Hipótesis específicas

The legal and conceptual status of Jews in medieval Christendom required the resolution of two fundamental and repercussive anomalies.

Theologically, Jewish existence was itself highly problematic. From the time of Paul, Christian thinkers and legists had assumed that with the coming of Jesus, the Jews had fulfilled their historical mission and could now descend the stage and fade into oblivion. The continued existence of Jewish populations within Christendom required theological explanation.

That justification was supplied to Western Christianity by Augustine of Hippo (354–430) in his blueprint for the ideal Christian society, The City of

God (De Civitate Dei). In that work, Augustine presented a history of human

salvation. This review prompted him to consider the status of the Jews, in a world where their Torah had been superseded by the Gospel, and their chosen status had been transferred to the ‘True Israel’ (Verus Israel), those who believed in Jesus. Faced with the fact of their presence within Christendom, Augustine provided the theological argument that became the dominant basis for their toleration.1 His theory of toleration was based upon a novel interpretation of a verse in Psalms (59, 12): ‘Slay them not, lest my people forget.’2 Augustine interprets the verse to mean that God is exhorting Christians (‘my people’) not to slay the Jews so that the latter may serve as liv- ing testimony to the events in the Gospel, and as guardians of the literal sense of Scripture (sensus litteralis). As Bernard of Clairvaux later put it, they were to be preserved as ‘living letters of Scripture.’3 Thus, with a deft exegetical ges- ture, Augustine enshrined traditional Christian hostility toward the Jew and Judaism, while simultaneously justifying their existence as a protected minor- ity within Christendom.

That existence was not, however, predicated upon equal rights with Christians. Equality between believers and infidels (and in this case, deicides) 1 See J. Cohen, ‘“Slay them Not”: Augustine and the Jews in Modern Scholarship,’ Medieval

Encounters, 4 (1998): 78–92; and idem, Living Letters of the Law: Ideas of the Jew in Medieval Christendom, Los Angeles: ucla Press 1999, 23–66.

2 Augustine, City of God (Civitas Dei), vi, trans. W.C. Green, Cambridge: Harvard University Press 1967, Book xviii, Ch. 46.

would have been incomprehensible to medieval Christians. Jews may have been afforded physical and religious protection. However, the circumstances of their existence were supposed to be dramatically reduced and restricted. Toward that end, ecclesiastical legislation was repeatedly enacted to ensure that proper distance be maintained between Jews and Christians, and that the former be maintained in a position suitable for the deniers of Christ.4 This conflicted dynamic remained the centerpiece of official Church doctrine toward the Jews until the modern era.5

From the point of view of the various and sundry feudal authorities, the Jewish right of residence was also not a given.6 Medieval society was largely corporate in structure. An individual’s standing, rights and immunities were determined by the legal entity or status to which he belonged. Since, these were essentially Christian in character, Jews did not possess a natural frame- work that could determine their rights or regularize their status.7 Hence, the 4 See R. Chazan, Church, State and Jew in the Middle Ages, New Jersey: Behrman House 1980, 1–8 and 19–35. The double-edged character of Church policy is expressed in the well known Papal Bull, the Constitutio Pro Judeis. While it was only first issued in 1120 by Pope Calixtus ii, it neatly reflects classic Church doctrine. See S. Grayzel, ‘The Papal Bull Sicut

Judeis,’ in Studies in Honor of Abraham Newman, ed. M. Ben-Horin, Leiden: E.J. Brill 1962,

243–280.

5 As Jeremy Cohen has demonstrated, the Augustinian doctrine of Jewish witness was mili- tantly opposed by the Dominican and Franciscan Orders. In its place, from the thirteenth century onward, they developed a full scale theology and strategy to undermine Judaism with an eye to mass conversion – or expulsion. The influence and impact of the mendicants and their new approach were admittedly profound. However, the Augustinian theory remained the official policy of the Church – albeit, to varying degrees of consistency. See Cohen, Living Letters of the Law, 313–390 and the balanced observations of D. Berger, ‘Mission to the Jews and Jewish-Christian Cultural Contacts in the Polemical Literature of the High Middle Ages,’ ahr 91 (1986): 576–591.

6 One exception was Italy, where Jews retained a residual form of citizenship that survived from Roman times. Ironically, that citizenship only complicated their lives, insofar as it pre- vented them from having full autonomy. See V. Colorni, Legge ebreica e leggi locali: ricerche

sull’ambito d’applicazione del diritto ebraico in Italia dall’epoca romana al secolo xix, Milan:

Giuffrè 1945 and R. Bonfil, Jewish Life in Renaissance Italy, Berkeley: University of California Press 1994, 19–78.

