Berlin (1771). He declined the post, and finally became chief rabbi
(1776-1803) of the united congregations of Altona, Hamburg, and
Wandsbeck. It is also recorded that Samuel ben Avigdor, the last rabbi
of Vilna, held the rabbinate of Königsberg,[21] and there certainly must
have been many more who, because of their inferior positions, cannot be
so easily traced. Besides, Germany, as we have seen, was the common
fatherland of the greater part of both Slavonic and Teutonic Jews. It
never remained a _terra incognita_ to the former for any length of time.
Its proximity to Russia, the business relations between the Jews of the
two countries, intermarriage, and, with a few insignificant exceptions,
the identity of language, made the Jews of both countries come into
closer contact than was possible with any other Jews. For the studious,
Germany possessed the attraction which the "land of universities" exerts
upon seekers after knowledge the world over. To whom, indeed, could the
profound and abstruse speculations of Leibnitz and Kant make a stronger
appeal than to the Jew who had been initiated into metaphysical
abstractions from his very childhood? It is no wonder, then, that
immigration from Russo-Poland into Germany was constantly on the
increase, until, under Alexander II, the advancement of Russian
civilization put a stop in a measure to these roamings, to be resumed
under Alexander III and Nicholas II.

The Russo-Polish youth, therefore, found himself quite at home in the
country of Mendelssohn, and thither, in case of necessity, he would go.
In the eleventh century Jews had gone from Germany to Poland. In the
eighteenth they retraced their steps from Poland to Germany.
Outnumbering by far those who went there from choice or by invitation,
were those compelled to go in search of a livelihood. "When I reached
the age of twenty, peaceful and comfortable in my father's house, I
began to hope that henceforth I should pursue my studies uninterrupted.