Of Moses and Marx Compressed PDF

OF MosES AND MARx
Folk Ideology and Folk History

in the Jewish Labor Movement
DAVID P. SHULDINER
FOREWORD BY PAUL BUHLE
INDIANA UNIVERSITY
LIBRARIES
BLOOM1NGTON
BERGIN & GARVEY

Westport, Connecticut • London
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Llb,:ary of Coogrns Catalogln,g.Jn-PubllcaUoo Data
Shuldiner, David Philip.

Of Moses and Marx : folk ideology and folk history in the Jewish
labor movement I David P. Shuldiner : roreword by Paul Buhle.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical rererences and index.
ISBN 0-89789-617- 3 (alk. paper)
I. Jews-United Stales-Social conditions. 2. Jewish radicals-
United States, 3. Jewish trade-unions-United Stales. 4. Jews-
United Stales-Folklore. 5. Jews-United StateS-lntellectual
life. 6. Haggadot, Secular. I. Title.
l!184.36.S65S58 1999
305.892'4073-dc21 98- 31941
British Library Cataloguing in Publicalion Data is available.
Copyright O 1999 by David P. Shuldiner
All rights reserved. No portion ohhis book may be
reproduced, by any process or technique, wilhoul lhe
express wrillcn consen1 or lhe publisher.
Library of Congress Catalog card Number: 98-3 I 94 I
ISBN: 0-89789-617- 3
Fil'$t published in 1999
Bergin & Garvey, 88 Post Road Wes~ Westport, CT06881
A.n imprint or Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc.
www.greenwood.com
Printed in lhe United States ofA.merica
The paper used in this book complies wilh lhe

Permanent Paper Standanl issued by lhe National
Information Standaros Organization (239.48-1984),
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 I

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Copyright Acknowledp,ents
The aulhor and publisher gratefully acknowledge permission ror use orlhe following material:
English translations or "Vakht Oyft" and "Di Sltvue" from Mir Trogn a Geiang! by Eleanor 0 .
Mlotek (New York: Workmen's Circle Education Department, 1977). Reprinted by pennission or
the Workmen's Circle Publishers. New York.
"A 'Third' Seder: Passover," issued by the Wortmen's Circle English-Speakinc Division, Los An•
celes, 1955. Reprinted by permission of Ibo Workmen's Circle/Arbeiter Ring, Southern California
Disuict.
"Undzer £rd," "Seder Nacht," "Plramid1t," "Oifn Nil," "Oo Down Moses." "Daya/nu," "Chad
Gadyo," "Der Beclttr," "Dos N,i, Lied;' "In Varshtver Gtto /z /tit Choideslt Nisn," and "PartizOMr
Litt/' in "A 'Third' Seder. Passover," issued by the Workmen·s Circle Enclish-Speaking Division,
Los Anceles, 1955. Reprinted by permission of lhe Wortmen·• Circle/Arbeiter Ring, Soulhem Cali-
fornia Districc.
Russian Social-Democratic Workers' Parry Ptsalc/t Haggada/t According to a New Mode. Pub·
lished by the United Jewish Labor Bund In Russia and Poland, 1900. Translated from the Yiddish
by Fem Kant, Workmen's Circle, Philadelphia. with assistance in Hebrew translation from Esther
Lassman, Center for Judaic Stuclies, University of Pennsylvania. I 998.
"Hollywood Kindershule Pesach Hagadah," issued 1961. Compiled by Sabcll Bender with assis•
lance by Rose Cohen and Matt Appelman. Reprinted with permission by lhe compilers.
Every reasonable effort has been made to trace the owners of copyright materials in this book, but
in some instances this has proven impossible. The author and publisher will be glad 10 receive infor-
mation leading to more complete acknowledemenu in subsequent printings of lhe book and in lhe
meantime extend their apologies for any omissions.

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Contents
Foreword by Paul Buhle ix
Acknowledgments xi
Introduction 1
Chapter 1. When Moses Met Marx:

Aspects of Jewish Radical Folk Ideology 13
Chapter 2. Folk Ideology and Folk History:

Reading Writings about the Jewish Labor Movement 27
Chapter 3. Matters of Belief:

Secularized Judaism and Spiritualized Radicalism 53
Chapter 4. "A Story in Itself':

Personal Narrative and Folk Ideology 79
Chapter 5 . Folklore and Folk Ideology:

Political Expression in Traditional Forms 93
Chapter 6. The "Third" Seder of Passover:
Liberating a Ritual of Liberation 119
Conclusion 141
Appendix A. The Jewish Labor Movement in Los Angeles 147
Appendix B. A Bund Haggadah 155

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viii Contents
Appendix C. A "Third" Seder: Passover 165
Appendix D. Hollywood Kindershule Pesach Hagadah 189
Notes 197
Bibliography 227
Index 241

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
Foreword
This invaluable volume recuperates the role of the Jewish folk heritage
within the history of American labor and the Left. Many readers, Jewish
as well as non-Jewish, will be greatly surprised to learn that the tradition
exists at all. Others will be reminded of their own precious family
memories, in which elders sought to interpret the goldene lceit (the
golden chain) going back to ancient traditions of oppression and forward
to a final liberation from history's chains.
Of Moses and Marx is especially important today because of the power
of forgetting. The upward mobility of the Jewish American population,
but also the heavy legacy of McCarthyism, as well as the repression of a
past in which anticapitalistic values were pervasive in large parts of
Jewish life, have all served to blot out the unique faith (in all senses) of
the early generations. The Yiddish language, according to the literary
critic Baruch Rivkin, was the spiritual homeland for a people with no
homeland; Yiddishkayt, then the daily language of millions of
proletarianiud Jews, was a sort of lingua franca of socialistic sensibility
of subcultures small and large across the world. Even Zionism's strongest
wings were by nature labor Zionist, bound to a vision of global
egalitarianism and a binational workers' state in the Middle East.
For the generation leaving the shtetl and faced with immiseration in
urban-industrial life, it could hardly be otherwise. One Messiah was
replaced by another, or better, the two overlapped in large part; Karl
Marx was often depicted as Moses, leading the masses through the sea of
conflict and woe toward the promised land of freedom and justice. The
great poets, playwrights, physicians, unionists, and other intellectuals
shared this faith; only the ignorant, the rich, and the powerful (and not
even these entirely) opposed it.

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X Foreword
The bitter disappoinbnent of the First World War, turning worker

against worker and socialist against socialist, was a drastic blow against
the hope for universal brotherhood. Other blows followed in a savage and
unrelenting century. And yet, as we read the following pages, the vision
itself has by no means been exhausted. The faith of the elders, seen so
beautifully here in their own words, remains the truth of human
possibility (and Jewish possibility) above the hatred, greed and brutality
that haunt today's society. Look and learn, reader: with searching and
some luck, you will find yourself in these pages.
PaulBuhle
Co-editor, Encyclopedia of the American Left

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
Acknowledgments
I would like to give thanks to my parents, Sarah Lewitzky Shuldiner
(b. 1911) and Menashe "Max" Shuldiner (1918-1996), for setting me on a
Jewish radical course, and to Sabell Bender, my first kindershule teacher,
for providing the initial direction. Professor Elliott Oring is responsible
for opening doors to the world of folklore scholarship during my years as
a student of anthropology at California State University, Los Angeles
(what I have done with that scholarship is entirely my own responsi-
bility!). To my doctoral committee in the Folklore and Mythology
Program at UCLA back in the early 1980s, a belated tip of the hat,
especially to Stephen Stem, specialist in Judaica, John Laslett, labor
historian, and Donald Ward, Germanic scholar, who, although not a
specialist in either Jewish or labor lore, was, as committee chair, an
enthusiastic supporter of my work. I would also like to acknowledge the
sage counsel and moral support of the late Wayland Hand, Professor
Emeritus at UCLA, who not only introduced me to the German social
lyric poets of the nineteenth centuxy-some of whose work inspired the
Yiddish labor poets-but who was also unwavering in his faith that I
would find a way to put my folklore training to practical use.
Among those who contributed background information, documents,
and good-natured assistance in the early 1980s were Margaret Katz and
August Maymudes, members of the Second Generation Jewish Cultural
Club in Los Angeles; ltche Goldberg, Director of the Chaim Zhitlowsky
Foundation, New York; J. J. Goldberg, Director of the Los Angeles
branch of the Workmen's Circle; and Bernard Weisberg, Director of the
Los Angeles office of the Labor Zionist Alliance. More recently, Eric
Gordon, current Director of Education of the Los Angeles branch of the
Workmen's Circle, brought me up to date on recent developments (such
as his success in bringing in younger members; he quipped that one of
his initial accomplishments was lowering the median age by ten years-
from eighty to seventy!).

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xii Acknowledgments
Many thanlc..5 to Fem Kant of the Philadelphia branch of the Work-

men's Circle for her marvelous job of translating, from the original
Yiddish, the Bund haggadah that is presented in Appendix B; and to
Esther Lassman, of the Center for Judaic Studies, University of Penn-
sylvania, for translating an article, in Hebrew (brought to my attention by
Professor Oring), whose author, Haya Bar-Itzhak, offers illuminating
commentary upon that Bund haggadah.
My editors at Greenwood, including Jane Garry, Maureen Melino, and
Eliuheth Meagher, have, as always, been a most supportive crew. Once
again, my beloved life partner Anne, a former editor herself, graciously
accepted the task of proofreading.
Above all, I wish to acknowledge my debt of gratitude to those Yiddish
radicals who so generously shared with me the stories of their lives.

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Introduction
FOLK IDEOLOGY: AN OVERVIEW
Since their inception, the trade union and socialist movements in the
United States have had a multiethnic character. Political activism was for
many an immigrant worker an essential part of the struggle for economic
survival. While for many, the seeds of their radicalism were first sown in
the new land, for others those seeds had already germinated in the urban
industrial centers of the "Old Country,• whose class and ethnic struggles
and associations they transplanted onto American soil. Organiutions
were formed not only by those immigrants who shared a common
occupation, but also by those who sha.red the same cultural and/or
regional background. This was certainly true of the many thousands of
Jewish workers who migrated to the United States in the late nineteenth
and early twentieth centuries. They founded Yiddish-speaking union
locals and fraternal organiutions and joined socialist parties, modeled at
times on their European counterparts.• Yiddish-language newspapers
championed their cause. Political and cultural organizations served to
link up Jewish workers who shared a similar ideological perspective.
Forms of cultural expression, such as choruses, were adopted, not only
for spiritual sustenance, but also for the purpose of recruiting Jewish
workers into a life of political activism.
A number of studies have been devoted to the relationship between
ethnic identity and political outlook among participants in the Jewish
Labor Movement (JLM) in the United States. 2 Toe syncretic ethno-
political ideology of the JLM was the hallmark of a unique subculture that
influenced, and was influenced by, both the larger Jewish community as
well as labor and radical movements in American society. I wish to
contribute a folklorist's understanding of this subculture by focusing on

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2 OF MOSES AND MARX
the ways in which belief and ritual have been used by Yiddish-speaking
radicals as expressions of the synthesis of cultural and political elements
into an integrated worldview.
It has been almost thirty years since Richard M. Dorson presented his
argument for a broadened outlook among folklorists studying ethnic
groups in urban settings, noting that the "concept of folklore must be
altered in the modem industrial city from the conventional categories of
folklore-songs, proverbs, riddles, beliefs-to embrace life histories,
personal experiences of resettlement, and what might be called folk
ideology. "3 Although life histories and other personal experience narra-
tives have been the subject of extensive folkloristic inquiry, "folk
ideology" remains virtually unidentified as a distinct research category.
To be sure, there have been numerous studies which have looked at forms
of traditional expressive behavior within the context of ethnic political
movements.4 However, there has been no study whose sole purpose is the
systematic exploration of the worldview of members of an ethnopolitical
subculture through their expressive behavior.
Dorson muddied the waters, first by never delineating, let alone
exploring further the category "folk ideology," and second by divorcing it
from other traditional forms. On the one hand, he recognized the
importance of taking into account new expressive behavior that results
from profound changes in the quality and kind of environment
characteristic of rural, preindustrial settings within which conventional
folklore was found. On the other hand, he did not examine the
relationship between "conventional" categories of folklore and emergent
forms of folkloristic behavior; in fact, he implied that new and old forms
are separate entities. Yet the term "folk ideology" suggests a synthesis of
past and present, a dualism in which traditional culture is melded with
contemporary political aspirations.
Viewed in this way, the notion of a folk ideology is an especially useful
conceptual model for descnbing a weltanschauung reflecting the
synthesis of ideas and experiences of urban migrants and immigrants
with those of their "traditional," often rural, communities of origin. An
analysis of such contact between new and old is particularly crucial in
understanding twentieth-century urban immigrant and ethnic life and
culture, in which traditional communal interaction has been severely
tested by contemporary social and political forces.
A folk ideology is precisely that integrative system that provides for a
consistent articulation and affirmation of the continuity of tradition while
offering a framework within which change and innovation may be
incorporated. Abner Cohen writes of the "integrative function" of
ideology in general, noting that in addition to "indoctrination" and
"conditioning of moods and sentiments," it is sustained and invigorated
by the "affirmation of belief."S An important means of such affirmation is
the enactment of rituals "in the course of which gymbols are continuously

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Introduction 3
charged with meanings that are relevant to the current problems of the
group."6 Those symbols, representing the "myths, beliefs, norms, values
and motives" of a group are the ways in which group organiuition and
dynamics are articulated, and in which individual and group identity are
mutually validated.7 A folk ideology integrates the symbols of tradition
and modernity, addresses the issues raised by their confluence, and
provides meaningful, unified, forms for their personal and collective
.
expression.
THE FOLKNESS OF RADICAL FOLK
This study will explore life histories, expressions of belief, and

descriptions of rituals of Yiddish-speaking radicals. These basic elements
of a folk ideology will be treated as the grammar of an ethnopolitical
language. This grammar reveals a dialectical tension between the
modernity of an ideological discourse that expresses political solidarity,
and the rootedness of a vernacular "speech" linking ethnic radicals with
their communal past. It is the relationship of these elements, then, that
becomes crucial in understanding the worldview of Yiddish-speaking
radicals who, as pioneers in a political frontier, sought to reconcile a
movement of secular revolution with the tenets of a community anchored
by religious authority. Most Jewish revolutionaries had estranged
themselves from traditional Jewish communities whose rabbinic leaders
tended toward political conservatism. For many, this meant a distancing
from Jewish identification altogether (unlike many Jewish entrepreneurs
who, restricted in the market by the ritual demands of Orthodoxy chose
to "Reform" rather abandon Judaism). However, many "returned" to the
Jewish community, if only to organize those coworkers who were also
coethnics. They sought to work these dual sources of commonality to
their advantage by stressing points of union between Jewish tradition and
the struggle for social change. They accomplished a synthesis by
juxtaposing utopian visions of the future with the imagery of an ancient
biblical past. This ideational fusion was fundamental to the establishment
of Yiddish radicalism as a folk ideology, as well as the the parallel
emergence of "secular" Judaism as an alternative form of ethnic identity.
These activists in the Jewish Labor Movement effectively reinterpreted
the meaning of Judaism and Jewishness, representing a radical departure
from traditional ideological canons and practices, on the one hand, and
the maintenance of communal ties on the other.
Nevertheless, Jewish radicals did not operate in a vacuum; rather they
brought their particular cultural experiences into the radical movement
as a whole, and into specific trade union and political organizations,
within which they often formed ethnic sections. Scholars of labor and
political movements in the United States, while acknowledging their
multicultural character, have tended to overlook the influence of the folk

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
4 OF MOSES AND MARX
traditions of ethnic and immigrant radicals on these organizations, to

which they were attracted by the promise of boeration. It is well known
that the membership of such revolutionary groups as the Communist
Party, USA (CPUSA), were composed to a large extent of ethnic
immigrants. (Among the most notable example, the membership of the
Party in New York City alone was, in its first few decades, over 80 percent
Jewish.) Where immigrant and ethnic radicals joined these groups, they
brought their cultural experiences with them, including forms of
communal organi:iation, communication styles, and other expressive
behavior, such as their own ethnic variations on the universal themes of
class solidarity. Robin Kelley, commenting on the influence of African-
American members of the Communist Party, notes that
the presence of black working-daas activists, especially from the South, infused
Party circles with what might best be described as radical "folk" traditions. Like
other visible ethnic groups before them (i.e., Jews, Finnish Americans, Chicanos,
Asian Americans), working-daas African Americans brought their grass-roots,
race-conscious cultural traditions to the Party.e
In its own way, this book is an attempt to illuminate the contributions

made by Jewish radicals to the multicultural character of labor and
radical movements in the United States, creating and recreating
traditions within the contexts of changing cultural and political land-
scapes.
METHODOLOGY
In this book I will pay close attention to those folkloristic elements

typically a part of traditional ideational systems that come to play a
significant role in the formation of the "new" ideational systems of a folk
ideology. Thus, I shall look to such evidence as:
1. A community of consensus: descriptions of social networks whose members

share, within specific sociohistorical conditions, a set of common sensibilities
and experiences which provide the interactive setting within which the unified
outlook of a folk ideology may be expressed.
2. Belief: declarations of commitment to a worldview integrating ethnic and
political attachments with implications for personal and social conduct.
3. Symbols: a repertoire of themes, metaphors, and the like, representing key
aspects of folk ideology.
4. Ritual: ceremonial activity designed to both declare and reinforce a radical
political outlook.
To illustrate the nature of Jewish radical folk ideology belief and ritual I
have chosen several approaches to the subject. Chapter 1 reviews those
theoretical issues important to an understanding of the character of

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Introduction 5
Jewish radical folk ideology. Chapter 2 looks at the ways in which the
writinp of historians of the Jewish Labor Movement have tended to
reflect an almost universal enchantment with certain beliefs about the
relationship of Jewish tradition to radical activism. In other words, for
present analytical purposes I haven taken the hl>erty of treating aspects of
Jewish labor history as "folk history." Chapter 3 focuses on the character
of beliefs expres.9ed. by Jewish radicals, as viewed through selected
personal narratives. Chapter 4 analyus the articulation of various themes
of folk ideology in the life story of one individual who reflects on his
experiences in the Jewish Labor Movement. Chapter 5 looks at the role of
conventional forms of folklore as expres.9ed. in the life stories of two
Yiddish radicals. Finally, Chapter 6 examines ethnic display as political
declaration, focusing on a specific ritual-the celebration of Passover-as
adapted from Jewish tradition by Yiddish radicals and transformed into a
vehicle for the expression of political beliefs.
DATABASE
Between 1980 and 1984, I conducted interviews with approximately

twenty retired Jewish trade union and political activists, most of them
residing in the Los Angeles area. The majority were born in the Old
Country; most were born to working-class parents; some were propelled,
out of economic necessity, at an early age, into . the ranks of the
proletariat. A few were never members of the working class per se, or left
its ranks at some point in their lives, but developed and maintained a
commitment to the outlook of those in the labor and radical political
movements. All were exposed at an early age to the ideas of trade
unionism and/or radical ideologies, and professed, at the time of my
interviews, to have, at the very least, socialist sympathies.9 For most, this
meant early encounters with revolutionaries and/or trade union
organiurs, often existing within their own families. Several noted that
their parents were, at the minimum, receptive to "progressive• ideas.
Most of those interviewed were raised in families whose members were
at least culturally, if not religiously, Jewish. Several were exposed to some
kind of religious training, whether attending synagogue or actually going
to a yeshiva (Jewish parochial school, reserved exclusively-as was most
of traditional Jewish education-for male children). All, however,
rejected formal Judaism at some point. I deliberately chose a select group
of elder Jewish activists who never abandoned their declared sense of
belonging to, and positive identification with, the Jewish community.
What I wished to explore were the elements of a dual class/ethnic
identity established in the formative years of their lives and the basis for a
lifelong, specifically Jewish-identified radicalism.
Los Angeles was originally selected as a research site for reasons of
convenience. I was born and raised there, in a secular and politically

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
20 OF MOSES AND MARX
differences within the labor and radical movements as a whole, but also
divisions within the Jewish community not based strictly upon class (e.g.,
regional, religious, and cultural differences). Thus, the issue of class and
ethnic identification is rather more complex than Gordon's model would
tend to indicate.
Another missing element in the equation that Gordon attempts to
establish is the role of the subjective factor in class and ethnic
identification. I have emphasiud the fact that the expression of a dual
class/eth.nic identity by participants in the JLM reflects a conscious set of
associations drawn by those who have been engaged in political
organizing as ethnically self-conscious, that is, •Jewish-identified,"
activists. This stress assumes a particular importance when one takes into
consideration the fact that while participants in the JLM were usually
Jewish, they were not necessarily members of the working class in
objective terms (a proportionately small but significant number were self-
employed professionals or small business owners). For some, it was an
exposure to Left ideologies and/or their observation of the conditions of
Jews and of the working class as a whole that led them to join movements
for social justice, thereby identifying the interests of the (Jewish) working
class as their own.29
For these reasons the process of establishing the character and
dimension of dual identity is more than simply a matter of descnl>ing the
objective parameters of class and ethnicity. It must also be based on the
analysis of specific expressive manifestations of identity reflecting
conscious choices that have been made about just how that identity is to
be articulated. Only in this way can one begin to account for the
deliberate selection of specific identity markers from a range of available
criteria for group identification. Nevertheless, while establishing objective
criteria for class and ethnic boundaries may be problematic, it is possible
to view the Jewish Labor Movement as set within a constellation of
specific conditions that encouraged its development and provided the
bases for its distinct character and forms of expression.
Arthur Liebman has tackled the question of the dimensions of a class-
linked ethnic identity among Jewish Left activists by advancing the thesis
of a radical subculture, representing both an impoverished working class
as well as the collective victims of ethnic discrimination.30 This model
does not simply subordinate ethnic to class identity, but rather it
identifies class and ethnicity as a dialectical pair. Identifying with Jewish
tradition, having a working class background, and sharing the experience
of anti-Semitism are all seen as factors in the generation of a Jewish
radical identity. What is key in Liebman's notion is that these factors not
only facilitated communication and the development of social networks
among those sharing class and ethnic ties, but also inspired a set of
associations constituting a radical political vision.3 1

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When Moses Met Marx 21
Within such a framework, Jewish tradition did not offer an intrinsically

revolutionaey outlook; nor did traditional Jewish community life provide
objective conditions for the emergence of Jewish-identified Left politics.
Nevertheless, its body of rich symbolism provided a culturally available
means of validating one's selfhood and sense of purpose, within the
context of both the larger Jewish community, as well as the trade union
and socialist movements. In other worda, Judaism may be seen as
presenting a set of options for an ethnically specific expression of political
ideology.32
The thesis of a radical subculture may also provide insights into the
persistence of a class-linked Jewish identity among those whose primary
associations have been maintained within the Jewish Left community.
Like a "movable home; this culture-within-a-culture has provided a
lifelong set of continuities for those who have chosen to remain within it,
insulating them from the vagaries of a world in flux while serving to
reinforce the complementary aspects of their dual identity.
I will follow Liebman in his usage of the term radical subculture and.
by implication, the adjective radical to refer to members of that
subculture. It is not an altogether satisfactory label for all of those
individuals whose lives and outlooks are under consideration here; some
have "tempered" their views with age, while others might prefer a more
specific political identification. Nonetheless, the term radical will serve
here as a generic label that avoida associations with specific political lines
or parties. It may therefore be used to refer to Jewish trade union and
political activists in general, whether anarchists, socialists, communists,
or labor Zionists; all have indeed been viewed, and have seen themselves,
as "radical" in their day.
Through a deliberate process of selection in patterns of primary
association and identification, members of the Jewish radical subculture
maintained their social networks as relative isolates, providing a
"community of consensus• for their own distinct political outlook,
articulated through a folk ideology whose specific forms of expression
were essentially variations on general themes from the larger groups
(class and ethnos) of which they were members. In this way, the Jewish
radical subculture functioned much in the manner of a traditional folk
community, providing a clearly defined context for the expression of a
shared worldview.33
HISfORICALANTECEDENTS OF A
JEWISH RADICAL IDEOLOGY
Forging a unified conception of meaning based on common class

interests (ideology) and ethnic affinity (tradition), the members of this
subculture not only exercised options for identification within two
configurations, but actually transformed the character and expression of

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22 OF MOSF.S AND MARX
each in the process of ideological integration. One might say that the class
consciousness of Yiddish radicals was spiritualized while their Jewishness
was being secularized.
The precedent for such a process of synthesis was set in the early
nineteenth century during a period of struggle for general civil
emancipation, the effects of which were felt in historically isolated Jewish
communities throughout Europe. Fueled by those young intellectuals
who had been exposed to the humanistic values of the Enlightenment, a
movement was set afoot by German Jews to develop a "Reformed" model
of Jewish religion that would facilitate their engagement in the activities
of a modernized world, while enabling them to retain the security of
Jewish communal ties.
By selective choice of text and new interpretation, reformers
"discovered" that the essence of Jewish tradition lay precisely in those
universal truths that had become the widely accepted coin of modem
liberal thought. For example, the Messiah was no longer envisioned as a
God-sent figure who would restore the Jews to their rightful place, but as
the symbolic expression of a general moral and ethical spirit that would
enlighten all peoples. And chosenness, too, was reinterpreted to eliminate
any sense of superiority, of God-given privilege; instead it meant that the
Jews were "chosen• to be an ethical light unto the nations.34
In the late nineteenth century, Jewish urban intellectuals, some of
them recently emerged from tradition-steeped, isolated Jewish
communities in Eastern Europe, were exposed not only to the ideas of
this Jewish Enlightenment-the Haskalah- but also to Russian revolu-
tionary thought. Some simply abandoned Judaism as emblematic of
conciliation with an old repressive order, as a liability in political
organizing among non-Jewish (and frequently anti-Semitic) compatriots,
and as a contradiction to the spirit of internationalism. Others, perhaps
inspired by Moses Hess's panegyric on Jewish nationalism, sought to
"reconstitute" the socialist message imbedded within Jewish history and
tradition, "reading" the Mosaic Code as a universal canon of social
justice; the Maccabean revolt as a national liberation movement; the
Messiah as a harbinger of classless society. These Jewish-identified
socialists, whether arguing for the seizure of state power in Europe and
America, or the seizure of "Bretz Israel" for a socialist utopia, called for a
"revolutionary reading of Jewish history and doctrine. "3S In doing so,
they effected a delicate balance between the particularism of their
ethnicity and the universalism of their political vision.
RADICAIJSM AND ETHNIC CHANGE
A consideration of this transformational process leads us to the

question of ethnic change. Models of evolving ethnicity have tended to
emphasize generational distinctions that emerge in the acculturative

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
process among ethnic groups. The American sociologist Robert E. Park

elaborated a chronological scheme, based on research in the United
States, in which assimilation was posited as a gradual, but inexorable
process, leading to the eventual dissolution of cultural identity among
successive generations of urban ethnic group members.36 A
countervailing view charted the path of ethnic evolution as one of
accommodation to the "external," or structural, demands of American
society, but the maintenance of ethnic cultural boundaries.37 More
recently, scholars have tended to see a conjunction of these two trends in
the forging of new parameters of ethnicity among peoples from diverse
regions of the emergent nation-states from which they or their
predecessors had migrated.SB
Adaptations of this model of the "reconstitution" of ethnic identity
among immigrant groups have been employed since the 1960s by
folklorists investigating new forms of expressive behavior among settled
ethnic immigrant groups in North America. For example, Linda Degh,
drawing from her studies of Hungarian folklore in the United States and
Canada, recapitulated Park's generational scheme of ethnic integration,
but noted shifting patterns of identification as Hungarians become
consolidated from several subcultural enclaves into a single identified
national minority. Their folklore came to reflect their new composite
Hungarian ethnic identity, constituting a truncated form of traditional
elements.39
Degh's study retained survivalist notions of ethnic immigrant folklore
as remnants of a richer Old World cultural fabric. Robert Klymasz, in his
work among Ukrainians in Canada, offered a friendly amendment, a
scheme in which traditional expressive behavior, after undergoing a
partial dissolution among second-generation immigrants, might be
revitalized in the third generation by means of an innovative
reconstruction and recombination of selected elements of traditional
expressive lore. However, he viewed this as "residual" folklore which
appears only occasionally and in packaged form-usually in ethnic
display events, such as festivals, where music, crafts, and foods serve as
emblematic substitutes for ethnic life-style and world view.40
These studies, however, do not address shifts in class position and
orientation that often accompany changes in the character and
expression of ethnicity. Herbert Gans has observed that for many Jews in
the United States, social mobility has been a factor in the gradual
abandonment of traditional Judaism. In its stead, there has emerged
what he terms "symbolic Judaism," a combination of related themes,
including the displaying of Jewish symbols and physical objects, the
"Judaization" of themes taken from American popular culture, and a
"preoccupation with the problems of being Jewish in America," including
anti-Semitism, intermarriage, and assimilation.41 As Stephen Steinberg
has characterized it, symbolic Judaism is •a highly tenuous culture, put

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together out of remnants of the abandoned culture that do not conflict

with middle-class American culture patterns."42
Among first-generation Jewish immigrants cited in schemes of ethnic
acculturation as retaining Old World traditions were Yiddish-speaking
radicals. Ironically they shared this distinction, at least with respect to
language, with another group on the opposite side of the cultural and
political spectrum. Historian Lucy Dawidowicz puts it succinctly: "In its
transplanted immigrant existence, Yiddish has been cultivated by only
two groups of immigrants, for whom it has expressed the cultural or
religious commitments of their past. The first group were the
nonreligious (once antireligoius) socialist and Zionist radicals, the
second, the most traditionally Orthodox Jews."43 Many of the former had,
in fact, undergone a process of radicalization in Eastern Europe, and
while some of them came from Orthodox families, they had brought with
them the culture, not of orthodoxy, but of a class-based ethnic ideological
tradition-the product of a revolutionary reformulation Oiterally and
figuratively) of their Jewish identification. For them, this process of
reorientation long preceded their embarkation on ships riding the crest of
the great wave of migration.
Many of these pioneers in ethnic revitalization did undergo, along with
their progeny, the very process of cultural dissolution descn"bed by Gans
and others, once they had arrived in the New World. But a core of Yiddish
radicals remained committed both to their class as well as to their ethnic
roots, notwithstanding the pressures of American life. In spite of a
seeming labyrinth of barriers to the unequivocal expression of ethnicity,
Yiddish radicals were among the most clear and consistent in declaring
the distinct boundaries of their identity. While scores of writers agonized
over the sense of ambiguity, ambivalence, and general angst faced by
Jews as "marginal" members of American society, Yiddish radicals
confidently promoted their vision of a secular utopian Judaism with
perspicacity and with a remarkable lack of self-consciousness.
They maintained an almost timeless sense of purpose and direction,
apparently undaunted by those treacherous social and political waters
that seem to have engulfed countless Jewish intellectuals. Moreover, they
avoided the agony of choosing between their Jewishness and their
political commitments by integrating the two, unlike the prototypical
businessman in Abraham Cahan's novel The Rise of David Levinsky, who
felt compelled to abandon traditional Judaism- and ultimately his sense
of ethnic conviction-in the drive for economic success.44
In some ways, the sense of identity and sets of cultural associations of
these Yiddish radicals reflected a certain continuity with the specific folk
community of origin. Upon their arrival in the United States and Canada,
they would often join /andsmenshaftn, mutual aid societies composed of
compatriots from the same town or region in Eastern Europe. Sometimes
these organizations were distinguished not only by the provincial ties of

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their members, but also by a shared political outlook. Many of the

chapters of the Workmen's Circle, the most prominent of institutions
among Yiddish radicals in the United States, were composed of landslayt.
Thus, in some ways, Jewish radical culture, at least initially, bore some
institutional parallels with Jewish communal life in Europe.
Yet at all times Yiddish radicals constituted a numerical minority
within the larger Jewish communities where they flourished. This placed
them in a precarious position in relation to the "established" Jewish
community. Not only did they face language restrictions vis-a-vis
American society as a whole (a condition shared by all non-Eng)ish-
speaking immigrants), but they also faced alienation, on political and
religious grounds, from within the Jewish community. Thus, they were
presented with the prospect of a two-pronged isolation. That their
lifelong primary associations were among Yiddish-speaking political
compatriots tended to reinforce this double separation.
The disparity between their embrace of an all-encompassing political
world and their relatively closed primary social networks was bridged to
some extent by their syncretic ethnic ideology which professed to speak
for all Jews and all workers in the language of•Judeo-intemationalism."
The degree to which they were successful in this venture remains a
subject of controversy. There can be no doubt, however, that as a
personal strategy for maintaining positive self-identification and a
remarkable continuity of belief and conviction, Yiddish radicalism did
succeed, as evidenced by the continued political activism of many of its
adherents well into their eighties and nineties, with their vision and sense
of commitment still intact.

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Chapter2
Folk Ideology and Folk History:

Reading Writings about the
Jewish Labor Movement
.About two o'clock some of the members of the strike committee together with
some representatives of the press went to the cloak district to see how the order of
the strike committee would be taken.... Among those who were curious to see
whether the workers would respond were also A. Cahan and B. Schlesinger, editor
and manager of the Vorwarts [Forward]. Our people were naturally very excited,
their hearts beat fast, and every minute seemed an age to them. When ten
minutes past two there was no worker to be seen, Cahan ironically asked: •wen,
where are your stnlcers?"
Hardly had he spoken, than we saw a sea of people surging from all the side
streets towards Fifth Avenue. Every minute the crowd grew larger, and all moved
in the same direction. By half past two, all the streets, from Thirty-Eighth Street
down and from the East River towards the west, were jammed with thousands of
workers . ... Many of our most devoted members cried for joy, at the idea that
their lifelong labors had at last been crowned with success. In my mind I could
only picture to myself such a scene taking place when the Jews were led out of
Egypt. 1
The evidence strongly suggests that the Jewish socialists were a prophetic
minority, responding to biblical norms of social justice, interpreted in a modern
context. They were men and women who bad been deeply immersed in the moral
commandments of Torah and Talmud, in messianic belief-systems, traditions of
tudaka (not merely charity but righteousness and justice toward others), mutual
aid, and communal respoosibility. 2
The way people think and feel is an organic part of history.3
The literature on the American Jewish Labor Movement (JLM) is

virtually inseparable from the outlook of the participants themselves.
During the course of reviewing over three hundred articles and books in
the search for documentary evidence of the identity and life course of the

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JLM, it struck me that the enchantment of most authors with the lore of
its history bas tended to mitigate substantive critical analysis of its
historical roots. Principal among the romantic notions embraced by those
who have written about the JLM (from journalists to academics) is the
belief that the radicalism of its participants flowed directly from the
traditional customs, beliefs, and social organization of those East
European communities whence came the great waves of Jewish
immigrant workers from the 1880s into the 1920s.
To read most of these accounts, one might construct as the typical
embodiment of the movement a yeshiva bokher (Jewish parochial
student) who-inspired by the parallels between the class struggles of
workers and the struggles of Moses, by the voices of the prophets and
those of contemporary revolutionaries- took bis (yeshiva students were,
by tradition, exclusively male) Talmudic learning with him into the
streets to demonstrate for decent wages and against the modem
pharaohs. In fact, the traditional religious community, as represented by
rabbinical and civic authority, was historically conservative, and
revolutionaries were often disowned-and sometimes banished-by the
religiously observant, who felt besieged by modernity, and who saw
radicals of any stripe as threats to their ever-tenuous position. A more
accurate observation would be that the JLM was infused with the energy
of many East European Jewish immigrant women and men, including
many former yeshiva students who, having abandoned their traditional
communities of origin (or having been abandoned by community
members), found themselves isolated within the trade union and
revolutionary movements as a whole, and found that they were most
effective-and experienced a heightened sense of solidarity-when they
organized among their ethnic compatriots, using the imagery with which
they, and the Jewish working class, were familiar.4
In the early 1960s, Hyman Berman complained that most works on the
JLM were chronicles of specific organilations, without regard to the
movement as a multifaceted whole, and that many writers, themselves
activists in the JLM, tended to "memorialize the efforts and achievements
of the participants,# resulting in works that are "episodic, anecdotal, and
filio-pietistic ... journalistic and superficial."5 Fourteen years later, Irwin
Yellowitz lamented that "after more than half a century of work on
American Jewish labor, we still await a comprehensive, scholarly and
definitive treatment."6
The tendency for cultural constructs to color critical analysis of JLM
history persists. A more recent study of the JLM in the United States by
historian Gerald Sorin illustrates the persistence of this problem.7 In
exploring the roots of radicalism among Jewish working-class immi-
grants at the turn of the twentieth century, he draws upon oral histories
and autobiographical writings of Jewish socialists to underscore bis
argument that Jewish culture and religious values were essential in the

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Folk Ideology and Folk History 29
formation of their political identity. Reserving judgment for the moment

with regard to this "leap of faith" assertion, it is an impressive survey of
the ethnopolitical consciousness of JLM activists, distinguished by the
fact that it draws primarily upon testimony from the participants
themselves. Naturally, be takes exception to Liebman's assertion that
"there is little evidence to support the hypothesis that Judaism
predisposes its adherents (or former adherents) toward a socialist
political identification."8 As one reads these personal narratives one is,
indeed, tempted to agree with Sorin that Jewish radicalism is a natural
outgrowth of the messianic and ethical teachings of Judaism, given the
demonstrative ways in which the connection is made by many of its
narrrators. I have been captivated by that idea myself, especially during
the period when I was a participant in such Jewish activist organirations
as the Jewish Radical Community and New Jewish Agenda in the late
1960s through the mid-1970S. I passionately cited Jewish precedents for
political stands, convinced that I was following a specifically Jewish
legacy of social justice. In fact, when writing about the JLM academics
and activists alike have, with very few exceptions tended to become
sufficiently enchanted by the dramatic power of an apparent equation as
to allow the "realpolitik" of the relationship of Judaism to radicalism (as
an a posteriori justification, rather than an a priori foundation) to escape
closer scrutiny.
It is because of this very enchantment with the notion of a direct
conduit from Judaism to radicalism that most of the JLM histories
described in this chapter fall into the category of "folk history.• However,
I wish to make it clear that I am not invoking the popular definition here
("truth" versus "folklore"), implying that these writings are necessarily
historically inaccurate. Rather, I invoke the term "folk history" to indicate
that the interpretation of historical events, even if faithfully recorded,
have tended to reflect the subjective (and essentially unqualified)
embrace of the premises of the folk ideology of the JLM, rather than the
intersubjectivity (I prefer this term to the spurious • objectivity") expected
of scholarly research. I recognize that much of scholarship in the area of
radical history reflects a dialectic tension between passionate
commitment and dispassionate research (it is certainly true in my case).
This is particularly appropriate given the dual role of participant/
historian assumed by many a chronicler of the JLM. My primary interest
here is not to judge writings about the JLM according to canons of
conventional historical research, but rather to focus on them as cultural
artifacts, exemplars of the very folk ideology that defined the culture and
identity of the JLM.
Writings on the JLM are not so radically different in their treatment of
the historical record from other conventional histories in at least one
respect: their tendency to retrofit the evidence into a preconceived point
of view. In the main, they reflect a predisposition toward seeking out

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associations that would serve to establish precedents for the growth of

and character of the JLM within Jewish tradition. One might view these
historical exercises as part of a "rite of reintegration," a way of arguing for
the acceptance of a marginalized subculture into the "mainstream" of
Jewish community life. These are by and large validations of the
achievements of the JLM within the context of the American Jewish
community as a whole, arguments for an ethnic solidarity that transcends
the bounds (and the stigma) of the JLM, leading the disenfranchised back
into the fold.
As demonstrations of ethnicity, accounts of the JLM are full of
metaphor and analogy, of imagery drawn from-and drawing the JLM
toward- traditional Judaism. Biblical allusions, for example, are
scattered throughout the chronicles of Jewish labor. Their function is not
to establish verifiable historical links with ancient Judaism, but rather to
serve as cultural "precedent," validating the Jewish credentials of trade
union and political institutions. By using biblical themes and the like, a
reassuring emphasis could be placed upon ethnic continuity within a
movement that experienced tremendous turmoil and in tum exerted
considerable stress upon the Jewish body politic.
The specific focus of this chapter, then, will be on the ways in which
Jewish scholars and activists (especially labor leaders) have "read"
Jewish tradition into the character and accomplishments of the JLM.9
The JLM is seen by its observers and participants alike as a
comprehensive entity, constituting a network of institutions: fraternal,
political, cultural, educational, and recreational. As Nathan Reich has
stated, "Though formally independent, these institutions are bound by
common ties of ideological kinship and interlocking leadership."1° In
defining the character of the JLM, these writers have viewed it is an
integral and highly deliberate process, the product of an attempt "to
create a distinct sub-culture within American Jewry [that) significantly
affected workers and the entire community."11 Daniel Bell has noted the
"high degree of self-consciousness of place and purpose in history"
reflected in numerous biographies of Jewish trade union leaders, who
display a keen awareness of the ways in which their organizations have
come to symbolize Jewish labor. In the process of fulfilling their
perceived historic roles, they have been inclined to "act on the symbolic
assumptions, and this becomes a part of the reality," a part of the picture
of Jewish working-class culture.12
The accounts of the JLM record subjective responses to historical
processes, and cultural conceptions of historical place. The contradictions
that emerge between conceptions of the relation of East European Jewish
tradition to the JLM do not undermine arguments for historical
precedent, but in fact reflect the historically segmented character of
Jewish society itself. The Jewish community is no more the monolith
depicted by some scholars than is the JLM of a single mind and body, as

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implied by others. Intragroup factionalism was as much a part of

community life for Jewish workers as it was for the members of any other
ethnic group or political movement. Yet, JLM activists did share common
goals as Jewish workers, and could, and did, draw upon common cultural
forms of expression in articulating them.
This chapter explores the extent to which the potent symbolism offered
within the JLM itself as a movement of visionaries seeking to create a
new world has captivated its chroniclers, "elite" and "grass roots• alike,
inspiring them to poetic license in the Mosaic imagery upon which they
have drawn in painting the character of the JLM and linking the fervor of
its participants with the messianic impulse.
Among the subjects I will address with regard to JLM history as folk
ideology are 1) an overview of the Jewish Labor Movement and Jewish
radicalism; 2) a critical look at major themes in Jewish tradition and their
bearing on, and reflection in, the character and development of the JLM;
3) an examination of aspects of traditional Jewish communal structure
and practice seen as having set precedents for political orga.nization
within the JLM; and 4) the invocation of "primordial ties" in the
affirmation of radical commitment.
BYTHEWATERSOFBABYLON:THEJEWISH
LABOR MOVEMENT AND JEWISH RADICALISM
The roots of the JLM are generally traced to events external to the
Jewish communities of Eastern Europe, namely, decades of upheaval in
the wake of the industrial revolution, and political revolutions starting in
the 1840s. A brief period of civil emancipation in Russia in the mid-18008
facilitated contact with the Haskalah (Enlightenment), a German Jewish
movement that represented the first widespread exposure, for culturally
isolated Jews, to intellectual developments in contemporary nineteenth-
century Europe. It was a dual-edged sword, for while it brought a
potential for the revitalization of a culturally stagnant ethnic enclave, in
its stress on secular rationalism it also threatened to woo its members
from a long-standing traditional communal network.
When a period of economic depression and political reaction set in
during the late 1800s, the Jewish community, beset not only by economic
scarcity, but also by anti-Semitic attacks, hotly debated the question of
what constituted an appropriate reaction to the maelstrom in which they
were unavoidably engulfed. The taste of freedom experienced by a
generation of young intellectuals heightened their eagerness to
participate in movements for fundamental solutions to their plight.
Political discussion circles were formed, many of which coalesced into
revolutionary parties. Some joined the various socialist or anarchist
formations at large; others banded together in revolutionary groups
organiud on the basis of ethnicity. Principal among the latter was the

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General Jewish Workers Federation of Poland, Lithuania, and Russia (the

Bund), founded in 1897.13 At first, these intellectuals were disdainful of
the Jewish community, which they viewed as culturally and politically
backward. However, the reluctance of the general Russian revolutionary
movement to accept them fully, and the growing need to address a Jewish
constituency with the specific problems faced by the Jewish proletariat,
led them ultimately to develop closer ties with the Jewish community.
Agitation was carried out in Yiddish, the vernacular of East European
Jewry, and a burgeoning Yiddish literature was sponsored that dealt with
themes of concern and interest to a growing and impoverished Yiddish-
speaking working class.
The experience gained by the participants in this Jewish Labor
Movement in Europe found ready application in major urban centers in
America where East European Jews had settled. The late 1800s saw the
first great wave of Jewish immigrant workers to the United States and the
first massive efforts to organize the Jewish labor force. The United
Hebrew Trades was established in 1888 as an attempt to unify the efforts
of several Jewish unions, largely in the garment industry which, like its
European counterpart, employed the largest proportion of Jewish
workers. In the 1890s there was a flurry of trade union and socialist
activity, along with a radical Yiddish press that met with sporadic success
in this initial period. In 1897 (the year of the founding of the Bund), the
Yiddish socialist newspaper Der Forverts (Forward, also called the
Jewish Daily Forward), was founded; at its height it reached a circulation
of 250,000 and was to become "undoubtedly the most influential paper
in the Jewish community of New York.•14 In 1900, the International
Ladies Garment Workers Union (ILGWU) was formed, destined to
become the largest and most successful of the "needle trades" unions,
followed soon thereafter by its counterpart in the men's wear industry,
the Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America (ACWA). In the wake of
the Bolshevik Revolution, a Yiddish communist newspaper, Der Morgn
Freiheit (Morning Freedom), perennial rival to the Forward, was
launched.
The earliest of these efforts, however, often fell short of developing a
sufficient sense of direction and permanency. This lack of success can be
attnl>uted in part to a lack of adequate political experience among
organizers, and partly to lingering doubts about the idea of working
exclusively among members of the Jewish working class. It was the
arrival of immigrants in the second phase of the "great wave,• following
the Kishinev massacre of 1903 and the unsuccessful Russian revolution of
1905, that turned the tide for the American JLM. With these new arrivals
came large numbers of Bundists, rich in political experience gained in
trade union and socialist activity in the Old Country. Further, these
revolutionaries had overcome their sense of ambivalence about
involvement in a "Jewish identified" political movement, and had begun

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Follc Ideology and Folk History 33
to develop viable approaches to organizing with the Jewish working class

(greater detail on this East European "connection- follows).
A variety of explanations have been offered for the presence of Jews in
radical politics, and it would be well to consider some of these briefly.
Arthur Liebman, in his landmark Jews and the Left, provides the most
comprehensive overview, identifying both strengths and weaknesses in
Jewish left-wing ideologies.IS I will review the three main aspects of his
argument: 1) religion, 2) anti-Semitism, and 3) historical tradition.
A main current running throughout the literature on the JLM is the
implication that Jewish participation in socialist movements bas been
inspired by basic values in Judaism, such as a messianic faith and a
concern for social justice. Religious texts and traditional practices are
cited as evidence of a radical mortar in the sacred foundation itself. It
would be problematic at best to ascertain whether, in fact, any Jewish
socialists, let alone the majority, consciously recognized or sought out
such links, either as grounds for joining socialist organizations or as a
rationale for maintaining their affiliation. The principal weakness in the
religion thesis lies in its failure to account for the wide range of political
ideologies, from communist to conservative, adopted by Jews exposed to
the same theological precepts.16 The mistake here is in assuming that
Judaism is unique in predisposing its adherents toward a particular
ideology. The Hebrew Bible itself reflects, if anything, the class society
from which it arose, replete with Jewish prophets and Jewish tyrants.
Notwithstanding the fact that any attempt to establish a causal relation-
ship between Judaism and radicalism is problematic, the considerable
investment that chroniclers and participants have made in the symbolic
value attached to this connection has made a significant impact. In that
sense, wishing did make it so for all of the practical purposes to which
that symbolism was employed.
Another major factor motivating Jewish involvement in social struggles
has been the presence of anti-Semitism, instilling in Jews a profound
sense of injustice and the need for social change. It is certainly the case
that anti-Semitism has provided the impetus for struggles against social
inequities that doubly oppressed Jews. The argument here suffers,
however, from a problem analogous to that of religion, namely, that if
anti-Semitism was a prime mover for Jewish radicalism, why have Jewish
radicals remained a minority within the Jewish community? Further,
how does one account for the range of other responses to anti-Semitism,
from conversion to Christianity to a,s.qimilation to Zionism (the latter
being a movement whose adherents have included conservative as well as
revolutionary tendencies)?l7
The argument for historical tradition sees the Left as the only
alternative for Jews who, until recent decades, had been refused equal
participation in the political arena by all but the Left parties. The fact that
radical organizations have often defended Jewish civil rights and

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promoted a new form of society free of discrimination exerted a magnetic

force upon European Jewry, particularly in the wake of the brief
honeymoon with "emancipation."18
The problem with this theory, as with others, is its failure to account for
the majority of European, and later American, Jews who remained
outside the left. What is significant, however, is the disproportionate
number of Jews in radical movements relative to their size in the general
population. A dilemma faced by many Jewish radicals, though, was the
ambivalence of the general socialist movement toward Jews, reflecting, in
spite of its progressive character, the popular prejudice of the times.
While ethnic discrimination within the Left did not necessarily repel Jews
from socialism, it may be said to have been an important factor in turning
many assimilated Jewish socialists to organizing among the Jewish
working class, addressing needs and issues not actively taken up by the
movement as a whole. This development may be attnbuted partially to
the presence of anti-Semitism within the Left itself, but of greater
importance was the overriding concern with questions of fundamental
change which, for many socialists, Jewish and non-Jewish, transcended
specific ethnic issues.
Liebman concludes that no theory about Jews and the Left can be
based on generalizations about all Jews. Instead, he looks to the specific
class-linked factors that promoted a radical subculture that represented
both an impoverished working class, driven from marginal occupations,
and an oppressed people, suffering under the yoke of anti-Semitism. This
conjunction of class and ethnic persecution provided the basis for a
socialist consciousness combined with a heightened Jewish self-
consciousness. Despite regional differences, Jewish workers as a group
experienced a double bond of commonality that facilitated the communi-
cation and spread of political ideas. Yiddishkayt (Yiddish language and
the culture that is its base), the mode of communication, served to
perpetuate a degree of cultural autonomy and insularity from the
pressures of assimilation and political conservatism (at least for a time),
and so prolonged the life of this distinctive subculture.19
As pointed out in Chapter 1, the thesis of a radical subculture enables
us to view the sources of Jewish radicalism within Jewish tradition, not
as a set of necessary prior conditions for the generation of a Left current
among Jews as a whole, but rather as a culturally available means of
validating the continuity of aspects of Jewish tradition with the frame-
work of an ethnic political movement, one that has relevance for both the
larger Jewish community and the general working class.

