Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom: 1880-1940 9789048521067

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Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940

Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940 Judith Frishman and Hetty Berg editors

a Amsterdam 2007

ISBN 978-90-5260-268-4 © 2007, the authors/Aksant Academic Publishers All rights reserved including those of translation into foreign languages. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission from the copyright owner.

Corrector: Jonathan Fox Book Design: AlfaGrafica, Hilversum Cover: Board of the Vereeniging voor Vrouwenkiesrecht, 1916. In the middle, holding flowers, Aletta Jacobs (Collection IISG, Amsterdam) Printed in the Netherlands by A-D Druk bv, Zeist Aksant Academic Publishers, Cruquiusweg 31, nl-1019 at Amsterdam, www.aksant.nl

Table of Contents

Foreword Judith Frishman (Tilburg University) and Hetty Berg (Jewish Historical Museum, Amsterdam)

7

The New “Mosaik”. Jews and European Culture, 1750-1940 Prof. Dr. David Sorkin (University of Wisconsin-Madison)

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The Politics of Jewish Historiography Prof. Dr. Michael Brenner (Ludwig-Maximilian University, Munich)

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“The First Shall Be the Last”. The Rise and Development of Modern Jewish Historiography in the Netherlands until 1940 Dr. Rena Fuks-Mansfeld (Em. Professor University of Amsterdam)

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Epigones and Identity. Jewish Scholarship in the Netherlands, 1850-1940 Prof. Dr. Irene Zwiep (University of Amsterdam)

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Judaism on Display. The Origins of Amsterdam’s Jewish Historical Museum Drs. Julie-Marthe Cohen (Jewish Historical Museum, Amsterdam)

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De Vrijdagavond as a Mirror of Dutch Jewry in the Interbellum, 1924-1932 Prof. Dr. Judith Frishman (Tilburg University)

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“Holland is a country which provokes serious reflection…”. Images of Dutch Jewry in the German Jewish Press Drs. Thomas Kollatz (Solomon Ludwig Steinheim-Institut, Duisburg)

97

Spinozism and Dutch Jewry between 1880 and 1940 Dr. Henri Krop (Erasmus University, Rotterdam)

103

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Table of Contents

Spinoza’s Popularity in Perspective. A Dutch-German Comparison Dr. David Wertheim (University of Utrecht, Menasseh ben Israel Institute, Amsterdam) 121 Mozes Salomon Polak. Jewish “Lerner” and Propagator of Freemasonry, Spiritualism, and Theosophy Dr. Marty Bax (Bax Art Concepts and Services, Amsterdam)

131

Jewish Women, Philanthropy, and Modernization. The Changing Roles of Jewish Women in Modern Europe, 1850-1939 Prof. Dr. Susan L. Tananbaum (Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Maine)

139

Roosje Vos, Sani Prijes, Alida de Jong, and the others. Jewish Women Workers and the Labor Movement as a Vehicle on the Road to Modernity Prof. Dr. Karin Hofmeester (International Institute of Social History, Amsterdam, University of Antwerp)

155

Stemming the Current. Dutch Jewish Women and the First Feminist Movement Dr. Marloes Schoonheim (Academica Sinica, Taipei, Taiwan)

169

Dutch Jewish Women. Integration and Modernity Prof. Dr. Selma Leydesdorff (University of Amsterdam)

183

Index of names of persons

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Index of subjects

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Judith Frishman Hetty Berg

Foreword

The division of history into time periods is no simple matter: historians in the twentieth century have heatedly debated the dating of the beginning and end of the Middle Ages, as well as the use of such terms as modern and contemporary history. One historian has recently even suggested that Antiquity ends only in the year 1000 and that the Middle Ages subsequently run from 1000 till 1800.1 Although we will refrain from entering into that larger discussion here, some justification of the years 1880–1940 as the chosen time span for the studies on Dutch Jewry presented in this volume is due. One might plausibly argue that we should draw our boundaries at the period prior to or including World War I, or, alternatively, carry on well beyond World War II to the present day. Although World War I was not without reverberations in the Netherlands, the country was never directly involved in the war. There are in fact more arguments in favor of continuity between the years prior to the war and those in its aftermath than a breach. As for World War II, the contention that even today we live in its aftermath may still hold true for Europe but is certainly not applicable to the world at large. However, the year 1940 marks the rupture caused by the Shoah in European Jewish history in general and Dutch Jewish history in particular: 101,000 of the approximately 140,000 Jews living in the Netherlands prior to the war were murdered under the Nazi regime. The final decades of the nineteenth century in Europe witnessed the growth of the labor population, the introduction of protective social laws, the extension of voting rights to larger groups of the population, the development of large-scale political parties, and mandatory conscription and compulsory education. They were the years of industrial revolution and the ensuing prosperity and colonial expansion. And of course they also formed the age of emancipation: of workers, the colonized, and women.2 The innumerable changes taking place in the second half of ccccccc 1. 2.

Cf. P. Raedts, “When Were the Middle Ages?”, Proceedings of the 19th International Congress of Historical Sciences (Oslo 2000), p. 67. The summary of changes taking place in Europe is derived from H.L. Wesseling, Ons vierde tijdvak. Beschouwingen over contemporaine geschiedenis (Amsterdam 2002), p. 28-36. Cf. idem, p. 19-25, for a discussion of the division of history into periods.

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the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century led to a specific Dutch phenomenon know as verzuiling or pillarization. Pillarization is the process by which “members of various population groups consciously carry out an important part of their social, cultural, and political activities within the circles and organizations sharing their own persuasions”.3 These circles or pillars represented a variety of convictions including religious beliefs, social and political ideologies such as socialism or liberalism, or perhaps even a neutral position. No one pillar represented a majority of the population and, as the Dutch historian Blom formulates it, “within the pillars the members were strongly aware of their particular nature” and intentionally emphasized the fact that that they were other than the others.4 The process of pillarization led to the formation of nationwide sub-cultures which, more often than not, replaced local and regional features. Thus it was not uncommon to speak of the “rich Roman Catholic life”, the “black stocking church” (i.e. the [ultra-]orthodox Protestants), or the “tough red rascals”.5 Where the Jews stood in all this is a complicated matter. While the population at large was being divided into various sub-cultures, there was no Jewish pillar as such, as Jews preferred to identify with the non-confessional liberal and social democratic pillars. There were no Jewish labor unions, although in some unions such as the General Dutch Diamond Workers Union [Algemeene Nederlandsche Diamant-bewerkers Bond (ANDB)] and the Garment Workers Union there was a disproportionately high number of Jewish members. However, despite their disproportionate representation, no specifically Jewish issues were brought to the fore.6 As Blom and Cahen point out, aside from the social-democratic and liberal circles, Jews also became involved in the economy, arts, and sciences – areas where pillarization was of lesser importance.7 They were intent on proving the fact of their belonging rather than emphasizing their otherness, and to this end they employed various means. The founding of the Jewish Historical Museum in Amsterdam, for example, quickly followed the founding of several national museums including the Rijksmuseum. These national museums explored the contours of Dutch identity at a time when there was no consensus on what Dutch identity entailed. The Jewccccccc 3.

4. 5 6.

7.

For a discussion of pillarization, cf. among others J.C.H. Blom, Verzuiling in Nederland 1850-1925, Amsterdamse Historische Reeks 2 (Amsterdam 1981). The term persuasion here is a rough translation of the Dutch levensbeschouwingen. Ibid., p. 25. Ibid., p. 27-28. The Dutch expressions are “het rijke roomse leven”, “de zwarte kousen kerken”, and “de taaie rooie rakkers”. For a discussion of the presence or absence of a Jewish pillar, cf. J.C.H. Blom and J.J. Cahen, “Jewish Netherlanders, Netherlands Jews, and Jews in the Netherlands, 1870-1940”, in: J.C.H. Blom et al., eds., The History of the Jews in the Netherlands (Oxford 2002), esp. p. 260-267. For Henri Polak and the ANDB, cf. S. Bloemgarten, Henri Polak sociaal democraat 1868-1943 (Den Haag 1996). Blom and Cahen, “Jewish Netherlanders”, p. 261.

Foreword

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ish museum served several purposes: on the one hand it reminded the increasingly assimilated Jews of their background and heritage; on the other it demonstrated the Jewish contribution to Dutch civilization, a message directed at both Jews and non-Jews alike. So too the Society for Jewish Studies [Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap] busied itself with a history of Dutch Jews in modernity. The notion that (many) Jews had eagerly taken part in the revolution and welcomed civil emancipation with open arms was actively propagated. These and similarly patriotic ideas were made accessible in both the journal of the society as well as in the popular weekly De Vrijdagavond. Entertaining the ideal of belonging was mainly a bourgeois phenomenon, equally cherished by those aspiring to form part of the bourgeoisie. The majority of Dutch Jews prior to WWII, however, belonged to the proletariat, especially in Amsterdam where between 1870 and 1930 Jews represented between 10 and 13 percent of the population and were considerably poorer than the average denizen. More often than not they joined ranks with the social democrats and labor unions. Jewish women in particular were in the forefront of the women’s movement, calling for equal rights, demanding the vote, and protection of women and children against white slavery and slave labor. The Jewish identity of these women has been much discussed and is at issue yet again in this volume. This leads us to the theme of this volume: Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom. As noted above, it was not only the Jews who were in a cultural maelstrom. The question is whether or not the Jewish experience was unique. A partial answer has already been provided: the Jews, in their reluctance to form a separate pillar, were certainly different than the Catholics and Protestants. But what about the Jews involved in the socialist, labor, and women’s movements? In what way could they be distinguished from their nonJewish contemporaries? The traditional answer would be that they were not distinguishable because of their high degree of assimilation.8 Perhaps a better solution may be found by following Sorkin’s proposal to understand Jewish culture in terms of a mosaic rather than in terms of assimilation. Among the newer alternative concepts presented by Sorkin is that of “co-constitutionality” formulated by Aschheim, who applied this concept to the Weimar Republic. According to him, Jews would “not be trying to gain entrance in a pre-existing culture”. Rather the Weimar Republic was itself “jointly constructed by both Jewish and non-Jewish intellectuals who were not acting in their “Jewish” or “non-Jewish” capacities; that culture was the product of a new sensibility in which older ethnic and religious differences were either peripheral or played no role at all”.9 While in Holland older ethnic and reliccccccc 8. 9.

So too Blom and Cahen’s analysis of the situation in the period under discussion. Cf. “Jewish Netherlanders”, esp. p. 260-271. See Sorkin’s quotation of Aschheim in his article in this volume, p. 27.

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gious differences were indeed receding, new and equally unyielding differences were under construction. This would seem to imply that Aschheim’s “co-constitutionality” is irrelevant for Dutch Jewish history. However, this would be a gross misunderstanding of the complex Dutch situation, in which “co-constitutionality” is most applicable to the trade unions and feminist and socialist movements where these older ethnic and religious differences were indeed peripheral. The complexity of Dutch Jewish history is thus once more evident if not new. The authors whose essays are included in this volume have attempted firstly to go beyond the listing of demographic facts and convey the mentality of both Dutch Jews and non-Jews during the period at hand. The three more general essays included on Jews in European Culture, Jewish historiography in European context, and the changing roles of Jewish women in modern Europe are intended to help the reader understand the Dutch (Jewish) situation in a broader and therefore even more complex context. All of the essays, general and specific, reflect and embellish upon the lectures presented during the conference on Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940, held in Amsterdam and organized by the Committee for the History and Culture of the Jews in the Netherlands of the Royal Dutch Academy of Sciences. This conference was the ninth in a series which we hope will continue to stimulate the interest of scholars in Dutch Jewish history and culture in the future. Judith Frishman and Hetty Berg, editors

David Sorkin

The New “Mosaik” Jews and European Culture, 1750-1940

…ich meine den reinen Mosaik-Gottesdienst, mit orthographischen deutschen Gesängen und gerührten Predigten, und einigen Schwärmereichen, die eine Religion durchaus nötig hat. Heinrich Heine, Reisebilder. Italien 1828. Die Bäder von Lucca.

That the relationship of Jews to European culture has been and continues to be a vexed topic should come as no surprise: as a principal piece of the history of the Jews in European society it could not be otherwise. Yet in some ways the subject has been even more fraught than one might expect. The cultural question has served as a lightning rod for all the problems inherent in the last three centuries of European Jewish history. Take any of the central issues of modern Jewish history – emancipation, anti-Semitism, assimilation – and you will find that some of its most pointed expressions or controversial manifestations were in the realm of culture. In this paper I will focus on the way in which the relationship of the Jews to European culture has been subsumed to the category of assimilation and survey some alternative approaches. I need hardly remind the reader that the category of assimilation has held pride of place in the interpretation of Jewish life in general – and European Jewish culture in particular – since at least the closing decades of the nineteenth century. While at an earlier point in time one might have said that the category’s preeminent position was for better or for worse, it is now fair to say that in regard to the Jews and European culture it is overwhelmingly and unequivocally for the worse.

European Jewish Culture as Assimilation The origins of the concept of assimilation were decidedly polemical: it emerged at the end of the nineteenth century as an indispensable weapon in the intramural warfare between the proponents of liberal and post-liberal or nationalist Jewish ideologies, as well as in the sectarian warfare among the multiple strains of nationalism. It was a nationalist construct whose proponents first and foremost posited an uncompromising notion of the purity of “national” or religious culture. They understood culture in essentialist terms: national cultures were rooted in divisions

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both ontological and sociological. They perceived the relationship between Jews and the surrounding national cultures as that of fixed entities: the majority culture, whether German, French, English, Russian, Polish, or Dutch, was pitted against Judaism or Jewish culture. The category of assimilation therefore entailed a mechanical or substitution model of cultural interaction: one cultural entity could only replace or displace another.1 In his famous lectures “Reden über das Judentum” (1909-1911), for example, which inspired a generation of Zionist intellectuals, Martin Buber asserted that what “is customarily referred to as assimilation”, meant that “another people’s landscape, language and culture have permeated our soul and our life”, and that in regard to religion, “many of us have renounced the norms of Jewish tradition and the system of rules imposed by this tradition”.2 At the Fifth Zionist Congress (1901), the artist E.M. Lilien (1874-1925) sounded a similar note about the nature of assimilation prior to Zionism: “the form of culture which Judaism encountered before the rise of Zionism was a foreign, not a Jewish culture. Then, when a Jew tasted of culture, it was a foreign substance he assimilated, and had nothing to do with Judaism… when a Jew became a Kulturmensch he belonged to another nation.”3 According to this understanding, then, there could be German ccccccc 1.

2.

3.

On the origins of the concept see J. Toury, “Emancipation and Assimilation: Concepts and Conditions” (Hebrew), Yalkut Moreshet 2,2 (1964). For German Jewry see D. Sorkin, “Emancipation and Assimilation: Two Concepts and their Application to the Study of German Jewish History”, Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook 35 (1990), p. 17-33. A full-scale study of the concept would be a major contribution. My attention was drawn to assimilation’s “essentialist” assumptions by S. Hall, “Cultural Identity and Diaspora”, in: N. Mirzoeff, ed., Diaspora and Visual Culture: Representing Africans and Jews (London and New York 2000), p. 21-33; S. Friedman, Mappings: Feminism and the Cultural Geographies of Encounter (Princeton 1998), esp. p. 82-93; S. Moyn, “German Jewry and the Question of Identity: Historiography and Theory”, Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook 41 (1996), p. 291-308; S.E. Aschheim, In Times of Crisis: Essays on European Culture, Germans and Jews (Madison 2001), esp. p. 6472; 86-92; M. Stanislawski, Zionism and the Fin de Siècle: Cosmopolitanism and Nationalism from Nordau to Jabotinsky (Berkeley 2001); and M. Baigell and M. Heyd, eds., Complex Identities: Jewish Consciousness and Modern Art (New Brunswick 2001). Scholars have argued against an essentialist approach to language in asserting that to qualify as Jewish literature works need not be written in a Jewish language. For example, Benjamin Harshav has argued for a recurring pattern in European Jewish history of a “trilingual culture” – Hebrew, Yiddish, and the national language. Cf. Language in Time of Revolution (Berkeley 1993), p. 25-30. Ruth Wisse, in The Modern Jewish Canon: A Journey Through Language and Culture (New York 2000), has recently made a similar argument in regard to language, yet in her notions of “national existence” and “national experience” has retained a strong essentialist element. M. Buber, Der Jude und sein Judentum: Gesammelte Aufsätze und Reden (Cologne 1963), p. 89-90. I cite the translation in N. N. Glatzer, ed., On Judaism (New York 1967), p. 108-109. As a neo-romantic and “experience” [Erlebnis] mystic, Buber further distinguished between this “customary” assimilation and what he deemed the “fateful assimilation” of the Jew: as the quintessential “oriental”, the Jew had renounced his true “unity” of being in favor of the occidental “splitting of man’s being into two realms”. Lilien of course thought that Zionism had wrought a sea-change: “…today things are different. When we demand culture, it is a Jewish culture… Culture will make us into complete Jews and will

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writers or Dutch writers, but a Jew who wrote in German or Dutch and thereby attempted to express, and sustain, a dual or even more complex identity threatened to betray the nation and the purity of its culture.4 This understanding of assimilation also marked the writing of Jewish history, especially of the so-called East European Jewish school, which dominated the first three quarters of the twentieth century. This school originated with Simon Dubnow who, as the ideologue of autonomism and inventor of the “sociological” approach to Jewish history based on the centrality of communal life, exercised a formative influence on such outstanding historians as Raphael Mahler, Benzion Dinur, and Shmuel Ettinger, among others.5 Dubnow, for example, saw “assimilation” as the cost of the Jews’ “emancipation”: For this favor [of emancipation] many Jews paid the price of partly or fully obliterating their national individuality through assimilation… They did not join their Christian neighbors on the basis of equality, but tried hard to make themselves resemble them, to imitate their customs, to adapt themselves to their national cultures and even to intermarry with them.6

This trend, he wrote, was noticeable at the beginning at the nineteenth century. The number of Jews drawn into the process of assimilation was already most significant and was growing year by year. One of the signs of this process was the fact that the German and French Jews in Alsace had repudiated their own national language… The state language found its way into every sphere of the people’s life, into the family and the school, into literature and even into the synagogue. The new generations steadily alienated themselves from Jewry…7

In his view this trend peaked in Western Europe at mid-century. ccccccc

4.

5.

6. 7.

enrich our Jewishness… Since the rise of Zionism, the Jew who makes a mark in science or art and is a Zionist, belongs to his own nation.” See, Stenographisches Protokoll der Verhandlungen des V. Zionisten-Congresses in Basel (Vienna 1901), p. 395-396, quoted in Stanislawski, Zionism and the Fin de Siècle, 109. While this notion of cultural interaction was most forcefully enunciated by Jewish nationalists, it was also accepted in other quarters. Anti-Semites similarly viewed culture in essentialist terms, thus fearing and attacking the alleged “Judaization” of their respective national cultures. See, for example, S.E. Aschheim, “‘The Jew Within’: The Myth of ‘Judaization’ in Germany”, in: J. Reinharz and W. Schatzberg, eds., The Jewish Response to German Culture (Hanover, NH 1985), p. 212-241. For an illuminating discussion of the “East European school” see J. Frankel, “Assimilation and the Jews in Nineteenth-Century Europe: Towards a New Historiography?”, in: J. Frankel and S. Zipperstein, eds., Assimilation and Community in European Jewry, 1815-81 (Cambridge 1992), p. 1-37. S. Dubnow, Nationalism and History: Essays on Old and New Judaism, ed. K.S. Pinson (New York 1970), p. 112. S. Dubnow, History of the Jews, 5 vols. (New York 1971-3), vol. 4, p. 498, quoted in: Frankel, “Assimilation and the Jews in Nineteenth-Century Europe”, p. 8.

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David Sorkin The men… who grew up in the period of emancipation following 1848, were eyewitnesses of the complete abandonment of Jewish ideals in western Europe. They were swept into the rapid stream of general European culture.8

The concept of assimilation became both pervasive and triumphant as a result of the epochal events of the twentieth century. The Nazis murdered, and the Soviet Union repressed and murdered, the bearers of the hitherto abundant competing forms of identity and culture. The establishment of the State of Israel gave Zionism virtually exclusive legitimacy among secular identities on the Jewish street; it now appeared to be favored by the verdict of history. The result was that Jewish self-understanding was effectively reduced to two acceptable forms: nationalism and religion. The exponents of both of these, moreover, by and large found assimilation to be an apposite way to explain the Jews’ relationship to the larger world.

Questioning the Concept of Assimilation To be sure, the concept of assimilation has been questioned in the last half-century. One notable instance was Gerson Cohen’s effort at transvaluation. In a brilliant 1966 address, “The Blessing of Assimilation in Jewish History”, Cohen argued that such strategic markers as names, key religious terms, and language usage demonstrated the incontrovertibility of the Jews’ intense intermixing with – or as he put it, “healthy appropriation of” – the surrounding cultures since biblical times. In consequence, in a profound sense this assimilation or acculturation was even a stimulus to original thinking and expression and, consequently, a source of renewed vitality… This ability… to readapt and reorient themselves to new situations, while retaining a basic inner core of continuity, was largely responsible, if not for [the Jews’] survival, at least for their vitality.9

In this luminous endeavor to see assimilation as a positive value, Cohen nevertheless affirmed the concept and its essentialist assumptions. An idiosyncratic effort to liberate specifically German Jewry from the stigma of assimilation is George Mosse’s German Jews Beyond Judaism. Mosse asserts that the Jews’ adherence to German culture and the ideal of self-formation [Bildung] beccccccc 8. 9.

Dubnow, History of the Jews, vol. 4, p. 150. G. Cohen, “The Blessing of Assimilation in Jewish History”, reprinted in: S. Israel and S. Forman, eds., Great Jewish Speeches Throughout History (Northvale, NJ 1994), p. 183-191. Cohen extended his argument to German Jewry, seeing the multiple forms of German Jewish culture as varieties of Midrash. See G. Cohen, “German Jewry as Mirror of Modernity”, Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook 20 (1975), p. ix-xxxi. Robert Alter has made a similar argument about Hebrew literature, deeming it “an extraordinarily supple instrument of assimilation” in its ability to absorb secular elements. Like Cohen, he also relies on Ahad Ha’am’s distinction between “competitive” and “imitative” competition. See “The Inner Immigration of Hebrew Prose”, in: idem, Hebrew and Modernity (Bloomington 1994), p. 75-76; 82.

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came a surrogate Jewish identity. At first adopted to gain the Jews emancipation and integration into German society, it later came to separate them from a German bourgeoisie increasingly under the sway of a nationalist and racist [völkisch] ideology, paradoxically making the Jews the bearers of true German culture. Mosse’s striking and influential argument, which is also something of a personal creed, is not portable; it is too grounded in a set of singular historical circumstances to be applicable to Jews elsewhere.10 Among historians of European Jewry there have been efforts to refine or replace the term. In the 1970s and 1980s a number of social historians began to introduce the distinctions of an American sociologist, Milton Gordon, between various forms or levels of assimilation (e.g. “structural”, “behavioral”). These efforts were fundamentally flawed. For one, they relied on a selection of Gordon’s categories rather than utilizing his entire analytical framework, which was designed to explore the degree of cohesion in American society despite persisting religious and racial divides. Scholars consequently applied his categories in an unsystematic manner. For another, his categories were entirely unequal to the intricacies of the self-understanding and cultural production of intellectuals and artists.11 More recently, the interpretation of European Jewish history according to bipolar categories, a practice prevalent since Dubnow, has been assailed by historians of European Jewry. Shmuel Ettinger, for example, had unmistakably articulated this bipolarity: On the one hand we find the centripetal forces driving individual Jews and various groups within the people to identify themselves with the Jewish past and with all Jews throughout the Diaspora, and on the other hand we see the centrifugal tendency pulling them apart and bringing them closer to their alien surroundings… There were periods particularly in the second half of the nineteenth century and at the beginning of the twentieth century, when the centrifugal tendencies predominated.12

The “centrifugal tendency” was, of course, that of assimilation. In order to dislodge this fundamental dichotomy, historians have substituted acculturation as a neutral category since they thought it capable of delineating a social or cultural situation distinct from, and not inevitably leading to, assimilation. Via the category of acculturation, historians have been able to recognize a variety of identities that formed ccccccc 10.

11.

12.

G.L. Mosse, German Jews Beyond Judaism (Bloomington 1985). For the book as credo see G.L. Mosse, Confronting History (Madison 2000), esp. p. 272. For critiques see K. Berghahn, ed., The German-Jewish Dialogue Reconsidered: A Symposium in Honor of George L. Mosse (New York 1996), and S.E. Aschheim, “George Mosse and Jewish History”, German Politics and Society 18 (2000), p. 46-57. M. Gordon, Assimilation in American Life: The Role of Race, Religion and National Origins (New York 1964). For a recent criticism of the application of Gordon’s categories to European Jewish history see Stanislawski, Zionism and the Fin de Siècle, p. 8. S. Ettinger, “The Modern Period”, in: H.H. Ben-Sasson, ed., A History of the Jewish People (Cambridge, MA 1976), p. 731.

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around “new institutions, ideologies and causes, be they religious, philanthropic or political”.13 Nevertheless, neither of these efforts has directly challenged the nationalist construct of cultural purity and its essentialist and mechanist assumptions. The difficulty of challenging that construct is compounded by its putative historical grounding: it is deeply rooted in current notions of European Jewish history. The regnant paradigm of Jewish history presupposes that the modern period differs from previous ones in the intensity of interaction with the surrounding culture. Jacob Katz’s Tradition and Crisis (1960), which has been exceedingly influential in providing categories for defining the rupture of modernity or the eighteenth-century crises of Hasidism and Haskalah cum emancipation, posited precisely this distinction. He reinforced the essentialist view of assimilation by giving it a temporal dimension. His construct of the autonomous community, which he based on sources from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries for the area from Alsace in the west to Bohemia, Moravia, and Lithuania in the east, represented a zone of purity in which social contact between Jews and Christians was limited to “instrumental” purposes, that is, commerce, and the Jews’ cultural life derived almost exclusively from internal sources. Relying on Weberian categories, he created a “before” of “tradition” in which Jews and Judaism were pure and authentic, and an “after” of “modernity” in which they were increasingly impure and inauthentic. Here was the essentialist fixed entity of Judaism and Jewish culture that could serve as a starting point for a teleology of assimilatory decline. To be sure, Katz’s book represented a signal achievement in his utilization of a vast array of internal Jewish sources to portray the normal or typical life of Jewish communities. In this regard he had advanced two aspects of Dubnow’s program: recognizing communal life as the engine of diaspora Jewish history and delineating the nature of geographic centers in specific periods.14 In the process he had entirely reversed the prevalent image of these centuries: for the founders of the Wissenschaft des Judentums such as Leopold Zunz, Ashkenazic Jewry of the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries had represented the dark ages.15 Yet the inescapable problem with the “autonomous community” is that it was a construct. Katz extracted it from a selection of materials that supported his argument, but he wittingly excluded, or unwittingly ignored, those that did not. For example, he deliberately chose not to take account of the diversity of European Jewry in the period by leaving aside the Sephardim of Northern and Western Europe. ccccccc 13. 14.

15.

Frankel, “Assimilation and the Jews in Nineteenth-Century Europe”, p. 22. For various efforts to use acculturation see the contributions in that volume. For a balanced assessment of Katz’s achievement, including a discussion of the controversy it generated when it first appeared, see B. Cooperman’s Afterword to J. Katz, Tradition and Crisis: Jewish Society at the End of the Middle Ages, trans. B. Cooperman (New York 1993), p. 237-253. L. Zunz, Die gottesdienstlichen Vorträge der Juden, historisch entwickelt (Berlin 1832), p. 437-443.

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After all, many of these were port Jews who were already living beyond the confines of the autonomous community and were closely engaged with the surrounding culture.16 Katz also failed to come to grips with the historical nature of Ashkenazic Jewish culture itself: the insular culture of “monolithic Talmudism” that had developed since the sixteenth century was hardly characteristic of other times and places.17 Finally, and perhaps most importantly, subsequent scholarship has shown that for Katz’s chosen period Ashkenazic Jews did not live in the sort of cultural isolation from the surrounding society he had asserted; there were varying forms and degrees of intellectual exchange and interaction.18 To reiterate: the regnant concept of assimilation is predicated on a late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century nationalist and essentialist premise of pure national cultures. It is linked conceptually to a simplistic mechanical or substitution model of cultural interaction. It is linked temporally to a notion of a pure or unalloyed Jewish culture in the immediately preceding or early modern period. In short, the polemical nationalist concept of assimilation is a blunt instrument. It is time to find more acute alternatives that will help us to reach more precise, discerning and suggestive interpretations.

Biography as a Challenge to the Assimilationist Model Perhaps the place to start a search for alternative approaches is in the scholarship on significant individuals. Some recent works take direct issue with the assimilation model, thereby casting prominent figures in a decidedly new light. ccccccc 16.

17.

18.

D. Sorkin, “The Port Jew: Notes Towards a Social Type”, Journal of Jewish Studies 50 (1999), p. 8797; L. Dubin, The Port Jews of Habsburg Trieste: Absolutist Politics and Enlightenment Culture (Stanford 1999). I. Twersky, “Talmudists, Philosophers, Kabbalists: The Quest for Spirituality in the Sixteenth Century”, in: B. Cooperman, ed., Jewish Thought in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, MA 1983), p. 431459. See also J. Elbaum, Petih.ut ve-Histagrut: ha-Yez.ira ha-Ruh.anit-Sifrutit be-Polin ube-Arz.ot Ashkenaz be-Shalh. ei ha-Meah ha-Sheish Esrei (Jerusalem 1990). For a survey of the literature see J.M. Davis, “The Cultural and Intellectual History of Ashkenazic Jews, 1500-1750: A Selective Bibliography and Essay”, Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook 38 (1993), p. 343-390. Katz also did not address the diversity within Ashkenazic Jewish culture, i.e. whether there was a more pragmatic Old Reich tradition of study and interpretation distinct from, and critical of, the Polish one based on pilpul and Kabbalah. For this issue see M. Breuer and M. Graetz, Tradition and Enlightenment 1600-1780, vol. 1 of German-Jewish History in Modern Times, 4 vols., ed. M. Meyer (New York 1996-98), p. 213; 260. On this point see Cooperman’s afterword to, Tradition and Crisis, p. 240, and the various contributions in R. Po-chia Hsia and H. Lehmann, In and Out of the Ghetto: Jewish-Gentile Relations in Late Medieval and Early Modern Germany (Cambridge 1995). For Poland see M.J. Rosman, The Lords’ Jews: Magnate-Jewish Relations in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth during the Eighteenth Century (Cambridge, MA 1990).

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The thought of Moses Mendelssohn (1729-1786), long the touchstone for the Jews’ relationship to modern European culture, has recently been reinterpreted, in separate works by Edward Breuer and myself, by focusing on his neglected Hebrew works. In my view, Mendelssohn wrote consistently in Hebrew throughout his career and was the proponent of the renewal of Jewish culture in that language, especially of the disciplines of philosophy and Biblical exegesis. Thus his magnum opus, the five-volume Sefer Netivot ha-Shalom (Book of the Paths of Peace, 1780-83), usually known as the Biur – in the assimilation model understood as designed to lead the Jews to German language and culture – instead aimed to make the Bible accessible to Jews by directing them to the original Hebrew text with the aid of a fluent German translation (printed in Hebrew letters) and a Hebrew commentary that provided a digest of the tradition of plain (or “pashtanit”) exegesis from Rashi to Obadiah Seforno. It also defended inherited Jewish notions of a divine text. At the same time, Mendelssohn participated in the making of eighteenth-century German culture: one of the pillars of the Berlin Aufklärung (especially of Nicolai’s journal, the Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek), he was a true animateur des idées who broached crucial ideas that others then developed systematically.19 Rather than an assimilationist or even an advocate of religious reform, Mendelssohn appears as a thinker who adopted novel means to conservative ends. Abraham Geiger (1810-1874), long celebrated as the founding father of Reform Judaism yet reviled by nationalists as an agent of assimilation, has recently been recognized by Susannah Heschel as a major figure in the German theological debates over Jesus’s relationship to Judaism. She has shown that Geiger was a relentless critic of the Christian theologians who systematically ignored the Jewish sources that elucidated Jesus’s ideas and teachings; he was the “gadfly to the generation of the 1860s and 1870s”. Yet Geiger exceeded mere criticism: he appropriated the methods of Christian scholars and used them to write a “counter-history” which restored Jesus’s relationship to Judaism by seeing him as a Pharisee who championed the liberalization of Jewish religious practice. On that basis, Geiger interpreted the contemporary impulse within Judaism to reform as the reclamation of Judaism’s true Biblical and Pharisaic roots, yet also, and equally, as the true representation of Jesus’s spirit. Thus in Geiger’s eyes, Reform Judaism, and not liberal Protestantism, was the true bearer of Jesus’s faith since his was an indelibly Jewish faith. Rather than an “assimilationist”, Geiger tenaciously defended Judaism’s status and claims.20 Another example is Vladimir Jabotinsky (1880-1940). Nationalists were wont ccccccc 19.

20.

For this view of Mendelssohn see E. Breuer, The Limits of Enlightenment: Jews, Germans and the Eighteenth-Century Study of Scripture (Cambridge 1996), and D. Sorkin, Moses Mendelssohn and the Religious Enlightenment (Berkeley 1996). For the neglect of Mendelssohn’s Hebrew works see D. Sorkin, “The Mendelssohn Myth and Its Method”, New German Critique 77 (1999), p. 7-28. S. Heschel, Abraham Geiger and the Jewish Jesus (Chicago 1998).

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to portray his life as the stereotypical story of an “assimilated” Jew who, in response to the shock of pogroms and persecution, discovered Zionism. Rather, as Michael Stanislawski has recently shown, Jabotinsky was a talented journalist and writer who belonged to the cosmopolitan Russian culture of decadence and symbolism in the 1890s, “a man without labels or tags” who stood aloof from the rough and tumble world of politics and parties. As those aesthetic ideals of individualism collapsed in the first years of the century, and as many of his contemporaries turned to nationalism, he turned to Zionism. Yet there was considerable continuity in his views. He created a version of Zionism informed with the ideals of fin de siècle individualism and aestheticism. Moreover, as a second-generation Russian speaker with no Jewish education, his Zionism lacked all Jewish content. For example, when Jabotinsky translated Bialik’s poem about the Kishniev pogrom, “Ir ha-Hareiga” (City of Slaughter), he so totally emptied it of references and allusions to Jewish literature as to de-Judaize it.21 These accounts at best offer empirical proof that the assimilation model no longer suffices to explain the work and careers of individual figures. What we also need is an alternative category to assimilation that would help explain a broad selection of European Jewish intellectuals. Perhaps we should consider some of those which are now available.

Subcultures: Encountering Modernity as an active endeavor One suggestion is the idea of a “subculture”. As applied to German Jewry for the period 1780-1840, it suggests that German Jews created a German-language public sphere [Öffentlichkeit] of publications (journals, sermons, and other literature) and secondary associations [Vereine], which utilized German cultural forms and contents to support a new middle-class culture that was an amalgam of the German and the Jewish, that is, it was neither exclusively German nor exclusively Jewish but constituted the distinctively German-Jewish. In other words, Jews created a subculture when, in appropriating German culture, they transformed it to suit their own purposes and distinct historical situation.22 A variation on, and chronological extension into the twentieth century of the

ccccccc 21. 22.

Stanislawski, Zionism and the Fin de Siècle. D. Sorkin, The Transformation of German Jewry, 1780-1840 (New York 1987). For critiques see A.J. La Vopa, “Jews and Germans: Old Quarrels, New Departures”, Journal of the History of Ideas 54 (1993), p. 682-687; Moyn, “German Jewry and the Question of Identity “, p. 296-301; T. Maurer, Die Entwicklung der jüdischen Minderheit in Deutschland (1780-1933) (Tübingen 1992), p. 157-160 [Internationales Archiv für Sozialgeschichte der deutschen Literatur, Sonderheft 4]. For the political dimension of the subculture see P. Pulzer, Jews and the German State: The Political History of a Minority, 1848-1933 (Oxford 1992).

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idea of a subculture is Shulamit Volkov’s argument that German Jewry’s encounter with modernity should been seen as resulting in the “invention of a tradition”. The invention of a tradition was the sole and most important Jewish “Project of the Modern”. It meant the creation of a coherent Jewish history, the formulation of a modern Jewish ethic, and the renewal of Jewish literature. This threefold endeavor manifested itself in the “large” as in the “small” tradition. Most important, and fully forgotten, is the “small” tradition. It developed in parallel to the general German culture, appeared in a multiplicity of publications in journals, yearbooks, almanacs, etc. Despite the vast differences of opinion among the individual Jewish groups in Germany – orthodox and reform, liberal and Zionist – they all participated in creating this new tradition, and they all created – in a complex manner of selection and interpretation – very similar versions of this tradition.23 What the ideas of a subculture and “the invention of tradition” have in common is that they assume that the Jews’ use of German culture was an active endeavor: it is not that German culture substituted for Judaism or Jewish culture, but that in a complex creative process Jews selectively appropriated aspects of German culture and transmuted it into a new version of Judaism or Jewish culture. Both also employ the idea that the new Jewish culture was “parallel” to German culture, namely, that a middle-class Jewish culture existed in proximity to, but distinct from middle-class German culture. Furthermore, both embrace the possibility of an amalgam or hyphenated culture, albeit without employing that terminology. What neither of these ideas succeed in doing, however, is to address the role, if any, that Jews played in the majority culture. Neither the ideas of a “subculture” nor the “invention of tradition” see German culture as being in the making, but rather treat it as a stable entity that could be appropriated. Jews could read Goethe and Schiller; borrow the form of the “edification” sermon or catechism; or utilize the medium of the journal, magazine, and almanac. But what of the place of Jews in German culture as it was produced? Did Jewish artists and intellectuals bring something distinctive to the larger culture? By confining themselves to the Jewish side, the proponents of a “subculture” or the “invention of tradition” do not offer any conceptual framework for the issue of reciprocal creation. This is a controversial subject which is a fundamental aspect of the larger issue of the Jews and European culture.24 ccccccc 23.

24.

S. Volkov, Die Erfindung einer Tradition. Zur Entstehung des modernen Judentums in Deutschland, Schriften des Historischen Kollegs 29 (Munich 1992). The basic idea is drawn from E. Hobsbawm and T. Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge 1983). Two recent examples in political history which see the larger culture as being in the making and Jews or the issue of Jewish emancipation as playing a role in it are D. Feldman, Englishmen and Jews: Social Relations and Political Culture, 1840-1914 (New Haven 1994); and D. Herzog, Intimacy and Exclusion: Religious Politics in Pre-Revolutionary Baden (Princeton 1996), p. 53-84; 111-139.

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The Essentialist Approach The impact of the Jews on European culture has been approached in two ways. One view, like the assimilation model, is essentialist: it posits that there is some identifiable Jewish content or substance which Jewish intellectuals bring to European culture. This view was given notable formulation by Isaac Deutscher whose heroes were those “non-Jewish Jews” – “Spinoza, Heine, Marx, Rosa Luxemburg, Trotsky, and Freud” who, “dwel[ling] on the borderlines of various civilizations, religions and national cultures”, transcended not only Judaism but also all “ideas which were nationally or religiously limited” and thus were “induced to strive for a universal Weltanschauung”. These thinkers, he summarized: …represent the sum and substance of much that is greatest in modern thought, the sum and substance of the most profound upheavals that have taken place in philosophy, sociology, economics and politics in the last three centuries.

Deutscher held that in playing so large a role these Jewish thinkers displayed common traits of thought. They believed in a universe “ruled by laws inherent in it…”, which made them “determinists” aware of the “basic regularities of life”. They were dialectical thinkers who understand society to be “dynamic” and in flux. Their knowledge of multiple societies showed them the “relativity of moral standards”: “none of them believe[d] in absolute good or absolute evil”. On the other hand, they all held that “knowledge to be real must be active”. Finally, as optimists who believed in the “ultimate solidarity of man”, they aimed for “universal human emancipation”. Deutscher’s Marxisant pantheon is too limited and partisan to be convincing or to provide a broadly applicable category. Yet in his notion of the “non-Jewish Jew” as a thinker who seeks to transcend himself through the embrace of a universal cause, Deutscher has identified an important intellectual type. His term “the non-Jewish Jew” has rightfully gained a place in the scholarly lexicon.25 Another effort along essentialist lines is George Steiner’s brilliantly articulated essay on “Meta-Rabbis”. Contending that, “the Jewish element has been largely dominant in the revolutions of thought and sensibility experienced by Western man over these last one hundred and twenty-five years”, he asserts that three characteristics of traditional Jewish culture have persisted in the work of Jewish intellectuals and account for their accomplishments:

ccccccc 25.

I. Deutscher, “The Non-Jewish Jew”, in idem., The Non-Jewish Jew and Other Essays (London 1968), p. 25-41. Deutscher’s argument has situational elements: he sees his thinkers as living on the margins of society (“in society and yet not in it, of it and yet not of it”) and also as being the quintessential cosmopolitans (“placed at the concatenation of various cultures”).

22

David Sorkin an intense, perhaps pathological concentration on the life of the word, a profound historicity and bias to historical diagnosis, a commitment to analytic totality, to the ordering of all phenomena under unifying laws and principles of prediction…

These characteristics are exemplified in the “political economy of Marx, the psychology of Freud, the language philosophy of Kraus and Wittgenstein, the linguistics of Chomsky, [and] the development of a socio-anthropological model of man from Durkheim to Levi-Strauss”. These thinkers are “meta-rabbis” since they are “teachers and commentators, they are masters of meaning – but outside the Law”.26

Challenging Essentialism The most obvious problem with this essentialist approach is its arbitrariness. Deutscher’s pantheon is not Steiner’s. Each of them selects his intellectual heroes, the figures he deems most important for modern culture, and then tries to identify the characteristics common to them. How would the theory have changed had Deutscher included, say, a Durkheim, who was a liberal and a Dreyfusard?27 Or how would the theory have changed had Steiner included, say, Kafka, who, as Walter Benjamin would have it, created a lore without a law, an Aggadah without a halakhah, and thus seems to exhibit the polar opposite of “a commitment to analytic totality, to the ordering of all phenomena under unifying laws and principles of prediction”?28 Any such grand theory seems likely to fail the simple test of inclusiveness. Another obvious empirical problem with Steiner’s imposing and luminous theory is that of transmission: how did these characteristics of “traditional Jewish culture” – supposing for the moment that they are its true characteristics, and one could of course make a strong case why they are not – make their way to each of these thinkers? To take just one example: how did Marx get his “obsession with the ccccccc 26.

27. 28.

G. Steiner, “Some ‘Meta-Rabbis’”, in: D. Villiers, ed., Next Year in Jerusalem: Portraits of the Jew in the Twentieth Century (London 1976), p. 64-76. There is a situational element in Steiner’s analysis insofar as his “meta-rabbis”, alienated from Jewish tradition, are “guests in their own skin” and “strangers to one’s own shadow”, a “Diaspora within the Diaspora”. A form of psychoanalytic essentialism is found in J. Murray Cuddihy, The Ordeal of Civility: Freud, Marx, Levi-Strauss, and the Jewish Struggle with Modernity (New York 1974). Cuddihy argues that Jewish intellectuals, let loose in society by emancipation, carried the memory of a shtetl culture of familiarity [Gemeinschaft] that made them rebel against Protestant etiquette, ethics, and order [Gesellschaft]. They then project the resulting “guilt of shame” onto the order of society itself, objectifying it and then unmasking its nature and motivations e.g., Marx unmasks property, Freud propriety. Cuddihy’s argument rests on immense generalizations (the nature of society) and a lack of historical specificity, e.g., all Jews emerge from shtetlach, which make his entire theory questionable. On Durkheim see S. Lukes, Emile Durkheim, His Life and Work: A Historical and Critical Study (London 1973); and I. Strenski, Durkheim and the Jews of France (Chicago 1997). Cited in: R. Alter, Necessary Angels: Tradition and Modernity in Kafka, Benjamin and Scholem (Cambridge, MA 1991), p. 15.

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written word that characterizes and indeed typifies a rabbinic inheritance”.29 To be sure, he was the grandson of a rabbi, yet he never studied Jewish texts, indeed, he had no Jewish education whatsoever, having been baptized as a child. Was this obsession transmitted genetically? By observing his grandfather? Through the atmosphere of his now Christian home life? Steiner’s theory, albeit exhilarating and alluring, is unpersuasive when put to the empirical test. We are likely to get more productive analyses by considering the thought of individuals, or groups active in one culture in one period, or a collection of individuals working in one domain at the same time. What Steiner’s theory and Marx’s example point to is the total lack of uniformity in the biographies of European Jewish intellectuals. There was neither a single point of departure nor a single destination let alone a single way station. In the days when secularization theory was thought to explain the course of European history since the Enlightenment the unidirectional pattern from Yeshiva to secular culture seemed to explain the lives of European Jewish intellectuals, and Salomon Maimon’s autobiography appeared to supply the iconic account of this cultural odyssey. Yet this was a myth. Even Maimon’s biography did not uphold it: however alienated from the Jewish community and Jewish life he became, Maimon continued to write in Hebrew on issues of Jewish philosophy until the end of his life. True enough, there were those thinkers who fit the secularization pattern, or who marked their disaffection with indifference or conversion, but equally common were those intellectuals who created new forms of expression and self-expression as they tried to come to grips with what it meant to be a Jew in modern Europe. Allow me literally to illustrate the point by considering two paintings by Jewish artists. Moritz Oppenheim (1800-1880) is often heralded as the first European Jewish artist. He was known in his lifetime as “the painter of the Rothschilds and the Rothschild of painters”: the former because he painted portraits of the Rothschilds and significant scenes from the family’s history, the latter because he grew rich from his art and art dealing yet, like the Rothschilds, remained steadfastly Jewish (in an age when many Jewish painters converted). Yet Oppenheim did not see himself as a Jewish painter; he painted a range of general subjects in the two genres in which he worked, historical scenes and portraits, including New Testament scenes and commissioned portraits of past German emperors.30 One of his most famous Jewish paintings was his 1833-34 Die Heimkehr des Freiwilligen aus den Befreiungskriegen zu den nach alter Sitte lebenden Seinen (Return of the Volunteer from the Wars of Liberation to His Family Still Living According to ccccccc 29. 30.

Steiner, “Some ‘Meta-Rabbis’”, p. 67. On Oppenheim see G. Heuberger and A. Merk, eds., Moritz Daniel Oppenheim: Die Entdeckung des jüdischen Selbstbewusstseins in der Kunst (Cologne 1999), and Moritz Oppenheim: The First Jewish Painter (Jerusalem 1983).

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Old Customs) that had been commissioned by the Jews of Baden for Gabriel Riesser in gratitude for his efforts on their behalf. The painting addressed the relationship between Jewish distinctiveness and patriotism. Could Jews both retain their customs and beliefs and perform the duties of citizens, including the duty of military service which might entail the ultimate sacrifice? Oppenheim personified that relationship in the two generations he depicted in this Sabbath afternoon scene (note the challah and wine cup on the table). The younger generation personifies patriotism and the desire for emancipation. The volunteer himself has violated the Sabbath by traveling to return home. A younger brother admires his military gear. Two other siblings gawk at the medal on his chest. In contrast, the father regards the medal with skepticism; the medal, after all, is a Christian symbol (iron cross).31 The tensions between the generations are embodied in the women. The Mother, and not the volunteer, is at the center of the painting; she symbolizes the value of the family and domesticity in observant Jewish life (and that domesticity is further represented by the cat under the table) that is threatened, but also affirmed, by the son’s homecoming. In contrast to the mother is the woman who affectionately strokes the volunteer’s head and could be the fiancée or daughter-in-law. She beckons to the Mother with her extended hand as if to say, yes, he has returned and we, the younger generation who represent the ideals of patriotism and emancipation, have it right. Her outstretched hand and the son’s medals display the fundamental question about the nature of Jewish life and self-understanding. Interestingly, Oppenheim painted a later version of this painting in 1867-69, entitled Die Rückkehr des Freiwilligen (Return of the Volunteer). In that version the woman is younger and appears not as a fiancée or daughter-in-law poised to establish the domestic life of the next generation, but as a daughter only too happy to have her brother safely at home. In the early version Oppenheim had highlighted the tensions of Jewish life in the age of emancipation; in the later version he appears to have resolved them, though perhaps at the cost of a somewhat solemn sentimentality.32 The second painting is by Marc Chagall, often heralded as the Jewish painter of the twentieth century. Like Oppenheim, Chagall also resisted being seen as an exclusively Jewish painter. Using a modernist style that contrasts sharply with Oppenheim’s naturalist and romantic one, Chagall has in A Pinch of Snuff (1912) endeavccccccc 31.

32.

In Biedermeier paintings it was typical for fathers to regard sons with skepticism. See N. Kleebatt, “Departures and Returns: Sources and Contexts for Moritz Oppenheim’s Masterpiece, The Return of the Volunteer”, in: Heuberger and Merk, Moritz Daniel Oppenheim, p. 113-130. Oppenheim had addressed the issue of Jewish patriotism in an 1817 portrait (Baruch Eschwege als Freiwilliger Jaeger) that protested against the Jews’ loss of rights as a result of the restoration. See A. Merk, “The Artistic Development of Moritz Daniel Oppenheim”, in: Heuberger and Merk, Moritz Daniel Oppenheim, p. 70.

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ored to depict his own relationship to Judaism. The figure of the rabbi studying a holy book is an incontrovertible symbol of Jewish tradition. In fact, Chagall’s first art teacher in Vitebsk, and future colleague at Vitebsk Academy in the early Soviet Period, Yehuda Pen, had only recently painted such a scene in a naturalist manner. The difference between the two is striking. Pen’s rabbi is absorbed in study. Chagall’s rabbi is ostensibly refreshing himself from study, or fortifying himself for further study, by taking a pinch of snuff. Yet what is Chagall’s rabbi studying? Behind him is a mantle with the letters samekh and taf indicating the Sefer Torah. Yet the book on the table is not a Bible or Talmud. Rather, it bears the name, in Hebrew letters, of Marc Chagall. Similarly, the painter’s name in the bottom right corner is signed upside down, as if the Rabbi were contemplating it too. In other words, the rabbi is apparently assessing Chagall while Chagall the painter is observing him. In this quintessentially self-conscious modernist work, the painter’s relationship to Judaism is open to question yet, in its own ironic and subversive way, is thoroughly engaged.33 Perhaps Chagall playfully resolved this tension in his 1921 depiction of the four muses for the Yiddish State Theater in Moscow. There the muse of the “writer” is a scribe or rabbi who produces, or inspires, secular works of literature: the words on the scroll are the opening of a folktale, “amol iz” (once upon a time).34

The Situational Approach The other view of the impact of the Jews on European culture might be called the situational view: it holds that the influence of Jewish intellectuals is the result of their singular position in the larger society and that that position has discernible epistemological consequences. This view has its apparent scholarly origin in a 1919 essay by the iconoclastic sociologist Thorstein Veblen who, prompted by the Balfour Declaration and the Zionist movement to contemplate the implications of the prospective restoration of the Jews to their national homeland, ruminated on the causes of “The Intellectual Pre-eminence of Jews in Modern Europe”. Veblen rejected a genetic or biological explanation since he saw the Jews as a “nation of hybrids”: “none of the peoples of Christendom has been more unremittingly exposed to hybridization.” Rather, he located the Jews’ more than proportionate share in the intellectual life of western civilization:

ccccccc 33.

34.

Z. Amishai-Maisels, “Chagall and the Jewish Revival: Center or Periphery”, in: R. Apter-Gabriel, ed., Tradition and Revolution: The Jewish Renaissance in Russian Avant-Garde Art (Jerusalem 1987), p. 78-80. B. Harshav, “Chagall: Postmodernism and Fictional Worlds in Painting”, in: Marc Chagall and the Jewish Theater, Exh. cat. Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (New York 1992), p. 35.

26

David Sorkin …particularly among the vanguard, the pioneers, the uneasy guild of pathfinders and iconoclasts, in science, scholarship, and institutional change and growth in their location between two cultures that endows them with a “skeptical frame of mind” which releases them from the “dead hand of conventional finality”.

Thus for Veblen it is the Jew who has been “immersed in this gentile culture” and has become a “naturalized, though hyphenate citizen in the gentile republic of learning”, who is ineluctably pushed to be a “skeptic by force of circumstances over which he has no control”, and in consequence becomes a cultural or scientific innovator.35 Paul Mendes-Flohr has attempted to bring precision to this analysis by reformulating it in the idiom of the sociology of culture: the Jewish intellectual is a “cognitive insider”, fully versed in the culture and its symbolic conventions, yet an “axionormative outsider”, that is, at a distance from, or at odds with the assumptions, values, and practices of the society and its intellectual institutions. It is the tension between these statuses, or the frustration which he calls “status inconsistency”, that engenders cultural innovation. In the case of German Jews, Mendes-Flohr sees their immersion in Bildung as making them “cognitive insiders”, yet their second-class status and the discrimination they experienced, whether in their exclusion from academic appointments or in other quarters of society, as making them “axionormative outsiders”.36 Shulamit Volkov has given this hypothesis specificity in her study of forty German Jewish scientists in the areas of chemistry, physics, and medicine in which she developed Freud’s insight about the “advantages of discrimination”. It was precisely the discrimination Jews encountered in the German academic world that in the end became the preconditions for their success. Jews chose new or marginal disciplines, languished for years in subordinate positions that gave them the opportunity to specialize and concentrate on their research; and were usually first appointed to full professorships at either geographically peripheral universities or at the new, less prestigious technical universities. Their marginal position within the university system fueled their ambition and facilitated their innovation: “their extraordinary achievements were… reached not only despite but also because of prejudice.”37 ccccccc 35.

36. 37.

Th. Veblen, “The Intellectual Pre-eminence of Jews in Modern Europe”, in: M. Lerner, ed., The Portable Veblen (New York 1948), p. 467-479. Sigmund Freud enunciated similar views in his 1926 lecture to the Vienna Lodge of B’nai Brith. See Gesammelte Werke, 18 vols. (London 1940-52), vol. 17, p. 51-53. P. Mendes-Flohr, “The Study of the Jewish Intellectual: A Methodological Prolegomenon”, in: idem., Divided Passions: Jewish Intellectuals and the Experience of Modernity (Detroit 1991), p. 23-53. S. Volkov, “Soziale Ursachen des jüdischen Erfolgs in der Wissenschaft”, in: idem., Jüdisches Leben und Antisemitismus im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert (Munich 1990), p. 162. For an English version of this essay see Aleph: Historical Studies in Science and Judaism 1 (2000), p. 215-281.

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The situational approach is obviously more promising than the essentialist one. Yet it must be applied with care and precision. Moreover, one must realize that its meaning is not static but changes according to time and place, culture and circumstance. Indeed, if applied to numerous cases with the attention to detail evident in Shulamit Volkov’s analysis, the situational approach might well yield a subtle and acute instrument for thinking about Jewish intellectuals.

Co-constitutionality Recent scholarship has also seen a number of alternative theories about the Jews’ impact on European culture. One recent effort is Steven Aschheim’s suggestion that we employ the category of “co-constitutive roles” or “co-constitutionality”. He argues that all the extant models of interpretation are “integrative”: they assume that the Jews were trying to gain entrance to, or a place in, a pre-existing culture or society. Instead, he asserts that we should dissolve the hard boundaries between majority and minority culture, periphery and center, nation-state and outsiders, by thinking about all components as being “constructed” and perpetually in the making, with all groups as active parties to the process. All “essentialist” categories and assumptions would thereby be circumvented. The possibility would then emerge to see Weimar culture, for example, as “jointly constructed by both Jewish and nonJewish intellectuals who were not acting in their ‘Jewish’ or ‘non-Jewish’ capacities”; that culture was the product of a “new sensibility in which older ethnic and religious differences are either peripheral or play no role at all”.38 Weimar culture is of course an especially apt illustration for Aschheim’s suggestion since there is a long-standing debate about the Jews’ role in its creation.39 Another especially apt instance from the twentieth century would be the Viennese fin de siècle.40 An outstanding case from a slightly earlier period is the culture and politics of the Italian Risorgimento. It has been argued that Jews played an integral role in the creation of the national culture and national foundation myth.

ccccccc 38.

39. 40.

S. Aschheim, “German History and German Jewry: Junctions, Boundaries and Interdependencies”, in: idem., In Times of Crisis , p. 89. We should also not overlook the underside of Weimar culture, what Paul Mendes-Flohr has called the “excruciating paradox of the Weimar experience”: “while the Jews at long last became full participants in German culture and pubic life, their right to do so was questioned with ever greater intensity.” See P. Mendes-Flohr, “Ambivalent Dialogue: JewishChristian Theological Encounter in the Weimar Republic”, in: idem, Divided Passions, p. 135. See, for example, P. Gay, Weimar Culture: The Outsider as Insider (New York 1968); and W. Laqueur, Weimar: A Cultural History (London 1974). See S. Beller, Vienna and the Jews, 1867-1938: A Cultural History (Cambridge 1989); and R. Wistrich, The Jews of Vienna in the Age of Franz Joseph (New York 1989).

28

David Sorkin …during the Risorgimento, the Italian Jews had the feeling that they had not been admitted to a preexisting economic, social and political system but had created it, that they were cofounders together with the other Italian patriots of something totally new.41

Aschheim’s methodological suggestion must be tested through numerous applications.

Hybridity Another means of thinking about the Jews’ impact on European culture is to utilize recent trends in the Humanities and Social Sciences, especially the post-colonial theories epitomized by a concept such as “hybridity”. Largely inspired by anthropologists studying primitive tribes in the contemporary world as well as the relations between erstwhile colonials and colonized, scholars have come to argue that inherited notions of “authenticity” and “purity” no longer apply. The supposed clear-cut dichotomy of primitive/native versus the contemporary, or the colonial versus the colonized, is illusory. The relationship between the two is so intricate, the two sides are so densely interwoven that it is simply impossible to distinguish, say, the colonizers’ warp from the colonized’s woof. The same holds for the temporal dimension: it is impossible to delineate a “before and after”, a clear point of departure prior to contact and intermingling which can be used as a litmus test of authenticity. This also means there is no unidirectional development or linear teleology from pure and authentic to mixed and inauthentic. Instead, contemporary theorists use a term like “hybridity” to designate the complex and indissoluble state of interconnectedness between cultures. They therefore speak about culture and identity not in terms of stable essences but rather of “conjunctures” or, in relationship to history, of “palimpsests”.42 In a bold article Daniel Boyarin and Jonathan Boyarin have suggested that the Jewish experience of diaspora epitomizes hybridity, indeed that this is the Jews’ distinctive contribution. Diasporic identity is a disaggregated identity; Jewishness disrupts the very categories of identity because it is not national, not genealogical, not religious, but all of these in dialectical tension with one another. Moreover, a salient feature of diaspora is that individuals can “simultaneously be the vehicle of the preservation of traditions and of the mixing of cultures”.43 Perhaps Mendelssohn ccccccc 41. 42. 43.

D.V. Segre, “The Emancipation of Jews in Italy”, in: P. Birnbaum and I. Katznelson, eds., Paths of Emancipation: Jews, States, and Citizenship (Princeton 1995), p. 229. Friedman, Mappings, p. 82-93. See D. and J. Boyarin, “Diaspora: Generation and the Ground of Jewish Identity”, Critical Inquiry 19 (1993), p. 693-725: 721. For a volume which applies new methods to the question of Jewish identity see J. and D. Boyarin, eds., Jews and Other Differences: The New Jewish Cultural Studies (Minneapolis 1997).

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and Geiger, Oppenheim and Chagall, each epitomize this ability in his own way? The Boyarins do not take up the issue of the role of Jews in the circumambient cultures, but this is of course implicit in the concept of hybridity, which is about “fusion of differences, the intermingling of differences and mixing of the always already syncretic”.44 While it is irresistibly clear that the time has come to dispense with the grand theory of assimilation as the outdated, outmoded, and now destructive construct of a nationalist age, it is no less manifest that “assimilation’s” staying power as an explanatory category in part derives from the lack of a compelling alternative. There are no new grand theories of the Jews’ role in European culture, whether conceived as their participation in it, the use they made of it, or their impact upon it. In the short term we will have to make do with less ambitious middle-range theories (“subculture”, “invention of tradition”, “axionormative outsiders”, “co-constitutionality”, “hybridity”) that can inform the much needed empirical work on specific figures, periods, and issues. Yet perhaps we are asking too much of mere scholars in expecting them to devise a new category. The category of assimilation, after all, arose from the seachange in Jewish life represented by Jewish nationalism and the post-liberal ideologies of the turn of the twentieth century. Polemicists and scholars merely drew out the implications of that wide-ranging transformation. Perhaps we will have to await some sea-change in Jewish life of equal proportions for a convincing alternative to emerge. In the absence of a grand theory I suggest that we keep in mind a punning metaphor of the ever mischievous, yet keenly observant Heinrich Heine. In his brilliantly ironic and playful parody, Die Bäder von Lucca, – Heine’s bumbling personification of the German Jews’ aspirations to Bildung – Hyazinth promises at one point that on his return to Hamburg he will regularly attend the New Israelite Temple. He characterizes it as, “…den reinen Mosaik-Gottesdienst, mit orthographischen deutschen Gesängen und gerührten Predigten, und einigen Schwärmereichen, die eine Religion durchaus nötig hat”.45 The idea of Jewish culture as a “mosaic” which, when inspected up close is obviously composed of pieces of diverse provenance, yet when viewed from a distance appears as a unitary or coherent image, may in the meantime be a useful and amusingly subversive alternative to that of assimilation. ccccccc 44.

45.

Friedman, Mappings, p. 84. A recent study that endorses the notion of modern Jewish culture as a form of hybridity, in the extent to which Jewish culture was transformed through the construction of the polar opposition between Hellene and Jew, and the syncretistic notion of Hellenistic culture, is Y. Shavit, Athens in Jerusalem: Classical Antiquity and Hellenism in the Making of the Modern Secular Jew (London 1997). H. Heine, Reisebilder. Italien 1828. Die Bäder von Lucca, chapter 9.

Michael Brenner

The Politics of Jewish Historiography

Speaking to an audience of German Jewish émigrés in the London Leo Baeck Institute in 1959, Gershom Scholem launched a fierce attack against the fathers of Jewish Studies, the discipline whose most famed representative he himself had by then become. His systematic criticism of nineteenth-century Wissenschaft des Judentums, delivered in German and entitled “Science of Judaism Then and Now”, was itself a milder version of an article published in Hebrew fifteen years earlier under the title “Mitokh Hirhurim ‘al H . okhmat Yisrael”. Asked why he changed his tone, Scholem would later say in an interview with Pierre Bourdieu and Jean Bollack: “Well, I regret deeply that I had to speak in this way in front of the Philistines of the Leo Baeck Institute in London… I behaved more or less like those who were able to write for Das Reich without being Nazis. My first Hebrew article was directed toward an audience which was able to think differently.”1 The thrust of Scholem’s criticism in both essays remained the same, whoever the audience was. His main complaint was that he regarded Wissenschaft des Judentums as a thoroughly apologetic enterprise. He did not, of course, deny the enormous academic achievements of the discipline, but at the same time he regarded the fulfillment of modern Jewish Studies possible only in a Jewish society: “Apologetics was the great stimulus in a battle waged against old and new antiSemitism… The Science of Judaism was a force in this battle – often a decisive weapon – as we can recognize by looking back on it today.” Scholem goes on to mention that “what went on in the cellar was scrupulously avoided. These scholars considered only the intellectual relations of the salon: the Bible and Luther, Hermann Cohen and Kant, Steinthal and Wilhelm von Humboldt”.2 Jewish criminals, the underworld, had been left out as a topic of research, for apologetic reasons, just as Jewish mysticism had, Scholem’s own area. This all can change in a Jewish state, as he remarked: ccccccc 1. 2.

G. Scholem, Judaica 6: Die Wissenschaft vom Judentum, ed. P. Schaefer (Frankfurt a.M. 1997), p. 107. G. Scholem, The Messianic Idea in Judaism and Other Essays in Jewish Spirituality (New York 1971), p. 308-309.

32

Michael Brenner The Zionist movement… again understood Judaism as a living organism and not merely as an idea… The new valuations of Zionism brought a breath of fresh air into a house that seemed to have been all too carefully set in order by the nineteenth century. This ventilation was good for us. Within the framework of the rebuilding of Palestine it led to the foundation of centers like the Hebrew University in Jerusalem where Judaic studies, although central, are pursued without any ideological coloring. Everyone is free to say and teach whatever corresponds to his scholarly opinion without being bound to any religious (or anti-religious) tendency. As a result, great opportunities lay open to treat Jewish sources, the Jewish past, and Jewish spiritual life with new profundity and liveliness.3

These are Scholem’s words in London well over four decades ago. By now we know that the so-called New Historians in Israel have accused the Jerusalem School of Scholem and his colleagues of their own bias and apologetic motifs. It may therefore be worthwhile to take a more careful look at the relationship between the ideological and political positions and the historical interpretations of the various schools of Jewish thought.

Grand Narratives Let us begin, then, with what I would call the Jewish master narratives, i.e. those versions of Jewish history which had been especially prominent in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and which had developed their own schools. I refer to four particular approaches: first, of German Jewish Wissenschaft des Judentums in the period between the first two authors of systematic multi-volume Jewish histories, Isaac Marcus Jost and Heinrich Graetz; second, of the diaspora nationalist view so forcefully represented by the Russian Jewish historian Simon Dubnow; third, of the Western individualist diaspora approach for which historians Salo Baron in the United States and Cecil Roth of Britain may be the best representatives; and fourth, of the Zionist school of mostly Jerusalem-based historians ranging from Yitzhak Baer (the first professor of medieval Jewish history at the Hebrew University) to Benzion Dünaburg (as B. Dinur Israel’s third minister of education) and of course Gershom Scholem, undoubtedly the brightest-shining star on the firmament of Jewish Studies in the twentieth century. Finally, as an afterthought, I would like to integrate the so-called New Historians of Israel, who often but not always see themselves as post-Zionists.4 The various pearls in this chain of Jewish historians each read Jewish history in a quite different light, and it would be hard to claim that their respective politiccccccc 3. 4.

