Studies in Contemporary Jewry: Volume III: Jews and Other Ethnic Groups in a Multi-ethnic World (VOL. III) [1 ed.] 0195048962, 9780195048964

Table of contents :
Contents
Symposium: Jews and Other Ethnic Groups in a Multi-ethnic World
Ethnic Political Mobilization and U.S. Foreign Policy: Current Trends and Conflicting Assessments
Segmented Ethnicity and the New Jewish Politics
Education and National Conflict in Bohemia: Germans, Czechs and Jews
The Extra-Territorial National Minorities in the Soviet Union, 1917–39: Jews, Germans and Poles
From Caste to Exclusion: The Dynamics of Modernization in the Russian Pale of Settlement
Recent Trends in the Literature on Ethnopolitics
Essays
Jews in the Austro-Hungarian Armed Forces, 1867–1918
Post-Holocaust Hungarian Jewry, 1945–48: Class Structure, Re-stratification and Potential for Social Mobility
The American Jew as Journalist
Reports from British Diplomats in Russia on the Participation of the Jews in Revolutionary Activity in Northwest Russia and the Kingdom of Poland, 1905–6
Paths to Jewish Social History
Review Essays
Bystanders to the Holocaust
Portraits of the Jew in Film: Some Recent Studies
Vienna in Jewish History
Books in Review / Reviewers
Norbert Abels, "Sicherheit ist nirgends": Judentum und Aufklärung bei Arthur Schnitzler
Michel Abitbol, Les Juifs d'Afrique du Nord sous Vichy
Robert H. Abzug, Inside the Vicious Heart: Americans and the Liberation of the Nazi Concentration Camps
L' Activité des organisations juives en France sous l'occupation
Hellmut Andics, Luegerzeit: Das Schwartze Wien bis 1918
Rainer C. Baum, The Holocaust and the German Elite
Doris Bensimon and Sergio DellaPergola, Population juive de France: Socio-démographie et identité
Marion Berghahn, German Jewish Refugees in England
Eliezer Berkovits, Not in Heaven: The Nature and Function of Halakha
Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin: Foreign Secretary, 1945–1951
Les Camps en Provence: Exil, internement, déportation, 1933–1942
Naomi W. Cohen, Encounter with Emancipation: The German Jews in the United States, 1830–1914
Sarah Blacher Cohen, From Hester Street to Hollywood
Steven M. Cohen, American Modernity and Jewish Identity
Lewis A. Coser, Refugee Scholars in America: Their Impact and Their Experiences
Avigdor Dagan et al. (eds.), The Jews of Czechoslovakia: Historical Studies and Surveys
Lucjan Dobroszycki (ed.), The Chronicle of the Lodz Ghetto, 1941
John B. Dunlop, The Faces of Contemporary Russian Nationalism
Daniel J. Elazar with Peter Medding, Jewish Communities in Frontier Societies: Argentina, Australia, and South Africa
Daniel J. Elazar et al., Jewish Communities of Scandinavia: Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and Finland
Shlomo Erel, Neue Wurzeln: 60 Jahre Immigration deutschsprächiger Juden in Israel
Patricia Erens, The Jew in American Cinema
Lily Gardener Feldman, The Special Relationship Between West Germany and Israel
Saul Friedlaender, Reflections on Nazism: An Essay on Kitsch and Death
Richard S. Geehr (ed. and trans.), "I Decide Who is a Jew!" The Papers of Dr. Karl Lueger
Sarah Gordon, Hitler, Germans and the "Jewish Question"
Cynthia J. Haft, The Bargain and the Bridle: The General Union of the Israelites of France, 1941—1944
Marvin I. Herzog et al. (eds.), The Field of Yiddish: Studies in Language, Folklore, and Literature
Yosef Heller, Be-maavak la-medinah, 1936–1948
Gershon David Hundert and Gershon C. Bacon, The Jews in Poland and Russia: Bibliographical Essays
Annette Insdorf, Indelible Shadows: Film and the Holocaust
Benjamin J. Israel, The Bene Israel of India: Some Studies
J. Sydney Jones, Hitler in Vienna 1909–1913: Clues to the Future
Zoe Josephs (ed.), Birmingham Jewry, Volume 2: More Aspects, 1740–1930
Michael M. Laskier, The Alliance Israélite Universelle and the Jewish Communities of Morocco, 1862–1962
William R. Louis, The British Empire in the Middle East, 1945–1951: Arab Nationalism, the United States and Postwar Imperialism
William C. McCready (ed.), Culture, Ethnicity, and Identity: Current Issues in Research
Alan Mintz, Hurban: Responses to Catastrophe in Hebrew Literature
Kalman (Klemens) Nussbaum, Ve-hafakh lahem le-ro'ez: ha-yehudim ba-zava ha-'amami ha-polani bi-vrit ha-mo'azot
Michael E. Parrish, Felix Frankfurter and His Times: The Reform Years
Monty Noam Penkower, The Jews Were Expendable: Free World Diplomacy and the Holocaust
Benjamin Pinkus, The Soviet Government and the Jews, 1948–1967
Milton Plesur, Jewish Life in Twentieth-Century America: Challenge and Accomodation
Michael Pollack, Vienne 1900: Une identité blessée
Itamar Rabinovich and Jehuda Reinharz (eds.), Israel in the Middle East: Documents and Readings on Society, Politics and Foreign Relations, 1948–Present
Freddy Raphaël, Juddïsme et capitalisme: Essai sur la controverse entre Max Weber et Werner Sombart
David G. Roskies, Against the Apocalypse: Responses to Catastrophe in Modern Jewish Culture
Marsha L. Rozenblit, The Jews of Vienna, 1867–1914: Assimilation and Identity
U. O. Schmelz, The Aging of World Jewry
Eliezer Schweid, Mistikah ve-yahadut lefi Gershom Scholem
Naomi Shepherd, Wilfried Israel: German Jewry's Secret Ambassador
Edmund Silberner, Kommunisten zur Judenfrage: Zur Geschichte von Theorie und Praxis des Kommunismus
Clive Sinclair, The Brothers Singer
J. B. Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man
Steven L. Spiegel, The Other Arab-Israeli Conflict: Making America' s Middle East Policy from Truman to Reagan
Kennan Lee Teslik, Congress, the Executive Branch and Special Interests: The American Response to the Arab Boycott of Israel
Jacob Toury, Die jüdische Presse im Österreichischen Kaiserreich, 1802–1918
Avraham Tsivion, Diokano ha-yehudi shel Berl Katznelson
Klaus-Peter Walter, Studien zur russischsprächig-jüdischen Dramatik des 20. Jahrhunderts: Darstellung und Analyse
Chaim Waxman, America's Jews in Transition
Avraham Wein and Ahron Weiss (eds.), Pinkas ha-kehilot: Polin, Volume 3: Galizia ha-ma'aravit ve-shlezia
Robert S. Wistrich, Socialism and the Jews: The Dilemmas of Assimilation in Germany and Austria-Hungary
David S. Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews: America and the Holocaust
Natan Yanai, Mashberim politiim be-yisrael: tekufat Ben-Gurion
Harry Zohn (ed.), Karl Kraus, in These Great Times: A Karl Kraus Reader
Partial List of Recently Completed Doctoral Dissertations

Citation preview

STUDIES IN CONTEMPORARY JEWRY

The publication of Studies in Contemporary Jewry was made possible through the generous assistance of the Samuel and Althea Stroum Philanthropic Fund, Seattle, Washington.

INSTITUTE OF CONTEMPORARY JEWRY THE HEBREW UNIVERSITY OF JERUSALEM

STUDIES IN CONTEMPORARY JEWRY AN ANNUAL III Jews and Other Ethnic Groups in a Multi-ethnic World 9 87

Edited by Ezra Mendelsohn Published for the Institute by OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS New York • Oxford

To Philip M. Klutznick on the occasion of his eightieth birthday in recognition of his leadership and foresight as Founding Chairman and Guide of the International Planning Committee, Institute of Contemporary Jewry Oxford University Press Oxford New York Toronto Delhi Bombay Calcutta Madras Karachi Pelaling Jaya Singapore Hong Kong Tokyo Nairobi Dar es Salaam Cape Town Melbourne Auckland and associated companies in Beirut Berlin Ibadan Nicosia

Copyright © 1987 by Oxford University Press, Inc. Published by Oxford University Press, Inc., 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016 Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Oxford University Press. ISBN 0-19-504896-2 ISSN 0740-8625 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 84-649196

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

STUDIES IN CONTEMPORARY JEWRY

Editors: Jonathan Frankel, Peter Y. Medding, Ezra Mendelsohn Institute Editorial Board: Michel Abitbol, Mordecai Altshuler, Haim Avni, Yehuda Bauer, Moshe Davis, Sergio DellaPergola, Sidra Ezrahi, Moshe Goodman, Yisrael Gutman, Menahem Kaufman, Israel Kolatt, Abraham Margaliot, Dalia Ofer, U. O. Schmelz, Gideon Shimoni, Pnina Morag-Talmon, Geoffrey Wigoder Managing Editors: Hannah Koevary, Eli Lederhendler International Advisory and Review Board: Chimen Abramsky (University College, London); Abraham Ascher (City University of New York); Arnold Band (UCLA); Doris Bensimon (Universite de la Sorbonne); Bernard Blumenkrantz (Centre national de la recherche scientifique); Lucjan Dobroszycki (YIVO Institute for Jewish Research); Solomon Encel (University of New South Wales); Henry Feingold (City University of New York); Martin Gilbert (Oxford University); Zvi Gitelman (University of Michigan); S. Julius Gould (University of Nottingham); Ben Halpern (Brandeis University); Irving Howe (City University of New York); Paula Hyman (Yale University); Lionel Kochan (University of Warwick); Seymour Martin Lipset (Stanford University); Heinz-Dietrich Lowe (Albert-Ludwigs-Universitat, Freiburg); Arthur Mendel (University of Michigan); Michael Meyer (Hebrew Union College—Jewish Institute of Religion, Cincinnati); Alan Mintz (University of Maryland, College Park); George Mosse (University of Wisconsin); Gerard Nahon (Centre universitaire d'etudes juives, Paris); Gyorgy Ranki (Hungarian Academy of Sciences); F. Raphael (Universite des sciences humaines de Strasbourg); Jehuda Reinharz (Brandeis University); Monika Richarz (Germania Judaica, Kolner Bibliothek zur Geschichte des deutschen Judentums); Joseph Rothschild (Columbia University); Ismar Schorsch (Jewish Theological Seminary of America); Marshall Sklare (Brandeis University); Michael Walzer (Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton); Bernard Wasserstein (Brandeis University); Ruth Wisse (McGill University).

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Preface

Volume III ofStudiesinContemporaryJewry,in keeping with the previous two volumes, contains a symposium, articles on a variety of subjects, several review essays, a substantial number of book reviews, and a list of recently completed dissertations on modern Jewish subjects. The selection of the subject for the symposium, "Jews and Other Ethnic Groups in a Multi-ethnic World," was obviously influenced by the dramatic rise of academic interest in the phenomenon of ethnicity, itself a function of the unexpected refusal of numerous minority groups to melt away under the impact of modernity. One way of looking at modern Jewish history is to regard it as part and parcel of the "ethnic explosion" which has had such a momentous impact upon nineteenth- and twentieth-century history. If we do take this approach, it should be of value to compare Jewish behavior with that of other ethnic groups and to consider the interaction among Jews and other minorities. Indeed, the central assumption behind the choice of the symposium subject is that the comparative approach to modern Jewish studies is both intrinsically interesting and indispensible in our efforts to address ourselves to one of the great questions of modem Jewish studies: To what extent is modern Jewish history unique, and to what extent have the Jews acted in ways similar, if not identical, to those of other minorities? The essays in the symposium illustrate the various possibilities of the comparative approach. For example, Binyamin Pinkus examines Soviet policy toward the major extra-territorial minority groups in that multi-national state; Yossi Lapid considers the different ways in which ethnic groups in the United States seek to influence American foreign policy; and Peter Y. Medding analyzes the rise of what he calls "the new Jewish politics" in America within the context of the general rise of ethnicity as a powerful factor in American life. Other essays compare the behavior of Jews and other, neighboring groups in Habsburg Bohemia and in pre-revolutionary Russia. Clearly, all this does not add up to a comprehensive treatment of the subject, all the more so since large areas of the Jewish world such as the Middle East and Latin America are left out. If the symposium succeeds in raising important issues and in encouraging further research, it will have achieved its purpose. This volume of Studies in Contemporary Jewry is the first to be published by Oxford University Press. In this sense it represents something of a new beginning, but the purpose of the journal, like its format, remains the same: to disseminate information on modern Jewish studies and to stimulate research in this rapidly growing field. On behalf of the Institute of Contemporary Jewry and the editorial

viii

Preface

board of the journal, I would like to thank Oxford University Press for entering into what we expect will be a long and fruitful partnership. I also want to thank Ms. Hannah Koevary, who took over as managing editor in the temporary absence of Dr. Eli Lederhendler. This volume owes much to her excellent work.

E.M.

Contents

Symposium: Jews and Other Ethnic Groups in a Multi-ethnic World Yossi Lapid, Ethnic Political Mobilization and U.S. Foreign Policy: Current Trends and Conflicting Assessments Peter Y. Medding, Segmented Ethnicity and the New Jewish Politics Hillel J. Kieval, Education and National Conflict in Bohemia: Germans, Czechs and Jews Binyamin Pinkus, The Extra-Territorial National Minorities in the Soviet Union, 1917-39: Jews, Germans and Poles Yoav Peled and Gershon Shafir, From Caste to Exclusion: The Dynamics of Modernization in the Russian Pale of Settlement Joseph Rothschild, Recent Trends in the Literature on Ethnopolitics

3 26 49 72

98 115

Essays Erwin A. SchmidI, Jews in the Austro-Hungarian Armed Forces, 1867-1918 Victor Karady, Post-Holocaust Hungarian Jewry, 1945-48: Class Structure, Re-stratification and Potential for Social Mobility Stephen J. Whitfield, The American Jew as Journalist Eliyahu Feldman, Reports from British Diplomats in Russia on the Participation of the Jews in Revolutionary Activity in Northwest Russia and the Kingdom of Poland, 1905-6 Lloyd P. Gartner, Paths to Jewish Social History

127 147 161

181 204

x

Contents

Review Essays Michael R. Marrus, Bystanders to the Holocaust Judith E. Doneson, Portraits of the Jew in Film: Some Recent Studies Robert S. Wistrich, Vienna in Jewish History

215 222 228

Books in Review / Reviewers Norbert Abels, "Sicherheit ist nirgends": Judentum und Aufkldrung bei Arthur Schnitzler I Eleonora Lappin

237

Michel Abitbol, Les Juifs d' Afrique du Nord sous Vichy I Norman A. Stillman

239

Robert H. Abzug, Inside the Vicious Heart: Americans and the Liberation of the Nazi Concentration Camps I James E. Young

240

L' Activite des organisations juives en France sous I' occupation I Richard Cohen

254

Hellrnut Andics, Luegerzeit: Das Schwartze Wien bis 1918 I Robert S. Wistrich

228

Rainer C. Baum, The Holocaust and the German Elite I Shlomo Aronson

242

Doris Bensimon and Sergio DellaPergola, Population juive de France: Socio-demographie et identité I Renée Poznanski

245

Marion Berghahn, German Jewish Refugees in England I Marion Kaplan

248

Eliezer Berkovits, Not in Heaven: The Nature and Function of Halakha I Gerald J. Blidstein Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin: Foreign Secretary, 1945—1951 I Shlomo Slonim

250

Les Camps en Provence: Exil, internement, deportation, 1933-1942 I Richard Cohen

254

Naomi W. Cohen, Encounter with Emancipation: The German Jews in the United States, 1830-1914 I David A. Gerber

256

Sarah Blacher Cohen, From Hester Street to Hollywood I Judith E. Doneson

222

Steven M. Cohen, American Modernity and Jewish Identity I Stephen Sharot

257

Lewis A. Coser, Refugee Scholars in America: Their Impact and Their Experiences I David A. Hollinger

259

318

Contents

xi

Avigdor Dagan et al. (eds.), The Jews of Czechoslovakia: Historical Studies and Surveys I Gary B. Cohen Lucjan Dobroszycki (ed.), The Chronicle of the Lodz Ghetto, 1941 I Yisrael Gutman John B. Dunlop, The Faces of Contemporary Russian Nationalism I Edith Rogovin Frankel

266

Daniel J. Elazar with Peter Medding, Jewish Communities in Frontier Societies: Argentina, Australia, and South Africa I Stephen Sharot

268

Daniel J. Elazar et al., Jewish Communities of Scandinavia: Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and Finland I Morton H. Narrowe Shlomo Erel, Neue Wurzeln: 60 Jahre Immigration deutschsprdchiger Juden in Israel I Menahem Kaufman Patricia Erens, The Jew in American Cinema I Judith E. Doneson

261 263

270 272 222

Lily Gardener Feldman, The Special Relationship Between West Germany and Israel I Menahem Kaufman Saul Friedlaender, Reflections on Nazism: An Essay on Kitsch and Death I David Biale Richard S. Geehr (ed. and trans.), "/ Decide Who is a Jew!" The Papers of Dr. Karl Lueger I Marsha L. Rozenblit Sarah Gordon, Hitler, Germans and the "Jewish Question" I Trude Maurer

280

Cynthia J. Haft, The Bargain and the Bridle: The General Union of the Israelites of France, 1941-1944 I Michael R. Marrus

283

Marvin I. Herzog et al. (eds.), The Field of Yiddish: Studies in Language, Folklore, and Literature I Janet Hadda Yosef Heller, Be-maavak la-medinah, 1936-1948 I Michael J. Cohen

286 287

Gershon David Hundert and Gershon C. Bacon, The Jews in Poland and Russia: Bibliographical Essays I Avraharn Greenbaum Annette Insdorf, Indelible Shadows: Film and the Holocaust I Judith E. Doneson Benjamin J. Israel, The Bene Israel of India: Some Studies I Stanley Wolpert J. Sydney Jones, Hitler in Vienna 1909-1913: Clues to the Future I Robert S. Wistrich Zoe Josephs (ed.), Birmingham Jewry, Volume 2: More Aspects, 17401930 I David Cesarani Michael M. Laskier, The Alliance I sraélite Universelle and the Jewish Communities of Morocco, 1862-1962 I Norman A. Stillman

274 276 278

288 222 290 228 291 293

xii William R. Louis, The British Empire in the Middle East, 1945-1951: Arab Nationalism, the United States and Postwar Imperialism I Shlomo Slonim William C. McCready (ed.), Culture, Ethnicity, and Identity: Current Issues in Research I Allon Gal Alan Mintz, Hurban: Responses to Catastrophe in Hebrew Literature I Sidra DeKoven Ezrahi Kalman (Klemens) Nussbaum, Ve-hafakh lahem le-ro'ez: ha-yehudim ba-zava ha-'amami ha-polani bi-vrit ha-mo'azot I David Engel

Contents

250 294 296 299

Michael E. Parrish, Felix Frankfurter and His Times: The Reform Years I Lloyd P. Gartner

300

Monty Noam Penkower, The Jews Were Expendable: Free World Diplomacy and the Holocaust I Michael R. Marrus

215

Benjamin Pinkus, The Soviet Government and the Jews, 1948-1967 I Zvi Gitelman Milton Plesur, Jewish Life in Twentieth-Century America: Challenge and Accomodation I Menahem Kaufman

301 331

Michael Pollack, Vienne 1900: Une identitéblessee I Robert S. Wistrich

228

Itamar Rabinovich and Jehuda Reinharz (eds.), Israel in the Middle East: Documents and Readings on Society, Politics and Foreign Relations, 1948-Present I Noah Lucas

303

Freddy Raphael, Juddisme et capitalisme: Essai sur la controverse entre Max Weber et Werner Sombart I Philippe Besnard

304

David G. Roskies, Against the Apocalypse: Responses to Catastrophe in Modern Jewish Culture I Anita Norich Marsha L. Rozenblit, The Jews of Vienna, 1867—1914: Assimilation and Identity I Robert S. Wistrich U. O. Schmelz, The Aging of World Jewry I Moshe Sicron Eliezer Schweid, Mistikah ve-yahadut lefi Gershom Scholem I David Biale Naomi Shepherd, Wilfried Israel: German Jewry's Secret Ambassador I Daniel Fraenkel Edmund Silberaer, Kommunisten zur Judenfrage: Zur Geschichte von Theorie und Praxis des Kommunismus I Abraham Ascher Clive Sinclair, The Brothers Singer I Janet Hadda J. B. Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man I Gerald J. Blidstein Steven L. Spiegel, The Other Arab-Israeli Conflict: Making America' s Middle East Policy from Truman to Reagan I Shlomo Slonim

305 228 307 309 312 314 316 318 322

Contents

xiii

Kennan Lee Teslik, Congress, the Executive Branch and Special Interests: The American Response to the Arab Boycott of Israel I Menahem Kaufman

324

Jacob Toury, Die jüdische Presse im öslerreichischen Kaiserreich, 1802-1918 I Moshe Zimmerman

325

Avraham Tsivion, Diokano ha-yehudi shel Berl Katznelson I Yaakov Shavit

328

Klaus-Peter Walter, Studien zur russischsprächig-jiidischen Dramatik des 20. Jahrhunderts: Darstellung und Analyse I Roni Hammerman

330

Chaim Waxman, America's Jews in Transition I Menahem Kaufman

331

Avraham Wein and Ahron Weiss (eds.), Pinkas ha-kehilot: Polin, Volume 3: Galizia ha-ma'aravit ve-shlezia I Ezra Mendelsohn

333

Robert S. Wistrich, Socialism and the Jews: The Dilemmas of Assimilation in Germany and Austria-Hungary I Jack Jacobs

334

David S. Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews: America and the Holocaust I Michael R. Marrus Natan Yanai, Mashberim politiim be-yisrael: tekufat Ben-Gurion I Moshe Lissak

336

Harry Zohn (ed.), Karl Kraus, in These Great Times: A Karl Kraus Reader I Robert S. Wistrich

228

Partial List of Recently Completed Doctoral Dissertations

339

215

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Symposium Jews and Other Ethnic Groups in a Multi-ethnic World

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Ethnic Political Mobilization and U.S. Foreign Policy: Current Trends and Conflicting Assessments Yossi Lapid (THE HEBREW UNIVERSITY)

"It is difficult to overstate the role of ethnic conflict and ethnic mobilization in world affairs," suggests Joane Nagel. "The substance and rhythm of national and international politics are shaped by the various ethnic configurations confined within or spanning the boundaries of the world's states."1 Indeed, over the last two decades ethnic minorities have been making a dramatic comeback. In a sense they have never truly disappeared from the socio-political landscape. However, in surveying the dynamic areas of the contemporary world one usually finds unexpectedly vigorous ethnic factors at work.2 Three aspects in particular have made this pattern of ethnic resurgence worth studying. The first one has to do with the pervasiveness of the phenomenon. The scope of the recent ethnic revival has been global. The new tide of ethnic activism has swept across virtually the entire international system. As noted by a justifiably puzzled observer, the trend has exemplified "a remarkable disdain for geography, for level of economic development, for form of government and for political philosophy."3 Faced with this unexpected development, sociologists, anthropologists and political scientists have been engaged in recent years in an attempt to revise the conventional wisdom concerning the relationship between ethnicity, modernization arid democracy. Out of these efforts to explain the scope and the timing of modern ethnic nationalism there emerged a "revisionist" school that predicted increasing— as opposed to decreasing—levels of ethnic mobilization and ethnic activism.4 The second notable aspect has been the clearly political—as opposed to the strictly cultural or anthropological—nature of the phenomenon. To a very great extent, what is most characteristic about ethnic revival is that it has occurred in the political arena. For most observers, the notion of ethnic revival refers to a political metamorphosis which launches previously dormant ethnic collectivities into political orbit.5 They argue that modern ethnic nationalism can best be understood by examining the relationship between ethnicity and politics. The concept of ethnic political mobilization has been coined to explore the complex interconnections between the ethnic question and the political question. Generally speaking, ethnic 3

4

Yossi Lapid

political mobilization refers to the process of collective organization around ethnic loyalties for purposes of participation in domestic and international political arenas. The process expresses itself in a growing propensity of people to perceive the sociopolitical landscape from the vantage point of the ethnic group, to demand that political institutions and practices take into account ethnic interests and concerns and to legitimize such demands with ethnic entitlements and justifications. The third intriguing aspect of the ethnic revival is its apparently irreducible international dimension. In recent years scholars have increasingly grown sceptical of, and impatient with, the shibboleths that insist on the exclusively domestic nature of ethnic problems and politics. It is clear that ethnic politics rarely, if ever, take place in isolation from the external arena. External support can be significant in activating and sustaining ethnic political mobilization. And ethnic political mobilization may affect international structures and processes. Indeed, in the context of ethnic politics, the boundary between domestic and international politics often seems remarkably insignificant. Therefore, the recent revival has brought a clearer recognition of the need to improve our understanding not only of the domestic role of ethnicity but also of how ethnic groups fit into contemporary dynamics of international relations and world politics.6 This article focuses on the American version of ethnic political mobilization and on the implications of this process for U.S. foreign policy behavior. America is, of course, a dominant actor in contemporary world affairs. It is also one of the most polyethnic societies on earth. Moreover, the United States alone among major states continues to admit large numbers of new permanent immigrants from all over the world. These considerations underline the need to explore the ethnicity-foreign policy nexus in the United States. The article consists of three major sections. The first one deals with a number of recent developments in the American political arena which have encouraged apparently greater levels of ethnic participation in foreign policy matters. It centers upon three major trends—expanding ethnic political mobilization, the "domestication" of U.S. foreign policy, and the new congressional activism in foreign affairs—to portray a possibly more favorable context for ethnic foreign policy advocacy in the United States. The second section presents two radically opposing, but possibly misleading, scholarly assessments of the actual impact of ethnic political mobilization on current U.S. diplomacy. Finally, the third section underlines the need for a more balanced and realistic attempt to assess the extent to which the ethnic makeup of the United States finds a consistent expression in its foreign policy. In general, while recognizing the limits of the ethnic factor in American diplomacy, this analysis submits that it would be unwise to assume the irrelevance of ethnic pressures in the explanation of contemporary U.S. foreign relations.

ETHNICITY ANDU.SFOREIGN POLICY: TOWARD A NEW CONTEXT? Several developments within American society and in contemporary world politics have apparently provided ethnic groupings in the United States with a more favorable context for greater activism in foreign affairs. Among the forces engendering

Ethnic Political Mobilization and U.S. Foreign Policy

5

and sustaining a more energetic role by ethnic groups in U.S. diplomacy, none is more important than the expanding process of political mobilization among at least some American communal groupings. The past two decades have witnessed an American version of the global rise of ethnic political activism. Contrary to the prediction of ethnic impermanence once generally accepted among American sociologists, the powerful forces of assimilation—such as social mobility, urbanization, industrialization, mass education, acculturation, and so on—have not completely dissolved ethnic and communal bonds in American society. The expectation that assimilation, however slow, is over the long run a one-way, irreversible process has clearly proven to be mistaken. The process of Americanization, real and extensive as it may be, has left behind abundant and durable pools of latent ethnic consciousness.7 Because of the open, democratic nature of the American political system, ethnic pluralism was never fully removed from the intricacies of domestic political life. Whether one applauds or deplores this phenomenon, it is hard to deny the persistence of ethnicity as a significant political factor in American politics. However, over the past two decades American ethnic pluralism has apparently entered a new stage of relevance and responsiveness to the dynamics of political mobilization.8 This pattern of expanding ethnic political mobilization has been especially visible among American groups such as the Amerindian community, the Hispanic community, the black community and, in a somewhat different context, the Jewish community. The grim history of the defeated Indian nations in the American state is well documented. Over the years the Amerindians have suffered extensive expropriations of land and intensive economic, social and political discrimination. However, despite periods of systematic suppression, many aspects of culture and identity have survived. Moreover, in recent years the Amerindians have improved their ability to present political demands to the wider society. The Amerindians are too few, too disparate and too resource-poor to play a significant role in American politics; yet their improved capacity for political mobilization across tribal lines has enabled them to appeal to American guilt feelings as well as to the law to regain, as individuals and as corporate groups, substantial, if somewhat isolated, remuneration for past injustices and a greater degree of political control over their environment.9 Although the Chicano movement came to the fore only in the early 1960s, the impressive political credentials of the Hispanic community in general and of "MexAmerica" in particular have received wide recognition in recent years. Unlike the Amerindians, the Latinos control sufficient demographic, cultural and geographic assets to challenge seriously well-established political structures and processes in the United States. With demographic trends as they are, the Hispanic-American community is expected to become the largest U/S. minority by the year 2000.10 The Hispanic category refers to citizens and aliens living in the United States whose cultural heritage is Latin American and Spanish. It includes four major and distinct segments: Mexican-Americans, Puerto Ricans, Cubans and other immigrants from every Spanish-speaking country in the world. As with no other ethnic community, the Hispanic potential for ethnic political mobilization is reinforced by continuous immigration which augments the number of first-generation forces within the com-

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munity; by growing acceptance of bilingual and bicultural education which provides a counterpoint to forces of assimilation and acculturation; by visible patterns of discrimination in the areas of politics, education, law enforcement and employment; and by territorial concentration in particular geographic areas, including regions astride the Latin American frontier. Of the various Hispanic groups, the Mexican-American segment is particularly significant politically. A number of recent developments leave little doubt that a rapid process of political mobilization and activism is now under way in this community. Numbering approximately 9 million, Mexican-Americans are concentrated in the southwestern states of Arizona, California, Colorado, New Mexico and Texas. In New Mexico, for example, they constitute nearly 37 percent of the population. The southwest, and particularly Texas and California, is a region of increased importance in American electoral politics. In some of these states the Chicano movement has demonstrated in recent years a remarkable capacity to deliver votes to candidates in close elections. Within a four-year period (1978-82) the Chicano voting in the Texas gubernatorial elections, for example, has almost doubled, an increase which was almost three times as great as that for non-MexicanAmerican voters during the same period.11 Thus, despite the fact that for the time being the potential assets of the Hispanic community remain only partially mobilized, the political clout of the Latinos has grown in recent years to quite impressive levels. With a population of 30 million—accounting for nearly 12 percent of the national populace—black America is at present the largest racial/ethnic group in the country. Following a prolonged period of powerlessness and discrimination, a successful process of political mobilization has made blacks an increasingly influential factor in American political life. This process of political mobilization developed in two main stages. First, the civil rights movement provided the impetus for registration of large numbers of black voters. Then, the black-consciousness movement succeeded in mobilizing these voters behind black candidates. The success of this strategy has been demonstrated, among other things, by the rapid proliferation of black officeholders at most levels of the political system. 12 Martin Kilson notes the endeavors to mobilize a black political class—including over five thousand elected officials and some twenty thousand bureaucrats and appointed officeholders—with ample resources and legitimacy to exert considerable political leverage.13 Moreover, the pursuit of power through group consolidation and identification has led effectively to legal recognition of a right of political and economic representation based on race and color. Political activity on behalf of Jewish causes is not, of course, a new phenomenon in America. The re-creation of the Jewish people as a political entity gained considerable momentum after the Second World War. It may be that the same historical process which resulted in Jewish statehood in the Middle East has also brought about an unprecedented level of political mobilization in the Diaspora, especially in the United States. "The victory of Zionism," notes Daniel J. Elazar, "was not limited . . . to the creation of the Jewish state but signified a voluntary or involuntary regeneration of Jewish political consciousness and Jewish self-recognition as a people."14 And yet most scholars would agree that 1967 was the true turning point

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in the process of political mobilization of American Jewry. It is only since the late 1960s that organized American Jewish political activism moved increasingly into the open. Since then American Jews have rapidly gravitated to the heart of the American political process. This process was backed by an intensive and impressive effort of communal political consolidation and political sophistication. The growing maturation of American Jewry as a political entity has had, in turn, significant implications for its position in both the general American political system and in the world Jewish polity, of which the state of Israel is a key component.15 The emergence of American Jews as a potent and effective force in the American political process became possible less by virtue of numbers (2.7 percent of the population) than by virtue of organizational infrastructure and emotional vigor brought to the political arena. The process of expanding political mobilization has not been restricted to the Amerindian, Hispanic, black and Jewish communities. Similar ambitions have been displayed in recent years by many other American ethnic groups.16 However, our present interest in this trend is centered on the observation that in the American context ethnic political mobilization shows a consistent propensity to become internationalized. "It is a commonplace," notes Martin Kilson, "that as American ethnic groups win power for themselves at home, they seek to use the power abroad."17 Indeed, the historical record indicates that, in the past, politically active American ethnic groups have been involved in the pursuit of a wide variety of extradomestic goals such as those relating to the question of Ireland, the threat of Nazism, the birth and security of Israel, the fear of communism, the problem of "captive peoples" in Eastern Europe, the issues of self-determination and decolonization, and so on. 18 It is, therefore, hardly surprising that the intensification of ethnic political activism over the past two decades has been accompanied by a clear escalation of ethnic interest and involvement in U.S. foreign affairs. The political mobilization of the Navajos and other western Indian tribes has led, for example, to such bizarre occurrences as the initiation of contacts with OPEC to get advice on the development of energy resources. Similarly, despite their primary concern with domestic issues such as jobs, education and police brutality, the recent political rise of the Hispanic community has led almost simultaneously to the establishment of a Hispanic lobby on inter-American affairs. Even though the process of political mobilization of the Hispanic community is still at a preliminary stage, the implications for U.S. relations with Latin America in general and with Mexico in particular have been recognized by all relevant parties. Today, after many decades of minimal involvement in international relations, the U.S. Latino population openly declares its intention to play a more decisive role in issue identification, goal setting and foreign policy formulation in general. "In almost direct proportion to the level of awareness of themselves as a national people," notes Armando B. Rendon, "Latinos have begun to assert an increasing interest in foreign affairs. Out of an aroused nationalism has come, inevitably, a mounting interest in world politics." 19 The foreign policy implications of ethnic political mobilization have been even more dramatic in the case of black America. In 1963 when black Americans marched on Washington and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., delivered his famous "I

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have a dream" speech, their demands focused exclusively on jobs and civil rights legislation. The black agenda of the early 1960s did not embrace a foreign affairs dimension. The situation was very different in August 1983 when black Americans commemorated the twentieth anniversary of the original march. The policy statements made on this occasion left little or no doubt about the growing weight of foreign affairs in the contemporary agenda of black America.20 The determination of blacks to play a more significant role in foreign affairs in general and in the formulation of U.S. diplomacy in particular was also demonstrated by the creation in 1977 of Trans Africa, a permanent professional foreign policy lobby located in Washington. The main purpose of this organization is to influence Congress and the administration on issues relating to Africa and the Carribbean. In recent years Trans Africa has established itself as the leading voice for "black" foreign policy positions. It had a decisive impact on the crystallization of a black "Third World approach" to international affairs.21 This approach suggests new foreign policy postures for the United States, especially in crisis areas in southern Africa (Namibia, South Africa, Zimbabwe). For the time being, black America has been unsuccessful in shifting the emphasis in American diplomacy to favor Africa's quest for accelerated development. But like the Hispanic community, the growing black political elite has expressed a desire to increase its participation in the politics of globalized ethnicity. The propensity of ethnic political mobilization to acquire a foreign policy focus has received its clearest expression, however, in the sustained pro-Israel political effort of the American Jewish community in recent years. "Survivalism," says Jonathan S. Woocher, "is the key which when properly struck launches the American Jewish polity into action. "22 Given the consensual acceptance of the security of Israel as the symbolic sine qua non of Jewish collective survival in America, this struggle inevitably transcends the domestic arena. After 1973 it became evident that only the American nation as a whole—as opposed to merely its Jewish component—has the potential to assure the political and physical safety of the Jewish state. Since then the political efforts of the American Jewish community have been focused on the decision-making centers of the American state which control the gigantic military, economic and political resources now needed to ensure Israel's security. In the turbulent years since the late 1960s numerous foreign policy issues such as territorial status, settlements, Jerusalem, military and economic assistance, Palestinian rights, the equation of Zionism with racism and American Middle East policy in general have dominated the political agenda of American Jews. Thus, the process of political mobilization has carried American Jewry deep into the political arena with a striking concentration on foreign affairs.23 What is the explanation for this consistent pattern of "internationalization" of ethnic political mobilization? At least three major factors—executive encouragement, foreign intervention and ethnic calculus—may combine to bring ethnic political mobilization and U.S. foreign policy together. Contrary to the prevalent view, which holds that the American executive always deplores ethnic inputs in foreign policy considerations, the historical record indicates that U.S. presidents, secretaries of state and other high-ranking executive officials have occasionally encouraged (for their own reasons) ethnic participation in foreign affairs. Indeed, it is a

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mistake to treat ethnic-foreign policy mobilization as fundamentally incompatible with U.S. national interests. American-Italian relations during the late 1940s offer a telling example. In view of the concern that Italy's electorate might vote the Communist party into power, U.S. officials openly encouraged Italian-Americans to mount a mail campaign to persuade relatives in Italy to vote against the Communists.24 In a different context, President Carter appointed a black congressman, Andrew Young, as ambassador to the United Nations with the expectation that this appointment would be useful in countering increasingly anti-American attitudes in the Third World. Similar considerations must have been present in the 1980 nomination of Julian Nevo, a distinguished educator of Mexican origin, as U .S. ambassador to Mexico.25 Moreover, the frequent acrimonious collisions between American Jews and U.S. presidents and State Department officials do not necessarily mean that U.S. foreign policy makers have been on the whole unaware or unwilling to take advantage of the unusual relationship between the American Jewish community and the state of Israel. It is, therefore, not so surprising that executive officials have, in fact, contributed significantly to the cultivation of the myth of Jewish omnipotence in foreign affairs. This myth has served to strengthen U.S. bargaining positions vis-avis Arab demands for a more "forthcoming" U.S. Middle East policy. Moreover, some U.S. officials have openly expressed their belief that the American-Jewish community can be used to influence Israel's actions. "The unusual relationship of the Jewish nation, and particularly of American Jews, to the Israeli state," suggests William R. Brown, who has held a number of State Department posts in the Middle East and South Asia, "permits the U.S. government to work openly through the nation to achieve moderation in the state. . . . Effective pressure on the Israeli state can only come from the Jewish nation." 26 Administration encouragement is, however, only one of the factors which may channel ethnic political activity toward the external domain. Ethnically related "homeland" governments may serve as a second catalyst for this pattern. Enthusiastic domestic support is, as pointed out by Charles McMathias, Jr., one of the most effective ways to secure and sustain significant influence on U.S. policy.27 A foreign government with privileged access to a mobilized American ethnic group controls, therefore, a possible option of augmenting its political leverage in Washington by means of ethnic pressure on its behalf. As to be expected, foreign governments have attempted, at times, to exploit such assets. Reacting to its perception of a successful Greek-American effort to stop U.S. military aid to Turkey following its military occupation of Cyprus, the Greek government, for example, made the following declaration: "Welcoming this occurrence we express the hope that it will not remain a one-time event. We hope that in the future Greek Americans will manifest their support whenever a crisis confronts the Greek people."28 Over the years Israel's government, finding itself in open conflict with the Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter and Reagan administrations, has generally encouraged the efforts of American-Jewish organizations on its behalf. Thus, for example, following a particularly tense period of negotiations on the Israeli-Egyptian peace treaty, Prime Minister Mcnachem Begin met with two thousand Jewish leaders in New York and told them: "You have great influence. Do not hesitate to use that influ-

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ence."29 Similarly, in recent years numerous African leaders have made open appeals to black America to use its growing domestic political power to influence U.S. policy toward Africa. Finally, the rising political fortunes of the Chicanes since the early 1970s has put an effective end to the traditional apathy and hostility of Mexican regimes toward their kinsmen living in the United States. Since the administration of President Louis Echeverria (1970-76), Mexican governments have shown greater interest in forging a closer alliance with the U.S. Chicano community.30 In most cases, however, the propensity of ethnic political mobilization to acquire an international dimension is not merely a result of executive encouragement or external manipulation. Ethnic groups may develop, for their own reasons, a growing desire to expand their access to, and impact on, external affairs. American ethnic groups seek to establish themselves in an international context as they come to identify external factors impinging on their present and future well-being. The considerations leading to such a realization may be instrumental or affective. 31 "Ethnic arithmetic" is instrumental when the decision to seek external access is made for primarily utilitarian cost/benefit consideration. In such cases external involvement represents a compensatory device for domestic ineffectiveness. External support is sought wherever it is thought to be available regardless of ethnic ties and kinship considerations. The approach is effective when the considerations leading to external involvement are not dominated by the expectation that such a strategy will enhance the capacity of the ethnic group to deal more effectively with political elites and institutions in the domestic arena. When the approach is effective, the foreign policy mobilization is likely to be emotionally intense and ethnically focused. Instrumentally motivated external involvement is quite common among American ethnic groups. The previously mentioned decision of American Indian tribes to consult with OPEC is a good example of such strategies. Black leaders have also made numerous attempts to improve their domestic political leverage by means of instrumentally forged trans-national linkages and international pressures. For instance, American blacks have exploited the emerging global consensus against racism and the achievements of the Afro-Asian struggle for equality as an important resource in their domestic political struggles. In addition, black leaders have repeatedly expressed their desire to assume a role as "intermediaries" in the relationship between the United States and the Third World. Such a role could strengthen the black negotiatory posture in the United States and also create new opportunities for black businessmen in the field of international trade relations. Chicano leaders have voiced similar expectations, namely, that a closer association with an oil-rich Mexico could further enhance the political gains of the Chicano community in U.S. domestic politics. Some observers have correctly pointed out that the massive involvement in foreign policy by American Jewry has had a multiplier rather than subtractive effect on the group's total assets.32 However, it is clear that the pro-Israel mobilization of American Jewry was initiated and sustained by affective rather than instrumental factors and considerations. The historical process over the last half-century has confronted American Jews with a unique sequence of dramatic events—the Holo-

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caust, the birth of Israel, the Six Day War, the Yom Kippur War—which activated a compelling fear that the kinship group as a whole was in dire physical and political danger. This emotional fear—rather than instrumental considerations—has been the greatest single factor accounting for the intensity and direction of Jewish political mobilization in the United States. It is precisely this effective motivational pattern which explains why political support for Israel has generated such resources and energies for internal group consolidation and renewal. Expanding political mobilization is only one contemporary trend which creates a more favorable milieu for ethnic activism in foreign affairs. An additional trend which is likely to produce similar results refers less to the ethnic phenomenon itself and more to some recent changes in the nature of American foreign policy. I refer here to the so-called process of "domestication" of U.S. foreign policy. One of the leading orthodoxies in the study of world politics holds that political life is bifurcated into "domestic" and "international" compartments. The postulate expresses the expectation of sharp cultural, economic, political and especially psychological discontinuities between "internal" and "external" political processes and domains. In popular political parlance this axiom is expressed by the saying, "Politics stops at the water's edge." The idea that governments are able to keep foreign affairs in relative isolation from domestic dynamics was never fully convincing. The axiom is especially suspect in modern democratic societies such as the United States because it implies that foreign policy can or should escape the sway of the domestic political process. And yet, until recent years, few scholars and even fewer politicians saw any reason to challenge this problematic distinction. Recent economic, technological and political processes have, nonetheless, rendered untenable rigid distinctions between domestic and international politics. An abiding reality of the progressive blurring of distinctions between domestic and foreign affairs has increasingly imposed itself on the perceptions of scholars and policymakers alike.33 The United States has not escaped this new convergence of international and domestic processes. Over the past quarter century America has become more deeply entwined in processes of global interdependence. Despite its privileged global position, declining economic and military superiority and growing dependence on scarce resources have made America more sensitive to foreign threats and opportunities. The livelihood of American citizens—their security, wealth and jobs—is affected by decisions taken in Moscow, Bonn, Tokyo and even Riyadh and Jerusalem. The progressive dissolution of a hard line dividing internal and external arenas has activated a process of "domestication" of U.S. foreign policy. This process refers to two interrelated phenomena. First, as what were once wholly "domestic" issues take on visible international dimensions, there is a shift in the issues confronting foreign policy decision makers. The foreign policy agenda is no longer restricted to, nor necessarily dominated by, items of war, peace, national security or other traditional "high politics" items. "Low politics" issues such as energy access, technology transfer, capital flows, currency management, pollution and refugees steadily require more attention from foreign policy executives. Second, at least in democratic societies, the domestication of foreign policy necessitates an opening up of the foreign policy process to more input by domestic constituencies affected

