HORACE M. KALLEN AND THE AMERICANIZATION OF ZIONISM by Sarah L. Schmidt ,,, Dissertation submitted to the Faculty of the Graduate School of the University of Maryland in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy 1973 (I, I \ APPROVAL SHEET Title of Thesis: Hora ce M. Kallen and the Americanization of Zioni sm Name of candidate: Sa r ah L. Schmidt Doctor of Philos ophy, 1973 Thesis and Abstract Approved: My n Lounsbury Associate Profess r Department of American Studies Date Approved: / 72 ABSTRACT Title of Thesis: Horace M. Kallen and the Americanization of Zionism Sarah L. Schmidt, Doctor of Philosophy, 1973 Thesis directed by: Associate Professor Myron Lounsbury Until the founding of the State of Israel in 1948, the years 1914-1921 constituted the high point of Zionism in America. 'Iwo factors were responsible: the outbreak of World War I which shifted major Zionist responsibility to the United States, and the assumption of the leadership of the American Zionist movement by Progressive reformer Louis D. Brandeis. Under Brandeis' Chairmanship the American Zionist organization changed, developing emphases and goals differ- ent from the Zionists in Europe. Responding to intellectual formulations rather than to the pressures of felt anti- semitism, Brandeis-led Zionism rejected the traditional Zionist definition of Palestine as an asylum for the oppressed and adopted, instead, the goal of a Jewish nation that would serve as a model social democracy. In tune with the prevailing Progressive emphasis on efficiency and on scientific management, but in contrast to the relaxed and informal operations of the European Zionists, Brandeis stressed organizational discipline and order. Unlike the Europeans, who formed distinct groups of "practical" or "spiritual" Zionists, the American Zionists combined the two; they were "Messianic pragmatists" who defined a Utopian vision for the Jewish people, and then set out, by the most practical means possible, to achieve it. Much of the American definition of Zionism during this period came from an almost anonymous individual, social philosopher Horace M. Kallen, who acted behind the scenes in many capacities. From 1914 until 1921, when a major dispute Letween the American Zionist leaders and their European counterparts over their differing conceptions of Zionism forced Brandeis and Kallen to leave the Zionist move- ment, Brandeis relied on Kallen in many ways. Kallen, a fellow Progressive, helped to formulate and to implement plans for efficient reform of the organization; he originated many of the ideas that Brandeis and others used as a basis for action in the Jewish community; he became a "missionary" trying to convert both Jews and non-Jews to the Zionist cause; he was, for quite some time, the sole American link with important Zionist activity in Great Britain; he prepared the outlines which American Zionists viewed as basic to the reconstruction of Palestine. Because Kallen did so much for American Zionism during this period, and because his approach to Zionism was influenced both by the philosophy of Pragmatism and the values of Progressivism, a presentation and analysis of his correspondence and records of those years does more than delineate the roles Kallen played as a Zionist activist. It presents, also, a picture of the Zionist movement in America during a crucial decade, showing the way the organi- zation took on an American cast, and relating the development of this Americanized Zionist organization to the mood and values of the dominant American culture of the period. ii PREFACE In 1973, the year in which the State of Israel celebrates its twenty fifth anniversary, the Zionist concept that the Jewish people constitute a national community is a fact of life. Though Americans may debate, for instance, the American foreign policy in the Middle East, the policies of the State of Israel vis-a-vis the Arab States, or the relationship of the Israeli Government to Zionist groups in tne Diaspora, at the same time we must acknowledge that Zionism has become a vital, possibly the most vital, force within the American Jewish community. F.urthermore, there is but scant challenge to the idea that one can be, at the same time, a Zionist and a good American; 1 the issue of dual loyalty has become moot. This was not always the case. In early twentieth century America the dominant leaders of the German Jewish community considered Zionism a form of "tribalism," and for rabbis and laymen alike any manifestation of Zionism was an offense to their Americanism and an obstacle to Jewish adjustment in a democratic environment. A prominent spokesman for Reform Judaism once referred to Zionism as a "momentary inebriation of morbid minds," and in 1904 the lay head of the Jewish com- munity, banker Jacob Schiff, refused to meet Zionist leader Theodor Herzl, writing, "I am an American pure and simple and cannot possibly belong to two nations ??.. 112 Among the masses of immigrants who flocked to the United iii States from Eastern Europe between 1880 and 1914, Zionism also had little support. Too busy trying to make a living in a strange new urban industrial environment for much organizational or intellectual activity, the new arrivals tended to gravitate towards groups of old-country friends, or towards various shades of socialism. A weak Federation of American Zionists during its strongest year, 1908, had only 12,000 members, mainly in scattered groups of Hebraists from Eastern Europe who resented the Federation's leaders, 3 a handful of Americanized Jews of German background. Only a few years later Zionism had become a major force within the Jewish community, its organization increased many- fold in members, financial resources, and influence. Until the founding of the State of Israel in 1948, the years from 1914 to 1921 constituted the high points of Zionist interest and activity in America. Two factors were responsible. In 1914 the outbreak of World War I in Europe dislocated the World Zionist headquarters in Berlin, and the Zionists in the United States, the only major neutral country, undertook the responsibility of maintaining the continuity of the Zionist movement during the war years by forming a Provisional Executive Committee for Zionist affairs. The man they per- suaded to head that Committee, a new "convert" to Zionism, was the Progressive leader famous as "The People's Attorney, 11 Louis D. Brandeis. Under Brandeis' Chairmanship the American Zionist organi- zation changed. It took on the values qf its leader, values iv that he brought with him as a prominent Progressive reformer. Instead of remaining one rather ineffective extension of the World Zionist organization, American Zionism developed emphases and goais of its own. Responding to intellectual formulations and to pressures of imagination rather than to the pressures of felt anti-Semitism, Brandeis-led Zionism rejected the traditional Zionist definition of Palestine as an asylum for the oppressed and adopted, instead, the goal of a Jewish nation that would serve as a model social democ- racy. In tune with the prevailing Progressive emphasis on efficiency and on scientific management, but in contrast to the relaxed and informal operations of the European Zionists, Brandeis stressed organizational discipline and order. Unlike the Europeans, who formed distinct groups of "practical" or "spiritual" Zionists, the American Zionists combined the two; they were "Messianic pragmatists" who defined a Utopian vision for the Jewish people, and then set out, by the most practical means possible, to achieve it. As this study will show, much of the American definition of Zionism during this period came from an almost anonymous individual acting behind the scenes in many capacities, intel- lectual and practical. This man was social philosopher Horace M. Kallen, best known in American intellectual history for his theory of cultural pluralism, a 1915 response to the then- prevaiiing pressures for conformity through "Americanization." Kallen had adopted Zionism in 1903 as a ? secular mode of retain- ing Jewish identity, an alternative to the Jewish religious V tradition which seemed to him to be incompatible with twen- tieth century America. He had come to Zionism primarily through the influence of two of his Harvard professors, literary historian Barrett Wendell, who interpreted the Hebraic spirit of prophetic social justice as the inspiration for the American founding