Ibid., p. 309-310. I have described those issues in more details in my essay, “Von einer jüdischen Geschichte zu vielen jüdischen Geschichten”, in: M. Brenner and D.N. Myers, eds., Jüdische Geschichtsschreibung heute: Themen, Positionen, Kontroversen (Munich 2002), p. 17-35.

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cal-ideological views should be seen as separate from their historical interpretation. For a Jewish historian in the nineteenth century fighting for emancipation in terms of a religious minority, Jewish history was first and foremost religious history, or the history of a religious idea; while it is hardly a coincidence that for a Russian historian who founded a party advocating national autonomy Jewish history was first and foremost the history of its diaspora institutions. Zionist historians regarded the centrality of the Land of Israel in a quite different light than American and British historians who emphasized over and over that even during the darkest periods of the Middle Ages, Jews very often felt at home wherever they lived and did not necessarily suffer more than the people around them: starving peasants, unprotected women, or Christian heretics who were extinguished without mercy.

The Zionist Approach, the Diaspora Nationalist Approach, the Western Individualist Diaspora Approach The titles of those multi-volume Jewish histories are often telling: Isaac Marcus Jost’s History of the Israelites (1820-29), Heinrich Graetz’s History of the Jews (185375), Simon Dubnow’s World History of the Jewish People (1925-29), Salo Baron’s A Social and Religious History of the Jews (1952-76), and Benzion Dinur’s Yisrael bagolah (1961-72). Behind the slight variations in their titles lurked, of course, different ideological motifs: While Jost’s “Israelites” signified a religious community, Graetz’s “Jews” marked a first step towards a national history, a development concluded by Dubnow’s use of the term “Jewish People” and Dinur’s pronounced integration of the value-laden term exile, the golah, in the title of his work. Jost’s history was also a weapon in German Jewry’s fight for Emancipation, while Graetz was interested in making the by now more acculturated German Jews conscious and proud of their own history and culture. Dubnow’s political platform was reflected in his own party in Russia, the Folkspartey, as in his historical writing. His vision of a national autonomy among East European Jews was founded on his historical analysis of the Jews as a national minority throughout history – or, should we perhaps say that his historical analysis was determined by his political agenda advocating Jewish autonomy? Periodization is of central importance when historians conceptualize their ideas of history: While in Jost’s Germanocentric model, focused on the legal process of emancipation, modern Jewish history begins in 1750 with the coronation of Frederick the Great of Prussia – under whose rule Jost locates the dissolution of the traditional Jewish community – Graetz’s spiritual history must begin with Moses Mendelssohn, the dawn of a new age. Dubnow, interested more in political developments, opens the new chapter with the French Revolution and the decisive changes it brought to institutional Jewish life. Scholem starts with the appearance of Shabbetai Zvi in the seventeenth century and the internal divisions the false Mes-

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siah brought into the entire Jewish world, while Benzion Dinur, whose Palestinocentric views are quite radical, sets the stage of modern Jewish history with the aliyah to Palestine of a small group of Jewish mystics around Rabbi Yehuda heH . asid in the year 1700. In each case, there is a recognizable agenda behind the various schemes.5 As we have seen, for the first generation of Zionist scholars it seemed clear that what they called “apologetics” was a remnant of diaspora societies. They were convinced that the Jewish State would, among many other things, create the conditions under which those questions would become obsolete and under which apologetics was no longer a necessary element within Jewish historiography. Once it was no longer necessary to defend its position within non-Jewish and potentially hostile surroundings, Jewish history could assume a new openness. This was claimed most categorically by Yitzhak Baer and Benzion Dinur in the first new issue of the journal Zion in 1936: “The age of apologetics is over.”6 Gershom Scholem was more complex in his analysis but almost as enthusiastic about the future possibilities of Jewish Studies and Jewish history in a Jewish society. Didn’t Scholem, however, fall into the same ideological trap? Take for example his reaction to Hannah Arendt’s Eichmann in Jerusalem, which he criticized not for scholarly sins but for the author’s lack of empathy for her people, the Jewish people, thereby revealing some deep residues of the thought of the teachers he himself criticized. “In the Jewish tradition”, Scholem wrote, “there is a concept, hard to define and yet concrete enough, which we know as Ahavat Yisrael: ‘Love of the Jewish People...’ In you, dear Hannah, as in so many intellectuals who came from the German Left, I find little trace of this”. He continues: “In circumstances such as these, would there not have been a place for what I can only describe with that modest German word – Herzenstakt?”7 Ahavat Yisrael and Herzenstakt are rather unusual criteria in the scholarly world. It would be hard to imagine similar demands among historians outside nationalistic camps in most Western societies. And yet, Scholem’s position should not be easily dismissed as chauvinistic or irrelevant. Would not many of us agree that what he calls Arendt’s “flippancy” is indeed problematic: to call Leo Baeck the Jewish Führer makes us shiver. In short, both Arendt’s and Scholem’s positions seem possible only in a discourse by Jewish historians on modern Jewish history. ccccccc 5.

6. 7.

For more details on this issue see M.A. Meyer’s groundbreaking essay, “Where Does the Modern Period in Jewish History Begin?”, in: idem, Judaism within Modernity: Essays on Jewish History and Religion (Detroit 2001), p. 21-31. Y. Baer and B. Dinur, “Megamatenu”, Zion 1 (1936), p. 1-5. G. Scholem, “Letter to Hannah Arendt”, in: W.J. Dannhauser, ed., On Jews and Judaism in Crisis: Selected Essays (New York 1976), p. 302.

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Let us return for a moment to the few attempts to write multi-volume Jewish histories, from Jost to Graetz and Dubnow. They are out of fashion today, and probably no longer feasible. Instead, the last decades have witnessed universal Jewish histories, such as the Jerusalem-based World History of the Jewish People (which was aborted after a few volumes) written by a large team of authors. Those projects never even came close to the success of their predecessors; perhaps because in such projects the pretension to write a non-personal “objective” history was even more clearly visible,8 perhaps simply for the reason Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi has stated: “No symphony was ever written by a committee.”9 There was to be one last symphony, but it remained an unfinished one. Salo Baron’s A Social and Religious History of the Jews surpassed by far, in its eighteen volumes, the earlier universal histories in terms of quantity of material and in terms of the sophistication of its methodology; but it was clear that even his long and creative life (he began his first version in his thirties and ceased writing only briefly before his death at age 94) did not suffice to complete a full-length Jewish history. While Dubnow, and to a certain extent Baron, could still go back to the sources in their universal Jewish history, today even Jewish histories in a narrowly defined national context, such as multi-volume collaborative enterprises along the lines of the five-volume The Jewish People in America or the four-volume German-Jewish History in Modern Times, can only summarize the hundreds of studies in specialized areas that appear every year in the form of monographs and articles.10 Not only was there a shift in the format of Jewish history writing but also in its interpretation. For a nineteenth-century historian like Graetz, Jewish history could be seen as Leidens- und Gelehrtengeschichte: internal Jewish history was conceived mainly as intellectual history, while “external” history (the “foreign relations” so to speak) was seen in terms of discrimination and persecution. Here the twentieth century brought a decisive change. It was Simon Dubnow who first set out to systematically analyze structures and organizations, thus turning from intellectual to social history, and it was left to Salo Baron in his celebrated 1928 essay “Ghetto and Emancipation” to fundamentally challenge the traditional juxtaposition of a long dark age of persecution with the bright times of Enlightenment and Emancipation. Long before others spoke of the dialectics of the Enlightenment, Baron had already employed such an approach to Jewish history. Around the same time, a school of ccccccc 8.

9. 10.

Note the comparable sense in which Lord Acton thought of the Cambridge Modern History whose contributors were exhorted to reveal neither their country, their religion, nor their party, and who would be able to satisfy in an account of the battle of Waterloo French and English, Germans and Dutch alike; see G. Barraclough, Main Trends in History, 2nd ed. (New York 1991), p. 7. Y.H. Yerushalmi, Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory (New York 1989), p. 95. H.L. Feingold, ed., The Jewish People in America, 5 vols. (Baltimore 1992). M.A. Meyer, ed., GermanJewish History in Modern Times, 4 vols. (New York 1996-98).

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Zionist scholars, based at the new Hebrew University where Jewish history was a separate discipline, arose in Jerusalem. The foundation of the YIVO in 1925 (only a few years after the failed attempt of the University of Kaunas in Lithuania to offer Dubnow a professorship), the opening of the Hebrew University in the same year, and the establishment of the first chair in Jewish History at Columbia University in 1930, may be seen as the major steps in terms of the academic institutionalization of Jewish historiography. They stand in turn for the three major political/ ideological positions in early twentieth-century Jewry: the autonomous diaspora approach, the Zionist view, and the individualistic diaspora position. Simon Dubnow emphasized over and over the meaning of the Jewish community as the substitute for the missing state and territory throughout history. Convinced that the Jews had reached the highest possible form of nationalism by having made life on a territory of their own superfluous, he clearly suggested that the Zionist return to a Jewish state would be an unnecessary reversion to earlier stages of nationhood. At the same time, as a Jewish nationalist he was extremely critical toward any rejection of the notion that Jews ceased to be a nation, as promulgated by most of his German colleagues. In his eyes, diaspora history was good as long as the institutional framework, the autonomy, the national minority rights, functioned. For the Zionist historians, the whole notion of diaspora had, of course, negative connotations. In order to promote the return to the Land of Israel, they had to reverse traditional views of life in the diaspora. Take for example the nineteenth-century idealization of the so-called Golden Age in Spain. Especially German Jewish historians, foreshadowing later ages of acculturation, had idealized the Spanish Jewish traditions and had put them into blatant contrast with the so-called ghetto culture of Ashkenazic Jewry during the Middle Ages. Zionist historians like Yitzhak Baer now reprimanded Spanish Jews for being assimilationist and giving in easily to the pressure of the church, while at the same time praising the Ashkenazim for being steadfast, choosing to commit suicide in the face of forced baptism by the crusaders. The third approach is shaped by the American historian Salo Baron and British historian Cecil Roth. They have in common their deep aversion to the notion of Leidensgeschichte, common both to the nineteenth-century German Jewish and the twentieth-century Zionist traditions. It is no coincidence that Baron’s most famous phrase was his protest against the “lachrymose version” of Jewish history, while the memoirs of Roth’s widow Irene is entitled Historian Without Tears. Both Baron and Roth disliked the tears in Jewish history writing. Their decisive programmatic texts were written before the Holocaust, and the subsequent events certainly did not help to make their interpretations of Jewish history more popular. Roth and Baron were contemporaries, competitors, and later on also friends. They had just completed their dissertations (Baron came with three doctorates and a rabbinical ordination from Vienna, Roth with an Oxford Ph.D.) when they met

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each other for the first time in the New York of the 1920s, where both taught for one semester at the Institute for Jewish Religion and competed for the permanent job advertised there. In his yet unpublished memoirs, Baron noted that he was a little antagonized, not only by his [Roth’s] excessive Oxford diction, but also by a kind of English superior feeling over all continentals… Despite this involuntary competition with Cecil, he and I remained good friends. We visited each other very frequently on our respective journeys to Palestine and England. We reviewed each other’s publications in a friendly spirit.11

A closer look at Roth’s early writings reveals that this spirit was not always as friendly as the two later claimed. In a May 1928 publication called “Jewish History for Our Own Needs” he complained that “the right hand of Clio knoweth not what the left is doing”. Thus, a recent German monography by the newly-appointed Professor of History in one of the New York theological seminaries upon the Jewish Question at the Congress of Vienna failed to take account of a detailed study of the question which appeared in the Publications of the American Jewish Historical Society!

This reference was, as Frederic Krome has noted, a rather malicious stab against Salo Baron, who had just received the professorship at the Jewish Institute of Religion to which Roth had also applied. While he had earlier complained he could not receive a professorship in England due to his Jewishness, he now wrote to a friend he was excluded from Jewish Studies, which he called “the mutual admiration society”, a group of scholars fit to deal with rabbinical texts, “but who have not mastered the elements of the historians’ craft”. Still, more than a decade later, when Roth was already Reader at Oxford, he showed a much more appreciative tone of Baron. In a review of his three-volume first edition of the Social and Religious History of the Jews, Roth noted: Personally I am filled with admiration for Dr. Baron’s remarkable learning; I have stated more than once that he is in my opinion the most gifted Jewish historian of our day (there is certainly no other than Fritz Baer, of Jerusalem, who can be compared with him); and I have informed spiteful critics that they are more actuated by jealousy of the author than jealousy in the cause of learning. Nevertheless, it is difficult to understand how a single person, after having produced in 1937 the Social and Religious History – the work of a lifetime – should be able to produce the work of another lifetime in 1942.12

ccccccc 11. 12.

Stanford University Archives M 580, Box 379, Folder 3, Autobiography III United States (1926-34) A: The Institute of Religion, p. 6; 39-40. R. Liberles, Salo Wittmayer Baron: Architect of Jewish History (New York 1995), p. 178-179.

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And indeed, were it not for job competition and jealousies, there was very little that divided their historical outlook. In the same article of 1928, in which Roth criticized Baron, he took much sharper issue with the earlier schools of Jewish history; what he called Graetz’s “excessive Teutonism” was replaced by Dubnow with a similar emphasis on Eastern European Jews. And a year later, also in The Menorah Journal, he included in his list Dinur and the Jerusalem historians who wanted to fit the large body of Jewish history in a much too narrow dress of a clear geographical focus. Roth clearly rejected those three master narratives of Jewish history and proposed a fourth one, which emphasized Sephardic and Anglo-American Jewish communities and rejected any history of suffering à la Graetz, any concept embedded in Hegelian cycles of rise and decay à la Dubnow, any nationalist view of a territorially bound history à la Dinur and Baer. Although Roth was an Orthodox and Zionist Jew, his British upbringing and American experiences were formative for his historical views which emphasized the interaction of the Jews and their surroundings, the individualist diaspora experiences, and the importance of integrating Jewish historiography to the methodological standards of general history writing. Salo Baron would have underlined all of those principles. Indeed, both published their groundbreaking essays against the lachrymose version of Jewish history in the same journal, The Menorah Journal, around the same time. Roth opened his article with a quote from Zunz: If there be an ascending scale of suffering, Israel has reached its highest degree. If the duration of afflictions and the patience with which they are borne ennoble, the Jews may vie with the aristocracy of any land. If a literature which owns a few classical tragedies is deemed rich, what place should be assigned to a tragedy which extends over fifteen centuries in which the poets and actors were also the heroes? 13

And Baron similarly rejected the common view by stating: Emancipation, in the judgment of a Graetz, Philippson, Dubnow and other historians, was the dawn of a new day after a nightmare of the deepest horror, and this view has been accepted as completely true by Jews, rabbis, scholars and laymen, throughout the Western world. It is in terms of this complete contrast between the black of the Jewish Middle Ages and the white of the Post-Emancipation period that most generalizations about the progress of the Jews in modern times are made.14

Their main argument was that others suffered, perhaps in different ways, but not less than Jews. If one claims Jews had no “equal rights”, then one has to remember ccccccc 13.

14.

C. Roth, “The Most Persecuted People”, The Menorah Journal 10 (1932), p. 136. The quotes are from F. Krome, “Creating ‘Jewish History for Our Own Needs’: The Evolution of Cecil Roth’s Historical Vision, 1925-1935”, Modern Judaism 21 (2001), p. 220; 226. S.W. Baron, “Ghetto and Emancipation: Shall we revise the Traditional View?”, The Menorah Journal 14 (1928), p. 516.

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that there was no such thing as equal rights in pre-modern times. “Certainly the Jews had fewer duties and more rights than the great bulk of the population”, claimed Baron.15 And while Roth makes clear that Jews suffered during the Middle Ages, he emphasizes that suffering was “an integral feature of the tragic scene of the Middle Ages themselves”.16 In contrast to heretics or other groups systematically persecuted, Jews always managed to survive. Zionist historians understood quite well the problem posed to their world view in such a representation of Jewish history. When Yitzhak Baer wrote a more than twenty-page-long review of Baron’s three-volume history in Zion, he could not but remark that in contrast to Baron’s claims Jewish history in the pre-modern diaspora was essentially a history of suffering: “And despite everything there remains and exists the fact that Jewish history in the Middle Ages was an endless series of persecutions…”17 There are modern repercussions of those older debates. Take for example the discussions about a topic similar to the Spanish Jewish Golden Age – the Italian Renaissance. Not by chance was this Roth’s favorite topic. It is not just that he started out as a historian of the Italian Renaissance, he also saw there a first example of productive acculturation, when Jews were accepted as mediators between cultures, participated in the achievements of everyday life as dance masters and composers, and taught Hebrew to Christian humanist spirits. In a similar vein, Salo Baron had called this episode the “Italian Haskalah”. A few decades later, Israeli historian Reuven (Robert) Bonfil challenged this view and emphasized that Italian Jews in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were, firstly, more persecuted than intimated by Roth or Baron and, secondly, less integrated. Even more recently, American historian David Ruderman – like Bonfil an expert of early modern Italian Jewry – rejected these reservations and reclaimed Roth’s earlier interpretation. Is it just coincidence that the Israeli historian rejects a more positive view of the diaspora, while the American Jewish historian claims precisely such a view?18

Post-Zionist Historiography We will never know the exact answer to this question, but it is certainly worth noting in conclusion that Israeli historiography itself has been shattered and much diccccccc 15. 16. 17. 18.

Ibid., p. 517. Roth, “The Most Persecuted People”, p. 140. Y. Baer, “HaHistoriah haH . evratit vehadatit shel haYehudim”, Zion, vol. 3:4 (1938), p. 291. See: R. Bonfil, “How Golden Was the Age of the Renaissance in Jewish Historiography?”, History and Theory: Beiheft 27 (1988), p. 78-102, and: D.B. Ruderman, “Cecil Roth, Historian of Italian Jewry: A Reassessment”, in: D.N. Myers and D.B. Ruderman, eds., The Jewish Past Revisited: Reflections on Modern Jewish Historians (New Haven 1998), p. 128-142.

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versified during the last two decades. Recent debates about Jewish history have shown a clash between younger scholars relativizing old “truths” and older, more established colleagues who defend the master narrative, which also, in many cases, happened to be the narrative of their own masters. Thus, the so-called New Historians in Israel shattered the foundation stones of the State of Israel. And, closer to our previous discussion about the Middle Ages, Israel Yuval’s challenge of the traditional blood libel account during the Middle Ages constituted, for some historians, a forbidden act of questioning basic assumptions about anti-Semitism. Although all three debates started in Israel in the 1980s and 90s, they certainly had their repercussions outside the Jewish state and the Hebrew language, and were discussed broadly in other settings as well.19 The challenge by the “New Historians” in Israel is highly political: Were the Arabs expelled from Palestine/Israel in 1948 or could they have stayed? Did Ben-Gurion and his associates exhaust all possibilities of a peaceful settlement in the Near East? And the second major complex: Did the Zionist leadership do enough to rescue European Jews during the Holocaust? These arguments are part of a general revision of traditionally held opinions in Israeli society, part of the slaughtering of holy cows. They led to vehement reactions, such as the frontal attack upon Morris by the Israeli writer Aharon Megged, questioning not his sources or methods, not even his results, but the attempt to reverse an Israeli master narrative.20 Writing about a minority, and an often-persecuted one at that, Jewish historians had a different role than most authors of clearly defined national histories. When Immanuel Wolf, one of the founders of the Verein, declared in his outline of Wissenschaft des Judentums that “scientific knowledge of Judaism must decide on the merits or demerits of the Jews, their fitness or unfitness to be given the same status and respect as other citizens”,21 he gave voice to a motif that, in many variations, resounds also for later generations. Long after Jews were granted “the same status as other citizens”, the refutation of the still existing anti-Semitic stereotypes often appears as an outspoken or clandestine motif in the occupation with Jewish history. It seems there is still more at stake than history: the Middle East conflict and the refutation of anti-Semitic myths means that the discussion of Jewish history can’t take place in the same tranquil waters in which one can could move when discussing Danish or Portuguese history. ccccccc 19.

20. 21.

There are numerous publications by now on the Israeli “Historians Debate”. See for example: Y. Weitz, ed., Bein h.azon le-revisia: Me’a shenot historiografia z.ionit (Jerusalem 1997); the special issue of History and Memory: Israeli Historiography Revisited, vol. 7/no. 1 (Spring/Summer 1995); and B. Schaefer, ed., Historikerstreit in Israel. Die ‚neuen‘ Historiker zwischen Wissenschaft und Öffentlichkeit (Frankfurt/Main 2000). A. Megged, Ha’aretz, June 10, 1994. I. Wolf, “On the Concept of a Science of Judaism”, Year Book of the Leo Baeck Institute 2 (1957), p. 204.

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And here we close our circle – not without frustration, I admit. Did Jewish historiography set out from Wolf and Zunz, the early circle of the Verein, via Graetz and Dubnow, Scholem and Baron, and all the way up to the post-Zionists only to end up in the twenty-first century with the same old problems and issues of good old nineteenth-century Wissenschaft des Judentums? By this I mean history-writing for the sake of an ideological-political purpose, be it the fight for emancipation or diaspora nationalism, the claim of a Jewish state, or the rosy diaspora view of Britain and the U.S.? Even if this is so, isn’t it after all something quite trivial, something from which no historical tradition can escape? Well, yes – and no. I am afraid Lucy Dawidowicz is still right when she claims that “every people, every nation has used its history to justify itself in its own eyes and in the sight of the world. But surely no people has used its history for such a variety of national purposes as have the Jews”.22 Here too, the old saying may still hold true: Jews are like everyone else, just a bit more so.

ccccccc 22.

L. Dawidowicz, What is the Use of Jewish History? (New York 1992), p. 4.

Renate G. Fuks-Mansfeld

“The First Shall Be the Last” The Rise and Development of Modern Jewish Historiography in the Netherlands until 1940

The unilateral view of Jewish history in post-biblical Judaism formed a serious deterrent for the development of Jewish historiography. The rabbinical precepts for diaspora life had grown into a rigid structure aimed at religious, political, and cultural survival of the Jewish people in its dispersion, and remained valid until the end of the eighteenth century. The idea behind the rabbinic strategy of survival was that the people of Israel had lost its national homeland because of its sins. Israel, therefore, had to wait in the golah until the coming of the Messiah in God’s own time, when the redemption would take place. The remnants of the righteous would then be assembled in the Land of the Forefathers, to rule mankind in God’s everlasting peace.1 The Jewish code of behavior in the waiting-room of history was equally rigid. The Jews had to submit to their non-Jewish rulers, however harsh that rule might be: armed resistance was strictly forbidden. When circumstances became too unfavorable, the only solution was to flee to safer places. The Ha-noten prayer for the welfare of the non-Jewish ruler, which was recited in all synagogues of the diaspora – whether the ruler be good or bad for the Jews – was the religious expression of the rabbinical code of behavior. The halakhic (legal) basis for the relationship between the Jewish communities and the local rulers was the doctrine of dina demalkhuta dina (the law of the kingdom is the law), which acknowledged the validity of the laws of the lands insofar as they did not impinge on the laws of the Jewish religion.2 What happened locally and incidentally to Jewish communities was not of general interest, and was only locally remembered. Only when disasters occurred which caused great and lasting hardships, like the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492 and the ravaging pogroms in the Ukraine in 1648, did the Jews in the rest of the diaspora show their interest and concern. There were a few individual endeavors to introduce a wider view of Jewish history in the sixteenth century, but that did not change the general outlook.3 ccccccc 1. 2. 3.

A. Ages, The Diaspora Dimension (The Hague 1973), p. 10-15. D. Biale, Power and Powerlessness in Jewish History (New York 1987), p. 30-47. The historical works of Azariah dei Rossi, Gedaliah Ibn Yahia, Joseph ha-Kohen, and David Gans

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A new understanding: Basnage’s history of the Jews It was the internal upheaval in the Sephardic and Ashkenazic communities in Amsterdam after the abortive messianism of Shabbetai Zvi in 1666 which opened up new vistas for Amsterdam Jewry. When the hope for a speedy redemption was abandoned and the Jews accepted Amsterdam as the place where they were to stay for a long time to come, both congregations turned their attention to the realities of their daily life in the city. The construction of the two large and beautiful synagogues in the middle of the Jewish quarter bears testimony to this new feeling of belonging. Both synagogues were inaugurated with much pomp and ceremony in the presence of the Amsterdam authorities – the Ashkenazic synagogue in 1671, and the Sephardic synagogue in 1675. A Jewish visitor from abroad who was present on this occasion remarked that the festivities resembled more a joyful gathering in the Temple of Jerusalem than a memorable occasion in galut.4 The growing interest of the Amsterdam Jews in their surroundings resulted also in cultural exchanges. Many Yiddish translations of Sephardic and Dutch books appeared, and some Sephardic texts were translated into Dutch. The arrival of the Protestant refugees from France after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, brought about encounters between Huguenot and Jewish intellectuals. As there had been no Jews in the kingdom of France since the late Middle Ages, there had not been any opportunity for French Protestants to come into contact with Jews and living Judaism. During the years of increased persecution prior to the Revocation, the Huguenots had identified themselves with the people of Israel. This deeply felt conviction intensified after their flight from France en masse, and they considered themselves to be like the people of Israel in Babylonian captivity. The shock of the encounter with real Jews in the Dutch Republic, who dwelt peacefully amidst the local population, heightened the interest of the French Protestants in the Jewish people and its history. Inspired by this interest, the learned pastor and historian Jacques Basnage wrote his history of the Jewish people, from the destruction of the Temple up to his own days. This work was not solely a plea for religious tolerance. The author also wanted to show his fellow Protestants how a people could survive the most adverse circumstances without betraying its religion, while resorting neither to revolt nor bloodshed against its tormentors. Basnage’s history, which appeared in Rotterdam in 1706, reprinted several ccccccc

4.

testified to a new historical insight, but their example was not generally followed. Y.H. Yerushalmi, Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory (Philadelphia 1982), p. 60-73. Cf. I. Schorsch, “The Emergence of Historical Consciousness in Modern Judaism”, Leo Baeck Yearbook 27 (1983), p. 413437, and more recently S. Feiner, Haskalah and History: The Emergence of a Modern Jewish Historical Consciousness (Oxford and Portland 2002). J. d’Ancona, “De Portugese Gemeente Talmoed Torah te Amsterdam”, in: H. Brugman and A. Frank, eds., Geschiedenis der joden in Nederland: eerste deel tot ca. 1795 (Amsterdam 1940), p. 289.

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times and translated into many languages, became an influential work in the early European Enlightenment.5 Jewish intellectuals in Amsterdam also read the book: the Sephardim in the French original and the Ashkenazim in the Dutch translation, of which the first edition appeared in 1726. By that time, an enlightened circle of Ashkenazic scholars with Rabbi Moses ben Simon Frankfort (1672-1762) as its inspiring center came into being. Moses Frankfort was dayan (rabbinical assessor) of the Ashkenazic congregation of Amsterdam and combined this office with the management of a flourishing printing house which existed from 1721 to 1746. Frankfort and his circle were under the influence of the enlightenment ideas circulating in the Dutch Republic and they wanted to introduce these new ideas in a manner acceptable to their own public.6 They therefore advocated the use of Yiddish as a means to educate the common people and to make available important works of Jewish and general culture in Yiddish translation. Moses Frankfort was the first to put these ideas into practice in 1721 with the publication of his Yiddish translation of Isaac Aboab’s ethical treatise Menorat ha-maor. In his elaborate introduction Frankfort stated his religious and educational ideals. He did not conclude with the traditional wish that the Messiah might come in his days to bring about the redemption of Israel; rather he wished that the time of redemption might come to bring peace and the knowledge of God to the whole of mankind.7 Two decades later, one of Moses Frankfort’s collaborators followed in his footsteps. Menah.em Man ben Solomon Halevi, a corrector and editor in Frankfort’s printing house, translated and revised Basnage’s history into Yiddish, an undertaking which must have taken him several years to complete and which was published in 1743. He was well aware of the new and daring nature of his enterprise, which is why he tried to camouflage his work behind the earlier and traditional Sefer Yosipon, a well-known and popular adaptation of an abridged version of Flavius Josephus’ Bellum Judaicum by Hegesippus, with some accruements from the early Middle Ages. This did not deceive the rabbis, and only one was willing to give a haskamah (approbation) for the work. Aryeh Leib, rabbi of the Ashkenazic congregation of Amsterdam – in office since 1740 – gave the book a very reluctant approbation for four years instead of the customary ten or fifteen years, and the wording of his text lacked the usual praise of the author and his work. Nevertheless, She’erit Yisrael (the ccccccc 5. 6.

7.

G. Cerny, Theology, Politics and Letters at the Crossroad of European Civilization: Jacques Basnage and the Baylean Huguenot Refugees in the Dutch Republic (The Hague et al. 1987), p. 181-202. One of the most influential writers of the early Dutch Enlightenment was Justus van Effen (1684-1735), who pleaded for more tolerance towards the Jews in his journal Hollandsche Spectator (1731-35). H. Bovenkerk, “Nederlanse schrijvers tijdens de Republiek over de Joden”, in: H. Brugman and A. Frank, eds., Geschiedenis der joden Nederland I (Amsterdam 1940), p. 756-762. Menorat ha-Maor (Amsterdam 1721), introduction f. 2r: “…and that we may live to be a witness of the redemption (geulah), when the whole of mankind will know the Torah… and the spirit of prophecy will come over all men, women and children, may it be in our days, amen.”

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Remnants of Israel), as Menah.em Man had called his book, met with great success and was reprinted in Amsterdam in 1771. She’erit Yisrael remained the only history of the Jewish people in the diaspora for Eastern Europe Ashkenazic Jewry until the end of the nineteenth century and was reprinted over and over again.8 Menah.em Man had not appropriated Basnage’s history uncritically. Though the French pastor had treated his subject with respect and had presented a completely new view of Jewish history, he remained a Protestant theologian and Jewish contemporaries could not agree with some of his interpretations. Menah. em Man presented the Jewish view on the course of history by stressing the eminence of many Jewish scholars. But he frequently quotes Basnage by name as well as other sources as h.akhamei ha-umot (the learned of the peoples), asserting that Jews may learn from non-Jewish cultures. Menah.em Man ends his book, like Basnage, with the history of the Jews in the Dutch Republic in the form of a chronicle. This chronicle gave impetus to quite a few other Yiddish chronicles on the history of the Jews in Amsterdam, but She’erit Yisrael remained the only general Jewish history for Dutch Jews for a long time to come.9

Emancipation and cultural stagnation In the last twenty-five years of the eighteenth century, the economic position of Dutch Jewry rapidly deteriorated. Only a small elite, Sephardim as well as Ashkenazim, gained entry into the gentile world. The interlude of the Batavian Republic from 1795 to 1806, followed by French rule until 1813, brought official emancipation for Dutch Jews, which was upheld when the Kingdom of the Netherlands was instated in 1814. Yet because of their extreme poverty, it took some time before the Jews benefited sufficiently from the economic and cultural opportunities available to them. Thus while young Jewish intellectuals feverishly engaged in the regeneration of Jewish religion and culture in Germany, where the political situation of the Jews was much less favorable, only a few faint echoes of the lively intellectual life of German Jewry penetrated in the neighboring Netherlands. Acculturation and the struggle for improved economic circumstances dominated Dutch Jewish life in the first half of the nineteenth century. The introduction of the Dutch language in all spheres of Jewish life was for a long time the only sign of modernization; Dutch Jewry remained orthodox and kept tenaciously to its traditions. As the Jewish religion was held in great esteem by the Dutch Protestants ccccccc 8. 9.

She’erit Yisrael Complete (A new translation into Hebrew with added supplementary notes and preface by Haim Hominer) (Jerusalem 1964) contains a bibliography of all editions of the work. For an evaluation of Menah.em Man’s life and work see L. Fuks, “Menachem Man ben Salomon Halevi und sein jiddisches Geschichtsbuch She’erit Yisrael”, Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie 100,1 (1981), p. 170-185.

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who ruled the country, there was no pressure from without to reform religious practices. There was also little interest in Jewish learning outside of the Sephardic and Ashkenazic seminaries in Amsterdam, where the local rabbis and teachers received their training. In 1840, a learned society in Utrecht offered a prize for the best history of the Jews in the Netherlands, as this was a subject that was unknown to the general public. There was only one submission, a manuscript from the gentile lawyer H.J. Koenen. His book won the contest and was published in 1843 as the first modern history of Dutch Jewry.10 Koenen was a member of the Réveil group, an elitist Protestant revivalist movement which had originated in England. The group held Judaism and the Old Testament in high esteem, but hoped for conversion of the Jews by means of persistent debates. Koenen’s book was scholarly and well written and he had made use of many official sources that were as yet unknown to both the Jewish and general public. We do not know how the book was received among the Dutch Jews because there were no official Jewish periodicals at the time the book appeared; but it was clear that his rendering of their history could not have pleased them, as the Christian bias of the author was easily discernible. However, Jewish intellectuals were not able to provide an acceptable alternative. For lack of something better, they had to fall back on She’erit Yisrael, which had appeared more than a century earlier. L. Goudsmit translated the work into Dutch and G.I. Polak added some notes and additions. The book appeared in 1855,11 and instead of being a worthy Jewish answer to a Christian’s view of Jewish history, the work attested solely to the sorry state of historical knowledge among Dutch Jews. The apogee of Dutch Jewish historiography of the eighteenth century failed to pass muster a hundred years later, when the scholars of the Wissenschaft des Judentums in Germany had started to bring Jewish historiography up to international standards. But in spite of its shortcomings, the Dutch translation of Menah.em Man’s work was to remain the only attempt at historiography among Dutch Jewry for a long time to come, with the exception of a few schoolbooks for Jewish primary schools.12 There was a notable lack of interest in Jewish history and culture among Dutch ccccccc 10.

11.

12.

H.J. Koenen, Geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland (Utrecht 1843). Cf. J. Zwarts, “Hoe Koenen’s Geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland ontstond”, Nieuw Israëlietisch Weekblad (June 10, July 1, and July 8, 1927); J. Meijer, H.J. Koenen: Geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland. Historiografische analyse (Heemstede 1982). Seërith Jisrael of Lotgevallen der Joden in alle werelddelen, vanaf de verwoesting des tweeden tempels tot het jaar 1770, door Menachem Man ben Salomo Halevi. Naar de 2e vermeerderde uitgave uit het Joodsch-Duitsche vertaald door L. Goudsmit Azn. Met talrijke aantekeningen en, voor de geschiedenis der Israëlieten in Nederland merkwaardige bijzonderheden verrijkt door G.I. Polak (Amsterdam 1855). To cite two examples: D.E. Sluys and J. Hoofiën, Handboek voor de geschiedenis der Joden (Amsterdam 1870-1873), and M. Monasch, Geschiedenis van het volk Israël (Amsterdam 1891-94).

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Jewry in the second half of the nineteenth century. Meijer Roest (1821-1889), learned bibliographer and man of letters, tried in vain to kindle the flame of scholarly studies with his articles in the Joodsch-Letterkundige Bijdragen and in his scholarly journal the Israëlietische Letterbode, which appeared from 1875 until 1888.13 In 1899, several students of the Dutch Israelite Seminary, the Ashkenazic training college for Jewish teachers and rabbis in Amsterdam, tried again to revive interest in Jewish history among the general Dutch Jewish public. Sigmund Seeligmann, a student of German origin, conceived the plan to form an association for the promotion of Jewish studies and made an outline of a history of the Jews in the Netherlands. He even found a publisher, but had to relinquish his endeavors in 1901. Seeligmann’s initiative for the publication of a Dutch version of a German journal for Jewish statistics and demography equally failed in 1906.14 Kadimah, a new journal for Jewish culture and history, in which several historical articles were published, existed only from 1910 until 1911.15 Only one history book met with lasting success: in 1906, Israel onder de volkeren. Schets der Joodsche geschiedenis van de Grieksche overheersing tot heden. Een boek voor school en thuis (Israel among the Nations: Jewish History from the Greek Reign up to the Present – A Book for School and the Home) appeared. The author was Levie David Staal, headmaster of the Jewish primary school in Zutphen. In 1915, the second edition of the work was published, to be followed by the third edition in 1927, and the fourth in 1937. Why did Staal’s work succeed where all its predecessors failed? Staal was not a trained historian, nor did he have scholarly ambitions, but he knew the taste of his orthodox Jewish public. He gave general information within the bounds of Jewish traditional religious views, written in a pleasant style that appealed to children as well as to adults. Staal showed his readers how the hand of God was visible in history, permitting Jews to escape to safer realms when persecutions threatened. He kept strictly to the rabbinic view of history and depicted in a very critical way the development of Kabbalah and mysticism as well as the messianic upheaval caused by Shabbetai Zvi in 1666. The book ends in a spirit of optimism. In the author’s view, the achievements of Dutch Jewry in the field of Jewish studies, like those of M. Lemans (d. 1832), S.I. Mulder (d. 1862) and G.I. Polak (d. 1869), were equal to ccccccc 13.

14.

15.

For a biography of Roest and a bibliography of his writings see L. Fuks, “Meijer Roest Mz., de eerste conservator van de Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana”, Studia Rosenthaliana 1,1 (1967), p. 4-22. The correspondence of Roest with Moritz Steinschneider in Berlin has been published by L. Fuks, “The letters of Roest to M. Steinschneider, 1860-1871”, Studia Rosenthaliana 13 (1979), p. 157-193. Cf. J. Meijer, Meijer Marcus Roest (Heemstede 1980). As an introduction to the first issue of Bijdragen en Mededeelingen van het Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap in Nederland (Amsterdam 1922), Sigmund Seeligmann relates the story of these unsuccessful endeavors. Kadimah. Tijdschrift ter bevordering van kennis omtrent het Jodendom en officieel orgaan van “Macabi”, bond van jonge Joden (Delft 1910-11).

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the works of Moses Mendelssohn and Naphtali Herz Wessely in Germany. The final sentence of his book – “So we may conclude that Dutch Jewry, though small in number, can withstand successfully the comparison with Jews abroad” – shows that in his opinion all was well with the cultural world of Dutch Jewry. In the three later editions of the work new historical developments are more or less recorded, but Staal was of one mind with his traditional Dutch Jewish readers who had little sympathy for Zionism and generally distrusted and feared everything which came from the outside world. In the introduction to the fourth edition of 1937, the author mentioned the general histories of the Jews written by Simon Dubnow, Joseph Kastein, Margolis and Marx, and Cecil Roth,16 but he warned his readers that these authors presented views which were not compatible with the teachings of the Dutch Israelite Congregation. At the end of his introduction he expressed the hope that his book “may help to strengthen the fidelity to our holy beliefs, to the whole of Israel and to our congregation”. The lasting success of Staal’s ultra-traditional view of Jewish history reflects the mentality of a large part of Dutch Jewry before World War II. The long and difficult road from poverty and social isolation to complete acceptance in Dutch society in the nineteenth century, compounded by the isolation of the Netherlands in the midst of the European countries, was the main reason for their cultural backwardness.

The End of Intellectual Isolation The outbreak of World War I in 1914 brought many refugees from Belgium to the Netherlands, among them several Jewish scholars. Their contacts with Dutch Jewish intellectuals brought about successful initiatives. In 1916, Sigmund Seeligmann, Henri Edersheim, and Izak Prins laid the foundations of the Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap in Nederland (Society for Jewish Studies in the Netherlands), which officially came into existence in 1919. The members of the association regularly assembled to deliver and discuss lectures in several fields of Jewish studies. Aside from the abstracts of these lectures in the yearbook of the association they also published scholarly studies written by a new generation of Jewish historians. After 1920, studies in Dutch Jewish history started to appear in other journals as well. In the new Jewish cultural weekly De Vrijdagavond (Friday Evening, 19241932), the results of new research conducted by A.M. Vaz Dias in the Amsterdam municipal archives was published along with many other important historical studccccccc 16.

Simon Dubnow’s Weltgeschichte des jüdischen Volkes. Von seinen Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart appeared in ten volumes in Berlin, 1925-1929, followed by M. Margolis and A. Marx, A History of the Jewish People (Philadelphia 1928). Joseph Kastein’s Eine Geschichte der Juden appeared in Berlin in 1931 and was translated into Dutch by J.L. Snethlage in 1933. Cecil Roth’s Short History of the Jewish People, 1600 B.C.-A.D. 1935, appeared in London in 1936.

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ies. Following the publication in 1925 of J.S. da Silva Rosa’s rather traditional history of the Sephardic congregation in Amsterdam on the occasion of the 250th anniversary of the Sephardic synagogue,17 Izak Prins, Sigmund Seeligmann, and Jacob Zwarts presented new studies on the settlement and development of the Sephardic community in the Dutch Republic.18 With the increase of scholarly publications on the history of the Jews in the Netherlands, non-Jewish historians grew interested in the subject, and in the Dutch historical journal Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis reviews of books in the field appeared. The Jewish historians became critical of each other’s work. When, for instance, a collection of articles on Dutch Jewish history by Jacob Zwarts appeared in 1929, Sigmund Seeligmann wrote a very unfavorable review in the Tijdschrift. He reproached Zwarts for his lack of knowledge of Hebrew and Latin, his slipshod presentation of facts and, worst of all, for having plagiarized parts of a dissertation written in 1926. He ends his review with the words: “That such a book could be published in the Netherlands is proof of the interest in all things Jewish in the country, as well as the low standard of Jewish scholarship.”19 In the 1930s, the threatening development of Nazism in neighboring Germany cast its shadow over the Netherlands. The growth of virulent anti-Semitism did not stop at the German frontier. Dutch scholars and intellectuals decided to take a stand against Nazi ideology and, in 1938, a collection of essays was published which stressed the important contribution of Jews to all fields of Dutch life, arts, and sciences.20 In those days notions like “the Jewish race” and “the Jewish question” – which we now consider to be highly suspect – were common usage. That is one of the reasons why the book is outdated, attesting only to a well-meant defense of Judaism and Dutch Jewry. In the same spirit of defense, Dutch Jewish historiography gained new impetus and, in 1937, the old plans for the writing of a history of the Jews in the Netherlands materialized.21 Within two years the work was completed in two volumes. The first volume provided an overview of the history from the Middle Ages up to the fall of the Dutch Republic in 1795; the second volume continued up to 1940. The work was not a chronologically ordered history, but contained articles on several ccccccc 17. 18.

19. 20. 21.

J.S. da Silva Rosa, Geschiedenis der Portugeesche Joden te Amsterdam 1593-1925 (Amsterdam 1925). I. Prins, De vestiging der Marranen in Noord-Nederland in de zestiende eeuw (Amsterdam 1927); S. Seeligmann, Bibliografie en historie. Bijdrage tot de geschiedenis der eerste Sephardim in Amsterdam (Amsterdam 1927); J. Zwarts, De eerste rabbijnen en synagogen van Amsterdam naar archivalische bronnen (Amsterdam 1927). Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 45 (1930), p. 70-74. H.J. Pos, ed., Antisemitisme en Jodendom. Een bundel studies over een actueel vraagstuk (Amsterdam 1938). S. Seeligmann, “Een standaardwerk over de gechiedenis der Joden in Nederland”, Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 55 (1940), p. 285-290.

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more or less related subjects which not only treated historical events but also described the contribution of Dutch Jews to the economy and the arts and sciences of the country. It was a joint venture of Jewish and non-Jewish scholars edited by the Amsterdam professor of history Henk Brugman and Abraham Frank, a Jewish historian about whom little is known. The first volume appeared in February or March of 1940, the second volume was to follow in the summer of that year. The printing of the second volume had already commenced in a printing house in Rhenen when the German army invaded the Netherlands on the night of May 10, 1940. During the following days the printing house was hit by German artillery and was completely destroyed. The whole of the text of the second volume was lost and neither the contents nor the names of the contributors, with the exception of one, have come down to us.22 The first volume of the Brugman and Frank history now stands as the sole surviving monument to a unique undertaking. It presents the best of historical scholarship on the Jews in the Netherlands in those days, a token of friendly cooperation of Jewish and non-Jewish historians. Of its Jewish contributors only I.B. van Esso, author of the chapter on the contribution of Jews to the science and practice of medicine, survived the Holocaust. We do not know much about the reception of the book among Dutch Jewry at the time of its appearance. All records of the Amsterdam publishers Holkema and Warendorf are lost and there are no data available concerning either the number of copies or the price of the book. The work was favorably reviewed in the Dutch historical journal Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis by Sigmund Seeligmann,23 who uttered his satisfaction at having lived to see the first volume appear after forty years of unrewarded effort. Though he was happy to be able to conclude that Dutch Jewish historiography had become full-grown and could now compete with Jewish historiography in the United States and Palestine, he noticed some serious omissions in the work. He missed statistical and demographic data, an index of names and places, and a bibliography, but he hoped that this would be compensated for at the end of the second volume. How was he to know that in the near future not only this second volume, but also the greater part of Dutch Jewry would be destroyed?

ccccccc 22.

23.

After World War II, one type-written copy of the two contributions of D.S. van Zuiden (1881-1941) for the lost second volume came to light and was published: “Lodewijk Napoleon en de Franse Tijd”, and “Organisatie en geschiedenis van het Israëlitische Kerkgenootschap tot 1870”, Studia Rosenthaliana 2 (1968), p. 66-88, and vol. 5 (1971), p. 187-212. See note 21.

Irene E. Zwiep

Epigones and Identity Jewish Scholarship in the Netherlands, 1850-1940

Dutch Jewish scholarship – an epigone tradition According to the prevalent opinion, Dutch Jewry never managed to participate in the Wissenschaft des Judentums. The Wissenschaft, as we know, was an intellectual movement that originated in Germany in the early nineteenth century as an attempt to develop a “national” Jewish historiography, the aim of which was to reconstruct the Jewish cultural past and to forge the resulting narrative into a paradigm of modern Jewish identity. In the course of the century, this intellectual strategy gradually gained ground, in one form or another, in various Jewish centers in Europe and the United States. In one respect common opinion is certainly right in claiming that there were no true manifestations of such a Wissenschaft in the Netherlands. For modern scholarship has stressed the unicity of the German-Jewish condition, and of the ensuing German-Jewish culture that nurtured a uniquely German Wissenschaft des Judentums.1 Still, it might be worthwhile to challenge one tacit implication of the prevalent opinion’s – admittedly somewhat intuitive – claim: the assumption that modern Dutch-Jewish scholarship did not measure up to the standards of the German Wissenschaft (Dutch scholars have been condemned as “appallingly mediocre”) and therefore can only be of limited interest to the modern historian.2 I cannot really deny the first part of that assumption. With the possible exception of a few internationally acclaimed scholars such as Marcus Meijer Roest and ccccccc 1.

2.

Cf. esp. D. Sorkin, The Transformation of German Jewry, 1780-1840 (New York and Oxford 1987); and, with regard to the German Wissenschaft, D.N. Myers, Re-inventing the Jewish Past: European Jewish Intellectuals and the Zionist Turn to History (New York and Oxford 1995), esp. chapter 1, “History, Scholarship, and Nation”. A rather extreme example of such a condemnation is J. Michman, “The Jewish Essence of Dutch Jewry”, Dutch Jewish History 2 (Assen and Maastricht 1989), p. 1-22: 3, “as regards scholarship goes [sic], the High-German Jews would hardly provide material for a far shorter lecture – and insofar as it did exist it was represented entirely by imported talent…”, and 7, “…it was a petrified Orthodoxy that, in its resistance to anything ‘new’ – regardless of whether it concerned scientific research or the order of the synagogue service – always behaved in a fiercely intolerant manner”.

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(the German-born) Sigmund Seeligmann, there have been no Dutch equivalents of scholars like Graetz and Steinschneider (nor for that matter of Solomon Munk and Samuel David Luzzatto, who lived and worked in France and Italy, respectively). Even when compared to the more average international output of the period, publications by Dutch Jewish scholars are in no way memorable. Apart from an unmistakable local relevance, they generally possess little innovative or methodological value that would have made them of interest to the international scholarly community. Simultaneously, however, one cannot escape the impression that the authors of these modest publications felt quite at ease in the scholarly margin. In this respect they seem to have been true epigones, not in the original derogatory sense of “second rate authors who lack the creative genius of their predecessors”, but rather of men who were happy to follow intellectual examples rather than set the pace, and for whom participating in a scholarly tradition was more important than transforming it. It may be true that Dutch Jewish scholarship had little international impact, yet it does seem to have served a definite national purpose. A careful and attentive reading of the corpus may bring us a little closer to that purpose, and reveal the intellectual concerns, and perhaps even part of the cultural identity, of a relatively broad Dutch Jewish audience. Such a reading will not only add to our knowledge of a much neglected chapter in the cultural history of the Jews in the Netherlands and thus of our “national Dutch cultural heritage”, its outcome may also complement (and possibly even critically reflect) the overall picture of pre-war Jewish scholarship, especially of its European branches.

A preliminary research agenda In talking of “complementing and critically reflecting an overall picture”, we are referring to the distant future. For apart from the fact that we still lack a comprehensive history of international Jewish scholarship, we cannot even begin to formulate a definition of its Dutch variety. The basic constituents of such a definition have yet to be identified. We will therefore first indicate the type of research that should be carried out before we may proceed to the more exciting conclusions, that is, before we can thoroughly assess the impact of Dutch Jewish scholarship on Dutch Jewish identity and self-definition, and determine its role within the processes that took place in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. To begin with, we need to find out more about the protagonists. So far we possess elementary data concerning only a few of the more prominent scholars. Basic bibliographies of the work of librarians such as Roest, Da Silva Rosa, Hillesum, and Hirschel, and of historians like Sluys, Vaz Dias, and Zwarts, have been compiled prior to and after the Second World War by librarians and historians, including the in-

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defatigable – but also highly subjective – Jaap Meijer.3 These lists will have to be supplemented by further inventories, not only of the work of (semi-) professional scholars and literati like Samuel Mulder, Gabriel Polak, and the ambitious Sigmund Seeligmann4 (to name but the most obvious desiderata), but also of the – at times rather uninviting – output of a whole series of lesser gods, who often approached their task with more enthusiasm than talent. As early as the mid-nineteenth century we encounter men like Leman Borstel (1827-1911), for example, whose writings range from recapitulations of biblical, as well as general Jewish history, via the medieval philosophical treatise Beh.inat Olam, to the epitaphs of the Jewish cemetery Crooswijk in Rotterdam.5 In Groningen there was the versatile Levi Ali Cohen (1817-1889), who ventured to write on such diverse topics as biology in the Book of Job, the rabbinic view of demons, and medieval psychology, besides becoming an expert in modern medicine and photochemistry.6 In Leiden we find the brilliant Salomo Keijzer (18231868), who began his career by translating Benjanim of Tudela’s itinerary (1846), writing a doctoral thesis on De voogdij volgens het Talmoedische recht: Tutela secundum Jus Thalmudicum (Leiden 1847), and editing the Reform-oriented magazine Palaestina (1847). He ended up, however, as a professor of Javanese language and literature, and his scholarly oeuvre came to include a handbook of Islamic law and the first Dutch translation of the Koran (Haarlem 1860).7 Thus we find three Jewish scholars, from three different parts of the so-called Mediene, reflecting three rather different histories of early Jewish scholarship in the Netherlands. I am tempted, perhaps prematurely, to locate the beginnings of modern Jew-

ccccccc 3. 4. 5.

6.

7.

J.C.H. Blom et al., eds., The History of the Jews in the Netherlands (Oxford 2002), p. 394-396, lists 17 such bibliographies. H. Galliner’s selected bibliography of Seeligmann’s work in Historia Judaica 5 (1943), p. 84-85, is unfortunately quite rudimentary. For Borstel’s (and other early) studies on Jewish cemetries in The Netherlands, cf. I.E. Zwiep, “Piety, Poetry and History. The Study of Cemetries and the Infrastucture of the Early Dutch Wissenschaft des Judentums”, in: B.E. Klein & Ch.E. Müller, eds., Memoria. Wege jüdischen Erinnerens (Berlin 2005), p. 287-299. Borstel’s works include: De Bijbel in schetsen en tafereelen voor Israëlietische huisgezinnen (Leiden 1876); Algemeene geschiedenis der Israëliten voor en tijdens hun volksbestaan (Den Haag 1853); Bespiegelingen over de wereld, van den wijsgeer en dichter Jedaja ha-Penini ben Rab. Avraham Bedersi in ’t Nederduitsch vertaald, met aanteekeningen en eene inleiding voorzien door L. Borstel (Den Haag 5615/ 1855); “De Spaansch-Portug. Israëlietische begraafplaats te Crooswijk”, Weekblad voor Israëlieten 12, nos. 45, 47, 51 (1867). For a brief biography, see D. Hausdorff, Jizkor. Platenatlas van drie en een halve eeuw geschiedenis van de joodse gemeente in Rotterdam van 1610 tot 1960 (Baarn 1978), p. 134-135. Cf. De dichter Job beschouwd als uitmuntend dierkundige (Groningen 1843); Over de booze geesten naar aanleiding van de Rabbijnen (Groningen 1845); Shemonah Peraqim (Groningen 1845). For Cohen’s other activities, cf. J. Meijer, Erfenis der emancipatie. Het Nederlands jodendom in de eerste helft van de 19e eeuw (Haarlem 1963), p. 75-76; and Nieuw Nederlands Biografisch Woordenboek IV, p. 443. Cf. C. Fasseur, De indologen: ambtenaren voor de Oost 1825-1950 (Amsterdam 1993). For Jewish orientalists in general, see M. Kramer, ed., The Jewish Discovery of Islam (Tel Aviv 1999) and J.M. Efron, “From Mitteleuropa to the Middle East”, Jewish Quarterly Review 94.3 (2004), p. 490-520.

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ish scholarship in the Netherlands in the generation of Borstel, Cohen, Keijzer, and of course Meijer Roest (1821-1889)8, men who were born around the 1820s and began to write their learned articles and monographs, more or less on an individual basis, in the course of the 1840s and early 50s, i.e. some twenty to thirty years after the dawn of the Wissenschaft in Germany.9 The work of their older contemporaries had concentrated upon the linguistic ideals of the Berlin Haskalah. In the earliest decades of the century, it had been the literary celebration of Hebrew and Dutch as the two national languages of the Jews that had occupied the minds of Dutch Jewish intellectuals.10 Yet in spite of the constrictive emphasis on the writing of Hebrew for the sake of writing Hebrew, we do find echoes of the nascent German Wissenschaft even in these circles. Samuel Mulder composed a highly manipulative, thoroughly maskilic Dutch adaptation of Leopold Zunz’s ground-breaking study of Rashi, a classic of the early Wissenschaft that has often been regarded as the beginning of modern Jewish historiography.11 Some fifteen years later, in 1842, headmaster Moses Myers of the Israelite school in Kampen produced a Dutch translation of Isaac Marcus Jost’s Allgemeine Geschichte des Israelitischen Volkes (1832).12 In this context it is worth mentioning that in several schoolbooks and other manuals for the Dutch Jewish youth of the first half of the nineteenth century, the general ideals as well as writings of German Jewish educators had left their mark.13 ccccccc 8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

For a contextualization of Roest’s scholarly career, cf. I.E. Zwiep, “No Friend of Humbug. Marcus Roest Mz, First Custodian of the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana (1881-1889)”, in: Omnia in eo. Studies on Jewish Books and Libraries in Honour of Adri Offenberg, Celebrating the 125th Anniversary of the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana in Amsterdam (Studia Rosenthaliana 38-39) (Louvain 2006), p. 37-48. It is in these decades, too, that we witness the first open controversies between adherents of the Reform movement and the champions of traditional orthodoxy in the Netherlands; for a survey of these struggles in Leman Borstel’s Rotterdam environment, cf., e.g., D. Hausdorff, “De Rotterdamse kehilla in het tweede kwart van de 19e eeuw”, Studia Rosenthaliana 3,1 (1969), p. 62-81; for Salomo Keijzer’s birthplace Kampen, see I. Erdtsieck, De Emancipatie van de Joden in Overijssel, 1796-1940. De Rol van de Overijsselse Opperrabbijnen Hertzveld, Fränkel en Hirsch (n.p. 1995), chapters 3 and 4. Cf. P. Tuinhout-Keuning, “The Writings of the To‘eleth Society of Amsterdam and the Haskalah in Germany” (Hebrew), Studies in the History of Dutch Jewry 5 (1988), p. 217-271; and idem., “Hebrew and the Emancipation of Dutch Jewry”, Studia Rosenthaliana 30 (1996), p. 88-98. Over de verdiensten van Ras’si (Amsterdam 1826); Meijer, Erfenis, p. 73, labelled this endeavor “a slavish adaptation” of Zunz’s article. However, for its traditionalist distortion of Zunz’s original historicist message, cf. my forthcoming ‘A maskil reads Zunz. Samuel Mulder and the earliest Dutch reception of the Wissenschaft des Judentums’ (Leiden 2007). Algemeene Geschiedenis des Israëlitischen Volks van den vroegsten tot op onze tijd door I.M. Jost, uit het Hoogduits vertaald door M. Mijers met eene voorrede, aanteekeningen en chronologische tafelen voorzien door Iz. J. Lion (Leeuwarden 1842). For Israel Waterman’s reliance on A.H. Leeser’s grammatical methods (1848), see footnote 14. Earlier examples are Modang liebne biena, zijnde een nieuw Hebreeuwsch spel- en leesboekje voor de israëlitische jeugd, naar de Portugeesche Joodsche uitspraak naar het Hoogduitsch van Moses Philipson omgewerkt en vermeerderd door Moses Cohen Belinfante (Amsterdam 1817); David Lissauer’s adaptations of Rabbi Hertzheimer’s Deutscher Kinderfreund für Israeliten (Berlin 1834) in his De Nederlandse kindervriend voor Israëlieten (Amsterdam 1836), and Torat ‘ivrit bi-me‘at yamim (Amsterdam

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We can characterize these beginnings of modern Jewish scholarship in the Netherlands, sometime around the middle of the nineteenth century, as the continuation of two distinct, yet not entirely unrelated, intellectual currents: the waning Haskalah and the rising Wissenschaft des Judentums. As for the latter, we will of course have to locate the channels through which the results of the Wissenschaft could reach that first generation of Dutch scholars. At school, their teachers may have played a stimulating role. Salomo Keijzer, for example, had been the star pupil of Israel Waterman, a high-school teacher whose grammatical work was deeply influenced by contemporary German pedagogical thinking.14 We also notice that the Dutch scholars did not just passively wait for the results of the Wissenschaft to travel westward. This becomes clear when we examine the Alphabetarische Liste der Förderer, i.e. the list of subscribers, to the German-Jewish Institut zur Förderung der israelitischen Literatur.15 From the very founding of the institute in 1855 by the Reform preacher Ludwig Philippson in co-operation with Isaac Jost and Adolph Jellinek, we find an impressive number of Dutch Jews among its supporters. Salomo Keijzer, headmaster Myers, Samuel Mulder, but also Meijer Roest and Salomo Moscoviter, to name but a few, had joined as early 1856. In 1857, Leman Borstel and Gabriel Polak had added their names to the list, and in 1858, David Henriques de Castro followed suit.16 Besides these more prominent exponents of the new Dutch Jewish scholarship, we find the usual array of progressive rabbis (Isaacsohn and Chumaceiro, for example), diligent young schoolmasters, and bourgeois professionals (doctors, lawyers, and the like) among the earliest members of Philippson’s literary society.17 They formed a characteristic, ccccccc

14. 15.

16.

17.

1835); M. Myers’ translation of Jost (see the preceding footnote) and his Zedekundig handboek, gegrond op de bijbelse Geschiedenis of 1833 (after Herz Homberg); Rishon le-miqra. Het eerste lees- en taalonderrigt in het Hebreeuwsch (…) benevens eenige voorbereidingsoefeningen ter gemakkelijker vertaling der Heilige Schrift. M. Wolff naar het Hoogduitsch door S.J. van Ronkel (Groningen 1846). Cf. I.E. Zwiep, “Yiddish, Dutch and Hebrew: Language Theory, Language Ideology and the Emancipation of Nineteenth-Century Dutch Jewry”, Studia Rosenthaliana 34,1 (2000), p. 56-73: 65-68. The society’s most celebrated achievement was the publication of Heinrich Graetz’s monumental Geschichte der Juden; its numerous other historical and literary publications, however, had been only slightly less influential, not least in the neighboring Netherlands. I wish to express my gratitude to Harry van der Linden of the Vrije Universiteit for supplying me with a detailed survey of pre-war Dutch-German learned contacts. For Henriques de Castro’s later contacts with various exponents of the German Wissenschaft, see J.M. Cohen, “David Henriques de Castro Mzn: A Collector in Nineteenth-Century Amsterdam”, Studia Rosenthaliana 33,1 (1999), p. 28-46: 31-37. Dutch membership of the Alphabetarische Liste grew rapidly; after seventeen subscriptions in the first year, we find mention of no less than fifty-nine Dutch members in the second issue of the Liste. From the 1860s onwards, new scholarly societies arose in various Jewish communities in the Netherlands (e.g. Deventer, The Hague, Rotterdam, Schiedam, and Utrecht), and joining a literary society abroad may have become less of an intellectual necessity. In 1866/67 the Alphabetarische Liste still contained sixty-two Dutch members; in 1885, however, only six Dutch Jews, including the rabbis Wijnkoop (Amsterdam), Dusnus (Leeuwarden), and Ritter (Rotterdam), joined the new Hebräische Literatur-Verein Mekize-Nirdamim.

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slightly elitist blend that laid the foundations for an eminently Dutch type of “joodse wetenschap” that was to develop in the course of the next hundred years. A scientia judaica neerlandica one might say, venturing a pun on Seeligmann’s famous expression, and postulating an essentially Dutch form of modern Wissenschaft. Whereas German-Jewish scholars had experienced an early, and in some respects quite clear-cut, break between the Berlin Haskalah and the Berlin Wissenschaft, their Dutch epigones experienced a much more gradual shift from one to the other. This relatively smooth transition allowed the Haskalah to exert a lasting influence, however faint and peripheral at times, on the contents of modern Dutch Jewish scholarship. The work of older scholars like Samuel Mulder and Gabriel Polak, born in 1792 and 1803, respectively, reflects this gentle transition. Both Mulder and Polak began their intellectual careers as Hebraists, steeped in the biblical and literary ideals of the (strongly Berlin-oriented) Dutch Haskalah. Around the middle of the century, however, the idea of Hebrew as the universal Jewish language had been superseded by a more pragmatic reliance on the “national Dutch mother-tongue”.18 With the decline of Hebrew as an instrument of Jewish emancipation, both Mulder and Polak relinquished, to varying extents, their Hebrew compositions and turned to writing more fashionable, historical studies. Especially in the case of Polak, these studies remained closely dependent on Hebrew sources,19 a choice which may have seemed somewhat outdated. For by the midnineteenth century, Hebrew was generally thought of as slightly passé, especially in bourgeois assimilationist circles, where it had come to be regarded as an archaic and oriental obstacle on the road to modern Western civilization.20 Yet among the – no less bourgeois – Dutch Jewish scholars, the holy tongue would always retain an unquestioned position as the principal language of Jewish culture. Thus in 1855 an aspiring young Wissenschaftler like Meijer Roest could still praise the Hebrew poetry of the Amsterdam maskil Abraham Delaville (1807-1877).21 Such lasting reverence for Hebrew literature testifies to the lasting impact of Haskalah standards on nineteenth- and even twentieth-century Dutch Jewish scholarship rather than to the in-

ccccccc 18. 19.

20. 21.

Cf. my discussion of the issue in the article quoted above, note 14. Witness Polak’s collection Halikhot qedem: Oostersche Wandelingen (Amsterdam 1846); his edition of the little treatise Sha‘ar Ta‘ame Sifre Emet attributed to Judah ibn Bal’am (1858); his edition (1865) of Abraham Berdershi’s dictionary of Hebrew synonyms Chotam Tokhnit (with additions and notes by S.D. Luzzatto, Moritz Steinschneider, and J.H. Dünner); and his translation and commentary, in co-operation with M.L. van Ameringen, of Sefer Yosipon (1868). Cf. A.D. Lutomirski, “Over het gewigt en het onderwijs der Hebreeuwsche taal”, Tijdschrift van de Maatschappij tot Nut der Israëlieten in Nederland 3 (1857), p. 57-72: 65. M.M. Roest, “De Hebreeuwsche Poezy in Nederland”, Nederlandsch-Israelietisch Jaarboekje voor 1855 (The Hague 1855), p. 65-75: 74. For a brief discussion of Delaville as the “last Hebrew poet of the Netherlands”, see A. van der Heide, “De studie van het Jodendom in Nederland: verleden, heden, toekomst”, Studia Rosenthaliana 17 (1983), p. 44-57, 177-209: 186 n. 60.

