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Sunday, 2 February 2025

500) Mining Chassidic stories for kernels of historicity

 


Introduction

This article based extensively on the research by Professor Glynn Dynner[1] examines a possible methodology to extract aspects of historical truths from the often exaggerated and venerating style of Chassidic storytelling. Even within Chassidic circles the ‘Chassidishe Maaseh,’ or Chassidic story, is sometimes acknowledged as a questionable source of information, but this is not always the case. The presentation style of Chassidic stories is often referred to as hagiography as opposed to historiography. Sometimes Chassidic hagiography is so dense and detailed that Ada Rapoport-Albert has coined the phrase “Hagiography with footnotes.”[2] As detailed as the hagiography may be, it is still hard to define Chassidic stories as accurate history. Nevertheless, Dynner asks: 

“Can elements of certain tales stand on their own as historical sources?” (Dynner 2009:655).

 

The process of retelling Chassidic stories

Chassidic stories are enchanting. We must remember though, that these tales have sometimes passed through many a progression and prism before reaching us. One significant process has been Martin Buber’s (1878-1965) well-known renderings of Chassidic stories into German and these soon made their way into the English language and became popularised. By popularising and romanticising these stories Buber had essentially removed them from their original sitz im leben or real-life situation:

“By purging the gritty Hebrew and Yiddish originals of elements that might be unappealing to the modern eye and refashioning them in stylized German, Buber instilled in early twentieth century secular Jewish readers a new appreciation for the discarded world of tradition. Most took the tales’ miracle claims with a grain of salt; what was really important was their anti-bourgeois, authentic folk sensibility. And since romanticization occurs only at a safe remove, readers of Buber’s tales could feel privy to the Hasidic spirit without feeling beholden to its ritual demands” (Dynner 2009:655). 

[See Kotzk Blog: 384) A rare glimpse into the critical mind of a Chassidic Rebbe – Yitzchak Nachum Twersky.] 

Not all scholars of Chassidism, however, were accepting of Buber’s approach to the Chassidic story.  Gershom Scholem dismissed Buber’s methodology of storytelling and focussed rather on Chassidic literature itself, as a better source for understanding Chassidism. Scholem’s student, Rivka Schatz-Uffenheimer, poignantly noted that Buber’s stories tell us more about Buber himself, than about Chassidism. Joseph Dan warned students not to take Buber’s stories as being seriously reflective of the true spirit of Chassidism, let alone as reflective of their actual history. Jon Levenson, who was an admirer of Buber cautioned readers against “reading into the text ideas at odd with the cultures that produced them.” And Steven Katz noticed that Buber only presented his readers with a sanitised version of the stories, omitting mysticism, magic and the ascetic content that was a significant component of the original stories. On a personal note, as a youngster growing up, I was severely influenced by Chassidic stories particularly those of Buber. 

Besides Buber’s renderings of Chassidic stories, even the original versions in Hebrew and Yiddish directed at an internal Chassidic audience do not present an accurate description of the Chassidic milieu they claimed to portray.  One is reminded of the many, manifold and ‘original’ versions of Kotzker Rebbe stories, for example [see Kotzk Blog: 480) What did the Kotzker Rebbe say?]. Often the very same story is reflected as having taken place in the courts of different Rebbes.

 

The Rosman-Etkes debate over the reliability of Shivchei haBesht

The classic rendering of Chassidic tales as ‘history’ is, of course, Shivchei haBesht (In Praise of the Baal Shem Tov) produced in 1814 describing the early period of the Chassidic movement. The problem with this book is that there is no autograph version of it and it relies on more than a century of oral transmission by Chassidim whose aim was to venerate the founding characters of Chassidic history and to turn them into beacons of inspiration. While this may be a lofty and noble endeavour, its result can only be a more exaggerated hagiography than accurate history. 

The two historians Moshe Rosman and Immanuel Etkes were divided over the reliability of using Shivchei haBesht, the Chassidic hagiographical biography of the Baal Shem Tov, as a reliable source for the history of the new movement. 

