To the Editor:

I found Jonathan D. Sarna’s article [“Anti-Semitism and American History,” March] for the most part informed, balanced, and perceptive, but I would like to take exception to several of his points concerning the nature and extent of American anti-Semitism generally, and to certain criticisms he makes of my book specifically.

First, one minor point. I am aware of the ambivalent attitudes held by Ignatius Donnelly concerning Jews. In fact, I say the following in a footnote that Mr. Sarna may have missed: “In fairness to Donnelly, it should be noted that he expressed some sympathy for Jews in Atlantis (1882) and The Golden Bottle (1892), as well as ambivalence in other editorials of the Saint Paul Representative.”

More broadly, I would like to challenge Mr. Sarna’s interpretation on two grounds. I believe that anti-Semitism has been far more important and pervasive in our national history than previous scholars and Mr. Sarna are willing to admit, and that the persistence of anti-Semitism over time and within different social and economic contexts throws some doubt on his optimistic interpretation and on the socioeconomic explanation for American anti-Semitism. Instead, I believe it is important to draw attention to the role of stereotypes in perpetuating negative attitudes toward Jews.

What Mr. Sarna considers an overemphasis, I do in fact consider an understatement. On this point of subjective historical analysis, two reasonable scholars can disagree. I would, however, remind him of the important work of the eminent historian of German anti-Semitism, George Mosse, who has urged scholars to investigate popular culture. It is Mosse’s contention that “only in this way will we be able to understand fully the continued influence of anti-Semitism which . . . seems to predate and outlast its immediate political or social relevance.” Similarly, the late Jean-Paul Sartre, in a classic essay, focused on “the idea of the Jew” as the generating force in anti-Semitism. I believe these are profound insights that should be taken to heart.

Whereas previous interpretations of late 19th- and early 20th-century American anti-Semitism have correlated its ebb and flow with changing economic and social conditions, I argue in my book, The Tarnished Dream, that anti-Semitism was a consistent and widespread element of American life, pervasive in the culture on all levels, brought to the surface, possibly, by economic and social changes. Because anti-Semitism resulted from the images many Gentiles had of Jews, it could be strengthened but not dislodged by environmental changes. The social and economic environment merely provided the context within which anti-Semitism flourished.

The point is not that the racist rhetoric of people like Telemachus Timayenis was typical. Certainly he was an irrational extremist whose opinions were not taken seriously by thinking, feeling people. It is no surprise, then, that his views elicited “almost universal indignation.” I would hope so, since they were equal to the worst of what Julius Streicher was to write in Der Stürmer. Rather it is that there were more subtle forms of ideological anti-Semitism that were pervasive in the culture. Perhaps the most unsettling aspect of this negative imagery is the acute depersonalization of the American Jew which the stereotypical projection helped achieve. Jews became figures merely, reified into objects, stripped of their uniqueness to fit the stereotyped roles expected of them. This phenomenon corresponds to the situation in Germany during the Third Reich, where Nazism was able to incite hatred of the Jews by evoking a certain stereotypical image in the popular mind, devoid of real or human characteristics. Quite obviously, anti-Semitism in America during the late 19th and 20th centuries never evolved into the terrible ending engendered by its German counterpart. At least in one respect, however, on the question of image, we did not have that far to go.

So what does all this mean? It is true that many immigrant groups underwent attack during this period. Here it must be said that Jews met neither as much hostility nor as much acceptance as certain other minorities. Rapid social and economic advancement, although exposing Jews to more social discrimination, also left them in a better position to deal with it. Once they emerged from the ghettos into the suburbs in the second generation, their newly-attained economic positions, educational levels, and their emerging defense organizations served as cushions, deflating raw prejudice. In fact, their remarkable success in America, a source of mixed admiration and envy, weakened the potential impact of anti-Semitism. Jews did not fall victim to as much violence as did the Italians or Chinese; they were not subject to as much discrimination as were the blacks; and there was no organized anti-Semitic movement comparable to the anti-Catholic American Protective Association. The relative mildness of American, as compared to European, anti-Semitism must be attributed not only to the more tolerant traditions of the United States . . . but also to the presence within the country of a great variety of ethnic and racial targets. Still, a good deal of distinctly anti-Semitic sentiment also emerged.

The fact is that anti-Semitism erupted even in those sectors of American society that were reformist and libertarian. The democratic impulse was not and may not always be resolute enough to overcome the psychological and social momentum of anti-Semitic stereotyping. It is true that America never visited mass physical oppression upon its Jews. But there are more subtle types of oppression—the economic, the social, and the cultural—that are also damaging and painful. Furthermore, the experiences of the 1930’s, as well as public-opinion polls, have shown how stereotyping reinforced insensitivity and misunderstanding and contributed to governmental inertia in the face of an unprecedented human tragedy. During the critical decade of the 1930’s which witnessed the rise of Nazism in Europe, there was a high degree of acceptance and approval of anti-Semitism in America. In addition, although many Americans sympathized with the plight of the refugees, they remained unalterably opposed to admitting them. Not even Jewish children were exempt from the public opposition to raising immigration quotas. There seems to be a correlation between this insensitivity and the public’s perception of Jews. . . .