7 See G. Duby, The Three Orders: Feudal Society Imagined, trans. A. Goldhammer, Chicago: University Of Chicago Press 1982. I have been consciously schematic in my remarks here, as the variety of legal jurisdictions and forms of status that marked medieval Europe in the period under consideration did not significantly affect the basic question of the legal basis for  Jewish settlement. Similarly, the scholarly debate over the existence or definition of feudalism as a consistently identifiable entity does not significantly affect the question of

basis for their legal existence was created through the granting of charters and

privilegia. These were, as the word ‘privilegium’ implies, privately improvised

laws that filled this void.8 Furthermore, since secular authorities were usually motivated to encourage Jewish settlement in their jurisdictions based on an expectation of economic gain, the terms of these charters were often more generous than Church policy might have allowed.9

For the Jews, the key phrase in these charters was that which allowed them to live and adjudicate all internal issues ‘according to their Law’ (legem suam). Such provisos, which appear with variations in all charters, provided the com- munity with religious and juridical autonomy.10 In other words, while the form of the Qehillah was set by governmental charter, the substance and texture of communal life were provided by Jewish tradition.

As a result, the Qehillah not only provided Jews with crucial legal standing: it created an all-embracing environment that was the key vehicle for socializing medieval Jewish status. However one might characterize contemporary Christian society, the Jews had no clearly defined place therein. Their status, therefore, needed to be impro- vised. See E.A. Brown, ‘The Tyranny of a Construct: Feudalism and Historians of Medieval Europe,’ AHR 79 (1974): 1063–1088; G. Kisch, The Jews in Medieval Germany: A Study

of Their Legal and Social Status, Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1949; S. Goldin, Ha-Yihud ve-ha-Yahad: Hiddat Hisardutan shel ha-Qevutzot ha-Yehudi’ot be-Yeme ha- Beynayim, Tel-Aviv: Tel Aviv University and Ha-Qibbutz ha-Me’uhad 1997, 13–30 and

L.K. Little and B. Rosenwein, Debating the Middle Ages, Oxford: Blackwell 1998, 105–210. 8 Many historians see a parallel between this development and the status of the medieval

commune – later ‘city’. See S. Simonsohn, ‘Ha-Qehillah Ha-Yehudit be-Italia ve-ha-Qorpo-

ratziyah Ha-Notzrit,’ in Dat ve-Hevrah be-Toldot Yisrael u-ve-Toldot ha-Amim, Jerusalem:

Israel Historical Society 1965, 81–102; and G. Duby (ed.), La ville mediévale; des Carolingiens

a la Renaissance, Paris 1980. Kenneth Stow, per contra, has argued vigorously that the qehillah could not technically be described as a corporation. See K. Stow, ‘Ha-Qehillah ha-Yehudit lo Haytah Qorporatziyah,’ Kehunah u-Melukhah: Yahase Dat u-Medinah be-Yis- rael u-va-Amim, ed. I. Gafni and G. Motzkin, Jerusalem: Merkaz Shazar 1987, 141–148 and idem, An Alienated Minority: The Jews of Medieval Latin Europe, Cambridge: Harvard

University Press 1992, 179–184.

9 This was typically the case in the early stages of Jewish residence, when the authorities had need of the Jews. As that need declined, so did governmental largesse. In such cases, secular authorities were more inclined to align their policies with those of the Church. They, after all, believed as Christians. On the other hand, as in the case of King Louis ix of France, religious considerations could upend more practical ones. Cf. W.C. Jordan, The

French Monarchy and the Jews: From Philip Augustus to the Last Capetians, Philadelphia:

University of Pennsylvania Press 1989, 142–154. 10 Cf. Chazan, Church, State and Jew, 58–75.

and instilling Jewish behavioral norms and values in its members and to its posterity. It created a spatial and psychological context that grounded the Jews emotionally, spiritually and socially.11 It provided a refuge in the face of the ongoing deterioration of Jewish legal and economic status over the course of the High and Late Middle Ages.12 It held at bay the assimilationist dynamic that normally obtains between majority and minority groups.13 It also pro- vided the structural context for the religious and cultural efflorescence of medieval Franco-German Jewry.14

Nevertheless, scholarly study of the Qehillah has focused overwhelmingly upon its legal and institutional characteristics.15 Among the major topics that have been addressed may be counted: the legal status of the commu- nity,  the origins of the traditions of communal self-government, majority rule, and the nature of the ruling class, the rabbinate, social and philan- thropic groups, inter-communal relations, majority rule, and super- communal 11 Goldin, Ha-Yihud ve-ha-Yahad, 7–9. It is noteworthy that Jacob Katz identified the termini

of the Jewish Middle Ages with those of Jewish communal self-government. See J. Katz, ‘Meqomam shel Yeme ha-Beynayim be-Toldot Yisrael,’ in Mehqarim be-Madda’e ha-Yahadut, M. Bar-Asher (ed.), Jerusalem 1986, 209–225.

