with a group of “attentive colleagues.” While rabbi of Pinsk (until his paralysis), he endorsed many books.468 As a rabbi and arbitrator of halakhah, Rabbi Horowitz developed a distinctive style. On questions of ritual prohibition he was considered lenient. He was sensitive to the problems of individuals who stood to lose monetarily as a result of various prohibitions and tried as hard as

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he could to interpret the law leniently. He was not intimidated by the strict halakhic constructionists and did not defer to their opinions. In matters of family law, R. Horowitz did not decide in the conventional way but had the courage to take into consideration the personal factors behind a problem. In such matters, the existence or destruction of a Jewish family or the happiness or tragedy of an individual Jew hung in the balance. Whatever the situation, the rabbi would search for some halakhic precedent that allowed stabilizing a household or ameliorating the personal status of individuals. He would dare to decide and then convince stricter rabbis as to the correctness of his decision. For example, R. Horowitz permitted a levir, a bachelor serving in the Russian army, to marry (rather than give halitzah to) his young widowed sister-in-law. He considered that she was an only child, that the two people loved each other very much, and that the widow refused to accept halitzah from her beloved. To forbid their marriage would destroy an entire family, while permitting it would be to save that family and start a new one as well.469 R. Horowitz did much to help men and women who were faced with problems of this sort and made a signal contribution to the smooth functioning of social life. The first part of R. Horowitz’s book, Ohel Moshe—including his halakhic novellae—was published in 1889, near the end of his life. His responsa, which constituted the second part of the book, remained in manuscript in the Jewish National and University Library in Jerusalem until publication in 1968. Several of his halakhic and homiletic observations are cited in books by other authors and in the journal Tevuna.470 R. Horowitz played an active role in conduct of the public affairs of the Pinsk community, dedicating much of his time to this sphere.471 Through his modesty, wisdom, honesty, courage, and natural charm, he won the support of all sectors of the people and exercised unparalleled personal authority. Both Jews and non-Jews honored him. Though he generally imposed his authority with a light touch, when necessary he could act boldly and forcefully. He was particularly resolute in confrontations with various wealthy grandees who were not always prepared to submit to him. R. Horowitz did not play favorites and made no distinction between rich and poor in matters of law. Kerman told of two cases where dignitaries of the community,

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­ oses Luria and Gad Asher Levin, refused to appear before him in M rabbinic court trials. In both instances the rabbi eventually succeeded in getting them to appear voluntarily and in eliciting from them willing deference to himself. He was equally rigorous in pursuit of justice, whether the case involved two Jewish parties or the person who had been or was about to be wronged was a non-Jew. Kerman reported two episodes where R. Horowitz prevented injustice from being done to a Polish nobleman and to a peasant. It was for this reason that Christians who were involved in litigation with Jews would choose to appear before R. Horowitz and were prepared to accept his verdict. In general he would try to reach a compromise between litigants and give both sides the feeling that they had won.472 He was always ready to help anyone in trouble, regardless of social standing.473 R. Horowitz was involved in everyday life and was familiar with new trends. When he arrived in Pinsk, the city was at its economic peak. It was the beginning of the reign of Alexander II, the time of liberal reforms, and the Pinskers were avidly following developments in Russian domestic policy. They judged life from the perspective of their own intensive economic activity and the ideas of the Haskalah—which in its moderate form was acceptable even to the genuine scholars to be found among the merchant class in Pinsk and Karlin. R. Horowitz did not ignore the demands of the times. He himself was expert in Bible, Hebrew grammar, and arithmetic and probably knew Russian. He attempted to respond to the problem of education of the youth of his era in a manner appropriate to the new conditions. In 1862, Talmud Torahs were established in Pinsk and Karlin. The Pinsk Talmud Torah was founded with the active participation of R. Horowitz. As has been noted, he adjured the Pinsk community to support the Talmud Torah to the fullest extent possible. In 1876, he acted to improve the condition of the school, initiating a campaign that resulted in reforms and development. R. Horowitz supported a curriculum that included, in addition to traditional Torah and Talmud studies, Hebrew language and grammar, Russian language and grammar, and arithmetic. This clashed with the opinion of the extreme traditionalists who interfered with the teaching of secular subjects in the Talmud Torah from 1863 through 1875.474

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Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg asserted that R. Horowitz was one of his closest and most faithful friends, and that the rabbi sent his grandson to Rosenberg’s school. R. Horowitz did not shrink from innovations in traditional pedagogy.475 R. Horowitz enjoyed great respect in his city, and his authority was accepted willingly. Scores of stories concerning his remarkable decisions, actions, and sage remarks circulated among the inhabitants of the city in his lifetime and after his death. Government representatives chose to make important announcements to the public in his presence.476 A Maskil-style article written in Karlin in 1878 compared R. Horowitz with David Friedman, the rabbi of Karlin. It seems that the two rabbis, who were so different in personality, were also far apart in their approaches to matters of the rabbinate and ritual prohibition. The author complained: Instead of upholding their obligation to live in peace and friendship, to respect each other’s halakhic interpretations . . . to jointly reprove and alert their flock as to . . . necessary improvements . . . to everyone’s dismay they quarrel over trifles—there is no peace between them. Each is envious of the other: what this one declares “kosher,” the other declares “traif ”; What this one exempts, that one obligates.477

The article continued with a story: there was a shohet (ritual slaughterer) from Motele who was chosen for his job in the proper fashion, after apprenticing as required with the certified shohet of Karlin. He had also received written certification from the Rabbi of Karlin. A group of the Motele shohet’s opponents intervened, however, and Rabbi Friedman of Karlin declared the animals slaughtered by the shohet to be nonkosher. In his bitterness, the Motele shohet turned to Rabbi Horowitz. The rabbi investigated, found there to be no basis for disqualification, and gave the shohet a certificate testifying to his fitness to serve as a slaughterer anywhere. “And the people of Motele fought and the rabbis of our city argued; there is no end to disputes.” 478 Although the article itself was written by a resident of Karlin, he accused the rabbi of Karlin, who used to isolate himself from people: “The dispute originates from his house, to our shame and embarrassment.” This article is the only evidence of the quarrel between the rabbis of Pinsk and Karlin, but it seems to reflect reality.479

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An article written in 1880 testified to R. Horowitz’s great fame as well as the tremendous respect that was paid to him even outside of Pinsk proper. According to the article, confidence men had been using a forged letter of recommendation supposedly signed by Rabbi Horowitz to collect money in the towns of the region for the poor of Pinsk; “and with this they collected money like dust and filled their sacks with gold.” When the fraud became known, an article about it came out of Pinsk, accompanied by a letter signed by the rabbi himself, warning against fraudulent acts.480 R. Horowitz was a Mitnagged par excellence, and his attitude toward Hasidism was critical and derisory. This fact must have been known to the leaders of Pinsk when they chose him as rabbi. The barbs and gibes that, at the beginning of his tenure in Pinsk, R. Horowitz directed against the Hasid Rabbi Aaron II of Karlin remained in the collective memory of the residents of the Pinsk region.481

The Rabbis of Karlin No information is available about the rabbis of Karlin at the end of the eighteenth century and beginning of the nineteenth. The dispute between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim had weakened the authority and standing of the rabbinate, and the position might have remained vacant for a while. The status of Karlin’s rabbinate improved only after the kahal leadership was reinvigorated by a group of wealthy merchants led by Saul Levin. Beginning in the 1820s the Karlin rabbinate was held by some of Russia’s outstanding scholars and outshone its Pinsk neighbor.

