565) Jewish mysticism: Debates of influence between East and West

A fragment from the Cairo Geniza in the hand of  Maimonides' only son, Avraham ben haRambam

Introduction

This article—based extensively on the research by Professor Ronald Kiener—examines the contested origins of Jewish mysticism, including the neglected question of the role Islamic mysticism may have played. This Islamic influence seems to have been previously missed by the doyenne of Jewish mysticism, Gershom Scholem, who “based largely on manuscripts from Italy and Germany…hardly professes to say much of Judaism in Islamdom” (Hodgson 1974: 2:202, n.1). Scholem’s use of texts predominantly from Europe accounts for his Eurocentric approach to the history of Jewish mysticism. Scholem was not alone because sixty years ago most scholars indeed “looked to Europe in order to provide narrative explanations for the history and development of Jewish mysticism” (Kiener 2011:147). However, scholarship has changed since then, and Moshe Idel, one of the foremost contemporary scholars on Jewish mysticism, starkly declares: 

“Muslim culture is the primary source of influence upon Jewish mysticism” (Idel 1991:33). 

In fact, after publishing his Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism in 1942, even Scholem himself—together with several of his students—began to make “significant contributions to the study of Jewish mysticism in Islamic lands” (Kiener 2011:164, n.3). Nevertheless, the die had been cast and “outside of the specialists' domain, Jewish mysticism seems still to be a phenomenon of European provenance” (Kiener 2011:148). This European provenance, in the popular perception, was often synonymous with Christian influence [see also: Kotzk Blog: 542) Zoharic Kabbalah as mystical resistance to Christianity].

However, the same way that the great Jewish Medieval philosophers like Maimonides,   Yehuda Ha-Levi and others (by their own accounts) cannot be understood unless against a backdrop of the likes of al-Kindi (the father of Arab philosophy), Ibn Sina or Ibn Rushd—so too Jewish Medieval mysticism may need to be viewed against a corresponding mystical Islamic cultural milieu.   

Of course, it is important to remember that in studies like this, one never really deals with influence flowing in one direction only. There is always a two-way exchange of ideas. The problem is that many people only accept ideas as valid when they are useful to their predetermined perspectives. It is never easy for any culture to acknowledge influence from another. What follows is a kaleidoscope of contested views on the origins of Jewish mysticism. 

Possible Jewish influence on Islam

Jews had lived in the Ancient Near East for more than a thousand years before the advent of Islam in the seventh century. According to Keiner, and contrary to popular perceptions, the Jews adapted to the new Muslim rule “rather well”: 

“There was no great upheaval with the arrival of the Muslim conquerors and their subsequent Umayyad regime. Indeed, all the major Jewish communities survived intact, and all the major communal institutions—the rabbinic academies of Sura and Pumbedita, the institutions of the Gaonate and the Exilarchate [Reish Galuta]—flourished. More important, what was taught in the Jewish academies was left untouched by the new regime” (Keiner 2011:149) [For a slightly different perspective see: Kotzk Blog: 209) THE AMAZING STORY OF THE JEWS OF ARABIA:]. 

If Keiner is correct, it means that the Jewish mystical and magic tradition was well-preserved during the early Islamic period. This is borne out by the surviving textual record, which indicates the perpetuation of the earliest strata of Jewish mysticism, known as Heichalot and Merkavah literature. Essentially, this was based on the prophetic book of Ezekiel and involved “visionary tours of heaven, thereby encountering heretofore undisclosed secrets of the divine realm.” This literature inspired attempts at attaining “celestial visitations” (Keiner 2011:149). These Heichalot and Merkavah mystical practices impressed the many Christians and Muslims who sought to imitate these mystical ascents and “tours of heaven” (Keiner 2011:150). 

Heaven was perceived to be populated by angels and demons (only to be replaced by a more sophisticated form of Sefirot (spiritual spheres) with the emergence, first of the Sefer Yetzira (produced somewhere between the first and ninth centuries), the Bahir (twelfth century) and then later the Zohar at the end of the thirteenth century. During the Heichalot and Merkavah period, the cosmological question of how the world was created was not a matter of great concern. This began to change with the onset of Sefer Yetzira (aptly titled the Book of Creation), and more so later with the Bahir and the Zohar. 

David Halperin (1988) discovered hints of Heichalot and Merkavah mysticism in early Islam. These can be traced in the Tafsir and Hadith and possibly even in the Qur'an. Halperin has also shown similar reflections of this early Jewish mysticism in the Shi’ite description of Muhammad’s Mi’raj or Night Travels. 

Kiener’s critique of claims of direct Jewish influence on early Islam

Kiener acknowledges points where Jewish ideas and practices plausibly intersect with early Islamic material, but he argues that the evidence is more complex and indirect. Essentially, Kiener emphasises that the Near East in late antiquity (third to eighth centuries) was a multi‑religious, multilingual environment where ideas circulated widely. Therefore, similarities between Jewish and Islamic texts can reflect common cultural background rather than direct borrowing. He maintains that parallels are not always proof of direct transmission. 

Ninth century

Kiener seems to suggest that Jewish influence on Islam may have been more intense during the ninth century (as opposed to the early Islamic period of the seventh century). During the ninth century: 

“some Muslim writers utilized these [Jewish mystical] traditions, particularly in expanding upon the tradition of Muhammad's glorious mi'raj. In this case the dynamic of osmosis seems to point from Judaism to Islam” (Kiener 2011:153). 

