Hasidism, Shtadlanut, and Jewish Politics in Nineteenth-Century Poland: The Case of Isaac of Warka

T H E J E W I S H Q UA R T E R LY R E V I E W, Vol. 95, No. 2 (Spring 2005) 290–320

Hasidism, Shtadlanut, and Jewish Politicsin Nineteenth-Century Poland:

The Case of Isaac of WarkaM A R C I N W O D Z I N S K I

ISAAC KALISZ OF WARKA (1779–1848), communal rabbi and founderof the Hasidic dynasty in Warka, was probably the best-known Jew in-volved in the fledgling ‘‘Jewish politics’’ of the government of the King-dom of Poland in the mid-nineteenth century.1 A disciple of David ofLelow, Jacob Isaac Horowitz of Lublin, and Simha Bunim of Przysucha,Isaac was one of the most influential Polish tsadikim in the nineteenthcentury. His most important trait, which was underlined both in hagio-graphic and in scholarly literature, was his ‘‘love of Israel,’’ that is, hisnumerous appearances before the state authorities in defense of Jewishsociety in Poland. He was not the first of the Hasidim in Central Polandto engage in shtadlanut (representation of the Jewish community or com-munities before the state and local authorities). The most active in the1820s were Alexander Zusya Kahana of Warsaw (1795–1837), who wasa very influential disciple of Simha Bunim of Przysucha, rabbi of Siedlceand Płock, and Meir Rothenberg (1760–1831), rabbi and tsadik in Stop-nica and Opatow (Apta).2 As far as we are aware, Isaac was not involved

I wish to thank Professor Moshe Rosman, Professor Shaul Stampfer, MarekUrbanski, and two anonymous referees for their discussions and criticisms of thispaper.

1. For critical historiographical writings, see D. Assaf and I. Bartal, ‘‘Shtadla-nut ve-�ortodoksiya. Tsadike Polin be-mifgash im ha-zemanim ha-h. adashim,’’Tsadikim va-�anshe ma�ase: Meh. karim be-Hasidut Polin, ed. R. Elior, I. Bartal, Ch.Shmeruk (Jerusalem, 1994) 65–90; of the Hasidic historiography, see A. Bromb-erg, Mi-gedole ha-Hasidut, vol. 3 (Jerusalem, 1952); of the hagiographic worksdevoted to Isaac of Warka, the most important is M. M. Walden, Ohel Yitsh. ak(Piotrkow, 1914).

2. For information on Alexander Zusya Kahana, refer to M. Wodzinski,‘‘ ‘Sprawa chasydymow’: Z materiałow do dziejow chasydyzmu w Krolestwie Pol-skim,’’ Z historii ludnosci z.ydowskiej w Polsce i na Sla�sku, ed. K. Matwijowski (Wro-

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THE CASE OF ISAAC OF WARKA—WODZINSKI 291

in any intercessory activities at this stage. It would appear that in 1829he recognized the superior quality of Alexander Kahana’s mediation workand requested that he (Kahana) intercede on behalf of the imprisonedJews of Zambrow.3 From the mid-1830s onward, however, it was notAlexander Kahana but Isaac who was the more active, and his activitiesby far outnumbered those undertaken by previous intercessors. Soon hebecame the best-known representative of Hasidic involvement in politics,while his headquarters in Warka received the honorary title ‘‘Hasidiccapital.’’4

Isaac of Warka and his political activity are interesting for at least tworeasons. First, not only was he a politically involved rabbi but he also wasone of the most prominent representatives of the Hasidic movement. Assuch, his case allows us to examine connections between Hasidism andJewish political activism in the nineteenth century. According to the the-sis of David Assaf and Israel Bartal, the tsadik from Warka was an exam-ple of a Hasidic shtadlan, that is, a new type of Hasidic leader, who soughtto inherit for Hasidism the kahal autonomy of old.5 Second, source mate-rials about Isaac allow for a precise reconstruction of the way he worked,which engenders hope for a greater understanding of the methods em-ployed in Jewish political representation in this crucial period betweenthe dying out of the traditional shtadlanut of the Polish-Lithuanian com-monwealth and the beginnings of a new Jewish politics in the last dec-ades of the nineteenth century. This is crucial to a better understandingboth of the traditional shtadlanut and of the changes which took place inJewish political activity during the nineteenth century.

Usually, the term shtadlanut is applied both to formal intercessors em-ployed by Jewish institutions and approved by the Gentile authorities—agrouping typical of the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth—and to infor-mal intercessors who used their own privileged position for the benefit of

cław, 1994), 227–42 (French translation without the knowledge of the author inTsafon 29 [1997]: 35–58); on Meir of Apta, see R. Mahler, Hasidism and the JewishEnlightenment, trans. E. Orenstein, A. Klein, J. Machlowitz Klein (Philadelphia,1985), 329–33, which contains an interesting interpretation of Meir’s activities asa form of Hasidic shtadlanut. For a collection of the documents in relation toMeir’s intercessions, see the Hebrew version of Mahler’s book, Ha-Hasidut veha-haskala (Merh. avia, 1961), 492–502.

3. See D. A. Mandelbaum, ed., Mikhtavim ve-�igerot kodesh (New York, 2003),215. I wish to thank Professor Shaul Stampfer for bringing this collection to myattention.

4. Archiwum Głowne Akt Dawnych (henceforth: AGAD), Centralne WładzeWyznaniowe (henceforth: CWW) 1457, p. 575.

5. Assaf and Bartal, ‘‘Shtadlanut ve-�ortodoksiya.’’

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their Jewish brethren.6 The second, broader category of shtadlanut, courtJews and religious leaders, has aroused considerable scholarly interest.7

However, although literature dealing with these and other shtadlanim isimpressive, previous examinations of the shtadlanut have paid frustrat-ingly little attention either to the question of their methods (and opera-tional techniques) or to the effectiveness of their activities. This neglecthas possibly been reinforced by the belief that their activities were carriedon behind the scenes and were therefore of an informal, or perhaps evenillegal, nature and were shrouded in mystery.8 Scott Ury’s study suggeststhat the fundamental operational techniques of the shtadlanim in earlymodern Poland were not secretive machinations carried on behind thescenes but: (1) formal requests or even appeals for help, (2) petitionscontaining legal arguments, and (3) bribes. Ury attributes to bribery(which was anything but ‘‘behind the scenes’’ in the Polish-Lithuaniancommonwealth) the most important role.9 However, even if we were toaccept the pertinence of this assertion in relation to the seventeenth oreighteenth century (and it is possible to have doubts, given our virtualignorance of decision-making processes in the areas of interest to us), weshould still ask if and how those methods changed in the nineteenth cen-tury, and how they were affected by the abolition of the official ‘‘Jewishsyndics,’’ and by the general change to the political-legal system. Did theinterventions of nineteenth-century tsadikim differ from those of the OldPolish shtadlanim and their Central European counterparts? This seemshighly possible, as the whole political system of the state changed duringthe turbulent years of the Polish partitions (1772–95) and subsequent

6. For essential reading material on the shtadlanut, see D. Biale, Power andPowerlessness in Jewish History (New York, 1986), chaps. 3–4. For an analysis oftheir activities as a form of political activism, refer to J. Goldberg, ‘‘Pierwszyruch polityczny wsrod Z

.ydow Polskich: Plenipotenci z.ydowscy w dobie Sejmu

Czteroletniego,’’ Lud z.ydowski w narodzie polskim, ed. J. Michalski (Warsaw, 1994)45–63; S. Ury, ‘The Shtadlan of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth: NobleAdvocate or Unbridled Opportunist?’ Polin 15 (2002): 267–99; F. Guesnet, ‘‘Poli-tik der Vormoderne—Shtadlanuth am Vorabend der polnischen Teilungen,’’ Jah-ruch des Simon-Dubnow-Instituts 1 (2002): 235–55.

7. For a general account of the ‘‘court Jews’’ as political representatives, seeE. Lederhendler, The Road to Modern Jewish Politics (New York and Oxford, 1989),19–21; see also S. Stern, The Court Jew (Philadelphia, 1950). On Josele Rosheim,the most famous court Jew, see Stern, Commander of Jewry Josel of Rosheim in theHoly Roman Empire of the German Nation, trans. G. Hirschler (Philadelphia, 1865).

8. See, for example, B. Horowitz, ‘‘A Portrait of a Russian-Jewish Shtadlan:Jacob Teitel’s Social Solution,’’ Shofar 18.3 (2000): 1–2.