fathers, and William James, whose philosophy of Pragmatism emphasized the reality of manyness. Kallen extended Wendell's identification of Hebraic tradition with American idealism; he defined Zionism, the movement to renationalize the Jewish people, as an opportunity to found a model democracy based on the same concepts of liberty and equality which, for him, symbolized America. At the same time he applied James's concept of pluralism to the ethnic groups, among them the Jews, who were beginning to become prominent in the United States, and argued that preservation of differences constituted the true measure of equality the Declaration of Independence had set forth. Zionism, thus, was able to fulfill two functions for Kallen--it allowed him to retain his Jewish identity and to become, thereby, a better American. In 1911 Kallen became an instructor of philosophy and psychology at the University of Wisconsin. When he moved to the Middle West he left his familiar environment. Lonely, and somewhat out of place in Madison, he felt the need to assert his Jewish identity more strongly and stepped up his pace of Zionist involvement. In 1913, after reading that Brandeis had expressed some interest in an economic project vi for Palestine, Kallen wrote to him of his own Zionist ideas. A few months later, just prior to the time that Brandeis assumed the Chairmanship of the Provisional Emergency Com- mittee for Zionist affairs in August 1914, Kallen submitted to him a memorandum, outlining in practical terms his more developed vision of a Jewish State as an extension of American ideals of freedom and justice for all. Brandeis' subsequent statements show that Kallen's presentations must have im- pressed him; after Brandeis became a Zionist leader he took over Kallen's ideas as his own and used them as the basis for the new, American, emphases he gave to Zionism. From 1914 until 1921, when a major dispute between the American Zionist leaders and their European counterparts over their definitions of Zionism forced Brandeis and Kallen to leave the Zionist movement, Brandeis relied on Kallen in many ways. Kallen, a fellow Progressive, helped to formulate and to implement plans for efficient reform of the organization; he originated many of the ideas that Brandeis and others used as a basis for action in the Jewish community; he became a "missionary," using his own rationale for Zionism and his theory of cultural pluralism to convert both Jews and non- Jews to the Zionist cause; he was, for quite some time, the sole American link with important Zionist activity in Great Britain; he prepared the outlines for the Utopian society which American Zionists viewed as basic to the reconstruction of Palestine. Because Kallen did so much for American Zionism during this period, and because his Zionism was an extension vii of his own beliefs as a Pragmatist and as a Progressive, a presentation and analysis of the correspondence and records of those years, which he preserved with great care, does more than delineate the roles Kallen played as a Zionist activist. It presents, also, a picture of the way the Zionist movement in America took on its own, American, cast, and relates the development of this Americanized Zionist organization to the mood and values of the dominant American culture of the period. My method in presenting this story differs from tradi- tional dissertation presentations. In mixing the narrative of Zionist history with letters to and from Kallen I have attempted to create a sense of the experience that Kallen had as he tried to influence the definition and direction of American Zionism. Little by little the reader will confront conditions within the Zionist movement much as Kallen did. Hopefully, his interaction with Kallen's correspondence will help him to sense the Zionist history of this period as it unfolded, to participate in "the happening" as it was taking place. To add perspective to the account, I have included, also, Kallen's retrospective recollections of the Zionist organization of this period, and of his involvement with it, as he has revealed them to me in three lengthy interviews and an ongoing correspondence. "American Zionism is very much in need of a historian, 11 wrote Eric Goldman in 1952. The same is true in 1973. This study is a beginning step into an area that sorely needs to viii go beyond the propaganda and de f ensive-oriented tracts that comprise the current available literature on American Zionism. Through all these years Horace Kallen's files have lain dor- mant; so has any knowledge of the major contribution he made to the American Zionist movement. I am grateful that he has allowed me to work with his papers and that he has been so helpful in answering all my questions. And I am pleased that I have been able to complete this portrait of him while he still is able to read and to enjoy it. TABLE OF CONTENTS Page Preface. ? ? ii PART I : THE BACKGROUND 1 The Setting .. . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 2 The Man. ? ? ? . . . . . . 31 3 The Ideas ?. . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 PART II: HORACE M. KALLEN: THE ZIONIST CHAPTER OF HIS LIFE 4 1911-1914: The Foundations ??? 86 5 August 1914: Converting a New Leader for a New Zionism .?? . . . . . . 103 6 1914: The Efficient Reformer. 128 7 1915-1916: Developing an Americanized Zionism-- Some Successes, Some Failures. ? . ? ??. 165 8 1915-1916: The Zionist Missionary. 184 9 1915-1917: An International Liaison. 209 10 1918: The Messianic Pragmatist ??? 234 11 1919-1921: The Disillusioned Zionist ??. 268 PART III: CONCLUSION 12 The Americanization of Zionism ??? . . . . . . . 303 Appendix A. . . . . . . . 319 Notes. ? . . . . 325 Selected Bibliography. . . . . T 362 PART I THE BACKGROUND CHAPTER I THE SETTING I. Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, Send these, the homeless tempest-tos'd to me, 1 I lift my lamp beside the golden door! The Jews of the United States were among the millions of exiles who flocked to the New World. As refugees, tired and poor, rejected and homeless, they came seeking fulfillment of the promise of new beginnings. At first they arrived in ones and twos, struggling individuals, unnoticed and unmeasured. But during the forty years between 1881 and 1920 a whole people, numbering close to two million, found a homeland in the Un.i te d States. 2 Twenty-three fugitives from the outreaches of the Spanish Inquisition founded the first American Jewish community in 1654. Despite early intolerance and barriers to complete religious freedom, other small Jewish groups followed. These were almost entirely of Spanish-Portuguese origin, and filtered chiefly into Jewish communities concentrated in a half dozen seaboard center~; at the time of the founding of the Republic, the 1 2 Jewish population numbered only between 2,000 and 3,000, less than one-tenth of 1 per cent of the total colonial population. 3 These early settlers were successful merchants, with valuable trad e connections in England, Holland and the West Indies. They plied their trade in the seaboard towns, and were part of the mercantile aristocracy of the time. By 1840 immigration and natural increase had raised the Jewish popula- tion to about 15,000 in a total of 17,000,000. Historians generally refer to this period of American-Jewish history, 1654-1840, as the Spanish period, for despite the presenct of a considerable number of German jews, the majority of American Jews at this time traced descent from Spanish or Portuguese exiles, whose wealthy leaders set the tone of Jewish life by adhering to Spanish religious and communal 4 tradition. During the generation following 1840, the United States experienced a major period of expansion. Population increased rapidly, with large groups of immigrants coming from Ireland, Scandinavia and Germany. Among the Germans who settled in the United States during this period were close to 200,000 Jews. Though some of the German Jews settled on the Atlantic coast, many moved into the interior and founded Jewish communities in Chicago, Cincinnati, Memphis, St. Paul and Indianapolis. The German Jews, long accustomed to peddling and trading, took up the function of middlemen among their former countrymen. Beginning mode stly, with packs on their backs or with horse and wagon, ma ny itinerant peddlers soon were able to open 3 retail stores and quickly elevated themselves to the American middle class. Ultimately, many of the shopkeepers became merchants on a still larger scale, and the most successful became bankers and brokers. Within a generation a new Jewish ' ~ristocracy took form, wholly apart from the old Spanish enclaves. At the same time these German Jews quietly trans- formed the character of American Jewry. Less assimilated into mainstream America, more numerous and more spread out over the continent, the German Jews quickly absorbed the Spanish com- munities. During the forty years from 1840 to 1880, German Jews founded religious, philanthropic and fraternal organi- zations on the pattern they had known in Western Europe. Reform Judaism, a product of Germany, grew and flourished in the new, less conventional, environment; because, however, it dispensed with much of Jewish tradition and custom, Reform Judaism severed the thread of continuity with much of the Jewish past. Jewish living came to mean only the observance of a limited ritual combined with community stress on organ- ized charity in the form of hospitals, orphan asylums, and various benevolent associations. 