Marketing Identities: The Invention of Jewish Ethnicity in Ost Und West

Copyright © 1998 by Wayne State University Press, Detroit, Michigan 48201.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Brenner, David A., 1964–

Marketing identities : the invention of Jewish ethnicity in Ost und West / David A. Brenner.

p.cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-8143-4519-1; ebook ISBN: 978-0-8143-4518-4

1. Jews—Germany—Intellectual life. 2. Jews, East European—Germany—Intellectual life. 3. Jews, East European—Germany—Public opinion. 4. Public opinion—Jews. 5. Ost und West (Berlin, Germany : 1901) 6. Germany—Ethnic relations. I. Title.

DS135.G33B7361998

943'.155004924—dc2197-50452

Cover:

Leo Winz (lower right) and others on

the Kaiser Wilhelm II steamer

of Norddeutscher Lloyd

(Ost und West [October 1908]: 605–6);

cover of Ost und West between

1901 and 1906.

http://wsupress.wayne.edu/

FOR

MY

GRANDPARENTS

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Introduction: Multiple Identities

1.Promoting an Ethnic, Pan-Jewish Identity

2.Ost und West and the History of European Jewish Identity

3.Intellectuals Reading Parvenus: The Intellectual Nationalist as Ostjude and the Assimilating Parvenu as Westjude in Ost und West

4.The Philanthropic Parvenue and the Uplifted Ostjude: German-Jewish Women and Ost und West

5.Antisemitism and the German-Jewish Male: Ost und West’s Promotion of Ethnic Jewish Identity to German-Jewish Men

Conclusion: The Meaning of Ost und West—Jews and Germans, Identity and Self-Hatred

Notes

Primary, Secondary, and Archival Sources Cited

Index

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book originated in 1989–90 as Eastern Europe was disintegrating and with it the German Democratic Republic. To reflect on East-West issues and the imagining of communities and nations—even in turn-of-the-century Jewish contexts—appeared utterly unavoidable. Later, in 1990–91, the Federal Republic of Germany served as my base. As I began dissertating there, the inhabitants—characterized as Ossis/Wessis—were confronting and crossing boundaries that seemed prefigured in the discursive universe that was Ost und West. The predicament of the Wall within the head not only was reminiscent of the two (pre-Holocaust) European Jewries, but it also raised the question, more urgently than ever, of the Germanies, of their inventions, ethnicities, and self-stereotyping. This study also came to fruition during the election campaigns of 1991–92 in the United States and the ensuing analysis of sound bites, political rhetoric, and the mass media that they provoked. What follows, then, is itself history and a commentary—through a glass darkly, as it were—on those years. In that sense (and others), all responsibility for its contents is my own.

It would be difficult to thank everyone who made Marketing Identities possible. My doctoral committee, for starters, deserves special mention. Under the tutelage of my advisers, John M. Hoberman and Janet K. Swaffar, the dissertation achieved its completion in August 1993. It was John who first inspired me to come to the University of Texas and who has helped me overcome lapses into a cumbersome, jargony style. Janet showed an interest in my development at an early stage of my Austin sojourn, encouraging me at every step in the writing process and never letting me forget my obligations to pedagogy and the profession. Katherine Arens critiqued (too) many drafts of the dissertation and returned them all with superhuman alacrity. By a twist of fate, Kirsten Belgum was also researching journals and nationalism; this study reflects her insights into methodology. Seth Wolitz first brought my attention to the extensive holdings of Ost und West at the Harry Ransom Center, and he graciously permitted me to mine his inexhaustible knowledge of Jewish cultures and their history.

