A Convenient Hatred: The History of Antisemitism (27 page)

The sultans ruled with an iron fist. They expected their subjects—Muslims, Christians, and Jews alike—to serve the interests of the empire. If the sultan decided that he needed more merchants in Istanbul, he could order merchants in another part of the empire to move there. That is what happened in 1453, just after the Ottomans conquered the city. Thousands of Christian Greeks, most of them merchants, fled. So the sultan ordered Jewish merchants removed from smaller cities and towns in other parts of the empire and resettled in Istanbul. They took over businesses abandoned by the Christians.

Soon after the Ottomans conquered the island of Cyprus in 1571, a similar transfer of people took place. The sultan sent Turkish peasants to live on the island so that its rural population would include Turkish Muslims as well as Greek Christians. At about the same time, the sultan ordered Turkish nomads who raised sheep, horses, and other livestock to move to Cyprus so that the supply of animals used for food and transportation would remain in Muslim hands. A few years later, he ordered Jews from Safed to Cyprus. He did not want just any Jews; he insisted that the Muslim governor of Safed send “1,000 rich and prosperous Jews… with their property and effects and with their families.” In his order, the sultan warned the governor that he would be punished if he substituted poor Jews for rich ones.

In fact, the Jews of Safed never left home. With the help of friends in Istanbul, they managed to get the order cancelled. No one knows exactly how they convinced the sultan, but documents indicate that he informed the governor of Cyprus of a change in plans. When the governor complained, he was allowed to intercept a group of Jews from Salonika who were being relocated to Safed and bring them to Cyprus instead. Reports of similar transfers occurred well into the 1600s throughout Ottoman-controlled territories.

Why, then, did many Jews regard the Ottoman Empire as a great place to live? The answer lies in what they saw as the alternative. In the mid-1400s, an Ottoman Jew wrote to fellow Jews in Europe:

I, Isaac Zarfati… proclaim to you that Turkey is a land wherein nothing is lacking, and where, if you will, all shall yet be well with you. The way to the Holy Land lies open to you through Turkey. Is it not better for you to live under Muslims than under Christians? Here every man may dwell at peace under his own vine and fig tree. Here you are allowed to wear the most precious garments. In Christendom, on the contrary, you dare not even venture to clothe your children in red or in blue, according to our taste, without exposing them to the insult of being beaten black and blue, or kicked green and red, and therefore are ye condemned to go about meanly clad in sad-colored raiment [garments].
¹¹

Why did Isaac Zarfati claim that Jews could dress as they pleased? Surely he knew that Jews and Christians could wear only certain colors. He probably did, but when times were good—and times were very good in the 1400s and 1500s—those rules were rarely enforced. It was only
in tough times that sultans and governors made sure every restriction on minorities was obeyed.

In the 1500s and early 1600s, the sultans regarded Jews as an asset; they were more than willing to relax the enforcement of laws and, if need be, to protect Jews from harm. They were less supportive of Christians, who had similar skills but were suspected of being sympathetic to the Christian kingdoms of Europe—which were enemies of the Ottoman Empire.

Protection was considered a privilege, not a right. In 1556, when Suleiman wrote a letter to the pope demanding the release of all
conversos
living under the protection of the Ottoman Empire but working in Ancona, (see
Chapter 7
), he did not make his case on humanitarian or religious grounds. Instead, he argued that the seizure of their goods and property was “to the prejudice of Our Treasury, to the amount of 400,000 ducats, over and above the damage done to Our subjects, who have been ruined and cannot pay their obligations to Our said Treasury.” And he demanded the release of Ottoman Jews so that “they may be able to satisfy their debts.”

Suleiman ended by warning that if his subjects were not treated well, the pope could expect that Christians would not be treated in a “friendly fashion” in the Ottoman Empire. The pope released the Ottoman Jews even though the others were killed.