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grained orthodoxy of the Jewish population of the Netherlands – as some historians were inclined to believe. Yet the Haskalah was more than just a source of Hebrew literary criteria. Especially in the earliest days of the “joodse wetenschap”, it would sometimes serve as an intermediary between Dutch scholarship and new developments. A telling example of this intermediary role is found in Simon Heigmans’ Megillat Yehudit im targum hollandit: Judith Hebreeuwsch met eene nieuwe Nederduitsche vertaling, published in 1852. At first sight, one may be inclined to interpret Heigmans’ interest in the apocryphal Book of Judith as an indication of the new fascination, no doubt inspired by the German Wissenschaft, for hitherto unexplored areas of Jewish literary history. But then we find that Heigmans based his Dutch translation not on the results of contemporary scholarship, but on the 1819 Hebrew version by the Krakower maskil Judah Loeb ben Ze’ev, whose work had deeply influenced the Dutch maskilim.22 Thus we may conclude that Heigmans’ forays into this newly discovered field of Jewish literature owe at least as much to the early maskilic revisions of the Jewish canon23 as to the more recent labors of German-Jewish historians. To be sure, Heigmans’ Megillat Yehudit was not the only example of this trend. It will be the task of future research to carefully map out the scholarly landscape that arose on these foundations during the second half of the nineteenth century. As we shall be dealing with the work of epigones, we shall of course have to redefine our working concepts, including the terms creativity and originality. It is imperative that we tune our ears to the “politics in the text”, i.e. to the minute but revealing nuances that may be latent in tone and terminology, in topics favored or carefully avoided, and in the adaptation or rejection of new methods and theories. We shall have to investigate whether Dutch Jewish scholarship, like its German counterpart, went through a process of professionalization and sophistication, and whether this in turn had any consequences for its original maskilic orientation. When turning to the study of medieval literature, for example, Salomo Keijzer and Leman Borstel had still chosen all-time Hebrew classics such as Benjamin of Tudela and Yedaiah Penini’s Beh. inat Olam, texts that had undergone a continuous – and recent – reception in the Netherlands.24 We shall have to see whether their succesccccccc 22. 23. 24.

Cf. the Hebrew title of Heigmans’ translation: Megillat Yehudit (Bensews Übersetzung) im targum hollandit. Naphtali Hirsch Wessely had already pleaded the cause of deutero-canonical literature in Nah.al haBesor (Ha-Meassef 1788). Cf. M.M. Roest, Catalog der Hebraica und Judaica aus der L. Rosenthal’schen Bibliothek (Amsterdam 1875), p. 150-152 (Benjamin’s itinerary), and 534-539 (Beh.inat Olam). For a recent discussion, with special reference to the role of Yiddish translations in the transmission of Benjamin’s itinerary, see S. Berger, “Ashkenazim read Sephardim in 17th- and 18th-century Amsterdam”, in: I.E. Zwiep, A. Meyuhas Ginio and M. Dascal (eds.), Uprooted Roots: Amsterdam and the Early Sephardic Diaspora (Studia Rosenthaliana 35,2 [2001]) p. 253-265.

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sors were more sophisticated, i.e. managed to turn towards more uncommon sources. Likewise it may be worthwhile to compare the treatment of apocryphal material in Simon Heigmans’ Megillat Yehudit of 1852 with David Sluys’ doctoral dissertation De Maccabaeorum libris I et II quaestiones, submitted to the University of Amsterdam in 1904, near the other end of our little timeline. More generally, we must find out how the “joodse wetenschap” reacted to various methodological innovations, such as Zacharias Fraenkel’s critical historical positivism. Precisely, what had been the influence of classical studies, and of the Christian study of historic Judaism? How did Jewish history, as narrated by Dutch Jewish scholars, relate to the national history of the Dutch? As the years go by, do we find alternate representations of the Jewish literary canon, and of Jews and Judaism throughout the various periods of history – pagan and Christian antiquity, medieval Islam, the Dutch Golden Age, and so forth? How do we find “das Was der Juden” (the “essential quiddity of the Jews”) represented in these scholarly texts and their numerous popular adaptations? Did “de wetenschap” play any role in the major innerJewish debates of the twentieth century, and vice versa? What was its contribution to general Dutch culture? And finally, various Israeli scholars have denounced the Wissenschaft for its apologetic character and its exclusive emphasis on literary history, which had resulted, according to the new generation of Zionist scholars, in a utterly unacceptable decontextualization of historical Judaism.25 Will we find grounds for accusing Dutch Jewish scholarship, with its strong tradition of local historiography and archival research, of making these – typically nineteenth-century – flaws?

The infrastructure of the “joodse wetenschap”: organization and dilettantism Thus far we have devoted a great deal of attention to the beginnings of modern Jewish scholarship in the Netherlands. This is not only because these earliest stages have received little attention thus far, but especially because they already display a few vital characteristics of the scholarly tradition that was to follow. The “joodse wetenschap” in the Netherlands would continue to be exercised, by and large, by more or less self-taught amateurs rather than by highly-specialized academics. Besides Jewish teachers who seem to have been among the very first enthusiasts, we find rabbis and rabbinical students, who, in the course of the century, begin to play an increasingly important part. These in turn were assisted by a handful of trained librarians and historians, and invariably backed up by an eager Dutch Bildungsbürgertum. Especially in the earliest stages these men had become acquainted with the ccccccc 25.

Myers, Re-inventing the Jewish Past, passim; and, D. Myers and D.B. Ruderman, eds., The Jewish Past Revisited: Reflections on Modern Jewish Historians (New Haven and London 1998), passim.

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Wissenschaft through the filter of the Haskalah. When compared to their German colleagues, they often worked on a far more individual basis and therefore had a much more irregular scholarly output. The contents of this output generally had been more traditional, more positively Jewish than many results of German Jewish scholarship. Interestingly enough, we find the very same characteristics (self-made scholars, Haskalah influence, episodic, relatively traditional output) in other scholarly traditions in the Diaspora, notably among Jewish scholars in Russia, Galicia, France, and Italy.26 It would be too easy, however, to define Dutch Jewish scholarship as merely typical of Jewish scholarship in the European periphery, of the h.okhmat Yisrael with which it no doubt shared many traits. Its degree of care-free epigonism and inward-looking dilettantism is too striking to simply leave it at that. In the remainder of this paper, I shall elaborate upon this fundamentally dilettante character of the scientia judaica neerlandica. As it is too early to be able to give a full account of its institutions and platforms, I have chosen a rather different strategy. As a point of departure I have taken the moment of supreme institutionalization and professionalization of Jewish scholarship: the founding of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in 1924. By analyzing the Dutch reactions to this intellectual milestone in Jewish history, we may gain an impression of how early-twentieth-century Dutch Jewish scholarship had come to view its own position within the scholarly world. What were its ambitions by 1924? In April 1925, an entire issue of De Joodsche Wachter, the weekly magazine of the Nederlandse Zionistenbond, was dedicated to the inauguration of the new university in Jerusalem.27 Besides the usual reports on the various ceremonies that accompanied the event, the issue includes a number of contributions by Dutch Jewish scholars who were invited to share their private hopes and expectations vis-à-vis the future of the first Jewish university.28 We find articles on Jewish classical studies (a choice that reflects the still dominant nineteenth-century Bildungsideal), on Jewish law, and on Jewish mathematics. There is an intriguing little essay by Leon Polak, in which the author formulated the task of literary studies in a Jewish university by focusing on the relation between “the national and the international”, between Jewish literature and “world literature” (a stance obviously inccccccc 26. 27. 28.

Cf. Myers, Re-inventing the Jewish Past, p. 25. De Joodsche Wachter 21,13 (1925). I would like to thank Hadewych Dekker for her help in finding relevant material. One should of course keep in mind that publication in the journal of the Zionist movement will have inspired some scholars to formulate these expectations rather more positively than they would otherwise have been inclined to do. The best example is J.L. Palache’s (still rather half-hearted) panegyric; when asked by De Vrijdagavond to formulate his opinion on the matter, Palache was downright sceptical as to both the scholarly and the Jewish content of the new Hebrew University cf. De Vrijdagavond 1,2 (1924), p. 3.

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fluenced by the recent rise of Comparative Literature and its internationalist agenda). Yet of prime importance here is of course the contribution of Sigmund Seeligmann (1873-1940), prominent Zionist, éminence grise of Dutch Jewish scholarship and the founder, in 1919, of the Genootschap voor Joodsche Wetenschap in Nederland. Seeligmann’s thoughts on the subject are easily summarized. His tone is one of both relief and frustration. For him, the founding of a “Judaic faculty” [judaistische faculteit] in Jerusalem was no less than an act of Jewish self-respect. In the Diaspora, Jewish scholarship was condemned to live a life within the walls of the rabbinical seminaries, which, Seeligmann argued, were an unwholesome environment for Jewish studies. However, it was not so much because of the quality of their scholarship – that quality was often quite acceptable according to Seeligmann, who had himself been a student at the Amsterdam seminary. The possibility of reactionary forces taking over these strongholds of Jewish learning was a much more concrete threat than their potential mediocrity. But the truly crucial problem was one of scholarly method and discipline. Seminaries trained rabbis, and within that religious setting every branch of Jewish scholarship, be it the study of halakhah, of comparative Semitics, or of modern Hebrew literature, was reduced to a mere sub-branch of theology. This subordination of all Jewish scholarship to theology was a huge complication of both methodological and political proportions, which had already been tackled by earlier generations of Jewish Wissenschaftler, and which, in the Netherlands at least, has not been satisfactorily solved until this very day. More striking, however, than Seeligmann’s objections against Jewish scholarship as subordinate to theology, is his utter silence as to the possible role of his own Genootschap voor Joodsche Wetenschap. Apparently this society had not become the intellectual platform Seeligmann had intended.29 In fact, in later publications he continued to articulate his frustration regarding the deep-rooted dilettantism of contemporary Dutch Jewish scholarship.30 Not even his own Genootschap had been able to put the scientia judaica neerlandica on the international scholarly map. Seeligmann had been able to mobilize competent Dutch Jewish scholars, a keen Dutch Jewish audience, and enough contributors to fill the pages of the society’s Dutch yearbook. What he lacked, however, was a broader outlook on the part of his fellow members, plus the institutional backing that was needed to transform the Genootschap from an introverted amateur society into an international “center of excellence”. If the rabbinical seminaries were not able to offer that backing, would other institutions, in particular the Dutch universities, be able to do so? ccccccc 29. 30.

Cf. his bitter criticisms in De Vrijdagavond 6,39 (1929), p. 195. Seeligmann formulated his expectations in “De voorgeschiedenis van ons genootschap”, Bijdragen en Mededeelingen van het Genootschap voor Joodsche Wetenschap in Nederland 1 (1922), p. 13.

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In his article in De Joodsche Wachter, Seeligmann is pessimistic about the prospects of Jewish studies in the European academe. He refers to the classic examples of the great German Wissenschaftler Zunz and Steinschneider, who had both waited in vain for a university appointment, victims of the “anti-Jewish spirit of the Germanentum”, as Seeligmann put it. The Dutch universities may have been tainted slightly less by this racist bias, yet their general academic orientation was hardly congenial to the aims and needs of secular Jewish studies. One of the most dramatic instances of this intrinsic lack of congeniality was the dubious career of Juda Lion Palache (a distinguished member of Seeligmann’s Genootschap), at the University of Amsterdam, where he was appointed – after an infamous row – in 1925. Although engaged as a professor of Semitic languages and literature, Israelite antiquities, and the Old Testament, Palache never took the opportunity to practice “joodse wetenschap” of an academic kind, neither in his teaching nor in his research. In the wake of his training as a Semitist, his view of the Jewish literary heritage was replete with Orientalist relativism. His Old Testament studies depended solely upon the work of Christian theologians. His fellow members at the Genootschap were of course highly disappointed. Upon reading Palache’s inaugural lecture on “The Nature of the Old Testament Narrative”, Izak Prins condemned Palache’s intellectual apostasy in a devastating review. According to Prins, Palache had alienated himself entirely from Jewish scholarship, and it caused him anguish to watch this gifted scholar “roam the desolate fields of Christian learning, that have nothing to offer to the Jewish Volksgeist”.31 For us, the sentence immediately preceding this outcry is even more significant, where Prins writes, “ik had in dezen waarlijk hooggeleerde liever den geïnspireerden bentgenoot van de neo-Hebraici in hunnen titianenstrijd (sic) voor de levenswaarden van ons Volk begroet”. In other words: a Jewish scholar of Palache’s caliber joining the Christian tradition of Old Testament studies was a waste of Jewish talent and opportunities; he should rather have joined the “neo-Hebraici”, i.e. he should have devoted his extraordinary genius to the academic study of “New Hebrew” literature, as the post-biblical corpus was called in those days. One could say Prins had a point here, and as a matter of fact he was not the first to make it.32 There was a modest tradition ccccccc 31.

32.

De Vrijdagavond 1,2 (1924), p. 301. Cf. I.E. Zwiep, “Tussen Godgeleerdheid en Letteren. Joodse studies aan de Universiteit van Amsterdam”, in: P.J. Knegtmans and P. van Rooden, eds., Theologen

in ondertal. Godgeleerdheid, godsdienstwetenschap, het Athenaeum illustre en de Universiteit van Amsterdam (Zoetermeer 2003), p. 109-122, where I discuss Palache’s position between contemporary academic Old Testament studies and “joodse wetenschap”, and the tormented Orientalist relativism that resulted from this ambiguous position. In 1911, Levie David Staal published a pamphlet entitled Nieuw-Hebreeuwsch op de universiteit. Een ernstig woord aan allen, die den wetenschappelijken naam van Nederland willen hooghouden (Zutphen 1911), in which he pleaded in favor of introducing “New Hebrew studies” to the Dutch academic curriculum. After critically discussing various lacunae in the Hebrew and

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of post-biblical Hebrew studies in the Dutch universities, where Christian theologians and New Testament scholars occasionally tried their hands at translating early rabbinic texts or explaining Talmudic theology. Hardly surprising, these tentative – and at times polemical – explorations of rabbinic literature met with a critical reception among Jewish scholars and rabbis, who felt an innate superiority when it came to reading and interpreting Mishnah and Talmud.33 Yet despite this “natural superiority”, they had of course been granted no opportunity whatsoever to enter the Dutch academy, supplant the Christian tradition of New Testament studies, and replace it with an academic tradition of Jewish “New Hebrew scholarship”. In 1900, the Amsterdam rabbi Jozef Wijnkoop had managed to be admitted as a “privaatdocent in de Nieuw Hebreeuwse taal- en letterkunde” at the University of Amsterdam. For a period of ten years he was allowed to teach classes in Mishnah, Talmud, and medieval parshanut.34 After his death in 1910, however, these classes were not continued, despite some eloquent Jewish pressure. The ambitious Palache, who had sold his “Jewish soul” to such “Christian” disciplines as modern Biblical criticism and Semitics, was hardly one to champion the cause of the “New Hebraists”. In 1925, the academic institutionalization – and with it the emancipation from theological and/or amateurish bias – of Dutch Jewish studies still must have seemed light-years away.

Epilogue The above exploration of the origins and essence of modern Dutch Jewish scholarship is rudimentary. However, in anticipation of the results of future research I believe we can summarize its outcome in the following terms. There was a Dutch answer to the German Wissenschaft des Judentums, even if this answer came rather late and was largely epigonic in character. In around 1850, a series of young teachers, older maskilim, a few rabbis, and bourgeois professionals set out to acquaint themselves with the contents and methods of the Wissenschaft. For a considerable period, the Haskalah, which had combined the cultivation of Hebrew alongside a

ccccccc Jewish knowledge of numerous contemporary Christian academics, he argued that the Netherlands should follow the example of countries such as France and England (where Israel Lévi had been employed at the Sorbonne and Israël Abrahams had been appointed Reader in Rabbinics at the University of Cambridge) rather than continue to spurn Jewish talent like its German neighbors. 33. Besides the mild criticisms articulated by Staal (cf. the preceding footnote), there is of course the famous series of Jewish-Christian polemics that were triggered during the last quarter of the nineteenth century by the “rabbinic” publications of the Leiden theologian Henricus Oort (1836-1927); cf. A. van der Heide, “‘Quaestie Oort’ of ‘Quaestie Tal’?”, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 41,2 (1987), p. 118-136. 34. Cf. Zwiep, “Tussen Godgeleerdheid en Letteren”, p. 109-122; Wijnkoop’s inaugural lecture was entitled, simply but effectively, “Nieuw-Hebreeuwse Taal- en Letterkunde” (Leiden 1901).

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tentative reform of the Jewish literary canon, continued to serve as both a catalyst and a filter of the new scholarly ideas. In the course of the years, the various isolated individual attempts became somewhat more organized. Rabbinical seminaries and the typically Dutch “genootschappen”, as well as the Jewish press,35 were to play an increasingly important part within the infrastructure of the “joodse wetenschap” in the Netherlands. Simultaneously, however, this “scientia judaica neerlandica” never seems to have lost its introverted and dilettante character.

ccccccc 35. Cf. my forthcoming article “Haskalah and Wissenschaft des Judentums in the earliest Dutch Jewish press (1806-1875)”.

Julie-Marthe Cohen

Judaism on Display The Origins of Amsterdam’s Jewish Historical Museum

The Jewish Historical Museum of Amsterdam, currently housed in the former Ashkenazic synagogue complex on Jonas Daniel Meijerplein, was founded in 1930. It was officially opened two years later, on February, 24 1932, in the Weigh House on Nieuwmarkt in Amsterdam. The early history of the Museum has, until now, only been presented summarily. Descriptions have appeared in the various guidebooks published by the Museum and in a book entitled Vier eeuwen Waterlooplein, which appeared in 1987.1 My research in the archives of the Amsterdam municipality’s art department, of Amsterdam’s Ashkenazic community, the Jewish and nonJewish press, and various museum catalogues has enabled me to trace the museum’s development and function up to 1940 with reasonable accuracy.2 But because no prewar museum archive remains – it was presumably lost during the war – a highly detailed reconstruction has not been possible. The information that has come to light about the history of the museum provides new scope for research, particularly the links with Jewish museums elsewhere in Europe, as well as social, academic, and cultural developments in the Jewish community in the Netherlands.

Emancipation and an Interest in Jewish Cultural History In the second half of the nineteenth century, Jewish emancipation and the subsequent secularization resulted in a growing historical interest in the material objects of Jewish culture. For many, ritual objects used in the synagogue and the home had ccccccc 1.

2.

F. van Cleeff-Hiegentlich and J. Cahen, in: Vier eeuwen Waterlooplein/Four Centuries Waterlooplein (Amsterdam 1987); see the chapter on “Het Museum”, p. 161-166. See also E. van Voolen, “The Jewish Historical Museum: A Partial Return of the Looted Collection”, in: F.J. Hoogewoud, et al., eds., The Return of Looted Collections (1946-1996): An Unfinished Chapter (Amsterdam 1997), p. 110-112. My research extends to 1955, the year the museum reopened after the war. I intend to publish on the museum and its collection in the years 1940-1955 at a later date. The history of this period plays a significant role in the investigation of the Nazi looting of art in the Netherlands and in the examination of the provenance of museum objects under the auspices of the Netherlands Museum Association’s project on Museum Acquisitions (1940-1948). Cf. E. Muller, Museale Verwervingen 19401948. Rapport van de commissie Museale Verwervingen 1940-1948, Nederlandse Museumvereniging

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Julie-Marthe Cohen Historical Exhibition of Amsterdam, Amsterdam 1876. Left, a showcase with ritual objects and a large hanukiah lent by the Ashkenazic Community of Amsterdam.

lost their religious significance and had become (historical) artifacts. One of the earliest collections of Judaica was amassed by Isaac Strauss (1806-1888), a French Jew who left his native Strasbourg in search of art throughout Europe. The Shabbat candlesticks, Kiddush cups, manuscripts and other ritual objects he acquired probably brought back memories of his youth and reconfirmed his Jewish identity.3 Strauss’s presentation at the World Exposition in Paris in 1878 was the first private collection of Jewish ritual objects to be publicly displayed. In Holland, this collection of ritual objects assembled and presented by a Jewish collector outside a religious context, was considered remarkable. Meijer Roest, librarian of the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana and editor of De Israelietische Nieuwsbode, called the show “a curious and exceedingly rich collection of artistic objects relating to Jewish prayer in public and in the home…”.4 Yet Jewish ritual objects ccccccc

3. 4.

(December 1999), and E. Muller and H. Schretlen, Betwist Bezit. De Stichting Nederlands Kunstbezit en de teruggave van roofkunst na 1945 (Zwolle 2002). R. Cohen, “Nostalgia and ‘the return to the ghetto’”, in: idem, Jewish Icons: Art and Society in Modern Europe (Berkeley et al. 1998), p. 155. De Israelietische Nieuwsbode. Wekelijks Orgaan voor Israelietische belangen 3,51 (1878).

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Jewish section of the Tentoonstelling van oude kerkelijke kunst in ’s-Hertogenbosch. From: De Prins der geïllustreerde bladen, June 21, 1913, p. 297.

had already been publicly exhibited in Amsterdam, apparently for the first time, two years earlier, in 1876. This Historische Tentoonstelling van Amsterdam (Historical Exhibition of Amsterdam) featured objects such as finials and gilt priestly basins which represented religious institutions, particularly the Ashkenazic and Portuguese Jewish communities.5 Unlike Strauss, however, the organizers of this exhibition – members of the Royal Antiquarian Society6 – had no personal affinity with the objects. They presented the exhibits as tangible evidence of a flourishing Jewish culture in Amsterdam. It was in the twentieth century, in 1913 to be precise, that Jews first became involved in an exhibition of Judaica. That year, ’s-Hertogenbosch was the scene of a presentation entitled the Nationale Tentoonstelling van oude kerkelijke kunst te ccccccc 5.

6.

Catalogus van de Historische Tentoonstelling van Amsterdam (Amsterdam 1876), p. 103-105 (cat. nos. 1675-1732) and p. 120 (cat. no. 1955 [three silver collection plates]). See also the description of the objects in D.C. Meijer Jr., Wandeling door de zalen der Historische Tentoonstelling, van Amsterdam (Amsterdam 1876), p. 145-150, where the objects are clearly understood to be art objects and are presented as such. Koninklijk Oudheidkundig Genootschap, founded in Amsterdam in 1858, was the first national association dedicated to the conservation of the Dutch cultural legacy. The society endeavored to promote “knowledge of antiquities, especially as sources for history, art, and industry” by discussing objects, delivering lectures, and organizing exhibitions.

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Images of the Vanishing Amsterdam Ghetto. From: De Prins der geïllustreerde bladen, June 10, 1916, p. 280.

’s-Hertogenbosch (National Exhibition of Old Religious Art in ’s-Hertogenbosch), in which a comprehensive survey of the remnants of religious art in the Netherlands was displayed. The section devoted to Jewish religious art, featuring over one hundred ceremonial objects for use either in the home or in synagogue, was organized by the Jewish communities of ’s-Hertogenbosch and Amsterdam. Jeremias Hillesum, librarian of the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana, described the objects in the catalogue and provided the uninitiated with a brief explanation of the manner in which the objects were used.7 In addition to Jewish organizations, objects for the exhibition were also provided on loan by some of the various private individuals who had begun to develop an interest in collecting religious ceremonial objects.8 Despite Jewish involvement, the exhibition appears to have excited little interest among the Jewish press.9 Perhaps this was due to the location of the show in the provinces rather than Amsterdam, the main locus of Jewish life in the Netherlands. Three years later, in 1916, an exhibition was presented in Amsterdam’s Oudeccccccc 7.

8.

9.

For an explanation of the use of the objects, see Catalogus der Nat. Tentoonstelling van oude kerkelijke kunst te ’s-Hertogenbosch (June-September 1913), p. 27-32. For the objects, see p. 33-41 and 217219. Hillesum was assisted by A.J. Mendes da Costa and D.M. Sluys, the secretaries of the Portuguese and Ashkenazic communities of Amsterdam, respectively. A.J. Mendes da Costa, for example, loaned eleven objects, including a priestly ewer and basin with the arms of the Lopes Suasso family, an early-nineteenth-century circumcision frock, and a ketubah from 1767. The collector Karel Azijnman lent nine objects, including a miniature early-seventeenthcentury Portuguese Shabbat lamp and three hanukiahs. The Centraal Blad voor Israelieten in Nederland (CBI) 29,20 (1913) mentions only the reception of Cardinal van Rossum by Maurits Azijnman, a member of the Jewish liturgical sub-committee. Maurits Azijnman was the father of Karel (see note 8).

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manhuispoort, which was to give a powerful impetus towards the eventual establishment of a Jewish historical museum. The show, entitled Het verdwijnend Amsterdamsch Getto in beeld (Images of the Vanishing Amsterdam Ghetto), was organized by the Jewish National Fund. It was the first exhibition in the Netherlands with a Dutch Jewish theme initiated and organized by Jews.10 The exhibition marked the demolition of the slums of Uilenburg in the heart of the old Jewish quarter of Amsterdam.11 De Joodsche Wachter, the magazine of the Dutch Zionist organization, announced the forthcoming show to its readers and regular appeals resulted in numerous contributions of objects. The presentation contained around 1,600 items, including prints, ritual objects, coins, and medals, all illustrating aspects of life in the ghetto, i.e. cityscapes and buildings, scenes of daily life and work, portraits, religious traditions, and customs.12 It was an enormous success: in nine days the show attracted some 4,000 visi13 tors; the catalogue, with 1,548 items accompanied by short descriptions, was quickly sold out. According to one of the organizers, historian and biographer Sigmund Seeligmann, it was the idealistic objective of the exhibition that attracted such a broad spectrum and such a large number of Jews.14 Emancipation had drained Jewish spiritual and cultural life and had resulted in the disappearance of the “finer aspects of ghetto life”. Yet the loss of this heritage did not mark the final death throes of a people, but was a turning point: the start of a wonderful future for the Jewish people in the ancient Jewish homeland.15 Nevertheless, the exhibit’s success seems to have been due to more than just the Zionist sympathies of what was after all a small minority of Jews. The Uilenburg clearance had evoked an historical realizaccccccc 10.

11.

12. 13. 14.

15.

Six years earlier, in 1910, a group of eight Zionists organized a colonial exhibition about Palestine entitled Tentoonstelling van Palestina producten en joodsche kunstnijverheid (Exhibition of Palestinian products and Jewish crafts; see eponymous catalogue). The object was to show what was being done by and for Jews in Palestine. One of the organizers was Henri Edersheim, later chairman of the committee that organized the Ghetto exhibition. The exhibition was lauded by Jacob Israël de Haan in a poem entitled “De Joodsche Tentoonstelling” (The Jewish exhibition). See J. Israel de Haan, Het Joodsche lied, eerste boek (Amsterdam 1915), p. 163-167. Jacob Israël de Haan, a close friend of the initiator Izak Prins, also celebrated this exhibition in a poem entitled “Een Joodsche Tentoonstelling (Het verdwijnend Ghetto)” (A Jewish exhibition [The Vanishing Ghetto]); see J. Israël de Haan, Het Joodsche Lied, tweede boek (Amsterdam 1921), p. 125132. He dedicated the verse to Prins and Henri Edersheim. See Uitgelezen boeken, vol. 8, nos. 1 and 2 (November 1999), issue on Jaap Meijer, passim. Catalogue of Tentoonstelling Het Verdwijnend Amsterdamsch Ghetto in Beeld at the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam from May 29 to June 4, 1916. CBI 32,16 (1916). The exhibition ran from May 29 to June 4, and was extended for two days because of its success. S. Seeligmann, “De voorgeschiedenis van ons genootschap”, Bijdragen en Mededeelingen van het Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap in Nederland gevestigd te Amsterdam (Amsterdam 1922), p. 12-21: 19. The words of Henri Edersheim, president of the executive committee. CBI 32,12 (1916).

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tion that the old Jewish quarter was irrevocably lost, and appealed to a nostalgic longing for the “finer aspects of ghetto life”, not only among Jews, but doubtlessly also among the non-Jewish inhabitants of Amsterdam. The mass of items lent by Jews for the exhibition suggests that many had begun to become conscious of the changes that were occurring. The collecting of Jewish material culture testifies to a perceived need to preserve the image of the Jewish past and, implicitly, of the Jewish present. The ghetto exhibition was initiated by the lawyer and amateur historian Izak Prins. Even before it opened, he and Seeligmann had already discussed the desirability of turning this temporary show into the start of a Jewish museum in which Jewish material culture could be collected and preserved. Seeligmann felt that a Jewish museum should be a scholarly institution, rather than a Zionist instrument. He argued for a Jewish academic society that could incorporate the foundation of a Jewish museum into its program.16 This clearly reflected the influence of the situation in Germany at that time. Since the end of the nineteenth century, conscious of the imminent disappearance of Jewish material culture, the German Jewish intelligentsia had founded academic societies devoted to the collection, research, and presentation of Jewish ritual objects. In Vienna and Düsseldorf these societies helped establish the first Jewish museums. According to Seeligmann, a small group of intellectuals had already suggested founding a Jewish academic society in the Netherlands at the end of the nineteenth century. Various attempts to realize this plan failed due to lack of interest, finances, and necessary expertise, not to mention disagreements. It was not until 1919 that the society was eventually founded: the Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap in Nederland.17

The Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap in Nederland: Presenting the Jewish Past in Historical Exhibitions At first, the Genootschap focused on organizing lectures and collecting books and archival material, prints, and objects. The first discussions about the establishment of a Jewish museum in Amsterdam, and the organization of religious and historical exhibitions, were conducted in 1925, and these were soon to become concrete plans. The director of the city’s municipal museums, C. Baard, was engaged in setting up the Amsterdam Historical Museum, which opened on November 1, 1926, in the Weigh House on Nieuwmarkt.18 He invited the Genootschap to present a display of objects relating to the history of Jewish Amsterdam in the turret on the second floor ccccccc 16. 17. 18.

Seeligmann, “De voorgeschiedenis van ons genootschap”. Cf. the article by I. Zwiep in this volume. See De Telegraaf, July 6, 1926.

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Jewish doctors and circumcisers exhibition. From: De Vrijdagavond 3,32 (1926), p. 95.

of the Weigh House.19 After all, the city’s Jewish population formed an integral part of Amsterdam’s history. As a result, the Genootschap established a museum committee to organize a series of three-month exhibitions. Its members included Seeligmann, Prins and a number of individuals who would later form the board of the Jewish Historical Museum. Among these were the physician and amateur historian David Ezechiel Cohen, future chairman of the museum; and Marjorie Harriet Bottenheim, assistant at the Rijksmuseum Print Room, and the apothecary and art collector Emanuel Vita Israel,20 both of whom were to be appointed curators. Six exhibitions were organized between 1926 and 1930, two on historical themes and four on religious festivals and customs. To realize these shows, objects were acquired from Jewish and non-Jewish organizations and appeals were made to the pub-

ccccccc 19.

20.

It was Baard who, following the 1916 ghetto exhibition, had launched the idea of establishing a Jewish historical museum in the Weigh House; see Amsterdam Municipal Archive (GAA), archive 5192, inv. no. 56, item 257, minutes of the eighth meeting of the advisory committee for the Amsterdam Historical Museum, held on Thursday, November 12, 1931. Vita Israel opened his own collection of furniture, paintings, and sculpture to the public three times a week at his home above the apothecary (Algemeen Handelsblad, August 6, 1937). His art collection was auctioned in November 1940, following his death. He had already lent his collection of Judaica to the Jewish Historical Museum in 1930.

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lic in the Jewish press,21 for at this time, the Genootschap did not have a collection of its own. The first exhibition was presented from November 1926 to March 1927. It focused on three centuries of doctors and circumcisers in Amsterdam, a theme doubtlessly suggested by the physician Cohen, and later developed by him in several studies.22 Portraits of famous Jewish physicians – including Dr. Efraim Bueno, Josephus Veershijm, and Samuel Sarphati – documents, and various circumcision instruments illustrated the contribution of Jewish doctors to medicine in the Netherlands.23 The second historical exhibition focused on Dutch Jews under the French occupation and was held during the summer months of 1928, the year Amsterdam hosted the Olympic Games. It was for that reason that the museum committee decided to present a collection of “international significance”24 and attempted to make the exhibition “as enjoyable and accessible as possible to a lay public”.25 Indeed, the show was even open on Saturdays – free of charge. It featured portraits, documents, and curiosities demonstrating how “despite bitter opposition, the unshakable will of a few decisive men managed to transform the Jews from a separate Jewish nation into Dutch citizens”.26 Both exhibitions were full of patriotic praise of the Netherlands. Thanks to the tremendous freedom Jews had always enjoyed here – unlike in other countries, it was noted – they had been able to flourish and make a major contribution to Dutch society. The message was wholly other than that of the 1916 ghetto exhibition. While the historical exhibitions were presumably designed to interest non-Jews in Jewish history and culture, the religious exhibitions – about the Jewish festivals, Sabbath, and Jewish customs – appear to have targeted a Jewish public . These presented ritual objects including Kiddush cups, Shabbat candlesticks, and Seder plates.27 In addition to enhancing knowledge of Judaism among more assimilated Jews, the

ccccccc 21. 22.

23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

See, for example, CBI 42,31 (1926). D.E. Cohen, “De Amsterdamsche Joodsche chirurgijns”, Nederlands Tijdschrift voor Geneeskunde 74,18 (1930), p. 2234-2257; idem, “De vroegere Amsterdamsche joodsche doctoren”, ibid., 71, IIb 14 (1927), p. 1385-1401; idem, “De joodse geneeskundigen in de Noordelijke Nederlanden voor 1600”, ibid., vol. 78 I,5 (1934), p. 533-543; idem, ‘De vroegere Amsterdamsche joodsche apothekers’, Pharmaceutisch Weekblad 68,48 (1931), p. 1215-1224. Exhibition catalogue, Tentoonstelling op het gebied van Amsterdamsch-joodsche artsen en besnijders, in het Amsterdamsch Historisch Museum, op de Nieuwmarkt (November 1926-March 1927), 72 cat. nos. De Telegraaf, August 23, 1927. Jacob da Silva Rosa in De Vrijdagavond 5,12 (1928), p. 189-192. See “Toelichting tot de Tentoonstelling De Fransche tijd, 1795-1814”, in: Catalogus van de Tentoonstelling van voorwerpen uit den Franschen tijd, 1795-1814 (June 1928-December 1928), 145 cat. nos. All four “religious” exhibitions were accompanied by catalogues: Tentoonstelling van voorwerpen voor het Joodsche feestjaar (March-August 1927), 57 cat. nos; Tentoonstelling van voorwerpen voor den sabbath (November 1927-May 1928), 80 cat. nos; Tentoonstelling van voorwerpen betrekking hebbende op joodsche zeden en gewoonten (1st part) (February-September 1929), 113 cat. nos; and Tentoonstelling Joodsche zeden en gewoonten II, rouw- en treurdagen (February-July 1930), 77 cat. nos.

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Jewish festivals exhibition. From: De Vrijdagavond 4,1, part 1 (1927), p. 10.

organizers hoped to draw their attention to religious art. Seeligmann felt that Jewish religious art was undervalued in the Netherlands. Aesthetic objects, such as the elegant antique silver-filigree etrog boxes lent by a Portuguese Jewish family for the exhibition on Jewish festivals, demonstrated the “artistic sentiment of our ancestors”, but were not matched by examples of contemporary art. In fact, the presentation of these objects was intended to stimulate Jewish artists to emulate their predecessors.28 Indeed, Seeligmann’s criticisms, which were related to the international discussions of his time, went far deeper. In his article on the exhibition of Sabbath objects (“Voorwerpen voor den Sabbath”), published in the Jewish weekly De Vrijdagavond on November 25, 1927, he attacked the notion that the Jewish religion had a negative effect on every artistic medium. Unfortunately, the work of contemporary Dutch Jewish artists could not serve to counter the argument since most, in his opinion, were so tasteless “that it was hardly surprising so many blamed the Jewish religion for their lack of artistic talent”.29 He thought the cause lay deeper: the ccccccc 28. 29.

S. Seeligmann, “Tentoonstelling van voorwerpen voor het Joodsche feestjaar”, De Vrijdagavond 4,1, part 1 (1927), p. 9-10. S. Seeligmann, “Kunst en Sabbath bij de opening der derde tentoonstelling in het jodenzaaltje in de Waag te Amsterdam”, De Vrijdagavond 4,35, part 2 (1927), p. 547-550.

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general level of Jewish academic studies in the Netherlands. Seeligmann felt that compared to other countries, the Academic study of Judaism was simply not taken seriously enough in the Netherlands: “Undoubtedly”, he wrote, “the absence of an academic Jewish periodical in the Netherlands is one of the reasons why so little is achieved in this country in this field and why, because of the lack of concentration – which would itself encourage strict selection and criticism – non-Jewish periodicals publish so many ridiculous essays about historical and art-historical subjects with a Jewish slant, making a mockery of Jewish studies in the Netherlands. This has opened the field to dilettantes…” “Moreover”, Seeligmann continued, “the lack of detailed studies is so striking that, taking just Dutch Judaism, there is not one subject in which the student does not encounter any number of open questions that have never previously been researched.”30 Whether or not this accusation of dilettantism is entirely accurate there seems to have been remarkably little published on the subject of Jewish art. Only De Vrijdagavond appears to have focused on the subject regularly, though these articles were usually more descriptive than critical of the exhibitions of Jewish ritual art or Jewish paintings in the Netherlands or abroad. Occasionally, photos of ritual objects were also published with brief explanatory captions, as a means of documentation. The exhibitions held between 1926 and 1930 were intended to have more than a social and educational function. They were designed to make Jews aware of the historical and aesthetic value of their own material culture, and to encourage them to collect and contribute Jewish objects to the Genootschap in preparation for the new Jewish museum. Various objects were acquired in this period, including copper engravings of the Jewish Bride and the Scribe by Jozef Israels.

The Jewish Historical Museum: a home, a foundation, roots It was while the exhibition on mourning was on display that on May 23, 1930, the statutes of the Jewish Historical Museum were signed in Amsterdam. There were nine signatories: Cohen; Bottenheim; Vita Israel; Jacobus Lob, director of a ceramics factory; health product supplier Willem Spijer; Alexander Johannes Jacobus Philippus Haas; publisher Emanuel (Menno) Hertzberger; Abraham Jacob Mendes da Costa, secretary of the Portuguese Community of Amsterdam; and Jacob da Silva Rosa, librarian of Ets Haim. The foundation started with one hundred guilders of capital and a three-hundred-guilder subsidy from the Genootschap. Additional funds were to be acquired through contributions from benefactors who donatccccccc 30.

S. Seeligmann, “Joodsch kultuur-historische vragen”, De Vrijdagavond 6,39 (1929), p. 195-197: 195.

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Jewish Historical Museum permanent exhibition. From: De Vrijdagavond 7,39 (1930), p. 199.

ed at least fifty guilders a year, and from members who donated at least five guilders a year. Life membership was granted those who made a single donation of at least one hundred guilders.31 The goal of the foundation was described in the statutes as “the collection and presentation of everything that illustrates Jewish life in general and Dutch Jewish life in particular, all in the widest sense, the discussion in meetings of everything related to this and the useful employment of every means to encourage Jewish art and studies”. Clearly, the new museum seems to have chosen a different emphasis than that of the museum committee of 1926. As part of the new Amsterdam Historical Museum, the focus had been on Amsterdam Jewry, an objective that had been coolly received by some members of the Genootschap even then. The idea now was to create a general Dutch Jewish museum that would also collect objects from outside Amsterdam and would eventually be established in a building of its own. In 1931, the new policy began to cause friction. Having been asked by the muccccccc 31.

Statutes of the Jewish Historical Museum, unsorted archive. The deed was drawn up by Samuel Teixeira de Mattos, notary.

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seum chairman Cohen if the exhibition space in the Weigh House could be extended, Baard, director of the municipal museums, expressed doubts to the local council about whether the Jewish collection could be considered sufficiently specific to Amsterdam to be housed in the Amsterdam Historical Museum at all.32 Cohen had argued that the history of the Jews of Holland was so closely identified with that of Amsterdam that most of the exhibits would be entirely appropriate to a museum of the city’s history.33 Baard had his doubts, however. He claimed that the ghetto exhibition of 1916 had been “far more important than the present collection of the Jewish Historical Museum, which includes many objects not from Amsterdam”.34 Despite these objections the council decided to devote the turret facing Kloveniersburgwal to the Jewish museum, providing additional space for the presentation.35 Meanwhile, the museum and the council maintained the long-term aim of separate quarters for the Jewish museum. In 1932, serious discussions were held with the Dutch Jewish community about a building on Jonas Daniel Meijerplein 8/10, which, aside from the top floor, might be used as a museum. The optimistic staff even asked an architect to sketch a draft proposal for the interior. But negotiations eventually desisted when the project proved financially unfeasible.36 Before the museum could be officially opened it was necessary to assemble and register a collection large enough and of suitable quality. The curators, Bottenheim and Vita Israel, began registering and cataloguing the objects in 1931. They stored the information in a card system which was discovered in the 1980s in the attic of the Weigh House. In late 1931, they published the first guidebook to the museum, featuring 175 objects with brief descriptions. The collection was grouped according to the following themes: birth, circumcision, bar mitzvah, marriage and divorce, death and burial, prayer and rites in the home, the Sabbath, festivals (Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkoth, Simchat Torah, Hanukkah, Purim, Pesach, Shavuoth, Tisha b’Av), synagogue and religious services, history of the communities, manuscripts and printed books, portraits, objects belonging to famous people, work and professions, Jewish art, coins and medals, Jewish societies, varia, personalia, and amulets. By February 1932, the growth of the collection required the publication of a supplement featuring over fifty objects, as gifts and loans continued to increase. By November 1932, the number of objects had risen from 225 to 335.37 ccccccc 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37.

GAA, art department archive 5192, inv. no. 54, item 162, letter from C. Baard to the head of the art department, dated April 20, 1931. Ibid. Ibid., inv. no. 56 item 257, minutes of the eighth meeting of the advisory committee for the Amsterdam Historical Museum, held on Thursday, November 12, 1931. Ibid., inv. no. 54, item 162, letter, November 24, 1931. Ibid., archive 714, archive of the Ashkenazic community, inv. no. 907, report nos. 293, 336, and 352 (meetings of March 29, April 5, and April 11). Gids voor het Joodsch Historisch Museum (late 1931) and Supplement (February 1932).

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The official opening of the museum on 24 February, 1932. From left to right: unidentified person, E. Boekman, D. Cohen, M. Bottenheim, E. Vita Israel, D. Sluys, H. van Dam-van Isselt (of the Department of Art), M. Hertzberger, C. Baard, W. Spijer, J. da Silva Rosa and J. Lob. Nieuw Israelietisch Weekblad Archive.

The museum’s official opening took place on February 24, 1932. It was attended by representatives from the principal Jewish organizations and municipal bodies in Amsterdam, including the boards of the two communities, the B’nai Brith lodge Hillel and the municipal archives. It was the councilman supervising the arts, Emanuel Boekman, himself a Jew and a student of Dutch Jewish demography, who opened the museum.38 He emphasized in his speech that there was every reason to establish a Jewish museum in a town like Amsterdam, where Jews were so numerically, culturally, and economically important, especially since cities abroad with far smaller Jewish populations had already led the way.39 To judge from the opening ceremony, the dominant influence on the museum still seems to have been Amsterdam. The national newspapers made great play of the museum’s social and cultural significance, arguing that as the main store of works of art and historically significant objects, it was the museum’s task to preserve these for the nation. This would prevent them from being acquired by foreign museums and collectors. Indeed, the collection was deemed equally important for non-Jews, since they could now learn about Dutch Jewish history and the effect this had on the development of the Netherlands. ccccccc 38. 39.

Boekman published various demographic and social studies on Jews in the Netherlands in De Vrijdagavond. In 1936, he published Demografie van de joden in Nederland. Handelsblad, February 25, 1932.

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The Handelsblad gave a description of the interior.40 It noted that “upon entering the doorway on the second floor, the visitor sees a case with the ritual implements of circumcision, including an elegant seventeenth-century frock, all manner of instruments and a delightful mahogany chest, a charming Polish circumcision coat, delicate and fine. In the same room we see a circumcision chair (Louis XV), formerly used in the synagogue. These days they no longer circumcise in the synagogue. Models are displayed of Amsterdam synagogues and, unusually, a miniature interior of the large synagogue (before the restoration) on J.D. Meijerplein. On the walls hang portraits of rabbis and Jewish dignitaries. Further in this room we have the expensive curtains (parouches), an eternal lamp – Louis XV style –, a Maccabean lamp (Hanuquilha) from 1670. Another display case contains megillot (Esther scrolls); including a papercut one from the seventeenth century. Beside this is a magnificent shofar (ram’s horn). A little further stands a miniature of the now almost old-fashioned sukkah (booth)… Finally – these are just some of the objects – we mention the coins and medals in this room: including original coins from Palestine under the Hasmonean and Herodian dynasties, under the procurators (the reigns of Augustus, Tiberius, Nero and Brittanicus) and during the first revolt…”.

The Jewish Historical Museum: until the War The principal task of the museum staff in the first years of its existence was to maintain the permanent exhibition, to catalogue the new acquisitions, and to help put on shows elsewhere. In 1933, for example, the Museum lent objects for an exhibition on the subject of the Sabbath as part of a week in which the idea of the Sabbath was propagated throughout the country;41 for an exhibition on Jewish domestic utensils (Joodsche Gebruiksvoorwerpen in het huisgezin), organized by the Hague section of the Joodsche Vrouwenraad in Nederland (Dutch Council of Jewish Women);42 and a year later for a show on Jewish illustrated books (Het geïllustreerde joodsche boek) held from June 27 to July 15 at the Stedelijk Museum.43 Yet the museum’s largest project was the special historical exhibition marking the three-hundredth anniversary of Amsterdam’s Ashkenazic community in 1935.

ccccccc 40. 41.

42.

43.

Ibid., January 24, 1932. This was part of an attempt to encourage Shabbat observance. It was an international effort focused on Berlin. The show was held at Beit Jisrael (Joods Ons Huis), part of the general charity for disadvantaged youth. CBI 48,49 (1933), p. 5. See eponymous catalogue, inv. nos. 42, 44, 51, 153, 154, 164, 180, 188, 239, 260, 310, 313, 353, and 356. The show marked the tenth anniversary of the Hague division and aimed at spreading knowledge about Jewish culture and customs. See eponymous catalogue, nos. 9, 12, 13, 17, 18, 99, 135, and 174.

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Ashkenazic community exhibition. From: Nieuw Israelietisch Weekblad 71,28 (1935), p. 21.

The idea for the show, suggested by the museum staff, was welcomed by the community. It considered it important to celebrate the tercentenary, however soberly, not just for the community itself but also “as an expression of recognition to our country which has paved the way in the question of religious freedom for Jews and as a counterweight to the increasingly vociferous expressions of late, influenced particularly by ideas from the neighboring German Reich, that indicate the existence in this country of an unprecedented, unbridled anti-Semitism”.44 The museum asked the community for a subsidy of 1,500 guilders to underwrite the exhibition. Unfortunately, circumstances allowed for an allotment of only 500 guilders, which nevertheless proved more than adequate.45 The Genootschap also contributed to the museum project.46 The exhibition was opened on Tuesday, November 12, and after five days could already boast of 350 visitors.47 It was such a ccccccc 44. 45. 46. 47.

GAA, archive 714, inv. no. 910 (synagogue board minutes, 1935), report 308 (meeting March 10, 1935). Ibid., inv. no. 941 (1936/1938), report 664 (meeting May 13, 1936). Nieuw Israelietisch Weekblad 71,28 (1935). GAA, archive 5192, inv. no. 100, item 266, letter from D.E. Cohen to head of art department, November 21, 1935.

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success that the museum prolonged it for another two weeks48 and extended the opening hours. Normally the museum was open from 10 to 4; thanks to a special dispensation from the municipality, the show could now also be seen from 8 to 10 in the evenings and – despite the commotion – on Sundays.49 It was suggested that gramophone records should not be played at the exhibition on Sundays during the hours that church services were held. But the police commissioner advised the city councilman in charge of the arts that it was liturgical music, and that the Sunday opening should and could not be considered offensive.50 The remarkable collection – as the Handelsblad called the presentation – attracted Amsterdammers of all classes, from the stalwarts of the old congregations and historians, to those who knew absolutely nothing about Jewish customs and rituals. Around five hundred items, including books and documents, demographic charts, portraits, and ceremonial objects showed the economic and social development of the community, of the schools and popular culture, of art and science, and the links with the royal house, the nation, and the city.51 In addition to this public interest – both Jewish and non-Jewish – the growing number of objects in the museum’s possession also testified to its success in the 1930s. By the end of 1936, the collection comprised some 500 objects, rising by late 1937 to around 630. Its financial situation allowed the museum to purchase objects on a regular basis. These included, in 1938, a Venetian ketubah of 1649 from the estate of Dr. Dünner (inv. no. 635, Kleerekoper purchase), four dioramas including one of a wedding and one of the Jodenbreestraat (inv. no. 660a-d), and a print of the official entrance of Louis Bonaparte into Amsterdam (inv. no. 664, Erasmus purchase). Acquisitions were announced in the newspapers and displayed in the museum. The shortage of space meant that exhibits in some showcases were changed every few months so that objects stored in the attic cupboards could be put on view.52 In 1937, a new inventory was made by Cohen and E. de Metz-Alberge, who had succeeded Vita Israel and Bottenheim as curators,53 whereby the objects were arranged and described in an official register.54 On November, 18 1941, the 738th ccccccc 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

54.

Ibid., letter from Amsterdam city council to Jewish Historical Museum, November 23, 1935 and CBI, November 28, 1935. GAA, archive 5192, inv. no. 106, item 467, letter, November 16, 1935. Ibid., see handwritten notes. Catalogus Historische Tentoonstelling “De Hoogduitsche Joodsche Gemeente te Amsterdam, 1635-1935”, in het Waaggebouw van 12-26 november 1935, organized by the Jewish Historical Museum, 537 cat. nos. Letter from E. de Metz-Alberge, in the possession of D.E. Cohen, unsorted Jewish Historical Museum archive. 1937 annual report by E. de Metz-Alberge, in the possession of D.E. Cohen, unsorted Jewish Historical Museum archive. Why Vita Israel retired as curator is not known. Bottenheim stopped because of lack of time, see photocopied letter from the Ministry of Education, Art and Science (OKW) archive, September 3, 1946, OKN dept., corr. no. 18.459, in unsorted Jewish Historical Museum archive. Jewish Historical Museum inv. no. 3317. This inventory was presented at the opening of the new mu-

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inventory number was recorded: a gold medal with accompanying certificate awarded to B.E. Asscher to mark the twenty-fifth anniversary of his appointment to the Permanent Committee of the Nederlands Israelietische Kerkgenootschap – the umbrella organization of the Dutch Ashkenazic Jewish community.55 As a consequence of the German occupation, the Weigh House and the Museum were closed in 1940. The collection, which had been brought to Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum for safekeeping, was confiscated in late April 1943 by Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Alfred Rosenberg and shipped to Germany.56 In 1946, part of the collection was discovered in Offenbach, and from there returned. It was not until 1955 that the museum reopened in the Weigh House. It is clear that in the decade before the war the museum played a major role in providing information to the public about the history and culture of the Jews, particularly of the Netherlands. The Museum saw itself as a Dutch museum for a Jewish and non-Jewish Dutch public, and tried to shrug off the reputation it had acquired in the years 1926-1930 of being exclusively oriented to Amsterdam. This vision was expressed in the desire for a separate and independent museum building. How close the staff managed to near this goal is difficult to determine, given the lack of evidence. But the provenance of the gifts and loans suggests that Amsterdam’s Jewish elite remained the group most affiliated to the museum. The collection contained hardly any objects from Jews or Jewish communities of the provinces. The late journalist Henriette Boas felt that prior to the war the museum “did not occupy a particularly central place in the life of the Jewish community”.57 But it is important to realize that the staff members of the museum were not professionals. Unsalaried, they realized their work for the museum in their free time; and yet they took their work seriously. By collecting, describing, and cataloguing these Jewish objects they served the interests of scholarship and laid the foundations for today’s collection.

ccccccc

55. 56. 57.

seum building in 1987 to Judith Belinfante, then director of the museum, by a person who wished to remain anonymous. Jewish Historical Museum inv. no. 3317 and notebook (belonging to Eva van Slooten?) in inventory information dossier, unsorted Jewish Historical Museum archive. Jewish Historical Museum document collection, inv. no. 789, handwritten notes on letter, April 10, 1943. Interview, January 2000.

Judith Frishman

De Vrijdagavond as a Mirror of Dutch Jewry in the Interbellum, 1924-1932

Beginnings The period between the final quarter of the nineteenth century and the onset of the economic depression in the 1930s was one of an enormous boom in the publication of journals and magazines in Europe, both academic and popular. The invention of inexpensive and fast techniques for reproducing photographs in the 1890s led to the emergence of a new genre: the illustrated weekly. The Netherlands formed no exception to this general trend, as is attested to by the list of magazines received by the Nieuwsblad voor den Boekhandel and published between January 1921 and January 1934.1 The issue of 1922 consisted of fifty-five pages. The list for 1931 (commencing on April 1, 1931, and ending on June 30, 1932) counted ninety pages and was the most expansive. The final issue covering a period of two years – between May 1, 1932, and January 31,1934 – showed a decrease in pages (eighty-six) and an increase in the list of publications no longer in press. A glance at the list of magazines available at the public reading room and library on the Keizersgracht in Amsterdam in 1924 sheds some light on the interests of the Dutch urban middle class.2 Aside from the various publications concerning trade and commerce, one notices an interest in the arts (Boek en Kunst, Beeldende Kunst), interior design (In en om de Woning), history (Onze Eeuw, Het Gemeenebest), education (Het Kind, Het Onderwijs, De Katholieke School), literature and drama, psychology, and women’s rights. The presence of the monthlies of the Central Bureau of Statistics and the Amsterdam Bureau of Statistics as well as those of the homeopathic, theosophical, animal protection, and vegetarian societies in the reading room implies that the readership was ccccccc 1.

2.

Tijdschriften. Lijst van tijdschriften, door de redactie van het Nieuwsblad voor den Boekhandel ontvangen van 1 januari tot 15 februari 1921 (Amsterdam 1921), 19 pages; van 1 januari tot 15 maart 1922 (Amsterdam 1922), 44 pages; van 15 maart 1922 tot 1 april 1923 (Amsterdam 1923), 55 pages; van 15 maart 1923 tot 1 april 1924 (Amsterdam 1924), 60 pages; van 1 april 1924 tot 1 april 1925 (Amsterdam 1925), 64 pages; van 1 april 1931 tot 30 juni 1932 (Amsterdam 1932), 90 pages; final volume, 1 mei 1932 tot 31 januari 1934 (Amsterdam 1934), 86 pages. Lijst van tijdschriften in de openbare leeszaal en bibliotheek, Amsterdam 1924 (Amsterdam 1924). For a list of magazines available in the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana in 1930, cf. Universiteitsbibliotheek van Amsterdam. Lijst van loopende tijdschriften (Amsterdam 1930), p. 300-308.

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not limited to specialists or society members. Finally, and not surprisingly in a pillarized society, the library subscribed not only to Catholic and Protestant publications but also to Jewish magazines, specifically Het Centraalblad voor Israëlieten in Nederland (1885-1940), Der Jude (1916-1928, subscription as of 1919), Mizrachie (1916-1940 and 1949-1951), De Joodse Wachter (1905 onwards), Het Nieuw Israelietisch Weekblad (1865), and Het Weekblad voor Israelitische Huisgezinnen (1870-1940). De Vrijdagavond was not yet listed as the trial issue first appeared on January 11, 1924. The weekly appeared until 1932, when the worldwide financial crisis led to its demise.3 Considering the plethora of Jewish monthlies and weeklies, one might rightfully ask why the two editors of the De Vrijdagavond – Rabbi Justus Tal (1888-1954) and lawyer and historian Mr. Izak Prins (1887-1968) – were so anxious to embark upon a new project. This question is especially relevant because a previous attempt in 1921 to start up a new weekly – De Joodsche Post – ended in a fiasco only one year later.4 I will allow the daring duo to speak for themselves, citing from their front page column in the trial issue of January 11, 1924, entitled, “Wat wij willen: Ons Doel” (What We Desire: Our Goal): We want to provide the circle of Jewish readers with tastefully prepared “kosher” food for thought. We do not want to provide the talk of the town or the latest news nor obviate party organs. We want to provide Jewish reading matter in readily comprehensible form, both entertaining and substantial. We do not wish to be political in any which way, filling the mind yet emptying the soul with meaningless politics, be they international, national, party, or local. We want to treat all areas of Judaism – be they history, ethics, poetry, prose, academics, mundane, individual, or of the people – educating and edifying in order to propagate the good and serve the truth. We do not want to be scholarly and complex, nor superficial and insignificant. We want to serve historical-philosophical, traditional Judaism, disseminate knowledge about it, and pervade lives with it. We do not want to oust nor replace that which is already available. We want to provide reading matter for Friday night – the night when Jewish fami-

ccccccc 3. 4.

The first issue of De Vrijdagavond appeared on March 28, 1924, and the final issue (vol. 9, no. 30) was dated October 1, 1932. The trial issue of De Joodsche Post was published in 1920. The magazine ran for two years, from January 6, 1921, through 1922. De Joodsche Post was produced by Excelsior on the Van Eeghenstraat, the same publisher who would later publish De Vrijdagavond. Several years earlier an attempt had also been made to publish an illustrated weekly, De Joodsche Prins: geïllustreerd weekblad. It appeared between July 25, 1912, and August 7, 1913, and was published by Bos in Amsterdam. Cf. J. Hemels and R. Vegt, Het geïllustreerde tijdschrift in Nederland: bron van kennis en vermaak, lust voor het oog, vol. 1, 1840-1945 (Amsterdam 1993), p. 259-260.

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lies come together – material congenial to the Sabbath, providing something for everyone and much for many.5

The weekly’s emblem, designed for the purpose by Jozef Teixeira de Mattos,6 accords with and supplements the editors’ statement of purpose. The words De Vrijdagavond are surrounded on either side and illuminated by candelabra which, in the words of the editors, were “reminiscent of those of the Portuguese synagogue”.7 The candlesticks on the teba, located directly under the words De Vrijdagavond, “heighten the Sabbath atmosphere” and “enclose a mysteriously glowing Star of David”.8 Finally, the editors disclose their intended readership in advertisements appealing to intellectual [intellectuele, ontwikkelde], distinguished [voorname] and well-to-do [koopkrachtige] Jews. In summary, one might say that the editors emphasize the traditional, avoid the political, and look to the bourgeoisie. In this sense their purpose does not differ from other confessional or non-confessional magazines such as the Katholieke Illustratie, Wereldkroniek, or Eigen Haard, all of which had been founded quite a bit earlier than De Vrijdagavond. These magazines contained novellas, short stories, information about religious life, personalia, poetry, children’s sections, and games.9 Tal and Prins’s statement of purpose, containing nine alternating positively and negatively formulated points, is just short of forming the magazine’s Ten Commandments, makes use of the terms kosher and family, and is specifically designated for Friday evening. Moreover, both the Hebrew and secular date are located side by side at the top of each issue. Finally, wrapping the trial issue is a certificate of ccccccc 5. 6. 7. 8.

9.

J. Tal and I. Prins, “Wat wij willen”, De Vrijdagavond Proefnummer (January 11, 1924), p. 1a-b. Teixeira de Mattos (1892-1971) worked in the style of his two teachers, S. Jessurun de Mesquita and J. Mendes da Costa, two very successful Portuguese Jewish artists. Editorial, “De Kop van de Vrijdagavond”, De Vrijdagavond Proefnummer (1924), p. 1b. Ibid. It is noteworthy that the emblem of De Vrijdagavond resembles that of the Gereformeerd Weekblad. The heading of the latter is surrounded on either side by a medallion. A book is enclosed in the left-hand side medallion which is in turn encircled by the words “all things come to an end, the Word remains” [wat vergaet, ’t woordt bestaet]. The right-hand side medallion includes a seven branched menorah encircled by the words “Come God’s light, flee the night” [komt godt’s lig ’t duyster swigt]. Not only does the emblem of De Vrijdagavond consist of candelabra, Sabbath candles and a star of David, the names of the editors, I. Prins and J. Tal, do not generally appear on joint editorials but are indicated by a star of David with a seven branch menorah in its center. Articles by Tal are signed with an open book and those of Prins with a shekel. Da Silva Rosa made use of a pelican, a symbol of the Portuguese Jewish community. The Katholieke Illustratie was founded in 1865, Wereldkroniek in 1893, and Eigen Haard in 1874. In 1932, the final year in which De Vrijdagavond was published, the Katholieke Illustratie added a weekly supplement entitled De Witte Raaf. This supplement, according to the editors, presented the best of Dutch and Flemish Catholic writers as well as humorous pieces, and was quite similar to De Vrijdagavond. The Gereformeerd Weekblad and the Hervormd Weekblad, Protestant publications, were like De Vrijdagavond in that they always dealt with scripture. The readers of Protestant magazines, however, were still assumed to be safely within the fold, while the Catholic magazines and De Vrijdagavond appealed to a group whose knowledge of tradition was on the wane.

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kashrut, as it were, formulated in bourgeois consumer terms: a so-called warranty for the subscriber [waarborg voor den abonné] comprising a list of prominent (future) contributors to De Vrijdagavond, including eleven rabbis. As if to reinforce the message, the first contribution following the editors’ statement of purpose is an article on prayer by Rabbi Isaac Maarsen of Amsterdam entitled “In Gebedsstemming” (In the mood for prayer).10 The message, however, might be more complex than it seems at first, for the areas of Judaism which are to be heard from include history, ethics, poetry, prose, academics, and only lastly religious practice. Moreover, the juxtaposition of the terms historical-philosophical with traditional Judaism in the seventh point of the statement of purpose implies a not very subtle shift in the definition of traditional Judaism and may or may not be the equivalent of “the good” and “the truth” of the fifth point. The list of future contributors includes those of both Ashkenazic and Sephardic descent, male and female, who were successful in society at large, such as industrialists, politicians, writers, scholars, and even an actor. As for the rabbis, Rabbi Maarsen concludes his article “In Gebedsstemming” by describing the Adon Olam as a “confession of faith couched in Jewish philosophical terms”. A closer look at the regular and changing features of De Vrijdagavond will acquaint us better with this illustrated weekly, its authors, and its projected readership.

Constructing Dutch Jewish Bourgeois Identity Nearly every issue of De Vrijdagavond opened with the Torah reading of the week [“De Inhoud van de sidro dezer week”] and closed, at least for the first two years, with the children’s section entitled “Wesjinnantom lewooneegoo”.11 That the reader was not assumed to be familiar with the torah portion of the week is proven by the fact that Rabbi Tal usually limited his column to the descriptive.12 After the publisher of De Vrijdagavond removed Tal and Prins as editors in 1925, and appointed J.S. da Silva Rosa (1886-1943) in their stead, a change occurred in the column.13 This ccccccc 10.

11.

12.

13.

I. Maarsen, “In Gebedsstemming”, De Vrijdagavond Proefnummer (1924), p. 1c. Maarsen was born in 1892 in Amsterdam where he worked as a rabbi between 1919 and 1925 before becoming chief rabbi in the Hague. The title is derived from the first paragraph of the Shema prayer, Deut. 6:7: “And you shall teach them to your children…”. This section was eliminated after issue 39 of the second year, i.e. the final issue of that volume published on December 25, 1925. Other columns such as De Bijbel naverteld (The Bible Retold) and Uit het joodsche leven (Jewish Life) were added in the course of time. See for example J. Tal, “De Inhoud van de sidro dezer week”, De Vrijdagavond 1,1 (1924), p. 2b, and the following sample from the first 26 issues of the first year: p. 17b, 33b, 49b, 81b, 97b, 113b, 129b, 145b, 161b, 177b, 193b, etc. In an article from the directie we learn that Prins and Tal had sent a letter to the editor of the Algemeen Handelsblad concerning their dismissal. The letter was published on page three of the Sunday morning edition, April 26, 1925, and complained of the unjustified dismissal of the editors and the

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darshan and librarian of Ets Haim, the library of the Portuguese Jewish community of Amsterdam, compensated for the fact that at least a significant number of readers was not even acquainted with the Bible by offering a rehashed version in weekly installments.14 Additionally, in his presentation of the weekly readings he seized the opportunity to add edifying words for his public. Parashat Noah, for example, could remind parents that they needed to bring their children up properly in Jewish tradition. Failure to do so would lead to the predictable misconduct exemplified by Canaan. Da Silva Rosa’s warning comes as no surprise at a time when most Jewish children attended public schools and reluctantly added Hebrew school to their after-school activities, if at all. The rabbis too had lost their authority, at least according to the editor, whose comment on Tazria Metzora follows rabbinic tradition in attributing leprosy to gossip. Da Silva Rosa adds, however, that at present the priest, i.e. rabbi, doesn’t see most of the moral defects of his people because they don’t want him to see them. For if he were to see them, how could he refrain from speaking out? Yet the congregants interfere excessively with the rabbi’s shortcomings. Da Silva Rosa concludes on a moralizing note: the enemy of good is not evil, but good done for the sake of appearances only.15 The first item included in the children’s section of the very first issue is equally telltale. It is the story of the “Bar-Mitswoh” boy, Bram, who doesn’t really know what he is celebrating.16 For days all Bram can think of are the presents he will receive, especially the new bicycle. On the Sunday following his Bar Mitzvah, Bram has a biking date with two non-Jewish friends. On their trip, a Jewish peddler passes by. “Vuile, ouwe, poolse jood” (dirty old Polish Jew), the two friends shout. Bram sees that the man’s face shows traces of pain, worry, and endless patience, and he in turn becomes sad. Later that day, when the Jewish schoolmaster explains what it means to be a Bar Mitzvah, Bram realizes why he was sad. Bar Mitzvah means fulfilling the mitzvoth, becoming aware of the fate of your people, and recognizing its misery and patience. Here, I surmise, all the characteristics of the Dutch Jewish bourgeoisie are depicted: the child who goes to public school, has non-Jewish friends, and celebrates his Bar Mitzvah in the synagogue because it is expected without knowing anything about Jewish tradition. After all, Bram only learns the significance of the ceremony the Sunday after his Bar Mitzvah. His return to Judaism is triggered by rishes – a miccccccc

14. 15. 16.

possible sale of the weekly by its publisher. The latter – A. Tailleur according to the frontispiece of the magazine until issue 2,27 (1926) – retorts in De Vrijdagavond that the two editors had failed to comply with the publisher’s and subscribers’ wishes after repeated requests and so were given five months notice before the expiration of their contracts. What those wishes were is not clear. Prins attempted to purchase the weekly, to no avail. Cf. De Directie, “Afscheid en Herbegin”, De Vrijdagavond 2,5 (1925), p. 65. For the new line to be followed see J. da Silva Rosa, “Onze Weg”, ibid., p. 66. The simplified version of the Bible was presented under the name “De Bijbel naverteld”. De Vrijdagavond 3,3 (1926), p. 33-34. Mirjam, “Bar-Mitswoh”, De Vrijdagavond Proefnummer (1924), p. 15.

