Patriots without a Homeland: Hungarian Jewish Orthodoxy from Emancipation to Holocaust 9798887190297

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Patriots without a Homeland

Hungarian Jewish Orthodoxy from the Emancipation to Holocaust

The Lands and Ages of the Jewish People Series Editor Ira Robinson (Concordia University, Montreal)  Other Titles in this Series The Jewish Metropolis: New York City from the 17th to the 21st Century Edited by Daniel Soyer The Jews in Medieval Egypt Edited by Miriam Frenkel The Project of Return to Sepharad in the Nineteenth Century Mónica Manrique “We are not only English Jews—we are Jewish Englishmen”: The Making of an Anglo-Jewish Identity, 1840–1880 Sara Abosch-Jacobson Stavans Unbound: The Critic Between Two Canons Edited by Bridget Kevane Canada’s Jews: In Time, Space and Spirit Edited by Ira Robinson German Jewry: Between Hope and Despair Edited by Nils Roemer The Jew in Medieval Iberia: 1100-1500 Jonathan Ray For more information on this series, please visit: academicstudiespress.com/landsandages

Patriots withouta a Homeland Hungarian Jewish Orthodoxy from the Emancipation to Holocaust

Jehuda Har t m an Translated from Hebrew by Shaul Vardi

BOSTON 2023

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Hartman, Jehuda, author. | Vardi, Shaul, translator. Title: Patriots without a homeland : Hungarian Jewish Orthodoxy from the emancipation to Holocaust / Jehuda Hartman ; translated from Hebrew by Shaul Vardi. Other titles: Paṭriyoṭim le-lo moledet. English Description: Boston : Academic Studies Press, 2023. | Series: The lands and ages of the Jewish people | Includes bibliographical references. Identifiers: LCCN 2022033473 (print) | LCCN 2022033474 (ebook) | ISBN 9798887190280 (hardback) | ISBN 9798887190297 (adobe pdf) | ISBN 9798887190303 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Orthodox Judaism--Hungary--History. | Jews--Hungary--History--19th century. | Jews--Hungary--History--20th century. | Jews--Hungary--Identity--History. | Holocaust, Jewish (1939-1945)--Hungary. Classification: LCC DS135.H9 H37413 2022 (print) | LCC DS135.H9 (ebook) | DDC 943.9/004924--dc23/eng/20220715 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022033473 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022033474 Copyright © 2023, Academic Studies Press All rights reserved. ISBN 9798887190280 (hardback) ISBN 9798887190297 (adobe pdf) ISBN 9798887190303 (epub) Cover design by Ivan Grave Book design by Lapiz Digital Services Published by Academic Studies Press 1577 Beacon Street Brookline, MA, 02446, USA [email protected] www.academicstdiespress.com

Dedicated to my parents, Leah and Zvi, with love and longing

Contents

Preface1 Prologue: An Appeal to the Christian Public in Hungary 4 Introduction7 Part One: From the Well-Being of the Kingdom to the Well-Being of the Nation: Orthodoxy and Hungarian Nationhood

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Introduction: Jews and Nationhood 1. The Turning Point of Emancipation 2. The Good Years of the Monarchy 3. Shaping and Expressing National Consciousness 4. Zionism in Red, White, and Green 5. Orthodox Judaism and Christianity: Attraction and Repulsion 6. The Trianon Era Conclusion: The Idyllic Picture of the Past—Fantasy and Reality

39 45 77 124 138 163 182 210

Part Two: Orthodoxy and Antisemitism

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Introduction219 7. The Monarchic Era 225 8. The Interwar Period 256 9. “What Should We Do about These Attacks against Us?”—Reactions and Strategies295 10. Internal and External Communication Strategies 331 Afterword356 Bibliography364 Index387

Preface

Hungarian Jewry as a whole has yet to receive the historiographic attention it deserves, despite the fact that in the latter part of the nineteenth century it constituted one of the largest Jewish communities of Europe. The reasons for this neglect include the linguistic and social isolation of Hungary in general, as well as uncertainty regarding the affiliation of Hungarian Jewry to Central and Western Europe or to the east of the continent. While this book concentrates on the Orthodox stream in Hungary, it also touches on the character and identity of all streams of Hungarian Jewry. The study of Orthodox Judaism in Eastern Europe tends to focus on halakhic questions and on the ideological struggles with other Jewish streams, with an emphasis on the internal Jewish arena. This book seeks to examine the conduct of Hungarian Orthodoxy in the external arena, through its attitude toward the surrounding Christian world. Accordingly, the book will explore Orthodox positions concerning society, culture, and government; the response to the rise of the Hungarian nation-state and the extent to which it integrated in this arena; its attitudes toward the Hungarian people; and its response to the emerging phenomenon of antisemitism. All these subjects provide insights into how a large Orthodox community in Europe coped with the challenges of modernity. Through the prism of rabbinical literature, memoirs, and the press, we will expose the changes that occurred in the perception and attitudes of different

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Orthodox circles concerning the Hungarian majority society during the period from emancipation to the late Holocaust of Hungarian Jewry. The first part of our study will concentrate on various stages and aspects in the rapprochement of Orthodoxy to Hungarian nationhood. The second part will examine Orthodox attitudes toward antisemitism, which were in large measure associated with the above-mentioned process of rapprochement. Due to the diverse issues involved, I chose to adopt a combined chronological and thematic approach. The main thrust of our discussion will follow a chronological sequence, but occasionally a chapter will be devoted to a specific topic that deviates from that axis, in order to emphasize its importance and present it in a detailed and coherent manner. Over the years I spent researching and writing this book, I often found myself thinking of my deceased relatives who lived through the events I describe. I had the sense that I was working on their behalf: My father and mother, Zvi and Leah Hartman; my mother’s parents, Yisrael and Hannah Herskovits, who survived the Holocaust in Budapest; my father’s parents, Chananya and Pessel Hartman, and their families in Slovakia, who perished. May their memories be a blessing. This book is based on the doctoral thesis I submitted in November 2016 to the Senate of Bar-Ilan University. My thanks go to Professor Shmuel Feiner of Bar-Ilan University and Professor Guy Miron of the Open University for their important supervision of the research process. Thanks, too, to Professor Moshe Rosman for conversations that helped me to consolidate the direction of my research; to Dr. Michael Silver for his advice in delineating the research subject; to Professors Michael Miller and Adam Ferziger, who read my study and offered comments and suggestions; and to Professor Victor Karady of Budapest for our fruitful conversations during the writing process. I am also grateful to Dr. Chayuta Deutsch for her comments during the initial editing stage. I owe a particular debt of gratitude to the late Mrs. Lilly Stern, with whose assistance I learned the art of reading the Hungarian language. Thanks to Professor Stuart Cohen and David Weisberger for their useful comments. Lastly, thanks again to Professor Guy Miron, who accompanied me along the entire process from my initial steps in research to the completion of this book. The publication of the English translation of this book in the United States will extend the circle of readers and expose them to lesser-known episodes in the history of Hungarian Jewry in modern times. I am delighted that this translation has been possible and am most grateful to Professor Ira Robinson who read the Hebrew book, encouraged me to translate it, and referred me to the Academic Studies Press. Special thanks to Shaul Vardi for preparing a professional, readable, and precise translation that manages to preserve the unique flavor of the traditional texts.

Preface

Thanks to the Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch Chair for Research of the “Torah with Derekh Erez Movement” for the grant partially supporting the writing and publication of this book. I would like to thank my dear children Michal, Tzvika, Ariel, and Yair, and their families, for their interest and encouragement. Above all, thanks to my beloved Avigail, my wife and companion since my youth, for accompanying me devotedly as we advance along the paths of life.

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Prolog ue

An Appeal to the Christian Public in Hungary

In an open letter addressed to the citizens of Hungary in 1944, while trains crammed with Jews sped east, a Jewish leader published a desperate plea to Christian society, imploring it to try to halt the horror: Hungarian Jewry turns to Christian Hungarian society at the last moment, as its tragic fate is already an accomplished fact, and presents words of supplication. It turns to those alongside whom it has lived for a thousand years, for better and for worse, in this homeland in whose soil our ancestors lie buried. . . . We must reveal to the Christian-Hungarian society that hundreds of thousands of Hungarian Jews have been transported out of the country, in tragic and cruel circumstances without precedent in human history. . . . If it knew of them, Hungarian society would not look on these events without being horrified. It seems that the majority of Hungarian public opinion is unaware of these dreadful happenings, due in particular to the complete silence of the press. . . . We believe in the integrity of the Hungarian nation, which will not permit the annihilation of innocent people. But if our pleas for our lives fail to find an attentive ear, then our sole request of the Hungarians is that they end the expulsion and

An Appeal to the Christian Public in Hungar y

the evil that accompanies the expulsion, and put an end to our suffering here, so that we might be buried in our country, in our homeland.1 This passionate plea conceals a tragic naivety. While the mass convoys of Hungarian Jews were managed by Eichmann and his closest advisors, they were implemented by the local Hungarian police and authorities. It would not have been possible to locate hundreds of thousands of Jews scattered across thousands of different places of settlement in peripheral regions without the massive cooperation of official Hungarian bodies. The author of the appeal cited above was the eldest brother of my mother Leah, Dr. Fábián (Shraga) Herskovits, who composed it together with two colleagues. Herskovits was a Neolog rabbi with a strongly pro-Zionist orientation. Unlike most Hungarian Jews, he had refused to be swept along in the wave of Hungarian patriotism. Nevertheless, this patriotism is evident in his appeal. Even at this terrible moment, Herskovits and his colleagues believed that were the Hungarian people aware of the crime, it would still attempt to put a stop to it. This book does not discuss the Holocaust, but it does seek to understand the conditions and background that led to the belief in the integrity of the Hungarian people reflected in the above appeal, even on the brink of annihilation. The study that forms the basis of the book focuses on Orthodox Judaism, but also illuminates to a large extent the attitudes among the Jewish population as a whole over a period of some one hundred years leading up to the destruction of Hungarian Jewry in the Holocaust. As we have seen, although the author of the above appeal was a fervent Zionist, even he had recourse to the Hungarian patriotic terminology that dominated his milieu.2 Although the document was composed in the worst possible of times, the pitiful plea to be buried in the soil of the homeland, in Hungary, stands as a final echo of the “Hungarian symbiosis”—the unrequited love that was shared by so many among Hungarian Jewry.3

1 Randolph L. Braham, The Hungarian Holocaust [Hungarian] (Budapest: Gondolat, 1981), vol. 2, 332–333. 2 See Yehuda Friedlander, “Thought and Practice: Zionists and Opponents of Zionism among the Hungarian Rabbis from the First Zionist Congress (1897) through the 1950s” [Hebrew] (PhD diss., Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan, 2007), 203–229. A collection of Herskovits’s sermons offers a full exposition of his Zionist views: Yehuda Friedlander and Kinga Frojimovics, eds., Makor—Selected Sermons of Rabbi Herskovits [Hungarian and English] (Budapest: Magyar Zsidó Levéltár, 2000). 3 The expressions here are quoted from a critical article by Gershom Scholem (1897–1982), “Jews and Germans,” in his Devarim be-go [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1982), 96–113.

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Introduction

Jews reached the Danube Basin as early as the third century, in the wake of the Roman legions; at the time the area formed the Roman province of Pannonia. Jewish artifacts have been found in archeological excavations undertaken in Roman settlements and army camps in the region, some of which are displayed at the National Museum in Budapest.1 The arrival of the early Magyar tribes in the area in the ninth century was followed by the establishment of a stable monarchy, creating a new incentive for Jews to move to the “Land of Hagar,” as the region was referred to in medieval rabbinical texts.2 In 1526 the Ottomans conquered most of the Kingdom of Hungary; they would continue to occupy the area for over 150 years. The country declined during this period and many of its inhabitants emigrated. By the time the Habsburg dynasty took control of Hungary in the mid-eighteenth century, fewer than ten thousand Jews remained. From this point forward, however, the Jewish community began to grow.

1 Sandor Scheiber, Jewish Inscriptions in Hungary: From the Third Century to 1686 (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1983). 2 In Hungarian, the Hungarian nation is referred to solely by the term “Magyar,” and Hungary is known as the “Land of the Magyars” (Magyarország). In English and many other languages, the parallel term “Hungarian” is also in use. The two terms are broadly synonymous, although “Magyar” is sometimes regarded as conveying a stronger ethnic connotation, whereas “Hungarian” has rather a political and civil sense.

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The overwhelming majority of the Jews of Hungary, who numbered almost one million at the beginning of the twentieth century, arrived from the mideighteenth century onward in two waves of migration, from west and east.3 The first wave originated in the German-speaking lands—Moravia, Bohemia, Austria, and Germany and largely consisted of immigrants from a relatively prosperous background, who held liberal attitudes on religious matters and were culturally and socially open-minded. Many of the new arrivals settled in urban areas in the center and west of Hungary (Upper Hungary or Oberland), and like their coreligionists in Central and Western Europe underwent processes of profound acculturation and assimilation. The second wave of immigrants came mainly from Galicia, which was a far less developed region. Most of these Jews were less prosperous, more conservative with respect to matters of religion and tradition, and maintained an affinity with Hasidic circles. They settled primarily in rural areas in the northeast of the country (Unterland) and included certain groups that tended toward cultural and social separatism and disapproved of modernity. From an early stage, therefore, the Jewish presence in Hungary was characterized by a division into two broad groups with contrasting characteristics—a division that was largely a product of Hungary’s geographical location between west and east. Jews in western Hungary tended to adopt a modern lifestyle, while those in the eastern provinces were more inclined to adhere to conservative norms. These distinctions intensified over time, creating a rift within the Jewish population. In 1868 the Hungarian authorities convened a Jewish Congress to discuss the formation of a national umbrella body to represent the Jewish public. However, fundamental and unbridgeable disagreements emerged between the two factions. The Orthodox chose to withdraw from the Congress, and Hungarian Jewry split into two main streams, Neolog and Orthodox, each of which established its own national organization. Thus social, economic, and religious differences were formalized and institutionalized.4

3 See Michael Silber, “Hungary,” YIVO Encyclopedia of Jews in Eastern Europe (Yale: Yale University Press, 2008), vol. 2, Table 1: Number of Jews in Hungary—911,227 according to the 1910 census. Komoróczy gives a figure of 938,438 Jews for the same year; the difference is due to the exclusion or inclusion of figures for autonomous regions such as Slovenia-Croatia. See Géza Komoróczy, History of the Jews in Hungary [Hungarian] (Budapest: Kalligram, 2012), vol. 2, 1119. 4 Michael Silber, “The Roots of Division in Hungarian Jewry” [Hebrew] (PhD diss., Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1985); Yaakov Katz, The Unhealed Breach: The Secession of Orthodox Jews from the General Community in Hungary and Germany [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 1995).

Introduction

The Neolog movement, a uniquely Hungarian phenomenon, developed from the mid-nineteenth century in the Oberland regions. Faithful to the ethos of integration, the Neologs sought to adapt the institution and style of the synagogue to the prevailing esthetic spirit of the surrounding society, without infringing basic halakhic principles and without altering the prayer book. Although the Neolog movement did not in principle deviate from traditional rabbinical practice, it abandoned any attempt to coerce the public into observing the religious commandments, was less strict regarding halakhic demands, and sought to eliminate the cultural differences between its members and the majority society, while at the same time maintaining their religious identity.5 The Neolog approach was advanced by middle-class Jews, primarily for pragmatic financial and social reasons, rather than on the basis of an intellectual critique of the Halakhah. The rabbis and spiritual leaders who inclined toward the Neolog approach did not develop a distinct theology, nor did they go as far in their innovations as the Reform movement in Germany. The commitment among the Neologs to the observance of the halakhic way of life is broadly similar to that found in the Conservative movement in the United States in the early twentieth century. In 1871 the minister of education and religions approved the regulations of both factions. However, some communities preferred to maintain their preexisting arrangements; these later formed an intermediate stream known as the Status Quo.6 The schism became the key distinguishing feature of Hungarian Jewry and had a profound influence on its conduct for decades to come. It also constituted a formative experience for Hungarian Orthodoxy: in the nineteenth century, in particular, an extensive rabbinical literature developed, including polemical works and halakhic rulings, as part of the effort to justify and perpetuate the schism.7 Differences also emerged within the Orthodox stream, particularly from the latter third of the nineteenth century onward, between those living in the Unterland, who showed a tendency to insularity and religious conservatism

5 On the emergence of the Neolog stream, see Katz, Unhealed Breach, 53–59. 6 On the development of the Jewish religious streams in Hungary and their conduct from the schism through 1950, and for a description of their distinctive social, economic, demographic, and organizational characteristics, see Kinga Frojimovics, “The Religious Streams in Hungarian Jewry (Orthodox, Neolog, and Status Quo) between 1868/1869 and 1950, Socioeconomic, Demographic, and Organizational Characteristics” [Hebrew] (PhD diss., Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan, 5763). 7 For an extensive review of the rabbinical literature presenting justifications for the division, see Ben-Zion ben Meshulam Shraga Jakobowitz, Remember the Days of Old [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: private publication, 5746), 4 vols.

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(Eastern Orthodoxy) and those in the Oberland, who adopted a more open variant of Orthodoxy, including a measure of integration in Hungarian culture (Western Orthodoxy). Ultra-Orthodoxy constituted an extreme separatist minority within Eastern Orthodoxy that utterly rejected modernity and was opposed to any tendency to integrate in surrounding society.8 The period addressed by this book begins in the year of emancipation (1867), when Orthodoxy in Hungary embarked on a process of integration in Hungarian society and culture, and ends in 1944, when this chapter came to a tragic end. The intervening seventy-seven years were a period of dramatic change for the Hungarian state, and equally so for its Jewish inhabitants. Our goal here is to explore the attitudes among the different shades of Hungarian Orthodoxy toward their country, including such aspects as the national leadership, Hungarian nationhood, the people, Christianity, and antisemitism.9 The narrative combines a thematic approach with chronological order, in an attempt to highlight the key findings while allowing an understanding of their linear development over time. Our period began with a clarion call of joy and hope and ended in a still, small silence. The titles of works describing this period, such as “From Emancipation to Catastrophe” or “The Politics of Containment and Exclusion,” accurately summarize the underlying course of history.10 The entire community indeed plunged from the status of a minority favored by the leadership to a community denied the most basic of human rights. Almost all the Jews of Europe experienced a very similar decline; the distinction of the Hungarian Jewry would seem to lie mainly in the high point from which it began. The community participated in the shaping of Hungarian nationhood and played a key role in its economic, industrial, commercial, and cultural development. With hindsight, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the Hungarian Jews, who comprised around five

8 On the emergence and character of ultra-Orthodoxy, see Michael Silber, “The Emergence of Ultra-Orthodoxy: The Invention of a Tradition,” in The Uses of Tradition: Jewish Continuity in the Modern Era, ed. Jack Wertheimer (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992), 23–84. 9 Following the Treaty of Trianon (1920), large areas of territory and substantial populations were transferred from Greater Hungary to the neighboring countries. As part of this process, approximately half the Jews in Hungary came under the sovereignty of other countries; most of these Jews belonged to the Orthodox stream. Following the Vienna Awards of 1938 and 1940, further border adjustments were made and many Jews again became citizens of Hungary. This book focuses primarily on the Jews who lived within the Hungarian state in the period 1867–1944. 10 T. D. Kramer, From Emancipation to Catastrophe: The Rise and Holocaust of Hungarian Jewry (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2000); Vera Ranki, The Politics of Inclusion and Exclusion: Jews and Nationalism in Hungary (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1999).

Introduction

percent of the total population of the country, had little if any influence over their own fate; they were tossed around by far more powerful historical forces. I seek to examine the period from their perspective: to examine the events through the eyes of Hungarian Jews of the time, and to explore their feelings, thoughts, and responses to the reality in which they lived. Although the status of the community began to decline after the First World War, its members believed until the last moment that in their country things would be different: here it would not happen. And when it did happen here, they were left stunned and astonished. Accordingly, this study also seeks to understand why they were so surprised; how could they stand on the edge of an abyss without seeing it? How did they fail to notice the slope even as they descended it? During our period, and even before it, most of the Jews of Hungary moved into the modern world and attempted to integrate in it. An examination of their attitudes toward their surroundings, on the issues of the state, the people, nationhood, Christianity, and antisemitism, forms the basis for examining the extent of their integration in modernity. For centuries, traditional Judaism in Europe advocated separation from the non-Jewish world. It built protective walls around itself, developed its own distinct culture, and nurtured a separate way of life. Orthodox Judaism considered itself the heir and successor of this traditional Judaism, while the Neologs sought to move out from the isolationist way of life and integrate in society at large. The spirit of modernity, which advocated the integration of all those living in the country and the removal of the barriers that divided them, presented a threat to religion and tradition; accordingly, Orthodoxy opposed this tendency and its response was far more nuanced and reserved. In the following chapters I will attempt to gauge the extent to which the Orthodox integrated in the modern state and the extent to which it remained faithful to the traditional attitudes. I will do so primarily through an examination of Orthodox attitudes on two key issues: Hungarian nationhood and antisemitism. Though these two issues are interrelated and connected, they nevertheless constitute separate aspects. Traditional Judaism had developed firm opinions on both issues, and accordingly we will ask to what extent Hungarian Orthodoxy maintained these approaches, and to what extent it adopted new, modern approaches. Had a form of Modern Orthodoxy already emerged in Hungary by the end of the nineteenth century?

A Jewry of Extremes? In 1925, the president of the Jewish National Fund, Menachem Ussishkin (1863–1941), declared during a visit to Budapest: “I came here to understand

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and study Hungarian Jewry, because there is no Jewish public in the world that presents a greater mystery than this one. This Jewry combines extreme contrasts—on the one hand, there is no more assimilationist a group than its liberal wing, and on the other it includes circles that utterly reject modernity.”11 Ussishkin’s comments reflect a widely held view that Hungarian Jewry was comprised of two polarized groups, the Neologs on one side and the Orthodox on the other; enthusiastic modernizers against its sworn adversaries. The historian Shimon Dubnov (1860–1941) expressed a similar view: The dispute between the religious reformers and the ultraOrthodox that erupted in Hungary in the 1840s has continued. In the meantime this religious dispute has been further complicated by political differences and hatred between assimilationist supporters of Magyar identity and separatists. Here the two ends clashed: Ossified and pious opponents of any progress, on the one hand, and free enlightened Jews eager to embrace Magyar culture, on the other; and there was no intermediate group between them such as the Neo-Orthodoxy in Germany. Rebels against the light from the school of the “Chatam Sofer” (Rabbi Moshe Sofer, 1762–1839) and deniers of Jewish nationhood from the circle around Lipót Löw12 could not unite in any field of public action. This explains the gravity of their war and the stubbornness of the feuding parties.13 Thus Hungarian Jewry was portrayed as comprising two extremes, without an intermediate group: fanatical opponents of modernity on the one hand, and liberal-Neolog assimilationists on the other. The rift between the two sides accentuated this sense and created the impression of a dichotomous schism between two poles. These two extreme groups indeed existed, and were prominent within Hungarian Jewry, particularly prior to the First World War. However, like any other human group, the Jews of Hungary included a spectrum 11 Zsidó Ujság (ZsU), December 12, 1925. The Zsidó Ujság ( Jewish Newspaper) was the most important Orthodox newspaper in the interwar period. It was founded in 1925 in Budapest by Lipót (Arye Lev) Groszberg (1869–1927), the editor of the Allgemeine Jüdische Zeitung. After Groszberg’s death, the weekly newspaper was edited by his son Jenő Groszberg (1896–1980), a student of the Shevet Sofer, who was ordained to the rabbinate at Pressburg Yeshiva and served as a rabbi in Budapest. 12 Rabbi Leopold (Yehuda Leib) Löw (his first name in Hungarian was Lipót) was one of the prominent Neolog spokesmen at the 1868 Congress that led to the division. 13 Shimon Dubnov, World History of the Jewish People [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 5714).

Introduction

of opinions and approaches. In this study I will challenge the dominant dichotomous description and note the presence of a significant intermediate Orthodox group that favored integration and modernity alongside loyalty to its heritage. This group underwent acculturation, but not assimilation, and indeed constituted a Hungarian variant of Neo-Orthodoxy. The dichotomous discourse is also apparent in the studies of Jacob Katz (1904–1998), a historian of Hungarian origin, though in a less emphatic manner than in the case of Dubnov. Katz’s essay on the identity of post-emancipatory Hungarian Jewry, which in part examines the Orthodox sector, tends to conflate the religious and organizational divide in the community with an ideological divide concerning Magyarization: “Linguistic assimilation notwithstanding, the Orthodox acculturation was strictly limited. . . . Orthodox Jewry was committed to the pre-emancipatory image of Judaism accommodating itself to the changing circumstances only as far as compelling agencies exacted it. . . . They could respect the laws of the country in which they lived but scarcely identify with its nation.”14 The Neolog stream, Katz argued, integrated willingly and from the outset; the Orthodox stream avoided integration to the best of its ability, and when it showed signs of integration, this was due to the absence of any alternative. Katz bases his argument in part on the letter sent by Rabbi Chaim Sofer (1821–1886) to Rabbi Shimon Raphael Hirsch (1808–1888) in Frankfurt. In the letter, which will be discussed in greater detail below, Sofer negated any concept of loyalty to an alien people, as distinct from loyalty to the governing powers. In accordance with this approach, most Orthodox Jews in Hungary did not participate in Magyarization, or at most did so in a partial manner. Katz’s essay “The Uniqueness of Hungarian Jewry” also creates the impression that Orthodoxy was broadly united in its attitude to Magyarization: “At one end stood those eager to assimilate, in the middle the relatively moderate Reform stream evolved, and at the other end, separated from the two former groups, the Orthodox managed their lives in communities that had a starkly conservative character. Some of the ultra-Orthodox led their lives under the guidance of Hasidic rabbis. . . . The latter were completely separated from Gentile society and apathetic toward events outside their own world.”15 According to this approach, there were extreme assimilationists who sought to distance themselves from Judaism; next came the Neologs, who integrated in 14 Jacob Katz, “The Identity of Post-Emancipatory Hungarian Jewry,” in A Social and Economic History of Central European Jewry, ed. Jehuda Don and Victor Karady (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 1990), 13–31. 15 Jacob Katz, “The Uniqueness of Hungarian Jewry” [Hebrew], Molad 6, no. 32 (December 1974): 193–198.

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general society while maintaining a distinct Jewish conscience and identity; and at the far end stood Orthodoxy. While delineating the dividing line between Orthodoxy and the Neologs, Katz appears to have blurred the distinction between Western and Eastern Orthodoxy.16 The historian Shulamit Volkov argues that “the main fault line in Jewry runs between those who were willing to participate in the ‘modernity project’ and those who were not willing to do so.”17 In light of this comment, I will seek to challenge the dichotomous approach and to propose an alternative fault line in Hungarian Jewry. In place of a line dividing Orthodox and Neolog, I will suggest a new border: between those who rejected modernity and those who accepted it. I will show that from the Emancipation onward, there developed in Hungary, between the two poles, an expansive Modern Orthodoxy that has to date not received sufficient attention. This circle saw no contradiction between adherence to tradition and integration in the state. The Orthodox saw themselves as distinct from the Neologs, and indeed in terms of their religious outlooks and traditional way of life significant differences continued to exist between the two streams. In terms of their attitude to the surrounding world, however—to the nation, state, people, and religion, and to secular education—this Orthodoxy was much closer to the Neologs than to ultra-Orthodoxy. Accordingly, I will suggest that the fault line in Hungarian Jewry should be positioned between those who rejected modernity as a matter of principle, and those who, to a lesser or greater degree, adapted to it and lived in peace with it.18

Modernity Modernity is a broad and multifaceted concept. Many different attempts have been made to define and describe it. In the latter half of the twentieth century, researchers tended to regard modernity as a uniform phenomenon manifested in similar ways even in radically different societies. In the 1990s, the sociologist

16 Frojimovics, who examined the emergence and development of the various streams following the division, also tends to regard Orthodoxy as a monolithic group in terms of its attitude toward modernity. She refers to “the struggle between the camps that supported modernization, on the one hand, and tradition, on the other” (Frojimovics, “Religious Streams,” 383). 17 Shulamit Volkov, “The Modernity Project of the European Jews: Division and Unification,” in Zionism and the Return to History—A Reevaluation [Hebrew], ed. Shmuel Chai Eisenstein and Moshe Lissak ( Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi Institute, 1999), 279–305. 18 There was also a small group of Zionists (Neolog and Orthodox, see chapter four below) who do not fit into either of Dubnov’s polarized groups. According to the method proposed here, this circle will be placed together with those who lived in peace with modernity.

Introduction

Shmuel Noach Eisenstadt (1923–2010) coined a new term in the study of modernity—“multiple modernities.” Contrary to the prevailing approach, he emphasized that divergent patterns of modernity developed in different places and societies.19 In this spirit, I will attempt below to sketch a profile of the unique characteristics of modernity as these developed in the Orthodox community in Hungary. The sociologist Peter Berger (1929–2017) distinguishes between two key dimensions of modernity: the social dimension (including political, industrial, economic, and technological aspects) and the dimension of the consciousness of the individuals and groups that comprise society. In our context, “consciousness” refers to the attitudinal and conceptual worlds of ordinary people, as distinct from theoreticians or philosophers.20 I will focus below on this dimension of consciousness, attempting to capture the different shades of modernity reflected in the thought and behavior of Orthodox Jews in Hungary between the Emancipation and the Holocaust. Modernity literally means contemporary—occurrences in the present, regardless of their content and essence. In this sense, modernity is a chronological term. However, the term “modernity” as used today has an additional meaning that embodies a value judgment favoring the cultural changes that have characterized recent generations and a positive attitude to innovation and change as crucial factors encouraging human progress. In this sense, modernity is an attitude and a mode of thought. Modernity is associated with specific themes and ideologies, such as rationalism, critical thought, individual liberties, and so forth. A government interested in encouraging processes of modernization will take practical steps, such as investing in education, establishing institutions that will act to promote these ideals, encouraging citizens to engage in more productive employment. Modernity presented particularistic Jewish tradition with challenges and difficulties, as an external construct that emerged in the “Gentile” world. Moreover, the recognition that change and innovation are positive phenomena that advance and improve humanity; the focus on the present and future, in place of adoration of the past; and the belief in the strength of humans and liberation from cognitive enslavement—all these tendencies are alien to the traditional approach that sanctifies the past and regards it as the key to life in the present.

19 Shmuel Noach Eisenstadt, Multiple Modernities [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Van Leer Institute, 2010). 20 Peter L. Berger, Brigitte Berger, and Hansfried Kellner, The Homeless Mind: Modernization and Consciousness (New York: Vintage Books, 1973).

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In addition to the inherently problematic encounter with the external and the new, there were also doubts regarding the specific content of modernity.21 In any case, a tendency to integration in the external world is always a hallmark of modernity. Modernity has several key features. The idea of progress assumes that the new will be better than the old; it is this idea that imbued modernization with a quasi-messianic hue of salvation. Modernization also implied secularization and the reform of educational institutions and systems. In the Jewish context, we can suggest that modernity had two facets. The first was internal, relating primarily to the renewal and reinvigoration of the religious systems and their suitability for the demands of time and place. This facet also included reference to Zionism and other forms of Jewish nationhood. The second facet concerned the attitude toward the external non-Jewish surroundings: society, the state and nation, other religions, and secular education. Accordingly, modernization among the Jews occurred in two arenas: in the internal Jewish arena, where the most pressing questions centered around religion and tradition; and in the external arena, concerning in particular the measure of identification, integration, and containment of the surrounding culture. Within the Jewish arena, Orthodoxy faced an assault from the advocates of enlightenment and secularization; indeed, opposition to such trends was the very purpose of its creation. In the external arena, there was greater room for creative and innovative interpretation. Many observers have discussed the Orthodox positions in the field of religion. I will seek here to concentrate on the manifestations of modernity in the external arena, rather than on secularization or halakhic and religious changes. This approach highlights modernization as a process of merger with the surrounding society and the replacement of particularistic Jewish values by general and universal ones. Modernization arrived in Hungary at the time when its gates opened to Jewish integration—later than it did in Germany and Western Europe. The Jews not only integrated in the processes of modernization, but to a large degree shaped and created them. They were full-fledged partners in the development of industry, commerce, banking and finance, agriculture, the press, and culture.

21 In his study of the attitudes of German Jews toward modernization from the eighteenth century onward, the historian Michael Meyer seeks to define Jewish modernity: “Does it even exist, or is there no such thing as a distinct Jewish modernity, but merely a process of the expanded participation of Jews in the modernization of the societies in which they live? If this is the case Jewish modernity becomes a companion or result of integration, which is the more fundamental process, and which we may equally term Westernization or Europeanization.” See Michael Meyer, Judaism within Modernity [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 2006), 28–38.

Introduction

I will consider below the extent to which Orthodox Jews in Hungary identified with the Hungarian state, language, culture, people, and nation. The sociologist Max Weber (1864–1920) emphasized rationalism as the most prominent feature of modernity: the use of logic, rather than of a given faith system, to interpret reality.22 Equipped with this insight, we will gauge here the extent of innovation and rationalism in Orthodox discourse on the subjects of exile and hatred of Jews—issues on which the tradition had adhered to a clear set of attitudes for many centuries.

Orthodoxy Jacob Katz regarded Orthodoxy not as a direct continuation of premodern traditional society as it saw itself, but as a new and dynamic phenomenon that emerged in response to the collapse of the ghetto walls and the threat modernizing trends posed to the status of tradition.23 Loyalty to tradition among the Orthodox is regarded as the product of a conscious choice by its adherents, at a time when many were abandoning tradition and given the opportunities that had become available to Jews in the new era. The insight that Orthodoxy is indeed an innovation is based on its sociological, ideological, political, and organizational attributes, all of which distinguish it from traditional society.24 On the verge of the modern era, traditional society faced processes and phenomena that endangered its very existence. Those loyal to tradition found themselves in

22 See Max Weber, Rationality and Modernity, ed. Sam Whimster and Scott Lash (London: Allen & Unwin, 1987). 23 Katz asserts that the Orthodox claim to be no more than the continuers of ancient, traditional Judaism “is no less than fiction.” Jacob Katz, “Orthodoxy in Historical Perspective,” in Studies in Contemporary Jewry, vol. 2, ed. Peter Y. Medding (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1986), 3–17. The first observer to express this view clearly was the historian Moshe Samet, “The Response of the Halakhah to Modernization” [Hebrew], Deot 36 (5729): 22–24. In his introduction to Samet’s book The New is Prohibited by the Torah—Chapters in the History of Orthodoxy [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Carmel, 5765), 8, the historian Immanuel Etkes suggests that this insight is the product of the interaction between Samet and his teacher Jacob Katz. See also Yehuda Reinharz and Anita Shapira, eds., “Responses to Modernity in Eastern Europe,” in Zionism and Religion [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 1994), 21–32. Earlier, Ben-David attributed modern characteristics to Hungarian Orthodoxy, emphasizing the growth of the institution of the yeshiva: Yosef Ben-David, [Hebrew], Zion 17 (5712): 101–128. 24 Katz tends to focus on the social aspects, whereas Samet emphasizes changes in halakhic rulings. For a detailed discussion, see Yosef Shalmon, Aviezer Ravitzky, and Adam Ferziger, eds., Jewish Orthodoxy: New Aspects [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 2006), 297–344; Samet, The New is Prohibited; and Katz’s books mentioned above.

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a minority, or were afraid of being such, and responded either by attacking the existential threat or by adopting a defensive position.25 Many researchers involved in the study of Orthodoxy in general regard it as a post-traditional and reactionary response to modern trends concerning education, reform, and secularization emphasizing the tension and contradiction between the traditional world and modernity.26 Orthodoxy is regarded as a closed, detached entity: an enclave within the Jewish world preoccupied with halakhic debates and ideological struggles against other streams of Judaism. As a result of this approach, research into Orthodoxy in general, and its Eastern European wing in particular, has focused mainly on the internal Jewish realm. In this study I seek to examine Hungarian Orthodoxy in its external context, through its attitudes to society, culture, and government. Our study will explore the Orthodox response to the rise of the Hungarian nation-state, and consider the extent to which it integrated in this state, its positions toward the Hungarian people and its religion, and its response to antisemitic phenomena. On a broader level, we will review the conduct of Orthodoxy within the modern world and consider to what extent it was rooted in specific circumstances of time and place. Under the influence of the Catholic imperial court in Vienna, and contrary to the inclinations of the ruling Calvinist elite, there was no separation between religion and state in Hungary. Every individual was required to register as a member of a specific religious community and to pay taxes to its institutions. This explains why, after the schism of 1868, there was a clear separation between the Jews who were affiliated with the different streams. I will refer here to any Jew who was a member of the Orthodox community by the term “Orthodox.” This label does not define the extent to which that individual was strict in the observance of the religious commandments or actually maintained a religious lifestyle. For various reasons, Jews who did not scrupulously observe every religious commandment also chose to affiliate with the Orthodox community; the communities themselves were not permitted to select or reject members. Accordingly, one might find a community that was careful to ensure that the laws of Kashrut were followed in its religious institutions, but turned a blind eye to the religious practices of its members in their homes. In some rare instances, individuals who did not maintain a religious lifestyle were even appointed as the heads of Orthodox communities. 25 For a summary of the different perceptions of Orthodoxy in the research literature and disputes concerning its origins, see Roni Beer-Marx, Fortresses of Paper—The Newspaper Ha-Levanon and Jewish Orthodoxy [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2017), 19–23. 26 Shalmon et al., Jewish Orthodoxy offers a detailed discussion on the question of the position of Orthodoxy between tradition and modernity.

Introduction

An article published in 1898 in the Hungarian-Jewish religious journal Tel Talpiot complained that “in some Orthodox communities, most of the stores remain open on the Sabbath and the women do not visit the ritual bath.”27 In 1926, a religious query was presented to Rabbi Chaim Yehuda Ehrenreich (1887–1942) concerning a community “most of whose members are evil and sinners before the Lord—are they allowed to be called Orthodox? . . . After all, Orthodoxy itself has to date not supervised personal lives within the community, and in several communities there are individuals who profane the Sabbath.”28 These instances are not representative, as most Orthodox Jews maintained a halakhic way of life, but for our purposes here all the above will come under the term “Orthodox.” Orthodoxy as whole was united in its opposition to the Neolog movement and accepted the authority of Halakhah and rabbinical leadership. In the 1870s and 1880s, the general trend among Hungarian Orthodoxy was characterized by a sympathetic approach toward ultra-Orthodoxy, although most Orthodox individuals were far more moderate in their religious behavior and beliefs than the leading zealots.29 On overtly religious and traditional questions, it appears that the authority of the more extreme rabbis was accepted, whereas on other matters a different approach was taken. The more moderate Western Hungarian Orthodox did not oppose the militant line adopted by the ultra-Orthodox. An example of this is Rabbi Chaim Sofer, who was arguably the most prominent spokesman of ultra-Orthodoxy, yet in 1879 was chosen to serve as the rabbi of cosmopolitan and modern Budapest, whose Orthodox Jews were more moderate and Western in their character. Sofer’s extremist views did not present an obstacle to his appointment as the chief rabbi of the city. From the early years following emancipation, a silent agreement appears to have taken hold whereby neither side criticized the other, presumably in order to maintain a united front against the more “dangerous” Neolog adversary and, above all, in order to preserve the separate status enjoyed by Orthodoxy, which was regarded as a bulwark against the threats facing religion. During the period between 1867 and 1944, Hungary underwent significant geopolitical and demographic changes that had a particularly profound impact on the Jews. This reality presents a methodological problem to anyone examining the history of the Jews of Hungary during this period. Following the Treaty of Trianon (1920), approximately half of the Jews of Hungary came under the 27 Tel Talpiot (1898): 83. 28 Rabbi Chaim Yehuda Ehrenreich, Treasure of Life [Hebrew], vol. 2, 49 (private publication). 29 Adam Ferziger, “The Religious Zealot as a Halakhic Arbiter—Rabbi Chaim Sofer,” in Religious Zealotry [Hebrew], ed. Meir Litvak and Ora Limor, ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2007), 85–112.

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sovereignty of other countries; in the late 1930s, many of these once again came under the control of Hungary following the Vienna Awards. Accordingly, it is not unreasonable to ask: who is a Hungarian Jew? Let us take the example of a Jew from Munkács in Carpathian Ruthenia who was born and raised in Hungary, but found himself a citizen of the newly created country of Czechoslovakia. This Jew maintained his Hungarian language and culture, and was even regarded by the authorities as an agent of Magyarization. Are we to include him in the history of the Jews of Hungary, or will his Czechoslovak citizenship place him and those like him in the category of the Jews of that country? Some writers use the catch-all phrase “Hungarian-speaking Jews” to refer to all the Jews within the Hungarian cultural sphere, regardless of the changing political boundaries. This approach encompasses all the Jews of “Greater Hungary,” even after the changes introduced following the Treaty of Trianon. In this study I will focus mainly on those Jews who remained within the sovereign territory of Hungary throughout the historical changes, although I will also relate in some instances to Orthodox Jews who lived in the countries that assumed sovereignty over various areas and who regarded themselves as Hungarian Jews and responded to developments inside Hungary. Orthodox positions in Hungary were expressed by various bodies: the “Autonomous Executive Committee of the Jewish Orthodox Faithful in Hungary and Transylvania” (the Executive Committee), the rabbinical leadership, the press, and the Orthodox public (whose views are more difficult to ascertain). However, organizational discipline and the adversary stance against the Neologs usually dictated a uniform position. In most cases, differences of opinion can only be inferred from indirect allusions.

Hungary in the Modern Era The Dualist Period At the beginning of the eighteenth century, the whole historic territory of the Hungarian kingdom came under the control of the Habsburg Empire, after a period of over 150 years when most of its territory had been occupied by the Ottomans.30 Austria’s centralized system of government and its efforts to impose the German language created frustration in Hungary, strengthening the aspiration for political independence. The outcome of this process was a revolt

30 On the consequences of the Ottoman occupation, see Paul Lendvai, The Hungarians (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2003).

Introduction

against the Austrians (1703–1711) led by Ferenc Rákóczi (1676–1735), which ended in a compromise whereby the land-owning nobility regained its rights and former rebels who accepted Habsburg patronage were pardoned.31 The second quarter of the nineteenth century, known in Hungarian historiography as the Reform Era (reformkor), was marked by a process of modernization and the development of a national revival movement. The Hungarian national movement was influenced by the ideals of the French Revolution and European Enlightenment, and for the most part it had a liberal orientation.32 The dominant elite sought to revive the Hungarian language, which until this time had served only as a spoken language, to nurture Hungarian culture, to advance the political goals of a nation-state, and perhaps even to gain independence. These aspirations reached their peak in the Hungarian Revolution of 1848 (known in Hungarian as szabadságharc—the “Freedom Struggle.”) The revolt against the Habsburgs was led by Lajos Kossuth (1802–1894) and formed part of the European Spring of Nations; it was suppressed in 1849 with the assistance of the Russian army.33 The failure of the revolution led to a period in which Emperor Franz Joseph I imposed harsh policies on Hungary. In 1867, the Austro-Hungarian Compromise (Ausgleich in German and kiegyezés in Hungarian) was reached. Hungary was granted a large degree of autonomy within the empire, but foreign affairs and defense continued to be managed from Vienna. Despite a reality of quasi-independence, the desire for national self-determination had not been satisfied. In the same year the Austro-Hungarian monarchy was founded, and the Dualist period began. The protracted desire for national self-realization and independence intensified national sentiments and fueled the vision of a Magyar nation-state. Constant discussion of patriotism, loyalty to the homeland, the dissemination of the Hungarian language, and other components of national identity became a dominant strand in public discourse and a prominent theme in the press and in literature. A majority of the residents of Hungary were not ethnic Magyars but members of diverse minority groups—Romanians, Slovaks, Germans,

31 This period in Hungarian history is described in detail in Peter F. Sugar, Péter Hanák, and Frank Tibor, A History of Hungary (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1994), 100–120; Peter Hanák, One Thousand Years: A Concise History of Hungary (Budapest: Corvina, 1988), 77–81; Lendvai, The Hungarians, 145–154. 32 On the Reform Era, see Lendvai, The Hungarians, 191–205; Hanák, One Thousand Years, 97–109. 33 On the Hungarian Revolution of 1848, see Sugar et al., History, 209–233; Hanák, One Thousand Years, 114–121.

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Ruthenians, Serbs, and Croats—who did not speak Hungarian.34 This reality heightened the desire to emphasize the Magyar component, but at the same time impeded its dissemination.35 In 1850, for example, only 41.5 percent of Hungarian residents declared that their mother language was Hungarian; this figure increased to 46.6 percent by 1880.36 The dominant aristocracy sought to unite the multiethnic and multifaith nation under the Hungarian national flag and to strengthen the Hungarian component of its character. To this end, it invited the minorities to join the national body through a process of Magyarization, based on adoption of the Hungarian language and culture, identification with national goals, and the abandonment of manifestations of non-Hungarian ethnicity (magyarosodás).37 The hope was that this process would secure a Hungarian majority in the country, thereby legitimizing their efforts to impose Magyar culture throughout its territory. In these circumstances and times, Hungarian nationalism had a liberal character: an all-embracing form of nationalism that sought to extend the boundaries of the nation. Jacob Katz observed that “the Hungarian national movement represented a special shade of nineteenth-century European nationalism. Its unique features include its rapid rise, the creation of national consciousness almost ex nihilo, the extreme nature of the demands presented to its followers, yet at the same time a far-reaching openness to accept newcomers to its ranks.”38 “Historical Hungary” belonged to the Habsburg Empire with a largely German administration, though this did not apply to Hungary, where Latin and Magyar remained the language of administration till the early nineteenth century. The processes of modernization shaped in Germany and Austria had a profound impact on Hungary.39 34 Hungary at the time included all of Slovakia and Transylvania, parts of Serbia, Croatia, and Slovenia, and the Burgenland province, which is today part of Austria. 35 According to the 1910 census, the number (and in parentheses the percentage) of the non-Magyar national groups were: 2,948,000 Romanians (16); 1,946,000 Slovaks (10.7); 1,903,000 Germans (10.4); 1,121.000 Ruthenians, Serbs, and Croats (6.1); and 938,438 Jews (approximately 5 percent). See Nathaniel Katzburg, Antisemitism in Hungary 1867–1914 [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1969), 195. 36 Ignác Romsics, Hungary in the Twentieth Century (Budapest: Corvina Osiris, 1999), 36. 37 On the trend of Magyarization, see Sugar et al., History, 255–254, 261–264; Kramer, Emancipation, 21–23. The extensive use of the term magyarosodás in its various declensions, and of the related verb, are evidence of the intense preoccupation with this concept. 38 Katz, Uniqueness, 195. 39 On the influence of German culture on the Jews of Hungary, see Guy Miron, “Zionism and Jewish Nationhood in Germany: On the Special Path between Center and East,” in Zionism in Its Various Regions [Hebrew], ed. Alon Gal ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 5770), 281–339; Guy Miron, The Waning of the Emancipation Era [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2011), 11–22; Michael K. Silber, “The Historical Experience of German Jewry

Introduction

The ethnic minorities were disappointed that their national identity did not secure any recognition in the dualist kingdom. They maintained an affinity with the ethnic compatriots in the neighboring countries, and most of them rejected the demand for Magyarization. By contrast, many Jews enthusiastically joined the project of acculturation and assimilation, showing a particularly high level of loyalty to the state. Katz noted that “a conscious assimilation whose aim is total inculcation in surrounding society is an extremely common phenomenon among Hungarian Jewry.”40 Researchers refer to an unwritten contract between the dominant elite and the Jews—the “social contract of emancipation”—based on the granting of equal rights in return for Magyarization.41 The Jews were expected to adopt the native language and culture, to abandon manifestations of separatism, and to adapt in order to enable cultural merger with the Hungarians. From the Jewish perspective, the length of time that passed until they received equal rights under the law and the protracted and difficult struggle this entailed served only to intensify the desire and need to demonstrate their patriotic sentiments. The process of Magyarization played an important part in shaping the character and fate of Hungarian Jewry in the modern era. The trust placed in the Hungarian state by broad circles in the Jewish population did not dissipate even when its attitude changed following the First World War, and more sharply still from the late 1930s. In the 1840s, as part of the public discourse in Hungary concerning the reforms needed in order to advance the state, the question of the emancipation of the minorities was also raised. In 1840 the parliament enacted a law removing almost all the restrictions placed on the right of Jews to live in the cities of Hungary and opening up new possibilities for employment. The law sparked a process of urbanization among the Jews, who began to play a growing role in the nation’s economy. Many Jews joined the struggle against Austria in 1848–1849, and this became a formative experience for them. Kossuth and the other leaders of the revolt repeatedly praised the Jews for their enthusiastic willingness to fight for Hungary’s independence.42

and Its Impact on Haskalah and Reform in Hungary,” in Toward Modernity—The European Jewish Model, ed. Jacob Katz (New Brunswick: Transaction Books and Oxford University Press, 1987), 107–157. 40 Katz, Uniqueness, 195. 41 See Kati Vörös, “A Unique Contract: Interpretations of Modern Hungarian Jewish History,” Central European University Yearbook 3 (2002–2003): 229–255. 42 Komoróczy, History, vol. 1, 1163–1169. In a chapter entitled “An Army Belt in Place of Tzitzit,” Komoróczy describes the mobilization of the Hungarian Jews to the struggle for independence and the acknowledgment of their contribution by the leaders of the revolution. The title of the chapter is drawn from a letter by the German-Jewish scholar Leopold Zunz published in the

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During the struggle the leaders of the revolution granted the Jews emancipation, but this was nullified by the Austrians a few weeks later after the revolt failed. The Hungarian parliament again granted emancipation to the Jews after the formation of Austro-Hungary in 1867, as part of the promise of equal rights for all the citizens of the dual monarchy.43 The compromise with Austria led to rapid modernization and economic development, and the newly emancipated Jews played a significant role in this process. The path to equality was completed in 1895, when the Jewish religion was granted an equal status to that of the other non-Catholic religions (the Law of Reception). Earlier, in 1874, the Austrian parliament granted equality to the non-Catholic Christian sects and to Judaism; the law was applied retroactively from 1867 in all the countries under the Austrian crown, with the exception of Hungary.44 It is worth noting that the Jewish religion never enjoyed a similar status in Germany. The winds of modernization that emerged in Western Europe arrived late in Hungary. The country’s economy continued to be based mainly on outmoded agriculture organized in a feudal structure.45 Much of the land was owned by a relatively large nobility that accounted for over five percent of the population. The largest estates were owned by the high aristocracy (magnates), while most of the remainder were under the control of the “gentry,” the medium and lowranking nobility. The aristocracy had a substantial representation in parliament, in the army, and in public administration, and exerted a strong influence over the nation’s politics. The ruling elite sought to introduce extensive reforms in order to bring Hungary up the level of the developed nations of Western Europe.46 The restrictions faced by Jews in the economic and social spheres had largely been removed by this time and the Jewish public was playing an increasingly

American newspaper Israel’s Herald on April 30, 1849. Reporting on the participation of the Jews of Hungary in the national struggle, Zunz remarked “our brothers in Hungary are wearing a military belt in place of tzitzit.” Komoróczy, History, vol. 1, 1163–1169, and particularly 1166. 43 The law XVII. tc., 1867 was approved at the beginning of December by both houses of the Hungarian legislature. See Katz, Unhealed Breach, 103. 44 Rachel Manekin, The Jews of Galicia and the Austrian Constitution—The Beginnings of Modern Jewish Politics [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2015), 58–59. 45 Andrew C. Janos, The Politics of Backwardness in Hungary, 1825–1945 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982). 46 On the modernizing trends, see, for example: Sugar et al., History, 256–260; Michael L. Miller, “Going Native: Moritz Jellink and the Modernization of the Hungarian Economy,” in The Economy in Jewish History, ed. Gideon Reuveni and Sarah Wobick-Segev (New York: Berghahn Books, 2011), 160–162. On the socioeconomic conditions in Hungary in this period, see Janos, Politics; and on the role played by Jews in the economic sphere, see Michael K. Silber, “A Jewish Minority in a Backward Economy: An Introduction,” in Jews in the Hungarian Economy 1760–1945, ed. M. K. Silber ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 1992), 3–22.

Introduction

prominent role in the modernization process in Hungary. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, almost the entire Jewish population of Hungary had lived in small communities in rural areas. A century later, significant Jewish populations had developed in the main cities, and particularly in the capital, which was home to the backbone of the country’s middle class. In 1920, the Jewish population of Budapest was over 200,000, accounting for about onefourth of the total population of the city.47 The proportion of Jews prominent in the economy, commerce, law, and culture rose sharply around the turn of the century. Jews underwent a rapid process of linguistic and cultural rapprochement to Hungarian society and increasingly identified with its values. In some instances this process led to assimilation and conversion.48 In terms of social structure, language, liturgy, and lifestyle, the Ashkenazi Jews of nineteenth-century Europe can be divided into two groups: Eastern Ashkenazis (in Poland, Lithuania, Galicia, Romania, and northeastern Hungary), and Western Ashkenazis (Germany, Moravia, Bohemia, Northern France, the Netherlands, and Western Hungary). As can be seen, this division creates a “border” within Hungarian Jewry, which, as noted above, appeared mainly as the result of two waves of immigration that occurred over a relatively short period of time.49 The immigrants in the first wave came mainly from the west, and settled in the western regions of Hungary, while the second wave came from the east and settled in the rural districts of northeastern Hungary. The rapid pace of immigration prevented the merger of these two groups and the creation of a uniform Jewish identity. The fact that there was no significant Jewish population in the center of the country further encouraged geographical isolation and the perpetuation of the distinct character of the two groups. It should be emphasized that the northeastern regions of Hungary were in general less modern and less developed in economic and cultural terms than the west; similarly, the Jews of this region maintained a distinct character in their socioeconomic status and their attitude to modernity. In these areas a conservative, insular, and sometimes extreme form of Orthodoxy developed, influenced by the Hasidic courts in nearby Galicia and Ukraine. This unusual pattern of demographic, social, and

47 Randolph Braham and Nathaniel Katzburg, History of the Holocaust in Hungary [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 1992), 12. 48 Miklós Konrád, “Conversion and Identity” [Hungarian], Századok (2010): 3–46; Miklós Konrád, “Jews and Converted Jews in the Dualist Period” [Hungarian], Történelmi Szemle (2007): 373–402. Both these articles by the historian Miklós Konrád discuss the phenomenon of conversion in the Dualist period. 49 In 1700 there were 4,071 Jews in Hungary; in 1910—938,438. Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 1116.

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religious polarization within a single country mitigated against cooperation. When the minister of education and religions convened a Congress of rabbis and communal representatives in 1868, with the goal of forming a national representative organization, the participants were unable to reach agreement. The Orthodox representatives withdrew from the Congress and decided to establish a separate and autonomous Orthodox organization, which received governmental approval in 1870. While Hungarian Jewry had essentially been divided since the waves of immigration of the eighteenth century, it was now formally split into essentially two rival national organizations, which would continue to wage an acute ideological struggle for decades to come. Any person in Hungary who declared himself a member of the Jewish religion was obliged by the authorities to belong to one of these two streams. Even those who left Judaism, or moved from one stream to the other, were required to continue to pay their dues to their original community for five years. Katz claims that “Hungarian Jewry was a young community, and this explains most of its prominent features.”50 He does not comment further on this claim. It may be that the schism in the Hungarian community can be explained by the young age of the national community, which had not yet consolidated a shared tradition and unifying past, as was the case, for example, in the regions that would later become part of Germany. The separatist efforts of Rabbi Shimon Raphael Hirsch and his supporters in Germany encountered fierce opposition even from their fellow Orthodox rabbis, who regarded the ongoing unity of the community as a value they were not willing to relinquish. Such positions were not heard in Hungary. A further difference is that from the beginning of the last third of the nineteenth century, after emancipation, the relative weight of Orthodox Judaism in Hungary was significantly greater than in Germany.51

50 Katz, “Uniqueness,” 193. 51 Breuer estimates that from 1848 German Orthodoxy gradually declined, so that after the First World War it accounted for only 10–20 percent of the total Jewish population in Germany. See Mordechai Breuer, Portrait of a Community: Orthodox Judaism in the German Reich 1871–1918—A Social History of a Religious Minority [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 1990), 12. Until the First World War, the Orthodox accounted for approximately 52 percent of Hungarian Jews; after the war, and following the loss of Hungarian lands, this figure fell to 31 percent. In 1941, after some of the lost territories were returned to Hungary, the Orthodox accounted for almost 60 percent of the Jewish population of the country. See Gyula Zeke, “After the Rupture,” in Seven Decades in the Life of Hungarian Jewry [Hungarian], ed. Bányai Lázsló (Budapest: Felelős, 1990), 152; Braham and Katzburg, History of the Holocaust, 17. In Koerner’s two-volume study of Hungarian Jewry drawing on photographs from the period, a substantial portion of the photographs show figures whose appearance suggests an affiliation to the Orthodox community: Andras Koerner, How They Lived: The Everyday Lives of Hungarian Jews (1867–1940) (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2015), 2 vols.

Introduction

Orthodox figures in Hungary looked in alarm at the disintegration of religious frameworks in Western Europe and Germany, and the Orthodox community in the country felt itself large and strong enough to launch a comprehensive struggle against the trends of innovation and reform. And so, as we have seen, two rival camps emerged in the country, more or less equal in size, and pursued a mutual struggle for many years. In Germany, by contrast, the liberal community was more dominant and Orthodoxy sought mainly to defend itself and maintain its remaining strength. While there were secessionist communities in Germany, such as that of Hirsch, in many other communities liberals and Orthodox cooperated under a single framework. Prior to the schism, tension was already apparent within the Orthodox camp in Hungary between residents of the Oberland and the Unterland. Conservatives in the Unterland strongly opposed the tendency among their fellows in the Oberland to permit sermons in languages other than Yiddish, as well as their laxer attitude toward secular education and even attendance at public schools. The ultra-Orthodox approach was based on the prohibitions imposed by the Chatam Sofer, which were interpreted in a distinct manner in the Oberland. The son of the Chatam Sofer, the Ktav Sofer, inherited his father’s leadership position and headed the rabbinate in Pressburg in the Oberland; even he was accused of failing to follow his father’s instructions with sufficient strictness.52 Rabbi Chaim Sofer of Munkács, the prominent ultra-Orthodox stronghold in the Unterland, claimed that in order to gain popularity, the Orthodox stream was willing to accept even Jews who profaned the Sabbath in public. He also alleged that wealthy but unobservant Jews were being appointed to leadership positions in the independent Orthodox organization. Sofer preferred a small and devoted group to one whose numbers were swollen by accepting “riffraff.”53 However, in 1879 Sofer was appointed chief rabbi of the Orthodox community in Budapest, thereby joining the community he had previously criticized. The tension between Orthodox circles in the Unterland and Oberland had deep cultural and socioeconomic roots, but against the background of the rivalry with the Neolog movement, and particularly following the schism, the Orthodox attempted to maintain a united façade and to obscure their internal differences as far as possible. A rare example of open criticism was the attack by

52 Katz, Unhealed Breach, 84–91. 53 Yosef Zvi Sofer, The History of the Sofrim—The History of R. Chaim Sofer and His Descendants [Hebrew] (London: Yitzhak Yaacov Sofer, 1962), 119; Yosef Zvi Sofer, 150 Sofer— Correspondence of R. Haim Sofer (London: Yitzhak Yaacov Sofer, 1962), 140–160 (letters 124–130).

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Viador, the editor of the Budapest-based Orthodox newspaper Zsidó Hiradó,54 against the newspaper Allgemeine Jüdische Zeitung (General Jewish Newspaper, hereinafter AJZ), which was also published in Budapest and written in German using Hebrew letters. Viador accused the newspaper of waging a war against the Orthodox stream under the guise of criticism of the National Representative Office of the Orthodox stream in Budapest. Viador referred disparagingly to “the newspaper with the Hebrew letters”; the AJZ was intended mainly for readers in the Unterland and addressed them in the usual language in that region.55 The polarization between the Orthodox and Neolog camps reflected Hungary’s geographical location in Central Europe, between east and west, and the differences between the Jews in the two distinct areas of the country. The “Unhealed Breach” (the term used by Katz as the title for his book on the subject) became the defining feature of Hungarian Jewry, influencing its character and conduct until the Holocaust. Most of the studies on the schism tend to focus on its ideological and religious dimensions.56 The sociologist Victor Karady, one of the most prominent contemporary scholars of Hungarian Jewry, adopts a demographic and sociological approach, focusing on the socioeconomic background to the schism.57 He divides the map of Hungary at the turn of the twentieth century with a diagonal line running from the northwest to the south east, and then argues that most of the Jewish communities to the south of the line belonged to the Neolog stream, while most of those to the north identified with the Orthodox camp.58 According to Karady, socioeconomic parameters of modernity, such as a low birthrate, falling infant mortality, high divorce rates, urbanization, and higher education are all stronger to the southwest of the line, 54 The weekly newspaper Zsidó Hiradó ( Jewish News—hereinafter ZsH) was the leading Hungarian-language Orthodox newspaper during the monarchy period. Founded in 1891, it defined itself as the mouthpiece of the Orthodox Jewish community. The editor’s real name was Dániel Weisz, but he wrote under the nom-de-plume Viador. Weisz arrived in Budapest in the early 1870s and was appointed Chief Secretary of the National Orthodox Office. He was an enthusiastic advocate of Magyarization. 55 Viador, “The Chief Rabbi of Máramarossziget,” ZsH, October 5, 1899. 56 Slomó Köves, The Jewish Rift: From Hamburg to Michalovce [Hungarian] (Budapest: Noran Libro, 2009); Jakobowitz, Remember; Silber, “The Roots”; Katz, Unhealed Breach; Frojimovics, “Religious Streams.” 57 Victor Karady, “Religious Divisions, Socio-Economic Stratification and the Modernization of Hungarian Jewry after the Emancipation,” in Jews in the Hungarian Economy, ed. Michael K. Silber ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 1992), 161–184. 58 Karady then goes on to offer a more nuanced review of the situation in each province. The Status Quo stream was small and diffuse and cannot easily be defined in geographical terms; for the purpose of the schematic division, it has been included together with the Orthodox camp.

Introduction

and explain the division between the Neolog on one side and the Orthodox on the other.59 The same diagonal line also broadly delineates a socioeconomic (and to an extent ethnic) division within the Hungarian population as a whole, as well as within the Jewish community, which was naturally influenced by its surroundings. This line, which roughly corresponds to the distinction between Oberland and Unterland, also delineates the secondary division within the Orthodox camp between those who were more receptive to modernity and adopted its progressive innovations in various fields (Western Orthodoxy) and those who were more conservative and insular, and whose ways of life changed little (Eastern Orthodoxy). Western Orthodoxy had a character similar to that of Ashkenazi communities further west, particularly in Germany, while Eastern Orthodoxy showed Hasidic influences and had a more Eastern European character. It is important to add, however, that there were Jewish individuals and communities in the west who had a more “eastern” character, and vice versa. In the late nineteenth century, the civil status of Jews in Hungary was significantly better than in most other parts of Central and Eastern Europe, including consistent support for the Jews from the liberal-aristocratic ruling elite.60 The first generation after emancipation confidently anticipated that the vestiges of social exclusion would soon disappear. The Jewish public regarded the Tiszaeszlár blood libel of 188261 as an anachronistic remnant of medieval times that would soon be completely eliminated by progress and modernity. The antisemitic party that operated in Hungary at the time, without any particular success, was also seen as a temporary and even ridiculous aberration. Certain sections of the population disapproved of the involvement of Jews in the two key processes that left their mark on the Dualist period and changed the character of Hungary: rapid economic development, leading to a transition from a traditional feudalist society to a modern industrialized and capitalist one, on the one hand; and the shaping of Hungarian nationhood, on the other. These processes began as early as the mid-nineteenth century, but intensified dramatically following the Compromise, which granted considerable autonomy to the country. Hungarian Jews played an extremely active role in both processes, had a profound influence on economic life, and identified with the goals of the nation-state. The successful entry of Jews in key

59 Karady, “Religious Divisions,” 176–179. 60 Rolf Fischer, “Anti-Semitism in Hungary 1882–1932,” in Hostages of Modernization: Studies on Modern Antisemitism 1870–1933/39, ed. H. A. Strauss, vol. 2 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1993), 863–864; Miklós Konrád, “Jewish Perception of Antisemitism in Hungary before World War I,” Jewish Studies at the CEU 4 (2004–2005): 177–178. 61 See chapter seven below.

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domains in economic and cultural life, their migration to cities from which they had previously been excluded, and the arrival of growing numbers of Jews from neighboring countries eager to benefit from Hungary’s economic growth all sparked a counter-reaction. From the mid-1890s, conservative and clericalist tendencies became apparent, leading to the emergence of more active antisemitic organizations. The waves of antisemitism in neighboring European countries in the same period also influenced anti-Jewish sentiments in Hungary. Again, however, the Jewish community did not perceive this new wave as a threat and did not take organized action to oppose it. From the Jewish perspective, the period between emancipation and the First World War was influenced by two apparently contradictory trends: on the one hand, political and economic progress, social integration, and growing influence in shaping modern Hungary; on the other, the emergence of new threats to the status of the Jews in the form of modern political antisemitism. In this period, however, the status of the Jews was not undermined. Antisemitism remained confined to certain social circles, while the authorities supported the Jews and promoted a policy of tolerance and inclusion.

The Trianon Period During the First World War many Jews served in combat roles in the army; one-third of the Hungarian officers killed in action were Jews.62 During the first two years of the war, the sense of euphoria and enthusiasm among the Jews remained unchanged. Over the next two years, however, as rumors began to emerge concerning military defeats and as the economic situation deteriorated, allegations were made that the Jews were evading military service and engaging in profiteering. These accusations intensified when a Bolshevik group exploited the chaos that followed military defeat and seized power for a brief period, introducing a reign of terror. The group was headed by Kun Béla (1886–before 1940), who like many of the leaders of the group was of Jewish origin. The failed Communist coup led to an anti-Communist counter-coup whose targets included Jews, who had now become identified as Communist revolutionaries.63 According to the terms of the Treaty of Trianon (1920), the dual monarchy was abolished and Hungary underwent significant changes. Approximately two- thirds of its territory was ceded to the neighboring countries, and out of

62 Fischer, “Anti-Semitism,” 885. 63 On the traumatic events in the first two years after defeat, see Lendvai, Hungarians, 356–372.

Introduction

an original population of twenty million, only some nine million remained within its borders. Of all the countries defeated in the war, Hungary paid the heaviest price. During this period Hungary was a sovereign nation-state that managed its own foreign affairs and defense, in contrast to the Dualist period, when it had constituted an autonomous entity within the Habsburg Empire. The interwar years were dominated by a sense of acute national frustration at Hungary’s downfall and the humiliating conditions of the Treaty of Trianon. A “culture of defeat” developed that blamed the liberal policies of the Dualist period for the crisis, thereby identifying a turn to right-wing politics and Christian conservatism by way of the solution.64 The difficult economic and social conditions, which were influenced both the Hungary’s domestic situation and by the global crises of the late 1920s and early 1930s, exacerbated the sense of distress.65 Since the Jews were identified with liberalism, democracy, and capitalism, significant circles held them responsible for the defeat and the harsh conditions that followed.66 The “Jewish Question” gradually came to occupy a central place in public and political discourse. The Jewish population also underwent profound demographic changes. As a result of the ceding of territories to Hungary’s neighbors, approximately half the former Jewish population no longer lived under its sovereignty. Prior to the First World War Hungary had a Jewish population of 938,438, of whom only 473,310 remained within the Trianon borders.67 Hungary after Trianon broadly tessellated with the Oberland; its Jewish population lived in the cities, almost half of them in Budapest.68 The internal composition of the Jewish population also changed significantly. Before the war, a majority of Hungarian Jews had belonged to the Orthodox stream, including a significant ultraOrthodox presence, particularly in the northeast of the country. After Trianon, less than one-third of the Jews of Hungary defined themselves as Orthodox.69

64 Miron, Waning, 25–28, 210–213. 65 Sugar et al., History, 319–338. 66 The most prominent critic of liberalism, which he regarded as the underlying cause of the grave postwar crisis, was the historian Szekfű, who also argued that liberal policies had led to a superficial and meaningless form of Magyarization. Szekfű was one of the leaders of “intellectual” antisemitism in the 1920s, though he largely retracted these positions in the following decade. 67 According to the 1910 and 1920 censuses, respectively: Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 1119–1120. 68 In 1920, Budapest had a Jewish population of 215,512, accounting for 23.2 percent of the total population of the city and 45.5 percent of the Jewish population of Hungary as a whole: ibid., 1122–1123. 69 According to the 1910 census, 51.9 percent of Jews belonged to the Orthodox stream; the figure for 1920 was just 30.9 percent: Zeke, “After the Rupture,” 152.

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The vast majority of the ultra-Orthodox population was concentrated in the Unterland—Carpathian Ruthenia, Slovakia, and Transylvania; these areas came under Czechoslovakian and Romanian sovereignty and the Jews ceased to be Hungarian citizens. The Treaty of Trianon thus left most of the extreme and anti-modern Orthodox sector outside the country’s new borders. The Neologs now became the dominant religious stream; the Zionists also strengthened their standing somewhat, although their influence was less than in pre-Hitlerian Germany. The remaining Orthodox population was dominated by the modern and Western-leaning community in Budapest. These Orthodox Hungarians integrated in the Hungarian state and culture and generally agreed with the political culture of the Neolog movement, despite the religious divide. The paradoxical outcome of this situation was that precisely as the spirit of emancipation was waning, the political culture that favored integration gained strength among the Jews. Hungary under Trianon was still home to a strong Orthodox presence, but this had a far less conservative and extreme character. In the period 1938–1941, Germany returned to its ally Hungary some of the lost territories of “Greater Hungary,” in a series of agreements known as the Vienna Awards. As a result, the Jewish population grew to around 750,000, and Orthodoxy once again became the dominant force.70 The Treaty of Trianon transformed Hungary from an expansive multiethnic country with a large population to a smaller monoethnic state in which the Jews were left as the only “others.” The attempts to foster Magyarization ended, as they were no longer necessary. As the only significant ethnic minority in the country, the Jews lost their importance in the struggle for Magyarization and no longer enjoyed the support of the authorities. The religious and social differences between Christians and Jews, and in particular the economic status of the Jews, which had been less prominent features during the Dualist period, now appeared more significant, provoking sentiments of rejection and jealousy. The influential status of Jews in commerce, industry, medicine, law, and the press, and their “disproportionate” presence among academics and students, had been clear even before the First World War. At that time, however, the Jews had been regarded as part of the Magyar nation, and accordingly this prominent presence had not provoked widespread antagonism. Moreover, the transfer of large areas to foreign sovereignty led to a flood of Hungarian refugees from these areas, who moved into the sovereign Hungarian state after losing their positions in the civil service, army, and economy. The newcomers created competition in the labor market, which was already facing a profound depression. The 70 In 1941, 59.6 percent of Jews identified as Orthodox: ibid.

Introduction

outcomes of defeat positioned the Jews as aliens in Hungarian consciousness. Their successful integration in national and cultural life, which had once been the object of admiration, was reinterpreted as a manifestation of foreign control over the homeland. The Jews faced conservative governments and an embittered public preoccupied by significant economic and social challenges. Hungary’s policy toward its Jewish citizens shifted from inclusion to rejection. Ezra Mendelsohn comments that “the Hungarian experience provides the researcher with a unique example of how a country previously ‘good for the Jews’ is transformed almost overnight, into a country racked with pogroms and permeated with anti-Semitic hysteria.”71 One of the first signs of the change was the Numerus Clausus law (1920), which created the first crack in the fabric of emancipation.72 After the fall of the Communist government and the subsequent upheavals, a group of officers with conservative and authoritarian leanings formed around the leadership of Admiral Miklós Horthy (1868–1957), who later became the regent of Hungary. The group launched the anti-Communist White Terror (Fehérterror) campaign, as part of which numerous citizens were murdered. Around half the victims were Jews, particularly in the provincial cities. A state of anarchy prevailed in Hungary and Horthy’s government made no effort to reinstate order. The Awakening Magyars movement, which was behind the reign of terror, disseminated an antisemitic ideology that drew on familiar themes, such as the claim that the Jews had seized control of commercial and economic life and were corrupting Christian morals. For the first time in Hungary, the Race Protecting party (Fajvédő Párt) added a racist component to the polemics, referring to a global war between the “Christian essence” and the “Jewish essence.” From this point, and through the end of the Second World War, Hungary emphasized its exclusive Christian-national character.73 The Hungarian Jews, and particularly the Neologs, struggled to emphasize their loyalty to the nation and published

71 Ezra Mendelsohn, The Jews of Central Europe between the World Wars (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1983), 98. 72 Nathaniel Katzburg, Hungary and the Jews: 1920–1943 (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1981), 60–79. For a detailed discussion of the changes in the conceptualization of Hungarian nationhood, which played an important role both during the period of inclusion and in the shift to exclusion, see Árpad von Klimó, Nation, Confession, History: On the National Historical Culture of Hungary in the European Context (1860–1948) [German] (Munich: Oldenburg, 2003). 73 On the connection between antisemitism, Christianity, and nationalism, see Paul A. Hanebrink, In Defense of Christian Hungary: Religion, Nationalism, and Antisemitism, 1890– 1944 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006).

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apologetic texts attempting to refute the charges against them and convince their compatriots of their patriotic sentiments.74 After the Treaty of Trianon, Hungary consistently sought to regain control of the areas ceded to its neighbors and to revive the “Greater Hungary.” It regarded Germany as the power that could help it secure this goal. In 1938, under the influence of Germany and domestic antisemitic circles, Hungary embarked on a project of antisemitic legislation overtly intended to discriminate against Jews and mark them as distinct from the Hungarian nation.75 The laws seriously curtailed the civil rights of Jews and their involvement in the economy, press, and cultural life. The term “Jew” was defined in racial terms in the spirit of the Nuremberg laws. Around quarter of a million Jews lost their jobs, and a wave of conversion to Christianity, motivated by the desire to avoid the harsh impact of the laws, swept the Jewish communities.76 The Jewish leadership was aware of the heavy pressure from Germany for Hungary to solve its “Jewish problem” in its own way, and accordingly during this period it chose not to campaign against the legislation, hoping to avoid a worse fate. In his study of antisemitism in post-emancipation Hungary, the historian Nathaniel Katzburg defines three distinct periods.77 The first period, from 1867 through 1920, was the era of the monarchy, when antisemitism was manifested mainly through social exclusion and discrimination. Attempts to promote antisemitic legislation were marginalized by the liberal leadership, which felt that such initiatives were damaging to its efforts to promote economic and national cohesion. The Tiszaeszlár blood libel of 1882 (chapter seven below) was a distinct episode within this period, but even during this event the authorities and the high aristocracy did not support those accusing the Jews. This was a

74 See the book by Venetianer, a Neolog rabbi and historian: Lajos Venetianer, History of Hungarian Jewry [Hungarian] (Budapest: Fővárosi, 1920). See also the booklet published by Lajos Szabolcsi, the second editor of the weekly newspaper Egyenlőség (Equality): Lajos Szabolcsi and Salamon Eulenberg, How Should We Respond to Antisemites: Defense Pamphlet [Hungarian] (Budapest: Pesti Izr. Hitközs., 1921). 75 Despite its obvious antisemitic motives, the Numerus Clausus law of 1920 was worded in a manner the concealed its true purpose, and the word “Jew” did not appear in the law. See Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 103–105. 76 In 1938–1939, 14,000 Jews converted, a figure that was unprecedented in Hungary and has no parallel in any other country of Central or Eastern Europe. See Mendelsohn, The Jews, 123. The phenomenon was even encountered in Orthodox families. In his book of responsa, Rabbi Yonasan Steif mentions a young woman who married a man from an Orthodox family in 1943 and later demanded a divorce after she learned that he had previously converted to Christianity. Yonasan Steif, Responsa and Innovations of Mahar”i Steif [Hebrew] (Brooklyn: private publication, 1968), section 103. 77 Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914.

Introduction

period of progress and growth for the Jews of Hungary. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, following the struggle between the ruling circles and the church, there was a growing trend to conservativism and anti-liberalism, led by the church and the aristocracy. Jews were accused of disseminating liberal, Socialist, and cosmopolitan values that were condemned as unpatriotic, antiChristian, and contrary to the true Magyar spirit. Jews were held to blame for the general condition of the nation, and in the first two decades of the twentieth century a measure of exacerbation can be seen in anti-Jewish propaganda. The second period, from 1920 through 1938, began with Hungary’s defeat in the First World War and the subsequent upheavals. This period saw a significant deterioration in the condition of the Hungarian Jews. Large sections of the population supported the far-right forces, and the growing antisemitic propaganda acquired a racial dimension. However, although antisemitic tendencies were also apparent among the ruling circles, this was not reflected in legislation. The exception was the Numerus Clausus law of 1920, which restricted the number of Jews eligible to study at the universities. The third period, from 1938 through 1944, was characterized by a dramatic deterioration in the situation of the Jews, under the influence of Hungary’s close ties with Germany and the prevailing atmosphere in Europe. Antisemitism became official government policy and legislation was introduced that gravely curtailed the economic, civil, and social status of Jews, effectively excluding them from society. With hindsight, the events of this period appear as a rapid and one-way descent that gathered pace up to the point of annihilation. Germany regarded Hungary as an ally and allowed the Hungarians to manage their own affairs. Although they continued to harass and harm Jewish life, the Hungarian authorities refrained from sending Jewish citizens to the death camps up to the German invasion of the country. Paradoxically, Hungary’s close ties to Nazi Germany postponed the devastation of its Jewish community until 1944, and a significant portion of the community, particularly in Budapest, survived the Holocaust.

35

Par t One

FROM THE WELLBEING OF THE K I N G D O M TO THE WELL-BEING O F T H E N AT I O N : O RT H O D O X Y AND HUNGARIAN N AT I O N H O O D

Introduct ion

Jews and Nationhood

Over a long period, many Europeans lived within multinational empires. The emperor granted his patronage to groups with diverse historical backgrounds, each of which maintained a distinct ethnic, linguistic, and religious identity and pursued its own way of life. Shared obeisance to the emperor was almost the sole common denominator. Subjects were transferred from the patronage of one sovereign to another following military conquests and diplomatic agreements, and in most cases the distinct identity of each group was not manifested in any political form. In the nineteenth century, with the rise of nationalism in Europe, inhabitants began to coalesce around national identities, challenging the premodern social frameworks. After the revival of Jewish life following the end of the Ottoman occupation, the Jews of Hungary, like their coreligionists elsewhere, constituted a distinct and separate group that in many respects maintained a different way of life to the remainder of the population. For both religious and utilitarian reasons, the Jews were loyal to the ruling authorities, which were regarded as the main source of physical and economic security. Most Jews regarded themselves as a “potential

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nation”—a people that had been exiled from its homeland and was now stateless, but which in due time would return to its land and resume its national life.1 The rise of nationhood and the accompanying naturalization of the Jews presented them with dilemmas of identity. To what extent should they draw closer to the host nation and culture, and to what extent should they preserve their distinct Jewish identity? Should they abandon their traditional hope and vision in return to nationhood for a better quality of life? Should they integrate in the Hungarian nation during its formative stage, and will this ensure a better future? Is Judaism only a religion, or is it also a nation?2 The Neolog stream in Hungary advocated modernity and progress in every possible channel; accordingly, it chose an ethos of integration and merger and regarded itself as part of the Hungarian nation. For the Orthodox, who were inherently conservative and reticent about modernity, the problem was more acute. Could or should observant Jews who had until now regarded himself as part of the Jewish people adopt, in addition, the Hungarian identity of the country in which they lived; or did their affiliation to the Jewish people as a whole negate such a possibility? Did a person’s Jewish faith determine the nation to which he or she belonged, or were religion and nation two distinct and independent identities? Should Jews abandon the concept of am yisrael (the People of Israel) that was so deeply engrained in their consciousness? Would rapprochement with the surrounding nation and inhabitants demolish the wall of separation that had hitherto protected the Jews? How great was the risk that such a move would distance Jews from their religion and tradition? Was it possible to relinquish the component of peoplehood that represented and enveloped Jewish tradition without betraying the tradition itself? Unlike the other minorities in Hungary, the Jews did not identify with any of the neighboring territorial nations and had no irredentist aspirations. Many Jews responded to the call to join the Magyar nation, learning its language and adopting its culture and national goals. In this respect, Hungarian Jewry followed the approach seen in Germany and Western Europe. In Hungary, however, this process took place at the same time as the development of Hungarian nationhood itself. Accordingly, Katz suggests, the Jews of Hungary

1 This concept is borrowed from Rozenblit, who uses it to characterize the premodern Jewish perspective: Marsha L. Rozenblit, Reconstructing a National Identity: the Jews of Habsburg Austria during World War I (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 20. 2 The Hungarian elite during this period also discussed the question as to whether Judaism is only a religion or also a nation; see Miklós Konrád, “Hungarian Expectations and Jewish Self-Definitions, 1840–1914,” in Modern Jewish Scholarship in Hungary, ed. Tamás Turán and Carsten Wilke (Oldenburg: De Gruyter, 2017), 330–338.

Jews and Nationhood

did not see themselves “as joining an existing national body, as did the Jews of France or Germany, but rather as partners in creating a new national society. The experience of joint creation intensified the level of identification with the new nation,”3 and meant that patriotism was one of the main hallmarks of the Hungarian Jewish public. The historian Stephen Aschheim, who argued that the German Jews also participated in the consolidation of their nation, coined the term “co-constitutionality.” This model challenges the prevailing assumption of a minority seeking to integrate in a static and well-developed society. Aschheim suggests that integration should rather be seen as a dynamic process whereby the absorbing society and the absorbed minority jointly create and shape a new collective identity. Not only the minority changes through its integration; the majority society is also influenced by the minority and changes in turn.4 If we accept this thesis regarding the German Jews, circumstances dictated that the force of the co-constitutionality, that is the relative contribution of the partners involved in the formation of the nation, was more significant still in the case of Hungary. In the nineteenth century, Germany was far more advanced than Hungary in terms of culture, language, capitalism, industrialization, and economic systems in general. Accordingly, the German Jews encountered wellestablished systems, and their entry into these systems primarily changed the Jews themselves. Hungary’s development lagged behind that of Germany, so that all the above-mentioned components were still in a state of flux. Accordingly, there was more room for Jews to be actively involved and to influence the developments. The proportion of Jews among the new bourgeoisie, a class that played a vital role in economic development and the rise of modernity, was crucial and had an impact on society as a whole. Indeed, the relative weight of the Jews in the population of Hungary as a whole was significantly stronger than in Germany. These factors created the sensation (as distinct from historical reality, which is the aspect Aschheim examines) of the “creation of a new national society.” The support and appreciation bestowed on the Jewish community during the monarchic period reflects recognition of the Jews’ role as partners in the construction of modern Hungary. Accordingly, Aschheim’s thesis would seem to confirm the distinction Katz draws between the Jews of France and Germany and the Hungarian Jews.

3 Katz, “Uniqueness,” 195. 4 Steven E. Aschheim, “German History and German Jewry: Junctions, Boundaries and Interdependencies,” in In Times of Crisis: Essays of European Culture, Germans and Jews, ed. Steven E. Aschheim (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2001), 86–92.

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Due to the country’s diverse ethnic and national composition, Jewish assimilation was important to the Hungarian leadership as a tool for expanding the Magyar component in the country. The question of national identity had been a pertinent one for the Hungarian Jews since the discussions of emancipation, and its de facto implementation by the Dual Monarchy. Jews were expected to adopt the Hungarian language and culture, to abandon manifestations of separatism, and to change in order to facilitate cultural merging. This would in turn open up inspiring economic and cultural opportunities to which they had not previously had access. Jews from the liberal and Neolog end of the spectrum, who regarded emancipation and cultural and economic integration as a supreme value, identified unreservedly with the Magyar nation, of which they saw themselves as an integral part; at the same time, they sought to maintain their religious affiliation. On March 16, 1848, two days after the struggle erupted to free Hungary from Austrian patronage, Jewish leaders declared: We are Hungarians and not Jews, not a separate nation, because we are only distinct when we pray to the Almighty in our houses of worship and express our deepest indebtedness for the benevolence bestowed on our homeland and ourselves, in every other aspect we are exclusively patriots, exclusively Hungarian.5 The above declaration was quoted in a sixty-three-page booklet entitled Judge for Yourselves! A Collection of Documents on Hungarian-Jewish Coexistence. The booklet was produced as a statement of defense against the Second Jewish Law of 1939,6 with the additional comment: “We still believe this in the spring of 1939.” Thus the authors sought to draw a straight line from 1848 through to 1939, characterized by unswerving loyalty to Hungary and the unequivocal adoption of its national identity. Naturally, the goal of the booklet was to reject the accusations that led to the enactment of the 1939 law. However, it may also be seen as representative of an entire genre; even in much calmer and more accepting times, liberal and Neolog writers constantly lauded the principle of Jewish integration in the state. Robert Seton-Watson (1879–1931), a historian who specialized in the Habsburg Empire and lived in Hungary for a while,

5 Kramer, Emancipation, 72. 6 Martón Vida, Judge!—Pages from the Book of the Hungarian-Jewish Community [Hungarian] (Budapest: private publication, 1939).

Jews and Nationhood

commented in 1908 that “the Catholic Church and the Jews form today the two chief bulwarks of Magyar chauvinism.”7 For the Orthodox stream, the dilemma was more complex and the prevailing position changed over the years. Nevertheless, I will show that most Orthodox Jews in Hungary also adopted a dual Hungarian-Jewish political culture and identity, in a manner that differed only slightly from that of the Neologs, their bitter religious adversaries. Neither group lost its trust and confidence in Hungary, even during periods when Hungary was ungenerous toward them. Moreover, this patriotism served as the foundation on which most of the members of the community, Orthodox and Neolog alike, based their positions on diverse issues relating to their relations with their surroundings, and in particular concerning antisemitism. In order to emphasize the different facets of Hungarian-Orthodox nationhood while maintaining the historical sequence of our narrative, this part of the book (and that which follows) combines a chronological and thematic approach. The first and second chapters in this part address the monarchic period, while the third, fourth, and fifth review issues that are not confined to one particular part of the timeframe of this study, but were manifested both in the monarchic period and under Trianon. The sixth chapter is devoted to the period from Trianon through to the Holocaust.

7 Ibid.

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Chapter One

The Turning Point of Emancipation

A. Positions on Equal Rights among the Nation’s Leaders The long road to emancipation in Hungary began with the Edict of Tolerance issued by Emperor Joseph II in 1783, as part of a series of reforms regarding the rights of Jews and other minorities in the Habsburg lands.1 In the 1840s, during the so-called Reform Era, liberal tendencies became entrenched and would remain so until the First World War. The governmental center of gravity gradually shifted from Vienna to the emerging Hungarian national movement, and the question of the emancipation of minorities arose as part of public discussion of the changes and reforms needed to ensure the movement’s progress. Regarding 1 Michael K. Silber, “Josephinian Reforms,” The YIVO Encyclopedia of Jews in Eastern Europe, http://www.yivoencyclopedia.org/article.aspx/Josephinian_Reforms. A letter of tolerance was also granted in 1781 regarding non-Catholic (Protestant and Orthodox) Christians. For a review of the milestones along the course to the emancipation of the Jews, see Guy Miron, “Between ‘Center’ and ‘East’: On the Unique Path of Jewish Emancipation in Hungary,” in European Jews and Jewish Europeans between the Two World Wars [Hebrew], ed. Raya Cohen (Tel Aviv: Diaspora Research Center, 2003), 69–105; Nathaniel Katzburg, “The Public Debate on Jewish Emancipation in Hungary in the 1840s” [Hebrew], Bar-Ilan 1 (1963): 282–301; Nathaniel Katzburg, “The Struggle of the Jews of Hungary for Religious Equality in the 1890s” [Hebrew], Zion 22, nos. 2–3 (1957): 119–148; Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 13–19.

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the Jews, three broad trends emerged, each represented by one of the leaders of the national movement. István Széchenyi (1791–1860), an aristocrat who was regarded as the father of the reforms, negated the idea of granting Jews equal rights. He believed that the Jews’ economic activities were damaging, considered them untrustworthy, and suggested that there were too many Jews to enable integration with the Hungarian people. Lajos Kossuth, a liberal with a strong nationalist orientation who led the “struggle for liberty” (1848–1849), conditioned emancipation of the Jews on comprehensive religious reform, demanding that the Jews abandon their distinct cultural identity so that they might integrate into the Magyar nation. József Eötvös (1813–1871) represented a liberal-humanist approach, advocating equal rights from a principled position, which he expounded in an essay published in 1840.2 Eötvös did not condition emancipation on assimilation, though he expected that this would be its outcome. In 1840 parliament enacted a law removing almost all the restrictions imposed on the right of Jews to reside in the different cities of Hungary, thereby opening up new possibilities for employment. Following this law, Jews began to settle in urban centers and played a growing role in economic life. Many Jews joined the “struggle for liberty,” which served as a formative experience for them. Kossuth and the other leaders of the revolution repeatedly praised the Jews for their enthusiastic willingness to fight for Hungarian independence. One Sabbath, Kossuth visited the synagogue in Nagyvárad, where he declared: I have come to you, Jews, to ask for forgiveness on behalf of myself, my ministerial colleagues, and the Hungarian people, for my people’s treatment of you over one thousand years. We know of the suffering and persecution you have experienced in our country. We acknowledge your effort. The Jews are our country’s most devoted patriots. We promise you that henceforth you will live here calmly and in happiness. We shall not forget the devotion and assistance you are offering us.3 In 1849, a few weeks before the revolution was put down, Jews were indeed granted equality in recognition of their participation in the struggle. However, this decision was revoked by the Austrian General Julius Jacob von Haynau

2 József Eötvös, The Emancipation of the Jews (1840) [Hebrew], intro. Guy Miron, trans. Anna Szalai and Guy Miron ( Jerusalem: Dinur, 2003). 3 Yekutiel Yehuda Grünwald, A Thousand Years of Jewish Life in Hungary [Yiddish] (Columbus, OH: private publication, 1945), 68.

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(1786–1853), who suppressed the revolt. Von Haynau claimed that the Jewish inhabitants of Hungary had encouraged the revolution, providing the rebels with substantial military supplies and participating themselves in the campaign; the revolution could not have attained the level it reached without them, he concluded.4 After the revolt failed, the emperor imposed a large fine on the Jews for their involvement. In 1856 the income was converted into an educational fund used to finance the establishment of a Neolog rabbinical seminary, which opened in 1877.5

B. “Give Them Every Liberty, and Thereby Jeshurun Will Wax Fat and Kick” Throughout this period, up to the emancipation of 1867, the rabbinical elite took a suspicious and reserved approach to the idea of emancipation or to any initiative liable to lower the barriers separating Jews from their surroundings. As early as the beginning of the nineteenth century, the Chatam Sofer, an eminent halakhic arbiter who left his mark on Orthodox Judaism, ruled that emancipation was a serious threat and temptation that would lead to spiritual decline and the loosening of the commitment to religion and tradition: The affliction lies in the opposite direction, whereby the authorities grant liberty to the Jews, raising them up and drawing them close; and this is a greater woe than the former one [inequality], since for our many sins, all the Jews seek then 4 Komoróczy, History, vol. 1, 1185–1188 quoted von Haynau’s description of the involvement of Jews in the revolt, and provided long lists of the clothing and military equipment that they had provided for the revolutionary forces. Over the subsequent generations, Hungarian Jews often drew on the narrative of their enthusiastic participation in the “War of Liberty” to prove their devotion to Hungary. The historian János Gyurgyák maintains that the extent of Jewish participation in the events of 1848–1849 has been exaggerated and that most Jews remained apathetic about the uprising: János Gyurgyák, The Jewish Question in Hungary [Hungarian] (Budapest: Osiris, 2001). 5 As part of the efforts to encourage modernization and integrate the Jews in this process, the Jewish communities had been instructed in 1850 to establish schools to replace the cheder institutions. Emperor Franz Joseph supported this goal, and accordingly waived the fine of one million koronas imposed on the Jews provided they allocate the same sum to the educational fund; see Katz, Unhealed Breach, 49. Later, in 1879, Education and Religions Minister Ágoston Trefort persuaded the emperor to allow the use of the fund for the establishment of the rabbinical seminary, which he regarded as an effective tool for promoting the cultural integration of the Jews (ibid., 228). For the activities of the educational fund, see Aron Moskovits, Jewish Education in Hungary (New York: Bloch, 1969).

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is to move closer to those in authority, to copy their ways, and willingly to abandon the Torah and the commandments.6 The Chatam Sofer argued that it was better for the Jews to face discrimination than to be free,7 since freedom motivates them to leave the religious framework in order to assimilate into their surroundings. He even suggested that equality would lead to a rise in antisemitism: For our many sins, we see the way of the nations of the world, whereby after the Jewish people have been reduced several times to poverty and exile, and been utterly rejected, they then open the gates of mercy a little, draw them in, and show them a fleeting smiling face. And when these souls, darkened by exile, see a light, they are tempted for our many sins, to draw ever closer—eating of their bread, drinking of their wine and their impure potage, applying a razor to their beard and head in an effort to curry favor, but to no avail. The more they draw close and ingratiate themselves, the more their [the Gentiles’] hatred grows daily, as experience shows. On those occasions, he claimed, when the rulers of the nations feel pity for the Jew, suffering in poverty and exile, and attempt to improve his condition a little, the Jew then hastens to abandon his uniqueness and difference in order to secure additional benefits; his conduct is then interpreted as obsequiousness and spinelessness, and it arouses scorn and hatred.8 The Chatam Sofer claimed elsewhere that equal rights constitute a “great crisis,” since they will prolong the period of exile and set back the time of the return to Zion.9 He nevertheless referred to emancipation as a “good edict” for

6 Moshe Sofer, Sermons of the Chatam Sofer [Hebrew] (Grosswardein, 1928), vol. 2, 250b; see also three responsa in Beit Din Tzedek, These Are the Words of the Covenant [Hebrew] (Hamburg, 1819). 7 Sofer, Sermons, vol. 1, 98a. 8 Sofer, Sermons, vol. 1, 167b. On the opinions and worldviews of the Chatam Sofer, see Maoz Kahana, From the Noda B’Yehuda to the Chatam Sofer: Halakhah and Thought Facing the Challenges of the Time [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2015). 9 The editor of the Chatam Sofer’s sermons explains the background in a footnote: The Chatam Sofer was asked by the elders of the community to praise an initiative to grant equality to the

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which Jews should thank God, while at the same time adding that one should cry for it. Opposition to the idea of emancipation and the assumption that it would prolong the period of exile was not confined to the rabbis of Hungary. By way of example, Rabbi Shlomo Kluger of Brody (1785–1869), one of the most prominent rabbis in Galicia, expressed a similar position in 1850 against the “edit of emancipation, that the House of Israel might be like all the nations.”10 Kluger suggested that emancipation was a Satanic plot intended to strengthen the bond between the Jew and his current surroundings, thereby extending exile. Both the Chatam Sofer and Kluger agreed that equal rights would significantly improve Jews’ material conditions: they would pull themselves out of poverty, their standard of living would rise, and they might even become wealthy. Accordingly, they would have no desire to abandon their comfortable lives and emigrate to the Land of Israel. The remarks by such prominent rabbis conceal a “proto-Zionist” assumption that the end of exile depends on the Jews taking proactive steps, and not only on God’s will—an assertion that most of the later ultra-Orthodox rabbis who claimed to be their successors would utterly reject. During the period before the granting of equal rights, many Orthodox rabbis were convinced that even the slightest change in the legal status of Jews would lead them to deviate from their traditional way of life; they saw in the idea of emancipation a potential threat to religion and tradition. In a sermon given in 1846, Rabbi Abraham Ság (1801–1873), the rabbi of Kobersdorf (Kabold), one of the seven communities in the Burgenland region and a student of the Chatam Sofer, revealed his suspicions concerning the relaxations in the “tolerance tax.” The amendments were intended to alleviate the life of the Jews, and it is difficult to see how it could be argued that they might cause Jews to draw away from their religion, but the rabbi nevertheless opposed the efforts by the leaders of the Jewish community to secure such relaxations, on the grounds that they had failed to consult with the rabbis.11

Jews of Pressburg and to improve their status. He did so, but in his sermon he explained that he was unhappy about this, as it delayed redemption. Sofer, Sermons, vol. 1, 93a. 10 Chaim Gertner, The Rabbi and the Big City: The Encounter between the Rabbinate in Galicia and Modernity, 1815–1867 [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2013), 232, based on a letter sent by Kluger to the son of Rabbi Yisrael of Rozhin and published in the journal Hechalutz 4 (1858): 41. 11 Abraham Ság, Sermons of Ha-Rosh [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: private publication, 1904). Another reason for the positive attitude toward the “tolerance tax” was the prevailing perception among the rabbis prior to emancipation that pending redemption the Jews were temporary guests in their countries of residence; as such, it was only fitting that they should pay the owners of the

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A slightly different position was presented by Rabbi Meir Eisenstadt of Ungvár, who argued that Jews should maintain a passive attitude to equal rights. They should not campaign to secure these rights, but should await and accept the decisions of the authorities.12 His indecisive and lukewarm position on equal rights is akin to that of the Chatam Sofer. On rare occasions, reservations concerning emancipation emerged even after equal rights had been granted. In 1882, Rabbi Jacob Ben Mordechai Halevy Prager (1843–1918), the head of the religious court of Ada in southern Hungary (now in Serbia), asserted that the sole objective of those who seek to improve the living conditions of the Jews is to encourage assimilation. The payment for equal rights would be the uprooting of religion: The Gentiles are attempting to elevate the status of the Jews, anticipating that Israel will pervert its holy course and come to resemble them as much as possible. As is well known, one minister advised the King of France, who wanted to uproot the Jewish religion, to grant them every liberty, and thereby Jeshurun would wax fat and kick, and attempt to forget their Torah.13 The Orthodox concerns were fueled, in part, by the precedent of events in Germany, and particularly by the sense that the Hungarian advocates of emancipation, particularly from the 1860s onward, were motivated not by liberalism but by the ideal of Magyarization—the shaping of the Hungarian nation, the dissemination of Magyar culture, and its imposition on the minorities. This was evident in the firm pressure applied on those responding to the call of emancipation to abandon their distinct characteristics in order to create a more homogenous nation-state. The Equal Rights Law adopted following the revolt against Austria in 1849 (which, as noted, was revoked just a few weeks later following the failure of the revolution) included a clause explicitly demanding religious reforms.14

land for their presence, just as a tenant pays rent to a landlord. See Jacob Katz, Tradition and Crisis [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zionist Library, 1979), 23–24 n. 7. 12 The Torah of Zealotry—Rabbinical Letters against the Reform Meeting in Braunschweig [Hebrew] (Amsterdam: private publication, 1844), 22. 13 Jacob ben Mordechai Halevy Prager, The Torah of Jacob—Sermons ( Jerusalem: private publication, 1979), sermon 55, 135. The sermon was written in response to the Tiszaeszlár blood libel. 14 On the demand for religious reform among the Jews, see Katzburg, “Public Debate,” 293–298.

