WHAT is the place of hasidism in the religious history of the eighteenth century? Is there any use in macrohistorical discussions that seek to incorporate hasidism within the general body of widespread movements of religious emotionalism, enthusiasm, revival, or quietism that swept across western Europe and New England between about 1730 and 1760? The latter movements are usually interpreted as a popular rejection of the cold logic of the Newtonian Enlightenment championed by the educated preachers of the age.

The leader of what in New England was called the Great Awakening, a movement that began in 1740, was Jonathan Edwards. The movement was condemned by the Harvard faculty as an orgy of emotions; they dismissed it with contempt as mere enthusiasm (and no word in their vocabulary was more opprobrious). The historian Perry Miller has claimed that the Great A wakening could only properly be understood in its American context and, indeed, only in terms of the particular development of the beliefs and values of the Protestant churches of New England. At issue, in his view, was those Christians’ quest for the saving experience that was eluding them. Edwards addressed this increasingly urgent problem and struck a responsive chord in the following way, according to Miller: ‘By 1740, the leader had to get down amongst them and bring them by actual participation into an experience that was no longer private and privileged but social and communal.’ This passage is, of course, so strikingly reminiscent of the remarks of Gershom Scholem and others about the social function of mystical ideals as to be remarkable.

Like most of the others who have raised this question, I am not prepared to argue, in the absence of systematic study, that Wesleyan Methodism, the Great Awakening, or the schismatic groups in the Russian Church discussed by Y sander were, together with hasidism, part of some general movement.4 Nor am I prepared to argue that there is more than a superficial similarity of one to the others, however striking and unexpected some of those similarities may be. The custom among historians has been to make some vague reference to the Zeitgeist and to leave it at that; what I am suggesting here is that some further consideration be given to this problem.

HASKALAH literature and the historiography of hasidism have always been interrelated. The maskilim and their writings had an enormous effect on the evolution of modern hasidic scholarship, while the depiction of hasidism in Haskalah literature bears the imprint of certain modern historiographical sensibilities and conventions.

The early historians of hasidism clearly drew most if not all of their information about the movement from maskilic texts. I. M. lost, the author of the first history-a work conceived in the spirit of Wissenschaft des Judentums-culled much of his material from the writings of the maskilim Joseph Perl and Judah Leib Miesis. His other sources, Peter Beer and Henri Grégoire, had relied almost exclusively on Per! and on Israel Loebel. Beer himself, and Heinrich Graetz, had drawn extensively on the autobiography of the maskil Solomon Maimon. Thus, practically all the early attempts to explain hasidism historically had gestated in the minds of scholars who were strongly imbued with Haskalah ideas and who wrote under its direct impact. Even some of Simon Dubnow's observations and insights undoubtedly originated in the tradition of maskilic discourse about hasidism.

Alongside this ideological impact, both direct and indirect, of the maskilim and their writings on the early historians of hasidism, the decline of the Haskalah as a viable intellectual and social movement signalled the beginning of another relationship between modern hasidic historiography and the literary legacy of the maskilim: hasidic historians began to utilize Haskalah literature as historical source material. Haskalah literature is virtually the only or at any rate the richest source of information we possess about the social, political and economic orientation of hasidism. The studies of Raphael Mahler, Chone Shmeruk, and Mordechai Levin are but a few examples of this intensive, and highly effective, utilization of Haskalah sources, both Hebrew and Yiddish, by the modern historians of hasidism.

Admittedly, Haskalah literature was extremely hostile to the hasidic movement; but this should not obscure the fact that it was at the same time the first systematic expression of a modern European critical interest in the new phenomenon of hasidism. This interest was prompted primarily by the desire to collect the evidence against a movement which was perceived to be an ideological rival.

