Volume LIII Numbers 1&2 (2001)
The
American Jewish Archives
Journal
A Journal Devoted to the Preservation and Study
of the American Jewish Experience
Published by The Jacob Rader Marcus Center
of the American Jewish Archives
Gary P. Zola, Ph.D., Editor
Frederic Krome, Ph.D., Managing Editor
Debra Kassoff, Editorial Intern
Jacob Rader Marcus, Ph.D., Founding Editor (1896–1995)
American Jewish Archives Journal
The Jacob Rader Marcus Center
of the
American Jewish Archives
is located on the Cincinnati campus of the
Hebrew Union College—Jewish Institute of Religion
Cincinnati • New York • Los Angeles • Jerusalem
Dr. David Ellenson, President
Dr. Alfred Gottschalk, Chancellor Emeritus
The American Jewish Archives Journal is indexed
in the Index to Jewish Periodicals,Current
Contents,the American Historical Review, United
States Political Science Documents, and the
Journal of American History.
Information for Contributors:
The American Jewish Archives Journal follows
generally The Chicago Manual of Style (14th
revised edition) and“Words into Type”(3rd edition)
but issues its own style sheet, which may be obtained
by writing to: The Managing Editor,The Jacob Rader
Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives,
3101 Clifton Avenue,Cincinnati,Ohio 45220.
Patrons 2002:
The Neumann Memorial Publication Fund. This
publication is made possible, in part,by a gift from
Congregation Emanu-El of the city of NewYork.
Published by The Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the
American Jewish Archives on the Cincinnati campus
of the Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of
Religion.
ISSN 002-905X
©2002 by The Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the
American Jewish Archives
2
Title
Contents
TO OUR READERS
Gary P. Zola, Editor
pp. 7-9
ARTICLES:
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures, 1933–1935
Felicia Herman
pp. 11-44
The pervasive influence of American Jews in Hollywood, and upon film content, is one
of the historical truisms of our age. Indeed, during the 1930s calls for movie
censorship were sometimes inseparable from antisemitic attacks upon “Jewish
Hollywood.” Felicia Herman goes beyond the myths to examine the actual influence
of prominent rabbis and Jewish communal leaders in the movement to “reform” the
content and message of films during the so-called Golden Age of Hollywood.
Herman’s analysis provides a valuable case study into how American Jewry coped
with a major domestic issue at a time of rising antisemitism.
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish Community
Sonja Wentling
pp. 45-64
The relationship between the American presidency and American Jewry has received
a great deal of scholarly, and popular, attention. Sonja Wentling’s meticulous
examination of President Herbert Hoover’s relationship with the American Jewish
community in the aftermath of the 1929 riots in Palestine opens new avenues of
research into the actual political influence of American Jewry in the decade before
World War II. Wentling’s efforts bring to light a number of important issues through
the study of a relatively neglected topic.
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American Jewish Archives Journal
“The Significance of a Jewish University”: A Sermon on the Founding of the
Hebrew University of Jerusalem
Kimmy Caplan
pp. 65-82
We know a great deal about the social, political, and even economic issues
surrounding the founding of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in 1925. Less well
known are the religious responses, especially those among the American Jewish
community. Kimmy Caplan uses a sermon of Rabbi Israel H. Levinthal in New York
as a vehicle for examining how American Judaism regarded the founding of the first
“Jewish University”in the modern era.
The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928–1948
Mark Bauman
pp. 83-111
Throughout the twentieth century Jewish social service agencies have undergone
fundamental transformations. Mark Bauman’s detailed study of Jewish social services
in Atlanta reveals that these institutions faced many of the same centripetal and
centrifugal forces that shaped the American Jewish community. By the post-World
War II era everything from communal leadership to the location of social service
offices reflected the changed nature of the American Jewish community.
Jewish Women and Vocational Education in New York City, 1885–1925
Melissa Klapper
pp. 113-146
During the late nineteenth century and into the twentieth, vocational education came
into vogue among Jewish philanthropists as an effective means for promoting
acculturation and the economic improvement of the new Jewish immigrants then
entering the United States in unprecedented numbers. Vocational education for
young Jewish women, whose need to earn a wage interfered with the vision of
middle-class domesticity that many of the schools’ directors had for their pupils,
presented a special case. Klapper’s research shows how the Jewish women’s
vocational schools acted as a staging ground for the intersection of competing
cultural, religious, and economic values and aspirations.
4
Title
Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism: The Menorah Journal and its
Struggle for the Jewish Imagination
Lewis Fried
pp. 147-174
The significance of Hebrew and Hebraic culture was part of an extended dialogue
among American Jewish intellectuals during the first part of the twentieth century.
Lewis Fried provides a detailed analysis of how this debate played out among
members of the Intercollegiate Menorah Association and through the Menorah
Journal, reached a wide audience of American Jewish students. Fundamentally, the
debates over a distinctive Hebraic culture helped fuel the growth of an American
Jewish historical consciousness during the interwar years.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH AND DOCUMENT:
Jacob De La Motta, M.D.: An Early American Jewish Medical Pioneer
Theodore Cohen
pp. 175-86
REVIEW ESSAY:
Jewish Wars, American Style
•
Samuel G. Freedman, Jew vs. Jew: The Struggle for the Soul of American
Jewry
Benny Kraut
pp. 187-98
BOOK REVIEWS:
•
Lawrence N. Powell, Troubled Memory: Anne Levy, the Holocaust,
and David Duke’s Louisiana reviewed by Sonia Spear
pp. 199-201
•
Hollace Ava Weiner, Jewish Stars in Texas: Rabbis and Their Work
reviewed by April Blackburn
pp. 203-05
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American Jewish Archives Journal
•
Rose Laub Coser, Laura S. Anker, and Andrew J. Perrin, Women of
Courage: Jewish and Italian Immigrant Women in New York reviewed
by Jane Rothstein
pp. 211-12
•
Louise London, Whitehall and the Jews, 1933–1948: British
Immigration Policy and the Holocaust reviewed by Roger Daniels
pp. 213-16
SHORT BOOK REVIEWS:
pp. 217-23
NEWS FROM THE JACOB RADER MARCUS CENTER OF
THE AMERICAN JEWISH ARCHIVES
The World Jewish Congress Collection
Kevin Proffitt and Ina Remus
pp. 217-23
Recent Acquisitions
Kevin Proffitt
pp. 223-28
6
To Our Readers . . .
Nearly a quarter of a century ago, Dr. Jacob Rader Marcus
procured the funding he needed to establish a fellowship program
that would encourage promising scholars to travel to Cincinnati and
make use of the American Jewish Archives’ (AJA) remarkable
collection of historical records. By granting serious researchers a
financial stipend, Dr. Marcus hoped to demonstrate how a period of
residence at the AJA would benefit those who were engaged in the
study of the American Jewish experience. He also believed that once
fellowship recipients became familiar with the AJA, they would
undoubtedly become the institution’s scholarly ambassadors—
publicizing its holdings in the footnotes of their publications and
speaking about its extraordinary documentary resources to their
students, at academic conferences, and in their professional discourse.
Marcus’s knowledge of and respect for the collection that he initiated
and nurtured prompted him to declare: “No history of American Jewry
can be written without recourse to [the AJA’s] materials.”1
In retrospect, we see that Dr. Marcus’s vision of a fellowship
program at the AJA was both farsighted and prophetic. Since the
arrival of the first American Jewish Archives fellow in 1978—a
promising young scholar named Jonathan D. Sarna—literally
hundreds of scholars and researchers have participated in the
program. Dr. Marcus continued to raise fellowship monies by
encouraging donors to establish a perpetually endowed fellowship
fund to be named in honor of a loved one, or as a memorial tribute to
the life and career of a special human being. The Marcus Center’s
Fellowship Program has grown to become one of the institution’s
most significant activities. We usually award between fifteen and
twenty-five fellowships per year, split between eight endowed funds:
The Marguerite R. Jacobs Memorial Post-Doctoral Award
The Ethel Marcus Memorial Fellowship
The Loewenstein-Wiener Fellowship Award
The Bernard and Audre Rapoport Fellowship
The Rabbi Frederic A. Doppelt Memorial Fellowship
The Rabbi Levi A. Olan Memorial Fellowship
The Rabbi Theodore S. Levy Tribute Fellowship
The Starkoff Fellowship
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American Jewish Archives JournalAmerican
Jewish Archives Journal
We are also pleased to announce the creation of several new
fellowships that will further enhance our program:
The Natalie Feld Memorial Fellowship
The Rabbi Harold D. Hahn Memorial Fellowship
The Rabbi Joachim Prinz Memorial Fellowship
Although over two dozen libraries and archives offer fellowships, The
Marcus Center seems to be unique in the number of fellowships
awarded each year.
It is no exaggeration to state that, since 1978, a significant
proportion of those who have earned their doctorates in some aspect
of American Jewish history have been recipients of an American
Jewish Archives fellowship stipend. Most American Jewish historians
would agree that a visit to The Marcus Center is likely to enrich
significantly the work of those who are engaged in a historical
examination of the American Jew. The present issue of The American
Jewish Archives Journal validates this assertion.
We are extremely proud of the fact that most of the authors who
appear in this edition of our journal have been fellows of The Marcus
Center. Several of them have used the AJA’s extensive holdings as the
basis for their contribution. For example, Felicia Herman, who will
receive her Ph.D. from Brandeis University in 2002, has contributed an
article on how American Jewry participated in the movement to
censor motion pictures during the first decades of that industry’s
existence. While studying at The Marcus Center, Herman devoted a
great deal of time to scrutinizing the AJA’s rabbinical collections as
well as the papers of the Central Conference of American Rabbis.
These documents contributed immeasurably to her analysis of this
fascinating topic. Sonja Wentling, who finished her doctoral
dissertation at Kent State University, made good use of the Warburg
collections during her fellowship. Her research adds new depth to
her, and our, understanding of Herbert Hoover’s attitude toward
Jewish nationalism and American Jewry. The Intercollegiate Menorah
Association is, without question, one of the AJA’s most significant
holdings. Professor Lewis Fried of Kent State University probed these
documents extensively during his fellowship, and has produced an
extremely interesting essay that sheds much light on the intellectual
history of American Jewry during the first half of the twentieth
century. The other contributors to this issue—Drs. Kimmy Caplan,
Mark Bauman, and Melissa Klapper—all studied at The Marcus
8
To Our Readers…
Center as fellows within the past six years. As this particular volume
of our journal demonstrates, the relationship between The Marcus
Center’s fellowship program, new research, and scholarly publication
in the field of American Jewish history is self-evident.
Dr. Marcus relished the fact that the holdings of the AJA were
used regularly by researchers who came to Cincinnati from all corners
of the globe. He took pride in providing visiting scholars with the
encouragement and support they needed to complete their projects.
With tongue in cheek (a trademark affect), he frequently quipped: “I
used to think you met the nicest people only in your dreams; now I
meet them in the documents that come pouring into the Archives.”2
We might well amend Marcus’s observation by saying that we, too,
meet the nicest people in the AJA. They are the scholars and fellows
who come to study with us for a month at a time or more and,
ultimately, share the fruits of their labors with an appreciative public.
GPZ
Cincinnati, Ohio
NOTES
1. Randall M. Falk, Bright Eminence: The Life and Thought of Jacob Rader Marcus
(Malibu, Calif.: Pangloss Press, 1994): 94-95.
2. Jacob Rader Marcus, All Hail to a Prince of a Schnorrer, edited by Abraham Peck
(Cincinnati: American Jewish Archives, 1996): 31.
9
ARTICLES
American Jews and the Effort to
Reform Motion Pictures, 1933–1935
Felicia Herman
In his 1932 book Jews on Approval, the popular writer and orator
Maurice Samuel argued that Jews “are probably the only people in the
world to whom it has ever been proposed that their historic destiny
is—to be nice.” Writing about American Jews of his day, he asserted
that they are driven by a “fear of gentile opinion” and the “panic of
outside reaction” from which “no platforms or pulpits [are] free.”1
Looking back on the first half of the twentieth century, historian
Henry Feingold has implicitly agreed with Samuel’s assessment: like
other groups trying to attain middle-class status, Jewish immigrants
and their descendants appeared “to bear more than their share of
concern for appearances. They want[ed], above all else, to be
acceptable and [were] often willing to go to extreme lengths to
achieve respectability.”2 This “everlasting drive for status,” critic John
Murray Cuddihy asserts, has been a central force of Jewish life in the
Diaspora, and it can be summed up by “a simple question: What will
the Gentiles say? Or think?”3
This concern for the public image of American Jews has always
been an essential component of the American Jewish relationship to
the film industry. Throughout the twentieth century, various elements
of the American Jewish community sought to influence the content
and message of American motion pictures. As such, Jews constituted
just one of many groups which exerted pressure on the film industry,
recognizing the power of film to entertain and inform, and attempting
to police their public image by manipulating this central form of
American popular culture.4 The Jewish relationship to the film
industry is a particularly valuable area in which to understand the
Jewish quest for status and concern for appearances, for here Jews
were forced to articulate quite concretely—indeed, even visually—the
way they wanted to be perceived by the outside world.
Although this dynamic has been ever-present in the Jewish
relationship with the film industry, the discussion of the dangers to
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American Jewish Archives Journal
the Jewish public image posed by motion pictures became especially
intense in the early 1930s. Between 1930 and 1934, American debates
over film content reached a fevered pitch, and would-be film
reformers—primarily Protestant and Catholic clergy and lay leaders—
accused the motion picture industry of intentionally corrupting the
morals of film audiences by foisting a seemingly unending stream of
salacious motion pictures on the American people. Because
“Hollywood” had long been synonymous in many film reformers’
minds with“Jews,”attacks on the industry in this period often revealed
disturbing antisemitic undertones. Drawing on a rhetoric that
stretched back for at least two decades—and on a much older
antisemitic theme associating Jews with sexual immorality—many
reformers argued that immoral films were the result of the inherent
immorality of the Jews who made them.5
Yet while film historians have discussed the antisemitism which
often colored film reform rhetoric in this and other periods, not
enough attention has been paid to the role of Jews as film reformers—
not simply as the objects of reformers’ ire. Indeed, in the early 1930s
several Jewish organizations and individuals became deeply involved
in the crusade to reform motion pictures, occupying a unique and
complicated position vis-à-vis the film industry. Because there were
so many Jews in Hollywood, Jewish communal leaders who might
have shared the views of film reformers could not afford simply to join
the crusade against “immoral” motion pictures for fear of feeding the
antisemitism that drove so much of that effort. Yet neither could the
Jewish community sit passively by while other groups criticized the
industry, a stance that might imply either collusion with Jewish
filmmakers or approval of film immorality. The explicit question
became whether Jews could—and should—find a way of criticizing
the product—“immoral”films—without criticizing the producer, who
was so often a Jew.
Under the surface, however, the question of Jewish status, of
Jewish appearances, of gentile reactions, was always present. Jewish
leaders believed that the attacks on Jews in the film industry reflected
in one way or another upon all Jews, because filmmakers were being
attacked specifically as Jews. Various factions of the American Jewish
community chose different routes for responding to this crisis,
depending upon the way they wished to be perceived by the nonJewish world. Although on other occasions they may have struggled
12
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
to construct an appropriate image of Jews on screen, here Jewish
leaders were working toward a different goal: no less than the
preservation of the moral reputation of the American Jewish
community as a whole.
The Setting
The American film industry faced several challenges in the early
1930s. The effects of the Depression began to become apparent in
1931, when weekly movie attendance dropped from the previous
year’s high of ninety million to seventy-five million. In 1932 and 1933,
this figure held steady at only sixty million.6 The industry was also
facing threats to its oligopolistic structure and questionable business
practices, and although these were temporarily sanctioned by the 1933
National Industrial Recovery Act (NIRA), industry executives lived in
fear of deeper federal investigations or interference.7 Finally, the socalled Payne Fund Studies, a series of sociological and psychological
studies published in 1933, seemed to demonstrate that movies exerted
an important—and primarily negative—impact on the behavior and
beliefs of their audiences, especially children. Although, according to
the Studies’ most recent historians, the various studies reached only
“cautious conclusions that emphasized limited, indirect models of
media influence and the extent to which individual social and
environmental differences moderated film’s impact on the young,” a
popular summary of the works by Henry James Forman, Our Movie
Made Children, an “antimovie polemic,” became “the representation of
the [Studies] in the public mind.”8
The moral and civic groups that had been trying to reform motion
pictures for decades seized upon the industry’s moment of
vulnerability.9 Film reformers were especially frustrated in the early
1930s because the problem of film immorality had supposedly been
solved with the industry’s adoption of the Production Code in 1930.
The Code, the latest in a series of self-regulatory codes for film content
adopted to fend off threats of external censorship, had seemed the
most far-reaching and promising system yet for controlling movie
morality.10 Written by Father Daniel Lord, a Jesuit priest, and Martin
Quigley, an influential Catholic layman and the editor of the
exhibitors’ trade journal Motion Picture Herald, the Code sought to
create a cinematic moral universe, where evil was always punished
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and good always rewarded.11
But the Code originally lacked an effective enforcement
mechanism, and very quickly the film reformers cried foul. The Studio
Relations Committee (SRC) of the Motion Picture Producers and
Distributors Association (MPPDA) had been charged with the task of
assessing moral content of MPPDA members’ films, but it was a small
committee with little authority. Moreover, producers could appeal
SRC decisions before a jury of other producers, where a “you-scratchmy-back-I’ll-scratch-yours” mentality prevailed. As a result, films
released between 1930 and 1934—like The Story of Temple Drake
(1933), Gabriel Over the White House (1933), and Scarface (1932)—were
in fact some of the most titillating, radical, and graphic films released
by Hollywood to date.12
Reformers’ frustration with the apparent failure of the Code often
turned ugly. Joseph Breen, an influential Catholic layman and the
man who would soon become Hollywood’s chief censor, expressed
the views of many when he wrote in 1932 to Father Wilfrid Parsons,
the editor of the Catholic weekly America, that “Nobody [in
Hollywood] gives a damn for the Code or any of its provisions.” The
Jews in the film industry, he alleged,“are simply a rotten bunch of vile
people with no respect for anything…[who] seem to think of nothing
but money making and sexual indulgence.”13 Although Breen’s
comments, written in private, were certainly more acerbic than most,
they were not unique: Protestant, Catholic, and mainstream
periodicals contained numerous articles which implicitly or explicitly
blamed the perceived immorality of Hollywood films on Jewish studio
owners and producers. In the Catholic press, for example, powerful
Los Angeles Bishop John J. Cantwell asserted that the Jews in the film
industry had the power but not the will to keep the screen free from
immorality: “[C]ertain it is that if…Jewish executives had any desire to
keep the screen free from offensiveness they could do so.”14 Among
Protestant periodicals, the Methodist Churchman attacked the“shrewd
Hebrews” for their “meretricious methods” of “selling crime and
shame” on screen; and even the liberal Christian Century concluded
that Jewish executives were responsible for the degraded state of
many films.15 A few American intellectuals went on the offensive as
well. For example, Theodore Dreiser, angered at the way Paramount
had adapted his An American Tragedy, wrote with implicit antisemitism
of the way “Mr. Zukor, Mr. Lasky and Mr. Thalberg,…not artists but
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American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
business executives,”refuse to allow “the writers, directors and players
whom they employ and control to exercise freely their artistic
perceptions and capabilities.”16 He was more explicit in private: “[T]he
movies are solidly Jewish,”he wrote to a friend. “The dollar sign is the
guide—mentally & physically. That Americans should be led—the
mass—by their direction is beyond all believing. In addition, they are
arrogant, insolent and contemptuous.”17
Jewish organizations and individuals viewed the antisemitic
condemnations of the film industry as a threat to the reputation of the
entire American Jewish community. The attitude that “the minority is
always judged by its lowest representative” prevailed, especially
among the middle- and upper-class descendants of German Jews who
still ran many of the community’s important national organizations.18
In addition, after 1933, as domestic antisemitism spread, communal
leaders believed critiques of the film industry could threaten the
physical safety of American Jews as well. The Jewish executives in
Hollywood were some of the most well-known Jews in America, and
many people certainly equated Hollywood with Jews; yet, as historian
Stephen Whitfield observes, Jews in the film industry were neither
elected by the community as its public representatives, nor were they
particularly devoted to Jewish life.19 Jewish leaders therefore sought to
exercise some control over the industry: they were concerned, as one
rabbi wrote, about “the possibility of an anti-Semitic movement being
launched, first against the Moving Picture Industry, because it is the
most vulnerable, and of the further extension of that movement
toward Jews in all walks of life.”20
Although the United States never witnessed the same
widespread, state-sponsored, and ultimately genocidal antisemitism
as did Germany, and although public opinion polls late in the 1930s
demonstrated that most Americans disapproved of Nazi antisemitism
and were not willing to support antisemitic campaigns, American
Jewish leaders nevertheless feared that the increasing number of
public and private manifestations of antisemitism would become a
nationwide movement.21 In fact, historian Leonard Dinnerstein
concludes that after 1933, the United States experienced “an explosion
of unprecedented antisemitic fervor.”22 “Genteel bigots”in the United
States accepted Hitler’s Jewish-conspiracy explanations for the
worldwide economic crisis; the prominence of Jews in Roosevelt’s
administration led many critics to decry the “Jew Deal”;
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fundamentalist and even some liberal Protestants believed that antiJewish animus was in part a result of the Jews’ failure to convert to
Christianity; demagogues like William Dudley Pelley, Father Charles
Coughlin, and Reverend Gerald Winrod drew increasingly large
audiences of disaffected Americans looking for a scapegoat for their
problems; discrimination against Jews continued in housing,
employment, and in universities; and Nazi sympathizers occasionally
committed acts of vandalism or violence against Jews and their
property.23
For Jewish communal leaders, these manifestations of
antisemitism, however scattered or weakly supported, were extremely
worrisome. Jews in the 1930s did not have the benefit of hindsight:
they did not know that antisemitism would not increase in the future,
that the United States would never adopt antisemitism as a political
tool, nor, for that matter, that Hitler’s power would never spread to the
United States and that the Nazis would ultimately be defeated. In the
1930s Jewish communal leaders and many other Americans believed
that their country’s political future was an open question.24 Harry
Schneiderman expressed this uncertainty in the American Jewish Year
Book’s review of the year 1934–35: “The feeling was spreading that
anti-Jewish forces, unprecedently [sic] powerful, pernicious, and
unscrupulous, were at work, and that on the outcome of the struggle
against those enemies depends to a large extent the fate of future
generations of Jews.”25 In 1936 the editors of Fortune justified their
authoritative study of Jews in the professions by explaining that the
“apprehensiveness of American Jewry has become one of the
important influences in the social life of our time”; their study was
therefore intended to refute antisemitic conspiracy theories by
delineating the actual percentages of Jews in various industries.26 And
by 1941 Rabbi Milton Steinberg concluded that American Jews had
become “apprehensive over their security as never before in their
history.”27
This heightened perception of antisemitism intensified Jewish
anxiety over the community’s public image. In the political realm, for
example, condemnations of the number of Jews in the Roosevelt
administration led to frantic calls from some Jewish quarters for the
administration’s Jews to resign. Such calls, however, were met with
the argument that it was not only the right, but also the responsibility
of Jews as good Americans to support their country through public
16
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
service.28 The same dynamic prevailed in the realm of Jewish culture:
in the 1930s and early 1940s, for example, the Jewish Publication
Society (JPS) was embroiled in debates over whether to publish the
poems of A. M. Klein, many of which contained graphic language and
sexual imagery. Historian Jonathan Sarna argues that, as a Jewish
publishing house, JPS “felt obliged to uphold standards that would
place it above reproach…and sought to project an image of Jewish
probity, dignity and righteousness, especially in matters concerning
love and sex.” Many of Klein’s poems—especially the love sonnets—
did not make it into the volume JPS eventually published; in others,
words such as “gutter” and “filth” were changed to spare what Sarna
calls JPS readers’ “high (or prudish) sense of morality.”29
This type of anxiety spilled over into the film realm, the locus for
so much anti-Jewish animus. Jewish leaders feared the possibility that
the entire Jewish community would be held responsible for the
purported immoral actions of a few Jews in the film industry. Four
distinct strategies emerged within the Jewish community for dealing
with the problem of film immorality and the campaign to reform it.
The first, pursued by the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) and the Los
Angeles Jewish Community Committee (LA–JCC), involved trying to
protect the Jewish public image by discouraging Jews in the industry
from allowing the production of the types of films deemed immoral by
reformers. The next two strategies were undertaken by two members
of a committee of the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR)
created to investigate the film morality question. One was
promulgated by Rabbi William Fineshriber of Philadelphia, who
believed that the best way to protect the Jewish image was to
cooperate as much and as publicly as possible with Catholic and
Protestant film reform groups. The other strategy within the CCAR
committee was that of the committee’s rogue element, Rabbi Sidney
Goldstein of New York’s Free Synagogue, who, inspired by true moral
outrage and the tenets of the social justice movement, believed that
the best way to protect the Jewish public image was to castigate Jewish
filmmakers for producing immoral films and to struggle in earnest to
remove such films from the nation’s theaters. The fourth strategy for
dealing with the problem of film morality and the film reform
campaign was one expressed by Henry Montor in the pages of the
American Jewish press. Montor, who was on his way to becoming an
important leader in the American Zionist movement, espoused a more
17
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radical view of the film situation than either the ADL or the CCAR.
Montor believed that it was the obsessive concern over the Jewish
public image which itself was the problem, and he criticized Jewish
participation in the film reform effort as little more than a public
relations ploy. Each of these strategies reveals a somewhat different
understanding of the importance of the public image of Jews and of
the form that public image should take.
“To Bring Jewish Producers and Executives to a Sense of their
Responsibility”: The Anti-Defamation League and Los Angeles
Jewish Community Committee30
One of the founding missions of the Anti-Defamation League of
B’nai B’rith in 1913 was to eradicate the negative image of Jews then
common on American film screens. This it considered to be the “most
pressing problem confronting” American Jews, and it was relatively
successful in battling it.31 In the late 1920s several Jewish
organizations and communal leaders criticized Cecil B. DeMille’s The
King of Kings (1927), a filmed passion play, for what they believed was
the film’s antisemitic caricatures of the Jewish high priest, the
Pharisees, and Judas Iscariot, as well as the film’s presentation of the
Jewish role in the crucifixion—all common elements of passion plays
that Jewish leaders believed were even more dangerous when they
appeared in a high-profile, big-budget motion picture.32 In response,
the MPPDA asked B’nai B’rith, whom it perceived as the
representative of American Jewry, to become the official Jewish
consultant to the industry. B’nai B’rith turned this duty over to the
ADL. It should not be surprising, therefore, that the ADL was the first
Jewish organization to respond to antisemitic attacks on the film
industry in the early 1930s.33
The ADL and its new ally, the LA–JCC, which former ADL leader
Leon Lewis founded in 1934, decided that the best way to combat the
attacks on the film industry was to warn Jewish industry executives of
the threat their films posed to the Jewish community. Protests against
immoral films were becoming more organized and more threatening.
In March 1934 the film trade presses began to warn of the impending
“Church War on Films,”and in April the Catholic hierarchy established
the Legion of Decency, recruiting millions of Catholics to pledge their
abstinence from immoral films.34 Its members, Legion leaders
18
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
asserted, stood ready to boycott specific films, local theaters, or even
entire theater chains. Although the Legion of Decency itself was not
explicitly antisemitic—indeed, Protestant, Jewish, and interfaith
groups cooperated with it—in the document which became the
“blueprint” for the Legion, Martin Quigley placed the blame for
immoral films on Jews in the industry who he asserted,“have no fixed
moral convictions.”35 A month after the Legion’s founding, fearful that
the Legion might become explicitly antisemitic, ADL national director
Richard Gutstadt began planning a trip to Los Angeles to meet with
Jewish motion picture leaders. By placing the attacks on the industry
within the context of the general rise in antisemitism, Gutstadt hoped,
he told Lewis, to “[bring] these men to a clearer understanding of the
situation…[and] impel greater discrimination in the movie field” in
the future.36
Gutstadt was only able to plan such
a meeting because of the connections
the newly created LA–JCC had
established with Jews in the film
industry. Lewis, the first national
secretary of the ADL, had moved from
Chicago to Los Angeles after being
wounded in World War I; in Los Angeles
he served for several years as the ADL’s
primary representative. Since January
1933, when Hitler became chancellor of
Germany, Lewis had been engaged in
ferreting out Nazi sympathizers in
southern California.37 The region, as Richard E. Gutstadt
Lewis himself put it, had become a “hot- (courtesy American Jewish Archives)
bed” of Nazi activity, even at the studios run by Jews.38 But in the
spring of 1934, frustrated over clashes with local B’nai B’rith leaders—
especially over meddling into his investigations—Lewis had resigned
and created the LA–JCC, a local umbrella organization of selfappointed notables drawn from the major national Jewish
organizations, and from Los Angeles’s Jewish civic and social
luminaries.39 Many of the LA–JCC’s members had connections to
Jews in the film industry, especially Mendel Silberberg, an
entertainment lawyer who was soon appointed LA–JCC chairman,
although Lewis, as executive secretary, managed the committee’s day19
American Jewish Archives Journal
to-day operations.
A week after creating the LA–JCC, Lewis
engineered the establishment of a Motion
Picture Committee composed of prominent
Jewish studio executives.40 This small group
of men—which consisted, at first, of Irving
Thalberg (MGM), Harry Cohn (Columbia),
H. Henningson (Universal), Joe Schenck
(20th Century), Jack Warner (Warner Bros.),
Emanuel Cohen (Paramount), Sol Wurtzel
(Fox), and Pandro Berman (RKO)—met with
Lewis monthly to discuss issues relevant to
both the film industry and the Jewish Harry Warner
community, and to contribute funds for the (courtesy American Jewish
LA–JCC’s work.41 From the outset, Lewis Archives)
declared this type of direct connection to the industry “a great deal
better” than the MPPDA/ADL committee established in the wake of
The King of Kings. Without the MPPDA
acting as a not-always-sympathetic
middleman, LA–JCC leaders could take their
concerns to Jews in the industry themselves.
Gutstadt agreed with Lewis’s assessment,
telling Lewis that he hoped that the Motion
Picture Committee would prove beneficial
both to antidefamation work in general and,
more specifically, to the defense of the
industry against the “rapidly increasing
church battle” against film immorality.42
Since Lewis and Gutstadt stayed in close
Jack Warner
communication, considering the ADL and
(courtesy American Jewish
LA–JCC to be intimately connected, both
Archives)
organizations enjoyed privileged access to
many of Hollywood’s Jewish producers and studio executives—to the
“sanctum sanctorum,”as Gutstadt put it.43
Gutstadt traveled to Los Angeles at the beginning of July 1934.
There, without any publicity, he met with a group of industry leaders
that included many of the members of the Motion Picture Committee,
along with Louis B. Mayer, David O. Selznick, and Harry Warner.
Although in general the ADL preferred quiet, behind-the-scenes
20
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
maneuvering, such an approach was particularly important in its
relationship with the motion picture industry, lest antisemites use
ADL/industry contacts to bolster the theory that “the Jews”controlled
Hollywood. As Lewis described, the purpose of the meeting was “to
impress upon these men the fact that the Motion Picture Industry was
the outstanding target of the Anti-Semitic groups and that they
carried on their shoulders a tremendous responsibility.” Gutstadt first
raised the problem of the “increasing carelessness” of films with
antisemitic images, an ongoing ADL concern which the assembled
group agreed that the Motion Picture Committee should handle in
the future. Then, “in a very tactful manner…which could not give
offense to anyone present,”he raised the problem of film immorality.
In response, the industry executives promised that a “determined and
sincere effort was being made to remove all causes of criticism”on this
score. Indeed, that very day, in MPPDA meetings, these same men
had agreed upon sweeping changes which would ensure the
industry’s ability to strictly enforce the Production Code, primarily
through Joseph Breen and the new Production Code Administration.44
Gutstadt left satisfied with the outcome of his meeting, and he did not
raise the issue again in his correspondence with LA–JCC leaders.45
While ADL and LA–JCC leaders were pleased with the response
they received from Jewish industry executives, they did not realize that
in the process of encouraging these men to change their behavior,
they had unwittingly accepted the terms of film reformers and
internalized the very antisemitism that drove so much of the criticism
of the industry. ADL and LA–JCC leaders never actually addressed
the question of whether Hollywood films were immoral. Indeed,
there is no evidence that any of them had actually seen the films
under discussion, like Mae West’s She Done Him Wrong (1933) and I’m
No Angel (1933), Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933), or Tarzan, the Ape Man
(1932).46 These men accepted without investigation the notion that
the Jewish executives who ran most of the studios were in fact
responsible for these films while, in fact, there was considerable
debate at that time over who actually “controlled” Hollywood: the
heads of production in Los Angeles, the studio chiefs in New York, or
the Wall Street investment houses which had financed the expansions
of the studios in the 1920s and then assumed control of several of the
studios after they began to suffer from the Depression.47
In seeking to change Jewish producers’ behaviors, ADL and
21
American Jewish Archives Journal
LA–JCC leaders treated the censorship battle as an internal Jewish
problem—it was the improper actions of some Jews, not the beliefs of
antisemites, which they sought to reform—and they asserted that
individual Jews bore a collective responsibility for the safety and
reputation of the entire Jewish community. As middle-to-upper-class
descendants of Central European Jews trying to shape the behaviors
of the largely East European film executives, ADL and LA–JCC leaders
were acting out an established ethnic dynamic in American Jewish
history. Other descendants of Central European immigrants, for
example, had responded to the rise in American antisemitism at the
turn of the century by blaming the new East European immigrants for
discrediting the Jewish community, and they urged them to cease
those behaviors which they believed were causing antisemitism:
gaudy dress, conspicuous consumption, and/or radical politics.48 This
was a mild form of Jewish self-hatred, a phenomenon commented
upon even in the 1930s.49 For example, The Nation observed in 1938
that “[c]onservative Jews, faced with the insanity of anti-Semitism, are
tempted to abandon rationality themselves and accept as their own
criteria of behavior the prejudices that operate against them.” Fear of
antisemitism led many Jews to assert that the behavior of one Jew
could affect the reputation of the community: as The Nation put it, the
Jewish radical, for example, “is looked upon not merely as a wrongheaded fellow, but as a menace to the race.”50 Jean-Paul Sartre would
later describe this feeling of collective responsibility in his classic AntiSemite and Jew: a Jew who meets a Jewish prostitute, for example,“sees
in the humiliating situation of a prostitute the humiliating situation of
Israel…In the last analysis it is he who is prostituted, humiliated; it is
he and the whole Jewish people.”51 Although, as we will see, there
were some Jews who criticized this mode of thinking, it was an
understandable reaction to the fear that pervaded Jewish self-defense
organizations in the 1930s. With no end in sight to the recent rise in
antisemitism, ADL and LA–JCC leaders chose to protect the public
image of Jews by trying to minimize any behaviors which antisemites
might use against the Jewish community.
Interfaith Relations and Social Justice:
the Central Conference of American Rabbis
22
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
As Jewish self-defense organizations, the ADL and the LA–JCC
had tried to protect the Jewish public image by quietly attempting to
remove an apparent cause of American antisemitism. In contrast, the
two Reform rabbis who constituted the CCAR’s film morality
committee each believed that only public actions would protect the
Jewish community’s reputation by demonstrating openly that Jews
disapproved of film immorality. Yet the two rabbis placed Jewish
participation in the film crusade in two different contexts: Rabbi
William Fineshriber, the committee chair, believed that film morality
should be viewed as part of the burgeoning interfaith movement (then
known as the “goodwill” movement), while Rabbi Sidney Goldstein
contended that the issue was one of social justice.52 Both men agreed,
however, that the more publicity the CCAR committee received in this
endeavor, the better. Other national Jewish organizations, like the
United Synagogue of America (the Conservative congregational
body), the Synagogue Council of America (a group of rabbis and lay
leaders from across all three American Jewish movements), and the
National Council of Jewish Women also issued statements
condemning immoral films, but the CCAR was the most actively
involved in the crusade over film immorality.53 Reform Jewish leaders,
who were largely assimilated decendants of Central European Jews,
were more convinced than either Conservative or Orthodox leaders in
this period of the importance of shaping a positive image of Jews in
the American mind. Even the Reform movement was somewhat
divided on this score, however, and the debates within the CCAR
committee over its proper methods and actions reflect in miniature
the transformation the Reform movement was undergoing in the
interwar period: from an accommodationist, assimilationist, Central
European, old-guard leadership to a younger, more aggressive, more
particularist, and more East European one.54
The CCAR met for its annual convention in June 1934, just as the
Legion of Decency was stepping up its crusade against immoral films.
Condemnations of the motion picture industry—often either
implicitly or explicitly antisemitic—were becoming more frequent in
the trade and general presses, as were reports or rumors of film
boycotts across the nation.55 The CCAR reacted to this threat by
creating a way for Jews to become publicly involved in the film reform
effort: the conference passed a resolution creating a committee to
cooperate with other religious and civic groups seeking to improve the
23
American Jewish Archives Journal
moral standards of motion pictures.56
Interestingly, the CCAR resolution had originated with the ADL
itself. When the ADL’s national chairman, Sigmund Livingston, asked
Chicago Rabbi Charles Shulman, a member of the ADL’s Special
Advisory Council and a CCAR leader, to raise the issue of immoral
motion pictures at the convention, Gutstadt had not yet traveled to
Los Angeles and the outcome of his meeting was, of course,
uncertain.57 Perhaps Livingston believed that the CCAR, as a religious
organization, was a more appropriate public spokesperson for Jewish
morality than the ADL, a self-defense organization. Indeed, as we
have seen, the ADL seemed to care little for the moral content of
Hollywood films; perhaps they hoped to hedge their bets by creating
a two-pronged attack on the industry, one from the perspective of
self-defense and the other from the perspective of morality and
religion.
Whatever the reason for Livingston’s
letter, Shulman responded energetically to
his request. Together with a group of
prominent Reform rabbis from across the
country,58 Shulman introduced a rather
radical and sweeping resolution that
denounced the industry for its “wanton
indifference to the responsibilities that it
carries, and for the abuses that it has thus far
tolerated,”calling upon “the Jewish people of
the nation to refrain from attending any and
Shulman
all picture houses that still show films that Charles
(courtesy American Jewish
undermine character and morality,” and Archives)
urging Jews “to co-operate to the fullest
extent with their neighbors to purge the motion picture industry of
those elements injurious to moral well being.”59 This resolution,
however, proved too vehement for the rest of conference attendees.
First, it was far too broad a denunciation of the predominantly Jewish
motion picture producers, too closely resembling the attacks on the
industry which were so often tinged with antisemitism. It was highly
unlikely that any Jewish group would pass such a damning statement
about other Jews in the tension-filled 1930s. Second, the resolution
threatened a Jewish boycott of immoral films and here skirted the
realm of improbability. Neither the CCAR nor any other rabbinical or
24
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
secular Jewish body could reasonably hope to coordinate or enforce
such an action by American Jews, who did not take kindly to orders
from “above.” Not only did rabbis not wield the kind of power over
their congregants as priests might over Catholic lay people, but most
American Jews in the 1930s did not even belong to a synagogue,
where they might have been swayed by a rabbi’s moral pleadings.60
American Jews could not even unite around Zionism or behind a
boycott of German goods; it was even less likely that they could come
together to boycott motion pictures which some Catholics and
Protestant leaders had deemed immoral.61 Shulman’s boldly
moralistic resolution was therefore revised in favor of a much milder
one which refrained from casting blame for the “harmful moral
influence” exerted by many films and instead created a committee to
study the problem and cooperate in the film reform effort.62
The formation of the CCAR committee was covered in the Jewish,
mainstream, and film trade presses, and the committee chair, Rabbi
William Fineshriber, immediately set about offering Protestant and
Catholic leaders his assistance in the crusade against immoral films.63
He received an immediate, positive response from the Protestant
Federal Council of Churches (FCC), which suggested that further
cooperation be conducted under the aegis of the National Conference
of Jews and Christians (NCJC).64 In fact, the NCJC News Service had
already sought more information on the CCAR resolution and
committee, since they were “particularly anxious…to describe the
action which has been taken by Jewish agencies”in the motion picture
reform field.65 As the most important American interfaith
organization, the NCJC shared the CCAR’s desire to distance
American Jews from the perceived moral failings of the Jewish men
who dominated Hollywood. The Catholics were not quite as
receptive, however. Cincinnati Archbishop John McNicholas’s office
did not respond to Fineshriber’s letter for three months, and although
his secretary claimed this was because the letter had been misplaced,
two other possible explanations suggest themselves for the Catholic
disinterest.66 Of the three religious groups in the NCJC, the Catholics
were the least active and the least committed to interreligious
cooperation; moreover, as we have seen, one of the underlying themes
of the Catholic crusade was that Jews as a group were responsible for
the moral lapses in motion pictures.67
Despite McNicholas’s failure to respond, Fineshriber’s fellow
25
American Jewish Archives Journal
CCAR committee member, Rabbi Goldstein, quickly became involved
in interfaith meetings held in New York City to coordinate protests
against the industry.68 Representing the CCAR and the local
intermovement New York Board of Jewish Ministers, Goldstein
pledged that the Jewish groups would support the crusade “without
reservation.” In a move which his colleague Fineshriber would never
take, Goldstein publicly denounced both the MPPDA and the
prospect of effective self-regulation by the industry.69 Instead, he
proposed that a national supervisory committee made up of
producers, clergy, and important members of the public should
oversee films—rather than a board of censorship, which leaders of
each of the three faiths publicly opposed, or industry self-regulation,
which Goldstein consistently distrusted.70 Goldstein’s proposal was
approved by the interfaith committee, although no action seems to
have been taken toward making this idea a reality.71
Although the further activities of the New York interfaith
committee were not covered in either the mainstream or trade presses,
the CCAR committee apparently came to believe that it needed to act
on its own as well. A warning of imminent antisemitism galvanized
Fineshriber into new action in the fall, separate from any interfaith
activities. Perhaps with the upcoming annual Catholic Bishop’s
Conference in November in mind, Worth Tippy of the FCC warned
Fineshriber in late October that the Legion of Decency was “likely at
any time”to transform its “intense feeling against the moral quality of
films…into anti-Semitic feeling”; the Catholic press already had.
Tippy was confident that the Jewish producers must not “realize the
danger to their people,” and he expressed the hope that “your
[influential] conferences of Rabbis can get together with Jewish
leaders in the industry” to correct the problem of immoral films.72
Fineshriber interpreted this letter, as well as recent resolutions about
motion picture morality passed by Episcopalian and Lutheran bodies,
as a threat of an “explosion on the part of Protestants”which, together
with potential Catholic outbursts, could create an enormous problem
for American Jews.73 In the fall and winter of 1934–35, therefore, he
and Goldstein met with studio executives in New York and Los
Angeles, in meetings arranged through the personal connections of
both Rabbi Stephen Wise, Goldstein’s boss, and Harry Warner, the
Jewish industry figure most known for moralizing and for his
dedication to Jewish causes.74
26
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
Although there is no record of Fineshriber’s discussions over the
three weeks he stayed in Los Angeles (Goldstein, because of a
scheduling mix-up, stayed only a day), he was clearly impressed by the
industry’s promises to reform itself. In his
discussions
with
industry
figures,
Fineshriber apparently echoed the ADL’s
message that Jews in the industry had a
responsibility to safeguard the Jewish
community’s reputation, and the responses
he received from industry executives suggest
that he conveyed his message in a
cooperative and convivial manner.75 The
mutually positive feelings Fineshriber’s visit
engendered certainly emerged in his report,
which reads rather like a MPPDA press William Fineshriber
release in its praise for, confidence in, and (courtesy American Jewish
Archives)
protective stance toward the industry.76 In
the report, which received a great deal of publicity, Fineshriber
deflected blame for film immorality from the film industry to the
religious, social, domestic, and educational spheres, all of which had a
responsibility, he argued, to educate the public to patronize better
films.77 In other words, as the industry often asserted, it was only
providing audiences with the kinds of films they desired, and if
audiences asked for immoral films, the industry had no choice but to
comply. Fineshriber was also steadfast in his refusal to condemn the
MPPDA or its president, former Postmaster General Will H. Hays—in
sharp contrast to Goldstein.78 Aside from the warm relations
Fineshriber had established with Hays and other MPPDA leaders in
Hollywood, he was also no doubt affected by new Catholic reports
which pronounced recent Hollywood films “991/2% Clean,” as a
January 1935 Hollywood Reporter headline read.79 With the Catholics
no longer adjudging films immoral, the CCAR committee’s goals
seemed fulfilled: it had made its views known to Catholics and
Protestants and, secondarily, had warned Jewish producers of the
threat they were posing to the Jewish community’s reputation.
For Fineshriber, the most important part of the CCAR committee’s
work was its potential for strengthening interfaith cooperation. A
non-Zionist and a long-time supporter of interfaith activities,
27
American Jewish Archives Journal
Fineshriber represented the old guard of Reform rabbis, who in the
early 1930s were losing their grip on the leadership of the CCAR.80
Fineshriber saw in the CCAR film committee the opportunity for the
conference to gain, in his words, the “standing and prestige” it
deserved among other American religious and moral organizations.81
In the interwar period, Reform Jewish organizations were particularly
involved with the goodwill movement, believing that it offered the
best hope for a positive American Jewish public image, as well as
social acceptability, a measure of defense against Christian
antisemitism, and an increased sense of self-esteem and belonging.
Instigated and led by Protestants, the goodwill movement initially
engendered ambivalence and even outright hostility among both Jews
and Catholics, but by the time the NCJC was organized in 1927,
Jewish support had grown: nine of the ten groups originally affiliating
with it were Jewish, and five of these nine were either explicitly
Reform organizations or organizations closely connected to Reform
William Fineshriber (right), with unidentified actor
(courtesy American Jewish Archives)
Judaism.82
Once Fineshriber had made public the CCAR’s willingness to
cooperate with Christian groups and had secured promises from
28
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
industry figures to reform, he was satisfied. Although the CCAR
committee’s impact on the goodwill movement or the film reform
campaign is difficult to quantify, its cooperation with Christian groups
in the film crusade certainly did not hurt American Jews’public image.
Unlike the ADL and LA–JCC’s quiet efforts, the CCAR’s wellpublicized activities demonstrated to whomever was paying attention
that the Jewish community was willing to
confront the film industry where matters of
morality were concerned.
Sidney Goldstein, however, believed that
the CCAR had not gone nearly far enough in
confronting the evils of the film industry. For
Goldstein, the issue was one of social justice,
like the battles to eradicate child labor or the
purported evil excesses of capitalism. As he
put it, the crusade against motion pictures
was but “one phase of a great wave of moral
wrath that is sweeping wide and deep
through every segment of life.”83 Goldstein Rabbi Sidney Goldstein
had a passion for social justice which (courtesy American Jewish
Archives)
probably exceeded even his colleague Rabbi
Wise’s,84 although both men were in the forefront of the Reform
movement’s social justice activities, including campaigns to improve
the quality of life for working people and to prevent child labor,
venereal disease, white slavery, and juvenile delinquency.85 As a
social-justice issue, the battle to purify “immoral” entertainment was
not open to any compromises, according to Goldstein—immoral films
were a potential “source of moral contagion”and needed to be curbed
so as not to “endanger the moral life and spiritual welfare of the
people.”86
Goldstein’s uncompromising focus on the ethical issues of the film
reform crusade and his placement of the issue within the realm of
social justice brought him into conflict with the more
accommodationist Fineshriber. In a broader sense, this was a
reflection of the many differences that existed between Wise’s
disciples in the Reform movement and the elite, decorous Central
European Jews who controlled the CCAR, B’nai B’rith, and the
American Jewish Committee, organizations with which Wise
consistently clashed on matters of method.87 Goldstein and
29
American Jewish Archives Journal
Fineshriber clearly disagreed in their interpretations of the degree to
which the CCAR should cooperate with the industry. “Fineshriber
went to the Coast in part to investigate the Hays organization and
program in Hollywood,” Goldstein protested to CCAR president
Samuel Goldenson, but he came back “with a letter of commendation
from the very man who is so largely responsible for the conditions
against which we have protested.”88 Goldstein was even more upset
when he read Fineshriber’s draft of the CCAR Committee’s official
report: “I could not myself sign a report which exonerated the Hays
organization by the omission of any reference to the number of times
Hays and his group have betrayed the public,” Goldstein told
Fineshriber, and Fineshriber therefore issued his report as an
individual rather than as chair of the CCAR committee.89
Dissatisfied with the outcome of the CCAR committee’s work,
Goldstein continued to work to reform motion pictures through other
organizations like the New York Board of Jewish Ministers, where he
set up a motion picture committee that cooperated with similar
committees of the New York Federation of Jewish Women’s
Organizations and the Metropolitan Conference of Temple
Brotherhoods.90 There is little evidence, however, that any of these
additional groups accomplished much. Goldstein’s views on the
industry did receive some attention when his article “The Motion
Picture and Social Control” was published in William Perlman’s The
Movies on Trial, along with articles by Edward G. Robinson, Bishop
Cantwell, Upton Sinclair, John Haynes Holmes, and Chapin Hall.91
He continued to harbor negative feelings about the motion picture
industry and to protest its supposed immorality as the years went on.92
In his work with the CCAR committee and all his later activities
for film reform, Goldstein asserted that Jews had a special
responsibility to combat the evils of the motion picture industry. He
believed that Jews in the industry were responsible for those evils, and
thus that the American Jewish image was being sullied by the actions
of a few immoral Jews. The moral elements of the Jewish community
therefore needed to take a strong stand against their wayward
coreligionists: “We must purge our own people of everything that
brings discredit and dishonor to Israel,”he told Goldenson.93
30
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
Jewish Pride: Henry Montor
It was this type of sentiment that particularly outraged Henry
Montor, whose own strategy for dealing with the film morality
problem was based on a distaste for the methods of organizations like
the ADL, LA–JCC, and CCAR. Montor, a journalist and Zionist, would
soon become executive director of the United Palestine Appeal (UPA)
and then a vice-chairman of the United Jewish Appeal, responsible for
overseeing the fund drives for the UPA and the American Jewish Joint
Distribution Committee.94 Although in the film morality debate he
spoke only for himself, and there is no evidence that his opinions at
all shaped Jewish communal behaviors, Montor’s views nevertheless
offer a forceful and rather surprising counterpoint to those discussed
above. Montor’s stand on the movie reform crusade was as
uncompromising as Goldstein’s, but in a completely different
direction.
Montor’s “Should Jews Join the Movie Crusade? NO!”was a long
article syndicated in several Anglo-Jewish newspapers, one of many
discussing the question of Jewish participation in the crusade which
appeared in the Jewish press in the months after CCAR began
cooperating with Protestant and Catholic groups. Opinions were
mixed. Some writers, believing like Goldstein that this was a “battle
for the Jewish name,” urged Jewish involvement. The Jews in the
industry had “surrender[ed] Jewish ideals,” wrote journalist Louis
Minsky, and thus Jews should not only participate in the crusade
against immoral films, but should do so more aggressively and
vigorously than other groups.95 Others wondered about the ulterior
motives of the crusade. The editors of the Minneapolis/St. Paul
American Jewish World questioned whether this was not simply “a
thinly disguised attempt to displace Jews from the dominant role they
are said to hold in the industry” and whether Jewish participation in
the reform battle was not “an admission of specific Jewish
responsibility as well as a confession of guilt.”96 In the Chicago Jewish
Chronicle, Bernard Levin chronicled other aspects of society that
needed reforming, and asked why the film industry in particular had
come under so much fire: “That this selection was accidental I do not
believe,” he concluded, inferring that antisemitism lay at the heart of
the effort.97
Montor also expressed strong misgivings about Jewish
31
American Jewish Archives Journal
cooperation in the film reform effort. He criticized the efforts of“some
members of the American rabbinate”—no doubt the CCAR—who
had made it appear that Jewish abstention from the movie crusade
would taint the Jewish public image “as surely,” he wrote, “as the
evasion of conscription during the World War would have done.”
Montor departed from many of his fellow American Jews in arguing
that “for the Jewish people as a whole to assume responsibility for real
or fancied delinquencies of individuals is a form of self-imposed
martyrdom which is intolerable…It is a strange emancipation that the
Jew in America enjoys if he must subscribe to the doctrine that every
Jew who has bad manners jeopardizes the existence of the race.” And
he astutely pointed out that most of the rabbis who encouraged
Jewish participation in the film reform crusade did so out of a desire
to protect the Jewish public image rather than from any deeply held
moral convictions. “This constant fear complex,” Montor argued,
“must inevitably undermine the morals of the American Jew and
impress him with the conviction that his life is hazardous and his
preservation dependent upon his yielding to every temporary
aberration of the majority…If every Jew can vote for himself, every Jew
should be allowed to think for himself, without regard to what
reaction such thought may cause in the breasts of Catholics and
Protestants.”98
Montor was criticizing the very mentality that seemed to drive
Jewish life in the Diaspora: the ubiquitous concern for appearances,
for what the Gentiles might be thinking. He believed that this
“constant fear complex”—more extreme Zionists might have called it
a galut mentality—led Jewish leaders to distort the film morality
problem, which he argued was not one of collective Jewish
responsibility for immorality, but rather a move to stop the maturation
of film into an art form able to deal with serious social and moral
issues.99 Of course, Montor’s criticism, if taken to its most extreme
conclusion, would have led him to a solution more strident Zionists
were reaching in other areas: that only in a Jewish state, where Jews
would constitute the majority, could any Jew hope to live without the
fear of offending their gentile neighbors. As a good American Zionist
of the interwar period, however, Montor would not have advocated a
solution which cast aspersions on the potential for Jews to develop
freely in the United States, or which intimated that a Jewish state
should be a home for all Jews and not just the persecuted Jews of
Europe.100 Montor concluded instead that conservative, “self32
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
righteous”forces should not be allowed to stifle the“art”of the movies,
and that parents should realize that not all films were appropriate for
all audiences—that “irresponsible parents” should be stopped from
“convert[ing] motion picture houses into transient nurseries.”
Montor may not have been a radical, but he was ahead of his time.
He was certainly not alone among industry observers in suggesting
that movies should be restricted to age-appropriate audiences, but
such a system would not be adopted until 1968, when the Motion
Picture Producers Association (the successor to the MPPDA) replaced
the desiccated Production Code with the still-operative ratings
system. More importantly, however, in criticizing the attitude which
drove so much of American Jewish life, Montor articulated ideas that
would not become widely acceptable until the counterculture
movements of the 1960s challenged the cultural hegemony of middleclass white, male Protestants and promulgated a new ideal of ethnic,
racial, and gendered distinctiveness.
In the 1930s, however, concern over gentile perceptions still
dominated the Jewish relationship with the film industry. In their
activities on behalf of film reform, ADL, LA–JCC, and CCAR leaders
were motivated by a very real fear for the safety and future of
American Jewry, a fear born out of economic depression, political
uncertainty, and the worldwide spread of antisemitism. Not until
these problems were resolved would the American Jewish community
begin to rethink the place that the concern for appearances held in the
American Jewish mind.
Felicia Herman received her Ph.D. in Near Eastern and Judaic Studies from
Brandeis University 2002. She is currently a Program Officer at Jewish Life
Network/Steinhardt Foundation. The author would like to thank David Ben-Ur,
Andrea Most, Mark Raider, Jonathan D. Sarna, Rona Sheramy, and the attendees
at the Fourth Scholars’ Conference on American Jewish History commenting on
earlier versions of this essay. She would also like to thank the Jacob Rader
Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives for providing her with a
fellowship to conduct the research for this essay, and the American Jewish
Historical Society, the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue, Reform Congregation
Keneseth Israel, and the Urban Archives Center at California State University,
Northridge, for their expert assistance.
NOTES:
1. Maurice Samuel, Jews on Approval (New York: Liveright Inc. Publishers, 1932),
9, 39, 81.
33
American Jewish Archives Journal
2. Henry L. Feingold, Zion in America (New York: Hippocrene Books, Inc., 1974),
142.
3. John Murray Cuddihy, The Ordeal of Civility: Freud, Marx, Levi-Strauss and the
Jewish Struggle with Modernity (Basic Books, 1974; Boston: Beacon Press, 1987), x–xi.
4. On other groups, see Ruth Vasey’s account of the ways foreign governments
sought to shape images of themselves or their people on screen, The World According
to Hollywood, 1918–1939 (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1997); Steven
J. Ross has detailed the ways labor unions and other representatives of the working
class intervened on films relating to workers (as well as their construction of an
alternative cinema to combat negative images of workers in mainstream films) in
Working Class Hollywood: Silent Film and the Shaping of Class in America (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1998); and Thomas Cripps, Slow Fade to Black: The Negro in
American Film, 1900–1942 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), includes some
discussion of the NAACP’s efforts to better the screen image of African Americans. Of
course, this phenomenon is still alive and well: quite recently, the Clinton White
House’s Office of National Drug Control Policy launched a campaign to encourage
studios, directors, and screenwriters to include antidrug messages in their films. See
New York Times, July 12, 2000, A19 (hereafter, NYT).
5. There are many well known early examples of antisemitic attacks on the
industry. In 1920 Reverend Wilbur Fisk Crafts launched a crusade “to rescue the
motion pictures from the hands of the Devil and 500 un-Christian Jews,”and the next
year Henry Ford’s Dearborn Independent fulminated at length on “The Jewish Aspect of
the ‘Movie’ Problem” and “Jewish Supremacy in the Motion Picture World.” Canon
William Sheafe Chase’s 1921 volume Catechism on Motion Pictures in Inter-State
Commerce, a compendium of criticism of the industry, continued the trend of blaming
Jews for immoral pictures, citing the Dearborn Independent articles. In the early 1920s
well-known Methodist minister Bob Shuler used his pulpit, his magazine, and his
radio station to fume against, among others, “a few millionaire Jews [who were]
debauching the whole nation with suggestive and licentious films, in order to swell
their gate receipts and practically own and dominate, control and dictate to”
Americans. See Jewish Activities in the United States, Vol. II of the International Jew
(Dearborn, Mich.: The Dearborn Publishing Co., 1921), the second volume of
antisemitic articles from the Dearborn Independent; Steven Alan Carr, Hollywood and
Anti-Semitism: A Cultural History up to World War II (New York: Cambridge University
Press, 2001); and Harold Brackman,“The Attack on ‘Jewish Hollywood’: A Chapter in
the History of Modern American Anti-Semitism,”Modern Judaism 20 (February 2000):
1–19. On the older association of Jews with sexual perversion and immorality, see
Sander Gilman, The Jew’s Body (New York: Routledge, 1991), 113–27.
6. For film attendance figures, see Film Daily Year Book of Motion Pictures (1948):
65. On the effects of the Depression, see Andrew Bergman, We’re in the Money:
Depression America and its Films (New York University Press, 1971; Chicago: Elephant
Paperbacks, 1992) and Tino Balio, ed., Grand Design: Hollywood as a Modern Business
Enterprise, 1930–1939 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993).
7. The NRA Codes were declared unconstitutional in May 1935. See Balio, Grand
Design, 18–21; Colin Shindler, Hollywood in Crisis: Cinema and American Society,
1929–1939 (New York: Routledge Press, 1996), 32–51; Garth Jowett, Film: The
Democratic Art (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1976), 244–46; and Robert Sklar,
Movie-Made America: A Cultural History of American Movies (New York: Vintage Books,
34
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
1994), 168–71.
8. Garth S. Jowett, Ian C. Jarvie, and Kathryn H. Fuller, Children and the Movies:
Media Influence and the Payne Fund Controversy (New York: Cambridge University
Press, 1996), 7, 58.
9. For a history of early film reform efforts, see many of the articles in Francis G.
Couvares, ed., Movie Censorship and American Culture (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian
Institution Press, 1996); Eileen Bowser, The Transformation of Cinema, 1907–1915
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 48–52; Sklar, Movie-Made America,
30–32, 122–32; and Jowett, Film: The Democratic Art, 108–82.
10. On the Production Code and the circumstances leading to its passage and
reaffirmation, see Gregory D. Black, Hollywood Censored: Morality Codes, Catholics and
the Movies (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Thomas Doherty, Pre-Code
Hollywood: Sex, Immorality, and Insurrection in American Cinema, 1930–1934 (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1999); Garth S. Jowett, “Moral Responsibility and
Commercial Entertainment: Social Control in the United States Film Industry,
1907–1968,” Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television 10 (1990): 3–31; Richard
Maltby,“The Production Code and the Hays Office,”in Balio, ed., Grand Design, 37-72;
and Stephen Vaughn,“Morality and Entertainment: The Origins of the Motion Picture
Production Code,”Journal of American History 77 (June 1990): 39–65.
11. Lord put forth his version of the origins and content of the Code in his
memoir Played By Ear: The Autobiography of Daniel A. Lord, S. J. (Chicago: Loyola
University Press, 1956).
12. For an extensive analysis of films made within this period, see Doherty, PreCode Hollywood.
13. As Black observes, although few other Catholic leaders expressed antisemitic
views quite as vehemently as Breen, neither did any of his important
correspondents—including Martin Quigley, Father Parsons, Los Angeles Bishop John
Cantwell, and Cardinal Denis Dougherty of Philadelphia—see fit to reprimand him
for or disagree with his opinions: “all apparently saw some merit in placing a man
with such views in Hollywood.” Black, Hollywood Censored, 70, 172. On Breen’s
antisemitism, see Black, 70ff., 170ff.
14. Bishop John J. Cantwell, “Priests and the Motion Picture Industry,”
Ecclesiastical Review (February 1934): 143. The next year Cantwell submitted an article
for William Perlman’s volume The Movies on Trial that was essentially identical to his
1934 article. The paragraph from which this quote is taken, wherein he mentions the
Jewishness of many Hollywood executives, was eventually edited out by Perlman,
who consulted with Rabbi Sidney Goldstein on the question and agreed with the
rabbi that “the motion picture should be treated as a problem in the field of social
ethics and in the field of social morality and not as a sectarian problem at all.”
Goldstein to Perlman, May 9, 1935; see also Perlman to Goldstein, May 7, 1935, and
Perlman to Goldstein, May 11, 1935; Folder 82a, Rabbi Sidney E. Goldstein Papers,
Stephen S. Wise Free Synagogue Archives, New York, N.Y. Articles by Cantwell and
Goldstein eventually appeared in The Movies on Trial, William J. Perlman, ed. (New
York: The MacMillan Company, 1936).
15. The Churchman is quoted in Vaughn,“Morality and Entertainment,” 46; Fred
Eastman, “Who Controls the Movies?” Christian Century, February 5, 1930, 173.
Eastman probably did not mean any antisemitism—he even protested that he had not
“the slightest prejudice against either Jews or immigrants”and was later influential in
35
American Jewish Archives Journal
bringing Jewish cooperation with the reform crusade to the public’s attention.
Nevertheless, he felt that the Jewishness of the studio executives was essential to
understanding the state of the industry.
16. Theodore Dreiser,“The Real Sins of Hollywood,”Liberty, June 11, 1932, 6.
17. Quoted in Neal Gabler, An Empire of Their Own: How the Jews Invented
Hollywood (New York: Anchor Books, 1988), 278.
18. Quote from a Jewish communal leader in Detroit, cited in Feingold, Zion in
America, 147. For a discussion on the mindset of German Jews, see Naomi Cohen,
Encounter with Emancipation: German Jews in the United States, 1830–1914
(Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1984), especially 109ff.
19. Stephen J. Whitfield, American Space, Jewish Time: Essays in Modern Culture and
Politics (Armonk, N.Y.: North Castle Books, 1988), 152.
20. William Fineshriber to Albert Lasker, December 12, 1934, Folder B3, Papers of
Rabbi William H. Fineshriber, Archives of Reform Congregation Keneseth Israel,
Philadelphia, PA (hereafter, Fineshriber Papers).
21. Poll data can be found in Charles Herbert Stember, “The Recent History of
Public Attitudes,” in Charles Herbert Stember, ed; Jews in the Mind of America (New
York: Basic Books Inc., 1966), 114–15, 131, 137. Morton Keller discusses Stember’s
findings for the later ’30s and early ’40s in “Jews and the Character of American Life
Since 1930,”in Stember, ed., Jews in the Mind of America, 260–65. Keller concludes that
antisemitism never became part of America’s “major political responses to the
Depression,” nor did it constitute a significant portion even of movements on the
political fringes. See also Feingold, Zion in America, 271–73.
22. Leonard Dinnerstein, Antisemitism in America (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1994), 105.
23. Dinnerstein, Antisemitism in America, 105-27. On groups sympathetic to the
Nazis, see Donald S. Strong, Organized Anti-Semitism in America: The Rise of Group
Prejudice During the Decade 1930–1940 (Washington, D.C.: American Council on
Public Affairs, 1941).
24. See David M. Kennedy, Freedom From Fear: The American People in Depression
and War, 1929–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), especially 218–48. For
a fictional evocation of this uncertainty, see Sinclair Lewis, It Can’t Happen Here (P. F.
Collier, 1935; New York: Penguin Books, 1993).
25. Harry Schneiderman,“Review of the Year 5395,”American Jewish Year Book 37
(1935–36), 136
26. Editors of Fortune,“Jews in America,”Fortune (February 1936): 79.
27. Milton Steinberg, “First Principles for American Jews,” Contemporary Jewish
Record 4 (1941): 587.
28. See for example Sidney Wallach, “Must Jews Resign from Public Life?”
American Jewish World, June 15, 1934, 1.
29. Jonathan D. Sarna,“In Search of ‘Authentic’Anglo-Jewish Poetry: The Debate
over A. M. Klein’s Poems (1944),” in From Ancient Israel to Modern Judaism: Intellect in
Quest of Understanding: Essays in Honor of Marvin Fox, Vol. 4, Jacob Neusner, Ernest S.
Frerichs, and Nahum M. Sarna, eds. (Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1989), 125–35; the
quote appears on page 133.
30. Richard E. Gutstadt to Leon L. Lewis, March 2, 1934. Jewish FederationCouncil of Greater Los Angeles Community Relations Committee Collection, Urban
36
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
Archives Center, California State University, Northridge, Calif. (hereafter, LA–CRC
Papers).
31.“Bulletin Number Two,”Anti-Defamation League, Chicago, Ill n.d. (circa 1913 1914). David Philipson Papers, The Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the American
Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, Ohio (hereafter, AJA); and Report of Anti-Defamation
League (1915). Anti-Defamation League Papers, American Jewish Historical Society,
New York, N.Y., and Waltham, Mass. (hereafter, AJHS).