Rabbi Samuel, Rabbi of Karlin and Antopol From sometime after 1810 until the early 1820s, R. Samuel served Karlin. In 1814 he gave his approval to an edition of the Orah Hayyim, the first volume of the Arba’ah Turim (Four Columns, a Jewish legal work by Rabbi Jacob ben Asher), published in Slavuta the following year. He signed in the conventional manner, “Samuel, the humble, residing in Karlin and Antopol.” In later approbations, from 1819 and 1820, he signed “Samuel, residing in the Holy Community of Karlin.” 482

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R. Samuel was the son of Rabbi Aryeh Leib of Pinsk, and the brother of the Pinsk-born R. Joseph Yanover. R. Joseph Zechariah Stern wrote in his family genealogical table483 that at the age of seventeen R. Samuel was installed as rabbi of Antopol, “after already having been appointed a teacher in the city of Pinsk before he had even reached the age of sixteen.” This took place during the tenure (1763–1772) of R. Rafael ben Yekutiel Ha-Kohen (Ziskind, or Hamburger), who had ordained R. Samuel. If this tradition is accurate, R. Samuel was born in the mideighteenth century and was called to serve as rabbi of Karlin after having spent an extended period in Antopol. This is probably why he did not relinquish the title “Rabbi of Antopol” even while serving in Karlin. R. Samuel composed Talmudic novellae, responsa, and homiletical material on the weekly Torah readings. They remained in manuscript and were lost. Only “a grain of [his] Torah sayings” on the Sabbath blessings, from 1815, was printed from manuscript in 1932.484 By 1824, when R. Jacob ben Aaron Barukhin was already Rabbi of Karlin, Samuel had died.

Rabbi Jacob ben Aaron Barukhin After R. Samuel, Jacob Barukhin served as rabbi of Karlin for more than twenty years, until his own death in December 1844.485 While still young, Jacob was famous as a great scholar. As rabbi of Karlin, he was considered one of the leading rabbis of the generation, elevating the Karlin rabbinate to a more distinguished position and converting the community into an important Torah center. R. Barukhin was succeeded by his brother Isaac ben Aaron, a Karlin resident during the 1830s and 1840s. R. Barukhin was born in Minsk in 1781, to R. Aaron, a distinguished resident of Minsk and the son of R. Barukh of Shklov, a disciple of the Gaon of Vilna.486 Jacob was a child prodigy, and his future as a Torah scholar was assured. It is not known where he studied in his youth, but when he was approximately twenty-two he attended the Volozhin yeshiva established by R. Hayyim, another disciple of the Gaon of Vilna, in 1802.487 Jacob was among R. Hayyim’s closest disciples, and reliable tradition reports that he was considered a colleague as well, occasionally delivering lessons in the yeshiva. He adopted the methodology

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developed by R. Hayyim in the Volozhin yeshiva, which eventually spread to other Lithuanian institutions, “a system of penetrating and straightforward comprehension of each passage down to its fundamental components, combined with exceptional and extensive erudition in the sea of the Talmud.” 488 Jacob did not stay long in Volozhin. It was said that “while still a young man, he was accepted [as the rabbi] in Dawidgrodek,” after previously trying his hand successfully at business. He took the position in Dawidgrodek, near Pinsk-Karlin, only after a fire destroyed his home, his possessions, his books, and his writings.489 In Dawidgrodek he became known as a halakhic authority and responsa writer. There he engaged in halakhic debate with R. Ephraim Zalman Margalit, who immediately discerned his outstanding talents and scholarship and acclaimed him publicly. Around 1824, at the age of forty-three R. Barukhin left Dawidgrodek to assume the position of rabbi of Karlin,490 following the death of R. Samuel. Hayyim ben Peretz Ha-Kohen was rabbi in the adjacent community of Pinsk when R. Barukhin arrived in Karlin; for two or three years they served in tandem. In 1826, they differed over the validity of a bill of divorce issued by R. Hayyim. R. Hayyim, the Scholars’ Circle of Pinsk-Karlin, and the Karlin court held that the divorce was legitimate, while R. Barukhin sided with the appellants challenging the divorce. The fact that his was a lone opinion, contrary to R. Ephraim Zalman Margalit, the court, and the Scholars’ Circle, did not deter him.491 R. Barukhin and his sons were quite active in furthering Torah study; at their initiative or with their encouragement, a Talmud Society was founded in Karlin for daily study. Most of the city’s scholars and notables joined the group, which functioned until the end of his tenure. In his time, Karlin had a large coterie of eminent scholars who later became famous or filled important rabbinic positions. As a focal point for Torah study and important scholars, Karlin surpassed and obscured Pinsk during the 1830s and 1840s. The city’s rapid economic advancement and material prosperity, from the early 1830s, were also pertinent factors. Among the judges known to have served in R. Barukhin’s court were R. Moses Hirsh of Antopol and R. Todros, as well as R. Uziel the father of Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg.492 R. Barukhin had at least four sons and, apparently, two daughters.