5 By 1880 the number of Jews in the United States was still a fraction of the population, 250,000 of about 50,000,000, one half of 1%. But the wave of immigration which swept over the shores of the North Atlantic between 1880 and 1920 in- cluded 2,000,000 Jews; in the single year 1906 over 150,000 arrived, more than had come in any decade before the civil War. Masses of me n and women from Ea stern Europe poured into a few 4 eastern ports, notably New York, and by 1920 the Jews had grown to fourteen times their number in 1880, three and one- quarter percent of the total population. These were the years when machine industry was growing rapidly, and the bulk of the new immigra nts, poor and unskilled, became an indus- trial proletariat. They earned their living as machine hands, chiefly in the needle trades, and saved their pennies to send to Europe to help rescue the relatives they had left behind. This wave of immigration, a direct reaction to active anti- Semitism and mass pogroms in Russia, reunited in the new country entire communities with continuity of culture and tradition. Landsmen, groups of old-country men, tended to stay together, and were reluctant to discard their Jewish heritage; they reacted to the alien pattern of German Jewish life by drawing in unto themselves and organizing their own study circles and social welfare agencies. Eastern European leaders and intellectuals continued with the literary and political activity they had known in Europe, building up, for instance, a large and influential Yiddish press and an active socialist-oriented trade movement. The Germans had little empathy for these penniless immigrants of the working class, whose socialism and ideas of trade unions threatened the foundations of their status as successful American capi- talists. German Jews adopted a patronizing and condescending attitude towards the newcomers, excluding them from their social functions and social institution-s, and insisting that they give up their culture and traditions as a prerequisite 5 to becoming good Americans. Turn of the century accounts show that tension between the two groups dominated the life of the Jewish community. 6 Two distinct segments, then, formed the Jewish community during the Progressive Era; between them there was little interaction and considerable antagonism. Class differences between the two groups, the different dates of their migration, and the differences in their culture and traditions contribu- ted to the gap. Stephen Wise, who was later to play an active role as leading spokesman for the American Jewish community, recalled in his autobiography that he had lived part of the early years of his life in the "ghetto of German born and German descended Jews of New York ??.? I barely knew or even touched the life of a much larger group of New York Jews who had come to America since 1881, the Eastern _European Jews .? The German Jews had an additional good reason for re- sentment of the newer immigrants. The mass influx of the latecomers, and their heavy concentration in a few cities, halted the process of assimilation of the older Jews into American society. When the dominant non-Jewish society began to develop the stereotype "Jew," based on the distinct lan- guage and cultural habits of the Eastern Europeans, the new anti-Semitism did not discriminate between the two communities. The first wave of major anti-Semitism in the U.S. in the 1880's and 1890's forced the Germans to rethink their assumed accep- tance as complete and loyal Americans, and, as anti-Semi_tism 6 increased, a rapprochement between the two Jewish groups 8 slowly began. During the twentieth century the American Jewish commu- nity has gradually achieve d union~ if not unity. The reasons are many, but two stand out. Like most of America's sub- cultures, the majority of this country's Jews generally have accommodated themselves to demands made by American standards of life and culture, not entirely relinquishing Jewish tradi- tion, but finding some "middle way" comfortable to all. Even more imp0rtant, perhaps, is that the overwhelming proportion of the Jewish community, to a greater or lesser degree, has come to identify with and support the State of Israel--the end product of a half century of struggle on the part of the Zionist movement. This American Jewish support for Israel is an especially surprising development, since the appearance of Zionism on the American scene at the turn of this century evoked such hostility on the part of the Jewish Establishment that its leaders referred to it jeeringly as "the momentary inebriation of morbid minds. 119 II. The modern social and political movement called Zionism began with the convening of the first Zionist Congress in 1897 by Theodor Herzl, a highly Westernized, nearly assimilated, Viennese-Jewish journalist. One year earlier Herzl had written a book, The J ewish State, which was to transform the Jewish world. Herzl's the s is involved several assumptions: 7 (1) The Jews constitute a nation in the psychic and cultural sense, but they lack the attributes of political nationality; (2) anti-Semitism and Jewish suffering are the inevitable consequences of the Jews' statelessness; (3) Judaism as a civilization or culture is in danger of extinction unless the Jews are enabled to defend themselves physically and to express their unique spiritual nature; (4) a national state is the only institution which can guarantee such self-defense and self-expression; (5) Jewish survival and continued Jewish contribution to the mainstream of world culture can be ens~red 10 only if the Jews obtain an independent national state. Though Zionist groups had been active in Eastern Europe for some time, propagandizing the national idea and urging immigration to the ancient homeland in Palestine, and though a purely cultural movement dedicated to the revival of Jewish literature and the Hebrew language had preceded this limited political activity, it was Herzl's enunciation of the "Jewish Question," and his dynamic leadership, that transformed an ethereal vision of a "Return to Zion" into a political move- ment. The First Zionist Congress enunciated the so-called Basle Platform which was to become the keystone of the world Zionist movement. Zionism, as the Basle Platform defined it, "seeks to create for the Jewish people a home in Palestine secured by public law." In the early years of this century the leaders of this "political Zionism" emphasized the diplo- matic activities of the movement, trying to pressure various European governments into helping grant Jews a political 8 charter allotting them a piece of land on which to build an independent state. After 1903, when the Zionist Congress rejected Great Britain's offer of Uganda for the Jewish nation, the political Zionist movement added the proviso that only Palestine, because of its unique associations with Jewish historical development, could provide the territory for . 