The Golem and the Wondrous Deeds of the Maharal of Prague. Review

Yudl Rosenberg’s 1909 version of the traditional Jewish folktale of the Golem transformed this story forever. The Golem is a man made by rabbis from clay and given life, usually by means of Kabbalistic practice. Rosenberg’s book became an immediate bestseller and was immensely influential. It masqueraded as an original account of sixteenth-century events, divided into self-contained stories, which centred on the “Maharal,” the maker of the Golem. “The Maharal of Prague” is another name for Rabbi Judah Loew Ben Bezalel (1525–1609). Rosenberg’s book ensured that he was best known for his fictitious role in the Golem legends, but his reputation as an important thinker of the post-Medieval period is growing. Loew developed an entirely new approach to the aggadah of the Talmud. He was also a progressive educationalist and an enlightened student of science. Far from being a practitioner of the secret arts, his reputation for mysticism rests on his translation of Kabbalistic ideas into clearly accessible terminology. In Rosenberg’s stories this historical personage is transformed into a protector of the Jewish people, whose knowledge of Kabbalah gives him superhuman powers.

An important reason for the success of Rosenberg’s book was a very strong interest in the occult, widely shared by his contemporaries, both Jewish and non-Jewish. This partly explains why this version of the ancient Golem tale transcended a Jewish audience and became widely known. The importance and influence of Rosenberg’s version is beyond dispute, which means that Curt Leviant’s translation performs a vital role in making this book available to a broader audience.

The book contains an excellent introduction by Leviant, which puts the Golem legend very successfully into context. He explains how the story reflects the concerns and attitudes of its times, and points out that this legend is not static or timeless, but is constantly evolving. Rosenberg’s interpretation of the folktale overshadowed, and largely replaced, all the earlier versions, many of which are now completely forgotten. Leviant also draws our attention to the fact that this version in turn inspired famous works of art such as Wegener’s film The Golem (1921), which was based on Meyrink’s brilliant and famous novel of the same name written in 1915. These are major works of Expressionist art from a period when Jews and Gentiles collaborated to create a shared culture. Leviant also helpfully supplies notes that explain unfamiliar concepts and facts, and this allows for further investigation, and deepens the scope of the book.

Considering the awful events from which it arose, the shocking Hilsner case and the devastating Russian pogroms, Rosenberg’s book is written with an incredibly light and humane touch. It illustrates the complex and fraught relationship between Jew and Gentile in the German Empire. The ghastly priest Thaddeus, is the personification of the bigoted and poisonous anti-Semite whose ill-will causes the Jews terrible suffering.

However, it is important to point out that Rosenberg’s stories also reflect the hope that many felt at the time, that, despite anti-Semitism and its attendant horrors, reason would triumph ultimately, and enlightenment would finally come. The Maharal battles Thaddeus, not with violence, but with the courts, the law of the land, and the help of sympathetic authorities like the Police Chief and the Emperor. The touching story of Duke Bartholomew also reveals the intertwined fate of Jew and Gentile. The anti-Semitic Christian duke, Bartholomew, finds out he was born a Jew. As he was neither truly Jew nor truly Christian, he could not be buried as either; therefore, accepting that he would have be buried as neither, he prepared a grave in his own park. In this story Rosenberg points to a shared humanity and to the idiocy of bigotry.

The arguments that Rosenberg puts in the Rabbi’s mouth against the blood libel and other anti-Semitic hate-filled rhetoric current at this time seem clearly to have been meant for his contemporaries; their aim is to put the Jewish case forward without appearing to do so, in the time-honoured and highly effective method of storytelling. That the book was brilliantly successful in this is shown by its great influence and the popularity of its ideas.

Rosenberg conjures out of the visionary, mystical atmosphere real people, such as resentful tannery workmen, bewildered beggars, and helpful, if misguided, midwives. This Leviant has captured in his clear and lucid prose. Very successful too is Rosenberg’s use of the supernatural and dream-like events that are treated as perfectly normal in these tales. This adds to a rich atmosphere, reminiscent of Yiddish films like The Dybbuk (1937), where legend and reality interrelate quite naturally, and often give rise to a surreal and haunting quality. Leviant’s translation conveys this very well.

Rosenberg’s fighting Golem has become merged in later times with the idea of implacable warfare and defence; for example, in Daniel Horowitz’s Yossele Golem, (premiered at New York’s La Mama T.T.C. in 1982), which presents Rosenberg’s Golem as an Israeli soldier. This is undeniably one of his qualities, but Rosenberg, ably translated by Leviant, presents us with a vulnerable creature, neither human nor demon, and, like Duke Bartholomew, neither Jew nor Gentile, who can nevertheless be injured and needs his master’s loving care to heal his wounds. His end, which comes when the need to defend the Jews is over, is poignant and tinged with regret and sacredness. The book ends with words of confidence and hope: “And the land was tranquil.”

Leviant’s excellently written translation makes accessible Rosenberg’s delightful stories, which are an important link in the chain that makes up the incredible richness and diversity of the ideas contained in the legend of the Golem. It brings to life a vanished world.