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His sons were Hayyim, Abraham, Alexander-Sender, and MosesAaron.493 Sometime around 1837, one of R. Barukhin’s daughters married Zvi ben Hayyim Saltzman of Minsk. After the wedding, he moved to Karlin and studied Torah there for a while, with his father-in-law looking after him. This daughter was widowed in 1739.494 The introduction to the book Keren Orah mentions Feigel as the daughter of Rabbi Jacob, the wife of the noble Rabbi Zisel Rappaport; it is not clear if this was R. Barukhin’s second daughter or Zvi Saltzman’s widow who had remarried. In his biography, Sheinberger relates the story of R. Barukhin’s intervention—opposed by the head of the kahal—on behalf of a widow whose only son was abducted for Russian army service (in the cantons) during Nicholas’s reign.495 R. Barukhin was one of the first to notice R. Isaac Elhanan Spector’s remarkable talents. He helped him obtain a suitable rabbinical post in the community of Bereza at the start of his career, before he was well known, thus paving the way for his subsequent rise to distinction.496 R. Jacob ben Aaron’s book approbations were in great demand. In most cases they appeared alongside recommendations by the rabbis of Brest and Vilna, and he is likewise described in superlatives as the glory and splendor of the generation. He was also familiar with mysticism and tinged his responsa with Kabbalah.497 Jacob ben Aaron composed important and comprehensive works. The first was a book of responsa, Mishkenot Ya’akov, initially printed in Vilna in 1837. It made a powerful impression on the rabbinic world when it appeared and its enduring value is confirmed by the fact that it was reprinted twice in the twentieth century.498 According to Sheinberger, the book was intended not only for rabbis who offered legal opinions “but also, and primarily, for scholars who sacrifice their lives to Torah and for whom Torah study is their sole occupation.” 499 R. ­Barukhin labored over his work for many years, before arriving in Karlin. In the introduction, he described his literary efforts500: And even after great hardship befell me . . . when fire burned my home, destroyed all my possessions and my property, my books and many of my novellae were consumed . . . and I was encumbered by responsibility for the community and its problems, and my strength and

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constitution were greatly weakened . . . and I suffered many years of sorrow and pain . . . but I was fortunate, for the tribulations were for the purpose of learning Your [God’s] statutes. . . . It is appropriate that any person to whom God has granted the privilege of creating novellae for the truth of Torah, should engrave them in a book . . . for they are the fruit of his intellect and are his offspring and it is fitting to guard them, so that they not be lost, as a man guards his wealth.

R. Barukhin’s book increased his fame as one of the leading rabbis of the generation. Already ill and suffering, he continued to engage in Torah, recording new interpretations and preparing his second book, Kehillat Ya’akov, for publication. He wrote a preface for the volume, expressing his outlook on several important matters, on Torah study and on the internal world of a prominent rabbi. The introduction written by his son, R. Alexander-Sender, provided some details about his style as rabbi, his behavior toward the end of his life, his death, and the mourning that ensued. During his final years, R. Barukhin was frequently indisposed, as his disease became more serious. His work increased as well, as more and more people turned to him with questions on Jewish legal matters. His sons assisted in formulating replies. R. ­Barukhin would explicate the issue—at length, whenever his strength permitted—and the sons would take notes and write the answers. In the autumn of 1844, his pain and weakness increased, and he passed away on November 17. On his deathbed, he requested that those attending him read to him from Nahmanides’ commentary on the ­Bible, which he particularly loved. Before he died, he blessed his son R. ­AlexanderSender and charged him with bringing his book to press. R. Barukhin’s death caused great grief in the Karlin community.

Rabbi Isaac ben Aaron Minkovsky After Rabbi Jacob Barukhin’s death, his younger brother, Isaac Minkovsky, author of Keren Orah,501 assumed the rabbinate of Karlin. He served until his death on November 4, 1851. Like his brother, Isaac was born in Minsk, in 1788. During the early years of R. Barukhin’s rabbinate in Karlin, R. Minkovsky resided in Shereshov, studying Torah intensely and composing talmudic novellae.

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He refused to accept a rabbinic post. Around 1830, his financial situation deteriorated and he moved to Karlin, near his brother. R. Jacob and Saul of Karlin “were his salvation.” They apparently helped him open a grocery, which was managed by his wife Sheyne-Esther. She supported the household “and warded off all worry and toil, so that his heart should not be distracted from the tent of Torah.” In Karlin, R. Minkovsky completed Keren Orah, his commentary on the entire Mishnah order of Kodashim, and on the talmudic tractates Nedarim, Nazir, and Sotah, preparing it for printing (it was published posthumously). Rabbi Minkovsky’s study routine did not vary: rising at dawn, he studied kabbalistic works, and then Mishnah. After the morning prayers, he gave a daily lesson to his yeshiva students and then studied Torah until the afternoon prayers, with a recess for lunch and rest. ­A fter the evening prayers, he studied Bible. His sons said of him that he was indomitable even in times of travail, firm in the belief “that everything was in the hands of God, always for the best.” His interpersonal relationships were loving and gracious, “and all who knew him were committed to him, heart and soul, and respected him as father and teacher.” He rejected offers to serve as rabbi in various communities. His brother, Jacob, the rabbi of Karlin, frequently discussed Torah matters with him, held his books in high esteem, and would often praise him to great Torah scholars. After R. Jacob Barukhin’s death, the leaders of the Karlin community urged R. Isaac Minkovsky to assume the position of Karlin rabbi, and he acquiesced. R. Minkovsky died in 1852 at the age of sixty-four. He was buried alongside his brother in the Karlin cemetery, and a monument was erected to them by Leib Minkovsky, R. Isaac’s grandson.

Rabbi Samuel Avigdor Tosfa’a Rabbi Samuel Avigdor, known as Tosfa’a, was born circa 1806, to Abraham of Slonim. As a youth he demonstrated outstanding aptitude and studied Torah diligently; at the age of fifteen “he was crowned with the crown of the Torah,” that is, granted rabbinical ordination. At the age of seventeen he wrote Ohel Edut, on Maimonides, attracting

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the attention of the rabbis of the time, who encouraged him to publish his work. He authored many books, of which only a portion saw print; many remained in manuscript form and most were destroyed in a fire.502 When R. Samuel Avigdor was about eighteen, he was invited to serve as rabbi in the “Beyond the River neighborhood of Horodno,” where he remained until the middle or late 1830s. Early in his tenure “beyond the river” (1824–1825), before he was even twenty years of age, he began writing responsa on questions of Jewish law. He also composed the first volume of his commentary on the Tosefta, Tana Tosfa’a for Seder Nashim (the third of the six orders of the Mishnah). The most prominent Lithuanian rabbis enthusiastically endorsed the book, and R. Samuel Avigdor became celebrated as one of the great rabbis of Lithuania.503 His second rabbinic post was in the community of Swislocz, where he served until 1850. He then moved to Augustow (1851–1852) and was in Nieswiez from 1853 to 1855. After Passover of 1855, R. Samuel ­Avigdor came to Karlin, where he served as rabbi for eleven years, until his death in 1866.504 In the introduction to his book She’erit Hapeleitah, R. Samuel Avigdor’s grandson eulogized him: He . . . would review the entire Talmud each and every month. . . . The nature of his relationships with others was always gracious, for it was a combination of integrity and amiability. . . . His words were as pleasant as ambrosia, and he was congenial and considerate of people, beloved by God and man. . . . [In Karlin] he did not budge from the tent of Torah, for he was a very diligent person. . . . During the day, he closeted himself in the synagogue and there he sat within the four ­cubits of the law. . . . And, at night, he would engage in Kabbalah.