Other teachers also proved helpful. Hans Otto Horch in Aachen generously hosted my initial year of Ph.D. research there and warrants credit for being the pioneer in the field of German-Jewish periodical studies. Walter Wetzels, Robert King, Peter Hess, David Price, and Mark Louden all offered advice in Austin. At the postdoctoral stage, I am grateful for the insights of Sander Gilman, David Sorkin, and Michael Brenner—all of whom commented on earlier drafts of the manuscript—not to speak of the two anonymous readers of Wayne State University Press. Thanks also go to Marion Kaplan, who critiqued an early version of chapter 4. Arthur Evans, director of the press, has always been obliging and accommodating. His editorial and production staff—Jennifer Backer, Meg Humes, and Alice Nigoghosian, and copy editor Wendy Warren Keebler—made an attractive spectacle out of a word-processed manuscript and a skeletal list of illustrations.

At the University of Colorado, William Safran and many others critiqued my work and offered support. I have left until last one colleague who offered invaluable help as he struggled with similar issues of German and Jewish cultural history. Michael Berkowitz, despite his busy schedule, was a gentle reader and source of constant support, always taking time for seemingly endless E-mail inquiries.

It is my pleasure finally to thank those institutions that provided generous grants at crucial stages of this project: the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) and the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation. I also received assistance and hospitality at the following libraries and archives: the Leo Baeck Institute (New York), the Humanities Research Center (Austin), the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research (New York), the Central Zionist Archives (Jerusalem), the Germania Judaica (Cologne), the Alliance Israélite Universelle (Paris), and the Archiv Bibliographia Judaica (Frankfurt a.M). Thanks go especially to Diane Spielman and Michael Heymann. I am also grateful to the staffs of Interlibrary Loan at the University of Texas, the Technische Hochschule Aachen, and the University of Colorado.

Portions of this book have been previously published in earlier forms. Part of chapter 3 originally appeared as "Out of the Ghetto and into the Tiergarten: Redefining the Jewish Parvenu in Ost und West, 1901–1906," German Quarterly 66.2 (spring 1993): 176–94. Parts of the introduction and of chapter 5 appeared as "Promoting East European Jewry: Ost und West, Ethnic Identity, and the German-Jewish Audience," Prooftexts 15.1 (January 1995): 63–88. A portion of chapter 4 appeared as Neglected ‘Women’s’ Texts and Contexts: Vicki Baum’s Jewish Ghetto Stories, Women in German Yearbook 13 (1997): 101–22. I thank the editors and journals for permission to revise and reprint my work.

Without the friendship of several individuals, this work may never have achieved completion. Words are not sufficient to thank my sister Lynn and brother-in-law Jeff, Robert Boone, Jeff Grossman, Achim Jaeger, Itzik Gottesman, the Oppenheims, Stan Taylor and Katie Kelfer, Carol Harvel, Glenn and Ursula Levine, Stephan March, Michael Gumbert, and many, many others. Jeff, Itzik, Achim, and Glenn merit distinction for many stimulating conversations related to questions dealt with in the book.

I wish also to thank my parents and stepparents, Larry and Gloria, Gladys and Jules, for their personal and financial support—and not just their patient understanding. Along with them, my enduring love goes out to my wife, Rachel. She not only took an interest in the project from day one, sharing her expertise as a member of Germany’s post-Holocaust Jewish community, but she also put up with my most unpoetic, ultra-wissenschaftlich moments.

Ithaca, NY

December 25. What I discern of contemporary Jewish literature in Warsaw through Löwy, and of contemporary Czech literature partly through my own insight, points to the fact that many of the benefits of literature—the stimulating of minds, the integrated cohesion of national consciousness, often unrealized in public life and always on the verge of disintegration, the pride and support that a nation derives from a literature of its own in the face of the hostile surrounding world, this keeping of a diary by a nation that is something entirely different from historiography and results in a more rapid (and yet always closely scrutinized) development, the elaborate spiritualization of civic life in its full range, the combining of dissatisfied elements that are immediately put to use precisely in this sphere where stagnation can only do harm, the constant organization of a people with respect to its whole that is created by the hustle and bustle of magazines, the restricting of the nation’s attention to its own affairs and the admission of what is foreign only by way of reflection, the birth of a respect for those active in literature, the awakening in the younger generation of higher aspirations, which though transient leaves its permanent mark, the acknowledgment of literary events as objects of political concern, the refinement of the antithesis between fathers and sons and the possibility of discussing this, the presentation of national faults in a manner that can be very painful but also liberating and deserving of forgiveness, the beginning of a lively and therefore self-confident book trade and the craving for books—all these effects can be produced by a literature whose development is not unusually broad in scope, but seems to be because it lacks notable talents.