9. Ury, ‘‘Shtadlan,’’ 284–87.

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Napoleonic Wars. The state machinery itself had changed. A new ‘‘uni-versal’’ (at least, theoretically so) legal system had taken the place ofindividual and group privileges. In addition, a professional and effectiveadministrative system—something alien to the old Polish-Lithuaniancommonwealth—brought profound changes to all strata of society, in-cluding Jewish subjects. This was augmented by continuous efforts toreform Jewish society, which were undertaken by the regime of the King-dom of Poland from its beginning in 1815 up to the shift in policy afterthe collapse of the November Uprising in 1831, when the governmentbecame increasingly conservative.10 This political transformation and itssubsequent phases must also have influenced the methods employed inJewish political activism in the first half of the nineteenth century. Unfor-tunately, to date historiography has shown very little interest in this sub-ject. Moreover, the depiction in literature of Isaac of Warka’s activities,as in the case of other shtadlanim of the time,11 has not brought us closerto an understanding of the issue, since the activities described were con-fined to a few vague attempts at mediation. Of them, the best knownare his contacts with the great British philanthropist Moses Montefiore(1784–1885), who visited Tsar Nicholas I in 1846 and put before him aproposal to improve the lot of Jews in the Russian Empire and the King-dom of Poland.12 In addition, Hasidic literature records Isaac’s contactswith the well-known Warsaw maskil and industrialist Jakub Epstein(1771–1843), with the equally well-known mitnaged Solomon ZalmanPosner (1778–1863), and with several other enigmatic and influentialfigures from the Jewish bourgeoisie.13 The incidents described tell us

10. The ‘‘Jewish policy’’ of the government of the Congress Kingdom hasbeen summarized in A. Eisenbach, Emancypacja Z

.ydow na ziemiach polskich 1785–

1870 na tle europejskim (Warsaw, 1989), 164–223.11. For studies of the nineteenth-century shtadlanim in the Russian Empire,

see A. Shochet, ‘‘Le-gezirot ha-giyus shel Nikolai ha-rishon,’’ in Sefer ShalomSivan (Jerusalem, 1980), 307–18; J. D. Klier, ‘‘Krug Ginzburgov i politika shtad-lanuta v imperatorskoi Rossii,’’ Vestnik Evreiskogo universiteta v Moskve 3.10 (1995):38–55; V. Khiterer, ‘‘Iosif Galperin, a Forgotten Berdichev Shtadlan,’’ Shvut 7(1998): 33–47; Horowitz, ‘‘Portrait,’’ 1–12.

12. See D. Kandel, ‘‘Montefiore w Warszawie,’’ Kwartalnik poswie�cony badaniuprzeszłosci Z

.ydow w Polsce 1 (1912): 74–94; J. Shatzky, Geshikhte fun Yidn in Varshe

(New York, 1948), 2:86–89; H. M. Rabinowicz, ‘‘Sir Moses Montefiore and Has-idism,’’ Le�ela 36 (1993): 35–38; Assaf and Bartal, ‘Shtadlanut ve-�ortodoksiya’;Walden, Ohel Yitsh. ak, 14–16, no. 27–28; M. Unger, ‘‘Der sar Montefiore un derVurker rebe,’’ Vurke: Sefer zikaron—Vurke yizkor bukh (Tel Aviv, 1976), 28–35.

13. Walden, Ohel Yitsh. ak, 7–8, no. 6; 25, no. 59 (on Posner), 53–54, no. 128(on Epstein). See also Mordekhai Motel Mikhelzon, Ma�amar Mordekhai (Pi-otrkow, 5667 [1907]), 16 (on Posner).

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nothing of the methods or even the effectiveness of these actions, and theone somewhat well-documented incident concerning Montefiore endedin spectacular defeat.14 So how did Hasidic mediation with the Polishauthorities work? Of what resources and whose assistance did the shtad-lan avail himself in his public activities? How effective were his actions?And, finally, what were the far-reaching consequences of such interces-sion for Jewish society in Poland and for the shape of the Polish govern-ment’s Jewish politics and policies?

To date, we are still very far from answering these questions. Althoughliterature dedicated to Jewish political activism in the nineteenth centuryhas been recently enriched by several valuable studies, the above ques-tions have yet to be subjected to thorough analysis. Hasidic literaturecannot provide us with answers, because the picture presented endowsthe tsadik with supernatural qualities, and the effectiveness of any inter-vention undertaken is attributed to these qualities. Stories of this typeoccur quite frequently in the Hasidic literary heritage, but they do notbring us any closer to understanding the phenomenon of interest to us.Only one known Hasidic story names the participants and circumstancesof such a mediation.15 That is the history of the intercession made byMordecai Motele Michelson of Kałuszyn—the plenipotentiary of Isaac ofWarka—to prevent the planned burning of Hoshen mishpat, a section ofthe Shulh. an �arukh (Code of Jewish Law). The story is especially interest-ing, as the major role here is attributed not to Isaac, but to his assistant,a wealthy merchant with a good understanding of Gentile society. As wewill see later, the tsadik was merely a causative element and an authorityfor all those involved behind the scenes in these interventions. This hasbeen confirmed by both Hasidic and non-Jewish sources. If we are tobelieve Hasidic literature, Mordecai Motele Michelson, a man bothwealthy and with good connections in Warsaw, was the most importantof Isaac’s co-activists.16 Independent sources confirm that Isaac also had

14. Assaf and Bartal even suggested that the Hasidic shtadlanut was, as a rule,ineffective—see ‘‘Shtadlanut ve-�ortodoksiya,’’ 89–90.

15. I have consulted Professor Gedalia Nigal, who corroborated on thismatter.

16. See Walden, Ohel Yitsh. ak, 6–8, no. 64; M. Rabinowicz, Ben Pshish. a le-Lub-lin: Ishim ve-shitot be-Hasidut Polin (Jerusalem, 5757), 521; Mikhelzon, Ma�amarMordekhai, 9, 16–17. Evidence of Michelson’s relationship with the provincial au-thorities can be found in archival documentation as well. See AGAD, CWW1706, pp. 32–34; Central Archives for the History of the Jewish People in Jeru-salem, PL/82: Archives of Jacob Tugendhold [no pagination]: 8/20 January1844: Do wspołwyznawcow naszych.

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other wealthy friends in Warsaw who were eager to assist him both inpreparing legal petitions and in his dealings with the government.17 The‘‘legal office’’ employed by Isaac is the first of a number of modern fea-tures of his activity that will be discussed in due course. Quite paradoxi-cally, however, other elements of the description of the Hoshen mishpataffair seem to be quite incorrect and are in conflict with available andreliable archival data.18 Fortunately, this is not the case where other activ-ities of Isaac and his associates are concerned. Preserved governmentdocuments allow us to reconstruct the framework of several of his ap-pearances, which in turn allows us to examine the methods the tsadik fromWarka employed in his public activities. Above all, though, it permits usto understand the complex links between the ‘‘Jewish politics’’ of theKingdom of Poland and Polish Hasidism.

In the ensuing pages, I will examine a number of areas in which Isaacof Warka and his associates were involved in negotiations with the king-dom’s authorities: the displaying of �eruvin, the presence of inspectors atJewish butcher stalls, inconsistencies in the divorce laws, and the rightsof Jewish prisoners were all issues of singular concern to the Jewishcommunity at the time. Isaac of Warka’s work sought to address theseconcerns, and an examination of the local background as well as of thepossible role of bribery serves to create a more vivid picture of this self-appointed leader of the Jewish community.

�ERUVIN

Jewish law forbids the carrying of any objects outdoors on the Sabbath,except within a private domain. To circumvent this, rabbinical law hasruled that individual private domains or private and public domains maybe united into one intra-community domain by setting up �eruvin (Hebr.

17. AGAD, CWW 1481, p. 405.18. The Hasidic version of the story is found in Walden, Ohel Yitsh. ak, 7, no. 5;

Mikhelzon, Ma�amar Mordekhai, 16. The essential archival sources covering theinvestigation of Hoshen mishpat appear in AGAD, Komisja Rza�dowa Spraw Wew-ne�trznych (henceforth: KRSW) 6630, fols. 47–80; 6636, fols. 135–149; CWW1435, pp. 445–997. For an imprecise description of the events, see Mahler, Hasid-ism, 198. However, the possibility that Isaac influenced the committee investigat-ing the matter can not be ruled out. The chairman of the committee, Jan A.Radominski, suggested in the final report that the government should order a listof errata to be printed for all of the 2,380 copies of the book remaining in Poland.According to Radominski, the list should explain that the rules of Hoshen mishpatwere not relevant to Christians and it should be signed by the rabbis of Lublin,Kalisz (both of which were large cities), and Warka, i.e., Isaac. The governmentdid not accept this suggestion. See AGAD, KRSW 6630, fols. 46–80.

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�eruvim). These were strings, threads, or chains traditionally hung aroundJewish districts. This allowed objects to be carried within a fenced areawithout violation of the Sabbath laws. For many centuries, however, �eru-vin were rarely encountered, as cities were usually surrounded by wallsor moats, which rendered �eruvin unnecessary. (Walls and moats naturallymarked an intra-community domain.)

The Government of the Kingdom became interested in the existence of�eruvin in 1818.19 Based on the opinion of the maskil, Ezechiel StanislawHoge (1791–1860), the Government Commission for Religious Denomi-nations and Public Education (i.e., the Ministry of Education) decidedthat �eruvin were an expression of Jewish superstition and should be re-moved.20 However, it appears that the law was not enacted until 1834when, for reasons unknown, the community board (Pol. dozor boz.niczy) ofKowal (Mazovian Voivodeship) applied for confirmation of the existingright to erect �eruvin in that city. The Mazovian Voivodeship Commissionpassed the question on to the ministry, which, quoting police regulationsfor the removal of all elements disfiguring the city, recommended theremoval of the �eruvin. It prompted wide-sweeping action on the part ofthe rabbi and tsadik from Warka, Isaac Kalisz. From March 7 to March23, 1835, seven requests for the lifting of the ban on �eruvin reached theMazovian Voivodeship Commission from the community boards ofWarka, Brzesc, Grojec, Kałuszyn, Mszczonow, Rawa, Sochaczew (all inthe vicinity of Warka). All these petitions were identically formatted,some in the hand of the same scribe.21 That the formal Jewish responsewas organized by Isaac and his aides is confirmed by letters accompany-ing the kahals’ petitions signed by ‘‘Icyk Kalisz, Rabbi of the Town ofWarka.’’ In the letter, he presented precisely the same arguments as thoseput forward by the community boards. The rabbi, ‘‘by his keeping vigi-lance over the whole of the religion’’ (by which he affirmed his right toact in Jewish affairs overall), appealed for the ban to be lifted. Accordingto Isaac, the �eruvin were not a superstition but an important religious law,and, given that the constitutional statute (Statut Organiczny) guaranteedtolerance and legal protection for all religions, it should be permitted.Isaac added that, if the laws that required the enclosure of all vacantproperties with fences were to be duly enacted, the displaying of �eruvin

19. The newest work on �eruvin in Congress Poland is by E. Bergman, ‘‘TheRewir or Jewish District and the Eyruv,’’ Studia Judaica 5 (2002): 85–97.