32. See Felicia Herman, “‘The Most Dangerous Anti-Semitic Photoplay in
Filmdom’: American Jews and The King of Kings (DeMille, 1927),”Velvet Light Trap 46
(Winter 2000): 12-25.
33. In fact, the relationship between the MPPDA and the ADL languished
between the premiere of The King of Kings and August 1933. After Hitler’s rise to
power in Germany, the ADL decided to revive its role as industry consultant. ADL
leaders hoped to prevent antisemitic characterizations from appearing on film
screens, believing that they would dangerously exacerbate the “somewhat tense
situation as it affects groups throughout the world.” See Gutstadt to Lewis, August
23, 1933; and Gutstadt to Fred Beetson, December 26, 1933, LA–CRC Papers.
34. “Church War on Films,” Hollywood Reporter, March 3, 1934, 1 (hereafter, HR).
On the Legion of Decency, see James M. Skinner, The Cross and the Cinema: The Legion
of Decency and the National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures, 1933–1970 (Westport,
Conn.: Praeger, 1993); Black, Hollywood Censored; Doherty, Pre-Code Hollywood;
Maltby,“The Production Code and the Hays Office,”59–61.
35. Quoted in Black, Hollywood Censored, 180. On Protestant and Jewish
cooperation with the Legion, see HR, June 19, 1934, 1; June 23, 1934, 1; June 23, 1934,
3; June 28, 1934, 1; and June 29, 1934, 1; Variety, July 17, 1934, 5; Fred Eastman,“The
Movie Outlook Today,” American Jewish World, November 23, 1934, 3; NYT, June 23,
1934, 1; July 9, 1934, 1; July 10, 1934, 1; July 17, 1934, 21; July 18, 1934, 14; and July 24,
1934, 19.
36. Richard Gutstadt to Leon Lewis, May 31, 1934; see also Gutstadt to Mendel
Silverberg [sic], June 15, 1934, LA–CRC Papers.
37. “Memorandum,” (statement of activities since June 1933) 1934, LA–CRC
Papers.
38. Lewis to Gutstadt, September 1, 1933, LA–CRC Papers. On Nazism in
America, see Dinnerstein, Anti-Semitism in America and Leland V. Bell, In Hitler’s
Shadow: The Anatomy of American Nazism (Port Washington, N.Y.: National University
Publications, 1973). Los Angeles was the western headquarters of the Friends of the
New Germany, which would eventually become the German-American Bund, and
many of the pro-Nazi activities in the area were tied in some way to this large group.
Investigating Nazi sympathizers at the studios constituted a major part of the JCC’s
work; there is much correspondence and many reports in the LA–CRC Papers which
discuss it. On Paramount, for example, see,“N.2. Confidential Report,”April 10, 1936,
and “N.2. Supplementary Report,” August 16, 1936; Mrs. Leo Strauss to L. A. Rose,
August 5, 1936; Folder 3, Part 1, Series I, Subseries A; on MGM, see Lewis to Fred
Pelton, May 27, 1936, Folder 9, Part 1, Series I, Subseries A; Meeting Minutes,
November 24, 1934, Folder 14, Part 2, Series I, Subseries C; Lewis to Sigmund
Livingston, May 24, 1933, all in LA–CRC Papers.
39. On Lewis’s battles with local B’nai B’rith chapter President Harry Graham
Balter, see Harry Graham Balter to Isidore Golden, March 25, 1933; Lewis to Balter,
37
American Jewish Archives Journal
March 27, 1933; Golden to Lewis, March 28, 1933; Lewis to Livingston, May 24, 1933,
LA–CRC Papers. For Lewis’s version of the founding of the LA–JCC, see Lewis to
Allie Freed, May 15, 1934, LA–CRC Papers. As Lewis boasted to Freed,“[e]very Jew
holding any important public office is on the Committee, including one Federal Judge
and four Judges in the State Courts, as well as members of several city commissions,
in addition to members of the ‘nobility.’” The organizational meeting of the LA–JCC
drew such local figures as Mendel Silberberg, Harry Graham Balter, I. B. Benjamin,
David Blumberg, Louis Greenbaum, Judge Harry Hollzer, Irving Lipschitz, Rabbi
Edgar Magnin, Marco Newmark, Judge Isaac Pacht, Aaron Riche, Arthur Rosenblum,
Judge Lester Roth, Judge Ben Scheinman, Dr. Maurice Smith, Louis Nordlinger, David
Ackerman, and Felix Jonas. “Memorandum of Meeting,” March 9, 1934, LA–CRC
Papers. See also Max Vorspan and Lloyd P. Gartner, History of the Jews of Los Angeles
(Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1970), 221ff.
40.“Memorandum of Meeting Held at Hillcrest Country Club,” March 13, 1934,
LA–CRC Papers. Neal Gabler is mistaken when he asserts that Jews in the film
industry “dominated” the LA–JCC: they were, instead, concentrated in the Motion
Picture Committee. See Gabler, An Empire of Their Own, 296–97.
41. Although most studies of Jews in the film industry take pains to emphasize
their lack of commitment to Jewish causes, none have discussed industry figures’
support of the LA–JCC. Many Jews in the industry were galvanized by the need to
fight Nazism and antisemitism after 1933, and they supported the LA–JCC both out
of a fear of antisemitic reprisals against the industry and Jews in general and out of a
desire to support the antidefamation work being conducted in their local area, even in
their own studios. The industry contributed almost 70 percent of the LA–JCC’s
funding in its first year and continued this trend in subsequent years; each studio was
assessed a donation quota based on its size and percentage of Jewish executives. See
Lewis to Gutstadt, March 21, 1934; Lewis to Gutstadt, January 17, 1935; “Statement of
Cash Receipts and Disbursements,” March 30, 1934–October 31, 1935; “Summary,”
n.d. (in Financial Files for 1933–35), with figures for 1933 and 1934, all in LA–CRC
Papers.
42. Gutstadt to Lewis, March 29, 1934, LA–CRC Papers.
43. Gutstadt to Lewis, September 20, 1934, LA–CRC Papers.
44. Lewis to Sigmund Livingston, July 13, 1934, LA–CRC Papers. The changes
included an agreement that all MPPDA member films would have to win the new
Production Code Administration’s (PCA) “purity seal” before release; that Joseph
Breen would become the PCA director; that appeals of PCA decisions would no
longer go through a jury of producers, but rather through MPPDA board members;
and that exhibitors could cancel the showing of any picture released before July 15,
1934, if there were a “genuine”moral protest against it. These meetings were held on
the heels of an announcement in film trade papers that a Catholic delegation was
about to go to Hollywood to confront producers. HR, July 9, 1934, 1; HR, July 12, 1934,
1, 3.
45. Lewis to Sigmund Livingston, July 13, 1934, LA–CRC Papers.
46. In fact, Lewis told Gutstadt in March 1934 that he had been so busy that he
“rarely” attended movies anymore, and “then only some pictures of outstanding
merit.” Lewis to Gutstadt, March 7, 1934, LA-CRC Papers.
47. Balio, Grand Design, 21–26.
48. On the strife between German Jews and East European Jews in the United
38
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
States, see Cohen, Encounter with Emancipation, 301–44; Moses Rischin, The Promised
City: New York’s Jews, 1870–1914 (New York: Harvard University Press, 1962), 95–114;
Stephen Birmingham,“Our Crowd”: The Great Jewish Families of New York (New York:
Harper & Row, 1967), 289–97; Feingold, Zion in America, 142–57; and Gerald Sorin, A
Time for Building: the Third Migration, 1880–1920 (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1992), 62–68, 86–88, 146, 162–63. This is also an underlying theme
of Arthur A. Goren, New York Jews and the Quest for Community: The Kehillah
Experiment, 1908-1922 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1970). For an overview
of the literature on the gendered dimensions to this clash, see Paula E. Hyman, Gender
and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History: The Roles and Representations of Women
(Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1995).
49. Sander Gilman defines Jewish self-hatred as Jews’“acceptance of the mirage
of themselves generated by their reference group—that group in society which they
see as defining them—as a reality.” Although he does not apply his analysis to an
American context until he reaches the 1960s—with the novels of Philip Roth and the
films of Woody Allen—he does analyze in detail the Central European/East European
Jewish dynamic which permeated modern European Jewish life. Sander Gilman,
Jewish Self-Hatred: Anti-Semitism and the Hidden Language of the Jews (Baltimore: The
Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 2, 106–7, 253–55. Interestingly, a recent
volume on the history of antisemitism has been criticized for placing too heavy an
emphasis on the ways in which Jewish behaviors and attitudes might have promoted
antisemitism in the modern era. See Alan Steinweis, review of Esau’s Tears: Modern
Anti-Semitism and the Rise of the Jews, by Albert S. Lindemann, H-Antisemitism, H-Net
Reviews, October 1997, available from www.h-net.msu.edu/reviews/showrev.
cgi?path=16305880493317, internet; and John Abbott, review of Anti-Semitism Before
the Holocaust, by Albert Lindemann, H-Antisemitism, H-Net Reviews, July 2000,
available from www.h-net.msu.edu/reviews/showrev.cgi?path=17290959011107,
internet.
50. Quoted in Dinnerstein, Antisemitism in America, 123–24. See also Sorin, A
Time for Building, 146.
51. Jean-Paul Sartre, Anti-Semite and Jew (New York: Schocken Books, 1965), 1056. Of course the Nazis would put the notion of Jewish collective responsibility to very
concrete and diabolical purposes during the Holocaust, often killing groups of Jews in
retribution for the perceived crimes of a few.
52. Rabbi Samuel Goldenson was the third and last member of the committee,
but as president of the CCAR he was preoccupied with other issues. Fineshriber and
Goldstein performed almost all of the work of the committee.
53. “United Synagogue Condemns Obscene Motion Pictures,” B’nai B’rith
Messenger, May 18, 1934, 1; Annual Report of the Synagogue Council of America, 1934,
in Sixty-First Annual Report of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations (1935), 1078; National Council of Jewish Women resolution, n.d., clipping in Fineshriber Papers.
The national organizations inspired local groups to endorse similar resolutions. For
example, in Minneapolis a group of five rabbis declared themselves in accordance
with the Synagogue Council’s resolution and passed one of their own which
condemned immoral entertainment of all kinds. See American’s Jewish World, October
19, 1934, 1.
54. On the transformation of Reform Judaism in this period, see Michael A.
Meyer, Response to Modernity: A History of the Reform Movement in Judaism (Detroit:
39
American Jewish Archives Journal
Wayne State University Press, 1988), 296, 334.
55. See for example, HR, June 9, 1934, 1; HR, June 15, 1934, 1.
56. Yearbook of the Central Conference of American Rabbis 44 (1934), 134.
57. Charles E. Shulman to Samuel Goldenson, June 4, 1934; Goldenson to
Schulman, June 7, 1934, Box 16, Folder 10: also Sidney Wallach to Goldenson, April 5,
1934, Box 16, Folder 12, CCAR Papers.
58. I thank Dr. Gary Zola of the American Jewish Archives for drawing my
attention to the question of the identities and significance of the resolution’s
proponents. These were important men, many of whom served in large Reform
pulpits across the nation and were leaders in the movement and in other Jewish
organizations. This lent the resolution authority and demonstrates the significance of
the issue to Reform rabbis. The nine rabbis who presented the initial resolution
included two past and three future CCAR presidents and other rabbis active in the
CCAR, ADL, and National Conference of Christians and Jews: Shulman and G.
George Fox of Chicago, Ill.; Max Currick of Erie, Pa.; Abraham Feldman of West
Hartford, Conn.; Edward N. Calisch of Richmond,Va.; Joseph L. Baron of Milwaukee,
Wis.; Harry S. Margolis of St. Paul, Minn.; Louis Wolsey of Philadelphia, Pa.; and
Solomon Landman of New York City, N.Y.
59. Yearbook of the Central Conference of American Rabbis 44 (1934): 133-34.
60. Of those who did belong to a synagogue, only two-fifths (about fifty-four
thousand) were affiliated with the Reform movement: hardly a major challenge to the
box office, especially since most Reform Jews did not live in the major urban centers
that constituted the prime box office markets. For statistics on members of Reform
congregations from 1873-1980, see Marc Lee Raphael, Profiles in American Judaism:
The Reform, Conservative, Orthodox and Reconstructionist Traditions in Historical
Perspective (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985), 197-98.
61. As Sidney Goldstein acknowledged, the chief difficulty of boycotts was that
enforcement required a highly organized and thoroughly disciplined group. Catholics
in some cities could enforce this sort of discipline, but neither Protestants nor Jews,
Goldstein knew, possessed a similar organization or discipline. Sidney E. Goldstein,
“The Motion Picture and Social Control,” in The Movies on Trial, William J. Perlman,
ed. (New York: The MacMillan Company, 1936), 223-24. On dissension over Zionism,
see Menahem Kaufman, An Ambiguous Partnership: Non-Zionists and Zionists in
America, 1939-48 (Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, 1991); on the German boycott
movement, see Dollinger, Quest for Inclusion, 44-49; and Moshe R. Gottleib, American
Anti-Nazi Resistance, 1933-1941: An Historical Analysis (New York: Ktav Publishing
House, Inc., 1982).
62. Yearbook of the Central Conference of American Rabbis 44 (1934): 134.
63. Fineshriber to Dr. Samuel McCrea Cavert and Most Rev. John T. McNicholas,
June 25, 1934, Folder B/2, Fineshriber Papers. For examples of press coverage, see
NYT, June 19, 1934, 24; June 27, 1934, 21; and HR, June 19, 1934, 1.
64. Tippy also told the New York Times of Fineshriber’s letter, publicizing the
CCAR’s desire to cooperate. Worth M. Tippy to Fineshriber, June 27, 1934; Fineshriber
to Tippy, June 28, 1934, Folder B/2, Fineshriber Papers. See NYT, June 27, 1934, 21.
65. Robert A. Ashworth to Goldenson, June 26, 1934, Box 15, Folder 17, CCAR
Papers; Ashworth to Fineshriber, November 30, 1934, Folder B/2; and Louis Minsky to
Fineshriber, December 3, 1934, folder B/3, Fineshriber Papers.
66. As soon as they located the letter, McNicholas’s secretary told Fineshriber, “I
40
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
called it to the attention of the Archbishop and he asked me to answer it for him
immediately.” See William J. Gauche to Fineshriber, September 6, 1934, Folder B/2,
Fineshriber Papers.
67. Rabbi William F. Rosenblum of New York noted the Catholic reluctance to
cooperate as well. Rosenblum headed the ADL motion picture committee in New
York, and he told Fineshriber in January that he believed that “the Legion of Decency
does not seem to want our cooperation because the Catholics have branched out for
themselves. “This convinced him that it was more important for Jewish groups to try
to prevent antisemitic films than to cooperate with the Catholics–a logical conclusion
for an ADL representative. William F. Rosenblum to Fineshriber, January 2, 1935,
Folder B/4, Fineshriber Papers.
68. NYT, July 10, 1934, 1; NYT, July 17, 1934, 21; NYT, July 21, 1934, 14; NYT July
24, 1934, 19.
69. NYT, July 16, 1934, 11.
70. NYT, July 16, 1934, 11; NYT, July 25, 1934, 22; NYT, July 26, 1934, 14.
71. NYT, July 24, 1934, 19. A year later Goldstein was still proposing this idea as
a superior system to self-regulation. See Goldstein, “The Motion Picture and Social
Control,” 227.
72. Tippy to Fineshriber, October 22, 1934, Folder B/2, Fineshriber Papers.
73. Fineshriber to Goldenson, October 24, 1934, Folder B/2, Fineshriber Papers.
At the end of September, the film trade presses reported that the leadership of the film
reform campaign seemed to be getting into the hands of the Protestant churches.
See HR, September 25, 1934, 3.
74. On Wise’s involvement, see Fineshriber to Goldenson, October 24, 1934,
Folder B/2, Fineshriber Papers. On Warner’s views in this instance, see Goldstein to
Goldenson, November 21, 1934, Box 16, Folder 18, CCAR Papers; Harry Warner to
Goldstein, November 5, 1934, Folder B/2, Fineshriber Papers; Warner to Goldenson,
December 10, 1934, Box 16, Folder 18, CCAR Papers. For general information about
Warner’s moralistic stance toward moviemaking, see Cass Warner Sperling and Cork
Millner, with Jack Warner, Jr., Hollywood Be Thy Name: The Warner Brothers Story
(Lexington, Ky.: The University Press of Kentucky, 1998). For a particular application
of this stance, see Michael E. Birdwell, Celluloid Soldiers: Warner Bros.’s Campaign
Against Nazism (New York: New York University Press, 1999).
75. On Fineshriber’s intentions to remind Jewish executives of their responsibility
to the community, see Fineshriber to Fanny Brin, April 13, 1935, Folder B/5,
Fineshriber Papers; for industry figures’ responses to Fineshriber’s visit, see Warner to
Fineshriber, January 16, 1935; Bob Lord to Jack Warner, January 16, 1935; William
Goetz to Fineshriber, January 19, 1935; Hays to Joseph Hagerdorn, January 19, 1935,
Folder B/4, Fineshriber Papers. See also Louis B. Mayer et al, to Fineshriber, January
16, 1935, Box 16, Folder 16, CCAR Papers.
76. Report, Special Committee, Central Conference of American Rabbis, Motion
Picture Industry, March 24, 1935, Fineshriber Papers.
77. Report, Special Committee, Central Conference of American Rabbis, Motion
Picture Industry, March 24, 1935, Fineshriber Papers. For press coverage, see NYT,
March 25, 1935, 13; Jewish Daily Bulletin, March 25, 1935; Evening Ledger
(Philadelphia), March 25, 1935; American Jewish World (Minneapolis and St. Paul),
March 29,1935; American Hebrew and Jewish Tribune, April 5, 1935; and NYT, March
25,1935, 13.
41
American Jewish Archives Journal
78. Goldstein to Fineshriber, February 26, 1935; Fineshriber to Goldstein,
February 28, 1935, Box 16, Folder 16, CCAR Papers. Goldenson had expressed his
approval of Fineshriber’s report on February 21.
79. HR, January 9, 1935, 1; HR, January 11, 1935, 1; HR, January 18, 1935, 1.
80. The passage of the Columbus Platform in 1937 symbolized the ideological
and leadership changes the movement was undergoing. Revising the Pittsburgh
Platform of 1887, the archetypal statement of Classical Reform Judaism, the
Columbus Platform offered a more traditional version of liberal Judaism that focused
on Torah, God, and Israel and emphasized both the value of religious observance and
the importance of Jewish peoplehood (not simply Jewish religion). Perhaps the most
radical departure from the earlier statement of principles, however, was the Columbus
Platform’s endorsement of Zionism as both a worthy political and cultural movement.
For the text of both platforms, see Meyer, Response to Modernity, 387-91; the platforms
are analyzed on 268-70 and 319-20.
81. Fineshriber to Goldenson, November 30, 1934, Box 15, Folder 19, CCAR
Papers.
82. The NCJC changed its name to the National Conference of Christians and
Jews in 1938-39; on its history, see Benny Kraut, “Towards the Establishment of the
National Conference of Christians and Jews: The Tenuous Road to Religious Goodwill
in the 1920s,” American Jewish History 77 (1988): 388-412. On goodwill in general, see
Benny Kraut, “A Wary Collaboration: Jews, Catholics, and the Protestant Goodwill
Movement,” in Between the Times: The Travail of the Protestant Establishment in America,
1900-1960, William R. Hutchinson, ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1989).
83. Sidney E. Goldstein to Goldenson, June 23, 1934, Box 15, Folder 21, CCAR
Papers; Sidney E. Goldstein, “The Motion Picture and Social Control,” The Movies on
Trial, 230.
84. On Goldstein, see Sidney E. Goldstein, The Synagogue and Social Welfare: A
Unique Experiment (1907-1953) (New York: Bloch Publishing Company, 1955); Who’s
Who in American Jewry (1938): 365; on Wise, see Leonard J. Mervis, “The Social Justice
Movement and the American Reform Rabbi,” American Jewish Archives 7 (1955):
203ff.; and Melvin I. Urofsky, A Voice That Spoke for Justice: The Life and Times of Stephen
S. Wise (New York: State University of New York, 1982).
85. In 1918 the CCAR adopted its first social justice platform, and by the 1920s
and 1930s the Conference s pronouncements on the subject were so liberal that they
effectively promoted socialism-much to the dismay of Reform lay people, many of
whom comprised the capitalists the rabbinate was so eager to condemn. See Meyer,
Response to Modernity, 286-89, 309.
86. Goldstein, “The Motion Picture and Social Control,” 208.
87. In 1934-35, for example, the CCAR was just beginning to endorse Zionism,
Wise’s most dearly held belief. Yet among those Reform rabbis who remained most
steadfastly opposed to Zionism were Fineshriber and Goldenson. And of course,
throughout the 1930s, Wise’s American Jewish Congress locked horns with the B’nai
B’rith and the American Jewish Committee over the proper tactics for confronting
Nazism.
88. Goldstein to Goldenson, March 1, 1935, Box 16, Folder 18, CCAR Papers.
Fineshriber’s attitude toward Hays can be traced back to a three-and-a-half-hour
meeting which the two men and Harry Warner had in New York in November. Hays
42
American Jews and the Effort to Reform Motion Pictures
had assured Fineshriber of his desire to see Fineshriber’s efforts succeed, and he
explained the ways in which he had tried on his own to reform the film industry. Hays
even offered to pay the CCAR committee’s expenses to Los Angeles, which
Fineshriber declined. Nevertheless, Fineshriber told Goldenson that“Hays impressed
me as being definitely serious in his desire to improve the status of the motion picture
industry…he has earnestly striven to make those men see the error of their ways.”
Goldstein could not have agreed less. On the same day Fineshriber defended Hays’s
sincerity to Goldenson, Goldstein told Fineshriber that he had no faith in Hays or in
any of his pronouncements: “His record is so disappointing that I am afraid we cannot
rely upon his promise to reform the industry fundamentally and permanently.
Neither the Catholics nor the Protestants have any confidence in Will Hays, and my
own experience leads me to share their views.” Fineshriber to Goldstein, November
27, 1934 and Goldstein to Fineshriber, November 30, 1934, Folder B/2, Fineshriber
Papers; Fineshriber to Goldenson, November 30, 1934, Box 15, Folder 19, CCAR
Papers.
89. Goldstein to Fineshriber, February 26, 1935, 16/16, CCAR Papers
90. Goldstein to Goldenson, March 8, 1935; and Goldstein to Goldenson, March
22, 1935, 16/18, CCAR Papers. Executive Board Meeting Minutes, March 12, 1935; and
Board Meeting Minutes, April 9, 1935. Federation of Jewish Women’s Organizations
Papers, AJHS.
91. See correspondence in Folder 82a, The Movies on Trial, in Goldstein Papers.
92. Goldstein had complained about the industry; Fineshriber defended it,
especially the films like those produced recently by Warner Bros., which “revealed a
very fine, liberal, social spirit, and had a tremendous effect upon those who saw them.
I wish you would let me know what pictures that you have seen recently that you
consider dangerous to the morale of children and adolescents,” Fineshriber
concluded rather sarcastically. “I would like to see them, and then take the matter up
with the proper authorities.” See for example Fineshriber to Goldstein, December 15,
1937, Folder 18, Goldstein Papers.
93. Goldstein to Goldenson, June 23, 1934, Box 15, Folder 21, CCAR Papers.
94. Howard M. Sachar, A History of the Jews in America (New York: Vintage Books,
1992), 558.
95. Louis Minsky, “The Jews and the Movies,” B’nai B’rith Messenger, June 29,
1934, 11; see also “Purging the Films,” Opinion: A Journal of Jewish Life and Letters
(August 1934): 5; Evan Geffen,“Men and Events,” Opinion: A Journal of Jewish Life and
Letters (August 1934): 25; Joseph Brainin,“Should Jews Join Movie Crusade? YES It is
Imperative,” B’nai B’rith Messenger, July 27, 1934, 9. (Many of the articles about the
film industry were syndicated and thus appeared in several papers; I have only listed
one source per article.)
96.“Cleansing the Movies”, American Jewish World, July 27, 1934, 4. For a similar
sentiment, see “Christian Raps Jews Who Join the Crusade Against Hollywood,” B’nai
B’rith Messenger, October 12, 1934, 10. Rabbi William F. Rosenblum of New York
expressed the same opinion in the Jewish Transcript (Seattle), October 19, 1934,
clipping in Fineshriber Papers.
97. Bernard Levin,“A Cleanup for the Movies and More,”Chicago Jewish Chronicle,
July 6, 1934, 3.
98. Henry Montor, “Should Jews Join the Movie Crusade? NO!,”American Jewish
World September 7, 1934, 7. By using the example of Jews voting for themselves,
Montor was arguing that it was hypocritical for those who asserted that there was no
43
Jewish vote to then try to convince all Jews to ascribe to the same moral viewpoint on
film reform.
99. Similarly, Andre Sennwald lamented in the New York Times that the crusade
would put an end to “adult” and “sophisticated” films and would lead to “an abrupt
retreat from the vital questions which were being discussed in the best products of the
new literature and new theatre.” See “Reflections and News of the Screen,” NYT,
January 6, 1935, sec. 9, 5.
100. For a general overview of American Zionism, see Melvin I. Urofsky,
American Zionism: From Herzl to the Holocaust (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska
Press, 1975).
Hoover, Palestine, and the American
Jewish Community
Sonja Wentling
The state of Israel and its special relationship with the United
States have been political realities for the better half of the twentieth
century. Indeed, the fulfillment of political Zionism in the creation of
a Jewish state has colored the interpretations of some scholars’
assessment of the pre-1948 period, often leading to a Zionocentric
interpretation of U.S. interwar history. In a recent article published in
American Jewish History,1 Rafael Medoff discusses the historiography
of American Zionism and points to the somewhat unbalanced
treatment of pre-World War II Zionism. Even though new scholarship
has been more willing to scrutinize controversial topics, these studies
have not paid enough attention to the phenomenon of non-Zionism
as an important aspect of the American Zionist experience.
The years of the Hoover administration, in particular, have been
largely ignored and an analysis of the triangular relationship between
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish community is long
overdue. A closer look at the Palestine riots of August 1929 will shed
new light on the American response to the crisis and reveal that the
non-Zionism of key members of the American Jewish leadership
influenced the degree of Jewish activism and intervention at high
levels of government and in turn affected Hoover’s attitude and policy
on Zionism.
A Zionocentric approach to interwar history deemphasizes the
complex nature of Zionism and its nuanced relationship to American
Jewish identity. There is a large body of literature discussing the nature
of American Zionism and most historians acknowledge its
uniqueness, since American Zionists, for the most part, do not
envision migration to Palestine as the final and inescapable conclusion
to Jewish nationalism.2 Consequently, American Jews, though
supportive of a Jewish national home in Palestine, did not personally
participate in the creation of it, and according to some scholars, the
price of this cultural Zionism was its inability to respond to the
cataclysmic events of the 1930s and 1940s. This interpretation,
45
American Jewish Archives Journal
however, glosses over two significant points. First, it washes over the
finer nuances of American Zionism that encompass a wide spectrum
of ideas and internal divisions. Second, it endorses the “what if”
approach to history: If American Jews had been better Zionists, they
would have been better equipped to deal with the refugee crisis and
the Holocaust. Henry Feingold takes issue with the “what if”approach
and deplores the Zionocentric discussion of American Jewish history.
He also points to the fact that the wholesale Zionization of American
Jewry was neither accomplished by ideological nor cultural Zionism,
but by the reality of the refugee crisis.3
The Zionocentric approach also spills over into discussions
concerning the dynamics between Zionism and U.S. foreign policy.
Some studies charge that the Hoover administration had legal
grounds to play a more activist role in Palestinian affairs and criticize
the U.S. government’s reluctance on behalf of a Jewish national home
in Palestine. State Department elitism and traditional WASP attitudes
did play a role in formulating an anti-Zionist policy, but it would
amount to historical reductionism to ignore other determining factors,
both domestic and foreign. Any critical analysis must take into account
such issues as the appeal of political Zionism to American Jews, the
role and influence of anti-Zionists and/or non-Zionists, the principles
and guidelines of Hoover’s foreign policy, the burgeoning
rapprochement between the United States and Great Britain, and last
but not least, the particular circumstances surrounding Palestine as a
mandate of Great Britain and a hotbed of competing interests.4
Furthermore, a Zionocentric interpretation sometimes leads to an
overestimation of the potency and uniformity of Jewish mobilization.
Given the complexity of the Zionist movement during the interwar
period and the diversity of opinions and actions within the Jewish
community, notions of the Zionist lobby determining or even
modifying policy are farfetched.5
And finally, not only have historians paid little attention to the
dynamics between Zionism and the Hoover administration, but as yet
no study has analyzed or even chronicled Herbert Hoover’s
relationship with the American Jewish community. Many of the issues
that have been debated exhaustively by Hoover historians like Joan
Hoff, David Burner, Lloyd Craig, and Martin Fausold also reappear in
his relations with American Jews. The many facets of Hoover’s
character—engineer, progressive, humanitarian, aggressive introvert,
46
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish Community
and administrative genius—are briefly touched upon and provide the
parameters for an analysis of Hoover’s persona.6
The official U.S. response to Zionism and its aspirations for a
Jewish national home in Palestine has followed a consistent historical
pattern with different levels of government showing varying degrees
of sympathy for Jewish nationalism in the Holy Land. Historically,
Congress showed the strongest support and sympathy for Zionism
and endorsed the idea of a Jewish national home as early as 1922. The
executive branch has been somewhat less supportive, although every
president since Woodrow Wilson has issued a statement of sympathy
for the Palestine enterprise. The least support for Zionism has come
from the State Department, where various officials were affiliated with
the Protestant mission in the Middle East and thus showed keen
interest in Arab nationalism and self-determination. At times the
department has even shown outright hostility to the Zionist cause.7
The divided attitude of the U.S. government toward Zionism was
especially obvious during the early years of the Palestine Mandate,
when American Zionism was itself in disarray and debating various
political and ideological aims. It was not until August 1929 that leaders
of the Zionist and non-Zionist communities joined hands and
established the Enlarged Jewish Agency to create a more united effort
in building the Jewish national home in Palestine. This joint
agreement rested on the willingness of both sides to advance the
social and economic development of Palestine, whereby non-Zionists
were the designated fund-raisers and expected to bankroll such
projects. Although non-Zionists encouraged Zionism’s practical work
in and for the Holy Land, they fervently rejected its underlying
philosophy. The concept of non-Zionism in the United States centered
on its opposition to a nationalist ideology. The non-Zionists persisted
in their own definition of the term “Jewish national home,” agreeing
with the Zionists that the Jews were in Palestine by right and therefore
were entitled to develop the land without prejudice to the Arab
population, but denying at the same time that the Jews were entitled
to claim political sovereignty.8
The non-Zionist position is probably best illustrated in a letter
from Louis Marshall, the powerful chairman of the American Jewish
Committee (AJC), to Heinrich Stern of Berlin. “Let me premise by
saying that I have never been a member of the Zionist Organization,
that I am not a nationalist, and that I take pride in my American
47
American Jewish Archives Journal
citizenship and in my loyalty to Judaism.
At the same time I have always felt an
inner urge in favor of the up building [sic]
of Palestine, in seeking to afford to such
Jews as desired to take up their homes in
the land of our fathers.”9 Shortly before
the creation of the Enlarged Jewish
Agency in August 1929, the so-called
pact of glory between Zionist and nonZionist Jews, Marshall warned Chaim
Weizmann, president of the World
Zionist Organization in London, that “it
was important that the non-Zionists of
this country—and the same is true of
those of other lands—should not be
called upon to surrender any of their
Louis Marshall
(courtesy American Jewish Archives)
convictions on matters which may be
termed political in their nature, and that
to use an American expression, the idea of ‘nationalism’ should not be
‘rubbed in.’”10
With Zionism not clearly defined and encompassing a wide
spectrum of interpretations, the response of the U.S. government to
Zionist issues and events in Palestine has to be carefully evaluated.
Historical studies have indicted the Hoover administration with
charges ranging from aloofness, inaction, and indifference to outright
hostility toward Zionist aspirations in the Holy Land. Yet, the
movement of political Zionism was small, struggling to attract
membership, to establish larger ground in the predominantly nonZionist American Jewish community, and to increase access to the
White House. Louis Lipsky, the head of the Zionist Organization of
America (ZOA), did not gain access to the Hoover White House. Max
Rhoade, the designated Zionist lobbyist in Washington, only
communicated with Hoover’s secretaries and was unable to gain the
president’s ear even during the Palestine crisis of August 1929. The
ZOA’s lack of centralized planning, coordination of resources, and
sense of timing produced no tangible results.11 The non-Zionist
shtadlanim of the American Jewish community, on the other hand,
more readily fit the task of lobbying. Men like Louis Marshall and Felix
M. Warburg had easier access to heads of both Jewish and non-Jewish
48
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish Community
organizations, to government officials, and even to the chief executive,
thereby considerably shaping Hoover’s outlook and approach toward
Zionist issues.
Hoover’s acquaintance with members of the American Jewish
community and his familiarity with some of their issues and concerns
went back as far as 1917. Then appointed to head the American Food
Administration and later the American Relief Administration (ARA)
under President Wilson, Hoover quickly gained a reputation for
efficiently managing relief throughout Europe. It was at this time that
a young Jew named Lewis L. Strauss offered his services free of charge
to Hoover and served as his private secretary in relief efforts
throughout Europe. Strauss not only became one of Hoover’s most
trusted friends but was devoted to him like a son. Two years with
Hoover and European relief work led to Strauss’s job with Kuhn, Loeb
& Co.,12 which in turn introduced him to influential Republican
German-Jewish leaders like Felix Warburg and Louis Marshall.
Hoover, who had a tendency to rely on the expertise of trusted friends
and advisors, gained in Strauss a valuable counsel on Jewish matters
and a liaison between the Jewish community and American relief
work in war-torn Europe.13
Hoover’s record on aiding the Jewish Joint Distribution
Committee (JJDC) relief efforts in Eastern Europe during and after
World War I earned him a reputation as a humanitarian and special
friend of the Jewish people and brought him into contact with the
leading philanthropists of the American Jewish community. As early
as 1920 Lewis Strauss wrote a feature article for the American Hebrew
on Herbert C. Hoover and the Jews of Eastern Europe in which he
painted Hoover as a champion of Jewish rights.14
Since the primary efforts of American non-Zionists in the 1920s
concentrated on European relief and issues affecting the rights of
religious minorities, Hoover, as secretary of commerce, was contacted
in his capacity as an efficient manager of relief and as a humanitarian.
In the aftermath of the postwar Red Scare and in the context of the
twenties’ resurgent nativism, Hoover’s messages regarding the idea
and realization of a Jewish homeland in Palestine praised the project’s
quality as “an asylum for the less fortunate masses of Jewish people.”
The secretary of commerce, however, was careful to remind Jewish
Americans that “America must be their real homeland.”15 Hoover then
shared the non-Zionist view and objective of Jewish nation-building
49
American Jewish Archives Journal
in Palestine. As an engineer and progressive he showed keen interest
in the social and economic development of Palestine and admired the
technological accomplishments of Jewish pioneers. But as an
American of the nativist 1920s, Hoover was concerned about any
semblance of dual loyalty or unpatriotic activity.
In the wake of the 1928 presidential election, Hoover received
high praise from members of the Jewish community, especially from
those who had been in personal contact with him during the relief
work in Europe.16 A 1929 booklet, chronicling and celebrating the relief
efforts of the JJDC, was dedicated to Hoover the humanitarian. A
campaign circular, written in English and Yiddish by Rabbi Abraham
Burstein and distributed in New York, referred to Hoover as “The
Modern Moses of WarStricken Europe: He led Israel
out of Slavery of Starvation
and Despair.”17
Yet, while Hoover’s record on
Jewish matters was well
known among his nonZionist friends, most Jews
were unaware of his service
on behalf of European Jews.
Louis Marshall, head of the
American Jewish Committee,
Mr. & Mrs. Felix M. Warburg and Dr. & Mrs. Chaim
the
largest
Jewish
Weizmann at the United Palestine Appeal Conference,
organization
in
the
United
Boston, 1928
(courtesy American Jewish Archives)
States at the time, realized
that and therefore advised Hoover against any last-minute effort to
increase the Jewish vote. This would be hypocritical of a Republican
Party that only tended to court Jewish voters around election time.18
Felix Warburg agreed, praising Hoover for his character and the fact
that he was not like professional politicians who purposely catered to
Jews in order to get their votes. Hoover, according to Warburg, was
even uncomfortable with the idea of advertising his actions on behalf
of the Jews. “Knowing Mr. Hoover as I do, however, I am convinced
that these and other facts [Hoover’s humanitarian work] can only be
used in the campaign without his consent and therefore with great
circumspection. He is extremely sensitive and would be embarrassed
to find political capital manufactured from actions which he feels are
50
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish Community
personal, and only in the line of duty to his fellow men.”19
Little did Hoover know that the first foreign policy crisis of his
presidency would involve Jewish America and the Zionist venture in
Palestine. Political Zionism and American interests in Palestine were
brought to the fore when, in the early months of the Hoover
administration, the British mandate was badly shaken by a week of
murder, pillage, and destruction. In August 1929 Arabs openly
attacked Jews in Jerusalem, and rioting quickly spread throughout the
country, leaving hundreds dead, including eight American Jews. The
riots resulted from a dispute over religious observances at the Western
Wall in Jerusalem and laid bare contradictory British pledges to both
Arabs and Jews. The former were armed with the Husayn-McMahon
correspondence and its promise of an independent Arab state, the
latter with the Balfour Declaration’s endorsement of a Jewish national
home in Palestine. In order to preserve British control in Palestine and
to maintain the colonial upper hand throughout the Empire, a swift
response was deemed necessary.20
In addition to constituting days of reckoning for the newly elected
British Labour government, the Palestine riots also forced the U.S.
government to define its interests in Palestine. As has already been
noted, a 1922 congressional resolution21 supported a Jewish national
home in Palestine, and every administration since Woodrow Wilson’s
had declared its sympathy for Jewish aspirations in the Holy Land.
Moreover, an Anglo-American treaty of 1924 included the text of the
Balfour Declaration and gave the United States the same rights in
Palestine as any member of the League of Nations. These
pronouncements, some historians argue, provided the Hoover
administration with a basis to act on behalf of Zionist interests. But
more than political resolutions and treaties guided Hoover’s course of
action. Hoover was in the midst of cultivating an Anglo-American
partnership as the cornerstone of his structure of peace and
disarmament and he was not about to sour the atmosphere of
rapprochement with an American policy of intervention. Moreover,
Hoover relied on the expertise of trusted friends and advisors to
provide him with insights into the nature of American Zionism and its
agenda.22
The American public and media closely followed the
developments in Palestine. As the situation escalated and after the
American consul in Jerusalem, Paul Knabenshue, reported that eight
51
American Jewish Archives Journal
Americans had died in the riots, the State Department received a
veritable deluge of letters from all sections of society, urging the U.S.
government to intervene on behalf of Jewish Americans and their
property in Palestine. After years of existing as an outcast at the fringes
of American society, the movement of Zionism received new
momentum and mobilized the American Jewish community to action,
invoking increased sympathy for the yishuv.23
Hoover received a Zionist delegation at the White House, and in
a statement presented at a mass meeting at Madison Square Garden
in New York City on August 29, 1929, he expressed his “profound
sympathy” for the Palestine sufferers. Still, in both instances, the
president made it clear that he had full confidence in the British
government’s ability to restore order. Included in Hoover’s message of
sympathy was his 1928 speech as secretary of commerce in which he
praised the work of American Jews for the upbuilding of Palestine.
Like his non-Zionist friends, Hoover encouraged Jewish settlement
and development of the Holy Land, yet he stopped short of endorsing
the creation of a Jewish nation-state. Herman Bernstein, a close friend
of Hoover and the one accorded by the Arrangement Committee of
the Madison Square Mass Meeting to read the president’s telegram of
sympathy and encouragement, assured the chief executive that all
speakers at this event heeded the president’s advice and eliminated
from their speeches several paragraphs that contained fierce attacks
on the British government.24
Various leaders of the American Jewish community supported the
Hoover administration’s cautious course of action. Henry Rose of the
National News Service notified Hoover that he had mailed an
announcement throughout the United States regarding the situation
in Palestine, calling for a halt of criticism directed against the
administration. While the Palestine disturbances awakened American
Zionism to an increased commitment toward a Jewish national home
in Palestine, criticizing the British inability to quell the riots and
demanding U.S. intervention, leaders of the non-Zionist GermanJewish establishment pursued a more cautious course and behindthe-scenes diplomacy. Warburg, as head of the American
Administrative Committee of the Jewish Agency for Palestine,25
advised his friends in the Jewish community to express confidence in
the British ability to suppress the riots and thereby secure the Hoover
administration’s sympathy.
Upon news of the Palestine disturbances, the AJC called an
52
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish Community
emergency meeting and turned to Lewis Strauss for information on
Hoover’s attitude and intended course of action. Strauss had spent the
weekend with Hoover at his retreat in Camp Rapidan, and as a
member of the AJC’s executive committee he reported that the
president had full confidence in the British government’s ability to
deal with the Palestine situation.26 After members of the executive
committee had discussed whether they should petition the U.S.
president to dispatch a warship to Haifa in order to protect the lives
and property of American citizens in Palestine, they unanimously
decided to wait for Warburg’s opinion on the matter.27
Warburg, who was known for his friendship with Hoover, also had
connections with British Prime Minister Sir Ramsay MacDonald and
was therefore in the best position to advise the proper course of
action. Shuttling back and forth between the United States and Great
Britain, Warburg cautioned American Jews not to criticize the British
and convinced them to abandon the idea of sending a naval vessel to
Haifa, at least for the time being. Bernstein’s recommendations were
colored by the sentiments of the president, who he reported had
expressed strong opposition to American intervention in what was a
purely British matter and to the dispatch of an American warship,
which he believed would unduly embarrass the British.28
A week after the outbreak of rioting in Palestine, the British were
able to get the situation under control, and as a result the
correspondence between members of the AJC gradually lost urgency.
By September 1, 1929, the AJC released a radio cable stating that
strong representation of Jewish concerns had been made to both
President Hoover and Secretary of State Henry Stimson and that
“everything possible” had been done.29 In the same vein, Warburg,
during his voyage on the SS Homeric from England to the United
States, noted in his diary that the time had come for the mandatory
government, Arab, and Jew to join hands “in constructive
understanding and cooperation.”30 He also sent a telegram to Strauss
in which he expressed support of the British and authorized the latter
to convey its content to Hoover.31
In the riots’ aftermath Warburg continued to support the British
government and policy in Palestine. During the historic visit of Sir
Ramsay MacDonald to the United States in October 1929 in order to
strengthen the Anglo-American alliance on disarmament, he headed
the delegation of American Jews to meet with the prime minister.
53
American Jewish Archives Journal
Chaim Weizmann, head of the World Zionist Organization, had
arranged the meeting between MacDonald and Warburg and
cautioned the latter that nothing should be done to make the prime
minister’s stay in the United States unpleasant. While a British
commission was underway to investigate the causes of the
disturbances, Weizmann was careful to abstain from criticism and
advised his American colleagues
to do the same.32
Yet, Weizmann’s apparent
attempt to put up a united Zionist
front in support of the British was
shattered by the organizational
chaos
and
administrative
problems of American Jewry.
Warburg
found
himself
increasingly at odds with the ZOA
and was deeply upset that
Chaim Weizmann(left) with Albert
American Jews were not taken Einstein(right) in New York City, 1921
seriously since all decision- (courtesy American Jewish Archives)
making power lay in London.33 He
also became more and more concerned about the implications of
Jewish nationalism and Zionist unwillingness to come to an
agreement on a united policy, which was the “immediate
establishment of livable conditions”in Palestine.34 James Marshall, son
of the late Louis Marshall and another prominent non-Zionist, feared
that the pronounced nationalism of the more outspoken Zionists
would turn liberal opinion against American Jews and against
American support for Palestine. “No one will look with favor on a
repetition in Asia Minor of the situation in the Balkans. There are
already enough instances known too well to the Jews, of one racial or
cultural group seeking to dispossess the other, without adding the
Jews to such predatory group.”35
The non-Zionists under Warburg’s leadership saw their
immediate responsibility after the Palestine disturbances in providing
relief.36 Based on his longstanding experience as head of the JJDC and
supporting relief work in Europe, Warburg’s concern lay with the
yishuv and the economic and social welfare of Palestine. Hoover, the
engineer, shared this interest in progressive projects, and Hoover, the
humanitarian, could relate to the Jewish suffering. As secretary of
54
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish Community
commerce and as president, Hoover had expressed sympathy for the
nation-building in Palestine, but his public
and private statements did not endorse a
Zionist state.
Lewis Strauss, as the chief’s loyal
secretary and lifelong friend, brought
Jewish issues and concerns before him and
did everything in his capacity as a liaison to
leaders of the American Jewish community
to advance Hoover’s popularity with
American Jews. Even after his presidency,
Strauss continued to keep Hoover abreast
of Jewish concerns. As early as 1933
Hoover the humanitarian deplored the
situation of German Jews. While he failed
to see the racial component in the Lewis L. Strauss
antisemitism of Nazi Germany, the (courtesy American Jewish Archives)
injustice against German Jews offended his strong beliefs in classic
individualism: “It is not only the abhorrent bigotry of religious
persecution that outrages every liberty-loving person, but the denial of
common rights of men to earn their living, to conduct their
businesses, and practice their professions.”37 In 1967 Strauss, by then
a retired admiral, offered a postmortem appraisal of the chief’s racial
attitudes:“He appreciated talent. He didn’t care whether the man who
had it was of his political persuasion. He was absolutely color-blind as
to race, and he didn’t care anything about denomination.”38
Felix Warburg was a staunch supporter of the Republican Party
and never lost his confidence in Hoover’s leadership ability or in the
latter’s friendship for the Jews. When, in the wake of the 1929 riots,
Hoover seemed reluctant and indifferent in the eyes of many
American Zionists, others, primarily non-Zionists, concurred with the
administration’s policy and saw the best course of action in
unremitting support of U.S. policy and British action in Palestine.
It was not until 1932, when Hoover was in bad shape politically,
that Strauss advised him to leave no stone unturned before election
day and send a pro-Zionist message to the ZOA convention. Upon
news that Democratic hopeful Franklin D. Roosevelt had announced
his sympathy for a Jewish Palestine, Strauss thought it imperative that
Hoover follow suit. Hoover’s pro-Zionist statement to the ZOA
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American Jewish Archives Journal
celebrating the fifteenth anniversary of the Balfour Declaration was
the only time the president referred to the 1922 congressional
resolution that endorsed a Jewish national home in Palestine. Faced
with relentless attacks on his character and presidency and in an
attempt to increase his chances at the polls, Hoover was apparently
finally ready to throw aside State Department concerns that the
congressional resolution was neither a binding document nor a
legitimate expression of U.S. foreign policy.39
But even a concerted effort by the National Republican
Committee to increase Hoover’s popularity among Jews could not
revive an already moribund campaign and avert the impending
disappointment at the polls. Although articles like Edward
Rosenblum’s “What Hoover has done for the Jews”again underscored
Hoover’s exemplary record of humanitarianism and his personal
interest in the Jews, a majority of Jews cast their vote for the
Democratic ticket. Roosevelt had not made any special promises to
American Jews, but as Max Rhoade, the ZOA lobbyist in Washington,
put it, a Democratic administration was bound to continue the Wilson
tradition with its strong commitment to the Balfour Declaration and
the establishment of a Jewish national home. And though Roosevelt’s
New Deal would launch a social revolution that turned many Jews
from a low-prestige ethnic minority into an elite component of
society, his support for Zionism and the establishment of a Jewish
national home did not go beyond Hoover’s. After entering the White
House, Roosevelt would downplay any such commitments and word
his congratulatory messages to Zionists very carefully.40
Sonja P. Wentling completed her Ph.D. at Kent State University in December
2001. The author would like to thank the staff of the following research
institutions for providing fellowships and travel grants that defrayed the
accumulating costs of research: The Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the American
Jewish Archives, The American Jewish Historical Society, and the Hoover
Presidential Library.
NOTES:
1. Rafael Medoff, “Recent Trends in the Historiography of American Zionism,”
American Jewish History 86, no. 1 (1998): 117–34.
2. According to Evyatar Friesel, American Zionism specifically related to
American Jewish conditions and developed in a new direction. He describes two
trends that characterized the developments of American Zionism, the
Americanization of the Zionist idea and the Zionization of American Jewry. The result,
according to Friesel, was a Jewish community that did not negate the galut (exile)—so
56
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish Community
central a component in European Zionism—because America was not galut, but the
land of liberty, the “golden land.” Evyatar Friesel, “American Zionism and American
Jewry: An Ideological and Communal Encounter,” American Jewish Archives 40, no. 1
(April 1988): 5–23; idem, “Brandeis’s Role in American Zionism Historically
Reconsidered,”American Jewish History 69, no. 1 (September 1979): 34–59; idem,“The
Influence of American Zionism on the American Jewish Community, 1900-1950,”
American Jewish History 75, no. 1 (September 1985): 130–48; Maier Bryan Fox,
American Zionism in the 1920s (Ph.D. diss., 1979); and Ben Halpern, “The
Americanization of Zionism, 1880-1930,”American Jewish History 69, no. 1 (September
1979): 15–33. Allon Gal asserts that Zionism profoundly influenced American Jewish
life, yet he concedes that while American Zionism conquered the community, it was
conquered by it as well. Allon Gal,“The Zionist Influence on American Jewish Life,”
American Jewish Archives 41, no. 2 (Fall/Winter 1989): 173–84; idem, “The Mission
Motif in American Zionism (1898–1948),” American Jewish History 75, no. 4 (June
1986): 363–85; Naomi W. Cohen, American Jews and the Zionist Idea (New York: KTAV,
1975). Melvin I. Urofsky, “Zionism: An American Experience,” American Jewish
Historical Quarterly 53, no. 3 (March 1974): 215–43. In The Emergence of American
Zionism Mark A. Raider sees Labor Zionism as the key to the development and
definition of American Zionism. In fact, he argues that Labor Zionism in the United
States,“the voice of Labor Palestine on American soil, played a role disproportionate
to its size in formulating the program and outlook of American Zionism.” (ix) In an
attempt to draw a close connection between American Jews, Labor Zionism, and the
yishuv, Raider overstates the significance of socialist Zionism in the American context.
Stuart E. Rosenberg argues that the Zionism of American Jews was linked to their
middle-class habits, reflecting the cultural attitude and condition of the American
middle class. It is a very American middle-class phenomenon to have a penchant for
“vicarious cultural atonement”in a materially affluent society. In this way, Rosenberg
explains, Zionism became a new source of cultural pride. In supporting the
development of Palestine as a Jewish homeland, Jews could indulge their American
pride in a vicarious battle against Arab feudalism and the intransigence of the British
mandatory government. And by the 1940s, when Zionism became more of a mass
movement, it mirrored the mass mind of a middle-class community and avoided
partisan ideologies that would commit its members to anything more than a general
desire to rebuild the Jewish homeland. Political Zionism, Rosenberg argues, thus
became benevolent Zionism, reflecting the values and condition of the middle class:
“The success of American Zionism had much to do with the fact that it came to serve
an important psychological function: it was the socially acceptable Jewish radical
movement of the middle-class American Jew.”(78) Rosenberg, however, glosses over
the bitter divisions within American Jewry over the nature of Zionism during the first
decades of the twentieth century that made American Zionism much more complex.
Stuart E. Rosenberg, The New Jewish Identity in America (New York: Hippocrene Books,
1985), 73-87. Rosenberg also makes the point that the Jewish immigrant to America
came essentially from a middle-class background and thereby easily adapted to the
middle-class culture of America. Irving Kristol further explains that the American
Jewish proclivity for liberalism is again rooted in the fact that the majority of European
Jewish immigrants came from Central and Eastern Europe, bringing with them the
tradition and heritage of the continental radical liberalism of the French Revolution.
He even goes so far to say that “Jewish political attitudes in the 1980s have a more
57
American Jewish Archives Journal
direct connection with Jewish political thinking in the 1880s than with current social,
economic, or even political realities in the United States.” Irving Kristol,“The Liberal
Tradition of American Jews,” in American Pluralism and the Jewish Community, edited
by Seymour Martin Lipset (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 1990), 109–16;
Robert M. Seltzer and Norman J. Cohen, eds., The Americanization of the Jews (New
York: New York University Press, 1995). David M. Gorids and Yoav Ben-Horin, eds.,
Jewish Identity in America (Los Angeles: Wilstein Institute, 1991). For a discussion of
the evolution of Zionism in America, see Jeffrey S. Gurock, ed., American Zionism:
Mission and Politics (New York: Routledge, 1998).
3. Feingold explains that American Zionism has to be understood against the
background of the fate of all ideologies in America “They are reshaped, emptied of
their basic rationale and ‘praxis’ element, and remade into something that can fit. This
happens whether the demand is to participate in the revolution and struggle for the
‘new day,’ to remain faithful to Torah and observe the Sabbath, or resettle in Zion.
America does not offer an especially conducive atmosphere for ideologies. Its history
is filled with empty shells of once passionately held beliefs as is its industrial
landscape with obsolete red brick factories.” (167) Henry L. Feingold, “Assessing an
Assessment: The Case for American Zionism,” American Jewish History 75, no. 1
(September 1985): 165–74; idem, A Midrash on American Jewish History (Albany: State
University of New York Press, 1982); Stuart L. Rosenberg, The New Jewish Identity in
America (New York: Hippocrene Books, 1985); Robert M. Seltzer and Norman J.
Cohen, eds., The Americanization of the Jews (New York: New York University Press,
1995).
4. Naomi W. Cohen, The Year after the Riots: American Responses to the Palestine
Riots of 1929–30 (Detroit: Wayne State University, 1988); Evyatar Friesel, “The
Influence of American Zionism on the American Jewish Community, 1900-1950,”
American Jewish History 75, no. 1 (September 1985): 130–58. Cohen acknowledges the
fact that the American Jewish community during the 1920s was in disarray, the Zionist
movement weak, and non-Zionism dominant among influential members of the
Jewish community, but at the same time she holds the U.S. government to a higher
plane of responsibility for not siding with Zionism and its aspirations for a Jewish
national home. Friesel, an Israeli historian, criticizes the Zionist Organization of
America (ZOA) for its lack of organizational skill to mobilize the masses and to build
on existing sympathies for the yishuv settlement. In the same vein, Cohen points to
avenues the ZOA could and should have pursued to achieve better visibility and
better results. Both historians devise their arguments from a position of hindsight.
Looking to the cataclysmic events awaiting European Jewry in the 1930s and 1940s,
both historians deplore the inability of the ZOA to bring Jewish concerns to the
attention of government officials and the larger American public.
5. Ethnoracial theory draws a connection between policy and constituency
pressure, often using the American Jewish community as an example of effective
lobbying activity. However, a major shortcoming of ethnoracial theory becomes
evident when analyzing the Jewish constituency during the interwar period. It tends
to treat ethnic constituencies as if they were monolithic in their support of policy
objectives that engage their interest. Given the complexity of the American Zionist
movement in the 1920s and early 1930s, any attempt to generalize Jewish activism
glosses over significant disunity and dissent within the Jewish community. Peter Y.
Medding points out that prior to the advent of new Jewish politics—a fairly recent
58
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish Community
phenomenon commonly associated with the creation of the state of Israel—access to
the White House was generally gained via individual Jews who were major
contributors and fund-raisers for political parties, often personal friends of the
president, and sometimes leaders of major Jewish organizations. They sporadically
presented Jewish issues to the White House and the administration, usually during
times of crises. Peter Y. Medding, “The New Jewish Politics in America,” in Terms of
Survival: The Jewish World since 1945, edited by Robert S. Wistrich (London: Routledge,
1995): 86–114; J. J. Goldberg, Jewish Power: Inside the American Jewish Establishment
(Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley Publishing Company, Inc., 1996); Henry L.
Feingold, Zion in America: The Jewish Experience from Colonial Times to the Present (New
York: Twayne Publishers, Inc., 1974).
6. Mark M Dodge, ed., Herbert Hoover and the Historians (West Branch: Herbert
Hoover Presidential Library Association, 1989); Lee Nash, ed., Understanding Herbert
Hoover: Ten Perspectives (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1987); Joan Hoff Wilson,
Herbert Hoover: Forgotten Progressive (Boston: Little, Brown & Company, 1975); Martin
L. Fausold, ed., The Hoover Presidency: A Reappraisal (Albany: State University of
New York Press, 1974); Martin L. Fausold, The Presidency of Herbert C. Hoover
(Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1985); David Burner, Herbert Hoover: A Public
Life (New York: Knopf, 1979); Herbert Hoover and the Republican Era: A Reconstruction,
edited by Carl E. Krog and William R. Tanner (New York: University Press of America,
1984); Lloyd Craig, Aggressive Introvert: A Study of Herbert Hoover and Public Relations
Management, 1912–32 (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1972). Hoover’s
attitude on race, in particular his views on Jews, has not received much attention by
Hoover biographers, and the overall consensus is not a favorable one. Although
revisionist historians have successfully rehabilitated the damaged persona of Hoover
by stressing his organizational genius in government efficiency and his humanitarian
progressivism, the prevailing opinion of Hoover’s racial views holds that he did not
rise above the prejudice of his time. George F. Garcia,“Herbert Hoover and the Issue
of Race, The Annals of Iowa 44 (Winter 1979). Even Hooverphile Donald J. Lisio
concedes that the chief’s encounter with racism is “the tragic yet instructive tale of a
good man who insisted that he was color-blind but could not even see and
understand the racism that engulfed him and his society.” Donald J. Lisio, Hoover,
Blacks, and Lily-Whites: A Study of Southern Strategies (Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1985), 282. Lisio convincingly explains how Hoover’s southern
strategy turned into a public relations disaster. Although Hoover was genuinely intent
on helping blacks, his short-term vision of clean and efficient government in the
southern states destroyed his long-term objective of permanent political, economic,
and racial progress. Advised by his cohorts to adopt a policy of silence on matters
relating to race, Hoover not only alienated the leadership of black Republicans, but he
failed to satisfy the white elite in the South as well.
7. Woodrow Wilson, the first US. president to declare his sympathy for a Jewish
national home in Palestine, left a rather contradictory record on Zionism. Entangled
in a political game of power, influence, new diplomacy, and special interests, Wilson
showed reluctance and caution in giving public support to the Zionist cause. See
Frank E. Manuel, The Realities of American-Palestine Relations (Washington, D.C.:
Public Affairs Press, 1949). Still, much of the literature follows Selig Adler’s argument
that declares Wilson as “one of the main fathers of the Jewish Commonwealth.”Selig
Adler, “The Palestine Question in the Wilson Era,” Jewish Social Studies 10 (1948),
59
American Jewish Archives Journal
303–34. A recent analysis by Frank W. Brecher takes a more critical look at the
relationship between the U.S. government and American Jews in general. Frank W.
Brecher, Reluctant Ally: United States Foreign Policy toward the Jews from Wilson to
Roosevelt (New York: Greenwood Press, 1991). For a critical view of the Wilson
administration’s attitude toward Zionism, see Sonja P. Schoepf (Wentling),“American
political Zionism and its role in U.S. foreign policy during the Wilson administration:
Between the advocacy of a Jewish state and the commitment to the principle of
numerical self-determination” (master’s thesis, Southern Illinois University,
Carbondale, 1993).
8. Melvin Urofsky, American Zionism from Herzl to the Holocaust (New York:
Doubleday, 1975): 320–33; Menahem Kaufman, An Ambiguous Partnership: NonZionists and Zionists in America, 1939–1948 (Detroit: Wayne State University Press,
1991): 1–31; Reuben Fink, ed; America and Palestine: The Attitude of Official America and
of the American People Toward the Rebuilding of Palestine as a Free and Democratic Jewish
Commonwealth (New York: American Zionist Emergency Council, 1944); Aaron
Klieman, Zionist Political Activity in the 1920s and 1930s (New York: Garland
Publishing, 1987); Nathan Efrati, “American Jewry and the Yishuv, 1890–1918: The
‘Zionism’ of Non-Zionist American Groups,” brochure series of the American Jewish
Archives 15 (1994).
9. For a history of the American Jewish Committee, see Naomi W. Cohen, Not
Free to Desist (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1971);
Marshall to Stern, February 2, 1929, Folder 6, Box 9, Louis Marshall Papers, American
Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, Ohio. (hereafter, AJA).
10. Marshall to Weizmann, June 6, 1929, Folder 6, Box 9, Louis Marshall Papers,
AJA.
11. Based on data taken from Samuel Halperin, The Political World of American
Zionism (Silver Spring, Md., 1985), 327, in the late 1920s and early 1930s the American
Zionist movement comprised 63,859 individuals. The Jewish population of the United
States was estimated at 4.2 million people at the time. Between 1929 and 1933 the
ZOA experienced a drop in membership of more than 50 percent.
12. One of the partners of the investment firm Kuhn, Loeb & Co was Felix
Warburg, philanthropist and head of the Jewish Joint Distribution Committee.
13. Richard Pfau, No Sacrifice Too Great: The Life of Lewis L. Strauss (Charlottesville:
University Press of Virginia, 1984), 3–27; Lewis L. Strauss, Men and Decisions (Garden
City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1962); Lewis L. Strauss interview by Raymond Henle, February
13, 1967, Herbert Hoover Presidential Library, West Branch, Iowa (hereafter, HHPL).
14. Yehuda Bauer, My Brother’s Keeper: A History of the American Jewish Joint
Distribution Committee, 1929–39 (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America,
1974); Harriet Loewenstein, comptroller and overseas secretary of Joint Distribution
Committee, to Herbert Hoover, head of the Supreme Economic Council, July 30, 1919,
“American Fund for Jewish War Sufferers 1919,” Pre-Commerce Papers Subject File,
HHPL; Royal Victor to Christian Herter, secretary to Herbert Hoover. August 22, 1921,
“Joint Distribution Committee, 1921–22,”Commerce Papers, HHPL Strauss reported
that when news reached the chief in the spring of 1919 that Polish troops had
captured the city of Pinsk and machine-gunned thirty-seven local Jews for alleged
Communist sympathies, Hoover was the one to take immediate action. He
summoned Polish Prime Minister Ignace Jan Paderewski to an interview at which
Hoover underscored the demand to conduct a vigorous investigation into the Pinsk
60
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish Community
affair. But despite Hoover’s action and protests in New York, organized by Felix
Warburg, the Polish army continued to attack Jews in the cities it occupied. Strauss
persuaded Hoover to propose the idea to President Wilson of a special commission
charged to look into the matter. As a result, a three-man American commission
traveled to Poland and remained there for two months of observation. By 1920
conditions in Poland had improved, the ARA continued to supply food in generous
quantities, and Jews could rest more easily, at least temporarily. Documents of the
American Relief Administration: European Operations, 1918-22, vol. 18: Poland, PreCommerce Papers, HHPL; Pfau, No Sacrifice Too Great, 23–27. Lewis L. Strauss,
“Herbert C. Hoover and the Jews of Eastern Europe,” American Hebrew (April 23,
1920).
15. Herbert Hoover to N. Mosessohn, editor of The Jewish Tribune, August 25,
1922,“Zionism,”Commerce Papers, HHPL.
16. Felix M. Warburg to Lewis Strauss, November 7, 1928, “Politics,” Felix M.
Warburg Papers, AJA.“I am sure that you are proud and thrilled as I am that our chief
is now the nation’s chief. Please convey to him and Mrs. Hoover my warmest good
wishes. It seems wonderful that our dream has come true.”
17. As president, Hoover appointed Bernstein as U.S. ambassador to Albania.
“Fifteen Years of Effort on Behalf of World Jewry, 1929.” “Churches—Local Jewish
Congregations,”President’s Personal File, HHPL; Lord Swaythling to Herbert Hoover,
American Mission, Paris, March 24, 1919, “Correspondence, Herbert C. Hoover,”
Papers of Admiral Lewis L. Strauss, American Jewish Historical Society, Waltham,
Mass. (hereafter, AJHS); introduction to Hoover Speech at Greater New York Jewish
War Relief Dinner, Hotel Astor, New York City, April 11, 1920, “Correspondence,
Herbert C. Hoover,” Papers of Admiral Lewis L. Strauss, AJHS; Rabbi Abraham
Burstein to Lawrence Richey, secretary to the president, August 6, 1929,“Campaign of
1928,”Presidential Papers Secretary’s File, HHPL.
18. Although truly convinced that Hoover was the right man for the job of the
presidency, Marshall was not blind to the realities of Jewish political allegiance. He
pointed to the stark contrast that existed between the two parties when it came to
Jewish concerns such as immigration or Jewish appointments to public service
positions. Louis Marshall to Lewis Strauss, July 26, 1928,“Louis Marshall,” Lewis L.
Strauss Papers, Name and Subject File I, HHPL. In the presidential election of 1928
Jews gave the Democratic candidate Al Smith 72 percent of their vote. Henry L.
Feingold, “From Equality to Liberty: The Changing Political Culture of American
Jews,” in The Americanization of the Jews, edited by Robert M. Seltzer and Norman J.
Cohen, 104.
19. Louis Marshall to Lewis Strauss, July 26, 1928, New York, “Louis Marshall,”
Lewis L. Strauss Papers, Name and Subject File I, HHPL. Felix Warburg to David L.
Cohn, August 23, 1928, “Campaign of 1928, Felix M. Warburg,” Lewis L. Strauss
Papers, Name and Subject File I, HHPL. Warburg remained loyal to Hoover during the
1932 campaign. He issued a strong statement of sympathy and admiration for
Hoover, the man and president, circulated in Yiddish throughout New York: “Finally,
he is the most liberal and openhearted of men to the opinions, beliefs and creeds of
other men.” Warburg to Strauss and forwarded to Maurice Bisgyer, Republican
National Committee, September 28, 1932,“Campaign of 1932: Jewish Voters,”Lewis
L. Strauss Papers, Name and Subject File I, HHPL.
20. Palestine: A Study of Jewish, Arab, and British Policies, published for the Esco
61
American Jewish Archives Journal
Foundation for Palestine, Inc., vol. 2 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1949), 597–98;
Yoshuah Portah, The Emergence of the Palestinian-Arab National Movement 1918–29
(London: Frank Cass, 1974), 258–73.