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In the nineteenth century, the processes of modernization in Germany were more advanced than those in Hungary. As a result, the Jewish community in Germany, including the Orthodox wing, was more attentive to the changes and developments in the surrounding society.15 Even in Germany, however, most Orthodox Jews tended to maintain a reserved attitude toward emancipation prior to its enactment, fearing that the improvement in the legal status of Jews would lead to a serious erosion of religious sentiments and institutions. Some Orthodox figures even suggested that equal rights should be granted solely to the progressive Jewish circles, and not to themselves. Others toyed with the idea of emigrating to the Land of Israel in order to evade the ramifications of emancipation.16 However, in Germany, unlike Hungary, there were rabbis who actively campaigned to repeal discriminatory laws and adopted a positive position toward the idea of emancipation.17 Particularly prominent was the position adopted by the neo-Orthodox rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch of Frankfurt, who welcomed the advent of emancipation.18 Hirsch’s acceptance of emancipation was conditional on ensuring that the strict observance of the commandments would not subsequently be impaired; provided this was the case, he considered equal rights as providing a unique opportunity for the Jewish people to fulfill its universal mission.19 Neo-Orthodoxy advocated integration in German culture and the modern world. The concept of “Torah with the way of the land,” which Hirsch coined, implied immersion in the modern system of values, a secular education, productive labor, and integration into the modern economy.20 Western Hungarian Orthodoxy, which could be characterized as modern, adopted this course only after emancipation, and in a more modest and less enthusiastic manner. Hungarian Orthodoxy was reactive, and modernization was a post factum phenomenon and not an a priori goal, as was the case in Germany. In Hungary pockets of anti-modernity and ultraOrthodoxy continued to exist, whereas in Germany, from the mid-nineteenth century, virtually the entire Orthodox population gradually modernized and integrated.

15 For discussion of German national identity among the Orthodox, see Breuer, Portrait, 254–267. 16 Ibid., 78–79. 17 Ibid., 250–251. 18 Samson Raphael Hirsch, Letters from the North [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Rabbi Kook Institute, 1976; 6th reprint, 2008), 63. 19 Ibid., 61. 20 Guy Miron, “Between the Worlds: Modern Orthodoxy in Germany as a New Pattern of Jewish Identity” [Hebrew], Yisrael 16 (2009): 39–61.

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Most, if not all, liberals and Neologs responded enthusiastically to the challenge of merger with the Hungarian people and were willing to tear down the barriers dividing them from their neighbors. Until 1867, Orthodox rabbis in Hungary, by contrast, negated emancipation or harbored serious reservations about it. While it is reasonable to assume that there were Orthodox Jews in Hungary who longed for emancipation, despite the position of their spiritual leaders, their voices were lost in the roar of opposition.

C. Hungarians of the Mosaic Faith? The liberal and Neolog advocates of integration advocated the adoption of the Hungarian language and culture. As early as the 1840s they established associations to disseminate the language and founded reading circles in various locations. The most important association was the Society for the Dissemination of the Hungarian Language among the Jews in the Nation, which was founded in Pest in 1844.21 The initiative behind the founding of the society came from students, and its goals were cultural and patriotic. Gradually, however, the society adopted reformist and Neolog tendencies.22 Orthodoxy was disturbed by the development of the Neolog movement and by its religious views and integrationist approach. The fear was that over time the new movement would undermine religion, as had happened in the Western countries. In this period Orthodoxy maintained its numerical dominance within Hungarian Jewry, and felt sufficiently strong to launch a fierce struggle against the innovators and reformers, confident that in Hungary it would be possible to halt the drift. By the mid-nineteenth century, an ultra-Orthodox stream had begun to coalesce in Hungary, centering around the slogan popularized by the Chatam Sofer: “Innovation is prohibited by the Torah.” This stream was characterized by extreme conservatism, belligerence, a refusal to compromise, and a stark rejection of modernity. The stream consolidated as a reaction to the threat posed to Orthodoxy by the government’s demand to include general education in Jewish schools, rising linguistic acculturation, and pressure to adopt a Magyar national identity, as well as the threat posed by the Neologs.23

21 Komoróczy, History, vol. 1, 1063–1066. 22 Nathaniel Katzburg, “Internal Changes in Hungarian Jewry in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century” [Hebrew], Bar-Ilan 2 (1964): 175. 23 For a detailed discussion of the essence and development of Hungarian ultra-Orthodoxy, see Silber, Emergence.

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Rabbi Chaim Sofer, one of the most prominent leaders of ultra-Orthodoxy in Hungary, served as a rabbi in Munkács and was a respected halakhic arbiter. As a matter of principle, he opposed identification with Hungarian nationhood.24 In the mid-1870s, the Orthodox Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch from Frankfurt, who as noted above had adopted a strong sense of German nationhood, wrote to him to ask whether the Halakhah recognizes the status of “Germans of the Mosaic faith,” that is—Jews who identify with the German nation, and differ from it only in their religious faith.25 Chaim Sofer’s response utterly rejected such a possibility: It is clear to me that it is not permissible for a Jew to say of himself that he belongs to another nation and people, and not only that he belongs to another religion, for the choosing [of the Jews by God] was from among the nations. . . . A people and a state are two separate things that have almost no connection. For example, in the city where I live [Munkács], to the north of the city lives one people [Ukrainians] and to the south another [Magyars], and between them, quite differently, live the Jews, and yet all three are loyal residents of the state of Hungary.26 Chaim Sofer recognizes that following the national awakening in Hungary, the Jews in the country have faced pressure to join the Magyar nation. However, he claims that Jews must not adopt the nationhood of the country in which they live, just as they must not adopt its religion. He understands the traditional blessing “who chose us from among all the peoples” as implying the choice of the Jews as a separate nation, distinct from all the other nations; accordingly, its peoplehood must not be abandoned. Sofer quotes a legend suggesting that Moses was punished by God because he heard Jethro’s daughters reporting that “an Egyptian delivered us” (Exodus 2:19) and did not correct them. A Jew must be loyal to the state and the ruler, as had always been the accepted position, but he must not identify with any foreign nation. Chaim Sofer makes a sharp distinction between a nation and a state, regarding them as two distinct entities. His loyalty to the authorities and to the state, based

24 Chaim Sofer was not related to the Chatam Sofer. For a discussion of his biography and activity as an ideological leader and religious arbiter, see Ferziger, “Religious Zealot.” 25 Hirsch’s letter has not been found, but his question is evident from Sofer’s response. Sofer’s letter is not dated, but it was composed while he served as rabbi of Munkács (1868– 1879). 26 Sofer, 150 Sofer, 55–56.

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on the halakhic principle that “the law of the kingdom is the law” (BT Baba Kama 113a and passim) requires obedience to the rulers, but there is no connection between this and national identification. The Jew is a son of the Jewish nation, and accordingly any other national identification he adopts will be a false one. By way of example he refers to the national minorities in and around his own hometown of Munkács, who maintain their own identity but are loyal residents of Hungary. The Jews, too, can maintain their distinct identity while remaining loyal to Hungary. The Jewish people is eternal, whereas the other peoples and nations change over time. Bearing this in mind, to adhere to a transient nation, for example by acquiescing to the demand for Magyarization, is liable to create problems in the future. Sofer adds a pragmatic consideration to this ideological platform: nationalism is an artificial and perhaps imaginary phenomenon that is liable to change, and accordingly it would be unwise to identify with it. The Jewish religion and the Jewish nation are intertwined and form a single entity. Nationalism, he argues, is a form of ethnicity determined by origin, and as such it cannot be changed. The state is the state of all its residents, without distinction of religion and nationality. Thus his approach is diametrically opposed to that of the Neologs; it is consistent with the organizing principle behind the multinational Habsburg Empire, within which he lives, but contrary to the trends among nationalist circles that sought to nurture the Hungarian nation. For Sofer, the essence of Jewish nationhood remains unclear, and is defined in a negative manner. Nevertheless, it was an unusual and innovative approach in the pre-Zionist period.27 Sofer interprets the traditional and halakhic obligation to obey the authorities in a minimalist fashion, mentioning it as an inside in parentheses. Hirsch in Frankfurt interpreted the same concept in a much broader manner: For God demands of all Jews . . . not merely to obey properly all the laws and rules of the land, but to do so willingly, in speech and in action; to perform and execute anything and everything within his capacity for the benefit and happiness of the land . . . and to sacrifice his life on the altar of patriotism, when it calls on its sons to defend it. . . . And this obligation and commandment is completely unconditional, regardless of whether this state acts gracefully and mercifully toward you. Even if it deprives you, to a lesser or greater degree, of your legal right to be considered a man among others in the state and to develop human life on 27 Michael Silber, Heartbeats of the Hebrew [Hebrew], Katedra 73 (1994): 84–105.

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the soil on which you were born—even then, Heaven forbid that you be negligent in performing your duty.28 Hirsch presents a profoundly patriotic position, expanding the obligation of loyalty to the authorities to include patriotism and willingness to sacrifice one’s life. Moreover, this obligation applies even if the said state deprives Jews of their basic rights. The Hungarian Sofer is far more reserved, although it would not be long before it would also be possible to hear different voices among Hungarian rabbis. The historian Michael Silver shows that Rabbi Akiva Yosef Schlesinger (1837–1922) and his father-in-law Hillel Lichtenstein (1815–1891), the rabbi of Szikszó, utterly rejected the idea of Hungarian national identification.29 Schlesinger was asked whether his campaign against reformers of various kinds, and particularly his position against the use of foreign languages, implied that he opposed enlightenment:30 I am a Hebrew and I shall observe God’s Torah. . . . After all, each people relates to its own people and land, raises up its own language, wears its own clothes, and observes its own manners. . . . We are a nation like all the nations; we have not lost our hope of returning to our Land—we love enlightenment and wisdom, but only in our language and in the Israelite ways. These ones [the reformers] have violated the covenant; they shall become Hungarians, just as their fellows and allies, Greeks or French, in their lands will become a single people with the residents. It is against this treason that we have set out, and not against enlightenment.31 Schlesinger unequivocally asserts that it is absolutely prohibited to move closer to a foreign people. Each people adheres to its own language and ways, and the Jew, too, must maintain traditional manifestations, such as dress,

28 Samson Raphael Hirsch, Chorev: On the Reasons for the Commandments Current in This Time, Their Laws and Origins [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Feldheim, 2007), 437. 29 Silber, Heartbeats, 437. 30 Schlesinger was brought before a Hungarian judge and accused of being a zealous inciter opposed to any culture and education; the quoted passage is his own report of his response to the judge. 31 Akiva Joseph Schlesinger, The Hebrew Heart [Hebrew], vol. 2, 72b–73a ( Jerusalem: private publication, 1924).

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language, and Hebrew names in order to erect a barrier between himself and his surroundings. He condemns those Jews who adhere to another people as traitors. He frequently uses the word “Hebrew” rather than “Jew,” since the former term conveys the sense of membership of the Hebrew people, and not only of a religion, thereby emphasizing the national angle of his identity. Like Sopher, Schlesinger also distinguishes between residency and national identity. Loyalty to the state and to its rulers is a halakhic imperative, but loyalty to the nation per se is utterly rejected. Sopher demanded that Jews refrain from identifying with any alien nation; Schlesinger adds the dimension of the desire to return to the ancestral homeland. His father-in-law Lichtenstein expresses a similar view. He claims that despite the respect and liberty the Jews enjoy in Austro-Hungary, they feel themselves to be persecuted aliens. This is merely their land of residence, and anyone who seeks to adhere to another nation is not even regarded as a Jew. Lichtenstein criticizes those circles that regard Hungary as their homeland: the Land of Israel is the sole homeland of the Jews, and anyone who believes otherwise is a heretic.32 Elsewhere, he argues that the commandment for Jews to separate themselves from the other peoples in name, language, and dress is a foundation ensuring the integrity of Judaism. The Children of Israel maintained their identity in Egypt thanks to their scrupulous observance of these three cornerstones. If someone speaks the local language without changes or distortions, without deliberate grammatical errors, then ultimately their faith and religion will also come to resemble those of their surroundings.33 Thus we can see that the three most prominent spokesmen of ultraOrthodoxy in Hungary during the latter decades of the eighteenth century are unanimous in their view that the Jewish religion requires a particularistic Jewish identity and negates any other nationhood. Although the Jews are dispersed and have no territory, they are a people whose national affiliation is solely Jewish. Schlesinger, to whom Katz referred as “the grandfather of Zionism and of Neturei Karta,” emigrated to Palestine in 1870. Three years later he published a programmatic treatise in Jerusalem entitled The Society for the Restoration of Former Glory and the Community of Hebrews. The work presented a utopian vision of an ideal society in the Land of Israel based on the Torah. Schlesinger proposed the development of agricultural settlements and industry, the revival

32 Hillel Lichtenstein, Enlightening the Meager [Hebrew], vol. 3, rule 8, item 4, 73 (Lemberg: private publication, 1889). 33 Hillel Lichtenstein, A Time to Do [Hebrew], vol. 1, question 80, 113–114 (Lemberg: private publication, 1873).

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of Hebrew as the language of everyday life, and even the formation of a Hebrew army.34 It is surprising to see that the founding fathers of Hungarian ultra-Orthodoxy, which would later be identified with the resounding rejection of Zionism, regarded certain elements of Jewish nationhood as it later came to be perceived as a religious imperative. It must be recalled, however, that Schlesinger and his associates expressed these opinions prior to the emergence of political Zionism (underscoring their novel nature) and before Zionism came to be regarded as a secular movement. It is reasonable to assume that the rejection of Hungarian nationalism is also associated with the ideology of separation from the Neolog sinners. As passions flared and the emancipation came to be associated with Magyarization, the Jewish public thus faced two alternative definitions of national identity; of the two, ultra-Orthodoxy chose the Jewish alternative, which was far closer to Jewish tradition than the Hungarian one. The leaders of the ultra-Orthodox stream in Hungary insisted that Jews refrain from adopting Hungarian national identity, and no alternative Orthodox voice was heard.

D. The Ultra-Orthodox Ruling In order to entrench the negation of the Neolog vision of cultural and social integration, inculcate its position in the coming generations, and imbue it with a more collective and authoritative character, Hillel Lichtenstein convened an assembly of seventy-one rabbis—a kind of latter-day Sanhedrin—with the objective of issuing a firm halakhic ruling that could not be ignored. In 1865, a group of dozens of ultra-Orthodox rabbis, most of them Hasidim from the Unterland,35 issued the Rabbinical Decision of Michalowitz (Michalovce, Nagymihály), which would be engraved “in an iron and lead pen in the memory of the coming generations.”36 The decision, written in stern and extreme language, prohibited any change in the external and internal appearance of the synagogue or in the format of the prayers, such as those introduced by the 34 Akiva Joseph Schlesinger, The Society for the Restoration of Things to Their Former Glory [Hebrew], items 24–26 ( Jerusalem: Ma‘ayan Ha-Chokhmah, 1955). 35 Köves, Jewish Rift, 161–210 provides a concise biography of each of the eighty-five rabbis who ultimately signed the Decision. 36 Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 82–84. The Decision was discussed in detail in Köves, Jewish Rift, 125–251; Katz, Unhealed Breach, 92–99; Nathaniel Katzburg, “The Michalowitz Decision, 1865,” in Festschrift for Jacob Katz [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 1980), 131–141. For the full wording of the Decision, with introduction and closing words, see Katz, Unhealed Breach, 94; Schlesinger, Hebrew Heart, 62–64.

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reformers. The first clause of the decision, embodying its chief purpose and innovation, concerned the language to be used in giving sermons: It is prohibited to deliver a sermon in the language of the nations of the world, and it is also prohibited to hear a sermon said in a language of the nations of the world. Thus any son of Israel who hears a rabbi or another person delivering a sermon in a gentile language must leave the synagogue and step outside. The preacher must make the sermon in a Jewish language spoken by proper Jews in that country.37 According to this clause, it is clear that the sermon in the synagogue must be made solely in Yiddish or Hebrew.38 Was this prohibition intended to apply solely to a sermon of a religious character, made within the confines of the synagogue, while the everyday use of another language was permissible? The answer to this question was provided by Lichtenstein’s son-in-law, Rabi Schlesinger, who was the driving spirit behind the decision. Schlesinger, who was familiar with the deliberations that took place behind the scenes, presents in his book the nine original clauses of the decision verbatim, but adds a tenth clause in parentheses: 10. (There was another consideration, equal to all the others, and the original sin leading to all ills, God forbid, but the Sages did not wish to reveal this lest it provoke punishment from the authorities there—namely, it is prohibited to teach or to convey to us any study other than the Torah, or a vocation that is a craft and not a wisdom, and not any foreign script and language. And an instruction has already been issued by Maran Ha-Gaon the Chief Rabbi Akiva Eger, may his merit protect us, amen, that this is a matter one should give his life for rather than transgress. . . . And someone who is unable to defend his soul is obliged to leave the country and to save his soul and seed).39

37 According to Katz, the linguistic prohibition was the essence of the Decision: Katz, Unhealed Breach, 92. 38 For the linguistic differences between the Jews of the Oberland and Unterland and Lichtenstein’s language law, see Szonja Ráhel Komoróczy, “Language Assimilation and Dissimilation in the Works of R. Hillel Lichtenstein,” in Teshuvot u-Sheelot, Studies in Responsa Literature, ed. Victoriá Bányai and Szonjá Ráhel Komoróczy (Budapest: Center of Jewish Studies, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, 2011), 107–121. 39 Schlesinger, Hebrew Heart, vol. 2, 63b. The book was first printed in Lemberg in 1871, according to Komoróczy’s collection of documents: Géza Komoróczy, “I Have to be Jewish Here”: Sources and Documents [Hungarian] (Budapest: Kalligram, 2013), 724. See also Katzburg, “Decision,” 277.

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Schlesinger was present at the assembly and reveals that this crucial and central clause—the gravest prohibition against learning or teaching any nonreligious subject, including a foreign language—was omitted for considerations of “keeping the peace,” due to concern at the reaction of the authorities.40 Schlesinger’s book bears a subtitle that leaves no room for doubt that the adoption of any foreign language is the most serious offense, analogous to heresy or Sadduceeism: “To Teach the Sons of Judah the Bow: Against the Three Crimes of Israel—Heresy, Sadduceeism, and Alien Language.” The true intention of the authors of the decision, therefore, was to prohibit the study of any foreign language, to the extent that this was included in the category of offenses one should give one’s life for rather than transgress. The prohibition against the use of a foreign language was the gravest of the ten regulations, “equal to all the others.” Linguistic integration is an important step toward the adoption of a national identity, and as such it is only natural that the ultra-Orthodox leaders who opposed any change in Jewish national identification also rejected the adoption of a foreign language. Loyalty to the powers that be was a traditional precept; acculturation was not. A number of prominent rabbis declined to sign the decision, including the Ktav Sofer (the son of the Chatam Sofer), the Maharam Schück, Júda Aszád, and Azriel Hildesheimer. The main reason for this was probably the language clause. However, these rabbis did not speak out against the decision in public. Schück claimed that the Chatam Sofer had not prohibited a sermon made in a foreign language, provided the preacher did not deviate from tradition in his remarks: “Accordingly, it is unclear where this prohibition comes from; particularly in the case of those who make sermons in the gentile languages in a place where people wish to hear [sermons] solely in the gentile languages, how can we compare them to sinners?”41 Schück was aware that in the Oberland many Jews were not fluent in Yiddish and expected to hear sermons in German; accordingly he disagreed with the halakhic validity of the prohibition and opposed the suggestion that preachers who made sermons in other languages were sinners. He apparently later came under pressure and retracted his objection, informing his students that: “This was my opinion concerning sermons in gentile languages, but my colleagues overruled me and agreed contrary to my position, and I am obliged

40 Schlesinger discusses his presence at the Michalowitz Conference in his book; see Katz, Unhealed Breach, 95 n. 14. 41 Katzburg, Unhealed Breach, 281.

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and required to accept their words with dread and awe, and Heaven forefend to digress from their words.”42 The authors of the decision appear to have been angered primarily by the reformers’ desire to lower, or even to remove, the barriers between Jews and their surroundings, rather than by their secularizing tendencies. Most of the clauses in the decision prohibit changes in the character of the synagogue intended to make it resemble Christian places of worship.43 Conversely, there is no mention of other issues, such as ritual slaughter, circumcision, or weddings, where the Neologs made changes that were also prohibited.44 The preamble emphasizes that the Neologs’ desire is “merely to resemble, join, and mingle with the remaining manners of the religions of the nations of the world,” in violation of the verse “you shall not walk in their ordinances” (Leviticus 18:3). By so doing, they negated the separate existence of the Jewish people, as encapsulated in the biblical declaration “I have separated you from the peoples” (ibid. 20:26) and in the assertion or prophecy “a people dwelling alone” (Numbers 23:9). Against the background of these tendencies, the decision can thus be seen primarily as a manifesto advocating the maintenance and reinforcement of the separation between the Jews and the Gentiles. The Decision of Michalowitz was unequivocal: the option of acculturation was utterly rejected, Despite all the above, the latter decades of the nineteenth century were characterized by a comfortable and trusting relationship between the authorities and the Orthodox public, including a process of cultural and linguistic rapprochement among significant sections of this population. Contrary to the hopes of the decision’s authors, the strict linguistic prohibition established at Michalowitz was not adopted by Orthodoxy as a whole. Many Orthodox Jews began to speak Hungarian, and the language even gained a presence in the synagogue. The gulf between the mood of the decision and the attitudes that crystallized in the center of the country one generation later is illustrated by 42 Moshe Schück, Responsa of Mahara”m Schück—Orach Chayim and Even Ha-‘Ezer (New York, private publication, 1961), responsum 70. 43 The prohibition against erecting a divide in the synagogue between men and women “in such manner that the men can see the women” is the only one that is based on the Shulchan ‘Arukh, though it, too, can be explained as a manifestation of the opposition to anything that was reminiscent of a church. 44 During the deliberations in Michalowitz, a rumor in the press suggested that the rabbis’ goal was to delay emancipation. The rumor sparked fury among the Neologs, and even the Orthodox Rabbi Jeremiás Löw from Újhely protested against this position in a letter to Rabbi Chaim Sofer. Under pressure from the protests, Lichtenstein denied the rumor in a letter to the Hungarian newspaper Pesti Napló. See Katzburg, “Decision,” 279–280. Nevertheless, the decision clearly appears to form part of an effort to strengthen the isolation of the Jewish community.

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the response of Viador, the editor of the Orthodox newspaper, to an article that appeared in the Neolog newspaper Egyenlőség (Equality) in 1901.45 The article reported on an assembly of Neolog rabbis, and also mentioned a gathering of Orthodox rabbis in Újhely (Sátoraljaújhely) in northeastern Hungary. The Neolog organ claimed that the Orthodox assembly reaffirmed and even intensified the 1865 Decision of Michalowitz.46 The editor refutes the claim that the decision was reaffirmed, but goes on to argue that even if this were the case, this would be unimportant as there was nothing unusual in the decision. To clarify his point, he reiterates seven of the nine clauses included in the decision. It is interesting to compare the original wording of the decision to the version presented some thirty-six years later. The decision was intended as an attack on the Neologs and prohibited changes to the structure of the synagogue and the format of the prayers. As we saw above, the first and most important clause prohibited Jews from making or hearing a sermon in any language other than “a Jewish language spoken by proper Jews in that country.” This wording leaves no doubt that the sermon must be made either in Yiddish or Hebrew. This clause was problematic for Viador, who was part of a circle that advocated the diffusion of the Hungarian language among Orthodox Jews. He translated the other six clauses he quoted faithfully into Hungarian, but his version of the language clause, which he places in seventh and final place, is surprisingly terse: “A sermon must not be given in the German language.” He goes on to explain that at the time the decision was adopted, German was a common language among the Jews; many preachers studied and made their sermons in the language. Moreover, many of them were influenced by the Reform in Germany and even advocated secularization, and this explained the prohibition imposed at the time on sermons in German. Viador’s version implies that the decision did not prohibit sermons in Hungarian, and accordingly there was no problem with sermons made in this language. This interpretation is completely inconsistent with the language of the decision itself. It can also be assumed that the presentation of the language clause, which appeared first in the original, in the final place was also intended to underplay the significance of this problematic section. The background to this issue was the aspiration of the Hungarian authorities to disseminate and strengthen the Hungarian language, particularly in apposition to German, which was widely used as a language of culture and administration. The Magyarization of the Jews in the Oberland was manifested primarily in a transition from German and Jüdisch-Deutsch to Hungarian. Viador’s version of

45 Egyenlőség, August 18, 1901. 46 Viador, “The Community,” ZsH, August 22, 1901.

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the clause was consistent with the goals of Magyarization, which he supported. This stance served the interests of Hungarian nationhood in two senses: firstly, it legitimized the making of sermons in Hungarian, and secondly, it prohibited sermons in German (again, despite the lack of any foundation for such a distinction in the original text). The editor’s minimalist reinterpretation of the language clause reflects the strategy adopted by Western Orthodoxy regarding the ultra-Orthodox tendencies in the east. As an Orthodox Jew, Viador does not argue with the rabbis’ decision; he ostensibly accepts it in its entirety, faithful to the adage “according to all that they shall teach you” (Deuteronomy 17:10); yet at the same time, he alters the thrust of the decision entirely. During this period, those Orthodox Jews who tended to favor modernity and Hungarian nationhood did not develop a full-fledged philosophy analogous to that formulated by Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, the founder of the Neo-Orthodox stream in German. Neither did they argue with the conservative wing. They simply digressed from the traditional and conservative position, without offering any explanation or grounds.47 It is reasonable to assume that the fact that Viador allowed himself to reinterpret the language clause in the manner he did implies that his readers, and perhaps he himself, were unfamiliar with the original prohibition. This strengthens the hypothesis that the ultra-Orthodox attitudes toward Hungarian nationhood had not been adopted by the broader public and remained in the margins.

E. The Shomrei Ha-Dat Association in Pest Viador’s position was far from radical. Immediately after the rejection of Hungarian nationhood and language in the Decision of Michalowitz, completely different voices could already be heard among the Orthodox population. The Shomrei Ha-Dat association (Guardians of the Religion; in Hungarian—Hitőr Egylet) was founded in Pest48 in 1868, in the midst of the debates that led to the rabbinical congress and the “unhealed breach.” As its

47 On Hirsch’s use of religious motifs and principles to support his position on German nationhood, see Hirsch, Chorev, 473. On Hirsch and the essence of Neo-Orthodoxy, see Robert Liberles, Religious Conflict in Social Context, The Resurgence of Orthodox Judaism in Frankfurt am Main, 1838–1877 (London: Cambridge University Press, 1985); Ephraim Hamiel, The Middle Path—The Early Growth of Modern Religiosity [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Carmel, 2011); Miron, “Between the Worlds”; Breuer, Portrait, 31–44. 48 Budapest was only founded in 1873 through the unification of Pest, Buda, and Óbuda.

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name implies, the association sought to defend “the Judaism of the old faith (óhitü) in its generality and in its particulars.” At the same time, it advocated “the dissemination of the Hungarian language among the Jewish community.”49 The articles of the association, which pledged to serve as a “protective fortress of Hungarian patriotism and nationhood,” were published in Hebrew, Hungarian, and German. The lofty appeal, in Hungarian, to “you, in whose arteries their flows in an even more pronounced manner love of the monarchy, the homeland, and the Hungarian nation, language, and literature” leaves no room for doubt as to its authors’ national identification.50 The Hebrew preambles to the articles clarified the association’s goals: The objective will be divided into two headings. The first heading: to raise aloft the banner of the Torah—the Written Law and the Oral Law—which are bound and affixed together, laid out before us on the pure table before the Lord in the sections of the Shulchan Arukh. . . . And the second heading: After all the lords and deputies of the land and the ministers of the countries, and in particular the ministers of cabinet, have established the just law that the sun of liberty might spread its wings, that its rays might shine on all the inhabitants of the land, and the elevated and lauded State of Hungary, and determined that religion and faith shall not be excluded or separated from the law of liberty it has granted—there shall be one law and one constitution for all. . . . Then we must thank and praise them for all the bounty they have bestowed, and every person in his heart will understand the need to show gratitude, and will gird his strength at any time and with all his strength, soul, and might for the benefit of the state and seek the well-being of the monarchy, may its glory be exalted. This, too, it has established, and the Shomrei Ha-Dat association has set itself the goal of magnify and glorifying the pure and

49 Another overt goal was to support the newly established journal Magyar Zsidó (The Jewish Magyar), the first Orthodox newspaper to appear in Hungarian. The newspaper was published in Budapest from 1867 to 1870 and edited by A. Farkas and Z. Kraus; it served as the mouthpiece of the Union of Orthodox Congregations. See Raphael Patai, The Jews of Hungary: History, Culture, Psychology (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1996), 313. On the establishment of the Union, see Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 101–110; Katz, Unhealed Breach, 109–118. 50 Shomrei Ha-Dat, Articles [Hungarian] (Pest, 1868). The London-based Jewish Chronicle published the articles of the association in full, adding that Hungarian Jews were considering adopting Hungarian as the national-Jewish language. Jewish Chronicle, June 12, 1868.

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pristine Hungarian language and of supporting its advocates as they endeavor to disseminate it among the members of our religion.51 Despite the leading rabbis’ reservations regarding emancipation, their loyalty to the tradition did not prevent a sense of amazement at the equal rights they had been granted just a few months earlier, and at the groundbreaking recognition of a separate and independent Orthodox organization.52 The law had obliterated the distinctions between them and other citizens—“religion and faith shall not be excluded or separated from the law of liberty it has granted”—and they wished to show gratitude to the state for this approach: After all, have we not heard this before from the Prophet Jeremiah? “Seek the peace of the city where I have caused you to be carried away captive, and pray to the Lord for it; for in its peace you will have peace.” We are commanded and required by our Sages, may their memory be for a blessing, to pray for the well-being of the rulers. Look, then, if we are to do so for the city and kingdom that has acted poorly toward us, how much more so are we required to pray and beseech the well-being of the kingdom that has granted us freedom and an inheritance among them. Here we see a further step forward. The traditional loyalty to the ruler and the kingdom received a new twist, and an affinity was created not only between religion and the authorities, but also between religion, on the one hand, and language and nationhood, on the other. This move constituted the invention of a tradition that drew on an ancient principle, imbuing it with a new interpretation. The principle of loyalty was expanded to include the culture of the host country. This association, which through its name presented itself as the guardian of the faith, also sought to promote the Hungarian language and patriotism. The adoption of the “the pure and pristine Hungarian language” was not a gesture toward the ruler—an emperor-king who sat in Vienna and did not even know this language—but to the Hungarian people, whose parliament had declared emancipation. The preamble in Hungarian, which is not a translation of the Hebrew text, opens as follows:

51 Articles. 52 The articles of Shomrei Ha-Dat were approved by Minister Eötvös on March 18, 1868.

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Members of our faith, patriots! The longed-for day has arrived, remuneration for our protracted suffering, the realization of our hopes, the fulfillment of the promise. . . . A great new day has dawned . . . The noble Magyar nation, the people, the leaders of the nation, and its representatives . . . have unanimously approved the Law of Emancipation.53 The articles even portray the strengthening of religion and the dissemination of Hungarian as goals of equal importance: “After we have clearly seen that both these goals are good and proper, beneficent in all their statements, their ways pleasant ones and all their paths peace. . . .” Despite the reservations raised by rabbis in the first half of the nineteenth-century concerning the concept of emancipation, once it became a reality it was regarded as an extremely positive value and warmly embraced by the new association. Through its “two headings,” Orthodoxy welcomed the bond between Hungary and “the Written Law and the Oral Law—which are bound and affixed together,” adding a religious tone and binding imperative to their stance. The document was signed by the three prominent Orthodox rabbis in Hungary: Rabbi Jeremiás Löw of Újhely (1811–1874), Rabbi Meir Eisenstadt of Ungvár (1808–1869), and the chairman, Rabbi Avraham Shmuel Binyamin Sofer of Pressburg (1815–1871—the Ktav Sofer and the son of the Chatam Sofer). Löw and Eisenstadt both served in the ultra-Orthodox heartland of the northeast. While they were not members of the most extreme circles, their signatures on the document confirmed that it was not confined to the Western Orthodoxy of Budapest, but to a considerable extent manifested the voice of Orthodoxy as a whole. For the first time, Magyarization enjoyed authoritative rabbinical approval. According to a later testimony by Wolf Pappenheim (1848–1938), a member of Agudat Yisrael from Vienna who was on close terms with the Ktav Sofer, the latter signed the articles reluctantly: To hoodwink the authorities, we also added a special clause to the articles mandating the teaching of Hungarian to ultra-Orthodox boys. When the articles were presented to the Ktav Sofer, may

53 The law was approved unanimously in the lower chamber of parliament, but the next day, four out of sixty-four representatives in the Senate voted against the law: Komoróczy, History, vol. 1, 91 n. 208. The words “a great new day has dawned” are taken from a poem by the early nineteenth-century Hungarian poet Ferenc Kazinczy.

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the memory of the righteous be a blessing, he sighed loudly and his face reddened, as it usually did in times of terrible crisis. He said: “How could this group survive, God forbid, if its articles included one point that is not the absolute truth” (referring to the point about the study of the Hungarian language).54 Based on these comments, Katz argued that the rabbis’ signatures were merely a form of lip service to the Hungarian liberals, for whom the young nation-state was their chief concern.55 He adds that “there can be no doubt that this inflated version was the product of the pen and spirit of Albert Farkas, the secretary of the association, who was thoroughly familiar with modern concepts.” Thus Katz transfers the responsibility for the provision concerning the Hungarian language from the rabbis to the secretary. The Ktav Sofer may indeed have been unenthusiastic regarding the association’s embrace of patriotism, but the fact remains that he signed its articles, and there is no evidence that the other signatories expressed any reservations. Their signatures provided support for the association and its articles, and charted a distinctly new path for Orthodoxy. The Hungarian section of the document is longer, phrased in more militant language than the Hebrew, and replete with praiseful comments about the Hungarian people, reflecting the awareness that this section would reach Hungarian hands. The Hebrew section is shorter and was intended for rabbinical circles, and as such it adopted a more moderate tone in order to moderate the anticipated opposition. Nevertheless, this section also includes countless lofty patriotic declarations. The authors of the document could have met their obligation to demonstrate their debt of gratitude to Hungary in far more restrained and level tones, had their comments indeed been intended solely to meet an obligation. Accordingly, I believe that it is reasonable to conclude that they were not merely acquiescing to the prevailing constraints, but to a lesser of greater degree believed in the agenda presented in their document. The rabbis signed the agreement, and even if we assume that did not do so wholeheartedly, they thereby ultimately accepted responsibility for its content. Whether intentionally or otherwise, they granted a rabbinical seal of approval to Magyarization by virtue of their names, prestige, and authority. Henceforth, any pious Jew who wished to participate in Magyarization would 54 Silber, Heartbeats, 95–96 n. 38. The comment in parentheses at the end of the quote is Pappenheim’s: Köves, Jewish Rift, 237, based on Wolf Pappenheim, “Memories of My Teacher and Rabbi the Ktav Sofer, ZTZ”L,” in Sefer ha-Yovel le-Ya’aqov Rosenheim [Hebrew] (Frankfurt am Main, 1931), 159. 55 Katz, Unhealed Breach, 117.

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have ready access to halakhic approval for his choice and could quote eminent names in his support. The section “Letters from Hungary” in the weekly Hebrew-language journal Ha-Maggid presents the entire text of a letter sent by Rabbi Abraham Ság of Kobersdorf “to all the rabbis of the land, inviting them to a great assembly” in order to protest against the newly formed association: Zealotry for the Lord, may His name be blessed, and zealotry for His holy Torah, burn like a fire within me for the fracturing of my people, lest it seize me; my sighs are heavy and my tears wet my bed. . . . Those who go astray seek to impart understanding. . . . Do not be tempted to believe that the Shomrei Ha-Dat association, which claims to cure the ill of the fracturing of my people, will be our salvation. . . . This is no time to remain silent; even if it is extremely difficult for me to speak out against these honorable Rabbis, in place where there is desecration of God’s name one is commanded not to show [respect for the rabbi]. They have erred in their perception . . . and this obstacle is the making of their hands, for they have not acted properly on this great matter in accordance with the majority of the community of Israel, and have failed to observe the words of our Sages of blessed memory.56 Rabbi Ság, the oldest of the Hungarian rabbis, used harsh terms to oppose the goals of the Shomrei Ha-Dat association. As his comments show, he believed that the rabbis who approved its articles had acted mistakenly; if they could only be shown the errors of their way, and recognize that the association’s goals were improper and constituted a desecration of God’s name, they would retract their authorization. A week later, Ha-Maggid reports another letter that flatly contradicts the first, “and which was also signed by the prominent senior rabbi, Moharar [Our Teacher, Rabbi Rabi] Avraham Ság, who in his first letter roared [a pun on the rabbi’s surname] like a lion against the devastated pleasant abode of the Lord, but who now twists and turns like a fox caught in a trap as he tries to extricate himself.”57 Ság retracted his opposition, the bold lion of the first letter became an entrapped fox in the second, and he recanted his forthright

56 “Letters from Hungary” [Hebrew], Ha-Maggid, October 14, 1868. 57 Ha-Maggid, October 21, 1868.

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criticisms. The association that had caused “the fracturing of my people” now became “a wonder of splendor and perfect beauty:” As I listened, my stomach churned and my heart was broken with disgrace. . . . They placed me as one who casts aspersions on the holy ones, the outstanding rabbis and pillars of the world who granted their glory to the Shomrei Ha-Dat association; and as one who debases that bold souls who joined together in the Shomrei Ha-Dat association. For this my heart aches, for they have placed me, Heaven forefend, as a vacuous individual and one who has caused the desecration of the Heavenly Name, Heaven forefend, I did not, God forbid, intend even the slightest part of this. . . . They are all beloved and clear, faithful in their mission to stand against the flood and to raise up the horn of Torah and awe. The contrast between the two letters could not be clearer. Ság now heaps praise on the rabbis, and even on the individuals who were active in the association; all are now presented as working for a holy cause. Was Ság’s first letter forged or distorted to disfavor the Shomrei Ha-Dat association, as he alleges, or had it reflected his true opinion, which he was subsequently forced to retract? It seems more reasonable to me to assume that the visceral first letter embodies Ság’s true opinion; he disapproved of the Shomrei Ha-Dat association and of the dispute between the Jewish streams, and in 1873 he emigrated to Palestine.58 Rabbi Chaim Sofer of Munkács noted his disapproval of the association’s articles, claiming that they had been drafted in secret and that a wider circle of rabbis should have been involved in their preparation.59 Schlesinger, too, was unsparing in his criticism of the founders of the association, whom he even portrayed as worse than the Reform: “These are worse than the cult of the innovators . . . for they forge the King’s documents, under the name of the Lord, claiming to be the Guardians of the Religion.”60 Predictably, Hillel Lichtenstein also criticized the association’s goals, arguing that emancipation should be declined if a change of language were demanded in exchange.61

58 Katz suggests that Ság was coerced by one of the opponents of the association to write his first letter, which aroused astonishment among the association’s members, who quickly persuaded him to retract his allegations. See Katz, Unhealed Breach, 136–137. 59 Sofer, 150 Sofer, letter 39 to the president of the Shomrei Ha-Dat association, 1870. 60 Schlesinger, Hebrew Heart, vol. 2, 117a. 61 Lichtenstein, Enlightening, vol. 3, 73.

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These three opposing rabbis came from the most extreme circles. Later, very few Orthodox Jews publicly criticized the intentions of the new association. Accordingly, it appears that a majority of the Orthodox public accepted, or at least silently acquiesced, to the direction delineated in the association’s articles. How can we bridge the gulf between two documents composed over such a short interval of time: the Decision of Michalowitz and the articles of Shomrei Ha-Dat? One possibility is that the Decision of Michalowitz reflected an extremist ultra-Orthodox position that was not shared by Western Orthodoxy even at the time it was drafted. However, even if we assume that the decision enjoyed broad support at the time, it is important to recall that the interlude between its drafting in 1865 and the founding of Shomrei Ha-Dat in 1868 include a dramatic change. At the end of 1867, the Jews of Hungary were granted emancipation. As its articles mention explicitly, the founders of Shomrei Ha-Dat welcomed this development, and its bold step toward Magyarization was taken in response.62 However, the suggestion that Magyarization and patriotism were a tool for expressing gratitude and appreciation for the Equality Law cannot explain why “guardian of the faith,” including the son of the Chatam Sofer, suddenly felt themselves free to disregard the warning of the Chatam Sofer that “when the authorities grant liberty to the Jews, . . . it is a serious woe.”63 As we have seen, the rabbinical leadership was united in its opinion that emancipation could seriously undermine traditional religious life. The probable explanation is probably that the reservations about emancipation were due to its anticipated outcomes, rather than to the change itself. It seems reasonable to assume that granting Jews equality would not have encountered opposition had it been ensured that the religion and tradition would continue to be observed after this step. As we see, the members of Shomrei Ha-Dat indeed regarded emancipation as a positive development. Rabbi Löw, one of the signatories of the articles, expressed an overtly positive position on the subject.64 In a sermon given in 1848, during the revolt against the Habsburgs, the Ktav Sofer also emphasized that “we must be grateful for the freedom of religion the Jews have won in ‘our beloved Hungary.’”65 The

62 An unwritten but mutually agreed contract existed between the ruling elite and the Jewish public—the “social contract of emancipation,” expressed in the formula of emancipation in return for Magyarization. The founders of the association appear to have accepted this contract. 63 See note 6 above in this chapter. 64 Sofer, 150 Sofer, 15–16. 65 Meir Hildesheimer, “The Hungarian Rabbis and the Michalowitz Conference” [Hebrew], Qiryat Seifer 3, no. 3 (2001): 946.

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third signatory, Rabbi Eisenstadt, suggested that the Jews should not struggle to achieve equality, but should await the authorities’ decisions; however, he does not express opposition to such a possibility.66 Thus all three signatories adopted a positive stance toward emancipation. Even the Chatam Sofer himself referred to emancipation as a “positive edict” for which one should give thanks to God, despite the fact that it also entailed a danger.67 He, too, appears to have been concerned not about emancipation per se, but about its ramifications. What changed, then, and how was this perceived threat removed? The split between the different streams, which was formalized during the same period, may well have played a significant part in the surprising position adopted by the association. The establishment of a separate Orthodox organization was regarded as providing a new barrier against the threats of secularization and assimilation. The barrier that had been damaged by the reformers had now been reestablished, protecting the religious domain against the influence of the secularists and Neologs. The split and the emergence of the independent Orthodox stream were regarded as a “Purim miracle,” while the recognition granted by parliament was perceived as “the Lord’s salvation for His faithful ones in a time of trouble and distress.”68 Rabbi Yosef Elimelech Kahana of Ungvár (1866–1944, Auschwitz) provided an extreme manifestation of the existence of Orthodoxy as a separate organization: “An Orthodox man eating pork is more dear to me than a Neolog putting on the phylacteries of Rabbenu Tam.”69 A sinful Jew who is a member of the Orthodox organization is preferable to an honest one who is scrupulous about the commandments, but who belongs to the rival organization. The impact of personal conduct on the public, for better or worse, is negligible; only autonomous Orthodoxy will create a protective barrier and ensure survival. The separation of the communities and the autonomous existence of Orthodox were regarded as the product of divine providence. The sense of victory and the perception that salvation had arrived and the threat to religion been removed allowed the Orthodox to regard emancipation, which was by now an accomplished fact, in a more open manner, and to embrace Magyarization officially. This was facilitated by the fact that the granting of emancipation was not accompanied by any demands in the religious sphere, as it had been in 1848. Thus the schism had a paradoxical effect: the breach created between

66 Torah of Zealotry, 22. 67 Sermon for January 6, 1933: Sofer, Sermons, vol. 1, 93a. 68 Katz, Unhealed Breach, 195. 69 Scriptures [Hebrew] (Munkács: private publication, 1928, 9.

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the two Jewish streams served as a bridge between Western Orthodoxy and Magyarization. The autonomous status of the Orthodox stream was regarded as sufficient protection against the Neologs and their secularizing tendencies, and accordingly Orthodoxy could adopt a similar position to its rivals concerning the Hungarian nation. The split with the Neologs also served to unite the Orthodox ranks, and this unity was observed zealously by all those involved. The perception that the separation of the communities was a guarantee of the survival of religion and tradition would continue to accompany the Orthodox community up to the point of its annihilation. As an aside, it is interesting to note that despite the glaring differences between the Decision of Michalowitz and the articles of Shomrei Ha-Dat, some observers nevertheless depict the documents as consistent. In modern times, Yakobovitsh (d. 2012) offered an ultra-Orthodox perspective on the history of Hungarian Jewry: “Go from strength to strength”—for our masters of blessed memory went from assembly to assembly, firstly to the holy convocation, the gathering at Michalowitz (in 1865), later the founding of the Shomrei Ha-Dat association (in 1868), and thirdly, and most importantly, the erection of the walls of separatism by means of the founding of separate (Orthodox) communities in 1872–1874. Naturally each of these assemblies exceeds its predecessor. The beginning comes with the gathering of the righteous, a further ring in the golden chain, and a direct continuation of the decision, is the founding of Shomrei Ha-Dat, and the work is completed in 1872–1874.70 Yakobovitsh was one of the leaders of the Satmar community in Bnei Brak. He regarded the splitting of the communities and the separation from the Neologs as a supreme goal and a formative event for Hungarian Orthodoxy.71 His book, which includes numerous sources, reviews the history of the schism from the ultra-Orthodox perspective, reflecting the position of this faction. Shomrei Ha-Dat was the first Orthodox organization that submitted its own articles of association for approval by the authorities, thereby providing official recognition and strengthening its hand in its struggle against the Neologs. Those

70 Jacobowitz, Remember, 139–140. 71 The four volumes of his book Remember the Days of Old praise the division and are devoted mainly to its justification.

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who depict the organization as a “wall of separatism,” the ultimate goal of the “completion of the work,” completely ignore the Hungarian national character of the document, although in other contexts they were quick to criticize the attachment of Hungarian nationhood. Yakobovitsh mentions Rabbi Chaim Sofer as an enthusiastic supporter of Shomrei Ha-Dat, although we have seen his criticism of the association.72 He thereby serves an example of a contemporary observer who seeks to rewrite history in order to adapt it to his own agenda.

F. “The Pure and Pristine Hungarian Language” The Shomrei Ha-Dat association paved the way for Western Orthodoxy to replace German and Yiddish with Hungarian as the everyday language. We now turn to considering the extent to which Hungarian actually penetrated Orthodox circles. Jacob Katz was born in a small village in Western Hungary. Alongside his extensive research work, Katz also wrote an autobiography that includes a description of the linguistic adjustments among the Jews of the Oberland in the early twentieth century: In Máramaros, adjacent to Galicia, Yiddish was still dominant, while in our region [Western Hungary] Jüdisch-Deutsch was increasingly being supplanted by Hungarian. Even elderly people used the language sparingly, and their meager vocabulary was barely adequate to hear a sermon in the synagogue or to study a page of Gemara together. My father was born in Ugocsa, adjacent to Máramaros. He was already a youth when he moved to our region and was fluent in Yiddish. My mother, by contrast, was raised in the city of Győr [in Western Hungary]. . . . In her home German was spoken, but she studied at a Hungarianlanguage school. Accordingly this was my parents’ lingua franca, and for us children it was our only mother tongue.73 The trend toward linguistic assimilation among the Jews of Hungary is apparent in censuses conducted by the government each decade, in which the respondents reported on their mother tongue. The proportion of Jews

72 Jacobowitz, Remember, 136. 73 Jacob Katz, With My Own Eyes: The Autobiography of an Historian, trans. Ann Brenner and Zipora Brody (Hanover, NH: Brandeis University Press, 1995), 18.

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mentioning Hungarian as their mother tongue rose gradually from 56.3 percent in 1880 to 97.3 percent in 1930; this was mirrored over the same period by a decline in the proportion of German speakers from 33.3 percent to 2.2 percent.74 The censuses did not distinguish between Orthodox and other Jews, but a sense of the linguistic phenomenon among this sector can be gauged by means of Yiddish. The census forms did not relate directly to Yiddish, since it was regarded as a German dialect (“jargon”) and was included in the German option. The substantial fall in the number of German speakers in 1920 (from 21.6 percent to just four percent) following the Treaty of Trianon shows that most of the German speakers lived in the areas ceded by Hungary (mainly in the northeast). In fact, however, these were Yiddish speakers included under the rubric “German” in the census. Accordingly, the fall in the number of German speakers in all the census, with the exception of 1920, also reflects a shift of Orthodox Jews from Yiddish to Hungarian. This argument is reinforced by the 1941 census, conducted after some of the territories were returned to Hungary following the Vienna Awards. Yiddish appeared as a separate option in this census, and the census counted 132,325 Yiddish speakers in Hungary, comprising 18.26 percent of the total Jewish population; 130,695 of these speakers lived in the newly annexed territories, while only 1,630 lived within the old Trianon borders. In addition, 5,659 Jews reported that Hebrew was their mother tongue.75 During the period before the First World War, and even more so in its aftermath, linguistic assimilation became a key feature of Western Orthodoxy. In 1910, for example, the Orthodox journal Hagyomány (Tradition) published a critical review of a Hungarian translation of the Siddur by Dr. Simon Hevesi, the rabbi of the Neolog community of Budapest.76 The review complains of various inaccuracies in the translation, quoting numerous passages that were translated in a misleading or imprecise manner. However, the review implicitly supports the act of translating the prayer book, which it regards as uncontroversial. Indeed, the author of the review, editor Rabbi Stein, mentions that he himself

74 The precise percentages are 56.3, 63.8, 71.5, 76.9, 95.2, and 97.3 for 1880, 1890, 1900, 1910, 1920, and 1930, respectively; the figures for Budapest are slightly higher than for Hungary as a whole. German-speakers for the above-mentioned years accounted for 33.3, 33.0, 25.1, 21.6, 4.0, and 2.2 percent, respectively. The proportion of Jews with other mother tongues was very low. See Gyula Zeke, “Statistical Annexes,” in Seven Decades in the Life of Hungarian Jewry [Hungarian], ed. Lázsló Bányai (Budapest: Felelős, 1990), 190. 75 Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 1133. 76 In terms of its religious orientation, Hagyomány was unswervingly Orthodox. However, it was critical of the political positions of the Central Office, and accordingly preferred to describe itself as a “traditional” weekly rather than an Orthodox one.

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is currently working on a translation of the prayers for the members of his community.77 Thus it would seem that not long after the turn of the century, the Hungarian language had become an accepted feature of life in the synagogue, and not only in everyday conversation. To what extent did Eastern Orthodoxy, with its Hasidic and Yiddishist tendencies, share in this development? Although ultra-Orthodoxy did not produce a formal manifesto for Magyarization along the lines of Shomrei Ha-Dat, even among the more extreme circles it is difficult to find objections to this trend. Among these circles, too, a transition to Hungarian began. As noted, Akiva Josef Schlesinger fiercely attacked the Shomrei Ha-Dat association, scornful claiming that they were actually shomdei ha-dat (“destroyers of the religion”).78 However, Schlesinger’s position was confined to a small circle that while vociferous had little influence on the wider Jewish population. With hindsight, it seems that the opposition to Hungarian in the Decision of Michalowitz in 1865, and the reply of Chaim Sofer to Raphael Shimon Hirsch negating the adoption of foreign national identities by Jews, manifested the opposition of an ultra-Orthodox rabbinical elite that was waging a rearguard campaign. From this point on, it is difficult to find statements opposing linguistic adaptation.79 Considerable evidence suggests that even in the Unterland, some ultra-Orthodox and Hasidic Jews gradually adopted Hungarian to a degree that went beyond the need to communicate with their surroundings, so that it became an everyday language. Such Jews served as agents of Hungarian nationhood—sometimes the only such agents—in areas where Hungary sought to disseminate its language and culture. The writer Shlomo Bickel (1896–1969), who wrote his memoirs after moving to Israel, recalled a visit to the region: The first time I found myself in the city of Sziget (in Carpathian Ruthenia) was in the late summer of 1918. . . . Jews in kapoteh cloaks, Jews in heavy shtreimels, boys and youths in small kapoteh with curly earlocks. . . . In every way just like my hometown in Galicia. . . . But what was the difference? Could anyone have heard in Kolomyia Jews wearing kapoteh, Jews with curly earlocks speaking Polish? Yet here in Sziget Jews in kapoteh walk home from the houses of prayer, and many of the 77 “Dr. Simon Hevesy’s Translation of the Prayer Book” [Hungarian], Hagyomány, May 24, 1910. 78 Schlesinger, Hebrew Heart, vol. 2, 117a. 79 On the unique character of the Jews in Máramarossziget, see Menachem Keren-Kratz, Máramarossziget: Extreme Orthodox and Secular Jewish Culture in the Foothills of the Carpathians [Hungarian] ( Jerusalem: Dov Sadan Project, 2013), 41–46.

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are speaking Hungarian—and not a stuttering Hungarian, but passionate and enthusiastic.80 Sziget was one of the strongholds of ultra-Orthodoxy and Hasidism, yet even in these circles there were those who had adopted Hungarian as a daily language as early as the turn of the twentieth century.81 Further evidence of this process can be found in a story written by author Zahava Szász Stessel about a speech made by Rabbi Jacob Moshe Deutsch following his appointment in the provincial town of Abaújszántó in the northeast (within Trianon Hungary, in distinction to Carpathian Ruthenia, which came under Czechoslovakian sovereignty). In this area, renowned for the commitment of its Jews to tradition and religion, there was only an Orthodox community. Stessel relates that Deutsch was welcomed in a large banqueting hall decorated with the Hungarian flag. He spoke fluently in the presence of national and local government officials, showing an impressive command of the Hungarian language and familiarity with its literature.82 In this passage, Stessel describes the full and sincere identification of the Orthodox congregants with their country’s society and culture. She claims that the strength of this identification was higher than in other European countries, and accordingly they did not develop a Jewish national consciousness. The British writer Sir Patrick Leigh Fermor (1915–2011), who crossed Europe on foot as a young man, recalls a chance encounter with a Jewish man from the Satmar Hasidic sect and his two sons in rural Transylvania in the 1930s. Fermor held a long conversation with the three men on various subjects concerning Judaism, the Bible, and contemporary events.83 The men, who evidently came from the more extreme circles of ultra-Orthodoxy, showed an affinity to the Hungarian state and language and declared that they considered themselves Hungarian patriots, although they lived under Romanian sovereignty. They preferred to speak Hungarian among themselves rather than Yiddish. As we have seen, other sections of Hungarian Jewry maintained an even stronger affinity to their homeland. 80 Shlomo Bickel, Romanian Jewry [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Association of Romanian Immigrants in Israel, 1978), 216. 81 “Even the Jews of Sziget submitted to Magyarization” as in the big cities: Yeshayahu Jelinek, The Exile Community in the Foothills of the Carpathians: The Jews of Carpathian Ruthenia and Mukačevo, 1848–1948 [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Diaspora Research Center, 2003), 91. 82 Zahava Százs Stessel, Wine and Thorns in Tokay Valley: Jewish Life in Hungary (Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1995), 176. 83 Patrick Leigh Fermor, Between the Woods and the Water (London: Viking, 1986), 198, 201–202.

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However, the trend to adopt the Hungarian language and national patriotism was not a universal phenomenon among Orthodox circles. During the Dual Monarchy period, linguistic acculturation and a Hungarian orientation depended largely on geographical factors. In areas where Magyars formed a majority, the Jews were more inclined to adopt this direction. In areas heavily populated by minorities, Magyarization was a weaker phenomenon. By way of illustration, the proportion of Jews stating that their mother language was Hungarian exceeded ninety percent in most of the cities; the same was true in the center of the country, between the Tisza and the Danube—an area with a large Orthodox population. Conversely, in the Mármaros district in Carpathian Ruthenia, a stronghold of Eastern Orthodoxy and a region with a predominantly Ruthenian population of Ukrainian Slavs, many Jews continued to use Yiddish, and only seventeen percent of Jewish census respondents gave Hungarian as their mother language.84 In Trianon Hungary, which was ethnically homogenous, a large majority of Jews, including the Orthodox, adopted the Hungarian language and culture. Even in areas that were ceded to the neighboring countries, many Jews (including members of the Orthodox community, and even Hasidim), maintained their Hungarian identity. In the pre-emancipation era, the rabbis decisively rejected emancipation itself, as well as the tendency toward rapprochement with the Hungarian people; they sought to preserve and even to heighten the walls of isolationism. The Decision of Michalowitz sought to ensure that this position would be followed for generations to come. Shortly after the granting of emancipation, however, three prominent Hungarian rabbis approved the founding of the Shomrei Ha-Dat association, marking a turn toward the Hungarian language, culture, and nationhood. Western Orthodoxy welcomed emancipation, once it was an accomplished fact, and joined the trend toward Magyarization. The split with the Neologs and the official independent status acquired by the Orthodox stream, for the first time in its history, created a sense of security that allowed Orthodox circles to draw closer to the host nation—a process they had feared in the past. Eastern Orthodoxy, and particularly its ultra-Orthodox faction, did not participate in this process, but nevertheless gradually adopted Hungarian as their everyday language.

84 Frojimovics, “Religious Streams,” 84–87, based on the 1920 census.

Chapter Two

The Good Years of the Monarchy

During the era of the monarchy, Hungary as a whole underwent a rapid process of development in the economic and cultural spheres. The dominant mood was one of optimism, progress, and relaxed calm. Many Hungarian Jews had integrated successfully in various walks of life, were satisfied with their living conditions, and gradually strengthened their affinity with the host nation. The cultural integration of Western Orthodoxy that had begun with the emancipation gathered pace. Although Hungary was part of the Habsburg Empire, in many respects it regarded itself as an independent nation-state and acted accordingly. This chapter will discuss various issues that jointly illustrate the integration of Orthodox circles in the fabric of national Hungarian life. We shall first see that the Jews regarded themselves as an integral part of the nation, and not as a minority. They gradually converted the traditional Jewish loyalty toward the rulers and authorities into an affinity to the Hungarian nation and people. The manifestations of patriotism and identification with Hungarian nationhood reached their peak during the celebrations marking the first millennium of Magyar settlement in the country. Magyarization was also manifested in an emphasis on patriotism in the education of the younger generation in schools. With the exception of the reception initiative, a majority in both Neolog and Orthodox circles adopted similar views concerning the non-Jewish surroundings; indeed, they competed to show who was a better Magyar. During

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the First World War they joined the military and proved to be devoted and loyal. With hindsight, however, it would become apparent that the war marked a watershed after which their status would change beyond recognition.

A. The National Minorities and the Jews During the period of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy, the expansive Hungarian state included a large number of national and ethnic minorities: Romanians, Slovaks, Ruthenians, Serbs, Croats, and even Swabian and Saxon-Lutheran Germans. As a general rule, these minorities were not Hungarian in terms of the language or their culture. The heterogeneous ethnic composition of the country and the nature of the relations with the minorities left their mark on national life and on the Hungarian Jews.1 The liberal-nationalist leadership sought to disseminate and inculcate Hungarian culture, but the fact that the Magyars accounted for less than half of the total population hampered its efforts. In order to overcome this problem, the authorities adopted a policy of Magyarization, setting a low bar for “inclusion” in the Hungarian people, with an emphasis primarily on the adoption of the Hungarian language. This offer was adopted widely among the Jews, and to a lesser extent among the German minority, but it failed to gain a firm holding among the other minorities. Gradually, and particularly thanks to Jewish participation, the relative weight of the Magyars increased, and they now constituted a very narrow majority.2 The adoption of a Hungarian identity by most of the Jews led to tension between the Jews and the national minorities, and even sparked outbreaks of antisemitism. The north and east of the country were home to large concentrations of Orthodox Jews, alongside Slovak, Ruthenian, and Romanian minorities. In many towns and villages, the different populations lived alongside each other; in 1 On the problem of the minorities from a Hungarian perspective, see Sugar et al., History, 254–255; C. A. Macartney, October Fifteenth: A History of Modern Hungary, 1929–1945 (Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh, 1961), 1–13; Robert A. Kann, “Hungarian Jewry During Austria-Hungary’s Constitutional Period (1867–1918),” Jewish Social Studies 7 (1945): 357–386. Kann argues that the minority problem was the central issue facing the monarchy, and that the Hungarian insistence that this problem could be solved solely through Magyarization delayed its resolution, even in the Austrian area, ultimately leading to the First World War and the dismantling of the empire. This problem also dictated the attitude toward the Jews. In my opinion, the attitude toward the Jews was mainly a reflection of their own determination to distinguish themselves from the other minorities and their support for Magyarization and modernization. 2 Census often asked citizens to state their mother tongue, but the final calculations were complex and open to varying interpretations.

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some instances, the Orthodox Jews were the sole representatives of Hungarian identity on the local level. The Slovaks suffered oppression at the hands of the Hungarians and generally lived in poor conditions. They responded with hostility toward the Hungarians in general, and toward the Jews in particular. The tension between the Jews and the Slovaks was particularly apparent in rural areas, where the Jews often worked as merchants and business-owners. They were more prosperous than the other residents and tended to represent Magyarization in an aggressive manner.3 The economic condition of the Ruthenians, who lived on the northwestern slopes of the Carpathian Mountains, was even worse than that of the Slovaks, and they were the most oppressed minority group within the monarchy. Jews comprised around one-sixth of the population in the region; the majority of them identified with Hungary, and here, too, their economic condition was relatively strong compared to their neighbors. Unlike the situation in Slovakia, however, most of the Jews in this region belonged to Orthodox and Hasidic circles that rejected the liberalism of Hungarian Jewry. Their chief goal was to preserve their religious way of life, and their relations with their surroundings were warmer. The relations between Romanians and Jews in Transylvania were similar to the situation in Slovakia, although the level of tension was lower, for several reasons. The Romanians did not face the intense oppression suffered by the Slovaks, since they enjoyed the protection of the Romanian monarchy, which was an ally of Austro-Hungary. Moreover, Transylvania was one of the poorest provinces of Hungary, and Jewish economic control was less prominent in the rural areas than was the case in Slovakia. As a result, antisemitism among the Romanians was more virulent than among the Ruthenians, but less so than in Slovakia.4 The rabbi of the Neolog community in Budapest, Rabbi Sámuel Kohn, who was a historian and a researcher into the history of the Jews of Hungary, devoted his sermon on the first day of Rosh Hashanah in 1881 to the problem of antisemitism. Responding to the claim by antisemites that many Jews had not yet embarked on the process of Magyarization, Kohn retorted: “There is no non-Magyar ethnic group where the process of Magyarization has been more rapid than among the Jews. Moreover, there are remote regions inhabited by

3 The Slovak leader Anton Stefanek (1877–1964) attributed these characteristics to the Jews shortly after the turn of the century; quoted in Kann, “Hungarian Jewry,” 375. 4 For the reasons for the tension between the national minorities in the various areas, see ibid., 373–380.

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national minorities where the Jews serve as the sole ambassadors for Hungarian identity.”5 Kohn was referring to the isolated Orthodox families who lived in Carpathian Ruthenia and Transylvania—regions where the Neolog population was extremely sparse. The historian Ignác Acsády also noted that the Jews served as a firm bulwark for the policy of Magyarization: In the regions populated by the minorities, the Jews stand alone against anti-Magyar terror; no minority member of parliament has ever to date been elected with the help of the Jews. . . . There are districts in which it is impossible to ensure a majority among those loyal to the Magyar state, even by means of the most sophisticated of electoral systems, since apart from the Jews there is no reliable Magyar settlement there.6 The leaders of the Slovak, Romanian, and Croatian minorities, who rejected the demand for Magyarization, placed the Jews on the other side of the dividing line. The president of the Neolog community in Brashov, Transylvania, Ignác Weiss (1847–?), wrote a booklet in 1894 on the subject of antisemitism among the minorities. Weiss argued that, in Romanian-speaking areas, the Hungarian patriotism of the Jews played a significant part in this phenomenon.7 The problem of the national minorities in Hungary and the question of their loyalty preoccupied the press and public opinion of the day and were prominent themes in public discourse. In 1893, the Orthodox newspaper Zsidó Hiradó published an article by Lajos Palágyi (1866–1933), a well-known poet and publicist. The article was devoted to the problem from the standpoint of the Jews, who were themselves a minority, but who regarded themselves as part of the Hungarian mainstream.8 Palágyi noted that considerable attention had recently been given to the minority national movements in Hungary, which were fomenting conflict and disquiet; the state was preoccupied with responding

5 Sámuel Kohn, How Should We Face the Assaults on Us [Hungarian] (Budapest: private publication, 1880). 6 Ignác Acsády, Jews and Non-Jews after Emancipation [Hungarian] (Budapest: Typ. Weiszmann, 1883), 14–15. 7 Ignác Weisz, The Jews and the Minorities [Hungarian] (Brassó: private publication, 1894), 53–56. 8 The Zsidó Hiradó was the main Hungarian-language Orthodox newspaper during the monarchic era. The newspaper defined itself as the organ of Orthodox Jewry, although it was not formally associated with the National Orthodox Office.

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the riots caused by these movements, rather than directing its resources to development and progress. Palágyi claimed that the Romanian minority was intensely involved in incitement both against the Jews and against the Magyars, thereby proving that “the enemies of the Magyar nation are also the enemies of the Jews.” He argued that the Jews were not an ethnic or national minority, but an integral part of the Magyar majority. Thus on the one side stood the Hungarian nation, including the Jews; and on the other the national minorities that were disloyal to the nation. The writer reaffirmed the Jews’ loyalty and implicitly sought protection against incitement. He emphasized the contribution of the Orthodox as ambassadors of good will for Hungarian culture in remote areas: It is with genuine joy that we can state that our community belongs to those communities in the homeland all of whose sons feel a burning love for the homeland and are willing to shed their blood for the nation. . . . Jewry in its entirety is filled with a great national mission that is not performed by any other community. . . . Orthodox Jews in the most sensitive areas, in which antiMagyar incitement is being undertaken [Carpathian Ruthenia and Transylvania] are the strongest supporter of Hungarian national attitudes. . . . We cannot imagine any decent Hungarian who would see fit to undermine of the firmest supports of his nation—Jewry. Even if the disquiet fomented by the minorities has no other benefit, it will increase the harmony within the Jewish nation and a fairer attitude toward the patriotic activities of the Jews.9 This article positions the Jews at the vanguard of the defense of the nation against the other minorities, which are seeking to erode Hungarian nationhood. The Jews’ national loyalty explains the hatred they encounter among the minorities, but will ultimately lead to the end of Hungarian antisemitism. The sense that the best response to antisemitism, and that which will reduce the phenomenon of hatred of Jews, is to display loyalty to the Hungarian nation accompanied the Jews of the country up to the Holocaust. Lajos Palágyi was descended from a family of well-known rabbis, but to the best of our knowledge he was not personally affiliated to the Orthodox stream. In 1889 he was part of a group of Neolog intellectuals who established the 9 “National Minorities and Judaism,” ZsH, August 17, 1893.

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Reception Movement, which sought to promote the idea of including Judaism among the officially recognized religions in Hungary, an idea that was opposed by the Orthodox journal during this period. Why, then, did the author of the weekly Orthodox organ see fit to print Palágyi’s letter? It is reasonable to assume that his praise of the Orthodox role in defending Hungarian identity was regarded as more important than his identification with the rival camp and his activity on the subject of the reception, and accordingly he was granted a prominent platform in the journal. Moreover, the newspaper’s campaign against reception was less about the issue itself and more a part of the broader struggle against the Neologs and in favor of maintaining the division within Hungarian Jewry. This became clear after reception was adopted, when the newspaper expressed pleasure and satisfaction about the development. Be this as it may, the fact that Palágyi’s article appeared as the lead article in the edition shows that the positions he expressed regarding the loyalty of Orthodox Jews to Hungary were consistent with the newspaper’s editorial line. In the mid-1890s, the Catholic Church launched a campaign against the legislation on religious issues and the underlying concept of the separation of church and state. Among other positions, the church opposed the proposed reception, according to which the Jewish religion would be accepted, even allowing a Christian to convert to Judaism, something that had formerly been illegal. Viador, the editor of the Orthodox newspaper, wrote that at a conference of bishops in Budapest, claims had been made that the Jews were unpatriotic toward Hungary, as part of the Catholic opposition to reception. Viador argued that this claim, leveled against one million citizens, was completely unjustified: the affinity of Jews in Hungary, and everywhere else in the world, lay solely with their homeland. In a multiethnic country such as Hungary, every citizen was important for national reasons. The Catholic leadership should not exclude one million Magyar citizens (that is, the Jews). Orthodoxy was making a contribution to Magyarization in peripheral areas, since its members were scattered in small communities across districts with a high Ruthenian and Romanian population, and were often the only Hungarian speakers in the area.10 As noted above, the anti-Magyar foment sometimes led to tension between the minorities and the Jews, who rejected a minority identity and identified consistently with the Hungarians. The Jews, and particularly the Neologs, identified with the liberal Calvinistic Hungarian elite, which also regarded them as a Magyar religious community rather than a national minority. Following the Treaty of Trianon, when most of the minorities came under the rule of 10 Viador, “Boycotted,” ZsH, March 2, 1893.

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neighboring countries, the balance between the different groups changed, the problem of the minorities was no longer prominent on the national agenda, and the Orthodox newspaper also no longer addressed the issue.

B. From the Well-Being of the Rulers to the Well-Being of the Nation “Rabbi Chanina the deputy High-Priest taught: ‘Pray for the welfare of the government, for were it not for the fear of it, men would swallow one another alive’” (Avot 3:2). The Tosefot Yom Tov commentary explains this verse by noting that the government “means the king with his ministers and advisers who lead his kingdom and make justice in the land.” From ancient times, the Jewish Sages recognized the importance of a functioning government, saw it as a guarantee for social order and personal security, and ordered the faithful to pray for the government and be loyal to it. The Babylonian Talmud imposes a specific blessing in this spirit: “One who sees kings of Israel recites: Blessed . . . Who has shared of His glory with those who revere Him. One who sees kings of the other nations of the world recites: Blessed . . . Who has given of His glory to flesh and blood” (BT Berakhot 58a). The Chatam Sofer wrote: “We, the community of Israel, are obliged to adhere to this great commandment, the commandment of showing respect to the king, more strongly and fiercely than all the other peoples; it is a commandment of commonsense and manners to act respectfully toward the king, whose law establishes the land.”11 The custom was to observe this instruction strictly, even when it clashed with the Halakhah. In 1867, Emperor Franz-Josef held a state visit to the city of Krakow on a Yom Kippur that fell on the Sabbath. The Chatam Sofer’s son, Rabbi Shimon Sofer (1820–1883) was serving as the rabbi of the city at the time, and the question arose as to whether it was permissible on such a day to stage a welcoming procession, with the Torah scrolls decorated for the occasion (since there was no eruv perimeter fence in the city, such an action is halakhically problematic on the Sabbath). Rabbi Shimon Sofer ruled that it was permissible to welcome the emperor in this manner, but to be on the safe side he also consulted with his brother, the Ktav Sofer, who was serving as a rabbi in Pressburg.12 The latter replied:

11 Moshe Sofer, Responsa of the Chatam Sofer [Hebrew], vol. 5: Choshen Ha-Mishpat (Bratislava: private publication, 1911), Omissions, item 190. 12 On the activities of Shimon Sofer in Galicia, see Manekin, Jews of Galicia.

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To my brother, the beloved of my soul and the friend of God. . . . Regarding the matter you wrote about concerning the honor of kings, that one might go out to greet them on the holy Yom Kippur, that comes to us for good, which falls on the Sabbath, carrying Torah scrolls on a street that is not equipped with an eruv. And it is clear to you that it is permitted to transgress a rabbinical prohibition for the sake of the honor of kings. . . . It is indeed so, and the proof is that in times past they would go out to greet the king carrying Torah scrolls.13 The Ktav Sofer issued his permissive ruling on the basis of the commandment to honor even the kings of foreign nations, a commandment that is sometimes regarded as originating from the Torah, so that it overrules the rabbinical prohibition against carrying items on the Sabbath. Regarding the commandment to honor kings, the Chatam Sofer wrote: “A commandment implied in our holy Torah.”14 Based on the answer of the Chatam Sofer, Rabbi Shlomo Zvi Schück (1844–1916) allowed the regular curtain on the ark containing the Torah scrolls to be replaced by a more splendid one on the Sabbath, in honor of the king’s birthday, despite the potential this creates for the violation of the laws of the Sabbath. This was done since “to honor our merciful King, may God preserve and save him, it is certainly permissible to rely on those who allow the replacement of the curtain on the Sabbath. Moreover, our Master and Rabbi the Ktav Sofer . . . has already allowed a procession for the King on Yom Kippur that falls on the Sabbath, including the carrying of the Torah scrolls . . . since there is a great commandment and obligation to honor the King most emphatically.”15 Over the years, many prayers were composed for the well-being of the king, but these also focused solely on the ruler, his family, and his advisors. In the mid-nineteenth century, this principle began to be extended to the broader national domain: prayers were offered not only for the ruler, but also for the nation. Prayers of a national character were made during this period not only on special occasions, but on a regular basis. The writer Asher Miller, who belonged to the conservative Eastern Orthodox section of Hungarian Jewry, mentions in his memoirs:

13 Avraham Shmuel Binyamin Sofer, Responsa of the Ktav Sofer, Orach Chayim [Hebrew] (Pressburg: private publication, 1873), responsum 37, 35b. 14 Sofer, Responsa, Choshen Ha-Mishpat, Omissions, item 190. 15 Moshe Schück, Responsa of the Rashba”n—Orach Chayim [Hebrew] (Munkács: private publication, 1899), item 151.

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The Jews under the rule of Emperor Franz Joseph I were great patriots and sought to demonstrate to the Gentiles their devotion and loyalty to the ruling powers. On [Hungarian] national days, such as March 15 [the commemoration of the revolution of 1848–1849], April 11 [Constitution Day], and August 18 [the canonization of King Stephen I in 1083], special services were held in the main synagogues, and as part of the service it was customary that the rabbi of the city would give a sermon in German praising His Majesty the Emperor and the government. The local mayor and senior figures in central or local government would also be invited to these services . . . On such occasions, all eyes were directed at the faces of the Gentile guests, attempting to see how they responded to the rabbi’s words. If, at the end of the worship, the distinguished Gentile guests would come and shake the rabbi’s hands, noting their satisfaction at his fine comments, the Jews would be exceedingly happy, and regard this as the sanctification of God’s name.16 The affinity to the surroundings and the calm atmosphere highlighted in this passage are typical of the monarchic era. The demonstration of loyalty was accompanied by a desire to curry favor with the ruling authorities. However, as Miller notes, this was not the sole objective: the Jews were genuinely “great patriots.” On March 15, the Hungarians would mark the Struggle for Liberty—the Hungarian revolt against Habsburgian rule during the Spring of Nations of 1848–1849. In 1898, when the government officially declared this day a national holiday, the Zsidó Hiradó devoted its lead article to the approaching festival, presenting the instructions issued by the National Orthodox Office to its communities throughout the country: Since the Struggle for Liberty has been celebrated in our homeland, the Jewish schools celebrate the Fifteenth of March with the enthusiasm of liberty, united in profound sentiments of love of the homeland, liberty, equality, and fraternity. And now, as the authorities have officially declared this day a national holiday, the Jews of the country give thanks to the Lord who has instilled the love of liberty among the splendid Magyar 16 Asher Anshel Yehuda Miller, Father’s World [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Hod, 1984), 56.

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people and led its brave warriors to their victory. The members of the Jewish population have until now been accustomed to participating in the student celebrations, each one according to his wishes and inclinations . . . but the National Orthodox Office now asks the entire public to mark this day in a uniform manner and with great festivity, and has sent a circular to all the communities with instructions for this festive day. The circular also includes a prayer of thanks to the Leader of the Nations, asking that He continue to shower His grace on the heroic Magyar nation, among whose loyal sons we, the members of the Israelite faith, are included. As in the past, so in the future we will be ready to make any sacrifice demanded by this nation, with which we have shared both sorrow and joy. We are bound to it not only because of patriotism, not only because of the commandment of our holy religion, but also out of gratitude. . . . Our joy is double, as patriotic Hungarians we await this festival with pride and joy, for as Magyars in body and soul we were not the last in the great struggle to secure national liberty; and as Jews we appreciate liberty and give thanks to God, with Whose help it was achieved. . . . Our teachers, fluent in the fine Hungarian language, will speak on this day only of patriotism; our children will read with shining eyes the best of our national poetry; and we, the Jewish sons of the land who enjoy its bounty, will participate as one man in the great joy.17 These expressions of identification and affinity to the Hungarian homeland and nation are included in the official instructions of the National Orthodox Office, and hence were intended for all the Orthodox communities in the country, including the ultra-Orthodox sector. If we set aside the few specific references to Jews, it could easily be assumed that the target audience was the Hungarian non-Jewish population. The Jews of Hungary are portrayed as part and parcel of the nation, with an emphasis on the honorable role they played in the struggle for its liberty and on their shared experiences of sorrow and joy. They are not aliens or recent immigrants: their language and culture are Hungarian; they are familiar with the national poets and writers; they are an integral part of the public, distinguished only by their religion and faith. The reasons for this attitude are the common national struggle, the religious imperative to be 17 “National Festival,” ZsH, March 10, 1898.

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loyal to the authorities, and love of the country in which they reside; above all, the rationale is one of gratitude for the good conditions in which they live in Hungary. The Jews rejoice due to the patriotism that “the Lord has instilled among the splendid Magyar people.” Patriotism and love of the nation are depicted as part of the Jewish religion. These remarks were made in the latter years of the nineteenth century, at the peak of a period some regard as the “Golden Age” of Hungarian Jewry.18 This was an age when the ruling hegemony consistently supported the Jews; when, despite social discrimination, there was significant positive change in their condition relative to the past. Social rejection was regarded as a temporary setback, while the future seemed to be promising. This was also a period when an extremely positive version of Hungary’s past was created among its Jews, producing an idyllic image that would survive into the 1940s, despite the serious deterioration in the relations between Hungarians and Jews. Ahead of the celebrations for Franz Joseph’s seventieth birthday in 1900, the head of the National Orthodox Office, Rabbi Lipót (Aryeh Lev) Lipschitz (1840–1904) wrote a circular addressed to rabbis and communities throughout the country. He instructed all the communities to hold festive services in the synagogues to mark the birthday of Franz Joseph I, Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary, “in whose days the sacred idea of equal rights has been adopted.”19 Emancipation, which had been portrayed by the rabbis of the previous generation as a negative phenomenon liable to lead Jews to veer from the proper path, and which had been described by the Chatam Sofer as a “major woe,”20 was now referred to in an official Orthodox prayer as a “sacred idea.” The Orthodox

18 In a chapter entitled “A Golden Age for the Jews?,” Komoróczy (History, vol. 2, 185–187) mentioned equality before the law and acceptance in the economic and cultural sphere as elements ostensibly justifying the epithet, while the hatred, jealousy, and social rejection that also persisted contradicted the optimistic label. Komoróczy leaves the question open. Karady presents a long list of areas of discrimination “behind the façade of the Golden Age”: Victor Karady, “The Coming of the Shoah in Public Discourse, State Policies and Social Realities: An Essay on Continuities of the ‘Jewish Question’ in Hungary since the ‘Golden Age,’” in The Holocaust in Hungary: Seventy Years Later, ed. Randolph L. Braham and András Kovács (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2016), 47–57. The monarchic era was undoubtedly the most positive period in the history of Hungarian Jewry, and the Jews in the country also enjoyed better conditions than their coreligionists in most of the European countries. However, the term “Golden Age” has a definitive connotation that may exaggerate the merits of the period. It is worth noting that Romsics uses the term “golden years of peace” to refer to the Dual Monarchy era from the perspective of Hungarian history as a whole—see Romsics, Hungary, 7. Lendvai similarly refers to the “golden age of the Millennium” in the general Hungarian context: Lendvai, Hungarians, 310–328. 19 “The King’s Seventieth Birthday,” ZsH, August 9, 1900. 20 Sofer, Sermons, vol. 2, 250b; see also three responsa in These Are the Words of the Covenant.

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instructions and prayer also reached ultra-Orthodox congregations, which did not protest or respond negatively. The growing affinity between Orthodox Jews and their surroundings were also apparent when they mourned the death of non-Jewish figures and even attended memorial services in churches. Eulogies for deceased rulers were not, of course, unique to Hungary and were a common practice among Jews across Europe. Lajos Kossuth, the much-admired Hungarian freedom fighter who led the revolt against Austria in 1848–1849 and was forced to spend the remainder of his days in exile, died in Turin, Italy on March 20, 1894. Two days later, Dr. Sándor Pollácsek published a eulogy in Zsidó Hiradó for the hero, who had passed away at the age of ninety-two. Pollácsek heaped praise on Kossuth for “drawing Hungary into the ranks of the modern nations, introducing parliamentary rule in place of an aristocratic regime, and shaping democracy and freedom in the country.”21 By listing all these secular, modern values as significant achievements, Pollácsek revealed his own modernizing tendencies. Rabbi Shlomo Zvi Schück, the chief rabbi of Karcag, gave an impressive eulogy for Kossuth in Hungarian, speaking in the southern Hungarian city of Madaras on April 8, 1894.22 He began by quoting the Psalms: “Why look ye askance, ye mountains of peaks, at the mountain which God hath desired for His abode? Yea, the Lord will dwell therein forever” (Psalms 68:17). The exegetical work Genesis Rabbah interprets this verse as suggesting that the other mountains were jealous of the unassuming Mount Sinai, which had been chosen for the Giving of the Torah. God replies that He chose Sinai because “you all permit idol worship on your summit, but no idol worship took place on Sinai,” which accordingly is a pure mountain. Similarly, Schück went on to suggest, the other nations of the world are envious of little Hungary, which of all nations was

21 “Lajos Kossuth,” ZsH, March 22, 1894. 22 Schück was also known by the acronym Rashba”n (Rabbi Shlomo Ben Natan). He was a relative and disciple of the Mahara”m Schück and one of the most important halakhic arbiters of the time, but he also aroused opposition due to his moderate and open approach. On his lenient attitude toward the Status Quo stream and his opposition to the division, see Yitzhak Hershkowitz, “The redemption vision of Rabbi Yissachar Shlomo Tichtel” [Hebrew] (PhD diss., Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan, 2009), 39–45. Ferziger discussed Schück at length, see Adam Ferziger, “A Road Not Taken: Rabbi Shlomoh Zvi Schück and the Legacy of Hungarian Orthodoxy,” Hebrew Union College Annual 79 (2008): 107–140; Adam Ferziger, “Moderate in a Sea of Extremes” (MA thesis, Yeshiva University, New York, 1989); Adam Ferziger, “The Hungarian Orthodox Rabbinate and Zionism: The Case of R. Salamon Zvi Schück,” Proceedings of the World Congress of Jewish Studies 11 (1993): IIIC, 273–280; Ferziger, Jewish Orthodoxy. See also Yitzhak Yosef Cohen, Hungarian Sages and Torah Literature [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Jerusalem Institute—Hungarian Jewish Heritage Project, 2007), 441–443.

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chosen by the merciful God to receive “the messiah of the nineteenth century, the liberator of millions, the prophet with the great and noble soul.” Even within Hungary, he added, the other religions envy Kossuth’s Protestant faith. Judaism, too, asks why God decided that Kossuth—“the Hungarian Moses”—would not come from among its number, as Moses, the liberator of Israel, did? Schück (through God) responds: “I chose little Hungary as My place of dwelling, for here lie the origins of the angel of love who does not allow the forces of evil to act here. . . . Browse through the annals of world history and you shall see that evil has ruled in every place. . . . Could France, Germany, or Italy, places where hatred rules, demand that the angel of love be born in their land?” Schück goes on to list traumatic events that occurred in these countries to Jews and non-Jews, “while only in Hungary did all the persecuted and the oppressed find a safe haven, since its fire of religion only provided light and warmth, and did not harm or destroy.”23 Schück draws on biblical and rabbinical sources in order to praise Hungary and laud its idyllic and idealized past. The references to the traditional literature amplify the sense of affinity to Hungary and the Hungarian people. Hungary is compared to Mount Sinai and Kossuth is dubbed “the Hungarian Moses”—a modern-day prophet and messiah. The presentation of the dialogue between God and the nations of the world in the format of the ancient dialogue with the mountains adds a traditional, familiar, and valued touch to the HungarianJewish concoction. This coloring of the Magyar past in traditional and religious hues can be found in other Orthodox sources and played a significant role in shaping the dual identity of Hungarian Orthodox Jews. Schück’s eulogy was given in a synagogue, but Orthodox Jews also attended memorials to Christian figures even when these were held in churches. An example of this can be found in the responsa of Rabbi Eliezer Deutsch (1850– 1916), the rabbi of Bonyhád, one of the most prominent rabbis in Hungary and a disciple of Rabbi Menachem Eisenstadt. In 1902, the following question was addressed to Deutsch: On a day when a memorial was to be held for a certain minister of state, it is their custom to go to their house of prayer that shall be called for all the nations, and they do there something they call Gottesdienst [that is, Christian worship]. And some Jews also went there, and removed their hats as is customary. They

23 Salamon Schück, Sermon by Chief Rabbi Salamon Schück in Memory of Lajos Kossuth [Hungarian] (Karcag: Sződi, 1894).

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explained that since in this place there were no idols [crosses], it is permitted to enter, so they claim. Did they act well?24 Rabbi Deutsch replies that Orthodox Jews should certainly not participate in such a ceremony: “They sinned twice over. . . . And who can tell how many people considered the possibility of idol worship at that time, as they saw their splendor and majesty. Woe betide a generation that has come to such a point.” Deutsch discusses the incident at length, arguing unequivocally that Jews may not participate in a ceremony of a national character held in a church; however, he does not negate such participation in a different venue. The question underscores the growing affinity between Orthodox Jews and Hungarians based on shared national sentiments. Deutsch’s answer exposes a difference in approach between the rabbinical elite, which rejected the practice described in the question, and the lay Orthodox population, which did not always refrain from attending such events.25 As good citizens, Jews also aspired to participate in elections and political life in general. Rabbi Yehuda Zvi Blum (1872–1917), the rabbi of Hausfalva in northern Hungary (Slovakia), was asked by his brother, who was a religious judge in another city, “whether it is permissible to go on the Sabbath to vote for a representative to the Parliament.” Blum replied: The election of a representative to the Parliament was scheduled in your locale for the holy Sabbath; may a Jew go to the meeting place to express his opinion in favor of one of the candidates, while walking more than four cubits? (A) Does this not entail weekday labor; (B) Many people receive payment for expressing their opinion; does this not constitute a salary earned on the Sabbath; (C) The voters’ opinions are recorded in a ledger on the holy Sabbath, a form of labor prohibited in the Torah; (D) The chairman of the election committee in this locale is a Jew

24 Eliezer Deutsch, Responsa of the Fruit of the Field [Hebrew] (Paks: private publication, 1905–1914), vol. 2, item 4. 25 Dov Meizlish, at the time the rabbi of Warsaw, took the unusual step of attending the funeral in a Catholic cemetery of five Poles killed in 1861 in the revolt against Russian rule. The Polish artist Aleksander Lesser commemorated the occasion in a portrait depicting Meizlish alongside the bishop and other Catholic clergy.

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who desecrates the Sabbath in public; does this not constitute “placing an obstacle before the blind?”26 The questioner asks whether it is permissible to vote in a parliamentary election held on the Sabbath, since voting is perceived as a weekday act that may be incompatible with the Sabbath atmosphere. Moreover, the questioner is concerned that he will cause the chairman of the electoral board, who is a secular Jew, to desecrate the Sabbath by recording his own vote, so that the questioner will violate the prohibition “you shall not place an obstacle before the blind” (Leviticus 19:14). After a lengthy and convoluted halakhic discussion, Blum eventually permitted the act of voting on the Sabbath, adding some suggestions as to how this could be done without desecrating the holy day. During this period, Jews—including observant ones—participated in political life in Hungary, and voting for the various parties was an accepted practice (there were no specifically Jewish parties). The questioner demonstrates good citizenship, attaches importance to the right to vote, and does not wish to relinquish it, even on the Sabbath. This source suggests that the participation of Orthodox Jews in elections to the national institutions was uncontroversial and enjoyed rabbinical support. This civic involvement formed part of the broader atmosphere of relative calm that continued to dominate the relations between Orthodox Jews and the Hungarian nation into the early part of the twentieth century. The situation was similar throughout the Austro-Hungarian Empire, whose Jewish subjects participated in elections and national ceremonies.27 Thus the conduct of Orthodox Jews in Hungary formed part of a broader trend. In his autobiographical book With My Own Eyes, Jacob Katz recalls his experiences as a child during this period. Katz lived in a small village in western Hungary. Like the other Jews in the village, his family “did not merely observe the commandments, but did so scrupulously, the lesser ones as much as the graver ones.” Orthodox Jews were swept along in the broad tide of education to patriotism and loyalty. Even as a small child in a remote village, Katz was exposed to this atmosphere: “One particular source of my patriotic education was the weekly youth journal that my mother had ordered for me.”28 Thus a Jewish child in Hungary learned to love his country along with his study of the Chumash (Pentateuch). Katz has similar memories of his early years at school: 26 Yehuda Zvi Blum, Remnant of Judah, Responsa [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: private publication, 1973), item 37. 27 Pieter Judson, The Habsburg Empire: A New History (London: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2016), 333. 28 Katz, With My Own Eyes, 13.

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My spiritual world was formed by the non-Jewish sources that I chanced upon. The school had a modest library . . . most of the books were original Hungarian works and were geared to implanting the seeds of Hungarian patriotism in the reader’s heart. In my own case their success was absolute. World War I, which began when I was ten, found me scouring the newspapers, utterly convinced that the war was forced upon Austria-Hungary, following the assassination of Ferdinand, heir apparent to the Hapsburg throne, in Sarajevo. Nor did I have the slightest doubt that justice, firmly on the side of our revered Franz Joseph, would eventually carry the day.29

C. Orthodox Children in the Public Education System In the premodern era, the Jewish community had placed a strong emphasis on education and on nurturing scholastic institutions, which served all ages from young boys to adults. However, these institutions concentrated almost exclusively on religious studies and devoted little, if any, time to secular studies. The rise of the modern nation-state meant that a general education and vocational training became more important, both to the individual and to the state. The first initiative to provide Jewish children with a general education was launched as part of the plans formulated by the Austrian Emperor Josef II to improve the economic, social, and cultural condition of the Jews and to turn them into productive citizens. In 1781 it was determined that, alongside the traditional institutions, Jewish schools should also be established in which the students would learn general subjects. Like many of Josef ’s reforms, however, this initiative failed to secure any long-term results in Hungary. In 1868, after the compromise with Austria, a compulsory education law was introduced in Hungary requiring all children from the age of six to fifteen to study according to a state curriculum.30 The local authorities were ordered to establish elementary schools, while religious and private organizations were permitted to establish their own schools under government inspection. The educational

29 Ibid., 13. 30 Romsics, Hungary, 31. For details of the Education Law, see Moskovits, Jewish Education, 62–64. On the education of Jewish children in state schools, see Moskovits, Jewish Education; László Felkai, Jewish Schooling in Hungary (1780–1990) (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press, 2002); Shlomo Yitzhaki, Jewish Schools in Transylvania between the Two World Wars [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press, 2001).

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institutions were divided into three sections: four years of elementary school, four years of so-called “civil” (polgári) schools, that functioned as a type of junior-high section, and four years of high school. In 1908, free compulsory education was introduced. When the law was enacted, Orthodox circles were concerned at the influence of the general schools on their children and anticipated problems with the desecration of Sabbath and the festivals. Accordingly, the community began to establish its own schools, which enjoyed government support and combined a general education with Jewish religious studies. Approximately half the Jewish schools belonged to the Orthodox stream.31 Jewish schools operated in Hungary as early as the late eighteenth century, but their number increased significantly following the emancipation, as growing numbers of Jews joined the processes of modernization and Magyarization.32 Through the mid-nineteenth century, German served as the language of instruction in the Jewish schools, but this was gradually replaced by Hungarian. Alongside the basic disciplines, the state curriculum also included Jewish studies, such as the Bible, the prayer book, and Jewish history and morality. Moderate Western Orthodoxy was interested in these institutions, but more extremist circles preferred to continue the traditional system based on the cheder, talmud Torah, and yeshiva. The ultra-Orthodox elements in the northeast of Hungary opposed general education, due largely to the demand to include secular studies, and attempted to evade its imposition. Rabbi Chaim Sofer believed that it was dangerous to educate children at schools that also taught secular subjects, and criticized fathers who sent their sons to such institutions. During a discussion on the question as to whether a Jew who has transgressed should be chastised in private, rather than publicly, Chaim Sofer ruled that, according to the Halakhah, the principles of “all Jews are responsible for one another” and “you shall surely rebuke your neighbor” apply only to offenses committed in public. However, he added that while the Halakhah does not require the rebuking of an individual in this instance, the transgressor should be regarded negatively. The example he gave to illustrate his point concerns the responsibility incumbent on fathers who send their children

31 On Orthodox education in Hungary in the period 1782–1939, see Zehava Schwartz, “The Orthodox Community in Hungary, 1939–1945” [Hebrew] (MA thesis, Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan, 1989), 17–20. 32 In 1858 there were 308 schools, in 1870—497, and in 1893—576. From 1893 the number of schools began to fall due to the trend to assimilation and the transfer of students to state and church schools. See Yitzhaki, Jewish Schools, 23–24.

