is no [central] council and the provincial council is no more,” wrote the
communal leader R. Hillel b. Ze’ev- Wolf about the state of Jewish com-
munal politics around 1804. “With no conferences of elders, there is no
one to plan ahead and to go before the officials or petition the king. . . .
Today transgressors have multiplied. . . . Each one is for himself, so
that no common counsel is taken to find a remedy in the face of harsh
decrees.”14 The problem of coordinating a broad- based response to a
political controversy was heightened not only because of communal
fragmentation (the divisions between the Hasidim and their orthodox
opponents) but also, and perhaps more important, due to the discipli-
nary efforts of the imperial regime.
In early modern Poland- Lithuania, the practice of shtadlanut (lobbying of authorities or the crown) to achieve a political objective was well
established. Intercession required good knowledge of languages and skills
of diplomacy. Jewish communities appointed exceptionally capable men
with connections to powerful figures to lobby on their behalf. In addi-
tion to a nice salary and tax exemptions, the shtadlanim were entrusted with large sums of money that were earmarked as the chief instrument
for “political action” (that is, bribery).15 Russian rulers may have had no intention of recognizing an official collective representative body on the
model of the Polish and Lithuanian Council of Four Lands, but in the
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first two decades of the nineteenth century, Alexander I did permit a
group of delegates known as the deputies of the Jewish people to submit
formal complaints.16 Deputies drafted a wide range of memoranda to
protect the internal interests of their communities. Usually, they did so
to protest what they perceived to be malicious actions of the government
such as the expulsion of Jews from the countryside or the confiscation of
Jewish religious property, or particularly debilitating economic sanctions.
Merchants relied on the deputies’ rhetorical skills to request permission
to travel and trade their ware in the interior provinces. During the war
against Napoleon, two especially well- to- do contractors, Liezer Dillon
and Zundel’ Zonnenberg, submitted these and other similar requests
directly to the highest levels of government in St. Petersburg.
At the height of the system, between December 1817 and July 1818,
almost every province in the Pale of Settlement participated in the elec-
tion of official deputies and designated alternates. The deputies enjoyed
a life of unparalleled freedom and social privilege: they were permitted to travel beyond the geographic confines of the Pale and reside for extended
stretches of time in the imperial capital, where Dillon, Zonnenberg,
and other representatives received occasional audiences with the wealth-
iest and most powerful administrators in the empire, including Tsar
Alexander I himself. But privileged status did not mean that Russian
administrators looked favorably at the requests presented before them.
In fact, as special agents of the Jewish community with discreet knowl-
edge of sensitive information, the deputies aroused suspicion: not only
because they traveled with large sums of money in their pockets, but also
because they carried precious letters, petitions, and other communication
written in Hebrew or Yiddish— languages that no one in the government
could read. On more than an infrequent occasion, the authorities seized
and translated the letters in search of Jews’ dark secrets.17
This does not mean that the deputies were entirely powerless in their
advocacy. After several Jews were blamed for the ritual murder of a
young peasant girl in the provincial town of Grodno in 1816, Dillon and
Zonnenberg exerted their political influence to undermine the cred-
ibility of the charge. In January 1817, they appealed to Alexander I to
denounce what they regarded as “medieval Christian prejudices.” To
their delight, Alexander immediately turned the case over to one of his
highest- ranking officials, Count Aleksandr Golitsyn, who at the time was
108
108
the Velizh affair
the dual minister of the interior and popular enlightenment. Golitsyn
rewarded the deputies’ efforts by instructing provincial governors and
governors- general to treat skeptically the “medieval superstition” and not charge Jews with the crime without firm empirical evidence.18
The Grodno case was the pinnacle of the deputies’ success. In the
ensuing four years, they lost what little clout they possessed, operating
with little financial or political support.19 In fact, by the time Shmerka
Berlin and Evzik Tsetlin had sent their appeal to Vitebsk to protest the
blood libel charge, the Russian government refused to acknowledge
the legitimacy of the institution. The political circumstances made it
structurally difficult for Jewish communities to work together to defend
common political interests. But all was not lost. It so happened that
Slava Berlin’s sister and brother- in- law, a man by the name of Hirsh
Berkovich Brouda, were residing in St. Petersburg. In the 1820s, a tiny
Jewish colony of no more than several hundred souls, composed of well-
connected communal advocates, well- to- do merchants and contractors,
dentists, skilled artisans, and the occasional foreign national, enjoyed
temporary residence privileges in the imperial capital.20