21. Unable to secure a sympathetic response from the State Department, the
American Zionists had begun to lobby for a congressional endorsement of their
program. Rabbi Simon Glazer of Kansas City, who knew a number of senators, had
convinced several of them that it would be politically beneficial for them to support
the idea of a Jewish national homeland. Consequently, Senator Henry C. Lodge of
Massachusetts and Representative Hamilton Fish of New York introduced resolutions
of support in the spring of 1922, and both houses of Congress started hearings on the
subject. The New York Times, whose owners opposed Jewish nationalism, attacked the
resolutions, and charged that Lodge’s upcoming reelection campaign had more to do
with his sudden interest in Zionism than any altruistic interest on behalf of a Jewish
national home. At the time, the members of Congress saw little harm in the
resolutions and expected much political advantage. As recent as 1921 Congress had
antagonized a number of ethnic groups in establishing immigration restrictions. By
supporting resolutions that endorsed Zionist demands, they could at least make
partial amends to one of the groups affected by the new immigration quotas. Thinking
primarily in terms of domestic politics, these congressmen gave little consideration to
what kind of consequences such a statement could have on foreign policy. See
Urofsky, American Zionism from Herzl to the Holocaust, 308; America and Palestine: The
Attitude of Official America and of the American People toward the Rebuilding of Palestine
as a Free and Democratic Jewish Commonwealth, edited by Reuben Fink (New York:
Herald Square Press, Inc., 1945), 41–43.
22. Naomi W. Cohen, The Year after the Riots: American Responses to the Palestine
Riots of 1929-30 (Detroit: Wayne State University, 1988) criticizes the Hoover
administration’s policy of nonintervention. Hoover’s utmost concern lay with a
successful conclusion of the Anglo-American disarmament negotiations. Hoover was
well aware of opposition from big navy proponents in Great Britain and the United
States. A collection of the president’s draft fragments from 1929 illustrates Hoover’s
determination to preserve an atmosphere of goodwill between the two nations. “To
strengthen Mc[sic] Donald against the big navy group we must support him morally
by creating an atmosphere of good will toward his effort.” See “Foreign Affairs—
Disarmament, Hoover Draft Fragments (undated),” Presidential Papers, HHPL.
Proponents of the London School most extensively discuss the Anglo-American
rapprochement over naval negotiations. B. J. C. McKercher, Arms Limitation and
Disarmament: Restraints on War, 1899-1939 (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1992); idem,
“From Enmity to Cooperation: The Second Baldwin Government and the
Improvement of Anglo-American Relations, November 1928–June 1929,” Albion 24
(1992): 65–87; idem, ‘Wealth, Power, and the International Order; Britain and the
American Challenge in the 1920s,” Diplomatic History 12 (Fall 1988): 411–41; idem,
“Reaching for the Brass Ring: The Recent Historiography of Interwar American
Foreign Relations,” Diplomatic History 15, no. 4 (Fall 1991): 565–98; John R. Ferris,
“‘The Greatest Power on Earth’: Great Britain in the 1920s,” The International History
Review 13, no. 4 (November 1991): 726–50; Anglo-American Relations in the 1920s: The
Struggle for Supremacy, edited by B. J. C. McKercher (London: Macmillan Press, 1991);
Alan P. Dobson, Anglo–American Relations in the Twentieth Century: Of Friendship,
Conflict, and the Rise and Decline of Superpowers (London: Routledge, 1995).
62
Hoover, Palestine, and the American Jewish Community
23. Yishuv refers to the pre-1948 Jewish community of Palestine. Congressman
Emanuel Celler, New York, to Henry L. Stimson, secretary of state, Washington, D.C.,
August 23, 1929, Records of the Department of State Relating to Internal Affairs of
Turkey, 1910–29 (Microcopy 353), RG 59, 867n.404—Wailing Wall/3; National
Archives, Washington, D.C. (hereafter, RDST, followed by filing information).
Congressman Samuel Dickstein, New York, to Henry L. Stimson, secretary of state,
Washington, D.C., August 24, 1929, RDST, RG 59, 867n.404—Wailing Wall/9; Celler to
Stimson, August 25, 1929, RDST, RG 59, 867n.404—Wailing Wall/13; Congressman
William I. Sirovich, New York, to President Herbert Hoover, Washington, D.C., August
26, 1929, RDST, RG 59, 867n.404—Wailing Wall/61. Consul General Paul Knabenshue,
Jerusalem, August 26, 1929, to Henry L. Stimson, secretary of state, RDST, 867n.404—
Wailing Wall/21 (includes the complete list of American citizens whose deaths were
verified by the consulate general), The New York Times, August 28, 1929, 2.
24. Telegram by Herbert Hoover, Washington, DC., to the Zionist Organization of
America, New York City, August 29, 1929, “Foreign Affairs, Countries—Palestine
1929–31,” Presidential Papers, HHPL; Herman Bernstein, Sheffield, Mass., to
President Herbert Hoover, August 30, 1929, “Foreign Affairs, Countries—Palestine
1929–31,”Presidential Papers, HHPL.
25. Warburg assumed leadership of the Administrative Committee after Louis
Marshall’s death in 1929, shortly after the creation of the Enlarged Jewish Agency,
called the “pact of glory”between Zionists and non-Zionists
26. References to emergency meeting of August 28, 1929, contained in Minutes
of the American Jewish Committee, Meeting of the Executive Committee, September
15, 1929,“American Jewish Committee—Correspondence,”Admiral Lewis L. Strauss
Papers, AJHS. Report of Emergency meeting of the Executive Committee, August 28,
1929,“American Jewish Committee,”Felix M. Warburg Papers, AJA.
27. Morris Waldman, secretary of AJC, to Julius Rosenwald, August 28, 1929,
“American Jewish Committee—Correspondence,” Admiral Lewis L Strauss Papers,
AJHS.
28. Morris Waldman to Judge Elkus, August 29, 1929, “American Jewish
Committee—Correspondence,” Admiral Lewis L Strauss Papers, AJHS. Morris
Waldman, Announcement to the American Jewish Committee Members, “American
Jewish Committee—Correspondence,”Admiral Lewis L. Strauss Papers, AJHS.
29. Moses A. Leavitt to Dr. Adler, September 1, 1929, “American Jewish
Committee—Correspondence,”Admiral Lewis L. Strauss Papers, AJHS. In a letter to
Dr. Adler, September 3, 1929, “American Jewish Committee—Correspondence,”
Admiral Lewis L. Strauss Papers, AJHS. Waldman wrote that “in spite of reported
restiveness on the Palestinian frontiers, the situation in the Holy Land appears to be
fairly well in hand. There appears to be less warrant for direct action on the part of our
government than a week ago.”
30. Warburg, diary—memorandum, August 28 to September 3, 1929, “Jewish
Agency for Palestine,” Felix M. Warburg Papers, AJA.
31. Felix Warburg to Lewis L. Strauss, August 29, 1929,“Felix Warburg,”Lewis L.
Strauss Papers, Name and Subject File I, HHPL.
32. Chaim Weizmann to Felix Warburg, September 24, 1929, “Zionist
Organization of America,” Felix M. Warburg Papers, AJA. According to Warburg, the
meeting between the American Jewish delegation and the British prime minister was
very pleasant and sympathetic. See Minutes of Conference of American Deportation
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American Jewish Archives Journal
of the Jewish Agency for Palestine with Prime Minister James R. MacDonald, October
11, 1929,“Jewish Agency for Palestine,”Felix M. Warburg Papers, AJA.
33. Felix Warburg to Chaim Weizmann, November 15, 1929,“Chaim Weizmann,”
Felix M. Warburg Papers, AJA. Warburg considered the ZOA’s own fund-raising
activity for a “Jewish Palestine”an ill-conceived venture.
34. Warburg to Sir Melchett, November 11, 1929, “Palestine,” Felix M. Warburg
Papers, AJA.
35. James Marshall to Chaim Weizmann, December 4, 1929,“Chaim Weizmann,”
Felix M. Warburg Papers, AJA. When Judah L. Magnes, an American living in Palestine,
proposed the establishment of a binational Arab-Jewish state as the only response to
Arab-Jewish tension, he set off shock waves in the American Jewish community. Both
James Marshall and Felix Warburg, however, were sympathetic to such an ArabJewish solution. Warburg did regret that Magnes had acted on his own and without
consulting other Jews in Palestine, but he found the proposition to have potential.
Julian Morgenstern, a non-Zionist member of the Jewish Agency and president of
Reform Judaism’s Hebrew Union College, announced his agreement with Magnes
and that the Arabs had fundamental rights as well. See Warburg to Weizmann,
November 4, 1929,“Chaim Weizmann,”Felix M. Warburg Papers, AJA; James Marshall
to Chaim Weizmann, February 19, 1929,“Chaim Weizmann, 1929–30,”James Marshall
Papers, AJA; Julian Morgenstern to Judah Magnes, “Judah L. Magnes, 1922–36,”
Hebrew Union College, 1873–1948, Collection, AJA. For a discussion of the dynamics
between Zionists, American Zionism, and the Arabs, see Rafael Medoff, Zionism and
the Arabs: An American Jewish Dilemma, 1898–1948 (London: Praeger, 1997); Yosef
Gorny, Zionism and the Arabs, 1882–1948: A Study of Ideology (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1987).
36. Strauss to Lawrence Richey, secretary to the president, September 16, 1929,
“Foreign Affairs Series, Palestine 1929–31,”Presidential Papers, HHPL.
37. Herbert Hoover to Lewis Strauss, July 5, 1933, Admiral Lewis L. Strauss
Papers, Name and Subject File I, HHPL.
38. Oral History Interview with Admiral Lewis L. Strauss by Raymond Henle,
February 13, 1967, HHPL, 14.
39. Strauss commented that the president’s message to the ZOA was distinctly
better than Roosevelt’s. Lewis Strauss to French Strother, secretary to the president,
October 17, 1932, “Correspondence, Herbert C. Hoover,” Admiral Lewis L. Strauss
Papers, AJHS, W. N. Doak to Lawrence Richey, July 28, 1932, “Edward Rosenblum,
1932,”E. French Strother Papers, HHPL.
40. W. N. Doak to Lawrence Richey, July 28, 1932,“Edward Rosenblum, 1932,”E.
French Strother Papers, HHPL. Rosenblum submitted the article to the president and
the National Republican Committee for any use they deemed necessary. Max Rhoade
to Stephen Wise, November 19, 1932, “American Palestine Committee,” Stephen S.
Wise Papers, AJHS; Shlomo Shafir,“Roosevelt: His Attitude Towards American Jews,
the Holocaust, and Zionism,”Forum 44 (Spring 1982): 37–52.
64
“The Significance of a Jewish
University”: A Sermon on the
Founding of the Hebrew University of
Jerusalem1
Kimmy Caplan
In his History of Zionism, Nahum Sokolow (1859-1936) describes the
laying of the cornerstones of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem on
July 24, 1918:
This was an event...likely to be of great importance in enabling
Jerusalem to become a spiritual centre for the still dispersed
communities of Israel, and destined, let us hope, to influence
and elevate the mental life, social aspirations and religious
conceptions of the Jews of the world.”2
The social, political, economic, institutional, and academic aspects
of the founding and opening of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem
have received attention in scholarly works. However, we lack basic
knowledge about Jewish religious responses to these events and their
significance. Overall, we know very little about rabbis’responses to the
establishment of this institution and the worlds of meaning within
which these responses were placed.3 Moreover, we know even less
about the thoughts rabbis and preachers shared with their followers
regarding these events. Clearly, in order to gain a full understanding
of the various high and popular religious responses to the founding
and opening of the Hebrew University, additional material needs to be
uncovered and analyzed.
As a case study, this article focuses on a sermon delivered by Rabbi
Dr. Israel H. Levinthal (1888–1982) in April 1918, three months prior
to the ceremony of laying the cornerstones of the Hebrew University.
This text, strongly in favor of this endeavor, enables us to gain a better
understanding about certain perceptions of American rabbis toward
the yishuv, the university’s role within the Jewish settlement in
Palestine, as well as its importance for the Diaspora. In addition, this
article highlights some of the similarities and differences between the
religious responses in America and those dominant in Palestine,
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American Jewish Archives Journal
hopefully shedding light on some of the religious conceptions Nahum
Sokolow may have had in mind.
The Hebrew University of Jeruselum in Historic Perspective
The founding of the Hebrew University in 1918, and its opening in
April 1925, were important events in the history of the Jewish
settlement in Palestine (yishuv), making a strong impression on Jews
around the world.4 Numerous articles in Jewish newspapers and
periodicals, as well as countless letters and cables received in
Jerusalem attest to the impact these events had on congregations,
organizations, and individuals.5
The idea of a Jewish university was raised several times in Jewish
Diaspora communities in earlier centuries. However, by the end of the
nineteenth century it had created considerable debate among leaders
of the Jewish national movement, as well as non-Zionists, and
facilitated some practical attempts to realize this idea and ideal.6
Naturally, most of these discussions, debates, and projects regarding
the university and its mission took place within the social, cultural,
and political elite circle of the Zionist movement, as well as among
Jewish intellectuals and scholars around the world.7
These ongoing discussions, debates, and practical proposals drew
relatively little attention among many American Jewish scholars and
leaders of religious institutions, even though the founding of a
university in Palestine presumably would have had various
implications for them in the world of Jewish higher education,
research, and scholarship.8 For example, Judah L. Magnes (18771948), who became the Hebrew University’s first chancellor
(1925–1935) and later president (1935–1948), was greatly occupied
with Zionism and Jewish culture while pursuing postgraduate studies
in Germany. Magnes knew about Chaim Weizmann’s (1874-1952)
thoughts about establishing a university in 1912, but was already
heavily involved with New York’s kehilah while the grounds were laid
for the university;9 David Philipson (1862–1949), one of the leading
Reform rabbis in America from the late nineteenth century until the
1940s, does not mention the Hebrew University in his memoirs;10 and
Cyrus Adler (1863–1940) briefly relates to some of the committees he
served on and events he attended,11 notwithstanding his support for
this institution and involvement with it several years prior to and
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“The Significance of a Jewish University”
following its official opening.12 Finally, the histories of the Hebrew
Union College, the Rabbi Yizhak Elhanan Theological Seminary, and
the Jewish Theological Seminary of America indicate very little interest
in the founding and opening of the Hebrew University. These
institutions were busy dealing with their own problems, and the
relationships between them which, at times, were quite tense.13
Rabbi Dr. Israel H. Levinthal: A Biographical Outline
Rabbi Levinthal was one of the most popular and well-known
Conservative rabbis in Brooklyn throughout a career which spanned
from the early 1910s until his death in 1982. He gained a national
reputation as a preacher and communal leader among both
Conservative leadership and laity.14
Israel Levinthal was born at Vilna in 1888. His parents, Orthodox
Jews, immigrated to Philadelphia in 1891, following the invitation his
father, Dov Aryeh (Bernard), received to serve as a rabbi. Israel
attended public school in Philadelphia and continued his studies at
the University of Pennsylvania. After a short period he relocated to
New York and pursued his studies at the Jewish Theological Seminary
of America and Columbia University. In 1909 Levinthal received a
bachelor’s degree from Columbia University and a year later he was
ordained at the seminary. In 1914, while serving as a rabbi, he earned
a law degree from New York University and then returned to the
seminary from which he received a doctorate in 1920.
Israel Levinthal held his first position in 1909 at Temple Beth-El of
Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and in October 1910 he began serving as rabbi
of Temple B’nai Shalom in Brooklyn. He held this position for four
years and in 1915 accepted an offer from congregation Temple Petach
Tikvah in Brownsville. In 1919 he left Petach Tikvah to serve as rabbi
at the Brooklyn Jewish Center, a position he held until his death.
Throughout the next six decades Levinthal was active in the
Rabbinical Assembly of America and in Brooklyn’s Jewish communal
life. He founded the Brooklyn Board of Rabbis and served as its first
president (1929–1931), the Brooklyn Zionist Region (president
1933–1935), and the Brooklyn Jewish Community Council (president
1940–1944). Levinthal was a visiting professor of homiletics at the
seminary between 1947 and 1962. He also published several books,
which were based for the most part on sermons, lectures, and
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addresses he had delivered throughout his career.15
Since the sermon on the Hebrew University was preached while
Levinthal served as rabbi at congregation Petach Tikvah, two short
notes regarding the character of this congregation are in order:
1) Petach Tikvah’s membership drastically increased during the years
Levinthal officiated: by 1918 it grew from twenty-two to two hundred
seventy-five members, with a synagogue holding twelve hundred
seats.
2) Many of Levinthal’s congregants at Petach Tikvah were immigrants
who “had the learning of the Old World,”namely from East European
yeshivas. Their acquaintance with traditional sources allowed
Levinthal to incorporate them into his sermons.16
When preaching this sermon, Rabbi Levinthal was close to ending
eight years as a full-time rabbi, three of which had been at Petach
Tikvah, his second congregation. At this stage of his life, Levinthal
was a local rabbi at an average congregation and not well known
much beyond Brooklyn and its bordering neighborhoods. Therefore,
his sermon allows for a good case study of an American Jewish,
popular religious response to the founding of the Hebrew University.
“The Significance of a Jewish University”
Israel Levinthal preached this sermon on “Fri. April 19th, 1918. [At
congregation] Pet Tik. [Petach Tikvah].” These details, as well as its
“effect: good,” are provided by Levinthal, who wrote them on the
neatly folded paper, as he did with most of his handwritten sermons.
Levinthal noted that he planned to deliver this sermon on “mar
[march] 22 - 1918,” but due to an illness he delayed speaking about
the founding of the university until almost a month later.17
The title is a good point to begin analyzing the main issues raised
by Levinthal in this sermon and placing its content in a historical
context. In relating to this institution as“Jewish,”Rabbi Levinthal takes
a clear stand on one of the main debates among Zionist leaders and
laymen in the yishuv regarding the character of the university, its role,
and goal.18 In a letter to Solomon Rosenbloom of Pittsburgh, dated
March 20, 1925, Cyrus Adler outlined the basic dilemma and its
practical implications:
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“The Significance of a Jewish University”
If, for example, they mean to establish a Hebrew University
which shall differ from other universities only in the fact that
the language of instruction is Hebrew, there is no point in any
further discussion [regarding academic freedom and Jewish
studies]. In the Department of Jewish Studies, all that this
would mean would be that the instruction should be given in
the Hebrew language; that the Professor of Bible might be
from the neighboring Dominican School. I assume that this is
not the point of view and that so far as the Department of
Jewish Studies is concerned, it is not going to be merely
Hebrew but also Jewish.19
Rabbi Levinthal consistently refers to this institution as a Jewish
university, and not as a Hebrew university. His word choice suggests
that its importance and mission lay in it being a Jewish institution, not
simply one in which lectures are given in Hebrew. Levinthal’s
perception can be traced throughout his sermon. For example, in
connection with his demand that the Jewish land be “consecrated to
the highest and noblest ideals known to man,” without
unrighteousness, corruption and injustice, Levinthal hopes that the
Jewish university “from which shall radiate the true teachings of
Israel’s law will be the guide and chart to the Palestinian Jew, inspiring
him more and more with the thought that in Zion the Law of God
must reign supreme.” By connecting between “Israel’s Law,”“the Law
of God,”and “the teachings of social justice that permeate all Hebrew
religious writings,”Levinthal expresses an idea well rooted in Reform
Judaism and American religious thought but uncharacteristic of a
Conservative rabbi grounded in Orthodoxy.
Furthermore, the emphasis on social ideals with regard to the
Jewish land reminds us of certain Jewish and Zionist social, socialist,
and labor trends in America, Europe, and Palestine. Levinthal
connected these social ideals with traditional Jewish sources in the
Zionist context, something uncommon for a religious personality of
his affiliation at the time.20
Interrelated to the issue of a Hebrew university versus a Jewish
university is the place of the university in the yishuv: Should it be a
source of spiritual and cultural inspiration for the yishuv and/or Jewish
Diaspora, or primarily an institution with practical goals such as
providing skilled and intellectual workers? It seems as though many
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Zionist leaders tended to emphasize the former, whereas laymen
sided more with the material and practical potential contribution of
this institution to the yishuv.21
From the other side of the ocean, Rabbi Levinthal did not see any
contradiction between the two aforementioned goals of the university.
He recognized that “the land will need men of science, men of
learning. It will need physicians and chemists, architects and
engineers to meet the new conditions that shall arise,” as well as the
settlers’need for ongoing cultural and spiritual reinforcement. In other
words, spiritualism and materialism should be seen as complementing
each other, a theme that will appear several months later in Chaim
Weizmann’s speech at the laying of the cornerstones of the
university.22
In addition to focusing on the university as a source for material
and spiritual needs of the yishuv, Rabbi Levinthal also related to its
importance to individual Jews and Jewish communities in the
Diaspora. The emphasis of this role of the university differs from that
raised by several personalities in the years before and after the
university’s founding, focusing on its contribution to academic
scholarship, primarily in Jewish studies.
To-day there is not a Jewish higher school for the Jewish
layman. We have our Theological Schools and Seminaries for
the professional training of Rabbis. But if a Jewish student
desires to become acquainted with the literature of the Jew,
along modern and systematic lines, he enters the Semitic
Department of any of our universities. There in most cases, he
studies the partisan and biased opinions of Christian scholars,
which have a very telling effect upon his Jewish consciousness.
Levinthal’s statement regarding the lack of departments of Jewish
studies in American universities and the need for Jewish studies
within Semitic departments is generally correct.23 However, his
judgment of “the partisan and biased opinions of Christian scholars”
teaching in these departments overlooks the fact that a host of Jewish
scholars taught in some of the most prestigious departments for
Semitic studies in American universities toward the end of the
nineteenth century: Cyrus Adler, who began teaching at Johns
Hopkins University in 1890; Felix Adler (1851–1933), who taught
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“The Significance of a Jewish University”
Hebrew and Oriental literature at Cornell University as of 1874;
Richard J. Gottheil (1862–1936), Semitic languages professor at
Columbia University starting in 1886; Morris Jastrow (1861–1922),
Semitics professor at the University of Pennsylvania beginning in
1892; and Max L. Margolis (1866–1932), who began teaching Semitic
languages at the University of California, Berkeley, in 1897.24
Interestingly, Levinthal’s perception that Jewish theological
schools and seminaries, namely the Hebrew Union College and the
Jewish Theological Seminary, were incapable of teaching Jewish
literature “along modern and systematic lines” contradicts the picture
we gain from scholarly works on these institutions published over the
last few decades.25 This assessment, made while Levinthal was a
doctoral candidate at the seminary, would have undoubtedly been
challenged, for example, by Professor Solomon Schechter
(1847–1915), who accepted Levinthal to the seminary and was one of
his teachers. As president of the seminary, Schechter made every effort
to academize Jewish studies at this institution on the highest possible
level.26
It should be noted that although Levinthal was troubled by the
state of the field of Jewish studies in American universities, East
European Jews had been struggling since the late nineteenth century
with numerous clausus policies in national gymnasiums and
universities. This exclusionary movement was largely alien to the
American experience and was a major reason behind why many in the
Zionist movement, and some European Jewish personalities, sought
to promote a Jewish/Hebrew university in Palestine.27
Levinthal undoubtedly believed that studying at a Jewish
university, located in “Zion,”“surrounded by a healthy Jewish
environment and stimulated constantly by Jewish idealism,” would
have an extremely positive effect on any Jewish student. In other
words, the surrounding atmosphere in Jerusalem would be more
conducive for a Jewish student than at an American university, and he
“will be a better Jew, a more loyal and faithful Jew, a more devoted and
proud Jew” because of this environment “which will have a lasting
effect upon him.” Furthermore, the student coming to study at the
Hebrew University would carry this positive experience back to his
community, where “it will radiate... not only in Jerusalem, but in the
north and south, in the east and west, wherever Jews will reside.”
Levinthal’s strong emphasis on the cultural-spiritual aspects of
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this impending institution of higher learning explains two contexts
within which he relates to it in his sermon: connecting it, symbolically,
to Raban Yohanan Ben Zakkai and Yavneh, and speaking about it in
terms of a yeshivah. The location of Mount Scopus, which historically
was “associated with the extinction of the last relic of Jewish
sovereignty,” led, associatively, to Ben Zakkai and Yavneh. This
connection was utilized in various ways, both religious and secular, in
order to tie the founding of the university to the rebuilding of Jewish
life in Palestine. Most of the people who linked Yavneh with the
university perceived Yavneh as a spiritual-religious center, but their
understanding of the role of the university was different, especially
regarding the religious aspects of this comparison.28
It seems as though Rabbi Levinthal believed that this institute had
not only spiritual but also a certain religious meaning. Despite
knowing the religious character of Ben Zakkai’s institute in Yavneh,
Levinthal still called it a university:“When Jerusalem was destroyed by
Rome, a Jewish University arose in Jawnia [Yavneh], founded by Rabbi
Jochanan ben Zaccai.” Using such language linked the historic
movement to the university to be founded in Jerusalem. This could be
dismissed as a rhetorical device so common in oral discourse, and
sermons in particular. However, Levinthal creates an analogy between
the Torah as the text used by God to create the world, and the
university as setting the guidelines for the renewed yishuv in Palestine.
The university will “let the world know that in the restored Judea—
Torah, the Divine Wisdom of God shall still be Israel’s watchword,
Israel’s guide in life.” On the basis of this statement it appears as
though Rabbi Levinthal’s choice to apply the verse “Out of Zion shall
go forth the Law and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem to the
university” to the university is not only rhetorical, but also
intentional.29
The application of this verse to the university was a rather
sensitive issue at the time for some leading American Orthodox
Zionist rabbis, as well as for some of their contemporaries in Palestine.
For example, in addresses made in the spring and summer of 1918,
Rabbis Yehudah L. Maimon (Fishman) (1875–1962) and Meir Bar-Ilan
(Berlin) (1880–1949) resented the application of the verse“Out of Zion
shall go forth the Law and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.”
Several years later, in response to criticism from within certain
Orthodox circles regarding his speech at the opening ceremony of the
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“The Significance of a Jewish University”
university, Rabbi Avraham Y. Kook (1865–1935) claimed to be
misunderstood for applying this verse to the university.30
Another sensitive issue for Rabbi Kook was the comparison
between the university and Yavneh. Rabbi Kook did not find favor in
the founding of the Hebrew University, or in its opening. He
perceived it as an institute which would be a secular-spiritual center
and proceeded to found a yeshivah as an alternative institute. Initially,
Rabbi Kook intended that this yeshivah be located in the actual
Yavneh, in direct response to the symbolic associations of the
university with Yavneh. However, since the university was to be built
in Jerusalem, he came to the conclusion that his alternative institution
must also be established in Jerusalem.31
Although Rabbi Levinthal was very close to Orthodoxy, if not part
of it, in its early-twentieth-century definitions,32 he did not share some
of the Orthodox suspicions regarding the Hebrew University.
Therefore, he did not adopt the view regarding the use of the
aforementioned verse and the comparisons to Yavneh which
characterized several Orthodox leading rabbis.
It seems as though the influence of the emerging Hebrew
University on the development of the yishuv in Palestine, its role
within the yishuv, possible implications on the yishuv’s character, and
its stand vis-à-vis world Jewry, was, if anything, an issue for many
American Jewish religious leaders on the national level. Local religious
leaders had a host of other issues to deal with. It is reasonable to
assume that only a few of the many hundreds of American local rabbis
and preachers officiating during the years before and after the
founding of the Hebrew University devoted a sermon to the
significance of this institution or to the ceremony marking its
foundation. Some may have mentioned the event, but they probably
did not devote an entire sermon to it because they felt that this topic
should not be discussed from the pulpit, or because immigrant
congregations had other issues to address which were perceived by
their rabbis and preachers as more relevant to their congregations.
This enhances the importance of popular religious responses to
the founding and opening of the university, raised by those who are
not as involved in Palestinian or worldwide Jewish politics.
Furthermore, sermons enable us to gain some understanding of the
religious terms and associations used in relating to this institution on
a popular level.
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American Jewish Archives Journal
Serving as a Conservative rabbi in Brooklyn and preaching to a
congregation of hard-working immigrants, Rabbi Levinthal did not
share the same views and sensitivities as Orthodox rabbis in Palestine
regarding the “sacred canopy” spread over the university by secular
Zionist leaders. This, notwithstanding his affiliation with Orthodox
thought and way of life, which was probably due to the significant
differences between Orthodoxy in America and Palestine. As an
advanced graduate student who exposed himself extensively to
modern Jewish historical-critical studies as well as general studies for
years, Rabbi Levinthal could not see modern subjects and
methodologies as posing a threat to the traditional text and its
interpretation. Consequently, he spoke freely about a Jewish
university and saw no problem with relating to its importance in
religious terms.
Finally, living in the Diaspora, Rabbi Levinthal emphasized the
university as a potential source of spiritual inspiration and positive
influence on world Jewry in general and, especially, on Jewish students
coming from the Diaspora. These students would come to study for
limited periods and bring back to their communities their enlightened
experiences.
As we have seen, most of Rabbi Levinthal’s views of the university
are quite different than those of several Orthodox rabbis, both in
Palestine and in America. However, it seems as though they all shared
an ideal—some would even say naive—picture of the university’s
fundamental role as an educational institute, instilling certain values
and beliefs. Based upon their opinions and expectations, most, if not
all, of these personalities were probably equally surprised, for good or
for bad, when they discovered the marginal role of the university in
teaching values and beliefs.
Toward the end of his sermon, Rabbi Levinthal states that “the
project of a Jewish University in Jerusalem has already passed the
stage of dream. It is gradually becoming a reality.” Rabbi Levinthal’s
ideal vision, high expectations, enthusiasm and full support for the
university-to-be suggest that he would have made every effort to
attend the opening ceremony of the university at Mount Scopus, on
April 1, 1925. For unknown reasons Rabbi Levinthal could not attend
this event; however, together with Rabbi Israel Goldstein (1896–1986),
a Conservative rabbi and personal friend who also could not attend
this ceremony, they issued a resolution, conveyed by Levinthal. This
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“The Significance of a Jewish University”
text “spoke of a new era in the spiritual and cultural life of Israel and
envisaged the university unfolding the ‘old yet ever new beauties of
our Torah, so that, in the light of knowledge, we may once more
proudly walk along our own board, clear, distinctive Jewish way of
life.”’33
Unfortunately, we do not know what Rabbi Levinthal thought
about the Hebrew University as the years went by, but it seems as
though most of his visions and expectations regarding the university’s
character, role, and mission did not materialize. Nevertheless, Rabbi
Levinthal would most likely have found symbolic significance in the
fact that at the dawn of a new millennium, the Hebrew University of
Jerusalem received permission from the American Office of Patents to
register as the University of the Jewish People.34
Kimmy Caplan teaches at the Department of Jewish History of Bar-Ilan
University and at the Institute for Contemporary Jewry of the Hebrew University
of Jerusalem. His book on immigrant Orthodox rabbis, preachers, and their
sermons was recently be published by the Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish
History. (Jerusalem, in 2002).
APPENDIX
“The Significance of a Jewish University”
Every Jew will be thrilled by the news that recently came to us
from across the sea, that the first step in the organization of a Jewish
homeland in Palestine, that the first work to engage the attention of
the Zionist Commission, the members of which have already reached
the Holy Land, was to be the founding of a great Jewish University
that shall have its seat in the ancient capital of Israel—Jerusalem. A
good and noble Jew—by the name of Israel Goldberg,35 for many years
actively identified with the Palestinian movement,36 has already
purchased the site—out of his own funds—in the Mt. of Olives,—
overlooking the site where once stood the Holy Temple. And in the
near future, we may hope to see a magnificent set of buildings,
whence the words of the Prophet shall be [...] fulfilled: “Out of Zion
shall go forth the Law and the Word of the Lord from Jerusalem.”37
A University as the first step in the founding of the new Jewish
homeland! —How typical that is of the Jew! Other nations have
different methods of establishing themselves in new lands. Rome
when she conquered a piece of territory and desired to transform it
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into Roman territory, stationed there her garrison of soldiers. That was
to mark her entry into the domains of Rome. Egypt, Greece, Babylonia
or Assyria of old knew no other method.38 Even to-day the mighty
nations of the world in their ambition to subjugate other peoples and
by conquest to add to the territory of their own, signalize the event by
the erection of heavy forts, of large cannon that tell the story of the
new regime.39
Not so with Israel! The Jews—upon their entry into their new
land—mark the event not by the erection of fort or citadel, not by the
establishment of gun or cannon, but by the establishment of a
University, of a home for Wisdom and Learning, from which the new
settler may derive his strength and his inspiration.
When Jerusalem was destroyed by Rome, a Jewish University
arose in Jawnia [Yavneh], founded by Rabbi Jochanan ben Zaccai. And
though the land was no more, this University kept alive the Jew and
gave him strength and sustenance to endure the manifold hardships
that were his lot.40
To-day when Jerusalem is to be rebuilt, again a University is to be
established—to let the world know that in the restored Judea—Torah,
the Divine Wisdom of God shall still be Israel’s watchword, Israel’s
guide in life.
There is a twofold significance in the establishment of a Jewish
University. First of all, for the inhabitants of Palestine, for those who
live there now and for the thousands who will undoubtedly flock there
after the war,41 a Jewish University will be of incalculable service. The
land will need men of science, men of learning. It will need physicians
and chemists, architects and engineers to meet the new conditions
that shall arise. The graduates coming from a Jewish University, will be
inspired with Jewish idealism, they will then work in the regeneration
of Judea, not with the thought of self, but with the thought of being of
service to their own people, to their own land. It will afford an
opportunity to the children of these pioneer settlers to receive a higher
education, where they will learn the fullest statement, in terms of
modern knowledge, of the whole span of Jewish life and thought—its
traditions and aspirations. Nay more, giving the fullest attention to the
study of Hebrew Literature, it will emphasize the teachings of social
justice that permeate all Hebrew religious writings, and thus it will
help to guide the pioneers in the Holy Land in establishing a land
where justice and righteousness shall reign supreme, where love of
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“The Significance of a Jewish University”
and service for fellow-man shall be the motive of their every day acts.
The Rabbis in their picturesque language tell us that when God
created the world he used the Torah as His guide and chart.42 Just as a
king who wants to build a palace does not build it himself, but secures
first an architect, and the architect draws his plans and his charts,
giving explicit directions, so too did the Torah serve as God’s plan in
the creation of the world. A fine thought underlies this Rabbinic
homily. God desired that religion and morality be the foundation
stones of the earth’s sustenance and so He used the Torah as His guide
in its creation. So too we may say of the new Jewish settlement that is
to be. The new Jewish land must be consecrated to the highest and
noblest ideals known to man. There un-righteousness dare not be,
there corruption and injustice must not make their appearance. A
Jewish University, from which shall radiate the true teachings of
Israel’s Law will be the guide and the chart to the Palestinian Jew,
inspiring him more and more with the thought that in Zion the Law
of God must reign supreme.
But a Jewish University will have a wider significance. It will
influence not only the life of the Palestinian Jew, but the life of the Jews
scattered throughout the world.
To-day there is not a Jewish higher school for the Jewish layman.
We have our Theological Schools and Seminaries for the professional
training of Rabbis. But if a Jewish student desires to become
acquainted with the literature of the Jew, along modern and
systematic lines, he enters the Semitic Department of any of our
universities. There in most cases, he studies the partisan and biased
opinions of Christian scholars, which have a very telling effect upon
his Jewish consciousness. What a different effect his studies will have
upon him and his life if he will take his course of studies in a Jewish
University in the Jewish city of Jerusalem, in the Jewish land of
Palestine!
And the Jewish student who is anxious to do research work in
other fields of science, instead of going to Oxford and Cambridge and
Heidelberg, where he gradually learns to forget his Jewish identity,—
what will be the result if he will take the same course in a Jewish
University, surrounded by a healthy Jewish environment and
stimulated constantly by Jewish idealism!
The young student, no matter in what land he will live, coming
from his studies in Jerusalem, will be a better Jew, a more loyal and
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faithful Jew, a more devoted and proud Jew, because he will become
influenced by the surroundings of Palestine which will have a lasting
effect upon him.
We can almost see the vision of Jewish students from near and far
taking a pilgrimage to the Jewish University, spending, if not years, at
least a few months under the influence of this University, and then
bringing back to their bretheren in their own lands the lessons they
have there been taught. The Jewish University will thus place Jewish
culture upon the high plane where it belongs. It will instill a love for
Jewish knowledge and Jewish wisdom, it will radiate its influence not
only in Jerusalem, but in the north and south, in the east and west,
wherever Jews will reside.
With the learned Professor Israel Abrahams43 I too say “I wish that
I may live long enough to see this founded, and that I may myself have
the honor to be one of its alumni.”
The project of a Jewish University in Jerusalem has already passed
the stage of dream. It is gradually becoming a reality. Already the
famous Henry Bergson,44 the world’s greatest living philosopher, who
until recently had naught to do with his Jewish bretheren, has now
offered his services to teach for 2 years in this Jewish University
gratis—without the thought of re-numeration. Georg Brandes, the
world’s greatest living critic has enthusiastically given this movement
his support.45 And the Jewish people everywhere, who will understand
and appreciate what good such a University can bring to the Jew and
to Judaism, will undoubtedly help in its creation, that it shall be a pride
for all humanity. Then indeed, shall we see planted in the garden of
Israel a Tree of Knowledge which will be a Tree of Life for Israel and
for all mankind.
NOTES:
1. I thank the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, New York,
for their permission to read and make use of the Israel Levinthal Papers Collection in
their archives. The sermon discussed may be found in Box 2, File 1918. I am greatly
indebted to the anonymous reader and Richelle Budd Caplan for their helpful
comments.
2. Nahum Sokolow, The History of Zionism 1600-1918 (London and New York:
Longmans, Green and Company, 1919), vol. 2, 145. On the choice of Mount Scopus,
the ceremony, and the symbolic, at times sacred meanings of this site, see Arthur A.
Goren, “Sanctifying Scopus: Locating the Hebrew University on Mount Scopus,”
Elisheva Carlebach et al., eds., Jewish History and Jewish Memory: Essays in Honor of
Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (Hanover, N.H., and London: Brandeis University Press, 1998),
78
“The Significance of a Jewish University”
330–48; Yehoshua Ben-Arieh, Jerusalem in the 19th Century: Emergence of the New City
(Jerusalem and New York: Yad Ben Zvi, 1986), 430–34; Benjamin Z. Kedar, “Tekes
Hanahat Avnei Hapinah Launiversitah Haivrit Be15 Beav Tara”h (24 Beyuli 1918),”
Michael Heyd et al., eds., Toledot Hauniversitah Haivrit Biyerushalayim: Shorashim
Vehatehalot (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1997), 90-120.
3. The speech of Rabbi Avraham Y. Kook (1865-1935) at the opening ceremony
has been analyzed by Israel Bartal,“‘Yehi Razon Shelo Te’era Takalah Al Yadi’: Neumo
Shel Harav Ay”h Kook: Diverei Pareshanut,”Heyd, Toledot Hauniversitah Haivrit, 31520. For a discussion of the reaction of five Orthodox rabbis, see Kimmy Caplan,
“Hamesh Teguvot Shel Rabanim Ortodoksim Leyisud Hauniversitah Haivrit
Biyerushalayim Ulepetihatah,” Yahadut Zemanenu 10 (1996), 139–64.
4. Surprisingly, the centrality of these events has little expression, if at all, in some
of the classic works on Zionism. For example, Howard M. Sachar, A History of Israel:
From the Rise of Zionism to Our Time (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1991) fails to mention
the founding of the university, and on page 134 he states, incorrectly, that “the high
commissioner himself completed his term of office in June 1925. In that month the
Hebrew University was inaugurated on Mount Scopus...” (Italics mine). Finally,
Walter Laqueur, A History of Zionism (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1972), does
not mention either events.
5. Collections of these documents are located at the archives of the Hebrew
University of Jerusalem, Mount Scopus Campus.
6. Israel Kolat,“Ra’ayon Hauniversitah Haivrit Batenuah Haleumit Hayehudit”;
Heyd, Toledot Hauniversitah Haivrit, 3-75; David N. Myers, Re-Inventing the Jewish Past:
European Jewish Intellectuals and the Zionist Return to History (New York and Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1995), 42-9; Geoffrey Wigoder, The Crown of Wisdom: Sixty
Years of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (Jerusalem: n.p., 1985), vol. 1, 16–67.
7. This explains the focus on these elites in the scholarly works mentioned, as
well as Myers, Re-Inventing the Jewish Past, esp. 1–68; Jehuda Reinharz, “Laying the
Foundation for a University in Jerusalem: Chaim Weizmann’s Role, 1913-1914,”
Modern Judaism 4,1 (1984), 1-39; idem, Chaim Weizmann: The Making of a Zionist
Leader (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), index reference:
“Weizmann and Jewish University Project”; idem, Chaim Weizmann: The Making of a
Statesman (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), index reference:
“Hebrew University.”
8. Jonathan D. Sarna, “Two Traditions of Seminary Scholarship,” edited by Jack
Wertheimer, Tradition Renewed: A History of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America
(New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1997), vol. 2, 66–67.
9. Arthur A. Goren, Dissenter in Zion: From the Writings of Judah L. Magnes
(Cambridge, Mass., and London: Harvard University Press, 1982), 1–58.
10. David Philipson, My Life as an American Jew (Cincinnati: J. G. Kidd and Son,
1941). Philipson strongly opposed Zionism, and in 1918 he “attempted to form a
national anti-Zionist organization”in America, in response to the Balfour Declaration.
See Kerry M. Olitzky et al., eds., Reform Judaism in America: A Biographical Dictionary
and Sourcebook (Westport, Conn., and London: Greenwood Press, 1993), 163.
11. Cyrus Adler, I Have Considered the Days (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication
Society, 1941), 356–57, 367–68, 372–74.
12. Naomi W. Cohen,“‘Diaspora plus Palestine, Religion plus Nationalism:’ The
Seminary and Zionism, 1902–1948,” Wertheimer, Tradition Renewed, 2: 138–39; Myers,
79
American Jewish Archives Journal
Re-Inventing the Jewish Past, 49; Ira Robinson, ed., Cyrus Adler: Selected Letters
(Philadelphia and New York: Jewish Publication Society and The Jewish Theological
Seminary of America, 1985), vol. 1, 233–34, 330–31; vol. 2, 58–65, 82–85, 96–100.
13. Evidence to this is the scarce references to the Hebrew University in the
following works: Jeffrey S. Gurock, The Men and Women of Yeshiva: Higher Education,
Orthodoxy, and American Judaism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988);
Samuel E. Karff, ed., Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion At One Hundred
Years (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1976); Wertheimer, Tradition Renewed.
14. Nevertheless, his name does not appear in either the index or the
bibliography of Robert V. Friedenberg’s “Hear O Israel”: The History of American Jewish
Preaching, 1654–1970 (Tuscaloosa and London: University of Alabama Press, 1989).
15. This basic outline is based upon the following works, which include
additional information: Kimmy Caplan,“The Life and Sermons of Rabbi Israel Herbert
Levinthal (1888–1982),” American Jewish History 87, 1 (1999): 1–28; Deborah Dash
Moore,“Israel Herbert Levinthal,”in American National Biography, John A. Garraty and
Mark C. Carnes, eds., (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), vol. 13,
549–50; Pamela S. Nadell, Conservative Judaism in America: A Biographical Dictionary
and Sourcebook (New York, Westport, Conn., and London: Greenwood Press, 1988),
174–76.
16. Caplan,“The Life and Sermons of Rabbi Israel Herbert Levinthal,”8–9, 19.
17. This sermon was initially intended to be preached on Friday evening before
reading the weekly portion of Zav but was delivered during the reading of Aharei MotKedoshim In addition to Levinthal’s illness, the delay of close to a month in preaching
the sermon may have been due to the upcoming Passover holiday, which demands
sermons relating to it. It should be noted that there does not appear to be any
connection between either weekly portions and this sermon. However, considering
the nature of Levinthal’s Friday evening sermons and lectures, which many times did
not relate to the weekly portion, this is not surprising.
18. For some expressions on these debates, see Kedar, “Tekes Hanahat Avnei
Hapinah Launiversitah Haivrit,” 91–92; Israel Kolat, “Hauniversitah Haivrit: Bein
Universitah Yehudit Leuniversitah Erez-Yisraelit,”Madaei Hayahadut 35 (1995), 47-60;
idem,“Ra’ayon Hauniversitah Haivrit”; Anita Shapira,“The Zionist Labor Movement
and the Hebrew University,”Judaism 45, 2 (1996): 183–99.
19. Robinson, Cyrus Adler, 2: 111.
20. For various aspects of Socialist and Labor Zionism, see Avyatar Friesel,
Hatenuah Haziyonit Bearezot-Haberit Bashanim 1897–1914 (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University
and Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1970), 131–35; Allon Gal, Socialist Zionism: Theory and
Issues in Contemporary Jewish Nationalism (Reprint, Lanham, MD, and London:
University Press of America, 1989); Ben Halpern and Jehuda Reinharz, Zionism and the
Creation of a New Society (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998),
120–44, 196–229; Mark A. Raider, The Emergence of American Zionism (New York and
London: New York University Press, 1998); Melvin I. Urofsky, American Zionism from
Herzl to the Holocaust (Garden City, NY: Anchor Press, 1975), 102–04.
21. Rachel Elboim-Dror, Hahinukh Haivri Be’erez-Yisrael, vol. 1, 1854–1914
(Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi, 1986), 246; idem, vol. 2, 1914–1920 (Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi,
1990), 155, 191–92; Hagit Lavsky, “Bein Hanahat Even Hapinah Lapetihah: Yisud
Hauniversitah Haivrit, 1918–1925,” Heyd, Toledot Hauniversitah Haivrit, 122–26;
Reinharz, Chaim Weizmann: The Making of a Statesman, 259; Shapira, “The Zionist
80
“The Significance of a Jewish University”
Labor Movement and the Hebrew University,”186–87.
22. I rely on the version published in Kedar, “Tekes Hanahat Avnei Hapinah
Launiversitah Haivrit,”110-20.
23. For a detailed historical account, see Paul Ritterband and Harold S Wechsler,
Jewish Learning in American Universities: The First Century (Bloomington and
Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1994), 10-77. On the Jewish seminaries in this
context, see 139–49.
24. See Frederick E. Greenspahn,“The Beginnings of Judaic Studies in American
Universities,”Modern Judaism 20, 2 (2000): 209–26.
25. See above, note 13.
26. On Schechter’s efforts to academize the seminary, see Sarna,“Two Traditions
of Seminary Scholarship,”55–67; Mel Scult,“Schechter’s Seminary,”Tradition Renewed,
vol. 1, 61–68, 76–77.
27. Israel Bartal, “Yehudei Mizrah Eropah Vehahasekalah Hagevohah,” Heyd,
Toledot Hauniversitah Haivrit, 85-90; Kolat, “Ra’ayon Hauniversitah Haivrit,” 40–44
Hayim N. Bialik (1873-1934) alluded to this problem in his speech at the inauguration
of the Hebrew University, which adds another dimension to his words, “Better one
little university but entirely my own...than thousands of temples of learning from
which I derive benefit but in which I have no recognized share.”See Arthur Hertzberg,
The Zionist Idea: A Historical Analysis and Reader (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press,
1970), 284–85.
28. Goren,“Sanctifying Scopus,”333–36.
29. Levinthal’s vision of the university which strongly emphasized the study of
Jewish religious literature also supports this argument: “…giving the fullest attention
to the study of Hebrew Literature, it will emphasize the teachings of social justice that
permeate all Hebrew religious writings....”
30. Caplan,“Hamesh Teguvot Shel Rabanim Ortodoksim,”142–45, 156–57.
31. This was similar to his major involvement in the 1910s in founding the
Tahkemoni school in reaction to the Hebrew Gymnasium (Hagimnasiah Haivrit). See
Caplan, “Hamesh Teguvot Shel Rabanim Ortodoksim,” 155–56; Elboim-Dror,
Hahinukh Haivri Be’erz-Yisrael, vol. 2, 290.
32. On the problematics of defining what is Orthodoxy and who is Orthodox at
the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, see Jeffrey S Gurock, American
Jewish Orthodoxy in Historical Perspective (Hoboken, N.J.: Ktav Publishing House,
1996), 103–17, 352–56, notes 2–6; Charles S. Liebman, “Orthodoxy in Jewish Life,”
American Jewish Year Book 66 (1965): 30–36; idem, “Religion, Class, and Culture in
American Jewish History,”Jewish Journal of Sociology 9, 2 (1967): 227–42.
33. Israel Goldstein, My World as a Jew: The Memoirs of Israel Goldstein (New York
and London: Herzl Press, 1984), vol. 1, 65.
34. See Toar: Ketav-Haet Shel Bogrei Hauniversitah Haivrit Biyerushalayim
(October 2000), 35.
35. His name was actually Yizhak Leib Goldberg. See Kedar, “Tekes Hanahat
Avnei Hapinah Launiversitah Haivrit,” 102. The estate was purchased from Sir John
Gray Hill of Liverpool. On this estate, see Jacob Wahrman, “Meahuzat Grei Hil
Le‘migrash Hauniversitah’ Behar Hazofim,” Heyd, Toledot Hauniversitah Haivrit,
163–201.
36. Namely, the Zionist movement.
37. Isaiah 2:3 and Micah 4:2.
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American Jewish Archives Journal
38. Although this grand generalization has merit, it is not correct in all cases.
Furthermore, stationing soldiers was not always done in order to mark territories. See
for example Israel Shatzman, The Armies of the Hasmonians and Herod: From Hellenistic
to Roman Frameworks (Tubingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1991), 36–98, 217–77. I owe this
reference to Professor Hanan Eshel.
39. This alludes to the First World War.
40. On Ben Zakkai, this university, and the circumstances in which it was
founded, see Gedalyahu Alon, Jews, Judaism and the Classical World: Studies in Jewish
History in the Times of the Second Temple and Talmud (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1977),
269–344; Anat Yisraeli-Taran, Agadot Hahurban: Masorot Hahurban Basifrut Hatalmudit
(Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1997), 51–76. On the mythos of Yavneh as to what
kept the Jewish people’s “strength and sustenance,” see Yehoshafat Harkabi, The Bar
Kokhba Syndrome: Risk and Realism in International Politics (Chappaqua, NY: Rossel
Books, 1983), 18.
41. Undoubtedly, the First World War.
42. See Miderash Tanhumah, Bereshit 1:5; Miderash Rabah, Bereshit 1:1.
43. Israel Abrahams (1858–1924) succeeded Solomon Schechter at Cambridge
University as Reader in rabbinic and talmudic literature, following Schechter’s
immigration to America in 1902 to head the Jewish Theological Seminary of America.
On Abrahams, see David G. Dalin,“Israel Abrahams: Leader of Liturgical Reform in
England,” Reform Judaism 32, 1 (1985): 68–83; Elliott Horowitz, “Jewish Life in the
Middle Ages and the Jewish Life of Israel Abrahams,” David N. Myers and David B.
Ruderman, eds., The Jewish Past Revisited: Reflections on Modern Jewish Historians (New
Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1998), 143–63.
44. Bergson (1859–1941), famous French philosopher and Nobel laureate, was
invited in late 1919 by the “University Commity,”to a conference which aimed to help
plan the university. Professors Albert Einstein and Sigmund Freud were among the
Jewish scientists invited to this conference, which never took place. See Lavsky, “Bein
Hanahat Even Hapinah Lapetihah,”129.
45. Brandes (1842–1927), a Danish critic and scholar, greatly influenced European
and, in particular, Scandinavian literary circles.
82
The Transformation of Jewish Social
Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
Mark Bauman
Jewish social services in Atlanta underwent a dramatic
transformation between 1928 and 1948. Several factors precipitated
the transformation including the general end of immigration, the
concomitant acculturation and rise of Jews into the middle class, the
New Deal efforts to overcome the Great Depression, the Holocaust,
the creation of Israel, and the availability of strong leadership.
Atlanta’s experiences exemplified certain national trends while
varying from others. It thus provides an excellent case study. This
study also illustrates how a city like Atlanta outside of the New YorkPhiladelphia-Chicago nexus offered regional and national leadership,
thereby eschewing parochialism. Finally, unlike many works on
Jewish social services which start and usually end from the vantage
point of national organizations, this begins from the local perspective
to elucidate both national and local developments. By doing so, it
suggests a new paradigm concerning the ebb and flow of power
within the American Jewish community. Atlanta’s Jewish experience
dramatizes the interplay of centralizing and decentralizing forces.
Background: From Decentralization to Centralization
Prior to 1928 the history of Jewish social services in Atlanta
typified that of similar communities throughout America.1 When
Central European (mostly German) Jews settled in the city in the
decades proceeding and then following the Civil War, they created
self-help and benevolent societies. For the most part, these were
specialized organizations catering to group needs. They also
occasionally contributed to Jews in need elsewhere in the United
States and overseas. When East European Jews and then Sephardim
arrived during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, they
replicated the process. The German Jews, now acculturated and more
affluent, attempted to assist as well as control their brethren.
Resenting the condescension and yet requiring the funds, the
immigrants tried to maintain their pride, customs, and institutions
even while having to cooperate.
83
American Jewish Archives Journal
Between 1909 and 1912, as in other cities since the 1890s, Jewish
community charities came together in order to eliminate duplication,
rationalize fund raising, and contribute to community control. The
resultant Atlanta Federation of Jewish Charities served as the umbrella
for the Montefiore Relief Association, the Hebrew Relief Society, the
Free Kindergarten and Social Settlement, the Jewish Education
Alliance (JEA), the Free Loan Association, the Central Immigration
Committee (local affiliate of the Immigrant Removal Organization, or
IRO), and the local section of the National Council of Jewish Women.
Federation-type agencies had begun in Eastern Europe as early as the
mid-1800s. Massachusetts established a board of charities in 1863,
but the charity organization movement in America is dated to 1877
and activities in Buffalo. In 1895 the Boston Jewish community
became the first to establish a Federation of Jewish Charities. The
National Conference of Charities and Corrections (later the National
Conference of Social Work) stimulated the creation of the National
Conference of Jewish Charities. The national conferences of this
organization stimulated the creation of Jewish federations after 1900.
In Atlanta, although the earlier immigrants contributed the majority of
funds and received fewer services, the officers and board of trustees of
the new federation were integrated across divisional lines. The
leadership, however, came largely from Rabbi “Doctor”David Marx of
the Reform Temple and the key German Jewish layman, Victor
Kriegshaber.2
A degree of professionalism had already begun with the
appointment of paid professionals to the Jewish Educational Alliance
and to the B’nai B’rith’s regional Hebrew Orphans’ Home, located in
the city since the 1880s.3 Yet it was not unusual for individual cases to
be researched and discussed by the officers and board members, and
volunteerism remained a major component of the work force.
The Balkan Wars and the First World War and its aftermath
fostered a tremendous need for overseas relief. The various segments
of the Atlanta Jewish community raised money and participated in
these efforts through the different national agencies. Unlike Atlanta,
for many communities including Columbus, Ohio, and Detroit,
Michigan, the experience with overseas relief and the examples of
Liberty bond and war chest drives contributed to a transformation of
Jewish social services during the 1920s.4
World War I and the national laws passed thereafter essentially
closed America’s doors to immigration. As Louis J. Swichkow and
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The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
Lloyd P. Gardner noted in their account of Milwaukee Jewry, the
Johnson Immigration Act of 1924 served as a critical milestone in that
by 1940 the American-born Jewish population outnumbered the
immigrants. With few new immigrants and with the gradual
socioeconomic and educational rise of East Europeans and
Sephardim, the old distinctions became gradually less pronounced.
Work on the federation board, although sometimes wrought with
conflict, also brought the leaders of the various Jewish
subcommunities together on a more equitable basis. During the mid1920s the federation assisted in the creation of and provided some of
the leadership for the Atlanta Associated Charities (forerunner of the
Community Chest and later the United Way). Much of the fundraising and financing thus shifted toward cooperation with the larger
society. Harry L. Lurie found that many Jewish federations
throughout the country had given over fund-raising duties to these
secular agencies by 1924. While most did so by 1936, large city
organizations, for example in New York and Chicago, lagged behind.5
Although this first period was characterized by the move from
specialized to central local agencies, and was marked by only
peripheral national and international influence, the next represented
greater variation. Far stronger national and international events
greatly impacted the creation of specialized community-wide
institutions. In turn, these organizations exerted substantial influence
on national Jewish structures. The federations in conjunction with the
welfare boards, assuming the broader roles of congregations and
specialized organizations, rose as the driving forces because of their
control over fundraising and their unified voice.
From the Depression to World War II: Local Centralization and
Unity from the Bottom Up
Few communities or community groups could meet the
challenges of the Great Depression begun in 1929, and Atlanta and its
Jewish agencies were no exception. The Depression exerted a decided
impact on the Jewish community. All of the congregations
experienced financial difficulties, especially since many were in the
midst of building new facilities. Several rabbis voluntarily cut their
salaries and still had difficulty getting paid.6 Pledges to the federation
were not met even by wealthy individuals, and months went by when
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American Jewish Archives Journal
staff salaries could not be paid. The Atlanta Federation of Jewish
Charities, largely dependent upon declining assistance from the
Atlanta Associated Charities, supported about fifty or sixty local
families and about an equal number of transients on a monthly basis
through the mid-1930s. It was forced to repeatedly renew a bank loan
for several thousand dollars while operating at a deficit. Sunday
school classes were temporarily discontinued in 1932, as were other
services. Requests for charities in other cities and countries were
rejected with regrets due to the financial emergency. Edward M.
Kahn, the federation’s executive director beginning in 1928, reported
the“absolute necessity”for a new JEA building the following year. The
need was not met for two decades.7
The Depression resulted directly or indirectly in some unforeseen
consequences. Ed Kahn joined the Executive Committee on
Transients of the National Conference of Jewish Social Services to
define a policy for a situation he described as “rather chaotic.”
Subsequently, Atlanta served as the regional headquarters for the
Southeast Transient Clearing House. The federation switched to a
membership basis, as did other community organizations, and invited
all Jewish community agencies to send representatives to join its
board. For the federation to undertake the latter required an analysis
of intragroup conflicts and frank discussion to combat animosities.
Efforts were not always successful. When Anshe S’fard, a strictly
traditional congregation, contributed the proceeds from a Torah
presentation to the closely associated Hachnosos Orchim (an
organization providing assistance to transients), for example, the
federation assigned a committee to discourage such independent
efforts. In a newly approved agreement, the federation assumed
responsibilities during the week, and the society accepted weekend
duties. The typical East European charity now had to formalize record
keeping, make the records public, and conduct regular audits. When
changing to a membership basis also, the federation board indicated
that the Jewish Educational Alliance should no longer be viewed as a
charity organization geared to immigrant Americanization. The First
World War and the stoppage of immigration were considered the
causes of the transformation into a community center.8
The improvements in federation services won recognition from
the general community. Because of their experience and efficient
methods, federation president Louis H. Moss was asked to head the
86
The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
city’s Associated Charities executive board and Julian V. Boehm
presided over the Red Cross. In 1935 Boehm led the first community
chest drive to exceed its quota in four years.9
Greater interaction developed with public agencies as the
Reconstruction Finance Corporation, the Fulton County Relief
Administration and the Transient Bureau, and the County Public
Welfare Commission in seriatim were asked for funds. Ultimately, the
federation changed its name to the Atlanta Federation of Jewish Social
Services, as its mission among the poor was assumed by the local
affiliates of the national government agencies and its other functions
expanded.10 The fine arts department of the JEA, for example, was
revised to nurture more creative activities like puppet making, drama,
and dance classes.11
The federation/government relationship did not always work
smoothly. Because of higher Jewish costs of living (the provision of
kosher food, for example), government agencies sometimes
subsidized only half the actual funding required. In 1935 a federal
agency refused to work through the federation since the government
dealt directly with individuals. Rhoda Kaufman, one of the foremost
leaders of secular and Jewish social services in the state, spoke in favor
of the Federal Emergency Relief Act over the less desirable Works
Progress Administration (WPA) for family assistance.12
The interaction also precipitated changes. By 1936 the federation
reorganized, creating committees with more specialized functions.
The following year adult education classes were under WPA auspices
and Kahn was called upon to provide information for a WPA Guide to
Georgia. The local section of the National Council of Jewish Women,
too, formed a committee in 1934 to ensure its compliance with
National Recovery Act guidelines.13
During the 1930s the hardships of the Depression and the rising
menace of Adolf Hitler intertwined, resulting in efforts to create local,
regional, and national agencies in a better position to respond
effectively. Atlanta’s Jewish community, aware of the persecution of
German Jews since 1933, both responded to and initiated regional and
national changes. In that year American Jewish Committee, American
Jewish Congress, and B’nai B’rith representatives created the Joint
Consultative Council to unify their defense efforts against Hitler. As
was to be the case for over a decade, the groups had difficulty working
together and soon disbanded. In 1936 the General Assembly of the
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American Jewish Archives Journal
National Council of Jewish Federations and Welfare Funds (NCJFWF)
applied pressure on the United Palestine Appeal (UPA) and the Joint
Distribution Committee (JDC) to unite their fund-raising campaigns
at its St. Louis conference. Edward M. Kahn, Rabbi Harry H. Epstein
of Congregation Ahavath Achim, Julian V. Boehm, and A. L. Feldman
represented Atlanta. The conference urged local communities to
establish new agencies to meet the financial emergency. Mrs. Harry
M. (Rebecca, or “Reb”) Gershon presided over a session on “New
Types of Jewish Welfare Organizations” at the NCJFWF regional
conference three months later. Louis H. Moss, Atlanta federation
president and southern region head, reported on the need to rescue
one hundred thousand German youth.14
One month later the leadership of Atlanta Jewry met under
Harold Hirsch to form the Jewish welfare fund Council. A Southern
Israelite editorial praised this coordinated drive for nonlocal charities
as “a test for the spirit and of the community.” Hirsch’s local, regional,
and national prominence facilitated these pioneering efforts. Attorney
for the Coca-Cola Company, one of only two southerners elected to
membership in the American Jewish Committee, honorary national
vice president of the UPA, and a member of the national planning
board of the JDC, he presided over both the local UPA and the JDC.
Foremost Atlanta Jewish layman of the era, he was respected by the
various factions within the community. The nation watched Atlanta
surpass its fifty-thousand-dollar goal. The welfare fund became a
permanent organization and numerous cities followed Atlanta’s
example. As national leaders had come to the city to urge on
Atlantans’ effort, Atlantans traveled to other locales to spur their
campaigns. It was no coincidence that the general assembly of the
NCJFWF convened in Atlanta in 1941 with Atlantans Donald
Oberdorfer and Henry A. Alexander as cochairmen and that this
conference again exhorted the national Jewish agencies for overseas
relief to unify their fund-raising efforts.15
The creation of Atlanta’s Jewish Welfare Fund followed one of two
national patterns. The first occurred during the mid-1920s as Jewish
communities including Columbus, Detroit, Indianapolis, and San
Francisco realized that community chests would not fund capitol
investments or national and international Jewish needs.16
Atlanta joined in the second wave beginning a decade later, which
had international parallels. According to Joseph C. Hyman, executive
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The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
director of the JDC,“By April 1, 1935, the Jews of Germany were able
to achieve an unprecedented unification of communal activity.” In
1936 British representatives visited the United States to foster united
action on behalf of German Jewry. The visit resulted in the creation of
the executive committee of the Council for German Jewry, two weeks
before the reorganization of the Atlanta federation.17
The rise of welfare funds led to the demand for central assistance
and cooperation. In 1927 a National Appeals Information Service was
established to evaluate national and international organizations
requesting assistance from local Jewish charities. Five years later
fifteen federations initiated the NCJFWF which integrated the Bureau
of Jewish Social Research. The council, in turn, fostered the creation
of welfare funds in other cities like Atlanta. It sponsored an
investigation of federation programs and policies under Dr. Ben
Selekman, executive director of Boston’s federation. The resultant
five-point program was published in the American Jewish Yearbook
(1934–35).18
The 1936 Atlanta campaign was highly organized and unified,
reflecting national trends and the substantial experience of the
community leaders. The city’s rabbis attended a dinner together,
launching the drive. Systematic education sessions trained over two
hundred volunteers representing Zionist, non-Zionist, and antiZionist Jews from Sephardic, Central European, and East European
ancestry. People worked in various divisions usually categorized by
occupation, but also including women’s and junior classifications.19
The formation of the welfare fund reflected the growing
acceptance and acculturation of various ethnic subcommunities even
as it encouraged the same trends. Efforts toward centralization,
refinement of functions, and unity seemed boundless. On the
national level in 1937, Presidents Cyrus Adler and Stephen S. Wise of
the American Jewish Committee and American Jewish Congress,
repectively, sat at the dais together for the first time amidst a call for
“unity without conformity”to celebrate the ninety-fourth anniversary
of B’nai B’rith. The following year these organizations, along with the
Jewish Labor Committee, adopted resolutions supporting
cooperation.20
At the Union of American Hebrew Congregations meeting in
Atlanta in 1939, fourteen regional entities were created, including one
in the southeast. A southeastern region had been initially formed to
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promote education in 1930. The Orthodox Congregations of the
Southeast organized in 1943 with Sol Eplan as vice president and
Rabbi Epstein on the rabbinical committee. The Southern Conference
of Orthodox Rabbis had been formed as early as 1930 to formalize
acceptable kashruth procedures, clarify doctrine, and raise educational
standards. The fourth annual meeting of the Southern Regional
Conference of Jewish Social Welfare Agencies met in Atlanta in 1937.
One of five state Conferences on Human Rights organized to combat
bigotry, the group convened in the city two years later with Henry A.
Alexander presiding. Robert M. Travis, president of the Atlanta Zionist
District, helped establish a Southern Regional District and served as
its first presiding officer. When a rumor spread that England was
reneging on the 1917 Balfour Declaration, Travis convened a protest
meeting at the temple including Zionists and non-Zionists, with
Harold Hirsch presiding. The JDC met in Atlanta in 1938 to create a
seven-state southern regional body. Three years later the Junior
Hadassah formed a southern region to reflect the senior division’s
alignment and chose Atlanta’s Sarah Tontak as president. In 1937 Dr.