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by such issues. Therefore, domestication implies that, to a degree greater than hitherto seen, domestic groups will demand access to, participation in, and impact on, foreign policy decisions. In the context of our discussion the process of domestication implies that ethnic political mobilization cannot possibly avoid foreign policy issues.34 This is necessarily the case when it is nearly impossible to tell foreign actors from domestic actors and internal political processes from external ones. Under such conditions the motivation for greater access to the external arena increases, whereas the capacity of the executive to de-legitimize such behavior decreases significantly. It is symptomatic of this situation that in the past two decades mobilized interest groups have refused to be persuaded of the appropriateness of foreign policy undertakings merely by executive invocation of the concept of "national interest." The ability to obtain domestic support and to build foreign policy consensus has become, therefore, the acid test of successful endeavors in the external arena.35 American ethnic groups have shown in recent years considerable understanding of the implications of global interdependence and domestication of foreign affairs for ethnic political mobilization. The well-known Jackson-Vanik amendment of 1974, which linked American trade concessions to Jewish emigration from the Soviet Union, illustrates this point. Even if, as claimed by observers, the amendment was counterproductive to the cause of Soviet Jewish emigration and repatriation, Jewish organizations demonstrated impressive skill in modern "linkage" politics.36 Also, it is possible to argue that the successful attempt of American Jewry to present Israel's survival as virtually a "domestic" political issue would not have been possible without a general evolution of interdependence and foreign policy domestication. Responding to these same realities, black leaders seem to agree that in the 1980s the political agenda of their constituency will have to be responsive not only to the exigencies of the domestic situation but also to the overarching international context. They insist that the domestic condition of black America is determined to a great extent by the general direction of U.S. foreign and security policies. There is, for example, a growing tendency to attribute domestic unemployment and poverty to American security policy and defense expenditure. This growing inclination to detect linkages between domestic ills and foreign affairs points to an additional reason for recent clashes between Jews and blacks. The emerging confrontation is the result not only of black antisemitism or of Jewish opposition to affirmative action but also of the growing suspicion among some black activists that the billions of dollars spent by the United States since 1949 in support of Israel are not totally unrelated or unrelatable to the present economic condition of black America. Clearly Israel's friendly relations with South Africa further complicates the matter and can affect the domestic relations of Jews and blacks in America. Once again we see that under conditions of interdependence and domestication, distinctions between domestic and international factors that impinge on American ethnic groups become increasingly more difficult to sustain. Most leaders of politically mobilized American ethnic groups would, thus, probably concur with Armando B. Rendon's observation on behalf of the Latinos, "We know that foreign and domestic policy are

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related. And, as an ethnic group, we are on the verge of putting together immense political clout in all spheres of interest." 37 To summarize, whereas the process of political mobilization draws ethnic groups closer to the external arena, the process of domestication brings the external arena closer to the realm of interest of mobilized ethnic groups. These processes are therefore crosscutting and mutually reinforcing. Together they result in a greater desire of ethnic groups to participate in the formulation of U.S. diplomacy. There is, however, a third trend in American politics which has influenced in recent years the evolution of the ethnicity/U.S. diplomacy nexus. I refer to the growing interest and involvement of Congress in U.S. foreign policy. This trend is related, of course, to the process of domestication of U.S. foreign affairs. Nonetheless, this third trend is particularly important on its own because, in contrast to the other two processes, it can affect not only the volume but also the impact of externally oriented ethnic political advocacy. Like other societal actors, ethnic groups do not control any foreign policy apparatus. Access to sympathetic and effective decision-making centers is, therefore, a constant challenge for ethnic groups seeking real influence in foreign affairs. Regardless of their level of interest in foreign affairs and regardless of the volume of activity they produce in pursuit of foreign policy goals, without overcoming the access barriers ethnic groups will remain marginal factors in the formulation of foreign policy. In the United States, foreign policy decisions are made within the executive branch and by Congress. Though by no means insulated from socio-political pressures, the president and the foreign policy establishment are considered by most observers to be relatively less vulnerable and less responsive to the so-called domestic factor. Therefore Congress—where traditional ethnic assets such as money, campaign support and votes really count—has gained the reputation of being the most accessible and responsive component of the foreign policy-making process. Indeed, an examination of its "political culture" indicates that most members of Congress tend to regard foreign policy questions as an extension of domestic politics.38 The struggle for control of foreign policy between Congress and the president is one of the oldest conflicts in the American system of government. The Constitution confers important foreign policy prerogatives on the president, who has constitutional power to negotiate treaties, command the armed forces and appoint and receive ambassadors. But Congress also has important constitutional prerogatives: the power to make appropriations, to ratify treaties and, of course, the exclusive authority to declare wars. For our present purposes, it is important to point out that especially since the late 1960s Congress has shown a new dynamism in exerting its prerogatives in external affairs. Chronologically, this process has followed a consistent pattern of expansion. At first Congress used declaratory statements to emphasize its foreign policy preferences. Then, it moved to ensure compliance through a series of procedural and legislative intrusions intended to limit executive latitude in foreign affairs. Finally, Congress became directly involved in the more detailed daily management of foreign relations. The clear objective of this process was to

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establish Congress as a co-equal branch of government in the formulation and management of U.S. diplomacy.39 The resurgence of congressional activism in foreign affairs has been the result of many interrelated factors. The most important ones are: the expanding scope of government intervention in both domestic and external affairs, the process of domestication of U.S. foreign policy, the impact of Vietnam, the declining consensus on foreign policy goals, the confrontation between a Democratic Congress and Republican administrations, and the arrival of a new generation of dynamic and ambitious legislators on Capitol Hill. This combination of factors indicates that we are facing a durable, and hardly reversible, development.40 The changing balance of power between Congress and the executive branch over the control of foreign policy has, of course, important implications for the potential capacity of ethnic groups to influence foreign policy. As aptly pointed out by one of the participants in a recent AEI debate on the role of ethnic groups in U.S. foreign policy, "It is no accident that the American Enterprise Institute picks this topic at a time when Congress is in an active phase in the conduct of foreign policy. This question would not have occurred to anybody in the period before Congress really became active in foreign policy."41 In view of this analysis, it is hardly surprising that American ethnic groups interested in foreign policy issues have focused their political efforts primarily, though by no means exclusively, on Congress. In recent years numerous ethnic lobbies have been established in Washington in more or less successful attempts to emulate the probably over-rated Jewish formula for effective foreign policy lobbying. While it is difficult to generalize on this issue, it is clear that at least some of this involvement has not gone to waste. Notable ethnic successes in recent years such as the Jackson-Vanik amendment or the arms embargo against Turkey have been achieved mainly through effective lobbying in the U.S. Congress.42 We have seen, then, that as a result of the three trends analyzed here it is possible to account for the fact that American ethnic groups seem to have become more highly motivated and better equipped than ever before to participate extensively in formulating U.S. foreign policy. The process of mobilization has refined ethnic political skills and has expanded ethnic political consciousness beyond the domestic arena. The blurring of distinctions between domestic and international affairs and the domestication of U. S. diplomacy have further increased the direct relevance of foreign affairs to domestic ethnic conditions. And, finally, the assertive foreign policy posture adopted by Congress in recent years has made the American foreign policy system more responsive than ever to domestic pressure group activity. In sum, these trends have produced a more favorable milieu for American ethnic groups interested in influential foreign policy postures. What are, however, the overall implications of these processes? Are politically mobilized ethnic groups now in a position to truly exploit U.S. diplomacy for their own parochial interests'? Can ethnic groups exercise a veto power over major foreign policy options? Is contemporary U.S. foreign policy a captive of ethnic political mobilization? What arc the limits, on the other hand, of ethnic mobilization in foreign affairs? Are there countervailing forces which may mitigate or even negate ethnic input in foreign policy affairs? What, in short, is the current status of

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ethnicity as an explanatory factor of contemporary U.S. foreign policy? As we turn to these questions, we confront diametrically opposed theoretical interpretations.

PARTICIPATION VERSUS IMPACT: CONFLICTING IMAGES AND ASSESSMENTS The foreign policy role of ethnic groups is worth examining only if one can demonstrate that they are to some extent autonomous and consequential agents in the formulation and implementation of U.S. diplomacy. 43 In and of themselves, growing levels of ethnic interest in foreign affairs do not necessarily demonstrate the theoretical relevance of ethnic factors in the foreign policy process. The analysis must establish not only that ethnic groups pursue distinct international objectives but also that they have the capacity to exert some impact on actual foreign policy behavior. To the extent that the American polity retains a considerable capacity to insulate its foreign policymaking process from ethnic influences, American diplomacy might be better understood by ignoring rather than by pondering the complex permutations of foreign ethnic political mobilization. As noted by Frey, political analysts have encountered serious difficulties in their attempts to provide useful criteria for determining the dividing line of theoretical significance, or potential "weight," for political "actors" in general.44 Indeed, the specification of the precise relationship between political activity and political outcomes is one of the most demanding tasks of political analysis. Such difficulties have been apparent also in the academic response to the expanding interest of ethnic groups in foreign affairs. 45 There are at present two competing radical evaluations of the ethnic factor in U.S. diplomacy. In a sense they can be presented as equally distorted and simplistic "myths" about ethnicity and U.S. behavior in the world arena. Some scholars have recently insisted that ethnicity provides a useful and heretofore neglected explanation of U.S. diplomacy. In 1975 Nathan Glazer and Daniel P. Moynihan argued that the immigration process could be considered "the single most important determinant of American foreign policy." Foreign policy, they wrote, "responds to other things as well but probably first of all to the primal facts of ethnicity."46 Additional observers concur with the portrayal of a process of an "overall ethnicization of foreign policy." These analysts apparently credit ethnic lobbies with achievements which seem to imply a posture of ethnic omnipotence in shaping foreign policy behavior.47 It is hardly surprising that the real and putative success of American Jewry in the field of foreign relations has become the standard source of reference for documenting the myth of ethnic omnipotence in U.S. foreign policy. Were we to accept uncritically the long list of resounding American Jewish foreign policy victories which have been trumpeted in recent years by both opponents and supporters of the pro-Israel political effort in the United States, we would be led to believe that American Jews are directly responsible for a long list of notable events such as securing more American economic and military assistance for Israel than for any other nation (total official U.S. assistance to Israel from 1945 to 1983 amounts to

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over $25.5 billion, more than the total U.S. assistance to South Vietnam); bringing the world to the brink of nuclear disaster in order "to save Israel" (the American military alert during the Yom Kippur War); providing the most massive American airlift since the Second World War (during the October 1973 War, America, despite the lack of cooperation of its NATO allies, dispatched 566 flights carrying 72,000 tons of equipment); and "coercing" Soviet leaders to free against their will tens of thousands of Russian Jews (the Jackson-Vanik amendment). Other items include "forcing" American presidents to back away at considerable political cost and loss of face from a number of "unacceptable" initiatives: recall, for example, the letter of seventy-six senators which put an effective end to the Kissinger-Ford punitive reassessment of U.S. Middle East policy; the Carter administration's admission of error in its 1980 support of anti-Israeli UN resolutions; and President Reagan's decision to end the partial freeze on arms to Israel imposed following the bombing of the Iraqi nuclear site. Finally, there is the recent Memorandum of Agreement between Israel and the United States (in which for the first time the mutual security interests of the two nations are publicly acknowledged). Although American Jews clearly lead the field of ethnic groups credited with effective influence over contemporary U.S. foreign policy, they are by no means alone in this category. Considerable foreign policy clout has also been ascribed to the Greek-American community after the passage of arms embargo legislation against Turkey in 1974. The Greek lobby was identified by the United States, Cyprus, Greece and Turkey as the primary factor in the formulation and passage of the embargo legislation. As a result of this legislation, the Turkish government closed about twenty U.S. military installations on its territory with the subsequent weakening of NATO cohesion in the eastern Mediterranean area. Once again we are provided with an illustration of how domestic ethnic political pressure can have presumably consequential spillover on important events at the global level.48 Confronted with the continuing foreign policy weakness of both the black and the Hispanic communities, some scholars argue that the fact that relatively small ethnic groups—such as the Jews and the Greeks in America—have been able to compensate with political skills and vigor for paucity of members and resources demonstrates that successful political mobilization in bigger communities will have equal and possibly even more dramatic implications for the future conduct of U.S. diplomacy. In other words, the fact that blacks and Hispanics have not yet appeared able to affect significantly the foreign policy process is considered by these observers less important than the fact that serious political mobilization is presently under way in these communities.49 If the impressive list of achievements cited by the defenders of ethnic policy centrality had even a remote relationship to reality, it would certainly provide dramatic illustration of the multiple ways in which America's politicized ethnicity can be effectively projected into the global arena through the amplifying mediation of the foreign policy apparatus of a major superpower. However, in recent years the conventional image of ethnic omnipotence has been increasingly challenged theoretically and empirically by an opposing image of consistent ethnic weakness and marginality in foreign affairs. Far from being uniquely responsive to ethnic pressures, U.S. diplomacy, some scholars contend, is nearly impervious to such pres-

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sures. This school of thought argues that the postulated pattern of spectacular ethnic achievements in foreign affairs is simply imaginary. The myth of ethnic omnipotence does not stand up to close empirical scrutiny. When the role and impact of ethnic groups is examined empirically, the conclusion is that ethnic factors do not play a significant role in shaping U.S. external relations. "Seldom if ever," notes Louis L. Gerson, "have major U.S. foreign policy decisions been affected by purely ethnic considerations." In most cases, he argues, the association of foreign policy outcomes with ethnic pressure is "a source of confusion and, at times, deliberate misinterpretation of motive, success, and failure of U.S. foreign policy actions."50 Similar conclusions are reached by Steven L. Spiegel, who defines the potential for foreign policy impact of American ethnic groups as an inherent "posture of weakness." Admitting that in isolation the sheer volume of ethnic foreign policy pressures may, indeed, appear impressive and even "awesome," he insists that "when the pattern of decision-making within the executive branch is studied it becomes clear that . . . these groups are remote and largely irrelevant to policymaking except as they affect the timing and announcement of decisions."51 Obviously, these scholars have alternative explanations for would-be ethnic triumphs in U.S. foreign policy. The general argument is that American ethnic groups are more often exploited than they themselves are exploitative insofar as U.S. diplomacy is concerned. As pointed out in the conclusion of Paula Stern's meticulous study of the Jackson-Vanik amendment, "Jackson was steering the Jewish groups, not vice-versa. . . . Jackson had to convince the more cautious Jewish leadership to follow his lead. Occasionally, he had to persuade, cajole, even threaten the leadership not to abandon the amendment in spite of opposition from the Administration." 52 Similarly, most studies conclude that the Greek-American lobby was not a key factor in imposing the Turkish arms embargo. This outcome was made possible by the determination of Congress to use the Cyprus crisis to improve its foreign policy posture vis-a-vis the executive branch. The Turkish invasion gave Congress an opportunity to please anti-war, anti-executive public opinion and to slap down an autocratic executive, in particular, an autocratic secretary of state. The Greek-Americans were, in other words, pushing against an open door.53 The "open door" syndrome also provides an alternative explanation for most of the spectacular foreign policy successes which have been attributed over the years to American Jewry. The fact that U.S. support for Israel has grown parallel with the acceleration of American Jewish political mobilization does not, necessarily, prove that Jews exercise a major, and perhaps decisive, influence over U.S. Middle East policy. The United States might well support Israel even if Jewish pressure groups were apathetic or politically inept. There are many factors—such as the American moral commitment to Israel, Israel's role as a democracy, Israel's value as a strategic deterrent of Soviet expansionism and the support of Israel in American public opinion—which combine to explain U.S. support for Israel. The effective articulation of support for Israel by the organized Jewish community may not be related directly to any of these factors. The possibility that in the final analysis U.S. Middle East policy is, as indicated by Steven L. Spiegel, a function of global strategic imperatives rather than domestic political advocacy deserves special attention in this context. 54

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It is interesting that some scholars grow so impressed with this postulated absence of compelling evidence for significant ethnic successes in the realm of foreign affairs that they have even suggested that the "real" question is why the impact has been so minimal. In other words, if there is, at all, a phenomenon which is both patterned and intriguing at the intersection of ethnicity and U.S. diplomacy, it is precisely the conspicuous absence rather than the intimidating presence of a distinct ethnic factor in contemporary U.S. foreign policy.55 A number of interesting explanations have been offered for this putative pattern of ethnic impotence in foreign affairs. The critics of the ethnic-power theory argue that the overall ability of ethnicity to affect U.S. diplomacy is constrained by both intrinsic and systemic factors. First, the process of ethnic political mobilization is by no means unlimited in its capacity to encourage ethnic desires to become actively involved in foreign affairs. Beyond a certain point the progressive internationalization of an ethnic political effort risks bringing ethnic loyalties in direct conflict with U.S. citizenship loyalties.56 The problem will not arise as long as ethnic interests will be perceived to be converging with national interests. In such situations, however, the actual impact of ethnic-foreign policy advocacy cannot be tested since ethnic groups are then "pushing against an open door." On the other hand, as soon as an element of basic conflict between ethnic and national interests becomes evident, members of American ethnic groups are likely to establish their national— as opposed to ethnic—priorities. The historical experience indicates that such loyalty cross-pressures are likely to lead to voluntary withdrawals from ethnic-communal struggles. In the words of Irving Louis Horowitz, "When ethnicity is a clear obstacle to U.S. foreign policy, it collapses under the weight of the national interest."57 In addition, the process of ethnic political mobilization encounters serious obstacles at the level of generating suitable tools for effective foreign policy input. In the context of domestic politics, even moderate levels of ethnic political mobilization will suffice to render ethnic groups essential to an understanding of the domestic political arena. The situation is very different, however, in the context of foreign policy. The level of political sophistication required for a significant foreign policy input can be attained only by intensive and unusually successful efforts of ethnic political mobilization.58 For the time being, apart from American Jews, no other American ethnic groups can meet the advanced level of political sophistication and development required for effective foreign policy advocacy. Additional constraints are posed by the remoteness of global events. American ethnic groups are often baffled because of the complex and controversial nature of ethnically related foreign policy problems. In recent years American Jews have shown considerable puzzlement and concern about the deepening of Jew-versusJew conflicts in a religiously and ideologically polarized Israel. Similarly, black Americans are confounded by endless black-versus-black conflicts in Africa. Such situations prevent coherent formulations of unified foreign policy postures by American ethnic groups. The potential foreign policy impact is thereby diluted by internal rivalries and intra-group fragmentation. 59 The process of ethnic-foreign policy mobilization and advocacy also encounters important structural limitations in the context: of American domestic politics. The

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congressional spring in foreign affairs has offered, at best, a very partial solution to the problem of ethnic access to effective foreign policy decision-making centers. To begin with, Congress is by no means a passive tool in the hands of mobilized ethnic contenders. There is no pattern of uninterrupted responsiveness of Congress to ethnic pressures. In many cases Congress has been able not only to withstand ethnic pressure but also to exploit ethnic mobilization for its own interests.. Moreover, despite its growing interest in foreign affairs, Congress is not really an institution bent on seizing effective control of U.S. diplomacy. In many cases congressmen continue to be content with marginal and even illusory foreign policy successes. This is so, to a great extent, because of legislators' keen awareness of the limitations of their institution in foreign affairs. In recent years congressional committees have developed their own informational and promotional capabilities, but they do not command the resources available to the president and to the executive branch. In contrast to the executive branch, in foreign policy Congress continues to be hampered by diffuse authority, thinness of expertise, lack of intelligence sources, lack of operational handles and lack of continuity and follow-up capability. In foreign affairs Congress can establish prohibitions and set limits, but it cannot take the lead. The "real foreign policy game," in sum, is still played by the executive branch. 60 Therefore, even effective access to Congress cannot fully compensate for conspicuous lack of access to, and influence on, the executive branch. For the most part, however, U.S. presidents and American diplomats have been able either to ignore ethnic groups or to play them off against one another. As pointed out by Steven L. Spiegel, U.S. presidents have been remarkably willing, and even eager on some occasions, to take on the Jewish foreign policy lobby, despite its reputation for foreign policy clout. The ability of determined presidents to prevail in such confrontations is hardly in question, given the fact that no president has ever lost a major vote in Congress on the sale of arms to an Arab nation. Despite vocal and well-organized lobbying efforts to block the F-15 and AW ACS sales during the Carter and Reagan administrations, the sales were approved.61 Finally, the fact that ethnic groups, especially under conditions of foreign policy domestication, will rarely if ever find themselves to be the only organized group active on any given issue constitutes an additional structural limitation on the capacity of ethnic groups to determine foreign policy outcomes in both Congress and the executive branch. The fact is that ethnic groups must continually struggle with other organizational interests within and outside the government who are also interested in shaping foreign policy decisions according to their preferences and interests. For example, American Jewry was defeated in the AW ACS struggle by a powerful coalition of organized interests—the military-industrial complex, the petro-diplomatic complex, and the industrial-political complex—which backed President Ronald Reagan. 62 The anti-boycott amendments in 1977, seeking to outlaw U.S. business participation in the Arab boycott of Israel, would not have been possible without successful negotiations between Jewish groups, the Business Roundtable and the Commerce Department. 63 Despite the possibility of forging occasional alliances such inter-group rivalries usually have the effect of minimizing ethnic group impact by creating a mutual cancellation effect. 64 In sum, whereas scholars who accord a central role to ethnic factors in U.S.

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Yossi Lapid

foreign policy emphasize the impressive combination of trends which seem to imply an expanding role for ethnicity in U.S. diplomacy, scholars who challenge this view point to the equally impressive set of structural obstacles which seem to perpetuate the marginal role of ethnic groups in the formulation and implementation of foreign policy. For these reasons, the latter submit, even if the political salience of ethnicity is likely to increase significantly over the next decade, the ethnic factor is unlikely to become an influential force in determining U.S. diplomatic behavior.

CONCLUSION: TOWARD A MORE REALISTIC ASSESSMENT How are we to choose between such contrasting theoretical interpretations? How useful are these competing images of emerging omnipotence and continuing impotence for the comprehension of the phenomenon examined in this essay? It seems reasonable to suggest that a modified and more realistic approach would begin by rejecting all suggestions that the role of ethnic groups in U.S. foreign policy should be cast in absolute terms. Some scholars seem to believe that research clarity and theoretical coherence require a clear-cut statement about the precise nature of the ethnicity-foreign policy nexus. According to this view, ethnicity can be portrayed as either very important or as marginal, but it cannot possibly be both.65 The problem with this approach is that while it produces eloquent and defensible positions, it fails to consider an entire range of possibly interesting intermediate outcomes. The fact is that American ethnic groups have not been in the past, and are not today, monolithic as far as foreign policy impact is concerned. Different ethnic groups, at different points in time, have possessed varying degrees of understanding of, interest in and influence on U.S. foreign policy. Not unlike and perhaps more than other political actors, American ethnic groups pursuing foreign policy objectives "may vacillate between agency and independence, or they may display an intricate mixture of concurrently agential and independent behaviors that is difficult to analyze."66 Critics of the myth of ethnic omnipotence have certainly made an important contribution in their insistence that rarely, if ever, will impressive foreign policy outcomes be solely attributable to just the activities of one ethnic group. Major foreign policy actions of a global power such as the United States can never be the result of only one single factor. But their argument may have blurred the equally important observation that lack of omnipotence may still leave ample room for considerable, if erratic, influence. Indeed, it will frequently be the case that had ethnic groups not been active politically, major events would have probably followed a quite different course. On the one hand, it is, indeed, "a very serious mistake to assume that the relationship between the world's most powerful democracy and one of its smallest is mainly a matter of (domestic) politics."67 On the other hand, even an astute "political" realist like Hans Morgenthau is on record as stating in 1979, "Only Jewish influence foils U.S. dumping of Israel."68 It seems particularly important in this context to keep in mind the crucial role played by

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perceptions, whether accurate or not, in determining power relations and outcomes in domestic and international political processes. Ethnic groups may, indeed, control few of the objective resources required for effective foreign policy participation. And yet, as pointed out by John J. Paul's study of the Greek lobby in 1974, whether intentionally or not, governments can give ethnic groups more international leverage than they could ever achieve objectively on their own. 69 Furthermore, even if it is true, as argued by Spiegel, that ethnic groups consistently figure as marginal and distant when the decision-making process in the executive branch is examined, it is still possible that ethnicity and foreign policy phenomena may interact in more fundamental ways which are not necessarily active at the decisionmaking level. It is possible, for example, that the major significance of the ethnic factor in foreign affairs is at the level of parameter-setting. The ethnic makeup of America may influence its foreign relations more in the sense of ruling out certain policy options than in imposing specific courses of action that the U.S. government must follow. 70 A recent analysis of the U.S. strategic global posture in the 1980s, for example, offers the following explanation why isolationism is not an applicable option, "Of the major powers, the U.S. is the only one with strong domestic constituencies directly affected by the most likely crises of the 1980s in Europe, in the Middle East, in Latin America and in South Africa. While this may limit America's margin of maneuver, it will also rule out isolationist abstinence. 71 Similarly, it is possible that one of the most consequential and lasting effects American Jews may have had on foreign relations is related less to specific U.S. actions and more to rendering any Israeli foreign policy option other than a Western orientation a purely hypothetical possibility. In a more speculative vein, participants in the AEI Forurn on Ethnic Groups in U.S. Foreign Policy submitted that had there been a million Vietnamese in America in the early 1960s or a more dominant Lebanese community in the early 1980s, tragic world events might not have occurred.72 While it is difficult to test the validity of such speculations empirically, at the very least they support the proposition that it would be a mistake to assume in advance that the international dimensions of American ethnic activism can be safely ignored in foreign policy analysis. Clearly, then, to discount the influence of ethnic groups entirely would be almost as grave a mistake as to give credence to the persisting myth that they dominate American foreign relations. While more realistic and more empirically grounded, the corrective value of the revisionist image which questions the role of ethnicity in U.S. diplomacy is significantly impaired by its tendency to exaggerate otherwise valid and pertinent observations. It seems, therefore, important to note the limits of the emerging myth of "ethnic impotence" before it establishes itself as the new, yet equally misleading, orthodoxy. In conclusion, the precise nature of the ethnicity-foreign policy nexus apparently still eludes us. Many basic questions are still to be raised. Unfortunately, the present theoretical understanding of this increasingly problematic nexus can serve only as a rough preliminary guidepost for future research. However, especially in an era of expanding ethnic political mobilization on a global scale, there are few reasons to doubt the potential theoretical fruitlulncss and policy rclcvcncc of academic interest in the role of ethnic factors in foreign affairs.

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Yossi Lapid Notes

The author acknowledges the support of the Leonard Davis Institute for International Relations at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in the preparation of this paper. 1. Joane Nagel, "The Ethnic Revolution: The Emergence of Ethnic Nationalism in Modern States," Sociology and Social Research LXVIII, no. 4 (July 1984), p. 417. 2. See, for example, Harold R. Isaacs, Power and Identity (New York: 1979); Louis L. Snyder, Global Mini-Nationalisms (Westport: 1982). 3. Walker Conner, "An Overview of the Ethnic Composition and Problem of NonArab Asia," in Tai S. Kang (ed.), Nationalism and the Crises of Ethnic Minorities in Asia (Westport: 1979), p. 11. For a good but already-dated map showing the global dimensions of the problem, see M. Kidron, The Stale of the World Atlas (New York: 1981); A. D. Smith, The Ethnic Revival (Cambridge: 1981). 4. James R. Scarritt and William Safran, "The Relationship of Ethnicity to Modernization and Democracy: A Restatement of the Issues," International Studies Notes X, no. 2 (Summer 1983), pp. 16-21. 5. For a lucid analysis of this aspect, see: Danielle Juteau-Lee, "Ethnic Nationalism: Ethnicity and Politics," Canadian Review of Studies in Nationalism XI, nos. 1-2 (Fall 1984), pp. 189-200; Joseph Rothschild, Ethnopolitics (New York: 1981); see also Michael Walzer et al., The Politics of Ethnicity (Cambridge, Mass.: 1982), p. 6. 6. See, for example, John P. Stack, Jr., Ethnic Identities in a Transnational World (Westport: 1982); A. A. Said et al. (ed.), Ethnicity in an International Context (New Brunswick: 1977); Judy S. Bertelson (ed.), Nonstate Nations in International Politics (New York: 1977). 7. S. Thernstrom, A. Orlov, 0. Handlin (eds.) Harvard Encyclopedia of American Ethnic Groups (Cambridge, Mass.: 1980). 8. See Walzer, Politics; Smith, Ethnic Revival, pp. 152-62; Nathan Glazer and Daniel P. Moynihan (eds.), Ethnicity (Cambridge, Mass.: 1975), pp. 1-22. 9. Mary Shepardson, "The Navajo Nonstate Nation," in Bertelson (ed.), Nonstate Nations, pp. 223-244. 10. Conservative estimates indicate that some 45 million Hispanic-Americans will be living in the United States by the turn of the century. See Roberto E. Villarreal and Philip Kelly, "Mexican-Americans as Participants in U.S.-Mexico Relations," International Studies Notes IX, no. 4 (Winter 1982), p. 4. See also Armando B. Rendon, "Latinos: Breaking the Cycle of Survival to Tackle Global Affairs," in A. A. Said (ed.), Ethnicity and U.S. Foreign Policy, rev. ed. (New York: 1981), pp. 183-200. 11. Villarreal and Kelly, "Mexican-Americans," p. 4. 12. Laura Maslow Armand, "The Black Vote in the USA," Patterns of Prejudice XII, no. 2 (April 1984), pp. 3-19. 13. Martin Kilson, "What Is Africa to Me?" Dissent (Fall 1984), pp. 436-437. Jesse Jackson's performance as a presidential candidate has provided the latest demonstration of the new political centrality of black Americans within a national context; Manning Marable, "Jackson and the Rise of the Rainbow Coalition," New Left Review 149 (January/February 1985), pp. 3-44. 14. Daniel J. Elazar, "Ha-yehasim bein yisrael le-yahadut arzot ha-berit be-heksher hakehiliah ha-medinit ha-yehudit ha-'olamit," Kivunim III (Spring 1979), p. 96. 15. Jonathan S. Woocher, "The American Jewish Polity in Transition," Forum (Fall/Winter 1982), pp. 61-71; Peter Y. Mcdding, "The Politics of Jewry as a Mobilized Diaspora," in William C. McCready (ed.), Culture, Ethnicity, and Identity (New York: 1983), pp. 195-207; Charles (Yeshayahu) Liebman, "Ha-shinuyim ba-zirah ha-yehudit haamerikait ve-ha-irgunim ha-yehudiim," Gesher (Spring/Summer 1980), pp. 37-44. 16. Arab-Americans, for example, are especially noteworthy as an ethnic group that has become increasingly active in recent years.

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17. Kilson, "Africa," p. 436. 18. Louis L. Gerson, "The Influence of Hyphenated Americans on U.S. Diplomacy," in Said, Ethnicity ami U.S. Foreign Policy, pp. 54-55. 19. Rendon, "Latinos," p. 183. The Amerindian contacts with OPEC are mentioned in James N. Rosenau, The Study of Global Interdependence (New York: 1980), p. 130; see also Rodolfo 0. De La Garza, "Chicanos and U.S. Foreign Policy: The Future of ChicanoMexican Relations," Western Political Quarterly XXXIII (December 1980), pp. 115-130. 20. Arch Puddington, "Jesse Jackson, the Blacks and American Foreign Policy," Commentary LXXIV, no. 4 (April 1984), p. 24; see also Locksley Edrnondson, "Black America as a Mobilizing Diaspora; Some International Implications," paper presented to the Conference on the Impact of Diasporas on International Politics, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1820 March 1983, p. 23; and Kilson, "Africa." 21. Puddington. "Jesse Jackson." 22. Woodier, "American Jewish Polity," p. 63. 23. Robert H. Trice, "Domestic Interest Groups and the Arab-Israeli Conflict," in Said, Ethnicity in an International Context, pp. 117-138. 24. John Snetsinger, "Ethnicity and Foreign Policy," in A. De Conde (ed.), Encyclopedia of American Foreign Policv, vol. 1 (New York: 1978), p. 327. 25. Rendon, "Latinos," p. 195. 26. William R. Brown, "The Dying Arab Nation," ForeignPolicy(1984), p. 43. 27. Charles McMathias, Jr., "Ethnic Groups and Foreign Policy," Foreign A/fairs LIX, no. 5 (Summer 1981), pp. 978-979, 28. John J. Paul, "The Greek Lobby and American Foreign Policy: A Transnational Perspective," in Stack,Ethnic Identities,p. 73. 29. Cecil V. Crabb, Jr., and Pat M. Holt, Invitation to Struggle: Congress, the President and Foreign Policy (Washington, D.C.: 1980), p. 97. 30. De La Garza, "Chicanos," pp. 171-178. 31. The distinction between instrumental and affective motivation is adapted from A. Suhrke and L. G. Noble (eds.), Ethnic Conflict in International Relations (New York: 1977). 32. Rothschild, Ethnopolitics, p. 203. 33. See Rosenau, Global Interdependence; Wolfram F. Hanrieder, "Dissolving International Politics: Reflections on the Nation-Stale," American Political Science Review LXXII (1978), pp. 1276-1286. 34. See Stack, Ethnic Identities, pp. 29-32. 35. J. Martin Rochester, "The National Interest and Contemporary World Politics," Review of Politics XL, no. 1 (January 1978), pp. 77-96. 36. Dan Caldwell, "The Jackson-Vanik Amendment," in John Spanier and Joseph Nagee (eds.), Congress, the President and American Foreign Policy (New York: 1981), pp. 1-21. For a recent positive interpretation of the amendment, see William Korey, "JacksonVanik and Soviet Jewry," Washington Quarterly LXXI (Winter 1984), pp. 116-128. 37. Rendon, "Latinos," p. 199. 38. Stanley J. Heginbotham, "Dateline Washington: The Rules of the Game,"Foreign Policy (1984), pp. 159-161. 39. Hrach Gregorian, "Assessing Congressional Involvement in Foreign Policy: Lessons of the Post-Vietnam Period," Review of Politics XLVI, no. 1 (January 1984), pp. 91-112. 40. Crabb and Holt, Invitation to Struggle, pp. 51-56. 41. American Enterprise Institute, What Should Be the Role of Ethnic Groups in U.S. ForeignPolicy,(Washington, D.C.: 1979), pp. 8-9. 42. Thomas M. Frank and Edward Weisband, Foreign Policv by Congress (Oxford: 1979), pp. 186-194. 43. See the distinction between "actor" and "agent" in Frederick W. Frcy, "The Problem of Actor Designation in Political Analysis," Comparative Politics XVII, no. 2. (January 1985), pp. 144-146. 44. Ibid., pp. 127-152.

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45. Stack,Ethnic Identities,pp. 17-45. 46. Glazer and Moynihan, Ethnicity, pp. 23-24. 47. See, for example, Frank and Weisband, Foreign Policy by Congress, p. 199; McMathias, "Ethnic Groups and Foreign Policy," pp. 990-996. 48. McMathias, op. cit., pp. 987-990. 49. See, for example, Edmondson, "Black Africa," p. 22, and Rendon, "Latinos," p. 199. 50. Gerson, "Influence of Hyphenated Americans," p. 55. 51. Steven L. Spiegel, "Religious Components of U.S. Middle East Policy," Journal of International Affairs XXXVI, no. 2 (Fall/Winter 1982-83), p. 246. 52. Paula Stern, Water's Edge, (Westport, Conn.: 1979), pp. 210-211. 53. Naomi Black, "The Cyprus Conflict," in Suhrke and Noble, Ethnic Conflict in International Relations, p. 63. 54. Spiegel, "Religious Components," p. 245. 55. Irving Louis Horowitz, "Ethnic Politics and U.S. Foreign Policy," in Said, Ethnicity in an International Context,p175. 56. Ibid., p. 177. 57.Ibid. 58. Congressman Lee H. Hamilton, the 1979 chairman of the Europe and Middle East Subcommittee of the House Committee on Foreign Affairs, offers a lucid and succinct exposition of the advanced level of political sophistication required for effective foreign policy advocacy: Why do some ethnic groups have difficulty affecting the foreign policy process? I think the answer to that is that the effort to influence foreign policy-making in this country is an extraordinarily complex process, and the groups that do it successfully are highly sophisticated. They have to be able to activate their own members, whatever members those may be, whatever group that may be. They have to know who the decision makers are, and they have to have access to the decision makers. They have to have that access at the right time, when the decision is being made, not months before or days afterwards. They have to have good sources of information within the Executive Branch and within the Legislative Branch. They must be able to enlist the help of sympathetic groups. There is no ethnic group really large enough to get the job done by itself. They must have the support of other people. In this day and age, they certainly must be able to have access to the media. This process is very involved and complicated, and there are comparatively few people who have the degree of sophistication to use it effectively to their own advantage. See American Enterprise Institute, Role of Ethnic Groups, p. 18. 59. Rothschild, Ethnopolitics, p. 203; Horowitz, "Ethnic Politics," p. 172. 60. I. M. Destler and Eric R. Altcrman, "Congress and Reagan's Foreign Policy," Washington Quarterly VII, no. 1 (Winter 1984), pp. 95-97. 61. Spiegel, "Religious Components," pp. 244-245. For the view that the AW ACS battle was "not quite a defeat" despite the final outcome, see Aaron Rosenbaum, "The AWACS Aftermath," Moment VII, no. 1 (December 1981), pp. 13-22. 62. Rosenbaum, op. cit. 63. Kennan Lee Teslik, Congress, the Executive Branch, and Special Interests (Westport, Conn: 1982), pp. 229-250. 64. Eugene T. Rossides, one of the participants in the previously mentioned AE1 Forum states that the problem of intra-rivalries may be overrated. He says, "the effectiveness is not dampened by these intra-rivalries; it is dampened by the force and power of and controls of the bureaucracy, its vast network of knowledge of the facts, and its ability to get the media . . . ," p. 15. 65. See, for example, Spiegel, "Religious Components." 66. Frey, "Problem of Actor Designation," p. 146.

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67. Stuart Eizenstat, "How Washington Sees Jerusalem," Moment IX, no. 3 (March 1984), p. 23. 68. Mark Golub, "Morgenthau Says Only Jewish Influence Foils U.S. Dumping of Israel," Jewish Week-American Examiner, 11 March 1979. 69. Paul, "The Greek Lobby," p. 76; Don L. Piper and Ronald .1. Tcrcheck (eds.), Interaction: Foreign Policy and Public Policy (Washington, D.C.: 1983), p. 61. 70. For a lucid analysis of various models of domestic sources of foreign policy see Kim Richard Nassal, "Analyzing the Domestic Sources of Canadian Foreign Policy," InternationalJournal XXXIX, no. 1 (Winter 1983-84), pp. 1-22. See especially the discussion of the "modified statist model." 71. Christoph Bertram, "Introduction," Adelphi Papers, no. 173 (Spring 1982), p. 4. (The entire issue deals with "America's Security in the 1980V.) 72. American Enterprise Institute, Role of Ethnic Groups, p. 6.

Segmented Ethnicity and the New Jewish Politics Peter Y. Medding (THE HEBREW UNIVERSITY)

American Jewry has recently undergone a fundamental political transformation. In the past it was politically weak and insignificant; today, it is prominent and widely regarded as an influential political force. The change is dramatically symbolized in the contrast between the inaction and impotence of American Jewry during the Holocaust and its current active public support for Israel. This essay analyzes the variations and developments in Jewish ethnicity and the changes within American society and politics, which together led to the creation of a New Jewish Politics.

THE SEGMENTATION OF JEWISH ETHNICITY Jewish ethnicity is a controversial subject for Jews themselves and for scholars studying Jewry. For Jews, the breakdown of the traditional society in which Jewish ethnicity was clearly defined and widely accepted generated significant ideological disagreements about the core meaning of Jewish ethnicity and the relative significance of its constituent elements. The efforts of academic scholars to introduce order and unity into the definition of Jewish ethnicity have not been particularly successful either. Their difficulties stem mainly from not taking sufficient account of the complex and changing nature of Jewish ethnicity. For Jews, ethnicity is a more complex phenomenon than for other groups. Most other groups are identified by a single ethnic indicator such as "race, color, language, religion, customs, and geographical origin." 1 Among Jews, the ethnic indicator combines religion, language, customs and geographic origins in an intricate and inseparable mix of religion, culture and nationality. The very complexity of Jewish ethnicity distinguishes Jews from other American ethnic groups. To be born Jewish confers membership in both a religion and an ethnic group. Among other nationality groups membership is by birth and one cannot join by conversion, as, say, with Italian-Americans. Conversely, membership of religious groups comes with initiation or conversion indicating accep26

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tance of the faith; membership cannot be achieved by birth, as in the case of Catholics and Protestants. But with Jews, both operate: Membership in the group follows birth or conversion. From Community of Belief to Community of Shared Identity Jewish ethnicity was historically encompassed within a community of belief based upon a system of shared prescriptive values. As a result of modern social and political developments, it exists today within a community based upon shared identity. The differences between the two are significant. The former constituted a total system which controlled the individual's whole environment in a detailed pattern of prescribed actions and fixed roles. Group membership, consequently, was clearly defined. The latter has developed into a partial system of voluntary membership and individual decision, the boundaries of which are unclear. Personal feelings have been invested with heightened significance because they are the language and common denominator of shared identity, while ethnic roles have become a matter of personal choice and definition. The community of belief had faith that its future had been guaranteed by divine assurances, as expressed in the traditional concept of the unity of Israel, the Torah and God. Just as God and the Torah were eternal, so, too, was Israel. In the traditional Jewish view of history, the latter might be punished severely for its sins and wayward behavior, but the destruction and disappearance of the Jewish people was not part of the divine scheme of retribution because the existence and chosenness of the Jews was believed to be the reason for the Creation itself. Increasing secularization and acceptance of more universal theories of history undermined the faith in these assurances and paved the way for the community of shared identity. In it not only the centrality of Jewish continuity but the very meaning of God, the Torah and Israel became the subject of deep internal disagreement and conflict. The community of shared identity is also characterized by the increased significance of non-systematically articulated and non-text-centered elements of Jewish ethnicity, which are maintained without being related to the needs of logical or theological consistency. Since roles are performed and customs observed by virtue of individual choice and voluntaristic group decisions, external environmental influences become a major source of legitimation. Symbolic Ethnicity or Segmented Ethnicity?Gans has argued that these changes in Jewish ethnicity have created a "symbolic ethnicity, an ethnicity of last resort," characterized by ethnic identity needs which are "neither intense nor frequent." Ethnicity is symbolic because "being and feeling ethnic do not depend upon the practice of ethnic culture or participation in ethnic organizations." The synagogue, for example, is such a symbol, requiring only occasional participation. Ethnic symbols are customs and cultural practices that are " 'abstracted' out of the traditional religion, and pulled out of its original moorings." Thus "pride in the tradition can be felt without having to be incorporated" into daily life. Symbolic ethnicity is expressed "above all by a nostalgic allegiance to the culture of the immigrant generation, or that of the old country. "-'•

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Peter Y. Medding

However, to define contemporary Jewish ethnicity as "symbolic ethnicity" is to misunderstand it completely and to fail to recognize that the changed emphases within the complex mix of Jewish ethnicity have not led to the complete removal or replacement of the old elements. Connections with the latter may have altered or become attenuated, but they continue to exist. So, too, is the total system retained at the normative level. To put it somewhat paradoxically, in the complex world of Jewish ethnicity, symbols are not merely symbolic. They are this and more. Thus the customs, practices and observances express values, affirm beliefs and reinforce fundamental commitments and rejections. That some practices are more popular than others, because of personal choices influenced by pragmatic and environmental considerations, and are not maintained as part of a total system, does not sever the connection with their substance and inner meaning. On the contrary, they reaffirm it. The rites de passage and the holidays are a perfect case in point. According to Gans, these "are ceremonial, and thus symbolic to begin with; equally importantly, they do not take much time, do not upset the everyday routine, and also become an occasion for reassembling on a regular basis family members who are rarely seen. "3 To dismiss them in this way is to miss their inner meaning. The ceremonies connected with the rites de passage—for example, brit milah, bar mitzvah, marriage and burial—not only mark stages in the life cycle but also create and affirm fundamental connections with the Jewish people, its land, its tradition and its God. So, too, with Sabbath, Festival and High Holy Day rituals, many of which are maintained today by the vast majority of Jews. For all Jews, including the most secularized, these are ethnically distinctive and separating religious rituals, which signify and reaffirm the acceptance of Jewishness in its broadest sense. At the same time they imply total rejection of Christianity, the dominant and enveloping culture in all the Western societies in which Jews live. 4 Christianity is the formative5 cultural system for most Americans, at both the value and emotional levels, even when they cease to accept its premises, beliefs and practices. In this sense America is a Christian society, despite constitutional guarantees of the separation of church and state. The constant vigilance and judicial battle needed to uphold the wall of separation and the neutrality of the state with regard to Christianity serve to underline the fact that society is not neutral. In addition to fundamental religious and rationalist objections, Jews reject Christianity strongly at the emotional and affective levels. Jewish socialization processes imprint upon the core of personality feelings of belonging to a separate ethnic group, the Jews, one of whose most significant defining characteristics is that they are not Christians. This awareness is continually reinforced by the lessons of a long history of Christian antisemitism and persecution, supported by Christian theology, which believed that Jews suffered divine rejection for their obstinate refusal to accept Christianity. Such feelings and emotions of affirmation and rejection lie close to the core of personality. In the community of belief, they were overshadowed somewhat by the commitment to the total system of faith and practice which completely encompassed the rhythm of their daily lives. In the community of shared identity, religious belief and practice have been downgraded in importance. As a result, the feelings and

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emotions of ethnic belonging are relatively more significant in the total scheme of Jewish ethnicity and may, indeed, constitute its essence for many Jews. But to regard ethnic feelings and practices as merely symbolic or perfunctory is to miss their central significance for the individual, even when formal religious and ritual performance take up so little of the time and lii'e pattern of the contemporary Jew. Where the community was defined in terms of belief and faith, one could, in theory, leave it by a change of belief, that is, by religious conversion. In a world defined in religious terms, this was a possible option, although it was limited in practice by prejudice and antisemitism and the degree of willingness to accept Jews socially after conversion. In a world defined in terms of individual identity, severing connection with the community of shared identity is even more difficult because it means leaving the community of birth. It is, in a sense, to leave oneself and one's personality, somewhat like trying to get out of one's skin. In a society based upon the legitimacy of individual expressions of identity and the affirmation of individual personality development, there is a constant emphasis upon the full and frank acceptance of oneself and one's origins and roots. Not to accept oneself in this way is not simply a matter of dropping out, of ignoring or avoiding the issue: It demands constant mechanisms of repression, with all the ensuing psychological costs. Moreover, however much the society recognizes the legitimacy of conversion in terms of individual choice and self-definition, it does not seem to be a commonly exercised option. Apart from the general decline in religious belief, it may conflict with the sense of self-, and group, honor and arouse deep guilt feelings as a result of the rejection of self, parents and the group at large. Such choices do not take place in a vacuum: Both the group of origin and the surrounding society may remind the individual of his roots and both, for different reasons, may "punish" him for attempting to leave them. Jewish ethnicity in the community of shared identity is thus firmly imprinted deep in the core of personality. It exists very much in the present rather than in a "nostalgic allegiance" to the past. It is difficult to erase or escape even when the individual consciously seeks to do so. Jewish ethnicity, therefore, may remain significant without requiring the individual constantly to raise it to the level of conscious awareness or to express it consistently in a formal and prescribed pattern of behavior. In fact, in order to be Jewish one does not need to do anything. Thus, when the ethnic individual does something—when he consciously relates to it in one of many possible ways within the whole religious, national and cultural complex of available options—he further reaffirms and reinforces fundamental values and connects directly with core elements of personal and group identity. There are, however, occasions in the life of the individual which characteristically raise the issue of Jewish ethnicity to the level of conscious awareness. One such occasion occurs when parents must make a decision about whether and how to hand on the ethnic heritage, values and identity to their offspring in response to the child's need for self-identity. It is in this context that a child-centered Judaism has developed. Educational institutions have been set up to formally induct the young into the community of shared identity, that is, to impart to them the main outlines of the ethnic values and heritage without making stringent demands upon their behavior or that of the parents.

