Born in 1749, Homberg was one of the first maskilim, those who believed that Jewish society was out of touch with modernity, that it had been left behind by contemporary cultural and scientific developments. The maskilim were convinced that the time had come for a Jewish awakening, or Haskalah, so that Jews would abandon their backward, religious superstitions and reap the benefits of the modern world.
The time was right. In 1782 the Holy Roman Emperor, Joseph II had issued an Edict of Tolerance, allowing religious freedom to Jews and non-Catholic Christians. It provided an opportunity for Jews to engage with the wider world of German culture. To do so they would need to speak German rather than Yiddish, to study secular subjects, read modern literature, listen to contemporary music and involve themselves in political debate. They would need to leave the Talmud and the rabbis behind.
Homberg was more militant than most maskilim in his beliefs. He passionately believed that a new age was dawning, and that the centuries of Jewish exile and suffering were coming to an end. He believed that modern Europe was truly enlightened and to reap its benefits Jews should “forsake all prejudices and bring about a complete union with the Christians.”
He may have reached this view because of his own experiences. From the age of 10 he had been a pupil in the yeshiva, or rabbinic school of the renowned rabbi Yehezkel Landau. It was a strictly religious upbringing and not to his liking. When he was 18 he secretly began to learn German and studied philosophy and mathematics. He became a disciple of Moses Mendelssohn, the man who paved the way for the entry of Jews into Berlin society. He worked with Mendelssohn on his German translation of the Pentateuch and was given the job of tutor to his son. But when he applied for a University teaching post he was turned down because he was Jewish. He realised that despite all his efforts to become a part of cultured German society, at the end of the day he was still regarded as a Jew.
Homberg saw Jewishness as a disability. The only solution he could see was to completely eradicate the religious practices and superstitions that he felt were holding Jews back. Unlike Mendelssohn he saw no benefit in viewing Jewish tradition through enlightened eyes. He would need to be more radical than that. Forceful, if necessary.
In 1781 Homberg went to Trieste to set up a modern school for Jews. He came to the attention of the reforming Holy Roman Emperor, Joseph II, who had issued his Edict of Tolerance to help create an empire full of cultivated, educated citizens. Joseph had made elementary education compulsory across his lands and was setting up networks of schools. In 1787 he sent Homberg to Lwow in Galicia (now Lviv in Ukraine). The Emperor appointed Homberg as superintendent of the newly established Galician Jewish schools’ network. Galicia had recently been annexed by the Austrians, bringing around 200,000 Jews into the Empire, the vast majority of whom still lived backward, rural lives.
The Galician Jews did not think much of Homberg. He arrived dressed in 18th century German costume, wearing a wig and culottes. The rural Galicians had never seen anything like it, and told him so. The authorities had instructed him to take lodgings in a Jewish home, but no Jews were prepared to have him in their houses. He looked far too much like one of the German nobility, the sort of people who had been making Jews’ lives miserable for centuries.
He didn’t do a very good job of encouraging them to send their children to his schools either. Rather than explaining the benefits of modernity and holding out the carrot of future emancipation, he went about his work in an authoritarian manner. He set up 107 schools across Galicia and used the police to compel children to attend them. He reported families to the authorities who would not comply and went on a vendetta against the rabbis and the Talmud, which he blamed for preventing Jews from fulfilling their obligations to the State. He recommended to the government that the use of the Hebrew language be forbidden and that all Jewish educational establishments should only employ modern teachers. He urged the Emperor to forbid Jews from having beards or wearing any distinguishing Jewish clothing.
In 1797 a tax collector, Solomon Kofler, recommended to the government that a tax be imposed upon candles in Galicia when they were used for Jewish religious purposes in Galicia. Homberg agreed and supported the government when it was imposed. It was the last straw for the Galician Jews. They accused him of profiting from the tax and had him charged with embezzlement.
Homberg fled to Vienna where he was probably saved from prosecution by the new emperor, Francis II. However, the Emperor would not let him reside in Vienna. There was a quota on the number of Jews who were permitted to live in the capital, and despite his protesting that all four of his sons had converted to Christianity, Homberg’s application to be a ‘tolerated Jew’ was denied.
When Napoleon convened his Sanhedrin in 1806, to try to reconcile Jewish and French law, Homberg wrote a pamphlet criticising their decisions. The Sanhedrin had been very diplomatic in their answer to Napoleon’s question as to whether intermarriage was permitted in Jewish law, saying that it was allowed but had no religious significance. Homberg challenged this, claiming that there was no religious objection to intermarriage. The government misunderstood his argument and decided he was working for the French, trying to introduce Napoleonic practices into their Empire . They fired him from his job as Schools’ Superintendent, closed all the Galician Jewish schools and exiled him to Prague. They told him to teach in a modern, secular Jewish school where the curriculum was closely overseen by the authorities.
From 1811, Homberg worked as a censor of Hebrew books. The Catholic church had long insisted that all published books be censored to ensure that nothing was published that might defame, or persuade people away from the Christian faith. Jews had traditionally taken on the role of censors of Hebrew books, they worked closely with authors and printers to minimise controversy as much as possible. Homberg had no desire to minimise controversy. He saw the job as an opportunity to limit the spread of Jewish texts that he considered superstitious. He prohibited the publication of kabbalistic works, restricted the number of rabbinic books that could be published and suggested to the authorities that they set up a committee to decide which sections of the Talmud and prayerbooks should be deleted. He was frustrated that the authorities took no interest in his suggestion.
In 1812 he produced Bnei Tzion, a Jewish catechism, something that Jews had never thought necessary. Written in German, the document celebrates the shared principles of Christianity and Judaism. He persuaded the Austrian government that if they wanted a civil marriage, Jewish couples would have to study the book and pass an examination based on it. It was an unwelcome imposition and many couples didn’t bother. They had a synagogue wedding and no civil ceremony at all.
Like many of his fellow maskilim, Homberg began his career genuinely believing in the idea of a Jewish enlightenment, that Jews could leave medieval superstition behind and enter the modern world. Unlike his fellow maskilim he went too far. Rather than educating Jews to appreciate the value of their tradition and encouraging them to view it through modern eyes, he tried to eradicate too much of it; to erase all substantial differences between Judaism and Christianity.
But that wasn’t his greatest offence, others in the 19th century would also seek ways of bringing the two religions together. Homberg’s true offence, the reason why he is still criticised even today, is that he was far too heavy handed. He didn’t try to persuade, he tried to coerce. And that was never going to work.