INTRODUCTION

ERNST TROELTSCH's church-sect typology, a well-known attempt to characterize distinct types of religious organization, uses as its point of departure the extent to which Christianity is able to compromise with the material world. Michael Hill has shown that this depends on whether the emphasis is being placed on a radical or a conservative element of Christianity: the church-type organization represents the conservative element, the sect the radical. However, the entire question applies specifically to Christianity and cannot be seen independently of Christian theological values, ideals, and concepts. For this reason, Troeltsch's typology cannot be used directly in the analysis of other religious traditions. This does not mean that the dilemma of conservatism versus radicalism never plays a role in other religions, but it is not necessarily as basic to the understanding of the emergence and development of many non-Christian religious collectivities as it probably is to the understanding of Christianity. In itself, however, the idea that doctrinal systems are marked by inherent contradictions and present their adherents with dilemmas which force them to make choices depending on time and circumstances is one which can undoubtedly provide some insight into non Christian religions as well, including Judaism. An example of this kind of contradiction in Judaism is, in my opinion, the clash between the values of study and work, a clash which has its roots in the more fundamental distinction between the realms of the spiritual and the physical, the sacred and the profane.

THE present volume grew out of an international conference entitled ‘The Social Function of Mystical Ideals in Judaism: Hasidism Reappraised’, which was held by the Institute of Jewish Studies at University College London on 21-3 June 1988. The idea for the conference was conceived in a series of discussions with my friends Professors Rachel Elior and Immanuel Etkes of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Together we formed an organizing committee and proceeded to invite to London virtually every scholar known to us to be actively engaged in research and writing on hasidism. While we realized that we could not hope to be exhaustive, our intention was to be as comprehensive as possible-to include contributions from specialists in a variety of disciplines, from multiple centres of scholarship, and to cover between us the widest possible chronological, geographical, methodological, and thematic span. The preparations generated considerable excitement: it was to be the very first major international conference dedicated specifically to the study of hasidism, and we all felt that the time for it was ripe; we hoped to capture something of the sense we shared of having reached a certain turning-point in our collective understanding of the subject.

The turning-point was occasioned by the convergence primarily of two factors. On the one hand the libraries and archives of eastern Europe were becomining increasingly accessible. The new data that were becoming available were prompting a re-evaluation of what had been for several generations of historians the received notion of the background, origins, and nature of hasidism. On the other hand, the passing away in 1982 of Gershom Scholem, who had pioneered the academic study of Jewish mysticism and whose approach had dominated the field for at least a half a century, was followed, perhaps inevitably, by a revision of his entire scholarly enterprise. Everyone of his ‘major trends in Jewish mysticism’ was beginning to attract critical scrutiny, and it was becoming clear that his regnant interpretation of hasidism-the ‘last phase’ of the kabbalistic tradition-was no exception.

The coincidence of these two revisionist processes has had considerable implications for the study of hasidism, and the present volume, like the conference that inspired it, constitutes one of its landmarks.

IT is not my purpose here to present a comprehensive and exhaustive survey of research into hasidism from its beginnings to the present. Rather, I propose to review the present state of the art in the field. I shall attempt to identify the major trends in the scholarly historiography of hasidism over the past few decades, to assess the impact that recent developments in the field have had on these established trends, and to map out some new research directions for the future.

Before embarking on any of these tasks, however, I would like to draw attention to an important and often overlooked point: we who have made it our business to study the history of the Jewish people as an academic discipline, who regard ourselves as critical scholars, guided by the rigours of our methodology and common sense, do not always realize that our scholarly endeavours are restricted by the bonds of tradition. I refer to the research tradition imparted to us by our teachers, a tradition which guided our first steps as independent scholars and in which we continue to follow, whether consciously or not, even when we venture into previously unexplored territories. This tradition serves us as the giant's shoulders on which we pygmies stand-a natural and essential condition of scholarly research. At the same time, however, it poses the danger that our intellectual and emotional fetters to the scholarly legacy of the past may inhibit our capacity to generate new insights. My intention, therefore, is to look more soberly and somewhat more critically at the tradition upon whose achievements we are trying to build our new edifices.

In the following pages I shall concentrate on a number of issues which are, to my mind, of central importance. The exclusion of other issues, and of the many scholarly studies which address them, is unavoidable within the limited scope of the present discussion, and does not aim to belittle their significance for the modern historiography of hasidism.

One question which has dominated the study of early hasidism is what factor or factors may account for the emergence and rapid spread of the movement.

INTRODUCTION

MOST schools of early hasidism paid special attention to prayer.’ A distinctive feature of the Habad branch is the endeavour to popularize a contemplative approach. Tracts on contemplation were compiled by R. Shneur Zalman (1745-1812), the founder of this school, his son R. Dov Ber (1773-1827), known as the Mitteler Rebbe, the latter's rival, R. Aaron of Starosielce (1766-1828), and also later leaders.