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nor anti-Semitic moment – that reunites him with his people in their history of suffering. Herewith a new rationale for staying in the fold has been called to life. The question of Jewish identity may be considered the unifying and perpetual theme of the weekly issues of De Vrijdagavond, which contained reviews of art and music, interviews with well-known personalities, selections from belles-lettres, book reviews, popular scholarship, and much more. The articles on Jewish artists never failed to include the question concerning the Jewish identity of the artist and the Jewish nature of his or her oeuvre. Even Rembrandt doesn’t escape the attribution of Jewishness.17 But if Jewishness could not be discovered in the choice of theme, then it must be located elsewhere, usually in the color and mood of the art work. Jews always retain something of the warmth and the mystery of the Orient, which always distinguishes them from the West, at least according to De Vrijdagavond. The nineteenth-century trope of Orientalism recurs but rarely in De Vrijdagavond. Although Zionism, the Zionist organizations, and congresses are not taboo – contrary to the Nieuw Israelietisch Weekblad, whose editors-in-chief were fervent anti-Zionists in this period – they are dealt with in a specific context. Articles feature cultural, agricultural, and archaeological items. Only once, in a fascinating article by Miss Carolina Eitje, a history teacher, entitled “Oost en West” (East and West) is the question of Orientalism touched upon.18 The age-old strife between the Jews and their detractors, she writes, is not a question of Christians versus Jews or anti-Judaism. Rather, there is a permanent, insoluble divide between East and West which will always determine Jewish history. For Eitje there is only one solution: Zionism and the devotion of time, love, and money to its cause. Eitje’s appeal was never to be repeated because it presumably fell into the category of the political and was therefore undesirable. It is almost certain that the acceptance of Eitje’s article by Tal and Prins displeased the publisher of the magazine.19 One other prominent column was to disappear after the duo’s dismissal, offering corroborative evidence concerning just what was acceptable and what was not acceptable to De Vrijdagavond and its public. In four articles, Frits van Raalte, editor-in-chief of the Algemeen Handelsblad, set out to analyze “the Jewish character” from a psychological viewpoint.20 The first of ccccccc 17.

18. 19. 20.

To be fair, Prins, who is the author of these articles on Rembrandt, does unveil the anti-Semitic tendencies of certain German art historians who recognized so-called Jewish traits in Rembrandt’s “De Joodsche Bruid”. Cf. I. Prins, “Rembrandt als Joodsch schilder – Het Joodsche Bruidje”, De Vrijdagavond Proefnummer (1924), p. 4; idem, “Rembrandt als Joodsch Schilder (I)”, De Vrijdagavond 2,3 (1925), p. 38-41; and esp. idem, “Rembrandt als Joodsch Schilder (slot)”, De Vrijdagavond 2,4 (1925), p. 61. Mej. C. Eitje, “Oost en West”, De Vrijdagavond 1,3 (1924), p. 36. One of the original editors, Rabbi Justus Tal, was in fact anti-Zionist. His inclusion of Eitje’s article is therefore all the more surprising and a tribute to his fair-minded attitude. F. van Raalte, “Diamant per kilo”, De Vrijdagavond Proefnummer (1924), p. 8c-9c; “De Gasten en de waard”, 1,7 (1924), p. 105-106; “Joodsche kinderen en hun omgang”, 1,16 (1924), p. 247-249; “De Joden onder elkaar”, 2,4 (1925), p. 55-57.

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these, “Diamonds by the kilo”, explains that when a non-Jew buys a diamond, he buys a carat, but the Jew buys diamonds by the kilo. The reason is because Jews try too hard: they want to prove themselves, are social climbers, and very ambitious. Psychology has shown that all human beings share the same character traits, but that these differ in intensity per individual; the difference, however, is gradual and not essential. Jews, belonging as they do to the active-emotional group, are more ambitious than others in their attempts to compensate for their inferiority complex. Even Jewish boasting about the contribution of the Jews to society forms part of this inferiority complex. But this is not surprising in view of the Jewish ghetto experience, which has left its mark on the people, perhaps even on the newborn. Only by recognizing one’s emotions and sensibilities can one overcome them, Van Raalte concludes. In his second article, “The Guests and the Innkeeper” [De Gasten en de Waard], Van Raalte claims that some characteristics may be so pervasive that they seem to be inborn. Jews are often pioneers because of their need to overcompensate for their inferiority complex, something true of other minority groups who experience discrimination. Yet Jews are more notable because not only are they considered different simply because they are Jews, they are also perceived as strebers. Should Jews be treated in the same manner as non-Jews from birth, then little difference would remain. The Jew who has not made it, is distrustful. Not the innkeeper, the non-Jewish country, but the Jew himself is distrustful. Considering Eitje’s and Van Raalte’s articles jointly, both the nature and the nurture arguments respectively depict the Jews negatively. In a weekly which sets out to construct a positive Jewish identity for a bourgeois Jewish society, eager to be integrated into society at large, a claim of ineradicable difference can not be countenanced. It was highly unlikely that the bourgeoisie was willing to recognize itself in the description of the parvenu offered by Van Raalte. Perhaps the implications of the title of his article alone, “De Gasten en de Waard”, would have sufficiently shaken their identity-in-the-making, so that further elaboration would be undesirable. The discussion of identity was not only prominent in the articles about art and the artists; it is also evident in the reviews of plays and films about Jews.21 One hoped, for example, that the non-Jewish audience would not be granted the opportunity to see its anti-Semitic stereotypes confirmed.22 The actor should not, as one reviewer warned, use too thick a Jewish accent – mauscheln – or overemphasize Jewish facial features.23 The non-Jew, but also perhaps or especially the Jew, should be able to identify with the so-called ghetto Jew, whose portrayal would always resemccccccc 21. 22.

23.

See for example D.S. van Zuiden, “De Joden op de film (De Oude Wet – Mazzel)”, De Vrijdagavond 1,7 (1924), p. 103-105. S. van Praag concludes that in view of the way in which Jews are portrayed in his plays, Herman Heijermans must be a self-hating Jew. Cf. S. van Praag, “Herman Heyermans als joodsch auteur”, De Vrijdagavond 1,10 (1924), p. 147-150. M. Gaarkeuken, “De Jood op de planken”, De Vrijdagavond 3,6 (1926), p. 93-95.

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ble a balancing act. In this perspective, one need contemplate the abundant number of illustrations in De Vrijdagavond, specifically those reproducing artists’ work which accompanied the art reviews. Although most of the artists refused the label of Jewish artists, the reviewer/editor almost always selected for publication those paintings bearing Jewish themes, particularly of old or poor peddlers in the former Jewish neighborhood.24 The move from the Jewish quarter – mainly to adjacent neighborhoods – was then quite recent, but apparently far enough in the past for nostalgia to set in.25 This assumption is corroborated by several short stories portraying family situations at the beginning of the twentieth century. In the “Memoirs of a Former Seminary Student”,26 the author describes his dependence on others to earn a livelihood during his student days at the rabbinical seminary. He is hired by a woman to write and direct a Purim play for her husband, whose birthday falls on Purim. After several unsuccessful attempts at pleasing his client, followed by much disappointment and frustration, the whole event is cancelled. This is because the woman suddenly realizes that her husband’s birthday is not on Purim but on Pesach. The message is clear: indifference, a quality particularly characteristic of the middleclass Jew(ess), makes the one holiday seem like the next so that they are easily interchangeable. Another story called “An Amsterdam Purim Celebration Fifty Years Ago”27 describes the Purim activities of the Salomons family who live on the Oude Schans in Amsterdam. The atmosphere in their home is warm and in some ways quite old-fashioned. The copious and obsessive description of food as well as the elaborate costumes indicate that this is a newly middle-class Jewish family. The older generation mixes Yiddish in its Dutch while the younger generation understands but can’t speak the old language. When the ordered vet bolen fail to be delivered by the bakery, the younger generation is sent out to investigate the cause of the mishap. The delicacy has accidentally been delivered to another, much less affluent Salomons family, who also happen to live on the Oude Schans. The latter give back the food begrudgingly; even worse, they had received it without really asking from whom it was sent. The youngest son, having retrieved the sjlach mones, asks his mother at the conclusion of the story whether it would be alright to send the poorccccccc 24.

25.

26. 27.

Cf. S. van Pelt, Contradictio in adjecto: Joodse en niet-Joodse kunsthistorici op zoek naar het Joodse gehalte in de werken van Joodse kunstenaars in Nederland (1924-1943) (doctoraal scriptie, University of Groningen 1996). The demographic shifts were first described by E. Boekman in a series of articles in De Vrijdagavond. See, for example, “Oude en nieuwe jodenbuurten in Amsterdam”, De Vrijdagavond 3,2 (1926), p. 20-22; 3,3 (1926), p. 34-36; 3,4 (1926), p. 50-51; 3,5 (1926), p. 69-70; 3,6 (1926), p. 84-86. Asaph, “Auteurs weeën: uit de gedenkschriften van een oud-seminarist”, De Vrijdagavond 1,10 (1924), p. 156; 1,11 (1924), p. 173-174; 1,12 (1924), p. 185-186. A.B. Davids, “Een Amsterdamsche Poerimviering vóór vijftig jaar”, De Vrijdagavond 1,1 (1924), p. 13-14; 1,2 (1924) p. 29-30; 1,3 (1924), p. 44-46; 1,4 (1924), p. 60-62.

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er family a portion of the bolen; they had been so visibly disappointed. The lesson is that although one may be successful, those who are less fortunate live only right around the corner. One should not forget one’s past and thus be charitable. The edifying story, situated fifty years earlier, looks back nostalgically at both the less fortunate and the first generation of middle class, not yet fully integrated Jews.

Rewriting History Historian Arnold Eisen has coined the term “mitzvah of nostalgia” for the replacement of traditional Jewish communal and religious life and values by nostalgia. He identifies five forms of nostalgia in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries,28 four of which are relevant here. These may be summarized briefly as the “remembrance of grandparents as exemplars of an unattainable piety”; “the veneration of rabbis of old as ‘the real thing’”; seeking continuity through the celebration of especially those holidays which “conjure up and re-defeat ancestral enemies”; and “the allure of ritual objects, museums, memoirs and historical studies (which) has only grown with generational distance from the past thereby ‘remembered’”. While ancestors and rabbis may be revered, the modern generations do not intend to imitate their behavior or heed their words. Holidays such as Purim and Passover, which celebrate the Jews’ victory over their enemies, serve as uniting factors by indicating the common foe, both of the past and the present.29 Finally, Jewish religious forms have become works of art to be put on display and admired. The majority of commandments are no longer observed and those which are, are attributed with disproportionate value.30 New Jewish cultural and ethnic forms come in their stead, including an emphasis on cuisine but also more sophisticated expressions such as the founding of museums. The past which is being recalled in all these forms of nostalgia is ambivalent, for “there is a mix of love and violence, pride and ridicule, meaning and boredom, piety and arrogance, pleasant curiosity and unwelcome restraint… The ambivalence – true to life, as well as to dreams and nightmares – is often enough not recognized by the memoirists themselves”, Eisen writes. “Without Jewish nightmares there could be no Jewish nostalgia… ccccccc 28. 29. 30.

A. Eisen, Rethinking Modern Judaism: Ritual, Commandment, Community (Chicago-London 1998), p. 156-187. The quotes which follow are derived from the chapter’s conclusion on pages 184-187. This phenomenon has already been signaled by Y.H. Yerushalmi in his book Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory (Seattle 1982). This was an argument used by the German reformer Samuel Holdheim when claiming that those who insisted that circumcision alone determined membership in the Jewish people, had elevated the rite to that of baptism in the Church, thereby attributing to it a quality which it did not have in biblical or rabbinic Judaism. Cf. J. Frishman, “True Mosaic Religion: Samuel Hirsch, Samuel Holdheim and the Reform of Judaism”, in: idem et al., eds., Religious Identity and the Problem of Historical Foundation (Jewish and Christian Perspectives, 8; Leiden 2004) p. 195-222.

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modern Jews were simultaneously fleeing” from that which they were “taking such good care to remember”.31 The short stories discussed above and the paintings of Jozef Israels,32 for example, illustrate this ambivalence. So too the historical contributions to De Vrijdagavond, which all seem to point to the Jews’ glorious past and their contribution to Dutch society. Special attention was paid to the history of the Spanish-Portuguese Jews, with whom both Ashkenazim and Sephardim now identified. It was no coincidence that the magazine’s emblem depicted part of the interior of the snoge and was designed by a Portuguese Jew. There were also many articles devoted to the Emancipation period and the eagerness of Jewish society as a whole to receive citizenship. For the Jews at the beginning of the twentieth century, the Golden Age and the Emancipation period had become the key to their understanding of themselves as modern Jewish Dutchmen.33 As only a small elite had welcomed emancipation at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth centuries, this was a wholly new evaluation and nothing short of a rewritten history.34 The interest in history and material culture was not limited to De Vrijdagavond. In 1916, an exhibition entitled Het Verdwijnend Amsterdamse Getto in Beeld had been organized in the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam. The initiator of the show was none other than our dynamic Prins.35 At this time Prins and Seeligmann were considering founding an academic society for the study of Judaism and had even discussed ccccccc 31. 32.

33.

34.

35.

Eisen, Rethinking Modern Judaism, p. 169. Jozef Israel’s paintings form part of a general nostalgic movement among Dutch painters in the nineteenth century. As A. de Jong writes, these artists were in search of “more and more places where progress had not yet hit too hard… in the perception of the artists it was always five to twelve…”. The artists’ journey “did not always entail a search for the bright side” but led them to derelict neighborhoods where workers labored. According to De Jong, one of the important questions concerning the history of reception of volkscultuur is “to what degree the nineteenth-century middle class identified, for example, with Israel’s painting Children of the Sea… To what extent did their hearts open to such a theme and did they feel at one with the simple people from whom they had most likely originated themselves?” (translation J.F.). Thus identification was clearly ambivalent for all members of society in transition in the modern period, not only Jews. The latter, however, were never automatically considered as belonging to the volkscultuur, whatever it may be. Cf. A. de Jong, De dirigenten van de herinnering. Musealisering van de volkscultuur in Nederland 1815-1940 (Nijmegen 2001), p. 165-180: 171, 173-174, 177. The search for new forms of identity and solidarity was not limited to Jewish historiography, but was typical of nineteenth-century Holland and Europe in general. According to A. de Jong, the period of the revolution and the flourishing of the Republic in the Golden Age dominated the Dutch nineteenth-century understanding of what it meant to be a nation. So too the nationalization of seventeenth-century painters such as Rembrandt. A. de Jong, De dirigenten van de herinnering, p. 30. For the mixed reception emancipation received among Dutch Jews, cf. J. Michman, Dutch Jewry During the Emancipation Period, 1787-1815: Gothic Turrets on a Corinthian Building (Amsterdam 1995), esp. p. 1-53. The 1916 exhibition included 1548 objects and lasted only seven days. For this exhibit and the founding of the Jewish Historical Museum, see the article by J.-M. Cohen in this volume.

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the possibility of setting up a Jewish museum.36 In 1919, the Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap came into being, with Seeligmann as its first chair and Prins as its secretary.37 A column on current Dutch Jewish events in De Vrijdagavond indicates that lectures held for both the Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap and the Genootschap van Zionistische Academici tot bestudering der Joodsche Wetenschap were published in the weekly.38 The museum’s exhibits were covered by the magazine’s correspondents. These, like many of the articles in De Vrijdagavond, fulfilled a double function: They were to convince the outside world that the Jews were worthy citizens, and they bolstered egos and strengthened Jewish identity in a time when traditional values were losing significance. The very selective nature of this history writing is also attested to by the absence of any mention of socialism or the workers’ party. The occasional book review hazarding upon the subject always safely dealt with situations outside of the Netherlands. An interview with Henri Polak, renowned labor leader,39 carefully avoided ideological issues. It stressed instead the elements in Polak’s youth and upbringing which contributed to his successful career as a member of the Amsterdam city council (1902-1906) and of the senate (1913-1937) on behalf of the SDAP (the SocialDemocratic Labor Party).40 Nor did Polak, who contributed sporadically to De Vrijdagavond, ever write about poverty and socialism amongst Amsterdam Jewry. His contributions described the old Jewish “ghetto” – mainly geographically –, Amsterdam Yiddish, and the role of the Portuguese in the diamond industry.41 ccccccc 36.

37. 38.

39. 40.

41.

Prins’s various activities are all part of the phenomenon of nostalgia discussed by Eisen, Rethinking Modern Judaism. Cf. R. Cohen, “Self-Image through Objects: Towards a Social History of Jewish Art Collecting and Jewish Museums”, in: J. Wertheimer, ed., The Uses of Tradition: Jewish Continuity in the Modern Era (Cambridge, Mass. 1992), p. 203-242. This essay was later revised and reprinted under the title “Self-exposure, Self-image, and Memory”, in: R. Cohen, Jewish Icons (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London 1998), p. 186-219. More information on the Genootschap is to be found in the article of I. Zwiep in this volume. J. da Silva Rosa, “Kroniek van Nederlands Jodendom”, De Vrijdagavond 1, 27 (192), p. 6c-10c. A short report of I. Maarsen’s lecture on Tongeleth, for example, may be found in Bijdragen en Mededeelingen van het Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap in Nederland, vol. 2 (Amsterdam 1925), p. 7578. It appeared as a series of articles in De Vrijdagavond 1, 25 (1924), p. 390-393; 1,35 (1924), p. 135137; 1,36 (1924), p. 146-148; 1,39 (1924), p. 199-201. I have been able to trace approximately one quarter of the summarized articles found in the Bijdragen. For Polak see S. Bloemgarten, Henri Polak: sociaal democraat 1868-1943 (The Hague 1996). Is. Santcroos Dzn., “Henri Polak over vooraanstaande Joodsche figuren in de arbeidersbeweging”, De Vrijdagavond 3,4 (1926), p. 51-54. Likewise S. Mok, “Henri Polak 1868 – 22 februari – 1928”, De Vrijdagavond 4, 47 (1928), p. 744-746 which emphasizes how thoroughly Jewish Polak was, and his intense Zionist activities. H. Polak, “Een eigenaardig document”, De Vrijdagavond 1,9 (1924), p. 132-134; “Het Amsterdamsche Ghetto”, 1,20 (1924), p. 290; “Het Amsterdamsche Jiddisch”, 2,7 (1925), p. 104-106; 2,8 (1925), p. 122-123; 2,9 (1925), p. 144; 2,10 (1925), p. 160; 2,12 (1925), p. 192; 2,13 (1925), p. 208; 2,14 (1925), p. 223-224; 2,16 (1925), p. 255; 2,17 (1925), p. 266-267; 2,19 (1925), p. 310-311; “De Portugeesche joden in de Amsterdamsche diamantnijverheid”, 2,19 (1925), p. 299-300; “Joodsch Nederland in den Vreemde”, 5,32 (1928), p. 87.

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It was safer to describe the situation of Jews elsewhere. That De Vrijdagavond had its own correspondent – Joop Stoppelman – in England was a novelty and offers proof of growing interest in Jewry round the world. He covered not only the arts but also wrote about Jewish old-age homes, missionary societies, and liberal Judaism.42 The latter, by the way, also belonged to the list of political topics not to be discussed in our weekly. If poverty and discrimination were to be discussed – then only in regard to Russian Jewry and Eastern Europe. If one felt nostalgic, longed for something from the distant past – one should read the works of Yiddish and Hebrew authors translated for De Vrijdagavond by its general secretary M. Gaarkeuken under the pseudonym Michel Danvers.43 The penurious and proletarian past and present of Dutch and especially Amsterdam Jewry could be safely looked at in paintings and exhibits. The written word somehow came too close for comfort. It was only years later, after the war, when this aspect of Jewish life had almost disappeared completely, that the nostalgic works of Meyer Sluyser and Siegfried van Praag became best sellers. The attitude of the Dutch Jewish bourgeoisie – or at least of the journalists of De Vrijdagavond – to its past was at best ambivalent. In conclusion, the project which De Vrijdagavond embarked on was far greater than entertaining the middle-class Jewish population by introducing them to culture in the broader sense. A synthesis was sought between culture and tradition, in a fashion similar not only to the German neo-Orthodox rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, but also to the Catholic Witte Raaf and Elseviers illustrated monthly. Culture and history were identified with traditional Judaism, thereby enlarging the category of tradition with the tacit approval of the rabbis. The latter might not have approved of the editorial selections, but on the whole they seem to have felt that this was the best compromise for their middle class members and themselves, certainly when other options included liberal Judaism, socialism, indifference, or perhaps even mixed marriage. De Vrijdagavond, a middle-brow magazine, not only asked questions about the nature of Jewish identity. It sought to provide an identity to those middle-class, middle-brow Jews who had recently moved out of the Jewish quarter, could not read Hebrew, and attended synagogue sporadically. It provided them with a past to be proud of, a past which attested to their acceptance of and their acceptability to Dutch society.

ccccccc 42. 43.

Cf. e.g. J. Stoppelman, “Het Vredige levenseinde in ’t Beis Zekeinim te Wandsworth bij Londen”, De Vrijdagavond 1,1 (1924), p. 108. The nostalgic stories of Dutch Jews all but disappear after the first one or two years of publication and are replaced by Dutch translations of stories by Eastern European and modern Israeli writers.

Thomas Kollatz

“Holland is a country which provokes serious reflection…” Images of Dutch Jewry in the German Jewish Press

Periodicals played an important role in the transition from the pre-modern to the bourgeois period, emerging as ideal discussion forums for the collective pursuit of the objective of a modern bourgeois identity. The nationwide press enabled the flourishing of a supra-regional and public debate, and as a result reinforced the distinctions between and the uniformity within political, social, and religious groups of the population. Modern liberalism, the labor movement, Protestantism, Catholicism, and various movements in Judaism all owe their specific shape to the formative discourses that took place in the contemporary press, and which helped establish their identities. Jews took part in this wide-ranging communicative process both passively, as readers, and actively, as writers and publishers of periodicals intended for Jewish readership of various nationalities.

German Jewish press The history of the German Jewish press begins in the 1750s with the appearance of the journal Kohelet mussar by Moses Mendelssohn (1729-1786). Only two issues, however, of this Hebrew magazine were ever published.1 The quarterly haMe’assef achieved more lasting success, appearing between 1783 and 1797, and, after a hiatus of twelve years, again from 1809 to 1811. Although ha-Me’assef was mostly written in Hebrew, various German supplements and articles were included in Hebrew characters.2 Yet Hebrew publications represented only a fraction of the German Jewish press in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.3 From the beginning of the nineteenth century, German was the lingua franca of German Jewish periodicals. Early nineteenth-century magazines such as Sulamith (1806-1837) ccccccc 1. 2. 3.

M. Gilon, ed., Mendelssohn’s Kohelet Mussar in its Historical Context (Jerusalem 1979), p. 157-180. For notes on contributors and articles of this eminent organ, see M. Pelli, The Gate to Haskalah: An Annotated Index to Hame’assef, the First Hebrew Journal (Jerusalem 2000). A survey of Hebrew periodicals in Germany can be found in T. Kollatz, “Hebräische Zeitschriften in Deutschland (1750-1856)”, in: M. Brenner, ed., Jüdische Sprachen in deutscher Umwelt. Hebräisch und Jiddisch von der Aufklärung bis ins 20. Jahrhundert (Göttingen 2002).

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and Jedidja (1817-1833) already appeared in German. Hebrew remained the language of scholars in the nineteenth century, for both traditional Talmudic scholars and adherents of the Wissenschaft des Judentums alike.4 From the start, the press was the powerhouse that fuelled the cultural transformation of German Jewry. In the early years of the Jewish press in Germany, the contributors and publishers of ha-Me’assef and the German periodicals of the early nineteenth century were conscious of fulfilling a popular pedagogic mission. They saw the press as the ideal medium through which to raise the Jewish population to the cultural level of the non-Jewish majority.

The years 1830-1850 The periodicals that appeared in the 1830s, 40s, and 50s were less didactic in quality, and focused inward on the contemporary controversy about the future and essence of Judaism. The wave of conversions to Christianity was subsiding, and steps were being taken to consolidate Judaism. Divergent visions of modern Judaism led to major internal conflicts in countless Jewish communities. When a number of Reform rabbis presented their plans at a series of public meetings, over one hundred Orthodox rabbis protested.5 The debate was about the role and the embodiment of Judaism in the modern age and the degree to which it should adapt to the Zeitgeist. These discussions were followed with intense interest by the German Jewish press, where they were often encouraged and publicly aired for a wide readership. With the foundation of the Allgemeine Zeitung des Judentums in 1837, the German Jewish press entered its heyday. Within years, numerous competing periodicals were established, all addressing the German Jewish public.6 Two topics dominated their pages: emancipation and the religious culture of Judaism. The newspapers campaigned in support of the struggle for emancipation of the Jewish minority and the granting to them of civil rights as enjoyed by the non-Jewish majority. In fact, egalitarian status was only achieved after the establishment ccccccc 4.

5.

6.

Shomer z. ion ha-ne’eman (Altona 1846-56) was an Orthodox platform mainly for halakhic discourses. Adherents of the nascent Wissenschaft des Judentums exchanged opinions on Hebrew literature and Jewish (cultural) history on the pages of Zion (Frankfurt 1840-41), Kerem h.emed (1833-56) and Oz.ar ha-neh.mad (1856-63). The minutes of the rabbinical meetings at Brunswick (1844), Frankfurt (1845), and Breslau (1846) were published in the 1840s, and the proposals and decisions were discussed at length in the contemporary press. At the initiative of J. Ettlinger, Chief Rabbi of Altona, 173 European orthodox rabbis signed a note of protest against the decisions of the Brunswick meeting. A survey of twenty-four German Jewish periodicals of the 1830s and 1840s can be found in T. Kollatz, “Fascination and Discomfort: The Ambivalent Image of the Netherlands in the Jewish-German Press in the 1830s and 1840s”, Studia Rosenthaliana 32 (1998), p. 43-66: 64-66.

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of the German Empire in the 1870s. In the 1830s, 40s, and 50s, the political opinions voiced in the German Jewish periodicals on this issue differed little, in sharp contrast to the divisions on religious issues, such as the need for and legitimacy of reforming the Jewish religion. The divisions between the periodicals followed religious fault lines. For the protagonists in this internal Jewish debate, the press was an ideal medium to expound and popularize their views. For those interested in the social, political, and cultural changes to which Jews were exposed at the birth of the modern age, the periodicals of the years 1830 to 1850 represent an excellent, authentic source. Naturally, German Jewish periodicals also reported on events abroad, which raises the question: What kind of response did developments in the Netherlands receive in the German Jewish press in this period? Conspicuously, the reporting on the Kingdom of the Netherlands in general, and Dutch Jewry specifically, tended to be stereotypical, characterized by a powerful attraction and a profound misconception and distance. In approximately two hundred articles relating to the Netherlands published between 1837 and 1856,7 two subjects dominated the journalistic discourse: the thorough emancipation enjoyed by Jews in the Netherlands, and the cultural and religious level of Dutch co-religionists. These foreign news reports therefore reflected the two burning issues in German Jewish journalism of that time: Jewish emancipation and culture.

Praise Numerous articles bear testimony to the admiration of German Jewish observers for the freedom and equality in the Netherlands, as well as the tolerance with which Dutch Jews were treated. German Jewish newspapers were particularly interested in the career opportunities that Jews enjoyed across the border. Each time a Dutch Jew was appointed to a prominent position in the civil service, or received a major Dutch honor, the press mentioned the event. Visits by non-Jewish dignitaries to inaugurations of synagogues and similar celebrations were assiduously reported. Dutch officials who defended the interests of Dutch Jews, and nonJews who condemned anti-Semitic attacks, were followed in the press with a kind of tormented fascination. The positive reports of the political and legal status of Jews in the Netherlands contrasted starkly with the unhappy circumstances in which German Jews lived. As one journalist noted, the Netherlands showed unambiguously “that human rights can be exercised within every religion without affecting general interests”.8 ccccccc 7. 8.

For a more detailed presentation and classification of these articles see the preceding note. Israelitische Annalen 2 (1840), p. 175.

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Criticism Quite a different picture of the Netherlands emerges in articles that discuss the religion, cultural development, and school curricula of Dutch Jewry. Disapproval was repeatedly expressed of the noise and chaos in Dutch synagogues. Negative comments were also made about the continued use of Yiddish in synagogues, rather than normal “civilized” Dutch. The increasingly admired, edifying sermons that could be heard in Germany with growing regularity from the 1840s onwards were few and far between in the Netherlands. Whenever these were delivered, they tended to be disappointing, as one correspondent explained to his readers: “At present one should not make too great a demand on Dutch Israelite sermons, nor should they be compared with German versions of this discipline or indeed with Dutch Christian sermons, many of which are excellent.”9 Behind these words lay a sense of annoyance that Dutch Jews had failed to recognize the cultural achievements of their co-religionists in Germany, and resentment – seen from a German Jewish perspective – of the exemplary Dutch Christian culture, and not just in terms of rhetoric. The negative criticisms of the synagogue services went hand-inhand with a negative view of the development of Dutch Jewry. Neither the primary schools nor the rabbinical seminaries in the Netherlands met the standards of the German journalists: “One soon notices that the search for knowledge and the thirst for spiritual education so typical of the German Jews has not yet begun to affect the Israelites here.”10

Perception of the other and construction of identity The image of the Netherlands and Dutch Jewry in the German Jewish press was therefore ambiguous. The Netherlands continued to exercise an undoubted attraction and fascination; the emancipation had resulted in equal legal status of Dutch Jews with non-Jews. German Jews enthusiastically acclaimed the social opportunities that Dutch Jews had come to enjoy. At the same time, the journalists could not hide their disappointment with the regrettably low cultural and educational levels of their Dutch coreligionists. While Dutch Jews may have lived in freedom and as equal citizens – so these reports argued – they lived without civilization or culture. One writer expressed his sense of frustration as follows: “Holland is a country which provokes serious reflection. Here the Jews are entirely emancipated in a political sense, but in a spiritual sense they are ruled by a terrible absolutism.”11 This is a remarkable comment which reveals the extent to which ccccccc 9. 10. 11.

Ibid., p. 27. Reform des Judentums (1846), p. 55. Allgemeine Zeitung des Judentums 11 (1847), p. 218.

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the perception of the situation in the Netherlands conflicted with the specific German Jewish arrangement of social relationships. Ever since Moses Mendelssohn, the idea had gained ground that cultural assimilation was a precondition for emancipation.12 As a result, while German Jews had by the mid-nineteenth century thrown off cultural “absolutism” and embraced the modern age, they still lived in legal absolutism and the path to bourgeois society was still closed. The decorum of the synagogue service was attuned to the expectations of the culture of the surrounding majority. Order and quiet – two quintessential bourgeois values – were generally accepted as the preconditions of a proper religious service. The hegemony of German culture became universalized and indisputable. This concentration and fixation on German culture brought German Jewry into a cultural transformation that led, within Judaism, to competing (re)definitions of what Judaism was. A collective adaptation of this nature never took place in Dutch Jewry. Dutch Jews never felt the need to tackle the noise and chaos which so annoyed the German Jewish commentators.13 An analysis of the articles about the Netherlands therefore reveals how differently Jewish identity was defined in the European Jewish diaspora: it was according to the specific circumstances and social conditions of the conflict between assimilation into the majority culture and the preservation of tradition by a Jewish minority amid a non-Jewish majority. The journalists’ view of the Dutch situation in the German Jewish press was a form of projection. The editors and writers were not interested in providing objective information about events across the border. Indeed, one conclusion is that newspapers and periodicals can never be accepted unconditionally as objective sources of historical information. What these articles in the Jewish press do offer, however, is an authentic insight into the Zeitgeist and the mentality of the Jewish or German society. The perspective in which German Jews viewed social, political, cultural, and religious developments in the Netherlands in the 1830s, 40s, and 50s; the divisions that they identified among Dutch Jews in comparison with their own situation; and the specific needs of the German Jewish readership are all evident. The criteria of this German Jewish journalistic approach to Dutch Jewry were apologetic and reveal a collective desire for vindication. The Netherlands showed that Jews could attain emancipation, and that this would benefit rather than harm the non-Jewish majority. The political and social integration of Dutch Jews in Dutch society was a kind of “incarnation” of collective German Jewish expectations and desires. Deccccccc 12. 13.

An ideology first expressed by C.W. Dohm, Über die bürgerliche Verbesserung der Juden (Berlin and Stettin 1781). A typical characterization appeared in Allgemeine Zeitung des Judenthums 8 (1844), p. 554: “the public cult has not been improved; shouting and disorder reign in the synagogues.”

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spite the gulf between legal, social, and political circumstances in Germany and the Netherlands, the writers of these articles considered themselves far more culturally advanced than their Dutch co-religionists. This also led to a consolidation and growth in the confidence of the politically frustrated German Jews. They were therefore able, at least on a cultural level, to experience the assimilation in the interaction between the Jewish minority and non-Jewish majority as a “blessing”, “as a stimulus to original thinking and expression and, consequently, a source of renewed vitality” – in the words of Gerson Cohen.14 Viewing the other – in this case Dutch Jewry – formulated and reflected German Jewry’s own identity. From a German perspective, Dutch Jewry had descended into a cultural miasma, while German Jewry spiraled in a cultural maelstrom.

ccccccc 14.

See G. Cohen, The Blessing of Assimilation in Jewish History (Brookline 1966), p. 7; and ibid. p. 9: “assimilation properly channeled and exploited can become a blessing”. Cohen’s lecture was recently identified as an Urtext of Jewish Cultural Studies, as an early approach to the Jewish Diaspora beyond the tendency to exclude or devalue the Jewish experience of Diaspora, see D.N. Myers, “‘The Blessing of Assimilation’ Reconsidered: An Inquiry into Jewish Cultural Studies”, in: D.N. Myers and W.V. Rove, eds., From Ghetto to Emancipation: Historical and Contemporary Reconsiderations of the Jewish Community (Scranton 1997), p. 17-35, as well as the article by D. Sorkin in this volume.

H.A. Krop

Spinozism and Dutch Jewry between 1880 and 1940

At the end of the nineteenth century, after two centuries of apathy,1 Dutch Jewry grew increasingly interested in Spinoza (1632-1677), the controversial philosopher expelled from its ranks in 1656. The first part of this paper will outline the study of Spinoza by Dutch Jews between 1880 and 1940. Their research into the historical and cultural background of Spinoza, however, did not amount to Spinozism, for his philosophy was in general left aside. In the second part we will contend that Protestants and trained theologians almost exclusively dominated pre-war Dutch Spinozism. Finally, a cautious attempt to explain the lack of a real Spinozism among Dutch Jews – a remarkable phenomenon both in national and international respect – will be offered.

Spinoza and official Jewry In 1927 – the 250th anniversary of Spinoza’s death – and in 1932 – the 300th anniversary of the philosopher’s birth – Spinozism in the Netherlands reached its zenith. As a result of these commemorations the first study of Spinoza’s thought was published by a Dutch Jew.2 This study consisted of a series of articles written by Benzion Joachim Hirsch (1880-1943) and appeared in the Jewish cultural weekly De Vrijdagavond (Friday Evening). Its main purpose was to denounce the so-called spinozification of Judaism. According to Hirsch, practically all Jews, religious and non-religious, were united in their enthusiasm for this “great Jew”, that although the “sanctification of Spinoza” did not apply to Jews only – its history actually started with “the prominent liberal Christian circles of Western Europe in the beginning of the nineteenth century” – Jewry had surrendered itself completely to Spinoza.3 ccccccc 1. 2.

3.

Isaac Orobio de Castro’s Certamen philosophicum of 1684 may have been the last pre-twentieth-century study of Spinoza’s philosophy by a Dutch Jew. B.J. Hirsch, “Spinoza’s verhouding tot het Jodendom. Aan de hand van zijn Godgeleerd Staatkundig Vertoog”, De Vrijdagavond 5 (1928), p. 131-132, 146-147, 163-166, 178-181, 196-197, 212-214, 226-227, 245247, 274-275, 291-294, 306-307, 325-326, 357-359, 374-375. Hirsch, “Spinoza’s verhouding tot het Jodendom”, p. 131.

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In support of his thesis the author refers to many Jewish Spinozists, especially from Germany, the United States, and Great Britain. Dutch names, however, are conspicuously absent. In 1932, these articles were followed by a booklet on Spinoza’s main work: the Ethics.4 Hirsch, the younger brother of the chief rabbi of Overijssel (appointed in 1902), ran a cigar store. According to his granddaughter Mrs. N. Mayer-Hirsch, his contemporaries considered him to be an unequalled autodidact.5 On account of his publications on Spinoza, the chief rabbi A.S. Onderwijzer conferred on him the chower-title. The reason for writing these studies, Hirsch observed, was a general tendency to regard Spinoza’s philosophy as Jewish. This tendency had been revealed during the commemorative years of 1927 and 1932. In The Hague, Jacob Klatzkin, the author of a biography in Hebrew of Spinoza, contended that the excommunication of Spinoza was in practice annulled, while Prof. Klausner, “standing upon Israel’s most sacred and historical place” in Jerusalem, with great fuss attempted to overrule the verdict of the Amsterdam Beth Din by speaking to Spinoza’s soul: Ogienoe atoo (reproduced by Hirsch in the Ashkenazi pronunciation traditional in Holland) – thou art our brother.6 According to Hirsch, the “adoration of Spinoza by the nineteenth-century Aufklärung-Jews” had taken on such proportions, that he became the idol of Jewry. “The signature of the spirit of the time, in particular of the Jewish time, manifested itself during the Spinoza commemoration of 1927: with only a very few orthodox dissenting voices the most extreme orthodox Judaism and the most extreme national Jewry were unanimously enthusiastic for the ‘great Jew’”,7 Hirsch wrote, quoting the well-known German Jewish philosopher Franz Rosenzweig. Although Hirsch had no formal philosophical education, his texts prove his insight into the international and national literature on Spinoza (Freudenthal, Gebhardt, Strauss, Joël, Roth, and Pollock; and the Dutch authors Meinsma, Bierens de Haan, Ovink, De Sopper, and Carp). He was also versed in the most important theories held by other philosophers, Kant in particular. According to Hirsch, the gap between Spinozistic religiosity and Judaism is unbridgeable. His arguments for this thesis are of a historical and systematic nature. In De Vrijdagavond, he analyzed the Theological-Political Treatise,8 directing himself against the view of the great German ccccccc 4.

5. 6. 7. 8.

B.J. Hirsch, Spinoza’s verhouding tot het Openbarings-Jodendom. Aan de hand van zijn wereldleer, beschreven in zijn ethica (7 stellingen) (Amsterdam 1932). This pamphlet was previously published in twenty-four installments in De Vrijdagavond 9 (1932). N. Mayer-Hirsch, “Bibliografie van de geschriften van Benzion Jochanan Hirsch”, Studia Rosenthaliana 17 (1988), p. 197-202. Hirsch, Spinoza’s verhouding tot het Openbarings-Jodendom, p. 7, and “Spinoza’s verhouding tot het Jodendom”, De Vrijdagavond 5 (1928), p. 130. Hirsch, Spinoza’s verhouding tot het Openbarings-Jodendom, p. 7. Hirsch, “Spinoza’s verhouding tot het Jodendom”, ch. 2, p. 178-181, 196-197, 212-214, and 226-227.

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scholar and famous Spinozist Carl Gebhardt. Gebhardt considered this work of Spinoza to be merely propaganda on behalf of the Republican faction, sustaining the claims of the patricians against the Stadtholder and the clergy in their quest for power in the State. According to Hirsch, the anti-Judaist bias was evident. It was not only for strategic reasons that Spinoza refrained from applying historical criticism to the New Testament, since he preferred Christ to Moses and the apostles to the prophets. “Opposed to Maimonides’ preference of Israel’s prophecy above Greek philosophy, Spinoza considered it to be a spiritual world of a lower order and reduced it to pagan mantic.”9 The Theological-Political Treatise reveals Spinoza’s alienation from Jewry, already obvious before his excommunication. His expulsion from the Jewish world was not “an antiquated manifestation of bigoted orthodoxy”, but the logical result of his rift with Judaism. The non- and even anti-Jewish tendency of Spinoza’s first major work explains the absence of any Jewish reaction. Why can Spinoza’s philosophy not be reconciled with Judaism? Hirsch’s basic answer is given in the third part of the first article dealing with the so-called Pantheismusstreit between Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi (1743-1819) and Moses Mendelssohn (1783-1786). Although the German Jewish Enlightenment philosopher was, Hirsch observed, more than a deist – as is obvious from his “sensitive translation of the Psalms” – his philosophy led him to believe in the fiction of a Judaism without dogma produced by speculative reason alone. The effect had been “a monstrous ontologization and an eternal illusion”.10 Spinoza and Mendelssohn were philosophers of religion, for their philosophy emanated from “the eternal desire of mortal man to contemplate God’s face”, but they considerably overrated human reason. That is why Kant rightly stated that Mendelssohn’s Morgenstunden is “the masterpiece of the delusion of our reason”.11 The significance of Kant’s philosophy lies in its critique of human reason, which enables him to distinguish in a principled way between philosophy and theology. Mendelssohn’s philosophical rationalism entails – as does Spinoza’s – a deterministic atheism which denies human freedom and leaves man unsatisfied. According to Hirsch, only faith, that is to say, the belief in revelation transcending reason, allows man to be truly man, and thus the religion based on such faith coincides with real humanism. The Christian Jacobi was aware of this insight fundamental to all true religion, but the Jew Mendelssohn was not. Hirsch thus adopted the apologetic program of Jacobi, which during the nineteenth century had become the defense strategy of Christian orthodoxy against liberalism. Due to the inevitable antagonism between Spinozism and Judaism, Hirsch concluded that the effort of practically all leading Jewish intellectuals to reinccccccc 9. 10. 11.

Ibid., p. 180. Ibid., p. 246. Hirsch, “Spinoza’s verhouding tot het Jodendom”, p. 307.

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corporate Spinoza, “who never wanted to re-establish himself as a Jew after his excommunication”, was proof of a despicable lack of self-respect.12 In the second study dealing with the Ethics, the argumentation is more strict and philosophical. Although Hirsch introduces the new concept of a “Revelation Judaism”, implying a form of worship and therefore a religious community which, to his mind, is essential to Jewry, his ideas in the main remained unaltered between 1928 and 1932.13 Hirsch’s defense of orthodoxy was the only study of Spinoza’s philosophy by a Jew actually affiliated with a Jewish community. While it met with some approval in the Jewish and Christian press, only in liberal Jewish circles was it repudiated. In the first and sole volume of Nieuw Joodsch Leven (New Jewish life), L. Levisson attacked the narrow-mindedness of Hirsch, whose attitude towards Spinoza, he felt, was biased. The author observed that Hirsch did not heed the “so beautiful lesson advanced in the Pirke Aboth to judge all fellow men according to their merits and to abstain from taking pride in one’s own knowledge”, but restricted himself to judging and denouncing all Jews holding different views. According to Levisson, Hirsch monotonously reiterates: “Mendelssohn nothing, Geiger nothing, Montefiore nothing, Buber nothing. We, only we, understand God’s majesty.” The reviewer, however, is convinced that Hirsch did not succeed in his attempts to belittle Spinoza. It is surprising to note that the liberal writer did not consider himself to be a Spinozist, or at least an expert on Spinoza’s philosophy, for, “he never took the trouble to study his writings”.14 However, elsewhere in this journal a Spinozistic article is indeed to be found. In “Leekepreekje IV” (Layman’s sermon) a pilgrimage to the house of Spinoza at Rijnsburg on a Sunday morning is depicted. The anonymous author alludes to an important theme in Dutch Spinozism, i.e. that for this “Jewish” philosopher, life and doctrine were an indissoluble unity. “His work: a source of spiritual comfort for those looking for eternal values and a wise resignation. And his life never fails to meet the strict demands of his philosophy: a shining example of pure humanity.” He did not seek God by means of the well-trodden paths and that is the reason why he was excommunicated, but in Spinoza the fire of the Amor Dei burned. “Such a love is the lesson of life taught by the tranquil Rijnsburg.”15 These few lines in this anonymous article are the unique instance of Jewish Spinozism in the pre-war years. The other responses to Hirsch are from orthodox journals, both Jewish and non-Jewish. The orthodox Christian Algemeen Weekblad voor Christendom en de ccccccc 12. 13. 14. 15.

The conclusion of Hirsch, “Spinoza’s verhouding tot het Jodendom”, p. 375. Hirsch, Spinoza’s verhouding tot het Openbarings-Jodendom, p. 8. “Ontvangen boeken”, Nieuw Joodsch Leven 1,8 (1932-1933), p. 10. “Leekepreekje IV”, Nieuw Joodsch Leven 1,4 (1932-1933), p. 6. J. Meijer, Om de verloren zoon. Spinoza weerspiegeld in het geschiedbeeld der Nederlandse Joden 1840-1940 (Heemstede 1986) [Balans der Ballingschap 8-9], did not deal with this article nor with the one mentioned in the previous note.

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cultuur (General Weekly for Christianity and Culture) accepted Hirsch’s idea that the tendency in modern culture to “veil everything in religious garb was a danger to ‘Church and Synagogue’”.16 The cause of this tendency was the “Spinozistic ideology”. For Spinoza suggested the idea of a “religion without a personal God”, without sin and redemption, excluding the possibility of a personal tie between God and man. Thus Spinoza had not been a religious thinker, as the anonymous reviewer of Hirsch observed, but a speculative philosopher, who as such “could play his part in civilization”. In the Jewish press, Hirsch’s view on Spinoza was generally accepted, but I. Kisch in Ha’Ischa added to his conclusion that, as far as his origin was concerned, Spinoza really was a Jew. “We do not require improbable proof that his work might contain the essence of the Jewish Faith, or that it was written as only a Jew would have done. In Spinoza we pay respect to… the fellow-Jew, because the child Baruch had been the son of Hanna Debora and Michael de Spinoza.”17 So, according to Kisch, Spinoza’s philosophy was not Jewish or even anti-Jewish, but as a human person, Spinoza was a Jew. Although within official Jewish circles hardly any Spinozism developed, historical interest in Spinoza developed well before the great pre-war commemorative years. In 1888, “Ad Spinozam” of David Henriques de Castro Mzn. (1826-1898) appeared in the antiquarian and art history journal Oud-Holland (Ancient Holland). In this article he gave an account of the discovery at Ouderkerk of the tombstone of Spinoza’s parents and family. He claimed that the birth register of the Portuguese congregation incontestably proved Spinoza’s birth in Amsterdam, although Graetz – in his Geschichte der Juden – inferred from a phrase in Spinoza’s letters some evidence to the contrary.18 Other Jews were interested in Spinoza as a historical figure as well. In 1920, Mozes Herman Cohen (c. 1880-?) defended his thesis, Spinoza en de geneeskunde (Spinoza and medicine). Although the preface concludes with a long quotation from the great German philosopher Hegel, the book’s objective according to the introduction was of an historical and biographical nature. In the thirties, Jewish research into Spinoza’s biography culminated in A.M. Vaz Dias’ Spinoza: mercator et autodidactus.19 This publication contained many new documents from the archives of the Amsterdam Sephardic congregation concerning Spinoza’s life, ccccccc 16. 17. 18. 19.

“Oog en oor”, Algemeen Weekblad voor Christendom en de cultuur 9,4 (1932/1933), p. 8. Ha’ischa. Orgaan van den joodschen vrouwenraad in Nederland 4 (1932) p. 188-190. For other reviews of Hirsch, see Meijer, Om de verloren zoon, p. 57-58. Meijer, Om de verloren zoon, p. 15-16. A.M. Vaz Dias, Spinoza, Mercator et autodidactus: Oorkonden en andere documenten betreffende des wijsgeers jeugd en diens betrekkingen (The Hague 1932). In English translation Studia Rosenthaliana 16,2 (1982), p. 103-195; A.M. Vaz Dias and W.G. Tak, De firma Bento y Gabriel de Spinoza (Leiden 1934).

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and was influential both in the Dutch and international Spinozistic world. The author Vaz Dias (1876-1939), a cigar merchant and – like Hirsch – a self-made scholar, published more of his findings together with W.G. van der Tak, the secretary of the Vereniging het Spinozahuis, the society founded for the maintenance of Spinoza’s house at Rijnsburg. These efforts to inscribe Spinoza in Jewish history led to passionate debate. In 1922, the German scholar Carl Gebhardt was the first to point out the Marrano background of Spinoza’s thought, which “neither in the formulation of its problems, nor in the content of its ideas, could be inferred completely from the tradition of Western philosophy”.20 The Marrano was a mentally torn person, for he was “a Catholic without faith and a Jew without knowledge”. In the Dutch Republic, the Marranos encountered that the Kabbalah, “that awkward combination of mystical profoundness and superstitious deceit”, clashed with the scientific mind of the seventeenth century. According to Gebhardt, Spinoza met these criteria of the “Marrano mind”, and thus even after his excommunication should be regarded as a Jew. The author advanced his ideas at Amsterdam in 1927 at a meeting of the Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap (Society of Jewish Studies).21 After some hesitation, the historian Sigmund Seeligmann (1873-1940) dealt summarily with the Marrano hypothesis in 1932. As he observed, the first Marranos in Amsterdam were traders; to protect their interests and their network on the Iberian Peninsula they needed a well-ordered community in which they – and not the rabbis – wielded the scepter. That is why Spinoza’s ban was not religiously but economically motivated. Moreover, Spinoza was the son of a rich merchant and as such had been educated like the son of a patrician (regent); social standing made it impossible for him to attend a “school of the poor” such as Ets Haim. His complete assimilation into the non-Jewish world and the lack of any traces of a “Marrano mind” were proven by the fact that he called the Dutch Republic mea patria and “the language in which he was raised” – the much discussed phrase from the letter to Blyenbergh of January 5, 166522 – was Latin. Spinoza knew only a few Hebrew words and his “rudimentary Hebrew grammar” is not a philological but rather a philosophical work. The claim by the Leiden theologian Salomo van Til at the beginning of the eighteenth century that Spinoza, after his excommunication, composed an apologia in Spanish, a precursor of the Theological-Political Treatise, is, for more reason than one, to be dismissed as myth. Spanish, Seeligmann observed, was a holy lanccccccc 20.

21. 22.

C. Gebhardt, “In memoriam Jacob Freudenthal (1839-1907)”, Chronicon Spinozanum 2 (1922), p. 200. Idem, Die Schriften des Uriel da Costa (Amsterdam et al. 1922), p. XIX, XXIII, and XXXIXXL [Bibliotheca Spinozana 2]. De Vrijdagavond 4 (1927), p. 150; see Meijer, Om de verloren zoon, p. 70-71. Letter 19: “Ik wenschte wel dat ik in de taal, waar mee ik op gebrocht ben, mocht schryven.” (Gebhardt, Spinoza Opera IV, p. 95).

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guage according to the Sephardim and unsuitable for an occasional work. Moreover, the Theological-Political Treatise was intended for the reformed clergymen and not the rabbis. After the excommunication, Seeligmann concluded in his article that the Jews meant nothing more to Spinoza than the Chinese23 and, we might add, he became irrelevant to Jewish history. Although Jewish orthodoxy in general rejected Spinoza, Jews were involved in the Spinozistic movement within Dutch society. Two of the five founders of the Vereniging Het Spinozahuis – the professor of medicine B.J. Stokvis (1834-1902) and S.S. Rosenstein (1832-1906) – were Jews, and the purchase of the house at Rijnsburg and the reconstruction of Spinoza’s library were financed by the banker baron George van Rosenthal (1828-1909), who had donated his father’s famous collection of Hebraica and Judaica to the city of Amsterdam.24 Dutch Jews such as J.M. Hillesum, the librarian of the Rosenthaliana, Nathan Porges, and L.S. da Silva Rosa also contributed to the journal of the international Spinozistic movement the Chronicon Spinozanum. The former two wrote about Spinoza’s Hebrew grammar, while the latter’s article dealt with the old Portuguese synagogues. None of these authors, however, attempted to study Spinoza’s philosophy.

Spinoza and non-organized Jewry Pre-war Dutch Jewry secularized at a greater pace than other religious groups in pillarized Holland, and many Jewish intellectuals were no longer practicing Jews. In the pre-war period there were three intellectuals of Jewish descent who were more or less “professional” philosophers: Esther Vas Nunes (1866-1929), Herman Wolf (1893-1942), and Leo Polak (1880-1941).25 Vas Nunes had been headmaster of an elementary school in Amsterdam and became an adept follower of the famous neoHegelian Leiden professor Gerardus Bolland (1854-1922). In talks and in writing she interpreted the words of the Master. The only way, however, she revealed her Jewishness was when she refused to follow her master the moment Bolland, in the opening lecture of the 1922 academic year entitled De teekenen des tijds (The signs of the times, reprinted during the German occupation), crossed the borderline between anti-Judaism and overt anti-Semitism. Accordingly, Mrs. Vas Nunes never dealt with Spinoza.26 ccccccc 23. 24. 25.

26.

“Spinoza Amstelodamensis”, Amstelodamum 20 (1933), p. 17-22 and 29-30; see Meijer, Om de verloren zoon, p. 73-75. A.K. Offenberg, “Spinoza’s Library: The Story of a Reconstruction”, Quaerendo (1973), p. 312. An extensive study of Spinoza by a non-philosopher is Israël Querido’s, “Kantteekeningen over Spinoza”, Nu 2 (1929), p. 91-96, 181-190, 273-286, and 353-383. It is remarkable that Querido’s view of Spinoza is so close to that of orthodox protestants. Willem Otterspeer, Bolland, een biografie (Amsterdam 1995), p. 343-344 and 392.

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Herman Wolf considered himself to be a disciple of the most prominent Dutch Spinozist of the first half of the twentieth century: Johannes Bierens de Haan (18661943). A teacher of German, he had served for some time as president of the Amsterdam division of the Philosophical Society, established by Bierens de Haan in the early years of the twentieth century, and maintained close connections with organized Spinozism. In 1926, for example, he addressed the annual meeting of the Vereniging het Spinozahuis in a paper dealing with the relationship between Herder, Leibniz, and Spinoza; and in the thirties he became a member of the board of the Dutch Spinoza Society. Although Wolf was a member of the Spinozistic movement, to a large extent pessimistic thinkers such as Nietzsche and Spengler influenced his philosophy. Moreover, Wolf called his philosophy a “religious humanism”, i.e. a liberal religion which denied that “God, or – to put it in other words – the Mystery” reveals itself in a specific religion. The essence of this humanism is the “love of one’s fellow man”.27 According to Wolf, this humanism is related to Christianity, for in the Age of Enlightenment it was created by Christians such as Lessing and Herder who extracted the inner humanistic Truth from the Gospels and the sayings of the Apostles.28 It is remarkable that Wolf’s idealistic philosophy of religion lacks any reference to Judaism. This might be taken as a sign of Wolf’s complete assimilation into the Dutch philosophical milieu of his time. Of these three philosophers, Polak is the most interesting in the context of our paper. Leonard Polak, born in 1880 in Steenwijk, abandoned the Judaism of his parents at the age of fourteen. Preparing his thesis on crime De zin van de vergelding (The purpose of retribution), he encountered the principle of objectivity propounded by the Groningen philosopher Gerard Heijmans, a Kantian principle implying the existence of universal theoretical and practical values. As a Kantian, Heijmans further advocated a scientific philosophy and opposed the subjectivity and the arbitrariness of the Spinozistic (and Hegelian) movement of Bierens de Haan and Bolland. In 1925, Polak succeeded Heijmans, notwithstanding the resistance of the Faculty of Theology to the appointment of a militant humanist and a fervent atheist to this chair. Polak perished in Sachsenhausen towards the end of 1941. Polak was the only philosopher of Jewish descent interested in the problem of a Jewish philosophy. The last essay he wrote was the chapter “De betekenis der Joden voor de wijsbegeerte” (The influence of the Jews upon philosophy) in the first volume of Brugmans’ and Frank’s De Geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland (History of the Jews in the Netherlands).29 In principle, it is an historical essay dealing with Spinoza, Uriël da Costa, Isaac Orobio de Castro, and Isaac de Pinto; but Polak concluded by asking ccccccc 27. 28. 29.

H. Wolf, “De verachting van het rijk der vrijheid in het humanisme”, in: idem, Nietzsche als religieuze persoonlijkheid (Leiden 1934) p. 41-121. Ibid., p. 50. H. Brugmans and A. Frank, De Geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland I (Amsterdam 1940).

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whether or not their philosophy was specifically “Jewish”. With some hesitation Polak answered in the affirmative: For “Jewish” denotes a critical mind or way of thinking that is strictly analytical, “not taking for granted the myths which give life to a culture and squashing illusions venerated as holy”.30 It is striking that Polak does not advance this opinion as his own, but refers to his friend and Amsterdam colleague H.J. Pos. These reflections are a departure in Polak’s work provoked by the rise of racism, for, like Wolf, Polak saw himself as a humanist rather than a Jew. In spite of his reservations concerning Spinozism, on the occasion of the commemorative year of 1932, the Kantian Polak published three articles on Spinoza.31 His view of the philosopher is the consequence of his philosophy of history, whereby he relied on the Kantian distinction between autonomy and heteronomy.32 The Modern Era replaced the heteronomous ways of thinking of the Middle Ages, which had derived the norms of our actions from a principle beyond human reason by autonomous forms of philosophy. This well-defined break, however, occurred only in principle, for the “mass of humanity” did not realize this development.33 According to Polak, heteronomous ways of thinking are pluriform: the “metaphysics of faith”, as well as “naturalism” and “materialism” are to be superseded by autonomous modern philosophy. True philosophy derives from the autonomous human subject neither independent of religious authority, nor naturalistically reducible to environmental conditions. Descartes was the first who introduced the principle of autonomy to philosophy, for with the Cogito, the starting point of philosophy became the inner world of the human mind and not a transcendent “outside world”. In ethics, Spinoza did the pioneering work, as Descartes remained under the spell of ecclesiastical morals. The Dutch philosopher, on the contrary, chose “the autonomy beyond all will and arbitrariness”, for, according to Spinoza, only “the rationality of willing itself, so the universality”, or “objectivity” is morally relevant. Typical of moral acts is “the defeat of all egoistic, subjective partiality, the Vernunftgemässheit of the will… the life sub ductu rationis”.34 These phrases clearly indicate that Spinoza, according to Polak, was a predecessor of Kant, although his ethical theory was in many respects insufficient. Polak draws the attention to five heteronomical aspects of Spinoza’s doctrine. The base of every virtue, for example, is the empirical pursuit of self-preservation and not a really universal ccccccc 30. 31.

32. 33. 34.

L. Polak, Verspreide geschriften II (Amsterdam 1947), p. 286. L. Polak, “Spinoza 1632-1932”, Verspreide geschriften II, p. 166-173; “Spinoza als ethicus”, Verspreide geschriften II, p. 174-187; and “Spinoza und Kant”, Verspreide geschriften II, p. 188-196. See H. van Ruler, “De eigenwettelijkheid van het keuren. Polak en de moderne wijsbegeerte”, Geschiedenis van de wijsbegeerte in Nederland 10,2 (1999), p. 62-73. L. Polak, “L’autonomie et les heteronomies theologique, physique, sociologique”, Verspreide geschriften I, p. 94-100. Polak, “Spinoza 1632-1932”, p. 166. Polak, “Spinoza als ethicus”, p. 184.

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and necessary principle such as Kant’s categorical imperative.35 This implies that, according to Polak, Spinoza did not achieve the standards of Kantian philosophy, though it is obvious that he considered him with a clear but unaccountable sympathy. Notwithstanding this sympathy, Polak was not a Spinozist and on philosophical grounds he refrained from joining Prof. Klausner’s battle cry in Jerusalem: Spinoza, “thou art our brother”.36 Hirsch’s articles indirectly imply that Dutch Jewry had no Spinozism. Even assimilated Jews did not develop any form of Jewish Spinozism. If philosophers of Jewish descent were interested in Spinoza, they joined the Spinozistic movement and in general ignored the question of the Jewish nature of his philosophy. These phenomena might be explained by looking at Dutch Spinozism in this period.

The Spinozistic movement In 1862, the theologian Petrus Hofstede de Groot (1802-1886) published an article on Spinoza in his journal Waarheid en Liefde (Truth and Love). The critique of this Groningen professor, one of the leading figures of the so-called Groninger Richting, which adopted a middle course between orthodoxy and liberalism, shows a basic element of nineteenth- and twentieth-century Spinozism: its religiosity. The first part of the article entitled “Spinoza over Jezus Christus en zijne opstanding” (Spinoza on Christ and his Resurrection) depicts the philosopher as the predecessor of nineteenth-century rationalism and liberal theology. For in the Tractatus theologico-politicus, Spinoza demonstrated the principles of historical Biblical criticism so clearly that “it seems a theologian of 1862 is arguing, and in his Ethics he was the forerunner of contemporary pantheism, determinism, and monism”.37 Hofstede de Groot’s view on Spinoza’s Christology is ambivalent: on the one hand he praises his ideas concerning Jesus, which arose from a fine moral and religious sense, but on the other hand his ideas concerning Christ’s resurrection were superficial and incoherent.38 The same ambivalence is to be seen in Hofstede de Groot’s general opinion on Spinoza’s philosophy in the second part of his article. He defended Spinoza against those wishing to incorporate him into materialism and atheism, for “Spinoza himself was a Jew immune to such ideas. Spinoza’s system derives from the monotheism he as a Jew had learned to venerate at an early age”. Even Cartesianism, the pure philosophical source of his philosophy, Hofstede de Groot observed, is related to ccccccc 35. 36. 37. 38.

Ibid., p. 175-178. Cf. the first section of this paper. P. Hofstede de Groot, “Spinoza over Jezus Christus en zijne opstanding”, Waarheid en Liefde 25 (1862), p. 789. Ibid., p. 802.

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his Jewish origin, for “as a Jew he was pleased with the mathematical sense of Cartesius. Throughout the centuries the Jewish nation had a particular preference for all pure intellectual pursuits, such as arithmetic and mathematics…”.39 Apparently non-Jews speculated about Spinoza’s Jewishness long before the Jews in Holland did. Yet, according to Hofstede de Groot, Spinoza’s thought had little value for morality and religion; Christianity’s lesson for man was that God is a person, a view precluding any pantheism. Spinoza, however, conceived God as an impersonal causa sui or natura naturans, and such a view implies a “bleak rationalism” which satisfies only the intellect and not the whole of man. Spinoza’s God is like “the sun to be venerated, but not to be loved. His religion is to us an Egyptian necropolis: no living soul, but only a ghostly figure created by artificially interwoven concepts”.40 De Groot’s apologetic strategy rests on the distinction between an abstract philosophical religion based on man and a real religion based on revelation. As we saw above, Hirsch basically adopted the same line of argumentation, created at the end of the Enlightenment period by the Christian philosopher Jacobi. This example indicates that in some cases basic lines of argumentation transcended the confessional boundaries between the denominations. According to Siebe Thissen, the historian of Dutch Spinozism, Hofstede de Groot had little influence,41 but his criticism of Spinozism indicates that, contrary to previous periods, in the nineteenth century even the orthodox theologians considered Spinoza to be a religious philosopher. Hofstede de Groot’s argument is not based on the theism of traditional Christianity or Judaism, but presupposes the new concept of religion and the more abstract concept of God introduced into Protestantism by German idealists such as Schleiermacher and Hegel. Religion was no longer considered to entail the compliance with divine Revelation, but was the “contemplation of the Universe” (Anschauung des Universums), or “the relation between the finite being and the infinite Totality”, or other sophisticated philosophical definitions. In Germany around 1800, liberal Protestantism and Spinozism became closely related. In view of the German development, it is not surprising that after 1850 both liberal theology and Spinozism inundated the Netherlands.42 We might consider the years 1848-1849, when in Utrecht the influential professor of philosophy C.W. Opzoomer (1821-1892) initiated a series of lectures on Spinoza’s Ethics, as the beginning of Spinozism.43 The growing interest in Spinoza culminated in the grandiose commemoration of the year of his death in 1877, and the festivities connected with the unccccccc 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

P. Hofstede de Groot, “Waarde van Spinoza’s wijsbegeerte”, Waarheid en Liefde 25 (1862), p. 817-819. Ibid., p. 833. S. Thissen, De spinozisten. Wijsgerige beweging in Nederland (1850-1907) (Den Haag 2000), p. 68. Ibid., ch. 2. Ibid., p. 144.

