Medieval German (Ashkenazic) Hasidism

The period during which Kabbala was established in the south of France and in Spain is no less important for the shaping of Jewish mysticism in the other branch of European Judaism, which was situated in northern France (and England) and in the Rhine and Danube regions of Germany. Unlike medieval Kabbala, which experienced a broad and varied development starting in the second half of the 13th century, the movement designated as German, or Ashkenazic (from a biblical place-name conventionally used to designate Germany), Hasidism hardly survived as a living and independent current beyond the second quarter of the 13th century (it has no connection with modern Hasidism). Franco-German Judaism experienced a certain continuity of mystical tradition, based on the Sefer yetzira and the hekhalot (see above Sefer yetzira); certain elements of theurgy and magic of Babylonian origin may also have reached it through Italy; and apparently the gnosticizing current that was crystallized in the Sefer ha-bahir did not pass without leaving traces in Germany. The intellectual atmosphere of Franco-German Judaism, however, differed greatly from that reigning in Spain or even Provence and Languedoc. It was characterized by an almost exclusively Talmudic culture, less intellectual contact with the non-Jewish environment than in the countries of Muslim civilization, and a very limited knowledge of Jewish theology in Arabic from the Middle East, North Africa, and Spain. This situation did not change until the last third of the 12th century; until then, the “philosophical” equipment of the Franco-German Jewish scholar consisted essentially of a Hebrew paraphrase, dating perhaps from the 11th century, of the treatise Beliefs and Opinions by Saʿadia ben Joseph (the great 9th–10th-century Babylonian Jewish scholar and philosopher) and the commentary on the Sefer yetzira written in Hebrew in 946 by the Italian physician Shabbetai Donnolo (born 913). Even when the cultural influence of Spanish Judaism came to be felt more strongly in France, England, and Germany, speculative Kabbala hardly penetrated there. Franco-German Jewish thinkers who inclined toward theological speculation had their own problems—notably the persecutions that began during the First Crusade—which resulted in a mysticism strongly imbued with asceticism.

The main speculative problem for medieval Hasidic thinkers was that of the relationship between God and his manifestations in creation, including his revelation and communication with inspired men and women. Reflection on this problem led to the elaboration of various supernatural hierarchies between the inaccessible God and the created universe or the recipient of divine communication. Data on angels taken from the Bible and rabbinical and mystical traditions, as well as speculation on the Shekhina, were used as material for these hierarchies and also gave a peculiar coloration to liturgical practice. The latter was marked, moreover, by a concern for spiritual concentration by means of fixing attention on the words and even the letters of the synagogue prayers. These speculations, however, had no great repercussions on the subsequent course of Jewish esoterism; the only exception is the mysticism of prayer and demonology, which was sometimes influenced by the beliefs of the Christian environment and was fully developed in Hasidic circles. On the other hand, the ascetic morality of the movement, which was expressed in the literary works of Eleazar ben Judah of Worms (c. 1160–1238) and in the two recensions of the “Book of the Pious” (Sefer ḥasidim), was to mark Jewish spirituality, esoteric or not, from then on.

The making of the Zohar (c. 1260–1492)

Once the marginal episode of German Hasidism was finished, almost all creative activity in Jewish mysticism occurred in Spain, up to the expulsion of the Jews in 1492.

After the flowering of the schools described above came to an end about the year 1260, two other currents appeared. The first assumed a gnostic bent through its emphasis on the problem of evil. The texts that illustrate this tendency do not place evil in a state of dependence on the “attribute of judgment” within the structure of the sefirot set up by the previous Kabbalists but locate it outside the Divinity, constructing a parallel system of “left-hand sefirot” and a corresponding exuberant demonology. The second movement, whose main representative was the visionary and adventurer Abraham ben Samuel Abulafia (born 1240), justified itself by appeal to inner “prophetic” experiences encouraged by training methods akin to those of Yoga, Byzantine Hesychasm (mystical, quietist monasticism), and Sufism. Moreover, an important place was given to speculations on the letters and vocalic signs of the Hebrew script. Unlike the protagonists of other mystical schools of Spain, Abulafia actively promoted his ideas, worrying Jewish leaders and prompting even non-Jewish authorities to pursue him. His numerous writings later stimulated a few minds among the Kabbalists.