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to public schools; Chaim Sofer rules that they are offenders even if they maintain a religious way of life: For who does not recognize that if they send their sons to the school to learn what they wish, it is evident that the sons will desecrate the holy Sabbath there, by writing and erasing and such like; and who will remind them of the sanctity of the Sabbath? So the father who raises his son there, even if he says Kaddish De Rabbanan and prays in the synagogue, is nevertheless among the offenders of Israel.33 In the 1890s, during the period of office of Zvi Hirsch Shapira (1850–1913), the father of Chaim Elazar Shapira, as a rabbi in Munkács, the assimilationist policy of the Hungarian government reached its peak. The authorities sought to disseminate Hungarian culture, and particularly language, among the minority populations and sought to enforce the compulsory education law through Hungarian schools in peripheral regions. In the official censuses, any person who was unable to read and write Hungarian was recorded as illiterate, even if they knew other languages. The position of rabbi was conditioned on presentation of a certificate confirming the completion of at least four years of high school. Shapira worked hard to thwart this program; he himself was not recognized as the official rabbi of the community and could not give sermons in the central synagogue since he was not fluent in Hungarian. In order to avoid the desecration of the Sabbath caused by the public schools, the communities in this region also established Jewish schools, staffed mainly by Jewish teachers, that followed the government curriculum. Shapira was opposed to this compromise, which he believed would open the door to secular education, which he bitterly opposed. He urged Jews to avoid sending their children to these schools. However, positive attitudes toward joint education can also be found. Following the appointment of Loránd Eötvös as minister of education and religions in 1894, in place of Albin Csáky, Viador praised both men in Zsidó Hiradó for their support for freedom of religion and conscience and for their sensitivity to the difficulties faced by observant Jewish students in the public schools. Viador related that after a problem arose in Beregszász, a city in eastern Hungary, the Ministry of Education issued special regulations permitting Jewish students to be absent from school on the Sabbath. The article also mentions the criticisms leveled by liberal and Neolog circles concerning the defective Magyar 33 Chaim Sofer, Gates of Life [Hebrew] (Munkács: private publication, 1868), 17–18.

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identity and lack of patriotism among the Orthodox community, as reflected in a negative attitude toward the public schools. Viador retorted: We, the Jews of Hungary, without distinction, are already beyond this point. We have no need for anyone to recognize our Hungarianness and no need to demonstrate it; it is so well known and evident that if someone were to cast aspersion on our loyalty to the nation, we would accuse them of slander.34 Jacob Katz goes on to describe the different options and study tracks open to Jewish boys after the completed elementary school, during the period prior to the First World War: A yeshiva was not the only option for Orthodox Jews in our culture . . . In addition to yeshiva and commerce, a third existed: attendance at a high school, a “Citizen’s School” with four grades whose name indicates its function. Its purpose was to nurture good and useful citizens, and attendance at the school or success in its external examinations was a prerequisite for appointment to certain public offices, including the rabbinate, which required official confirmation.35 Attendance in this school, unlike attendance at the gymnasium, was not considered deviation from Orthodoxy. On the contrary, there were Jewish communities such as Pápa that maintained such a school of their own. My second eldest brother, Israel, was there. This entailed a certain financial burden for my parents. True, they were exempt from tuition fees. Meals were supplied by generous local acquaintances according to the accepted custom of “eating days,” in which yeshiva students are in a different home each day of the week.36 The attitude toward general education is illustrated by the fact that a firmly Orthodox community such as Pápa not only established its own civil

34 Viador, “The Successor of Count Csáki,” ZsH, November 29, 1894. 35 In the civil schools, students in the fifth to eighth grades received vocational instruction (crafts, commerce, clerking, and for the girls motherhood and home economics), alongside Jewish education and Hebrew studies. There were not many schools of this type, though there were also a small number of high schools in the civil model. See Yitzhaki, Jewish Schools, 24. 36 Katz, With My Own Eyes, 22.

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school, but also provided accommodation for students attending non-Jewish frameworks according to the model that had previously been reserved solely for yeshiva students. This community, and others like it, legitimized the public education system and even attached similar importance to it as they did to yeshiva education. Orthodox Jews in western Hungary would sometimes choose a general state school over a general school affiliated to the Jewish community. Katz’s description underscores not only the cultural adaptation among the Jews, but also the tolerant attitudes in their surroundings—a combination that was typical of the period from the emancipation through the First World War. Broad Orthodox circles—particularly in western areas, but also in the east of the country—sent their children to non-Jewish state schools. Rabbi Chaim Alter Roth the son of the rabbi of Sárospatak in the northeast, who should be classed as an Eastern Orthodox Jew in the Hungarian context, recalls: “My brother and I went to the general Gentile school, because this was the law of the land, and they managed to get a special permit exempting us from attending school on the Sabbath. We were also exempted from the requirement to remove our hat in class.”37 In 1887, the Orthodox community in Sátoraljaújhely, a town in northeast Hungary, founded a state elementary school housed in a building that belonged to the talmud Torah society. On the twenty-fifth anniversary of this occasion, in 1912, the principal Mor Gárdos reviewed the history of the institution: At the time, in the 1899–1900 school year, our school won a special award after the Association for the Dissemination of the Hungarian Language in Zemplén County granted a prize and financial reward to one of the teachers at the school for “disseminating the Hungarian spirit and language.” This action by the above-mentioned association proves that the school had achieved its goal . . . of inculcating in our students’ hearts the love of this dear homeland, drenched in Hungarian blood, in a manner that cannot be extinguished or placed in doubt by any temptation or trial.38

37 Chaim Alter Rata, All Chaim’s Writings [Hebrew] (Bnei Brak: Be’er Chayim, 2009), 48. 38 Menashe Davidowitz, ed., Memorial Book of the Community of Újhely [Hebrew] (Bnei Brak: private publication, 2003), 35.

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In 1937, when the same school marked its fiftieth anniversary, principal László Budai issued a festive booklet marking the occasion: At this time of remembrance, the school stands before us like an elderly nomad who for five decades has been walking on his way, educating the generations, and becoming young once again with the beginning of each new year. Like a storm-beaten battle flag that gives clear testimony to unbreakable loyalty to the Hungarian homeland, like a lightening-struck oak encompassing all the sorrow and pain of the truncated land, all the suffering of our city struggling against the chains of Trianon, all this great circle of our students cut off from us. . . . Let us hope that by our next jubilee we will have realized all the noble ideals this modest school strives with all its educational strength to secure, and that the next jubilee will bring with it an era of the victory of the Hungarian truth, of peace, and of contented construction. Let there once more be life, sunlight, and joyful son under the skies of Hungary!39 Újhely was situated in a conservative area. There were three Jewish communities in the town—Orthodox, Status Quo, and Hasidic—but no Neolog presence. Despite this, these principals associated the anniversaries of their educational institution with the good of the homeland, the challenges of Trianon, and the Jews’ profound attachment to the nation. Even in a remote town, national affairs and pains took precedence over a description of educational problems and challenges facing a local elementary school; the national perspective outweighed particularistic interests. In 1937, when the drafts of the first Jewish law had already been composed, the principal concentrated on the national pain of Trianon, though he also alluded to the growing problem of antisemitism, describing the school as a “storm-beaten battle flag.” Generations had passed and principals had come and gone; the attitude toward the Jews had changed beyond recognition; yet the spirit and style of the speakers remained remarkably similar. The educational institutions chosen by Orthodox families for their children provide a window for examining the extent of their acculturation. Patriotic rhetoric penetrated almost all corners of Orthodox society, and local sources such as those examined above expose the depth and breadth of the dual identity of Orthodox Jews in Hungary. 39 Ibid., 40.

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D. The Reception Debate Emancipation in Hungary granted equal rights to Jews, but not to Judaism. The individual Jew enjoyed the same rights as other religions, but Judaism itself was defined as a recognized religion, but not an accepted or “received” one (recepta religio). Judaism did not enjoy the rights granted by law to the major Christian denominations, such as the Roman and Greek Catholics, Calvinists, Lutherans, Greek Orthodox, and Unitarians. The received religions enjoyed extensive administrative autonomy and state budgets, and their leaders served as members of the upper chamber of parliament. Moreover, a member of a received religion was permitted to convert to another received religion, but not to a recognized one. In 1874, the non-Catholic Christian denominations and Judaism were granted equal rights in the Habsburg crown lands, but not in Hungary; the law was applied retroactively from 1867. In Germany, Judaism was never granted equal status to the Christian denominations and was not recognized as a received religion. By contrast, France had granted equal status to Judaism as early as 1831. Following the establishment of the Dual Monarchy, the predominantly Calvinist liberal-nationalist elite sought to entrench its status by introducing freedom of religion, hoping the nationalism would become a national and secular religion. They regarded freedom of religion as a unifying factor that was particularly important given the ethnic, social, and religious divisions in Hungary. The liberal leaders hoped that granting freedom of religion would encourage all residents to identify with the nation, regardless of religious affiliation (which was associated with ethnic identity). The leadership also sought to reduce the power and privilege enjoyed by the Catholic Church, with the support of the Catholic House of Habsburg—powers that on occasions clashed with those of the Hungarian government. The goal was to reinforce the power of the state and create a hierarchy in which the state enjoyed predominance over the various religious communities. The intention in Hungary was never to engage in a cultural war (Kulturkampf) with the church, as in Germany in the 1870s, when the state overtly challenged the Catholic Church; nor to replace Catholicism with secular enlightenment, as in revolutionary France. The Calvanists, who included many of the lower-ranking gentry nobles, regarded themselves as the epitome of the Magyar spirit. They were particularly open to the ideas of freedom of religion and conscience and were far more liberal and inclusive than the Catholics. The

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Catholic hierarchy was reluctant to relinquish its power and influence, and with the help of the Vatican struggled to counter the trend to liberalization.40 In the early 1890s, liberal and secular members of parliament proposed broad reforms in the field of religion and state, including adopting an equal stance toward the different religions and introducing civil marriage—issues that were the subject of disagreement among the Christians. Among other proposals, it was suggested that the Jewish religion should be accepted or “received” (recepció), a process that will be referred to here as “reception.”41 The Neologs had always favored integration, and since the emancipation had striven to secure equal rights in the religious sphere; they attached great importance to ensuring that Judaism enjoyed an official status. In 1869, Minister of Education and Religions József Eötvös, who was the leader of the pro-emancipation faction, prepared a bill calling for a comprehensive reform in the relations between the state and the religious communities, including the granting of reception to the Jewish religion. The bill was rejected due to Catholic opposition, but the issue returned to the public agenda in the early 1890s. Neologs from the second generation after emancipation attached great principled importance to securing religious equality, and their journal Egyenlőség (it is worth recalling that the name itself means “equality”) played a prominent role in the struggle. Orthodox rabbis opposed reception, just as they had expressed reservations about emancipation in earlier times, and the Orthodox weekly waged a consistent campaign against the proposals from the outset. Reception would contribute to lowering the divides between Jews and non-Jews, and Orthodox circles were concerned that it would encourage intermarriage. The intensive efforts by the Neologs to promote the bill heightened opposition among the Orthodox, who were concerned that their autonomous status could be eroded. The leader of the opponents was Yitzhak Reich, president of the National Orthodox Office in Budapest. The Zsidó Hiradó threw its weight behind the campaign against the bill. In an editorial entitled “Reception?,” Viador stressed that he was not opposed to reception per se, but feared damage to the independence and isolationist approach of Orthodoxy, a state the Orthodox had guarded zealously since the schism of 1868. He claimed that the Neologs supported the proposal in order to advance the unification of the communities, which he argued would allow them

40 Hanebrink, In Defense, 10–15. 41 On the reception generally, see Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 252–260; Nathaniel Katzburg, “History of the Jews of Hungary,” in Community Ledger—Hungary [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 1976), 49–52; Katzburg, “Struggle.” On the Orthodox response of the Zsidó Hiradó to reception, see Erzsébet Mislovics, “Jewish Orthodoxy at the Turn of the Century (1891–1906)” [Hungarian], Múlt és Jövő (2006): 60–64.

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to exercise control over faithful Judaism. Viador, who also served as secretary of the National Orthodox Office, argued that the advantages of reception—official recognition of Judaism, the possibility for Christians to convert to Judaism, and the allocation of a seat in the upper chamber of parliament for an Orthodox figure—were far outweighed by the merits of separatism and autonomy enjoyed by Orthodox Judaism under the royal decree. He further claimed that Judaism did not face any problem in Hungary: thank God, both Neologs and Orthodox could observe their faith in complete freedom.42 Viador’s position that civil equality was enough for the Jews, and there was no need for reception, became the official position of the National Orthodox Office on February 2, 1892. A rabbinical gathering in Budapest determined that religious equality jeopardized Orthodox autonomy. A month later, Zsidó Hiradó published an open letter from the chief rabbi of Pressburg, Bernát Schreiber (Simcha Bunem Sofer, 1843–1907), known as the Shevet Sofer. Schreiber, the grandson of the Chatam Sofer, criticized the advocates of reception. Although he came from the more modern circles of Western Orthodoxy, Schreiber launched a fierce attack in flowery language against the reception bill. He argued that the proposal would encourage intermarriage between Jews and non-Jews, while it was only the separation from the other nations that had allowed Judaism to survive for thousands of years despite the multiple obstacles it had faced. He also presented the argument that the Neologs were attempting to undermine the autonomous status of Orthodoxy and to unite all the Jews under a single organization. The rabbi, who signed the article with his Hungarian name Bernát Schreiber, added that the Neologs were evil and corrupt people whose sole aspiration was to harm those faithful to the Torah.43 Zsidó Hiradó also devoted a special article to the issue of civil marriage, reporting that proposals to introduce such an institution were being prepared as part of the overall trend toward the separation of religion and stage. Although the content of the proposals was unknown, Orthodox rabbis were already preparing to launch a campaign in order to ensure that the proposed reform would not lead to the violation of Jewish religious law.44 About a month later, the legal expert Dr. Sándor Pollácsek presented a detailed review of the proposals concerning marriage, highlighting the halakhic problems these would create, particularly in the case of divorce. It is clear from the article that Pollácsek regarded himself as an integral part of the Hungarian legal domain, despite his

42 Viador, “Reception?,” ZsH, January 14, 1892. 43 Bernát Schreiber, “Our Jewish Brothers!,” ZsH, March 17, 1892. 44 Viador, “Civil Marriage and the Jews,” ZsH, November 9, 1893.

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Orthodox orientation. He claimed that the religious communities in Hungary, which until now had been responsible for family matters among their followers, were unhappy about the proposed changes. Pollácsek was not opposed to the law and did not argue that it should be rejected in its entirety due to its support for civil marriage; instead, he sought to confront the consequences of the law in a manner that would avoid damage to the traditional Jewish family.45 The government proposals on religious issues, based on the principle of the separation of religion and state, enjoyed the support of Protestant Hungarians, whose inclinations were more nationalist than religious. Conversely, and as noted, they aroused fierce opposition from the Catholic Church, which identified itself with the Hungarian state and refused to relinquish the rights it had enjoyed for many years. The Catholics organized large public protests against the proposal to introduce civil marriage and to grant equality to the Jewish religion, founding the Catholic People’s Party (Néppart) to this end. As a conclave of Catholic bishops met in Budapest to discuss the proposed policy toward the religious communities, Viador anticipated in an article in Zsidó Hiradó that they would oppose the initiative. He criticized this expected opposition, repeating the usual arguments: The Jews were faithful to their homeland and their loyalty should not be questioned; a million loyal citizens should not be excluded from the Magyar home merely due to the Catholic opposition to civil marriage—a position shared by the Orthodox leadership. Contrary to the position of the Orthodox mainstream, a small Orthodox group coalesced in Budapest under the leadership of the writer and public figure Moritz Ehrenthiel (1825–1894), who welcomed official recognition of Judaism and even saw the initiative as an instance of the “sanctification of God’s name,” despite the danger that equality would encourage intermarriage. The members of the group argued that the ideal situation was that Jews should enjoy complete liberty, and should maintain their distinct identity of their own free will, and not due to laws imposed by others.46 The group drew its ideological inspiration from the Hungarian Rabbi Zalman Spitzer (1826–1893), who served in Vienna. As the son-in-law of the Ktav Sofer, Spitzer enjoyed great prestige, but the opponents of reception soon silenced him after he expressed support for the reforms. Spitzer announced in the Allgemeine Jüdische Zeitung that he was withdrawing his position after his colleagues had explained that it was contrary to the perspective of Orthodox Judaism.

45 Sándor Pollácsek, “The Obligation of Civil Marriage,” ZsH, December 7, 1893. 46 Katzburg, “Struggle,” 130–131 and n. 39.

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Rabbi Moses Samuel Glasner of Klausenburg (Kolozsvár, Cluj; 1856–1925), who was a firm Zionist, supported reception, which he saw as a way “to remove the disgrace of lack of recognition from the ancient faith”; he was active in attempts to advance the initiative.47 However, he admitted that his position was unpopular in rabbinical circles and he lost favor with the Orthodox leaders. As a proud Zionist, Glasner, like Ehrenthiel and Spitzer, saw the lack of recognition for the Jewish religion in Hungary as an affront to its dignity, and hence sought to reinstate its lost honor. Glasner’s position was also rejected, but unlike the other two figures he did not recant his stance, accepting the loss of prestige this caused him in Orthodox circles. Once reception was adopted in 1895, official Orthodoxy in Hungary accepted and even welcomed the move, recalling the transformation seen after emancipation. This position was abundantly apparent in the statements of Orthodox figures during the Millennium celebrations in 1896. The rapid change in position, without waiting to see the long-term impact of the law, suggests that the Orthodox opposition to reception was due less to principled objections and more to the fact that the Neologs were actively involved in promoting the reform.

E. The Millennium Celebrations In 1896 Hungary celebrated one thousand years since the “Conquest of the Homeland” (honfoglalás) by the Magyar tribes, led by Árpád, after they arrived from the steppes of central Asia. Throughout Hungary, and particularly in Budapest, the entire year was marked with grand ceremonies and events highlighting the unique character, strength, and importance of the nation in its own eyes and those of other countries. Splendid ceremonies were staged in every part of the country, and numerous monuments were erected to mark the auspicious event. An atmosphere of enthusiasm and even euphoria swept the country; the prevailing message was that while a thousand years had passed, the nation was alive and well and a glorious future awaited it. Three decades after the establishment of the dualist Austro-Hungarian arrangement, which granted Hungary a considerable measure of autonomy, the sense was that the country was making economic progress, securing diplomatic achievements, moving

47 Moshe Shmuel Glasner, Zionism in the Light of Faith, in Torah and Dominion: On the Place of the State in Judaism [Hebrew], ed. Shimon Federbush ( Jerusalem: Rabbi Kook Institute, 1961), 74.

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into the desired modern age, and on the verge of admission into the prestigious cultural sphere of Western Europe. To contemporary Hungarians, the nation appeared to be on the brink of becoming an important and influential regional power. Carlile Macartney, a historian of the Habsburg Empire, described the 1896 as “an orgy of self-congratulation.”48 As proud citizens, Hungary’s Jews shared in the national spirit of excitement. However, they had an additional reason to celebrate: just before the beginning of the Millennium celebrations, the Reception Law was passed, declaring Judaism an accepted religion on the same footing as Catholicism and Protestantism. The process of granting rights to the Jews, which had begun over a century earlier with the Edict of Tolerance of Joseph II, was now complete. The prevailing view among the Jews was that as individuals and as a religion they had finally won the respect they deserved, and that from here on they would not encounter any problems. The Jewish newspapers reported with great pathos and enthusiasm on the various events and celebrations held across the country.49 The Neolog weekly Egyenlőség went further than most, declaring a new addition to the Ten Commandments: We have arrived at the first millennium as Jewish Hungarians, and we march toward the second millennium as Hungarian Jews. On this sacred land a new commandment has been added to our religion: “O Magyar, love your homeland with all your might.” We believed this before now, but today the eleventh commandment has been added to the Ten Commandments.50 Following the reception and the announcement by the House of Representatives declaring Judaism a recognized religion, love of the sacred homeland had now become nothing less than religious imperative for any Jew. If for the first millennium they had been Jewish Hungarians, in the second they would be Hungarian Jews: their primary identity Magyar, and Jewish only by

48 Macartney, October Fifteenth, 706. Komoróczy refers to the Millennium as a “fictitious and artificial event,” as it indeed appears with hindsight: Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 273. 49 On the Millennium celebrations from the Hungarian perspective, see Guy Miron, “At the End of the Millennium—Representations of Hungary in the Struggle for its Identity and Image” [Hebrew], Historyah 11 (2003): 97–131; Sugar et al., History, 269–270. On the significance of the events for the Jews, see Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 273–274; Anikó Prepuk, “Jewry at the Millennium: A Double Feast” [Hungarian], Századvég 3 (2000): 89–117. 50 Dr. Sandór Fleischmann in the weekly Egyenlőség, January 10, 1896, 3.

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way of a secondary classification.51 The Orthodox did not go quite so far, but in their own way they also regarded their land in a way they had never done in the past. As the celebrations began, Rabbi Miksa Mehr wrote a festive article in the finest language for the Orthodox newspaper. He began with a prayer of thanks: Praise to Eternal God . . . who in His enormous mercy has brought the Magyar nation to celebrate on its land its resilience of one thousand years. . . . Hungary is celebrating a unique occasion unparalleled in human history. Where are the great peoples against whose armies Árpád was forced to fight? Where are the mighty kings who stood in the path of the liberators of the homeland? . . . They have all been scattered in every direction, disappeared or changed beyond recognition. But the Magyar nation lives and breathes, a worthy partner in the club of the influential powers, its praises sung by all. Its loud voice can be heard well in the European concert, and throughout the world all respect its name. [The author goes on to quote verses from the national poet Sándor Petőfi (1823–1849) and the poet János Arany (1817–1882).] Despite its proximity to the east, a fact that has impeded its efforts to fulfill its mission, it has advanced together with the cultured nations, taking place of honor in Western civilization, faithful to its millennium-old sons, maintaining its spirit, not losing its national uniqueness; not changing its institutions and national character, but improving and complementing them.52 Mehr sings a paean of praise to the Hungarian people and country, who by God’s mercy are celebrating their splendid festival while at their peak. His words echo the classical Jewish narrative: where are all the great kings of old who fought the Jews?53 They have long since disappeared, while only the Jews have survived and preserved their identity and essence. The Jews are different and unique; they and only they have been successful, with God’s help, in overcoming the trials of time. Now this same narrative is applied to the Magyars. Just as the Jews have not changed their names, language, and dress, so the Hungarians have preserved 51 Some fifty years earlier, in 1848, Hartmann had published a pamphlet entitled Hungarian Jew or Jewish Hungarian? (in Hungarian). 52 Rabbi Miksa Mehr, “Millennium,” ZsH, January 2, 1896. 53 “Where is the king of Hamath, the king of Arpad, and the king of the city of Sepharvaim, Hena, and Ivah?” (Isaiah 37:13).

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their unique ancestral heritage. Mehr’s style and imagery were familiar to his Orthodox readers, and it is safe to assume that they were impressed by his words. The picture of the Hungarian past reflected in the weekly is a reflection of the image the political and cultural leadership of the country sought to disseminate and inculcate among the entire nation. But the power and conviction with which the message is conveyed highlights the extent to which Orthodox Jews in Hungary had internalized national sentiments. After listing the merits of Hungary, Mehr turns to “the members of the Hungarian nation who belong to the Jewish faith, who have taken part in the past, and take part in the present, along with the other sons of the nation, in raising the fortune of the country . . . They, who already assisted during the Conquest of the Homeland, are worthy to share and enjoy in the festivity and joy.” Mehr identifies with the nation, positions the Jews at the vanguard of national defense, and repeats the myth of an ancient Jewish presence that serves to reinforce the historical bond with Hungary and to place the Jews at the center of national action.54 He then proceeds to contrast the good fortune of the Jews of Hungary with the sad fate of their brethren in the neighboring countries, praising the conduct of the Hungarian people in the past and present: “The history of the Jews in Hungary resembles a peaceful oasis in the empty desert, or a beam of light in the dark night, by comparison to other countries.” While kings and rulers engaged in bloodbaths in the name of the holy religion, Mehr claims, not a single Jew was put to the stake in Hungary. If minor violations of the peace or isolated weeds of Jew-hatred nevertheless appeared here and there, these were no more than the actions of wicked individuals. The Hungarian people as a whole was never party to such offenses; on the contrary, the authorities were always able to use their full strength to suppress such phenomena. While a crusade of anti-Jewish hate is being waged across Europe, the Hungarian nation, which defends justice and supports the weak, deserves to survive into the future and celebrate a second millennium. It is fitting that this people’s strength, light, and praises should grow and strengthen to fill the entire world. The government decided that on May 9, 1896 all the schools in the country would hold ceremonies marking the Millennium; the next day, the event was to be marked in all the houses of prayer of the different religious communities. In April 1896, the Zsidó Hiradó reported on the instructions and guidelines formulated by the meeting of Orthodox rabbis in Budapest for all the congregations in Hungary, calling for dignified and splendid ceremonies

54 The myth of the ancient Jewish presence in Hungary, which was first proposed by the rabbi and historian Sámuel Kohn in 1884, will be discussed in detail in the next chapter.

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marking the occasion.55 However, the newspaper noted that May 9 that year fell on the Sabbath; many parents had contacted the National Orthodox Office to ask how they should act. The Office decided that Orthodox children would participate in the celebrations along with all other children, while observing the sanctity of the day. The local authorities, which were responsible for planning the ceremonies, would help Jewish students to participate without desecrating the Sabbath. A month before the planned celebrations, Rabbi Shlomo Zvi Schück of Karcag gave a particularly enthusiastic sermon to his congregants. Speaking in Hungarian, Schück associated Hungary with Jewish tradition in various unusual ways. He equated the founding of Hungary with the creation of the world and the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai. Turning to Moses and the burning bush, he took the verse “Take off your shoes, for the place where you are standing is holy ground” (Exodus 3:5) and applied it to the land of Hungary.56 He justified the analogy by recalling that the inhabitants of Hungary prior to the arrival of Saint Stephen and Christianity were pagans who did not know God, and hence lived in darkness. Only after the founding of the Hungarian nation and the adoption of religious faith could light at last shine in the land.57 The use by an Orthodox rabbi of the Catholic title “saint” is uncommon, although Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, the founder of Neo-Orthodoxy, also attached great importance to the Christian message of monotheism against the background of paganism, and even regarded Jesus’s mission as part of the universal role of the Jewish people.58 However, Schück’s patriotic references to Hungary would seem to go far beyond any Hirsch might have made concerning Germany. Schück claimed that Hungary was “named after Abraham’s wife Hagar,” and went on to apply various biblical verses to the homeland, for example suggesting that it embodied Moses’ comments: “like an eagle that stirs up its nest and hovers over its young, that spreads its wings to catch them and carries them aloft” (Deuteronomy 32:11). Thus God alone bears this nation, in recognition of the fact that it did not bring other gods to the land; and thanks to God the nation has reached the highest rung, so that it now enjoys “honey from the rock and oil from the flinty crag” (ibid., 13). Schück even offers an exegetical explanation of the Hungarian flag:

55 “Millennium,” ZsH, April 16, 1896. 56 Salamon Schück, The Millennium Sermon [Hungarian] (Karcag: Sződi, 1896). 57 Stephen was born around 975 and was the first king of Hungary. He accepted Christianity and turned Hungary into a Catholic kingdom, in return for which he was sainted by the pope immediately after his death in 1038. 58 Hirsch, Letters, letter 9, 32.

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red symbolizes blood and life, in memory of Saint Stephen who brought belief in God to the nation. Yet unlike the Germans, French, and Spanish, this act was not accompanied by bloodshed, and accordingly the red is accompanied by white, symbolizing purity, truth, and innocence. Another reason for the white in the flag is that the priests in the ancient Temple in Jerusalem wore white, like the angels, and the Magyar nation is the priest of all humanity, and as such has a splendid future ahead of it. This leads him to the conclusion that on this day, the Jews should accept the sacred obligation of living and dying for king and country—not because they were welcomed warmly in the past, not because of the equal rights they enjoy now under the law, but because the Torah commands them to do so. Schück does not repeat the myth concerning the involvement of Jews in the early adventures in the Carpathian Basin, but he alludes to this episode when he recalls the tolerance and hospitality the Jews enjoyed since the earliest days of the kingdom. He makes no attempt to hide his satisfaction with emancipation and with the Reception Law of 1895, which gave Judaism a status that even the minor Christian sects did not enjoy. Schück’s sermon is a model of the shaping of national conscience through traditional motifs, and is a powerful and explicit manifestation of the Orthodox wing of Hungarian-Jewish symbiosis.59 The sermons made in Hungarian at official events were usually also heard by local officials and dignitaries, who reported on their impressions. Were the impassioned praises of Hungary intended to present the guests with the image of a patriotic minority community, or did they reflect genuine sentiments toward the homeland? The images Schück painted with his flowery words were certainly designed to flatter the Hungarians, but it seems likely that this goal could have been achieved with a much more moderate degree of enthusiasm. Moreover, it is unlikely that the anchoring of the praise for Hungary in Jewish religious texts and motifs was intended for the Hungarian guests, who probably failed to understand the references. These formulas were surely intended for the Jews in the audience, who will have been impressed by the interweaving of the new patriotism into the familiar, old tradition. Accordingly, I believe that Schück’s words reflected his stance, albeit with a degree of hyperbole.

59 Novák uses the term “Hungarian-Jewish symbiosis” to describe the attitude of Hungarian Jews toward their homeland; see Attila Novák, “A Chance Not Taken; Zionist-Hungarian Diplomatic Co-Operation in the Second Half of the 1930s,” Jewish Studies at the CEU: Yearbook 2 (2001): 1. However, symbiosis implies a form of partnership and mutual dependence, whereas the relationship in Hungary tended to be unidirectional after the First World War, and arguably even under the monarch.

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In an article describing Schück’s participation in a visit to Palestine in 1905, the historian Adam Ferziger concludes that the visit was not motivated by Zionist beliefs, and that Schück, like almost all the Hungarian rabbis, was not a Zionist.60 Ferziger bases his conclusion on the fact that in his own descriptions of the visit, Schück mentioned enthusiastically that the Austro-Hungarian consul attended his speech at the main synagogue in the Meah Shearim neighborhood of Jerusalem; he suggests that Schück’s reluctance to identify with Zionism was motivated in part by Hungarian patriotism. More than this speech in Jerusalem, the sermon quoted above would seem to remove any doubt regarding the connection between Schück’s position on Zionism and his attitude toward Hungary. Similar comments to Schück’s were made in a sermon by Rabbi Isaac Michael Dushinsky (1871–1939), the head of the community in Rákospalota near Budapest from 1898 until his death, at an event marking the Millennium.61 Some of the celebratory events ended in disappointment. As part of the Millennium celebrations, a ceremony was held in Munkács on July 19, 1896 to mark the laying of a cornerstone for a memorial to Árpád. The leaders of the Orthodox community—the only established Jewish presence in the city—held a special meeting to prepare for the occasion, and decided that the entire community would participate by displaying flags from their homes and placing festive lights in their windows. The Orthodox also informed the district governor that a delegation of dignitaries wished to meet with the justice minister, the government representative to the event. At the same time, however, some twenty prominent Jews who were held Neolog views, and were embroiled in a dispute with the community, suggested that they should attend the reception with the minister as the representatives of the Jews in the city. The governor, who had business relations with these Jews, accepted their proposal. After the representatives of the Orthodox community protested the decision, the governor angrily decided that no Jewish representatives would meet the minister, and the Jews would not participate in the ceremony. Discussing the event, Viador wrote in the Zsidó Hiradó: The governor of Bereg county, in which Munkács is situated, has insulted the Jews of the homeland. Reception or no reception, the governor permits himself to offend the Jews if he is in a bad mood . . . and behaves like a Russian Cossack. . . . It is unthinkable

60 Ferziger, “Hungarian Orthodox Rabbinate.” 61 Yitzhak Michael Duschinsky, Selected Sermons [Hebrew] (Budapest: Hungarian Jewish Archive, 2005), 80–85.

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that the senior official of the county should dare to behave in such a manner toward a respected community … At the ceremony, national and local dignitaries are represented, along with all the religious communities, and the Jewish community of Munkács also wishes to be present among the celebrants. . . . The entire county is shaking due to the governor’s anger! And he is forbidding the Jews to take part in a patriotic celebration [emphasis in original]. The noble and respected governor is provoking an entire religious community, each one of whose members is at least as patriotic as himself . . . The community intends to send a delegation on its behalf to the minister of the interior and to ask him to reprimand the governor. All the Jews of Hungary have been offended along with the Munkács community; none of them deserve this insult, since the Jews of this land love the homeland and in every respect are as Magyar and as patriotic as any county governor . . . Let the governor be angry, if he wishes, but he is not authorized to punish the Jews, and if he has done so, he should be punished so that he does not develop an appetite to behave in a similar manner in the future.62 This article reflects a high degree of self-confidence: Viador allows himself to criticize the governor overly and sharply, to adopt a scornful and sarcastic tone, and even to claim that his loyalty is exceeded by that of the Jews of Hungary.63 The dualist period, particularly in the latter years of the nineteenth century, was marked by an open and liberal atmosphere that permitted such comments. At the same time, it is clear that Viador was genuinely angered and insulted at the exclusion of a loyal and devoted Hungarian community from a national celebration. The Jews of Munkács, a stronghold of ultra-Orthodoxy that was home to many Hasidism and recent immigrants from Galicia, is portrayed in the article as a model of Hungarian patriotism. The following week, a writer referring to himself as “A Son of Munkács” describes the incident reported in the previous edition. The anonymous observer notes that, as usual, the Neolog weekly exploited the incident in order to attack the Orthodox for their lack of patriotism, claiming that the Orthodox community 62 “The Munkács Case,” ZsH, July 23, 1896. 63 Borot mentions a similar assertiveness in the 1890s in German, reflected in the establishment of Jewish political organizations. He suggests that this development mirrored the renaissance of political culture in German society as a whole during this period. Yaakov Borot, A New Spirit among Our Brethren in Ashkenaz [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: 1999), 11–21.

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in the city had chosen not to attend the celebrations since they did not share a Hungarian identity. The non-Jewish newspaper Pesti Hirlap (Pest News), as well as the organ of the antisemitic People’s Party Alkotmány (Constitution), seized on the Neolog report in order to accuse the Jewish community of disloyalty. The Zsidó Hiradó attacked this accusation as a disgraceful lie: Orthodoxy in its entirety was patriotic and loyal.64 Thus the incident with the governor became part of the debate between the Jewish streams concerning Hungarian identity. Writing in the Orthodox weekly, Jenő Deutsch commented: “Six months of wonderful elation in the Millennium celebrations are passing along with the autumn warmth . . . the curtain is coming down, but we look ahead.” In an optimistic and enthusiastic article, Deutsch summed up the celebrations, which had commemorated the past while delineating a path to a rosy future. Hungary had gained recognition and admiration from the nations of Europe and become an integral part of their advanced and enlightened culture; its Jews had reached a promised land of tranquility.65 Deutsch acknowledged that there were those who did not want to see the Jews as partners in building the homeland. This did not discourage them, however, nor did it prevent them from contributing to the best of their ability to Hungary’s prosperity: The wanderer keeps moving on, carrying a package containing a thousand years of testimony; the gate awaits him and the city cheers in his honor. Millions of soft grasses welcome him with love; he moves decisively, propelling genius toward the future. The moving blessing of the patriot accompanies him: source of strength, blessing, and mercy, accompany the Hungarian nation for eternity; bless it with peace, justice, and fraternity. . . . There shall not be a single Jew in Hungary who shall not reply—Amen.66 Deutsch’s image of a Hungarian Jew walking on through a thousand years of hardship, before ultimately being welcomed by millions of Hungarians and continuing to the promised future, draws on a well-known Catholic legend. The legend tells of Ahasver, the Jew condemned to an eternity of wandering after he refused to give water to Jesus as he carried the cross. The politician József

64 “The Magyar Party in Munkács,” ZsH, July 30, 1896. 65 “After the Festival,” ZsH, November 5, 1886. 66 Ibid.

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Eötvös, a prominent advocate of emancipation, began his essay on the subject by describing the tortured figure of Ahasver.67 The depiction of the Jew as a wandering nomad reflects the connection between the offense to the founder of Christianity and Jewish suffering; it explains the link between the crime and the punishment. The arrival of the wanderer on safe soil may thus symbolize the removal of the curse from the Jew and the end of his suffering—at least in Hungary. The non-Jewish population was not unaware of the positive response of observant Jews to the call for Magyarization. In an article devoted mainly to the debate with the Neologs, Viador notes with satisfaction that even before the Millennium celebrations, the new prime minister Dezső Bánffy had expressed his pleasure at the fact that the Orthodox are also undergoing a worthy process of Magyarization and beginning to use Hungarian as their mother tongue. . . . This process enjoys the support of the National Orthodox Office. . . . Observant Judaism enthusiastically supports national ideas and action.68 The Millennium year was one of euphoria and excitement for all Hungarians. Most of the Orthodox Jews in Hungary considered themselves part of the nation, and whole-heartedly joined in the unique festive atmosphere, taking the opportunity to affirm their own feelings and display them to the populace. With hindsight, the celebrations marked the peak of the liberal Dualist regime, and the Golden Age of Hungarian Jewry. This was followed by a protracted decline that intensified after the dismantling of the monarchy.

F. Orthodox or Neolog: Who is the Better Hungarian? Ever since the schism of 1868, Neologs and Orthodox had waged a fierce and protracted verbal war that occasionally descended into insults and accusations.69 The debate originally centered around questions of religion and tradition, but in some instances it acquired a different character. The Orthodox continued their attacks, not least because of their fervent desire to preserve their own

67 Eötvös, Emancipation, 1. Ahasver is Ahasuerus, but it is unclear how the name of the king of Persia and Media came to symbolize the eternal wandering Jew. 68 “The Antisemitic Jews,” ZsH, January 31, 1895. 69 Jacobowitz’s four-volume work Remember the Days of Old is devoted to a study of the debate.

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organizational independence, which they regarded as a bulwark for tradition; the Neologs sought to unify the community. Despite the firm organizational separation imposed by the leadership in everyday life, however, the division was less stark than might seem to be the case. Jews from both factions cooperated on a personal basis, and weddings where one partner was Orthodox and the other Neolog were not uncommon.70 The Neolog newspaper occasionally criticized the Orthodox for allegedly failing to undergo a proper process of Magyarization, while the Orthodox organ insisted that they were Hungarian with all their soul—more so even than others.71 The article mentioned in the previous section concentrated on the intense and ongoing debate between Neologs and Orthodox as to who was the better Magyar. The article claimed that Bánffy’s assertion was absolutely right: “Observant Judaism enthusiastically supports national ideas and action.”72 Covert, and in some instances overt, competition for the title of the better and more loyal Hungarian emerged intermittently on the pages of the newspapers of both factions. In 1899, the Neolog newspaper reported that in the town of Balassagyarmat in central Hungary, a group of congregants in the Orthodox community had demanded that sermons also be made in Hungarian. The group had even threatened that if its demand was not met, they would form their own congregation and hire a Hungarian-speaking preacher.73 True to form, the Neolog organ saw the group’s demand as part of the trend of Magyarization which, it believed, was an imperative for all the country’s Jews, Orthodox included. The writer notes that most of the Orthodox schools operate in Hungarian, and asks why, then, the Orthodox do not permit sermons in this language. He adds that the prominent Orthodox communities of Munkács and Nyitra have already introduced Hungarian in the synagogue, and even the national Orthodox leadership has acknowledged this need. The author anticipates that Dr. Dezső Révész, the head of the Orthodox community in Balassagyarmat, who was raised in Hungarian culture, will ultimately move in the right direction. The article indicates that there was considerable pressure from Orthodox congregants to introduce Hungarian in the synagogue. Indeed, the newspaper reports that across large sections of Hungarian Orthodoxy—even in the northeastern areas, where ultra-Orthodoxy and Hasidism maintained a firm presence—the second generation of emancipation has already acquired the

70 Katz, “Identity,” 20–21. 71 Ibid., 27. 72 See note 64 in this chapter above. 73 “Orthodoxy and the National Language,” Egyenlőség, July 30, 1899, 9.

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language and is moving rapidly to bring it into the synagogue. The incident reported in this article may well expose a gap between the position of Orthodox congregants and attitudes among the rabbinical leadership; though the article does not mention the rabbis’ position on the question, they tended to be more conservative. Révész, the president of the community in question, published an angry response in Zsidó Hiradó a few days later. He used the same title as the original article: “Orthodoxy and the National Language.” Révész refused to mention the rival newspaper by its full name, instead referring to it dismissively as E-1, highlighting the journalistic dimension of the rift between the two streams. He claims that the Neolog newspaper should have realized long ago that when congregational disputes arise, there are almost always a few protagonists who draw on patriotic claims, although their goals are actually quite different. Révész fiercely rejected the claim that some members of his congregation opposed Magyarization or that a struggle way underway on this question. On the contrary: There is no need for me, as someone who is intimately familiar with the feelings of my congregation, to defend them; for over one thousand Jews live in our city, and there is not even one in whose chest there does not beat a pure Magyar heart, who would not be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for his homeland, or who opposes the inclusion of the Hungarian language in the synagogue. . . . The Neologs are preaching to the converted. . . . The real problem of those who are threatening to secede, though they do not admit this openly, is not the Hungarian language, but their desire that the preacher should be a graduate of the Neolog rabbinical seminary. . . . I hereby declare that as the president of one of the largest Orthodox congregations in the country, that I regard it as my primary obligation to advance the victory of the Hungarian language, but to the same degree I am faithful to the regulations of the Orthodox stream, to which we are committed; and accordingly, under no circumstances will a graduate of the Neolog seminary take to the preacher’s podium.74

74 “Orthodoxy and the National Language,” Egyenlőség, August 3, 1899 (emphases in original).

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Virtually the only common charge leveled against the Orthodox by the Neologs was that they were not sufficiently Hungarian—despite the fact that the members of Western Orthodoxy in the country had undergone a process of Magyarization. This was a serious charge against the background of the general atmosphere and discourse in the country, and it was one that was seized on by antisemitic circles. For their part, the Orthodox rejected the Neolog claims. As a result, a debate that had initially focused on internal religious disagreements now sometimes acquired the character of a squabble over patriotism. The liberal wing advocated integration, but also regarded itself as part of the Jewish public. The fact that certain other parts of this public, particularly in the northeast of the country, had failed to display sufficient enthusiasm for Magyarization was regarded by the Neologs as a defect that was impeding its own process of acculturation. At the same time, antisemites regarded the “un-Hungarian” character of the Orthodox as proof of the Jews’ alien character and their inability to integrate in the nation. The Orthodox were convinced that their national loyalty was adequate, and on occasions praiseworthy. This discourse characterized the Dualist period. After the First World War, the vast majority of the Orthodox public had a Western character, and the passionate debates between the two camps moderated as the question of who was more Magyar became less significant. In Germany, too, expressions of patriotic enthusiasm were common among the Jews following emancipation, which was completed during the FrancoPrussian War.75 Orthodox Jews in Germany attributed sacred meaning to the war, and the German armies crossing the Rhine were compared to the tribes of Israel crossing the River Jordan on their way to uproot idolatry in Canaan. The historian Mordechai Breuer (1918–2007) claimed that “henceforth, Orthodox rabbis took every opportunity to make patriotic sermons, and the Orthodox schools emphasized their German identity and their love of the homeland, without imbuing this with any particular religious hue.”76 Breuer argued that the patriotic declarations of the Orthodox were to a lesser or greater extent lip service; they had not abandoned their Jewish national identification in favor of Germany. Breuer supported this claim by quoting the example of one young rabbi, Pinchas Cohen of Ansbach (1867–1942); when asked in his maiden sermon in 1895 to which nation he belonged, he responded: “I am a human.” An

75 The Equality Law was proclaimed in July 1869 in the Hanseatic League, before the unification of Germany, and in the united empire in April 1871. The Franco-Prussian War was fought in 1870–1871. 76 Breuer, Portrait, 260.

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assessment of Breuer’s claims is beyond the scope of this study, but in analogous comments in Hungary it is difficult to identify any reservations on the part of the speakers regarding their Hungarian patriotism. Breuer goes on to argue that there was a substantial difference “in terms of self-perception regarding membership of the German people between the majority of German Jewry and the Orthodox stream . . . in terms of self-awareness, . . . [for the Orthodox], Judaism was a certainty while Germanness was a possibility, while for the majority of German Jews the opposite was the case.” Judaism was, of course, no less of a “certainty” for Orthodox Jews in Hungary, but in many cases they attributed the same status to their Hungarian identity.

G: “To Save Our Land from the Enemy”—The Great War The First World War accentuated the patriotic sentiments of all sections of Hungarian Jewry. On June 28, 1914, the Habsburgian Crown Prince Franz Ferdinand and his wife were assassinated in Sarajevo by a Bosnian nationalist by the name of Gavrilo Princip. The assassination fueled the tense atmosphere that had prevailed in the Balkans since Bosnia-Herzegovina, which had only recently freed itself from protracted Ottoman occupation, had been annexed by the Habsburgs in 1908. A month after the incident Austria declared war on Serbia, and the conflict rapidly descended into a protracted and major war involving numerous nations.77 For its own reasons, the Hungarian government was initially reluctant to join the fray. However, as elsewhere in central Europe, the public responded enthusiastically to the outbreak of war, and predictably the Jews succumbed to the general atmosphere of euphoria.78 Vayalket Yosef was a learned and pious journal, written in the “Rashi” script of Talmudic scholars, that discussed Talmudic intricacies, novel biblical exegeses, religious rulings, and responsa. The journal was published from 1899 through 1918 in Bonyhád, and was edited by Rabbi Joseph Hakohen Schwartz.79 77 On Hungary’s role in the war, see Romsics, Hungary, 81–89; Sugar et al., History, 291–294. 78 Rozenblit describes in detail the mood among the Jews of Austro-Hungary as the fighting began: Rozenblit, Reconstructing, 39–58. He describes the events of the war itself on pages 82–127, focusing on the Jews in the empire outside Hungary. On the role of Hungarian Jews as soldiers, suppliers, and merchants, see Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 328–336. On Jews in the Hungarian army, see at length: Odon Singer and Tamas Raj, Jewish Soldiers in the Military [Hungarian] (Budapest: MH OKAK, 1995). 79 See Nathaniel Katzburg, “Hebrew Journals in Hungary” [Hebrew], Areshet 1 (1959): 297–298; Cohen, Hungarian Sages, 428.

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The journal published a prayer for the soul of the slain crown prince, using conventional coinages that had always been reserved for members of the faith, and thereby breaking down the traditional distinction between Jew and Gentile: God, full of mercy, who dwells in the heights . . . who places kings on their throne . . . and in whose hand is the soul of every living thing, and the spirit of all flesh of man. Have mercy and pity on the soul of Franz Ferdinand, whose blood was spilled like water falling to the ground by scoundrels… And avenge his blood and the blood of all the innocent and honest shed by evil murderers of the human soul who spill the blood of those created in God’s image. Earth, cover not my blood . . .80 During the early days of the war, the Neolog journal Egyenlőség declared: We have merged with our nation with heart and soul; we are an inseparable part of the body of the nation. . . . We, who over decades of peace did all we could for our surroundings, now stand and wholeheartedly offer our lives for this sacred soil and for this great and noble nation. We see you, our HungarianJewish brothers, there in the rows of recruits, there at the railroad stations loud with war cries. Yes, there is your place, in the battle for the king who in his mercy made you free men; in the battle for the nation that embraced you and granted you warmth and a home.81 A week later, the lead article in the same journal, written by Sándor Fleischmann, was entitled “A Holy War.”82 The Orthodox adopted a similar approach. Adolf Frankl (1859–1936), the president of the National Orthodox Office, urged rabbis to encourage their congregations to show courage and heroism in defending king and country, and called on those on the home front to play their part in ensuring victory.83 Orthodox Jews from across Hungary were drafted to the army and participated in the battles.84 Over a decade later, Dr. Frigyes Grossman described in the Orthodox yearbook his experiences as a soldier on the Russian front, when he met a large group of Hasidim from

80 Va-Yalqeit Yoseif, July 9, 1914. 81 “The War,” Egyenlőség, August 2, 1914. 82 “A Holy War,” Egyenlőség, August 9, 1914. 83 Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 328. 84 The Education and Culture Department of the Hungarian army published a booklet about Jews in the Hungarian army from 1848, including the First World War: Singer and Raj, Jewish Soldiers.

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Galicia, holding Austrian citizenship, who had been expelled by the Russians and suffered greatly due to their Judaism.85 Much later, a former officer in the Hungarian army who had since emigrated to Israel published an article in the journal Máramarossziget describing the involvement of the members of his community in the war.86 He mentions numerous decorations and honorable mentions granted to Jews from the area, and notes that many of his subordinates had beards and earlocks. Tel Talpiot was another devoutly religious journal, written in Hebrew in “Rashi” script. The journal appeared from 1892 through 1938 in Vác, near Budapest, and was edited by Rabbi David Zvi Katzburg with the assistance of Jesaja Silberstein, the rabbi of the town. The journal published articles, religious rulings, and sermons written by scholars and rabbis; it was extremely successful and was distributed in various countries, including Western Europe and the United States. The secret of the journal’s success lay in the fact that it devoted considerable space to contemporary halakhic problems.87 Among other issues, inquiries can be seen from Orthodox soldiers serving in field units concerning the numerous difficulties they encountered in maintaining the strict level of religious observance to which they were accustomed; the soldiers sought halakhic solutions to their problems. In early 1915, Avraham Seiger, who was stationed in Sarajevo, raised questions concerning Kashrut, the observance of fasts during combat action, the lack of a fit Scroll of Esther for the upcoming Purim festival, and so forth. One of his questions was: “A certain rabbi here asked me about one of the combat troops who is a kohen [of priestly origin, and hence subject to complex rules concerning contact with corpses]; since he surely kills people, is he then permitted to perform the priestly blessing?”88 The true purpose of this publication emerges from the apologetic comment added by Silberstein, the rabbi of Vác: Editor’s comment: I have also copied some lines from these casual conversations, contrary to my usual practice, so that there should be a record until the last generation of the enormous event now taking place, when even great Torah scholars and the ultra-Orthodox have set out to save our country from the enemy.

85 “Until When?,” Shabbat Almanac [Hungarian] (1927–1928): 43–41. 86 Máramarossziget, April 1971. 87 David Shen, “The Jewish press in Hungary,” in The Jewish Press that Was [Hebrew], ed. Yehuda Gotthilf (Tel Aviv: World Association of Jewish Journalists, 1973), 449; Katzburg, “Hebrew Journals,” 284–288; Cohen, Hungarian Sages, 430. 88 Tel Talpiot [Hebrew] 23 (Half-Adar 1915): letter 12.

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Thus this is not just an instance of a war in which observant Jews happen to be participating, but a heroic act: saving their country from the enemy. The involvement of Orthodox soldiers in combat roles is extremely significant and should be remembered “until the last generation.” Silberstein’s comments imply that many more generations will live on this land, and they should all recall the great hour when prominent Torah scholars fought for their homeland—for Hungary. Although Silberstein belonged to one of the most conservative wings of Hungarian Jewry, he was an opponent of Zionism and of the OrthodoxZionist Mizrachi movement; his comments leave no doubts as to where his patriotic sentiments lay.89 The Allgemeine Jüdische Zeitung, written in Jüdisch-Deutsch, also reported on “our” battles across Europe: The Russians tried to improve their positions on the west, but were unsuccessful. . . . Around Velozeta, we maintain control of an important area. There were fierce battles and exchanges of fire here, while other points along the front line remained quiet. . . . In the Dardanelles, the situation is quiet. . . . The Russians sustained heavy losses in the Carpathian Mountains. Our army is in Bukovina. In Czernowitz it has only been involved in exchanges of gunfire.90 In 1917 the newspaper reported on honorable mentions awarded to three military rabbis: David von Freudiger of Budapest, Adler from Komáron, and D. Schreiber from Miskolc. All three received an award in the form of cross and ribbon bearing the image of the crown, as well as a medal in recognition of their service. The newspaper is careful to note that all three were Orthodox. The newspaper then reported on a committee headed by the Deputy President of the National Orthodox Office, Leopold (Lipót) von Freudiger (1866–1939), who supervised the observance of Passover on the front line by rabbis. The committee also included Neolog members—Arnold Cohen and Dr. Izidor Szabolcsi—who emphasized that they would be pleased to continue to assist on matters relating to Kashrut after Passover.91 Later in the same issue, it was reported that after Jewish soldiers complained about the lack of kosher food, funding was found for a kosher kitchen; this was already operating excellently and serving hundreds of soldiers.92 Earlier, the Allgemeine reported that, according to the Vatican mouthpiece L’Osservatore Romano, the pope had requested that all prisoners be allowed to 89 In 1907, Rabbi Silberstein signed a prohibition against joining the Mizrachi movement, together with Rabbis Grünwald and Shmuel Rosenberg of Unsdorf: Miller, Father’s World, 99. 90 “Latest Telegrams from the War,” Allgemeine Jüdische Zeitung (AJZ), April 15, 1915. 91 AJZ, March 15, 1917. 92 AJZ, July 21, 1917 (emphasis in original).

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observe the Sunday rest, and that all the relevant governments had responded positively to the call. The obligation to ensure that Jews could observe their Sabbath rest, the newspaper continued, rested with Orthodox Jewry, although the Neologs and Jewry through Austria also bore responsibility. However, since they could not be expected to meet this duty, the Orthodox must attend to the matter. This was the right time to act: when the Christian prisoners rested on Sunday, the Jews would work, and vice versa on the Sabbath. The Orthodox must attend to the needs of some 10,000 Jewish prisoners from Russia being held in the Austro-Hungarian camps, including thousands of observant Jews, Torah scholars, and yeshiva students.93 Toward the end of the war, under the headline “Our Attack in Italy,” the newspaper informed its readers: The Red Army has been halted. The battle continued until late in the night. . . . We have 1,550 prisoners. The heroism of our soldiers, who fought on the soil of our holy homeland, arouses amazement. We do not have many losses.94 Near to the end of the report, a comment is added concerning the ramifications of the war for the Orthodox who participated in it: “Many questions have been raised concerning orphans, widows, citrons [for the festival of Sukkot], phylacteries, mezuzot, and tzizit. . . . Orphanages and institutions for the disabled must be built so that it will be possible to maintain our Jewish way of life.” On the front page of its Rosh Hashanah edition in 1913, Vayalket Yosef published an appeal in Hebrew from the Supreme Leadership of the United Armies of Germany and Austro-Hungary. The appeal was addressed to the Jews of Poland, urging them to place their trust in the armies and assist them ahead of their invasion of Poland: The victorious armies of the kingdoms of the Central European alliance, Germany and Austro-Hungary, have arrived at the Polish border. The Russian tyrant has fled for its life before our armies launch their assault, which none will be able to withstand. Our banners bring you justice and freedom: total equality of civil rights, freedom of religion and tradition, liberty to work in

93 “Jewish Moments in the War—Sunday Rest and Sabbath,” AJZ, October 28, 1915. 94 “Our Offensive in Italy,” AJZ, June 20, 1918.

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all the economic and cultural vocations as you desire. For far too long you have groaned under Moscow’s iron yoke. . . . Your holy duty now is to do everything in your power to strengthen the act of liberation. All the forces of the people . . . must mobilize as one man to help in this sacred cause. Turn in full confidence to the nearby commanders of our armies! A full price will be paid for any merchandise supplied. Pave the way for the full defeat of the enemy, and bring freedom and justice to their full victory.95 It is reasonable to assume that the appeal in the journal was initiated by a military or political figure, and was translated into Hebrew by someone familiar with rabbinical language. Be this as it may, the announcement underscores the involvement of the Orthodox population in the war. The commanders of the invading forces sought to reach the Jews of Poland through a journal read in the neighboring countries. The appeal promised that the intended audience would enjoy the same rights as the Jews of Hungary had already received from their government. The responsa literature of the period also includes echoes of the involvement of observant Jews in the war. In 1915, Rabbi Eleázár Löw of Ungvár, the son of Rabbi Jeremiah Löw of Újhely, was asked “whether the barracks constitute a city”—in other words, whether the laws concerning carrying objects on the Sabbath were those that apply in a permanent settlement or in a temporary station.96 Later the same year, the rabbi was asked: “Concerning the ritual slaughters attached to the army, it can be sensed that they have been forced to violate certain prohibitions; should they afterwards be required to take an examination in matters of ritual slaughter and their readiness be assessed?” It emerges that the army hired ritual slaughterers to provide kosher meat for Jewish soldiers. The questioner wonders whether military service may not have undermined their reliability and expertise in their field, and whether they should be required to take their examinations again after discharge.97 Löw’s detailed halakhic response is less important here, but the questions themselves show that significant numbers of strictly observant soldiers were involved in the war.

95 Va-Yalqeit Yoseif, October 1913. The appeal to the Jews of Poland was also published in Yiddish and appeared in the AJZ (where the language it was written in was referred to as “jargon”). 96 Eleázár Löw, Order of Elazar Responsa [Hebrew] (Satmar: private publication, 1930), item 34. 97 Ibid., item 62.

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While the war was still underway, Neolog circles published a special volume lauding the Jewish contribution to the war effort.98 There were indeed many Jews among the combat troops, and one-third of the officers in the Hungarian army who fell in combat were Jews.99 The Hebrew poet and writer Avigdor Hameiri (1890–1970), who fought in the ranks of the Hungarian army as a young officer, described his experiences in his works.100 Despite this impressive involvement, Jews were accused of evading military service, particularly on the front line, and of profiteering during the war.101 The First World War, and still more so the events that followed, led to a rise in antisemitic incitement in Hungary, including riots in numerous parts of the country. One night, Jacob Katz was witness to an antisemitic riot that led him to change his attitude toward Hungary: The experience of that night has been with me ever since. It was significant in forming my attitude toward the Magyar culture environment. The spirit of Hungarian patriotism evaporated over night and a heightened Jewish consciousness took its place.102 It is important to note that Katz was the exception that proved the rule in this respect. Most of the Jews, Orthodox or otherwise, continued to believe in Hungary and to identify with it up to the Holocaust. Katz adopted a Zionist worldview after the war, and his first published text was an article in the Zsidó Ujság responding to a report about a religious judge who returned from a visit to Palestine and begged the Jews of Hungary not to become involved in Zionist or quasi-Zionist activities.103 Regarding Katz’s position, an interesting contradiction is worthy of note. In his essays on Hungarian Jewry, Katz claims that as a generalization the extent of acculturation among Orthodox Jews in the country was less than among the Neologs.104 He suggests that the Neolog stream integrated in Hungarian culture

98          Simon Hevesi, Jenő Polnay, and József Patai, 1914–1916 Almanac of the Hungarian Jewish Military Archive [Hungarian] (Budapest: Zsidó Hadi Archivum, 1916). 99   Fischer, “Anti-Semitism,” 885. 100  Avigdor Hameiri, In Hell on Earth [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Mitzpe, 1932); Avigdor Hameiri, The Great Insanity: Notes of a Hebrew Officer in the Great War [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Mitzpeh, 1929); Avigdor Hameiri, War Stories [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1970). 101 Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 332–336. 102 Katz, With My Own Eyes, 27. 103 Ibid., 54. 104 Katz, “Identity,” 22, 23; Katz, “Uniqueness,” 195.

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willingly and a priori, while the Orthodox did everything they could to avoid this process, before succumbing post factum.105 His arguments concerning the articles of association of Shomrei Ha-Dat absolve the rabbinical leadership of responsibility for Magyarization, downplay the gulf between the two shades of Orthodoxy, and make no distinction between Western Orthodoxy and ultraOrthodoxy.106 For Katz, the borders runs starkly between the Orthodox and the Neologs. This perspective blurs the distinctions within the Orthodox camp between its Western and Eastern wings. However, Katz could certainly not have been unaware of the strong Hungarian national orientation of Western Orthodoxy, the circle to which he himself belonged. In his autobiography he repeatedly describes the trend to Hungarian identity in his surroundings, and the profound difference between Western and Eastern Orthodoxy in terms of their integration.107 Yet in his historiographic works, he attaches little weight to the Magyarization of Western Orthodoxy, and thus a gulf emerges between the historical picture he paints and his own personal experience. I can offer two explanations for this discrepancy, one academic and the other “educational.” It is possible that Katz felt that the Orthodox patriotism he experienced around him as a child was insincere, and constituted no more than lip service; accordingly, he belittled its importance in his research writing (not to mention the fact, as noted, that he came to reject this approach himself). Conversely, it is possible that as a historian with a deep commitment to Zionism, writing in a period when the national ethos in Israel was at its peak, Katz felt that he was shaping the image of his group of origin for generations to come, and accordingly preferred to obscure this “embarrassing” aspect. At the start of 1914, the New York Forward published a long article in installments entitled “Di Yidden in Ungarn” (The Jews in Hungary). The article presented an idyllic picture of the community: If there is anywhere in Europe a paradise for Jews, it is in Hungary. . . . Hungary is the only country in the world that does not know what antisemitism is, and the Hungarian people is unique within European civilization. Nowhere in the world do Jews love the country where they live as they do in Hungary—both young and old are patriots. . . . Every Jew has a thorough knowledge of the national

105 See the section “A Jewry of Extremes?” in the Introduction above. 106 See section E in chapter one above. 107  On the patriotism of Western Orthodoxy, see Katz, With My Own Eyes, 19, 25, 30. On the difference between the two groups—ibid., 18, 32, 40; and in the field of education in particular—ibid., 25, 26.

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language. . . . Love of the country and its culture is so great that the young have abandoned the Yiddish language. . . .108 It can be assumed that the readers of the Forward read with astonishment about this large Jewish community in the heart of Europe, not far from the regions from which they had fled not long ago, who were lucky enough to live as Jews, safe and sound in a country that was like paradise for them. The picture painted by the article is not historically accurate, but it is an accurate reflection of Hungary’s image. Prior to the First World War, to outside observers as well as to its Jewish population, it indeed seemed to be a land whose Jews were deeply patriotic and lived in unparalleled conditions. The monarchic era marked a peak in linguistic acculturation and patriotic identification among the Jews of Hungary, including the Orthodox stream. The prevailing atmosphere of peace and calm, the sense of progress in many fields of life, and the admiration for Emperor Franz Josef I all encouraged the Jews to regard themselves as an integral part of the country. The attitudes toward the country and its people shaped during this period essentially remained after the First World War, despite the significant deterioration in the condition of the Jews. The following three chapters will discuss specific issues that illustrate the Hungarian-national character of Western Orthodoxy; these do not form part of the thread of our chronological narrative.

108 Forward, January 31, 1914.

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Chapter Three

Shaping and Expressing National Consciousness

The national idea and the aspiration to express this idea in practice developed a little later in Hungary than in most other European countries, but formed part of the same wave of general nationalist ideology that emerged in Europe from the eighteenth century. Scholars are divided on the question whether nationalism is a modern phenomenon or merely a new form of much older local and ethnic identities. Some observers suggest that nationalism is a result of modernity and is an invention of ruling elites with the goal of perpetuating and strengthening their control.1 Others regard nationalism as a phenomenon whose roots lie in religion, a shared past, and language.2 It is universally agreed, however, that certain mechanisms and symbols serve to structure, reinforce, and inculcate national consciousness. National historiographic traditions, cultures of memory, the revival of national model figures, emblems, memorials, museums, state festivals and days of remembrance, literature, poetry, and even terms and expressions embedded in spoken language all play a part in shaping national

1 For example, see Ernst Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983); Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London and New York: Verso, 2016); E. J. Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780 (London: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 2 Anthony Smith, The Nation in History (Hanover, NE: UPNE), 2000; Adrian Hastings, The Construction of Nationhood (London: Cambridge University Press, 1997).

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memory. These memory structures became part of the intellectual discourse, academic research, and mass culture of the nineteenth century in the European nation-states.3 The Jews of Hungary, who considered themselves partners in creating a new national society, participated in the process of structuring national memory in their country. The adoption of the Hungarian language was accompanied by the absorption of concepts and terms expressing belonging and affinity, some of which were drawn from the world of Christianity. The Jews, including the Western Orthodox, sometimes tended to change their family name in order to give it a more Hungarian sound. They gave their children Hungarian first names (alongside a Hebrew name) and used these names in everyday life. A further feature was the frequent emphasis on the ancient character of the Jewish settlement in Hungary and the Jews’ participation in the nation’s formative events.

A. Shaping Consciousness through Language, Names, and Epithets The choice of particular terms to describe concepts sometimes serves as an important tool both for shaping and for expressing identity and consciousness. The question “A nation or a denomination?” (felekezet vagy nemzetiség) appeared as the title of several articles published after the First World War in the journal Hagyomány.4 This question became more acute following the emergence of Zionism, which declared the existence of a Jewish nation aspiring to its own nation-state. However, the fundamental question had preoccupied the Jews ever since Hungarian nationalism began to emerge, and the response to the question largely reflected the manner in which different Jews sought to view themselves. The idea of the “Jewish denomination” is the product of Hungarian-Jewish identity, but at the same time one of the factors that generated this identity. The Jews constituted a minority group in Hungary, and in order to position themselves within society in a way that would clarify their essence to themselves and to others, they were required to choose an appropriate term for their collective identity. Prior to the First World War, there were numerous minorities in Hungary, and the Jewish press, including its Orthodox wing, referred to

3 The case of Germany, for example, is described in Alon Confino, Germany as a Culture of Remembrance (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2006). 4 Hagyomány, April 3, 1925 and June 12, 1925.

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these other groups as ethnic or national minorities. Now, however, the Jewish press almost universally (with the exception of some marginal Zionist circles) referred to the Jews as a “denomination” (felekezet), rather than a people, nation, minority, or race. This term highlights the argument that the Jews were merely another of the various religious communities within the Hungarian nation; with the exception of their religious faith, they were indistinguishable from the remainder of the nation. The term “denomination” implies a subgroup—a part of the population that shares distinct features, especially in the religious sense—as distinct from the term “national minority,” which implies that the population in question is part of another nation. “Nation” and “national minority” are exclusivist terms, whereas the term “denomination” is not divisive, but inherently assumes the membership of an additional, larger collective. The official Jewish leaderships and the main Orthodox weekly newspapers, the Zsidó Hiradó and the Zsidó Ujság, were careful to use only the term “denomination” for the Jews—an approach shared by the Neolog journals. This emphasized their self-perception as a distinct religious denomination within the Hungarian collective, as the Neolog historian Lajos Venetianer (1867–1922) explained: There will never be support in Hungary for a transition from the perception of a Jewish denomination to the Zionist ideal, which seeks to create a nation. There are Hungarians of the Jewish faith, but there is no Jewish nationhood. On this matter all are in agreement, whether they be Neolog or Orthodox.5 The rabbi of Klausenburg, Moses Samuel Glasner, a descendant of the Chatam Sofer and one of the most prominent rabbis in the country, confirmed after the First World War that the National Orthodox Office in Budapest shared this approach. Glasner asserted that even after the Balfour Declaration and recognition of Jewish nationhood, Hungarian Orthodox continued to adhere to “the shameful lie that we are merely a religious denomination,” rather than “a nation with national aspirations like any other.”6 As noted, “denomination” is a neutral term that does not in itself carry an ethnic or national connotation. The term is used in Hungarian to refer to other religious groups, such as Catholics or Calvinists. Hungarians of the Mosaic faith, or Israelites, as they were also known, thus constituted one of the integral faith communities within the Hungarian people, rather than a separate entity.

5 Venetianer, History, 318. 6 Glasner, Zionism, 65–66.

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Lajos Hartstein (1855–1937), the Vice-President of the Orthodox Office, made comments in this spirit in 1927 while discussing the Numerus Clausus: The racial criterion established in the law for admission to university is humiliating, since the Jews regard and feel themselves to be Hungarians. There is no Jewish race, but a Jewish denomination.7 In some instances, when the Jewish religion was mentioned in public and political contexts, the term used was “religious denomination” (vallásfelekezet) rather than “religion.” This term further blurs the distinction between Judaism and the various Christian denominations, implying that these are all analogous religious groups that comprise the Hungarian nation. The national leadership also redefined the status of the Jews in accordance with its Magyarization project and its aspiration to ensure a Magyar majority. From 1880, the official statistical yearbooks classified Jews as a Magyar religious denomination, and not as an ethnic group (Izraeliták). This policy contrasted with that toward the German, Slovak, Romanian, and other minorities, which were classified as non-Magyar ethnic groups. However, it would appear that the majority of nonJewish Hungarians did not share this position. The parallel term to “denomination” in Germany was Konfession. Breuer notes that in the opinion of the historian Jacob Toury (1915–2004), the Orthodox stream in Germany negated Jewish nationhood just as liberal Judaism did, and defined Judaism solely as a “confession.” Breuer himself believes that the Orthodox position concerning the essence of Judaism was more ambiguous. He does not believe that Hirsch relinquished the national character of Judaism; rather, in order to secure the benefits of emancipation, he felt that in terms of the state Judaism should not appear as a separate body. Thus the Orthodox secessionists sought to utilize the ideas of individual liberty and concern for minorities in order to support their desire to maintain separate communities and to be free of the auspices of the reformers. While different shades of opinion can be seen within German Orthodoxy, Western Orthodoxy in Hungary was virtually unanimous on the subject of religion and nationhood, perhaps because of the central control of the National Office, and due the fact that many Orthodox journalists were linked to the Office. The journal Hagyomány adopted a different position, however. It argued that both within and outside Judaism there was an ongoing debate as to whether 7 “Numerus Clausus, Zionism, Organizing Status Quo,” ZsU, November 25, 1927.

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Judaism is a nation or a denomination. Antisemites and Zionists claim that Judaism is a nation, while anti-Zionist Jews and philosemites regard it as a denomination. The journal went on to suggest that in contemporary times, the claim that Judaism is a nation may entail political disadvantages, but this does not mean that Judaism should deny the essence it has maintained for thousands of years. If Judaism is a nation, this should be declared loudly and clearly. The article concludes, somewhat hesitantly, that history shows that Judaism is indeed a nation rather than a denomination.8 This assertion can be attributed to the journal’s Zionist leanings and its differences with the National Orthodox Office, which adopted a different position and defined itself as one of the religious communities in Hungary. The perception of Judaism as a religious denomination within a foreign nation, rather than a people, is inconsistent with the ethos of the “People of Israel” and the slogan “a nation that dwells alone.” However, the identification with Hungary and with the sense of a “denomination” among those who were not attracted by Zionism appears to have sidelined this traditional ethos. The idea of the “Jewish denomination” is thus a product of Hungarian-Jewish identity and one of the factors that shaped this identity. Another term that highlights the profound emotional bond between the Jews of Hungary and the country was adopted by the Jews from the Hungarian language, where the homeland is referred to simply as a “home” (ház). Like their colleagues in the general press, Jewish journalists did not usually refer to Hungary by its name, or through such terms as “our country” or “our state,” but rather as “our home,” a term that arouses associations of intimacy, familiarity, trust, and security. This term embodies an emotional bond to the soil and the country, and has strong patriotic overtones. Like the German equivalent Heimat (“homeland”), this term allows groups that are not part of the dominant ethnic group to feel that the country is also their home, and hence serves as a unifying national factor.9 The sense of affinity to surrounding culture is also apparent from the use of religious terms drawn from the Christian world, which sometimes replaced traditional Jewish terminology. In the Jewish press, and in everyday language, the synagogue was referred to as the templom (temple), a term also used for churches; the rabbi was also known as pap (“priest”), or sometimes zsidó pap

8 Hagyomány, June 12, 1925. 9 Confino, Germany, 38.

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(“Jewish priest”);10 Passover was referred to as husvét (Easter, and literally “buying meat,” a name that refers to the end of Lent, when people refrained from consuming meat). Shavuot (the Feast of Weeks) was sometimes referred to as pünkösd (Pentecost),11 and the Book of Psalms was almost always referred to by its Hungarian-Christian name zsoltár. These non-Jewish terms were as accepted among the Western Orthodox as they were among the Neologs.12 Another form of shaping of consciousness that was particularly popular among the Orthodox, whose world of associations was Jewish, was the grounding of Hungarian identity in Jewish tradition. The ancient principle of loyalty to the country where one lives is derived from the comments of Jeremiah (29:4–7), the prophet who himself lived as an exile in Babylon: This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper. In the past, Jeremiah’s instructions had been used to provide theological justification for Jews to live, flourish, and develop in alien lands, and in particular for their loyalty to the rulers of the countries where they settled. Throughout history, Jews tended to regard kings and rulers as the guarantors of their survival and prosperity, and accordingly they prayed for their well-being. In the nineteenth century, this principle was expanded significantly to include the people and nation. In the instance of Hungarian Orthodoxy, this process was accompanied by references and analogies to Jewish tradition that provided

10 See Salamon Schück, Ten Commandments against Antisemitism (Hungarian) (Karcag: Sződi, 1888), 14. 11 An article in the Orthodox weekly on the Jewish festivals also avoided the Hebrew name Shavuot, and referred to the festival as the “Festival of Revelation” (Kinyilatkoztatás ünnep). ZsH, May 30, 1901. 12 Language contact and the absorption of words from the dominant linguistic surroundings are natural phenomena. In these instances, however, pious Jews employed overly Christian terms in their everyday life—a practice that should be seen as evidence of an unusual degree of affinity.

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religious justification for Hungarian patriotism, which was thus elevated to the level of an unchallengeable pious obligation.

B. Names A person’s name is an extremely important artifact in every culture; through a name a person identifies himself and is identified by others.13 In many cultures, the name and the person are regarded as synonymous. Jewish tradition also attaches great importance to the act of naming, and many biblical names convey symbolic meanings. The name also positions the individual within the historical flow of the family or nation. The act of changing one’s name is usually motivated by a desire to connect to a distinct identity or essence; accordingly, the depth of identification of minority or immigrant populations can be gauged by their inclination to adopt local names. Even when the name change is motivated by practical considerations, such as the desire for social and economic mobility, its underlying goal is still integration in the surroundings. A rabbinical exegesis (Midrash Shir Ha-Shirim 4:24) lists four reasons why the Children of Israel were worthy of redemption from Egypt, one of which is the fact that “they did not change their names.” The Chatam Sofer similarly warned in his testament: “Beware of changing names.”14 Akiva Yosef Schlesinger reiterated the same theme around the time of the emancipation: “Beware of changing names . . . do not be like the one whose name is Aaron but who calls himself Adolf. . . .”15 Unsurprisingly, the ultra-Orthodox almost universally maintained Jewish names. However, Rabbi Moshe Arye Roth of Pápa (1845–1906) commented in 1904: “Even we Haredim in Central Europe, all of whom were given a Hebrew name when we entered into the covenant of Abraham [that is, on circumcision], refer to ourselves in our civil lives not by this name, but by a Christian or national name.”16 Naftali Kraus recalls that during a visit to the Orthodox congregation in Budapest in the 1980s, he found a leatherbound ledger dating back to 1902 containing lists of congregants who had made

13 On the social significance of name changes in general, and the connection between this practice and the phenomenon of assimilation among Hungarian Jews, in particular, see Viktor Karády, Allogeneic Elites in the Modern Hungarian Nation-State [Hungarian] (Budapest: Wesley János, 2012), 84–102. 14 Moshe Sofer, The Book of Moses’s Testament [Hebrew] (Vienna: private publication, 1863), 2. 15 Schlesinger, Hebrew Heart, vol. 1, 24. 16 Moshe Arye Roth, Zionism from the Perspective of Haredi Judaism [Hebrew trans. of original German] (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2006), 20.

Shaping and E x pressing National Consciousness

donations after being called up to read from the Torah in the synagogue. Kraus was surprised to see that around half the family names and some eighty percent of the first names were typically Hungarian.17 This phenomenon began in the nineteenth century. Yitzhak Yosef Cohen’s study of religious scholars and literature in Hungarian Jewry includes numerous halakhic discussions on the question of engraving Hungarian names on the tombstones of the deceased.18 Rabbi Moshe Schück, for example, was asked about a tombstone that was erected by an individual without approval from the officials of the burial society. . . . [The inscription] was in the language of idolworshippers and even the year was marked as the nations of the world count from the Nazarene [ Jesus]. . . . Are they permitted to place this tombstone there, or should it be covered in plaster, particularly the Christian date, or should the tombstone be thrown out?19 Schück’s preferred solution was to remove the tombstone, or at least to obscure the date, and “to affix very firm plaster on the tombstone that will not fall off.” However, he allows the tombstone to remain with the Hungarian name. Another question concerns “a man who died and whose tombstone bears an inscription in the Hungarian language.” Schück urged the burial society “to insist that none of the customs current among the Jewish people be changed.”20 Rabbi Eliezer Deutsch of Bonyhád mentions in 1897 a case of a physician whose son died and who wanted his son’s Hungarian name to appear on the tombstone in Latin letters. The case occurred in a provincial town and the physician was a pious Jew who was careful to ask the position of a prominent rabbi concerning his intended action. Deutsch ruled that the proposed act was forbidden, and criticized “those frivolous people who desire such practices by claiming that distancing ourselves from the other nations causes hatred [against the Jews] in Exile.”21 Deutsch rejected the reformers’ argument that by drawing closer to their surroundings, Jews could help end hatred against them. Apart from the halakhic question, this case provides evidence that the use of Hungarian names was common even among Orthodox Jews in provincial areas. The historian Katalin Fenyves notes that in the second half of the nineteenth century, and particularly in its latter years, ancient Magyar names can often be found in the records, including those relating to Orthodox Jews. These include

17 Naftali Kraus, The Blessing Returns [Hungarian] (Budapest: PolgART, 2002), 21. 18 Cohen, Hungarian Sages, 52–54. 19 Moshe Schück, Responsa of Mahara”m Schück [Hebrew] (New York: private publication, 1961), Yoreh Deah, item 171, C, October 1, 1878. 20 Ibid., Choshen Mishpat, item 56, Sukkot 1876. 21 Deutsch, Responsa, vol. 2, part B, item 3.

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the names of princes and princesses descended from Árpád, the names of the leaders of the Magyar tribes, and even the names of Catholic saints.22 Victor Karady also found a considerable number of Hungarian first names among the Orthodox Jews of Budapest during the monarchic era.23 He examined the names in wedding registers during the interwar period and found a relatively high proportion of Hungarian names.24 Frojimovics found that in several Orthodox communities, most people had a Hungarian first name even during the monarchic era. However, the Orthodox were less inclined than the Neologs to change their family name, an act they regarded as an overt sign of assimilation.25 The tendency to change family names and give Hungarian names to children was more pronounced in the capital, where Jews were integrated in many fields of life. However, examples can also be found from the provincial towns and villages. In the 1930s, as opposition grew to the integration of the Jews, laws were enacted prohibiting Jews from adopting Hungarian names. In 1928, the Zsidó Ujság reported that the Ministry of the Interior would no longer allow Jews to adopt a Hungarian family name, noting that a Jewish Member of Parliament had complained about this policy. Interior Minister Béla Szitovsky retorted that just as he would not change his Polish name, so everyone should be proud of their old names. Granting a Hungarian name was a sign of honor, and only those considered worthy by the authorities would gain such an award. The newspaper added that during the liberal era, the state had sought to emphasize its Magyar character in light of the large minority population, and accordingly had encouraged people to assume Hungarian names. The Jews must recognize that times had changed, and such name changes were no longer desired. The author of the article agrees with the interior minister that everyone should be proud of the name their parents gave them.26 Interestingly, however, almost all of the journalists who wrote in the Orthodox newspaper had Hungarian first names, and many of them also had a Hungarian family name.

22 Katalin Fenyves, Imaginary Assimilation [Hungarian] (Budapest: Corvina, 2010), 214. 23 Viktor Karády and Mónika Palásti, “Brushstrokes of Budapest Orthodoxy” [Hungarian], EPA Budapesti Negyed 8 (1995). 24 Viktor Karády, Jews and Social Inequalities [Hungarian] (Budapest: Replika, 2000), 41–57. 25 An examination of lists of births for four Hungarian communities in the period 1890–1940 showed that around 5.9 percent of family names were Hungarian among the Orthodox, compared to 23.9 percent among Neologs; Hungarian first names accounted for around 50 percent in both streams. See Kinga Frojimovics, “Jewish Naming Customs in Hungary from the Turn of the Twentieth Century until the Holocaust,” paper presented at the Twenty-Third International Conference on Jewish Genealogy, Washington, D.C., 2003. 26 “Magyarization of Names,” ZsU, April 27, 1928.

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C. Shaping Consciousness through the Myth of the Ancient Jewish Presence in Hungary During the nation-building process in Europe, myths were often drawn from national history in order to create a “useful past” serving as a focus of identification and enhancing national cohesion.27 In some cases, the Jews in these countries felt a need to create their own historical and cultural affinities clarifying to themselves and to their neighbors that they were also part of the emerging nation-state. In this spirit, Jewish historiography in Hungary began in the mid-nineteenth century to address the theme of the ancient Jewish presence in Hungary in Roman times, and in particular the role Jews played in the Magyar settlement in the Danube Basin. Sámuel Kohn, who was both an historian and the rabbi of the Neolog community in Budapest, was the first writer to claim that Jews and Khazars participated in the conquest of Hungary in 896 and were among the first Magyar settlers in the region.28 Although this was no more than a hypothesis, Kohn devoted considerable attention to his theory. The idea was based on a letter written by Hasdai ibn Shaprut from Spain to the king of the Khazars in the mid-tenth century; Ibn Shaprut mentions in the letter that he asked that it be forwarded to its intended recipient by “the Children of Israel in the land of Hangarin [Hungary].” Despite the lack of any corroborating evidence, Kohn concluded that at the time in question Jews lived in Hungary and maintained contact with the Khazars. Historical records mention that the Magyars settled in the Khazar Kaganate; Kohn thus suggested that a JewishKhazar tribe called the Kabars joined the Magyars in their onward journey to Hungary. Katzburg explains that Kohn sought to create the impression that the Jews had been partners in founding the homeland and were authentic Hungarians in order to validate their struggle for equal rights and social integration, and in order to combat the political antisemitism that was beginning to rear its head at the time.29 For the Jews, and particularly the Neologs, this ancient bond provided an additional incentive to participate in acculturation; for the Hungarians, it was

27 For a clarification of these terms and there use in the Jewish context, see Miron, Waning, 16–19. 28 Sámuel Kohn, History of the Jews in Hungary [Hungarian] (Budapest: Athenaeum, 1884), 12–46. 29 Nathaniel Katzburg, “Jewish Historiography in Hungary” [Hebrew], Sinai 40 (1957): 113–126, 164–176. For further discussion of the idea of an ancient Jewish presence and its function as a “useful past,” see Katzburg, “History,” 1, 82–83; Miron, History; Komoróczy, History, vol. 1, 57–62; Prepuk, “Jewry,” 89–90.

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supposed to justify emancipation. The discussion of this issue reached a peak around the Millennium celebrations of 1896, when Hungarians as a whole focused on the story of their emergence as a nation. Kohn’s theory allowed the Jews to participate in this process with pride. The first issue of the Neolog journal Egyenlőség in 1896 claimed that not only Khazars but also full-fledged Jews had participated in the conquest of the homeland (honfoglalás): “During the first few centuries, they lived separately from other Jews who immigrated to the land, and their language, names, and dress were the same as those of the Magyars. They were peasants, craftsmen, and soldiers. . . .”30 Another article in the same newspaper referred to two chosen nations: The Jews were chosen to disseminate monotheism, while “the Hungarians were chosen by God to disseminate to the world the ideals of freedom and law.”31 Influenced by the euphoric atmosphere of the Millennium, an analogy emerged between the Jews and the Magyars, creating an unbreakable bond between the Jews and their homeland. In the postwar period, the Neolog historian Venetianer discussed this issue in his apologetic volume The History of the Jews in Hungary. Venetianer boldly claimed that among the Magyar tribes that conquered Hungary, there were “large numbers of adherents of the Jewish faith.”32 In 1938, as the antiJewish legislation began to be adopted, a thirty-six-page booklet was published devoted entirely to reinforcing and summarizing the theory concerning the involvement of Jews in the conquest of the homeland.33 This myth of an ancient presence was repeated countless times by various Jewish figures, highlighting its function as a “useful past,” and particularly as a tool for refuting the antisemitic allegation that the Jews were aliens. The myth also featured prominently in references to national festivals and events. From the beginning of the twentieth century, however, Neolog and non-Jewish historians began to adopt a more critical attitude toward these theories, which they rejected as unsubstantiated hypotheses.34 Although this hypothesis originated in the Neolog sector, it was also adopted by Orthodox circles. Orthodox figures sometimes quoted the myth as proof of their authentic Hungarian character and of a long bond between Magyars and Jews. Writing in the Orthodox newspaper, Rabbi Miksa Mehr lauded the enthusiastic participation in the Millennium celebrations of “the sons of the

30 Dr. Béla Lázár, “Hungarian Jewry and the Millennium,” Egyenlőség, January 3, 1896, 4–5. 31 Dr. Ötvös Adolf Silberstein, “A Thousand Years,” Egyenlőség, April 24, 1896, Supplement, 1. 32 Venetianer, History, 12–17. 33 Zsigmond Kallós, Jews among the Founding Fathers of Hungary [Hungarian] (Budapest: A Szerző Kiadása, 1938). 34 Prepuk (“Jewry,” 89) mentions five historians who rejected this theory.

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Hungarian nation who belong to the Jewish faith . . . those who fought in the same rank with the others, in all conditions and in all times, against common enemies; those who, as has been proven, already provided assistance during the ‘conquest of the homeland.’ They are worthy to participate in and enjoy the celebration and the joy.”35 In the same year, the newspaper emphasized that there was no need “to show that the Jews are patriots, for they played a part, albeit modest, in the conquest of the homeland, when a Jewish tribe was included in Árpád’s army.”36 This writer thus adopts the myth, but downplays its significance, suggesting that the Jews’ role in the conquest was minor. For the Orthodox, the myth of the ancient Jewish presence served mainly as justification for the equal rights they enjoyed in Hungary, particularly against those who challenged this reality. In Orthodox circles the myth was presented in a more muted form, and its function was utilitarian rather than ideological. In 1896, a non-Jewish liberal newspaper mentioned the passes through which Árpád’s Magyars crossed the Carpathians and entered Hungary: “These are our holy places, this is the way by which we arrived, us, one thousand years ago, and after us came others: the Tatars, the Jews, and the Poles.”37 The Orthodox journal responded: “We [Orthodox], who are not certain that Jews arrived with Árpád, are not offended by this.”38 These reactions highlight the difference between the Neologs, who generally adopted the theory of an ancient Jewish presence, and the Orthodox, who were more circumspect about this hypothesis.39 This difference is hardly surprising; despite acculturation among the Orthodox, the level of identification with the Hungarian nation and culture was still much higher among the Neologs. This phenomenon appears to be unique to Hungary. In the Czech-speaking regions, and particularly in Bohemia, a Czech-Jewish movement emerged in the 1870s that sought to stimulate interest in the Czech language and culture among the Jews, in opposition to German dominance. However, the movement did not support Czech nationalism and did not gain widespread support among the Jewish public. Following the establishment of Czechoslovakia in 1918, the

35 Miksa Mehr, “Millennium,” ZsH, January 2, 1896. 36 Quoted in Prepuk, “Jewry,” 90, from ZsH, no. 18, May 7, 1896, 10. 37 Pesti Hirlap (emphasis in original). I don't know the date 38 Illés Friedmann, “These ‘Polish Jews,’” ZsH, August 6, 1896. 39 Komoróczy, who is not Jewish, treats the theory of the ancient Jewish presence seriously (History, vol. 2, 57–62). In a newspaper interview, he even suggested that the founding Magyar elite was in part Jewish, without offering any support for this position: Sebestyén István, “The Jewish Prince Árpád and the True Hungarians” [Hungarian], hetek.hu, May 31, 2012, http:// www.hetek.hu/interju/201205/a_zsido_arpad_fejedelem_es_a_melymagyarok.

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movement gradually waned, while Zionism gained support.40 At the beginning of the century, the movement published a two-volume collection of documents concerning Jewish life in Bohemia from the early Middle Ages through to the Austrian occupation. This was an isolated attempt to connect the Jewish past to Bohemia; it was far less dramatic than its Hungarian equivalent and it had little influence.41 As in Hungary, the development of the national idea in Germany was a slow process that encountered numerous obstacles; in both countries, however, a particularly strong nationalist and patriotic atmosphere ultimately emerged. The response of the Jewish communities in both countries was also similar. Regarding the essence and character of German patriotism among Orthodox Jews, Breuer wrote: Their Germanness remained, first and foremost (and for many—exclusively) a form of cultural Germanness, a JudeoEuropean cultural affinity that underlay Hirsch’s ideology of enlightenment. Their sense of belonging to German language and culture, which they still regarded as the carrier of moral and spiritual values close to those of their religion, had almost no connection to the political and national domain.42 Thus Breuer argues that the identity of German Orthodox Jews was based on citizenship, patriotism, and cultural affinity; yet they did not regard themselves as part of the nation.43 They admired the German language and read its literature. Similarly, historian Guy Miron emphasizes that despite their commitment to German patriotism: The Neo-Orthodox tended to present their Germanness through the civil . . . linguistic, and cultural prism, and less as actual national identification. Unlike the spokespeople for liberal Judaism, let alone the assimilationists, the Neo-Orthodox were 40 Katerina Capková, “Czechs, Germans, Jews? National Identities of Bohemian Jews, 1867–1938,” paper presented at the conference “Contours of Legitimacy in Central Europe,” Oxford, 2002. 41 Martin Wein, A History of Czechs and Jews: A Slavic Jerusalem (New York: Routledge, 2015), 32. 42 Breuer, Portrait, 262. 43 See also Guy Miron and Anna Szalai, Jews at a Crossroads: Discourse on Jewish Identity in Hungary between Crisis and Renewal, 1908–1926 [Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2008), 23 n. 19.

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reluctant to accept the idea that they were an integral part of the German people (Volk).44 The general affinity to the nation among German Jews, the Orthodox included, was based on the values of enlightenment and modernity; on the acceptance of modern liberal trends, rather than on ancient national myths. In Hungary, by contrast, even the Orthodox portrayed themselves as an integral part of the national landscape. They identified with the Hungarian language and nationhood, though less with its literature and culture. Above all, they emphasized and lauded the many merits of the Hungarian people and the Magyar spirit in the past and the present. The bond with the people and the nation was highlighted by the theory of the ancient Jewish presence and by constant references to Jewish involvement in the nation’s formative moments: from the conquest of the homeland, through the Turkish siege of Buda, and onto the struggle for liberty during the Spring of the Nations. Like their Neolog counterparts, the Orthodox in Hungary identified with national-political goals, such as the problem of the minorities under the Dual Monarchy, the irredentist aspiration to regain control of the territories taken from Hungary following the Treaty of Trianon, and the desire to enhance Hungary’s global reputation. The affinity to the Magyar nation was not based primarily on the spirit of enlightenment and modernization, as in the west, but appears to have had a more primal and emotional character, with deeper and older roots. In Germany the emphasis was on the affinity to culture and education, while in Hungary the bond to the people itself had a stronger and perhaps more intimate nature.45 The Jews of Hungary, Neolog and Orthodox alike, adhered to an ancient Hungarian memory and saw themselves as partners in their nation’s founding moment, the conquest of the homeland. The myth of Jewish participation in founding the nation combined with the image of the Magyar people and the peace and calm enjoyed by the Jews, created an idyllic picture of the past that played an important role in shaping the Hungarian consciousness and identity of all the Jews in Hungary.

44 Miron, “Between the Worlds,” 48. 45 Katz argues that despite their adoption of the Hungarian language, acculturation among Western Orthodoxy was very limited: Katz, “Identity,” 22.

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Chapter Four

Zionism in Red, White, and Green

Although the attitude of Hungarian Jewish Orthodoxy towards Zionism as such lies beyond the scope of the present study, the subject is relevant and important insofar as it illustrates the attitudes of this religious stream toward Hungarian nationhood. The consensus amongst scholars is that the leaders of both the religious streams reacted negatively to the emergence of Zionism: the Neologs rejected the new movement on the grounds of Hungarian patriotism, while the Orthodox did so for theological reasons. The following pages will not repeat the conclusions already detailed in earlier studies. My purpose, rather, is to highlight the uniquely Hungarian character of Orthodox Judaism, a facet which I consider to have gradually become a key factor in Hungarian-Orthodox opposition to Zionism and one to which insufficient attention has hitherto been paid.1

1 The historian Borbála Klacsmann, for example, attributes the Hungarian rejection of Zionism to religious factors, while ignoring the Hungarian-national aspect: Borbála Klacsmann, “The Reception of Early Zionist Movement in Budapest (1897–1914)” (MA thesis, Central European University, Budapest, 2012), 56–68.

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A. “This Rash Movement”—The First Two Decades The Zionist movement emerged at the peak of Hungarian Jewry’s “Golden Age,” during a period when Jews felt at ease in the country, past problems appeared to have been overcome, and the future seemed bright.2 Reception, which was regarded as the final stage in the protracted process of emancipation, created a sense of victory and satisfaction among the Jewish public. Against this background, they were not inclined to refocus their gaze on a new national objective. Even the non-Jewish centrist-liberal newspaper wondered: Is today—when thanks to the approaches of enlightenment and Christian tolerance we advocate equality, fraternity, acceptance, and integration—the time to disturb Jewry with Zionist ideas and dreams of Palestine?3 Some scholars have attempted to show that the Zionist movement attained support in Hungary.4 In general, however, it is agreed that the movement was much less popular among Jews here—Neolog and Orthodox—than in most other European countries. While many East European Jews regarded Zionism

2 On Zionism in Central Europe, see Miron, “Zionism and Jewish Nationhood”; Ehud Luz, Parallels Meet: Religion and Nationalism in the Early Zionist Movement (1882–1904) (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1988); Jacob Katz, Jewish Nationhood: Essays and Studies [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zionist Library, 1979); Yaacov Tzur, Between Orthodoxy and Zionism: Religious Zionism and Its Opponents in Germany, 1896–1914 [Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2001); Marsha L. Rozenblit, “Zionism in Habsburg Austria and in the ‘Successor States,’” in Zionism in Its Regions [Hebrew], ed. Alon Gal ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2010: 341–373); Jehuda Reinharz and Binyamin Ben-Baruch, “Zionists and Jewish Liberals in Germany, Austro-Hungary, and Bohemia,” in Zionism and Its Opponents in the Jewish People [Hebrew], ed. Haim Avni and Gidon Shimoni ( Jerusalem: Zionist Library, 1990), 89–100. On Zionism in Hungary, see Zvi Zahavi, From the Chatam Sofer to Herzl [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: National Library, 1972); Friedlander, “Thought and Practice.” On early Zionism in Hungary, see Klacsmann, “Reception.” For Zionism in Hungary in the interwar period, see Chava Eichler, “The Unique Character of the Zionist Movement in Hungary between the Two World Wars” [Hebrew], Yahadut Zemaneinu 5 (1989): 91–114; Attila Novák, “Zionism in Hungary between the Two World Wars,” in In the Land of Hagar, ed. Anna Szalai (Tel Aviv: Beth Hatefutsoth, 2002), 133–140. 3 Budapesti Hirlap, September 3, 1897. 4 See, for example, Zahavi, From the Chatam Sofer; Zvi Zahavi, From Assimilation to Zionism, the History of Hibbat Zion and Zionism in Hungary from 1860 to 1948 [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zionist Library, 1973); Alexander Ron, “The Zionist Movement in Hungary between the Two World Wars” [Hebrew] (PhD diss., Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1996); Yichak PerriFriedmann, History of Jews in Hungary [Hebrew] (Bnei Brak: private publication, 2003), 311–341.