20. See the report by Hoge in AGAD, CWW 1410, pp. 4–5; an English trans-lation of some passages can be found in Bergman, ‘‘Rewir,’’ 92–93.

21. See AGAD, CWW 1410, pp. 7–31.

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in the main streets would be unnecessary, as fences would perform thatfunction and �eruvin could be constructed tastefully on side streets only.It is not clear that such fences would solve the problem from a halakhicpoint of view but it is certain that implementing the requirement of fenc-ing vacant properties was not feasible. Thus Isaac of Warka was safe inshifting the ‘‘blame’’ to the authorities and in claiming that official inac-tion gave the Jews no alternative.

We do not know which of the arguments proved effective. Soon after,the Voivodeship Committee passed Isaac’s petition on to the governmentauthorities, who requested an opinion from the government Jewish Com-mittee.22 The Jewish Committee (at the suggestion of the AdvisoryChamber, which was a common practice) concurred with Isaac’s opinionand declared �eruvin to be a necessity for Jews living in cities that werenot surrounded by walls or ramparts. It also added that the reason forthe ban was misleading, as ‘‘there has never been a case . . . in which thehanging out of partitioning strings and chains on holy days in accordancewith the religious rules binding the Israelites, has occasioned nationaldisorder or turmoil, or that the existence of the aforesaid chains andstrings . . . could disfigure the city.’’23 On that basis, the GovernmentCommission permitted �eruvin to be constructed in cities and towns whichwere not surrounded by a wall or moat.24

The ministry’s decision did not bring the controversy surrounding �eru-vin to an end, and complaints about the ‘‘Jewish chains’’ were still beingresurrected in the 1840s and 1850s. However, well-organized mediationby Isaac, involving the participation of seven Jewish communities andusing effective constitutional arguments (although their application wasnot very significant), was at least temporarily effective. Even if the rightto display �eruvin was later questioned on a number of occasions, the ordi-nance of June 26/July 8, 1835, legitimizing their existence was alwaysreferred to as the basis for government decisions.25 The tsadik’s interven-tion was, therefore, effective.

This is the earliest public action undertaken by the tsadik from Warkaof which we are aware. Although the ‘‘style’’ of later interventions byIsaac is not yet developed here and it does not differ significantly from

22. The one (outdated) study of the Jewish Committee is in D. Kandel,‘‘Komitet Starozakonnych,’’ Kwartalnik poswie�cony badaniu przeszłosci Z

.ydow w Polsce

1/2 (1912): 85–103. See also Eisenbach, Emancypacja, 193–96, 258–60.23. AGAD, CWW 1410, pp. 49–51.24. AGAD, CWW 1410, pp. 52–53.25. More on this can be found in J. Kirszrot, Prawa Z

.ydow w Krolestwie Polskim

(Warsaw, 1917), 13–14.

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the old-style shtadlanut, it contains the nucleus of all the new characteris-tics that would develop in his subsequent activities. Most significantly,Isaac figures as the self-appointed representative of the entire Jewishpopulation of Poland, although he acknowledged that it was necessary toorganize support actions in the form of petitions from Jewish communi-ties. The basic method employed here was thus a petition action, one ofthe traditional methods of classical shtadlanut. Isaac’s reference to an ob-scure law requiring vacant properties in cities to be fenced is also note-worthy. By this reference, the tsadik caused the removal of �eruvin to bemade subject to the carrying out of an unenforced law that applied to theChristian population as well. In this way, he passed on a part of theresponsibility for the existence of the �eruvin to the municipal authorities.This was, therefore, a method of legal argumentation. It resembles theold style of shtadlan petitions using legal argumentation, but it also differssignificantly, as the main objective here is not to prove whether or notJews had a right to construct �eruvin, but rather to use one law againstanother. This would be evident in later intercessions in a much clearerform. However, the most important argument to be used by the tsadikwas that the existence of the �eruvin was not a question of superstition butone of religious law, the upholding of which was guaranteed by Article25 of the constitution. It would have been difficult for the ministry tohave rejected an opinion pertaining to constitutional religious rights ex-pressed by a rabbi representing seven Jewish communities; hence it wasforced to consult with the Jewish Committee. Isaac could easily foreseethat the ministry would consult with the Jewish Committee, as it haddone so many times before, and that was probably his intention. A posi-tive outcome was guaranteed here, as the committee and its AdvisoryChamber usually acted in defense of traditional Jewish society and reli-gious laws, particularly in the 1830s after the government had withdrawnfrom its radical plans to reform the Jewish people.26 This allowed Isaacto direct the case to the desired decision-making body. It should be notedthat all these methods resulted from a very thorough understanding onthe part of Isaac’s advisors of the mechanisms of the state authorities.

We do not know whether the petition was the sole form of pressurebrought to bear nor can we confirm or deny whether it was backed up,for example, by the personal intervention of persons exercising some in-

26. Some good examples of the Advisory Chamber’s reports defending tradi-tional Jewish society and its religious laws can be found in AGAD, CWW 1411,pp. 66–74, 81–90, 98–125; 1416, pp. 19–24; 1504, pp. 63–75; 1508, pp. 41–53;1708, pp. 4–27; 1779, pp. 5–17; 1784, pp. 52–65.

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fluence in government circles or simply by bribery. Irrespective, Isaac’spetition created the conditions for a positive decision based only on thearguments he put forward and for administrative procedures to be put inplace to review previous negative decisions. This process ended in a vic-tory for the tsadik from Warka.

INSPECTORS AT BUTCHER STALLS (1839–1845)

The �eruvin campaign brought considerable success in return for relativelylittle effort on the part of the parties concerned and, in its wake, Hasidicleaders embarked on similar activities with regard to mediation activitieswith the administrative powers. One of the greatest campaigns waged byIsaac was with provincial government and central government depart-ments concerned the appointment of inspectors (Hebr. ne�emanim; Pol.wiernicy) at Jewish kosher butcher stalls.27

In 1839 Isaac of Warka and several rabbis from the Mazovian Admin-istrative District petitioned the Government Commission for Income andAssets (the Ministry of Finance) to introduce general regulations to pre-vent the sale of non-kosher meat as kosher meat. The proposal was con-nected with problems in Warsaw with the tax on kosher meat imposedby Karol Kurtz, a Christian leaseholder of this tax, who refused to submitto the control of the Jewish community.28 The community thus lost itscontrol over its butchers and determination of meat as kosher. In its replyto Isaac, the Government Commission ruled that ‘‘the establishment ofseparate butcher stalls for the sale of kosher meat as well as the appoint-ment of inspectors to ensure that non-kosher meat is not sold as koshermeat is a matter for the police authorities in the city concerned.’’ Thematter was thus directed to the provincial authorities. The opinion of theGovernment Commission submitted by Isaac to the provincial govern-ments was, however, ignored and his demand that inspectors be ap-pointed was rejected. Therefore, the tsadik requested that the MazovianProvincial Government (the Voivodeship Commissions had had theirnames changed to Provincial Governments in the meantime) explain itsdecision; but as it had no reasonable explanation, it applied to the Gov-ernment Commission for Internal and Religious Affairs (the Ministry ofInternal Affairs) for a general settlement of the matter. After a correspon-dence lasting one and a half years, the Government Commission acknowl-

27. See AGAD, CWW 1412, pp. 6–512. The regulations issued by Isaac re-garding the inspection of kosher meat have been also noted by Hasidic literature;see Walden, Ohel Yitsh. ak, 96, no. 13.

28. AGAD, CWW 1409, pp. 221–41; 1412, pp. 228ff.

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edged that it was not taking any steps regarding the matter, since thegrievances came only from a handful of rabbis in the Mazovian Province,and no word had reached them of anything similar in other provinces.The first stage was, then, a typical shunting between provincial and cen-tral government institutions, each of which tried at all costs to avoid tak-ing on the issue. At the end of the 1830s, this attitude not only existed asan expression of a general lack of willingness on the part of the bureau-cracy to take any kind of action, but it also contained elements of thepolitics of expediency—by a state that had backed down from its plansto ‘‘reform the Jewish people’’ after the 1831 uprising and was aiming,above all, at a political and social status quo. All new initiatives wereviewed as potentially dangerous to the existing order and were to betreated as a threat to society.29

Isaac did not allow himself to be put off by official evasiveness. A yearlater he sent the Government Commission letters from the rabbis andcommunity boards of nearly all the provincial capitals: Che�ciny (therewas no Jewish community in Kielce), Kalisz, Łomz.a, Lublin, Płock,Radom, and Siedlce. They confirmed that Isaac acted in their name andthat they had long since granted him the power of attorney in dealingswith the authorities regarding the sale of kosher meat.30

Isaac’s power of attorney was all the more significant in that the Ha-sidic rabbi became the first person in the history of the Congress King-dom to represent all the Jews living there. From the beginning of theKingdom’s existence, its most prominent politicians, and Stanisław Stas-zic in particular, consistently aspired to abolish all Jewish supra-kehilahinstitutions, because they viewed them as a factor strengthening Jewishseparatism and threatening their plans for reform. These views had theirsource in the opinions of eighteenth-century maskilic and Christian re-formers. In the first decades of the nineteenth century, they had becomewidely accepted and were being put into action by the Polish govern-ment.31 A change in this state of affairs took place only in the 1840s,when the government backed down from its plans to ‘‘civilize’’ the Jewishpeople. Isaac availed himself of this opportunity, which brought him a

29. For ‘‘Jewish politics’’ in this period, refer the general comments in Eisen-bach, Emancypacja, 316–22.

30. AGAD, CWW 1412, pp. 198–205.31. For Staszic’s reaction to the project of the Jewish controller of the public

register, see AGAD, CWW 1411, p. 27; for his opinion opposing the institutionof provincial rabbis, see AGAD, CWW 1444, pp. 22–24; KRSW 6629, fol. 127;the opinions of Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz and Jozef Lipinski on the ‘‘Jewishsynod’’ appear in AGAD, CWW 1433, pp. 80–88.