This chapter explores the dialectic implicit in popularizing a contemplative approach to prayer. A system of contemplation suitable for an elite group of men of stature may well need modification before it can be applied by a wider echelon of society. In fact, it would seem that R. Dov Ber felt that his initial guidance on the contemplative process was being misinterpreted; people were reaching too high. In consequence, he felt compelled to restrain the majority of his followers from the intense mode of contemplation that he had originally advocated in his works.

Later leaders of Habad continued the attempt to introduce deep and lengthy contemplation to the members of the fraternity. This was achieved with a surprising degree of success by R. Shalom Dovber (1860-1 920), known as the Rashab, of the fifth generation of Habad leaders. At the beginning of the twentieth century he taught the art of intense contemplation to the youthful pupils in his Tomekhei Temimim yeshivah, and one is left with the impression that the Habad contemplative ideal was realized to a greater extent around 1914 than a century earlier.

This phenomenon seems to defy the principle of yeridat hadorot (decline through the generations) that is assumed by scholars and-perhaps to an even greater extentby hasidim themselves. As I shall try to show, however, it is in fact the product of this very concept, together with some other relevant factors. Perhaps surprisingly, we shall find that in some ways the more institutionalized social structure of the twentieth century aided rather than hindered the quest for the spiritual.

R. SHNEUR ZALMAN'S SYSTEM

The basis of the Habad contemplative approach is found in R. Shneur Zalman's tract Gate of Unity and Faith, printed in 1796 as the second section of Tanya. This work elaborates the idea that all existence is nothing but an expression of the Infinite, the Ein Sof, and that therefore the Infinite is the only true reality.

ONE of the central images in both the homiletic and folkloristic traditions in hasidic literature is that of the itinerant. The importance of this image for the social history of early hasidism has been well documented in several major studies with special reference to the role played by wandering preachers (mokhiḥim and maggidim) and exorcists (ba'alei shem) in the formation of pietistic circles in eighteenth-century Ukraine. What has been less carefully studied, however, is the theological significance that this image assumed in subsequent hasidic thought. Even a cursory glance at the sources from the second and third generations of the hasidic movement would indicate the extent to which this literature is characterized by an impressive preponderance of imagery having to do with walking, taking a joumey, and the like-images, that is, derived from the itinerant lifestyle. It is the aim of this chapter to fill that scholarly gap by presenting some crucial aspects of the itinerant motif as it is developed in early hasidism.

At the outset let me note that two distinct typologies can be distinguished, although only the latter is rooted in teachings ascribed to the Besht. The first involves the use of the walking motif as a symbol for the spiritual progression through various grades, culminating ultimately in a state of devekut, cleaving or attachment to God. This usage is found in a wide range of authors including two of the most prominent followers of the Besht, Jacob Joseph of Polonnoye (d. 1782) and Dov Ber, the Maggid of Mezhirech (1704-72), as well as many of the latter's disciples. One can indeed distinguish between at least two models of cleaving to God in hasidic sources: (a) a vertical one, which entails the metaphor of ascent and descent, and (b) a horizontal one, which entails the metaphor of traversing from place to place. Hasidic writers used both models to delineate the individual's intimate relationship with God; it cannot be said, there fore, as it has been recently argued, that one took precedence over the other. Hence, the image of the itinerant was upheld as a model for the mystic path. It is true, however, that some hasidic writers viewed the itinerant lifestyle as a distraction and obstacle for the zaddik, drawing him away from a state of cleaving to God through contemplative prayer and Torah study.

IT was the misfortune of R. Zevi Elimelekh Shapira of Dynow (1783-1841) that most of his life was lived in the nineteenth century, and for this reason scholars have deemed him and his teaching unworthy of serious consideration. Fortunately for us, intellectual fashions have changed in recent years, and many have come to recognize that even in the nineteenth century the sap of hasidism was by no means exhausted. Hasidic thought continued to develop and to diversify into streams of ever-increasing breadth and depth, with no, evidence of the degeneration which its detractors in the not so distant past have claimed to perceive.