Abram Sachar, historian and national leader of Hillel, spoke at a
meeting jointly sponsored by the NCJW, Hadassah, B’nai B’rith, and
the Sisterhood of the Temple, Ahavath Achim (East European),
Shearith Israel (East European), and Or VeShalom (Sephardic)
intending to bring the community further together in the aftermath of
the successful JWF campaign.21 Clearly, the movement afoot moved
from community to regional and national structure and coordination.
The issues of Zionism and overseas relief reflected both dividing
and unifying forces within the Jewish community. In this as in so
many other areas Atlanta serves as a microcosm of national and even
international forces. On one side of the spectrum, David Marx
represented the anti-Zionist element of Classical Reform Judaism.
After the Columbus Platform of 1937 placed the Reform movement in
the camp favoring a Jewish state, Marx became a national officer of the
recalcitrant American Council for Judaism. As late as 1944 he gave a
High Holiday sermon denouncing political Zionism.22 The East
European Jews and Sephardim were almost unanimous in their
support for Zionism. The number of local chapters of Zionist
organizations for youth, men, and women is almost limitless, as are
the number of individuals who served on the state, regional, national,
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The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
and even international levels.
Shortly after his arrival in Atlanta, Rabbi Harry H. Epstein of
Ahavath Achim lost a brother to Arab rioters in Hebron, Palestine.
Epstein had already raised his voice as a leader of Zionist forces. He
served as state JNF chair and member of the National Advisory Board.
The rabbi committed to raise twenty-five million dollars to purchase
one thousand dunams of land as the Georgia Nachlah at the 1943
Southeast Zionist Regional Conference and was elected in a citywide
vote to attend the 1943 American Jewish Conference. Travis presided
over the Southeast Zionist District, while his wife headed the region’s
Hadassah. An Atlanta Zionist District was formed in 1938 to
coordinate efforts, only to be supplanted by an Atlanta Zionist Council
two years hence. Zionists and Hadassah members held joint
meetings. Adalbert Freedman became field director of the Southeast
Zionist Region in 1940. When Marx gave his anti-Zionist sermon late
in the war, Freedman responded in an open letter to the community.
Yet by that stage the German Jewish community was clearly not
unified behind their rabbi. Julian V. Boehm, a major leader in Atlanta
social services and a prominent Temple member, and Elmer Berger,
president of the American Council for Judaism, exchanged letters to
the editor of the Southern Israelite in 1945, with Boehm openly
denouncing council statements against the establishment of a Jewish
state. The community usually spoke as one voice in protesting the
changing British policies with reference to Palestine and
immigration.23
Although the community had been somewhat divided over the
issue of a Jewish nation, it unified in support (although not always the
methods) of overseas relief. Leadership in activities to aid Jews
overseas comprised a Who’s Who of Atlanta Jewry transcending all
divisions. The federation had given support for the German Jewish
Relief Committee as early as 1933. Three years hence Paul Ginsberg
became a member of the nondenominational National Committee
Appeal for the Jews in Poland. Another specialized appeal was
launched on the eve of the world war as the members of Or VeShalom
established a local chapter of the Rhodes Aid Committee. The latter
attempted to evacuate Jews from the Isle of Rhodes in response to
Mussolini’s antisemitic decrees. During the war Atlanta Jewry formed
one of eleven national branches of the Jewish Council for Russian War
Relief. Besides these and other specialized causes, the first conference
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of a new southern region of the UPA met in Atlanta in 1929 with an
Atlantan as state chair. A mass meeting was held at Ahavath Achim.
Atlanta’s 1932 United Jewish Appeal fully integrated the different
subcommunities. As was the norm of such local efforts, Rabbis Marx,
Epstein, Geffena, and Mennahim Sephardi joined together in a
campaign to raise fifteen thousand dollars. The crises brought the
community together behind ever-higher giving. In this as in so many
other areas, the changes were taking place from the bottom up. Local
communities behind the federations and welfare funds perceived the
need for unity while national organizations continued to bicker. In
1941 the Welfare Fund campaign raised one hundred thirteen
thousand dollars, an amount more than doubled four years hence.
Such campaigns brought numerous speakers to the city including
Nathan Sokolow, Abba Hillel Silver, Solomon Goldman, Nathan
Billikopf, and Senator Richard B. Russell. By 1935 money was being
raised to resettle European Jews in Palestine. A Jewish National Fund
drive which raised four thousand dollars in three weeks sought to
purchase land in Palestine, besides attempting to influence England’s
altered immigration policy. Atlantans attended national and
international conferences with the goals of saving European Jews and
resettling them in Palestine.24
As the need to rescue Jews from the Holocaust reached crisis
proportions, military terms were used for fund-raising efforts. In 1940
the “welfare machine...promulgated a minor ‘blitzkrieg’” and
“attend[ed] to the ‘mopping up’ operation” toward the end of the
campaign. Efforts to resettle and assist refugees in Atlanta began
shortly after Hitler’s rise to power. Refugees were among the
recipients of loans granted by the Chevrah Tehilim and Free Loan
Society in 1940. On an individual level Atlantans sometimes
sponsored refugees and assisted their efforts. Sigmund Cohn, a Berlin
jurist exiled from Germany in 1933, received a privately funded twoyear position as assistant professor of German at the University of
Georgia, arranged by Harold Hirsch.
The Jewish community’s commitment to serve America during
World War II was broad based. Besides individual efforts, the Jewish
women of Atlanta participated in sewing circles, volunteered for the
Red Cross, and worked with servicemen at the local military
installations. Rhoda Kaufman headed the Social Planning Council of
the federation developing activities for the GIs. In 1945 the B’nai B’rith
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The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
Women of the city won a certificate of merit from Secretary of the
Treasury Henry Morgenthau for selling over one-and-a-half-million
dollars in war bonds. Two years prior to this the B’nai B’rith AZA
sponsored a “Buy a Bomber” campaign in which the four chapters
doubled their one-hundred-thousand-dollar bond quota. At a
meeting to fund a battleship, Atlanta Jews opened their wallets for the
cause. Donald Oberdorfer led the Georgia USO in 1945.25
A chapter of the Jewish War Veterans organized at Atlanta in 1935
following the creation of the first chapter in New York. Mack Frankel,
former commander of the Atlanta post, won the appointment as
national deputy chairman of the Sons of Jewish War Veterans to
organize the young people in 1938. When the national organization
established a standing committee to fight communism in 1939,
Atlantans Eugene Oberdorfer and Ralph L. Wilner, a furrier and
former Army major, were chosen for the fifteen-member panel. The
twentieth annual national convention was held at the city in 1942.
Two years hence chapter commander Samuel L. Eplan was appointed
by Governor Ellis Arnall to the Veterans Service Commission and a
committee to erect a war memorial building. After the war in 1948
Paul Ginsberg, a distinguished disabled veteran appointed to various
committees and commander of the Department of Georgia, JWV,
conferred with Harry S. Truman on peace through universal military
training. He asked the president to attend a nondenominational state
rally for the cause.26
The relative unity of Atlanta Jewry and the dramatic increase in
fund raising in response to the Holocaust were facets of the
transformation of the community which can be traced back at least to
the World War I era. The expansion of middle-class ranks through
business and the professions during the 1920s and 1930s was only
temporarily interrupted by the Depression. Prosperity returned by
1936 as it did in most Jewish communities throughout the United
States.
As William Toll indicates in his study of the Portland, Oregon,
Jewish community, the Holocaust promoted institution building and
unity through philanthropy and the application of political pressure. It
also intensified ethnic identity and loyalty. Many individuals coming
together from the various subcommunities “defined their heritage as
community service, a defense of civil liberties, and cultural instruction
for their children.”27
Sports became a unifying force and seemed to supplant financial
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aid in terms of community needs. Barney Medintz was hired from
Chicago as boys’work and athletic director of the JEA in 1934. As state
commissioner he organized and encouraged softball leagues that
same year. Basketball, baseball, golf, swimming, and numerous other
activities flourished through various Jewish organizational outlets.
The alliance also sponsored a summer camp, Daniel Morgan, in
Rutledge, Ga., beginning in 1928. Camp Civitania was opened to
Jewish Girl Scouts for a month beginning in 1930.28
Atlanta’s Jews were incorrigible joiners. They formed social clubs,
Zionist societies, and fraternities without end. Congregations
organized their own youth and adult groups. But, if anything, the club
activities tended to unify the various elements of the Jewish
community rather than divide them. When one lists the business and
professional leaders, the same list could serve as an index of Jewish
social service, congregational, and organizational leadership. Success
in business did not require separation from the Jewish community
and, in fact, appears to have implied responsibility to it.
Jewish women’s roles in social service continued and expanded.
In its 1929 annual report, the Atlanta section of the NCJW outlined
Red Cross work in community hospitals, the conduct of a state survey
concerning needs of the blind, legislative lobbying, and cooking for
foreign mothers so that“the more nearly like native born they become,
the closer harmony will be between mother and child and fellow
countrymen in the land of their adoption.” By the mid-thirties, the
national board of the council launched a crusade against the Nazi
birth control campaign, supported old-age pensions, and uniform
marriage and divorce laws, and the Atlanta section sent a letter to the
Atlanta school superintendent in favor of coeducation. The broaderbased Jewish Women’s Club included the Bluebirds for nine-to
fourteen-year-olds who raised money for the Denver Tuberculosis
Sanitarium,29 fourteen-to seventeen-year-olds who assisted the
Hebrew Orphans Home, the unmarried senior division which brought
cheer to the veterans at a Veterans Administration hospital, and the
married women who arranged classes and oversaw the other groups.
When Mrs. J. M. Alexander resigned after forty years at the helm of the
Jewish division of the Needlework Guild, her“daughter,”Mrs. Harry A.
Alexander, took over. Mrs. Ernest Horowitz served on the board of the
National Federation of Temple Sisterhoods when it passed resolutions
favoring a constitutional amendment banning child labor. In 1939
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The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
Mrs. Robert Travis was chosen as a national Hadassah delegate to the
World Zionist Congress in Geneva. Mrs. Sol O. Klotz was perhaps the
most active Hadassah worker, serving as local and regional president
and emerging as a much sought after speaker. B’nai B’rith Women of
Atlanta formed in 1944 for Red Cross work and cultural and
educational programs. Many of the activities of the women’s
organizations had the added benefit of cutting across subcommunity
boundaries, leading to greater intragroup cooperation in the late 1930s
and into the 1940s. These middle-and upper-class women essentially
conducted careers as full-time social service volunteers.30
The Postbellum Transformation: Unity with Diversity
The decline in the need for charity and Americanization at home,
with the exception of the small number of Holocaust refugees, marked
the period from 1944 to 1948. The economic boom, only partly
delayed by the Second World War, gained added momentum with the
return of the troops from overseas. Businesses were refurbished and
opened in new and multiple locations. The number of Jews in the
professions dramatically increased. The economic rise was reflected in
offices held in professional capacities and there was movement into
the suburbs and out of the old core area, although patterns of
residential clustering persisted. These changes also meant that less
charity was required. Now aid to Jews in Palestine became the focus
of philanthropy, and the rise of Israel ultimately dominated attention.
The flux of power and purpose turned back toward specialized
agencies but now with centralized community methodology and
funding. Everything was planned, surveyed by outside experts, and
prioritized under the community umbrella. Money translated into
power, but power was influenced by constituent needs and demands.
The changes in the structure and practices of the Jewish
community began before the war reached their fruition in the
aftermath. In September 1944 A. L. Feldman, president of the Atlanta
Federation of Jewish Social Services, described the movement away
from welfare and relief in the projected era of prosperity. Feldman
emphasized recreation, education, and “preventive services,” under
which he included work against bigotry from the American Jewish
Committee, Anti-Defamation League, and Jewish Labor Committee.
The federation authorized the creation of a new central agency for
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coordination of activities against discrimination and the stimulation of
educational programs.31
Cooperation had been forced on the three defense agencies on the
national level repeatedly. Reflecting divisions within the Jewish
community over background and modus operandi, they had worked
together and divided intermittently since 1933. In 1943 the General
Assembly of the CJFWF considered a merger plan of the three
agencies submitted by the American Jewish Committee’s president,
Maurice Wertheim. A National Community Relations Advisory
Council was established by the next General Assembly with the Union
of American Hebrew Congregations, the Jewish War Veterans, and
other organizations. The date was 1944 and in that same year Atlanta
acted.32
In August 1944 Jake Jacobs had sent a letter to the editor of the
Southern Israelite. In an August 11 editorial the newspaper had
criticized a fund-raising effort undertaken for the establishment of a
Jewish home for the aged and for support of the creation of a Jewish
community council. The editorial maintained that the elderly were
already taken care of by family or, for those requiring aid, by the
federation. If there was a need, a survey should be conducted. Jacobs,
a leader for the grass-roots home effort, responded that there was a
need for a Jewish home free from the taint of charity. The last was a
longtime criticism traditionalists had of federation methods. Julian V.
Boehm answered Jacobs with a letter rejecting independent funding
efforts and what he considered institutionalization. Boehm, a
federation leader, advocated the federation process and indicated that
there was no longer the “taint” of charity, but that aid was now
rendered with “dignity and self- respect.” He opposed “agitation”in a
time of turmoil. The issue seemed like a classic German versus East
European confrontation. It is likely that the longtime practice of
keeping elderly family members within the household was breaking
down with the move to suburbia and among those who could not
afford a large house for the purpose. A similar conflict occurred
almost simultaneously, in Columbus between the Jewish Welfare
Fund and a grass-roots movement over the creation of a facility for the
care of the elderly. This pattern of conflict between the central agency
and community efforts to build old-age facilities was not new.
Indianapolis experienced a similar confrontation during the early
1920s.33
Federation Executive Director Edward Kahn highlighted the need
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The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
for a new JEA facility in a year-in-review article at the end of
September. Kahn urged a survey of community needs and centralized
fund raising in clear rejection of Jacobs’s group. These activities would
be done under the auspices of a new Community Relations Council.
A conference of the southern section of Jewish Community Centers,
YMHA /YWHA’s, was convened in Atlanta on September 23 and 24.
The conference was announced at the beginning of September by
federation leader and vice president of the parent NJFWF board
Donald Oberdorfer and endorsed by the Southern Israelite. Reb
Gershon and Philip Shulhafer represented the JEA. Frank Garson, in
a gesture indicative of a new ability and willingness to contribute,
donated the funds for the auditorium. In 1945 twenty-seven cities
launched capital fund drives. Between 1948 and 1955 three hundred
forty-eight new buildings went up nationally. Marc Lee Raphael
reports that in 1949 over sixty-nine Jewish communities in twentytwo cities were involved with major construction projects.34
The American Jewish Committee under Judge Joseph Proskauer
decided to move toward a broader membership base and to establish
local chapters. An Atlanta chapter was formed in October with
Herman Heyman as president. National Executive Vice President
John Slawson addressed the group early the following year. The AntiDefamation League’s new regional headquarters was located in
Atlanta during the spring of 1945. Donald Oberdorfer served as chair
of the new National Council of the Joint Defense Appeal (JDA) in
April 1947. The JDA attempted to raise six million dollars nationally
to support American Jewish Committee and ADL efforts against
discrimination.35
In November 1944 the Council of Jewish Federations and Welfare
Funds conducted a national survey, the results of which strongly
supported reorganization along the lines of Jewish community
councils. This was in line with a move toward greater representation
and the need for unity in fighting discrimination. Welfare fund
president I. M. Weinstein established a committee to investigate the
possibilities under J. B. Jacobs and Donald Oberdorfer. The committee
held meetings and studied councils in other cities. By April 1945 all of
the community agencies that had been invited to become charter
members were given copies of the proposed constitution which was
adopted the following month. The new council would study fund
raising to avoid duplication, approve the budgets of all constituent
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bodies, be responsible for the creation of bureaus of Jewish education
and community relations, study other programs and needs, and raise
standards. In the July election Donald Oberdorfer was elected
president of the new Jewish Community Council by the majority of
the fifty-four delegates representing twenty-three organizations and
seven agencies.36
In that same November of 1944 the Atlanta Federation of Jewish
Women’s Organizations reorganized after a short hiatus to strengthen
interaction, prevent duplication, provide central planning, and
develop joint programs. All of the congregation sisterhoods,
Hadassah, the Service Guild, NCJW, Pioneer Women, the women’s
auxiliary of B’nai B’rith, and the women’s branch of the Arbeiter Ring
were constituent groups which had cooperated together for years.
Gender identity overcame national, religious, and Zionist differences
among women more readily than found in men’s organizations.37
Within a year of its founding the Jewish Community Council was
called upon by the National Council of Jewish Federations and
Welfare Funds to provide a copy of its constitution. The national
council viewed Atlanta as a model for other communities. The Atlanta
organization created a community calendar and a public relations
subcommittee under Reb Gershon. After an extensive study a
Community Relations Program chaired by Boehm and jointly
sponsored by the ADL emerged from the Gershon committee’s
efforts. In his annual report, Kahn indicated that Atlanta was now
regional headquarters for the Jewish Welfare Board, the ADL, and the
Zionist Organization of America (under Adalbert Freedman).
Recognizing statewide responsibility, the federation subsidized
religious and cultural programs for Jews at the Riverside Military
Academy, a Gainesville prep school, and at the state mental hospital
at Milledgeville (there were forty-seven Jews out of nine thousand in
1945).38
The education of Jewish youth in Judaica from the Depression to
the World War varied. Much of it was done through the congregations
or through private lessons after school and on the weekends. In 1939
the total school enrollment was about eleven hundred fifty.39
As early as 1931 an effort toward coordination and improvement
of instruction had begun. In that year a conference on Jewish
education convened with representatives from twenty schools. Of an
estimated twenty-five hundred Jewish school children, only 40
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The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
percent were obtaining training in Jewish subjects. The United
Hebrew School was reorganized as a community institution and
moved from host Ahavath Achim to the Alliance. Henry A. Alexander
was chosen as permanent chair.
It remained for the community council to set things in order. In
1945 the council hired Dr. Israel S. Chipkin, executive director of the
American Association of Jewish Education, to conduct a survey of
Jewish educational institutions in Atlanta. By March 1946, in
accordance with the results of Chipkin’s recommendations, a Bureau
of Jewish Education was began by J. B. Jacobs’s committee. The
constitution and bylaws were approved in August. The congregational
schools became the foundation of the system. The long-running
United Hebrew School now served as the Hebrew School for Ahavath
Achim. Louis Schwartzman was hired away from the Baltimore
bureau as director. Similar bureaus had recently been established in
Schenectady and Syracuse, N.Y.; York, Canton, and Columbus, Ohio;
and Bridgeport, Conn. The new organization held seminars and
classes for religious school teachers, held student essay contests, and
conducted citywide testing (developed by Dr. Noah Nardi of the
Jewish Education Committee of New York) to determine the
educational level of congregational school students. The test results
were not positive. Only sixty out of four hundred seventy-three test
takers received a score of 60 percent or above. The central office
budget for 1947 was eleven thousand dollars with sixty-nine hundred
dollars going to subsidize the congregational schools. The bureau and
the school council recommended minimal bar mitzvah standards and
the establishment of a high school for post bar mitzvah studies, as well
as a Hebrew high school. The latter began in October 1947. Weekly
adult education classes were also studied and then started. In 1947 the
bureau and the Atlanta Federation of Jewish Women’s Organizations
jointly sponsored a Jewish Institute Day of workshops and lectures on
contemporary issues. It was so successful that a study series on
contemporary Jewish programs like intermarriage was inaugurated.
As Schwartzman reported in 1948, the aim of the bureau (he might
have said the entire new community system) was unity with diversity
and the overcoming of factionalism in American Jewish life.40
In October 1945, when one hundred thirty-five people pledged
thirty-nine thousand dollars for a home for the aged, they won the
praise of Rabbis Epstein, Geffen, Friedman, and Weiss. A. G. Reisman
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was elected president. Within a month the Jewish Community
Council authorized a committee under Herman Heyman to study the
need. Heyman’s committee and Reisman’s group worked together in
the planning of a professional survey. Ben Grossman, director of the
Chicago Home for the Jewish Aged and just returned from work on a
similar study in Memphis, was hired for the project. In April 1947,
upon receipt of the Grossman report, the council reorganized the
home board under Frank Garson, expanded casework among the
elderly, established a medical program, and launched steps to build a
home.41
Under the council’s methodical and professional process
everything was studied and then appropriate actions taken. In June
1946 the Jewish population (one in four households would be
interviewed under the leadership of Barney Medintz), old-age needs,
and recreational and cultural resources and requirements were all
scrutinized.42 In August 1947 representatives from twenty-one
agencies met. A cultural series had been run the previous four years,
but this was the first time community-wide planning of cultural
events had been undertaken. A Jewish Music Council, formed in 1948
with representatives from the Bureau of Jewish Education and the
JEA, announced a series of lectures. The NCJW and the JEA created
an “over fifty” group which would meet monthly at the alliance for
bingo, gin rummy, and socializing. Services were becoming highly
specialized and expanded as extensive, different, and new community
needs were identified.43
The Hebrew Orphans Home had moved toward a program of
foster care and subsidies for widows as early as 1930. This was in line
with a series of White House conferences attended by superintendent
Armand Wyle and social work leader Rhoda Kaufman. In 1937 the
Hebrew Orphans Aid Society was reorganized to facilitate these
activities by women under Mrs. David Marx. In the 1940 annual review
it was reported that six other Jewish orphanages had closed during the
previous decade again in accordance with recent White House
Conference on Children’s recommendations. The home had cared for
one hundred six children, two-thirds of whom had received subsidies
to remain with their mothers. Special attention was paid to the
placement of young people with physical and behavioral problems. In
1948, after the now routine survey, the Hebrew Orphans Home was
reorganized. Including the Montefiore Family Service Bureau of the
federation and stressing local needs, foster placement, guidance, and
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The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
the elimination of overlap, the new Jewish Children’s Services
emerged. Between 1946 and 1951 this agency cooperated with an
employment and vocational services committee, the NCJW, the
congregations, and other community institutions to assist Holocaust
survivors. Of the one hundred twelve refugee families who came to
Atlanta from Europe, twenty-one left the city, seventy-four were self
supporting, seven were partly self-sustaining, and only ten remained
unemployed and dependent upon the community. More families were
expected.44
The council, federation, and welfare fund moved to the chamber
of commerce building downtown in January 1947 as a result of a
northward shift in Jewish population and the new division of
functions. In 1946 six hundred twenty-one thousand dollars was
raised by the welfare fund. The following year, with over six thousand
contributors or 50 percent of the Jewish population, that amount
increased by one hundred forty thousand dollars.45
When the southern regional Jewish Welfare Federation and
Welfare Fund council defined the Jewish community center concept
and needs in October 1947, there was little doubt the direction Atlanta
would take. A quarter of a million dollars was being raised to build a
new JEA facility. The southern regional board of Jewish Welfare
Federations and Welfare Funds held its basketball tournament at the
old building in March 1947. A Southern Israelite editorial was both
outraged and apologetic to the outside visitors because of the
inadequacy and cold of the aging facility. In December 1948 a
Peachtree Road site was purchased for eighty-five thousand dollars for
a new Jewish community center to replace the old JEA.46
Even the young people had to be centrally organized and
represented. In January 1947 a new Emory Hillel chapter under B’nai
B’rith auspices replaced the former Jewish Students’ Forum. In April
of the following year a Georgia Institute of Technology chapter opened
supported by B’nai B’rith, the Bureau of Jewish Education, and three
Georgia Tech faculty members. The Intercollegiate Zionist Federation
of America held its first annual ball to raise funds for the Jewish
National Fund. Students from Emory, Georgia Tech, Oglethorpe,
Agnes Scott, and the Atlanta division of the University of Georgia
(later Georgia State) participated. A Jewish Youth Adult Council was
formed in March 1947 from several youth groups, with two members
from each to sponsor joint cultural programs, run a central calender,
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and represent the youth to the adult community.47
Clearly beyond and underlying all of these changes were the
needs of Jews overseas. In 1946 Boehm chaired the Atlanta Zionist
Council’s Committee on Public Relations. The Palestine Economic
Bureau sent I. M. Weinstein along with other American businessmen
on a two-week mission to Palestine to investigate the economic
situation. Atlantan Jewry chose three delegates to attend the first
postwar World Zionist Congress in Palestine in 1946. In 1947, in a
controversial maneuver by Robert Travis, the Atlanta B’nai B’rith
forwarded a resolution to the national organization calling for
President Truman to fulfill previous administration commitments in
support of a Jewish homeland on the eve of a pivotal United Nations
meeting.
The Holocaust and the establishment of Israel required
concentration of efforts and altered priorities. The goal for the 1945
campaign was two hundred twenty-five thousand dollars. In the
midst of the campaign an emergency appeal increased the goal to a
quarter of a million dollars, a goal which was oversubscribed. In 1946
the poignant campaign slogan made real by the numerous stories of
the concentration camps was the “Life Saving Campaign.” The 1947
“Campaign for Sacrifice”set the impossible goal of one million dollars.
A few months after the new Jewish state was proclaimed in 1948, that
goal was surpassed. In 1944 the various local Hadassah chapters
united in a massive membership drive to better prepare for medical
aid in Palestine for concentration camp survivors. The National
Council of Jewish Women worked closely with the Refugee Board to
locate Holocaust survivors after 1944. It also provided housing,
employment assistance, and social adjustment activities, while
continuing its Americanization role by offering classes to immigrants.
The Federation of Jewish Social Services conducted a location service
to identify surviving relatives and offered guidance for survivors to
obtain visas to the United States. Between 1946 and 1951 over one
hundred families of survivors obtained aid for moving and adjusting
to Atlanta. Joint Distribution Committee SOS (“Save Our Survivors”)
drives, begun in 1946, collected large amounts of food, medicine, and
clothing which were flown to assist survivors. Between 1946 and its
completion in 1949 the national SOS drive collected twenty-six
million pounds of essentials including clothing and food.48
On November 29, 1947, the United Nations voted in favor of the
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establishment of a Jewish state. Atlanta’s Jews celebrated with a preHanukkah program honoring Israel. An appeal to President Truman
in March 1948 requested fulfillment of America’s promises. During
the fund-raising drive of that year the campaign borrowed three
hundred thousand dollars with the endorsement of thirty-five
individuals in emergency support of the United Jewish Appeal. With
extensions over one million dollars was raised, the vast majority of
which went to Israel. On May 14, 1948, Israel declared statehood.
Thereafter, Israel was granted priority for community funding. On
the national level, federation fund raising for overseas increased from
thirty million dollars in 1941 to seventy-one million in 1945 to one
hundred thirty-one million in 1946 to two hundred one million dollars
in 1948. Thus Atlanta’s experience clearly reflected national trends.49
The very nature of the community power structure had shifted.
Before the Second World War it was possible to identify one key lay
leader. The individual mantle went from David Mayer to Victor
Kriegshaber to Harold Hirsch. Now functions and organizations were
so diverse and so many individuals were involved that no one
individual stood out. Was it Donald Oberdorfer, Henry Alexander,
Robert Travis, I. M. Weinstein, A. L. Feldman, Frank Garson, or Julian
Boehm? The choice would be determined by the issue. Although the
rabbis were still respected, they were no longer the dominant force
that David Marx had been at the turn of the century. Perhaps the
dominant figure had become the pivotal professional, Edward Kahn.
Clearly the decision-making apparatus established by the Jewish
Community Council concept contributed to the influence of the
professional staffs. The movement to professional power and
philanthropic agencies over congregations was clearly national. It
reflected almost a new Jewish identity of giving over congregational
participation and the realities of finance. Harry Lurie reports that in
1935 federations and welfare funds provided 20 percent of the income
for thirty-two national and international Jewish organizations. By
1946 this had risen to 80 percent.50
From another perspective the strength and growth of the
community meant that action plans would flow from the periphery to
the center and back again. Atlanta’s Jewish community had matured
into adulthood as it prepared for the second half of the twentieth
century.
The Atlanta Jewish community was reconstructed on three
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American Jewish Archives Journal
occasions during the entire period of this study. One of the amazing
aspects of this is that the same reasons—the rationalization of fund
raising and distribution of resources through scientific methods
coupled with greater professionalism—were given each time. Yet
what each did in actuality was to adapt to changing circumstances,
needs, and constituencies. Although requiring future research, at least
tentatively it can be said that the two transformations of the last
quarter of the twentieth century revisited the same issues. History
does repeat itself, albeit in varied distributive mechanisms.
Mark Bauman is Professor of History at Atlanta Metropolitan College and editor
of Southern Jewish History.
NOTES:
1. For the overview and background in Atlanta, see Mark K Bauman, “The
Emergence of Jewish Social Service Agencies in Atlanta,” Georgia Historical Quarterly
(Winter 1985): 488–508; Janice O. Rothschild, As But a Day: The First Hundred Years,
1867–1967 (Atlanta: Hebrew Benevolent Congregation, 1967); Steven Hertzberg,
Strangers Within the Gate City: Jews of Atlanta, 1845–1915 (Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society, 1978); Anne Lavinia Branch, “Atlanta and the American
Settlement House Movement,” (master’s thesis, Emory University, 1964). For the
development of social service agencies and their transformation, see Roy Lubove, The
Professional Altruist: The Emergence of Social Work as a Career, 1880–1930 (Cambridge,
Mass., 1965) and Marc Lee Raphael,“Federated Philanthropy in a Jewish Community,
1904–1939,”in Neil Betten, Michael J. Austin, eds., The Roots of Community Organizing,
1917–1939 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990), 123–34.
2. Mark K. Bauman and Arnold Shankman, “The Rabbi as Ethnic Broker: The
Case of David Marx,”Journal of American Ethnic History 2 (Spring 1983): 51–68; Mark
K. Bauman,“Victor H. Kriegshaber, Community Builder,”American Jewish History (Fall
1989): 94–110. For parallels with other communities during this early phase, see
Bauman, “Emergence.” On the history of federations, see Harry L. Lurie, A Heritage
Affirmed: The Jewish Federation Movement in America (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication
Society, 1961), 13–15, 35–39. For the development of international efforts during the
era of the First World War, see Oscar Handlin, A Continuing Task: The American Jewish
Joint Distribution Committee, 1914–1964 (New York: Random House, 1964).
3. Bradford Ward Trevathan, “The Hebrew Orphans Home of Atlanta,
1839–1930,” (bachelor’s thesis, Emory University, 1984). The movement toward
professionalism was part of the larger thrust toward “scientific charity.” See Lurie,
Heritage, 63.
4. See Marc Lee Raphael, Jews and Judaism in a Midwestern Community: Columbus,
Ohio, 1840–1975 (Columbus: Ohio Historical Society, 1979), 244-49; Arnold Gurin,
“The View from the Top: Dynamics of Volunteer Leadership,” in idem, ed;
Understanding American Jewish Philanthropy (New York: KTAV, 1979), 11.
5. Louis Swichkow and Lloyd Gartner, The History of the Jews of Milwaukee
(Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1963), 290–91. Lurie indicates that the first
104
The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
secular community chest was established in Cleveland in 1913. See Heritage, 39,
94–95. While the Associated Charities of Columbus was established much earlier, the
federation was funded by the successor Community Fund, much like Atlanta’s
federation in the Depression. See Raphael, Jews and Judaism, 223, 250.
6. Rothschild, As But a Day; Kenneth W. Stein, A History of the Ahavath Achim
Congregation, 1887-1977 (Atlanta: Standard Press, 1978); Doris H. Goldstein, From
Generation to Generation: A Centennial History of Congregation Ahavath Achim,
1887–1987 (Atlanta: Capricorn Corp, 1987); Mark K. Bauman, Harry H. Epstein and the
Rabbinate as Conduit for Change (Toronto and London: Associated University Press,
1994); Sol Beton, ed., Sephardim and a History of Or VeShalom (Atlanta: 1981); to trace
this and the following trends on the national level, see Henry Feingold, A Time for
Searching: Entering the Mainstream, 1920–1945 (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1992), especially 148–49.
7. Atlanta Federation of Jewish Charities Minutes, Ida Pearle and Joseph Cuba
Archives, William Breman Jewish Heritage Museum, (hereafter, AJF Minutes and
Cuba Archives), January 1928, September 25, 1929 (for example of rejection of request
for outside aid and difficulty getting pledges redeemed), October 23, 1929, January 22,
1930 (for salaries going unpaid and decline of Associated Charities allocations), March
5, 1929 (for typical income from Associated Charities in relation to expenses), January
23, 1929–February 28, 1934 (for loan), September 28, 1932 (for discontinued classes),
and April 3, 1929 (Kahn quotation) These references illustrate items which could be
drawn from virtually any board minutes through at least 1935. To illustrate the relative
differences between smaller and larger communities, the Jewish Welfare Society of
Philadelphia ran a deficit of three hundred twenty thousand dollars in 1929. State
agencies in Ohio pressured the Cleveland Jewish Social Service Bureau to lower its
standards. Jewish unemployed actually rioted when the state issued a decree to cut
off funds. The bureau, however, was vindicated when the New Deal agencies forced
the state to raise its level to equal that of the Jewish organizations. See Murray
Friedman, ed., Jewish Life in Philadelphia, 1830–1940 (Philadelphia: Institute for the
Study of Human Issues, 1983), 18; Lloyd P. Gartner, History of the Jews of Cleveland
(Cleveland: Western Reserve Historical Society, 1978, 2d ed., 1987), 292–93. In
Columbus the United Jewish Fund, which collected funds for overseas relief, was
actually disbanded in 1930 due to lack of money. See Raphael, Jews and Judaism, 245,
249.
8. AJF Minutes, October 23, 1929, June 15, 1931 (on Kahn quotation and on
transient board), July 23, 1930 (on changes in the federation), April 25, 1934, Southern
Israelite, June 19, 1936, January 30, 1938 (for Anshe S’fard and the Hachnosos Orchim
[Hebrew Sheltering Aid Society] AJF Minutes, June 15, 1931, October 13, 1939. The
National Conference of Jewish Charities supervised a Transportation Agreement as
early as 1900. Lurie, Heritage, 69–70.
9. Southern Israelite, July 31, 1931, November 10, 1935 Moss was federation
president for over eight years and also served as regional president of the federation
and welfare fund umbrella organization. Milwaukee’s Jewish community illustrates a
variation. It turned over its beneficiaries to the community chest in 1933.
Nonetheless, it too created a Jewish community council as well as a Jewish welfare
fund in 1938. See Swichkow and Gartner, History of the Jews of Milwaukee, 304–6,
312–13. In cities with larger Jewish populations like Los Angeles, the Jewish social
service agencies were virtually inundated with demands. See Max Vorspan and Lloyd
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P. Gartner, History of the Jews of Los Angeles (San Marino: Huntington Library, 1970),
193–96.
10. Harry Lurie states that by 1934, 70 to 90 percent of Jewish families in need
nationally came under federal programs See Heritage, 112–13.
11. AJF Minutes, November 30, 1932, March 29, 1933 (RFC).
12. AJF Minutes, April 30, 1934, January 30, 1935, June 5, 1935, December 18,
1935 (on changing New Deal programs and the resulting problems and adjustments);
Southern Israelite, December 20, 1935. For some interesting articles on the issue of
public versus private funding for charity, see Donald T. Critchlow and Charles H.
Parker, eds., With Us Always: A History of Private Charity and Public Welfare (Lanham:
Rowman & Littlefield, 1998).
13. AJF Minutes, August 26, 1936 (reorganization), February 24, 1937 (WPA);
Southern Israelite, August 1933 (on NCJW).
14. Southern Israelite, January 24, 1936, March 27, 1936, March 29, 1936.
Established in 1932, the Council of Jewish Federations and Welfare Funds brought
together federations so that they could learn from each other’s experiences, centralize
services for economies of scale, encourage joint actions, and represent federations to
the U.S. government. See Philip Bernstein, To Dwell in Unity: The Jewish Federation
Movement in America since 1960 (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America,
1983), 8–9. For the difficulties of unifying efforts during the interwar years, see Yehuda
Bauer, American Jewry and the Holocaust: The American Jewish Joint Distribution
Committee, 1939–1945 (Jerusalem and Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1981), 24.
For the difficulties in raising funds for the JDC during the Depression which
contributed to the desire for a unified structure, see Yehuda Bauer, My Brothers’ Keeper:
A History of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee (Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society, 1974), 41–42. On CJFWF efforts to force the JDC and the UPA to
cooperate, see Lurie, Heritage, 137; Handlin, Continuing Task, 67, 81; Aiding Jews
Overseas: A Report of the Work of the Joint Distribution Committee in Bringing Relief to
Thousands of Distressed Jews Throughout the World During the Year 1940 and the First Five
Months of 1941 (New York: American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, 1941), 12;
Abraham J. Karp, To Give Life: The UJA in the Shaping of the American Jewish
Community (New York, Schocken Books 1981), 67-69, 78-79. Bauer, American Jewry,
36, indicates that the occasions of unified action reflected both the rise of the East
European American Jews and professional leadership. On the short-lived Joint
Consultative Council and confrontation with temporary cooperation between
national organizations, see Edward Pinsky, “American Jewish Unity During the
Holocaust: The Joint Emergency Committee, 1943,” American Jewish History (June
1983): 477–94. For the parallel story in the Durham-Chapel Hill, N.C., area, see
Leonard Rogoff, Homelands (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2001) and for
Kansas City, see David M. Katzman,“Jewish Self Help in Kansas City: The Origins and
Ascendancy of the Federation, 1933-1946,” in Joseph P. Schultz, ed., Mid-America’s
Promise, A Profile of Kansas City Jewry (Kansas City, Mo., 1982), especially 324-42.
Kansas City was somewhat unusual in that it had a highly developed, relatively
unified, and organized Orthodox community. See Joseph P. Schultz,“The Consensus
of ‘Civil Judaism’: The Religious Life of Kansas City Jewry,” ibid., especially 35–42.
Robert P. Tabak draws virtually identical conclusions concerning the rise of unity
begun on the local level, particularly peaking in response to Kristallnacht in “The
106
The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
Transition of Jewish Identity: The Philadelphia Experience, 1919-1945,” (Ph.D. diss.,
Temple University, 1990), 280, 281 (Table 28). Marc Lee Raphael also points to
Kristallnacht and the German demand for a seven billion mark indemnity from its
Jewish citizens as the key catalyst on the national level, although he does allow that
the Council of Jewish Federations and Welfare Funds was “behind the drive” in 1938
and again in 1941. Yet this study argues that the momentum had already begun from
the bottom up. See Raphael, A History of the United Jewish Appeal, 1939–1982 (Chico,
Calif.: Scholars Press, 1982), 5–6, 11.
15. Southern Israelite, April 3, 1936, April 10, 1936, April 17, 1936, April 24, 1936,
May 1, 1936, May 8, 1936, March 29, 1929, March 15, 1935, November 1, 1935, January
10, 1936, February 14, 1936, December 11, 1936, and October 6, 1939; Mark K
Bauman, “Role Theory and History: Ethnic Brokerage in the Atlanta Jewish
Community,” American Jewish History 73 (September 1983): 71–75; Atlanta
Constitution, June 14, 1939, September 26, 1939; Atlanta Journal, June 16, 1925.
Hirsch’s counterpart in Birmingham for the identical meeting in July 1936 was Mervyn
Sterne, in Milwaukee it was Nathan M. Stein in December 1938, and on the national
level the key individual was Henry Montor. See Mark H. Elowitz, A Century of Jewish
Life in Dixie: The Birmingham Experience (University: University of Alabama Press,
1974), 113; Swichkow and Gartner, History of the Jews of Milwaukee, 311–12; Charles
E. Schulman,“Fund-Raiser Par Excellence,”in Raphael, Understanding American Jewish
Philanthropy, 97–101. Jews in Columbus increased their contributions significantly as
the animosity toward German Jewry rose after 1934. Ohio’s United Jewish Fund,
organized in 1923, before Atlanta’s equivalent, did not reorganize or become more
democratic until 1939. Columbus’s Jewish Community Council was also created later
in 1940. See Marc Lee Raphael, Jews and Judaism in a Midwestern Community:
Columbus, Ohio, 1840–1975 (Columbus: Ohio Historical Society 1979), 244–49, 251,
290. In this and other ways the Columbus experience reflects local variations and
varying time tables. For the 1941 conference in Atlanta and its efforts toward forging
a united campaign, see Aiding Jews Overseas, 12. On the conflicts at the meeting, see
Raphael, History of the United Jewish Appeal, 8–11.
16. Lurie, Heritage, 104–7; Bernstein, To Dwell in Unity, 13; Boris Bogan, “The
Advantages of Federation,” in Raphael, ed; Understanding American Jewish
Philanthropy, 91; Raphael,“Federated Philanthropy.” Daniel J. Elazar indicates that “it
was not until the mid 1930s and the rise of Nazism that the federation movement
became truly national, reaching into the smaller Jewish communities as well.” See
Elazar, Community and Polity: The Organizational Dynamics of American Jewry
(Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1976), 162 (see also table 17, “Spread of
Local Federations,” 163–65). New Orleans and Los Angeles were two of the many
communities to re-organize and create Jewish welfare funds in 1936. New York
moved in the direction of democratic fund raising in 1935. The greater populations
and financial resources in the larger enclaves meant that separate factions could
organize independently and earlier. Nonetheless, these communities also had more
difficulty responding to the Depression and ultimately were forced to unify and
become simultaneously more representative to smaller communities. See Julian B.
Feibelman,“A Social and Economic Study of the New Orleans Jewish Community,”
(Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1941), 100; Vorspan and Gartner, History of the
Jews of Los Angeles, 205–12; Deborah Dash Moore, At Home in American: Second
Generation New York Jews (New York: Columbia University Press, 1981), 160. For a
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good example of a community initially ahead of Atlanta and part of the first wave, see
Judith E. Endelman, The Jewish Community of Indianapolis, 1849 to the Present
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984). During the 1930s and 1940s
Endelman’s account makes clear that Indianapolis either slightly trailed or essentially
lockstepped Atlanta’s activities. Cleveland’s Jewish community preceded Atlanta’s but
then re-organized and became more inclusive in 1935 in what has been called the
“Pittsburgh Plan.”See Gartner, History of the Jews of Cleveland, 306–10.
17. Joseph C. Hyman, Twenty-five Years of American Aid to Jews Overseas: A Record
of the Joint Distribution Committee (New York: rev. ed., 1939), 46 (quotation), 49–50.
18. Twenty-three additional welfare funds were created in 1934, followed by
thirty-five the following year By 1941 federations or welfare funds existed in two
hundred sixty cities. A National Advisory Budgeting Service advocated by the board
of the CJFWF failed to gain approval in 1940. However, in 1948 nine federations from
cities outside of New York created the Large City Budgeting Conference of Welfare
Funds. See Lurie, Heritage, 105–6, 115, 120–88, 148–57. See also Bernstein, To Dwell
in Unity, 13; Feingold, Time for Searching, 165.
19. Although Cincinnati held a federated campaign as early as 1896, the real shift
to mass campaigns with divisions began in 1915 in response to the needs of war
refugees. The 1917 New York campaign established a five million dollar quota, listed
potential givers by occupation through a Business Men’s Council, and included a
women’s division. See Raphael, Understanding American Jewish Philanthropy, 8;
Harold D. Hahn,“Synagogue—Federation Relations,” in Raphael, ed., Understanding
American Jewish Philanthropy, 229; Handlin, Continuing Task, 26–27; Moore, At Home
in America, 158; Raphael, History of the United Jewish Appeal, 17–19.
20. The federations and welfare funds clearly encouraged national unity and
served as the driving force behind such efforts, even as many national organizations
fought for their independence and continued to conflict over priorities and
governance. For numerous examples of this from 1937 into the 1940s, see Lurie,
Heritage, 132–37, 143–49, 151–56; Hyman, Twenty-five Years, 55.
21. There were numerous other such activities The S.O.S. Club held a buffet
supper and skate party, mixing children of Sephardic. and Central and East European
ancestry, and the Shearith Israel and Or VeShalom religious schools held annual
picnics together. Temple and Ahavath Achim brotherhoods met together in 1940 for
“unity and cooperation.” See Southern Israelite, October 29, 1937 (Adler/Wise), June
14, 1930, November 12, 1943, March 17, 1944 (Orthodox), March 26, 1937 (welfare
conference), October 6, 1939 (human rights), October 20, 1939 (UAHC), November 5,
1937, October 14, 1938, February 17, 1939, April 5, 1940, March 28, 1940 (Zionism),
October 21, 1938, January 4, 1946 (JDC), March 5, 1937, February 14, 1941, February
25, 1944, November 24, 1944, May 25, 1945 (women).
22. Bauman and Shankman, “Marx.” Many members of the German Jewish
group were more likely non-Zionists than outright opponents. Little is known
concerning any Orthodox elements which might have opposed Zionism as they
awaited the coming of the Messiah and opposed the secular nature of many in the
Zionist camp. On the parallel forces of unity and disunity in Nashville, see Rob
Spinney, “The Jewish Community in Nashville, 1939-1949,” Tennessee Historical
Quarterly (Winter 1993): 237.
23. Bauman, Epstein; Southern Israelite, August 13, 1943, November 26, 1943,
January 14, 1944, October 13, 1944, February 23, 1945, January 8, 1943, June 21, 1946,
108
The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
October 2, 1936, September 22, 1939, December 6, 1940, January 5, 1940, April 5, 1940.
24. For this and the following paragraphs tracing Atlanta’s reaction to the
Holocaust, see Southern Israelite The items appeared almost weekly, so that a list of
dates would be unnecessarily long.
25. Southern Israelite, May 4, 1945, November 12, 1943, September 27, 1944,
February 2, 1945. For similar efforts in Nashville, see Spinney, “The Jewish
Community in Nashville, 1939–1949,”227–28.
26. Southern Israelite, February 15, 1935, February 21, 1935, January 30, 1938,
January 13, 1939, February 20, 1942, October 13, 1944, and February 13, 1948. The
Jewish War Veterans chapter was also established at Columbus in 1935. See Raphael,
Jews and Judaism, 290.
27. Toll, The Making of an Ethnic Middle Class: Portland Jewry Over Four Generations
(Albany: State University of New York Press, 1982), 161.
28. Columbus’s Schontel Center, the former JEA and later Jewish Community
Center, sponsored a summer camp in 1927. See Raphael, Jews and Judaism, 283.
29. Harry Lurie indicates that the CJFWF first pressed for national cooperation
and the breakdown of barriers in the funding of the institutions that treated
tuberculous at Denver and Los Angeles in 1937, unsuccessfully. Heritage, 132–36.
30. Southern Israelite, May 18, 1929, February 14, 1936, April 15, 1929, August 31,
1934, November 15, 1935, November 24, 1944, May 25, 1945, June 2, 1939, May 25,
1945, and September 27, 1944.
31. Southern Israelite, September 1, 1944. Columbus, Ohio, again initiated many
of the following changes a few years before Atlanta. See Raphael, Jews and Judaism,
290–94. For other parallels in this and the following, see Hasia R. Diner, Fifty Years of
Jewish Self-Governance: The Jewish Community Council of Greater Washington, 1938–1988
(Washington, D.C.: The Council, 1989); Isaac Franck,“The Changing American Jewish
Community,”in Eugene Kohn, ed., The Tercentenary and After (New York, 1955), 38–42
(Jewish community councils); Julian Griefer, “Philadelphia Jewish Philanthropy, Its
Evolution and Maturation,” in Murray Friedman, ed., Philadelphia Jewish Life,
1940–1985 (Ardmore, Pa., 1986); Robert Morris and Michael Freund, eds., Trends and
Issues in Jewish Social Welfare in the United States, 1899–1952 (Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society, 1966). The latter offers primary sources from professionals
directly involved in these events in various communities.
32. The divisions on the national level concerning Zionism and governance are
well documented. See for example Pinsky, “American Jewish Unity,” 477–94; Lurie,
Heritage, 137, 143–48. For the unification of defense agencies in Philadelphia, see
Tabak,“Transformation of Jewish Identity,”268ff.
33. Southern Israelite, August 25, 1944, September 1, 1944, and September 8, 1944.
Raphael, Jews and Judaism, 291-93; Endelman, Jewish Community of Indianapolis,
128–30.
34. Southern Israelite, September 1, 1944, September 8, 1944, September 27, 1944,
January 19, 1945, and January 11, 1946. On capitol fund drives, see Lurie, Heritage,
191–95. On similar building activities in Columbus, see Raphael, Jews and Judaism,
325, 342, 345. On the 1945 building of a Jewish Community Center in Charleston, see
Charles Reznikoff with Uriah Z. Engelman, The Jews of Charleston (Philadelphia:
Jewish Publication Society, 1950), 231–33.
35. Southern Israelite, October 6, 1944, October 27, 1944, January 19, 1945,
September 14, 1945, and March 8, 1946. See also Leonard Dinnerstein, “Anti-
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Semitism Exposed and Attacked, 1945–1950,”American Jewish History 71 (1981).
36. Southern Israelite, November 17, 1944, March 9, 1945, April 13, 1945, May 25,
1945, May 21, 1945, July 13, 1945, and July 20, 1945. Cleveland had organized a Jewish
Community Council in 1936. It is possible that some cities may have started earlier
where there was a higher incidence of local antisemitism. Lurie, Heritage, 126–31.
Columbus’s Jewish Community Council had been established in 1940. See Raphael,
Jews and Judaism, 290. Harry Lurie documents the movement of federations from 1945
to 1960 in this direction of systematic planning. In 1950 the CJFWF established an
Advisory Committee on Social Planning. See Heritage, 204–6.
37. Southern Israelite, May 25, 1945.
38. Southern Israelite, August 3, 1945, September 7, 1945, March 8, 1946, and
September 14, 1945.
39. Southern Israelite, April 30, 1931, May 30, 1931, and October 20, 1939.
40. Southern Israelite, August 3, 1945, March 8, 1946, August 16, 1946, September
6, 1946, October 11, 1946, October 18, 1946, December 27, 1946, January 3, 1947,
January 10, 1947, March 7, 1947, April 11, 1947, May 23, 1947, May 30, 1947,
September 19, 1947, October 31, 1947, and September 24, 1948. Columbus
conducted a survey of Jewish education in 1942 with similar results, and Milwaukee
reinvigorated its bureau of Jewish education in 1944. See Raphael, Jews and Judaism,
290, 322–25; Swichkow and Gartner, History of the Jews of Milwaukee, 325. The first
Bureau of Jewish Education had been established in New York in 1917. The fourteen
largest cities had such bureaus by 1932. The movement spread quickly thereafter, as
twenty-four additional cities sponsored community schools within four years. The
end of World War II fomented renewed interest. See Lurie, Heritage, 98–99, 206.
41. Southern Israelite, October 26, 1945, November 23, 1945, November 30, 1945,
February 1, 1946, June 21, 1946, August 23, 1946, and April 18, 1947.
42. In 1948 nine city federations created the Large City Budgeting Conference
(LCBC) to analyze “budgets, programs and finances.”The LCBC leadership met with
the heads of major agencies to solicit funds and offered recommendations on
allocations to local federations. Bernstein, To Dwell in Unity, 17. Portland conducted
its population study in 1947 and Nashville’s Jewish Community Council conducted its
own in 1949. See Toll, Making of An Ethnic Middle Class, 164; Spinney, “Jewish
Community in Nashville,” 226. Thus still again what was happening in Atlanta
paralleled and was encouraged by national tendencies. This is not to argue that such
studies had not been conducted previously (Cleveland, for example, conducted a
Jewish community study in 1924, and New York did so in 1926), but rather that this
emerged as a widespread phenomenon during this period. See Gartner, History of the
Jews of Cleveland, 268–69, 284–86; Moore, At Home in America, 162–69. The latter
offers the social scientific background for the surveys.
43. Southern Israelite, June 21, 1946, October 4, 1946, February 13, 1948, August
29, 1947, and September 10, 1948 Such studies became commonplace during this
period. See Lurie, Heritage, 168–69. For the same type of methodological approach in
Columbus, see Raphael, Jews and Judaism, 342, 345; Spinney,“Nashville,”239, n. 3 (for
that city’s 1949 population study).
44. Southern Israelite, February 7, 1930, November 29, 1930, April 16, 1937, April
5, 1940, September 14, 1945, April 9, 1948, April 30, 1948, August 6, 1948, and
September 17, 1948; Joint Meeting of Committee on Family Service and Employment
and Vocational Service Committee Minutes, Cuba Archives, June 19, 1951 For the
110
The Transformation of Jewish Social Services in Atlanta, 1928-1948
similar gradual transformation of these homes elsewhere, their relationship with
national secular trends, and the move toward broader and less charity-oriented
educational and vocational service agencies, see Lurie, Heritage, 75–77, 90; Swichkow
and Gartner, History of the Jews of Milwaukee, 336–38; Endelman, Jewish Community of
Indianapolis, 184.
45. Southern Israelite, January 31, 1947, and December 1947.
46. Southern Israelite, October 17, 1947, March 7, 1947, and December 10, 1948
For parallels, see Spinney, “Jewish Community in Nashville,” 226; Raphael, Jews and
Judaism, 342–45; Myron Berman, Richmond’s Jewry, 1769–1976 (Charlottesville:
University Press of Virginia, 1979), 309.
47. Southern Israelite, October 12, 1945, January 3, 1947, April 23, 1948, March 26,
1948, and March 21, 1947. Philadelphia’s Jewish Youth Council, established in 1940,
represented a coalition of eighty organizations with fifteen thousand members.
Tabak,“Transformation of Jewish Identity,”341.
48. With the creation of Israel, Sam Eplan headed Georgia’s B’nai B’rith food
drive for Israel to aid incoming immigrants; Jack Maziar served the regional ZOA in a
similar capacity A Southeast Conference on Displaced Persons convened in 1948 with
Barney Medintz chairing the opening session and Herman Heyman leading the
convention. For the national drive, see Maurice Berman, “The American Scene,” in
“The Year of Deliverance,” JDC Digest 9 (April 1950): 16. For similar experiences, see
Spinney, “Jewish Community of Nashville,” 228, 235; Raphael, Jews and Judaism,
286–90. For the national picture, see idem, History of the United Jewish Appeal, 26–40.
49. Southern Israelite, May 21, 1948, December 5, 1947, March 5, 1948, March 12,
1948, May 14, 1948, July 16, 1948, and September 24, 1948. See Bernstein, To Dwell in
Unity, 14.
50. Solomon Sutker,“The Jews of Atlanta: Their Social Structure and Leadership
Patterns,”(Ph.D. diss., University of North Carolina, 1950); Daniel J. Elazar, Community
and Polity: The Organizational Dynamics of American Jewry (Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society, 1976). See Lurie, Heritage, 125, for examples of the rise of the
number of professionals.
111
Jewish Women and Vocational
Education in New York City, 1885–1925
Melissa Klapper
During the last years of the nineteenth century, a new kind of
educational establishment began to appear among Jewish institutions
in America: the privately run vocational school. These schools quickly
became popular philanthropic projects among the established
American Jewish community, which touted vocational education as a
means of Americanizing the Jewish immigrants who arrived in the
United States almost daily between 1880 and 1920.1 Two of the most
reputable of these privately funded vocational schools, the Hebrew
Technical School for Girls and the Clara de Hirsch Home for Working
Girls, served entirely female populations. Founded in New York in
1885 and 1897 respectively, these institutions represented one
response to a major problem of the period: the question of how to
reconcile the American middle-class ideology of feminine domesticity
with the need among poor immigrant women to earn a living.2
Vocational education for girls and young women helped Jewish
reformers achieve the paradoxical purpose of acculturating arriving
female immigrants by outfitting them for wage-earning employment
while still preserving a social and class system based on gendered
conceptions of work and home that the comfortably established
Jewish community had no wish to see threatened.
The establishment of the Hebrew Technical School for Girls and
the Clara de Hirsch Home at the turn of the century marked an
important moment of transition in conceptions of women’s work. The
traditional ideology of feminine domesticity was beginning to show
signs of wear in the face of new economic realities. As women began
entering the work force in growing numbers, the notion of family as a
system that required a woman’s undivided attention to and presence
in the home gradually shifted. Schools such as the Hebrew Technical
School for Girls and the Clara de Hirsch Home attempted to stem the
tide of this shift. By preparing girls for a limited range of jobs largely
related to household work, vocational education trained them for the
work force in ways that would not remove them too far from the
home.
This article places the vocational education of Jewish girls, as
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exemplified by the Hebrew Technical School for Girls and the Clara de
Hirsch Home for Working Girls, in the broader context of the class and
gender tensions so palpable in the relations between recent Jewish
immigrants and Jews who had already lived in the United States for a
generation or more.3 It also aims to contribute to a richer
understanding of the vocational education of American women
generally. Although numerous studies of vocationalism have
appeared in educational and historical contexts since the early
twentieth century, only recently have historians turned their attention
to the more complicated history of women’s vocational education. Yet
even these recent studies of the subject do not consider important
themes related to women’s education and socialization such as the
role of ethnicity, the relationship of reform and progress to women’s
education, and the tension created by changing gender-role
expectations.4 The purpose here is to fill in some of these gaps.
The conflict between the feminine domestic ideal and
participation in the waged labor force was particularly sharp for Jewish
girls, whose orientation toward both family and work was intense.
The centrality of family and home to Jewish life was emphasized by
home-based religious and cultural practices that honored the role of
wives and mothers in preserving and transmitting Jewish traditions.
At the same time, conditions in Eastern Europe had demanded Jewish
women’s contribution to the family economy, and immigrant women
had an understanding of their relationship to work that differed
radically from the idealized American vision that sharply divided
home from work. The question of how these women could be
encouraged to enter the labor force and to cultivate a more
Americanized domestic ideal was thus especially pertinent for Jewish
reformers. A study of how vocational education aimed specifically at
Jewish girls managed to respond to this dilemma offers insight into
the work and domesticity issues already present in turn-of-thecentury America and sharpens the broader history of vocational
education for women.
Two Vocational Schools
The Hebrew Technical School for Girls and Clara de Hirsch Home
accomplished the goal of melding women’s waged labor and feminine
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domesticity in a number of ways.
First, the founders and
administrators of the schools fostered school cultures that presented a
universal standard of appropriate womanly conduct. Typically
members of the established American Jewish community, these
educators and philanthropists viewed the preservation of domesticity
among poor Jewish girls not only as an effective strategy for
encouraging their acculturation to middle-class lifestyles and
American social mores, but also as a means to lessen tensions among
Jewish groups differentiated by length of residence and economic
status. Second, the curricula of the schools focused on skills linked to
domestic work, restricting girls’ employment opportunities and
limiting their prospects for job advancement. Third, the schools
encouraged their pupils to seek marriage and claimed that the very
nature of vocational education was conducive to finding a husband.
Both schools explicitly conceived of work as a temporary stage of
women’s lives and touted vocational education as an efficient and
enjoyable way to ready each student not only for work, but also for the
happy day when she could settle into the domestic bliss for which her
training had so well prepared her. The deployment of these strategies
in the two most prominent and successful Jewish girls’ vocational
schools in New York both shaped and was shaped by the fundamental
need to reconcile domestic gender ideology with the growing
participation of women in the waged labor force.
The oldest of the vocational schools for Jewish women, the
Hebrew Technical School for Girls, originated during the 1880s as the
Louis Downtown Sabbath School under the auspices of Temple
Emanu-El and the direction of seasoned Jewish educator Minnie D.
Louis.5 Reluctantly acknowledging that non-Jews seemed to make
little distinction between the older American Jewish community and
the new immigrants, Louis insisted on Temple Emanu-El’s support for
a Sunday School whose “prime object”would be to “inculcate habits of
cleanliness” among the habitually unclean immigrant girls who gave
all Jews a bad name. “Since the world has elected to regard us as a
brotherhood,”she noted with some asperity,“why shall we attempt to
withstand the force of the ages?”6 Louis exemplified both the
contempt with which large segments of the established Jewish
community viewed the newcomers and the indefatigable efforts so
many of these established Jews made to assist them.7 This uneasy
mix of condescension and benevolence meant that from the outset,
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strained ethnic and cultural relations characterized the Louis
Downtown Sabbath School.
In 1885 the weekly religious school curriculum was supplemented
with daily industrial training, and the school was renamed the Louis
Downtown Sabbath and Daily School. By 1887 Louis discontinued
the religious classes altogether in favor of expanding vocational
courses. She justified her decision by comparing job preparation with
spiritual vocation, asserting that “to teach the means to eat one’s
honest bread and wear one’s honest dress is as high a religious duty
as to teach the Ten Commandments.” Her equation of vocational
education with religious training revealed her concern with
controlling her students’ morality.8 She needed to guarantee
concerned representatives of the established Jewish community as
well as immigrant parents that vocational education would diminish
the wayward impulses of immigrant Jewish girls by safely redirecting
their energies first into skilled labor participation and later into
domestic life. By assigning a religious dimension to domesticity, she
justified the kind of vocational training that would prepare girls for
home life as well as work life. Securing greater financial rewards,
more glamorous jobs, and increased contact with potential husbands,
vocational education became the practical expression of the school’s
constitutional mandate to elevate “the female children of Jewish poor
of the City of New York.”9
Not long before Louis stepped down from her position as head of
the school, she identified the Jewish community’s need for another
kind of educational institution for immigrant girls. Louis suggested
that several “moderate sized boarding-schools for girls of twelve years
old up to thirty, conducted on a plan of study, just like ours, probably
a little more extended,”be built in the“benighted district”of the Lower
East Side. Aware that the students at the Hebrew Technical School for
Girls, which took its new name in 1895, came largely from
demographically complete families, she believed that boarding
schools might save single immigrant young women or daughters of
broken Jewish families from the perils of dislocation.10 Give them a
place “where they could regularly live and remain just as long as it
took to fit them properly for one or another calling,”Louis proposed,
and the Jewish community might avert the disaster of women adrift.11
Founded in 1897 by internationally prominent Jewish
philanthropists Oscar and Sarah Straus and Baroness Clara de Hirsch,
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the Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls was purposely located far
from the debilitating influence of “the benighted district”of the Lower
East Side. Its dual function as boardinghouse and vocational school
met Louis’s specifications, and it was originally established as a
nonsectarian home and training school for working girls.12 Sarah
Lavanburg Straus, the founder who served as president of the board
almost continuously from 1897 to 1945, visited existing working girls’
homes all over the East Coast before determining that the Clara de
Hirsch Home should serve three different groups of girls.13 “Day
trainees” were unskilled girls living with their families but taking
classes at the Clara de Hirsch Home; “trainees,” unskilled girls over
fourteen, lived at the home rent and tuition free while completing
courses of industrial training; independent working girls, for whom
the Clara de Hirsch Home served as a safe and orderly boardinghouse,
paid their own room and board. The home’s most important
administrator was the resident directress, later called the
superintendent, who oversaw vocational education, discipline,
recreation, meal preparation, curfews, and housekeeping. Clara de
Hirsch girls were not only trained for trade, but also expected to help
in the boardinghouse in anticipation of the day when they would put
their domestic skills to use in homes of their own.
The Jewish girls vocational schools’ founders and administrators
were attempting to train immigrant and poor Jewish girls to be the
kind of domestic figures their students’ economic circumstances
would rarely allow them to be. The patrons and pedagogues of the
schools saw manual, industrial, and even commercial education as
means of providing skills for the temporary employment the students
might take during the brief period between formal education and
marriage. This unrealistic assumption obstinately overlooked most
immigrant Jewish girls’working-class lifestyles, which required almost
constant economic contributions from wives and mothers in addition
to still unmarried daughters and sisters. While the Jewish girls’
vocational schools rhetorically positioned women’s work as
temporary, the parent and student bodies affiliated with the school
saw education as the temporary stage in a young woman’s life.
Vocational training might have been a desideratum in the immigrant
community, but economic need was a fact of life that would not
always wait for education.
Jewish girls’ vocational education acted as a lightning rod for
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competing conceptions of work, class, and culture among various
segments of the burgeoning Jewish population in America as
immigrants’ realities collided with the American middle-class norms
valued so highly by the established Jewish community.14 Middle-class
Jews in America, worried that mass Jewish immigration would
inevitably raise levels of American antisemitism, strove to instill in the
newcomers an affinity for their own middle-class values and lifestyle.
East European Jews often envisioned an entirely different American
Jewish community, one predicated on a classless socialism as an
alternative to a system of Jewish philanthropy deeply rooted in the
willingness, duty, and ability of the “haves” to provide for the “havenots.” While the more-established Jews attempted to convince the
newcomers to make success in America’s capitalist society their goal,
the immigrants made a strong case for clinging to their more
egalitarian and sometimes more religious ideas about the way modern
society should function. The combination of religious and cultural
gaps with class divides created a climate of ethnic distrust and dislike.
Jewish philanthropy took on sinister overtones for the new Jewish
immigrants, who felt forced into economic and philanthropic patterns
they resented. The teachers, social workers, and other agents of
assimilation who served as the primary points of contact between the
new immigrants and the established Jewish community constantly
insulted the new immigrants’ cultural and religious pride.15 The
development of the Hebrew Technical School for Girls and the Clara
de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, both institutions founded by the
Jewish middle class for the express purpose of elevating working-class
Jewish immigrant girls, can only be understood within this context of
sometimes painful Jewish community development in America.
Such intra-ethnic tensions shaped writer Anzia Yezierska’s
checkered experiences at the Clara de Hirsch Home, parts of which
she recaptured in her fiction. As her novel Bread Givers demonstrates
most clearly, Yezierska was all too familiar with the struggles of
immigrant children caught between the old world and the new. Only
a child when she arrived in the United States, Yezierska declared
independence from her family in 1899 by moving to the Clara de
Hirsch Home. Although she did not enjoy the rules and enforced
decorum of the school, she impressed one of the board members and
was eventually sent to Teachers College to study home economics at
the postsecondary level.16
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Yezierska’s mixed feelings about the Clara de Hirsch Home appear
most explicitly in her novel Arrogant Beggar and in her short stories
“How I Found America”and “Wings.” In Arrogant Beggar, protagonist
Adele Lindner rebels against the rigid rules and schedule but enjoys
the sunlight, cleanliness, and good food at the home for working girls
where she lives. After losing her job Adele is forced to accept the
school director’s offer to support her in the domestic service training
course, or risk expulsion. It is a telling detail of Yezierska’s account: so
few students in the home are interested in domestic service that the
ladies of the board offer to forgive the rent of anyone willing to take
the course and then work for them.17
In “How I Found America—Part II,” Yezierska’s narrator
experiences crushing disappointment when Mrs. Olney, the director
of the School for Immigrant Girls, dashes her hopes for academic
advancement, offering her sewing and cooking classes instead. “It’s
nice of you to want to help America, but I think the best way would be
for you to learn a trade. That’s what this school is for, to help girls find
themselves, and the best way to do that is to learn something useful,”
Mrs. Olney says. “Thoughts require leisure. . .first you must learn how
to earn a good living.”18 Yezierska’s fury at the condescending, if wellmeaning, Americanizing reformers who confined female education to
domestic skills recurs throughout her fiction.