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Conversely, when the individual in the community of shared identity perceives prejudice or encounters discrimination and rejection by some sectors of society, particularly those with high social prestige, he is bound to feel that he, individually, has been rejected as a person, for whatever reason. Such an attack upon the personality is different in kind and has much greater impact upon it than the religious or philosophical rejection of Judaism by Christianity. It threatens all members of the community of shared identity, however tenuous their connection with it might appear to be. Even those, and in many cases particularly those, who have made a conscious and what appears to be a successful effort to sever all affiliation with the community of shared identity suffer deep personal affront and injury when confronted with social rejection because they are Jewish. A striking insight into these mechanisms and the feelings accompanying them, even among Jews who appear to have shed all connections with their Jewishness, is to be found in the life and attitudes of Walter Lippmann. His biographer reports that to many, as one of his gentile friends put it, " 'Walter simply decided that he wasn't Jewish, and that was that.' But that, as it turned out wasn't that. It rarely is. Lippmann had a complicated attitude toward his own Jewishness." In pursuing this subject, his biographer discovered that Lippmann did not want to confront the issue. However, as a biographer he felt that he "had to. ... had to write about the Jewish issue not because Lippmann was Jewish, but because—as I learned from this and other episodes—it aroused his deepest feelings. It affected the kind of person he became, and even his approach to political issues."6 Ethnicity for Jews in the community of shared identity is, thus, highly significant to the individuals, not perfunctory, even if ethnic roles are subject to personal choice and individual decision. The commitment to it and its fulfillment of deep personal needs are not necessarily reflected in the time devoted to formal ethnic performance. In this sense sexual roles and sexual identity offer a good analogy. The intense significance of sexual needs for human personality cannot be gauged from the time devoted to their fulfillment. Similarly, there is a clear parallel in the wounding capacity of the ethnic and the sexual insult. Both wound deeply because they cut through to the core of personality. The nature of contemporary Jewish ethnicity is thus captured better in the term, segmented ethnicity. Compared with the total performance and commitment of the community of shared belief, Jewish ethnicity in the community of shared identity has become segmented. The area of the segment varies; for some it is broad, reflecting a commitment that involves many constituent elements of the contemporary mix of Jewish ethnicity; for others it may be narrower, indicating involvement with fewer elements, although these may be relatively weighty, representing a concentration of commitment. But the nature of the segment is such that however narrow it is, it derives from, and reaches into, the core. To remove the segment one must detach it from the core. To increase the size or weight or capacity of the segment is to attach it more firmly at the core. The emphasis upon identity reinforces the concern of segmented ethnicity with continuity. 7 Whereas previously there existed a strong belief in continuity and in the existence of a divine promise guaranteeing it, in the community of shared identity continuity is deemed to be dependent upon the actions of the members of the group

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themselves. This commitment to continuity as a self-evident, self-fulfilling or enemy-defying value highlights the political character of segmented ethnicity. Ensuring continuity is no longer a matter of faith, it has become a question of politics. JEWISH POLITICS Constituting a Jewish Public Realm The movement from a community of belief to a community of shared identity had a revolutionary impact upon Jewish politics. The self-governing corporate community of belief had been a semi-autonomous Jewish polity, with a legitimate and clearly defined Jewish public realm. Emancipation destroyed this by according Jews equal citizenship rights as individuals while denying them rights as a political group and as a nation. 8 The distinctive contribution of the community of shared identity has been to reestablish Jewry as a political group and as a nation. This necessitated the political mobilization of Jewry and the creation of a new Jewish public realm. The new Jewish public realm extended beyond the boundaries of the Jewish community and involved Jews in the politics of the societies in which they lived, in pursuit of Jewish concerns. It was evident in the formation of new Jewish political organizations and movements, including Zionism, Bundism, and Territorialism, and in the participation of Jews in more general political movements such as socialism and communism. It was manifested in the activities of Jewish parties in the electoral and parliamentary politics of a number of Central and East European countries and in various Jewish representative organizations and roof bodies set up to promote domestic and international Jewish issues. Jewish politics has become a major element in segmented Jewish ethnicity because it gives clear expression to ollectiveneeds. As with ethnic groups in general, "the politicization of ethnicity translates the personal quest for meaning and belonging into a group demand for respect and power."9 This is based upon groups recognizing that politics is relevant to the "health of their ethnic cultural values," upon the political mobilization of the group, and upon political activity based on this awareness. 10 Segmented Jewish ethnicity, as was noted above, has two major concerns: identity and continuity. Because group activity is necessary to secure these in pluralist societies, politics became increasingly significant with regard both to respect—the group's capacity to win acceptance of its identity—and to power—the capacity to influence those outcomes which will affect or determine continuity. The Politics of Security: The Quest for Identity and Respect A Jewish public realm had begun to develop in the United States in the nineteenth century, and it received considerable impetus from the immigration influx and the pressure of events in the twentieth century. A significant event in this process was the establishment in 1944 of the National Community Relations Advisory Counci

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(NCRAC) as a coordinating body for the Jewish community relations agencies. (In 1971 the word Jewish was added to the name, and it has since been known as NJCRAC.) Today, its membership consists of 11 national and 111 local Jewish community relations organizations. NJCRAC meets annually to consider the problems facing American Jewry. The results of its deliberations are formally incorporated in the Joint Program Plan, which provides guidelines for its affiliated agencies. These are not binding upon the members; consequently, considerable effort is made to achieve consensus on joint policies. Failing this, it also includes statements of dissent from majority formulations. It is, without doubt, the most representative and comprehensive statement of an American Jewish political agenda. When viewed historically, the Joint Program Plan gives unique expression to the changing political concerns and positions of American Jews. The organization was founded in reaction to an American society which subjected Jews to discrimination in education, housing, employment, and admission to resorts, as well as to personal, public and often widely broadcast expressions of prejudice. The Christian character and substance of the American nation was instilled in schools and other public institutions. Jews were constantly reminded of their place in a Christian America. Americanization demanded conformity to WASP culture in a manner that left no doubts about the inferiority of minority and immigrant ethnic cultures and that reinforced the social superiority of the WASPs. Some leading Christian groups denied Jews a place in America because of the incompatibility of Judaism with the universal demands of democracy. According to the Christian Century in 1937, the Jews threatened the cultural integrity which was essential to the survival of American democracy because they defined Judaism in ethnic rather than religious terms. "Can democracy," it asked, "suffer a hereditary minority to perpetuate itself as a permanent minority, with its own distinctive culture sanctioned by its own distinctive cult form?"'' This was deemed to be responsible for the Jewish problem because prejudice was "generated by their long resistance to the democratic process," arising from beliefs which "require racial integrity and separateness." In its view, "the only religion compatible with democracy is one which conceives itself as universal, and offers itself to all men of all races and cultures. The Jewish religion, or any other religion, is an alien element in American democracy unless it proclaims itself as a universal faith, and proceeds upon such a conviction to persuade us all to be Jews." 12 In response to these pressures, NCRAC sought conditions which would enable Jews fully to enter American society. Jews wanted their due as American citizens, the rights of equality. From the mid-1940s until about the mid-1960s the problems confronting Jews and America were conceived of in individual terms. NCRAC regarded its role as facilitating the full integration of individual Jews into society, where they could enjoy their rights as citizens free of individual discrimination, pray in accordance with their conscience and be guaranteed equal opportunity by law. This is clearly expressed in theJointProgramlan for 1953: "The overall objectives of Jewish community relations arc to protect and promote equal rights

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and opportunities and to create conditions that contribute to the vitality of Jewish living. . , . These opportunities can be realized only in a society in which all persons are secure, whatever their religion, race or origin. . . . Freedom of individual conscience is a basic tenet of American democracy. The right of each person to worship God in his own way is the keystone in one of the major arches of our national edifice of personal liberties. Government must protect this right by protecting each in the pursuit of his conscience and by otherwise remaining aloof from religious matters." 13 The same conception is prominent in the formulation of its section headings: "an immigration policy free from racism and other discriminations," "advancing civil rights," "effective defenses against communist tactics of infiltration and subversion," "fuller respect for and application of traditional American civil liberties," "protection of religious liberties, maintenance of separation of church and state, and promotion of interreligious understanding." 14 Specific Jewish concerns and interests were also presented in these terms. Detailed recommendations with regard to discrimination in employment, education, and housing, for example, formed part of the section on civil rights. There is only the briefest mention of international Jewish issues: The Soviet Union's resort to antisemitism as an instrument of political policy and the dangers of a resurgent Nazism in Germany. Most striking is the reference to Israel: It is mentioned only once in passing, noting that the "Soviet Union has embarked on an active anti-Israel policy . . . that will deeply concern all Jewish organizations." 15 Clearly, Israel had only a limited impact upon American Jewry in the 1950s. The excitement generated by the establishment of the state dissipated fairly quickly and organized support fell away, as evidenced by the decline in the membership of Zionist organizations. 16 In fact, the actual establishment of Israel initially heightened existing ambivalence and unease within some sections of American Jewry by raising the question of dual loyalty with greater urgency. Underlying this was the historic and continuing organizational rift between Zionists and non-Zionists. This ambivalence was formally documented in the Ben-Gurion/Blausteiri "Exchange of Views" of 1950, which affirmed that American Jews were not exiles and that they "owe no political allegiance to Israel." Although Israel inspired pride and admiration in all Jews, in Mr. Blaustein's view, it had also "placed some burdens on Jews elsewhere, particularly in America." 17 Generally, the relationship with Israel was expressed in terms which emphasized distance and separateness at least as much as commitment and connection. For example, according to the 1954 Joint Program Plan, "American Jews have a deep and strong sense of cultural and ethnic affinity with the people of Israel and a warm sympathy for the young state." 18 The Jewish leadership's response to the Sinai campaign reflected these concerns. It was internally divided over Israel's actions, to which some prominent Jewish leaders were actively opposed.19 To maintain the public appearance of unity, only lukewarm and general statements of support for Israel were forthcoming, calling for "a bold and statesmanlike appraisal of the issues behind the conflict" and prayers for "the freedom and security of Israel arid all other peoples in that part of the world." 20 Forthright criticism of American policy was avoided even when there was unanimous Jewish and considerable public opposition to the American threat of

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unilateral sanctions. 21 Even then, American Jewish leaders privately encouraged Israel to meet the American government's request that it withdraw. The divisions within the Jewish community were highlighted when the secretary of state invited a number of non-Zionist leaders to hear the administration's views on sanctions in the hope that "these leaders would exercise a 'helpful influence' upon the Israeli government."22 This clumsy State Department attempt to split the Jewish community and to seek to influence Israel through American Jews was bitterly resented, even by those who opposed Israel's actions, because it exposed the deepest sources of unease within the Jewish community. It questioned the loyalty of some Jews to the United States and the commitment of others to Israel. The non-Zionists had been invited because they were "less likely than the Zionists to be influenced by considerations of Israeli interests." Not surprisingly, the group unanimously and vigorously rejected this implication. They "made it plain that all American Jews approach issues affecting U.S. interests as American citizens and that there are no divisions among them in this regard."23 To have accepted this implication would have lent support to the old accusation of dual loyalty, now reinforced by new Arab propaganda seeking "to create the impression that Jews everywhere in the world are to be regarded as Israelis, rather than citizens of their respective nations."24 On the other hand, rejecting it enabled the nonZionist group publicly to demonstrate a commitment to Israel. The consistent need to support Israel in times of crisis began to dispel some of the apprehensions and unease felt by American Jews. In 1955 the fact that views held by American Jews regarding U.S. policy in the Middle East "differed rather sharply from those being pursued by our government," aroused concern about "special community relations problems."25 But after the Suez crisis, they felt reassured that "the American public accepted the American Jewish concern about Israel . . . as a natural, normal manifestation of interest based on sympathies and emotional attachments of a sort that are common to many Americans."26 Simultaneously, the sense of distance and separateness from Israel, so prominent previously, began to be bridged. For the first time, the American Jewish political agenda incorporated Israel into American Jewish life. No longer was the connection spoken of as merely "sympathy" or "affinity" for the people of Israel, but it had become "clearer than ever . . . that the maintenance of dynamic relationships between American Jewry and the people of Israel . . . is regarded by the overwhelming majority of American Jews as conducive towards creative Jewish living here."27 The leadership's confidence about the significance of Israel for the overwhelming majority of American Jews seems more than a trifle misplaced in the light of survey findings. In 1958 only 21 percent of the Jews interviewed for the Lakeville study (dealing with a representative Jewish community) regarded support for Israel as essential "to be considered a good Jew," 47 percent thought it desirable and 32 percent believed it made no difference. Support for Israel ranked fourteenth in a list of twenty-two items, behind working for equality for Negroes ("desirable" or "essential" for 83 percent); helping the underprivileged improve their lot (95 percent); being a liberal on political and economic issues (31 percent "essential," 32 percent "desirable"); promoting civic betterment and improvement in the community (96 percent); and gaining respect of Christian neighbors (91 percent).28 Clear-

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ly, at this stage, the leadership was far ahead of the community in its understanding of the need for support of Israel and its role in Jewish life. The slowly strengthening relationships with Israel stemmed from greater Jewish understanding of the problems and dangers which it faced and a growing concern about Israel's security. By the early to mid-1960s there was a clear parallel between the domestic and international aspects of the American Jewish political agenda. The main focus of both was security. Thus, in addition to its usual concentration upon gaining acceptance of, and respect for, individual constitutional rights, the 1964-65 Joint Program Plan, for the first time, dedicated a section to Jewish security and status in the United States. A complete section on Israel and the Middle East analyzed U.S. policy in the region. It urged continuation of the American commitment "to the protection of [Israel's] security against armed aggression," in light of the "acceptance and recognition of Israel," as indicated by the first official state visit of an Israeli prime minister to the United States.29 Ethnic Pluralism This increasing emphasis on security and status reflects a turning away from the focus on individual rights and citizenship to a greater preoccupation-with group an cultural distinctiveness in a pluralist context. Much of the impetus for the development of this perspective came from developments and changes within American society, which rendered the theory and practice of pluralism more consistent. Pluralism separated Americanism from ethnicity, religion and nationality. On the other hand, nationality and ideology were fused, with the result that the nation was defined in political terms. This meant that ethnic groups could retain their integrity and separateness and perpetuate their cultural distinctiveness as long as they accepted American political ideas, values and symbols. American nationality related to allegiance to the political principles of equality, freedom and unalienable rights, not to ethnic origins. Thus there exists a body of ideas known as "Americanism," in the sense that "Britishism" or "Frenchism" do not exist. The latter rest on organic national and ethnic ties, whereas Americanism is an ideology. Because the test of Americanism is adherence to this ideology, it is perfectly compatible with the maintenance of ethnic culture, traditions, ascriptive social ties and separate social structure.30 In direct contrast with the earlier Americanization model which sought to have nationality follow politics and to make citizens into one people, the adoption of ethnic pluralism separated politics from nationality. But it stopped short of making ethnicity a principle of political organization. As at its foundation, the American political system recognizes only citizens and individuals, not ethnic groups, and individual rights, not group rights, although some aspects of affirmative action seemed to be based upon recognition of the latter. 31 This enables individuals to determine for themselves the extent of their ethnic involvements, while the maintenance of pluralism is dependent upon the capacity of the various ethnic groups and cultures to fill it with distinctive content. From the 1960s onwards, ethnic group politics in the United States has been characterized by public and militant ethnic self-assertiveness, most notably in the

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black struggle for full recognition of their civil rights. The intense and active public opposition to the American military involvement in Vietnam extended such politics to the realm of foreign policy. In both, the limits of civil obedience and protest in democracy were tested and extended. These developments had a direct impact upon Jewish politics in the United States. In general, they reinforced the legitimacy of organized and public Jewish political activity. Specifically, they broke down many of the barriers which previously had inhibited opposition on foreign policy issues. Moreover, in the two areas of greatest concern—the survival of Israel and the security of their place in American society—Jews encountered or perceived opposition and competition from other political forces, including rival ethnic groups, sometimes supported by powerful non-ethnic interests. The promotion of ethnic Jewish political interests was thus cast in a framework of political competition between ethnic groups rather than in a polarized contest between the Jews and the rest of society or the policies of the U.S. government. Jewish political activity fitted into the accepted competitive pattern of American politics, in which many groups legitimately contest with each other to influence the content and direction of policy. Ethnic pluralism transformed the general societal stance of Jews. By the end of the 1970s the strength of the society and its capacity to live up to democratic and American goals are perceived in terms of pluralism and group diversity rather than citizenship and rights. This is clearly stated in the 1984-85 Joint Program Plan: Jewish community relations activities are directed toward enhancement of conditions conducive to secure and creative Jewish living. Such conditions can be achieved only within a societal framework committed to the principles of democratic pluralism; to freedom of religion, thought and expression; equal rights, justice and opportunity; and within a climate in which differences among groups are accepted and respected, with each free to cultivate its own distinctive values while participating fully in the general life of the society. . . . The Jewish community has always been profoundly aware that maintaining a firm line of separation between church and state is essential to religious freedom and the religious voluntarism which foster the creative and distinctive survival of diverse religious groups, such as our own. 32

The Politics of Survival American Jewry has recently come to believe that the health of its major ethnic values, indeed their very continuity, are directly dependent upon political activities. Central to this concern is the belief that the Jewish public realm in Israel is permanently threatened with physical destruction. If this is not averted, American Jewish ethnic group cultural and spiritual distinctiveness and personal identity are deemed by many to be unlikely to survive. American Jewry thus seeks to exercise political power wherever public policy touches on the group's survival. This urgent concern distinguishes the New Jewish Politics from that of all other ethnic groups in the United States.33 The politics of survival is a recent development in Jewish politics in America brought about by two separate but interrelated factors: the growing trend toward

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using the Holocaust as a historical and political frame of reference in confronting group issues and the steady rise in Israel-consciousness as a major element in the self- and group-identity of segmented Jewish ethnicity. When Israel's security and continued existence suddenly appeared to be in grave danger, these combined with great impact to transform the politics of security into the politics of survival, which lies at the base of the New Jewish Politics. Although Israel is its major focus, the values and responses of the politics of survival pervade American Jewry's collective identity and have fundamentally changed its perception of its place and role in American society. During the 1950s and 1960s there was almost no consciousness at all of the Holocaust as a historical event or of its impact upon, or meaning for, American Jewry.34 The term Holocaust appears only once in the Joint Program Plan before 1969-70, in 1961-62 in the context of the Eichmann trial. It also appears obliquely in 1964-65 in relation to Rolf Hochhuth's play The Deputy. On both occasions previous fears that these would arouse antisemitism had proven to be unfounded. Moreover, considerable reassurance was derived from the apparent willingness of Christians to show sympathy and accept a measure of moral responsibility.35 Despite increasingly common public usage during the 1960s, the actual term Holocaust reappeared only in 1969-70, brought to the surface by the 1967 War. During the 1960s the outpouring of historical and literary material about the Holocaust together with the organizational efforts of the Holocaust survivors who had become established in American society, made memory of the Holocaust a central theme in Jewish life. This was not just a historical exercise or an act of commemoration. A clear political message was also transmitted—that antisemitism and prejudice left unchecked can have the most disastrous consequences for Jewry even in the most enlightened, cultured and civilized of societies. Particularly shocking in the 1960s was increasing evidence of indifference to the plight of Jewry and even obstruction of rescue efforts by many of those who had previously been regarded as friendly, in particular President Roosevelt and his administration. Antisemitism was not: the only factor to which this indifference was attributed Part of the blame was attached to the Jewish leadership and the Jewish community: They, too, may have been indifferent or not active enough, may have placed unwarranted trust in the good faith of those who had none, and may have been unduly intimidated by prejudice, disunited, and weakened by internal political differences. It was becoming increasingly felt that more might have been done had organizational rivalries and personal conflicts as well as other long-term goals (the establishment of a Jewish state) not been given precedence over efforts to rescue European Jews facing immediate death.36 The direct political lesson learned from the exposure of this agonising and traumatic period was that Jewish passivity and inaction was partly responsible for the failure to save more Jews from death at the hands of the Na/is. Holocaust-consciousness gave rise to the political response that Jews must act resolutely to promote their own security, not repeat the past mistake of misplaced trust, and that, in the last resort, they can rely only on themselves. It was positively reinforced by the example of the establishment of Israel, which maintained its security by military self-reliance.

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The 1967 War brought this consciousness to a head. There was first the image of Israel surrounded by its enemies, literally facing a battle for survival against what seemed to be superior forces. The independent Jewish state, which previously had seemed to provide a safe haven for Jews and an answer to the ineradicable evils of antisemitism, suddenly was perceived as a potential stage for a second Holocaust because of the concentration of Jews in one place. In a twist of historic irony, this conveyed the worst image of the Holocaust. Israel's few friends, however wellmeaning, did not seem able to act decisively to assist it. Once more, as in the Holocaust, the Jews appeared to stand alone. These fears dramatically brought home the central role of Israel in segmented Jewish ethnicity: The threat to collective group identity was perceived as a direct threat to personal identity. Jewish politics, thus, became the politics of survival. Neither the military victory of 1967 nor the eventual military success of 1973, which demonstrated Israel's capacity to guarantee its own survival, had much impact upon the felt analogy with the Holocaust. There was, firstly, the recognition that Israel's survival was always in question because it could not afford to lose a single battle. Secondly, there was deepening isolation of Israel in the United Nations, which came to a head in 1975 with the "Zionism is racism" resolution. Because it sought to de-legitimate the Jewish state by undermining the basis of the national right of the Jewish people to self-determination, opposition to the resolution was regarded by Jews as the minimum indication of support for Jewish survival. By the mid-1970s these themes came together. Jewish apprehensiveness, although perhaps mistaken and surely excessive, was warranted by "the long, dark Jewish history of persecution, . . . in which the Holocaust and Nazism are not part of the dead past, and in which the virus of antisemitism is not exterminated or conquered. . . . [The Jews] cannot relax their anxiety while a beleaguered Jewish state, restored after centuries of exile is threatened because it is Jewish, by a surrounding Arab world which in its worldwide propaganda propagates antisemitism along with political anti-Zionism."37 The role and significance of Israel were made more explicit, "The state has become for many Jews the symbol and e m b o d i m e n t . . . of the continuity of Jewish life. Any threat to Israel is therefore a threat to Jews." Thus the "Zionism is racism" resolution was regarded as masked antisemitism. Moreover, "given the profound sense of identity with the people and the state of Israel, American Jews often perceive the level of antisemitism in America as strongly influenced by, and in a measure, reflected in, our government's policies and public posture towards Israel."38 The relationship between American Jewry and Israel was intensified by the politics of survival. Thus in the 1980s it came to be characterized as one of "intense support for Israel and identification with the Jewish state" and "deep commitment to its security and survival." 39 Similarly, it was recognized that for "Jews everywhere, the security and vitality of the Jewish State of Israel and the welfare of its people are integral to their own vitality as Jews and as Jewish communities."40 This is a far cry from the distance and ambivalent attitudes of the 1950s. The politics of survival is posited upon a number of basic premises: (1) that the survival of Israel is at stake; (2) that the meaning of Jewish life everywhere is

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dependent on Israel; (3) that a threat to Israel's survival is a threat to Jews everywhere; (4) that Jews must be militant in acting to ensure Israel's survival; (5) that in acting to ensure Israel's survival, Jews are thereby acting to ensure their own survival and continuity; (6) that the response of non-Jews to Israel's struggle for survival is indicative of their attitude to Jews in general and (7) that in the light of history, indifference to these concerns is as dangerous as outright antisemitism. In stark contrast with the situation in the 1950s, such attitudes are not the monopoly of the American Jewish leadership but are widely held throughout the community. Recent surveys have documented this consensus as well as the slightly more intense response among Jewish leaders.41 The 1981 82 National Survey of American Jews found that 83 percent of those surveyed agreed "that if Israel were destroyed, I would feel as if I had suffered one of the greatest personal tragedies in my life." Only 12 percent agreed that "Israel's future is secure." In all, 94 percent categorized themselves as very pro-Israel or pro-Israel. In 1983 similar results were obtained, and, as well, 78 percent agreed that "caring about Israel is a very important part of my being a Jew." Among a sample of leaders, 90 percent agreed. Jews were secure about publicly identifying with Israel; only 10 percent of the public said, "I am somewhat uncomfortable about identifying myself as a supporter of Israel," as did 4 percent of the leaders. On the other hand, Jews were very insecure about where American non-Jews stood on these questions and the degree of support and understanding which they might expect from them. Only 8 percent of leaders in 1982 disagreed with the proposition that "the world is still not ready to let Jews live in peace." In 1983, 54 percent of the Jewish public and 41 percent of the leaders agreed that "when it comes to the crunch few non-Jews will come to Israel's side in its struggle to survive"; 55 percent of the public and 48 percent of the leaders were "worried the U.S. may stop being a firm ally of Israel"; and only 27 percent of the public and 44 percent of the leaders agreed that "virtually all positions of influence in America are open to Jews." In 1983 and 1984 only about 10 percent of the Jewish public disagreed with the statement that "antisemitism may, in the future, become a serious problem for American Jews." 42 THE NEW JEWISH POLITICS Some of the major elements of the New Jewish Politics are captured well in the following excerpts from a speech by one of the leading officials of the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AlPAC) to its 1985 Annual Policy Conference. It is not surprising that the speech was made at AIPAC, because it, more than any other single Jewish organization today, is the epitome of the New Jewish Politics: Forty years ago—April, 1945—we had failed. We didn't know then the extent of our failure, but we knew we had failed. And, for many of us . . . that failure has haunted us and driven us and provided us with the internal fuel needed to create a politically active people pledged to survival. . . . In our modern world, Jews have been torn between a desire for maximum integration in the general culture on the one hand and the will for Jewish survival on the other. But,

40

Peter Y. Medding the aftermath of the Holocaust, the creation of the State of Israel, and then in 1967 and 1973 the experience of almost losing what it took the murders of six million to create, drove home the urgency of putting Jewish survival first. I believe that today we recognize that if we fail to utilize our political power we may be overwhelmed by our adversaries throughout the world. We understand that if that happens, Jewish existence itself is endangered. . . . As we have bitterly learned, it is when we assume too low a profile and fail to develop economic and political power, that we are perceived as having no vital societal role. That is what makes us dispensable—that is what made Polish Jewry dispensable in the 1930s. NEVER AGAIN. . . . The specter ofualloyaltytill haunts our community. . . . But here, in this country of ours, we ought not be shy about our interest in Israel. This is a pluralistic society and our survival here is dependent upon that pluralism. . . . Our concern for Israel does not erase our concern for America's domestic policies nor, in fact, does it mean that we do not have such concerns. . . . We care to the depths of our souls about what happens to both the United States and Israel—that caring is not inconsistent—it is not un-American—and ;'/ is not dual loyalty. It is part of democracy.

The New Jewish Politics and the American Political System The New Jewish Politics is characterized by its total integration into the normal operation and domestic political agenda of American politics, on the one hand, and by its rationalization of internal Jewish community politics, on the other. The Jewish political organizational framework and political agenda is more than ever before totally integrated into the mainstream of American politics. Jews are no longer an outside group, sporadically involved in the political process, and organized on an ad hoc basis when a crisis erupts. This was how the Jewish community behaved in the past, making representations mainly to the administration. When the issue was resolved, it went back to its regular pursuits, until the next critical issue arose. This was the politics of notables and organizational leaders, who descended on Washington for the occasion and left immediately after. Jewish issues are today part of the warp and woof of American politics, and the Jewish organizations and professionals involved in their promotion and in the pursuit of Jewish political interests are insiders in American politics. For insiders the political process is a day-to-day operation, highly sophisticated, fast-moving and fluid. It is subject to short-term and shifting coalitions and alliances as well as to longer-term loyalties. To keep abreast of politics under such conditions necessitates full-time, skilled, professional organization—both in Washington and across the country—that is able to get on top of extremely complicated and sometimes obscure legislative procedures, strategems and maneuvers. It must be capable of dealing with a whole range of complex policy questions, often demanding a high level of scientific or technological knowledge and advice, together with a grasp of politics that comes only with direct and intimate political experience and the capacity to take decisions quickly in the light of these considerations. This is no game for amateurs. Jewish political organization and professionals became insiders in the American political process when Israel became a regular item on the congressional appropria-

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tions agenda, following the marked increase in the level of U.S. foreign aid and defence assistance. This was reinforced by the United States' role as Israel's main source of military supplies and by its increasingly active role in peace making in the Middle East after 1967. Israel had thus become important in both congressional and presidential politics; as a result, it was a significant factor in electoral politics. Although only part of a larger picture, the changes in AIPAC over the years accurately reflect the Jewish political response to these developments. AIPAC began modestly in the early 1950s as the American Zionist Public Affairs Committee. Its status as an ultimate outsider was symbolized by the constant pressure to register as an agent of a foreign government.43 (The name change was partly in response to this pressure and accompanied a decision to register as a domestic lobby). AIPAC undertakes activities aimed at "promoting strong and consistently close relations between our country and Israel. "44 In recent years it has developed a grass roots membership of some fifty thousand members spread all over the country and its budget and full-time professional staff have grown dramatically: In 1985 it had a budget of $5 million and a full-time staff of seventy in Washington, which represented a more than fivefold increase in less than ten years. Prominent among these are its string of legislative lobbyists and a high-level academic research and information service. The lobbyists closely monitor all aspects of congressional activity that relate in any way to AIPAC's goal of gaining support for Israel, and they work with the relevant congressmen and senators. This means keeping fully abreast of the congressional agenda and working closely with the congressional staff at all levels so as to be apprised of developments on an ongoing basis even before they come to committee. In this they follow the established pattern in Washington whereby a considerable amount of activity in Congress on behalf of congressmen, senators, party leaderships, committees, sub-committees and special committees is transacted by members of the staff. The elected representative is often brought in only at the last stages of negotiation and discussion when a decision is required or a vote is to be made.45 Some insight into the changed status of AIPAC can be gained from an analysis of the career patterns of its leading officials. Its founder, I. L. Kenen, came from the ranks of the officials of the American Zionist movement. His successor, Morris J. Amitay, had worked for the State Department as a foreign service officer and then had served on the congressional staff for a number of years as a legislative aide to Senator Ribicoff. His successor, Tom Dine, had been a Peace Corps volunteer and then worked in the Senate for ten years as an aide to senators Kennedy, Muskie and Church. Many of those employed to act as lobbyists have also worked on the Hill, have gone back to the Hill or have become established as private lobbyists after leaving AIPAC. For example, when Amitay left AIPAC he set up his own office as a lobbyist representing a number of leading corporations. Detailed, firsthand, intimate knowledge of the congressional process and familiarity with its byways and its staff members are not only clear indication of insider status but arc absolutely essential for the successful operation of a body such as AIPAC, which is dependent on professional and political expertise. Here, too, AIPAC differs little from the many Washington-based lobbying and consulting

42

Peter Y. Medding

firms which are staffed with professionals who had previously worked on the congressional staff. Rather than return to their hometowns or relocate, they stay in Washington as consultants and lobbyists.46 AIPAC maintains close contact with members and key personnel in congressional districts to bring its point of view to the attention of congressmen whom they may have been unable to reach in Washington. AIPAC members who have worked on the electoral campaigns or are otherwise well known to the representative are of particular relevance in this regard. These activities are not just restricted to the congressional district. AIPAC activists and members come to Washington to lobby their representatives, and this is carried further in an organized manner during the AIPAC annual policy conference. The more than one thousand activists who come to Washington to participate in it spend some of the time with their representatives in Congress. In all, there are identifiable Jewish communities in 384 of the 435 congressional districts, which means that mobilized Jewish constituents have direct contact with about 90 percent of the House members. AIPAC's activities dovetail neatly with another significant aspect of the New Jewish Politics, the eighty or so Political Action Committees (PACs) which generate congressional support for Israel by raising funds and allocating them to candidates who have supported, or are pledged to support, pro-Israeli policies in Congress. The largest and most significant of these is NATPAC situated in Washington, which is nationally organized; most of the others are locally organized. Here, too, the New Jewish Politics has demonstrated its insider status by its rapid and extensive involvement in this fairly new but major development on the American political scene.47 Congressmen tend to be guided by key congressional figures in all areas. Two groups which are particularly influential on matters affecting Israel are the Jewish members of Congress and the members of the House Foreign Affairs Committee. There is some overlap between the two groups: In 1984, 25 percent of the members of the House Foreign Affairs Committee were Jewish, as were 30 percent of its Middle East Subcommittee. Overall there has also been a significant increase in the number of Jewish members of Congress. In 1974 there were eleven Jewish members of the House and 2 Jewish senators. By 1985 in the Ninety-ninth Congress there were thirty Jewish House members, many from districts without large or significant Jewish constituencies, and eight Jewish senators. Unlike the past when the great majority were Democrats, in recent years about a quarter are Republicans, which provides further evidence of the integration of Jews into the American political system as insiders. The Jewishness of the congressmen is not as significant as their attitudes to Jewish and Israeli issues. A survey in the late 1970s of the twenty-four Jewish members of the Ninety-fourth Congress found that most of them actively and openly identified with the Jewish community. They adopted Jewish interests and pursued them openly and effectively. Generally, they were more sympathetic to Israel than members of the House at-large. In fact, they held views about the Arab-Israeli conflict which were well within the mainstream of opinion within the organized

Segmented Ethnicity and the New Jewish Politics

43

American Jewish community. As such, they were described as constituting an "inhouse lobby" for Israel.48 AIPAC's congressional activities on behalf of Israel must be set against the background of general support for Israel in the United States and within the Congress, and the process of congressional decision making. There was considerable support for Israel in Congress because of members' belief in Israel's democratic character, its spirit of sacrifice, its efficient use of foreign aid and the tradition of friendship between the two countries. Others saw support for Israel in terms of America's commitment to peace in the region—any possible war being considered more costly to the United States—and in terms of the national interest in supporting Israel as a bastion against the Soviet Union and communism. Congressmen have also been influenced by public awareness of the Holocaust, particularly those with active Jewish constituencies. It is a common phenomenon for congressmen to identify with the values and feelings of their constituents and to internalize them. The grass roots activity of AIPAC is well suited to the electoral interests of members of Congress. Jewish support for Israel may only affect a small percentage of the voters, but it is exceedingly intense; most other voters are uninformed or do not care. Support for Israel under these conditions can be instrumental in gaining considerable electoral support, whereas generally none can be gained by being against Israel. The benefit to the specific group of voters is deeply appreciated, whereas the costs are widely distributed throughout the whole political system, which in politics is generally a good reason for a representative to support an issue. This gains not only individual voter support but also that of any organization which promotes the issue. Not surprisingly, there was a positive relationship between the proportion of Jewish voters in the constituency and support for Israel: Support for Israel was considerably lower among members who had no Jewish constituents than in the rest of the House. Beneath all these considerations lay the fact that there was considerable general support for Israel in American public opinion. Polls conducted for the last forty years have found that views about Israel are generally favorable and that support for Israel in the Middle East conflict was always considerably greater than support for the Arabs.49 Although the New Jewish Politics is most clearly evident with regard to Israel, its agenda is, in fact, broader. Jews and Jewish organizations actively pursue a wide range of international and domestic political interests both in the national capital and in many state capitals and major cities. Particularly significant among these are the Washington offices of major Jewish organizations such as the American Jewish Committee, the American Jewish Congress, ADL, the Council of Jewish Federations and the major synagogue and religious bodies. While pursuing programs and activities in line with their goals and purposes and catering to the needs of their members, the net effect of this whole plethora of activity is the presence—sometimes in the central role—of Jewish organizations in a tremendously wide range of coalitions engaged in the whole gamut of political activity as it is practiced in the United States. Many of these activities are not directly connected with Jewish political issues per se and relate to the day-to-day

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Peter Y. Medding

questions and issues of American politics. Thus Jewish organizations are involved in various coalitions concerned with health and human services, labor, veteran, education, environment and energy issues as well as in the more traditional coalitions on such matters as civil rights and church-state issues in which direct or indirect Jewish interests are more clearly evident. Many of the leading positions are occupied by Jewish political professionals who have previously worked either in Congress or in the administration or both. These coalition relationships give Jewish professionals and organizations access to a wide range of groups and individuals in the American political system. They create relationships of mutual support and understanding which may later be utilized to gain support for Jewish policy positions on matters of concern, particularly on the survival issues. In particular, they provide indirect avenues to groups and individuals otherwise relatively inaccessible to Jews. The New Jewish Politics and the Jewish Community The American Jewish representational structure has traditionally been diverse and disunited, but agreed on the principle that no single body or organization spoke on behalf of American Jewry as a whole. Although since the 1950s a degree of political coordination slowly developed, it was limited by organizational rivalries and the desire of some major organizations to retain their autonomy and not be bound by majority decision. Some Jewish leaders found virtue in this diversity and pluralism because it reflected American society.50 The New Jewish Politics is characterized by considerably increased rationalization and unity at the top levels of the Jewish community structure. But this is more implicit than explicit, and it exists in informal organizational arrangements rather than in formal agreements or institutional structures. The major focus and cause of this unity is Israel and its survival, which evoke intense feelings of support and identification from almost all of American Jewry. This is particularly evident if the legitimacy of the state and its right to exist are under external attack. Ideological differences over government policies are brushed aside to enable the creation of united public support for Israel, which includes many on the margins of the Jewish community who are critical of Israel.51 Thus the commitments engendered by the politics of survival operate as a unifying factor overcoming other differences. Similarly, on the American Jewish political agenda, Israel's needs are generally recognized as having precedence; this has served for the first time to introduce a clear sense of priorities among Jewish interests. Such unity is a major political advantage in the group pattern of American politics where internal division is taken to indicate political weakness. Popular and leadership consensus in the Jewish community about Israel is therefore of fundamental importance. The specific policies and tactics which give expression to it are decided by the various organizations and professionals involved in promoting the cause of Israel. Generally, it has become the accepted practice for the Conference of Presidents of Major American Jewish Organizations to represent the Jewish community's views on Israel and other international Jewish questions (such as Soviet Jewry) to

Segmented Ethnicity and the New Jewish Politics

45

the White House and the executive branch, while AIPAC directs its attention to the congressional front. The division of function is maintained by careful coordination. AIPAC operates within the parameters of policies that are acceptable to the Presidents' Conference. To ensure this, AIPAC has in recent years extended its organizational framework. The executive committee has been widened to include the top leaders in major Jewish country-wide organizations, many of whom are also members of the Presidents' Conference as well as the executive bodies of the Council of Jewish Federations and NJCRAC. Some are also leaders in large Jewish communities. Thus, although AIPAC is registered as a domestic lobby and its main activity is professional and executive, it has developed an extensive network of organizational links within the Jewish community. This overlapping of organizational leadership provides it with the legitimacy of representativeness that it would otherwise lack. AIPAC can justifiably claim to speak for the whole Jewish community with regard to Israel. Regular informal consultations take place among the professionals working for Jewish organizations in Washington to discuss alternatives and to act as a clearing house for ideas and tactics. The group is a vital link in the process of ensuring that all organizations and their leaderships are fully informed about developments and, above all, that they do not act independently. Where issues are particularly complex, these informal discussions are widened to involve many others on the Washington political scene who share a commitment to ensuring Jewish survival by strengthening U.S.-Israel relations. Further unity and coordination is introduced by informal consultation and cooperation with representatives of Israel, both in Washington and Jerusalem. It is symptomatic of the New Jewish Politics that it has gotten over the sensitivities of charges of dual loyalty and that these contacts are open and frankly admitted. 52 Contact with official Israeli representatives is necessary to ensure that, in promoting the interests of Israel as they perceive them, American Jews take into account the views about these which are held by the Israeli government and people. In pragmatic political terms nothing could be more damaging to the pursuit of these interests than Israeli representatives promoting views in conflict with those of American Jewry. While there may, indeed, be legitimate differences between the two, these must be worked out prior to action being taken. The American Jewish input in this process has proved to be considerable. The evidence suggests that Israel has learned a considerable amount from the expertise and professional knowledge of the practitioners of the New Jewish Politics and that the latter are far from being mere mouthpieces or messenger boys for the Israeli government. The 1984-85 Joint Program Plan gives clear expression to the changed nature of the Jewish political agenda under the impact of the politics of survival and the New Jewish Politics. The contrast with the 1950s is striking. International issues—Israel and the Middle East, Soviet Jewry, Ethiopian Jewry, Argentina—take up the first half of the document. These are followed by a series of domestic issues—churchstate and interreligious relationships, social and economic justice, energy, Jewish security and individual freedom—in which specifically Jewish and general public issues are dealt with inter alia without clear lines of differentiation among them.