Rosman consulted actual historical sources, archival material, correspondence and documents. Based on his findings, he concluded that Shivchei haBesht had distorted the historical figure of the Baal Shem Tov as the alleged champion of the masses. Rosman, in his Founder of Hasidism (Berkeley 2006), showed that: 

“to the contrary…the Besht [Baal Shem Tov] was embraced by local elites, resided tax-free in a community-owned house in Miëdzybóz, and kept aloof from social conflicts. Rosman questioned whether the Jewish masses were even in desperate need of a champion. The Jewish communities of Podolia were not suffering from increased poverty or anti-Jewish attacks, and Miëdzybóz was ‘an administrative center for the Czartoryski latifundium as well as an important trade emporium where merchants of the region and from the West gathered to buy and sell’. The Besht and his fellow Jews did not reside in a ghetto, but ‘owned the majority of the better, stone houses in the town as well as most of the stores on the marketplace’, and had non-Jewish neighbors” (Dynner 2009:657). 

As one can imagine, Rosman’s work was not well received by some of his readers who had a very different perspective of who the Baal Shem Tov was and of what those times were like. Rosman had actively decided to steer well away from Shivchei haBesht as a historical source. 

Immanuel Etkes decided to respond by writing an alternate biography of the Baal Shem Tov entitled The Besht: Magician, Mystic, and Leader (Brandeis University Press, 2005). Etkes situated the Baal Shem Tov in a mystical tradition that originated with the earlier Kabbalists and the miracle and wonder workers known as Baalei Shem [see Kotzk Blog: 403) Hillel Baal Shem Ra: the Master of the Evil Name.]. According to Etkes, the sories contained in Shivchei haBesht: 

“were apparently firsthand reports and the storytellers themselves belonged to the ‘upper spiritual-religious class’, including many rabbis. Etkes concluded that Shivhei Ha-Besht is composed of ‘testimonies and traditions, as they are the reflections of real people, of the real events that occurred to these people, and of the utterances they actually made’. The seasoned historian had only to purge them of their miraculous elements” (Dynner 2009:657). 

Then Havivah Pedaya joined the fray and accused Rosman of being a historical positivist (focusing only on data and rejecting intuition and faith) and rejecting the material from Shivchei haBesht. 

Rosman “lost his patience” (Dynner 2009:657) and rebutted his detractors accusing them of overreliance on the hagiography in Shivchei haBesht. He simply claimed that he held himself to a “stricter standard” of historical research. 

Significantly, however, it seems that Rosman had been judged too harshly because he. Had never rejected Shivchei haBesht out of hand! He always admitted to the existence of a ‘historical layer’ within Shivchei haBesht. It was just that that ‘historical layer’ had to be corroborated through external sources as well. 

The historian Israel Bartal adopts a similar approach and maintains that Chassidic stories have a ‘heuristic’ [an aiding or approximation] value because often they can: 

“alert the researcher that an event happened, yet not necessarily supply completely accurate information about it” (Bartal 1994:34).[3] 

Rosman was treated rather unfairly because on numerous occasions he refers directly to Shivchei haBesht as actual prooftext and even relies on it more than just a casual ‘heuristic’ source (Dynner 2009:658).

 

The Lemberg Period

After the emergence of Shivchei haBesht in 1814, no other published collection of Chassidic stories surfaced until fifty years later. This later layer of published Chassidic literature was centred around Lemberg (now Lviv) because the Tsarist censors considered Chassidic stories to be harmful and would not allow them to be published in their territory. Some Chassidic works like Ramatain Tzofim managed to evade the Tsarist censors because it appeared on the surface to be a commentary to Tanna de’vei Eliyahu. 

The Lemberg collection concentrated on the founding of the various Chassidic dynasties and the differences between the multiple schools of Chassidism. It was also based on oral transmission except that now it was yet another fifty years further down the line from the originators of the stories. This made these stories even less reliable as they remained undocumented in print for even longer. 