The complicated provenance of the twelfth-century Bahir

Towards the end of the twelfth century, a new form of Jewish mysticism began to emerge in Provence (southern France), with the emergence of the Bahir, which built upon—yet displaced—the previously dominant Heichalot and Merkavah mystical literature. By introducing a theosophic framework, the Bahir reframed the cosmos around emanations of Sefirot (spiritual spheres) rather than angelic hierarchies. This means that we now find the Sefira of, say, Chessed (Kindness) instead of the Angel of Kindness, and so on: 

“This book [ of the Bahir], which is shot through with symbolic and Gnostic themes heretofore unknown in Jewish circles, centers around the revolutionary teaching that God's mystery is made manifest through ten divine emanations, or sefirot… a symbolic matrix of hypostases [manifestations and congretisations of spirituality] that interact in a Gnostic pleroma [the perfect realm of Divine emanations] of cosmic good and evil…[Also the] heretofore relatively unknown doctrine of metempsychosis [transmigration of the soul] finds a home in a Jewish text” (Keiner 2011:154). 

Gnosticism

Gnosticism flourished around the second century CE and was comprised of Jewish and Christian break-away mystical groups. The Gnostics generally believed people are saved by gaining secret, spiritual knowledge rather than by faith or good deeds. They viewed the material world and the human body as evil or flawed traps that hold a spark of divine light captive. The goal was to recognise that divine spark within, and escape the physical world to return to the spiritual realm. Scholem maintained that Jewish mysticism was deeply rooted in Gnosticism. In fact, Scholem claimed that Heichalot and Merkavah literature was a form of Jewish Gnosticism and he used the terms interchangeably. While mainstream (Christian) Gnostics rejected the Torah (Pentateuch) as the evil work of a lesser God, the Demiurge—the Jewish Gnostics accepted the Torah and rabbinic tradition. 

Moshe Idel challenged Scholem on his thesis that Jewish mysticism emerged from Gnosticism, and maintained instead that Jewish mysticism evolved slowly and naturally from within Judaism itself—and, in fact, it was Judaism that influenced Gnosticism in the first instance.[1] According to Kiener, on the other hand, it was only during the twelfth century that Judaism made its first acquaintance with Gnosticism, which was only then introduced to Judaism through the Bahir. 

Scholem discovers a link to the East

To complicate matters further—bearing in mind that Scholem did his groundbreaking doctoral dissertation on the Bahir,  trying to unravel its historical roots—he noted certain parallels between the Bahir and an ancient, now lost, book of Merkavah magic, angelology, and demonology titled Sefer Raza Rabbah (Book of the Great Secret). This book is cited by Iraqi and Palestinian rabbis in the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries. Sefer Raza Rabbah was even praised by Rav Hai Gaon of Baghdad. For Scholem, this was an indication that the Bahir was rooted in Iraq. Scholem further noticed certain Arabisms in the Hebrew style of sections of the Bahir. In one instance, in a discussion on the Hebrew vowels, the Bahir explains that the vowel ‘chirik’ (the single dot under a Hebrew letter, with the sound ‘eeh’) is leshon soref—an expression of burning. The problem is that it is not in Hebrew that chirik is associated with burning, but rather in Arabic, where charqa (a semantic link to charcoal?) means burn. This is but one example of Scholem’s argument that the Bahir, although composed in Provence, had its stylistic and thematic origins in the East. Ronit Meroz has subsequently added further evidence connecting the Bahir to Iraq (Meroz 2002:135-80). Kiener builds on this link to the East, and suggests that instead of looking to Andalusia (southern Spain), we should turn our attention to Iraq and look at the extent of Sufi influence on the Jewish community during the ninth and tenth centuries (Kiener 2011:156). 

Sufism

To complicate matters even further, Michael McGaha does indeed situate the Bahir in Andalusia, but there is still a connection to the East because he claims an influence by Andalusian Sufism. McGaha notices similarities between texts of the Bahir and Sufi writings of the Sufi mystic, Ibn al-‘Arabi (d.1240).  For example, the Bahir states: 

“It is I who have planted this tree that the whole world may delight in it and with it. I have spanned in it the All, called it ‘All' for on it depends the All and from it emanates the All; all things need it and look upon it and yearn for it, and it is from it that all souls flower (Bahir 14). 

This Bahir remarkably resembles Ibn al-‘Arabi's Tree of Existence [Eits Chaim?]: 

“He [God] is the Root, and we are the branch of the Root. The [divine] names are the bough of this tree—I mean the tree of existence—and we are identical with its fruit, or rather, He is identical with its fruit” (Chittick 1989:100). 

Thirteenth century: Rethinking the Rationalism–Mysticism Binary

The thirteenth century is the most significant period in the development of Jewish mysticism, because it produces three distinct forms of Kabbalah: 1) The Egyptian Kabbalah of Maimonides’ only son, Avraham Maimuni (Avraham ben haRambam), who perpetuated a form of Jewish Sufism that flourished for five successive generations of Maimonides’ descendants; 2) The prophetic or ecstatic Kabbalah of Avraham Abulafia; and 3) The Spanish Kabbalah (built on the Bahir), known as the Zohar. Significantly, Kiener notes: 

“Each of these mystical traditions, some more than others, were the products of a robust interaction between Islamic and Jewish cultures” (Kiener 2011:156). 

