The Road from Mecca:
Muhammad Asad
(born Leopold Weiss)
From The Jewish Discovery of Islam
In August 1954, there appeared in America a remarkable book, written by an author named Muhammad Asad and bearing the title
The Road to Mecca. The book, a combination of memoir and travelogue, told the story of a convert to Islam who had crossed the spiritual deserts of Europe and the sand deserts of Arabia, on a trek that brought him ultimately to the oasis of Islamic belief. The book immediately won critical acclaim, most notably in the prestige press of New York, where Simon and Schuster had published it. One reviewer, writing in
The New York Herald Tribune Book Review, called it an "intensely interesting and moving book."
1 Another reviewer, on the pages of
The New York Times, placed the book in the pantheon of Arabian travel literature: "Not since Freya Stark," he wrote, "has anyone written so happily about Arabia as the Galician now known as Muhammad Asad."
2
Muhammad Asad (1900-92) was a converted Jew, named Leopold Weiss at birth. He was no ordinary convert. Asad not only sought personal fulfillment in his adopted faith. He tried to affect the course of contemporary Islam, as an author, activist, diplomat, and translator of the Qur'an. Muhammad Asad died in February 1992 at the age of ninety-one, so that his career may be said to have paralleled the emergence of every trend in contemporary Islam.
As yet, however, there is no biography of Asad, and considerable obstacles await all who would attempt one. The most formidable of these is that the principal source for Asad's life remains Asad. No doubt this obstacle might be overcome, and this essay makes use of several additional sources for Asad's life. But the purpose here is more modest. It is to draw a very general sketch of Asad's life, and to place some emphasis upon the Jewish dimension of Muhammad Asad. For while Asad obviously distanced himself from Judaism, he adhered to a set of ideals that suffused the Jewish milieu from which he emerged. His failure to impart these ideals to contemporary Islam, and a repetitious pattern of rejection by his Muslim coreligionists, made of him a wandering Muslim, whose road from Mecca traversed an uncomprehending Islam before winding back to the refuge of the West.
The Drift from Judaism
Leopold Weiss was born on 12 July 1900, in the town of Lvov (Lemberg) in eastern Galicia, then a part of the Habsburg Empire (Lvov is today in Ukraine). By the turn of the century, Jews formed a quarter to a third of the population of Lvov, a town inhabited mostly by Poles and Ukrainians. The Jewish community had grown and prospered over the previous century, expanding from commerce into industry and banking. Weiss's mother, Malka, was the daughter of a wealthy local banker, Menahem Mendel Feigenbaum. The family lived comfortably, and, wrote Weiss, lived for the children.
3
From Weiss's own account, his roots in Judaism were deeper on his father's side. His paternal grandfather, Benjamin Weiss, had been one of a succession of Orthodox rabbis in Czernovitz in Bukovina. Weiss remembered his grandfather as a white-bearded man who loved chess, mathematics and astronomy, but who still held rabbinic learning in the highest regard, and so wished his son to enter the rabbinate. Weiss's father, Akiva, did study Talmud by day, but by night he secretly learned the curriculum of the humanistic
gymnasium. Akiva Weiss eventually announced his open break from rabbinics, a rebellion that would presage his son's own very different break. But Akiva did not realize his dream of studying physics, because circumstances compelled him to take up the more practical profession of a barrister. He practiced first in Lvov, then in Vienna, where the Weiss family settled before the First World War.
Weiss testifies that his parents had little religious faith. For them, Judaism had become, in his words, "the wooden ritual of those who clung by habit — and only by habit — to their religious heritage." He later came to suspect that his father regarded all religion as outmoded superstition. But in deference to family tradition and to his grandfathers, young Leopold — "Poldi" to his family — was made to spend long hours with a tutor, studying the Hebrew Bible, Targum, Talmud, Mishna, and Gemarra. "By the age of thirteen," he attested, "I not only could read Hebrew with great fluency but also spoke it freely." He studied Targum "just as if I had been destined for a rabbinical career," and he could "discuss with a good deal of self-assurance the differences between the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds."
4
Nonetheless, Weiss developed what he called "a supercilious feeling" toward the premises of Judaism. While he did not disagree with its moral precepts, it seemed to him that the God of the Hebrew Bible and Talmud "was unduly concerned with the ritual by means of which His worshippers were supposed to worship Him." Moreover, this God seemed "strangely preoccupied with the destinies of one particular nation, the Hebrews." Far from being the creator and sustainer of mankind, the God of the Hebrews appeared to be a tribal deity, "adjusting all creation to the requirements of a 'chosen people.'" Weiss's studies thus led him away from Judaism, although he later allowed that "they helped me understand the fundamental purpose of religion as such, whatever its form."
5
But this early disillusionment with Judaism did not lead to the pursuit of spiritual alternatives. In 1918, Weiss entered the University of Vienna. Days were given to the study of art history; evenings were spent in cafأ©s, listening to the disputations of Vienna's psychoanalysts. ("The stimulus of Freud's ideas was as intoxicating to me as potent wine.")