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twofold advantage. First, he forced the government to investigate its deci-sion concerning the appointment of inspectors as a decision of a generalnature. Second, he became the sanctioned (albeit informally so) represen-tative of all Polish Jews. This was not merely a personal success for himbut an achievement for the whole Hasidic movement in Poland. Thepower of attorney granted him by the rabbis of the provincial cities wasnot without a time limit, nor was it unconditional or connected withIsaac’s Hasidic affiliations (it was granted to him to deal with this matteronly). However, the fact that a tsadik became the representative of PolishJewry for the first time in nearly half a century ennobled the movementand made it more attractive in the eyes of potential adherents. In laterletters, the tsadik emphasized that he had the mandate of all Polish Jewry‘‘as Rabbi in whom the Jews [Starozakonni] place their trust.’’ The au-thorities actually began to treat him as the representative of this commu-nity and they corresponded with him directly—a practice that had notbeen observed in the kingdom (administrative decisions heretofore hadbeen conveyed via regional institutions). What is interesting is that thegovernment turned a blind eye to the fact that Isaac demanded recogni-tion of his power of attorney on the basis of the letters of rabbis of provin-cial capitals, who were, in the eyes of that same government, not entitledto represent the province or even their own communities. In accordancewith the law, the rabbi of a provincial town was not a provincial rabbi(no such position existed). Rabbis were only functionaries in their com-munity; they did not represent it, even in religious matters. It was thecommunity board that acted in this capacity. In fact, in 1840 the govern-ment still was refusing categorically to recognize the right of rabbis torepresent their Jewish communities. This was revealed in response to apetition submitted by Isaac of Warka and the Warsaw Head Rabbi, Solo-mon Lipschitz, regarding the general regulations of the law of de non toler-andis Judaeis, prohibiting Jews from settling in any town granted thisprivilege.32 A year later, the situation underwent a complete change.From the early 1840s Isaac was even permitted to have audiences withthe Viceroy of the Kingdom, General Ivan Paskevich. On December 30,1843, Isaac headed a delegation of nine rabbis and community leaders, todiscuss the rural settlement of the Jews.33 The same month, he was one

32. See AGAD, Sekretariat Stanu Krolestwa Polskiego 199, fol. 534.33. See the Central Archives for the History of the Jewish People in Jerusa-

lem, PL/82: Archives of Jacob Tugendhold [no pagination]: 8/20 January 1844.The delegation included Isaac of Warka; Juda Bachrach, rabbi of Sejny (mit-naged); Mendel Lipmanowicz, rabbi of Zdunska Wola (Hassidic Rebbe); RafaelLewenthal, rabbi of Zakroczym; Moses Teitelbaum; Mordecai Motele Michel-

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of the eight rabbis who visited the Viceroy to request the abolition ofJewish conscription.34 One can conjecture that Isaac’s rapid success inusurping the role of the semi-official representative of the Jewish commu-nity in Poland was influenced by the fact that the appearance of such arepresentative was a source of convenience as far as the Polish authoritieswere concerned. They could pass on to such a self-appointed representa-tive partial responsibility for the maintaining of social order among Jews,which then freed the government from a part of its responsibilities.

One can also ask here why rabbis and representatives of the Jewishcommunities entrusted Isaac with such prerogatives. It is clear that notall of them were keen on the idea of having a politically involved repre-sentative, and a Hasidic one in particular.35 What forced them to acceptIsaac’s mediation? It would appear that Isaac made them a generousoffer: in return for helping them to regain control of the kosher meat,Isaac asked only for the temporal and limited right of representation.Letters of support did not confer upon Isaac any long-term power ofattorney. For the government, however, the limitations of Isaac’s powerof attorney were of no importance. From its perspective, it was merelyanother case in which Isaac represented Jewish society in matters of gen-eral interest, only this time he had the additional support of the provincialrabbis. Each such case must have strengthened Isaac’s position in theeyes of the government and ultimately he was nolens volens acknowledgedas the representative of the whole Jewish community in the kingdom.

Equipped with his power of attorney, Isaac submitted a proposal tothe Government Commission recommending that the sale of kosher meatthroughout the entire Kingdom be conducted separately, rather than to-gether with the sale of non-kosher meat, and that an inspector be ap-pointed to ensure that only kosher meat be taken to the butcher stalls.36

Isaac emphasized the various benefits of such regulations. They wouldprotect Jews from breaking the laws of their faith (this motive was em-phasized in the judgment of the legal section of the ministry with refer-ence to the constitutional guarantee of religious tolerance). In addition,

sohn (the most important of Isaac’s aides); S. S. Ehrlich; M. E. Morgenstern ofLublin; Jozef Safir.

34. See Rabinowicz, Ben Pshish. a le-Lublin, 523. However, this informationcould be a corrupted version of the former event.

35. For rabbinical opposition to political involvement, see G. Bacon, ‘‘Pro-longed Erosion, Organisation and Reinforcement: Reflections on OrthodoxJewry in Congress Poland,’’ Major Changes within the Jewish People in the Wake ofthe Holocaust, ed. Y. Gutman (Jerusalem, 1996), 71–91.

36. AGAD, CWW 1412, pp. 192–93.

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they would bring an increase in income from the kosher tax, and therabbi and the inspector would be able to ensure that the sale of gibletsdid not incur kosher tax. That would be beneficial to poorer sections ofsociety and would consequently relieve some social tensions. Thus Isaacpointed to the three benefits for the government: an increase in taxes,social order, and consistency with constitutional law.

The renewed proposal was dealt with by the Department of ReligiousAffairs, the Department of General Administration, and the legal sectionof the Government Commission for Internal and Religious Affairs. Ulti-mately, the commission adopted Isaac’s postulates, with the stipulationthat inspectors could only be brought in where meat was being sold byChristians, because where the Jewish butcher was the vendor, thatbutcher was already the inspector. In addition, separate butcher stallscould be built only in Jewish districts and only in those areas in whichthere were no public butcher stalls built from municipal funds for bothfaiths.

However, the matter did not end here. Soon Isaac applied to have thedecision overturned because inspectors could only be brought in wherekosher meat was sold by Christians. The tsadik from Warka emphasizedthat the difference in the price of kosher and non-kosher meat was suffi-ciently great that it was not possible to place any trust in the honesty ofthe butchers and allow them to be judges in their own affairs. Also, ‘‘onmore than one occasion the Jewish butchers, for the most part of the lowand ignorant classes, have exploited the community.’’37 The GovernmentCommission took into account a number of opinions and, a year later,responded favorably to Isaac’s request.

Subsequent mediations by Isaac in 1844 and 1845 were concerned withthe difficulties encountered in the carrying out of government edicts.Isaac complained that in the Podlasie (Siedlce) Province the authoritieshad decided that they would only permit inspectors to be brought in afterthe discovery by the community board of an irregularity. However, ac-cording to Isaac, it was obvious that boards would not investigate butch-ers, because they would be subjecting themselves to antipathy, and thatwould make any checks difficult to carry out. The government acknowl-edged the logic of the proposal and even emphasized that the interpreta-tion by the provincial government was erroneous. Thus Isaac figured notonly as the defender of Jews but also as a guardian of law and order inthe kingdom.

Isaac succeeded in overcoming the official torpor of the provincial gov-

37. AGAD, CWW 1412, p. 436.

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ernment and three departments of the central government commissions.He persuaded them to recognize him as the true representative of theentire Jewish population, to hand down decisions in his favor, and, onthree occasions, to amend previous decisions. The tsadik, then, was com-pletely successful, thanks above all to his consistent method of competentapplication of official procedures and to his accurate grasp and exploita-tion of changes in the Jewish politics of the 1840s. On the other hand,the appearance of such a self-appointed leader undoubtedly influencedthe shape of Jewish politics, even if only because the authorities in thekingdom were relieved to hand over to him partial and unofficial respon-sibility for the internal affairs of the Jewish population.

