5. Jewish Powerlessness: Two Examples
A. Shmuel HaNagid (993-1056)
The case of Shmuel HaNagid (the Prince) is both fascinating and instructive.
Shmuel, an eleventh century Jew in Moslem Spain, rose from being a successful
spice merchant to the unprecedented height, in the Kingdom of Granada, of
Vizier or advisor to the king and, ultimately, – and uniquely for a
Diaspora Jew, as far as is known – Commander of the king’s army.
He was as powerful a Jew as can be found in the entire long history of the
great and glorious Spanish centre, and was a Rabbi, Halachic authority (one
of the Rishonim), communal leader and noted poet. Through his business acumen
and elevated position, he also brought his family unprecedented riches and
fame, which might have been calculated to lay the basis for a hereditary power
lasting many generations http://www.jpost.com/Editions/2000/07/06/Books/Books.9285.html
.
When he died, he left both his positions and power to his son Joseph: but
Joseph was dead within ten years, the victim of a vicious pogrom aimed against
“the high and mighty Jew” - and the house and potential dynasty
of his father was destroyed forever.
The case is unique - but the moral is not.
- Diaspora Jews in the pre-modern world were ultimately powerless.
- All outward appearances of power were deceptive.
- They had nothing but their own ability to make themselves useful and the
desire of pragmatic leaders to use their talents, to help and protect them
at times of threat and attack.
5B. The Polish Ukraine
A most poignant example of this moral emanates from a totally different
Diaspora centre, that of the 17th century Polish Ukraine, where the Jews fell
victim to a bloody campaign of destruction aimed against them by the powerful
Cossack tribes of the southern steppes (during the Khmielnitzky Revolt, 1648
http://www.friends-partners.org/partners/beyond-the-pale/eng_captions/19-3.html
). In 300 towns and villages, centre after centre, Jews were attacked and
massacred; tens of thousands lost their lives.
In the course of one attack, as related by contemporary eye-witnesses and
chroniclers, a group of Jews managed to capture some Polish prisoners (the
Poles, too, were against them), and the suggestion was made to kill the Poles,
since now, for one brief moment, the Jews had the power to do exactly that.
It is hardly surprising that much enthusiasm was generated by the suggestion;
the Jews had been victims in Poland for far too long: for one brief moment,
this particular group of Jews had an opportunity to take revenge. It was a
chance to wipe out humiliation and try to compensate for all the vulnerability
and fear they had ever felt.
At that moment, we are told, an elderly Rabbi and leader spoke out and persuaded
them that this was the worst thing that they could possibly do. Interestingly,
he did not talk from a theoretical theological position of relying on G-d
to take vengeance, but, rather, from a totally rational and practical point
of view: namely, that if these Jews were to wreak vengeance on their Polish
victims, the outcome would be that Poles everywhere would hear about the incident
and themselves take vengeance on all Jews, in every place where they lived
in Poland.
For these Jews, revenge might be sweet but it would also be momentary and
counter-productive.
His arguments persuaded the Jews to withdraw their threat towards their
Polish captives.
But this act was not rewarded, and the story has a tragic end: in a matter
of days, most of these same “threatening” Jews, were themselves
slaughtered.
The Jews remained powerless.
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