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OF MOSF.8 AND MARX: MAJOR JEWISH THEMES IN THE

JEWISH LABOR MOVEMENT
For those declaring that Jewish radicalism is rooted in Jewish tradition,

the point of departure has been, naturally, the Torah-the Five Boob of
Moses, chronicling the emergence of the Jewish people, their enslave-
ment and ultimate redemption from bondage in Egypt, and the handing
down of the basic laws for Jewish ethical conduct to Moses on Mt. Sinai.
These and the subsequent accounts of the prophets are seen as having
provided object lessons which have been retained as the ancestral legacy
of the children of Israel and renewed each generation, and within each
cycle of seasons, through study, prayer and ritual observance. For Louis
Ruchames, rabbi, sociologist, and historian:
The source of early Jewish radicalism and much of its strength through the ages
may be found in Jewish slavery in Egypt more than three millennia ago. The
memory of that period and the anti-slavery attitudes resuhlng therefrom were
deeply ingrained in Jewish religious thought and practice and have had a
significant impact even upon nonreligious Jews. On Passover the Jew is enjoined
to regard himself [sic] as having been enslaved in Egypt. And every Sabbath as he
recites the blessing over the wine he recalls that the Sabbath was ordained to
memorialize the Exodus from Egypt as well as the seventh day of creation. The
recollection of Egyptian bondage with the concomitant emphasis upon liberty are
among the most important facts of Jewish history. In ancient Jewish life these
resulted in egalitarian and libertarian emphases in Jewish religious thought and a
marked sympathy for the oppressed and enslaved. Ultimately these views were
embodied in the Old Testament and in the subsequent teachings of the prophets
of Israel.20
Ruchames cites the work of Hugo Valentin, who points to the social
legislation of the Old Testament and prophetic writings as indications of
a "disposition to radicalism on the part of the Jews. "21 Observing that
Moses •was the first to proclaim the rights of man," Valentin proceeds to
outline such biblical laws as the requirement that the owner of a field
leave part of the crop for the poor;22 that on the Sabbath, the stranger and
the laborer are to rest along with the rest of the household;23 that all
debts be canceled after seven years;24 and that other such ethical actions
be conducted. He concludes that "it will scarcely appear an exaggeration
to describe the ancient Jewish social order as inspired by a unique ethical
radicalism. "25
Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), the poet whose verse from "The New
Colossus" is inscn"bed on the Statue of Liberty, brought this argument up
to date, positing that
the modem theory of socialism and humanitarianism . .. has its root in the
Mosaic Code... . The very latest reforms urged by the political economists, in

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view of the misery of the lower classes, are established by the Mosaic Code, which
formulated the principle of the rights of labor,:i. the right of private property in
land,27 asserting that the comers of the field, the gleanings of the harvest
belonged injustice, not in charity, to the poor and the stranger,28 and that man
owed a duty, not only to all humanity, but even to the beast of the field, and "the
ox that treads the grain."29 In accordance with these principles we find the fathers
of modem socialism to be three Jews-Ferdinand Lasalle [1825-1864; utopian
socialist], Karl Marx (1818-1882; of Communist Manifesto and Capital fame] and
Johann Jacoby (1805-1877; leader in the German socialist movement].3°
The prophetic writings are rich with inspirational passages for the
downtrodden traditional Jew-as-radical. The labor-Zionist historian C.
Bezalel Sherman, noting that the early Jewish immigrant workers in the
United States •were perhaps, in their majority, Orthodox in religion,•
opines that "the socialist ideology of the leaders found a warm response
in the sense of social justice that lived in the soul of the ordinary Jews-a
sense that derived from the combination of the prophetic vision and his
unjust treatment at the hands of the non-Jewish world."31
Maurice Hindus, a writer for The Menorah Journal (a literary
periodical founded in 1915 that became increasingly left in perspective
over the years), illustrated his argument that "the Jewish religion has
much in common with modem radicalism" by citing a selection from
Jeremiah in which the prophet is instructed to admonish the "house of
the King of Judah" to refrain from evil ways or incur the wrath of God.32
"The ancient writings of the Jews bristle with such pronouncements. The
prophets continually hurl threats and curses on the despoilers of the
widow and orphan, the exploiter of the poor and weak, as does the
modem radical. "33
Though these may appear as strong arguments for the inspiration of
biblical social protest in contemporary radicalism, radicalism more often
than not represented an historically necessary break from the traditional
community bound by biblical injunction. In spite of the prophetic legacy,
the principal survival strategy of European Jewry had long been that of
conciliation. Charles E. Woodhouse and Henry J. Tobias, in a study of the
relation between "primordial ties• among Jews and political develop-
ments in prerevolutionary Russia, note that traditional Jewish commun-
ity leaders tended to preach obedience to existing laws and appeasement
of state authorities through "petitions, appeals, prayer and bribery."
Within such a context, "violent response was unthinkable. The young
Jewish revolutionaries were, therefore, not only breaking the law of the
land by their actions, they were also going against the will of the
traditionally learned and powerful Jews who acted as spokesmen for the
entire community."34
Faced with agonizing choices, many Jewish radicals opted to abandon
Judaism altogether, assimilating into the dominant culture of the general

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revolutionary movement. For those who continued to be (or resumed

being) specifically identified as Jewish activists, it was necessary to forge
a new set of Jewish *traditions• based on new social and political
foundations or, more accurately, re-vision the connections between
Judaism and radicalism in order to reconcile these ideationally linked,
but historically alienated bases of identity and action.
It has been argued that socialism itself became a secular substitute for
that tradition and community with whom ties had been severed. The
historian Moses lli"Chin goes so far as to assert that "for most Jewish
socialists, although often unaware of it, socialism was Judaism
secularized." He offers the words of Abraham Cahan, longtime editor of
the Forward, as an exemplum of the thesis of socialism-qua-religion:
"The spiritual cheer which this idea creates ... is a divided reward ... a
reward that Judaism promiv-s in the world to come, but which laboring
humanity attains in this world."35
The messianic image is perhaps one of the most pervasive of all
symbols associated with Jewish radicalism. In the words of A. L Patkin,
historian of the Russian-Jewish labor movement, "the inherited belief in
the Messianic 'end of days,' in a new order of peace and brotherhood, was
only intensified by new methods of socialist and revolutionary
propaganda of the intelligentsia." Material interests alone are seen as
having been insufficient to account for the level of courage and self-
sacrifice displayed by Jewish workers. "It was the vision of the 'end of
days' which prompted him to act, to strike and to revolt."36 Irving Howe,
socialist and popular writer, sees in socialist messianism in the American
JLM not so much an extension of a religious impulse as an instance of
sacred-secular transference. "The Jewish immigrants brought with them
not merely habits derived from petty trading [a common occupation of
East European Jews] but also such traditional elements of Jewish
experience as messianism, which could be adapted to secular
persuasions."37
W. B. Rideout invokes the messianic impulse to construct an elaborate
set of correspondences in his argument that "certain elements in
Marxism and Judaism made it easy for Jews skeptical of their ancestral
faith to transfer their devotion to this secular substitute.•
Thus, dialectical materialism, that inevitable and all-powerful process, took the
place of God; the International declared the unity of the human race; and the
Proletarian Revolution was the true Messiah that would restore an ideal kingdom
on this earth and bring world peace. Both Judaism and Marxism, at least as Karl
Marx conceived it, insisted on a morality of individuals free from any fonn of
tyranny; and the social idealism and hatred of injustice found in the utterances of
the best Socialist leaders resembled those of the great prophets of ancient Israel,
even to some extent in phraseology.31

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For those Jewish activists who championed the cause of the Jewish
working class, yet were compelled to divorce themselves from the
strictures of Jewish tradition, it could not be a simple case of
substitution. For one thing they were faced with the problem of
reintegrating themselves within a Yiddish-speaking constituency that, by
some accounts, was still tradition-bound to a certain extent. For another
thing, despite the universality of the messianic message, it was the
particularity of their Jewishness that Yiddish radicals had to reconcile
with the universality of international working class solidarity.
Chaim Zhitlowsky, one of the leading exponents of Yiddishism-a
Yiddish language-based cultural nationalism which was infused with a
broadly socialist outlook-sought a synthesis between the two apparently
antagonistic concepts of "cosmopolitanism" and "nationalism" in his own
interpretation of the principle of internationalism (which he came to
denote as "inter-nationalism"): "It is the principle of Community of
Nations introduced by modem Socialism, and which was long ago
proclaimed by the Jewish prophets, Isajah [sic] and Michah."39
Zhitlowky's pronouncements may well have helped generate a spirit of
unity among Yiddish socialists, but it is arguable as to whether such
rationalizations would inspire observant Jews to embrace inter-
nationalism.
The paradox of a religious tradition apparently ripe with symbols to
inspire social radicalism, yet perpetuated by socially and politically
conservative practitioners, posed a real problem for trade union and
political activists who sought to organize the Jewish masses. In the
United States, among those immigrants who arrived during the period
preceding 1905, there were a sizable number who "remained steadfast in
their religious loyalty, joined Orthodox congregations in large numbers
[and] were willing to endure the misery and degradation of the
sweatshops merely because it allowed them to observe the Sabbath.•
(Some Jewish contractors would exploit the religiously observant by
offering them sixty-hour workweeks from Sunday morning through
Friday afternoon.) Early labor leaders argued that religion "tended to
blunt the class-consciousness of the Jewish worker," but they were
divided on approaches to the problem. Some went so far as to put on
antireligious spectacles in religious neighborhoods during Jewish
holidays; however, "most of the socialist leaders favored an attitude of
respect and tolerance in dealings with professing Jews. "◄0
Seeking inroads into an unsophisticated, largely tradition-bound
immigrant work force, then, the early trade union organizers "adopted
the chanting and the tum of speech of the beth-medresh (congregational
house of worship) near and dear to every Orthodox Jew."◄1 Bernard
Weinstein, secretary of the United Hebrew Trades in its first years,
recalled a meeting of a pressers' local, held at a small synagogue on the
East Side:

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The brother president [of the local] smoothed out bis lcapote [skull cap worn by
observant Jews], looked aroUDd him and began bis speech:
"Brothers," be began in a loud voice, "do you know who was the first walking
delegate?.. . The first walking delegate among the Jews . .. wu Moses, and the
Sanhedrin [the supreme religious and judicial body of the Jew in antiquity] wu
the first executive board.•
The scholarly chairman went on with his speech, overflowing with wisdom
from the Torah and Talmud. His parables went straight to the hearts of his
listeners. All comparisons led to the UDion. 42
The Yiddish socialist press tailored its political message to appeal "to
ordinary folk for whom prayers had been numbed by ritual reiteration,
yet who yearned for rejuvenated reaffirmation of social justice uttered in
the name of God and Moses and the prophets. •43 Caban took an early
interest in the exegetical approach to socialist agitation. In 1896, he co-
founded the Yiddish socialist weekly Di Neie Tzeit (New .Age), scheduling
the first issue to coincide with Shavuos (the holiday commemorating the
handing down of the Torah to Moses at Mt. Sinai). He prepared an
opening editorial, and enlisted the aid of the Yiddish linguist Alexander
Harkavy, who wrote an article entitled, "Workers in the Days of Moses.•
Cahan reminisces: "considering the time of our first issue, I played on the
idea that in the holiday season marking the giving of the Law we were
issuing in this Shavuoth a paper which, with its explanations of socialist
ideas, would become a new Torah for the Jewish workers.•44
The journalist adopted the role of the socialist melammed (teacher of
Jewish tradition), using the press as the rabbi would the pulpit. Although
he apparently viewed this as an exercise in pragmatism, lowering hia
intellectual brow to speak to the Jewish masses, at least one historian
sees in such an approach the reflection of a psychic inheritance that
Cahan shared with hia readers:
A born melammed, he was quite addicted to that moment when, after a long and
arduous groping for the right illuminative example, the light of UDderstanding
would suddenly come to some face in the audience that bad hitherto been
shadowed with perplexity. Caban had a mind that naturally thought in concrete
examples; in this respect he was the distinct product of an East European Jewish
folk tradition, represented by the parable making of the Hasidic rebbe
[charismatic leader] or by the homely style of the maggid, the travelling preacher
whose Sabbath-afternoon sermons were usually an onrush of anecdote and
apothegm.4S
Cahan, along with Morris Hillquit (a leader in the Socialist Labor Party
[SLP]) and others, established the Arbeiter Zeitung (Workers' Paper) in
May 1890; in it he continued to employ familiar religious associations to
draw socialist lessons, in a column which he signed "Der Proletarishker
Maggid.• Here "he took on the mantle of the ... travelling preacher of his

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childhood, and wove a weekly sermon around the sidra, the portion of the
Torah that is read each week in the traditional synagogue service." And in
the manner of the traditional rabbinic orator, he infused his "sermons"
with liberal doses of biblical passages, homiletic stories, and personal
commentary.46
Today our Biblical portion is about strikes: the cloak makers still have a little
strike to finish up, the shirt makers are on strike, the pants makers are striking,
even our teacher Moses called a mass meeting to talk about a strike. Va'yak'hel
Moishe, Moses gathered the children of Israel together and said to them:
Sheyshes yommin te'asseh m7okhoh, more than six days a week you shouldn't
work for the bo6ses, the seventh day you shall rest.•7
The response to the first issue of Arbeiter Zeitung exceeded the

expectations of its publishers. "In the ensuing days the Arbeiter Zeitung
became a prominent subject of discussion on the Lower East Side, the
Sidra the feature most frequently discussed and praised."48
The appeal of such a column and, in fact, the success of socialist agita-
tion in Yiddish journals, has often been attributed to the passion for
learning of the Jewish people.
The Jew has always been an Am Hase/er, a people of the book. He [sic] has ever
cherished a love of inquiry, debate, speculation. Pent up in the ghetto and busy as
he might be during the day with work and trade, evenings he visited the
synagogue for prayer and study of the Talmud and other sacred subjects. If he
was no scholar himself, he could listen to the discussions of others, and if
statements seemed obscure and unreasonable he could ask questions, make
objections. The more severely he was persecuted the more zealously he clung to
his Jewishness and the more desperately he sought succor and strength in the
teachings of the prophets and the great rabbis. His love of learning in time grew
into a deep-rooted tradition. The learned man the Jew has always honored and
revered. "The wise man," says the Talmud, "takes precedence of the king and a
bastard who is a scholar of the high priest who is an ignoramus."49
Given such a tradition, it has been argued that the legacy of Talmudic
scholarship would transfer well into the intellectually charged atmo-
sphere of the JI.M. Howe, airing a by now familiar formula, points to the
"clash of opposing intellectual and cultural forces" generated in the wake
of the Haskalah that "gave rise to an intellectual fervor, a purity of
dialectical prowess, a transplanting of Talmudic sharpness to secular
concerns.•so
Much has been made of the role of intellectuals in the JI.M. The Jewish
socialist and trade union organizations were top-heavy with intellectual
leadership. Ezra Mendelsohn indicates the importance of a secular
Jewish intelligentsia in the formation of the JI.M in Europe: "The history
of Jewish politics in the Russian Empire is largely the story of how this

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intelligentsia formed an alliance with the Jewish masses to create specific

Jewish political movements."51 The JLM in the United States is said to
have made its greatest gains after 1905, when large numbers of these East
European intellectuals, many of them members of the Bund, entered the
ranks of the American Jewish work force and provided much-needed
leadership.52
But to what extent was the Talmudic heritage in particular a factor in
the successes of Jewish trade union and political organizations?
Woodhouse and Tobias stress that the "traditional emphasis on literacy
and learning made it possible for a community press to flourish and for
political mobilization to be carried out through study circles, libraries,
and creative artistic endeavors."53 Yet, although the Talmudic legacy
would appear to have lived on among socialist intellectuals in the JLM in
Europe and the United States, it was conspicuously absent among the
masses of Jewish workers. Cahan, recalling his first impressions on
arriving in the United States in 1882, observed that "there were few
intellectuals among the earlier immigrant Jews from Russia and Austria.
There was little of the thirst for higher education which one finds among
Jewish youth today.... Most of the immigrants were honest, plain people
and, with the exception of the minority of talmudic Jews, uneducated."54
This paradox is highlighted in Abraham Menes's observations on the
question of education among, and by, socialist intellectuals in spreading
the "spiritual values" of enlightenment and social justice, yet the barriers
to imparting their knowledge to the "people of the Book.•
Young workers ... enthusiastically undertook their self-education. They read,

studied, discussed problems after their bard labor in the shops. The ancient
Jewish tradition of individual and group study was revived in a new form. How
important these intellectual pursuits were, can be judged from the fact that the
majority of Jewish immigrants came to this country with but scanty education-
many were, in fact, almost illiterate. Intensive educational work was therefore
required in order to prepare a reading public for the socialist newspapers, books,
and Jewish literature in general.55
The Yiddish press, then, not only took on the task of providing political
leadership but also assumed responsibility for raising the level of
education of the Jewish workers to that commensurate with their
reputation as Am Hase/er. In the course of doing so they helped foster a
renaissance of Yiddish culture, especially literature, which came into full
flower with the rise of the JLM. This process began in nineteenth-century
Europe where socialists, seeking to forge ties with Jewish labor,
embraced Yiddish as the "language of the people.• Promoting literature as
a vehicle for socialist agitation, they discovered that the principal Yiddish
writers-such as I. L. Peretz (1851-1915), Mendele Mocher Sforim (1836-
1917), and Sholem Aleichem (1859-1916), considered to be the forebears

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of modem Yiddish literature-dwelled on themes of proletarian Jewish

uie.56
1'L
The Bund was an important agent in the development of Yiddish

culture, as its members conducted socialist agitation in the mame-loshen
(mother tongue) of East European Jewry. In fact, the Bund's revolu-
tionary literature in Yiddish "was rapidly coming to symbolize the
cultural unity of Jews in the Pale of Settlement.•57 In this way Yiddishism,
the promotion of the language and culture of Eastern European Jews,
became virtually synonymous with support for Jewish working-class and
radical movements.
With the influx of "new" immigrants in the wake of the failed 1905
revolution against the Russian Tsar, "the Jewish labor movement became
Yiddishist in a very conscious way."58 But even before this period, Yiddish
writers, especially poets, were emerging as spokespersons for the
downtrodden "wage slaves" of the sweatshops, whose trials, as well as
aspirations, were given lyric voice. The counterpart to the forebears of
Yiddish literature were the "big four• labor poets: Morris Winchevsky
(1857-1932), Morris Rosenfeld (1862-1923), David Edelstadt (1866-
1892), and Joseph Bovshover (1872-1915). Their poetry was not
necessarily "Jewish" in content; often it spoke directly, and without
embellishment, of the harsh conditions of the workplace. A particularly
effecting piece by Morris Rosenfeld is simply titled "The sweatshop," its
meter set to the rhythm of the sewing machines:
So wild is the roar of machines in the sweatshop,

often forget I'm alive in that din!
I'm drowned in the tide of that terrible tumult-
my ego is slain; I become a machine.
I work and I work, without rhyme, without reason-
produce, and produce, and produce without end.
For what? and for whom? I don't know, I don't wonder-
since when can a whirling machine comprehend?59
The labor poets served as a Yiddish mass voice, not so much because
their lyrics were filled with traditional Jewish imagery; more often than
not they were universal paeans to exploited labor and clarion calls to
social protest. But by "speaking" in the vernacular, they offered a
celebration of class and ethnicity that had great appeal to members of the
Jewish radical subculture.60 In any event, they were pioneers of Yiddish
literature at a time when many Jewish socialists in the United States still
held Yiddish in low regard as the "jargon• of the uncultured masses. It
was the poets' growing esteem and popularity (many of their poems were
set to music and sung or recited in sweatshops and on picket lines) that
helped to enhance the prestige of Yiddish literature in general as it
enriched the lives of Jewish workers. 6t

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Was there something in the character of the Yiddish language itself, as

the product of East European Jewish culture, that lent itself to the forging
of a class-based ethnic movement, whose very tone rang consonant with
that of the general labor and socialist movements? Howe sees in the
culture of Yiddish a "literature releasing the crude immediacies of
plebeian life, at once provincial in accent and universalist in its claims."62
Paul Buhle, a labor historian and chronicler of ethnic Left subcultures,
and who learned Yiddish in order better to understand the Jewish Labor
Movement (and interview veterans of the JLM in their native tongue),
has presented a most eloquent rationale for the wedding of Yiddishism
and radicalism. He charactem.es the Yiddish language as having a
"folkish" quality about it that made it the "very epitome of Popular
Culture,• and so, eminently "suited for the tasks of socialism."
The ironic sense set so deeply in Jewish culture-"God's Chosen People"

seemingly always on the wrong side of history- had in fact found a perfect
instrument in the unpretentious Yiddish diction, its matter-of-fact tone and
adaptability to the other cultures Oanguages) at hand. The early Jewish socialists,
who determined to ease Jewish assimilation into a "better" language, could hardly
grasp the real possibilities. The literary language was created by popular
demand, against the orthodox religionists, the assimilationists, all those who
doubted the existence of a Yiddishlceit, a people's culture which would not be
"uplifted" out of self-identity but would retain its basic elements in the face of all
opposition. . . . Yiddish offered a linguistic world in which the mixture of
ideological Messianism, material poverty and persecution might be reconciled,
always aware that this reconciliation presented a possible illusion and offered a
prophetic vision that might never be fulfilled. Perhaps no other language as
Yiddish demanded under the historical conditions, the success of Socialism as a
pre-condition for its continued existence; none that I know express the
problematic qualities of this hope in such ironic tenns.63
What Buhle is suggesting is that Yiddish is not simply a linguistic, but

also a cultural code of communication adapted to mirror the condition of
a people, and reflecting, in the ways described, a kind of "folk" ideology
whose central core is that of Yiddishkayt-the constellation of attitudes
and life-styles (literally, it means "Yiddishness") that has come to
symbolize East European Jewish culture as a whole.6-4 And while
socialism was not necessarily a precondition for the survival of Yiddish
(as Buhle would have it), it certainly was the ideological core of
Yiddishkayt for many Jewish immigrant workers.
With the separation of radical Jews from the life-style and world view
of the traditional community, Yiddishism (one might call it the political
arm of Yiddishkayt) came to embody the outlook of a new secular
Judaism. It became the foundation of the folk ideology of those Jews in
labor and radical movements who retained, or chose to renew, their sense
of ethnicity, without returning to the Judaism of the shtetl, the closed

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corporate community long stigmatized by its association with political, as

well as religious, conservatism.65
COMMUNITY AND POL11Y: JEWISH COMMUNAL

STRUcnJREAND THE JEWISH LABOR. MOVEMENT
Most immigrants brought to America a tradition of communal life. This body of

folkways and institutional experience, nourished by ties of religion and language,
and common life style, eased the immigrant's adjustment to the alien
environment. . . . Communal agencies evolved-part transplanted, part indi•
genous-which supplied the immigrant settlement with social and welfare
services, and above all with an ethnic identity.66
Just as chroniclers of the Jewish Labor Movement have attempted to

locate the ideological roots of radicalism within Judaism, so Jewish social
organi1.ation has been posited as a seedbed for the growth of the JLM as
well as providing the ground for the unique contnl>utions the JLM has
made to the American labor movement in general. Inspiration is drawn
from the observation that Jewish communities in Eastern Europe had for
several centuries been organized as locally self-governing groups,
presided over by a kehillah, or communal administration, subject to the
laws of the state, but allowed jurisdiction over internal matters. While
isolated and periodically oppressed as a group, the Jewish community
was able to maintain the integrity of its traditional life-style. Arthur A.
Goren argues that this state of affairs served to reinforce "the communal
thrust of rabbinic Judaism-its faith in collective redemption, the
emphasis it gave to the study of the sacred law and to charitable works-
[and] equipped generations of European Jewry with an acute sense of
common fate and a group discipline and with a unifying intellectual
tradition."61
J.B.S. Hardman, former Bundist and director of education of the
Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America (ACWA), comments on the
complementarity of various institutions that was a "part of the Jewish
past."
So, in New York or Chicago, when the Jewish immigrants' life reached the state of
having unions, or a Workmen's Circle, or a Socialist Party, they looked upon those
setups as their combined cultural center, political discussion club, their social
philosophy yeshiva, as it were; they did not feel that they needed tight partitions
between one and the other of these forms of group life; what they wanted was an
integral labor community home.68
As the principal function of the closed corporate Jewish community

was "taking care of its own," associations guaranteeing basic social
welfare were a permanent feature. They were usually attached to local

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synagogues. The sense of communal responsibility is one of the

underpinnings of traditional Jewish society, embodied in the concept of
tsedakah. Often translated as "charity," it more broadly defines social
welfare not only as a responsibility of the one providing it, but also as the
right of the one receiving it.69
In the absence of any governmental social security program in the
United States at the turn of the century, private philanthropic organi-
zations were established to meet the needs of newly arrived immigrants.
These institutions were not geared for long term assistance; more
permanent remedies were found by landsmenshaftn (societies composed
of immigrants from the same town or region) or fraternal organizations
which provided benefits for their members. Principal among the latter
was the Workmen's Circle, first organized in 1892, and established as a
national organization in 1900. As the Yiddish poet and sweatshop worker
Morris Rosenfeld wrote: "The Workmen's Circle was founded when
Eighth Street [where most Jewish charitable institutions were located]
was the Wailing Wall of the Jewish worker... . There the unemployed,
hungry, sick worker would cry for bread, medical aid, clothing, coal and
rent."70
Far from being a simple charity, however, the Workmen's Circle was
founded as a mutual aid society, where members pooled their resources
to provide a variety of services from burial fees to strike benefits. •Absent
was the condescension, the patronizing air of 'benevolence' and
'philanthropy.' The fellow workers and brothers who aided [a worker]
today might be coming to him for aid tomorrow."71 As the Workmen's
Circle and the Jewish trade unions grew in size and sophistication, so did
their capacities to provide services for their members. The ACWA started
a series of cooperative workers' banks, for instance, in 1922, on a
shareholding basis, with sale of stock limited mostly to union members. A
special feature of these banks was the availability of low-interest loans.12
Lucy Dawidowicz glowingly descn'bes services such as this as "the sort of
zedakah [sic] which Maimonides might have designated as the highest
degree.''73 Jewish trade unions have been characterized as extending the
tradition of tsedakah beyond their own ranks, establishing "a custom of
contributing generously to other unions, Jewish or not, as well as to
innumerable social and communal agencies. "74
A feature of traditional Jewish communal organization upon which
much emphasis has been laid is that of its structural provisions for the
handling of grievances and civil disputes. One means available to
individuals who wished to call public attention to certain injustices was to
be found in the local synagogue, which served not only as a religious
center, but also as a focal point of social life in generaJ.75 On the morning
of the Sabbath, just before the Torah scrolls were removed from the Ark
(where they are kept when not in ritual use) in preparation for the
reading of the weekly portion of the Scriptures, those who bad complaints

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to register against the community or specific individuals could interrupt

the service and give voice to them.
This weapon was most frequently resorted to when it became a question of

personal grievance or insult because the arm of the law had failed in its effort. It
was also employed, however, in the case of laborers who had grown weary of their
employers' ill treatment for which, being within the law, there was no other
remedy. Indeed, the delay of the Reading may properly be considered as the very
first weapon seiud by the Jewish workers in their struggle with their masters. 76
Granted the right of adjudication within its own boundaries, the

kehillah employed a system of mediation through chosen representatives,
borerim, whose responsibility was to facilitate an impartial process
whereby conflicts that had reached an impasse in direct face-to-face
confrontation between the parties to a dispute could be resolved. Such a
traditional system is said to have set the stage for what was to be viewed
as a major contnl>ution of the American JLM to labor-management
relations.
On July 7, 1910, over 50,000 cloak and suit workers went on strike,
inspired in part by a general strike of some 20,000 shirtwaist workers
several months earlier. Toe "great revolt,• as it came to be called,
threatened to last well into the summer, a pea.le production period in the
garment industry. AB a last resort, a mediation board was set up, headed
by the well-known attorney Louis D. Brandeis, who had previously
represented a Boston manufacturers' association. An agreement was
eventually reached, which was labeled by its architects as a "Protocol of
Peace." It called for the adoption of a system of preferential hiring of
union members, a Board of Grievances with representatives from both
labor and management, and an unprecedented Board of Arbitration-an
"appeals court" with representatives from the public sector.
Will Herberg, one-time director of research and education of the New
York Dressmakers Union of the ILGWU, sees the Protocol as having been
facilitated by the "common social and cultural background of the
opposing parties. Employers and employees were in large majority
Jewish and predominantly of Eastern European origin. They had behind
them an age-old tradition of arbitration, of settling their often bitter
disputes within the Jewish community without appealing to 'outside'
authorities."" For Hardman, in such cases, ethnic solidarity-that is the
expression of the collective responSil>ility of the Jewish community-took
precedence over class distinction. So, in the interests of self-preservation,
those members of the Jewish community still bound by its social
conventions were compelled to be "measurably democratic" in spite of
being •class-divided."78
A major flaw in the thesis that the Protocol of Peace was the product of
a unique legacy lies in the underlying assumption that the architects of

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this "landmark" in Jewish labor history were bound by their Jewish

communal heritage. Goren, while noting the respect accorded the
tradition of arbitration within the European Jewish community, casts
serious doubt over the notion that the parties to the Protocol were acting
from primordial communal instincts.
It is unlikely that men of Brandeis' and Julius Cohen's [chief counsel for the
manufacturers] secular and liberal background drew upon traditions rooted in
Jewish religious law and communal self-segregation. Nor is it likely that the
manufacturers and the rabidly antireligious union leaders, many of whom
remembered the Jewish town in Europe with repugDllllce, came to the conference
table favorably conditioned by that experience.'19
In any case, the Protocol itself was limited in its effect and relatively
short-lived (it lasted about six years in its original form). 80
There is a general tendency in the literature on the JLM to gloss over
the divisive character of class structure within the Jewish community
itself (though it is at least acknowledged). Melech Epstein, author of one
of the only book-length treatments of the JLM movement in general in
the United States, introduces the subject by noting that "while the rich
and the poor were equally victims of discrimination• in Eastern Europe,
"within the community itself there was no equality. The wellborn, the rich
and the learned formed the aristocracy and provided the elite of the
community.• He tempers this remark by suggesting that "lines of division
were not fixed nor were they rigid. Any yeshiva student who fulfilled his
parents' fondest hopes and became a rabbi was usually offered the
daughter of a rich man in marriage. Thus he moved up to the higher
circles of the learned and the rich."81
Rischin observes that class privilege was asserted in the devotional lives
of observant Jews. "Particularly in the larger towns, the mandate to
participate personally in liturgical readings and ceremonials sanctioned a
means of social discrimination against the poor, who were unable to
compete in the petty monetary bidding for these honors."82 As a response
to these and other conditions, Jewish workers resorted to the formation
of separate institutions to meet their needs. Independent artisans' guilds
had, in fact, been a feature of Jewish communal life in Europe since
medieval times.83 Jewish artisans "lived as compact occupational groups,
a pattern which manifested itself even in their devotional life-in prayer
houses, for instance, frequently bearing the names of specific
handicrafts."84
Of greater consequence to the JLM was the precedent that artisans'
guilds set for organized labor. A L Patkin descnl>es these artisans'
associations-"Bal-Mloche Chevrath"-as having "created in the course
of time an organizational pattern of their own marked with purely Jewish
and even religious symbols."85 More importantly, they appear as the

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48 OFMOSFSANDMARX
strongest evidence for the argument that "workers' trade unions for
mutual aid, for assistance of sick, aged and unemployed, etc., represented
a traditional old-established feature of Jewish labor organization."86
During the nineteenth century, Jewish artisans established kassy, or
self-help societies, with the encouragement of socialists who recognized
their political potential. These khevras of the urban industrial later
developed into trade union organizations, aiding members during
strikes.87 Mendelsohn cautions against assuming any direct linkage
between kassy and the traditional Jewish guilds.
Although both the guild and the "kassa" shared identical aims-namely, to
improve their members' lot, economically and socially-it is untenable to claim,
as some historians do, that the latter was a direct outgrowth of the former.. . .
when guild members joined "kassy" . • . they were announcing their departure
from the traditional way oflife.88
As far as the revolutionary potential of the artisans' associations is

concerned, he does note that in Byelorussia and Lithuania, which had the
largest concentration of Jewish artisans, the JLM had far greater
organizational success than among the industrial workers of the Russian
interior.89 Certainly, the kassy provided a ready-made model for the
landsmenshaftn and fraternal organizations of Jewish immigrant
workers in the United States.
"PRIMORDIAL TIES": ANCIENT OATHS AND

PROLETARIAN VOWS
On November 22, 1909, the UHT called a meeting at Cooper Union, in

New York City, to discuss the possibility of a general strike in the
shirtwaist industry. A number of speeches were made during the course
of the evening, mostly voicing moderation. Finally,
down in the body of the hall, arose a worlcing girl, a "wisp of a girl, still in her
teens," and asked for the privilege of the floor. There was some grumbling, some
commotion. But the chairman held that the girl was a striker and had the right to
speak. The girl was Clara Lemlich, a striker from the shop of Leierson, who had
been on the picket line and who had been assaulted while picketing. Making her
way to the platform, she delivered a "philippic in Yiddish." "I am a working girl,
one of those who are on strike against intolerable conditions. I am tired of
listening to speakers who talk in general terms. What we are here for is to decide
whether we shall or shall not strike. I offer a resolution that a general strike be
declared-now." Instantly "the big gathering was on its feet, everyone shouting an
emphatic affirmative, waving hats, canes, handkerchiefs, anything that came
handy. For five minutes, perhaps, the tumult continued; then the chairman, B.
Feigenbaum, made himself heard and asked for a seconder of the resolution.
Again, the big audience leaped to its feet, every one seconding.• Carried off his

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feet by the emotional outburst, the chairman cried: "Do you mean faith? Will you
take the old Jewish oath?" And up came two thousand hands, with the prayer: "If
I turn traitor to the cause I now pledge, may this hand wither from the arm I now
raise. "90
The oft-quoted "philippic" of Clara Lemlich has assumed legendary

proportions as the flash point in the "Uprising of the 20,ooot the strike
of the shirtwaist workers in New York that represented a major turning
point in the history of the Jewish Labor Movement in the United States.
It is somehow fitting that at this critical juncture in the course of the JLM
the resolution binding workers to the strike pledge would be signified by
the most ancient affirmation of filial (and ultimately national) loyalty in
Jewish tradition, the oath of allegiance.9 1 Was the chair of this meeting
fully cognizant of a potent symbolism when, poised upon an historic
moment, he called on his audience to raise their hands? Were the
organizers of the Bund before him deliberately drawing from the deepest
well of Jewish tradition when they adopted as their official anthem "Di
shvue• ("The Vow")? A. L. Patkin muses: "The great popularity of the
'Shovuah' among the Jewish working masses must be ascn"bed to the fact
that its very name and contents gave expression to the psychological
mood of the Jewish common man."92
Quoting Menes, Patkin adopts an ethnohistorical perspective in arguing
that "in Jewish life .. . where the means of State compulsion were lacking,
the oath, the social taboo and excommunication (chorem) served as their
substitutes and occupied therefore an exceptional place." Members of a
khevra would, for example, assemble in the synagogue and, facing the
Torah scrolls, take an oath to abide by the rules of their association. "It is
characteristic that in the history of the Jewish labour movement the oath
occupies its important place from its very inception."93
Recalling the tragic history of the Jewish people, written in "blood and
tears,• the lyric "Oath" calls for the unity of "we all who are scattered and
dispersed" ("not a proletarian figure of speech but a symbolic expression
of the Jewish national dispersion").94 It summons up the prophetic vision
of a movement whose universal voice must be heard: "Heaven and earth
will listen to me. "9s
What are we to make of the blurred boundaries between the literal and
figurative in the rich associations generated by the charged mixture of
prophecy and politics?96 Although both participants and chroniclers of
the Jewish Labor Movement evoked perceived analogies between Jewish
tradition and radical politics, drawing an equation between Judaism and
radicalism seems to have relied less on the authority of imposing
evidence than on the evidence of imposing authorities.
What is important is that the associations themselves became the
emblems of a unique form of ethnopolitical solidarity within the Jewish
working class. What is certain is that Jewish radicals, often organizing in

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so OF MOSES AND MARX
shops with a predominantly Jewish work force and Jewish bosses,

confronted the fact that the Jewish community constituted a microcosm
of class society. Further, when opposing forces met, adversaries from
both sides might draw from traditional sources for their own self-
validation ("Even the Devil himself can quote Scripture to suit his
purpose"). Of course, the Talmud is itself a record of shades of difference
in the interpretation of biblical mandate; opinions that are at times
diamP.trically opposed are all dutifully documented in recognition of the
fact that, with changing times and conditions, given laws may vary in
their applicability. In any event, the set of associations evoked by the rich
symbolism within Jewish tradition were ripe for application to radical,
even secular concerns among those for whom that symbolism evoked
sufficient resonance to forge a common sense of purpose. Neither
allegiance to the divine faith of Judaism nor even active participation in
Jewish cultural affairs was a prerequisite for the employment of those
powerful metaphors whose significance and impact were recognized and
felt by participants and observers alike.
The question as to whether aspects of Jewish social organization and
practice set precedents for the Jewish Labor Movement is a moot one; its
answer would seem to be dependent upon the imponderable problem of
determining the degree to which the socialization of those Jewish
workers, through direct links to traditional organizations and practices,
effected an actual transference to new forms in the JLM. Certainly, a
a
number of institutions in the JLM bear striking resemblance to their
counterparts in the Jewish communities of Eastern Europe; many are,
however, of sufficiently general a character to have developed more from
immediate historical conditions than from long-standing Jewish
communal practices. Certainly, Jewish workers were not the only
members of the proletariat with a history of ethnic craft unions and
mutual aid societies.97
Nonetheless, the very act of citing specifically Jewish precedents for
elements within the JLM amounted to a crucial transformational act. It
had the effect of drawing upon the composite body of Jewish tradition by
means of an ideational transference, through which the symbolic potency
of ethnic and proletarian identification was fused. It may be tautological
to suggest that such a set of associations is genuine simply by virtue of a
deliberate declaration that JLM history is a "natural" outflow of the
current of Jewish tradition. Yet what mattered was the act of association
itself; as an expression of a desired link between class and ethnic
identification, the acting out (and writing about) became a rite of
intensification. Regardless of what conclusions may be ultimately drawn
about the issue of direct cultural inheritance, the rich imagery and
symbolism of that linkage were readily available to those who chose to
undergo this rite by seeking (and sustaining) the roots of their radicalism
in the soil of Jewish tradition.

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In the following chapters we sball see the ways in which individual

participants in the Jewish Labor Movement demonstrate, through
personal narrative, how they have drawn an ideational equation between
being Jewish and being radical. The facets of this process will be revealed
through general declarations of a sense of communion with the Jewish
folk, through a professed identification with traditional imagery, and
through their description of specific activities, set within the context of
stories of their lives within the Jewish radical subculture.

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Chapter3
Matters of Belief:
Secularized Judaism and
Spiritualized Radicalism
Jewishness, yes; this was the keen source of self-awareness that was at the heart
of their cultural, political or economic projects. But Judaism, no; they could only
see in it the rabbinate they knew: a passive, suffering and compliant leadership,
well versed in the useless art of martyrdom, which kept repeating the timeworn
cliche that divine help for the Jews would indeed come, but in God's good time.•
If we were to ask American Jews about their religious beliefs, we should find
prominent the feeling that religion ought to keep in step with science,
psychotherapy and liberal politics.... We should find almost nothing that could
be described as traditional Jewish piety. 2
In the course of a life of radical commitment, spent within the social

network of the Jewish radical subculture, the political vision of Yiddish-
speaking radicals tended to sharpen the specific character of their Jewish
identification. That is to say, by delineating the political boundaries of
their radical community, they were at the same time forging a distinctive
form of expression of their Jewish ethnicity- a secular, radical Judaism.
Within the bounded sociopolitical context of the Jewish radical
subculture, the dual aspects of Yiddish folk ideology-class and ethnos-
were mutually reinforcing.
Looking in from the outside, non-Jewish political radicals could find
their ideological counterparts among members of the Jewish radical
subculture. But a different situation was to be encountered when Yiddish
radicals sought common points of identification with members of the
Jewish community at large. By the objective criteria of group membership
and historical experience, all East European Jews shared an identity as
coethnics through the simple fact of birth and by virtue of their collective
subjection to adversity.

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In matters of belief, however, it is necessaxy to bear in mind the duality

of Jewish identity as ethnos and as religion. The question of belief
represented a crucial problem for professed secular and socialist Jews
who sought forms of expression of their Jewishness in the absence of that
theological framework that was the historical foundation of Jewish
identity. This problem was compounded by the fact that, even for
religiously observant Jews, belief has been an elusive element in the
definition of Judaism. While belief is held to be central, practical
matters- more than professions of faith-have tended to delineate the
boundaries of religious Jewish identification. Let us begin to unravel this
problem by making two observations.
1. Whether or not a Jew exhibits, in any demonstrable form, any aspect of

Jewish belief or custom, he or she may be identified as Jewish solely on the
basis of Jewish parentage (even if only one parent is Jewish).3
2. One may choose to be a Jew by demonstrating a willingness to conform to
the tenets of the Jewish religion, and by undergoing a formal rite of conversion.
Belief is said to be an important component, but ritual observance is the
deciding factor. A convert to Judaism is functionally (i.e., for all practical
purposes) an offspring of Abraham as much as any of his or her newly adopted
coethnics (and not just coreligionists).
The lowest common denominator of Jewish faith is held to be belief in a

single God who stands as a personal judge over the behavior of each
individual. But, aside from the fact of birth, the distinguishing criteria of
Judaism from the religious perspective, are those things that one does to
demonstrate faith. That is to say, in practice, definitions of Judaism tend
to be based on acts-in particular, on the degree to which one observes
the mitsvot, a set of specific commandments interpolated from the Five
Books of Moses. The great Jewish sage Hillel, when pressed for a concise
summacy of the tenets of Judaism, is said to have replied, "What is
hateful to you, do not to your neighbor: that is the whole Torah, while the
rest is commentacy thereof; go and learn it.•◄ However, the Orthodox do
not simply rely on the general humanism of this "Golden Rule,• but
rather insist on the following of those distinct mitsvot indicated by direct
admonition or by implication in the Torah.
Although humanistic themes, such as the concern for social justice, are
to be found in the Bible, social activism has not been a constant
companion to Jewish belief; it is, in any case, not a criteria for acceptance
into the Jewish faith. Nathan Glazer sums up the problematic character
of belief faced by modem urbanized Jews in America:
Judaism emphasizes acts, rituals, habits, a way of life. Christianity, in contrast,

places more emphasis on beliefs and doctrines. Judaism in its popular form, in
the version in which it was taught to the East European Jews who were the
fathers and grandfathers of the great majority of American Jews, tended to

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Matters of Belief 55
obscure the distinctions between greater and Jesaer obeelVllllces, to ignore

doctrine even more than medieval Judaism did, and to obscure the meaning of
ritual In effect, it taught a rigid set of rituals to cover one's entire life. Thia
rigidity permitted no defense in depth, so to speak.5
Gluer goes on to portray the dilemma faced by those •Americanized"

Jews who, having abandoned ritual markers of Jewish identity, feel a lack
of specific ideational guideposts.
Contemporary Jews, who feel reasonably enough that beliefs should form part of
a religion, are often more dependent for an understanding of their own faith on
the public relations agencies of Jewish life-which explain that Judaism believes
in democracy, the brotherhood of man, and so on-than on their own knowledge.6
What is being descnl>ed here represents a dilemma for any Jew

concerned with social problems in a cosmopolitan world, yet desirous of
maintaining a life of fidelity, at least in principle, to the Jewish faith.
Chapter 2 presented the views of scholars of and participants in the
Jewish Labor Movement who have argued that a concern for social justice
is a fundamental tenet of Judaism. Yet social activism would seem to be
thwarted by the rigid set of rules governing personal. That is to say, the
demands of ritual activity performed on a daily basis by religiously
observant Jews would tend to preclude full participation in the affairs of
contemporary urban life, let alone a fulfillment of the demands of a life in
the revolutionary movement.
The rabbinic leaders of traditional East European Jewish communities
insisted upon the precedence of Jewish (religious) belief and ritual over
(secular) ideological allegiances. In effect, it was a demand for political
conservatism, a conciliation with secular government authorities, in
exchange for the right to preside over, and thereby preserve, a traditional
life-style. Those who chose to join the revolutionary movement
demonstrated their faith in its principles by demanding the precedence of
their political ideology over any specific ethnic/religious allegiances. This
shift represented at once a break with both civil authority, as well as with
the Jewish communal leadership that had acquiesced before that
authority.
So it was, then, that a historically conditioned relationship was formed
between political outlook and religious belief that translated into a
distinct division within the Jewish immigrant co-unity in America.
Although exaggerating slightly, Gluer does indicate a significant parting
of the political waves when he remarks that "the secularu:ed East
European Jews were largely socialist; the religious Jews ... followed the
urban political machines, largely Democratic, but sometimes Repub-
lican...., It might still be argued here that support for the Democratic Party
by religious Jewish immigrants represented, at the least, a hl>eral current

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within traditional Judaism. Glazer is adamant, however, in pointing out

that "in Jewish life, it is not the religious element-the rabbis and
religious laymen-that makes Jewish opinion on social problems. I
believe that Jewish social attitudes derive more from nineteenth-century
liberalism and socialism than from the Hebrew prophets."8
What is implied here is that the "liberalization• of Judaism by the
Reform movement was but the reflection of a general movement of
political liberalism that emerged during a period of civil emancipation.
This movement had repercussions on political life, insofar as religious
belief and custom had to be adapted in order to accommodate new social
conditions that accompanied full citizenship. It was a case of religion
adjusting itself to political economy. It is important to stress that in the
political-religious dialectic, it is the political aspect of worldview that has
tended to condition its particular religious complement. In matters of
belief, there can be no political compromise.
This is not to imply that secularism is a necessary concomitant to
radical ideology. There have been a small, but vocal, number of socialist
rabbis, and many surviving Jewish radical immigrants (including several
of my informants) recall family members-parents and grandparents-
who, while still observant of Jewish religious customs, were sympathetic
to the general aims of the socialist movement. But for those who were
active participants in revolutionary movements, the demands of political
versus religious (i.e., ritual) commitment were generally irreconcilable.
Nevertheless, for those Jewish revolutionaries who retained a strong
sense of ethnic identification, it was possible, indeed desirable, to
construct a rationale for radical politics from elements of traditional
Judaism suggestive of themes congruent with a revolutionary outlook.
Although the causal connection between Judaism and radicalism
seems a weak one at best, it is noteworthy that most of those activists
whom I interviewed regarded their Jewish upbringing as having had a
significant impact on their involvement in progressive political affairs.
And that upbringing was generally a religious one. This would tend to
corroborate the "evidence" presented by most commentators on Jewish
radical immigrant life. Or is it wishful thinking, wistful reminiscing, or
willful collaboration with the interviewer, whose questions might seem to
evoke the anticipated answers? These may all indeed be relevant factors,
but, in matters of belief the "leap of faith" from personal experience to
political commitment must be accommodated by an ideological
framework capable of rationalizing that leap. One way of accomplishing
this feat is by "retrofitting"- establishing connections that may not have
initially been made at that point when one was in the process of rejecting
(traditional) Judaism. Reading back into the account of one's childhood,
one may choose to "recogni7.e" a certain linkage between Jewish belief
and socialist outlook that justifies a rejection of Jewish ritual for the
"true" essence of Judaism- its abiding social values.