Franz Kafka, Diaries, 1911 (emphasis added).

INTRODUCTION

Multiple Identities

Between 1901 and 1923, the Berlin-based magazine Ost und West promoted European Jewish culture to Jewish audiences in Germany. The common goal of the editors of the journal was to reverse Jewish assimilation¹ in Western and Central Europe by constructing an ethnic-national identity that included East European or Eastern forms of Jewishness.² This study of Ost und West is thus concerned with the question of whether German Jews were interested in adopting elements of East European Jewish identity at this time. And, if this was the case, was it possible to have both a German and a pan-Jewish³ identity in Wilhelminian Germany (or the Kaiserreich), where Jews were already suspected of nonconformity, if not disloyalty?⁴

Ost und West reveals the possibilities and limitations of such multiple identities for turn-of-the-century German Jews. Even though the editors of the journal succeeded in creating a public sphere for pan-Jewishness (Gesamtjudentum), they were confronted with serious obstacles. East European Jews—referred to as Eastern Jews or Ostjuden⁵ in this book—had been perceived negatively by many Western Jews (Westjuden) and non-Jews since the Enlightenment. Since the late eighteenth century, an elite of intellectuals and policymakers had called on the Ostjuden to become less Jewish and to regenerate themselves into a group more like the Germans. The Ostjuden were increasingly caricatured in literature, the arts, and the sciences, a development that had reached a high point as Ost und West began publication.

As a means of correcting these negative images of Eastern Jews, Ost und West attempted to legitimize public expressions of Jewishness in the West. In this sense, the journal sought to reeducate Jews in Germany. Despite its emphasis on reeducation, however, Ost und West did not simply advance the interests of a Jewish nationalist avant-garde. Instead, its founders knew that they would have to reflect the presuppositions of the broader Jewish audience if they were to attract more readers. To influence Jewish readers in Germany who knew little about Eastern Jewry, Ost und West appealed specifically to the three main audiences in the Kaiserreich: Jewish intellectuals, middle-class Jewish women, and middle-class Jewish men. Leo Winz (1876–1952), the transplanted Ukrainian Jew and public relations adept who published the magazine, was well suited to this task. And judging by its wide circulation—Ost und West reached at least 10 percent of the 625,000 Jews in Germany at its height⁶—the journal was a success. At least in the public sphere, it brought Westjuden closer to Ostjuden.⁷

Winz, in fact, was a veteran image maker who had served between 1905 and 1908 as the head of public relations (Chef der Propaganda) at the oldest major German advertising firm, Haasenstein and Vogler. Besides owning and investing in a range of businesses, he was also the publisher of the largest, most widely circulated Jewish newspaper in Germany (the Gemeindeblatt der jüdischen Gemeinde zu Berlin) from 1927 to 1934, as well as the founder of Der Schlemiel. Ein illustriertes jüdisches Witzblatt [The Schlemiel: An Illustrated Jewish Humor Magazine] (1904–23). Keenly aware of the need to conduct audience research and always aiming for higher advertising revenues, Winz was something of a Robert Maxwell of the German-Jewish press—a savvy entrepreneur and sponsor of the arts, music, boxing, and film. To date, there exists no biography of Winz or of his main associates at Ost und West, Binjamin Segel (1867–1931), Theodor Zlocisti (1874–1943), and Arno Nadel (1878–1943). Yet he and his colleagues were responsible for publishing the first rich trove of materials that promoted an ethnic, pan-Jewish identity.