12 See J. Cohen, Living Letters, Parts i and ii and D. Berger, From Crusades to Blood Libels to

Expulsions: Some New Approaches to Medieval Antisemitism, New York: Touro College 1997.

13 Apostasy occurred throughout the period, to a larger degree than Jews would like to think and far less than Christians hoped. See J. Cohen, ‘The Mentality of the Medieval Jewish apostate; Peter Alfonsi, Hermann of Cologne, and Pablo Christiani,’ in Jewish Apostasy in

the Modern World, T. Endelman (ed.), New York: Holmes and Meier 1987, 20–47; E. Fram,

‘Perception and Reception of Repentant Apostates in Medieval Ashkenaz and Pre- Modern Poland,’ ajs Review 21/2 (1996): 299–339; C. Levin, Jewish Conversion to Christianity

in Medieval Northern Europe: Encountered and Imagined, 1100–1300, PhD dissertation, New

York University 2006; Jews and Christians in Twelfth-Century Europe, ed. M. Signer and J. Van Engen, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press 2001 and E. Carlebach, Divided

Souls: Converts from Judaism in Germany, 1500–1750, New Haven: Yale University Press

2001, 28 ff.

14 I. Marcus, ‘A Jewish-Christian Symbiosis: The Culture of Early Ashkenaz,’ in Cultures of the

Jews: A New History, ed. D. Biale, New York: Schocken 2002, 449–516.

15 Exceptions are H.H. Ben-Sasson, ‘The Northern Jewish Community and its Ideals,’ Jewish

Society through the Ages, 208–220 and K. Stow: ‘Sanctity and the Construction of Space:

The Roman Ghetto as Sacred Space,’ in Jewish Assimilation, Acculturation and Accom-

modation, ed. M. Mor, Lanham 1992, 54–76; and idem, ‘Holy Body, Holy Society: Conflicting

Medieval Structural Conceptions,’ in Sacred Space: Shrine, City, Land, ed. B. Kedar and R.J.Z. Werblowsky, Jerusalem and London: Israel Academy of Arts and Sciences 1998, 151–171.

organization.16 However, missing from these discussions is the content of their communal life.17

What kind of world did the Qehillah comprehend? What were the ideologi- cal and emotional elements that infused, energized and were embodied therein? Until we undertake to ascertain the answers to these, and other related, questions we will remain with half a picture, for forms can only survive so long as their content is deemed relevant.

Sacred Community

In medieval Ashkenaz, Jewish communities were consistently described, and described themselves, with the words ‘Qehillah Qedoshah’ or ‘Qahal

Qadosh’ (lit. a ‘Holy’ or ‘Sacred Community’).18 Each Sabbath before return-

ing the Torah Scroll to the Ark, a prayer was offered for the welfare ‘of this holy community’ (qehalla qadisha haden).19 The Hebrew chronicles that 16 See Y. Baer, ‘Ha-Yesodot ve-ha-Hathalot shel Irgun ha-Qehillah ha-Yehudit be-Yeme Ha-

Baynayim,’ Zion 15 (1950): 1–41; L. Finkelstein, Jewish Self-Government in the Middle Ages,

New York: Feldheim 1964; A. Grossman, ‘Yahasam shel Hakhme Ashkenaz ha-Rishonim le-

Shilton ha-Qahal,’ Shenaton ha-Mishpat ha-Ivri, 2 (1975): 175–199; H. Soloveitchik, ShuT ke-Maqor Histori, Jerusalem: Merkaz Shazar 1990; E. Kanarfogel, ‘Unanimity, Majority, and

Communal Government in Ashkenaz During the High Middle Ages: A Reassessment,’

paajr 58 (1992): 79–106; Y. Kaplan, ‘Rov u-Mi’ut be-Hakhra’ot ba-Qehillah ha-Yehudit be- Yeme ha-Beynayim,’ Shnaton ha-Mishpat ha-Ivri, 20(1995–1997): 213–280 and idem,

‘Ha-Shilton ha-Atzmi ha-Yehudi be-Mishnat Ba’ale ha-Tosafot,’ Qahal Yisrael: Ha-Shilton

ha-Atzmi ha-Yehudi le-Dorotav, 2: Yeme ha-Beynayim ve-ha-et ha-Hadashah ha-Muqdemet,

ed. A. Grossman and Y. Kaplan, Jerusalem: Merkaz Shazar 2004, 85–100.