He also bore the responsibilities of communal leadership, provided guidance in religion and law, and fulfilled the function of rabbi. In 1857, he and Mordecai Zakheim, the rabbi of Pinsk, jointly composed a letter to R. Moses Palier of Kobryn, requesting his intervention on behalf of one of his own Hasidim who had emigrated to the Land of Israel and been excluded from the group receiving charitable funds sent from abroad.505

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Articles from the Hebrew press indicate that Rabbi Samuel Avigdor was personally active and encouraged others on behalf of agunot (abandoned wives), and that he helped formulate the guidelines for the Karlin hospital when it was founded in 1859. Kerman wrote in his memoirs about R. Samuel Avigdor’s custom to serve in the Great Synagogue of Karlin on Rosh Hashanah as the ba’al tokea (the shofar blower), and as sandak (he who holds the child) during circumcision ceremonies there. While in Karlin, R. Samuel Avigdor wrote many approbations for books.506 In his introduction to the book She’eilot Shemuel, printed in Johannesburg (East Prussia) in 1858 and brought to press by his son Joseph Zvi Tosfa’a, three years after he had assumed the Karlin rabbinate, R. Samuel Avigdor praised the city lavishly: “Karlin, crowned with noble and renowned scholars and famous aristocrats” who assisted him in publishing his book. He congratulated himself on his good fortune to reside in this city “in quiet and peaceful repose.” R. Samuel Avigdor died in Karlin on the fifth day of Passover in 1866, and “the people of the holy city of Karlin, as well as of Pinsk, paid him great respect.” He was buried in the Karlin cemetery alongside his predecessors, the brothers Rabbi Jacob Barukhin and Rabbi Isaac Minkovsky.507 R. Samuel Avigdor’s known descendants were Joshua Aryeh Leib, rabbi of Yanov; R. Joseph Zvi; and two anonymous daughters who were married to Noah Elijah Ha-Kohen Shapiro of Minsk and a Rabbi Mordecai Leib.508 Rabbi Samuel Avigdor was prolific, but only a portion of his writings was published. Most important was Tana Tosfa’a (the source of his cognomen). His commentary was printed alongside the text of the Tosefta. It consisted of two parts, the first “Minhat Bikkurim,” which was “to explain the Tosefta according to subject matter in the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmud,” a literal interpretation; and the second “Itur ­Bikkurim,” “to explain several principles and subjects, and opinions of the early and later halakhic arbiters.” In addition, R. Samuel Avigdor cross-referenced Tosefta material from the Talmud and other sources. The volumes of his book were published between 1837 and 1849, in Vilna and Warsaw. In his introduction to the Tosefta of Zeraim

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and Moed, R. Samuel Avigdor wrote “that [the volumes] were widely distributed . . . for there were pious and righteous, leaders and noblemen, who gave me the benefit of their signatures, so that the books were wholeheartedly received.” (This is a reference to the practice of soliciting prepublication subscriptions as a means of financing printing costs.) R. Samuel Avigdor appended to his book notations on the Tosefta by the Gaon of Vilna, which he had received from the Gaon’s grandson, R. Jacob Moses of Slonim. She’eilot Shemuel included some of the halakhic responsa that the rabbi sent to questioners from his various rabbinic posts, among them four addressed from Karlin. The book opened with a section called “Kelilat Shemuel,” an alphabetical listing of the principles used to organize the responsa. In 1888, his grandson, Rabbi Benjamin Aaron the son of Rabbi Joshua Leib, published She’erit Hapeleitah. This volume contained a responsum, novellae, and homiletic material saved from the fire in the building where R. Samuel Avigdor’s unpublished manuscripts were stored in Warsaw. In 1891, he also published there R. Samuel Avigdor’s legal novellae on Passover and commentary on the Passover Haggadah. The introduction to She’erit Hapeleitah included a long list of works never published, because they were destroyed in the fire.509

State-Appointed Rabbis Under Tsar Nicholas, in the context of official government policy fostering enlightenment among the Jews, a special role was reserved for “rabbis” of a new sort, who were later known by the title “district rabbis” or “proclaimed rabbis,” or in popular parlance, “Rabbanim Mi‑Ta’am” (state-appointed rabbis).510 To provide rabbis of this new type, two rabbinical seminaries were founded, in Vilna and in Zhitomir, in 1849. In 1857, an official edict was issued stating that district rabbis were to be selected from among graduates of these rabbinical seminaries or other government schools, upper-level elementary schools, intermediate schools, or gymnasiums. The rabbis were supposed to rectify Jewish life, and the Russian government expected them to develop a new religious leadership that would steer the Jews toward ­assimilation. These official

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intentions did not escape the Jews, who from the start evinced hostility toward the state-appointed rabbis. Spiritual instruction remained the sole province of the old-style rabbis. In practice, the appointed rabbis had no religious influence. They were limited to recording vital statistics, furnishing explanations for questions addressed to the authorities, and representing the community in various matters before the ­government.511 During the reign of Alexander II (1855–1881), the official attitude toward the appointed rabbis changed. With gradual abandonment of the policy of forced enlightenment, the government ceased to regard the appointed rabbis as bearers of religion and culture to the Jews and resigned itself to the prevailing situation, where religious and spiritual leadership remained in the hands of the regular rabbis, even though according to law their status was subordinate to that of the appointed rabbis. In the 1860s, most communities began to choose district rabbis in conventional elections, as opposed to the former practice of appointment by the authorities.512 From the 1860s through the early 1880s, four men are known to have served as state-appointed rabbis in Pinsk: Neischuler, Berl Fialkov, Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg, and Elijah Beilin. An 1862 maskilic article from Pinsk referred to “the state-rabbi Mr. Neischuler,” who successfully intervened with government officials to restore to the fold a young Jewish woman induced to convert. The same article reported that, to the dismay of the Maskilim, the same rabbi refused to become involved when an Orthodox father forcibly terminated his son’s studies at the gymnasium.513 Miriam Shomer Zunser (daughter of Nahum Meir and Dina Shaike­ vich, granddaughter of Mikhel Berchinsky) wrote in her memoirs that Berl Fialkov, Berchinsky’s brother-in-law, was the first state-appointed rabbi in Pinsk (actually Neischuler was). He served until Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg was appointed to replace him in 1872. According to Shomer Zunser, not only did Fialkov lack ordination from a rabbinical seminary but he did not excel in scholarship or possess proper fluency in the Russian language. With his brother-in-law ­Berchinsky—­lawyer, member of the city council, and influential in communal affairs— ­lending him support, he recorded births and deaths and mediated