Brouda made his fortune trading and selling timber, and it appears
that he had what it took— the linguistic skil s and rhetorical flair— to agitate on behalf of the Velizh Jewish community. The Jews asked Brouda to
plead with the higher authorities for justice— just as the deputies Dillon
and Zonnenberg had done in the wake of the ritual murder accusa-
tion in Grodno. Between January and September 1827, Brouda filed no
fewer than six formal complaints with the Second Section of the Fifth
Department of the Senate.21 These were extraordinary detailed letters
written on official stamped government paper, describing the trauma and
passions of imprisonment. Brouda began by reminding the authorities
that Strakhov relied on the “most oppressive measures” to torture Jews
with the sole purpose of getting them to confess to a crime they did not
commit. As a particularly alarming example, he pointed out that, on the
night of November 18, “wild screaming and unrestrained commotion”
could be heard from the place where they locked up the Jews. In fact,
the noise got so loud that “numerous neighbors from various parts of the
town could hear the dreadful cries.” One of the neighbors remembered
a prisoner screaming out loud: “They hit me! They hit me! They tried
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to strangle me to death. He [Strakhov] lied to me.” “I have no doubt,”
Brouda remarked, “that Strakhov uses the investigation to vindicate
himself in the eyes of the state . . . despite the fact that such a vindication undoubtedly destroys the lives of a million [ sic] Jews.”22
In dealing with a charge that appalled the conscience of mankind,
Brouda appe
aled to the higher organs of government to stop the unnec-
essary suffering.23 First, he wanted to make sure that the inquisitorial
commission was abiding by proper rules and procedures as outlined in
the 1817 circular. To minimize irregularities, Brouda requested that the
most powerful procurator in the province be assigned to the case. His
duties would include supervising Strakhov’s work and reporting to the
Ministry of Justice at every stage of the investigation. He also wanted the Senate to authorize an official deputy who would work with the Jewish
community— to make sure that the commission did not stray outside
the boundaries of the law. Meanwhile, Jews would be allowed to com-
plain to the Senate when they found good reason to do so.
Second, Brouda felt that Strakhov was stalling on purpose. His actions
only increased the prisoners’ misery: “My relatives, Shmerka Berlin and
his wife and their [grown] children, and all the other poor Jews [locked
up in prison], were torn from their own young children and bound in
leg- irons like hardened criminals. Strakhov’s tyrannical actions have
exhausted their bodies to the point that they have contracted the most
debilitating illnesses.” Brouda felt that Slava Berlina was in particularly bad shape: “Strakhov locked her up in his own bedroom and interrogated her in private [without the presence of a recording secretary or
other members of the investigative commission]. As a result of all the
cruelty, Slava suffers from hysterical- spasmodic attacks, which the town
doctor Levin was in no position to treat.”24
Although Brouda did not use the phrase, the circumstances he
described in his letters resemble what might be termed a humanitarian
crisis, that is, an egregious government action that threatened the safety
and well- being of a group of people.
When Strakhov decided to imprison the Jews, he had no compassion
whatsoever for their humanity. Fathers and mothers were captured
from their very own homes and escorted under armed guard to [the
10
110
the Velizh affair
house] where they continue to sit in solitary confinement to this very
day, as if there was no doubt whatsoever that they had committed the
crime. . . . On some occasions he arrested the wives, at other times, he
took away the husbands, and then there were instances of small help-
less children left to their own devices to look after their own fate.25
If nothing else, Brouda hoped the higher authorities would intervene
in the case by stopping the inhumane treatment of Jews. “[Strakhov]
applies torture in any manner he sees fit, without concern for the evi-
dence before him and established criminal procedure.” Not only “does
he treat the Jews poorly by chaining them in leg- irons,” but he also “takes into custody completely innocent people who sit behind closed doors at
the investigator’s mercy.” To put it in slightly different terms, Brouda felt that the tragedy had grown to unprecedented proportions: “Strakhov
wants to unmask something that had never and will never be proven
[in a court of law].”26
Brouda reminded the Senate that all of this was taking place at the
same time that Jews were filing official complaints with the gover-
nor- general’s office. The Jewish community had sent several formal
grievances, including a lengthy letter by the Velizh kahal, shortly after the emperor decided to reopen the criminal case.27 Khovanskii
repeatedly ignored the Jews’ pleas, refusing to discipline the chief
investigator for his actions. Instead, he gave Strakhov the freedom
to do as he pleased. If the goal of the investigation was to locate the
perpetrators, why did Strakhov interrogate only the Jews, and none
of the other Christian residents, in the town? “Where’s the mystery?”