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Peter Y. Medding

Informing all of them is the common thread of the New Jewish Politics—the politics of an "American Jewish community . . . primarily native-born; exceptionally well educated; affluent; secure; articulate; fully integrated into American society, yet proudly identified as a Jewish community . . . [whose] use of political power became ever-more sophisticated."53

Notes This article is part of a larger project on the politics of American Jewry begun while the author was on sabbatical at the Center for Modern Jewish Studies, Brandeis University. The assistance and encouragement of the Center are gratefully acknowledged. 1. Robert H. Jackson, "Ethnicity," in Giovanni Sartori (ed.), Social Science Concepts: A Systematic Analysis (Beverly Hills: 1984), pp, 205-233. 2. Herbert J. Gans, "Symbolic Ethnicity: The Future of Ethnic Groups and Cultures in America," in Herbert J. Gans, Nathan Glazer, Joseph R. Gusfield, and Christopher Jencks, (eds.), On the Making of Americans: Essays in Honor of David Riesman (Philadelphia: 1979), pp. 193-220, at 193. 3. Gans, "Symbolic Ethnicity," p. 205. 4. As Ben Halpern has put it, "America is really a Christian country." See the illuminating discussion in his Jews and Blacks: The Classic American Minorities (New York: 1971). The citation is on p. 60. 5. Cynthia Ozick pushes the argument beyond religious values to language, "A language, like a people, has a history of ideas, but not all ideas; only those known to its experience. When 1 write in English, I live in Christendom." Cited in Arnold M. Eisen, The Chosen People in America (Bloomington: 1983), p. 167. 6. Ronald Steel, "The Biographer as Detective: What Walter Lippmann Preferred to Forget," New York Times Book Review, 21 July 1985, pp. 3, 16; see also the full-length biography by Ronald Steel, Walter Lippmann and the American Century (Boston: 1980), pp. 186-196. 7. Is there a more dramatic example of the latter than Emil Fackenheim's "614th Commandment," of not "handing Hitler any posthumous victories," of insisting on the primacy of Jewish continuity because the Nazis sought to destroy the Jews? 8. Cited in William Safran, "France and Her Jews: From 'Culte Israelite' to 'Lobby Juif," Tocqueville Review V (Spring-Summer 1983), pp. 101-135; and Judith Friedlander, " 'Juif ou Israelite'? The Old Jewish Question in Contemporary France," Judaism XXXIV (Spring 1985), pp. 221-230. Their translations vary slightly. 9. Joseph Rothschild, Ethnopolitics: A Conceptual Framework (New York: 1981), p. 6. 10. Ibid. 11. Christian Century, 9 June 1937, cited in Eisen, Chosen People, p. 34. 12. 7 July 1937, cited in Eisen, Chosen People, p. 34. 13. Joint Program Plan (JPP) 1953, pp. 3, 21. 14. Ibid., pp. 5-6. 15. Ibid., p. 3. 16. Between 1948 and 1963 membership of the Zionist Organization of America fell from 250,000 to 87,000. See Ernest Stock, Israel on the Road to Sinai, 1949-1956 (Ithaca: 1967), p. 142. 17. The whole issue, including the circumstances which led up to the exchange, is discussed in Charles S. Liebman, Pressure Without Sanctions: The Influence of World Jewry on Israeli Policy (Rutherford: 1977), pp. 118-131; citations from pp. 124-125.

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18. JPP 1954, pp. 4-5. 19. Liebman, Pressure without Sanctions, p. 173. 20. Statement of Presidents of Major Jewish Organizations, 31 October 1956. 21. On this occasion the presidents of seventeen major national Jewish organizations cabled the president, secretary of state and members of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. They sought equity and fair play for Israel, pointed out the double standards involved in light of Egypt's failure to comply with previous UN resolutions about freedom of passage and urged support of Israel's request for a promise of non-belligerancy by Egypt. The most critical aspect of the statement was its last sentence, "Most earnestly and respectfully do we appeal to you not to allow our Government and our people to be involved in what history will surely judge to be a double standard of morality" (18 February 1957). 22. American Jewish Yearbook LIX (1958), pp. 208-210. 23. JPP 1957-58, pp. 8-9. 24. JPP 1956-57, p. 4. 25. Ibid., p. 5. 26. JPP 1957-58, p. 9. 27. Ibid., p. 10. 28. Marshall Sklare, Jewish Identity on the Suburban Frontier(New York: 1967), p. 322. 29. JPP 1964-65, pp. 24-26. 30. See Samuel P. Huntington, American Politics: The Promise of Disharmony (Cambridge, Mass.: 1981), pp. 23-30. 31. Michael Walzer, "Pluralism: A Political Perspective," Harvard Encyclopedia of American Ethnic Groups (Cambridge, Mass.: 1980), pp. 781-787. 32. JPP 1984-85, pp. 3, 29. 33. As Nathan Glazer has put it, "Israel is unique in that it is not threatened with defeat or loss of territory or the loss of respect—it is threatened with annihilation, up to, one assumes, the massacre of its inhabitants." Cited in Murray Friedman, "AWACS and the Jewish Community,'' Commentary LXXIII, no. 4 (April 1982), p. 31. 34. Sec Leon A. Jick, "The Holocaust: Its Use and Abuse Within the American Public," Yad Vashem Studies X!V (1981), pp. 301-318, for an analysis of the development of the awareness of the Holocaust in the United States for both Jews and non-Jews. See also Stephen J. Whitfield, "The Holocaust and the American Jewish Intellectual," Judaism XXVIII (1979), pp. 391-401. 35. Thus in 1961-62 "there was evidence that the conscience of the world had been touched. Some Christian clergymen publicly acknowledged a measure of collective guilt on the part of the Western Christian world for the Hitler Holocaust. More generally, there was a reawakened awareness of the horrors of genocide," JPP, p. 16. In 1964-65 the controversy "has revolved to a large extent around the broad question of guilt for allowing the Hitler extermination program to be carried out—not only whether Pope Pius shared the guilt, but whether all Christians were not remiss in their silence. A derivative of that discussion has been an attitude of great sympathy and warmth toward Jews on the part of many Christians and a revulsion against overt antisernitism," JPP, p. 6. 36. These are detailed in David S. Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews: America and the Holocaust 1941-1945 (New York: 1984); and Henry L. Feingold, "The Condition of American Jewry in Historical Perspective: A Bicentennial Assessment,"American Jewish YearbookLXXVI (1976), pp. 3-40. 37. JPP 1975-76, p. 44. 38.Ibid. 39. JPP 1983-84, pp. 1 1 , 17. 40. JPP 1978-79, p. 3. 41. This is not surprising in view of the considerable empirical evidence in the United States demonstrating greater partisanship among leaders than among the public and greater intensity of leadership support for democratic ideals and practices within the context of widespread public support.

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42. Steven Martin Cohen, "The 1981-1982 National Survey of American Jews," American Jewish Yearbook LXXXIII (1983), pp. 89-110; the 1982, 1983 and 1984 figures are from mimeographed reports distributed by the American Jewish Committee. 43. I. L. Kenen, Israel''s Defense Line: Her Friends and Foes in Washington (Buffalo: 1981) gives a personal history of AIPAC's early years by its founder and long time executive officer. 44. AIPAC Policy Statement, Near East Report, 29 April 1985. 45. See Michael J. Malbin, Unelected Representatives: Congressional Staff and the Future of Representative Government (New York: 1980), for a critical analysis of the pivotal and burgeoning role of congressional staff. 46. Malbin, Unelected Representatives. 47. On PACs in general see Larry J. Sabato, PAC Power: Inside the World of Political Action Committees (New York: 1984). 48. Marvin C. Feuerwerger, Congress and Israel: Foreign Aid Decision-Making in the House of Representatives, 1969-1976(Westport: 1984). 49. Feuerwerger, Congress and Israel, pp. 77-90. 50. See the discussion of these issues in Philip Bernstein, To Dwell in Unity: The Jewish Federation Movement Since I960 (Philadelphia: 1983), pp. 204-207, 341-343, 356-359. 51. See Edwin Epstein and Earl Raab, "The Foreign Policy of Berkeley California," Moment, September 1984, pp. 17-21 for an interesting example of how "Jews with sharply conflicting views on specific issues joined ranks when they perceived an insidious threat to Israel in general" (p. 19). It also pointed out the value of Jewish political linkages with other segments of the community on matters of general concern that led to the successful coalition to defeat the anti-Israel measure. 52. See Ben Bradlee, Jr., "Israel's Lobby," Boston Globe Magazine, 29 April 1984; William J. Lanouette, "The Many Faces of the Jewish Lobby in America," National Journal, 13 May 1978 (no. 19), pp. 748-759; Wolf Blitzer, "The AIPAC Formula," Moment, November 1981, pp. 22-28. 53. JPP 1984-85, p. 61.

Education and National Conflict in Bohemia: Germans, Czechs and Jews Hillel J. Kieval (UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON)

Nationalism as a modern phenomenon has in general sought to link the domains of culture and political power. At the base of its many guises and historical manifestations has been the goal, fundamental to ail national movements, of achieving or maintaining political sovereignty for a population that defines itself largely in terms of a common language, broadly shared cultural traditions and a common sense of historical destiny.' Because of nationalism's equation of culture and politics and, just as important, because of the role that the technical and professional intelligentsia has played in promoting modern nationalism, the issue of public education has often been paramount. It was the local school that helped to transform a dialect or peasant language into a vehicle of high culture and that paved the way for the sons of the peasantry to enter the occupations and professions of the new industrial age. It was the school that prepared one for a bureaucratic career under the auspices of a centralizing state. And, if integration into the larger state and society proved to be impossible or unsatisfactory, it was again to the local high culture of the school that the disaffected intellectual or professional turned in search of an alternative political community. 2 Nowhere has the link between education and national politics been more prominent than in the Czech lands of the Habsburg monarchy (Bohemia, Moravia and Austrian Silesia). Czech and German nationalists of all political stripes stressed the pre-eminent role that the school had to play in determining the outcome of the national controversy.3 What mattered were the number of schools that offered instruction in the national language, the attendance figures for these schools and, of course, the curriculum that they offered. Czech and German national politicians acted as if this single institution held the key to the ultimate determination of the most pressing national issues: the right to conduct business with the government and the courts in one's own language; the ability to gain employment and achieve social mobility; the hope of determining one's own future and that of one's children. The Young Czech economist and political activist Karel Adamek remarked in his study of contemporary Czech life: 49

50

Hillel J. Kieval The blossoming of Czech education was and must remain for all time the principal political goal of all genuine patriots and true friends of the people, of the whole nation. . . . The question of schools is raised high above the interests of parties and of individuals; |it is] certainly the most widespread, important, national and cultural question. 4

Similarly, a German study from the beginning of the twentieth century accused the Prague city council of setting up public kindergartens in the city not only to provide a necessary service to working parents but, more important, "to win over the children at this most tender age to the Czech nation."5 Because of the demographic weakness of the German community of Prague, all of the publicly funded kindergartens were Czech-language institutions. German nationalists, for their part, feared that the children of working-class Germans who attended such schools would lose the opportunity (and the desire) to speak German on a daily basis and, consequently, "be completely lost to the German people."6 The Austrian government itself did much to raise the school issue to a level of primary importance. Imperial legislation of 1868 and 1869 established a clear separation of church and state in the area of public education, removed statesupported primary and secondary schools from the purview of local parishes and religious orders and opened both the faculty and the student body of such schools to people of all religions.7 Moreover, in creating a new network of state-supported primary and secondary schools throughout Cisleithania, it placed the school under the direct control of the provinces. Thus local autonomy in cultural affairs—a byproduct of the constitutional reforms of the 1860s—combined with the state's interest in promoting compulsory, secular education to produce a situation in Bohemia, as well as elsewhere, in which notables from competing national camps vied with each other to determine the cultural makeup of their region.8 The government also helped to politicize education when, beginning with the census of 1880, it chose to measure the ethnic composition of the monarchy solely in terms of language. Before 1869 government censuses had employed what might be called "ethnographic" criteria in delineating the various nationalities of the Habsburg lands. In other words they accepted the existence of ethnically distinct populations as well as the right of individuals to identify with them. 9 This practice ceased with the census of 1869, taken two years after the Ausgleich with Hungary. Franz Josef's ministers mistakenly believed that in the agreement with Hungary they had solved the major nationalist challenge to the empire and simply refused to measure national affiliation in the new census. By 1880 the government had been unburdened of this illusion, but it now chose to defuse the nationality issue by claiming to be interested only in the "everyday language" of the local population, and then only for "administrative" purposes, so that the courts, government offices and schools might serve the needs of the population. 10 What the Austrian government agreed to measure in the censuses of 1880 and after was Umgangssprache (in Czech, obcovdci f e e ) , which can be translated loosely as everyday language. The president of the Central Statistical Commission explained that the term was meant to indicate "that language, which the population of local towns and communities actually spoke."" If this were really the case,

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however, the government would have sent teams of observers throughout the monarchy who, on the basis of firsthand experience, would later map the country's linguistic divisions. In fact, individuals were allowed to declare their Umgangssprache to census takers, with the restriction that only answers that corresponded to languages actually used in the region in question (hence, landesublich) would be counted. On the one hand, then, the government opened the door for the political exploitation of the census returns, encouraging the various national movements to let it be known what language a sometimes multi-lingual population should give as its "everyday" tongue. In so doing, Vienna increased the premium that national leaders placed on cultural and linguistic institutions like the schools. If Czech and German politicians agreed on anything, it was on the role that the school played in determining an individual's primary linguistic preference. On the other hand, some groups—the Jews in particular—lost the status of separate nationality that they had enjoyed in the mid-century censuses. In some cases, the language that they might have spoken was not iiblich in a particular region. As for the Jews, the process of emancipation had reduced their Jewishness in the eyes of official Austria to the realm of religion. The census takers could not accept a declaration of nationality that was not couched in linguistic terms; they also refused to recognize Yiddish as a separate language—even in Galicia—and, instead, included such declarations in the German category.12 THE GROWTH IN PRIMARY AND SECONDARY EDUCATION The liberalization of political life and the restructuring of the schools coincided with other dramatic developments in the social and economic conditions of the Czech lands. Chief among these were the demographic revolution in the countryside, the beginnings of large-scale industrialization and the waves of Czech migration to the cities, especially to Prague. The population of the Czech lands grew from 6,956,000 in 1857 to 8,640,000 in 1890; by 1910 it had reached well over 10 million. 13 Prague meanwhile grew from 204,488 in 1869 to over 442,000 in 1910. l4 The lion's share of this increase resulted from in-migration from the Czechspeaking towns and villages of Bohemia, A special study of the Central Statistical Commission determined that 115,235 residents of Prague Districts I-VII in 1900 were native to other parts of Bohemia and 92 percent of these came from districts that had Czech majorities. 15 Not only did Bohemia-Moravia become the most highly industrialized region of the Habsburg monarchy after Lower Austria but also one in which illiteracy had virtually been eliminated. There were 3,650 elementary schools (Volksschulen or Ndrodni skoly)in Bohemia in 1860, 3,875 in 1865 and by 1885, 4,636. Barely 611,000 students enrolled in 1860; by 1885 the number had reached 899,385. For the twenty-year interval 1865-85, the number of primary schools in Bohemia grew by 19.7 percent, the number of teachers of academic subjects by 29.9 percent, and the number of registered students by 47.4 percent. 1 6 Among those who declared Czech as their daily language in the Austrian census of 1900, nearly 94 percent

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could both read and write. Close to 92 percent of Austrian Germans could do the same. 17 The expansion of secondary education during this period was equally impressive. In 1861 there were twenty-three gymnasia and realgymnasia in Bohemia (ten Czech, six German, and seven bilingual or utraquist) and eight Realschulen (four German, four Czech). By 1884 the number of gymnasia had risen to fifty-three (thirty-one Czech, twenty-two German) and the number of Realschulen to sixteen (seven Czech, nine German). Altogether some 9,500 students enrolled in secondary schools in 1861. In 1884 the number stood at just under 21,000.18 Czech national leaders in particular could point with pride to the major advances that had been made since the beginning of the constitutional era in educating Czech children in their own language and culture. In 1864 there were some 3,200 Czechlanguage elementary schools in the Czech lands. This number jumped to 4,129 in 1884 and to 5,439 by 1914, an increase of 68 percent over the 1864 figure. 19 In Bohemia alone more than 560,000 children (72.5 percent of the school-aged population) attended Czech primary schools (obecne or mest'anske skoly) in 1885. Meanwhile, the number of students attending Czech gymnasia, realgymnasia, and redlky (Realschulen) grew from 4,273 in 1861 to over 14,000 in 1884.20 Relatively few children attended private elementary schools, only 26,339 in all of Bohemia in 1884-85, or about 2.8 percent of the total school-aged population.21 Nevertheless, leading figures within the Czech national movement voiced dissatisfaction with the pace of national education in the Czech lands. They worried in particular about the persistence of German schools in regions that had an overwhelmingly Czech population and about the movement's inability to attract to Czech schools in the so-called Sudetenland as high a percentage as attended German schools in the Czech territories. For example, 5,296 children attended German public schools in predominantly Czech regions, while only 2,131 went to Czech schools in German districts. Only 612 children attended Czech schools in urban areas other than Prague, but 7,410 went to German schools in large cities, including 3,662 in Prague alone.22 The situation in secondary and higher education was even more troublesome. In 1883-84, 17.8 percent of the students in Prague's German gymnasium, 17.6 percent of the students in the German gymnasium in Smichov, and 17.6 percent of those in the southern Bohemian city of Ceske Budejovice, were Czech nationals. Moreover, Czechs comprised 35.3 percent of the student body at the German Realschule in Prague, 30.7 percent of the school in Litomerice, and 35.4 percent of the one in Karlm.23 Before 1882 there was only one university in Prague, attended by Czech students as well as by Germans. Thereafter the institution was divided into separate national branches. Over the course of the next decade, virtually no selfdeclared German nationals received their education from the Czech university. Yet Czech students continued to choose the German branch in significant numbers: During the winter and summer semesters of 1889-90, for example, Czechs comprised 19.4 and 21.4 percent, respectively, of the total student body of Prague's German university. 24 A similar situation prevailed in the city's technical institutes. During the academic year 1880-81, 99.5 percent of the students who attended the Czech Polytechnika were themselves Czechs. On the other hand, approximately 35

Education and National Conflict in Bohemia

53

percent of the students at the German Technische Hochschule were also Czech nationals.25 This situation improved only slightly by the end of the decade when Czechs comprised 24 percent of the student body.26 Such "incursions" of German influence in Czech national life were partly the result of uneven deveiopment. As late as J886, one state-supported German middle school existed for every 25,000 Germans in Bohemia, but the Czechs could only boast one middle school for every 119,000 of their own nationals. Hence there simply may not have been enough Czech institutions to accommodate all of those who desired a secondary education.27 Perceptions about the quality or ultimate utility of a German education also played a role. A significant minority of the population that lived in the Czech regions of the country—who may even have considered themselves to be ethnically Czech—nevertheless, insisted upon a German-language education for their youth, because it was seen as providing a more useful vehicle for professional or social advancement. The provincial school boards operated under legal mandate to establish, oversee and subvent with public funds schools that taught in the language of the local population. The state had no obligation to erect or support schools for groups whose numbers did not reach a minimum level within a given district.28 In such cases the children went either to public schools in the language of the majority population or to privately funded institutions in their own language. The question of minority schools, then, served as a rallying point for nationalists of all stripes. Community leaders, on the one hand, would attempt to organize support for the establishment of private schools in order to protect the "national integrity" of beleaguered minorities. On the other hand, the same leaders would berate the representatives of rival national groups who hoped to accomplish the same ends for their own members. What was "protection" in the eyes of one was "incursion" in the eyes of the other.29 The Austrian Germans were the first to organize in order to secure the presence of minority schools for their children. The Deutscher Schulverein emerged in the spring of 1880 to establish minority schools and support them until such time as they could meet the minimum standards for public subvention. The Czechs in Bohemia responded almost immediately with an institution of their own, the Ustfedni malice skolskd (Central School Foundation). In 1887 the Schulverein claimed 120,000 members divided among over 1,000 local groups. By 1902 it was spending 4.3 million kronen to run twenty-six of its own schools and another 2 million to subsidize forty-one others.30 The Malice ceskd, meanwhile, had some 30,000 contributing members in 1900. In twenty years it had dispensed some 4 million gulden (8 million kronen) in school aid, and 10,000 Czech students had enrolled in its private schools.31

JEWISH CHILDREN,E Recently emancipated and stripped of their ancient national identification, the Jews of late-ninetcenth-century Bohemia found themselves in a doubly precarious situation. Their population of 92,745 represented only 1.5 percent of all of the people of

54

Hillel J. Kieval

Bohemia in 1900, hardly enough to tip the state-wide balance of power between Czechs and Germans, which stood at approximately 60 percent to 40 percent.32 As in all of Central and Eastern Europe, however, the percentage of Jews in the larger cities and towns was much higher. The 18,986 Jews who lived in the inner city of Prague in 1900 comprised more than 9 percent of the total population and almost 8 percent if one includes the inner suburbs.33 And although Jews did not make up as much as 5 percent of the population in the rest of Bohemia, their presence in individual school districts could help to determine whether or not a given school would exist or, alternatively, be given state support. But the real difficulty for the Jews of Bohemia lay in their long identification with German language and culture. This identification dated back at least to the 1780s when Joseph II launched an important set of cultural and social reforms within the Bohemian Jewish community. Not all of the laws of the 1780s and 1790s had a great effect on the Jews. At least three, however, were of lasting significance: the ordinance of 1784, which ended the juridical autonomy of the Jewish community; that provision in the Toleranzpatent of 1781 which mandated that all business and communal affairs be recorded in German; and, most important of all, the establishment of the Jewish Normalschulen, a network of secular schools supported by the Jewish community but supervised by the state, in which the language of instruction was German. Through the Normalschulen the Jewish children of Bohemia were weaned away from Yiddish (and sometimes Czech), educated in the spirit of the German enlightenment and channelled through the non-Jewish, also German, system of secondary and higher education.34 This new type of Jewish elementary school served as a universal medium of acculturation and Germanization and was a ubiquitous feature of Bohemian Jewish life down to the end of the nineteenth century. Since all elementary education before 1868 was connected to the Catholic Church, it is not surprising that the Jews of the Czech lands should have felt little inclination before this time to abandon their separate school system. But with the secularization of the schools, the raison d'etre of the Normalschule would appear to have vanished. Did Jews close their schools at this point in recognition of the completion of emancipation? The answer, interestingly, is no. The Jewish communities of Bohemia still maintained 114 private elementary schools in 1884-85. True, the total population at these schools was only 4,470, approximately one third of the entire Jewish school enrollment in Bohemia, and barely 17 percent of the 26,339 children who attended private elementary schools of all types in the province.35 Truly damnable in the eyes of Czech nationalists, however, were the following facts: ninety-six of the schools (84 percent) were located in Czech-speaking towns and villages, not including Prague; all but one of these institutions employed German as the language of instruction, and over 97 percent of the Jewish children who were enrolled in private schools attended German-language institutions.36 Clearly, during the early years of the national educational system, Jews in small towns and villages did not place much stock in Czech schools. Some did, to be sure—enough to create a critical mass of Jewish student supporters of Czech national culture. But the large majority, for reasons of traditionalism, religious conser-

Education and National Conflict in Bohemia

55

vatism, loyalty to the Austrian state or expediency, chose to keep in place—at least for the time being—the old system of privately run Jewish schools. This traditionalism held true for the Czech countryside, but it apparently did not extend to the areas of new Jewish settlement, in particular the industrial centers of northern and western Bohemia. Most of these places had no official Jewish community before the 1850s or 1860s and thus did riot possess long-standing, private Jewish schools. In those cities and towns with a large German-speaking population, Jewish children tended to go to the state-run German-language schools. In some cases, formerly Jewish institutions were taken over as state-run schools.37 Surprisingly little is known about the precise state of affairs in Prague. Primary accounts do not detail the fate of the Jewish Hauptschule (and its subsidiary schools) following the secularization of public education at the end of the 1860s. My sense is that it was converted to the category of "private school recognized under public law," and gradually acquired a mixed Jewish and Gentile population. Apparently, the Schutverein also helped to maintain some of its branches. However, only a close examination of the manuscript records of the Prague Jewish community will yield a definite answer. We do know that on the eve of the educational reform, the Jewish community of the city maintained fifteen private elementary schools, ten for boys and five for girls.38 Another source holds that the Prague Jews supported five such schools in 1885, but it is silent on the existence of German-Jewish schools in Prague a decade later.39 What is certain is that the large majority of Jewish children in Prague avoided private education altogether in favor of the municipal school system. And most of these children, in turn, chose the German track. In 1890, 97 percent of the Jewish children attending public schools went to German-language institutions. In 1900 the figure stood at 90.5 percent; and in 1910 it was still 89 percent. Over the course of this period the Czech cause made very small, but steady, progress both in terms of absolute numbers and as a fraction of the Jewish aggregate.40 The Josephine reforms of the late eighteenth century had provided for a system of secular Jewish schools at the primary level only. While the Jewish communities were not expressly prohibited from establishing private, middle and upper schools, nevertheless, none did so. Jewish parents who wished to send their children to classical gymnasia in preparation for the university simply chose from among existing private or state institutions. Most of the former, particularly in places like Prague, were administered by religious orders, but this fact does not appear to have deterred Jewish attendance. Jewish students in Bohemia, as in most parts of Europe, attended secondary schools with far greater frequency than their non-Jewish counterparts. Thus, in 1880 the 1,716 Jews who attended gymnasia and realgymnasia in Bohemia represented 11.5 percent of the student population, and the 586 who attended Realschulen, 10.6 percent.41 Because Jewish middle and upper schools per se did not exist in Bohemia, "Jewish separatism" could not have been an issue for Czech nationalists. But this did not mean that the secondary and higher education patterns of Jews had no political importance. Their conspicuously high presence in schools at this level meant that the "national" choices that Jews made carried extra weight. This was particularly true once the Austrian government began to award the benefits of

56

Hillel J. Kieval

cultural autonomy on the basis of precise nationality ratios. For their part, Jewish middle-school students appeared to "vote with their feet" in favor of the German minority. In 1882-83 (the first year for which accurate statistics are available), some 83 percent of all Jewish middle-school students attended German-language institutions. By the middle of the decade the figure settled down to about 80 percent, with the remaining 20 percent going to Czech schools. More significantly, the 1,931 Jewish students who attended German-language middle schools represented 23 percent of the student body in these establishments, while the 403 Jews attending Czech schools comprised a mere 3.2 percent.42 Not surprisingly, Jews also tended to pursue higher education with greater frequency than the population at large. Thus, as was the case with the middle schools, Jews constituted a conspicuous presence in the universities and technical colleges of Bohemia, particularly the German institutions. Already by 1863, Jews comprised 10 percent of the University of Prague. During the winter semester 1880-81, 11.7 percent of the student body at Prague's still-unified university and 17.9 percent of the German Technische Hochschule was Jewish. Many other Bohemian Jews completed their schooling in Vienna. 43 In the winter semester 1885-86—after the University of Prague was divided into separate German and Czech establishments— the 404 Jews in attendance at the German branch comprised 26 percent of the total student body. The 50 Jews who registered with the Czech University represented but 2.5 percent of that body. They did comprise 11 percent of the Jewish university students in Prague, but their presence in an institution which had over 2,000 students went virtually unnoticed alongside the Jewish position in the much smaller German school.44

THE PROPAGANDA OFFENSIVEGAINST CZECH JEWRY The cultural behavior of Bohemian Jewry—their identification both with the German language and with the privileged German minority—provided much grist for the propaganda mill during the last quarter of the nineteenth century. For one thing, the Jews offered an easy explanation for some of the shortcomings of the Czech national movement. They represented an irritating anachronism, a stubborn remnant of the imperial past that refused to take cognizance of the new national basis of social, political and cultural life. If private elementary schools continued to flourish in the Czech countryside, denying the largely anti-clerical Young Czech movement its vision of a completely secular, national school system, the fault lay with the Jews, who continued to maintain communal institutions that dated back to the times of enlightened absolutism. If the German nationalists were able to threaten the integrity of the Czech regions of Bohemia through the agency of German minority schools, they owed their good fortune to Czech Jews who were both ambiguous in their national orientation and obsequious in their devotion to the Habsburg monarchy. And, finally, if Czech nationalism failed to transfer to the cities of Bohemi the cultural dominance that it had achieved so decisively in the countryside, the blame once again could be placed at the doorstep of the Jews, who, unlike their non-

Education and National Conflict in Bohemia

57

Jewish counterparts, appeared as eager to trade national-cultural allegiances as they were to change domicile. Karel Adamek, for one, held such views. He charged in Z nasi doby, his important work on contemporary Czech politics, culture and economic life, that the Jews in combination with the Austrian bureaucracy were "certainly . . . the strongest German factor in Slavic circles." Moreover, the Jewish elementary schools, "like the schools of the [German] Schulverein, [were] a dangerous lever in the Germanization of Czech cities and communities."4-"1 This was not a new attack. Public opinion in the Czech lands had equated Jews with the German minority for many decades now. On the eve of the Revolution of 1848, for example, the patriotic Czech journalist Karel Havlicek-Borovsky rejected an overture for Czech-Jewish cultural collaboration put forward by the Jewish poet Siegfried Kapper on the grounds that the Jews comprised a separate ethnic entity; if anything, they could ally themselves more naturally to the German nation than to the Czech.46 At the end of the nineteenth century, however, such accusations against the Jews emerged from an entirely different perception of their role in the country's national relations. Simply put, the seemingly age-old German-Jewish alliance was no longer accepted as part of the natural state of affairs. The Jewish communities in the Czech countryside ought to have resembled more closely the cultural environment in which they were located. Jews ought to have behaved like Czechs. They ought to have demonstrated loyalty to the language and culture with which, in their day-to-day activities, they appeared to be completely at home. Above all, now that a national, secular system of primary education was in place, they ought to have been sending their children to local public schools. Some within the Czech national movement accused the Jews not only of being blind and insensitive toward Czech national aspirations but of actually colluding with the rival German national movement. Karel Adamek, once again prominent in his criticism of Czech Jewry, claimed that the German Schulverein went so far as to base its "operational plan" for the Czech countryside on the maintenance of Jewish confessional schools. To support this contention, he quoted the remarks made by a certain Dr. Kraus at the General Assembly of the Schulverein in 1882: In Bohemia there is a whole array of private German schools, with and without public legal status, which are maintained in purely Slavic localities by the Jewish religious communities there. We must look upon these schools in the purely Czech countryside as rare linguistic islands which must be preserved since in such regions these schools are often the only seedbeds of German culture. 47

Adamek then listed the names of Czech communities where private German schools were subsidized by the Schulverein: Holesovice, Liben and Josefov within greater Prague; Pardubice, Pfibram, Slany, Benatek, Jicin, Novy Bydzov, Zbraslav, Caslav and elsewhere. Singling out several specific examples of GermanJewish treachery, Adamek cited the case of Hermanuv Mestec, where the formerly private Jewish school had been transformed into a public German establishment because Jews there"freelychose the German nationality" (emphasis in the original); and the private German school in the town of Nymburk, which had 230 students in 1884-85, although according to the 1880 census the town had 5,126

58

Hillel J. Kieval

Czech residents and only 226 Germans. Of the 230 students enrolled in the school, only 39 were "German" (presumably Christian). "What would the Schulverein schools look like," Adamek asked rhetorically, "if they were not attended by Jewish and Czech children?"48 Josef Koran, Czech journalist and deputy in the Bohemian Diet, appealed directly to the heart of the Czech-Jewish community when he used the pages of the Kalenddf cesko-zidovsky (Czech-Jewish Almanac) to pressure Jews to de-Germanize their communal institutions. The first thing that had to go, naturally, were the GermanJewish elementary schools. Not only did they prevent Jewish children from developing the proper Czech national sentiment, but they also stole non-Jewish children from the national camp. For, alongside the 4,073 Jewish children in the Czech towns and villages, who in 1885 continued to be educated in German schools attached to the Jewish religious community, were 192 Catholics and 17 Protestants.49 Koran challenged Bohemian Jewry to admit to the untruthfulness of many of the rationalizations that it used to justify its cultural behavior. Koran wrote: The supporters of these schools would certainly object to us that they are only intended for children to be educated in German from a young age, that they, however, are not educated in anti-Czech thought. But the mere existence of the schools is conclusive proof that Jews who establish and support them do not think as Czechs, have no love for our language, have no confidence in the victory of our cause, and even the knowledge of Czech [carries] less weight than the knowledge of German. These schools are a living protest against our national and political endeavors; indeed they are actually—even if their supporters did not have this in mind—demonstrations against our Czech culture. 50

Additionally, some had argued that the Jewish communities were merely supporting confessional schools and not German schools per se. If that were so, Koran asked, why were many of these schools inter-confessional, particularly in Prague, where there were five German-Jewish schools? If these schools existed primarily for religious instruction, one would have expected to find them in German as well as Czech areas of the country. But such was not the case. There were only ten Jewish schools in all of the German-speaking towns of Bohemia, proof enough that they existed primarily to perpetuate German culture among the Jews. THE CZECH-JEWISH RESPONSE The leaders of the young Czech-Jewish Movement—represented in the public sphere by the Spolek ceskych akademiku-zidu (S.C.A.Z. [Association of Czech Academic Jews, founded in 1876])—were already sufficiently uncomfortable with the linguistic favoritism of the formal Jewish community to want to do something about it. They did not need the prodding of Czech nationalist politicians, whether friends like Koran or opponents such as Adamek. Jewish-Czech nationalists, such as J. S. Kraus, had been agitating for the closure of the German-Jewish schools in the pages of the Kalenddfsince the early 1880s.51Krauswentsofaastooffera new reading of Bohemian Jewish history to account for the schools. Not only were

Education and National Conflict in Bohemia

59

they to blame for the abnormal asshnilatory pattern of the Jews since the Enlightenment (the absorption of "state culture" over and against local, national culture), but they had been forced upon an unwilling population. Hence, traditional Jewish society had been the victim of a despotic policy of Germanization no less than traditional Czech society. Nevertheless, the movement was prodded, and none too subtley. And it is impossible to determine precisely which motives most influenced Jewish behavior in this hazy and tumultuous period in Czech-Jewish relations. The Czech-Jewish activists were committed nationalists; they naturally stood in opposition to the cultural policies of the Jewish establishment; and they also were recipients of a barrage of criticism from Czech national quarters. Driven by this complex of factors, the Czech-Jewish movement during the last decade of the nineteenth century turned increasingly away from purely cultural tasks to the establishment of a political machinery to effect change within the Jewish community. Beginning in 1893 with the founding of the Czech-Jewish National Union (Ndrodni jednota ceskozidovskd), and followed in 1894 with the creation of both the first Czech-Jewish newspaper and an overtly political Czech-Jewish organization, the by-now veteran activists of the Spolek ceskych akademiku-zidu took aim at the Jewish communities of Prague and Bohemia. Their purpose was no longer simply to educate, to cultivate national feeling, but rather to mobilize CzechJewish opinion, to challenge directly the structure of Jewish life which had resulted from the Austrian-Jewish emancipation. The establishment of the Ndrodni jednota ceskozidovskd signaled a subtle shift within the still relatively new Czech-Jewish movement. Whereas the student leaders of the S.C.A.Z. had displayed no single political orientation, their faculty advisors and outside supporters generally had been devotees of the National, or Old-Czech, party. Members of the urban upper-middle class, and inspired by Frantisek Palacky and F. L. Rieger, they had tended to affirm the conservative nationalism which the Old Czechs typified. Those who became active in Czech politics themselves such as Bohumil Bondy, Alois Zucker and Josef Zalud ran for office as Old-Czech candidates.52 Many of the recently graduated lawyers, doctors, businessmen, and journalists, however, supported the rivals of the Old Czechs, the National Liberal party, or Young Czechs.53 Jakub Scharf, Maxim Reiner, Ignat Arnstein and others—all veterans of the Czech-Jewish student movement—tended to be supporters of the Young Czechs. They took it upon themselves to broaden the base of Czech-Jewish activities, to create a state-wide, coordinated network of Jewish patriotic societies. In establishing the Czech-Jewish National Union, they took as models the various voluntary societies that had been created by the Young Czechs during the previous decade to mobilize opinion and bolster nationalist policies in Prague and in the countryside. One of these, the Central School Foundation (U slfednl malice skolskd), we have already encountered as the great rival of the German Schulverein. But also important were the several ndrodni jednoty (national unions) that had been established to improve the material and cultural situation of Czech families living in mixed or predominantly German areas.14 Like the S.C.A.Z. before it, the National Union sought to "spread the news" of

60

Hillel J. Kieval

the Czech national movement to every corner of the country. To do so, it relied not only on public lectures and social gatherings but also on the creation of an institutional network consisting, before the year was out, of a central organization flanked by 34 district chapters.55 Like the Central School Foundation and its subsidiary organizations, the Czech-Jewish National Union considered one of its principal functions to be the furthering of Czech national education. Yet its manner of operation was quite different from that of its Czech counterpart. The Central School Foundation had emerged to meet the challenge of the German Schulverein essentially by mimicking it, by performing parallel functions to its own, but in German areas. The Jewish Ndrodni jednota, on the other hand, represented a power that could actually negate the effects of the Schulvereinin the Czech lands. Instead of simply providing increased opportunities for Czech children, the National Union attempted to make Czech education universal in areas where a Jewish minority had in the past dissented from the norm. Together with its fortnightly newspaper Ceskozidovske listy (Czech-Jewish Press), the Ndrodni jednota ceskozidovskd called for the closing of all Germanlanguage Jewish schools in Prague and the Czech countryside. "We want to work so that every Czech Jew will become completely Czech," wrote the editors of Ceskozidovske listy in its opening issue, "will feel, think, speak, and act as every other loyal Czech."56 The modern Czech Jew, the paper argued, felt himself to be part of the nation in whose midst he lived, whose culture he shared. He had no reason not to send his children to local Czech schools; and to persist in the old practice of maintaining separate Jewish schools was to commit an affront not only against the Czech people but against the "modern Jewish spirit" as well.57 As to the argument that it was important for Jews living in the Austrian monarchy to know German in order to insure success in business and professional careers, Ceskozidovske listy referred to a speech by the Prague physician and Young Czech politician Emanuel Engel: This could be accomplished through the establishment of special language schools which would be private enterprises, "not connected with either you or your faith." As for himself, Engel admitted, he was not so radical as to believe that one did not need to teach German to one's children. But he challenged the Jews of Bohemia to work toward a time when it would become less and less important for them to do so.58 THE DEMISE OF THE GERMAN-JEWISH SCHOOL Between 1894 and 1907 Ceskozidovske listy reported with great interest on the concerted efforts of the Jewish Ndrodni jednota to purge the German-Jewish elementary schools in the countryside. One by one it rattled off the names of smalltown and village communities, like a gunfighter from the Old West carefully taking aim and picking off rows of standing targets: Benesov, Tabor, Hradec Kralove, Kutna Hora, Mlada Boleslav, Plzen, Slany, and so on. Josef Koran, the Young Czech deputy who had admonished Czech Jews in the pages of the Kalendaf ceskozidovsky in 1886, made a second appearance in 1896 to report on the progress made over the past decade. Apparently, nine new German language schools had been

Education and National Conflict in Bohemia

61

established in the Czech countryside between 1885 and 1894; but twenty-five had been closed.59 In all of Bohemia, German areas included, the number of German-Jewish schools declined from 113 to 90. The number of Jewish children enrolled in such schools fell by 39 percent—from 4,239 to 2,587—while the number of Catholic students in German schools declined during this period by only 9.4 percent and the number of Protestants by 23.5 percent.60 Not only did a greater percentage of Jews switch from German to Czech schools but virtually all of the establishments which succumbed during the 1890s were schools whose student body was exclusively Jewish. Those that had a mixed Christian-Jewish student body enjoyed greater stability and resistance to closure.61 The Jews of Bohemia appeared, then, to have responded more forthrightly than either German Catholics or German Protestants to the urgings of the Czech national movement. The truth of the matter was that Jews felt less secure than non-Jews in patterns of cultural behavior which, because, of their relative newness as well as the turbulence of the post-emancipatory period, could be looked upon as still experimental. Typically, notices in Ceskozidovske listy of school closings were brief and matter-of-fact, though colored with the editor's obvious satisfaction. Thus one reads in the 1 February 1898 edition of the paper of recent events in Zbraslav on the southern outskirts of Prague: German-Jewish school closed. From Zbraslav HlasNdroda[daily paper of the Old Czech party] announces that the local German school, which has been maintained by the Jewish religious community, will be closed at the end of the school year. Jewish students attending this school will go next year to the Zbraslav public: elementary schools.62

The newspaper was careful to add the last sentence to this brief notice. It was not enough to point out that the Jewish community had given up its practice of maintaining a separate primary school. One had to add that the families in this community would be taking the subsequent proper step of enrolling their youngsters in public Czech schools. They would not be seeking other, German, alternatives. Occasionally, the editors of Ceskozidovske listy came across Jewish responses to Czech nationalism which they could not wholly endorse, as they appeared to have been made half-heartedly or without sufficient understanding of the nature of the undertaking. One such case occurred in Humpolec early in 1898. The Jewish leaders of this small town decided not to close the local Jewish school but rather to change its medium of instruction from German to Czech. Ceskozidovske listy greeted the news with reservation, acknowledging the progress that this change signified, but complaining, nevertheless, that the period of time required to achieve a complete linguistic transition would be too long. The editors sought gently to cajole the Jewish community. If it insisted on maintaining a "confessional school," at least it could begin instruction in Czech before the end of the calendar year.63 Where gentle persuasion would not work, the National Union resorted to all-out attack. Such was its tactic with the city of Kolin in cast-central Bohemia, which had one of the larger provincial Jewish populations at the time. In March 1898 Ceskozidovske lisly devoted a series of columns to what it called "the situation in

62

Hillel J. Kieval

Kolfn." It contended that the German-Jewish school there maintained its existence against the wishes of the majority of the city's Jews, against the statute of the community, and thus "as a provocation to the entire Czech nation without regard to faith." 64 To support its charges, the paper published an open letter signed by sixty voting members of the community: It was pointed out in the Jewish communal council that on the question of schools, [in the light of] present-day—in many respects, changing—conditions, neither the council nor the board of deputies any longer represents the thinking of the majority of Jewish citizens, and that therefore this citizenry must be given the opportunity to express its desires and aspirations in this regard. . . . We therefore demand that the larger directorate of the religious community be convened so that it might speedily decide upon the closing of the existing German school.65

The German-Jewish school of Kolin had educated 147 children in 1894-95. Within six months of the start of the campaign in Ceskozidovske listy, it had closed. In 1906 the Czech-Jewish National Union announced with satisfaction that, as far as it knew, fifty-two German-Jewish schools in Czech linguistic districts had been closed since the organization first began its campaign in 1893. At least two public German schools, which were frequently primarily by Jewish students, likewise were closed. And, in at least two other localities, the German-Jewish private schools had been replaced by Czech-Jewish institutions.66 In point of fact the extent of German-Jewish school closings since the early 1880s far exceeded the claims of the political leaders of the Czech-Jewish movement. Whether or not these institutions disappeared solely as a result of Czech-Jewish political pressure, however, is open to question. We know that the movement specifically targeted a number of towns for school closings and was, in most cases, successful. However, the data also show that Jewish schools in rural Bohemia began to close of their own accord during the 1880s and early 1890s, most likely because of declining enrollments. Table 1 and graphs 1 and 2 reveal the steady progression in German-Jewish primary school closings between 1884-85 and 1910. At the start of this period some 4,500 children attended Jewish-sponsored, German-language schools throughout Bohemia, over 88 percent of which were located in Czech-speaking districts, including Prague. By the end, the number of children attending the German-Jewish schools had shrunk to 154. Of the 114 private schools which had existed in 1885, only 5 remained. The pace of school closings during the first decade of political agitation (1885— 95) was brisk. The number of German-Jewish schools dropped by about 21 percent; the number of students attending them by 42 percent. This, it will be recalled, was a period in which a small number of new schools were actually opened while others were being closed. Moreover, in many of those places where the schools did not actually close, they, nevertheless, lost a high percentage of their enrollment. The Jewish school in Benesov, for example, had had 60 students in 1885; a decade later the figure stood at less than half (26). Mlada Boleslav dropped from 105 to 67; Jicfn, from 67 to 31; Brandys from 52 to 30;6Even the important German-Jewis school in Kolfn, the special target of Czech-Jewish criticism in 1898, had been losing population well before it became a political cause celebre.™

Education and National Conflict in Bohemia Table 1.

63

Private German-Jewish Schools in Bohemia

Source

German Districts

C/,cch Districts

Prague

Total

1884-85

a

13

%

5

114

4,470

1885-86 late 1880s

b c

(12) 10

% 92

5 2

113 104

4,436 (of whom 4,282 Jews) Czech districts only: 3,385*

1890

d

7

79

(0)

86

3,843

1894-95

b

10

80

(0)

90

2,587 [sic]

1896-97

e

3

72

(0)

75

Czech districts only: 2,351"

1900

d

1

27

(0)

28

1,687

1910

f

n.g.

n.g.

5

154

Year

n.g.

Number of Students

'Of these. 1,050 proclaimed C/ech as language of daily use; 2,309 German. "Of these, 1,128 (48%) proclaimed Czech as language of daily use: 1,223 (52%) German. Sources: (a) K. Adamek, Z naSldoby (OfOiirTimcs), vol. 2 ( 1 8 8 7 ) , p . 14. (b)J. Koran, "Zidovske skoly v Ccchach" (Jewish Schools iriBohemia), Kalcnddf cesko-zido\'sky, no. 16 (1896-97), pp. 152-157. (e} Adamek, Znasi dobv, vo!. 4 (1890), p. 80. (d) Die Juden in Oesterreich (Berlin: 1908), pp. 83. 84, 87. (e) NaSe doba (Our Times), no. 4 (April 1897), 670. (f) Stalislicku printcka kralovslvi ceskeho (Stali.\tic(il Handbook of the Kingdom of Bohemia) (19i3), p. 131.