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veiling of his statue at The Hague in 1880, attended by local authorities, government officials, and a representative of the Royal family. At that time, Spinoza had acquired the same status in Dutch culture as the philosophers Erasmus and Hugo Grotius before him. He became the center of a philosophical movement, rallying, in particular, intellectuals outside the universities, who were interested in an outlook on life independent of the churches. This philosophical movement was established almost entirely through the efforts of one man alone: Johannes van Vloten. He succeeded, however, because not only did the small circles of outspoken atheists and militant materialists sympathize with Spinoza’s ideas, but the liberal bourgeoisie as well. Johannes van Vloten was born in 1818 in Kampen. He studied theology in Leiden, as was the custom in his family, and attended the lectures of the leading liberal theologian Johannes Hendrik Scholten (1811-1885). In 1843, he defended a thesis devoted to historical-critical analysis of Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, but he never entered the ministry. In 1851, he left the Dutch Reformed Church, blaming liberal theology for its half-hearted efforts at reconciling Christianity and the modern sciences. He considered its leading figures – Opzoomer and Scholten – hypocrites who pretended to the congregation and to themselves that they remained Christians, although their faith, in reality, was lifeless. In his essay of 1862, “Baruch d’Espinoza: Zijn leven en schriften in verband met zijnen en onzen tijd” (His life and writings related to his and our time), he praised Spinoza, in particular, as a “consequent thinker who became a great philosopher by uniting the glowing East with the tepid West”. Descending from a Semitic tribe raised on Indo-Germanic soil, Spinoza succeeded in harmoniously combining intellect and emotion, and was able to avoid “the fatal fragmentation of the intellect, a disaster to every philosophical view on the world or the imbalance of the passions”. Spinoza is Jewish “by always attending to the universal chain connecting all living things; Dutch by the scrupulous study of the things in their unique diversity”.44 Thus, according to Van Vloten, it was due to his Jewish descent that Spinoza became the greatest Dutch philosopher. In the address held on the occasion of the unveiling of the statue of Spinoza, this idea of the philosopher took an interesting turn, for Van Vloten depicts him as the man who fulfils Dutch Protestantism. The principle of the Reformation – Hegel’s Prinzip des Protestantismus45 – is the inalienable right of every man to his own moral and spiritual development, independent of the “self-seeking and narrow-minded concepts formulated by the State and the Church”; and who, Van Vloten asks, formulated this principle more clearly and boldly than Spinoza?46 In his inaugural adccccccc 44. 45. 46.

Second edition with the title, Benedictus de Spinoza, naar leven en werk in verband met zijnen en onzen tijd geschetst (Schiedam 1871), p. 1-3. See the “Vorrede” of Hegel’s Grundlinien zur Philosophie des Rechts (Berlin 1821), p. XXIII. J. van Vloten, “Spinoza: blijde boodschapper der mondige menschheid”, Chronicon Spinozanum 4 (1926), p. X-XI: “In Spinoza, …this Principle of Reformation is expressed.”

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dress during the opening ceremony of the reconstructed House of Spinoza at Rijnsburg in 1899, the Leiden philosopher Gerardus Bolland related Spinoza’s Jewishness to the Dutch liberal culture.47 Even after his excommunication, Spinoza – in the eyes of these liberals – remained a Jew. Notwithstanding his speculation on Spinoza’s Jewishness, Van Vloten was a stranger to the Jewish reality. As it turned out, he had inadvertently planned the unveiling of Spinoza’s statue on September 14, the Day of Atonement that year. Accused by, as he called him, a “young compatriot of Jewish descent” of having the secret wish to exclude Jews, Van Vloten refuted this reproach in his journal the Levensbode and observed that an anti-Semitism of this kind might originate in Germany, but not in the Netherlands. The accusation is remarkable, for Jews such as the Amsterdam professor of medicine B.J. Stokvis and The Hague lawyer A.Wm. Jacobson, as well as the Rotterdam merchant of Jewish descent Lodewijk Pincoff, were members of the organizing committee, and apparently they did not point out to Van Vloten this unhappy coincidence.48 Van Vloten’s “Baruch d’Espinoza” is dedicated to the ardent Dutch materialist Jacobus Moleschott, because according to Van Vloten Spinoza and he were kindred souls, both being consistent philosophers who cleared the way for the sciences. Van Vloten considered Spinoza to be the culmination of philosophy, owing to the severe criticism in his Ethics of metaphysics and its ecclesiastical sister, theology. After Spinoza, both disciplines were in fact relegated to the past, although Leibniz, Kant, and Hegel had tried in vain to reconcile the new philosophy with the ecclesiastical tradition. The whole of philosophy after Spinoza is a “mendacious amphibian”, not real Christianity, nor real philosophy. Only Spinoza unfolded “the standard of Truth fearlessly”.49 The dedication of “Baruch d’Espinoza” to Moleschott has been an important factor in the development of the view that Dutch Spinozism had two distinct stages. After 1900, Van Vloten’s aggressive materialism was apparently succeeded by a period in search of a Weltanschauung. Spinozism was considered to be the basis of a philosophical outlook on life suited for modern man. This endeavor induced many Spinozists in the first half of the twentieth century to adopt a mystical or religious view on Spinoza, in particular in the so-called School of The Hague.50 The contrast of these stages obscured insight into the more fundamental phenomenon of the

ccccccc 47. 48. 49. 50.

G. Bolland, Spinoza (Leiden 1899), p. 5. J. van Vloten, “Nieuwerwetsch Jodendom en spinozisme”, De Levensbode 12 (1881), p. 147. L. Pincoff was a member until 1873. J. van Vloten, “Opdracht” in: Benedictus de Spinoza, p. VII. F. Sassen, Geschiedenis van de wijsbegeerte in Nederland tot het einde der negentiende eeuw (Amsterdam and Brussels 1959), p. 366; Thissen, De spinozisten, p. 106; and H.G. Hubbeling, De studie van het spinozisme in Nederland sedert de Tweede Wereldoorlog (Leiden 1987), p. 3 [Mededelingen vanwege het Spinozahuis 50].

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continuity of Dutch Spinozism. For, like almost all Spinozists, before and after 1900, he regarded Spinoza’s philosophy to be the basis of a rational outlook on modern life. Notwithstanding his secularism, Van Vloten was no believer in science; he wholly realized that Spinoza as a scientist had been superseded. Only as a philosopher was he still of continuing interest. His example, Van Vloten observed, demonstrated that the modern sciences did not render philosophy superfluous, for it revealed the coherence of all human knowledge, its unity and “living” connection. Without philosophy, our knowledge is disconnected, sterile, and barren, but real reflection unites theory and practice. This is the essence of Spinoza’s philosophy, whose thought “animated his life entirely”. His ethics is an “eternal encyclopedia useful in the past, the present, and the future”. Its core is the commandment: live and work. “‘Remember to live’ is the catchword of this new and magnificent Reformation… promising us a Church in which poets and philosophers, painters, sculptors, and musicians are the priests, each one preaching in his own divine language and from his own pulpit. Every day will be sanctified, every house a temple and the whole of the earth consecrated by love and work.”51 The profound and tender commandments prescribed by Spinoza, in the fourth part of the Ethics in particular, transformed the philosopher into a “Messenger of Good Tidings to a mature humanity”. Notwithstanding the continuity of the Dutch Spinozistic movement during nearly the entire century of its existence, some important changes did occur at the beginning of the twentieth century. At first, Spinozism became closely related to Hegelianism, another philosophical movement instigated by Gerardus Bolland (1854-1922), and entertained by a whole range of philosophical circles which sprang up everywhere in the Netherlands.52 The symbiosis of Spinozism and Hegelianism led to the introduction of an idealistic philosophy of history in Spinozism. The most important Dutch Spinozist of the first half of the twentieth century was J.D. Bierens de Haan (1866-1943).53 In his Levensleer naar de beginselen van Spinoza (Popular philosophy according to the principles of Spinoza) written in 1900, Bierens de Haan advanced the thesis that Spinozism is not an unchanging metaphysical system, but a way of contemplating the world which revealed to man that phenomena are the manifestations of an absolute, ideal reality. Just like Van Vloten, Bierens de Haan was convinced of the fact that the Ethics chiefly contains an outlook on life or a lesson on life well-embedded in a philosophy of history. The Ethics provided the outccccccc 51. 52.

53.

Van Vloten, Benedictus de Spinoza, p. 199-200. Willem Otterspeer, Bolland, een biografie (Amsterdam 1995). For the connection between Spinozism and Hegelianism see H.A. Krop, “Filosofie als levensleer. De spinozistische en hegelsche beschouwingswijze in het interbellum”, Geschiedenis van de wijsbegeerte in Nederland 9 (1998), p. 26-42. For Bierens de Haan, cf. H. de Wolf, “De wijsbegeerte van dr. J.D. Bierens de Haan”, in: idem, Persoonlijkheid en geestesleven (Haarlem 1927), p. 31-78.

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line of “the process of maturation of the human mind, starting from its individual, finite condition and leading to its elevation to the objectivity and eternity of the Logos”.54 This movement is described as the movement from heteronomy to autonomy and, according to Bierens de Haan, is articulated in history, which proceeds dialectically. In De strijd tussen idealisme en naturalisme in de negentiende eeuw (The combat between Idealism and Naturalism in the nineteenth century), dated 1929, Bierens de Haan argued that the nineteenth century was the era of naturalism, which denied the human mind its autonomy and which indulged in the realm of the phenomena. The metaphysical part of the Ethics preceded this naturalism of the nineteenth century. In the twentieth century, Idealism prevailed, as was the case in the Middle Ages, but modern philosophy no longer conceives the ideal reality as independent of man. Man creates it, and in that manner man is able to transcend the domain of the senses and phenomena. Humanity established a realm of the Spirit and is guided to this domain by the philosophy of the Ethics. J.H. Carp (1893-1979) was the last leading pre-war Spinozist. He transformed the Spinozistic philosophy of history into a social and political philosophy. In Van despotie tot vrijheid (From despotism to freedom), Carp assumed that history answered to an inner law. This premise implies that man errs in attributing a priori ends to the process of history as is done in traditional religions and Marxism.55 The basis of the philosophical reflection on history is Spinozism “conceived in its eternal sense”, which enables philosophers to deal with history as the process of maturation of human understanding.56 In this process Carp discerned four stages: the transcendent-pluralism of the Greek, the transcendent dualism of the Middle Ages, the immanent-pluralism of humanism, and the immanent-monism of the twentieth century, which is “trans-individual and objective”.57 In the last two words, “trans-individual and objective”, Carp’s repudiation of nineteenth-century liberalism is implicit, for he observed that in “our time” “the living concrete forms of community [gemeenschap] resulting from the solidarity within the nation” will be realized.58 The antiquated individualism will disappear and be succeeded by an organic society established according to the principles of Spinozism. The Beginselen van het nationaal-socialisme (The principles of National Socialism) described the trans-individual society, where “all things for all” (the device of the Societas spinozana which was headed by Carp in the thirties), instead of “every man for himself”, ccccccc 54. 55. 56. 57. 58.

J.H. Carp, “Spinozistische en Hegelsche beschouwingswijze”, Feestbundel aangeboden aan dr. J.D. Bierens de Haan (Assen 1936), p. 55-56. J.H. Carp, Van despotie tot vrijheid (Assen 1937), p. 13, and “Historisch onderzoek en nationaal-socialisme”, Haagsch Maandblad 15,2 (1938), p. 238-239. Carp, Van despotie tot vrijheid, p. 36. Ibid., p. 51-52. J.H. Carp, Spinozistisch bulletin 2 (1939/1940), p. 97.

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reigns.59 This outline of some general ideas prevailing among Dutch Spinozists might substantiate the claim that Spinozism in the period under discussion was a highly technical philosophy embedded in the tradition of German idealism which necessitated and required a formal philosophical education. It is therefore no coincidence that leading Spinozists, such as Van Vloten, Bierens de Haan, and Willem Meijer, were trained theologians, for they acquired in the course of their studies the indispensable knowledge of German philosophy, which was absent from the curriculum of Dutch students of philosophy, who, since Philip van Heusde (1778-1839), concentrated mainly on classical philosophy. Moreover, the Faculty of Theology was the location of one of the two chairs in philosophy to be found at Dutch universities after the reform of 1876. Notwithstanding the changes effectuated in the nineteenth century, such a philosophical education was not offered by the Nederlands-Israelietisch Seminarium, the college for the education of Jewish clergymen. The entrance requirements in force after 1874 were a bachelor’s degree [kandidaats] in the classical or Semitic languages or a Master’s degree [doctoraal] in philosophy or ancient history.60 Unlike their contemporaries in Germany, the rabbis in Holland were not obliged to study philosophy. A second development in Dutch Spinozism was its institutionalization. The oldest organization was the Vereniging het Spinozahuis established in 1897. Willem Meijer (1842-1926), the society’s first secretary and chief founder, took the initiative. The other founders were B.J. Stokvis (also a member of the committee for the erection of the statue of Spinoza in 1880) and S.S. Rosenstein – both professors of medicine – as well as the professor of Dutch J. te Winkel (1847-1927), and Bolland. Among the first members were both Spinozists and non-Spinozists, in particular the professors of philosophy Gerardus Heijmans (Groningen) and Pierre Ritter (Utrecht), who, as Meijer’s successor Willem Gerard van der Tak (1885-1958) observed, were critical of Spinoza.61 Academic philosophers in general, with the exception of Bolland, advocated a “scientific” and “critical” philosophy and repudiated a Spinozistic Weltanschauung.62 The Utrecht professor Ovink (1862-1944), for example, described Spinoza’s philosophy as unscientific, and both his metaphysics and method as completely false.63 The Society’s purpose was cultural. In 1900, howccccccc 59. 60.

61. 62. 63.

J.H. Carp, Beginselen van het nationaal-socialisme (Utrecht 1942), p. 10-17. L. Knappert, Godsdienstig Nederland (Huis te Heide 1928), p. 20. In his famous Denkschreiben über die Reorganisierung des Niederl. Israel. Seminars (Amsterdam 1917) written in 1862, however, the influential future rector of the college J.H. Dünner required that a rabbi took a course in the history of philosophy and the philosophical disciplines (p. 19). For, the “principle directions of the spiritual activities of every nation” are religion, philosophy, and politics (p. 9). Verslag omtrent de lotgevallen van de Vereniging het Spinozahuis 1922-1923, p. 3-5; also in Benedictus de Spinoza Amstelodamensis (Amsterdam 1932), p. VI. H. Wolf, “De wijsbegeerte van dr. J.D. Bierens de Haan”, p. 32-33. B.J.H. Ovink, Spinoza (Baarn 1914), p. 33-48 [Onze groote mannen 1 no. 5].

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ever, a member suggested at the annual meeting of the society that the study of Spinoza’s philosophy be added to its objectives.64 This proposal was turned down, though afterwards philosophical lectures were organized irregularly. The second Society originated outside the Netherlands. In 1920, Carl Gebhardt along with Harold Höffding, Willem Meijer, Frederick Pollock, and Léon Brunschvicq established the international Societas Spinozana, because Spinoza, the philosophus oecomenicus, was the only philosopher who might re-unite the former foes after World War I.65 In a letter to Meijer, the German Spinozist Gebhardt summarized the aims: the founding of a library containing the complete literature on Spinoza. This library would make the society the center of research on Spinoza and of spiritual reflection. Moreover, a yearbook comparable to the Kant-Studien was to be published. This journal became known as the Chronicon Spinozanum, but only five volumes were published. In 1933, a Dutch branch was established which published a journal between 1938 and August 1940 that attempted “to solve the philosophical and cultural problems relevant to modern man”. The year 1940 marked the end of a flourishing epoch of Dutch Spinozism. According to the Dutch historian of philosophy Sassen, after the war the non-academic Spinozists who wanted to serve as the spiritual leaders of modern man gave way to scholars, who had only a purely intellectual interest in Spinoza.66 In one other sense Dutch Spinozism was a Protestant matter. Not only among Jews, but also among Roman-Catholics the interest in Spinoza arose around 1900 and was at first apologetic in nature.67 In the thirties, the Nijmegen professor Ferdinand Sassen (1890-1971) contributed to the commemorative Septimana Spinozana, but Spinoza was absent from his paper.68 In 1967, he was the first Catholic to write a study on Spinoza’s philosophy.69 In contrast to Protestantism, Dutch Catholicism and Jewry had in common the remarkable absence of a liberal movement. In 1916, volume 49 of Kerk en Secte, an expansive series dealing with a variety of faiths and congregations, dealt with Reform Judaism. It was written by L.D. Staal, at that time teacher of religion at Zutphen, and in the thirties an ardent foe of liberal religion. It is a striking fact that neither this book, nor Godsdienstig Nederland, the survey of religious life in the Netherlands written by L. Knappert (professor of theology on behalf of the Dutch reformed Church at Leiden) in 1928, referred to existing organizations of liberal Jews in Holland.70 ccccccc 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70.

R. Henrard, De vereniging het Spinozahuis en haar secretarissen (Leiden 1990), p. 16-17. C. Gebhardt, “Domus Spinozana”, in: Septimana Spinozana (The Hague 1933), p. 311. Review of J.G. van der Bend, “Het spinozisme van Dr. J.D. Bierens de Haan”, Algemeen Nederlands Tijdschrift voor Wijsbegeerte 63 (1971), p. 281. Thissen, De spinozisten, p. 63. F. Sassen, “Godsdienst en wijsbegeerte”, in: L. Polak et al. (eds.), Septimana Spinozana (The Hague 1933) p. 116-126. F. Sassen, Kerngedachten van Spinoza (Roermond and Maaseik 1967). Knappert, Godsdienstig Nederland, p. 39-42.

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Although the Jewish community in Holland was orthodox, after 1900 Jewish religious life was in a rapid decline. The majority of its members were affiliated for social rather than religious motives. Between 1920 and 1930, the number of persons who openly acknowledged being Jewish even decreased in an absolute sense.71 Torn between orthodoxy and indifference, the first attempts in the thirties by the World Union of Progressive Judaism to create a liberal Jewish congregation were painful. In 1940, the communities had only 900 members – that is to say 0.8 percent of the Jewish population – who, to a large extent, were German immigrants.72 The liberal movement in Protestantism that called for new forms of religion was absent among Dutch Jewry, which therefore remained unreceptive to Spinozism. With respect to pre-war Holland, Hirsh had nothing to fear.

ccccccc 71. 72.

J.P. Kruijt, “Het Jodendom in de Nederlandse samenleving”, in: H.J. Pos, ed., Het anti-semitisme en Jodendom (Arnhem 1939), p. 222 and 200. Cf. D. Michman, Het liberale Jodendom in Nederland 1929-1943 (Amsterdam 1988).

David Wertheim

Spinoza’s Popularity in Perspective A Dutch-German Comparison

The German Jewish philosopher Constantin Brunner wrote in 1909 of something that deeply disturbed him: he had heard that bricks had been tossed on the lap and feet of the statue of Spinoza in the Hague, and that these bricks were left there by local Jews. “Could one imagine that the blind hatred against Spinoza still persists in the lower echelons of the Jewish population of Holland?”, he asked his readers rhetorically.1 Brunner’s surprise was a result of the contrast of this Dutch-Jewish attitude with the almost self-evident popularity Spinoza had enjoyed among Jews in Germany in the course of the nineteenth century. By the time Brunner wrote these words, German Jews had become significant participants in Spinoza scholarship. The first German to attempt a genuine rehabilitation of Spinoza happened to be a Jew, namely Moses Mendelssohn. Later, in the mid-nineteenth century, a Jew was the first to translate Spinoza’s complete works into German,2 and Jacob Freudenthal, author of a classic biography of Spinoza, was a Jew.3 These are but a few of the many German Jews who published books and articles on Spinoza. At the same time, in spite of his acceptance in Germany, Spinoza never became that important to Dutch Jewry. The bricks on his statue are but one incident. One could also point to the unveiling of this monument, which was such a non-Jewish event that it was celebrated on the eve of Yom Kippur, the festive dinner taking place at the very moment that Dutch Jews were beginning their fast, singing “Kol Nidrei”.4 In this paper I will investigate why Spinoza attracted relatively so many German Jews. In order to do so, I will discuss a theme common to the Spinoza reception of Moses ccccccc 1.

2. 3. 4.

“Sollte man aber für möglich halten, daß der blinde Haß gegen Spinoza noch fortdauert in den unteren Schichten der jüdischen Bevölkerung Hollands?” C. Brunner, Spinoza gegen Kant und die Sache der geistigen Wahrheit (Assen 1974), p. 59; see also: E. Rottner, Aus Spinozas Heimat und Constantin Brunners Letzter Zufluchtsstätte (Eindrücke) (Dortmund 1972), p. 14. B. Auerbach, B. v. Spinoza’s sämtliche Werke. Aus dem Lateinischen mit dem Leben Spinoza’s (Stuttgart 1841). J. Freudenthal, Spinoza, sein Leben und seine Lehre (Stuttgart 1904). J. Meijer, Om de Verloren Zoon. Spinoza weerspiegeld in het geschiedbeeld der Nederlandse joden 18401940 (Heemstede 1986), p. 20.

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Mendelssohn, Heinrich Heine, and Max Grunwald. I will subsequently return to Brunner’s question and try to explain why such a positive Jewish reception of Spinoza was never realized in the Netherlands.

German Jewish Spinozism It is impossible here to accurately portray the diversity of German Jewish publications about Spinoza. There are many reasons German Jews were attracted to Spinoza. Some were inspired by his break with Judaism; living in an era in which emancipation, integration, and assimilation were pressing issues, Spinoza could serve as an example for them. Particularly inspiring was the fact that his estrangement from Judaism did not lead to his conversion to Christianity. They saw it as an extreme example of integrity in a time when many Jews converted, often for non-religious reasons.5 Yet others preferred to accentuate Spinoza’s continuity with Judaism; searching for the Jewish sources he had used to develop his thoughts, or for the influence of the Kabbalah,6 in the hopes of claiming this important philosopher for Judaism. A third theme that played a role in the arousal of the interest of German Jews in Spinoza – which in my opinion is particularly telling for the importance Spinoza had for German Jews – is the pride Jews took in the influence Spinoza had on German thought and culture. Although Spinoza’s thought had traditionally been viewed as dangerous and heretical, from the end of the eighteenth century philosophers could venture to openly discuss and even praise Spinoza’s thought. From this period on, the hostile atmosphere against Spinozism gave way to the contrary: many important German thinkers began to praise and defend Spinoza against a tradition of hostility. Leading German thinkers such as Herder and Goethe argued that Spinoza was not immoral, but rather had led a very moral life and thus deserved serious attention. His thought became an important element in the philosophies of Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel.7 Spinoza was often seen as a basis for every philosopher, for philosophy itself. Hegel formulated this best when he wrote: “Spinoza is the pinnacle of modern philosophy. Either Spinozism or no philosophy [...] when one starts to philosophize, one has to be a Spinozist first.”8 ccccccc 5.

6. 7. 8.

Berthold Auerbach’s admiration is reflected in his novel about Spinoza. The plot of the novel is based on Spinoza’s refusal to convert for marriage. Cf. B. Auerbach, Spinoza: Ein historischer Roman. 2 Bde. (Stuttgart and Leipzig 1837). A.B. Kilcher, “Kabbala in der Maske der Philosophie. Zu einer Interpretationsfigur in der Spinoza-Literatur”, in: H. Delf et al., eds., Spinoza in der Europäischen Geistesgeschichte (Potsdam 1994), p. 193-242. D. Pätzold, Spinoza – Aufklärung – Idealismus: Die Substanz der Moderne (Frankfurt 1995). “Spinoza ist Hauptpunkt der Modernen Philosophie: entweder Spinozismus oder keine Philosophie… wenn man anfängt zu Philosophieren, so muß man zuerst Spinozist seyn.” G.W.F. Hegel, Vorlesungen über die Philosophie, vol. 17 of Georg Friedrich Hegel Sämtliche Werke. Jubiläumausgabe in zwanzig Bänden, ed. H. Glockner (Stuttgart 1959), p. 374, 376.

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Moses Mendelssohn’s rehabilitation of Spinoza German Jews were very impressed by Spinoza’s popularity and his influence on German thought. Even before his popularity grew in Germany – prior to Herder, Goethe, and Hegel – we can discern this theme in the writings of the person we already designated as the first Jew who seriously attempted to rehabilitate Spinoza: Moses Mendelssohn. The appearance of Moses Mendelssohn marked the beginning of Jewish emancipation in Germany. Born and raised a traditional Jew, Mendelssohn gained access to the enlightened circles of Berlin and came to be a well-respected philosopher. Spinoza already figures in his first work written in German, Philosophische Gespräche,9 in which two friends meet and discuss philosophy in four dialogues. While exploring different concepts of the Leibniz-Wolffian philosophical school, Spinoza is nevertheless present right from the start. The first dialogue opens with the question: Who invented the concept of pre-established harmony? This concept, essential in Leibnizian philosophy, expressed the idea that with creation God fixed the relation between all beings in the world. After his act of creation he did not intervene with the world and, ever since, the universe has functioned through a preestablished harmony. The exact details of Leibniz’s theory of pre-established harmony, however, are irrelevant here. Rather, what matters is that Mendelssohn, a great admirer of Leibniz, now discloses that one of this famous philosopher’s most important ideas was not original, a reflection which naturally raises the question as to who was in fact the idea’s originator. The answer may be found a few pages later: the real inventor of the notion of pre-established harmony is none other than Spinoza, in Mendelssohn’s words, “neither a German, nor even a Christian”.10 When Mendelssohn wrote his Philosophische Gespräche, Spinoza’s thought was still considered very controversial. It is not surprising that after crediting Spinoza with conceiving of the idea of pre-established harmony Mendelssohn attempted to rehabilitate the philosopher, writing of him: “He was a sacrifice to human rationality, but a sacrifice that deserved to be decorated with flowers.”11 Rehabilitating Spinoza should by no means be considered an advocacy of his philosophy, as Mendelssohn makes it quite clear that on certain points he disagrees with him.12 His enduring absorption in Spinoza is also evident at the end of his life, when he became deeply engaged in a discussion about the suspected Spinozism of Lessing. Here again Mendelssohn did his best to indicate how his philosophy differed from that ccccccc 9.

10. 11. 12.

M. Mendelssohn, “Philosophische Gespräche”, in: F. Bamberger, ed., Moses Mendelssohn, Schriften zur Philosophie und Ästhetik (Stuttgart 1971), p. 1-41 (Moses Mendelssohn, Gesammelte Schriften Jubiläumsausgabe). “ein andrer als ein Deutscher, ich setze noch hinzu, daß ein andrer als ein Christ”. Ibid., p. 14. “Er war ein Opfer für den menschlichen Verstand; allein ein Opfer, das mit Blumen gezieret zu werden verdient”. Ibid. M. Mendelssohn, Morgenstuden oder Vorlesungen über das Daseyn Gottes (Berlin 1785), p. 216-235.

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of Spinoza, while arguing at the same time that the traditional devastating personal criticism was unfounded. While there is much to be said about the relationship between Spinoza and Mendelssohn, the point I want to make in the context of this paper is that on the very first occasion when a German Jew attempts to rehabilitate Spinoza, he does so by calling attention to his influence on German philosophy. By identifying Spinoza’s influence on Leibniz, who himself marked the beginning of German philosophy, Mendelssohn therefore espouses the belief that Spinoza lies at the foundation of all German philosophy.

Heine on German Pantheism and Spinoza The next person I would like to discuss in relation to our philosopher is Heinrich Heine. The time in which Heine lived differed greatly from that of Mendelssohn. Mendelssohn was born into a very traditional family and moved to enlightened Berlin in order to follow his rabbi and teacher who had preceded him there. Heine grew up in Düsseldorf at the time of Napoleon’s conquest – when Jews were being granted equal rights – and he attended a Catholic school. He thus tasted the fruits of emancipation and assimilation, but also understood that Jews were still unable to be full members of society. To further his career he therefore decided to convert to Lutheranism. He would later fiercely regret the purchase of this “entrance ticket to society”, as he called it. Another important difference between the eras in which both authors lived was the development of German philosophy. During Heine’s life, German philosophy had undergone enormous development. In fact, between Mendelssohn and Heine lies one of the most fertile periods in German philosophical thought. Whereas Mendelssohn could only draw on Wolff and Leibniz, especially in 1755 when he wrote Philosophische Gespräche, by the time Heine wrote about Spinoza, Kant, Herder, Goethe, Fichte, and Schelling had been incorporated into the philosophical canon. As we have noted, most of these personages wrote favorably of Spinoza. Heine devotes attention to Spinoza in his book Zur Geschichte der Religion und Philosophie in Deutschland, a book published in 1834 on the history of religion and philosophy in Germany, which had originally appeared in a French journal.13 Heine wrote it while living in Paris in order to help the French understand the land of his birth. His description of the seventeenth-century philosopher is very sympathetic. He calls attention to Spinoza’s Jewish ancestry, writing that his personality was ccccccc 13.

M. Windfuhr, ed., Zur Geschichte der Religion und Philosophie in Deutschland; Die Romantische Schule Text, 16 vols., vol. 8/1, Historisch-kritische Gesamtausgabe der Werke Heinrich Heine (Düsseldorf 1979).

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a result of the meeting of the spirit of the Hebrew prophets – his ancestors – with the seriousness, self-conscious pride, a Gedankengrandezza of his family who were Marranos.14 He also discerned in Spinoza an apparently typical Dutch patience. Perhaps Heine felt some affinity for Spinoza’s life. He might even have been thinking of his own situation when he wrote that the rabbis had declared Spinoza unworthy of being called a Jew, while the Christians persisted in identifying him as such. Like Mendelssohn, Heine argues that it is a mistake to think that Spinoza was an atheist, as only those of evil intent could call his thought atheistic. Not only did Spinoza lead a moral life, no one else had ever spoken of God in such an awe-inspiring way. Most remarkable is the very fact that Heine devotes attention to Spinoza in a book that pretends to deal with German philosophy. While Heine did discuss nonGerman philosophers such as Plato, Aristotle, Locke, and Descartes, he did not do so as extensively as with Spinoza, stating his reason as he introduces Spinoza as someone who was then rising to “unique spiritual supremacy”.15 Heine goes on to elucidate that he means by this the influence Spinoza exerted on German thought, naming specifically two leading German thinkers. He ends a short explanation of Spinoza’s philosophical system by pointing out that this philosophy is exactly that of Schelling, criticizing the latter for his attempts to differentiate between Spinoza’s thought and his own. According to Heine, there is no difference between their philosophy – and particularly not between Spinoza and Schelling’s early period in which Schelling, Heine adds sarcastically, was still a real philosopher – except that Schelling and Spinoza arrived at their ideas via different paths. Schelling stands at the end of a new development in philosophy that began with Kant and continued through Fichte. However, when groping in the dark forest of natural philosophy, as Heine writes, Schelling at last stands face to face before Spinoza’s bust.16 The other author Heine singles out is Goethe. As Goethe had readily admitted that Spinoza exerted a deep influence on his romantic mind, Heine is more considerate to him than he was to Schelling. According to Heine, the influence of Spinoza on Goethe’s work can be found in the elaborate romantic descriptions of nature with which Goethe longs to be identified in Werther. But Spinozism also inspired the magic of Goethe’s Faust, this time in a mystical attempt to relate to nature. Heine writes that Goethe was the Spinoza of poetry and that all of Goethe’s poems are in the same spirit as Spinoza’s writings. Goethe had also taken Spinoza’s thought a step further, for it was no longer enclosed in Spinoza’s own complex geometriccccccc 14. 15. 16.

Ibid., p. 54. “zur alleinigen Geistesherrschaft emporsteigt”. Ibid. Ibid., p. 56-57, 111-112. “wie… Herr Schelling wieder… durch das Walddunkel der Naturphilosophie umherirrend, endlich dem großen Standbilde Spinozas, Angesicht zu Angesicht, gegenübersteht”. Ibid., p. 57.

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cal method and inelegant mathematical form. Spinoza’s ideas could now be understood with the help of Goethe’s poetic gift. As Heine poignantly wrote: “The teaching of Spinoza has emerged from its mathematical cocoon and now flutters around us in the form of a song by Goethe.”17 Heine also recalls Herder, who once complained that Goethe should have read for once a Latin book that was not written by Spinoza.18 But according to Heine, this holds true not only for Goethe but for many of his disciples. In fact he thinks all of the earliest German romanticists wrote out of a pantheistic – which for Heine meant Spinozistic – instinct. This leads us to something even more important than Heine’s naming of a few individual authors and the influence of Spinoza on their thoughts: Heine’s general thesis about the importance of pantheism for German thought in general. Pantheism is the name Heine gave to Spinoza’s Anschauungsweise, his worldview. In Heine’s view, Pantheism was a reaction against Deism. Whereas Deism saw God as standing outside of the world and valued spirit over matter, Pantheism rehabilitated matter because it identified God with the World. For the pantheist, God is manifested in plants, animals, but above all in human beings. According to Heine, this Pantheism is essential for understanding Germany. He calls it the secret religion of Germany because all the great German thinkers and artists were pantheists. One does not admit it openly, he writes, but Pantheism is the public secret of Germany. Reverting to the first form plural, he now writes of the antiquated Deism: “We do not need a thundering tyrant, nor a caring father; Deism is a religion for servants.”19 Perhaps the most beautiful manner in which Heine stated his theory about the deep influence Spinoza had on German thought can be found in his work Die romantische Schule, where he wrote: “All our modern philosophers, though perhaps often unconsciously, see through the glasses which Baruch Spinoza ground.”20

Max Grunwald on Spinoza’s second Heimat Finally, I will discuss the work of the German rabbi Max Grunwald. He in turn belongs to a very different period in German Jewish history. Grunwald was born in 1871 in Upper Silesia, which was part of the newly founded German Empire, just when the Jews had achieved their full emancipation, but also at the time when German nationalism took on its more exclusive and xenophobic forms. ccccccc 17. 18. 19. 20.

“Die Lehre des Spinoza hat sich aus der mathematischen Hülle entpuppt und umflattert uns als goethesches Lied”. Ibid., p. 102. Ibid., p. 101. Ibid., p. 60-61. “Alle unsere heutigen Philosophen, vielleicht oft ohne es zu wissen, sehen sie durch die Brillen die Baruch Spinoza geschliffen hat.” Ibid., p. 187.

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Grunwald studied philosophy at the University of Breslau and graduated from the rabbinical seminary there. After his studies, he was invited to serve in the Jewish communities of Hamburg and later Vienna. Though during his teenage years in the 1880s, as the first anti-Semitic parties were established in Germany, he did not encounter prejudice at his liberal Gymnasium, later, in Vienna, he almost certainly was forced to confront anti-Semitism. Not only was Karl Lueger – known for his political use of popular anti-Semitic sentiments – mayor of the city, but Grunwald’s marriage to Joseph Bloch’s daughter involved him in the struggle against Viennese anti-Semitism. Rabbi Bloch had become a leading figure in the fight against Viennese anti-Semitism ever since he had waged a legal battle with August Rohling, who had accused the Jews of ritual murder.21 As a rabbi but also as a scholar, Grunwald took part in the flourishing of Jewish culture during these years, and was principally remembered for the interest he aroused in Jewish folklore.22 His most important work on the reception of Spinoza in Germany was his book Spinoza in Deutschland (1897), which was very successful and even reprinted in 1986.23 In this book, Grunwald intends to demonstrate how Spinoza formed the basis of the colossal German philosophical and literary tradition. Interestingly, the book was an entry in a contest sponsored by a Jewish journal that had a reputation for fighting anti-Semitism – Österreichische Wochenschrift, edited by Grunwald’s father-in-law.24 Apparently the promoters of the contest were specifically interested in a book about the influence of Spinoza’s philosophy in Germany, and for Grunwald the subject was close to his heart.25 The book tells of Spinoza’s role in the maturation of the philosophical tradition with Leibniz; how Spinoza inspired its major proponents, including Goethe and Schiller; and finally how Spinoza’s influence is discernible in the works of Grunwald’s contemporaries, such as Nietzsche. Altogether the book shows how Spinoza found – as Grunwald puts it elsewhere26 – a second Heimat in Germany. At first sight, Spinoza in Deutschland seems a balanced book: Grunwald is careful not to dismiss the hostility Spinoza encountered. He admits that Spinoza’s advocates often misunderstood him,27 and sometimes even agrees with the opinion of Spinoza’s fiercest critics. However, Grunwald’s main thesis that Spinoza was the basis of all modern thinking leads him also to discuss those thinkers who are ccccccc 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

S. Winiger, Grosse jüdische Nationalbiographie, 7 vols. (Cernauti 1927-36), vol. 3. M. Grunwald, Mitteilungen zur juedische Volkskunde (Vienna 1898-1904). M. Grunwald, Spinoza in Deutschland (Berlin 1897; repr., Aalen 1986). “Dr. Moriz Rappaportische Stiftung für Preisausschreibungen”, Dr. Bloch’s Österreichische Wochenschrift. Centralorgan für die gesammten Interessen des Judenthums, May 15, 1893, p. 432. M. Grunwald, 80 Jahre Meines Lebens (Jerusalem 1951), p. 17, Central Archives for the History of the Jewish People, P 97/3. M. Grunwald, “Spinoza-Jude?”, Populär-wissenschaftliche Monatsblätter zur Belehrung über das Judentum für Gebildete aller Konfessionen 14, June 1, 1894, p. 121-125: 123. M. Grunwald, Spinoza in Deutschland. Gekroente Preisschrift (Berlin 1898), p. 84.

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hostile to the Jews, and even those thinkers who dislike Spinoza specifically because he is a Jew. In his discussion of Schopenhauer, although noting that Schopenhauer uses Spinoza to vent his Jew-hatred,28 Grunwald stresses Spinoza’s influence on Schopenhauer’s thought: “Neither Schopenhauer’s fierce attacks against the neoSpinozism of Schelling and Hegel, nor his pretensions of originality could prevent his system, once it had become known, from being recognized as bearing Spinozistic traits.”29 Grunwald’s desire to demonstrate how Germany had been influenced by Spinoza is most pronounced in various articles. A good example is Grunwald’s later study on Spinoza’s influence on Otto von Bismarck. Grunwald goes to great lengths to point out the debt owed to Spinoza by the political leader who attained in German politics the mythical status Goethe had achieved in German culture.30 He finds it telling that Bismarck’s turn from the church coincided with his reading of Spinoza. This process started when Bismarck entered university in 1832, a year that seems to have special significance for Grunwald, since he adds that it was not only the bicentennial anniversary of Spinoza’s birth, but the year of Goethe’s death as well. The only real evidence Grunwald has for Spinoza’s influence on Bismarck is a letter by Bismarck in which he writes that as a student he found Spinoza’s work “almost mathematically lucid”. Aside from the influence of Schleiermacher – Bismarck’s religion teacher and a passionate admirer of Spinoza – Grunwald bases his argument on the chancellor’s style of exercising power. Bismarck’s dissolution of the Reichstag in 1878, prior to which he foresaw all the political consequences, Grunwald calls an example of a Spinozistic “reading of nature”, a talent which Goethe also possessed. Grunwald sees Bismarck’s treatment of the Church during his Kulturkampf in a Spinozist light as well. By granting supremacy to the State at the expense of religion, he did what Spinoza’s political works prescribe. Grunwald called Bismarck the Herrenmensch to the heart of Spinoza’s pupil, Nietzsche. But Grunwald’s attempt to assert Spinoza’s influence on Bismarck becomes most forced when he writes that Bismarck and Spinoza shared the same kind of eyes.31 To show that this influence had been exerted on other German cultural icons, he wrote that these eyes were shared also by Frederick the Great and Goethe.

ccccccc 28. 29.

30. 31.

Ibid., p. 248. “So heftig nun auch Schopenhauer gegen den Neopspinozismus Schellings und Hegels loszog, und so entschieden er auch alle Originalität für seine Lehre in Anspruch nehmen wollte, kaum hatte er sein System allgemeinere Beachtung gefunden, als man auch schon den spinozistischen Zug darin erkannte.” Ibid., p. 247-248. M. Grunwald, “Bismarck und Spinoza”, Frankfurter Israelitisches Gemeindeblatt, November 11, 1932, p. 58-59. Ibid., p. 58.

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One might smile at Grunwald’s attempt to “Spinozize” Bismarck, but there is a tragic quality to his attempt to do the same with Julius Langbehn. Julius Langbehn was the author of the anti-Semitic classic Rembrandt als Erzieher. In sharp contrast to an article in the Allgemeine Zeitung des Judenthums,32 which denounced Langbehn’s Spinoza interpretation as anti-Semitic, Grunwald proclaims that Langbehn gives Spinoza an Ehrenrettung – an honorable rescue. He quotes extensively from Langbehn’s comparison of the aristocratic Jew Spinoza with Rembrandt. He does not, however, point out that Langbehn contrasts Spinoza’s aristocratic Judaism with the plebeian Judaism of his own day. He does note, on the contrary, that Langbehn shows that even a one-sided national attitude has to respect the limits of historical justice.33 Here Grunwald reveals what interests him most in the German reception of Spinoza: Spinoza was so important for all of German culture that even anti-Semites – euphemistically called people with a one-sided national attitude by Grunwald – cannot ignore him.

Spinoza in the Netherlands? Mendelssohn, Heine, and Grunwald all dealt with Spinoza within the context of Jewish emancipation. Mendelssohn was trying to establish himself as a philosopher in non-Jewish circles, Heine was a Lutheran convert explaining the essence of Germany to the French, and Grunwald tried to find an answer to the steadily rising nationalism and anti-Semitism of his days. All three made a point of demonstrating the importance of Spinoza for German culture. According to Mendelssohn, Spinoza had influenced Leibniz, and with him the beginnings of German philosophy; for Heine, Spinozism – which he called Pantheism – was the secret religion of Germany; and Max Grunwald saw in every German, from Bismarck to Langbehn, a Spinozist. It is not an exaggeration to claim that Spinoza’s Jewishness by birth – a fact all three emphasize – was an important reason for calling attention to his influence in Germany. By pointing out Spinoza’s importance for German culture, they wanted Germany to realize its debt to a Jew and thus to Judaism, and in this way they wanted to reserve a place for Jews in the German national context. Spinoza’s integration into German culture was for them the perfect evidence for the existence of a German-Jewish symbiosis. This leads us to another interesting point: the prestige of a philosopher was something German Jews could use in their struggle for emancipation. This, I would ccccccc 32. 33.

R. Berger, “Rembrandt als – Antisemit”, Allgemeine Zeitung des Judenthums, September 12, 1890, p. 459-462. M. Grunwald, “Spinoza und die Reaktion”, p. 52-61: 61.

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suggest, has to do with the fact that German Jews always felt the need to motivate their emancipation on philosophical grounds. The emancipation process, which took many years in Germany and was only completed in 1871, constantly forced Jews to answer the question if and how much of their Judaism Jews should abandon to become full members of society. This was a fiercely debated issue beginning in Mendelssohn’s time. In essence it was a debate about philosophical issues involving such questions as: Do the values of Judaism contradict those of Christianity? Do they contradict the values of a liberal state? Is it possible to convert to Christianity without believing in the divinity of Christ? The German philosophical tradition, from Leibniz and Wolff, to Kant, Goethe, Herder, Schelling, Fichte, Hegel, up until Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, was a constant background in these debates. Arguing that all these thinkers had allowed themselves to be influenced by Spinoza – and therefore by a Jew – could thus greatly further the cause of Jewish emancipation. This may at last help to explain somewhat, as I have promised at the beginning of this paper, the lack of enthusiasm among Dutch Jews for Spinoza. It is remarkable that in Holland Spinoza never enjoyed the popularity he enjoyed among German Jews. As one of the finest gems of the Dutch Golden Age, Spinoza would have most appropriately been reclaimed by Dutch Jews. But this lack of interest in Spinoza may be better understood if it is related to the fact that the emancipation process of Dutch Jewry never concerned itself with philosophy as it did in Germany. In comparison with German Jews, Dutch Jews regarded their emancipation mainly in socio-economic terms. Of course, this is quite a bold conclusion, drawn from the meager observation that Spinoza was more popular among German Jews than he was among Dutch Jews. However, I am not the first to notice that Dutch Jews did not care for philosophy. I would like, therefore, to end by quoting a German Jew with a serious interest in philosophy and also one of the first German Jews to openly discuss Spinoza – Salomon Maimon. His famous autobiography of 1792 tells the story of how his intellectual capacities enabled him – a backward Polish Jew – to enter into the Berlin Enlightenment of Mendelssohn. In the course of one of his travels he passed through Holland, of which he wrote: “I realized that I had nothing to look for in Holland. The most important occupation of Dutch Jews is acquiring money. Intellectual knowledge does not particularly interest them.”34

ccccccc 34.

“Ich merkte, daß in Holland für mich nichts zu thun sey, indem der haupttrieb der holländischen Juden Geldsammlen ist, und sie keine sonderliche Neigung zu Wissenschaften zeigen.” V. Verra, ed., Salomon Maimon, Gesammelte Werke, vol. I (Hildesheim 1965), p. 517.

Marty Bax

Mozes Salomon Polak Jewish “Lerner” and Propagator of Freemasonry, Spiritualism, and Theosophy 1

Doing research can be a true whodunit in the style of an Agatha Christie mystery story. The one you suspect the least, turns out to be the perpetrator in the end. The same principle applies to the subject of my paper, Mozes Salomon Polak. My research on Polak originates in my research on the early roots of the Theosophical Society in Holland. As an art historian, I investigate the influence of theosophy on art between 1880 and 1920. I therefore was interested in those movements in society that led to the foundation of the Dutch Theosophical Society in 1891: which ideologies and which circles played a decisive role as forerunners of theosophy? Working backwards in history, I came upon an early theosophical lodge bearing the name Post Nubila Lux (after the clouds the sun), which was founded in The Hague in 1880. To my surprise, I also found references to a masonic lodge bearing the same name that existed about thirty years earlier. The masonic lodge Post Nubila Lux happens to be closely related to a freethinkers society called De Dageraad (the dawn), that became famous in Holland. Thus studying the vast literature on this society seemed a good starting point. It is here that the thriller about Mozes Salomon Polak actually begins. In the literature on De Dageraad, Mozes Polak is mentioned only fleetingly. But as my art historical research has made me very wary of anything written down as “the official history”, I started my research simply by identifying all persons menccccccc 1.

My research on Polak forms part of my dissertation Het Web der Schepping. Theosofie en kunst in Nederland van Lauweriks tot Mondriaan (The Web of Creation. Theosophy and Art in the Netherlands from Lauweriks to Mondrian) (Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam 2004), published by SUN (Amsterdam 2006). My alternative views on Polak and the organizations mentioned are based on close study of a large amount of original source material. In this shortened version of Polak’s history it would lead to an excessive amount of footnotes and additional explanatory excursions in even more footnotes. For full references I therefore refer to chapter 4 of my book. General information on Polak, Post Nubila Lux and De Dageraad can be found in: A.J. Hanou, “Joden en Nederlandse genootschappen, 1750-1850”, p. 34, in: H. Berg, ed., De Gelykstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid, Exh.cat. (Amsterdam 1996); Gedenkboek De Dageraad. Geschiedenis, herinneringen en beschouwingen 1856-1906 (Amsterdam 1906); F.C. Gunst, De onafhankelijke vrijmetselaarsloge Post Nubila Lux te Amsterdam. Geschiedenis van hare wording en drie-en-dertig jarig bestaan. Naar authentieke bronnen bewerkt (Amsterdam 1884).

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tioned in the literature on De Dageraad by genealogical methods. It appeared that, up to this day, researchers have not even identified Polak by his rightful name: most often he is called Marcus Samuel, or any other combination based on his first initials. Consequently, anyone seeking to position Polak in the Amsterdam of the 1850s will return from the City Archives of Amsterdam disappointed. There simply is no Marcus Samuel Polak corresponding to the general information available on him. However, it is rather simple to look up his address in the register of addresses of the 1850s, and to subsequently examine the Public Records to match the address to his name and date of birth. Additionally, when browsing through library catalogues, it is very hard to miss Polak’s presence: he published some twenty books. One comprises no less than seventeen volumes, and others consist of several volumes. His books easily fill several meters of bookshelves. In Polak’s days, when no computers existed and no quotas had to be met by scholars for publishing articles and books, this is an astounding achievement. My next step was to collect more information on members of De Dageraad and Post Nubila Lux by studying archives, which would position these persons in history and in relation to each other. From the wealth of information, and the kind of information that I was able to collect on Polak, I could only draw one conclusion: Mozes Polak was deliberately eradicated from the history of De Dageraad by its own members. At this point, my curiosity skyrocketed. What reasons could De Dageraad have had to perform this surgery on their own history? Was Polak the victim – or was he the killer after all? I will now act as Miss Marple who, after having concluded her private investigations, has assembled her audience in order to reveal the true identity of her victim.

Polak’s road to Freemasonry In 1801, Mozes Salomon Polak was born into a humble Ashkenazic family in Amsterdam. His roots can be traced back to Poland, from where his ancestors came to Amsterdam around 1725. His family is, in an archival sense, very inconspicuous. It is a common joke among archivists that the rich on the one hand and the criminal on the other hand are the most satisfying subjects for research, as they tend to leave many traces in archival documents, each group for its own reasons of course. Unfortunately, Polak’s family belonged to neither of them. Polak’s own archival history starts at his age of 19, when he founded a small school following the traditional Jewish method of study. In his early twenties, he published a number of translations of Hebrew texts, some of them in collaboration with the famous translator Gabriël Polak, no relation. Mozes Polak then shifted the focus of his own “lernen” to non-Jewish philosophy and classical literature. Polak must have been very gifted, as he received a medal from the Greek king for his translations of classical literature. There was some confusion about this, as the city of-

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ficials thought that there was some mistake, that the medal was meant for Gabriël Polak; but Mozes claimed his medal for himself. Polak then approached the city government with the request that he be granted an academic degree in the humanities, based on his possessing the same expertise. This appeal was turned down – not because the committee thought him unqualified, but on purely formal grounds: Polak had not acquired his knowledge at a university, hence he could not acquire a university degree. This, however, did not prevent Polak from calling himself a doctor in the humanities during the rest of his life, even though by official standards he remained self-acknowledged. Polak’s interest in non-Jewish philosophical tradition brought him into contact with the ideas of Spinoza and the German-idealist philosophers, i.e. the followers of Leibniz, Spinoza’s contemporary and – one could say – rival in the field of Natural Religion. Most probably, Polak acquired this interest through freemasons. In 1830, Polak was initiated into the Lodge of the Grand East by fellows of the Amsterdam lodge La Charité. His initiation was typical of Polak, who always seems to have operated with a sense of urgency and restless ambition: in just one evening, he was catapulted from student to master, an advancement which usually takes several years. Polak was never a member of La Paix, a contemporary lodge in Amsterdam, which, according to the literature, he supposedly joined in the forties. This is a very important fact, as all of Polak’s ideas and activities seem to be the ultimate consequence of that for which his lodge, La Charité, stood. La Charité was one of the most progressive lodges in the whole of Holland in the first half of the nineteenth century. It was led by the poet and lawyer Johannes Kinker, who developed into a true follower of Spinoza, be it, as it were, in a more German lyricist way. The lodge was also revolutionary in other respects. It wanted to open freemasonry to Jews and other non-Christians. It propagated religious tolerance, universal brotherhood, and the education of the masses. Its members were interested in politics and society, and were stimulated by Kinker to be actively involved in society, rather than with reflection and ritual within freemasonry itself. Apart from La Charité there were two other lodges in Amsterdam, La Bien Aimée (the well-loved) and the aforementioned La Paix. Especially the latter abounded in Ashkenazic Jews who, having acquired civil rights in 1796, regarded freemasonry as one of the means of social emancipation. Freemasonry till then was more or less a clandestine religious think-tank for the middle and upper classes, which occasionally allowed richer Portuguese-Jews membership. Through access to these societies, the Ashkenazic Jews hoped to ally themselves with the Dutch elite or sub-elite. In 1885, an astonishing 70 percent of the members of La Paix were of Ashkenazic origin, among whom were the famous philanthropists Abraham Carel Wertheim and Bernard Leon Gompertsz, while six out of the eight council members were Jews. The other two lodges drew fewer Jewish members – but then La

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Charité can be prized for bringing forth the most revolutionary and active of them all: Mozes Salomon Polak.

Spinozism as the true foundation of Freemasonry Polak had been a good student of Kinker, so it seems, because after Kinker’s death in 1845, Polak put all his energy into erecting a new lodge, based on the same social and philosophical ideals of his mentor. In July 1847, the Grand East received nine pages of closely-written text, which contained the aims and rules of its author’s lodge. Polak writes: “It is the grand objective of the lodge to enhance, by the light of science, the amelioration, the self-fulfillment, and the unification of the human race.” In order to achieve this, Polak thought it necessary to replace all individual religions – which stimulate fanaticism and false ideas, and hence erect barriers against each other – by a universal moral philosophy. The natural consequence is that freemasonry should develop goals based on “Natural Religion, namely God, man, and his rights and duties, and therefore freemasons should work in the realm of the so-called reflective philosophy”. By the latter, Polak means humanist philosophy, which belongs to the realm of esotericism and which comprises Spinoza’s concept of a Natural God. Polak continues: “The scientific stance of the Order of Freemasons is therefore a philosophical one. Tradition is born out of faith, but philosophy out of conviction. Therefore the Order should convince her members by means of Reason; she should guide the members to knowledge of the Creator by their own power of thinking and guide them to draw nearer to the Creator by studying his attributes. While mortal man can only achieve knowledge of God by certain knowledge of his twofold nature, his physical and spiritual characteristics and capacities, the Order should educate her members primarily to self-knowledge. This will lead to insight into their goal on earth: to be part of the chain of the Infinite, the all-encompassing All.” It is not difficult to hear Spinoza reverberating through Polak quite literally, nor, for that matter, Kinker’s ideals of universal brotherhood. Polak, however, did not possess the more tactful approach Kinker must have had as a lawyer. Polak went ahead storming the bastions of freemasonry and was cast down. While his views were not really rejected by the Grand East – and, in hindsight, they certainly launched freemasonry in new directions in the years to come – Polak refused to follow the procedures for establishing a lodge, and hence was severely criticized. Polak however, driven by his convictions and idealism, felt pressed for time. In 1850, without the approval of the Grand East, he called Post Nubila Lux into being. The lodge counted thirty-six members, half of which were of Ashkenazic origin; thus the lodge had the largest percentage of Jewish members at that time. Despite its objections, the Grand East followed the activities of the lodge with much interest, and some of the members were admitted to the Order after having shown remorse. Polak himself, however, provoked matters in 1854 by publishing a pamphlet in which he dis-

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closed things that should have remained within the four walls of the Grand East. Polak was then personally expelled from the Grand East and the lodge continued to be disqualified. The lodge was officially recognized in 1886, but by then all the so-called subversive elements had died. One would think that Polak would have left it at that and, obstinate as ever, would have chosen to continue on his own. But that is not the case at all. Over the following ten years, he repeatedly tried to pacify the Grand East and begged the Grand Master to allow him to return. Apparently, Polak felt that his ideals were best supported by freemasonry and it is not really hard to see why. Although freemasonry is a Christian-based form of esotericism, its anti-dogmatic attitude and its philosophical orientation, which comprises Jewish mystical texts such as the Kabbalah, makes it a belief system in which Polak’s transformation of Spinoza’s Natural Religion into a nineteenth-century form of scientific esotericism would fit perfectly. As we shall see, several events in Polak’s later life stimulated him to try to convince the Grand East of his good intentions and his solidarity with masonic ideals.

Spinozism against materialism By 1854, Post Nubila Lux had drawn several illustrious members into its midst. One of them was Frans Christiaan Gunst, who worked principally as the lodge’s publisher and who became master of Post Nubila Lux after Polak. Gunst, like Polak, bore no doctor’s title and, also like Polak, was a self-styled academician. Yet another was Rudolf Carel d’Ablaing van Giessenburg, who was born out of an incestuous relationship within an upper-class family. To be precise: he had two different grandmothers, but only one grandfather. His mother and father were half-brother and half-sister and both illegitimate – a most inauspicious pedigree when it came to building a career! Having failed to find success in the Dutch Indies, he returned to Holland impoverished, but with a materialistic view of life bordering on atheism. He was to become known as the publisher of one of Holland’s most famous writers, Multatuli. Lastly, there was Franz Junghuhn, a German biologist who also had found employment in the Dutch Indies and who had embraced Natural Religion. His main contribution to the fame of Post Nubila Lux was the publication of his book Lichten schaduwbeelden uit de binnenlanden van Java (images of light and shadow from the inner lands of Java). This book was pure propaganda for deism, another word for Natural Religion, and marks the birth of the freethinkers society De Dageraad. Since the founders of De Dageraad were at the same time members of Post Nubila Lux, they were, so to speak, two halves of a Siamese twin. De Dageraad initially adopted Polak’s Spinozism, but Polak must have quickly sensed that this organization embarked on ideological roads he did not want to take, namely in the direction of materialism and atheism. His colleagues of

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De Dageraad severely attacked the Christian church. For Polak as a Jew, this was a non-issue, but it was problematic for freemasonry. So too was the materialist view of the world which does not mix well with the esoteric masonic belief. Thus, when the Grand East came to hear of the ideas proclaimed by De Dageraad, Polak, by way of a letter, hastened to emphasize that “on his word of honor” he had nothing to do with this organization. A year later, in 1856, Polak tried to appease the Grand East again and asked for readmission, but was again refused. Regardless of what he wrote to the Grand East, Polak belonged to De Dageraad until around 1860. The reason Polak took leave of De Dageraad was probably twofold. First, his character was incompatible with that of d’ Ablaing van Giessenburg, who was just as forceful and militant as Polak in disseminating his views. Secondly, d’Ablaing van Giessenburg rapidly developed into a pure materialist. Polak, in turn, refused to part with his belief in Natural Religion.

From Spinozism to Spiritualism Around 1857, Polak, now having acquired the tell-tale pseudonym “non-clubbist”, embarked on new paths in his objective investigation of the natural and spiritual world. In that year he published two books that predict his foray into spiritualism. The first is called De nieuwe grondleer der wijsbegeerte; of de weg, om met wetenschappelijke zekerheid van mogelijkheid tot werkelijkheid te komen, roughly translated as: the new foundations of philosophy; or the way, by which scientific exactness can lead from probability to reality. In this title, we recognize Spinoza’s emphasis on the analysis of God in a so-called geometrical manner, which can be translated into “rationalistic” and “empiricist”. The second book is called Die Unsterblichkeitsfrage: vermittelst einer neuen philosopischen Lehre, und nach vorhergegangen Widerlegung der Gründe aller materialistischen Schulen beantwortet. This title loosely translates to: the question of immortality: by way of a new philosophical doctrine and answered after having refuted all grounds brought forth by the materialists. In this book he explicitly asks the question of whether the human soul is a spiritual substance and hence immortal. Polak’s answer to that, as a Spinozist philosopher, is, of course, yes. Polak then turns to an empiricist study of spiritualism. Still a member of De Dageraad, he attends séances with the famous English-American medium Daniel Dunglas Home, who came to Amsterdam in 1858 at De Dageraad’s special request. The pro and contra pamphlets that were subsequently written clearly show the rift and animosity that had grown between the materialist d’Ablaing van Giessenburg and the Spinozist Polak. Finally, there was no option available to Polak other than resignation from both De Dageraad and Post Nubila Lux. In 1861, after having left De Dageraad, he again approached the Grand East for readmission, but his petition was once more rejected. In 1864, he dissociated himself completely from Post Nubila Lux. Yet

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again, now for the fourth time, he pleaded with the Grand Master of the Grand East to lift his suspension, but this was refused because of his pamphlet of 1854. It seems as if the Grand East was not really happy with having had to discipline Polak. It is documented that the Grand East regarded the whole situation as a black page in the history of Dutch freemasonry, as Polak could have brought about changes that would have benefited the masonic ideals in general. Polak, for his part, must have been even more disappointed, and other personal losses, such as the death of his wife in 1860 and the bankruptcy of the newspaper he published, forced him into seclusion. His state of mind can be deduced from his handwriting, which became increasingly frenetic. However, his spirit and aspirations remained unbroken. In 1869 he founded a spiritualist society, called Veritas (truth). Within spiritualist circles, he was, both then and now, seen as one of the authorities in the field. His last complete publication, dating to 1872, was Het materialismus, het spiritismus en de strenge wetenschap, ter beantwoording van de vraag: Is het spiritismus werkelijk een schakel in de keten der natuurwet, which translates as: Materialism, spiritualism, and science, to answer the question: Is spiritualism really part of the chain of Natural Law. This book is Polak’s synthesis of his new spiritualist views, formulated in a pure Spinozist fashion, which is more geometrico demonstratae. The second printing of this book took place in 1874, the year of Polak’s death, an indication that it was widely read.

Polak as a proto-theosophist Polak’s book of 1872, Het materialismus, het spiritismus, formed part of the library of another contemporary spiritualist circle in the Hague, Oromase, which, in 1880, brought forth the first theosophical lodge in Holland. Some of the members were former Freemasons who had turned to spiritualism and then to theosophy. It even adopted the name of Polak’s masonic lodge, Post Nubila Lux. Veritas in Amsterdam, in turn, hosted some of the first members of the official Theosophical Society, which was founded in Amsterdam in 1891. The main question here then is: what is the link between Polak’s Spinozism and theosophy? The modern theosophical movement was founded in 1875 by the Russian aristocrat Helena Petrovna Blavatsky-von Hahn (1830–1891). Her aims were quite similar to Polak’s. She tried to offer a counterweight to Christianity, which she found to have grown too superficial and dominant. She also wanted to reform freemasonry, because she thought this movement strayed from its original objectives: to be a platform for anyone, regardless of class or race or religious denomination, striving towards the humanistic and esoteric ideal of Knowing Thyself. Knowing Thyself eventually leads to knowing God. This was not the God of Christianity or any other religion of a personal God, but the God of Natural Law. Natural Law could be studied not only by philosophical reflection, but also by science, which at that time also

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comprised the study of spiritualism. Inevitably Spinoza’s legacy forms part of the modern theosophical doctrine, although Blavatsky, being partly of German descent, refers more often to Leibniz in her books. In any case, the ideals of Blavatsky’s theosophical movement mirror the ideals put forward by Kinker and then by Polak: religious tolerance, universal brotherhood, and the education of the masses. While Blavatsky was still traveling to remote parts of the world in order to study world religions and to meet scientists, Polak had already formulated a universal philosophy that was a forerunner of modern theosophy. It is worth noting that Blavatsky’s Secret Doctrine, the bible of modern theosophy, was only published in 1888, some fifteen years after Polak’s Het materalismus, het spiritismus. Blavatsky’s book, consisting of several volumes, describes the universal bases of all world religions. Apart from many differences in orientation – Blavatsky for instance saw Tibet as the geographical and religious source of all world religions – modern theosophy centers around the twofold character of the cosmic source of all creation which may also be perceived in Spinoza’s work, namely as Natura Naturans and Natura Naturata. Theosophy describes the correspondence between the natural and the spiritual world and the hierarchy between them. It focuses on the outer world as Mâya, the illusion of matter, as the only way in which people can start to perceive the hidden laws of Nature. It describes ways by which anyone can sharpen his mind and bodily perception in order to achieve this insight. So, to conclude my detective work on Polak, one needs to return to the question I posed at the beginning of this lecture: was Polak a killer or a victim? My judgment would be: both at the same time. Polak was a killer in the way he successfully cleared the boundaries between groups of different social standing and of different ideological orientation. He ranks among the most important philosophers of his time. He was of immense importance in reviving interest in Spinoza’s philosophy, an interest that continues to the present day. Moreover, he was a true socialist avant la lettre. On the other hand, Polak was the victim of his own character. His tactlessness and his forceful ambition alienated those around him, who could have supported him in his quest for a more democratic, non-dogmatic form of religion – non-Christian but non-Jewish at the same time. Because of this, he was simply written out of history. This is not only Polak’s personal tragedy. It is also the tragedy of uneventful, unresourceful, or even biased historical research. In my opinion, Polak’s case shows that historical research on the nineteenth century is in desperate need of new and adventurous approaches. The influence of Jews on Dutch history as a whole might be much greater than we all think.

Susan L. Tananbaum

Jewish Women, Philanthropy, and Modernization The Changing Roles of Jewish Women in Modern Europe, 1850-1939

Attention to women’s roles and the importance of gender as a category of analysis has changed the face of historical writing over the last thirty years. As scholars have noted, history – especially Jewish history – is a rather conservative endeavor.1 Arguably, Jewish history has been slower to introduce and validate “newer” approaches. Until the 1980s, attention to Jewish women remained relatively limited in the discipline; now however, we have a substantive and growing body of literature that sheds light on Jewish women’s lives in an impressive range of times and places. My presentation draws broadly on the work of other scholars as well as my own research on British Jews. It compares and contrasts the ways European and American Jewish women mediated the promises and challenges of modernity by focusing on women’s philanthropic activity at the turn of the century – a time of increasing urbanization, migration, secularization, and upward mobility for a large percentage of the women involved.2 During this period, women developed programs to respond to communal and philanthropic needs – efforts that sustained Jewish life – and reflected modern Jewish women’s identity as women and Jews. Women’s increased education, careers, social welfare activity, and most recently, enlarged role in religious life, challenged age-old patterns of male leaderccccccc 1.

2.

According to Esther Fuchs, among recent works of “feminist inquiry”, Feminist Perspectives on Jewish Studies, edited by L. Davidman and S. Tenenbaum (New Haven 1994), was “by far the sharpest and least apologetic critique of Jewish studies”. E. Fuchs, “Women and Jewish Studies”, National Women’s Studies Association Journal 9 (Fall, 1997), p. 163. Davidman and Tenenbaum (ibid., p.13) argue that scholars of multiculturalism typically ignore Jewish women and consider them as privileged white women. For a discussion of favorable and unfavorable views of emancipation and assimilation, cf. the article of D. Sorkin in this volume. For a brief overview of the impact of modernization of the Jews of Britain, France, and Germany, see D. Feldman, “Was Modernity Good for the Jews?”, in: B. Cheyette and L. Marcus, eds., Modernity, Culture and “the Jew” (Stanford 1998), p. 171-184; P. Hyman, “The History of European Jewry: Recent Trends in the Literature”, Journal of Modern History 54 (1982), p. 303-319; M. Marrus, “European Jewry and the Politics of Assimilation: Assessment and Reassessment”, Journal of Modern History 49 (1977), p. 89-109; “Introduction: Anthologizing Jews”, in: M. Berkowitz, S. Tananbaum, and S. Bloom, eds., Forging Modern Jewish Identities: Public Faces and Private Struggles (London and Portland, OR 2003).