The work of Moses de León (1250–1305) marked one of the most important turning points in the development of Jewish mysticism. He was the author of several esoteric works, which he signed with his own name. In order to better spread his ideas and to more effectively combat philosophy, which he considered a mortal danger to the Jewish faith, he composed pseudepigrapha (writings ascribed to other authors, usually in past ages) in the form of Midrashim on the Pentateuch, the Song of Solomon, the Book of Ruth, and Lamentations; only the names of the Talmudic authorities were even partially authentic, a procedure already used by the Sefer ha-bahir. In its most finished version (for there were several of them), the plot of the tales centred around Rabbi Simeon ben Yoḥai, a sage of the 2nd century, about whom the Talmud already related some curious anecdotes, most of them semilegendary. Moses de León thus produced over a period of about 30 years the Midrash ha-neʿelam (“The Mystical Midrash”), an allegorical work written mainly in Hebrew, and then the Sefer ha-zohar (“Book of Splendour”)—or, more briefly, the Zohar—a larger work written in artificial Aramaic, whose content is theosophic. The Zohar culminates in a long speech in which Simeon ben Yoḥai, on the day of his death, supposedly exposes the quintessence of his mystical doctrine. The book inspired nearly contemporary imitations that were incorporated into it or appended to it but were sometimes of a markedly different theological orientation: the Raʿya mehemana (“Faithful Shepherd”—i.e., Moses the prophet), the particular subject of which is the interpretation and theosophic justification of the precepts of the Torah; and the Tiqqune zohar, consisting of elaborations in the same vein bearing upon the first word of the book of Genesis (bereshit, “in the beginning”).

The works of Moses de León were not immediately accepted as authentic by all the esoterists and still less by scholars outside the theosophic movement. It took half a century or more for the Zohar and imitations of it to be recognized as authoritative ancient works, and even then it was not without some reluctance. Although critics were never fully silenced and the authenticity of the Zohar was already questioned in the 15th century, the myth created by Moses de León and his imitators became a spiritual reality for the majority of believing Jews, and it still retains this character among many “traditional” Jews. The Zohar, believed to be based on supernatural revelations and reinterpreted in diverse ways, served as a support and reference for all Jewish theosophies in later centuries.

In matters of doctrine, the Zohar and its appendices develop, amplify, and exaggerate speculation and tendencies that already existed rather than offer any radical innovation. The main lines of the Zohar—the springing forth of being from the depth of the divine “nothing,” the solidarity between the visible world and the world of the sefirot (complicated by the introduction of four ontological levels, at each of which the schema of the 10 sefirot is reproduced), the indispensable contribution to universal harmony by the people (i.e., the Jews) who observe the biblical and rabbinical precepts in their slightest details—were ideas that had been accepted for a long time in Jewish theosophy. But all of these themes were largely organized and enhanced by the use—or rather the unscrupulous appropriation—of materials taken from rabbinical tradition and ancient esoterism as well as from more recent currents of theological and philosophical thought (the speculations of the Sefer ha-temuna on the cosmic cycles and the “Prophetic Kabbala” of Abulafia were tacitly set aside).

Despite the lack of esteem that the writers of the Zoharic corpus felt—and sought to make others feel—toward works created by Gentiles, the method of symbolic representation used in the Zoharic writings was supported by a system of interpretation based on the originally Christian concept of the fourfold meaning of Scripture: literal, moral, allegorical (philosophical), and mystical. The symbolism that was thus established boldly made use of an exuberant anthropomorphic and even erotic imagery whose function was to convey the manifestation of the levels of the sefirot to each other and to the extra-divine world. The myth of the primordial man (Adam Qadmon), a virtually divine being, reappeared here under a new form, and it remained in the subsequent development of Kabbala.

The Zohar thus claims to provide a complete explanation of the world, humankind, history, and the situation of the Jews; on a higher level, it purports to justify the biblical revelation and rabbinical tradition down to the slightest detail, including the messianic expectation, and thereby to neutralize philosophy. But, while portraying itself as the defender of the traditional religion regulated by the Talmud and its commentaries, the Zohar places itself above tradition by boisterously proclaiming the incomparable value of the theosophic teaching of Rabbi Simeon ben Yoḥai and the superiority of the esoteric doctrine over Talmudic studies. There was in this attitude—which was more accentuated in the Raʿya mehemana than in the Zohar proper—a revolutionary potential and a threat to the primacy of Torah practice and study. The future would show that this danger was not completely unreal.