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In any event, what is important here is that the connection between

Jewishness and radicalism is believed to be valid, and validating-central
to the justification of a Jewish-identified political ideology, however
abstract the terms of that justification may be. What is clear is the sense
of clarity that active members of the Jewish radical subculture had about
their Jewish identity, in marked contrast to the existential angst of
secular Jews who assimilated into mainstream American culture, but
brought with them neither an unselfconscious sense of Jewish identi-
fication, nor a strong sense of political conviction with which to fuse it.
Since I have drawn from a relatively small pool of interview subjects,
any generalizations I make are offered with due caution. But one factor
that seems evident among the Jewish radical elders with whom I
conversed was that early childhood experiences were key in forging a
bond between class and ethnic identification. In some cases there were
clear indications at an early age of the ways in which this dual identity
would be expressed later in an active political life.
Most of the first-generation Jewish radical immigrants whose stories I
recorded had a traditional religious upbringing, but ceased to be religious
in outlook and/or observance by their late teens. Their rejection of the
religious background to which they had been exposed was not necessarily
abrupt or unequivocal. They did, however, often feel compelled to declare
that their rejection of Judaism was to be seen strictly as a rejection of
Jewish religious belief, and not of Jewish cultural values. As an instance,
they would embrace ethical precepts found in the Jewish Bible while
denying the notion of a divine mandate for social behavior.
All of those interviewed are emphatic in their assertion that their
Jewishness is in some way responsible for their political outlook.
However, declarations of ethnicity are sometimes framed in such broad
terms that their connection with Jewish tradition (and thence from
tradition to radicalism) seems tenuous at best. But the equation of
Jewishness and radicalism is indeed taken as given, that is, as a "natural"
relationship, resting on the assumption that traditional ethical values
would predispose those who chose to recognize this trademark of
Judaism toward a life of radical praxis. This is, indeed, the assumption
that underscores much of the literature on the Jewish Labor Movement
(as reviewed in Chapter 2). The point to be made here is not that the
equation is valid, but rather that it represents the crucial attempt to
mediate between the perspectives of two communities-Jewish and
radical-whose members have often viewed the interests of these two
groups as irreconcilable. By drawing such an equation, reconciliation was
sought on two fronts. Among their political comrades, Yiddish radicals
could argue that their Jewishness informed their politics and galvanized
their sense of commitment. To their coethnics, they could argue that to be
true to their faith is to put Jewish ethics to work in the political arena;
that, in fact, the most genuine expression of one's Judaism would be to

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follow the example of the social prophets-the "revolutionaries# of their

day.
Most important, though, was the fact that the equation between
Judaism and radicalism was an act of mediation within the Jewish radical
subculture itself, serving effectively, for its members, the purpose of
reconciling the ethnic/class polarity of their folk ideology.
In this chapter, I will eumine several variations of this dual identity in
the life experiences and expressions of belief of a selected group of
members of the JLM representing a range of political positions, including
anarchist, socialist, communist, and labor Zionist outlooks.
Abraham M. was born in Ostrow, Poland, in 1901. He recalls having
religious parents, who inculcated him in the ways of traditional Judaism,
sending him first to kheder (parochial primary school) and then to a
yeshiva. When his father emigrated to the United States in search of
work, he and the rest of the family were temporarily left behind. Shortly
thereafter, at the age of twelve, he left the yeshiva and entered public
school. He describes the process of his "conversion# to secularism:
My father was a very pioll5 Jew, even to the extent of being a fanatic. But I
personally stopped being religioll5 after the age of thirteen yean. When I was still
in Poland, I had an acquaintance. He was probably sixteen or seventeen. He was
studying the Tai.mud in the synagogue. Once when I happened to be in that
synagogue he called me over and asked me to go to the library in our city. He
himself couldn't go there; he didn't want people to see that the books he reads are
secular Yiddish or Hebrew books. He asked me to go, and for doing that he gave
me six groschen or six pennies. When I was in that library, I picked up a small
book with the name Welt Mit We/tlakh, World and Little Worlds. When I read
that book, I found out that the earth is only one planet of many more, that the
planets tum around the sun, and that the sun is the main force in the universe.
Whatever I read was one hundred percent in contradiction to my religioll5
upbringing, that the earth was the center of the universe, and that God created it
in six days. When I read this little book, it opened up my mind, and turned me
away from my religious beliefs. Since then I have remai.ned, I would call it, an
atheist.9
Abraham later familiarized himself with the works of famous Yiddish

authors, such as Sholem Aleichem, I. L Peretz, and Mendele Mocher
Sforim, who chronicled in fictionalized form the beauty and suffering of a
people in transition, without obliging the reader to accept at face value
the tenets held by the emblematic characters in their stories. In short, he
discovered secular Jewish culture, largely in the form of a literature that
had only flowered from the folk vernacular to popular art form in the
mid- to late 1800s.10 The reading of Yiddish literature was, for many, an
initial step in the direction of a politic.al awakening. The championing of
Yiddish as a legitimate voice for the aspirations of East European Jews
was itself a movement with political overtones (see the discussion of

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Yiddishism in Chapter 2). It is no coincidence that Yiddish literature's

most prominent exponents were activists in the cause of Yiddish
"nationalism,• if not socialists themselves.11
In descnbing his memories of early intellectual growth and
development, Abraham sums up in one sentence a logical sequence of
events whereby his present outlook was arrived at: "by reading the Jewish
[Yiddish] classics .. . being influenced by the theory of Karl Marx, and
joining the movement for socialism.•12
Military conflict provided the next catalyst: "At the age of 19, at the
time of the Polish-Russian War, the Red Army occupied our city for two
weeks. I, as a socialist-minded person, was very friendly to the
Bolsheviks.... When they left [Poland], I left with them."13
Abraham got waylaid in Zambrova, where he was arrested, later sent to
Warsaw, where he was finally freed, "on Yom Kippur; by a Jewish lawyer
there, and returned to his mother's house. The family left shortly
thereafter for America, where they rejoined his father, who was then
living in New York. Abraham P.Ventually got a job in the fur industry.
I was working as a furrier for a few years, participated in the great furriers' strike
of 1926..• . While I was working, I joined the Worlcmen's Circle Teachers'
Seminary, and in 1926 graduated as a teacher. I was teaching in Cleveland for two
years; after [that] I was teaching in.New York, then in 1932 in Philadelphia. And
in 1933 myself, my wife, and child, came to Los Angeles. And since then we are in
LA, participating in the progressive Jewish movement. 14
In 1959, Abraham became West Coast editor of Der Morgn Freiheit

(customarily referred as the Morning Freiheit, or just the Freiheit),
founded in New York by his immigrant contemporaries and political
compatriots a few short years after his arrival in the United States. "I am
involved in the Morning Freiheit since its inception, the twenty-second of
April, 1922, and am in an official capacity since 1959."15 Among his
activities, he continues to write a weekly column for the paper's Sunday
edition. The steadily diminishing, but steadfast, readership of the Freiheit
(its circulation was, according to Abraham when I interviewed him in
1980, six thou,mnd nationally; it finally met its demise a few years later)
consisted largely of those who followed it in the early days. He was, thus,
speaking to an audience of those who, like him, maintained the same
political course through all its twists and turns for several decades.
Abraham M. had assumed his responsibility to the newspaper to the
degree that it is difficult to get him to separate the public realm of
editorialization from the private realm of self-reflection. (All interviews
were conducted in his one-room office in the LA. Jewish neighborhood of
Fairfax, interrupted periodically by phone calls intercepted by a lone
volunteer secretary, who busied herself on an ancient typewriter during
one of our conversations.) Brief though his pronouncements were on the

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subject of his secular, Jewish, and radical outlook, he wished to make it

clear that he had a legitimate position within that group whose
recognition (if not approval) seemed to matter most to him-the larger
Jewish community. When pressed about the character of his beliefs, he
was emphatic in maintaining that while he is an "atheist" Jew, "at the
same time I have a deep interest in secular Jewish culture [and] secular
Jewish values, starting with the teachings of the social prophets." Thus,
while rejecting the religious framework of Judaism, he wished it to be
understood that the ultimate source of inspiration for his set of
specifically Jewish values is that code of ethics canonized in the biblical
account (desacramentalized by identifying those values as "secular").
To those in the mainstream Jewish community who might accuse
Abraham of abandoning the faith in favor of secular socialism, he would
argue that it is they who have abandoned the prophetic legacy of Judaism
by their lack of progressive political commitment. That is to say, he would
draw the line between his particular choice of political principles and
positions and that of others less politically radical than he, precisely
because of what he sees as their failure to link their Jewishness with those
"progressive• values that are part of their Jewish heritage.
In a telling observation made at the end of an interview session,
Abraham remarked on the distinction between those organizations in the
progressive Jewish working-class community and those within the Jewish
mainstream, such as the service organizations B'nai B'rith, Hadassah,
and others. He noted that while there are many "peace loving" individuals
in mainstream Jewish organizations, they are indeed simply individuals
within those groups (i.e., their outlook as progressives would not be
reflected in the objectives and activities of those groups). These same
individuals, as members of progressive Jewish working-class organi-
zations would be carrying out political mandates that resonated with
their own political outlook. They would do so by helping pass resolutions
"in favor of peace, opposing racism,• and so on. Abraham sees these as
class-linked issues in the sense that they are of interest to, and have been
historically taken up by, the working-class movement as a whole. Jewish
organizations with no such working-class ties, generally concerned solely
with what they view as specifically Jewish issues, have indeed been
historically reluctant to address larger questions (e.g., the Anti-Defama-
tion League will consistently attack anti-Semitism, but less consistently
take up the problem of racism in general, though they have occasionally
issued antiracist educational materials).
What Abraham is implying here is that, although secular, his political
stance places him in a position more resonant with the spirit of the
prophetic teachings of social justice, at least in his view, than those who
may claim a more pious attachment to their Jewishness, but in fact have
missed its most important historical lessons. In any event, he feels that he
is simply making manifest what is only latent among those who recite the

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prophetic words but do not live by them by putting them into political
action.
As a long-time teacher in the Progressive Jewish Children's Schools
system in Los Angeles (initiated in the 1930s by members of the Yiddish-
speaking branch of the International Workers' Order [IWO]), Abraham
was instrumental in implementing an important goal of the Yiddish Left,
that of instilling in the children of Jewish radicals an abiding sense of
Jewish identity linked with a socialist political outlook. The guiding
orientation was the folk ideology of Yiddishkayt-the idea of a secular
Jewish "people's culture," imbued with the ethical values of Jewish
tradition, and welded to the internationalist spirit of the working-class
movement. During the time that Abraham was a shule teacher, all classes
were conducted in Yiddish, using available Yiddish textbooks.
In the early 1950s, Sanford Goldner, a Marxist scholar and director of
the California Labor School (one of the few accredited workers' schools, it
was in operation during the 1940s), was hired on as director of the
Progressive Jewish Children's Schools in Los Angeles. Over the next
several years, he worked with Abraham and other shule teachers in order
to develop formal written guidelines for the conducting of their secular
and politically Left Jewish schools. Although he knew Yiddish, Goldner
wrote out the curriculum in English, reflecting a general shift toward
English-language instruction (Yiddish was to become but another class
subject for shule students).
In 1962, a "Curriculum for the Jewish Secular School" was issued,
summi11g up the philosophy that had guided shule teachers from the
inception of the progressive Jewish school system and providing a basic
outline for instruction.16 A major topical focus was that of Jewish history,
and the secularists were not adverse to relying on the scriptural account
when it came to discussing the general outline of Jewish antiquity. The
biblical story of the divinely ordained path of the children of Israel could
be taken as a quasi-historical "record" of the development of Jewish
social ethics, given the proper interpretation.
From the story of Abraham can be drawn not only the advance from a concept of
many gods of wood and stone to a concept of one god with abstract qualities; from
it also can be drawn Abraham's scientific curiosity, his readiness to question
established belief, his questing for new concepts, his act of idol-smashing as the
root-metaphor of iconoclasm.
From the prophets can be drawn the advance from a tnbal god to a universal
God of justice, judging bis own people even more severely than other peoples;
economic drama that was inter-twi.ned with the moral phenomenon.17
The equation between Jewish religion and social ethics is clearly

spelled out when the authors of this curriculum raise the issue of those
parents of shule students who, among other things, "find themselves

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participating in civil rights, peace and other movements together with

members of those churches which have programs of 'social action,'" and
who wonder about the spiritual side of their children's Jewish education:
"Some parents may ask whether there is enough religion in the shule,
when what they mean is, 'are the children getting enough ethics?'"18
Abraham M. describes the curriculum for the shules in bis day as
•Jewish history, Jewish holidays, Jewish values, literature, and the fight
against Nazism as a special point on the agenda as far as Jews are
concerned:19 But, elaborating upon bis conception of "secular Jewish
values,• be makes it clear that Jewish identification must not lead to
exclusive Jewish seH-interest. "Wherever there is racism, there's a danger
for the Jewish people; wherever there's discrimination, it's against the
interests of the Jewish people."2° This sentiment is echoed more than
once in the remarks of those I interviewed. Their sense of Jewish values
was framed very broadly as a rule; in the words of one: "Everything that
concerns the Jewish interests, I'm for it."2t But as "internationalists,"
concerned with the plight of the working class as a whole, they constantly
refer to the empathy that Jews, as an historically oppressed people,
should have for others similarly persecuted: "As a Jew, I'm interested in
the well-being for others. •22
In this way the teachings of the prophets, recognized as providing
universal moral lessons for the Jewish people, are interpreted to include
not only a concern for Jewish social welfare, but an interest in the affairs
of other groups that share with Jews a similar historical fate (particularly
those ethnic groups whose members share the conditions and aspirations
of the working class). The identification of Jewish interests with those of
other ethnic minorities is made especially poignant in the case of African-
Americans. Progressive Jews are fond of pointing to the common
inspiration Jews and African-Americans have drawn from biblical themes
of hberation (especially the story of Exodus) as evidenced in such
expressive forms as the spirituals of southern slaves.23
In describing bis route to the folk ideology of Jewish internationalism,
Abraham M. largely cites personal study and its application. In the
autobiographical narratives of Morris N., we get more of a sense of the
social contacts that spurred the development of a radical outlook. Morris
was born in Kamenetz, in the Ukraine, on "the last day of 1899: His
father was well educated and deeply religious, a lace maker by trade, and
therefore a member of the class of skilled artisans.
My father was . .. a wonderful artist. He was known as "Menashe the Lace

Maker"; my mother was known as "Zlateh, the Lace Maker's Wife," and I was
known as "Moishe, Mena.she the Lace Maker's Son." Lace making was a highly
respected profession since ancient days, when the Israelites built the Tabernacle
in the d-rt and the Temple in Jerusalem thousands of years ago.24

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Morris's father was conversant, and literate, in Russian, Polish, and

German in addition to Yiddish and desired a well-rounded education for
his children. In order to supplement his son's traditional Jewish
education, Menashe sent him to the local Russian public school.
In the years before I was born, Jewish children were oot permitted to attend the
Russian govemmeot schools. Later a oew law was proclaimed which permitted
teo percent of the Jewish children to eoter after passing an examination. I was
lucky enough to receive permission to attend a Russian school for four years. The
school was oot too friendly to Jewish children, but still I did receive a modem
education, including Russian language, arithmetic, history, and literature.25
Morris continued to receive religious training, and had to juggle the

demands of two learning processes.
Before entering the Russian school, I was already attending lch«ier. In those days
most Jewish boys started kheder at the age of three. There they began with
learning the prayers, later they studied the Pentateuch, and finally they began the
study of the Talmud. My attending the Russian school made it difficult for me to
continue my Jewish studies at kheder, and so my father hired a private teacher to
teach me the traditional Jewish [religious] subjects, and also Yiddish [language],
Yiddish literature, and Jewish history.26
It is clear from Morris's description of his childhood education that his

father, though religious, allowed not only for Morris's introduction to
secular teachings in the public school, but also for his exposure to secular
materials in his private Jewish instruction. Part of Menashe's openness
was due to the sober realization that his children would be exposed to the
world of secular ideas at some point; at the least he could monitor its
introduction. "He was an understanding man. He knew the changing of
time; that he couldn't control the children anymore, so he just watched
[over) their activities." Morris was allowed to explore the urban environ-
ment that surrounded him. "I had a chance to socialize .. . to be a part of
the economic life of the city. There I got my connection with people who
knew more about life. •21 As Morris grew into adulthood, he was no longer
religious.
The reason was, when the [Bolshevik] Revolution broke out, all the immigrants in
Germany and the United States came back to Russia as revolutionists. Through
them, I learned, more or less, the philosophy of different groups, parties, and the
principles which I [oow] possess already; and (I] looked at it more with opeo
eyes, the things what happened.
Those emig:res that came ... from the west took an interest in the youog people
and taught them those ideas of political life io the other countries. That's why I
absorbed certain ideas, especially the more revolutionary types. In our city, a few
people were . .. aoarchists. In this I was more inclined, to follow or believe in

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those anarchistic theories. . . . Not only did they teach us anarchism, but
literature itself. They were interested in the more Western liberal writers ... and
they made us to be interested in that particular type of literature.2e
Morris had, by this time, learned the art of embroidery, his father's trade.
Being both a skilled worker and one of the few garment workers in his
town who were literate, be assumed the responsibility of organizing a
shnayder-fakh (tailor's union) in Kamenetz-Podotz and became a teacher
to his coworkers, who spoke Yiddish but were illiterate (many could read
only in Hebrew-just enough to follow a prayer book). He also helped
organize Jewish defense units to protect against anti-Semitic attacks by
counterrevolutionaries during the civil war immediately following the
Bolshevik Revolution. "We organized a small group called Nabat
[Ukrainian term for bell, also used by Yiddish speakers in the region)."
During a pogrom in 1919, this unit was routed, and Morris fled to
Bessarabia (in present-day Rumania); shortly thereafter, be made his way
to the United States.
He lost no time in reconnecting himself to the anarchist movement,
joining a group associated with the Yiddish anarchist weekly Frei
Arbeiter Shtimme (Voice of Free Labor). Being adverse to any form of
leadership, they had a hard time holding things together until some of
them "figured out that by belonging to the Workmen's Circle, which was
an official organization, by paying dues and getting benefits, they bad
more of a chance to exist."29
After getting married in 1925, be and bis bride hitchhiked across the
United States, eventually arriving in California, where they stayed for a
year. After returning to New York for a few years, they returned to the
land of sunshine and settled for good in Los Angeles in 1929. Morris
joined the Kropotkin Literary Society in Boyle Heights, then the major
Jewish neighborhood in Los Angeles in what is now the Hispanic
community of East L.A. Like its counterpart in New York, the Society was
an anarchist branch of the local Workmen's Circle, and its efforts were
largely spent in the activities of its parent body, especially in the running
of the Workmen's Circle Scbools.30
Wh.en asked about the Kropotkin Literary Society's ties with non-
Jewish anarchist groups, Morris indicated that there was very little social
interaction. Connections were maintained indirectly. "We were always in
contact and exchanging literature.. . . In fact we were sympathetic of the
British [anarchist journal) Road to Freedom.• When the Spanish Civil
War broke out, the Society sent money through France to Spanish
anarchists. During and following World War II, a Freiheit Firtikh Fund
(Immigrant Freedom Fund) was established specifically to aid anarchist
refugees from Europe. But throughout his sixty years of political activity,
Morris's primary social contacts have been among fellow Jewish
anarchists, augmented by relationships with members of other branches

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of the Workmen's Circle with whom he was on friendly terms. One reason
for this relative insularity has been the continuing attachment to, and
reassuring voice of, the lingua franca of his Jewish compatriots. •1 feel
myself so much at home when I speak Yiddish. I don't miss my words, I
don't miss any expressions. It's my own feelings. . . . English is too
artificial. Yiddish, the mame-loshen, is something you're bom with, just
like your mother's milk-it's right there. And that's how you feel about
it. "31 Clearly then, his attitude toward Yiddish is central to and integrally
bound up with his political beliefs, and the bounded network within
which he has interacted-not only Yiddish-speaking and radical, but
anarchist-has brought an even sharper focus to the expression of his
ethnopolitical identity.
In a fascinating linkage of language loyalty and ideology, David G., a
contemporazy of Morris and longtime member of the Workmen's Circle
in Los Angeles, sums up his "political" position on Yiddish: "Yiddish
speaks to evezybody, • that is to say, Yiddish is the language of the masses.
That he is referring to the Jewish masses goes without saying; in a sense,
the Jewish working class among whom he has exclusively organized has
been for him "the masses" all along. In a poetic defense of the secular
Jewish (East European) vernacular against its "political" rival Hebrew,
the language of the Jewish liturgy, he comments that Hebrew is spoken
too fast, but that Yiddish is spoken slowly, plainly, "like a friend," adding
that if Israel had encouraged the growth and development of Yiddish
more than it has, it would be richer for it.32 (This is but a polite
expression of the wishful thinking of Yiddishists who would have Israel
adopt the mame-loshen of East European Jews as its official national
language.)
For Morris N., the specific form of his justification of political belief
also reflects his desire to define his outlook squarely within the frame-
work of Jewish cultural expression, as secularly and radically reform-
ulated. In a highly interpretive exegetical discourse on the Jewish source
of his political ideology and activism, he poses, and then proceeds to
answer the question: "How come the Jewish people remain [close) to
their ideals?"
Well, when you go back [to] the Tana/ch [Bible) ... when the first Jew became a
Jew, how did he get his ideas? The father was making a living cutting out [pieces
of wood] in the form of a wooden doll. [The son] asked him, "What are you doing
with these?" He says, "I sell them.• •And what are they buying 'em for?" "Because
it's God [i.e., idols)." "How can it be God?" That's how Abraham got his own ideas
and his own s pirit. He figured out that this is bunk. A piece of wood cannot be a
god. A god must be each one in his own heart.
Slowly, slowly, that particular philosophy of Judaism, with all our leaders of
society, with all our philosophers, came to the part that only when you live in

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peace can you live in freedom. Freedom-you have to fight for it.. . . Throughout
history, you'll find the same thing.33
Morris points to the capricious character of the human condition, as

throughout history, for no apparent reason, people are set =1gainst each
other because of hatred, or jealousy, or other destructive feelin~ lurking
in human 'lature.
That's why they say that each person possesses two angels, an evil one and a good
one. It's his choice which one be is to pick out•... That remains in the feeling of
the Jewish people. And they can't get away from the philosophy of right and
wrong. The Talmud has all the laws [of proper conduct] . . . and you follow
[them]. . . . A lot of Gentiles in the university teach those laws and refer to it, to
the Talmud. That's why the Jewish people are so different.34
Morris cites an instance in his own family that he sees as confirmation

of the persistence of critical faculties among the "people of the Book."
When my granddaughter [was with me] I was teaching her Jewish history.. .. Of
course it's not the kind of history we have now, maybe it's a story . . . she saw one
picture of the Ten Commandments, and she saw the burning bush.. . . She says,
"It's wrong, the picture's wrong." She was only nine years old, but she corrected
the picture that time.35
Morris, not to miss an important object lesson, informed his grand-

daughter, "It's not the same [now]. It's very different, it doesn't have to
burn. It's burning in the human heart."
In one conversation I had with Morris, he reflected on his inclination to
theorize and to "propagandize• his political views among his children and
grandchildren. He drew an analogy to the Talmudic tradition of
disputation (i.e., the rabbinical polemics that are a built-in feature of the
Talmudic record). He observed that such discussion of issues was an
essential part of Jewish social life; that without "theoretical analysis of
ethical behavior,• the Jews would never have survived as long as they
have.
In his secular conception of biblical matters, he views Abraham and
Moses in some sense as intellectuals. Remarking on the ethical principles
that they are credited with promulgating, Morris said, "They didn't just
come from nowhere,• implying not that they were of divine origin, but
rather that the righteousness of these biblical figures reflected their deep
roots in that process of reflection and argumentation indispensable to the
development and maintenance of Jewish values. So it is that in his
retelling of events in the biblical account, they are transformed into
homiletic pronouncements of a secular order.
The expression of folk ideology among Yiddish-speaking radicals was
not always grounded in the rationale of biblical allusion. Among those for

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whom involvement in trade union and political movements was not

always matched by continuous participation in specifically Jewish
cultural or political organizations, the relationship between political
belief and ethnicity was at times a tenuous one. Yet even when subsumed
under general working class concerns, the ethnic content of political
expression might remain a latent force, particularly in Left organizations
which had a large Jewish membership, and in trade unions representing
industries with a predominantly Jewish work force.
Sophie S., a retired garment worker and longtime trade union activist,
reflected upon a life in which active ethnic and working-class identi-
fication were not always congruent, yet in which concerns with the
question of dual identity were ongoing. Born in the Ukraine in 1899, she
came to the United States in 1913. Most vivid in her memory of early
childhood is the mixture of political and cultural elements in her own
family. Her parents, while not active participants in the revolutionary
movement in Russia, were nonetheless sympathetic, and their household
occasionally served as a refuge for fugitives from Tsarist law. "Some very
famous Social Democrats at that time-they were Mensheviks who were
relatives of my father's, in fact, first cousins, who were exiled and came
into the Ukraine to do some revolutionary work-they stayed at our
house.# Transplanted on American soil, her radical education continued:
"And when we came here, my father, who was a 'butter and egg' man,
joined the union-the egg handlers' union. So I was raised in an
atmosphere of social injustice as well as the need to fight for social
justice."36
Sophie went on to speak of the character of her parents' Jewish
background:
They were secular people; however, both my mother and my father were unusual
in this sense-they were highly cultured people. And they taught us [children] not
J ewish religion, but Jewish culture, and we knew the background of all the
Yiddish [i.e., Jewish] holidays.... The question of Yiddish culture was not alien
to me, but it was not my-what would one say today-cup of tea, because my
activities were in the union.
Actually, my life in the Jewish community [in the United States] hasn't started
until after I retired. At the age of thirteen, I went to work. [It] was through
neighbors and relatives who had taken me into the garment industry.... I have
remained in the garment industry for the rest of my life until I retired.37
Sophie was not active during this period in any specifically Jewish
cultural organizations. The International Ladies Garment Workers Union
(ILGWU), of which she was a member from 1933 until her retirement in
1968, was originally a predominantly Jewish union, as a result of the
composition of the work force in the garment industry; however

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the union, which started with the Jewish people, didn't have only Jews. It had
Italians . . . Blacks, and we had Polish. . . . And I recognized that Blacks are
fighting for identity, Poles are retaining their identity, always, you know, speaking
Polish among themselves.38 Well, I felt, not consciously but, it seems to me,
unconsciously, [that) I always did not separate myself from them, but [was not
simply] one of them . . . ratherm was with them as a Jew.
Practically, I grew up as a worker, and was very much interested in the workers'
problems. . . . I do believe in . . . the unity of the international working class.
Nevertheless, there is a specific problem that [is faced] as a Jewish worker, just as
there is discrimination against other minorities-that is something that the
Jewish people also have.
While anti-Semitism reinforced her ethnic identity, Sophie's work

experiences fueled her class outlook. It was her relationship with her
employers that reminded her that, at least in the workplace, class
considerations tended to override those of ethnicity.
In those days . . . the garment industry was primarily dominated by Jewish

entrepreneurs.39 They were not the policy mal<ing rich Jews, but nevertheless
they were the owners. One thing was clear to me, which intensified my own class
orientation, is that it doesn't matter who your employer is; that the employer is
on one side and the worker is on the other side; that a Jewish person is exploited
by a Jewish employer, just as the Black or the Italian or the Polish worker is
exploited.
During her many years in the ILGWU, Sophie served in many official
union capacities, from shop steward to business agent. "So I've had my
confrontations with the employers, but never- whether he was Jewish
and I was Jewish- that never mattered. When it came to arguing for the
worker, he was the employer; it just didn't make any difference. He
fought me just as well as he would fight anybody else.•
The classic conflict between management and labor, then, tended to
override the potentially unifying factor of shared ethnic identity. It must,
however, be pointed out that some Jewish historians have placed
emphasis on cultural communality, specifically "an age old tradition of
arbitration,• within Old World Jewish communities as a mediating factor
in labor disputes when both sides were Jewish.40 Still, it may be argued
that any demand made by a Jewish union to a Jewish employer, carrying
with it even an implicit appeal to the boss's Jewish sense of j ustice, might
further aggravate relations, by implying that Jewish law might in some
way supersede economic law. In the words of a Jewish factory owner
whose acquaintances have included several Jewish garment manu-
facturers, the Jewish unions were "the worst,"41 ostensibly by virtue of the
latter's irritating challenge to the former's sense of communal
responsibility toward their coethnics in the work force.

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Although Sophie was not active in any Jewish cultural groups while in
the ILGWU, she did keep abreast of affairs in the Yiddish-speaking
community. Her brother subscribed to a number of Yiddish publications,
which he would pass on to her, and her mother would invariably speak to
her in Yiddish whenever they met.
She would say to me "dayn papir, ot is geshn"bn?" My paper-she meant the

English publication-did it say so and so. She would always make sure that I knew
what's going on [as reported in the Yiddish press]. And if there's anything she
knew that I could read in Yiddish, which I do, so she would save the articles for
me and say, "di mitses laynen•-you have to read it, you have to know what goes
on.
Upon retirement, Sophie became active in the Emma Lazarus Club, a

Jewish women's organization whose political outlook matched her own.
"It was a split off from the former Jewish Cultural Clubs that existed
[another legacy of the IWO], where the women had their own section."
While a principal aim of this group is "the advancement and development
of Jewish culture, Jewish traditions, and Jewish literature, in a secular
way,• they are equally concerned with larger social and economic issues:
"We are involved in civil rights activities, in consumer activities and
peace." Sophie's involvement in this organization in her postretirement
years not only allowed her to maintain an active political life, but also
enabled her to assert her Jewish identity more openly as well. "Therefore,
I found no contradictions, but on the contrary, I found that I could
continue my beliefs and activities in the pattern in which I have started as
a teenager, almost. I can continue in that organization, naturally adapting
itseH to the needs of the day."
Part of that process of adaptation has been her reconciliation, as a non-
Zionist, to the existence of the state of Israel, especially difficult given
that its political course has not been a progressive one, to say the least.
The official position of the Emma Lazarus Club is that of "the right of
Israel to exist as an independent nation, based on its peace-living with
her neighbors." Sophie places this view in a context more compatible with
her internationalism when she elaborates that "the guarantee of the
existence of Israel depends on world peace, not only peace in the Middle
East."42
A major factor in the insistence of the Yiddish Left upon articulating a
"good" position on the question of Israel is the delicate balance that must
be maintained between two hostile camps, the Jewish community, who
would view lack of support for Israel as tantamount to treason, and the
Left movement, for whom Israel, as a Middle Eastern outpost of Western
capitalism, is a political adversa,:y. Thus the consistent expression of a
dual ethnic and class identity with such conflicting interests is
problematic to say the least. Nevertheless, a skillful interpretation of class

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interests aided by the vagaries of international diplomacy have enabled

the more stalwart of advocates of Yiddish folk ideology to effect a tenuous
reconciliation of views in the midst of apparently overwhl'lming
contradictions. Abraham M. recalls:
We did everything to help the Israelis in that particular struggle [the war to
establish the state of Israel in 1948). Just as the Soviet Union and other socialist
countries helped with weapons and manned personnel to help the establishment
of the new Israel[i) nation, we in the Jewish People's Fraternal Organizations did
all we could. I personally was one of the group who have given blood for the Red
Mogen Dovid [the Jewish Red Cross) . . • in 1948.43
A popular beneficiary of fundraising activities within the Yiddish Left

during the time I conducted my interviews in the early 1980S was the
Reuben Brainin Clinic, a children's hospital situated in "the most poor
neighborhood of Tel Aviv."44 Such a selection for the charitable activities
of progressive Jews is clearly a reflection of their desire to reconcile
politics with ethnicity by attempting to assure minimal compromise to
the former. Th.is is made evident in the response given by Sam F., a
retired Jewish plasterer, when asked about the character of his Jewish
identity.
I am secular Jew, not a religious Jew .. . [but) everything that concerns the
Jewish interests, I am for it. ... I'm not associated with any religious group, and I
don't go to synagogue [but) whatever is concerned . . . like I told you, [for
example) helping out Israel .. . giving a lot of help to the [Reuben Brainin) Clinic,
a hospital supported by the progressive Jewish movement in other countries. The
hospital is in Israel. They're helping both . . . the Jewish children and the Arab
children. There·s no distinction.45
Among those socialists who supported the establishment of a Jewish

state in Palestine, the contradictions of political organizing in the United
States were by no means resolved with the realization of their basic aim.
Recognition of the legitimacy of their ideological position was not
forthcoming in the mainstream Jewish community, even when the state
of Israel was ruled by a series of Labor Party administrations, whose
leaders declared themselves part of the Second International (Social
Democrat). More awkward was the position of socialist Zionists who were
also Yiddishists.
In spite of a generally hostile position on the part of revolutionaries in
general, and Jewish radicals in particular, toward Zionism-since it was
seen as a desertion of their ranks for another cause-there were a number
of Yiddish socialists who were taken with the utopian idea of a Jewish
homeland where a cooperative society could flourish, free from anti-
Semitism.

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The main CUITent of Zionist tbinlcing-eonstituting another source of

irritation to the Yiddish Left- was that East European Jewish culture was
backward, parochial, and moribund and should therefore be shunted for
a new Jewish national identity, and that the language articulating this
new Jewish identity should be Hebrew, the only truly universal language
of world Jewry (at least of those who bad bad religious training, since,
like Latin, it was not the vernacular language of any extant Jewish group).
Yet, there were a number of Jewish socialists who, flush with enthusiasm
over the movement of Yiddish nationalism, tried to win their comrades
over to the idea of a Yiddish-speaking Jewish homeland, ostensibly on the
basis of embracing not only collectivism, but Yiddisbism, that is, East
European Jewish culture as the basis of a national identity.
One such individual was Moshe C., born in Yanov, in the Ulcrainian
state of Podolsk, in 1909. Active in the labor Zionist movement since the
late 1920s, mostly as a youth leader, be reviews bis life in an expansive
and didactic fashion, frequently generalizing about the Jewish experience
in Europe and America in the midst of bis own reminiscences. When
questioned about the character of bis Jewish upbringing in the Old
Country, be responded with an observation about the state of Jewish
education in Eastern Europe at the tum of the century.
People believe . . . that in the shtetl we produced great learned men,

knowledgeable men, scholars, etc., etc. This is not so, certainly not in the
nineteenth century and early twentieth century. Otherwise, You wouldn't have
met so many immigrants coming to the United States who couldn't sign their
name. ... They had to sign it with a cross.46
Moshe went on to suggest that Jewish "life-style was a far great

integrating factor than knowledge, than learning, than book learning." In
bis family, and in others that be observed, "the life-style was that there
was a mezusah on the door, and you see your parents kiss the mezusah
[before entering the house] and you kiss it. ... You didn't even have to be
an observant Jew in the sense of observing every little mitsvah. That was
the common thing to do."47
Moshe's memory of Jewish culture in the Ulcraine was one of a way of
life in disarray.
There was already the breakdown of religious traditions. When I Jived there, on
the eve of the Revolution ... there were already great breaks in Jewish tradition.
. . . I know already I had an uncle who smoked on the Sabbath . ... Certain times
my uncle would go away to a special place, and I wanted to go along and he said,
"It's not for children.•
Later on, when Moshe's family settled in the United States, "My father
bad a grocery store [and] it was open during part of Saturday.•

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On his attendance in shul (synagogue) as a young child, Moshe points

out that "it was the kind of thing that every Jewish kid did. We didn't go
to shul merely to pray. You go to shul like many youngners [today go] to
a [community] center:
We were not religious fanatics. Sure, you wore a cap [yarmulke], you washed
your bands [before meals], said the blessings, said kriat shema [one of the
principal Jewiah prayers: "Hear, 0 Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one1
before you went to bed. But ... it was meaningless, like performing any other
ritual. That's why I say that life-style, more than education, [characteriz.ed]
Jewish life.
AJ;Moshe dismissed the notion that Jewish education was thriving in

the Old Country, he also looks skeptically at the idea that such a
languishing Jewish tradition could be a viable influence, by itself, in the
growth of political awareness and social activism.
We'd like to say that we're charitable, we're labor-minded, we are progressive. rm
not sure that it's true in all instances. A great deal of Jewish immigrants, the great
majorizy, was . . . self-centered, interested in making good, being a success, if not
for themselves, at least for their children, which they did very successfully, from
that point of view, measured in these terms.
Measured in terms of what we were internally, people who were not completely
integrated into American society, and into American culture, [the Jewish people]
picked up only the worst elements, and dropped everything that they had in their
Jewish background.
It would appear that Moshe did not receive an extensive Jewish

education until after his arrival in the United States. Landing in New
York in 1921, he soon moved with his family to Minneapolis. In addition
to going to public school there, he also attended a Talmud Torah (a place
of Jewish study, usually connected with a synagogue). Unlike most
parochial schools in other Jewish communities, which were governed by
specific religious affiliation (Orthodox, Conservative, etc.), it was
interdenominational. It was also Zionist in orientation. "We had a very
intensive Hebrew education, so Hebrew, Zionism, and Palestine are
naturaJ allies, so we didn't have to question.. .. That was the atmosphere.
. was a given.
. . . Ziorusm . "48
Moshe may well have been influenced by frequent references to Zion

and Jerusalem in his Hebrew studies, but when it came to joining the
labor Zionist movement, biblical injunction was not a primary motivating
factor in his political outlook. At age sixteen, he had his first exposure to
political Zionism when he attended a function of the Yidishe Natsionaler
Arbeiter Farband (Jewish National Workers Allian~e, simply called the
Farband), a Yiddish-speaking socialist Zionist organization, founded in
1912.

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I once passed by an institution [a Farbarul meeting hall in Minneapolis) and I

heard Yiddish and Hebrew songs, and Hassidic songs, and I was attracted.
Sometimes you come to a movement, not directly, because of its ideology, but by
other pathways. One of the pathways was its music and song.
Hearing the sounds of traditional Jewish song, Moshe walked into a

meeting that initiated him into what was to be a lifelong commitment.
"Subsequently, I began to learn [about] labor Zionism, or Poale Zionism,
or socialist Zionism- they are all synonymous terms for the same idea.•
Moshe saw labor Zionism as having promoted
an interest in the standard of living, in the well being, the dignity of the common
man, combined with an interest in our own people; a Zionism which says, yes,
[the) building up of Palestine, but given all the new concepts of humanity. It has
to be a state-it will not add something new to the world [in that respect). But it
will be different if it can combine socialist concepts, cooperative concepts.
He also viewed the labor Zionist movement as an antidote to the deleter-

ious effects of as.ciimilation on Jewish life in the United States. • All
American Jewish institutions were geared to integrate the immigrants
into American life"; in this task, Moshe said, they accomplished a great
deal, but "in the attempt to educate the 'greenhorns,' so to speak ... they
ignored everything that was creative in Jewish life.• Moshe recalled a tour
he took of American Jewish communities on behalf of the labor Zionist
youth movement in the early 1930s.
I hadn't seen a Jewish community center that portrayed a Jewish picture. The
pictures in Jewish community centers were by and large of Roman or Greek
design. . . . Very, very few had any Jewish symbols. They were essentially
settlement houses to Americanize the foreigners-the immigrants. And they
thought that by erasing every trace of Yiddish and Hebrew, symbols of Judaism,
that they would speed up the process. It's only in the 1940s that Jewish centers
began to ask themselves how are we different and why, a process which has
become more meaningful since the creation of the state of Israel.
This comment on the vacuousness of Jewish culture in the United States

prior to the late 1940s, and his remarks on the monound character of
East European Jewish culture as well, are, in fact, not just the opinions of
a labor Zionist, bur reflect the general attitude of political Zionists that a
dying Jewish world community could only be revived, and revitalized, by
a new Jewish state. In this sense, Moshe's statements are not so much
sociological observations as they are rationales for a set of beliefs based
on the rejection of Jewish life-styles in the Diaspora. Moshe, however,
had become a Yiddishist and so was unwilling to reject East European
Jewish culture as a whole, as were many Zionists. Yet he did recognize
that what Jewish culture had become, especially in America, was a

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hybrid, showing much of the influence of the dominant society in which it

was historically situated. Moshe points once again to its negative
consequences.
The agencies that American Jewry establiahed were [designed] to fit the Jew into
the American pattern of society. A lot of our customs and ceremonies and schools
and synagogues, and so on, were to a large extent influenced by the Protestant
way of living... our funerals . .. our services, the decorum, etcetera, etcetera....
There is a Yiddish saying, "Vi es lcristlikh, zolch azoy yid iz,• which means, as it is
practiced in Christianity, so it becomes the practice in Judaism. . . . Jewish
institutions all over are influenced by the environment.49
In spite of bis gloomy picture of Jewish community life in America,

Moshe does recall dissension in the ranks. He notes that many of the
social workers of the 1930s were politically Left-leaning, and a number of
them were left Zionists. Mainstream Jewish institutions were apparently
of no use in instilling an abiding sense of ethnic identity among young
Jewish radicals, for whom a life of political activism was accompanied (or
even preceded) by an effacement of ethnicity. Yet, Moshe saw in labor
Zionism a way of winning over some of those disaffected employees of
Jewish community centers and the like by combining political and ethnic
interests in a way that was mutually reinforcing.
In the mid-1930s, Moshe joined Young Judea. A part of the Zionist
youth movement, "it was an attempt to develop a love for Palestine....
To be a good Jew means to be a good Zionist. You must have concepts of
what Judaism stands for in order to really be a good Zionist. To an extent,
these groups provided a social atmosphere [for this to happen].•so
Shortly thereafter, he was invited to become secretary of American
Zion, later known as the Habonim, a major labor Zionist youth organi-
zation. In line with the general outlook of his compatriots, be opted for a
strictly secular approach to his work.
At that time, I translated a volume by Ber Borocbov called Nationalism and Class
Struggle [a Russian Marxist, Borocbov offered the notion that the class struggle
among Jews could only be successful if it was transplanted from a virulently anti-
Semitic Eastern Europe to an exclusively Jewish territory). We needed a language
that wasn't emotional . . . not merely to say this is the land of our forefathers
where Judaism was born. It was too sentimental to many.s1
Moshe did not necessarily reject the argument for Zionism from a biblical
perspective. It was simply that "the people who tended toward the Left
wouldn't accept an emotional explanation. So this was one of the reasons
[that] they wanted me to translate Ber Borochov."
Moshe found himself in a somewhat awkward position, created by the
two major tendencies within the labor Zionist movement. Although
influenced by the orientation of the Yiddishist Farband, through whom

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Mattets of Belief 75
he had been introduced to labor Zionism, the youth organization he

headed-the Habonim-was an offshoot of the Poole zion ("Workers of
Zion"), a Hebrew oriented organization. Ironically, much of the leader-
ship of this wing of the movement remained conversant primarily in
Yiddish (less in English, much less Hebrew). Moshe, who was not fluent
in Yiddish at that point, found it necessary to familiarize himself with the
mame-loshen in order to communicate with his higher-ups. "I was the
head of the Poole zion youth movement, but my superiors were all
Yiddish-speaking. . .. To get to know what labor Zionism was, I had to
learn Yiddish.• In fact, fifty years ago written sources were mostly in
Yiddish, with some in Hebrew. "In those days, when I started out, if I
wanted to know something about, what did Borochov say, [what did]
Nahman Syrkin [prominent labor Zionist theoretician] say. .. I had to
learn Yiddish."52
Still the Habonim saw as its mission the "conversion" of Jewish youth
to Hebrew nationalism, linking the new Jewish national identity with the
language rooted in ancient Jewish tradition, and by association, the
ancient Jewish "homeland" soon to be resettled. It initiated its recruits by
introducing elements of scouting, from a different point of view. If you were

preparing to be a pioneer [in Palestine], a pioneer must learn [about] nature . . .
being self-reliant, things of that sort. The Hashomer Ha'tsair [The Young Guard,
a socialist-Zionist group, founded in Galicia during World War I] incorporated
those elements in Europe to a great extent. ... We built the first experimental
Habonim camp.... There was a lot of singing, [use of] Hebrew terminology....
There was an attempt to appeal to the emotions of the child through symbolism.ss
As an illustration of the use of symbolism, Moshe pointed to the way in

which the holiday of Tisha B'av was interpreted at the Habonim summer
camps. Usually occurring in August (the ninth of Av in the Hebrew
calendar), Tisha B'av is a day of mourning for the destructions of the
Temple, traditionally observed by fasting and the recitation of prayers of
lamentation. However, the day is also set aside to commemorate the
unsuccessful revolt of Bar Kokhba against the Roman emperor Hadrian,
which took place shortly after the destruction of the Second Temple. It is
this latter theme that was especially emphasized. "If the group [at camp]
decided to fast on the observed [day], here was a chance to display the
history of Jewish revolt ... it's historical meaning." Once again, for an
avowedly secular orgaoirntion, it was a theme from religious observance
that provided a most powerful tool of inspiration in the persuasive
repertory of ethnopolitical advocacy.
The labor Zionists also operated their own schools, in which were
taught such subjects as socialism, Zionism, Jewish history, social issues
in America, and, of course, Hebrew (originally with Yiddish-speaking
instructors; later all classes were conducted in English).