11 t h e future Jewish State. Zionist leaders then began to direct their efforts towards the Turkish Government, which had title to Palestine as part of the Ottoman Empire. Results were ~egligible, however, particu- larly after the nationalist oriented 1908 revolt of the Young Turks, and Zionism, as an effective political movement, appeared moribund. World War I brought a sudden new oppor- tunity. Turkey joined with the Central powers, and Chaim Weizmann, an active Zionist since the early days of the move- ment, led a small group of English Zionists in revived diplo- matic efforts, working through the British Cabinet as representative of the Allied Powers. In November 1917, when Great Britain conquered Palestine, the British Cabinet issued a promise to the Jewish community that came to be known as the "Balfour Declaration." The key phrase of the ? "Balfour Decla- ration" read: "His Majesty's Government view with favor the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and reli- gious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, 9 or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country." On the basis of this statement of official British policy, the Allied Powers granted Great Britain the Mandate for Palestine at the San Remo Conference in April 1920, with the "responsibility for placing the country under such. conditions as will secure the establishment of a Jewish national home." Many Zionists at that time, particu- larly the leaders of the movement in America, considered this commitment the fulfillment of the goals Herzl had set for the Z.i on.i st ~~vement. 12 At the same time, however, that Herzl and his followers were pursuing diplomatic activities, most Eastern Europeans and some Westerners represented a so-called "practical school" of Zionism. They wanted the Zionist movement to concentrate primarily on awakening the national consciousness of the Jewish masses, believing that once the masses became nation- ally conscious they would themselves motivate their energies for the creation of a Jewish State in Palestine. These Zionists worked for constant colonization of Palestine and the strengthening of the internal Zionist organization. Particularly after the failure of attempts at diplomatic negotiation with the Turks, the Zionist movement began to emphasize the programs of the practical Zionists; by 1913 the Executive of the World Zionist congress contained not one political Zionist. The negotiations that led to the issuance of the "Balfour Declaration" were done apart from, and almost without the knowledge of, the official World 10 . . . . 13 Zionist Organization. All during this early period there was also a group known as spiritual or cultural Zionists. Their leader was a Hebrew essayist who wrote under the name Achad Ha'am--in Hebrew, "one of the people.'' Cultural Zionists believed in the restoration df Palestine as a center for the preservation of the eternal values of Judaism, a spiritual generator that would preserve the Jewish communities throughout the world. Not Jewry, but Judaism, they held, was in peril, and Palestine must look be- yond a role as asylum for the oppressed. Colonization mus~ be slow and sound; hurried large scale growth would endanger the quality of the new Jewish homeland and lessen its impact on the Diaspora Jewish communities. Cultural Zionists were always a minority within the Zionist movement, but they were articulate and their ideas carried weight beyond their 14 numbers. Though differences between political and practical Zion- ists caused much controversy in the early years of the Zionist movement, creating bitter factionalism between its Western and Eastern European branches, actually both were concerned with differing means to a similar end. Zionism's ultimate goal always was to be a Jewish State secured by law, a state that would provide the solution to the political, social and cul- tural problems of the Jewish people by permitting them to develop a free national life. Conflict within the movement itself as to the role of religion, Hebraic culture, capitalism and socialism in the homeland-to-be forms much of the Zionist 11 history of the twentieth century. Indeed, differing priori- ties inherent in the different perspective of some American Zionist leaders led to a serious break and a separatist path for them after World War I. Nevertheless, when Louis D. Brandeis, the leader of the American Zionists, issued his own definition of Zionism he adhered closely to the 1896 Basle Platform. "Zionism seeks to establish in Palestine, for such Jews as choose to go and remain there ??? a legally secured home, where they may live together and lead a Jewish life," he said in 1915, and it is this concept of Zionist aims to 15 which this study refers. III. American activity on behalf of the colonization of Palestine--practical Zionism--began in 1884, with the estab- lishment of a branch of the Eastern European "Lovers of Zion" (Hoveve Zion) Society in New York. Political Zionism began in 1898, with the formation of a Federation of American Zionists, a loosely organized federation of groups interested in Zionism. Yet there had been isolated forerunners. The first American Jewish exponent of Zionism was Mordecai Emanuel Noah, self-styled "Citizen of the United States of America, late consul of the said States to the City and Kingdom of Tunis, High Sheriff of New York ?... 11 Influ- enced by the unhappy plight of the Jews he had seen in his travels through Europe and Africa, and smarting from the insult of his mysterious removal as Consul to Tunis--an action 12 which he attributed to anti-Semitism in the State Department-- Noah conceived of a plan to establish a Zion in the New World. In 1825 he proclaimed himself governor and judge over Israel, and persuaded a Christian friend to buy land for a Jewish republic on Grand Island, in the Niagara River in upstate New York. Noah named his colony Ararat, and conceived of it as an asylum "where our people may so familiarize themselves with the science of government . as may qualify them for that great and final restoration to their ancient heritage, which the time~ so powerfully indicate." No one, however, accepted Noah's plan to colonize at. Ararat, and in his late years he returned to his original dream of a Jewish State in . 16 Pa 1 est1ne. Six years later, Rabbi Isaac Leeser, an influential German-born Rabbi of a Spanish-Jewish congregation in Phila- delphia, called "for a time when the land of Israel is again to be ours." Though he did not suggest that American Jews settle there, Leeser saw Palestine as a place of refuge for the oppressed Jews of Russia, Germany and Hungary. Close to the modern American attitude towards Zionism, he felt that the role of American Jews would be to provide financial sup- port for agricultural colonies in "the land which is the Israelite's home and [in whichJ he should always regard h i.m se lf as h avi. ng an i. nterest i. n i. ts soi? 1 . ,.17 The first wave of Russian Jewish immigration, the after- math of the Russian pogroms of 1881, aroused the conscience of poet Emma Lazarus, member of a wealthy Portuguese Jewish family 13 long assimilated in America and far removed from all Jewish associations. Her later poems are a rallying cry for the dispersed of Israel, full of a vision of the Jewish people restored to its land. The re-establishment in Palestine of "an independent Jewish nationality" was the only remedy which was not a "temporary palliative." She was not afraid that "the establishment of a free Jewish state [would haveJ the remotest bearing upon the position of the American Jews"; it was clearly the responsibility of American Jews, in their prosperity, to help establish "a home for the homeless, a nati.o n f or the d enati.o na.1 i? ze d . " lS These early American manifestations of Zionism had about them a touch of the romantic--Jews, far removed from actual suffering or persecution, seeking to minister to their brethren through an asylum in Palestine. Herzl's call for a Jewish homeland had about it much of the same tone. Both Herzl and Emma Lazarus, for instance, had none of the Eastern Europe Zionist experience which defined the need for coloni- zation in a practical way--a mode of release both from czarist oppression and from Orthodox Jewish repression. American philanthropic interest in Palestine differed from Herzl, though, in a very crucial way. Comfortably assimilated in the open society of nineteenth century America, Lazarus and the other early Zionists would not have assented to Herzl's assumption that only by creating a home for the Jewish people in Palestine could the Jews purge themselves of their Diaspora inhibitions and face the world on free and equal terms. They 14 already had found their "Promised Land," and merely wished to provide another one for those whom America could not accommodate. Thus, even before formal Zionist activity in America had begun, there were already the seeds of an ~mphasis on Zionism as a charitable social work enterprise --a function Zionist organizations have retained in the Amer.i can Jew.i sh commun. ity toth i' s d ay. 19 IV. Between the years 1884-1914, American Zionism, reflecting the American Jewish community as a whole, consisted of two distinct segments. Zionist activity started with Eastern European Yiddish-speaking transplants, who founded several little "Lovers of Zion" societies in the l880's and 1890's in New York, Boston, Chicago and Baltimore. These newcomers, though content to live out their lives in the United States, found satisfaction in continuing their practical Zionist activity to help establish colonies in Palestine. The exis- tence of these groups was understandably haphazard in a country populated by relatively few Jews, most of whom were of alien German extraction, far removed from interest in traditional Jewish values. The "Lovers of Zion" were weak in membership, in finances, in clear cut goals, and in leadership. By 1897 the fledgling Zionist movement in Amer.i ca was nearly d ead . 