1) Avraham, son of Maimonides

The Jewish Sufism of Avraham Maimuni has the most overt and clear connection to Islamic Sufism. This was a great irony as his father, Maimonides, was the eminent Jewish Aristotelian rationalist. Avraham inherited his father’s leadership title of Nagid, which remained in the Maimonidean family for the successive five (or six) generations. To add to the irony, the concluding section of Maimonides’ ultra-rational Guide for the Perplexed, which deals with themes like the: 

“‘Perfected Man’ and the goal of the pious life, to ‘persist’ in God's presence, touches on themes that were current in Islamic mysticism” (Kiener 2011:157 and Faur 1999) [see: Kotzk Blog: 561) Maimonidean philosophy as a form of rationalist mysticism?]. 

Accordingly, the Sufi connection was not only to Maimonides’ son and later descendants, but to Maimonides himself! The thirteenth-century Sufi master, Hasan ibn Hud, sensing a mystical element in Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed, taught his students directly from the Guide, in Baghdad. 

Adding to the already complex situation, Avraham Maimuni wrote a defence of his father’s controversial Guide that was considered by the mystics as far too rationalist for the faithful. The Guide was soon to be banned and burned in some Jewish communities (and still is off-limits in contemporary Breslov). Avraham’s defence, titled Kifayat al- ‘Abidin (The Complete Guide for the Pious), was three times as long as his father’s original Guide for the Perplexed—and it resembled in both structure and content the writings of al-Ghazali's Ihya ‘Ulum al-Din (Shusman 1985). Al-Ghazali (d. 1111) was a Shafi'i Sunni Muslim Persian scholar, and one of the most influential writers in the Islamic world. Al-Ghazali blended rational philosophy with Sufism. In a similar vein, Avraham Maimuni tried to merge rationalism with mysticism in his defence of his father: 

“Ferocious in his defense, Abraham maintains that the ascetic and pietistic turn he provides to his father's system is precisely what his father passed down to him” (Kiener 2011:157-8). 

Avraham Maimuni maintains that the Sufis were the custodians of the original Jewish mysticism. He writes: 

“You know that there is to be found amongst these Sufis of Islam…—because of the sins of Israel—the ways of the ancient holy Israelites, which is not to be found or is little found amongst our present-day community” (Abraham Maimonides, The Highways of Perfection, ed. S. Rosenblatt, 1938, 2:266). 

A considerable movement of later rabbis attempting to reconcile Maimonidean rationalism with mysticism began to develop. This may have been in keeping with the general Sufi project—under Al-Ghazali—to seamlessly combine the apparently irreconcilable rationalist and mystical worlds. 

2) Avraham Abulafia

Avraham Abulafia—a radical mystic whose ideas fall into a different category of mysticism altogether—astonishingly also claimed to be based on Maimonides and thus fits the emerging genre of mystics defending Maimonidean rationalism.

“Abulafia claimed that his interpretation of Maimonides, and the systematic mystical program it generated, took over where the merkabah visionaries and the sefirotic topographers left off. His mysticism was a mysticism of Maimonidean psychology, where the soul through a particular kind of prescribed meditation is led to the divine effulgence and to a deathlike experience of utter unity with the Divine Being” (Kiener 2011: 160). 

But Abulafia, too, cannot be separated from Sufism as his writings are first-person accounts of mystical ascent, typical of the writing style of the Sufis. He also authors ‘manuals of discipline’ which mirror the Sufi step-by-step style of writing. Abulafia’s end goal is union with the Divine, a state of ‘hu Hu” (he is He). This is an exact replication of the Sufi master Mansour al-Hallaj's (d. 922) expression of unio mystica. Abulafia differs from the path of the Spanish Kabbalists, who aimed instead for Deveikut (clinging to God) over the more intimate blending with God in a state of unio mystica (Kiener 2011:161) [see:Kotzk Blog: 187) THE CENSORSHIP OF ABULAFIA AND HIS ATTEMPT TO CONVERT THE POPE:]

Abulafia’s student,  R. Natan ben Saadia, wrote a work titled Sha'arei Tzedek (Gates of Justice) that also contains numerous references to his first-person experiences and to direct Islamic spiritual practices:  

“I ... have probed my heart for ways of grace to bring about spiritual expansion… I learned..[a way] practiced by Ishmaelite ascetics. They employ all manner of devices to shut out from their souls all ‘natural forms,' every image of the familiar, natural world. Then, they say, when a spiritual form, an image from the spiritual world, enters their soul, it is isolated in their imagination and intensifies the imagination to such a degree that they can determine beforehand that which is to happen to us. Upon inquiry, I learned that they recite (zokhrim) the Name of God in the Ishmaelite language, and they say ‘Allah'… I investigated further and I found that when they pronounce these letters… the very letters ALLAH and their diverse powers work upon them. They are carried off into a trance without realizing how, since no Kabbalah has been transmitted to them (Sefer Sha’arei Tzedek, ed. Yosef Parush, Shaare Ziv, 1999:21). 

3) Zohar

In recent times, much has been written on possible influences from Islamic Neoplatonism and Sufism on the Zohar. These include renowned scholars like Yehudah Liebes, Amos Goldreich and Moshe Idel. The Zohar contains over 1 600 pages and “contains numerous Arabisms, doctrinal affinities to Sufi teachings, and interpretations of rituals and symbols in a Sufi key” (Kiener 2011:163). 

Safed

According to Kiener, this eastern influence did not stop with the Zohar because centuries later the great mystical communities of sixteenth-century Safed operated within the Ottoman domain, and many of this circle moved on to Damascus. Safed was previously an official Sufi city. Some of the Safed Kabbalists had travelled to Aleppo, where the Jewish Sufi, David Maimuni (the fifth descendant of Maimonides) had moved to establish a large library, and brought with him the Torah scroll endorsed by Maimonides as the most accurate scroll, which later became known as the Aleppo Codex. This connection to Aleppo may have acted as a bridge between the Egyptian Jewish Sufis and the Safed Kabbalists. Not surprisingly, there were also communities of Jewish Sufis in Safed during the sixteenth century. 