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ship, opened communal affairs to women, and redefined what it meant to live a Jewish life.

Gender and Philanthropy Beginning in the late nineteenth century, middle-class Jewish women in Europe and America widened their spheres of activity, building on traditional roles and expanding them in ways common among their non-Jewish sisters.3 In extending preexisting roles, club women’s activities, as Beth Wenger notes, “often belied the norms of traditional female behavior which had inspired the founding of their organizations”, and allowed women quietly and radically to redefine Jewish women’s behavioral norms. Through charitable work, women developed skills that brought them respect.4 Perhaps so, but my own research on Britain suggests more ambivalence. Female activism and philanthropy generated feelings of pride and satisfaction among women and some men, but men in particular could be quite critical, convinced that women would neglect their real, that is domestic, work. Women nurtured both their Judaism and their sense of self through participation in benevolent societies. Such activities, I contend, particularly those run by and for women, spearheaded an even broader reorganization of modern Jewish life. In Britain and elsewhere, Jewish female volunteers and leaders established a new pattern of ethnic and quasi-secular Jewish life that paralleled, redefined, and, for many Jews, overtook more traditional forms of Judaism from the mid-nineteenth century onward. In America, the National Council of Jewish Women (NCJW) equated its social reform efforts with z.edakah and thus integral to Judaism.5 These women, whether consciously or not, re-envisioned Jewish life – expanding and creating a more secular and ethnic Jewish identity – that acted as an early and essenccccccc 3.

4.

5.

See F. Herman, “From Priestess to Hostess: Sisterhoods of Personal Service in New York City, 18871936”, in: P. Nadell and J. Sarna, eds., Women and American Judaism: Historical Perspectives (Hanover and London 2001) p. 148-181; W. Toll, “A Quiet Revolution: Jewish Women’s Clubs and the Widening Female Sphere, 1870-1920”, American Jewish Archives 41 (1989), p. 7-26. Immigrant women and their daughters also entered into the surrounding culture through the workplace, unions, entertainment, and parenting. See S.A. Glenn, Daughters of the Shtetl: Life, and Labor in the Immigrant Generation (New York 1990); S. Stahl Weinberg, The World of Our Mothers: The Lives of Jewish Immigrant Women (Chapel Hill 1988); E. Ewen, Immigrant Women in the Land of Dollars: Life and Culture on the Lower East Side, 1890-1925 (New York 1985); N. Green, “Gender and Jobs in the Jewish Community: Europe at the Turn of the Twenieth Century”, Jewish Studies 8 (2002), p. 39-60; S. Tananbaum, Generations of Change: The Anglicization of Russian-Jewish Immigrant Women in London, 1880-1939 (Ph.D. thesis, Brandeis University 1991). B.S. Wenger, “Jewish Women and Voluntarism: Beyond the Myth of Enablers”, American Jewish History 79 (1989), p. 16-17. E. Bodek “‘Making Do’: Jewish Women and Philanthropy”, in: M. Friedman, ed., Jewish Life in Philadelphia, 1830-1949 (Philadelphia 1983), p. 144. F. Rogow, Gone to Another Meeting: The National Council of Jewish Women, 1893-1993 (Tuscaloosa 1993).

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tial bridge to modernized Jewish life that has become characteristic of much of the West.6 This process was not, of course, in women’s hands alone – though their relative exclusion from religious life encouraged women to define Judaism well beyond the synagogue. As David Sorkin observed, German Jewish bourgeoisie also replaced religious associations with secular philanthropic societies as they restructured the associational life of the community in the nineteenth century.7 Even women’s voluntary work in the religious realm expanded at the turn of the century. For example, Pamela Nadell and Rita Simon argue that women’s sponsorship of sisterhood Sabbaths and religious schools in the early twentieth century was not an age old tradition, but rather quite recent. Thus female synagogue activity, albeit within Reform Judaism, enabled women to “change the expectations of their proper behavior”. Jewish, like Christian women, extended traditional roles – family, children, and beautifying of the home – “to their community in the public spaces of their synagogues”. Reform Jewish activists such as Carrie Obendorfer Simon wanted a larger and explicitly religious role for Jewish women. Simon helped establish Reform Judaism’s Sisterhood, perhaps as a rival to the NCJW, or perhaps to focus more on religious affairs.8 Certainly Lily Montagu, founder of the Jewish Religious Union, modeled a new role of religious leadership for women in England and beyond.9 Thus, similar patterns of Jewish female activity emerged throughout westernized countries, especially within philanthropic endeavors, and offer a fascinating lens for tracing Jewish women’s modernization. I hesitate to assume that the same patterns hold good beyond the West: culturally specific patterns emerged in each locale and the nature of the “host” society played a key role.10 Ultimately, though, ccccccc 6.

7. 8.

9. 10.

Literature on American and British women documents significant growth of voluntary organizations, suggesting both continuity of women’s traditional roles and new opportunities for women in public and political spheres. See F. Prochaska, Women and Philanthropy in Nineteenth-Century England (Oxford 1980) and D. Ashton, Rebecca Gratz: Women and Judaism in Antebellum America (Detroit 1997). D. Sorkin, “The Impact of Emancipation on German Jewry”, in: J. Frankel and S. Zipperstein, eds., Assimilation and Community: The Jews in Nineteenth-Century Europe (Cambridge 1992), p. 191. “Undoubtedly”, according to Jacob Marcus “the sisterhood confederation was established to counter and rival the National Council of Jewish Women”. Cf. J.R. Marcus The American Jewish Woman: A Documentary History (New York 1981), p. 664, 666. Nadell and Simon argue that Sue Levi Elwell convincingly demonstrated that the NCJW had shifted to a philanthropic focus; thus the two organizations would have been complementary. P. Nadell and R. Simon, “Ladies of the Sisterhood: Women in the American Reform Synagogue, 1900-1930”, in: M. Sacks, ed., Active Voices: Women in Jewish Culture (Urbana 1995), p. 65 (and footnote 10), 66, 67, 68, 73. On Lily Montagu and Liberal Judaism, see E.M. Umansky, Lily Montagu and the Advancement of Liberal Judaism: From Vision to Vocation (New York 1983). On the emergence of modern Jewish identity in Eastern Europe, see S. Magnus, “Pauline Wengeroff and the Voice of Jewish Modernity”, in: T.M. Rudavsky (ed.), Gender and Judaism: The Transformation of Tradition (New York 1995), p. 181-190. Sorkin considers some of Germany’s culturally distinct patterns and cautions against viewing German emancipation as par-

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the responses of Jewish women to modernity were crucial in shaping Jewish communities as we have come to know them.11

Modernity, acculturation, and the transvaluation of traditional roles By the mid-nineteenth century, a significant number of Jewish women sought new, public ways to express their Judaism, suggesting they were no longer satisfied to function as enablers. Throughout the literature on Jewish women, we read that traditional Judaism tends to define women in relation to men, that women should gain satisfaction in their natural sphere, the home, through assisting men and creating a Jewish home for their families.12 Judaism recognized women’s agency, but lauded passivity, as is abundantly clear in Talmudic literature. As Rickie Burman has pointed out, during the Victorian era, spiritual involvement was common for Christian – and Jewish – women. Traditional Judaism however, limited women’s involvement in religious ritual.13 Women have religious responsibilities, particularly for dietary observance and ritual purity, but in the idealized version, their most important role was ensuring their husbands could pray and study.14 Thus, rabbinic Judaism acknowledged and valued Jewish women’s ability to maintain their families financially, and their participation in philanthropy, both areas that potentially brought women into the public sphere. In Eastern Europe, this labor gave women some independence.15 ccccccc 11. 12.

13.

14. 15.

adigmatic. See Sorkin, “The Impact of Emancipation on German Jewry”, p. 177-178, 191-194. For the applicability of this model for Dutch Jewish women see the articles of Hofmeester, Schoonheim, and Leydesdorff in this volume. For an excellent discussion of this assumption, see Wenger, “Jewish Women and Voluntarism”, 1636. Writing in 1983, Ellen Umansky noted that in medieval times, women “realized their spiritual potential primarily through the merits of their fathers or husbands rather than through the development of their own spiritual nature. Nonetheless, the extensive domestic nature of Judaism provided many women with what was undoubtedly a satisfying religious role. By the eighteenth century secular education for Jewish girls became acceptable, even a visible symbol of Jewish adaptability”. Umansky contends that emancipation led Jewish women to seek out more spiritual opportunities. Some turned to Christianity, most remained within the tradition, but expressed dissatisfaction with the constraints. This set the stage for women’s increased involvement in the nineteenth century. Umansky, Lily Montagu, p. 27-28. See R. Burman, “‘She Looketh Well to the Ways of her Household’: The Changing Role of Jewish Women in Religious Life c. 1880-1930”, in: G. Malmgreen, ed., Religion in the Lives of English Women, 1760-1930 (Indiana 1986), p. 236-238, 252. For an analysis of American Jewish women and religious life see: K. Goldman, “The Public Religious Lives of Cincinatti’s Jewish Women”, in: idem, Women and American Judaism: Historical Perspective (Hanover and London 2001) p. 107-127. For a discussion of women’s status in Judaism, see R. Biale, Women and Jewish Law: An Exploration of Women’s Issues in Halakhic Sources (New York 1984), esp. p. 10-43. On Jewish women’s economic and social position in Eastern Europe, see S.A. Glenn, “A Girl Wasn’t Much”, in: idem, Daughters of the Shtetl: Life and Labor in the Immigrant Generation (New York 1990), p. 8-49.

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Modernity both tested and expanded Jewish women’s traditional roles. Anglo-Jewish leader Gertrude Spielman served on the Committee for the Norwood Jewish Orphanage but resented that the charity limited the number of committee seats designated for women. “Membership of the Committee” she argued, “should be solely a matter of merit and should not be restricted by considerations of sex… And I cannot understand why archaic prejudices in regard to the co-operation of women in charitable work should still persist.”16 In nineteenth-century England, many from the middle class accepted Victorian ideals: able-bodied men should earn the family’s wage and women of leisure should engage in charitable endeavors. Most expected women to remain within the domestic or private sphere, exhibit submissive behavior, and leave public and political realms to men. Percy Cohen, who reflected upon the patriarchal structures of Britain and Judaism in an article in 1913, noted that some Jewish women thought they were treated as man’s inferior. These women however, failed to understand that men and women were not inferior or superior to one another; the two were “different and complementary”. “Surely”, continued Cohen, “the predominant responsibility of the man in Jewish rites and ceremonies is no more an expression of sex hegemony than is the rule of the Church prohibiting women from becoming Clerks in Holy Orders”. Cohen criticized Israel Zangwill and others who promoted emancipation, which encouraged women to ignore their special functions and undertake activities that were foreign to their nature.17 Ironically, the ideal of womanhood formulated by middle-class men and women tended to limit working-class women’s independence, while charitable activities extended middle-class women’s options.18 History, however, indicates that women had aspirations beyond the domestic realm. Throughout Europe and America, Jewish women established charities, educational programs, maternity services, rescue organizations, settlement houses, and feminist organizations – efforts that were typical of women of the “host” societies as well, but that nonetheless challenged traditional restrictions. These endeavors offered women extensive leadership experience, spawned a cadre of skilled volunteers, and allowed women to participate – and ultimately to mold – Jewish life in ways that meshed with the conditions of modernity they faced. Work that aided the needy was both a “natural” extension of an old role ccccccc 16. 17.

18.

The Jewish Chronicle (JC), March 20, 1914. P. Cohen, “Jews and Feminism”, Westminster Review 180 (1913). The quotes may be found respectively on p. 457, 458, 459, 460, and 461. For a contrasting view, see: E. de Bruin, “Judaism and Womanhood”, Westminster Review 180 (1913), p. 124-132. American rabbis expressed similar views; Toll, “A Quiet Revolution”, p. 17. On perceptions of nineteenth-century women and their relationship to philanthropy, see M. Vicinus, Independent Women: Work and Community for Single Women, 1850-1920 (Chicago 1985). On Victorian ideology, domesticity, and religion, see C. Hall, “The Early Formation of Victorian Domestic Ideology”, in: S. Burman (ed.), Fit Work for Women (New York 1979), p. 15-32.

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and a route to a new one for women, providing outlets for religious, cultural, political, and feminist goals. Jewish women’s excursions down these new avenues garnered support and criticism. Some observers believed that charitable activities were perfectly acceptable. In 1909, A.H. Jessel argued that the emancipation of women meant that philanthropic duties no longer clashed with domestic ones, that in fact, women should take part in public life; such activities were consonant with Jewish tradition.19 But internal anxiety over assimilation, and the identification of women as responsible, were common from the late nineteenth century on. In America and Britain, critics equated women’s participation in communal activities with abandonment of the home and its duties and occasionally with neglect of Judaism.20 Nonetheless, scholars such as Marion Kaplan argue quite convincingly that Jewish women were more likely to continue ritual observance and to retain significant ties to Judaism than their fathers and husbands. Thus Jewish women mediated both the acculturation of their families within middle-class German society, and the maintenance of their families’ ethnic and religious ties to Judaism.21 Although observing that “for most of the modern period, Jewish women display[ed] fewer signs of radical assimilation than men”, and intermarried less often, Paula Hyman notes that men often blamed women for secularization. Hyman does not claim “that women were by nature more loyal than men to Jewish tradition”, but rather, “that middle-class gender norms of behavior eroded traditional patterns of Jewish practice among men while facilitating a measure of Jewish ritual observance among women”. Criticism of women, and especially mothers, by Jewish men for failing to maintain and pass on Jewish traditions, Hyman writes, “enabled Jewish men in western and central Europe to continue the process, and the project, of Jewish assimilation”.22 Many Jewish women, however, despite – or because of – limited opportunities in religious and synagogue life, invigorated their Judaism by creating and maintaining Jewish-sponsored services for their community. Indeed it was pre-

ccccccc 19. 20. 21.

22.

JC, June 25, 1909. Wenger, “Jewish Women and Voluntarism”, p. 33. For a fuller discussion of this issue and the lives of German Jewish women more generally in latenineteenth- and early-twentieth-century Germany, see M. Kaplan, The Making of the Jewish Middle Class: Women, Family and Identity in Imperial Germany (New York 1991); M. Kaplan, “Gender and Jewish History in Imperial Germany”, in: J. Frankel and S. Zipperstein, eds., Assimilation and Community: The Jews in Nineteenth Century Europe (Cambridge 1992), p. 200-201. See also M. Rozenblit’s review “The Making of the Jewish Middle Class: Women, Family and Identity in Imperial Germany”, The Journal of Interdisciplinary History 25 (1994), p. 139-141. P. Hyman, Gender and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History: The Roles and Representation of Women (Seattle 1995), p. 12, 19, 25, 49; and idem, “Feminist Studies and Modern Jewish History”, in: Davidman and Tenenbaum, Feminist Perspectives on Jewish Studies, p. 126-129.

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cisely their activism that enabled many Jewish women to remain deeply tied to the Jewish community. Many of these social service activities mirrored, and occasionally predated, those common among middle- and upper-class Christian women.23 Furthermore, Jews lived in societies that valued participation in the public sphere and, like their neighbors, saw “associational initiatives as fundamental to the formation of a bourgeois civil society”. Yet, Jews tended to participate in a more attenuated public sphere, one that in many instances paralleled the dominant public sphere.24 Even with increased acculturation, Jews remained demographically distinct, resulting both from a sense of commonality with other Jews and lingering anti-Semitism.25

Jewish Philanthropy: Gender, the middle class and Jewish solidarity Clearly, many, perhaps most women, valued distinct Jewish organizations. Furthermore, most accepted the notion of separate spheres.26 Many viewed philanthropy as the natural extension of women’s inherent maternalism. Middle- and upperclass women believed they had a responsibility, consistent with their class and status, to participate in charitable activities. Women used their organizational affiliations to legitimize a wider range of acceptable activities. A rich range of sources document these views, among them the papers of British communal organizations such as the Sick Room Helps Society, the Jewish Association for the Protection of Girls and Women, the Union of Jewish Women, the National Council of Jewish Women in America, and Germany’s Jüdischer Frauenbund. Jewish approaches to philanthropy reveal middle-class Jewish communal pri-

ccccccc 23.

24.

25.

26.

Wenger notes that American women who were “anxious to keep pace with their gentile sisters but strongly committed to their role in Jewish life, created a women’s club specifically geared to their Jewish needs”. Wenger, “Jewish Women and Voluntarism”, p. 24. G. Eley, “Nations, Publics, and Political Cultures: Placing Habermas in the Nineteenth Century”, in: C. Calhoun, ed., Habermas and the Public Sphere (Cambridge 1992), p. 298; and S.L. Tananbaum, “Philanthropy and Identity: Gender and Ethnicity in London”, Journal of Social History 30 (June 1997), p. 937-961. While German Jews, Kaplan argued, “flaunted their Germanness”, they did not “surrender entirely their identity as Jews” and they tended to remain socially apart, both a result of exclusion by gentiles and ties to each other. Kaplan, “Gender and Jewish History”, p. 201. The dilemmas over appropriate roles may have been most stark for Zionist women. See C. Prestel, “Zionist Rhetoric and Women’s Equality (1897-1933): Myth and Reality”, San Jose Studies 20 (1994), p. 4, 5, 12, 13, 19; and Das Jüdische Echo (1925), p. 746, as cited by Prestel, p. 7. Mary McCune suggests women made a positive virtue of their biological destiny – not only were women life-giving, but “more steadfast than men”, and more pragmatic. M. McCune, “Social Workers in the Muskeljudentum: ‘Hadassah Ladies’, ‘Manly Men’ and the Significance of Gender in the American Zionist Movement, 1912-1928”, American Jewish History (June 1998), p. 135-137, 140, 143, 149.

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orities as well as gender and class expectations. Like their gentile peers, Jewish women emphasized deference, cleanliness, tidiness, and moral restraint. Mrs. Lucas, a leader in the Jewish Board of Guardians (JBG) and President of the Workrooms, would not give out sewing unless the women came in their bonnets.27 Several of the JBG’s committees focused on women. Their workrooms taught the tenets of Judaism, sewing, order, and thrift.28 By 1883, the Board had established a Ladies’ Visiting Committee whose members visited the homes of the poor and offered advice on domestic and personal hygiene.29 Confident that it was impossible to overrate the benefits of moral training, middle-class women used communal services to impose values, discipline, and a commitment to the Jewish community through every conceivable method.30 Jewish philanthropists, like their gentile counterparts, valued work among the deserving poor, particularly mothers and babies. Such efforts consciously promoted Jewish continuity and solidarity. Alice Model, born to a middle-class family in 1856, was a pioneer in maternal and child welfare and devoted much of her life to voluntary causes. She began doing social work in the East End after her marriage in 1880, and like a growing number of women of her time, expanded women’s acceptable horizons through her involvement in charitable activities.31 She launched programs that contributed to the reduction of the staggering infant mortality rates. Beginning in 1895, Model actively promoted health care among the poor by establishing the Sick Room Helps Society (SRHS) and helped to systematize maternal care among the poor. The Jewish Board of Guardians, the primary relief agency among the Jewish poor, spoke approvingly of the Society in its annual report of 1896 and expressed great satisfaction that the female-led and run SRHS had distributed relief, and that there had been “no diversion of the grant from its legitimate object”.32 Thus Model advanced maternal care, created explicitly Jewish-sponsored services, and fostered Jewish women’s communal participation. Through their charities, social reformers encouraged mothers to adopt English styles of child-rearing, offering suggestions on food, clothing, and hygiene, all within a Jewish setting. At the Jewish Day Nursery, also founded by Model (1896), babies received medical care and baths. The nursery charged a fee to avoid pauperization and the staff cared for their charges on the “best hygienic principles”.33 The Nursery ccccccc 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

JC, March 14, 1902. Jewish Board of Guardians (JBG), Annual Report, 1889, p. 21. JBG, Annual Report, 1883, p. 2. JBG, Annual Report, 1898, p. 5. “The Alice Model Nursery”, “Notes for Mr. Gebert”, Gerson Papers and E. Rantzen, “The Story of the Alice Model Nursery”, Gerson Papers. JBG, Annual Report, 1896, p. 66; JBG, Annual Report, 1901, p. 20. G.D.L.L.B. Black, “Health and Medical Care of the Jewish Poor in the East End of London, 18801939” (Ph.D. thesis, University of Leicester 1987), p. 104. “Notes for Mr. Gebert”, Gerson Papers,

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removed children of working mothers from tenements, provided an English-speaking environment, and encouraged mothers to utilize a service endorsed by social reformers and public health officials alike.34 Regular contact with East End mothers allowed nursery workers to reinforce ties within the Jewish community and encourage immigrants to adopt habits of which anglicized Jews approved. Mothers who left children in properly supervised child-care facilities received praise, a message reinforced through the nourishment and attention their children received.35 While London’s Jewish community provided pioneering services, the concerns about mothering were a common theme of the day.36 Run by volunteers from north and northwest London, committee members played leading roles in nearly every women’s organization in the Jewish community. They organized countless meetings, did extensive fundraising, wrote letters to the press, and played a significant role in shaping communal services and policies so central to modern Jewish life.

The “New Woman” Particularly relevant to this discussion was the establishment of Britain’s first Jewish women’s organization. In 1902, a group of prominent women organized its founding conference, attended by some 500 women. At its conclusion participants resolved to create the Union of Jewish Women (UJW), an organization that would form “a bond between all Jewish women of all shades of opinion, religious, social and intellectual”.37 The Jewish Chronicle (JC) considered the conference as important enough to publish the papers delivered at this first major conference organized by and for female Jewish philanthropic workers. The Union had a gender-based justification and described itself as “essentially a Guild of Service for women, centralizing and distributing the work, the experience, the energy and the sympathy of an all-embracing sisterhood”.38 The UJW used the rhetoric of separate spheres, yet supported female activism.39 They tried to attract “working and necessitous ladies” to their ranks, but few could afford the subscription.

ccccccc

34. 35. 36.

37. 38. 39.

London. The Nursery opened October 1, 1900 according to the Jewish Chronicle. JC, February 7, 1902; JC, February 28, 1902. Day Nursery for Jewish Infants, Second Annual Report, 1898-1899. See C. Dyhouse, “Working-Class Mothers and Infant Mortality in England, 1895-1914”, Journal of Social History 12 (1978), p. 248-267. On perceptions of irresponsible mothers, see also footnotes 50-55. For an excellent discussion of Anglo-Jewish maternity services, see: L. Marks, Model Mothers: Jewish Mothers and Maternity Provision in East London, 1870-1939 (Oxford 1994). On the development of maternal and child welfare services in Britain, see D. Dwork, War is Good for Babies and Other Young Children: A History of the Infant and Child Welfare Movement in England, 1898-1918 (London 1987). UJW, Annual Report, 1905, p. 9. UJW, Annual Report, 1905, p. 9. Wenger, “Jewish Women and Voluntarism”, p. 25, 29.

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My reading of their papers supports and builds on earlier work by Rickie Burman, who notes in her analysis of the 1902 conference that early images of these women stressed their earnestness, modesty, inferior intelligence to men, and their lack of methodology in charitable work.40 At their founding conference, Julia Cohen, the first president, opened the meeting by describing the distinction between male and female philanthropic work. She suggested that men dealt with “larger questions with wide economic bearings”, focused on legal and institutional solutions, while women attended to “detail work”, encouraged morality and cleanliness among the poor, and could foster appreciation of good housing.41 During the months surrounding the conference, the JC published a series of articles focusing on female leaders that highlighted contemporary attitudes. The article on Mrs. Nathaniel Montefiore suggests there was discomfort when women did not meet traditional expectations. Montefiore’s “intellectual gifts” were, according to the JC, “very high, almost of a masculine order”.42 She lacked feminine weakness, had little patience for lack of thoroughness or ignorance of practical methods, and saw these problems as more common in women than men. She was not good at traditional female tasks and she often sat at her workmanlike writing table for hours; she was unusual since she was more interested in managing than in beautifying.43 Some commentators were less ambivalent about these “New Women”, noting that “the new century will be remembered as one in which women quietly and unostentatiously, but very surely, have proved their right to be regarded as the equal of men in many matters where formerly they had no voice, or at any rate, no official voice”.44 Both Anglo-Jewish newspapers commended the UJW for contributions to the community.45 Members befriended Jewish women, created a labor exchange, helped to coordinate services for women, and established a 4-percent building association. According to the JC, the type of work undertaken by the UJW justified the appointment of women to responsible positions in communal organizations. The Union was “one of the products of the movement which sought to give Jewesses a greater share in the work of the community”.46 It was

ccccccc 40.

41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

R. Burman, “Middle Class Anglo-Jewish Lady Philanthropists and Eastern European Jewish Women: the First National Conference of Jewish Women, 1902”, in: J. Grant (ed.), Women, Migration and Empire (Stoke-on-Trent 1996), p. 130-131. Mrs. N.L. Cohen, “Preliminary Address, Report of the Conference of Jewish Women”, London: JC Office, 1902, p. 12. JC, May 2, 1902, as cited by Burman, “Middle Class Anglo-Jewish Lady Philanthropists”, p. 131. Ibid., typescript, p. 8-9. JC, February 21, 1902. Jewish World, January 31, 1908; May 22, 1908; JC, January 15, 1904; February 18, 1910. JC, January 18, 1907.

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without doubt, the most important achievement of Jewish women, and, being in touch with every one of our communal institutions, as well as keeping itself closely informed of all the women movements of the day it represents a most progressive note amongst our womenfolk and is entitled to the hearty support of everyone of us.47

One fascinating effort on the part of the UJW was their interwar Housing Scheme. The Union formed a Public Utility Society and built moderately priced flats for “ladies of limited incomes”. For several years in the 1930s, satisfied tenants occupied all flats. By 1935, the Union found that the increased availability of one room flats meant that “the need to make special provision for gentlewomen no longer exists”. Disappointed, the Union ended the scheme.48 Interestingly, the effort drew women to the kinds of issues they once defined as outside their purview – larger social questions and finance – and shows how extensively Jewish women’s philanthropic efforts had matured and changed. Throughout the twentieth century, the UJW remained convinced of the need and value of women’s organizations, and their crucial role in defining a place for modern Jewish women. Finally, in 1920, the UJW could report that the Board of Deputies had admitted women. Mrs. Spielman, who chaired the annual general meeting, saw “the principle of representation by women on behalf of women, [as] a great step forward”, and suggested the timing was perfect to seek “the synagogue vote”.49 Four years later, in 1924, Mrs. Eichholz, the President, noted that at no time in history had there been a greater need for a women’s organization. While she recognized that “in the general Community, women have, as a whole, achieved a great deal of success, … the position of Jewish women is not so satisfactory”. Women, for example, still lacked “the Synagogue Franchise”.50 Their aspirations for greater equality remained unfulfilled.

Protecting Girls and Women: an international concern From the perspective of public relations, the Jewish Association for the Protection of Girls and Women (JAPGAW), founded by prominent women in 1885, may have been Jewish women’s most important effort. The JAPGAW sought “to protect Jewish girls and women from evil influences, and from lives of suffering, slavery, degradation and sin”. As the women familiarized themselves “with the nature of the evil they were attacking”, they decided to establish a Gentlemen’s Committee to undertake “preventive and juridical” work which included meeting ships, accompanyccccccc 47. 48. 49. 50.

JC, February 12, 1909. UJW, Annual Report, 1932, p. 1; 1933, p. 1; 1935, p. 14-15. UJW, AJ 26, C-4, Annual General Meeting, February 9, 1920, p. 3. UJW, AJ 26, C-7, Minutes of the Annual General Meeting of the Union of Jewish Women, Monday, February 18, 1924.

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ing young women to safe addresses, the occasional and sometimes dramatic rescue, and legal proceedings.51 The JAPGAW’s leaders believed that girls faced enormous temptations in a city such as London. Unmarried mothers especially, who could barely support themselves, let alone an infant, might turn to prostitution unless they received assistance. Viscountess Bearsted, who presided over a major fundraising dinner, though “not a great feminist, nor… an upholder of what is known as Women’s Rights”, still thought it appropriate that a woman appealed to those gathered “for that great unhappy sisterhood of ours, who, whether by grievous weakness or sin, or by force of circumstances… are suffering in a condition which is a blot on modern civilization”.52 The JAPGAW had a range of goals; to an extent they sought to anglicize, but they also wanted to highlight Jewish efforts to stem Jewish involvement in prostitution and the white slave trade. They feared that anti-Semites would capitalize on Jewish participation in vice and responded with a very public Jewish purity campaign. Rescue workers alerted the community to vulnerable co-religionists and unsavory pimps. They also sponsored the Sara Pyke House, to shelter “friendless” working girls “bereft of natural guardianship”. This type of girl needed “if possible [to] be cared for and protected by societies formed for that purpose, so that she is looked after during the most dangerous period of her life, when on all sides she is surrounded by evilly-disposed men, and to our shame, women, who drag her down to lasting degradation and living death”.53 The Association saw its efforts as a Jewish duty: a way to protect the community’s reputation and to keep all Jews, even the fallen, within the fold. Similar issues captured the attention of Jewish women in Germany and America. Under the guidance of Bertha Pappenheim, the Jüdischer Frauenbund (JFB), founded in 1904, played a key role in Jewish rescue work. Pappenheim worked diligently to expose white slavery to unbelieving co-religionists, to establish prevention programs, and to rescue those who had been tricked or who had succumbed. Her efforts, according to Marion Kaplan, angered Jewish leaders, but like her sisters in England, Pappenheim feared that poor and unskilled Eastern European girls would turn to prostitution; assisting Jewish prostitutes was essential if the Jewish community was to avoid accusations of complicity. Rooted in the era in which Pappenheim founded it, the JFB undertook projects that were generally “not a threat to their [members’] class status or to their traditionalism”. Kaplan contends that “in contrast to American and British feminists, the German (and German Jewish) tradiccccccc 51.

52. 53.

Transactions of the International Congress on the White Slave Traffic, held in London on June 2123, 1899, at the invitation of the National Vigilance Association, London: NVA, 1899, p. 146. See also, JAPGAW, Annual Report, 1898, p. 15-28; 1904, p. 7-14. Jewish Graphic, May 18, 1928. Official Report of the Jewish International Conference on the Suppression of the Traffic in Women and Girls, held on April 5-7, 1910 in London, convened by the JAPGAW (London 1910), p. 166-171.

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tion of feminism was built upon the assumption of certain natural differences between sexes”. The records of British and American Jewish feminist organizations however, suggest the same essentialist assumptions undergirded their ideologies and rhetoric. As Kaplan notes, Pappenheim’s “ideas were typically Victorian”.54 Yet she also argues that most other German Women’s groups avoided involvement in anti-white slavery campaigns, while among Jewish women, it “was used as a stratagem for expanding women’s sphere and for creating useful social roles for themselves”. JFB members tended to consider all, even willing, prostitutes, enslaved victims. The real culprits were the double standard, the uncertainties of the job market, and the “low status of women in the Jewish religious tradition”.55 The JFB’s feminism reflected both internalized patriarchal views and women-centered concerns. Simultaneously, Pappenheim favored increasing educational and career opportunities for women and promoted full participation in society as she championed “the sacredness of the family and insisted that every woman fulfill her responsibilities as a wife and mother first”.56 Pappenheim was not only more personally involved in rescue work than many UJW members, but viewed women’s legal disabilities and inferior status as a central matter for the JFB. She chastised religious leaders for failing to ease the hardships Jewish marriage and divorce laws caused women.57 Like Pappenheim, large numbers of German Jewish women became involved in Jewish organizations. Kaplan’s research on German Jewish women, like my own on British Jewish women, shows that despite exclusion from the centers of Jewish power, Jewish women “contributed continuity and organization to the national, local, cultural, educational and social welfare aspects of Jewish communal life”.58 In America, the National Council of Jewish Women, founded in 1925, initially emphasized women’s natural roles, but it also helped engage Jewish women in ccccccc 54. 55. 56.

57.

58.

M. Kaplan, Jewish Feminist Movement in Germany: The Campaigns of the Jüdischer Frauenbund, 1904-1938 (Connecticut 1979), p. 45, 37, 6-7, 40. M. Kaplan, “Prostitution, Morality Crusades and Feminism: German-Jewish Feminists and the Campaign Against White Slavery”, Women’s Studies International Forum 5 (1982), p. 621, 622. Kaplan, Jewish Feminist Movement, p. 6-7, 40, 37, 45. For a slightly different view of Pappenheim, cf. D. Boyarin, “Retelling the Story of O.; Or, Bertha Pappenheim, My Hero”, in: idem, Unheroic Conduct: The Rise of Heterosexuality and the Invention of the Jewish Man (Berkeley et al. 1997), p. 313-359. Miss Lizzie Hands and her Association for the Improvement of the Legal Status of the Jewish Woman (founded 1922) led a similar campaign in England. Author of a paper on the legal difficulties besetting “Jewesses” with regard to the get, the writ of divorce, her campaign for equality met with little success. It focused much needed attention on abandoned women’s difficulties and those whose marriages were binding in Jewish law, but unregistered with civil authorities. Her goal was to gain Orthodox approval for an improvement of Jewish women’s legal status. See University of Southampton, MS 123 (formerly Anglo-Jewish Archives AJ 13), Papers of the Council for the Amelioration of the Legal Position of the Jewess, 1919-1946. Kaplan, Jewish Feminist Movement, p. 136-137. Kaplan, “Gender and Jewish History”, p. 218.

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larger national political movements, among them suffrage and temperance. Ultimately, according to Evelyn Bodek, work by the NCJW opened “up a new vista for Jewish women… but consequently weakened her role in charitable activities”.59 Each of the philanthropic endeavors I have discussed offered services to co-religionists – providing welfare, recreation, secular and religious education, and job training – and did so consciously as women’s and Jewish agencies. While many of the actual activities were secular in nature, their organizers saw them as integral to Jewish life, and undoubtedly they contributed to the Jewish identity of their sponsors and perhaps to their beneficiaries.60 While reading history backwards from our time is problematic, it seems safe to suggest that today the affiliations of a large number of Jews are ethnic or social, and that Jewish women’s activism from the 1880s on was not only a precursor to this model, but imbued such endeavors with a distinctly Jewish sensibility. In doing so, they established communal activities that challenged predictions about the disastrous consequences of assimilation, and force us to reconsider our definitions of modern Jewish life. Arguably, the women I have described formulated a viable approach that has provided a model for succeeding generations of Jews. This then leads me to ask how or if this pattern characterized the experiences of Dutch women.

Dutch women, the suffrage movement and philanthropy: a telling difference From my limited reading, especially Ruth Abrams’ dissertation, I sense that many Jewish women found leadership roles in the suffrage movement, but that such involvement was almost entirely secular. Abrams raises the possibility that this pattern resulted from the Jewish community’s assimilation, but also that the small number of Jewish women’s organizations reflected the more limited leadership opportunities for Dutch Jewish women than Jewish women elsewhere. Were other factors, different social expectations for women, or less need for specifically Jewish-sponsored services also involved? It seems that Dutch women formed the Joodse Vrouwenraad considerably later than their female co-religionists elsewhere. Abrams suggests that the lack of an immigrant community affected the structure of Jewish philanthropy and thus women’s leadership. While certainly significant numbers of Jewish philanthropic organizations emerged in response to Yiddish-speaking newcomers, the NCJW, JFB, and UJW appealed to middle class women who did not limit themselves ccccccc 59. 60.

Bodek, “‘Making Do’: Jewish Women and Philanthropy”, p. 160. In 1889, a group of single Jewish women in Charleston, South Carolina formed the “Happy Workers” club which had “a religiously based sense of obligation”. Toll notes that over time, organizations such as the NCJW moved beyond traditional activities, turned toward more “scientific” approaches, and extended their work “beyond the ethnic community”. Toll, “A Quiet Revolution”, p. 13-16.

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to acculturation projects. The presence of poor working-class Jews in Holland, albeit Dutch-speaking, would seemingly provide worthy candidates for assistance – particularly for the era covered in this paper. This leads me to ask if there were models of social work other than acculturation. Were there additional Jewish women’s organizations that would benefit from further research – and if they did not exist, how do we account for their absence, especially given the dedication of Dutch Jewry to philanthropy, women’s involvement in secular and educational realms, and the relatively tolerant environment in which Jews lived? Was it this very tolerance, along with differences in the political structure, that explains the trajectory of the modern Jewish community?61 Perhaps the presence of poor Jews generated less urgency and anxiety than in Britain and the U.S., where the established communities understandably feared an anti-Semitic backlash. Only further research will help provide answers to these and similar questions in the future.

ccccccc 61.

R. Abrams, Jewish Women in the International Suffrage Alliance, 1899-1926 (Ph.D. thesis, Brandeis University 1996), p. 96.

Karin Hofmeester

Roosje Vos, Sani Prijes, Alida de Jong, and the others Jewish Women Workers and the Labor Movement as a Vehicle on the Road to Modernity When I joined the Seamstresses Union Allen Een in 1905 Sani Prijes had already left the organization. Still her name was on everybody’s lips, it was still Sani this and Sani that. People spoke of her with appreciation and admiration.

It was Alida de Jong who wrote these words in 1933 in memory of Sani Prijes.1 At that time De Jong herself was an important leader of the Union. Sani Prijes for her part was drawn into the union by Roosje Vos, one of the women who founded Allen Een in 1897. Roosje Vos, Sani Prijes, and Alida de Jong were all born in the Jewish Quarter of Amsterdam in a more or less traditional environment,2 and all three would go on to play a significant part in the labor movement, fulfilling new capacities for Jewish women that offered an alternative to traditional Jewish women’s roles. Their activities affected not only their own lives, but also those of the women who joined the movement and many others who benefited from the fruits of their struggle. The image of the ideal woman learning a trade in order to support her husband as he spends his days studying Torah is a vivid one in Jewish tradition.3 Though

ccccccc 1. 2.

3.

A. de Jong, “In Memoriam of Sani Schmidt-Prijes”, Het Kleedingbedrijf, July 22, 1933. For biographical data on Roosje Vos, Sani Prijes, and Alida de Jong, see M. Elias, “Roosje Vos”, in: A. Holtrop, ed., Vrouwen rond de eeuwwisseling (Amsterdam 1979), p. 155-175; A.F. Mellink, “Vos, Roosje”, in: P.J. Meertens et al. eds., Biografisch woordenboek van het socialisme en de arbeidersbeweging in Nederland I (Amsterdam 1986), p. 144-146; idem, “Roosje Vos (1860-1932)”, Orgaan van de Nederlandse Vereniging tot beoefening van de Sociale Geschiedenis 46 (November 1974), p. 75-87; P.-P. de Baar, “Sani Prijes van de Naaistersbond 1876-1933”, in: J. Giele et al., eds., Jaarboek voor de geschiedenis van socialisme en arbeidersbeweging in Nederland 1980 (Nijmegen 1980), p. 120-143; idem, “Prijes, Sientje”, in: P.J. Meertens et al., eds., Biografisch woordenboek van het socialisme en de arbeidersbeweging in Nederland I, p. 95-97; idem, Alida de Jong 1885-1943. Een vakbondsvrouw van voor de oorlog (n.p. n.d.); and idem, “Jong, Aaltje de”, in: P.J. Meertens et al., eds., Biografisch woordenboek van het socialisme en de arbeidersbeweging in Nederland I, p. 52-54. See P.E. Hyman, Gender and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History: The Roles and Representations of Women (Seattle and London 1995), p. 67-68. For the Netherlands, see R. van Emden, “Inleiding”, in: R. van Emden, ed., Die mij niet gemaakt heeft tot man… Joodse vrouwen tussen traditie en emancipatie (Kampen 1986), p. 41; and E. Gans, De kleine verschillen die het leven uitmaken. Een historische studie naar joodse-sociaal-democraten en socialistisch-zionisten in Nederland (Amsterdam 1999), p. 126.

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more pertinent to Eastern Europe, and rather uncommon in the Netherlands, this image shaped the commonplace idea within Jewish families that it was a good thing if a Jewish girl learned a trade. The nineteenth-century bourgeois ideal of the married woman staying home to keep house and take care of the children was more common among Western European Jews,4 where it conformed with the equally important role of women in marriage and family. The most determining factor, however, was the economic situation of many Jewish families in Amsterdam’s Jewish Quarter, which forced Jewish women (including married women and mothers) to work to support the family. The combination of activities in the private and public domain, i.e. housekeeping and childcare as well as work outside the home, was a very common phenomenon in the social milieu of Roosje Vos, Sani Prijes, and Alida de Jong. What was novel about these women in the labor movement is that they were very prominent in the public sphere. In this article these Jewish female labor leaders will be studied from three different perspectives. Firstly we will explore how they shaped or helped in shaping the labor movement, the trade union movement, the socialist movement, and the socialist women’s movement. Observing from a different angle we can also see how the labor movement ultimately shaped them. This second perspective shows how these three women – all very talented but lacking opportunities during childhood to receive a formal education – developed their talents in the labor movement. Finally, we will consider how their activities in the labor movement influenced their role in family life and society, and how they may have affected the societal role of other Jewish women.

Roosje Vos as Founding Mother Roosje Vos was born in 1860 on the Markensgracht in the center of the Jewish Quarter. Her father Jacob Marcus Vos, a shoemaker, died when Roosje was six years old. Her mother, Schoontje Jacob Fransman, ran a boarding house on the Weesperstraat. She did not earn enough money to support the family so, at the age of fourteen, Roosje was sent to the Jewish Girls Orphanage at Rapenburg, where she stayed until she was twenty-three. In the orphanage, Roosje was trained to be a seamstress. In 1884, when she left the orphanage, she began working as an independent domestic seamstress, which meant that she worked at the home of a “lady”, sewing dresses and underwear and doing all kinds of mending work. Within a period of ten years the garments produced by Roosje Vos and her colleagues could no longer compete with the products of the quickly developing ready-to-wear industry and Roosje started laboring ccccccc 4.

Cf. M. Kaplan, The Making of the Jewish Middle Class: Women, Family and Identity in Imperial Germany (New York 1991); and P. Hyman, Gender and Assimilation.

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in a workshop. She was then well into her thirties, older than most of the women on the work floor. The majority of seamstresses at that time were young, unmarried women still living with their parents; when they married they left the workshop. The low piece wages, long hours, and bad working conditions in the ready-towear industry were of course a burden for all seamstresses, and kept them dependent on the income of others; Roosje Vos, however, had no choice but to support herself. This fact, as well as her age and her independent attitude – probably a consequence of her stay in the orphanage – all stimulated her to take up trade union work.5 And so at the age of thirty-seven she became involved in the formation of the first Dutch Women’s Trade Union: the Seamstresses Union Allen Een. Allen Een was founded in 1897 when a group of Jewish seamstresses protesting a wage cut was simply replaced. The seamstresses placed an advertisement in a socialist newspaper and, with the help of the Men’s Tailors Union and the Vrije Vrouwen Vereniging (Free Women Association) of Wilhelmina Drucker, a first meeting was organized. An executive committee was formed and a public meeting held. Roosje Vos was to be the first chairwoman.6 It is worth noting that Jewish seamstresses were involved in the Union from the very start. Not only were they the strikers whose actions sparked further developments, but they also formed part of the Union board. No membership lists are available, but from articles in the Union’s magazine, De Naaistersbode, we also know that a significant part of the Union’s members was Jewish. In one of these articles a complaint is voiced about the poor attendance of the board meeting of September 19, 1899. This poor attendance was partly to be attributed to the fact that it was the first day of Sukkoth, and partly to insufficient propaganda.7 The relatively large number of Jewish women in the ready-to-wear industry, their shop floor, neighborhood, and probably also family connections facilitated the affiliation of Jewish women with the Union. That ccccccc 5.

6.

7.

In her publications, Roosje Vos criticized the hard-hearted upbringing of children in the orphanage more than once. They were deprived of individual attention and seldom saw the outside world. They were therefore ill-prepared for a life outside the orphanage and, according to her, more than one ended up in the gutter. Girls were especially disadvantaged, as they could only choose between two sorts of vocational training, being a seamstress or a servant, whereas boys could choose from a range of professions. See R. Vos, “Wat kan er gedaan worden om vak-opleiding voor weesmeisjes te bevorderen?”, in: Nationale Tentoonstelling van Vrouwenarbeid. Congres voor Weezen-opvoeding (Amsterdam 1898), p. 44-58. For more information about life in the Jewish Girls Orphanage, see L. Appel, Het brood der doden. Geschiedenis en ondergang van een joods meisjes-weeshuis (Baarn 1982). For orphanages in general see, for example, I. van der Vlis, Weeshuizen in Nederland (Zutphen 2003) and B. Endlich and N. van der Zee, Het Amsterdams Burgerweeshuys (Amsterdam 2003). For a history of the union, see M. Elias, Drie cent in het uur. Over naaisters, feministes en arbeiders rond de eeuwwisseling (Amsterdam 1984); S. Maters, “Een steekje verder. Het korte leven van de Naaistersbond”, in: Werken rondom het IJ. Vakbondsstrijd in vijf Amsterdamse bedrijfstakken, 18701940 (Amsterdam 1981), p. 57-78. De Naaistersbode, October 15, 1899.

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membership was initially only open to women served to produce the unusual situation of women playing an important role on the union’s board; at the end of the nineteenth century women had generally played a much less prominent role in the labor movement. By the end of 1899, Roosje Vos had also joined the political labor movement and became an active member of the Sociaal Democratische Arbeiders Partij (Social Democratic Labor Party [SDAP]). In 1900, at a joint meeting of Dutch labor organizations, she spoke as the only female representative in front of an audience of seven thousand people. A journalist wrote about her presentation: “On the platform one could see the slightly built Miss Vos with her expressive dark eyes high above the audience. One could hear her clear bright voice… from a great distance.”8 At the annual SDAP conference of 1901, she argued for women’s suffrage. When one of the male members of the conference stated that that specific demand was not expedient at that point (the prevailing idea within the social democratic party was that the struggle for men’s suffrage should have priority because of its political feasibility), Roosje Vos responded promptly: “The current struggle of the workers will never be won if the women are not taking part.”9 At the same conference she also pleaded for an eight-hour working day. It was the first time a woman spoke so extensively at a SDAP conference.10 Roosje Vos also supported Mathilde Wibaut and Carry Pothuis who, in 1904, founded the Amsterdamse Sociaal-Democratische Vrouwenpropagandaclub (Amsterdam Social Democratic Women’s Propaganda Club), which disseminated information about the social-democratic movement aimed at women, in the hope that they would eventually join the struggle for women’s suffrage.11 Roosje Vos participated in the Executive of this organization, and also wrote for the Proletarische vrouw, the club’s magazine.

Writing talents and other skills The labor movement was the domain where Roosje Vos developed her talents. Without a doubt naturally gifted, the arena of the labor movement enabled Roosje Vos to develop both her innate eloquence and her writing skills. She produced an enormous amount of clearly lucid articles for the Naaistersbode and its successor De Naaisters en Kleermakersbode. Additionally, she wrote a play in three acts: De Naaister van het verleden, het heden en de toekomst: Drie schetsen uit het Naaistersccccccc 8. 9. 10. 11.

Mellink, “Roosje Vos (1860-1932)”, p. 77. Ibid., p. 78. J. Outshoorn, Vrouwenemancipatie en socialisme. Een onderzoek naar de houding van de SDAP en het “vrouwenvraagstuk” tussen 1894 en 1919 (Nijmegen 1973), p. 22. Ibid., p. 38.

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leven (The seamstress of the past, the present and the future: Three sketches from the life of a seamstress). The play was performed during the third anniversary celebration of Allen Een in 1900. In the sketch of the present life we see a domestic seamstress, a member of the Union and a socialist, fired by her mistress because of her convictions. The main character of this scene, Dora, shows clear resemblances to Roosje. Dora tries to explain to her employer how during her childhood she had suffered from hunger after her father’s death, and how she had not enjoyed a proper education or real love because “where poverty reigns love leaves the house”.12 The next scene in this sketch is situated in a workshop, where a piece wage is paid that is too low according to all the seamstresses, but it is Dora who takes the lead because the other girls do not dare to speak out. One of the seamstresses, Betje, scorns Dora’s big mouth, whereupon Dora says: “It’s easy for Betje to say, she gives her mother one guilder each week and that’s it. But you see, I have nobody. I have to pay four guilders each week for my boarding-house.” Dora convinces the other girls to support her and to cease their work if the employer refuses to pay higher wages, which of course he does. The seamstresses actually do desist from working and the manager of the shop reports to the employer: “You know who’s fault all this is? It Dora’s, not the blond one, but the one with the black eyes.”13 Because the seamstresses strike during high season the owner concedes at the end. A clearer reference to her own person could not be given: Roosje’s dark eyes are often mentioned in descriptions of her. Her own childhood, the poverty, the father who died when she was young, the fact that she had no one to turn to, her inclination to take the lead: it all tells her own life story, including the role of the labor movement in it. The final sketch, the life of the future seamstress, is also illustrative of Roosje’s opinions. We see a nice sunny room with plants, flowers, books, and a piano. Two seamstresses altering dresses talk of what they will do after they have finished their work. One of the seamstresses paints portraits, the other makes sculptures. A third seamstress, who passes by in her car, wearing trousers, tells the others she is writing a book about the miserable situation of seamstresses at the end of the nineteenth century, and how a small group of pioneers helped to stop this barbarism. Apart from the struggle for better working conditions and higher wages that would help to establish women’s independence, it is also the ideal of intellectual development and education that is manifest in the utopian future depicted in her play. Roosje Vos strongly emphasized the educational task of Allen Een. Every Monday evening the Ontwikkelingsclub (Educational Club) met. There were courses in ccccccc 12. 13.

R. Vos, De Naaister van het verleden, het heden en de toekomst. Drie schetsen uit het Naaistersleven (Amsterdam 1900), p. 15-17. Ibid., p. 26.

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Dutch and in English, the seamstresses read poems and novels together, kept a library, and made excursions.14 Sometimes guest speakers, like Aletta Jacobs and Henriette Roland Holst, were invited to lecture. For the young seamstresses there was a separate library and a special magazine called Jong Streven. What the labor movement meant for Roosje Vos and what she wanted it to be for the other members can best be summed up by a quote from one of her articles: “We worked extremely hard these first years, and every objective critic will have to admire us if one thinks how these simple seamstresses formed themselves intellectually and morally with and through the organization.”15 Aside from her life in the public sphere of the labor movement, Roosje of course also had a private life. The first part of that life she spent in a traditional Jewish environment. Roosje Vos was born in the Jewish Quarter and raised in the orthodox orphanage. When she left the unpleasant environment of the orphanage she went to live with her two sisters, one of whom, Saartje Vos, was also to become famous for her often reprinted Oorspronkelijk Israelitisch Kookboek (Original Jewish Cookbook) with recipes for kugel, butter biscuit, gremselich, and chalet.16 We can safely assume that Roosje Vos regularly ate traditional Jewish food on Friday night, and though she left the Jewish Quarter, by living with her sisters kept in close contact with her Jewish relatives. This changed in 1903 when she married the non-Jewish socialist teacher Melle Stel, whom she had met in the movement. This was a big step into the nonJewish world. Mixed marriages were still rare at that time: in 1899, only 3.9 percent of all marriages contracted in Amsterdam involving a Jewish partner were mixed.17 Roosje left Amsterdam and followed Melle to Westeremden in Groningen. For a year she tried to edit the Naaisters en Kleermakersbode from Groningen, but this arrangement proved ineffective. Here, the active role of Roosje Vos in the Seamstresses Union ended. But Roosje remained very involved in the labor movement and helped to build the SDAP branch of Westeremden and later the branch of the Sociaal Democratische Partij (Social Democratic Party [SDP]), a Marxist opposition group that broke away from the SDAP, which she had joined in 1909. In 1919, she was elected to the Provincial government where she would remain until 1927. Roosje lived with her sister-in-law, who kept house, so she could continue her political activities, which she did till her last days. When she died in 1932, Roosje was ccccccc 14. 15. 16.

17.

De Naaisters en Kleermakersbode, February 1, 1907. De Naaisters en Kleermakersbode, February 15, 1907. S. Bloemgarten, “De emancipatie van het joodse proletariaat”, in: H. Berg, ed., De Gelykstaat der Joden. Inburgering van een minderheid (Zwolle 1996), p. 92-106: 103 and M.H. Gans, Memorboek. Platenatlas van het leven der joden in Nederland van de middeleeuwen tot 1940 (Baarn 1988), p. 663. Based on J.H. van Zanten, “Eenige demografische gegevens over de Joden te Amsterdam”, Mensch en Maatschappij 2 (January 1926), p. 1-24:11.

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buried in the communal cemetery in Groningen. (Most Dutch Jews at that time still wanted to be buried in a Jewish cemetery.18) The labor movement had carried her far from her traditional Jewish surroundings and her family. Her relinquishing of almost all activities that had to do with housekeeping and taking care of the family, as well as her explicit function in public life, even after her marriage, meant that her role in society was not that of a typical Jewish woman.

Sani Prijes’s short but influential career in the labor movement Sani Prijes was born in 1876 on the Jodenbreestraat into a humble family; her father Moritz Prijes was a watchmaker, her mother Marianne Speijer a housewife. After elementary school Sani was trained to be a dressmaker, though she very much would have liked to continue her education: “The change from a school to a workshop is one of the most horrible things for a girl who is doing well at school, and who is also very poor… To dream of going to college, of becoming a schoolteacher or a singer or something like that and then to be absorbed by the needle trades.”19 Sani read the works of the socialist writers Henriette Roland Holst and Herman Gorter. This literature stimulated her, as it did her sister Caroline, to become a member of the SDAP. In contrast to Roosje Vos, Alida de Jong, and many other socialists, she first joined the political movement and only then turned to the trade union movement. She described the process: “Well now that I was a socialist I thought it was my obvious though not very attractive duty to organize my fellow workers. After a while I found out that a seamstresses union already existed. Roosje Vos was its chairwoman, Anna Buter its treasurer, and Sophie Heertje its member.”20 This quote is illustrative of the ironic style of Sani Prijes’ writings. Of course the Union, small as it was at the beginning of 1898, had more than just one member, but this was her way of stating that the union was not very big at that time. Roosje Vos reacted promptly to Sani’s appearance: “Well then you should become secretary right away, a secretary is just what we needed.”21 Along with her job as secretary, Sani also became the editor of the Naaistersbode and filled many of its pages with her well-written articles in what was a very personal style. She also was a very good public speaker, traveling the country and speaking for audiences of seamstresses, stimulating them to organize local branches of the Seamstresses Union. She was a genuine role model as the words of one of the members attest: “She has opened the eyes of so many young girls. I can still see her standing, taking the floor ccccccc 18. 19. 20. 21.

E. Boekman, Demografie van de joden in Nederland (Amsterdam 1936), p. 119. Zippora, “Herinneringen uit mijn naaistersleven”, De Naaisters en Kleermakersbode, October 26, 1901. S. Schmidt-Prijes, “Herinnering”, Het Kleedingbedrijf, October 5, 1917. Ibid.

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during a meeting with her dark hair and her big, dark glowing eyes. She used exactly the right words, though she never was trained as a speaker. How could she have been? But she was a natural talent.”22 Sani Prijes was active in the trade union for only a short while, from 1898 till 1902, withdrawing from the Union for health reasons. Beside their unpaid work in the union, labor leaders also had to work for a living, and Sani Prijes’ physical condition did not allow her to keep up both tasks. In 1904, she became secretary of the Amsterdamse Sociaal-Democratische Vrouwen-Propagandaclub of Mathilde Wibaut, but she held the position for only one year.

From trade union official to novelist When Sani joined the trade union she felt unsure of her writing skills. Her first official letter was read and corrected by an acquaintance, a student of Dutch language, before she dared to send it. She practiced and improved her writing by contributing to the union’s magazine.23 Sani herself described how the issues of De Naaistersbode came into being: “If we had an editorial meeting… we read the whole paper aloud, seriously discussing each and every article.”24 Her natural writing talent was stimulated and further developed in the trade union. Just like Roosje Vos, Sani Prijes married a non-Jewish, socialist schoolteacher whom she met in the movement. Frerich Ulfert Schmidt was the leader of the teetotaler movement, and they married in 1901. Within a few years after their marriage, the Prijes-Schmidts became alienated from the socialist movement. Whereas he became even more active in the teetotaler movement, she – still suffering from bad health – withdrew from public life and devoted herself to her daughter, born in 1904. Later, in the late twenties and early thirties, she became a novelist. If we compare the life of Sani with that of Roosje, Sani’s life seems more “traditional” at first sight. She married at a younger age, straight from her parents’ house; she became a mother and kept house. If we look closer, however, we see that the Jewish milieu in which she grew up was not that traditional: Sani and Frerich first lived together in the home of her parents before they married. Apparently her parents had no objections to a non-Jewish fiancé or premarital cohabitation. During her marriage Sani obtained her secondary school teaching certificate in Economics and Philosophy and started writing, a somewhat non-conventional behavior for the time. She chose Sani van Bussum as a pseudonym, referring to the place to where she and her husband had moved. ccccccc 22. 23. 24.

De Proletarische Vrouw, August 3, 1933. Het Kleedingbedrijf, October 5, 1917. Ibid.

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Van Bussums’ novels were partly autobiographical. In 1930, she wrote Een bewogen Vrijdag op de Breestraat: Een vertelling uit de tweede helft der negentiende eeuw (A stirring Friday in the Breestraat: A story from the second half of the nineteenth century), and in 1933 she published Het Joodsche bruidje: Een zedenschets uit onze dagen (The Jewish bride: A morality play of our times). In both novels the Jewish milieu is described in a very loving, well-informed manner. From them we can gather some clues about her opinion of life as a Jewish woman in modern times, and on the integration of Jewishness with Modernity as such. In Een bewogen Vrijdag we read about a young couple in the second half of the nineteenth century in the Jodenbreestraat. They are expecting their first child. The woman is having great pains in childbirth; the delivery is taking days and the whole family is concerned, walking in and out of the house. One of the family members is a girl named Bekkie who, like a walking newspaper, keeps track of news from the Jewish Quarter and the rest of the world. She approaches the agitated doctor, who checks upon his patient every now and then, and troubles him with questions about all kinds of medical facts. “Had Bekkie lived in another time, she would have gone to college. She would become the pride of science, if not of politics. But Bekkie lived in an age when a woman did not know what to do with her clear, clever head.”25 Sani Prijes described proletarian Jewish circles at the end of the nineteenth century in which women had very little access to higher education. Still, her depiction of this milieu is a loving one. The threat of secularization is felt, but also the expectation that Jewish life would survive even if it would be in a form other than the traditional one. This is shown by the author’s comments about a young rabbi who also comes by every now and then, not knowing what to do about the situation in the house or in the rest of the world. “O dear rebbe Jokof, around whom the world is tumbling down” (she had just described the young boys who were godless and walked down the Jodenbreestraat on Sabbath with a cigar in their mouth, eating forbidden food). “Well he would not know it was just a transitional period, that new developments were in the making and that his people would not be lost.”26 We can only guess to what “developments” she was referring. A renewed Jewish community with a modern identity? Het Joodsche bruidje is situated later, in the thirties. It is about an assimilated family at a golden wedding anniversary party. Here we meet a clever aunt: “Aunty had her political views and her sharp critical spirit, her honest mind and her sharp tongue.”27 Aunty was somewhat of a socialist and was very much liked by everyone. This is not the only sign of approved modernity in the ccccccc 25. 26. 27.

S. van Bussum, Een bewogen Vrijdag op de Breestraat. Een vertelling uit de tweede helft der negentiende eeuw (Amsterdam 1930), p. 52-53. Ibid., p. 34. S. van Bussum, Het Joodsche bruidje. Een zedenschets uit onze dagen (Amsterdam 1933), p. 19.

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book. In the family where mixed marriages and freethinkers were represented, a rabbi was also a welcome guest. She describes the ties that bind the whole group: “There was symbolism and meaning in this being together of this seemingly worldly happy group, a lot more was happening than there seemed to be happening.”28 From her novels we can distill Sani’s approval, or perhaps idealized vision, of a lifestyle in which Jewish women play an active role in society; well-educated and active in science or politics. At the same time she envisaged a synthesis of Jewishness and modernity. In Het Joodsche bruidje, Jewish (family) life had changed, allowing room for personal choices, yet still remaining Jewish. It is the lifestyle Sani might have wished to maintain herself, had her health allowed her to do so. Sani Prijes died in 1933 and was buried in the public cemetery in Bussum.29

Alida de Jong: the first female paid union official Alida de Jong was born in 1885 in the Weesperstraat. Her father, Levie de Jong, was an unemployed diamond worker who took up a job as a milkman; her mother, Sara Serlui, was a housewife. Alida was a good pupil, enjoyed school, and would have liked to have been trained as a schoolteacher – as the headmaster advised her to do – but the family was short of money, and Alida became a dressmaker.30 Alida grew up in an orthodox, strongly anti-socialist family. She remembered how she would disparage SDAP leader Troelstra until her brother joined the party, and she herself became involved in Allen Een after a strike in her workshop.31 She would make a meteoric and brilliant career in the Union. In 1905, she became the second chairwoman of the Allen Een branch of the Nederlandsche Bond van mannelijke en vrouwelijke arbeiders in de kledingindustrie en aanverwante vakken (Union of Male and Female Workers in the Clothing Industry), which was founded in 1901 after the amalgamation of Allen Een with the Men’s Tailors Union. This amalgamation enlarged the Union’s power, but diminished the role of female leadership within it. The position of editor of De Naaisters en Kleermakersbode was delegated to a tailor named J.J. Camminga, who was assisted by Marie Maters – the only one of the five board members of Allen Een to play a role in the newly-founded Union. This changed in 1906, when Alida de Jong was chosen to represent Allen Een in the national executive of the amalgamated Union. In 1912, she became the Union’s part-time treasurer, and as such was the very first female paid union official in the Netherlands. In 1914, she relinquished her job as part-time treasurer to become full-time secretary. ccccccc 28. 29. 30. 31.

Ibid., p. 70. De Baar, “Sani Prijes van de Naaistersbond 1876-1933”, p. 142. De Baar, Alida de Jong, p. 12. Ibid., p. 14.

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De Jong represented the Union at conferences of the Nederlandsch Verbond van Vakvereenigingen (The Dutch Alliance of Trade Unions [NVV]), where she was always the only woman present. During these conferences she always pleaded for more NVV action in the organization of women: “To organize women is still very hard… They hope to be freed from slavery by marriage, not knowing that more often than not they will enter slavery again.” The audience laughed,32 yet Alida herself would never marry. Alida fought for general suffrage for men and women, she led strikes, negotiated with employers, and became very involved in the SDAP and the Sociaal-Democratische Vrouwen Propagandaclub. She was a member of Parliament for the SDAP and a member of the Amsterdam Municipal Council. She was involved in all kinds of administrative bodies and always stressed the “intellectual education of our class… especially of those thousands of female workers”.33 In May 1940, as a consequence of the German occupation, the Parliament gathered for the last time. In August 1940, Alida was fired as a union official, and in November all Jewish members of municipal councils were dismissed. Her busy administrative life came to an abrupt end.

A shy child becomes a professional administrator In one of her publications, Alida called herself a “shy child”.34 During her career in the labor movement she overcame this shyness, learned to speak in public, to write articles, and most of all to become a professional administrator. That the labor movement was the arena in which Alida could develop her talents, was clear. In 1926, the Proletarische Vrouw wrote about Alida: “One could see that the audience, representatives of the organized workers, was proud that from their circles a woman had arisen who was capable of such great things. Her speech was warm and inspired and at the same time very informed and substantial. That our modern trade union movement had produced such a powerful and capable woman is an honor for the movement.”35 Alida’s choices were unconventional: she remained single and pursued a career as a professional administrator within the labor movement. Though her attachment to the labor movement was ill-suited to the orthodox-religious environment in which she grew up, she nonetheless lived at her parents’ home in the Weesperstraat until the age of forty-two. She then moved to an apartment in the Rivierenbuurt, followed by her sister Nanette and her brother Jaap. Nanette kept house as Alida was too busy administering. Her nephew Loe de Jong remembered ccccccc 32. 33. 34. 35.

Ibid., p. 26. Ibid., p. 34. Ibid., p. 14. Ibid., p. 30.

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her as not very feminine, a woman who smoked cigarettes and cigars, drank liquor, and drove a car. Though she broke with religious tradition, she stayed in contact with Jewish life, remaining at home in the traditional Jewish Quarter and later moving with her brother and sister to one of the Jewish sections of a new quarter of the city. Only once did she mention her Jewishness in public, when she protested against the pictures of Christmas Bells used to illustrate an action for peace in the Proletarische Vrouw. She stated: “The action for peace should select a symbol with which all of us can identify. For Jewish women this is not the right symbol.” She later stated that she had spoken as a socialist and not as a Jew, which, at best, is probably only partially true.36 Though she did not want to take part in public life and politics as a Jew, in 1940 the occupying forces treated her as such from the very start. She lost all her jobs and became more and more isolated, yet refused to go into hiding. “I have had my life; I will not abandon my seamstresses”, she said to her cousin Loe, who wanted to help her flee to the UK.37 Alida was murdered in Sobibor in 1943.