In its first three years, Ost und West was best known for images that glorified Eastern Jewry. The magazine thus differed visibly from competing German-Jewish publications in boldly asserting its Jewishness. As soon as the reader picked up an issue, he or she knew that the stories, essays, and illustrations were provided by Jews, about Jews, and for Jews.⁸ The very first issue (January 1901), for example, featured an essay titled Jüdische Renaissance by Martin Buber (1878–1965), a review of Robert Jaffé’s Ahasver (1900) by Samuel Lublinski (1868–1910), a story by Isaac Leib Peretz (1851–1915) in German translation, drawings by Ephraim Moses Lilien (1874–1925), and an article on the Hebrew language by Simon Bernfeld (1860–1940). In this and later issues, European (in particular, Ashkenazic) Jewry was presented as having a proud ethnic heritage and a diverse cultural tradition. Many of the early contributors to Ost und West—Buber, Lilien, Davis Trietsch⁹ (1870–1935), to name a few—were also active in the Zionist organization. There they were involved in creating new Jewish images through agitation and propaganda, terms that did not carry a negative connotation at the time.

Although the first three years of Ost und West signaled a Jewish Renaissance, the magazine soon became formulaic, especially in its attempts to create a new Jewish aesthetic. After Buber and Lilien distanced themselves from Winz in 1903, positive images of the Ostjude in the journal were gradually superseded by negative criticisms of the Westjude. Having seen how difficult it would be to change the attitudes of German Jews, Winz and his associates reasoned that the best defense was a good offense. It was not enough to repackage the Eastern Jew, who remained dirty, poor, and superstitious in the minds of Westerners. Rather, a new approach was needed that subtly attacked the Westjuden themselves. The Westjude thus became the butt of a concerted campaign based on anticapitalism and anti-Western thought, and the magazine came to rely on this critique after its first three years.

Ost und West’s negative approach suggests that pinpointing a common enemy fostered a greater sense of belonging than new ideals and myths. What is remarkable about the magazine, however, is that negative images of Jews were able to coexist alongside positive ones. On the one hand, this inconsistency revealed both the possibilities and the limitations of ethnic identity in the journal; on the other hand, it was an inevitable function of stereotyping. In this study, stereotyping is defined as a mental shorthand central to all thinking and to the formation of human identities. Looking at stereotypes in this manner reveals that positive stereotyping was the flip side of negative stereotyping. In other words, the two existed on a continuum. Many contributors to Ost und West did not depict the Ostjuden in negative terms. Instead, they reversed the categories, rendering Eastern Jews as noble or traditional instead of culturally backward. At the same time—using a similar strategy—the magazine tried to reach out to German Jews by adapting negative stereotypes of Ostjuden: elements of these stereotypes were transferred onto representations of Westjuden. For the purposes of this study, these recycled stereotypes have a cognitive-psychological function: they represent necessary stages in the process of Jewish self-definition. As we shall see, Winz and his associates came to understand this process of self-definition and were able to exploit it as a promotional technique.

Images of Jews in Ost und West were not always transparent and often resist a single interpretation. The magazine’s Jewish nationalist editors were, for instance, not willing to part entirely with Western enlightened thinking, and they rarely glorified Eastern Jews such as the Hasidim, whom they thought of as unenlightened. One major subthesis of this investigation is that stereotypes in Ost und West based on Western Jewish criteria were as prevalent as stereotypes based on Eastern Jewish criteria.

By interpreting both positive and negative Jewish self-images in Ost und West as they appear in literary texts, essays, editorials, and works of art, we shall see how the journal helped to redefine European Jewish identity. As an early example of the promotion of ethnic identity, Ost und West may shed light on later attempts by Jews and other minority groups to promote multiple identities. At the same time, this study goes beyond the analysis of cultural politics to reveal how Jews living in Germany perceived themselves in the decades leading up to National Socialism and the Shoah (or khurbn). It suggests that they perceived themselves as different from other Germans. It also suggests that, for all their prejudice toward Eastern Jews, German Jews were capable of tolerating Jewish diversity. In appealing to the Jews of Germany, Ost und West urged a healthy respect for differences rather than an elitist glorification of one Jewish identity over another. As a result, it brought Eastern and Western Jewry closer than many assumed was possible, at least in the limited public sphere of Jewish journalism. In this public realm, then, there existed an East-West Jewish symbiosis, if not a German-Jewish one.