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as an appropriate response to antisemitism, few Hungarian Jews were inclined to adopt this position.5 The Hungarian-Jewish historian Schweitzer explained the reasons for the rejection of Zionism by Neolog and liberal circles in an article entitled “Why did the Jews of Hungary not need Herzl?”.6 Komoróczy shows that a large majority of the Orthodox also rejected Zionism, at least in the first two decades following the establishment of the movement.7 Membership of the Zionist movement in Hungary was small and it had little public influence.8 The rejection of Zionism by the Jewish establishment is particularly notable given the general official response of Hungary to the movement. According to Karady, the Hungarian state was indifferent to Zionism during the Dualist period, and did not even regard the movement as antithetical to Hungarian nationalism.9 On September 8, 1897, after the First Zionist Congress, the main newspapers in Budapest quoted the reactions of prominent Jewish leaders to the Zionist idea.10 The historian Sámuel Kohn, head of the large Neolog community in the capital, declared: The political aspiration of Zionism to establish a new Jewish state in Palestine is, in my opinion, dangerous and insane. The initiative of Zionism to turn the Jewish denomination into a nation will never succeed in Hungary. There are Hungarians of the Jewish religion, but there is no Jewish nationhood. On this matter all are unanimous, Neolog and Orthodox. The rabbis

5 See, for example, Kramer, Emancipation, chapter 1; Eichler, “Unique Character,” 94. 6 Gábor Schweitzer, “Why did the Jews of Hungary Not Need Herzl?” [Hungarian], EPA Budapesti Negyed 4 (1994). 7 Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 289–295. 8 Zionist records show that in 1937 the various Zionist associations in Hungary had some 3,600 members; in 1935, 5,763 people made the Zionist shekel donation: Braham and Katzburg, History of the Holocaust, 80. This figure represents just over one percent of the Jewish population of Hungary. From the 1930s to the beginning of the war, the Zionist movement in Hungary had 2,000–4,000 members out of a total Jewish population of around 440,000: Novák, “Zionism in Hungary,” 134–135.  Emigrants to Palestine in 1932–1938 included 1,335 from Hungary, 4,244 from Austria, and 3,903 from Czechoslovakia, accounting for 0.3 percent, 2.2 percent, and 1.1 percent of the Jewish population in these countries, respectively: Nathaniel Katzburg, “Zionist Reactions to Hungarian Anti-Jewish Legislation 1939–1942,” Yad Vashem Studies 16 (1984): 131–141. 9 Victor Karady, “Antisemitism in Twentieth-Century Hungary: A Socio-Historical Overview,” Patterns of Prejudice 27, no. 1 (1993): 72. Karady provides a table itemizing different types of antisemitism in Hungary for each decade from 1867 through 1992, including the response to Zionism. 10 Venetianer, History, 318; the book does not list sources or names of newspapers.

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of the country’s communities have unequivocally rejected the obsessive idea of a Jewish state. Rabbi Lipót Lipschitz, the head of the National Orthodox Office, referred to Zionism as “this rash movement,”11 claiming: Regarding Zionism, the Orthodox join with the other Jews; they too condemn the rash nature of Zionism in undermining Hungarian patriotism and religion. The Hungarians of the Jewish religion seek to consolidate their happiness at home, and do not even imagine creating a new nation. During the preparations for the congress, the Orthodox leadership was asked whether Hungarian Jews would join the movement. We clarified that there would be no members here of the Zionist movement, based as it is in part on an ideal and in part on an unrealistic fantasy.12 It is difficult to determine who criticizes Zionism more sharply, the Neolog leaders or the Orthodox rabbi. After many years of debates, insults, and arguments, it appears that the leaders of both factions finally found an issue on which they agreed. Their agreement was manifested not only in the fact that they rejected the Zionist idea, but more importantly in the reason for their doing so. All the above spokesmen regard Zionism as incompatible with their loyalty to Hungary and decry the intention to replace Hungarian nationhood with Jewish nationhood. The assessments of the lack of support for Zionism in Hungary proved to be accurate for the period through the First World War, and to a slightly lesser degree thereafter, as the large majority of Hungarian Jews continued to decline to join the Zionist movement. The Neologs, who had attached their fate to that of Hungary and advocated acculturation and integration with the nation, rejected Zionism since it offered an alternative that negated their vision. In 1897, the Neolog organ Egyenlőség declared categorically: There is not, will not be, and should not be any Hungarian Zionism. No compromise exists between Zionism and the Hungarian soul. A Hungarian is a Hungarian, even if he is Jewish;

11 Patai, Jews, 341. 12 Venetianer, History, 318.

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his soul is Hungarian, his feelings are Hungarian. . . . Zionism in Hungary has only one name—treason.13 Miksa Szabolcsi (1857–1915), the editor of Egyenlőség,14 traveled to Vienna in 1903 to meet Herzl, in an attempt to convince him that he should not waste his time trying to convert Hungarian Jews to Zionism. Szabolcsi declared that the Hungarian Jew was more than happy to be a Jew by way of religion; as far as nationality was concerned, he sought only to be a Magyar. Antisemitism might be raging with unprecedented force through the world, but the patriotism of the Magyar Jews would remain unshaken.15 Herzl agreed with his visitor and emphasized that he had no intention of promoting Zionism in Hungary. In 1903, Herzl wrote to the Neolog leader and Member of Parliament Ernő Mezei (1851–1932): Hungarian Zionism can only be red, white, and green [the colors of the Hungarian flag]; I am not so blinded as to try and fail in Hungary.16 Until June 1897, the main Orthodox newspaper the Zsidó Hiradó did not see fit to report on the Zionist idea that was generating a storm in the Jewish world, regarding it as “foolish and worthless.”17 As interest grew ahead of the First Zionist Congress in August, an unsigned editorial article appeared explaining that the newspaper had not hitherto mentioned Zionism because “the movement’s aspirations were hopeless and ridiculous, just as they still are today.”18 However, the newspaper added that Zionist propaganda had recently intensified and was liable to mislead many fine people; accordingly, the time had come to respond. Any person “within whom a true Jewish heart beats” longs for Zion and dreams that, one day, he will be able to visit the holy ancestral

13 András Kovács, “Jews and Jewishness in Post-War Hungary,” Journal of Fondazione CDEC, Quest, Issues in Contemporary Jewish History (2010): 1. 14 Péter Ujvári, ed., Jewish-Magyar Lexicon [Hungarian] (Budapest: Pallas, 1929), 818–819. Szabolcsi was arguably the most prominent Jewish columnist in Hungary. He played a key role in the struggle against the Tiszaeszlár blood libel and coordinated a group of 3,000 Jews who adopted Hungarian names to mark the Millennium. 15 Avigdor Löwenheim, “Theodor Herzl and the Jews of Hungary: A Conversation with Herzl from 1903,” Zion 54, no. 3 (1989): 465–466. The quotes are from an article that appeared in the Neolog journal on June 28, 1903 and again on July 10, 1904. 16 Kovács, Jews and Jewishness, 1. 17 “On Zionism,” ZsH, June 10, 1897. 18 Ibid.

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land. However, it was still inappropriate to establish a Jewish nation in the Land of Israel. The Zionist idea was unacceptable for two reasons. First, the Zionists adhered to secular worldviews and were far removed from the observance of the commandments; as such, they were not fit to propose solutions for the Jews. Only those who maintain the closest bond with Jewish values can influence Jews in a way that will change the course of their lives. Secondly, even if God-fearing men had formulated the Zionist idea, it would have to be rejected out of hand, since its essence seeks to alter the fate that the Almighty has determined for His people. The Jews were exiled from their land because of their sins, and only God is able and entitled to forgive them and end the exile. Mortals do not have the right to attempt to change the course of Jewish history. Moreover, the Jews are currently scattered around the globe, and in the different locations they vary considerably in their character, way of life, and culture. The idea that they could be coalesced into a united nation living on its own land is completely spurious; only the divine power could perform such a miracle. “How do those who are unfamiliar with the people’s past wish to change its future history?” The only way to expedite redemption was to return to the Torah and to Jewish tradition.19 Given the identity of the newspaper, this position is unremarkable; it reflects the traditional opposition to Zionism on theological grounds. Shortly thereafter, however, another journalist in the newspaper rejected the Zionist initiative for different reasons. Ernő Osváth20 appears to have been the first writer to deflect the focus of the anti-Zionist argument in the Zsidó Hiradó toward the issue of loyalty to Hungary; until the Holocaust, this position would remain the hallmark of Western Orthodoxy in Hungary.21 Osváth repeated the familiar argument that only God could change the course of Jewish history. “Until then,” he continued, “the Jew bears only one obligation: to love the land that hosts him, to adhere to his homeland and its ruler with all his strength. . . . Woe betide those who seek to deviate from this path and to uproot from the hearts the sacred attitude toward the homeland. . . .” Thus, a new dimension begins to accompany the religious and theological arguments against Zionism. Zionism is to be opposed because it requires Jews to abandon their love of their homeland in favor of founding a Jewish nationstate in the Land of Israel. Osváth combines the traditional and nationalist

19 Ibid. 20 Ernő Osváth (1877–1929) was born as Yechezkel Roth in Transylvania and was a journalist and one of the editors of the important literary journal Nyugat (The West). He does not appear to have been active in Orthodox circles and may not have been an Orthodox Jew: Ujvári, Lexicon, 675. 21 Ernő Osváth, “The Failure of the Zionist Movement,” ZsH, July 1, 1897.

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arguments and offers what could be interpreted to be as an interim position in the transition between tradition and modernity. The two national loyalties are regarded as mutually incompatible; “the sacred attitude toward the homeland” requires loyalty to Hungary; this is not a choice, but a divine imperative. Until the exile is halted by God, Jewish faith and tradition dictate the choice of the Hungarian homeland and accordingly reject the Zionist idea. In order to substantiate the claim that Zionism is “ridiculous and founded in sin,” Osváth quotes opinions published in the Jewish newspaper of Munich, after members of the local community discovered to their amazement the plans to hold the First Zionist Congress in their city: This news appeared prominently in the German antisemitic press, which responded with great joy to the plan and wished it every success. . . . Munich Jewry in its entirety opposes the congress, which is contrary to the national aspirations of the Jews. . . . All are unanimous in the opinion that the Zionist movement must be combated in every possible way. . . . It is sad that among our coreligionists there are those who cast aspersions on our patriotism and our national affiliation.22 As the report implies, Herzl indeed initially wished to hold his gathering in Munich, the capital of German-European culture. However, the Jews of the city, including the Orthodox community, threatened to ask the Bavarian authorities to prevent the event going ahead.23 The fierce opposition of the Jews of Munich to the planned congress, and the reports of opposition among the Jews of Germany, England, and France are quoted in support of the writer’s position. The reports focus exclusively on the German-nationalist opposition to the planned event, but Osváth extends the argument to include Hungarian Jewry, condemning the Zionists “who cast aspersions on our patriotism and our national affiliation.” Thus the Zionist message was regarded as incompatible with Hungarian patriotism. Jews who believe that until the coming of the messiah Hungary is their land of residence and the place where they seek to prosper and develop will naturally reject Zionism. The pleasure of the antisemites in Munich at the emergence of Zionism heightens the apparent similarity between the Zionist ideal and antisemitic theory, in the sense that both encourage Jews to migrate from the countries where they live. The ostensible connection between antisemitism, 22 Ibid. (emphasis in original). 23 The online Ben-Yehuda Project presents the correspondence between the preparatory committee for the Zionist Congress and the executive of the Jewish community in Munich regarding the plan to hold the event in the city: Binyamin Zeev Herzl, “Change of the Place of Congress” [Hebrew], http://benyehuda.org/herzl/herzl_013.html.

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which was regarded by Jews as the epitome of evil, and Zionism tainted the latter movement and led many to reject it out of hand. It can be assumed that the Jews of Hungary were particularly sensitive to this connection. Győző Istóczy (1842–1915), the founder of the antisemitic party in Hungary, demanded in 1878 that Jews be encouraged to emigrate to Palestine in order to resolve the “Jewish Question.” Some researchers have even suggested that Istóczy’s ideas influenced Herzl,24 and Herzl himself noted with satisfaction in his journal that the Member of Parliament Iván Simonyi (1838–1904), who joined Istóczy in founding the antisemitic party, had visited him and expressed support for the Zionist idea.25 As part of the debate surrounding the proposal to hold the Zionist congress in Munich, a group of “Protest Rabbis” (Protestrabbiner) published a statement in Berlin opposing the idea. The statement was signed by all five members of the board of the Association of Rabbis in Germany, including Werner, the Reform rabbi of Munich, and Rabbi Marcus Horowitz, who belonged to the communal Orthodox group in Frankfurt.26 The second paragraph of the statement addresses the question of nationhood. “The Jewish religion obliges its faithful to serve the homeland (Vaterland), to which they belong with all their soul, and to assist in its national affairs with all their heart and might.” This wording, proposed by Horowitz, replaced Werner’s original draft: “The Jewish religion obliges its faithful to adhere to the nationhood of the people among whom they reside and to love the homeland with all their heart.”27 Evidently Werner’s wording was unacceptable to Horowitz, who sought to moderate the degree of national identification; his wording neither confirms nor rejects the idea of Jewish nationhood.28 The German Orthodox rabbi in this instance appears to have been more circumspect than his colleagues among the Western Orthodox stream in Hungary in explicitly adopting a non-Jewish national identity. As we will see below, some Orthodox writers in Hungary went even further in their patriotic declarations. In the early years of the Zionist movement, it attracted many rabbis and religious figures in Eastern Europe, who even attended the movement’s congresses and conferences. The anti-Zionist tendencies in these circles

24 Andrew Handler, An Early Blueprint for Zionism: Győző Istóczy’s Political Anti-Semitism (Boulder, CO: East European Monographs, 1989). 25 Schweitzer, “Why did the Jews of Hungary,” 5. 26 For a detailed discussion of the rabbinical statement, see Tzur, Between Orthodoxy and Zionism, 125–140. 27 Ibid., 131. 28 Ibid., 138.

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developed only after it became apparent that Zionism also advocated changes in the spiritual and social domains.29 These religious figures were far more troubled by Zionism’s secular character than by its nationalist message, and alongside the opponents a significant religious-Zionist circle also formed. In Hungary, by contrast, the Orthodox establishment rejected Zionism even its early stages due to what it regarded as the movement’s incompatibility with its attitudes toward Hungary. A comparison between the methods adopted in the struggle against Zionism in Eastern Europe and in Hungary offers insights into the unique positions held among the Orthodox public in Hungary. In Eastern Europe, the struggle was fierce. A central anti-Zionist office—the “Black Office”—was established in Vilna to coordinate the various wings of the campaign. The office disseminated antiZionist leaflets throughout Russia and Poland, and sent peripatetic preachers to towns and villages in an effort to influence public opinion.30 Leading rabbis and Hasidic chiefs joined the campaign, and even published books devoted to the anti-Zionist message with titles such as Light for the Honest: Against the Zionist Method, and The Rabbinical View: Against the Zionist Idea.31 The vigorous campaign waged by the Orthodox and the involvement of their leaders in the struggle reflect a recognition that the new movement was highly attractive to Jews in Eastern Europe. In Hungary, where the Jewish public was much less politicized, the struggle against Zionism had a far more relaxed character and was waged mainly in the press; the leadership does not appear to have been concerned that the Orthodox masses might join the movement. It is worth adding that during this period nationalist ideology was far more demanding in Hungary than in most of the other countries of Eastern Europe, and Hungarian Jews were reluctant to break ranks with this approach. A week before the congress in Basel, Jakab Vértes criticized Zionism from a new angle in the Zsidó Hiradó.32 He claimed that it was absurd that those who in the past had sought to remove references to Zion and Jerusalem from the prayer books (in other words the Reform) were now launching the Zionist movement. Those who had sought to eliminate the Land of Israel from collective memory were now making the same land the focus of their efforts; accordingly, they could not be taken seriously. This critique regards Zionism as a new twist in the Reform movement, and as such it was of course to be utterly 29 Luz, Parallels, 269–275. 30 On the Orthodox struggle against Zionism in Eastern Europe, see ibid., 287–293. 31 Light for the Honest was published in Warsaw in 1900, and The Rabbinical View in the same city in 1902. 32 Jakab Vértes, “Signs—Zionism,” ZsH, August 19, 1897.

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rejected. The Reform had tried for a century to alter Judaism, in the belief that this would encourage emancipation. Now, having seen that the hatred of Jews was persisting despite all their efforts, they realized that they needed to change their tactic, and the direction they chose was Zionism. “Deaf and blind, they fail to see the message reflected in the events of the past hundred years. Judaism and the religion are a single unit; an attempt to harm one part will also harm the other. . . . This is the message to those who are convening the Zionist Congress.” Vértes concluded that the Jews should remain faithful and devoted to the countries in which they live and fulfill their universal mission as a “light unto the nations.” Associating Zionism with Reform Judaism provided a powerful argument for rejecting the new movement. Vértes also reiterated the claim that the differences between different Jewish communities around the world were so great that the Zionist plan to unite them was impractical and doomed to failure. Religion was the only factor that had been able to unify the Jews in the past; but Herzl and his associates were far-removed from religion and tradition, and accordingly could not play this role. The Zsidó Hiradó reported that despite protests from Jews around the world, the Zionist Congress had indeed convened in Basel. At first, rumors suggested that the movement was only suggesting that a home be created for stateless Jews. However, during the course of the congress, the movement clarified that its aim was to establish a national home in Palestine for all Jews, by diplomatic means and in accordance with international law. To this end, the movement sought to create awareness that the Jews constitute a people and a nation. The newspaper reported the Zionist claim that they had secured nine thousand signatures, but added that these had come mainly from countries such as Russia and Romania, where the Jews were oppressed and open to persuasion. Why, it asked, had the Zionists not presented signatures of Jews from England, France, Hungary, Germany, Italy, or the Netherlands—countries where the Jews were more intelligent and freer in their thought? The reason: the Jews in these countries recognized that Zionism was based on chauvinistic ideas alien to the spirit of Judaism: We are convinced that any loyal Jew should be horrified by the Zionist idea, since it is neither Jewish nor patriotic! Or perhaps it is better simply to say that it was un-Jewish, since one of the most sacred obligations in Judaism is patriotism, loyalty to the homeland, and love of the country in which you live and whose bounty you enjoy—even if the country is not welcoming. To speak of a Jewish “nation” is to cause the gravest harm to the

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soul of Judaism. . . . Moreover, Zionism serves anti-Semitic propaganda and encourages them to raise racist theories and ideas concerning the inability of Jews to integrate in their surroundings and their disloyalty to the homeland. . . . Human history is full of stories of Jews’ loyalty to their country and ruler, and this is universally known, so that neither the antisemites nor the Zionists will be able to change people’s opinions. . . . It is true that there is a bond between Jews around the world; however, this is not a national bond but a religious one that requires the faithful to adhere to their country and ruler. It is precisely this religious obligation that prevents the possibility of a movement that seeks to secure national cohesion.33 After the Zionist Congress, the weekly developed an anti-Zionist approach based on the contrast between the call for Jewish national cohesion and the “sacred religious” commitment to Hungary. The traditional theological argument is still employed, but gradually attention focuses on the Hungarian national dimension, which is in itself interpreted as a religious commandment. After the agitation surrounding the First Zionist Congress abated, and after the journal had taken out its anger on the Zionist, Verus published an article in the Zsidó Hiradó offering a more balanced assessment of the new movement.34 Verus explained that Zionism had emerged as a reaction to the European antisemitism of the nineteenth century; it sought to oppose this phenomenon in the name of human decency and the spirit of the “humanistic century.” Most of those who joined the movement were motivated by the desire to combat antisemitism rather than by the vision of establishing a nation-state. The struggle against antisemitism and the desire to come together to this end reflected feelings of Jewish fellowship and encourages Jewish pride and awareness, and as such it is laudable. Since Zionism aroused Jewish sentiments, it would ultimately also encourage Jews to return to the Torah, which is the only source that could offer the distinct identity the Zionists seek to emphasize. The article exposes the dilemma that faced Modern Orthodox Judaism in its response to the phenomenon of Zionism. It rejected the new movement from the theological standpoint, and even more so from the Hungarian-national angle. At the same time, against the background of assimilation and disregard for Judaism among Jews, it could see the merits of a movement based on Jewish

33 Memor, “The Basel Congress,” ZsH, September 9, 1897. 34 Verus, “Another Word about Zionism,” ZsH, September 16, 1897.

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values, albeit in a secular form. Zionism utterly negated assimilation and urged the assimilating Jews of the time to reassume a Jewish identity—a position consistent with the religious approach. Verus admitted that at least for those who have gone astray, Zionism could offer a positive route from a religious perspective. Moreover, while the movement had a secular consciousness, it offered the potential for a future return to religion. Accordingly, the writer expresses sympathy for Zionism despite all the differences of opinion. In other countries, too, religious defenders of Zionism claimed that it was drawing back Jews who had assimilated and become alienated from the Jewish spirit, and were thus liable to be lost forever. By contrast, anti-Zionist Orthodoxy in Eastern Europe rejected this argument, claiming that Zionism had the potential to cause far more harm than good. The Lubavitcher Rebbe even claimed that Zionism was far worse than the Enlightenment or Reform Judaism, since it created an alternative path for secular Jewish life and converted religious identity into secular-national identity.35 Anti-Zionist polemics in Hungary did not draw on such arguments to support its case. However, passions remained inflamed among the anti-Zionist camp. Ahead of the Second Zionist Congress, a writer in the Zsidó Hiradó declared “the death of the movement before it was even born.”36 The article is based on criticism leveled by members of the Zionist movement itself ahead of the gathering. In particular, the writer draws on an article written by Dr. Aharon Kaminka (1886–1950), a participant in the First Congress and an enthusiastic Zionist. Kaminka criticized Herzl for failing to implement the plan to settle Jews in Palestine and for his lack of interest in Jewish matters.37 The newspaper repeated the theological argument that Zionism could not be successful, since no mortal could interfere in divine providence. Orthodoxy faced a new challenge following the founding of the Mizrachi Orthodox-Zionist stream within the Zionist movement in 1902, in response to the decision by the Zionist Congress to engage in secular-Zionist education. The Zsidó Hiradó reported on the plans to hold a gathering of the Mizrachi in Pressburg, and reiterated its rejection of Zionism,38 emphasizing that this remained unchanged following the emergence of an Orthodox wing within the new movement. Religious Judaism in Europe rejected the movement, and Hungarian Jewry did so particularly forcefully “for reasons of patriotism 35 Luz, Parallels, 283–284. 36 “On the Eve of the Second Zionist Congress,” ZsH, June 2, 1898. 37 Ha-Maggid, no. 17, May 5, 1898. 38 “The Zionist (Mizrachi) Congress,” ZsH, June–July 1904 (by this stage the newspaper had become a bimonthly publication).

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and loyalty to the homeland.” The newspaper again recognized that Zionism could play a positive role in combating antisemitism, but added that this was not required in Hungary, where this was not a serious problem. In conclusion, there was no real difference between the Mizrachi and secular Zionism: “Although it strengthens the bond to the Jewish people in certain circles, it also undermines the bond between Jews and the countries where they reside.” Thus the impression is that the opposition to Zionism in this Hungarian-language newspaper began with theological arguments, but gradually acquired a more prominent patriotic tone. The writer explicitly acknowledges that among the Orthodox communities in the various countries, the position of Hungarian Orthodoxy rejecting Zionism “on the grounds of patriotism and loyalty to the homeland” is unique. The newspaper that appeared in Jüdisch-Deutsch had a weaker affinity to Hungary and was less patriotic, and as a result it also adopted a more positive position toward Zionism. The newspaper reported that recent antisemitic incidents in Hungary have encouraged emigration to the Land of Israel even among prosperous circles. The number of emigrants has reached hundreds, and perhaps even thousands. It is well-known that Hungarians are among the most important pioneers. They do not wish to be dependent on charity;39 some of them even aspire to purchase land in the Land of Israel. Their key priority is agriculture. The founders include pious and observant Jews.40 The harsh, negative tones seen elsewhere are absent here. The newspaper takes a positive view of emigration to Palestine for the purpose of its settlement in the spirit of Zionism—in contrast to the old system where Jews engaged solely in religious study in the country and were supported by donations from abroad (the chalukah or “distribution” system). On other occasion, the weekly newspaper reported on a session at the Zionist Congress in which the president of the Central Committee of Zionists in Galicia reported that one hundred thousand francs had been raised to establish a Hebrew high-school in Jerusalem. The writer expressed joy at this news, but added a note of concern: “There is already a Hebrew high school in Jaffa that has educated graduates, all of whom

39 Kollel Ungarn was the second-largest traditional charitable body in the old Jewish community in Jerusalem, after Kollel Holland ve-Deutschland. 40 “A Hungarian-Jewish Colony in the Land of Israel,” AJZ, January 3, 1910.

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are heretics and converts! This will surely also be the education of the students at the high-school in Jerusalem. The Orthodox must be aware of this problem, but they must not engage in boycotts and prohibitions.”41 Later reports suggest that the writer approved of Zionist activities in Palestine. By way of example, he quoted Davis Triesch (1870–1935), a Zionist writer and activist from Berlin, who declared that “a greater emphasis must be placed on physical work and industrialization in Palestine, and not only on agriculture.” Similarly, he quoted approvingly a comment by Dr. Arthur Rubin of Jaffa (1876–1943) that “the moshavim [agricultural settlements] should be supported.”42 Like the Neo-Orthodox in Germany, and like the liberal streams in Germany and Hungary, the Western Orthodox “broadly shared the political vision of emancipation, which left no room for the rise of Jewish nationalism.”43 However, there was slightly more support for Zionism in Germany than in Hungary, and a greater emphasis on loyalty to the host nation, as distinct from identification with it. The next section reviews the attitude toward Zionism in Hungary after the First World War, against the background of the significant changes in the political and social realms.

B. Zionism in the Interwar Period Toward the end of 1925, Menachem Ussishkin, the president of the Jewish National Fund, visited Budapest in an attempt to recruit support for the Zionist movement among the Jews of Hungary.44 On his arrival, he expressed his surprise that in Europe and America Jews of Hungarian origin were active in promoting the interests of Jews as a whole, while in Hungary itself the Jews avoided global Jewish trends and concerns, including Zionism. Ussishkin declared that the support and involvement of Hungarian Jewry in the struggle for the Land of Israel was vital in a period when there was a real chance of achieving national revival.45 Ussishkin admitted that Zionism had so far failed to spark the imagination of Hungarian Jews, whose response to the movement ranged from apathy to rejection; he set himself the goal of changing this reality.

41 “The Zionist Congress,” AJZ, September 8, 1913. 42 Ibid. 43 Miron, “Between the Worlds,” 58. 44 Yossi Goldstein’s Ussishkin—A Biography [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 2005), 87, mentions the visit but does not offer any details. 45 “Ussishkin in Budapest,” ZsU, December 11, 1925.

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The article in the Zsidó Ujság devoted to Ussishkin’s visit explains that Orthodox Judaism opposes the Zionist plan to settle Palestine, despite the fact that settling the Land of Israel is a religious commandment of the utmost importance. The reason for this is that “the Zionist organizations in Palestine are not compatible with Orthodoxy”; the author does not explain why this is the case. In a different context, Lajos Hartstein, the Vice-President of the National Orthodox Office, declared that Zionism was contrary to Hungarian Orthodoxy; the conference of Orthodox rabbis also reaffirmed this position, which it had originally established in 1904. The emphasis on the claim that Zionism was incompatible with Hungarian Orthodoxy, rather than with Orthodox Judaism in general, again suggests that the main reason for the rejection was the adherence to a Hungarian national identity, rather than theological concerns. Discussing the Numerus Clausus (see chapter eight), Hartstein emphasized that the proposal was offensive to Jews, since they regarded themselves as part of the Hungarian collective rather than as a racial or national minority.46 The self-perception of the Jews as religious denomination is a constant theme in the newspaper; this definition could not permit identification with Zionist national aspirations.47 In a reaction in the Zsidó Ujság to a speech by the mayor of Miskolc in which he referred to the “Jewish Question,” the writer emphasizes that this question is interpreted in completely different ways by Orthodox, Zionist, and Neolog Jews and by the antisemites. The Zionists argue that the Jews of Europe should be settled in Palestine due to the deterioration in the physical conditions of Jews in Eastern Europe and due to growing assimilation and alienation from Judaism among the relatively small Jewish communities in the west of the continent.48 The author’s schematic division separates the Orthodox not only from the Neologs, with whom they had a long account to settle, but also from the Zionists; thus Orthodoxy and Zionism are depicted as two distinct tendencies with little in common. Regarding settlement of the Land of Israel, the Orthodox position is that this should be solely for the purpose of Torah study, according to the old model. The country could certainly also serve as a haven for persecuted Jewish refugees, but the Zionist goal of mass settlement was unacceptable. The writer does not mention the secular character of the Zionist organization as a

46 “Numerus Clausus, Zionism, and the Status Quo Organization,” ZsU, November 25, 1927. 47 For a general discussion of Zionism in the interwar period, see Chava Eichler, “Zionism and Youth in Hungary between the Two World Wars” [Hebrew] (PhD diss., Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan, 1982); Eichler, “Unique Character.” 48 “Two Mikszáths,” ZsU, July 9, 1926. Kalman Mikszáth was a pro-Jewish writer, but his son, the mayor of Miskolc, adopted an anti-Jewish tone after his election.

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reason for rejecting the movement, and this article also omits the theological and messianic objections usually raised by ultra-Orthodox opponents of Zionism. Again, it can be concluded that the writer’s chief concern was his attachment to Hungary and the fact that the Zionist vision contradicted the goal of ongoing Jewish life in exile. The discomfort with Zionism is due to the desire to concentrate on economic integration in Hungary, with the accompanying expectation of growing social and legal acceptance. Thus the reason for the rejection of Zionism among Western Orthodoxy as presented in the newspaper is actually closer to the Neolog position than to that of the ultra-Orthodox. In a critical article from February 1928 discussing the attempts by the Zionist leadership in Palestine to curtail the autonomy of the Orthodox communities in the country, the writer mentions the secular character of Zionism as a reason for its rejection.49 However, he then adopts a new focus, emphasizing that Zionism seeks to establish a form of Jewish nationhood in the Land of Israel that will serve as a substitute for religion. Such Jewish nationhood, built on religious ideas and symbols, could create a “secular religion” that would displace the traditional faith. Given this danger, it was important to protest against the increasing number of rabbis and religious figures who were joining the Zionist movement. In order to encourage such protests, the writer recalls that in 1904, in an effort to expand their influence in traditional circles, the Orthodox-Zionists of the Mizrachi movement sought to hold their second world conference in Pressburg. A large number of Hungarian rabbis (the writer lists them with their home cities) sharply condemned the initiative and issued a firm prohibition against attending the event. The writer quotes from a letter written in Hebrew by the rabbi of Pressburg, Simcha Bunim, to his counterpart in Vác: He asked me to offer my opinion concerning those Zionists who call themselves Mizrachi. . . . I hereby warn all the great rabbis in our country and in other countries that they must not join and associate with them in their gathering; all those who fear the Lord shall steer clear of them. And in particular I order and instruct all the decent students . . . not to join with them in association. Those who guard their soul shall draw away from them and from their ilk.50 Zionism is not merely a secular movement, but one that proposes a form of Jewish nationhood that is liable to compete with religion, at best weakening it

49 In 1928, the British Mandate government officially announced that all Jews in Palestine must belong to a single Jewish community—Knesset Israel. The Old Yishuv opposed this unification. 50 “Orthodoxy and Zionism,” ZsU, January 28, 1928.

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if not overcoming it. The rabbinical campaign against the Pressburg gathering was the product of an appeal by the anti-Zionist office in Vilna to the Hungarian rabbis and a letter sent by Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik to the editor of the religious journal Tel Talpiyot.51 Both streams sought to persuade the authorities not to allow the movement to operate in the country. They were successful until 1927, when the issue was raised again. Hartstein asked the interior minister to remove the item from the government’s agenda; otherwise, he claimed, a rabbinical conference would be held to announce a boycott of the Zionist movement. Despite the threats, the Hungarian government issued a permit for the Zionist movement to operate in Hungary, determining that it was not acting against the interests of the country.52 Nevertheless, the religious leaderships continued to regard cooperation with the Zionists as an unpatriotic act. The newspaper devoted considerable space to developments in Palestine, which was referred to sometimes by this name and in other cases as “the Holy Land” (Szentföld).53 The press reported on the violent attacks in 1929, the British decision to acquiesce to Arab pressure and suspend Jewish immigration, the White Paper, and so forth.54 The dominant tone was one of sympathy and concern, while reiterating that the desirable form of emigration was for religious purposes, or as a refuge for persecuted Jews. The Jews of Hungary were not regarded as persecuted, despite numerous reports of antisemitism, particularly in the social realm; accordingly, the newspaper did not support the Zionist model of settlement-oriented emigration. The newspaper argued that the British position adopted in the White Paper was not the product of rational consideration, but constituted a shameful surrender to the Arab rioters, and accordingly deserved fierce condemnation. It continued: “Has the United States not closed its gates to immigration, it would not have been so terrible; but the Jews hoped that the Land of Israel would serve as a refuge, as promised in the Balfour Declaration; and this promise has now been broken.”55 The newspaper’s position is therefore pragmatic; allowing Jewish emigration to the United States is regarded as an equally satisfactory solution. In the 1930s the opposition to settlement in the Land of Israel appears to have moderated somewhat, possibly under the influence of reports from Germany following the rise to power of Hitler. An article from mid-1933 refers 51 Luz, Parallels, 334–335. 52 Patai, Jews, 510. 53 In the quotes here, I have retained the term used by each writer. 54 ZsU, August 23, 1929; September 6, 1929; May 23, 1930; October 24, 1930. 55 “The Crisis in the Holy Land,” ZsU, October 24, 1930.

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to forty educated young people who found it difficult to secure employment and decided to study agriculture and emigrate to Palestine to work the land. Báro Hatvany, a Hungarian landowner, generously offered to make available a farm where they could gain experience in order to advance their plan. A scandal immediately ensued after a cleric who was a member of parliament claimed that Hatvany was intending to provide shelter for 150 German-Jewish refugees; as a result, the plan did not go ahead. The article describes the initiative of the young Hungarian Jews in extremely positive and sympathetic terms, despite the fact that they were secular and evidently intended to settle in the Land of Israel in the Zionist spirit of building the land. The writer added that “making the deserts of the Holy Land bloom” (a recurrent Zionist theme) was a key religious commandment; moreover, it was possible that after moving to the Land of Israel, the young people in question would return to the faith.56 The newspaper later clarified: We do not agree with the political approach of Zionism and with many of the ideas raised at the recent Zionist Congress. However, one matter deserves to be adopted: the overall responsibility for the problems of the Jewish people reflected in the act of holding the Congress.57 The writer acknowledges the insularity of Hungarian Orthodoxy and its reluctance to address the problems of world Jewry, and suggests that it should learn from the Zionist model of responsibility for all Jews. Alongside the condemnation and rejection of Zionism, therefore, an element of admiration can also be seen: Zionism seeks to combat antisemitism and strengthens Jewish awareness and pride. It opposes assimilation and allows Jews to return to the fold after they have become estranged. Making the deserts of the Land of Israel bloom is a sacred act, and the country is also coming to serve as a refuge for persecuted Jews.58 The likelihood that a Jew living in the Land of Israel would return to the faith was far higher than in the Diaspora. Unlike official Orthodoxy in Hungary, Zionism strengthened Jewish solidarity and reflected a sense of responsibility for all Jews—an argument that embodies criticism of the Orthodox establishment. Positive aspects such as these might be regarded as isolated points of light that cannot tip the scales in favor of Zionism for the Orthodox writer. However, it is

56 “German-Jewish Refugees and Young Hungarian Jews,” ZsU, May 12, 1933. 57 “Jewish Fraternity and Solidarity,” ZsU, September 13, 1935. 58 Verus, “Another Word about Zionism,” ZsH, September 16, 1897.

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not impossible that they reflect a broader sympathy for the movement, which was making progress by this time—particularly against the background of the grave political circumstances and gloomy atmosphere of the 1930s. The fierce opposition among the rabbis and the Orthodox leadership explains why the writer could not have expressed this sympathy in more explicit terms. Orthodox and Neolog communities alike prohibited their members from participating in the activities of the Zionist organization.59 In Miskolc, for example, the leader of the Orthodox community was elected president of the Zionist organization; the National Orthodox Office insisted that he relinquish one of these two positions.60 The positions expressed toward Zionism in the leading Orthodox newspapers over the years are also revealing in terms of the attitude toward Hungary in Western Orthodoxy. The rejection of Zionism continued after the First World War, but there was less emphasis on the claim that Hungarian loyalty and patriotism were incompatible with the Zionist vision of national revival. Rising antisemitism led to a sense of disappointment and frustration with the Hungarian state, and this was accompanied by a certain cooling of patriotic pathos, mirrored by greater sympathy and legitimization for the Zionist option. To complete the picture I shall present the negative attitude of ultraOrthodoxy toward Zionism, although this did not derive from national reasons; and, lastly, the position of the handful of Orthodox figures who broke rank and argued that the Zionist movement embodied the desirable realization of an ancient Jewish religious vision.

C. “Israel Must Not Storm the Wall” Ultra-Orthodoxy consistently rejected Zionism on theological grounds, based on the traditional exegesis of the “Three Oaths.”61 The most prominent exponent of this position was the Hasidic rabbi of Munkács, Chaim Elazar Shapira, who during the 1920s and 1930s waged an uncompromising war against Zionism and anything he felt resembled the new movement. The historian Alan (Aharon) Nadler claims that Shapira was “the most extreme version of Hungarian

59 Eichler, “Unique Character,” 97, based on the minutes of the Second Conference of the Association of Hamizrachi Youth, 1933 (Rabbi Kook Institute, file 135, 32). 60 “Numerus Clausus, Zionism, and the Status Quo Organization,” ZsU, November 25, 1927. 61 “The Jews should not ascend as a wall . . . Israel should not breach the wall . . . should not rebel against the rule of the nations of the world . . . the nations of the world should not subjugate the Jews excessively” (BT Ketubot 110b–111a).

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ultra-Orthodoxy and Jewish political reaction.”62 According to Nadler, Shapira developed an obsession about any manifestation of Jewish nationhood, and a particular antipathy toward Zionism and those he considered its representatives (including the ultra-Orthodox group Agudat Israel), constantly berating them in his extensive writings. He regarded Zionism as the work of the devil, embodying the abandonment of the hope for messianic redemption and the rejection of Maimonides’ twelfth Principle of Faith.63 Shapira argued that the desired redemption would come not as the result of a process, but as a divine, miraculous, and instantaneous act.64 The fate of the Jewish people rested solely with God, and accordingly any human attempt to expedite redemption, or even to improve the condition of the Jews in exile, was prohibited and even harmful, and constituted interference in the Creator’s role. Redemption could be expedited solely by adopting a strict, ultra-Orthodox way of life marked by repentance and the strengthening of religious tradition. Shapira’s total rejection of the Zionist movement, and of any movement that encouraged settlement in the Land of Israel for anything other than purely religious motives (including refuge from persecution) was based on this basic assumption concerning the exclusivity of divine redemption.65 The adherents of Agudat Israel, with their external ultraOrthodox appearance, were worse than the others, and constituted a particular danger, since many Haredim and Hasidim were following in their footsteps.66 Shapira imposed a stark distinction within the ultra-Orthodox public between the “good ones” and the “evil ones”; the latter were “erev-rav”67—a rabbinical category referring to imposters among the Jewish people. Based on total, passive belief in divine providence, Shapira also rejected the various organizations that were involved in political activities to advance Jewish interests at the League of Nations, created after the war. These organizations regarded the Jews as a legitimate national minority, while Shapira condemned the “naïve optimism” that led to the belief that the “Jewish Question” could

62 Allan L. Nadler, “The War on Modernity of R. Hayyim Shapira of Munkacz,” Studia Judaica 3 (1994): 93. 63 In many of his sermons and writings, Shapira dismissively bundled together the “Zionists,” “Mizrachists,” and “Aguda-ists.” 64 “It will not happen naturally but with several strange and wondrous signs and miracles”— Moshe Goldstein, The Repairing of the World [Hebrew] (Munkács, 1936), 142. 65 Chaim Elazar Shapira, Life and Peace [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: private publication, 1999), 438. 66 Chaim Elazar Shapira, Permanent Offering [Hebrew] (Bratislava: private publication, 1922), 225. 67 Chaim Elazar Shapira, “Article of the Haggada of Passover,” in his Gate of Issachar [Hebrew] (Munkács: private publication, 1936), 9.

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be resolved or even alleviated.68 Shapira’s ideological successor,69 Rabbi Joel Teitelbaum (the Satmar Rebbe, 1887–1979) later expanded the “Three Oaths” into a full-fledged anti-Zionist ideology.70 Jekutiel Weisz (1861–1941), a scholar and wealthy notable from the city of Tiszafüred, expressed an anti-Zionist position in the newspaper Hagyomány, which was generally sympathetic to Zionism. Responding to the riots that erupted in Palestine on August 23, 1929, the Hungarian publication took the unusual step of publishing an article in Hebrew by Weisz, entitled “Great Mourning for the Jews”: From across the borders of the Land of Israel came bad news that strikes the ears of anyone who hears it. The Arabs have risen up in war against the Jews in the Land, killing our Jewish brethren. . . . I mourn for their victims, I weep for their victims, and we—who from the earliest stage saw that there was no truth in the false premise of the settlement of the Land of Israel, which contradicts commonsense, as if the few Jewish residents there, against the absolute majority of Arabs, would secure the leadership of this land under the responsibility of the English government—we can only sit and await the coming of the Righteous Redeemer, the Prophet Elijah and the Messiah King. By supernatural means, through the private providence of the Creator of all the Worlds, He alone will perform miracles and gather the rejected of Israel from the four corners of Earth to build them there the Eternal Temple. When we heard from all sides the Zionist call “awaken from your slumber . . .” we replied with full conviction: “Do not go up, because the Lord is not with you” [Numbers 14:42]—vainly they acted for the national cause alone, without the religious cause.71 Yekutiel Weisz negated Zionism on similar grounds to those expounded by Chaim Elazar Shapira, including the rational consideration that the Jews were a minority in a predominantly Arab country.72 The secular character of the Zionist movement was also quoted as a factor for its rejection. As noted, these positions represented a minority view; the rejection of Zionism by mainstream Orthodoxy in Hungary was based primarily on Hungarian patriotic

68 Nadler, War, 108; Levi Yitzhak Kopper, “The Admor of Munkács Rabbi Chaim Elazar Shapira” (PhD diss., Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan, 2011), 70. 69 Aviezer Ravitzky, The Revealed End and the Jewish State—Messianism, Zionism, and Religious Radicalism in Israel [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1993), 65–67. 70 Joel Teitelbaum, Vayoel Moshe—Article of the Three Oaths [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: private publication, 1978); Zvi Jonathan Kaplan, “Rabbi Joel Teitelbaum, Zionism, and Hungarian Ultra-Orthodoxy,” Modern Judaism 24, no. 2 (2004): 165–178. 71 Hagyomány, September 9, 1929. 72 Interview by the Jewish journalist Jób Paál, published in the non-Jewish newspaper Kassai Ujsá, August 23, 1936.

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considerations. As noted, conservative ultra-Orthodoxy during the Dual Monarchy era was concentrated mainly in the northeast of the country. Many of these communities “pursued their lives under the leadership of Hasidic Rebbes and according to the format of the Hasidic communities in neighboring Galicia; they were completely separated from Gentile society apathetic to events outside their own small world.”73 These circles utterly rejected all the manifestations of modernity, including the national idea, whether in a Hungarian or a ZionistJewish form, and accordingly they created what Weber termed an “enclave culture.” Many of the ultra-Orthodox Jews began to use the Hungarian language, but they were indifferent to Hungarian nationhood and moved in a sphere of their own. This group, the majority of whose members came under the sovereignty of other countries after the First World War, maintained their position until the Holocaust, and even thereafter.

D. Some Dissenting Voices As has been seen, broad circles of Hungarian Orthodoxy rejected Zionism, whether for theological or Hungarian-national reasons. However, there were those who welcomed the Zionist message and rejected Hungarian nationhood. One of the first rabbis in Hungary to adopt the new Zionist ideology was Rabbi Moshe Arye Roth of Pápa, who in 1904 composed a pamphlet in German entitled Zionism from the Perspective of Haredi Judaism. The booklet was intended as a response to a series of articles written by Rabbi Raphael Breuer of Frankfurt (1881–1932) entitled “National Judaism—Absurd Judaism,” which appeared in the German Orthodox journal Der Israelit.74 In the essay Roth developed his argument that Zionism forms part of the essence of Judaism, and that the emergence of the movement is the “beginning of redemption.” Katz recalls that his father studied in Roth’s yeshiva, and describes Roth as “one of the few religious Zionists in Hungary during Herzl’s time.”75 Roth provided an enthusiastic description of his participation in the Sixth Zionist Congress in 1903, claiming that the abandonment of Jewish nationhood was the beginning of all the Jews’ problems and the principal cause of assimilation:76

73 Katz, “Uniqueness,” 195. 74 A list of the articles appears in Friedlander, “Thought and Practice,” 29 n. 56. On the dispute between Roth and Breuer, see ibid., 43–48. 75 Katz, With My Own Eyes, 20. 76 For the enthusiastic description, see Roth, Zionism, 38–39.

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All the disasters that have befallen Jewry over the past century and more were due to the devastating trend toward assimilation and the uprooting of the national character of the Jewish people. The Sanhedrin formed by Napoleon I manifested for the first time the idea that the Jews were not a people but a religious community; accordingly, there was no such thing as “French Jews,” but rather “Frenchmen of the Jewish religion.” At the time, no-one could have imagined how devastating this idea would be for Judaism. . . . The emancipation, the departure from the ghetto, and the resulting increase in contacts with the Gentile population were largely responsible for the declining level of religious observance. However, the abandonment of Judaism would not have reached such proportions had it not been accompanied by a conceptual abandonment: the claim that the Jews were solely a religion, and not a people. The negation of nationhood was the prime cause of assimilation.77 In the introduction to the Hebrew translation of Roth’s pamphlet, Yehuda Friedlander notes that Orthodox rabbis in Hungary were vehemently opposed to the booklet’s attempt to ground Zionism in religious values, to regard the movement as the “beginning of redemption,” and to urge Orthodox Judaism to join its ranks. One hundred and twenty-nine Orthodox rabbis from Hungary published a statement firmly rejecting Roth’s arguments.78 Roth opposed the adoption of Hungarian nationhood by the Jews and their definition by the official leadership of the communities in Hungary as a religious denomination rather than a national minority. Another figure who was notable for his warm approach to Zionism was Rabbi Glasner of Klausenburg, who in 1920 authored a pamphlet in Yiddish entitled Zionism in Light of Faith, in which he declared: Orthodoxy was rather cowardly in its refusal to admit that the emancipation—assuming that it intended to disperse the Jews among the host peoples—could not be used and implemented, since we have not abandoned our hope of a full national life in the Holy Land. Thus Orthodoxy wrapped itself in a shroud of patriotism and engaged in a contest with the Neologs as to

77 Ibid., 12–13. 78 Ibid., 7.

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who was more chauvinistic. . . . During a period when the global powers have recognized the right of every people, and the right of the Jewish people in particular, to self-determination, official Orthodoxy continues to adhere to the shameful lie that the Jews are merely a distinct religious denomination (“Hungarians of the Mosaic faith”), while as a people they are fully Hungarian, just like the Hungarian Catholics or Protestants.79 Glasner attacks official Orthodoxy in harsh terms for its identification with the Hungarian nation, unequivocally rejects the national affinity to Hungary, and argues that in this respect there is no difference between the Orthodox and Neolog streams. Orthodoxy, he continues, failed to change its stance even after the Balfour Declaration, which recognized the Land of Israel as the national home of the Jewish people. In his pamphlet Glasner expresses enthusiastic support for the Zionist idea, which he regards as an important component of religion and faith. In 1923 he emigrated to Palestine and settled in Jerusalem. Of the various Orthodox journals, the only one that broke ranks on the issue of Zionism was Hagyomány, which had pro-Zionist tendencies and was a focus of opposition to the National Office. In a lead editorial, the newspaper argued that Jewish history proved that Judaism was a nation and not a community; there was no reason why Judaism should deny its ancient essence. The editorial urged the Orthodox to declare openly and clearly that Judaism is a nation.80 In an article entitled “The Jews’ State or God’s State?,”81 Rabbi Mordechai Ephraim (Fülöp) Fischer (1877–1940), the Orthodox rabbi of Sárospatak,82 returned to the question as to whether Judaism is a nation or a religion. He found his answer in the biblical verse “you will be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:6). Judaism has two aspects: the kingdom represents the national aspect, and the holy nation, the religious one. The Jews constitute both a religion and a nation: “God synthesized religion and nationhood.” Fischer opposed Zionist settlement due to its secular character and proposed that the balance be changed through mass immigration of religious Jews to the Land of Israel. In light of the close connection between nationhood and religion, a Jewish theocracy should be founded in the Land of Israel. Fischer refers to the Jews as

79 Glasner, Zionism, 65. 80 Hagyomány, June 12, 1925. 81 “The Jews’ State or God’s State?,” ZsU, August 11, 1933. 82 For a brief biography, see Moshe Alexander Zusha Kinstlicher, The Chatam Sofer and His Disciples [Hebrew] (Bnai Brak: Zikhron Hungaryah, 2005), 596. For a more detailed exposition of his views, see Friedlander, “Thought and Practice,” 187–189.

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“Israel,” rejecting the idea that they constitute solely a religious denomination. Thus the Jews are indeed a nation, but one whose national revival must have a clearly religious character. Only faithful, traditional Judaism can ensure Jewish survival and the return to Zion. He also opposes the Mizrachi movement due to its acquiescence to secular-Zionist hegemony. By 1940, however, he writes in his book Toward Zion,83 that the solution to Jewish distress is to leave exile and return to the Holy Land.84 Fischer did not reject Jewish nationhood or the goal of establishing a state in the Land of Israel, but insisted that this process must be led solely by observant and faithful Jews. He did not explicitly criticize the identification with Hungarian nationhood, but his perception of Jews as a religious nation leaves no room for this tendency. These voices were isolated and had limited influence. With the exception of the ultra-Orthodox and the Religious-Zionists, the Orthodox public in Hungary chose to separate its religion and nationality, regarding itself as a religious denomination that constituted an integral part of the Hungarian nation.

83 Fülöp Fischer, Towards Zion [Hungarian] (Sátoraljaújhely: Vajda, 1940). 84 Friedlander, “Thought and Practice,” 187–189.

Chapter Five

Orthodox Judaism and Christianity: Attraction and Repulsion

The warm and sympathetic attitude of Hungarian Jews toward the Hungarian people undoubtedly influenced the way Jews regarded Hungarian Christianity. Sources from the relaxed years of the monarchy highlight an atmosphere of affinity and reconciliation, as might be expected. More surprisingly, however, in Trianon Hungary of the interwar period, positive sentiments among the Jews intensified still further, particularly concerning Catholicism. This rapprochement reached its peak in the 1930s with the proposal to establish a joint front together with Catholics in order to combat antisemitism. As we have seen, Hungary was a multiethnic country with various Christian denominations. Until 1895, however, the Roman Catholic Habsburg dynasty granted favored status to the Catholic Church. At the beginning of the First World War, around half the inhabitants of Hungary were Catholics. Less than one-fourth were Protestants; within this group, the Calvinists, who were almost all ethnic Magyars, constituted the most significant denomination.1 In the 1890s, the ruling elite, which at the time was predominantly Calvinist and was

1 According to the 1920 census, 49.3 percent of residents were Catholic (65 percent of whom were Magyars) and 14.3 percent were Lutherans (98.4 percent of whom were Magyars). The remainder included Lutherans, Greek-Orthodox, other Christian denominations, and Jews: Hanebrink, In Defense, 11.

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engaged in a cultural struggle against the Catholic establishment, aimed to merge the various ethnic and national identities in the country into a homogenous Hungarian nation. This elite regarded the privileges enjoyed by various religious denominations as a divisive factor, and accordingly sought to transfer to the state responsibility for registering births, marriages, and deaths—a function that was filled at the time by the religious denominations. The leadership also advocated the introduction of civil marriage and the granting to Judaism of the same status enjoyed by the accepted denominations (reception). The Catholic Church, meanwhile, was involved in a campaign against the trend toward secularization, and particularly against the separation of religion and state as advocated in reformist legislation. The Catholic Church joined forces with the aristocracy, which represented the agrarian interests of the major landowners and sought to reinstate land and agriculture as core Magyar national values, at the expense of industry and the growing capitalist economy. This alliance led to the emergence of a reaction to the liberalism of the ruling elite. In 1895, this struggle was reflected in the founding of the Catholic People’s Party. Unlike Istóczy’s party in the 1880s, the People’s Party did not define itself overtly as antisemitic, but from the earliest stage it showed anti-Jewish tendencies. The party argued that Hungarian history, culture, and values were based on Christian faith and morality, which were presented as the antithesis of the modern, liberal worldviews that the party suggested were promoted largely by Jews and the Jewish press. After the war, liberalism went into decline and there was a growing perception of Hungary as a Christian nation. A coalition of Christians and antisemites disseminated its ideas. The historian Paul Hanebrink shows that the Christian churches in Hungary, and the Catholic Church in particular, played a key role in the propagation of antisemitism from 1890 through 1944.2 Against this background, it is interesting to examine the attitude of the Jewish community toward Christians, and in particular the attitude of Orthodox Jews, who were also faithful to a traditional Jewish approach that had always shown a clear distaste for Christianity and Christians. Many Orthodox Jews in Hungary regarded themselves as loyal sons of the Magyar nation and expressed extremely positive views regarding the character and qualities of the Hungarian people, which was in large part a Christian people. Conversely, they recognized that sections of the leadership and of Christian society clearly tended to position themselves in the anti-Jewish camp. The members of this camp, meanwhile,

2 Ibid., 15–28.

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argued that the Hungarians were a Christian nation, and that the Jews, contrary to their self-perception, did not belong to this nation.

A. The Attitude toward Christians during the Monarchic Era During the monarchic era, the Jews of Hungary enjoyed unprecedented rights and conditions. Despite social rejection, the sympathetic attitude among the ruling elites led to a rapprochement between Jews and their Christian neighbors. Katz describes the pastoral atmosphere in the village of his childhood: In the period before World War I . . . tranquility and sense of security were felt even in so small place as Magyargencs, the village of my birth in Western Hungary. This tranquility marked life in the non-Jewish sectors of the population and also the relations that prevailed between them and the half dozen Jewish families who lived in their midst. . . . There was no possibility of friendships between the Jewish children and those of the peasants. The abyss was twofold, created not only by religion— we were forbidden to taste anything in the home of a non-Jew— but also by behavior and culture. The Jews had no social links to their environment; their contact with non-Jews was limited to business. These were pleasant enough during normal times but did not create a common social basis.3 The Orthodox sought to maintain the traditional barrier between themselves and their surroundings, but a review of the responsa written by rabbis of the period reveals that close mutual relations sometimes developed between Orthodox Jews and their Christian neighbors.4 Questions that rabbis chose to include in their printed collections of responsa were usually ones that concerned significant numbers of people, rather than isolated individuals. Accordingly, this literature can offer some insight into the lives of Jews who maintained an observant way of life, but at the same time did not shy away from relations with their non-Jewish surroundings that went beyond the minimal level of necessity.

3 Katz, With My Own Eyes, 1–5. 4 Cohen, Hungarian Sages; Yitzhak Yosef Cohen, The Sages of Transylvania [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Jerusalem Institute—Hungarian Jewish Heritage Project, 1989).

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Correct, and sometimes even positive, relations between Orthodox Jews and Christians during the Dual Monarchy era are reflected in rabbinical questions concerning donations received from Christians for Jewish religious institutions. In 1867, the year when Jews were granted equal rights, the Ktav Sofer was asked “about a donation from a distinguished Gentile who is not a Jew.”5 The Gentile wished to donate a sum of money to the Talmud Torah, and the question arose as to whether it was permissible to accept the funds. On the one hand, the Halakhah prohibits the public acceptance of charity from a Gentile (the donation would be public since it was to be published in a newspaper), on the grounds that such donations may create the impression that Jews cannot fund their own religious education by themselves. On the other hand, the benefactor was liable to be insulted and offended by a refusal to accept his donation. The Ktav Sofer analyzes the precedents and recommends that the donation be accepted, while noting that it is intended for the purchase of clothes for poor students (and not for the educational institution itself), thereby circumventing the prohibition. It is apparent from the question that the Gentile benefactor was specifically interested in making a donation to a Jewish religious institution. Rabbi Yekutiel Yehuda Teitelbaum of Sziget (1808–1883) was asked a similar question: could a donation be accepted from a Gentile toward the construction of a synagogue, “for the custom is that those who wish to build a home to our Lord and to collect funds for the construction of a synagogue knock on the doors of the Gentiles.” Evidently the custom was to raise funds by going from door to door, including the homes of Christian residents. The response, which appears to have been given in 1880, declared that “those who act in this manner are to be praised.”6 Thus the collection of funds from Gentiles toward the construction of a synagogue received the unequivocal approval of a strongly ultra-Orthodox rabbi.7 When Rabbi Amram Blau was asked a similar question in 1880, he also permitted the donation, but added, “it is not prohibited to ask Gentiles to contribute to building or adorning a synagogue, but this is not the most pious way, lest he attract others and they learn from his actions, and mix with the Gentiles and learn from their ways.”8 Blau thus felt that donations from

5 Sofer, Responsa, Yoreh Deah, item 114, 1867. 6 Yekutiel Jehuda Teitelbaum, Stones of Justice—Orach Chayim Responsa [Hebrew] (Lemberg: private publication, 1885), item 14. 7 Yekutiel Jehuda Teitelbaum, the author of Yeiteiv Leiv, was the grandson of Rabbi Moshe Teitelbaum of Újhely, the author of Yismach Mosheh and the founder of the Satmar Hasidic dynasty. 8 Amram Blau, House of Gates—Orach Chayim [Hebrew] (Munkács-Grosswardein: private publication, 1908), item 61.

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non-Jews created intimacy with Jews and were liable to lead to spiritual decline, something he naturally opposed. His answer reveals that such donations indeed created close relations with non-Jews. Blau was also asked “about a Gentile who was sick and sent some money so that they would pray for him, and the money would be distributed to poor Jews; is it permissible to pray for the Gentile?”9 Abraham Jehuda Schwartz (1824–1883), the rabbi of Beregszász, one of the last disciples of the Chatam Sofer, was asked “about those who go out to collect money to build a synagogue: are they also permitted to knock on the doors of non-Jews?” Schwartz replied that this was permissible; indeed “people do this every day.” This was a well-known and accepted practice: “A city that wishes to build a synagogue takes a permit from the minister and a ledger is prepared thereon, and agents go to collect money from our people, and also from Christians, and no-one protests and says they should not take from a non-Jew.”10 Rabbi Eliezer Deutsch relates that in 1902 a certain community wished to build a beit midrash and turned to the public to request donations. The donors included Gentiles, and even some converts from Judaism to Christianity; the question arose as to whether their donations should be accepted. Deutsch argued that these donations were not acceptable,11 but the question itself illustrates the close ties between Jews and Gentiles, and even between Jews and those who had abandoned Judaism and converted to Christianity, very probably for economic and social reasons rather than theological ones; accordingly they still maintained relations with their former coreligionists.12 In another question on Jewish-Christian relations, Deutsch discusses a place where “the priests, on their festivals when they parade with crosses, ensure that people light candles in their windows; this year their festival will fall on the last day of Passover. Is it permissible to ask the Gentile servant to light the candle on such a day?” The question relates to a specific situation in which the seventh day of Passover falls on Sabbath; thus the implication is that on a regular weekday it would be permissible. Deutsch permits the lighting by a non-Jewish servant due to the established principle of mishum eivah (“due to hatred”), which seeks to

9 Amram Blau, House of Gates—Yoreh Deah, vol. 2 [Hebrew] (New York: Mishnah Halachot Gedolot Institute, 2001), responsa 338, 1896. 10 Abraham Jehuda Schwartz, Lion’s Voice [Hebrew] (Brooklyn: private publication, 1967), item 14. 11 Deutsch, Fruit, vol. 2, item 49. 12 In the Middle Ages, Rashi and other authorities tended to regard converts as sinners who were nevertheless still part of the Jewish collective; see Jacob Katz, Between Jews and Gentiles [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1961), 75–84. Nevertheless, in all periods those who converted were always regarded as negative characters to be avoided.

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avoid imposing rules that could create hostility toward Jews among non-Jews.13 Business partnerships were also found, as illustrated in a question addressed to Rabbi Mordechai Leib Weinkler (1845–1932), the head of the religious court in Mád. The question concerned a thresher (a piece of agricultural machinery), “which is owned jointly by a Jew and a Gentile, and the horses that draw the thresher are also owned jointly; how should he behave on the holy Sabbath, when the partner wishes to use the machine for payment for other farmers as is their custom?”14 Other questions concerned the family, such as a case discussed by Rabbi Moshe Aron Kraus, head of the religious court in Nagybánya (Kraus perished in the Holocaust), concerning: A man . . . who has lived with a certain non-Jewish woman for some years, and comes from a respectable and observant family. He is attached to her and cannot leave her. I determined to bring him back to the right path, but he claims that all his capital and belongings are hers, and that she saved him from death and performed great acts for him, and they love one another. He told me that on several occasions she has expressed her desire to convert and to live the life of a religious Jewish woman, but she was rejected. She now again came before me, crying and begging that she not be rejected and that she be converted so that she could live as a pious Jewish woman.15 These peaceable relations were disturbed toward the end of the nineteenth century, as Catholic circles waged a campaign against the reforms in the field of religion by the state and opposed the Reception Law, which sought to grant Judaism equal status to that of Catholicism. Liberal Judaism and Protestant circles stood together against the Catholics in this context. In the heat of the debate, the Orthodox newspaper reported on an article that appeared in the Catholic newspaper Magyar Állam (The Magyar Nation) attacking the proposed reform. The article sharply criticized the Jews, accusing them of responsibility for the bill, which it claimed would serve only their interests.16 The newspaper 13 Deutsch, Fruit, vol. 3, item 10. 14 Mordechai Leib Weinkler, Mordechai’s Garments, vol. 1: Orach Chayim, item 118. 15 Chevrat Sha”s de-qahal yerei’im Pest, Inheritance of the Deceased (Budapest: Chevrat Sha”s, 1946), item 26. 16 The Neologs indeed supported the Reception, and the liberal Jewish Member of Parliament Vilmos Vázsonyi was active in promoting the legislation. However, as we have seen, the Orthodox waged a campaign against the initiative.

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added that “the Hungarian people will find a way to ensure that instead of the politics of religion and state, the ‘Jewish Question’ will be raised on the agenda.”17 The Catholic newspaper demanded that discussion of the proposed religious reforms be postponed and that attention return to the true problems facing Hungary due to the Jews. The Orthodox observer commented confidently that there was no need to protest against this ridiculous charge, which was “a matter for criminal law, which prohibits incitement and provocation against citizens. If the inciter is insane, he should be placed in a lunatic asylum; if he is a criminal, he should be locked up in prison.”18 The writer goes on to refute the charge, explaining that the Jews—and particularly the Orthodox—will gain nothing from the proposed laws, which they oppose. Catholic circles used the press as a platform for antisemitic incitement, particularly during the last decade of the nineteenth century. The response in the Orthodox press demonstrated a high level of self-confidence and a sense of belonging; writers were not afraid to oppose the Catholic trend assertively and in the strongest terms. They also refuted the substance of the charges, and attempted to show that Jews (and the Orthodox in particular) had no interest in supporting the proposed law, so that the charge that they were exclusively responsible for its formulation was absurd. As will be recalled, Rabbi Shlomo Zvi Schück made a speech marking the Millennium that was replete with national pathos.19 During the speech, Schück occasionally deviated from references to the nation as a whole to discussion of its Christian (Catholic) character. The nation, he explained, occupied a lofty position as it reached its millennium; but why had God raised Hungary to such an elevated status? His reply was that God has promised to show “mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments” (Exodus 20:5). For Schück, Christian Hungarians are thus included among the lovers of God and the observers of His commandments, and accordingly are worthy of this national reward. This nation freed the inhabitants of the land from paganism. Its first king, Saint Stephen, planted faith in God with his own hands and enshrined respect for God in the constitution of the land. . . . At the beginning of the Book of Genesis, to whom did God say “let us make man in our own image, in our likeness?” These words were spoken before the creation of man; whom,

17 “Incitement,” ZsH, January 11, 1894. 18 Ibid. 19 See part E in chapter two above.

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then, was God addressing? He was addressing this sensitive and noble nation, saying: Let us create here a nation in God’s image that will recognize its Creator. The Hungarian nation has many times withstood serious existential crises and stood at the brink of oblivion. Why did the Angel of Death not manage to draw this nation into doom? In tractate Chullin, the Talmud teaches us that a nation that has three Gentile rulers who speak favorably of Israel . . . shall exist forever and cannot be defeated by the Angel of Death. Was there ever a tribe such as the Magyars?20 During the emancipation era, the attitude toward Christianity appears to have been influenced by the tendency to Hungarian nationhood; as we have seen, traditional Jewish motifs were recruited to this end. The attitude toward Christians moved beyond mere good neighborly relations, and Schück’s flowery speech included some surprising components for any Orthodox Jew, let alone one who served as rabbi in the conservative northeast of the country. Stephen’s Catholicism is described as “belief in one God”—a monotheism that replaced the paganism that had hitherto dominated the region. This position deviates from the dominant position in rabbinical circles, even if it was no longer common to refer to Christians as “pagans” by this stage.21 Schück refers in a single breath to the churches and synagogues where “millions” have gathered, suggesting a parity between two houses of prayer that had always been regarded as antithetical. Christianity is depicted as the daughter religion to the mother faith Judaism. God has dealt favorably with Hungary and granted it long life and success as a nation in return for its moral superiority and the fact that its (Christian) inhabitants “observed the commandments” (!). The survival of Hungary is credited to its dissemination of the (Christian) truth and its good treatment of its Jewish inhabitants, in the past and the present. Schück does not explicitly repeat the myth concerning the involvement of Jews in the original Magyar settlement in the Carpathian Basin. However, he alludes to this ancient presence by praising the tolerance the Jews have enjoyed in Hungary “since the earliest days of the kingdom.” He openly welcomes the emancipation and

20 Schück, Millennium Sermon. 21 See, for example, Maimonides, Commentary on the Mishnah, Idol Worship 1:3. In the modern era, some rabbis have regarded Christians as “Noahides not commanded to believe in One God”: Katz, Between Jews and Gentiles, 157–167. Later, it was sometimes suggested that the Talmudic rules concerning pagans did not apply to Christians since they are not idolworshippers: Katz, Tradition, 53–54.

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the Reception Law of 1895,22 and shares in the national mood of optimism and great expectations for the future. His sermon creates a degree of affinity between Judaism and Christianity, and in this respect marks a further stage in the developing relationship between Orthodox Judaism and Hungary. Ahead of Christmas in 1899, the Orthodox newspaper commented: “The Christians are preparing for their great festival. We respect their preparations, just as we respect any religious sentiment. According to the Jewish perspective, those who adhere to their religion are to be admired. They are already bringing the Christmas trees into their homes, and we are already enjoying the happiness of the little children.”23 The author, who is identified only by his initials,24 seeks to portray himself as a broad-minded, cultured, and tolerant man—the same qualities he hopes to find in his Christian compatriots. His comments may be no more than lip-service to the dominant Christian surroundings in Budapest and may not reflect the writer’s true opinion. In any case, his introduction serves largely to prepare the ground for an attack on the Neologs, who place Christmas trees in their own homes for their children. The writer sharply criticizes such behavior and accuses the Neologs of being neither Jewish nor Christian. Their denomination is a resounding failure and a dead end. Since the end of the year is a good time for soul-searching, the Neologs should take the opportunity to repent and abandon their distorted ways. The Allgemeine Jüdische Zeitung reported that the pope had appointed Cardinal János Csernoch as primate—the head of the Catholic Church in Hungary. Several representatives of the Jewish community in Esztergom, Csernoch’s place of residence, came to congratulate him: Csernoch declared himself to be a faithful friend of the Jews, whom he praised for their outstanding contribution to Hungarian culture and economic life. He added that freedom of belief must not be curtailed, and if this were to happen, he would fight against it. He noted his admiration for the Jews’ willingness to accept sacrifices for the sake of their faith, and expressed the hope that Catholics would learn from them. A conversation then ensued between himself and the representatives of the [ Jewish] community.25

22 Not all the Christian denominations enjoyed the status of “received religions.” 23 “A Foolish Game,” ZsH, December 21, 1899. 24 The publication of anonymous articles was a common practice in the Jewish press. 25 “The Primate and the Jews,” AJZ, June 12, 1914.

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The newspaper notes that both Jews and Christians should feel satisfied and proud to have such a cardinal. The Jews of Hungary had never before enjoyed such fulsome recognition and praise, which should serve as a model for all Catholics. The article assumes that this spirit will help in the battle against antisemitism, although it adds that the impact of the cardinal’s comments will be limited, since most of the press did not report on the meeting. These sources reveal correct and even positive relations between Jews and their neighbors, perhaps more so in rural areas than in the cities. In these areas Jews and Christians lived alongside each other and were in daily contact; the shared sense of belonging to the homeland went some way to lowering the traditional barriers. While the blood libel of Tiszaeszlár had its origins in a small village in the east, it only evolved into a national and international scandal due to its adoption by urban circles.26 Breuer discusses a similar phenomenon among German Orthodoxy, and provides several examples of close ties between Jews and their surroundings.27 Over the last two decades of the nineteenth century, Orthodox Jews in Germany supported the Catholic Zentrum party, due to their agreement concerning education and religious schools. This cooperation continued even after overtly antisemitic opinions began to be voiced within the ranks of the party. “The inherent religious contradiction embodied in the coordination between Orthodox Jews and Catholics . . . was set aside in favor of an image of spiritual cooperation between observant Jews and Catholics.” In Hungary, however, attitudes were divided among Orthodox Jews regarding the political parties.28 In Galicia, the Orthodox played an active part in religious life through the Machzikei Ha-Dat organization, which published a journal under the same name.29 In the election campaigns for the Austrian parliament, organized Orthodox Jewry showed a preference for fair Christian candidates over liberal Jewish ones. “Better than them [liberal Jews] is the Gentile who is not of Israel, provided only he has the love of man in his heart and is an honest man, for

26 See Hillel J. Kieval, “Neighbors, Strangers, Readers: The Village and the City in Jewish-Gentile Conflict at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century,” Jewish Studies Quarterly 12 (2005): 61–79; Hillel J. Kieval, “The Importance of Place: Comparative Aspects of the Ritual Murder Trial in Modern Central Europe,” in Comparing Jewish Societies, ed. Todd M. Endelman (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1977), 135–165. 27 “Our Non-Jewish Brethren,” in Breuer, Portrait, 267–269. 28 Ibid., 285–289. 29 See Rachel Manekin, “The Emergence and Consolidation of Jewish Orthodoxy in Galicia: Machzikei ha-Dat (1878–1890)” [Hebrew] (PhD diss., Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 2000); Rachel Manekin, “The New Alliance: Orthodox Jews and Catholic Poles in Galicia,” Zion 64 (1999): 157–186.

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the peoples with whom we live have thrown off the hostility and hatred of [the Jewish] religion they had in olden times.”30 The preference for a positive Gentile over a progressive Jew was justified on the grounds that antisemitism was a thing of the past: “so that they have come to be regarded as brothers and friends, and have abandoned the old hatred, and do not distinguish between one religion and another, for they are all humans.”31 In Galicia, Orthodox Judaism identified with Polish nationhood through the political channel, and not through the adoption of the Polish language and culture, as was the situation in Hungary. Schück’s sermon provides an extreme manifestation of this relaxed attitude. What is more surprising is that after the First World War, as anti-Jewish sentiments spread with the encouragement of some Christian circles and individuals, an even sharper tendency toward pro-Christian sentiments emerged within Hungarian Orthodoxy.

B. Hungary after the First World War “There is nothing strange about the fact that the Orthodox newspaper examined and discussed the main conference of Hungarian Catholicism, held this week—a conference that was also attended by many of the nation’s dignitaries.” This sentence opened an article entitled “The Week of the Great Catholic Assembly,” devoted to this event.32 The somewhat apologetic opening sentence would seem to suggest that the writer felt discomfort with his subject, since discussion of speeches made at a Catholic religious gathering was not an accepted practice in Orthodox circles. The sense that the Orthodox constituted an integral part of the nation appears to have encourage a more intimate, positive, and open attitude toward Christianity than had been usual in these circles in the past; even in this period, this approach was not universally accepted. The newspaper continued to act in this manner, occasionally reporting on Christian religious gatherings and quoting speeches by clerics, often by way of justification for its own positions. As discussed in chapter three, the influence of Christianity on Hungarian Jews was manifested in the daily language and in names and religious concepts drawn from the Christian world, even in Orthodox circles. The newspaper declared that the participants in the conference were Hungary’s finest sons, and notes that they reaffirmed their living faith in the

30 Machzikei ha-Dat, iss. 12, April 13, 1879. 31 Quoted in Manekin, “New Alliance,” 171, from Machzikei ha-Dat, February 20, 1881. 32 “The Week of the Great Catholic Assembly,” ZsU, October 15, 1926.

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Church—something the newspaper regards as admirable and consistent with traditional Judaism’s goal of reinforcing belief. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Hananiah declared that “righteous Gentiles have a share in the world to come” (Tosefta Sanhedrin 13:2). Righteousness, the newspaper explained, is manifested not through ceremony and ritual but through moral conduct. The nations of the world are commanded to observe the seven Noahide Laws, ensuring social morality and guaranteeing redemption. In the opening speech at the conference, it was noted that Catholicism is inherently conservative, dogmatic, and not open to change. In this respect, a close similarity can be seen to Orthodox Judaism, which also believes that the Torah should not be adapted to changing life, but vice versa. Moreover, among Catholics more than among Protestants a recent trend could be seen to show solidarity with the Jews. The writer then goes on to emphasize the universalist and moral aspects of Judaism (a theme popular with the Jewish reformers). He draws an analogy between the Catholic-Protestant rift and the struggle between Orthodox and Neolog Jews; each of the conservative faiths can learn from the other, and arguments used by the Catholics against the Protestants can be employed by the Orthodox in their debates with Neologs. The insistence of Catholicism and Orthodox Judaism on the strict preservation of their ancient tradition and their struggle against reformers have created a sense of partnership and sympathy. The writer acknowledges with admiration the respect shown by the participants at the conference for Catholicism, and is pleased to see that the elite of Hungarian society are faithful to their ancestral faith. He notes with regret that among Jews, Judaism (which for him is synonymous with Orthodoxy) does not enjoy a similar status.33 In February 1929, Vatican Secretary of State Cardinal Pietro Gasparri (representing Pope Pius XI) and Italian Prime Minister Benito Mussolini (for Italian King Vittorio Emanuele III) signed agreements securing the status of the Vatican City as a sovereign state. The Orthodox newspaper reported approvingly on a large gathering of Hungarian Catholic youth held to mark the Lateran Treaty:34 With admiration and not a little jealousy, we read of the general gathering of Catholic youth to mark the signing of the Lateran agreements. The Holy See is once again exerting an influence of political affairs, as well as divine ones. The Orthodox Jew

33 ZsU, October 15, 1926. 34 The agreements were known in Latin as Pacta Lateranensi, after the Lateran Palace in Rome where they were signed.

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is particularly impressed by the fact that the gathering was attended by noblemen, ministers, professors, senior officials, and Members of Parliament. All the intellectual classes joined in a matter of religious significance. It is impressive that hundreds of thousands accept the Pope’s spiritual authority, at a time when the contemporary world is so dominated by an atmosphere of materialism. Following the end of the Pope’s [political] exile, it would seem that his faithful are absolutely not in exile [gólusz].35 The Orthodox writer alludes to the fact that among the Jews, the intellectuals, dignitaries, and wealthy are mainly Neologs, while Orthodoxy enjoys a less lofty status. Thus the Catholic Church serves here as a desirable model for Orthodox Judaism. The renewed political involvement of the pope is also mentioned approvingly, and the writer goes on to suggest that this change marks a victory for spiritual and religious values over mundane politics. Canon law will now become the law of the state, applying to all fields of life. This is precisely the aim of the Torah, Sages, and halakhic arbiters, and accordingly the Orthodox Jew can only observe the developments among the Catholics with admiration and jealousy, longing for the day when the laws of the Torah will also guide everyday life. Once again, an Orthodox observer expresses a sense of partnership with Catholics as representatives of conservativism, ancient tradition, and the application of religious law to political life—the “halakhic state” to which Orthodoxy aspires. The newspaper welcomes the founding of the Vatican State, and the sense of sympathy and even affinity is highlighted by the use of the term galut (exile, in its Ashkenazi pronunciation and Hungarian spelling gólusz) to refer to the pope and his faithful. The affinity between the two apparently antithetical faiths was also raised in another context. Jusztinián Serédi, Archbishop of Esztergom and head of the Catholic Church in Hungary, made a speech attacking the permissive and immodest clothing that had become common on beaches and on the streets. The Orthodox weekly reported his comments, and noted that Orthodox Judaism also criticizes the phenomenon. However, no-one could claim that Serédi’s comments were outmoded, medieval, or the product of life in the ghetto—charges leveled by liberal Jews against the Orthodox.36 Thus the comments of a senior cleric are quoted approvingly, by way of support for the Orthodox positions. The newspaper also advocates joint efforts with the

35 “Around the Church State,” ZsU, February 22, 1929. 36 “The Primate and the Head of the Calvinist Church,” ZsU, August 21, 1931.

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Catholics to enhance the effectiveness of the struggle against such phenomena. However, the writer goes on to suggest that there is a contradiction between the condemnation of immorality in the context of immodest dress and the failure to condemn ongoing anti-Jewish incitement. It is untenable to serve one religion while harassing the followers of another faith and denying them employment. The writer extends the application of the call for morality by the head of the Catholic Church to include an improvement in the attitude toward the Jews. He also notes that the Calvinist Bishop Dezső Baltazár, who in the same week marked his twentieth anniversary in his position, had also protested sharply, “with the force of a prophet,” against injustice. “We hope the words of these two Christian figures will influence the path of the ‘Christian Course,’” the writer concluded.37 On April 28, 1933, the Zsidó Ujság published an article by Dezső Korein, a columnist and a prominent member of the Orthodox community in Budapest. The article was written in the spirit of the medieval mourning customs practiced during the Counting of the Omer, and was entitled “Merciful Father” (Áv horáchámim), the title of a well-known prayer composed following the Crusades. In a text replete with biblical and rabbinical quotations that resembled a prayer more than a journalistic article, Korein highlighted the distress facing the Jews of Germany in the present and in previous generations, drawing an analogy between their suffering and ancient tragedies in Jewish history. Each paragraph begins with the Hebrew words “Merciful Father,” with one surprising exception: a paragraph that opens with a quote in Latin of words spoken by the pope to mark the beginning of the “Holy Year”—justiciae aperite portas. The words are a quote from Isaiah (26:2): “Open the gates! The righteous people that keeps the faith shall enter. . . .” Korein then went on to praise those brave Christians, and the pope at their head, who were supporting the Jews against the wave of hatred that was flooding Germany (the article was written a few months after Hitler came to power in January 1933). He ends this paragraph with the words: “Salvation and peace to the righteous Gentiles.”38 The reference to “righteous Gentiles” and the embedding of the pope’s words in Latin alongside phrases from the traditional Jewish liturgy reflect an open approach to Christianity, a narrowing of the gap between the faiths, and a sense of affinity. It is doubtful whether representatives of Eastern Orthodoxy in Hungary would have approved of Korein’s phraseology.

37 The term “Christian course” (keresztény kurzus) referred to anti-Jewish extra-parliamentary circles that began to organize after the First World War; Hanebrink, In Defense, 89–95. 38 “Merciful Father!” ZsU, April 28, 1933.

Orthodox Judaism and Christianity: Attraction and Repulsion

In some cases, reports about Christians are colored with compassion and an attempt to present Judaism as the bearer of a humanist message for society as a whole. When antisemites attacked the Jewish attorneys who had defended hard-working taxi drivers in their dispute with the municipality, the Orthodox newspaper noted with pride that Jews were helping weaker Christians, thereby maintaining the inherent commandment to humanism and morality embedded in Jewish tradition.39 Judaism demands support for the needy, regardless of religion, and helping underprivileged Christians is a Jewish religious obligation. In another article, Korein refers to decent (Christian) folk who work hard for a living and endure much suffering. He quotes the statement made to Adam in the Bible: “By the sweat of your brow, you shall eat bread” (Genesis 3:19). Jews see and meet these individuals on a daily basis and feel deep sorrow and compassion toward them. As Jews, Korein continued, we bear an obligation to help anyone in need, according to the verse “that your brother may live among you” (Leviticus 25:36).40 The generally positive attitude toward Christians was sometimes accompanied by a specific focus on clerics who received a level of appreciation that would formerly have been unacceptable. The Calvinist Bishop Dezső Baltazár, mentioned above, who was also a member of the upper chamber of parliament, is a particularly notable example. As early as 1917, during the debate about the “Jewish Question,”41 Baltazár expressed an unequivocally positive approach toward Jews and Judaism in the Neolog newspaper.42 Rabbi Fülöp Fischer devoted much of his sermon for Shavuot in 1917 to Baltazár’s positive attitudes toward Jews, and toward the Jewish religion in particular.43 The Orthodox newspaper reported on a “letter to the flock” written by Baltazár in which he expressed an exceptionally positive view of Judaism, including statements that “any religious Jew would be ready to sign.” The writer compares Baltazár’s declarations to verses from the Jewish sources, such as: “Let the honor of your friend be as dear to you as your own” (Avot 2:13) and “for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (I Samuel 15:7). The newspaper praises the bishop and expresses the hope that Calvinism as a 39 “Let Him Go to Palestine,” ZsU, December 21, 1928. 40 “Up in the Stratosphere,” ZsU, June 21, 1935. 41 In 1914, Péter Ágoston published a book entitled A zsidók útja (The Way of the Jews), in which he attempted to evaluate the degree to which Jewish integration had been successful and to predict the future in this respect. The book sparked widespread public discussion of the “Jewish Question.” For further details, see Miron and Szalai, Jews at a Crossroads, 13–15. 42 “The Way of the Jews,” Egyenlőség, iss. 13–14, April 3, 1917. 43 Fülöp Fischer, The Talmud for Its Enemies and the Others [Hungarian] (Sárospatak: Főisk, 1922), 38–43.

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whole will adopt his approach; however, it notes by way of contrast that another Calvinist cleric made an anti-Jewish speech in parliament, accusing Jews of forging the population records to their advantage.44 Baltazár was in all probability the most senior cleric in Hungary who consistently defended the Jews. Be this as it may, quoting from ecclesiastical letters and comparing Christian and Jewish ceremonies were highly unusual steps among the Orthodox, and imply a level of openness among the Western Orthodox stream. In a special Purim edition of the newspaper, Korein reported that he had attended a lecture by Baltazár in which the bishop expressed “genuine friendship toward the Jews.” He declared that Judaism and the “Jewish Question” would always exist, because the Jews constitute a moral necessity of humankind. Korein added that antisemitism, a sad shadow of Judaism, would also always be present, but may play a role in strengthening Jewish solidarity and encouraging faith among those who have distanced themselves from their origins.45 The fact that a prominent Orthodox figure reported approvingly on a lecture by a bishop is in itself evidence of an open-minded approach and of contacts between Jews and Christians. Korein also alludes here to a position sometimes heard among Orthodox Jews that antisemitism plays a positive role in encouraging Jewish solidarity, identity, and consciousness. After Baltazár’s death, a long eulogy in his honor ended with the Hebrew words zécher czadik livróchó (“may be memory of a righteous man be for a blessing”; Proverbs 10:7) Due to his pro-Jewish attitudes, “his name will shine forever in the annals of Hungarian Jewry.” His death was described as a great loss for all the Jews of Hungary. “With a broken soul we look around us, sighing and asking the ancient question of the Jerusalem Talmud: ‘Who shall bring us his like?’” (Berakhot 2:8). The eulogy notes that Baltazár knew Hebrew and had extensive knowledge on various aspects of Judaism, having learned these from an Orthodox teacher. As a Jew committed to the Halakhah, the author of the eulogy seeks to reconcile this fact with the Talmudic injunction “the words of Torah may not be transmitted to a Gentile” (BT Chagigah 13a). He suggests that the original prohibition referred to Gentiles who studied Judaism in order to discredit the faith—something that, of course, was completely irrelevant to the case of the late bishop.46 Baltazár’s attitude toward Judaism was certainly the main reason for the respect he enjoyed among Hungarian Jews. However, the warm and sympathetic manner in which he was described and the use of

44 “The Head of the Calvinist Church and a Calvinist Dignitary,” ZsU, February 17, 1928. 45 “The Hamans of Our Day,” ZsU, March 12, 1933. 46 “All Jewry Mourns for Dezső Baltázar,” ZsU, August 28, 1936.

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the above-mentioned formulaic reference in his memory, which has always been reserved solely for pious Jews, suggest that the Orthodox writer had to an extent blurred the traditional sharp boundary between the religions. Korein also eulogized Baltazár and quoted him extensively after his death.47 It is important to emphasize that these events occurred in the 1930s, an era of rising antisemitic tension. In chapter ten we will see a further extension of this approach among some Orthodox figures who advocated a joint front with Catholicism to combat antisemitism.

D. Religion and Homeland Are those who remain loyal to their faith also entitled to fly the national flag? Is there not a contradiction between adherence to ancestral tradition and identification with a foreign nation? The tension between traditional religious faith and the new national identity, and the broader interconnection between religion and nationhood, preoccupied the Orthodox press, which showed a lively interest in discussions on such issues among the Christian population. The rise of Fascism in Italy during the 1920s aroused the opposition of the Vatican, particularly prior to the Lateran Agreement. The Zsidó Ujság reported that senior clerics were unhappy about the Fascists’ use of the expression “holy homeland,” arguing that the concept of holiness should be confined to the religious context. The homeland is only a vestibule leading to the Kingdom of God and should not be imbued with sacred value. The Orthodox writer agrees with the argument that Fascism is contrary to religious values, and adds that Fascist terrorism contradicts the eternal truth of religion. Catholicism has thus acquired additional merit through its struggle against Fascism. The writer goes on to suggest that while the Fascist version of nationalism would seem to be incompatible with religion, nationalism in itself is legitimate, provided its goals are moral. Like religious loyalty, patriotism should be based on moral principles.48 The newspaper goes on to ask whether a Jew who loves his homeland is permitted to criticize it due to antisemitic phenomenon. In order to answer this question, it offers an analogy between Catholicism and Orthodox Judaism. Both preserve the authentic, ancient version of their respective faiths and serve

47 Dezső Korein, What Is the Cause of Jew-Hatred? [Hungarian] (Budapest: Biró Miklós, 1938), 3–4. 48 “Points for Thought,” ZsU, January 11, 1929.

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as bastions of tradition in the face of reformist tendencies. Both are fighting to defend eternal moral values: Catholicism against Fascism, and Orthodoxy against antisemitism. Accordingly, Orthodox criticism of antisemitism is not directed at the state per se, but at an immoral phenomenon that has emerged within it—just as Catholic criticism of Fascism does not undermine the loyalty of Italian Catholics to their nation. Religion and nationhood, Orthodoxy and Hungarianness, can coexist, and criticism of antisemitism in no sense diminishes patriotism. In the above-mentioned report on the signing of the Lateran Agreement in February 1929, the Orthodox newspaper emphasized that while the many young Hungarian Catholics who attended the celebration in Budapest accepted the pope’s spiritual authority, this in no way contradicted their Hungarian patriotism—despite the political role played by the pope in the Italian context.49 A Hungarian elite whose patriotism was beyond reproach also adhered to the Catholic faith, just as Orthodox Jews adhered to their faith while remaining equally loyal to Hungary. However, the newspaper went on to note that certain speakers at the gathering implied that Hungary was synonymous with Catholicism. This approach was not acceptable; after all, the forefathers of the Magyar nation were not Catholics but pagans, accompanied by Jewish Khazars. The Catholic gathering was once again mentioned in support of the claim that Orthodox Judaism, like other religious identities, was compatible with a Hungarian national identity. Equally, Hungary was not synonymous with Catholicism, and the Jews had a place within the body of the nation— particularly since they had been among its founders. Another article in the Zsidó Ujság reported on a speech by Calvinist Bishop László Ravasz in which he considered the question whether religion and nationhood are mutually incompatible. Ravasz declared that if the national authorities were to prevent him from living in accordance with his faith, he would emigrate from his country; equally, if his Church were to forbid him to be Hungarian, he would leave it. He concluded that religion and nationhood can coexist happily, and indeed may be complementary. The Orthodox writer enthusiastically adopted the bishop’s line of argument, adding that Jews do not even recognize such a conflict: religious Jews are simultaneously good Hungarians.50 Against the background of the repeated claims by the Neologs that the Orthodox had failed to adopt a full Hungarian identity, the Orthodox

49 “Around the Church State,” ZsU, February 22, 1929. 50 “Noteworthy Declarations,” ZsU, January 17, 1936.

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newspaper went out of its way to prove that observant Jews could at the same time be loyal to the Hungarian nation. One of the tools it used to this end was to note that while Hungarian Christians were loyal to their churches (and, in the case of Catholics, loyal to the pope), no-one questioned their Magyar identity. This analogy was relevant not only in the debates with the Neologs, but also in combating antisemites who attacked the Orthodox on the same grounds. The positive atmosphere that dominated Jewish-Christian relations during the monarchic era was shaken toward the end of the century by the blood libel of Tiszaeszlár, which was propagated by the Catholic People’s Party. The Orthodox press consistently opposed the messages disseminated by the People’s Party, but did not attribute them to the Catholic community. As we have seen, the level of self-confidence among Jews allowed them to criticize the authorities openly, to attack a Catholic newspaper for claiming that the proposed reforms had been initiated by the Jews, and to condemn the actions of the governor of Bereg County.51 The relatively good condition of the Jews and the support they enjoyed among the ruling elites led the Jews to assume that the hatred they faced was transient. The general assumption in this era was that progress was inevitable, and would eventually eradicate remnants of medieval attitudes, such as antisemitism. Like the Jews of the Second Reich in Germany, the Jews developed a strong measure of assertive self-confidence.52 After the war, as the liberal political culture of the Dualist period gave way to conservative and Christian tendencies, an increase in positive references toward Christianity, and particularly Catholicism, can be seen among Orthodox Jewish writers. The Orthodox felt that the Catholics shared with them a loyalty to their original faith and a struggle against reformers. Catholic conservatism seemed to offer useful support against the general trend to extremism, and as the articles in the Zsidó Ujság illustrate, there was a sense of a growing affinity between the Jewish public and the Catholic world. Meanwhile, the Neologs tended to feel closer to the Calvinists, with whom they shared liberal tendencies. From the 1930s, Modern Orthodox Jews also regarded Catholicism as a bulwark against Fascism. These processes combined to produce expressions of emotional affinity and sympathy for Catholics. The willingness to abandon the traditional suspicion toward Christianity and to reexamine long-held attitudes was a further sign of the spirit of modernity that had taken hold in these Orthodox circles.

51 “Incitement,” ZsH, January 11, 1894; “The Case of Munkács,” ZsH, July 23, 1896. 52 Borot, New Spirit, 11–21.

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Chapter Si x

The Trianon Era

A. Dual Identity in the Interwar Period Before moving on to the period following the disappearance of the Habsburg Empire, it is worth looking briefly at the situation of the Jews across the empire. Some two million Jews lived under the rule of Emperor Franz Josef I before World War I. Of these, almost half resided in “Greater Hungary,” and the remainder mainly in Galicia, Moravia, Bohemia, Bukovina, and the imperial capital Vienna. Unlike nation-states, the multiethnic Habsburg Empire allowed its subjects to separate their political, cultural, and ethnic identities. Inhabitants were expected to show loyalty to the rulers, but were free to choose their own ethnic, cultural, and even national identity. This formula allowed many Jews to maintain a triple identity: political loyalty to the Habsburg Empire; a German, Czech or Polish cultural identity; and a Jewish national orientation they felt no need to conceal.1 Jews were defined as a “religious society” in the empire, and this definition did not present them with any problems. By contrast, the Zionists

1 On the Czech case, see Dmitri Shumsky, “Historiography, Nationalism and Binationalism: Czecho-German Jewry, the Prague Zionists, and the Sources of Hugo Bergman’s Binational Approach” [Hebrew], Zion 69, no. 1 (2004): 45–80.

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sought to encourage Jews to define themselves as a nation in the modern sense of the word. In nation-states such as Germany and France, Jews were required to adopt the local national identity, which usually negated a Jewish national identity. The assumption of a local identity was regarded as contradicting the national dimension of Jewish identity, and accordingly Jews in these countries tended to restrict their Jewish identity to the religious domain, regarding themselves as Germans of the Mosaic faith, for example. In this respect, Hungary resembled Germany and France, rather than the other parts of the empire to which it belonged.2 Although Hungary was not entirely independent, it was engaged in an effort to create a nation-state analogous to those across Europe, and to a large extent it regarded itself as such a state and acted accordingly. Like the more exclusivist culture of Germany and France, and unlike the more relaxed attitude in other parts of the Habsburg Empire, Hungarian political culture demanded a stronger identification with the national ethos; attitudes among Hungarian Jews during the monarchic era should be understood in this context.3 Following the defeat of the Central European powers in the First World War, the Austro-Hungarian monarchy was dissolved in accordance with the Treaty of Trianon (1920). Some two-thirds of the territory of Hungary and sixty percent of its population were ceded to its neighbors.4 Hungary regarded Trianon as a humiliation and a searing injustice, never ceased to mourn “historical Hungary,” and aspired one day to regain the territories it had lost.5 A grave socioeconomic crisis that persisted, to varying degrees, until the outbreak of the Second World War, replaced the prosperity of the monarchic era. The Jews were identified with liberalism, democracy, and capitalism, and were blamed for the defeat and the crisis that ensued. Post-Trianon Hungary lost most of its minority populations and became a far more homogenous nation-state. Efforts

2 See Capková, “Czechs, Germans, Jews?” 3 Rozenblit, Reconstructing, 3–5. 4 On the Treaty of Trianon from a Hungarian perspective, see Romsics, Hungary, 117–125; Sugar et al., History, 313–316. For a thorough discussion of the treaty, see Macartney, October Fifteenth, which is devoted entirely to the subject. On the Jewish aspects of Trianon, see Thomas Karfunkel, “The Impact of Trianon on the Jews of Hungary,” in War and Society in East Central Europe, vol. 6, ed. Bela K. Kiraly, Peter Pastor, and Ivan Sanders (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982), 457–478; Ezra Mendelsohn, “Trianon Hungary, Jews and Politics,” in Hostages of Modernization: Studies on Modern Antisemitism 1870–1933/39, vol. 2, ed. H. A. Strauss (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1993), 891–915; Kramer, Emancipation, 51–52. 5 Hungarians often referred to the country under Trianon as Csonka Magyarország (“Truncated Hungary.”) Hungary lost some 10.5 citizens (almost sixty percent of its population) and some 190,000 square kilometers out of a total territory of 283,000 square kilometers: Romsics, Hungary, 121.

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to encourage Magyarization ended, since they were no longer required, and the Jews no longer held a balance of power in the struggle for Magyar identity. As result, they also lost the support of the ruling powers. The short-lived Communist government of Béla Kun (1919), many of whose leaders were Jews, was regarded as an attempt by Jews to seize control of the country and provoked a fiercely antisemitic response. Hungary’s policy toward the Jews centered on exclusion and rejection rather than inclusion. At the same time, as we will see below, Jews maintained their significant presence in the economic sphere, and the Jewish financial elite continued to control strategic industrial enterprises.6 This status, which was recognized by the nation’s leaders, bolstered the position of the Jewish public and encouraged consideration of its needs. The outcomes of the war presented the Jews with new problems and challenges, and might have been expected to temper their patriotism. Conversely, the attacks against them and the accusations of responsibility for the failed coup intensified the need for them to display their loyalty to the nation. In this chapter I will argue that there was no fundamental change in the self-perception of Hungarian Jews during this period: they continued to make the same patriotic declarations they had made during the monarchic era, when the ruling powers had been on their side and reinforced their sentiments. I will also seek to evaluate the extent to which this ongoing patriotic discourse reflected the Jews’ genuine feelings and the extent to which it was intended for apologetic purposes. I will begin the discussion with several examples of instances when Orthodox Jews spoke, identified, and even acted as Hungarians, observed events from a Hungarian perspective, and maintained a dual Jewish-Hungarian identity—in some cases even after they ceased to be citizens of Hungary. During the deliberations regarding the postwar peace treaties, the need was raised to transfer substantial territories from Hungary to its neighbors, as part of the plan by United States President Woodrow Wilson to solve the nationalist problem in Europe. Adolf Frankl, the president of the National Orthodox Office, attended a congress of Agudat Israel in Zurich in February 1919, and urged the other representatives to work in their respective countries with the goal of maintaining the territorial integrity of “Greater Hungary.”7 Frankl thus attended the gathering not only as a representative of Hungarian Orthodoxy, but also on behalf of his country, participating in its attempts to improve the conditions of the future treaty. Following the ceding of territories to Hungary’s

6 These included heavy industry, mines, banks, and financial institutions: Randolph L. Braham, The Politics of Genocide (New York: Columbia University Press, 1981), vol. 2, 108–110. 7 Ibid., 37.