The combination of condescending control and genuine concern
imposed by the schools’ board members and administrators upon
their students did not necessarily come to an end with the students’
completion of their training course. At the Clara de Hirsch Home, the
Follow Up (or After Care) Committee sent teams of board members
and teachers to the homes of former Clara de Hirsch Home girls to
check on their progress. The committee commented not only on the
employment of the former students, but also on their family situations
and living conditions. A 1919 report on Regina G. was typical: “Lives
with grandparents and aunt. They occupy five nice, airy rooms.
Family is very respectable. Regina doing very well at dressmaking.”
Even after the students left the Clara de Hirsch Home, the school was
as interested in their appropriate behavior as in their successful
employment.19 The attempt on the part of schools and their leaders
to confine students to a particular sort of lifestyle at the same time that
they were putatively educating them for greater economic opportunity
resulted in curricula that were often out of step with students’ needs
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and usually slow to change.
Curriculum
During its earliest years, vocational training that would also
provide housekeeping skills was clearly on the minds of the
curriculum planners at the Hebrew Technical School for Girls. In 1898
the manual training course included three different types of sewing,
millinery, dressmaking, art, needlework, drawing, and cooking. The
school literature, perhaps inadvertently, revealed the intentions of the
school administrators. The 1898 description of the dressmaking class,
ostensibly a vocational training course, first pointed out the
advantages of young women’s abilities to make clothes for themselves
and their children and then remembered to add that the class was, of
course,“excellent training for professional dressmakers.” Similarly, the
description of the cooking class noted that “a marked improvement in
table manners has been noticed,” which presumably was of greater
importance to the future social and family lives of the students than
marketable culinary skills might be to their work lives.20
To an even greater extent than the Hebrew Technical School, the
programs of the Clara de Hirsch Home were suffused with class and
gender values. Domestic service training was at the core of the first
curriculum, and the ladies of the board were not reticent about
expressing the hope that the graduates might solve their own servant
problem.21 The three-month practical component of the domestic
service training was designed not only to give the students experience,
but also to allow wealthy Jewish families a trial period to test the
capabilities of potential servants.22 In the first Institutional Report filed
with the New York Board of Charities in 1899, the Clara de Hirsch
board of trustees listed, in order of their importance, the “Branches,
Special Features, and Departments” of their fledgling establishment.
Cooking, serving, waiting tables, laundry, and chamber work topped
the list, although the board also felt it worthy to note that the Clara de
Hirsch Home had a “library for use of inmates.”23 The education
offered by the school to boarding and day students as well as working
girls was clearly designed to prepare them primarily for domestic
functions. This training contrasted with the vocational education
provided to Jewish boys by the Baron de Hirsch School, which had
been established in 1891 to offer immersion programs in the
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mechanical and building trades.
The founders of Jewish girls’ vocational schools made no attempt
to conceal their gender bias. “We have arrived at the incontrovertible
conclusion that. . . boys should engage in ‘mechanics,’ and the girls be
taught the more effeminate though equally lucrative employments,”
Minnie Louis declared in 1887.24 Although Louis was referring to the
school that she directed, she might as well have been describing all
vocational education during the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries. Her differentiation of the distinctive skills appropriate for
boys and girls overlooked the great difficulty of finding “equally
lucrative employments”for females in a discriminatory labor market as
well as the challenge of convincing immigrants to accept gender roles
foreign to their cultural background. Middle-class gender models
defining certain types of work as “effeminate” constrained Louis’s
ideas about the content of vocational education for women, reflecting
a primary emphasis on maintaining an American middle-class
domestic ideal.
Despite the heavy-handedness of the schools’ founders and
faculty, the vocational schools for Jewish girls initially met with some
success. The reputation of the Jewish schools spread throughout the
immigrant community, although no more than a very small
percentage of eligible students attended either school. Despite their
initial doubts, immigrant parents were generally pleased to view their
daughters as both economically useful and eminently marriageable.
Vocational education still met some resistance in the business
community, but Clara de Hirsch students earned a reputation for
industry and skill. “A number of employers, when questioned as to the
value of school training, say that they ‘didn’t think much of it in
general,’” Superintendent Rose Sommerfeld told the board, but the
employers had added that “‘the Clara de Hirsch Home certainly
trained its girls well’” and made a point of hiring the school’s
students.25 The schools rarely lacked pupils, and the administrative
and professional staff worked with secular women’s educators and
activists to improve women’s vocational education in New York
generally. An account of the Clara de Hirsch Home’s early history
even claimed responsibility for the proliferation of vocational schools
for women in New York, asserting,“We were pioneers in trade training
and it was the influence of our school and the good work we were
doing that caused the Manhattan Trade School for Girls to be
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established.”26
This early bravado notwithstanding, the ambivalent attitude of the
employers cited in Sommerfeld’s report corresponded with the deeply
seated contradictions inherent in women’s vocational education. In
1890 the vast majority of working women were in domestic service,
which few could realistically argue required vocational education.
Large numbers of women in urban centers worked in the garment
industry, but the rate of their production did not appear to suffer from
their lack of industrial training. Meanwhile, the schools’ justification
for their narrow curricula rested on a domestic ideal that was itself
falling subject to criticism. In a society where increasing numbers of
professions were opening to women, pronouncements that all girls’
true profession was housekeeping rang hollow. As one critic asked,
“Why. . .take for granted that all unskilled women have only a talent
for two pursuits?” Cooking and sewing did not appeal to all women.
Another student of women’s education concurred, stating, “there is
much evidence to show that large numbers of women have no liking
and small ability for such work, even when they have acquired an
intelligent understanding of food values, of textiles, and of
sanitation.”27 Students themselves responded to these issues by voting
with their enrollments. In public schools girls interested in being
homemakers took home economics classes, but women concerned
with obtaining other kinds of work did not.28 Whether in private or
in public school settings, girls’vocational education was compromised
by the weak link between curriculum and objectives.
The Clara de Hirsch Home and Hebrew Technical School
struggled with the definitions of women’s vocational education, each
considering the advantages of home economics, industrial training,
and commercial education. The late-nineteenth-century movement
to make education relevant and practical was stymied, however, by the
question of women’s proper place, making women’s vocational
education a charged issue outside the Jewish community as well. That
more women were entering the work force was indisputable; in 1890
more than eight hundred thousand women worked in manufacturing,
mechanical, and clerical jobs, and by 1910 the number had nearly
tripled to more than two million.29 The question of how schools
should respond to the changing labor market remained unanswered.
Rose Sommerfeld supplied one answer when she took over as
resident directress of the Clara de Hirsch Home in 1899. Although the
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board still sponsored moralistic Friday evening talks on such subjects
as “Ethics of Brown Soap and Water” and “Hygiene of Houses and
Persons,” Sommerfeld observed the low enrollment in domestic
service classes and worked to widen the school’s purpose beyond
single-minded preparation for domestic service.30 The new
administrator captured the Clara de Hirsch Home’s position on
vocational education when she wrote, “We will have better homes
when every woman is trained to be a thoroughly competent cook,
dressmaker, designer, milliner, or whatever it may be, because through
this training habits of industry will be developed which will make a
finer type of character.”31 The benefit of the Clara de Hirsch Home’s
brand of vocational education would accrue to well-trained
homemakers as much as—or even more than—to skilled wage
earners. This emphasis on efficient, rational housekeeping was
consistent with the new appellations of “home economics” and
“domestic science”bestowed on housework at the turn of the century
by women’s groups seeking validation for daily domestic activities.
At the Clara de Hirsch Home, because most of the girls came from
very poor or broken families, the ladies of the board felt it their duty
to supply an environment they considered nurturing and appropriate
on their own terms. Compulsory physical culture classes for the
trainees in the school and mandatory evening cooking classes for the
working girls living in the boarding home reflected the Clara de
Hirsch Home’s concern with producing healthy, accomplished
students whose need to work would not preclude the practice of
domesticity.32
The Hebrew Technical School for Girls developed along somewhat
different lines. Soon after Minnie Louis left the institution in 1897,
community activist Nathaniel L. Myers took over as president and
guiding force.33 Myers was no less convinced of the higher moral
purpose of vocational education than Louis, and he was not reticent
about his belief in its importance.34 As part of his conviction that the
object of the Hebrew Technical School was to create independent
women, Myers completely overhauled the curriculum. Whereas daily
classes at the original Louis Downtown Sabbath and Daily School
trained girls in dressmaking, sewing, millinery, bookkeeping,
typewriting, business penmanship, and housework, Myers added
more subjects to the course work than regular public high school
students typically would have taken. He organized the school
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program into an eighteen-month course that called for a school day
from eight in the morning until four in the afternoon and allowed for
no summer break. The Hebrew Technical School for Girls still offered
two separate tracks in manual education and commercial education,
but all the students took a minimum amount of academic classes as
well.
Commitment to preparing girls for their domestic
responsibilities remained of paramount importance. No matter which
track she chose, each student also took domestic science courses.
An examination of the school in 1909 demonstrates the range of
educational opportunities available there. By then the Hebrew
Technical School had been in its new building at Second Avenue and
Fifteenth Street for several years. It boasted a gymnasium, ventilation
plant, roof garden with basketball court, model kitchen and dining
room, and typewriter room with sixty machines. The facilities could
not have been more different from the modestly equipped Clara de
Hirsch Home on Sixty-third Street between Second and Third
Avenues. A large majority of students opted for the commercial
department, which was subdivided into technical, physical, academic,
and art education. The students spent most of their time in vocational
classes, on subjects such as stenography, typing, bookkeeping, and
penmanship. They took academic courses in literature, history,
rhetoric, commercial arithmetic, commercial geography, physiology,
and social ethics. All the commercial students also enrolled in
mandatory cooking, physical training, and music classes. The smaller
manual department offered vocational classes in sewing,
dressmaking, millinery, embroidery, cooking, and penmanship.
Manual students spent far fewer hours in academic classes and had
more course hours in music and drawing. They took the same
physical training class as the commercial students.35
Commercial education, the most popular element of vocational
education for both Jewish and non-Jewish girls, had not at first been
considered vocational education at all.36 The Hebrew Technical School
for Girls initially offered only an incidental commercial training
course, but as early as 1897 a list of the school’s graduates since 1889
showed that more than half worked as typists, bookkeepers, and
stenographers. By contrast, only ten of the eighty-seven students on
the list identified themselves as dressmakers or milliners.37 The
popularity of commercial classes with Jewish girls was the despair of
Jewish communal workers who wanted them to explore other
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options. The 1897 report of the Hebrew Technical School for girls
lamented, “Our girls do not make the same effort to obtain
employment at plain sewing, or millinery, or dress-making as they do
in stenography, type-writing, and Book-keeping; nor are there as
many applicants to the Manual Training as the Commercial Course.”
This trend only grew stronger over time. Some years later another
communal worker also noted the phenomenon, observing in
frustration, “Left unguided, they all aspire to be bookkeepers and
stenographers.”38 Bookkeeping and stenography, which had limited
applications in the home, represented a serious threat to reformers’
expectations that vocational education would transform immigrant
women into models of domesticity. For girls who came to vocational
education with different expectations, hoping to improve their job
prospects, commercial education was attractive precisely because it
offered a set of skills that could not be learned or applied at home.
High enrollments in the commercial track at the Hebrew Technical
School underlined this point.39 Manual training was all very well, but
most industrial skills could be learned on the job. The rewards of
typewriting, stenography, and bookkeeping fell only to the educated.
For immigrant girls education was most valuable and most desirable
when it included skills and knowledge that could not be learned
outside of a school setting. Regina Haas Lifton remembered years
later feeling that she was one “of the brightest children in…New York,
because we had to take a test to get in”to the by then selective Hebrew
Technical School. Feeling privileged was a new experience for a girl
from a poor family. “We were very poor…we had no money,” Lifton
recalled. “So the only way I could get a high school education…was
to go to the Hebrew Tech for two years instead of four years in a
regular high school.”40
A 1915 Hebrew Technical School study found that there was a
payoff for students like Lifton and their families. Out of 2,705
graduates to date, 1,863 were gainfully employed at an average of
fifty-one dollars a month.41 The “best equipped technical school for
girls in the United States” succeeded in turning out graduates whose
reputation as hard working and well trained helped them find jobs
fairly easily. In 1914 the Annual Report recorded with immense
satisfaction that of all the schools’ families, “up to date there is only
one case where the charities had to continue their support after the
graduation of the daughter.”42
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As the demands of the American work place and the desires of
their student body shifted, the women who shaped the policy of the
Clara de Hirsch Home eventually found themselves forced to alter
their vision for their school as well. The board members gradually
acceded to some of the students’ demands for change. The original
domestic service training course, a year-long program of cooking,
laundry, and serving classes, was finally discontinued due to lack of
interest. Superintendent Rose Sommerfeld noted in 1905 that of the
thirty-seven graduates of the domestic service course between 1900
and 1902, twelve were married and two were working as domestic
servants. The others held a variety of other jobs, from nurses, cooking
teachers, and seamstresses to actresses and factory forewomen. As
student interest in a wider variety of vocational training grew, course
work in areas beyond the basics expanded with an upholstery class,
for example, beginning in 1903.43 The school discontinued its cooking
class by 1918 and in 1919 appointed a committee to investigate
changing the sewing curriculum to more modern industrial standards.
The Education Committee attempted to boost enrollment in trade
training classes by opening Clara de Hirsch classes to public school
students over fourteen years of age and advertising for trainees from
outside New York. These strategies succeeded for a while, as
enrollments in millinery, hand sewing, machine operating, and
dressmaking remained fairly constant from 1918 to 1926.44
Unlike the Hebrew Technical School, the Clara de Hirsch Home
never made a serious commitment to providing commercial
education. Because the students at the Clara de Hirsch Home
generally came from poorer families who needed their daughters’
economic contributions sooner rather than later, the administrators
felt it would be unwise, if not actually impossible, to require the longer
periods of course work necessary to master skills like stenography and
typewriting. Dressmaking, cooking, and even upholstery, related as
they were to domestic tasks the students already performed at home
and at the boarding school, took far less time to teach thoroughly.
Though the Clara de Hirsch Home and the Hebrew Technical School
for Girls continued to share the basic justification for vocational
education as supportive of domesticity, the methods and means of the
two schools evolved in different directions. Both schools, however,
participated in the cultural reconstruction of paid work—even work
outside the home—as part of women’s domestic obligations.
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Training for Matrimony
Whether offering manual or commercial education, the Jewish
girls’ schools stressed marriage, not employment, as the ultimate goal
for their students. Claims for vocational education as training for
domesticity as well as remunerative employment were reflected not
only in curricula and programs, but also in a fairly explicit emphasis on
the desirability of marriage. The less explicitly stated goal was to
infuse immigrant daughters with specifically middle-class Jewish
values. Within the middle-class Jewish social milieu, marriage was
“the foremost aim of the American Jewess as it was for her mother
and grandmother” and wage work something to be avoided if at all
possible.45 For families that aspired to the economic security that
would allow female departure from the work place, vocational
education as defined by gendered skill sets served the dual purpose of
reinforcing domesticity in young women who might have to work to
support their families and fostering domesticity in young women
whose families’ support enabled them not to work. The Hebrew
Technical School for Girls and Clara de Hirsch Home tempted
immigrant families to send their daughters to vocational programs by
playing on their desires for daughters who could act as both
contributors to the household economy and as efficient homemakers.
Vocational education could only improve future wives’ and mothers’
effectiveness, Minnie D. Louis argued. “While the girls may never
enter service as cooks, they can render as valuable service to the
community by keeping an attractive table at home for their fathers
and brothers and future husbands.”46 If domesticity was women’s
social destiny, vocational education could improve women’s abilities
to serve the workers in their families.
To this end, vocational education at the Clara de Hirsch Home
encompassed more than training in particular work skills. Vocation
was interpreted broadly to include the whole of students’ future lives,
lives that would be best shaped by proper domestic and social
training. The board members, a devoted crew of well-to-do Jewish
matrons who came together on a monthly basis as well as in
committee meetings, believed themselves to be the best models of
appropriate behavior at the same time as they grudgingly recognized
the difficulty of replicating their own lifestyle on a working-class
income. The school administrators designed the program of the Clara
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de Hirsch Home to make the opportunities of the students “such as
can be found nowhere in this great city of ours, perhaps not even in
the whole country” and earnestly believed that “only the best results
will be achieved.”47 As the emphasis of vocational education in
general shifted away from manual training and toward commercial
education, the school never lost sight of its original goal: the creation
of explicitly American Jewish girls prepared for lives as respectable
women whose skills could lead to paid employment, if necessary, but
would best be put to use as American Jewish wives and mothers.
Jewish and non-Jewish women’s vocational educators alike were
typically unaware of the gender and class assumptions underlying
their work. Mary Woolman, principal of the Manhattan Trade School
for Girls, saw the linkage between domestic labor and wage labor as
ennobling for otherwise deprived working-class girls:
The qualities needed in trade are the same as those which
elevate the home. Employers ask for workers who are reliable,
who respect authority, who are honest in time, in work, and in
word. The development of a sense of responsibility is a
difficult task to accomplish, but it is not impossible, even
though the poverty of the students necessarily limits the
period of instruction. A trade school can develop character,
and consequently the better homekeeper is born from the
better trade worker.48
Woolman was not unique in her opinion that the measurable
social benefits of industrial training would appear in the home as
much as the work place. Employment success validated the efforts of
the ladies of the Clara de Hirsch Home board, but nothing gratified
them like the marriage of one of the girls. Offering her explanation of
the early demise of the domestic service program, board member
Carrie Wise commented:
The main reason why Jewish girls don’t go into service, is that
it lowers their social status in the eyes of their friends, and
limits their opportunities of making good matches. Many of
them come here with the ultimate object of marriage and are
generally successful. We have witnessed most touching scenes
where both groom and bride had saved enough money to get
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Jewish Women and Vocational Education in New York City
up their own little household, and ask to be married at our
Home. The bride with her tarlatan veil as the only extra
adornment to her usual wearing apparel, the groom in his
work-a-day clothes, listening reverently to the words of the
Rabbi, signing the pledge of mutual helpfulness. . .with happy,
beaming faces. . .49
Weddings at the Clara de Hirsch Home were important events, for
they signaled the success of another Jewish girl in fulfilling her
matrimonial vocation. Even if the student never earned a wage again,
a distinct possibility for a married Jewish woman, it was believed that
the vocational education she received at the Clara de Hirsch Home
enabled her to reach that stage of life. “It is gratifying to note that the
training received. . .has not been in vain,”the ladies felt,“as all the girls
have made excellent housewives.”50
The dichotomy between marriage and work that the ladies of the
Clara de Hirsch Home board took for granted in their own milieu was
neither as neat nor as realistic for the immigrant girls who attended
the school. No such extreme opposition between domesticity and
labor was possible for most of the students. The relationship between
gender and work was a major source of contention between the
acculturated Jews, who espoused middle-class ideas about the
separation of home and work, and the immigrant Jews, whose
traditional culture made little distinction between home and work
place. Economic opportunities for Jews in Eastern Europe had been
so limited that women’s work was essential to family economies.51
Women’s labor had also played an important part in homes that
doubled as work places.52 Supporting the participation of Jewish
women in economic life was the widespread cultural and religious
goal of Jewish girls to marry scholars. A scholarly husband brought
honor to the family while his wife generated the family income. The
ability to earn money remained a desirable characteristic of future
brides even after the advent of a more modern sensibility made
support of a scholarly husband seem less of a privilege.53 This complex
East European Jewish heritage allowed women free access to
economic and public secular roles but excluded them from power in
the public sacred sphere, an almost complete reversal of the middleclass woman’s role common to Western Europe and the United States.
Even after the Jewish Enlightenment began to alter the traditional
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patterns of women’s labor in Eastern Europe, a tolerance for female
assertiveness, competence, and participation in public life remained a
part of Jewish culture there. The still widespread acceptance of
women’s work continued to characterize immigrant Jewish women’s
experiences in the United States, as work was seen as a struggle to
earn a family living rather than an individual choice or a means to
personal advancement.
Even among more affluent Jewish immigrant families, the
possibility of combining domesticity and work became important. The
Hebrew Technical School for Girls continuously defended its success
at inculcating domestic ideology within the context of vocational
education. A 1915 study of the school’s job placement record
hastened to add that “a number of our girls. . .after progressing up to
a certain point got married.”54 Nathaniel Myers continued to stress
the equal importance of work and marriage as two sides of the
character issue, insisting “the idea is to try to develop good homemakers and home keepers…as well as girls who earn their own
livelihood and contribute their share to the advancement of the
world.”55 Some Hebrew Technical School parents remained
unconvinced and expressed concern about the school’s mixed
messages. Although few could doubt the Hebrew Technical School’s
success in graduating employable workers, there was apparently some
question as to its success in graduating marriageable wives. The
increasing distinction of the two goals among the parents indicated
the spread of middle-class gender values among the more prosperous
Jewish immigrant families.
At a special anniversary meeting in 1915, former President William
Howard Taft startled the assemblage when he commented favorably
on the low marriage rates of Hebrew Technical School graduates. “I
rejoiced in that feature,”Taft said. He went on to explain:
It is not that I am opposed to matrimony; I am very much in
favor of it, provided. . .it brings happiness to those who adopt
it as a mode of life. . .the trouble is that many women have to
marry, or think they have to because otherwise their life is not
to be a success. . .Now how are you going to avoid that? You
are going to avoid it by making your women independent…
That is why I like this school and all schools of this kind… any
measure like this school that enables women to exercise a
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Jewish Women and Vocational Education in New York City
judgment as to their future happiness is… a step a long way in
the direction of relieving the entire community.56
Adolf Lewisohn, the board member who had invited Taft to speak at
the meeting, was so concerned about the effect of Taft’s comments on
the school’s parents and patrons in the audience that he interrupted
the former president to interject an explanatory note into the
proceedings:
I want to make a little explanation in regard to the number of
our pupils who get married. I don’t want the idea to get out
that children of this school are not apt to get married,
otherwise we will not get pupils in the future. Now there were
2700 children who left the school, of which, it is true, only
about two hundred and seventy have married, but there are
about two hundred fifty or two hundred seventy more that
have not reported or have not been found, and there are a
great many who still have a chance. When the children leave
the school they are only about sixteen years old or somewhere
around there, and so you see there is plenty of time for them
to think of marrying.57
Disclaimer complete, Lewisohn returned to his seat and Taft resumed
his speech. Lewisohn’s assumption that many in the audience would
hear in Taft’s remarks the idea that vocational training and work might
render women unfit for marriage reflected the middle-class values
shaping the official philosophy of the Hebrew Technical School for
Girls. The poorer Jewish families who sent their daughters to
vocational schools were less likely to conceive of any such barriers of
exclusivity between work and marriage. Still, exposure to the middle
class attitudes and contradictions inherent in Jewish women’s
vocational education influenced even these families’ ideas about the
relation between women’s waged labor and their domestic role.
The Waning Influence of
Jewish Women’s Vocational Education
Shifting employment patterns for women and changing methods
of vocational education altered the economic and educational
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foundations on which Jewish women’s vocational schools depended.
By the 1920s many of the potential students were second-generation
Americans who did not look to ethnic institutions for opportunity.
The closing off of immigration after 1924 contributed to a lessening of
hostility among the elements of the Jewish community in America,
and the earlier unspoken agreements to live with the paradoxes of the
Jewish women’s vocational schools no longer seemed superficially
coherent or even necessary. Middle-class Jews, including a large
number of successful immigrants, who ostensibly believed in a
separation between home and work, no longer needed to provide
women with education for work on the same scale as before.
Immigrant Jews whose backgrounds accustomed them to working
women no longer needed to rely to the same degree on philanthropic
community institutions to train women for employment. Increasing
rapprochement between the two groups exerted a particularly strong
influence on Jewish educational establishments. Emanuel Gamoran,
a supervisor for New York’s Board of Jewish Education, expressed
appreciation for immigrant contributions to American Jewish culture,
writing in 1925 of the importance of recognizing “that many of the
immigrant groups bring with them a rich past, many elements of
which are worth preserving both for their intrinsic value and for their
enrichment of American life.”58 At the time the Clara de Hirsch Home
and the Hebrew Technical School were founded, such a positive
appraisal of immigrant Jewish culture would scarcely have been
conceivable. Although new immigrant Jews often adopted the
middle-class gender ideology espoused by the established Jewish
community as well as middle-class American society, a syncretic
American Jewish culture began to take shape after World War I.
As Jewish immigrant families consolidated their positions in
American society and in many ways began to adapt to the western
model of assimilation that Paula Hyman posits, women’s vocational
With
education grew less important as an economic strategy.59
commercial courses firmly in place as the prime exponents of
vocational education for women, the Hebrew Technical School served
an increasingly successful body of immigrant Jewish families and their
daughters, many of whom now joined the Jewish philanthropic
community in idealizing employment as a temporary stage of life for
unmarried women. Not even the success of the Hebrew Technical
School, however, in adapting to its students’ needs could protect it
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Jewish Women and Vocational Education in New York City
from the appearance and growth of vocational education in public
schools—a development that threatened the existence of private
vocational educational institutions.
The Hebrew Technical School for Girls and the Clara de Hirsch
Home increasingly lost direction as public schools, supported by the
Smith-Hughes Act, became the major providers of vocational
education for boys and girls. In 1922, 35 percent of New York high
school students were enrolled in commercial classes either in separate
commercial public high schools or through the commercial
departments of regular schools. Commercial classes ranged from
traditional bookkeeping and typing to newer subjects like
salesmanship. Many New York public schools offered intensive
vocational education to graduates of regular high school programs in
evening classes or part-time day courses.60
The growth of vocational education in public schools threatened
the very existence of private vocational educational institutions,
particularly schools segregated by gender. In 1926 the Clara de Hirsch
board discontinued the trade school “due to the change in social and
economic conditions and the gradual establishment of Trade Training
Schools as part of the regular program of the New York Board of
Education.” The Clara de Hirsch Home sent the younger residents of
the school to public high school and offered individual industrial
training in the evenings. Rose Sommerfeld, who retired in 1924 after
twenty-five years, was replaced by Bess Spanner. Whereas
Sommerfeld’s experience before coming to head the Clara de Hirsch
Home had been as a social worker at a similar institution in Baltimore,
Bess Spanner’s background was in institutional management. For
her, even the reduced trade training offered at the Clara de Hirsch
Home was no longer necessary, although she did admit that in times
of economic austerity unskilled girls were the first to lose their jobs.
By 1933 Spanner had phased out the last remaining vestiges of the
Clara de Hirsch Home’s original vocational education, and the school
became strictly a home for independent working girls at least eighteen
years of age. The Clara de Hirsch Home continued to serve as lowcost housing for working girls, with a brief interlude as a shelter for
Jewish refugee children from Germany, until its merger with the Young
Women’s Hebrew Association’s residence for working girls and
eventual reappearance as the modern-day de Hirsch Residence of the
92nd Street Young Men’s and Young Women’s Hebrew Association.61
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American Jewish Archives Journal
The Hebrew Technical School maintained its vocational education
for Jewish girls a few years longer than the Clara de Hirsch Home,
largely because of its superior infrastructure. A 1928 letter from
Adolph Lewisohn, one of the staunchest supporters of the Hebrew
Technical School, asserted that there was no mortgage on the school’s
building and that “a large balance on hand in good securities”
supported the school’s maintenance.62 By the end of the year, though,
a survey committee working in conjunction with the Bureau of Jewish
Social Research had hired Professor F. G. Bonser of Teachers College
to investigate the continued viability of the Hebrew Technical School.
Dissatisfied with Bonser’s report, Hebrew Technical School leaders
appointed a new committee to issue a supplementary survey.63 That
training for domesticity was still a vital part of the vocational program
was clear in the second committee’s suggestion that, were the school
to continue in similar form,
The curriculum of every pupil, regardless of the character of
vocational training she is receiving, be enriched by systematic
and graded work in home keeping. Plain cooking, home
nursing, home sanitation, fundamental principles of simple
home furnishing and decoration, should be taught all pupils
because more of the graduates of this school will become
wives and mothers than permanent wage earners.64
Despite a simultaneous report that two hundred Hebrew Technical
School girls had found employment between June and September,
large numbers of the parents and educators associated with the
Hebrew Technical School emphasized, as 1928 graduate Ann
Neirenberg recalled, that “they taught us how to be housewives
besides commercial people.”65 Even as the Hebrew Technical School
tried to adapt to new understandings of women’s work, the
administrators clung to the idea that it was temporary and of
secondary concern in girls’ vocational education.
At first the Hebrew Technical School resisted the Jewish
community’s suggestion that there was no reason to support a Jewish
women’s vocational school when the public school offered such
comprehensive industrial training. For a while board president Adolf
Lewisohn’s conviction that the Hebrew Technical School should
“continue to be a leader in providing for the Jewish community
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Jewish Women and Vocational Education in New York City
opportunities which are useful and not to be procured elsewhere”held
sway. The Hebrew Technical School replaced the physical plant, added
new courses in jewelry making and manicuring to remain up to date,
and hired a new principal with vocational education experience. With
the Depression beginning to affect Jewish families’ability to keep their
children in school, however, enrollments dropped and employment
statistics plummeted. The discussion of whether the Hebrew
Technical School was an important Jewish communal institution or
merely an unnecessary duplication of public school services began
again in 1931.66 By 1932 the Hebrew Technical School’s board was
inquiring whether the New York City superintendent of schools would
like to annex the Hebrew Technical School building to the Manhattan
Industrial High School as part of the public school system. The
Hebrew Technical School’s final graduation exercises were held in
1932. Shortly thereafter the residual monies and assets of the school
were incorporated into a scholarship fund to help provide grants,
loans, and scholarships to Jewish women of limited means. Known
today as the Jewish Foundation for Education of Women, the
scholarship fund has expanded its original mission to a nonsectarian
applicant base, still professing careful attention to all the varied
educational needs of women.67
Conclusion
Although particular issues of immigration and acculturation made
Jewish women’s experience of vocational education unique, the
ideological inconsistencies and practical difficulties of Jewish women’s
vocational education represented the inchoate nature of all women’s
vocational education. The Clara de Hirsch Home and the Hebrew
Technical School for Girls, like other women’s vocational schools,
struggled to define their purpose and set meaningful goals for
students whose personal decisions were constrained by economic
conditions, social expectations, and cultural standards. The
relationship between education and work or education and
socialization was never as neat as social critics hoped it would be,
offering instead a complexity evident in the development of
vocationalism and expressed most clearly in women’s vocational
education. The contradictory nature of a vocational movement that
purported to offer women more choices but instead trained them to
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assume naturalized positions in a gendered industrial society seriously
compromised education’s claim to offer limitless growth and
opportunity.
Reconstructing women’s work as an integral part of family
participation while sustaining domestic ideology was the overriding
goal of women’s vocational education in general. Neither the Clara de
Hirsch Home nor the Hebrew Technical School escaped the
ideological and practical inconsistencies endemic to girls’ vocational
education. An examination of the two schools reveals an ongoing
struggle to reconcile ideas about women’s work, education, and social
roles. Although they approached vocational education differently, with
the Clara de Hirsch Home offering mostly manual and industrial
training and the Hebrew Technical School turning primarily to
commercial training, both institutions responded to their students’
desires for a way into the labor market by remaking domesticity from
a family-centered attribute into a set of work-oriented skills. This
transformation was not irrevocable, however, and the culture of the
Jewish girls’schools reflected larger social pressures for women’s work
to remain temporary, episodic, and always related to domesticity.
In addition to the confused purposes and pronouncements
common to most providers of women’s vocational education, the
Jewish schools’ development was further complicated by a number of
issues unique to the Jewish experience. These included serious
cultural and religious conflicts between the established Jewish
community and the new immigrants; a nearly dichotomous notion of
gender roles as played out through the processes of acculturation; and
a divergent conception of class influenced by East European
traditions. As sites where issues of gender, class, ethnicity,
acculturation, and education all came together within a specific
American Jewish immigrant setting, the Jewish girls’ schools provide
rich ground for the study of women’s vocational education as it
developed within a particular community.
The primary reason for the gradual demise of the Jewish girls’
vocational schools was the newly emerging conception of women’s
work as complementary rather than in opposition to domesticity.
Although the Clara de Hirsch Home and Hebrew Technical School
succeeded admirably for a while in offering vocational education to a
particular group of girls as a means of resolving the conflict between
work and domesticity, once that conflict faded away in the face of new
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Jewish Women and Vocational Education in New York City
social and economic roles for women, the raison d’etre of the schools
vanished. By the mid-1920s few educators or parents felt it as
necessary to constrain women’s desire for work by channeling it
through gendered vocational education to domesticity. Although
domestic life remained of paramount importance to most American
families and the American Jewish community in particular continued
to emphasize religious domesticity, domestic ideology had expanded
to include women’s work in ways unforeseen by the educators of the
1880s. The Jewish girls’ vocational schools had adapted in some ways
during the period of transition that began in the 1890s, but there was
no way for them to adapt their fundamental commitment to
supporting domestic ideology through vocational education once the
parameters of domestic ideology changed so dramatically.
Melissa Klapper is Assistant Professor of History at Rowan University in New
Jersey. She recently received her doctorate from Rutgers University, where she
taught courses on American Jewish history and the history of Jewish women. Her
dissertation on adolescent Jewish girls in the United States between 1860 and
1920 was supported in part by a Lowenstein-Weiner Fellowship from The Jacob
Rader Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives.
NOTES:
1.“Established Jewish community”is used throughout this article to refer to Jews
whose families had lived in the United States for at least a generation and were
already at least partially acculturated to American social values. Many, though not all,
of these Jews were descendants of immigrants from Central and Western Europe,
particularly Germany; many, though not all, of these Jews were members of the
upwardly mobile American middle class. “Immigrants”is used throughout this article
to refer to Jews newly or recently arrived from Europe. Many, though not all, of these
Jews originated in Eastern Europe; many, though not all, of these Jews were
economically challenged members of the working class, although their upward
mobility was also notable. Common providers of vocational education in Jewish
communities included Young Men’s and Young Women’s Hebrew Associations, the
National Council of Jewish Women, community centers like the Educational Alliance
in New York, the Jewish Educational Alliance in Baltimore, the Chicago Hebrew
Institute, and synagogue brotherhoods and sisterhoods.
2. For a comprehensive history of this struggle, see Alice Kessler-Harris, Out to
Work: A History of Wage-Earning Women in the United States (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1982).
3. Older histories of American Jewry tended to schematize the groups involved in
intra-ethnic tension as “German Jews”versus “Russian Jews.” More recent scholarship
has amply demonstrated that the period between 1820 and 1924 was one of continual
Jewish immigration to the United States, with successive generations of immigrants
acculturating to various degrees and then expecting their successors to do likewise.
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The length of time a Jew and his or her family had been in America was more
important in determining his or her relationship to American society and Jewish
newcomers than place of origin. For an accessible summary of the standard,“German
versus Russian”historiography, see Gerald Sorin,“Mutual Contempt, Mutual Benefit:
The Strained Encounter Between German and Eastern European Jews in America,
1880–1920,”American Jewish History 71 (September 1978): 34–59. Moses Rischin, The
Promised City: New York’s Jews, 1870–1914 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1962) provides a still valuable case study of the communal conflict in New York. An
example of the historiographical shift may be found in Gerald Sorin’s new treatment
of Jews in America, Traditions Transformed: The Jewish Experience in America (Baltimore:
Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997). The 1992 five-volume series on American
Jewish history published by Johns Hopkins University Press in conjunction with the
American Jewish Historical Society is a fine example of the newer, more nuanced
thinking about the American Jewish experience.
4. John L. Rury,“Vocationalism for Home and Work: Women’s Education in the
United States, 1880–1930,” History of Education Quarterly 24 (Spring 1984): 21–44;
John L. Rury, Education and Women’s Work: Female Schooling and the Division of Labor
in Urban America, 1870-1930 (Albany: SUNY Press, 1991); Jane Bernard Powers, The
“Girl Question” in Education: Vocational Education for Young Women in the Progressive Era
(London: Falmer, 1992); Nancy B. Sinkoff,“Educating for ‘Proper’Jewish Womanhood:
A Case Study in Domesticity and Vocational Training, 1897–1926,” American Jewish
History 77 (June 1988): 572–600; Jenna Weissman Joselit,“Saving Souls: The Vocational
Training of American Jewish Women, 1880–1930,” in Jeffrey S. Gurock and Marc Lee
Raphael, eds., An Inventory of Promise: Essays on American Jewish History in Honor of
Moses Rischin (Brooklyn: Carlson, 1995); and Jenna Weissman Joselit, Aspiring Women:
A History of the Jewish Foundation for Education of Women (New York: Jewish
Foundation for Education of Women, 1996).
5. Minnie Dessau Louis (1841–1922) was the daughter of an established German
Jewish family in Philadelphia and moved to New York after marrying businessman
Albert H. Louis. She worked as a lecturer and district inspector for the New York
Department of Education, but the bulk of her time was spent occupying a number of
Jewish community positions, including vice president of the National Conference of
Jewish Charities, field secretary of the Jewish Chautaqua Society, Sunday School
teacher at Temple Emanu-El, and founding board member of the National Council of
Jewish Women.
6. Report of the Louis Downtown Sabbath School December 3, 1880–June 8,
1881, Box 4, Jewish Foundation for Education of Women Collection, Rare Books and
Manuscripts Division, New York Public Library, New York (hereafter, JFEW).
7. Louis was one of the more outspoken denigrators of the new immigrant Jewish
population. She circulated a poem encouraging members of the established Jewish
community to participate in the Americanization movement. Opening with a
negative depiction of East European Jewish immigrants— “To wear the yellow badge,
the locks/The caftan-long, the low-bent head/To pocket unprovoked knocks/And
shamble on in servile dread/‘Tis not this to be a Jew,”— the poem’s concluding stanza
praised the new American model of a Jew: “Among the ranks of men to stand/Full
noble with the noblest there/To aid the right in every land/With mind, with might,
with heart, with prayer/This is the eternal Jew.” Minnie D. Louis, quoted in Rischin,
The Promised City, 100.
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Jewish Women and Vocational Education in New York City
8. Report of the Louis Downtown Sabbath and Daily School, October 1886–June
1887, Box 4, JFEW. Joselit expands on the point that “the threat of female deviance…
subtly informed the campaign for women’s industrial education.” Joselit, “Saving
Souls,”157.
9. All instruction took place in English, even at the price of losing students whose
parents insisted on the use of Hebrew for prayers. Report of the Louis Downtown
Sabbath School, October 1886–June 1887, Box 4, JFEW.
10. Minnie Louis left the Hebrew Technical School for Girls with plans to move
to Chicago, probably to take up greater responsibilities for the National Council of
Jewish Women, but ended up staying in New York. She was invited to early board
meetings of the Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, the school that brought her
suggestion to life, and served as the first resident directress of the Clara de Hirsch
Home in 1897 and 1898. Board Minutes, May 18, 1897, August 8, 1897, November 21,
1897, January 30, 1898, Box 1, Folder 1, Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls
Collection, Record Group 6, Buttenwieser Library, 92nd Street Young Men’s and Young
Women’s Hebrew Association, New York (hereafter, CHH).
11. Annual Report of the Hebrew Technical School for Girls, 1890-1891, Box 4,
JFEW.
12. Oscar and Sarah Lavanburg Straus, members of the elite Jewish community
in New York City, and Baroness Clara de Hirsch Gereuth, scion of an important
European Jewish family of philanthropists, were the primary founders of the Clara de
Hirsch Home. Baroness Gereuth first discussed the project with Sarah Straus during
the latter’s trip to Paris in 1895. Baroness Clara de Hirsch Gereuth, Paris, to Mrs.
Oscar Straus, New York, April 6, 1897, reproduced in Clara de Hirsch Home for
Working Girls, Board Minutes, May 12, 1897, Box 1, Folder 1, CHH.
13. Straus visited other working girls’homes in the United States both before the
Clara de Hirsch Home first opened in 1897 and later in her role as board president.
She was also instrumental in establishing a downtown facility, the Clara de Hirsch
Home for Immigrant Girls, in 1906. The Home for Immigrant Girls was one of several
“receiving homes”set up in the United States to prevent immigrant girls from “falling
into the hands of persons engaged in the white slave traffic”and, equally important,
to “preserve the good name of Jewish women.” Baron de Hirsch Fund, New York, to
Jewish Colonization Association, Paris, May 17, 1912, Baron de Hirsch Fund Papers,
Box 16, I-80, American Jewish Historical Society (hereafter, AJHS). The Home for
Working Girls made minimal financial contributions to the Home for Immigrant Girls,
but the different purposes of the two institutions resulted in development along
different lines, and the relationship between them was limited. Carrie Wise, New
York, to Jewish Colonization Association, Paris, May 23, 1912, Baron de Hirsch Fund
Papers, Box 16, I-80, AJHS. The Home for Immigrant Girls struggled financially
throughout its existence, and in 1915 Sarah Straus helped reorganize it into the
Hannah Lavanburg Home, named in honor of her mother. The Clara de Hirsch Home
for Immigrant Girls differed in kind from the Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls,
as the former institution provided housing and aid to very new immigrants but not
the vocational education or training offered by the latter institution. For this reason,
the Clara de Hirsch Home for Immigrant Girls does not figure in this study of
vocational education.
14. The concept of Americanization was never monolithic. Paula Hyman, Gender
and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History: The Role and Representation of Women
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(Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1995), 94-95, argues that there were at least
three competing doctrines of Americanization. These included an insistence that
immigrants abandon all their Old World mores and completely assimilate into
American culture; a recognition that American society and culture would itself be
transformed through the integration of assimilating immigrants; and a theory of
cultural pluralism that viewed American society and culture as a federation of
ethnicities retained by immigrants as aspects of their originating cultures.
15. It is worth pointing out that despite frequent expressions of contempt, the
established Jewish community in America spent a great deal of time and money on
providing a wide array of services for the new immigrants, including vocational
education. For the gradual effect of Horace Kallen’s model of cultural pluralism on
Jewish community relations, see Ronald Kronish,“John Dewey and Horace M. Kallen
on Cultural Pluralism: Their Impact on Jewish Education,” Jewish Social Studies 44
(Spring 1982): 135–48.
16. Yezierska attended the Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls under the
name Hattie Mayer, the name given to her during the immigration process. See
Louise Levitas Henriksen, Anzia Yezierska: A Writer’s Life (New Brunswick: Rutgers
University Press, 1988), 17. This biography, written by her daughter, is the single best
source for details about Yezierska’s life.
17. Anzia Yezierska, Arrogant Beggar (New York: Doubleday, Page, & Co., 1927).
18. Anzia Yezierska,“How I Found America,”in Hungry Hearts (Boston: Houghton
Mifflin, 1920), 281–82.
19. Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, Report of After Care Committee,
October, 1919, Box 2, Folder 2, CHH; Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, Report
of Follow Up Committee, November, 1916, Box 2, Folder 2, CHH.
20. Hebrew Technical School for Girls, 1898 Curriculum, Box 4, JFEW.
21. This attitude was not unique to Jewish women. For a discussion of other
women philanthropists and their attitudes toward domestic service training, see
David Katzman, Seven Days a Week: Women and Domestic Service in Industrializing
America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978).
22. For the first few years the Clara de Hirsch Home also offered English classes
to help future domestic servants improve their communication skills. “The purpose of
the English class,” Sarah Straus explained,“is to make the girls appreciate American
ideas and institutions which can only be done through an understanding of the
language. To give them such knowledge will make them work more intelligently and
therefore better.” Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, President’s Report, 1899,
Box 4, Folder 7, CHH. Sinkoff points out that the 1890 census showed that of the one
hundred thousand German Jewish families in New York at the time, 40 percent of
them had at least one servant. The preference of Jewish families to hire Jewish
servants made the German Jewish ladies’“servant problem”a real issue. See Sinkoff,
575, 582–83.
23. The Institutional Report to the State of New York Board of Charities,
December 1899, Box 4, Folder 5, CHH.
24. Report of the Louis Downtown Sabbath and Daily School, October
1886–June 1887, Box 4, JFEW.
25. Rose Lisner Sommerfeld (d. 1927) arrived in New York with several years of
related experience at Daughters of Israel, a Baltimore home for Jewish working girls.
She soon became a recognized authority on the subject of working girls and young
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Jewish Women and Vocational Education in New York City
women’s education, speaking frequently at National Council of Jewish Women and
National Conference of Jewish Charities meetings. Sommerfeld’s predecessor was
the short-lived Miss Asche, whose six-month trial period began in June 1898, at one
hundred dollars a month. See Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, Board
Minutes, June 28, 1898, Box 1, Folder 1, CHH. The resident directress or
superintendent delivered a report at each board meeting and made almost all of the
daily decisions concerning the school, but the middle-class Jewish women who held
the purse strings also controlled the policy. As a result of board meetings, teachers’
salaries were raised, money was allocated to install a laundry in the school’s
basement, and the curfew was set. The board also reported on the school’s curricular
successes, which in 1906 included millinery, hand-sewing, dressmaking, and machine
operating as the most popular courses. See Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls,
Board Minutes, March 17, 1905, January 19, 1906, November 23, 1906, Box 1, Folder 1,
CHH; Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, General Report, 1910, Box 1, Folder
19, CHH.
26. Rose Sommerfeld, “Twenty-Five Years in the Clara de Hirsch Home for
Working Girls,”1924, typescript with hand notations, Box 3, Folder 22, CHH.
27. Hannah B. Einstein, “How to Help the Unskilled Women With Children,”
Jewish Charity 3 (June 1904): 203; Willystine Goodsell, The Education of Women: Its
Social Background and Its Problems (New York: Macmillan, 1923), 110.
28. Rury, Education and Women’s Work, 166. Merely establishing women’s
vocational schools proved difficult; in 1910 only twenty-six out of one hundred
ninety-three trade schools in America served a female student body. Maxine Seller,
“The Education of the Immigrant Woman, 1900-1935,” Journal of Urban History 4 (May
1978): 313.
29. Powers, The“Girl Question,” 10.
30. Only thirty-seven girls graduated from the domestic service course between
1900 and 1902 despite the close to one hundred girls living at the school at the time.
See Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, President’s Report, 1899, Box 4, Folder
7, CHH; Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, General Report, 1905, Box 1, Folder
19, CHH. Domestic service was never popular with Jewish women. In 1900 only 15
percent of the wage-earning daughters of Russian immigrants worked as domestic
servants; by 1920 only 7 percent of Yiddish-speaking wage earners were domestic
servants. Two-thirds of Jewish girls placed in domestic service jobs by agencies left
their positions within a year for other work. Kathie Friedman-Kasaba, Memories of
Migration: Gender, Ethnicity, and Work in the Lives of Jewish and Italian Women in New
York, 1870–1924 (Albany : State University of New York, 1996), 163; Donna Gabbacia,
From the Other Side: Women, Gender, & Immigrant Life in the United States, 1820–1990
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 47; Kessler-Harris, Out to Work, 127.
31. Sommerfeld claimed that for most Clara de Hirsch students, particularly the
trainees who lived at the school, “coming to the Home is the turning point of their
lives, which by reason of heredity and environment are not all they should be.” In fact,
Clara de Hirsch students were far more likely than Hebrew Technical School students
to come from immigrant families suffering disease, desertion, and extreme poverty.
Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, Superintendent’s Report, 1900, Box 2, Folder
45, CHH; Rose Sommerfeld,“Trade Training and Conditions,”in Proceedings of the Sixth
Triennial Convention of the Council of Jewish Women, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,
December 11 to 19, 1911, 274.
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American Jewish Archives Journal
32. Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, Superintendent’s Report, Summer
1917, Box 2, Folder 46, CHH; Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls,
Superintendent’s Report, May 1918, Box 2, Folder 47, CHH.
33. Nathaniel L. Myers (1848–1921) was active in a number of Jewish institutions
in New York after moving there from St. Louis in 1881. Although he was a lawyer by
profession, he spent a great deal of time at the Hebrew Technical School for Girls. His
obituary explained, “He was always interested in helping the less fortunate to help
themselves, but his particular interest was for girls. He often said that there were
hundreds interested in helping boys, but there were few to help girls to an education.”
His hands-on management style shaped the policies and practices of the school from
the time of his first involvement in 1897 until his death. New York Times, August 31,
1921.
34. On the difference between vocational education for boys and girls, Myers
commented,“A boy has some natural aptitude for entering commercial and industrial
pursuits unaided; a girl has not. A boy has a very great variety of worthy vocations
open to him; a girl has not.” Quoted in Joselit,“Saving Souls,”163.
35. Hebrew Technical School for Girls, Annual Report, 1909, Vertical File, Jewish
Museum of Maryland (hereafter, JMM).
36. In 1908, when the National Association for the Promotion of Industrial
Education (NAPIE) called for the development of a comprehensive program of
vocational education, the organization planned to equip young men to work after
leaving school. Uncomfortable with helping young women achieve the same goal, as
women’s employment was largely perceived as a threat to the family, the NAPIE
decided to work with the new American Home Economics Association (AHEA) to
educate women for their proper jobs—caring for family and home. Commercial
education was not part of the NAPIE/AHEA coalition’s original program for either
boys or girls. Powers, The ‘Girl Question,’ provides a detailed history of the eventual
integration of commercial education into vocational training.
37. The balance of the students either did not supply their present occupations or
were listed simply as “married.” Hebrew Technical School for Girls,“Pupils who have
Graduated from the Technical School since 1889, and their present occupations,”1897,
Box 4, JFEW.
38. Hebrew Technical School for Girls, Annual Report, 1897, Box 4, JFEW; Jennie
Franklin Purvin,“The Chicago Woman’s Aid,” Jewish Charities 5 (April 1915): 233.
39. After 1900 there were typically four times as many commercial students as
manual students at the Hebrew Technical School for Girls. Hebrew Technical School
for Girls, Annual Reports, Box 4, JFEW.
40. Just prior to World War I so many girls wanted to attend the school that
entrance requirements involving literacy, family size and neediness, and “mental
make-up”of the students had to be instituted to determine which of 1,759 applicants
would receive one of the less than five hundred openings. Joselit,“Saving Souls,”167;
transcript of interview with Regina Haas Lifton, February 25, 1989, Jewish Foundation
for Education of Women, New York.
41. Hebrew Technical School for Girls, Annual Report, January 16, 1915, Box 3,
Folder 11, JFEW.
42. Minnie D. Louis,“Mission-Work Among the Unenlightened Jews,” in Papers
of the Jewish Women’s Congress (Philadelphia: JPS, 1893), 183; list of credentials for
graduating from the Hebrew Technical School for Girls, 1920, Box 16, Folder 1, JFEW;
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Jewish Women and Vocational Education in New York City
Hebrew Technical School for Girls Board Minutes, January 17, 1928, Box 2, Folder 1,
JFEW lists five hundred twenty-eight out of six hundred twenty-two total students
enrolled in the commercial track; “Hebrew Technical School for Girls,” Hebrew
Standard, April 5, 1907, 20; “Vocational Work for Jewish Girls: Annual Meeting of
Hebrew Technical School for Girls,”American Hebrew, January 26, 1914, 368. Louis had
always intended the students trained by the Hebrew Technical School for Girls to be
the salvation of their families. Not only the industrial skills, but also the middle-class
refinement and values taught at the Hebrew Technical School could aid a graduate
with a decent job and salary in becoming “the fairy godmother, who transplants the
family from the odious tenement house to the inviting apartment of some pureodored locality.” See Minnie D. Louis, “The Industrial Education of Jewish Girls,”
Hebrew Standard, April 5, 1907, 34.
43. Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, General Report, 1905, Box 1, Folder
19, CHH; Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, Board Minutes, February 20, 1903,
Box 1, Folder 1, CHH.
44. Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, Superintendent’s Report, Summer
1917, Box 2, Folder 46, CHH; Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls,
Superintendent’s Report, May 1918, Box 2, Folder 47, CHH; Clara de Hirsch Home for
Working Girls, Education Committee Meeting Minutes, January 1917, February 1918,
February 1919, February 1920, March 1921, February 1922, February 1923, February
1924, February 1925, February 1926, Box 2, Folder 10, CHH.
45. The American Jewess, January 1898, 208; Joselit,“Saving Souls,”163, 169; Joselit,
Aspiring Women, 31.
46. First Annual Report of the Hebrew Technical School for Girls, 1889–1890, Box
4, JFEW.
47. Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, Report of the Training and
Education Committee, January 24, 1900, Box 2, Folder 40, CHH. The Training and
Education Committee was one of several standing committees. Other important
committees were the Finance, House, Building, Employment, and Executive
Committees. They seem to have issued reports rather sporadically.
48. Mary Woolman,“Trade Schools and Culture,”Educational Review 37 (February
1909): 184.
49. Clara de Hirsch Home for Immigrant Girls, Report, 1904–1910, Box 4, Folder
13, CHH.
50. Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls, General Report, 1910, Box 1, Folder
19, CHH. Married Jewish women may not have remained in the waged labor force,
but they often contributed to the family income in other ways, such as taking in
boarders and doing homework. See Eileen Boris, Home to Work: Motherhood and the
Politics of Industrial Homework in the United States (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1994); Elizabeth Ewen, Immigrant Women in the Land of Dollars: Life and Culture
on the Lower East Side, 1890-1925 (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1985); FriedmanKasaba, Memories of Migration; Gabbacia, From the Other Side; Paula E. Hyman,
“Gender and the Jewish Immigrant Experience in the United States,” in Judith R.
Baskin, ed., Jewish Women in Historical Perspective, 2d ed. (Detroit: Wayne State
University Press, 1999); and Sydney Weinberg, The World of Our Mothers: The Lives of
Jewish Immigrant Women (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1988).
51. Economic conditions for Jewish women in America were more familiar in
many ways than they were for women of other ethnic groups. Restrictions and
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American Jewish Archives Journal
prejudice had almost always barred Jews in Europe from farming or working the land,
so Jewish women were already accustomed to involvement in the marketplace and
found it more natural to join the labor force. Like married Italian women, though,
married Jewish women were also far more likely to work at home. They contributed
to the family economy by taking in boarders or doing industrial home or piecework.
Paula E. Hyman,“Culture and Gender: Women in the Immigrant Jewish Community,”
in David Berger, ed., The Legacy of Jewish Migration: 1881 and Beyond (New York:
Brooklyn College Press, 1983), 158–59; Ewen, Immigrant Women in the Land of Dollars;
Judith E. Smith, Family Connections: A History of Italian and Jewish Immigrant Lives in
Providence, Rhode Island, 1900–1940 (Albany: SUNY Press, 1985), 23–24; FriedmanKasaba, Memories of Migration, 121–23; Kessler-Harris, Out to Work, 123–24;
Weinberg, The World of Our Mothers, 135; Boris, Home to Work.
52. Single Jewish women in Europe entered the paid force to contribute to their
parents’ households and continued the pattern of adding to the family economy as
wives by supplementing their nonwaged domestic labor with factory wages, petty
commerce, and peddling. By the end of the nineteenth century, women and girls
formed more than a third of the Jewish industrial labor force in Russia. Although it is
unclear how often Jewish girls took advantage of the opportunity, or even if they were
allowed to do so, some vocational education for girls was available even in Russia. Ten
trade schools offering training in millinery, basket weaving, dressmaking, and
occasionally salesmanship operated in various government localities. Charlotte
Baum, “What Made Yetta Work? The Economic Role of Eastern European Jewish
Women in the Family,” Response 18 (Summer 1973): 32; Neil M. and Ruth Schwartz
Cowan, Our Parents’ Lives: The Americanization of Eastern European Jews (New York:
Basic Books, 1989), 53–57; Friedman-Kasaba, Memories of Migration, 60–61; Paula E.
Hyman,“East European Jewish Women in an Age of Transition, 1880–1930”; Corinne
Azen Krause, “Urbanization Without Victimization: Italian, Jewish, and Slavic
Immigrant Women in Pittsburgh, 1900–1945,” Journal of Urban History 4 (May 1978):
297; Emanuel Gamoran, Changing Conceptions in Jewish Education (New York:
Macmillan, 1925), 194.
53. Although most East European Jewish men had neither the requisite talent nor
education to be scholars, ideas about male scholarship combined with a strong family
work ethic to create the competent businesswoman as the cultural ideal of East
European Jewry. Ironically, the maskilim, or representatives of the Jewish
Enlightenment, criticized female labor in the marketplace because they linked it to the
traditional idea of male Torah scholar married to female breadwinner, an ideal they
believed outdated if not actually perverse. As a consequence of the maskilim’s great
influence during the second half of the nineteenth century all over Europe, the more
“enlightened”a Jewish family, the less likely the wife and mother to work. Gabbacia,
From the Other Side, 19–20; Weinberg, The World of Our Mothers, 5–6; Hyman, Gender
and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History, 67–69.
54. Hebrew Technical School for Girls, Annual Report, January 16, 1915, Box 3,
Folder 11, JFEW.
55. Hebrew Technical School for Girls, Annual Report, 1908, Box 4, JFEW. Myers
lost no opportunity to demonstrate that the students themselves understood the
relevance of their vocational training to their characters and future lives as wives and
mothers. At the 1914 annual meeting, a letter from a grateful alumna was read,
stating, “The education that I received at the Hebrew Technical School for Girls
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Jewish Women and Vocational Education in New York City
enabled me to make many friends; it gave me the power of sending forth vibrations
of joy to all those who needed encouragement. It helps me now in my position as the
wife of a professional man, and mother of two children.” “Vocation Work for Jewish
Girls: Annual Meeting of Hebrew Technical School for Girls,” American Hebrew
(January 26, 1914).
56. Hebrew Technical School for Girls, Annual Report, January 16, 1915, Box 3,
Folder 11, JFEW.
57. Hebrew Technical School for Girls, Annual Report, January 16, 1915, Box 3,
Folder 11, JFEW.
58. Gamoran, Changing Practices in Education, vii.
59. Paula Hyman has argued that the differences between gender models in the
amorphous but distinct Jewish communities not only exacerbated the hostility
between the groups, but also shaped their very processes of acculturation in America.
The earlier Jewish model of acculturation was based on the degree of civic equality
that Western European nations offered Jews from the early nineteenth century
forward. Jews seeking social mobility and economic freedom accepted prescriptive
middle-class gender roles as a means of acculturation into their host societies. The
later Jewish model of acculturation emerged from the political and cultural
environment of multiethnic East European countries that rejected any civic equality
for Jews. Large populations of working-class East European Jews retained their
communal identity through a Yiddish-dominated culture and more traditionally
oriented religious observance. Hyman, Gender and Assimilation in Modern Jewish
History, develops these points at length. See especially chapters 1 and 2 for discussion
of the differences between the West and East European models of assimilation as they
appeared in the American context.
60. Cloyd Heck Marvin, Commercial Education in Secondary Schools (New York:
Holt, 1922), 64–67.
61. Mrs. G. E. Hoffman, Mrs. Smith, and Mrs. Lowenstein, New York, to Mrs.
Josephine Rennau, New York, June 5, 1926, Box 1, Folder 6, CHH; Mrs. Ira Leo
Bamberger, New York, to Federation of Jewish Women’s Organizations, New York, May
1, 1927, Box 1, Folder 7, CHH; Clara de Hirsch Home for Working Girls,
Superintendent’s Report, January 1930, Box 3, Folder 1, CHH; “History, etc—Clara de
Hirsch Residence,”photocopied typescript, 1953, in Box 3, Folder 22, CHH.
62. Adolph Lewisohn, New York, to Mrs. Jacob Wertheim, New York, February 18,
1928, photocopy, Box 1, Folder 1, JFEW.
63. Report of Hebrew Technical School for Girls Survey Committee, October 18,
1928, Box 1, Folder 1, JFEW.
64. Report of Hebrew Technical School for Girls Survey Committee, October 18,
1928, Box 1, Folder 1, JFEW.
65. Hebrew Technical School for Girls, Board Minutes, October 19, 1928;
transcript of interview with Ann Nierenberg, February 25, 1989, Jewish Foundation for
Education of Women, New York.
66. Hebrew Technical School for Girls, Board Minutes, January 15, 1929, Box 2,
Folder 1, JFEW; Joselit, Aspiring Women, 39–40; Jesse H. Newlon,“Report of a Study of
the Hebrew Technical School,”October 28, 1931, Box 4, Folder 1, JFEW. The pressure
to close the Hebrew Technical School for Girls grew stronger in 1931 partly in reaction
to the Jewish community’s struggle to cope with the unprecedented relief demands
occasioned by the Depression. When so many families were starving and without
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work, it was imperative to identify the communal activities least necessary for survival,
thus the emphasis on deciding whether or not the work of the Hebrew Technical
School for Girls was redundant. See Beth S. Wenger,“Government Welfare and Jewish
Communal Responsibility: The Evolution of Jewish Philanthropy in the Great
Depression,”in Jeffrey S. Gurock and Marc Lee Raphael, eds., An Inventory of Promises:
Essays on American Jewish History in Honor of Moses Rischin (Brooklyn: Carlson, 1995),
307–24.
67. Maxwell Steinhardt, New York, to Dr. William J. O’Shea, superintendent of
schools, New York, January 5, 1932, photocopy, Box 1, Folder 2, JFEW. At various
times the corporation was known as the Hebrew Technical School Scholarship Fund,
the Educational Foundation for Jewish Girls, the Jewish Foundation for Education of
Girls, and finally the Jewish Foundation for Education of Women.
146
Creating Hebraism, Confronting
Hellenism: The Menorah Journal and its
Struggle for the Jewish Imagination
Lewis Fried
In February 1923, the Menorah Journal published Maurice Samuel’s
translation of Saul Tchernichowsky’s Hebrew poem “Before the Statue
of Apollo.” In this extraordinary poem, the narrator begins with praise
for Apollo as the inspiration of poets and describes the Greek god as
the divinity of “joyousness and fresh delight.” Shifting quickly, the
narrator reminds Apollo, and the reader, that the poet is a “Jew” and
that “Between us there is enmity forever!” Yet the poet enthuses that
his spirit has “burst its chains” and that he has come “before thy
pedestal” to kneel. Kneeling to all “passionate desires,” the poet
celebrates life, which the “bloodless ones/The sick, have stifled in the
living God,/The God of wonders of the wilderness,/The God of gods,
Who took Canaan with storm/Before they bound Him in
phylacteries.”1
Paying homage to the reputed character of Hellenism, yet
confronting it in the Hebrew language, so that aesthetic closeness
becomes cultural tension, the poet reminded his audience of the
enduring metaphor of Hellenistic and Jewish culture in perpetual
opposition. In fact, these figures of speech, in reality code words of
historical and theological polemics, were appropriate to the pages of
the Menorah Journal. With its grandly suggestive title, reminding its
audience of young college students that the Maccabean heritage was
formed by the collision between Hellenism and Hebraism, the
Menorah Journal was eager to explore the meaning and implication of
this conflict. An understanding of the Jewish past, and its rhetoric,
could clarify the American context for a generation of AmericanJewish students eager to define their commitments and faith.
II
From its inception in 1915 and throughout its early years, the
Menorah Journal analyzed the Jewish imagination and its place in
America. The magazine proclaimed that Jewish existence was the
result of a creative presence within American, and indeed world,
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culture. Whether one of religion, peoplehood, or national continuity,
a Jewish sensibility was equally at ease with its sacred texts and
commentaries as with the literature of other nations.
The Menorah Journal often posed the legacy and nature of Jewish
life as leading to an innovative, American Hebraism—an American
Jewish culture that reflected its pasts—within a Hellenism of nations.
As did its parent organization the Intercollegiate Menorah
Association, the Menorah Journal pointed out that the Jewish legacy
was as worthy of study as the Greco-Roman heritage, since all
possessed and promoted cosmopolitan minds. The implications were
arresting, just as America was seen as a nation of nations, so its pasts
of Israel, Greece, and Rome constituted a metaphorical antiquity of
nations within a nation. Hebraism, one part of this legacy (and a term
variously debated and defined by the Menorah Journal), could also be
helpfully understood by its apposite and opposite term: Hellenism.
The debate over the meaning of these terms ran deeper than mere
intellectual speculation, as it involved a discussion of the nature and
shape of the American Jewish community.
The Menorah Journal’s litany of Diaspora—Babylonia, Spain,
Poland, and now America—became a homage to the richness of
Jewish commentary and cultural renaissance as facts of
“disenlandisement.” Places of exile were landmarks of creative
resistance to assimilation. The Menorah Journal recast Tertullian’s
famous question “What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?” to read,
“What has Judaism to do with America?” Would Jewish life in the
United States comport with or resist this new encounter with a
modern Hellenism?2
In interpreting the cultural situation of American Jews the
Menorah Journal engaged in the act of utopian recollection:
paradoxically, suggesting the construction of a desirable future that
had interpretive histories. Yet what was the Jewish past, much less the
Jewish spirit? Could they be defined without an environing world,
without the seductiveness of what the rabbis had argued was the
danger of Hellenism? The world of the modern Diaspora, with its
seductions of faith, turning the intellect and imagination to cultural
and political idolatry, was the perilous water which lapped at Jewish
existence. Given the separation of a people from its land, the Diaspora
allowed Jews to see themselves as bearers of a covenanted theology,
irrespective of time and place: Judaism was embodied in a peculiar
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
people that were adrift in a sea of nations.Yet given the rise of Zionism
and historical philology, Jews could be seen as returning to and
reinvigorating an ancient Hebraic civilization.
This division easily attracted the Menorah Journal’s contributors.
Would they have a stake in building a Diaspora culture in a land that
seemed to abolish exile, or should they commit themselves to
Zionism? Whereas the Journal’s public history was its great refusal to
see Jewish existence other than as an evolving body of critical and selfcritical experiences regarding theology, peoplehood, and nationmaking, it also defined a Jewish life that could not be separated from
it location and future becoming. The historical continuity of the
Jewish people was dynamic, in a constant process of readjustment that
absorbed its own past and ideas and practices from other cultures.
Judaism and Zionism were terms that demanded examination,
if not re-appropriation by American Jews, if their existence was to be
made rational. By giving a content, an explanation, a past, and also a
future to these terms, the Journal could offer an audience a remarkable
synthesis, if not thoughtful speculations about Jewish existence. The
Menorah Journal’s understanding of these polemical words are found
in its meditations on the Jewish imagination, indicating the notability
of such self-reflection and its place in world history and American
culture. The appearance of a journal devoted to these problems
indicated that the value of Jewish letters was practical and
pedagogical. The Menorah Journal became a forum in which a politics
of the American-Jewish imagination emerged.