The result is that when you add up all the individual cases of American anti-Semitism they may not seem very significant, but when looked at in a different way—the callous lack of concern for Nazi refugees and a refusal to admit them leading to certain death for countless thousands—the outcome is painfully disturbing. So although America may have been different, it was not different enough.

Michael Dobkowski
Hobart and William Smith Colleges
Geneva, New York

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To the Editor:

Jonathan D. Sarna’s article on the anti-Semitic tradition in American history and historiography deserves commendation on several counts: the author’s familiarity with the literature in the field and his ability to place that literature in well-balanced perspective. Most important, however, is Mr. Sarna’s perspective on the phenomenon of anti-Semitism in the American tradition itself—his ability to discern that the American past has been neither drenched in anti-Semitic incidents and movements nor blissfully free of them. Here is a new and important voice in American Jewish historiography, and a judicious one.

Julius Weinberg
Cleveland State University
Cleveland, Ohio

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To the Editor:

If one may indulge in a critique of the critic, it could be said that Jonathan D. Sarna’s on-the-one-hand-and-then-on-the-other article in which he discusses works concerned with anti-Semitism in American history is exhausting, if not exhaustive. One comes away not knowing quite whether he believes that historians have been too cheery about the nature of anti-Semitism in America or too paranoid. Yet despite his disapprovals, he cannot avoid a measure of agreement with those on all sides of the argument. Of one thing he seems certain—that not enough of the minutiae of the Jewish experience have yet been unearthed and that these may be of greater significance in interpreting history than the large events already on record. So be it. Systematic research of this nature is all to the good and its value either will or will not prove itself in time.

Such research is not likely, however, to add much to a narrative for the general reader seeking a clear notion—in terms of anti-Semitism—of where we have been, where we are, or where we can expect to be in America. If I have left him a little sad by my schematic treatment of the subject in my book, A Promise To Keep, he in turn has left me a little amused by the bibliographic approach of his criticism, seeking to determine what books I failed to read, which authorities I failed to consult, and how much “scholarship” I overlooked. In doing so he exhibits more chutzpah than clairvoyance and makes me wonder whether he read the book or only the bibliography appended to it for the reader’s convenience.

Of course, he also finds that I have “generally eschewed” interpretation and fallen back on the villain theory of history. Perhaps. But perhaps in my journalistic approach I have largely let facts, marshaled for that purpose, do the interpreting for the general but intelligent reader. And is there any question that the woods of anti-Semitism have been full of villains in the most precise sense of that word? Mr. Sarna worries about “the risk of oversimplification”; he might with more pertinence address himself to the risk of obfuscation.

Nathan C. Belth
New York City

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Jonathan D. Sarna writes:

I am grateful to Michael Dobkowski for his courteous and well-argued letter. Rereading my article, I found that our interpretations are far more similar than different. We both agree that American anti-Semitism has a long history; we both agree that American anti-Semitism differs from that found in Europe; we both agree that stereotypes—what I call the “mythological Jew”—play an important role in shaping anti-Semitic attitudes. I make the point, however, that the “mythological Jew” often was balanced by the figure of the “Jew next door” who seemingly gave the lie to every element of the traditional stereotype. Where Mr. Dobkowski mainly examines “received wisdom” about the Jew, I am more interested in the dynamic relationship between “received wisdom” and “perceived wisdom,” and how people coped with the frequent dissonance between the two.

Mr. Dobkowski rehearses several comparisons between America and Nazi Germany. These are evocative but analytically unhelpful. Nor is it accurate to reduce the complexities of American refugee policy in the 1930’s to a single simple cause: pervasive anti-Semitic imagery. In our conclusions, however, Mr. Dobkowski and I again agree. I say that America “has not been utter heaven for Jews [but] has been as far from hell as Jews in the Diaspora have ever known.” He says that America “was not different enough.” His glass stands half-empty; mine remains half-full.

Julius Weinberg’s warm words are welcome, the more so because they spare me the wearisome task of reminding Nathan C. Belth what I made perfectly clear in my article. Sorry, Mr. Belth, but mono-causal analysis is not my stock in trade. As for chutzpah, it strikes me as the height of chutzpah for an author of a survey text (especially one which claims “to sharpen, to restate the facts of American history, and to put the justifiable fears of anti-Semitism in perspective”) to ignore enormously important works of relevant scholarship, and then to defend his action with words like “clairvoyance” and “reader’s convenience.” Obfuscation indeed!