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Although the movement with which Moshe was involved did not
include the promulgation of Yiddish in their agenda, Moshe himSf'lf,
apparently inspired by his mentors, maintained a lifelong affection for
the language that was spoken "like a friend." When speaking of English
editions of books he had read in the original Yiddish, he quotes the
famous author Chaim Nahman Bialik, who is said to have made the
observation that "reading in translation is like kissing a beautiful woman
through a veil" (also attn'buted to Isaac Balshevis Singer; ironically,
Jlialik, originally a Yiddish writer, turned to Hebrew when he came under
the influence of Zionist thinking, and eventually settled in Israel).54
Since moving to Los Angeles in the 19405, Moshe had maintained two
principal organizational ties, the Labor Zionist Alliance (the product of a
merger, in 1942, between the Poale zion and the Farband) and the
Yiddish Culture Club (he was its president for a number of years). He still
expressed dissatisfaction with the failure of Israel to adopt Yiddish as its
national language, in spite of his long involvement with the Hebrew-
oriented Poale zion.
If Moshe was somewhat at odds with members of his own group over
such questions as language orientation, the labor Zionist movement itself
was in a paradoxical position. A minority voice among Zionists before
1948, it remained so even after the establishment of the state of Israel,
despite the fact that labor Zionists in Europe and America were (and
remain) the ideological counterpart, and most avid supporters, of the
Histadrut-the national (state run) labor organization in Israel-and the
long-reigning Labor Party.
I remember the lchaverim [from lchaver: friend (in Hebrew and Yiddish); it was
used among labor Zionists as "comrade," as it was among other Jewish radicals]
... took Goldie [Golda Meir, who, during the 1940s was a socialist Zionist] on
their trucks to visit certain [other] lchaverim to collect money. Goldie only
became popular-was listened to by the rich Jews-after Israel gained its
independence.55
Clearly, then, the question of class asserted itself here. Moshe

elaborated on the obstacles facing the proponents of labor Zionism: "We
were going against the mainstream [Jewish community]-for that matter,
it is true to this very day.... What were the desires of the Jewish masses?
. . . The transformation of the Jewish working class into Jewish
professionals, into Jewish merchants.• While not criticizing this desire for
upward mobility per se, Moshe realized that a component of this process
was a loss, not only of class perspective (and along with it, working-class
ideology), but of that sense of Jewish identity which he viewed as an
integral part of his own outlook as an advocate of the Jewish working
class. For Moshe, notwithstanding his support for Zionist objectives,
Jewish identity meant Yiddishkayt. Thus the folk ideology of Yiddishism

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was grafted onto the political line of labor Zionism, held together by a
common socialist thread- at least in principle, since socialism has
gradually ceased to be a clarion call of labor Zionists. However,
Yiddishism was always a minority voice among labor Zionists, as
socialism was among Zionists in general. Still, Yiddishkayt and a vaguely
socialist outlook ("Why do we favor the labor movement? Because it
represents the majorityt says Moshe) remain the central core of Moshe's
worldview, somehow yet afloat in the treacherous waters of contem-
porary Jewish politics.56
JEWISH RADICAL MAITERS AND RADICAL JEWISH BELIEF
It is clear that the folk ideology of these Jewish radical activists was
conditioned not only by the particularity of their relationship to the
working-class movement as a whole, but also by their relationship to the
rest of the Jewish community. That their political beliefs were anathema
to the members of the Jewish establishment (representing both class and
ethnic adversaries) made it necessary for them to be all the more
emphatic in their assertion of Jewish identity, digging deep into the
symbolic repository of traditional Judaism in order to reinforce their
sense of commonality with the Jewish people and to affirm a continuity
with the Jewish past. Jewish tradition was desacramentalized and
transformed, through a radical folk exegesis, into an emblem of a
revolutionary people with a history of social struggle.
The desire to stress crucial points of unity with Jewish culture as a
whole was reckoned alongside a determination to maintain an
independent political perspective. As has been seen, this attempt involved
a process of ideological "brokering.• Given the assimilated character of
much of the mainstream Jewish community in America, not only were
Yiddish radicals politically distinctive, they were often more Jewish-
identified, that is to say, their beliefs as secular Jews were often more
clearly delineated (and reflected in their activities) than those of many
unaffiliated Jewish professionals and businesspeople.
There are issues around which Jewish radical interests and those of the
larger Jewish community converged, transcending questions of specific
ethnic/political distinctions. Sophie S. pointed to one overriding issue for
world Jewry, in describing the impact of the Holocaust on her sense of
Jewish identity.
[It is] the realization that there is a definite attempt oo the part of certain
elements io the world to exterminate the Jews; therefore the unity that all Jews
[have] regardless of differences of political thinking. But there's one thing, that
unites us and that is our nationality. .. . I find today that, where there are so
many differences of opinion, io regards to the ability of Israel to continue its
existence ... on the basis of being Jewish, we can unite on certain issues, which I

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think is very helpful, a very healthful development within the Jewish community
today.57
Still, within the Jewish radical subculture, there is an important

distinction in emphasis: it is a working class, more specifically a radical,
orientation that has tended to shape and direct a specific form of Jewish
identification, a folk ideology in which Jewish values are selected which
can be drawn upon to emphasize the unity of Jewish interests with the
aspirations of the working class as a whole. That is to say, Jewish
ethnicity generally is held not to override class interests, but rather may
unite all Jews around issues that themselves transcend class, as in the
case of anti-Semitism.
By essentially radicalizing their Jewishness and • Judaizing" their
radicalism, Yiddish trade union and political activists confronted
challenges to their identity posed by the conflicting demands of two
communities with apparently differing outlooks. Specific forms of
identification were chosen which not only served to minimize friction, but
actually facilitated the integration of two perspectives into a meaningful
framework for ethnic and political expression. As Sophie put it: "I feel
that I am fortunate that I have the kind of background that created within
me two ideologies; that while they were different, they never created a
struggle within me to choose one or the other.·ss

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Chapter4
"A Story in Itself':

Personal Narrative and
Folk Ideology
The culture "speaks itself' through each individual's story.'
Chapter 3 presented excerpts of personal narratives of several veterans of

the Jewish Labor Movement that outline the nature of their beliefs, and
how they came to adopt Yiddish radicalism. In this chapter I focus on the
form and process of personal narrative itself as a vehicle for the
demonstration of folk ideology. As I elicited material from interview
subjects in response to specific inquiries about their lives and outlooks, it
became apparent to me that the interview process itself provided a stage
upon which a coherent and clearly delineated worldview could be
"performed" before a receptive audience and elaborated in different ways.
Sometimes overt statements of belief were made, and specific examples
given of its application in ethnic/political contexts. At other times, sets of
association would be drawn, and memories evoked, that appeared
tangential or unrelated to my initial inquiry into the expressive forms of
folk ideology. Upon closer examination, these apparent digressions
revealed themselves as integral parts of the larger Story they were
presenting to me.
As Ron Grele has noted, in an article examining the narratives of two
Jewish garment workers (recorded under the auspices of the City College
Oral History Project in New York City), by using a "paradgimatic"
model-an attempt to find an underlying order, or structure, through
which interview responses are presented-one can begin to see the
narrated life story as a framework for transforming personal experience
into a broader social and historical vision. 2
Through an examination of the personal narratives of Yiddish radicals,
one may gain insights into the ways in which the framework of their folk
ideology was defined and articulated in specific forms of expression. But

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on another level, the narratives themselves reveal important perspectives

on the ways in which folk ideology was actually forged and defended in
lives of radical commitment-as lived in by members of a distinctive
subculture. As Rosenwald and Ochberg have put it, "Personal stories are
not merely a way of telling someone (or oneselO about one's life; they are
means by which identities may be fashioned."!I They are not only
statements of identity but also reveal the ways in which those identities
have been constructed (in life) and reconstructed (in the telling).
For the tellers, each episode of the life story constitutes a
demonstration of the centrality of folk ideology, affirming-directly or
obliquely-a continuity of belief, both in theory and in practice. The story
as a whole serves as a chronicle of the development of individual
symbolic expressions of social identification and association. The life
story also provides its teller with the opportunity, through narrative, to
mediate the dialectical tension between a lifelong commitment to
political activism in a broadly based working-class movement and a
strong sense of ethnic solidarity, each carrying the demands of potentially
conflicting loyalties.
The narratives of the JLM activists I interviewed reveal several factors
that enabled them to negotiate the coexistence (if not always peaceful) of
an internationalist class perspective with that of an abiding ethnic
identity: I) a set of experiences early in life that set the stage for an
enduring adherence to a specific outlook and set of ideals; 2) the
maintenance of a communal support network of Jewish activists; 3) the
consistent incorporation of key ethnic symbols (i.e., expressive forms)
that have integrated Jewish and working-class identities; and 4)
continued active involvement (well into old age) in political activities that
reinforced the social ties and symbolic expressions of the community of
Yiddish radicals. The interview process, then, provided an opportunity for
them not only to talk about their lives, but, perhaps more important, to
assert and defend-to re-create-the boundaries of their singular
identities. These personal narratives demonstrate this process by drawing
attention, sometimes in dramatic fashion, to the ways in which their dual
identity has become crystallized, providing a dominant framework, not
only for the living, but also for the telling, of one's life experiences.
Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett has addressed "the ways in which the
remembered past of personal experience is constructed and used in
ethnic symbol building": "By ethnic symbols I mean symbolic behavior
that expresses the heightened awareness of cultural distinctiveness. My
concern is not with ethnic groups and their folklore, but rather with the
conditions under which awareness of cultural distinctiveness is height-
ened and how this awareness is expressed."4
In her monograph, she treats "folk autobiographies" as resources for
examining the ways in which the remembered experiences of elderly
Jewish immigrants ("travel, migration, war, extreme old age, complex

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urban environment ... a major dislocation in time and space") fuel the
expression of ethnic identity. She also considers the impact of the
expansive historical view of elders on the recollection of events in their
own lives. This expansive view is of particular importance in the
examin'ltion of personal narratives of those individuals whose lives have
been shaped by multiple sets of identification, and who have, therefore,
been presented with multiple options for symbol building. It must be
cautioned, however, that what is apparent to the interviewer is only the
summation, in the ethnographic present, of a unified worldview,
momentarily resolving an ongoing struggle between potentially conflict-
ing sources of group expression and afliliation. This struggle, while never
fully resolved, is articulated as a definitive expression of belief. It is
presented in public as a statement of ideals, as well as privately as an
affirmation of the possibility of reconciliation of apparent contradiction
in the fulfillment of ideological goals.
The narratives of Menashe S., a retired Jewish carpenter and longtime
trade union and political activist, illustrate the process by which, through
personal biography, a symbolic framework for the expression of one's
identity and set of values may be (re)presented. A number of central
themes, depicting conflicts faced and generally, though not always,
overcome, appear in his stories: 1) Jews versus anti-Semitic government
troops (pogroms); 2) revolutionaries versus the state; 3) draft evaders
versus the army; 4) workers versus bosses; 5) illegal immigrants versus
immigration officials; 6) rank-and-file union members versus corrupt
union officials; and 7) immigrants seeking citizenship versus government
bureaucracy. These themes were focal points of episodes Menashe related
within a larger narrative, each culminating in the vanquishing (or
eluding) of opposition by the narrator/protagonist.s Collectively, by
illustrating the ways in which Menashe successfully negotiated these
dialectical antitheses, they also serve to underscore his successful
synthesis of opposition, underscored by the effective integration of his
expression of Jewish ethnicity and working-class consciousness.
When descnl>ing the markers of his dual identity, Menashe made it
evident that his class outlook tended to assume a dominant role in
defining the character of his ethnopolitical perspective, as is the case for
virtually all of those I interviewed. When discussing the nature of his
Jewish secular identity, Menashe tied in cultural concerns with a general
plea for study, for an understanding of the world, which he hoped would
lead toward a tolerance for other peoples. He punctuated his assertion of
Jewish ethnicity with a declaration of internationalism in Yiddish: "I
consider myself as being a Jew: I don't deny my upshtand [parentage],
that I'm Jewish ... a mentsh ... vos kampft far a gantser velt, in ale
shprakhn, bay ale mentshn, bay alefelker [a person who struggles for a
whole (unified) world, in all languages, for all humanity, for all
peoples)."6

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Aware, however, that his political convictions were anathema to the

mainstream Jewish community, Menashe found it all the more necessary
to underscore his Jewish identity, at the same time delineating its special
character. ff.is opening remarks in the first interview that I conducted
with him were MI am a lover of the Jewish culture.... Yiddish has a rich
culture and I love that culture: There is a continuity, not only in the
nature of the activities and organizational affiliations throughout his life,
but also in the consistency with which he asserted the specific nature and
boundaries of his identity. This is especially evident in the bilingual
Mflavor" of his narratives, reflecting not a subconscious process, but
rather a dehoerate presentation (both demonstrative and didactic) of
what was, for him, a dominant ethnic symbol-the Yiddish language.
I was born in 1898 . .. in a little town of the name of Dubienka ... a little town
somewhere in Poland. I was the son of a carpenter-in Yiddish, they say a stolier.
. . . My grandfather was a stolier, so I'm coming from a mishpolche-a family-of
stoliers. When I was about, twelve, thirteen years old, my father and the whole
family moved to Lodz, the second largest city in Poland.... Already [I) knew how
to work with a saw, with a hammer, with a plane-in Yiddish it would be mit a
zeg, mit a hamer, WI a hubl.
In descnbing his early exposure to traditional Judaism, Menashe speaks,

as many traditional Jews have, not of beliefs and concepts, but of
attendance in synagogue and kheder (parochial school) as a child in
Dubienka.
When I was five years old, I remember, I used to go to shul, in synagogue, bes
hamikdesh [is] what they call it, with my zeyde, which I called him-not zeyde, I
called him poppa [Menashe was partly raised by his grandparents; the term
~ppa" was commonly used in reference to one's grandfather]. He take[s] me in
his hand, and take[s] me over there. I didn't go with my father ... I do remember
he used to go to shul, but how much a believer he was . . . because, coming to
Lodz, he was not a believer.... But in that little town [Dubienka], you had the
atmosphere and all, so you go in line. That much I could remember.
I was going to lcheder. ... My rabbi used to say I've a good kepe/e ... a good
little head. I used to learn lchumash, the Bible, and I used to learn makhzor
[prayer book for holiday services], the tanalch [the Five Books of Moses plus the
prophetic writings] already. When I came to Lodz, I already knew how to read a
siddur [prayer book].
Menashe makes no further references to religious observance in the

narrrative of events following the fateful family move to Lodz. From that
point on, the expression of his Jewish identity was to be made manifest
largely through the vehicle of language (Yiddish), secular cultural
activities (primarily Yiddish choruses and workers' orchestras) and
politics (specifically Jewish trade union and revolutionary organizations).

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Menasbe's working-class identity was already being forged when he

was a youngster in the shtetl. Around the age of eight, he began working
with his father, mostly helping to cut and sell firewood. It was through bis
father that Menashe was first exposed to the world of revolutionazy
politics. "My father belonged to a union. He was a member in the
Carpenters' Union; there it's called a profesionale farayn ... a [Jewish]
professional guild. So I used to come to meetings. My father took me
along with him. So I listened, and I learned things myself.•
Menashe's father was also active in the Bund. At age nine, Menashe was
brought into the Kleyner Bund. "It was a Jewish youth organization of the
Bund. . . . I was learning different things about the labor movement.•
Menashe's political activity carried with it an important cultural
dimension as well. The Kleyner Bund also had an "orchestra they called
the strayk orkestra [strike orchestra]. My father bought me ajidele and I
joined that orchestra . . . and I was still working with my father and
helping him out.•
It is quite evident that his father was a pivotal figure, introducing the
major components of his identity and outlook: carpentry, trade union
activism, Left politics, and music. These remained integral elements
throughout Menashe's life.
Following World War I, Poland was in turmoil, and Jews were
repeatedly subjected to anti-Semitic attacks: "The pogroms they used to
make-and seeing that-dragging out Jewish people with their beards,
dragging them through the doors, and cut their beards, and beat them up.
I used to see these things and I wanted to do something about it, [but] I
couldn't.•
Threatened with induction into the Polish army, Menasbe was sent by
his parents to live with an uncle in Germany. He worked in Berlin for a
year as a carpenter, but the work ran out, and so be sent a letter to
another uncle, who lived in Toronto, Canada. "I got a letter from him that
he's getting a ship's card for me-it means a ticket to come to him in
Toronto.• To make a long story short for now, he eventually arrived in
Canada (however, as he relates in a subsequent interview, first he had to
go to France, where he worked for several months, also as a carpenter,
while attempting to secure a passport from the Russian embassy in Paris
... but that's a "story in itself').
Menashe made his way to Toronto, where he lost no time in joining the
carpenter's union and taking up the trade once more. The local to which
he belonged was not Jewish, however, and so for cultural sustenance, he
looked elsewhere: "Thousands and tens of thousands of [Jewish] young
people came in from Austria, Galicia, Poland, and I was one of them. We
organized a Jewish youth club. [It] was interested mainly in cultural work
... lectures, concerts, discussions.. . . Giving out the paper ... a vants
papier-a wall paper- all in Yiddish.•

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Menashe left Canada for the United States in 1923 and initially moved
in with a cousin in Brownsville, then a predominantly Jewish
neighborhood in New York City. Soon after his arrival, he joined the
Carpenters' Union there. While the constituency of his local was largely
Jewish, the leadership of the Carpenters' Union was not. Whether
through discrimination, conservatism, or corrupt officialdom Oi.kely a
combination of these), union officers were reluctant to press forward the
demands of the membership. On two occasions, locals to which Menashe
belonged were dissolved by the union president, who thought them to be
too "progressive.•
It was going on a bitter struggle in all the local unions. Mostly . .. Jewish people
were there [and] because the Jewish people were more progressive ... they saw
things not done right. We bad to be more aggressive and ask for better conditions,
but the business agents [of the union] they didn't think so. They said we have the
best conditions in the world, and we were fighting them.
Menashe's musical talents were soon sounded within the Jewish Labor
Movement in the States as well.
It was a big movement in America at the time, organizing Jewish choruses. In

New York, we had a chorus, three hundred members at the time. And then, New
York being so big, we organized in sections in different parts of the city. It bad an
all Jewish repertoire-all Yiddish. Later we also took in English, because we
began to realize that we're in America, and it's important we should also get in the
American culture, that part of the culture [Menasbe points out with some pride
that Jacob Sdiaeffer, leader of one such Jewish chorus in New York, in addition
to Paterson, New Jersey, was at one time a carpenter like himself].
We decided that we got to organize a national organization to serve these
different choruses throughout the country. We organized the Y-rdishe Musikalishe
Arbeiter Farband [Jewish Workers' Music Alliance]. In 1933, we organized a
music school in New York ... to give a chance to kids of poor people to go to
music school. [It was] all Jewish, but both English as well as Yiddish were spoken,
In 1933, the same year, I was elected the national secretary [of the Jewish
Workers' Music Alliance] until 1936 or '37.
Menashe's political activity was not restricted to his participation in the

Jewish Choruses and the Music Alliance. Of larger political scope was his
involvement in the Intematsionaler Arbeiter Farband (the International
Workers' Order, or IWO). Originally founded by Yiddish-speaking
communists, it grew into a multicultural organization, and was divided
into sections on the basis of ethnicity: •1 belonged to the first members of
the IWO in New York, which I was active there, and my wife, Mil, was
financial secretary in Paterson, New Jersey [where Menashe worked for a
time]. We belonged to the Jewish section . . . the Yidishe Folks Ordn
[known in English as the Jewish People's Fraternal Order]."

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Shortly after the Second World War, Menashe moved to Los Angeles,
where he continued to be active in both the IWO and the Jewish
choruses. (He also joined a carpenters' local in Hollywood [not Jewish],
in which he was active until his retirement in 1965.) When, hounded by
the forces of McCarthyism as a suspected subversive organization, the
IWO was disbanded by the federal government in 1954, Menashe joined
one of those Jewish fraternal clubs into which he and his comrades had
regrouped.
When the IWO was dissolved ... we were organizing clubs. They were called the
Jewish Workers' Clubs-Y'rdishe Arbeiter Klub. I was one of the organizers of the
Nathan Garfield Westside Jewish Cultural Club. Garfield was a leader right here
in Los Angeles in the progressive movement . . . and I am all these years secretary,
protocol secretary, of the club.
The activities of the club, it's mostly cultural work- lectures, discussion about
events, about Jewish culture, reading Jewish poetry, reading Jewish
dertsaylungen-how do you say-short stories, and also taking part in the local
activities of the community . .. the question of rent control, or organizing the
people against racism ... the big strike going on of the farmworkers.
Menashe provided, in my initial interview with him, a broad overview

of those events and activities that directly account for the continuities in
his career a class-conscious ethnic activist. Looking back at the major
components in his life (all of them, significantly, bearing the imprint of
his father's guiding influence), one cannot but be impressed by their
sheer staying power: 1) he remained a carpenter throughout his life; 2) he
was active in various carpenters' unions, attending meetings right up to
time of his retirement; 3) he had remained, as ever, actively engaged in
current political issues; and 4) he had performed in Jewish orchestras
choruses since childhood. Although he no longer played a musical
instrument, he continued to sing in a Jewish People's Chorus, a branch of
which he helped to form several decades ago.
This consistency is all the more striking given the sharp contrasts in
Menashe's life. He had been through the maelstrom of revolution and
world war; his travels had taken him from small community to large town
and from the Old Country to the New World; he had lived and worked in
Poland, Germany, France, and Canada before finally settling in the
United States; on more than one occasion he had found himself without
identification documents, forced to live without benefit of legal status.
In a second interview session, Menashe was encouraged to talk at
length about the circumstances surrounding events he had initially
mentioned only in passing. Given an opportunity for elaboration, he
became more demonstrative as he dramatically described these
important episodes in his life. He was clearly more conscious this time of
the performative quality of his narrative, even setting off several episodes

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with statements such as, '"I'his was a story in itself!" Two recurrent
themes were his struggle to reach his various destinations and his efforts
to establish himself in new environs. Several of these dramatic episodes
were adventures brought about by his status as an "illegal" immigrant..
Menashe's odyssey as a fugitive began when he fled from Poland into
Germany in the wake of World War I, in order to avoid conscription into
the Polish army. •1 had a bit of trouble to get there, because there were no
trains n1nning. It was the time of the Revolution, of tearing down the
Kaiser, and all that time I went through all this struggle. I went away
from trouble, and I went into trouble..,
A subsequent opportunity to emigrate to Canada was also thwarted for
a time by legal difficulties: "When I wrote that letter to my uncle [in
Toronto], he sent me a ticket. [But] you have to have a passport and I
didn't have a passport, because I ca.me to Germany illegally.• Neither
being German nor, by this time, possessing any Polish papers, he was in a
double bind. He was informed that if he made his way to Paris, he might
receive some assistance from the Russian embassy there. 8 This was no
mean feat, for if smugglers did not take away most of his money (on the
pretext of helping him cross the border), then leave him stranded, the
Germans might apprehend him and send him back to Poland. "But I
smuggled myself, with one other guy, and we made it. The guards used to
go with the dogs on the border.... We outsmarted the dogs and we came
into France... . We bought tickets for Paris. And Paris-I came in, I think
it was July the Fourteenth- there's a big celebration. They're celebrating,
they call it Bastille Day.•
When, after working in Paris for several months, Menashe final
obtained the necessary papers for emigration, his troubles were by no
means over.
I came to Canada through the port city of Quebec.... Three times they wanted to
send me back to Poland, just because I came down and I didn't have the twenty-
five dollars to show them that I wouldn't be a vagrant ... that I should keep up
myself. They were ready to send me back three times, and the fourth time I went
away.
Menashe was detained at the immigration headquarters in Quebec City

for several months while attempts were made to deport him: "You have to
wait for a boat to come back to take me to Poland.. . . When they are
calling my name, to get ready, I disappeared." While playing cat and
mouse with the immigration authorities, Menashe made an acquaintance.
This was a story by itself... . There was a girl worlcing in the immigration office.
That girl's father used to come to Toronto, Canada, and bUY some merchandise in
Toronto, and bring it back to Quebec . .. and he used to stay in the same place
that my uncle was staying. So they got acquainted with each other; so my uncle

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told him the story about me in Quebec, so the girl used to come up to visit me . .. .
She asked, what can she do for me. I told her, what you can do for me is one
thing-get me some steel saws to cut steel bars.
Menashe's new friend complied with his request, and he set himself to
work, with the assistance of some of his fellow detainees.
I had a few good friends there .. . with me; they were all supposed to be sent back.
... They were watching while the guards were going around walking their turns.
They were watching us, and while they turned around, I was cutting the steel
bars. [In a] period of two weeks, I cut two bars, and that was enough room that I
should be able to get through.
He was then faced with the problem of lowering himself from the third-
stoi:y detention area down onto an overhanging roof one stoi:y below, and
thence two stories to the ground.
When I started to go down from the third floor ... on a sheet-but how strong is
it?-and right away, over my head, I felt other people crawling over me ... and I
fell down on the roof. And here, I wanted to get down the two stories ... [and] I
didn't have anything to hang on to there. So I took my belt- and how long is a
belt?-and I hung down on the belt. And I was lucky; I jumped down and I didn't
hit the rails [there was a railroad below that went over a nearby drawbridge]. And
I had to do this very fast, 'cause when I came down, I saw [some]one laying there,
already bleeding. So I picked him up and asked him, could you walk. So, with one
hand holding up my pants-'cause the belt I left there-and I grabbed him with
my other hand .... And I took him to the place where the girl had told me ... and
I stopped a taxi.
Instructed by his young friend in the immigration office, Menashe had

run along the rails away from the drawbridge (those who went in the
direction of the drawbridge were invariably recaptured) and put his trust
in the nearest cab driver; living up to the familiar reputation for worldly
discretion and street savvy, the driver sped away with Menashe and his
wounded companion-no questions asked-and deposited the two
escapees in front of a local synagogue, known to be a "safe house" for
fugitive Jewish immigrants. Several hours later, Menashe made his way
alone to the girl's father's house, where he was treated royally.
Coming here-of course they already knew about the whole business what
happened-and of course they took me up very nicely. They fed me, they wash
me, they clean me up . . . and they dressed me from head to bottom [the father
ran a surplus clothing store]. They had everything-suits and shoes, and whatever
you want.... I was there with them for a few weeks. They were marrying me off
to that girl!

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Menasbe eventually broke away and journeyed to Toronto, where, at

last, be met up with bis uncle.
I wasn't legal in Toronto, either.... At this time when I ran away from Quebec, all
the papers were full for a few days, tzying to find out, how the hell did that man
cut these steel bars; where did he get the saws; who gave him the saws . ... Oh,
the whole press was full of it: What kind of hero?-that man is a hero doing all
those things [it must have been the Yiddish press!]. But I did it. So, I wasn't legal
in Canada.
Somehow, Menasbe managP.d to get by without benefit of Canadian

government sanction during bis stay there, but his legal status (rather the
lack of it) once more posed a problem when he subsequently decided to
enter the United States-again forgoing, by necessity, the usual official
authorization.
I wasn't legal in the United States either. I came to the United States through the
Niagara Falls. I came to Niagara Falls with a boat-[a) small boat with people
[who] knew how to maneuver around the waters there.... And I came to a little
town.... From there it's two guys which took me [through] that water. .. . Big
projectors [searchlights] was coming down and sweeping the water, looking for
boats, and whenever-they already knew-just a second when that light will come,
we disappeared. We went in a shade, so they shouldn't see us.
When I came over the other side, there was a car waiting for us who took me
into Buffalo, and from Buffalo, bought me a ticket to New York. And in New York,
I come to my cousin, again not legal.
Menashe's attempt to become a U.S. citizen, and to establish, thereby, a

legal relationship with his final adopted country, is also a "story in itself."
I tried to become a citizen, then all of a sudden I couldn't, because I had to have
documents, and I didn't have any. Well, to make a story short, the [Second
World) War broke out. After that, I was just [about to) become a citizen, so it
happens that the lawyer that made out the papers for me died, and with him
everything died again. So then a few times I was brought to a bearing from the
government, already to Ellis Island [located in upper New York Bay, it was then
the site of the major U.S. immigration station]. They questioned me, how I came
to America, and I explained to them [that] I came by boat-this was the truth.
They just couldn't believe themselves. "Where were you born? In Poland?
Where?" I told them that little town. They looked at the map-they couldn't find it
even in the map. So they questioned me a few times; three times they brought me
up there, and every time they let me go. And [then) it happened so, the war broke
out.
During World War II, Menasbe worked in Paterson, New Jersey, for a
man who made butcher fixtures. His boss bad a government contract and
filled orders made out by a local anµy captain. Citizenship was a

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prerequisite for such work, and so Menasbe's boss persuaded the captain
to expedite matters. It so happened that, at this time, a law was passed
outlining special provisions for citizenship for those people who had
arrived in the United States during, or before, 1924, whether or not they
were legal residents. Menasbe bad arrived in 1923, but bad no way to
prove it, until he recalled:
I was working in Brownsville, New York [in 1923), and there was a Public
National Bank, and I used to make deposits [of] my money there. I [still] had
money in the Public National Bank .. . a few dollars which I left there-and this is
already a story-for so many years. I came in there and I talked to the president.
He looks in the books; sure, he says, you have money here, you have about fifteen
or twenty dollars interest. So he gave me a paper, that rm a depositor there ...
since 1923.
They started to rush the [citizenship] papers; in a period of six weeks, I was an
American citizen. Every package [that] was going was all red-red, red, red, red-
rush, rush, rush, rush .... And that was how I was rushed in to be an American
citizen, which I'm proud to be one.
Overall, these stories of adversity faced, varied as they are in the

character of the conflicts with which Menashe was compelled to grapple,
and disparate as they are in time and space, nevertheless, reflect a
singularity of purpose, each episode culminating in the renewal of social
ties, be they of family, or of the community of compatriot Jewish workers
and activists. Thus, in the wake of each transitional period in Menashe's
life, the symbols of Jewish working-class identity were consistently
reconstituted and reasserted: Yiddish as a cultural and political vehicle;
music and song as a unifying force among Jewish cultural workers and
their audiences; and Jewish ethical values as a bridge linking the
aspirations of Jewish workers with those of the working class as a whole.
Once again, however, we are faced with an apparent paradox: a lifelong
series of adventures spanning decades and continents, reflecting great
changes in physical circumstance and locale, yet changelessness in the
character of social ties, not only in terms of the maintenance of the same
general class and ethnic ties, but also in the perpetuation of very specific
forms of their expression. In fact, as worldly as have been his experiences,
Menasbe's life has, to a large extent, been circumscnl>ed by bis
association with a specific segment of the working class, and an even
more specific segment of the Jewish community-that subculture of
Yiddish-speaking, politically Left, and secular Jewish activists-a world
within a world, within which bis own father bad evidently chosen to live.
Although bis interactive network was largely confined to the Jewish
radical subculture, Menasbe, like his father before him, was infused with
a global vision of possibilities for a new cooperative society-a utopian
vision shared in some form or other by his political compatriots, Jewish

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and non-Jewish alike. Yet, what might there be in Menashe's own

background- revealed, perhaps, in the memories of his father-that
would provide a clue to the gP.nnination of such a universal, messianic
outlook? What in Menashe's early childhood recollections might loom
large as an image that, in retrospect, could be viewed as a symbolic
reflection of, and inspiration for, life as a political visionary?
Menashe and I had just come to the end of a long interview session-
one in which he had expanded upon events that he had refrained from
discussing in great detail during the initial interview, and during which
he had talked about incidents previously viewed as tangential to the
specific issues that I had raised. He had evidently reached a point in our
conversation where he felt comfortable enough to tell a "tangential" story
about his father. What I was about to hear would add an important
dimension to Menashe's account of that momentous period early in his
life that led his family's move to Lodz, a transition that proved to be a
watershed in Menashe's political career. Speaking of his father, Menashe
said:
He liked to be an inventor. He made some mills.. .. There was a lot of fanners

around, so he used to make little mills to clear all kinds of chaff from the fields.
And then, all of a sudden-he had a partner-he and another guy came to an idea.
They wanted to build a machine, a perpetual motion machine, [but] not having
the slightest idea about it. They built a building.... They put up a building, about
six or seven, eight stories high . . . a structure. And there were probably a
thousand wheels . ... There were so many wheels, your eyes couldn't see: big ones
and small ones, and small ones and big ones, and it came down with a terrific
power. You could hear it in Europe, that power that came down. They got two or
three horsepowers, but it didn't go back.... It came down, already, after they
were working maybe a year or more, or two years, they worked on this.
My father was an okshn [ox] . . .. He was stubborn. He went to the biggest
watchmakers. He said that the watches-there's so many wheels, maybe they
know the secret....They didn't realize that perpetual motion-if this would be
invented, it's the end of evecythiog, it's the end of work. . . . We don't need
anything ... everybody would be happy.
And that's what he wanted. He wanted everybody to be happy. And they didn't
succeed-every peony he had, he lost-but it was a good idea anyway. He wanted
to see the people happy.... So that's why we didn't have anything to do, so we
moved to Lodz•.. . That's what actually ended my [formal] Jewish, my teaching,
my learning, all this; and what ever I have is just by myself. .. . I went to my own
college.
Like the drive, inspired by the "perpetual" motion of the mill, that
propelled Menashe's father to search for the key to the unleashing of
limitless energy in the service of humanity, so Menashe's life has been
driven by the perpetual motion of his travels and political activities. Yet
he has never lost sight of the messianic vision he inherited from his

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father. The very constancy of his outlook and ideals compelled him time
and again to seek new vistas and new arenas for work and for social
struggle. Tales about pursuit by authorities and the trials of transition
from one place to another abound in the body of Menashe's recollections.
Conflicts within the workplace and within the political arena are much in
evidence. Still, these oppositions do not alone account for the
timelessness of his conceptual outlook and the lifelong perpetuation of
class and ethnic ties of a very specific nature. Perhaps it was the quality of
his father's dreams (or, at least, the memory of them), combined with the
milieu-one of social crisis and revolutionary fervor-within which he
grew into adulthood.
Menashe's narratives take us into a world of paradoxes, where time
moves relentlessly on, yet stands still; where, on one level, a dually
defined identity narrowly defines the particularity of one's outlook and
network of primary associations, yet, on another level expresses an
expansive vision of the world, and one's role in it. Moreover, it can propel
a political activist guided by it through myriad adventures that serve as a
whole to validate a single path established in the formative years of one's
life.
The personal experiences of Menashe reveal the multidimensional
character of the life story as a framework for the (re)presentation of a
clearly and dehberately constructed ethnic and class identity, whose
symbolic expression is made evident, not only through the enumeration
of specific kinds of activities and sets of association- representing a
continuity of social and political ties- but also through the recounting of
those episodes recalling separation from, and subsequent renewal of,
those supportive communal bonds.
A chronological ordering of Menashe's narratives points to a set of
lifelong continuities: the maintenance of a secular Jewish cultural
identity, continued involvement in the trade union movement, and an
ongoing interest in music, all integrated into a life of political activism.
On another level, specific stories provide a framework within which
particular challenges are recalled, highlighting those periods when he was
propelled time and again into unfamiliar places and situations, but
fortified by an outlook and a vision that contributed in no small part to
the successful negotiation of those twists and turns in his life.
Underscoring these narratives is the record of a political and cultural
path upon which Menashe embarked early in life, following what was for
him a family tradition of active class and ethnic identification.

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Original from
Dlgltlzedby Google INOIANA UNIVERSITY
Chapters
Folklore and Folk Ideology:

Political Expression in
Traditional Forms
FOLK IDEOLOGY AND POPULAR CULTIJRE
Political declaration through the medium of traditional expressive forms

has a long and venerable history both in the countries of origin of
immigrant radicals and upon the shores of the Golden Land.I Some
studies of the expressive behavior of traditional and rural peoples have
documented the employment of conventional genres, \IS\lally folk songs,
as responses to changing conditions, more often than not, those imposed
upon them by colonial powers, or the dominant class of emergent
nations. 2 Others have looked at the transformation of traditional forms of
expression into political defenses of ethnic identity among immigrant and
migrant groups facing the pressures of assimilation into a dominant mass
culture.3 Toe general perspective in such works has been that of
"indigenous" responses to "outside" forces.
Another approach taken has been that of examining the use of tradi-
tional expressive forms in broad, often multiethnic political movements,
where the expression of ethnicity is generally subsumed under, or
replaced by, overarching issues of class. From this perspective folklore is
seen as a tool of persuasion used among organizers in ethnic and rural
communities in order to win them over to a given ideological position-
propaganda framed in familiar terms.
Traditional expressive forms employed in the service of trade union
and socialist movements have often been viewed, especially by critics of
radicalism, as laden with imagery imposed on them from the "outside,"
that is, by urban intellectuals. Therefore, they are simply dismissed as
products of a modem urban radical outlook grafted onto the quaint,
politically neutral (or naive) lore of the folk. But this oversimplifies the
case, especially when those urban radicals are "the folk."◄

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For example, portraits of politically conscious folksingers, such as Jim

Garland, Aunt Molly Jackson, and others, set within the context of
community and polity provide valuable insights into the role of folklore,
not simply as a transmission belt for delivering polemics to the
backwoods of America, but as a traditional vehicle for the expression of
personal and political concerns.5 That is the approach that I have taken
here.
In order to contextualize the "lore" of Jewish radicals, I asked those I
interviewed to describe the extent and role of traditional Jewish culture
within the setting of their everyday lives. I was particularly interested in
memories of family traditions during their childhood in the shtetl. These
were often related as preludes to their stories of participation in the
Jewish Labor Movement, in which both the content and style of their
narratives revealed the character of expressive behavior demonstrated in
a life of social struggle. Forms of folk expression in Jewish culture
(among predominantly East European Yiddish-speaking immigrants)
were, indeed, integral parts of both the personal and political lives of
Jewish radical activists. It would be misleading to suggest that they were
"quaint" traditions left behind in the shtetl, and revived in the metropolis
for the sole purpose of political agitation. On the contrary, they were
cultural possessions shared by Yiddish radicals with East European
Jewish immigrants as a whole. These forms of expression provided an
added dimension and, at times, gave a heightened sense of purpose to
members of the Jewish radical subculture within the larger context of the
working-class movement. Within such a framework, the social setting of
expressive behavior may be seen as being of equal-sometimes
superordinate-importance to content (although content is never
irrelevant). The very fact that forms of folk expression, especially Yiddish
folk song, were promoted as vital components of the personal and
political lives of Yiddish radicals made such forms of expression
emblematic of their folk ideology. That is to say, within the Jewish radical
subculture, the perpetuation of folklore was considered itself as a political
act, whether or not the content of that lore bore an explicit message.6
Moshe C., in recalling his introduction to the labor Zionist movement
through Yiddish and Hebrew folk songs (see Chapter 3), makes no
mention of specific songs or their lyrics. In fact, he goes on to demarcate
traditional singing and the ideology of those whose voices he heard at a
Farband meeting when he remarked, "Sometimes you come to the
movement . . . by other pathways [than ideology]." Still, the very act of
singing, and the choice of a culture-bound repertoire, signaled a tacit
ideological purpose. Folklore itseH, then, apart from its specific content,
was an expression of camaraderie, as well as an important recruiting
device. By the very act of association between political expression and the
more immediately accessible, and culturally familiar, expressions of
ethnic commonality, folklore took on added meaning.

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Folklore and Folk Ideology 95
This linkage between polity and community through folklore had an

important by-product as well, that of the perpetuation of traditional
expressive forms, especially of folk song, as a viable part of American
J ewish culture. In the words of Moshe C.: "It [the Jewish Labor
Movement] really made a singular contribution in, the United States in
keeping the Jewish folk song alive...., Moshe underscored this observation
when, during a taping session, he asked, "What [do] you regard as the
greatest contribution Jews made to American life?" Answering his own
question, he pointed to "the creative element" in the labor movement,
that is to say, the development, especially by Jewish trade unions, of
institutions that provided not only for family and economic interests, but
also its "cultural interests . .. its musical interests.... That is why the
ILG[WU], for example, had cultural clubs.. .. It wasn't simply a trade
1
union in the narrow sense of the term." (See Chapter 2 for a discus,ion of
the cultural role played by Jewish trade unions.) 1
One of the most universal of expressive forms among Yiddish radicals
was, as Moshe indicated, Yiddish folk song. I will descnbe the ways in
which it figured in the personal life of another Yiddish activist, Moishe P.
As a preface to that discussion, a brief review of the role of folk song
within the Jewish Labor Movement is in order.
Yiddish folk song has a history as long as that of the language itself.
Although there are no records of the earliest songs in Yiddish, indirect
evidence exists from as early as the fourteenth century in the form of
rabbinic invective against the singing of religious songs in Yiddish.
Yiddish song was viewed (quite accurately) by the rabbinic leadership as
the carrier of secular ideas in general, thereby constituting a potential
(and often actual) challP.nge to its authority. As Eleanor G. Mlotek has
observed:
Secular themes penetrated the walls of the Jewish community, just as Jewish
themes were borrowed from the gentile world. From rabbinic prohibitions at
various times, we can assume that this cultural exchange was prevalent: gentile
songs may not be used as lullabies; a Jew may not teach a Jewish melody to a
gentile; secular love songs are forbidden to be sung by Jews ... and so on.8
The rabbinate's worst fears were, of course, to be realized when Yiddish

became the carrier of (secular) revolutionary ideologies as well. But even
in an earlier period there appears to have been dissension in the ranks.
Among manuscript collections of texts from the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries may be found "songs of satirical and didactic content;
including "criticism of the leaders of the Jewish community" and
"condemnations of greed and the evils of money."9
Scholarship on the issue of the "traditionality" of Yiddish folk song has
been divided on the question of known versus anonymous authorship
and, by extension, literary versus "oral" composition and transmission.

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The musicologist A. Z. Idelsohn, writing in the 1920s, outlines his views

by way of comparison between the songs of Central and East European
Jews.
Toe songs of the Gennan [Jews] can by no means be considered "folk-songs•

either in style or in content of the texts, for they bear the marks of artistic
endeavors of individuals. Neither do the melodies show any Jewishness, for they
are as a rule adopted from the Gennan popular songs....
The folk-song of the Jews in the East-European countries took another course
of development from that of the Jews in Central Europe. It is distinguished by its
genuine folk-character. Created out of the people, it remained anonymous.
Neither can the time of the songs' creation be determined. They are simple and
short in form and content voicing the sentiments of the life of the people at
large. 10
The generic distinction between songs of known composition and those

of the "anonymous" folk appears some fifty years later in the preface to a
collection of Yiddish songs compiled by Eleanor Mlotek, but with an
interesting twist:
Many [Yiddish] songs that were written by identifiable authors one hundred, or
even fifty years ago, sometimes exceeded the popularity and diffusion of folk
song. Many of these were often believed to have been created anonymously and at
times, were altered and folklorized by the people who passed them on through a
process of oral transmission.11
Ruth Rubin, noted American scholar of Yiddish folk song. takes a more
enJightP.ned point of view. Her monumental study, Voices of a People:
The History oJYiddish Folk Song, features a chapter on songs "of literary
origin" that opens with the remark that "folklore, speech, language, oral
literature, and the printed word have always influenced one another."12
She goes on to point out,
Yiddish folk song, both in its earlier, archaic epoch and in modem times, has been
intensively exposed to literary influences. . . . Yiddish folk song of the modem
period blossomed out and gave rise to a variety of categories, a number of which
were inspired by literary men, who continued to exert a strong influence on
Jewish folk creativity throughout the nineteenth century. 13
The process of interchange between literature and oral tradition was a

crucial factor in the emergence of Yiddish folk songs expressing the
aspirations of a burgeoning Jewish proletariat in Europe and the United
States. Once again, it was the Yiddishist movement, linking specific
cultural traditions with broader political concerns, that formed the
background for the interaction of Yiddish poets and singers who created a
new body of folk songs with working-class themes.

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Chaim Zhitlowsky, one of the prime movers ofYiddishism (see Chapter

2) contn'buted himself to this interchange with a poem entitled "Un du
akerst, un du zeyst" ("And You Plow, And You Sow"), which, later set to
music anonymously, became one of the most popular Jewish labor song.s.
His words are actually a Yiddish adaptation of a poem written by Georg
Herwegh, a German poet who had taken part in the ill-fated revolution of
1848.14 Two of the stanzas follow:
Vebst dayn vebshtul tog und nakht,

Grobst undz ayznfun der shakht,
Brengst di shefra undz arayn,
Ful mit t'vue un mit vayn.
Nor vu iz dayn tish gegreyt?

Nor vu iz dayn yontev kleyd?
Nor vu iz dayn sharfe shverd?
Belkhes gliz iz dir bashert?
You weave at the loom day and night,

You dig in the mine for ore,
You fill the horn of plenty,
Full of wheat and wine.
But where is your table spread?

And where is your festive dress?
Tell me, where is your sharp sword?
And what joy is yours to share?IS
The lives of the Yiddish labor poets have been well covered in works on
the "flowering" of Yiddish literature at the tum of the twentieth century.16
It will suffice here briefly to review the lives and works of three popular
poets in the JLM-Morris Winchevsky, David Edelstadt, and Morris
Rosenfeld-to illustrate the dual character of ethnicity and class
consciousness which facilitated the dissemination of their poems through
the vehicle of Yiddish folk song.
Morris Winchevsky has been descn'bed as "the First Yiddish proletarian
poet."17 Born in a Lithuanian shtetl in 1856, he attended a tuition-free
training college for state rabbis in Vilna, a city that was, at that time, a
center of student radicalism. He co-founded a Yiddish supplement of a
Hebrew socialist journal, Ha'lcol, in 1877; it is considered to be "the first
regular vehicle for socialist ideas in Yiddish. "18 Under threat of arrest by
the Tsar, he fled to London, where he worked on several progressive
Yiddish papers. He settled in 1894 in New York, where he died in 1933.
Winchevsky's poems were direct calls for social change, addressed to
Jewish workers, but canying universal themes of working-class struggle
as a whole. His "Hert ir kinder" ("Children Do You Hear") exhorts

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workets to fight the rich "money-tyrants: The following is one of the

stan:r.as that were set to music:
Iberal, afbeyde zaytn

JIiin atlantik, rirt er zilch!
Er vii mer nit lozn raytn
7Ayne blutwyger afzich.
Er vii merer, vi a blinder
Ferd, nit geyn shoyn in geshpan,
Er vii.fray zayn, libe kinder
7At zayn uil der arbetsman!
Everywhere, on both sides

Of the Atlantic, he is stirring!
He refuses to let
His bloodsuckers ride him anymore.
He refuses, like a blind horse,
To trudge under the yoke anymore,
He wants to be free, dear children,
The worldngman wants to he fed! 19
Holding the distinction of being "the most sung labor poet"20 is David
Edelstadt, some fourteen of whose poems were set to music and became
popular in the United States and Europe. Born in 1866 near the Pale of
Settlement, an area skirting the ever-changing Polish-Russian border, he
first published poems at the age of eleven. He was living in Kiev, in the
Ul<raine, when the pogroms of 1881 broke out. Shortly thereafter, he left
for America with a group called Am Olam (in Hebrew, "The Eternal
People"), a communal movement whose aim was the establishment of
agricultural colonies in the United States. Instead, he ended up in a
sweatshop, where he contracted tuberculosis (a common disease among
garment workers); he died in 1892, at the age of twenty-six. Though the
poems of his later years reflected the bitterness of his declining health,
his earlier poems are unequivocal appeals to the working class to realize
their collective power to improve their lot, as in the poem, later the song,
"Vakht oyf!" ("Awake!"}:
Vi tang, o vi tang vet ir blaybn nokh shlckifn

Un trogn di shendekhe?
Vi lang vet ir glentsnde raylchimer shafn
Far dem, vos baroyft ayer broyt?
Vi tang vet ir shteyn, ayer ruJm geboygn,

Derniderikt, heymloz, farshmakht?
Es togt shoyn, vakht oyf, un tsttfnt di oygn,
Derfilt ayer ayzeme makht!

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How long will you remain slaves
And wear degrading chains?
How long will you produce riches
For those who rob you of your bread?
How long will you stand with backs bent,

Humiliated, homeless, and weak?
It's daybreak, awake, open your eyes,
And see your own strength!2t
Perhaps the most eloquent of the poets of the sweatshop was Morris
Rosenfeld. Although he wrote many poems on socialist themes, he also
addressed himself to the specific conditions of the workplace and their
personal impact. The son of a Polish tailor, he could speak from direct
experience. Permanently settling in the United States in 1886, he worked
in the sweatshops of New York for fifteen years. He often recited his
poems before gatherings and would occasionally sing those of his
creations which had been set to music. A poem of his that is still sung
today (a number of recently recorded versions exist) is "Mayn rue platz"
("My Resting Place"), a love song of the industrial age:
Nit zuJch milch vu di mirtn grinen,

Ge/inst milch dortn nit mayn shatz.
Vu lebns velkn bay mashinen,
Dortn iz mayn rue platz.
Nit zuJch milch vu difeygi zingen,
Ge/inst milch dortn nit mayn shatz.
A shklafbin ilch vu keytn klingen,
Nit zuJch milch vufontanen shpritzn,

Gefinst milch dortn nit mayn shtaz.
Vi, tren, rinen tzeyner kritzn,
Un libstu milch mit varer libe,

To, kum tzu mir, mayn guter shatz.
Un hayter oyf mayn hartz dos tribe,
Un malch mir zis mayn rue platz.
Don't look for me where fields are green,

You will not find me there, my love.
Where lives are wasting at the machine,
There is my resting place.

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Don't look for me where birds sing.

A slave am I where chains clang,
Don't look for me where fountains spray,

Where tears fall and teeth gnash,
And if you truly love me,

Come to me, my precious one.
And lighten my heavy heart,
And make sweet my resting place.22
As Jews began to join the ranks of the middle class in greater numbers,
the Yiddish culture of the immigrant generation withered under the
effects of assimilation and the loss of its working-class base. A new
generation of poets emerged during the early 1900s who were referred to
as Di yunge (The Young Ones). Although many were veterans of the
sweatshops, they did not address themselves to social issues, but
composed a more personal style of poetry, which they published in
limited editions, in contrast to the labor poets, whose verses were often to
be seen in the major Yiddish periodicals. Consequently, Di yunge bad
little impact on the Jewish working-class community and inspired no
body of songs.23
While the working class flourished, though, so did the songs of Jewish
working-class poets, sung on picket lines, in union meeting balls, and at
political rallies. Isadore S., veteran 11..GWU activist, even recalls their
being sung in the sweatshops during working hours. When be was
working in the garment industry in New York as a young man, be and bis
coworkers would lighten their load through the singing of Yiddish folk
songs.24 Occasionally, workers would pool their meager resources and
bring in a hired singer, poet, or reader to mitigate the long tedious hours.
A singer might help pace the work through the rhythm of the song or,
depending on whether the boss was in the room, might give voice,
through the words of the sweatshop poets, to their anger over the
conditions under which they labored.
Among those surviving veterans of the Jewish Labor Movement, these
songs are still sung, along with lullabies and songs of love, uniformly
regarded as folk songs by those who continue to perform, or at least
retain the memory of their having been given voice. That memory is
intertwined with recollections of a Yiddish childhood in the Old Country,
carried by Jewish immigrants as precious cultural baggage throughout a
lifetime.