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neighbors under the Treaty of Trianon, Moshe Samuel Glasner, the Orthodox rabbi of Klausenburg, responded: The recent action by the Orthodox Office in Budapest is typical of the conduct of the Orthodox leaders. When the [Central] Powers collapsed in October 1918, there were calls to hold rallies in order to present the demand to maintain the [territorial] integrity of Hungary. The Neolog leaders Ferenc Székely and Vilmos Vázsonyi brought the Jewish communities together, without political distinctions, and held a demonstration in Budapest so that the Jews in Hungary—Hungarians of the Mosaic faith—could express their opinion in favor of the integrity of the nation. The Orthodox leadership then officially announced that it regarded this declaration as unnecessary and even dangerous. The declaration might imply that there was a special need for the Jews of Hungary to declare themselves full Hungarians, while regarding other religions this is taken for granted. . . . Official Orthodoxy continues to maintain that the Jews are merely a distinct denomination, whereas in national terms they are completely Hungarian, like the Hungarian Catholics or Protestants.8 True to his Zionist convictions, Glasner fiercely objected to the dual identity of official Orthodoxy: It is, therefore, my opinion that the declaration of affiliation to the Jewish religious denomination, and simultaneously to Hungarian, German, or Slavic nationality, is tantamount to complete heresy, and one should give one’s life rather than transgress this prohibition. . . . This declaration will remain in the annals of Jewish history as a shameful and indelible stain on Hungarian Orthodoxy.9 Glasner rejected the position of the Orthodox Office that the Jews were merely a religious denomination and not a group with its own national character.

8 Glasner, Zionism, 65. 9 Ibid., 67–68.

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However, he was almost alone among his rabbinical colleagues in holding this position. The attitude toward the Hungarian nation among Orthodox Jews in this period can be gauged from various items in the press concerning contemporary issues. Between December 1925 and early 1926, a plot by a group of prominent Hungarians to forge French francs was revealed; the group also aspired to reinstate Habsburg rule. The incident created reverberations outside Hungary.10 The Zsidó Ujság published an article entitled “Two United Fronts,” which revealed that Christian organizations in Hungary had attempted to implicate the Jews in the forgery scandal and to create a domestic antisemitic front. Meanwhile, the affair provoked outrage in France and led to the consolidation of an anti-Hungarian front at the League of Nations in Geneva. The weekly noted that this external front was weakening Hungary, while the internal front was isolating Hungarian Jews; both fronts must be overcome. Jews felt doubly attacked—both as Jews and as Hungarians, highlighting their dual identity. The accusations leveled against the Hungarian group harmed the Jews, who formed part of the Hungarian national fabric, and accordingly the Orthodox writer was also protesting as a Hungarian, and not only as a Jew.11 The affinity to Hungarian nationhood was also apparent in the attitudes expressed in the Orthodox press toward the Hungarian Jews living in the ceded territories. During the 1920s, the British newspaper baron Lord Rothermere12 consistently supported Hungary’s demands to amend the Treaty of Trianon and return the lands taken from Hungary. In an article entitled “Hungary’s Place in the Sun,” published in the Daily Mail in 1927, Rothermere argued that peace could not be maintained in Central Europe in the long term unless the Trianon boundaries were substantially revised. His views attracted international attention and naturally enjoyed an enthusiastic welcome in Hungary. However, they caused great concern to the non-Hungarian residents of the neighboring states, who feared a process of border revision.13 The Zsidó Ujság reported that a Slovak movement had been founded in Czechoslovakia to oppose Rothermere’s proposals. The movement adopted an anti-Jewish line, claiming that Jews in Slovakia were serving as agents for Magyar identity, and accordingly should be monitored to ascertain whether they were speaking Hungarian in their homes,

10 The world press reported the scandal, for example: Reuters, January 6, 1926; Time Magazine, January 18, 1926. 11 “Two United Fronts,” ZsU, March 5, 1926. 12 Harold Sidney Harmsworth (1868–1940). 13 A Hungarian minority of some three million residents remained in the successor states: Czechoslovakia, Romania, Yugoslavia, and Austria.

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sending their children to Hungarian schools or reading the Hungarian press. The writer does not refute these accusations, but attempts to justify them by suggesting that Jews have always tended to remain loyal to the language and culture in which they were raised. He gave the example of the Jews of Spain, who continued to speak Spanish or Ladino long after their exile. The Hungarian character of the Jews in the territories ceded to Czechoslovakia should be attributed to this tendency, rather than to any lack of loyalty. People cannot be expected to exchange a culture they have adhered to for a millennium over a few short years, the writer noted. As a Hungarian he welcomed the loyalty of the Jews in these areas to Hungarian culture and claimed that for them this constituted an ancient culture.14 The recurrent claim of the ancient Jewish presence in Hungary portrayed the Jews as long-standing Hungarians whose authenticity was beyond reproach—a position that complemented the patriotic attitudes presented by the writer. The newspaper observed the developments from a Hungarian perspective, supported Rothermere’s backing for Hungarian irredentism and the aspiration to revive “Historical Hungary,” and welcomed the loyalty to Hungarian culture shown by Jews who now lived outside the country’s borders.15 In 1927, students staged serious riots in Nagyvárad, a city in Transylvania that had been transferred to Romanian sovereignty under the Treaty of Trianon. The riots caused deaths and damage to property, and were directed against the Hungarian minority that remained in the city—including Jews, who were identified as Hungarians.16 The Orthodox newspaper reported evenly on the damage caused by the rioters both to Christian religious institutions and to Jewish sites, referring to all these attacks as a “pogrom,” a term traditionally reserved for anti-Jewish riots. The report highlighted the dual identity of the Hungarian Orthodox: “Once the Hungarian Jews and Christians of Nagyvárad were united in their enjoyment of equal rights; now they are united by looting and rioting.” The Jews in the city, including its Orthodox community, were perceived as part of the Hungarian minority, and their suffering was regarded as part of the suffering of this minority. The memory of the First World War was another issue during this period that highlighted the Hungarian patriotism of the country’s Jews. In 1930 a public debate developed following demands to withhold medals and honorable 14 “The Loyalty of Slovak Jews,” ZsU, September 16, 1927. 15 It should be recalled that in Trianon Hungary the Jews became less important to the authorities. Their support for restoring Hungary’s historical borders may also have been due to a desire to regain their former status. 16 “The Pogrom in Nagyvárad,” ZsU, December 9, 1927.

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mentions from Jews who had excelled on the battlefield. An article entitled “Honorable Mentions for Jews” rejected this demand and insisted that any decent Hungarian citizen was entitled to recognition; denying it to Jews was unjust. The article went on to note that since some ten thousand Jews had fallen in the war, it was highly unlikely that not even one among them deserved recognition. Defense Minister Gyula Gömbös attempted to justify the suggestion by explaining that the recipients of such rewards were in the custom of gathering in exclusive clubs where “Hungarians want to be with Hungarians, among themselves.” The newspaper Pester Lloyd retorted that this comment implied that Jews were not Hungarians. The Jewish Members of Parliament Géza Dési and Sándor Paál responded to the debate in their speeches.17 Paál proudly emphasized his Hungarian origins, adding (unwisely, in the newspaper’s opinion) that if he felt that his Judaism contradicted his national sentiments, he would leave his faith. He argued that the defense minister was also bound by the laws of emancipation and reception. During the debate, the prime minister remarked that while the Jews were indeed patriots, many of them had been Communists, and that the latter were not patriots, but enemies of the state. He suggested that this was the explanation for antisemitic sentiments.18 The article creates the impression that the affair surrounding the honorable mentions disturbed the writer, presumably because it implied that the Jews were second-class citizens or were not regarded as true Hungarians, despite their own feelings on this matter. Although the issue of military awards was far removed from the world of Orthodox Judaism, the writer assumed that Jews bore the same civil rights and obligations as others, and were therefore as entitled to medals and citations as other Hungarians. Orthodox Jews had received medals for their military services decades before this debate, as is apparent from rabbinical responsa. In the late nineteenth century, Rabbi Moshe Grünwald (1853–1910), the author of a work entitled Arugat Habosem, was asked about “a prominent man who was honored from a high place with an award known as an Auszeichnung [distinction], in the form of a golden needle bearing a cross design. . . . May he wear that needle?” Grünwald replied that “it would seem to be clear that in any case it may not be worn without

17 The Pester Lloyd was a non-Jewish newspaper published in German in Budapest; it was not under the influence of the Third Reich and maintained liberal tendencies. The newspaper sharply criticized the Nuremberg Laws of 1935 and claimed that such discrimination was unprecedented. 18 “Honorable Mentions for Jews,” ZsU, November 21, 1930.

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defacing its form”;19 in other words, the medal could only be worn after the cross design had been impaired. After Professor Lajos Méhely20 published an article in the Pester Lloyd in 1930 advocating the protection of the Hungarian race against Jewish blood, the Orthodox newspaper responded: “To be honest, it does not please us that the content of the article should reach the Jewish press around the world, so that all will see what pseudo-scientific tools are being used against us here.”21 Although the writer clearly disagreed with Méhely’s position, he did not argue with him, focusing instead on his patriotic concern for his country’s positive image on the international stage, which could be tarnished by the recognition that racial antisemitism had gained a foothold in Hungary. In a special edition in March 1933 devoted to the festival of Purim, Dezső Korein took the opportunity to compare the historical figure of Haman to the contemporary enemies of the Jews. He quoted Haman: “There is a certain people scattered abroad and dispersed among the peoples in all the provinces of thy kingdom; and their laws are different from those of every people.” The same words are used in Hungary to condemn the Jews for their failure to assimilate, their separateness and their difference, although in Hungary this is true only as regards religious matters, while in the national terms the Jews identify completely with Magyar identity.22 Korein, who as will be recalled was a leading member of the Orthodox community in Budapest, claimed that Jews were distinguished from the Hungarians only in their religious faith, and were identical in their national affiliation. The Jewish religion and Hungarian nationhood were indeed the twin faces of Hungarian Orthodoxy. The self-perception of Hungarian Jews as an integral part of the nation was reflected in graphic terms in an article published in the Zsidó Ujság in 1933

19 Moshe Grünwald, ‘Arugat ha-bosem, vol. 1: Yoreh Deah (New York: private publication, 1970), item 130. 20 Lajos Méhely (1862–1953) was a professor of zoology at Budapest University and a prominent exponent of the Darwinian racial theory. 21 “When Professor Méhely’s Goals are Similar to Those of the Torah,” ZsU, February 28, 1920. The article acknowledges that the Torah is also opposed to intermarriage; I shall discuss this article again in chapter seven below. 22 “The Hamans of Our Days,” ZsU, March 12, 1933.

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entitled “Racial Hatred and the Shylock Dilemma.” The author explained that the difference between the demand raised by Shakespeare’s Shylock, who insisted that his debtor cut off a pound of his flesh without shedding blood, and the desire to remove the Jews from Hungarian society, was that disconnecting the Jews from the body of the nation would spill the blood of the entire nation.23 The Jews were connected to the nation just as the limbs are connected to the body, forming a single harmonious system, and accordingly their exclusion would cause the nation great suffering. The above quotes reflect the positions of the newspapers that were published in Budapest, as representatives of the Western Orthodoxy that remained mainly within the borders of Hungary after Trianon. Most of the Eastern Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox Jews lived in territories that had been ceded, but some of them remained in the northeastern corner of Hungary in its truncated form. What position did this Orthodox remnant adopt regarding the issue of patriotism? Rabbi Chaim Alter Roth of Sárospatak, who belonged to the Eastern Orthodox stream of Hungarian Jewry and lived in a largely traditional and conservative rural environment, described the period before the Second World War: We lived in a country where the Jews did not regard themselves as “national” Jews [Zionists], but on the contrary—they were Hungarian patriots, and they boasted that they were “Hungarians of Jewish faith.” I do not wish, God forbid, to criticize holy Jews who died sanctifying God’s name, but I can only describe reality as it was. And it was not only the Reform and the Neologs who adhered to this view, but also Jews who observed the Torah and the commandments.24 Thus the patriotic sentiments among the Jews could be found even in remote areas with a traditional character. In the west of the country, in urban areas, and particularly in the capital this tendency was naturally far stronger, as noted later by Pinchas (Fülöp) Freudiger (1900–1976), the head of the Orthodox community in Budapest until 1944: “Many Jews, including ultra-Orthodox Jews, regarded themselves as adherents of the Jewish religion and as Hungarian patriots.”25 Even in Hasidic Munkács, “the assimilation of the Hungarian Jews 23 “Shylock and Racial Hatred,” ZsU, July 10, 1933. 24 Roth, All Chaim’s Writings, 51. 25 Esther Farbstein, In the Clefts of the Rock: Orthodox Jewry in Hungary in the Face of the Shoah [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Rabbi Kook Institute, 2013), 52, based on Freudiger’s evidence submitted to the Israel Police regarding the Eichmann trial, 2–3.

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reached a peak in this period. Hungarian became the everyday language even among the Hasidim. . . .”26 In an article entitled “What did Our Country Gain from the MáramarosStyle Magyar Identity?,” published in a Israeli journal, Yehuda Edelstein offered a retrospective summary of the approach among Eastern Orthodox Jewry. He claimed that the patriotic attitudes the Hungarian Jews had acquired would be beneficial to the State of Israel. He acknowledged that in most cases, Jews had been granted political rights in the expectation that they would assimilate in the host nation: This was the case in all the European countries that introduced emancipation; only in one country did the Jews receive an unusually large gift, without any actual remuneration, even in terms of a verbal promise. This came in the kingdom of Hungary, where every Jew was granted a share in the political nationhood of the Magyar race and in its pedigree dating back to the nation’s founding fathers, as if the Jews had never been exiled from other lands but had arrived together with the other nomadic Magyar tribes from the steppes of Asia at the end of the ninth century CE under the leadership of Our Father Árpád as the head of the Seven Chieftains, and had won their place in Central Europe along with them thanks to this conquest. And so the Hungarian Jew gained the status of a citizen with a stable nationality, recognized and honored in all lands, without any element of transient alienation. The Magyars needed this illusion of fraternity more than the Jews. . . . Among the guardians of the faith and the ancestral heritage, there were cries and protests against this nominal conversion, but since there were no impediments to the observance of the Torah and the commandments, they accepted the benefits this brought. . . . In order to assuage their conscience, they interpreted the adjective “Magyar” as referring solely to their citizenship in the state, and no more than this.27

26 Shmuel Hacohen Weingarten, “Munkács,” in Major Cities of the Jewish People [Hebrew], vol. 1, ed. Y. L. Hacohen Fischman ( Jerusalem: Rabbi Kook Institute, 1946), 357. 27 Máramarossziget, April 1970.

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Edelstein suggests that the Jews were welcomed into the Hungarian nation for pragmatic reasons, in order to increase the proportion of Magyars in the kingdom. He implies that extreme Orthodox circles were sometimes angered by the emphasis on Magyar identity, but ultimately reconciled themselves to the situation. Later in his article, he discusses the difference between the center of the country and the peripheral areas in the northeast, where Jews continued to separate themselves more from their surroundings.28 Although the process of Magyarization was far more limited among these circles, they were not entirely excluded from the phenomenon. The remainder of Hungarian Jews underwent a more significant process of acculturation. Edelstein’s assertion that this process ultimately proved beneficial to the State of Israel is explained by his claim that, after arriving in the new country, “they contribute to promoting good citizenship and natural patriotism—qualities that were needed in order to blend the Jewish immigrant communities into a cohesive, indigenous nation.”29 Even those Hungarian immigrants who had been on the margins of Magyarization in their old country were able to adopt the qualities of loyalty and patriotism that helped them in their new nation. The Jews of Máramarossziget serve here to emphasize the profound identification with Hungary that was found in most of the country. Weingarten offers a profile of an Orthodox Hungarian patriot in Munkács, after the city had been transferred to Czechoslovak sovereignty: The head of the community, Mr. Yeshaya Reinberger, was an observant Jew, but he also considered himself a son of the Hungarian nation, a kind of Orthodox assimilationist who clung to Hungarian culture and regarded it as essential (even during the Czechoslovak period, he remained loyal to his Magyar consciousness, serving as the representative of the Hungarian Nation party in the city of Munkács, while around a dozen Jews sat on the city council as representatives of the Jewish people).30 Thus the pro-Hungarian tendency remained vibrant among Orthodox Jews, even in areas where the ultra-Orthodox exerted considerable influence, and even when the Treaty of Trianon left them as citizens of another country.

28 Ibid. 29 Ibid. 30 Weingarten, “Munkács,” 357.

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B. A Denomination Dwelling Alone One of the main allegations leveled at the Jews was that they were cosmopolitans—an attribute regarded as antithetical to Hungarian identity. It was claimed that their ultimate goal was international influence and control. The Jews sought to distance themselves from this charge, and avoided maintaining close ties with Jewish organizations in other countries, including the Zionist movement. The contacts between Orthodox Jewry in Hungary and communities elsewhere were limited, as was the involvement in Agudat Israel, despite the fact that, unlike the Zionists, these circles had no national aspirations that might be considered to contradict loyalty to Hungary. This attitude also reflected a general pattern among Hungarians in general, who tended to regard themselves as isolated from the other European countries in linguistic and cultural terms and were unenthusiastic about international contacts and cooperation. The historian Attila Novák notes that Agudat Israel only began to operate officially in Hungary after the Second World War, although it had many sympathizers in the country. Under Horthy, all the Jewish organizations were careful to avoid creating the impression that they were in contact with foreign elements, in order not to lend credence to those who questioned their affinity to Hungary.31 Agudat Israel was founded at a conference in Kattowitz in 1912. Samu Danzig (Samuel Binyamin, 1875–1944), who was the chief rabbi of Máramarossziget, responded in the journal Hagyomány: Jews from Eastern and Western Europe gathered in Kattowitz and founded a global organization devoted to advancing and strengthening religion and tradition. This initiative by German Orthodoxy eliminated the distinctions and tensions between the Jews of the West and the East in favor of a more sublime and important task tantamount to the sanctification of God’s name. . . . The conference was also attended by representatives of Hungarian Orthodoxy, but regrettably the Hungarians in every time and place present an exclusivist position. Here we can see the great difference between religious Jews in Germany and Hungarian Orthodoxy. The German Jews seek to resolve the disagreements among them, because they wish to build; while 31 Attila Novák, “The Unfinished Prehistory” [Hungarian], Szombat 13, no. 2 (2001): 1. This article includes a detailed description of Agudat Israel in the Hungarian context.

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the so-called “Orthodox” Hungarian Jews stoke the flames of disagreement. . . . Hungarian Orthodoxy does not consider the good of klal yisrael [the Jewish people as a whole]. . . . Agudat Israel represents all religious Jews—Hasidim and Ashkenazim, modern and anti-modern.32 Danziger sharply criticized the insular attitude of Hungarian Orthodoxy, its disregard for the principle of Klal Yisrael, and its refusal to cooperate with foreign Jewish organizations. He urged the community to join Agudat Israel, with which it shared many goals. Fifteen years later, nothing had changed. A critical article in the Zsidó Ujság again raised this issue and recommended closer ties between Hungarian Orthodoxy and Agudat Israel, contrary to the position of the Orthodox establishment.33 After Trianon, the principle of insularity weakened somewhat: the Zsidó Ujság, which tended to follow the line of the National Orthodox Office, adopted the same position as the Hagyomány. It is worth noting that the exclusivist tendency was even more pronounced in liberal and Neolog circles in Hungary. Jacob Katz, who studied at Pressburg Yeshiva, recalls that the senior staff shared a similar approach: “It seemed that the head of the yeshiva and his assistants would have preferred not to be involved in the problems of global Jewry. In the absence of any alternative they favored Agudat Israel, but Zionism was rejected, if not banned. Its religious Mizrachi wing was barely tolerated.”34 Another manifestation of this insularity was the opposition among the leaders of both streams to the intervention of foreign elements, Jewish or non-Jewish, in favor of the Jews of Hungary, even during periods of crisis and in response to discriminatory legislation. The problems facing the Jewish public were regarded as a domestic issue, to be resolved through quiet dialogue behind the scenes, following the traditional lobbying model. Accepting help from foreign Jewry was regarded as interference in Hungary’s internal affairs, and accepting such involvement was considered a mark of disloyalty. The refusal to accept external help was particularly apparent in 1920, during the Numerus Clausus affair, which I will discuss below. English and French Jews who enjoyed influence at the League of Nations regarded the law as a violation of the Treaty of Trianon and were concerned that it would set a precedent that could be replicated elsewhere. Accordingly, the Joint Foreign Committee (of

32 Hagyomány, iss. 14–15, Iyar–Sivan 1912 (emphasis in original). 33 “Let Us Turn to the Aguda!,” ZsU, September 9, 1927. 34 Katz, With My Own Eyes, 53.

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the Board of Deputies of British Jews) and the Alliance Israélite Universelle in France decided to submit a complaint to the League of Nations. The official representatives of Hungarian Jewry explicitly opposed this intention, presenting a profoundly patriotic position: “The Treaty of Trianon, which was imposed on Hungary and became a source of its national disaster, cannot serve as a source and foundation for the rights of Jews.”35 The Jewish leadership preferred a strategy of displaying loyalty to the state and emphasizing patriotic sentiments to the interests of its own public. It is interesting to note that the Jews of Poland adopted a completely different approach in 1923, when an attempt was made in that country to introduce a Numerus Clausus provision. They actively sought help from external organizations, Jewish and general, and waged an open campaign against the proposals. The law was not adopted in Poland, although the number of Jewish students in higher education was restricted unofficially.36 It should be noted, however, that even after the First World War, Poland was a far less homogenous nation-state than Hungary.37 In the end, the Jewish organizations outside Hungary acted against the advice of the Hungarian Jews, and against their own policy of intervening only when the injured party requested their assistance. After a campaigning lasting years, the organizations managed to convince the Hungarian parliament to amend the law, justifying their intervention by claiming that Hungarian Jewry was unable to express its true position. The Zsidó Ujság often criticized the law, as well as Hungarian public and governmental figures; it expressed its opinion freely and without censorship or inspection. Accordingly, it seems reasonable to assume that the opposition to external intervention was due to a genuine sense of loyalty, or perhaps a desire to demonstrate patriotism, rather than to any fear of the authorities, as the foreign organizations claimed. The campaign of anti-Jewish legislation that began in 1938 was far more serious than the Numerus Clausus affair. When the campaign began, French and British Jews, and their countries’ representatives at the League of Nations, were once again asked to refrain from applying pressure on Hungary in response to what was described as a “domestic problem.” This position strengthened

35 Katzburg, “History,” 78. It is worth adding that many in government circles blamed world Jewry for the “Trianon disaster.” Culture Minister Hiller, who played a key role in introducing the Numerus Clausus legislation, claimed that ninety percent of global Jewish capital had been made available to the Allies; he thus argued that the Jews should balance this by using their influence to repeal the Treaty of Trianon: Kovács, Numerus Clausus, 103, quoting a book published by Hiller in 1926. 36 Mendelsohn, Jews, 110. 37 Ibid., 85.

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the hand of those elements in Hungary that supported the legislation, since they realized that they would not face negative reactions from abroad to the discriminatory steps. The policy of opposing foreign intervention on behalf of the Jews of Hungary only began to weaken toward the end of the 1930s, when it became apparent that there was no alternative. The Nazis’ antisemitic policies in Germany and Austria, which was annexed by Germany at the beginning of 1938, led to pressure by public opinion in Europe and the United States for their governments to act to help the persecuted Jews. American Jews sought to influence President Roosevelt to allow Jewish refugees to enter the country. In July 1938 Roosevelt staged a conference at Evian in France to coordinate and divide the burden of absorption equally among the Western nations.38 Recognizing the gravity of the situation, the Orthodox and Neolog streams in Hungary abandoned their traditional opposition to foreign intervention and sent observers to the conference.39 The Orthodox decided to cooperate with the Neologs on this issue, acknowledging that in this instance the entire Jewish public was facing the same threat.40

C. “There was Not and Never Will be a Jewish Political Party in Hungary” The official leadership of Hungarian Jewry opposed not only cooperation with foreign bodies, but also internal political organization by the community. Prior to the First World War, Jews who were interested in engaging in political action did so through the general Hungarian organizations and parties.41 The lack of specifically Jewish political organizations is particularly notable given the situation in other Eastern and Central European countries. In much of the region, the 1920s and 1930s were a heyday of Jewish political activity. In Poland, Lithuania, Belarus, Romania, and elsewhere, autonomous Jewish political organizations were formed. In some cases these organizations sought to compete independently on the national political scene, while in

38 Shlomo Shafir, “The Evian Conference,” Moreshet Collection for the Study of the Holocaust and Antisemitism [Hebrew] 45 (1993): 147–166. 39 “The Orthodox Delegation to the Evian Conference,” ZsU, July 8, 1938. 40 “The Meeting of the National Office concerning the Evian Conference,” ZsU, August 19, 1938. 41 On Jewish politics within the general frameworks of the dualist period, see Miklós Konrád, “Jews and Politics in Hungary in the Dualist Period, 1867–1914,” East European Jewish Affairs 39, no. 2 (2009): 167–186.

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others they preferred to cooperate with general parties.42 In Austrian Galicia, political activity, including by Orthodox Jews, began as early as the last three decades of the nineteenth century.43 Vladimir Levin devoted a study to the subject of Jewish political activity in Russia in the early twentieth century.44 A large number of organizations and parties were active in Russia: Socialist and non-Socialist, democratic, and even explicitly Orthodox.45 In Germany no Jewish party was ever established, and there was strong public opposition to such a possibility. Nevertheless, in 1893 a political body was formed: the Central Association of German Citizens of the Jewish Religion. The association was active in the struggle against antisemitism and for civil rights until 1938.46 After the First World War, the National Alliance of Jewish Soldiers from the Front47 was founded in Germany. Historian Yaakov Borot argues that these organizations, which developed from the bottom up, formed part of the growing trend toward mass politics and the emergence of extra-parliamentary political frameworks in Germany society from the 1890s.48 In light of this dynamic political activity in the surrounding countries, the lack of similar initiatives in Hungary is striking. Hungarian Jews did not form political frameworks such as those in Eastern Europe, and even refrained from establishing political organizations according to the German model. Jews who participated in political life were careful not to present themselves as Jews and not to represent Jewish interests or positions; instead, they emphasized their role as representatives of their Hungarian constituency. Jewish organizations focused exclusively on religious and philanthropic goals and eschewed politics.49 The idea of establishing a separate Jewish political organization was regarded

42 Ezra Mendelsohn, Jewish Politics in East Central Europe between the World Wars (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Library, 1984). Bacon wrote extensively about the politics of Agudat Israel in Poland: Gershon Bacon, The Politics of Tradition ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 1996); Gershon Bacon, Politics and Tradition—Agudat Israel in Poland, 1916–1939 [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2005). 43 On the dynamic Jewish political scene in Galicia in the years after 1867, see Manekin, Jews of Galicia. 44 Vladimir Levin, “Jewish Politics in the Russian Empire in the Renewed Era (1907–1914)” [Hebrew] (PhD diss., Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 2007). 45 On political activities among Orthodox Jews, see ibid., 198–288. 46 Centralverein Deutscher Staatsbürger Jüdischen Glaubens (CV). On the CV, see Jehuda Reinharz, Fatherland or Promised Land (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1975); Ismar Schorsch, Jewish Reactions to German Anti-Semitism, 1870–1914 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1972); 47 Reichsbund jüdischer Frontsoldaten. 48 Borot, New Spirit, 277. 49 Victor Karady, “Identity Strategies under Duress before and after the Shoah,” in The Holocaust in Hungary: Fifty Years Later, ed. Randolph L. Braham and Attila Pók (New York: City

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as a separatist move that would contradict the social contract of emancipation. In contrast to Germany, which was further along the path to modernization, activities by distinct interest groups were still not an accepted practice in Hungary in general, and this was reflected in Jewish society. The Jewish leadership, which portrayed the Jews as a religious group, was dominant and autocratic, uninterested in listening to its own public, and committed to solving problems through lobbying and intercession with the ruling elite, rather than through public political action. Samu Stern, the president of the Neolog stream, summed up the prevailing attitude when he declared: “There was not and never will be a Jewish political party in Hungary, and it is good that this is so.”50 The Orthodox shared this view. An article published by Dezső Korein in 1934 on the subject of the problems facing the Jews of Germany after Hitler’s rise to power asserted that Jews should refrain from any particular political initiatives, since those around them did not regard such action favorably. Jews should meet their national and civil obligations, but not stand at the vanguard of any national movement. He supported this position by referring to the situation of the German Jews, who had been involved in their country’s culture and politics and were now facing a difficult reality. Korein urged disillusioned German Jews who wished to emigrate to the Land of Israel to live there in accordance with the laws of the Torah. Korein returns here to the traditional position discussed above, according to which Jews in the Diaspora should meet the demands of ruling powers and adopt a passive approach to their political surroundings. His position negated any form of political action, including Zionism, autonomous Jewish political organization in Hungary or even participation in general nonJewish frameworks.51 There was virtually no discussion in the Jewish press of the idea of political organization, and the impression is that such a possibility was regarded as taboo. It is worth noting that Orthodox Hungarian Jews living in the areas ceded to the neighboring countries after the First World War adopted a different approach, as Jacob Katz notes: Unlike Hungary’s fragmented Jewry, which deliberately isolated itself from world Jewry—the Orthodox having reservations about even ultrareligious Agudat Israel—the Jews of Slovakia University of New York Press, 1997), 151. See also Mendelsohn, Jewish Politics, 85–128; Mendelsohn, The Jews. 50 Samu Stern, The Jewish Question in Hungary [Hungarian] (Szeged: private publication, 1938), 31. 51 Dezső Korein, “To Our German Brethren!,” ZsU, July 10, 1934.

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[all of them Hungarian citizens prior to the war] were caught up in the conflicts raging among world Jewry. Pressburg had representatives of the entire ideational spectrum, from the right wing Agudat Israel to the Po’aley Zion and Hapoel Ha-Za’ir on the left, with Jabotinsky's revisionism somewhere in between. Speakers from all parties visited the city: Rabbi Meir Berlin [Bar-Ilan] on behalf of the Mizrahi, Ze’ev Jabotinsky as leader of his own Revisionist party, Nahum Sokolow as a Zionist pure and simple.52 Following the annexation of Transylvania to Romania in November 1920, the Transylvanian Jewish Alliance was founded in Kolozsvár (Cluj). The alliance brought together former Hungarian Jews who sought to secure autonomy for the Jews as a minority in Romania. In 1928 a Hungarian-Jewish political party was founded in Romania and sent three deputies to the country’s parliament. Organizations with Zionist leanings were also established.53 The same Jews who had studiously avoided political activity while living under Hungarian rule suddenly become intensively involved in the Romanian political system. In Czechoslovakia, too, where some two-thirds of the Jews had been Hungarian citizens prior to the First World War, extensive Jewish political action developed. A Jewish political party secured substantial electoral support, though due to the election laws it failed to secure representation in parliament.54 In Carpathian Ruthenia and Slovakia, formerly part of Hungary, even the Orthodox participated in political life. Thus Hungarian Jews who found themselves living as citizens of other countries adopted the general Eastern European model of Jewish political organization. This dramatic change suggests that it was Hungarian patriotism that fueled the opposition to such political action inside Hungary. Once freed of the prevailing atmosphere in Hungary, these Jews felt free to engage in the political activities they had hitherto avoided. All the positions discussed above—opposition to external interference in domestic Jewish affairs; rejection of cooperation with foreign organizations; avoidance of public Jewish action; and the negation of Zionism—can be regarded, at least in part, as the product of the Hungarian patriotism that 52 Katz, With My Own Eyes, 56. 53 Frojimovics, “Religious Streams,” 206–208; Keren-Kratz, Máramaros Sziget, 48–51. Both sources include material about Jewish political life in the successor states. 54 The party received 80,000 votes, sufficient for four seats in parliament, but below the electoral threshold: Keren-Kratz, Máramaros Sziget, 54.

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began to emerge among the Jews in the first half of the nineteenth century and remained dominant until the Second World War.

D. “Your Children Shall Come Again to Their Own Border” Refreshing drops of the expansive divine blessings have fallen on our beloved homeland . . . “And your children shall come again to their own border.” ( Jeremiah 31:17) . . . You are natives of Hungary, and you share in the homeland’s joy just as you do in its pain and mourning. . . . Let us ignore those who hate us, the Jewish citizens of Hungary. Let us ignore our aching wounds, the product of enmity. . . . We shall not bring alien emotions now into our joy. Twenty years ago, the murderous violence of weapons . . . tore the united Hungarian soil of a millennium to shreds. And now . . . that dark past has ended.55 The above comments were made by the Orthodox Rabbi Duschinsky to mark the return of part of Slovakia to Hungary following the First Vienna Award (November 2, 1938). Their tone is representative of the general mood. It is important to recall that Duschinsky made his sermon while discussions were underway concerning the Second Jewish Law, which sought to impose significant restrictions on the lives of Jews in Hungary. The rabbi urges his faithful to set aside their sense of frustration and celebrate their homeland’s great moment. The current difficulties are insignificant by comparison to the joy at the end of Hungary’s “dark past.” Decades earlier, Duschinsky had made similar comments in his sermons marking his appointment as the rabbi of Rákospalota in 1896 and during the Millennium celebrations in the same year.56 Ever since the Treaty of Trianon had reduced “Historical Hungary” to a truncated remnant, the desire to restore the nation’s former glory had been a central component in Hungarian public life and in the platforms of all the Hungarian governments.57 Hungary and Germany both sought to amend the Treaties of Versailles and Trianon; both encouraged irredentist tendencies in

55 Duschinsky, Selected Sermons, 209–210. 56 Ibid., 92, 80–85. 57 For detailed discussion of the territories returned to Hungary, see Romsics, History, 191–204. From the Jewish perspective, see Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 595–600.

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their former territories, and this shared goal drew the two countries together. Following Hungary’s efforts in this field, and after a round of talks between the two countries in 1937, Germany announced that it supported Hungary’s demand to regain some of the territories it had ceded to Czechoslovakia. As Germany’s strength grew, the bond between the two countries led to the adoption of the Vienna Awards, through which territories were returned to Hungarian sovereignty. In 1938 parts of southeast Slovakia and a section of Carpathian Ruthenia were returned to Hungary. In March 1939, after Germany occupied Czechoslovakia, northern Transylvania again came under Hungarian control. In April 1941 the Hungarian army invaded Yugoslavia and seized control of parts of the north of the country that had been ceded following Trianon. The Hungarians celebrated these gains and the Jews—including Orthodox Jews who had passionately supported the irredentist cause—shared in the joy, despite the growing hostility they faced in their homeland.58 The Orthodox had a particular interest in the return of the ceded territories, since they included a large proportion of the Orthodox population, and hence could change the balance of power between the two Jewish streams. The return of the ceded territories indeed led to significant demographic changes in the Jewish population. The Orthodox stream once again constituted a majority, a status it had lost in 1920. In 1930, under Trianon, the Neologs had accounted for 65.7 percent of the Jewish population of Hungary, while the Orthodox and Status Quo accounted for 30.4 percent and 3.9 percent, respectively. Following the annexation of 1941, the Neolog share fell to 36.6 percent and the Orthodox formed a majority of 59.3 percent; 4.1 percent belonged to the Status Quo stream.59 After Hungary regained the remainder of Carpathian Ruthenia, the Zsidó Ujság welcomed the event with enthusiasm and patriotic pathos: We are living in a historical era. Our deepest aspirations, which yesterday were like a dream, have today, with the Creator’s help, become reality: a shared border between Hungary and Poland! Hungarian justice once again sets out on a splendid path, and the Carpathians manifest Hungary’s millennial glory. All the newly liberated inhabitants of the area welcomed the

58 In “Thought and Practice,” Friedlander seeks to attribute a Zionist consciousness to Duschinsky, claiming that he was unable to express this position in public due to fear of the authorities and his congregants. 59 Zeke, “After the Rupture,” 152.

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distinguished defenders of the homeland. In many places, the leaders of the Jewish communities went out to greet the entering force, thanking the liberators profusely. In many areas, swift and efficient action by the defenders of our homeland prevented hostile acts against the Jews by the retreating Ukrainian terrorists. In this region, Greater Hungary has returned, against setting the thousand-year-old border of Saint Stephen! It is to be hoped that all in our homeland will now recognize that the first Magyar king founded the nation’s strength on justice and religious tolerance. Hungary could only reach the desired transformation out of loyalty and firm adherence to our ancient heritage.60 The second half of the article discusses the significance of the return of the area for Hungarian Orthodoxy, since it was home to a large and predominantly traditional Jewish population. The writer expressed the pleasure of the Orthodox population in Hungary at its reunification with the Jews of Carpathian Ruthenia and expressed the hope that this significant addition would have a positive impact on Hungarian Jewry as a whole. Following the approval of the Second Jewish Law (May 4, 1939), and after the regaining of parts of Slovakia and Carpathian Ruthenia under the Vienna Awards, the Zsidó Ujság reported on a meeting of the National Orthodox Office held to mark the occasion. Orthodox representatives from the newly absorbed regions attended the meeting for the first time in some twenty years. Sámuel (Samu) Kohn-Frankl, the president of the Office, noted his “patriotic joy that territories which once belonged to Hungary have now returned to the motherland. . . . The representative of the Carpathian region also spoke in a patriotic spirit, on behalf of the new participants, expressing his joy at their return to the old homeland.”61 The gathering went on to discuss “the grave difficulties caused by the imposition of the Second Law to the entire Jewish public, including the Orthodox.” Orthodox Jewry, it was determined, would play its part in the planned program to provide financial assistance. In response to the financial difficulties facing unemployed youth, an effort would be made to assist them and enable them to remain at home. At the same time, those who would be forced to emigrate in order to make a living would receive support for

60 “Bless You, Carpathian Ruthenia!,” OZsU, March 30, 1939 (emphasis and exclamation points in original). 61 “Meeting of the National Orthodox Office,” OZsU, August 20, 1939.

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their daily needs, ensuring that they would be able to maintain their religious way of life in their new home.62 Once again, Orthodox speakers express their “patriotic joy” at the return of former Hungarian territories to the homeland—a joy that remained intact even under the shadow of the Jewish Laws. The response to the problems facing young people sought to encourage them to remain in Hungary, as loyal Hungarians. Nevertheless, this meeting may mark the first occasion on which it was acknowledged that some Orthodox Hungarians might solve their problems through emigration. On the first anniversary of the Vienna Accord that led to the return of south Slovakia and Carpathian Ruthenia, the Zsidó Ujság was once again in festive mood: A year ago, the Magyar soul put on a festive gown. The goal loyal hearts had aspired to for two decades had been realized, in part. One link in the chain of the so-called peace treaty had fallen loose, and part of southern Slovakia returned to the motherland to which it had belonged for a thousand years. . . . The injustice of the partition of the land cried out to the heavens, and the first ray of justice shone down as millions of Hungarian citizens joined the residents of the land.63 The above passage could have been quoted verbatim from any nationalist newspaper in Hungary; nothing in it hints that it forms part of an article in an Orthodox Jewish publication. Later, however, the writer returns to the theme of the particular satisfaction of the Orthodox community, which received a significant boost to its ranks, both in numerical terms and in terms of the loyalty to traditional Jewish values among the Jews in the areas that had “returned home.” The writer took the opportunity to ask that, at this festive moment, the nation’s leaders might decide “to make many tens of thousands of resident happy” by restoring the employment permits they had been denied, so that they could make an honest living. This comment constitutes a response to the Second Jewish Law, which defined who was considered a Jew; restricted civil and electoral rights; and imposed significant additional restrictions in the fields of finance, the liberal professions, the press, and governmental institutions. The

62 Ibid. 63 “One Year since the Return of Part of the Territories of Southern Slovakia and Carpathian Ruthenia,” OZsU, November 2, 1939.

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implementation of the law created serious economic distress among a large section of the Jewish population.64 As a Hungarian patriot, the writer expresses his joy at the correction of the “territorial injustice of Trianon.” Conversely, as a Jew he shared the concern of his community at the growing economic hardship. This issue appeared some two months after the outbreak of the Second World War—a development that remarkably is not even mentioned in the article. This glaring omission symbolizes the fundamental and unanswerable question as to why the Jews of Hungary ignored the dangers of growing antisemitism in their country, just a few years before the Holocaust. As the writer notes, the Jews in many places indeed welcomed their return to Hungary, nostalgic for the old days of Hungarian rule before the First World War. In Munkács, for example, the leaders of the Jewish community prepared a festive reception for the Regent Horthy, and the rabbi of the city was due to welcome the visitor while holding a Torah scroll.65 In August 1940, following the Second Vienna Award, Hungary also regained control of northern Transylvania. Adela Burger, an Orthodox teenager, stood by the roadside as the Hungarian army entered her town. In her memoirs, she recalled: Many Jews who considered themselves close to Hungarian tradition believed that the annexation of Transylvania would not harm them. The Jews even cheered the Hungarian soldiers who crossed the border, shouting out joyfully “Long live freedom!” However, it soon became apparent that the Hungarians had very different plans. “Long live freedom!” shouted the soldiers—for everyone except the Jews.66 Dezső Korein also welcomed the return of northern Transylvania to the homeland, and expressed support for the aspiration to regain all the ceded territories of “Greater Hungary.”67 Expressions of this sentiment can be found even later, up to the very last moment. Did Orthodox Hungarians celebrate because they identified with Hungarian political goals or because of the reinforcement of the Orthodox community that 64 Katzburg, Hungary and the Jews, 139–142; Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 548–552. 65 Kopper, “Admor,” 60–61. 66 From the Hebrew-language memoirs of a Jewish woman from a town in Transylvania: Adela Berger, Michael on My Right [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: private publication, 2013), 6. 67 Miron, Waning, 262 n. 57, based on OzSU, September 10, 1940.

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came with the regained territories? Naturally, Orthodox commentators were pleased at the boost their community had received, but it seems unlikely that this was the sole reason for their joy. Their comments imply an identification with the prevailing sentiments in Hungary after the First World War, including the conviction that the victorious powers had treated Hungary with appalling injustice. The language and content of the references in the Orthodox press once again emphasize the fact that the Jews regarded themselves as an integral part of the Hungarian nation and as partners in its heritage and in its irredentist aspirations. The Hungarian Jews had even asked Jews in the West to intervene on Hungary’s behalf on the issue of the ceded territories, in contrast to their reluctance to take this step in response to the distinct problems they faced as Jews in Hungary.

E. “Behold, the Bush Burned with Fire, and the Bush was Not Consumed”68 The relative stability that had characterized the decade under the government of István Bethlen (1921–1931) began to weaken following the appointment of Gyula Gömbös as prime minister in 1932. Gömbös had pro-Germany sympathies and was one of the leaders of the far right in Hungary and a founder of the Racial Defense party; he died in 1936 while in office. From 1938 the condition of the Jews of Hungary worsened on the constitutional level, following the adoption of the anti-Jewish laws. On March 5, 1938, Prime Minister Kálmán Darányi, appointed after the death of Gömbös, announced his intention to enact a law “ensuring greater balance in social and economic life”; the goal of the legislation was to curtail the Jewish presence in economic activities. Ten days later, Rabbi Duschinsky gave a sermon marking one of Hungary’s national holidays: Today, on the fifteenth day of the month of March, we have come to this holy place to celebrate in words of faith and voices of prayer the national festival of our homeland. . . . The firm faith in the Holy One, blessed be He, rises up from your prayers in the synagogue; this is the most sublime love of the homeland, this is your impassioned patriotism, and through it you are the most

68 Exodus 3:2.

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loyal servants of our sweet, beloved homeland that is so dear to us all.69 While the rabbi referred during to his sermon to the events of 1848, which are commemorated on the national holiday, he made no mention of the distress and harsh atmosphere facing the Jews following Darányi’s announcement of his planned legislation.70 A year later, in his sermon for the same national holiday, Duschinsky referred to the antisemitic outbreak in Hungary, categorizing it as idol worship. Nevertheless, he reaffirmed the commitment of the Jews of Hungary to their homeland and to the national heritage associated with the holiday: As people who belong to the Hungarian nation, we have come to the house of prayer to sanctify before the Holy One, blessed be He, the memory of March 15. . . . As you know, on March, 15, 1848, the noblemen of the land gathered in order to transform our dear homeland into a home of liberty. . . . Even we, whom they wish to uproot from the heart of the nation, are entitled to celebrate this memorial day. Hatred has now declared a war of annihilation against us; our right to earn a livelihood has been taken from us. . . . We still remember the times when the spirit of love was victorious in this homeland—even now, as hatred erupts against us. Through our fear of God and our religiosity, we observe our sacred obligations toward the homeland. And we hope that after these days, full of mourning, a better period will come. . . . Now idol worship runs amok here; the idols of selfishness and hatred organize. Let us pray to the Holy One, blessed be He, that he lead the people back . . . to the ideas of liberty, equality, and fraternity. . . . And so the words of the greatest Hungarian “Hungary was not, but will be” shall come true.71 Duschinsky blended the Hungarian national myth with Judaism: the Jews are an integral part of the nation, yet there are those who are trying to “uproot”

69 Duschinsky, Selected Sermons, 124. 70 The bill for the First Jewish Law was tabled before parliament on April 8 and approved on May 29. 71 Duschinsky, Selected Sermons, 224–226, with the Hungarian original on 227–229.

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them. He was careful not to mention these adversaries by name or category, referring to them by the generic term “hatred.” The harsh reality facing the Jews was presented as an objective description, without any element of criticism. Yet even in this reality, the sacred duty to the homeland remained intact. Nevertheless, the version of reality presented by Duschinsky in 1939 was far more somber than a year before. After Kristallnacht (November 9–10, 1938), Dezső Korein claimed that the Jews of Germany had been engaged in a process of “sick assimilation” and “hyper-assimilation,” and that this had led to a tragic collapse. His conclusion was that the idea of assimilation should not be abandoned, but adjusted to what he called “national assimilation:” cultural integration and loyalty to Hungary, provided this did not lead to an abandonment of faith and religion.72 Even as the continent descended into madness, an Orthodox voice continued to advocate acculturation and Hungarian patriotism. A few months later, in an article in the Zsidó Ujság,73 Jenő Groszberg praised the medieval Jews who had not swerved from their ancestral faith and had refused to assimilate. At the same time, he challenged the views of antisemites who claimed that assimilation was contrary to the history and spirit of Hungary, and accordingly should be revoked.74 The editor of the newspaper, who also served as an Orthodox rabbi in Budapest, manifested the dual identity of many Orthodox Hungarians who felt they were preserving “authentic” Judaism while at the same time integrating in the Hungarian nation. In a discussion marking the 150th anniversary of the granting of emancipation to the Jews of France (specifically Bordeaux), Korein acknowledged that the atmosphere of emancipation had led many Jews to assimilate or even convert. By contrast, the Orthodox approach was to accept emancipation as a key to social equality, national integration, and acculturation, while maintaining religion intact: “Thus emancipation is vital from the perspective of our civil rights, but we must remain within our [internal] frameworks. . . . We should not offer a higher price than the other religious groups for our patriotism.”75 Korein continued to navigate the narrow tightrope between religion and nationhood. In contrast to the mid-nineteenth century, when Orthodox leaders had opposed emancipation, Hungarian Orthodoxy (in its Western version) had

72 Dezső Korein, “Assimilation and the Jewish Law,” ZsU, December 30, 1938. 73 At the end of 1938, the authorities decided to close the Zsidó Ujság. On January 20, 1939, a newspaper called the Orthodox Zsidó Ujság (OZsU) began to appear in its place. The Orthodox National Office was charged with responsibility for the new journal. 74 Jenő Groszberg, “From Clement IV to Pius XII,” OZsU, March 10, 1939. 75 Dezső Korein, “The Emancipation of the Jews of France,” OZsU, March 10, 1940.

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come to believe that it was positive, provided it did not come at the expense of religion. Despite raging antisemitism in Hungarian society and anti-Jewish legislation, the patriotic identification with the homeland remained unchanged. Acculturation was regarded as legitimate, but extreme assimilation was rejected, and was even regarded as one of the reasons for the crisis. The condition of the Jews could only be corrected if they returned to the lap of Orthodoxy. Severe distress and an atmosphere of mourning began to spread within Hungary as rumors grew concerning the events over the borders, and as Hungarian Jews met refugees who had escaped the inferno. Faced with this pessimistic reality, Korein began an article from February 1944 with a prayer, written in Hebrew in Hungarian orthography and accompanied by a Hungarian translation: “Answer us, O Lord, answer us, for we are in great distress. . . . Act for Your sake, if not for ours. . . . Look down from heaven and see that we have become mocked and scorned among the nations, regarded as lamb to be led to the slaughter. . . . Yet we have not forgotten Your name.” These opening verses are drawn from the traditional dirges and supplications, and goes on to explain that they were composed by Jews in Diaspora communities during times of crisis, expressing faith and hope in divine assistance.76 But soon he addresses current events: In our times, humanity has been swept into an unprecedented situation unparalleled since the creation of the world. No-one knows what tomorrow will bring. Enormous forces are clashing against each other—the “war of all against all” [Korein quoted the original Latin—bellum omnium contra omnes]. Every person, nation, and society are suffering, without distinction of denomination or religion. But we Jews, a small minority, are suffering twice over; as in the past, we continue to be the scapegoat for unresolved conflicts. . . . Yet like the burning bush in the Bible, so our dear homeland stands at the center of the global conflagration. The flames of Jew-hatred lick the nation’s borders, but the firm rock wall of Magyar humanity and tolerance, renowned around the world, does not permit barbaric hatred to penetrate the country. After the war, Hungary will gain eternal fame thanks to its sublime thought and humanity.77

76 Korein uses the word “diaspora,” rather than the more charged term “exile” (golah in Hebrew), and softens the more extreme expressions of sorrow and bitterness. 77 “A Topical Prayer,” OZsU, February 10, 1944.

T h e Tr i a n o n E r a

Even in February 1944, despite the somber atmosphere and complex emotions, Hungary was still perceived as a bastion of safety and a “dear homeland.” Korein is well aware of the disaster unfolding in the region, but is convinced that the Jews in his own country are immune to the threat. He knew that Prime Minister Miklós Kállay had managed to repel the German demands concerning Hungary’s Jews, and anticipated that the war would end soon. He compared Hungary to the biblical burning bush, engulfed in flames but not consumed. Europe was burning, but Hungary stood safe at its center. In the biblical story, the burning bush marked the point when Moses was commanded to take the Children of Israel out of Egypt, thus marking the beginning of redemption. Through the analogy between Hungary and the burning bush, Korein sought to comfort his readers. Though they had every reason to be anxious, he ended his article on an optimistic note: We calmly await the end of this global and historic event [the world war], when the time will come to reorganize politics, economics, and society and to lay the foundations for a new world. The ridiculous ideas of the current period will end and hard work will begin to restabilize human society and culture. . . . Let us meet our obligations toward the victims of the war. Let us help the widows and orphans, the families of conscripts and victims of forced labor.78 The overall tone of the article is that while the current period is extremely harsh, it will soon end and a new light will shine on humanity. Korein depicted the Jews as part of Hungary, fighting and suffering along with the nation; Jews and non-Jews bore an obligation to help the victims of the war. The biblical analogy emphasizes the perception among the Orthodox that despite the storm raging around them, they could still trust their own country and there was reason to hope that they could avoid the worst of all fate.

78 Ibid.

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Conclusion

The Idyllic Picture of the Past—Fantasy and Reality

The perception of the Jew as “the other” by Hungarian society strengthened after the First World War, and even more so during the years preceding the Holocaust. Despite this, there was no significant change in the picture of reality conveyed by the Jewish leadership and press. An ever-widening gulf opened up between the Jews’ self-perception as members of the Hungarian nation, as manifested in the public domain, and the manner in which they were regarded by the surrounding society. In his articles, Korein had consistently conveyed the sense of dual identity that dominated his community. Nevertheless, the article quoted just above marks, in its content and in its timing, the zenith of the sense of confidence and trust felt by many Hungarian Jews, Neolog and Orthodox, regarding their nation. The idyllic picture of the past that had been nurtured for many decades now served as a source of hope. The Hungarian people would gain eternal admiration for their humanity and nobility in preventing the devastation of their Jewish population. How can we explain such a chasm between the Jews’ self-perception and the attitudes of the surrounding society? Why did Jews continue to nurture this idyllic picture of the past, even as it became increasingly inconsistent with the present? What motivated Jewish leaders, and many ordinary Jews, to adhere so devotedly to their Hungarian national identity? What led an Orthodox leader to declare, just a few weeks before the Nazis invaded and enjoyed widespread

The Idy l l ic Picture of the Past—Fantas y and R eal it y

cooperation from so many Hungarians, that after the war Hungary would gain “eternal fame thanks to its sublime thought and humanity?” Magyarization, which won many supporters among the Jews from the nineteenth century on, was particularly pronounced among the liberal Neologs, who advocated integration as a matter of principle. Nevertheless, many Orthodox Jews also participated in this process. Among the Orthodox community, the attachment to the Hungarian language was particularly prominent. After the emancipation, the Orthodox press appeared mainly in Hungarian (by way of comparison, the Orthodox Jewish press in Poland appeared exclusively in Yiddish, with the exception of one newspaper that survived for just a few months).1 Orthodox newspapers in non-Jewish languages were virtually unknown in Eastern and Central Europe, with the exception of the area under German cultural influence. Reservations about acculturation were somewhat more common among the Orthodox than in Neolog circles, but the affinity to a Hungarian national identity was shared both by the Neologs and by the Western Orthodox stream (which, under Trianon, accounted for a large majority of Hungarian Orthodoxy). The hegemonic elite in Hungary, which showed a clear tendency to liberalism during the monarchic era, regarded the Jews as an important asset for realizing the national and economic goals of its modernization project. Accordingly, the elite consistently supported the Jews throughout this period. This support obscured the presence, under the surface, of social tensions and negative attitudes toward the Jews, which were notable mainly in the press.2 Despite social and institutional rejection, the awareness of the support of the nation’s rulers and the relatively good condition of the Jews by comparison to other countries encouraged a fundamental trust in the nation. The extremely positive image of Hungary and its people, even if it was not always corroborated by reality, also managed to survive the difficult period following the First World War. Not all the Hungarian governments in the interwar period had pro-German and antisemitic leanings, but even those that did refrained from adopting the overt anti-Jewish language of Nazi Germany. Official expressions of antisemitism in Hungary were usually phrased in vague terms, were often regarded as an attempt to placate the far right, and were accepted with understanding by the Jewish

1 The weekly Echo Żydowskie appeared during the 1920s. On the Orthodox press in Poland, see Shmuel Rotstein, “The Orthodox Press in Poland,” in The Jewish Press that Was [Hebrew], ed. Yehuda Gotthilf (Tel Aviv: World Association of Jewish Journalists, 1973), 130–148. 2 Vörös, “Contract,” 252. Vörös quotes Karady’s comment that virtually no Jews were employed in the government sector as proof of discrimination in employment: ibid., 244.

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leadership.3 As a result, even in the late 1930s it was possible to believe that the authorities did not present any threat to the Jews. As we will see below in part two, at the beginning of 1944 there was even a modest cultural revival among the Jews, with official approval, and the restrictions on Zionist activities were removed. The policies of Prime Minister Kállay, who rejected Hitler’s demands for anti-Jewish action, further encouraged the hope that the national leadership would maintain its course. As soon as the Germans took control of Hungary, the process began of concentrating the Jews in ghettoes and sending them to Auschwitz. This process was implemented with the extremely extensive assistance of the Hungarian authorities in the various provinces and of the local gendarmeries. The team of Adolf Eichmann devoted to implementing the Final Solution in Hungary comprised just 150 members; without local assistance, it could not possibly have gathered so many Jews from so many parts of the country in less than two months. Over a period of 56 days in the spring of 1944, more than half a million Jews were sent for extermination, out of a total population of around 850,000, including the Jews in the areas returned to Hungary under the Vienna Accords. The enthusiastic participation of tens of thousands of bureaucrats, police officers, and other Hungarians raises questions about the idyllic picture of the past. Conversely, the hatred exposed during those terrible months highlights the extent of the pressure faced by the Hungarian leadership during the preceding period, and its firm resolve (for its own reasons) not to send the Jews for extermination prior to this point.4 The attachment of Jews to Hungary had other reasons. The Jews of Hungary regarded themselves as partners in creating a new national society, rather than as newcomers in an existing national body. The conviction that Hungarian nationhood was a joint project heightened their identification with the new nation. The Jews sensed that the emerging nation was the product of a joint act of creation together with the Magyar majority.5 The fact that Orthodox Jews also regarded themselves as key partners in nation-building, and played a role in disseminating the Hungarian language and culture in areas with large minority

3 On ambivalent antisemitic opinions among the leadership, particularly Horthy, in the Trianon period, see Katzburg, Hungary and the Jews, 230–235. 4 Some historians suggest that the Holocaust of Hungarian Jewry could have been avoided if the authorities had acted more cautiously and carefully toward Germany. See László Karsai, “Could the Jews of Hungary Have Survived the Holocaust?,” in CEU Yearbook 7 (2009–2011): 63–78. 5 Lendvai, Hungarians, 329–347.

The Idy l l ic Picture of the Past—Fantas y and R eal it y

populations, heightened the perceived bond and helped make patriotism one of the hallmarks of the community. The involvement of the Jews in the economic field, which was far less developed in Hungary than in Central and Western Europe, facilitated their rapid integration.6 Due to the relatively high proportion of Jews in the population as a whole, particularly in the capital, where most of the economic activity was based, allowed them to gain a central and sometimes dominant position in the national economy within a short period of time. Even Bishop Ottokár Prohászka, a prominent antisemite and the president of the ruling party, remarked that although “the economic and commerce in Hungary under the monarchy were led by the Jews, and not by the Hungarians, the nation committed a historic sin by opening its gates to Jews. . . . Hungary needs only a limited percentage of Jews. . . .”7 The Jews’ entry into commercial and economic activity meant that they controlled a significant portion of the national wealth.8 Even during the Second World War, when laws excluded large numbers of Jews from economic life, their weight was still significant.9 Prosperous Jews, and in particular the economic elites, developed a sense of affinity: part of Hungary was theirs, and accordingly they found it difficult to distinguish between national and personal interests.10 Their economic standing also offered some protection during bad times—up to the point of the German invasion in 1944. Much of the heavy industry that supported the war mechanism was owned and managed by Jews.11 It is also important to note that despite the almost total absence of political activity and leaders among the diverse Jewish population, most of the leaders of the different streams and most of the opinion-formers belonged to the Jewish elite.12 The positions they presented were essentially those of the elite (which was for the most part Neolog), and as noted these circles had their own reasons to identify with Hungarian nationhood, and had more to lose than the Jewish public at large. The dominance of the elite leaderships, with their distinct economic and political interests and their personal ties to the country’s leaders, encouraged the adherence to pro-Hungarian positions until the last moment.

6 Silber, “Jewish Minority.” 7 Pál Kovács, ed., Numerus Clausus: An Almanac of Hungarian Jewry [Hungarian] (Budapest: Magyar Zsidóság Almanachja, 1925), 102, based on the parliamentary protocols for December 16, 1920. 8 Katzburg, Hungary and the Jews, 253–256. 9 Ibid., 220–222. 10 Macartney, The Habsburg Empire, 710, quoted in Mendelsohn, Jews, 92. 11 Braham, Politics, 108–110. 12 On this pattern, see Nathaniel Katzburg, “The Central Leadership of the Communities in Hungary, 1870–1930” [Hebrew], Zion 50 (1985): 379–395.

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These attitudes among the Jews were also influenced by the general national mood. They were consistent with Hungarian political culture and national themes. There was also another motive for the tendency of the Jews to emphasize and flaunt patriotic sentiments. The Jewish community in Hungary was young, and it is reasonable to assume that this heightened its desire to absorb and to feel that it belonged in the country; Jews thus sought to convince themselves and their surroundings that they were not aliens, but loyal and devoted children of the nation. The frequent demonstrations of patriotism also served as a defensive strategy. Repeated accusations by antisemites concerning Jewish disloyalty led the Jews to emphasize, and perhaps exaggerate, their patriotic declarations. The Orthodox, moreover, faced accusations from two directions that they were not sufficiently Hungarian—both from antisemites and from their Neolog adversaries. Accordingly, they felt a particular need to flaunt their national affinity in public. All these factors, combined with the feeling that the war was nearing its end, encouraged the basic assumption that the Hungarian government, which had so far refused to participate in the Final Solution, would maintain this position now that Germany’s defeat appeared to be imminent. Nazi Germany had hitherto allowed its ally to manage its domestic affairs independently, and the condition of the Jews in Hungary was vastly better than in the surrounding countries. They faced serious social rejection, economic hardship, and hostile legislation, but they felt physically safe and hoped this would continue to be the case until the approaching end of the war.13 This assessment was not confined to the Jews of Hungary; even in 1944, many persecuted Jews across the continent still regarded the country as a safe refuge and fled to its borders.14 However, these hopes were shattered following the German invasion and the extensive collaboration between the Hungarians and the Nazis.15 On the morning of March 20, 1944, freshly printed copies of the Orthodox weekly the Zsidó Ujság were stacked on the shelves of Jewish shops across Budapest. The issue was devoted to the upcoming festival of Passover, the festival of freedom, and its pages were peppered with advertisements for matzah, Kosher 13 A sermon given by Mordechai Rokach, the brother of the head of the Belz Hasidic sect, in Budapest on January 1, 1944 implied that the war was nearly over and the Jews would not be harmed. The sermon later became the subject of debate after Rokach was accused of encouraging an unjustified sense of security. 14 Kinga Frojimovics, I Have Been a Stranger in a Strange Land: the Hungarian State and Jewish Refugees in Hungary, 1933–1945 ( Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 2007). 15 In a poem published in the Davar newspaper on March 24, 1944, Nathan Alterman published a moving poem depicting Hungary as a refuge for the Jews of Europe, and for children in particular, but ending with the devastating news of the invasion.

The Idy l l ic Picture of the Past—Fantas y and R eal it y

wine, and other items for the holiday. Nothing in the content or appearance of the journal suggested that this would be the final issue of the newspaper, or that the day before the fate of Hungarian Jewry had taken a tragic turn. On March 19, 1944, Nazi Germany invaded Hungary, after realizing that it was planning to defect to the Allies. A period of relative security for over 800,000 Jews ended in an instant, and as the columns of the final issue of the Zsidó Ujság show, the community was taken completely by surprise. In a final dissonant chord, page six of the issue featured a short report, presented to a community whose fate had already been sealed: Festive services were held in all the congregations across the country to mark the national festival of March 15. At the Central Orthodox Synagogue, Rabbi Yonasan Steif [1877–1958] recited a solemn prayer for the happiness of the homeland. The musical part of the event was led by Chief Cantor Spiegel, accompanied by the choir, to the strains of the national anthem.16

16 “The National Holiday of March 15,” OZsU, March 20, 1944, 6.

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Pa r t Tw o

O RT H O D OX Y A N D ANTISEMITISM

Introduction

The close affinity felt by all sections of Hungarian Jewry toward the Hungarian nation, as discussed in detail in part one, also influenced the manner in which they perceived antisemitism in their country and their weak and lackluster response to the phenomenon. The more Hungarian they felt, the more inclined they were to dismiss the significance of the negative attitudes conveyed by their surroundings. At first their attention focused solely on the eruption of hatred in other countries. After it became impossible to ignore the events at home, they argued that antisemitism in Hungary was an alien and transient phenomenon, and that few Hungarians were active in this phenomenon. Later, and particularly after the First World War, this optimistic response became more muted, but up to the Holocaust it did not disappear completely. Before discussing the response of Hungarian Jews to antisemitism in their country, it is important to emphasize this point. As described above, during the nineteenth century most of the Jews in Hungary underwent processes of modernization that not only influenced their attitude and affinity toward the state, but also changed the traditional patterns of response to the hatred encountered by Jews. The liberal and Neolog circles reacted vigorously and belligerently to those who attacked the Jews. The ultraOrthodox circles broadly maintained the traditional approach, based on pleas to the authorities, the avoidance of public reactions, and even further insularity.

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Our study here focuses on the intermediate group—Modern Orthodoxy, which stood with one foot in traditional society and the other in modernity. This stream was not monolithic and included divergent voices; nevertheless, it is possible to describe its positions in broad strokes. Traditional Judaism had developed a full-fledged worldview regarding exile and hatred of Jews, and this dictated its response to these phenomena. I shall seek to examine here the extent to which these responses to antisemitism went beyond the traditional patterns and drew closer to the modern thought of the period. Did Modern Orthodoxy attempt to utilize the new opportunities offered by the modern era, such as public campaigns and attempts to influence public opinion? Did the Orthodox, like liberal Jews, also assume that antisemitism would eventually disappear in an age of enlightenment and emancipation?

The Traditional Response to Antisemitism In the premodern period, Jews regarded their exile as a divine punishment. This belief has its roots in the Bible and draws on the broader principle of reward and punishment. Exile and the woes it brought were regarded as punishment for the people’s sins: “because of our sins we have been exiled from our land and sent far from our soil.”1 The hatred of the external world was a familiar and natural part of Jewish life, since “in every generation they rise against us to destroy us.” The oppressor was merely a whip held in God’s hands to punish His wayward children: “Woe to Assyria, the rod of My anger and the staff in whose hand is My indignation” (Isaiah 10:5).2 According to this approach, the Jewish response to hatred must be internal, focusing on a demand for soul-searching, prayer, supplication, repentance, and bolstering the public spirit. Arguing with the oppressor or refuting his accusations were pointless. This line of thinking was dominant among most of the Jewish communities in Europe; a different approach began to emerge in the modern era, but there were still those who adhered fervently to the traditional approach. One of the representatives of this approach was Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin (1816–1893), known by the acronym as the “Natziv” of Volozhin. In 1887, Berlin authored a booklet entitled The Remnant of Israel, in which he

1 From the musaf (supplemental service) for the three Pilgrimage Festivals. 2 The traditional worldview embodies a paradox: Those who hate the Jews are just, while the Jews themselves are wicked; the Jews are punished for failing to perform their duty, while those who hate them thereby execute God’s will.

Introduction

summarized the traditional approach “regarding the hatred arouses by those who detest the sons of Shem [antisemites] against our fellow Jews in various lands. A moral view according to the opinion of our teachers and leaders the holy Prophets, and the ancient men of spirit, of blessed memory, in the legends and midrashim.”3 Berlin’s booklet summarized the prevalent views among religious sages across Europe over the preceding generations. He argued that hatred would always be present, in every generation, even when it was unexpected. It was a result of divine providence, and there was no real point exploring the persecutor’s motives and reasons. Instead, the Jew should look inwards: In every generation they rise against us to destroy us. . . . It is important to recognize that the love they feel for us, even if it lasts days and years . . . cannot persist forever. In every generation, even in years when we enjoy bounty and hatred is subdued and unheard, it nevertheless lies hidden and imminent, ever ready to emerge into practice when the hand of Providence strikes it, wishing to teach us a lesson. . . . Since we are in exile and our haters persecute us in every generation, we should not explore the reason and cause that led them to this position, nor why our persecutors are so angry with us. . . . Rather, we should look at it from our side—why have we come to this point. . . . And what Providence seeks to awake through the hatred we face in various countries.4 . . . The essence of this matter also holds that when the Jews distort their form, that is, Judaism, they become base and despised in the eyes of the nations . . . the loss of the form of Israel also leads the nations to regard them as having lost human form. Accordingly, we will not be surprised to find that they consider us base and despicable as if we had abandoned our very human form.5 Assimilation of the Jews and their abandonment of traditions are the cause of hatred. This view was also held by Rabbi Nathan Miller of Szécsény

3 Naftali Zvi Jehuda Berlin, “Remnant of Israel,” in his The Joy of Torah—the Natzi”v’s Commentary on the Song of Songs [Hebrew] (Kfar Hasidim: private publication, 1993), 197. 4 Ibid., 201. 5 Ibid., 203, 207.

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(1828–1890) in central Hungary. Following anti-Jewish riots during the revolt against Austria in 1848, Miller declared on August 12, 1848: Since they cast off the yoke of the Torah, and since the Great Ones of the generation, the leaders of the world and the grand of the land, may their merit protect us, departed from us, the pillars of the world are cracking every day and a new catastrophe is befalling us, and the persecutions of the nations of the world are for our many sins . . . but if we observed the Torah, God would carry us on eagle’s wings.6 The response of communal leaders in Hungary and the other Ashkenazi communities during the premodern era was faithful to this approach. Antisemitism did not, in most cases, undermine the Jews’ self-confidence, which was grounded in their faith, tradition, identity, and loyalty to their heritage. The Jews rejected all their neighbors’ values, including the ideas that made them the object of hatred. The fact that this hatred had its roots in Christian theology, which the Jews utterly rejected, served only to strengthen their resolve. Suffering was regarded as normal and banal; hatred depended not on the hater, but on the Jews, who were being punished for their sins.7 This idea not only offers an explanation for hatred and imbues it with meaning, but also carries an implicit message of comfort and hope. The Jews are not depicted as helpless before their persecutors: they hold the key and they can confront their enemies by returning to their heavenly Father.8 For many generations, this position dictated a passive attitude to the outside world, mirrored by internal activism.

Neologs and Orthodox The lifestyles of Neolog and Orthodox Jews differed considerably. The Orthodox suffered much less than the Neologs from social exclusion and discrimination in employment, since the latter were more involved in society,

6 Nathan Miller, Offering Mixed with Oil [Hebrew] (Budapest: private publication, 1927), 32. 7 For a summary of the traditional position, see Ben Halpern, “Reactions to Antisemitism in Modern Jewish History,” in Living with Antisemitism: Modern Jewish Responses, ed. J. Reinharz (Hanover, NH: Brandeis University Press, 1987), 5–7. 8 Some circles maintain this perception of antisemitism even today. See, for example, a contemporary booklet that adopted the title of Sokolov’s book from 1882: Joel Schwartz, Eternal Hatred for the Eternal People [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: private publication, 2002).

Introduction

culture, and economic life, and lived mainly in the urban centers. Moreover, modern antisemitism focused its attacks in particular on Jews who merged with their surroundings, rather than on those who remained aloof. Moreover, since the schism of 1868 the Orthodox had regarded the Neologs as their bitter rivals, and the protracted debate between the two camps heightened the Orthodox ethos of separatism. How were these differences reflected in terms of the response to antisemitism? On the one hand, the ancient tradition had always promoted the idea that “all Jews are responsible for one another.” To what extent did Orthodox Hungarians feel solidarity with the “sinful” stream that absorbed most of the antisemitic blows, but which was nevertheless undeniably Jewish? Can emotional responses of offense and hurt be found among the Orthodox, as among their liberal rivals, despite the fact that the former from the outset placed less faith in Hungarian society?9 A unique and interesting aspect in the study of Orthodox responses to antisemitism relates to the fact that some of the antisemites’ demands—the exclusion of Jews from social life, the dilution or abolition of emancipation, rejection of assimilation, the prohibition of intermarriage, and so forth—were consistent with the goals of traditional Orthodox itself, which had also always sought to maintain and even heighten the walls that separated Jews and Gentiles. Might there have been Orthodox observers who suggested that the antisemitic tendencies had some positive outcomes, at least post factum? As we will see below, Orthodox rabbis did not tend to discuss antisemitism often, whether because they regarded it as inevitable and unremarkable or because they believed that it was curtailing the phenomena of assimilation and the abandonment of Judaism. The official leadership refrained from confronting the non-Jewish surroundings, in accordance with the principle of “maintaining the peace” and the traditional belief that such problems were best addressed through quiet contacts with the authorities. As a result, the public struggle against antisemitism was left to the newspapers, which discussed the issue frequently and attempted to understand its various aspects. It is difficult to find any issue of a Hungarian Jewish newspaper that does not include a reference to antisemitism, whether abroad or in Hungary itself. On the one hand, journalists sought to convince Christians that the struggle against antisemitism was a vital interest of the state and of society as a whole; on the other, they sought to encourage the Orthodox public and alleviate its distress. Naturally, the attitudes and opinions presented by different journalists at different times were diverse and nuanced. On the whole, however, the approach was based on a rational 9 Konrád, “Jewish Perception,” 185.

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worldview. As Orthodox Jews drew closer to their surroundings, and under the influence of the Zeitgeist, Orthodox journalists gradually abandoned the traditional patterns of response to antisemitism and preferred a more modern and activist pattern of reaction. The next two chapters will be devoted to a chronological review of antisemitic developments from the emancipation through the Holocaust, focusing on the Orthodox response to these events. Chapter nine will describe the struggle against antisemitism and the strategies chosen in this context, while the final chapter of the book will review the polemical strategies used both internally and externally by Orthodox observers throughout the relevant period.

Chapter Seven

The Monarchic Era

A. The Emergence of the Antisemitic Movement in Hungary “In Hungary there are too many Jews and too few Hungarians for antisemitism to succeed.” This assessment was offered in 1897 by a Jewish writer who went by the non-de-plume Ignotus.1 In the same year, Herzl wrote that Hungary was an oasis in an antisemitic world.2 Many researchers agree that the condition of the Jews in Hungary in the late nineteenth century was significantly better than in most of the countries of Central and Eastern Europe.3 The Jews often claimed that the Magyar people had always been tolerant and welcoming and that hatred of Jews was unknown in its history.4 However, social rejection and a revulsion for Jews had always been present under the surface. Nineteenth-century Hungarian 1 Konrád, “Jewish Perception,” 181, based on the journal A Hét ( January 10, 1897). Ignotus’s real name was Hugo Veigelsberg (1869–1949). 2 Fischer, “Anti-Semitism,” 863. 3 Ibid., 863–864; Mendelsohn, Jews, 87–94; Konrád, “Jewish Perception,” 177–178. Katz, however, argued that antisemitism was on less virulent in Hungary in the 1880s than in Germany: Jacob Katz, From Prejudice to Destruction: Anti-Semitism, 1700–1933 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1980), 278–279. 4 However, some observers claim that hatred of Jews was no less prevalent in Hungary than elsewhere in Central and Eastern Europe. For example, see Andrew Handler, ed., The Holocaust

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literature includes numerous depictions of negative Jewish characters.5 In the 1840s, during the public debate that preceded the granting of emancipation, Baron József Eötvös, a strong supporter of equal rights for Jews, wrote: Granting equal rights to Jews is not a reward for their devotion but the ending of a protracted and outrageous injustice. . . . Tolerated because of their money, hated by all, excluded from official positions, banned from cities, rejected, scorned; why should they love this land?6 Eötvös provided a forthright description of the rejection Jews faced in his country, manifested in hatred, scorn, social exclusion, and professional and economic discrimination. He refers to prejudices and negative attitudes toward Jews that were deeply embedded in the consciousness of his compatriots. As we have shown, however, the attitude of surrounding society did not prevent the Jewish community from showing loyalty and patriotism to Hungary. Many Jews fought in the rebellion against Habsburg rule in 1848–1849, and the rebel leader Kossuth, speaking on the Sabbath in a synagogue, acknowledged the hostility they faced: “I have come to you, Jews, to ask for your forgiveness in my name, in the name of the ministers of state, and in the name of the Hungarian people for the attitude of my people toward you over one thousand years. We are aware of the suffering and persecution you have faced in our country.”7 It is no coincidence that antisemitism emerged as a significant issue on the public agenda a few years after emancipation.8 Two key processes left their mark on the Dualist period and changed the character of Hungary: the transition from a traditional, feudal society to a modern, industrialized, and capitalist one; and the building of Hungarian nationhood. Jews were extremely active in both these processes, significantly influenced the processes of modernization in the

5 6 7 8

in Hungary: An Anthology of Jewish Response (Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press, 1982), 1–2. Anna Szalai, “Jews in Hungarian Romantics,” Iton 77 (1995): 18–21; Anna Szalai, ed., The Jewish “Other” in Hungarian Belles-Lettres [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Akademon, 2003). Quoted in Tamas Ungvari, The “Jewish Question” in Europe: The Case of Hungary (Boulder, CO: Social Science Monographs, 2000), 66–67. Zahavi, From the Chatam Sofer, 186–187 quoting Grünwald, A thousand years, 86. Grünwald does not present the source in his book. On antisemitism during the monarchic era, see Raphael Vago, “The Development of AntiSemitism Up to the Collapse of the Monarchy,” in In the Land of Hagar, ed. Anna Szalai (Tel Aviv: Beth Hatefutsoth, 2002), 113–119; Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914; Nathaniel Katzburg, Antisemitism in Hungary, 1867–1944 ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 1992).

The Monarchic Era

country, and identified with the goals of the nation-state. However, as the results of emancipation deepened and more Jews attained positions in economic and cultural life, antisemitism grew. Emancipation gradually turned the Jews into competitors in certain economic sectors, and antisemitic arguments served as a weapon in the socioeconomic struggle to perpetuate existing privileges and monopolies. New positions in many fields were often taken by Jews, but despite the constitutional commitment to equality, there was an unspoken and unofficial expectation that a Jew would convert to Christianity in order to secure a senior public position. Bourgeois Hungarians in the main cities, many of whom belonged to the Swabian-German minority, were concerned about the entry of Jews into areas of employment they had previously dominated, and responded by adopting antisemitic attitudes. The lower and intermediateranking gentry, who had been raised in a conservative tradition, despised commerce, money, and industry—vital components in the modernization of the country’s economic systems—and found it difficult to adapt to the emergence of a capitalist economy. Many of them lost assets during the process of economic development, and took out their frustration on the emerging liberal and capitalist circles, which were identified with the Jews. Alongside the limited non-Jewish bourgeoisie, a separate and prosperous Jewish bourgeoisie quickly developed. The “Jewish Question” was first raised in parliament by Győző Istóczy, a member of the ruling Liberal Party, who made an antisemitic speech on April 8, 1875 demanding that the government curtail the actions of the Jews.9 Istóczy was a prolific writer who disseminated his opinions and led antisemitic activities among the Hungarian public. He claimed that Judaism was not a religion but a distinct and insular social cult that aimed to take control of the Christian world. He interpreted the division between the Neologs and Orthodox in Hungary as a sophisticated tactical move allowing for a division of functions before the Jews took over. The Orthodox wing was responsible for defending, consolidating, and preserving tradition, while the function of the Neologs was to adapt to the way of life in Hungary in order to facilitate the Jewish penetration and seizure of key social strongholds. He thus portrayed the “Jewish Question” as a social

9 Vörös claims that the “Jewish Question” was a more neutral term than antisemitism, thereby facilitating discussion of anti-Jewish positions in an ostensibly more respectable and legitimate manner. She suggests that this term played an important role in the development and dissemination of antisemitism: Kati Vörös, “The ‘Jewish Question,’ Hungarian Sociology and the Normalization of Antisemitism,” Patterns of Prejudice 44, no. 2 (2010): 137–160. Ungvari’s Jewish Question is devoted entirely to a discussion of various aspects of the “Jewish Question” in Hungary.

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and national one, rather than a religious problem, concluding that the role of antisemitism was to defend Hungary against the Jews. Istóczy focused in particular on the claim that Jews were trying to seize control of the economic, the liberal professions, and the press. As a member of the gentry, he attacked the government’s promotion of liberalization, democratization, and capitalism, all of which, as noted, were identified with the Jews, his antisemitic ideology complemented the struggle by anti-liberal and conservative circles against the trend to modernity. Istóczy demanded that parliament rescind the Emancipation Act, and in 1878 he even suggested that the Jewish problem could be solved by establishing a Jewish state in Palestine, to which all the Jews of Hungary would be expected to emigrate.10 Istóczy’s remarks were not taken seriously. In a report to his superior in Vienna, the British consul in Budapest noted on April 20, 1875 that: The House was rather amused with Mr. Istoczy’s outbreak, and it was treated next day by the Press as a capital joke. . . . In reality, however Mr. Istoczy only blurted out his share of the general antipathy—an antipathy which shows itself in various social phases, and which, though it is rarely expressed in public, no Hungarian gentleman is in private conversation at any pains to conceal.11 Earlier, on the Fast of Gedaliah in September 1874, Rabbi Chaim Sofer wrote that emancipation had no real meaning and should not be relied on in the long term: An observer who looks at the days and years will recognize that the Exile is very long. As there is a time for every thing, it may be that the leaders of Jewry have managed by their persuasive efforts to bring us a little physical freedom; yet this comes slowly, like the light at dawn; and even this depends on the parliament and cannot withstand the masses for long; before your eyes weary of it, it may be gone. Before the declaration of liberty has even been completed, the second Exile begins. . . . Even if a time has come when we receive respect from the Gentiles, this is meager and vacuous. . . . As the centuries proceed we shall enjoy a little

10 Handler, Blueprint. 11 Quoted in Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 222.

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respect here and there; but when the time comes they will tire of us and condemn us, calling after us, “Go out from there, touch no unclean thing” (Isaiah 52:11).12 Sofer describes the protracted process that led to a measure of improvement in the condition of the Jews, including the declaration by parliament of equal rights. However, society at large (“the masses”) does not accept this and continues to reject the Jews. Before the equality laws had even been drafted, their validity had expired. Emancipation did not change societal attitudes toward the Jews and was a transient and short-lived phenomenon. By 1875, less than eight years after emancipation, it was already being challenged in parliament. Sofer was one of the most prominent opponents of integration; although he did not overtly oppose emancipation, it is reasonable to assume that like most of his rabbinical colleagues he regarded it as a threat. In this quote, however, the dominant sense is one of disappointment and discomfort at the failure to implement emancipation. It is possible that he had changed his position by this point; following the division and the strengthening of Orthodoxy as a separate entity, he may have come to feel that emancipation no longer posed a threat. Rabbi Chaim Sofer’s sermon for the festival of Purim, made on February 12, 1881, was devoted to refuting Istóczy’s allegations. The rabbi’s comments attracted attention far beyond the walls of the synagogue: He [Chaim Sofer] made a sermon in 1881 opposing the great tyrant, foe, informer, and inciter in the parliament who had called for the Jews to be expelled from their country. The sermon made a great impression at the time and caused the public sanctification of God’s name as it was reported by journalists in the daily newspapers.13 The German Orthodox newspaper Der Israelit also responded to the speech, noting the gulf between the written law in Hungary and its implementation in daily life: The lesson to be drawn from this affair is that if, in the latter half of the nineteenth century, a hateful speech such as this [Istóczy’s

12 Quoted in Jacobowitz, Remember, vol. 2, article 46, 214. 13 Sofer, History of the Sofrim, 43.

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speech] can be heard in the Hungarian parliament, we can conclude that regrettably we are still in exile, and equal rights exist only on paper.14 In 1880, Istóczy began to publish a monthly journal by the name of Tizenkét Röpirat (Twelve Pamphlets), devoted to disseminating his antisemitic views; he also referred to the comments by Rabbi Sofer. In order to confront Istóczy’s views, a special journal entitled Tizenkét Ellenröpirat (Twelve CounterPamphlets) was published in Transylvania. Prominent contributors to the publication included Dr. Sándor Kohut (Hanoch Yehuda Kohut, 1842–1894), the author of the Talmudic dictionary Arukh Ha-Shalem, and the Hungarian writer Kálmán Mikszáth (1847–1910). Heightened immigration to Hungary, particularly from Galicia, led to a substantial increase in the number and proportion of Jews in the country. This phenomenon aroused opposition and served as a pretext for antisemitism throughout this period. Some antisemites claimed that the Jews were by nature corrupt and immoral, and that their presence in Hungary was corrupting the positive qualities of the indigenous population. In most cases, antisemites claimed that their objections to the Jews were not based on religious grounds, although some based their position on theological arguments and directly attacked the Jewish faith, and particularly the Talmud. A universal argument was that the Jews’ negative qualities were inherent and long-standing, and hence immutable. While social adaptation initially seemed to offer a course for the gradual assimilation of Jews into their surroundings, in practice it led to the emergence of a culturally assimilated but socially distinct Jewish sector. Antisemites repeatedly argued that the ongoing distinct character of Jews, as individuals and as a community, was proof that emancipation had been a failure. As in the other countries, the objectively distinct socioeconomic position of the Jewish community added a rational dimension to subjective and irrational sentiments based on traditional ecclesiastical distaste for the Jews. The waves of hatred directed at the Jewish populations in neighboring countries undoubtedly influenced antisemitic sentiments in Hungary. Despite this, Hungarian antisemitism and the local atmosphere in which it developed had something of a distinct character.15 Be this as it may, the efforts of the

14 Der Israelit, April 28, 1875. 15 On the characteristics of antisemitism in Hungary, see Jacob Katz, Hatred of Jews: From Hate of the Religion to Negation of the Race [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1979), 201–211, 258–264;

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antisemitic party ultimately proved ineffective. The press and members of parliament did not take it seriously, and it left only a limited imprint on the period. Its most prominent was success was in bringing the Tiszaeszlár affair to the courts, focusing domestic public attention on the case and turning into a scandal on the pan-European level.

B. The Tiszaeszlár Blood Libel In the latter three decades of the nineteenth century, the Jews of Hungary felt that their situation was distinctly better than that of their coreligionists in the surrounding countries. Antisemitism certainly existed, and was manifested in the public domain and in parliament, but it was weak and had little influence. The liberal-leaning Hungarian elite was committed to modernizing the national economy and promoting Magyarization; it acknowledged the Jews’ remarkable contribution to these goals and had no cause to adopt anti-Jewish positions. Despite all this, a blood libel in the medieval style erupted in Hungary during this period, inflaming antisemitic sentiments and sparking riots.16 The affair began in Tiszaeszlár, a village in the north of the Hungarian plain in Szabolcs county, on the banks of the River Tisza. The village had a population of around 2,700 at the time, and included both Catholics and Calvinists. The small Jewish community in the village, comprising a few dozen families, was based mainly on long-standing immigrants from Galicia, most of whom were peddlers and petty merchants who maintained a religious way of life. The Jews of the village spoke Hungarian and cultivated friendly relations with their neighbors. There were no economic, social or religious tensions that might have disturbed the peace in the area. On April 1, 1882, the Sabbath immediately preceding the festival of Passover, a fourteen-year-old servant girl called Eszter Solymosi went missing. The authorities did not attach any particular significance to her disappearance and did not launch a search to find her. The girl’s mother and aunt were the first to suggest that she had been harmed by the Jews in the village. Both women claimed to have heard shouting from inside the synagogue on the day the girl disappeared, and the county authorities duly instigated an investigation. On

Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 53–80. 16 On the riots at the time, see Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1944, 59–60. On October 2, 1882, the Jüdische Pester Zeitung reported on serious riots in Pressburg; the local police responded weakly and many Jews fled to Vienna.

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April 21, Morris Scharf, the fifteen-year-old son of Joseph Scharf, the sexton of the synagogue, claimed that he had seen the murder of the girl through the keyhole in the synagogue door. Fifteen Jews were subsequently accused of murdering the girl for ritual reasons, in preparation for Passover. On June 18, the body of the girl was pulled out of the River Tisza; she was wearing the same clothes as when she had disappeared. Her mother claimed that the body was not that of her daughter, and a new accusation emerged that the Jews had thrown the body of another woman, dressed in Eszter’s clothes, into the river in order to conceal their crime. The local priest József Adamovics and the area’s representative in parliament, Géza Ónody, were quick to join the ranks of the accusers. With the support of the antisemitic Catholic press and of Győző Istóczy, the flag-bearer of antisemitism in parliament, the affair burgeoned into an international scandal that was widely discussed in the press.17 On August 3, 1883, after a protracted trial, all the defendants were acquitted and released. Prime Minister Kálmán Tisza and his justice minister did not believe the blood libel, and some observers suggest that the court reached its decision under instructions from the highest echelon.18 Antisemitic elements seized on the affair in order to level economic and social accusations of a secular nature at the Jews, despite the inherently religious character of the blood libel. In a speech in parliament on May 23, 1882, Ónody asserted: According to the Talmud, on certain days the Jews require the blood of Christians for ritual purposes. On April 1, a fourteenyear-old girl went to a store to buy paint. Witnesses saw her pass by the synagogue, and there she disappeared without trace. . . . The Jewish meat slaughterer tempted her into the synagogue, tied her hands behind her back, gagged her, and, according to rumor, they murdered her in order to use her blood to make matzah. . . . Witnesses also state that they heard her cries for help.19 Istóczy claimed that the case was one of ritual murder since “the murder was committed by the ritual slaughterer, whose function in the Jewish community is to kill in accordance with ritual laws; and in view of the fact that the murder was

17 Kieval shows that although the blood libel began in a village, it was the modern city that amplified the premodern affair and turned it into an international scandal: Kieval, “Neighbors.” 18 Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1944, 59. 19 Márton Hegedüs, ed., The Golden Album of Jewish-Magyar Soldiers: First World War [Hungarian] (Budapest: Hungária, 1941), 60.

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committed in the synagogue; and in view of the fact that it was committed a few days before the festival of Passover.”20 The Tiszaeszlár affair created shockwaves in Hungary and around the world. On the global level, this was the most notable antisemitic incident since the Damascus blood libel prior to the Dreyfus affair. Numerous books and articles in several languages were written about the affair, and legal reports and protocols were published.21 The interest in the affair was heightened by the fact that many observers regarded it as a battle between progress and reaction, and not merely as a struggle between antisemites and Jews.22 By contrast, the Jewish bodies in Hungary confined themselves to providing legal representative for the defendants, who as noted were eventually acquitted. The weekly newspaper Egyenlőség, which began to appear during the course of the trial, adopted a more forceful and daring tone, under the influence of editor Miksa Szabolcsi and the Jewish parliamentarian Vilmos Vázsonyi, and was the most prominent Jewish voice in the public campaign against the blood libel. The affair created new patterns of political culture among Hungarian Jewry, and the Neolog weekly continued to campaign vigorously against antisemitism over the following years. The reactions to the blood libel among members of the Orthodox community were diverse. As in the past, dirges and epic poems served as a key tool for expressing distress. The Budapest poet Shalom Hacohen, who wrote in Hebrew, published one such dirge in Havatzelet: In the land of the Hungarians, Certain cursed persons plotted and claimed That a girl had been slaughtered at night. The accused were placed in prison, And in Tiszaeszlár and nearby villages Many others were persecuted mercilessly.

20 Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1944, 53. 21 Meyer Kayserling, The Tisza Eszlar Blood Libel [Hungarian] (Budapest: Selbstverl, 1882). Katzburg provides a detailed bibliography concerning the blood libel: Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 256–259, 269. More recent studies are presented in monographs on the subject, such as: Andrew Handler, Blood Libel at Tiszaeszlar (Boulder, CO: East European Monographs, 1980); Sander Deutsch, The Blood Plot of Tiszaeszlár [Yiddish] (New York: private publication, 1990). See also Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 235–250. For a comparative review of various blood libels, see Meir Cotic, Accused without Guilt: Trials under the Shadow of Antisemitism [Hebrew], vol. 6 (Tel Aviv: Milo, 1993), 25–101. For a recent and particularly comprehensive study, see György Kövér, The Tisza-Eszlar Drama: Social History Perspectives [Hungarian] (Budapest: Osiris, 2011). 22 Sándor Hegedűs, The Tisza Eszlar Blood Libel [Hungarian] (Budapest: Kossuth, 1966), 9.

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And were it not for the Lord who stood by us, We would surely have been swallowed alive.23 The use of the traditional dirge genre sets the affair firmly in the context of the long-standing worldview that regarded such incidents as inevitable and predictable. The only response was lamentation and mourning, until divine salvation came. Rabbi Chaim Sofer noted that the libel plot included strange and supernatural occurrences. He therefore concluded that the blood libel was a divine punishment against the Jews for distancing themselves from religion—a phenomenon he blamed on the enlightenment.24 This response also falls squarely within the traditional mold. Rabbi Hezekiel Feivel Plaut (1818–1895) wrote a chronicle of the events surrounding the blood libel. Like Sofer, he also suggested that the incident was a punishment for assimilation and the abandonment of the religious way of life—“a scourge that has spread through the countries.”25 While this comment continues the traditional response to hatred of the Jews, Plaut also participated in a rabbinical gathering in Budapest that will be discussed shortly, and in this context adopted a far more modern approach. Rabbi Nathan Lieberman (d. 1903), a religious scholar from the old school who did not hold an official rabbinical post, offered a more nuanced response in his own chronicle of the events, written a month after the defendants were acquitted. The declared goal of the publication was to preserve the memory of the riots, and of the Jews’ extrication from the difficult situation, lest “you forget this, and so that you may tell this story to your son and your grandson.” The booklet was entitled The Scroll of Eszlár, echoing the biblical Scroll of Esther and thereby positioning the libel as part of a long historical chain of attempts to persecute the Jews resolved through divine intervention. Lieberman began by quoting two verses: the first from Deuteronomy (“And among those nations you shall find no rest, nor shall the sole of your foot have a resting place”—28:65); and the second from the Passover Haggadah: “in each and every generation they rise up against us to destroy us. And the Holy One, blessed be He, rescues us from their hands.” These two mantras place Lieberman firmly in the traditional, premodern camp, but his chronicle also includes more modern perspectives:

23 Havatzelet, September 27, 1882, 8. 24 Chaim Sofer, Torah of Grace [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: private publication, 1985), sermon 135. 25 Hezekiel Feivel Plaut, Collections of a Living Friend [Hebrew] (Munkács: private publication, 1882), 107.

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There arose one of their number, a resident of Eszlár by the name of Ónody, and he joined forces with the evil instigator Istóczy, and they spoke before the officers of the parliament in the city of Budapest. Haughtily they asserted that all the Jews had sinned mightily by shedding innocent blood. . . . And thus not only should the equal rights they had been granted be rescinded, and the alliance with them ended, but they should be annihilated and eliminated from the face of the earth. . . . And the people of the district of Tapolcza were exceedingly wicked and sinful before the Lord. In the month of January they presented their supplication to the parliament, asking that the Jewish inhabitants of Hungary be deprived of the rights they had regained through the emancipation, and insisting that they be treated as they wished, as had been the case during the years of darkness that had passed.26 Lieberman emphasized that the charge of ritual murder had been leveled against all the Jews, and not merely the residents of the village involved in the affair. He also stressed the demand to rescind equal rights and even to “annihilate and eliminate” the Jews. His narrative stresses that the pre-emancipation era was one of darkness, implying that he shared the position of those who regarded equal rights as a blessing, at least post factum, despite their earlier concerns. Lieberman noted that the Neolog stream had offered a reward for anyone finding Eszter Solymosi, alive or dead, but offered his opinion that this move had created further scandal to no benefit. Following the blood libel, Rabbis Aryeh Leib (Lipót) Lipschitz, Menachem Katz (1795–1891), Hezekiel Feivel Plaut, and Abraham Singer (1849–1914) gathered to discuss the situation.27 The gathering, which was widely reported in the Orthodox press,28 issued a statement written in Jüdisch-Deutsch that was printed in full in the Budapest Orthodox newspaper Jüdische Pester Zeitung.29 Lieberman quotes a Hebrew version of the statement in his book; the text was probably released in both languages by the rabbis. The authors begin by

26 Nathan Lieberman, The Scroll of Eszlár [Hebrew] (Munkács: private publication, 1883), 5. 27 See Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 128–130. 28 Moshe Eliyahu Gonda, Yosef Cohen, and Yehuda Marton, The Jews of Hungary: Historical Studies [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Association for the Study of the Jews of Hungary, 1980), 165; Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1944, 54. 29 “Rabbinical Conference and Declaration concerning Tiszaeszlár,” JPZ, July 7, 1882.

