When it comes to controversial books, it seems to me there’s an inverse relationship between pages read and opinions held. That is, the more people that hold strong opinions about a controversial book, the smaller the share of people that have actually read it. In Israel, where books and the controversies surrounding them make the headlines far more often than in the United States, the Education Ministry recently decided to publicly announce that a certain controversial book – controversial because it depicted a romantic relationship between an Arab and a Jew – would not be included among the books suggested for classroom use across the country. No matter that hundreds of books by Israeli authors are published every year and not included on the list, a firestorm of outrage and counter-outrage ensued. Dorit Rabinyan, the book’s author, without a doubt profited from the very public debate. But had every Israeli who took umbrage at the book, or the political decision not to recommend it for curricular inclusion, actually purchased a copy and read it, Rabinyan surely would have been one of Israel’s top-selling authors ever!
Arthur Koestler’s book The Thirteenth Tribe aroused similar passions when it was published 40 years ago. And like Rabinyan’s book, I suspect it was as much unread as it was fervently debated. More interestingly, perhaps, is that Koestler’s Khazar theory continues to be a subject of debate four decades later. And for a book which is nominally about an obscure Turkic tribe in an out-of-the-way part of the world during an under-examined period of history (the Islamic golden age), that’s no small accomplishment. Now it should be stated that Koestler wasn’t the first or the last to advance most of the claims he makes in the book; scholars had debated the historical role of the Khazars since the first half of the 19th century, but what Koestler did, impressively, was to popularize the debate to an audience that would have never thought of approaching it in its more cossetted scholastic form. Whether or not this popularization of the debate was a good thing—for scholarship, for Jews, for Israelis, for Palestinians, for European politics—well that remains in my mind an open question.
To suggest such a plenitude of stakeholders is to reveal The Thirteenth Tribe for what it is, a book with political implications that potentially, though not automatically, reach far beyond the narrow focus of medieval history. Because of my suspicion that it is much discussed and little read, I want to thoroughly summarize the structure of the argument before I discuss Koestler’s more controversial claims. In fact, the most politically fraught of them are almost all concentrated in the second part of the book. The first part is divided into a rather straightforward sequence of four chronologically arranged chapters: Rise, Conversion, Decline, and Fall. The story of the Khazars, like that of many formerly nomadic peoples, is not an easy one to tell given the paucity of written materials that have survived into our own age. Furthermore, most of those that have are from decidedly hostile sources, the same settled people whose civilizations were, if not imperiled by these Eurasian warriors, at least impositioned by them.
What we do know with some degree of certainty is that the Khazars, like the Huns, Alans, Avars, Bulgars, Magyars, Bashkirs, Uigurs, and any number of other nomadic steppe tribes, to quote the literary-minded Koestler, “passed through the turnstiles of those migratory playgrounds” of Central Asia where they eventually bumped into the settled civilizations of the West. The collapse of the Hunnic Empire seems to have left a power vacuum that the Khazars moved to fill sometime around the turn of the 7th century. Their language, which survived into the early modern era in a few small Eastern European settlements, was a Turkic one. By 627, the Khazars were powerful enough that the Eastern Roman emperor allied with them in his fight against the Persian Empire. The Khazars were said to have supplied 40,000 warriors on horseback. By the same century’s mid-point, Arabian armies had defeated the Persians and sought to advance northward across the Caucus mountains. It was there in a series of battles with the Khazars that the latter were able to halt the Arab advance north and in the process consolidate the heartland of their own national territory, land stretching from the Caucasus in the south, the Black Sea in the west, and the Caspian Sea in the east to the near confluence of the rivers Don and Volga in the north.