Suleiman and other sultans were not as quick to protect Jews within the empire. In 1530, for example, when Ottoman Jews were accused of ritual murder for the first time, no one came to their aid. The accusers were Armenian Christians in the town of Amasya, east of Ankara in present-day Turkey. An Armenian child was missing, and Christians in the town claimed that “the Jews” had killed him. They attacked dozens of homes, killing men, women, and children before order was restored. At their urging, the local governor, a Muslim, arrested a rabbi and several other Jewish leaders. Under torture, the men “confessed” to the crime and were hanged. A few days later, the boy whose murder had sparked the violence showed up alive and unharmed.

A few years later, there was another accusation of ritual murder, this time in Tokat, an inland city not far from the Black Sea. After Greek Christians responded to the charge by destroying a Jewish neighborhood and killing dozens of Jews, Moses Hamon, a powerful Jew, demanded that the sultan intervene. Hamon, who was Suleiman’s physician, persuaded
the sultan to issue a
firman
, or imperial decree. It denounced the charges as false and barred local officials from taking criminal action against Jews in such cases. In the future, any charge of ritual murder would have to be brought before the sultan and his advisers. Although the
firman
was not a lasting solution, it did prevent further violence for a time.

When Suleiman died in 1566, his son Selim II became sultan. Like his father, Selim II had a Jewish physician, Joseph Hamon (Moses’s son). Although Joseph Hamon had less influence than his father, he managed to renew the
firman
outlawing false charges of ritual murder. And when the sultan’s advisers debated whether to renew the right of Jews to live in Salonika, it was Hamon who spoke on the Jews’ behalf.

By the 1600s, the Ottoman Empire was declining, as it lost territory to Russia and to rebellions in various parts of the empire. The decline came at a time when the military and financial power of European countries like England and France were on the rise. As the influence of these countries expanded, so did the power of Christians in the Ottoman Empire. They had many advantages over Jews—including the fact that a number of European traders preferred to do business with other Christians. The Levant Company in England, which conducted trade between Europe and the Middle East, is a good example. It banned Jews both as members in England and as interpreters and guides in the Ottoman Empire.

As Jews were squeezed out of prominent positions in government and trade in the Ottoman Empire, restrictions on them increased, though persecution and violence were rare. When there were attacks, they were almost always a result of rivalries among
dhimmi
communities. Still, in the 1600s, many Ottoman Jews, like Jews in Poland, were praying for someone to save them.

In 1665, a number of Jews in Poland, the Ottoman Empire, and other parts of the world believed that their prayers were about to be answered. Shabtai Zvi, a Jewish mystic from a well-to-do Sephardic family in Smyrna (a city in the Ottoman Empire), declared that redemption was at hand and that he was the long-awaited Messiah. Despite the doubt and disapproval of many rabbis, thousands of Jews were overjoyed at his message. As he traveled through the Ottoman Empire in both Europe and Asia, the mystic gained more and more followers not only within the empire but also in Poland—where many Jews were still reeling from both the massacres in the Ukraine in 1648 and the political and economic upheaval that followed.

As Shabtai Zvi traveled from city to city, officials in Istanbul began to take notice, especially after some of his followers announced that they would honor his name instead of the sultan’s at Friday night services in their synagogues. Then, in September, Nathan of Gaza, a young scholar who was Shabtai Zvi’s most devoted follower, sent a letter to Jews in Europe and Asia announcing that the Day of Judgment was at hand. The news spread quickly. Many Jews prayed and then paraded through the streets shouting Shabtai Zvi’s name. In places as far away as Germany, Jews prepared for the event. In her memoir, a Jewish woman known as Glueckel of Hameln recalled the excitement of those days:

Many sold their houses and land and all of their possessions, for any day they hoped to be redeemed. My good father-in-law left his home in Hameln, abandoned his house and lands and all his goodly furniture…. He sent on to us in Hamburg two enormous casks packed with linens and peas, beans, dried meats, shredded prunes, and… every manner of food that could be kept. For the old man expected to sail any moment from Hamburg to the Holy Land…. For three years the casks stood ready, and all this while my father-in-law awaited the signal to depart. But the Most High pleased otherwise.
¹²

Many Jews did not wait. As 1666 began, thousands headed toward Palestine, taking part in what they believed was the long-awaited “ingathering of the exiles.” But it was not to be.