The editors of the Hebrew Encyclopaedia have seen fit to devote to the Rabbi of Dynow and his writings no more than eighteen lines, and the modern Encyclopedia Judaica less than a column. I myself do not propose to dwell in detail on his biography; in brief: he did not belong to a rabbinical dynasty; his principal teachers were Menahem Mendel of Rymanow and Jacob Isaac, the Seer of Lublin, and after them the Maggid of Kozienice and the Rabbi of Opatow (Apta). He had close links also with certain outstanding disciples of the Seer of Lublin, prominent among these being R. Naphtali of Ropczyce and R. Zevi Hirsch of Zhidachov.

The Rabbi of Dynow was one of the few whose teaching gained acceptance among all hasidic circles, and his book Benei Yisakhar is reckoned one of the classics of hasidism. Since 1846 it has been printed at least twenty-one times (an average of one edition per seven years), while the Toledot Ya'akov Yosej, which is of equivalent scope, has appeared since 1780 in sixteen editions, one for every thirteen years. And Benei Yisakhar is only one of a dozen major works composed by the Rabbi of Dynow.

In the course of editing the book Sur mera va'aseh tov by the Rabbi of Zhidachov, with commentary by the Rabbi of Dynow,l I had occasion to study his other works, and through these I became aware of the concept of ‘sin for the sake of Heaven’ (averah lishmah) which is the focal point of the present discussion.

THE idea of dedicating a conference on hasidism to the memory of Joseph Weiss is entirely appropriate. Although historians before and after him have engaged in the study of the hasidic movement and its teachings, and some may have contributed more to its elucidation, I doubt if any were as fascinated and absorbed by it as he was. He was committed to studying hasidism, and particularly the hasidism of Bratslav, not only intellectually but also emotionally, and-dare I say it-existentially.

I shall not spell out in detail Weiss's material contribution to the study of hasidism because I am not sufficiently familiar with all the relevant aspects of this vast field. What I can offer instead is an attempt to characterize his methodological approach and the quality of his achievements.

Anyone acquainted with Weiss's opus will have observed that most of his publications are predicated on a meticulous analysis of the relevant sources, on the basis of which he then attempts to substantiate the thesis of the article in question. His groundwork is thus of a philological nature based on intimate acquaintance with the nomenclature employed by the hasidic authors. These drew their terminology from the vast literature of the aggadah and homiletics, medieval philosophy and kabbalah, allowing themselves at the same time to deviate from and revise the original meanings. Correct interpretation of the hasidic sources therefore requires due attention to the terms employed in them and their historical background, an enterprise whose success depends upon continual rereading and examination of the texts. Weiss recognized this: he once told me that in order to be sure of one's handling of the sources, one should peruse all the relevant texts every year. From the fact that he returns again and again to the basic sources of hasidic history and teachings in his publications and constantly offers new insights into the intentions of their authors, I suspect that he tried to live up to this.

I said that most of Weiss's articles were philologically based. Most, but not all. Some of them are no doubt informed by close study of the relevant sources but do not specifically mention them; rather, they are bold generalizations offering most important insights.

FROM the very beginnings of hasidism enormous claims were made by the hasidim on behalf of the great masters, the zaddikim, who were seen as spiritual supermen endowed with the holy spirit, possessing a degree of sanctity unparalleled in many an age and with the power to work extraordinary miracles. The Baal Shem Tov came to be seen as a unique personality who came into the world to teach a new ‘way’ that amounted to a new revelation of God's truth. (Whether this ‘way’ is really original is beside the point since the hasidim themselves certainly saw it as such.) Even the torot of the later zaddikim were seen as fresh revelations hitherto undisclosed. These claims, as opponents of the movement were not slow to point out, were in flat contradiction to what had become virtually a dogma long before the rise of hasidism: that each successive generation after the revelation at Sinai exhibits further decline. This idea, implied in a number of rabbinic texts, was known to the hasidim, as it was to most learned Jews, but the problem became especially acute once the talmudic rabbis came to be viewed as infallible teachers who constituted the final court of appeal for all matters concerning the Jewish religion.

One of the rabbinic texts (Ber. 20a) refers specifically to miracle-working:

The passage concludes with a story illustrating the readiness for self-sacrifice on the part of a saint belonging to an earlier generation.