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FOLKSONG AND FOLK IDEOLOGY
I used to be a folksinger. I was a folksinger even in Lithuania, before I came to the

United States. And my khaverim back home, they used to call on me all the time,
I should sing something. And that was a big thrill for me.25
For Moishe P., early memories of music and revolution flow together,
set within a family environment that seemed to nurture an organic
mixture of culture and politics. "It goes back to my father; he says, back
to the small town of Kupishok, in Lithuania, where Moishe was bom in
1900. He descnbes his mother and her kin as plain, decent folk, but
nonintellectual and uninvolved in political matters. It was a different
story altogether with his father's side of the family. His maternal
grandfather, Moishe Yitskhok, a blacksmith, raised three sons, two of
whom (including Moishe's father, Avrom Elyohu) became shokhets
(ritual slaughterers).
Avrom was a skilled Hebrew caUigrapher and well versed in the
Talmud. After Saturday morning services, it was customary to talk about
passages in the Mishnah (the redaction of oral law codified in the
Talmud) and other n-.adings, and Moishe recalls that his father was
prominent in these discussions. Moishe himself was raised by his father
to be a traditional Jew, and one of the most important pathways to a life
of observance, in addition to study, was that of song.
I used to sing with my father . . . shabbas /ciddush [blessing over wine recited
before Sabbath meals]. I still remember that my father was a good bal !file, what
they call it in Yiddish [from the Hebrew, ba'al tfilD: cantor] . ... So I used to help
him out. Later I joined the choruses here [in the United States) and sang in
different kind[s] of choruses.26
Outside the shul, however, Moishe learned not only those Yiddish folk
songs current among the Jewish community in Kupishok, but songs of
the Russian populace as well. "My friends in Kupishok, they used to get
me, [that] I should sing Russian songs, [and] different kinds of . . .
Yiddish songs.• Although Moishe attended a nearby Russian public
school for a time, in addition to a yeshiva, he might well have acquired
his Russian repertoire from Jewish singers who borrowed from Russian
songs, sometimes adapting them to Yiddish or even creating hybrid
forms, utilizing different dialects of Russian, or Ukrainian, and so on,
mixed in with Yiddish.27 It was within his own immediate family that the
first seeds of Moishe's political development were sown.
It came to me naturally.... My father was a pious Jew, but he borrowed money

from somebody to give [to] somebody that needed it. That shows you he-maybe
to somebody, it's a very little thing. but it is a great thing. I think about it now. So

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since that time it's started already. And living through the Revolution ofl917 . .. I
saw what happened there at that time, although I couldn't grasp the whole thing
what's going on there. But still, I heard the names, I heard what's doingthere.28
Moishe's siblings played an important role in his political (as well as

musical) development from an early age.
I do remember my older sisters, and especially one brother.... They used to be

revolutionaries. The elderly people used to laugh at them. "Look at that: Shulke,
dem sholchet's tokhter vii anmtervmfn dem tsar nilcolay! [Shulke, the daughter
ofAvrom the sholchet, she wants to throw down the Tsar of Russia!]" They used to
make fun of the revolutionaries . . . but they were revolutionaries. . . . They
belonged to the Small Bund, the K1eyner Bund. . . . Shabbat evening after shul,
after dinner... next to the house we had a little house, and they used to go into
that house and have a meeting. . . . They used to get together bay avrom der
shokhet [at the home of Avrom the butcher) because we had enough . . . room for
a few people.
They 115ed to talk, to make plans [and] they used to sing revolutionary songs,
songs what we're singjng now [in the choruses], from Morris Rosenfeld, [Morris)
Winchevsky. •. . That was already there, the revolutionary poets- Winchevsky,
[Joseph] Bovshover-and so they used to sing songs [and] they used to make
plans, how to celebrate the first of May.
That the songs of the American Jewish sweatshop poets were well
known in even the smallest Jewish communities in eastern Europe is a
poignant illustration of the interchange linking Yiddish speakers in
general, and Yiddish socialists in particular, during a period not only of
immigration, but also of continual cross-migration, between continents
in an overarching social and political network.29 And so it was that the
songs of the sweatshop poets that were to be staples in the repertoire of
the workers' choruses Moishe later joined in the United States (he
remainP.d in an offspring of such a chorus until shortly before his death in
1983) were, in fact, part of the "cultural baggage that he was to bring with
him in his journey from the "Old Country" to the "New World:
When Moishe was older, he was exposed to the socialist Zionist
movement. Once again, it was a close relative who figured prominently in
his introduction to this stream of Jewish radicalism. "One of my
cousins-one of my father's brother's sons-was the Yiddish composer of
the Poole zion 'Shvue' ['The Vow')-he wrote it." More accurately, his
cousin, Yeshua, adapted an earlier version of "Di shvue; originally
written by Sh. Anski which became the anthem of the Bund. Choruses are
shared by both versions:

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Brider un shvesterfun arbet un noyt,

Ale vos zaynen tzaeyt un tseshpreyt.
7:ruzamffl, t.summen, di/on zi iz greyt,
Ziflatertfim tsorn,fun blut is zi royt,
A shvue, a shvue oyf 1ebn un toytl
Himl un erd vet undz oyshern

E!ldes vein zayn di likhtilce shtern,
A shvuefim blut un a shvuefun tr,.'E'l..,.,,il_
Mir shvern, mir shvern, mir shvern!
Brothers and sisters in toil and struggle,

Diapened everywhere,
Swear an oath together, before our ftag,
Waving in wrath, stained red with blood.
A vow, a vow of life and death!
Heaven and earth will hear us,

The stan will bear witness
To our oath of blood, our oath of tears.
We swear, we swear, we awear!30
Verses of the labor Zionist version, however, are laden with references to
the desired Jewish "homeland.•
Mir hoybn di hend gegen mizrakh un shueren

Bay tsion, ir john, bay der heyliger erd;
Bay ales, vos mir lieben, vos helig mir eren;
Bay undure heldens tsubrakhene shverd.
We raise our hands toward the Eut and swear

By the banner of Zion, by our Promised land,
By all that we love and hold dear,
By the broken swords of our heroes.3 1
Yeshua lived not far from Moishe, in the town of Abel, and there was
much contact during Moishe's childhood in Kupishok. "We used to meet
one another as family, as cousins.• Moishe recalls that his cousin was
generally musically inclined; he descnbes the process of composition
Yeshua employed to create such songs as "Di shvue," that of adapting
previously composed lyrics for new purposes or setting melodies to verses
created by others (the latter being the common vehicle through which
sweatshop poetry entered oral circulation as folk song).
I remember he used to make songs out of melodies-Jewish melodies. He used to

get songs and compose the songs with different melodies . . . . I remember thia
fellow, he used to come [through town]; he made up thia song: "I1ch /aJcht oysfun

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laytishe glikn," I laugh from everything [i.e., at the good fortunes of others]; "a/
lcepores darf men gelt, • I don't need any money [i.e., I throw up my hands at the
need of others for money]; "a bi ikh hobn nor vos spi/cn," all I need is something
to have in my mouth... . So be made that [up)-1 don't remember all [of the rest
of] the words right now-but he [Yeshua] made that to the melody [Moishe sings
the tune]:
J J ; t:3iJ a 11,n
,. .....
'. ' Is Jlll33rril33 l ll
' 13
"
J
This is a typical [traditional melody]. They use it even now.32
Attracted to his cousin's musical ability, Moishe was also impressed by

the ideas of the political movement to which Yesbua bad applied bis
talents. In Kupishok, there were several members of the Tsire tsion
(youth wing of the socialist Zionist movement), and Moishe knew a
number of khalutsim (those who intended to emigrate to Palestine):
['The] khalutsim, they were progressive, they wanted to go to Israel and build by
themselves, not to hire people [to work for them]. That alone tells you that they
were progressive Jewish people at that time.... Most of my khaverim they were
progressive.33
Were it not for bis conscription into the Lithuanian army in 1918 (in the
aftermath of the Bolshevik Revolution, when Lithuania was still at war
with Poland), Moishe might himself have joined the Jewish colonization
movement. Instead, with the help of one of his sisters, he defected from
the army and escaped through Latvia and Poland into Germany, where he
was reunited with other family members about to embark on the voyage
to America.
Much of Moishe's family settled in Paterson, New Jersey, where he
eventually found a job as a painter and joined the painters union, in
which he was active for some eighteen years. He also was reacquainted
with, and ended up marrrmg, a woman he bad known as a neighbor in bis
home town of Kupishok.34 Moishe and bis new wife, Shulamith, shared
political as well as cultural interests: "Shulamith was a fine singer herself,
so we [both] joined the first, the so-called Choral Society in Paterson,
New Jersey.• Moishe refers here to the Paterson Hebrew Choral Society,
founded circa 1910,

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under the leadership of the famous chorus leader Leo Low ... from Lodz [where]
be directed a chorus.•. . He came to America and he became a chorus leader [in
Paterson] and be became very famoua. We still sing one of bis compositions.
During that time I also sang with other choruses, and later on I joined the
chorus with ... Jacob Schaeffer. That was a little different [politically]. Later it
started to crystallize a different group with different ideas. . . . It started to be a
more liberal outlook in general.. .. Later on it became a little more radical.35
The latter chorus of which Moishe speaks is the Freiheit Gezang Ferein
(Freedom Song Society), later known in English as the Jewish People's
Chorus, formed in 1923 under the direction of Schaeffer. It was affiliated
with the Yiddish language newspaper Morgn Freiheit, the voice of
Yiddish-speaking communists in the United States. "The whole idea was
more towards working people, and Scha.effer was the composer of many
of the previous Jewish poets of that era" (i.e., he composed melodies
and/or arranged choral settings for lyrics of the sweatshop poets and
others).
Choruses were, in fact, one of the principal cultural activities of Yiddish
radicals in the United States. In a commemorative book marking the
fiftieth anniversary of organized musical activity among the Yiddish Left
(Schaeffer put together his first American chorus in 1914, in Chicago),
Zari Gottfried observes: "To write about the half-century of existence of
the Jewish Folk Choruses in America is to descnl>e a vital chapter in the
cultural history of the East European Jewish immigrants who settled in
the United States during the first two decades of this century."36
Gottfried notes the existence of such choral groups among other ethnic
immigrants-Finns, Germans, Poles, and others, pointing to a link to
earlier singing societies in Scandinavian and Central European cities.
Referring to the existence of "well-established sources and traditions
such as forms of organization, readily available repertoire, and even
experienced conductors and directors," Gottfried indicates that Jewish
immigrants brought with them no Old Country tradition of choral
singing.
There was very little of organized choral music "back home," let alone something
approaching a movement. About the only organized choral groups existing
"legally" were the male choirs in the so-wled "modern" synagogues in the large
cities. One must note the few notable exceptions-the choruses of secular
orientation existing in some of the large Jewish communities such as Warsaw,
Lodz [ where Schaeffer organized bis first chorus], Bialystok, and possibly one or
two other cities; choruses which however, could claim no long, continuous
existence.31
Precedents did exist, however, for workers' choruses in the socialist

movement in Europe. Notable were those founded by the Workingmen's
Choral Movement in Germany during the nineteenth century. Just as the

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106 OF MOSF.s AND MARX
United Hebrew Trades was inspired by its predecessor among the

German socialists in the American labor movement-the United German
Trades-so the choral movement of the German working class may well
have provided a ready model for ethnic cultural agitation among the
Jewish proletariat.sa
Moishe remained in Paterson until 1939, actively participating in a
range of political/cultural activities. -We were busy mostly with literary
[reading circles], singing, and lectures, of course. We used to go to
lectures of famous writers and poets, like Leivik, Moishe Leib Halpern,
and others. "39
lo 1939, Moishe moved with his family to the West Coast, settling down
in Santa Monica, where he worked for an older brother who ran a grocery
store. He continued to express his political and musical inclinations
through the local Jewish People's Chorus. 'The choruses were involved
the same ... as any other [Left] organirntions ... in all of the activities of
the progressive movement,"◄o
The Jewish People's Chorus was, in fact, a centerpiece in the social and
political life of the local Yiddish Left, as were its counterparts in the East
and Midwest. It was instrumental in fund-raising for a host of causes,
from Jewish colonization in the Soviet Union (i.e., the establishment of
Jewish agricultural cooperatives in the Crimea),41 to anti-fascist rallies,
benefit concerts for the Morgn Freiheit, and others.◄2
For Moishe, living in the beach community of Santa Monica, "the
chorus was the main thing that connected the Jewish Progressives. That's
why we used to get quite a few people . . . in a concert or meeting." Social
ties and political commitments had long been intertwined in the lives of
immigrant radicals whose primary ties remained among their coethnic
compatriots. Over the years, the social factor assumed an even greater
importance with the attrition of their ranks. The choruses became a vital
focal point of social activity, signaling not only a continued political
commitment (especially when involvement in other organizations had
diminished, or ceased altogether), but also a desire to retain contact with
lifelong friends and comrades.
The last recital in which Moishe P. sang was the "58th Jubilee Concert"
of the Jewish People's Chorus in Los Angeles, held in "the musical
folkdrama, 'Rozhinkes mit mandlen' ['Raisins and Almonds,' also the title
of a popular Yiddish folk song] a salute and celebration of [the Yiddish
playwright and composer Abraham] Goldfado, in the form of selections
from his own operettas, Yiddish folklore, stories and songs.•4 3 Included in
the program were "Di arbet traybt mikh fri aroys" ("Work Compels Me to
Rise Early") by Morris Rosenfeld, "Shnel loyfn di reder" ('The Factory
Wheels Run Fast"), by David Edelstadt-these two with musical
arrangements by Jacob Schaeffer-and the traditional folk song "Der
fodim" ("The Thread"), arranged by Leo Low.

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When Moishe is asked to recall the key events in his life, one incident
stands out in his mind, one in which the intermingling of music and
politics marked one of the most special moments of his life.
It comes to me certain episodes [from] different kinds of times, from Lithuania,

when .. . the old Lite became independent. At that time I was known as a singer.
They called on me, I should sing something to lead the rest of the group there to
celebrate the independence of Lithuania. 44
Moishe had established contact with khalutsim in Dvinsk, where he

had attended a yeshioo for a while when younger, and where he returned
with his sister after fleeing the turmoil in Kupishok.45 It was here that he
gathered with his khaverim on this momentous occasion.
I wouldn't remember what kind of songs I sang . . . but I'm sure that I sang
"Hatikva." At that time it was not trey{, it was kosher [before it was adopted as
the Israeli national anthem it was regarded by his compatriots as a revolutionary
song; in later years many in the Yiddish Left, including some socialist Zionists,
felt that singing it implied an unqualified endorsement of Israel's political
policies]. We marched through the streets [as] a group. One girl-Jaffa was her
last name-she was some kind of leader [of the lchalutsim]. She picked me, I
should go to the front and lead the chorus.46
And so Moishe had a taste of what was later to be a lifelong commit-

ment to the Jewish workers' choral movement, a musical bridge over
community and polity within the ranks of Jewish labor.
SfORYrELLING AND YIDDISH LITERATURE
Traditional narrative was also an important vehicle for the articulation

of folk ideology. This was facilitated by the character and content of
literary works of the major Yiddish writers. In many of their short stories
and novels, they not only captured the folk idiom of the very people who
were their most faithful readers, but also made liberal use of the
traditional themes of Jewish tale and legend.
Charles Madison, in a comprehensive s urvey of Yiddish literature,
points to the centrality of folktales in the writings of I. L Peretz, noting
that many of his stories are based on traditional material.47 Sholem
Aleichem, in like manner, is characterized by "the folkloric effect of his
writings": "His ear for authentic speech was unerring. His Jews talk
naturally, with their own idiosyncrasies and pecuJiar idioms. . . . His
characters, at once unique and typical, are authentic representations of
the Ukrainian Jews at the tum of the century."◄S

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Madison's description of the early life of Mendele Mocher Sforim, nom

de plume of one of the seminal f1gures in the development of Yiddish
literature, reads as "a story in itself":
Sholem Jacob Abramovitch [Mendele's given name) became the "grandfather of

Yiddish literature" by virtue of being a descendant of the prophets of lsrael and a
son of the Lithuanian Pale.... A precocious youth, memorizing much of the Old
Testament by the time he wu nine years old, quick of wit and a ready mimic, he
was well known among his townsmen of Kapulye, in the province of Minsk. As a
student of the Talmud in his early teens, he showed great promise. During these
happy years he absorbed the memorable stories and impressions which were the
heritage of every open-eared youth who spent much of bis time in the
synagogue-material which he later used in bis books.49
Though steeped in religious study, Mendele became a biting social

critic. After an initial period during which he composed Hebrew verse, he
turned to writing in Yiddish, in order to reach the people, whose cause he
advocated, in the more familiar language of the vernacular. A
consummate satirist, he used traditional stories as allegorical frameworks
in which deplorable conditions were decried while striking home didactic
admonitions for social change.
Sholem Aleichem and Peretz were social advocates as well and were
active participants in the Yiddishist movement (see Chapter 2). It would
not be surprising, then, to find the stories of these Yiddish writers put to
pedagogical purposes in the reminiscences of a Yiddish radical, and
among the subjects of that reminiscence.
The narratives of Rose B. reflect her interest in, and memory of,
storytelling as a vehicle for the symbolic representation of political
perspective as well as for programmatic purposes. She descnl>es the
employment of tales for the purpose of conveying polemic messages, and
even cites a tale to punctuate a point that she makes in the course of
telling her own account. We will view these stories within the context of
Rose's recollections of a childhood of tradition and revolution in the Old
Country.
Rose's life story reveals, in addition, an ongoing interest in musical
forms of ideological expression. Not only was she, like Moishe, an active
member of the Yiddish radical choral movement in the United States, but
she also composed topical songs in Yiddish, setting them to traditional
melodies. These musical forms of her folk ideological expression will also
be examined, as they yield insights into her life within the Jewish radical
subculture in the United States.
The expressive outpourings of Rose B. represent dual ends of the folk-
literary spectrum. In addition to the occasional composition of Yiddish.
songs, she has published several volumes of poetry in both Yiddish as well
as English. Yet, her attachment to Yiddish remains paramount. When it

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Folklore and FolJc Ideology 109
comes to articulating her views and feelings, the mame-loshen remains

their most poignant form of expression. "In Yiddish, rm better than in
English; she eirdaims, after having lived in the United States for over
seventy years.so "I was born in Bobruysk .. . the state of Minsk, White
Russia . . . the Republic of Belorussia in 1898. It's a long time:s1 Rose's
memories of early childhood are not filled with the warm glow of hearth
and home.
It was temole; I don't even want to remember it. ... My only wish was, when I
was grown up, to be away from there. Although I loved my parents, and I loved
my family ... but I loved to get away from there, because it was the fear, and the
anti-5emitism and the poverty and the dirt and the darkness of the whole
(place]-it was homole under the Tsars.52
The seeds of rebellion against these harsh conditions were planted

securely within her family:
I had three older sisters than myself, and they were involved in some of the
revolutionary [activities]-even to organize a little trade union was considered
highly revolutionary and illegal. . . . In my house they used to have meetings at
night, when I was a little girl, I remember it. . .. I used to see the meetings that
they had in that house-hear it. I didn't know what it was all about, but I knew it
was very, very sacred to me, and I felt it must be very, very wonderful, very
important.53
Rose's father was not a revolutionary himself, but "he was in sympathy
with the workers, that they should have it a little easier, a bit better. He
was also in sympathy with the socialists, too.... He didn't take an active
part politically [but] he sympathized, and he let them meet in our house,
because he had a feeling that they were right- that they do the right
thing:
Though raised in a religious family, Rose had been secular in her
outlook since youth. Still, she retained an abiding respect for religious
tradition and felt that the attitude of her father was an important
influence in the development of her own perspective toward religion and
politics. She described the manner in which her father reconciled his
religious beliefs with his sympathy for secular ideologies: "My father was
very clever. . . . He was religious, but he was a religious man to be
respected, because he was no hypocrite. He believed in more progressive
things for the people, but what has to do with God-God's will is also that
the people should live better. That was his interpretation, and I think it's
right."54
Rose sums up her own attitude toward religious tradition, recalling
with warmth (in marked contrast to her memory of bleak physical,

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economic, and political conditions) the ritual and celebratocy aspects of

Judaism observed within her family.
We were all religious. I was too. I fasted [on] Yorn Kippur until I came to this
country. At that time I was fifteen years old already. And here I started becoming
more freer, but we were [still] religious, and observing all the traditions and all
the holidays, which was very good. I still remember it-that I loved it. And for that
reason I still-even though I'm not religious, for many years already-but I still
love the traditional ceremonies of the Jewish holidays, and the wa.ys and the life
and everything else. And I always love to observe it, not in a religious way [now],
but in a secular way.ss
Rose's father was a mason ("veiy hard worker he was"), and the topic at
meetings held at the family home would turn to the subject of
cooperation among skilled workers. "They were talking about organizing
dressmakers and bakers and shoeworkers- shusters-all these small
trades they wanted to organize into a [single] trade union." Rose sees her
father as emblematic of the culturally and politically enlightened
character of the Jewish people who, while not all revolutionaries,
resonated, in her view, with a common spirit of unity: "My father was one
of them, too. He was far from being an active progressive person, but
deep in his heart, he bad a lot of sympathy with them, and I think all bis
friends were this way, too. Hard-working men, hard-working families.•
Rose cites a narrative penned by Sholem Aleichem to illustrate this
general observation. Her retelling of it becomes a poignant way of driving
home her thesis about the naturally irrepressible, outspoken character of
the Jewish people.
Sholem Aleichem has a story to this effect. It's called Git/ Pirushkevitsh. She was a
very plain yente, plain Jewish woman. But during the war-whatever war it was-
they drafted her son, Moyshele, and he was her only son, and her only supporter.
So she went around trying to get him back. And she wrote petitions, and she
wrote letters, and she did everything. Finally, she went to [St.] Petersburg, to the
Duma [Russian parliament], and she went up [to] Piroshkevitsh-one of the
ministers [at] that time. He was the greatest, anti-Semite-and she was sitting in
the balcony, and she heard him talk- Piroshkevitsh-that the Jews are not
patriots, the Jews don't want to serve the Tsar, and the Jews are all good-for-
nothing, they don't even want to work. And she stood up there in the Duma and
she started screaming: • And what's about my Moyshele-he's in the army, and
he's a Jew, and you are a dirty skunk! How dare you say that the Jews don't go,
and the Jews don't do those things. The Jews are the biggest patriots for
everything-for everything that's good, the Jews want to do.• And then, she was
the laughingstock of the shtetl, so they named her Git/ Pirushkevitsh, because she
came and she threatened Piroshkevitsh-one of the greatest ministers in the
Tsar's cabinet, and she threatened him.56

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Rose is clear about the lesson to be learned from this tale: "You see, he
[Sholem Aleichem] brings it out in a very primitive way, but this is really
the crux of it: the Jews were always engaged in better things: She points
to other aspects of Jewish culture as evidence of a striving for betterment,
noting, as an instance, that while Russian and Ukrainian peasants were
largely illiterate, among Jews "even the poorest of them had to save from
bread, from whatever they had . .. to send their children to school, to
kheder. It was a must. And you know [where] there is culture [i.e.,
education] there is more progressive-mindedness- this is the truth.•
She is convinced that, however meager the education a Jewish child
had, the important social values embedded in the religious teachings left
a lasting impression on the moral and (by implication) political conduct
of those exposed to them. She cites as an example the minimal religious
training of her father.
He had very little [formal] education. The only education he had [was that] be
went to lcheder for a few years, maybe, and he knew how to dauen [pray] and bow
to read the siddur [prayer book], and that's all. Even with that much that he
learned in lcheder, be knew that people have to be free., and life has to be good for
them. Hillel said-the Golden Rule-don't do unto others what you don't want
others [to] do unto you ... the Jewish people live by it, try to live by it.57
In spite of the restrictions placed on her as a young child ("My father

was a very strict person; he wouldn't let the girls go out"), Rose managed
to make contact with the revolutionary movement at a very early age.
When she was ten years old, she joined a group of children active in the
Kleyner Bund.
I remember there was one little girl, and she was very poor, also . .. and she
joined them. And she asked me to go with her one time to a meeting, and I
remember the meeting was near the lake . . . the beroza taylch. . . . that ran
through Minsk .. . and all through White Russia .. .. Near the taylch-near the
lake- we used to get together, a bunch of children, and talk about-you know, the
Bund itself used to use us children to spread leaflets. The children can do it.
Who's gonna look at children what they do? So they used to give us leaflets, for a
meeting or something, whatever happened, in Yiddish or in Russian. And we used
to go around and stick it in places. Stick it under doors, and if people went with
their bags shopping, we used to stick our leaflet in there.58
Rose recalls a particular pamphlet issued by the Kleyner Bund that

"brings tears to my eyes, even today. Somebody wrote a pamphlet- you
see, they wrote everything in parables, that nobody should understand
what it is; even the big [Yiddish] writers wrote this way-like Peretz,
wrote in things that [the authorities] shouldn't understand.•

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Before describing the contents of the Kleyner Bund pamphlet, she cites
a story by Mendele Mokber Sforim, whose satirical messages were often
composed in the culturally familiar form of folk allegory in the hope of
finding their way past the Tsarist censor to the knowing glances of the
Yiddish-reading populace.
He [Mendele] wrote his first book in Yiddish in 1863 (I remember it because I

studied about it), and the name of the book was The Klatshe-what is it-a she-
horse ... a mare. And the klatshe was supposed to be dos folk [the people]. And
the man was driving it crazy and . . . loading it, and pushing it, and the klatshe
just bent down her head, and she was pulling the wagon all the time without
questioning.
He tried to bring out that the people shouldn't be like the klatshe. People
should have more brains. And if they are like the klatshe, that's the end of what
they have, finally they fall down and they perish. Everything was written in
metaphor, that you shouldn't catch them.59
Perhaps the young followers of the Kleyner Bund were taking lessons
from the "grandfather" of East European vernacular literature when they,
too, set out to win over the Jewish masses through the device of
storytelling.
So there was written our little pamphlet, "The Four Brothers," the Fir Brider in
Yiddish. And I read it ... and I used to cry over it. And that was also about, just
four brothers, how they fight with one another. And their fight is so useless. Their
fight makes them all futile, all four of them. And then if they wouldn't fight
amongst themselves, how much better off they would be.. . . See, they brought it
[out] just like a family-brothers-so the government shouldn't know what it
meant, but we used to understand it already. 60
Rose's revolutionary activities got her into hot water with the local
police on several occasions, and her worried father saved up enough
money to ship her off to America when she was fifteen. She settled in
Boston, where her three sisters had already established homes for
themselves. Finding work as a seamstress in a small tailoring shop, she
supported herself and went to night school to learn English. She soon was
at least partially acclimatized to her American surroundings, more so to
its avenue for political expression.
Her initiation into progressive politics in the United States was through
the women's suffrage movement. "As a matter of fact, in my house, we
organized a group of women to go out and help the demonstration for .. .
women's [en]franchise[ment]... . The movement was going on and on
already, but I just got acquainted with it at that time.• During this time
Rose was getting acquainted with the socialist movement as well;
eventually she joined the Communist Party.

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I joined it when they first organired it in Boston [in 1919]. 111 tell you what
happened.... It came about [that] they bad a Socialist Party, but I didn't belong
to the Socialist Party, but I read about it, I knew about it. And [Eugene] Debs was
the . . . national organizer of the party.... But then, when the First World War
broke out, there was a difference of opinion. There were some in the Socialist
Party who were for the war, and a great majority was against the war, including
Debs. Debs went to jail for that. I remember at that time I went to one meeting,
and I beard him talk about it.61
Following the Russian Revolution of 1917, the Socialist Party was once
again split, this time between supporters and detractors of the
Bolsheviks. Those who sided with the Bolsheviks broke away and formed
the Workers' Party. Rose joined this group, soon thereafter to be renamed
the Communist Party.
Right after the Russian Revolution ... the whole world was afraid-that is, the
capitalists-that there was going to be a spread of the Revolution all over the
world, and in Russia they talked about it. And the communists also talked about
it. It was a very heated, romantic time, for hope for the world. And we thought-
believed-that there was going to be a revolution here, too, and everything like I
wanted it should be-equalized. So we were very, very high up about it.... So
every year they used to march, first of May . .. a worker's holiday-May Day.62
Rose was active in the Yiddish-speaking section of the Communist

Party, composed almost entirely of immigrants like her. Mel'tings were
conducted in Yiddish, "and we had Yiddish pamphlets, and Yiddish
books, and there [were) discussions."This Yiddish section also sponsored
cultural events. "Oh yeah, the parties we used to have. Every Saturday
night, we had a beautiful event; we used to gather, all young and full of
life, and full of enthusiasm.•
Inspired by such festive occasions, Rose cultivated a talent for
composing topical songs. "I used to write a song, for instance, and match
up a [traditional) melody with it, and we all used to sing it.• A number of
lyrics were composed and set to music in this manner. Unfortunately,
perhaps because of a lack of confidence in her creative talents, she
disposed of all the songs she had written down during that period. Yet,
One song I still remember.... We once had a party, we called it "Royte feferlakh"
[red peppers], you know, we were all reds.... And we got all red peppers, and we
strung it around-decorated it with red peppers. So I wrote a song that time . ..
and we all sang it at the party, and we sang it afterwards, too.

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,. i j j j ]
f l 3]1 J j l ] l fj I
j j J -
11• r l fl I J l J l l I I
&· f l ]
l r l l 1I fl J ) I sm
,,t J J j fl J 11 j J J J 1~i I
Fefers va.bn iberal,
Nit ale zaynen royte.
Mit undz khaverim is oykh derjal;
File zaynen toyte.
Mir em roytefeferlekh-
Nit do zaynen mir oysn.
Aleyn must ir gor royte zayn,
Ob nit, takh shtayt in droysn.
Peppers grow everywhere,

Not all of them are red.
With us comrades it's the same thing,
Many are dead [i.e., have "withered" politically
and are no longer "red"].
We eat red peppers-

That's not what we mean [i.e., it's only an analogy]
You must really be red alone,
If not, you should stay outside.63
Rose adds the comment, "You see, you've got to be good and red. I was a
good [red] . .. very devoted, with my heart and soul, for all these things.
And other songs I used to make up, and we used to sing it. And we had
very beautiful times ... very enjoyable times.9
Rose was, however, disturbed by the antireligious attitude adopted by
many Yiddish Leftists, especially just after the 1917 Revolution. She
helped organir.e Jewish choruses that championed Yiddishkayt through
their arrangement of traditional folk songs and musical settings of
sweatshop poetry. Yet,
even in the choruses they used to sing some songs that were very against . . .
sensitive people [who were] for religion, for tradition.. .. They had one song that

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I remember. ... I didn't like in the beginning. [It said] that you shouldn't listen to
your father; your father is your enemy, and getaway from your father and be [on]
your own.
□ i □ !I
7.olst nit her, m, dayn tatn,
Zayer gut, zayer gut.
S'iz dayn tate, dayn tsoyne,
7.olst du mer bay im nit voynen.
Zayer gut, zayer gut.
You should not listen to your father,

Very good, very good.
He is your father, your enemy,
You should not live with him.
Very good, very good.64
"Zayer gut az du geyst avekfun davn tate [good and well that you should leave
your father]" ... and there were other songs like this. It was very, very foolish to
have it; that hurt us a great deal.
In spite of her reservations about such practices, Rose continued to be

involved with the Yiddish communist movement. She was active in the
IWO, and when it disbanded in the 1950s, she joined one of the •Jewish
culture clubs" (i.e., Jewish People's Fraternal Order). By then, she had
moved to Los Angeles, where she eventually settled in the beach
community of Venice. In 1980, she still belonged to a Venice chapter of
the Jewish People's Fraternal Club (as they were later called), and
bemoaned the fact that several of its members still held on to their blind
faith in the example of the Soviet Union.
Rose was also a longtime member of the YKUF (Yidishe Kultur
Farband), a literary society founded by the Yiddish Left at the World
Jewish Cultural Congress, held in Paris in 1937; several of her poems
were published in their journal, Yidishe Kultur, and in the newspaper
Morgn Freiheit as well. Thus it is that her cultural and political lives
continued to be interwoven, following, in fact, the same ideological
course upon which she embarked in the early part of this century.
Although she remained secular in orientation, Rose maintained,
through all the vicissitudes of her political life, that respect for religion
that was nurtured in her childhood. When I last spoke with her, she made
note of the fact that she had attended kol nidre services (conducted on

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the first evening of Yom Kippur) over the last several years, because she
liked the music, and because it reminded her of "all the suffering and
exploitation that the Jewish people have been through."
Rose felt it important to stress that Jewish people were in the forefront
of the movement for social security "which benefited the country and the
whole world"; that the progressive movement, among whom were a large
proportion of Jews, led struggles for social justice; and that Jews were
instrumental in "the struggle for civil rights among the Negroes.• In
short, she wanted it to be emphasized that a concern for social justice
was, indeed, in her view, an integral part of Jewish culture.
In spite of her criticisms, Rose cautioned that "when you write your
paper [at that time, a dissertation in the making], it's important to stress
the positive achievements of the movement, even though it made
mistakes. So, put some folklore in your paper, like Yiddish proverbs." She
proceeded to offer one of her own, of relevance to the probl_e ms •Az men
hakt holtz, ./lien shpendler" (As one chops wood, splinters fly). Rose
offered several interpretations of this proverb:
1. "If you do nothing, nothing happens; [if you didn't chop the wood) you
wouldn't have the danger, but you wouldn't have the good" [a variation of
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained"].
2. • Ju splinters fly, they can harm people" [if you need wood, you must chop it,
even at the risk of flying splinters].
3. "If you do good things, you're liable to make mistakes, too. The movement
made a lot of contnbutions, but it also made a lot of mistakes.•
Rose concludes: "I wouldn't want to paint it in too bad a light. I still see
the good in it. It's not all black; it's not all light. Life is that way."65
POLITICAL FOLKLORE AND POLITICAL FOLKLIFE
To understand fully the political role of folklore is to examine not only

the "message" {text) of the lore itself but also the ways in which
expressive behavior itself may be seen as emblematic of a life of radical
commitment within certain performance settings {context). Yiddish
radicals characteristically set universal political messages within the form
and structure of a traditional tune or tale. The songs of the sweatshop
poets, with their rousing polemical lyrics, were staples of the Jewish
workers' choruses, in which Rose, Moishe, and their compatriots were
enthusiastic participants. Yet, lullabies and love songs with unaltered
traditional lyrics were also part of the standard repertoire of the
choruses. The performance context of these latter expressive forms was
the political "message." Whether explicitly political in content or not, the
story and song forms of Yiddishkayt were perpetuated among members

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of the Jewish radical subculture as vital signs of their ethnic/political

identity, and as vehicles of folk ideological expression.
Just as Yiddish itself became an ethnopolitical emblem, the expressive
behavior of Yiddish Leftists was a declaration of the continued vitailty
and viability of traditional forms of expression within the Jewish radical
subculture whose members, mostly first-generation immigrants,
represented a reconstituted segment of the East European Jewish
community from whence they came. The persistence of Yiddish folklore
among Jewish radical immigrants was also an argument for the viability
of ethnicity as a vital component of the Left movement as a whole. Thus,
the telling of a Yiddish story or the singing of a Yiddish folk song, whether
a lyric ode or a call to arms, signaled, for veterans of the Jewish Labor
Movement, the dual loyalties of ethnos and politikos.

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Chapter 6
The "Third" Seder of Passover:

Liberating a Ritual of Liberation
A RADICAL TAKE ON LIBERATION
It was thus in all the 11ges of the Jewish people-their ever-present need to
struggle for survival, to combat discrimination and all manner of oppression, kept
the Passover holiday alive with meaning for them. In the Jews' streets of medieval
times and in the walled ghettoes of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries it
recalled struggles and victories; it rekindled hope. In the period of emancipation
from the ghettos the Passover inevitably focused attention on discrimination and
inequality that make a mockery of freedom. And in the midst of struggles that the
Jews participated in here in America, it was a morale builder of a high order. The
Jewish colonists of the Revolutionary War period, the Jews who fought against
slavery in the Civil War, the Jewish workers who fought the sweatshops half a
century ago and struggled to build a labor movement-for them the words and
symbols of the Passover had vital, current meaning. And in 1943, in the midst of
devastating Nazi oppression, the Passover came dramatically alive when the Jews
of the Warsaw Ghetto heroically raised the banner of revolt on the very eve of the
Passover itself. 1
The messianic theme of liberation is, indeed, the thread that holds the
biblical account of the Jewish people together. Strictly interpreted,
however, the subtext of this religious message is one of the passive
acceptance of divine redemption, whose advent, while deferred or
hastened by the degree of faithfulness of the children of Israel, is
nonetheless preordained. The "proof' of this promise of ultimate release
from worldly constraints and, in fact, the dramatic core of the Torah, is
the delivery of the Jewish people from captivity in ancient Egypt, a
foretaste of the final liberation of all humankind in the "end of days." It is
not only this event, but also the theme of divine hegemony over human

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affairs that is celebrated in the retelling of the story of Exodus in the

traditional obseivance of the holiday of Passover.
In the biblical narrative the Hebrew children simply followed the path
set for them by Moses, whose visitation of plagues upon the land of the
Pharaoh, as well as the parting of the Red Sea, were but dramatic
demonstrations of divine intervention. Still, the message that freedom
need also be won by decisive action and strong leadership was not lost on
those who commemorate<! this event in subsequent generations, under
analogous conditions of religious, political, and/or economic oppression
in the various regions of the world in which they settled.
In the wake of the political revolutions of the nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries, a number of Jewish trade union and political
activists, organizing among their coethnics in shops and in the streets in
working-class communities in Europe and America, revisited that more
secular and pragmatic interpretation given to the events of the Exodus.
Their doing so transformed the celebration of Passover into an important
ceremonial expression of folk ideology among members of the Jewish
radical subculture. A potent political symbolism was appropriated in the
celebratory feast of the Passover seder Oiterally "the order") and its ritual
reenactment of the story of the Exodus as recited from the text of the
haggadah ("the telling") during the course of the ceremonial meal. No
other Jewish holiday is both as rich in the imagery of social struggle and
as suggestive in the structure of its observance of ways of elaborating that
imagery for political purposes.a
Yet, in spite of the centrality of Moses as a protorevolutionary figure,
there is scant evidence that the narrative of Exodus inspired a proactive
vision among religiously obseivant Jews over the centuries. In fact, prior
to the Jewish Labor Movement, the adoption of the Passover ritual as an
emblematic ritual display of a popular social movement seems to be
unprecedented in Jewish history (in spite of the implied message of the
revisionist historical discourse presented at the head of this chapter,
which appeared in the pages of Jewish Life, a publication of the CPUSA).
Ironically, other peoples found it easier than the Jews to take both
religious and political inspiration from the Exodus, and to make direct
practical applications of its liberatory message.
One group for whom the Exodus has had obvious associations, of
course, has been the African-American community in the United States.
It is instructive to note that among African-Americans there is a long
history linking religious faith with political activism, from the slave
revolts of the antebellum South, to the agitation of Black socialist
ministers at the turn of the twentieth century,3 to the Civil Rights
Movement, in which local Black churches and church organizations
(principal among them the Southern Christian Leadership Conference,
led by Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.), were instrumental. For Black
preachers invoking the narrative of liberation from slavery in their

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The "nlird" Seder of Passover 121
sermons to the congregants who sang spirituals rich with Mosaic

imagery, the Exodus served as a "Prolegomenon" to a politics of hl>era-
tion for the faithful.
Within the Jewish community, however, in order for the tale of Exodus
to serve as a vehicle for the declaration of political values, it was
necessary to -Uberate" the story from the historical practice of its telling,
that of a largely passive commemoration of the heavenly dispensation of
freedom-as had been the custom within the context of traditional
religious observance over the centuries- and to shift the emphasis of the
celebration to one of the primacy of human agency over divine
instrumentality. While individual observant Jewish workers may well
have exploited the religious symbolism of the Exodus in their trade union
activity, it was through the largely secular Jewish working-class
movement that the seder became an instrument of political activism.
Eventually, this so-called •third• seder (to distinguish it from the seders
traditionally held on the first two nights of the eight-day Passover
holiday) became the single most important calendrical ceremony of a
culturally identified (secular Yiddishist) Jewish working-elass movement.
It is uncertain when the first radical secular haggadahs were composed,
but the available evidence indicates that the earliest printed versions
appeared in the 1880s in Eastern Europe, England and the United
States.4 Ironically, the popularity of the "third" seder seems to have
reached its peak within the Jewish Labor Movement as the JLM itself
entered its period of decline within the American labor movement as a
whole toward the end of the first half of the twentieth century.
Nevertheless, it continued to offer a viable means of retaining at once
political and cultural ties for Jewish radicals, many of whom, as elders,
inspired a new generation of Jewish activists in the latter half of the
century, particularly in the wake of the Civil Rights, Women's, and Peace
movements of the 1960s-1980s, in which many of the veterans of the JLM
were involved, reflecting lifetimes of commitments
It is instructive to look at the political (i.e., secular) overtones that do
resonate, if not always immediately discernible, in the account of the
Exodus recited during the traditional seder, whose haggadic message
must certainly have been of immeasurable inspirational value to a
beleaguered Jewish people over the centuries, regardless of the extent to
which, in the historical record, the Passover celebration inspired actual
revolt.
As an instance, during the seder a toast is made, and a special cup of
wine is filled for the prophet Elijah, whose reappearance will, tradition
has it, herald the coming of the Messiah. In fact, at one point in the
traditional service- usually held in a family home- the front door is
opened, as if in hope that he will indeed enter the house bearing news of
the coming redemption. Elijah's principal role in the biblical account,
however, is that of social rebel, whose staunch defense of ethical

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122 OF MOSE'S AND MARX
monotheisn> against the pagan worshipers of Ba'al (among whom were

included the royal court of Israel at the time) was accompanied by an
apocalyptic warning to those who would violate the moral precepts of the
Mosaic Code.
A more cryptic reference to sociopolitical events is made in a pa.'ISllge
appearing early in the reading of the haggadah, in which five rabbis were
holding a long discussion, ostensibly on the central theme of Passover: "It
once happened that Rabbis Eliezer, Joshua, Elanr ben Azaryah, Ala"ba
and Tarfon were celebrating the Seder together in Bne Brak. They spent
the whole night discussing the exodus from Egypt. Finally, their students
came and said to them: 'Rabbis, it is time for the morning service.'"6
Rabbi Aldba, one of the outstanding figures in the history of biblical
scholarship, ran an academy in Bne Brak, east of Jaffa, then under
Roman rule. He was also one of the principal supporters of an ill-fated
revolt against Roman authority led by the legendary Bar Kokhba. Akiba
was martyred in the year 135 C.E., in the course of this rebellion. In a
commentary on the haggadic passage, Philip Birnbaum offers one of
several interpretations:
It bas been suggested that Rabbi Akiba's older colleagues, three of whom bad
been his teachers, came to the Boe Brak to discuss with him the preparations for
the revolt of Bar Kokhba against Roman tyranny. This took place, "during all that
memorable night" [from a traditional Hebrew haggadah] under the guise of an
exhaustive account of the historic exodus from Egypt. 7
Until the arrival of a secular Jewish political movement, however, there

was apparently no systematic effort to shift the principal emphasis of the
Passover seder to its political (i.e., secular) message. Even so, the
observation of Passover in any form was at first rejected by those Yiddish
revolutionaries who saw in Jewish religious tradition little in the way of
socially redeemable value, let alone viability, in the working-class
struggle. It took a while, even for those who recognized the need for a
reconstitution of Jewish culture in a new form, to "rediscover" the value
of the seder as a repository of rich symbolism to be transformed into an
expression of working-class aspirations.
Thus, it was a process of uneven development that took place in the
Jewish Labor Movement with respect to its view toward Jewish tradition
in general, and ritual observances such as Passover, in particular. Many
revolutionaries who rejected Jewish tradition as a whole simply chose to
remain aloof, while others felt obliged to deride tradition publicly in
order to wean potential activists away from those customs-and that
communal authority-that held them in sway. Yom Kippur balls would be
held, mocking the pious on the Jewish Day of Atonement- normally
marked by fasting and solemn reflection-with a feast and merrymaking.
A similar approach was taken by Jewish revolutionaries, who would hold

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The "'Third• Seder of Passover 123
a "red seder" on the first and second nights of Passover (when seders
were traditionally held). Where observant Jews were prohibited from
eating any food containing khomets Oeaven) during the week of the
festival, those who attended a red seder were served cake and bread,
along with wine, while speeches were made and songs sung against
religion. This was not only an act of defiance, but also a way of forcing
one's compatriots to make a choice between politics and religion (as well
as between family and ideological loyalties).
Eventually a change of attitude took place, at least among some Jewish
trade union and political activists; it was recognized that in order to win
people over to new ideas, it was not necessary to reject the old offhand;
that, in fact, tradition could be invoked effectively as a point of entry into
the Jewish working class, and a point of departure into a (secular) Jewish
radical politics. Chaim Zhitlowsky, the father figure of the Yiddishist
movement, wrote an essay at the tum of this century, "Poetishe
vidergeburt fun der yidishe relige" (Poetic Renaissance of the Jewish
Religion). In it, he urged nonreligious Jews to recognize the importance
of certain values in Jewish religion, and not throw these values away in
the face of assimilation. 8 Zhitlowsky was a visionary among visionaries; it
would be some time before a significant number of Yiddish socialists felt
comfortable incorporating aspects of Jewish religious tradition into
politically meaningful contexts.
Eventually a number of Jewish-identified radical activists-many of
whom had rejected tradition in favor of internationalism, but who later
embraced Zhitlowsky's "inter-nationalism" (see page 38)-sought ways of
drawing political inspiration from traditional celebration. The challenge
was to forge a secular and, and radical, orientation from the sacred
character of the holidays in Jewish tradition.
While such holidays as Purim and Hanukkah contained political
messages, Passover was the richest in ceremonial and textual symbolism,
all underscoring the theme of liberation. In order to transform aspects of
the elaborate religious ceremony and text into an overtly political and
secular celebration, Jewish radicals needed to establish some kind of
relationship with tradition. For some, this meant using Passover as a
springboard for condemnation of the narrow-minded and privileged
within the Jewish community-more often than not the conservative
religious elite. Others sought to avoid a direct confrontation with
religious tradition, in hopes of winning over observant members of the
Jewish working class. Many Jewish radical immigrants simply did not
wish to alienate themselves entirely from the spirit, if not the actual
observance, of those Passover celebrations that were a part of their
childhood experience.
When queried about his views on Passover, Morris N., veteran of the
anarchist branch of the Workmen's Circle in New York and Los Angeles,
offered an elaborate folk exegesis on the Exodus and its commemoration

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in the seder. His approach was apparently twofold: 1) to offer a secular

interpretation of biblical events, and 2) to justify a radical version of the
seder by pointing out that change and variation are integral aspects of the
development of Jewish tradition in general, and of the history of Passover
celebrations in particular.
Let me explain [to] you. To begin with, I imagine you know the basic principle of
celebrating the seder in general-the emancipation of the Jewish people from
Egypt . . . around 3,000 years ago. And it became a tradition, plus the main
thing-religion second-because of our freedom we desired so much, we were
freed from slavery, by fighting the Egyptians, who were a big power at that time, a
world power.
Moses- that's how the legend goes- he freed the Jewish people and they
marched to the Promised Land of Canaan, after forty years in the desert.. . .
There was no water, no food. Remember, the Bible claims that manna came from
heaven and fed the people there.'
As though to anticipate his own argument for a political counterpoint

to the "official" religious interpretation, Morris then noted that even in
the biblical account, there was dissention in the ranks: •At the same time,
there were people at that time, koakh, critics of the particular leadership
of Moses and his brother, Aaron. That's bow the legend goes.•
Morris went on, in a somewhat convoluted way, to place the growth of
Judaism within the context of succeeding historical developments,
geographical dispersion, and, importantly, culture contact and change. It
is a tale of conflict and accommodation, an historical parallel to the
biblical narrative, with its own contrary messages of coexistence and
confrontation.
Besides being a religion, Judaism . . . at the time was the only philosophy ...
telling [people] how to live as human beings [instead of] fighting one another.
[So] besides the religion [it] became a tradition throughout the years of fighting
one group of people [or] nations [after] another.
And after so many years-the first destruction of the Temple, the second
destruction of the Temple-the J ewish people wandered in different countries in
the Near East, in Asia, and in Europe and the Far East. And they wanted to-
besides changing their religion many times-as they could interpret [their]
religion in conformity of the people they lived with . . .. As they traveled from one
land to another, they had to adapt themselves to the conditions that they Jived in
at that time.10
Having introduced the notion of cultural adaptation, Morris moved on

to his central thesis: that the traditional seder is itself is a product of
continual modification.

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The-rhird•SederofPassover 125
Slowly, slowly, in the different countries, they changed the form of conducting the
seder-the seder, that means the order, a way to conduct. Some people [Eastern
European Jews] told [that] when lately they escaped to Russia during the
Holocaust, they were shipped out to the very Far East [the Soviet Union
evacuated many Jews from the Eastern Front during World Warm where [there
were] people at that time [who] considered them[selves] Jews [but] nobody knew
exactly what they believed in. But [they] knew they were Jews [probably Jews
from Turkmen or Uzbek Soviet Socialist Republics]. They conducted a seder in
[such] different ways [ you] couldn't even recogni7.e it. 11
Finally, Morris brought his narrative into the New World, visiting the
Jewish celebrants of Passover in an American context, where they faced
new conditions that augured yet another transformation in the ritual
commemoration of the Exodus-the "third" seder of Yiddish radicals.
Now we know, the Jewish people, especially for the last hundred years, emigrated
in masses to the United States, and Jewish culture developed to a point where
they formed their own way of living. Besides the ... German Jews, the French
Jews ... the Spanish Jews-the Spanish Jews conducted their seder their way, the
French their way, and the Germans their way-the East European Jews, which
more or less at that time, they adopted the Yiddish language as a culture [Morris's
succinct reference to Yiddishism].. . . Why shouldn't they, as long as (it's a]
tradition, and it's a happy tradition, celebrating the liberation of their people-
why not form their own way of celebrating the seder?12
We will revisit Morris's description of the early attempts by Yiddish

radicals to transform the Passover ritual, but let us now tum to the
memories of a few other veterans of the Jewish Labor Movement,
comparing childhood recollections of traditional Passover celebrations
with those of later secular and political observances.
LIBERATING PASSOVER
Ruth P. was born in 1917 in New York City of Jewish immigrant

parents. Her father was a leader in the Workmen's Circle there; she was
raised among her parents' compatriots in a Workmen's Circle apartment
· cooperative in the Bronx and attended a Workmen's Circle school. Still a
member of the Workmen's Circle when I interviewed her at the Los
Angeles branch office in 1983, she maintained many of her primacy
associations among first-generation Yiddish immigrant socialists and
those of the second generation who kept within the ideological fold. She
recalled her Jewish education, and differences of opinion within her own
family on the question of religious observance in general, and the
celebration of Passover in particular.

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Let me go back a few years to my own childhood, when we were kids. I want you
to know that the Workmen's Circle schools was really, I would say in the shules
[Workmen's Circle schools] at any rate-we had an antireligious outlook. We did
not celebrate seders, we did not celebrate holidays; it was not considered a sin to
eat on Yom Kippur. We learned all of the things [about Jewish culture] through
our study of Jewish history. •.. We understood . . . that a lot of the [religious]
things were man-made, and put into the mouth of God, so to spealc.13
Yet, while her parents shepherded her through a process of secular

Jewish education, Ruth's maternal grandparents exposed her to the ways
of ttaditionaJ observance that they still retained from their life in the Old
Country.
From childhood on, we had seders because my grandmother and grandfather

came from Europe . .. and we all lived together.. .. My grandmother went to shul
[synagogue]. . . . All through my life- my grandmother lived to be way past
ninety- so we bad the benefit of that. We used to visit with her in shul when she
went [for] Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and she would go other times, too. We
lived in New Yorlc, and on our street was a shul there, so when they had simdias
torah [celebration of the giving of the Torah to Moses on Mt. Sinai] and all of
that, even though we were not members of the synagogue, we participated in all
of those things. So I knew about all of these things, even though, as I grew up, I
understand that I was not a part of it. So that each person has his own. '4
An important aspect of the traditional Passover service is its function as

a pedagogical vehicle for children. As part of the service, four questions
about the significance of Passover are posed- customarily by the
youngest articulate child in the family gathering-and ample opportunity
is provided during the course of the seder for any informal questions that
arise from the readings. It would, in fact, be customary for the more
learned members of the assembled group to "illuminate" passages in the
haggadah, providing commentary from Talmudic sources. (Moishe P.
noted that his father, who, it will be recalled, was well versed in the
Talmud, distinguished himself at family seders by his erudite
commentaries.)
For Rose B., the seders of her childhood raised troubling political
questions for which ready answers were not to be found in traditional
sources. The perpetual retelling of the story of the Exodus served to
increase her rebelliousness later on in life.
We used to sit at the seder and talk that the Jews were slaves. . . . I remember one
time, that was when I was . . . grown up already and I used to read books, I said
to myself: why is it that every year they have to repeat the same thing over and
over again, about the Jews being slaves in Egypt, and about Moses freeing the
Jews. . . . Nowadays I hear a lot of this [from] people that are against this [i.e.,
against religion in general, and the observance of Passover in particular]. They

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The "Third" Seder of Passover 127
say the same thing that I thought when I was a child. And I said to my mother,
"OK,• I said, "so how many times do we have to talk about it?" Oh, she slapped
my mouth; she said, "You mustn't speak like this. This is God's words."15
Even though her father sympathired with the working-class movement,

he too remained strictly a traditionalist in his observance of the seder.
Rose, though rejecting the seder for a time, came around to embracing it
once more, but from a different perspective. "Now the explanation for it
[is that] we mustn't forget, and the least that we forget, the more we11 be
on the lookout, [that slavery] shouldn't happen. . . . Like we talk about
the Holocaust every year and all the time.... [But] they didn't explain [in
childhood] that this is the thought of it. It was God's will:16
Rose B. is somewhat reticent in recalling her less than sympathetic
attitude toward the celebration of Passover during her early years with
the Yiddish section of the Communist Party in Boston. Since the general
attitude of Party members was to give no quarter to religion and religious
expression in any form, Passover was seen strictly as a hangover from
backward Old Country beliefs and customs, and to be opposed. Since
many of the parents of Yiddish communists were still observant, the
weaning of cadre from parental control (and by extension the influence of
their ideas) was considered an important political task.
Just at Pesa/ch, when the families get together ... that was [considered] a crime if
young people stayed at home for the seder. So we arranged our own seders. . . .
What did we have? We had a party, and we had ... cake and bread and wine, and
have a speech against religion, sing songs against religion .. . the same night [as
the traditional observance]. It had to be the first and the second night. Like now,
we have a third seder; it became already lenient. Give the first two seders to the
family, and you arrange already a third. But at that time, it had to be the first
night, definitely, and just to spite everytbing.17
Nathan H. recalls a similar "red seder," conducted by the Yiddish-

speaking section of the Communist Party in Cleveland, Ohio, in the mid-
19205. It was also a "mock service.• Bread was served at the table, "just to
spite the observant," and antireligious songs sung.18 Among these songs
Nathan remembers a parody of a cumulative song in Yiddish, •A
sudenyu" (A Banquet), involving a dialogue in which a Talmudic student
asks his rabbi about the coming of the Messiah. Some verses of the
traditional lyrics follow:
Zog'zhe mir, rebenyu

Vos vet zayn az meshiakh vet /rumen?
Az meshiakh vet /rumen,
Ve/ mir makhen a sudenyu.