DIVORCE LAW (1840– 42)

In 1836, a new law governing marriage in the Kingdom of Poland wasproclaimed. Marriage came under the appropriate religious authorities,with only civil proceedings coming under the civil courts. As a result,marriages were granted by the religious clerk and only registered by thestate authorities. However, divorce came under the jurisdiction of thecivil courts (not the religious authorities). The new law gave them author-ity to dissolve matrimonial unions. This created an impossible situation.A person granted a divorce by a civil court could not legally enter a newunion, because religious law required a religious, not a secular, divorce.38

Isaac decided to take advantage of the situation. Pointing to the inher-ent inconsistency, the tsadik entered a submission with the provincial gov-ernment in March 1840 in which he noted that the marriage law and theadded divorce law did not state whether the parties were required toundergo a religious ceremony of divorce before or after the decision ofthe registry. This, according to Isaac, led to numerous difficulties.39 Ac-cording to the author, it would be advantageous both to the state and tothe Mosaic religion if the law were to bind the parties to obtain a religiousdivorce before the court decision. Without it, Judaism did not recognizethe divorce as valid, which created problems both for the rabbis responsi-ble for consenting to the marriage and the divorcees seeking the rabbis’permission.

The provincial government did not reply to Isaac but asked the Gov-ernment Justice Commission for a decision. The commission, consistent

38. See Kirszrot, Prawa Z.ydow, 242–47. For a general examination, see

ChaeRan Freeze, Jewish Marriage and Divorce in Imperial Russia (Hanover, 2002).39. AGAD, CWW 1446, pp. 198–211; CWW 1450, pp. 85–122, 233–41,

286–97.

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with its usual practices, refrained from giving a straightforward answerand stated only that it was of no import to the law when, and even if, areligious ceremony had taken place. However, the provincial governmentdid not accept the ministerial authority’s decision, fearing (and justifiablyso) that the absence of regulation could lead to both parties neglecting toobtain a civil divorce and obtaining a religious one only. It applied to theGovernment Commission for Internal and Religious Affairs for a ruling.The commission also gave an evasive answer, asserting that Isaac’s in-quiry had no legal basis because the resolution of the provincial govern-ment clearly stated that a religious divorce could only take place after thecivil divorce. The provincial government announced to the tsadik ofWarka that ‘‘only when the divorce proceeding has been legally adjudi-cated by the court will the religious divorce ritual be able to be performedbetween Jews.’’40

Isaac appealed to the Administrative Council, the highest authority inthe Kingdom of Poland, against this decision. This time, both governmentcommissions informed the Administrative Council that Isaac had a right-ful grievance, that the provincial government had exceeded the law, andthat its reply was contrary to the decision of the ministries. As they em-phasized, the law failed to ensure that a religious divorce could take placeonly after a secular one. The ministries noted that, considering the factthat a religious divorce was so important to Jews, the law should beinterpreted in such a way that a religious divorce would be an indispens-able condition in the granting of a civil divorce. On the recommendationof the Administrative Council, the provincial government issued a newresolution to Isaac, informing him that the order in which the civil andreligious divorces were granted was not an issue.

To all appearances, this was only a partial success. Isaac was unable toforce the authorities to regulate the law so that it required a civil divorceto take place only after a religious divorce had been granted. But was thisthe actual intention of Isaac’s intervention? From the point of view of theHasidic leader, it was not singularly important whether a civilian divorcewas impossible to obtain without a religious one, or how the state regula-tions were to be regulated. What was of far greater import was that theJews be freed from the troublesome obligation of having to have a civildivorce as a condition of a religious divorce. The removal of this restric-tion would mean, as the authorities rightly surmised, that Jews wouldnot have to apply for a civil divorce. For Jewish society, that would meanthe removal of a costly legal obligation and, above all, the removal of the

40. AGAD, CWW 1446, pp. 202–3.

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threat of punishment for not adhering to the order in which the divorcestook place. This latter situation burdened numerous members of the com-munity, as well as the rabbis. Thus Isaac gained what had been the funda-mental aim of his intervention, and his satisfaction with the ruling handeddown is confirmed by the fact that he attempted to have the resolutiondisseminated among all the rabbis in the Kingdom of Poland.41 The meth-ods employed here again were legal petitioning and using a law againstthe law. Isaac’s success in obtaining a positive decision is attributable tohis grasp of the inconsistencies in the marriage and divorce laws in force,the skill with which he used all avenues of the official administration, andhis familiarity with the regulations of the kingdom, to which he effectivelyreferred in his proposals. Isaac took advantage of the law to free theJewish people from the jurisdiction of this very law and he forced thegovernment to make a decision that conflicted with the original intentionsof the lawmakers. Although the local authorities alerted the central gov-ernment that Jews had ceased to appeal for a secular divorce and thatthis was detrimental to governmental control of the Jewish population,the regulation was reversed only in 1858, sixteen years after Isaac’s vic-tory.42

THE RABBINATE

Isaac took advantage of the country’s laws to bypass regulations govern-ing the election of rabbis in a very similar manner. In accordance withthe law, the election of a rabbi came under the control of the state authori-ties. The candidate had to pass an examination before the board of theWarsaw Rabbinical School, win an election process overseen by a magis-trate, obtain a certificate from at least two rabbis and the local authoritiestestifying to his law-abidingness, and cover the cost of the license fee.43

The state authorities were anxious to appoint a rabbi in every Jewishcommunity, as he was needed to oversee the Register of Births, Deaths,and Marriages and to ensure the proper functioning of the kosher meattax. However, simultaneously, the administration rigorously observed theregulations governing the appointment of a rabbi, and whenever therewere problems with this, threatened the community with the appointmentof its own rabbi from among the graduates of the Rabbinical School.Although that actually never happened, it would appear that this threatwas effective, because usually after such an ultimatum had been issued

41. See AGAD, CWW 1450, pp. 286–97.42. See AGAD, CWW 1451 p. 432–33; CWW 1453 p. 40.43. See the general description in Kirszrot, Prawa Z

.ydow, 27–38.

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the conflicting parties would seek a solution and appoint a compromisecandidate. However, that frequently turned out to be difficult, because acompromise rabbi not only had to be acceptable to all parties in the con-flict but also had to fulfil the official requirements stipulated by state law:to furnish a certificate of loyalty and to prove his knowledge of the Polishlanguage, as well as of the history of the Jewish people and geography,Hebrew language, Talmud, and Bible.44 The major problem was usuallya lack of knowledge of Polish language.

Despite all these difficulties, the institution known in Imperial Russiaas the ‘‘crown rabbis’’ (i.e., rabbis appointed by the government, who didnot enjoy the trust of the community and who worked alongside unap-pointed spiritual leaders who actually performed the rabbis’ religious du-ties) did not exist in the Kingdom of Poland. This fact was attributableto the collective efforts of the rabbinical elite. Rabbi Isaac of Warka alsoparticipated in resolving the conflicts surrounding the elections of rabbis,and this he did in two ways. The first was by issuing certificates to rabbin-ical candidates.45 The second, more interesting, was in the form of a sub-stitute crown rabbi, which role Isaac himself performed.

An example of this was his intervention in Czyz.ew (Płock Province)in 1840–41.46 The local Jewish community, which was divided into ad-herents and opponents of Hasidism, could not choose a rabbi. Storiesof particularly heated arguments surrounding the election reached theministerial authorities. In order to find a quick solution, the provincialgovernment proposed that a rabbi be appointed from the graduates of theRabbinical School. The school’s superintendant indicated Jakub Sz-wajcer (the sole graduate of the school who wanted to take on the dutiesof a rabbi) or Michał Hertz (young man with traditional rabbinical train-ing, but supported by the school’s superintendant) as potential candi-dates. Szwajcer declined, but Hertz accepted the offer and so thecommunity was threatened with having an unwanted rabbi foistedupon it.

Isaac of Warka came to the community’s aid. Representatives of the

44. Of course, there existed ways to overcome these difficulties. The candidatecould send somebody else in his place to take the examination at the RabbinicalSchool. The director of the school, Jakub Tugendhold, claimed that such a ploywas impossible, because ‘‘nobody aspiring to spiritual leadership could commitsuch a ruse,’’ but he had to admit that the identity of people submitting them-selves for examination was not verified. Denunciations suggest that such casesdid happen. See AGAD, CWW 1827 p. 242–52.

45. See, e.g., AGAD, Komisja Wojewodztwa Kaliskiego, 710.46. See AGAD, CWW 1677, pp. 29–132.

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Jewish community from Czyz.ew reached Isaac, who signed a pre-datedcontract accepting the duties of the Rabbi of Czyz.ew and adding them tohis duties as the Rabbi of Nadarzyn and Warka. However, Isaac stipu-lated in the contract that he would not reside in Czyz.ew and that theduties of the rabbi would be performed on his behalf by the unpaid, hon-orary assistant rabbi, Chaim Joskowicz Indes. In subsequent years thereis no record of the rabbi’s wages in community budgets, which confirmsthat the agreement the community had with Isaac remained in force evenafter his death.47 The community could, then, inform the authorities thata rabbi had been appointed and the threat of installing a rabbi by forcewas removed.