III
If we turn to the origins of the Menorah Journal we can understand
its desire to confront the heritage of a wide, pressing past. The
Menorah Movement, a 1914 volume edited by Henry Hurwitz (the
lifelong editor of the Menorah Journal) and I. Leo Sharfman, discussed
the history, purpose, and activities of the young Menorah movement.
It was founded in 1906 partially as a response to the Harvard Zionist
Club and Semitic studies. Semitics departments in universities were
invariably philologically centered.
Harvard’s own program,
benefitting from Jacob Schiff’s funding of the Semitic Museum, would
give the Menorah students the opportunity to tie their Jewish identity
to acceptable university pursuits. The Menorah movement could
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American Jewish Archives Journal
complement the strength of the Semitics
department by showing how relevant Jewish
culture and thought were to both the past
and the present.
The would-be Menorah students dedicated
themselves to meeting every two weeks to
discuss their specialties and to building “The
Harvard Menorah Society, a Society for
Hebraic Culture and Ideals.” Hurwitz and
Sharfman wrote, “to promote Jewish
knowledge and idealism among academic
men—that, in fine, was the Menorah Idea.”3
Henry Hurwitz
The phrase “Jewish knowledge” echoes not
(courtesy American Jewish
Archives)
only the ideas of wisdom in biblical and
rabbinical literature, but also the concerns of Wissenschaft des
Judentums, the “scientific”study of Jewish civilization.
The group planned to discuss Jewish culture and civilization. The
authors of The Menorah Movement claimed that Ernest Renan’s
argument of what constituted the Jewish past was pivotal to their
discussions. There were but three major ancient literatures “of interest
to the philosophic mind”—Greek, Roman, and Hebrew. Why was this
last not explored in a university? This question prompted the
discussion of what an enduring Western civilization had to conserve.
It is interesting that the students chose Ernest Renan, the
Orientalist, as the central figure to address. Renan’s argument was
one to be countered because it was timely, popular, and did not see the
Jew as an historical metaphor or symbolic figure. In his History of the
People of Israel (published in America from 1888-96), Renan read
Judaism Christologically. According to Renan and his disciples,
Judaism was impoverished. Its narrow-mindedness, its dedication to
“abstract discussions” and “casuistry” were symptomatic of “mental
disease.” The Talmud was a “most exasperating book” which Judaism
should forget. In the past Judaism had attempted to isolate itself from
Greek influences. “Walled up in her own Hebrew, she [Judea] knew
nothing of the beautiful form, the sound logic, and all the other
appliances of the human mind, for which Greece had given the rule
and set the model.” Nonetheless, Judaism prepared the way for an
acceptable ethic: the synagogue had become the church for all. What
else had Judaism to say for itself? After giving “birth” to Christianity,
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
Judaism was an historical deposit devoid of vitality. As Renan saw it,
“Judaism still continues to exist, but as a withered trunk beside one
fertile branch. Henceforth the life is gone from it.”Nonetheless, Renan
argued, Judaism would remain the spirit that indicted complacent
social relations that were unjust. Judaism’s force was an invective
defying “the world as it is.” 4
For the Menorah Journal’s future editors, Judaism was not
anachronistic. Indeed, the editors proclaimed that “the Jews were not
destroyed with the destruction of their polity, nor have they ceased to
develop their religion and their literature down to the present day.” 5
Consequently, the study of the history of Jewish life and thought
emphasized the continuity of Jewish life and demonstrated the
vitality of modern Jewish inquiry.
The task of giving Jewishness a
characteristic shape became part of an
exciting project. On October 27, 1913,
Horace Kallen, then a rising educator and
philosopher at the University of Wisconsin,
wrote to Hurwitz that he would accept a role
as a “member of the Menorah College of
Lecturers,” offering to talk about “The
Meaning of Hebraism.” His exposition
would deal with “1. Racial and Physical Basis
of Hebraic Literature. 2. Social Forces in the
Molding of the Hebraic View of Life. 3. The
Horace M. Kallen
Prophets and Monotheism. 4. God and (courtesy American Jewish
Nature in Job. 5. Hellenism and Hebraism.” Archives)
Kallen’s views on these topics, at least in
his 1910 essay “Judaism, Hebraism and Zionism,” depict Hebraism as
the large, organic, developing context of the life of the Jews, with
Judaism as a theology within it. In Kallen’s eyes, Hebraism is a counter
to Hellenism. With its belief in a static universe, in “the immutable
structure of things,” Hellenism is a conceptually anachronistic world
view. On the contrary, we have Hebraism, with its stress on a reality in
process, its high moral valuation of the individual, and its version of
what Kallen calls naturalism and evolutionary moral life (“positive,
social and active”). These are criteria, as Kallen propounded, for
nationhood. In a polemically rich sentence, Kallen claimed that
“Jewish religion is a function and an expression of nationality and
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American Jewish Archives Journal
depends on nationality for life.” 6
At a conference held at Columbia University in 1912, the idea of
“the Hebrew” contribution to Western culture was approached in a
different way. The National Menorah Organization would study
“Jewish history, culture, and problems, and the advancement of Jewish
ideals.” These phrases are ambivalent enough: whether they are
narrow or large, whether they admit “Jewish” as a theologically
organizing concept or as a phenomenological marker is debatable. In
a way, they were. On October 2, 1914, Cyrus Adler wrote to Hurwitz
about “the Jewish people” having “a long and honorable record of
literary activity. Our Holy Scriptures, our Rabbinical Literature, our
contributions to philosophy, to ethics, to law, our poetry, sacred and
secular, our share in the world’s history, all become part of the
programme which you have laid out for yourselves as a means of
cultivation.” 7
The very title, the Menorah Journal, proclaimed that its aim would
be involved with some form of Jewish nation and temple building.
Given the nature of the menorah in the Hanukkah story, the title also
suggested that the magazine would be an example of Jewish survival
within what the rabbis saw as the culture of Hellenism. Although
Hellenistic culture was variously received and debated by the Jewish
community, the Menorah Journal saw Hellenism metaphorically—as
both a context within and an opportunity by which Jewish life had
been and would be measured.
It is hard to read the Menorah Journal’s early issues without
remembering its audience: young college men and women who, like
its lifelong editor, Henry Hurwitz, were first-generation Americans
attracted to classical German Reform Judaism. In many respects their
counterparts existed at a host of progressive magazines, primarily in
New York: witness Randolph Bourne, Van Wyck Brooks, Lewis
Mumford—all “young Turks” intent on reexamining American history
so as to nourish American creativity. In a sense, these progressive
Americans found themselves to be intellectual immigrants on an
American strand, hoping to preserve as well as adapt an American
heritage they could be part of and contribute to. In similar fashion, the
Menorah students, often children of immigrants, wanted to
understand the American moment. But the Jewish heritage had to be
reinterpreted before they could make their allegiances clear and felt.
Yet Hurwitz and others would also be members of the “Parushim,”
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
a name bespeaking the desire to arrive at an inspiriting Zionism
confronting the “otherness” of nations. Horace Kallen, one of the
Menorah Journal’s early pro-Zionist advocates and essayists and a
central figure in the “Parushim,” reminds us, no doubt with an eye
toward his contemporary setting, of the force of this conflict when he
quotes the early lines of 1 Maccabees, in his The Book of Job as a Greek
Tragedy (1918), a work whose thesis would be debated in the Menorah
Journal. “In those days there came forth out
of Israel transgressors of the law and
persuaded many…[sic] And they built a
place of exercise in Jerusalem according to
the laws of the Gentiles; and they made
themselves uncircumcised and forsook the
holy covenant, and joined themselves to the
Gentiles and sold themselves to evil.” One
year later Norman Bentwich, an English
scholar and Zionist, wrote about the parallels
between his own day and that of the
Hellenistic period. The efforts to preserve
Judaism against a Hellenistic modern
Bentwich
culture, he argued, had their “closest Norman
(courtesy American Jewish
parallel” in the Palestine of some two Archives)
thousand years ago.8
With its first editorial statement, the Menorah Journal of January
1915 announced itself as part of yet another Young America. The
magazine proclaimed the advent of a unique generation, one of Jewish
college-educated men and women who felt that their lives could be
enhanced through American Jewish belles-lettres. As the literary arm of
the Menorah movement, the Menorah Journal hoped to foster the
Jewish humanities and to further “their influence as a spur to human
service.” The editors wanted to “develop a ‘new school’ of writers on
Jewish topics that shall be distinguished by the thoroughness and
clarity of the university-trained mind…” Pointing to a provocative
conceptual division, the editors wrote that the publication would be
“devoted first and last to bringing out that value of Jewish culture and
ideals, of Hebraism and of Judaism, and striving for their
advancement…” The editors wanted both to “deepen the
consciousness of noblesse oblige”and to advance the Jewish liberal arts,
thus striving…to be sane and level-headed.”9
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American Jewish Archives Journal
The term“Jewish humanities”suggests how far these students had
come from believing that Judaism was a singular culture:“humanities”
suggesting the liberal and liberalizing branches of secular studies most
often traced to Greco-Roman culture. Jewish humanities would not
consist solely of religious literature, but of cultural works intertwined
with those of other times and places.
The separation of the totality of Jewish experience into “Jewish
culture”and the “ideals of Hebraism”revealed an uneasiness with how
to describe the Judaic heritage, especially in America, and indicated a
split that ran throughout the Menorah Journal’s early years. On the one
hand, Hebraism was no longer relevant to those who believed that
Jewish culture—with its ethical and social ideals such as solidarity,
cooperation, and fraternity—could be abstracted from a theological
framework. On the other hand, Judaism was not a precise enough
term for those who felt that an existence between the poles of galut
(exile) and geula (redemption) was at all relevant for the modern
comprehension of Jewish history. Reflecting in 1961 on the 1906
Menorah Society’s problems with terminology, Horace Kallen wrote:
the first statement of the new Society’s objective… was ‘the
study and promotion of Hebraic culture and ideals.’ Why
‘Hebraic’ and not ‘Jewish’?…The reason lay rather in the
English tradition of comparing and contrasting Hebraism with
Hellenism. Further, there was a certain anxiety lest ‘Jewish’ or
‘Judaic’ should imply a disproportionate concern with Judaist
[sic] creeds and codes, instead of a concern with a
comprehensive humanism which would take in every aspect
of the Jewish heritage, not the religious alone.10
Hebraism had been a culturally sweeping term, both in English
and European letters. Whereas Kallen mentioned in passing about
“‘the Hebrew humanities,’ and comparisons…made with the Cercle
Francais, [and] the Deutsches Verein,” Hebraism’s meaning for an
American audience such as the early Menorah Journal circle owed a
great deal to Ahad Ha’am, to Leon Simon—who contributed a piece
on Ahad Ha’am to the Menorah Journal—and to Matthew Arnold’s
Culture and Anarchy (1869). Whereas Ha’am’s essays would have been
part of an interested Jewish student’s self-pedagogy or Zionist
interest, Arnold’s Culture and Anarchy was part of a large cultural
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
discussion. Norman Bentwich, in his Hellenism, could easily speak of
Arnold’s idea of Hellenism as “laid down, with an insistence which
almost repels question…”11
Simon’s introduction to Ha’am’s essays reveals a writer less given
to variousness and, I think, urgency than he actually was. In
anthologizing Ha’am’s work, Simon emphasized the movement from
“Hebraism,”as Simon defined it, to Judaism, and the invigoration that
a return to Hebraism could provide Jewish life. For Ha’am, the concept
of Hebraism pointed to a transforming culture with a future.
Hebraism, which expressed a people connected to a land, became
sublated as Judaism, a culture binding together a people in exile.
Living in Diaspora, Jewish existence could not attain normalcy;
Palestine would be both a theory and a remedy. It would restore Jews
to a normal and nationally healthy life; it would be, by implication, a
programmatic goal that had a concrete past rooted in Jewish historical
life and consciousness.
Nonetheless, in these essays Ha’am did not see Hebraism as a
metaphor, as an historical yet cultural resistance to a definable
Hellenism that could be applied to any people or culture. (Like Arnold
before him, though, he did identify what he thought were some of the
dynamics between self and culture—the
interplay
between
a
creative,
modernizing Jewish life and a rigid
bookish one, invalidating variable
individual experience and judgment). In
fact, if we trust Simon’s translation,
Ha’am did well use the idea Hebraism.
Because, he spoke to a Jewish people
needing a Hebraic revival in the land of
their ancestors. Hellenism, for Ha’am,
was more easily conceived as a given
historical period in which the Jewish
spirit translated Greek knowledge into
Judaic interest. The fragmentation of the Leon Simon
Jewish people and its consciousness, (courtesy American Jewish Archives)
Ha’am argued, was to be guarded
against. A commanding center, Palestine would have the allegiance of
Jewish Diaspora communities; it would nourish the development of
their individuality as well as connect disparate habitations. As a
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American Jewish Archives Journal
cultural nucleus, it would concentrate as well as disseminate the
means of an ongoing Jewish identity.
Simon’s presentation of Ha’am’s Hebraism provided a
background for the Menorah Journal writers, most specifically in their
debate about whether Judaism or Hebraism was a desirable theory, a
practical program, or a misreading of American-Jewish existence.
Could a Jewish culture flourish without physical occupation of a
territorial unit? Could Zionist politics subsist without a cultural
dimension? Moreover, Simon’s distinction of “Hebraism” sharpened
Ha’am’s essays and gave them wider intellectual command, if only
because the very terms of Hebraism and Hellenism had become
indexes of a continuous Western heritage and sensibility.
Simon’s utilization of “Hebraism” reinforced a long, almost
conceptually luxurious debate about culture and self as secular or
sacred, as defined by criteria that historical experience expressed or
those by which transcendent judgment had mandated. Ha’am himself
worked in Arnold’s tradition, as we shall see, calling objective culture
“the concrete expression of the best minds of the nation in every
period of its existence.” Ha’am, as Arnold and those before him,
appealed to Hellenism as an instance of an aesthetic education of the
spirit. Contemporary life, Ha’am wrote, still enjoyed the “benefit of
Greek culture…the wisdom of Greek philosophers…the poetry and
the art which that great nation has left us…” 12
Ha’am’s critical ruminations were designed to break an impasse in
Jewish historiography and self-reflection: could a nationalist Zionism
be the basis of the modern Jewish response to its own existence? Born
of the emergencies of forgetting, assimilating, and dreaming, Ha’am’s
work confronted what he considered was the failure both of renewal
as well as reassessment. Although his thoughts were initially
addressed to the Jewish community that he knew, they could easily
have suggested to the Menorah Journal’s audience the tasks ahead for
them: the creation of an American Jewish culture that could be
connected to and nourish both world civilization and the life of other
Jewish communities.
Arnold, trying to tie a perfection of self to a perfection of culture in
an industrializing, intellectually disabling society, believed that
civilization had been marked by the contributions of Hebraism and
Hellenism. For Arnold, they were dramatic metaphors for a response
to authority and experience. Both were part of human nature and had
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
perfection or salvation as their goal. “The uppermost idea with
Hellenism,” Arnold wrote “is to see things as they really are; the
uppermost idea with Hebraism is conduct and obedience.” In one of
the most memorable lines in Culture and Anarchy, Arnold declared
that “The governing idea of Hellenism is spontaneity of consciousness;
that of Hebraism, strictness of conscience.”13
For Arnold, Hebraism is to be read Christologically. Its Jewish
narrowness, as he conceived it, is rescued by a Christian universalism,
which accounted for Christianity’s appeal. First, separation of the self
from the political and social values of Western civilization is
minimized. Here, Arnold anticipates a more modern yet affirmative
appraisal of the advantages of estrangement for cultural criticism, a
critical alienation often affirmed by American Jewish belles-lettres
during the 1940s and 1950s. As Arnold contended,“it would still have
been better for a man, during the last eighteen hundred years, to have
been a Christian and a member of one of the great Christian
communions, than to have been a Jew or a Socinian; because the
being in contact with the main stream of human life is of more
moment for a man’s total spiritual growth, and for his bringing to
perfection the gifts committed to him…than any speculative opinion
which he may hold or thinks he holds.” 14
Second, Christianity supersedes Judaism, partaking of both Jewish
and Hellenistic life. This had saved Christianity from being a provincial
cult. Arnold claims that the “planters of Christianity,” given the
strength of their inspiration,“carried men off the old basis of life and
culture, whether Jewish or Greek…”This is a crucial point, for Arnold
combines character and confession: “The worth of what a man thinks
about God and the objects of religion depends on what the man is;
and what the man is, depends upon his having more or less reached
the measure of a perfect and total man.” 15
Moreover, the customs of biblical culture, derided by Arnold as
Orientalism, had nothing to offer Victorian England. They were signs
of backwardness. The belief that the customs of an inferior civilization
could be utilized to deform a higher one attracted Arnold’s interest.
His example was a legal one: could a man marry his deceased wife’s
sister. This was a tactically chosen example; it reminded his audience
of the Sadducees questioning Christ’s authority in the canonical
Gospels:
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American Jewish Archives Journal
And, immense as is our debt to the Hebrew race and
its genius, incomparable as is its authority on certain
profoundly important sides of our human nature…who,
that is not manacled and hoodwinked by his Hebraism,
can believe that, as to love and marriage, our reason and
the necessities of our humanity have their true, sufficient,
and divine law expressed for them by the voice of any
Oriental and polygamous nation like the Hebrews? 16
“That race like the Hebrews” could only have conjured up the
primitivism and the subversiveness that Jews represented in the
English literary mind. Ha’am’s Hebraism was compatible to a degree
with Arnold’s. Both saw it bespeaking a national trait as well as one
that had an existence within world history. Both saw it addressed to
world cultural life—for Ha’am, the vitality of a renewed people, for
Arnold, part of the balance that culture expressed. Finally, it was
broad enough to provide writers with a term that could be helpful in
exploring self, society, culture, and nation.
Central to Arnold’s thesis about Hebraism and Hellenism was the
diminished nature of Judaism and the minatory Hebraic imagination.
The Jew, both in English and American letters, was often depicted as
someone lacking an ongoing, creative presence in modern life.
Hebraism was either defined as theologically or culturally incomplete
against the majesty of Christianity or the achievements of Greek and
Roman civilizations. A popular Anglo-American antisemitism
depicted the Jew, as Jacob Riis argued in his well-known How the
Other Half Lives, “stubbornly refusing to see the light” of Christianity
or as DuMaurier caricatured him in Trilby, manipulative and devoid of
sympathy for a larger humanity that defensively barred his race from
normal fellowship.
The opposition between Hebraism and Hellenism—whether from
Arnold in its most accessible form or from Ha’am’s sense of the
creativity of the Hebraic spirit vis-à-vis Greek thought—formed part
of the Menorah Journal’s early discussions about Judaism. No less
importantly these oppositions were seen as shaping the framework of
modern civilization. In his June 1919 Menorah Journal piece titled
“Whither,” Adolph S. Oko, one of Henry Hurwitz’s intellectual
mentors and the librarian at Hebrew Union College, speculated that
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
“every man born into this world is, intellectually and spiritually, either
a ‘Greek’ or a ‘Jew’…” Judaism was the process and sum of Jewish
inquiry toward its truth, albeit a relative one; its socially attractive
value was its commitment to iconoclasm. America could provide a
habitation for Judaism to flourish and yet create another phase of its
thought. Or, as Hartley Alexander put it, speaking under Menorah
auspices in the “First Annual Zunz Memorial Lecture,” published in
the 1920 issue of the Menorah Journal, “It is a commonplace of the
history of our culture that the roots of what are highest in it are two,
an Hebraic and an Hellenic.”17
IV
Hebraism had a vigorous life in literature. Whether the Menorah
Journal editors were aware of the depth of this tradition is less
important than the weight this critical heritage gave to the editors’
claims. In fact, the Journal pushed aside Arnold’s reading to insist that
Hebraism was not merely a method of conduct or an essential temper,
but an ongoing process of critical reflection and evaluation that
allowed Judaism to survive. Unlike Hellenism, Hebraism was literally
the phenomenology of ongoing Jewish reflection in habitations of
Diaspora. An American Hebraism was an indisputable and celebratory
fact.
The Journal disputed the charge that the Jewish contribution to
civilization was over, or simply imitative, or at worst, exploitive. Worth
looking at is the weight the editors attached to literature itself as a
means of educating their Jewish audience as well as Christian readers.
From the very beginning, the Journal insisted that the Jewish cultural
imagination was part of the classical tradition of the West. In fact,
Hebraism could lay claim to being the progenitor of myths about the
West. Sir Henry Maine argued that “Except [for] the blind forces of
Nature nothing moves in this world that is not Greek in origin.”
Adolph Oko differed, asserting that the influence of Hellenism had
long been diminished. Reflections on myths of historical origins were
indebted to the Jewish imagination. In his tripartite sketch of Leopold
Zunz for the Menorah Journal, Oko retorted that “Hellenic
superstition” had to be confronted. “Ancient Hebrew legends—not
Greek speculation—supplied Christian Europe the imaginary
background of the earliest history of the human race.”18
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American Jewish Archives Journal
Hebraism was part of the triple heritage of Western civilization
itself. The Menorah circle insisted that Jewish letters had to be
restored to their cultural originality and dignity. The strength of their
scholarly claims can be read both strategically and intellectually. As a
group, Jewish intellectuals were aware of their marginality and
newness in America. As such, claims of both an original contribution
to democratic life and an indisputable presence in the Western
imagination could dispel the popular charges of actually being
strangers in a strange land. As Jews attracted to the spirit of classical
German Reform, they were interested in understanding the
development and interpretive strengths of their religion.
Nonetheless, Hebraism and Judaism were not resolved issues for
the Menorah Journal’s editor, Henry Hurwitz; they were textured, if not
problematic. In 1915 Hurwitz read that Cyrus Adler delivered an
address at the Jewish Theological Seminary in which, as Hurwitz
wrote to Adler, “you are made to oppose ‘Hebraic culture’ to ‘Jewish
knowledge and Judaism’…. Since the matter of Hebraic culture and
Jewish knowledge and Judaism (which I had not suspected to be
contradictory) touches us closely in the Menorah Societies, won’t you
utilize The Menorah Journal to give your thoughts on the matter to
our students?”Adler reminded his youthful admirer that“the Menorah
Society itself has recognized that there is a difference between Hebraic
culture and Jewish knowledge or Jewish culture. In the first number of
the Journal you published an article by Professor Margolis entitled
‘The Twilight of Hebraic Culture’ in which he set forth from the
historical point of view the difference between Hebraism or Hebraic
culture and Judaism.” Moreover, Adler encouraged Hurwitz to read
Horace Kallen’s essays championing Hebraic culture.19
Throughout this formative period, Hebraism became refracted
into pragmatic terms. Its definitions, certainly for the Menorah Journal,
connected a people’s experience to patterns of cultural change shared
by other groups. Whereas this patterned history revealed a Jewish
essentialism, a core identity or people’s spirit not shared by other
nations, it was a concept that generated discussion. It could be
defined by what it was not, what it resisted, and how it repelled other
definitions. Each of these broad and often overly simplified responses
had implications for varieties of a Jewish future, encompassing
everything from the role of teaching to its very nature, from the
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
function of the liturgy to its forms, from the idea of the synagogue to
its modern uses, and, above all, from an understanding of the
Covenant and Halachah which encompassed their historical
environments and modern values.
In one influential aspect, Hebraism inspirited American life. It also
nourished a fundamental heritage. As Hartley Alexander, professor of
philosophy at the University of Nebraska and former president of the
American Philosophical Association, rhetorically asked in the “First
Annual Zunz Lecture” in 1919, “Is it not evident…that the
characteristic color in all of these ideas—fundamental to Greek,
fundamental to Hebrew, fundamental to Americans of today—is given
to their Hebraic form by that very concern for what is significant in
history, for what is dramatic and moving in human life, which has
seemed to us the core of the Hebrew genius? And is it not evident
again that these conceptions, of Law and Justice and Wisdom and
Providence…get their moving, their activistic as distinct from their
contemplative values, from the Hebraic root?” There was no issue to
which the United States was “more deeply indebted,”for this Hebraic
spirit opposed the dangers of a “weak Hellenism” of the “educated
classes”with their “laissez-faire in the moral and political life, evading
responsibility, abjuring faith in any essential righteousness.” 20
Yet Hebraism would be employed—following Ha’am’s theses—to
suggest the limitations of Judaism, a theological phenomenon, being
the basis alone for a nationalism and renewed nationality with its
superstructure of law, ethics, belief, and art. This was a metamorphosis
with legal suppositions and theses: Jews were a people reclaiming a
land. As Max Roseman suggested in his 1916 Wisconsin Menorah
Prize essay, “The Hebraic Renaissance in Palestine,” Hebraism
expresses itself in a “Kultur,” found in the “beginnings of a new art, a
new literature” and realizing “the social and economic justice”
explained in the Prophets. The Jewish National Fund and cooperative
settlements would fortify the “Mosaic injunction against perpetual
private ownership of land....” Roseman saw Hebraism and Zionism
perpetuating an earlier Jewish life. Zionism, for Roseman, made the
Palestinian project Hebraic. Although Judaism and Hebraism had
different connotations, the “former has a theological implication; the
latter is an expression of all that is peculiar to the Hebrew; the first is
merely the religious manifestation of the second…”For Hebraism was
a world view, rooted in the Prophets. On the contrary, Samuel
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American Jewish Archives Journal
Schulman, former president of Reform Judaism’s Central Conference
of American Rabbis, contended that this thesis justified the mission
theory. Israel was not only destined to its Diaspora, it ought to be in
Diaspora.“Despite the sneers at the ‘mission of the Jews’, it is the only
sound idea which justifies Jewish existence.” 21
Nonetheless, Hebraism would lose its strength if it renounced its
humanistic tenor. Paying but scant attention to the importance of
Judaism as a theology shaping the lives of Jews, Samuel Spring
claimed that although there is a renaissance of the “Hebrew tongue”
in Palestine, Hebraism would “perish”if it forgot “that it is but a group
identity representing a different view of things human, guided by an
ideal that has a more piercing appeal to those of Jewish blood.” 22
Was Jewish blood an index of something called a Jewish
perspective? Ha’am expressed an accepted position in the most
general of terms. Speaking of Jews who were creative in Diaspora, he
contended that they could not conceal their “Jewish characteristics,”
for “the spirit of Judaism comes to the surface in all that they attempt,
and gives their work a special and distinctive character, which is not
found in the work of non-Jewish laborers in the same field.” There
were Menorah Journal writers sympathetic to a putative Jewish
temperament who discussed the unceasing intellectual energy of the
Jewish people within the world of nations. So, for example, in writing
about Heine, who seems to be one of the two figures (the other being
Kafka) twentieth-century critics would choose to identify as
representing an irreducible Jewish character, Louis Untermeyer, writer
and anthologist, suggested that this poet presented us with
commanding Jewish traits in his “voluptuous love of the color and
flavor of things, his feverish imagination (a source of sharpest pain as
much as of intense delight), his confident egoism….”Commenting on
Untermeyer’s observation, Burton Rascoe, in his Menorah Journal piece
of August 1923,“The Judaic Strain in Modern Letters,” identified this
Jewish presence—in contradistinction to the Hellenic disposition of
“measure in all things”—as “intellectual curiosity, egocentricity,
feverish anxiety about life, cynical wit, sarcastic irony, social
discontent, arrogance, extreme cleverness, pungent and often
redundant words, sexual frankness on the one side and sexual
mysticism on the other….”
Addressing both these readings of the Jewish aesthetic
imagination, John Cowper Powys claimed that “What we are fully
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
prepared to admit is that ‘the Judaic strain’
implies a certain passionate intensity in all
intellectual pursuits; an intensity that
springs from that superabundant vital
energy which is the eternal justification for
the expression ‘the chosen people.’” It is
also worth looking at the work of Israel
Abrahams, who succeeded Solomon
Schechter in Cambridge University’s chair
of Talmudic and Rabbinic Literature. In a
Menorah Journal essay on poetry and
religion, he asked the reader to consider
whether Israel’s mastery of music and the
Psalms bequeathed its legacy to Heine,“an Isreal Abrahams
inheritance from ancient Israel that made (courtesy American Jewish
[him]…—the greatest modern poet of the Archives)
Hebrew race—author of a Book of Songs…” 23
One attractive and politically usable aspect of Hebraism was its
nineteenth-century romantic aura that guaranteed an autochthonic
literature marking a people’s distinctiveness, giving a form and
language to a unique spirit. The evolution of Hebrew literature itself
validated the normalcy of Jewish existence and its donations to
humanity. Hebraism, then, could be used as a measure of a future that
was not yet past or brought into fruition. Indeed, the Menorah Journal
circle might have known Zunz’s words in his Die judische Literatur:
Inasmuch as [Jewish literature] shares the intellectual
aspirations of past and present, their conflicts and reverses, it
is supplementary to general literature. Its peculiar features,
themselves falling under universal laws, are in turn helpful in
the interpretation of general characteristics….Jewish
literature, like other literatures, and like literature in general,
reveals to the student the noble ideals the soul of man has
cherished, and striven to realize, and discloses the varied
achievements of the mind of man. 24
For the Menorah Journal, this manifestation of singularity and
community was presented in discussions not only about the
capaciousness of Zionism’s cultural tasks, but also about the folk
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origin of Jewish literature. Biblical literary production could be
endowed with a folkloric dimension. So, for example, Morris Jastrow,
professor of Semitics at the University of Pennsylvania, claimed that
“the Song of Songs” had nothing in particular designating its
treatment of its subject as “Hebraic or Jewish.” He contended that “the
national Deity of the Hebrews is nowhere introduced” and Hebrew
history, save for allusions to Solomon, is absent. Yet just as other
agricultural peoples had seasonal songs celebrating harvest, so did the
ancient Hebrews. Similarly, as other people had their love songs and
ballads, “the Song of Songs” testified to the presence of this genre
among early Hebrew tribes. The “unimaginative Rabbis of the
Talmudic Age,”Jastrow argued,“were no longer able to appreciate the
folk spirit which produced the Song of Songs....”25
In “The Twilight of Hebraic Culture,” Max Margolis, professor of
biblical theology at Dropsie College, wrote about a historic Hebraic
culture as a compromise, a “midway station between the indigenous
Canaanite civilization…Mosaism in its beginnings and Judaism in its
consummation.” Hebraic culture was “not to be severed from the soil
in which it was rooted.” Hebraic culture was rich in imagination,
Margolis teaches, fashioning its expression through “cosmogonies and
ballads and collections of proverbs.” It was “joyous,” not yet being
transformed by the “somber seriousness of latter-day Judaism” which
was “bookish,” and hence bespeaking a truncated existence. Hebraic
culture was “the sum total of all that goes to make up the concern of a
nation living on its own soil.” Yet Hebraism, tempered by Judaism,
could be revived, and Margolis’s picture of its activities suggests how
its existence would be as normal as other nations in terms of selfreflection, cultural mediation, and world presence.26
Hebraism measured the discriminating transactions Hebrew
culture had with Hellenism. It would have been all too obvious for
Felix Perles’s audience to take the next step and consider the
interpenetrations of American and Jewish culture as a variant of a
Hebraic-Hellenic history and a literal and metaphorical program for
the present. For Perles, in his “Culture and History,” real culture
nourished international civilization. He pointed out that such a valid
culture “makes fruitful the best in one’s own spiritual treasure while at
the same time it assimilates all that is good outside. By a synthesis of
the native and the foreign, it continually creates something new.”27
This was not a new claim but a gathering of ideas about local culture
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
and cosmopolitanism that had its immediate belletristic origins in the
works of Ahad Ha’am, American pragmatists such as John Dewey, the
multiculturalism of Randolph Bourne, and the vibrant proposals of the
eminent Scots regionalist, Patrick Geddes. What was important was its
application. For Perles the Alexandrian conquest of Palestine in 332
B.C.E. produced a cultural explosion muffled by military opposition.
Alexander the Great had demolished the cultural insularity of the
Jews, creating for many a transaction in which “the valuable elements
of both Jewish and Greek life” were involved. The combination of
Jewish Torah (religious–ethical education as Perles described it) and
Greek Hokmah (for Perles, intellectual wisdom) could have created a
“type of the highest culture” if Antiochus Epiphanes had not
threatened Jewish resistance and fomented rebellion.
Yet the engagement of Hebraism and Hellenism was looked at in
a manner not unusual for a journal trying to achieve a distinctive, selfreflective American-Jewish voice. There were suggestions that the
Jewish imagination itself—a world view, not a set of racial sensibilities
such as love of sarcasm or high
seriousness—found its own
traditional forms of expression
either
inadequate
or
uncompelling in a Hellenic
world.
This argument is
interesting for its own sake but
also intriguing because it
reflects a search for thenmodern literary experi-ments
that would do justice to a
Jewish life that had not Horace Kallen
decided yet if its physical and (courtesy American Jewish Archives)
theological alienation had ended. At what point would a search, if not
the search for form, become a historical pattern that marked all Jewish
expression?
The Menorah Journal presented this as the problem of Job’s
authorship. In 1918 Horace Kallen’s The Book of Job as a Greek Tragedy
was published. Kallen proposed that Job was a late composition,
written somewhere around the end of the fifth century B.C.E., and
that it was the product of the confluence of Greco-Jewish thought.
More concretely, it was written by a Jew who had seen a performance
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American Jewish Archives Journal
of Euripides. In fact, Job was a “Hebraized form of the Greek tragedy”
which gave it a characteristic strength, a universalism of perception
and recognition. Kallen argued that both the message of Hebraism
and the form of Hellenism felicitously nourished each other in Job’s
revelation. The ethical and religious goals of Greek and Jewish
culture—for the Greeks, the yearning for the good, for the Jews, the
fear of God—became the triumphant yet self-humbling dramatic
utterance of Job’s struggle. “‘I know that he will slay me,’ says Job. ‘I
have no hope.Yet will I maintain mine integrity before him.’” 28
For Kallen, who wrote unabashedly about a people’s “long racial
experience,” Hellenic culture provided the writer of Job with the form
of a drama, the Euripidean drama, which Hebraic literature had not
cultivated. Kallen proposes that “In the traditional forms of [the
author’s] own literature…there were no traditional forms which gave
voice to doubt, to accusation, to defiance. The different mood
demanded a different form, and the dramatic form was ready to hand
and welcome.” 29
Kallen’s interpretation of Job takes the work as a meditation that is
more than the cultural mediations that gave it birth. Job is the voice of
a durable, inspiriting Hebraic humanism, one that refuses to see the
world as necessarily answering to or even malleable by human wish.
Man’s life is made naked, without creative optimism but hardened by
a consciously shaped endurance. As Kallen describes the situation,
man’s “soul”becomes his “citadel”in his confrontation with the world
and God. This fortress is strengthened by humanity’s integrity.
Whereas Hellenism had “conquered the Jewish mind itself,”Hebraism
maintains and strengthens itself with science as a means of knowing,
for “science,” Kallen proposed, yields power where and as it
disillusions. It is a conquest of nature through knowledge. Yet the
Hebraic mind had attained this perspective without the domination of
nature.“Disillusion”had been attained at the cost of “mastery of self.”
This, Kallen propounded, was an excellence that was not “a common
virtue of mankind.”
Kallen’s analysis was consistent with the rest of his work,
reflecting his presentations of a Jewish state as a legitimate one among
the community of nations. His sense of cultural borrowing in Job is at
one with his later readings of the Jewish experience and also strikingly
of the American experience with its balancing of diversity and
commonality, producing a shared culture of inquiry.
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
The Menorah Journal found Kallen’s article sufficiently provocative
to publish a review and a rebuttal. The problems raised were cast
either into historical or culturally programmatic theses. The
underlying question in these essays was not only the riddle of Job’s
authorship, but also what kind of imagination is now brought within
the scope of inquiry. In his meditation “Job as a Greek Tragedy,”which
responded to Kallen’s book and was introduced in the Menorah Journal
in April 1919, Gilbert Murray saw Kallen’s thesis as “an ingenious
hypothesis, but helpful and fruitful also.” Murray pointed out that
Kallen offers nothing but a working conjecture, although parts of Job
now seem to fall into place. More to the point made by Murray, we
have an example of an imagination that could well have profited by
Jewish and Greek perspectives, although Job may give us no answers,
it probably reflects the religious and philosophic convictions of these
two cultures, although the writer of Job “stayed half-way, at an easy
and intelligible halting place, which was presumably acceptable to an
Oriental mind although it would have repelled and revolted a Greek.”
The Greek would have continued his inquiry “in spite of the
thunder.”30
Max Radin, instructor of postbiblical history at Columbia
University, took a less charitable view of Kallen’s reading. In his “A
Mistaken Hypothesis”Radin indicated that Kallen’s line of inquiry was
plausible but weakly so. It bound together multiple “improbabilities”
that made it far from acceptable. These involved questions of dating,
problems of textual authority, transmission, dramatic form, and a Jew
with little or no comprehension of Greek understanding of a
performance of Euripides. In fact, Kallen’s hypothesis was
intellectually uneconomical. The Jewish literary imagination, Radin
intimated, was part of a spectrum of world literary experimentation.
“The dramatic form,”Radin expounded,
arose quite independently in Greece, in India, perhaps in
China, and in Etruria and other parts of Italy and
Sicily….Hebrew narrative, especially, as the whole Bible
shows, has a strong tendency to a dramatic vividness of of
quotation that is not found in other ancient prose. A first-rate
poet needed nothing more than the suggestions furnished by
his own literature to give Job the dramatic framework that it
possesses. 31
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American Jewish Archives Journal
The question of form and means of expression played a role in the
definition of Hebraism and its imagination. There is an important
history going back to Robert Lowth’s Lectures on the Sacred Poetry of
the Hebrews (1741) in which Hebrew poetry, by nature of its sublimity,
divine inspiration, and prophetic dimension in the Prophets was
superior to the efforts of Greeks and Romans. For the Englishspeaking world, Lowth raised the questions of poetic form and
convention, admitting that meter was, at best, problematic for
discussion. His work established many of the questions that would be
raised, but most important, his lectures demanded that Hebrew
literature not only be considered part of a world heritage, but also the
key to understanding the continuity of the classical tradition.
Understanding what is perfect and what is defective in art, Lowth
suggested, is the path to the mind’s attainments. How could Hebrew
poetry, with its developments in matter and figure, not play an
important role in one’s education?
The Menorah Journal would not, from its founding theses about the
triple pillars of Western culture, ignore this claim. In October and
December 1920 the Journal published Israel Abrahams’ “Poetry and
Religion,” part of the Arthur Davis Lectures given in England.
Abrahams had no patience with Kallen’s work on Job and found
claims like it to be examples of bad reasoning, a confusion of ends and
origins which he called “totemitis.” More important, Abrahams was
willing to see the historical distinctness of “Poetry and Religion.” As
he understood it, contemporary poetry had become “formless”;
modern religion had become “stiff and still.” At the heart of the
problem was the recreation of a communal worship, a strategic
reconciliation or, as Abrahams put it, of honesty. Contemporary
poetry and religion could comport if one recovered the honesty and
the “other, the music of the Psalms.…,” for the psalmist makes his
material out of his experience of religion. The feat of the Hebrew lyric
accompanied the success of Israel’s cultivation of music. This pointed
to a past and a future. Poetry would achieve its devotional heights in
the lyric in which self-expression was “the most genuine ally to
Religion.” Although art is not the handmaiden of religion or its
conventions, what Abrahams called “the Great Lyric”—the majestic
Psalm—is also “great religion.” As a result, the split between poetry
and religion, between beauty and truth, could reunite, renewing a
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
stolid religion and correcting a too-experimental poetry. Yet there was
a past as well to be considered. In his literary “Art,” the Hebrew had
become unique. “The Hellene,” Abrahams writes, redeploying
Arnold’s notion about the great artist being able to see life steadily
and whole, “saw more, expressed more variously; but what the
Hebrew saw, he saw clearly and whole; and what he saw he expressed
with an art, limited in scope, but within that scope perfect beyond
perfection’s dream.” 32
We ought to pause to consider the implications of this
interpretation. In a literary age that some identify as modern,
Abrahams suggested that a critical poetry take account of religion and
that a critical religion would do well to question the social uses of
poetry and its forms. Literature would not be religion, but its great
challenge would be to keep alive man’s relation to God by suggesting
the poet consider his craft as an expression of the ground of all reality,
the context of all ordered life.
Hebraism involved what belles-lettres stood for as American in an
immediate, political sense. Arnold had defined culture as the best of
the human imagination. Yet “culture,” as seen by Arnold, was also
deployed to suggest the strength of Diaspora culture, and “Kultur”
thereby authorizing an easeful Jewish life in America. Samuel
Schulman, in his “The Searching of the Jewish Heart,” well
summarized this position by writing about the difference between the
two words and their consequences. Invoking Arnold’s dictum that
culture is a knowledge of the best efforts of the human imagination,
Schulman pointed out that culture becomes “an intellectual and
spiritual power.” Contemporary Jews, employing the term “culture,”
were anglicizing the term “Kultur,” which was “the totality of the
productions of a people.” Jews speaking of “Jewish culture” actually
mean the past culture of Israel which was given its characteristic
energies by religion and ethics. For Jewish culture and life to be
Jewish, they “must be permeated…shaped, if you will, by the Jewish
religious consciousness.” 33
For the contributors to the Menorah Journal in these early years,
culture had to be wrested from Kultur. American Jewry had to
institute a program of learning that could turn an inquisitive,
reverential, or theological Hebraism into a defense of democracy. In
an anonymous article titled “The Maccabaean [sic] Summons,” the
writer declaimed “twenty centuries ago a Wilhelm Hohenzollern,
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American Jewish Archives Journal
whose Greek name was Antiochus Epiphanes attempted to dominate
the world and to impose his kultur over all peoples.” Analogies were
quickly made: throughout the next two thousand years the menorah
illuminated the Western world, for during the period of Maccabean
resurgence the Hebrew spirit was given a permanent form in the
Bible, which in turn inspirited the Puritans and American republican
institutions. Hebraism had come full circle in in its war against
Hellenism. According to an anonymous author, the First World War
brought closure “To the lineal descendants of the Maccabees…this
War is in truth a call to our ancestral heroisms, sanctities, and ideals.”34
V
The uses to which the Menorah Journal thinkers put Hebraism and
Hellenism reveal a great deal about their own creation of history and
historical writing. Such uses reveal the capacity of the AmericanJewish literary imagination to make the past comport with a
venturesome future. After all, what did these students think of their
Jewish identity having passed from immigrant European Jew to
Harvard graduate in one generation? They were the ones who could
best appreciate the dedicated cynicism of Henry Adams’s musings on
his own situation.“Had he been born in Jerusalem under the shadow
of the Temple and circumcised in the Synagogue by his uncle the high
priest, under the name of Israel Cohen, he would scarcely have been
more distinctly branded, and not much more heavily handicapped in
the races of the coming century…” 35
With irony, American-Jewish thinkers could point to the Hebraic
foundation of American Puritan life, but watch as Jewish life would be
transformed by Christian writers into a metaphor for willful apostasy
and blindness. The Jew would be in America not as a progenitor, but
as a stranger to a culture that others had adopted, transformed, and
made into a barrier. New Israelites, who would see themselves as a
chosen people, scorned Israelites who were a peculiar treasure.
Hebraism would be Puritan Hebraicism. Of greater irony for the
Jewish students who made the Menorah Journal part of their lives, the
appeal to another history—one too usable for any occasion and one
too given to being made a figure of speech—indicated how
desperately they wanted to view themselves as Jews in yet another
land with an ambivalent present and future.
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Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
They had the opportunity to invoke Hellenism and to define and
transform Hebraism. They could make their journal a program of
cultural durability, and in fact, of resistance to Orthodoxy, nationalist
Zionism, and the very languages of the European-Jewish migrations
to America. Eschewing Hebrew and Yiddish as suitable languages for
articles, the Menorah Journal editor and contributors could see
themselves as Jews sure enough of the nature of their heritage to
discuss it in English without feeling that this language diminished
their past or narrowed their future. English would become the new
Hebrew that “new” rabbis might approve. It would be the form in
which a modern Judaism could be expressed and a language that
might make Judaism as accessible to its American public as Hebrew
was to Zionists.
VI
As the Menorah Journal matured it become uninterested in
Hebraism and Hellenism as components of a once viable historical
model functioning as a polemical issue. American Judaism could be
understood in terms of its own interpretive strengths and cultural
autonomy. The publication committed itself to the development of an
American Judaism free of political Zionism which it argued was
untrue to the needs of American-Jewish life. America would be
Yavneh—the place of yet another extraordinary Jewish renewal.
The Menorah Journal would publicize a “free man’s Judaism” (as
Henry Hurwitz called his hoped-for, projected book).Yet this too could
be (and was) seen as a Hellenism, or worse—certainly by opponents
of progressive Judaism. Nonetheless, the ideas of Hellenism and
Hebraism helped create, through exhaustion of meaning, a new
model for historical awareness. The magazine aided American-Jewish
culture in liberating itself from a world view based merely on the
invocation of Judaism as a companion to the Greek and Roman
legacies. The Menorah Journal swept free American-Jewish history of
such a formula and made it again open to a new and rich
interpretation.
Lewis Fried is Professor of American Literature at Kent State University.
Research for this project was made possible by a grant from The Jacob Rader
Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives. The author would like to thank
Liisa Hake, Lawrence Starzyk, Sanford Marovitz, and Steven Esposito for their
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American Jewish Archives Journal
suggestions and ready advice.
NOTES:
1. Saul Tchernichowsky, “Before the Statue of Apollo,” trans. Maurice Samuel,
Menorah Journal 9, no. 1 (February 1923): 21, 22, 23.
2. Among contemporary books that raise this question are Arnold Eisen, The
Chosen People in America: A Study in Jewish Religious Identity (Bloomington: Indiana
University Press, 1983); Seth Korelitz,“The Menorah Idea: From Religion to Culture,
from Race to Ethnicity,”American Jewish History 85, no. 1 (March 1997): 75–100 is an
important essay also examining the divisions between Hebraism and Jewishness. Well
worth looking at is Lauren Strauss, “Staying Afloat in the Melting Pot: Constructing
an American Jewish Identity in the Menorah Journal of the 1920s,” American Jewish
History 84, no. 4 (December 1996): 317–31.
3. Henry Hurwitz and I. Leo Sharfman, The Menorah Movement (Ann Arbor,
Mich.: Intercollegiate Menorah Association, 1914), 4. For a detailed discussion of the
rise of Hebrew studies in American universities, see Paul Ritterband and Harold S.
Wechsler, Jewish Learning in American Universities: The First Century (Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, 1994). For an exploration of Jewish academics during the
same period in secular departments, see Susanne Klingenstein, Jews in the American
Academy, 1900–1940 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991) and her Enlarging
America: The Cultural Work of Jewish Literary Scholars, 1930–1990 (Syracuse: Syracuse
University Press, 1998).
4. Ernest Renan, History of the People of Israel, 5 vols. (Boston: Little, Brown, and
Company, 1905–7), 5: 272, 355, 361.
5. Hurwitz and Sharfman, The Menorah Movement, 3.
6. Horace Kallen,”Judaism, Hebraism, and Zionism,” (1910), in Judaism at Bay
(New York: Bloch Publishing Co., 1932), 41.
7. Hurwitz and Sharfman, The Menorah Movement, 145. “Letter,” Cyrus Adler to
Henry Hurwitz, October 2, 1914, Henry Hurwitz Collection, Box 1, Folder 1, The Jacob
Rader Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, Ohio (hereafter,
AJA).
8. Horace Kallen, quoting what he called “the pious historian of I Maccabees,”in
The Book of Job as a Greek Tragedy (New York: Moffat,Yard and Company, 1918), 14–15.
What is more intriguing is what Kallen excluded with his ellipses. Perhaps these
omitted words would have indicated to many of his audience their own plight and the
seductiveness of an American secular culture.“Come, let us make a covenant with the
gentiles around us, because ever since we have kept ourselves separated from them
we have suffered many evils,” found in Jonathan Goldstein, ed., trans. I Maccabees
(New York: Doubleday, Anchor Bible, 1976), 199; Norman Bentwich, Hellenism
(Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1919).
9. Anon,“An Editorial Statement,” Menorah Journal, 1, no. 1 (January 1915): 1–2.
For a history of the menorah movement, see Jenna Weissman Joselit’s “Without
Ghettoism: A History of the Intercollegiate Menorah Association, 1906–1930,”
American Jewish Archives 30, no. 2 (November 1978): 133–54.
10. Horace Kallen,“The Promise of the Menorah Idea,”Menorah Journal, 49, nos.
1 & 2 (Autumn-Winter 1962): 9–16, 13.
11.Bentwich, Hellenism, 51. For intellectually rich discussions of these terms, see
172
Creating Hebraism, Confronting Hellenism
David DeLaura, Hebrew and Hellene in Victorian England (Austin: University of Texas
Press, 1969); Susan Handelman, The Slayers of Moses (Albany: State University of New
York Press, 1982); Vassilis Lambropoulos, The Rise of Eurocentrism (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1993); and Yaacov Shavit, Athens in Jerusalem (Portland,
Ore.: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1997); Simon also translated Ha’am’s
Selected Essays (1912) into English.
12. Selected Essays, by Ahad Ha’am, tr. from the Hebrew, by Leon Simon
(Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1912). Simon’s introduction is from
pp.11–40. Also see Steven Zipperstein, Elusive Prophet: Ahad Ha’am and the Origins of
Zionism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993). The quotation is by Ha’am in
his “The Spiritual Renewal,”Selected Essays, 259.
13. Matthew Arnold, Culture and Anarchy, J. Dover Wilson, ed. (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1966), 132.
14. Ibid., 30.
15. Ibid., 30.
16. Ibid., 183–84.
17. “S. Baruch” [pseud. of Adolph S. Oko],”Whither?” Menorah Journal 5, no. 3
(June 1919): 121–36; 125. Hartley Alexander, “The Hebrew Contribution to the
Americanism of the Future,”Menorah Journal 6, no. 2 (April 1920): 65–74.
18.“S. Baruch,”[pseud. of Adolph S. Oko],“Leopold Zunz—Humanist,”Menorah
Journal 9, no. 3 (August 1923): 216–29; 216.
19.Letter, Hurwitz to Cyrus Adler, June 9, 1915; Letter, Adler to Hurwitz, June 17,
1915, Ms. Col. #2, Box 1, Folder 3, AJA.
20. Hartley Alexander, “The Hebrew Contribution to the Americanism of the
Future,”Menorah Journal 6, no. 2 (April 1920): 69.
21.Max Roseman,“The Hebraic Renaisance in Palestine,”Menorah Journal 2, no.5
(December 1916): 311–12. Samuel Schulman,“The Searching of the Jewish Heart,”
Menorah Journal 4, no.2 (April 1918): 96. Also see Leon Simon, “Religion and
Nationality,”Menorah Journal 5, nos. 3 &4 (June-August 1919): 154–60; 226–31.
22. Samuel Spring, “The Opposition to Zionism,” Menorah Journal 4, no. 5
(October 1918): 287–95, 292–93.
23. Ahad Ha’am, ibid., 265. Louis Untermeyer,“Preface,”Poems of Heinrich Heine
(New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1923), ix quoted by Burton Rascoe in “The
Judaic Strain in Modern Letters,” Menorah Journal 9, no.3 (August 1923): 170, 175.
John Cowper Powys,“Race and Literature,”Menorah Journal 9, no. 4 (October 1923):
296. Israel Abrahams,“Poetry and Religion,”Menorah Journal 6, no. 6 (December 1920):
333.
24. Leopold Zunz, Die judische Literatur, quoted and translated by S. Baruch
[pseud. of Adolph S. Oko], in “Leopold Zunz—Humanist,” Menorah Journal 9, no. 2
(June 1923): 133.
25. Morris Jastrow,“The Song of Songs,”Menorah Journal 7, no. 4 (October 1921):
212.
26. Max Margolis, “The Twilight of Hebraic Culture,” Menorah Journal 1, no. 1
(January 1915): 36–37.
27. Felix Perles, “Culture and History” Menorah Journal 8, no. 5 (October 1922):
318.
28. Horace Kallen, The Book of Job as a Greek Tragedy (New York: Moffat,Yard and
Company, 1918), 11.
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American Jewish Archives Journal
29. Ibid., 26–27.
30.Gilbert Murray,“Job as a Greek Tragedy,” Menorah Journal 5, no. 2 (April 1919):
93–96.
31. Max Radin, “A Mistaken Hypothesis” Menorah Journal 5, no. 2. (April 1919):
97–103. Also see Radin, The Jews Among the Greeks and Romans (Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society, 1916).
32. Israel Abrahams,“Poetry and Religion,”336.
33. Samuel Schulman, Menorah Journal 4, no. 2 (April 1918): 86–97.
34. Anonymous, “The Maccabaean Summons,” Menorah Journal,” 3, no. 5
(December 1917): 255–56.
35. Henry Adams, The Education of Henry Adams (New York: Modern Library,
1931), 3.
174
Jacob De La Motta, M.D.: An Early
American Jewish Medical Pioneer
Theodore Cohen
The city of Philadelphia was not only the cradle of American
independence, but it was also the birthplace of formal medical
education. Up until the latter colonial period, becoming a physician
was accomplished by spending several years as an apprentice to a
doctor already in practice.1 It has been estimated that at the beginning
of the Revolutionary War, of the thirty-five hundred practicing
physicians in the colonies not more than four hundred (immigrants
and colonists who had studied abroad and then returned) had a
degree from a medical school.2
In 1765 a group of farsighted medical founding fathers, presaging
the need to upgrade the quality of medical education with its ensuing
improvement in the medical care delivered to the population,
established America’s first medical school, the College of Philadelphia
(now the University of Pennsylvania3). By the end of the century four
additional medical schools came into being—the medical
departments of Kings College (now Columbia University), Harvard,
Dartmouth, and Rutgers–Queens College.4 After completing the
usual training period of two years the student was awarded a bachelor
of medicine degree or, in some of the schools if he chose to study
further, a doctor of medicine degree.5
A careful review of recipients of the doctor of medicine degree
from American medical schools in existence through 1810 revealed
Jacob De La Motta to have been the first identifiable American-born
Jew6 to have earned such a degree (College of Philadelphia, 1810).7
This heretofore unrecognized honor is one of the many achievements
in the versatile and productive life of Dr. Jacob De La Motta. His
eclectic and prodigious involvement in matters professional, religious,
and secular clearly indicates a man with broad horizons, multiple
interests, and noteworthy talents—all accompanied by a most keen
mind. Marcus characterized him as a lover of the arts, a man
interested in many branches of knowledge, an apothecary, a botanist,
and an amateur hazzan who wrote prolifically in a number of fields
including medicine, Judaism, and literature. He was also interested in
politics and the welfare of the community.8 Dr. De La Motta’ s myriad
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American Jewish Archives Journal
Jacob De La Motta
(courtesy American Jewish Archives)
176
Jacob De La Motta, M.D.: An Early American Jewish Medical Pioneer
(courtesy American Jewish Archives)
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American Jewish Archives Journal
accomplishments during his lifetime, therefore, merit review.
Jacob De La Motta was born in Savannah, Ga., on February 24,
1789, the first child of Emanuel and Judith De La Motta who had
migrated from the Dutch West Indies, now known as St. Croix.9 His
father became active in masonry, an area in which Jacob would
become involved at a later date and throughout his lifetime.
Little is known about Jacob’s early youth except that his family
moved to Charleston when Jacob was about eleven or twelve years
old.10 Jacob graduated from medical school at the University of
Pennsylvania in 1810 at the age of twenty-one. While there, the
nascent young physician came under the influence of Dr. Benjamin
Rush, one of the outstanding physicians in the country at the time, as
well as a signer of the Declaration of Independence and surgeon
general in the Middle Department of the Continental army during the
Revolutionary War.11
After a brief stay in Philadelphia (during which time he became a
junior member of the Philadelphia Medical Society), Jacob returned to
Charleston, where three months after graduation he was elected to
the Medical Society of South Carolina.12 This was the equivalent of
being granted a license to practice. Dr. De La Motta was the second
Jew to become such a member.13
He had been in practice for only two years when the War of 1812
began. Although the war was unpopular,14 it is plausible that
motivated by a strong sense of patriotism, Dr. De La Motta
volunteered his services. On July 6, 1812, he was appointed as a
surgeon and captain in the Second Regiment of Artillery. His
commission was signed by President James Madison (see page 177).
A review of early United States Army Medical Corps commissions
reveals Captain De La Motta to have been one of the earliest Jewish
physicians to have been appointed and serve as a full surgeon in the
Army Medical Corps since its inception in 1775.15
Captain De La Motta initially was stationed in Charleston and
subsequently in New York.16 Following an honorable discharge in
181417 he remained in New York in private practice for more than four
years.18 During that time, he maintained his military association by
serving as a surgeon in a New York State Infantry militia unit.19 In 1814
he also joined and soon became a thirty-third degree mason.20 In
addition, the doctor joined several New York medical societies. His
status as a physician was well established.21
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Jacob De La Motta, M.D.: An Early American Jewish Medical Pioneer
In 1816, while in New York, this twenty-seven-year-old southern
physician was accorded a special recognition of honor and respect
when chosen to deliver the eulogy at the funeral of Gersom Mendes
Seixas, the nation’s leading Jewish clergyman. Services were held at
the Shearith Israel Congregation on July 2, 1816. The address was a
measure of De La Motta’s talent for rapid composition and marked his
full emergence into prominent American Jewish life.22
Dr. De La Motta returned to Savannah in 1818 and became a
partner with Dr. Moses Sheftall, an important physician in the city and
a member of a prominent Savannah Jewish family.23 Aside from his
private practice he became an attending physician at the Savannah
Poor House and Hospital24 and a member of the Georgia Medical
Society, where he served as treasurer.25 The multifaceted doctor
exhibited further skills by becoming a gifted orator and after dinner
speaker.26
In Savannah he was unsuccessful in his efforts to enter the field of
politics. Two attempts at running for city alderman in 1818 and 1820
failed. However, he rose to even greater heights in masonry with his
election to a number of important positions within the organization.27
Dr. De La Motta’s participation as a man of deeds in Jewish affairs
was solidified when he became one of the main forces in the plan to
erect a synagogue in Savannah. He delivered the dedication address
at the consecration of Congregation Mikve Israel in July 1820,
expressing his “awareness and appreciation of the climate of equality
of acceptance Jews enjoyed in the United States.”Also in his discourse
he mentioned the use of organ music, which gave a “fine effect to the
Psalms selected.”28 This is first recorded instance in American Jewish
life in which music was played during services.29
Several weeks later Dr. De La Motta initiated a personal
correspondence with the man who had signed his commission during
the war. In August he sent James Madison a copy of his sanctification
speech. The former president’s response was warm and in all
likelihood reassuring to the congregants when he reaffirmed the
American principle of tolerance as well as laws protecting equal
rights.30 A copy of the speech was also sent to Thomas Jefferson, who
responded in a similar manner.31
In 1823 De La Motta returned to private practice in Charleston,32
where he would spend the remainder of his life. He was elected
secretary of the state medical society33 and in 1833 was appointed as a
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American Jewish Archives Journal
trustee of the Medical College of South Carolina, the first medical
school in the South.34 In addition, he became a junior honorary
member of the Charleston Medical Society of Emulation—where he
delivered an address and participated in three debates that year35—a
corresponding member of the Royal Academy of Medicine in Paris,
and the assistant commissioner of health in Charleston.36 He
established the South Carolina Institute for Correcting Impediments
of Speech at 68 Wentworth Street and ostensibly cured a patient of
stammering in less than two hours.37
It was not unusual in the eighteenth century for physicians to also
practice as apothecaries.38 They often grew their own plants which
they used to treat patients. Though a few minerals were used, the
main medicinal component of their therapeutic armamentarium was
derived from the plant kingdom.39 Such was likely the case with Dr. De
La Motta, who for a number of years grew his own medicinal herbs
and plants. De La Motta probably sold some of them in his pharmacy,
Apothecaries Hall.40 In 1830 his status as a pharmacist became such
that he was chosen as a South Carolina delegate to the national
convention in New York for revising the U.S. pharmacopoeia.41
Dr. De La Motta continued to give scientific papers on a wide
range of subjects including spurred rye, which he spoke about before
the South Carolina Medical Society, the philosophy of botany, and the
silkworm.42 The latter two were presented before the Literary and
Philosophical Society, an organization in which he held the post of
secretary for eight years until 1840.43 He also became an honorary
member of the Georgia Historical Society,44 a corresponding member
of the Lyceum of Natural History of New York,45 and commissioner of
the Charleston Poor House.46 Ongoing activities in masonry resulted
in his attaining the highest office in Scottish Rite Masonry—grand
commander of the Supreme Council at Charleston in 1844.47
Unceasing involvement in Judaism continued to remain an
integral part of De La Motta’s life. He had joined the Hebrew Orphan
Society of Charleston at age eighteen and remained a lifelong
member.48 Since childhood he had attended services at Charleston’s
Kahal Kodesh Beth Elohim where, as an adult member, he served as
president and lay minister when called upon.49 In 1824 when a
segment of the congregation formed the Reform Society of Israelites,
the first reform Jewish religious group in the country, De La Motta
remained loyal to the Orthodox faction. A number of years later,
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Jacob De La Motta, M.D.: An Early American Jewish Medical Pioneer
however, while a new synagogue was being built in 1840 following a
fire, a majority of members voted to incorporate instrumental music
into the services. The Orthodox affiliates of the congregation, of which
Dr. De La Motta was a leader, seceded and formed the more
traditional Shearith Israel. De La Motta’ s attitude regarding the use
of organ music during religious services had become contrary to his
previous feelings on the subject. No reason has been given for the
reversal of his sentiments. His group, nonetheless, still regarded him
highly, since they elected him their first president and permitted him
to assume the role of lay minister until an ordained rabbi could be
engaged.50 Subsequently, much friction ensued within the Jewish
population regarding the form of Judaism to be followed.51 This
included the female members of his family who sided with the newer
Reform branch and resulted in De La Motta’s self-curtailment from
the contentious situation.52
In 1834 he became involved in politics once again. This time it was
as a candidate seeking election to the House of Representatives as a
member of the Union and Anti-Test Oath Party.53 He differed with the
majority of his fellow South Carolinians who were in favor of
secession from the Union and thus lost his bid for Congress.54
Although never elected to a public office, De La Motta finally did
achieve some political success. As a reward for his loyalty to the Whig
Party, President William Harrison appointed him receiver general for
South Carolina in 1841.55
Little has been written about his personal life. At the age of fortysix he married Charlotte Lazarus, the daughter of a veteran of the
Revolutionary War and a member of a prominent Charleston Jewish
family. They had four children, Jacob Emanuel, Julia, Juliet, and
Isabel.56
French artist Augustin Edourat created a full-body silhouette of
De La Motta in 1844.57 On viewing it one is left with the distinct
impression of a trim, well-poised, well-groomed individual who had
the bearing of a self-assured gentleman of dignity and status.
Jacob De La Motta died on February 13, 1845, just prior to his fiftysixth birthday, and is buried in Charleston.58 His epitaph appropriately
reads in part:
The faithfulness and integrity with which he performed the
duties and various public trusts, won for him the confidence
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American Jewish Archives Journal
of his fellow citizens. He was highly respected as a physician
in the army of the United States, and subsequently in his
private practice. He was scrupulous in the observances of his
religion, just and charitable in all the relations of life.59
Although Dr. De La Motta and most of his family in all likelihood
were gratified by his many achievements and successes, it appears that
this fulfillment did not extend to his mother-in-law, who outlived him.
In her will she acrimoniously bequeathed one thousand dollars to
daughter Mrs. De La Motta “in consequence of the inadequate
support left by Dr. De La Motta for his family.”60
Despite the sentiments of his wife’s mother and her failure to
appreciate her son-in-law’s attainments, it was the caliber of a man
such as Jacob De La Motta, M.D. that the sages had in mind when
they wrote that,“a good name is better than precious oil.”61
Appendix: Document
Commission of Captain Jacob De La Motta (from the collection of The
Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives).
The PRESIDENT of the UNITED STATES of AMERICA
To all who shall see these present Greeting:
Know Ye, that reposing special Trust and Confidence in the Patriotism,
Valour, Fidelity and Abilities of Jacob De La Motta I have nominated
and by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, do appoint
him a Surgeon in the 2nd Regiment of Artillery in the service of the
United States: to take the rank of such from the sixth day of July, 1812.
He is therefore carefully and diligently to discharge the duty of
Surgeon by doing and performing all manner of things thereunto
belonging. And I charge and require all Officers and Soldiers under his
command to be obedient to his Orders as Surgeon.
And he is to observe and follow such Orders and Directions from time
to time as he shall receive from me or any future President of the
United States of America or the General or other superior Officers set
over him according to the Rules and Disapline [sic] of War. This
Commission to continue in force during the Pleasure of the President
of the United States for the time being.
Given unto my hand in Washington this twenty third day of July in the
182
Jacob De La Motta, M.D.: An Early American Jewish Medical Pioneer
Year of our Lord One Thousand Eight Hundred and twelve and in the
thirty seventh Year of the Independence of the United States.
By Command of the President
of the United States of America
W. Eustis
James Madison
Theodore Cohen, M.D., F.A.C.P., is Clinical Professor at the New York University
School of Medicine. He is also a consulting physician to the New York City Police
Department and to the Office of Health and Human Services of the Social
Security Agency. The author dedicates this paper to the memory of his parents,
Dora and Irving Cohen whose guidance, support and wisdom enabled him to
follow in the footsteps of Dr. Jacob De La Motta.
NOTES:
1. William Frederick Norwood, Medical Education in the United States Before the
Civil War (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1944), 32.
2. Ibid., 10.
3. Daniel J. Boorstin, The Americans: The Colonial Experience (New York: Random
House, 1958), 230.
4. Joseph M. Toner, Contributions to the Annals of Medical Progress and Medical
Education in the United States Before and During the War of Independence (Washington,
D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1874), 106; and Nathan S. Davis, History of Medical
Education and Institutions in the United States of America (Chicago: S. C. Giggs, 1851),
9–10.
5. Norwood, Medical Education in the United States, 63–64.
6. Ibid., 140.
7. Ibid., 94.
8. Ibid., 128.
9. Ibid., 125–26.
10. The various schools had their own specific requirements. See Norwood,
Medical Education in the United States.