Ottoman officials saw Shabtai Zvi as the leader of a possible uprising. Throughout history, government officials have found messianic movements disquieting. They shake up the established order and challenge long-held traditions. The Ottomans were no exception. They arrested Shabtai Zvi and brought him to Istanbul in chains. Amazingly, he was not killed; he was locked in a cell and allowed to have visitors. All the while, he continued to promise new miracles. Then, in September, he was brought before the sultan’s court and forced to choose between Islam and death. He chose Islam.

Many Jews were shocked. They had expected Shabtai Zvi to follow the tradition of
Kiddush ha-Shem
—the sanctification of the name of God—by choosing martyrdom. His followers were crushed; some felt ashamed that they had been taken in by his message. Sill others clung to the idea that it was all a tragic misunderstanding. But in fact, the dream had turned into a nightmare. It took Jews throughout Europe and particularly the Ottoman Empire decades to recover, and for many, life was never the same again.

(1600s–1848)

There is no such thing as a Christian commonwealth…. [N]either Pagan nor [Muslim], nor Jew, ought to be excluded from the civil rights of the commonwealth because of his religion
.

John Locke, England, 1689

All religions are equal and good, if only the people that practice them are honest people; and if Turks and heathens came and wanted to live here in this country, we would build them mosques and churches
.

Frederick II, king of Prussia, 1740

Men are born, and always continue, free and equal in respect of their rights
.

Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen, France, 1789

These three quotations reflect a dramatic change in the way a growing number of Europeans thought about ethnic and religious differences. John Locke was an English philosopher whose ideas influenced both the American and French revolutions. Frederick II was the king of Prussia, the most powerful German state in the 1700s; and the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen expressed the ideals of the French Revolution.

By the early 1700s, a growing number of educated Europeans had come to believe that they were living in a new age. They saw it as a time when scientific knowledge was replacing old superstitions and when progress was valued more than tradition. Not everyone welcomed those changes. In an essay written in 1784, Immanuel Kant, a German philosopher, expressed his belief that these people, too, would eventually come to accept the changes.

As matters now stand, a great deal is still lacking in order for men as a whole to… apply [reason] confidently to religious issues. But we do have clear indications that the way is now being opened for men
to proceed freely in this direction and that the obstacles to general enlightenment… are gradually diminishing. In this regard, this age is the age of enlightenment.
¹

According to Kant, the motto of this new era, which came to be known as the Enlightenment, was “Dare to know!”—
Sapere aude!
in Latin. He described the movement’s leaders as those who dared to “reject the authority of tradition, and to think and inquire.” Modern science grew out of that daring. So did many personal journeys. One of the most remarkable was taken by a young Jew from a poor family in the Prussian town of Dessau. His name was Moses Mendelssohn, and his story reveals the opportunities that opened for some European Jews during this time of change.

Mendelssohn’s story also reveals that “enlightenment” is not easily achieved. In a world that valued equality and liberty, one group could exclude another only by demonstrating a “natural difference.” In other words, discrimination had to be justified by “scientific” evidence showing that human nature differs according to age, gender, and “race.” Until the 1700s, the word
race
was widely used to refer to a people, a tribe, or a nation. By the end of the century, however, it described a distinct group of human beings with inherited physical traits and moral qualities that set them apart from other “races.” The beginnings of that notion can also be detected in Mendelssohn’s story.

In 1742, at the age of 14, Moses Mendelssohn left Dessau to continue his Hebrew studies in Berlin. He walked the entire way—about 100 miles—even though he was small for his age and frail. He had a hump on his back (probably due to rickets, a childhood disease caused by a lack of vitamin D).