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Vos'zhe vein mir essn o!lfder sudenyu?

Dos shor habot mit'n levyosn.
Ver vet uns khohkmes zogn o!lfder sudenyu?

Shloyme melekh.
Ver vet uns tantsn o!lf der sudenyu?

Miriam haneviyo.
Tell me, Rabbi,

What will happen when the Messiah comes?
When the Messiah comes,
We will have a banquet.
What will we eat at the banquet?

We will eat the wild buffalo and the shale fish.
Who will give us words of wisdom at the banquet?

King Solomon.
Who will dance for us at the banquet?

The prophetess Miriam.19
The parodied version presents an irreverent, and highly •American-

ized,• series of questions and answers:
Vos vet men esn oyf der sudenyu?

Hot dogs, hot dogs
Hot dogs vet men esn oyf der sudenyu.
Vos vet men trinkn oyf der sudenyu?

Coca cola, coca cola
Coca cola vet men trinkn,
Hot dogs vet men esn,
Oyf der sudenyu.
Ver vet uns tantsn oyf der sudenyu?

Gilda Gray vet uns tantsn .... 20
[Ms. Gray was a silent movie star and a notorious "fan dancer."}
Many of those who initially rebelled against tradition as a whole at an

early stage in their radical careers later sought ways of reincorporating
aspects of Old World Jewish culture through a desacramentaliz.ed
political reformulation. The motivations for this were varied: the renewal
a sense of connectedness with their ethnicity; reconciliation with the
religiously observant, among whom were potential recruits to the
working-class movement; the realization that there were larger struggles
that called for greater unity and a minimi7.ation of divisiveness; and the

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need to demonstrate their Jewishness to the mainstream Jewish

community that had ostracized them. Thus, Jewish-identified radicals
found in secularized rituals a way of affirming, in a concrete way, their
solidarity with their compatriots, while maintaining some sense of
community, albeit on a more abstract level, with Jewry as a whole.
AT THE RADICAL SEDER TABLE
Let us tum now to the traditional form and structure of the Passover
seder and then look at the transformations it underwent in secular and
political contexts. Passover is said to be the most ancient of all Jewish
holidays, celebrating as it does an event that is reputed to have transpired
some 3,000 years ago. This event is crucial in the biblical account of the
path chosen for the Jewish people by their creator. And although the
central figure in this account is Moses, who led the children of Israel from
the land of the Pharaohs, he recedes from view in the traditional Passover
service, for the fundamental lesson to be conveyed by the retelling of the
story of the Exodus is that of divine redemption.
Occurring as it does during the time of the spring harvest, as well as the
birthing of livestock, Passover is widely regarded as having had an earlier
history in agricultural and/or pastoral festivals, to which the theme of the
Exodus was grafted on and later assumed prominence. In any event, a
certain duality still inheres in the traditional Passover ritual, with the
themes of both spring and redemption intertwined.21
The traditional form of celebration during the eight-day (seven days in
the middle east) festival of Passover has been the conducting of the seder,
the ritual feast, on the first and second nights, during which the haggadah
is read (the same text repeated each evening), in accordance with the
biblical injunction to relate the account of "what the Lord did for me
when I came forth out of Egypt."22 The haggadah is a compilation of
biblical excerpts, rabbinic commentary, prayers and song.s of praise and
merriment. The ceremony is conducted as a family service, to which
guests are invited.
On the seder table are laid a number of foods to which symbolic
significance is attached. Among them are 1) three pieces of matzah
(unleavened bread), said to be "the bread of affliction which our
forefathers ate in the land of Egypt";23 2) maror (bitter herb), usually
horseradish-a reminder of the bitterness of slavery; 3) haroset (a
mixture of chopped nuts, apple or raisins, and wine), representing the
mortar used by the Israelite slaves in laying stones; 4) karpas (mildly
bitter herb, such as parsley), used for dipping in salt water-one
interpretation sees it as the spring element of Passover; 5) the shankbone
of a lamb, standing for the paschal sacrifice that was the central event in
ancient Passover celebrations; and 6) a roasted egg, representing an

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additional sacrifice offered in the ancient Temple; said to symbolize the

life cycle, it also serves as a symbol of mourning.
The service begins with a traditional blessing (kiddush) that is
customary on the Sabbath and during festivals. The first of four cups of
wine is poured for this purpose. The greens are dipped in salt water, and
the middle of three pieces of matzah is broken. Raising it aloft, the leader
of the service (traditionally, the male head of the household) explains,
"this is the bread of affliction.• The second cup is poured and a young
child asks four questions about the distinctiveness of Passover, prefaced
by the general query, "Why is this night different from all other nights?"
The narrative of the haggadah begins with the answer, "We were slaves to
Pharaoh in Egypt,• followed by rabbinic comments. Then comes a section
in which four sons are descnbed-wise, wicked, simple, and one who
knows not what to ask-providing for commentary on different forms of
explanation that are necessary.
The story of the Exodus then unfolds. When the plagues that God
visited upon Egypt for refusing to free the Israelites are mentioned, drops
of wine are spilled from the second cup. This is said to stress the point
that one should not rejoice over the suffering of one's foes.
Details are then provided of the fulfillment of God's promise to the
children of Israel-liberating them, sustaining them in the wilderness,
giving them the Torab, and delivering them to the Promised Land. The
song "Dayenu" ("It Would Have Been Enough") is sung, expressing the
thought that each of these acts alone would have been ample reason for
praising God.
The meal is served, followed by the traditional grace, after which the
third cup of wine is drunk. Hymns of praise are then chanted, largely
from the Psalms. The service is concluded with the drinking of a fourth
cup of wine, and the exclamation: "Next year in Jerusalem" (i.e., in the
Temple rebuilt). It has become customary to follow the service with the
singing of two cumulative songs, "Echad mi yodea" ("Who Knows One"),
each verse adding a question of a religious nature, until thirteen are
counted; and "Chad gadyo" ("An Only Kid"), which tells of a little goat
that a father buys for two coins, which is eaten by a cat, which is eaten by
a dog, etcetera, until God appears to exact the final retribution, thus
concluding the evening with a reaffirmation of its principal message.
One of the first published adaptations of the traditional haggadah from
a Jewish radical perspective was the Ruslander Sotsyaldemokratishe
Arbeiter Parti Hagada shel Pesakh (Russian Social Democratic Workers'
Party [RSDWP] Passover Haggadah), originally issued in 1887 in Vtlna.24
Apparently reissued, with some revisions, in New York in 1896, it was
eventually adopted by the newly formed United Jewish Workers
Federation of Russia and Poland, or Jewish Labor Bund (founded in
1897, and affiliated with the RSDWP), who published a version under

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their own imprint in London in 1900. Subsequent editions appeared as

late as 1919.2S
Haya Bar-Itzhak, who presents, and comments upon, this Bund
haggadah in a 1994 article,26 mentions at least one previous instance
when the form of the haggadah "was used as a tool to express a
worldview": Seder Hagada le-Melamdim, le-Minhag Lita, Polin, "which
appeared in Odessa, in a printing by Levi Reuven Zimlin, i.n Krasnin
Street, in 1882.• The author of this tract presents the narrative of a
melammed (teacher) who draws an analogy between the ancient
Egyptian kings who oppressed the Jewish slaves and contemporary
landlords and others who turn a deaf ear to the complaints of the
hardships suffered by Torah scholars:
So we cried to our God, the God of our fathers: it is better for us to be slaves of the
Egyptian klng than be slaves to the building-owner who does not listen to our
sighs and does not hear our suffering, and there is no one who understands and
hears our toil and no one who accepts our actions with mercy, and brings their
sons to the world of science, and they like not the look of our voice [on our lips],
and there is not one among them who would publish our case, and they have no
manner toward the Torah scholars, and they know not how to discourse on our
values, and they go not to help us but they stand far away and watch our
stressfulness and poverty.21
The Bund haggadah and its predecessors were the first to make manifest
the latent political content of the traditional narrative. Fem Kant (who
prepared the English translation of the Bund haggadah that appears in
Appendix B) comments on the complexity of a text composed for the
purpose of political agitation among the Jewish proletariat. "The Yiddish,
ostensibly intended for the 'proste,' the supposed poor, 'simple' Jews, is
really pseudo-simple-a clever student's mishmash of the extremely
simple and semi-literary.• The "Germanisms" (in Yiddish, daytsh-
merisms) that appear throughout the text "are a good sign that the
author(s) were either fairly well-educated or lived in or around a big city.
Or both."28
Kant points to another feature of the Bund haggadah: in a number of
instances a Hebrew passage is cited, followed by Yiddish commentary
that "plays off' the Hebrew text, providing an often biting and satirical
"reading" of the traditional passage. Sometimes the original Hebrew is
taken by the author(s) in a radically different direction. Bar-Itzhak has
commented on this as well: to note but one example, the Bund haggadah
cites the Hebrew passage, "Pour out Thy wrath [upon the nations]" and
then "reads" it as "spreading great warmth [varemkayt] and it continues
as a light that would glow for all nations, so that they will recognize the
holy idea [of liberation]. Therefore, the text gets a positive inter-
pretation. "29

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Kant views this as a fundamental "re-interpretation" of the traditional

passage; she further observes that "varemkayt had a very special
meaning for Bundists; not only did it connote heat and light [literally
warmth], but is also implied a special kind and quality of relationship
(between a person and an idea, [within] a group of people and among and
between groups as well)."30
One defining feature of this early radical haggadah is that, rather than
adapting the form of the traditional narrative per se, it simply uses
elements of the haggadah as points of departure for a scathing critique.
Setting the tone for what is to follow, the narrative of the Bund
haggadah opens with a bitter reference to the search for khomets, or
leaven, part of the preparation for Passover in a traditional household.
Since it is forbidden to eat leavened bread during Passover, the author
sees a bitter irony in the fact that finding any khomets at all- or by
implication, anything else to eat-in an impoverished Jewish family
would be a feat.
The "four questions,• traditionally framed by the query "why is this
night different from all other nights?" here becomes a springboard for an
attack on those pillars of the elite seen as enjoying privilege while the
Jewish worker suffers:
Ma nishtanah ("why is this night"-this Hebrew phrase is also used as an

abbreviated reference to the four questions], how are we worse off than Shmuel
the manufacturer, from Meir the banker, from Zarah the moneylender, from Reb
Turdus the Rabbi?
They do nothing and have food and drink, both by day and night a hundred
times over, and we toil with all our strength the entire day, and at night we don't
have even a meal, as well?
The reference to the "four sons" becomes the springboard for a critique
not only of class privilege but of a "God who would give such laws, that all
humankind shall trudge toward toil."
A miniature dissertation follows, comparing ancient slavery to its
modem forms, in which "our present masters have tied and sold us under
the mask of faith and freedom." The author of this passage takes great
literary license, satirically compa.ring slavery and "capitalist servitude" as
forms of cannibalism in which rulers "devour" their subjects, in body and
spirit. Ultimately when the workers triumph over the all-consuming
oppressors, they will exact retribution when they "make a sacrifice of the
capitalist 'wild beast.'"
Of the symbolic foods served at the seder, reference is made in the
Bund haggadah only to "bitter herbs" as symbols of suffering: "The bitter
herbs that we take in before we are devoured ... because that which we
carry out is the work of a superman . .. and this work weakens both body
and spirit together."

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In a telling passage toward the end of the haggadah, the enduring truth
of the Almighty is transmuted into the revolutionary truth of Progress
that will eventually "save the weak from the claws of the strong and the
proletariat from Capital, which plunders it."
As in a traditional seder, the Bund haggadah concludes with "F.chad mi
yodea" ("Who Knows One") and "Chad gadyo" ("An Only Kid"). The
former, however, only uses the framework of the song to deliver an
antireligious and anticapitalist rant:
Who knows one? I know one: one humankind is here in the world.
Who knows two? I know two: in two parts is h111Dankind divided: poor and rich.
As for "Chad gadyo," the lyrics remain basically the same as in the
traditional version, except that har oudi-Aramaic for "the worker"-is
substituted for chad gadyo in the title and throughout the text of the
song wherever the latter would appear in the original.
While containing many elements of a traditional Passover narrative,
the text of the Bund version makes it difficult, without corroborating
evidence, to determine the extent to which this haggadah was actually
recited during the course of radical seders (if, indeed, such seders were
organized by members of the Bund or other Jewish revolutionary
groups), or whether it was simply a clever exercise in political
propaganda.
Among the first Jewish radical organizations in the United States
known to have organized seders systematically as vehicles for expressing
a secular and progressive outlook was the Arbeiter Ring, or Workmen's
Circle (WC). Following an intensely antireligious period, the WC
eventually arrived at the position that the celebration of Passover could
be an effective organizing tool, a means of appealing to Jewish workers,
many of them still religiously observant, by grounding Yiddish radicalism
in traditional roots-roots that had, in fact, been severed for many of its
own members. Morris N. recalls, in a inimitable stream of consciousness
delivery, the early attempts of his khaverim (comrades) at developing a
secular, but not antireligious, celebration of Passover.
We started to figure out what to do, more or less-I wouldn't call them atheist, but
nonreligious, 'cause atheists ... have a theory of ... preaching atheism. They
[Morris's comrades] were nonreligious, living in peace with people of religious
beliefs. And they figure out, what should they use. . . . So they took stories of
modern life, and picked out the kinds of stories [that] fits in [with the theme of
Passover]: socialism, anarchism, communism [later the WC became anti-
communist].
We put in . . . new songs, modern songs that interpreted the struggle for
freedom, the struggle for life, [against] exploiting [which], even according to
Jewish religion was against it. And slowly, we got together a group of songs
[depicting] a way of life where people could be free, rather than slaves, and got

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together that seder-that order-where we conducted what we called the third

seder.s•
The first of the Workmen's Circle third seders was held in New York,
sometime in the early 1920s. It was essentially a celebration for the
children attending the WC schools. In the words of Joseph Mlotek,
director of the F.ducation Department of the Workmen's Circle:
We recognized that there were those who did not celebrate this holiday at all. We
felt that it was essential to gjve our (WC) schools-many of the second
generation-a stronger Yiddish identity. Thus Yiddish teachers, together with
Yiddish writers, sat down and took the old traditional haggadah, translated it into
Yiddish, added new material to make it more contemporary and thus both
parents and children were able to realize that this was an eternal, timeless battle
for Freedom. That it did not begin or e.nd with Exodus from Egypt.32
These early celebrations also set the precedent for the third seder as an
oi:gani1,.ational, rather than family, affair (although the seating
arrangements in the room where they were held might still be made
according to family membership). In subsequent years, it was held at
different locations, until it arrived at the Waldorf Astoria, where for
several decades it was a catered affair of grand proportions, including
not only the reading of the haggadah, but also guest speakers and
professional entertainers.
Within the labor Zionist movement in the 1920s, attempts were also
made to present a "modem" version of the Passover seder. The story of
the Exodus carried a special significance for the proponents of the
reconstitution of a Jewish state on the site canonized in the biblical
account Labor Zionists were, however, like their Workmen's Circle
counterparts, nonreligious. (The earliest of the labor Zionists in the
United States, the Farband, it will be recalled, were also devoted
Yiddishists who lobbied for Yiddish as the national language of the
proposed Jewish state.) Less emphasis, then, was placed on the theme of
redemption, and more on the theme of national hberation.33
The labor Zionists and the Histadrut campaign (the latter representing
the emerging Jewish Labor Movement in Palestine) held a joint third
seder in the late 1920s in Providence, Rhode Island. According to Jacob
Katzman, a participant in this early seder, the service, conducted in
Yiddish, included elements and motifs from the traditional haggadah,
with much singing, both in Yiddish and in Hebrew. Those in Yiddish were
folksongs whose themes corresponded with and/or contemporized
traditional themes. Among these were "In dem land fun piramidn" ("In
the Land of Pyramids") and "Zog maran• ("Tell Us, Marrano"), the latter
recounting the lives of "secret" Jews who concealed their identities during
the Inquisition in Spain. Songs in Hebrew were mostly about or by the

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khalutsim, those who intended to join Jewish agricultural settlements in

Palestine. Katzman's view of the Passover holiday was that it ,rignaled the
"birthday of the Jewish people: He recalls a more class-conscious
interpretation given by his father, a Farband activist: •the holiday of
Pesakh records the first strike in human history of Jewish bricklayers
[against] their Pharaoh oppressors."34
The third seder of the Histadrut/labor Zionists tended to follow the
same course of development as that of the Workmen's Circle, growing
into a large, catered affair. A principal distinction was that while
•Hatikva" (the national anthem of present day Israel), and other songs in
Hebrew about Jewish colonization in Palestine/Israel were central
features of the former, they were, at least in the beginning, conspicuously
absent from the latter. The Workmen's Circle, historically anti-Zionist,
refrained from such references until well after the establishment of the
state of Israel in 1948. Then, following a general trend in the Jewish
community at large, they closed ethnic ranks and fell into line in support
of the new Jewish state. Songs in Hebrew and references to Israel are now
staple items of the Workmen's Circle haggadahs. (Many WC members, in
fact, eventually supported the Histadrut campaign and occasionally
participate in the third seders of the labor Zionists.)
I did not locate any of the hagvdahs for the earliest Workmen's Circle
and labor Zionist third seders, but from all accounts, it appears that they
were printed on an ad hoc basis by individual chapters. The first
haggadah printed and distributed by the Workmen's Circle national office
appeared in 1950; a Histadrut haggadah was published a few years
later.35
Ruth P., a member of an English-speaking branch of the Workmen's
Circle in Los Angeles (though fluent in Yiddish), prepared one of the first
English haggadahs for the WC in 1953, based on a Yiddish version
compiled in 1948 by a then leading figure in the WC schools in Los
Angeles. A comparison of content and format with those of the traditional
baggadah is most instructive.
The Yiddish haggadah was actually written for the Gezelshaft far
veltlekher yidishkayt (The Society for Universal Jewish Culture)
composed partly of Workmen's Circle members, and to whom the WC as
a whole was invited. It contained many elements of the traditional
haggadah, but eliminated the rabbinic commentary, and substituted
Yiddish poetry and song for prayers and hymns of praise. The traditional
order of readings was also rearranged.
As the haggadah opens, the reader is presented not with the traditional
blessing over the wine, but rather with a poem by I. I. Schwartz entitled
•IGddush; which recalls the enslavement of the Israelites thousand.~ of
years ago, and calls for a blessing of the cup of wine in the name ofjustice
and freedom. The first cup is held up, and those gathered say in unison:

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Far undzerfollc, unfar zayn zulcu1'ft

far zayn voylzo.yn,far zayn glicJc
far a velt a libtik-heler
fray fun keyt unfrayfun shtrik.
[For our people and for the future

for happiness and good fortune
for a bright and better world
free of chains and free from ropes.):l4
The four questions are recited in Yiddish exclusively; the story of

Passover then unfolds, interspersed with Yiddish poetry on relevant
themes, for example, "Oyfn nil" ("On the Nile"), relating how Pharaoh's
daughter found the infant Moses, and "In dem land fun piramidn.• The
symbolic foods were present at this third seder, and they are descnbed in
the haggadah, accompanied by the traditional interpretations, prefaced
by the phrase "Es iz geshribn" (It is written [in the Bible]). Shortly
thereafter the meal was served.
The plagues were not mentioned, nor were the four sons, in this
Yiddish version. However, an important addition in this haggadah was a
memorial to the heroes of the Warsaw Ghetto. On the first night of
Passover, 1943, a group of Jewish partisans, among those walled in by the
Nazis in the Jewish qua.r ter of Warsaw, staged a revolt with smuggled
arms and held off the German army for several weeks. The Uprising
became a powerful symbol, "proof that freedom . . . and liberty [have] to
be won-fought for and rewon [sic] time and time again. "37
Following the seder meal, the story of "Pesach-Varshe-1943" was
told; included in this section were poems of martyred writers from the
Warsaw Ghetto, and others on the theme of the Uprising. The seder
ended with the "Partizaner lied" ("Song of the Partisans"), written by
Hirsch Glick, himself a partisan. Sung with great reverence-and always
while standing-it has become the anthem of the Jewish Left.
The first English third seder of the Los Angeles Workmen's Circle was
largely patterned on the model of the 1948 Yiddish version. However, the
English haggadah began with a short introduction outlining the origins of
the festival, and summa.rizing the biblical account of the Exodus. This was
prefaced by a brief statement on the WCs view toward the use of the
haggadah. "This suggested 'hagodah' [sic] is an attempt to put the
traditional Passover seder into a modernized form. It utilize.s the English
and Yiddish languages in order to convey the fullest meaning to Jews in
America, and to the historical and legendary moments of Jewish life
which have more recently become part of our experience and tradition. "38
Some of the Yiddish poetry was eliminated, but the two most popular of
the traditional Hebrew Passover songs, "Dayenu• and "Chad gadyo, • were
added, in Yiddish translation. In subsequent versions, the prophet Elijah

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The "lhird• Seder of Passover 137
(for whom a place was traditionally set) was greeted with a bilingual
Hebrew/Yiddish version of "Eliyohu hanovi• ("Elijah the Prophet"), a
song usually associated with havdalah, the ceremony marking the end of
the Sabbath. The account of the four sons, not found in the Yiddish
version, was variously included and excluded in later editions. The
plagues found their way into the English version, but updated:
"aggressive war, communism, fascism, slave labor, genocide, disease,
famine, human exploitation, religious bigotry, and racial discrimina-
tion. "39 Here we have not only references to important issues raised by
Yiddish socialists, but also a reflection, in the mention of the second
plague, of the enmity between members of the Workmen's Circle and the
Yiddish communists who supported the Soviet Union and who, even if
some of them later became critical, were loathe to attack communism
itself as a system, particularly since such a stance would coincide with the
official policy of the United States ruling class, whose interests remain
inimkal to the Left.40
References to the state of Israel did not appear in this English version
until the late 1950s (a Yiddish version published in New York in the early
1950s is apparently the first Workmen's Circle haggadah in which such a
reference is found); no references appeared in earlier versions to
Palestine, in line with the early anti-Zionist (later merely non-Zionist)
stance of the Workmen's Circle. This is one thing they held in common
with the Yiddish communists. Both groups, however, were eager to point
out that they supported Israel in principle; the Yiddish communists were
more willing to be openly critical, but usually not within the context of
their Passover celebrations.
Tnoutes to Soviet Jewry (i.e., bemoaning their plight) eventually
became a staple of the Workmen's Circle haggadah, but not until the
1970s. The Yiddish communists, reluctant to openly criticiu the Soviet
Union, remained skittish on this subject; Soviet J ews were not mentioned
at all in their haggadahs. (Of course, with the dissolution of the Soviet
Union, this has become a nonissue among the few remaining Yiddish
radicals.)
In the 1960s and 1970s, the Workmen's Circle schools in Los Angeles
sponsored third seders, conducted entirely in Yiddish, with students
reciting portions of the haggadah, and singing in a chorus. After a hiatus
of a few years, the Workmen's Circle third seder in Los Angeles was
revived, this time as a catered affair, with a professional cantor and
accompanist. The content was largely retained (the English version now
used exclusively) but, according to at least one older participant, it no
longer had the feeling of an extended family affair that characteriud the
earlier seders.◄ 1
The Yiddish communists, and others on the Left who split from the WC
in the 1920s and '30s in the aftermath of the Bolshevik Revolution
maintained an antitraditional stance somewhat longer than the labor

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Zionists and the Workmen's Circle. But by the 1930s and 1940s, Yiddish-
speaking members of the International Workers' Order (IWO) reclaimed
those Jewish holidays laden with the symbolism of struggles for freedom
and social justice. Teachers in the Progressive Jewish Children's Schools
(the schools of the Yiddish Left affiliated with the IWO) devised
guidelines in the late 1940s for the celebration of Passover. However, they
continued to resist following the traditional haggadah too closely, since
they were loath to incorporate any material that might be interpreted as
religious. Sabel] Bender, one of the compilers of a haggadah for the
Hollywood Kindershule (one of the Progressive Jewish Children's
Schools) recalls when, as a young shule teacher in the 1950s, she
wrangled with Abraham M., veteran Progressive Jewish Children's
Schools teacher, to include more traditional content in the Kindershule
haggadah.◄2 This resulted in a haggadah paralleling that of the WC, but
considerably shorter. There was at least one other significant difference.
Although contemporized and interpreted in broad political terms, the
Workmen's Circle haggadah tended to bring the story of the Exodus "up
to date" almost exclusively with reference to the Jewish people (the list of
modem plagues being a notable exception). The compilers of the
Progressive Jewish Children's Schools third seder haggadah made a point
of generalizing the lessons of the Exodus account by linking its theme to
the struggles of other oppressed peoples. A 1958 haggadah states:
"Though the sacrifice be great and the hardships many, we shall not rest
until the chains that enslave all men [sic], Jew and non-Jew alike, be
broken."43
The Workmen's Circle English haggadahs did, in fact, incorporate the
spiritual "Go Down Moses,• as a permanent part of the third seder
repertoire. It was chosen for its poignant depiction of the Exodus
theme.◄◄ In fact, it became one of the most popular of those
nontraditional songs sung at third seders. There is, however, no
indication in the WC haggadah text of the song's source in African-
American folk tradition. In the text of the Progressive Jewish Children's
Schools haggadah this song is also presented, but in addition a
connection is drawn in the reading between the plight of the Jews and
those for whom the Exodus theme has historically struck such a resonant
chord:
The story of the Exodus was an inspiration to another group of slaves, the
American Negro, in their struggle for freedom. Both the content of their songs
and the symbolism disguised to fool the brutal masters were taken from this
period of Jewish history. Avadim Hayinu-we were slaves- we the people of the
earth; our name is Jew and our name is Negro.45
Subsequent haggadahs of the Progressive Children's Schools in Los

Angeles have contained specific references to the civil rights movement,

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The "Third• Seder of Passover 139
as well as the striking farmworkers led by Cesar Chavez in the fields of

central California."6 With the demise of the Schools in the 1970s, seders
continued to be conducted annually by the Second Generation Jewish
Cultural Club, consisting of parents of former shule students.47
THE LEGACY OF TIIE RADICAL "THIRD" SEDER
The third seder of Yiddish radicals was a declaration of the boundaries

of their folk ideology, a way of defining their position within the Jewish
radical subculture. As a ritual expression of their outlook, it represents, as
do other expressions of Yiddish radical belief, an attempt to mediate
between community and polity. It is an argument, in dramatic form, for
the viability of a progressive political content expressed within a
traditional cultural form. It is, once again, not only a political, but also a
secular statement. "Traditiont to the religious, strictly means a theo-
logical interpretation of Passover. Political themes in the haggadah are
seen as vehicles for a divine message. For Yiddish radicals, it was
precisely the political content that made the story of the Exodus doubly
relevant for members of the Jewish radical subculture. By means of the
third seder, Yiddish radicals could express their sense of identification
with the historical experience of the Jewish people, while championing
their liberation in ancient times as a precedent for later popular historical
movements. By "updating" the Passover story to include more contem-
porary accounts of servitude and redemption, the ritual presentations of
Yiddish radicals became emblematic of the ways in which the theme of
social struggle could be "legitimi7.ed" as an integral part of Jewish
tradition. Thus, the partisans of the Warsaw Ghetto have been canonized
as a new focal point of a secular, and radical, interpretation of liberation.
In the third seder, redemption is no longer viewed as an act of God, but
rather as the outcome of the efforts of the Jewish people, who will achieve
their liberation, and that of humankind as a whole, by actively taking up
the fight for social justice. The underlying message of the third seder is:
social struggle is Jewish.
Other reasons may be offered for the development of the third seder.
One is the longing of first generation immigrants for the rituals, if not the
religious messages, associated with their childhood in the Old Country.
Another is the desire to reach the Jewish masses with a message bearing a
familiar, and therefore accessible, cultural coding. Yet, one of the most
compelling arguments for the emergence of the third seder among
Yiddish radicals has been the need to reconcile their strong attachment to
their Jewish identity with a sense of engagement in a world containing a
multiplicity of pressing social issues transcending their own ethnic
concerns. Toe third seder has also enabled secular Jewish activists to
experience a sense of ethnic commonality while declaring lines of
demarcation from traditional Judaism.

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The third seder represents a drawbridge between community and

polity-constituting a rite of mediation between dual sources of
identification and the potentially conflicting loyalties they engender. The
third seder has indeed acted as a bridge joining its participants with the
"greater" Jewish community. Conservative and Reform congregations
have, in recent years, added contemponuy references to the Warsaw
Ghetto, Soviet Jewry, and so on; some Reform synagogues and Jewish
community centers have been conducting their own third seders.
While the community of Yiddish working-clui activists who
introduced the first socialist haggadahs has faded into a memory, the
radical seder continues to haVP- significance for progressive Jews who link
their ethnic identity and experience with broader social concerns.48

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Conclusion
Within the Jewish Labor Movement in the United States, trade union and
political activists, like their East European counterparts, developed and
maintained a unique subculture, whose zeitgeist found expression in the
folk ideology of Yiddish radicalism-a synthesis of Jewish culture and
proletarian politics. It was an attempt to weld the communal f P.eling of
ethnic ties with the collective mood of working-class solidarity. Through
biblical imageiy, Yiddish song and stoiy, and transfigured ritual, the
political ideology of Jewish-identified immigrant activists was construct-
ed and articulated as a transformation of a traditional messianic vision.
What emerged from this process of radical "revitalization" was not just a
politically defined ethnicity, but a unique expressive culture. While it was,
indeed, ideology that conditioned the process by which Yiddish radicals
selected aspects of Jewish tradition to define their ethnic/class
consciousness, what defined the JLM was its participants' deliberate
choice of ethnic symbols demonstrating their political engagement. Karl
Marx may have articulated the conditions under which the working class
labored and struggled, but for Yiddish radicals the prophetic voice of
social revolution was just as Mosaic as it was Marxist.
The folk ideology of Yiddish radicals was not simply a political canvas
stretched over a traditional frame. It was not a simple case of calculated
exploitation of ethnic "color- to paint images of class struggle. It is,
rather, a complex mixture of elements; of lives traditional and transi-
tional; of antiquity and modernity, of spoken word and literacy creation,
of folk music and "art song,• of community knowledge and urban street
wisdom, of familial spirits and political specters.
Jewish radical immigrants were born at a time when skepticism was a
widespread response to periodic waves of hope and despair that swept
Jewish communities in Europe and America in the wake of the

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tumultuous economic and political upheaval of industrializing capitalism.

Battle lines were drawn, not only between the classes, but within myriad
ethnic communities, widening the gulf between the entrenched
conservatism of the tradition-bound and the stark rejectionism of
revolutionary for whom the class struggle had become, of necessity, an
intraethnic conflict as well.
Yiddish radicals found themselves between the proverbial rock (of ages)
and a hard (work) place. Desirous of winning over a beleaguered Jewish
working class still steeped, to varying degrees, in the waters of tradition,
they employed imagery that would tie traditional values to new political
visions of the "end of days" of wage slavery. Yet, another struggle needed
to be waged among those comrades who had washed their hands of all
"tainted" tradition, and were loath even to exploit its metaphorical
possibilities. These latter nay-sayers saw the exploitation of religious
imagery as a ploy, and as a conciliation to the more backward elements of
the Jewish working class. They pointed, accurately enough, to the
reactionary leadership of most Jewish communities, who used the Bible
and its imagery as an instrument of social control. As far as they were
concerned, conservatism and tradition were inseparable.
Most Yiddish radicals did not necessarily dispute this assessment, but
many sincerely held that there could be a legitimate way of making use of
aspects of religious tradition, namely that of desacramentalizing them
while retaining their potent symbolism. Certain ancient beliefs and rituals
could thereby retain their "validity"-in principle, anyway-through this
process of secular "conversion.•
There was no question that traditional symbols were a convenient way
of introducing revolutionary ideas to the Jewish working class in a way
that would translate political concepts into more immediately approach-
able (and more emotionally charged) terms. Their use might also serve to
mitigate the apparent "threat" of socialism to those time-worn traditional
slu'bboleths that were, nonetheless, a form of security in the shifting
sands of migration and political upheaval. Yet, these metaphoric expres-
sions, linking the "will of the people" with biblical prophecy, were also a
compelling means of self-justification among Yiddish radicals them-
selves, who could rationalize their embrace of messianism through a
process of secular exegesis, viewing the biblical account and its ritual re-
creations, as a reading, and reenactment, of primordial class struggle.
Ultimately, these Yiddish radicals came to embrace a Jewish-identified
politics with genuine enthusiasm, viewing their outlook, both in theory as
weil as in practice, as a more authentic expression of Jewishness than
that of the traditional Jewish community itself. That is to say, they
believed that as gadflies on the body politic of the established order-
arousing the benumbed masses and sounding the clarion call of rebellion
against tyranny-they had a political mission that was closer to the

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Conclusion 143
example of the social prophets than those who had long ago sold their
ethnic "birthright" for the fleshpots of bourgeois life.
Part of the appeal of a Jewish symbolism of social struggle lay in its
poignant application to the situation with which Yiddish radicals were
faced within the Jewish community itself. It has been observed that
within the Jewish community in the United States there has been
perpetuated a microcosm of the class structure of American society at
large. This was apparent to Jewish radical immigrants from the moment
they disembarked on Ellis Island. For that matter, they had encountered
it on a smaller scale within the village whence they came, or in
comparable form in those larger towns in Europe to which they had
initially resettled (or in which some of them were bom, their parents or
previous ancestors having been the first to venture out from the bonds of
the shtet[).
Jewish workers, who formed the overwhelming majority of East
European immigrants at the tum of this century, found themselves
working, more often than not, for Jewish bosses (at least during their
initial period of employment). In time, with the transition of a large
proportion of the Jewish proletariat into the ranks of the professional and
entrepreneurial classes, a major shift, not only in class alignm~nt, but
also-and of greater political importance-in class allegiance, took place
as well within the Jewish community.
The previous guardians of the Jewish upper class, the German Jews,
now faced competition for hegemony over major Jewish community
institutions-charitable foundations, schools, social services, and the
like- from the newly affluent Jews of East European ancestry. These new
scions of the Jewish •establishment" styled themselves as models of
ethnic triumph over economic and social adversities that were yet fresh in
the collective memory.
However, there was a cost to pay. While posturing as heroes of an
ethnic success story, the members of this new Jewish class were marked
by the impoverishment of their cultural identity. Ethnic identification had
largely been reduced to professional and informal social ties, augmented,
perhaps, by token membership in a neighborhood synagogue. Yiddish-
kayt was a thing of the past, a sign of the lower-class status from which so
many had struggled to rise. That ascension was reflected in changes in
organizational affiliation as well, from landsmenshaftn, to the Young
Men's Hebrew Association, to the Rotary Club.
It is within such a context that Yiddish radicals saw themselves as the
standard bearers of true Jewish tradition, that is, of an East European
Yiddish culture that was being abandoned in concert with the
abandonment of class membership, and worse, working-class loyalties.
Thus it was not only as inheritors of the prophetic mantle, but also as
champions of Yiddishkayt, that Jewish immigrant radicals saw them-
selves as partisans fighting against the dissolution of Jewish culture, as

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they engaged in class struggle against the establishment to which so

many Jews were held in thrall.
In the process of defending their identity and forms of expressive
behavior as East European Jews, and by making the defense of
Yiddishkayt a political issue, members of the Jewish radical subculture
performed an invaluable service in keeping alive much of the distinctive
lore of their forebears. In the wake of the Holocaust, when American
Jewish community centers and Reform synagogues were made painfully
aware of the sudden inestimable loss of an entire East European Jewish
community, along with its folkways, those of Jewish immigrant
proletarian background who bad remained active bearers of the tradi-
tions of Yiddishkayt were recognized as precious cultural resources. A
great many of these were Yiddish radicals, who not only were carriers of
folklife, but were responsible for introducing innovations in tradition that
were later incorporated into the programs of mainstream Jewish social
institutions (a prime example being that of the third seder).
In spite of the range of variation in the expressive behavior of Yiddish
radicals, and despite periods of antitraditionalism at points in their lives,
one thing has emerged from this overview of Jewish radical belief and
ritual, that of the continued viability, and vitality, of ethnic identification.
This would seem to run counter to a recurrent theme in the literature
about the •Jewish experience" in the United States in the twentieth
century, that of a sense of ambivalence about one's Jewishness, often
expressed as uneasiness about being identified by "obvious" markers of
ethnicity- physical appearance, dress, mannerisms, and so on. This may
have historically been a reflection of a general desire to separate oneself
from the memory of a culturally •awkward" set of associations (that of
lower class East European peasants and artisans) in the transition to
"modernity" (the life of urban professionals and business owners).
Thus, the issues of ethnicity and class were clearly recognized as
intertwined by upwardly mobile Jews, many of whom were former Jewish
workers. It follows logically, then, that the radical ideologies so prevalent
among the Jewish immigrant proletariat were shunned by those whose
class loyalties bad shifted along with the form of ethnic identification so
integrally bound up with it. The dilemma of the Jewish professional and
business owner was that, for any of them, the residual sense of identity
from their (or their parents') historically recent past as Jewish workers
was no longer matched with a working-class outlook. Neither fully tied to
their ethnic roots, nor fully integrated into the main economic trunk of
American society, they were left in the interstices of marginality.
There have, of course, been countercurrents to this all-too-familiar
process in which members of ethnic and/or immigrant groups strive for
rapid cultural assimilation on the assumption that it is the only viable
route to successful social and economic integration. While ethnicity, or at
least the form of ethnic identification associated with lower-class immi-

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Conclusion 145
grants, may have been seen as a distinct liability by "second-generation"

suburbanites, there was a modest "return" to some kind of affiliation
among their children, many of whom had inherited their parents' sense of
cultural impoverishment in the midst of economic plenty. Some of these
members of the "third generation" even joined activist groups in the
1960s and '70s, where they "discovered; at least in part, the radical
potential of aspects of Jewish tradition. "Third" seders were organized by
Jewish activists, who drew upon their involvement in the Civil Rights,
Women's, and Gay Li"beration movements. At least a few of their parents
and grandparents joined as well, though the latter, in spite of their
history, were not uniformly sought out as mentors. In fact, few young
activists of this era were fully conscious of the legacy of the ethnopolitical
culture of their grandparents' generation that produced radical seders
and much more. In any event, the Jewish "radical" organizations of this
period were relatively short-lived, partly a reflection of the lingering
ambivalence of the participants.
It is precisely this sense of ambiguity that is conspicuously absent from
the observations and reminiscences of longtime Jewish radical activists
whose political forms of expression were largely through Jewish organ-
izations (i.e., •Jewish identified" radicals, as opposed to those politically
Left Jews whose activities reflected no specifically Jewish aspect, nor
found expression in Jewish organization forms). One possible explana-
tion lies in the ways in which their lives were circumscribed by a set of
primary associations that changed little in character (or often in kind)
from the time of their induction into the ranks of the Jewish Labor
Movement. When political schisms occurred, that set of associations
would become even further constricted. In such an atmosphere, Jewish-
ness a.nd radicalism tended to form an ideational equation in which
ethnicity, far from being brought into question, was molded within a well-
defined class outlook, in which to be Jewish was to be politically engaged.
Within the Jewish radical subculture in the United States, the apparent
paradoxical relationship between a bounded communal Jewish working-
class identity and a broad internationalist political outlook was resolved
in such a way that, rather than being a source of existential angst, it acted
as a catalyst, in which class and ethnicity were welded in a flashpoint of
ethnopolitical fervor. The Jewish ethnicity of Yiddish radicals was at once
made purposeful and imbued with a sense of universality by its political
dimension. In tum their ideological mission was fueled by a symbolic
association with a prophetic and messianic ethnic imagery. The unifying
conceptual model forged in this process-that of a folk ideology-proved,
for many Jewish radicals, to be of lifelong durability.

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
INOIANA UNIVERSITY
Appendix A
The Jewish Labor Movement

in Los Angeles
Much is known about those Yiddish-speaking unions and fraternal
organizations that Jewish workers founded in the eastern United States
in the early part of this century. New York, in particular, was a hotbed of
Jewish trade union and political activism, with Yiddish-speaking union
locals and workers' clubs, as well as Yiddish sections of revolutionary
parties founded by East European immigrants. Among the more well-
known unions established in New York in industries with a predomi-
nantly Jewish work force were the International Ladies Garment Workers
Union (ILGWU) and the Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America
(ACWA). Their cause was taken up by Yiddish language newspapers, and
both cultural as well as political organizations served to link up Jewish
workers who shared a similar class and ethnic outlook.
Although such activities and organizations bad their roots, for the most
part, in New York, parallel developments did take place in other cities.
Los Angeles, where I conducted most of my interviews, was, for several
decades, fertile ground for the JLM- host to a thriving, if less well known,
center of Jewish trade union and political activism. Jews bad been living
there since the 1850s; however, the first settlers were mostly merchants
and small business owners. It was around 1900 that Jewish workers
began to arrive in substantial numbers. Many were refugees from the
crowded sweatshops of the East. Victims of consumption, a major
occupational disease of garment workers at the time, they came west in
search of the restorative powers of Southern California's dry desert air.
Most of the Jewish unions in Los Angeles were established in the Boyle
Heights district, on the east side of town, constituting the principal
Jewish neighborhood in Los Angeles until the 1940s. In 1917, Jewish
batters organized and successfully campaigned for an eight-hour day;
they later became a part of the International Hat and Capmakers' Union,

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
148 Appendix A
local 26. In that same year, a Jewish carpenters' local was founded on
Brooklyn Avenue in Boyle Heights. The membership was composed
almost entirely of first-generation immigrants who had initially settled in
the East, then migrated westward, some of them retaining vestiges of
their initial culture shock. Although anti-Semitism may have been a
factor in the formation of exclusively Jewish trade unions, a major reason
was the persistence of a language barrier; such groups allowed for the
conducting of all business in their native language, Yiddish.
In 1919, Jewish dressmakers from the F.ast organized a local branch of
the ILGWU, and in 1921, men's clothing workers followed suit with a
local of the ACWA. During the 1920s, and into the 1930s, organil.ations
were formed of Jewish bankers, upholsterers, wood and metalworkers,
painters, and even junk peddlers.
By the i940s, a later generation of American-born Jews joined the
trades. Conversant in English, they had little need for conducting
business in Yiddish, and with the departure of the older members, its use
gradually diminished. With the influx of non-Jews into formerly Jewish
union locals, accompanying a shift in occupational and residence
patterns, they ceased to have a specifically Jewish character.
Today no such unions exist. However, the cultural and political groups
that flourished along with them still survive to some extent, their
membership often consisting almost entirely of retired Jewish trade
unionists. What follows is a brief overview of these groups and their role
in representing dual class and ethnic co.n sciousness-folk ideology-
among Jewish workers, with particular reference to the activities of the
Los Angeles branches of each group.
The historical centerpiece in the development and expression of a
Jewish proletarian communal outlook was the Arbeiter Ring, or
Workmen's Circle (WC). Founded in New York in 1892, it was a response
not only to the oppressive conditions of the workplace, but also to the
need for a communal support network among Yiddish speaking working-
class Jews. The founding aims of the Workmen's Circle were 1) providing
mutual aid in case of sickness or death, 2) furthering the education of
Jewish workers, and 3) setting up cooperative enterprises.
The first branch of the Workmen's Circle in Los Angeles, founded in
1908, consisted mostly of incoming immigrants from the East, radically
inclined workers and peddlers. One of its first tasks was assisting these
newcomers in adjusting to life in a then industrially underdeveloped city.
Wages were low and jobs were scarce; in addition, educational facilities
were lacking. An additional problem with which they were faced was the
influx of workers suffering from tuberculosis. Discussions were initiated
in the local WC branch about organizing a drive to aid the incoming
indigent invalids. Its chairman, B. Cohen, became the first president of
the Jewish Consumptive Relief Society.

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixA 149
Under the leadership of the Workmen's Circle sufficient funds were

raised for the purpose of purchasing land upon which would be built a
free sanitarium. In 1914, a group of Jewish carpenters donated time and
effort to build a series of bungalows for tuberculosis patients in a newly
acquired piece of land in Duarte, then a small community east of Los
Angeles. From these beginnings was eventually established the City of
Hope, a major charitable medical group whose headquarters remain in
Duarte.
Mention must be made of the brief attempt of the Workmen's Circle to
fulfill the latter of its three major goals, that of establishing cooperative
enterprises. In 1914, at the outbreak of the First World War, Los Angeles
was a relatively impoverished city with small and weak unions. The only
strongly visible Jewish workers organization was the WC. Among the by-
products of the war was the practice of profiting from the scarcity of
consumer goods. Members of the Jewish community were no less
immune to the effects of price gouging than other residents. Jewish
bakeries in particular had raised the price of baked goods to a level that
made it difficult for lower income consumers to purchase their daily
bread. A group of women protested these price hikes and called upon the
local WC to take some kind of action. They formed the Women's
Consumers League and, together with the WC, attempted to negotiate a
settlement with the bakery owners for a reduction in prices. They were
soundly rejected. The idea was then raised of setting up a cooperative
bakery, such as existed in other cities at the time, notably in the Jewish
neighborhood of Brownsville, in New York City.
The local Workmen's Circle branch assisted in the purchase of an old
bakery on Temple Street in downtown Los Angeles and converted it into a
cooperative venture. It became very popular and continued in operation
for several years. The profits of the cooperative bakery were used to erect
a new building on Brooklyn Avenue in Boyle Heights. It was at this time,
however, that, in the wake of the Bolshevik Revolution, a struggle broke
out within the WC between supporters of the Bolshevik Revolution-
labeled the "linkes" Oiterally the "lefts")- and those who opposed it,
reflecting a growing division within the working class movement between
communists and socialists. The linkes took over the cooperative bakery.
Some time later it succumbed to an economic decline and was forced to
close down.
The Workmen's Circle local branch also set up a cooperative printing
shop that, in addition to providing general services for local activists,
managed to issue a newspaper, The Pacific People's Newspaper. The
paper was published for only twenty-two weeks before being forced to
stop for lack of funds. The press was bought by a Workmen's Circle
member, herself a printer, who continued to provide free services for
cooperative members for a time.