6 Nights were given to passions. ("I rather gloried, like so many others of my generation, in what was considered a 'rebellion against the hollow conventions.'")
7 But as his studies progressed, the prospect of a life in academe lost appeal. In 1920, Weiss defied his father's wishes and left Vienna for Berlin to seek a career in journalism. There he joined the
littأ©rateurs at the Cafأ© des Westens, sold a few film scripts, and landed a job with a news agency.آ¨
Eastern Exposure
In the midst of this fairly unremarkable climb, Leopold Weiss took an unexpected detour. Early in 1922, a maternal uncle, Dorian Feigenbaum, invited Weiss to visit Jerusalem. Dorian, a psychoanalyst and pupil of Freud, had initiated Weiss to psychoanalysis a few years earlier in Vienna. Now he headed a mental institution in Jerusalem. Weiss accepted the invitation, arriving in Egypt by ship and then in Palestine by train. In Jerusalem, he lived in Dorian's house, situated inside the old city a few steps from the Jaffa Gate. It was from this base that Leopold Weiss would first explore the realities of Islam. But his exploration would be prefaced by another discovery, of the immoralities of Zionism.
This stand was not a family inheritance. Although Dorian did not consider himself a Zionist, Weiss had another uncle in Jerusalem who was very much an ardent Zionist. Aryeh Feigenbaum (1885-1981), an ophthalmologist, had immigrated to Palestine in 1913, and became a leading authority on trachoma whose Jerusalem clinics were frequented by thousands of Arabs and Jews. In 1920, he founded the first Hebrew medical journal; from 1922, he headed the ophthalmologic department at Hadassah Hospital.
8 Weiss later omitted all mention of his Zionist uncle from
The Road to Mecca — one of many suggestive omissions, hinting that the distancing from family and Zionism was linked.
But Weiss always presented his anti-Zionism as a simple moral imperative. "I conceived from the outset a strong objection to Zionism," Weiss would later affirm. "I considered it immoral that immigrants, assisted by a foreign Great Power, should come from abroad with the avowed intention of attaining to majority in the country and thus to dispossess the people whose country it had been since time immemorial."
9 This moral position was bolstered by a flash of insight Weiss experienced near the Jaffa Gate while observing a bedouin Arab, "silhouetted against the silver-grey sky like a figure from an old legend." Perhaps, he fantasized, this was "one of that handful of young warriors who had accompanied young David on his flight from the dark jealousy of Saul, his king?" Then, he says, "I knew, with that clarity which sometimes bursts within us like lightening and lights up the world for the length of a heartbeat, that David and David's time, like Abraham and Abraham's time, were closer to their Arabian roots — and so to the beduin of to-day — than to the Jew of today, who claims to be their descendant."
10
In Jerusalem, Weiss began to confront Zionist leaders with the Arab question at every turn. He raised it both with Menahem Ussishkin (1863-1941) and Chaim Weizmann (1874-1952), and soon gained a reputation as a sympathizer of the Arab cause. Weiss also credited a new friend with assisting him greatly in Jerusalem: the Dutch poet and journalist Jacob Israأ«l de Haan (1881-1924). By this time, De Haan's strange career had already taken its many turns: he had gone from socialist agitator to religious mystic, from ardent Zionist to fervent anti-Zionist. The Haganah later assassinated De Haan in 1924. De Haan fed Weiss's rejection of Zionism with grist, and also helped Weiss find journalistic work. And it was through De Haan that Weiss met the Emir Abdallah (1882-1951) in the summer of 1923 — his first in a lifetime of meetings with Arab heads of state.
In Palestine, Weiss became a stringer for the
Frankfurter Zeitung, where he wrote against Zionism and for the cause of Muslim and Arab nationalism, with a strong anti-British bias. He published a small book on the subject in 1924,
11 and this so inspired the confidence of the
Frankfurter Zeitung that it commissioned him to travel more widely still, to collect information for a full-scale book. Weiss made the trip, which lasted two years. At its outset, he found a new source of inspiration, during a stay in Cairo: Shaykh Mustafa al-Maraghi (1881-1945), a brilliant reformist theologian who later became rector of al-Azhar.
12 This was Weiss's first contact with Islamic reformism, and it left a profound impression upon him. Weiss concluded that the abysmal state of the Muslims could not be attributed to Islam, as its Western critics claimed, but to a misreading of Islam. When properly interpreted, in a modern light, Islam could lead Muslims forward, while offering spiritual sustenance that Judaism and Christianity had ceased to provide. Weiss spent the better part of the next two years traveling through Syria, Iraq, Kurdistan, Iran, Afghanistan, and Central Asia, growing ever more fascinated by Islam in its myriad forms.
The Conversion
Upon concluding his travels, Weiss returned to Frankfurt to write his book. There he also married Elsa, a widow, "probably the finest representative of the pure 'Nordic' type I have ever encountered," a woman fifteen years his senior, whom he had met before his last travels.
13 He was now