Conclusion

For the reasons discussed above, in addition (or contrast) to Scholem’s Eurocentric approach to the history of Jewish mysticism, Kiener suggests that in the post-Scholem era: 

“a new accounting of the history of Jewish mysticism is in order, one that places key historical developments in the narrative of Jewish mysticism within an Islamicate and Middle Eastern environment” (Kiener 2011:164).

 

Further reading

Kotzk Blog: 151) ‘CHOVOT HALEVAVOT’ – A SUFI CONNECTION?

Kotzk Blog: 152) RAMBAM'S ONLY SON – ANOTHER SUFI CONNECTION?

Kotzk Blog: 547) From the Nile to Safed: Egyptian Judeo-Sufism as an influence on Lurianic Kabbalah

Kotzk Blog: 546) Jewish Mystics and Rationalists seeking Islamic Fatwas during the Maimonidean Conflicts

Kotzk Blog: 424) Avraham Ibn Chasdai's references to 'a certain Chacham'

Kotzk Blog: 286) GENIZA DOCUMENT REVEALS FIRST STIRRINGS OF ANTI-MAIMONIDEAN SENTIMENT IN EGYPT:

 

 

Bibliography

Chittick, W., 1989, The Sufi Path of Knowledge: Ibn al-'Arabis Metaphysics of Imagination, S Y Press, Albany, translating al-Futuhat al-Makkiyah, ed. U. Yahia, Beirut, n.d.

Faur, J., 1999, Homo Mysticus: A Guide to Maimonides’s Guide for the Perplexed, Syracuse University Press, Syracuse.

Halperin, D.J., 1988, The Faces of the Chariot: Early Jewish responses to Ezekiel’s vision, J. C. B. Mohr (P. Siebeck), Tuebingen.

Hodgson, M.G.S., 1974, The Venture of Islam, University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

Idel, M., 1991, ‘Jewish Mysticism and Muslim Mysticism’, Machanaim 1, (Hebrew).

Kiener, R.C., 2011, ‘Jewish Mysticism in the Lands of the Ishmaelites: A Re-Orientation’, in The Convergence of Judaism and Islam: Religious, Scientific, and Cultural Dimensions, Edited by Michael M. Laskier and  Yaacov Lev, University Press of Florida, Gainesville, 147-167.

Meroz. R.,  2002, ‘On the Time and Place of Some of Sefer ha-Bahir’, Daat 49, 135-IIO (Hebrew).

Shusman, A., 1985, ‘The Muslim Sources of Rabbi Abraham Maimuni's Book Kitab Kifayat al- 'Abidin', Tarbiz 55, 229-50 (Hebrew).

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[1] Online source: https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/challenging-the-master/. Retrieved 6 August 2026.

564) Oleksa Dovbush: A Ukrainian Baal Shem Tov?

Oleksa Dovbush 1700-1745

Introduction

This article—based extensively on the research by Professor Boris Czerny[1]—examines some unusual similarities between the Baal Shem Tov (the founder of the Chassidic movement, c.1700-1760) and Oleksa Dovbush (the Ukrainian Robin Hood and rebel leader, 1700-1745). Czerny researched the archives of Kyiv and Lviv, as well as Israel, and analysed texts written in Ukrainian, Russian, Hebrew and Yiddish. He also consulted police and court records concerning Oleksa Dovbush to construct his revolutionary biography (Czerny 2018:34). I thank Professor Czerny for gifting me a copy of his book (in French!). 

Both Oleksa Dovbush and the Baal Shem Tov were born at the same time and operated within the same geographical area of the Carpathian region—a 1 500-kilometre arc through Romania, Ukraine, Slovakia, Poland, Hungary, Serbia, and the Czech Republic. The Carpathian region is known for its unique and traditional mountain culture. During the time of Oleksa Dovbush and the Baal Shem Tov, western Ukraine was under Polish rule. 

Carpathian mountain culture

Around the early eighteenth century, the central and eastern Carpathians—where Oleksa Dovbush and the Baal Shem Tov both originated—were home to the Hutsuls. The meaning of ‘Hutsul’ is subject to some scholarly debate. According to K. Milewski, it means ‘nomads,’ and according to Ivan Krypiakevych, it means ‘brigands’—robbers, bandits, and gangs that ambush travellers and raid settlements. Hutsul historically refers to outlaws operating in rural and mountainous areas. Between 1738-45, Dovbush led the ‘opryshoks’ (opryshky) or ‘noble robbers’ who formed the “anti-feudal and national liberation movement active in the Carpathian Mountains” (Fialkova, 2011:1). 

The traditional Hutsul folksongs lauded the valiant deeds of their heroes, particularly Oleksa Dovbush. Hutsuls also have a distinctive folk music and dance. The Hutsuls were known for sheep herding and seasonal migration, elaborate woodwork and wooden architecture (perhaps also reflected in the beautiful wooden synagogue of the Baal Shem Tov). 

Woodwork in the replica of the Baak Shem Tov Shule in Mezbuz, Ukraine. The original was destroyed by the Nazis.

Hutsul folklore celebrated mountain heroes and loner outlaw figures. The overwhelmingly peasant Hutsuls came to be dominated and oppressed by Polish magnates and Hungarian nobles, but they soon began to rebel under the leadership of Oleksa Dovbush. Resistance has always been associated with Carpathian culture: 

“[T]he Carpathians have always been a region where the resistance of indigenous pastoral communities has manifested itself in all aspects of life—social, spiritual, economic, and political” (Hosejko in Czerny 2018:4). 