Graph 1.

Number of German-Jewish Primary Schools in Bohemia

64

HillelJ. Kieval

Graph 2.

Number of Students at German-Jewish Primary Schools in Bohemia

The Jewish population of Bohemia had, indeed, been shifting away from the small towns and villages and toward the larger urban areas since the 1860s and 1870s, and the aggregate Jewish population did begin to fall after 1890. In neither case, however, was the pace of decline as rapid or as dramatic as that suggested by the statistics on primary-school attendance. One cannot escape the conclusion that Jewish parents in the Czech countryside began to remove their children from the German-Jewish school system of their own accord, long before the demise of that system would offer them no choice. And they took this action in more and more places and with growing frequency by the time the century was out. The half-decade 1895 to 1900 witnessed a general intensification of political conflict as well as the outbreak of popular violence directed specifically against Jews in the Czech countryside, the German towns in the Sudetenland and in Prague. It was indeed one of the most explosive periods in modern Czech history. And during this time a virtual tidal wave of school closings engulfed the Czech-Jewish countryside. Depending on which statistics one follows, the number of GermanJewish schools in this short period fell by as much as 69 percent and the number of students by 35 percent. Only twenty-eight schools remained open in 1900. A decade later the German-Jewish school and, to all extents, the traditional German-Jewish alliance in the Czech countryside were dead.69 In the meantime Jewish children were swelling the ranks of public elementary schools in Bohemia. A total of 2,770 Jewish children attended public schools in Czech districts in 1880; in 1890 the number was 4,791; by 1900 it had reached

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6,131. In German districts for the same years the number of Jewish students in public schools declined (probably because their population in these areas was dropping): In 1880 the figure stood at 5,908; by 1900 it had slipped to 5,I37. 70 CHANGING PATTERNS IN SECONDARY AND HIGHER EDUCATION Despite its obvious victory in the redirection of elementary education, the CzechJewish Movement failed to have as strong an impact on other areas of educational life. Changes in the patterns of Jewish attendance at the secondary school and university level did occur, but they tended to take place gradually. At the highest levels, educational patterns showed remarkable stability through the first decade of the twentieth century. Gustav Otruba recently has compiled and published data comparing Bohemian middle-school attendance for 1882-83 and 1912-13. Over this period, the yearly total of Jews attending Czech-language gymnasia and realgymnasia rose from 355 to 539; the Jewish share as a percentage of the entire student body climbed modestly from 3.3 to 4.5 percent.71 Over the same period of time Jewish attendance at German-language gymnasia and realgymnasia declined slightly, from 1,481 in 1882 to 1,225 in 1912. As a percentage of the whole, however, the decline was more profound. The 1882 figure represented 24 percent of the German student body; the 1912 figure only 15.8 percent.72 Thus, a twofold process appears to have been operating. On the Czech side, Jewish attendance increased gradually both in terms of absolute numbers and percentages. On the German side, the weight of Jewish presence was felt less and less, on the one hand, because the real numbers of Jewish students were falling, and, on the other, because their relative numbers were declining even faster.73 In the last analysis, the ratio of German-Jewish to Czech-Jewish gymnasium students provides the sharpest indication of the extent of cultural change within the Jewish community itself. And this measurement indicates clearly that progressively fewer and fewer Jews who received a classical secondary education were choosing to attend German schools. In 1882 close to 81 percent of Jewish gymnasium students took part in the German-language system. By 1912-13, however, this figure had been pared down to 69.4 percent. Still the majority, but shrinking. 74 The patterns of higher education among the Jews of Bohemia—attendance at universities and technical institutes—proved to be the most resistant of all to change. Between 1863 and 1881 Jews were able to increase their percentage at the University of Prague by only a small amount, from 10.3 to 11.7 percent, again because the increase in Jewish numbers was more or less offset by a parallel rise in the general student population.75 Once the university split into separate German and Czech branches, Jewish attendance figures resembled those of the middle schools but were even more pronounced. Thus, in 1889-90 the 478 Jews who went to the German university comprised more than 30 percent of the student body; while the 42 Jewish students at the Czech university represented a mere 1.7 percent of that institution. 76 Here, too, the actual number of Jews that attended the German university declined somewhat over the next two decades, while the absolute number of Czech-Jewish students rose. Percentages, however, remained about the same, as the

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total population at the German institution dwindled while the reverse process occurred on the other side of the ledger. Thus we find that during the winter semester, 1899-1900, 413 Jews were enrolled at the German branch, 74 in the Czech university, but the respective percentages were 31 and 2.4. In 1910 Jews continued to constitute about 20 percent of the German university and only 2 percent of its Czech counterpart.77 Since we know that the Jews of Bohemia possessed a declining population after 1900 and that even before this time the Jewish rate of growth did not keep pace with that of the population at large, the only true test of the effectiveness of CzechJewish acculturation with regard to higher education is one which measures attendance figures as a percentage of total Jewish enrollment. Yet even from this perspective, the results could not have been promising for patriotic Czech Jews. Between 1885 and 1901 as many as 92 percent—and never less than 82 percent—of Jewish university students in Prague enrolled at the German university. Perhaps some consolation could be taken from the fact that this figure was declining in steady, albeit minute, fashion over the course of the 1890s.78 Both the German and the Czech technical institutes (Technische Hochschulen/Polytechniky) succeeded in attracting ever-larger numbers of Jewish students between 1880 and 1900. But here, again, the Czech establishment could barely compete with the German school in popularity among Jews. Between 1881 and 1886, an average of 73 Jews attended Prague's Technische Hochschule each year; this was 25.4 percent of the student body. The number of Jewish students dropped somewhat for the remainder of the decade, but rose to 122 for the years 1896-1901 (26.2 percent of the student body), and jumped to 216 between 1901 and 1904 (30.5 percent). The Czech side showed a similar curve, with attendance dropping for some reason during the second half of the 1880s, but then rising dramatically in the 1890s. Between 1896 and 1901 an average of 27 Jewish students attended the Prague Polytechnika, comprising 2.6 percent of the student body as a whole. Over the next four years the average grew to 34, but the Jewish share in total attendance dropped slightly to 2.3 percent.79 As we have found in every other case, minor though perceptible change over time can be seen to have occurred when the attendance records are considered from the point of view of total Jewish enrollment. The ratio of German to Czech enrollment hovered between 9.5 to 1 and 12 to 1 for the first part of the 1880s. In 1897-98 the ratio stood at less than 4.5 to 1 and remained fairly steady in subsequent years.80 CONCLUSION The Czech-Jewish movement enjoyed a mixed record on the question of the shortterm transformation of Jewish educational patterns in Prague and Bohemia. Its only shining success came with the virtual elimination of the German-Jewish primary schools in the small towns and villages. This achievement resulted not only from secular demographic and social trends in the countryside but also from the sustained pressure applied by both Jewish and non-Jewish Czech activists on individual Jewish communities. The Czech-Jewish movement offered no such political program with regard to secondary education, relying instead on indirect persuasion and

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the natural inclinations of Czech-Jewish youth to do the job. Nevertheless, inroads were made in the patterns of Jewish gymnasium attendance; the percentage of German-Jewish students to Jewish students generally did drop, but by modest amounts and without causing any major disruptions. Attendance patterns for higher education proved to be the hardest shell to crack. When it came to university and technical college education, Bohemian Jewry chose by very wide margins perceived quality, utility, and prestige over other considerations. The German institutions of Prague enjoyed international renown. The education and training which they provided—because of the German language—could be applied in many other parts of Europe. And the German university was, for all intents and purposes, the heir to the ancient institution of Charles IV. Deliberately to have chosen the lesser-known, relatively untested, provincially oriented Czech university would have required of most Prague Jews that they turn their backs on the very premises upon which a Jewish university education rested: the pursuit of scholarly achievement, the criterion of utility, and the promise of social integration and economic mobility. In the long-term the thousands of Jewish children who abandoned the traditional German-Jewish school in favor of a Czech education helped the Jewish community complete a process of cultural transformation. These sons and daughters of CzechJewish townspeople and villagers formed the backbone of post-industrial, urban Czech Jewry. Their '"secondary acculturation"—accomplished largely at the hands of the Czech National Movement—had weaned them away from the social and cultural patterns of the emancipation period. The twentieth-century community displayed a more attenuated national profile, one in which both Jewish nationalism and Czech patriotism found room, one in which Czech language and culture found their place of honor. Czech Jewry proved that its transformation had been real when it merged with ease and success into the new Czechoslovak Republic after 1918.

Notes 1. For recent sociological-cultural discussions of modern nationalism, see Anthony D. Smith, Theories of Nationalism (New York: 197!); idem, The Ethnic Revival (Cambridge: 1981); and Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Ithaca: 1984). 2. See the discussion in Smith, The Ethnic Revival, pp. 87-133. 3. See Freidrich Prinz, "Das kulturcllc Leben" in K. Bosl (ed.), Handbuch der Geschichte der bohmischen Lander, vol. 4 (Stuttgart: 1970), pp. 153-188. 4. Karel Adamek, Z nasi doby (Of Our Times), vol. 2 (Velke Mezinci: 1887), p. 60. 5. Franz Perko, "Die Tatigkeit des deutschen Schulvereines in Bohmen," Deutsche Arbeit, no. 3 (1903-4), p. 391. 6. Ibid.v 1. Jan Safranek, Skoly ceske: Obraz jejich vyvoje a osudu (Czech Schools: Portrait of Their Development and Fortunes), vol. 2 (Prague: 1918), pp. 226-232; Jaroslav Kopac, Dejiny ceske skoly a pedagogiky v letech 1867-1914 (History of the Czech School and Pedagogy, 1867-1914) (Brno: J968), pp. 16-19; see also Bruce M. Garver, The Young Czech Party 1874-1901 and the Emergence of a Multi-Party System (New Haven: 1978), pp. 10, 41-42' 8. See, inter alia, Perko, "Tatigkeit"; Adamek, 7, nasi doby, vol. 2; Prinz, "Das kulturelle Leben," p. 160; and Jin Kofalka and R. j. Crampton, "Die Tschechen," in

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Wandruszka and Urbanitsch (eds.) Die Habsburgermonarchie 1848-1918, vol. III/l (Vienna: 1980), pp. 489-521. 9. Heinrich Rauchbcrg, DerNationale Besitzstand in Bohmen, vol. 1 (Leipzig: 1905), pp. 8-11; Frantisek Friedmann, "Zide v Cechach" ("Jews in Bohemia"), in Hugo Gold (ed.), Zide a zidovske obce v Cechach v mirmlosti a v pfitomnosti (The Jews and Jewish Communities of Bohemia in the Past and in the Present) (Brno: 1934), p. 733. 10. See the discussion in Rauchberg, Der Nationale Bestizstand, vol. l , p p . 10-14; see also Emil Brix, Die Umgangssprachen in Altosterreich zwischen Agitation und Assimilation (Vienna: 1982), passim. 11. Dr. Inama-Sternegg, in 1900; quoted in Rauchberg, Der Nationale Besitzstand, vol. 1, pp. 13-14. 12. F. Friedmann, "Zide v Cechach," p. 733; see also Ezra Mendelsohn, "Jewish Assimilation in L'viv: The Case of Wilhelm Feldman," in Markovits and Sysyn (eds.), Nationbuilding and the Politics of Nationalism: Essays on Austrian Galicia (Cambridge, Mass.: 1982), p. 94. 13. Ludmila Karnfkova, Vyvoj obyvatelstva v ceskych zemich 1754-1914 (Evolution of the Population in the Czech Lands) (Prague: 1965), pp. 348-351; cited in Garver, The Young Czech Party, p. 326. 14. Gary B. Cohen, The Politics of Ethnic Survival: Germans in Prague, 1861-1914 (Princeton: 1981), pp. 92-93. By Prague is meant the eight districts of the city proper plus the four "inner suburbs" of Karlm, Smichov, Vinohrady and Zizkov. 15. Gary B. Cohen, "Ethnicity and Urban Population Growth: The Decline of the Prague Germans, 1880-1920," in Keith Hutchins (ed.), Studies in East European Social History, vol. 2 (Leiden: 1981), p. 11. 16. The figures come from Adamek, Z nasi doby, vol. 2, pp. 10-11, which, in turn, were based on official census reports. 17. Figures derived from Osterreichische Statistik, vol. 63, pt. 3 (Vienna: 1903); cited in Kofalka and Crampton, "Die Tschechen," p. 511. 18. Adamek, Z nasi doby, vol. 2, p. 77. 19. Statistisches handbuchlein des Kaisertums Osterreich fur das Jahr 1865 (Vienna: 1867), p. 52; Osterreichisches Statistisches Handbuch, no. 34 (1915), p. 316; cited in Kofalka and Crampton, "Die Tschechen," p. 510. 20. Adamek, Z nasi doby, vol. 2, pp. 12, 77. 21. Ibid., pp. 11-12. 22. Ibid., p. 12. 23. Ibid., p. 83. 24. Osterreichisches Statistisches Handbuch, no. 10 (1891), pp. 40-43. On the eve of the partition of the University of Prague (winter and summer semesters, 1880-81), Czechs comprised 66.2 percent and 67.3 percent of the total student body. (Osterreichisches Statistisches Handbuch, no. 1 (1882), pp. 46-49.) 25. Osterreichisches Statistisches Handbuch, no. 1 (1882), pp. 56-59. 26. Osterreichisches Statistiches Handbuch, no. 10 (1891), pp. 48-51. 27. Adamek, Z nasi doby, vol. 2, p. 81. 28. Austrian law stipulated that in order for the state to set up a minority-language school in any district, first, the parents of minority children had to request one; second, there had to be a minimum of forty children divided among five grades (Perko, "Tatigkeit," p. 391). 29. SeePrinz, "Das kulturelle Leben," p. 160; Perko, "Tatigkeit"; and Adamek, Z/w.sv doby, vol. 2, passim. 30. Perko, "Tatigkeit," pp. 388, pp. 408-409. 31. Garver, Young Czech Party, pp. 112-113. 32. Osterreichische Statistik, vol. 64, no. 3 (1902); Die Juden in Osterreich (Berlin: 1908), p. 109. See also Gustav Otruba, "Statistische Matcrialien zur Geschichtc der Juden in den bohmischen Landcrn scit dcm Ausgang des 18. Jahrhundcrts," in Die Juden in den bohmischen Landern (Munich and Vienna: 1983), pp. 323-351.

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33. Osterreichische Statistik, vol. 63 (1902), pp. 78-79; Jan Herman, "The Evolution of the Jewish Population in Prague, 1869-1939," in Schmclz, Glikson, and DellaPergola (eds.), Papers in Jewish Demography 1977 (Jerusalem: 1980), p. 54. 34. On the role of the Normalschule in the transformation of Bohemian Jewish life after 1780, see Hillel J. Kieval. "Caution's Progress: The Modernization of Jewish Life in Prague, 1780-1830," in Jacob Katz (ed.), Toward Modernity: The European Jewish Model (New Brunswick: 1986). 35. Adamek, Z nasi doby, vol. 2, p. 14. The figure of 4,470 may have included nonJewish students who for one reason or another attended German-Jewish schools. Adamek lists them as Jews, but Koran, writing in the Kalenddf cesko-zidovsky (1886-87), claims that 192 Catholics and 17 Protestants were enrolled in Jewish communal schools in the Czech countryside in 1885-86 (p. 101). The total number of Jewish students enrolled in Volks- and Biirgerschulen (obecne and mest'anske skoly), both public and private, in Bohemia in 1880 was 13,574—about 1.6 percent of the total primary school enrollment (see Osterreichisches Statistisches Handbuch, no. 1 [1882], pp. 82-83). Die Juden in Osterreich (Berlin: 1908) gives the percentage of Jewish boys at public elementary schools in all of Austria as 2 percent in 1880, 2.35 percent in 1890, and 2.6 percent in 1900. The percentage of girls was 3.18 percent in 1880, 3.81 percent in 1890, and 4.31 percent in 1900 (Die Juden in Osterreich, p. 87). 36. Adamek, Z nasi doby, vol. 2, p. 14. 37. See Ruth Kestenberg-Gladstein, "Jews Between Czechs and Germans," The Jews of Czechoslovakia, I (Philadelphia: 1968), pp. 49-50. 38. Safranek, Skoly ceske, vol. 2, p. 201. 39. Josef Koran, "Zidovske skoly v Cechach" ("Jewish Schools in Bohemia"), Kalenddf cesko-zidovsky (K.C.Z.), no. 6 (1886-87), and/f.C.Z., no. 16 (1896-97). 40. Cohen, "Ethnicity and Urban Population Growth," pp. 225-226; idem, The Politics of Ethnic Survival, pp. 224-225; and idem, "Jews in German Society: Prague, 18601914," Central European History, 10 (1977): p. 38. 41. Die Juden in Osterreich, p. 92. Osterreichisches Statistisches Handbuch, no. 1 (1882), gives slightly different figures. For the academic year 1880-81: number of Jewish students at gymnasia and realgymnasia in Bohemia—1,761 ( 1 1 . 1 percent of the total); at Realschulen I Redlky—554 (10.8 percent) (Osterreichisches Statislisches Handbuch, no. 1 [1882], 70-71). By comparison, only 8.2 percent of all gymnasium students in Galicia in 1869 were Jews (Philip Friedman, Die Galizischen Juden im Kampfe um ihre Gleichberechtigung [1848-1868\ [Frankfurt a./M.: 1929), cited in Mendelsohn, "Jewish Assimilation in L'viv," p. 99). 42. Die Juden in Osterreich, p. 94. The tables compiled by Gustav Otruba in Die Juden in den bqhmischen Landern (Munich and Vienna: 1983)—which are derived from Osterreichsche Statistik, vol. 9, no. 1—are largely in agreement. One exception concerns Jewish attendance at Czech Redlky, which is given as 48 by Juden in Osterreich but as 495 by Otruba! The latter is obviously in error, A perusal of figures for the two decades beginning in 1882 reveals that the number of Jewish students at Czech Redlky never exceeded 315. As late as 1890, the number was only 76. The city of Lwow (Lemberg) in eastern Galicia offers an instructive contrast to the situation in Prague and Bohemia. By the end of the nineteenth century, German culture had lost much of its hold on the Jews in the Galician cities and towns. Most assimilating Jews chose to affiliate with the more prominent—and politically the more attractive—Polish culture. Jews comprised 18.3 percent of all gymnasium students in Lw6w in 1896, and over 64 percent of the Jewish students attended Polish institutions; the remainder requested the German school. See Ezra Mendelsohn, "Jewish Assimilation in L'viv," p. 99. 43. G. Otruba, "Die Universitaten in der Hochschulorganisation der Donau-Monarchie," in M. Rassem (ed.), Student und Hochschule im 19. Jahrhundert (Gottingcn: 1975), pp. 75-155; Osterreichisches Statistisches Handbuch, no. 1 (1882), pp. 46-49, 56-59. I do not have at my disposal the precise number of Bohemian Jews who chose to attend the University of Vienna rather than Prague. Marsha Rozenblit's The Jews of Vienna, 1867 ~

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1914 (Albany: 1983) offers data on the place of birth of Jewish gymnasium students in Vienna but nothing concerning Jewish university students. 44. Juden in Osterreich, p. 102. To resume the comparison with Lwow, Mendelsohn points out that in 1901-2, 21.9 percent of all the students at the University of Lwow—which was a Polish institution—were Jews. Jews also comprised 14.3 percent of the Lwow Technical College (Mendelsohn, "Jewish Assimilation in L'viv," p. 99). 45. Adamek, Z nasi doby, vol. 2, p. 20. 46. On Havlicek's rejection of Kapper's pro-Czech writings, see Guido Kisch, In Search of Freedom: A History of American Jews from Czechoslovakia (London: 1949), pp. 26-44, 213-214. 47. Adamek, Z nasi doby, vol. 2, pp. 32-33. 48. Ibid., p. 33. In the fourth and final volume of the work, published in 1890, Adamek indicated that the Schulverein subsidized 14 percent of the private Jewish elementary schools in Bohemia, certainly a low figure, given the ardor of the Czech national grievance against the Jews (Adamek, Z nasi doby, vol. 4, p. 80). 49. Josef Koran, "Zidovske skoly v Cechach," K.C.Z., no. 6 (1886), pp. 97-102. 50. Ibid., p. 101. 51. J. S. Kraus, "Nemecko-zidovske skoly v Cechach" ("The German-Jewish Schools of Bohemia"), K.C.Z., no. 2 (1882-83), pp. 117-125. On the origins of the Czech-Jewish movement in Bohemia, see Hillel J. Kieval, The Making of Czech Jewry: National Conflict and Jewish Society in Bohemia, 1870-1918 (New York: 1987). 52. Bondy won a seat in the Bohemian Diet in 1883 as a representative of Prague's Stare Mesto. Zalud and Julius Reitler were sent to the Diet the same year from Josefov—the old Jewish quarter of Prague, long considered to be a stronghold of German power—and Zucker was elected to the Imperial Diet in Vienna in 1885. On Bondy, see Ottuv slovnik naucny (Otta's Encyclopedia),vol. 4 (1891), p. 337;andK.C.Z.,o. 4 (1884-85), pp. 57-59. For Zucker, K.C.Z., no. 6 (1886-87), pp. 58-63. And for Zalud, K.C.Z., no. 8 (1888-89), pp. 55-58. 53. The National Liberals broke away from Rieger's National party in 1874 over the issue of "passive resistance," that is, non-participation in the Diet and the Reichsrat, a policy that had been practiced by the National party since 1867. On the split between Old and Young Czechs, see Bruce M. Garver, The Young Czech Party, pp. 1-87. 54. The largest and most powerful of the "National Unions" were the Ndrodni jednota posumavskd (founded in 1884) and the Ndrodni jednota severoceska(1885). In addition to providing peripheral support to the Central School Foundation, the National Unions offered legal aid to Czechs in predominantly German districts who were involved in litigation with local or imperial authorities, and they conducted private censuses in such districts, encouraging Czech residents to take the opportunity to declare their Czech allegiance. See Garver, The Young Czech Party, pp. 112-115. 55. Dejiny ceskozidovskeho hnuti (History of the Czech-Jewish Movement) (Prague: 1932), p. 8. 56. "Nas ukol""Our Mission"),Ceskozidovske listy,September 1984.Ceskozidovskelisty(1894-1907) began as a fortnightly publication but eventually appeared every week. Issued from Prague, it reflected the official views of both the S.C.A.Z. and the Czech-Jewish National Union. It was also closely allied to the Young Czech party on national issues. 57. Ceskozidovske listy, 15 October 1894, pp. 1-2. 58. Ibid., 1 November 1894, p. 1. 59. J. Koran, "Zidovske skoly v Cechach roku 1894-95," K.C.Z., no. 16 (1896-97), pp. 152-157. 60. Koran, "Zidovske skoly v Cechach," pp. 155-156. Many of these Catholic and Protestant children actually attended Jewish-supported schools (180 Catholics and 17 Protestants in 1885; 163 and 13, respectively, in 1894). 61. Ibid., pp. 155-157. Koran continued to demonstrate dissatisfaction with the overall educational situation of the Jews. In 1890 there were more children between the ages of six and fourteen in Jewish schools than the total number of registered Germans in those localities

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(a measurement which ordinarily would indicate the need for a minority school). In Novy Bydzov, for example, only 28 people in the entire town registered as Germans, yet there were 53 children in the German school; in Hofice the figures were 14 (Germans) and 28 (children); in Melnik, 18 and 40; in Kotin, 98 and 131. There were even instances of German-Jewish schools in areas where not a single person had registered as a German. These statistics indicate a socio-cultural phenomenon unique to Bohemian Jewry. Normally bilingual and sensitive to the political climate, they readily indicated their national standing as Czech, yet demonstrated unwavering loyalty to the ideal of a German education. 62. Ceskoiidovske listy, 1 February 1898. 63. Ibid., 1 January 1898, p. 7. 64. Ibid., 15 March 1898, p. 3. 65. Ibid., pp. 3-4. 66. "Narodnf jednota ceskozidovska," K.C.Z., no. 26 (1906-7), pp. 181-182. 67. Compare the figures in the two articles by Koran: "Zidovskc skoly v Cechach," K. C.Z., no. 6 (1886-87); and "Zidovske skoly v Cechach roku 1894-95," K.C.Z. no. 16 (1896-97). Even the attendance figure of 4,240 for 1885 represented a drop of over 600 from that of 1880 (Die Juden in Osterreich, p. 82). 68. The population of the school dropped by about 23 jsercent (from 190 to 147) between 1885 and 1898. The 1885 figure is given in Koran, "Zidovske skoly v Cechach," K.C.Z., no. 6 (1886-87). 69. Statistickd pfirucka krdlovstvi ceskeho (Statistical Handbook of the Kingdom of Bohemia) (Prague: 1913), p. 131; and Die Juden in Osterreich, p. 87. 70. Die Juden in Osterreich, pp. 82-84. 71. Die Juden in den bohmischen Landern (Munich and Vienna: 1983). Appendix V: "Der Anteil der Juden am hoheren Schulwesen Bohmens, Mahrens, und Schlesiens," pp. 348-349. The figures in this table accord in nearly all instances with the data provided by Die Juden in Osterreich (Berlin: 1908) for the school years 1881-82 through 1903-4. 72. Die Juden in den bohmischen Landern, pp. 348-349. 73. The total number of Jewish students registered at Bohemian middle schools rose in absolute terms only slightly between 1882 and 1912, from 3,129 to 3,441. As a percentage of the student body, the second figure represented a decline from 12.1 percent to 8.4 percent. According to Die Juden in Osterreich, the Jewish population in Bohemian gymnasia and Realschulen may have reached its peak in absolute terms in 1903-4, when it reached 2,744. However, the relative weight of Jewish attendance was never greater than in 1888-89, when 2,528 Jewish students in gymnasia and Realschulenstood for 12 percent of the student body (Die Juden in Osterreich, pp. 94-95, 97). 74. Figures derived from Die Juden in den bohmischen Landern, pp. 348-349. In the technical high schools(Realkyoralschulen)Jewish attendance patterns took a different course. In 1882 the 495 Jews who went to Czech Realky represented a healthy 11.3 percent of the student body. Thereafter the number dropped off precipitously (250, or 2.3 percent, by 1912), but the reasons for this are not apparent. On the German side, meanwhile, the number of Jews attending Realschulen nearly doubled between 1882 and 1912 (from 448 to 804), while their relative weight as a percentage of the whole declined slightly from 18.6 to 15.8 percent. 75. Die Juden in den bohmischen Landern, p. 350; Osterreichisches Statistisches Handbuch, no. 1 (1882), pp. 46-47. In contrast, Jews comprised more than 25 percent of the student body at the University of Vienna in 1880-81, 11.7 percent of the University of'Lwow (Lemberg), 8.9 percent of Cracow, and 27.7 percent of Czernowitz. 76. Osterreichisches Statistisches Handbuch, no. 10 (1891), pp. 40-43. 77. Osterreichisches Statistisches Handbuch, no. 20 (1901), pp. 78-81; Die Juden in den bohmischen Landern, p. 350. During the same winter semester, 1899-1900, Jews comprised 24.7 percent of the student body al the University of Vienna, 19.8 percent of the University of Lwow (Lemberg), 15.8 percent of Cracow, and 44.4 percent of Czernowitz. 78. Figures derived from Die Juden in Osterreich, p. 102. 79. Die Juden in Osterreich, pp. 103-104. 80. Ratios derived from Die Juden in Osterreich, p. 103.

The Extra-Territorial National Minorities in the Soviet Union, 1917-39: Jews, Germans and Poles Binyamin Pinkus (BEN-GURION UNIVERSITY)

Let me begin with a brief consideration of terminology and methodology. The term extra-territorial national minorities has been chosen here because it reflects the geographic dispersion of these minorities, the non-existence or only partial existence of a national territorial unit in their case and the reasonable prospect that they will be subjected to a speedy process of absorption, voluntarily or under compulsion. Other terms that are widely used in research on nationalities in the Soviet Union—such as ethnic minority, ethnikus, national minority, foreign national minority or mobilized diaspora—are less appropriate and may even give rise to misunderstanding and ambivalence and confuse the issue, which is complicated and problematic enough in any case. First, the terms ethnic minority or ethnikus are intended to denote groups at a low level of national development or groups just on the threshold of becoming a definite nationality; thus these terms are obviously unsuitable for the three nationalities in question here. Second, the termnationalminorityis both categorical and too vague. It refers, in fact, to all the nationalities in the Soviet Union, except for the majority nationality—the Russians. Moreover, as we shall see, there is a substantial difference between national minorities that possess a high-ranking federal unit and those that do not, from the point of view of their 'uridical and political status and their possibilities for developing their culture. Third, the terms foreign national minorityormobilizeddiaspora1rnotonlyvaguebutpossessparticularlydangerous connotation in authoritarian and totalitarian regimes, which suspect "double loyalty" in all ties with mother countries or diasporas abroad. Furthermore, nationalities with federal union republics (such as the Armenian or the Tatar republics) can be considered "foreign minorities" while their juridical and political status and general situation differ from those of extra-territorial national minorities. Research on national minorities of all kinds in the Soviet Union emphasizes "externals"—the attitude of the administration to one minority or another and the 72

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establishment of its juridical status. Sometimes, on the other hand, it deals exclusively with the internal iife of the minority, completely or partially divorced from the policy of the administration arid the complicated relations and interactions between the minority and the environment. The history of the national minorities is not, however, one dimensional but rather should be understood in terms of concentric circles related to, and fitting into, each other dynamically and affecting each other in complex fashion. All research on the nationalities question should aim at an organic fusion of both "external" and "internal" aspects. The first circle, the outermost one, embraces juridical and political aspects—the extent of autonomy granted and the scale of involvement in the public life of the state. The second circle signifies demographic and socio-economic processes. The third circle, the innermost one, represents the heart and soul of national existence—religion, education, culture and national consciousness. Contacts between the national minority and its mother country are also of great importance here for reinforcing national identity, but they can also constitute an obstacle at times of internal crisis in the Soviet Union. Three distinct periods can be discerned in the history of the extra-territorial national minorities in the Soviet Union during the years 1917-39: 1917-22, the search for solutions to the nationalities problem; 1933-39, the new nationalities policy of "koren-ization" ("rooting" of nationalities); the campaign against "nationalist deviations" and the decline of the autonomy of the extra-territorial national minorities. In the following discussion the characteristics of each period will be indicated. THE POLITICAL-JURIDICAL STATUS OF THE EXTRA-TERRITORIAL MINORITIES The political-juridical status of any national minority in an ideological state par excellence—such as the Soviet Union during the years 1917—39—was settled in accordance with the powerful ruling ideology, which continued to maintain its centrality throughout the period in everything regarding the structure of the regime and its functioning. We shall examine the legislation concerned directly or indirectly with the extra-territorial minorities and the degree of autonomy granted them. Finally, we shall analyze the degree of involvement of these minorities in the overall government framework. The nationalities question preoccupied Lenin and the other Bolshevik leaders from the very inception of their organization in 1903. There is a clear similarity between Lenin's approach to the nationalities question and his general approach to the state. For him neither the state nor the nation is eternally fixed—they are, rather, passing historical phenomena. Accordingly, he formulated short-term and long-term plans for solving the nationalities problem. His plan for the short term— that is, for the transition from capitalism to socialism—dealt with three points: the question of federalism, the right of self-determination and national-cultural and regional autonomy. Revolutionary and theorist, Lenin was, nevertheless, first and foremost a rnan of

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action, quick to learn from practical realities. On the morrow of the Revolution, when an immediate solution was needed to the nationalities problem and the proposal to establish a federation was shaped, Lenin turned from being the fiercest opponent of the idea into one of its most enthusiastic supporters. Accepted as a compromise between the centralizing function of a central government and the decentralizing trend of the various nationalities, Soviet federalism enabled the different republics to use their national languages and establish national cultural institutions. But not all the nationalities, and in particular the extra-territorial national minorities, were included in this solution. The right of self-determination was a guiding principle of the Russian socialist movement and Lenin supported it consistently. Just as with federalism, however, Lenin had to change his position after the October Revolution, when he found his belief that the nationalities would voluntarily agree to remain within the framework of the socialist state instead of setting up their own small independent states to be mistaken. Lenin's new policy, forged by unanticipated events, can be seen in the case of Finland and Poland. Both these countries did receive their independence, but only after everything was done to ensure that Soviet rule be established. "National-cultural autonomy" based on the individual, as distinct from the principle of self-determination, was an idea promoted in the Austrian Social Democratic party by its most eminent theoreticians, Otto Bauer and Karl Renner. According to this theory, members of the different nationalities, regardless of where they were living, would be organized in national councils charged with responsibility for independent administration in the spheres of education and culture, while the political and economic unity of the state would remain intact. The national minorities in Russia and their socialist parties willingly accepted this solution, but Lenin attacked it fiercely, calling it "a bourgeois trick" to delude the proletariat. Despite his opposition to national-cultural autonomy, Lenin was more and more inclined, from 1913 on, to favor autonomy for regions with special economic and cultural conditions or a special national composition. However, he did not go into details on the nature of this regional autonomy. After a lot of experimental probing and searching that went on until 1923, the practical solution adopted in Soviet Russia was an improvised mixture of two approaches: national-cultural autonomy on the extra-territorial principle and the Leninist-Stalinist theory of regional autonomy on the territorial principle. This "compromise" bore within itself all the complications and the inconsistencies which were the lot of Soviet policy on the nationalities question. The political-constitutional solution of the problem of the extra-territorial national minorities took form in a large number of constitutional documents, passed mainly in the 1920s, which were based on Soviet national theory and on necessary adjustments to reality. In the Tenth Communist Party Congress (1921) resolution, entitled "Regarding a Solution of the Nationalities Problem," clause four was devoted to the specific problem of the extra-territorial minorities (the examples cited were the Latvians, Estonians, 'oles and Jews). It resolved that they must be given assistance for their free national development. 2 The resolution adopted at the Twelfth Congress (1923) was of greater significance. For the first time a clear plan was devised for reaching a practical solution. The resolution stated that it was

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necessary to pass special legislation to ensure the use of the mother tongue in all state institutions serving the national minorities. 3 Resolutions in a similar vein were also passed by the parties in the different republics where there were significant national minorities. However, resolutions passed at the Communist party congresses during the years 1930-39 were more restrictive than those of the 1920s and stressed the need to combat local nationalism. The first state decree regarding the nationalities, passed in November 1917, was entitled, "Declaration of Rights of the Peoples of Russia." It laid down the general principles on which the nationalities policy should be based in the future. Of the four principles enunciated in the resolution, the most important for our purpose was the fourth, which announced "free development for the national minorities and ethnic groups inhabiting the land of Russia." 4 The constitutions of the Russian Republic of July 1918 (clause 22), of the Belorussian Republic of February 1919 (clause 15) and of the Ukrainian Republic (clause 32) all proclaimed equal rights for all citizens of whatever race or nationality. They further declared that any grant of preferential rights to a given race or nationality, any repression of national minorities or limitation of equal rights was against the basic laws of the republic. 5 The Declaration of Independence of Belorussia of 1 August 1920 occupies a special place in this context. It stated inter alia, "Full equality of rights is granted for the languages (Belorussian, Russian, Polish and Yiddish) in dealing with state institutions, organizations and national institutions of education and socialist culture." 6 The second constitution of Belorussia (14 April 1927) introduced detailed provisions (clauses 20, 21, 23) governing the rights of the national minorities. These included the right to establish a national Soviet in places where the national minority constituted the majority of the population and the right to free use of the mother tongue in assemblies, law courts, administrative institutions and public life. Belorussia was the only republic where the constitution proclaimed not only general equal rights for the national minorities but also full rights for the languages employed in the republic—Belorussian, Russian, Polish and Yiddish.7 Measures in defense of the national minorities were not uniform in all the Soviet republics. Of the three most important republics, at least for our purposes—Russia, the Ukraine and Belorussia—where the great majority of the Jews, Germans and Poles lived, the Ukraine and Belorussia enacted extensive legislation for the minorities, whereas the Russian republic's laws and decrees dealt mainly with national minorities possessing federal units. Decrees of the All-Ukrainian Central Executive Committee and the Council of People's Commissars of the Ukraine of 23 July 1923 dealt with the status of the different languages in the republic in great detail. Regarding the languages of the national minorities, it held that in all the territorial administrative units where the national minority constituted the majority of the population, the language of this minority was to be used in official contacts with the state, while in places where no one minority enjoyed an absolute majority, the authorities would use the language of the national minority that possessed a relative majority. On 10 April 1925 and 16 July 1925 the Central Executive Committee and the Council of People's Commissars of the Ukraine passed two resolutions for carrying out the policy of Ukrainization, intended to give greater weight to the

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previous resolutions and to press on with their realization. Regulations adopted on 22 July 1927 were the most detailed and all-embracing with regard to the equality of the national languages. Extensive legislation in defense of the national minorities was also enacted in Belorussia from 1924 on. The resolution of 20 May 1925 adopted by the Third Congress of the Soviets was particularly important since it concerned the entire Soviet Union. It devoted a whole section to the national minorities: Representatives of the national minorities must be placed on all Soviet elected bodies; in cases where there was a large population of national minorities, special Soviets must be set up for them; the mother tongue must be used in the schools; nationality lawcourts must be organized, and so on. 8 Thus the political-juridical status of the extra-territorial national minorities of which several (Germans and Jews) were given federal units was settled by virtue of a temporary compromise between the theoretical approach to the nationalities problem and the pragmatic approach of the 1920s, in the 1930s, however, an additional constitutional document of great importance was promulgated, the Decree of the Central Executive Committee and Council of People's Commissars of 27 December 1932, which resolved that the passports of city residents aged sixteen and over must have the nationality of the bearer registered in them. This decree might have led to a strengthening of the weaker extra-territorial minorities, but, in fact, it was utilized to combat them. From 1934 on Germans working in industry and government institutions and later on Poles as well found that this registration was used to discriminate against them. The close ties existing between certain national minorities and their specific religions (Jew and Judaism, of course, and—among the Poles and Germans— Catholicism and Protestantism) also affected the juridical-political status of the extra-territorial national minorities, given the stringent anti-religious legislation of this period. The autonomy and partial "statehood" accorded the national minorities in line with the new policy on the nationalities in the 1920s took the form of party and state institutions in which the language in active daily use had to be that of the particular national minority. The first step in establishing central institutions for the nationalities was the creation of the Commissariat of Nationality Affairs(Narkomnats) on 8 November 1917, headed by Josef Stalin and his assistant of Polish origin, S. Pestovsky. It was no accident that while the Polish Commissariat was already created on 28 November 1917, the Jewish one was not established until 1 February 1918 and the German one only in May of that year. The precedence given the Polish minority did not stem from internal Soviet causes but rather from external ones— the need to create a Communist nucleus that would work to extend Soviet rule to Poland. In spite of differences in wording, the functions of the various national commissariats during the time the Narkomnats existed, from 1917 to 1924, can be summarized as follows: 1. To conduct propaganda in the mother tongue in order to draw the masses closer to Soviet rule. 2. To fight against the old nationalist parties of all trends and the old autonomous institutions.

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3. To advise the central and local Soviet bodies in all matters regarding the particular national minority and to act on its behalf for a satisfactory solution of its problem. 4. To establish new institutions in every sphere to carry out government policy. 5. To assist the refugees to return home (a particularly serious situation prevailed among the Jewish and German populations, which underwent mass deportations during the war) and to take steps for their speedy rehabilitation. 6. To initiate extensive activity directed at the mother countries as well (Poland and Germany). The national commissariats encountered innumerable difficulties. First, there was a lack of trustworthy Communists to fill the various offices created at the regional and local levels. From this point of view the Poles were better off than the Germans, who had to make do mainly with German prisoners of war who professed pro-Soviet and socialist views (an important role was played by Ernst Reuter, a future leader of German Social Democracy).9 As regards the Jews, there were veteran Bolsheviks of Jewish origin in key positions in the party, but, unlike the Poles,10 they were not prepared to work on "the Jewish street." Second, many differences of opinion emerged between the Narkomnats and other commissariats (such as education), which were also charged with handling the problems of the various nationalities and which interfered with the efficient implementation of the new nationalities policy. Third, differences of opinion also developed between the Narkomnatitself and the different national commissariats under its control. And finally, the changing political situation during the Civil War and the fluctuating policy on nationalities combined to narrow the field of activity of theNarkomnats. With the establishment of the Soviet Federation in 1924 and the subsequent abolition of the Narkomnats,'' the main functions of this body were transferred to the new administrative institutions; the Nationalities Soviets, the Nationalities Department of the Central Executive Committee of the Soviet Union (VTSIK), the presidium of the Central Executive Committee in each republic and the Commissions of Nationality Affairs in the Interior Ministries of the Republics. This change was unquestionably damaging to the extra-territorial national minorities. In one stroke they lost their only direct representation in the central administration. They now had representation only on the local level, and those empowered to represent them were all officials dependent on the local government institutions that paid them. Unlike the national commissariats in the previous period, which had still been open to representatives of the old socialist parties and to non-party individuals, the national sections in the Communist party were by definition composed of party members only. 12 The national sections, despite their low, problematic status within the party, were certainly the most important of all the social institutions created to serve the populations of national minorities. They were, after all, institutions of the ruling party. Moreover, they not only succeeded in eliminating all the old independent parties and organizations but also succeeded in winning over leaders of socialist parties who were close to the Bolsheviks after the revolution; this was particularly evident in the Jewish section (Evsektsia), but it also occurred with the

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German and Polish sections. Last, the sections, in fact, became practically the only address for dealing with the internal affairs of the minorities and their relations with administrative institutions. The way in which the national sections were created was not uniform. The Jewish section was set up after lengthy discussions and the overcoming of numerous obstacles. On 20 October 1918, sixty-four representatives convened for its first conference. The creation of the German section and, to a great extent, the Polish section as well was closely connected with the phenomenon of the prisoners of war.13 Thus the German section set up on 24 April 1918, grew out of the German group in the federation of foreign groups in the Communist party created a week earlier (16 April) and numbering some four hundred persons. From 1920 until their dissolution in January 1930, the national sections were a sub-department of the Department of Information and Propaganda (Agitprop) of the Communist party. From the administrative point of view, the fact that the national sections were part of the hierarchy of precisely this department not only indicates the party leadership's attitude to them but also their low status in the whole framework of party functions. In their structure and membership, the sections were, in fact, little more than a technical party apparatus for implementing decisions and carrying out tasks imposed on them by the party leadership as circumstances dictated. Their tasks were practically identical with those of theNarkomnats,as cited above. The sections were thus in some sort a "head" without a "body." No data were published on the numerical size of the sections, and one can arrive at only very rough estimates. Of some 50,000 Jewish Communists in the Soviet Union in 1927,l4 about 2,000 to 3,500 were members of the Evsektsia, that is to say no more than 5 to 7 percent. In 1920 before the return home of most of the prisoners of war, the German Communists in the party numbered 2,850 members and 725 candidate members.15 It seems that the percentage of Soviet Germans among them was very low, since in 1922 there were only 2,217 German Communists in the whole Soviet Union. According to figures published in 1925, there were only 705 members in the German section. l6 In 1927 there were 5,561 German Communists in the Soviet Union: If we subtract from this number the 1,200 party members in the Autonomous German Republic of the Volga, who did not belong to the German section, and another 3,000 or so party members also not belonging to the section, it appears that in its peak years the German section numbered no more than some 1,300 to 1,500 members. A similar situation apparently prevailed among the Polish Communists, who numbered 11,158 (1.05 percent of all party members)17 in 1927. If the majority of Communists were to be found in the urban populations of the Russian Republic and not in the Ukraine and Belorussia (with its large, mainly peasant Polish population), then membership in the Polish section can be estimated at about 1,000 at the most. They were active in some twenty branches, seven of them in the Polish national region. Each section was made up of three distinct levels: the top leadership, active in the central bureau in Moscow and in the central bureaus in the republics; the medium level, comprising the representatives of the national sections in the Communist party, government and other public institutions and organizations; and the lowest level, including the (paid) representatives of the sections active in the local party

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and public state bodies. The main activity of the sections centered around the congresses and conventions they organized among professional and social groups— teachers, peasants, trade unionists, and so on. Unlike the Jewish section, which had a wide sphere of activity, the Polish and German sections were more limited, encountering as they did considerable opposition from the rural population. The national sections' balance sheet shows, on the one hand, the liquidation of the independent community institutions, elimination of all non-Communist parties and organizations, war on religion, destruction of a flourishing rural economy—results which should, in fact, have been achieved without the help of the sections, if more slowly and less effectively—and, on the other hand, the establishing of a national educational network, administrative and cultural institutions and an extension of national autonomy within the framework of the Soviet federation. The first signs of avolte-facein overall Soviet nationalities policy were already perceptible in the late 1920s. In 1926 Stalin warned Kaganovich and the members of the Ukrainian Communist Party Politburo against what he saw as overhasty Ukrainization. l8 In 1927 a campaign was initiated against "nationalist deviations," which mainly struck at the Poles but also affected the Jews and the Germans.19 In 1929 serious accusations were launched against the leaders of the national sections. They were charged with nationalism, concealing the survival of antagonistic social strata in the villages and of supporting "fundamentally mistaken national solidarity" (with foreign reactionary regimes such as those of Poland and Germany). The end came on 13 January 1930 when the national sections were abolished under the pretext of party reorganization.20 Their liquidation was the result of the entrenchment of Stalin's rule and the elimination of all opposition. Stalin felt it was no longer necessary to make concessions to the national minorities either from the internal or external point of view. His policy of "socialism in one country" meant that there was no need to consider the Soviet Union's image in the eyes of the outside world. The national minorities now lost the last vestiges of their leadership; their entire socio-economic and educational-cultural fabric was seriously weakened. The institutions of the extra-territorial nationalities were the village and regional Soviets and the national districts, law courts and police stations. The first of the Soviets was set up in 1924. They resembled the general Soviets in every respect, constituting a basic administrative unit in the new Soviet regime. They differed from the general Soviets in that the Jewish, Polish or German national Soviet was usually headed by a Jewish, Polish or German Communist. Moreover, the work of the Soviet was supposed to be conducted in the mother tongue of the nationality in question. For a national Soviet to be set up there had to be no less than one thousand persons living within its boundaries. It was however difficult to keep to this quota, and in October 1927 it was decided to reduce the figure to only five hundred. The main tasks of the village or district Soviets were as follows: cultural development, health, contacts with public organizations, local administration. A national Soviet generally had three main sections dealing respectively with communal, financial and social matters. The national district Soviets developed fastest in the Ukraine and slowest in the Russian Republic. Three main periods can be distinguished in the development of the national Soviets. The years 1925-27 witnessed the establishment and growth of these in-

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stitutions. In the Ukraine in 1925 there were 38 Jewish Soviets, 15 Polish and 98 German. There was a grand total of 990 national Soviets in the Ukraine in this year. In Belorussia in 1925 there were 28 Jewish and 13 Polish ones (the German population in this republic was very small). 21 The low proportion of Jewish Soviets, despite the Jews' being twice as numerous as the Germans and almost three-and-ahalf times as numerous as the Poles in the Soviet Union, stemmed from the fact that the Jews were concentrated mainly in the towns, while the Poles and the Germans lived in villages where the local Soviets were usually set up. During the years 192831 the national Soviets attained their high watermark. The number of Jewish Soviets set up in this period reached 168 in 1931, the number of Polish Soviets reached 153 in 1929 and the number of German ones, 254 in 1931. The grand total in the Ukraine in 1931 was 1,121 national Soviets. During the years 1933-39 a rapid decline set in. This decline was reflected in the very fact that one publication of statistics about them stopped almost entirely. In 1933 there were 154 Jewish Soviets and apparently a decrease was also registered for the Poles and the Germans. There were two main (and interconnected) reasons for this: the new nationalities policy, concrete signs of which were appearing in the later 1930s, and the tactic of combining Soviets, that is, creating mixed Soviets of two or even more nationalities—an interim stage on the way to their final liquidation. The national Soviets met with manifold difficulties and obstacles and did not always fulfil their tasks of fostering national identity, especially in the face of the trend to assimilation in the guise of proclaimed Sovietization. The Jewish Soviets served only 15 percent of the whole Jewish population in the Ukraine and about 10 percent in Belorussia; the Polish Soviets 40 percent of their population in the Ukraine and the Germans about 73 percent. These differences, as we have said, stemmed from the different population structures of the three national minorities. A national district, which was the highest level nationality administrative body, differed from a federal unit (region, province, or autonomous republic of the Union) in character and juridical status. In the peak years (1933-35) there were in the USSR sixteen German, five Jewish, and two Polish national districts. Most of the national districts began to disappear in the late 1930s, with the new administrative regionalization of the Soviet Union of March 1939 serving as the excuse for their abolition. The last such districts vanished on the outbreak of war between Germany and the Soviet Union. The national districts, like the national Soviets, met with multiple difficulties and realized only a few of the expectations raised at their establishment. Whether because of the lack of suitable administrative cadres speaking the mother tongue who were also party members or from sheer negligence or technical difficulties, the transition to mother-tongue administration was not carried out. Most of the work and consultation was done in Russian, pre-eminently so among the Jews and the Poles but also among the Germans in some of their Soviets. Furthermore, budget allocations placed at their disposal were so limited as to make proper administration impossible. There were also frequent differences of opinion between the national districts and the local Ukrainian or Belorussian regional administration. Finally, there was no lack of disputes between nationalities in the national Soviets of more than one nationality.