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­ etween government agencies and the Jewish community. Fialkov had b been elected to his position, with Berchinsky’s active support and under the watchful eyes of the mayor and the chief of police. Berchinsky’s support or opposition had a decisive effect on the outcome of the elections during the 1860s and early 1870s. The state rabbi was chosen for a period of three years; each election campaign threw the city into an uproar.514 An 1880 Russian article from Pinsk presents a good description of the role, status, and selection process of the Pinsk state rabbi: Up to now, the Jews have not related to the state rabbis the same way that they relate to spiritual leaders, but have regarded them as bureaucrats. The elite have paid no attention to the elections of these rabbis. It has made no difference to them who administered the birth registry—an honest man of integrity, or not. For this reason, the Jewish intelligentsia has not participated in the elections; only the masses have. For them, the advent of the elections has been an opportunity to earn money. Votes have been bought with money and even with a glass of liquor.515

These comments apparently referred to the election of Fialkov in the 1860s and Rosenberg in 1872. They were confirmed to some extent by other testimony, such as Shomer’s fictional description of the 1872 election of Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg.516 Once every three years, prior to elections, the city seethed. A large crowd gathered in the bet midrash, as each individual received something to put in his pocket or in his mouth. Entering the bet midrash was impossible, it was like entering the bathhouse. Some 600 people were making noise and shouting. Pipe and cigarette smoke rose, it was as crowded as a Hasidic rebbe’s funeral, and everyone talked or screamed. . . . All the patrons were gathered there, all the Maskilim of Pinsk, that is, people who knew how to write an address in Russian and sign their name in German, and say “merci” to a compliment.517

Shomer’s story went on to underscore the role of the artisans in the elections and the considerable influence wielded by Pirensky (that is, Mikhel Berchinsky) over their votes, which ensured election of the candidate of his choice.

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The elections of 1872 and 1876 were especially tumultuous, because in these years the election was for new Pinsk provincial state rabbis. The election officials learned their lesson from the confusion and disorganization of these elections, and for the 1879 elections changes were made, apparently influenced by the Pinsk Jewish intelligentsia whose position was ascendant in the 1870s and who began to show a more active interest in the candidate for the job. Formerly the rabbi was elected directly by the general (male) public of merchants, artisans, and other householders. In 1879, this populace chose one hundred electors, considered “decent and honest men” from all of the social classes and including people with the title of “honorary citizen.”518 Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg’s election in 1872 intensified interest in the position. Rosenberg, a native of Pinsk, was an outstanding scholar who had studied in the Zhitomir rabbinical seminary during the 1860s and successfully graduated with top grades in 1871. Rosenberg’s candidacy was not originally to Berchinsky’s liking. Eventually the two men were reconciled and Berchinsky even agreed to let Rosenberg marry his daughter Hayya (Clara). Rosenberg won the election.519 Once Rosenberg was elected as district rabbi, he set about spreading Haskalah in Pinsk. Starting in 1872, he was mentioned among the two or three active trustees of the Society for Promotion of Enlightenment in the city. On arriving in the city, he founded a reading circle for young people in his home. In 1873, he established his private school, where Russian language and literature as well as arithmetic were taught, although the emphasis was on Hebrew studies in the traditional-­Orthodox manner. His agenda was consonant with the trend toward moderate Haskalah—more Hebrew than Russian in substance—which was prevalent in Pinsk and acceptable to the rabbis and Orthodox circles. Not surprisingly, therefore, his activities aroused no public opposition and even came to be included among the accepted, legitimate areas of communal activity. All this was based on a gentlemen’s agreement by which the state rabbi eschewed involvement in traditional rabbinic matters and dealt only with administration of the birth and death registry. Rosenberg interceded with the authorities on behalf of the community, and on behalf of individuals in need of assistance, as well as engaging in matters of charity and welfare.520

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Rosenberg’s tenure seems to have lasted only three or four years. In the 1876 elections, his opponent from 1872, Elijah Beilin, who was championed by the Luria family (to which he was related), was elected. On October 20, 1879, elections were held once more, in the offices of the city council under the mayor’s supervision, and Beilin was reelected.521 Beilin’s opponent was then Melnik, a teacher in the government school at Shklov. These elections were conducted according to the revised procedures just described. Subsequent to Beilin’s election, the position of assistant rabbi was abolished, but simultaneously the rabbi was granted an annual salary of five hundred rubles. The salary was previously much lower, and paid reluctantly.522 In summary, during the 1860s the state rabbis were merely bureaucrats who intervened with the authorities; even men lacking basic formal education were chosen for the post. Only in the 1870s were they rabbinical seminary graduates. They were active on behalf of Haskalah, but they were far from the trend to Russification (current in other areas of Russia) and fit naturally in the social milieu of Jewish Pinsk and Karlin, primarily serving as liaison between the authorities and the Jewish community.

Hasidism in the Second Third of the Nineteenth Century With few available sources, it is difficult to assess the strength and status of Hasidism in Pinsk-Karlin during the nineteenth century. Particularly surprising is the fact that Hasidic writings contain no substantial information about Rabbi Asher the son of Rabbi Aaron the Great (who presided in Karlin from the time of his return to the city in 1810 until his death in 1827) or his son, known as Rabbi Aaron II. He took over as leader of the Karlin Hasidim and resided in Karlin until he moved to Stolin in the early 1860s. The only relevant material is that included in the volume Bet Aharon, a compendium of homilies by the two rabbis (mainly R. Aaron).523 Moreover, there is no evidence in either Hasidic or mitnaggedic sources for intellectual debate or public controversy between the two groups.

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The extent of Hasidic influence in the community following the truce between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim subsequent to the 1804 law (legitimating Hasidic groups) is not clear. They retained their numerical strength, and there was a reasonable chance that a Hasidic candidate would be chosen as rabbi in either Pinsk or Karlin.524 In practice, however, the Hasidic camp did not fare so well. The election of Rabbi Hayyim ben Peretz Ha-Kohen in 1807 apparently met with the approval of the Hasidim, because he was accepted by them as well, and he probably contributed significantly to mitigation of the antagonism between the two camps. His rabbinic style, however, was mitnaggedic.525 The Hasidic camp thus lost much of its influence over the uncommitted, who had been sympathetic to Hasidism in the late eighteenth century. At the same time, both Hasidim and Mitnaggedim witnessed changes in the social and economic realms, which produced a growing group beginning to consider Haskalah ideas. The Hasidim, more than the Mitnaggedim, were forced to divert much energy to battle those inclined toward the new foreign ideas, which matched internal social and economic developments. The ­Mitnaggedim, even the foremost scholars among the wealthy merchants, adapted better and reached a modus vivendi with the moderate form of Haskalah. Even assuming that Karlin Hasidism remained unified and numerically stable, in the context of Pinsk-Karlin in the 1830s this constituted a significant loss. The city’s economic growth was accompanied by Jewish population growth and modification of its demographic and social structure that largely bypassed the Hasidic community.526 The learned-mitnaggedic character imparted to Karlin in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries through the efforts of Saul Levin intensified with the significant growth of the scholarly and wealthy merchant class that concentrated in the city. The city’s ­mitnaggedic-type rabbinate rose to prominence and became one of the most important in Lithuania-Russia. At the end of the 1850s, there were only two Hasidic synagogues in Karlin, as opposed to twelve mitnaggedic houses of prayer, of which nine or ten were founded in the nineteenth century. This was a sure sign that Hasidism in Karlin-Pinsk was merely treading water. R. Asher ben Aaron and his son R. ­Aaron II