Brouda asked in desperation. “It appears to be nothing more than an
ordinary crime.”28
From a very early date, sometime in the sixteenth century, a series
of treatises authored by an international team of writers expounded an
ideology of resistance to monarchical abuse. Vindicae contra tyrannos, first published in Basel in 1579, declared that “if a prince were to govern with violence and disregard for divine and human law, and thus
tyrannically, another prince, with perfect justice and legality, [may]
take military action.”29 In subsequent decades, devising action against
events that appalled the conscience of mankind gained traction in the
international community. The idea behind humanitarian intervention,
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as it was first conceived and practiced in early modern Europe, was to
change the regime’s policy toward victims of abuse. A humanitarian
public— comprising diplomats, scholars, and sophisticated pressure
groups committed to ameliorating the plight of subjugated peoples—
helped mobilize public opinion and generate support for action.30
No event better illustrates how Jewish communities were able to
shape public opinion than a ritual murder charge in Damascus in 1840.
There, only five years after the Velizh case was officially settled, an Italian monk and his servant disappeared. Shortly thereafter, a large number
of the wealthiest Jews in Damascus were charged with and convicted
of ritual murder. News of the case quickly spread across the Middle
East and the entire Western world. The most respected newspapers
in England, France, and Germany published dozens of articles and
polemics of the case, many of which presented the alleged murder of
Father Tommaso as part of a wider Jewish cult of human sacrifice.31 At
first, the crisis produced great confusion in the Jewish community. In
due time, however, Jews were able to mobilize an extraordinary and
unprecedented response: lobbying at the highest levels of government,
international press campaigns, parliamentary debates, well- publicized
meetings, fundraising initiatives, and a diplomatic mission to Egypt
by two of the most esteemed personalities in the Jewish philanthropic
world, Sir Moses Montefiore from England and Adolphe Crémieux
from France. In the end, the lobbying efforts proved to be a partial suc-
cess: Although the imprisoned Jews were ultimately released, the sultan
refused to formally repudiate the ritual murder charge.
In direct contrast to the Damascus situation, news of the Velizh
case failed to circulate beyond the well- guarded circles of the imperial
bureaucracy. It is highly unlikely that Brouda or any other member
of the Velizh Jewish community attempted to reach out for help to
politically influential activists in England, France, or Germany. If
they did, the correspondence— on either side of the border— has not
surfaced. In terms of its global reach, the Velizh case caused barely a
ripple. On his visit to Russia in 1846, it does not appear that Moses
Montefiore was aware of the case.32 In the mid- 1840s, newspapers
all across Europe covered Russia’s terrifying measures against Jews.
Conscription brought fears of mass conversion. “Half a million
Jews may haven fallen as martyrs to their faith,” warned the Jewish
12
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the
Velizh affair
Chronicle, “and another half a million may have gone over to the
Russian Church.” The expulsion of Jews from within fifty versts of the
Prussian and Austrian borders served as yet another painful reminder
of Nicholas’s draconian policies. According to the Journal des Débats, Russia had “declared war against the civilization as well as the generous
and philosophic spirit of our age. . . . Every day the German journals
bring us accounts of persecutions exercised by order of the Emperor
against the Jews.”33 In his long and distinguished career, Montefiore
took great pride in agitating on behalf of Jewish humanitarian causes.
While traveling in Russia, he gave much of his time and money to
Jewish charitable foundations. At a later date, he also offered sev-
eral recommendations to Count Pavel Kiselev, the minister of state
domains, on how to tackle the most pressing questions of the day
concerning Jews.34 Yet there was no mention in his diary or letters of
the cruelties that blood accusations had wrought on Russia’s Jews. It
appears that the Third Section’s efforts of keeping the blood libel case
a well- guarded state secret had worked.
In this political climate, the Ministry of Justice came to the conclu-
sion that the complaints filed against Strakhov were unfounded. On
March 19, 1827, after reviewing the weighty dossier, it felt that the case
was legitimate enough to move forward with the criminal investigation.
The state’s wider concerns with regulating the boundaries of religious
belief played an important role in the decision. At the same time, the
justice ministers knew all too well that, no matter how impressive the
empirical evidence may have been, convicting Jews of the crime of rit-
ual murder would set an extraordinary historical precedent. Although
instructed to move forward with the case, Strakhov and his team were
reminded to observe the principles of the 1817 circular. According to
criminal procedure, all internal correspondence, depositions, interroga-
tions, petitions, material evidence, and other paperwork needed to be
forwarded directly to the Senate. Most important, the justice ministers
emphasized that Jews had the legal right to petition the Senate and pres-
The Velizh Affair Page 17