Judaism, Christianity and What It All Has To Do With Berlin

On 1 July 1694, Frederick III, Margrave of Brandenburg, officially opened his university in Halle. It was basically an image campaign. In the 17th century, important sovereigns were proud to see the noble sciences being cultivated in their realm. Well, that’s how it was back then. Supporting the sciences was practically a prerequisite for growing one’s reputation. And Frederick was really aiming high. Brandenburg, the former ‘sandbox of the Holy Roman Empire’, had gained in significance. Frederick’s father Frederick William – better known as the Great Elector – had defeated Sweden, which was considered one of the most important major European powers at the time, at the Battle of Fehrbellin. 

Frederick III took advantage of this momentum. He planned to secure a place for his realm in the European concert of powers, and that process involved establishing academic institutions. The Friedrichs-Universität of Halle was just the first.

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An Independent Scholar in Leipzig

A new university like this one not only had European implications. It also gave many unemployed academics an opportunity to secure a decently paid post as a professor. One of these academics lived in Leipzig – just 40 kilometres from Halle. We don’t know very much about Friedrich Wilhelm Bock except that, even in the tolerant state of Prussia, he was probably something of an outsider. Bock wasn’t just a foreigner; he was also a Jew who had converted to Christianity and who, after his baptism, found himself caught between the two faiths. Bock wasn’t a wealthy financier, nor a well-off merchant – he was ‘just’ a profound expert in the Hebrew language, the Talmud and the rabbinic writings. How was a man like him supposed to feed his family?

A newly founded university in Halle was a unique opportunity for Bock. Lots of new professors would find work there all at once. Bock hoped to secure a teaching job, as we learn from the book he published. Here is an excerpt from his dedication to Margrave Frederick III, translated into English of course: As your serene Highness has directed your paternal concerns to...establishing a new university...I, who as a foreigner have sought refuge beneath the wing of your gracious sovereignty, would be remiss not to add these pages to the many congratulations and send them to your Grace. ... Because, after God enlightened me with His Holy Word, saved me from Judaism and converted me to Jesus Christ, I was made aware, through the advice of important patrons and friends, of the newly founded university of your Electoral Serene Highness, so that I may teach the young students there with my little knowledge of the Hebrew language and the rabbinic and Talmudic writings.

In other words, Friedrich Wilhelm Bock writes quite openly in his foreword that he wants a position at the newly founded University of Halle. For this purpose – he writes – it seemed to me to be particularly beneficial to translate a not entirely useless Jewish treatise into the German language, through which endeavour I have created a textbook, with which I could teach and instruct the students all the more easily in the rabbinic language.

So, Bock was hoping to get a job teaching Hebrew and the Jewish scriptures at the new university. His chances were good. Hebrew had been regarded as an integral part of theological education since the 16th century, especially in Protestant countries. And as a former Jew and an expert on the Jewish scriptures, he was very familiar with the Hebrew language.

On top of that, Halle was home to the Pietists. The term ‘Pietism’ refers to a Protestant reform movement, for which the University of Halle would become the focal point. The Pietists were not anti-Semitic. They believed that, until the birth of Jesus, the Jews had been God’s chosen people, who were replaced by the Christians. They therefore believed it was extremely important to familiarise themselves with the teachings of Judaism, for the spirit of God was just as present in these as in the writings of the New Testament. For the Pietists of Halle, a converted Jew like Friedrich Wilhelm Bock was virtually the perfect candidate for the job, because they dreamed of leading all the other Jewish brothers like him to what they considered to be the one true religion.

Now all he had to do was convince the sovereign. Bock did this by demonstrating his ability. He produced a dual-language edition of the Leḳaḥ Ṭob – the most famous Jewish text of its time, which every educated person in Europe had at least heard of.

Abraham Yagel and the Leḳaḥ Ṭob

This book was written by an Italian kabbalist called Abraham Yagel. He lived between 1553 and 1623. He wrote the Leḳaḥ Ṭob as a sort of summary of the teachings of the Jewish faith. In terms of form, he followed the example of the Catholic catechism written by Peter Canisius in 1555. Much like the ‘Kanisi’ – as the influential work is colloquially known in Bavaria – Yagel also organised the theological knowledge in a question-and-answer format. With this trick, he structured the complex statements in such a simple way that they were easy to understand and learn.

The Leḳaḥ Ṭob was first published in 1587 in Venice. By the end of the 17th century, it had already been translated into Yiddish, Latin, English and German, but these versions were not accessible to the people of Brandenburg, as Bock himself writes in his introduction. That’s why he added his dual-language edition to the long list of translations. And he wouldn’t be the last to do so. By the mid-18th century, there were more than 20 different translations. In other words, the Leḳaḥ Ṭob was the book that taught Christians about the beliefs of Jewish people.

Why Was the Leḳaḥ Ṭob So Popular?

The popularity of this work is probably due primarily to its similarity to the form of the Christian catechism, which was widespread at the time. Christians intuitively understood the structure of the work, which meant they were able to focus on its contents. This set it apart from the many texts that weren’t concerned with the content of the Jewish faith, but rather with its form. These works focussed on the obvious outward differences between Christian and Jewish worship, thereby portraying Judaism as an exotic belief system with strange rituals.

The Leḳaḥ Ṭob helped Christians to understand that outer appearances were not to be equated with the teachings of the faith, and that Judaism and Christianity shared some surprising similarities. 

The third aspect that all the Christian readers loved was the fact that Yagel’s (Christian) contemporaries had asserted that he later converted to Christianity – a claim vehemently opposed by Jewish scholars. This dispute demonstrates one thing above all else: just how important his work was considered to be. It was so pivotal that both its Jewish and Christian readers were only too happy to claim its author for themselves.

Success Across the Board

Friedrich Wilhelm Bock’s book brought him success. We know that in 1695, he was granted permission to teach the Talmud and the rabbinic scriptures at the University of Halle.

Frederick III had even greater success. In 1701, in exchange for military support in the War of the Spanish Succession and a payment of 2,600,000 ducats (plus high ‘brokerage commission’), Emperor Leopold I granted him the privilege of being crowned king. Not King of Brandenburg, however, just King in Prussia: a difference that was huge at the time but barely understood a hundred years later.

Frederick I, as he was now called, left behind an entirely transformed kingdom for his son. The rather rural Berlin had become a hub for the arts and sciences, earning it the nickname of ‘Athens on the Spree’. Frederick had built, or at least fully renovated, 24 impressive palaces, as well as a university, two science academies and the royal library. He had commissioned the famous Amber Room and plunged his country into financial ruin. His son Frederick William – whom we know as the ‘Soldier King’ and the unsympathetic father of Frederick II – inherited around 20 million reichstalers’ worth of debt, which he rigorously paid off, one taler at a time.

We don’t know what became of Friedrich Wilhelm Bock. He disappeared from the records and therefore from our history.

Other Things You Might Be Interested In: 

Another popular source for the history of Jewish culture was a new translation of Flavius Josephus’ Antiquities of the Jews, a kind of illustrated alternative Bible from the 17th century.