How, though, is it possible that the state authorities would accept suchan obviously fictitious agreement between the community of Czyz.ew andthe rabbi from Warka? After all, there is a distance of some 200 kilome-ters between Warka and Czyz.ew, and Isaac did not even entertain thethought of leaving his place of residence. Because of this, he could nothave performed on a regular basis any rabbinical duties in Czyz.ew, norcould he even have overseen them. Despite its obviously fictitious nature,the agreement was in accordance with the law, and the community boardin Czyz.ew accurately gauged the government’s intentions as to the quick-est way of resolving the conflict. The law stipulated that the rabbi fulfilthe above-mentioned conditions, but it did not require him to be residentin the place of the rabbinate and it did not stipulate whether or not therabbi of one Jewish community could or could not be the rabbi of an-other. Taking advantage of that gap in the law, the community boardpresented a candidate who, because of his authority, easily obtained thesupport of the entire community and fulfilled all the requirements ex-pected of a rabbinical candidate in the eyes of the authorities. The provin-cial government had no choice but to approve the candidate, especiallyas they were anxious not to prolong the conflict surrounding the Czyz.ewrabbi. The assistant rabbi, who was mentioned in the contract, performedall the functions of importance to the government: he assumed responsi-bility for the Register of Births, Deaths, and Marriages, ensured that themeat was kosher—thereby increasing income from tax on kosher meat—and even reduced the burden of the community budget, the balancing ofwhich was a persistent source of concern for the local authorities. Sig-

47. According to a denunciation, in 1858 a new Hasidic rabbi was elected tothis position in Czyz.ew, but the government insisted on denying the fact, statingthat there was no rabbi in Czyz.ew, ‘‘because budget of the community makes nosuch provision for one’’; see AGAD, CWW 1446, pp. 327–28; also ibid., 171–72.

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nificantly, the law placed no limitations on the honorary assistant rabbi,nor did it require him to pass examinations. In this way, the communitywas able to appoint as ‘‘spiritual leader’’ (duchowny), or assistant rabbi, aperson who would not have been able to fulfil the official requirementsfor a rabbinical candidate, and the government did not feel inclined tomake any protest against this. Naturally, the unpaid nature of this func-tion was also fictitious. The assistant rabbi was supported by an unre-corded, extra-budgetary source. However, as long as this did not createany conflict in the community, the government willingly turned a blindeye to it.

What is interesting here is that, rather than resorting to direct petition-ing of the authorities, Isaac himself stepped in to fill the breach. Thisconstituted a less direct method of intervention than those mentionedabove; nevertheless it illustrated the same type of efforts made to find aneffective solution to the legal problems of the Jewish community in Po-land. The key to success here was, again, a good understanding of thelegal regulations and their consequences, as well as the inclinations andbureaucratic techniques of the Polish authorities. The contract deliveredby Isaac fulfilled the formal legal requirements, met with the authorities’expectations (a painless settlement of the conflict), and, at the same time,defended the vital interests of the Jewish community. Both sides wereperfectly happy and pretended not to see that the settlement was in tunewith the letter, but not the spirit, of the law.

JEWISH PRISONERS (1840– 41)

The tsadik from Warka was equally prepared to intervene in smaller mat-ters. As early as 1829 Isaac intervened in the case of Jews of Zambrowimprisoned in Łomz.a on the basis of a false accusation.48 In 1843 Isaacand his affluent supporters in Warsaw managed to put a halt to an anti-Hasidic investigation launched by a slanderous accusation of an ex-rabbiand informer of the secret police in Be�dzin, Abraham Rozynes.49 Anotherexample was that of the Jewish prisoners in 1840–41. There were twomajor problems. The first was the enforced enlistment of prisoners intothe Russian Army. (By law, all prisoners after serving a sentence couldbe conscripted.) The second problem was the non-observance of Jewishritual laws in prisons. Where conscription was concerned, Jews in theKingdom of Poland were generally exempt from compulsory military ser-vice because they paid a recruitment tax, and the decision of the Adminis-

48. See Mandelbaum, ed., Mikhtavim, 215.49. AGAD, CWW 1481, p. 405.

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trative Council was that the privilege also extended to criminals of thefirst and second degree (those with a sentence of no more that one year’sduration). However, the law did not clarify the position of embezzlersand debtors whose sentences exceeded a year. In 1840, Isaac of Warkaand Hersz Birnbaum, a wealthy deputy to the Jewish community boardof Gora Kalwaria (Ger), referring specifically to Order No. 12067 ofthe Administrative Council of November 19/December 1, 1837, and ofJanuary 19/31, 1834, applied directly to the viceroy, General IvanPaskevich, with a proposal that embezzlers, who could not be consideredmore dangerous than persons sentenced for crimes of violence, also beincluded in the exemption. The viceroy accepted Isaac’s argument andruled that only repeat offenders who received a second term of imprison-ment lasting more than a year would be subject to obligatory militaryservice. Hence the threat of conscription was limited only to major repeatembezzlers and did not apply to those convicted a first time of thatcrime.50 Of importance is the fact that Isaac went straight to the viceroy,who recognized the Rabbi of Warka’s power of attorney to represent theentire Jewish population in Poland and who issued an order of a generalnature in reply to the proposal. This situation provides confirmation thatIsaac functioned as the semi-official shtadlan of the Polish Jews, recog-nized as such by the authorities. In this capacity, he oversaw the function-ing of state law, catching hold of its inconsistencies and intervening insuch matters at the highest levels of state jurisdiction. His long-term strat-egy of usurping the position of representative of Polish Jewry in numer-ous matters of both general and specific importance was proving fruitful.

Soon Isaac also decided to settle the question of the transportation ofprisoners on the Sabbath and on Jewish holy days. In July 1841 he senta letter to the Government Commission for Internal and Religious Af-fairs, in which he requested a ban on the transport of Jewish prisonerson the Sabbath and holy days as well as permission for them to wearbeards and sidecurls as was required by the Mosaic religion.51 The letteris particularly interesting from the aspect of its ineptitude and it is glar-ingly different from previous letters. The addressee is erroneously re-ferred to as the Government Commission for Internal Affairs and Police(the name was ten years out of date at the time), the sentences containgrammatical and spelling errors, the handwriting is inexpert, the line ofargument loose and lacking in logic and, most importantly, the argument

50. AGAD, CWW 1435, pp. 424–25.51. AGAD, CWW 1435, p. 435.

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is not supported by legal citations; apart from a general citation of theconstitutionally guaranteed freedom of religion and an unspecified ukase,which Isaac failed to name. The only clearly articulated statement isIsaac’s assertion that the transportation of Jews on the Sabbath and thecutting off of their beards and sidecurls was contrary to Judaic law.

As one might readily assume, this intervention did not succeed. Thepoorly prepared proposal allowed the Government Commission to dis-miss it without any major difficulties. The commission replied to Isaacthat his objections were too generalized and that, because of a lack ofinformation about actual cases of violations of religious freedoms, thecomplaints could not be investigated. It appears that the tsadik did notpursue the matter any further.

The letter provides interesting evidence of the tsadik’s level of under-standing of Polish and of the mechanisms of his dealings with the Polishauthorities. Although we are unable to prove that the petition was inIsaac’s hand, we can assume that his linguistic abilities must have beenequal to or lower than those of the letter’s author (because had they beenbetter, he would have corrected them). That leads us to suspect that state-ments in the writings of the Hasidim as to Isaac’s knowledge of ‘Polnisch’were erroneous or exaggerated, as may have been a good deal of otherinformation.52 The inexpert nature of the letter also proves that the pre-viously mentioned, and highly successful, letters concerning divorce lawor the appointment of inspectors cannot have come directly from Isaac’shand; this is barely surprising, considering that the legal and editorialwork was done by his assistants. The temporary absence of these highlyqualified assistants resulted in Isaac’s action failing. As far as we areaware, this is the sole intervention of Isaac’s to have ended in such atotal fiasco, which confirms the general effectiveness of Isaac’s (or hisassistants’) political actions.

BRIBERY

Analyzing the methods employed by Isaac of Warka, as well as by everyother representative of every other interest group, it is difficult to be silenton the question of the ‘‘Jewish swords’’ (as it was referred to in old Pol-ish), that is, bribery. As noted earlier, bribery had always been one ofthe more effective tools of the shtadlanim and their nineteenth-centurysuccessors and must have assumed major significance in Imperial Russia

52. On Isaac’s linguistic abilities, see Walden, Ohel Yitsh. ak, 63, no. 161; 17,no. 23; 19, no. 43.

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and her satellites—states in which the bribe was an established and sanc-tioned institution.53

We cannot rule out whether attempts at this kind of corrupt behavior(be they successful or not) had a place in the above-described undertak-ings. There appears to be little doubt that Isaac took advantage of thiscourse of action; particularly given the universality of corruption in Impe-rial Russia. However, even taking bribery for granted and considering itspossible effects on the efficacy of Isaac’s actions, we should not overrateit for a number of reasons. First of all, after putting aside the Westernmythology concerning a corrupt ‘‘Byzantine bureaucracy’’ in Eastern Eu-rope, we must distinguish between the actual fact of bribery and its in-fluence on the ultimate decision of a corrupt official or department.Administrative practices in the Russian state (which were also in force inPoland, even if to a lesser degree) required a bribe merely to set a matterin motion; yet this was not necessarily a guarantee of a successful out-come.54 Without a bribe, the matter would lie unattended in the archivesat the lowest level and would never find its way to the desk of anybodyresponsible for making a decision. So, quite paradoxically, bribery, eventhough it was widespread, was not often an exceptional method of guar-anteeing a favorable decision but merely a sanctioned ‘‘tax’’ required toput the procedure in motion. This does not mean that bribes as such didnot exist as a means of influencing an official’s decision. The history ofthe Russian Empire is filled with them: ‘‘down-payments’’ intended tofacilitate acceptance into a school, or for the granting of a concession forbuilding railroads, or the gaining of a position (including a ministerialone). However, we must remember that not all spheres of public life wereaffected by corruption in the same manner. Andrzej Chwalba, in his inno-vative study of corruption in late Imperial Russia, came to the conclusionthat offering and accepting bribes was most commonly encountered withreference to the following ‘‘services’’ and ‘‘products’’: positions in theadministration, passports, school examinations, police and court ‘‘protec-tion,’’ censorship, recruitment, licenses and government concessions.Payments varied from three rubles for crossing a border to 100,000 rublesfor a ministerial position. What is worth noting here is that all of theseinvolved individual matters. The second category of bribes included casesin which a bribe was required to set the procedure in motion (as dis-

53. On bribes distributed by the shtadlanim, see Ury, Shtadlanut, 285–87. Oncorruption in Imperial Russia and the Congress Kingdom, see A. Chwalba, Impe-rium korupcji w Rosji i Krolestwie Polskim 1861–1917, 2d ed. (Warsaw, 2001).