Jewish women, the labor movement and the road to modernity Roosje Vos, Sani Prijes, and Alida de Jong were three important Jewish women in the labor movement. Of course, they were not the only successful women in the movement, but they were the most prominent. They fought for higher wages and thus economic independence for women, a status they themselves partly achieved. This economic independence even allowed one of them to buy a car, the very symbol of modernity in those days. They also fought for women’s right to vote and stimulated women to take part in political life. They demanded higher education, not just vocational training but enrollment at university so that women would be able to have a career in science or politics. Even if only very few would be fortunate enough to attend college, the labor movement helped women to develop their talents, and the educational programs enabled them to develop self-confidence. Of course, Roosje, Sani, and Alida fought for the rights of women workers in general, and not just for Jewish women, but Jewish women workers were – like Jewish male workers – generally more receptive to these actions. Jewish seamstresses were members of Allen Een, and Jewish female diamond workers were members of a well-organized branch of the Algemeene Nederlandsche Diamantbewerkers Bond (General Dutch Diamond Worker’s Union [ANDB]); they followed the latter’s educational programs, and borrowed books from the Union’s library. When Handccccccc 36. 37.

Gans, Kleine verschillen, p. 129. De Baar, Alida de Jong, p. 50.

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werkers Vriendenkring – the Jewish mutual aid organization established in 1869 that did so much for the development of male Jewish workers – finally opened its doors for women in 1900, Jewish women joined in respectable numbers.38 We also find them in other labor organizations. That our three female leaders were Jewish certainly must have helped some of these Jewish women workers to identify with them. Roosje Vos, Sani Prijes, and Alida de Jong were role models for many Jewish young girls and women. In more ways than one, the labor movement fostered their exploring of new pathways, which they in turn pointed out to others: a road to modernity, one of possible economic independence, self-confidence and self-development, and of a career and social status outside family life and within society. Their activities made the labor movement an acceptable option for Jewish women. They not only served as examples, but also harmonized the movement’s activities on minor points with Jewish traditions – by no longer organizing board meetings on the first day of Sukkoth, or by protesting against the use of Christmas bells as a universal symbol for peace. Of all three women, Sani Prijes was the only one to have explicitly gone one step further: in her novels she created a new form of Jewishness that adapted to modernity. In her fictional world, politically active women, socialists, and rabbis came together, thus broadening the road to modernity even more.

ccccccc 38.

For information on female members of Handwerkers Vriendenkring see Karin Hofmeester, “Als ik niet voor mijzelf ben… De verhouding tussen joodse arbeiders en de arbeidersbeweging in Amsterdam, Londen en Parijs vergeleken, 1870-1914 (Ph.D. thesis, University of Amsterdam 1999), p. 114. For more general information on the Vriendenkring, see A. Caransa, Handwerkers Vriendenkring 1869-1942. Belangenbehartiging, ziekenzorg, volkswoningbouw (Alkmaar 1998).

Marloes Schoonheim

Stemming the Current Dutch Jewish Women and the First Feminist Movement

At the start of the twentieth century, life in the Netherlands continued to be as tempestuous as it had been since the second half of the nineteenth century. The demographic transition characterized by a steep decline in the mortality rate followed by a gradual decline in the fertility rate led to a rapid growth in population. This altered the composition of the citizenry irreversibly by introducing the demographic pattern of the modern family with two or three children and a keen awareness of family planning. Industrialization and economic growth resulted in increasing prosperity that for once did not completely pass over the lower social classes. The estate-based social framework slowly gave way to a more open class structure. Politics evolved from a pleasant (and profitable) pursuit of the upper classes into a means of power and a common right of the middle and lower classes. Being able to address the crowd and win the vote demanded techniques we now recognize to be characteristic of mass organizations. Far-reaching cultural influences like scientific innovation and radical artistic trends complete the image of a society turned topsyturvy. All Western European countries underwent this dramatic development, and in all these countries the societal realization that the assumed way of life of pre-industrial society was over and forever done with resulted in widespread bewilderment and a desire for a redefinition of social identity. In the Netherlands, the powerful influence of competing Christian denominations and political ideologies guided this sense of loss to what we now call pillarization – the compartmentalization of social, economic, political and cultural life along religious and ideological lines. From maternity nursing and primary school, to leisure organizations and trade unions: all was organized individually by each religious denomination or ideological group – be it Protestant, Catholic, Socialist, or Liberal.1 In this way, pillarization worked as a kind of social filter. The different pillars guided their members ccccccc 1.

A. Lijphart, The Politics of Accommodation: Pluralism and Democracy in the Netherlands (Berkeley 1975); S. Stuurman, Verzuiling, kapitalisme en patriarchaat. Aspecten van de ontwikkeling van de moderne staat in Nederland (Nijmegen 1983).

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through the demographic, socio-economic, political, and cultural transformations of the early twentieth century. One of the social movements contributing to the chaotic climate of the time was the women’s movement. In Europe, the first feminist movement evolved in the second half of the nineteenth century. Little by little, women started to unite in order to change some aspects of their social position, which was unequal to that of men in economic, legal, political, educational, and cultural spheres. Various women’s associations were founded, concentrating on the different social areas where women were discriminated. Initially, the associations only attracted women from the upper classes. As one scholar has pointed out, the first feminist movement experienced three changes at the turn of the century. In around 1900, the women’s movement widened due to the growing support from female laborers and confessional women. Secondly, the movement became international in scope, associations co-operated on an international level and the leaders traveled throughout the world to expand the various organizations. At the start of the twentieth century, the first feminist wave intensified. In all Western countries, suffragettes pamphleteered so as to make everybody au fait with their cause. In the US as well as in several Western European countries, demonstrations were organized, and in England several feminists went on a hunger strike to enforce their claims.2 The breakthrough of the first feminist movement took place at the end of the nineteenth century when the Society for Female Suffrage was founded (1894) and the National Exhibition on Female Labor took place in The Hague (1898). The organization was at its strongest in 1916, when its membership numbered more than 22,000, larger than some of the major Dutch political parties.3 In 1919, the Dutch suffragettes succeeded in obtaining the vote for women, winning, through the amendment of Article 84 of the Constitution, both active and passive voting rights, followed in 1922 by a constitutional amendment granting Dutch women political equality.4 The successful fight for female suffrage, however, meant the heyday of the women’s movement was over. The number of members of the Society for Female Suffrage decreased by 90 percent between 1919 and 1930, despite the fact that the Society changed its name to the more embracing Dutch Society for Female Citizens

ccccccc 2.

3. 4.

M. Grever, Strijd tegen de stilte. Johanna Naber (1859-1941) en de vrouwenstem in geschiedenis (Hilversum 1994), p. 28. Around 1900, the cooperation between associations of the first feminist movement increased on an international level. However, as the movement intensified the number of activities and associations working on a national level increased as well. See K. Offen, “Nationalizing Feminisms and Feminizing Nationalisms, 1890-1914”, in: idem, European Feminisms 1700-1950 (Stanford 2000), p. 213-249. Ibid., p. 28. Ibid.

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in 1919.5 The new women’s associations founded in this period were directed towards women’s rights, world peace, or social work. Only in the thirties, when the economic crisis threatened married women’s right to work, was the women’s movement given new inspiration. As Dutch society pillarized during the first decades of the twentieth century, the feminist movement naturally followed suit. Every denomination had it’s own women’s organization that often encompassed aims beyond women’s emancipation. The Catholic Association for the Protection of Young Girls, for example, addressed itself to young women who migrated from the countryside to the cities to find a job and thereby risked being subjected to poverty, or – worse – moral degeneracy. All denominations and ideological groups founded associations of this kind and the Dutch Jewish community was no exception. The Council of Jewish Women, founded by and for Jewish women, even had it’s own periodical called Ha’Ischa (The Woman). But in spite of the rigid social compartmentalization, women of Jewish descent and their organizations worked in close conjunction with women from various Christian denominations in the first feminist movement as well. In this article, I will sketch a portrait of the Jewish women who were drawn to the ideology of the first feminist movement. The sources left by Jewish feminists usually deal with their activities and hardly ever with their identity as both feminists and Jewesses. Nevertheless, I will pursue the question as to whether these women valued their Jewish identity as highly as they did the feminist cause and, if so, how they combined Judaism and feminism. Finally, I will examine the position occupied by Jewish feminists among their non-Jewish “sisters” in the general women’s movement during a period of rising anti-Semitism.

Jewish feminism: a matter of course The presence of Jewish women in the general women’s movement is typical not only of the Netherlands: it is a pattern that transcended national borders. Jewish women filled the ranks of the women’s movement in many European countries as well as in the United States. They left their mark in the extant source material that documented the first feminist wave, partly located in the International Information Centre and Archives for the Women’s Movement (IIAV) in Amsterdam. Unfortunately, the archive of the Council of Jewish Women is lost, but we do have its periodical Ha’Ischa as well as the archives and periodicals of many other women’s organizations. Despite the wealth of information on Jewish women’s participation in the first feminist movement, little research has been done on Dutch Jewish feminists. Indicaccccccc 5.

M. Borkus et al., eds., Vrouwenstemmen. 100 jaar vrouwenbelangen: 75 jaar vrouwenkiesrecht (Zutphen 1994), p. 197.

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tively, the most detailed study of the Jewish contribution to the first feminist movement is a master’s thesis.6 As opposed to the Dutch research on the subject, the historiography of Jewish feminists in Germany, England, and the United States is extensive: for example, Linda Kuzmack compared the American and the English Jewish women’s movement;7 Faith Rogow and Nelly Las published a history of the American National Council of Jewish Women;8 and Marion Kaplan, Marlis Dürkop, and Irmgard Fassmann studied the overrepresentation of Jewish women at the top of the German women’s movement as well as anti-Semitism among non-Jewish feminists.9 In the books and articles of these and similar authors, the evaluation of anti-Semitism in the women’s movement is a topic of special interest. Paula Hyman contributed to Jewish historiography by studying gender and assimilation.10 Considering the lack of attention Jewish women have received in Dutch historiography, one may well wonder about the significance of Jewish women to the first feminist movement. Jewish women made up slightly more than 1.5 percent of the total Dutch female population in 1920.11 As the total number of women involved in the first feminist wave is unknown, we can only estimate the quantitative overrepresentation of Jewish women in the movement. Still, it is remarkable that such a small social group which had been discriminated for centuries was so well represented in the core leadership of the first feminist wave. Although not an unequivocal explanation for the presence of Jewish women in the first feminist movement, socio-economic background accounts strongly for the involvement of many Jewish women with the Feminist cause. With the exception of Roosje Vos,12 a leading member of the first female employee’s organization, Jewish women active in the ccccccc 6.

7. 8.

9.

10. 11. 12.

C. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen in de Nederlandse vrouwenbeweging (1898-1948) (Unpublished doctoraal scriptie, Nijmegen 1997). A publication that pays some attention to the distinct position of Jewish women in the Dutch feminist movement is M. Bosch and A. Kloosterman, Lieve Dr. Jacobs. Brieven uit de wereldbond voor Vrouwenkiesrecht, 1902-1942 (Amsterdam 1985). L.G. Kuzmack, Woman’s Cause: The Jewish Woman’s Movement in England and the United States, 1881-1933 (Columbus 1990). F. Rogow, Gone to Another Meeting: The National Council of Jewish Women, 1893-1993 (Tuscaloosa 1993). N. Las, Jewish Women in a Changing World: A History of the International Council of Jewish Women (ICJW) 1899-1995 (Jerusalem 1996). M.A. Kaplan, The Jewish Feminist Movement in Germany: The Campaigns of the Jüdischer Frauenbund, 1904-1938 (Westport 1979). M.A. Kaplan, “Schwesterlichkeit auf dem Prüfstand. Feminismus und Antisemitismus in Deutschland, 1904-1938”, Feministische Studien 1 (1984), p. 128-139. M. Dürkop, “Erscheinungsformen des Antisemitismus im Bund Deutscher Frauenvereine”, Feministische Studien 1 (1984), p. 140-149. I.M. Fassman, Jüdinnen in der Deutschen Frauenbewegung 1865-1919 (Hildesheim 1996). P.E. Hyman, Gender and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History: The Roles and Representation of Women (Seattle 1995). Census, December 31, 1920, Den Haag. For information on Roosje Vos’s background and activities see the article by Karin Hofmeester in this volume. Cf. Tijenk, Joodse Vrouwen, p. 40-62.

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first feminist movement generally came from an upper-middle-class liberal Jewish assimilated background. Judging from the fact that they dined, traveled, and lodged with non-Jewish feminists, we can presume that the Jewish feminists did not adhere strictly to Jewish laws and did not live the lives of religious Jews. This does not mean that there were no bonds between Jewish feminists and Judaism – they might have had a strong historical consciousness concerning their Jewish background. Additionally, judging from the contacts among Jewish feminists, we know that a large part of their social milieu was Jewish. Furthermore, with the advancements of National Socialism in Germany it is clear that Jewish feminists had a strong sense of solidarity with Jews in the Netherlands as well as in other countries. One of the most prominent feminists of the time, Rosa Manus, became active in relief organization for Jewish refugees in the thirties.13 Another reason that might explain the overrepresentation of Jewish women in the first feminist movement is their then recent experience with emancipation and social struggle. It’s not hard to conceive that the yearning of Jewish women for emancipation went hand in hand with the demand of many Jews for acceptance and integration in Dutch society. The official granting of Dutch citizenship to Jews in 1796 meant the gradual collapse of tightly-knit Jewish communities.14 Dutch Jewry integrated into society and mixed with non-Jewish citizens at all social levels. But even the assimilation that uprooted many Jewish traditions could not dispel the antiSemitism that increasingly gained adherents amongst nineteenth-century Western Europeans.15 Judging from certain statements made by Jewish feminists, many Jewish women were well aware of the double discrimination they endured, both as women and as Jews.16 This awareness might well have served as motivation to join the Jewish Women’s associations that were founded during the twenties. Other Jewish women joined the ranks of the non-denominational feminist movement.

Dutch Feminists of Jewish descent Who were these Jewish feminists? Today, Aletta Jacobs is the most famous Jewess active in the first feminist movement. Besides her involvement in the international women’s movement, Jacobs guided the Dutch Society for Female Suffrage. Despite the fact that she was on familiar terms with many Dutch women’s associations, she stood decidedly aloof from the Council of Jewish Women. In her memoirs, she even ccccccc 13. 14.

15. 16.

Bosch and Kloosterman, Lieve Dr. Jacobs, p. 35. On the naturalization and assimilation of Jews in the Netherlands see H. Berg, ed., De Gelykstaat der Joden: inburgering van een minderheid (Amsterdam 1996); and J.C.H. Blom et al., eds., The History of the Jews in the Netherlands (Oxford 2002). J. Katz, From Prejudice to Destruction: Anti-Semitism, 1700-1933 (Cambridge 1994). Bosch and Kloosterman, Lieve Dr. Jacobs, p. 35.

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distances herself from Judaism, calling herself not a Jewess but a “world citizen”,17 and stating that the Council of Jewish Women was one of the associations that could not count on her support “neither out of political nor out of religious conviction”.18 Still, her name appears in the periodical of the Council of Jewish Women. So did the name of Anna Polak who, as president of the National Department for Female Labor, delivered a number of lectures to the Council of Jewish Women.19 Clara Meijers was a member of the Dutch Association for Women’s Interests and Equal Citizenship, attending the conference of the World League for Women’s Suffrage in 1929, about which she reported in Ha’Ischa.20 Rosa Manus, president of the Society for Female Suffrage, vice president of the Dutch Association for Women’s Interests and Equal Citizenship, and board member of countless other associations, was, like Aletta Jacobs, a respected member of the national and international women’s movement.21 Jeanette Polak-Kiek succeeded Rosa Manus as president of the Dutch Association for Women’s Interests and Equal Citizenship and was a member of the non-partisan Women’s Committee for Refugees.22 Hendrika van Italie-van Embden was a prominent member of the Society for Female Suffrage, as were Ida Hijermans and W. Asser-Thorbecke.23 The journalist Emmy Belinfante ensured that the activities of the women’s movement were known to the general public.24 But these names, all of prominent feminists, appear only with reference to their activities in the (inter)national women’s movement: the personal relationship they had to their Jewish background hardly ever came up. The only Jewish feminist active in both the general women’s movement and in the Council of Jewish Women was Charlotte Lisette Polak-Rosenberg. Much involved in social work, she became a member of the board of the Union for Women’s Interests and the Dutch Association for Women’s Interests and Equal Citizenship.25 In addition to her enthusiasm for social work and women’s issues, she showed a lively interest in the Council of Jewish Women, of which her husband became a benefactor. At the first conference of the council, Charlotte Polak-Rosenccccccc 17. 18. 19. 20.

21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

Ibid., p. 23. A.H. Jacobs, Herinneringen (Nijmegen 1985), p. 317. C. van Eijl, Het werkzame verschil. Vrouwen in de slag om arbeid 1898-1940 (Hilversum 1994), p. 143. See the article by Karin Hofmeester in this volume. Ha’Ischa 1,9 (1929), p. 13-14. Clara Meijers was president of the Federation of Women in Enterprise and Profession from 1936 onwards. The president of the Amsterdam section was Rosina van Vriesland. Another Jewish woman on the board was Jeanette Polak-Kiek. Cf. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen, p. 97-98. Rosa Manus, originating from a middle-class Jewish family, was generally considered to be the link between the Dutch and the International women’s movement. Cf. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen, p. 126-128. Ibid., p. 97-98, 103. Ibid., p. 95. J. Divendal and H. Lakmaker, Tussen rook, alcohol en mannen. Emmy J. Belinfante 1875-1944 (Amsterdam 2001). Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen, p. 85.

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berg gave a lecture on women’s social work.26 She never held a position on the board, but she read papers on social work regularly. The themes of the lectures for the members of the Jewish Women’s Council and those for the general women’s associations were the same, thus proving her motto of solidarity and equality. In 1924, she demonstrated just how much she deplored prejudice and generalizations. One of the members of the Council of Jewish Women in Amsterdam had written an article on the moral differences between Jewish and Christian girls, which was published in the Council’s periodical.27 In a letter published in the next issue, Charlotte Polak-Rosenberg lashed out fiercely at one of the remarks in the article, which claimed that Christian girls lacked spirituality and personality. In her opinion, it was too much of a generalization about both Christians and Jews, and it impaired Jewish dignity. “Let us think about how we would respond on reading in a women’s magazine that a Jewish girl is frivolous and superficial or something of the kind… We would be angry and we would speak – with sorrow or with indignation… – of ‘Risjes’!”28 Despite the fact that Charlotte Polak-Rosenberg remained on friendly terms with the Council of Jewish Women, she neither wrote nor lectured for the council after 1929; the moment the council committed itself to increasing Jewish solidarity, their interests in social work waned.29 Working for the Jewish community was not her priority, however, and she remained active in the general women’s movement until the war.

Dutch Jewesses and the non-Jewish feminist movement Were the Jewish feminists wholly integrated into the non-Jewish women’s organizations or did they have a special position within the movement? In some women’s associations, the presence of Jewish women was met with consideration, for example in the National Council of Dutch Women, an umbrella organization that aimed to unite all of the Dutch women’s associations.30 Representatives of the Jewccccccc 26. 27. 28. 29.

30.

Maandblad van den Joodschen Vrouwenraad 1 (1924), p. 3. The article was written by C. Cats-van Raalte. Maandblad van den Joodschen vrouwenraad 5 (1924), p. 3-4. Maandblad van den Joodschen vrouwenraad 6 (1924), p. 6. An illustration of the changing goals of the Council of Jewish Women may be found in the pamphlet published in honor of the Council’s tenth anniversary. A. Schwimmer-Vigeveno, Joodse Vrouwenraad in Nederland: bij het tienjarig bestaan (1939), International Information Centre and Archives for the Women’s Movement (IIAV). In the thirties, both Charlotte Polak-Rosenberg and Adolphine Schwimmer-Vigeveno (president of the Council of Jewish Women) were members of the board of a commission concerning the adoption of refugee children. Ha’Ischa 2 (1940), p. 18. See the chapter on Adolphine Schwimmer-Vigeveno in: H. Boas, Bewust-joodse Nederlandse vrouwen: veertien portretten (Kampen 1992), p. 131-139. The National Council of Women was founded after the National Exhibition on Female Labour was held in The Hague in 1898. Several women’s associations had co-operated to make the exhibition

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ish member organizations attended the meetings; the availability of kosher food shows that observant members of the Council of Jewish Women attended as well. Remarkably no consideration was shown for Jewish women with regard to the planning of the meetings, which were often held on Friday and Saturday evenings.31 The Council’s Protestant character and its prayer services at the opening of general meetings aroused protest among some Jewish women. Nevertheless, Hannah van Biema-Hijmans was president of the Council from 1912 until 1917, and Anna Polak and Aletta Jacobs both served as vice president for a time. The international committees that were part of the Council had many Jewish members: Emmy Belinfante was occupied with matters of the press and Hendrika van Italie-van Embden was concerned with peace issues.32 All these women came from assimilated backgrounds, and their Jewish identity was not their primary concern. In the Council as a whole, the difference between feminists of Jewish and non-Jewish background didn’t seem to matter much either. However, this situation might owe less to the acclaimed equality of all “sisters” in the struggle for women’s equality than to the fact that considerable differences of opinion existed within the Council, and that divisions formed based upon other criteria. The members distinguished radical from conservative feminists: the most prominent, aristocratic members seemed to be too concerned with the socialists in the council to notice the differences of religious background amongst themselves.33 The question whether the council remained free from anti-Semitism or whether it was merely preoccupied with other prejudices, might be answered by looking at the attitude of the council toward National Socialism. Though Germany’s anti-Semitic measures were met with strong disapproval during meetings, the opposition, including the Jewish members of the Council, remained moderate. Charlotte Polak-Rosenberg, one of the Jewish members of the Committee against the Double Standard for Women and Children, could appreciate the German treatment of unmarried mothers despite the fact that she acknowledged that treatment to be limited to “Aryan” women.34 The fact that one of the National Council of Dutch Women’s members, Adèle Schreiber, had been unable to return to her native country Germany was mentioned during a meeting, but not the reason why.35 In a report on relief for German refugees, the fate of Jews in Eastern Europe was discussed only

ccccccc

31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

successful, and wished to continue the co-operation. This National Council of Dutch Women aimed to unite all associations improving the moral, economic, or legal position of women. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen, p. 62-65. Ibid., p. 71. Ibid., p. 73. Bosch and Kloosterman, Lieve Dr. Jacobs, p. 61-62. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen, p. 75. IIAV, General Meeting Report 35, April 5-7, 1934.

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briefly. Only within the ranks of the Council of Jewish Women was the lack of attention to the threat National Socialism represented to Jews acknowledged.36 It seems that the concern of the National Council of Dutch Women about Nazism and anti-Semitism was genuine, but they recognized neither the reality nor immediacy of the threat. Only during the thirties was the threat of Nazi Germany, made evident by the increasing number of refugees, recognized by the National Council of Dutch Women. In 1935, the Council urged the government and all associations involved in the women’s movement to reconcile differences in ethnicity.37 Additionally, the Council tried to be more considerate to its Jewish members and took care not to organize meetings on Jewish holidays.38 During the late thirties, many women’s associations had to clarify their attitude towards National Socialism: to defy it or simply comply. In some of the women’s associations during the late thirties, troubles suddenly arose concerning the appointment of Jews to posts on the board. In 1933, the Amsterdam section of the Dutch Association for Women’s Interests and Equal Citizenship needed a new vice president. According to some members of the board, the Jewish candidate was preferable to the non-Jewish nominee. Other members on the board, however, preferred a non-Jewish candidate because that would prevent the association from getting a “Jewish reputation”, which was considered inopportune in view of the increasing anti-Semitism. Both Rosa Manus, the president and a Jewess herself, and the non-Jewish members of the board held this view. Similar discussions took place in the Dutch Society for Working Women. A speaker invited to a meeting, Rosa Kisch, was cancelled because all the other speakers that evening were Jewish as well. This argument infuriated non-Jewish members of the Society, who felt this to be an unconscious act of anti-Semitism. But, as in the case of Rosa Manus in the Dutch Association for Women’s Interests and Equal Citizenship, it was the Jewish president, Rosina van Vriesland, who argued for a smaller “Jewish” share in the meeting.39 The Dutch women’s movement was slow to recognize the danger of National Socialism for its own members of Jewish origin. The taking of an active stand against National Socialism was rare. Only the Council of Jewish Women had been active in refugee assistance at the onset of the stream of refugees.40 In 1938, the Council decided to stir itself to action and established a Committee for Migration.41

ccccccc 36. 37. 38. 39. 40.

41.

Ha’Ischa 6,2 (1934), p. 92. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen, p. 76. Ibid., p. 77-80. Ibid., p. 107-109. The president of the Jewish Women’s Movement, Adolphine Schwimmer-Vigeveno, held a seat on the board of the Jewish Refugee’s Committee, founded in 1933. Boas, Bewust-joodse Nederlandse vrouwen, p. 136. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen, p. 80-81.

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In that same year, the National Council of Dutch Women adopted a motion stating the Council’s indignation concerning the fate of Jews in “many supposed civilized countries”.42 The motion was passed in the International Women’s Council in Edinburgh, though slightly adapted.43

The Council of Jewish Women Women with a Jewish background like Aletta Jacobs might have shown a greater commitment to feminism and very little affiliation to Judaism, but they did ultimately serve as an example for many Jewish women. Just as Aletta Jacobs was the trailblazer for female students,44 Jewish feminists set an example for Jewish women who were more committed to the Jewish community than to feminism. In 1924, the president of the Council of Jewish Women of Amsterdam, Caroline Wijsenbeek-Franken, presented Jewish feminists as models for Jewish women in the Jewish family magazine De Vrijdagavond, but she also pointed out that there was no place for these feminists in their own Jewish community. “Until recently”, Caroline Wijsenbeek-Franken writes, “one presumed that a good Jewish woman kept to the family and that the ones that betook themselves outside the family were considered, not entirely mistakenly, to enter into the non-Jewish environment”. She pointed to the renown won by Jewish women within the women’s movement because of their pioneering work. “These women”, she proceeds, “are still lost for their own [Jewish] people, because they are warmly received in an environment where their mental gifts and their exuberant spirit are eagerly accepted. The women’s movement does not know of anti-Semitism”. Caroline Wijsenbeek-Franken admits that these feminists of Jewish background have been, as it were, the precursors to the Jewish women’s movement, because they made Jewish women aware of their position within the Jewish community.45 That there was a difference between Jewish feminists and Jewesses involved in emancipation is made manifest by the fact that Jewish women active in the general Dutch women’s movement were not involved in the founding of the Council of Jewish Women in 1921 in Amsterdam, The Hague, Rotterdam, and Utrecht. The initiative was taken by a delegation of the American National Council of Jewish Women.46 The councils were intended for consciously Jewish women, and among ccccccc 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

Ha’Ischa 10,5 (1938), p. 106. Ha’Ischa 11,2 (1939), p. 31. J.C.H. Blom and J.J. Cahen, “Jewish Netherlanders, Netherlands Jews, and Jews in the Netherlands, 1870-1940”, in: J.C.H. Blom et al., History of the Jews, p. 230-285: 248. C. Wijsenbeek-Franken, “De Jong-Joodsche vrouwenbeweging”, De Vrijdagavond 1,15 (1924), p. 231. E. Visser, “Op bezoek bij Mevr. Caroline Wijsenbeek-Franken, presidente van den Amsterdamschen Joodschen Vrouwenraad”, De Vrijdagavond 1,48 (1924), p. 324-344: 343.

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the members could be found both orthodox women and Zionists. The councils aimed to encourage solidarity among Jewish women and to foster the organization of Jewish social work.47 In 1929 the local councils merged into the National Council of Jewish Women. During the thirties, the Council’s members numbered approximately 2,000.48 The Council’s periodical, Ha’Ischa, did not deal with matters of social work and charity, nor with feminist issues; but rather the articles, often of high quality, concerned Judaism: Jewish religion, the development of Palestine, and the political situation abroad.49 The Council offered courses and gave lectures to deepen the knowledge of Judaism. During the thirties, the solidarity with Jews abroad and the interests in the creation of a “National Home for Jews” in Palestine increased.50 The Council was active in providing relief for refugees from Nazi Germany, especially the children amongst them, until the German occupier outlawed the Council in December 1940. It is clear that the Council of Jewish Women was very much concerned with the Jewish community; but to what extent was the council interested in feminist issues? Shortly after it’s institution, the Council expressed the wish to inquire into the position of women in the Jewish community and the history of that position. Two committees were appointed, one of which was to investigate Jewish legislation concerning marriage and divorce. The other committee was to look into the position of women in the Jewish community, paying special attention to the question whether an improvement of that position was possible under the auspices of the Nederlands Israelitisch Kerkgenootschap.51 Notwithstanding the fact that the committees never managed to complete their tasks and were disbanded in 1933 because of the acute need for refugee assistance,52 the formation of the committees makes it clear that the Council of Jewish Women advocated greater rights for women within the Jewish community. With regard to this aim, the council certainly must have been inspired by leagues for Jewish women in the United States, England, and Germany. But the Council of Jewish Women was also part of the Dutch women’s movement and, as a women’s organization, linked to several Dutch non-denominational women’s associations through the Council of Dutch ccccccc 47.

48. 49. 50. 51. 52.

The local Jewish Women’s Coucils erected so-called Swallow’s Nests [Zwaluwnesten], houses offering a reliable Jewish environment in which young Jewish working-class women could spend their time. Another example of the social work organized by the councils was material support for Jews in need of help. R. van Emden, ed., …Die mij niet gemaakt heeft tot man. Joodse vrouwen tussen traditie en emancipatie (Kampen 1986), p. 52-53, and Boas, Bewust-joodse Nederlandse vrouwen, p. 163. J. Michman, H. Beem, and D. Michman, Pinkas. Geschiedenis van de joodse gemeenschap in Nederland (Ede 1992), p. 140. Van Emden, …Die mij niet gemaakt heeft tot man, p. 63. Boas, Bewust-joodse Nederlandse vrouwen, p. 162. Annual Report 1932, p. 6, Supplement of Ha’Ischa 5,2 (1933). Ha’Ischa 6,1 (1934), p. 14.

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Women.53 Aside from membership in these umbrella organizations, the Council of Jewish Women had contact with associations such as the Dutch Association for Women’s Interests and Equal Citizenship and the Dutch Housewives’ Association and, together with all these organizations, sponsored lectures. Representatives of these associations attended the assemblies of the Council of Jewish Women and vice versa – on condition that the meetings of the non-denominational associations were not held on Saturdays. In the words of the Council of Jewish Women, contact with the general women’s movement was “a necessary link in our work and expresses our principle of being part of the Dutch women’s world and willingness to cooperate”.54 The joining of forces was necessary as well because the Council of Jewish Women felt responsible for the representation of all Jewish women in the Netherlands.55 Some of the prominent members of the Council and its board were privately members of the non-denominational women’s associations and had feminist inclinations.56 However, the Council’s board had to bear in mind that they represented more orthodox women as well, who were often more conservative in treating emancipatory matters. For this reason, the Council’s membership in the Committee for the Defense of the Freedom of Labor for Women was no certain matter. This Committee was erected in 1935, in response to a bill introduced in the parliament by a Catholic secretary of state prohibiting labor for married women.57 The orthodox women in the Council of Jewish Women did not wish to protest against the bill, because they thought the bill corresponded to Jewish law. The president of the Council of Jewish Women, Adolphine Schwimmer-Vigeveno, studied the subject in depth and concluded that, as the responsibility for the family was not the sole duty of a woman, the Council could not agree with the bill. The right to work was a common law, and women had to be able to decide their own fate and that of their families. The president was of the opinion that “this law could not be in the spirit of Judaism”.58 As a result, the Council of Jewish Women officially sided with the protests of the Committee for the Defense of the Freedom of Labor for Women.

ccccccc 53.

54. 55. 56.

57.

58.

For example, the Council of Jewish Women was allied to the National Council of Dutch Women, the National Department for Female Labour, and the International Information Centre and Archives for the Women’s Movement. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen, p. 35. Ha’Ischa 9,4 (1937), p. 77. Ha’Ischa 11 (1939), p. 229-230. Two of the presidents of the Council of Jewish Women, Caroline Wijsenbeek-Franken and Adolphine Schwimmer-Vigeveno, were members of the Dutch Association for Women’s Interests and Equal Citizenship. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen, p. 36. This concerns the bill of Romme. See A. Schoot-Uiterkamp, “Terug naar het paradijs? Akties tegen de beperking van vrouwenarbeid in de jaren dertig”, in: Giele et al., eds., Jaarboek voor de geschiedenis van socialisme en arbeidersbeweging in Nederland 1978 (Nijmegen 1978). Ha’Ischa 10,4 (1938), p. 70-76.

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The members of the Council of Jewish Women differed from Jewish women involved in the general women’s movement, for example the National Dutch Women’s Council. In all likelihood, there was no special contact between the feminists of Jewish descent and the representatives of the Council of Jewish Women. The first joined the non-denominational women’s movement because they identified with the feminist cause; the members of the Council of Jewish Women identified more with their ethnic-religious background.

Conclusion During one of her stays in London, Rosa Manus visited the theatre and was surprised to encounter the “Jewish question” raised during the performance. Afterwards, her friend Mia Boissevain found her stricken by grief in the hotel room. “You don’t know how terrible it is being born as a Jewess”, Rosa told her. At the start of 1940, Rosa donated her archive to the International Information Centre and Archives for the Women’s Movement, which she co-founded in 1935. “It will be convenient for the future when everything is there”, she said.59 The Jewish women discussed in this paper were involved in a social movement which was radical even for the revolutionary period in which the women’s movement made itself heard. This movement did not ignore pillarization, but all the same tried to unite all women despite the ethnic and religious differences onto which so much importance was placed at the time. Jewish women were drawn into the women’s movement and many of them shared the same socio-economic backgrounds as their non-Jewish counterparts. They settled in the women’s associations, some of them in prominent capacities, and amidst all the diverse ideologies to be found, their different origins were barely noticed. Those Jewish women conscious of the emancipatory movement yet more interested in the Jewish community than in feminism, became members of the Council of Jewish Women. The Council was linked with many other women’s organizations and, despite the fact that it safeguarded its primary and strong alignment with Judaism, was part of the Dutch women’s movement. It is impossible to discuss Jewish women in the first feminist wave without considering the developments in Germany during the thirties. The threat of National Socialism meant that the presence of Jewish women in the movement changed from being natural to noticeable. Despite the fact that the women’s associations were opposed to anti-Semitism, the endangered social position of Jews was hardly acknowledged by the non-Jewish members of the women’s movement. For a long time, anti-Semitism was perceived to be an obscure German phenomenon that did ccccccc 59.

Bosch and Kloosterman, Lieve Dr. Jacobs, p. 35.

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not apply to the respectable Netherlands, and had nothing to do with the nice, wellto-do Council members of Jewish descent. When it could no longer be ignored, many associations felt uneasy about the threat that developed into a danger quite personal for the Jewish members. These Jewish women, conscious of the danger, did not always receive the support they might have hoped for given their social standing, in general, and their place in the women’s movement in particular. Aside from the combat for emancipation with which they and their non-Jewish “sisters” were engaged, they had to fight to preserve their dignified positions in the movement as Jewish women in spite of the threats from National Socialism and increasing Dutch anti-Semitism. Many Jewish women in the first feminist movement valiantly found the energy to stem both currents.

Selma Leydesdorff

Dutch Jewish Women Integration and Modernity

1

Once there was a vision: the hope and conviction that Jews would integrate into Dutch society. This hope existed especially among the progressive Jews: intelligentsia, liberals, and socialists. In recent decades, historians advocating a range of theories on the historical evolution of the Jewish role in the Western world have brought a number of historical figures to the fore. There were circles and places, movements, societies, and political parties where Jews were granted equality, and equal opportunity. In Dutch historiography, a specific and vast role has been assigned to socialism, in which, since the end of the nineteenth century, distinctions between Jews and non-Jews were minimal compared to elsewhere in the world. The transition to socialism has been considered an act of assimilation and thus a step away from Jewish tradition. Modern historical research has challenged this idea by showing precisely how socialism was part of a Jewish tradition that confronted integration and modernity. In many ways it was unclear how, in becoming members of a society dominated by Christian values, Jews would relate to Judaism, to tradition, to religion, and to culture. These questions are central to the work of scholars and in the descriptions of observers who attest to ambivalence. This is in fact the experience of most minority cultures adapting to the surrounding, hegemonic culture.2

ccccccc 1.

2.

In the time between the writing of this article and its publication, a number of works have appeared in this rapidly expanding field. Most important is the achievement of Jewish Women: A Comprehensive Historical Encyclopedia, edited by Paula E. Hyman and Dalia Ofer, published as a CD-Rom in 2007 in Jerusalem (Shalvi Publishing); the entry on Aletta Jacobs is written by Harriet Pass Freidenreich, Francisca de Haan writes about Anna Polak, and I wrote, among others, the entry for Rosa Manus. For scholarly works, see especially M. Kaplan, The Jewish Feminist Movement in Germany: The Campaigns of the Jüdischer Frauenbund 1904-1938 (Westport 1979). See also G. Mosse, German Jews beyond Judaism (Bloomington 1985), and idem, “German Jews and Liberalism in Retrospect”, in: G. Mosse, Confronting the Nation: Jewish and Western Nationalism (Hanover and London 1993), p. 146-161. See M. Peskowits and L. Levitt, Judaism Since Gender (New York 1997). H.P. Freidenreich, “Jewish Identity and the ‘New Woman’”, in: T.M. Rudavsky, ed., Gender and Judaism (New York 1995). Freidenreich wrote an excellent historical afterword to the American edition of Aletta Jacobs’s memoirs.

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Jews as “Citizens of the World”: A contradiction in terms? One of our eyewitnesses was a feminist who wrote in 1906: “We won some good young helpers [for the movement]. It is clear that they are always Jewish girls. With us and elsewhere. Courage and intelligence are to be found in those girls like nowhere else.”3 In 1928, the same person wrote: “It is certain I am going to sell my house and my belongings and then I will become the wandering Jewess, perhaps a tramp.”4 The author of this quote called herself a citizen of the world in her written memoirs.5 I quote Aletta Jacobs, whose Jewishness the collective Dutch memory seems to have forgotten, though she was surrounded by Jewish friends, and, as I might argue, typically subject to the abovementioned ambivalence. Is there a contradiction between her self-evident “we, the Jews”, and the apparently simultaneous denial of her Jewishness? To answer this question we must go back to the late nineteenth and the early twentieth century. In this period Jews were to differing degrees a separate group, slowly integrating into the wider Dutch society, and against whom collective prejudice was commonly practiced.6 In post-Shoah historiography, historians and feminists seem to forget that to be a Jew was self-evident, something that did not need to be expressed, even if one was a citizen of the world. Thus we can understand Jacobs’s desire to be considered as such in her role as a Jewish activist for whom Judaism was ever present. It is the wish that it would no longer be her sole identity, but that she could identify with the sisterhood of international feminism. It is the expression of an imagined world, a world that did not yet exist. In this regard I want to invert feminist historiography and consider those women who became feminists not by consciously shedding their Jewish identity, but rather who as individuals benefited from feminism as a path to integration, to a new life, and as a bridge to traverse the borders of traditional Jewish femininity. I will attempt to see them through the prism of the history of Jews in a period in which, more than ever before, Jews were encountering the possibilities available within the non-Jewish world. ccccccc 3.

4.

5.

6.

Letter from Aletta Jacobs to Rosika Schwimmer, January 1, 1906, published in: M. Bosch and A. Kloosterman, Lieve Dr. Jacobs, Brieven uit de Wereldbond voor Vrouwenkiesrecht 1902-1942 (Amsterdam 1985), p. 70. Letter of July 21, 1928, to Lucy Anthony, archive of Aletta Jacobs in the International Information Centre and Archives for the Women’s Movement (IIAV) in Amsterdam. In am greatly indebted to the archivists Annemarie Kloosterman and Anette Mevis for their help. For the background of Aletta Jacobs I am also indebted to Dr. E. Schut of the Municipal Archives of Groningen. A. Jacobs, Memoirs: My Life as an International Leader in Health, Suffrage and Peace (New York 1996). Harriet Feinberg argues in her literary afterword to the English edition that Jacobs was obviously seen as a Jew. Cf. p. 206. See J.C.H. Blom, “Dutch Jews, Jewish Dutchmen and Jews in the Netherlands 1870-1940”, in: J. Israel and R. Salverda, Dutch Jewry: Its History and Secular Culture (1500-2000) (Leiden et al. 2002), p. 215225, and S. Leydesdorff, “The Veil of History: The Integration of Jews Reconsidered”, ibid., p. 225-239.

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In the nineteenth century assimilation had become a normal pattern for the Jewish middle classes, in Holland and in many other countries of Western Europe. Assimilation was part of upward social mobility for both men and women, and in its wake a new idea of the “Jewish woman” matured. In Gender and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History,7 Paula Hyman has shown that the nineteenth-century “moment of assimilation” introduced, among other things, new standards of behavior for Jewish women. In the course of the century, opinions about what a Jewish woman ought or was allowed to know and do changed profoundly, giving rise to new trends in education and practical morality.8 In this world of change we can trace the emergence of a modernized vision of Jewish family life. The ideal of the shelter and privacy of the Jewish home, and in particular the myth of a “special” quality of Jewish motherhood, was articulated within the discursive framework of the newly acquired “liberal”, middle-class values. In this new family life, women were called upon to play a more significant role than had been assigned them previously. Yet there were also new boundaries: because of history women did not enter the spaces of the male world, nor did Jews enter the world of Gentiles to such a degree that they became integrated. Women stayed confined within gender boundaries and Jews remained confined to the boundaries of their origins. Equality was an enlightened ideal to strive for, an ideal pursued by Jews in the Gentile world, by women in the male world, and by Jewish women in both. The Jewish family and Jewish womanhood were contested terrain, a place of struggle between the extremes of the “jiddische memme” – the real mother – and the female Jewish activist, the Jewish woman doctor, the Jewish intellectual. In between was a variety of grey zones. Feminism began to emerge in the mid-nineteenth century. Initially, Jewish women from the prosperous bourgeoisie involved themselves in philanthropic work largely through Jewish institutions. By the 1870s, however, such women could find an outlet in the suffrage movement.9 The nature of the movement, which explicitly raised the question of traditional women’s roles and discussed patriarchy ccccccc 7. 8.

9.

P.E. Hyman, Gender and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History: The Roles and Representations of Women (Seattle and London 1995). A careful look in local archives will lead to the discovery of these trends. For example, in the Municipal Archives of Groningen I came upon M.M. Cohen Jr., Een drietal ceremoniële gebruiken der Israëlitische vrouwen, toegelicht ten dienste van de meisjes op de scholen (Winschoten 1846). This little brochure is part of a violent debate within circles involved in Jewish education concerning the education of girls. See also M.M. Cohen, Het verhandelde ter vergadering van de Israëlitische godsdienstonderwijzers en schoolcommissiën in den provincie Groningen en Drenthe, welke vergadering werd gehouden te Groningen, op dinsdag den 17 maart 1863 (Assen 1863). On p. 9 we find a plea to put an end to the ignorance of Jewish women and girls and the wish to give their tasks new content. This aspect has not received sufficient attention although some reference has been made by M. Grever, Strijd tegen de stilte. Johanna Naber (1859-1941) en de vrouwenstem in de geschiedenis (Hilversum 1994). See the article by M. Schoonheim in this volume.

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– which is at the heart of Jewish cultural life – made the break with Jewish culture appear all the greater. Non-Jewish language was employed, unlike in Jewish socialism whose speech was suffused with Dutch Jewish idiom. In all, the trajectory of women’s emancipation seemed to follow that of assimilation. Their political orientation was usually progressive-liberal. Yet a closer historical examination of some feminist trajectories shows that many of them were interested in “Jewish” themes, influenced by their Jewish background, and followed a course which remained strongly linked to their Jewish tradition and culture.

Jewish Feminists or Feminist Jews: A matter of perspective In this article I will discuss three prominent liberal Jewish feminists: Aletta Jacobs (1854-1929), Rosa Manus (1881-1943?), and Anna Polak (1874-1943).10 All three individuals were Jewish feminists involved in the international campaigns for female suffrage, peace, and the creation of greater opportunities for women in education and the labor market. As they were the first generation of Jewish women to identify themselves as feminists, they were claiming new opportunities and a “universalist voice” in a society that was used to identifying them first and foremost as Jews. Yet, as I will argue, despite their claims all three remained within the contours of the image of the new Jewish woman, never fully broke with Judaism, and continued to be seen by others as Jews. In the post-1945 historiography of Dutch feminism, however, they have been depicted as feminists first and last, and the issue of their Jewish identity is discussed as an aside, if at all. Likewise, the “over-representation” of Jewish women in the latenineteenth-century women’s movement is seldom mentioned. These Jewish activists seem to have been historically forgotten, without ever having achieved an identifiable position for themselves as Jews within Dutch society. The story of these successful liberal feminists is also the story of Jewish women who entered a national, public arena where Jews were essentially seen as non-Christians and potentially unreliable “others”. Only during the last decades has attention begun to be paid to this oversight: many well-know women – writers and political activists – turn out to have been Jewish. Since they are suddenly perceived by a wider audience as Jewish, this has generated new interest in Jewish women’s organizations.

ccccccc 10.

Since I wrote this piece, the biography of Aletta Jacobs written by Mineke Bosch was published. She has seen an early draft of this article, as she collaborated on a project on international feminism with Ellen Dubois. I think that even in this volume insufficient attention is devoted to the Jewish aspect in the lives of those early feminists and its importance. M. Bosch, Een onwrikbaar geloof in rechtvaardigheid, Aletta Jacobs 1854-1924 (Amsterdam 2005).

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After the war and the massacre among Dutch Jewry, politicians and historians have hesitated to designate Jews as a separate group. It was unthinkable and inappropriate to do so: any separation was seen as a continuation of Nazi policy. It was important that Jews be perceived as ordinary Dutch people. During the German occupation this view had become the dominant ideology of those who were “on the good side”. It was a distorted vision: even before the War, debate over a separate status had been a recurring political theme, with the demand for complete integration setting the tone. Various writers had denied seeing differences between Dutch citizens, and thus between Jewish and non-Jewish citizens, though history turned against them. The climax came in the late 1930s, when Jews, as a consequence of the rise of fascism, became increasingly and inevitably more visible. Organizations in which Jews occupied leading positions began to regard their Judaism as a public problem, one that could not be discussed openly, as any such discussion was considered indecent. There was fear of being regarded as a “Jewish organization”, a fear which was simultaneously denied, at least in the progressive circles that did not, at all events openly, admit differences between population groups. This is but part of the full complexity explaining the Dutch post-war silence about prejudice and antiSemitism – a silence that lasted for decades. To support this vision of the non-distinction between Jew and non-Jew, the fundamentally tolerant character of the population towards the Jews has been emphasized in postwar discussion. In this silence, the Jewish woman survived in the collective memory as caricatures: she was the Jewish mother, or the sentimental drudge of the old Jewish neighborhoods.11 These images do not let us see real women; people were unaware that they did not reflect reality, and yet nothing was done to change matters. The feminism of the abovementioned three women was grafted onto definite aspects of Jewish culture. Paid labor and education had been normal among Jewish females. The ideal of civilization, which brought with it education for girls, was part of the modernization of Jewish family life – including intellectual training for women – yet it was not expected that they move outside the realm of the home. But to them the home was no longer enough: Why were the opportunities routinely offered to their brothers and nephews denied to them?

Aletta Jacobs: Radical feminist, pacifist, and Jew Aletta Jacobs became a radical, gained entry to the university, and joined the ranks of the nascent feminist movement. She is best known as Holland’s first female student. It was with the help of the progressive Jewish network around the University ccccccc 11.

See the foreword to M. Verhoeff and T. Wierema, eds., Ochenebbisj, Verhalen en geintjes over het Amsterdamse Getto 1870-1925 (Amsterdam 1999), where I make similar arguments.

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of Groningen that she was able to enroll there. She opted for her father’s profession, medicine. One could argue that examples in other countries have shown that if Jewish women were allowed to study, they would stay within the Jewish world by choosing medicine.12 For Jacobs, as for others like her in Europe, feminism, and above all the admittance of women to higher educational institutions and professional life, was a way to live up to the new image of the assimilated Jewish woman. Aletta Jacobs’s father was an esteemed member of the Jewish community in the small provincial town of Sappermeer. Groningen was half a day away since it could be reached by canal boat. The small elite of the town organized Jewish life, and it was Aletta’s father who was mainly responsible for the organization of Jewish education.13 More integrated Jews in the rabbinical district of Groningen were oriented towards Germany, from where they derived their ideas about enlightened Judaism. Since a more conservative part of the kehilla had split off into an organization of its own, this progressive, German-oriented character was reinforced.14 Their educational ideals also applied to Jewish women. In her literary afterword to the American edition of Jacobs’s memoirs, the historian Harriet Feinberg15 has pointed to the preservation of Jewish identification in those circles, and the ways in which religion was practiced openly, and mixed with avant-garde reformist ideals in politics and culture. I too have argued on several occasions how rooted she was in Jewish tradition. Her background and her struggle to become a doctor are as much a part of Jewish assimilation as they are a part of the history of feminism.16 One could argue that, even when she called herself a “citizen of the world”, it would be a-historical not to consider her, in the first place, a Jewish woman – one who made her own way, marrying a nonJew, travelling around the world like a cosmopolitan, and proud of the Jewish girls she saw around her, as she once wrote to her friend Rosika Schwimmer. Rosika was a Hungarian suffragette who lived as an orthodox Jew. She had been a close friend to whom Aletta wrote many intimate letters, and yet, after 1915, for a number of reasons, they never spoke to each other, the role of most cherished friend being taken over by Rosa Manus. Ultimately, Aletta Jacobs had entered a movement that would

ccccccc 12.

13.

14.

15. 16.

See H. Freidenreich, “Jewish Identity and the ‘New Woman’”; S.H. Hes, Jewish Physicians in the Netherlands (Assen 1980); and T.N. Bonner, To the Ends of the Earth: Women’s Search for Education in Medicine (Cambridge 1992). In the reports of the school inspectors to the Ministry of Religious Affairs, we find traces of his many activities. See the State Archive [Rijksarchief], Verslag der Inspectie van de Nederlandsch Israëlitische Armenscholen, doss. no. 2.07.01.05. W. van Bekkum, “De afgescheiden Gemeente Teschuath Jisraël te Groningen”, in: L. Ast-Boiten and G. Zaagsma, eds., De Folkingestraat. Geschiedenis van de joodse gemeenschap in Groningen (Groningen 1996), p. 3-71. See note 5. S. Leydesdorff, “Aletta Jacobs: L’Itinéraire d’une Petite Provinciale Devenue Féministe”, in: Septentrion. Arts, Lettres et Culture de Flandre et de Pays-Bas 3 (1999), p. 57-61.

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not have understood if she were to talk about her Jewish background, the small town in the Mediene, the fights in the Jewish community, or her orthodox family with whom she was in close contact. Within feminism, like all movements of the time, anti-Jewish sentiment existed but was not discussed, until it became unavoidable in the thirties.17 As recent studies have shown, Aletta Jacobs in particular must have known about certain incidents, since her network was so international and she was kept so well-informed. Elinor Lerner has argued that the liberal vision of equality between women denied differences in a movement which assumed all women to be white, protestant, and Anglo-Saxon. Lerner calls the denial of the Jewish background of so many women “anti-Semitism of neglect”.18 Aletta Jacobs and Rosa Manus were also pacifists. In Jacobs’s case she was wellinformed about what happened east of Germany, with its tradition of persecuting Jews, especially during times of war. Like all Jewish intelligentsia, her family read German newspapers, periodicals, and publications, looking eastward beyond Groningen around the time of World War I. The later part of Rosa Manus’s life was devoted to the cause of pacifism. She worked hard in the feminist movement, where she was ostracized as a Jew on several occasions, as has been shown by Christel Tijenk.19 After years of activism Aletta Jacobs wrote her memoirs (published in 1924), which provide only a faint outline of her private life. Five years had elapsed since the victory of the suffrage movement in the Netherlands. Nothing was more important to her than the battle still being fought in many other countries, the battle at whose heart she had been for numerous decades. Only in Inge de Wilde’s publication on female students at the University of Groningen is her Jewishness taken seriously, though it is mainly placed in the context of Groningen as a progressive center, rather than in a Jewish context.20 There are some remarks on her Jewishness in her letters published by Mineke Bosch and Annemarie Kloosterman.21

Anna Polak and Women’s Labor Aletta Jacobs and Rosa Manus were among the most visible feminists of their time, belonging to the same network. However, before turning to Rosa Manus, I will dis-

ccccccc 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

Ch. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen en de Nederlandse vrouwenbeweging, 1898-1940 (unpublished doctoraal scriptie, Nijmegen 1997), p. 107-135. This expression comes from an unpublished article quoted by Tijenk. Since it describes so well what happened, I took the liberty of reproducing it here. Cf. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen en de Nederlandse vrouwenbeweging, p. 17, 18. I. de Wilde, Nieuwe Deelgenoten in de wetenschap. Vrouwelijke studenten en docenten aan de Rijksuniversiteit Groningen 1871-1919 (Groningen 1989). Bosch and Kloosterman, Lieve Dr. Jacobs.

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cuss the third woman, Anna Polak,22 who died in Auschwitz, yet in several sources is said to have died in a psychiatric institution – an extreme denial of her Judaism! I include her because she devoted her life to the world of female labor. Her opinions come very close to those of the social-democratic women of her time, about which Karin Hofmeester writes in this volume: better paid work and equal opportunities will expand the opportunities for women. But she talked less about class than Roosje Vos (the Jewish leader of the seamstresses’ trade union) did, and she was not an activist in the trade union. In one of her publications Anna complained bitterly about the majority of Jewish girls who did not want to do manual labor. They should be eager to take on any work they could get, she wrote, since the world of labor was open to them;23 the only job they would not be able to occupy was minister in a Christian church! In some ways her arguments are reminiscent of Zionism’s propagation of manual labor for both sexes. But to her contemporaries, in an odd way Anna Polak remained blind to the segregation of the labor market between Jews and non-Jews. She really thought all jobs were open to everyone, while at that time it was a well-known fact that this was not so. Although she talked about Jewish girls, and clearly participated in the debate about their unemployment, she was simply too assimilated to recognize this reality. Anna Polak remained active in the field of labor – which she considered a source of happiness rather than something negative – her entire life. She directed the National Office of Women’s Labor for twenty-eight years, propagating training for factory girls and, in the thirties, fighting the decline in female opportunities as a result of the restriction of female labor by governmental decision. She was involved with the members of the Council of Jewish Women, which came into being in 1929,24 and contributed to their periodical Ha’Ischa. Not surprisingly, her argument that Jewish girls should be eligible for work not previously performed by Jews coincides with the Council’s policy to promote new kinds of work as part of the creation of a Jewish state. In a state of exhaustion at the end of her life, she was indeed placed in a psychiatric institution, and deported from there. I would argue that she also explored the boundaries of Jewish femininity, in a liminal way, staying within a tradition that women should work, and somewhere she got lost.

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23. 24.

F. de Haan, “Anna Polak”, in: Biografisch Woordenboek van Nederland deel vijf (Den Haag 2001), p. 391-393. “Karakterschets Anna Polak”, Hollandsche Revue n.a. (1919), present in archive NBV 68/28 in IIAV. The original of the periodical was not found. A. Polak, “Beroepskeuze voor het Joodse meisje”, in: Maandblad van den Joodsche Vrouwenraad, August 1926. It is again a clipping, the original periodical is not present in the IIAV, cat. no. NBV 959. Cf. Maandblad van den Joodsche Vrouwenraad (1922-1929) and Ha’Ischa (1929-1940). H. v.d. Veer, Anna Polak, Haar aandeel in en visie op de verbetering van de positie van meisjes en vrouwen op de arbeidsmarkt (unpublished doctoraal scriptie, University of Amsterdam 1987).

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Rosa Manus: Pacifist and anti-fascist Of the women highlighted in this paper, Rosa Manus25 was the most conspicuous as a Jew, and, more than the others, a victim of anti-Jewish prejudice. Though overshadowed by her more famous contemporaries, her life was intimately interwoven with pacifism, the struggle against fascism, and the destruction of Dutch Jewry. More than other feminists, Rosa Manus suffered from the difficult position in which Jews were placed following the rise of fascism in Germany,26 when women’s organizations became anxious to avoid being seen as too Jewish. Carrie Chapman Catt, the most prominent American feminist of her time, regarded Manus as her pupil, assistant, and adopted daughter. After World War II, she remembered her as one of the first to die for “the cause”,27 ignoring, by doing so, the fact that Rosa Manus had been arrested for her pacifist activities, but was deported as a Jew. Although her name appears on the memorial for those who died in Ravensbrück, there are several witnesses who testified to her having been transported, gravely ill, to Auschwitz. Rosa Manus came from a prosperous bourgeois family, her father a tobacco merchant.28 From a young age she longed for independence, education, and paid employment – aspirations that had no outlet in the environment in which she grew up. Even her desire to become a nurse was not supported. Instead she took up philanthropy, and became a member of various charitable committees. She found alternative ways by which she could enter the public domain, and feminism, with its many Jewish women, was one of the vehicles. In photographs, we see a very “Jewish-looking” woman. She annoyed people by getting things done with her money, and because of her fast and witty intellect. In 1908, during the congress of the International Suffrage Alliance, she met and befriended Aletta Jacobs and Carrie Chapman Catt. From then on she became increasingly well known as a feminist, in part for having organized the exhibition De Vrouw 1813-1913 (The Woman 1813-1913), which portrayed the lives of Dutch women. The following year she and Aletta Jacobs traveled to London, marking the beginning of her international career, and a year after that she helped to set up the International Women’s Conference against War under the aegis of the International League for Peace and Freedom. From then on her life followed two distinct paths:

ccccccc 25.

26. 27. 28.

M. Bosch, “Rosetta Susanna Manus”, in: P.J. Meertens et al., eds., Biografisch woordenboek van het socialisme en de arbeidersbeweging in Nederland, VI (Amsterdam 1995), p. 139-142; C.M. Meijer, Een moderne vrouw van formaat (Leiden 1946). The author of this brochure is uncertain whether Manus was shot in Ravensbrück or deported to Auschwitz; Carrie Chapman Catt on Rosa Manus, unpublished manuscript in IIAV Amsterdam. Tijenk, Joodse vrouwen en de Nederlandse vrouwenbeweging, p. 91-135. Bosch and Kloosterman, Lieve Dr. Jacobs, p. 35 H. van der Meulen, Rosa Manus, unpublished manuscript in IIAV (n.d.).

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women’s suffrage and pacifism. Both paths were marked by lifelong friendships within a large network of politically active women, one of whom was Rosika Schwimmer, already a friend of Aletta Jacobs. In 1923, Rosa Manus accompanied Chapman Catt on a journey abroad, during which they witnessed the rise of fascism in Rome en masse. They then visited Vienna, Budapest, and Czechoslovakia. She not only worked for peace, but also founded the Dutch Electrical Association for Women. In 1935, she was the driving force behind the founding of the International Information Centre and Archives for the Women’s Movement in Amsterdam (IIAV), where her personal archive is on deposit, though seldom consulted. Less known is her involvement in the establishment of the Amsterdam Auxiliary Corps in 1938. In view of the constant threat of war, it was inevitable that Rosa Manus became increasingly involved in the cause of pacifism. In 1932, she was one of those persons responsible for collecting the eight million signatures against war which were presented at the Geneva Disarmament Conference. She was also active in the Women’s Disarmament Committee of International Organizations. In 1936, as assistant to Lord Robert Cecil (the later Nobel Prize winner), she was prominent in the Congrès du Rassemblement Universel pour la Paix in Brussels, the major peace initiative during those years. All this won her a reputation as a leftist, which, conversely, was not an asset in feminist organizations. The aim in those days, both nationally and internationally, was to make a neutral impression, not too Jewish and certainly not too leftist. On a number of occasions she was cruelly undermined. She withdrew from the national arena, irritated at the silence of the movement and its refusal to acknowledge the difficult position of Jews. This was expressed in ambivalence towards her and other women who had greatly contributed to feminism, due on the one hand to the fear of being perceived as a “Jewish organization”, and on the other of being seen as anti-Semitic. Although she had never said so directly, her position had become untenable, as had those of other leading Jewish feminists. In 1939, during a conference of the International Women’s Suffrage Alliance in Copenhagen, Rosa Manus clashed with the Egyptian representative Charaoui.29 She described the episode in a letter to Catt: a proposal to permit no further entry of Jews into Palestine was under discussion and Manus regarded this as inconsistent with the participation of the Organization of Jewish Women in Palestine, which the World Union supported. Although she was re-elected to the committee of the World Organization, Manus wrote about the event in bitter terms. Rosa Manus had no illusions. Her friends and members of her family were already affected by Nazism, and she herself expected the situation of Jews to deteriorate. She was active in helping the stream of German refugees through the Nationccccccc 29.

Bosch and Kloosterman, Lieve Dr. Jacobs, p. 271-278.

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al Women’s Committee for Refugees, and set up a center for refugee women in conjunction with the Council of Jewish Women. She heard their stories first hand. Her unease was justified, as was her assumption that she would be arrested soon after the German invasion. She was aware of being in danger as an activist and as a Jew, and assumed the Nazis would come for her before coming for many others. She had been accused of communism and pacifism, figured prominently in protests against the persecution of Jews, and helped Jewish refugees. She was a political figure, known all over Europe because of the organization of the World Reunion for Peace. She was arrested in 1941 and transported to Ravensbrück, a camp for political prisoners, which was also populated by Jews. Some saw her arrival in Auschwitz, some said she was shot in Ravensbrück. I believe those who saw her off to the train. How do I perceive her? I seem to be one of the first to explore the archives with an interest in her personal history. As there are several descriptions of her written shortly after the war, I was required to make my own evaluation. Though my own preference is for intellectuals like Jacobs and Polak, many remembered this selfmade activist with love after the war. Looking at her life, I see also a traditional Jewish activist who contested the boundaries of Jewish female existence with the help of feminism. Yet, one may wonder if she ever escaped the role of the very rich Jewish woman, busy with her family, busy with social matters. She is more well-known as a Jew than the others, partly due to the fact that she was still active in the thirties when Jacobs was dead and Polak’s health was deteriorating. Though delighted when, in the end, some feminists spoke up against Nazism in favor of Jews, she was attacked far more frequently as a Jew within the movement, and wounded deeply. Mia Boissevain, a good friend, is said to have found her in a hotel room torn by grief. Together they had visited the theatre and in that evening’s performance, the “Jewish Question” had reared its ugly head. In tears she said: “You don’t know how terrible it is to be born a Jew.”30

Feminists and Jews It was feminism, in many different forms, that helped those three women explore their social and cultural confines as members of a slowly integrating minority. Jewish women did so in many ways, and within many contexts such as socialism, in trade unions and traditional trade union policies, in Jewish women’s organizations, in all forms of radical liberal movements, and – outside the Netherlands – in anarchism. Their entry into a non-Jewish environment often led to ambivalent feelings about Jewish culture and Judaism. In certain stages of their lives, they would seek to “overcome” their Jewishness to the point of contending that they had radically ccccccc 30.

Ibid., p. 35.

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broken with Judaism. They were attracted to universal ideas, but we might consider this universalism as part of a very Jewish tradition to which they naturally belonged. For all that, they were living in a world in which Jews were not fully integrated, and they were aware of it. However much they wished to “forget” their Jewish background, the anti-Jewish reactions to their public assertiveness would always remind them of it. Their hopes and ambivalences have to be interpreted in this context. Certain images are part of a collective amnesia concerning Jewish women in feminism, in as much as feminism now seems to have forgotten its prejudices and its violent anti-Semitic incidents. Bosch and Kloosterman mention how much the aforementioned remark by the leading feminist Chapmann Catt upon Rosa Manus’s death denied Rosa’s Jewish consciousness and her devotion to Jewish refugees in the 1930s. However, she died in the first place as a Jew. These women also lived as Jews, assimilated Jews in a particular time, at a particular place, identifying in particular ways and with particular words. That is how we should see them.