Historians have long used biological metaphors such as symbiosis to discuss the status of Jewish identity in the German lands. They have stressed, particularly after the Holocaust, the negative dimensions of symbiosis. As a result, they tend to devalue the idea of the German Jew, the idea that an individual could be, at one and the same time, both German and Jewish. As a result, much of post-Holocaust historiography denounces those Jews living in Germany before 1933 as delusional, assimilationist, or self-hating.¹⁰

A symptom of this bias against multiple Jewish identities has been to censure German-Jewish attitudes, behavior, and actions toward the Eastern Jews. Recent scholarship on East-West Jewish relations has focused on the mutual alienation of these groups. This reaction is in part a response to decades of denial concerning Western Jewish prejudice toward Eastern Jews. Researchers understandably have wanted to compensate for the neglect of Yiddish-speaking Jewry, a neglect that can be traced back to the Enlightenment. Steven E. Aschheim’s Brothers and Strangers (1982) represents one in a chorus of voices seeking to rescue the Ostjude from German-Jewish domination. Aschheim demonstrates that German Jews, like their non-Jewish compatriots, harbored negative attitudes toward Eastern Jewry. He documents the wide-scale production of negative stereotypes of Ostjuden by Jews and non-Jews. Yet, while duly noting that the idealization of Ostjuden in World War I took on cultic proportions, his conclusions and those of more strident critics of Western Jewry suggest that all attempts to reconcile Eastern and Western Jewish cultures were doomed from the start.¹¹

While acknowledging that German Jews thought and behaved negatively toward their fellow Jews, this study does not favor Eastern Jews. In fact, its primary insight is that both Jewish groups—the Eastern Jewish producers of Ost und West and the Western Jewish recipients of the magazine—employed tried-and-true techniques of stereotyping. By the same token, stereotyping cannot be written off as deceptive or divorced from historical reality just because it is carried out by cultural and political institutions.¹² Such a position plays into the dualism that this investigation—like Ost und West before it—has tried to avoid.

In scholarship since the mid-1980s, a more balanced viewpoint about East-West Jewish differences has been emerging. Jack Wertheimer’s Unwelcome Strangers (1987) complements Aschheim’s research by investigating the political and socioeconomic realities that shaped the responses of Jewish Easterners and Westerners to each other. Wertheimer asks how German Jews behaved when they encountered Eastern Jews, and he concludes that they showed empathy for their Eastern coreligionists even if they occasionally showed little sympathy for Eastern Jewish customs. In arguing that Westjuden despised Ostjuden less than non-Jews did, he implies that a measure of Jewish communal solidarity prevailed.

Is it therefore justified to label the contempt of Western Jews for Eastern Jews as Jewish antisemitism? Antisemitic attacks on Eastern Jews certainly made German Jews look—and feel—bad. According to Sander Gilman’s thesis of Jewish self-hatred, Western Jews hated not only their Eastern brethren but also, as a result of psychological projection, the Eastern Jew within themselves.¹³ This theory assumes that German Jews felt threatened by the prospect of hordes of Jewish aliens pouring across the Eastern border. Even though Jewish migration to Germany never exceeded a few hundred per year until 1918 and even though the new Jewish immigrants were statistically insignificant in comparison to the host populations—the total number of Ostjuden who settled in Germany never exceeded 100,000—their presence was immediately noticed by government officials and political opportunists. On this basis, Aschheim, Trude Maurer,¹⁴ and others have argued that worried Jewish communities feared an antisemitic backlash and tried to keep the numbers of immigrants down or at least less visible.