20 It came to life again under the aegis of German-born Dr. Richard Gottheil, a distinguished orientalist and professor 15 of Semitic languages at Columbia University. Gottheil's father, despite the fact that he served as rabbi of the most influential anti-Zionist Reform congregation in the country, had a deep emotional interest in Palestine, an interest which he had passed on to his son. In 1897 Richard Gottheil attended the first Zionist Congress in Basle, and returned to this country inspired by Herzl and determined to organize a Zionist movement in America. The following year Gottheil called for a national conference of Zionist societies; nearly one hundred Hebrew speaking clubs, Jewish educational socie- ties, synagogue organizations and fraternal lodges responded. They formed a loosely organized Federation of American Zionist Societies, in which the unit was the society, not the indi- vidual member, and which included many Jewish groups that had little, if any, Zionist knowledge or orientation. Though the leadership came from the German Jewish community, the members of most of the societies were recent Eastern European arrivals. Like the "Lovers of Zion," many of these groups were short- lived, and the strength they contributed to the central body, including the essential item of financial aid, was meager and . 21 precarious. Louis Lipsky, one of the most active of the early Zionists, and editor of its English language journal The Maccabean, recalled that these early years of American Zionism were "provincial. Our system of taxation was ineffective, and discipline was quite unknown." Professor Gottheil, the organization's unchalleng~d perennial president, 16 used to take his annual vacation in Europe during the summer, consistently missing the Federation convention in the Catskill Mountains of New York. At these conventions the few young active workers, mainly Eastern Europeans who had come to America as adolescents, received some information about the worldwide Zionist movement and its goals. For the rest of the year, however, Zionist activity consisted of collecting for the Jewish National Fund, selling shares of the Jewish Colonial Trust, and singing Hatikvah, "The Hope," the Zionist anthem. Because the national leaders of the Federation of American Zionists were upper class Westernized Jews, and the rank and file were part of the lower class immigrant community, there was a communications gap and little hope of effective organization or action. Stephen Wise, a student of Gottheil's at Columbia, served as the Federation's first secretary. Years later Wise remembered that "there was little or no contact be- tween Eastside and Westside Zionists" beyond the fact that he and Gottheil felt obliged to attend the "long" and "drawn out" meetings of some constituent groups. Bernard Richards, an active member of one of these groups, pictured Gottheil as "aloof, solemn, and fearfully formal." Yet Gottheil always was re-elected, for there were no other candidates with his stature in the American Jewish community who had the time and 22 resources to devote to an abstract cause. In 1902 Herzl, recognizing the weakness of the Federation of American Zionists, sent his own English secretary, Jacob deHaas, to the United States, with instructions to provide 17 some professional guidance and inspiration for the fledgling movement. deHaas, a London journalist and one of Herzl's first adherents in England, became the paid secretary of the Federation and the editor of its English-language monthly, The Maccabean. But within two years deHaas had to resign from both posts; there was not enough money in the Federa- 23 tion's coffers to pay him an adequate salary. The 1903 Kishineff pogrom in Russia gave American Zionists the first tangible opportunity to use their organized strength in action. Kishineff was a direct intrusion of the Jewish need implicit in the condition of the European Jews; the unprovoked anti-Semitic massacre was just the proof Zionist speakers needed to show that the Jews desperately needed a land of their own. Zionists were leaders in organ- izing meetings and demonstrations, including a protest parade down New York's Fifth Avenue. Judah Magnes, a Rabbi who the German Reform establishment had cast from their ranks for his pro-Zionist ideas, emerged as a new Zionist leader. He quickly organized a group which collected $15,000 to aid Jewish self defense in Russia, and won over many new converts to Zionism by his smooth "Western" appearance and language. Lipsky described this time as "thrilling," with "scenes at mass mee t i. ngs transcend [.i ng J d escri. pti.o n. ,,24 Though Zionist enthusiasts expected a large influx of new converts into the fold after Kishineff, when the shock and indignation subsided s o did the interest in Zionism. For the next decade, until the o u tbreak of World War I , Zionism 18 in America continued to be a small and feeble enterprise, providing an outlet for a few devotees whose spokesmen often sounded trite and apologetic. Zionist societies came and went, with a yearly turnover sometimes approaching fifty percent. There were a few stable components to the Federa- tion--a Zionist fraternal order, Order Sons of Zion; Hadassah, a women's organization founded in 1912; the Intercollegiate Zionist Organization and its counterpart for adolescents, Young Judea; a weekly Yiddish newspaper and a monthly English magazine. There were also two large and active semi- autonomous groups, the Socialist oriented Labor Zionists, and Mizrachi, the Orthodox religious Zionists. Yet at the Federation's pre-war convention in 1914, the organization reported a total membership of 15,000 and adopted a yearly budget of only $12,150. Clearly its influence and its re- sources fell short of its potential in the American Jewish community, which already numbered more than 3,000,000. The American milieu seemed to discourage the Zionist efforts; one careful study of the Zionist journal The Maccabe an has concluded that until 1914 American Zionism had "exerted no positive leadership in moulding Jewish communal institutions ??. nor did it become a decisive force in determining the 25 ideological patterns of American born Jews." v. Why was the transplantation of the Zionist idea onto American soil so difficult? There are many reasons, some 19 deriving from conditions in America generally at that time, some particular to the structure and minority position of the Jewish community. In a very basic sense, compelling economic factors were a.t work during these years of mass immigration that made affiliation with, and activity for, Zionism difficult. The newcomers often arrived literally penniless; at the turn of the century Jewish immigrants brought with them "an average of only eight dollars a head and faced the stark necessity of finding work to keep alive." The Eastern Europeans who would be needed to make up any large scale organization, unlike the Germans in earlier years, tended to remain in their port of entry, where they found work in the most poorly paid indus- trial trades. They lived meagerly, working overtime and saving money to help bring over more quickly the relatives and friends they had left behind. Not only was there no extra money for what appeared to be an abstract cause, there was neither time nor energy for ideological "hobbies." Eastern Europeans