Jewry, which Zunz had shared up to that point with the rest of the society. His doctoral dissertation had been on a thirteenth-century Spanish Jewish philosopher and an earlier essay of his in the journal had focused on the difficult task of identifying Spanish place names in the Hebrew literature of the Iberian Peninsula. The essay was a model of a methodology that could be used on any geographical area in which Jews once resided. Zunz felt obliged to vindicate his choice with another intrusion of present-mindedness:
The study of Jewish literature draws us primarily there (to Spain) because a literature is actually to be found there. Among all the efforts of the Jewish people since their political decline, there are none comparable to those of the Spanish era, where Jews attained a level equal to that of Europe, if not higher. There men lived worthy of renown. There was not only a dead language as a cherished legacy from their forefathers, but also a living, comprehensible, cultural language. Devotees of poetry and science competed with the Moors. Even its external history was more important, vital and fascinating after the barbarism of the Gothic era than anywhere else. Indeed, ethics and education became so ingrained that even the most distant settlement of Jews fleeing Spain was distinctively marked by them.95
But Zunz was on his way to overcoming the bias. The Rashi essay signaled a momentous step to correct the imbalance.
The lasting value of the essay on Spanish place names, however, is that in its sweeping theoretical prelude, Zunz enunciated a fuller version of the methodology that undergirded the new science of Judaism. In spare language, he sketched the evolution of Jews out of Israelites in the Roman period, the decentralization of Jewish settlements, the cohesive role of Judaism as a religious-political construct, and, finally, a delineation of eleven periods of Jewish history from the earliest time to his own day. To put this all together and to integrate the external and internal dimensions required a labor of intense specificity: where and when did a person live or was a book written and in what setting did an event take place? Each fact was a single but critical stone for a building under construction. In addition to the qualifications requisite of all modern historians, Jewish historians needed to have the well-rounded knowledge to detect internal developments in Judaism, an ability to see details against the backdrop of the whole, and a critical understanding of all of Jewish literature. As for the Hebrew sources in which place names appeared most often, Zunz listed four types: chronicles and travel books; halakhic responsa; inscriptions on coins, buildings, and tombstones; and communal record books. Zunz also drew attention to the reference works available for consultation.96 Taken together, the bold essays by Gans and Zunz laid out in both theory and practice the arduous spadework ahead.
In retrospect, the journal’s modest reception made it a symbol rather than a success. After reading the third number, Heine wrote Zunz that he found the German of the journal abominable and impenetrable.97 Ehrenberg concurred. Only two copies sold in Braunschweig. Good Jews found its discourse far too learned.98 In a letter to Ehrenberg on April 18, 1823, Zunz wrote in defense by crisply restating the journal’s intent: “The journal is certainly not a Jewish paper and not designed to educate the Jews of Braunschweig. We have enough vehicles for education right now. But to create for Judaism some status and respect and gradually to arouse and unite the better minds in Israel, that can only be done through critical scholarship and it is our goal to keep the journal at that level.”99 Sylvester de Sacy in Paris, France’s renowned Orientalist and the mentor of Germany’s rising generation of Orientalists, courteously thanked Zunz on October 7, 1822, for his free copy. But he cautioned that given the paucity of Jewish and gentile sources for many periods of Jewish history, the term “Judaism” might often end up replacing facts with speculation. And he added prophetically “that Germany is hardly the place where anyone will appreciate the usefulness and difficulty of the work to which you are dedicating yourself.”100 Most lamentable, the journal reached few hands. The first number in the spring of 1822 had been printed in a run of five hundred copies at a total cost of 124 talers. As late as 1839, Zacharias Frankel admitted to Zunz that neither he nor his close friend Bernhard Beer, who had a fine personal library of Judaica, nor anyone else in Dresden had ever seen a copy of the journal.101
Two other projects that Zunz thought through for the Verein give still further evidence of its unrestrained élan, uncanny insight, and totally inadequate means. In January 1822, Gans had asked him to draft statutes for a Verein library. By November 3, he submitted to the plenum a document of twenty-nine articles that suggested the future collection be divided between original and auxiliary works. Original works were to be authored by Jews or deal with Jews and Judaism and fall in one of twelve discrete categories of literature. In contrast, auxiliary works had to be crafted by non-Jews or ex-Jews and likewise deal with Jews and Judaism. Some eight categories defined their substance and scope.102 At the conclusion of Zunz’s presentation, the assembled members adopted his proposal unanimously. Eleven months later on October 5, 1823, Zunz would make his final quarterly report on his creation.103 Though it was destined for the dustbin, the sweep and refinement of Zunz’s vision fully anticipated some of the modern conundrums in the collecting of Hebraica and Judaica.
The society also entertained the grandiose idea of a new German translation of the Hebrew Bible. The initiative came from its affiliate in Hamburg headed by Gotthold Salomon, one of the two preachers in the employ of the city’s Temple Association, though it was left to Zunz to make the case for the project in Berlin at a plenary session on August 31, 1823.104 In his usual learned and methodical way, Zunz argued that historically, unlike the medieval church, Judaism never disparaged the translation of its Scripture. As examples, he cited the highly regarded Arabic translation of Saadia, the Spanish translation published in Ferrara in 1553, the two Judeo-German translations of Jekutiel Blitz and Josel Witzenhausen in the last quarter of the seventeenth century, and of course that of Mendelssohn. But the need for a new translation was always commensurate with changes in language, taste, and opinion: “Thus what is lacking at this moment when German sermons and German religious education ought to be reintroduced into our synagogues is a completely new Bible translation, in accord with an agreed upon plan, that is inexpensive, compact and readily accessible.” According to the agreement between the two chapters, the translation would be carried out in Hamburg, but revised in Berlin, which would also raise the large sums needed to fund the project. Though the printing of the translation would be done in Hamburg, Berlin would be listed as the official publisher.105 Even the guidelines for the actual execution of the translation had been agreed upon.106 Despite some moments of contention, Berlin adopted the proposal.107 Unfortunately, the lifespan of the Verein was nearing its end and the fruition of the forethought would not become manifest until the late 1830s, when two independent translations of the Hebrew Bible, one done single-handedly by Salomon and the other merely edited by Zunz, came out within a year of each other.108
The final meeting of the Verein took place on February 1, 1824, with but five members in attendance. Gans reported that thus far the Berlin community leadership had shown no interest in the Verein’s offer to assist in the reform of its worship service. Samuel Schönberg, born in Hungary in 1794 and a member since July 1821,109 lamented the declining interest of the entire membership in the work of the society. Gans promised to convene an extraordinary meeting to discuss the matter on the following Saturday, though there is no evidence that it ever took place.110 Before Gans left Berlin in April 1825 to convert in Paris in December, he turned over the papers of the Verein to Zunz as requested with a note: “As I regard the Society as de facto finished, so is my presidency. If you are of a different mind, you are free to assume the reins as acting president.”111 By March 1826, Gans had secured an appointment in Berlin as an associate professor.112 Not only did Zunz preserve the papers, but he vowed to soldier on alone. In the summer of 1824, he delivered a heartrending eulogy on the Verein in a letter to Wohlwill, who had changed his name from Wolf in 1822 and moved to Hamburg in 1823:
I have come to the point of no longer believing in a Jewish Reformation. We must hurl a stone at this ghost in order to be rid of it…. The Jews and Judaism that we wanted to remake are wholly fragmented, the booty of barbarians, fools, money changers,