Literacy among the Hutsuls remained low until as late as the twentieth century. Although their clothes often contained colourful embroidery, the outer garments for both men and women were usually a black or dark red coat (serdak) (Encyclopedia of Ukraine, entry Hutsuls). One wonders how much of the indigenous Hutsul mountain culture went on to influence the Baal Shem Tov. 

Hutsul uprising

The Hutsul uprising of the 1730s and 1740s was a popular peasant rebellion in the Carpathian Mountains against economic and social oppression by the Polish nobility. Led by Oleksa Dovbush, the opryshoks raided wealthy estates and redistributed the stolen property to local serfs. Oleksa Dovbush adopted the strategy of Robin Hood as his way to attain social justice, and he robbed from the rich and gave to the poor. The movement was brutally suppressed following Dovbush's betrayal and death in 1745, but the rebellion left an enduring legacy in Ukrainian history and folklore as a powerful symbol of resistance against foreign feudal rule. 

Were Jews targeted by the opryshoks?

While there were Orthodox Christian priests active among the opryshoks, they were generally of a lower order. They attacked Roman Catholics and Greek Catholics as well as Jews (but generally the richer Jews). Jews held an intermediate economic position between the richer Polish landlords and the poorer local Ukrainian masses. Often Jews appeared to be more influential than they really were because they worked for and administered the estates of the Polish nobility. In fact: 

“in the absence of Polish magnates on the ground, in the villages of the Carpathians, Jews could appear to be the sole and true masters” (Czerny 2018:26). 

The Ukrainians believed their only way to achieve liberation from the feudal system was through violence. While Jews certainly were often targeted as they “were generally the most prosperous residents of the village” (Czerny 2018:37): 

“their victimization was not uniform throughout: it was deadliest in Khmelnytsky’s uprising [17^th century], and seemingly mildest in that of the opryshoks [18^th century]” (Fialkova, 2011:2). 

Thus, during the time of Oleksa Dovbush, Jews may have been targeted but not necessarily because they were Jewish. There are accounts of Dovbush even giving poor Jews money for the Sabbath (Hnatiuk 1910:111). 

Czerny’s personal interest in Hutsul culture

Czerny—whose grandmother came from the Hutsul region—has a personal interest in Oleksa Dovbush and the Baal Shem Tov, because he writes: 

“The Hutsul region as a territory piqued my interest as a researcher because this was where I discovered folk tales and stories that have both Ukrainian and Jewish characters” (Czerny 2019-). 

He makes a profound point on scholarship in general: 

“A scholar always seems to be on a quest. In research there is always a personal dimension—both in the reasons behind the research and in its object” (Czerny 2019-). 

Czerny was clearly emotionally and personally moved by a visit to the Hutsul region: 

“[D]uring my visit…I encountered quite a few men who resembled my father. They spoke the same language, with the same accent as my father. And this was delightful to my ears” (Czerny 2019-). 

This prompted Czerny to further explore his Ukrainian and Jewish roots: 

“I searched for texts that contain Jewish characters from the Carpathians and the Hutsul region” (Czerny 2019-). 

He soon discovered that Ukrainians and Jews shared common and similar hero figures—Oleksa Dovbush and the Baal Shem Tov—who, according to frequent Chassidic accounts, actually knew each other, although Czerny questions the historicity of the two ever meeting in reality. 

Oleksa Dovbush and the Baal Shem Tov

Ukrainian ethnographers and ethnologists have gathered various accounts about Oleksa Dovbush. He emerges as a Robin Hood figure who was eventually imprisoned by the Poles and executed. The stories of Oleksa Dovbush encounter owners of taverns and overnight lodgings, bankers, usurers, peasants and butchers—the same way that Chassidic chroniclers describe the Baal Shem Tov. 

Oleksa Dovbush, the chief of the Hutsuls,  comes across as defiant, proud, valiant. He is physically strong. Politically, he resists the Polish aggressor, and locally, he resists the landlords. He stands for justice and the people. In a similar manner, the Baal Shem Tov represents the people. He stands for the democratisation of Judaism from the tyranny of the rabbinate. He is also physically strong and sometimes even depicted as a shoveller of sand, but his main strength lies in the soul. 

Chassidic stories

Dov Noy (1960) was the first scholar to identify Dovbush in Chassidic literature. In these sources, the often anonymous ‘robber’ in the stories of the Baal Shem Tov is a reference to Oleksa Dovbush (Fialkova, 2011:4). There are Chassidic stories where the Baal Shem Tov tries to introduce Dovbush to a more spiritual strength, like experiencing union with nature, and abandoning quests for enrichment. 

“The Jewish storytellers of the Hasidic communities – which were particularly numerous in Ukraine and, more specifically, in the Carpathian region – considered legends and shevahim (praises) as a way to glorify the miraculous and mystical abilities of the rebbes (Hasidic rabbis)” (Czerny 2022-). 

According to folklore literature which Larisa Fialkova discovered in the Israel Folktale Archives, Dovbush’s mother became a widow while pregnant with her son. She was penniless, and the only person who would bring her some food was a Jew, an innkeeper. This Jew then named her son Dovbush (little bear). Dovbush was always associated with Jews. In Chassidic stories, the Baal Shem Tov is depicted as acting as a mentor to Oleksa Dovbush. In some stories, the Baal Shem Tov’s haunting melodies and spiritual abilities impress Dovbush more than physical strength. 