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apparently lacked the necessary drive to impel their camp to new conquests. They were content with the status quo. Even so, R. Asher revived the Karlin court on his return to the city in 1810, and his son Rabbi Aaron II continued his work. On holidays and special occasions, thousands of Hasidim, some who traveled great distances, streamed to the Rabbi’s court, and at those times Karlin assumed the guise of a Hasidic city.527 The spirit of tempestuousness and dynamism, however, was lost and the magnetism dissipated, even though the Hasidim themselves— mostly simple folk—remained loyal to the movement.528 The numerous members of the learned class of Karlin and Pinsk were no longer interested in Hasidic doctrine. They preferred to crowd around the great scholars of Karlin and, in the kloyzim and study houses, debate the new ideas that began to attract many of them. Torah study and pursuit of certain general knowledge were more suited to their character and style than was the Hasidic court of Rabbi Aaron II in Karlin. The Hasidim, who in their day publicized their ideology and attracted many to their cause, lost their leadership position. The same was true in Pinsk where, at the turn of the century, the Hasidim held sway. During the first half of the nineteenth century, the city’s character changed. The core Hasidim remained loyal, but the group that had not identified itself as Hasidic or mitnaggedic but was sympathetic to Hasidism (and, in the late eighteenth century, delivered the reins of authority to the Hasidim) gradually deserted. In Pinsk, as in Karlin, there were no more than two Hasidic synagogues in the nineteenth century, as opposed to approximately fifteen mitnaggedic ones.529 Nor did the Pinsk Hasidim of the nineteenth century proffer a counterpart to the Admor of Karlin, so that together they could preserve Hasidic strength in the twin communities. Even within the Hasidic camp there were signs of adjustment to the new circumstances of the second third of the nineteenth century. In her memoirs, Miriam Shomer Zunser described her grandfather, Mikhel Berchinsky, as a distinguished Karliner Hasid, one of the central members of the Pinsk Hasidic community and highly regarded by R. Aaron II. Mikhel, however, secretly studied Russian and law and became a lawyer. He modified his clothing style, gave his sons an education

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different from the traditional sort, and married his daughters off to Maskilim.530 An 1877 article from Pinsk by Gimpel Shapiro, who identified himself as a loyal member of the Hasidic community, is most instructive. According to Shapiro, the synagogue of the Pinsk Hasidim was preferable to that of the Karlin Hasidim because it included many who could be counted among the wise and intelligent, versed in language and literature, discerning and astute individuals who knew how to approach life in the modern era. The leaders of the Hasidic community and the officials of the Hasidic synagogue (“Stoliner Shulkhen”) of Pinsk were Zev Wolf Neidich, a member of the city council; Nehemiah Kolodny; and Samuel Rabinowich. Of the last, Shapiro wrote: Although his soul was that of a Hasid, his thoughts were, nevertheless, not their thoughts; a man for whom Hebrew literature was the love of his life, every Hebrew periodical had a place in his home, and he had mastered Russian and German, as well . . . to the point that it was incomprehensible to the Hasidim how fire and water coexisted deep inside his heart; Hasidism and secular wisdom walking hand in hand in the shrine of his heart, without conflict.

In Shapiro’s opinion, any advantage to Hasidism lay in the spirit of unity and brotherhood that characterized members of the community, “which had no haughtiness and did not favor the rich over the poor.”531 Little remained of the vision, the revivalism, and the enthusiasm of the Hasidic movement. They no longer suited the practical, realistic, open-minded Hasidim of Pinsk; the Haskalah had penetrated their camp as well. R. Aaron II left Karlin prior to 1864. His departure may be more reasonably attributed to developments within Pinsk-Karlin than to the notorious quarrel with Hayya Luria. Arrayed against R. Aaron were the two rabbis of Pinsk and Karlin, Elazar Moses Horowitz and Rabbi Samuel Avigdor, as well as a large group of learned Mitnaggedim and a growing number of Maskilim, who did not cease to criticize, disparage, and mock the Hasidim and their saintly leader. The move to the small, backward town of Stolin was calculated to buttress the standing

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of the Hasidic dynasty and consolidate the camp around the Karlin court. The dispute with Hayya Luria afforded an excellent pretext, but the move itself showed foresight and perspicacity.532 Lithuanian-style opposition to Hasidism had not taken root in Pinsk in the eighteenth century, during the first generation of Hasidism, when the Gaon of Vilna headed the opposition. While the two camps came to a modus vivendi, it did gradually triumph in the communities of Pinsk and Karlin. In the face of the new social-intellectual movement, however, which drew its strength from secular enlightenment, the victory of the Mitnaggedim exerted limited effect on the cultural and social profile of Jewish Pinsk.

Pinsk and Karlin During the entire period under discussion, 1793–1880, Pinsk and Karlin were regarded as one city by the Russian authorities, whereas the Jews considered them two separate entities. In the nineteenth century, tension between the two Jewish communities dissipated. The rabbis, the courts, and the institutions for the most part cooperated, as if serving a single community.533 Toward the end of the century, open criticism could be heard of an artificial separation and redundant institutional structure, which had begun to seem outdated and superfluous. In 1879, Abraham Hayyim Rosenberg referred to the phenomenon in a Russian article written from Pinsk. The city is divided into two cities: Pinsk and Karlin. . . . There is no real boundary between the two, and an outsider happening upon the city would not be able to distinguish in any way where Pinsk ends and Karlin begins . . . they would have to show him this unique division . . . of one city into two communities. Separate cemeteries, synagogues, cantors, hospitals, Talmud Torahs, rabbis, etc. This constrained partition of one whole . . . negates the interests of the two communities. . . . Of late, the communities themselves have begun to view the segmentation as absurd and have started to express their desire to merge. But, until now, no practical step has been taken towards consolidation.534

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The tradition of separate existence was nevertheless strong, and despite criticism the opinion won out that there was no harm in subdivision of the city into two communities and that it should continue. A Hebrew article written in 1880 described the two communities as Siamese twins, “stuck and fastened to each other”: Where one wishes to go, the other goes, too. . . . There are houses on the border with windows belonging to Karlin and doors belonging to Pinsk. However, there are two rabbis, two cantors, two shamashim, two slaughterers, and two cemeteries. Similarly, all communal necessities come in pairs, for this was our heritage from our fathers not to mix with each other, and we intend similarly to caution our sons not to change our ways, for, thank God, whatever Pinsk has, Karlin has.535