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explaining why they were only commenting on the issue at this point, although hatred of the Jews had also existed in the past: For years inhabitants of the country have hated us with vitriol, inciting the people among whom we live to despise us and foment against us. We remained silent, because we trusted in the integrity of the residents of Hungary, who have always girdled themselves with justice, [assuming] that they would not lend their ear to those who slander us with lies. If antisemitic hatred burned here and spoke out, we innocently and lovingly suffered and kept our mouths closed. Now, however, the hatred has grown mightily . . . so that they dared to accuse us of a heinous murder that has not yet been clarified, nor has it been confirmed that it occurred, charging us with that blood libel that had long been forgotten. . . . It is no longer a time to remain silent. . . . Let us ask the wise non-Jews, those who record and research history, who know the oriental languages and beliefs, who teach in the high schools of study in all the countries of Europe, whether they will not testify and declare that the faith of Israel is not clean and clear of this sin of evil magic and this terrible iniquity.30 While the act of convening the rabbinical gathering and turning to gentile academics reflected an activist approach, the rabbis nevertheless urged the community to avoid confrontation and to trust in the decent character of the Hungarian people and in the authorities: We entreat our coreligionists to suffer calmly and quietly until truth shines forth like light. . . . For the honorable government and all those who are sincere and love justice are observing and striving to prevent any disruption to the peace of the land. And the remainder of the people are also at peace with us, and we are confident in their integrity, so that they will do us no harm. . . . Brothers! Do not despair and be careful not to quarrel with them. . . . Soon their hearts will change and they will once again love and embrace you.31

30 Quoted in Jacobowitz, Remember, vol. 2, article 46, 208–209. 31 Ibid. in the statement.

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The rabbis sought to distinguish between the inciters and the Hungarian people as a whole, who would soon “once again love and embrace” the Jews. In most instances, modern Hungarian antisemitism targeted phenomena of assimilation and emancipation, but the blood libel was directed at traditional Jews and at Judaism per se; accordingly, the rabbis made a concerted effort to repel it.32 Rabbi Lipschitz contacted clerics and academic institutions in the fields of Oriental studies and theology, particularly in Germany, and asked them to confirm that the Jewish texts include no mention of the use of blood for making matzah. The appeal was also published in Hungarian and German, and the date ( July 5, 1882) appeared solely according to the civil calendar, without mention of the Hebrew date—a further innovation. The product of the rabbis’ efforts was a booklet published in Berlin refuting the blood libel, including statements by Christian intellectuals opposing the allegations of ritual murder leveled at Jews. The four rabbis who organized the Budapest gathering can all be classified as Western Orthodox figures who were relatively receptive to modernity. It is unclear whether additional rabbis attended the meeting. Rabbi Lipschitz was the head of the religious court in Abaújszántó and over the preceding years had served as the head of the Orthodox National Office. He was relatively moderate, spoke fluent German, had a secular education, and was culturally integrated in his surroundings. Katz was the rabbi of Németkeresztúr (Deutschkreutz), an area where Western Orthodoxy predominated; he had undergone his rabbinical training at the yeshiva in Pressburg. Rabbi Plaut was the head of the religious court in Nagysurány in the Nitra district of southern Slovakia; he was one of the last disciples of the Chatam Sofer. Rabbi Singer came from Várpalota near Veszprém in western Hungary; he was both a rabbi and an academic scholar, and was a well-known writer. The scholars to whom the rabbis turned do not seem to have responded rapidly, since in August 1882 Rabbi Shimon Sofer (the head of the religious court in Krakow) wrote to Dr. Nathan Marcus Adler (1803–1890), the Chief Rabbi of the British Empire, and asked him to encourage English scholars to help refute the blood libel. Sofer added that he felt the English academics were more likely to respond than their German counterparts. Hungarian-born Shimon Sofer, the son of the Chatam Sofer, was disturbed by the blood libel and often mentioned it in his articles in Machzikei Ha-Dat, a newspaper published in Lvov, Galicia.

32 It should be recalled that the Neolog newspaper Egyenlőség campaigned vigorously, perhaps even more so than the Orthodox, to refute the blood libel.

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The request for support addressed by Orthodox rabbis to Christian clerics and scholars was an innovative step that reflected a measure of openness and integration in their surroundings, contrary to the traditional insularity and reliance on the authorities. The rabbis confronted the allegations directly, and actively sought the support of Christian experts to support their arguments. Most importantly of all, the appeal to the Jewish public makes no reference to the belief that the blood libel was a punishment for the Jews’ sins. In all these respects, the appeal reflects a modern approach that is similar to the position of the Neolog stream. The Jüdische Pester Zeitung reported on the ongoing trial and asserted that the affair posed a threat to the Jews of Hungary, who had hitherto been proud of the tolerant atmosphere in their country, by comparison to Russia, Germany, and Romania. It had now emerged, however, that whereas in Russian hatred of the Jews was evident mainly among the masses, in Hungary even educated members of parliament were actively involved in antisemitic incitement.33 This newspaper was unusually critical of the authorities, asserting that “it is impossible to forgive the Christian [sic] Ministry of Justice, which is failing to act against false reports accusing the Jews.”34 In an article entitled “The Jews as Consumers of Humans,” the newspaper quoted a verse from Ezekiel indicating that even in the distant past, there were those who accused Jews of cannibalism. The article complained that even in a liberal nation, an investigation was seriously examining the suspicion that Jews had slaughtered a Christian girl for ritual purposes. The article then reported on the progress of the trial in Nyíregyháza. The writer repeated the assertion that Hungary had always been the best place for Jews, and accordingly “it is evident that the trial will end soon with a proper decision, and that two petty individuals such as Istóczy and Ónody will not succeed in fomenting such vicious hatred of Jews in such a liberal land!”35 A few days later, the newspaper reported on an article by Hermann Strack36 that had appeared in the Pester Lloyd. Strack, a Christian theologian, noted that the affair surrounding the disappearance of the Hungarian girl had not only aroused interest in Hungary, but had also met with shocked reactions in other countries. He was concerned that the zealotry of an uneducated populace would lead to acts of cruelty against the Jews, thereby bringing shame on Christianity.

33 “Danger for the Hungarian Jews,” JPZ, May 26, 1882. 34 “Monomania,” JPZ, July 21, 1882 (emphases added). 35 “The Jews as Cannibals,” JPZ, August 2, 1882. 36 Strack (1848–1922) was a German Protestant theologian and a prominent Christian expert on the Talmud and rabbinical literature. His testimony was presented in the Tiszaeszlár trial in order to refute the prosecutors’ charges.

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He emphasized that it was not impossible that Jews might kill a Christian girl— criminal acts are certainly possible among Jews, as among others. However, it was impossible and undoubtedly untrue to claim that Jews required Christian blood in order to make matzah. Such claims against the Jews were quite simply lies. Most of the witnesses brought by the prosecution were evil, ignorant, and antisemitic; their arguments were spurious. There had certainly been occasions in the past when Christians had been murdered by Jews. However, there had surely been many more when Jews had been murdered by Christians. Strack went on to mention similar blood libels in Germany and to describe the emergence of the antisemitic movement.37 The articles in the Orthodox Jüdische Pester Zeitung reflected the sense of astonishment that in a tolerant and liberal country that had adopted emancipation and religious equality, such an embarrassing and medieval affair could erupt. On occasions criticism is leveled at figures who failed to condemn the anti-Jewish incitement, or who even expressed their belief that the charges against the defendants were true and that Jews indeed committed ritual murder. However, the newspaper also constantly reiterated the conviction that the Hungarian people was kind and fair, and accordingly expressed hope that the defendants would soon be acquitted. In this respect the newspaper reflected the position of Western Orthodoxy, although given the language in which it was published, it may be assumed that its readers tended to be more conservative. These varying responses to the Tiszaeszlár affair reflect a gradual shift from the traditional reaction to antisemitism to more a modern and rational approach. Rabbi Chaim Sofer marked the traditional end of the spectrum, proposing a direct connection between secular education and the blood libel: “For our many sins, education [Sofer used the German word Bildung, implying secular knowledge] has grown and the festivals, Sabbath, rules of ritual purity, and so forth have been forgotten. . . . And so this woe has befallen us.”38 Although Plaut joined in the appeal to Christian scholars, he essentially agreed: “This scourge has spread in those lands that, for our sins, have left the Lord and His Torah. . . . And for our sins we are now the object of the ‘mighty hand and an outstretched arm and with wrath poured out I will rule over you’ [Ezekiel 20:33].” Lieberman’s position is more nuanced, however; he does not suggest that the Jews’ sins are the reason for the blood libel, and implicitly he even praises and values emancipation. Alongside the old attitudes, new positions began to emerge within Orthodoxy. The appeal to Christian scholars and theologians to refute the antisemitic libel

37 “A Priest Speaks of the Blood Libel,” JPZ, August 14, 1882. 38 Plaut, Collections of a Living Friend, 108.

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embodied a modern, activist approach and a willingness to recognize non-Jewish knowledge of the Jewish scriptures and history. It is reasonable to assume that ultra-Orthodox circles were not involved in such appeals to external expertise. The rabbis’ statement was addressed directly to the Hungarian people, using language understandable to an educated audience. The rabbis stressed their confidence in the decency of the Hungarian people. The response of Rabbi Salamon Schück, which we will discuss below, is representative of those rabbis who adopted a modern, rational response to the blood libel and to antisemitism in general.

C. “Recant, Sirs, for Otherwise You Shall Not be Good and True Hungarians” Salamon Zvi Schück, the Orthodox rabbi of Karcag in central Hungary, adopted an interesting and perhaps original tactic. He imagined a court in which Jews faced accusations by antisemites, and which ultimately found that hatred of Jews and blood libels were contrary to the Magyar spirit, and those who adhered to them were traitors to the national heritage.39 In response to the blood libel, Schück published a booklet in 1882 entitled Christians about Jews. Written in Hungarian and German, the publication was intended for a non-Jewish audience, but in essence constituted a comprehensive statement of defense against antisemitism.40 Schück used modern terminology, included references to European and world history, and drew on Magyar national imagery in order to refute the claims against the Jews. The direct appeal to a non-Jewish audience by a rabbinical figure was a further innovation. The booklet shows that Schück had a broad general education. He began by sharply criticizing the ignorance and religious intolerance of the Hungarian masses, manifested in the ease with which they accepted the Tiszaeszlár blood libel. He argued that Hungary had a long tradition of religious tolerance and of protecting the Jews,41 and praised the nation for this noble conduct. The blood libel, which had been directed primarily at Orthodox Jews faithful to the Talmud and the Shulchan Arukh, was contrary to the Magyar spirit and to this heritage of support for the Jews. The spurious allegations, designed to foment hatred toward 39 On Schück in general, see Cohen, Hungarian Sages, 155–158; Ferziger, Road Not Taken; Ferziger, Moderate. 40 Salamon Schück, Christians about Jews [Hungarian] (Karcag: Sződi, 1882). 41 By way of example, he quotes from Graetz an incident in 1067 when the Hungarians defeated German Crusaders who intended to attack Jews in Hungary; ibid., 1.

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the Jews among the Hungarian people, demanded a response. Schück quoted Cicero’s principle that one must never remain silent in the face of injustice, and that those who do so are as reprehensible as someone who abandons his parents and home in time of danger. Schück believed that the best way to respond would be to create a “pantheon of advocates”—Christian figures who rejected the charges leveled at the Jews. He then went on to list a long series of antisemitic allegations, for each one providing testimonies by prominent Christian figures, including popes and converts from Judaism, to refute the charges. The booklet presents a dialogue between Christians, from which Jews are absent. Schück’s court comprises a judge, a prosecutor who brings charges against the Jews, and a defense attorney who presents a series of historical figures offering evidence in their favor.42 The counsel for the defense responded to the accusation that the Jews had never been faithful to their homeland by quoting various episodes from European history. In 1600, for example, the Austrian army took control of the area around Buda, which was controlled by the Turks, and was about to conquer Buda Castle. However, the Jews fought valiantly, forcing the Austrians to retreat. In response, the Austrians asked the emperor to expel the Jews of Austria. However, the emperor retorted that the Jews should be praised for defending their home in Hungary. These Jews had showed loyalty to their country, he explained, and one day the Jews of Austria would also undoubtedly fight valiantly for their country.43 The defense also quoted documents dating back to the times of Árpád, the chief of the Hungarian tribes, that include the names of senior Jewish military commanders. In the sixteenth century, records mention a Jew by the name of Solomon who managed the treasures belonging to the court of King Lajos the Second. One witness recalled that following the suppression of the Hungarian revolt of 1849, the Austrian General Von Haynau had punished the Jewish community for its intensive involvement in the revolution, imposing a fine of 2,300,000 forints; some time later, an imperial order transferred this sum to the Jewish educational fund. Another witness for the defense noted that in a speech to the French National Assembly in 1794, a parliamentarian had commented that the Jews are loyal to a place that offers them a home; the deputy mentioned the battalion of Polish Jews that had been destroyed while fighting bravely to defend Warsaw and Prague. Such Jews, he concluded, deserved to

42 Schück includes footnotes with references to his sources regarding the historical events. 43 This story is taken from the book Mei-‘Emeq Ha-Bakha [From the Valley of Tears], written by Yosef Cohen in the sixteenth century, and published in edited form by Dr. Wiener (1858), 140.

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become French citizens. All these incidents were presented in support of the claim that Jews show exceptional loyalty to their homeland. The trial ends with an impassioned speech by the judge castigating antisemitism: not from a standpoint of humanism and liberalism, but in the name of “the true and authentic Magyar character.” How can an authentic Magyar hate the Jews, who according to the ancient chronicles settled the area of Hungary together with the Magyar tribes, participated in conquering the land, fought nobly, and sacrificed their blood in all Hungary’s wars? . . . Is it a sin to belong to the race to which the founder of Christianity also belonged? . . . Are the Jews, who gave us the Bible, to be hated? . . . Were it not for the contribution of Abraham, Moses, David, and the Prophets, we would be spiritually impoverished. To reject another people and exploit its distress for our own sakes contradicts our fundamental character as Hungarians. . . . Are the Jews among us not loyal? Are the Jews who live among the Magyar people not Magyars like ourselves? Are those Jews who live among the Hungarian-Slavic minority not better Hungarians than the Slavic inhabitants of Hungary? . . . Recant your accusations, Sirs, and do not pollute Hungarian history. Remember that the New Testament does not distinguish between one race and another, and declares that the founder of Christianity came to redeem all humanity. Recant, Sirs, for otherwise you shall not be good and true Magyars [emphasis in original]. Schück’s claim that antisemitism is unbecoming for the noble and decent Hungarian people was repeated countless times in the ongoing discourse. In another booklet written in Hungarian and entitled The Ten Commandments against Antisemitism, Schück challenged ten half-truths often leveled at the Jews by their adversaries.44 This booklet was also intended for a Christian audience, and for the first time it includes quotes from the New Testament in order to support Schück’s claim that antisemites pose a threat to the homeland. He ended the booklet by appealing in turn to Christians, Hungarians, and Jews. He reminded Christians of the words of John: “For salvation is from the Jews” ( John 4:22). He urges Hungarians not to join forces with those who trample “the 44 August Rohling (1839–1931) in his book The Talmudic Jew [German] (Münster, 1879).

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delicate shoots of freedom and equality our fathers nurtured with their hearts and blood,” warning that hatred of one denomination will soon deteriorate into widespread hatred within the nation. Turning to the Jews, he urged them to forget the attacks they have faced through no fault of their own, but not to forget their duty to be grateful to the Magyar people, which had always treated them kindly. Schück used modern language and a conceptual framework suited to contemporary Europe and Hungary in his response to antisemitism. He quoted Western European figures in order to influence Hungarians, who looked admiringly to the west of the continent as a model of progress and enlightenment. In both publications he sought to persuade his readers that he was offering his response from a Hungarian-Christian perspective, and ostensibly not from a Jewish one. Schück refrained from repeating the traditional Jewish themes concerning antisemitism. Instead, as an Orthodox rabbi, he addressed the Christian public directly, basing his argument on statements by prominent Christian figures, and concluding that Hungarians should reject antisemitism as alien to the Magyar spirit. He adopted the Magyar nationalist discourse and terminology of the time in order to refute the antisemitic allegations. Most importantly, perhaps, he shifted the responsibility for antisemitism from the Jews themselves to Christians. In all these respects, he presented a new Orthodox approach to the world around him that was not shared by most of his colleagues. Indeed, his position was much closer to that of the Neolog figures engaged in the struggle against antisemitism in the same period.45

D. Christian Conservatism and Antisemitism In the mid-1890s, following a power struggle between the secular authorities and the Church, and against the background of an economic depression, the Catholic population in Hungary began to organize politically. The reforms proposed in parliament concerning the relations between religion and state sparked an anti-liberal reaction, and in 1895 the Catholic People’s Party was established, with the support of the Church and elements of the gentry. The party’s chief goal was to preserve the Catholic character of Hungarian society and to thwart the reformists’ efforts to separate religion and state. The chief adversary of the People’s Party was liberalism, which it regarded as an 45 Schück, Ten Commandments.

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anti-Christian ideology. The liberal tendency in Hungary was dominated by the Calvinist elite, which regarded itself as the authentic manifestation of the Magyar character, and which held considerable political power, despite its minority status.46 The People Party also claimed that the Jews, and particularly the Jewish press and Jewish academics, had played a major role in the emergence of liberalism. Nevertheless, their opposition was directed mainly at liberal ideas, rather than at the Jews per se. Although the official platform of the People’s Party did not include any antisemitic demands, its anti-Jewish character was apparent from the start.47 Jews were accused of disseminating liberal, socialist, and cosmopolitan ideas that were regarded as unpatriotic, anti-Christian, and contrary to the authentic Magyar spirit. During the two decades preceding the First World War, Jews were held responsible for the economic crisis, and anti-Jewish propaganda became somewhat more virulent.48 In December 1892, a conference of bishops drafted memorandums concerning the proposed laws on religious issues. The documents, which were submitted to the government, the king, and the pope, included expressions of opposition to the proposal to declare Judaism a “received religion,” one of the consequences of which would be the possibility for Christians to convert to Judaism. The bishops argued: The difference between Christianity and Judaism is so great and profound that it is impossible to draft a law that relates to conversion from Judaism to Christianity, or vice versa. The Christian religion is not confined to one specific nation. Thanks to its universal character, all the peoples of the world can believe in it without this impairing their national character. . . . However, the transition to the Jewish religion is possible only if a person disconnects himself from his nationhood and merges with Jewish nationhood, since in the eyes of Judaism, religion and

46 His remarks were similar to those of the Neolog Rabbi Kohn: Kohn, How Should We Face. 47 The Calvinists accounted for only 14.3 percent of the population, almost all (98.4 percent) ethnic Magyars, including many of the gentry. The franchise was very limited and only certain circles were able to vote, ensuring that the elite had a far greater electoral weight than its size would suggest: Hanebrink, In Defense, 11, 39–42. 48 On the orientation of the People’s Party, see Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 182–193; Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1944, 74–84.

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nationhood are inseparable: the Jewish religion is a national religion.49 This position, which was adopted by the People’s Party, diametrically contradicted the basic assumption adopted both by official Orthodoxy and by the Neologs that religion and nationhood are unrelated, and that a Jew who is loyal to his faith can at the same time be a devoted son of the Hungarian nation. Accordingly, it is unsurprising that both streams waged a parallel and consistent campaign against the People’s Party. On the Neolog side, the main tool in this campaign was the weekly newspaper Egyenlőség, a particularly prominent voice in this context was that of Vilmos Vázsonyi, who would later serve as the minister of justice.50 The Orthodox expressed their positions through the Zsidó Hiradó. The reactions of the second generation of emancipation to the People’s Party were generally more assertive than those of the previous generation toward the antisemitism of the 1880s. The younger generation had undergone processes of Magyarization and identified with national Hungarian goals. Accordingly, they were surprised by the resurgence of antisemitism in an era of social and cultural integration. Moreover, they had also acquired political and linguistic tools enabling them to present their case. Just as it seemed that antisemitism was on the verge of disappearing, Jews once again felt rejected and hated. In most instances, however, they adopted a strategy based on minimizing the problem, although around the turn of the century a tendency can be seen to acknowledge reality. The struggle against social rejection was naturally influenced by the respective religious positions of the Neolog and Orthodox streams, as well as by the socioeconomic differences between the two. During the Dualist period, antisemitism was not regarded as an existential threat and did not impair the trust placed by the Orthodox community in the nation and people. Unlike the Jews of Germany and Austria, the Hungarian Jews during this period did not establish any organization devoted to defending them against antisemitism, faithful to their conviction that they enjoyed the support of the authorities and the aristocratic circles. Rejection of the Jews was evident in the social and economic realms, but it was not reflected in the country’s laws—in contrast to the situation that emerged later in the interwar period. The successful integration of the Jews in the country’s economic and social life

49 Fischer, “Anti-Semitism,” 880–886; Nathaniel Katzburg, “Political Anti-Semitism in Hungary in the 1880s and 1890s” (PhD diss., Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1963); Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1944, 74–78. 50 Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 185.

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was the main reason for the hatred they faced, but these same achievements also ensured the support of the authorities, who recognized the important contribution Jews were making to modernization and to their broad cultural and national goals. Both sides continued to respect the essential equation of emancipation in return for Magyarization.

E. The Reflection of Antisemitism in the Debate between the Jewish Streams During the peak of the debate between the Orthodox and Neolog streams, under the monarchy, some Orthodox figures blamed liberal and Neolog circles for the emergence of antisemitism in Hungary. In the Orthodox weekly, Márton Singer reviewed the rising tide of antisemitic incidents in Germany and France, contrasting this with the situation in Hungary, where the situation had improved since the Tiszaeszlár affair. Singer claimed that the loyalty of Orthodox Jews to their heritage had led both to emancipation and to a decline in antisemitic incitement. Perhaps if we Jews are faithful to our heritage, we will reach an era of peace and calm. . . . It is adhesion to the religion and tradition that has saved the Jews. . . . The Jews’ firm stance convinced the opposing side that the Jews would remain within their faith through fire and water. Accordingly, they gradually began to grant them rights, and so the persecutions stopped. . . . Today the situation is different. The Neologs are leaving the faith, and some of them are even leaving Jewry. . . . They are largely responsible for the growing presence of antisemitic voices in our times. . . . Perhaps they are the cause of this phenomenon; perhaps they reawakened the dormant curse of Israel.51 The writer claimed that classic antisemitism had ceased when the Gentiles realized that they could not persuade the Jews to abandon their religion. The disrespect for tradition shown by the Neologs had revived dormant antisemitic sentiments. As in the traditional response to antisemitism, Singer once again positioned it as a punishment for the Jews’ sins (in this instance, the sin of

51 A comprehensive article on Singer’s positions appeared on the front page of Egyenlőség, February 1, 1895.

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assimilation). The innovation is that this punishment is imposed not by God, but by Christians who scorn the Jews for abandoning their own heritage. This approach creates a clear logical connection between the conduct of the Neolog stream and antisemitism. A little later, the Zsidó Hiradó claimed again that the Jews’ abandonment of their religion had attracted scorn.52 Márton Singer claimed that in the rush for technological progress, steam, and electricity, people were concentrating on making a living and abandoning the support and tranquility offered by religion. Modern humans and modern city could feel this lack, and each religious denomination was struggling to return to its original foundation. Despite the distinct approaches of the different denominations, each one was proud of its religious values. However, the situation among the Jews was different. The “progressive and the innovators” (Singer presented these terms inside inverted commas) were abandoning their religion and ashamed of their past, sometimes to the point of self-denial. Religious people of all denominations respected other religious Hungarians, including Orthodox Jews, but felt scorn for those who themselves scorn their ancestral heritage. The distancing of “enlightened” Jews, just as other denominations were returning to their respective religious values, was sparking and reviving hatred of the Jews. When these progressive Jews mocked religious ideas, calling them old-fashioned and condemning those who adhered to them, they caused hatred of all Jews, without distinction between the religious and non-religious. Singer added a new claim: the Neolog criticism of Orthodox Jews’ adherence to tradition was interpreted by Christians as criticism of loyalty to any tradition, and hence as an attack against religious Christians, who responded with hatred. In an article in the Zsidó Hiradó about the People’s Party, with its antisemitic leanings, the editor Viador focused his criticisms mainly on the Neolog journal. He claimed that while an anti-Jewish campaign was underway, the rival newspaper was choosing to add to the incitement, “claiming that the Orthodox are not sufficiently Hungarian, their rabbis ignore the Hungarian language, and their communal affairs are conducted in Yiddish. . . . They also claim that the sole difference between the Neolog and Orthodox streams is that the former is Hungarian, while the latter is not. This is a gross lie!”53 Miksa Szabolcsi, the editor of the Neolog journal who was attacked by Viador, had indeed called for Yiddish to be replaced by Hungarian in rabbinical sermons. However, he also emphasized: “We do not for a moment doubt

52 Márton Singer, “Antisemitism,” ZsH, June 30, 1892. 53 Márton Singer, “Reflections,” ZsH, August 11, 1892.

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the patriotism of the rabbis of the Orthodox stream. We know that they love their homeland, but it is desirable that others, who are not satisfied solely by inner sentiments, should also know this. The Hungarian cannot understand patriotism that is not accompanied by adoption of the [Hungarian] language. . . . Anything that is not said in the synagogue in the Holy Tongue [Hebrew] should be said in Hungarian, which is also holy for us.”54 Although Szabolcsi did not attack Orthodoxy in the manner Viador alleged, he chose to digress from discussion of antisemitism into the debate between the Jewish streams. As noted in the discussion above on the way different groups regarded the “Jewish Question,” for the antisemites the main issue was economic and labor competition. The Neologs sought to expand their participation in public and economic life and to reach more senior positions. By contrast, the Orthodox did not have such aspirations, since such positions were difficult to reconcile with a religious way of life. Thus it was alleged that the reason for antisemitism was economic competition between the liberal Neolog public and other Hungarians. Again, the charge was that the conduct of this stream was provoking anti-Jewish anger.55 The tendency of some Orthodox commentators to suggest a connection between antisemitism and the conduct of the Neologs was particularly prevalent during the early decades of the monarchic era. In this period the confrontation between the two streams was fierce, and Neology was regarded as a greater threat than antisemitism. However, from as early as the late nineteenth century, Neologs tended to move somewhat closer to Judaism and to Orthodoxy, disillusioned with their ongoing social exclusion. After the First World War, rising antisemitism deflected attention from the ongoing internal debate. Only isolated instances of point scoring between the two streams can be found in this period. An example is a response to the speech by the priest Sándor Ernszt in 1936, mentioned above: “Only Jews who have distanced themselves from their origins cause damage to their people—it is the assimilationists who cause hatred of the Jews, not the observant.”56 The newspaper presented a somewhat modernized version of the argument that the abandonment of the Torah led to divine punishment, and added an explanation for this assertion. Those who were leaving Judaism were Neologs; their actions aroused anger and outrage; and these in turn created the antisemitic

54 “The Antisemites and the Jews,” ZsH, October 29, 1896. 55 See above, chapter four, note 48. 56 See above, chapter four, note 48.

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reaction. Cause and effect, crime and punishment, remained unchanged, but the connection was “secularized” from a divine act to a social phenomenon. The Neologs, who had always aspired to achieve full equality and integration, were left with a sense of bitterness after these failed to materialize, even after an entire generation had passed. They were more vigorous than the Orthodox in their campaign against antisemitism, particularly through their journal Egyenlőség. Moreover, their arguments against antisemitism were more specific. They complained of the lack of proper representation of Jews in national politics, difficulties in securing official positions, the slow pace of social integration, failure to provide financial support for Jewish institutions as promised in the Reception Law, and so forth. By contrast, the Orthodox complaints were more generalized, centering on the failure to accept the Jews as part of the nation. While the Orthodox also saw themselves as an integral part of Hungary, they do not appear to have aspired to full integration in all areas of life, as the Neologs did. Thus texts on the subject of antisemitism also expose the differing priorities of the two streams. Did the Orthodox commentators genuinely believe that the Neologs were partly responsible for antisemitism, or was this allegation part of the ongoing wrangling between the two streams? In all probability, both possibilities are true. The claim that the Neologs’ failure to keep the commandments provokes scorn or anger among Christians seems to be primarily part of the internal debate; it is doubtful whether the writers themselves believed this argument. They did, however, believe that the image of the successful, wealthy Jew, posing competition to Christians, was arousing jealousy and hatred. In terms of the rapid climbing of the socioeconomic ladder, the acquisition of assets, and the strong competition between Jews and large sections of Christian society, the Neologs clearly predominated.57

F. Who are the Antisemites? Is it possible to offer a profile of the social groups that were inclined to adopt antisemitic views? More specifically, is it true to assert that most of the antisemites came from the poorer sections of society, from the uneducated masses; or was antisemitism actually more prevalent among the intelligentsia? This question preoccupied writers in the Jewish press during the monarchic era. The Orthodox newspaper adhered to the image of Hungarians as honest, 57 “Noteworthy Declarations,” ZsU, January 17, 1936.

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decent, and noble; it believed in progress and knowledge, and accordingly it usually argued that antisemitism was confined mainly to the underprivileged and uneducated sections of society. When antisemitic incidents occurred among university students, this was attributed to ignorant students, regarded as isolated exceptions to the rule. Gradually, however, observers were forced to recognize that antisemites could be found in all social circles. Students at the Technical University in Budapest hung a sign at the entrance to the lecture hall declaring that entry was forbidden to Jews. A Jewish student who removed the sign was accused by the antisemites of disrespecting the academic institution. An article in the Orthodox newspaper asked how such incidents could occur in a place devoted to the study of science. Its explanation was that those responsible were uneducated and knew nothing about science, for otherwise they would not have been antisemites. They were studying in order to gain a degree, but had no interest in education. A true scientist can never be an antisemite, since science teaches tolerance and love of others.58 The writer, who referred to himself by the nom-de-plume “Pedagog,” showed great admiration for education, science, and academic studies, and referred repeatedly to the lack of humanity evident in education systems capable of producing such ignorant and rude graduates. An article examining the antisemitic views of Voltaire, one of the icons of enlightenment in France and beyond, suggested that antisemitism is particular dangerous when it is manifested among members of the elites—intellectuals and scientists such as Voltaire.59 The writer attempts to explain why Voltaire, who was usually tolerant and humanist, developed an antipathy toward Jews. In his quest for wealth, Voltaire became embroiled in legal proceedings against a Jew by the name of Hirschler who had helped him with various financial initiatives in the past. The writer prefers to believe that educated and respectable people do not tend to be antisemites, and accordingly seeks to suggest that Voltaire was an exception due to his personal experiences. Non-Jewish Hungarian intellectuals also acknowledged that antisemitism had secured a foothold in academic circles. The Orthodox newspaper reported that the appointments committee at Budapest Science University had refused to approve the appointment of the Jewish philosopher Bernát Alexander (1850– 1927) as a professor. The committee explained that Alexander published articles in a newspaper, an occupation regarded as unsuitable for a true scholar.60 The

58 See Frojimovics, Religious Streams, 130–135. 59 “A Matter of Honor,” ZsH, November 9, 1899. 60 “Voltaire’s Antisemitism,” ZsH, March 22, 1900.

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Orthodox weekly noted, however, that a respected non-Jewish writer, journalist, and former parliamentarian had published a long article in the Budapesti Hirlap strongly condemning the decision, and suggesting that the sole reason why Alexander had been denied the professorship was because he was a Jew. The Orthodox newspaper quoted the writer’s comments: Let us not deny that antisemitism is alive and well among us in a most foolish manner. A large part of the population of our country is comprised of minorities, all of whom are our enemies and hate Hungarian culture. Only in the case of the Jews do we hope that over time they can become Hungarians in body and soul. They are the only [minority] group some of whom are already participating in building the nation-state. Among them Bernát Alexander is one of the most prominent and best examples, yet now he is kept away from the cathedra because of his Judaism.61 In reporting on this incident and quoting the respected writer, the Orthodox newspaper implicitly manifested its positive attitude toward secular education and academia, even when the Jewish person involved was a secular liberal. The journalist does not challenge the writer’s assertion that Hungarians hope that “over time [the Jews] can become Hungarians in body and soul.” It is also worth noting the comments of the impartial non-Jewish observer regarding the involvement of Jews in national activity, a feature he contrasts with the other minorities. The Orthodox Zsidó Hiradó reported that two students who had completed their doctoral studies were awarded state certificates of excellence at a ceremony attended by the head of the Education Authority, representing the king. The distinguished guest discussed the role of the younger generation in promoting national unity, and quoted the Hungarian poet Mihály Vörösmarty (1800–1855): “Fire will melt the walls that separate people, if the youth avoid any division and devotes itself to love of the homeland through mutual fellowship; for when there is hatred between people, it is impossible to love the homeland.”62 The newspaper lauded the poet’s call to remove barriers between Hungarians, despite the traditional tendency of Orthodox to reinforce and even

61 Alexander was eventually admitted as professor and served as member of the National Academy: Ujvári, Lexicon, 24–25. 62 “Dignified Antisemites,” ZsH, February 22, 1900.

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raise such walls. The writer clearly does not feel bound by this older approach, and does not even see a need to explain his support for a different attitude, perhaps assuming that this modern way is taken for granted by his readers. Every January the Zsidó Hiradó published a review of events around the Jewish world over the past year, focusing in particular on antisemitic incidents. The newspaper claimed that 1900 was the saddest year for decades for Jews around the globe. The situation in Germany was very somber and the blood libel in Konitz had cast a shadow over the whole year while the resulting trial in Polná, Bohemia dragged on.63 Noting that there was no cause for proclamations about progress and enlightenment, the newspaper reported on additional instances in Germany before reviewing the situation in Morocco, Persia, South Africa, and even China. It then noted: Our situation in Hungary is relatively good, although the People’s Party is not only still alive, but is pursuing its unbridled incitement even more than in the past. The party’s newspapers constantly accuse the Jews; the party runs anti-Jewish associations and organizations throughout the country. At the same time, fortunately the Hungarian people is clear-headed and lacks any tendency to fanaticism; the leadership is liberal, headed by enlightened individuals; and the parties in parliament, with the exception of the People’s Party, lean toward liberalism.64 After reporting that parliament asked the minister of education to expose and detail the different streams and branches of Judaism, another writer in the Zsidó Hiradó concluded that the simple folk listen to incitement. He claimed that the demand proved the existence of a myth concerning secret and mysterious groups of Jews that control strange secrets known only to themselves. This myth was spread by antisemites; common people fear the unknown and unfamiliar and are readily misled by the inciters. “Judaism is a partner in all the achievements of morality; it is interested in any humane action, any initiative intended to ease human pain and suffering; and participates in any movement that seeks to improve the people’s material and moral condition. . . . The light in Judaism is stronger than the beacons of incitement, and slowly—perhaps after 63 “Magna Cum Laude,” ZsH, December 6, 1900. 64 On the Konitz blood libel in Eastern Prussia, see Christoph Nonn, “The Konitz Incident: Antisemitism and Nationalism in Eastern Prussia, 1900,” in German Antisemitism—A Reevaluation [Hebrew], ed. Jacob Borat and Oded Heilbruner. ( Jerusalem: Am Oved, 2000), 228–251. On the Polná blood libel, see Cotic, Accused, 105–121.

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centuries—the time will come when they will understand the true nature of Judaism. Then they will turn their backs on all the inciters and bring them to reckoning.”65 According to these comments, “the people,” who were conventionally described as decent and noble, may not be responsible for initiating incitement, but they are led along by it. In the past, the traditional Jew—distinguished from others in appearance, dress, language, customs, and religion—aroused fear, and this was sometimes translated into violence. Although the modern Jew of Central Europe, where antisemitism was flourishing, had a less distinctive appearance, the writer claimed that others still reacted with fear. An anonymous writer sought to reconcile the ostensible contradiction between antisemitism and modernity. How can one explain the antisemitism of the previous century and the new one that was just beginning, in an age that valued culture and education? How can enlightenment and discrimination coexist? The advocates of culture and education claimed that they had found a path to a better world, free of hatred. Yet terrible injustices had also been committed in the name of culture: people fought each other and brought suffering, pain, and death. The exponents of culture argue that these evils are not the result of education, but of a lack of education. However, the writer suggests that this is not entirely correct. In Vienna, France, and Hungary, many students are at the forefront of antisemitic and reactionary tendencies, despite their education.66 His solution is to distinguish between two types of educated people: genuine and false. Those who participate in incitement are not truly educated, but rather semi-educated. They cloak themselves in education to justify their ideas, but their education is a form of lip-service: they have not internalized its true values. Thus the writer concludes that true culture and enlightenment can never leave room for the hatred of others: The true educated are our friends; the true educated respect us, since we understand them; they appreciate our world of morality and values. This is our consolation: the elite of humanity and its intelligentsia stand by us, and this is the true victory.67 The writer appreciates and treasures education and culture, even when these take a secular form. He even acknowledges the moral dimension of culture.

65 “Looking Back,” ZsH, January 3, 1901. 66 “The Streams of Our Faith,” ZsH, February 28, 1901. 67 “Semi-Education,” ZsH, March 21, 1901.

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However, he grapples with the question as to how circles that appear to be cultured can adopt and propagate prejudice—views that are utterly rejected by education. He argues that antisemites are only ostensibly educated: a truly educated person cannot be an antisemite. Thus the writer concludes that general culture has human and moral worth, provided its values are internalized. Karl Lueger (1844–1910), an antisemite who served as mayor of Vienna and was a popular leader in the city, was regarded as a threat in Budapest, due to the close ties between the two cities. Accordingly, the Orthodox press published numerous reports and articles about his activities. Lueger was portrayed as a pathetic man, lacking any serious ideas, whose strength lay solely in his rude character and the aspersions he cast on others. The newspaper mentioned an incident in which unknown opponents slapped Lueger in the face on a sidestreet in Vienna late at night. The report suggested that the attackers did not choose a more “manly” response reflected a disdain for Lueger, as if he were a wayward child worthy of no more than a few slaps. After all, who is Lueger? The great enemy of Hungary and of Judaism. Whenever he refers to our sweet homeland and to Jews, he maligns both in a filthy manner reminiscent of the sewers. Those who slapped Lueger, and who will slap him again countless times, are not Jews but true Aryans. They slapped him not in Budapest, the capital of the nation he despises, but in Vienna, where he serves as mayor. . . . When one fights a serious and threatening individual, one uses weapons. But no-one wishes to kill such a pathetic man, only to slap him. . . . Those in our own homeland who are beginning to follow the Luegers should listen to the message conveyed by these slaps. . . . The fine and wise citizens of Hungary should listen to the voices emanating from Vienna.68 Lueger was depicted as the enemy of “sweet Hungary,” and only secondarily as the enemy of the Jews. He had followers in Hungary, but they would do well to learn the lessons from this incident and to see how the splendid imperial capital had now become “a sad city whose streets are ruled by rudeness.” The writer warned the Hungarians not to adopt Lueger’s views, since these were more antiHungarian than they were anti-Jewish, and since Lueger was an inconsequential fool whose meaningless prattle was unworthy of attention. 68 “Viennese Slaps,” ZsH, April 25, 1901.

The Monarchic Era

It gradually became apparent that antisemites could be found in all strata of Hungarian society. After the war, the attempt to define which circles they came from was largely abandoned. It may be asked why writers devoted so much energy to the attempt to clarify the identity or characteristics of the antisemites. The importance they attached to this effort would seem to reflect the consistent belief in the progress, enlightenment, and humanity of the modern era, and even more so in the idyllic picture of the Magyar past: basic convictions that were contradicted by contemporary developments. Their efforts reflected an attempt to preserve the optimistic worldview that had been adopted under the monarchy. As soon as they managed to compose a profile of a particular type of antisemite, they immediately went on to explain why such individuals were exceptions, thereby ostensibly maintaining the positive image of Hungary they were so reluctant to abandon. Jews from all streams and circles did everything possible to regard antisemitism as a transient and unimportant phenomenon, and to a large extent they maintained this approach until the Holocaust. In broad terms, the monarchic era can be regarded as a new, optimistic chapter in the history of Hungary and its Jews. However, during this period seeds were sown that would emerge later. Katzburg ends his study of antisemitism in the monarchic era with the observation: It can be concluded that the anti-Jewish movement of the monarchic era inculcated basic attitudes and ideological principles that were adopted in the subsequent periods by the various antisemitic streams. . . . From this perspective, we can include the antisemitism of this period as one of those historical phenomena whose importance should be gauged not only by their weight at the time, but also by their later influence; their final denouement exposes the true nature of their beginnings.69 The sociologist Karady reached a similar conclusion, albeit in a more radical form. He suggests that a line of continuity can be seen between the patterns of response to the “Jewish Question” in different periods: from the monarchic era, when forms of rejection began to emerge, through the extreme incitement of the interwar period, onto anti-Jewish legislation, and culminating in the tragic events leading to the devastation of Hungarian Jewry.70

69 Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914. 70 Karady, “Coming of the Shoah.”

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The Interwar Period

Many Jews served in combat roles during the First World War, and one-third of the Hungarian officers killed in fighting were Jews. Fighting in the war was conceived by Orthodox Jews, Neologs, and Hungarians in general as an act of heroism, a national obligation, and a religious obligation. Despite this record, Jews were accused of evading military service, particularly on the front line, and of exploiting the war economy for profiteering.1 Following the defeat of the Central Powers, the Dual Monarchy was dismantled. Under the Treaty of Trianon (1920), around two-thirds of Hungary’s territory and sixty percent of its population were ceded to its neighbors. The economic development and prosperity of the monarchic era gave way to a profound socioeconomic crisis that persisted in varying degrees until the outbreak of the Second World War.2 Broad circles of Hungarian society believed that the origins of the crisis lay in the preceding era. The Jews were identified with liberalism, democracy, and capitalism, and accordingly were held responsible for the defeat and for the

1 Fischer, “Anti-Semitism,” 885. 2 See Sugar et al., History, 319–338; Macartney, October Fifteenth; Romsics, Hungary.

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difficulties of the postwar period. The “Jewish Question” gradually occupied a central place on the public and political agenda.3 Post-Trianon Hungary lost most of its minority populations and became a more uninational and homogenous society. Magyarization efforts ended since they were no longer needed. The Jews lost their importance as a balancing force in the struggle for Magyarization, and hence also lost the support of the authorities. The short-lived Communist coup of 1919, many of whose leaders were Jews, was interpreted as an attempt by the Jews to seize control of Hungary and sparked a fierce antisemitic response.4 Hungary’s underlying ethos shifted from one of inclusive liberal nationalism to exclusivist Christian-conservative nationalism. One of the first manifestations of this change was the Numerus Clausus law, the first act of antisemitic legislation enacted in Europe following the First World War.5

A. The Numerus Clausus The Numerus Clausus law of 1920 marked the first reversal to the principle of equal rights since Hungary’s Jews were emancipated in 1867.6 The law sought to restrict the number of Jewish students in institutions of higher education; in the longer term, it was intended to reduce substantially the proportion of Jews active in the economy, academia, and the liberal professions. This was the first time that any government had imposed such a quota through primary legislation.7 The law was particularly devastating for liberal-Neolog circles, which had always championed the principle of cultural, social, and professional integration in Hungarian society; academic education naturally played a central

3 On the increasingly anti-Jewish mood during the last two years of the First World War, see Péter Bihari, “Aspects of Anti-Semitism in Hungary 1915–1918,” Journal of Fondazione CDEC: Quest, Issues in Contemporary Jewish History (2016): 58–93. 4 Of the forty-five People’s Commissars in Kun’s Bolshevik leadership, thirty-one were of Jewish origin: Karady, Coming of the Shoah, 58. 5 Katzburg, Hungary and the Jews, 60–79. Von Klimó discusses in detail the changing nature of Hungarian nationhood during this period: Von Klimó, Nation. 6 Kovács, Numerus Clausus; Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 418–428; Gergely Egressy, “A Statistical Overview of the Hungarian Numerus Clausus Law of 1920,” East European Quarterly 34, no. 4 (2001): 447–464; Mária M. Kovács, “The Case of the Teleki Statue: The New Debate on the History of the Numerus Clausus in Hungary,” Jewish Studies at the Central European University 4 (2003–2005): 191–208; Victor Karady and Peter Tibor Nagy, The Numerus Clausus in Hungary (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2012); Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 103–104. 7 Kovács, “Case,” 196.

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role in this context. Relatively few Jewish students in higher education belonged to the Orthodox stream; the Numerus Clausus mainly affected the middleclass bourgeoisie who constituted the backbone of patriotic and assimilated Hungarian Jewish society.8 With this in mind, it is particularly interesting to examine the response of the Orthodox public, whose leaders were ambivalent about integration and in some instances even expressed opposition to secular and academic education. Moreover, during the last three decades of the nineteenth century, Hungarian Orthodoxy had developed an isolationist and separatist approach, establishing a clear barrier between itself and the Neolog, liberal, and secular elements of Jewish society in the country. It will therefore be revealing to see whether Orthodoxy remained largely indifferent to the Numerus Clausus, which had little impact on its own members, or displayed a sense of solidarity and concern for others within the Jewish collective in Hungary. The Numerus Clausus law was enacted by the National Assembly in September 1920. The law stated that the proportion of national and racial minorities in schools of higher education must not exceed their weight within the population as a whole.9 The declared purpose of the law was to prevent the training of a larger number of members of the liberal professions than was needed to meet the country’s needs (which were around one-third of their past level, due to the loss of territory and population). Another declared justification was the desire to prevent the expansion of the intelligentsia, which had played a key role in the failed coup after the war.10 The right-wing governments formed after the attempted coup regarded Communist revolutionaries such as Béla Kun as enemies of the nation, and the prominent role played by Jews in the affair explained their covert intention to reduce the number of Jewish academics. In the universities themselves, riots and acts of violence erupted against Jewish students, and both students and lecturers demanded restrictions on the admission of Jews. This was the first law in modern, liberal Europe that required

8 Nathaniel Katzburg, “The Struggle at the League of Nations against the Numerus Clausus Law in Hungary,” Bar-Ilan 4–5 (1970): 282. 9 The law did not refer to Jews, but to népfajok és nemzetiségek (national and ethnic minorities). Népfaj is comprised of two words meaning “nation” and “race,” and its meaning is close to the English “ethnicity.” The reference was not to race as it would later come to be perceived in Hungary, but rather to origin. The Hungarians emphasized the literal phrasing of the law as “proof ” that it was not directed against the Jews. During the seven years in which the law was applied, no complaints were heard from other national minorities, such as Romanians or Slovaks. 10 The rationale for the law declared that “we have seen recently that those persons who were qualified by our universities but were unable to find their place in society are the most dangerous element therein.” Katzburg, “Struggle,” 271.

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educational institutions to classify candidates by ethnicity. As noted, very few minorities had remained in Hungary following the Treaty of Trianon. Although the word “Jew” was not mentioned in the law, in practice it was applied solely to Jews.11 In 1920, Jews accounted for over five percent of the total population. However, the proportion of Jews in higher education was much higher, and according the law led to a drastic reduction in the number of Jewish students, many of whom were forced to emigrate in order to complete their education.12 The Jewish press opposed the law; Jewish, social-democrat, and liberal parliamentarians spoke against it; but the main opposition came from external bodies. The Joint Foreign Committee of the Board of Deputies of British Jews and the Alliance Israélite Universelle in France complained to the League of Nations that the law violated minority rights guaranteed under the Treaty of Trianon, to which Hungary was a signatory. The campaign at the League of Nations continued until March 1928, when, under foreign pressure, both houses of parliament approved an amendment to the law.13 According to the law, institutions of higher education were required to examine the applicant’s social and professional background; the ethnic and racial references were removed.14 A report in a newspaper with close ties to the authorities claimed that Lajos Hartstein, the Vice-President of the National Orthodox Office, had told a senior government official that the Orthodox had no problem with the Numerus Clausus. Hartstein was even quoted as saying that the law was necessary due to the difficult economic situation; however, he regarded the fact that students were to be admitted in accordance with racial criterion as a humiliation.15 Several days later, the organ of the Hungarian Zionist Association also discussed the affair, claiming that Hartstein had been speaking on behalf of the Orthodox Office and not in a private capacity.16 Hartstein later refuted the reports. He claimed that he had commented if the motive behind the law was solely economic, that was a

11 Kovács shows that despite the ambiguous wording, there can be no doubt that the law was antisemitic: Kovács, Numerus Clausus. 12 The proportion of Jews in institutions of higher education in 1917–1918 for selected fields included: law—21 percent; medicine—51.6 percent; humanities—20.5 percent; pharmacy—34.0 percent; engineering—37.3 percent. The analogous figures for 1922–1923, following the enactment of the law, were 12.9, 21.4, 10.2, 10.3, and 8.6 percent, respectively. See Egressy, “Statistical Overview,” 451. As the figures suggest, however, the law was not implemented in full and the proportion of Jewish students did not fall to the level it had established. 13 On the protracted struggle to amend the law, see Katzburg, “Struggle”; Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 428–437. 14 Katzburg, “Struggle,” 282. 15 “Numerus Clausus, Zionism, and Organizing the Status Quo,” ZsU, November 25, 1927. 16 Zsidó Szemle, December 1, 1927.

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matter for the authorities and the Orthodox would not intervene—particularly if it were proved that non-Jews as well as Jews were being excluded from academic institutions.17 Be this as it may, the impression is that the Orthodox establishment was indifferent toward the problem. I was not able to find any additional statements on the subject by the National Orthodox Office, nor any references in the rabbinical literature. Hartstein appears to have been the only Orthodox official to express an opinion. By contrast, the Orthodox weekly the Zsidó Ujság adopted a more activist position, campaigning consistently against the war and even criticizing the National Orthodox Office for its inaction. In an article from 1928 regarding the discussion of the law in the upper chamber of parliament, the weekly stated: . . . Although Orthodoxy does not have any direct connection to the law, any Jew, without exception, has an interest in the protracted discussion in the upper chamber and in the amendment adopted this week. The participants in the debate were not demagogues, but the leaders of the nation—clerics and academics. All of them spoke politely and elegantly, yet they showed how prejudiced their opinion is regarding the Jews, and how naïve their conviction that economic pressure on the Jews can solve the economic problems facing the Christians. It is difficult to understand why an effort is being made to change the law, since in practical terms this will not improve the condition of Jewish students. Yet the debate on the amendment afforded another opportunity to attack the Jews, whether subtly or crudely.18 The writer thus declared his interest in the law, despite the fact that it did not affect his immediate affinity group. He agreed with the importance of improving the condition of Jewish students, but claimed that the proposed amendment was irrelevant and ineffectual in this context. In October 1928, following student riots and demonstrations, the newspaper again declared: “We regret the Numerus Clausus, even though it does not affect Orthodoxy directly.”19 The newspaper discussed the Numerus Clausus on several occasions, diverging from the position of the Orthodox establishment to protest against the injustice facing those on the other side of the “unhealed breach.” This antiestablishment position reflected a rejection of official Orthodox insularity and a sense of pan-Jewish consciousness and responsibility.20

17 ZsU, November 25, 1927. 18 “Phrases in the Debate in the Upper House,” ZsU, March 16, 1928. 19 “In the Week of Student Demonstrations,” ZsU, October 26, 1928. 20 Farbstein claims that the Orthodox rarely expressed an opinion on political questions such as the Numerus Clausus, since pious young Jews did not attend the universities (Farbstein, Clefts,

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In August 1931, the cleric Sándor Ernszt, who had just been appointed as minister of education, declared in his first statement that he intended to apply the Numerous Clausus to high schools, as well as universities and colleges. The Orthodox weekly responded immediately, while again noting that, as in the case of higher education, the move was ostensibly not of concern to Orthodox Jewry. Few Orthodox children studied in the gymnasiums, since the traditional approach had rejected both secular studies and attendance at non-Jewish educational institutions. The extension of the law created an extremely serious problem for integrationist circles, but not for the Orthodox. However, the newspaper went on to explain that it did not agree with the Orthodox position of refraining from opposing the law, since it served the interests of the Orthodox community. The law would prevent Jewish youth from attending a Hungarian high-school, but the newspaper did not believe that the Orthodox would benefit from this situation. The article went on to declare that the proposal was “not only mistaken and unjust, but also offensive and vexing.” Once again we see the offended tone that was apparent among Jews, Neolog or Orthodox, who felt an emotional connection to Hungary.21 Why did an Orthodox newspaper adopt such an empathetic position concerning a problem that mainly affected Neolog and secular Jews? One reason is that the law implicitly defined Jews per se in a way that contradicted their own self-perception. As we saw in part one, the Jews of Hungary, Orthodox included, regarded themselves as a distinct religious denomination within the Hungarian people. As Lajos Hartstein explained: “The racial criterion established in the law for admission to university was humiliating, since the Jews felt and regarded themselves as Hungarians. There is no Jewish race, only a Jewish denomination.”22 The imposition of a law concerning national, ethnic, and racial minorities on the Jews indirectly marked them as non-Hungarian “others.” The state did not see them as they saw themselves. Following the approval of the Numerus Clausus (1920), the French and British Jewish representative bodies complained to the League of Nations, arguing that the law violated the Treaty of Trianon by discriminating on the grounds of nationality and race. The leaders of the Jewish streams in Hungary resented this intervention; as discussed above, their position was that contacts with Jews in other countries were incompatible with their loyalty and patriotism

53). This argument is refuted by the intense preoccupation of the Orthodox newspaper with this subject. 21 “The Local Version of the Theory of Relativity,” ZsU, February 18, 1927. 22 “Numerus Clausus, Zionism, and Organizing the Status Quo,” ZsU, November 25, 1927.

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to their homeland. In addition to their genuine patriotic sentiments, the Jewish leadership also believed that there was no chance that the law would be amended substantively. At best, an amendment might be introduced that would satisfy the League of Nations without altering the de facto discrimination against Jews. The Hungarian Jewish leaders preferred to appeal to the conscience of the Hungarian people: We must make ourselves constantly heard and declare that the restriction of the rights of law-abiding citizens who share in the national burden contradicts the principles of humanism. The hope for equal rights for Jews and their actual implementation will be realized only through an internal process of return to humanism and national morality, as the head of the Catholic Church in Hungary declared in the upper chamber: we can only rebuild Hungary on a moral foundation.23 During its campaign against the Numerus Clausus, the Orthodox newspaper criticized the Jewish establishment for its opposition to any foreign intervention intended to encourage the amendment of the law. Reporting on a debate in parliament on the proposed amendment of the law, a writer acknowledged that the debate was only taking place because of pressure from Great Britain. He went on to comment that it would be much finer and nobler if the debate had taken place thanks to the actions of Hungarian Jewry. Again, however, the newspaper warned that the amendment of the law was unlikely to change the quotas imposed on the Jews.24 In an article from 1928 entitled “A Moral Perspective on the Numerus Clausus,” the newspaper again argued that the law was antithetical to moral principles: “The Numerus Clausus law is a way for the strong to control the weak without any moral consideration, just as the Treaty of Trianon was imposed on weak Hungary by the victorious Allied powers.”25 The analogy between the law and the Treaty of Trianon, which the Hungarian public regarded as completely unjust, sought to delegitimize the Numerus Clausus and portray it in the most negative possible way to any Hungarian in the interwar period. The campaign against the law focused both on the damage it caused to the principle of equality and on practical concern for the students themselves. Former

23 “Morality and Foreign Intervention,” ZsU, March 23, 1928. 24 “Moral Points concerning the Numerus Clausus,” ZsU, January 13, 1928. 25 “Phrases in the Debate in the Upper House,” ZsU, March 16, 1928.

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Justice Minister István Haller, who was responsible for the Numerus Clausus law of 1920, argued that the law was not intended to harm Jews, but to protect Christians. The newspaper retorted: “On what basis does the former minister make this assertion? After all, it is only Jewish students who are being forced to emigrate from Hungary in order to pursue their studies.”26 Even after the law was amended in 1928, removing the national and racial categories, the newspaper recognized that there had been no practical change in the reality facing Jewish students, and continued to show concern for their plight. Another article reported on a visit to Hungarian Jewish students who had moved to Padua in Italy, remarking that “in the past they may not have wanted to believe that there is such a thing as exile, but now they have reached it.”27 This comment implies that the students were not Orthodox, since any Orthodox Jew would be expected to be familiar with the concept of exile; nevertheless, the writer describes their situation in an empathetic manner. No less importantly, however, the description of Padua in Italy as “exile” (implying that Hungary was not part of the Jewish exile) again highlights the perception of Hungary as the homeland of its Jews. A report on the harassment of Jewish students in Debrecen in 1932 once again exposed the distress facing this overwhelmingly non-Orthodox group.28 Following the amendment of the law, the newspaper continued to publish supportive articles highlighting the difficulties faced by Jewish students.29 Its interest in this subject also reflects a positive attitude toward general education and its opposition to a law that could impair the education of the younger generation of Jews, even if these were mainly from outside its own circle. The Numerus Clausus law was the most significant manifestation of the antisemitic atmosphere that developed in Hungary during the first decade after the war, and accordingly it was the main focus of the newspaper’s attention. Faced with the silence of the Orthodox establishment, the Orthodox newspaper adopted an independent approach, waging a vigorous and consistent campaign against the Numerus Clausus. While the establishment faced political constraints, the newspaper enjoyed greater freedom as the voice of the wider Orthodox public. The newspaper’s position embodies the traditional Jewish value of solidarity, reflected in the adage that “all Jews are responsible for one another.” 26 “The Local Version of the Theory of Relativity,” ZsU, February 18, 1927. 27 “The Place of the Numerus Clausus Exiles,” ZsU, December 17, 1926. 28 “Regarding Ethnic Population Registration,” ZsU, November 25, 1932. 29 “A Ghetto at the University,” ZsU, December 1, 1933; “Antisemitic Demonstrations in Budapest,” ZsU, November 13, 1936.

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Orthodox establishment figures had tended to blur this approach and to create new boundaries within the Jewish collective that excluded those who abandoned Jewish tradition in its Orthodox manifestation.30 The organ of Western Orthodoxy clearly diverged from this tendency in its response to the Numerus Clausus, defending Jews who were far removed from its own religious perspective.

B. The 1930s: A Decade of Decline Following the fall of the government of Béla Kun in 1919, authoritarian rightwing militias were formed under the leadership of Admiral Miklós Horthy, who was later appointed regent. These militias assumed the role of cleansing Hungary of Communist elements31 and launched the White Terror campaign, during which large numbers of citizens were murdered, around half of them Jews—particularly in the provinces.32 Hungary descended into anarchy, but as the 1920s progressed a more stable regime began to emerge under Prime Minister István Bethlen. However, various organizations continued to disseminate antisemitic ideology, and for the first time in Hungary this included a racial overtone and calls for a global wall between the “Christian essence” and the “Jewish essence.” From this point through the end of the Second World War, Hungary would emphasize its exclusivist Christian-national character.33 From the early 1930s, various extreme right groups and parties emerged under the influence of Italian Fascism and German Nazism, spreading increasingly virulent racist propaganda. The most important of these groups was the Association of Awakening Hungarians (Ébredő Magyarok Egyesülete or ÉME), which had been founded in 1917 by demobilized soldiers and whose members included public figures, parliamentarians, and prominent figures in governmental and military circles. The ÉME not only engaged in

30 Moshe Samet, “Orthodoxy,” Kivunim 36 (1987): 99–100. 31 For a summary of Horthy’s attitudes toward the Jews, see Katzburg, Hungary, 230–235. For a general overview of the Horthy era, see Romsics, Hungary, 127–216. 32 On the White Terror, see Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1944, 96–97, and in greater detail: Katzburg, Hungary, 31–59. See also Braham and Katzburg, History of the Holocaust, 38–48. Lazaroms presents the testimonies of victims from a report prepared by the community in Budapest: Ilse Josepha Lazaroms, “Marked by Violence: Hungarian Jewish Histories in the Wake of the White Terror, 1919–1922,” Zutot: Perspectives on Jewish Culture 11 (2014): 39–48. 33 For a detailed description of the period, see Macartney, October Fifteenth. For the connection between antisemitism, Christianity, and Magyar nationalism, see Hanebrink, In Defense.

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unbridled antisemitic incitement, but was also involved in terror activities.34 The parliamentary group of the Hungarian National Defense Association (Magyar Országos Véderő Egyesület or MOVE) was founded in 1918 and headed by Gömbös, who established clandestine civilian and military branches of the organization. The Christian-National League, established in 1919, adopted a similar format. During the early 1920s, these public and secret groups crystallized to form a national network whose common denominator was rejection of the outcomes of the Treaty of Trianon and incitement against the Jews, who were blamed for the serious political, social, and economic crisis facing Hungary. The decade-long rule of the government of István Bethlen (1921–1931) was marked by a relatively moderate approach, including efforts to curtail the extreme right and to stabilize the national economy following the upheavals of the war. However, the stability Bethlen achieved began to be eroded by the economic crises of the 1930s. Meanwhile, the Nazi movement in Germany was gaining strength, again under the influence of the Great Depression. The Swabian-German minority in Hungary, which numbered some half a million citizens, began to adopt pro-Nazi positions, as did other German (volksdeutsch) minorities across Central and Eastern Europe. These processes had a negative impact on the Jews. The first sign of deterioration took the form of efforts to reinstate the Numerus Clausus, although these were ultimately unsuccessful. When Bethlen ended his long period of office on August 24, 1931, the Zsidó Ujság expressed hopes for a positive future, while noting with concern that the new education minister had announced his intention to impose the Numerus Clausus on high schools as well as academic institutions. The minister claimed that the imposition of the Numerus Clausus in high schools would not discriminate against any denomination, but such claims had been made regarding the universities, too, despite the fact that the law’s sole victims were Jews. Rejecting the Orthodox tendency to welcome a reduction in the number of Jewish students in the state high schools, the newspaper asserted that “it is difficult to imagine that a youth who is not accepted to high school will go to a yeshiva instead; experience shows that a Neolog cobbler is no more religious than a Neolog lawyer. . . . The entire affair leaves nothing more than a feeling of offense and injury.”35 The Orthodox writer was offended precisely because he identified with Hungarian culture and

34 In 1922 the group attacked a liberal club in Budapest most of whose members were Jews, killing nine Jews. In 1923 they attacked a Jewish women’s soiree, killing three women. Braham and Katzburg, History of the Holocaust, 58. 35 “Numerus Clausus Again?,” ZsU, August 28, 1931 (emphasis in the original).

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believed in the integrity of the national leadership—contrary to the traditional position, which anticipated hostility and hence was not offended by it. The Zsidó Ujság was more forthright in its criticism of the Orthodox establishment than it had been during its campaign against the Numerus Clausus in the 1920s. The position it adopted preferred an educated Neolog to an uneducated one, and recognized that an active Neolog elite advanced the interests of all the Jews of Hungary. This conviction gave the newspaper the courage to oppose longstanding assumptions in the Orthodox stream. Some time after Bethlen resigned, Gyula Gömbös was appointed prime minister.36 As mentioned in chapter six, Gömbös was an extreme-right leader and a member of the Racial Defense party. He was strongly pro-German and was the first international figure to visit Hitler following his rise to power. Despite this, Gömbös adopted a more moderate position toward the Jews after assuming office. In his first speech as prime minister in the lower chamber of parliament, he declared that his views had changed. He now saw integrated Jews as part and parcel of Hungary. However, he regarded Jews who were unable or unwilling to integrate as a group to be opposed. Like Bethlen, Gömbös recognized the contribution Jews had made to the national economy during the crisis. Despite his antisemitic views and his connections with the Nazis and with Hitler personally, the situation of the Jews in Hungary did not deteriorate during his time in office. Throughout this period, the Jewish establishment continued to flaunt its patriotic values. In April 1933, the Hungarian Jewish leaders contacted the Governor of New York State, a Jew by the name of Herbert Lehman, and asked him to encourage a meeting of the leaders of the West taking place in New York City at the time to correct the injustice caused to Hungary following the Treaty of Trianon. In January 1934, the general meeting of the Neolog community in Budapest adopted a decision opposing the common practice whereby Jewish communities intervene in the affairs of fellow Jews elsewhere: “We wish to proceed in our own way, and our way binds Jewishness and Hungarianness inseparably. . . . We insist with all our might on our Hungarian character, and cannot consent to intervention by foreigners and international bodies, even if these are well-intended.”37 Paradoxically, the Hungarian Jewish leaders were ready to ask their coreligionists in the West to intervene on behalf of the Hungarian state, but refused any offer of assistance for the Jewish community.

36 Immediately after Bethlen’s resignation, Gyula Károlyi served as prime minister for approximately one year. 37 Patai, Jews, 516–517.

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During Gömbös’s period in office, the fascist right-wing grew in strength, consolidating around the leadership of Ferenc Szálasi (1897–1946) and his Arrow Cross movement. There were no major changes in the everyday lives of Hungarian Jews in this period, but as Mendelsohn notes: “But for those with eyes to see, by the mid-1930s it was clear that the tide was turning against Jewish interest. The extreme right was there to stay.”38 This period paved the way for the discriminatory “Jewish Laws” that were enacted from 1938.39 At the beginning of 1932, the Orthodox newspaper reported on a speech made by the Calvinist Bishop László Ravasz to the members of the Scottish Mission concerning the cultural meaning of Judaism.40 Ravasz spoke favorably of Judaism, and the newspaper remarked that this was particularly welcome in light of the numerous accusations that had been made against the Jewish race and religion over the preceding decade. However, the bishop added that “the eternal tragedy of Judaism is that it has always remained outside the fold, even though in its heart it sought to be inside.” The writer rejected this claim, recalling that faithful Jews accept exile as punishment and anticipate that God in His mercy will end their suffering. This is not a “tragedy,” but rather a trial God imposes on the Jew. There was nothing to attract Jews to leave their faith; those who converted did so against their true wishes due to financial pressure. It was very difficult to maintain a Jewish way of life while holding a governmental, municipal or public position. According to the newspaper, the aspiration should be “that a Jewish person can take his due place in society without violating his religious faith.” These comments alluded to the attempts by Christian clerics to persuade Jews to convert; they carry an apologetic undertone regarding Jews who convert, claiming that the reasons are material rather than a genuine acceptance of Christianity. The bishop’s comments accurately reflect the condition of most Hungarian Jews at the time, who regarded themselves as an integral part of the Hungarian nation but were regarded by most non-Jews as a distinct entity. The writer was unable to accept the bishop’s suggestion that Hungarian society was responsible for excluding Jews, and preferred to cling to the traditional perception of rejection as a divine trial and punishment. The article ended with a repeated call to combine the way of life of a faithful Jew with a fitting status in the majority society, as advocated by the integrationist approach.

38 Mendelsohn, Jews, 115. 39 Karady associates the deterioration from 1938 with the atmosphere that prevailed over the preceding decades: Karady, “Coming of the Shoah.” 40 “On the Lecture by Lázsló Ravasz,” ZsU, January 15, 1932.

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Traces of antisemitism could also be found in the education system. The Zsidó Ujság reported on a court hearing involving a high-school teacher from Budapest who had humiliated his Jewish students and referred to them collectively a “Shamu.” Shamu is a common abbreviation for the name Samuel (Shmuel) among Hungarian Jews, but the teacher employed it as an insult. The newspaper regretted the suffering and shame experienced by Jewish high-school students. “The teacher should have known that the second heir to [Saint] Stephen, the founder of the Hungarian monarchy, and its third king was called Samuel Aba, so that Shamu is no insult.”41 The writer empathized with the mainly Neolog students who suffer insults from their classmates and teachers. He also took the occasion to connect the Magyar past to Judaism, since the Samuel Aba to whom he referred was probably of Khazar origin. It is worth noting that despite growing antisemitic tendencies, the insulting of Jewish students by a Hungarian teacher was considered worthy of a court hearing. Similar incidents occurred elsewhere. The newspaper reported that despite vigorous protests by the minister of culture, the rector of the university, and various professors, Jewish students at the University of Debrecen were still being harassed and beaten. One of the leaders of the Hitlerian movement in Hungary received a two-month suspended sentence for publishing antisemitic materials. An antisemitic professor won a court appeal after arguing that his remarks against the Jews constituted a scientific opinion, while a senior municipal consultant was dismissed for raising funds from wealthy Jews and assisting various impoverished Jews (“naturally according to the Numerus Clausus quote,” the writer added sarcastically). Such reports create the impression of an anti-Jewish atmosphere, but not an unbridled one: in several instances, the authorities and key academics supported the victims. The report ended with a religious interpretation of these trends: “The pressure and oppression we face are a trial from the Holy One, blessed be He, and a punishment for our sins. Antisemitism is a whip of the Holy One, blessed be He, to punish His people.”42 The incidents clearly caused distress, but the response has an ironic and, above all, religious and traditional character. The Orthodox leaders went out of their way to convey a sense of “business as usual.” Ahead of the Jewish New Year in September 1933, an interview appeared with Adolf Frankl, the head of the national Orthodox community and the Orthodox representative in the Upper Chamber. Frankl remarked that the most reassuring event of the past year was the declaration by the prime minister that

41 “The Shamu Debate,” ZsU, February 5, 1932. 42 “Antisemitism,” ZsU, November 25, 1932.

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“we oppose the incitement of the extreme right, and we recently also prohibited the use of the swastika in the country.”43 Frankl added that the level-headed and peace-loving Magyar people would follow the prime minister’s lead, and that the German approach would not influence Hungary. In response to a question about the government’s recognition of Jewish religious affairs, Frankl remarked: “The government has a conservative worldview, and it seeks to respond to legitimate requests from Jews on religious matters subject to its capabilities. For example, the Ministry of Religions accepted a request to allow Jewish elementary school students to attend morning services at the synagogue on Saturday. The Ministry of Defense published regulations making it easier for Jewish soldiers to keep the Sabbath… The relevant authorities recognize that a religious person is a better citizen, and accordingly they have an interest in promoting religious affairs and nurturing the religious population.”44 In 1934, three thousand Hungarian citizens were expelled from Yugoslavia. Some eight percent of the refugees were Jews, and the newspaper appealed to its readers to assist them, quoting from Ecclesiastes (11:1–2): “Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days. Divide a portion into seven, yea, even into eight; for thou knowest not what evil shall be upon the earth.”45 The choice of this verse reflects a pessimistic and insecure worldview, implying that those who are now asked to offer help may themselves require assistance from others in the future. The alarming news from Germany and the worsening situation in Hungary itself created a gloomy mood that on occasions clouded hopes for a better future. The Orthodox newspaper was profoundly encouraged by a speech made by Regent Horthy in 1935 marking the opening session of the National Assembly. According to the newspaper, the speech constituted a milestone in the building of the nation: “If his ideas are adopted by all the inhabitants of the country, and even in the world at large, life will be more just and dignified and the current age will be much calmer.” Horthy called for cooperation and fellowship between all sections of the Hungarian people. The newspaper highlighted his remark that religion must not be a source of division between Hungarians, and that those who used religious principles to foster separatism and hatred harmed the Hungarian nation. The newspaper added: “In light of the wind of hatred that is blowing in several European countries, the Jews must be grateful that the atmosphere in

43 “Response of Adolf Frankl, Member of the Upper House, regarding Topical Questions for the Jews,” ZsU, September 20, 1933. 44 Ibid., quotes from the interview with Frankl. 45 “For the New Victims of the War,” ZsU, December 21, 1934.

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Hungary is completely different and far more positive.”46 The article quoted a verse from Jeremiah embodying the traditional Orthodox demand for loyalty to the country of residence: “Seek the peace of the city where I have caused you to be carried away captive, and pray to the Lord for it; for in its peace you will have peace” (29:7). The rise to power of the National-Socialist party in Germany in 1933 invigorated the extreme right wing in Hungary and served as a source of inspiration. In 1935, Ferenc Szálasi founded the National Will party, the precursor of the Arrow Cross party. In 1938 the party secured representation in parliament, and continued to be an important player on the national level through the end of the war. Many members of the Swabian-German minority joined the Arrow Heart party and exerted strong influence over its course. The movement intensified cooperation with Germany, and in 1944 played a crucial role in implementing the Final Solution in Hungary, particularly after Szálasi’s rise to power on October 15. Prime Minister Gömbös fostered political and economic relations with Germany, Austria, and Italy. He even planned to introduce an Italian-style political regime in Hungary, though he subsequently fell ill and died in 1936. A year after his death, a Ministry of Industry was established and the founder of an extreme right-wing group of engineers was appointed as its head. The ministry undertook an extensive survey of Hungarian industry, finding that just over half the factories in the country were owned or leased by Jews, and over forty percent of managers in industry were Jews.47 Following the adoption of the Nuremberg Laws in Germany, Korein sharply attacked the German race theory. He quoted remarks made in the past by Lajos Kossuth opposing this theory, during the period when it first began to emerge, and criticized the German people for its “immature character.” Korein also quoted the French statesman Henri Bérenger negating race theory and concluded that the theory was an insane invention by antisemites in order to add a veneer of scientific authority to their opinions. He noted that Nazi ideas were spreading to Latin America and even to Palestine, warning that if the civilized world failed to take action the forces of evil would drag the world into a new catastrophe.”48 As the news from German worsened, it was clearly becoming harder for Hungarian Jews to ignore reality.

46 “Opening of the Deliberations in the National Assembly,” ZsU, May 3, 1935. 47 Patai, Jews, 519–521. 48 “The Irrationality of Racial Hatred,” ZsU, June 26, 1936.

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During discussions in Berlin at the end of 1936, Germany insisted that Italy, Austria, and Hungary adopt a unified policy regarding the “Jewish Question.” An article in the Zsidó Ujság on the discussions conveyed the growing sense of anxiety and insecurity, although ultimately all three countries rejected the German demands: In some cases, it is indeed the case that “Your life shall hang in doubt before you; you shall fear day and night, and have no assurance of life” (Deuteronomy 28:66). We toil every day to find our bread, struggle to survive, and cannot imagine that the earth is shaking under our feet; that mighty underground forces are at work; that we are walking on a volcano that might explode at any time, emitting an all-consuming lava of hatred. Never have we felt more powerfully Moses’s words in the Torah portion Ha’azinu: “The sword shall destroy outside; there shall be terror within for the young man and the virgin, for the nursing child with the man of gray hairs” (Deuteronomy 32:25). We must thank God that due to the wisdom of certain European leaders peace and culture are being maintained in Europe despite the great moral collapse, and a terrible tragedy and awful catastrophe are being avoided. We hope the German plan has gone up in smoke and will not emerge again. We hoped that our fortunes would improve in the twentieth century, in contrast to the periods of human migration and the Middle Ages—but we were mistaken . . . The forces of evil are working as forcefully as then. We must not despair, but must strengthen our faith and be confident that the Almighty will stand by us.49 Although the article adopts a pessimistic tone, not unreasonably given the prevailing reality, the writer does not lose hope, ending with a prayer for an improvement in the situation. Another article published toward the end of 1936 discussed a series of academic lectures given in Munich that examined Judaism from a Nazi perspective, based on the Protocols of the Elders of Zion and Mein Kampf (“which was apparently written by Hitler”). The article reported on the foundation of an academic research institute devoted to these subjects that was due to present its findings and conclusions “in 1940!” The writer added the exclamation point, and went on to claim that this target date was absurd: 49 “Budapest, Vienna, and Rome Reject Hitler’s Transfer Demands,” ZsU, November 20, 1936.

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by the quoted date, different issues would dominate the global agenda and Germany itself would have changed. He also dismissed the institute’s research as propaganda in a scientific guise, remarking that science does not render a person more moral. “In the face of all this, we must strengthen our religious belief so that the arrows aimed at our spiritual lives and culture will not undermine it.”50 As 1936 came to a close, the writer evidently still assumed that Nazism and the violent antisemitic incitement in Germany were a transient phenomenon that would surely have dissipated four years on. There is no evidence that he was concerned that the status of Hungarian Jews could also be challenged, despite the ongoing antisemitic foment and incitement inside the country, under the influence of the developments in Germany. A few weeks later, in February 1937, John Montgomery, the US ambassador to Hungary, submitted a report on the rising wave of antisemitic incitement. He quoted with alarm a Hungarian newspaper that presented a collection of statistics showing that the Jews controlled a significant proportion of the nation’s wealth and were an influential presence in the press, radio, and theater.51 The ambassador acknowledged that the government’s policy was not yet overtly antisemitic, but noted the possibility that this reality could change. Similarly, the British ambassador Sir Geoffrey Knox notified the Foreign Office in 1937 that “the propagation of the National Socialist idea in Hungary is nevertheless wide spread, and its catch words find a ready echo among the laboring classes . . . and among the educated youth.”52 It seems that foreign observers in the capital were able to discern the changing reality more accurately than Hungarian Jews. Korein presented evidence suggesting that the propaganda of the radical right wing, which constituted an opposition to the government, was beginning to influence the mainstream leadership. István Bethlen, the former prime minister, firmly rejected the crude antisemitism of the radical right, but nevertheless argued that the “Jewish Question” was a burning problem for the nation. He claimed that while Jews were acquiring great wealth, most of the Christian population was becoming poorer. Korein rejected these claims, suggesting that they might be “a nod to the Third Reich; but this offers no solution or amelioration for Hungary’s serious difficulties.”53 As Korein’s insightful article indicates, in mid-1937 there was freedom of speech in Hungary. The newspaper was not censored and was not afraid to

50 “Satan’s Arrows of Fire,” ZsU, December 4, 1936. 51 Katzburg, Hungary, 253–256; see also 219 n. 8. 52 Ibid., 95. 53 “Anemic Politics,” ZsU, May 28, 1937.

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publish polite but firm criticism even of the most senior of political figures. The intimate perception of Hungary as “our home” and of the ancient Magyar ruler as “our king” show that Orthodox circles in Budapest still regarded themselves as an integral part of Hungary and still drew on the myth of the ancient Jewish presence in the country. The article discussed the Jews of Hungary in general and sought to speak on behalf of the entire community. Some six months later, the newspaper praised Bethlen for a speech in parliament in which he warned forcefully of the dangers of Nazi German’s totalitarian policy of “coordination” (Gleichschaltung) and of the incitement by the extreme right in Hungary. He urged the leadership to act urgently and forcefully to end this incitement, which the newspaper suggested was an imitation of the atmosphere in Nazi Germany (once again reflecting the desire to regard antisemitism as an alien import). The newspaper emphasized that Hungary’s friendly relations with Germany should not prevent a hardline policy against unbridled incitement and disruption of public order in the country. Can those who toy with extreme right-wing ideas not see that the application of the solution of the “Jewish Question” in Hungary in the German manner will immediately disrupt economic and financial order? Can they not see that it will be impossible to continue our economic and financial life for even one day? I warn that the turn of the intelligentsia and of landowners who lean toward the extreme right will soon come. The authorities must take serious and urgent action against right-wing radicalism.54 The writer added that the Jews owed Bethlen a special debt of gratitude for his responsible and brave comments. During his decade in power he had managed to stabilize the economy, engaging the assistance of wealthy Jews in Hungary to this end. In his speech in parliament, Bethlen again emphasized the importance of the Jewish economic elite to the nation and unambiguously warned against any harm to these circles. The argument that Hungary’s economy would be endangered if the nation harmed its Jews “too much” would continue to be presented by prime ministers and conservative leaders up to the collapse in 1944. By way of comparison, by the early 1930s Orthodox writers in Germany had already reached the pessimistic conclusion that liberalism and emancipation were in decline. The liberal era was regarded as an illusion, and the proposed 54 “István Bethlen’s Speech,” ZsU, February 11, 1938.

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responses ranged from insularity and a return to the ghetto to continued adherence to German nationhood. All the Orthodox observers agreed that that the problems were due in part to the rejection of religion and urged German Jews to return to their heritage.55 By contrast, in interwar Hungary there were no such signs of disillusionment and no sense that reality was changing in a manner that demanded the adoption of new courses of action. Following the failed coup of Béla Kun, and through the Nazi invasion, all the Hungarian prime ministers came from the ranks of the conservative right wing. The radical right wing grew in strength as the 1930s progressed and applied strong pressure on the governments, which in turn attempted to curtail its influence. Some governments had a pro-German orientation while others leant toward England and the West, believing that the close ties with Germany demanded by the extreme right posed a threat to Hungary. In his speech, Bethlen reiterated the view that explicit antisemitic incitement had its origins in Germany and not in Hungary. The growing rejection of Hungarian Jews was felt most strongly among the middle and working classes. The aristocratic Jewish financial elite continued to act until 1944 and the Hungarian leadership continued to recognize its significant contribution to the national economy.56

C. Anti-Jewish Legislation As noted, ever since the Treaty of Trianon Hungary had aspired to regain the territories it had lost and return to the days of Greater Hungary. Germany also sought to reverse the results of the treaties signed after the First World War, and accordingly it was regarded in Hungary as the ideal partner for securing Hungary’s goals. After the Nazis came to power in Germany, the key Hungarian interest of amending the Treaty of Trianon became a further reason for the exclusion of the Jews by the leadership. Under the influence of Germany, and facing growing pressure from antisemitic circles, the Hungarian leadership began to enact anti-Jewish legislation in 1938. The new laws overtly discriminated against Jews, defining them as “others” distinct from the body of the Hungarian nation. The legislative changes seriously violated the civil and economic rights of Hungarian Jews, curtailed their presence in the press and in cultural life, and adopted a racial definition of the term “Jew” in the spirit of the

55 For further details, see Miron, Waning, 66–72. 56 Jehuda Don, The Social and Economic History of Hungarian Jewry in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries [Hungarian] (Budapest: MTA Judaisztikai Kutatócsoport, 2006).

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Nuremberg Laws. Tens of thousands of Jews lost their livelihood and a wave of conversions to Christianity struck the Jewish communities, motivated by the desire to escape the growing distress experienced by Jews. The Jewish leadership was aware of the pressure being imposed on Hungary by Germany to adopt the German approach to resolving the “Jewish Question.” As a result, it chose not to struggle against the new laws, hoping that this would allow Hungary’s Jews to avoid a worse fate. Karady suggests that despite Fascism, social antisemitism in Hungary was the mildest of any of the Central European countries, with the exception of Bohemia. He also argues that sections of the elites and of the conservative antisemitic establishment opposed Nazism and Fascism.57 These assertions offer some explanation for the sense of relative safety Hungarian Jews continued to show in the face of the discriminatory laws, and later during the war. Recognition of the contribution Hungarian Jews had made to the nation’s economy did not prevent legislative initiatives intended to curtail their presence in economic life.58 However, the authorities were concerned that unless the Jewish public showed a measure of acceptance of the laws, the nation’s already unstable economy could deteriorate to a dangerous level. In March 1937, Béla Imrédy, an economist and the governor of the national bank, wrote to the prime minister: “If the Jews accept the measures against them with tacit agreement, or at least a measure of understanding, we need not fear a significant flood of capital out of the country or international ramifications liable to bring the difficult economic reality to an intolerable point.”59 On March 5, 1938, Prime Minister Kálmán Darányi announced his legislative program in a speech in Győr in western Hungary.60 Four days later, the Zsidó Ujság reported on the speech, in which Darányi discussed the role of the Jews in the Hungarian economy. He asserted that there was a Jewish problem in Hungary, and that it could only be resolved by means of an orderly program and legal action. The Jews controlled

57 Karady, Antisemitism, 85. Karady claims, for example, that in 1937 around one-fifth of Jewish men in Budapest (which was home to about half the total Jewish population) married nonJewish women, a finding that suggests social acceptance. 58 For a detailed discussion of the anti-Jewish legislation, see Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 528–538, 548–553, 615–618, 630. See also Livia Rothkirchen, “Events of the Shoah Period,” in Community Ledger—Hungary [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 1976), 104–106; and in greater detail: Katzburg, Hungary, 94–183; Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1944, 131–158; “The Character and Implementation of the Jewish Laws in Hungary, 1938–1944,” Bi-Shvil Ha-Zikaron 40 (2001): 31–36. 59 Katzburg, “Jewish Question,” 117. 60 The text of the speech was published on the same day in the Pester Lloyd (March 5, 1938); excerpts are quoted in Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1944, 134.

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a significant and totally disproportionate part of certain economic sectors offering a relatively easy livelihood. Moreover, the Jews were concentrated in certain cities, and particularly in the capital, on a level far above their proportion in the population as a whole, and accordingly they had a prominent impact on economic and cultural life in the capital. This reality was incompatible with the aspirations of the remainder of the population. The situation that had emerged was due partly to the distinct character and goals of the Jews, but also to the apathy of Hungarian Christians. The result was constant foment that was impeding the full cohesion of national forces. The problem should be resolved honestly by bringing the relative weight of Jews in the relevant sectors within reasonable proportions. A just solution would also serve the interests of the Jews themselves, since it would help stem the growth of extreme and intolerant movements.61 The Orthodox writer expressed his satisfaction with the overall content of Darányi’s comments, which he felt could lead to positive change in the nation and among the Hungarian people. Accordingly he welcomed the legislative initiative. He acknowledged that twenty years earlier such a speech would have been regarded differently, but the world had changed and people had changed. Although the prime minister’s speech implied that the Jews were a distinct entity and not part of the Hungarian nation, the intention to act against “unauthorized, uncultured, and politically immature elements” should be welcomed. The prime minister confirmed the impact of the Jews in the economic and cultural domains and argued that reducing their presence would help the Jews and moderate incitement against them. The next day, the Neolog newspaper adopted a starkly different approach. The newspaper declared that there was no “Jewish Question” in Hungary. In light of the devotion, loyalty, and sacrifice of the Jews over many years, there was no justification for worsening their condition.62 The gulf between these two reactions reflects the different levels of involvement of Orthodox and Neolog Jews in economic life and employment in Hungary. The proposed law represented a far more serious threat to the Neolog public than to Orthodox circles. The Jewish leadership had learned of the legislative program two months before Darányi’s speech. Its direction had met with an agitated and bitter response, but in light of the substantial growth of Nazi and Fascist groups in Hungary, the Jewish leaders ultimately concluded that the law was the least of all possible evils; given the prevailing atmosphere, nothing would be gained

61 “Words of the Prime Minister and Primate,” ZsU, March 9, 1938. 62 Egyenlőség, March 10, 1938.

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from opposing the proposed measures. Hungarian public opinion generally supported the legislation, which was considered to be reasonable and rational, although over fifty intellectuals and politicians signed a declaration opposing the program. Foreign Jewish organizations, particularly the French Alliance, attempted to intervene, once again provoking displeasure among the Hungarian Jewish leadership. Despite the intervention, the Law Ensuring Greater Balance in Social and Economic Life was approved at the end of April 1938 and came into effect at the end of May. The law restricted the presence of Jews in the economy and the liberal professions to twenty percent. As a result, some 15,000 families lost their assets and their livelihood.63 After almost two decades of indifference in the face of growing incitement by the radical right, antisemitism thus became official government policy. Katzburg suggests that there was a tacit “deal” between the government, which was alarmed by the growing strength of the extreme right groups and had promised the Jews that it would curb this trend, and the Jews themselves, who reconciled themselves to the law.64 The Jews indeed sensed that the radical right presented a more serious threat than the discriminatory law, and felt that it was worth accepting a measure of humiliation and even a deterioration in social standing if this could block the incitement against them. The Orthodox newspaper adopted a realistic approach, recognizing the changed atmosphere and the need to act accordingly. As the anti-Jewish legislation continued, the Hungarian governments repeatedly explained to the Jewish leadership that this process was in the interests of the Jews, since it would prevent the rise of the extreme right. Despite the recognition that the law was a necessary evil, or the least of all possible evils, Korein reacted to its enactment with frustration, protest, and resentment. Writing a week after the law was submitted to parliament for approval, he described it as “a slap in the face of the Jews and of the equality laws of 1867 and 1895. . . . The law is offensive and humiliating and redefines the Jews as second-class citizens.”65 As a representative of the Budapest Orthodox circles that had undergone a significant process of acculturation, Korein reacted by retracting some of the ideological positions he had adopted over the preceding decades. He urged “Hungarians of the Jewish faith” to close in on themselves, and, to an extent, to cease to be Hungarians. “Let us gather ourselves inward in the social and cultural sense, inside our modest shelter. . . . Let us refrain

63 Hanebrink, In Defense, 160. 64 Ibid., 142. 65 Dezső Korein, “Let’s Be Grade A Jews!” ZsU, April 15, 1938.

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from visiting the theaters and other places of entertainment. . . . Instead, less us attend our synagogues and cultural centers regularly.”66 Korein advocated a return to Jewish values and a strengthening of religious norms, accompanied by a retreat from the Hungarian identity and from acculturation. His desire to retreat to the internal and separatist Jewish experience seems to have the quality not of a protest against the situation, but rather a manifestation of despair and powerlessness. Korein turned to the Jewish public as a whole, and not only its Orthodox component, using the Latin slogan sursum corda (“lift up your hearts”): “Lift up the Jewish heart, applaud the Jewish sentiment!” Ironically, the Latin phrase sursum corda is used in the Christian liturgy to invite the faithful to concentrate on the ceremony and on their prayers. This use of a phrase with strong Christian overtones as part of an appeal to Jews per se highlights the level of acculturation Korein had attained—a level he now sought to lower. In the final section of his article, which appeared on the eve of Passover, he drew on the story of the Haggadah as a source of hope and comfort. Did Korein’s call to return to the ghetto represent a genuine shift in attitude, or was it a transient expression of disappointment and pessimism? As we shall see below, his article was an exception, and Orthodox writers (including Korein himself) would continue to make pro-Magyar declarations in their subsequent articles. Indeed, the worsening situation led to a greater emphasis on the JewishMagyar bond rather than to its abandonment. Despite everything, the trust the Jews placed in Hungary had not been completely eroded. While Jews may well have felt a pang of regret, this was obscured as part of the tactical decision to continue to emphasize their Magyar identity in the face of rising hatred. After parliament approved the First Jewish Law, Korein returned to a more optimistic position, publishing an article that sought to reassure Jews worried about their future in the face of antisemitic policies that had now become overt and official: We must hope and trust in a better future, even though in the current reality this demands enormous mental strength. The law that has fallen on us, with its style of a witch hunt, cannot stand for long, since it contradicts the spirit of the constitution of “our home.” Let us note the reassuring fact that of the 226 members of the Upper Chamber, only forty were present during the vote on the law, four of whom opposed it. Nevertheless, it was most disappointing to us to see that senior clerics who sit in the chamber, and who frequently speak of Christian love, have adopted racist attitudes. . . . It is most regrettable that precisely those individuals who should mobilize in defense of fellowship and humanity and against injustice are granting moral support to racist and denominational 66 Ibid.

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demagoguery, and are themselves disseminating enmity and hatred now, when their help is needed more than ever. It is obvious that such activities disrupt public order and impede efforts to promote social and economic consolidation in Hungary. Despite the antisemitic incitement of the past twenty years, which managed to persuade the weak government of Prime Minister Darányi to approve the Jewish Law, we hope that the new Prime Minister Imrédy will enforce law and order and encourage social consensus. We must not lose hope in a better future. . . . We Jews must continue to make an honest living for our families and meet our civil obligations as we have done until now. Ultimately this is not the land of the Arrow Cross leaders Szálasi and Csilléry, but the land of Lajos Kossuth, Széchenyi, Deák, and the other enlightened and liberal leaders of the past.67 Korein sought to comfort the Jews by offering some hope for a better future where the spirit of the nation’s founders would prevail over the incitement of the radical right. His implicit message was that antisemitism is alien to the true Magyar spirit. He was careful to emphasize that the incitement was damaging Hungary as a whole. Although the situation was grave, he expressed confidence that the bond between Orthodox Jewry and Hungary would continue. Toward the end of 1938, he again clung to the ideal of the liberal Hungarian heritage: “When the old and noble Magyar tolerance and love of liberty return to their due place . . . we will wonder how incitement managed to penetrate the land of Rákóczi, Deák, Petőfi, and Jókai.”68 Samu Stern, the president of the National Neolog Office, published a booklet in response to the First Jewish Law, emphasizing the loyalty of the Jewish community in the country over centuries and their ancient presence in the region.69 Stern, a classic representative of the Neolog economic elite, did not attempt to offer any new explanation for the events, but adhered to the longstanding ideology of emancipation and merger. Jewish intellectuals active in the country’s cultural life adopted a similar approach; their reactions repeatedly referred to the participation of Jews in the revolution of 1848–1849 and in the First World War, and more generally their contribution to the nation’s culture. They concluded that “despite the threatening future, they cling to Hungary as their homeland and continue to regard Hungarian culture as their own.”70 Thus the approach of the two streams was remarkably similar, though the Neologs 67 “After the Festivals,” ZsU, June 17, 1938. 68 “Two Standards,” ZsU, December 2, 1938. 69 Stern, Jewish Question. See also Katzburg, “Zionist Reactions,” 132; Miron, Waning, 220–223. 70 Anna Szalai, “Will the Past Protect the Jews of Hungary? The Response of Jewish Intellectuals to the Anti-Jewish Legislation” [Hebrew], Yad Vashem—Collected Studies 32 (2004):

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cited the past and their contribution to cultural life, while the Orthodox emphasized religious and moral aspects. Spokespeople for the Zionist movement in Hungary, which was weak and had little influence among the public, adopted a far more critical stance. They argued that the crisis was the product of assimilation, and lack of Jewish national consciousness, and an addiction to capitalism. Thus the Zionists concluded that the anti-Jewish laws were to a large extent the consequence of the Jews’ actions. They advocated spiritual and cultural renewal in the spirit of the Kulturbund movement in Germany.71 The Zionists insisted that the Jews of Hungary constituted a national minority that could not merge with the majority; the two populations should separate by means of Jewish emigration to Palestine. Katzburg suggests that while the Zionist position had no influence on the general Jewish public, it laid the foundation for the emergence of a Jewish national consciousness among Hungarian Jews who survived the Holocaust during the postwar period.72 A Jewish journalist who traveled by train through eastern Hungary eavesdropped on the conversations of two groups, providing an impression of the prevailing reaction of the general populace to the proposed law. The first group consisted of Hungarian peasants. Under the influence of antisemitic propaganda, the peasants complained of the problems they and their nation were facing due to the Jews. They were confident that their living standards and economic condition would improve once the “Jewish Question” had been resolved. The Jewish observer remarks that these individuals were not necessarily bad people, but rather simple people who had been influenced by the toxic propaganda that was being disseminated freely throughout Hungary. The second group were Orthodox Jews who lived in the small towns and villages of the region. They also discussed the Jewish Laws and showed a generally optimistic approach. One of their number recalled that the prime minister had stressed that despite the law, the Emancipation Law of 1867 remained in force. The writer recognized the paradoxical nature of this statement, but concluded that the Orthodox Jews he observed found comfort in such a claim. The Orthodox travelers expressed regret that the Hungarian people still regarded Jews who converted to Christianity as Jewish, whereas they themselves argued that they were no longer such. The writer remarks that their concern was not for

139–168. Szalai describes the reactions among prominent writers and researchers from the liberal-Neolog camp. 71 For the Zionist positions, see Katzburg, “Zionist Reactions,” 133–141. 72 Ibid., 141.

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the converts, but for the abandonment of the traditional position of Christian clerics that a Jew who undergoes baptism thereby becomes a Christian.73 The Orthodox supported the reinforcement of the Church, which they felt would ameliorate their own position. Thus there were still Jews at this time who clung to the illusion of a unified religious camp that could oppose the radical right, based on mutually beneficial collaboration between the different denominations. The peasants were concerned mainly with economic considerations and hoped to inherit the Jews’ wealth; the Orthodox response showed a degree of denial concerning the true situation. One article in the Zsidó Ujság appeared in a large, bold typeface—a visual manifestation of the distress caused by the enactment of the anti-Jewish legislation and rising incitement among the Hungarian public. The article offered warnings and advice to Jews in order to avoid giving their enemies an excuse to attack and condemn them.74 The writer emphasized that Jews must behave in a dignified manner and remain silent in the face of insults. They should be cautious, maintain a low profile, and avoid making critical comments. They should meet their civil obligations and act fairly in their commercial dealings: a dishonest action by a single Jew could cause recriminations for the entire community, and accordingly each individual bore a heavy responsibility. The writer urged Jews to stand together, gather their forces, and fulfill their patriotic duty to their homeland.75 The article conveys a palpable sense of distress and anxiety, if not despair. Significantly, the writer did not include the old, comforting assurances that the situation would not last and that the future would be brighter. Just as the Jews of Hungary were struggling to cope with their deteriorating condition, reports of the Kristallnacht riots in Germany and Austria began to reach the country. An article entitled “The Tragedy of the German Jews” discussed the events, which the writer claimed were unprecedented in Jewish, and perhaps even in human, history. He explained that the unique aspect of the riots was the element of evil for its own sake, embodied in senseless acts of destruction. After the expulsion of the Jews of Spain, the Christians had converted synagogues into churches; the Bolsheviks in Russia were right now turning them into clubs and museums. By contrast, the Nazis thirsted for pointless devastation that brought themselves no benefit. The words of God that had echoed in the now-burnt synagogues were the foundation of Christian. Accordingly, the writer suggested, Christian leaders across Europe should mourn for the destruction of Jewish

73 “In the Train Car in Szabolcs County,” ZsU, April 29, 1938. 74 “Some Serious Words to Orthodoxy,” ZsU, October 25, 1938. 75 Ibid.