One must mention, though, that some sources from the Lemberg collection are deemed even more reliable than Shivchei haBesht, from a historical point of view. These include writings that emerged after 1874 by the Breslover chronicler, the student of R. Nachman of Breslov, R. Natan Shternharts (known as Reb Nossen) in his work, Chayei Moharan. Other works that also fall into this category of more historical writings are R. Yitzchak Landau’s Zicharon Tov (1892), and R. Eleazar haKohen of Pultusk’s Eitz Avot in Hidushei Maharach (1898). 

However, during the Lemberg period, some disingenuous characters fabricated outright events that did not correspond to the historical record. Michael Rodkinson, who redacted a collection of Chassidic stories in 1864, adapted earlier folk tales and presented them as Chassidic tales. There was also Yudel Rosenberg who forged some colourful Chassidic material. Many of these stories were adapted from other religions and the surrounding culture. 

Notwithstanding all this, Dynner proposes a methodology that may allow for some careful readings of Chassidic stories from the various periods, to be relied upon from a critical and historical perspective.

 

A new methodology for reading traditional Chassidic stories

While acknowledging the overwhelming element of hagiography characteristic of most forms of Chassidic literature, Dynner questions whether it is still possible to mine its hagiography for kernels of historicity. If so, are there suggested guidelines and is there a proposed methodology to do so? 

Despite their obvious and dominant hagiography: 

“the sheer mass of printed Hasidic tales is astounding; and their portraits of daily Hasidic life are sometimes rendered with precision and scintillating detail. Can historians of Hasidism really afford to discard this immense corpus of cherished personal recollections, often relayed first-hand or transmitted from father to son, painstakingly compiled, and then translated into Hebrew for publication?... even the most skeptical historians occasionally find it necessary to draw upon these rich repositories. The real question, then, is how to apply a consistent standard for distilling history from Hasidic tales” (Dynner 2009:656). 

Dynner is very aware of the pitfalls of reading general Chassidic stories in their literal sense: 

“To be sure, even the more historical hagiographies contain errors and distortions. Especially misleading are their attempts to project a folksy profile: in actuality, most Zaddikim derived from elite families and cultivated wealthy patrons who ensured the movement’s financial stability, stymied governmental bans, and, where dynasticism had not yet taken hold, groomed and appointed successors from a pool of scions of the elite” (Dynner 2009:660). 

This is a fascinating observation because the picture usually presented is one of the Chassidic masters adopting an egalitarian stance, championing the unjust plight of the downtrodden Jew. 

Yet, Dynner still maintains ꟷ in keeping with some of the clinical and data-based historians we have mentioned ꟷ that traditional Chassidic stories may have historical value under certain circumstances, provided that they are used in conjunction with available evidence. 

Additionally, Dynner makes the point that oftentimes Chassidic stories counterintuitively include within their copious detailed accounts, some very unflattering utterances about their Rebbes. And, considering that these accounts are often presented by the closest students of the Chassidic Master, it makes it even more remarkable that they include such subversive material within their recollections and memoirs. One would expect, especially from hagiographical literature, only to be inspired by the virtuous deeds of the Rebbe. But this is not always the case. The Chassidic stories are not always apologetic, inspirational and of a kiruv (missionary) nature: 

“[P]olemical motivations actually present a golden opportunity, since the historian can navigate around edifying claims and seize upon disclosures of a mundane, incidental, or embarrassing character, i.e., elements that are extraneous to the movement’s promotion” (Dynner 2009:660). 

This methodology is sometimes referred to as the ‘Criterion of Embarrassment’ and may indicate that such sections of the literature may be considered authentic. These clues may not only be found in the negative writing but also the neutral sections of the account: 

“By shifting the focus onto a tale’s neutral or negative content, we can draw out abundant data on Hasidism during its vital but neglected phase of growth, expansion, and crystallization” (Dynner 2009:661). 