17 Cf. Goldin, Ha-Yihud ve-ha-Yahad, 41–66 and 102–115. I first formulated my ideas on the subject in ‘Qehillah Qedosha’: Sacred Community in Medieval Ashkenazic Law and Culture,’ in A Holy People: Jewish and Christian Perspectives on Religious Communal

Identity, ed. M. Porthuis and J. Schwartz, Leiden: Brill 2006, 217–235.

18 Sefer Kol Bo, nos. 142 and 147, and Sefer Tashbetz, no. 322. As far as I have been able to determine, only Franco-German communities described themselves in this manner. The Rabinowitz edition of Maimonides’ ‘Letter to Yemen,’ (Jerusalem, 1968), does contain a reference to the destruction of a French(!)community. However, that appears to be a mis- translation of the Arabic original. See Iggerot HaRambam, trans. Y. Shilat, Maaleh Adumim 1987, 162–165.

19 The prayer is first referred to in the earlier stratum of Mahzor Vitry, which dates from the first third of the twelfth century. One may, therefore, assume that Yequm Purqan was already part of the Sabbath liturgy in the eleventh century. See Mahzor Vitry, ed. S. Horowitz, Nüremberg 1923, sec.  190 (p. 172); Mahzor Vitry, iii, ed. A. Goldschmidt, Jerusalem: Otzar ha-Posqim 2004–9, 286; Siddur Rashi, ed. S. Buber, Berlin 1912, par. 214 and Perush Siddur ha-Tefillah le-Roqeah, 561. See also C. Duschinsky, ‘The Yekum Purkan,’ in Livre d’Hommage a la mémoire du Dr. Samuel Poznanski, Warsaw 1927, 182–198; I.

describe the massacres visited upon the Jewish communities of the Rhineland refer to the latter over and over as ‘the sacred communities’ (ha-

Qehillot ha-Qedoshot).20 Scholarly gatherings are described as being com-

prised of ‘holy ones’ and their academies are sacred (yeshivah qedoshah).21 Liturgical poems (piyyutim) that were inserted into the regular liturgy on special occasions expressed the same ideas.22 Historically, it is unclear whether some of these passages were originally composed in Babylonia, the Land of Israel, or, even in Franco-Germany. For our purposes, though, the answer is not critical. What is important is that the prayer was recited from early on, and that the self-reference as a qehalla qadisha was a regular part of the regnant religious vocabulary.

Similarly, on the High Holy Days, Jews commonly recited a poem entitled ‘Adire Ayumah.’ There the poet declares: ‘The Holy Communities proclaim His sanctity loudly: The Lord is King’ (Qehillot Qodesh yaqdishu be-qol).23 It was recited at a high point of the liturgy, and was frequently (and extensively) com- mented upon. No doubt the worshippers viewed themselves as being included among these ‘Holy Communities.’24

What did this terminology connote for Franco-German Jews?

Elbogen, Jewish Liturgy-A Comprehensive History, trans. R. Scheindlin, Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society 1998, 151; K. Frankel, ‘Tefillat Yequm Purqan ba-Shabbat,’

Ha-Kerem 1 (1955): 18–24; and S. Tal, ‘Yequm Purqan,’ Ma’ayanot 10 (1974): 139–146.

20 Cf. S. Eidelberg, The Jews and the Crusaders: The Hebrew Chronicles of the First and Second

Crusades, Madison: University of Wisconsin Press 1977. The same is true of the memorial

prayer that was composed in memory of the martyrs, Av ha-Rahamim, although there the term qadosh bears the added nuance of martyrdom.

21 Or Zaru’a, I, Hil. Rosh Hashanah no. 275. See A. Grossman, Hakhme Ashkenaz ha-Rishonim, Jerusalem: Magnes 1989, 119–121 and R. Bonfil, Mythos, Rhetoriqa, Historia? Iyyun be-Megil-

laht Ahima’az.’ in Tarbut ve-Hevrah be-Toldot Yisrael be-Yeme ha-Baynayim: Qovetz Ma’amarim le-Zikhro shel H.H. Ben-Sasson, ed. M. Ben-Sasson et al., Jerusalem: Merkaz

Shazar 1989, 115.