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holy places as if they were their own. He acknowledged that protests had been made, but these were insufficient. The nations of the world must offer shelter to German-Jewish refugees—otherwise they would be partners in the injustices committed by Germany. German Jews should believe with all their might that the current darkness would give way to better days.76 For the newspaper, the tragedy belonged solely to the Jews of Germany. The writer showed profound empathy, but this was not accompanied by any concern for the Jews of his own country, despite the close ties between Germany and Hungary. The government argued that the ceiling of twenty percent on the Jewish presence in economic sectors was more than fair, given that the Jews accounted for less than six percent of the population in post-Trianon Hungary. The radical right claimed that the quota was excessively generous and demanded further legislation. In 1938, the government decided unanimously to reduce the quota of Jews in the economy, the liberal professions, and cultural life to six percent. The Second Jewish Law was presented to the House of Representatives for approval the next day (23 December, 1938). Toward the end of 1938 the government prohibited the publication of the main Orthodox and Neolog organs, and ordered that these be replaced with new publications functioning as an indirect channel of communication between the government and the Jewish public. The leaderships of the two streams were held responsible for the articles, which henceforth were expected to concentrate on Jewish communal and religious affairs and to avoid political issues. In contrast to past practice, articles were signed with their author’s name, presumably in order to heighten the element of personal responsibility. Dr. Imre Reiner was appointed chief editor of the new journal Orthodox Zsidó Ujság, while Jenő Groszberg, the former editor, served as executive editor. Only public figures were permitted to publish articles in the newspaper, thereby restricting the platforms available to columnists. Reiner himself reported on these changes in the issue dated January 20, 1939, in an article entitled “Facing New Tasks.”77 Reiner, who as mentioned was one of the leaders of the National Orthodox Office, noted that the Office had addressed the Orthodox public directly through the Zsidó Hiradó and Zsidó Ujság in the past. The Office expected that readers would remain loyal to the newspaper in its new format and continue to support it financially. The tone of the article was pessimistic; expressions such as “difficult times,” “serious days,” and “worsening pains” underlined the sense of crisis: “The ship of Judaism has

76 “The Tragedy of the German Jews,” ZsU, November 18, 1938. 77 “Before New Tasks,” OZsU, January 20, 1939.

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run into a severe storm; whichever one looks, mighty waves are crashing. This is an ongoing struggle for life or death in the full sense of the word.”78 Over the course of February 1939, Jenő Groszberg published articles in the new Orthodox newspaper concerning the discussions of the Second Jewish Law. He mentioned rumors that converts from Judaism would enjoy lesser restrictions, and expressed the hope that in the national interests the same would apply to the Jews themselves: The Jews cannot be excluded from the body of the nation without gravely and mortally disrupting the national economy. We must absolutely not lose our hope or mental equilibrium. . . . Above all, we must trust in the Holy One, blessed be He. . . . In order to maintain mental equilibrium, we must reject bravely and with a clear conscience that accusations leveled at us. . . . The Jewish leaders have many times emphasized that “even if we have been bad Jews, we have always been good Hungarians.” Some people claim that the Jews’ comfortable lives poisoned the atmosphere in the cities. However, the truth is that with the exception of a handful of Jews, the overwhelming majority of the community is engaged in a daily struggle for economic survival. Some claim, for example, that the Jews are insular and isolated from any other nation, and their teachings, religion, and tradition are radically different to others. This claim was accurate in the past, in the days of Ahasuerus and Haman, when people were pagans and the Jews and their teachings were indeed distinct. But this claim is completely incomprehensible when Christianity in all its varieties has adopted the Old Testament—the Jewish Book of Books, and when the entire world has accepted the moral values of the Ten Commandments. It can no longer be argued that the Jewish religion separates the Jews from the other nations . . . Moreover, where Jews are active, they disseminate the Hungarian language and Hungarian character.79 Groszberg ends with the biblical verse “In return for my love, they are my accusers” (Psalm 109:4). The verse epitomizes the Hungarian Jews’ sense of unrequited love—the hatred they were now receiving in return for their patriotic

78 Ibid. 79 “For the Sake of Justice for Judaism,” OZsU, February 1, 1939.

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love. The Jews responded with prayer, and according to their faith justice would ultimately prevail. The newspaper sought to placate its readers with other verses, such as “Do not be afraid. . . . Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you” (Exodus 14:13). During the deliberations in parliament on the Second Jewish Law, Korein urged the Jews to remain calm in the face of the economic hardship they could expect if the law was approved: “Let us not become agitated, and above all let us not exaggerate: everyone is exaggerating in every matter.”80 Faced with the threat of new restrictions, many Hungarian Jews, particularly from the younger generation, began to consider the option of emigration. Korein noted that this desire reflected profound disappointment with Hungary and its inhumane treatment of the Jews. The relevant authorities should now allow for legal and official processes of emigration. The Hungarian Orthodox community had attended part of the Evian Conference in France in July 1938, which discussed the subject of Jewish emigration from Europe. While legitimizing the desire to emigrate, Korein added that “young people are impatient, and unwilling to wait for the situation to go back to the way it was before.” He was convinced that the current reality was temporary, and that Jews would do better to wait for an improvement. He called for assistance for all young Jews, whether they wished to remain in the country or to emigrate, and urged fortunate members of the community who were still able to do so to help young Jews who wished to remain in Hungary. Korein himself had not lost his trust in Hungary: the Jewish community still had a future, and the difficult times would pass sooner or later. Nevertheless, he expressed disappointment in light of the trust Jews had placed, and perhaps still placed, in their country: “It is possible to understand this psychosis given the insecurity and serious existential problems that can be anticipated, and also given the feeling of Hungarianness among the Jews of the country.”81 The newspaper still occasionally referred to a glorious past: People quote occasions in Hungarian history when comments were spoken or decisions made against the Jews. But the centuries of the Hungarian people and monarchy testify to the tolerance and love of justice that prevented the replication of the horrors in medieval Germany. People speak as though the Jews of Hungary were recent immigrants, but in fact they have lived here in the homeland for centuries. We have also heard that we do not know Hungarian

80 “Only Calm,” OZsU, February 10, 1939. 81 Ibid.

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and that the first stage of assimilation was conversion. . . . We need a new Nachmanides to refute all these spurious charges one by one.82 The Second Jewish Law (formally Law no. 4 of 1939) came into effect on May 5, 1939. As noted, the law restricted the proportion of Jews in the economy to six percent. While the first law had defined Judaism according to membership of a Jewish community, the second was based on origin; accordingly, it also applied to converts to Christianity. This change brought another 100,000 people under the terms of anti-Jewish legislation and intensified the economic hardship facing numerous families.83 The legislative process reached its peak with the Third Jewish Law, which sought not only to impose further quotas, but also to nullify the emancipation and remove Jews from society at large.84 The law was based on the Nuremberg laws in Germany, and declared that its goal was “to defend the racial purity of the Magyar nation,” a goal manifested in the prohibition of marriage between Jews and Christians.85 In 1942 the Reception Law of 1895 was annulled and Judaism no longer enjoyed the status of a recognized religion. This change had serious economic ramifications, since Jewish religious and educational institutions no longer enjoyed state support.86 However, the main impact of these final two laws was symbolic, defining Jews (as individuals and as collective) as an inferior race that had no place in Hungary and was to be excluded from society. Later the right of Jews to own property was also restricted, and after Hungary joined the war against Russia in 1941 Jewish men were recruited for compulsory labor. Over the following three years, dozens of orders, provisions, and regulations were added, creating a dense fabric of discrimination and humiliation and preparing the ground for the Final Solution. The economic restrictions meant that over

82 “From Clement IV to Pius XII,” OZsU, March 10, 1939. 83 Katzburg, “Zionist Reactions,” 136. 84 The Third Law came into effect on August 8, 1941 and the equal status of the Jewish religion was revoked on July 19, 1942. 85 The scholars Don and Magos estimate that the rate of intermarriage in Trianon Hungary was ten to fourteen percent: Braham and Katzburg, History of the Shoah, 89; Yehuda Don and George Magos, “The Demographic Development of Hungarian Jewry,” Jewish Social Studies 45 (1983): 89. For a detailed table by years, see Katzburg, Hungary and the Jews, 171. 86 The Orthodox National Office devoted two days to discussing the new financial difficulties created following the annulment of the Reception Law and the removal of budgets for the salaries of rabbis and teachers and the withdrawal of grants for Jewish education. “Meeting of the Orthodox National Office,” OZsU, August 10, 1942.

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forty percent of the Jews in Hungary were unable to make a living; several organizations were established to provide assistance and mutual aid.87 These steps naturally caused extreme distress, but the leadership of the Jewish streams continued to refuse to respond in public to the everworsening restrictions and incitement.88 The only protests came from writers and columnists, who on rare occasions also criticized the Jewish leadership for its silence. Korein, for example, complained of the “apathetic and total silence” in the face of unbridled incitement by the radical circles. He argued that the Jews should fight for public opinion and refute the constant allegations; otherwise the impression would be created that the charges were correct.89 The historian Raphael Vago suggests that the reason for the passive response of the leadership was the gradual nature of the spread of incitement and anti-Semitism and their penetration of the public mainstream. He adds that the fact that the authorities did not adopt an overtly antisemitic approach until 1938 may have been a further factor.90 It is true that the deterioration in Hungary was slower than in Germany, for example; but it was not imperceptible. This is confirmed by the reports of foreign diplomats stationed in Budapest at the time who explicitly noted the grave situation in their internal reports.91 Vago’s second suggestion is more plausible: as we have seen, the Hungarian regime refrained from adopting an overly antisemitic stance until 1938. However, the main reason for the passive response of the Jewish leadership was almost certainly its profound affinity to Hungary and its trust in the nation, influenced by the idyllic picture of the past we discussed above. The ambiguous attitude of the Hungarian authorities encouraged the tendency to adhere to this mindset until a late stage. This policy in turn can be interpreted in various ways. The government was subjected to strong pressure both from Nazi Germany and from the domestic radical right. A less ambiguous approach by the authorities would certainly have encouraged a more rapid recognition of the changing reality. As we saw, from as early as 1932 Orthodox observers in Germany reached the conclusion that acculturation was an illusion and the decline was not temporary; 87 The number of Jews left without a livelihood reached 234,000: Braham and Katzburg, History of the Shoah, 105 n. 42, according to MZsL from March 20, 1941. On the self-help enterprises in the communities, see ibid., 107–116. 88 On the policy of the central offices of both streams, see Katzburg, “Central Leadership.” 89 “Two Standards,” ZsU, December 2, 1938. 90 Vago, Anti-Semitism, 209. 91 Katzburg bases his study on documents from the archives of the British Foreign Ministry and the US State Department, providing evidence that foreign diplomats took a far more realistic view of the events than the Jews. See Katzburg, Hungary and the Jews, 94–99.

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accordingly, they began to consider the option of emigration at a much earlier stage.92 By 1941, some sixty percent of German Jews had left the country, while Jewish migration from Hungary at this point was almost non-existent. The mood among Hungarian Jews, as reflected in the Jewish press, does not appear consistent with the gravity of the situation. Opportunities for emigration were limited, but even those possibilities that existed were broadly ignored. It is also interesting to note that from the late 1930s through the Holocaust, there was no significant difference between the Orthodox and Neolog streams in terms of the response to antisemitism.93

D. Between Hope and Anxiety: Under the Shadow of the Holocaust Following the outbreak of the Second World War, Germany regarded Hungary as an ally and allowed the country to manage its own affairs. The Hungarian authorities restricted Jewish life, but prior to the German invasion did not in most cases send Jews to the death camps. Two significant events deserve mention, however. In the summer of 1941, 18,500 Jewish residents who could not readily prove their Hungarian citizenship were transported to Galicia. Most of the deportees were later shot in Kamenets-Podolsk (Ukraine) by SS troops, and the Ukrainian auxiliary police. This was the first large-scale mass murder in pursuit of the “Final Solution.” In January 1942, after parts of Yugoslavia were returned to Hungary, military operations were launched against partisans. These atrocities resulted in the death of some 5,000 people in Délvidék (Serbia), among them approximately 700 Jews—almost the entire Jewish population of the region. Both events were not interpreted at the time as a serious threat or a prelude to a Holocaust in Hungary. Despite the close relations between Hungary and Nazi Germany, and despite strong pressure from extreme right-wing and military circles, Prime Minister Pál Teleki opposed the idea that Hungary should join the war. In 1940, facing growing pressure, he agreed to forward significant economic support to the German war machine. Teleki did not share the pro-German tendencies that were particularly dominant in military circles (many of whose members came

92 Miron, Waning, 66–72. 93 Guy Miron, “In the Face of Evil: The Jewish Press in Hungary from the Late 1930s through 1944,” Kesher 33 (2003): 100–107.

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from the Swabian-German minority) and preferred to nurture ties with Great Britain; despite this, he played an active role in introducing the anti-Jewish legislation. In 1941, without Teleki’s knowledge, Hungary decided to join the German attack on Yugoslavia. Teleki was deeply offended to learn that his mentor and friend Horthy had acted behind his back, and committed suicide in his palace immediately after receiving the news. From the outset the war had exacerbated the already severe economic crisis in Hungary, as in the rest of Europe. The Orthodox newspaper described the economic problems, the lack of basic goods, and the problems faced by the population as a whole, and by Jews in particular, in obtaining food. Nevertheless, it continued to urge Jews to consider the situation elsewhere in the world, and to recognize that “the distress is necessary, and our sacrifice is minimal compared to the great goal. . . . This suffering is an unavoidable reality not only in other countries, but also in the God-blessed Hungarian Canaan.”94 The writer regarded the trials of the time as the product of forces beyond human control; accordingly, the Jews could only trust in God to grant them their daily bread, as He had done when the Children of Israel wandered through the wilderness. In 1941, as the war in Europe was at its height, Hungary was still regarded as a safe haven—a “Canaan,” the model of the blessed ancestral homeland promised to the Israelites. The suffering was described as minimal compared to the “great goal”—an unclear term that may have referred to Hungary’s return to its historical borders or to victory in the war. Thus the writer identified with the goals and interests of the war as these were perceived in Hungary. Unsurprisingly, the Neolog leadership shared this outlook. “Our lives and our fate are inextricably linked to the fate of the Hungarians. Accordingly, we must take part in the work of Magyar construction, and we must therefore toil tirelessly, in our belief in the resumption of equal rights, regardless of whether we shall see the fruits of this labor in the short term.” This message was written by Géza Ribáry, the head of the national aid project of Hungarian Jews.95 The National Hungarian Jewish Assistance Campaign (OMSZA) was established in 1939 by all the Jewish bodies in Hungary—Neolog, Orthodox, and Zionist— in order to alleviate the serious suffering facing a significant portion of the community. Surprisingly, the response of the Neolog Rabbi Sándor Scheiber (1913– 1985), who later served as head of the rabbinical seminary in Budapest, was

94 “Our Daily Bread,” OZsU, January 1, 1941. 95 Ararát Yearbook [Hungarian] (1941): 12.

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far more traditional. In a sermon given on the festival of Sukkot in October 1941 at the synagogue in Pécs, Scheiber declared: “We must humbly bear the terrible suffering without protesting or rebelling. The Holy One, blessed be He, wishes to show us that the greatest human achievement is the greatest human suffering.”96 Scheiber regarded the Jewish Laws and the suffering they caused as God’s will. A year later, Scheiber again discussed the theme of suffering, which he interpreted as part of the ongoing historical relations between the Jewish faithful and the adherents of other religions.97 An example of a totally traditional response came from Shlomo Zalman Ehrenreich (1863–1944), an Orthodox rabbi from part of northern Transylvania that was returned to Hungary under the Second Vienna Award of 1940: “All the troubles, woes and expulsion that have come on Israel occurred solely because they violated the Law and failed to follow the path of the Torah, seeking to imitate the nations of the world in their customs and manners. . . . But whenever Jews behaved according to the ways of the Torah, the nations of the world did not conceive of oppressing and troubling them.”98 Thus Ehrenreich blamed the assimilationists, converts, and even the Zionists for the problems. Rabbi Ehrenreich later died at Auschwitz. The domestic problems and the rumors of the terrible events elsewhere in Europe aroused a range of reactions; in some cases, individuals responded in a manner that contradicted their usual approach or beliefs. Rabbi Moshe Welz, who adhered to the ultra-Orthodox positions, published a booklet in Budapest in 1940 entitled The Booklet of Looking at the Land; On Orthodoxy, the Building of the Land, and the Guilt of Its Leaders. Welz called for a return to the Land of Israel in light of “the terrible rift . . . that we are being persecuted and our livelihood usurped.” He attacked the “blind-eyed” Orthodox leaders for ignoring the situation and refraining from urging the Jewish masses to emigrate to their ancestral homeland.99 Rabbi Shlomo Teichtal (1885–1945), the rabbi of Piešťany in Slovakia, underwent a radical personal transformation. He was originally an extreme ultra-Orthodox figure who was inclined to accept the overtly anti-Zionist ideology of the Munkács Rebbe, Chaim Elazar Shapiro. Yet in his book The Mother of the Sons Rejoices (Budapest, 1943), Teichtal developed an enthusiastic religious argument in

96 Sandor Scheiber, Selected Speeches [Hungarian] (Budapest: Múlt és Jövő, 1994), 45. 97 Frojimovics, “Religious Streams,” 319. 98 Quoted in ibid., 315–316. 99 Braham and Katzburg, History of the Shoah, 125.

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favor of Zionism.100 Teichtal perished in the Holocaust at the beginning of 1945, but after the establishment of Israel his book served Religious-Zionist circles as a key tool in their arguments with the ultra-Orthodox position. As well as calling for emigration to the Land of Israel, Teichtal adopted a radically new position regarding the spiritual status of unobservant Jews, contrary to the prevailing tendency of Orthodoxy in Hungary to establish barriers between itself and the remainder of the Jewish population.101 In March 1942 Horthy forced Prime Minister László Bárdossy to resign due to his pro-Nazi policies and support for the radical right, which constituted an opposition to Horthy’s own conservative rightist approach. Miklós Kállay, the new prime minister, was loyal to Horthy and enjoyed his consistent support throughout his period of office. In 1942 and 1943, the Germans applied pressure on their Hungarian allies to adopt a much harsher policy toward the Jews in the country, including the enforcement of the yellow star, the total exclusion of Jews from economic life, and the commencement of deportations to the east. Kállay’s government rejected all three demands. Regarding the yellow star, Kállay argued that it would provoke riots by the antisemitic right and would disturb law and order in the country. Regarding the deportation of Jews, he claimed that Hungary lacked the necessary transportation infrastructure. He also argued that the economic activities of the Jews could not be halted suddenly without undermining the Hungarian economy, which was helping the war effort. Horthy raised similar arguments during his meeting with Hitler at Klessheim in April 1943, responding to the Führer’s rage at what he regarded as the “pro-Jewish” attitude of the Kállay government.102 Kállay was indeed more moderate than his predecessor. He was unenthusiastic about Germany and sought to encourage Hungary to adopt a neutral position or even to join the Allies. Regarding Germany he attempted to walk a tightrope, adopting an inconsistent approach that became known as the “seesaw policy” (hintapolitika).103 Opinions are divided regarding Kállay’s attitude toward the 100 Y  issachar Shlomo Teichtal, The Mother of the Sons Rejoices [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Kol Mevasser, 1998, 1st ed., Budapest, 1842). 101 See Hershowitz, “Redemption Vision,” a doctoral thesis devoted entirely to Teichtal’s Religious-Zionist thought. See also Friedlander, “Thought and Practice,” 156–175. 102 On Kállay’s refusal to deport Hungarian Jews to the east, see Katzburg, Hungary and the Jews, 220–222, based on documents from the German and Hungarian foreign ministries. See also László Karsai, “The Fateful Year: 1942 in the Reports of Hungarian Diplomats,” in The Holocaust in Hungary: Sixty Years Later, ed. Randolph L. Braham and Brewster S. Chamberlin (New York: City University of New York, 2006), 3–4. 103 R andolph L. Braham, “The Jewish Problem in Hungarian-German Relations during the Kállay Period,” in The Hungarian Jews: Historical Studies [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Association for the Study of Hungarian Jews, 1980), 260–280; Karsai, “Fateful Year.”

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Jews. Some observers claim that his weak rule and concessions to the far right prepared the ground for the devastation of Hungarian Jewry.104 Others suggest that his policies were “one of the miracles that occurred in modern Hungarian history.”105 The historian Randolph Braham occupies an intermediate position between these two extremes, concluding that Kállay acted reasonably given the heavy pressure he faced from Germany and from the domestic extreme right.106 Like Braham, Kramer takes an essentially positive view of Kállay; the condition of the Jews under his rule was reasonable and he managed to prevent their annihilation until the German occupation.107 Another historian, László Karsai, suggests that Hitler ordered the invasion of Hungary in part due to the government’s refusal to send more troops to the front, but also because of Kállay’s refusal to deport Jews to the east.108 Further evidence of Hungary’s policies under Kállay can be found in Goebbels’s diaries. Following the meeting between Hitler and Horthy, Goebbels wrote: “The Jewish problem is managed in Hungary in a less satisfactory manner than in any other place. Jews can be found throughout the country, and the Führer, who was dissatisfied with the anti-Jewish policy adopted since 1938, was unable to persuade Horthy of the need to take more drastic steps against them.”109 Rumors of Kállay’s rejection of the German demands reached the Jewish public and presumably contributed to their relative sense of security. Rabbi Teichtal referred to these events: More than once we have faced mortal danger. I remember the fear and alarm that was felt among the camp of the Hebrews in the land, when the tyrannical emperor pressed the prime minister to resolve the Jewish Question here. And it is wellknown what the solution is in his country—to send them to a fate known as deportation, Heaven forefend, and the results of the deportation are well-known . . . He pressed and urged the above-mentioned minister. . . . And only one more signature Such as the historian Bela Vago: Kramer, Emancipation, 96 n. 273. Ibid., n. 274. Ibid., 86–87. Kramer, Emancipation, 89. After the German invasion, Kállay requested asylum in the Turkish embassy. He was later sent by the Germans to Dachau concentration camp and thereafter to Mauthausen. In 1946 he emigrated to the United States. 108 Karsai, “Could the Jews,” 65, 69. 109 According to Goebel’s diaries, published in New York in 1948: Kramer, From Emancipation, 85 n. 266. 104 105 106 107

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was required . . . in order to sign the fate of Israel . . . But the Lord performed a truly great miracle for us then, through the opinion of the above-mentioned minister and gentlemen, who said that they, too, would solve the Jewish Question . . . but that they would wait until after the war to do so.110 This stance by Kállay allowed Korein to praise him following a speech in which he emphasized the importance of internal social order in Hungary: We can assert with great pride and a positive emotion that at a time when all Europe is sick, noble Hungary is completely healthy and is acting in a perfect manner, thanks to divine providence and its thousand-year-old constitution. So spoke the prime minister, who also declared that Hungary will never abandon its Christian-humane approach on matters of denomination and race, just as it had not done so in the past.111 After summarizing Kállay’s remarks, Korein launched into a paean of praise for the Hungarian people: The Magyar has an honest character and a firm backbone; his thinking is noble and not vindictive. My opinion on this matter is based on decades of experience. Now, too, we see in the declarations of our statesmen that even in the midst of the current bloodbath, the Magyar has not lost his wisdom, his calm, and his level-headed stance. This is a manifestation of the Magyar soul. . . . The Jews are going through difficult times—the exceptional times demand of us exceptional sacrifices. But we, the Jews of the homeland, are accustomed to this. The prime minister’s sincere and noble words, spoken in the Christian and humane spirit, struck and chord and encouraged the Jews. We believe in peace, fellowship and friendship, mutual appreciation, respect for the authorities and, above all, strict observance of the laws of the land. All these are part of our ancient heritage. We believe in social order, and hence were listened joyfully to the prime minister’s speech. We are aware of the meaning of Magyar

110 Teichtal, Mother, 312. 111 “The Reflection of the Magyar Soul,” OZsU, November 19, 1943.

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truth, Magyar humanity, Magyar freedom and independence. . . . Other politicians have spoken in this spirit. All these are the product of the pure Magyar soul and of adherence to the heritage of Saint Stephen . . . The remarks by Kállay, the scion of a noble family dating back nine centuries, faithfully reflect the Hungarians’ love of mankind. Thanks to this sublime thinking, the morality of our homeland has reached first place among the peoples of Europe.112 In light of Kállay’s policies and the benign situation of Hungarian Jews, relative to their coreligionists in the areas under German influence, it is hardly surprising that Korein praised the prime minister’s character and actions. He went much further, however, lauding the “Magyar soul” and its love of mankind, just as significant sections of that people were becoming increasingly hostile. The Jewish Laws had all been enacted by this point and were causing great suffering, as had been discussed in Korein’s newspaper on more than one occasion. However, this suffering was to a large extent regarded as part of the inevitable sacrifice required of all Hungarians during the war, despite the uniquely discriminatory character of the laws. This optimistic approach was not divorced from reality, and was based on factors that indeed appeared to offer some hope that the current situation might remain unchanged until the end of the war. In December 1943, Zionist organizations were permitted to operate throughout the country, reversing a decision from 1940 restricting them to the capital. Throughout the war years books were published in Hebrew in Budapest and Munkács, including on religious themes. In Klausenburg (Cluj), which was once again part of Hungary, a Hebrew journal named Ohel Shem was published from 1942 through 1944, devoted to articles of a Religious-Zionist character. In 1942 a volume of Hebrew poems was published in Debrecen. A series of seventeen books by Jewish thinkers was published during the same period by a Zionist-leaning association.113 Thus the authorities permitted flourishing Jewish cultural activities, and together with Kállay’s remarks this allowed the leadership to maintain its optimistic worldview. Indeed, Hungarian police reports note an increasingly optimistic atmosphere among the Jews from mid-1942, together with some moderation in antisemitic sentiments among the general public. A police document from

112 Ibid. 113 Braham and Katzburg, History of the Holocaust, 131–137; Kramer, From Emancipation, 89–90.

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June 1943 stated: “The reports are exceptionally hopeful. A rumor of unknown origin claims that anti-Jewish feelings have weakened and that the government does not intend to continue its anti-Jewish policies. It is said the Jewish forced laborers will soon be permitted to return to their homes.”114 Naturally, such feelings were balanced by anxiety and uncertainty. Hungary was under German influence, and it was unclear how long the uneasy equilibrium could be maintained.115 The Orthodox weekly often discussed these concerns, while attempting to placate its readers. In 1943 the Orthodox Zsidó Ujság devoted its editorial to the uncertainty facing the Jews of Hungary, urging Jews to draw on their faith in God in order to create a more relaxed atmosphere.116 A month later, the newspaper suggested that many Jews felt like Esau, who asked “Look, I am about to die; so what is this birthright to me?” (Genesis 25:32). The writer acknowledged that Jews wanted to know how they could cope with anxiety “in an era of confusion and uncertainty, when at every moment the fate of tens of thousands hangs by a thread.”117 He proceeded to challenge the pessimistic worldview of the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860), who advocated a fatalistic paganism and the denial of life that underpinned Buddhism, while despising the Jewish principles of moral justice. The newspaper concluded that Judaism had spiritual qualities that had encouraged its élan vital118 over two thousand years of exile, fostering optimism and hope. Behind these words of comfort, it is clear that the writer was somehow aware of the tragedy that was unfolding just across Hungary’s borders.

114 M  ária Schmidt, “Police Reports from the Provincial Cities: New Studies in the History of Hungarian Jewry, 1941–1944,” Yad Vashem—Collected Studies 19 (1999): 196, 197–198. 115 Szalai, Will the Past. 116 “Uncertainty and Security,” OZsU, November 5, 1943. 117 “The Order of Life,” OZsU, December 1, 1943. 118 The writer employs the term coined by the French philosopher Henri Bergson (1859–1941).

Chapter Nine

“What Should We Do about These Attacks against Us?”— Reactions and Strategies

A. The Emotional Response: Insult and Disillusionment Many Jews across Europe were attracted to modern ideals and to the values of enlightenment, rationalism, humanism, and universalism as embodied in the quest for “liberty, equality, and fraternity.” Modern antisemitism was regarded as insulting and offensive precisely because it emerged within a culture that so many Jews admired and emulated. Jews who identified with their surroundings were far more susceptible than previous insular generations. The affinity to the nation created expectations and hopes, and when these failed to materialize, and when the prospects they would materialize in the future seemed slight, the result was profound disillusionment. Before the age of emancipation, the response among Jews to the hatred they encountered was mainly one of anger rather than disappointment. The protective walls within which Jews lived in the premodern age isolated them from their Gentile surroundings and offered protection not only against outside influence, but also against such emotions. Premodern Jews lived in a world of their own in terms of their value system, detached from their environment, conscious of their own distinct character. Even when circumstances required them to live alone among Gentiles, the reference group for Jews was largely the Jewish value

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system.1 The Gentile world that harmed the Jew was not important enough or valued enough for its blows to cause offense. Confidence in divine providence, theological explanations of the exile, and the belief that suffering was imposed by God all explained and alleviated the distress Jews faced, encouraging an accepting attitude. Hostility was fatalistically regarded as something to be anticipated in every generation and age; there was no expectation that this would end, and no sense of disappointment when it did not. As we have seen, the Orthodox press also portrayed religion as a defense against rejection, and urged all Jews to return to the faith. All this changed in the modern era, when Jews felt that they were being accepted and naturalized in the countries in which they lived. Enlightenment and progress became cornerstones of general consciousness and the expectation emerged that hatred would gradually disappear. The traditional religious themes were replaced by secular categories of liberalism, emancipation, acculturation, nationhood, and an affinity to the surroundings, yielding expectations of a better future. Many Jews were willing to pay a cultural and religious price in order to achieve equality. They expected that their neighbors would at last accept them, since they gradually seemed to be becoming less alien and distinct. The realization that rejection had not gone, but had merely acquired a new form came as a deep disappointment, and they were left to confront modern antisemitism without the immunity traditional Judaism had provided. Neolog Jews had adopted the banner of integration and regarded themselves as an integral part of Hungary. From as early as the 1890s, they began to feel a sense of frustration and resentment as their social exclusion not only continued but grew worse. Several liberal and Neolog figures responded emotionally to their experiences of rejection.2 Ernő Mezei, a Neolog leader and former member of parliament, remarked bitterly on the fortieth anniversary of emancipation that “there can be no doubt that emancipation is not being implemented by the state or by society.”3 The secretary of the Budapest community complained: “It is no dramatic news that the equality of the Jews in Hungary is a lie that no-one takes seriously; everyone knows this, from the prime minister to the night watchman in the village, from the Jewish member of parliament to the humble volunteer in the burial society.”4 Szabolcsi, the editor of the Neolog weekly, bitterly concluded that “they do not want us. We approach them with

1 2 3 4

Katz, Tradition and Crisis, 41–44. Konrád, “Jewish Perception,” 184–185. Egyenlőség, December 29, 1907. Hitkégi Szemle, September 1912, 189.

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genuine will, but just as we imagine that we have reached them, they repel us scornfully and mock us . . . they will never like us.”5 His comment powerfully manifests the sense of disappointment and frustration at the failure of the dream of integration. Later the same year, he suggested that the Jews should stop trying: “Even if we stand on our heads for two generations, constantly contributing to Hungarian culture, press, education, economy, and commerce, they will not accept us.”6 At this time, before the First World War, Orthodox Hungarians were much less involved in general society, and most of them were not even attempting to enjoy the fruits of emancipation. They had not adopted a modern worldview, and accordingly it is difficult to find such reactions among them. After the war, however, as antisemitism spread, Orthodox figures began to express similar views. One of the first emotional responses in Orthodox circles appeared in the Orthodox newspaper in 1928: We are pained by the Numerus Clausus, even though it may not affect Orthodoxy directly. . . . We are pained by the Numerus Clausus because it turns us into second-class citizens; instead of free competition, and contrary to any economic or social logic, it seeks to create a privileged class by force. . . . We are pained by the Numerus Clausus because it will give our Home a bad name abroad—Hungary is being portrayed as reactionary in the world press. . . . We are pained by the Numerous Clausus . . . because it is more tragic for us than the troubles facing the Jews in Eastern Europe. The Jews of Russia have always seen the regime as an enemy responsible for antisemitic tendencies, supporting these attitudes covertly and even planning them. But we Jewish Hungarians . . . merged emotionally with our nation. We were educated to see the state as our home. . . . And precisely because of this, it is difficult for us to confront the Numerus Clausus and we are failing to recruit all the necessary means for this struggle.7 It is interesting to note that concern at the damage to Hungary’s reputation is portrayed as equal in importance to the definition of Jews as second-class citizens. The repeated use of the phrase “we are pained” underscores the emotional bond to Hungary, and the resulting response: one of frustration and

5 Egyenlőség, October 8, 1912. 6 Egyenlőség, June 9, 1912. 7 “In the Week of Student Demonstrations,” ZsU, October 26, 1928.

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disillusionment more than anger and complaint. Jews from all circles could palpably sense the gulf between their own feelings toward the country and the hostile attitude it was adopting toward them. When a proposal was raised in parliament to reintroduce the Numerus Clausus after its abolition, the weekly remarked: “The whole affair leaves only a sense of insult and offense.”8 A week after the First Jewish Law was tabled before parliament (1938), Korein referred to the bill as “a slap in the face for the Jews and for the equality laws of 1867 and 1895”: The Jewish Law puts us Hungarians of the Jewish faith on the back bench; let us take first place in the world of Judaism. . . . The law places us—patriotic Hungarian Jews who have always been willing to accept sacrifices for the homeland—in the shameful category of second-class citizens. In response, we must reinforce our own Jewish consciousness. . . . If they do not allow us to be first-class citizens, we will be first-class Jews. . . . We must continue, as we have until now, to meet all our civic duties scrupulously, but at the same time let us gather inwards . . . and live within our families. . . . Let us behave and dress in a simpler and more modest manner, and reduce our standard of living to the minimum. . . . Let us take mental strength to face the gloomy present and the future without prospects.9 Korein advocated a dual identity, and this explains his frequent use in the articles of terms such as offense, shame, disgrace, and humiliation. Such expressions imply that Korein had at least a measure of respect and appreciation for Hungarian society. Responses of this type, which can be found in other articles, indirectly confirm the affinity to Hungarian nationhood and to modernity among Western Orthodoxy in Hungary since the emancipation. The historian Ben Halperin suggested that an important sign that a Jewish community was becoming modern was the fact that it was offended when others tried to humiliate it. Following this criterion, we can conclude that Western Orthodoxy had indeed entered modernity.10

B. Apologetics Apologetics literally means the art of defense; the Oxford English Dictionary defines its meaning as “reasoned arguments or writings in justification of

8 “Numerus Clausus Again?,” ZsU, August 28, 1931 (emphasis in the original). 9 Korein, “Let’s Be Grade A Jews!” 10 Halpern, “Reactions,” 5–7.

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something, typically a theory or religious doctrine.”11 Among Jews, apologetics developed as the result of frequent contacts with other religions and cultures and due to Gentile criticism of Judaism, which had a dramatically different character to other religions in its surroundings. In the third century CE, Hellenistic Jewish literature sought to present a positive and appealing exposition of Jewish history and customs to Greek speakers. In the Middle Ages, many prominent Jewish scholars engaged in apologetics, particularly as part of the protracted JewishChristian debate. Most of the modern works refuting antisemitism belong to the same category. Apologetic texts tend to have a passive character, focusing on an effort to disprove allegations rather than on active arguments and positions. Such texts concentrate on the accusations rather than examining the attacker’s motives. Apologetic works seek to influence a broad audience, but their efficacy is questionable, and in most instances they would appear to be preaching to the choir. In his book Defender (Warsaw, 1885), the Jewish Enlightenment scholar Eliezer Zweifel (1815–1888) pondered this question: “On reading books that argue in favor of the Jews against their haters, we sometimes find ourselves asking for whom they are written. To castigate our haters for their ways?”12 I will discuss below some more advanced trends, such as the attempts to analyze hatred of the Jews in order to understand its motives, identify its roots, and formulate practical proposals for confronting the phenomenon. Ignác Weisz, the president of the Neolog community in Braşov, Transylvania published an apologetic treatise in 1894 comprising fifty-six pages of detailed refutations of antisemitic arguments.13 Antisemites often accused the Jews of a lack of patriotism, a charge that was particularly vexing for the Jews of Hungary, including the Orthodox. The Catholic People’s Party, discussed in previous chapters, unified Catholic organizations around the country with the goal of promoting the Catholic faith and papal authority. Nándor Zichy, the founder of the party, presented these objectives at its first conference. The Orthodox newspaper responded: We shall not this time address the possibility that alongside the declared goals there are other ones. . . . We also believe in the great worth of nurturing religious values. . . . However, our attention was drawn by the remark by Nándor, the party’s leader, claiming that “it is a serious error to state that we are first and foremost Hungarians, and only thereafter Catholics. We are firstly Catholics, 11 OED on Lexico, https://www.lexico.com/definition/apologetics, accessed October 10, 2021. 12 Nathan Cohen, Esther Farbstein, and Asaf Yedidya, eds., Memory in Book: The Holocaust in Prefaces to Rabbinical Literature [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Reuven Mass, 2008), 102. 13 Weisz, Jews, 11.

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and only thereafter Hungarians.” The hierarchy he proposes is extremely concerning. The People’s Party and its leader constantly accuse observant Jews of not being Hungarian patriots, yet here the party’s leader announces in public that Catholicism is the chief component in their identity, while the Hungarian component is secondary. By contrast, we are both good Jews and good Hungarians. We see no contradiction between these two affiliations, and they are equally important to us.14 The writer does not invert Nándor’s hierarchy by claiming that the Hungarian component of Orthodox identity is more important than the Jewish one, but instead presents a model of dual and equal Hungarian-Jewishness. In this instance, an attack against the accuser serves as a tool for apologetics. Under the title “Know What to Reply,” the Zsidó Hiradó devoted a long editorial to the question “what materials should Jews use to compose their statement of defense?”15 The article began by explaining that it was also intended for those “who of their own free will, and without any desire for benefit, serve as advocates and defenders expressing opinions in favor of Jews and Judaism.” The article seeks to equip Jews and their supporters with tools for confronting antisemitic allegations in daily life. Firstly, it suggests that the defenders draw attention to the “pantheon of advocates”—prominent non-Jewish figures who expressed objective views of Judaism and were free of prejudice. Such figures ranged from Melchizedek and Jethro in the Bible through Lessing, József Eötvös, Emperor Josef II, and many others, and the article recommended that advocates quote their statements during debates and arguments. Secondly, Jewish history and sources offer an enormous range of statements and commandments that cast Judaism in a positive light. The Ethics of the Fathers (Avot) was mentioned as a prime example. Anyone who peruses this text, comprised of moral and humanistic observations, must recognize that anyone who regards such a work as a foundation of his spiritual world could not possibly be guilty of the infamies of which they were charged.16 The third point addresses the sensitive charge that Jewish tradition and law are particularistic and hostile to other peoples and religions. The article seeks to explain the harsh and extreme statements that appear in Jewish literature and that were frequently quoted by antisemites. It argued that such comments should be examined against their historical background. “The [ Jewish] tradition 14 “International Ultra-Montanism,” ZsH, August 25, 1898 (emphasis in the original). 15 “Our Ways of Defense,” ZsH, August 3, 1899. 16 The emphasis on the universal values of Judaism and the claim that the Jews laid the basis for human culture can already be found in the ancient Hellenistic literature. See the entry “Apologetics,” in the Hebrew Encyclopedia [Hebrew], vol. 5, 121–122.

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is full of love of humanity, and it can be asserted with confidence that there is not a single page in the Talmud that does not include ethnical and humane values.” Nevertheless, how could statements that deviate from this general trend be explained?17 The writer claimed that negative comments about non-Jews were a reflection of the injustices the Jews suffered in the past. The suffering they experienced led them to adopt a more forceful tone, but this was driven by pain and frustration rather than hatred. The arguments presented in the article had been employed by Jews for centuries, but their detailed exposition in an editorial article emphasizes the distress that faced Hungarian Jews at the end of the nineteenth century in the face of rising antisemitism and discussion of the “Jewish Question” in the public domain. As we saw in chapter seven, Rabbi Salomon Zvi Schück presented a detailed and original defense of Judaism in his booklet “Christians about Jews,” published following the Tiszaeszlár blood libel. The booklet quoted favorable comments about the Jews made in different periods by “kings, rulers, Catholic and Protestant clerics, scholars, jurists, historians, and politicians from Hungary, Germany, France, Russia, and Turkey.”18 Religious hostility and the long-standing rivalry between Christianity and Judaism continued to preoccupy apologetic writers. Rabbi Stein, the founder of the Orthodox journal Hagyomány, responded in a sermon to the declaration by the head of the Catholic Church in Hungary that there was no allusion in the Bible to the use of blood for ritual purposes. Stein thanked the bishop for his words, but added that they left room for the claim that such a custom developed after the biblical period. In order to reject such a possibility, Stein noted that although the founders of Christianity and the Church Elders seized every possible opportunity to attack Judaism, they never raised any claims concerning the ritual use of blood. Moreover, the Bible itself orders Jews not to add to or detract from its teachings, and for this reason, too, such a practice could not have emerged at a later stage.19 The Orthodox rabbi showed a familiarity with the Christian literature, quoting from the New Testament and the writings of the Church Fathers to support his claims. His sermon was thoroughly modern, and evidently not alien to the Orthodox worshipers who listened to it in the synagogue.20 17 Ibid. 18 Schück, Christians about Jews, 5. 19 Hagyomány, iss. 1, October 1913. 20 Neologs also used apologetics—for example, see Szabolcsi and Eulenberg, How Should We Respond.

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In 1933 the Orthodox weekly responded to a Protestant missionary by the name of Victor János who claimed that the Jewish religion leads its believers to be avaricious and hedonistic, distancing them from God’s true commandments. The newspaper retorted that in economic and social terms, it would be far more convenient for a Jew to convert rather than remain part of a persecuted minority. Jews who adhered to their religion willingly relinquished material pleasures and advantages and could hardly be described as avaricious.21 The writer includes in this assertion all those who did not abandon their faith, including the adherents of the Neolog stream. In the same year, a Hungarian government minister suggested that the Jews had survived thanks to the “race laws” imposed by Ezra and Nehemiah; accordingly, the Jews themselves were racists. The newspaper asserted that in modern times Judaism had no racial overtones. It was the Torah that preserved the Jews, not race laws.22 In the late 1930s, as the anti-Jewish attacks intensified, Dezső Korein no longer confined himself to writing in the Orthodox newspaper and sought to reach wider audiences. In 1938 he published a booklet entitled What Is the Cause of Jew-Hatred? The booklet, which was reprinted several times, was intended for “the Christian public that is unprejudiced.” Korein sought to refute a long series of anti-Jewish claims, arguing that antisemitism is the product of “ignorance, evil, and hatred.”23 His booklet opened with quotes from Christian figures strongly opposing antisemitism and racial hatred (fajgyűlölet) before systematically challenging classic antisemitic allegations, ranging from Talmudic verses through the Protocols of the Elders of Zion and the charge that the Jews disseminated Bolshevism. Korein urged Jews and non-Jews to combat antisemitism in the name of universal values. He argued that the official Jewish response was too mild, and warned that silence would be interpreted as an admission of guilt. Interestingly, he did not repeat in the booklet the usual claim that antisemitism was alien to the Hungarian spirit. However, he depicted the Christian public as noble and enlightened, expressed confidence in their good intentions, and was convinced that they could be influenced by credible information refuting the antisemitic charges. “To the shame of culture and civilization, the evil voice of Jew-hatred is heard now just as it was in the darkest days of the Middle Ages.” He urged the educated Christian public to condemn antisemitism in the name of justice and

21 “After a Missionary’s Lecture,” ZsU, January 13, 1933. 22 “The Shylock Problem of Racial Hatred,” ZsU, July 10, 1933. 23 Korein, What is the Cause.

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human fellowship, and asked why the law did not prohibit unbridled incitement against loyal citizens and why those who spread hatred were not punished.24 Korein’s refutation of antisemitism displayed extensive knowledge. He adopted a modern tone and language, with no remnant of the traditional Orthodox approach that blamed hatred on the Jews’ sins. Nevertheless, his booklet was a classic example of apologetics, and to this extent he remained within the traditional framework. The first signs of change can be seen in the willingness of Orthodox observers to regard antisemitism not as divine punishment or fate, but as a phenomenon with causes and motives that can be analyzed and challenged.

C. Activism The attempts to expose the root causes of antisemitism led to a desire to take more steps to combat the phenomenon. These included refraining from actions liable to provoke hatred and initiating counteractions in various fields. This approach embodied a rejection of the traditional fatalist attitude and the adoption of the assumption that it was possible to change reality. Sámuel Kohn, the rabbi of the Neolog community in Budapest, devoted his Rosh Hashanah sermon in 1880 to the problem of antisemitism, asking “what can we do about the attacks against us?” His comments were innovative insofar as they shifted the discussion onto a more active plane, focusing on ways to improve the situation. His remarks were based on the assumption that while Christians were responsible for antisemitism, the behavior of Jews could also contribute to the phenomenon: It is claimed that many of us have still not undergone a process of Magyarization. This is true, but there is no group that is not ethnically Magyar that has undergone a more rapid process of Magyarization than we have. . . . For our part, we must continue and even intensify the process of cultural integration. . . . It is claimed that we do not engage in manual labor and do not like to work hard. There are Jews who are craftsmen and laborers and whose work is arduous; but nevertheless it is proper to educate the youth to more productive fields. . . . Worst of all, it is claimed that we are dishonest in commerce and are not strict about 24 Ibid.

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proper business standards. . . . This is an outrageous injustice, since this charge is leveled only at the followers of our religion. . . . We cannot change the fact that all Jews are accused for the actions of individuals. But we must aim for them to cease their actions, which constitute the “desecration of God’s name” in the full sense of the term.25 Kohn did not feel the need to refute the antisemitic charges when speaking to the members of his congregation. Instead, he concentrated on those charges that embody an element of truth and encouraged Jews to avoid negative behavior. Similar positions were expressed in the liberal sections of German Jewry. In a statement from May 1893 that led to the founding of the Central Association of German Citizens of Jewish Faith (the Centralverein or CV), Jews were urged to strive for “internal and external betterment.”26 Expressions of this type of collective responsibility were less common among Orthodox Jews, in Germany and in Hungary. Another line of response Kohn adopted in the face of antisemitic attacks was the creation of the myth of an ancient Jewish presence in Hungary, as discussed at length in part one. This myth served both to enhance the Jews’ affinity to Hungary and to counter the depiction of the Jews as aliens. The myth was also adopted in Orthodox circles, whose leaders frequently employed it as a line of defense. Chaim Sofer, the Orthodox rabbi of Budapest, was the most prominent example of an Orthodox figure who advocated a more active response to the rising level of hatred. In a letter written in 1881 to Rabbi Menachem Katz of Tzehelim (Deutschkreutz in Burgenland), the eldest Hungarian rabbi of his day, Sofer proposed a specific course of action: I can no longer resist asking why His Excellency, may His lamp light, remains silent and does not speak to the hearts of the Torah sages in our country so that they might act in the face of the multiple and great sorrows facing our brethren the Jews of Russia. . . . Their lives hang in the balance day and night, and they are leaving for exile to another land where they will lose

25 Kohn, How Should We Face. 26 Peter Pulzer, “The Response to Antisemitism,” in The History of the German Jews in Modern Times, ed. Michael Meyer, vol. 3 [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2005), 255; Borot, New Spirit.

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their Torah and worship and the remnant of their fear of God. . . . Why should the leaders of the generation not chastise the rebels and criminals who are desecrating the Sabbath, the laws of ritual purity, forbidden foods, incest, and so forth and establish a public fast and set prayers and penitentiary supplications. . . . His Excellency, may His lamp light, should stand at the head and gather ten elders of the generation to consult and to take steps for the good, as I shall detail before him. . . . (A) Establishing a fast on Monday and Thursday whereby the entire community, men and women, shall fast for half the day . . . (B) Setting Psalms to be recited each day . . . (C) The great leaders of Israel, with the dignitaries of the land, should go before His Majesty the King in Vienna and beseech him to send a letter to the King of Russia to save Jews; and they should ask this of several kings, whereby the rabbis come with dignitaries to plead for the good of the Children of Israel. (D) Let the great leaders also present a letter to the Minister in Vienna and in Hungary asking why there is this hatred against the Children of Israel; and then the rabbis will publish ordinance instructing a Jew not to commit [the offensive act causing hatred], and if he does so then he shall be removed from the community. (E) Let a manifesto be issued to all Jews urging them to be true Jews . . . (F) Let restrictions be imposed prohibiting a Jew from purchasing a large number of houses and fields, since this is the cause of the hatred, God forbid.27 Sofer’s list opens with traditional responses—prayers, fasts, and repentance, but he then proceeds to advocate diplomatic action, albeit in a form reminiscent of the Jewish lobbyists of old, in order to persuade kings and rulers to intervene with the czar on the Jews’ behalf. Sofer implicitly criticizes the tendency of Hungarian Jewry not to take action to assist other Jewish communities in distress. Sofer then returns to Hungary, calling for the rabbis to ask ministers of government what is the source of the hatred of Jews. The wording of the question 27 Sofer, History of the Sofrim, 26–27.

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implies that the hatred may relate to aspects of behavior that the Jews can control or modify, and that the rabbis will be able to enforce the required changes. His last suggestion, concerning the purchase of land and property, relates to a common phenomenon at the time whereby newly wealthy Jews purchased property from members of the nobility who had become impoverished. This practice was indeed a significant source of friction between some Jews and the gentry, who regarded themselves as the embodiment of authentic Magyar identity. The practical nature of the response proposed by the ultra-Orthodox leader is interesting.28 However, while Sofer was an admired religious scholar and arbiter he lacked any political power and his proposals were not implemented. Another proposal to mitigate the impact of incitement also focused on the economic dimension, albeit from a different angle. An article in the Orthodox weekly began by acknowledging that the European countries were facing serious social and economic problems. While the antisemites had no solutions to these problems, “they are evil enough to exploit the dissatisfaction and frustration felt by many.”29 In order to address the socioeconomic problems that created an opening for antisemitic propaganda, the writer suggested that the authorities and public should learn from the traditional Jewish commitment to charity and adopt this pattern of action. Mutual aid societies following the Jewish model could alleviate suffering and prevent feelings of jealousy and rage. Although the writer emphasized the socioeconomic dimension of antisemitic incitement in Europe, he did not regard the problem as an existential one, regarding the antisemites as “foolish and evil dwarves” who would ultimately be unsuccessful. Drawing solutions to socioeconomic woes from Jewish sources would be a fitting retort to the claim that the Jews were responsible for the problems. In a letter he sent to Shomrei Ha-Dat in May 1885, Sofer suggested that Jews, and particularly Jewish leaders, should not interfere in elections: It should be prohibited for a communal leader to interfere in elections. If he campaigns and works for one person against another, this arouses great hatred and anger, to the point that ministers and dignitaries have become antisemites, hating all Jews, and the hatred is particularly profound toward the Orthodox. This is all the work of Satan, instead of trusting

28 Sofer’s balanced approach is also noted in Ferziger’s article “Religious Zealot.” Unlike other extreme figures, Sofer adhered to the letter of the Halakhah in his rulings, avoiding declarations of an ideological nature. 29 “Remedy,” ZsH, August 17, 1899.

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in God and believing that God guides the hearts of kings and ministers, so that why should we care who is elected. Whoever is elected is an agent from God, and by interfering in elections, the communal leaders have only increased the number of those who hate and persecute us, destroying religion and faith, for our many sins.30 Sofer argued that a pious Jew should not care who wins an election, and that interference in the elections only caused hatred. This position was consistent with his rejection of the idea that Jews could affiliate to another nation and live like regular citizens. Sofer identified here a factor that was not economic, but contributed significantly to the rejection of the Jews. Efforts by Jews to integrate and assimilate provoked anger and distaste among significant sections of the population. While Sofer’s position is reminiscent of the traditional Orthodox attitude toward participation in society at large, he arrived at his opinion through a rational examination of reality, and in this respect his approach can be classed as modern. Writing in the Zsidó Hiradó, the legal expert Dr. Sándor Pollácsek described the blood libel in the town of Mád in northeastern Hungary and suggested practical ways to address the phenomenon. A deaf-mute fourteen-year-old boy disappeared, and a Jewish merchant called Friedman was accused of murdering him and using his blood for ritual purposes. A local woman claimed to have witnessed the murder. The allegations sparked a stormy reaction in the small town, and the Jews were afraid to leave their homes. The affair ended after a local Jewish woman visited a neighboring village and recognized the lad, who was working as an apprentice to a blacksmith. Pollácsek remarked: A blood libel is nothing new; no-one is alarmed by it, it is a paltry matter, like a transient flower it lives for a day or two, until merciless truth kills and buries it alongside its many fellows. . . . The boy returned to his parents’ home, to the displeasure and anger of his father, who had already started to see himself as a bereaved father of a martyr who could enjoy a dignified status.31 Pollacsek’s description of the blood libel has an ironic and almost playful tone, implying that such incidents should not be taken seriously as the truth

30 Sofer, 150 Sofer, 151. 31 “A New Edition of an Old Book,” ZsH, August 30, 1894.

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would soon come to light. In reality, of course, this was not usually the case. The trial of the defendants in the Tiszaeszlár blood libel dragged on for months and Jews from Hungary and abroad worked hard to put an end to the affair, which was sparking anti-Jewish riots and incitement. Depicting this phenomenon as a transient episode inherently reflects profound confidence in Hungarian justice and the legal system, as part of the broader perception of Hungary as the true homeland of its citizens of the Jewish faith. However, Pollácsek also suggested two practical steps to combat the phenomenon. The first was urging the authorities to ensure that the truth was exposed as soon as possible: “one does not need to be particularly clever to realize that such incitement has anarchist goals, and firm steps should be taken against the inciters. In this instance, too, it can be assumed that more vigorous questioning of the lad’s father would have revealed where he had sent his son to study a vocation.”32 Pollácsek thus assumed that the boy’s father knew that the story was a fabrication, and criticizes the local authorities for failing to question him properly. His second suggestion concerns education: “If the priest in his sermon and the teacher in school teach and disseminate ideas of humanism, love, and justice among the simple folk, those wicked people will not be able to convince the masses of their nonsense.”33 Thus Pollácsek believes that it is the ignorant masses who believe the blood libels, while well-educated Hungarians avoid such beliefs. Lastly, the writer demands that those who disseminate false accusations be prosecuted in order to deter others. As a jurist, Pollácsek emphasizes the importance of the law-enforcement agencies and education systems in uprooting the phenomenon. However, like its sister movement in Germany under the Kaisers, Hungarian Orthodoxy also suffered from inertia and a tendency to raise ideas rather than engage in practical action. German Jews as a whole generally avoided any organized action during this first wave of antisemitic incitement (until 1883 or so). This approach had firm roots in the community’s tradition, and these roots were particularly deep in Orthodox circles. During the same period the Orthodox press in Germany repeatedly opposed the idea of launching overt political campaigns in response to antisemitic incitement, downplayed the effectiveness of polemical publications, and recommended restraint. The idea of joining liberal Jews in a concerted campaign also deterred the Orthodox. German antisemitism emanated to an extent from the state, and the Jew were reluctant to criticize the authorities. The principle of loyalty to the powers

32 Ibid. 33 Ibid.

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that be was considered absolute, regardless of their behavior toward the Jews. As mentioned in part one, Rabbi Shimon Raphael Hirsch argued that the commandment of loyalty to the state is not nullified even if the state denies Jews their most basic rights.34 The Neologs in Hungary shared this approach. During his meeting with Herzl in Vienna in 1903, Szabolcsi declared that even if antisemitism raged “as no plague has ever raged,” this would not affect the profound patriotic emotions of Hungarian Jews.35 The inaction in Hungary in all periods in the face of antisemitism is remarkable by comparison to the situation in the neighboring countries. When Merunowicz, an antisemitic member of the Sejm from Galicia, demanded that the Austrian parliament intervene in the Jewish community’s internal affairs, the rabbi of Krakow, Shimon Sofer (who was born in Hungary), organized the delivery of mass protests to the Sejm and the Austrian parliament.36 Agudat Israel in Poland, which was close in spirit to Hungarian Orthodoxy, adopted a distinctly different approach following Hitler’s rise to power. The organization’s central committee wrote to sympathetic nations urging them not to remain silent in the face of what was happening to the Jews of Germany. Agudat Israel organized protest gatherings and demonstrations, declared fast and prayer days, and announced a boycott of German goods in cooperation with other parties.37 Hungarian Orthodoxy did not take any of these steps following the Nazis’ rise to power. In his article on the reactions among Jews in Eastern and Central Europe to antisemitism in the interwar period, Mendelsohn mentions three principal responses: mass emigration, integration or the adoption of some form of modern Jewish nationhood.38 The United States closed its gates to mass immigration in 1914, and accordingly this option no longer constituted a solution for large numbers of Jews. Integration had been the aspiration of many Jews since the Enlightenment, but it was not a realistic possibility for Jews in Poland, the Baltic states, Romania, and Czechoslovakia. Accordingly, it is not surprising that many Jews in these areas turned to Jewish nationhood. In Hungary, however, organized Jewry—including the Orthodox community—continued to adhere to and

34 Hirsch, Chorev, 438. 35 Löwenheim, “Herzl,” 465–466. The quotes are from an article published in the Neolog journal on June 28, 1903 and again on July 10, 1904. 36 Manekin, “Emergence,” 169–170; Manekin, Jews of Galicia, 184–185. 37 Gershon Bacon, “Mundane Politics, Sublime Politics,” Pages for Study of the Shoah [Hebrew] (2001): 58–62. 38 Mendelsohn, “Jewish Reactions,” 299–300.

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emphasize the ideology of integration, confident that this would eventually lead to a decline in the level of hatred they faced. The historian Marsha Rozenblit accurately concluded that “Hungarian Jews responded to this new attack [using Jews as scapegoats for Hungarian problems] by clinging more desperately to their Magyar identity.”39 As we have seen, neither Zionism nor any other form of Jewish nationalism gained any significant foothold among Orthodox Jews in Hungary, let alone in liberal circles. Migration was not an option for Hungarian Jews, or indeed for European Jews in general, but in any case almost until the Holocaust, Jews in Hungary felt no need for such a solution. Indeed, migration as a solution to the distress facing the Jews was rejected on ideological grounds, since it would require a detachment from the homeland and the abandonment of any chance for a life of equality in Hungary.40 As we have seen, migration was mentioned in discourse in Hungary, but always in the context of Jews in other countries. Discussion of the possibility of migration from Hungary was conspicuous in its absence: the Orthodox press did not discuss the aspiration to move to another country in response to the hatred the Jews face and it was not even alluded to as an option. As the situation deteriorated and as antisemitic sentiments intensified toward the end of the 1930s, an entire article was devoted to warnings and advice about how to cope with the situation. “In these fateful times,” the writer emphasized, “we must stand united and with concerted forces, and meet our patriotic obligations toward the homeland to the maximum.”41 Samu Stern, the president of the Neolog stream, made similar comments some two months before German invaded Hungary: “In these fateful days, we must withstand the trial and show that we are good Jews and good Hungarians in equal measure.”42 The emphasis on patriotism in times of distress reflected a conviction that the Jews’ loyalty would ultimately extricate them from their current condition. The adoption of a more modern conceptual approach by the Orthodox was not translated into action as it was in other countries, perhaps due to the assumption that the situation in Hungary was not as bad as elsewhere. Individuals, and particularly the press, protested loudly against antisemitism,

39 Rozenblit, Reconstructing, 165. 40 Despite the position of the leadership, 65,000 Jews registered for emigration in 1939. However, migration had become virtually impossible by this stage. Nevertheless, 1,425 Jews emigrated in 1939 and 1,774 in the following year—mainly those who held foreign citizenship. See Braham and Katzburg, History of the Holocaust, 112–113. 41 “Some Serious Words to Orthodoxy,” ZsU, October 25, 1938. 42 Don, Social and Economic, 191.

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but despite calls to action Orthodoxy remained passive and declined to initiate protests or political action.

D. “The Righteous and the Jew-Haters Share the Same Method”—Silence and Disregard In some instances, the Orthodox Jew’s response to the question “what should we do about the attacks against us?” was stark and simple: we should remain silent and do nothing. This approach was fueled in part by the sense that some antisemitic demands were consistent with Orthodox objectives, particularly those that sought to separate Jews from their neighbors. These demands were being raised out of hatred and hostility, to be sure, but nevertheless the situation they would create was one that “the sages are comfortable with.” Many Orthodox rabbis thus refrained from discussing or attacking antisemitism. Modern antisemites identified numerous faults among the Jews and regarded them as an element that threatened and harmed Christian society; accordingly, they advocated the separation of the Jews from society at large. Istóczy, the founder of the antisemitic movement in Hungary, expressed views of most antisemites: “Conversion [of Jews to Christianity] has no influence on the Jews. . . . Most of those who convert do so solely for reasons of personal interest.”43 He later reiterated this belief: “Our perspective is that a Jew remains a member of the Jewish nation even after converting to Christianity.”44 The conclusion is that the Jews cannot be reformed and must be removed. This goal was consistent with the traditional Orthodox approach, which also sought to encourage isolation and detachment from the majority society. Accordingly, it is interesting to examine the extent to which Orthodox observers felt that the antisemitic idea offered certain advantages, at least post factum. The comments by Haman in the Book of Esther are remarkably similar to antisemitic claims of modern times, and as a result the biblical story was sometimes compared to contemporary hatred of Jews. In 1909, as part of a halakhic discussion on the rules for the Purim banquet, Rabbi Yehuda Tzvi Blum wrote: For the most part, the righteous and, not to mention them in the same breath, the Jew-haters share the same method. For the

43 Quoted in Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1944, 41. 44 Ibid.; ironically, Judaism traditionally makes the same claim.

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righteous do not want Jews to be advocates and doctors and so forth, and the Jew-haters also do not want this. And the same was true in the Book of Esther—the Jews were invited to the banquet given by Ahasuerus, but neither Mordechai nor Haman wanted the Jews to enjoy the banquet given by that evil man. The only difference is that Mordechai did not want them to enjoy it because he was a Jew, while Haman did not want it because he was a Jew-hater.45 Blum offers a certain interpretation of the Book of Esther implying that the faithful Jew and his hater share the same interests: neither wanted Mordechai to join the king’s banquet. Mordechai himself did not wish to do so because it would require him to eat non-kosher food, while Haman did not want Mordechai to enjoy the prestige that came from dining at the king’s table. Rabbi Shalom Vieder, the head of the religious court in Nyíregyháza, who died at Auschwitz, offered a similar argument in his sermon for Purim: This is the meaning of “that they should do according to every man’s pleasure” (Esther 1:8), referring to Haman, described as a hostile enemy, and Mordechai described as a Jew. And it is said of the tyrant Istóczy, may his name be obliterated, that he remarked in the parliament on the National Holiday in Hungary that he, and not to mention them in the same breath the righteous Rabbi Hillel Lichtenstein, may a righteous man’s memory be for a blessing, shared the same opinion:46 for Rabbi Hillel . . . was opposed to the emancipation, so that Jews might not become physicians and attorneys, most of whom are heretics; and the above-mentioned tyrant opposed equal rights for Jews due to his hatred of the Jews.47 Vieder acknowledges the paradox whereby a God-fearing Jew finds himself in agreement on a certain matter with an antisemitic leader. Orthodox rabbis in Hungary sought to reinforce the boundaries between Jews and their neighbors in order to protect religion and tradition; antisemites opposed equality and

45 Blum, Remnant, item 92. 46 The reference is to Hillel Lichtenstein, who was mentioned in the previous chapter and was known for his religious zealotry. 47 Vieder, Responsa, 266.

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sought to isolate the Jews from society. In terms of practice, though naturally not of intention, the two positions were indeed very similar. By contrast, liberal Jews vigorously opposed the demands to exclude them from society and found no positive dimension in antisemitism. Some Jews identified another positive aspect of antisemitism: its ability to unify Jews and enhance their sense of solidarity. In a sermon given in 1881, Rabbi Jacob Prager (1843–1918), the head of the religious court in Ada, urged Jews to bond together in the face of antisemitism: “So it should always be with the Jews, that when they beat them from the outside they must draw closer to one another within and love each other as they see the hatred of the nations.”48 On the eve of Purim in March 1933, Korein referred to the “Hamans” of past generations in Europe and the current generation. The references to the Purim story positioned the present as part of a historical continuum, and above all imply that the fate of the present-day tyrants will ultimately be similar to that of Haman. As discussed in chapter five, Korein responded to Bishop Baltazár’s remark that Judaism and the “Jewish Question” would always exist by remarking wryly that antisemitism would also always exist. He described antisemitism as the “sad shadow of Judaism,” but went on to note that it had one positive aspect: the strengthening of bonds among Jews and a resurgence of faith among those who had drawn away from the tradition.49 It is interesting to examine how the Orthodox press sought to reconcile the paradox that antisemitism, which it forcefully opposed, included certain views that were not incompatible with a traditional Orthodox outlook. The Zsidó Ujság addressed this question head-on in an article entitled “When Professor Méhely’s goals are similar to the goals of the Torah?” The article discusses a presentation by Méhely of his views in the Pester Lloyd. His main claim was that the admixture of Jewish and Hungarian blood would seriously harm the Hungarian race, and accordingly must be prohibited. Jewish tradition adopts a similar position, prohibiting intermarriage: “Nor shall you make marriages with them. You shall not give your daughter to their son, nor take their daughter for your son” (Deuteronomy 7:3). The dilemma is clear: if Méhely were successful in prohibiting intermarriage by law, this would prevent many Jews from violating a serious biblical prohibition. Should Orthodox Jews therefore support his initiative because of its content or oppose it because of the identity of the person raising this demand? The article explains that if Méhely was raising only this demand, it might indeed be accepted. However, opposition to

48 Prager, Torah of Jacob, sermon 54, 134. On Prager, see Kinstlicher, Chatam Sofer, 500–501. 49 “The Hamans of Our Day,” ZsU, March 12, 1933.

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intermarriage was only part of Méhely’s anti-Jewish worldview. He also sought to forbid Jews to employ Hungarians, a step that would severely damage their livelihoods. Moreover, the writer recalls that the Talmudic sages ruled that the ancient nations mentioned in the Torah in the context of the prohibition on intermarriage are considered to have vanished from the world due to admixture. Accordingly, the professor’s racial theories lacked any support from the Jewish sources.50 Thus the writer concurs with Méhely on the need to avoid intermarriage, but rejects his broader intention to discriminate against Jews and curtail their actions. He quotes (in transliterated Hebrew) the expression “neither your honey nor your sting,” rejecting both Méhely’s ostensibly positive proposal and his negative intentions. The Nuremberg Laws of September 1935 included a prohibition against marriage and sexual relations between Germans and Jews. In December of the same year, Rabbi Michael Duschinsky, the head of the Orthodox community in Rákospalota, commented on the legislation during a speech in Hungarian at a Hanukkah party organized by the women in the community: If the most dangerous Haman of our times imposes severe penalties on mingling between Jews and the followers of other religions, should we perhaps regard him as an instrument of divine providence? Since observance of the biblical prohibition concerning family purity has declined, is the Holy One, blessed be He, perhaps using a violent foe to secure this goal? Indeed, we can transform this event into a divine miracle if, of our own free will, we learn to treat family purity as a pure matter. . . . And if the infidels of our time forbid Jews to study science, then they are indeed instruments of divine providence, for love of the Torah was weakened among us.51 Duschinsky was educated in an atmosphere of religious and cultural tolerance and had an extensive secular education. The Jewish community of Rákospalota was one of the few in Hungary that did not split; Jews who defined themselves as non-Orthodox continued to be members of the Orthodox congregation.52

50 “When Professor Méhely’s Goals are Similar to the Goals of the Torah,” ZsU, February 28, 1930. 51 Dushinsky, Selected Sermons, 151. 52 Ibid., 35–44.

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Yet despite his modernist leanings, the position he presented in his sermon is thoroughly traditional, and reminiscent of the claim of the Prophet Isaiah that the enemy of the Jews was sent by God as a punishment for their sins.53 Thus the Nuremberg Laws could be interpreted as a tool of divine providence intended to force Jews to observe the laws of family purity they had begun to disregard. However, Duschinsky emphasizes that he would prefer to reach the end goal as the result of a voluntary decision by Jews themselves to observe the religious laws, rather than through coercion from the outside. In the final analysis he does not express opposition to the German race laws, and accordingly his position is stark and remarkable. The Third Jewish Law, adopted in Hungary in the summer of 1941, also prohibited marriages between Jews and Christians, in the spirit of the Nuremberg Laws. The Orthodox Zsidó Ujság discussed the growing phenomenon of intermarriage, claiming that it threatened the very future of the Jewish communities in Germany and Hungary. Although the objective of the law was clearly to impair the equal rights of Jews and exclude them from society, the newspaper—like Duschinsky—declined to oppose the legislation: Intermarriage has harmed Judaism, and it now emerges that European society also rejects it. . . . If a need is found in our times to prevent intermarriage, we must not oppose this for even a minute. Although this impairs social equality to a degree, we must understand that this is not due to hatred . . . but to the defense of the race.54 The writer adopts a positive and indulgent attitude toward the law, somewhat bizarrely arguing that it is the result of the desire to defend the race, rather than of hatred—as if the racial obsession were not in itself a manifestation of hatred. Indeed, the writer implicitly seems to endorse racial defense himself. In our discussion of the debate prior to the enactment of the Reception Law, we noted that a small Orthodox group headed by Moritz Ehrenthiel attached great importance to the official recognition of the Jewish religion, despite concern that equality would facilitate intermarriage. Ehrenthiel preferred Jews to enjoy complete freedom, hoping that they would maintain their distinct identity voluntarily and not under legal coercion.55 The Reception Law was a positive

53 Isaiah 10:5. 54 Miron, Waning, 263, quoting OZsU, June 10, 1941. 55 Based on an essay published by Ehrenthiel in Budapest in 1892.

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act that could have negative ramifications; the Jewish Laws were the opposite. In both cases, the dilemma was whether to accept the enforcement of religious commandments through Gentile laws. It is likely that by 1941 many Jews felt that equality had become a meaningless slogan, and accordingly approved of the fact that as part of an antisemitic law intermarriage would be prevented. A month later, however, an editorial article in the newspaper adopted a different tone: The House of Representatives has approved the proposed law on intermarriage, and soon Jews will not be permitted to marry non-Jews. The Jewish religion disapproves of intermarriage, although over the past century certain countries have considered it vital. One of the deputies remarked that some Jews are pleased with the law, since it is consistent with the commandments of their faith. Despite the religious prohibition, however, we are not pleased with the law. We would have been pleased had the law stated that, in accordance with religious law, members of the Christian denomination cannot establish marital bonds with members of the Jewish congregation. However, the debate in the House of Representatives revolved not around religion but around race, and the deliberations implied that the Jews constitute a separate race. It is unclear whether any pure race exists today, but it is clear that in today’s atmosphere, the Jew is regarded as a member of an alien race here at home, even though he has always felt Hungarian. And this is why we were not pleased by the law, even though it is desirable from a religious perspective. The proposed law excludes the Jew from Hungarian identity and establishes that he is not a member of the nations of the Aryan race.56 The article urged Jews to strengthen their resilience by returning to the faith, quoted verses from the prophets, and compared the situation currently facing the Jews to the period in the Land of Israel prior to the destruction of the Temple (an event that was about to be marked in the annual fast). The writer adhered to the familiar insistence that the Jews in Hungary constituted a religious denomination within the Hungarian people. Accordingly, it was the desire of the new law to separate Jews from Hungarians that was most disturbing. 56 Dezső Korein, “Denomination and Race,” OZsU, July 10, 1941.

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The position presented in this article is reminiscent of the stance adopted by the Zsidó Ujság during the campaign against the Numerus Clausus in the early 1920s. Restricting the number of Jews in institutions of higher education was consistent with the traditional negative Orthodox view of secular academia, yet despite this the newspaper strongly opposed the quotas. In both cases the opposition was due not to the content of the laws, which broadly coincided with Orthodox positions, but to the fact that the laws defined Jews as aliens who were not part of the Hungarian nation. This issue highlights the particularly acute dilemma faced by those sections of Orthodox Jewry that sought to live in both worlds and regarded themselves as an integral part of the host nation. As Orthodox Jews they remained faithful to traditional values, which were being rejected by many outside their circle. Now laws were enacted that forced Jews to distance themselves from society at law and to remain faithful to their heritage. While this could have positive ramifications, it came at a price: the abandonment of the claim to belong to the nation, and acceptance of the status of “others.” Accordingly, it is hardly surprising that the comments of members of this group were ambivalent and contorted. The rabbis tended to approve of any action liable to strengthen religious observance, even if it came from a hostile source. They do not appear to have attached great importance to the aspect of national affiliation, and it is possible that some opposed the adoption of a Hungarian identity by Jews. As noted, this explains why almost no references to antisemitism can be found in the rabbinical literature of the period. Other Orthodox commentators, however, were more hesitant to welcome the benefits the laws could bring from the perspective of Jewish religion and tradition since they were unwilling to relinquish their self-perception as members of the Hungarian nation.

E. “Those Polish Jews”—Responses to Jewish Immigration During the monarchic era, a significant gulf developed between the relatively strong socioeconomic condition of Hungarian Jews and the situation in neighboring Galicia. This gulf created an incentive for Galician Jews to emigrate to Hungary, a relatively simple process given the geographical proximity between the two areas and the fact that both formed part of the same empire. From the 1840s the number of Jews in Hungary began to increase rapidly, creating concern

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among the Christian population.57 Hungarian society as a whole regarded the issue of migration as just one aspect of the “Jewish Question,” and discourse on the subject was accompanied by antisemitic overtones. In this section we will examine the Orthodox responses to criticism of immigration. In the early 1880s, following the pogroms in Russia, there was growing concern in Hungary at a possible influx of refugees.58 Eastern European Jews generally had a very different appearance and character to their Hungarian coreligionists. Even the liberal press, which appreciated the contribution Jews made to society, saw the Eastern European Jews as a distinct group and warned against admitting them to the country. The liberal newspaper Budapesti Hirlap commented: Hungarian Jewry is starting to play a distinguished part in our public life. . . . The important function these people are filling, not only as excellent professionals but as Jews, is liable to be harmed and its results thwarted if, out of a misguided humanism, we accept masses of Russian Jews, thereby creating a RussianJewish problem for ourselves.59 On April 23, 1882, when the representative for Szabolcs county first raised the issue of the Tiszaeszlár blood libel in parliament, he noted that the Jews of the town were (long-standing) immigrants from Galicia and claimed this proved the danger posed by Jewish immigration from Eastern Europe.60 In an article entitled “Those Polish Jews,” published in the Orthodox newspaper in 1896, Illés Friedman argued that attacks on Eastern European Jews were merely a convenient channel through which ostensibly liberal Hungarians could express their antisemitic views: There are very few true liberals who regard human fraternity as a central value and truly act in accordance with the principle “love your fellow as yourself.” For the majority, “beat the Jew” is still the slogan, and “don’t ask why—if he’s a Jew, beat him” is still the inner tendency. Only a few curtail this inner tendency and 57 The 1735–1738 census countered 11,621 Jews, constituting 0.5 percent of the total population. The figures for 1840 were 238,848 (2.5 percent), and for 1910—911,227 (5 percent). Zeke, “Statistical Annexes,” 187. 58 Katzburg’s collection of documents in Antisemitism 1867–1914 (223–225) includes a telegram from the British consul in Budapest to his ambassador in Vienna reporting on the mood among the Hungarian public and in parliament due to the wave of immigrants from Galicia. 59 Budapesti Hirlap, April 22, 1882. 60 Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 113.

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promote an approach of tolerance and fraternity . . . they are isolated individuals in society and in government circles, including the Emperor himself. Many absorb the slogan “beat the Jew” together with their mother’s milk. As a result, even when they adopt liberal attitudes over the course of their life, their tendency to hatred of the Jews does not disappear but remains latent, awaiting the opportunity to manifest itself once again. One of the ways it can do so is through the issue of “those Polish Jews.” Even liberal members of parliament sometimes condemn the invasion of Hungary by Jews from Poland. All this is an invented issue—the talk of masses flooding in from Galicia is an exaggerated fantasy. Poland and Hungary have contacts and transportation as part of their commercial ties, but claims of mass immigration are groundless. This allegation is an excuse allowing the liberal Hungarian who has not overcome his innate antisemitism from childhood to speak out against Jews while simultaneously claiming to be liberal and tolerant.61 Friedman thus distinguished between rare examples of leaders and intellectuals who do not hate Jews and the majority of the people, who are deeply steeped in antisemitism and cannot easily overcome their prejudices. Accordingly, he regarded criticism of Jewish immigration from Galicia in liberal circles as a desire both to maintain antisemitic attitudes and to claim adherence to enlightened values. Friedman’s assessment of the presence of antisemitism in all levels of society contradicts the general claim that the authorities during the Dual Monarchy era fully supported the Jews. It is also important to recall that the majority of “those Polish Jews” were traditional and observant; their immigration thus strengthened the Orthodox stream in Hungary. In a later article, the newspaper expressed an affinity for the newcomers: “We are all ‘Galitzianers’ [Galician Jews], even if we have documents proving that our families have lived in Hungary for generations.”62 This was undoubtedly one of the reasons why the newspaper adopted a positive stance toward the immigrants. At the same time, it chose to deny that there was any phenomenon of mass immigration rather than justifying it. What if it were to be proved that large numbers of Jews had indeed entered Hungary from Galicia? In February 1897 a national conference was held to discuss the serious economic situation facing Ruthenian peasants in Carpathian Ruthenia, who made a living mainly from agriculture and lived in dire poverty. The representatives of the region who attended the conference claimed that the

61 “These ‘Polish Jews,’” ZsH, August 6, 1896. 62 “Assimilationists and Galitzianers,” ZsU, June 29, 1928.

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distress they faced was due to massive Jewish immigration. The Orthodox newspaper reported on the conference and claimed in response that Ruthenians and Jews in the region faced a common problem of poverty and were suffering equally.63 The liberal government regarded the Ruthenians as a Slavic group loyal to the Magyars, and decided to establish a special authority to address their problems. An agricultural expert by the name of Ede Egan was appointed head of the authority. The agriculture minister sent Egan to the Carpathians to examine living conditions there and formulate a plan for improving the economic condition of the Ruthenians.64 In his report, Egan blamed the Jews for the problems facing the Ruthenians. The agriculture minister distanced himself from the report’s conclusions and Viador commented on the affair in the Zsidó Hiradó:65 It has become apparent that this representative [Egan] has launched a full-scale war against the Jews who live in the region. On Sundays, in the churches, he attempted to persuade those present not to buy from the Jews. He appeared in taverns, whip in hand, inciting against the Jews. We have refrained from reporting on this until now since we trusted in the liberalism of the leadership. This week, however, he appeared before dignitaries in Munkács and declared that the Jew is the Magyar’s greatest enemy. The Jews did not arrive with Árpád and did not fight alongside Rákóczi [the leader of a revolt against the Austrians in the late seventeenth century]. They are polluting economic life and the more they progress, the more we decline. The Jews in Hungary should be carefully screened (rostálni) . . . [thus far the newspaper summarized Egan’s claims]. This man, who is of English origin and whose forefathers certainly did not arrive with Árpád or fight alongside Rákóczi, has offended Hungarian national honor more than one thousand Jewish tavern-owners [some Hungarians attributed the economic backwardness of the Ruthenians to their fondness for drink and to the large number of Jewish-owned taverns in the region]. . . . We do not like to reiterate time after time our patriotic sentiments: we have moved beyond this by now, given that every element of Judaism

63 “It is the Ruthenian Problem,” ZsH, February 18, 1897. 64 Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 198–202. 65 Ibid., 199.

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has fused so closely with the Magyar nation. It is superfluous and ridiculous to mention this again, given that it is well known that the Jews in Hungary are not merely good Hungarians, but full-fledged Magyar chauvinists.66 Egan claimed that of the 14,000 inhabitants of Munkács, some 8,000 were Jews, the vast majority of whom had immigrated from Galicia. He called for the immigrants to be deported, adding that the Hungarians would then leave the other Jews in the country alone. Viador responded: “We have no interest in people flooding here from any place, and Mr. Egan cannot quote even a single instance when the Hungarian Jews assisted immigrants to come to the country.”67 While fiercely criticizing Egan, it is notable that Viador did not come to the defense of the Jewish immigrants. He did, however, seek to refute Egan’s statistics, noting that some two years ago the governor of the county had come to an agreement with the Jews of Munkács that any adult Jew could vote for the community’s institutions, provided he was a Hungarian citizen. The official records showed that the police found just fourteen Galician Jews in the town. Viador concluded: “The Jews in this country . . . are faithful sons of the nation; their number does not include even a single unpatriotic man. Anyone who asserts otherwise is spreading slander.”68 What most vexed Viador, it would seem, was Egan’s claim that the Jews did not participate in the formative events of the Magyar nation. His patriotic emphasis is also apparent in his description of the attacks on the Jews not as antisemitic outrages but as an offense to “Hungarian national honor.” Moreover, Viador’s article implicitly suggests that Orthodox Jews in Budapest were uncomfortable with the idea of mass immigration from Galicia. Viador rejected Egan’s statistical claims, but did not defend the presence of the immigrants, emphasizing the Orthodox community had no interest in a mass influx of their coreligionists from the east. In this respect, Viador adopted (at least by way of a rhetorical weapon) the distinction that was current both among the Neologs and in Hungarian society at large between the veteran Jewish population in the country and recent immigrants. This is a further example of the merging of attitudes and positions that can be seen between the Neologs and the Modern Orthodoxy that emerged in Budapest.

66 “Mr. Egan,” ZsH, February 15, 1900. 67 Ibid. 68 Ibid.

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Many Jews shared the scorn and distaste felt by Hungarians for the poor, simple “Polish” Jews who arrived in the country. A writer who identified himself only by his initials complained of this attitude, suggested that Hungarian Jews who wanted to forget their Judaism (and above all wanted others to forget it) were disturbed by the Galician immigrants with their Hasidic hats, beards, and sidelocks.69 The writer implied that this condescending attitude toward “old-style” Jews was the preserve of liberal quarters. However, such attitudes could also be found among Western Orthodox Jews in Hungary, and in the Orthodox newspaper itself. As we saw in chapter four, the newspaper dismissed the thousands of signatures collected by the Zionist movement ahead of its first congress by noting that these came from “countries such as Russia and Romania” where Jews could easily be persuaded, rather than from Western European countries where the Jews were “more intelligent and independent in their thought.”70 Viador embodied the ambivalent attitude of Western Orthodoxy toward the “Galitzianer” newcomers. In the summer of 1901, Viador responded in the Zsidó Hiradó to an article in the Pesti Hírlap denigrating Orthodox Judaism and praising the Neolog stream. Béla Tóth, a writer, translator, and scholar of culture, criticized Jewish immigrants from Galicia living in the northeast of Hungary, who he claimed could not speak Hungarian and were failing to take part in the process of Magyarization. The Neologs, he continued, had adopted Hungarian language and culture in an admirable manner. Tóth also attacked Yiddish, the language of the Galician immigrants, claiming that philologists did not even consider it a language, since it lacked a literature, dictionaries, and grammar. Viador fiercely condemned Tóth, pointing out that Yiddish literature, journalism, and culture were flourishing at a high level both in Europe and in the United States. Scholars of folklore and language around the world had shown an interest in Yiddish language and culture. However, he added: We have no connection to zhargon [Yiddish]. The Orthodox schools make more of a contribution to Hungarianness than a million defamatory articles in the Pesti Hírlap . . . The smallest Orthodox community used Hungarian as its language of management and administration. . . . The poorest and most miserable kosher butcher in the remotest village, with his

69 “Jew-Hating Jews,” ZsH, October 10, 1901. 70 Chapter four, by note 33.

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Hasidic hat and earlocks, feels himself to be just as Hungarian as the slanderous journalist.71 Viador’s position was complex. On the one hand, as an Orthodox Jew with an affinity for Yiddish and Yiddish-speakers, he was quick to defend the honor of the language and of Jews who had a traditional appearance. On the other, as a Hungarian he was at pains to emphasize that Yiddish was in no sense the language of Orthodox Jews in Hungary. All the Jews in the country, including those whose appearance and dress was distinct, were thoroughly Hungarian— no less so than those who besmirched them. He claimed that Hungarian had been adopted as a daily language even in ultra-Orthodox and Hasidic circles. As Viador’s article shows, the question of the Hungarian credentials of Orthodoxy was highly sensitive and continued to form part of the debates between Orthodox and Neolog Jews, as well as between Orthodox Jews and non-Jewish Hungarians. The attitude of the Neologs toward the Ostjuden in Hungary was less ambivalent. The two groups were divided by sharp differences of lifestyle, culture, education, wealth, and mentality. Komoróczy suggests that assimilated urban Jews who spoke Hungarian and German were as scornful and dismissive of the Eastern European newcomers as the Christians.72 However, the Hungarian writer Sándor Brody (1863–1924), who was a liberal and completely secular Jew, expressed a sympathetic attitude toward the ultra-Orthodox refugees he met in Budapest during the First World War.73 Nevertheless, the reactions of Modern Orthodox Jews in Hungary to the immigrants from the east were significantly warmer than those of Modern Orthodox Germans to the Ostjuden who arrived in that country. Breuer concludes that German Jews, including the Orthodox “disliked them mainly because of their language, their lack of education and Western manners, and certain aspects of their conduct that seemed to reflect rude behavior.”74 This comment reflects a degree of disrespect and feelings of superiority that were not present among Orthodox Jews in Hungary. In contrast to the myths we have discussed, the reality is that most of the Hungarian Jews in modern times were the descendants of immigrants who came to the country from the mideighteenth century onward. German Jewry had a much longer history in the 71 “Reply to the Article in the ‘Nighttime Letter’ Column,” ZsH, August 29, 1901. The article referred to appeared in the Pesti Hirlap. 72 Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 218. 73 See Miron and Szalai, Crossroads, 85–93. 74 Breuer, Portrait, 59.

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country, although the community had also absorbed immigrants. By the late nineteenth century, German Jewry was more homogenous and shared a common heritage, whether authentic or invented; accordingly, they had a greater sense of remoteness from their coreligionists who arrived from the east.75 According to Aschheim, the stereotype of East European Jews provided modern German Jewry with an instrument for shaping its own identity as a more progressive and educated Jewish community that had cast off the supposedly negative attributes of the ghetto, yet still felt a measure of responsibility toward the traditional communities.76 The more positive attitude of Orthodox Jews in Hungary toward the newcomers was enhanced by the fact that the former were also immigrants or the descendants of immigrants from Galicia. A further factor was the separate status of the Orthodox stream in Hungary on the national level, which encouraged unity among the different groups within Orthodox Jewry, “natives” and immigrants alike. After the First World War, a new charge was leveled at Polish immigrants: they allegedly tended to support Bolshevism. Following the failed Communist coup, an extreme anti-Communist mood seized Hungary, and accordingly such a claim was extremely serious. At the beginning of 1928 an antisemitic book claimed that the Hungarian Jews in general were Communists and attacked the Polish immigrants. A Hungarian journalist who spoke out against the author of the book was convicted of defamation. The Orthodox newspaper responded by pointing out that most of the Polish immigrants were religious and traditional, and had no connection to Communism. Within the Hungarian community, too, all the Jews who had been involved in the Bolshevist coup were secular atheists far removed from Jewish tradition; some of them had even converted.77 The attempt to halt immigration reached the upper chamber of parliament, as the Zsidó Ujság reported. During a debate on regulations concerning the acquisition of estates and land, it emerged that the objective was to prevent Jewish immigrants from Galicia from purchasing land; the regulations would not prevent assimilated Jews from doing so. “The regulations will protect the assimilationists against the ‘Galitzianers.’ But actually we are all ‘Galitzianers,’ even if we have documents proving that our family has been in Hungary for

75 On the attitude of German Jews toward the Ostjuden during the Second Reich, see Theodore S. Hamerow, “Cravat Jews and Caftan Jews,” Commentary 77, no. 5 (1984): 29–38; Silber, “Emergence.” 76 Steven E. Aschheim, Brothers and Strangers: The East European Jew in German and GermanJewish Consciousness, 1800–1923 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1982). 77 “Reflections on the Verdict,” ZsU, January 1, 1928.

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generations.”78 Here the newspaper supported the immigrants and rejects the distinction the authorities were seeking to impose between Hungarian and Galician Jews. A similar tone can be seen in a report on a visit to Poland by Prime Minister Gyula Gömbös, during which the two countries decided to upgrade their mutual relations. The newspaper expressed the hope that this rapprochement would encourage a better appreciation of Polish culture in Hungary, overcome the stereotyping of Galician Jews, and end the distinction between “decent Hungarian Jews” and Poles or Galicians.79 The Zsidó Ujság was firmer in its defense of the Galician Jews than its predecessor the Zsidó Hiradó; its editor Rabbi Groszberg was less “Magyar” in his outlook, and the mood in interwar Hungary may also have played a part. Arthur Stein, the editor of the Orthodox newspaper Hagyomány, also supported the immigrants. Károl Wolf was the founder and leader of a Catholic municipal party in Budapest that adopted antisemitic and extreme right-wing views and often highlighted the issue of immigration. At the beginning of 1936, Wolf called for Jews to be excluded from employment in the city’s transportation sector. Stein noted that this proposal targeted Jewish citizens of Hungary, thereby showing that Wolf ’s consistent incitement against “the Poles” was due not to Hungarian patriotism but to hatred of Jews per se: Like Joseph’s brothers [in the Genesis story], we too can say that “We are guilty concerning our brother.” We failed to defend our brothers from Poland against Wolf ’s attacks, and perhaps thereby we helped create the antisemitic atmosphere. Maybe if we had defended them and argued that there are good and bad people among them, as in any other denomination or race, so that innocent people should not suffer because of the actions of isolated individuals, our protests against these generalizations would have been more effective. It is impossible to influence Wolf by arguing that, according to the laws of the country, it is prohibited to discriminate between citizens on religious grounds. He is also aware that he is acting against the Hungarian national interest, since the attempt to exclude Jews from the nation will reduce the proportion of Magyars in the inheriting countries [that gained formerly Hungarian territory following Trianon],

78 “Assimilationists and Galitzianers,” ZsU, June 29, 1928. 79 “A Word about the Galitzianers,” ZsU, October 26, 1934.

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and increase the proportion of non-Magyar minorities within Hungary. The attacks will be to no avail. . . . The Jews of Hungary, without distinction of stream or political party, are sure that they are an integral part of the Hungarian nation and no-one can change that. . . . Wolf ’s anti-Jewish attitudes represent neither the Hungarian nor the Catholic essence. . . . Hungarian Jewry has the right and obligation to defend itself. This defense should be based on the clear advantages to the Hungarian economy thanks to the participation of the Jews.80

F. A Common Front with the Catholics in the Struggle against Antisemitism Like its Neolog counterparts, the Orthodox newspaper also tended to depict the struggle against antisemitism as part of the general struggle of religions and humanism against paganism, atheism, and immorality, and sought to involve broad circles in this struggle. After the First World War, Orthodox circles raised what might seem to be a counterintuitive proposal to form a united front against antisemitism with Christians, and in particular with Catholics.81 Adolf Frankl, the Orthodox Jewish representative in the upper chamber of parliament, argued that the revelatory religions, and primarily Catholicism, should work together to oppose the oppression of religion in Communist Russia and to confront pagan and antisemitic tendencies in Germany.82 The idea of an Orthodox-Catholic coalition against paganism and atheism was raised repeatedly in the weekly newspaper.83 The idea of a united front was proposed, at least implicitly, in an article by Korein from 1935. Korein reiterated his conviction that Nazism would not confine itself to persecuting the Jews. The German authorities were already revealing a profound hatred of Catholicism and other Christian denominations; while hatred of the Jews was the first stage in the course of Nazi Germany, it

80 Dr. Artur Stein, “Exceptional Steps against the Jews,” Hagyomány, February 4, 1936. 81 On the role of the Christian churches, and particularly the Catholic Church, in disseminating hatred, see Hanebrink, In Defense, 77–191; Karady, Coming of the Shoah; Karady, “Political Antisemitism and Its Christian Antecedent. Trying to Make Sense of Nonsense,” Journal of Fondazione CDEC. Quest, Issues in Contemporary Jewish History (2012): 16–34; Moshe Herzl, Christianity and the Holocaust of the Hungarian Jews [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Shem, 1984). 82 “Clichéd Phrases,” ZsU, May 10, 1935. 83 Hanebrink, In Defense, 56–57, 82–83, 89–90.

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would certainly not be the last. The movement’s ultimate goal was to impose the unbridled paganism of the ancient Germanic tribes, which it regarded as the authentic culture of the Aryan race. Pope Pius XI had recently declared that a Catholic could not be a National-Socialist, since the two doctrines were incompatible. Now that it was extending its hatred to stronger groups than the Jews, there was a chance that the world would finally condemn Nazism. A Hungarian Protestant bishop had firmly declared that hatred of any religion, race or nation was contrary to God’s word and Christian values. The bishop had specifically mentioned the pagan and anti-religious tendencies and the persecution of Jews in Russia, Germany, and Spain. Korein regarded these and other similar protests as the first signs of international cooperation that would eliminate the “greatest shame” of the twentieth century. He did not believe that the Jews, as a small and weak minority, could cope on their own with the hatred they faced; the enlightened nations must play their part.84 The Munkács Rebbe, spokesman for the most conservative section of Orthodoxy, countered that relying on help from the Gentiles was tantamount to denying God’s power and very existence; accordingly, he totally rejected this approach.85 Korein, however, remained convinced of his own position as the antisemitic incitement worsened. He again called for cooperation between Christians and Jews in the fight against antisemitism in a booklet published in 1938, entitled What Is the Cause of Jew-Hatred?86 He added that encouraging hatred against a particular minority would inflame negative elements and could later harm and even destroy the nation itself; he claimed that such processes had occurred in Christian Spain in the early modern era and in Czarist Russia.87 The Zsidó Ujság again called for cooperation with Christians after a positive report on comments by two bishops, one Catholic and the other Protestant. The Catholic bishop had expressed admiration for Orthodox Jews who remained faithful to their religion and tradition. Such Jews, he continued, were committed to the existing order and opposed to changes and revolutions; it was only Jews who had abandoned their faith who became revolutionaries, thereby arousing antisemitism. The Protestant bishop discussed Hitlerian paganism, and noted that the biblical morality on which Christianity is based had failed to subdue the thirst for blood and disrespect for the law. The comments by two senior clerics

84 Dezső Korein, “The Stamp of Hitlerism,” ZsU, December 13, 1935. 85 Nadler, “War,” 107–108. 86 Korein, What Is the Cause, 6. 87 Ibid.

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in Hungary led the newspaper to hope that the different faiths might indeed unite to prevent Nazi ideology from entering Hungary.88 The vision of fraternity and cooperation between Orthodox Jews and Catholics also emerged in Austrian Galicia in the 1880s. During the political struggle between the Orthodox Machzikei Ha-Dat organization, led by Krakow Rabbi Shimon Sofer, and the liberal-leaning Shomer Israel, the Orthodox side suggested that they should join forces with Catholic political groups and prefer Catholics to liberal Jews who were acting against observant Judaism: “the Gentile is better than them.” Sofer was elected to the Austrian parliament and indeed decided to enter into a coalition with Catholic parliamentarians rather than with other Jewish deputies. Rachel Manekin adds that the sense of fellowship with Polish Catholics among Orthodox Jews in Galicia continued until the First World War.89 In Hungary, however, the proposal to join forces with Christians was based on the desire to create a national front against antisemitism rather than on internal political motives. The question arises as to why these proposals focused on Catholicism, given that many of those involved in disseminating antisemitic propaganda were Catholics. Moreover, why did this idea emerge in the aftermath of the First World War? During the monarchic era, the Jews had enjoyed a sense of security and believed that the hatred they faced was gradually dissipating. Above all, they sensed that they could rely on the support of the ruling elite and liberal circles. Anti-Jewish content became increasingly common in the Catholic newspapers during the years preceding the war, and burgeoned into a full-fledged campaign of hysterical incitement during the war years.90 After the war, as it became clear that the authorities no longer supported the Jews, and in the face of growing antisemitic incitement, Hungarian Jews searched for potential new allies. During this period it became apparent that Bolshevism, the ultimate enemy of Hungary and of Judaism, was engaged in a struggle against Christianity. Later, Nazism also emphasized anti-Christian and pagan ideas, with the result that even in right-wing circles in Hungary there were those who were concerned about the new movement. Taking these factors together, some Jews concluded that Christians and Jews were facing a common enemy. Liberal Hungarians, who had been the natural allies of the Neologs, and on the national political level even of the Orthodox, lost their hegemony after the war and no longer offered an adequate source of support. Liberal Neologs were

88 “Noteworthy Declarations,” ZsU, January 17, 1936. 89 Manekin, “New Alliance.” 90 Karady, Coming of the Shoah, 56.