Index of names of persons

Ablaing van Giessenburg, Rudolf Carel d’ 135, 136 Aboab, Isaac 45 Abrahams, Israël 64 Abrams, Ruth 152 Acton, Lord 35 Ahad Ha’am 14 Ahrendt, Hannah 34 Alter, Robert 14 Ameringen, M.L. van 58 Aristotle 125 Aschheim, Steven 9, 10, 27, 28 Asscher, B.E. 83 Asser-Thorbecke, W. 174 Auerbach, Berthold 122 Azijnman, Karel 70 Azijnman, Maurits 70 Baard, C. 72, 73, 78, 79 Baeck, Leo 34 Baer, Yitzhak 32, 34, 36-39 Bal’am, Judah ibn 58 Baron, Salo 32, 33, 35-39, 41 Basnage, Jacques 44-46 Bearsted, Viscountess 150 Belinfante, Emmy 174, 176 Belinfante, Judith 83 Ben-Gurion, D. 40 Benjamin, Walter 22 Berdershi, Abraham 58 Bialik, Chaim Nachman 19 Biema-Hijmans, Hannah van 176 Bierens de Haan, Johannes D. 104, 110, 116-118 Bismarck, Otto von 128, 129 Blavatsky-von Hahn, Helena Petrovna 137, 138 Bloch, Joseph 127 Blom, J.C.H. 8 Blyenbergh, G. de 108 Boas, Henriette 83 Bodek, Evelyn 152 Boekman, Emanuel 79, 92 Boissevain, Mia 181, 193 Bollack, Jean 31 Bolland, Gerardus 109, 110, 115, 116, 118 Bonaparte, Louis 82 Bonfil, Reuven (Robert) 39 Borstel, Leman 55-57, 59 Bosch, Mineke 186, 189, 194

Bottenheim, Marjorie Harriet 73, 76, 78, 79, 82 Bourdieu, Pierre 31 Boyarin, Daniel 28, 29 Boyarin, Jonathan 28, 29 Breuer, Edward 18 Brugman, Henk 51, 110 Brunner, Constantin 121, 122 Brunschvicq, Léon 119 Buber, Martin 12, 106 Bueno, Efraim 74 Burman, Rickie 142, 148 Bussum, Sani van see Prijes, Sani Buter, Anna 161 Cahen, J.J. 8 Camminga, J.J. 164 Carp, J.H. 104, 117 Cecil, Robert 192 Chagall, Marc 24, 25, 29 Chapmann Catt, Carrie 191, 192, 194 Charaoui Pacha, Hoda 192 Chomsky, N. 22 Chumaceiro, rabbi 57 Cohen, David Ezechiel 73, 74, 76, 78, 79, 82 Cohen, Gerson 14, 102 Cohen, Hermann 31 Cohen, Julia 148 Cohen, Levi Ali 55, 56 Cohen, Mozes Herman 107 Cohen, Percy 143 Costa, Uriël da 110 Cuddihy, J. Murray 22 Dam-van Isselt, H. van 79 Danvers, Michel see Gaarkeuken, M. Davidman, L. 139 Dawidowicz, Lucy 41 Dekker, Hadewych 61 Delaville, Abraham 58 Descartes, R. 111, 125 Deutscher, Isaac 21, 22 Dinur, Benzion 13, 32-34, 38 Drucker, Wilhelmina 157 Dubnow, Simon 13, 15, 16, 32, 33, 35, 36, 38, 41, 49 Dubois, Ellen 186 Dünaburg, Benzion see Dinur, Benzion Dünner, J.H. 58, 82, 118

196

Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940

Durkheim, E. 22 Dürkop, Marlis 172 Dusnus, rabbi 57 Edersheim, Henri 49, 71 Effen, Justus van 45 Eicholz, Mrs. 149 Eisen, Arnold 93 Eitje, Carolina 90, 91 Erasmus 114 Esso, I.B. van 51 Ettinger, Shmuel 13, 15 Ettlinger, J. 98 Fassmann, Irmgard 172 Feinberg, Harriet 184, 188 Fichte, J.G. 122, 124, 125, 130 Fraenkel, Zacharias 60 Frank, Abraham 51, 110 Frankfort, Moses ben Simon 45 Fransman, Schoontje Jacob 156 Frederick the Great 33, 128 Freidenreich, Harriet Pass 183 Freud, Sigmund 21, 22, 26 Freudenthal, Jacob 104, 121 Fuchs, Esther 139 Gaarkeuken, M. 96 Galliner, H. 55 Gans, David 43 Gebhart, Carl 104, 105, 108, 119 Geiger, Abraham 18, 29, 106 Ginsburg, Asher see Ahad Ha’am Goethe, J.W. von 20, 122-128, 130 Gompertsz, Bernard Leon 133 Gordon, Milton 15 Gorter, Herman 161 Goudsmit, L. 47 Graetz, Heinrich 32, 33, 35, 38, 41, 54, 57, 107 Grotius, Hugo 114 Grunwald, Max 122, 126-129 Gunst, Frans Christiaan 135 Ha-Kohen, Joseph 43 Haan, Francisca de 183 Haan, Jacob Israël de 71 Haas, Alexander Johannes Jacobus Philippus 76 Hands, Lizzie 151 Harshav, Benjamin 12 He-H . asid, Yehuda 34 Heertje, Sophie 161 Hegel, G.F. 107, 113-115, 122, 123, 128, 130 Hegesippus 45 Heigmans, Simon 59, 60 Heijermans, Herman 91 Heijmans, Gerardus 110, 118 Heine, Heinrich 11, 21, 29, 122, 124-126, 129 Henriques de Castro, David 57, 107 Herder, J.G. von 110, 122-124, 130 Hertzberger, Emanuel (Menno) 76, 79 Hertzheimer, rabbi 56

Heschel, Susannah 18 Heusde, Philip van 118 Hijermans, Ida 174 Hillesum, Jeremias M. 54, 70, 109 Hirsch, Benzion Joachim 103-108, 111, 113, 120 Hirsch, Samson Raphael 96 Hirschel, L. 54 Höffding, Harold 119 Hofmeester, Karin 190 Hofstede de Groot, Petrus 112, 113 Holdheim, Samuel 93 Home, Daniel Douglas 136 Humboldt, Wilhelm von 31 Hyman, Paula E. 144, 172, 183, 185 Isaacsohn, rabbi 57 Israels, Jozef 76, 94 Italie-van Embden, Hendrika van 174, 176 Jabotinsky, Vladimir 18, 19 Jacobi, Friedrich Heinrich 105, 113 Jacobs, Aletta 160, 173, 174, 176, 178, 183, 184, 186-189, 191-194 Jacobson, A.Wm. 115 Jellinek, Adolph 57 Jessel, A.H. 144 Jessurun de Mesquita, S. 87 Joël, K. 104 Jong, A. de 94 Jong, Alida de 155, 156, 161, 164-167 Jong, Jaap de 165, 166 Jong, Levie de 164 Jong, Loe de 165, 166 Jong, Nanette de 165, 166 Josephus, Flavius 45 Jost, Isaac Marcus 32, 33, 35, 56, 57 Junghuhn, Franz 135 Kafka, F. 22 Kant, I. 31, 104, 105, 111, 112, 115, 124, 125, 130 Kaplan, Marion 144, 145, 150, 151, 172 Kastein, Joseph 49 Katz, Jacob 16, 17 Keijzer, Salomo 55-57, 59 Kinker, Johannes 133, 134 Kisch, I. 107 Kisch, Rosa 177 Klatzkin, Jacob 104 Klausner, J. 104, 112 Kloosterman, Annemarie 184, 189, 194 Knappert, L. 119 Koenen, H.J. 47 Kraus, K. 22 Krome, Frederic 37 Kuzmack, Linda 172 Langbehn, Julius 129 Las, Nelly 172 Leeser, A.H. 56 Leib, Aryeh 45 Leibniz, G.W. 110, 115, 123, 124, 129, 130, 133, 138

Index of names of persons Lemans, M. 48 Lerner, Elinor 189 Lessing, Th. 110, 123 Lévi, Israel 64 Levi-Strauss, C. 22 Levi Elwell, Sue 141 Levisson, L. 106 Leydesdorff, Selma 183 Lilien, E.M. 12 Linden, Harry van der 57 Lissauer, David 56 Lob, Jacobus 76, 79 Locke, J. 125 Loeb ben Ze’ev, Judah 59 Lucas, Mrs. 146 Lueger, Karl 127 Luther, M. 31 Luxemburg, Rosa 21 Luzzatto, Samuel David 54, 58 Maarsen, Isaac 88 Mahler, Raphael 13 Maimom, Salomon 23, 130 Man ben Solomon Halevi, Menah. em 45-47 Manus, Rosa 173, 174, 177, 181, 183, 186-189, 191-194 Marcus, Jacob 141 Margolis, M. 49 Marx, A. 49 Marx, K. 21-23 Maters, Marie 164 Mayer-Hirsch, N. 104 McCune, Mary 145 Megged, Aharon 40 Meijer, Jaap 55, 106 Meijer, Willem 118, 119 Meijers, Clara 174 Meinsma, K.O. 104 Mendelssohn, Moses 18, 28, 33, 49, 97, 101, 105, 106, 121-125, 129, 130 Mendes da Costa, Abraham Jacob 70, 76 Mendes da Costa, J. 87 Mendes-Flohr, Paul 26, 27 Metz-Alberge, E. de 82 Mevis, Anette 184 Model, Alice 146 Moleschott, Jacobus 115 Montagu, Lily 141 Montefiore, Nathaniel 106, 148 Morris, Benny 40 Moscoviter, Salomo 57 Mosse, George 14, 15 Mulder, Samuel 48, 55-58 Multatuli see Ablaing van Giessenburg, Rudolf Carel d’ Munk, Solomon 54 Myers, Moses 56, 57 Nadell, Pamela 141 Napoleon Bonaparte 124 Nicolai, F. 18 Nietzsche, F. 110, 127, 128, 130

197 Obendorfer Simon, Carrie 141 Ofer, Dalia 183 Onderwijzer, A.S. 104 Oort, Henricus 64 Oppenheim, Moritz 23, 24, 29 Opzoomer, C.W. 113 Orobio de Castro, Isaac 103, 110 Ovink, B.J.H. 104, 118 Palache, Juda Lion 61, 63, 64 Pappenheim, Bertha 150, 151 Pen, Yehuda 25 Penini, Yedaiah 59 Philippson, Ludwig 38, 57 Pincoff, Lodewijk 115 Pinto, Isaac de 110 Plato 125 Polak, Anna 174, 176, 183, 186, 187, 190, 193, 194 Polak, Gabriël 47, 48, 55, 57, 58, 132, 133 Polak, Henri 8, 95 Polak, Leo 109-112 Polak, Leon 61 Polak, Mozes Salomon 131-138 Polak-Kiek, Jeanette 174 Polak-Rosenberg, Charlotte Lisette 174-176 Pollock, Frederick 104, 119 Porges, Nathan 109 Pos, H.J. 111 Pothuis, Carry 158 Praag, Siegfried van 91, 96 Prijes, Caroline 161 Prijes, Moritz 161 Prijes, Sani 155, 156, 161-164, 166, 167 Prins, Izak 49, 50, 63, 71-73, 86-90, 94, 95 Querido, Israël 109 Raalte, Frits van 90, 91 Rembrandt 90, 94, 129 Riesser, Gabriel 24 Ritter, Pierre 118 Ritter, rabbi 57 Roest, Marcus Meijer 48, 53, 54, 56-58, 68 Rogow, Faith 172 Rohling, August 127 Roland Holst, Henriette 160, 161 Romme, C.P.M. 180 Rosenberg, Alfred 83 Rosenstein, S.S. 109, 118 Rosenthal, George van 109 Rosenzweig, Franz 104 Rossi, Azariah dei 43 Rossum, Cardinal van 70 Roth, Cecil 32, 36-39, 49, 104 Roth, Irene 36 Ruderman, David 39 Sarphati, Samuel 74 Sassen, Ferdinand 119 Schelling, F.W.J. 122, 124, 125, 128, 130 Schiller, F. von 20, 127

198

Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940

Schleiermacher, F.D.E. 113, 128 Schmidt, Frerich Ulfert 162 Scholem, Gershom 31-34, 41 Scholten, Johannes Hendrik 114 Schopenhauer, A. 128, 130 Schreiber, Adèle 176 Schut, E. 184 Schwimmer, Rosika 188, 192 Schwimmer-Vigeveno, Adolphine 175, 177, 180 Seeligmann, Sigmund 48-51, 54, 55, 58, 62, 63, 71-73, 75, 76, 94, 95, 108, 109 Serlui, Sara 164 Shabbetai Zvi 33, 44, 48 Silva Rosa, Jacob da 50, 54, 76, 79, 87-89 Silva Rosa, L.S. da 109 Simon, Rita 141 Slooten, Eva van 83 Sluys, David 54, 60, 70, 79 Sluyser, Meyer 96 Snethlage, J.L. 49 Sopper, A.J. de 104 Sorkin, David 9, 141 Speijer, Marianne 161 Spengler, O. 110 Spielman, Gertrude 143, 149 Spijer, Willem 76, 79 Spinoza, Baruch de 21, 103-130, 133-135, 138 Spinoza, Hanna Debora de 107 Spinoza, Michael de 107 Staal, Levie David 48, 49, 63, 64, 119 Stanislawski, Michael 19 Steiner, George 21-23 Steinschneider, Moritz 48, 54, 58, 63 Steinthal, H. 31 Stel, Melle 160 Stokvis, B.J. 109, 115, 118 Stoppelman, Joop 96 Strauss, L. 104 Strauss, Isaac 68

Thissen, Siebe 113 Tijenk, Christel 189 Til, Salomo van 108 Troelstra, P.J. 164 Trotsky, L. 21 Tudela, Benjamin of 55, 59

Tailleur, A. 89 Tak, Willem Gerard van der 108, 118 Tal, Justus 86-90 Teixeira de Mattos, Jozef 87 Teixeira de Mattos, Samuel 77 Tenenbaum, S. 139

Zangwill, Israel 143 Zuiden, D.S. van 51 Zunz, Leopold 16, 38, 41, 56, 63 Zvi, Shabbetai see Shabbetai Zvi Zwarts, Jacob 50, 54

Umansky, Ellen 142 Vas Nunes, Esther 109 Vaz Dias, A.M. 49, 54, 107, 108 Veblen, Thorstein 25, 26 Veersheim, Josephus 74 Vita Israel, Emanuel 73, 76, 78, 79, 82 Vloten, Johannes van 114-116, 118 Volkov, Shulamit 20, 26, 27 Vos, Jacob Marcus 156 Vos, Roosje 155-162, 166, 167, 172, 190 Vos, Saartje 160 Vriesland, Rosina van 174, 177 Waterman, Israel 56, 57 Wenger, Beth S. 140, 145 Wertheim, Abraham Carel 133 Wessely, Naphtali Herz/Hirsch 49, 59 Wibaut, Mathilde 158, 162 Wijnkoop, Jozef 57, 64 Wijsenbeek-Franken, Caroline 178, 180 Wilde, Inge de 189 Winkel, J. te 118 Wisse, Ruth 12 Wittgenstein, L. 22 Wolf, Herman 109-111 Wolf, Immanuel 40, 41 Wolff, Ch. 123, 124, 130 Yahia, Gedaliah Ibn 43 Yerushalmi, Yosef Hayim 35, 93 Yuval, Israel 40

Index of subjects (by Janny Veldhuis)

absolutism 100, 101 academics 86, 88 accent, Jewish 91 acculturation 14-16, 34-39, 46, 142, 144, 145 activism, female 147 activist, female Jewish 185 activists, Jewish 186 activities, charitable 144-146, 152 activities, Zionist 95 actor 88 Ad Spinozam (by D. Henriques de Castro) 107 Adon Olam 88 aestheticism 19 aggadah 22 Ahavat Yisrael 34 Algemeen Handelsblad 73, 80, 82, 88, 90 Algemeen Weekblad voor Christendom en de cultuur 106 Algemeene Nederlandsche Diamantbewerkersbond (ANDB) 8, 167 aliyah 34 Allen Een 155, 157, 159, 164, 166 Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek 18 Allgemeine Geschichte des Israelitischen Volkes (by I.M. Jost) 56 Allgemeine Zeitung des Judenthums 98, 129 almanac 20 Alphabetarische Liste der Förderer 57 Alsace 13, 16 amateurs 60 America 140, 143-145, 150, 151 American National Council of Jewish Women 172, 178, 179 Amor Dei 106 Amsterdam 8-10, 44-48, 58, 60, 62, 64, 67-69, 71-74, 76, 78-80, 82, 83, 85, 88, 89, 92, 94, 95, 104, 107111, 115, 132, 133, 136, 137, 155, 156, 160, 171, 174, 175, 177, 178, 184, 192 Amsterdam Auxiliary Corps 192 Amsterdam Historical Museum 72, 77, 78 Amsterdam Municipal Archives 49, 67, 79, 132 Amsterdam Municipal Council 165 Amsterdamse Sociaal Democratische Vrouwenpropagandaclub 158, 162, 165 amulets 78 analysis, historical critical 114 anarchism 193

ancestors 93 ancestry, Jewish 124 animals 126 anniversary, three-hundreth 80 Anschauung des Universums 113 anti-fascist 191 anti-Judaism 90, 109 antiquites, Israelite 63 Antiquity 7 Antiquity, Christian 60 Antiquity, pagan 60 anti-Semites 13, 129, 150 anti-Semitism 11, 40, 50, 81, 109, 115, 127, 129, 145, 171-173, 176-178, 181, 182, 187, 189 anti-Zionists 90 apologetics 34 Apologia (by B. de Spinoza) 108 apostles 105, 110 apothecary 73 approbation 45 Arabs 40 archives 107 Archives, Anglo-Jewish 151 archives, local 185 aristocracy 38 arithmetic 113 army, German 51 art historians, German 90 art objects 69 art reviews 92 art, Jewish 76-78, 82 art, religious 70, 75 artifacts 68 artillery, German 51 artists 15, 91, 92, 126 artists, Jewish 20, 23, 75, 87, 90 arts 8, 51, 79, 82, 85, 90, 91, 96, 131 arts, Dutch 50 Ashkenazim 36, 45, 46, 94 assimilation 9, 11-17, 19, 21, 29, 101, 102, 108, 110, 122, 124, 139, 144, 152, 172, 173, 183, 185, 186, 188 assimilationist circles 58 Association for the Improvement of the Legal Status of the Jewish Woman 151 Association for Women’s Interests and Equal Citizenship 174, 177, 180 atheism 105, 112, 135

200

Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940

atheist 110, 114, 125 attacks, anti-Semitic 99 attitude, national 129 Aufklärung, Berlin 18 Aufklärung-Jews 104 Auschwitz 190, 191, 193 authenticity 28 authorities, civil 151 authors, Hebrew 96 authors, Yiddish 96 autobiography 130 autodidact 104 autonomism 13 autonomy 33, 36, 111, 117

bourgeoisie, Dutch Jewish 89, 96 bourgeoisie, German Jewish 141 bourgeoisie, liberal 114 Breslau 98, 127 Britain 139, 140, 143, 144, 153 brotherhood 133, 134, 138 Brunswick 98 Brussels 192 Budapest 192 buildings 71 Bureau of Statistics, Amsterdam 85 Bureau of Statistics, Central 85 burial 78 Bussum 164

Baden 24 Bäder von Lucca, Die (by H. Heine) 11, 29 Balfour Declaration 25 ban 108 baptism 36, 93 bar mitzvah 78, 89 Baruch d’Espinoza: Zijn leven en schriften (by J. van Vloten) 114, 115 basins, priestly 69 Battle of Waterloo 35 Beginselen van het nationaal-socialisme (by J.H. Carp) 117 behaviour, female 140 Beh. inat Olam (by Yedaia ha-Penini Bedarshi) 55, 59 Beit Jisrael (Joods Ons Huis) 80 Belgium 49 beliefs, religious 8 belles-lettres 90 Bellum Judaicum (by Hegesippus) 45 Berlin 56, 58, 80, 123, 124, 130 Betekenis der Joden voor de wijsbegeerte, De (by L. Polak) 110 Beth Din 104 Bewogen Vrijdag op de Breestraat, Een (by S. van Bussum) 163 Bible 18, 25, 31, 89 bibliographies 51, 54 Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana 68, 70, 85, 109 Bildung 14, 26, 29 Bildungsbürgertum 60 Bildungsideal 61 biography 17, 121 biology 55 birth 78 birth register 107 Biur see Sefer Netivot ha-Shalom Blessing of Assimilation in Jewish History, The (by G. Cohen) 14 blood libel 40 Bohemia 16 book reviews 90, 95 books, Dutch 44 books, illustrated 80 books, printed 72, 78 books, Sephardic 44 bourgeoisie 9, 91

Cambridge 64 campaigns, anti-white slavery 151 candelabra 87 canon, Jewish literary 65 canon, philosophical 124 captivity, Babylonian 44 card system 78 career opportunities 99 careers 139 Cartesianism 112 Catholic 169 Catholic Association for the Protection of Young Girls 171 Catholicism 97, 119 Catholics , Roman 9, 108, 119 causa sui 113 cemetery, communal 161 cemetery, Jewish 55, 161 Centraalblad voor Israëlieten in Nederland 70, 86 certificate 83 challah 24 changes, cultural 99 changes, political 99 changes, social 99 character, Jewish 90 characters, Hebrew 97 Charleston, South Carolina 152 charts, demographic 82 chemistry 26 chief rabbi 104 childcare 156 Children of the Sea (by J. Israel) 94 children’s sections 87-89 Chinese 109 Chotam Tokhnit (by Abraham Bedershi) 58 chower-title 104 Christ’s resurrection 112 Christendom 25 Christianity 110, 113-115, 122, 130, 137, 142 Christians 90 Christmas bells 166, 167 chronicles, Yiddish 46 Chronicon Spinozanum 109, 119 church 36, 93, 107, 114, 116, 128, 136 church services 82 church, black stocking 8

Index of subjects church, Christian 143, 190 church, Dutch Reformed 114 circles, enlightened 123 circles, liberal Jewish 106 circles, non-Jewish 129 circles, proletarian Jewish 163 circumcisers 73, 74 circumcision 78, 80, 93 circumcision chair 80 circumcision coat, Polish 80 citizens 40, 74 citizens, Dutch 187 citizenship 94 City Archives see Amsterdam Municipal Archives city council 95 cityscapes 71 civil rights 98, 133 civilization, Dutch 9 civilization, western 25, 58 classes, lower 169 classes, middle 169 classes, upper 133, 169, 170 classic, anti-Semitic 129 classics, Hebrew 59 clergy 105 clergymen, Jewish 118 clergymen, reformed 109 clerks 143 clothing 146 co-constitutionality 9, 10, 27, 29 code, rabbinical 43 Cogito 111 coins 71, 78, 80 collection of Hebraica and Judaica 109 collections of Judaica 68, 73 Columbia University 36 colonized, the 7 commandments 93 commemorations 103, 104, 113 commitees, charitable 191 Committee against the Double Standard for Women and Children 176 Committee for Migration 177 Committee for the Defense of the Freedom of Labor for Women 180 Committee for the History and Culture of the Jews in the Netherlands 10 Committee for the Norwood Jewish Orphanage 143 communism 193 communities, Anglo-American 38 communities, Ashkenazic 44, 67-69, 70, 80, 81, 83 communities, Jewish 36, 43, 57, 67, 70, 78, 98 communities, Portuguese Jewish 69, 70, 76, 89 communities, Sephardic 38, 44, 50 community, autonomous 16 community, religious 33 composers 39 congregation, Ashkenazic 45 congregation, Dutch Israelite 49 congregation, liberal Jewish 120 congregation, Sephardic 50, 107

201 Congrès du Rassemblement Universel pour la Paix 192 Congress of Vienna 37 congresses 90 conscription 7 contribution, Jewish 9 conversion 98, 122 convert, Lutheran 129 conviction 134 Copenhagen 192 council members 133 Council of Jewish Women 171, 173-175, 177, 178, 180, 181, 190, 193 countries, European 171 countries, western European 49, 169, 170 creation 123 creativity 59 criminal, the 132 crimininals, Jewish 31 crisis, economic 171 criteria, literary 59 criticism 124 criticism, Biblical 60, 64, 112 criticism, historical 60, 105 Crooswijk 55 crusaders 36 cuisine 93 cultural legacy, Dutch 69 culture, Ashkenazic 17 culture, Dutch 12, 60, 115 culture, English 12 culture, European 10, 11, 13, 14, 18, 20, 21, 25, 27-29 culture, French, 12 culture, German 12, 14, 15, 18, 20, 27, 101, 122, 128, 129 culture, German Jewish 53 culture, Hellenistic 29 culture, Jewish 9, 12, 16, 20, 58, 67, 69, 96, 186, 187, 193 culture, Polish 12 culture, popular 82 culture, religious 11, 98 culture, Russian 12, 19 culture(s), national 11-13, 17 curators 82 curiosities 74 customs, Jewish 71, 74 cycles of rise and decay 38 Czechoslovakia 192 Dageraad, De 131, 132, 135, 136 dance masters 39 dark ages 16 darshan 89 data, demographic 51 data, statistical 51 Day of Atonement see Yom Kippur De Maccabaeorum libris I et II quaestiones (by D. Sluys) 60 death 78 defense of Judaism 50 degradation 149

202

Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940

degree, academic 133 deism 126, 135 deist 105 democrats, social 9 Demografie van de joden in Nederland (by E. Boekman) 79 demography, Dutch Jewish 79 demons 55 Denkschreiben über die Reorganisierung des Niederl. Israel. Seminars (by J.H. Dünner) 118 destruction of the Temple 44 determinism 112 determinists 21 Deventer 57 Diamant per kilo (by F. van Raalte) 90 diamond 91 diamond industry 95 diamond workers 164 Diamond Workers Union, General Dutch see Algemeene Nederlandsche Diamant-bewerkers Bond (ANDB) diamond workers, female 166 diaspora 15, 28, 32-34, 36, 39, 43, 61, 62, 101, 102 diaspora life 43 diaspora nationalism 41 differences, ethnic 10 differences, religious 10 dignitaries, Jewish 80 dignity, Jewish 175 dilettantes 76 dilettantism 60-62 dina de malkhuta dina 43 dioramas 82 discrimination 26, 35, 91, 96, 173 divorce 78, 179 doctors, Jewish 57, 73, 74 documents 74, 82, 132 dogma 105 drama 85 dressmaker 161, 164 Düsseldorf 72, 124 Dutch Electrical Association for Women 192 Dutch language 46, 56, 92, 160, 162 Dutch Society for Female Citizens 170 Dutch Society for Female Suffrage 173, 174 Dutch Zionist Organization 71 dynasties, Hasmonean 80 dynasties, Herodian 80 East and West 90 East End 146, 147 East, the 114 economics 21 economy 8, 51, 22 Edinburgh 177 education 7, 85, 133, 138, 139, 185-187, 191 education for girls 187 education, Jewish 185, 188 education, religious 152 education, secular 142, 152 Ehrenrettung 129

Eichmann in Jerusalem (by H. Arendt) 34 Eigen Haard 87 Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Alfred Rosenberg 83 elite, Dutch 133 Elzeviers 96 emancipation 7, 9, 11, 13-15, 20-22, 24, 33, 35, 38, 41, 46, 58, 67, 71, 98-101, 122-124, 126, 129, 130, 139, 142-144, 186 emancipation period 94 emancipation, social 133 emotion 114 emperors, German 23 Empire, German 99, 126 employment, paid 191 England 37, 47, 64, 96, 141, 150, 151, 170, 172, 179 English language 160 Enlightenment 23, 35, 110, 113, 130 Enlightenment, Dutch 45 Enlightenment, European 45 Enlightenment, German-Jewish 105 environment, non-Jewish 178 epigones 53, 54, 58, 59 epigonism 61 Epistle to the Romans 114 epitaphs 55 equal rights 38, 39 equality 175, 183, 185, 189 equality, political 170 era, modern 111 era, Victorian 142 esotericism 134, 135 essentialism 22 essentialist 12, 13, 17, 21, 27 Ethica (by B. de Spinoza) 104, 106, 111-113, 115-117 Ethics see Ethica (by B. de Spinoza) ethics, Jewish 20, 86, 88 etrog boxes 75 Ets Haim 76, 89, 108 Europe 7, 10, 53, 67, 68, 85, 94, 140, 143, 170, 188, 193 Europe, central 144 Europe, eastern 96, 142, 156, 176 Europe, modern 25, 139-153 Europe, northern 16 Europe, western 13, 14, 16, 103, 144, 185 Europeans, western 173 ewer and basin, priestly 70 Excelsior 86 excommunication 104-106, 108, 109, 115 exegesis, biblical 18 exhibition of Judaica 69 Exhibition on Female Labor, National 170 exile 33 expansion, colonial 7 expulsion 43 faction, Republican 105 factory girls 190 facts, demographic 10 Faculty of Theology 110, 118 faculty, Judaic 62 faith 134

Index of subjects faith, Jewish 107 family 87 family, anti-socialist 164 family, Ashkenazic 132 family, Jewish 185 family, middle-class Jewish 92 family, royal 114 family, traditional 124 fanaticism 134 fascism 187, 191, 192 Faust (by J.W. von Goethe) 125 Federation of Women in Enterprise and Profession 174 feminism 178, 184 Feminist Perspectives on Jewish Studies (ed. by L. Davidman and S. Tenenbaum) 139 feminists, American 150, 191 feminists, British 150 feminists, liberal Jewish 186 fertility rate 169 festivals, Jewish 73-75, 78 films 91 fin de siècle 27 finials 69 folklore, Jewish 127 Folkspartey 33 folktale 25 food 146 food, kosher 160, 176 form, mathematical 126 France 44, 54, 61, 64, 139 Frankfurt 98 freedom, human 105 freemasonry 131-138 freethinkers 164 French Revolution 33 Friday night 86, 87, 160 frock 80 frock, circumcision 70 Führer, Jewish 34 fundraising 147 furniture 73 Galicia 62 galut 44 games 87 Garment Workers Union 8 Gasten en de Waard, De (by F. van Raalte) 91 Gedankengrandezza 125 Gemeinschaft 22 gender 139, 140, 145, 146, 172 Gender and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History (by P. Hyman) 185 generalizations 175 Geneva Disarmament Conference 192 Genootschap van Zionstische Academici 95 Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap in Nederland 9, 49, 62, 63, 72-74, 76, 77, 81, 95, 108 genootschappen 65 gentiles 145, 185 Gereformeerd Weekblad 87

203 German Jews Beyond Judaism (by G. Mosse) 14 German language 18, 97, 98, 110 Germanentum 63 German-Jewish History in Modern Times (M.A. Meyer, ed.) 35 Germany 46, 47, 49, 50, 53, 56, 72, 83, 104, 113, 115, 121, 123, 124, 126-130, 139, 144, 145, 150, 172, 173, 176, 179, 181, 188, 189, 191 Geschichte der Juden (by H. Graetz) 33, 57, 107 Geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland, De ( ed. by H. Brugmans and A. Frank) 110 Gesellschaft 22 get 151 ghetto 70-74, 78, 91, 95 ghetto culture 36 girls, Christian 175 girls, Eastern European 150 girls, Jewish 175, 184, 190 Godsdienstig Nederland (by L. Knappert) 119 golah 33, 43 Golden Age, Dutch 60, 94, 130 Golden Age, Spanish Jewish 36, 39 Gospels 110 government, provincial 160 grammar, Hebrew 108, 109 gramophone records 82 Grand Master 135, 137 Great Britain 41, 104 Greek 117 Groningen 55, 112, 160, 161, 188, 189 Groningen Municipal Archives 184, 185 Groninger Richting 112 groups, German women’s 151 guidebook 67, 78, 78 Ha’Ischa 107, 171, 174, 179, 190 Hague section, The 80 Hague, The 57, 88, 104, 114, 131, 137, 170, 178 h.akhamei ha-umot 46 halakhah 22, 62 Halikhot qedem: Oostersche Wandelingen (by G. Polak) 58 Hamburg 127 ha-Me’assef 97, 98 Handwerkers Vriendenkring 167 ha-Noten prayer 43 hanukiah 68, 70 Hanukkah 78 Happy Workers club 152 harmony, pre-established 123 Hasidism 16 Haskalah 16, 56-59, 61, 64 Haskalah, Italian 39 haskamah 45 health care 146 Hebräische Literatur-Verein Mekize Nirdamim 57 Hebraists 58 Hebraists, New 64 Hebrew language 12, 39, 40, 56, 58, 64, 96-98 Hebrew University 32, 36, 61 Hegelianism 116

204

Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940

Heimat, second 126, 127 Heimkehr des Freiwilligen aus den Befreiungskriegen, Die (by M. Oppenheim) 23 heretics 33, 39 heritage 9, 71 heritage, Dutch cultural 54 heritage, Jewish literary 63 Herrenmensch 128 Hertogenbosch, ‘s 69, 70 Hervormd Weekblad 87 Herzenstakt 34 heteronomy 111, 117 Historian Without Tears (by I. Roth) 36 Historians Debate, Israeli 40 historians, German Jewish 36, 59 historians, Jewish 49, 50, 54, 60 historians, Zionist 33, 36, 38, 39 Historical Exhibition of Amsterdam see Historische Tentoonstelling van Amsterdam historiography of Jewish feminists 172 historiography, Dutch 172, 183 historiography, Dutch Jewish 50, 51 historiography, feminist 184 historiography, Israeli 39 historiography, Jewish 10, 31, 34, 36, 38, 39, 41, 43, 47, 53, 56, 94 historiography, local 60 historiography, post-Shoah 183 historiography, post-Zionist 39 Historische Tentoonstelling van Amsterdam 68, 69 history 85, 86, 88 history of philosophy 124 history of religion 124 history of the communities 78 History of the Israelites (by I.M. Jost) 33 History of the Jews (by H. Graetz) see Geschichte der Juden (by H. Graetz) history, ancient 118 history, contemporary 7 history, cultural 54 history, Danish 40 history, division of 7 history, Dutch 138 history, Dutch Jewish 7, 10, 47, 79 history, European 23 history, European Jewish 7, 15, 16 history, German Jewish 126 history, intellectual 35 history, Jewish 11, 13, 20, 32-36, 38-40, 43, 46-48, 50, 55, 60, 61, 67, 74, 90, 108, 109, 139 history, literary 60 history, modern 7 history, national 33, 40 history, Portuguese 40 history, rewritten 94 history, social 35 history-writing 41 h.okhmat Yisrael 61 holidays, Jewish 93, 177 Holland see Netherlands, the Holocaust 36, 40, 51

home, Jewish 68, 70, 142 homeland, national (Jewish) 25, 43, 71 house of Spinoza 106, 115 house, royal 82 housekeeping 156 Huguenots 44 humanism 105, 110, 117 humanist 111 humanist, Christian 39 humanities 28, 133 humanity 117 hunger 170 hybridity 28, 29 hygiene 146 Iberian Peninsula 108 idealism 117 idealism, German 118 idealists, German 113 ideals, masonic 135, 137 ideals,Victorian 143 identification, Jewish 188 identity 53, 94, 100 identity, bourgeois 97 identity, cultural 54 identity, Dutch 8 identity, Dutch Jewish bourgeois 88 identity, Jewish 9, 15, 28, 68, 90, 91, 95, 96, 100-102, 140, 152, 171, 176, 186 identity, social 169, 176 ideologies 101 ideologies, liberal Jewish 11 ideologies, nationalist Jewish 11 ideologies, political 8 ideologies, post-liberal 29 ideologies, post-liberal Jewish 11 ideologies, social 8 ideology, nationalist 15 ideology, Nazi 50 ideology, racist 15 idiom, Dutch Jewish 186 immanent-monism 117 immanent-pluralism 117 immigrants 147 immigrants, German 120 immortality 136 imperative, categorical 112 In Gebedsstemming (by I. Maarsen) 88 incidents, anti-Semitic 194 independence, economic 166, 167, 191 index of names and places 51 Indies, Dutch 135 indifference 96 individualism 19, 117 industrialists 88 industrialization 169 industry, ready-to-wear 156, 157 inferiority complex 91 Institut zur Förderung der israelitischen Literatur 57 Institute for Jewish Religion 37

Index of subjects institutions, religious 69 instruments, circumcision 74 integration 15, 101, 122, 173, 183-194 integrity 122 intellect 114 intellectuals 15, 72 intellectuals, Huguenot 44 intellectuals, Jewish 9, 19-23, 25-27, 44-47, 49, 56, 105, 109 intellectuals, non-Jewish 9 intellectuals, Zionist 12 intelligentsia, 183 interaction, cultural 13 Interbellum 85 interior design 85 interior, minitature 80 International (Women’s) Suffrage Alliance 191, 192 International Information Centre and Archives for the Women’s Movement (IIAV) 171, 180, 181, 184, 192 International League for Peace and Freedom 191 International Women’s Conference against War 191 International Women’s Council 178 interview 90 invasion, German 193 invention of a tradition 20, 29 Islam, medieval 60 isolation, intellectual 49 isolation, social 49 Israel 14, 32, 33, 36, 40, 43-45, 49, 104, 105 Israel onder de volkeren (by L.D. Staal) 48 Israelietische Nieuwsbode 68 issues, ideological 95 Italy 54, 61 items, agricultural 90 items, archaeological 90 items, cultural 90 Java 135 Jedidja 98 Jerusalem 32, 36-38, 61, 62, 104, 111, 112 Jerusalem School 32 Jew, aristocratic 129 Jew, Polish 130 Jew-hatred 128 Jewish Association for the Protection of Girls and Women (JAPGAW) 145, 149, 150 Jewish Board of Guardians (JBG) 146 Jewish Bride, the (by J. Israels) 76 Jewish Chronicle (JC) 147, 148 Jewish Day Nursery 146 Jewish Historical Museum 8, 67, 71, 73, 76-78, 80, 82, 94 Jewish People in America, The (H.L. Feingold, ed.) 35 Jewish Question 37, 50, 181, 193 Jewish Religious Union 141 Jewish State 34, 36, 41 Jewry, Ashkenazic 16, 46 Jewry, European 15, 16 Jewry, German 12, 14, 33, 46, 98

205 Jewry, national 104 Jewry, Russian 96 Jews, Ashkenazic 133 Jews, assimilated 9, 112, 194 Jews, British 139 Jews, East European 33, 38 Jews, European 40 Jews, German 99, 101, 102, 121-124, 130, 145 Jews, Italian 39 Jews, liberal 119 Jews, Portuguese 133 Jews, progressive 183 Jews, Spanish-Portuguese 94 Jews, western European 156 jiddische memme 185 Job, Book of 55 jobtraining 152 Jodenbreestraat 82, 161, 163 Jonas Daniel Meijerplein 67, 78, 80 Jong Streven 160 Joodsche bruidje, Het (by S. van Bussum) 163, 164 Joodsche Post, De 86 Joodsche Tentoonstelling (Het verdwijnend Ghetto), Een (by J.I. de Haan, 1921) 71 Joodsche Tentoonstelling, De (by J.I. de Haan, 1915) 71 Joodsche Wachter 61, 63, 71, 86 Joodsch-Letterkundige Bijdragen 48 Joodse Prins, De 86 Joodse Vrouwenraad 152 journal 19, 20, 85 Judaism 67, 86, 88, 89, 97, 98, 101 Judaism, aristocratic 129 Judaism, biblical 93 Judaism, enlightened 188 Judaism, historic 60 Judaism, liberal 96 Judaism, orthodox 104 Judaism, plebeian 129 Judaism, post-biblical 43 Judaism, rabbinic 93, 142 Judaism, traditional 96 Jude, Der 86 Jüdischer Frauenbund (JFB) 145, 150-152 Judith, Book of 59 justice, historical 129 Kabbalah 48, 108, 122, 135 Kadimah 48 Kampen 56 Kantian 110 Kant-Studien 119 kashrut 88 Katholieke Illustratie 87 kehilla 188 Keizersgracht 85 Kerem h.emed 98 Kerk en Secte 119 ketubah 71, 82 kiddush cups 68, 74 king, Greek 132 Kingdom of the Netherlands 46

206

Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940

Kloveniersburgwal 78 Knowing Thyself 137 Kohelet mussar 97 Kol Nidrei 121 Koninklijk Oudheidkundig Genootschap 69 Koran 55 kosher 87 Kulturkampf 128 Kulturmensch 12 labor market 186 labor movement 9, 97, 155-167 labor organizations, Dutch 158 labor population 7 labor unions 8, 9 labor, female 190 labor, manual 190 labor, paid 197 laborers, female 170 Ladies’ Visiting Committee 146 lamp, eternal 80 lamp, Maccabean 80 language and literature, Javanese 55 language and literature, Semitic 63 language philosophy 22 language, Jewish 58 languages, classical 118 languages, Semitic 118 Latin 108 law, Islamic 55 law, Jewish 61, 151 Law, Natural 137 laws of Nature 138 laws, social 7 lawyer 134 lawyers , Jewish 57 leadership, Zionist 40 lecture, inaugural 63 lectures 49, 72, 95 Leekepreekje IV (by B.J. Hirsch) 106 Left, German 34 leftist 192 legislation, Jewish 179 Leiden 55, 64, 108, 109, 114, 115, 119 Leidens- und Gelehrtengeschichte 35 Leidensgeschichte 36 Leo Baeck Institute 31 Letterbode, Israelitische 48 Levensbode 115 Levensleer naar de beginselen van Spinoza (by J.D. Bierens de Haan) 116 liberalism 8, 97, 105, 112, 117 liberals 20, 115, 169, 183 librarians 54, 60, 89 library catalogues 132 library on Spinoza 119 Licht-en schaduwbeelden uit de binnenlanden van Java (by F. Junghuhn) 135 life sub ductu rationis 111 life, communal 13 life, Dutch 50

life, Dutch Jewish 77 life, Jewish religious 87, 120 life, modern Jewish 140 life, rich Roman Catholic 8 linguistics 22 literary canon, Jewish 60 literary history, Jewish 59 literati 55 literature 85 literature, classical 132 Literature, Comparative 62 literature, deutero-canonical 59 literature, Hebrew 14, 58 literature, Jewish 12, 20, 59 literature, medieval 59 literature, modern Hebrew 62 literature, Talmudic 142 Lithuania 16, 36 lodge 134, 135 lodge La Bien Aimée 133 lodge La Charité 133, 134 lodge La Paix 133 lodge of the Grand East 133-137 lodge, B’nai Brith Hillel 79 lodge, masonic 131, 137 lodge, theosophical 131, 137 London 31, 32, 147, 150, 181, 191 Lutheranism 124 maelstrom, cultural 9, 10, 102 magazines 20, 85 magazines, Catholic 87 magazines, Jewish 86 majority culture 12, 101 majority, non-Jewish 98, 101, 102 mantic, pagan 105 manuals 56 manuscripts 68, 78 Markensgracht 156 Marrano background 108 Marranos 125 marriage 78, 179 marriage and divorce laws, Jewish 151 marriage, mixed 96, 160, 164 Marxism 117 maskil(im) 58, 59, 64 material, archival 72 materialism 111, 112, 135 Materialismus, het spiritismus en de strenge wetenschap, Het (by M.S. Polak) 137, 138 materialists 114, 136 maternalism 145 maternity services 143 mathematics 113 mathematics, Jewish 61 mauscheln 91 Mâya 138 medals 71, 78, 80, 83, 132, 133 medicine 26, 55, 74, 118, 188 Mediene 55, 189 meetings, rabbinical 98

Index of subjects Megillat Yehudit im targum hollandit; Judith Hebreeuwsch (by S. Heigmans) 59, 60 megillot 80 members, non-Jewish 181 memoirs 93 men and women, middle-class 143 Men’s Tailors Union 157, 164 menorah 87 Menorah Journal, The 38 Menorat ha-maor (by Isaac Aboab) 45 messiah 43, 45 messiah, false 33 messianism 44 metaphysics 115, 118 metaphysics of faith 111 meta-Rabbis 21, 22 method, geometrical 125 methods, genealogical 132 methods, grammatical 56 miasma, cultural 102 Middle Ages 7, 33, 36, 38-40, 44, 45, 50, 111, 117 middle class 93, 143, 145, 185 Midrash 14 migration 139 milkman 164 mind, human 117 mind, romantic 125 Minister of Education 32 Ministry of Education, Art and Science (OKW) 82 Ministry of Religious Affairs 188 minority cultures 183 minority groups 91 minority rights minority, Jewish 40, 98, 101, 102, 193 minority, national 33 minority, religious 33 Mishnah 64 mission, pedagogic 98 Mitokh Hirhurim ‘al H . okhmat Yisrael (by G. Scholem) 31 mitzvah of nostalgia 93 mitzvoth 89 Mizrachie 86 mobility 139 modernity 19, 20, 155-167, 183-194 modernization 139-153 monism 112 monotheism 112 morality, practical 185 morals, ecclesiastical 111 Moravia 16 more geometrico demonstrata 137 Morgenstunden (by M. Mendelssohn) 105 mortality rate 169 mortality rates, infant 146 Moscow 25 motherhood, Jewish 185 mothers and babies 146 mothers, unmarried 150 mothers, working 147 mother-tongue, national Dutch 58

207 mourning 76 movement, emancipatory 181 movement, first Feminist 169-182 movement, non-Jewish Feminist 175 movement, nostalgic 94 movement, socialist women’s 156 movement, suffrage 185, 189 movement, teetotaler 162 movement, theosophical 138 movement, trade union 156, 161, 162 movements, liberal 193 movements, social 170, 181 movements, socialist 9, 10, 156 multiculturalism 139 murder, ritual 127 museum catalogues 67 museum objects 67 museum, Jewish 67, 72, 76 museums 93 museums, municipal 72, 78 music 90 music, liturgical 82 musicians 116 mysticism, Jewish 31, 48 mystics, Jewish 34 Naaister van het verleden, het heden en de toekomst, De (by R. Vos) 158 Naaistersbode, De 157, 158, 161, 162 Naaisters en Kleermakersbode, De 158, 160, 164 Nah.al ha-Besor (by N.H. Wessely) 59 narratives 32, 38, 40, 53 nation 36, 82, 94 nation, Jewish 74, 113 National Council of Dutch Women 175-178, 180, 181 National Council of Jewish Women (NCJW) 140, 141, 145, 151, 152, 179 National Department for Female Labor 174, 180 National Fund, Jewish 71 National Office of Women’s Labor 190 National Socialism 117, 173, 176, 177, 181, 182 National Women’s Committee for Refugees 193 Nationale Tentoonstelling van oude kerkelijke kunst te ’s-Hertogenbosch 69 nationalism 11, 14, 19, 29, 36, 129 nationalism, German 126 nationalists, Jewish 13, 32, 33 natura naturans 113, 138 natura naturata 138 naturalism 111, 117 nature 125 Nazi Germany 177, 179 Nazi looting of art 67 Nazi policy 187 Nazi regime 7 Nazis 31, 193 Nazism 50, 177, 192, 193 Near East 40 Nederlands Israelietisch Kerkgenootschap 83, 179 Nederlandsch Verbond van Vakverenigingen (NVV) 165

208

Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940

Nederlandse Bond van mannelijke en vrouwelijke arbeiders in de kledingindustrie en aanverwante vakken 164 Nederlands-Israelietisch Seminarium 118 neo-Hebraici 63 neo-Spinozism 128 Netherlands, the 7, 9, 43, 47-51, 53-57, 59, 60, 62, 64, 65, 67, 68, 70-72, 74-76, 79, 83, 85, 94, 95, 97104, 109, 113, 115, 116, 118-122, 129-131, 133, 135, 137, 153, 156, 169, 171, 173, 182, 185, 187, 189, 193 New Historians 32, 40 New Testament 23, 105 New Testament scholars 64 New York 37 newcomers, Yiddish-speaking 152 newspapers 79, 82 newspapers, Anglo-Jewish 148 newspapers, German 189 Nieuw Israelietisch Weekblad 81, 86, 90 Nieuw Joods Leven 106 Nieuwe grondleer der wijsbegeerte, De (by M.S. Polak) 136 Nieuw-Hebreeuwsch op de universiteit (by L.D. Staal) 63 Nieuw-Hebreeuwse Taal- en Letterkunde (by J. Wijnkoop) 64 Nieuwmarkt 67, 72 Nieuwsblad voor den Boekhandel 85 Nijmegen 119 non-Christians 133, 186 non-Jewish Jews 21 nostalgia 93, 95 novel about Spinoza (by B. Auerbach) 122 novellas 87 nursery workers 147 objectivity 111 objects 67, 72, 78 objects, Jewish ritual 68, 70-72, 76, 82, 93 observance, dietary 141 observance, ritual 144 occupation, French 74 occupation, German 83, 109, 165, 187 Offenbach 83 Öffentlichkeit 19 Old Testament 47, 63 old-age homes 96 Olympic Games 74 Ontwikkelingsclub 159 Oorspronkelijk Israelitisch Kookboek (by S. Vos) 160 Oost en West (by C. Eitje) 90 Order of Freemasons 134 Organization of Jewish Women in Palestine 192 organization, female emloyee 172 organizations, British and American Jewish feminist 151 organizations, feminist 143 organizations, voluntary 141 Orient 90 orientalism 90 orientalist 63

orientalists, Jewish, 55 origin, Ashkenazic 134 origin, Jewish 113 originality 59 Oromase (spiritualist circle) 137 orphanage 157, 160 Orphanage, Jewish Girls 156 orthodoxy, Christian 105, 112 orthodoxy, Jewish 20, 53, 56, 59, 105, 106, 109, 120 Österreichische Wochenschrift 127 Oud- Holland 107 Oude Schans 92 Oudemanhuispoort 70 Ouderkerk 107 outsiders, axionormative 29 Overijssel 104 Oxford 36, 37 Oz.ar ha-neh.mad 98 pacifism 189, 192, 193 pacifists 189, 191 painter, Jewish 24 painters 116 painters, seventeenth-century 94 paintings 23, 24, 73, 94, 96 paintings, Jewish 76 Palaestina 55 Palestine 32, 34, 37, 40, 51, 71, 80, 179, 192 pantheism 112, 113, 124, 126, 129 Pantheismusstreit 105 Parashat Noah 89 Paris 68, 124 parouches 80 parshanut 64 parties, anti-Semitic 127 parties, political 7 passions 114 Passover 93 past, Jewish 72 patience, Dutch 125 patriarchy 185 patrician (regent) 105, 108 patriotism 24 peace 186 peasants 33 peddlers 92 pelican 87 periodicals 97, 171 periodicals, Jewish 47, 76 persecution 19, 35, 193 personalia 78, 87 Pesach 78 Pharisee 18 philanthropy 139-153 philosophers of religion 105 philosophers, German-idealist 133 Philosophical Society 110 Philosophische Gespräche (by M. Mendelssohn) 123, 124 philosophy 18, 21, 108 philosophy, German 118, 124, 125, 129

Index of subjects philosophy of history 111, 116, 117 philosophy, classical 118 philosophy, Greek 105 philosophy, humanist 134 philosophy, Jewish 23, 110 philosophy, Kantian 112 philosophy, natural 125 philosophy, non-Jewish 132 philosophy, reflective 134 photochemistry 55 photographs 85 physicians, Jewish 74 physics 26 pillar, Jewish 8, 9 pillarization 8, 169, 181 Pirke Aboth 106 plants 126 plays 91 poetry 86-88, 125 poetry, Hebrew 58 poets 116 pogroms 19, 43 Poland 17, 132 polemics, Jewish-Christian 64 politicians 88 politics 21, 118, 133 politics, German 128 popularity 121-130 population, middle-class Jewish 96 portraits 71, 74, 78, 80, 82 Portuguese, the 95 Post Nubila Lux 131, 132, 134-137 post-Emancipation period 38 post-Zionists 32, 41 poverty 49, 95, 96 power 128 practice of medicine 51 practice, religious 88 prayer, Jewish 68, 78 preacher, Reform 57 prejudice 175, 187, 194 prejudice, anti-Jewish 191 press 147 press, Christian 106 press, German Jewish 97-102 press, Jewish 65, 67, 70, 74, 106 press, non-Jewish 67 priests 116 Prins der geillustreerde bladen, De 69, 70 printing house 45 prints 71, 72 Prinzip des Protestantismus (by G.W.F. Hegel) 114 professionals 64 professions 78 programs, educational 143 projects, acculturation 153 proletariat 9 Proletarische vrouw, De 158, 165, 166 prophets 105, 125 prose 86, 88 prostitutes, Jewish 150

209 Protestantism 18, 97, 113, 114, 119, 120 Protestants 8, 9, 44, 46, 103, 109, 119, 169 proto-theosophist 137 provenance 67 provinces 83 Psalms 105 psychology 22, 85 psychology, medieval 55 public health officials 147 Public Records 132 Public Utility Society 149 publications, Catholic 86 publications, Protestant 86, 87 Purim 78, 93 Purim play 92 purity 28 purity, ritual 142 quarter, Jewish 71, 72, 92, 96, 155, 156, 160, 163, 166 rabbis 48, 60, 62, 64, 80, 88, 89, 96, 108, 109, 118, 124, 125, 127, 163, 164, 167 rabbis, American 143 rabbis, orthodox 98 rabbis, progressive 57 rabbis, Reform 98 race, Jewish 50 racism 111 Rapenburg 156 rascals, tough red 8 rationalism 112 Ravensbrück 191, 193 reactions, anti-Jewish 194 reading of nature 128 reading room, public 85 reason 105, 134 reception 122, 127, 129 recreation 152 redemption 43, 107 Reform Judaism 18, 20, 119, 141 Reform Judaism’s Sisterhood 141 Reform movement 56 Reformation 114 reformers, social 147 reforming the Jewish religion 99 reformist ideals 188 refugee women 193 refugees 49 refugees, German 176, 192 refugees, Jewish 173, 177, 193, 194 refugees, Protestant 44 register of addresses 132 register, official 82 rehabilitation 121, 123 Reich, German 81 Reich, Das 31 Reichstag 128 relationships, social 101 religion 118, 128 religion, Jewish 12, 14, 75 religion, liberal 119

210

Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940

religion, natural 133, 135, 136 religion, philosophical 113 religions, individual 134 religions, traditional 117 religiosity 112 Rembrandt als Erzieher (by J. Langbehn) 129 remembrance of grandparents 93 Renaissance, Italian 39 Republic, Batavian 46 Republic, Dutch 44-46, 50, 94, 108 rescue organizations 143 rescue work, Jewish 150, 151 research, archival 60 research, scientific 53 restoration 25 Réveil group 47 revelation 105, 113 Revelation Judaism 106 revocation of the Edict of Nantes 44 revolution 9, 94 revolution, industrial 7 Rhenen 51 rich, the 132 rights, equal 9, 124 Rijksmuseum 8, 73 Rijnsburg 106, 108, 109, 115 risjes 89, 175 Risorgimento 27, 28 rites 78 rites and ceremonies, Jewish 143 Rivierenbuurt 165 roles, traditional 142, 143 romanticists, German 126 Romantische Schule, Die (by H. Heine) 126 Rome 192 Rosh Hashanah 78 Rotterdam 44, 55-57, 115, 178 Royal Dutch Academy of Sciences 10 Rückkehr des Freiwilligen, Die (by M. Oppenheim) 24 rulers 43 Russia 33, 61 Sabbath 24, 74, 78, 80, 87, 163 Sabbath objects 75 Sappermeer 188 Sara Pyke House 150 scenes of daily life and work 71 Schiedam 57 scholars 55, 88, 132 scholars, Jewish 45, 46, 58, 61, 64 scholars, Talmudic 98 scholars, Zionist 34, 36, 60 scholarship, Dutch-Jewish 53, 54, 58-62 scholarship, German-Jewish 61 scholarship, Jewish 53-55, 57 scholarship, popular 90 school curricula 100 School of The Hague 115 school, Catholic 124 school, East European Jewish 13

school, Hebrew 89 schoolbooks 56 schools 82, 89, 100 schools for Jewish history 38 schools, religious 141 schoolteachers 57, 162, 164 sciences 8, 51, 82, 116 sciences, Dutch 50 sciences, modern 114 scientia judaica neerlandica 58, 61, 62, 65 scientists 138 Scribe, the (by J. Israels) 76 Scripture 87 sculptors 116 sculpture 73 seamstress(es) 156, 157, 159-161, 166 Seamstresses Union 160, 190 Secret Doctrine (by H.P. Blavatsky-von Hahn) 138 secularism 116 secularization 23, 67, 139, 144, 163 Seder plates 74 Sefer Netivot ha-Shalom (by M. Mendelssohn) 18 Sefer Yosipon 45, 58 self-confidence 167 self-development 167 self-formation see Bildung self-knowledge 134 self-preservation 111 self-respect, Jewish 62 seminaries, Ashkenazic 47 seminaries, Rabbinical 62, 65, 92, 100, 127 seminaries, Sephardic 47 Seminary, Dutch Israelite 48 Semitics 62, 64 Sephardim 16, 45, 46, 94, 109 Septimana Spinozana 110 sermons 19, 100 service, civil 99 service, military 24 services, religious 78 settlement 40, 50 settlement houses 143 Sha’ar Ta’ame Sifre Emet (attr. to Jehudah Ibn Bal’am) 58 shabbat lamp 70 shabbat candlesticks 68, 74 Shavuoth 78 She’erit Yisrael (by Menah.em Man) 45-47 shekel 87 Shema prayer 88 Shoah 7 shofar 80 Shomer z. ion ha-ne’eman 98 shtetl culture 22 Sick Room Helps Society (SRHS) 145, 146 Simchat Torah 78 sin 107, 149 sisterhood 147 sisterhood Sabbaths 141 slave labor 9 slave trade, white 150

Index of subjects slavery 149 slavery, white 9 slums 71 snoge 94 Sobibor 166 Sociaal Democratische Arbeiders Partij (SDAP) 95, 158, 160, 161, 164, 165 Sociaal Democratische Partij (SDP) 160 Social and Religious History of the Jews, A (by S.W. Baron) 33, 35, 37 Social Sciences 28 socialism 8, 95, 96, 183, 193 socialism, Jewish 186 socialist writers 161 socialist(s) 138, 161, 163, 166, 167, 169, 176, 183 Societas Spinozana 117, 119 societies, academic 72, 94 societies, benevolent 140 societies, Jewish 78 societies, missionary 96 societies, philantropic 141 societies, scholarly 57 society 133 Society for Female Suffrage 170 Society for Jewish Studies see Genootschap voor de Joodsche Wetenschap Society for Working Women 177 society in transition 94 society, bourgeois 101 society, Dutch 74, 96, 183, 184, 186 society, European 11 society, freethinkers 131 society, literary 57 society, middle-class German 144 Society, Royal Antiquarian 69 society, spiritualist 137 sociology 21 sociology of culture 26 soil, Indo-Germanic 114 solidarity 94, 175 solidarity, Jewish 145, 175 song 126 Sorbonne 64 soul, human 136 sources, Hebrew 58 sources, Jewish 122 Soviet Union 14 Spain 36, 43 Spanish language 108 Spinoza en de geneeskunde (by M.H. Cohen) 107 Spinoza in Deutschland (by M. Grunwald) 127 Spinoza over Jezus Chistus en zijne opstanding (by P. Hofstede de Groot) 112 Spinoza society, Dutch 110 Spinoza: mercator et autodidactus (by A.M. Vaz Dias) 107 Spinoza’s library 109 Spinoza’s statue 114, 115 spinozification 103 Spinozism 103-120, 122, 123, 125, 129, 134-137 Spinozist 105, 106, 110, 115-118, 122, 129

211 Spinozists, Jewish 104 Spirit 117 spirit, anti-Jewish 63 spiritualism 131-138 Stadtholder 105 stagnation, cultural 46 star of David 87 state 114, 128, 130 state, Jewish 190 status, social 167 statutes 77 Stedelijk Museum 71, 80, 83, 94 Steenwijk 110 stereotypes, anti-Semitic 40, 91 stories, short 87, 94 Strasbourg 68 strebers 91 Strijd tussen idealisme en naturalisme in de negentiende eeuw, De (by J.D. Bierens de Haan) 117 strikers 165 structures, patriarchal 143 struggle, social 173 students, female 178 students, rabbinical 60 studies, classical 60 studies, Dutch Jewish 64 studies, historical 93 studies, Jewish 31, 32, 34, 37, 61, 63, 76, 94 studies, post-biblical Hebrew 64 subculture(s) 8, 19, 20, 29 subjectivity 110 suffering 38, 39, 90, 149 suffrage 152, 158, 165 suffrage movement 152 suffragettes 170 sukkah 80 Sukkoth 78, 157, 167 Sulamith 97 survival 43 symbiosis, German-Jewish 129 synagogue 13, 43, 44, 70, 80, 96, 99-101, 107, 141, 144 synagogue complex, Ashkenazic 67 Synagogue Franchise 149 synagogue service 53 synagogue, Portuguese 87 synagogue, Sephardic 50 synagogues, old Portuguese 109 Talmud 25, 64 Talmudism 17 tasks, traditional female 148 Tazria Metzora 89 teacher, non-Jewish 160 teachers, Jewish 60, 64 teba 87 Teekenen des tijds, De (by G. Bolland) 109 Temple of Jerusalem 44 Temple, New Israelite 29 tendencies, anti-Semitic 90, 105 Tentoonstelling van Palestina producten en joodsche kunstnijverheid 71

212

Dutch Jewry in a Cultural Maelstrom, 1880-1940

Teutonism 38 texts, Hebrew 132 texts, Jewish mystical 135 texts, rabbinic 64 themes, historical 73 themes, Jewish 71, 92 theologians 46, 63, 64, 103, 112-114, 118 Theological-Political Treatise see Tractatus theologico-politicus (by B. de Spinoza) theology 62, 105, 112-115, 119 theology, Talmudic 64 theory, ethical 111 Theosophical Society 131, 137 Theosophy 131-138 thinker, religious 107 thinkers, German 125, 126 thought, German 122-126 Tibet 138 Tijdschrift voor geschiedenis 50, 51 Tisha b’Av 78 tolerance 45, 99, 153 tolerance, religious 133, 138 Tongeleth 95 Torah 25, 45, 155 Torah reading of the week 88 Tractatus theologico-politicus (by B. de Spinoza) 104, 105, 108 109, 112 trade union work 157 Trade Union, Dutch Women’s 157 trade unions 10, 190, 193 traders 108 Tradition and Crisis (by J. Katz) 16 tradition of feminism, German and German Jewish 150 tradition, Jewish 12, 20, 89, 101, 144 tradition, literary 127 tradition, non-Jewish philosophical 133 tradition, philosophical 127 tradition, rabbinic 89 tradition, Zionist 36 traditions, religious 71 traditions, Spanish Jewish 36 transcedent-dualism 117 transcendent-pluralism 117 translations, Yiddish 44 transvaluation 142 tribe, Semitic 114 Uilenburg 71 Ukraine 43 understanding, human 117 underworld 31 Union of Jewish Women (UJW) 145, 147-149,151, 152 United Kingdom 166 United States 41, 51, 53, 104, 153, 170-172, 179 universalism 194 universality 111 universities, Dutch 63, 64 university 114, 166, 187 University of Amsterdam 63, 64 University of Kaunas 36

University of Southampton 151 Unsterblichkeitsfrage, Die (by M.S. Polak) 136 Upper Silesia 126 urbanization 139 Utrecht 47, 57, 113, 178 values, Christian 183 values, traditional 95 Van despotie tot vrijheid (by J.H. Carp) 117 Van Eeghenstraat 86 veneration of rabbis 93 Verdwijnend Amsterdamse Getto in Beeld, Het 70, 71, 94 Vereine 19 Vereniging het Spinozahuis 108-110, 118 Veritas (spiritualist society) 137 Vernunftgemässheit 111 verzuiling see pillarization vet bolen 92, 93 Vienna 36, 72, 127, 192 Vier eeuwen Waterlooplein (by F. van CleeffHiegentlich and J. Cahen) 67 view, materialist 136 view, nationalist 38 views, patriarchal 151 Vitebsk 25 volkscultuur 94 Volksgeist, Jewish 63 Voogdij volgens het Talmoedische recht, De (by S. Keijzer) 55 vote 9 vote for women 170 voting rights 7 Vrijdagavond, De 9, 49, 61-63, 73, 75-77, 79, 85-96, 103, 104, 178 Vrije Universiteit 57 Vrije Vrouwen Vereniging 157 Vrouw 1813-1913, De, (exhibition) 191 Vrouwenraad in Nederland, Joodsche 80 Waarheid en Liefde 112 watchmaker 161 Web der Schepping. Theosofie en kunst in Nederland van Lauweriks tot Mondriaan, Het (by M. Bax) 131 wedding 82 Weekblad voor Israelitische Huisgezinnen 86 weekly, illustrated 85 Weesperstraat 156, 164, 165 Weigh House 67, 72, 73, 78, 83 Weimar culture 27 Weimar Republic 9 welfare 152 welfare activity 139 welfare, maternal and child 146 Weltanschauung 115, 118 Wereldkroniek 87 Werther (by J.W. von Goethe) 125 Wesjinnantom lewooneegoo 88 West, the 114, 141 Westeremden 160

Index of subjects western world 38 wetenschap, joodse 58-60, 63, 65 wine cup 24 Wissenschaft des Judentums 16, 31, 32, 40, 41, 47, 53, 55-61, 64, 98 Witte Raaf, De 87, 96 women workers, Jewish 155-167 women, American 141 women, American Jewish 139 women, Aryan 176 women, assimilated Jewish 188 women, British 141 women, British Jewish 151 women, Christian 141, 142, 145 women, confessional 170 women, Dutch Jewish 152, 169-194 women, European 139 women, German Jewish 144, 151 women, Jewish 7, 9, 10, 33, 139-153 women, orthodox 179, 180 women, social-democratic 190 women, working-class 143 women, Zionist 145 Women’s Committee for Refugees 174 Women’s Disarmament Committee of International Organizations 192 women’s emancipation 171, 173, 178, 182 women’s equality 176 women’s movement 9, 10, 149 women’s movement, English Jewish 172 women’s movement, German 172 women’s organizations 186, 193 women’s rights 85, 150, 171 women’s suffrage 192 work, charitable 140, 143, 148 work, Jewish social 179 work, philantropic 185 work, social 153, 171, 174, 175 workers 7 workers’ party 95 working day, eight-hour 158 working-class Jews 153 working-class women, Jewish 179 works of art 79, 93

213 World Exposition in Paris 68 World History of the Jewish People (Jerusalem-based) 35 World History of the Jewish People (by S. Dubnow) 33 World League for Women’s Suffrage 174 world literature 61 world peace 171 world religions 138 World Reunion for Peace 193 World Union of Progressive Judaism 120 World War I 7, 49, 119, 189 World War II 7, 9, 49, 54, 191 world, non-Jewish 160 world, western 183 writers, Dutch 13, 18 writers, Eastern European 96 writers, German 12, 13 writers, Israeli 96 writing, historical 139 yearbook 20 Yeshiva 23 Yiddish language 12, 45, 92, 95, 100 Yiddish State Theater 25 Yisrael bagolah (by B. Dinur) 33 YIVO 36 Yom Kippur 78, 115, 121 youth, Dutch Jewish 56 z. edakah 140 Zeitgeist 98, 101 Zin van de vergelding, De (by L. Polak) 110 Zion 34, 39, 98 Zionism 12-14, 19, 32, 49, 90, 190 Zionist Congress, Fifth 12 Zionist movement 25, 32 Zionist view 36 Zionistenbond, Nederlandse 61 Zionists 20, 71, 179 Zur Geschichte der Religion und Philosophie in Deutschland (by H. Heine) 124 Zutphen 48, 119 Zwaluwnesten 179