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixA
An important component of the overall objectives of the Workmen's

Circle was the cultural and intellectual enrichment of its members. At the
time of its inception in Los Angeles, it was the only "nonpartisan" radical
fraternal organization, having among its members Bundists, anarchists,
and others, often together in the same local branch (though communists
eventually ceded from the WC}. In any event, in its early days, the
Workmen's Circle was the central bureau and host for a series of traveling
lecturers, making the rounds of various WC branches throughout the
country, as well as for local political luminaries, trade union organirers,
socialists, and others, many of whom were themselves involved in the
Workmen's Circle in Los Angeles. Lectures continue to be sponsored by
the WC to this day. (Paul Buhle, noted scholar of the immigrant Left in
the United States, and whose "Foreword" graces this book, gave a
presentation at the WC Los Angeles Branch in 1998 as part of a
commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the publication of the
Communist Manifesto.)
A cornerstone of Jewish ethnicity for F.ast European Jewish immigrants
was the Yiddish language. The Workmen's Circle viewed Yiddish as the
link connecting Jews throughout the world (notwithstanding the fact that
Yiddish was spoken primarily by F.ast European Jews, not by the Ladino-
speaking Sephardim and most of the other Jewish communities of the
world} and promoted the idea that Jewish education in the United States
should be conducted in the language of the Jewish •masses" (who, in the
United States, were predominantly of F.ast European origin}. In cultural
centers established by the WC, lectures and discussions were conducted
in Yiddish, Yiddish reading circles were formed, and libraries were
established and stocked with Yiddish books and journals.
The centerpiece of the Workmen's Circle's overall program of cultural
activism was the progressive secular children's school movement. Schools
established in Los Angeles and throughout the country by the Workmen's
Circle played a central role, not only as part of the fulfillment of a major
objective set forth by the founders of the WC, but also as a gauge of the
growth and development of local branches. These schools were seen as
crucial to the development of a truly Jewish and progressive organization,
a melding of Yiddishkayt (peoplehood} and mentshlikhkayt (humanism}.
This notion was particularly important in combating assimilationist
tendencies among some of the Jewish "internationalists.•
At a conference in New York a.round 1920, where it was decided that
the Workmen's Circle should establish progressive Yiddish schools, the
seeds of dissension were already being sown. An adamant minority of the
membership present insisted that such a move represented national
chauvinism; that the WC should develop a more cosmopolitan approach,
promoting unity, and downplaying cultural dis~ctiveness, which, to
their way of thinking, signaled a trend toward separatism. The
proponents of Yiddish children's schools won the day and laid the

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixA 151
ideological basis for the development of a class-based Jewish educational

movement. The founders and leaders of these schools argued that in
order to ensure the continuation of Jewish life in the United States,
Jewish youth should be raised as consciously identified Jews, and so link
their fate to that of the Jewish masses as a whole. At the same time, the
schools would forge a political identity in which the Jewish child would
grow up to see her/his future linked with the working class as a whole.
Thus the vision was that while, on the one hand, students were exposed
to a proletarian outlook, the study of Jewish history, language, and
(secular) culture would ensure, on the other hand, that the identity of the
Jewish child would not be effaced within the larger working-class
movement.
Because of the secular nature of their Jewish educational programs the
Workmen's Circle was subject to attack not only by the radical
a,s.qimilationists, who refused to send their children to schools they
considered to be too insular, but also by the religious Jews who fought
against the WC schools because they viewed them as a sign of the
abandonment of traditional Jewish education (whose primary goal would
be to inculcate students in the religious outlook and ritual observance of
Judaism). This latter form of opposition was circumvented to some
degree in later years, with the establishment of the Bureau of Jewish
Education (presently affiliated with the Jewish Federation Council, a
major social service organization in the Los Angeles Jewish community),
which was given the task of overseeing, and giving support to, a range of
educational institutions, including both Talmud Torahs as well as
Workmen's Circle schools.
The first attempt at forming a Jewish secular school in Los Angeles was
that of the labor Zionists-the Poale zion (Hebrew-oriented) in conjunc-
tion with the Farband (Yiddish-oriented)-who founded the Natsionaler
Radikalishe Shul (National Radical School) in 1914. An old family house
was acquired at 420 North Soto Street in the Boyle Heights district. The
front room and living room were converted into a combination
auditorium/classroom and later sufficient funds were garnished for more
extensive renovation, which would come to include the addition of a
moderate-sized dining room as well. In this way, the building, which
came to be known as the Folks Hoyz (People's House, sometimes referred
to in the local press as the "Folks Housen), served not only as a school,
but also as a social and cultural center, around which were organized and
executed all of the local activities not only of the labor Zionists, but also
those of other groups invited to use the fa~ilities. Among the under-
takings of the Folks Hoyz were guest lectures, bazaars, and theater
productions.
Later on, branches of the Poale zion and Farband were established in
City Terrace, West Adams, and even Bay Cities (on the oceanfront
boardwalk in Venice), where new Jewish neighborhoods had sprung up

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
152 Appendix A
over the years. The labor Zionists also purchased a school building in
West Hollywood, near the Fairfax district (the major extant Jewish
neighborhood in central Los Angeles) that still stands (it houses the Los
Angeles headquarters of the Labor Zionist A))ian<'P., the product of a
merger of the Poale zion and Farband in 1942). At some undetermined
point, the labor Zionists either shared or relinquished the use of the
People's House on North Soto to the Workmen's Circle. In any event, the
WC held the first sessions of their local Jewish Folk School there in 1921,
and a monthly paper was issued, devoted to addressing educational
issues.
This modest two-story building continued to develop as an important
center for the political and cultural life of Jewish workers in Boyle
Heights. Local 1976 of the Carpenters' Union, the first and only Yiddish-
speaking carpenters' local in Los Angeles, moved in downstairs and was
joined by the Yiddish-speaking branch of the Painters' Union, Local 1348.
The People's House became a cooperative institution and continued to
hold a variety of events, ranging from Yiddish plays to debates among
leading socialists. The Workmen's Circle later rented space on the second
story of a brick building at the comer of Brooklyn Avenue and Soto Street
(one half block down from the People's House) and continued to operate
their school on weekday afternoons, each Friday being devoted to the
arts, including folk dance and the singing of Yiddish folk songs.
It was around this time that tensions were arising within the
Workmen's Circle, largely over the issue of whether the organirntion
should continue to concentrate primarily on providing mutual aid,
general education, and other practical benefits, or whether it should also
take more militant political stands, and continue to serve as an advocate
of radical social change. This conflict was also part of aforementioned
split, reflecting a growing dissension on the national level. Around the
issue of the schools, a dispute occurred-originating in New York-over
whether their management should be determined by a conference of all
branches, but conducted by the national leadership of the Workmen's
Circle. The linkes within the WC assumed control of the afternoon school
in Boyle Heights, reconvening it under the name: "Non-Partisan
Workmen's Circle School." The remaining WC local leadership relin-
quished their claim, setting up another school in rented quarters at an old
telephone building the labor Zionists had purchased at 126 North St.
Louis Street.
Many of the linkes who left the Workmen's Circle went on to form the
International Workers' Order (lntematsionaler Arbeiter Ordn). Origin-
ally founded by Jews, it became a multiethnic organirntion with sections
based on ethnicity and/or language. Many Jews joined the Yiddish-
speaking section, and it was from their ranks that the Jewish People's
Fraternal Order (JPFO) was established, a group that, among other
things, founded their own schools, often staffed and attended by former

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixA 153
teachers and students of Workmen's Circle schools. The IWO and its
affiliated organizations became a center for the Jewish "Left opposition;
constituting a political and intraethnic rival to the Workmen's Circle.
In the years directly following the Second World War, these rivalries
were, at least temporarily, put aside in some areas. A notable instance of
such tentative reconciliation was the joint establishment of middle
schools for those children who had graduated from the secular Jewish
"elementary" schools. In 1947, the Workmen's Circle and others active
around the Soto Street People's House formed such an institution, and
the Jewish People's Fraternal Order established a middle school of their
own. That same year, a meeting was held, attended by leaders of the three
main tendencies among organirers of secular Jewish schools: the JPFO,
the Workmen's Circle, and the labor Zionists. These organizations set up
a joint middle school under the auspices of the Bureau of Jewish
Education. The Bureau, in fact, continued to represent the interests of all
three tendencies for about three years.
In 1950, however, the Cold War had set in, and the impact of the
anticommunist hysteria being whipped up acroi;s the country with
burgeoning McCarthyism was felt in the Jewish community in Los
Angeles. After lengthy interrogation, the Jewish People's Fraternal Order,
many of whose members were communists, was ousted from the local
Jewish Community Council, in which it had had representation up to that
point. Soon after, all schools connected with the JPFO were ousted from
the Bureau, without investigation, and all educational subsidies were
withdrawn. These schools continued to operate independendy as the
Progressive Children's Kindershules and Mitlshules well into the 1960s.
Among its accomplishments was the founding, in 1950, of the Yiddish
Children's Theatre which, among other things, staged large annual
productions at the Wilshire Ebell Theater near the intersection of
Wilshire and Crenshaw boulevards, in central Los Angeles.
All in all, these groups, divergent as their outlooks may have been,
represent various attempts of Jewish trade union and political activists in
Los Angeles, and throughout the United States, to develop a specific
linguistic and class-based Jewish identity-a folk ideology-through
different forms of cultural and political expression.•
• Historical footnote: Boyle Heights, site of one of LA.'s major Jewish

communities and seedbed of Jewish radicalism in the first half of the twentieth
century, has, in the second half of the century, been transformed into a
predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. When, in the early 1980s, I searched for
the site of the ·old Yiddish-speaking local of the Carpenters' Union, I found the
building, at 420 Soto Street, which still housed the office of the local, now
predominantly Latino. A union official whom I met at that time affirmed the
Jewish origins of the local, and vaguely remembered have seen, some time before,
boxes containing minutes of some of the early business meetings, written in

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
154 AppendixA
Yiddish. That the legacy-and lore-of Jewish labor activism has not been
forgotten was brought home to me again during a visit I made to Los Angeles in
October , 1998. I attended an event held at Self-Help Graphic, a community-based
visual arts center located on Cesar Chavez Avenue (formerly Brooklyn Avenue,
which crosaes Soto Street) in Boyle Heights. It was called "iLatinos and
Landslayt!" and billed in the promotional flyer as "exploring the relationship
between Jewish and Latino labor traditions, with a special focus on L.A.'s
Eastside. • The event was cosponsored by the host site and by Yiddishkayt L.A., an
organization devoted to reviving an interest in Yiddish language and culture, and
led by, among others, my first lcindershule teacher, Sabell Bender, a scholar on
the history of the Yiddish theater and a former actor on the Yiddish stage (her
first husband Harry had been a member of the Arte/, a Yiddish left-wing theater
troupe). One of the featured speakers that evening, she talked about being raised
in Boyle Heights in a family where Yiddishkayt embraced at once a love of one's
own culture and solidarity with all others in the multicultural labor and Left
movement. As an example, she recalled her mother telling her in Yiddish how
important it was for Jews to support their Spanish-speaking compatriots. On the
bill, another speaker, Gilbert Cedillo, California State Assembly member
representing the 46th District, which covers much of East Los Angeles, spoke of
bis personal and political growth as a union organizer under the tutelage of
veteran Jewish labor organizer, Henry Fiering (father of a former lcindershule
classmate of mine). Among those performing that evening were Los Jornaleros
del Norte (Day Laborers of the North) a Mexican-American co71iunto composed
of members of The Day Laborers Union, and the Sholem Chorus, organi:re<I by the
Sholem Community, a progressive Jewish organization that runs a secular Jewish
Sunday school. Among the Yiddish labor songs performed that evening by the
Chorus (whose members included my former lcindershule folk song instructor
Lenny Potash) were "Un du akerst" ("And You Plow"), by Chaim Zhitlowsky, the
"architect of Yiddisbism" (see page 97), and "Mayo rue platz" ("My Resting
Place"), by the sweatshop poet Morris Rosenfeld (see page 99).

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixB
A Bund Haggadah
...................
Russian Social-Democratic Workers' Party

Pesakh Haggadah According to a New Mode
Published by the United Jewish Labor Bund in Russia and Poland
April the year of 1900
KHOMETS
We come home from work at night, we light a small candle, we search the
table, in the oven and under the oven. On the shelves and under the
shelves, and in all the comers. Perhaps somewhere a tiny piece of
khomets turns up ... to forestall hunger. If we don't find it-we press our
fists against the headboards and go to sleep. If by happy chance we do
find it, then we say, •all the leaven in my possession" and we eat it in one
gulp like the ten sons of Haman, so that not one tiny piece is left over,
and then we say •the year to come.• Thus do we eat, and thus do we
suffer in the world. The whole day long we toil, and when we come home
at night, there is nothing to refresh us. Our wives are sleeping, our
children are sleeping. Have they already eaten? Who knows? If we find
something in the oven-the food is cold and left-over, just an indigestll>le
mass, alas, in the coming year-now keep it far away-in the year to
come the devil knows how it will be.
(Here the son asks)
Father, I wish to ask you four questions:

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
156 AppendixB
Ma nishtana, how are we worse off than Shmuel the manufacturer,

from Meir the banker, from Zarah the moneylender, from Reb Turdus the
Rabbi?
They do nothing and have food and drink, both by day and night a
hundred times over, and we toil with all our strength the entire day, and
at night we don't have even a meal, as well?
They have great castles, shown off and drubbed up with all the
trappings, beautiful rooms standing unbelievably empty- and we lie
stuck together in a hole and they even want to throw us out of there?
They do nothing and wear the most expensive clothes- and we toil like
oxen and have not a shirt on our bodies?
They eat a hearty dinner, drink a full-bodied glass of wine and go to
sleep in a spacious warm bed and "Everything goes well among us" and
we lay ourselves down in a tiny comer on a straw mattress so that we can
soon awaken to work?
Father, give me a reason for all four of my questions!
(The father considers a while. He scratches the back of his neck. Then
he answers.)
The reason, my child, is this:
For Pharaoh did we toil in Egypt.
Servitors, slaves were we by Pharoah, and we mashed clay, baked
bricks, built towns, and toiled like oxen. And then we had a God who took
pity on the unfortunate, so that he helped us by freeing us from slavery.
Today, however, today God sides with the rich, as if they alone had a God,
as if in order to have a God, people must pay in coin. And from where can
we, poor workers, take money? Today we can't count on God to free us,
today we have over us thousands of Pharaohs who torment us, who take
our strength and to whom we are sold-our sons and the sons of our
sons. We must now remember with love and longing and speak of it both
day and night to our children and children's children.
And the more a man tells of the coming forth from Egypt, the more is
he to be praised.
Speak aloud of Shmuel the manufacturer, aloud of Meir the banker,
Zarah the moneylender, Turdus the Rabbi, as these very kind dear people
sit together, drink a glass of good wine and also contemplate the exodus
from Egypt, the story which, although it is clear and simple, they don't
like at all. Does it mean, they say, that slaves create a union and free
themselves? What in the world, then, will become of us? No, the clear and
simple meaning is no use to us. We must search for another interpre-
tation. We must never let ourselves understand the clear and simple
meaning. Upon which Reb Shmuel stands up and says "The days of your
life imply but days." Your whole life shall be of the night, by day you shall
be mine, my servitors, my slaves, you shall work for me in the factory
amd besmirch yourselves. Reb Tudrus the Rabbi kneels, turns up his eyes
to Heaven and says "All the. days of thy life include the nights as well.•

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixB 157
Work, little fool, toil. Those who are besmirched; if Messiah comes, you1l
be happy. You11 have a shining Paradise. But, the sages say, the wisest,
smartest people come and say this world-a person lives only once on
earth and he must profit and learn that he is free-that you should carry
all your days the memory ofthe land ofEgypt. You must remember that
you have long been freed from servitude and must lead a decent life.
Blessed is the place. Blessed shall be the place and blessed shall be the
time which bas given us these clever and kind people, who open our eyes.
There are four sons of the Torah. This is the business of four kinds of
people, four classes-one wise, one wicked, one simple, one who does not
know how to ask.
The wise one will say. What says the wise one? The wise one asks:
What mean the testimonies and the statutes and the judgments which
the Lord our God hath commanded you? What are the laws to discuss
that God bas given you? How can a God give such laws, that all of
humankind shall trudge toward toil and barely have enough to keep their
souls, and that a small part of them shall take all of what the rest have
and waste and squander and live in a sea of pleasure?
This is what the villain says. The parasite says: What is your work?-
wbat is your work, why should you not work? A person must work! Work
makes life sweet! Work, work, children!
For you but not for him. But be commands us to work and besmirch
ourselves. Only us. And only be sticks a finger in cold water and lives
from our labor! And when be rises above the community, be is an
"atheist,• he denies the fundamental truths that all people are bom equal,
and doesn't believe in human freedom; hence we have nothing to do with
him. You should make him uncomfortable as well by quoting. You shall
but show your teeth and say, "Remember, once upon a time we freed
ourselves from the slave-houses, from Egypt, and we will surely free
ourselves from our current yoke.•
The simple one says. The simple unassuming person asks what is that:
What comes between you? What are you arguing about? What are you
shouting about? Why can't you talk over the matter amiably? And you
shall say to him. You shall answer him By might of hand, that through
our cry for help were we freed from Egypt and through our cry for help
will we be freed again now.
As for he who knows not how to ask, you should prompt him. When
someone doesn't know what to ask, you should tell him alone the entire
story in brief, the entire story of our past and present servitude, and tell
him thus:
At the beginning our fathers were idol-worshipers. Even in the distant
past, our ancestors worked for foreigners, for lords, rich people, rabbis,
and other clergy.
But that was in the past. Yet even earlier, when there were the savages
in the cave era, the conquerors used to herd captives, weaponless, tied,

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
158 AppendixB
hanging from tree-branches, exactly like animals. They hunted out of

bitter hunger, and these cave-people used to kill each other over a bit of
food. In this way the stronger simply devoured the weaker. Over a period
of time, people found other tools and weapons and they became a bit less
like tree-dwellers because they were able to hoard food, and so every day
didn't have to be a struggle. People hadn't yet conceived of war to
suppress and kill each other, but there was a great difference between
then and now. Initially, captives weren't able to change anything because
each of them was only able to keep himself alive with the hardest of labor.
They yielded themselves up to their conqueror. Except the people whom
he was able to eat. And the conqueror certainly didn't delay, and ate the
captives. Now, however, thanks to the fact that each was able to survive
with the help of tools and wasn't alone in keeping himSA:!lf alive, even
creating reserves, it was much more convenient for the conqueror,
instead of devouring the captives, to make them slaves who had to give up
all of what they toiled for.
Thus slavery began. But the enslavement of captives didn't last. Thanks
to economic evolution, a small fraction of people who were capable of war
seized control, gradually took power into their hands and reined in all the
rest of the people. All the enslavers, all the oppressors who henceforth
[ruled] over all the peoples of the world, stem from this economic
relationship. But thanks to this very economic relationship, from this
point on in time through our entire history, through thousands of years,
an undeclared war commenced between the oppressed and the oppressor,
between slave and ruler. The slaves still might have carried the day, but a
terrible specter loomed: slavery each time continued to take on a
different guise, a little better than before, but it remained the same
animal. Thus did canmbalism-underscored by slavery over the passage
of thousands of years-take on newer and newer disguises until it grew
into its current one, capitalist servitude, in which it demonstrates, or
seems to bespeak, that each person may [apparently] freely [engage] in
business, but is in truth a slave, much as it was once upon a time.
Go and study. Take and consider what the rulers of the past wanted
from their slaves. They wanted them to work and do all that they needed.
But when a person works, he must eat. Well, naturally, he will continue to
eat. But although they continue to manufacture more than is necessary,
the rulers still deprive them and live happily from the slaves' bitter labor.
The rulers do worry [lest] slaves die from hunger or cold; their dominion
[would be] damaged [if] a slave dies. Pharaoh decreed no more than this,
but how is it today? The dance is for all of us, for us workers, who must
sell ourselves, our wives, our children for a starvation-wage to the
masters, and so our state is vague and uncertain as to the state of past
slaves. We can only still our hunger when the rich employ us as their
servants, finishing their work for them, and they don't worry about us
anymore. As far as they're concerned now, we should all expire from

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixB 159
hunger. What they needed, we made for them. We built houses, and we
lie in the street. We've made and prepared food, and we are hungry, we
have sewn clothes and we are in rags and tatters, naked and barefoot.
And the Egyptians dealt ill with us. Our present masters have tied and
sold us under the mask of faith and freedom, for which the "wild beast" of
slavery, for appearance's sake, has adapted itself to custom, and even
more so than all the ancient masters.
And it came to pass, that when any war should chance. Comes a war,
they send us to be killed. You need money to be removed from them-
taskmasters the things which pull us apart- the draft, taxes, guns. Our
masters need fortresses, depots, palaces-we build them.
Cities of treasure. Oh, the hard work, the hard work! We still have
drops of blood which will not be poisoned, also a limb which will not be
weakened and blunted, even from our harder living death- unnatural and
coerced livelihood!
And we cried unto the Lord. Until now we yelled to God, and have
things become better for us? Has our misfortune become lighter? We still
yell, we sigh over our work, but who has heard our voice? Has anyone
seen?
Our affliction and our toil and our oppression. This each of us knows:
they suffer for our bits ofjobs
They are the builders-God of our children, our poor, unfortunate
children. They have in their world not one luckY hour given them, and we
see all of them become slaves, even from their youth!
The worst, most unbearable oppression- and although no one hears us
and no one helps us, we must not forsake anyone. We will not be helped.
God did not see and God did not hear. Our freedom is in ourselves. We
will help ourselves. And God did not succor us. We alone. And not other
than with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm and with great terror
and songs and wonders. With a mighty hand, with arm outstretched.
As was written by our poet:
When your strong arm wills,

all the speakers hush still.
With arm outstretched. As our heroic fighters have exhorted: Hold

high with outstretched hands our red flag of socialism!
And there came a great/ear. A fear will fall on the capitalists, and they
will see how the workers organize themselves to fight for their freedom.
And with songs and rods. Workers, take up the cudgels!
Innocent blood from thoui•ands of workers who will be crushed in

machines, killed at their work, shouts to the workers of vengeance.

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160 AppendixB
And with wonders in blood. Master-God-Devil-Christ-All-Hail-

Thunderer! We will even once again be free!
And when we have accomplished this, we will begin to feel that we are
also people, and we will live and work as free people. Human under-
standing will then ceaselessly overcome the vile one, the beastly passion,
and we will sing a new, a happy song. And we will make a sacrifice of the
capitalist "wild beast."
(To say in addition on the Great Sabbath:)

bitter herbs-Sl4lfering-lciUing
in bitterness-suffering-killing
Murder, that our fathers ate each other. He says that as our fathers'
fathers from early on ate each other, fought bitterly, and tore themselves
apart over their survival, over false gods, over IDeaningless things, and
killed and spilled oceans of blood, we must also do so [and so) the world
will not become any different. In the past, the rulers were over the
masses, the despot held people under his foot, and thus it will remain.
And the people would bow and kowtow.
Blessed is it that man eat beast, and therefore, says he, people must
also suffer now, when we eat each other because it cannot be-thus was it
said-otherwise, because thus is it said, that when we don't tear and when
we don't pull apart, we don't have anything.
And they mcide no provisions for themselves-that ifwe don't act much
like beasts-there will be nothing for them-we won't have anything to
eat.
The bitter herbs that we eat- why do we thus? And the bitter herbs
that we take in before we are devoured, do you know why this is? Because
that which we must carry out is the work of a superman.
All of you worked who worked them by force. All work which people
do is that of a superman, all too often, and this work weakens both body
and spirit together.
To generation unto generation. In each generation there were smart
and honest people who saw and understood all of this and declared that
each one wants to be unto himself that which he is-each person must
consider what "he" is as a "he,• that "he" is a person, a person like every
other, with all the rights to enjoy life of every other [person), and was
born free in nature to live and to enjoy, and freedom must not be
wrenched away from him-the next generation will praise this as holy yet
more strongly and happily, as we hope now that he will lead us-lead us
to the land where our fathers settled-that he will give us the world,
which was foretold to our parents, [that) he will redeem us and usher in
the Age of the Messiah.

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AppendixB 161
(Cover with "bitter herbs" when you think of the future and say):
Therefore are we obliged. Therefore are we pledged to bespeak, to
explain, to remember, to amplify the great human praise of freedom and
faith, from the general right to live and to enjoy, because it is appropriate
for us to move out from toil to liberty-from slavery to freedom; from
sadness to happiness-from sorrow to joy; from mourning to holiday-
from lament to happy days;from darkness to great light-from darkness
to great light; from toil to redemption- from submission to indepen-
dence. And we will sing from now a new song. And we will sing to him a
new song, a song from the heart. Praise him, the Lord.
Praise him, the Lord. Praise him, you honest folk, proclaim his name-
"freedom!" The name will be blessed from now unto eternity! From East
to West the name freedom will become renowned! Over all peoples has
she ascended until heaven has she achieved! She has achieved heaven and
dispersed the gods, has swooped down to earth and broken the chains!
She breathes on those left in the dust, she tears the poor from the dirt and
places them with the genteel, with the first in the nation. The house-
woman, the mother, the slaves she sets equal with sons; she enjoys
human happiness and rejoices- praise him!
The people went out of Egypt. When a people rises from narrowness
and struggles for its freedom, when its right and its belief in its holiness
and its human consciousness governs it-then it sparkles like the sea, like
wild floods it flows out of the mountain, jumping frightfully; clouds drop
away. Where do you froth now, sea? What wild floods flow from you
now? From which mountains do you spring? And why do your threaten-
ing waves sink? For the rulers of the world, for the great strength of the
people, who drive and create and conjure and build edifices from stones,
and from the earth extract bread!
Blessed are you. Praise unto you, holy idea, which has never stopped
awakening people, may it awaken and throw off their chains of shame,
from suffering and humiliation, and which will finally bring us to times of
peace and holidays, others that come unto us in peace to good and happy
times, and we will pra.ise it. And our salvation and the redemption of our
souls. For our bodily and spiritual deliverance. Blessed are you. Praise
unto you, deliverer of humankind!
Pour out Thy wrath upon the nations. Spread warmth to the people
who still cannot, and to the nations who have not called your name. They
devour each other, and each one ravages itself. Spread your light to them,
and they shall ascend to your rays, disperse the darkness and exterminate
servitude from among them!
Not unto us, not unto us. Not for us such praises! So says a certain
kind: we have a God in Heaven and He does as He wishes. He alone
steers the world, and according to his ordering must we live.
Silver and gold idols made by man. Their gods are but gold and silver,
shaped by human hands. These very people have eyes and see not how

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
162 AppendixB
the altar will break under their idols. They have ears and hear not how the
storm blows; have brains and don't contemplate that their gods must fall,
as all fire-conceived gods, and together with them will fall also all those
who mourn them-all those for whom gold is the only aid and protection.
From oppression. From narrowness, from oppression, people begin to
fight and become free. They are united, and then they are not afraid.
What can they do? When they help themselves, then tremble despots! It
is better to depend on yourselves than to depend on demagogues, to
depend on aristocrats. This is what people are learning now, and they
fight for freedom, their protection and their fortress. The power of their
arms has begun to ascend-the arms of people work miracles. We will not
die, we will live and enjoy our work! We will quickly open the doors of
happiness, but let's also sleep a little while longer!
We have been tortured enough, there must finally come rest.

Workers, awaken! Workers, awaken!
Proletariat, onward! Proletariat, onward!
Blessed is the future. Welcome to everyone, in the name of freedom,

whoever gives a hand to this good thing.
Go with Progress. He is good.
His truth shall endure forever

He manifests wonders seldom seen

He brings light in darkness

He breaks through iron bars

He smashes the despots

And frees the nations from them

And gives over the land to the people

to people who have Jong been victims

and gives sustenance to all equally

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AppendixB 163

Praise to the Redeemer Progress
The soul of everything, the spirit of all flesh. You are the soul of all who
live, the breath of all lives! Through you all continues to move forward in
wondrous transformation, forever on the road to completion. You have
no beginning and you have no end. You control nature. The world abides
by your laws, and all creatures proceed as you predict. You are always
present and never cease! You arouse dead atoms from sleep, bond them
together into living machines, you let them grow and thrive, and then
again dissolve them to unseen atoms all over the world. When our mouth
shall have as much speech as the great sea has water, and our tongue,
words as the sea has waves, and when our eyes shall see all as the sun and
moon do, we will still not comprehend a millionth of all the different
forms of changes and evolution which you, all-powerful Progress, bring to
us! Thus say all the limbs of our body, thus says the wisdom of our mind,
and the tongue in our mouth. And you are this, great Progress, which has
led people to justly praise- that humanity need not struggle futilely and
devour [each other], but with united strength shall seek happiness in the
rich character of your nature. He who delivers the poor man from one
that is too strong for him and the poor and needy from one that would
rob him. You save the weak from the claws of the strong and the
proletariat from Capital, which plunders it.
And then it will be in dark of night. The revolutionary truth has not
stopped in darkest night.
The greatest wonders came by night. Many wonders have you shown,
great Progress, through the darkest nights, through the night of chaos
have you carved out a world. Through the night, directing the struggle of
the Ur-humans, you carved out wisdom and light, through the night of
Antiquity you brought civilization and scientific knowledge, through the
nights of slavery you brought salvation, the Revolution. Approached a day
in which there was neither day nor night. There approaches now a day, a
terrible day in which day and night will combat frightfully. And from the
present Capitalist slavery will inevitable Progress create the freedom of
the working masses!
And you would say: Stop the murder.
And thus will they say, that human killing human has ceased.
Your heroic braveness. Your supreme strength will overspread all who
make life worth living.
Neither fine nor fitting.
What comes for him is his due. Powerful is the leadership of united
electorates, elected as is their due, through the united will of the people
will the just representatives of the people regulate all the affairs of th.e

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164 AppendixB
people. His battalions shall say unto him. The great masses will say to
these very leaders: You and you, you and you, the government. The
people deserve this, this comes for the people.
Who knows "one"?
Who knows one? I know one: one humankind is here in the world.
Who knows two? I know two: in two parts is humankind divided: poor and rich.
Who knows three? I know three: the Christian Trinity darkens the world.
Who knows four? I know four: the four basics rule work.
Who knows five? I know five: Capital controls all five continents.
Who knows six? I know six: six days of the week a worlter becomes besmirched.
Who knows seven? I know seven: the rich person counts seven days a week as
Holiday.
Who knows eight? I know eight: from eight days on, a little boy already suffers
because of religion.
Who knows nine? I know nine: Nine months to worlt three months closer to
death.
Who knows ten? I know ten: from ten commandments came the 613 mitsvot.
Who knows eleven? I know eleven: only rabbis and idlers can compare eleven
merchants with eleven stars.
Who knows twelve? I know twelve: twelve boles are in a dozen bagels, and
this is opposed to the twelve tribes.
Who knows thirteen? I know thirteen: to thirteen thousand atheists is the
Capitalist system useless!
Harovdi"
[Translation from the Yiddish by Fem Kant, Workmen's Circle, Philadelphia, with
assistance in Hebrew translation from Esther Lassman, Center for Judaic Studies,
University of Pennsylvania, 1998; words and passages translated from the
Hebrew appear in italics to distinguish them from the original Yiddish.]
• This Bund Haggadab ends with the lyrics to "Chad gadyo" ('"The Little Kid"), a
Hebrew song sung at the conclusion of a traditional seder; it appears in this
baggadab in the original Hebrew, except that the goat becomes the proletariat:
har ovdi-Aramaic for "the worker•-is substituted for chad gadyo in the title
and throughout the text of the song wherever the latter would appear in the
original. (For a Yiddish version of "Chad gadyo" [which is a straight translation
from the Hebrew, except that the goat bought for two zuzim in Hebrew becomes
two gulden in the Yiddish version], see Appendix C.)

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixC
A "Third" Seder: Passover

[Issued by the Workmen's Circle, English-Speaking Division, Los Angeles, 1955.]
HOW TO USE THIS HAGODAH
This suggested "Hagodah• is an attempt to put the traditional Passover

Seder into a modernized form. It utilires the English and Yiddish
languages in order to convey the fullest meaning to Jews in America, and
to the historical and legendary story of Passover it adds moments of
Jewish life which have more recently become part of our experience and
tradition.
The introductory explanation may or may not be read at the Seder
ceremony. All that follows can be used in entirety, can be used in part, or
can be adapted.
Preparation and rehearsal are essential for the most effective evocation
of the holiday spirit. Pesach is a festival. However, the Seder can be
performed with a minimum as well as a maximum of food and drink- in
accordance with arrangements which best suit your branch. Children
should play a dominant role in the ceremony. They can be wonderfully
expressive. Also they can thus be inspired with the meaning a Jewish
holiday has for them.
A Hagodah completely in Yiddish is available in printed form from the
Educational Department of the Workmen's Circle.
Music for the Yiddish songs herein included are to be found in song
books published by the Workmen's Circle and also available from the
Educational Department. Some of the songs can also be recited rather
than sung. Up to six additional copies will be sent free to any branch
which undertakes to perform this Seder and needs the extra copies.

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166 AppendixC
ENJOY YOUR SEDEIU

PASSOVER-1955
Passover (Pe.llach) is probably the oldest Jewish holiday. It commem-

orates an event which took place over 3,300 years ago. It is an ancient
holiday and it seems to have great staying power. It was hl>ertarian in
origin and has remained, throughout the mill~nnia, a holiday of freedom
and of the joy in freedom.
Because of its age, because of its humble and yet magnificent origin,
because of its spiritual significance, and because of its social and ethical
meaning, it has become, in the course of time, a holiday unique in its
beautiful ceremony, in its precise and dramatic ritual. Many legends have
been woven around it. It has always been the beloved holiday of Jewish
children. The Seder ceremony constituted for the Jewish child the finest
esthetic experience of the year.
AS TOLD IN THE BIBLE
According to the biblical tale, the Jewish community in Egypt was

founded by Joseph, who brought his father and his brothers with their
families to the land of Egypt. The Pharaoh of Egypt was gracious and
generous to them, out of his love for Joseph who was his prime minister,
and granted them a special province. However, after some time had
elapsed and several kings had ruled and died, a change took place in the
status and lot of the Jews. The Jewish group lost its autonomy and the
Jew lost his hl>erty. Their plight was especially great during the reign of
the Pharaoh, Rameses, who dealt with them mercilessly.
& the biblical narrative continues, we learn that at the height of their
suffering a leader appeared among the Jews. The leader was Moses.
According to one of the inhuman laws, all Jewish male children were to
be drowned right after birth. Moses was hidden to avoid this fate. At one
point his mother placed him in a basket concealed in the bulrushes of the
Nile. An Egyptian princess noticed the basket and removed the child. She
adopted him as her own and called him Moses because "he was drawn out
of the water.•
Moses was brought up in the royal palace.
One day, however, he saw an Egyptian beating an enslaved Jew,
whereupon Moses set upon the Egyptian and slew him. He then fled to
Midian where he married the daughter of a s hepherd and tended the
sheep.
The thought of his persecuted people kept recurring to him and would
not give him peace. And then one day, he beheld, at the foot of Mount
Sinai, a bush that was ablaze and would not be consumed by its own fire.
& he was gazing at the bush, he heard a voice saying: "Moses, Moses, you

INOIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixC 167
are standing on holy ground: And the voice was not only the voice of
Yawah, as the biblical story informs us; it was the voice of his conscience,
the voice of the conscience of a man who was in love with liberty and who
knew that his loyalty belonged to his brethren. Moses returned to Egypt;
he became the leader of the enslaved Jews.
In retaliation for the spirit of rebellion which Moses and his brother,
Aaron, were arousing among the people, the king made their lot even
harder. The people were dismayed; they were afraid and they hesitated to
join hands and hearts with Moses. But Moses would not desist. The bible
tells us about the plagues that were visited upon the land of Egypt. It was
the tenth plague that caused the death of the first-born sons of all
Egyptian families, including the king's family, although the angel of death
•passed over" the Jewish homes (hence the holiday is called Passover).
And it was then that the Pharaoh aooepted Moses's terms and granted the
Jews unconditional freedom.
The Jews had been in Egypt for over four centuries and now there were
some six hundred thousand of them.
The Jews were so anxious to leave Egypt and to taste the joy of freedom
that they had not time to bake bread. They were compelled to bake the
unfermented dough into unleavened loaves which are called. They left
Egypt presumably on the fifteenth day of the month of Nissan, and so it is
on that day that the Passover holiday begins (with the first seder on the
14th day of Nissan).
UNDZER ERD [Our Earth)

(Solo & Chorus)
Vu a barg, a tol, a plain;

Vu a .zun gait oil, fargait;
Vu a breg, a zamd, a shtain-
Dort is umberfofJcfarr,ait.
Umber lebn-oisgeshmidt
In afeierdilcer kait.
Yl!ldish vort, host oifgehit
Umber tzar un undzerfraid.
Nisht kein land- a velt mit land.

Nisht kein erd-a velt mit erd.
Doires undzere-geshpant
Kegn ongeshafter shverd.
Undzer lebn-oisgeshmidt . . . etc.
Shlogt die show, t:uklingt der glok

S'hot an onwg zich t:ushalt
Shprotzt arois a neier tog-

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168 AppendixC
Undzer Z'll1I hot oifgeshtralt.

Undzer /eben-oisgeshmidt . .. etc.
[Where there's a mountain, a valley, a plain;

Where a sun rises, sets;
Where there's a shore, sand, a stone
There our people are planted.
Our life-forged
In a fiery chain.
Yiddish word, preserve
Our sonow and our joy.
No land-a world of land

No earth-a world of earth.
Generations ours-strode
Against sharpened swords.
Our life-forged ... etc.
The clock strikes the hour

A message did resound
A new day breaks-
Our sun radiated.
Our life-forged ... etc.]
Leader: On this night we have gathered to celebrate the holiday

Pesach, the holiday commemorating the liberation of our
people. We extend heartiest greetings to you all. Gut yom tov
[happy holiday) to all-gut yom tov!
All: Gut yom tov!
SEDER NACHT [Seder Night}

(Chorus)
Diefentzter zai /eichtn mit yomtov un blendn

Die tishn mit gildene koises un kares, mit koises un kares.
Die shtieber mit kinder un vunder legendn
Zai singenfim gor ale vinlclen un shpares,fun vinlclen un shpares.
Die tiernfun shtieber zai shtaien brait ofn

Ver s'dlJrfzol heint lcumen tzu undzun zol esn, au undzunzolesn.
Die lcindershe oign mit yomtov un hofn
Eliyohu vet kumen un kainemfargesn, un kainemfargesn.

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AppendixC 169
[The windows glow with the holiday, and dazzle

The table with goblets and diamonds, with goblets and diamonds.
The cottages with children and wondrous legends

They sing from all comers and crevices, comers and crevices.
The doors of the cottages, they stand wide open.
Whoever is in need today should come to us and eat, to us and eat.
Childish eyes with holiday and hope
Elijah will come, and forget no one, forget no one.]
THE FIRST TOAST
Leader: Let us raise our glasses and drink the first toast.
All: To our people, to its future, to its courage, to its hope, to a

brighter brave tomorrow, Free of chain and free of rope.
THIS IS THE POOR BREAD ...

(Take a piece of matzoh in hand- All together)
This is the poor bread

Which our forefathers ate in the land of Egypt;
Let anyone who is hungry
Come in and eat!
Let anyone who is needy
Come in and celebrate Pesacb with us!
THE FOUR QUFSI10NS

Dear Friends-we shall ask you four questions:
Ma Nishtano-Why is this night of Pesacb different from all other nights of

the year?
The ftnt question la: Every other night we eat both leavened bread and
mat7.ob, but this night of Pesacb we eat only mat7.ob.
The second question la: Every other night we eat all kinda of herbs, but this
night of Pesach we eat only bitter herbs.
The third question la: Every other night we do not dip even once, but this
night of Pesach we dip twice.
The fourth question la: Every other night we eat either sitting or reclining,
but this night of Pesacb we all recline.

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170 AppendixC
We were slaves unto Pharaoh in Egypt, and we were delivered from

slavery. Now if we had not been delivered, then we, and our children, and
our children's children would still have remained enslaved unto Pharaoh
in Egypt.
And therefore, as wise as we may all be, and as learned, we are still
obliged to recount the story of the exodus from Egypt, and the more one
recounts this story, the more praiseworthy is he.
TIIE CHILDREN IN ISRAEL BECOME SLAVES IN EGYPT
And the king of Egypt spoke to the Israelite midwives: "When you are
present at the birth of Israelite children: if it is a son, kill him; if it is a
daughter, let her live.•
But the midwives feared God and they did not fulfill the command of
the king of Egypt, and they let the newborn boys live.
Failing thus, the king commanded his entire country: "Every son bom
to the children of Israel shall be cast into the river, and every daughter
shall be permitted to live.•
PIRAMIDN [Pyramids]
(All Sing)
In elem land.fun piramidn

Geven a kenig baiz un shlecht;
Gevem zeinen ale yidn
Zeine diener, zeine Jcnecht. (Twice)
Kinder hot men danfannoiert

Ven a tzigl hot gefelt;
Ver vais vi lang es volt gedoiert
Ot die viste shklafn-velt. (Twice)
Ven in dem land.fun piramidn

Volt nit zein 1cein groiser held,
Vekher hot gelcemftfar yidn
Mit zein cbochme, mit zein shverd. (Twice)
Folk, ver vet dich heint bafreien?

Vu iz itzt dein shainer held?
Oifdein vainen, oifdein sh.reien
Ver vet tzieyen itzt zein shverd? (Twice)
[In the land of pyramids

There was a king, angry and evil;
All Jews were
His servants, his slaves.
Digitized by Google Original from

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixC 171
They put fear into children

When a little brick was missing;
Who knows bow long it would have continued,
This bleak world of slavery.
When in the land of pyramids

There would not have been a great hero,
Who struggled for Jews
With his wisdom, with his sword.
People, who will free you today?

Where now is your great hero?
To avenge your crying, your shrieking,
Who will now draw bis sword?]
THE BIRTH OF MOSES
And there went a man of the house of Levi, and took to wife a daughter
of Levi. And the woman bore a son, and when she saw him that he was a
goodly child, she hid him for three months. And when she could hide him
no longer, she took for him an ark of bulrushes, and daubed it with slime
and with pitch, and put the child therein; and she laid it in the flags by the
river's edge. And his sister Miriam stood afar off, to know what would be
done to him.
And the daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe in the river; and
when she saw the ark among the flags, she sent her maid to fetch it, and
when she had opened it, she saw the child: and, behold, the babe wept.
And she had compassion on him and said, "This is one of the Israelite's
children."
Then said his sister to Pharaoh's daughter, "Shall I go and call to thee a
nurse of the Israelite women, that she may nurse the child for thee?" And
Pharaoh's daughter said to her, "Go!" And the maid went and called the
child's mother, and Pharaoh's daughter said unto her, "Take this child
away and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages.•
And the woman took the child, and nursed it. And the child grew, and
she brought him unto Pharaoh's daughter, and be became as her son.
And she called his name Moses; and she said, "Because I drew him out of
the water."
OIFN NIL [On the Nile]

(Chorus)
Shvimt dos kestl oifn teicb,

Oifn groisn Nil;
Shvimt dos kestl ruik, g)eich,
Shvimt dos kestl shtil.

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Un die chvalyes gaien sbtil,

Gaien tzart un )ind,
Vi zai voltn bitn zich
Nit shodn ton dos kind. (Sbvimt dos kestl ... )
0, die chvalyes zeinen docb

Nit vie Pareh shlecht-
Nit dertrinken vein zai
Mosbieyecbn fun knecht. (Sbvimt dos kestl ... )
[The basket floats on the river,

On the great Nile;
The basket floats calm, straight,
The basket floats quietly.
And the waves move silently,

Move gently, delicately,
As if they were taking care
Not to harm the child. (The basket floats ... )
Ob, the waves are, after all,

Not bad like the Pharaoh-
They will not drown
The Messiah of the slaves. (The basket floats ... )]
TIIE VOICE UNTO PHARAOH

Pharaoh, Pharaoh, Jet my people go!
My fettered children toil with aching limbs
And wearied fingers, brain and spirit bound
Their puny forms are bent; the shadow dims
Their straining eyes; their ears are choked with sound ,
And thick with reek is every breath they draw.
I gave them light to see and song to hear.
I gave them Truth for guide and Love for Jaw;
And thou hast given darkness, blight and fear.
Pharaoh, Pharaoh, Jet my people go!
In chains, unseen but strong, strong, my children slave,
Too dull for hopes or dreams, too dumb for prayers.
Thou hast robbed them of the youth I gave,
The world I made, the joy that should be theirs.
Their Jives are coined to swell thy shining store;
Then darest thou plead, "Nay, Lerd, I did not know,•
Still heaping up their burdens more and more?
The sand is running; let my children go.
Pharaoh, Pharaoh, let my people go!
Thy heart is hard. Be warned. The Plagues may come.
The wrong thou dost may breed yet foulerwrong.

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Those lips may speak in flame that now are dumb!

Those feeble hands, through wrath and hatred strong;
May rend where they have wrought. Yea, once again
Disease, Revolt and Crime may overthrow
The selfishness that bred them. Sona of men,
For dread of vengeance, let my people go!
THE TEN PLAGUES

.
Leader: The ancient Egyptians were stricken with ten plagues before
they saw the folly of the enslavement of the Israelites whom
they were oppressing. Today mankind generally is oppressed
with modern plagues that threaten to destroy civiliz.ation.
These plagues are: Aggressive war, communism, fascism,
slave labor, genocide, disease, famine, human exploitation,
religious bigotry, and racial discrimination. These are some
of the evils that afflict modern society. None of these evils is
insurmountable. Man, by the right exercise of his intelligence
can overcome all obstacles. To this task we rededicate
ourselves at this Passover season. We shall now empty our
cup of wine of one drop for each of these plagues.
All: (Pouring off drops of wine) Aggressive war, communism,

fascism, slave labor, genocide, disease, famine, human
exploitation, religious bigotry and racial discrimination.
PHARAOH CALLS MOSES AND AARON
And there was a great cry in the land of Egypt for there was no house in
which there was not one dead. And Pharaoh called Moses and Aaron at
night and said: "Rise up, and get you forth from among my people, both
ye and the children of Israel. Also take your flocks, and your herds, as ye
have said, and be gone."
And the children of Israel sent out from Egypt, about six hundred
thousand on foot that were men, beside children. And a mixed multitude
went up also with them; and flocks and herds, and much cattle.
GO DOWN MOSES
(Solo & Chorus)
When Israel was in Egypt land

Let my people go,
Oppressed so hard they could not stand
Let my people go.

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Go down, Moses
Way down in Egypt land
Tell old Pharaoh
Let my people go.
'"Thus spoke the Lord" bold Moses said

Let my people go.
"If not 111 smite your fintborn dead"

Let my people go.
Go down, Moses ...
No more shall they in bondage toil

Let my people go,
They shall go forth from Egypt's soil
Let my people go.
Go down, Moses ...
As Israel stood by the water's side

Let my people go,
By God's command it did divide
Let my people go.
Go down, Moses ...
TIIE SECOND TOAST
Leader: With joy and love unbounded we raise our glasses high,
And lift our voices upward, upward to the sky.
All: The chains of bondage forged in Egypt

Into the sea were cast
And every year we recall with awe
The miracle unsurpassed.
PHARAOH PURSUES 11IE CHILDREN OF ISRAEL
And it was told the king of Egypt that the people fled; and the heart of
Pharaoh and of his servants was turned against the people, and they said,
"Why have we done this, that we have let Israel go from serving us?"
And Pharaoh made ready his chariot, and took his men with him. And
he took six hundred chosen chariots, and all the chariots of Egypt, and
captains over every one of them. And the heart of Pharaoh, king of Egypt,
was hardened, and he pursued after the children of Israel. And the
Egyptians pursued them and overtook them encamping by the sea.

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MOSF.S DMDF.S THE SEA
And Moses stretched out his hand over the sea. And the Lord caused
the sea to go back by a strong east wind all that night, and made the sea
dry land, and the waters were divided. And the children of Israel went
into the midst of the sea upon the dry ground; and the waters were a wall
unto them on their right hand, and on their left. The Egyptians pursued,
and went in after them to the midst of the sea, even all Pharaoh's horses,
his chariots, and his horsemen. And Moses stretched forth his hand over
the sea, and the sea returned to his strength when the morning appeared;
and the Egyptians fled against it; and the Lord overthrew the Egyptians,
in the midst of the sea. And the waters returned, and covered the
chariots, and the horsemen, and all the host of Pharaoh.
Leader: I wish to sing the praises for the miracle which Wllll wrought
When the horse and he who rode him to the depths of the sea
were brought.
All: The enemy said-I shall pursue you, I shall catch you! I shall
then divide the plunder. I shall draw my sword and destroy
them with my hands.
Leader: Then came a sudden breath of air to keep them from their
slaughters. They sank as weighted down by lead beneath the
mighty waters.
THE FOUR SONS
Leader: Here are the four sons of Hagodah, four children of

Jewish ancestry.
Wise Son: lam wise!
Wicked Son: I am wicked!
Simple Son: I am a simpleton!
Leader: And the indifferent son is a fool!

What does the wise son say?
Wise Son: What is this Seder which occurs year after year?
What is the meaning of the· holiday Pesach which
continues generation after generation?

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Leader: What does the wicked son say?
Wicked Son: Why is the holiday Pesach celebrated everywhere?

I am rid of this-I have nothing to do with you all.
Because even in Egypt I was the equal of Egyptians.
Destroy the chains of bondage?
Not for me-that's for you!
Leader: What does the simple son say?
Simple Son: I beg you tell me, what does all this mean?
Matzohs, Morur, Karpas, Haroseth?
You talk of Egypt, of dividing the sea-
What is this all about?
I am only a simpleton!
Leader: As for the indifferent son, who does not even know
enoughto ask, Tell him about the great wonders-bring it
to him Let young and old recount today the episodes of
that glorious time when the Jews liberated themselves
from the oppression of Pharaoh.
All: Know you all, it's Pesach, the day of liberation, the
holiday of joy and gladness. We read the Hagodah and
fervently hope that we may be rid of all present day
enemies.
MATZOH
(Hold piece of Matzoh in hand)
This matzoh which we eat, why do we do so?

This reminds us, that our forefathers left in great haste, and took their
dough before it was leavened. As it is written: And they baked unleavened
cakes of the dough which they brought forth out of Egypt, for it was not
leavened; because they were thrust out of Egypt, and could not tany;
neither had they prepared for themselves any victual.
B11TER. HERBS (Morur)

(Place Bitter Herbs between two pieces ofMatzoh)
These bitter herbs which we eat, why do we do so?

This reminds us how the Egyptians embittered the lives of our
forefathers in the land of Egypt. As it is written, And they embittered
their lives through hard labor in mortar and in bricks, and in all manner
of service in the fields.

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GREENS (Karpas)
(Dip Greens in salt water)
These greens which we clip into salt water, why do we do so?

This reminds us of the tears shed by our forefathers in the land of
EgypL As it is written: And the children of Israel sighed because of the
slavery, and they cried out and their outcry rose up to the heavens.
HAROSETH (horseradish)
(Dip a bit of Bitter Herb in Haroseth)
This Haroseth, what is its purpose?