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unenthusiastic about Catholic conservatism, but during the 1920s the Orthodox newspaper began to adopt a more sympathetic tone toward Catholics. Writers noted the similarities between the two denominations, primarily loyalty to their respective religious traditions and opposition to reformist tendencies. The newspaper expressed admiration and even jealousy for the Catholic masses from all classes who clung loyally to Catholic tradition and to the pope. The Lateran Treaty also seemed to offer a successful model for the application of the religious constitution in the political and diplomatic sphere. Another reason to prefer the Catholics was that they now comprised the establishment, in contrast to the Calvinist-dominated liberal elite of the Dual Monarchy.91 The newspaper also claimed that Catholics had been more prominent than Protestants in showing support for the Jews,92 and had disassociated themselves from Nazism and from the extreme right-wing in Hungary. Thus Orthodox Hungarians were able to imagine a day when the Catholic and Jewish publics would unite to oppose antisemitism on the basis of their shared interests. This day, however, failed to arrive.

G. Nationalism as a Defense Strategy Despite the antisemitism that was present in varying forms and degrees throughout the period covered by this book, Orthodox figures and writers consistently declared their patriotic and national sentiments. As discussed in chapter six, it is interesting to wonder to what extent these sentiments were authentic and internal, and to what extent they were adopted or magnified as part of the effort to combat allegations of disloyalty. Was Western Orthodoxy as integrated in the nation as such declarations implied, or were they intended, at least in part, to repel critics? The balance between these two possibilities appears to have changed over time. Prior to emancipation, as we have seen, the rabbis opposed equal rights and the extent of integration was very limited. Under the monarchy, integration was encouraged by the sense that the Jews had finally found a safe home under a reliable leadership and among a friendly people. The autonomous status enjoyed by Orthodoxy encouraged the belief that it could integrate in the nation while simultaneously reinforcing its own religious values. The Orthodox response to Magyarization was primarily an expression of gratitude for the freedom and

91 Hanebrink, In Defense, 110–117. 92 “The Week of the Great Catholic Assembly,” ZsU, October 15, 1926.

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equality the community enjoyed, and less a response to antisemitism, which in any case was regarded as insignificant during this period. The conclusion that patriotic rhetoric in this period reflected genuine sentiments is supported by courses of action that indirectly manifest loyalty: the refusal to cooperate with foreign entities, Jewish or non-Jewish; the absence of domestic Jewish political organizations; the negative response to Zionism and Jewish nationhood; and the avoidance of discussion of migration. Following Hungary’s defeat in the war and the failed Communist coup, a sharp change of direction can be seen. Social antisemitism worsened and the attitude of the authorities also changed. The inclusive political culture of the monarchic era gave way to the politics of exclusion. The Treaty of Trianon also changed the internal balance in the Jewish community: Orthodox Jews were now a minority within Hungarian Jewry, and most of those who remained belonged to the Western Orthodox stream. Yet even in this period, Orthodox patriotic rhetoric remained unchanged. Speakers adhered to the imagery of a Golden Age for Jews in Hungary long after the gold had become tarnished, and the impression is that they worked hard to emphasize their patriotism and devotion to the nation. In terms of practical behavior, however, there is some evidence of changes reflecting a deviation from the line of unbridled patriotism. Hungarian Jews began to accept the idea of limited cooperation with Jews in other countries and with non-Jewish bodies, and the possibility of Jewish emigration from the country was at times acknowledged. Antisemitism was no longer regarded as a transient and relative insignificant phenomenon. These changes cast the patriotic declarations of Orthodox speakers in a new light, suggesting that they had indeed become mainly a strategy for combating antisemitism.

Chapter Ten

Internal and External Communication Strategies

This chapter will review the range of methods used by Orthodox organizations and writers to explain their positions on antisemitism—internally to the members of the community, and externally to the Hungarian general public. In broad terms, the tendency was to adopt a calming tone in internal communication and a more negative and forceful one in the external domain, in an attempt to persuade the public to steer away from antisemitic views and actions.

A. “We Who Live on Magyar Soil Look on in Astonishment” Orthodox Jewry in Hungary did not deny the existence of antisemitism, but often preferred to cast its gaze elsewhere, across the borders. Orthodox observers deplored antisemitic phenomena in other countries from a safe distance, without connecting these to events “at home.” In part, at least, this no doubt reflected the universal use of denial as a human strategy for alleviating distress. After the end of the trial in the Tiszaeszlár blood libel in 1882–1883, and under the influence of the consistent support shown for the Jews by the government of Kálmán Tisza during the affair, most Hungarian Jews concluded

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that this had been an isolated incident. Indeed, they felt that the incident had insulated Hungary against the declining scourge of antisemitism, noting that the antisemitic forces within parliament had lost strength. On the other hand, it was impossible to ignore the alarming news from other European countries. From its inception in 1891, the Orthodox Zsidó Hiradó reported on antisemitic incidents in the neighboring countries. These reports had a distant overtone, carrying the implicit message that such disgraces could not occur in Hungary. An editorial from 1892 exemplifies this approach: Modern, “scientific” antisemitism was born in Germany, where it has penetrated society and spread like the cholera . . . or worse, since a disease strikes only the body, whereas antisemitism damages the soul and destroys man’s most precious treasure— his mind and rationality. In France, that most cultured land, which has not previously known antisemitism . . . and which embraced its Jews, antisemitic sentiments are being hurled at blameless army officers.1 We must thank God that there is no hatred of Jews in our land as there is in enlightened France; very few here suffer from this disease, and the large majority of the people are returning to healthy perspectives [after the protracted Tiszaeszlár affair].2 Alongside Hungarians who expressed hostility toward the Jews, there were also prominent individuals who sprung to their defense. The Orthodox press attached particular importance to such individuals: as non-Jews, they could offer a more objective refutation of the antisemitic allegations. The Zsidó Hiradó reported that the best-known organization of academics from the fields of economics and the social sciences had organized a conference on the subject of antisemitism and the place of Jews in modern society.3 The writer quoted the comments made by prominent French-Christian scholars in favor of the Jews and against antisemitism. The aura surrounding France as an enlightened and cultured country, and the prestigious character of those defending Judaism, were intended both to convince those who inciting against the Jews and to calm the newspaper’s readers, who must have felt uncomfortable at the developments

1 A reference to an incident on June 25, 1892 in which a French-Jewish officer was killed in a duel with an antisemitic fellow officer. 2 “Antisemitism,” ZsH, June 30, 1892. 3 “On Antisemitism,” ZsH, June 7, 1893.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

across the continent. Orthodox writers occasionally analyzed the history of antisemitism, portraying the phenomenon as an old one, and thereby implying that there was no need to be overly concerned. In some cases, antisemitism was depicted as a mental illness or a form of insanity, thereby once again belittling its significance. A writer who identified himself only by his initials noted that in Germany and Italy, where religious hatred was particularly virulent, an unusual neurological disease called St. Vitus’s Dance (Sydenham’s chorea in modern medical terminology) had erupted in the late Middle Ages. The disease caused involuntary spasms that had the appearance of a wild dance. The disease would spread like wildfire whenever one case erupted. The writer went on to say that a similar disease was now afflicting Vienna—the insanity of antisemitism, led by the city’s mayor Lueger: We Hungarians can observe calmly the struggle that is underway across the River Leitha [a river that runs close to the HungarianAustrian border]. We Hungarian Jews can observe with some satisfaction the events in Vienna, where Hungarian tolerance is being condemned and where our homeland is being referred to scornfully as a “Jewish state.” They see that it is impossible to inject the virus of hatred into the healthy body of the Hungarian people, which is not inclined to insanity. It is true that an attempt was made thirteen years ago to disseminate the disease here [the Tiszaeszlár blood libel], but the healthy body of the people rejected the poison. . . . Antisemitism cannot gain a foothold in Hungary, because the Hungarian people is not willing to commit suicide, and knows full well that the patriotism and loyalty of the Hungarian Jew are no less than those of any other resident of this blessed land.4 Though Vienna was only a few hours away, the writer observed the events there as if from a safe distance, assuming that the second capital of the Dual Monarchy was immune from such problems. In an article published in the newspaper in April 1897, a writer using the nom-de-plume Verus (“truth”) also commented on the raging antisemitism in Vienna: We who live on Magyar soil look on in astonishment at the events in the neighboring land and are happy that they cannot reach 4 “The Viennese St. Vitus’s Dance,” ZsH, March 5, 1896.

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us, for we are immune, just as a person who has had chickenpox is immune from contracting smallpox. The Hungarian people was immunized against the scourge of antisemitism through the marginal Tiszaeszlár affair.5 The writer simultaneously dismisses the Tiszaeszlár blood libel as a minor incident while at the same time claiming that it was sufficient to vaccinate the Hungarian people against the threat of antisemitism. The refusal to acknowledge the changing atmosphere in Hungary was apparent in an article published in the newspaper at the beginning of January 1900, summarizing the condition of the Jews around the world as the new century dawned: The century that has just ended according to the civil calendar was one that was not positive or happy for Jewry. The condition of the Jews did not improve, and there are many reasons to complain. Serious phenomena seen over the past century will leave the mark on history, such as the incitement against the Jews that began twenty-five years ago [in Poland] and whose end is still not in sight. Thank God, we do not include Hungary in this matter. Antisemitism has no serious foothold in Hungary; true liberalism reigns both among the people and in government circles.6 The anonymous writer elegantly skips over the riots that occurred in Hungary in 1848–1849, makes no mention of the eighteen-month Tiszaeszlár affair or the subsequent riots, and omits to mention the establishment of an antisemitic parliamentary party or instances of social antisemitism reported by the newspaper itself. The article ends on an optimist note, confident that progress will for once and for all remove the threats facing Jews around the world: In the Jewish world, religious sentiments are intensifying and the ancient belief is being accepted in broader circles. Despite unpleasant incidents the Jews have experienced, there is no cause for gloominess. Religious life is strengthening, and though there were many clouds in the past, the future appears rosy. Let us hope that in the current century the ideals we anticipated in

5 “The Putsch in Nagyvárad,” ZsH, April 29, 1897. 6 “Retrospection,” ZsH, January 4, 1900.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

vain in the last century will come true: “the Guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.”7 The review of the nineteenth century ignored Herzl and the Zionist movement, which were presumably considered too insignificant to merit mention. Another article in the newspaper described the depressing condition of the Jews in Romania, who were subject to systematic harassment by the authorities, despite protests by Germany and France that this conduct was contrary to Romania’s undertakings in accordance with the Treaty of Berlin (1878).8 Unlike the Russian authorities, the Romanians were not even allowing Jews to leave the country, since they did not want to lose tax income they provided. The First World War and its aftermath changed the map of Europe and many Jews found themselves living under different rule. The Orthodox newspaper in Budapest continued to report on events around the Jewish world; in Romania and Warsaw, Jews had been beaten and synagogues attacked.9 A bishop who escaped from the Soviet Union gave a speech in Budapest describing the Bolshevik persecution of all the religions, including Judaism. The writer lamented the miserable reality in many European countries, where hatred, incitement, and oppression “are everyday acts, as in the days of Genghis Khan.” In this instance the article ended on a pessimistic note, as the writer concluded that it seemed unlikely that there would be any change for the better in the foreseeable future.10 Hitler was recognized as an exceptional problem from an early stage, and particularly after the Nazi election victory and his installation as chancellor on January 30, 1933. A writer expressed shock that someone who had spread hatred in Germany for a decade and was a painter’s assistant and a corporal in the army, was now sitting on Bismarck’s throne. The writer quoted from the organ of the Centralverein a series of trials of Hitler’s supporters, and expressed the hope that the current situation might prove to be a nadir from which the condition of German Jews would begin to improve. Experience showed the people become more responsible after they gain power; modern economic life would prevent the imposition of medieval policies against the Jews. Thus the writer anticipated that Hitler could become an example proving that while a leader could come to power thanks to his antisemitic ideology, he could not maintain these positions thereafter.11 7 Ibid. 8 “New Worries,” ZsH, January 25, 1900. 9 “The Endless Jewish Exile,” ZsU, January 20, 1928. 10 ZsU, February 6, 1931. 11 “Hitler’s Rule,” ZsU, February 3, 1933.

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Other observers adopted a similar position. The daily newspaper of Agudat Israel in Poland commented two days earlier: Hitler—chancellor. These two words sound like a threat to German Jewry, but what foundation is there for this fear? We are very familiar with Hitler’s program. But at the same time, we know that there is a difference between a party demagogue and someone who steps into the shoes of prime minister.”12 The Neolog newspaper in Hungary, by contrast, was far more pessimistic and realistic regarding the prospects for German Jewry, concluding that all they could do was take comfort from the ancient words “in each and every generation they rise up against us to destroy us, and the Holy One, blessed be He, rescues us from their hands.”13 As discussed in chapter six, Korein published a text, part journalistic article and part prayer, under the title “Merciful Father.” He concluded the text by declaring: “When the ancestors of the Germans lived as primitive savages and committed terrible acts, our ancestors were studying and teaching the principles of the Jewish religion and love of mankind.”14 It is clear that Jews were aware of the gravity of the situation in Germany, and the general mood was somber and depressed. About a month later, on the eve of the Shavuot festival, the Neolog newspaper published a prayer in Hebrew for the Jews of Germany. This prayer also adopted the format of the “Merciful Father” prayer, and was written by Rabbi Hertz, the Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom.15 The unusual use of Hebrew in the Neolog organ, and the graphic design of the front page, which mimicked the appearance of a page from the prayer book, heightened the sense of crisis. The concern and interest in the situation in Germany continued. During the “Between the Straits” period of mourning in the summer, Korein described the woes that had befallen the Jews since the destruction of the Second Temple, through the fanatical religious persecutions of the Middle Ages and up to modern-day economic antisemitism: Some of our persecuted brethren in Germany are emigrating to Palestine [Korein used this term, and not “the Land of Israel”] in the hope of finding mental calm and economic prosperity in the Holy Land. If they live in the Land according to the tradition,

12 Dos Yiddische Tagblat, Warsaw, February 1, 1933, 3. 13 Egyenlőség, February 4, 1933. 14 “Merciful Father,” ZsU, April 28, 1933. 15 “A Prayer in Hebrew for Those Persecuted in Germany,” Egyenlőség, June 3, 1933.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

they will indeed find their happiness, for the vision of return is possible only by the way of the Torah. We who continue to eat our bitter bread of exile will ask the migrants to maintain a life of Torah and study in the Land of Israel, lest “it vomit them out.”16 Despite the frequent references to antisemitism in Germany and the close ties between that country and Hungary, the reports do not reflect any concern that Jews in Hungary might also face persecution. Emigration, to Palestine or elsewhere, was regarded as a solution for persecuted Jews, and the Jews in Hungary would never face such a problem. Another article reported in detail on harassment, dismissals, and persecution experienced by Jews in several German cities.17 No attempt was made to belittle the gravity of the situation there, but once again the events were framed as a distant problem that did not pose any threat to Jews “at home.” Another writer complained that the international community was largely ignoring the violation of the rights of Jews and that the enlightened countries of Europe were failing to show the humanitarian concern that was expected of them.18 The silence was not universal, however. In 1938, US President Roosevelt convened a conference at Evian in France to agree on the absorption of Jewish refugees in the various Western countries.19 Acknowledging the sense of emergency, the Jews of Hungary deviated from their usual policy of avoiding international activism and sent a joint group of Orthodox and Neolog observers to the proceedings. However, an article devoted to this subject in the Orthodox newspaper again reflected the assumption that Hungary was immune to any serious threat. The article expressed concern of the Jews of Germany and Austria, but despite the anti-Jewish legislation in Hungary, there was no mention of emigration as a possible solution for the situation in that country.20

B. Where Is European Enlightenment? The Orthodox press frequently expressed surprise and frustration that the enlightened world was failing to respond more vigorously to the threats 16 “To Our German Brethren!’ ZsU, July 10, 1934. 17 “Germany’s Great Disgrace,” ZsU, August 23, 1935. 18 Britain and France protested that the nationalist actions in Romania were contrary to the agreements signed after. Romania had a minority population of some six million, all of whom were affected by the changing atmosphere. 19 For a Hungarian perspective on the Evian Conference, see Komoróczy, History, vol. 2, 541–543. 20 “The Orthodox Delegation to the Evian Conference,” ZsU, July 8, 1938.

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facing the Jews in other countries. As the problems in Hungary itself grew more acute, particularly after the outbreak of the Second World War, similar comments can also be found concerning the situation at home. The claim that enlightened values were not being applied in practice was a deliberate strategy in the campaign against antisemitism. Hungary continued to claim that it was an enlightened and liberal country, and accordingly it should eliminate all manifestations of discrimination. At the same time, this charge carried a sarcastic tone, highlighting the hypocrisy of those who preached humanism but whose conduct was anything but humanist. Moreover, Orthodoxy was convinced that the ostensibly new ideals were embedded in its ancient traditions, thus creating an absurd situation where “fraudulent humanists persecute true humanists.” An article in the Zsidó Hiradó presented a lengthy historical review of allegations based on superstition, such as witch hunts and blood libels. In such cases, witnesses steeped in false beliefs perverted truth and in some cases led the judges to convict innocent defendants. Such had been the fate of the Jews of Brandenburg, Germany, for example, who flourished in the city until they were expelled in 1510 following a blood libel; thirty-one people accused of involvement in the affair were burnt alive. Such incidents occurred, the article explained, following protracted incitement to hatred of Jews. Even now, the writer added, prejudice and superstition had not been completely eradicated. The struggle would continue until humanism would finally succeed in eradicating such beliefs, marking the ultimate victory of light over darkness.21 This article, which does not provide any contemporary information, appears to have been written under the impression of the trial in Polná, Bohemia following a blood libel in the same year (see chapter seven). As seen above, the newspaper was also preoccupied at this time with the antisemitic incitement of Lueger in Vienna.22 The closing lines of the article showed a remarkable faith that humanism would ultimately overcome prejudice. In the final years of the nineteenth century, the Chinese revolted against the interference of the Western powers in their country. Many foreigners, most of them Europeans, were killed in riots, and many Chinese Christians were also targeted in what became known as the Boxer Rebellion, after the revolutionary group that instigated the revolt.23 An article in the Zsidó Hiradó discussed the murder of the German ambassador to China by the rebels on June 20, 1900 and 21 “Superstitions and Witnesses,” ZsH, December 28, 1899. 22 For a review of the Polná affair with an emphasis on the legal sphere, see Cotic, Accused, 105–121. 23 Immanuel C. Y. Hsü, The Rise of Modern China (London: Oxford University Press, 2000), chapter 16.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

the plans for the punitive campaign announced by the Kaiser. The newspaper adopted a surprising angle, connecting the incidents in China to antisemitism in Europe. It acknowledged that the murder of the diplomat was indeed a serious incident, but it added that the attitude of “civilized” Europe toward China revealed extreme hypocrisy. Ostensibly humane Europe was demanding that China protect and respect white foreigners in its territory, and was willing to go to war to enforce this demand. But the Chinese were not unaware of developments elsewhere, and could see for themselves that almost all the “civilized” countries of Europe (the newspaper repeatedly placed the word czivilizált or civilized in inverted commas throughout the article) did not observe in their own countries the demand they sought to impose on China. White Europeans were fighting other white Europeans in the name of bizarre racial theories, and antisemitic incitement was endemic in Russia, Germany, Austria, and France. The Chinese had heard that the violation of the rights of “foreigners” in Europe was leading to mass emigration; they had heard of the expulsion of Slavs from Germany and of the tough policies being adopted in North America toward Chinese immigrants: The murders in Peking are terrible, but is the cruelty of Europeans toward those of another religion or ethnicity any different to the barbarity of the Boxers? . . . The Europeans are a model of intolerance for the Boxers. . . . They talk to the Chinese about human fellowship and humane obligations, but in practice they show intolerance and religious and racial hatred. It would seem that facts have a stronger influence than words, and that European antisemitism is playing a significant role in the bloodbath in Peking. . . . We will not be surprised if we hear shortly that the Jews are also to blame for the xenophobia in China.24 The message is clear: the European powers should eradicate antisemitism in their own interests, as it can create problems even on the other side of the globe. The demand to combat antisemitism is not based on an appeal to the values of justice, morality, humanism, and liberalism, but on pragmatic considerations relating to the political needs of the European powers. Hypocritical Europe is failing to act in accordance with the standards it claims to hold dear.

24 “The Trainers of the Boxers,” ZsH, July 1900 (emphasis added).

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If universal humanist values were indeed important, it was important to show that Judaism itself is based on these same values. An article in the Zsidó Hiradó began with some reflections following the festival of Shavuot: The Torah teaches that we must love every human per se, without distinction, and must regard all humanity as a single family all of whose children deserve love. It guides humanity as a whole in the path of morality, and has a positive influence on the entire world, as the Holy One, blessed be He, said to Abraham: “And in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed” [Genesis 12:3]. . . . There is a perfect harmony between the Jewish religion and humanism that is reflected both in scripture and in practice. As part of this harmony, idol worshippers were not only to be treated with tolerance but were to be defended in Canaan. . . . In light of this worldview, how should we respond to those who claim that we [ Jews] spoil and destroy humanity? It is not even worth answering them; they will not find the slightest fault in us; the shine of thousands years of history has not been dulled… They are the destroyers who undermine the foundations of religion and humanism, threatening and endangering social order.25 The Orthodox writer presented here a universal vision of Judaism, emphasizing its mission to humanity—an aspect usually emphasized in liberal and Reform circles. This approach is a further example of the points of similarity between the Modern Orthodox and Neolog streams. The historian Shmuel Feiner shows that around the turn of the century, the press in Eastern Europe identified with the Haskalah (the Jewish Enlightenment movement) grappled with the paradox that antisemitism was surviving and even worsening in an era of enlightenment and progress. At this point in time, many European observers believed that the Enlightenment project had been a success: science and technology were reaching previously unknown levels. Yet at the same time reports of expulsions, pogroms, and blood libels flooded in from across the continent.26 As in the example above from the Hungarian Orthodox weekly, some commentators reacted with frustration. The JüdischDeutsch Orthodox newspaper the Allgemeine Jüdische Zeitung, however, had

25 “Who are the Demolishers?,” ZsH, May 30, 1901. 26 Shmuel Feiner, Culture War: The Jewish Enlightenment in the Nineteenth Century [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Carmel, 2010), 298–313.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

always had lower expectations, and accordingly when liberal voices defended Judaism it responded with surprise and satisfaction. The newspaper took a particular interest in the Catholic People’s Party, which had revived the antisemitic approach of Istóczy’s party from the 1880s. The newspaper reported on an antisemitic speech by a priest who represented the party in parliament, but placed greater emphasis on the angry response of Gyula Wlassics (1852–1937), the minister of religion, education, and culture.27 The newspaper warmly praised the liberal minister’s rejection of the priest’s comments regarding Jewish students at the University of Budapest who were accused of defacing the cross included in the national emblem. Later the newspaper reported on meetings of the People’s Party in Mattersdorf, again emphasizing the discreet efforts by liberal circles to curtail the party’s antisemitism.28 Ahead of elections, the party held gatherings on Sundays; the newspaper noted that while these were successful in some areas, wherever there was a liberal presence the party’s efforts failed. In Szécsény, for example, hundreds of liberals distributed the following broadsheet: The citizens of Szécsény county, regardless of any particular party, regard the People’s Party as a threat to the well-being of the homeland. This homeland has sacrificed so much for the sake of liberal ideals such as liberty, fraternity, and equality. It is important to oppose the insane religious fanaticism, blindness, and enslaving foolishness of the People’s Party, and accordingly it is a patriotic duty to suppress it.29 The writer thanked the liberal elements for this firm message and noted with satisfaction that their remarks had an impressive impact. Later, the newspaper reported on claims by the People’s Party that money usurped from impoverished Christians had found its way to the Jews, who were exploiting “the power of Jewish money” to gain power and influence.30 As discussed in chapter six, the Allgemeine Jüdische Zeitung also responded enthusiastically to the appointment of Cardinal János Csernoch as primate of the Catholic Church in Hungary.31 It is interesting to consider why this Orthodox newspaper, published in Jüdisch-Deutsch, tended to emphasize 27 “Culture Minister Wlassics on Antisemitism,” AJZ, February 21, 1896. 28 “Two Jews Abused by the Leaders of the People’s Party,” AJZ, July 27, 1896. 29 “The Struggle between Liberals and Clerics,” AJZ, August 4, 1896. 30 “Jewish ‘Money Power,’” AJZ, March 18, 1898. 31 See chapter six, by note 25.

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the liberal response to the People’s Party, while the Hungarian-language Orthodox newspaper placed greater emphasis on the threat posed by the party. The explanation would seem to be that the Zsidó Hiradó, the mouthpiece of Western Orthodoxy and the Budapest Orthodox circle, was a firm exponent of the Magyar spirit; accordingly, it had high expectations of the “liberal and enlightened” Hungarian people, and was disillusioned when these failed to materialize. Universalist values and commitment to the rule of law appeared to be areas where Jews and their neighbors could find agreement, and accordingly Western Orthodox speakers and writers frequently emphasized these aspects in their appeals to wider audiences. By contrast, the Allgemeine Jüdische Zeitung had a more conservative character and was intended mainly for members of the Eastern Orthodox stream of Hungarian Jewry. It had never anticipated that antiJewish hatred would disappear, and accordingly it was less disappointed at the developments, and more inclined to express satisfaction at liberal and Christian efforts to curtail the People’s Party.

C. “The True Magyar Soul does Not Recognize Racial and Religious Hatred” While the argument that antisemitism was contrary to universalist principles might have an impact on progressive and educated circles, the claim that this phenomenon was inconsistent with the Magyar spirit was intended to convince Hungarians of all backgrounds. As patriotic Hungarians, Jews often argued that antisemitism was antithetical to the true Magyar spirit and had been imported from abroad, and in particular from Germany. This line of argument appeared frequently in the Orthodox press and was raised by both Orthodox and Neolog speakers. Even before the Tiszaeszlár blood libel, Sámuel Kohn, the rabbi of the largest Neolog congregation in Budapest, had argued that hatred of the Jews had always been an alien import, while the Hungarian people had acted nobly and fairly toward the religious minorities in its midst.32 The Neolog press raised this claim at every possible opportunity, but it was not confined to the liberal wing of Hungarian Jewry, as we saw in chapter seven in Rabbi Schück’s response to the blood libel and in his direct appeal to antisemites: “Recant, Sirs, for otherwise you shall not be good and true Hungarians.”33

32 Kohn, How Should We Face, 4. 33 See chapter seven, by note 41.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

It is worth noting that this position was also common among non-Jewish Hungarians from liberal circles. In the midst of the furor surrounding the Tiszaeszlár trial, Kossuth wrote a letter from his place of exile in Turin to his friend Ignác Helfy, one of the leaders of the Independence Party, in which he condemned the incitement that accompanied the trial. Discussing the economic problems that were partly responsible for fomenting hatred, Kossuth wrote: The honorable Mister Istóczy and his associates would never have managed to foment such great tension, using the propaganda and incitement they import from Germany . . . were the masses not facing economic and social distress that prepare them to absorb the incitement. . . . Not only do they seek in this manner to return the Magyars of the nineteenth century to the Middle Ages, but the matter also lacks any possible tangible purpose, other than wallowing in hatred—this, too, in keeping with the German model.34 The “Magyar” is mentioned again in an article published in the Orthodox newspaper by Márton Singer concerning an incident in Xanten, a small town in Germany. In 1891 the Kosher slaughterer in the town was arrested on suspicion of murdering a five-year-old Christian boy, but was released due to lack of evidence. Singer observed that Germany—the most cultured country in the world—was nevertheless still backward: ordinary citizens not from noble backgrounds had only been allowed to reach the ranks of officers in the military a few months before, “and it will be many years before a Jew could be appointed an officer.” The antisemitic leaders would face trial in Berlin for contempt of court, but Singer feared that this would only heighten hatred of the Jews. It was extremely difficult to change the views held by the rabble in Berlin, particularly given that these views enjoyed support at the highest level of government. Prussia had always been antisemitic; Germany was following in this tradition; and the antisemites in Austria were advocating pan-Germanism and a Greater Germany. Singer then moved from Germany to the local context: The decline of antisemitic sentiments here should be attributed to the strengthening of Hungarianness in the country and the waning of sympathy for Germany. The true 34 Katzburg, Antisemitism 1867–1914, 250–251.

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Magyar soul does not recognize racial and religious hatred. . . . Manifestations of hatred in Hungary were imported from Germany. . . . The Jews of Hungary recognize this, and feel themselves to be completely Hungarian. National sentiment and religious devotion can always exist side-by-side; each of them can grow without harming the other. The happiest people are those whose religion and patriotism are equally strong.35 Singer’s article reflects the ideas that developed in Hungarian Orthodoxy during its “Golden Age”—the Dual Monarchy era. As we have seen, these ideas proved to be remarkably resilient even after the First World War, despite the significant objective deterioration in the condition of the Jews. They maintained a firm affinity to Hungarian nationhood alongside their Jewish-religious identity; and were convinced that the “true” Magyar spirit rejected any racial or religious discrimination. These positions led them to assume that antisemitism in Hungary must be a transient phenomenon. In 1896, Viador published an editorial article complaining that the People’s Party had for several weeks been waging a campaign of unbridled antisemitic incitement among all parts of Hungarian society. István Károlyi, one of the party’s leaders, had claimed that the Jews of Hungary were unpatriotic. Viador retorted: “Over the coming hours the Hungarian people will respond in a manner that may lead him to refrain from making such public declarations in the future. We hope and believe that the beliefs of the Hungarian people are rational, and that they will under no circumstances consent to racial hatred.”36 Despite the generally confident tone, the turn of phrase “hope and believe” may suggest some weakening of the total certainty that had often been flaunted in this context. The Orthodox newspaper written in Jüdisch-Deutsch, which as we have seen tended to be more skeptical than its Hungarian-language counterpart, shared the underlying belief in the Magyar spirit. Following the founding of the People’s Party, the newspaper reported that the new organization was proving particularly successful in Pressburg and Sopron, “due to the proximity of these cities to Vienna and to the German language. . . . We must admit that many Hungarians live in Vienna, and German is their mother tongue, but they remain Hungarian patriots who support freedom and civil rights.”37 Thus the

35 Márton Singer, “Reflections,” ZsH, August 11, 1892 (emphasis in original). 36 “The Jewish Antisemites,” ZsH, October 29, 1896. 37 “The Antisemitic People’s Party,” AJZ, December 24, 1895.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

newspaper argued that the success of the People’s Party was due to inspiration from Germany and not the support of Hungarian citizens. In some cases, the optimistic worldview extended beyond Hungary’s borders. In August 1899, an anonymous writer reported on the retrial of Dreyfus and the pardon he received from the French president. Although Dreyfus would only be fully exonerated and his army position reinstated in 1906, the writer regarded the pardon as an unofficial acquittal: A cry is heard around the world: truth has been victorious. . . . The entire world has seen that the weapons of those who fight the Jews are falsehood and deception. . . . The Dreyfus trial is a moral victory for Judaism, which has exposed the true character of its enemies and encouraged feelings of sympathy for the Jews.38 The writer saw the Dreyfus trial as a dramatic turning point that would lead the French and the entire world to recognize that anti-Jewish accusations were rooted in falsehood. The truth had emerged, antisemitism had been exposed in its full shame, and henceforth, it was to be hoped, it would gradually disappear. In the same year (1899), a young Jewish man by the name of Leopold Hilsner from Polná in Bohemia was convicted in a blood libel trial and sentenced to death, though Kaiser Franz Josef commuted the penalty to life imprisonment.39 The article claimed that this sordid affair had failed to attract attention: “No serious body addressed it. . . . In the press a two-line report appeared on the matter. . . . These two lines show that the civilized world can no longer be driven insane.”40 The conviction of an innocent Jewish man was naturally a serious matter, but the writer saw the lack of media interest as proof that the enlightened public was no longer receptive to the antisemitic incitement that had traditionally accompanied such cases. In reality, however, the case in question indeed sparked a significant wave of antisemitic incitement in Bohemia; the writer chose to ignore this and to adhere to his optimistic assumption that antisemitism was losing its hold.41 Tomáš Masaryk (1850–1937), who later became president of Czechoslovakia, researched the blood libel and published a comprehensive study highlighting the distortion of the truth and the incorrect press reports concerning the incident, as well as the flaws in the trial. Masaryk was subjected 38 “Consequences,” ZsH, October 12, 1899. 39 On the Hilsner trials, see Cotic, Accused, 103–166. 40 “Consequences,” ZsH, October 12, 1899. 41 On antisemitic incidents surrounding the trial, see “Polna Affair,” Jewish Encyclopedia, 1908; Cotic, Accused, 106, 122–123.

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to violent attacks by nationalist students, but he continued his campaign against the blood libel.42 For our purposes, the most interesting point is the writer’s decision to ignore the furor surrounding the trial and to adopt an optimistic perspective based, first and foremost, in admiration for Hungary and the Kaiser. This optimistic worldview was not universally adhered to. Another anonymous writer acknowledged the wave of antisemitism and declared that the Neolog movement was fooling itself by imagining that hatred of Jews was disappearing due to its desire to encourage assimilation: Some Jews like to imagine that great progress has been made in the nineteenth century in the acceptance of the Jews by the nations and denominations, so that they are regarded as equal to others. . . . This is a great illusion. . . . In vain we have spilt our blood for the nation. . . . In vain we have fallen on the battlefield. . . . We became loving and loyal sons of the nation, but once again the accusations are re-emerging that we are a national minority like the others. . . . This is also occurring in the civilized world. . . . Even in the House of Representatives such charges can be heard. . . . The “Jewish Question” was one of the points liberalism sought to resolve, but in most places this effort has halted. Liberalism is now required to fight for itself and has abandoned the Jews. . . . Hatred of the Jews is floating in the air, and only loyalty to the old faith can immunize against its bacteria. Faith preserved Judaism in the Middle Ages and its strength remains untarnished to this day.43 The writer urged reformists of various hues, who had believed that rapprochement to the majority society would pave the way for their full acceptance, to wake up and acknowledge the reality in Europe (he does not exclude Hungary from his comments, implying that his argument is also valid concerning the homeland). This attack reflects a pessimistic perspective we have not encountered thus far concerning the condition of Jewry. The writer notes that antisemitism has caused particular harm to those who abandoned their sacred heritage, and now found themselves without the defense of faith.

42 Cotic, Accused, 122–130. For a detailed description of the Hilsner affair, including Masaryk’s involvement, see Wein, History of Czechs and Jews, 40–55; Martin Wein, History of the Jews in the Bohemian Lands (Boston: Brill, 2015), 40–45. 43 “What Can be Felt in the Air,” ZsH, March 1, 1900.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

In the early twentieth century, some Neolog observers indeed expressed disappointment, frustration, and a sense of insult as antisemitism continued to rage despite their efforts to placate their surroundings.44 The writer quoted here implied that the Orthodox had not been party to the illusion and had remained faithful to their origins, with the result that they were less vulnerable. In fact, however, Western Orthodoxy had enthusiastically shared the illusion of acceptance, as is implicit in the writer’s complaint that “in vain we have spilt our blood for the nation.” Previous articles by the same writer, who identified himself only by initials, included frequent complaints about antisemitism in other countries, while emphasizing that the situation in Hungary was different. By this point, however, the writer had evidently adopted a more pessimistic perspective, suggesting that the Jews’ patriotism had been misplaced and the liberalism had proved a disappointment. A year later, the same writer claimed that anti-Jewish tendencies were becoming apparent both in politics and in society; he anticipated that the situation would only get worse. He suggested that the growing antisemitism was part of the disillusionment many Hungarians felt with the outcomes of the liberal policies of the latter part of the previous century—policies for which the Jews were held responsible.45 Sometimes unwittingly, the press was contributing to the dissemination of such negative assumptions. After beginning with a realistic and even painful assessment of the situation, the writer ends on a far more optimistic not: “Only a few people in Hungary advocate antisemitism; this cannot be maintained, because the intelligentsia of the Hungarian people will soon reject it. . . . And then the sun will shine again, as it has shined so many times in the past.”46 Another article in the Zsidó Hiradó discussed a book published by a Hungarian nobleman called Henrik Coudenhove. The book presented an extremely sympathetic account of the history of antisemitism from ancient terms through the turn of the century.47 The newspaper quoted the author’s complementary remarks concerning the positive spiritual and social values Jews had developed over the generations, alongside his condemnation of antisemitic ideas and attitudes.48 However, the Orthodox reviewer takes issue with Coudenhove: “Here we reach a point on which we do not agree with the honorable nobleman, for in our opinion he attaches too much important to the antisemites. . . . We do

44 Konrad, “Jewish Perception,” 185. 45 The historian Szekfű presented a similar analysis after the war: Gyula Szekfű, Three Generations and What Follows [Hungarian] (Budapest: Egyetemi, 1934). 46 “Signs,” ZsH, May 9, 1901. 47 The book, published in 1901, has the same title as the article: The Essence of Antisemitism. 48 “The Essence of Antisemitism,” ZsH, November 14, 1901.

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not conclude from the racket they create that they are gaining in strength, but on the contrary, that they are weakening.” The newspaper suggests that hatred of the Jews was stronger in the days when they were closed off in the ghettoes; in modern times antisemites create noise and unpleasant feelings, but the situation is not so terrible. “Here [in Hungary] the “Jewish Question” was definitively solved in political terms on the granting of full equality to the Jews. . . . There is no longer a Jewish Question, even though the antisemites claim that it must be resolved.” Hatred of the Jews had been fueled by centuries of religious bigotry, but following the secularization of society it was no longer relevant; the racial argument was also spurious, since in modern times the Jews did not constitute a distinct race. “This is the weakness of antisemitism, so that we have no doubt that its decline is only a matter of time and patience.”49 Even after the First World War, Hungarian Jews continued to express their confidence in the decency and integrity of the Hungarian people, despite growing questions surrounding this assumption. In 1926, after Jews were accused of forging French francs, a writer commented that “justice, culture, and the good name of Hungary demand that we reiterate that antisemitism is not part of the soul of the Hungarian nation.”50 Despite occasional exceptions, the dominant approach of Orthodox Hungarians was very similar to that of the Neologs in this respect. Even as we reach 1936, when loud warnings were being issued concerning the impending catastrophe, trust in Hungary remained intact. Korein appears to have been genuinely puzzled by the failure of the authorities to prosecute antisemites, given the presence of laws prohibiting incitement against ethnic and religious minorities. He emphasized that civilized and educated Hungarians of all backgrounds were disturbed by the situation and longed for law and order to be restored. Yet again the argument was raised that the current antisemitism was contrary to the true, noble Hungarian spirit: What we see in terms of the destruction of communal and denominational peace is being smuggled in from outside. The disturbances of social order will be removed from the agenda, sooner or later. The ancient Hungarian constitution, like the Magna Carta in England, orders the state to protect calm social life. This precious moral value must be preserved at all costs.51 49 Ibid. 50 “Two United Fronts,” ZsU, March 5, 1926. 51 “It’s All a Question of Bread . . . ,” ZsU, November 27, 1936. The title references an antisemite figure who claimed that his views were due to economic reasons.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

Korein also called for Jews themselves to be active in demanding the enforcement of the law, but his emphasis was on the common interest of all Hungarians in promoting culture, education, the love of liberty, and equal rights.

D. Antisemitism as Criminality The Orthodox press sometimes created a linkage between criminality and antisemitism. Ernst Vergani, one of the most radical antisemites in Vienna, claimed that Jews could not be reformed even if they converted and assimilated entirely in their surroundings.52 In an editorial from 1897, the Zsidó Hiradó presented a letter from a Hungarian living in Vienna who noted that it had been proved beyond all doubt that Vergani had been implicated in criminal acts, accused of serious embezzlement, and asked to resign his position. However, after his friend Lueger, the mayor of the capital intervened Vergani remained in his post. The newspaper condemned the failure to dismiss the offender because of his antisemitic credentials, but found a source of comfort in the affair: These are the last throws of medieval fanaticism—its last attempts. Such events embody the ancient truth that human decency and religious intolerance are mutually incompatible. A serious movement can only survive over the years if it is based on values and antisemitism has always lacked any moral basis. . . . It is possible to imagine that in the age of religious fanaticism a Christian could have hated a Jew solely because of his Judaism; today this is almost impossible, because the public is far more open and liberal, not only in religious terms but also in national terms. Antisemitism is prevalent among the rubble, but more respectable sections of the people reject it as prejudice. The article reflects the position that enlightened and progressive society will rapidly eliminate all prejudices, including antisemitism. In contrast to the Middle Ages, in modern times enlightened and educated people were not influenced by incitement, and prejudice was confined to the uneducated underclass of society. How did the writer reach this conclusion, given that it was inconsistent with reality? It is hard to avoid the impression that he was desperate to believe

52 H. A. Strauss, ed., Hostages of Modernization: Studies on Modern Antisemitism 1870–1933/39, vol. 2 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1993), 743.

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the assertion he made; his connection between antisemitism and criminality besmirched the former, and implicitly required the authorities of the modern state to combat antisemitism just as they combated crime. At the beginning of the twentieth century, the Orthodox newspaper returned to the idea of the criminalization of antisemitism. An article entitled “Under the Dictatorship of the Fraudster Drumont” reported in great detail on a booklet written by a Frenchman called Le Pic regarding the notorious French antisemite Édouard Drumont (1844–1917), itemizing his acts of corruption and financial fraud over the years.53 The newspaper attached great importance to showing that one of the most prominent spokesmen for antisemitism in Europe was a criminal. In 1900, an enormous poster on one of the main boulevards in Budapest announced the inauguration of the Christian Clothing Association. According to the Orthodox newspaper, the organization’s objective was to displace nonCatholics from the cloth trade. The association itself claimed that its purpose was to promote national unity, but the newspaper concluded that its true objective was to foment division.54 The writer protested against the attempt by a Catholic group to exclude Jews from the clothes trade, which was an important source of livelihood for many urban Orthodox Jews. The article reflects a sense of distress due to the rising levels of antisemitism in Hungary, but repeats the standard declarations of confidence that Hungarian integrity will not allow antisemitism to reach the dimensions it had in Austria. The article was also careful to add that the Catholic organization’s activities were directed at all non-Catholics, and would harm many other Christians as well as Jews. The Christian Clothing Association declared bankruptcy just two months after its inauguration. The newspaper reported this development gleefully, adding that the bankruptcy led to irresponsible and even criminal acts, thus again linking antisemitism and criminality. The writer also used the improper management of the Catholic organization to highlight the unjust nature of the widespread allegations that “Jewish businesses” were dishonest and fraudulent.55 This line of defense was also used after the First World War. As discussed in chapter six,56 a group of prominent Hungarians was accused of forging French francs. The group included police chief Imre Nádossy, who since the White Terror episode had been a prominent reactionary and overt antisemite.

53 “The Loyal Friend,” ZsU, September 1897 (emphasis in original). 54 “Of This and That,” ZsH, November 22, 1900. 55 “Finale,” ZsH, January 24, 1901. 56 See chapter six, by note 10.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

The Zsidó Ujság noted that while the horrors of the White Terror had receded, they had not disappeared completely. Antisemites attacked Jews one day and became embroiled in criminal activities the next, as exemplified by Nádossy. His arrest removed a key hater of the Jews from the scene, and there was cause to anticipate that the situation of the Jews in Hungary would henceforth improve.57 The trope of the antisemite as a criminal was a common theme throughout the period covered by this book.

D. “Today Me, Tomorrow You” Another common theme in the campaign against antisemitism was the claim that the arrows currently turned against the Jews would in the future be directed at Christians, since hatred and enmity know no boundaries. Accordingly, the struggle against antisemitism was a vital Hungarian interest, and the authorities and society at large should do everything possible to uproot the phenomenon. This approach, which was shared by the Neolog stream, was repeated many times and in many different forms in the Orthodox press, sometimes explicitly and sometimes implicitly. In Szabolcs County, which included the village of Tiszaeszlár, Socialist groups fomented riots in 1897–1898, including the use of firearms, in response to the failure to reallocate land to the peasants.58 An article in the Zsidó Hiradó described the riots at length and in dramatic terms, highlighting the disruption of social order and unbridled violence. The article asked why these riots had erupted in this particular county, and immediately gave an unequivocal answer: there was a direct connection between the Socialist-instigated riots and the blood libel of 1882.59 The seeds of hatred that had been planted at the start of the previous decade had now sprouted and were threatening all sections of the local population. The antisemites were jealous of Jewish property and sought to seize control of it; later they extended their gaze to property owned by other groups; and now even the peasants sought to usurp land that was not their own. The writer saw the violent unrest in Szabolcs as proof that attacks against Jews are merely the first stage in hatred of humans of all hues and in the breakdown of law and order. It was vital to combat and uproot incitement in its infancy,

57 “Hope rather than Schadenfreude,” ZsU, January 8, 1926. 58 István Tóth, The Land Distribution Project in Szabolcs County, 1897–1898 [Hungarian] (Budapest: Franklin, 1963). 59 “The Secret is Out of the Bag,” ZsH, February 17, 1898.

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while it was directed at Jews, in order to prevent the later threat of anarchy and suffering among the population as a whole. Another article in the Orthodox weekly sought to show that hatred of Jews disrupted public order. The article reported that King Franz Josef I had expressed disgust at the antisemitic riots sparked by Lueger’s incitement in Vienna: Vienna, the imperial capital, city of beauty and culture, has become a den of thieves. Family life has deteriorated badly, since Lueger chose to appeal to the women of the city, who flock in crowds to popular meetings, neglecting their homes. Instead of nurturing sentiments of love and harmony in the home, instead of educating their children, they bring home hatred and intolerance, and the children who are exposed to this begin to harass their Jewish classmates at school. . . . Rudeness and savagery are everywhere—in life, in the family, and at school. . . . All this is leading to a general decline. . . . Today, many people recognize that this movement is attacking not only Judaism, but also the entire social order, moral values, peace, calm, and culture.60 In the years following the First World War, political and social stability in Hungary was disrupted and there was a sharp rise in political violence. Orthodox commentators continued to argue that antisemitism was a threat to society as a whole. During the 1920s, secret organizations were established (particularly by the German-speaking minorities) whose ideology included antisemitism. The Zsidó Ujság commented: There is nothing new under the sun. As long ago as 1096, when the Crusades began, the mob attacked the Jewish communities in the Rhine Valley, just as these organizations seek to do today. The Crusaders learned how to attack and pillage Jews, and went on to apply their skills to Christians. Groups of German Crusaders rioted in Hungary and committed acts of robbery; King Kálmán (1074–1116) attacked and defeated them.61 The Talmud observes: “Once permission is granted to the destroyer to kill, it does not distinguish between the righteous and the

60 “The Word of the King,” ZsH, December 14, 1899. 61 Sugar et al., History, 24.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

wicked” [BT Baba Kama 60a]. It must again be stated that if antisemitism is not blocked, Christians will be harmed by it in the future.62 The writer delves into the distant past to support his argument, and proceeds to draw on German classical literature. It is difficult to halt evil, he emphasizes, as in Goethe’s “Sorcerer’s Apprentice,” when the apprentice is unable to free himself of the magic forces he himself awoke and they take control of him. In Romania and Galicia, anti-Jewish pogroms were accompanied by the torching of the estates of local noblemen. The Zsidó Ujság returned to the theme that attacks on Jews would later spread to Christians following a pogrom in Nagyvárad in Transylvania, a city that had been transferred to Romanian sovereignty following the Treaty of Trianon. Local students rioted against both Jews and Hungarians, leading to fatalities and damage to property.63 The students were Romanian nationalists who supported the antisemitic leader Cuzi, with whom the Hungarian Race Defenders party maintained close ties. Thus elements associated with Hungarian antisemitism were now attacking Hungarian residents and institutions. The newspaper concluded from this that hatred of the Jews was already harming Christian Hungarians: “Someone who poisons a well somewhere cannot know whether his own son or daughter are not drinking from it. Evil is hard to control. The pogrom should show all Hungarians of good will that anti-Jewish incitement will ultimately harm them. As the Latin proverb notes, hodie mihi cras tibi—‘today me, tomorrow you.’”64 The danger antisemitism posed to all parts of society was emphasized once again in the Zsidó Ujság in a report on the funeral of a seventeen-year-old Jewish youngster who was murdered by a nationalist outside the main Neolog synagogue in Budapest. Church representatives and a government minister attended the funeral at the synagogue in a show of support for the Jewish community. However, the article adds pessimistically that this participation will not improve the condition of the Jewish public. The attendance of clerics was natural, since they understood that an attack on a Jewish house of prayer constituted a threat to the houses of prayer of other faiths, just as Bolshevism made no distinction between a synagogue, church, mosque or pagoda.65 62 “Secret Societies and Ancient Christians,” ZsU, April 16, 1926. 63 For a review of the riots, see Máté Rigó, “The Forgotten Pogrom: Riots in Oradea in 1927” [Hungarian], Buksz (ejournal) (2012): 126–141. 64 “The Pogrom in Nagyvárad,” December 9, 1927. 65 “The Young Man who Dies Sanctifying God’s Name,” ZsU, April 17, 1931.

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As part of this strategy, Korein highlighted a new angle. The weapons industry and its cartels were sowing devastation, war, and death around the world, encouraging conflicts between nations in order to increase the sales of their destructive products. Because of the weapons industry there was no peace in the world and all of humanity was suffering. Korein claimed that various sources had stated that this industry was also funding antisemitism in order to deflect public attention from its own activities. Accordingly, there was a connection between this harmful and destructive industry and antisemitic attacks on Jews.66 Again, the obvious implication was that all decent people must join the struggle against this scourge. In 1938, the newspaper interpreted an anti-Jewish incident of a religious character as a manifestation of hatred for religion per se. A horse appeared in the center of the city of Győr in western Hungary, ridden by a man dressed in traditional Jewish garb: beard, sidelocks, hat, and fringes. The man began to hand out leaflets to passers-by defaming the Jews. The writer emphasized that the leaflets were copies of German texts. A policeman attempted to arrest the man, who was a member of an extreme right-wing organization. The man claimed that he was not violating the law against denominational or religious hatred, since he was attacking the Jewish race, and there was no prohibition in the law against racial insults. The Orthodox writer claimed that the incident entailed the degradation of religious symbols, and that the authorities should punish the rider in the name of all religions. He emphasized that the problem was not confined to the Jews but to all people of faith. Attacks against Judaism would harm Christianity, too, as in Germany, where the government had just prohibited Catholic clerics to attend a religious conference. The argument that antisemitism was a threat to Hungary was not confined to the Orthodox stream—Neolog Jews also used this tactic. This claim was raised as early as the Dual Monarchy era, and was revived by the Zsidó Ujság following the Treaty of Trianon as the radical right gained strength in Hungary and antisemitic incitement spread. The issue of antisemitism accompanied the Jews of Hungary in varying degrees throughout the period from emancipation to the Holocaust. Orthodox and Neolog Jews adopted similar strategies in response. In contrast to the passive and apologetic approach of the past, the new response included elements of assertiveness and criticism. As we saw at the beginning of this chapter, on the internal level of the Jewish community the tendency was to focus on antisemitic threats in other countries while downplaying the problems at home. The other 66 “Up in the Stratosphere,” ZsU, June 21, 1935.

Internal and External Communication Strategies

arguments presented here were not intended for the Orthodox public, but for Christian Hungarians. Presumably the writers believed that although they were publishing their articles in an Orthodox newspaper, the content would reach wider circles, particularly since it was written in Hungarian. The Orthodox readers might also be expected to disseminate the arguments presented in the newspaper. Attempts to persuade Hungarian Christians focused on two main angles: the claim that incitement was inappropriate in a civilized and enlightened nation; and the argument that antisemitism would also harm the Christians, and accordingly they should oppose it for practical reasons. The Orthodox writers repeatedly returned to the idyllic picture of Hungary’s past. This theme served both to calm the readers and as a tool for convincing Hungarians that antisemitic incitement was alien to Magyar history and values. In most instances, adherence to the image of the “good Hungarian” meant that the response to antisemitism was milder than would otherwise have been expected. Here and there Hungarian Jews adopted a more sober or realistic perspective, but in both Orthodox and Neolog circles the positive image of the Hungarian people remained intact until the Holocaust, and was an important factor in the optimism and hope expressed by Jewish observers until the last moment. For generations, the Jews lived in an environment that was both antisemitic and tolerant; their condition fluctuated according to the balance between these two poles. The Jews were a small, weak, and defenseless minority, and their opponents could easily have rid themselves of their presence had they so wished. For the most part, however, the impulse of rejection was balanced by the impulse of acceptance. When this balance was undermined, the result was expulsion, persecution, and pogroms.67 This delicate balance was reflected in Hungary even after the outbreak of the Second World War. Against the hostile forces from various directions, balancing forces, particularly among the Hungarian elite, allowed the Jewish community to continue to live in reasonable conditions—certainly by comparison to other areas under German control or influence. The German invasion finally and fatally tipped the scales; but from the perspective of Hungarian Jews, even at the beginning of 1944 it was difficult to anticipate the dramatic turning point that lay ahead.

67 Halpern, “Reactions,” 3–4.

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Afterword

In his studies, Jacob Katz described Orthodoxy as a modern response to the weakening of tradition in Jewish society from the late eighteenth century. He argued that Orthodoxy was distinct from premodern traditional society.1 However, within the new sphere of Orthodoxy distinct streams developed, some conservative and others more modern. In the case of Hungary, Western Orthodoxy had a modern orientation, while its Eastern counterpart tended to conservatism. The essential difference between the two streams was the level of acculturation: the use of Hungarian instead of Yiddish, adoption of European dress codes, the prevalence of Hungarian first and family names, and above all— the attitude toward the Hungarian nation, people, and culture and the response to antisemitism.2 For Hungarian Jews the modernization project was essentially a process of Magyarization that led to a heightened identification with the Hungarian language and culture and with Hungarian national goals. Magyarization was also reflected in the relative isolation of Hungarian Jewry from the Jewish world and in a lack of interest and involvement in the problems facing Jewish communities

1 Katz, “Orthodoxy,” 89. 2 An album of photographs featuring Hungarian Jews includes numerous images of Orthodox Jews in modern dress: Koerner, How They Lived.

Afterword

elsewhere. Similarly, Hungarian Jews rejected outside intervention that might be regarded as unpatriotic. For the same reason, both the Orthodox streams (as well as the Neolog stream) rejected any form of Jewish political action, and were sharply opposed to Zionism, particularly relative to the situation in other countries. The modern face of Western Orthodoxy was evident in its open attitude toward the Hungarian state and people and in its rational response to antisemitism; its positions in both spheres were distinctly different from the traditional patterns of response. But there were also other manifestations. A study of the newspapers and journals of Western Orthodoxy shows that these were intended for a public that had undergone a process of Magyarization. The readers were fluent in Hungarian and familiar with various aspects of national culture, history, and lifestyle. They were familiar with many key Jewish historical events and traditions, as well as with biblical quotes. Nevertheless, when such quotes appeared in the press they were presented in Hungarian, implying that many Orthodox readers might not recognize the original text or understand even familiar phrases and verses. In its early years the Zsidó Ujság presented such quotes in Hebrew, written in the Hebrew alphabet, but later, as knowledge of Hebrew evidently waned, Hebrew texts were presented in transliteration. Almost all the writers had Hungarian first names, and sometimes even family names; the leaders of Western Orthodoxy were known and addressed by their Hungarian names. The articles contain occasional references to world literature and to European historical events.3 Sometimes Latin sayings were presented in Hungarian translation.4 All these reveal the modern horizons of both writers and readers and their familiarity with the surrounding culture and mores. Over the years, the two Orthodox weekly newspapers expressed admiration for secular education, academic research, and academic intellectuals and scholars in various fields.5 As we have seen, the Zsidó Ujság waged a consistent campaign against the 3 For example, see an article by an Oxford scholar on Spinoza, including a reference to Mommsen, a German expert in Roman history, ZsH, January 18, 1900; a discussion of an article by Goethe from 1802: ZsH, June 13, 1901; analogies to Greek mythology: ZsH, June 27, 1901; Goethe’s “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice:” ZsU, April 16, 1926; a story by Heine: ZsU, April 27, 1928; and Shakespeare’s Shylock: ZsU, July 10, 1933. 4 For example, in order to convey the idea that hatred of Jews would later turn on society as a whole, a writer used the Latin proverb hodie mihi cras tibi (“today me—tomorrow you”): ZsU, December 9, 1927. Elsewhere, a writer quotes Virgil: si parva licet componere magnis (“if we may compare small things with great”): ZsU, February 17, 1928, and the expression bellum omnium contra omnes (“all-out war”) was used to describe the chaos in Europe: OZsU, February 10, 1944. 5 For examples of an open attitude toward secular education and European culture, see “Respectable Antisemites,” ZsH, January 1, 1900; “Semi-Education,” ZsH, March 21, 1901;

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Numerus Clausus, in the course of which it showed sympathy and respect for young Jews who acquired a general education. As part of a report on a conference of Polish rabbis held to discuss traditional education, the newspaper criticized Hungarian Orthodox rabbis, emphasizing that their Polish counterparts were “responsible enough to include in their discussion the acquisition of a general education and the education of girls.”6 Other changes related to the perception of Judaism’s place in the world. The Bible and Jewish tradition in general include both particularistic and universalistic perceptions of Jewish faith. There was always a tension between the two poles, but in the premodern era the particularistic and separatist approach was dominant. In the modern era Jewish circles that sought to integrate in the world at large began to emphasize the universalistic dimensions of Jewish tradition.7 Toward the end of the nineteenth century, the Orthodox press in Hungary also began to identify with Jewish universalism. In an article published around the fast day of Tisha B’Av in August 1897, a writer in the Zsidó Hiradó returned to the familiar theme of the remarkable survival of Judaism and the Jews despite centuries of exile and dispersion. The writer then turned to the “Jewish Question,” arguing that only the Jews themselves could resolve this question: Judaism will continue to develop its true culture, and will once again become the most influential factor in the development of global human culture. For over two thousand years, Judaism has been unable to exploit the spiritual capabilities of its followers for the benefit of civilization, as it did in the past, particularly in the field of moral and ethical values.8 As part of a discussion of the antisemitism of Lueger in Vienna, the writer reaches the conclusion that Lueger’s true target was not Judaism as a religion or race, but rather “the universal values Judaism inculcated to human society— ideas that are the foundation of orderly social life.”9 An article on the festival of Shavuot similarly asserted that “there is complete harmony between the Jewish religion and humanism, reflected both in Scripture and in action. As part of this

and ZsU from March 19, 1926; January 1, 1929; December 18, 1931; and December 25, 1936. 6 ZsU, February 5, 1932. 7 Jeremy Cohen and Moshe Rosman, Rethinking European Jewish History (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2009), 133. 8 “Let Us Hope,” ZsH, August 5, 1897. 9 “Our Enemies,” ZsH, October 26, 1899

Afterword

harmony, pagans are not only to be treated tolerantly, but were to be protected at the time in the Land of Israel.”10 The writer thus presents a universalist vision of Judaism, emphasizing its mission to enlighten the world. The two main Orthodox weeklies published in Hungarian had slightly different emphases. The Zsidó Hiradó, which appeared during the optimistic years of the monarchy, was edited by a member of the Orthodox Office who was an enthusiastic advocate of Magyarization. The Zsidó Ujság appeared during the more troubled Trianon period and was edited by a congregational rabbi from Budapest. In contrast to its predecessor, the Zsidó Ujság sometimes adopted a different position to that of the Orthodox leadership. It tended to be more traditional and less Magyar, and placed less emphasis on the idea of the universal mission of Judaism. Nevertheless, as part of a report on a conference of Hungarian Catholicism, the newspaper referred to Jewish humane values as embodied in the seven Noahide commandments, presenting these as a foundation for moral conduct.11 This approach can be explained as part of the newspaper’s open and positive attitude toward Catholicism in the interwar period, in part due to the desire to recruit Catholics to the struggle against antisemitism. In differing degrees, then, both the Orthodox newspapers offered a universalist vision of Judaism that embodied an alternative to Zionism, arguing that Jews should continue to live in their countries of residence and to influence their moral course and conduct. On the one hand, the idea of a universalist mission offers a modernist alternative to the narrative that “for our sins we were exiled from our Land.” The negative meaning of exile is converted into a positive value and sublime mission. This approach was adopted by the progressive streams of Judaism; its appearance here in the Hungarian Orthodox context reflects the adoption of a modern outlook and the narrowing of the gap between Orthodoxy and the Neolog stream. Why did Orthodoxy continue to engage in a fierce debate with the Neologs, despite the substantial ideological rapprochement between the two streams? The conviction that the separation was the only way to defend and preserve the true faith led Orthodoxy to perpetuate the rift. Indeed, the identity of Hungarian Orthodoxy was largely shaped by its adversarial relationship with the Neolog stream. This exceptional emphasis on its autonomy also explains the absence of overt criticism within the Orthodox camp over the years, despite clear differences between the worldviews of Western Orthodoxy and extreme exponents of ultra-Orthodoxy in the east.

10 “Who are the Destroyers?,” ZsU, May 30, 1901. 11 “The Week of the Great Catholic Assembly,” ZsU, October 15, 1926.

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Orthodox journalists functioned to an extent as an alternative leadership to the Orthodox establishment—the rabbis and the National Office. They did not overtly challenge the establishment, but on occasions they politely and cautiously stated their differences. On these issues the Orthodox press served as an innovative voice within Orthodoxy, a movement that had begun with the Chatam Sofer’s dramatic assertion that “innovation is prohibited by the Torah.” Over a period of eighteen years, the Neo-Orthodox Rabbi Azriel Hildesheimer attempted to disseminate the approach of “Torah with the way of the land” in Hungary, but his efforts aroused opposition from both sides. Rabbis Akiva Yosef Schlesinger and Hillel Lichtenstein sharply criticized him, arguing that he posed an even greater threat to Judaism than the Neologs, since he gave an impression of Orthodox legitimacy to acculturation. Following the 1868 Congress and the subsequent division, Hildesheimer became disillusioned and returned to Germany; his activities left virtually no mark on Hungarian Jewry.12 The impression is that over time, without a firm ideological foundation and without declarations, the adherents of Orthodox Judaism in Hungary also opened themselves to modernity and secular education, as reflected in their changing language and conceptual world. The general tendency is to portray Hungarian Jewry as polarized and dichotomous: a zealous Orthodox block opposed to modernity and adhering uncompromisingly to religion and tradition, and an assimilationist and integrationist Neolog block that was increasingly removed from its Jewish origins. This book reaches a different conclusion. We have seen that in between these two blocks there was an extensive middle ground—Modern Orthodoxy— that maintained its Jewish identity while integrating linguistically and culturally in its surroundings. This group underwent acculturation, but not assimilation. The Modern Orthodox sector was similar to its Neolog counterpart in terms of its attitude toward the Christian surroundings and to Magyarization. The philosopher Nathan Rotenstreich (1914–1993) wrote that “the supreme principle of modernity is the principle of change or changes”; by this he referred not to post-factum change, which is universal, but to change as an a priori objective.13 The Orthodox did not see change as a goal in its own right, but they lived peacefully with change and appear to have accepted it willingly and consciously. Orthodoxy did not participate in shaping Hungarian culture in the manner in which the Neolog stream did, but it consumed and internalized this

12 Mordechai Eliav, “The Place of Rabbi Azriel Hildesheimer in the Struggle for the Character of Hungarian Jewry” [Hebrew], Zion 27 (1962): 59–86. 13 Nathan Rotenstreich, “Judaism in Modern Culture” [Hebrew], Moznayim 33 (1971): 5–6.

Afterword

culture.14 Modernity and the exciting possibilities it opened up were part of the new world in which the Modern Orthodox also sought to participate. At first, Orthodox rabbis adopted a separatist approach, negating acculturation and rapprochement to the Hungarian people. These rabbis adhered to their position, but broad swathes of the Orthodox public began to adopt a different course and to absorb modernist touches from their surroundings. This tendency was apparent from as early as the emancipation, and intensified over time. On all the issues examined in this book, the traditional responses and attitudes were well-known and firmly entrenched. Despite this, a substantial section of Hungarian Orthodoxy preferred to adopt different, more innovative approaches that can be characterized as modern. This process was largely confined to Western Orthodoxy, while the ultra-Orthodox minority retained its particularistic and separatist identity. Ultimately, however, even this group underwent a process of linguistic acculturation, though it did not acquire a Hungarian national identity alongside its Jewish religious identity. As mentioned in the Introduction, Karady proposed a division of the population of Hungary, Jews included, between modern and non-modern; within Orthodox Jewry, he distinguishes between Western and Eastern Orthodoxy. Eastern Orthodoxy included ultra-Orthodox and Hasidic circles that advocated cultural insularity and rejected innovation. However, it also included another circle of Orthodox Jews: residents of villages or small towns who maintained their preexisting worldview—not as an ideological act, but because of their remoteness from the centers of modernity. This circle was closer to Western Orthodoxy than to ultra-Orthodoxy. Dubnov describes Orthodox Jews in Hungary in general as “fossilized and devout, opposed to any advancement.”15 This description may be accurate regarding the ultra-Orthodox, but not beyond this circle; it does not represent large parts of Eastern Orthodoxy, let alone Western Orthodoxy. In other words, the Jewish population should be divided according to patterns of modernity rather than communal or religious affiliation. This approach yields a dividing line with ultra-Orthodoxy on one side, and all the other components of the Jewish public on the other, including Orthodox circles that did not reject modernity as a matter of principle and integrated in it to varying degrees. The boundaries of the former group were very stark and affiliation to this circle required homogeneity

14 On the Jewish contribution to the culture of modern Budapest, see Mary Gluck, The Invisible Jewish Budapest: Metropolitan Culture at the Fin de Siècle (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2016). 15 Shimon Dubnov, World History of the Jewish People [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1954), 628.

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in various aspects of life (religion and tradition, education, distinct clothing, and so forth). The latter group comprised a wide range of opinions, approaches, lifestyles, and attitudes toward religion and tradition. This side included the liberal and Neolog stream, but also Western Orthodoxy, which gradually came to affiliate itself with the open, modern camp, albeit in its more conservative form. The positions expounded by Western Orthodoxy were more nuanced and equivocal. It oscillated between the attraction to progress and modernity and the commitment to tradition and the past. The Orthodox weeklies tended toward a modernist approach, although occasionally and on specific issues they returned to traditional positions. Due to the sense of cohesion in the Orthodox stream and the desire to maintain its independence and distinguish it from the Neologs, the newspapers sought to convey an impression of unity to the outside world and avoided exposing internal disagreements. Orthodox Jews in Budapest preferred to ignore the extremist attitudes among the ultra-Orthodox, with which they disagreed profoundly. They were careful to show respect for the rabbis, even when they appeared to disagree with them. Glazer’s study on the tendency of the Hungarian-language Orthodox press to show respect and even admiration for rabbis and tzadikim exposes a longing for what Max Weber called “the magic of the past”—a longing that coexisted alongside the press’s modernist leanings.16 Modern Orthodoxy in Hungary was not inclined to engage in theoretical or ideological discussions about its response to modernity In contrast to its Neo-Orthodox counterpart in Germany. The Orthodox approach in Hungary was pragmatic, but nevertheless its practical positions were distinctly modern.17 The principle of obedience to halakhic arbiters made it difficult to oppose the more zealous anti-modernizing trends openly, and accordingly it is difficult to find criticism of such positions from Modern Orthodox observers. In practice, however, from the turn of the century they thought, and to an extent acted, like their Neolog counterparts. Like other ideological movements, Orthodoxy is characterized by the delineation of boundaries between that which is binding, positive, and approved

16 Norbert Glässer, “Encounter with the Holy Truth: The Image of Tzadikim in the Hungarian Orthodox Jewish Press 1891–1944” [Hungarian] (PhD diss., OR-ZSE Zsidó Vallástudományi Doktori Iskola, Budapest, 2012). 17 Samet (“Orthodoxy,” 99) refers to “the substantial difference between Orthodoxy in Germany and that in Hungary,” thereby adhering to the dichotomous model of Hungarian Jewry. My conclusions in this study suggest that there was no significant difference between the majority of Hungarian Orthodoxy and its German counterpart.

Afterword

and that which is negative and forbidden. At least on the declarative level (though not necessarily in terms of the daily conduct of all its members), Orthodoxy accepted the halakhic way of life and the key religious commandments. UltraOrthodoxy placed the affinity to Hungarian nationhood, people, and culture outside the boundaries. Western Orthodox, conversely, regarded these aspects as positive and even binding. Both circles drew on religious principles to support their opposing views. Eliezer Schweid’s definition of Modern Orthodoxy accurately summarizes the modernist approach of Western Orthodoxy in Hungary: “Modern Orthodoxy . . . restricted the applicability of the Halakhah for the way of life of the Orthodox Jew who wanted emancipation, in a manner that did not require any amendments to the Halakhah. It did so by establishing a clear border between the sphere of the religious, family, and community way of life and the general social domain.”18 Following the emancipation, then, a thoroughly Modern Orthodox approach developed. In the Introduction, we quoted Shulamit Volkov’s assertion that “the main fault line in Jewry runs between those who were willing to participate in the ‘modernity project’ and those who were not willing to do so.”19 If we accept this approach, we can conclude that the dividing line in Hungarian Jewry ran not between the Orthodox and Neolog streams, but between the ultra-Orthodox and all the remaining sections of the Jewish population.

18 Eliezer Schweid, Toward a Modern Jewish Culture [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1995). 19 See Introduction, footnote 17.

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Index

A

Aba, Samuel, 268 Abaújszántó, 75, 237 Abraham, 106, 130, 242, 340 acculturation, 8, 13, 23, 52, 59–60, 76, 97, 114, 121, 123, 133, 135, 141, 192, 207–8, 211, 277–78, 286, 296, 356, 360–61 Acsády, Ignác, 80 Adamovics, József, 232 Adler from Komáron, 118 Africa, 252 Ágoston, Péter, 177n41 Agudat Israel, 65, 157, 184, 193–94, 198–99, 309, 336 Ahasuerus, 283, 312 Ahasver, 110–11 Alexander, Bernát, 100, 250–51 Alkotmány, 110 Allgemeine Jüdische Zeitung, 28, 101, 118, 171, 340–42 Alliance Israélite Universelle, 195, 259 Alterman, Nathan, 214n15 America, 151, 270, 339 Arany, János, 104 Árpád, 102, 104, 108, 132, 135, 191, 241, 320 Arrow cross party, 267, 270, 279 Arugat Habosem, 188 Arukh Ha-Shalem, 230 Aschheim, Stephen, 41, 324 Ashkenazi, 25, 29, 175, 194, 222 Asia, 102, 191 assimilation, 8, 23, 25, 42, 46, 50, 70, 93n32, 130n13, 132, 148–49, 152, 155, 159–60, 190, 207–8, 221, 223, 230, 234, 237, 247, 280, 285, 346, 360 Assyria, 220 Aszád, Júda, 59 Auschwitz, 70, 212, 289, 312 Austria, 8, 20, 22–24, 50, 87–88, 92, 115, 119, 196, 222, 241, 245, 270–71, 281, 337, 339, 343, 350 Austro-Hungarian compromise, 21 Austro-Hungary, 24, 56, 79, 119

B 

Babylon, 129 Balassagyarmat, 112 Balfour declaration, 126, 154, 161 Balkans, 115 Baltazár, Dezső, 176–79, 313 Baltic States, 309 Bánffy, Dezső, 111–12 Bárdossy, László, 290 Basel, 146–47 Bethlen, István, 205, 264–66, 272–74 Belarus, 196 Bereg County, 108, 181 Bergson, Henri, 295n118 Beregszász, 94, 167 Bérenger, Henri, 270 Berger, Peter, 15 Berlin, 145, 151, 199, 220–21, 237, 271, 335, 343 Bible, 75, 93, 177, 208, 220, 242, 300–301 Bickel, Shlomo, 74 Binyamin, Samuel, 193 Bismarck, 335 Blau, Amram, Rabbi, 166–67 Blum, Yehuda Zvi, Rabbi, 90–91, 311–12 Bnei Brak, 71 Bohemia, 8, 25, 135–36, 182, 252, 275, 338, 345 Bolshevism, 302, 324, 328, 353 Bonyhád, 89, 115, 131 Borot, Yaakov, 109n63, 197 Bosnia-Herzegovina, 115 Boxer rebellion, 338 Braham, Randolph, 291 Brandenburg, 338 Brashov, 80, 299 Breuer, Mordechai, 26n51, 114–15, 127, 136, 159, 172, 323 Brody, Sándor, 323 Buda, 137, 241 Budai, László, 97 Budapesti Hirlap, 251, 318 Bukovina, 118, 182

388

Patr iots w ithout a Homeland

Bunim, Simcha, 153 Burgenland, 22n34, 49, 304 Burger, Adela, 204

C 

Calvinism, 177 Calvinists, 98, 126, 163, 181, 231, 244n47 Canaan, 114, 288, 340 Carpathian Mountains, 79, 118, 135, 201, 320 Catholicism, 98, 103, 163, 168, 170, 173–74, 179–81, 300, 326, 328 Catholics, 98, 101, 126, 161, 163, 168, 171–72, 174–76, 180–81, 185, 231, 299, 326, 328–29 Centralverein, 304, 335 Chanina, Rabbi, 83 China, 252, 338–39 Christianity, 10–11, 34, 106, 111, 125, 163–64, 167, 170–71, 173, 176, 181, 227, 238, 242, 244, 267, 275, 280, 283, 285, 301, 311, 327–28, 354 Chullin, 170 Cicero, 241 Cluj. See Klausenburg Cohen of Ansbach, Pinchas, Rabbi, 114 Cohen, Arnold, 118 Cohen, Stuart, 2 Cohen, Yitzhak Yosef, 131 Cohen, Yosef, 241n43 Communism, 324 Communists, 188, 324 Coudenhove, Henrik, 347 Croatia, 8n3, 22n34 Csernoch, János, 171, 341 Csilléry, 279 Cuzi, 353 Czechoslovakia, 20, 135, 186–87, 199, 201, 309, 345 Czernowitz, 118

D 

Damascus, 233 Danube, 7, 76, 133 Danzig, 193 Darányi, Kálmán, 205–6, 275–76, 279 Dardanelles, 118 Deák, 279 Debrecen, 263, 268, 293 Délvidék, 287 Dési, Géza, 188 Deutsch, Eliezer, Rabbi, 89–90, 110, 131, 167 Dreyfus, 233, 345 Drumont, Édouard, 350 Dualist period, 21, 23, 29, 31–32, 102, 109, 111, 114, 140, 181, 226, 245

Dubnov, Shimon, 12–13 Duschinsky, Michael, Rabbi, 200, 205–7, 314–15 Dushinsky, Isaac Michael, Rabbi, 108

E 

Eastern Orthodoxy, 10, 14, 29, 74, 76, 84, 96, 122, 176, 190–91, 342 Edelstein, Yehuda, 191–92 Edict of tolerance, 45, 48, 70, 103 Egan, Ede, 320–21 Egyenlőség, 61, 99, 103, 116, 134, 141–42, 233, 245, 249 Egypt, 56, 130, 209 Ehrenreich, Chaim Yehuda, Rabbi, 19 Ehrenthiel, Moritz, 101–2, 315 Eichmann, Adolf, 5, 212 Eisenstadt, Meir, Rabbi, 15, 50, 65, 70, 89 Eleázár, Rabbi, 120 England, 144, 147, 274, 348 Eötvös, József, 46, 99, 111, 226, 300 Ernszt, Sándor, 248, 261 Eszlár, 234–35 Evian Conference, 196, 284, 337

F 

Fajvédő Párt, 33 Farbstein, Esther, 260n20 Farkas, Albert, 66 Fascism, 179–81, 264, 275 Feiner, Shmuel, 2, 340 Fenyves, Katalin, 131 Ferdinand, Franz, prince, 92, 115–16 Fermor, Patrick Leigh, 75 Ferziger, Adam, 2, 108 First World War, 11–12, 23, 26n51, 30–32, 35, 45, 73, 95–96, 107n59, 114–15, 121, 123, 125–26, 141, 151, 156, 159, 163, 173, 176n37, 183, 187, 185, 196–99, 204–5, 210–11, 219, 232, 244, 248, 256–57, 274, 279, 297, 323–24, 326, 328, 335, 344, 348, 350, 352 First Zionist Congress, 140, 142, 144, 148 Fischer, Ephraim Fülöp, Rabbi, 161–62, 177 Fleischmann, Sándor, 116 France, 25, 41, 50, 89, 98, 144, 147, 183, 186, 195–96, 207, 246, 250, 253, 259, 284, 301, 332, 335, 337, 339 Franco-Prussian War, 114 Frankfurt, 13, 51, 53–54, 145, 159 Frankl, Adolf, 116, 184, 268–69, 326 Franz Joseph I, Emperor, 21, 47n5, 83, 85, 87, 92, 123, 182, 345, 352 Freedom Struggle, 21 Freudiger, David von, Rabbi, 118

Index

Freudiger, Pinchas Fülöp, 190 Friedlander, Yehuda, 160 Friedman, 307, 318–19 Frojimovics, Kinga, 14n16, 132

Horthy, Miklós, 33, 193, 204, 264, 269, 288, 290–91 humanism, 242, 262, 295, 308, 318, 326, 338–40, 358

G 

I 

Galicia, 8, 25, 49, 72, 74, 109, 117, 150, 159, 172–73, 182, 197, 230–31, 237, 287, 309, 317–19, 321–22, 324, 328, 353 Gárdos, Mor, 96 Gasparri, Pietro, Cardinal, 174 Geneva, 186 Genghis Khan, 335 Glasner, Moses Samuel, Rabbi, 102, 126, 160–61, 185 Gömbös, Gyula, 188, 205, 265–67, 270, 325 Great Britain, 262, 288 Grossman, Frigyes, 116 Groszberg, Jenő, 12n11, 207, 282–83, 325 Groszberg, Lipót (Arye Lev), 12n11 Grünwald, Moshe, 188 Guardians of the religion, 62, 68 Győr, 72, 275, 354 Gyurgyák, János, 47n4

H 

Habsburg Empire, 7, 20–22, 31, 42, 45, 54, 77, 98, 103, 163, 182–83, 186, 226 Habsburgs, 21, 69, 115 Hacohen, Shalom, 233 Hagyomány, 73, 125, 127, 158, 161, 193–94, 301, 325 Halakhah, 9, 19, 53, 83, 93, 166, 178 Haller, István, 263 Hameiri, Avigdor, 121 Hanebrink, Paul, 164 Hartstein, Lajos, 127, 152, 154, 259–61 Hatvany, Báro, 155 Haynau, Julius Jacob von, 46–47, 241 Helfy, Ignác, 343 Herskovits, Fábián, 5 Herzl, Theodor, 140, 142, 144–45, 147, 149, 159, 225, 309, 335 Hevesi, Simon, 73 Hildesheimer, Azriél, 59 Hilsner, Leopold, 345 Hirsch, Samson Raphael, Rabbi, 13, 26–27, 51, 53–55, 62, 74, 94, 106, 127, 136, 309 Hitler, Adolf, 154, 176, 198, 212, 266, 271, 290–91, 309, 335–36 Holocaust, 2, 5, 15, 28, 35, 43, 81, 121, 143, 159, 168, 204, 210, 219, 224, 255, 280, 287, 290, 310, 354–55 Horowitz, Marcus, Rabbi, 145

immigration, 25–26, 154, 161, 230, 309, 317–21, 324–25 Imrédy, Béla, 275, 279 Israel, 40, 49–51, 56, 58–59, 67, 74, 83, 89, 94–95, 114, 117, 122, 128–130, 133, 143, 146, 150–55, 157–58, 161–62, 170, 172, 184, 191–94, 198–99, 209, 220–21, 236, 246, 288–90, 292, 305, 309, 316, 328, 335–37 Istóczy, Győző, 145, 164, 227–30, 232, 235, 238, 311–12, 341, 343 István Széchenyi, 46, 205, 263–65, 272, 344 Italy, 88–89, 119, 147, 179, 263, 270–71, 333

J 

Jabotinsky, Ze'ev, 199 Jaffa, 150–51 Jerusalem, 56, 107–8, 129, 146, 150–51, 161, 178 Jewish denomination, 125–28, 140, 261 Jewish Law, 42, 97, 200, 202–3, 278–79, 282–85, 298, 315 Joint Foreign Committee of British Jews, 194, 259 Jókai, 279 Joseph II, 21, 45, 74, 85, 87, 92, 103, 115, 123, 182, 232, 300, 325, 345, 352 Jüdisch-Deutsch, 61, 72, 118, 150, 235, 340–41, 344 Jusztinián Serédi, 175

K 

Kabars, 133 Kállay, Miklós, 209, 212, 290–93 Kamenets-Podolsk, 287 Kaminka, Aharon, 149 Kann, Robert, 78n1 Karady, Viktor, 2, 28, 87n18, 132, 140, 255, 267n39, 275 Károlyi, Gyula, 266n36 Károlyi, István, 344 Karsai, László, 291 Kashrut, 18, 117–18 Kattowitz, 193 Katz, Jacob, 13–14, 17, 22–23, 26, 28, 40–41, 56, 66, 68n58, 72, 91, 95–96, 121–22, 137n45, 159, 165, 194, 198, 225n3, 235, 237, 304

389

390

Patr iots w ithout a Homeland

Katzburg, Nathaniel, 34, 117, 133, 255, 277, 280, 286n91, 318n58 Khazars, 133–34, 180 Klacsmann, Borbála, 138n1 Klausenburg (Cluj, Kolozsvár), 102, 126, 160, 185, 199, 293 Klessheim, 290 Kluger, Shlomo, 49 Knox, Geoffrey, 272 Kobersdorf (Kabold), 49, 67 Kohn, Sámuel, 79–80, 105n54, 133–34, 140, 244n46, 303–4, 342 Kohn-Frankl, Sámuel (Samu), 202 Kohut, Sándor, 230 Kolozsvár. See Klausenburg Komoróczy, Géza, 8n3, 23n42, 87n18, 140, 323 Konitz, 252 Korein, Géza, 176–79, 189, 198, 204, 207–210, 270, 272, 277–79, 284, 286, 292–93, 298, 302–3, 313, 326–27, 336, 348–49, 354 Kossuth, Lajos, 21, 23, 46, 88–89, 226, 270, 279, 343 Kovács, Pál, 259n11 Krakow, 83, 237, 309, 328 Kramer, Braham, 291 Kraus, Moshe Aron, 130–31, 168 Kraus, Naftali, 130 Kristallnacht, 207, 281 Kun, Béla, 30, 184, 258, 264, 274

L 

Lateran Treaty, 174, 179–80, 329 Lazaroms, Ilse Josepha, 264n32 Le Pic, 350 League of Nations, 157, 186, 194–95, 259, 261–62, 265 Lehman, Herbert, 266 Lesser, Aleksander, 90n25 Levin, Vladimir, 197 Lichtenstein, Hillel, 55–58, 68, 312 Lieberman, Nathan, 234–35, 239 Lipschitz, Lipót Aryeh Lev, 87, 141, 235, 237 linguistic assimilation, 13, 72–73 Lithuania, 25, 196 Lloyd, Pester, 188–89, 238, 313 Löw, Eleázár, Rabbi, 120 Löw, Jeremiás, Rabbi, 60n44, 65, 69, 120 Löw, Leopold (Yehuda Leib, Lipót), Rabbi, 12n12 Lueger, Karl, 254, 333, 338, 349, 352 Lvov, 237

M 

Macartney, Carlile, 103 Mád, 168, 307 Madaras, 88 Magna Carta, 348 Magyar Állam, 168 Magyar Zsidó (The Jewish Magyar), 63n49 Magyargencs, 165 Manekin, Rachel, 328 Máramarossziget (Máramaros, Siget), 72, 74n79, 76, 191–93 Masaryk, Tomáš, 345 Mattersdorf, 341 Méhely, Lajos, 189, 313–14 Mehr, Miksa, 104–5, 134 Meizlish, Dov, 90n25 Mendelsohn, Ezra, 33, 267, 309 Meyer, Michael, 16n21 Mezei, Ernő, 142, 296 Mikszáth, Kálmán, 152n48, 230 Millennium, 77, 87n18, 102–3, 105, 108, 110–11, 134, 142n14, 169, 200 Miller, Asher, 84–85 Miller, Nathan, 221–22 Miron, Guy, 2, 136 Miskolc, 118, 152, 156 Mizrachi, 118, 149–50, 153, 162, 194, 199 Mommsen, Theodor, 357n3 Montgomery, John, 272 Moravia, 8, 25, 182 Morocco, 252 Moscow, 120 Munich, 144–45, 271 Munkács, 20, 27, 53–54, 68, 94, 108–9, 112, 156, 190, 192, 204, 289, 293, 320–21, 327 Mussolini, Benito, 174

N 

Nadler, Alan Aharon, 156–57 Nádossy, Imre, 350–51 Nagybánya, 168 Nagymihály (Michalovce), 57 Nagysurány, 237 Nagyvárad, 46, 187, 353 Nándor, 299–300 Napoleon, 160 National Minorities, 54, 78, 79n4, 80–81, 126, 258n9 Nationalism, 22, 39, 54, 57, 98, 124–25, 135, 140, 151, 179, 257, 310 Nazis, 196, 210, 214, 266, 274, 281, 309 Nazism, 264, 272, 275, 326–29

Index

Neolog stream, 9n5, 13, 28, 40, 121, 161, 196, 198, 235, 238, 246–48, 287, 302, 310, 322, 340, 351, 357, 359, 360, 362–63 Néppart, 101 Netherlands, 25, 147 Neturei Karta, 56 Nitra, 237 Novák, Attila, 107n59, 193 Numerus Clausus, 33, 34n75, 35, 127, 152, 194–95, 257–66, 268, 297–98, 317 Nuremberg, 34, 270, 275, 285, 314–15 Nyíregyháza, 238, 312 Nyitra, 112

O 

Oberland, 8–10, 27, 29, 31, 59, 61, 72 Óbuda, 62n48 Ónody, Géza, 232, 235, 238 Oral law, 63, 65 Orthodox stream, 1, 9, 10n9, 13, 27–28, 31, 43, 52, 57, 62, 70–71, 76, 81, 93, 113, 115, 123, 127, 145, 178, 190, 201, 211, 245, 247–48, 258, 266, 319, 324, 330, 342, 354, 357, 362 Orthodox-Zionists, 153 Ostjuden, 323 Osváth, Ernö, 143–44 Ottomans, 7, 20

P 

Paál, Sándor, 188 Padua, 263 Palágyi, Lajos, 80–82 Palestine, 56, 68, 108, 121, 139–40, 145, 147, 149–55, 158, 161, 228, 270, 280, 336–37 Pannonia, 7 Pápa, 95, 130, 159 Pappenheim, Wolf, 65 particularistic Jewish tradition, 15–16, 56, 97, 300, 358, 361 Pécs, 289 Peking, 339 People’s Party (Néppart), 101, 110, 164, 181, 243–45, 247, 252, 299–300, 341–42, 344–45 Persia, 252 Petőfi, Sándor, 104, 279 Pius XI, pope, 174, 327 Plaut, Hezekiel Feivel, 234–35, 237, 239 Poland, 25, 119–20, 146, 195–96, 201, 211, 309, 319, 325, 334, 336 Pollácsek, Sándor, 88, 100–101, 307–8 Polná, 252, 338, 345

Prager, Jacob, 50, 313 Prague, 241 Pressburg (Pozsony, Bratislava), 27, 65, 83, 100, 149, 153–54, 194, 199, 237, 344 Princip, Gavrilo, 115 Prohászka, Ottokár, 213 Protestantism, 103 Prussia, 343

R 

Rabbinical decision of Michalowitz, 57, 60–62, 69, 71, 74, 76 rabbinical seminar, 47n5, 113, 288 Rákóczi, Ferenc, 21, 279, 320 Rákospalota, 108, 200, 314 Race Defenders Party, 353 Ravasz, László, 180, 267 reception, 99–103, 107–8, 139, 168, 171, 188, 249, 285, 315 reformers, 12, 52, 55, 58, 60, 70, 127, 131, 174, 181 Reinberger, Yeshaya, 192 Reiner, Imre, 282 Révész, Dezső, 112–13 Rhine, 114, 352 Ribáry, Géza, 288 Robinson, Ira, 2 Rohling, August, 242n44 Rokach, Mordechai, 214n13 Romania, 25, 147, 196, 199, 238, 309, 322, 335, 337n18, 353 Romanians, 21, 22n35, 78–79, 335 Roosevelt, Theodor, 196, 337 Rosman, Moshe, 2 Roth, Moshe Arye, Rabbi, 130, 159–60, 190 Rothermere, Harold, 186–87 Rozenblit, Marsha, 40n1, 115n78, 310 Rubin, Arthur, 151 Russia, 119, 146–47, 197, 238, 281, 285, 297, 301, 304–5, 318, 322, 326–27, 339 Ruthenia, 20, 32, 74–76, 80–81, 199, 201–3, 319 Ruthenians, 22, 78–79, 320

S 

Ság. Abraham, 49, 67–68 Sarajevo, 92, 115, 117 Satmar, 71, 75, 158 Sátoraljaújhely (Újhely), 61, 65, 96–97, 120 Scheiber, Sándor, 288–89 Schlesinger, Akiva Yosef, 55–59, 68, 74, 130 Schopenhauer, Arthur, 294 Schreiber, Bernát, 100, 118

391

392

Patr iots w ithout a Homeland

Schück, Maharam, 59 Schück, Moshe, Rabbi, 131 Schück, Shlomo (Salamon) Zvi, Rabbi, 84, 88–89, 106–8, 169–70, 173, 240–43, 301 Schwartz, Abraham Yehuda, 167 Schwartz, Joseph Hakohen, Rabbi, 115 Schweitzer, Gábor, 140 Second World War, 33, 183, 190, 193, 200, 204, 213, 256, 264, 287, 338, 355 Seiger, Avraham, 117 Serbia, 22n34, 50, 115, 287 Seton-Watson, Robert, 42 Shapira, Chaim Elazar, Rabbi, 94, 156, 158, 289 Silberstein, Jesaja, 117–18 Silver, Michael, 2, 55 Sofer, Simcha Bunem, 100, 153 Simonyi, Iván, 145 Sinai, 88–89, 106 Singer, Abraham, 235, 237 Singer, Márton, 246–47, 343 Slovakia, 2, 22n34, 32, 79, 90, 186, 198–203, 237, 289 Slovaks, 21, 22n35, 78–79 Slovenia, 22n34 Socialist ideas, 35, 197, 244, 272, 351 Sofer, Chaim, 13, 19, 27, 53, 60n44, 68, 72, 74, 93–94, 228–29, 234, 239, 304–7 Sofer, Chatam, 12, 27, 47–50, 52, 59, 65, 69–70, 83–84, 87, 100, 126, 130, 167, 237, 360 Sofer, Ktav (Avraham Shmuel Binyamin), 27, 59, 65–66, 69, 83–84, 101, 166 Sofer, Shimon, 83, 237, 309, 328 Sokolow, Nahum, 199 Soloveitchik, Chaim, Rabbi, 154 Solymosi, Eszter, 231, 235 Sopron, 344 Spain, 133, 187, 281, 327 Spiegel, Cantor, 215 Spinoza, Baruch, 357n3 Spitzer, Zalman, Rabbi, 101–2 Spring of Nations, 21, 85, 137 Status Quo stream, 9, 28n58, 88n22, 97, 201 Stephen I, king, 85, 106–7, 169–70, 202, 268, 293 Steif, Yonasan, 35n76, 215 Stein, Arthur, 325 Stern, Samu, 198, 279, 310 Stessel, Szász, 75 Strack, Hermann, 238–39 Swabian-German minority, 78, 227, 265, 270, 288 Szabolcs, 231, 318, 351

Szabolcsi, Izidor, 118 Szabolcsi, Lajos, 34n74 Szabolcsi, Miksa, 142, 233, 247–48, 296, 309 Szálasi, Ferenc, 267, 270, 279 Széchenyi, István, 46, 279 Szécsény, 221, 341 Székely, Ferenc, 185 Szekfű, Gyula, 31n66, 347n45 Sziget, 74–75, 166 Szitovsky, Béla, 132

T 

Talmud, 83, 93, 96, 166, 170, 178, 230, 232, 240, 301, 352 Tapolcza, 235 Tatars, 135 Teichtal, Shlomo, 289–91 Teitelbaum, Joel, 158, 166 Teitelbaum, Moshe, 166n7 Teitelbaum, Yehuda Yekutiel, 166 Tel-Talpiot, 19, 117 Teleki, Pál, 287–88 Tisza, Kálmán, 76, 231–32, 331 Tiszaeszlár blood libel, 29, 34, 50n13, 172, 181, 231, 233, 239–40, 246, 301, 308, 318, 331–34, 342–43, 351 Tiszafüred, 158 Torah, 3, 48, 50–52, 55–56, 58, 63, 67–68, 83–84, 88, 90, 93, 96, 100, 106–7, 117–19, 131, 143, 148, 152, 166, 174–75, 178, 190–91, 198, 204, 222, 239, 248, 271, 289, 302, 304–5, 313–14, 337, 340 Tóth, Béla, 322 Toury, Jacob, 127 Transylvania, 20, 22n34, 32, 75, 79–81, 187, 199, 201, 204, 230, 289, 299, 353 Treaty of Trianon, 10n9, 19–20, 30–32, 34, 43, 73, 75–76, 82, 97, 137, 163, 183, 185–87, 190, 192, 194–95, 200–201, 204, 211, 256, 259, 261–62, 265–66, 274, 325, 330, 353–54 Treaty of Versailles, 200 Trefort, Ágoston, 47n5 Triesch, Davis, 151 Turin, 88, 343 Turkey, 301 Turks, 241

U 

Ugocsa, 72 Ukraine, 25, 287 universalism, 295, 358 Unterland, 8–9, 27–29, 32, 57, 74 Ussishkin, Menachem, 11–12, 151–52

Index

V 

Vác, 117, 153 Vago, Raphael, 286 Várpalota, 237 Vatican, 99, 118, 174–75, 179 Vayalket Yosef, 115, 119 Vázsonyi, Vilmos, 185, 233, 245 Veigelsberg, Hugo (Ignotus), 225n1 Velozeta, 118 Venetianer, Lajos, 126, 134 Vergani, Ernst, 349 Vértes, Jakab, 146–47 Veszprém, 237 Viador, Csáky, 28, 61–62, 82, 94–95, 99–101, 108–9, 111, 247–48, 320–23, 344 Vieder, Shalom, 312 Vienna, 18, 20–21, 32, 45, 64–65, 73, 101, 142, 182, 200–204, 212, 228, 253–54, 289, 305, 309, 318n58, 333, 338, 344, 349, 352 Vienna Awards, 10n9, 20, 32, 73, 188, 201–2 Vilna, 146, 154 Vittorio Emanuele III, king, 174 Volkov, Shulamit, 14 Voltaire, 250 Vörös, Kati, 227n9 Vörösmarty, Mihály, 251

W 

Warsaw, 241, 299, 335 Weber, Max, 17, 159 Weingarten, Samuel Hakohen, 192

Weinkler, Mordechai Leib, Rabbi, 168 Weisberger, David, 2 Weiss, Ignác, 80 Weisz, Dániel, 28n54 Weisz, Jekutiel, 158, 299 Western Orthodoxy, 10, 29, 62, 65, 69, 7173, 76–77, 93, 100, 114, 122–23, 127, 137n45, 143, 153, 156, 190, 237, 239, 264, 298, 322, 329, 342, 347, 356–57, 359, 361–63 Welz, Moshe, Rabbi, 289 Wilson, Woodrow, 184 Wlassics, Gyula, 341 Wolf, Károl, 65, 325–26

X 

Xanten, 343

Y 

Yakobovitsh, Ben-Zion, 71–72 Yiddish, 27, 58–59, 61, 72–73, 75–76, 123, 160, 211, 247, 322–23 Yugoslavia, 201, 269, 287–88

Z 

Zemplén, 96 Zichy, Nándor, 299 Zsidó Hiradó ( Jewish News), 28n54, 80n8 Zsidó Ujság ( Jewish Newspaper), 12n11, 207n73 Zunz, Leopold, 23n42 Zurich, 184

393