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The third administrative institution of the minority nationalities was the national law courts and the national police stations attached to it. These were set up in a number of places, mainly in the Ukraine. Even if the main function of the national law court was to wage war on religion and "bourgeois nationalism," it also served to reinforce mother-tongue activity, to prepare national cadres for public-political work and to symbolize national autonomy. The Jews set up national courts in 1924, the first of the extra-territorial minorities to do so. In 1925 there were 15 Jewish, 6 Polish and 5 German courts in the Ukraine. In Belorussia in that year there was only 1 Jewish court. In the Ukraine in 1928 there were 36 Jewish, 12 German and 7 Polish courts. In Belorussia in 1928 there were 6 Jewish and 3 Polish courts. In the peak year, 1931, there were 46 Jewish courts, 12 German, and 7 Polish institutions of this kind out of the total of 90 national courts in the Ukraine, in 1934, the last year for which partial statistics were published, there were 106 national courts in the Ukraine, of which 40 were Jewish, 11 German and 7 Polish. In the Russian Republic only a few courts were established for the extra-territorial national minorities. In this republic in the peak year, there were 11 Jewish courts and 1 German court. 22 The number of national law courts decreased sharply in the years 1935-38. The initiative for establishing national courts generally came from the local representatives of the national sections. They conducted propaganda explaining how useful and important these institutions would be. After this preliminary phase, they would approach the executive committee of the local Soviet, pointing out that the local population was interested in having a court conducted in its mother tongue. The decision was, in fact, in the hands of the bodies responsible for the nationalities policy in the republic. In order to set up a national court, the following criterion had to be met: the existence of ten thousand persons of the nationality in question in the area where the law court was to be set up. In the course of time, however, not only in Belorussia but also in the Ukraine, the principle that the national court could be set up regardless of the number of persons of the nationality concerned and that it would serve the entire district was accepted. This principle gave rise to numerous difficulties. It was contrary to the basis of Soviet jurisprudence. It meant that witnesses had to be brought to the court from distant places. It complicated investigations and the execution of sentences. Apart from all this the main problem that affected the national courts was the fact that they were only lower courts. In the mid-1930s it was decided to close down the national courts, and they were subsequently combined with other courts on grounds of "economy and efficiency." The crowning glory, as it were, of the Soviet nationalities policy for the extraterritorial national minorities was supposed to be their achieving the grant of federal units on one level or another in the Soviet federation. The leaders of the national sections were sufficiently well acquainted with Leninist doctrine to understand that the survival of their minorities under Soviet rule could only be ensured by the transition from national-cultural autonomy in its Soviet interpretation to a territorial solution. However, they could not or dared not put forward demands of this kind to the top party leadership and could only hope that a combination of external and internal needs would cause the regime to offer this solution. As far as the Germans

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and Poles were concerned, the dominant factor in the decision whether or not to establish a federal unit was foreign policy; as for the Jews, the decisive factor was internal. The Workers' Commune of the Volga was set up as early as October 1918 as a national territorial unit in the federation of the Russian Republic. There is no doubt at all that this favorable policy regarding the Germans, the great majority of whom not only opposed the Soviet regime but were fighting against it with armed force— both in the various "white" armies and in the self-defense units created immediately after the Revolution—was the outcome of a perhaps unique combination of internal and external factors. In the internal sphere, we have already remarked upon the desire to win over the various nationalities to the Soviet side and to mobilize them for international activity on behalf of the regime. But it was certainly the international factor that was decisive here since the Soviet leadership firmly believed in the imminence of a German revolution, and the Germans in Russia were supposed to play a role in such an event, even if only of a symbolic nature. In 1924, with the creation of the Soviet Union, the Germans had their federal unit "promoted" to become the Autonomous German Republic of the Volga, covering an area of 27,152 square kilometers. In 1929 the population numbered 454,638, two thirds of which was German. Though the Germans, for various reasons, did not make full use of their achievement of a republic to develop German culture, nevertheless, while it existed, the republic played an important role. It did a great deal, especially via its educational institutions and publications, not only for the Germans who lived there but also for all the other Soviet Germans. The existence of the German Republic of the Volga certainly helped to delay the process of assimilation of the urban German population in the late 1930s (the republic was abolished in 1941). With regard to the Poles, a Provisional Revolutionary Committee for Poland was set up on 2 August 1920 under Julian Marchlewski.23 This committee was meant to serve as the nucleus for a Soviet administration in the areas of Poland "liberated" by the Red Army. The failure of the Soviet offensive against Warsaw and the signing of the Agreement of Riga between the Soviet Union and Poland in 1921 put an end to this plan. In the 1920s, however, the atmosphere was still relatively favorable. The Poles' prospects of being granted a federal unit on any level finally vanished, owing to the decreased importance of the Soviet-Polish factor in foreign policy and the wide dispersal of the Poles who still remained in the Soviet Union after the repatriation of half-a-million of them to independent Poland. The idea of bringing all the Jews together in one region and thereby establishing a Jewish national territorial unit for them was certainly welcome to some of the Evsektsia leaders at the beginning of the 1920s and especially so when discussions began in 1923-24 on settling Jews in the Crimea. They did not, however, dare to make this a formal claim or raise it as a practical proposal so long as there was no signal from the party leadership that this would be the official solution of the Jewish problem in the Soviet Union. The idea was put forward in the early 1920s by the heads of the Society for Jewish Settlement (OZKT), Abraham Bragin and Yuri Larin. There was however no substantial encouragement until the famous declaration by Mikhail Kalinin, president of the Soviet Union and Politburo member, in an

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address to the OZET conference in November 1926 (which was even compared to the Balfour Declaration): "A great mission lies ahead for the Jewish people—to preserve their nationality. . . . For this purpose a considerable part of the Jewish people—numbering at least hundreds of thousands—must be turned into peasants and farmers living on a continuous, connected stretch of land." 24 This opened the way for a change in government policy and appeared to give authoritative confirmation to the claims for a territory. Officially, however, the plan to allot the region of Birobidzhan for Jewish settlement in order to create a Jewish national unit there in the future was first propounded in 1927 by the heads of the People's Commissariat for Agricultural Affairs of the Russian Republic, supported by the Commissariat for Defense and, naturally, by Kalinin. The Evsekisia heads were apparently not enchanted with the Birobidzhan idea and did not react until January 1928, when the secretary of i\\e Evsektsia, A. Chemerisky, published an enthusiastic article significantly entitled, "To the Promised Land,"25 on the possibility of founding a Jewish national autonomy in the Far East. In March 1928, the Presidium of the Central Executive Committee of the Soviet Union approved the establishment of a Jewish national unit in Birobidzhan. This unit existed from 1928 to 1934 as the lowest unit in the Soviet federation (a national district) and from 1934 on as a national region. At the peak of construction in Birobidzhan and migration to it, there was talk of Birobidzhan being transformed into an autonomous republic in the near future. It is well known, however, that the Birobidzhan project was, in fact, an utter failure. Though it was not completely liquidated, its influence on Jewish national survival in the Soviet Union was minimal. The reason for establishing this Jewish region may have resided in temporary Soviet defense needs. The reasons for the failure lay in the choice of the region, so distant from any Jewish population center, and in the harsh climatic and other conditions. What was finally decisive, however, was the change in the Soviet nationalities policy in the 1930s. The lack of any spiritual and historical-national bond between Soviet Jews and Birobidzhan, though not quantifiable, also weighed in the balance. Representation or under-representatioii of the national minorities in the central government and in the republics in the Soviet Union depended on many complex factors such as party background, socio-economic structure, educational level, and so on. The Jews were over-represented in this respect throughout the entire period. The Germans were strikingly under-represented, with the Poles somewhere in between. In 1922, in the Communist party of the Germans' Commune of the Volga (a republic from 1924 on), there were only 154 German Communists. In the whole of the Soviet Union in that year, as we already know, there were only 2,217 German Communists. In the Ukraine, with a German population of some 400,000, there were 1,069 Communists in 1925, and in the whole Soviet Union 5,226 in 1927 (0.49 percent of all party members), that is to say, only 42 Communists for every 1,000 Germans. In 1927 there were 12,181 Polish Communists (1.06 percent of all party members), 143 Communists for every 1,000 Poles. As for the Jews, in 1922 there were 19,564 Jewish Communists (5.21 percent of all party members), and by 1929 their number had risen to 49,627 (4.34 percent of all party members), or 155 Communists for every 1,000 Jews.26 Thus, unlike the Germans, whose represcnta-

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tion in the party was among the lowest among the national minorities, the Poles and even more so the Jews were over-represented, even in comparison with the nationalities comprising the majority in their republics. The main reason for this state of affairs was the historic background of political action and the weight within the particular nationality of the educated, urban population, which was often prepared to support the new regime. In the 1920s the Jews held a key position in the party leadership and their role was still considerable in the 1930s. In 1918, four of the fourteen members of the party's Central Committee were Jews (Sverdlov, Trotsky, Zinoviev and Sokolnikov). In 1921, five of the twenty-five members were Jews, and in 1939 the Jews still held an important place on this ruling body, with 10.1 percent of the entire Central Committee membership. In the Politburo up to 1926, Jews were very conspicuous (Trotsky, Kamenev, Zinoviev), and in the 1930s there was one member, Lazar Kaganovich. There was not a single German in the top party leadership and only a few Poles (Feliks Dzierzyriski until his death in 1926 and Jan Unszlicht). The reason for the difference, as we have noted, has to do with the number of outstanding Jews in the party leadership before and during the Revolution and the influx of Jews into the party after the Revolution. In the "parliamentary" bodies of the Soviet Union, the position of the Germans was better than in the party, thanks to the existence of their autonomous republic. In 1927 there were sixty Jews on the Central Executive Committee of the Soviet Union, nine Germans and seven Poles;27 in 1929 fifty-five Jews, twelve Germans and thirteen Poles.28 As for government institutions, the Jews and the Poles played an important role in the 1920s, while the Germans had no foothold there whatsoever. Until 1925 Trotsky was one of the heads of the Red Army and minister of defense. There were important ministers of Jewish origin: L. Kaganovich, Sokolnikov, Rozengolts, Yagoda, and others. The noteworthy ones among the Poles were the heads of the Cheka and the GPU, Feliks Dzierzyriski and S. Mgzynski, respectively. THE SOCIO-ECONOMIC SPHERE The juridical-political status of the extra-territorial minorities and the changes of policy in their regard affected their socio-economic and even demographic situation. It is, however, difficult to isolate the different variables and to distinguish between "natural" processes and decisions reached deliberately by the government and party leadership. There were five population censuses in the Soviet Union from 1917 to 1939: in 1920, 1923, 1926, 1937 and 1939; the first two were only partial ones, the 1937 census was canceled and the last one was only partly published, for political reasons.29 In 1926 there were 2,680,823 Jews in the Soviet Union; in 1939 there were 3,020,000.30 This figure should probably be raised by about 10 percent to include those who at the time of the census concealed the fact of their being Jews. The rate of natural increase of Russian Jewry was declining to a very marked degree at the end of the nineteenth century and even more so in the twentieth, dropping to 1

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percent in the years 1926-39. The reasons for the decline in the rate of natural increase, in addition to the process of modernization, were deportations, pogroms and famine during the First World War and the Civil War, from 1914 to 1921. In the 1920s emigration and the rising incidence of mixed marriages also worked in the same direction. According to the 1926 census, there were 1,238,000 Germans in the Soviet Union, and according to the 1939 census, 1,424,000. Since the birthrate among the Germans was especially high—a natural increase of 3.25 percent in 1927 and about 2 percent more annually in the 1930s—it was to be expected that the German population would number over 1,600,000 by 1939. The reasons for the disappearance of some 180,000 Germans in thirteen years were: a changed trend in German declarations of nationality in 1939, on account of the anti-German policy in the Soviet Union after Hitler's rise to power; the especially heavy blow dealt the Germans by rural collectivization; the heavy losses in the famine years of 1933 to 1939; and the arrests in the purges and other government campaigns. Moreover, some 25,000 Germans emigrated in this period. In 1926 there were 782.344 Poles in the Soviet Union, after half a million had left for Poland with the signing of the Riga Agreement in 1921. By 1939 the number of Poles had decreased to 626,905. This drop of some 20 percent in thirteen years stemmed from causes similar to those affecting the Germans, but also from an additional cause—the high rate of absorption of the Poles living among Russian, Ukrainian and Belorussian Slavic populations often close to the Poles in religion and culture. Sovietization as a process of modernization produced accelerated urbanization among the different nationalities. As early as 1897, 82 percent of the Jews were living in the towns or cities; in 1926 there was only a slight change, which derived from the policy of settling Jews on the land during the years 1923-26. By 1939, 87 percent of the Jews were living in towns or cities. Moreover, some 40 percent of all Soviet Jews were now living in only six cities (Moscow, Leningrad, Kiev, Odessa, Kharkov and Dnepropetrovsk). A different situation existed among the Germans and the Poles. In 1926, 32.7 percent of the Polish population lived in towns or cities, and among the Germans only 15 percent. The process of urbanization was slow for both these nationalities: In 1939 we find only 19 percent of Germans living in towns, while the proportion among the Soviet population as a whole had reached 32.9 percent. The reasons for this were historical and not deliberate policy. The "war communism" economic policy of 1918-21 was especially hard on both the Jews and the Germans—if for different reasons—and less so on the Poles. The Jews were harmed mainly because of the elimination of private trade and the Germans by the high percentage in their population of well-off and "middle" farmers connected with the free market, which was abolished outright, and by endless confiscations in the German villages. The introduction of the New Economic Policy (NEP) in March 1921, which went on until 1927, considerably improved the situation of the Jews and the Germans. The German farmers and some Poles as well exploited the new possibilities. They took Bukharin's famous "get rich!" slogan seriously and worked energetically to raise agricultural production and sell their products at high prices. This situation did not last for long, however. Rural

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collectivization was particularly destructive for the Germans and the Poles since a high percentage of them belonged to the classofkulaks wll-off peasants). According to one estimate, 700,000 of the 5 million-or-sokulakswere of German origin, that is to say 15 percent, while in the overall population the percentage was only 1 percent.31 According to the data at our disposal, collectivization in regions with a considerable German population was carried out far more quickly than in other parts of the Soviet Union. Thus, for example, in the German region of the Volga the rate of collectivization had reached 60 percent and in the Crimea 75 percent by March 1930, but it only reached 25 percent for the Russian Republic as a whole, to which those two regions belonged.32 It appears that the national factor had not been overlooked in the calculations of the executors of the collectivization policy. One of the heads of the German national section wrote in 1930: "The idea was often commonly accepted that the German village was composed only ofkulaksHence the 'middle' farmers were over-taxed and deprived of civil rights and some of them finally 'de-kulakized.' "33 Certainly, the Polish population (and part of the Jewish rural population) also suffered in the collectivization, but the losses in the Polish population were far lower than in the German case because of the different structure of its farming sector. In the Kamenets area in the Ukraine, poor Polish peasants constituted 58 percent, "middle" farmers 37.9 percent and the well-off only 4.1 percent. In Belorussia, 70 percent were "middle" farmers and 10 percent welloff. 34 Structural changes took place on a very large scale within the Jewish population, which lost its entire stratum of traders (in 1897 38.6 percent were engaged in trade, in 1926 about 18 percent and in 1929 only 2.3 percent), and in its place there grew up a new social stratum of clerks, functionaries, and technicians (24.7 percent in 1926 and 41 percent in 1939).35 Among the German and Polish populations, on the other hand, the changes were mainly "internal," in the sense of the absolute ruin of the agricultural population without a structural change involving a transfer from one economic occupation to another. RELIGION, CULTURE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY The third and innermost circle of national existence, the most important one, does not function in a vacuum. It is profoundly affected by the overall solution of the nationalities problem in the state and by the specific attitude of the state toward the religion of the national minorities. Unlike the Poles and the Jews, who belong to only one church and religion (Catholicism and Judaism), the German population in Russia was divided among a number of Christian churches—the Lutheran, Catholic and Mennonite. In 1909 there were 1,004,344 Lutherans, some 84 percent of them Germans, organized in over 2,600 religious congregations. By 1926 the number of Germans in this church declined to about 540,000.36 This reduction was the result not only of official antireligious policy but also, and mainly, the result of the loss of territory after the October Revolution and of German emigration. In 1918 the Catholic Church had about 1,600,000 congregants, registered in 1,195 religious congregations, most of

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whom were Poles and Germans.37 Mennonites in Russia numbered about 110,000 in 1917, grouped in 365 villages in the Ukraine, the Crimea, the Caucasus and Siberia. Mass emigration in the 1920s reduced their ranks as well, bringing them down to about 25,000. Karl Marx's hostility to religion, which he considered a form of extreme alienation and "the opiate of the people," was shared by Lenin and the entire Bolshevik leadership. Extensive legislation enacted on religious matters, especially from 1918 to 1929, decreed complete separation between church and state and between religion and education. To this were added draconian anti-religious provisions deliberately aimed at wiping out religion by every possible means. Legislation and party resolutions laid down that the churches were forbidden to own private property, levy taxes or collect funds. The right of religious groups to assume a legal personality was abolished. All church institutions dealing with the health and welfare of their members were closed down. Religious education was strictly forbidden except in theological seminaries, which were also closed by administrative and police measures. Particularly detailed clauses spelled out how to close prayer houses by decision of an authorized state institution. The crowning glory of the anti-religious legislation was the imposition of a special status that deprived all religious personnel of civil rights (which remained in effect until 1936). In the 1920s and 1930s extensive and blatant anti-religious propaganda was rampant. Agitprop (the Central Committee's information and propaganda department, which was in charge of the national sections) was mobilized to direct this work. In 1925, moreover, a special "public" body was set up called, The Nonbelievers' League and later the Non-believing Fighters' League, headed by the Jew, Emelyan Yaroslavski (Gubelman), to direct all anti-religious activities. The number of members of the league grew by leaps and bounds from 87,033 in 1926 to a peak of 5,500,000 in 1932. On account of changes in policy and the shift of the center of gravity to other areas, the number of adherents fell to 1,949,722 by I938.38 The differences between the three national minorities under discussion here were clearly manifested in the number of their members in this Non-believers League. Thus in 1929 there were five hundred Polish members, two-thousand Germans and two hundred thousand Jews.39 This difference derived mainly from the earlier and speedier secularization of the educated, urban Jewish society and from the high level of Jewish involvement in political and public life as compared with the Poles and Germans. One of the most sophisticated measures of the anti-religious campaign was the creation of what was called "the living church," with the help of clergy loyal to the regime and ready to serve it to the point of turning religious services and customs into caricature. The experiment had little success among the Germans, and even where it enjoyed a partial success, as in Ufa and Samara, it did not last. Among the Jews "the living synagogue" did not take root at all. From the 1930s on the authorities began to emphasize police measures, banning the publication of religious newspapers and books, closing down prayer houses and arresting the clergy and their assistants. Terror againsl the heads of various churches led to a sharp reduction in all religious activity by the end of the decade. The antireligious offensive damaged all the religions and churches in the Soviet Union, but

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there is no question whatsoever that the extra-territorial national minorities were among the main victims of this campaign because of their relative weakness among the national minorities. In a multi-national state, government policy is of crucial importance regarding the cultural development of the national minorities. Under the tsars, the culture of the Jews, Germans and Poles was closely connected with their religion. The political changes and the anti-religious campaign worked, as we have seen, to rupture this connection both in form and content. Sovietization in the sense of the Russification that predominated in the 1930s also reduced the influence of the national cultures by speeding up the processes of acculturation. The February Revolution led to an exceptional upsurge of national schools among the Jews (both in Hebrew and in Yiddish) and among the Germans and Poles in their mother tongues. From 1919 to 1922, however, on account of material difficulties and the breakdown of the private educational systems, both traditional and secular mother-tongue education declined for all three minorities. Thus in Belorussia and the Ukraine in 1921 there were only 400 Jewish schools with only 25,000 pupils.40 Among the Germans of the Volga there were 327 German schools in 1922 with 41,878 pupils.41 A number of German schools also functioned in the Crimea and the Ukraine. The main growth of the national schools network came as the result of the Twelfth Communist Party Congress in 1923, which, as we know, decided on a policy of "koren-ization," of helping the national cultures to grow "roots" in the republics. In 1924 in the Ukraine (where there was the largest concentration of Jews, Germans and Poles) there were 266 Jewish schools with 42,000 pupils, 576 German schools and 232 Polish schools.42 The spurt forward in nationality education came in 1926 when the number of Jewish schools reached 432 with 70,867 pupils, German 621 with 38,736 pupils and Polish 337 with 20,550 pupils. The school networks reached their highest point of development in 1931: In that year there were 831 Jewish schools with 94,872 pupils, 571 German schools with 63,670 pupils and in the Polish case probably over 25,000 pupils (22,364 in 1929). A visible decline was registered in 1934-35 when the number of Jewish pupils, for example, dropped to 73,412 in 1935 and 69,211 in 1936. A similar situation prevailed in German and Polish education. From 1934 to 1938 there was a consistent policy of uniting all the national schools (Jewish with Russian, Polish with Ukrainian, etc.) as an interim stage in the process of their final liquidation. In 1939 only a handful of Jewish, German and Polish schools still remained in the Ukraine. In Belorussia the situation was similar, but in the Russian Republic things were different. There, the stress was on the importance of solving the problem of the territorial minorities, which, of course, mainly benefited the Germans because of the existence of the German Autonomous Republic of the Volga. In the peak year of 1931 there were only 110 Yiddish schools in the Russian Republic, with 11,000 pupils. In this peak year the ratio of pupils among the nationalities in question who were learning in their mother tongue varied from 40 to 60 percent among the Jews and was about 70 percent among the Germans and Poles. In the German Republic of the Volga the proportion was as high as 98 percent. This was a clear demonstration of the superiority of the territorial solution over the solution reached for the extraterritorial national minorities.

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It must be emphasized that during all the years that the nationality schools existed they met with numerous difficulties. First, there was a permanent shortage of qualified teachers who were considered politically trustworthy. Second, constant pressure from the local authorities held up the development of the nationality schools since, in the nature of things, they were interested in directing the meager resources at their disposal to the schools of the ruling nationality in the republic. Third, there was a general shortage of premises, laboratories and teaching equipment, stemming from objective material conditions as well as difficulties caused by the frequent changes in the teaching syllabuses necessitated by changes in the general and national political line. Finally, there was internal opposition on the part of some of the parents among the nationalities in question to sending their children to nationality schools, whether on practical grounds connected with the child's future career or from national religious motives, since the anti-religious campaign was more repressive and dangerous in the nationality schools than in, for example, a Russian school. It would seem, however, that these difficulties could have been overcome and the Jewish. German and Polish school systems could have gone on functioning like those of other national minorities had they not been cruelly liquidated at the end of the 1930s. As for the press and literature in the first period (1917-20) the Jewish national minority published newspapers and books in a number of languages: Hebrew, Yiddish, Russian, Bukharan and Tat'. A total of 188 newspapers and 343 books were published in Hebrew, mainly from 1917-19, until the language was practically wiped out in the Soviet Union. 43 In the 1920s, a group of pro-Communist Hebrew writers succeeded, after great efforts, in publishing a number of literary anthologies. After 1928 the only possible way of publishing the works of Hebrew writers of the Soviet Union was to send them abroad. The situation was better for Yiddish writers owing to official recognition of Yiddish as the mother tongue of the Jews of the Soviet Union and the support for the language on the part of the Evsektsia. In the 1920s Yiddish literature flourished and groups were founded with different literary trends (such as Eygens in Kiev, Proletarian Writers, etc.). At the end of the 1920s and in the 1930s the offensive against "nationalist deviations" produced accusations ot nationalism and chauvinism aimed at a number of Yiddish writers—Peretz, Markish, Shmuel Halkin, Ezra Fininberg, Leib Kvitko, Itzik Kipnis and others. During the years 1917-21, while there was still private publishing, 767 Yiddish books appeared and 328 newspapers and periodicals. There was a decrease to 269 books from 1922 to 1924 owing to the virtual demise of private publishing and economic difficulties. In the years 1925-32 Yiddish publishing reached its peak with 2,801 books, an average of almost 350 a year. In the years 1933-39, 2,650 Yiddish books appeared, but in this period there was a change in the nature of the books published—most of them were not technical works and translations. In 1935 there were still 41 newspapers and periodicals being published in Yiddish—Der ernes (Truth), the main organ of the Evsektsia, Ofn sprakhfront (Language Front), Yugnt un revolutsye (Youth and Revolution) and others—but from 1937 on they began to be closed down. A large number of Jewish writers in the Russian language made an important contribution to the development of Russian-Soviet literature. It is enough to name Eduard Bagritsky, Yosef Utkin, Mikhail Svetlov, Ilya Ehrcnburg, Isaak Babel and

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Vassilii Grossman. In the work of these writers we can learn not only what they thought of the proposed solution to the Jewish problem in the Soviet Union but also about the way of life, the desires and struggles of the Jews in Russia in one of the stormiest periods in their history. Jewish literary and scientific periodicals still appeared in Russian in the 1920s: Evreiskaya starina, founded by Simon Dubnow, which was closed down in 1930; Evreiskaya letopis, which appeared from 1920 to 1923; and in the 1930s Tribuna the organ of Komzet. In 1917 there were eighty-four Russian-language Jewish newspapers and periodicals; in 1919, thirty-one; in 1920, nineteen; and 1921 the number dropped to six and in the 1930s (until 1937) only one remained, as stated above. Yiddish literature was dealt a great blow in the mass purges of 1936-39. A newspaper of the "mountain Jews" of the Caucasus began to appear in the Tat' language in the town of Makhachkala in 1928. Two newspapers appeared in the Bukharan language in Bukhara. Many books were published as well in Tat', Bukharan and Georgian. At the end of the 1930s Jewish newspapers and publications in these three languages disappeared almost completely. The Tat' and Bukharan languages also suffered from linguistic "reform," Latinization in the 1920s and the introduction of the Cyrillic alphabet in the 1930s. Yiddish, as an "international" language of the Jews, was not so drastically altered, but it also suffered a partial "reform" such as dropping the final form of five letters of the alphabet and the abolition of two others stated to be signs of Hebraization. German newspaper publication in the years 1918-21 was in a chaotic state. Independent papers were closed down and prisoner-of-war papers linked to the new regime began to appear in their place. From 1918 to 1929 twenty-four German Communist or pro-Communist newspapers appeared. When the prisoners of war departed, a new period began for German literature and press in the Soviet Union. From 1922 to 1929, eleven newspapers and periodicals appeared in the Volga region, including the main paper, Nachrichten, published in Pokrovsk from 1921 to 1941. In other regions in this period, thirteen German-language newspapers and periodicals appeared, among them the main organ of the German section, Deutsche Zentralzeitung, which appeared from 1926 to 1939. In the early 1930s there was a rise in the number of newspapers and periodicals, but in 1935 most of them began to close down. The only German newspapers that went on appearing from 1939 to 1941 were those published in the Volga Republic.44 As regards German book publication (and this holds true for Polish as well), a distinction must be made between books intended for abroad and those intended for the Germans (and Poles) in the Soviet Union. Of some 6,000 German books that appeared in the Soviet Union from 1917 to 1941, about 1,000 to 1,200 were by Soviet Germans.45 The change in policy in the second half of the 1930s is clearly reflected in the following data: in 1933, 531 German books were published in the Soviet Union; in 1936, 413; and in 1939, 270. No less significant was the change in the type of publications. As a general rule it can be stated with regard to the Germans, as with the Jews and the Poles, that in the 1930s original works became fewer and fewer and the number of translations, technical literature and textbooks, was on the rise. Books on literature, history and culture also declined. The German Writers' Section was founded in Moscow in 1922 and in the Ukraine

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in 1930. The first congress of all the German writers of the Soviet Union, held in 1934, was also the last. Like the Jewish writers, the German writers were accused of being "apolitical," of supporting "petit-bourgeois ideology" and of "nationalism." It is noteworthy that in the 1930s German literature in the Soviet Union was "taken over" by refugee anti-Fascist writers who fled from Germany, Austria and Hungary, not a few of them lews (a fact exploited by Nazi propaganda). During the First World War many Polish newspapers and periodicals appeared in Russia, published by a wide range of organizations and institutions. In the years 1918-21, the number of Polish newspapers declined after the liquidation of all independent papers, The main Polish newspapers in the Soviet Union were Glos Kommunisty, published in Kiev from 1919 to 1922; Glos radziecki, which also appeared in Kiev, from 1922 to 194S; Mlot and Orka, both published in Minsk; and Trybuna radziecka, the organ oi" the Polish national section, published in Moscow from 1927 to 1938. The most important of the literary periodicals was Kultura mas, edited by Bruno Jasienski, which appeared in Moscow from 1929 to 1939.46 In the years 1924-25 only 54 Polish books appeared; in 1926, 92; and in 1927, 106—of which only 10 percent were belles-lettres.47 From 1929 to 1932 there were 401 Polish publications in the Russian Republic.48 The significant decline in Polish publications is demonstrated by the catalogue of the publications of the national minorities in the Ukraine for the years 1937-39—thirty-three books in Polish were published in those years and not one of them by a Soviet-Polish writer.49 The main reason for this state of affairs was the wave of arrests among Polish writers preceding that of the Jewish and German writers, owing mainly to the decline in SovietPolish relations during the 1930s. The most outstanding Polish writers and journalists were refugees who had escaped from Poland: Bruno Jasienski, 50 Stanisiaw Stande and Witold Wandurski. The cultural life of the national minorities included theater (professional and amateur), music, painting, sculpture and cinema. Given the relatively narrow confines of this essay, we shall turn our attention mainly to the theater because of its special importance in the period in question and the efforts expended on its promotion. As in literature, so in the theater, Jewish creativity expressed itself in a number of languages. The great Jewish theater, Habimah, put on plays in Hebrew in the years 1918-26. It was supported by the most eminent Russian producers—Stanislavsky, Vakhtangov and Tairov. The Yiddish theater developed quickly in the 1920s and flourished until its fall in the second half of the 1930s. The most important theater was based in Moscow from 1918 on under the direction of Alexander Granowski and Shlomo Mikhoels. It had a mixed repertoire of Jewish, Soviet and Russian and world classics. In the Ukraine, after the liquidation of private theaters, a Jewish theater was not established until 1925 and in Belorussia not until 1926. In Birobidzhan, rated fourth as a Jewish cultural center, the Jewish theater was only founded in 1934.51 At the end of the 1920s and in the early 1930s there were eighteen Jewish theaters in the Soviet Union. 52 In 1939 there remained twelve, according to one Soviet source, and ten according to another.57' Among the nonAshkenazi Jews there was apparently only one professional theater for the Bukharans and little is known of its activity.

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The theater was not highly developed among the Germans in Russia before the Revolution, but there were numerous orchestras and choirs connected with the churches. In the 1920s many amateur choirs were established to promote German culture, but a real professional theater did not appear till the early 1930s. In 1933 after several years of preparations, the professional theater of the German Republic opened in Pokrovsk with the help of famous playwrights and producers who had come to the Soviet Union from Germany. A German theater also opened in Odessa in \he same year, and in 1934 German immigrants found Der Deutsche Theater Kolonnie Links. They also helped found a theater in Dnepropetrovsk.54 The plays put on in these German theaters were mainly chosen from the classic German repertoire (Schiller and Lessing) and from modern "progressive" German drama (Wolff). It is of some interest to note that for whatever reason the Soviet-German theater did not put on the plays of Berthold Brecht. Like the German theater, the Polish theater developed only in the late 1920s with the help of refugee Polish playwrights and producers. In the 1930s two Polish theaters functioned, one in Kiev and the other in Minsk.55 Among the classic Polish plays put on were Siowacki's Sen Srebrny Salomei, staged by Wandurski; Mazepa (also by Siowacki); Alexander Fredra's Damy i huzary, and Soviet-Polish plays such as Kowalsky's Rodzina Woroncow, which dealt with the role of Ukrainian Poles in the war against Pilsudski's armed forces in 1920. Research institutions, museums and libraries are not only of importance for research into the nation's past but also for training the scholars of the future. In the 1920s and the first half of the 1930s there was a wide network of Jewish research institutions, most of them affiliated with general Soviet scientific institutions and, of course, subject to constant surveillance by the government and the party. Among the more important Jewish research institutions were the Jewish Academy of Sciences, attached to the Belorussian Academy in Minsk, active from 1924 to 1935; and the Institute for Proletarian Jewish Culture in Kiev, which enjoyed the status of an "Institute" until 1935 and of a Kabinet from 1936 to 1948. The attempt to establish a central institute of research in the Birobidzhan region failed. The Germans did not make full use of the favorable circumstances they enjoyed in the Autonomous German Republic of the Volga to set up a university or research institution. Moreover, since they lacked a large intelligentsia, they did not develop research institutions in the other republics either. In fact, the only scientific research among the Soviet-German population was done by isolated researchers in various universities.56 The Poles, on the other hand, with a population resembling that of the Germans in its social composition, succeeded in setting up a research institute within the framework of the Central Marx-Engels-Lenin Institute;57 this was due to the active role Poles had played in the Communist movement and to the presence of outstanding Polish personalities in the state and party leadership. The Commission for Polish History was headed by Dzierzyriski, Unszlicht, Bobinski, Budzynski, Kon and Krasny. There were also Polish departments in the universities—in the Moscow University of the National Minorities, the University of Leningrad, the Belorussian Academy of Sciences (established in 1925) and the Polish Institute of Social Education in Kiev. 58 Historical-ethnographic national research—linguistic, cultural and economic—

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fell under suspicion in the late 1920s and 1930s. This led to mass arrests among the intelligentsia and the liquidation of most scholarly work. Let us now consider the question of the dynamics of national identity among the three extra-territorial groups under review. National identity can be studied in the declarations made at the population censuses. We do not possess these data, but various estimates reached by Soviet researchers (such as Yuri Larin) regarding the Jews suggest that in the years 1926-39 about 10 percent of all the Jews in then Soviet Union were "disappearing." Non-declaration of nationality in the 1920s and early 1930s stemmed mainly from the process of assimilation and not from a Jew's actual fear of presenting himself as a Jew. As for the Germans and the Poles, the percentage of those "disappearing" was apparently not high at the 1926 census, but the situation had changed by 1939 when the danger of deportation already menaced them. (Partial deportations of Germans had already been carried out in frontier areas in 1937.) We may, therefore, assume that the number of "disappearing" Germans and Poles rose considerably. We do have at our disposal a number of quantitative indicators that can be of assistance to us in evaluating changes in national identity, such as mixed marriages, the use of the national language and emigration. The process of acculturation—adjusting to the way of life and the culture of the majority nationality without loss of a personal sense of distinct national identity— had already begun among the Jews at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries. The far-reaching social and economic changes in the Jewish population, which took place between the two world wars, together with the penetration of Soviet ideology only strengthened this process. At the beginning of this century the rate of mixed marriages among the Jews of Russia was practically nil. The conditions prevailing among the Jews under tsarism made such marriages impossible. In 1925 in the European part of the Russian Republic, there were 18.83 mixed marriages for every 100 males.59 In 1926 in the Russian Republic they accounted for 21 percent of Jewish marriages, and in the Ukraine in the former Pale of Settlement they accounted for 11.1 percent in 1927.60 We have no data for the 1930s, but it is reasonable to assume that the proportion of mixed marriages continued to rise. In 1926 nearly 25 percent of all the Jews in the Soviet Union declared that Russian was their mother tongue, and by 1939 this 1'igure had risen to 54.6 percent. We should keep in mind that this was a period when an extensive network of Yiddish schools still existed, research institutes were still functioning and books and newspapers were being published. It is clear that the process of Russification, though not yet compulsory, was being speeded up. Another aspect of sovietization, that of Jews' finding positions in the apparatus of government and of the party, was no less swift. As for emigration, this was influenced both by general political grounds (non-acceptance of the regime) and by national motivation (the impossibility of preserving an independent national life within the Soviet system). During the years 1917—21 tens of thousands left the Soviet Union illegally and some seventy thousand legally. There were certainly many thousands more who wanted to emigrate but were not allowed to. Accelerated sovietization reached the German villages in the 1930s and certainly

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had an adverse effect on national identity. The general process of modernization within German society was also an important factor. There was increased social mobility and internal migration from one region to another. The social structure of the Russian-German rural population, that of a socio-religious community almost hermetically closed from outside influences, meant that mixed marriages almost never occurred. This situation changed after the Revolution and the Civil War and the growth of the German urban population. In the Russian Republic (which had a higher German urban population than the Ukrainian Republic), there were 15.3 mixed marriages for every 100 males in 1925, 10.94 in 1926 and 14.1 in 1927, that is, an annual average of about 13.5. German women, on the other hand, entered into mixed marriages at a much lower rate—7.52 for every 100 in 1925, 8.44 in 1926 and 11.43 in 1927 for every 100 women.61 Data are lacking for the 1930s, but if we take the data collected at the time of the Nazi invasion in the Ukraine, we discover that in 1942 in the district of Dnepropetrovsk, for example, where 824 families still remained, 265 out of 483 men were married to Russian or Ukrainian women; in the Zhitomir district 82 out of 209 Germans had contracted mixed marriages, while in 1914 there had only been 6 mixed marriages in the whole district. In the region of Kronau, on the other hand, with a village population of 2,857 families, there were only 65 mixed marriages. In other words, there were vastly more mixed marriages among the urban Germans.62 In 1926, 94.9 percent of all the Germans in the Soviet Union declared that their mother tongue was German.63 There are no data for 1939, but if we look at the data of the 1959 census, that is twenty years after German culture in the Soviet Union had been virtually wiped out, 75 percent of the Germans declared that German was their mother tongue. The rate in 1939, then, must have been in the neighborhood of 90 percent. That is to say, at the end of the 1930s language acculturation was only just beginning among the Germans. Cultural acculturation was certainly the lot of the German minority dispersed in the big cities of Russia and the Ukraine but nonexistent in the German villages and in the Autonomous German Republic (with about a third of the German population of the Soviet Union). Sovietization in the sense of integrating the Germans into political and state activity was also much less noticeable, as we saw, than among the Jews or Poles in the 1920s and even in the 1930s. As for emigration, the Germans were among the most active of the national minorities in sustained and courageous campaigning in the 1920s for the right to emigrate. Some thirty thousand Germans left the Soviet Union legally and many thousands more illegally. The situation of the Poles with regard to national identity was very different from that of both Jews and Germans. Most of the Polish rural population lived in villages and towns alongside a Russian or Ukrainian or Belorussian population that was similar to it in language, history and religion, and thus many Poles were unable to hold out against assimilatory pressures. Thus, for example, in the Ukraine in 1924, when mixed marriages were 38 percent among the Jews and 11.2 percent among the Germans, among the Poles they were already 62.3 percent. In 1925 in the Russian Republic for every 100 men among the Poles there were 80.55 mixed marriages and in 1927, 85.62. A similar percentage also existed among Polish women. Thus

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Polish national survival was certainly in real danger in the Soviet Union in the 1930s. The process of language acculturation was also accelerated among the Poles since the intellectual stratum in the urban population had left the Soviet Union in the years 1917-18 and, above all, after the Riga Agreement, under whose terms over 460,000 Poles emigrated from the Soviet Union to Poland. Thus according to the 1926 census, only 42.9 percent of the Poles declared that their mother tongue was Polish. It can be assumed that in 1939 this ratio was still lower. We may sum up by saying that on the eve of the Second World War national identification was still strong among the Germans and the Jews—though they were already on the way to linguistic acculturation—but much weaker among the Poles. Moreover, some of the Jews and the Poles had already passed from the stage of acculturation to that of complete assimilation, in the sense of the weakening of the bond felt by the individual to his ethnic group and his transition from a knowledge of the Russian (or Ukrainian or Belorussian) language to complete identification with the dominant nationality. As regards the Germans, this process existed only among a narrow stratum of the urban population.