Wertheimer, by contrast, presents compelling evidence that the Jews in Germany responded positively to the challenge posed by antisemitic attacks on Jews from the East. To be sure, some German Jews blamed Eastern Jews for antisemitism, pinpointing them as a source of shame or embarrassment.¹⁵ And the established Jews of the West may have avoided contact with immigrant Russians and Galicians, even treating them with condescension.¹⁶ But, writes Wertheimer, the Jewish middle classes in Germany

also displayed compassion for the suffering of their coreligionists…. [T]hey provided various types of support—legal aid, political support, and care for the needy. While we have no way of knowing what the average German Jew said in the privacy of his home, we have numerous ways of documenting what German Jews said and did publicly. And from the evidence at our disposal, it appears that their actions on behalf of the immigrants were incompatible with hatred.¹⁷

What was taking place here will not surprise researchers of migration in the twentieth century. People from the same place who have immigrated at different times classify themselves as greenhorn or assimilated—a phenomenon typified by, but not specific to, European Jews.

Wertheimer’s point is not that Jews were incapable of mutual animosity. Rather, he claims that Western and Eastern Jews may have benefited from each other. And the extent of their interactions and their cultural similarities suggest that a relationship existed upon which Ost und West might build. The idea of a pan-Jewish public sphere was no pipe dream: there was a ready-made market in Germany for the magazine and its version of Eastern Jewish culture.¹⁸ If we understand Ost und West as a public relations enterprise that brought specific images of Jewishness to specific audiences, we must draw upon both Aschheim’s cultural history and Wertheimer’s social history so that a clearer picture of the media’s influence on fin-de-siècle European Jews may emerge.¹⁹ For this study is not a history of Jewish self-representation or of its subcategories, such as Jewish nationalism. Instead, this study explores the discourse²⁰ of Jewish identity in an institutional framework: a German-Jewish periodical. It is thus more concerned with the promotion of Jewish identity in Ost und West than with its theoretical formulation or semiotics.

Such an approach to Jewish identity and identity politics is long overdue. By looking at minority self-stereotyping as both a discursive and a socio-psychological phenomenon, models of Jews in Germany as self-hating or assimilating are revealed for what they are: ideological dogma. At the same time, the study of Ost und West—a twenty-three-year, 10,000-page discursive universe—is local history of a particularly rich microcosm. My anthropological approach to this institution complements and gives a more complete picture to other general histories of the period.

1

Promoting an Ethnic, Pan-Jewish Identity

More than any other factor, the westward migration of hundreds of thousands of East European Jews between 1880 and 1914 led to the creation of Ost und West. That migration was the result of anti-Jewish policies and the idea that the Jews formed a separate nation or ethnicity. The sheer size of the migration was unparalleled in modern European history. Even if the new Jewish immigrants were statistically insignificant in comparison to their host populations in the West, their presence was always noted—and rarely with enthusiasm.

Jews in Poland, Russia, and the Ukraine had been relocating westward since the seventeenth century. The Chmielnicki massacres of 1648 and the Russo-Swedish War of 1655 drove thousands of Eastern Jews into Germany. Those who remained itinerant were known as beggar Jews (Betteljuden) or, more pejoratively Schnorrer and Polacken. Only after the pogroms of 1880, however, did a truly mass exodus take place which altered the course of modern Jewish history. These pogroms gave a boost to the cause of Jewish nationalism which in the next twenty years received additional impetus from events across Europe. Among these events were the blood libel at Tisza Eszlár in Hungary (1882–83), the Dreyfus trials in France (1895, 1899), and the formation of the Bund (the General Jewish Workers’ Union in Lithuania, Poland, and Russia) in 1897.¹

The post-1880 wave of East European Jewish migration came as a surprise to Jews in the West. For as late as the 1860s, contacts between Eastern and Western Jews were scarce, with the occasional exception of the boarder or Sabbath guest who was a Betteljude.² In 1868–69, cholera and famine overtook Jews in the western part of the Tsarist empire. When the victims came to Prussia seeking economic and medical aid, German Jews quickly formed ad hoc committees and raised funds to help their coreligionists. To what extent their response was dictated by altruism and to what extent by fear of anti-Jewish reprisals is not clear. Whatever the case, their philanthropy brought a speedy end to the crisis. While some of the Russian-Jewish refugees stayed on in Prussia, most trekked to points farther West. The ad hoc committees were dissolved, and the problem appeared forgotten.