One example of this ‘Criterion of Embarrassment’ can be found in R. Yitzchak Landau’s Zicharon Tov, which shows the embarrassing gluttonous side of the famous R. Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev who is depicted as loving food. Once, just before the fast of Yom Kippur: 

“[T] they placed stuffed fish (memuleh) before him (called oksen)… And after that, they placed the dish of gravy before him, called in Yiddish yohel… And he once again was very, very happy, and worshipped in tremendous joy” (Yitzchak of Neskhiz, Zikharon Tov, Piotroków Trybunalski, 1892:12, no. 1). 

There is another unflattering account of R. Levi Yitzchak: 

“And in the year 1773, owing to his terrible loss of heart, he fell from his lofty level… and prayed rapidly from his little prayer book, and went a little out of his mind, as is known” (Alexander Sender of Komarno, Zot haBerakha, Jerusalem, 1999:23). 

The same may be said of R. Menachem Mendel of Kotzk who is recorded as having a fiery temper. He may have suffered from a nervous breakdown in 1838; and lived like a recluse from 1839 till his passing in 1859 [see Kotzk Blog: 416) What really happened on the last Friday night in Kotzk?]. 

Internal conflicts between various Rebbes are also recorded: 

“[H]agiographers diligently recorded conflicts between the Seer of Lublin and his renegade disciple R. Jacob Isaac the ‘Holy Jew’ of Przysucha; between R. Barukh of Miëdzybóz and his audacious nephew R. Nahman of Bratslav; and between R. Menahem Mendel of Kotsk and his break-away disciple R. Mordecai Leiner of Izbica. We are also privy to more temporary rifts, such as that between R. Menahem Mendel of Rymanów and R. Naftali Zvi of Ropszyce” (Dynner 2009:662). 

Personal accounts like these, even if they appear within the context of clearly hagiographical writings may be taken as accurate descriptions. However, accounts about other groups should perhaps be viewed with more caution as there may be a tendentious motivation. 

The Chozeh of Lublin was apparently overly familiar with women. In his old age, his second marriage was to a young virgin who was known for her liking of modern fashionable clothes which caused somewhat of a scandal in his Chassidic court. Also recorded is that his alleged supernatural vision failed him on several occasions. It also seems that may have become suicidal after the Napoleonic Wars failed to herald the Messiah.[4] 

R. Nachman of Breslov also suffered from an unrealised messianic expectation and suffered from gluttony and self-doubt. He befriended secular Maskilim during the last decade of his life, much to the dismay of his followers.[5] 

R. Simcha Bunim and R. Yitzchak Worka were financially irresponsible and on several occasions had to be supported by a woman philanthropist, Temerel Sonenberg-Bergson.[6] R. Simcha Bumim was also a gambler and visited the theatre, engaged in secular study, and was once denied access to a Chassidic farbrengen because of his modern clothing.[7] R. Simcha Bunim also got into trouble for his alleged religious laxity: 

“And once, when he journeyed to Lublin with other Hasidim, he ate meat in a village. And this did not appear to the Hasidim to be God-fearing. But when he came with them to greet [the Seer of Lublin] there, the rabbi of blessed memory placed his hand on his stomach and said, ‘Your flesh [i.e., meat] is holy flesh’” (Ramataim Tzofim, I: 170). 

Of course, the Chassidim always found ways to interpret such apparently questionable reports in a manner that was reconciled to their way of thinking. So, R. Yitzchak of Worka was portrayed as the ‘spiritual source’ of Temerel’s wealth, so he wasn’t taking anything from her. The Chozeh’s escorting a woman contained deep mystical secrets not known to the average human being. R. Nachman was making the secular Maskilim religious. Yet: 

“[o]ne almost feels these hagiographers’ struggle, pulled as they were between the need to paint Zaddikim in inspirational terms and the equally powerful compulsion to report every known detail about their lives. These sources are sites of tension, not straightforward evangelical modes” (Dynner 2009:663).

 

Conclusion

Dynner notes that even the designation ‘Tales’ is not always an accurate and appropriate description of Chassidic stories because: 

“[M]any accounts lend themselves to genuine corroboration… When it comes to rich anthropological information and negative disclosures, which would not have been fabricated by a community of believers, the burden of proof is on the skeptics” (Dynner 2009:667). 