active in the Zionist movement, like Lipsky, had come to the United States at the very beginning of the years of mass immigration, and had had time to gain something of an economic footing by the early twentieth 26 century. It was only natural that under such financial hardships, and amid the degrading conditions of the sweatshop system, that the labor movement should attract the Jewish workers. The unions not only fought to improve the working conditions 20 of the laborers; they represented, also, a means through which the newcomers could adjust to the new society. It is quite understandable, therefore, that the activities of the unions and the propaganda of the Socialist organizations seemed far more important to the immigrants than the fortunes of the Zionist movement, which in no immediate way affected 27 or improved their own complicated existence. A second factor was the lack of dynamic leadership necessary for successful organizational activity. Leaders of the Federation of American Zionists like Gottheil were far re- moved from the rank and file and quite ignorant of their needs, problems, and modes of expression. Early Labor Zionists re- called, "The Zionist office had little contact with the Jewish masses. When Zionism occasionally descended upon the J ewish ghetto, it appeared like a ghost wearing a silk topper." By contrast, the leaders of the trade unions and the Socialist organizations were the aggressive intellectuals of the immi- grant communities, schooled in the art of leadership. The speed with which Zionist groups formed and disbanded, the existence of so many groups each with small membe rship, the petty rivalries among groups and the lack of confidence of the constituency in the Zionist leadership, all contributed to the instability of the Zionist movement during this per. iod . 28 ?Another problem was the distance of Palestine, both physically and ideologically, from the lives and concerns of the America n Jewish population. Palestine was far away, and, 21 except for rare occasions when visitors came and told color- ful tales, it was difficult to conceive of a Jewish state as a vivid reality. Zionist activities at the time consisted mainly of "propaganda and polemics," according to Abraham Goldberg, an early Labor Zionist; to workers grappling with the problems of life on New York's East Side, the idealism of the Socialists seemed more pertinent and closer to home . . 29 than the idealism of the Zionists. Most of the Eastern European newcomers came from commu- nities that adhered to the Orthodox practice of Judaism. There was a small Orthodox Zionist group; the traditional Orthodox position, however, was that the dispersion of the Jews from their homeland was a sign of God ' s displeasure, and that the Diaspora would end only with the coming of a Messiah, certainly not through the intervention of human measures. Orthodox Rabbis equated Zionism with assimilation, and con- sidered it the blasphemous destroyer of the traditional faith. Though the majority of immigrants dropped their Orthodox . practices and beliefs once they came to America, this was not an immediate process, and initially the diatribes of 3O Orthodox spokesmen against Zionism carried great weight. But the strongest pressure mitigating against Zionist activity was the pressure for Americanization , the attempt to divest the immigrant of his former cultural habits and customs , and to make him adhere solely to the American way of life as set by the Anglo-Saxon stock. As soon as the immigrants arrived in the United States,. they encountered 22 strong forces drawing them away from their own cultural forms, which may have included Zionism, towards "The American Way." The humanitarian urge to improve the lot of the immigrants, implicit in the message of the Social Gospel, often took the form of settlement house indoctrination; in some instances, young social workers came to live among the foreigners to "show them by direct contact how to live as true Americans." Despite their best intentions, the activities of the settle- ment house workers implied to the sensitive newcomers that the old ways were not truly American, and ought, therefore, to be discarded. 31 One of the most influential settlement houses on the East Side of New York was the Educational Alliance. Its first director, David Blaustein, noted in his memoirs, "Special effort [was] made to impress the children with the idea of patriotism and acquaint them with American customs and usages." This stress after school and on weekends em- phasized the message of the public schools, which, during this period especially, had a far-reaching influence in molding ideas to fit the standards expected by Anglo-Saxon Americans. Mary Antin's The Promised Land is but one in- stance of the school's role in the dramatic transformation . 32 of immigrant Jew into aspiring American. The pressure to Americanize, with its corollary to forget the Jewish national aspiration, came to the Eastern European newcomers not only from the American non-Jewish community. Perhaps even stronge r and more influential was 23 the active hostility towards Zionism of the established Jewish community, whose leaders, after having worked hard to establish themselves as loyal Americans, feared for their precariously balanced status. "We have fought our way through to liberty, equality and fraternity; none shall rob us of these gains ?..? I refuse to allow myself to be called a Zionist, I am an American," proclaimed Henry 33 Morganthau, Sr. At the beginning of the twentieth century, a distinct pictorial stereotype of the Jew began to emerge in newspapers and on the stage. This pattern of physical features and form of expression based itself on the Jewish immigrants, and the German Jews rightfully feared that the emerging anti-Semitism would engulf them as well. Because of their belief that safety both for themselves as well as for the immigrant masses lay in an adjustment of the Jewish way of life to the common American pattern, the German Jewish communal leaders worked hard to hasten the acculturation of the newer immigrants. Fraternal orders and women's groups devoted themselves to the uplift of the sweatshop workers, providing them with free medi- cal care, food and clothing, as well as lectures on American culture and lessons in the English language, doling out philanthropy in an impersonal and patronizing manner that qui. t e an t agoni? ze d 34 1? t s reci? pi? ents. To the Reform Jews Zionism was a philosophy of foreign origin, not suitable for true Americans. "I am an American pure and simple, and cannot possibly belong to two n a tions, 11 24 wrote Jacob Schiff, a lavish philanthropist and acknowledged lay leader of the established Jewish community. Rabbi David Phillipson represented the sentiments of the Reform leader- ship in expressing their almost religious devotion to America 1 a.s the Promised Land, when, in 1895, he pronounced "The United States is our Palestine and Washington our Jerusalem." The American Israelite, organ of the Reform Jews, made their position clear that "the whole noise [of Zionism] is made by some persons of recent immigration, with whom we American Jews . 35 have absolutely nothing to do." What troubled Zionists most were the charges of double patriotism the Westernized Jews, out of their own insecurity, continued to level against them. Louis Lipsky recalled that "Jacob H. Schiff, speaking with a delightful German accent, used to elaborate upon its [dual loyalties'] dangers. His words carried in the press [and] we had to spend weeks to catch up with them." In 1907 Schiff publicly dissociated himself from Zionism. "Speaking as an American," he said, "I .cannot for a moment conceive that one can be at the same time a true American and an honest adherent of the Zionist movement." At the time, Schiff's statement was extremely influential; in reply, the struggling Zionists could only protest and hold meetings. With pressure from both outside and from within their community, the masses of new Jewish immig~ants quickly chose to become Americans--and just as qui. ck l y 1 os t t h ei. r i. n t eres t i? nth e Z?i on?i st movement. 