54. See Chwalba, Imperium korupcji, 136–38.

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cussed above). The third category, generally impervious to bribery, dealtmainly with decisions of a political nature, or general, as opposed to indi-vidual, rulings.55 Isaac’s interventions clearly belonged to this third, polit-ical, category. Bribery in such situations was very difficult, if at allpossible, because decisions were made collectively and cases could becirculated between decision-making bodies easily (so that it would beineffective to bribe just one of them). Furthermore, such cases werestrictly supervised, so decisions made on flimsy grounds could be over-ruled. As a result, an unofficial law concerning bribery came into being,which required that a corrupt officer not accept bribes for cases he couldnot settle. Quite paradoxically, an awareness of the nature of corruptionin nineteenth-century Russia prompts us to view the influence of a bribeon the final shape of a decision as being of lesser significance, while simul-taneously acknowledging the universality of corruption and the importantrole bribes played in the decision-making process.

In addition, it is necessary to examine quite critically the references tobribery that are ever-present both in traditional Jewish literature and inhistorical works. The frequency with which these references occur is theresult of a lack of awareness of other methods of intervention rather thantheir not existing. For those sectors of Jewish, or any other, society whowere not aware of other possible courses of action, the assumption thatbribery was involved was a way of rationalizing the activities of theirleaders. The masses simply did not, and could not, have any idea of theactual nature of their leaders’ activities. Bribes were the most obviousexplanation; in particular because they constituted the only form of inter-vention with the state authorities in which a broad section of the popula-tion participated—that is, in public collections for funding for theshtadlanut.56 That, combined with the fact that bribery involved all sectorsof the population in Imperial Russia and that coercion of the Jewishpopulation was a frequent occurrence, meant that a knowledge of itswidespread nature would have been very common among Jews.

However, what is most important is that in the five cases of interest tous, sources that have been preserved do not allow us to make assumptionsas to the existence—or at least the influence on the decisions made byregional or central state authorities—of external factors unrelated to themerits of the case itself. Quite the contrary. Archival materials often allow

55. Chwalba, Imperium korupcji, 217.56. See Walden, Ohel Yitsh. ak, 53–54, no. 128 on the public collections for

the ‘‘prevention of evil decrees (gezerot).’’ This work also provides an interestingrationalization; 83, no. 196.

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one to reconstruct fully the rational decision-making mechanism (such asin the regulation of divorce laws or the presence of inspectors in butcherstalls), which appears to be completely sufficient with regard to any ex-planations of the decisions made by government authorities. Besides, theabove-described interventions by Isaac of Warka often passed throughthree or even four administrative levels (from the local municipal officeup to the Administrative Council). It is true that bribery practices did notdemand that the petitioner pay all the officials involved in the case: it wassufficient to bribe just one of them, who would then distribute the pay-ment among all those involved. In cases such as those discussed above, itseems, however, unlikely that the tsadik would have had the means andaccess needed to bribe all the officials (even if he were only paying oneof them), from the mayor to the royal viceroy, particularly in matters asdelicate as general legal regulations of a political nature, which involveda large number of high-ranking collective bodies.

All of the above allows us to assume that bribes, even if they did play acertain role, were not the most important element in the decision-makingprocess but, at most, aided in other methods important to the overallsuccess of the undertaking. These were: (1) organized petitions, whichallowed Isaac to occupy a position as the acknowledged representative ofthe whole Jewish community; (2) legal argument, (3) arguments pointingto the fiscal and social benefits for the government; (4) offers that weresuperficially legal, and that relieved the government of involvement insocial tensions within the Jewish society; (5) the exploitation of adminis-trative procedures, even if they were contrary to the intentions of thisadministration itself. It was these petitions and legal arguments that ulti-mately were of key importance to a favorable government decision. Andwhen his petition was poorly written, it did not work.

THE LOCAL CONTEXT: CONCLUSIONS

Were Isaac’s activities unique, or were they simply an example of themore general political processes underway in Eastern Europe in the mid-dle of the nineteenth century? It is possible that they were neither.

The above-mentioned analysis by Assaf and Bartal accurately points tothe fact that the emergence of the Hasidic shtadlanim was part of a moregeneral tendency in nineteenth-century Hasidism to take on the functionsof the weakened or even abolished Jewish kahal autonomy; hence it wasa reaction to the ‘‘Jewish politics’’ of virtually all the states of Central andEastern Europe. However, it would appear that along with this general-ized Eastern European factor, we should take account of another, possi-bly more important, local context encouraging Isaac of Warka and other

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Polish tsadikim to become involved in intensive public activity: this wasthe specific nature of the Kingdom of Poland and the form that its Jewishpolitics took there from the second decade of the nineteenth century.

It is difficult to call the Congress Kingdom a genuine legally governedstate. The breakdown of constitutional order and the limitations of civiland constitutional rights were a feature of this semi-independent statealmost from the very beginning. Waves of state lawlessness accompaniednational uprisings and periods of national unrest. After 1831, many con-stitutional freedoms were withdrawn and huge areas of social life cameunder the autocratic rule of the Tsar of Russia and King of Poland. How-ever, it looked different from the perspective of the administrative prac-tice of the kingdom, where official procedures and legal matters were, inprinciple, observed, even if functionaries of the administration allowednumerous abuses to be committed. ‘‘Administrative law and order’’ in thePolish kingdom turned out to be a factor of not insignificant weight indealings with representatives of Hasidic society and, indirectly, in theshaping of Jewish politics in this country. Polish tsadikim, and Isaac par-ticularly, managed to exploit fully the positive points of an administrativesystem, which made possible an effective defense of Jewish interests (asHasidic leaders perceived them), based on formalized bureaucratic proce-dures and codified legal rules. Of course, sending petitions to the authori-ties and resorting to legal arguments were not methods originated byIsaac and the Polish tsadikim; they had been in existence from the dawn-ing of the shtadlanut system.57 In the nineteenth century, however, thattype of activity assumed new meaning. The medieval or early modernprivilege, to which Josele Rosheim or any other shtadlan was able to refer,functioned in a legal system that allowed for the existence of paralleland contradictory legal regulations; such wide privileges for the Jewishcommunity were contradicted by privileges granted to Christian bur-ghers, which limited those same Jewish rights. The basic precept of thislegal system was tradition, which in itself was subject to interpretation.In addition, medieval or early modern legislators were not obsessed witha sense of omnipotence; they did not endeavor to interfere in all spheresof social life. Their jurisdictional moderation created even broaderspheres of application for extra-judicial regulations. In this sense, the lawwas subject to personal contacts and negotiations. In the nineteenth cen-tury, the situation changed, as decisions were not dependent (at leastofficially) on the will of members of the state administration but on a

57. See, for example, Stern, Josel Rosheim, 48–50, 66–71; Ury, ‘‘Shtadlanut,’’80–87.

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formalized and depersonalized set of laws. Such was the case in the Con-gress Kingdom—a constitutional monarchy in which laws and civil obli-gations were defined by the constitution and a civil code (the so-calledNapoleonic Code), even if those rights were at times limited. This deper-sonalization of the law circumscribed—though did not eliminate—the im-portance of personal intercessions with representatives of the governmentelite and the Maskilim who were friendly with them (traditional histori-ography contains much information about this).58 Instead, the circum-stances demanded professional legal activity, the effectiveness of whichwas foreseeable, and the risk associated with it inconsiderable. These,then, were purely rational and ‘‘modern’’ activities and their effectivenesswas such that it encouraged an intensification of activity in this area.Mere changes in the legal system did not necessarily bring about a pro-found political and social transformation. But even assuming that theabove-described changes were only of a superficial nature—that theywere responsible for reshaping the sphere of language rather than actualbureaucratic mechanisms and political relations—one can see that theycontributed significantly to the effectiveness of Jewish intervention, as isevident in the cases presented here. Thus the rules of the game betweenthe government and the representatives of the Jewish community didchange, even if from the perspective of the Jewish masses the change waslittle more than cosmetic.

The above accounts of the tsadik from Warka provide evidence that hesuccessfully adapted to this change. His activities were based on interven-tions using legal reasoning and sometimes they even forced the govern-ment administration to make decisions at variance with its own aims.Admittedly, we are unable to compare Isaac’s methods with the methodsemployed by early modern shtadlanim, as we do not have access to a studythat would provide detailed information on the earlier times. However,we can assume that Isaac’s methods—even if reminiscent of earlier peti-tions that resorted to a legal line of argument—were not identical to ear-lier methods. To be able to use a legal line of argument effectively andavail oneself of administrative procedures, a ‘‘universal’’ legal system andan effective public administration system would have to have been inplace. These features did not exist in eighteenth-century Poland; the ‘‘uni-versal’’ legal system was the creation of Napoleonic France. One cannotrule out the possibility that Isaac’s petitions, like the majority of the peti-tions in a tsarist state, were backed up by various kinds of ‘‘presents’’ andbribes. However, the methods by which this corrupt system functioned,

58. See Walden, Ohel Yitsh. ak, 36, no. 86; 53–54, no. 128; 121–22, no. 282.

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its limitations, and, most importantly, our knowledge of the official chan-nels through which the petitions passed cause us to believe that the bribewas of minor or secondary importance in these matters. For Isaac’s peti-tions to be effective, well-prepared legal arguments were a basic require-ment, as was a good knowledge of state official machinery and itsweaknesses (above all, inertia, and the unwillingness of officials to takeon any work or decision making) and, finally, a proper understanding ofthe political situation and the range of possibilities associated with it.