Koestler makes the argument, though the evidence to support it seems rather thin, that the Khazars then built and enjoyed a more prosperous settled nation than any of the earlier steppe tribes had been able to do. He describes the kingdom, and later empire, as having occupied “an intermediary position in time, size, and degree of civilization between the Hun and Avar Empires which preceded, and the Mongol Empire that succeeded it.” From a geopolitical perspective, then, this new Eurasian power was bound to shake things up in the region, a situation roughly analogous to the way in which the consolidation of the German states shook up the European continent in the latter decades of the 19th century. Playing the role of France and Russia during the consolidation of the Khazarian kingdom were the Eastern Romans (aka the Byzantine Greeks) and the Arab caliphate based in Baghdad. Sensing opportunity, both appear to have lobbied heavily for the Khazar king to adopt, respectively, Christianity and Islam. The King, however, was not to be persuaded by the merits of either and, in a theoretically masterful stroke of triangulation, converted to the only other monotheistic alternative of scale at the time, Judaism.
This of course was not only an impactful decision for the immediate neighborhood, but also for the Jewish diaspora. Could it really be that there arose in faraway lands a Jewish kingdom capable of defeating Arab armies and negotiating on par with the mighty Byzantine Empire? When word of this possibility made its way via merchants to the Islamic caliphate based in Cordoba, Spain, the Jewish foreign minister there, Hasdai bar Isaac ibn Shaprut, could hardly believe it true. Amazingly, no small amount of what we know about the Khazars, and the only surviving source written of their own hand, is a series of letters exchanged between Hasdai in al-Andalus and Joseph, the Khazar kagan (king) in Itil, a city on the shore of the Caspian Sea that was, at the time, 15 days sail from Constantinople (via the Black Sea, the Don, and then the Volga Rivers). By the time of their 10th century correspondence, the Jewish identity of the Khazar state extended across at least six generations and was something Joseph almost appears to take for granted. Yet just how much the Jewish identity of the ruling class percolated down to the illiterate masses of tribesmen is an unanswerable question. Nor will we ever know how much of an indigenous Semitic Jewish presence might have been already established prior to Khazar reign over that large territory north of the Caucasus.
While it’s likely there was some agricultural base that allowed for the establishment of an urban merchant class, nowhere do the sources Koestler cites, nor does the archaeological evidence, point to the kind of definitively settled society that would have been likely to adopt, nurture, and further develop and enduring monotheistic practice among its diverse and widespread populace. In adjacent areas of Central Asia, Islam would not fully and finally take root for nearly three centuries after the Khazar conversion. So when Koestler writes, “the Judaization of the Khazars was a gradual process which, triggered off by political expediency, slowly penetrated into the deeper state of their minds and eventually produced the Messianism of their period of decline”, the understandable reaction is one of impuzzlement. He simply does not provide the evidence to make such an assertion. But that’s a momentary feeling because in the very next sentence the slippery slope of historical speculation gives way to a landslide of potential revisionism when he writes that, en masse, “[t]heir religious commitment survived the collapse of their state, and persisted, as we shall see, in the Khazar-Jewish settlements of Russia and Poland,” an argument I’ll return to below.
Koestler suggests that two factors were responsible for the failure of the Khazar state: first, an internal schism over the shape of Jewish practice—there seems to have been an evolution from a Karaitic practice centered on the Hebrew bible (the Torah) to a more modern form of Rabbinic Judaism (centered on the Talmud)—and second, more simply, the rise of the Russians. The former, while interesting to consider as a facet of intellectual and theological history is not treated at length, perhaps because there’s little evidence to support it. In my opinion, it’s a stretch to think that a fervent Messianism, or a religious schism, led to their downfall. The Russians, on the other hand, are more likely culprits and they left behind plenty of evidence. The historical record, including the Russian chronicles, gives us the broadest outlines of the story. Essentially, as Koestler tells it, the Scandinavian Rus (sometimes known as the eastern Vikings) were able to subdue the relatively peaceable Slavs and eventually integrate themselves into their ruling castes, just as the Normans did in England around the same time. Those same Slavic tribes, though, had been earlier vassals to the Khazar Empire. By severing that relationship, the proto-Russians undermined both the Khazar treasury and the Khazar Empire’s ability to serve as a buffer power between the differently civilized peoples pouring out of the north and the settled empires to the south.