“In the Jewish stories, Oleksa Dovbush acts as a force of resistance, which is based on his own physical powers. But gradually this strength recedes, finding an ally for itself in the person of Ba`al Shem Tov” (Czerny 2019-). 

Walking in the mountains

In a famous story about the Baal Shem Tov and the ‘robbers,’ high up in the Carpathian mountains, we read: 

“Israel [Baal Shem Tov] took his wife with him high into the Carpathians. Near the village of Zabie he built a cabin for them to live in…But sometimes Israel would take dry bread in a sack, and go away into the hills. He would remain by himself all week long; before the Sabbath he would return home. He would remain at home during the Sabbath, and during the following week again take bread and wander among the high hills, contemplating God. 

In those mountains, too, there were many robbers. They had their forts in the forests, and they sallied out in bands to attack wealthy travellers on the roads.

Once, hidden among the trees, a number of these bandits saw the form of a man [the Baal Shem Tov] who walked on the ledge of a mountain-peak. A chasm lay between the cliff he walked upon and the next mountain.

The man seemed absorbed in thought. He did not look where he walked.

‘He will surely walk off the cliff! He will fall into the chasm!’ the bandits cried to one another. They could not move, but watched him. 

Then they saw the two mountains move together, and close the chasm between them. The Master stepped safely from one peak to the other peak. And when he had passed, the mountains separated behind him, and were as they had been, with the chasm lying between them. When the robbers saw this happen they said one to another, ‘He must be a holy man!’ Then they ran toward him and said, ‘Be our judge!’ Rabbi Israel answered, ‘If you will promise never to injure a Jew, I will be your judge.’ They agreed. ‘I live in the cabin near Zabie,’

he said,  ‘When you need a judge to decide your quarrels, come to me’” (Shivchei haBesht, no.9). 

The Baal Shem Tov’s pipe

The expression “They agreed,” in the above story, indicates a form of corroboration between the two heroes. Perhaps related to this story—where the Baal Shem Tov informs the ‘robbers’ as to where he lives—is the Chassidic legend that Oleksa Dovbush once had to seek refuge in the home of the Baal Shem Tov, and as a token of gratitude gifted the latter his pipe. From then on, the Baal Shem Tov is said to have taught while holding the pipe in his hand. This eminent pipe, known as a ‘lulkah,’ was handed down within Chassidic communities and was recently sold in an auction in Jerusalem. There are many other stories about Dovbush’s ‘robbers’ and ‘bandits’ in the tales of the Baal Shem Tov. 

Beautiful songs

A less-known story about encounters with anonymous robbers was also found by Fialkova (2011:9) in the Israel Folktale Archives: 

“The Baal Shem Tov once takes a teenage boy, Shaul, to accompany him in one of his trips. They stop to rest at an inn where they encounter some Ukrainian villagers that are dancing and singing. Shaul has a wonderful voice which is admired by the villagers who pledge him their friendship. Many years later Shaul, who has become a wealthy merchant, is robbed on his way through the forest. He recognizes his assailants, and reminds them of their meeting at the inn. The robbers ask him to sing and then restore all his property to him” (IFA 1197). 

The underground journey to Jerusalem

There is also the story in Shivchei haBesht depicting Dovbush and the Baal Shem Tov as digging an underground tunnel together—or in some versions the bandits claim to know a shortcut that leads to the Holy Land through cellars and underground passages (Czerny 2018:184)—all the way to Jerusalem. However, at some stage in the process, a certain energy descends upon them and informs them that it was not the right time for either to go to Jerusalem. This strange story suggests a common sense of purpose between this unlikely company (Ben-Amos/Mintz 1993:23). Significantly, this very story is known in Ukrainian folklore as well (Vincenz 1979:195). 

A Poem by Naftali Gross 

Naftali Gross (1897-1956) was raised on Chassidic stories. Although this poem was written some two centuries later, it captures the prevailing ethos which seems to merge and fuse the imagery of both Oleksa Dovbush and the Baal Shem Tov as they were imagined to have moved through the Carpathian mountains:   

“Dovbush spent the whole night in the mountains feasting

His companions brought him the most delicious dishes,

Then we danced, whistled, played the violin and sang.

The Baal Shem Tov meanwhile walked through the forest,

Talking with the wind and the pine needles

Hugging each tree like a friend, a family member.

Stomping his bare feet on the frozen snow,

He spoke with G-d as an equal

Praising with each step the earth beneath his feet…

 

Before the Baal Shem Tov and Dovbush

Borders and barriers disappear…

And trees and grasses and fountains,

Like mills rustle and murmur,

In the ears of Dovbush and the Baal Shem Tov” (Naftali Gross). 

Besides featuring prominently in Chassidic stories, Dovbush captured the collective memory of the non-Chassidic and secular world as well, with vast amounts of writing and accounts about him. Often these Jewish sources describe a weak and weary Dovbush (Czerny 2018:204). 

Daniel Klouger

In a story by Daniel Klouger (1951-2025), an Israeli writer and physicist born in Simferopol in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, Dovbush is pursued by his enemies and is wounded. He encounters the Baal Shem Tov, who heals him: 

“The Besht drove away the pursuers with a magical prayer. He tended to the bandit’s wounds and gave him mountain water to drink” (cited in Czerny 2018:214). 

