Podcast – Meir Katzenellenbogen

Welcome to the place where my mortal remains and memories lie. A place where my earthly life has come to an end and my legacy began to take its first steps many, many years ago, to travel through space and time to this very moment.

My name is Meir Ben Isaac Katzenellenboghen. I was born in Prague, in 1482, and began my studies at an early age under the guidance of Rabbi Ya'acov Pollak. My birth was heralded by a magnificent starry sky, an omen of a life I would dedicate to spreading knowledge and hope beyond the darkness of the present. From my first breath, I clearly perceived that I would be destined for a very intense life, full of hardship, adventure and wisdom, which I would acquire over the years through the power of identity and faith.

When the time came to leave Prague, I moved to Padua, to study at the Rabbinical Academy under Judah Minz.

Padua, at that time, was a vibrant city full of commerce, culture, and religious and intellectual activities, nestled in the heart of the Venetian Republic.

Padua welcomed me with folded arms, as the Jewish community, although an integral part of the economic and social fabric, was surrounded by prejudice and such hatred that it was effectively confined within a ghetto when the gates had not yet been closed - the ghetto in Padua was closed in the early 1600s.

My mind, however, always remained free and projected towards new horizons, as did my spirit, enlightened by the wonderful diversity of which the world was composed. My heart and mind guarded a baggage of inestimable value, consisting of the need to acquire and share knowledge. It is precisely because of that need that I am still recognised in the Jewish world as one of the most respected Italian rabbinic teachers of my time.

My life, however, took an unexpected turn when, after the death of my father-in-law, Avraham Mintz, I was called to take up the position of guide at the Rabbinical Academy of Padua. But it was not only this responsibility that shaped my legacy. Fate led me to chair the Regional Council of Rabbis, based in Venice. Despite the many responsibilities acquired through that role I remained dedicated to the council's efforts, and my faith helped me to turn insecurities into questions for which to seek answers.

Over the years, dedication to study, the joy of sharing and experience led me to become a point of reference, so much so that several rabbis, including the esteemed Moses Isserles, sought my advice as Av Bet Din/President of the Rabbinical Court of the Republic of Venice. Several scholars of my time, Samuel of Modena, Yosef Katz, Salomon Luria, Ovadiah Sforno and Moses Alashkar, corresponded with me, seeking clarity on intricate ritual issues.

In my later years, therefore, I chose to use the knowledge I had acquired as a small beacon to foster and nurture dialogue between scholars and theologians, bridging the gaps between cultures and faiths. In 1554, the leaders of seven Italian communities gathered in Ferrara, requesting my intervention through takkanot, or rabbinic decrees, with the aim of resolving disputes that threatened their unity. Also in 1555, I was called upon to intervene against the Jewish blockade in Ancona. This protest, supported by Don Giuseppe Nassì and Gracia Mendes Nassì, received the support of eminent Turkish rabbis because of the persecution suffered by the Marranos in Ancona. Furthermore, in 1558, I approved two prohibitions against the study of Kabbalah.

My duties extended far beyond the religious sphere, so much so that I came to represent the province of Padua in wider affairs at the seat of the Venetian Republic. Yet, despite these responsibilities, my demeanour remained humble and my care extended to all the students of the Rabbinical Academy of Padua, whom I welcomed as my children. Especially those like me who had left their homes to pursue Torah studies.

The seasons followed one another in Padua, until autumn arrived for me as well. Despite the inexorable passing of time, however, I never lost the desire to learn, listen and share what life had given me. I opened the doors of my home, making it a haven for intellectual exchange, where minds converged and ideas flourished.

At dawn in 1565, in a Padua tinged white with winter colours, I, Meir Katzenellenbògen, called by some the venerable sage, breathed my last, deep breath. My passing was mourned by multitudes of people, from scholars to street vendors, who had been touched by my kindness and wisdom.

The cemetery in Padua, where the whispers of history mingle with the rustle of leaves, became my final resting place. As I was buried amid solemn prayers and tearful goodbyes, my legacy took its first steps through the centuries, as it remained engraved not only in marble epitaphs but in the hearts and minds of those who were touched by my indomitable spirit.

At that moment, everyone was reminded of an anecdote whose concluding sentence would prove to be, as the years went by, a true prophecy.

Years earlier, in a crowded market, in front of students and old people, someone asked me how many children I had fathered. I chuckled softly, remembering the incredulous expression on my interlocutor's face when he heard that I had only one biological heir, my son Sàmuel Yehudà. At that moment I had a vision: my inheritance would extend far beyond the bloodline. So I paused, letting an expectant silence leave everyone in suspense. "Indeed," I continued, "... I shall have a million heirs!"

In those moments I did not realise how deeply my words would resonate for centuries to come, transcending the boundaries of lineage and inheritance. For from that moment on, I, Meir Katzenellenbogen, began to work with all my might to build a legacy forged not through the passing on of wealth or titles, but through the impact on all those who had opened their hearts and minds to my words.

My legacy had the strength to survive through the generations, not in gold or property, but in the hearts and actions of those who had been inspired by my teachings and my encouragement to share love, knowledge and goodwill.

Now it is time to leave you in the company of silence and reflection. Like a symphony, my life has been a work full of harmony and contrasts, of knowledge, love. A symphony that still echoes in the annals of time, continuing to inspire entire generations to seek wisdom beyond the boundaries of their own understanding.

Testifying to my legacy is a wooden board in the Ashkenazi synagogue in Padua. On it is engraved: “To this day no man has sat here”.

Upon my death, my son Samuel Judah succeeded me and now rests right here beside me. This resting place has become, over time, a pilgrimage destination for Jews from all over the world, who pay their respects by placing a stone on our tombstones, keeping our memory alive.