Menashe Unger's Pshiskhe un Kotsk, now translated from Yiddish into English by Jonathan Boyarin, is certainly a great read. This is primarily a very interesting collection of well-narrated stories on the tzaddikim in the Kingdom of Poland in the first half of the nineteenth century, the only such hasidic collection published in English translation so far. Most of the episodes narrated by Unger belong to the canon of hasidic stories from central Poland, and as such were republished in numerous Hebrew collections of hasidic narrative literature. The appeal of Unger's book is that the author managed to weave these well-known stories of important moments in the history of Polish Hasidism, either legendary or real, into one coherent and compelling narrative. The story extends from the legendary trial of Przysucha Hasidism at the wedding in Uściług, through the death of Simḥah Bunim of Przysucha, the emergence of the hasidic center in Tomaszów (later Kock), to the revolutionary events of the Polish anti-tsarist uprising of 1830–1831, the political intercessions of R. Yiẓḥak Kalisz of Warka, the crisis of leadership in Kock, the emergence of the splinter group led by Mordekhai Yosef of Izbica, and down to the death of Menaḥem Mendel of Kock. Although the dates of the events are not included in the story itself or in the editor's commentary, they cover the formative years of Polish Hasidism between 1821 and 1859.
While a great read, the book is somewhat confusing. Ostensibly this is a hasidic source turned into a modern novel, which “manages to serve up Polish Hasidism's full, pungent mélange of wisdom, celebration, prayer, music, scandal, and drunkenness” (xiii). The translator highlights that “[m]uch of the account has the intimate feel of family history passed down orally from generation to generation” (vii). On closer inspection, however, the nature of the text is far more complex and multilayered. Naturally, the stories were not collected in nineteenth-century eastern Europe, but in post-Holocaust America—that is, more than one hundred years after the events narrated and several generations after the stories had been formulated. As a result, the narrative is full of anachronisms, legends presented as historical events, and simple factual errors piled higher than in normal hasidic hagiography.
The mix of hagiography with information borrowed from interwar historical literature (such as Schiper and Schatzky) renders the reading even more complicated. Unfortunately, neither the introduction nor the footnotes explain the problematic status of the text and its layers. I would have expected the English edition to at least point to recent research in order to decipher the ins and outs of this history-cum-fiction mélange. For example, among a number of lacunae, the excellent article by Uriel Gellman on the legend of the so-called Uściług wedding, the subject of a third of this book, is not cited even once. And this is just one of many such examples.
More than anything else, Unger's novel is a good source on the neohasidic nostalgia of twentieth-century Jews, looking back at the world of their fathers and mythologizing the hasidic past. It would have been worthwhile if the introduction had explained how Unger's book belongs to the cultural phenomenon of neo-Hasidim, if at all. An interesting hint about Unger's discussion with Gershom Scholem points in this direction, but it is insufficient evidence on its own.
It is also rather unclear who the intended audience of this book is. General readers will not necessarily understand the nuances of the neohasidic worldview that this work represents. Neither are they provided with the tools to decode and unpack all the legends Unger wove into it. An academic reader surely does not need a telegraphic introduction about Polish Hasidism, in which the only extensively cited scholar is the author of the introduction himself. Both general and academic readers, moreover, will be equally confused by footnotes explaining who Elimelekh of Leżajsk and other major tzaddikim were, but silent on figures prominent in the story itself. For instance, of “Reb Zishe of Shedlits” (11) we learn that “Shedlits (Siedlce) is a town in eastern Poland, in the Mazovian district.” It might have been more helpful to explain that “Reb Zishe” was Rabbi Alexander Abraham Zushe Kahana (1795–1837). In 1821, when the story is set, Kahana was in Warsaw, not in Siedlce, where he moved as communal rabbi only in 1826: one small example of Unger's many anachronisms. This lack of explanation is not limited to hasidic personalities, but also extends to figures from the non-Jewish world. Thus, one “priest Staszic” (85), probably a mysterious figure to the majority of the readers, is a well-known personality in the history of Polish Enlightenment and Polish-Jewish relations of the early nineteenth century.
It seems to me that the editor was also too restrained in explaining and correcting Unger's historical errors. For example, the son of Berek Joselewicz was not Yosef Joselowicz (139), but Józef Berkowicz; a story about a Jew caught in his tallit and tefillin, accused of collaborating with the enemy army, and executed by Polish soldiers (146) reads like the well-known execution of R. Shapiro in Płock in 1920, and not in Piaseczno in 1831; the Bible Society is confused with the London Society for Promoting Christianity among the Jews (165), etc. Some of Unger's errors are exacerbated by the translation, with confusing results. A slipup produced collectively by Unger and Boyarin is the date of the death of Ya‘akov Yiẓḥak of Przysucha (6), which Unger gave as “Sukkot 5574 (1814)” and Boyarin translates as “Sukkot 1814,” instead of 1813. The most puzzling mistake is possibly the translation of the Yiddish word kirhsher (lit. imperial) as “Austro-Hungarian” (4, 11, 17, etc.). In fact, Austro-Hungary was created forty-six years after the time of the story, so this is a clear anachronism. Another problem with the geography is that many eastern European place names are given inconsistently, either in their Polish version, a transliteration from the Yiddish, or sometimes neither (e.g. Duerenport instead of Dyhernfurth).
Still, my expectation to find a critical, scholarly edition for a mainly academic audience is possibly misdirected. Even if at times the historical context will remain a mystery for many readers, or some historical events get confused, Menashe Unger's book in Jonathan Boyarin's beautiful translation is certainly a fascinating, well-narrated story that will provide a pleasurable read for a wide public of academic and lay readers alike. And perhaps, it should not be treated as anything but a modern, post-Holocaust novel in historical hasidic garb.