36 25 VI The America that the new immigrants were so eager to become absorbed into was the American society of the early twentieth century, the America of the period which histori- ans have come to call the Progressive Era. These years, between the Spanish-American War and World War I, were a time when the heretofore agrarian and commercial economy of the United States was shifting to become an urban and indus- trial one. The Jeffersonian image of the self-sufficient yeoman, and the individualistic American ethic shaped in the rural past, suddenly seemed obsolete and irrelevant in the new technological and industrial age. Many Americans expressed concern about the position of the individual within the country's increasingly industrial society, and argued that some changes would have to be made if the United States was to survi. ve w.i th i. ts values i. ntact. 37 Between 1896 and 1914, therefore, there arose various attempts at reform, operating at the local, state and national levels of government. Though these efforts were uncoordinated, diffuse rather than united, taken together they constituted a broad movement which, at the time, appeared to be "progressive, 11 i.e.?, advancing towards a more perfect condition of society. Reformers, mainly independent professionals and small businessmen, sought different goals: political reforms, to destroy the urban political machines and their attendant corruption; economic reforms, to regulate public utilities and to curtail corporate powe~; and social 26 reforms, to ameliorate the lot of the innocent victims of the new industrial order, like women, children and the poor of the cities' slums. The solutions they presented were complex, confused, and often contradictory; they were trying to preserve the competitive and individualistic American tradition, but, at the same time, they did not want to sacri- fice the affluence and modernity associated with technological progress. Economically secure and optimistic in their social views, yet anxious about their own status in society, the middle-class progressives enacted only mild measures that never rea 11y t h reatene d 38 ex.i sti.n g power re 1 a t?i onsh i' ps. Though historians have come to judge both the intent and the results of the progressive reformers rather severely, during the early twentieth century there was an energizing sense of optimism among intellectuals and critics of American life. Progressives felt that they were leading a popular rebellion against the unfettered power of large corporations and against the political machines that corrupted public in- stitutions and negated democracy. Their goals, as the Pro- gres_sives saw them, were clear and simple--to bring govern- ment back to the people, to abolish special privilege, and to enact a series of laws embodying principles of social justice and equal opportunity for all. Their underlying motive, said the Progressives, was to restore to America the values on which it had been founded, the ideal of a democratic and humane society based on ?egalitarianism and on social compassion. Though the progr~ssive leade rs usually 27 came from an urban middle class elite, they considered them- selves to be allied with the masses against the forces of wealth, self-interest and special privilege. Historians writing within the Progressive tradition, for instance, believed that the progressive reformers, regardless of their specific goals, were part of the same movement because they invariably supported "the people" against their enemies. One group of "the people" who the progressive leaders did not support, however, were the recent immigrants to the United States, especially those from Eastern and from Southern Europe whose traditions and habits appeared alien to the pre- dominantly Anglo-Saxon reformers. The progressives were tolerant, but they viewed the immigrant as a passive entity to be molded under the influences of American society. Pro- gressives were in the forefront of groups working to "Ameri- canize" the immigrant, which meant encouraging him to replace his old-world traditions with both loyalty to the American government and adherence to American, i.e., Anglo-Saxon, . culture. Though, as in the settlement houses, progressives often carried out Americanization programs with sympathy and with understanding of the immigrants' backgrounds, their goal, nevertheless, was to hasten the assimilation of all immigrant groups into one vast American "melting pot." It is no sur- prise, therefore, that foreign ideologies like Zionism made little headway in the United States during the Progressive period. For the reform leaders who, through schools or through settlement houses, were most likely to come into 28 contact with the new immigrants, were precisely those who had a commitment, albeit an often subtle one, to helping change the immigrant into a complete, a 1000/4 , American, a loyal citizen with no dual allegiances to interfere in his a d J. UStment to h"i s new country. 39 VII. During this pre-World War I period there was one sig- nificant attempt to reconcile the Zionist idea with the reality of conditions for the Jewish newcomers to America. In 1902 leaders of the Cortservative Jewish Theological Seminary in New York chose Dr. Solomon Schechter, a renowned English Biblical scholar, to head their nascent school. Schechter had discovered and had explicated valuable Jewish manuscripts, and his attainments in the field of Jewish scholarship were imposing, but with all his devotion to so- 1 called "Jewish science," Schechter remained a religious mystic. In Zionism he saw the salvation of Judaism, and he set out to champion its cause against the Reform and secu- larist Jews on one hand, and the Orthodox traditionalists on the other. 40 Schechter agreed with classic Zionist theory that the gentile society in Europe, because of longstanding and deep- seated anti-Semitism, would inevitably drive the Jews out. But he felt that this analysis did not apply to America. America was the New World, and American Jews would be free to make their way as they wished in this open and 29 unprejudiced society. In essence, said Schechter, America was d 1. ff erent, and so wou ld b eth e experi. ence o f i? ts Jews. 41 The role of Zionism also would be different. Though American Jews would not need to go to Palestine because of oppression or persecution, nevertheless it would be in their best interests to support the building of a Jewish state. For Palestine would be a special community, providing an emotional, spiritual and cultural homeland even for Jews who preferred to remain outside it. Jewish self-respect demanded Zionism, not as a form of charity, but as a way to preserve Jewish identity in a society where all forces en- courage d assi.m i? 1 ati.o n. 42 Schechter's Zionist formulation was valuable because it responded to the fears of the new immigrants by helping them to harmonize their desire to become part of America with their desire to retain their deep Jewish sentiments and relation- ship with Jewish culture. Actually, however, Schechter's two-sided definition of Zionism came close to a re-statement of the Basle Platform of 1897. "It is not only desirable," he said, "but absolutely necessary, that Palestine, the land of our fathers, should be recovered with the purpose of forming a home for at least a portion of the Jews, who would there lead an independent Jewish life." But in addition, according to Schechter, Zionism would serve as "the great bulwark against assimilation" for those who would live outside the homeland. 