11. Malcolm Stern, First American Jewish Families (Baltimore: Ottenheimer
Publishers, 1991), 54. Each American medical school which was or had been in
existence in the country was contacted and all of the medical degree recipients (all of
whom had been listed by year of graduation) were compiled and alphabetized. In
addition, I prepared indices from a series of books and papers dealing with early
American Jews. Finally, I checked every graduate’s name by his year of graduation
against each of the prepared indices until the first positive Jewish identification was
made. During the investigation it was theoretically possible that one or more Jewish
individuals remote from the Jewish community could have graduated, but this would
183
American Jewish Archives Journal
have been virtually impossible to determine. Thus, the term “identifiable”Jew is used
in this paper. Jacob R. Marcus, United States Jewry, 1776–1985, 4 vols. (Detroit: Wayne
State University Press, 1993); Jacob R. Marcus, Colonial American Jew, 1492–1776, 3
vols. (Detroit: Wayne University Press, 1970); Stern, First American Jewish Families;
Nathan Koren, Jewish Physicians—A Biographical Index (Jerusalem: Israel Universities
Press, 1973); Morris Schappes, A Documentary History of the Jews in the United States
1654–1875 (New York: Citadel Press, 1950); Edwin Wolf and Maxwell Whiteman, A
History of the Jews of Philadelphia From Colonial Times to the Age of Jackson (Philadelphia:
Jewish Publication Society of America, 1975); Harry Simonhoff, Jewish Notables in
America (New York: Greenberg, 1956); Harry Friedenwald, The Jews and Medicine
(Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1944); David de Sola Pool, Portraits Etched
in Stone (New York: Columbia University Press, 1952); James N. Hagy, This Happy
Land: The Jews of Colonial and Antebellum Charleston (Tuscaloosa: University of
Alabama Press, 1993); Saul J. Rubin, Third to None (Savannah: Congregation Mikve
Israel, 1983); Barnett A. Elzas, The Jews of South Carolina (Philadelphia: J. P. Lippincott,
1905); and Solomon R. Kagan, Jewish Contributions to Medicine in America (Boston:
Boston Medical Publishing Company, 1934); Leon Huehner, “Jews in the Legal and
Medical Professions in America Prior to 1800,” Publications of the American Jewish
Historical Society 22 (1914): 147; Natalia Berger, ed., Jews and Medicine: Religion,
Culture, Science (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1995), 221–37.
12. University of Pennsylvania General Alumni Catalogue (Philadelphia: Alumni
Association of the University of Pennsylvania, 1922), 485.
13. Marcus, United States Jewry, 1, 445.
14. Malcolm H. Stern, Americans of Jewish Descent (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union
College, 1960), 22, 39.
15. Thomas J. Tobias, “The Many Sided Dr. De La Motta,” Publications of the
American Jewish Historical Society 52 (1961–62): 203.
16. Correspondence of Office of Adjutant General, 1812. National Archives,
Washington, D.C.
17. Robert G. Ferris and Richard E. Morris, The Signers of the Declaration of
lndependence (Flagstaff: Interpretive Publications, 1982), 125–26.
18. Membership roll, Medical Society of South Carolina, Library of the
Charleston Medical Society.
19. Ibid. The first member of the medical society was Dr. Levi Myers in 1791. He
was a graduate of the University of Edinburgh Medical School.
20. Samuel E. Morison, The Oxford History of the American People, vol. 2 (New York:
Penguin Books, 1972), 107.
21. T. H. S. Hamersly, Complete General Army Register of the United States of
America (New York: T. H. S. Hammersly, 1888), 351.
22. Correspondence of Office of Adjutant General, 1812. National Archives,
Washington, D.C.
23. War of 1812 Records, Recorder’s office, University of Pennsylvania.
24. Tobias,“Many Sided De La Motta,”205.
25. Publications of the American Jewish Historical Society, Miscellaneous Items
Relating to Jews in New York, Extracts from the Notebooks of Reverend J. J. Lyons, 27
(1920): 398.
26. Samuel H. Bayard, Jr., History of the Supreme Council 33°, Northern Masonic
Jurisdiction, vol. 1 (Boston, 1938), 201.
184
Jacob De La Motta, M.D.: An Early American Jewish Medical Pioneer
27. Tobias,“Many Sided De La Motta,” 205.
28. Ibid.
29. Ibid., 205–6.
30. Columbian Museum and Savannah Daily Gazette, October 22, 1818.
31. Columbian Museum and Savannah Daily Gazette, October 30, 1819.
32. Victor H. Bassett, M.D., Voices From the Past, (Savannah: n.p., 1937), 27.
33. Tobias,“Many Sided Dr. De La Motta,”208.
34. Ibid.
35. Ibid.
36. Discourse delivered at the consecration of Mikve Israel at the city of
Savannah, Ga., in 1820. A copy is in the collection of the American Jewish Historical
Society, New York.
37. Schappes, A Documentary History of the Jews, 155.
38. William J. Bennett, The Spirit of America (New York: Simon and Schuster,
1997), 333.
39. Schappes, A Documentary History of the Jews, 157.
40. Tobias,“Many Sided De La Motta,”211.
41. Minute Books, Medical Society of South Carolina, 1825–35.
42. The Georgian, Savannah, Ga., October 19, 1833.
43. Second annual report of the Proceedings of the Charleston Medical Society of
Emulation (Charleston, 1827). A copy is in the library of the Medical College of South
Carolina, Charleston.
44. Barnett A. Elzas, The Jews of South Carolina, From the Earliest Times to the
Present Day (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott, 1905), 180.
45. Ibid.
46. Tobias,“Many Sided De La Motta,”212.
47. James E. Gibson, Dr. Bodo Otto and the Medical Background of the American
Revolution (Springfield: Charles C. Thomas, 1937), 48.
48. Judith M. Taylor, “Physicians and Botanists in Colonial New York,” New York
State Journal of Medicine 77 (May 1977): 995.
49. Tobias,“Many Sided De La Motta,”212–13.
50. Minutes, Medical Society of South Carolina, December 13, 1830. A
pharmacopoeia is an authoritative listing of various therapeutic agents, their
preparation, characteristics, and uses.
51. Minutes, Medical Society of South Carolina, February 16, 1830; Elzas, Jews of
South Carolina, 180; Tobias,“Many Sided De La Motta,”213.
53. Tobias,“Many Sided De La Motta,”213.
54. Ibid.
55. Certificate of Appointment, Library of Supreme Council, 33° Scottish Rite
Masonry, Washington, D.C.
56. Jacob De La Motta, An Oration on the Causes of Mortality Among Strangers
During the Late Summer and Fall (Savannah, 1820). A copy is in the library of the
surgeon general, Washington, D.C.
57. Elzas, The Jews of South Carolina, 180.
58. The Freemason Monthly Magazine (Boston), February 1, 1845.
59. Thomas J. Tobias, The Hebrew Orphan Society of Charleston, South Carolina,
(Charleston, 1957), 34.
60. Elzas, The Jews of South Carolina, 147.
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American Jewish Archives Journal
61. Tobias,“Many Sided De La Motta,”215–16.
62. Ibid., 216.
63. The Occident 3 (1845), 60.
64. The Georgian (Savannah), October 15, 1834.
65. Ibid., October 18, 1834.
66. The Courier (Charleston, S.C.), April 12, 1841.
67. Stern, Americans of Jewish Descent, 39, 54, 108.
68. The silhouette is reproduced in Hannah R. London, Shades of my Forefathers
(Springfield, Mass.; 1941), 147.
70. Stern, Americans of Jewish Descent, 39.
71. Barnett A. Elzas, The Old Jewish Cemeteries in Charleston, South Carolina
(Charleston, 1903), 56.
72. Charleston County, South Carolina, Will Books, vol. 44, 261–67.
73. Ecclesiastes, chap. 7, line 1.
186
REVIEW ESSAY:
Jewish Wars, American Style
Benny Kraut
Samuel G. Freedman, Jew vs. Jew: The Struggle for the Soul of American
Jewry (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2000). 384 pp.
Having traveled across the United States during the 1990s,
impelled by the “mission of bearing witness”to a tragic reality, Samuel
G. Freedman, award-winning professor of journalism at Columbia
University, shares with us his alarming view of the contemporary
American Jewish community. That entity, he declares, is deeply
fractured, “cracking apart” because of “bitter internal struggles.”
Indeed, he offers six case studies as evidence of an ongoing fight “for
the soul of American Jewry,” a veritable “civil war” between Jews,
reminiscent of the horrific internecine sinat hinam (baseless hatred)
among first-century Palestinian Jews that is said to have contributed
to the destruction of the Second Temple and the loss of Jewish
sovereignty. Ultimately, Freedman contends, that civil war is being
fought over three issues: “What is the definition of Jewish identity?
Who decides what is authentic and legitimate Judaism? And what is
the Jewish compact with America?”And the intense battle over these
questions
is a struggle that pits the secularist against the believer,
denomination against denomination, gender against gender,
liberal against conservative, traditionalist against modernist
even within each branch. It is a struggle being waged on issues
ranging from conversion standards to the peace process, from
land use to the role of women in worship. It is a struggle that
has torn asunder families, communities, and congregations.
(23)
On the surface these heady words imply a kind of Jewish
communal free-for-all in which identifying Jews of all persuasions
stand ready to lash out at other Jews across the full spectrum of
religious, ethnic, and cultural identification. Ostensibly, that is what
the core journalistic chapters of Freedman’s book purport to
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American Jewish Archives Journal
demonstrate, while its extensive, more historical prologue offers an
interpretive perspective by which to understand these internal Jewish
battles and their underlying causes. To be sure, the book is deeply
thoughtful, extremely engaging, and replete with penetrating insights.
Its riveting narratives, which constitute the heart of the work, sparkle
with passion and poignancy and clearly articulate the clashes and
their consequences. Nevertheless, Jew vs. Jew falls short of making its
case. Building on a dubious conceptual model of American Jewish
history, focusing in the main on Orthodox Jews and Judaism—hence
inappropriately magnifying their role in the civil strife—ultimately it
presents an unbalanced portrait and misleading explanation of Jewish
communal division. Ironically, the book is hyperbolic on the one hand
and too narrow on the other. Hyperbolic, because in some respects it
claims too much; too narrow, because in other respects it does not say
enough.
To demonstrate the fracture lines sundering Jews from each other,
Freedman presents six accounts of contemporary Jews in conflict. Set
in different American cities or regions, all six serve as archetype
paradigms for the critical contentious hatreds engulfing American
Jewry, or so Freedman would have us believe. Hence each must be
read on at least two levels: as information, conveying its own slice of
local reality, and as historical warning, intimating profoundly farreaching dangers besetting the national American Jewish community.
To underscore the glories and ultimate demise of the secular
American Jewish identity that flourished until the mid-1950s,
Freedman recreates the ethos of Camp Kinderwelt in New York’s
Catskill region and the flavor of secular Yiddishkeit that it promoted.
He explores the impact of this Labor Zionist summer camp on Sharon
Levine and some of her friends, who seemed to find in it a viable
Jewish identity fully consonant with American culture: a little Yiddish
feeling, a little Zionist fervor, and a few utterly superficial ritual
activities. By 1963, however, Sharon’s last year at camp, it was clear
that Kinderwelt was experiencing a slide and losing clientele. This
problem had become so severe that the camp hired a religious
Yemenite Jew as camp director to introduce more religious
observances into the rhythm of camp life. Alas, that too did not save
the camp; not only did it eventually succumb to a changing American
Jewish social reality, but some of the principal protagonists in
Freedman’s chapter succumbed as well—to intermarriage and
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Review Essay
assimilation. With great irony Freedman then records some of these
very same folk, decades later, griping about the successful Satmar
Hassidic enclave, Kiryas Joel, that in the meantime had taken
successful root not two miles from where Kinderwelt once proudly
stood: “Theirs [i.e., their religious lifestyle] is blossoming, ours is
dead.”(67) By juxtaposing the emergence of Satmar Judaism and the
fading away of secular Jewishness on the same geographical
landscape, Freedman boldly highlights one of the principal messages
of his book: in the struggle over Jewish identity, secular Jews and
Judaism have lost; the Orthodox definition, that a Jew is a Jew by
religion, has won out. (71, 339)
Chapter two segues into the next hot-button issue dividing
Jews—the dispute over the religious definition of who is a Jew.
Freedman relates the story of a happily intermarried couple in Denver,
one of whose partners was converted by an innovative
interdenominational conversion committee consisting of Orthodox,
Reform, and Conservative rabbis that was established in the city
quietly and without much fanfare between 1977 and 1983. Initially
enlivened by the ideal of saving Jewish unity in a community in which
the intermarriage rate reached over 70 percent, the bet din (legal
committee), which constituted a hopeful, path-breaking sign of
interreligious cooperation, eventually unraveled. Freedman well
illustrates how the religious compromises first agreed to by its three
Orthodox rabbis could not be sustained and how the three men were
pilloried by national Orthodox rabbinic bodies once news of this
conversion process got out. No amount of lip service to the ideal
concept of klal yisrael (Jewish unity), Freedman shows, could
overcome the weight of the committee’s ideological and religious
differences. The Denver experiment failed, and the acrimonious
debates over the religious standards of Jewish self-definition continue
to haunt the American Jewish polity. Periodic Israeli political and
legislative actions that impact on this question only reinforce the lines
of difference separating American Jews from each other.
Jewish feminism, correcting what many believed to be theological,
ethical, and ritual injustices directed at 50 percent of the Jewish
population for over two millennia, did not enter the precincts of
Judaism fully formed or all at once, nor did it enter without a struggle.
In his third chapter Freedman traces the profound tensions
precipitated by a gender equality issue set in the “Library Minyan,” a
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American Jewish Archives Journal
“traditional egalitarian” minyan of highly educated and Jewisheducated intellectuals and professionals in Los Angeles from 1987 to
1989. With meticulous care Freedman details the personally
wrenching debates over liturgical change spawned by the actions of
feminist scholar and a future leader of the Jewish feminist movement,
Rachel Adler. Acting as a shaliach tzibbur, one day on her own and
without prior ritual committee approval, she added a prayer for the
matriarchs in the public recitation of the Amidah prayer to supplement
the traditional Orthodox patriarchal passage that heretofore had been
the norm for this service. The minyan of clearly committed, identifying
Jews confronted the fundamental question: Can one and ought one
change the traditional liturgy that had united Jews for centuries? For
months the question threatened to rupture the otherwise harmonious
minyan, whose members publicly wrestled with the issue. Ultimately,
after much deliberation and soul-searching, the prayer was voted
permissible on a voluntary basis, according to the will of the prayer
leader; only one couple defected from the synagogue because of it—
and joined an Orthodox synagogue.
Israel has become a terribly polarizing rather than unifying force
in American Jewish life and separates Jews politically and religiously.
To focus on this issue Freedman in chapter four tells the story of
Orthodox Harry Shapiro of Jacksonville, Fla., during the period 199397. Shapiro was a kindly yet idiosyncratic, unfocused, and ultimately
unsuccessful young man, whose love of Israel and of Judaism led him
to a failed attempt at aliyah and subsequently to a not very auspicious
experience as a student at Yeshiva University. Deeply impressed by a
Meir Kahane speech on that campus, Shapiro found himself
gravitating to the ardent right wing political ideals of Kahane and
Baruch Goldstein. Suffused with anger over Arab actions against Jews
and upset at the lack of appropriate Israeli responses to them, Shapiro
came to revile the Israeli left and all those associated with the peace
option with the Arabs, especially Israeli leaders. Freedman chillingly
portrays the fount of ideas to which Shapiro and like-minded
Orthodox Jewish extremists were exposed, such as those of Brooklyn’s
Rabbi Avraham Hecht, president of the Rabbinical Alliance of America
who declared that anyone giving back Israeli land was a traitor, whose
actions, if harming the Jewish people, warrant the death penalty. The
denoument: Shapiro planted a bomb in the Jacksonville synagogue at
which Shimon Peres was to speak—a bomb, which by Shapiro’s own
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Review Essay
design, was meant not to go off but merely to be discovered.
Freedman’s point: look at how misguided passion for Israel can lead
to irrational hatred of one’s fellow Jews.
In chapter five Freedman records events that transpired in New
Haven in the late 1990s, when a group of Orthodox students at Yale
University,“the Yale 5,”sued the school over a policy that they claimed
violated their “religious freedom and constitutional rights.” The
students declared that the university rule that all freshmen and
sophomores live in Yale dorms—all of which were coed—forced them
into compromising situations prohibited by their religious tradition.
The unfolding story of the Yale 5 is set against the background of the
religious evolution of Rabbi Daniel Greer, father of one of the five
students and a central Orthodox rabbinic and educational leader in
New Haven who over the years had changed from being a liberal
modern Orthodox politico to a more right-wing observant Jew
seeking a life totally absorbed by Torah for himself and his kids.
Freedman utilizes this story to underline the haredization of Orthodoxy
in America and the divisive impact this has had on Orthodox Judaism
itself: many within the camp of modern Orthodox Judaism at Yale who
had made peace with the Yale policy, as well as others not studying at
the university, were furious at the lawsuit, interpreting it as a not-soveiled critique of their own form of Orthodox Judaism. Freedman,
moreover, uses this story as well to emphasize the remarkable potency
of a more right-wing brand of Orthodoxy, secure in itself and in its
values, which demands an involvement with American culture on its
own terms even as it exhibits muscular disdain for that culture by
fearlessly challenging the standards of one of its elite cultural
institutions.
The last chapter focuses on the bitter and ugly communal struggle
in the Cleveland suburb of Beachwood, Ohio, 1997–99, an area 83
percent Jewish, in which a coalition of modern Orthodox Jews and
Lubavitch Hassidim sought to build an Orthodox campus in the area
housing a new Young Israel synagogue, a Chabad center and mikveh,
and a girls’ school. The proposed campus polarized Jews severely: the
Cleveland Jewish Federation favored the plan, as did a Beachwood
Reform rabbi, publicly asserting on moral grounds the Orthodox right
to build and splitting from many of his own constituents on the
matter. Arguments against the Orthodox were either couched in
religious terms—their religious lifestyle would change the ambience
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American Jewish Archives Journal
of the neighborhood; or, in secular terms—by not sending their
children to public schools, those institutions would decline in quality
and impact negatively on property values. Eventually, this local
communal issue had to be adjudicated by the Cleveland City Council,
where the Orthodox were defeated. To Freedman, this case study
poses a fundamental question: Can Jews of different religious
orientations live together harmoniously or not? The battle lines drawn
in Beachwood, Ohio, and replicated, but with far less intensity, in
suburban communities such as New Rochelle, N.Y., Lawrence, Long
Island, Teaneck, N.J., and more recently in Tenafly, N.J., suggest they
cannot.
Each of these six stories stands on its own merit. With the
exception of the first, each portrays a concrete flashpoint in a
particular place, over a particular issue, at a particular point in time.
Clearly, each demonstrates at the least Jewish group debate and
division, at worst polarization and hostility. But considered
collectively, do these chapters really point to a larger “struggle for the
soul” of American Jewry, as Freedman avers? Is there a national civil
war? And if so, is the phenomenon of Jewish disunity new? Indeed,
must it be considered uniformly ominous and a grave danger to
Jewish life in America? Finally, are these stories, which give
disproportionate weight to the involvement of the Orthodox as
contenders, truly representative of the major fault lines within
American Jewry?
No one can gainsay the serious divisions within American Jewry
on a whole host of issues, but many Jews are entirely oblivious to the
battles Freedman brings to our attention. In fact, Jewish indifference
and apathy are major characteristics typifying whole sectors of
American Jewry; over 50 percent of Jews are not affiliated with a single
Jewish institution. This scarcely adds up to a struggle for the Jewish
soul embracing a majority of American Jews. Indeed, in the concluding
sentences of his book, the author acknowledges as much, noting that
while it is tragic that American Jews “have battled so bitterly, so
viciously over the very meaning of being Jewish,” it is perhaps even
more tragic “that the only ones fighting are the only ones left who
care.”(359)
From the above, then, we learn that only those who care about the
Jewish future and the shape it will take are those who fight over it.
That is as it should be, but it is not all bad. On many levels, especially
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Review Essay
if disagreements are “for the sake of heaven,” Jews fighting with one
another over basic principles, however painful and uncomfortable,
may well reflect Jewish vigor, not pathology. Hence I differ with
Freedman’s judgment that conflicts over a gender-based liturgical
insertion, failure of the Denver bet din, and the legal challenge of the
Yale 5 constitute worrisome signs of Jewish civil war. In each instance,
committed Jews acted in what they considered to be in the best
interest of Judaism and Jewish life. On the other hand, it seems to me
that the kinds of Jewish enmity evinced in Jacksonville and in
Beachwood, which have less justification and truly smack of sinat
hinam, ought rightly to evoke anguish and sadness. Although one
ought not to delegitimate all expressions of Jewish disunity, it is
equally true that one ought not to mindlessly embrace them all and
their deleterious impact either.
Disunity can therefore be either healthy or unhealthy. One thing
for sure, however, is that in Jewish history disunity is a persistent
condition, as Freedman himself acknowledges. Indeed, he asserts that
the Jewish religious-secular tension in the “golden eras”of Jews in the
Hellenistic Diaspora, in Moorish Spain, and in Enlightenment Europe
led to internal Jewish battles similar to those in contemporary
America. (30) Why then the special cri de coeur over contemporary
American Jewish disunity? Because unlike the above three historical
examples, all of which ended with physical persecution and death to
Jews imposed by hostile external forces, America, with no state church
and no medieval animus against Jews to overcome, seemed to offer
the grand opportunity for freely chosen Jewish self-expression and
survival. And, American Jewry, especially since the massive influx of
East European Jewish immigration from the 1880s on, appeared to
take advantage of that opportunity by molding a secular culture,
Yiddishkeit, steeped in an ethnic language and ethos that seemed to
promise Jewish continuity, transcend Jewish divisions, yet still mesh
with universal ideals. Since World War II, however, lured by American
affluence and acceptance, secular Jewish identity that held the
community together began to erode and helped pave the way for
intra-Jewish struggles over Jewish identity and authenticity. The grand
promise of America has been undermined; hence the sense of pathos
that pervades this book and the author’s cri de coeur.
I would suggest, however, that Freedman’s historical model of an
all-embracing Yiddishkeit or sense of Jewishness uniting American
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Jews, or at least containing their internal communal fissures, is a
limited and romanticized one. Certainly, it does not apply to
nineteenth-century American Jewry, riven by Reform Jewish
triumphalism, intrareligious squabbles and competing institutions,
and the beginnings of “uptown” and “downtown” institutional and
values wars between newly arriving immigrants and native Jews. No
culture of Yiddishkeit mitigated early-twentieth-century ideological
polemics pitting socialists, Zionists, and communists against each
other, nor prevented the appearance of new competing ethnic
agencies, nor stopped the vitriolic diatribes between those with
differing religious understandings of Judaism, as the new seminaries
of JTS and Yeshiva University emerged, together with a whole network
of denominationally oriented programs and institutions. No culture of
Yiddishkeit helped unite Jews to common policies during the eventful
1930s and 1940s, nor provided a consensus about how to approach
and seek assistance from the American government while Jews were
dying in Europe. Contrary to the impression left by this book,
American Jews in the first half of the twentieth century were a deeply
divided group—socially, economically, culturally, religiously,
institutionally, and ideologically.
Freedman’s conception of American Jewish reality is nevertheless
necessary to fully grasp the interpretive framework within which he
structures his text and selects the contents for his book. The breakup
of this putative secular Jewish culture that helped keep American Jews
together until recently is, in Freedman’s account, one of two essential
preconditions that have led to the current Jewish civil war. The other
is the unexpected revival of a triumphal, self-sufficient, and
increasingly separatist Orthodox Judaism from the 1960s on. Buffeted
first by American acceptance and material advancement and then
confronted by the challenge of a vibrant, antithetical value system of
Orthodoxy, secular Jewishness as an identity collapsed. (39) The battle
lines over Jewish identity changed; being Jewish and how to be Jewish
became the subject of religious controversy among religious
denominations. Orthodoxy, with its zealous uncompromising attitude
to modernity, claimed sole religious authenticity and consequently,
Freedman asserts, put the other denominations on the defensive. (71)
This interpretive perspective explains much. First, it helps makes
sense of the author’s startling and historically tendentious claim—
otherwise completely incomprehensible to the student of American
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Jewish Wars, American Style
Jewish history—that “if one had to date the beginning of the current
struggle over American Jewish identity, then it might well be Passover
eve in 1941,” when East European separatist Rabbi Aaron Kotler
arrived. Soon thereafter he founded the Lakewood Yeshiva, and he
and his institution became the spiritual progenitors of an
uncompromising Orthodoxy that reasserted Torah supremacy over all
contemporary culture. (37ff) Rabbi Kotler’s upbuilding of Orthodox
Judaism on American shores concretely, symbolically, and
proleptically both stimulated and signaled the ultimate demise of
secular Yiddishkeit, Freedman declares. At the same time, insisting on
Orthodox Judaism’s religious supremacy, he, his supporters, and his
colleagues stirred the abiding resentment of other religious
expressions of Judaism whose adoption of American cultural values
and behavior seemed to make them less authentic.
Second, it helps us understand Freedman’s selection of the six
stories that embody examples of Jewish discord. True, each is
intrinsically dramatic and serves as excellent fodder for presentation
and evaluation. But do these stories truly reflect the full range of the
splits within American Jewry? Orthodoxy, to put it mildly, is greatly
over-represented. One can imagine equally compelling tales of
conflict emerging from within other sectors of Jewry and Judaism on
some of the very same issues covered by Freedman. One can also
point to other highly important confrontational issues not dealt with
by this text that do not involve the Orthodox as prime participants.
Therefore one must query: Is the contemporary American Jewish
division over Israel and its policies, for example, truly revealed by
focusing on a troubled Orthodox Jewish extremist? (chapter 4) True,
Orthodox Jews tend to be more hawkish on Israel, but should an
account of the American Jewish rifts on Israel not also include other
non-Orthodox Jews who similarly demur from the peace proposals?
Should not a discussion of the Zionist Organization of America and its
president’s views, which have agitated many in public polemics in the
press, be noted? What about the innumerable antagonistic debates on
American Jewish responses to Israel within the umbrella coalition of
the Conference of Presidents of Major Organizations? What about the
decidedly non-Orthodox Jewish Institute of National Security Affairs
and its repudiation of current Israeli peace overtures? Or what about
Reform Jews who have left Reform Judaism because they judged their
erstwhile religious movement to be but synonymous with liberal
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Democratic politics, on Israel and other issues?
Then, too, is the question of who is a Jew, which most assuredly
divides Jews who care about the Jewish future, best served only by
looking at the failed Denver conversion committee. (chapter 2) Or
should not a chapter also have been devoted to the internal Reform
clashes over redefining Jews in accordance with patrilineal descent, or
to a discussion of the reason for this whole initiative, a spiraling
intermarriage rate? Could not an informed chapter have been written
outlining the vitriolic Conservative—not only Orthodox—response to
that Reform move? Further, is serious internal debate within a
religious denomination (chapter 5 on the Yale 5) restricted to
Orthodoxy? Ought we not also to learn about the terribly fractious,
bitter, and as yet unresolved debates within Conservative Judaism
over homosexuality and its possible place in Judaism? And finally, is it
really true that secular Jewishness, allegedly supplanted by religious
identity, is dead? (Prologue; chapter 1) What of the vast numbers of
Jews who are not religiously affiliated? What of the widespread
expressions of secular Jewishness that still endure and, for some,
thrive? What of the vast network of Jewish federations and the like,
whether defined as civil Judaism or not, which offer so many
contemporary American Jews an ethnic, rather than religious identity?
No matter how Freedman might argue that he is merely
dispassionately reporting what he sees, it is hard to avoid the
impression from the tone and selected content of the text that “no
Orthodox Judaism, no civil war.”Indeed, one can plausibly ask why he
repeatedly declares that the “Orthodox”stress on religious identity for
Jews has won out—have Reform and Conservative Judaism not
equally insisted on Judaism as the core of Jewish identity? Despite his
disclaimer in a recent Jewish periodical interview that“one of the most
important things I’ve learned is that you can’t reduce these disputes to
simple Orthodox vs. non-Orthodox,” (The Jewish Week, September 8,
2000, 64), which is most assuredly true, the thrust of much of his book,
perhaps unwittingly, does not quite live up to this pronouncement.
Let me offer an alternative explanatory model in which to frame a
discussion of contemporary American Jewish struggles. American
Jews have negotiated the existential dilemma of synthesizing an
American Jewish identity from the earliest days of their arrival on this
continent. Their many solutions to the question can be placed on a
spectrum of behavioral patterns, from conversion at one extreme to
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Review Essay
religious isolation and social separation on the other, with many
differentiated American Jewish symbioses along the lines of the
spectrum in between. In the course of American Jewish history Jews
have fought vigorously with each other—from the pulpit, in the press,
and from the organizational mantle—over whose version of American
Jewish identity is the most authentic and the most traditional, whose
is the most modern and most viable. They have also battled each other
over whether the fundamental pole of Jewish identity is and ought to
be religion or ethnicity. Denominational Jews have argued
vociferously with one another and with secularists, while
denominational and secular Jews have quarreled bitterly with each
other from within their respective religious and secular camps.
The novelty therefore lies not in the fractious struggle over Jewish
identity, which has a long history in the American Jewish context, and
which cannot be said to begin with 1941. Instead, it lies in the
perception of who is currently winning the debate: the Orthodox.
That is what is so unique about the current situation when contrasted
to the last one hundred fifty years and what has led the Orthodox to
be perceived as having more authority than they actually do.
Orthodox Jews and Judaism may lay claim to whatever they like about
Jewish identity and proper Jewish living. But if they were not perceived
as strong and hegemonic by the non-Orthodox—more importantly, if
the non-Orthodox were more fully self-confident in their own
versions of Jewish identity and lifestyle—then Orthodox affirmations
would be less threatening and their impact on American Jewish life
would seem less disruptive than it appears in Freedman’s book. Why
indeed should the vast majority of American Jews care about the
thoughts and opinions of a group that comprises at best 6 to 12
percent of American Jewry? Little attention was paid to them for most
of the century, even though Orthodox Jewish leaders did not refrain
from enunciating their triumphal claim to sole religious legitimacy;
few were concerned when pundits and prognosticators in the 1950s
predicted Orthodoxy’s dissolution. The fact is that Orthodox Judaism
has put other forms of Jewish identification on the defensive not
merely because of its air of authenticity due to its uncompromising
stance vis-à-vis modernity (71), but rather because on every and any
index measuring strength of Jewish identity, the Orthodox win hands
down: Jewish education, ritual behavior, synagogue participation,
percentage of charity given, ties to Israel, diminished rates of
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intermarriage, and fertility. These factors explain and reflect the muchvaunted Orthodox institutional revival and cultural elan. Hence the
inferiority complex many non-Orthodox feel; hence the feeling of
being victimized by Orthodox demands for certain standards of Jewish
living. Freedman cites Rabbi Joshua Aaronson, the Reform rabbi in
Beachwood, Ohio, who allowed as much in a Yom Kippur sermon:
The ignorance of progressive Jews impedes our efforts to work
with Orthodox Jews as true partners. Progressive Jews suffer
from a self-fulfilling inferiority complex that could be erased
through the most fundamental of Jewish enterprises: Talmud
Torah….Orthodox Jews do not take us seriously because of
our ignorance. Our ignorance does not justify the animus of
the Orthodox nor our second-class status. However, we must
acknowledge the validity of the Orthodox claim that we are in
the main illiterate Jews. (342)
So, even if one were to grant the existence of an unprecedented
struggle for the soul of American Jewry, as Freedman proposes, and
even if one acknowledges—as one must—that Orthodox demands do
precipitate communal friction and discomfort at times, it is
nevertheless incorrect for the author to insinuate that Orthodox Jews
and Judaism are the primary combatants in a current Jewish civil war.
The more apt historical appraisal and paradigm is that the Orthodox
are doing precisely what all Jews have done in American Jewish
life:pursuing their own version of being Jewish and American, and
competing with contrary visions. At this point in time—and there are
no guarantees for the future (the Orthodox, even the more right-wing
branches, confront a host of their own social, religious, cultural, and
economic difficulties)—they are riding a crest of self-confidence and
realizing their goals more successfully than other forms of American
Jewish syntheses are realizing theirs.
Benny Kraut is Director of the Jewish Studies Program and the Center for Jewish
Studies at Queens College in Flushing, N.Y., and a member of the Graduate
Faculty of the City University of New York.
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BOOK REVIEWS:
Lawrence N. Powell, Troubled Memory: Anne Levy, the Holocaust,
and David Duke’s Louisiana (Chapel Hill: North Carolina
University Press, 2000), 578 pp., illus.
The “Americanization”of the Holocaust, the attempt to infuse the
Holocaust with significance for American culture and politics, has
provoked public controversy, particularly since the opening the
Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. Quite often this
controversy has pitted Jews against African Americans in a
competition for status as victims of racism. Peter Novick’s latest book,
The Holocaust in American Life, even suggests that commemoration of
the Holocaust pushes American Jewish politics in a reactionary
direction. Rather than address the relationship between racism in
Germany and America through general comparisons, Powell focuses
his book on the life of one Holocaust survivor and her family.
Anne Skorecki Levy hid from the Nazis as a child in Poland and
survived to speak out against David Duke as a grandmother in
Louisiana. Her life bridges two eras of racial strife: Polish and German
antisemitism during World War II and the resurgence of American
racism manifest in David Duke’s 1991 gubernatorial campaign. For
Powell, this is a redemptive story. It shows that in the hands of an
active citizenry, memory of the Holocaust can help to forge an ethical
alliance against racism. If Powell had subordinated Anne Levy’s
experiences to this moral, Troubled Memory would be didactic and flat.
Troubled Memory presents life in the round. This complexity is the
book’s greatest achievement. On one level, Troubled Memory is
fundamentally a family saga. It recounts the Skorecki family’s rise in
prewar Poland, its suffering during the Holocaust, and its successful
reestablishment in the United States. Like any family saga, the story
of the Skoreckis is about the interplay of heritage, personality, and
circumstance in the creation of identity. Because the Skoreckis were
Polish Jews caught in the Holocaust, the need for concealment and
calculation in dealing with the outside world shapes the identity of all
the family members. Powell is particularly sensitive in exploring the
relationship between the Skoreckis’ strategies for surviving the war
and strategies for achieving their prewar social aspirations.
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American Jewish Archives Journal
The Skoreckis were an educated bourgeois family. Even their name
was Polish rather than Jewish, a fact that would help the family pass
as Aryans. Mark Skolecki was the son of a family that had been in the
wood trade for generations. His wife, Ruth, hoped to raise their
children, Anne and Lila, with a cultivated appreciation of theater and
the arts. The family lived in Lodz at the outbreak of World War II. In
the course of the war they traveled to Warsaw, where they were
perhaps the only family to survive the liquidation of the Warsaw
Ghetto with all its members. After smuggling themselves out of the
ghetto the family lived “on the surface.” Ruth and the children even
attended mass and hosted a Christmas party in their efforts to pass as
Christian Poles. Powell suggests that Ruth’s heightened awareness of
appearances, which made fur coats and other status symbols so
important to her before the war, came to her aid as she hid herself and
her family.
Ruth hid Anne and Lila sometimes in trunks or wardrobes,
sometimes in plain sight, as the family tried to blend into its Christian
surroundings. When the family lived “on the surface,”the darker Anne
hid in the home of a friendly Christian. The fairer Lila accompanied
her mother to church. Comforted by the ritual of the mass, she
developed a real attachment to the Catholic religion. After the war her
parents literally reimposed a Jewish identity on her. Her father even
snatched a Catholic missal from her hands and threw it into the fire.
The reestablishment of a clear Jewishness seemed as painful and
wrenching as maintaining a dual identity.
Once the family relocated to the United States, Ruth’s talent for
social adaptation helped them acculturate in the conformist 1950s.
Meanwhile, according to Powell, the habit of obedience remained
deeply ingrained in the children’s personalities. Even as adolescents
in America they conformed to their parents’ wishes. Only David
Duke’s denial of the Holocaust impelled Anne to overcome years of
self-repression and make her experiences public. The child who had
crouched silently in a trunk for hours became a woman who dared to
confront a seasoned politician publicly. Anne relentlessly challenged
Duke to explain his Holocaust denial. Her questions helped make
Duke’s racist past the defining issue of the campaign.
Powell brings a historian’s training to these events. At every turn
in the story he contextualizes the family’s experiences in the broader
social circumstances of the period. This approach makes for a very
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Book Reviews
long book, but it also takes Troubled Memory beyond the confines of
family saga or personal memoir. Powell draws on material outside the
Skoreckis’ experience. His chapters on the Warsaw Ghetto, for
example, include a detailed and lucid account of conditions there and
of the uprising.
In these sections Powell explores his second theme: the
relationship between extraordinary heroism, such as the uprising, and
the more ordinary heroism of caring for family and, where possible,
neighbors. It was one of the tragedies of the choices Hitler’s regime
imposed on Jews that these virtues might conflict. The resources spent
on arms, Powell notes, might have been spent saving individual lives.
But probably not for long. In the end, either kind of heroism was likely
to prove futile. Powell presents these moral choices in all their
complexity without looking for pure heroes or villains.
Troubled Memory is that rare work, a history intended for both a
professional and a popular audience. Evidence of Powell’s
considerable research is relegated to unobtrusive footnotes. He
adopts the voice of an omniscient narrator, telling us what each
individual in his story thought or felt. Although some academics will
find this style annoying, it makes the book easily accessible. Troubled
Memory synthesizes a great body of information on the Holocaust and
on the experience of survivors in America. If you must choose only
one book on the Holocaust for a course on ethics, identity,
immigration, or American politics, Troubled Memory has the depth and
complexity to provoke a great class discussion.
Sonia Spear is a doctoral candidate in religion at Indiana University.
201
Hollace Ava Weiner, Jewish Stars in Texas: Rabbis and Their Work
(College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1999), 302 pp.,
illus.
Southern Jewish History has enjoyed numerous histories of Jewish
communities in specific states and cities. Such works offer social and
institutional narratives that are not only of local interest, but also
representative of broader issues of the place of Judaism in the South.
Hollace Ava Weiner’s Jewish Stars in Texas continues this tradition.
Weiner, a former journalist with the Fort Worth Star-Telegram,
examines the lives and achievements of eleven rabbis from various
regions in Texas. Each chapter centers on one of the selected rabbis
and is arranged chronologically, from Rabbi Heinrich Schwarz in the
1870s to Rabbi Levi Olan, who served in Dallas from the beginnings
of the Civil Rights Movement to 1984. The chapters deal with different
locations in Texas as well, ranging from Galveston to El Paso to Dallas.
Drawing on personal papers, newspaper accounts, and
congregational histories, as well as interviews with more recent rabbis,
Weiner begins with the biographical background of each rabbi and
quickly delves into his position in the larger community and his
relations with the Jewish congregation. The biographical information
not only provides a more personal context, it also illustrates the
immigration patterns of Jews to America and Texas. Beginning with
the early wave of German Jews expanding from the South and
Midwest in the 1870s, immigration to Texas was both representative of
Jewish immigration to America, in the influx of East Europeans in the
1880s, and unique in the ten thousand immigrant refugees who
entered Texas from 1907 to 1914 through Henry Cohen’s Galveston
movement. All of the selected rabbis were born outside of the United
States, and their own migration stories reflect these patterns.
Weiner’s examination of the role of Texas rabbis in the larger
community reveals several themes significant to the study of southern
Judaism. Texas rabbis were, as Weiner phrases it,“mixers, mavericks,
and motivators.” This description indicates their emphasis on
integrating with the southern community, working for social justice,
and cultivating the strength and growth of the Texas Jewish
community. Patterns of accommodation along with opportunities for
social critique characterize much of Judaism in the South and are
reflected in Texas rabbis as well.
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American Jewish Archives Journal
It is important to emphasize here what Weiner points out in the
introduction: Jewish leaders in Texas were prominent in their society,
largely due to the small numbers of Jews in the South. Rabbis were
“objects of curiosity and respect who brought erudition and an exotic
element.” (xiii) Their Old Testament roots and sense of social justice
marked them as significant members of the intellectual and moral
leadership of the community. This prominence enabled Texas rabbis
to actively and influentially participate in communal affairs and social
organizations.
Rabbis often played the role of “ethnic broker,”serving as cultural
liaisons to the gentile community. For example, Rabbi Samuel
Rosinger worked to develop the Community Chest and the Red Cross
in Beaumont, and a number of the selected rabbis joined groups such
as the Rotary Club, the Elks, and the Legion. They integrated with the
larger community in both religious and secular forums, such as Rabbi
G. George Fox’s organization of interfaith “revivals” with an intent to
“re-Judaize” Jews and Rabbi Maurice Faber’s participation in the
University of Texas Board of Regents. As “mixers,” Texas rabbis
solidified their Jewish communities with strong leadership and served
as a bridge between that community and the city’s social sphere.
This role was not without its shortcomings. As integrated
members of their community, many rabbis were reluctant to criticize
the racial order in Texas, particularly the 1920s resurgence of the Ku
Klux Klan. Yet others reflected Judaism’s strong emphasis on social
justice. Maurice Faber of Tyler filed a complaint petition with the
Masonic headquarters after his local charter began requiring for new
members simultaneous membership with the Klan’s. Henry Cohen
worked with Catholic leader James Kirwin to build a strong moral
front against the encroachment of the Klan. During the Civil Rights
Movement, Rabbi Levi Olan of Dallas worked closely with the African
American community in lobbying for integration and adequate
housing. Other movements for social justice were also led and
supported by rabbis, such as Henry Cohen’s participation on the state
prison reform board and Rabbi Ephraim Frisch’s support of unions
and the labor movement in San Antonio.
The rabbis of Texas were also faced with the task of serving their
own religious communities. They did so in a variety of ways. Henry
Cohen’s Galveston movement was perhaps the most visible effort to
strengthen and cultivate the Jewish community in Texas, as three
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Book Reviews
thousand of the ten thousand Jewish immigrants entering through
Galveston remained in Texas. Rabbi Martin Zielonka of El Paso
mirrored this endeavor, working to bring eight thousand Jews from
Eastern Europe to Mexico in the 1920s. Rabbi Alex Kline offered his
congregants a more artistic cultivation in his popular series of lectures
and guest sermons based on his knowledge of art. Rabbi Hyman
Judah Schachtel demonstrated his commitment to international
Jewish issues through his support for Zionism.
Weiner thus addresses a wide range of themes that touch on
issues relevant to southern Jewish history. The potential of the book
to serve as a bridge between local history and regional patterns is not
quite fulfilled, as it lacks any extended analysis connecting these
rabbis and their cities to one another, as well as to other areas of the
South. Yet Jewish Stars in Texas also reminds the scholar that the story
of southern Judaism is often best revealed through the particularities
and distinct histories of its members. The book should appeal to a
popular and local audience as well as those interested in southern
Jewish history.
April Blackburn is a doctoral student at Temple University. Her dissertation work
involves the study of Jewish responses to social issues of the New South.
205
Rose Laub Coser, Laura S. Anker, and Andrew J. Perrin, Women
of Courage: Jewish and Italian Immigrant Women in New York
(Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1999), 162 pp.
Irving Howe’s 1976 magnum opus World of Our Fathers certainly
had a significant impact on scholarly and popular thought about East
European Jewish immigrants in America. Perhaps because in its title
it made transparent the gender bias in modern Jewish historiography,
which feminist scholars had begun to critique, Howe’s study got
under the skin of more than one woman scholar. Thus, Sydney Stahl
Weinberg produced her study World of Our Mothers: The Lives of Jewish
Immigrant Women (1988) as, in part, a specific rejoinder to Howe.
Howe’s book similarly moved sociologist Rose Laub Coser to
conceptualize her own “World of Our Mothers” project, in which she
would also focus on female Jewish immigrants and, like Weinberg,
utilize oral interviews in order to highlight women’s voices.
Interrupted by career changes and then Coser’s illness and death,
Women of Courage is, in expanded and slightly reconceptualized form,
the realization of Rose Coser’s plans. With half of the chapters written
by Coser and edited by sociology student Andrew Perrin and the
remaining half by historian and American studies scholar Laura
Anker, Women of Courage is a fascinating collaborative study of work
and family in the lives of Italian and East European Jewish women
who immigrated to New York in the 1920s.
Coser and Anker make the seemingly simple argument that
attention to women’s experiences re-centers our understanding of
immigrant adaptation. In fact, the implications of the focus on women
are far from simple. Comparison between Jewish and Italian
immigrants has been a prominent subject in American immigration
history. Focusing on women and their experiences in negotiating
multiple roles in work, family, and voluntary organizations teaches us
something new. It illuminates what the authors call “families’
assimilation strategies.” (3) In part, “strategies” refer to the family
economy in which multiple family members worked, pooling funds to
promote financial security and mobility. Broader than economics,
though, what Coser and Anker refer to as Jews’ and Italians’ differing
family structures—derived from their migration experiences and
social and economic conditions in Eastern Europe and Italy— shaped
the ways that members of the two groups oriented themselves and
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American Jewish Archives Journal
adapted to mainstream America. Jews tended to have “centrifugal”
family structures, with members oriented out of the family toward
society, while Italian families tended to be “centripetal,”with members
oriented inward. This focus on family structures and strategies makes
gender analysis crucial to a full understanding of immigrants’
American experiences and makes women central actors in their and
their families’ struggles to adapt.
Coser and Anker analyze Jewish and Italian women’s multiple
roles, and the social constraints that structured them, by dividing the
book into two sections. In the first Coser discusses family and home
life, including the role of family considerations and constraints in
women’s decisions to migrate, marriage, fertility, birth control, child
rearing, and the gendered division of labor between husband and
wife. In the second section Anker explores the role of work in
women’s migration decisions, their experiences in homework,
factories, and small family businesses, and their participation in
unions and voluntary organizations. Though this division leads to
some repetition, both authors stress that in the lives of Italian and
Jewish women, work and family were rarely separate issues.
Sharing many experiences, the differences between Jewish and
Italian women appeared in very specific ways. Because of the long
history of Jewish participation and ownership in the garment industry,
Jewish women who immigrated in the 1920s had more “weak ties”
(neighbors, landsmen, more distant relations) to rely upon when
looking for work, especially their first jobs. Italian women more often
relied on the intervention of close family members. As a group, the
Jewish women in the study tended to be slightly better off than the
Italian women, with a larger number married to men who owned their
own businesses. They were, thus, often more able to dispense with
paid work when raising young children than were Italian women, who
often turned to house work or caring for boarders and lodgers when
their children were young. Though both Italian and Jewish women
participated in female networks, Jewish women participated more in
unions and voluntary organizations as actors independent of their
husbands than did Italian women. Even while drawing these
distinctions between the two groups of women, however, Coser and
Anker point out that a range of behaviors appeared among both the
Jewish and Italian women.
Coser and Anker skillfully draw upon the one hundred oral history
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Book Reviews
interviews that constitute the book’s evidentiary base. Conducting
oral interviews enabled them to question their informants on a variety
of subjects, including language use, family size and sexuality, work
outside the home, education, and popular culture. The authors are,
thus, able to analyze both women’s actions and the ways they
understood their world and their actions. Making these interviews
central to the study has the salutary effect of making Jewish and Italian
women’s voices central in their own stories. They sometimes,
however, also feel solitary. Certainly no scholar can utilize every
source of historical evidence, but these voices might seem less isolated
if they were heard in dialogue with other kinds of sources about
immigrant women’s lives, such as the magazines and advice literature
they read, the ethnic radio programs they listened to, or the records
and publications of the unions and women’s organizations they
participated in. Nevertheless, the oral documentation of these
women’s lives is a significant achievement and a boon both to readers
and to future scholars.
Disappointingly, the authors make little of one of the study’s
innovations. Most studies of Jewish and Italian immigrants focus on
the forty years preceding the restrictive immigration legislation passed
in 1921 and 1924. Women of Courage specifically focuses on women
who immigrated between 1920 and 1927. Coser and Anker do ground
their analysis in the historical specificity of their subjects’ lives (e.g.,
the impact of World War I on migration, the economic impact of the
Great Depression, and job connections through previous immigrants).
They do not, however, comment on the implications of studying those
who immigrated in the 1920s for explaining the broader chronology of
Jewish and Italian immigration. How does this modify our
understanding, for example, of the American Jewish community
during the decade that we otherwise associate with the “second
generation” being, to quote the title of Deborah Dash Moore’s
landmark study,“at home in America”? To be fair to the authors, this
is not their primary concern. Their work does pose a challenge to
future historians, however, to better account for the thousands of
Jewish and Italian immigrants who continued to come to the U.S.
even after the date we typically give as the endpoint for East and
South European immigration.
Finally, one copyediting mistake is worth mentioning for its
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potential to confuse readers about one of the book’s central points. In
the introduction, the terms “centripetal” and “centrifugal” used to
describe immigrant family structures are reversed. Ample discussion
later in the book rectifies this error.
The notable merits of this book far outweigh these critiques.
Scholars will find Women of Courage a significant addition to the
literature on American Jewish history and on immigrant women,
Jewish, Italian, and otherwise. General readers may find some of the
sociological terminology distracting, but will delight in the authors’
deft analysis of immigrant women’s complex family and work
experiences and in the thoughtful words of the courageous women
themselves.
Jane Rothstein is a doctoral candidate in American Jewish history and the history
of women and gender at New York University. She is working on a dissertation
titled “Pure Women and Sacred Baths: Family Purity, Sexuality, and American
Jews in the Early 20th Century.” She was a 2000 Lowenstein-Wiener Fellow at
the American Jewish Archives.
210
Louise London, Whitehall and the Jews, 1933-1948: British
Immigration Policy and the Holocaust (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2000), 312 pp.
At a time when much of the scholarly publication about the
Holocaust and its antecedents is either postmodern speculation, such
as Peter Novick’s The Holocaust in American Life (New York: Houghton
Mifflin, 1999) or mindless revisionism, such as Norman G.
Finkelstein’s The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of
Jewish Suffering (New York: Verso, 2000), it is gratifying to find that
traditional historical scholarship about this topic is still being pursued.
Louise London, using documents unavailable to previous scholars,
gives us the most detailed picture of British governmental responses
to the tragedy of European Jewry in the National Socialist era yet
painted. Readers who know the standard works on the topic—A. J.
Sherman’s Island Refuge: Britain and Refugees from the Third Reich
(London: Elek, 1973) and Bernard Wasserstein’s Britain and the Jews of
Europe, 1939–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979)—will
not have a new narrative. The shameful story they told still stands. In
the prewar years Britain admitted some Jewish refugees, but kept out
more. When the war went badly in 1940, Britain interned enemy-alien
Jews and put them into relatively comfortable camps on the Isle of
Man—along with ardently pro-Nazi aliens. And later in the war, even
after British officialdom knew about the systematic killings that we
now call the Holocaust, the British still resisted admitting even those
few Jews in a position to reach Britain or its mandate in Palestine.
London’s contribution is threefold. For the prewar and wartime
periods she throws new light on the actions of personnel at the middle
levels of both the government and pro-refugee organizations to show
how policies made at the top were executed in practice. She stresses
throughout that British policies can best be understood as an aspect of
its overall negative immigration policy. What Jews it was willing to
accept, it wanted to take on a temporary basis only. Second, she
devotes a brief but illuminating chapter to policy in the three years
after the war. And, finally, she points out certain consistencies
between British arguments for not taking refugees in the war years
with those used by government officials today. In addition, her
opening pages provide not only a cogent summary of the book’s
argument, but also an up-to-date evaluation of the most recent
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American Jewish Archives Journal
scholarship. Although this book is an outgrowth of a 1992 University
of London doctoral dissertation, it is clearly influenced by the author’s
personal and professional experiences: a daughter of wartime
refugees, she is a solicitor with a practice specializing in immigration
law.
Despite the depressing story that she relates, London shows that,
throughout the government, there were individual officials who
sought to do more. And, without entering such speculative areas as
the proposals to bomb Auschwitz, she demonstrates conclusively that
there were “a number of situations when the government chose to do
less than it had the power to do.”(15)
This is an important addition to the literature, illustrating once
again the accuracy of Vice President Walter Mondale’s 1979 judgment
that in this tragedy, the nations of the West “failed the test of
civilization.”
Roger Daniels is Charles Phelps Taft Professor of History at the University of
Cincinnati. His most recent book is, Debating American Immigration,
published by Rowman & Littlefield in 2001.
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SHORT BOOK REVIEWS:
Compiled by Frederic Krome
People of the City: Jews and the Urban Challenge (Studies in
Contemporary Jewry, XV), Ezra Mendelsohn, ed. (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1999), 268 pp.
A collection of seven essays focusing on the significance of the
urban experience to Jewish history, primarily in the modern era. Of
interest to the American Jewish experience are essays by Samuel C.
Heilman, “Orthodox Jews, the City and the Suburb,” and Eli
Lederhendler,“New York City, the Jews, and ‘The Urban Experience.’”
Both essays are précis of longer monographs and provide a good
introduction to the wider issues they raise. A review essay by Moses
Rischin, which analyzes recent work on Jews in New York, will also
interest readers.
Coping with Life and Death: Jewish Families in the Twentieth Century
(Studies in Contemporary Jewry, XIV), Peter Y. Medding, ed.
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 361 pp.
A diverse set of essays on the travails of modern Jewish families in
the twentieth century. The essays approach the subject from a diverse
set of perspectives: Riv-Ellen Prell uses an ethnographical
methodology in her essay “Marriage, Americanization and American
Jewish Culture, 1900–1920,” while Stephen Whitfield’s “Making
Fragmentation Familiar: Barry Levinson’s Avalon”is a fascinating case
study of the depiction of American Jewish life through film. In
addition to the articles in the symposium, Yaakov Ariel’s essay
“Evangelists in a Strange Land: American Missionaries in Israel,
1948–1967” introduces readers to a relatively unknown subject. Of
particular interest is Ariel’s revelation that in the 1950s and 1960s
Israel contained more missionaries per person than the U.S. Several
of the reviews also cover American topics.
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American Jewish Archives Journal
Zionism and Religion, Shmuel Almog, Jehuda Reinharz, and
Anita Shapira, eds. (Hanover and London: Brandeis University
Press, 1998), 352 pp.
Twenty essays examine the relationship between religion and
Zionism. The essays are divided into sections: “Tradition and
Modernity in Eastern Europe,” “Orthodoxy, Liberalism, and Zionism
in Western Europe,”“Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox Judaism:
Zionism in the United States,” and “Tradition and Zionism in the
Yishuv.” The section on the United States contains four essays: Evyatar
Friesel, “The Meaning of Zionism and Its Influence among the
American Jewish Religious Movements”; Jonathan D. Sarna,
“Converts to Zionism in the American Reform Movement”; Lloyd P.
Gartner,“Conservative Judaism and Zionism: Scholars, Preachers, and
Philanthropists”; and Jeffrey S. Gurock, “American Orthodox
Organizations in Support of Zionism, 1880–1930.” The essays are of
high quality and, read together, give a well-rounded view of the
influence and impact of Zionism among American Jewry’s religious
denominations in the early part of the twentieth century.
The Selected Writings of Mordecai Noah, Michael Schuldiner and
Daniel J. Kleinfeld, eds. (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press,
1999), 171 pp.
Mordecai Noah (1785–1852) was the first American Jew to serve as
an American consul, as well as the first Jew to serve as sheriff of New
York City. Primarily remembered today as the founder of the “Ararat”
plan—which envisioned a Jewish homeland in upstate New York—
Noah was also known for his prolific literary skills. This volume
contains the text of his play “She Would Be a Soldier” (1819), as well
as selections of social commentary, his proclamation on the Ararat
plan, and the little-known “Address Delivered at the Hebrew
Synagogue, in Cosby Street, New York...to Aid in the Erection of the
Temple at Jerusalem”(1849). The editors’annotation and commentary
help place Noah’s writings into perspective.
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Short Book Reviews
Compiled by Debra Kassoff
Steven Cassedy, Building the Future: Jewish Immigrant Intellectuals
and the Making of Tsukunft (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1999),
316 pp.
An anthology of articles culled from the New York Yiddish journal
Di Tsukunft between its founding in 1892 and 1918, Cassedy’s book is
distinguished by lucid translations and sophisticated scholarship.
Helpful editorial notes and historical and biographical introductions
provide context for the events and figures contributing to and featured
in the collected essays. Articles are arranged chronologically within
thematically organized chapters, allowing readers to delve into some
of the prominent issues of the time, while simultaneously observing
the evolution of a community coming into its own. Cassedy presents
the original mission of this still-published “granddaddy” of Yiddish
periodicals as both political and pedagogical. From the beginning the
founders and editors combined their radical socialist ideologies with
an intellectual’s aesthetic in order to accomplish their goal of creating
a “highbrow Yiddish language journal” with a readership and a
literature worthy of each other. Cassedy’s work demonstrates that
despite internal conflicts, unstable editorial leadership, lack of funds,
and interruptions in publication, Di Tsukunft finally achieved its goals
through a sensitivity to the ever shifting demographic of its readership
as it evolved from an impoverished, inwardly focused immigrant class
to an influential force in the American and world Jewish community.
Edgar E. Siskin, American Jews: What Next? (Jerusalem: Jerusalem
Publishing House, 1998), 188 pp.
Rabbi and scholar Siskin does not feel hopeful about the future of
American Jewry. Beginning with a brief examination of the
phenomenon of acculturation as it has unfolded for a variety of
peoples throughout history, this book proceeds to “contraven[e] a
widespread assumption—the indestructibility of the Jew” (12).
Siskin’s survey of disappearing Jews sweeps from the lost community
of ancient Alexandria to the descendents of New Spain’s crypto-Jews
living along the Texas-Mexico border before settling on the Jews of
mid-to-late-twentieth-century America. Observing through his
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American Jewish Archives Journal
anthropologist’s lens the encroachment of American culture into every
major stream of American Jewry—from Reform and Reconstructionist
to Orthodox—Siskin reflects on its possible causes and apparent
effects. American materialism and permissiveness, the increasing ease
and attraction of intermarriage, and the “incurable virus” (112) of
antisemitism, all are fingered as sources of the increasing breakdown
of the Jewish family, dropping fertility rates, rising rates of crime and
drug use, involvement in cults, and a spiritual ennui that has emptied
synagogues and robbed the Jewish community of great numbers.
Concluding his remarks a hair short of predicting the community’s
total and permanent demise, Siskin finally leaves unanswered the
question posed in his title. A legitimate expression of personal pain at
the current condition of Jewish life in America, Siskin’s book might be
more useful to students and researchers had it relied less on
generalized observations and more heavily on recent documented
studies of Jewish life.
216
News from The Jacob Rader Marcus
Center of the American Jewish
Archives
Kevin Proffitt and Ina Remus
On June 10, 1983, an Allstate Van Lines truck arrived at the
American Jewish Archives (AJA). In it were nearly four hundred file
cabinets containing the archival records of the New York office of the
World Jewish Congress (WJC). Previously housed at the Morgan
Manhattan Storage warehouse at Eighty-seventh Street in New York
City, these records were in terrible condition. The only inventory to the
records was stored in two cardboard
file boxes jammed with 4 x 6”index
cards. Each card contained hard-toread
hand-written
notations
accompanied by an unknown
numbering system that coincided
with numbers written on the
cabinets. Inside the cabinets, the
papers were neglected, tattered, and
disorganized—some lying loose
Part of the Riegner Telegram
without folders or binding. (courtesy American Jewish Archives)
Realizing that these records would
soon be lost or destroyed if left in their current state, many highranking administrators of the WJC and the Hebrew Union
College–Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC–JIR)—Gerhart Riegner,
Doris Brickner, and Elizabeth Eppler of the WJC; and Alfred
Gottschalk, Paul Steinberg, and
Abraham Peck of HUC–JIR, among
others—worked together to rescue
the records and transfer them to
Cincinnati.
Today, the records of the New York
office of the WJC are cataloged as
AJA manuscript collection number
361, the single largest collection,
Reply to Riegner Telegram
after the records of the HUC–JIR.
(courtesy American Jewish Archives)
They sit in a secure, climate217
American Jewish Archives Journal
controlled storage vault, neatly arranged and preserved in
approximately twelve hundred labeled, acid-free boxes. With a fourhundred-plus-page descriptive folder-level inventory of its contents,
the WJC collection has been fully processed and is now ready to be
explored by all interested users. Plans for the next level of access—a
digital conversion of the records so that the documents will be
accessible and searchable in electronic formats—are only a few steps
from reality.
How this collection made the journey from a warehouse in New
York to the American Jewish Archives in Cincinnati—and how it
migrated from rusty filing cabinets to the verge of worldwide
distribution via electronic information technology—is a complex tale,
spanning many years, and is the story of the dedicated work of many
persons. After the collection’s arrival in Cincinnati it sat for four years,
in its original filing cabinets, in a vacated dormitory on the campus of
the HUC–JIR. Very quickly, however, word of the collection’s arrival
began circulating among various scholarly communities. The AJA
soon received numerous requests to see the materials. Concerned
about the collection’s physical condition and mindful of not further
disrupting the intellectual and physical order of the unprocessed
material, the AJA staff met their obligations to research requests by
allowing carefully supervised access to the papers.
Immediately upon the collection’s arrival the AJA began seeking
the means to arrange, describe, and preserve the materials according
to accepted archival standards. Public and private sources of funding
were pursued. In 1983 the Aaron W. Davis Foundation donated ten
thousand dollars to this cause. In 1987, following two failed
applications,
the
National
Endowment for the Humanities
awarded the AJA a two-year grant
of over ninety thousand dollars to
begin the initial processing.
The AJA used this grant money
to hire two archivists, Ronald
Axelrad and Kathleen Spray.
Working in the abandoned
dormitory where the papers were
housed, the archivists spent two Telegram of December 1942
years gaining a minimum level of (courtesy American Jewish Archives)
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News from The Jacob Rader Marcus Center
intellectual control over the
collection.
Together
they
transferred the files from the
rusting filing cabinets to acid-free
boxes; organized the collection into
ten subject groupings (or series)
based upon its provenance and
discernable original order; labeled
all the new boxes; began weeding
duplicate
and
extraneous
materials; and performed basic
physical conservation such as
placing materials into acid-free
folders, straightening, cleaning,
removing staples and paper clips,
etc., as well as xeroxing highly
acidic materials. Most importantly,
archivists Axelrad and Spray
compiled and wrote the first-ever
finding aid to the collection.
December 1942 Telegram
This was arduous, sometimes
(courtesy American Jewish Archives)
backbreaking work. Yet however
difficult, these were the necessary first steps in gaining intellectual and
physical control over this massive and chaotic collection. When the
project ended two years later it was an unqualified success. The initial
goals of the project—creating a preliminary structure and organization
to the materials, meeting minimum conservation needs, and
establishing a finding aid that gave archivists and researchers basic
control and access to the collection—were met. The finding aid—over
one hundred pages in length—contained an agency history, detailed
scope and content notes for each of the ten series, box-level
descriptions of the materials, and background information and cross
references on the most frequently mentioned persons and institutions
listed in the collection.
The collection remained in this arrangement for ten years. The
finding aid was posted on the AJA’s website and provided effective, if
not always efficient, accessibility. From the beginning of the NEH
project everyone involved knew there was more to do to facilitate
access and research. For all of their efforts, Axelrad and Spray’s work
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American Jewish Archives Journal
was only the beginning. Further arrangement of the collection and
more detail in the finding aid (i.e., folder-level descriptions) were
needed. The collection required additional streamlining, and
consolidation of files which would reduce its bulk and make it more
manageable. But lack of available funds was always the roadblock to
additional work.
In 1999 Dr. Gary P. Zola, the executive director of The Jacob Rader
Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives, began discussions
with national and local activists involved in efforts to secure restitution
for individuals persecuted and displaced during the Nazi era. The
group realized that the files of the WJC had potential not only for
historical research, but also to provide invaluable documentation that
might assist the Holocaust-era survivors in their legal battles for
reparation claims. It was also agreed that the current condition of the
WJC collection made searching for and locating specific materials
virtually impossible.
Dr. Zola, working together with Cincinnati attorney and noted
restitution lawyer Joy Rothenberg, and along with community leader
and activist Joan Porat, approached The Jewish Foundation of
Cincinnati with a proposal for a second phase of processing the WJC
collection. The proposal focused on how various materials in the
collection (survivor lists, logs, etc.) might assist Holocaust survivors
with their restitution claims.
The Jewish Foundation of Cincinnati and its chairman, Mr.
Benjamin Gettler, accepted the proposal and quickly responded with
a most generous gift in support of the project. As a result, in the
summer of 1999 the AJA was able to hire two new archivists, Anna
Truman and Kenton Jaehnig, together with a historical consultant, Ina
Remus, who would assist the archivists in locating materials that
might be of use in securing restitution claims.
By the summer of 2001 the processing work was completed and a
new era of research potential for the WJC collection began. As
expected, the new, more in-depth processing revealed many unknown
treasures.
Series A is called Central Files. It contains material relating to the
history of the WJC, including preliminary meetings, correspondence,
and reports leading up to the foundation of the WJC in 1936 by
Nahum Goldmann and Stephen S. Wise. This series also contains
much information in relation to Stephen S. Wise, whose
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News from The Jacob Rader Marcus Center
correspondence is contained within Series A. The famous Riegner
Telegram, which is possibly the first notification the Jewish
community received reporting the Nazis’ plans for the so-called Final
Solution—the intent to exterminate all Jews of Europe—is also
included in this series of the collection. Series A also contains many
crucial telegrams in relation to the Riegner Telegram, and it is
therefore reasonable to believe that the WJC, under the leadership of
Stephen Wise and Nahum Goldmann, was instrumental in disclosing
the atrocities in Europe. From the wealth of documents that have been
uncovered in the collection during the past two years, it has become
clear that WJC representatives in Europe, mostly via the British office
of the WJC, conveyed messages to the New York office containing
crucial information. Often the British representatives urged the
American WJC to act upon the messages and do everything in their
power to ease the plight of European Jewry. In turn, the American
representatives did not sit idle. One document in the collection in
particular stands out as an example of the WJC’s activities. It is a
twenty-page memorandum that was presented by leaders of various
American Jewish organizations to Franklin D. Roosevelt, the president
of the United States, in a meeting on December 8, 1942. There is
ample documentation in the WJC collection indicating that the WJC
was the driving force behind this document, which mentions the
crematoria at Auschwitz. This is just one example of the WJC’s active
role in disseminating information and trying to influence government
officials to intevene in Europe. Documents like these have been
located relatively recently and are evidence that the project that was
begun two years ago will be crucial to historical research.