The division into two separate communities continued. Kerman’s memoirs indicate that in the nineteenth century the compromise verdict, issued following the first dispute between Pinsk and Karlin in the mid-eighteenth century, was still upheld. According to it, Karlin had no markets or market days, butchers, shops, or small groceries, and Pinsk was required to provide Karlin with Sukkot etrogim (citrons for the holiday rite) before supplying her own needs.536 As far as the Russian government was concerned, however, PinskKarlin was the single city of Pinsk. The authorities permitted the Jews to perpetuate their traditional division for Jewish communal matters, but the administrative framework recognized only one city. The head of the city council ( golova) was the mayor of the entire city, and the governor in the 1870s, Baron Witte, was appointed over it as well. When necessary, he addressed all the residents from the podium of the Great Synagogue of Pinsk.537 The Jews of Pinsk adjusted to this dualism. Reuben Holdhor, author of the bilingual (Russian and Hebrew) book Divrei Shalom Ve‑Emet (1837),538 called himself “Reuben Holdhor of the holy community of Karlin,” on the Hebrew title page, whereas on the Russian one he called himself “a citizen of Pinsk.” Clearly, the union or separation of Pinsk and Karlin was left to the discretion of the city’s Jews, who decided in favor of the separate existence of two communities.

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Summary of the History of the Pinsk Jewish Community (1706–1880) The history of the Jewish community of Pinsk during most of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries was, to a great extent, the history of Pinsk. At the turn of the eighteenth century, Pinsk took on the character of a Jewish city, a situation that persisted during the eighteenth century and intensified during the nineteenth. At the end of  the eighteenth century, of Pinsk and Karlin’s combined population of approximately 3,750 there were some 2,900 Jews (70 percent) and 850 non-Jews (30 percent). By the end of the nineteenth century, the population of Pinsk-Karlin had increased several times over: 21–22,000 Jews (75–77.5 percent) and 6–7,000 non-Jews (22.5–25 percent), for a total population of approximately 28,000. The significance of the Jewish population went beyond its numerical advantage; in the economic, cultural, and social life of the city Jewish activities were predominant. Jewish and non-Jewish historical sources alike ignore the Christian population almost entirely (except, of course, for individuals representing the Polish authorities before 1793, and the Russians thereafter), as an active factor in the city, despite their demographic weight. In 1869, in a comprehensive official study, the Russian economist Yanson called Pinsk “this Jewish city.” It may be unequivocally stated that the history of Pinsk in the transition to the modern era, and during the modern era, was shaped by its Jewish inhabitants. Processes and developments in the city, to the extent that they depended on the creative capacities of the citizenry, were the consequence of the Jews’ talents and resourcefulness. A rich history of extensive economic activity and an aptitude for adapting to difficult situations— along with firm traditions of regular study, education, and Torah learning; a desire to know as a central motif for both individual and society; intellectual restlessness; and the capacity for spiritual rejuvenation— made the Jewish community of Pinsk a vibrant and creative society during the period under discussion. In the course of the great changes that transpired in the lives of the Jews of Poland-Lithuania up to the partitions, and under Russian rule after the partitions—marked by dissolution of the structures of autonomy, and the spiritual ferment of

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religious renewal, represented by Hasidism—the Jewish community of Pinsk assumed a most critical and influential role, particularly within the Hasidic movement. From the beginning of the eighteenth century until 1793 (the year of the second partition of Poland), Pinsk was under Polish rule and administratively continued to belong to Lithuania. It maintained its status as a principal community within the Lithuanian Jewish Council for as long as the council existed, until 1764, and even after its official abolition. Until the end of Poland’s independent existence, the five principal communities of Lithuania, Pinsk among them, continued to fill leadership roles for the Jewish population of Lithuania. Decisive historical processes occurring in eighteenth-century Poland marched the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, in a period of internal anarchy, toward collapse and annexation by the neighboring powers. These developments had their effect on the status of Poland’s Jews, on the framework of autonomy (the Council of Four Lands in Poland, and the Lithuanian Jewish Council), and on the relationships between Jewish communities, including those in the Pinsk district. Unbearable pressures upon the Lithuanian Jewish Council from the nobles, the starostas, and the wojewodas during periods of war, riot, and chaos in the first two decades of the eighteenth century compelled the leaders of the principal communities to impose heavy taxes and take out loans, whose repayment was as onerous as taxation. The intolerable burden led to rebelliousness against the leadership on the part of wide segments of the populace within the principal communities, and of secondary communities and settlements against their chief community, in attempts to renounce dependence. Against this background, it is possible to understand the attempt of the northern Wolyn communities to extricate themselves from subordination to Pinsk, Karlin’s secession from Pinsk in the mid-eighteenth century, and the detachment of various communities in the Pinsk district from Pinsk’s hegemony subsequent to 1764. The leaders of Pinsk increasingly called on the Gentile authorities and their court system for assistance, and with it they managed to temporarily and partially thwart attempts at separation. This, however, only broadened the scope of the ultimate disintegration, which undermined self-rule.

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These internal conflicts occurred during the first six decades of the eighteenth century, the era of Poland’s economic crisis, when the Jews of Pinsk—like Polish Jews elsewhere—struggled for a livelihood and increasingly made do with tenuous occupations in the towns of the nobles and their villages, as a solution to their grave economic situation. In this time of social crisis, the ruling class proved incapable of offering an acceptable solution. In Pinsk’s sharp struggle with secessionary Karlin, there was at best room for compromise, which neither side intended to honor. In the prevailing objective reality of Poland, such a stance could only exacerbate internal social conflict. The dearth of source material on relationships within the community leaves us without much information about the ties between various social classes in the city, but it appears that the community succeeded in avoiding (at least until the mid-1880s) open social warfare, such as that which existed for example in Vilna or Minsk during the latter half of the eighteenth century. Pinsk was successful in appointing rabbis of stature who were authoritative as well as educationally oriented. Men such as Rabbi Rafael ben Yekutiel Ha-Kohen (Ziskind Hamburger) and the Hasidic leader Rabbi Levi Yitzhak ben Meir (later of Berdichev) moderated and ameliorated conflicts. The budding Hasidic movement, which struck firm roots in Pinsk-Karlin in the 1760s, attracted many fine members from among scholarly circles and the general populace, prompting religious and social rejuvenation and channeling public energy to new areas. Karlin then produced one of the greatest representatives and promulgators of Hasidism, Rabbi Aaron the Great of Karlin. His activities, and those of his disciples, made the city the preeminent center of Hasidism in all Lithuania and created a unifying framework for inhabitants of the two organizationally divided communities of Pinsk and Karlin, somewhat blunting the acuteness of internal division. The kahal leadership evinced understanding for new ideas and did not perceive them as a threat to the community or to Judaism. The kahal did not participate in the first battle against Hasidism during the controversy of 1772 and only reluctantly succumbed to pressure by the Gaon of Vilna in the early 1780s, when it was forced to dismiss Rabbi Levi Yitzhak from his position.