43 The key to the usefulness of Schechter's concept of Zionism in Ame rica lay in his careful distinction b e tween 30 assimilation and Americanization. Americanization--"that every Jew should do his best to acquire the English language [and] ? should study American history ... , thoroughly appreciating the privilege of being a member of this great commonwealth"--was good. But assimilation--"loss of iden- tity11--would deprive both the Jews and the rest of the world of a valuable heritage. Zionism, "through the awakening of the national Jewish consciousness," would provide "a most wholesome check" to Jewish absorption. Further, the Jewish people must "first effect its own redemption and live again its own life, and in Israel again, to accomplish its univer- sal mission." Political Zionism, then, would be the hand- maiden of an ultimate spiritual purpose, as well as the i' n d i. spensab l 44 e too 1 f or savi? ng Jews i? n nee d i? n Eastern Europe. In 1906, at the time Schechter wrote this statement, his words made little impression amongst the masses. Though they needed some rationale to preserve their identity as Jews in this strange new land, the influence of articulate Reform leaders, and wealthy American Jews like Jacob Schiff, that one could not be both a Zionist and a good American was still too strong and too convincing. Yet Schechter impressed his students , the rabbis-to-be of the next generation, and many Jewish intellectuals, who found his ideas congenial with their own search for secure roots as Jews. Though he died in 1915, just as American Zionism was beginning to come into its own, Schechter had laid the foundation for later and more complete expressions of an American rationale for Zionism. CHAPTER II THE MAN I. Horace M. Kallen is a philosopher, an educator, a "scientific humanist," an "aesthetic pragmatist"--a non- agenarian who in 1973 is still active lecturing, writing, and publishing. His career has been long and varied, stretching back to the turn of this century when he first attracted the attention of his Harvard professors, who per- ceived unusual qualities of intelligence and sensitivity in this young Jewish immigrant. These teachers--William James, George Santayana, Barrett Wendell, Josiah Royce--were also leaders of their time in American philosophy and literary criticism. The influence they had on young Kallen, combined with his own receptivity and perceptive empathy, gave him the start towards an unusually creative lifetime, combining contemp 1 ati.o n an d acti.o n i. n equal measure. 1 Since the early years of this century, Kallen has been addressing himself towards a wide range of problems of con- temporary concern, frequently recognizing and confronting issues decades before they came into national prominence. Thus, Kallen's interest in minority cultures goes back seventy years to the pre-World War I era when he first began to think about "the right to be different" that 31 32 became "cultural pluralism"; his interest in the environment and problems of human survival goes back sixty years to con- tacts he made during World War I; his interest in man as consumer goes back fifty years, to experiences he had with the labor movement during the twenties. "It takes about fifty years for an idea to break through and become vogue," says Kallen; he is fortunate to have lived long enough to see his early concerns validated by the course of time, and to know that scholars are using his contributions of years 2 ago for their continuing interest and stimulation. There is another, special, side to Dr. Kallen's life, reflecting his position as a Jew living in America. "I have always regarded you as the foremost creative American Jewish thinker who demonstrates by actual example that it is possible to live with distinction synchronously in two civilizations," wrote Jewish philosopher Rabbi Mordecai M. Kaplan to Kallen in 1952, on the occasion of Kallen's seventieth birthday. Karlan's appraisal is correct. For Kallen has succeeded in defining and living his life both as an American and as a Jew from his single philosophical perspective of Hebraism, the source, according to Kallen, of both cultures. Hebraism, "individualism ? ? ? I the right to be onesself, the right to be different," allows Kallen to perceive his "Jewish differ- ence [toJ be no less real, worthy and honorable than any other" and Kallen has learned to overcome his "dumb anxiety over [hisJ Jewish identity" by "living ?and orchestrating it" with the principles of the American Ide~, principles of. 33 individual liberty and freedom that he has spent a lifetime explaining and teaching. 3 II. Kallen, born in Germany in 1882, came to America as a young child when, in 1887, his entire family emigrated to Boston. Kallen's father was an Orthodox Jewish rabbi, and as Kallen recalls, The doctrine and discipline of my earliest years were the Jewish doctrine and discipline, the Hebrew Bib:.e with its Judaist commentarie s and the difficult and heroic economy of the Orthodox Jewish home. It is upon the foundation and against the background of my Jewish cultural milieu that my vision of America was grown.4 Like other immigrant children of his generation, Kallen's first confrontation with America, its history and values, was through the medium of the public schools. Particularly in- fluential was an old agnostic Yankee teacher in the Eliot Grammar School [named] Webster ... who had fought in the Civil War [and] was fond of reading us poetry and bits of Emerson ..?? He knew, of course, who my father was, and it used to amuse him to stop me in the corridors .?. and .?. talk religion and theology to me .?.? I used to resent being stopped, but the conversations left their mark. Kallen's teachers perceived American history "with the sim- plicity and clarity, even the beauty," of its depiction in the history textbooks of the 1890's; under their influence he soon came to agree. He has recalled his youth, I saw a pious and heroic generation of Puritans making their righte ous a nd p rovidential way .. . against d e vilish blood - t hirsty redskins .... I saw their d e scenda nts, a heroic and e mba ttled h a nd- ful of lovers of libe rty .??. I used to go down 34 to the Tea Wharf to see where the tea had been poured, and up to Bunker Hill to fight that battle for myself ..?. [This was] the true part of my life, the most personal part of my existence.5 Bit by bit in Kallen's mind "the drama of persons" in the American story receded before "the ecstasy of ideas." In our household the suffering and slavery of Israel were commonplaces of conversation; from Passover to Passover, freedom was an ideal cere- monially reverenced, religiously aspired to. The textbook story of the Declaration of Independence came upon me, nurtured upon the deliverance from Egypt and the bondage in exile, like the clangor of trumpets, like a sudden light. What a resounding battle cry of freedom! And then, what an invincible march of Democracy to triumph over every enemy--over the English king, over the American Indian, over the uncivilized Mexican, over the American champions of slavery betraying American freedom, over everything, to the very day of the history lesson! 6 It is not surprising that Kallen preferred to immerse himself in "the heroic America of the textbook legends"; his alternative was to live in "the ' sordid realities of the daily struggle for bread which I shared with my God-fearing proud father and his long-suffering household." Kallen was the oldest of eight children, and until the birth of the eighth, the only son. "My father was a strict man; I didn't like him," Kallen recalls. He found his father's expecta- tions that he continue in the Orthodox Jewish tradition onerous, and particularly resented his role as Rabbi's son. It was a poor household and the rules were such that orehim [guests] were always more important than the members of the family. At the Sabbath meal father would have in guest visitors; then ? i~ was FHB--family hold back.7 Paralleling the experience of many immigrant sons, Kallen found his new world alien from that of his father and, even 35 as a young boy, ran away from home several times. "I never could make my devout and learned and very snobbish father ., too powerful, too demanding, to be idealized, to be anything but feared and dodged and hated--understand the why of these truancies, 11 remembers Kallen. "My father's ways were authoritarian. Alternatives to them provided channels of liberation. 'Alienation' . was a process of liberation." Only in 1917, during the last two weeks of the elder Kallen's life, were the two reconciled and some sense of understanding established between them. Kallen wrote then to his friend a?nd philosophy colleague, Wendell T. Bush, He is among the last of the old school of Jews, who would make absolutely no concession to their environment, but made their environment wherever they went . ... [H]e insisted that the ritual ordinations were to be followed to the letter, be- cause in them the life and soul of a community con- sists . . When his generation is all gone, I think that the Hebraic spirit will undergo disin- tegration outside of Palestine . 8 When Kallen rebelled against his father he rejected more than the seemingly tyrannical personality who wished his son both to subordinate his new found freedom to family demands, and to deny his interest in secular learning in favor of the duties of Jewish scholarship. Kallen rejected, in one grand sweep, all the tradition which his father represented. "In the Oversoul of Emerson. and in the God of Spinoza .. ? I I found weapons with which to confound the Jehovah of my father and his rule, 11 I