Moreover, as mentioned earlier, one aspect of reprocessing the
WJC collection was the presumption that the collection contained
information and data useful for Holocaust restitution cases. In the past
several years, prompted by the opening up of East European countries,
and the resulting accessibility to archives and information in those
countries, Holocaust restitution has become a current topic. Although
Germany was involved in restitution and reparations after World War
II, for the first time its businesses have been required to openly and
publicly take responsibility for engaging in slave labor during the Nazi
era. At the same time the Swiss bank lawsuits and resulting
settlement and the case of Austria’s involvement as a perpetrator
rather than Hitler’s first victim, required possible restitution recipients
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American Jewish Archives Journal
to find additional proof for their cases. The WJC records, therefore,
became necessary for this important work. The AJA was glad to play a
role during these crucial times. The assumptions made during the
early stages of the project proved correct. The AJA has been in contact
with several restitution organizations, the Conference on Jewish
Material Claims Against Germany, and the World Jewish Restitution
Organization, among them. Information regarding property
restitution was made available to these organizations and is now
being used. The Presidential Advisory Commission on Holocaust
Assets in the United States sent researchers to the AJA to examine the
records of the WJC. The material in the collection is cited in the
Commission’s most recent report of its findings. The United States’
negotiator in the international restitution cases, Stuart Eisenstadt,
visited the AJA when he was invited to HUC’s Cincinnati campus to
receive an honorary degree and publicly congratulated the AJA staff
on their important work. The AJA hopes to make even more
documents available on forced labor and property records in the near
future. The AJA also looks forward to making accessible the hundreds
of pages of lists of Holocaust survivor names and immigration records,
which are part of the collection.
In addition, many national and international researchers came to
the AJA in the past two years to study the records of the WJC. They
have benefited from the re-organization of the collection and the new,
in-depth finding aid.
While archiving the collection, many topical themes emerged as
intriguing study areas. The aforementioned position and activities of
the WJC and its representatives’ impact on the dissemination of
information about the Holocaust is only one example. The wealth of
the collection can serve many different researchers. Possible topics,
among many others, include the WJC’s involvement in rescue and
relief work during World War II, the situation of Displaced Persons
after the war, the experience of survivors based on witness reports and
correspondence, the problem of refugees, and the questions of
restitution after the war. There are also a number of documents that
address historical issues derived from the Holocaust, for example
Zionism, the reconstruction of Jewish Communities in Europe, and
the creation of the state of Israel.
The WJC collection at the AJA, stored in it’s new repository,
organized and with a detailed finding aid that enables researchers to
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News from The Jacob Rader Marcus Center
search it at a folder level, is one of the great treasures within the AJA’s
collections. Now that it has been preserved, the next step will be to
determine how to make the collection even more accessible.
Kevin Proffitt is Chief Archivist of the American Jewish Archives. He earned his
M.A. in Archival Science at Wright State University and his M.L.S. at the
University of Kentucky. Ina Remus is Project Historian for the World Jewish
Congress Papers. She earned her B.A. at the University of Hamburg and an
M.A. in history at the University of Cincinnati.
Recent Aquisitions
Here is a selected listing of new accessions to the collection of the
American Jewish Archives in 2001 (Compiled by Kevin Proffitt):
Association of Jewish Libraries
Papers of Harvey Horowitz during his tenure as president of the
AJL, 1979–80; together with miscellaneous records of the
organization, 1996–2000.
Received from Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of
Religion, New York, N.Y., and Joy Kingsolver, Chicago, Ill.
Berkowitz, Henry
Miscellaneous papers and items pertaining to Rabbi Berkowitz, a
member of Hebrew Union College’s first graduating class. Includes
scrapbooks, correspondence, memorial tributes, journal of European
trips, and congregational materials, 1893–1924.
Received from Ruth Lembeck, Mount Vernon, N.Y.
Breitzer, Susan R.
M.A. thesis submitted to Eastern Illinois University,“And the Youth
Shall See Visions,”1995.
Received from Susan R. Breitzer, Chicago, Ill.
Browne, Edward B. M.
Materials and papers of Rabbi Edward B. M. Browne, including
thirty photographic slides of and pertaining to Browne, prepared by
Janice R. Blumberg.
Received from Janice R. Blumberg, Washington, D.C.
Cohn, Edward P.
Correspondence and congregational materials concerning Rabbi
Cohn and his professional activities, including membership sheets
and other materials pertaining to Temple Sinai, New Orleans, La.,
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American Jewish Archives Journal
1987–89; together with research materials and documents pertaining
to Maurice N. Eisendrath, gathered by Rabbi Cohn.
Received from Edward P. Cohn, New Orleans, La.
Congregation Emanu-El (New York, N.Y.)
Letters, fliers, and pamphlets concerning Brightside Work, a
charitable collection arm of Congregation Emanu-El’s religious
school, 1941–44.
Received from Congregation Emanu-El, New York, N.Y.
Current Topics Club (Cincinnati, Ohio)
Papers and presentations on topics of current significance,
prepared by club members and presented at club meetings during the
2000–2001 membership year.
Received from Peggy F. Selonick, Cincinnati, Ohio.
Diament, Ann L.
Correspondence, articles, and newsclippings pertaining to various
aspects of Jewish life and activity. Also, donated copies of A Scholar’s
Odyssey by Cyrus Gordon and Women Building Chicago, 1790-1990: A
Biographical Dictionary.
Received from Ann L. Diament, Hollywood, Fla.
Friedland, Charles F.
Ethical letter written by Friedland and read at his funeral, 2000;
together with a eulogy written and delivered by Friedland’s wife,
Sandra.
Received from Sandra Friedland, Coral Springs, Fla.
Friedman, Matthew L.
Newsclippings and other materials pertaining to Rabbi Friedman
and his professional career, together with materials on the Jewish
community of Hot Springs, Ark.
Received from Matthew L. Friedman, Antelope, Calif.
Gertel, Elliot B.
Chicago Board of Rabbis records, 1974–94; miscellaneous Jewish
publications, 1954–97; personal correspondence, 1995–2000;
newsclippings and publications concerning the Chicago Jewish
community; and materials concerning Congregation Rodfei Zedek,
Chicago, Ill.
Received from Elliot B. Gertel, Chicago, Ill.
Goldstein, Jennifer
Brandeis University senior history thesis, “Transcending
Boundaries: Boston-Jewish Catholic Relations, 1929–1965.”
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News from The Jacob Rader Marcus Center
Received from Jennifer Goldstein, Waltham, Mass.
Gottschalk, Alfred
Records and papers of the sixth president of Hebrew Union
College-Jewish Institute of Religion, Alfred Gottschalk, and
Gottschalk’s leadership in the construction of a new building for the
New York campus of the College-Institute, as well as construction of
the Jerusalem campus of HUC-JIR. Includes minutes, reports,
correspondence, and architectural materials.
Received from Alfred Gottschalk, New York, N.Y.
Isaac M. Wise Temple (Cincinnati, Ohio)
“Wise Words...,”a collection of videotaped oral history ethical wills
of members of Wise Temple, conducted by members of the
congregation.
Received from Isaac M. Wise Temple, Cincinnati, Ohio.
Isserman, Ferdinand M.
Sermons and articles authored by Rabbi Isserman; also, a
collection of family postcards and some newsclippings, 1932–55.
Received from Ruth Isserman, St. Louis, Mo.
Jewish Federation of Cincinnati (Cincinnati, Ohio)
Minutes of the federation’s campaign council; diaries for the men’s
and women’s divisions; reports from agencies; and executive minutes,
1940–94.
Received from the Jewish Federation of Cincinnati, Cincinnati,
Ohio.
Kabakoff, Jacob
Research files, articles, clippings, and correspondence concerning
Professor Kabakoff’s research and career as a scholar of American
Hebraica, 1950–80. Also includes one hundred eighty-three pages of
typescript and photocopied correspondence between Naphtali Imber
and Mayer Sulzberger, 1895-1905.
Received from Jacob Kabakoff, White Plains, N.Y.
Kahn, Robert I.
Sermons and addresses of Rabbi Kahn, primarily during his tenure
as Senior Rabbi at Congregation Emanu El, Houston, Tex.
Received from Robert I. Kahn, Houston, Tex.
Karff, Samuel E.
Video recording of Rabbi Karff participating in a prayer service
attended by President-elect George W. Bush prior to Bush’s
inauguration as president of the United States, Washington, D.C.,
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American Jewish Archives Journal
January 20, 2001.
Received from Samuel E. Karff, Bellaire, Tex.
Labatt Family
Genealogy of the Labatt and Marks (Marques) families, 17062000; together with a photograph of a portrait of Simon Cohen Labatt.
Received from Henry Simon, New Orleans, La.
Lelyveld, Arthur J.
Two bound volumes of the Columbia Daily Spectator (New York,
N.Y.), 1931–33, edited by Rabbi Lelyveld; together with a robe worn by
Lelyveld in academic processions.
Received from Teela Lelyveld, Cleveland, Ohio.
Levine, Joseph
Papers and materials concerning Rabbi Levine’s career,
particularly at Congregation Mt. Sinai, Texarkana, Tex., but also at
Temple Emanu-El, Greensburg, Pa. Includes congregational minutes,
sisterhood minutes, sermons, correspondence, and temple bulletins,
1944–87.
Received from Michael Sommer, Cincinnati, Ohio.
Lieberman, Joseph
Over one hundred sermons given by U.S. rabbis during the 2000
presidential campaign concerning Sen. Lieberman’s vice-presidential
candidacy, compiled by Mike Granoff.
Received from Mike Granoff, Hasbrook Heights, N.J.
Lorge, Michael
Folk Art Festival binders that include details concerning
preparations and planning for the festivals, 1980–92; a collection of
underground college newspapers concerning Soviet Jewry;
miscellaneous items concerning the Olan Sang Ruby Union Institute
Camp; plus a collection of personal documents of his father, Rabbi
Ernst M. Lorge.
Received from Michael Lorge, Skokie, Ill.
Meltzer, E. Alyne
Personal papers reflecting her personal interests and causes,
including materials and publications of the New York chapter of the
National Council of Jewish Women.
Received from E. Alyne Meltzer, New York, N.Y.
Mermelstein, Joan
“Out of the Ashes: My Life Story,” an oral history interview
concerning her life in Nazi Germany, her migration to the United
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News from The Jacob Rader Marcus Center
States, and subsequent life in Cincinnati, Ohio.
Received from Joan Mermelstein, Cincinnati, Ohio.
National Association of Retired Reform Rabbis
Audiotapes of NAORRR programs and conferences; together with
convention files, project files, membership information, and scattered
meeting minutes, 1984–96.
Received from Erwin Herman, Lake San Marcos, Calif.
Port, Alex
Newsclippings and publications concerning American Jewry and
issues of concern to the American Jewish community, gathered and
collated by Alex Port.
Received from Alex Port, Encino, Calif.
Prinz, Joachim
Sermons, photographs, and correspondence with many persons
and organizations, including the World Jewish Congress and
American Jewish Congress. Also includes congregational materials
and an essay by Rabbi Prinz titled,“Future of Great Idea,”1930–77.
Received from Jonathan Prinz, New York, N.Y., Temple B’nai
Abraham, Livingston, N.J., and Clifford Kulwin, Upper Montclair, N.J.
Salkowitz, Selig
Minutes, correspondence, reports, and attachments concerning
the work of the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR),
compiled by Rabbi Salkowitz in the course of his duties on the CCAR’s
executive board and many CCAR committees, including chairing the
Ad Hoc Committee on Homosexuality and the Rabbinate, 1969–98.
Received from Selig Salkowitz, Fair Lawn, N.J.
Shankman, Jacob K.
Papers of Rabbi Shankman, including correspondence, sermons,
articles, and newsclippings, 1928–68.
Received from Susan Shankman, Cincinnati, Ohio.
Sol, Adam
Ph.D. dissertation submitted to the University of Cincinnati,
“Balancing Acts: The Invention of Ethnicity in Jewish American Fiction
Before 1930.”
Received from Gary P. Zola, Cincinnati, Ohio.
Sussman, Arthur
Postcards and articles relating to Mr. Sussman’s career as an artist
and to the Arthur Sussman Gallery in New Mexico.
Received from Arthur Sussman, Albuquerque, N.M.
227
American Jewish Archives Journal
Temple Israel (Akron, Ohio)
Programs and bulletins from Temple Israel, 1999–2000.
Received from Temple Israel, Akron, Ohio.
Union of American Hebrew Congregations
Publications, articles, and materials relating to the UAHC,
compiled by Jane Evans, long-time UAHC administrator and former
executive director of the Women of Reform Judaism.
Received from Jane Evans, New York, N.Y.
Wolf Family
The Wolf Family Chronicle, fourth edition; a volume of family
genealogies and histories.
Received from Ernest Wolf, St. Louis, Mo.
Women of Reform Judaism, District #3
Convention files, 1967–90; together with correspondence,
publicity, slides, photographs, newsletters, 1983–96; minutes, 1966–96;
letter books, 1979–94; and membership rosters.
Received from the Women of Reform Judaism, District #3, New
York, N.Y.
228
INDEX: AJAJ Volume LIII Numbers 1&2 (2001)
A
50, 89, 95, 96, 97; and German
Jews, 87; and Nazism, 42n87;
and Palestine riots, 52-53; and
Zionism, 47
Aaronson, Joshua, 198
Aaron W. Davis Foundation, 218
Abrahams, Israel, 163, 168-69;
illustration, 163
American Jewish Committee
(Atlanta), 97
Adams, Henry, 170
American Jewish community,
and Hoover, 49-50
ADL. See Anti-Defamation
League
American Jewish Congress, 89;
and German Jews, 87; and
Nazism, 42n87
Adler, Cyrus, 66-67, 68-69, 70,
89; and Menorah Journal, 152,
160
American Jewish History, 45
African Americans, 199
American Jewish Joint
Distribution Committee (JDC),
31; and Hoover, 49, 50, 88, 89,
90
AJC. See American Jewish
Committee
American Jewish organizations,
221
Alexander, Harry A. (Mrs.), 94
American Jewish population, 85
Alexander, Hartley, 159
American Jewish press, 17-18
Alexander, Henry A., 88, 90, 103
American Jewish World, 31
Alexander, J. M. (Mrs.), 94
American Jewish Year Book, 16,
89
Adler, Felix, 70
Adler, Rachel, 190
Alexander the Great, 165
American Jews, divisions within,
25, 58n4; and film industry, 1112; and the Holocaust, 46, 92:
public image of, 11
Almog, Shmuel, 214
America, 14
American Administrative
Committee of the Jewish
Agency for Palestine, 52
American Jews: What Next?,
reviewed, 215-16
American Association of Jewish
Education, 99
American medical students,
183n11
American Council for Judaism,
90, 91
American Office of Patents, 75
American Orthodox Zionist
rabbis, and a Jewish university,
72
American Food Administration,
49
American Hebraism, 148
American Hebrew, 49
American Relief Administration
(ARA), 49
American Home Economics
Association, 142n36
An American Tragedy, 14
American Zionism
characterized, 56-58n2n3,
58n3,4
Americanization, 139-40n14
American Jewish Committee, 29,
229
American Jewish Archives Journal
American Zionist movement, 18;
and divided community, 25;
lobby, 62n21
structure in, 103; as national
and regional leader, 83, 98;
Atlanta Associated Charities, 85,
87
American Zionists and Hoover,
55
Atlanta Federation of Jewish
Charities (later Atlanta
Federation of Jewish Social
Services), and Atlanta
Associated Charities, 85; and
the depression, 85-88; and
German Jewish leaders, 84;
improvements made, 86 ;
“preventive services,“ 95-96;
priority of Israel, 103; renamed,
87; reorganized, 87; as
umbrella, 84, 92. See also
Jewish Social Services
Anglo-American alliance, 53
Anglo-American Treaty and
Balfour Declaration, 51
Anglo-Jewish press, and movie
reform, 31
Anker, Laura S., 207-10
Anshe S’fard (Atlanta), 86
Anti-Defamation League (ADL),
17, 18, 31, 33, 95, 97; and
antisemitiesm, 22; backstage
maneuvering, 21; and film
industry, 18-19; mission, 18;
regional headquarters, 97, 98
Atlanta Federation of Jewish
Women’s Organizations, 98, 99
Anti-Semite and Jew, 22
Atlanta German Jewish
community, 91
antisemitism, 158; domestic,
34n5; fear of, 33; growth of,
15-16; images, 18; and
immorality, 12, 21;
internalized, 21, 22; and
Nazism, 15-16, 39n51; threat
to all Jews, 15
Atlanta Jewish community, 103104; and overseas relief, 84;
and the depression, 85- 88;
and Holocaust, 93; and plight
of German Jews, 87-88, 89; as
joiners, 94, 102; reconstruction
of, 103-104; and sports, 93-94
Apothecaries Hall, 180
Atlanta Jewish Welfare Fund,
creation, 88-89; campaign, 89,
90, 91, 96; reorganization, 9798. See also Jewish
Community Council (Atlanta)
Antiochus Epiphanes, 165, 169
arab nationalism, and state
department, 47
Arbeiter Ring (women/Atlanta),
98
Atlanta Jewish women, 94-95,
98
Army Medical Corps, 178
Arnall, Ellis, 93
Atlanta Zionist Council/District,
90, 91
Arnold, Matthew, 154, 156, 157;
and Hebraism, 157-158, 169;
and Orientalism, 157
Auschwitz, 212, 221
Axelrad, Ronald, 218-19
Arrogant Beggar, 119
B
Arthur Davis Lectures, 168
Association of Jewish Libraries,
223
Balfour Declaration, 51, 55, 56,
90
Atlanta, Jewish leadership
Bar-Ilan, Meir, 72
230
Index
Baron de Hirsch School, 12-21
Breen, Joseph, 14, 21
Bauman, Mark, 8-9, 83-110;
identity, 104
Breitzer, Susan R., 223
Beachwood, Oh., and an
Orthodox campus, 191-92
Britain, 221
Brickner, Doris, 217
Britain and the Jews of Europe,
1939-1945, 211
“Before the Statue of Apollo,”
147
Berkowitz, Henry, 223
British government, and
American Jewry, 91; and
German Jewry, 89, 211; and
Palestine, 51, 52
Berman, Pandro, 20
British Labour government, 51
Bernstein, Abraham, 50
Bernstein, Herman, 52, 53
British Mandate, 51. See also
Balfour Declaration
Beth Elohim (Charleston), 180
Brooklyn Board of Rabbis, 67
Billikopf, Nathan, 92
Brooklyn Jewish Center, 67
Blackburn, April, reviewer, 203205
Brooklyn Jewish Community
Council, 67
Bluebirds, 94
Brooklyn Zionist Region, 67
B’nai B’rith, 18, 19, 29, 89, 90;
and German Jews, 87; and
Nazism, 42n87. See also
Hebrew Orphans’ Home;
Hillel
Brooks, Van Wyck, 152
Bentwich, Norman, 153, 155;
illustration, 153
Browne, Edward B. M., 223-24
Building the Future: Jewish
Immigrant Intellectuals and
the Making of Tsunkunft,
reviewed, 215
B’nai B’rith AZA, 93
B’nai B’rith Women, 93
Bureau of Jewish Education
(Atlanta), 99, 100, 101
B’nai B’rith Women (Atlanta),
95, 98
Bureau of Jewish Social
Research, 89
Board of Jewish Education
(NYC), 132
bureaus of Jewish education, 99,
110n40
Boehm, Julian V., 87, 88, 91, 96,
98, 103
Burner, David, 46
Bonser, F. G., 134
C
The Book of Job as a Greek
Tragedy, 153, 165
Cambridge University, 163
Book of Songs, 163
“Campaign for Sacrifice,”102
Boston Jewish community, 84,
89
Camp Civitania (Rutledge, GA),
94
Bourne, Randolph, 152, 165
Camp Kinderwelt (NY Catskills),
188; impact, 188-89
boycott, 19, 40n61; by Jews, 2425
Camp Rapidan, 53
Bread Givers, 118
Cantwell, John J. , 14, 30
231
American Jewish Archives Journal
Caplan, Kimmy, 8-9, 65-82;
identity, 75
CJFWF. See National
Conference of Jewish
Federations and Welfare Funds
Cassedy, Steven, 215
Clara de Hirsch Home for
Working Girls,113, 118, 12122, 124, 132, 133; commercial
education, 124, 126, 128; and
domestic service, 119; English
classes, 140n22; Follow Up (or
After Care) Committee, 119;
founding, 116-17;
homemakers, 123, 126;
importance of marriage, 129;
Institutional Report of, 120;
lifestyle molding, 120; public
school enrolment, 126;
purposes, 117, 128; vocational
education ended, 133, 134,
136, 137
Catholic Bishop’s Conference, 26
Catholicism and interfaith
cooperation, 25; and Jewish
immorality, 25
CCAR. See Central Conference
of American Rabbis
censorship, as internal Jewish
problem, 22
Central Conference of American
Rabbis (CCAR), 17, 18, 26, 31,
33, 161-62; and ADL, 24, 29;
and Central European Jews,
29; conference resolution, 2324; and film morality, 23, 2425; and social justice, 42n85;
and Zionism, 42n85
Classical Reform Judaism, 4142n80, 90
Central European Jews, 22, 23,
29; self-help and benevolent
societies, 83. See also German
Jews; intra-Jewish tensions
class tensions, 114, 118
Cleveland Jewish Federation,
191
Central Immigration Committee
(Immigrant Removal Office
affiliate/Atlanta), 84
Cleveland Jewish Social Service
Bureau, 105n7
Cohen, Emanuel, 20
Charleston (SC), 178; tensions
within Jewish community, 18081
Cohen, Henry, 203, 204
Cohen, Naomi W., 58n4
Charleston Medical Society of
Emulation, 180
Cohen, Theodore, 175-86;
identity, 183
Charleston Poor House, 180
Cohn, Edward P., 224
Chase, William Sheafe, 34n5
Cohn, Harry, 20
Chevrah Tehilim Atlanta, 92
Cohn, Sigmund, 92
Chicago, and charity
fundraising, 85
College of Philadelphia, first
Jewish graduate, 175
Chicago Home for the Aged, 100
Columbia University, 67, 71, 167,
175, 187
Chicago Jewish Chronicle, 31
Columbia University conference,
and “the Hebrew,“ 152
Chipkin, Israel S., 99
Christian Century, 14
Columbus (OH), 96, 107n15,
109nn28, 31, 110n40
Churchman, 14
“Church War on Films,”18
Columbus Platform, 41-42n80,
90
232
Index
212
Community Chest, 85
Community Relations Council
(Atlanta), 97, 98
Dartmouth College, 175
Conference of Presidents of
Major Organizations, 195
de Hirsch Residence of the 92nd
Street Young Men’s and
Women’s Hebrew Association,
133
de Hirsch, Clara, 116-17
Conference on Human Rights,
90
De La Motta, Emanuel, 178
Conference on Jewish Material
Claims Against Germany, 222
Coughlin, Charles, 16
De La Motta, Jacob, 175; as an
apothecary, 180; and Benjamin
Rush, 178; in Charleston, 178,
179-80; children, 181;
commission, 177, 182-83;
correspondence with
presidents, 179; early life and
education, 178; epitaph, 18182; illustrations, 176, 177;
interests, 175; and Judaism,
180-81; as a mason, 178, 179;
mother-in-law, 182; and music
in the synagogue, 181; in New
York, 178; New York medical
societies, 178; personal life,
181; and politics, 179, 181; in
Savannah, 179; and scientific
papers, 180; and secession,
181; silhouette, 181
Council for German Jewry, 89
De La Motta, Judith, 178
Council of Jewish Federations
and Welfare Funds, 97, 106n14
De Mille, Cecil B., 18
Congregation Ahavath Achim
(Atlanta),88, 90, 91, 92; and
United Hebrew School, 99
Congregation Emamu-El (NYC).
See Temple Emanu-El
Congregation Mikve Israel
(Savannah), 179
congregation sisterhoods
(Atlanta), 98
Coping with Life and Death:
Jewish Families in the
Twentieth Century, reviewed,
213
Cornell University, 70
Coser, Rose Laub, 207-10
Denver Tuberculosis Sanitarium,
94
County Public Welfare
Commission (Atlanta), 87
the depression, and
antisemitism, 15-16; and social
services, 83; and Jewish
charities, 85. See also
individual Atlanta charities
Crafts, Wilbur Fisk, 34n5
Craig, Lloyd, 46
Cuddihy, John Murray, 11
Culture and Anarchy, 154-55,
157
Dewey, John, 165
Diament, Ann L., 224
“Culture and History,”164
diaspora communities, and
creativity, 162; and Palestine,
155-56
Current Topics Club
(Cincinnati), 224
Dinnerstein, Leonard, 15-16
D
discrimination, in housing,
employment, universities, 16;
Daniels, Roger, 211-12; identity,
233
American Jewish Archives Journal
and vandalism, 16
Executive Committee on
Transients of the National
Conference of Jewish Social
Services, 86
domesticity and wage labor,
114. See also marriage
domestic service, unpopularity
of, 141n30
F
Dreiser, Theodore, 14 -15
Dropsie College, 164
Faber, Maurice, 203
Duke, David, 199
family strategies/structures, 207209
E
Fausold, Martin, 46
Federal Council of Churches, 25
Eastern Europe, after Balkan
Wars and World War I, 84;
relief in, 49, 91
Federal Emergency Relief Act, 87
federation movement, 84
Eastern European conditions
and men’s work, 144n53; and
women’s work, 114, 14344nn51, 52
Federation of Jewish Charities
(Boston), 84
Eastern European Jews, 22, 23;
condescension toward, 115;
immigrants and self help, 83.
See also German Jews
federations, 108n20; relationship
with government, 87
Federation of Jewish Social
Services, 102
Feingold, Henry, 11, 58n3
Feldman, A. L., 88, 95, 103
Edourat, Augustin, 181
film industry, challenges to, 13;
debates over content, 12; and
government, 13; impact on
children, 13; Jewish image of,
12
Einstein, Albert, illustration, 54
Eisenstadt, Stuart, 222
Emory Hillel, 101
English language, 50, 139n9; or
Hebrew, 139n9; and Yiddish, 50
film reformers, antisemitism of,
12, 14
Enlarged Jewish Agency, 47, 48
Fineshriber, William, 17, 39n 52;
and better films, 27;
differences with Goldstein, 23,
26, 27, 29, 30, 43n91; fear of
antisemitism, 26; and film
reform, 25-28; illustrations, 27,
28; and interfaith efforts, 23,
27-28; praises industry, 27;
relation with Hays, 42-43n88;
Enlightenment, 129-30
Episcopalians, and film reform,
26
Eplan, Samuel L., 93
Eplan, Sol, 90
Eppler, Elizabeth, 217
Epstein, Harry H., 88, 91, 92
Epstein, Rabbi, 90, 99
and Zionism, 28, 42n87. See
also Sidney Goldstein
“Ethics of Brown Soap and
Water,”123
Finkelstein, Norman G., 211
ethnoracial theory, 58-59n5
First Annual Zunz Memorial
Lecture, 159
Euripides, 165, 167
234
Index
Ford, Henry, 34n5
gender, bias, 207; identity, 98
Forman, Henry James, 13
gendered concepts of work, 113,
121, 136; changes of, 136-37,
142n34
Fortune, 16
Fort Worth Star-Telegram, 203
gender tensions, 113, 114; ideal
of marriage, 127-29; and
vocational education,113-14,
117, 118, 136. See also
vocational education for boys
Fox, G. George, 203
Frankel, Mack, 93
Freedman, Adalbert, 91, 98, 99
Freedman, Samuel G., 187-98
Free Kindergarten and Social
Settlement (Atlanta), 84
Georgia Historical Society, 180
Free Loan Association (Atlanta),
84
Georgia Nachlah, 91
Free Loan Society (Atlanta), 92
Georgia USO, 93
Free Synagogue (NYC), 17
German Jewish leaders, in
America, 49; in Atlanta, 91
Georgia Medical Society, 179
Georgia Tech, 101
Fried, Lewis, 8, 147-74; identity,
171
Friedland, Charles F., 224
German Jewish Relief
Committee, 91
Friedman, Matthew L., 224
German Jews, plight of, 55, 87
Friends of New Germany, later
German American Bund,
37n38
German Jews (in America), and
domestic servants, 140n22; and
East European Jews, 96; and
fears of antisemitism, 15; and
Zionism, 108n22
Friesel, Evyatar, 56-57n2, 58n4
Frisch, Ephraim, 204
Gershon, Rebecca (Reb; Mrs.
Harry M. ), 88, 97, 98
Fulton County Relief
Administration, 87
Gertel, Elliot B., 224-25
Fulton County Transient Bureau,
87
Gettler, Benjamin, 220
Gilman, Sander, 39n49
G
Ginsburg, Paul, 91, 93
Glazer, Simon, 62n21
Gabriel Over the White House,
14
Gold Diggers of 1933, 21
galut (diaspora/exile) mentality,
32
Goldenson, Samuel, 30, 39n52,
42n87
Galveston movement, 203, 204205
Goldman, Nahum, 221
Gamoran, Emanuel, 132
Goldstein, Baruch, 190
Gardner, Lloyd P., 85
Goldstein, Israel, 74
Garson, Frank, 97, 100, 103
Goldstein, Jennifer, 225
Geddes, Patrick, 165
Goldstein, Sidney, 17, 31, 4243n88; and CCAR, 28, 29, 30;
Goldman, Solomon, 92
Geffen, Tobias, 92, 99
235
American Jewish Archives Journal
differences with Fineshriber,
23, 26, 27, 29, 30, 43n91; film
reform, 29, 30; goodwill and
interfaith meetings, 26;
illustration, 29; and selfregulation, 26; and social
justice, 23. See also William
Fineshriber
and Zionism, 161
Hebraism and Hellenism, 155164, 165, 169-70
Hebrew, language, 139n9, 162;
poem, 147
Hebrew Orphans’ Home
(Atlanta), 84, 94
Hebrew Orphan Society of
Charleston, 180
Gottheil, Richard J., 71
Gottschalk, Alfred, 217, 225
Hebrew Relief Society (Atlanta),
84
Great Depression. See
depression
Hebrew Technical School for
Girls, 113, 118, 130, 131, 132,
133; Annual Report, 125;
commercial dept, 124, 125;
continuation, 134, 135;
curriculum, 116, 120, 123-24;
domesticity, 126; domestic
training, 134; facilities, 124;
graduate employment, 125;
inconsistencies, 136; manual
training, 125; marriage and
wage employment, 130;
origins, 115
Greer, Daniel, 191
Grossman, Ben, 100
Guide to Georgia, 87
Gutstadt, Richard E., 19, 20, 21,
24; illustration, 19
H
Ha’am, Ahad, 154-155, 162, 165;
and Matthew Arnold, 157; and
Hebraism, 155-56, 158, 160;
and Hellenism, 155-156; and
Zionism, 156
Hebrew Union College, 67, 158;
and Jewish literature, 71
Hachnosos Orchim (Atlanta), 86
Hebrew Union College-Jewish
Institute of Religion, 217
Hadassah, 90, 91, 95
Hadassah (Atlanta), 98, 102
Hebrew university, compared to
Jewish university, 69; defined,
68-69
Hall, Chapin, 30
Harrison, William H., 181
Harvard Menorah Society (for
Hebraic Culture and Ideals),
150
Hebrew University of Jerusalem,
and American Judaism, 73;
founding, 65; neglect by
American scholarly circles, 66,
67; opening ceremony, 74-75;
religious responses to, 65;
world significance of, 66
Harvard University, 149, 175
Hays, Will H., 27, 42-43n88
Hays group, 30
“The Hebraic Renaissance in
Palestine,“ 161
Hecht, Avraham, 190
Heine, 162, 163
Hebraism, and American life,
161; as culturally incomplete,
158; and humanism, 162; and
imagination, 164; and
literature, 159; as superior, 168;
Hellenism, 147, 159; and
Bentwich, 153; and Kallen,
151; opposition to Jewish
culture, 147, 148, 162, 167. See
also Matthew Arnold
236
Index
Hennigson, H., 20
Hoover state department, and
Palestine, 51-52
Herman, Felicia, 8, 33; article 1144
Horowitz, Ernest (Mrs), 94
Heyman, Herman, 97, 100
Horowitz, Harvey, 223
Hillel, 101
Howe, Irving, 207
Hirsch Harold, 88, 90, 92, 103
“How I Found America,”119
History of the People of Israel,
150
How the Other Half Lives, 158
Hurwitz, Henry, 149, 150, 151,
152, 158, 160, 171; illustration,
150
History of Zionism, 65
Hitler, 15, 16, 87; American
defense efforts against, 87-88;
American supporters, 19
Husayn-McMahon
correspondence, 51; support of
Jewish leaders, 52
Hoff, Joan, 46
Hollywood, antisemitism
directed at, 15; attempts to
control, 21:Jewish image of, 12
Hygiene of Houses and
Purposes, 123
Hollywood Reporter, 27
Hyman, Paula, 132, 145n59
Hyman, Joseph C., 88-89
Holmes, John Haynes,30
I
Holocaust, 83; Americanization
of, 199; denial, 200; restitution
for, 220-22; survivors, 102
illustrations: Albert Einstein, 54;
Chaim Weizmann, 54; Charles
Shulman, 24; Dr. and Mrs.
Chaim Weizmann, 50; 218 (2),
219; Harry Warner, 20; Henry
Hurwitz, 150; Horace M.
Kallen, 151, 165; Israel
Abrahams, 163; Jack Warner,
20; Jacob De La Motta
commission, 177; Jacob De La
Motta silhouette, 176; Leon
Simon, 155; Lewis L. Strauss,
55; Mr. and Mrs. Felix M.
Warburg, 50; Norman
Bentwich, 153; Richard E.
Gustadt, 19; Sidney Goldstein,
29; unknown actor, 28; William
Fineshriber, 27; World Jewish
Congress documents, 217, 218,
219
The Holocaust in American Life,
199, 211
The Holocaust Industry:
Reflections on the Exploitation
of Jewish Suffering, 211
Holocaust Memorial Museum,
199
home for the aged (Atlanta), 99100
SS Homeric, 53
Hoover, Herbert, and AJC, 53;
and British government, 53;
and dual loyalties, 49-50;
foreign policy, 46; and Jewish
community, 46; and Jewish
lobbyists, 48; the modern
Moses, 50; and Palestine, 49,
51, 53, 54-55; as poliitical
campaigner, 56; and race,
59n6; relief administrator, 49;
and Zionism, 45, 46, 48, 50, 52,
55
immigrant experiences after
restriction, 209
immigrants, culture of, 132; and
intra-ethnic tensions, 118, 132;
lifestyle molding, 119, 128;
237
American Jewish Archives Journal
recent vs. older, 114; and
vocational education, 136, 13738n2; 140n15
feminism and liturgical
change, 189-90; religious
versus secular life, 188-89
I’m No Angel, 21
Jewish Community Centers, 97
Indianapolis, 96
Intercollegiate Menorah
Association, 8
Jewish Community Council
(Atlanta), 98; and home for the
aged, 100; as model, 98
Intercollegiate Zionist
Federation of America, 101
Jewish community of
Charleston, 180-81
interfaith relations, 22- 30. See
also William Fineshriber
Jewish community programs
(Atlanta), 98-102
Isaac M. Wise Temple
(Cincinnati), 225
Jewish Council for Russian War
Relief, 91
Island Refuge: Britain and
Refugees from the Third Reich,
211
Jewish disunity, 193
Jewish education, 98-99;
providers, 137n1. See also
United Hebrew School
Israel, and altered priorities, 102;
creation of, 83; extremist
opinions about, 190-91
Jewish Educational Alliance
(JEA), 84
Isserman, Ferdinand M., 225
Jewish Education Alliance
(JEA/Atlanta) 84, 86, 87, 94, 97,
100, 101
J
Jewish Education Committee
(NYC),99
Jacob Rader Marcus Center,
fellowship program, 7-8; news
from, 218-23; recent
acquisitions, 223-28; and
World Jewish Congress
records, 217-23
Jewish Federation of Cincinnati,
225
Jewish feminism, 189-90; and
liturgical change, 190
Jewish Foundation for Education
of Women, 135
Jacobs, Jake, 96
Jacobs, J. B., 97, 99
Jewish Foundation of Cincinnati,
220
Jaehnig, Kenton, 220
Jastrow, Morris, 71, 164
Jewish Girl Scouts, 94
JDA. See Joint Defense Appeal
Jewish High Priest, 18
JEA. See Jewish Educational
Alliance
Jerusalem, 51
Jewish humanities, 154;
knowledge, 150; nationalism,
54; political influence/access,
58-59n5; vote, 50, 56
Jewish communal leaders and
antisemitism, 15,17
Jewish imagination, analyzed,
147
Jewish communal tensions, 187;
definition of Jew, 189;
denominations, 191-92;
Jewish Institute Day, 99
Jefferson, Thomas, 179
Jewish Institute of National
Security Affairs, 195
238
Index
Jewish Labor Committee, 89, 95
Jewish Youth Adult Council, 101102
Jewish Musical Council, 100
Jews, Gentile opinions of, 11,
115; and liberalism, 57-58n2;
public image of, 17; in
Roosevelt administration, 1517; self censorship, 17, 18
Jewish National Fund, 91, 92,
101, 161
Jewish nationalism. See
nationalism
Jewishness, definition of, 189;
196-97
Jews on Approval, 11
Jew vs. Jew: The Struggle for the
Soul of American Jewry,
reviewed, 187-98
Jewish Publication Society (JPS),
17
Jewish self defense
organizations. See ADL; LAJCC
JNF. See Jewish National Fund
Job, 165-66, 167
“Job as a Greek Tragedy,”167
Jewish social services (Atlanta),
benevolent and self help
societies, 83; and the
depression, 83-88; dramatic
transformation, 83, 86;
fundraising responsibility, 85,
88; professionalization of, 84,
86, 103; Southeast Transient
Clearing House, 86
Johns Hopkins University, 70
Joint Consultative Council, and
German Jews, 87
Joint Defense Appeal (JDA), 97
Joint Distribution Committee
SOS (Save Our Survivors), 102
“The Judaic Strain in Modern
Letters,“ 162
Jewish Stars in Texas: Rabbis and
Their Work, reviewed, 203-205
Judaism, as a creative process,
147-48, 151
Jewish studies, 69, and Christian
teachers, 69, 70
Judas Iscariot, 18
Jewish Theological Seminary, 67,
160; and Jewish literature, 71
Die judische Literatur, 163
Junior Hadassah, 90
Jewish university, 66; and
American Jewish scholars, 66;
debate about, 66; and a
Hebrew university, 68-70
Kabakoff, Jacob, 225
Jewish War Veterans, 93, 96
Kafka, Franz, 162
Jewish War Veterans (Atlanta), 93
Kahane, Meir, 190
The Jewish Week, 196
Kahn, Edward M., 86, 87, 88, 9697, 98, 103
K
Jewish Welfare Board, 98
Kahn, Robert I., 225-26
Jewish Welfare Federation and
Welfare Fund (regional), 101
Kallen, Horace M.,160;
illustrations, 151, 165-66; and
the meaning of Hebraism, 151,
154; as a Parushim, 153; as a
Zionist, 153
Jewish Welfare Fund Council
(Atlanta), 88
Jewish Welfare Society of
Philadelphia, 105n7
Karff, Samuel E., 226
Jewish Women’s Club, 94
239
American Jewish Archives Journal
Lasky, Jesse L., 15
Kassoff, Debra, review compiler,
215-16
Kaufman, Rhoda, 87, 92
Lazarus, Charlotte (Mrs Jacob
De La Motta), 181
King of Kings, 18, 20
League of Nations, 51
Kings College, 175
Lectures on the Sacred Poetry of
the Hebrews, 168
Kirwin, James, 204
Legion of Decency, 18-19, 40-41,
67; and antisemitism, 19, 26;
crusade against immorality, 23
Kiryas Joel, 189
Klapper, Melissa, 8-9, 113-46;
identity, 137
Lelyveld, Arthur H., 226
Klein, A.M., 17
Levin, Bernard, 31
Kline, Alex, 205
Levine, Joseph, 226
Klotz, Sol O. (Mrs.), 95
Levinthal, Dov Aryeh (Bernard),
67
Knabenshue, Paul, 51
Kook, Avraham Y., 72-73
Levinthal , Israel H., 65-82;
career, 67-68; early years and
education, 67; opening, 74-75;
Reform and Zionist, 69-70;
university for diaspora and
yishuv communities, 69-70,
73-74; Yavneh, 73. See also
“The Significance of a Jewish
University”
Kotler, Aaron, 195
Kraut, Benny, 187-98; identity,
198
Kriegshaber, Victor, 84, 103
Kristallnacht, 106-107n14
Kristol, Irving, 57-58n2
Krome, Frederic, compiler, short
book reviews, 213-14
Levy, Anne Skorecki, 199, 200.
See also Skorecki family
Kuhn, Loeb & Co., 49
Lewis, Leon, 18, 19; and LAJCC, 19, 20; and movie
industry leaders, 21
Ku Klux Klan, 204
L
Labatt family, 226
Lewisohn, Adolf, 131, 134, 13435
Labor Zionism, 57n2
Lieberman, Joseph, 226
Labor Zionist camp, impact of,
188
Life Saving Campaign, 102
LA-JCC (Los Angeles-Jewish
Community Committee), 17,
31, 33; connections to film
industry, 19, 20; creation, 19;
industry support, 38n41;
Motion Picture Committee, 20,
21; organizing members,
38n39; reorganization, 107n16;
response to antisemitism, 22
Lipsky, Louis, 48
Lakewood (NJ) Yeshiva, 195
Lord, David, 13
Lifton, Regina Haas, 125
Lisis, Donald J., 59n6
Literary and Philosophical
Society, 180
Livingston, Sigmund, 24
Lodge, Henry Cabot, 62n21
London, Louise, 211-12
240
Index
Lorge, Michael, 226
Marshall, James, 54
Los Angeles Jewish Community
Committee. See LA-JCC
Marshall, Louis, 47-48, 49;
advice to Hoover, 50;
illustration, 48
Louis, Minnie D., 115; attitudes,
115-16, 121, 123, 127,
138nn5,7, 139n10
masonry/masons, 178, 180, 204
Marx, David, 84, 90, 91, 92, 103
Louis Downtown Sabbath
School, 115, 123; and strained
relations, 115-16
Mayer, David, 103
Mayer, Hattie. See Anzia
Yezierska
Lower East Side, as benighted,
116
Mayer, Louis B., 20
McNicholas, John, 25, 26, 40n66
Lowth, Robert, 168
“Meaning of Hebraism,”151
Lurie, Harry L., 85, 103
Medding, Peter Y., 58-59n5, 213
Lutherans and film reform, 26
Medical College of South
Carolina, 180
Lyceum of Natural History
(NYC), 180
medical education, 175
M
Medical Society of South
Carolina, 178, 180
“The Maccabaean Summons,”
169-70
Medintz, Barney, 94, 100
Medoff, Rafael, 45
MacDonald, Ramsay, 53, 54
Meltzer, E. Alyne, 227
Madison, James, 179
Memphis (TN), 100
Madison Square Garden mass
meeting, and Hoover, 52
Mendelsohn, Ezra, 213
Menorah Journal, 147, 156, 162,
163, 165, 166-67, 168, 169; aim,
152, 153; choice of language,
171; and Classical Reform
Judaism, 152, 160; diaspora
continuity/culture, 148, 149; as
a forum, 149; Hebraism and
Hellenism, 156, 158-59, 160,
170; and Hebraism without
theology, 154; invigorated, 149;
Hellenism and Jewish life, 147,
148; and Jewish humanities,
153-54; Jewish imagination,
147, 148; and literature, 159,
160; origins, 149-50; and Young
America, 153; Zionism, 149
Magnes, Judah L, 66
Maimon (Fishman),Yehudah L.,
72
Maine, Henry, 159
Manhattan Industrial High
School, 135
Manhattan Trade School for
Girls, 121-22, 128
Marcus, Jacob Rader, and Jacob
De La Motta, 175
Marcus Center Fellowship
Program, 7-8. See also Jacob
Rader Marcus Center
Margolis, Max L., 71, 160, 164
menorah movement, 149-50
marriage, and domesticity, 113;
training for, 127-31; and wage
work, 127
Mermelstein, Joan, 227
241
American Jewish Archives Journal
Metropolitan Conference of
Temple Brotherhoods, 30
Murray, Gilbert, 167
music in the synagogue, 179,
181
middle class norms, and gender,
121; work and marriage, 129.
See also vocational education
Mussolini, 91
Myers, Nathaniel L., 123, 130,
142n33, 34
Milledgeville, 98
Milwaukee Jewry, 85;
community, 105n9; 110n40
N
Minsky, Louis, 31
Nardi, Noah, 99
“A Mistaken Hypothesis,”167
The Nation, 22
Mondale, Walter, 212
National Appeals Information
Service, 89
Montefiore Relief Association
(Atlanta), 84
National Association for the
Promotion of Industrial
Education (NAPIE), 142n36
Montor, Henry, 17-18, 31-33;
criticism of American Jews, 3233; differences with Jewish
organizations, 31; and film
reform, 31, 32, 33
National Association of Reform
Retired Rabbis, 227
National Conference of
Charities and Corrections, 84.
See also Nation Conference of
Social Work
Moore, Deborah Dash, 209
Morgan, Daniel, 94
Morganthau, Henry, 93
Moss, Louis H., 86-87, 88, 105n9
National Conference of Jewish
Charities, 84
“The Motion Picture and Social
Control,”30
National Conference of Jewish
Social Services, 86
Motion Picture Committee, 20
National Conference of Jews
and Christians (NCJC), 25,
42n82; and CCAR, 28-29;
compared to ADL-LA-JCC, 29;
and Reform Judaism, 28
Motion Picture Herald, 13
motion pictures, immorality of
and Jewish organizations, 23
Motion Picture Producers
Association, 33
National Committee Appeal for
Jews in Poland, 91
Motion Picture Producers and
Distributors Association
(MPPDA), 14, 18, 20, 27; and
ADL, 20; criticisms of, 26, 27;
immorality, 21
National Community Relation
Advisory Council, 96
National Council of Jewish
Federations and Welfare Funds
(CJFWF/NJFWF), 97; Atlanta
as model, 98; General
Assembly, 87-88; organization,
89
movies, as age appropriate, 33
The Movies on Trial, 30
MPPDA. See Motion Picture
Producers and Distributors
Association
National Council of Jewish
Women (NCJW), 23, 101, 102;
Mumford, Lewis, 152
242
Index
educational provider, 137n1
30
National Council of Jewish
Women (Atlanta), 84, 87, 90,
94, 98
New York City, and charity
fundraising, 85
National Council of Jewish
Women (regional), 88
New York Federation of Jewish
Women’s Organizations, 30
National Council of the Joint
Defense Appeal, 97
New York University, 67
New York City kehilah, 66
NJFWF. See National Council
of Jewish Federations and
Welfare Funds
National Endowment for the
Humanities, 218
National Federation of Temple
Sisterhoods, 94
nonZionists, in Atlanta, 90-91;
Catholic and Protestant press
and, 14; and European relief,
49; and Hoover, 55; Jews as,
12; Jewish nation building, 49;
and Zionists, 54
National Industrial Recovery Act
(NIRA), 13
nationalism (Jewish), and
Zionism, 47, 48, 49
Novick, Peter, 199, 211
National Menorah Organization,
152
O
National News Service, 52
National Recovery Act, 87
Oberdorfer, Donald, 88, 93, 97,
103
National Republican
Committee, 56
Oberdorfer, Eugene, 93
NCJC. See National Conference
of Jews and Christians
Office of National Drug Control
Policy, 34n4
NCJC News Service, and CCAR
resolution, 25
Oko, Adolph S., 158-59
NCJW. See National Council of
Jewish Women
organ in synagogue, 179
Olan, Levi, 203, 204
Orthodox Congregations of the
Southeast, 90
Needlework Guild (Jewish
division/Atlanta), 94
New Deal, and Jews, 56; and
social services, 83
Orthodox Judaism, vs.
nonOrthodox Jews, 196;
institutional revival of, 194,
196-97. See also Jew vs. Jew
New Haven, 191
Or Ve Shalom (Atlanta), 90, 91
New Orleans, 107n16
Our Movie Made Children, 13
“New Types of Jewish Welfare
Organizations,”88
overseas relief, 102; and a united
Jewry, 91
Neirenberg, Ann, 134
New York Board of Charities, 120
P
New York Board of Education,
133
Paderewski, lgnace Jan, 60-61,
n14
New York Board of Jewish
Ministers, 26; and Goldstein,
243
American Jewish Archives Journal
Palestine, and American Jewish
migration, 45; reactions to
riots, 52; relief efforts, 54-55,
95; riots, 51; settlement
support, 92
Production Code, 14; and film
immorality, 13-14, 21
Production Code
Administration, 21
Proffitt, Kevin, 217-223,
compiler, 223-28
Palestine Mandate, and US
government, 47
Proskauer, Joseph, 97
Paramount, 14
Protestant mission, 47
Parsons, Wilfred, 14
Psalms, 163, 179
Parushim, 152-53
passion plays/films, 18
Q
Payne Fund Studies, 13
Quigley, Martin, 13, 19
Peck, Abraham, 217
Pelley, William Dudley, 16
R
People of the City: Jews and the
Urban Challenge, reviewed,
213
Raban Yohanan Ben Zakkai, 72
Rabbi Yizhak Elhanan
Theological Seminary, 67
Peres, Shimon, 190
Rabbinical Alliance of America,
190
Perles, Felix, 164, 165
Perlman, William, 30
Rabbinical Assembly of America,
67
Perrin, Andrew, J., 207-10
Pharisees, 18
Radin, Max, 167
Philadelphia, College of, 175
Raider, Mark A., 57n2
Philadelphia Medical Society,
178
Raphael, Marc Lee, 97
Rascoe, Burton, 162
Philipson, David, and university,
66
Reconstruction Finance
Corporation, 87
Pioneer Women (Atlanta), 98
Red Cross, 87, 94
Pittsburgh Platform, 41-42n80
Reformed Society of Israelites,
180
“Poetry and Religion,“ 168
Porat, Joan, 220
Reform Jews, 23, 40n60; disunity
about Israel, 195-96; internal
splits, 29-30; old guard of, 28;
rabbis, 40n58. See also
Classical Reform Judaism
Port, Alex, 227
Portland, OR, 93
Powell, Lawrence N., 199-201
Powys, John Cowper, 162-63
Reform Temple (Atlanta), 84
Presidential Advisory
Commission on Holocaust
Assets in the United States,
222
Refugee Board, 102
refugees, 133, 211
Reinharz, Jehuda, 214
Prinz, Joachim, 227
Reisman, A.G., 99-100
244
Index
Remus, Ina, 220-223
Savannah (GA) Poor House and
Hospital, 179
Renan, Ernest, 150, 151; and
Christological Judaism, 150;
Judaism impoverished, 150
Scarface, 14
Schachtel, Hyman Judah, 205
Republican Party, and Jewish
vote, 50
Scharfman, I. Leo, 149, 150
Schechter, Solomon, 71, 163
Rhoade, Max, 48, 56
Schenck, Joe, 20
Rhodes Aid Committee, 91
Schiff, Jacob, 149
Riegner, Gerhart, 217
Schneiderman, Harry, 16
Riegner Telegram, 221
Schuldiner, Michael, 214
Riis, Jacob, 158
Schulman, Samuel, 161-62, 169
Riverside Military Academy, 98
Schwartzman, Louis, 99
Robinson, Edward G., 30
Schwarz, Heinrich, 203
Roosevelt, Franklin Delano, 221;
and Zionist statement, 55
Scottish Rite Masonry, 180
“The Searching of the Jewish
Heart,“ 169
Rose, Henry, 52
Roseman, Max, 161
secular vs. religious Jews, 189
Rosenberg, Stuart E., 57n2
Seixas, Gershom Mendes, 179
Rosenbloom, Solomon, 68
Rosenblum, Edward, 56
The Selected Writings of
Mordecai Noah, reviewed, 214
Rosenblum, William F., 4041n67
Selekman, Ben, 89
self-censorship and films, 18
Rosinger, Samuel, 204
self-hatred defined, 39n49
Rothstein, Jane, reviewer, 20710; identity, 210
Selnick, David O., 20
Semitic Museum, 149
Rothstein, Joy, 220
Semitic studies, 70-71, 149
Rush, Benjamin, 178
Sephardi, Mennahim, 92
Russell, Richard, 92
Service Guild, 98
Rutgers-Queens College, 175
Shankman, Jacob K., 227
S
Shapira, Anita, 214
Shapiro, Harry, 190-91
Sachar, Abraham, 90
Shearith Israel (Atlanta), 90
Salkowitz, Selig, 227
Shearith Israel (Charleston), 181
Samuel, Maurice, 11, 147
Shearith Israel (New York City),
179
Sarna, Jonathan, 17
Sartre, Jean-Paul, 22
She Done Him Wrong, 21
Satmar Hassidic enclave (Kiryas
Joel), 189
Sheftall, Moses, 179
Sherman, A. J., 211
Savannah (GA), 179
245
American Jewish Archives Journal
“Should Jews Join the Movie
Crusade? NO!,”31
Southern Israelite, 88, 91, 96, 97,
101
Shuler, Bob, 34n5
Southern Regional Conference
of Jewish Social Welfare
Agencies, 90
Shulhafer, Philip, 97
Shulman, Charles, 24, 25;
illustration, 24
Southeast Zionist Conference,
Region/District, 91
“The Significance of a Jewish
University,“ 75-78; as a
religious experience, 72; as a
social and cultural experience,
71-72; as a yeshiva, 72
Spanner, Bess, 133
Spear, Sonia, 199-201
Spray, Kathleen, 218-19
Spring, Samuel, 162
Silberberg, Mendel, 19-20
Silver, Abba Hillel, 92
State department, and Zionism,
46, 47
Simon, Leon, 154, 155, 156;
illustration, 155
Steinberg, Milton, 16
Steinberg, Paul, 217
Sinclair, Upton, 30
Stern, Heinrich, 47
Siskin, Edgar E., 215-16
Stimson, Henry, 53
Skorecki family, 199-201; and
Jewish identity, 200
The Story of Temple Drake, 14
Straus, Oscar, 116-17, 139n12
Slawson, Joan, 97
Straus, Sarah Lavanburg (Mrs.
Oscar Straus), 116-17,
139nn12, 13
Smith-Hughes Act, 133
social justice, 22, 23. See also
William Fineshriber
Strauss, Lewis L., 49 and
Hoover, 39, 52-53, 54, 6061n14
social justice movement, 29
Sokolow, Nahum, 65, 66, 92
Sol, Adam, 227-28
Studio Relations Committee
(SRC), 14
Sommerfeld, Rose Lisner, 121,
122-23, 126, 133, 140-41n25
Sussman, Arthur, 228
Song of Songs, 164
Swichkow, Louis J., 84-85
Sons of Jewish War Veterans, 93
Synagogue Council of America,
23
South Carolina Institute for
Correcting Impediments of
Speech, 180
T
South Carolina Medical Society.
See Medical Society of South
Carolina
Taft, William Howard,130-31
Southeast Transient Clearing
House (Atlanta), 86
Tchernichowsky, Saul, 147
Southern Conference of
Orthodox Rabbis, 90
Temple Beth-El (Brooklyn), 67
Tarzan, the Ape Man, 21
Teachers College, 118
Temple B’nai Shalom
(Brooklyn), 67
246
Index
Temple Emanu-El (NYC), 115,
224
universities, and Jews in Europe,
71
Temple Israel (Akron, Ohio), 228
University of California, 71
Temple Petach Tikvah
(Brownsville), 67, 68
University of Georgia, 92
Texas, 203-205; Jewish
community in, 203; rabbis in,
203-205
University of Pennsylvania, 67,
71, 164, 175
University of London, 212
University of Texas, 203
Thalberg, Irving, 15, 20
Tippy, Worth, 26
University of the Jewish People,
75
Toll, William, 93
Untermeyer, Louis, 162
Tontak, Sarah, 90
V
Travis, Robert M., 90, 91, 103
Travis, Robert (Mrs.), 95
Veterans Administration
hospital, 94
Troubled Memory: Anne Levy,
the Holocaust and David
Duke’s Louisiana, reviewed,
199-201
Veterans Service Commission,
93
vocational education, for boys,
120-21; inconsistencies of,
135-36; waning of, 131-35
Truman, Anna, 220
Truman, Harry S., 93, 103
tuberculosis , 109n29
vocational education
institutions, as Americanizers,
113, 115; and boarding
schools, 116; curricula, 122;
and housekeeping skills, 120;
limited job range, 113, 122; in
public schools, 133;
reconciliation of domesticity
and waged labor, 114-15;
schools/students compared,
141n31
“The Twilight of Hebraic
Culture,”160, 164
U
Union and Anti-Test Oath Party,
181
Union of American Hebrew
Congregations, 89-90, 96, 228
United Hebrew School, 99
United Jewish Appeal, 31, 92,
103
W
Warburg, Felix, 48, 49, 54;
cooperation in Palestine, 53;
and Hoover, 50, 52, 55; and
Palestine riots, 52; and Ramsey
Macdonald, 53, 54; and ZOA,
54
United Jewish Fund (OH),
107n16
United Nations and Jewish
state, 102-103
United Palestine Appeal, 31, 88,
92; illustration, 50
Warburg, Mr. and Mrs. Felix M.,
illustration, 50
United Synagogue of America,
23
Warner, Harry, 20, 26-27, 4243n88; illustration, 20
United Way, 85
247
American Jewish Archives Journal
Warner, Jack, 20; illustration, 20
Women of Courage: Jewish and
Italian Immigrant Women in
New York, reviewed, 207- 10
Warsaw Ghetto, 200, 201
Wasserstein, Bernard, 211
Women of Reform Judaism,
District #3, 228
Weinberg, Sydney Stahl, 207
Weiner, Horace Ava, 203-205
Woolman, Mary, 128
Weinstein, I. M., 97, 103
Works Progress Administration
(WPA), 87
Weiss, Rabbi, 99
Weizmann, Chaim 48, 53-54;
and university, 66, 70;
illustration with Albert
Einstein, 54; illustration with
wife, 50
World Jewish Congress, 221; and
Nazism, 42n87
World Jewish Congress (WJC)
archives, 217-23; current
condition, 220-21; documents
illustrated, 217, 218, 219;
finding aid, 219; founding, 221;
funding agents, 218; Holocaust
restitution, 221-22; rescue and
relief work, 222, 243
Wentling, Sonja, 8, 45-64;
identity, 56
Wertheim, Maurice, 96
West, Mae, 21
“What Hoover has done for the
Jews,”56
World Jewish Restitution
Organization, 222
Whig Party, 181
World of Our Fathers, 207
Whitehall and the Jews, 19331948: British Immigration
Policy and the Holocaust,
reviewed, 211-12
World of Our Mothers, 207
World War II, and Atlanta Jewish
community, 92-93
Whitfield, Stephen, 15
World Zionist Congress, 95
Wilson, Woodrow, 49, 59-60n7;
and Palestine, 56
World Zionist Organization, 48,
53
“Wings,”119
Winrod, Gerald, 16
WPA. See Works Progress
Administration
Wisconsin Menorah Prize essay,
161
WPA Guide to Georgia. See
Guide to Georgia
Wise, Carrie, 128-29
Wurtzel, Sol, 20
Wise, Stephen, 26, 89;
organizations clashed with, 2930; and social justice, 29
Y
Yale University, 5, 191
WJC. See World Jewish
Congress
Yavneh, 72
Yeshiva University, 190
Wolf family, 228
YMHA/YWHA, 97, 137n1
women, immigrant experiences,
207; multiple roles, 208. See
also vocational education
Young Women’s Hebrew
Association, 133
248
Index
Yezierska, Anzia, 118, 119
Zionism in Atlanta, 90-91
Yiddishkeit, 188, 193-94
Zionocentric history, 45; and
American foreign policy, 46;
overemphasizes Jewish lobby,
46-47; simplifies Zionism, 45
Young America, 153
Young Men and Young Women’s
Hebrew Association. See
YMHA/YWHA
Zionist Organization, 47
Zionist Organization of America
(ZOA), 48, 195; Atlanta as
regional headquarters, 98;
criticized, 58n4; Hoover
statement, 55-56; Roosevelt
statement, 55
Z
Zielonka, Martin, 205
Zionism, cultural, 45-46;
government response to, 47;
historiography of, 45; Hoover
and Roosevelt compared, 56;
political, 48, 51; and the
refugee crisis, 46
ZOA. See Zionist Organization
of America
Zola, Gary P., 40n58; and World
Jewish Congress archives, 220
Zionism and Religion, reviewed,
214
Zukor, 15
Zunz, Leopold, 159, 163
Zionist criticism of American
Jews, 32
249
THE B’NAI YAAKOV COUNCIL
The Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the
American Jewish Archives
Rabbi Ronald B. Sobel, Honorary Chair
Congregation Emanu-El
New York
Rabbi Jeffrey Stiffman, Chair
Congregation Shaave Emeth
St. Louis, MO
Rabbi Carole B. Balin
Assistant Professor of History
HUC–JIR, N.Y.
Rabbi Rebecca L. Dubowe
Temple Adat Elohim
Thousand Oaks, CA
Rabbi James Bennett
Temple Beth El
Charlotte, NC
Rabbi Lisa Eiduson
Anshe Chesed Fairmount Temple
Beachwood, OH
Rabbi Edward P. Cohn
Congregation Temple Sinai
New Orleans, La.
Rabbi Steven W. Engel
Congregation of Liberal Judaism
Orlando, FL
Rabbi Harry K. Danziger
Temple Israel
Memphis, TN
Rabbi Randall M. Falk
Congregation Ohabai Sholom
Nashville, TN
Rabbi Jerome P. David
Temple Emanuel
Cherry Hill, N.J.
Rabbi Dena A. Feingold
Temple Beth Hillel
Kenosha, WI
Rabbi Lucy H. F. Dinner
Temple Beth Or
Raleigh, N.C.
Rabbi Ronne Friedman
Temple Israel
Boston, MA
251
American Jewish Archives Journal
Rabbi Gary Glickstein
Temple Beth Sholom
Miami Beach, FL
Rabbi Lewis H. Kamrass
Isaac M. Wise Temple
Cincinnati, OH
Rabbi Edwin C. Goldberg
Temple Judea
Coral Gables, FL
Rabbi Kenneth A. Kanter
Congregation Micah
Brentwood, TN
Rabbi Mark N. Goldman
Rockdale Temple
Cincinnati, OH
Rabbi Gerald Klein
Temple Emanu-El
Dallas, TX
Rabbi Samuel Gordon
Congregation Sukkat Shalom
Wilmette, IL
Rabbi William I. Kuhn
Congregation Rodeph Shalom
Philadelphia, PA
Micah D. Greenstein
Temple Israel
Memphis, TN
Rabbi Andrea Lerner
Hillel at University of Wisconsin
Madison, WI
Rabbi Elizabeth Hersh
United Hebrew Congregation
Saint Louis, MO
Rabbi Bruce Lustig
Washington Hebrew Congregation
Washington, DC
Rabbi Lisa Hochberg-Miller
Temple Beth Torah
Ventura, CA
Rabbi Jay H. Moses
Temple Sholom of Chicago
Chicago, IL
Rabbi Abie Ingber
Hillel Jewish Student Center
University of Cincinnati
Cincinnati, Ohio
Rabbi Michael Moskowitz
Temple Shir Shalom
West Bloomfield, MI
Rabbi Howard Needleman
Temple Israel
New York, NY
Rabbi Lawrence Jackofsky
Director, SW Council, UAHC
Dallas, TX
Rabbi Stephen S. Pearce
Congregation Emanu-El
San Francisco, CA
Rabbi Bruce E. Kahn
Temple Shalom
Chevy Chase, MD
252
Rabbi Aaron M. Petuchowski
Temple Sholom of Chicago
Chicago, IL
Rabbi Lance Sussman
Reform Congreagtion Keneseth Israel
Elkins Park, PA
Rabbi Sarah Reines
Central Synagogue
New York, NY
Rabbi Barry Tabachnikoff
Congregation Bet Breira
Miami, FL
Rabbi Gaylia R. Rooks
The Temple
Louisville, KY
Rabbi Susan Talve
Central Reform Congregation
Saint Louis, MO
Rabbi Kenneth D. Roseman
Temple Shalom
Dallas, TX
Rabbi Gerry H. Walter
Temple Sholom
Cincinnati, Ohio
Rabbi Joseph R. Rosenbloom
Temple Emanuel
St. Louis, MO
Rabbi Max Weiss
Main Line Reform TempleBeth Elohim
Wynnewood, PA
Rabbi Donald Rossoff
Temple B’nai Or
Morristown, NJ
Rabbi Mark S. Shapiro
Congregation B’nai Jehoshua Beth
Elohim
Glenview, IL
Rabbi Daniel S. Wolk
Congregation Emanu-El
Rye, NY
Rabbi Hanna G.Yerushalmi
Mariton, NJ
Rabbi Rick Steinberg
Congregation Shir Ha Ma’Alot
Irvine, CA
253
The Ezra Consortium of
The Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the
American Jewish Archives
Michael Lorge, Chair
Chicago, Illinois
Winnie Barrows
Cincinnati, OH
Leo Krupp
Northbrook, IL
Robert Block
Cincinnati, OH
Jules Laser
Chicago, IL
Barton P. Cohen &
Mary Davidson Cohen
Leawood, KS
Aaron Levine
Cincinnati, OH
Millard Mack
Cincinnati, OH
Lori Fenner
Cincinnati, OH
Joseph Mendelsohn
Cincinnati, OH
Scott Golinkin
Chicago, IL
Arnold & Dee Kaplan
Allentown, PA
Janet Moss
Cherry Hill, NJ
Clementine Kaufman
Baltimore, MD
Joan Porat
Chicago, IL
Joel Kettler
Woodland Hills, CA
Jean Soman
Miami, FL
Jerry & Nancy Klein
Cincinnati, OH
Peggy Steine
Nashville, TN
255