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17. Kotliarskii Lane 18. Lesser Franciscan Street 19. Liskov Street 20. Morozov home 21. Monastery 22. New Lischa Street [Liszcza] 23. Northern Lane [Sever means “Northern” in Russian] 24. Old Cemetery 25. Orthodox Church

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26. Palace Street 27. Palewski Street 28. Petersburg-Lohishin Street [Lohishin is Logishin in Russian] 29. Petropaviskii Street 30. Pina 31. Prerochno Street 32. Prodolna Street 33. Simkhovitz home 34. Slobodskii Lane 35. Slobodskii Street

36. Strapchev Street 37. Strumen 38. Vishenetskii Street [Wisznewiecki Street in Polish] 39. Yasiolda Street [Often written as Yaselda but pronounced as Yasiolda] 40. Zahorodna Road

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It was the 1785 consignment of the rabbinate for payment to an unknown figure, Rabbi Avigdor ben Hayyim (a sworn opponent of Hasidism), which led to a serious struggle in Pinsk between Hasidim and Mitnaggedim. This concluded a few years later with the victory of the Hasidic camp, which took the reins of kahal leadership into its hands. It may be that the economic revival that took place in Poland during the final third of the reign of Stanislaw August Poniatowski, signs of which were manifest in Pinsk as well, played a significant role. This revival eased the solution of financial and social problems and alleviated social tensions just as Hasidism was spreading, toward the end of Polish rule. The annexation of Pinsk by Russia in 1793, as part of the second partition of Poland, marked a turning point in the history of the city. As a consequence of the new Russian administrative division, Pinsk no longer served as capital of a large district (powiat), as it had under Polish rule. It became but one of eleven regions in Minsk province. From the Jews’ standpoint, Pinsk ceased to be a chief community, leader of the communities, which had previously belonged to the Pinsk district. Under the new arrangements, these communities became part of other regions in Minsk or Grodno (Horodno) province. Pinsk’s jurisdiction was limited to communities in its immediate vicinity. The status and influence formerly enjoyed by Pinsk were transferred to Minsk, capital of the province and seat of the provincial governor. In time, Pinsk’s special status among the principal communities of Lithuania was forgotten, and Pinsk became just another Belarusan community with an important history, since it belonged to the province of Minsk. Important issues pertaining to the Jews of the province were deliberated in Minsk. The Jews of Pinsk were usually far from the focus of events, and their influence continually diminished. The “political” prestige wielded by Pinsk during the Polish period was replaced, in the nineteenth century, by the influence of personalities in the forefront of the city’s economic affairs. Several of these individuals became nationally important because of their extensive activities and the nature and scope of their businesses, which affected economic and social developments. In the first quarter of the nineteenth century, the Hasidim still had the upper hand in Pinsk and Karlin. But compliance of both Hasidim

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and Mitnaggedim with the 1804 government legislation enjoining joint kahal leadership led to a truce and peaceful coexistence between the camps. Hasidism began to forfeit its influence; its numbers apparently remained static, both in Pinsk and in Karlin. The accelerated demographic growth of the second third of the nineteenth century skipped over the Hasidim, weakening their public power. Karlin, which had apparently united with Pinsk temporarily during Rabbi Avigdor’s tenure (1785–1793), broke away once more after 1793, under Russian rule. Led by Saul Levin of Karlin, the city began to develop as a scholarly-mitnaggedic center. In the nineteenth century, Karlin was home to wealthy merchants and learned householders, and great rabbis of the generation served in its rabbinate. The scholarly-mitnaggedic camp gathered strength in Pinsk as well. It gained civic power, apparently because it reconciled itself to a moderate form of Haskalah and succeeded in coexisting with the ever-expanding group of people who incorporated Haskalah concepts into their lives and the education of their children. In Pinsk, the signs of Haskalah appeared simultaneously with the beginning of the economic boom of the mid-1830s. Its influence gradually increased, leading to a new social-cultural constellation. By the 1850s, Haskalah ideas had penetrated the Torah scholar circles; the mercantile, study-inclined middle-class families; and even Hasidic groups. Secular studies became an accepted component of boys’ school curriculum. In Pinsk and Karlin, Talmud Torah institutions with a modernized curriculum claimed an increasingly larger place in boys’ education, alongside the traditional schools (hadarim) and private teachers. New modernstyle schools arose for Jewish children. In the 1870s, there began a rush to the Russian gymnasium. A Jewish intelligentsia and a circle of maskilic authors arose, frequently publishing works in the new Hebrew and Russian press. Haskalah and the new type of education, as they developed in Pinsk, were mainly Hebrew nationalist in nature; such was the propensity of most of the maskilic intelligentsia in the city. The changes in the cultural life of Pinsk Jewry took place in a society resting on a firm material foundation, with some becoming rich as part of the 1830s capitalistic development. The Levin and Luria families were the first to direct their capital to the new markets of southwestern

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Russia and the Baltic Sea ports. A new, rather large class of major traders began to arise, employing clerks in Pinsk and agents in Ukraine. Local business took root within the city. A sizeable group of mediumsized and small merchants found their livelihood there, together with a broad stratum of artisans who also enjoyed a respectable living. The large number of wealthy people made their mark on the city’s social and cultural life, thanks to their openness to new ideas and their willingness to generously assume the burden of public expenditures and establishment of educational and philanthropic institutions. The extensive commercial activity of Pinsk merchants in Ukraine and other important trading regions in Russia was accompanied by migration of Pinsk residents to business centers, particularly in Ukraine, both in boom times and through the economic crisis of the 1870s. The capital amassed by Pinsk merchants was invested, for the most part, in development of Ukraine, and in the 1850s and 1870s only a small portion was directed to industrial development at home. It was therefore of little assistance to the city during the problematic 1870s. Construction at that time of the railroad circumventing the city lowered Pinsk’s commercial importance and impoverished many of its inhabitants. The absence of significant industry prior to the 1880s probably contributed to Pinsk’s image as a Jewish city; peasants did not migrate to the city seeking industrial work. The city’s Jewish character, the worldliness and extensive business experience of its inhabitants, and the nationalist Hebrew character of its Haskalah so deeply rooted in Jewish tradition and Torah study all helped to form a society that lived an intense Jewish life. Pinsk was poised for creative and leadership roles, out of proportion to the city’s size, during the era of Jewish national revival.

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