Ukrainian stories

On the other hand, in the Ukrainian stories, Dovbush is depicted as the embodiment of physical strength and intense revenge against the Polish and Ukrainian lords for oppressing the peasants. His strength is sometimes more cruel than powerful, as he cuts off heads and rips stomachs open—all for the ultimate betterment of the populace. He is ready to sacrifice himself for his people (Czerny 2022-). This cruelty does not come across in the Jewish narratives. In the Ukrainian stories—besides the cruelty, honour, revenge and an insatiable desire for justice—there is, surprisingly, no hatred or greed. On the contrary, there is generosity because ultimately Dovbush gives away all that he owns.  He truly behaves like a Robin Hood figure and even destroys the peasants' debt receipts.[2]  

“In the Hutsul stories, the rabbis of the Hasidic courts appear as miracle workers, magicians and doctors with extraordinary powers… Jewish magic and its practitioners were part of the everyday landscape of the villages and towns of the multi-ethnic communities that lived in virtual isolation in the mountains” (Czerny 2022-). 

Chassidim and nobility

There are also some parallels between Polish nobility and Chassidim in the way they conducted their hierarchical social structures: 

“Just as the authority of a [Polish] lord was exercised according to a pattern of concentric circles with an ever-widening radius, starting from the members of his family and extending down to the peasants, the head or rebbe of a Hasidic court based his material power on a network that spread out in rhizomes, stretching from his court to his relatives and followers” (Czerny 2018:26). 

Cultural parallels

The parallels between Jews and Ukrainians, particularly Hutsuls, were significant. I read through Czerny’s voluminous research and his collection of Hutsul stories about Dovbush and interactions with Jews, and the sheer quantity of this material on shared cultural experiences is astonishing and should not be underestimated. The Hutsul-Chassidic connection was far from trivial. They reflect complex but intense areas of interaction and coexistence because they were often “the only ones present in these high-altitude villages of the Carpathians” (Czerny 2018:35): 

“If Jews are found in Ukrainian stories, Ukrainian characters are also present in Jewish tales and legends” (Czerny 2022-). 

In Jewish sources, Dovbush’s encounters with rabbis are not just with the Baal Shem Tov, but with other early Chassidic characters as well (Fialkova 2011:13). Hutsuls often participated in Jewish festivals, especially Purim, dressing up as Haman and running through the village being beaten by Jews. The Hutsuls even developed the expression “to be beaten up like a Haman” (Czerny 2018:37). The interaction and areas of crossover were particularly intense when it came to—not just Jews—but the early Chassidim because: 

“certain practices shared by the Hutsuls and Hasidic Jews were based on the expression of basic forms of belief and superstition… magic and demonology” (Czerny 2018:35). 

In Chassidic and Hutsul stories, the evil forces can be driven out of a person through the little finger [see Kotzk Blog: 403) Hillel Baal Shem Ra: the Master of the Evil Name.] To this day, tombs like that of the Baal Shem Tov are regarded as miraculous spaces by the local peoples of the Carpathian region (Czerny 2018:38). 

Nostalgia

Czerny notes a certain nostalgia in both the Jewish and Ukrainian versions of the stories, where the setting—the lost paradise of the Carpathian mountains, forests and streams—is the backdrop to a certain intimacy and camaraderie that once existed among this particular group of traditional Jewish and Ukrainian mountain people: 

“I think that in no other folklore in the world can you find stories depicting the encounter of two national heroes from two different cultures of two different peoples. The folklore of the Carpathian Mountains is very special” (Czerny 2019-). 

Analysis

In Jewish and Ukrainian traditions, there is much overlap (if not inversion) between Oleska Dovbush and the Baal Shem Tov: 

“The hero of the other is deprived of culturally unacceptable features by the censorship of tradition… The image of Dovbush in Jewish folklore supplements the image of the Besht (and other holy Jews) in Ukrainian and Polish folklore as two sides of a single phenomenon in neighbouring cultures” (Fialkova 2011:14). 

In a literary sense (and without denying their separate historical existences), the real or imagined interactions between the two hero figures tempt the question: was Dovbush a Ukrainian Baal Shem Tov—or was the Baal Shem Tov a Jewish Dovbush?

Two films

Here is a 1959 film on Oleksa Dovbush (with English subtitles): https://www.google.com/search?q=oleksa+dovbush&sca_esv=0bd0d527fc5b0f39&sxsrf=APpeQnuOXSrDgxqrtO6o2EJ-vlBQhfdObQ:1785608673547&ei=4Tluao33ILLGi-gPl6WqgAg&start=10&sa=N&sstk=AU9db-B3KLcp4aFRSO7W44tVLdMfk18ox2iI7GILk9J_icR7kFzSPGZEvHh3XEzQblky5paB3QRfMPYnUOJPly0o87h6n6gvldhVGg&ved=2ahUKEwjN68bVhoCWAxUy4wIHHZeSCoAQ8tMDegQIRRAE&biw=1896&bih=941&dpr=1#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:19468571,vid:EN-aEXTQmcE,st:0

In 2023 a new film, “Dovbush” was released during the Russia-Ukraine war, and has broken box office records for Ukraine, with its themes of national self-determination and the struggle against invaders. Luzer Twersky, a former Chassid and descendent of the Baal Shem Tov, plays the role of the Baal Shem Tov!

Bibliography

Ben-Amos, D., and Mintz, J.R., (Translators), 1993, In Praise of the Baal Shem Tov [Shivchei ha-Besht]: The Earliest Collection of Legends about the Founder of Hasidism, Jason Aronson INC., London.

Encyclopedia of Ukraine (entry Hutsuls). Online source: https://www.encyclopediaofukraine.com/display.asp?linkpath=pages%5CH%5CU%5CHutsuls.htm. Retrieved 28 July 2026.