The second part of the book, divided into four chapters: Exodus, Where From?, Cross Currents, and Race and Myth, is where speculative history and modern mythology do battle. Exodus, of course, is a loaded word since in this case it’s referring to, putatively, hundreds of thousands of non-Semitic Jews leaving not Egypt, but rather the heart of Eurasia, and heading not to the promised land but instead to the heartland of the European continent. Despite their great genetic differences, Koestler writes, both the original Jews and the latter day Jews had “lived at a focal junction where the great trade routes connecting east and west, north and south intersect; a circumstance which predisposed them to become nations of traders, of enterprising travellers, or ‘rootless cosmopolitans’.” In other words, for Koestler, being Jewish is not so much about ethnic affinity, shared biblical lineages, or the return to a promised land, but instead is about a way in which one’s social group defines itself in relation to the larger society, in particular, via the wider economy. This is, too say the least, a contentious idea.
Contentious turns to controversial, though, when he makes the case that the migrating Khazars did much more than found a few villages that dotted the map of 12th century Eastern Europe, that they in fact made up the core of the group of European Jews that we would later know as the Ashkenazim, the group that to this day makes up the largest share of world Jewry. The more traditional explanation of the origins of the Ashkenazim, and the one that many historians still subscribe to, is that Jews in communities that had been established in late Roman times, began to emigrate from Germany, France, and England between the 11th and 14th centuries due to increasing persecution. In the east, so the story goes, they were welcomed by a nascent Polish-Lithuanian aristocracy that was concerned to both settle its vast territories and introduce market reforms into what was still an otherwise feudal economy. We know in fact that about 400,000 Germans, in the wake of the devastating Black Death, did exactly that in the 14th and 15th centuries. Were they preceded in kind by their former neighbors?
Two different stories of origin, that’s the crux of the historical controversy. Could the majority of Eastern European Jews really be descended from a Turkish-Mongolian people rather than from the ancient Hebrews that lived in the Fertile Crescent? It’s tempting to think that today modern science can tell us the answer. Indeed, it was just two years after the publication of The Thirteenth Tribe that Arthur Mourant and a team of researchers published The Genetics of the Jews and, with it, ushered in an entire generation of studies purporting to definitively trace the common, or in some cases, the not-so-common origins of diverse Jewish populations. Yet despite great strides in medical science over the past two generations, there’s still little in the way of satisfying scientific answers that can conclusively settle the debate. Unfortunately, though, that doesn’t stop commentators, rarely scientists themselves, from cherry picking among any number of studies and then holding the results aloft in an attempt to declare an objective, certifiable victory, a fact that sheds more light on the Pandora’s Box of politically-motivated science than it does on some ineffable biological makeup.
This embrace of the supposedly objective nature of hard science leads inevitably towards a science-led politics, as any social phenomenon with widespread authority is bound to do. Shlomo Sand in his 2009 book, The Invention of the Jewish People, a book as controversial as any mentioned above, attempts to show his readers how Zionist politics have used science, and scholarship for that matter, for political advantage. Sand contends that it’s no coincidence that very little of the research on the Khazars has been done by Israeli scholars. What’s more, he adds, from 1951 until his book’s publication in 2008 (originally in Hebrew), not a single academic study of the Khazars had been translated into Hebrew. The insinuation is a conspiratorial one that I find unnecessary; after all how many academic studies in any subject are translated into Hebrew in any given year? My guess is probably very few, not because of some political concern over the dissemination of controversial findings—The Thirteenth Tribe was translated into Hebrew soon after it was published—but instead because most Israeli scholars have the ability to work in other languages. Sand is more convincing, though, when he shows how various genetic studies seem to mirror the ups and downs of partisan Israeli politics at any given time. The last chapter of his book is a veritable fun house of questionable, even dubious, scientific findings that have much in common with the socio-biological myths that were fed to race-hungry publics in the early part of the 20th century.