Dynner also maintains that while a large number of archival records relating to Chassidim have recently become available we should not rely on them more than necessary. He reminds us that: 

“there are no neutral texts; even a notarial inventory implies a code, which we must decipher” (Carlos Ginzberg, The Inquisitor as Anthropologist, Clues, Myths, and the Historical Method, 161). 

Most of these records were made by Polish officials who had no understanding of their Jewish or Chassidic context. Whatever knowledge they did have was often furnished by the anti-Chassidic informants who had their own agendas: 

“Exclusive reliance on such material can produce a distorted picture of the movement, causing scholars to exaggerate instances of aggressive or anti-social behavior, vastly underestimate Hasidic numbers in various communities, and ignore the crucial role of women, who were usually left out of the official record” (Dynner 2009:668). 

Dynner concludes: 

“In my research I have found that some Hasidic traditions are discredited when tested against archival sources, but that others receive unexpected verification or fill sizeable gaps left by the still fragmentary documentary evidence” (Dynner 2009:668). 


FURTHER RESEARCH

I think that an underexplored and further area of study may be to revisit the vast literature of the Kherson Geniza that I covered extensively in previous articles [see Kotzk Blog: 453) Kherson Geniza - the greatest Chassidic find / or forgery?)]. The Khesron Geniza is a collection of about one thousand letters purported to have been written by the Baal Shem Tov and about thirty other significant early Rebbes of the Chassidic movement. There is no doubt in my mind that a ‘foreign hand’ touched most of the letters. Three hundred of these letters were published during the leadership of R. Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson of Chabad who: 

“drew on old oral traditions and furnished new ones when necessary, as well as both genuine and forged documents (from the so-called Kherson genizah), to create a significant corpus of quasi-historical literature…” (Tworek 2019:412-3).[8] 

The Kherson literature, however, contains so much subversive material that perhaps the ‘Criterion of Embarrassment’ can be carefully applied to sift the few genuine letters from the forged ones. One of the most astonishing letters allegedly authored by the Baal Shem Tov himself states that he was unable to debate with the Frankists, although it must be pointed out that there is no evidence of his participation in that debate. The reason for his inability to debate is that he is “not proficient in matters of the Talmud.” He requests assistance from his more scholarly students. This, and perhaps other such letters (or parts thereof) may benefit from a fresh investigation in light of the ‘Criterion of Embarrassment’ principle.



[1] Dynner, G., 2009, ‘The Hasidic Tale as a Historical Source: Historiography and Methodology’, Religion Compass, vol. 3, no. 4, 655-675.

[2] Rapoport-Albert, A., ‘Hagiography with Footnotes: Edifying Tales and the Writing of History in Hasidism’, in Essays in Jewish Historiography, History and Theory, 27, 23–84.

[3] Israel Bartal, I., 1994, ‘The Aliyah of R. Elazar from Amsterdam to Eretz Yisrael in 1740’ [Hebrew], in Galut Ba-Aretz, Jerusalem.

[4] Yizchak of Nezkhiz, Zikcharon Tov, 17–18, no. 23; Niflaot haRabi, 20:15; Israel Berger, Eser Orot, 85:7 and 91:27.

[5] Green, Tormented Master, 23–62 and 221–74.

[6] Yechiel Michal of Zakrotshtein, Eitz Avot, Megilat Yuchasin, Tachat haEitz (Warsaw, 1898), 3a.

[7] Shmuel of Sieniawa, Ramataim Tzofim(Warsaw, 1881), I: 231–2.

[8] Tworek, W., 2017, ‘Between hagiography and historiography: Chabad, scholars of Hasidism, and the case of the portrait of Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady’, East European Jewish Affairs, vol. 47, no.1, 3-27.

2 comments:

  1. Wow, congrats on 500! Here's to 1000!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you Nachum. I always enjoy your comments, and I appreciate this one too.

    ReplyDelete