Notes 1. R. Karklins, "The Inter-Relationship of Soviet Foreign and Nationality Policies: The Case of the Foreign Minorities in the USSR." Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 1975; John A. Armstrong, "Mobilized and Proletarian Diasporas," American Political Science Review 70 (1976), pp. 393-400; idem., in Erich Goldhagen (ed.), Ethnic Minorities in the Soviet Union (New York: 1968), pp. 3-49. 2. Desyatyi s'ezd RKP(b) (Moscow: 1963), p. 606. 3. KPSS v rezoliutsiyakh, Izd. 7 (Moscow: 1954), vol. I, pp. 709-718. 4. Istoriya sovetskoi konstitutxii, 1917-1957 (Moscow: 1957), p. 20. 5. Ibid., pp. I l l , 117. 6. Prakticheskoe razreshenie natsional'nogo voprosa v Belorusskoi Sotsialisticheskoi Sovetskoi Respublike (Minsk: 1927), vol. I, p. 122. 7. Ocherki po istorii gosudarstva i prava BSSR (Minsk: 1955), p. 238. 8. Istoriya, pp. 252-253. 9. W. Brandt and R. Loewenthal, Ernst Reuter, Em Lebenfur die Freiheit (Munich: 1957), pp. 106-109. 10. W. Tegoborski, Polacy Zw/gzku Radzieckiego (Moscow: 1929); Dziesifc lot, 1917-1927 (Moscow: 1928). 11. "Likvidatsya narkomnatsa," Vlasl sovetov (1924) no. 1, pp. 129-130. 12. The only study published in the Soviet Union on the national sections is that of Ya. Sharapov, Natsional'nye sektsii KKP(b) (Kazan: 1967). No serious work has been done on the Polish and German sections. Material concerning them is to be found in Soviet publications, mainly from the 1920s. Two important studies have appeared on the Jewish section: Mordecai Altshuler's Ha-yevsekzia be-vrit ha-mo'azot, 1918-1930 (Tel-Aviv: 1980) and Zvi Gitelman's Jewish Nationality and Soviet Politics (Princeton: 1972). 13. Oktyabrskaya revoliutsiya i zaruhezhnvc xlavyanskie narody (Moscow: 1951), pp. 35-66; Die Grossc Sozialislische Oktoberrevolution und Deulschland (Berlin: 1967), p. 108. 14. Sotsial'nvi i natsional'nyi soatav VKP(b) (Moscow: 1928), p. 114.

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15. Oktyabrskaya revoliutsiya i proletarskii internatsionalizm (Moscow: 1970), pp. 368-369. 16. Die Arbeit (1925) no. 23 (73), p. 2086. 17. Natsional'naya politika VKP(b)(Moscow: 1930), p. 137. 18. I. V. Stalin, Sochineniya, vol. VIII, pp. 149-151. 19. E. Girchak, Na dva fronta v bor'be s natsionalizmom (Moscow: 1933). 20. Pravda, 17 January 1930; Deutsche Zentralzeitung, 31 March 1930; Partiinoe stroitel'stvo (1930) no. 2 (4), pp. 70-72, and no. 6 (8), pp. 22-26. 21. These data are taken from numerous studies. In the interests of space, we shall indicate only the principal ones: Tegoborski, Polacy, pp. 144-146; Ya. Kantor, Natsional''noe stroitel'stvo sredi evreev v SSSR (Moscow: 1934), p. 22; Vlast sovetov no. 44-45; E. Pashukanis (ed.), 75 let sovetskogo stroitel'stva (Moscow: 1932), p. 81. 22. Tggoborski, Polacy, p. 155; Polska ZSSR. Internacjonalistyczna wspotpraca—historia i wspokze.snosc (Warsaw: 1977), vol. I, pp. 468-469; Kantor, Natsional'noe stroitel'stvo, p. 34; Vlast sovetov (1927) no. 21, p. 9; Der ernes, 12 December 1923, 17 December 1926, and 26 July 1934. 23. Peter Wandycz, Soviet-Polish Relations 1917-1921 (Cambridge, Mass.: 1969), pp. 226-229; "Julian Leszczynski-Lenski," Z Pola Walki (1958) no. 4, pp. 279-321. 24. Cited in Altshuler, Ha-yevsekzia, p. 202. 25. Der ernes, 20 January 1928. 26. Natsional'nay a politika, p. 137; Polska ZSSR, p. 448; Sotsial'nyi i natsionai nyi, p. 14. 27. S'ezdy sovetov v postanovleniyakh i resoliutsiyakh (Moscow: 1935), p. 475. 28. Sostav organov vlastii v soyuze SSR (Moscow/Leningrad: 1930), table XIV. 29. L. Starodubsky, Das Volkszdhlungswesen in der Union der Sozialistischen Sowjetrepubliken (Vienna: 1938). 30. F. Lorimer, The Population of the Soviet Union. History and Prospects (Geneva: 1946), p. 56, gives data on the Jewish, German and Polish populations; see also, A. Bohmann, Menschen und Grenzen (Cologne: 1970); I. Blum, "Polacy w Rusji carskiej i w Zwiazku Radzieckim," Wojskowy Przeglad Historiczny (1966) no. 3, p. 218; L. Zinger, Dos banayte folk (Moscow: 1941). 31. M. Neustats and D. Erka, Bin deutscher Todesweg (Berlin: 1930), p. 32. 32. Na agrarnom fronte (1930) no. 5, p. 26. 33. I. Gebgart, "Perestroit rabotu sovetov v nernetskikh rayonakh," Revoliutsiya i natsionai'nosti (1930) no. 1, p. 44. 34. Tegoborski, Polacy, pp. 127-135. 35. L. Zinger, Dos banayte folk, p. 90. 36. H. Reimich in Heimatbuch 1961, p. 82; W. Kolarz, Religion in the Soviet Union (London: 1961), p. 249; W. Kahle, Geschichte der evangelisch-lutherischen Gemeinden in der Sowjetunion (Leiden: 1974), p. 249. 37. P. Mailleux in R. Marshall, Jr., (ed.), Aspects of Religion in the Soviet Union (Chicago: 1971), p. 364. 38. Voinstvuyushchie bezbozhniki v SSSR za 15 let (Moscow: 1932), p. 346. 39. Natsional'nay a politika, p. 325. 40. E. Schulman, A History of Jewish Education in the Soviet Union (New York: 1976), pp. 42-57; Zhizn' natsionai'nostei, 26 January 1922. 41. I. P. Trainin, Der Verband der Sozialistischen Sowjetrepubliken (Hamburg: 1923), p. 108; ASSR der Wolgadeutschen (Engels: 1938), p. 43. 42. See the paper in Polska-ZSSR, p. 475; and A. Jukovksy, "L'Ukrainisation," pp. 40-41 in "Aspects de la question nationale en Ukraine sovietique dans les annees 1920," Nationalities Papers IX, no. 1 (1984), p. 69. 43. The statistical data in this section are based on sources too numerous to be listed here. Sec iny forthcoming work, The Jews of the Soviet Union. A History of a National Minority (Cambridge: 1987). 44. F. P. Schiller, Literatur zur Geschichte und Volkskunde der deutschen Kolonien in

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der Sowjetunion fur die Jahre 1764-1926 (Pokrovsk: 1927), pp. 51-55; L. Guseva, Spisok Saratovskikh periodicheskikh izdanii (Saratov: 1965), pp. 178-182; Sturmschritt (1930) no. 2-3, p. 8. 45. See the estimate reached by M. BuchsweiJer in Ha-germanim ha-etniim likrat milhemet ha-'olam ha-shniyah.Mikreshelne'emanutkefulah(Tel-Aviv: 1980), p. 160. 46. On Polish art and literature in the Soviet Union, see especially M. Stcpien, Zagadnienia literackie w publicystyce Polonii radzieckiej (Wroclaw: 1968); K. Sierocka, Z dziejow czasopismiennictwa polskiego w ZSSR (Warsaw: 1963). 47. Sierocka, ibid., pp. 36-39. 48. Natsional'naya kniga v RSFSR, 1928-1932 (Moscow: 1934), p. 34. 49. Katalog izdanii na evrei.skom, pol'skom, bolgarskom i nemetskom yazykakh 1937— 1939 (Kiev: 1940), pp. 36-39. 50. J. Dziarnowska, Stowo o Brummie Jasienskim (Warsaw: 1982). 51. There is an extensive literature on Jewish theater in the Soviet Union. See, in particular, Teater-bukh (Kiev: 1939), pp. 53-54; A. Greenbaum, in He-'Avar XVI (1969), pp. 109-117; B. Picon-Volin, La Theatre juif sovietique pendant les annees vingt (Lausanne: 1973). 52. Ya. Kantor, Natsional'noe, p. 180. 53. S. Shkarovsky, Dos ofgerikhte yidishe folk (Kiev: 1939), pp. 53-54; L. Zinger, Dos banayte folk, p. 109. 54. M. Liebermann, Aus dem Ghetto in der Welt (Berlin: 1979). On the German theater, see H. Haarmann, L. Schirmer and D. Walach, Das Engels Projekt—ein anti-faschistischer Theater deutscher Emigration in der UdSSR (Worms: 1975). 55. Kultura Max (1935) no. 1-2, pp. 54-60; Dialog (1966) no. 8, pp. 99-103. 56. The only work of historical research on the history of the Germans in Russia is that of D. Schmidt, Studien fiber die Geschichte der Wolgadeutschen (Pokrovsk: 1930). 57. Important material on this subject is to be found in Z Pola Walki, which appeared during the period 1927-32. 58. See K. Sierocka, Z dziejow, p. 13. 59. Natsional'naya politika, p. 4 1 . 60. Z. Gitelman, "The Jews," Problemsofommunism(1967) no. 5, p. 99. 61. Natsional'naya politika, p. 1 1 1 . 62. Bundesarchiv (Koblenz) SR-617, Reichsministerium fur die besiteten Ostgebiet; Kolnische Zeitung, 27 February 1943. 63. Natsional'naya politika, p. 36.

From Caste to Exclusion: The Dynamics of Modernization in the Russian Pale of Settlement Yoav Peled (TEL-AVIV UNIVERSITY) and

Gershon Shafir (TEL-AVIV UNIVERSITY)

The nineteenth century was a period of rapid and fundamental change in the Pale of Settlement. The cluster of historical processes—social, economic and political— commonly referred to as modernization came upon the Jews of Russia (the vast majority of whom were living in the Pale) with the force of a thunderbolt and wrought havoc on their traditional way of life. But if modernization is conventionally thought of as a process of integration, a process whereby previously isolated social groups are brought into the orbit of modern industrial society, then it is questionable whether many of the Jews living in the Pale were modernized at all. For in their case, the social and economic changes which occurred in the nineteenth century resulted not in integration but rather in greater isolation from the mainstream of Russian society. The people we have in mind are, of course, those Jews who were displaced from their traditional economic positions by the force of economic development and who were unable to find new positions for themselves in the emergent capitalist economy. The dispossession of these Jews, a phenomenon known as non- or "abnormal" proletarization, was intensely studied and hotly debated at the time by scholars and political leaders, Jews and non-Jews alike. The explanations offered by these observers were of two basic kinds. One attributed the problem to temporary maladjustments rooted in certain pre-modern cultural and political characteristics of the Jews themselves and of Russian society as a whole and predicted that eventually Jews would be successfully integrated into modern Russian society. The other saw the very condition of exile (or extra-territoriality) as the root cause of the Jewish predicament, of which the loss of their economic base was but one particularly painful manifestation. Our purpose in this essay is to examine the phenomenon of non-proletari/,ation 98

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and subject the explanations traditionally advanced to explain it to critical evaluation. We shall be guided in this effort by the insights of recently developed theories of ethnic relations and ethnic conflict and, in particular, by theories which view the labor market as the major arena for the development of such conflict. We shall conclude our analysis with our own proposal for understanding the problem, a proposal based on the analytical tools provided by the modern theories, augmented with some of the insights of contemporary observers.

THE HISTORICAL SETTING The three partitions of Poland at the end of the eighteenth century (1772, 1793, 1795) brought approximately 1 million Jews under Russian rule. This Jewish population was composed, occupationally, of a majority of tradesmen and leaseholders (c 60 percent); a large group of people with no permanent occupation who, in one way or another, depended for their subsistence on the trading and leaseholding groups (21 percent); and a smaller group of craftsmen (c 15 percent). Only a negligible minority were farmers (1 percent), while three times as many functioned as religious officials. This Jewish middleman minority controlled much of the trade in eighteenth-century Poland and had a large share, on a leaseholding basis, in the subsidiary branches of the manorial economy. The prevalence of Jewish leaseholding was so great, "that in some regions the word leaseholder, arendator, had become synonymous with Jew." 1 Prior to the partitions of Poland, the Russian authorities had placed severe restrictions on the entry of Jews into their territory. This policy was continued after the partitions through the designation of the areas taken from Poland as the Pale of Jewish Settlement, the only part of the empire where Jews were permitted to reside. Although over the years residence restrictions were eased for selected categories of Jews, at the end of the nineteenth century more than 90 percent of the 5 million Jews in Russia were still living inside the Pale.2 In addition to preventing their movement from the annexed Polish territories into Russia proper, the Russian authorities registered all Jews, many of whom had been living in the countryside for generations, in the two urban estates of merchants and townspeople. Members of these estates were required to live in the town of their registration and, although this decree was not expressly directed against the Jews, their particular occupations made Jews its almost exclusive targets. Attempts at enforcing the law began as early as 1782 and continued, with varying degrees of consistency and success, through the remaining years of the empire.3 The combined effect of this policy—the prevention of the Jews from dispersing throughout the empire and, within the Pale of Settlement, the attempt to remove them from the countryside—was to perpetuate their role as a middleman minority while making it increasingly difficult for them to gain a livelihood. Even more ominous, as far as the Jews' economic fortunes were concerned, was the pressure for rapid industrialization of Russia following the emancipation of the serfs in 1861. The emancipation and its associated reforms created an acute land shortage among the peasants, who were burdened, in addition, with heavy redemption payments and

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increasingly stiff tax rates. The resultant impoverishment of the peasantry and the introduction of capitalist methods in agriculture eroded the economic basis of the Jewish middleman strata. The Jews' conditions worsened even further as a result of fiscal measures introduced by the government in order to finance its ambitious industrialization plans. In the towns Jewish artisans were being displaced by the advance of modern industry while the massive influx of peasants into the towns created a chronic condition of over-supply in the labor market. Not all Jews were adversely affected by the development of capitalism in Russia. Those who had succeeded in accumulating sufficient merchant capital were able to play an important role in the emergent capitalist economy as bankers, industrialists and railroad magnates. Vast numbers of Jews, however, experienced a serious and rapid decline in their economic fortunes. Some continued to pursue their occupations at progressively lower levels of income. Others turned to illegal or semi-legal pursuits, such as smuggling. Many became workers in the handicraft and small manufacturing establishments which were replacing the old artisanal shops. By 1897 less than 40 percent of Russian Jews were engaged in trade or commerce, while an equal number were working in manufacture, about half of them as wage laborers. This new Jewish working class was composed primarily of handicraft workers. According to figures supplied by the Jewish Colonization Association (estimations considered too low in all categories), in 1898 there were about 400,000 Jewish wage workers in the Pale of Settlement. Of these, over 240,000 were handicraft workers, over 45,000 factory workers and over 100,000 day laborers and agricultural workers. In relation to the total Jewish population, virtually all of which was urban, Jewish factory workers constituted about 1 percent. By comparison Russian factory workers constituted 12.5 percent of the total urban population of European Russia, or 2.5 percent of the total population of that region.4 Some contemporary observers, most notably those associated with the Jewish Socialist party—the Bund—described the Jewish working masses, and especially the Jewish industrial proletariat, as a traditional group in the early stages of modernization, destined, given enough time and more congenial political conditions, to come to resemble the rest of the population.5 Others contended that the development of the entire worker population of the Pale was bifurcated, with non-Jewish workers heading for industrial modernization, while Jewish workers were being channeled into dead-end branches of the economy. The weight of the historical evidence, some of which will be presented below, supports the contention that Jewish and non-Jewish workers were moving down two different paths of development. This bifurcated development manifested itself in a number of ways. About 80 percent of Jewish workers were employed in four branches of industry: food (including tobacco products), wood processing (including the production of matches), the processing of organic products (leather, pig hair, etc.), and wool processing. In terms of specific industries, 37 percent of Jewish factory workers (as against 5 percent of Russian factory workers) were employed in four of the most laborintensive industries in the Pale: the production of matches, cigarette wrappers, tobacco and bricks. In the first three of these industries, women and children

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constituted 70 percent, 85 percent and 62 percent of all Jewish workers, respectively, many of them as homeworkers on contract for the factories.6 While in 1898 50 percent of all Russian factory workers were in establishments employing over one thousand workers each, only one plant at that time employed more than a thousand Jewish workers (a tobacco factory in Grodno). During the first five years of the twentieth century, only 15,000 Jewish workers (i.e., 5 percent of all Jewish workers or 30 percent of Jewish industrial workers) were working in plants employing over one hundred workers each. As to the level of mechanization in factories employing Jewish workers, aggregate data exist only for Poland where, in 1898, Jewish workers constituted 43.7 percent of all workers in non-mechanized factories and only 18.9 percent in mechanized ones. We have no reason to believe that the situation in other parts of the Pale was significantly different.7 A well-known feature of Jewish economic life was that Jewish workers were employed almost exclusively by Jewish employers. The reverse, however, was not true: Jewish factory owners employed a large number of non-Jewish workers.8 In general, the distinction between the two groups lay in their relation to the machine: Jewish workers concentrated in small, non-mechanized plants while non-Jewish workers employed by Jews tended to congregate in large, mechanized factories. This ethnic division of labor was the outcome of a process known as "eviction": The replacement of Jewish by non-Jewish workers in Jewish-owned factories which had undergone mechanization. While the reasons for these evictions have been subject to debate among contemporary observers, there was little disagreement as to the widespread nature of the phenomenon. Already in 1898, S. R. Landau, editor of the Vienna Zionist weekly Die Welt, reported that in Lodz, the Polish Manchester, Jewish textile workers were confined to working on hand looms, in many cases as homeworkers, while non-Jewish workers were employed by the thousand in Jewishowned, mechanized factories.9 As industrialization spread eastward, the same picture was duplicated in other cities and in different branches of industry—the textile industry in Warsaw and Bialystok, the shoe industry in Warsaw and Odessa and the tobacco industry throughout the Pale. In many instances this process was accompanied by violence, actual or threatened, between Jewish and non-Jewish workers. Attempts by the Bund, with the occasional cooperation of non-Jewish Socialist parties, to mitigate the conflict and find compromise arrangements which would allow workers of both groups to work in mechanized plants were usually to no avail. 10 In sum, the general characteristics of the emergent Jewish working class were as follows: It was composed, primarily, of craft workers in the consumer goods sector of the economy, where wages were low, working conditions poor and employment opportunities sporadic and insecure. Its members were scattered over a large number of small and generally primitive plants, owned, in most instances, by other Jews. Many of the latter were hardly better off than their workers. As a result a great deal of shifting back and forth between the ranks of workers and employers rendered the Jewish working class very unstable. These characteristics contrasted sharply with those of the Russian proletariat (with the exception of its agricultural segment) which was made up primarily of factory workers concentrated in large, technologically advanced plants owned by the government or by (Russian or for-

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eign) large firms. A high percentage of Russian workers were employed in mining and steel production and on the railroads—strategic industries within the capitalist economy. Thus, while most Russian workers participated in the dynamic, rapidly expanding sectors of the economy, Jewish workers were fighting to maintain their hold on stagnant, dead-end, rapidly declining forms of production.

THEORETICAL EXPLANATIONS The explanations offered at the time by Jewish scholars and political leaders for the predicament of Jewish workers can be classified under two major categories, those stressing "primordial," that is, traditional, cultural factors, and those focusing on structural social and economic causes. Explanations of the first type were put forward by the Bund and by spokesmen for the Russian Jewish bourgeoisie (such as the Jewish Colonization Association), namely, by those who believed that the "Jewish problem" could be solved in Russia itself, provided that both Russian society and the Russian Jewish community underwent various reforms. These "primordial" explanations stressed the difficulty of mingling Jewish and non-Jewish workers owing to the fact that the former observed the Sabbath on Saturday and kept the laws of kashrut, while the latter seemed to be almost innately antisemitic. They also pointed to the legal and political liabilities imposed on the Jews by the Tsarist government, the lack of technical know-how among the Jews and their hostility to physical labor, and the reluctance of Jewish workers to work in factories, where they had no hope of some day becoming independent producers. The other type of explanation was proposed by the Zionists (in particular the socialist Zionists) and the territorialists, who believed that the problem could be solved only by the emigration of the Jews from Russia and their concentration in an autonomous land of their own. The most important socialist-Zionist ideologist was Ber Borochov, whose theory of ethnicity, based on the concept of "territoriality," is still considered by many a brilliant attempt at constructing a Marxist theory of nationality. The natural tendency of ethnic minorities, Borochov argued, is to assimilate into the surrounding society. If assimilation does not occur, countervailing processes of an economic nature are evidently at work. These processes are of two kinds, corresponding to two periods of economic development. In the pre-capitalist period, the ethnic minority—the "extra-territorial nation"—is confined to economic roles shunned by members of the "territorial [i.e., majority] nation." These roles are generally located in the secondary and tertiary sectors of the economy, those which Borochov describes as being "farthest removed from nature": trade, finance, and petty craft production. Ethnic relations in this period are characterized by Borochov as "national exploitation." With the transition to capitalism, many of the roles traditionally occupied by ethnic minorities become obsolete, while others are taken over by members of the majority. The latter continues to monopolize the primary sectors of production which now include, in addition to agriculture, mining and heavy industry. In the labor market, members of the "territorial nation" take possession of

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all jobs in modern industry, even in the secondary sectors (textiles, etc.), confining the minority workers to marginal and rapidly declining manufacture. During this period, "national exploitation" is gradually replaced by "national competition" and "national exclusion," eventually forcing the non-territorial nation to emigrate. However, emigration per se cannot solve the problem since the processes of exploitation and exclusion are bound to repeat themselves in new locations. Only reterritorialization of the non-territorial nation in a land of its own can bring its predicament to an end.'' Borochov formulated his theory with the case of the Jews of Eastern Europe in mind and with an obvious ideological purpose—to advocate Zionism as the only solution to the Jewish predicament. His key concept, "territonality." was vague, and its implications, in such areas as the control of particular sectors of the economy, were ill-defined. In some cases Borochov's theoretical claims were simply erroneous. He argued, for example, that "extra-territorial nations" were excluded from employment in the primary sectors of production. This was plainly contradicted by the massive employment in agriculture of American blacks who, according to Borochov, were the only "absolutely extra-territorial nation" aside from the Jews. Nonetheless, in spite of its shortcomings, Borochov's theory contains a number of very cogent ideas, and in some areas his insights prefigure those of the most recent theoretical advances in the field of ethnic relations. These theoretical advances focus on the interrelationships between economic and cultural factors and may be seen as constituting a new paradigm for understanding the problems of ethnicity. The evolution of this new paradigm came in response to the recent revival of ethnicity as a significant political phenomenon in precisely those societies where most functionalist and diffusional theorists had assumed it to be dead and buried. Major studies in this paradigm include Edna Bonacich's "split labor market" theory, the "internal colonialism" model of Michael Hecher, and Stanley B. Greenberg's account of the historical evolution of what he describes as the capitalist state's racial apparatus.12 Common to all these models is the challenge they pose to the functionalist thesis according to which the dynamic of modernization, seen as the extension of the modern sector toward its traditional periphery, will bring about the homogenization of culturally different groups through increased interaction and by dissemination of modern values and employment opportunities.13 According to its critics, the functionalist thesis presents modernization as devoid of fundamental contradictions or antagonistic relations between the various groups concerned. In contrast, the new paradigm argues that, in actual fact, industrialization frequently imposes a rigid division of labor on pre-existing cultural differences, resulting in discontinuities in the labor market and segmentation of the opportunity structure. Responding to this criticism, functionalist theorists now argue that the slow pace, or absence, of integration of peripheral groups is due to the latter's attachment to "primordial" cultural characteristics which they refuse to trade in for the rights and duties of the modern world. 14 The initiators of the new paradigm seek to demonstrate, on the other hand, that adherence to cultural features which emphasize and enhance ethnic distinctness is, in fact, a reaction to the dualism inherent in

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the capitalist order and that it appears as a tool of political organizaion where economic processes make integration impossible. The new paradigm, in sum, addresses ethnicity as the conclusion of the social process rather than its starting point. Of the theories which constitute the new paradigm, the one most useful for explaining the situation of Russian Jewish workers is the "split labor market" model developed by Bonacich. The central features of this model are: 1. When ethnic groups, or fragments of ethnic groups, reside in the same society, one would expect the boundaries between them gradually to disappear. It is the persistence of their differences and conflicts that requires explanation.15 2. Racial and ethnic conflicts are rooted in the fact that different prices are paid for similar work when performed by members of different groups, or would be paid if they performed the same work. The fundamental social difference is that between higher- and lower-priced workers, a difference which in multi-ethnic societies takes the form of ethnic conflict. 16 3. Since the crucial distinction between ethnic groups lies in the different price of their labor, we must analyze the initial resources and motivations which determine this price. "Resources" compare standards of living, extent of information and trade-union experience, while "motivations" compare intended duration of stay in the labor market and the regular or supplementary nature of income goals. 17 4. Capital naturally gravitates toward the employment of cheaper labor, threatening the higher-priced workers with displacement. In order to protect itself, higherpriced labor will launch a struggle against the lower-priced workers, relying on the ethnic background it shares with the employers to accomplish its goal. 18 5. The two major manifestations of ethnic conflict in the labor market appear antithetical: exclusion movements and caste systems. In the former, members of one ethnic group are prevented from entering the labor market or are forced out of it: in the latter, they are confined to the lower rungs of the occupational ladder. Both strategies, however, signal the success of the higher-priced workers. 19 6. Equalization of pay may do away with both the threat of displacement and ethnic conflict. This solution is rarely attempted, however, by higher-priced workers since it may contradict their short-term interests. It is even more rarely carried to a successful conclusion since the entire world functions as a huge multi-layered split labor market, and the equalization of pay in one place may only result in the flight of capital elsewhere.20 A major difficulty in split labor market theory is that it provides no explanation for the ability of higher-priced workers to maintain their hold on the better portion of the labor market, an ability which is taken for granted. Since Bonacich selected cases in which the higher-priced workers were of the same ethnic background as their employers, it is not surprising that she concluded that common ethnicity with the employers was the cause of the higher-priced workers' success.21 But if that is so, then the theory is turned on its head: Ethnicity rather the price of labor turns out to be the major dynamic underlying the split labor market. Thus, rather than being explained by the split labor market, ethnicity ends up explaining it. Bonacich's

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theory suffers from conceptual weaknesses as well. First, as Burawoy has pointed out, her analysis is concerned with economic processes only and neglects the political context in which these processes take place.22 Second, the theory lacks a sense of historical development and fails to recognize the variety of forms a split labor market may take. These conceptual weaknesses are highlighted when the theory is applied to the case of Jewish workers in the Pale, for this particular case differs from the ones usually studied by split labor market theorists in several important respects. First, the Jewish community in Russia was neither an immigrant nor a settler community, but a middleman minority whose contact with capitalism came about through an organic process of development. Second, Jews, a subordinate group in the society, comprised both the employers' and the higher-priced workers' groups, while the lower-priced workers were non-Jewish. Third, in the struggle among the three groups, the higher-priced Jewish workers were defeated. These difficulties notwithstanding, we still feel that the central dynamic posited by split labor market theory, that of a tripartite conflict among employers, higherpriced and lower-priced workers, belonging to two different ethnic groups, corresponds very well to the situation we wish to study in the Pale; therefore, the theory can provide useful analytical tools for our study when combined with certain insights of Borochov as well as those of other, more recent students of ethnicity.

FROM CASTE TO EXCLUSION The problem of non- (or 'abnormal') proletarization emerged as the result of the fact that in the Pale of Settlement Jewish workers were defeated in the struggle over employment in modern industry. Their failure, which came about in spite of a shared ethnic background with their employers, resulted from an alliance between Jewish capitalists and non-Jewish workers, an alliance which proved stronger than both ethnic and class solidarity. The question we must ask, then, is, "What were the interests that motivated Jewish employers to displace their Jewish workers, and what was it that enabled them to do so with such a high degree of success?" A further question we must ask pertains to the usefulness of "split labor market" and of Borochov's theory in explaining this phenomenon. Bonacich and Borochov share a common theoretical position in arguing that cultural and linguistic differences and other putatively "primordial" characteristics of ethnicity are not in themselves major determinants of the survival chances of ethnic groups in multi-ethnic societies. Both authors developed their arguments in debates with theoretical and political opponents—functionalist and prejudice theorists, on the one hand, the Bund and the Jewish Colonization Association (among others), on the other—who emphasized precisely those "primordial" characteristics in their analyses of ethnic conflict. In contrast both Bonacich and Borochov stressed the importance of economic factors, particularly discontinuities in the occupational structure of society, in fomenting ethnic antagonisms. At the time, as we have seen, the most common explanation given for the exclusion of Jewish workers from employment in modern industry was paradigmatically "primordial:" their observance of the Sabbath on Saturday. Since Chris-

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tian workers rested on Sunday, employment of both groups together meant closing down the factories two days a week, at an intolerable loss to the owners. An obvious solution, if this, indeed, were the problem, would have been to employ Christians and Jews in separate plants, as had been done in the hand-powered establishments. The weight of historical evidence suggests, however, that the Sabbath was not the real issue. According to Jacob Lestchinsky, a pioneering scholar in the demography, economy and sociology of East European Jewry, more Jewish workers were employed in mechanized factories in the northwestern provinces of the Pale and in Bessarabia, where Jews were still very observant, than in the southern, more industrialized provinces of Kherson and Ekaterinoslav, where many Jewish workers had no qualms about working on the Sabbath. Similar evidence was provided by S. R. Landau, who visited the Polish city of Lodz in 1898. Landau reported that Jewish weavers, although still very observant, were so hard-pressed for employment that they were indeed willing to work on Saturday, but to no avail.23 Thus it seems that, as Bonacich and Borochov suggest, "primordial" qualities were not in themselves determinants of the situation of Jewish workers. The analysis of split labor market theory begins at the point where lower-priced workers of a distinct ethnic background enter a capitalist economy or where the latter is imposed upon them. The fate of these workers from that point on is determined by the "initial price" of their labor, an attribute they bring with them into the capitalist economy. Because the "initial price" of their labor is lower than that of other workers, the capitalists try to displace at least part of their existing labor force in favor of these new workers. The higher-priced workers react by instituting a split labor market, thus creating the mechanism which prevents lowerpriced workers from integrating into the society. Bonacich's use of the category "price of labor" has been criticized by Burawoy, who suggests that the more inclusive category "cost of labor power" should be used in its stead.24 From the perspective of the present study, the advantage of using the latter category is that, whereas the "price of labor" emphasizes wage levels while holding productivity constant, the "cost of labor power" allows us to account for differences in productivity as well. 25 This is important because the displacement of Jewish workers, as of hand-workers in similar situations elsewhere, cannot be explained by comparing only wage levels. The replacement of adult, male, relatively skilled hand-workers by women, children and agricultural laborers, has often accompanied the early stages of mechanization in hand-powered industries. In their classic studies of the English textile industry in the early nineteenth century, both Neil Smelser and E. P. Thompson have noted that this process was not ordinarily motivated by a desire for simple reduction in wages. As a matter of fact, hand-workers' wages had been so low at that particular point in the development of the industry that they often provided a disincentive to mechanize.26 If mechanization did take place, it was because it brought about a reduction of labor costs in relation to productivity, by reducing both the quantity and the quality of labor power necessary for the production of a particular commodity. It was the qualitative aspect of this process which enabled factory owners to replace their adult, male hand-workers with women, children and agricultural work-

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ers. Mechanization broke up the complicated task of skilled hand-workers into a number of simple tasks, capable of being performed by people with little or no skills. Some of these tasks required no physical strength and could be performed by women and children, while others required a great deal of strength and endurance and were more suitable for people with agricultural backgrounds. Since the skilled hand-workers did not commonly possess the technical competence required for supervisory positions in the mechanized factories, they often found themselves without employment.27 On occasion, this process, termed by Bonacich "displacement through job dilution," also entailed the replacement of one ethnic group by another.28 In England, for example, English and Scottish hand-loom weavers were replaced by Irish immigrants hired to work the power-looms.29 In our case, of course, Jewish hand-workers were replaced by non-Jewish, recently urbanized peasants.30 The situation of Jewish workers in the Pale differed, however, from that of the English hand-loom weavers in one important respect. While in England the displacement of hand-workers occurred prior to the appearance of trade unions, 31 the early stages of mechanization in the Pale coincided with the beginning of trade union organizing on a mass scale and with feverish strike activity among the Jewish workers.32 This "economic struggle," as it was known, resulted in improved wages and working conditions for the Jewish hand-workers, especially in the small handicraft shops, where the owners were less able to resist their demands. In the long run, however, the workers' success hastened the decline of their places of employment and the elimination of their own jobs, and brought about an "employers' reaction" seeking to roll back the gains that had been achieved. (Realizing this, the Bund decided in 1901 to halt the campaign for further improvements and concentrate on defending those which had already been attained.) Moreover, the reputation for militancy acquired by Jewish workers had to be taken into consideration by owners of mechanized plants in calculating the cost of Jewish labor power. As noted by one factory owner, "the Jews are good workers, but they are capable of organizing revolts . . . against the employer, the regime, the Tsar himself."33 This factory owner, like most of his colleagues, preferred to employ pliant and docile nonJewish peasants.34 One of Bonacich's most important insights is the realization that, in the structuring of the labor market, workers are not passive instruments in the hands of the capitalists but rather struggle to achieve definite ends of their own. In our particular case, once the replacement of Jewish with non-Jewish workers had gotten under way, non-Jewish workers began to resist all attempts at deviating from this pattern. As Borochov put it, "Christian workers have come to adopt the opinion that machine work is their exclusive prerogative and privilege, and they systematically prevent Jewish workers from working at the machines." 35 At times, this attitude even resulted in violent outbursts between Jewish and non-Jewish workers. Thus, in Bialystok, "fierce battles broke out between Jewish and Polish workers when in 1903 a factory owner decided to retain some Jewish workers after the transition from hand to power looms. "30 With all its violent potential, however, the resistance of non-Jewish workers was not sufficient to exclude Jewish workers from mechanized plants. This is evidenced by the fact that in certain cases Jewish workers were

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retained by their employers even after mechanization. But once replacement had become an established pattern, the resistance of non-Jewish workers to the employment of Jews in mechanized plants added to the cost of Jewish labor power and hastened the displacement process.37 In explaining the different wages paid to workers of the two ethnic groups, Bonacich identifies certain attributes ("resources" and "motivations") which, she argues, determine the "initial price" of each group's labor. She does not explicitly consider, however, the reasons underlying the differential development of these resources and motivations in the two groups. Here, we believe, her theory could be augmented with one of Borochov's insights, albeit in modified form. Borochov argued that the position occupied by each group prior to its contact with capitalism determined how it would fare in the capitalist economy. We would like to add that the historical period in which the group comes in contact with capitalism is also important in shaping its opportunity structure. In our own case, therefore, we need to examine how both the positions occupied by Jews and non-Jews in the traditional economy, and the period in which they came into contact with capitalism, influenced the differential development of their "resources and motivations." As a middleman minority, Jews had performed proto-capitalist functions in the feudal economy. They were, by and large, an urban population engaged in trade, leasing, money-lending and handicraft. Their standard of living and cultural level were higher than those of the surrounding peasant populations, and only a negligible minority drew their subsistence from the land. Their consciousness was that of small independent producers—self-sufficiency and self-reliance were highly esteemed values and religious education a major determinant of social status. The artisans among them had a long tradition of industrial relations which, while essentially paternalistic, was not devoid of important elements of struggle between workers and employers. These characteristics, which made Jews relatively well prepared to function in a capitalist economy, also made their labor power relatively expensive in relation to that of non-Jewish peasants-turned-workers with whom they had to compete. Jews scored higher in all three of Bonacich's "resources": Their standard of living was higher; they were more informed about the workings of the capitalist system; and they possessed the rudiments of trade union experience. These enabled them to launch a relatively successful struggle for wage increases and better working conditions. But their very success, as we saw, created an incentive for employers to displace them. In addition, their competitors were better able to afford to sell their labor power for less. As recently urbanized peasants, not all of whom had severed their ties to the land, they possessed at least two of the motivations which, according to Bonacich, contribute to the lowering of the price of labor: temporariness in the market and supplementary income goal. Thus, while their actual wages may not have been lower than those of Jewish workers, they were better equipped to cope with seasonal employment, business cycles and periodic reductions in wages. These qualities made them more attractive to employers than Jewish workers, for whom industrial labor was the only means of subsistence, and who were, therefore, more apt to engage in economic struggles with their employers. Like Borochov, Bonacich identifies the commonality of interest between capitalists and lower-priced workers: The former wish to reduce their labor costs, the

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latter wish to broaden their employment opportunities; both wish to displace the higher-priced workers. In all the cases Bonacich selected for study, however, the higher-priced workers succeeded in frustrating the wishes of the capitalists and of their own lower-priced competitors, and they were able to maintain their hold on the better portion of the labor market. In all instances the higher-priced workers were of the dominant ethnic group in the society. It is not surprising, therefore, that Bonacich assumed common ethnicity to be the explanation for this phenomenon. As we noted above, this is the main logical weakness in her theory, for ethnicity, instead of being explained by split labor market, ends up explaining it. In the Pale of Settlement higher-priced Jewish workers failed to maintain their hold on the better portion of the labor market, in spite of their sharing the same ethnic background with the employers. In view of this as well as for logical reasons we must reject common ethnicity as an explanation for higher-priced workers' success. What, then are the factors which account for the success or failure of each group in this tripartite struggle? The most important of these factors, we believe, is access to the state. Burawoy, as we noted, has already criticized Bonacich for her neglect of the state, that is, the political context in which the economic processes under investigation take place. Bonacich, he argues, has generalized from the individual capitalist to the capitalist system as a whole, attributing to the latter the profit and loss calculations of the former. In reality, however, the system as a whole, through its executive body—the state—is concerned not with maximizing profits per se, but with reproducing the conditions necessary for the continuing accumulation of capital. The split labor market reflects, therefore, not only the interests of higher-priced workers but, more importantly, the interests of the capitalist system as a whole. (The latter may even be opposed, in Burawoy's view, to the interests of individual capitalists who may prefer free access to cheap labor power without the interference of "color bars.") Bonacich has replied to Burawoy's criticism by claiming that arguments on the "system" level may lead to functionalist tautologies: Whatever happens can be explained as serving the interest of the system in reproducing itself.38 Her point, we feel, is well taken, but Burawoy's criticism remains pertinent. No adequate explanation of the development and operation of the split labor market can be constructed without taking into account the role played by the state. The state, however, does not respond mechanically to the undifferentiated "requirements" of capital accumulation. Rather, it is a social institution whose task is indeed the reproduction of the conditions allowing for the continuation of the capitalist social order, but which responds differentially to the pressures exerted on it by various social groups. In a capitalist society or in a society undergoing capitalization, the state would normally side with the capitalists against the workers, of whatever ethnic background. However, when a group of workers occupying a strategic position within the production system organizes itself and acts in a cohesive manner, it may be able to exert enough pressure on the state to veto certain measures deemed profitable by the capitalists. In multi-ethnic societies, this veto power may express itself in support for what Greenberg has termed a "state racial apparatus" which guarantees the operation of the split labor market. 39 In sum, the success of higher-priced workers in their efforts to fighi displacement varies with their political power

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which, in turn, is determined by two factors: the position of the particular group of workers within the productive system and its level of organization. Thus, it becomes clear why white miners in South Africa have succeeded in keeping their jobs and in forcing black workers into the position of a lower caste, while Jewish handworkers in Russia and English hand-loom weavers in the middle of the nineteenth century were displaced in favor of lower-priced workers of a different ethnic background. A major achievement of split labor market theory is the demonstration that two seemingly antithetical phenomena—the exclusion of a competing ethnic group from the labor market or, alternatively, its retention as a lower laboring caste—are rooted in a common cause. Both phenomena are explained as serving the defensive needs of higher-priced workers in preventing competition and the threat of eventual displacement by lower-priced labor. Since it lacks an historical perspective, however, split labor market theory presents the two strategies, "caste" and "exclusion," as mutually exclusive alternatives. Furthermore, the specific conditions under which one strategy will be preferred over the other, or changed into the other, have not been worked out in Bonacich's theory. All she ventures to propose is the vague claim that exclusion is a "safer" method and, therefore, in some cases preferred by higher-priced workers.40 But just how safe the workers feel is not a given but a historically specifiable factor. Therefore, instead of a general rule, what is needed is a measure of the political strength of the various parties in the three-way conflict. Borochov, we believe, provides a possible historical corrective. Like Bonacich, he distinguished between two forms of displacement—exploitation and dispossession—but saw them not as alternative strategies in the arsenal of higher-priced labor, but as consecutive steps in a struggle to monopolize the labor market. The strategy appropriate for each step, he argued, is determined by the level of economic development. At first the "feudal" mode of production was carried over into the early stages of industrialization. The primary branches of production, traditionally in the possession of the "territorial" nation, were now capitalist, while the "extra-territorial" group found its employment in the final stages of the productive process and in commercial circulation. As capitalism moved from manufacture to machine production, the dispossession of the "non-territorial" workers was completed. Mechanization, the great adversary of the artisans, is equally the enemy of the territoryless minority. Although we cannot claim that Borochov's thesis is generally applicable, we do think that it can serve as a basis for a broader hypothesis regarding the different forms which the split labor market may assume. As a rule, it seems plausible to argue, the dominant working class will select its strategy—caste or exclusion— according to its own political strength, that is, the influence it can exert on the state. The desire for total exclusion of potential competitors is likely to be the expression of political weakness, while readiness to construct a caste system, in which the dominant workers serve as a "labor aristocracy," is likely to be the result of selfconfidence in their ability to protect their position. The testing of this hypothesis must await the availability of a larger number of case studies. For the moment, we can say that the exclusion of Jewish workers from machine work may have been an

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indication of the weakness of the Russian industrial proletariat rather than of its strength. An alternative strategy to the creation of a split labor market, from the standpoint of higher-priced workers, could be the equalization of pay between the two groups. This would eliminate the threat of displacement and unify workers of both ethnic backgrounds in face of the employing class. Bonacich, however, considers it unlikely that higher-priced workers would launch a struggle to raise lower-priced workers' wages, and even more unlikely that their struggle would be successful. 41 In the Pale of Settlement, higher-priced Jewish workers, represented by the Bund, actively sought to equalize the price of the two groups' labor power through joint trade union action.42 This action resulted from the fact that the higher-priced workers comprised the politically weaker group and hence feared displacement. In this case, the political conditions proved decisive in determining the strategy chosen by higher-priced workers. Assessing the tragic consequences of the split labor market for the displaced Jewish workers, Borochov pointed out that exclusion made emigration inescapable. He believed, however, that the split labor market could only be avoided by the territorialization of the extra-territorial nation. The outcome of the historical process, eighty years later, seems to be in great variance with his predictions. Jews who emigrated to the advanced capitalist centers of the West, especially the United States, integrated into the industrial working class (albeit in industries and occupations not very dissimilar from the ones in which they had been employed in the Pale) and then moved rapidly into the professional and managerial strata, ironically, in Palestine, their land of territorial concentration, Jewish workers again encountered a split labor market which, at first, operated against them through the shared interest of Jewish employers and Arab workers. Using consecutively both strategies, exclusion and caste, and benefiting (after 1948) from the active support of the Israeli state, they were able to manipulate the split labor market in their favor. This ethnic conflict, which spilled over into the international arena, has overshadowed all other aspects of life in the newly gained Jewish homeland.43 (In fairness to Borochov, we should emphasize that one of his predictions, the closing-off of Western countries to further Jewish—and not only Jewish—immigration, which is, of course, a drastic form of exclusion, was largely borne out by historical developments.)