The obvious change in the Congress Kingdom’s Jewish politics at theend of the 1830s engendered the conditions conducive to the most promi-nent representatives of the Jewish community undertaking political ac-tivities. After the fall of the 1831 revolution and the withdrawal of thepre-uprising political faction, the government withdrew its plans to ‘‘re-form the Jewish people,’’ and its aim was the creation of a new politicalline in relation to the Jewish community also. All those who could beused to back the new direction of the government’s politics (which in-volved reducing the number of social conflicts, and simultaneously max-imizing the fiscal burden) were viewed as potential allies. Isaac of Warkawas one of those who better understood the Polish government’s invita-tion and its attendant possibilities. Thanks to a series of successful under-takings, he attained the status of semi-official representative of the entireJewish population, and his petitions were favorably considered by thehighest authorities in the land.

Why was it Isaac, and, more generally, the leaders of the Hasidicmovement, who took such full advantage of the opportunities presentedby the new political situation? Explanations pointing to Isaac’s personalabilities and talents seem insufficient. In the 1830s and 1840s, the non-Hasidic traditionalists, inaccurately referred to as the mitnagdim (such asthe Head Rabbis of Warsaw, Solomon Lipschitz and Hayim Dawidsohn),as well as numerous representatives of the Haskalah, were also active onthe Jewish political scene. Some of them, Abraham Stern and JakubTugendhold in particular, were spectacularly successful and significantlyinfluenced the Jewish politics of the Polish government, as did theirbourgeois supporters such as Jacob Epstein or Mathias Rosen. But de-spite this, it was not Lipschitz, Stern, or Rosen who managed to achievethe position of the shtadlan of the Polish Jews. It was Hasidic leaders, andIsaac in particular, who most succeeded. Why?

The deepening crisis of Jewish kahal institutions from the eighteenthcentury onward and the politics of successive Polish governments fromthe beginning of the nineteenth century in undermining the basis of Jew-ish autonomy (e.g., the dissolution of the kahal and the incapacitation of

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its successor, the abolition of supra-kehilah organizations and representa-tion) meant that non-Hasidic orthodoxy ceased to figure in the kingdomas an organized social force. Although it still constituted the vast majorityof the Jewish population in Poland, it gradually ceased to be involved.59

This faction’s significance was far less felt in Central Poland than in Be-larus and Lithuania, where other bodies, such as yeshivot and their leaders,successfully represented non-Hasidic orthodoxy. In the 1840s, numerous‘‘progressive’’ Jewish writers were drawing attention to the impotence ofthis orthodox non-Hasidic group in the Kingdom of Poland.60 As regardsthe two remaining factions, the maskilim and Hasidism, both activelyparticipated in political activities and sought a way to influence the poli-tics of the kingdom with regard to the Jewish population. Of the twofactions, it was the adherents of the Hasidic movement, with their morecompetent political performance and better grasp of the political realia ofthe Congress Kingdom, who succeeded in securing for themselves theposition of political representatives of Jewish society. After a very closealliance between the government and the maskilim in the 1820s and1830s, in the 1840s the government ceased to uncompromisingly supportthe modernization option. The maskilim rarely won government supportbecause they were perceived as a small splinter group and therefore apotential cause of social conflicts. The Congress Kingdom was repeatingthe Galician scenario of the first decade of the nineteenth century, inwhich the Austrian government withdrew its support of the maskilim.Equally so, the kingdom’s authorities, in seeking strategic allies to carryout its political agenda, inevitably gravitated toward the largest and stron-gest groups—those representing traditional Jewish society. The conser-vative image and self-image of the leaders of the Hasidim made them anatural partner for the increasingly conservative regime.

Not only were the maskilim few in number but they did not play asignificant role in the Jewish communities beyond Warsaw and a fewlarger cities in Western Poland. Probably what was of greater significancewas their structural inability to accommodate changes in the state’s poli-tics. The maskilim had no choice but to continue their attempts to buildtheir partnership with the government (which they saw as being a strate-

59. In the 1840s, the Hasidim made up approximately one-third of the Jewishpopulation in the Kingdom of Poland. See M. Wodzinski, ‘‘How Many HasidimWere There in Congress Poland? On the Demographics of the Hasidic Move-ment in Poland during the First Half of the Nineteenth Century,’’ Gal Ed 19(2004).

60. See M. Wodzinski, Oswiecenie z.ydowskie w Krolestwie Polskim wobec chasy-dyzmu (Warsaw, 2003), 142–43, 181–82, 206.

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gic one for them) on the anachronistic conviction that the governmentintended to ‘‘civilize the Jewish masses.’’ The compatibility of the ‘‘civiliz-ing’’ direction with government projects was often a recurring theme inthe complaints and submissions of the maskilim in their battle with Hasi-dim, regardless of whether they truly believed it or not. However, by the1840s this conviction was out of date. The Lublin governor wrote that itwas necessary to ensure that ‘‘progressive Jews under the guise of civili-zation not know the slightest protection by the Government and that bythese means the less affluent Hussids [sic] not experience oppression.’’61

An almost identical statement was made by the mayor of Warsaw in1858.62

What is interesting is that, side by side with the change in the courseof Jewish politics, there was no increase in the popularity of Hasidismitself in government circles. Hasidism continued to be seen as a source ofdangerous fanaticism and sometimes even as a potential threat to socialorder. The success of Hasidism was based on the fact that, because of theweakness of non-Hasidic orthodox circles, the Hasidim were able to oc-cupy the position of representative of the entire Jewish population inrelation to the government, without even revealing their Hasidic affilia-tion. Isaac of Warka was a very significant example of this. He did notannounce himself as a representative of Hasidism in any of his letters butinstead aspired to act as representative of the entire traditional Jewishpopulation (Isaac’s powers of attorney confirmed this), and thus of theoverwhelming majority of the Jewish population of Poland. Moreover,in contrast to actions undertaken by earlier Hasidic intercessors, Isaacdid not intervene in favor of the Hasidic community but consistentlylaunched his actions in defense of whole of Jewish society in Poland. Asa matter of fact, it might have looked as if his Hasidic affiliation was ofno importance here. This turned out to be crucial to his gaining the sup-port not only of the government but also of the non-Hasidic Jewish elitesand the wider, non-Hasidic Jewish population. As a result, the title as-sumed by Isaac was finally accepted by both the Polish government andprominent representatives of Jewish society, which clearly indicates thatthese authorities did not perceive Isaac as a representative of Hasidismbut of the whole Jewish population. However, the lack of any relevanceof his political activities to his Hasidic affiliation was merely a coverup.After all, even the common people knew very well who it was who de-

61. Archiwum Panstwowe w Lublinie, Akta miasta Lublina 2419, p. 237(dated 1866).

62. AGAD, CWW 1730, pp. 168–74.

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fended them from the ‘‘evil decrees’’ of the gentile government, such asoppressive marriage and divorce laws, the prohibition on �eruvin, or theenforced conscription of Jewish prisoners. It thus seems reasonable toassume that the successful interventions by Isaac of Warka and many ofthe Hasidic leaders who were his contemporaries did influence the stand-ing of the Hasidic movement among the Jewish population, who couldsee this movement as its legally valid representative and its most success-ful defender. This must have made a significant mark on the ideologicalformation and the dynamics of the development of this movement in Cen-tral Poland, where in the 1840s Hasidism significantly increased its ranksand sphere of influence. Suffice it to say, between the 1820s and the 1840sHasidism in Poland grew from less than 10 percent to one-third of thetotal Jewish population and, what was more significant, for the first timeaspired to take over positions of power in many Jewish communitiesthroughout the country.63

Thus it appears that ‘‘administrative law and order’’ not only affordedthe Hasidic shtadlanim (and there were many others besides Isaac) aneffective means of protection of Jewish interests (thereby bringing abouta modification of the Jewish politics in that state), but also encouragedbroad-spectrum activism of a political/legal nature and broadened its so-cial frame of reference. Hasidic leaders were involved in these activitiesand enjoyed quite spectacular success. Although the tsadikim were per-ceived by their contemporaries (and by later historiography, also) as theincarnation of the traditional Jewish intercessors (shtadlanim), they infact turned out to be highly successful political activists, able to manipu-late the Polish legal system to their own ends. They managed to combinea very traditional self-image with the adoption of modern forms of politi-cal activity and social interest, which fully corresponded with the newconditions of the Kingdom of Poland in the nineteenth century. This be-came, in fact, the most characteristic feature of the Polish Hasidism.

63. See more on this in Wodzinski, ‘‘How Many Hasidim.’’ For other estima-tions of Hasidic strength in Poland up to 1830, see G. Dynner, ‘‘ ‘Men of Silk’:The Hasidic Conquest of Polish Jewry, 1754–1830’’ (Ph.D. dissertation, Bran-deis University, 2002), 13–25.

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Hasidism, Shtadlanut, and Jewish Politics in Nineteenth-Century Poland: The Case of Isaac of Warka

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