What had appeared impossible in 1868–69, however, came true over the next half century: Jewish emigration from Russia rose dramatically. While only 40,000 to 50,000 Jews migrated westward during the 1870s, tens of thousands more abandoned their homes in the 1880s. The prospect of a new future in the West led Jews to flee political and economic oppression under Tsar Nicholas II, especially after the restrictive May Laws of 1881. Even more Jews emigrated when Moscow and St. Petersburg were declared off-limits to them in 1891; after the Russo-Japanese War and the Revolution of 1905, more than 100,000 Jews left the Tsarist empire each year. The most popular destination was the United States, but large numbers also went to Argentina, Canada, England, and France. By 1914, at least 2.5 million Russian Jews had settled in Western countries.

Jews living in Russian territories were not the only ones uprooted at the end of the nineteenth century. Their immediate neighbors, Jews from the Austro-Hungarian empire and the Kingdom of Rumania, were also part of the new Diaspora. Victimized by boycotts and professional restrictions, Jews from Galicia increasingly left the Habsburg Empire after the 1870s. Many Rumanian Jews also moved westward after their country failed to abide by the Berlin Treaty of 1878, refusing to grant them citizenship and other basic rights. Approximately 400,000 Jews left their homes in the Galician, Bohemian, Moravian, Hungarian, and Rumanian lands between 1870 and the outbreak of World War I. Although many sought new opportunities in the industrialized nations of the West, an even larger number migrated within the Austro-Hungarian empire. Among them were the fathers of Sigmund Freud (1856–1939) and Franz Kafka (1883–1921).

Not unexpectedly, this mass flight placed a large burden on Western governments. For the most part, they had left Jewish immigration from the East unregulated. Yet what had previously been little more than a nuisance now assumed large proportions. Politicians and special interests called for legislation that would protect natives against the threat of undesirable aliens, and such calls grew more frequent when a Europe-wide economic crisis began in 1873. In this unstable climate, antisemites tried to find ways to make visible the Jewish characteristics of unwanted immigrants. The consensus of historians is that [w]herever they settled in appreciable numbers, newly arrived Jews from the East sparked far-reaching and disruptive public controversies over attitudes and policies toward aliens.³ The debate over Eastern Jewish aliens was no less controversial in the Jewish communities of the West which, until the end of the nineteenth century, had been relatively unencumbered by their Eastern brethren.⁴

Whether real or perceived, the challenge posed by Jewish immigration was most pronounced in the Kaiserreich. Although Jewish migration to Germany never exceeded a few hundred per year until 1918, some Jews and non-Jews were obsessed with the idea that droves of Jewish aliens were streaming across the eastern border that Germany shared with both Austro-Hungary and Russia. And this fear was not entirely unfounded, since most Ostjuden had to cross German borders to proceed westward.

But three factors made the Kaiserreich look more susceptible to Jewish mass migration than it actually was: (1) the impossibility of policing the borders, (2) the need to stimulate foreign investment, and (3) the granting of civil rights to Jews.

First, it was impractical to regulate, much less bar, immigration by Jews. Neither imperial decree nor tighter supervision was able to reduce the flow of human traffic. Although the borders were successfully sealed between 1885 and 1890, the decision to import seasonal workers from Poland made it difficult to separate desirable from undesirable immigrants. Indeed, those Jews simply passing through—the transmigrants—were a motley group. Some were penniless refugees on foot;