22 Cf. Mahzor le-Yamim Nora’im, v. 1: Rosh Hashanah, ed. D. Goldschmidt, Jerusalem: Koren

1970, 78 l. 19. Similarly, those gathered in the precincts of the Temple on Yom Kippur are described as ‘A gathering of holy ones’ (Qehal Qedoshim). See also ibid., 78 l. 19 and idem, v. 2: Yom Kippur, 486 l. 10.

23 I. Davidson, Thesaurus of Medieval Hebrew Poetry, I, New York 1970, no. 1132–33. The piyyut was composed in the Land of Israel, by the famous payyetan, R. Eliezer be-Rabbi Kallir. 24 Cf. E. Hollender, Clavis Commentariorum of Hebrew Liturgical Poetry in Manuscript,

Leiden: Brill 2005, 102–104. Some of those described as praising God in this piyyut are clearly angels. However, commentators interspersed Angels and Humans in identifying the actors. See, for example, MS Vatican Biblioteca Apostolica ebr. 306, fol. 50a.

To get a handle on the answer to this question, we will begin with an attempt to understand the constituent words, ‘qahal’ and ‘qadosh.’

The word ‘qahal’ means a gathering of some kind. In Biblical and Rabbinic Literature, it can mean, inter alia, a tribe, a community, a congregation, or an assembly.25 The actual size of the group can vary from the entire nation to a local community.26 Not infrequently, it refers to both, as the local community was viewed as an organic part of the whole.

The same, multiple levels of meaning are found in medieval Ashkenazic lit- erature.27 Each qahal possessed a strong sense of identity, based upon the simple fact of its existence as a Jewish collective.28 Thus, in contrast to those medieval Christian communes whose status as ‘Holy Communities’ (Heilige

Städte) was predicated upon the presence of a holy site or the relics of a saint

in its midst, it was the mere presence of the Jews themselves that rendered their community holy.29 Ultimately, that inherent sanctity was seen to be an

25 See, Rashi’s comments on Gen. 48, 4 s.v. u-netatikha; ibid. 49, 6 s.v. be-qehalam; Ex. 34, 3 s.v.

eleh; Lev. 4, 13 s.v. ha-qahal; Deut. 23, 3 s.v. lo(3); Ps. 89, 6 s.v. af; Prov. 21, 16 s.v. be-qahal; and

Eccles. 1, 1 s.v. qohelet. The same range of meanings for ‘qahal’ is produced by R. David Qimhi. Cf Sefer ha-Shorashim, ed. J. Biesenthal and F. Lebrecht, Berlin 1847, 645 s.v. q’ h’ l’. See also, Arugat ha-Bosem, iii, 98.

26 Cf. G. Blidstein, ‘Shaliah Tzibbur: Tivo, Tafqidav, Toldotav,’ Me-Qumran ad Qahir, ed. Y. Tabory, Jerusalem 1999, xlviii–xvix, esp. n. 18.

27 This point was summed up by Gerald Blidstein: ‘A straight line can be drawn connecting the Biblical edah in which the individual realized his existence to the fullest, the Tannaitic

tzibbur which ‘did not die’ (B. Temurah 15b) and which appeared primarily in the sacred

realm, and the midrashic Knesset Israel which personified the entire nation in all genera- tions.’ G. Blidstein, ‘Individual and Community in the Middle Ages: Halakhic Theory,’ in  Kinship and Consent: The Jewish Political Tradition and Its Contemporary Uses, ed. D. Elazar, Ramat-Gan: Turtledove 1997, 335.

28 Y. Yuval, ‘Heilige Städte, Heilige Gemeinden – Mainz ales des Jerusalem Deutschlands,’

Jüdische Gemeinden und Organisationsformen von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, hrsg.

R. Jütte u. A. Kustermann. Wien: Böhlau 1996, 93. By way of contrast, the sanctity of the contemporary Christian town was based upon the presence of sacred relics in its midst (ibid. 92–93). Cf. A. Haverkamp, ‘Heilige Städte” im Hohen Mittelalter,’ Mentalitäten im

Mittelalter: Methodische u. inhaltliche Probleme, ed. F. Graus, Sigmaringen: Thorbecke

1987, 119–156.

29 Yuval, ‘Heilige Städte, heilige Gemeinden,’ 93: ‘Die christliche Stadt gründete ihre Heiligkeit auf den Besitz von Reliquien, Überresten von Heiligen vergangener Zeiten, die ihr einen Status wie Jerusalem oder Rom verleihen … Allerdings beruht die Heiligkeit der jüdischen Gemeinde in Europa nicht auf dem Vorhandensein von heiligen Gegenständen, sondern auf der Anwesenheit von Juden.’

expression of the immutable covenant between God and their Biblical ances-