Czerny, B., 2018, Contes et récits juifs et ukrainiens du pays houtsoule [Jewish and Ukrainian Tales and Stories from the Hutsul Region], PETRA.

Czerny, B., 2019, ‘Tales from the Hutsul region, the meeting place of Oleksa Dovbush and Ba`al Shem Tov’. Online source: https://ukrainianjewishencounter.org/en/tales-from-the-hutsul-region-the-meeting-place-of-oleksa-dovbush-and-baal-shem-tov/. Retrieved 28 July 2026.

Czerny, B., 2022, ‘Dovbush and the Baal-Shem Tov: two heroes of Jewish and Ukrainian national identities’. Online source: Dovbush and the Baal-Shem Tov: two heroes of Jewish and Ukrainian national identities - K. Jews, Europe, 21st Century. Retrieved 28 July 2026.

Fialkova, L., 2011, ‘Oleksa Dovbush: An Alternative Biography of the Ukrainian Hero Based on Jewish Sources’, Fabula, vol. 52 (1/2), 92-108 (1-17).

Hnatiuk, V., 1910, ‘Narodni opovidannia pro opryshkiv (Folktales about the Opryshoks)’, in Entohrafichnyi zbirnyk (Ethnographic collection) 26.

Noy, D., 1960, ‘Agadot Ha-Besht Ba-Harim Ha-Karpatim (The Legends about the Besht in the Carpathians)’, in Mahanaim, Shavuot, 66-73.

Vincenz, S., 1936, Na Wysokiej Poloninie: Obrazy, Dumy i Gawêdy z Wierchowiny Hu culskiej (On the High Uplands, First Part in Polish), Warszawa.

I thank Dr. Avi Harel for the following source:

Hrabovets'kyi, V. Oleksa Dovbush. (1700–1745) לבוב 1994

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[1] I thank my Ukrainian-Russian friend Simeon Khazin for drawing my attention to Oleksa Dovbush.

[2] Online source:

https://ukrainianjewishencounter.org/en/the-founder-of-hasidism-is-in-a-ukrainian-film-for-the-first-time-in-the-history-of-world-cinema/. Retrieved 28 July 2026.

563) The suicide of Sarah?

  

Milk urns used to bury documentation form the Warsaw Ghetto as part of the Ringelblum Archives

Note: This article deals with an unusual and peripheral view that the biblical Sarah committed suicide after she heard that her son Isaac was bound on the altar. Suicide is a serious problem in many communities, and ours is no different. Reference to Sarah’s alleged suicide as a ‘virtue’ must be understood within the historical and literary context in which this idea was fermented, and not in any way as a religious sanction of such an act. I deal with it here knowing full well that ideas are dangerous, but equally aware that withholding them is more so. 

Introduction

This article—based extensively on the research by Rabbi Professor Daniel Reiser—examines an unusual Chassidic interpretation of the biblical Sarah’s death as a suicide. This idea is to be found in the writings of the Piaseczno^[1] Rebbe, Kalonymus Kalman Shapira (1889-1943), produced while he was confined to the Warsaw Ghetto. According to Reiser (2021:7): 

“Sarah died in order to demonstrate to God that her excessive  suffering in the wake of Isaac’s near sacrifice was absolutely unbearable.” 

In Shapira’s lived experience, he seemed to identify with Sarah, whom he interpreted as demonstrating that with the episode of the Akeidah—the sacrifice of Isaac—God had pushed humanity too far. 

562) Was Maharal of Prague a philosopher or a veiled mystic?

Tiferet Yisrael by Maharal of Prague. First edition, Venice 1599

Introduction

This article—based extensively on the research by Dr Leore Sachs-Shmueli and Eynel Kapach—examines the question of whether the Maharal of Prague  (1512-1609) was a philosopher or a Kabbalist. The Maharal has long been the subject of much scholarly debate over his relationship to Kabbalah. This new research situates Maharal as a discreet Kabbalist who hid his deep mystical views behind a veil of philosophy. 

561) Maimonidean philosophy as a form of rationalist mysticism?

The Kabbalistic Eitz Chaim as depicted in an early 18th century diagram from the Klau Scrolls Collection showing the complicated mystical path to unio mystica.

Introduction

This article—based extensively on the research by Professor Gideon Freudenthal—explores the possibility of a unio mystica (mystical union) attainable through Maimonidean philosophic and rationalist endeavours. This rationalist unio mystica parallels (and might even surpass) the unio mystica described by the mystics and Kabbalists. If this claim holds, then it is not only the mystics who can, allegedly, experience unio mystica, but also the rationalists. Yet, both states of unio mystica are defined very differently, as one is mystically ecstatic while the other remains purely intellectual. 

560) What Can We Learn From the Writing Style of Kabbalistic Source Books?

This is another guest post by Rabbi Boruch Clinton, and originally appeared on his B'chol D'rachecha site.

(I asked Rabbi Clinton to share his fascinating and original thoughts on the stylistic underpinnings of our mystical texts, not only because so much of his writing resonates with me, but also because I have never before seen a theory of mysticism expressed in such a forthright manner - Gavin Michal)

Many years ago, a Torah scholar speaking at a public gathering I attended said some strange things. Everything sounded fine until you spent a moment thinking about it. As an example, he insisted that “Rabbi S.R. Hirsch and the Baal Hatanya translated the word הלל identically.”

Now that’s simply untrue. R’ Hirsch’s translation of הלל is on the record and it bears no resemblance to the translation reported in the speech.1 It’s not as though there are any political points to be made here one way or the other, it’s just incorrect. I said nothing at the time, but I quietly wondered why that rabbi would have said such nonsense.