The problem for someone reading Koestler’s book today, though, is that his own economic-determinism, while more interesting to contemplate than haplotypes and alleles, doesn’t read any more convincingly than do the conflicting studies of modern geneticists. The primary thrust of his argument in support of the Turkic origins of the Ashkenazim is two-fold: in Where From? he makes the negative argument that, while the evidence in support of the eastern origins thesis may be thinner than would be ideal, compared to the western origins (or German) thesis, it’s downright robust. The Rhineland Jews were never demographically stout enough, he contends, to have moved eastward in concentrations large enough to serve as the underpinning for the Eastern European Jewish culture that arose and so quickly thrived. The numbers related to the Jewish presence in Poland and Russia as early as the 12th century are simply too large. But what about Yiddish, you may ask? While it’s true that 80 percent of the Yiddish vocabulary is indeed German in origin, Koestler notes that modern philologists have convincingly shown that it’s mostly unrelated to the Middle German dialects of the Rhineland and more related to the German of the southeastern-most areas of German settlements; the Middle German that would have been spoken in what is today parts of the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, and Romania. It likely took its form in response to the later eastward immigration of German-speakers.
Cross Currents, the penultimate chapter in The Thirteenth Tribe, uses a positive argument to make the case that much of the Ashkenazic settlement was more closely related to eastern civilizations. He notes that the Jews of the former Western Roman Empire had lived for centuries, both voluntarily and involuntarily, in ghettos. The Jews of Poland, Lithuania, and Russia, on the other hand, developed shtetls, networks of small towns and urban conglomerations that were completely unlike anything in the more western parts of the continent. On a more micro-spatial level, Koestler even notes that some of the earliest synagogue architecture in Eastern Europe evidenced a distinctively Central Asian vernacular. This argument rooted in spatial planning, while intriguing, is hardly cut and dried. Another direction in which Koestler takes his positive argument has to do with speculation on occupational structure. Many of the minor professional positions and small merchant occupations, especially those related to the timber and transportation industries, were filled by Jews. Koestler thinks it unlikely that Jews from the west would have chosen to, or even been able to, specialize in rural-oriented enterprises. For me as a lay reader it’s not a convincing argument. Jews migrating from the west, ghettos or no, would have enjoyed greater access to urban-based technologies and know-how than Koestler allows and thus been able to move into a diverse array of occupations.
For all the speculation, revisionism, and controversy of the first seven chapters, it’s the eighth and final chapter where things get downright wacky. When Tony Judt, in an otherwise fawning review of Koestler’s overall literary contributions, wrote that he found The Thirteenth Tribe “bizarre,” surely it’s the chapter Race and Myth that inspired such a judgement. (Interestingly, Judt called Shlomo Sand’s book “remarkable” in spite of the fact that Sand largely endorses Koestler’s arguments as well as the attendant historiography of Khazaria that made them possible.) In his last chapter Koestler is concerned solely with proving the impossibility of a Jewish race, writing that there is “a greater similarity between Jews and their Gentile host-nation than between Jews living in different countries.” Very quickly, then, he fills the pages of this last chapter with a gobbly-gook of nearly meaningless formulae that purport to sum up the “Hirtzfeld biochemical index.” One gets the sense here of man of an earlier generation that is beginning to see the way in which the ‘scientific’ can tyrannize these types of contemporary discussions and so rather than attempting to refute, or at least properly contextualize, its authority, he searches out a set of scientific findings that support his pre-existing perspective and spits it up, much as a newborn infant might spit up the milk of the ample maternal breast. From there he quickly moves on to those “promiscuous Israelites, intermarriage rates, nose dimensions, and eventually anecdotal evidence about how his Hungarian-Jewish peers that had spent many years in the United States took on the look of Americans, probably owing, Koestler asserts, to the widening of the jaw that naturally occurs with the prolonged annunciation of a grisly American English. Bizarre, indeed.
So what to make of all this? And what have others made of it? (see the rest in my comment)