CONCLUSION The exclusion of vast numbers of Jewish workers from the industrial productive process in the Pale and the confinement of many others to marginal and declining occupations, was a major cause of one of the largest migration movements in history, the migration of approximately 2 million Jews from Eastern Europe to the West between 1880 and 1914. (The fact that this migration failed to bring about a noticeable reduction in the number of Jews in Eastern Europe was a tribute to another aspect of modernization in the Pale, the population explosion.) 44 By migrating to the West, these masses of Jews were voting with their feet in favor of the

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proposition that the Jewish problem could not be solved within the confines of Russian society, be it traditional or modern. But, tacitly at least, they were also expressing the conviction that their economic and political difficulties could be alleviated without the re-territorialization of the Jews in a national land of their own. Our analysis of the problem of "non-proletarization" seems to indicate that the emigrants, with their intuitive grasp of the problem they faced, may have been better judges of the situation than were many learned observers. For the roots of the problem were indeed structural rather than "primordial"; they had little to do with either the Jews' intrinsic social-cultural profile or their non-territorial status per se. As we point out in the study, while the overall context in which the struggle was played out was determined by the attitude of the Russian state toward the Jews, the exclusion of Jewish workers from modern industry resulted, in an immediate sense, from the defeat they suffered at the hands of an inter-ethnic (and inter-class) alliance of Jewish employers and non-Jewish workers. This defeat was no different, in essence, than the defeat suffered by "territorial" English workers at the hands of the inter-ethnic alliance of English employers and immigrant Irish workers. The fate of Jewish workers in the Pale, like the fate of relatively skilled handworkers elsewhere, was determined by a set of circumstances over which they had no control. On the one hand, their historical experience and the positions they had occupied in the traditional economy made their labor power more expensive than that of the recently urbanized peasants with whom they had to compete. On the other, their position within Russian society, and even within the Russian Jewish community, did not provide them with any economic or political weapons with which to fight for their share of the industrial labor market. Ethnic identity or cultural affinity with their employers was no asset at all, since the employers, whatever their preferences, could not afford to hire expensive Jewish labor rather than cheap non-Jewish labor.

Notes Research for this paper was supported by grants from the Fund for Basic Research of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, the Ford Foundation (through the Israel Foundations Trustees), and the Center for the Absorption of New Scientists of the Ministry of Immigrant Absorption. We would also like to thank Dov-Ber Kerler and Dan Haruv for their research assistance and, especially, our wives, Horit Herman-Peled and Helen Michal Innerfield Shafir. 1. Ezra Mendelsohn, Class Struggle in the Pale: The Formative Years of the Jewish Workers Movement in Tsarist Russia (Cambridge: 1970), p. 2; Hans Rogger, "Government, Jews, Peasants, and Land in Post-emancipation Russia," Cahiers du monde russe et sovietique XVII, no. ] (1976), p. 7; Jacob Lestchinsky, Ha-tefuza ha-yehudit (Jerusalem: 1960), pp. 126, 147. 2. Isaac Rubinow, Economic Conditions of Jews in Russia (New York: 1975. Reprint of Bulletin of U.S. Bureau of Labor, vol. 15 [Washington: U.S. Government Printing Office]), pp. 489-491; Louis Grecnbcrg, The Jews in Russia: The Struggle for Emancipation

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vol. I (New York: 1976), pp. 10—11; Robert Brym, The Jewish Intelligentsia and Russian Marxism (New York: 1978), p. 31, 3. Rogger, "Government, Jews, Peasants," pp. 7-8. 4. Jewish Colonization Association, Recueil de materiaux sur la situation economique des Israelites de Rustic (Paris: 1908); summarized in Jacob Lestchinsky, Der idisher arbeter in rusland (Vilna: 1906); Rubinow, Economic Conditions; Arcadius Kahan, "The Impact of Industrialization in Tsarist Russia on the Socioeconomic Conditions of the Jewish Population" in Arcadius Kahan, Essays in Jewish Social and Economic History, ed. Roger Weiss (Chicago: 1986), pp. 1-69. 5. Bund, Der poalci tsionism (Geneva: 1905); see Rubinow, Economic Conditions, pp. 522-523, 525-526. 6. Lestchinsky, Der idisher arbeter, pp. 27, 31, 40-43, 45-46, table VIII, X-A. 7. Jewish Colonization Association, vol. II, p. 116; Lestchinsky Der idisher arbeter, pp. 17, 38-57, 60, 63-64; Ber Borochov, Geklibene shriftn, Bcrl Locker (ed.) (New York: 1928), p. 191; Ber Borochov, Ktavini, L. Levite and D. Ben-Nahurn (cds.), vol. II (TelAviv: 1958), pp. 292-293; Rubinow, Economic Conditions, p. 544. 8. Sixty thousand according to Kahan, ''Impact of Industrialization," p. 79. 9. S. R. Landau, "Be-kcrev proletarim yehudiim," MeasefXll (1980-81), pp. 213225 (Hebrew translation of the German original, 1898). 10. Lestchinsky, Ha-tefuza ha-ychudit, pp. 141 144; Ber Borochov, Ktavim vol. Ill (Tel-Aviv: 1966), pp. 789-790, n. 382; pp. 801-804, nn. 388, 389; A. Kirzhnitz, Der idisher arbeter, A. Kirzhnitz and M. Rafes (eds.), vol. Ill (1927), pp. 112-126; Jonathan Frankel, Prophecy and Politics: Socialism, Nationalism, and. the Russian Jews, 1862-1917 (Cambridge: 1981), pp. 153, 237, 299, 312, 325; Ezra Mendelsohn, "Jewish and Christian Workers in the Russian Pale of Settlement," Jewish Social Studies XXX. no. 4 (October 1968), pp. 243-251. 11. Ber Borochov's most important theoretical works are "The National Question and the Class Struggle" and "Our Platform," in Borochov, Ktavim vol. 1 (Tel-Aviv: 1955), pp. 154-190, 193-310. Excerpts, in English translation, are available in Borochov, Nationalism and the Class Struggle: A Marxian Approach lo the Jewish Problem (Westport: 1972). For a fuller discussion of the debate between Borochov and the Bund, see Yoav Peled, "Class, Nation, and Culture: The Debate Over Jewish Nationality in the Russian Revolutionary Movement, 1893-1906," Ph.D. diss., University of California, Los Angeles, 1982. 12. Edna Bonacich, "A Theory of Ethnic Antagonism: The Split Labor Market," American Sociological Review XXXVII (October 1972) pp. 547-559; idem, "The Past, Present, and Future of Split Labor Market Theory," Research in Race and Ethnic Relations 1 (1979), pp. 17-64. 13. See, for example, David Apter, The Politics oj Modernization (Chicago: 1966); Karl Deutsch, Nationalism and Social Communication (Cambridge, Mass.: 1966). 14. Edward A. Shils, "Primordial, Personal, Sacred and Civil Ties," in his Center and Periphery (Chicago: 1975). 15. Bonacich, "Split Labor Market Theory," p. 19. 16. Bonacich, "Ethnic Antagonism," p. 549; "Split Labor Market Theory," p. 17. 17. Bonacich, "Ethnic Antagonism," pp. 549-552. 18. Bonacich, "Split Labor Market Theory," pp. 20, 25, 30-32. 19. Bonacich, "Ethnic Antagonism," pp. 548, 554-557. 20. Bonacich, "Split Labor Market Theory," p. 34. 21. Bonacich, "Advanced Capitalism and Black/White Race Relations in the United States: A Split Labor Market Interpretation," American Sociological Review XLI (February 1976), pp. 34-51; idem, "Capitalism and Race Relations in South Africa: A Split Labor Market Analysis," Political Power and Social Theory II (1981), pp. 239-278. 22. Michael Burawoy, "The Capitalist State in South Africa: Marxist and Sociological Perspectives," Political Power and Social Theory II (1981), pp. 279-336. 23. Landau, "Bc-kcrcv proletarim yehudiim," p. 215.

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24. Burawoy, "Capitalist State," pp. 286-287; for Bonacich's apparent acceptance of this correction, see Bonacich, "Reply to Burawoy," Political Power and Social Theory II (1981), pp. 337-338. 25. Bonacich, "Split Labor Market Theory," p. 20. 26. Neil Smelser, .Social Change in the Industrial Revolution (London: 1959), p. 146; E. P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class (New York: 1966),pp. 279-280. 27. Thompson, English Working Class, p. 309. 28. Bonacich, "Split Labor Market Theory," p. 26. 29. Smelser, Social Change, p. 207; Thompson, English Working Class, pp. 302-303, 310. 30. Lestchinsky, Der idisher arbeter. 31. Thompson, English Working Class, p. 312. 32. Borochov, Ktavim vol. II, pp. 260-320. 33. Quoted in Mendelsohn, Class Struggle, p. 22. 34. Cf. Bonacich, "Split Labor Market Theory," pp. 16-21. The available information on wage levels of Jewish industrial workers around the turn of the century is extremely sketchy. The only comprehensive study of the economic conditions of Jews in Tsarist Russia, conducted by the Jewish Colonization Association, relied on information supplied by the employers, who were not asked about wage levels (Rubinow, Economic Conditions, p. 547). The available data point to great variations on the basis of sex, age, locale and branch of industry. The two extreme points on the scale in the late 1890s seem to have been 1 ruble a day for adult male metal workers in Warsaw and I ruble a month for young girls in the candy industry. The average for adult male workers seems to have been between 3 and 5 rubles a week (Rubinow, Economic Conditions, pp. 547-548; Lestchinsky, Der idisher arbeter, pp. 45-46, 51). By comparison, the daily wage of non-Jewish agricultural laborers varied between 25 kopeks and 1.5 rubles a day (Rubinow, Economic Conditions, p. 534). The average wage of a Russian industrial worker in the 1890s was about 15 rubles a month (Peter I. Lyashchenko, History of the National Economy of Russia, L. M. Herman [trans.J [New York: 1949), p. 488; Alexander Gerschenkron, "The Rate of Industrial Growth in Russia Since 1885," The Tasks of Economic History, suppl. VII to Journal of Economic History [1947], pp. 150, 154). In the Jewish sector, wages rose during the 1890s and began to decline again after 1905. 35. Borochov, Ktavim vol. I, p. 203; cf. Kirzhnitz, Arbeter, pp. 112-126. 36. Mendelsohn, Class Struggle, p. 21; cf. Landau, "Be-kercv proletarim ychudiim;" Kahan, "Impact of Industrialization," pp. 39-40. 37. Kahan, op. cit., p. 79. 38. Burawoy, "Capitalist State"; Bonacich, "Reply to Burawoy." 39. Stanley Greenberg, Race and State in Capitalist Development (New Haven/London: 1980), pp. 389-391. 40. Bonacich, "Ethnic Antagonism," p. 551. 41. Bonacich, "Split Labor Market Theory," pp. 32-35. 42. Kirzhnitz, Arbeter, pp. 113, 119-122. 43. Greenberg, Race and State, pp. 356-380. 44. Mordcchai Altshuler, Ha-kibuz ha-yehudi bi-vrit ha-mo'azot, nituah sozio-demografi (Jerusalem: 1979), pp. 11-12.

Recent Trends in the Literature on Ethnopolitics Joseph Rothschild (COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY)

In order to write a reasonably cogent essay on such a variegated spectrum of books—by historians, sociologists, political scientists and anthropologists—which form the whetstone for this effort, 1 it seems necessary to ignore the traditional typological distinctions that social scientists conventionally make among the categories of (1) ethnicity, (2) nationality and (3) nation. 1 shall ignore these distinctions not merely for reasons of convenience but also from the conviction that they have not been as useful as is often claimed (by the authors of some of the books and essays here under review, among others); such a taxonomy has elicited heavy political flak from the intelligentsias of groups who have been labeled by it as being something other than (and, hence, presumptively less than) nations, and, thus, has been gratuitously provocative. Furthermore, and more seriously from a scholarly perspective, it has not been analytically productive in studying a rapidly changing world. In short, the ethnicitynationality-nation typology suffers from liabilities analogous to those which earlier discredited the older typology of seeking to distinguish between the assertedly "historic" and the allegedly "historyless" peoples of Europe. Both typologies came to be perceived as normative, judgmental, pejorative and as implicitly (perhaps, indeed, intentionally) devaluing the political aspirations—especially aspirations to statehood—of "mere" ethnic groups, nationalities, and supposedly "historyless" peoples. Hence, in this essay the terms ethnicity, ethnic, nation, national, and even ethnonational will be used indiscriminately in various compound nominal and adjectival constructions to refer to the political activities of complex collective groups whose membership is largely determined by real or putative ancestral inherited ties and who perceive these ties as systematically affecting their place and fate in the political and socio-economic structures of their state and society and who bring their social, cultural and economic interests, grievances, claims, anxieties and aspirations into the political arena—the intra-state and/or the inter-state arena. This subject of ethnoriationalism was traditionally studied either as an exercise in the history of ideas and ideologies (e.g., the pioneering works of Carlton J. H. Hayes2 and Hans Kohn 3 ) or as a politico-juridical investigation into the problematics of national minorities and their claimed rights to self-determination within

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or from extant states (e.g., the studies of C. A. Macartney4 and Alfred Cobban5). The first of these two intellectual traditions, the ideational one, was turned upside down and inside out by Elie Kedourie in his powerful polemic of I960,6 which argued that not only nationalism but even nations themselves are, in effect, inventions of the intelligentsia and in no way "natural" sentiments or categories. This argument entailed as a corollary Kedourie's denial of the conventional modern wisdom that ethnonational self-determination is the only valid legitimating principle of statehood and political authority. In turn, the second, self-determination tradition in scholarly analysis foundered on two rocks: 1. The unit, the "self" in the phrase "self-determination of peoples," could not be specified. (Does it refer to Nigerians or to Ibos? To Canadians or Quebecois? To Uzbeks within the Soviet Union or to Russians in Uzbekistan? Or possibly to other, yet smaller sub-units within extant states or even to larger units bridging extant states?) 2. This principle of the self-determination of peoples is contradicted by the also widely accepted alternative principle of the sovereignty and integrity of slates (to whom alone UN membership is available).7 In 1971 the British sociologist and art historian Anthony D. Smith analyzed many of the utilities and problematics as well as the intellectual history of both the ideational and the self-determination traditions in the study of ethnonationalism in his judicious book Theories of Nationalism,8 which still stands up very well more than a decade and a half later and despite an avalanche of subsequent publications on ethnonationalism by scholars and lawyers. Smith then went on to edit Nationalist Movements (1976)9 and to write Nationalism: A Trend Report and a Bibliography (1973)'° and Nationalism in the Twentieth Century (1979)1' as well as some studies on quite different themes in sociology and art history. Now he presents, in the book here under review, The Ethnic Revival in the Modern World (1981), a particularly ambitious effort approaching the ethnonational phenomenon at a somewhat new (for him) tangent—as an exercise in social history and in social forecasting. Such an exercise is, of course, entirely appropriate and legitimate. It responds, in a sense, to the initiative and the appeal launched as long ago as 1953 in a by-now classic, brilliant (albeit slightly perverse) inquiry by Karl Deutsch.12 And Smith's current book is indeed erudite, judicious, intelligent and appropriately sympathetic (albeit not uncritical) toward its subject matter. Its reach is global, though its author's particular familiarity with Europe is patent. Particularly impressive are (1) the book's analytical examination of the various disequilibrium theories that have been advanced to account for the ethnonational revival—including classical Marxism, relative-deprivation theories, internal colonialism theories, imperialism-dependency theories and other uneven-development explanations (chapter 2); (2) its review of ethnic consciousness in pre-modern times, including a discussion of the impact of agrarian mores and of warfare on ethnonational sentiments (chapter 4), which then flows into an analysis of the initially corrosive and then regenerative impact of historicism on ethnonational communalism (chapter 5); (3) the closing experiment at social prediction, in which Smith assesses the anticipated effects of planning, technology and science on "neo-nationalism" in the state system of the

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future (chapters 9 and 10). But since an important purpose and function of a review essay such as this one is to initiate reciprocally helpful intellectual engagement and productive dialogue, I shall here abbreviate my expressions of deserved praise for this book and instead turn to what 1 perceive to be some of its open questions and unclinched claims. It is my impression that Anthony Smith views chapters 6, 7 and 8 as forming the heart of his book—and it is with their contents that 1 have the most difficulty. They are entitled, respectively, "Bureaucracy and the Intelligentsia," "State Integration and Ethnic Schism" and "Accommodation and Neo-ethnicity." In the first of this trio of chapters, Smith correctly notes that, whereas romantic ethnonationalism used formerly to be sponsored by traditional elites, especially the clergy and humanistic intelligentsia, today it increasingly draws the endorsement of the modern industrial and so-called post-industrial elites, including the technocratic intelligentsia: note, for example, the phenomenon of the Quebecois Quiet Revolution of the 1960s and the subsequent rise to government power of the Parti Quebecois. But from this valid observation, Smith then develops a rather elaborate, overly specific and ultimately unconvincing typology seeking to identify the particular and (allegedly) mutually incompatible stances toward ethnonational sentiments and issues on the part of, respectively, intellectuals, pedagogues, humanists, technocrats and bureaucrats. The last mentioned are presented—quite unconvincingly—as "the inveterate opponents of ethnic nationalism" (p. 186). Here Smith's laudable striving for "hard" sociological structural analysis has (I fear) misled him into a false concreteness. In the next chapter, dealing with state integration and ethnic schism, Smith unintentionally exposes the fact that he is less at home in the Third World than in Europe. He exaggerates, in my judgment, the separatist-secessionist momentum of ethnonational movements in the extant states of Africa and Asia, and he stipulates, without presenting evidence, that the intelligentsias there are socially more isolated than are those of Europe. Similarly, in the next chapter—the last of this core trio— Smith seems baffled by the various North American expressions of politicized ethnicity. For example, the opening pair of sentences in that chapter contradict each other, to wit: "In strong contrast to the trend towards political separatism characteristic of Africa and Asia, the experience of many ethnic communities in the West, and notably North America, reveals a general tendency towards accommodation within plural states. There are two exceptions to this generalization: the case of blacks, Indians and Puerto Ricans in the United States, who have pursued various strategies in the past but now seem to be opting for a 'communalist' one, and the regionally based ethnic communities of Canada and Western Europe, which since the early 1960s have been pursuing a more aggressive autonomist line" (p. 152). The two sentences are not only factually dubious, but the exceptions indicated in the second sentence virtually empty the first one of real meaning. Again, toward the close of the chapter, we have these contradictory assessments: (a) "Today it would be more accurate to speak of Black 'cormnunalism' rather than autonomism. Black leaders today seek control over their urban areas in order to decide their own priorities and communal self-development plans, and at the same time they insist on having a voice in shaping the destiny of the United States as a whole, even to its foreign policy" (p. 160). Versus (b) "By the time the celebrated meeting between

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President Kennedy and the Black intellectuals took place in 1963, they had already gone over to a fiercely autonomist, even separatist, frame of mind, which was soon to be translated into political action by their disciples among the Black professionals and students" (pp. 161-62). Finally, even Smith's otherwise fine pair of closing chapters on "neonationalism" in the "scientific" state of the future is somewhat marred by his peculiar insistence that the "loss of empire" by several metropolitan European states in the wake of the Second World War entailed a corollary loss of their access to overseas raw materials and markets (p. 166). This is surely erroneous or at best oversimplified. Nevertheless, despite such flaws, The Ethnic Revival in the Modern World is a bold and suggestive book, less tightly directed than its author's important earlier monograph on Theories of Nationalism, yet a worthy successor thereto. It astutely limns the perpetual tension between state (a political-legal entity) and ethnicity (a politicized cultural-historical entity) and between the cosmopolitan-universalist logic of science and technology, on the one hand, and the cultural-historical particularism of every ethnonational group, on the other. Yet it also leaves open, if problematic, the possibly creative resolution of these tensions. As my last substantive criticism of Smith pertained to his failure to comprehend the politicized ethnic phenomenon in the United States, it seems appropriate at this point to turn to a cluster of more or less recent books on precisely this phenomenon. We begin with Stephen Steinberg's The Ethnic Myth: Race, Ethnicity, and Class in America (1981). To a considerable extent, this book's polemical thrust is signaled in its title. Steinberg charges that much of the recent scholarly and popular literature on ethnicity has mythologized and reified this phenomenon "as though it is a thing unto itself, independent of other spheres of life . . . creating the illusion that there is something ineffable about ethnic phenomena that does not lend itself to rational explanation. This is especially the case when ethnic groups are assumed to be endowed with a given set of cultural values, and no attempt is made to understand these values in terms of the material sources" (p. x). To correct this alleged mythologizing heresy, Steinberg proposes to re-anchor the examination of ethnic processes and patterns in their social origins and class matrices by exploring their historical and structural foundations. Now 1 cannot speak for the other social sciences, still less for popularizations, but it seems to me that with regard to respectable literature in political science, at any rate, much of Steinberg's animus turns out to be an exercise in flaying dead horses. It is surely a long time since any respectable political scientist seriously claimed the utter autonomy of ethnic group phenomena or denied the existence of self-reproducing correlations between ethnic categories, on the one hand, and socio-economic classes and unequal distribution of economic resources, social status and political power distributions, on the other hand. Nor would anyone charge that differences in the social and public fates of various American ethnic and racial groups result only from these groups' supposedly endemic cultural superiorities or inferiorities, without acknowledging that it is precisely the unequal distribution of economic resources, social status and political power among ethnic groups that transforms ethnicity from a cultural or a phenotypical datum into a public issue and gives

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political bite to what might otherwise be bland socio-economic statistics or folkloristic curiosities. Surely in this day and age it is no longer necessary for Steinberg to propose, apparently with a straight face, "to test the proposition that Catholicism is inherently anathema to intellectual achievements" (p. 145). Whose proposition is this supposed to be? For political scientists, at any rate, such proposed research would be a case of smashing through an open door. Nevertheless, it would be an unjust trivialization of Steinberg's important book to depict it tout court as a misaimed misfire. The underlying energy for Steinberg's broad and sustained attack on much of the recent claims for an ethnic revival in America derives from his linked ideological and epistemological commitments. And here, while I do not necessarily share his commitments, i acknowledge that he knows exactly what he is doing and that his strategy is well suited to his aim. He is convinced that the academic and publicistic enthusiasts for revived American ethnicity are screened conservative ideologues, that the political intent and effect of their studies and articles is to encourage white-ethnic resistance to black aspirations, that their favored ethnic enclaves would muzzle and baffle broad democratic publicpolicy initiatives on behalf of the still underprivileged sectors of American society—and that they must therefore be debunked. Furthermore, he wishes to warn both ethnic group leaders and their intellectual applauders of his suspicion that the much trumpeted ethnic revival in the United States in recent decades is hollow nostalgia without much authentic ethnic content, poor in cultural quality, lacking depth and, hence, unlikely to provide adequate moral and spiritual guidelines by which to nurture future generations of ethnic descendants. What grates on me here is less the gist of Steinberg's admonitions than the glee with which he trumpets them. If true, his prediction of the untenability of authentic ethnocultural pluralism for America and its supposedly inevitable replacement by an updated version of the old homogenizing melting pot scenario is surely an occasion for regrets rather than cheers—as is any flattening of cultural diversity by the forces of monotonal cosmopolitan uniformity in any part of the world, for moral as well as esthetic and social reasons. Steinberg's warnings as to the alleged unfeasibility of a culturally worthy and intergenerationally transmittable ethnic pluralism appear to be based on the assumption that only two options are available for America: pluralism, with the supposedly conservative, centrifugal and group-enclaving implications that he scorns, or a return to what he regards as the superior democracy of the melting pot metaphor, energized once again (as in the classic American pattern) by the assimilating public school. But perhaps a third alternative is available, one which might be described as a nongeographic version of the center/periphery metaphor that has recently been honed by several European and American academics. In this admittedly somewhat elitist scenario, central public political elites would negotiate with peripheral, yet secure, ethnic brokers and sub-elites to shape a viable modus vivendi ensuring, on the one hand, a democratic and responsible public arena and, on the other hand, meaningful maneuver-room for ethnocultural communities. This would pose a difficult but not a priori insoluble problem of allocating respective jurisdictions, regulating competing interests, respecting different identities and — hardest of all—adjusting political wills. Care would have to be taken to ensure that the ethnic arena not be rendered so

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utterly peripheral as to become a mere curio, quite divorced from the real dilemmas, opportunities, promotions, demotions, satisfactions and distresses of career, of market and of public affairs. For, as Jose Ortega y Gasset wrote in a memorable aphorism that Steinberg gracefully quotes (p. 58), "People do not live together merely to be together; they live together to do something together." On the other hand, care would also have to be taken to ensure that the ethnic groups not be empowered to intimidate their individual members into forgoing universalistic mobility opportunities based on personal achievement and free choice—including, if it comes to that, the choice to leave the ethnic group. I alluded above to the linkage of Steinberg's ideological and epistemological commitments as seemingly energizing his attack on the "mythologizers" of an allegedly spurious American ethnic renaissance. The latter, epistemological, commitment is his preference for a logic of monocausality that tolerates only one truly independent variable in the explanation of social phenomena. He terms his preferred, uniquely independent, variable "material sources," that is, class (p. x). He concedes that ethnic factors do have causal significance, yet insists that they can be understood only in terms of their "structural foundations," which again means that their own causal import is only intermediary, not truly independent. But this a priori insistence on a hierarchy of causal factors, of which only one can be independent, entails unnecessary difficulties. It seduces Steinberg into gratuitously shrill denunciations of the supposed "mythologists" of ethnicity for alleged sins that the responsible among them have not really committed and for ostensible analytical myopia of which they are not truly guilty. For example, "it is doubtful that the connection between ethnic difference and conflict is as automatic or as inevitable as is commonly supposed. What often appears to be an eruption of 'traditional hatreds' on closer examination turns out to involve political and economic issues that are real and immediate . . . almost invariably institutionalized inequalities are at or near the center of the [ethnic] conflict" (p. 170). True—but who denies this? And why insinuate that ethnic issues are ipso facto less "real and immediate" than are political and economic ones—why allege that they are only a "surface manifestation of a deeper conflict of an essentially social class character," as Steinberg puts it later on the same page? Is it not at least as plausible to infer from the evidence that we have about social differences and conflict that class interests, while indeed concrete in social and political systemic terms, are psychologically less palpable in the emotional life of real people than is ethnic identification? In any event, what is gained by insisting that only one factor, one nexus, one causation can be primary and independent, while all others must definitionally be relegated to secondary and dependent status? And, indeed, the best parts of Steinberg's provocative book are precisely the sociohistorical sections where he explains the interaction of economic (class) and cultural (ethnic) factors without worrying about "basic" and "surface" assessments. Among these are his dissection of the policies and institutional arrangements which after the American Civil War funneled European peasant immigrants into the nascent northern industrial sector where they were recycled into proletarians, while retaining black freedmen as sharecropping laborers in Southern agriculture—arrangements that were unraveled only by the industrial labor shortages combined with the interrupted

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immigration of the two World Wars, which opened up the industrial sector to black employment. Or again, his description of the neat historical fit between Jewish skills and American needs is impressive. Literate non-peasants, bearing entrepreneurial and organizational skills as well as professional ambitions, the Jewish masses who streamed into America at the turn of the century, albeit poor, were carriers of experiences, values and talents that dovetailed neatly into the requirements and structure of the expanding American capitalism of the day. Incidentally, while on this subject of American Jewry, I invite any knowledgeable reader to referee a semantic disagreement between Steinberg and this reviewer—a disagreement that appears to be free of political or ideological connotations. He includes Jews under the umbrella term of "White ethnics" (p. 3), whereas I (who have never worked or taught on American issues) have always assumed that this term conventionally covers only the descendants of Roman Catholic immigrants from Europe, and thus excludes Jews, Scandinavians, and so on. I would be happy to be authoritatively confirmed or corrected on this definitional point. Complementary to Steinberg's book, though less ideological and less polemical, is Natives and Strangers: Ethnic Groups and ihe Building of America (1979) by the triad of authors Leonard Dinnerstein, Roger L. Nichols and David M. Reimers. Seeking to correct what they claim to be the misleading overemphasis in most standard histories of the United States on natural geographic advantages and technological-industrial innovations in accounting for the development of modern America, they set out to give greater credit to the menial immigrant laborers as well as to blacks and Amerinds. In Steinberg's demonology the chief villains are the intellectual-academic enthusiasts for politicized ethnicity, and the secondary villains are the second- and third-generation descendants of white immigrant groups now reluctant to share their hard-won resources with blacks through redistributive entitlement programs such as Affirmative Action. In the Dinnerstein-Nichols-Reimers scenario, the villains, as it were, remain the WASPs whose historic posture has allegedly been one of exploiting, victimizing and demeaning all other groups, starting with the indigenous Amerinds, whose land the Anglo-Saxons stole, and proceeding to the Afro-Americans, whose labor power they enslaved, and on to European, Hispanic and now Asian immigrants whose bodies the WASPs sweated and whose cultures they denigrated as supposedly contemptible. Withal, however, the general tone of this book is neither angry nor bitter but rather ruefully regretful that such behavior and policies on the part of the propertied and power-wielding elite distorted and threatened to abort the fulfillment of the American dream of liberty, equality and justice for all—a dream whose articulation was, ironically, the great intellectual achievement precisely of the original Anglo-Saxon liberals themselves. In short, this book is an exercise in moralistic and hortatory history—albeit solid and thought-provoking history—rather than in hard-nosed political or sociological analysis. It nicely dovetails with the last volume here under review, the collection of nine essays by seven historians, one sociologist and one anthropologist: Ethnic Leadership in America (1978), edited by John Higham. After an analytical introductory essay by the editor, there follow chapters on the leaderships of seven clusters of American ethnic groups by seven established academic authorities, to wit: the Jews (Nathan Glazer); the Japanese (Roger Daniels);

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the Germans (Frederick Luebke); Afro-Americans (Nathan I. Huggins); Native Americans, that is, Amerinds (Robert F. Berkhofer, Jr.); Eastern and Southern Europeans (Josef J. Barton); the Irish (Robert D. Cross). The book closes with a somewhat mystifying "Afterword" by the anthropologist Sidney Mintz, arguing that groups identified by genetically acquired physical criteria such as pigmentation cannot and should not be compared with groups identified by socially acquired cultural markers such as language and religion. In effect, this is a claim that the politics of race and the politics of ethnicity cannot be subsumed under one set of theories and within one analytical framework. It is, therefore, also an implicit, albeit unacknowledged, repudiation of the editor's organizational principle for the book in which it serves as the closing chapter. Though perhaps understandable as expressing the disciplinary commitment of an anthropologist, I do not find Mintz's argument convincing because I am not persuaded that, historically speaking, racial (i.e., genetically acquired) criteria are necessarily politically more salient, more conflictual or more recalcitrant to efforts at their situational depoliticization than are ethnic (i.e., socially acquired) markers. I would argue that the possible and potential ethnopolitical significance of any marker-criterion is conveyed, withheld or withdrawn by the historically prevailing social and political context of group contacts, and not by its intrinsic content. After all, the political conflict among ethnic groups identified by cultural markers is today far nastier and more vehement in Lebanon and Ulster than is the competition between racial communities in Malaysia. Examples of the reverse pattern can also be readily located. In American political history, blacks as well as Jews, Amerinds as well as Irish, Orientals as well as white ethnics—that is, physically defined racial groups as well as culturally defined ethnic groups—alike perceive their claims to their due rights as part and parcel of their struggle for access to resources. Similarly, all these groups have oscillated between the politics of protest and the politics of accommodation and have at different times selected leaders appropriate to their preferred stance. Yet the oscillation between protest and accommodation has not been merely pendular. All American ethnic groups, be they racially or culturally defined, have eventually— albeit only after wrenching inner and outer struggles—opted for the politics and the leadership of reconciliation and accommodation with the other groups and with the American system as a totality.

Notes 1. Recent books to be discussed here are: Anthony D. Smith, The Ethnic Revival in the Modern World (Cambridge: 1981); Stephen Steinberg, The Ethnic Myth: Race, Ethnicity, and Class in America (New York: 1981); Leonard Dinnerstein, Roger L. Nichols, and David M. Reimers, Natives and Strangers: Ethnic Groups and the Building of America (New York: 1979); John Higham (ed.), Ethnic Leadership in America (Baltimore: 1978). 2. Carlton J. H. Hayes, Essays on Nationalism (New York: 1926); idem. The Historical Evolution of Modern Nationalism (New York: 1931); idem, Nationalism: A Religion (New York: 1960). 3. Hans Kohn, The Idea of Nationalism (New York: 1944); idem, The Age of Nationalism (New York: 1962); idem, Nationalism: Its Meaning and History (Princeton: 1955).

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4. C. A. Macartney, National States and National Minorities (London: 1934); idem, Hungary and Her Successors (London: 1937); idem, Problems of the Danube Basin (Cambridge: 1942). 5. Alfred Cobban, National Self-Determination (London: 1945). 6. Elie Kedourie, Nationalism (London: 1960). 7. Joseph Rothschild, Ethnopolitics (New York: 1981), pp. 11-16, 177-179. 8. Anthony D. Smith, Theories of Nationalism (London: 1971). 9. Idem (ed.), Nationalist Movements (London: 1976). 10. Idem, Nationalism: A Trend Report and a Bibliography (The Hague: 1973). 11. Idem, Nationalism in the Twentieth Century (Oxford: 1979). 12. Karl Deutsch, Nationalism and Social Communication (New York: 1953).

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Essays

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Jews in the Austro-Hungarian Armed Forces, 1867-1918 Erwin A, Schmidt (AUSTRIAN ARMY MUSEUM, VIENNA)

When Charles Orde Wingate wrote in 1937 that Jews were capable of becoming better soldiers than even the British, 1 he was expressing an idea with which few contemporaries would have agreed. Since then, of course, the Israeli Defense Forces have proved most convincingly that Jews can be as good soldiers as anybody else. Still, we must keep in mind that Jewish fighting abilities were denied or at least doubted for the better part of the last one thousand years. This was partly a consequence of the fact that Jews had lost the right to carry arms in the Middle Ages in exchange for the privilege of royal protection. The fact that the Jews were considered an "unmartial race," as their lifestyle appeared to prove, was one of the major obstacles to Jewish induction into continental European armies which began in the late eighteenth century. Fears of administrative and disciplinary difficulties arising out of Jewish religious obligations constituted an additional factor hampering Jewish enlistment, while, on the Jewish side, Orthodox communities feared that military service might alienate young Jews from their traditional way of life. In Austria, Jewish soldiers were inducted for the first time in 1788-89, while the first Jewish officers were commissioned during the Napoleonic wars. 2 Between 1815 and 1867 the number of Jewish officers and men in the Austrian armed forces rose by an estimated ten thousand to twenty thousand in the wars of 1859 (against France and Italy) and 1866 (against Prussia and Italy). At the same time, of course, Jews were becoming more and more integrated into Gentile society in civilian life. Jewish citizens were formally granted full equality in the Staatsgrundgesetz iiber die allgemeinen Rechte der Staatsburger fur die im Reichsrate vertretenen Konigreiche und Lander of 21 December 1867,-' Austria's bill of rights, which forms part of the Austrian constitution to this day. The following study is an attempt to ascertain to what extent this theoretical equality was achieved in practice in the armed forces and how the status of Jewish officers and soldiers changed in the half century between 1867 and the First World War. 127

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THE AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN ARMED FORCES, 1867-1918 Before studying the position of Jewish officers and soldiers, it is necessary to consider the complex military organization of the Dual Monarchy. The Ausgleich with Hungary in 1867 had created a system of two separate states, united by the monarch and by the three common ministries of foreign affairs, finance, and war. But the Gesamte bewaffnete Macht (the armed forces) was not under the control of the ministry of war alone. Apart from the common "Imperial and Royal" (I&R) forces, the army and navy, there existed the Austrian and Hungarian territorial forces, controlled by the Austrian and Hungarian ministries of defense. The establishment of a separate Hungarian force had been among the Hungarian demands during the Ausgleich talks in 1867. In Cisleithania (the non-Hungarian part of the monarchy, for which the official name Austria was adopted only in 1917), a territorial force was also established, though this was done more for the sake of symmetry than for military reasons. Thus there existed the Imperial Landwehr in Cisleithania and the Royal Hungarian Honved in Hungary, with the addition of the Royal Hungarian Croato-Slavonian Domobran in the kingdom of Croatia.4 While originally intended as second-line forces, the Landwehr and Honved developed into proper armies, although lacking in artillery and technical and supply services, which were to be provided by the common army in case of war. Compulsory national service was introduced by the Wehrgesetz of 1868,5 but only a certain number of recruits were actually inducted each year to serve in either the common army or one of the two territorial armies, which also possessed their own reserve organizations. The rest of the young men eligible for national service received only a short training of some ten weeks and were then assigned to the Landsturm, the third-line territorial defense called up in times of war.6 Again, this force was divided into an Imperial (Cisleithanian) and a Royal Hungarian Landsturm. A further particularity was created when the Turkish provinces of Bosnia and Hercegovina were occupied in 1878. In order not to endanger the national balance, these territories were administered by the common ministry of finance. Recruitment in Bosnia and Hercegovina began in 1881, but was confined to service in the Bosnian regiments of the common army, as no Landwehr was—for obvious reasons—established there. The Dienstsprache (official and command language) was German in the common armed forces and in the Austrian Landwehr, but the Honved used Hungarian and the Croato-Slavonian Domobran, Croatian. In addition, in each regiment there were up to three Regimentssprachen (regimental languages)—depending upon the nationalities of the regiment's soldiers. Officers and NCOs had to speak these languages, if not fluently, at least well enough to communicate with their men. All this shows that the Austro-Hungarian armed forces had a major cultural and political role in that it was one of the most important institutions in the Dual Monarchy working for integration. At the same time, however, the complex structure and multitude of nationalities and languages hampered its military effectiveness. Although Jewish officers and soldiers served in all the forces mentioned above, we shall emphasize here the situation in the common army and navy, for which reliable statistical data exist.

Jews in the Austro-Hungarian Armed Forces, 1867-1918

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JEWISH SOLDIERS AND NCOS According to the 1869 census, 822,220 Jews lived in the Austrian part of the Dual Monarchy and 522,113 in Hungary, Transylvania and Croatia, constituting together some 4 percent of the whole population.7 In 1872, the first year for which detailed information about the number of Jewish soldiers in the I&R Army is available,8 their number is repotted as 12,47! or 1,5 percent.9 During the following decades the number of Jewish soldiers rose and in 1902 reached 59,784 or 3.9 percent, thus approaching the general population percentage of a little more than 4.5 percent. By 1911, however, the number of Jewish soldiers had declined to about 3 percent (see Table 1). This can be explained in part by a slight Jewish decrease within the general population from 4.8 percent in 1890 to 4.6 percent in 1910. The reasons for the slight under-representation of Jews within the I&R Army may be explained by reference to the social and cultural context in those provinces where most Jews lived. Their Orthodox and deeply religious background did little to instill strong fighting spirit into young Jews, while the organized Jewish communities in Galicia tended to dissuade their youth from enlisting. 10 Perhaps even more important were the appalling living conditions which resulted in a high percentage of young Jews being physically unfit for military service.'' A most revealing statistic from 1910 shows that in Austria, Moravia. Bohemia and Silesia some 0.6-0.8 percent of the Jewish population served in the armed forces, while in Galicia and Bukovina, this figure was as low as 0.4 and 0.3 percent, respectively. 12 Let us note that no less than 74 percent of Cisleithania's and 43 percent of the whole Dual Monarchy's Jews resided in Galicia and Bukovina. Similarly, while the numbers reported for Jewish sailors appear rather small at first sight—0.9 percent in 1885, rising to 1.6 percent in 1898 and 1.7 percent in 1911—the Jewish population in the provinces where most sailors came from, namely Croatia and the Adriatic coast(Kiistenland)was even smaller, never exceeding 0.8 percent. l3 But obviously the Jews living there were physically more fit (and, perhaps, more willing, too) to serve in the armed forces than their brethren in the east. It is commonly believed that the low number of Jewish recruits from the east has to do with attempts to evade the draft by hiding, fleeing the country or bribing the recruiting officials.14 This was undoubtedly true in many cases, but was certainly exaggerated by antisemitic propaganda. A common feature when conscription was first introduced in the late eighteenth century, it was of less importance in the decades immediately preceding the First World War. When examining the number of Jewish soldiers in the various branches of the service, one notices immediately that Jews were over-represented in the medical corps and administrative branches, while the contrary was true of the cavalry and elite Jager (rifles or light infantry, see Table 1). In the case of the Jager, this is due to the fact that these regiments and battalions recruited most of their soldiers from provinces where few Jews lived, while the cavalry obviously preferred recruits with previous riding experience. In the line infantry, the number of Jews was slightly higher than the army-wide average, thus clearly discrediting myths that all Jews served with the Train (transport service or supply corps). The tendency to enlist

Table 1. Jewish Soldiers in the I&R Common Army, 1872-1911

Total Average

Boxaina& Hercegovinian

Artillery

Others

1872

12471 = 1.5%

9757 =1.9%

280 =0.5%

290 =0.4%

613 =1.1%

247 =1.2%

38 =1.3%

103 =0.6%

30 =0.4%

—

592 =4.6%

264 =0.7%

5 =0.8%

24 =2.4%

228 =3.4%

_

_

?

1875

16216 = 1.9*

12457 =2.3%

349 =0.5%

520 =0.6%

844 -1.4%

326 =1.5%

38 =1.3%

121 =0.7%

30 =0.4%

—

878 =5.4%

325 =0.9%

12 =1.6%

30 =2.5%

286 =3.7%

—

—

?

1878

18936 ^2.4%

13879 =2.9%

427 =0.7%

750 =0.8%

989 =1.6%

434 =2%

36 =1.2%

118 =0.7%

57 =0.6%

—

1412 =8.5%

514 =1.4%

23 =2.9%

35 =2.9%

262 =3.7%

—

—

?

1882

25017 -2.9%

18762 =3.4%

426 =0.8%

1081 =1.2%

1304 =2%

443 =2%

53 =1.7%

164 =1%

65 =0.7%-

—

1744 =10%

465 =1.2%

53 =6%

42 =3.4%

415 =5.5%

?

—

?

1885

28194 = 3.2%

20060 =3.7%

702 =1.3%

1308 =1.5%

1576 =2.5%

602 =3%

72 =2.4%

180 =1.2%

73 =0.9%

72 =1.6%

2086 =10.8%

793 =1.8%

34 =3.9%

56 =4.4%

580 =6.8%

?

—

'.'

1888

33228 = 3.8%

21681 =4%

962 =1.7%

1964 =2.2%

2192 =3.3%

702 =3.5%

97 =3.5%

186 =1.3*

83 =1.1%

142 =2.7%

3110 =13.8%

1185 =2.3%

39 =4.4%

71 =5.3%

814 =8.5%

?

—

'!

1892

39459 -3.8%

26790 =4.1%

1285 = 2%

1959 =2.1%

3401 =3.9%

767 =3.5*

89 =3.1%

281 = l.8»

122 =1.4%

157 =2.3%

1850 =9.5%

1683 =3.2%

44 =4.5%

95 =6.5%

837 =6.1»

?

—

99 -4.5*

1895

44217 -3.8%

29785 =4%

1291 =1.8%

1977 =2%

4081 =4.3%

939 =3.4%

113 =4.2%

—

541 =2%

205 =3%

1932 =9.2%

2087 =3.8%

116 =5.1%

80 =5.5%

1033 =6.8%

?

—

37 =3.3%

1898

52272 = 3.8%

36340 =4%.

1474 =1.8%

2275 =2.2%

4423 =4.3%

921 =2.9%

140 =4.9%

—

671 =2.3%

332 =4.2%

2174 =9.5%

2155 =3.7%

159 =6.3%

72 =4.9%

1115 =6.6%

?

—

21 =1*

1902

59784 = 3.9C!

41714 -4.1%

1770 =1.9%

2183 =2%

4610 =4.1*

1602 =3.7%

140 =4.6*

—

715 =2.2%

420 =4.4%

2893 =6.8%

2437 =4.2%

123 =4.3%

62 =3.7%

1100 =6.9%

?

—

15 =0.9%

1905

54033 = 3.6%

37.300 =3.9%.

1760 =2%

1897 =1.8%

3896 =3.4%

1560 =3.1%

118 =3.5%

—

615 =1.9%

571 =3.9%

2617 =7.1%

2241 =4.2%

112 =3.5%

83 =2.6%

1134 =4.9%

?

—'

129 =3.6%

1908

50259 = 3.4%

34238 =3.7%

1711 =2%

1640 =1.6%

4301 =3.1%

1.369 =2.8%

80 =2.2%

—

580 =1.7%

1089 =4.8%

2295 =7%

1724 =3.3%

103 =3.2%

77 =2.4%.

954 =4.1%

?

—

98 =2.6%

I9;'/

44('!f = 3% (46064)

2°0j2 =3.4%, (30366)

1483 =1.8% (1599)

1406 =1.4% (1463)

3917 =2.7% (4070)

1629 =3.3% (1790)

124 =3.1% (125)

—

523 -1.5% (533)

1016 =4.3% (1027)

1941 =6.4% (1948)

1646 =2.9% (1785)

76 =2.4%

58 =2.7%.

861 =3.7%.

200 =0.6% (235)

13 =0.8% (17)

111 --!.4