This reminds us of the clay which our forefathers kneaded, and made
bricks in the land of Egypt. As it is written: And the quota of bricks which
they did make heretofore, ye shall lay upon them, ye shall not diminish
ought thereof.
DAYAINU [It Would Have Been Enough]

(All Sing)
Volin mir nor fun Mitzreiem

Gliclclech oisgelaizt geoorn,
Norder yam zich nit geshpoltn-
Dayainu
Volt der yam zich shoin geshpoltn
Nor im durchgain in der trulcen, Volt undz demolt nit gegolln-
Dayainu
Da, da, yainu, da, da, yainu

Da, da, yainu, dayainu, dayainu.
Volin mir im shoin ariber,

Nisht gekent nor iberkumen
Fertzilc yor in groisn midbor-
Dayainu
Volin mir diefertzilc yor shoin

In dem mid durchgekumen
Unlcein man dort nisht gefunen-
Dayainu
Da, da, yainu etc.

Volin mir dort man gefunen,
Nor dem Shabes nisht balcumen,
Un tzum Sinei nisht gekumen-
Dayainu

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Voltn mir tzum Sinei 1annm

Nor die Toireh nish bakumen
S'follcftm Toireh nishtgeoom-
Dayainu
Da, da, yainu ...
[If we bad only been happily delivered from Egypt

But the aea bad not parted-dayainu.
Had the sea parted, but in going through the dry pusage
We bad not made it-dayainu.
Da, da, yainu ...
Had we already crossed, but not been able to survive

Forty years in the desert-dayainu.
Had we survived the forty years in the desert

And not found anyone there-dayainu.
If we bad found someone there, but bad not been given the Sabbath
And bad not come to the Sinai-dayainu.
Da, da, yainu ...
If we bad found someone there,

But bad not been given the Sabbath
And bad not come to the Sinai-dayainu.

If we bad come to the Sinai
But bad not received the Torah,

Had not become the people of the Torab-dayainu.)
CHAD GADYO [The Llttle Kid]

(All Sing)
/ch hob far eich a meisele

A meisele gor shain,
Der tate hot a tzigele
Gekojftfar tzvai gildain.
A tzigele, a veisinke
A shaininlce vi gold-
Un tzvai gildain mesumene
Hot erfar ir batzolt
Chad, Gadyo, Cluid Gadyo (twice)
lz doch in hoifa katz geven

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A mazik, vi bavust
Hot lcetzlen zichfart:zulcn gor
Dos tzige/efarglust.
Derzen hot es hintele
Fardrist es im gantz shtark
Er varft zich oif der baiz.er katz
Un beist ir ein in kark.
Chad Gadyo, Chad Gadyo (twice)
Kumt shtekele in leas arein

Un tracht gornit kein sach,
Er shpalt dos kepi hintelen
Du hint! S'iz nit dein zach.
Thejlakert hot zichfeierl
Far leas tzunter-roit
Du shtekele, duflekele
/ch mach dir bald a toit.
Chad Gadyo, Chad Gadyo (twice)
[I have for you a little story

A very nice little story,
The father bought a little goat for two guldens.
A little goat, a white one,
As beautiful as gold.
And two guldens in cash
For him did be pay.
Chad Gadyo, Chad Gadyo.
[In the courtyard there was a cat,

A mischievous little one, as is known,
Who desired to devour the goat.
The little dog saw this,
It grieved him strongly;
He throws himself on the angry cat,
And bites her in the neck.
Chad Gadyo, Chad Gadyo.
The stick comes along in anger,

And thinks nothing of
Splitting the bead of the dog;
You dog! It's not yours!
The fire ignites
In red-bot anger;
You stick, you little nothing,
I will soon make you a dead one.
Chad Gadyo, Chad Gadyo.J

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DEil BECHER [The Goblet]

(All Sing)
Teiere malice, gaunt zolstu zein

Gis on dem becher,
Den becher mit vein.
Bim-bam ...
Der dozilcer becher

Vos giant% cuoi shain
Fun im hot getrunken
Der zaide alain.
Bim-bam ...
Geven sh/echte tmtn

Vi es macht zich amol,
Nor dem becher hot er gehaltn
Eizn nshtol.
Bim-bam ...
Teiere malke, gezunt zolstu z,ein

Far vemen zol ich trinken
Dem dozikn vein.
Bim-bam •..
Ch'trinlcjar meine sonim

Nor zog zai nit ois
Ze, trer 11 ..ai shpritznfun becher arois
Bim-bam ...
[Dear Malice, good health to you,

Fill the goblet, the goblet with wine.
BiID-bam ...
This very goblet

Which shines so beautifully,
From it your grandfather himself drank.
Bim-bam ...
There were bad times,

As sometimes happens,
But he held on to the goblet
Like iron and steel.
Bim-bam ...
Dear Malke, good health to you,

For whom shall I drink the wine?
Bim-bam ...

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I drink for my enemies,

Only don't tell them;
See tean fly from the goblet.
Bim-bam .. . )
(MEAL IS 81!.JlVED)
(The ceremony continues)
TIIEMEANINGOFPASSOVERFORUS
It was during the reign of Menephtah that the Jews achieved their
liberation. It was this Pharaoh who inscribed upon a granite slab: "Israel
is no longer; its seed has been destroyed: Thirty-three centuries have
elapsed since then, empires arose and fell; civilizations were born,
flowered, and declined ... and Israel is still here.
Passover is an ancient holiday and it teaches us that our roots are deep,
that we are a contemporary people with an ancient and continuous
heritage. That heritage must have for us a contemporary and a universal
meaning. The essence of our heritage, from the prophets in ancient Judea
to the martyred heroes of the Warsaw Ghetto who so recently wrote such
a glorious chapter in our history, and to those of our people who even
today, in the young State of Israel, are working and building to make of a
barren desert a free and peaceful home for thousands-is the love of
liberty, the moral concept of human freedom and dignity.
Passover, the Jewish festival of freedom, commemorates a great and
dramatic event in the history of the Jewish people-their deliverance
from Egyptian bondage. Yet we must understand that though liberty was
won by Israel from Pharaoh many centuries ago, it has to be rewon by
succeeding generations time and time again. In a broader sense this
means that everyone in his personal life can easily fall into slavery; he can
become enslaved to bad habits of speech, thought and action. This applies
not only to individuals, but to nations as well. Hard won liberty and
independence in national life are often lost through indifference, through
lack of knowledge, through lack of patriotism, or through the rise of
tyrants. For men in all generations, Passover with its great and eternal
theme-Liberty, has been a symbol of their own quest for liberty, and a
promise that the freedom they desire can be won.
This Passover season marks ten years since the heroic Battle of the
Warsaw Ghetto. It is to our brothers and sisters who perished in that fight
for freedom and to the six million of our people who were exterminated
by the ruthless Nazis, that we dedicate this portion of our Seder
ceremony.

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All: In every generation there arise enemies to destroy us-

But our faith in truth and justice
And our courage to defend all which is holy and dear to us-
These have always saved us from the hands of the enemy.
TIIE TIDRD TOAST
Leader: With joy and love unbounded we raise our glasses high
All: The hour ofjoy will soon return

In deepest faith our hearts will blend
For brighter days we need not yearn
All pain and sorrow soon will end.
PESACH-WARSAW1943
It happened on the 19th of April, 1943, just after the First Seder, the
Jews were still seated at the tables and were reading the Hagodah, when
fearful cries were heard coming from the streets. The Nazi murderers had
entered the ghetto with six tanks, surrounded the ghetto streets, and had
started to pull Jews out of the houses.
The Jews, already organized, started to fire on the six tanks from all
sides, and almost immediately shot the drivers of the tanks. A cry was
heard from a window: Jews we shall fight to the last drop of blood. This
was the signal for the revolt, for the holy uprising of the Warsaw Ghetto.
The whole ghetto became a fortress. Many Jews were dressed in
German uniforms in order to confuse the enemy. Early the next morning
the banner of revolt already fluttered over the ghetto walls. The German
horde, police and soldiers, who entered the ghetto in the morning, never
left alive.
At noon of the first day of Pesach, the ghetto was already a real
battlefield. The ghetto was surrounded by tanks and machine-guns. The
battle continued until late in the evening. Shots were fired from every
house, at the German attackers. The Nazis were forced to retreat, leaving
hundreds dead and wounded, and many weapons. The Jews took many of
the enemy prisoner.
The Nazis understood that this was an organized revolt and began
immediately to make more adequate preparations to crush it.
The second night of Pesach the Jews stormed out of the ghetto,
attacked many German warehouses, brought back many weapons, and
armed the entire populace.
On the seventh day of the battle, five hundred of the ghetto fighters,
Jews dressed in German uniforms, attacked the guardhouse, freed the
prisoners, dressed them in German clothes, armed them, and brought

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixC 183
them back within the ghetto walls. The battle became more intense and
many hundreds of the enemy were killed.
A day later hell broke loose . . . the Nazis attacked with canons and
tanks. But the special •suicide Brigade• of the ghetto broke through the
Nazi lines and wrought havoc. With grenades in hand, they destroyed the
Genna,, tanks, they themselves dying in the conflagration.
The next night German airplanes attacked the ghetto, flooded it with
explosive and incendiary bombs, and buried thoUAAnds of men, women,
and children in the burning shattered homes. But the Nazis had to fight
many long hours to capture each house and each ruin.
On the forty-second day there remained but one large central four-
story structure which the Jewish fighters still held stubbornly. Their
banner still flew overhead. The battle for this house raged for eight hours.
When all the defenders were already dead, the one living boy who
guarded the banner, wrapped himsr.lf in the flag and jumped from the
fourth story, and died together with his fellow-fighters.
This revolt will be recorded as one of the most heroic moments in the
life and in the fight of our people for its survival. This event will be
compared to all the heroic moments in our long history of martyrdom.
Hungry, exhausted, degraded, and pillaged, they arose, our brothers
and sisters, young and old, and threw themselves into this unbalanced
fight against a bloody and mighty foe. For forty-two days they fought, for
forty-two days the ghetto burned. But the enemy paid dearly. They
suffered a loss of a thousand dead and thousands wounded. The Nazis got
a taste of Jewish revenge. The echo of this battle resounded throughout
all the other ghettos, and kindled everywhere the flame of revolt. It
strengthened the determination of the Jews to have their revenge for the
spilling of the innocent blood of our people.
We must bless and revere and bold dear for generations and genera-
tions, the memory of these heroes of our people. Holy martyrs, our
heroes, your exemplary deeds will be written with fiery ink upon the
hearts of our children, and children's children, until the end of time. You
showed us the road to our survival at a time when, in the dire and fearful
darkness, we almost lost our way. You showed courage when many of us
nearly lost our courage. From the very depths of pain and sorrow you
raised yourselves to the loftiest heights of heroism for your people.
In the brightness of your memory we shall forever see light. In your
exaltation we shall always feel exalted as Jews and as human beings. In
your courage we shall always find the courage and the strength to
weather adversity and to go forward. We shall remember forever the boy
of the ghetto who remained the last one alive in that holy battle, and who,
wrapped in the flag, jumped from the top story of that building and with
his death and with his blood sanctified the flag of his suffering people.

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111E FOUR111 TOAST
Leader: With joy and love unbounded we raise our glasses high
All: We drink to faith, we drink to hope

No, our heads we do not bow
Free of chain, and free of rope
The future shines before us now.
DOS NEIE LIED [The New Song)

(All Sing)
Un zol vie veil noch zein die tzeit

Fun liebe unfun sholern
Doch lcumen vet, tzifrie tzi shpet
Die tzeit es is lcein cholern.
lch her dos liedfun liebe, fried,

Die mechtike gezangen
Un yeder tonjun lied rogt on
Die .run is oifgegangen.
Es ekt die nacht, die velt dervacht

Ful hojnung, lust un shtrebn,
lch her in luft a shtime ruft
1iu mut, tzu lcrqft, tzu lebn.
[However far the time may be

Of love and peace
It must still come, sooner or later
The time is not a dream.
I bear the song of love and peace,

The mighty singing,
And every note of the song declares
The sun bas risen.
The night ends, the world awakens.

With hope, good cheer, and striving,
I bear in the air a voice calling,
To strength, to vigor, to life.]

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IN VARSHEVER GEI'O 1Z l1Zl' CHOIDFSH NISN

[Pesach Has Come to the Ghetto Again]
In Varshever geto iz itzt choidesh nisn
Oif lwisesftm broit un matzesfun lclaien
Dertzeilt men oifsnai di amolikeh nisim
Vi s'yidishehfolk iz aroisftm mitzrayim.
Vi alt iz di maiseh, vi alt iz der nign,
Nor itzt, baifarhangenehfentzter, der seider
Geit on un tzemisht vert der ames un lign,
As shver iz ui beidnfanandertzusheidn.
Kol dicllfin- baifentzterfarshtelteh un tim;
Kol dicllfin-un s'shraienfun hunger di kinder;
Kol did!/in-bai leidilceh peisech machshirim;
Kol dicllfin-un s'chlipen di uinim di blindeh.
In Varshever geto iz itzt choidesh nisn,

Main mameh tut on oif ir ponim elem shmeichl,
Di lipn, vos zainenfun hunger farbism-
Fun yontev ui vern itzt milder un veicher.
Di oign bai ir heibn vider on shainen,
Azoi vi amol, infargangeneh yom,
Un s'shoimen in m oif di rozhinkeh vainen
Fun yenehfargangeneh vaiteh sedorim.
Nor plutzim vakst on in ui groiliker chidish.
Mit shtoinung tzeshtrelct zi di hent ireh.frumeh-
Anshtot ontzuheibn elem seider mit lcidish-
Di zin heibn on slifoich hamoscho l%U brumen.
In Varshever geto iz itzt choidesh nisn,

Unful shteit der kDs eliyohu hanovis.
Nor ver hot dem seider do ibergerisn?
Gelcumen iz trinken der malach hamoves.
Vi shtendilc-di daitshisheh shprachfun mundim.
Vi shtendik-di shprachfun bafeler geniteh.
Vi shtendilc-ui uinen gekumen do Jim
A teilfun dem yidishnfolk l%U der shchiteh.
Nor-nein-svet di geto nit hem mer s'zidlen
Fun natzis, vosJim op yidn gehetzteh.
Mir blur vet men vider bashmim di shtidlen-
Mit blutfun difraieh-mit blutfun di letzteh.
In Varshever geto iz itzt choidesh nisn.

Fun shochn l%U shochn vert ibergegebn;
Dos daitshishe blut wl not oijhem gsin,
Kol nnan svet a yid in dem geto noch lebn.
Far ui-zol in oign nit zain lcain hachno-eh.
Far ui-zol in oign nit zain mer kain trem.

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186 AppendixC
Nor sineh un shoimfun der vilder hachno-eh

Fun shtein zei anllregn,fun 1cenen zich vem;
Other, vi es hilchn in chatzos op di shosn;
Ot her, vi der toit geit oif blutilceh shpurn;
Other-di geshichteh vert itzter far/oshn
Mit heldishn umkum in leil-hashimurim.
[Pesach has come to the Ghetto again.

And neighbor to neighbor the battle-pledge gives:
The blood of the German will flow in the Ghetto
So long as one Jew in the Ghetto still lives!
In face of the nazi- no fear, no subjection!
In face of the nazi-no weeping, no wincing!
Only the hatred, the wild satisfaction
Of standing against him and madly resisting.
Listen! how Death walks abroad in the fury!
Listen! how bullets lament in their flight!
See bow our History writes End to the story,
With death heroic, this Passover night!
Pesach bas come to the Ghetto again.

The wine has no grape. the matzo no grain,
But the people anew sing the wonders of old,
The flight from the Pharaohs, so often retold.
How ancient the story, bow old the refrain!
The windows are shuttered. The doors are concealed.
The Seder goes on. And fiction and fact
Are confused into one. Which is myth? What is real?
Come all who are hungry! invites the Haggadah.
The helpless, the aged, lie starving in fear.
Come all who are hungry! and children sleep, famished.
Come all who are hungry! and tables are bare.
Pesach has come to the Ghetto again,

And shuffling shadows shift stealthily through,
Lilce convert-Marranos in rack-ridden Spain
Seeking retreat with the God of the Jews.
But these are the shards, the shattered remains
Of the "sixty ten-thousands" whom Moses led out
Of their bondage .... driven to ghettoes again . .. .
Where dying's permitted but protest is not.
From Holland, from Poland, from all Europe's soil,
Becrippled and beaten the remnant has come.
And there they sit weeping, plundered, despoiled,
And each fifty families bas dwindled to one.

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Pesach bas come to the Ghetto again.

The lore-laden words of the Seder are said,
And the cup of the Prophet Elijah awaits,
But the Angel of Death has intruded, instead.
As always-the German snarls his commands.
As always-the words sharpened-up and precise.
As always-the fate of more Jews in his hands:
Who shall live, who shall die, this Passover night.
But no more will the Jews to the slaughter be led.
The truculent jibes of the nazis are past.
And the lintels and door-posts tonight will be red
With the blood of free Jews who will fight to the last.
(poem by Binem Heller, Warsaw, 1943; translation by Max Rosenfeld)]
PARTIZANERUED
[Partisan's Song; a.k.a. "Zog Nit Keynmor ("Never Say")]
Zog nit lcainmol az du gaist dem /etztn veg

Ven himlen bleienefarshteln bloiye teg,
Veil kumen vet noch undzer oisgebenlcte sho
Es vet a poik ton undzer trot, mir zeinen do.
[Last two lines of each verse repeated]
Fun grinem palmen land biz veisn landfun shnai

Mir kumen on mit undzer pein, mit undzer vai
Un vu gefaln iz a shpritzfun uncizer blut,
Sprotzn vet dort undzer gvure undzer mut.
Es vet die morgn-zun bagildn undz dem heint

Der shvartzer nechtn vetfarshvindn mitnfeint
Nor oib farzamen vet die zun in dem cayor
Vie a para/ zol gain dos lied fun dor tzu dor.
Dos lied geshribn iz mit blut un nit mit blei

S'iz nit a lied fun zumer-:foigl oifder frei
Dos hot afo/Jc tzvishnfalndike vent
Dos lied gezungen mit naganes in die bent.
Derfar zog kainmol az du gaist dem letztn veg . ...
[Never say that now the end has come for you,
Though leaden skies may be concealing days of blue.
Because the hour we have hungered for is near,
Beneath our tread the earth shall tremble: We are here!

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188 AppendixC
From land of palm tree to the far-off land of snow,

We shall be coming with our tonneut aud our woe.
And everywhere our blood has sunk into the earth,
Shall our braveey, our vigor blossom forth.
We11 have the morning suu to set our day aglow,

And all our yesterdays shall vanish with the foe.
And if the time is long before the suu appean,
Then let this song go like a signal through the years.
This song was written with our blood and uot with lead,
It's uot a song- that birds sing overhead.
It was a people among toppling barricades,
That sang this song of ours with pistols and grenades.
So never say now that the eud has come for you....)
•••••••••••••
Guide to Pronunciation
[for Wo.rkmen's Circle haggadah only]
a - as in arm
e
. - as in end
I as in ill
0 as 1n up
u - as in foot
ai as in ale
e1 as in ice
1e
.
asmeve

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixD
Hollywood Kindershule
Pesach Hagadah
[issued April, 1961]
All Sing:
Lomira/le in aynem, in aynem

Dem Pesach M'kabel punim zine
Dem Pesach M'kabel punim zine.
Lomir alle in aynem, lomir a/le in aynem

1nnken a glezele vine
Lomir alle in aynem, lomir a/le in aynem
1nnken a glezele vine.
Dee gest M'kabel punim zine (2x)
Dem vine M'kabel punim zine (2x)
[Let us all together, together,

Greet the Passover.
Let us all together, together,

Drink a little glass of wine.
Let us all together, together
Drink a little glass of wine.
Let us greet the guests .. .
Let us greet the wine ... ]

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190 AppendixD
Passover has been celebrated by the Jewish people for 3,000 years. It has
come to be known in Jewish tradition as '"The Season of Our Freedom.•
Long before the Jews left Egypt, the Pesach was celebrated by our early
nomadic forefathers as the "Festival of Spring"; the time when the baby
lambs were born. The early Jews, being an agricultural and shepherd
people, built their celebrations around their everyday experiences.
However, after the Jews released themselves from slavery in Egypt, the
holiday assumed more meaning than the celebration of the changing
seasons. Pesach remained a celebration of the spring, but also became a
time to be happy over the deliverance from the tyranny of Egypt. The
quickly baked matwh became a new symbol of the haste in which the
Jews departed from their oppressors. Thus, the liberation from the
winter, and the liberation from the cruel enslavement of the Jews by
other men, melted together into a single holiday of Passover.
Pesacb has come and all the world awakens.

For upon this night, all the treasures of spring are upon us.
Pesach is the sea.son of spring, the sea.son of creation.

The fields are blossoming, the trees give forth their bloom.
And from the Song of Songs we bear,

"For lo, the winter i.s past, the rains over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come,
And the voice of the turtledove is beard in our land.•
"Lomir trinken dem ershtn kos in ondenkfoon dem ershtn Pesach, oon
in hofenung az mir vein shtendick jiem dem yon-tev in frieden oon in
sholem.•
[Let us drink the first cup in the memory of the first Passover and in the
hope that we will always celebrate the holiday in harmony and peace.]
(All lift first cup of wine and say) "Frieden oon Sholem"
Throughout the history of the Jewish people, the struggle for freedom
and justice is a constantly recurring theme. Their first revolt against
oppression took place in ancient Egypt more than 3,000 years ago. The
record of this struggle is told in the Passover story, the Hagadah. The
whole Hagadah is based upon one single Biblical injunction in connection
with the observance of Passover: "And you shall tell your son in that day .
. . ." "Tell" in Hebrew is•Hagad." "Hagadah" means telling.
The foods on each Seder Plate are the key to the understanding of
Pesach.

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixD 191
Dos is Mattoh (lifts Matzoh)-This is the poor bread which our fore-
fathers ate in the land of Egypt. Let anyone who is hungry come in and
eat Let anyone who is needy come in and celebrate Pesach with us. We
celebrate here in our land. Our brethren celebrate also, throughout the
wide world. This year many people are still in servitude. Next year may all
people be free.
It is in the spirit of Jewish charity that we make provisions for those

who are hungry to be able to celebrate the holidays too. The first
organi7.ed Jewish charity in the United States was the giving of Passover
baskets to the poor.
Dos is a Bayn (lifts bone)-Before the Jews left Egypt, Moses told
them to roast a lamb so as to have food on the long journey ahead.
Dos is Morer (lifts piece of horseradish)-The bitter herbs which we

now eat remind us of the bitterness of slavery which our people endured
long ago in the land of Egypt.
(All eat some Morer on a piece of Matzoh)
Dos is Karpas (lifts parsley)-This parsley, as it comes forth, reminds

us of the green growth of spring. It indeed, brings to mind the undying
desire of all people for freedom.
Dos is an Aye (lifts egg)-The egg reminds us of the new little birds and
animals we see in the spring. Many years ago, in the spring, the Jews
made a new life for themselves after leaving Egypt. The roundness of the
egg shows us that life goes on and on without a beginning or an end.
(All eat some egg)
Dos is Charosis (lifts dish of Charosis)-This is a mixture of nuts,

apples, and wine. It reminds us of the bricks and mortar that our people
were forced to use when they built the palaces and pyramids for the
Pharaohs of Egypt.
(All eat some Charosis on a piece of Matzoh)
Some other symbolic foods found on our Seder table are Salt Water,
which symbolizes the bitter tears shed by the slaves, and the Four Cups of
Wine-Arba Kosot-which we will drink during the Seder. (We already
drank the first) These are a symbol of the joy and sweetness of freedom.

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
192 AppendixD
Here are three Matzohs. The middle one is broken into halves. One half
is called •Afilcomen" which means dessert. It is hidden away until the
Seder is nearly over. The child who finds it may redeem it at the end of
the Seder for a special treat to be shared by all of us. The hidden Matzoh
symboli7.es the people whose lives are saddened by fear and poverty.
Finding the Matzoh means that with our help, they will soon be free and
happy.
It is the duty of the fathers (parents) to tell their children on the night
of the Seder of the pains of slavery and the joys of freedom. Today we, the
Shule family. will keep up this tradition.
Our children will ask questions, and we will tell them and each other
the stories of slavery of many peoples and the fight for freedom of all
people.
Once we were slaves unto Pharaoh in Egypt. If our forefathers had not
gone out of Egypt, behold! we and our children, and our children's
children might ,rtill be enslaved. Therefore, even if we were all wise men,
even if we were all men of long experience and deeply learned, it would
still be our duty to tell and retell the story of the Exodus from Egypt. In
truth, the more we dwell upon the story of the Exodus, the deeper will be
our understanding of what freedom means, and the stronger our deter-
mination to win it for ourselves and for others.
The story of the Exodus has been told and retold from generation to
generation. Thus, fathers would ever tell it to their children, so that they
in turn might tell it to their children.
Manishtana halila hazeh mikol halaylos.

Farvos is die nacht andersht foon alle necht?
Why is this night different from all other nights? On all other nights
we eat bread or matzoh. Why on this night do we eat only matzoh?
AUe necht essen mir sy broit sy matzoh. Farvos die macht nor
matzoh?
All other nights we eat bread or matzoh. Why on this night only
matzoh?
Aile necht essen mir aller lay greentsin. Farvos die nacht essen mir
nor bitere greentsin?
On all other nights we eat all kinds of vegetables. Why on this night
do we only eat bitter vegetables?
Farvos die nacht tinken mir ein tzvay mol? Ein mol in charosis wi
ein mol in zaltz vasser?
On all other nights we do not dip our food even once. Why on this
night do we dip our food twice-once in charosis and once in salt
water?

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixD 193
Aile necht essen mir sy zitzendick sy ongelekt. Farvos die nacht

essen mir ongelekt?
On all other nights we eat either sitting up straight or relaxing. Why
on this night do we relax?
Farvos is die nacht andersht foon alle necht?

This night is different from all other nights of the year because on this
night we celebrate the hberation of the Jews from slavery to freedom.
Farvos essen mir nor matzoh die nacht?

Once when we were slaves in Egypt, we struggled to be free, and we
had no time to make bread in advance. The hot sun beating down upon
the dough, baked flat on the stones of the desert. This dough was made
only of flour and water- no yeast or leaven was in it to make it rise.
That is why it is called mau.oh, or unleavened bread.
Farvos die nacht essen mir nor bitere greentsn?

Because our forefathers were slaves in Egypt and their lives were
made bitter. That is why we eat bitter herbs on Pesach night, to remind
us of their bitterness.
Farvos tinken mir ein die nacht tzvay mol?

We dip the parsley in salt water because it reminds us of the green
that comes to life again in the springtime. We dip the morer or bitter
herbs in the sweet charosis as the sign of hope. Our forefathers were
able to withstand the bitterness of slavery because it was sweetened by
the hope of freedom. Charosis also symbolizes the mortar which the
Israelites used in building the treasure cities for Pharaoh.
Farvos essen mir die nacht ongelekt?

Once when we were slaves in Egypt, we had no time to relax as we
ate. We can relax now at the Seder table with our families and friends
because this is a sign of being free, and our ancestors became free on
this night.
(All sing •Go Down Mosesn)
(Children recite-'"Ibe Night of Freedom")
The story of the Exodus tells us that Joseph was brought to Egypt
where he soon rose to become Prime Minister to the Pharaoh, the King of
Egypt. Joseph then brought his father, Jacob, and the rest of the Israelites
from Canaan to Egypt. This was the beginning of the Jewish settlement in
that land. But in time, a new Pharaoh arose who "knew not Joseph.. ..•
And he began to oppress the Hebrew people and to enslave them. They

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
194 AppendixD
endured this slavery for over 400 years. At long last, a leader was born.
Moishe-Moses-was his name. Born a slave, raised as a prince to come
back to the slaves and lead them to freedom.
(All Sing-"ln Dem Land Fun Piramidn")
Yiddish Poem-"Moyshe" by Avrum Raisen-Recited by Children
The freedom torch lit by Moses and the children of Israel bums brightly
for all to see. If we look at history, we can see how the holiday has kept its
significance.
Our founding fathers inscribed the words of Moses •And thou shalt
proclaim liberty throughout the land and unto all the inhabitants
thereof: on the Liberty Bell, rung on July 4, 1776. Benjamin Franklin and
Thomas Jefferson recommended as a seal for the United States, a design
showing the Israelites escaping from Pharaoh with the caption of the seal,
"Rebellion against tyrants is obedience to God:
The story of the Exodus was an inspiration to another group of slaves,
the American Negro, in their struggle for freedom. Both the content of
their songa and the symbolism disguised to fool the brutal masters were
taken from this period of Jewish history. Avadim Hayinu-We were
slaves-we the people of the earth; our name is Jew and our name is
Negro. Throughout the generations there resounds the outcry: Avadim
Hayinu-We were slaves. On the fields of old Goshen, in Egypt, in old
Greece, in Rome, on the shores of the Yangtze, behind the ploughshares
in the fields, in the cotton fields of the South, in the workshop, at the
machine in the sweatshop.
"In every generation man ought to regard himself as though he
personally had been hberated from slavery.• ... In every generation, the
oppressed look up at the stars, and in every tongue they sing the songs of
their Moses, their Lincolns. Let us drink the second cup to the glorious
Brotherhood of Man, which alone can free him.
(All lift wine cups and say, -ro the Brotherhood of Man.")
In every generation there arose an enemy who wanted to destroy us. In

every generation, man ought to regard himself as though he personally
had been hberated from slavery. In the words that were written, we
celebrate Passover "That you may remember the day of your departure
from Egypt all the days of your life:
I have a new question-a fifth question. How was the night of Pesach,
1943 different from all other nights? Avadim Hayinu-and we were
enslaved- how cruelly enslaved!-under the heel of the Nazi. In every
generation an enemy arises to destroy us, but until the end of time we will
never forget and never forgive the Nazi enemy.

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
AppendixD 195
And the Jewish people of Europe were enslaved under the heels of the
Nazi, and they were starved and beaten and burned until there was only a
handful left. And on the night of Passover 1943, the remnant in Warsaw
met the enemy with guns, with bare hands, with angry scorn and fierce
hatred, and fought heroically for the honor and good name of our people.
And this story, too, shall be told to our children, and children's children
to the end of time.
For 42 days and nights the Jews fought against the Nazis. They fought
until there were no Jews left.
Here, people labored and lived, wept and sang

Here, people shouted and danced
Here, infants were rocked in their cradles.
Thus begins the new Haggadah:

Here a living city stood, and Pesach had again arrived. Like assassins the nazis
they came to our Passover Seder to taunt us-Avadim Hayinu
But this night we met them with thunder and lightning

The rain was of bullets in Warsaw's old ghetto
With empty hands and iron wrath
We hurled ourselves at giant tanks .. •
In Warsaw's ghetto the month is now Nissen

The word is passed from neighbor to neighbor:
As Jong as there breathes a Jew in the Ghetto.
Before them-let no head bow in submission,
Before them-Jet no eye shed a tear,
Only men's great pride of defiance,
Of resistance to the foe.
Oh, hark: History is being made tonight

1n heroic battle, for eternal memory.
[Excerpts from poems by Binen Heller and ltzik Feffer]
Let us drink the 3rd cup of wine to the eternal honor of the heroes of
the Warsaw Ghetto.
(All stand and lift 3rd cup of wine and say, "To the Heroes of the
Warsaw Ghetto.")
(All remain standing and sing •z.og Nisht Keynmol.")
What is this special cup for? We will fill this special cup for Elijah-
Elyohu Hanovi. He was a great prophet in Israel. Legend tells us that he

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
196 AppendixD
returns to earth on Pesach and that he visits every Jewish home where a
Seder is held, drinks of bis cup and leaves. Elijah the Prophet is the
ancient prophet of the people's fantasy, the friend of the poor and the
oppressed, who will herald the new day of peace and brotherhood for all
mankind.
(All sing-"Elyohu Hanovi.")
We drink our fourth cup of wine in honor of people all over the world
still struggling for freedom. To our people in Israel. To the American
Negro in the south fighting for human dignity, and to all peoples of all
lands striving to be free nations. As Jews on this Pesach, we pledge to
work for human rights, dignity, and freedom for all people.
World Peace is being threatened today. Again the swords are being
sharpened. And freedom without peace cannot live, and freedom cannot
come of itself. Peace must be draped around the shoulders of the world
like a holiday garment.
Let us drink the 4th cup to our youth and to everlasting peace which
will make all of life a holiday.
(All lift glasses and say, "Tzoo nzer yoognt oon a veltfun Sholem!")
(All Sing "Had Gad Yo" and "Dayenu.")
This Haggadah was compiled by Sabell Bender, assisted by Rose Cohen and Matt
Appelman.

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes
INTRODUCl'ION
1. A recent collection offering a good introductory survey of perspectives on the

relationship of Jews to Left movements in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries
is Essential Papers on Jews and the uft, edited by Ezra Mendelsohn (New York:
New York University Press, 1997).
2. The term Jewish Labor Movement will be used (as it is by most commen-
tators on the subject) to refer not only to the labor movement per se, but to the
entire trade union and socialist movements in their various organizational
manifestations. Because of the disproportionate historical presence of socialists
(and later communists) in the JLM, for that matter Jews in the Left as a whole, its
socialist component has been generally recognized as an essential feature. It
would not be an exaggeration to assert that most of its participants were either
proponents of socialism in one form or another, or, at the least, had vaguely
socialist leanings or sympathies at some point in their working lives.
3. Richard M. Dorson, "The Ethnic Research Survey of Northwest Indiana," in
Kontakte und Grenzen (Gottingen: Schwartz, 1969), p. 68.
4. For a survey of such references, see Chapter 2.
S. Abner Cohen, 7wo Dimensional Man: An Essay on the Anthropology of
Power and Symbolism in Complex Society (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University
of California Press, 1974), p. 82.
6. Ibid.
7. Ibid., p. 81.
8. Robin D. G. Kelley, Race Rebels: Culture, Politics and the Black Working
Class (New York: The Free Press, 1994), p. 115; see also his Hammer and Hoe:
Alabama Communists during the Great Depression (Chapel Hill: University of
North Carolina Press, 1990); Kelley notes studies of other ethnic radical
movements in the United States, including Peter Kivisto, Immigrant Socialists in
the United States: The Case of Finns and the uft (London: Associated University
Presses, 1984); Peter Kwong, Chinatown, New York: Labor and Politics, 1930-

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
198 Notes
1950 (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1979); Karl Yoneda, Ganbette: Sixty-
Year Struggle of a Kibei Worker, ed. Yuji Ichioka (Los Angeles: UCLA Asian
Studies Center, 1983); and Doug)R$$ Monroy, "Anarchismo y Comunismo:
Mexican Radicalism and the Communist Party in Los Angeles during the 19308,•
Labor History 24 (1983), pp. 34·59 [see Kelley, Race Rebels, p. 264, fn. 31); see
also Edwin Fenton, Immigrants and Unions, A Case-Study: Italians and
American Labor, 1870-1920 (New York: Arno Press, 1975), Dick Hoerder, ed.
"Struggle a Hard Battle": Essays on Working-Class Immigrants (DeKalb:
Northern IDinois University Press, 1986); Paul Buhle, Marxism in the United
States: Remapping the History of the American Left (London, Verso, 1987),
passim, as well as the more recent The Immigrant Left in the United States,
edited by Paul Buhle and Dan Georgalw (Albany: State University of New York
Press, 1996).
9. I use the term socialist in the generic (and not necessarily organizational)
sense, thereby including in this category those who were communists (i.e.,
members of the Communist Party, USA) at some point in their lives, but may or
may not have chosen to so identify themselves to me as such, at least for the
public record.
10. See Appendix A for a brief history of Jewish trade union and political
activity in Los Angeles.
11. See Max Vorspan and Lloyd P. Gartner, History of the Jews of Los Angeles
(San Marino, CA: The Huntington Llbnuy, 1970), p. 126; also Grace Heilman
Stimson, Rise of the Labor Movement in Los Angeles (Berkeley and Los Angeles:
University of California Press, 1955); John H. M. Laslett, The ILGWU in Los
Angeles (Inglewood, CA: Ten Star Press, 1989); and Louis B. Perry and Richard S.
Perry, A History of the Los Angeles Labor Movement (Berkeley and Los Angeles:
University of California Press, 1963).
12. The comparison drawn by William J. Fishman between the history of
Jewish radicalism in London and that of New York could just as well include Los
Angeles: "The immigrant story here has inbuilt elements of duplication, of
universality. It cannot stand on its own.... The parallels are consistent. Arnold
Toynbee HaJI on East Broadway performed a similar educative role to its
counterpart in London. Through the advocacy of the mamaloshen [mother
tongue], Yiddish political sheets were sponsored by a common readership on both
sides of the Atlantic. ... The names may differ but the liturgy remains the same•
(William J . Fishman, Jewish Radicals: From Czarist Shtetl to London Ghetto
[New York: Pantheon Books, 1974), pp. xi-xii). See also Henry Felix Srebmik,
London Jews and British Communism, 1935-1945 (Essex, England: Vallentine
Mitchell & Co., Ltd., 1995).
13. For a discussion of the presentation of "public" versus "private" self in
interviews, see David Shuldiner, Aging Political Activists: Personal Narratives
from the Old Left (Wesport, CT: Praeger, 1995), pp. 19-20; see also Kenneth J.
Gergen and Mary M. Gergen, "The Social Construction of Narrative Accounts," in
their book Historical Social Psychology (Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum,
1984).
14. Known as the Yablon Center (named after the donor of the building), it
finaJly shut its doors in the early 1990s; proceeds from the sale of the building

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes 199
have gone into a fund to preserve the memory (especially through oral history
interviews) of the activiata of the old Jewish Left.
15. For consistency, and in deference to any of my interview subjects who may
have had a change of heart in the intervening years since I first gave them an
audience, all of the indiwduals whose words I tape-recorded have been arbi-
trarily usigned a first name and last initial only.
CHAPrER 1. WHEN MOSES MET MARX
1. Clifford Geertt, •ideology As a Cultural System," in Clifford Geertz, The

Interpretation ofCultures (New York: Basic Books, 1973), p. 220.
2. Ibid., p. 221.
3. See, e.g., Jean Comaroff, Body of Pc,wer, Spirit of Resistance: The Culture
and History of a South Nncan People (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1985); Helen Q. Kivnick, Where Is the Way: &mg and Struggle in South NHca
(New York: Penguin, 1990); Harold Scbeub, The TongtJA! Is Fire: South African
Storytellers and Apartheid (Madison: University of W11COnsin Press, 1996);
James C. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts
(New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1990).
4. For an anthropological case study see, e.g., Clifford Geertt, •Ritual and Social
Change: A Javanese Example," American Anthropologist 61 (1959), 991-1012.
Geertz describes the attempt of the leader of a political/religious cult in a
Javanese village to construct a justification for the political regime of Indonesian
President Sukarno, by means of a mystical interpretation of the president's
official ideological platform. A useful comparative survey covering a wide range of
materials from the developing nations is Donald Eugene Smith, ed., Religion,
Politics and Social Change in the Third World (New York: The Free Press, 1971);
see, esp., Part 3, sections 8 ("The Religious Legitimation of Change"), 9 ("Religion
and Marxism: Ideological Interaction"), and 10 (•Religion and Revolutionary
Change"); see, also, the diso.assion of messianic movements below (further
references may be found in endnote 5).
5. Ralph Linton, "Nativistic Movements," American Anthropologist 45 (1943),
230-240; Anthony F. C. Wallace, "Revitalization Movements," American Anthro-
pologist 58 (1956), 264-281. See also Peter Worsley, The 7rumpet Shall Sound
(London: MacGibbon & Kee, 1957); Vittorio Lanternari, Religions of the
Oppressed (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1963); Kenelm Burridge, New Heaven,
New Earth (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1969); Sylvia L Thrupp, ed., Millennial
Dreams in Action: Studies in Revolutionary Religious Movements (New York:
Scbocken Boob, 1970); and Michael Adas, Prophets of Rebellion: Millenarian
Protest Movements Against the European Colonial Order (Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, 1979).
6. Donald L Horowitz, "Cultural Movements and Ethnic Change," The Annals
of the American Academy ofPolitical and Social Science 433 (1977), 7-8.
7. Eric J. Hobsbawm, Primitive Rebels (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1959),
pp. 58-59.
8. A good historical overview of Christian socialism in Europe and the United
States is John Cort, Christian Socialism: An Informal History (Maryknoll, New
York: Orbis Books, 1988); for a history of the Social Gospel movement in the

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
200 Notes
United States, see Paul T. Phillips, A Kingdom on Earth: Anglo-American Social

Christianity, 1880-1940 (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press,
1996).
9. A good overview of the Catholic Worker Movement is Mel Piehl, Breaking
Bread: The Catholic Worker Movement and the Origin of C-atholic Radicalism in
America (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1982); A Revolution of the
Heart, edited by Patrick G. Coy (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1988),
offers several essays on the Catholic Worker movement; Voices from the Catholic
Worker, compiled by Rosalie Riegle Troester (Philadelphia: Temple University
Press, 1993), is a collection of oral history interviews with participants in the
Catholic Worker movement; among several works chronicling the life of Dorothy
Day (1897-1980), the charismatic co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement, a
good, if impressionistic, account is is Dorothy Day: A Biography, by William D.
Miller (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1982).
10. Among the biblical passages cited by Christian radicals that could have
come right out of the pages of the Communist Manifesto is that describing the
egalitarian creed of Jesus's followers in Acts 2:44: "And all who believed were
together and had aJ1 things in common; and they sold their possessions and goods
and distributed them to aJI, as they had need.• For a good overview of liberation
theology see J . Andrew Kirk, Liberation Theology: An Evangelical View from the
Third World (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1979). The definitive treatment by a
Latin American theologian is Gustavo Gutierrez, A Theology of Liberation (New
York: Orbis Books, 1973) (originally published as Teologia de la Liberacion,
Perspectivas [Lima: CED, 1971)).
11. Ironically, the only book-length work to offer a Jewish perspective on
religious faith and radicalism bas been the relatively recent work, Toward a
Jewish Theology of Liberation, by Marc H. Ellis (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis
Books, 1987). Written in the wake of sporadic Jewish radical activism during the
contemporary period of the civil rights, women's, peace, and gay and lesbian
movements from the late 1960s through the 1980s, it was issued by the same
Jesuit press that published Gutierrez's Theology of Liberation (see endnote 4) as
well as other books by and about,the Catholic Left.
12. See, e.g., Simon Dubnow, Geschichte des Chassidismus (A. Steinberg,
trans.), 2 vols. (Berlin: Judischer Verlag, 1931). Robert Wolfe makes the case for
one Jacob Frank-a charismatic Jewish mystic born in the Eastern European
region then known as Podolia, who had a moderate group of followers in the late
17008-as an exception to the model of the Hasid as conservative, claiming that
Frank was "responsible for the conception of Jewish Messianism which formed
the real starting point of the modem Jewish radical movement.• Frank's ideas,
according to Wolfe, inspired subsequent generations of revolutionaries, either
directly or indirectly; however, like bis better-known predecessor, the
seventeenth-century Kabbalist Sabbati Tsvi, he converted to Christianity,
muddying the waters a bit. This author reserves judgment for the time being;
Wolfe's book, Remember to Dream: A History ofJewish Radicalism (New York:
Jewish Radical Education Project, 1994), is a fascinating read nevertheless.
13. The professed secularism of Yiddish radicals is, in fact, what distinguishes
the JLM from messianic movements. Wallace tends to see secular movements
(e.g., socialist revolutions) as following his millenial/revitalization model, but the

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Notes 201
important dimnction raised by Hobsbawm (above) tends thusly to be bluned

(see Wallace, "Revitalization Movements," p. 277). For a survey presenting the
case of secularism as a fourth "current" of Judaism alongside the recogniuid
denominations of Orthodox, Conservative and Reform, see The Faith of Secular
Jews, edited by Saul L Goodman (New York: JCI'AV Publishing House, 1976); see
also Max Rosenfeld, Festivals, Fol1clore and Philosophy: A Secularist Revisits
Jewish Traditions (Philadelphia: Sholem Aleichem Club of Philadelphia, 1997).
14. See, e.g., Abraham Menes, "Ibe Am Oylom Movement," in Joshua A.
Fishman, ed., Studies in Modern Jewish History (New York: JCI'AV, 1972), pp.
155-179; and Uri D. Herscher, Jewish Agricultural Utopias in America 1880-
1910 (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1981).
15. A typical passage from the Sabbath grace after meals reads: "Let us, Lord
our God, live to see Zion thy city comforted, Jerusalem thy holy city rebuilt, for
thou art. Lord of all salvation and consolation" (Ha-siddur Ha-5halem, Daily
Prayer Book, Philip Birnbaum, translation and commentary [New York: Hebrew
Publishing Co., 1977], p. 764).
16. See Moses Hess, Rome and Jerusalem (Meyer Waxman, translator), New
Yorlc: Block Publishing Co., 1918) (originally published as Rom und Jerusalem,
1862); see also John Weiss, Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist (Detroit: Wayne State
University Press, 1960); and Shlomo Avineri, Moses Hess: Prophet of
Communism and Zionism (New Yorlc: New York University Press, 1985).
17. Many religious Jews were vehemently opposed to political Zionism, as they
felt that only with the arrival of the Messiah, as God's earthly political
representative, could the ancient Jewish nation be rightfully restored. A small
number of ultra-orthodox sects remain anti-Zionist to this day.
18. Among the most militant socialist-Zionists, Hashomer Hatzair (The Young
Guards), while promoting Palestine as the site of a Jewish socialist state, were
willing, ostensibly in the spirit of internationalism, to abandon claims to ethnic
exclusivity and cooperate with Palestinian Arabs in the formation of a binational
state (see Hashomer Hatzair, The Case for a Bi-National Palestine (Tel Aviv:
Executive Committee of the Hashomer Hatzair Worker's Party, 1946).
19. See, e.g., Pierre van den Berghe, Inequality in the Peruvian Andes: Class
and Ethnicity in Cuzco (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1977); Waldemar
R. Smith, "Class and Ethnicity in the Fields of the Tzotzil," Peasant Studies 6
(1977), 51-56; Octavio Ianni, "Race and Class in Latin America," in Anthony H.
Richmond, ed., Readings in Race and Ethnic Relations (Oxford: Pergamon Press,
1972), pp. 237-256; and Bernardo Berdichewsky, "Class and Ethnic Conscious-
ness: The Case of the Mapuche Indians of Chile," in Regina E. Holloman and
Serghei A. Arutiunov, eds., Perspectives on Ethnicity (The Hague: Mouton, 1977),
pp. 375-388.
20. See, e.g., John Dollard, Caste and Class in a Southern Town. 3rd ed. (New
York: Doubleday Be Co., 1957); Abner Cohen, ed., Urban Ethnicity (London:
Tavistock, 1974); Colin Greer, ed., Divided Society: The Ethnic Experienre in
America (New York: Basic Books, 1974), esp. Greer's introductory chapter,
"Remembering Class: An Interpretation"; and Stephen Steinberg, The Ethnic
Myth: Race, Ethnicity and Class in America (New York: Atheneum, 1981).
21. John C. Leggett, Class, Race and Labor (London: Oxford University Press,
(1968), p. 13.

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202 Notes
22. See, e.g., Milton M. Gordon, Human Nature, Class and Ethnicity {New
York: Oxford University Press, 1978), pp. 110-111; Tamotsu Sbibutani and Kian
Kwan, Ethnic Stratification {New York: Macmillan Co., 1965), p. 47; Anya
Peterson Royce, Ethnic Identity (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982),
p. 18; Raoul Nuroll, "Ethnic Unit Classification,• CUmmt Anthropology 5 (1964),
283-291; and Wsevolod W. lsajiw, "Definition of Ethnicity," Ethnicity 1 (1974),
11-24.
23. Fredrik Barth, ed., Ethnic Groups and Boundaries (Boston: Little, Brown
and Co., 1969), pp. 10-16.
24. Stephen Stem, "Ethnic Folklore and the Folklore of Ethnicity," in Larry
Danielson, ed., Studies in Follclore and Ethnicity (Los Angeles: California
Folklore Society, 1977), p. 9.
25. Notable exceptions are autobiographies and oral histories of trade union
and political activists; see, e.g., Kenneth Kann, Joe Rapoport: The Life of a
Jewish Radical (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1981); Vera Buch
Weisbord, A Radical Life (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1977); Nell
Irvin Painter, The Narrative of Hosea Hudson: Hi.s Life as a Negro Communist
in the South (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979); and Julia S. Ardrey,
ed., Welcome the Traveler Home: Jim Garland's Story of the Kentucky
Mountains (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 1983).
26. Pierre van den Bergbe, ed., Class and Ethnicity in Pe11l (Leiden: E. J. Bnll,
1974), p. s.
27. Daniel Bell, "Ethnicity and Social Change," in Nathan Glazer and Daniel P.
Moynihan, eds., Ethnicity: Theory and Experience (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1975), p. 157.
28. Milton M. Gordon, Assimilation in American Life {New York: Oxford
University Press, 1964), p. 52.
29. The decisiveness of the subjective factor in Jewish class/ethnic identi-
fication is strikingly illustrated by the example of Rudopb Rocker, a non.Jew who
chose to cast bis lot among the Jewish workers of London's East End, and became
one of the most prominent leaders of the Jewish Labor Movement in England
(see, e.g., Rudolph Rocker, The London Years [London: Robert Anscombe & Co.
Ltd., 1956)).
30. Arthur Uebman, Jews and the Left (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1979),
pp. 25-31 (cf. Leggett above).
31. An additional category of identification and association that has not been
taken into consideration here is that of gender. For studies of gender and identity
in the Jewish Labor Movement see, e.g., Ruth A. Frager, Sweatshop Strife: Class,
Ethnicity and Gender in the Jewish Labor Movement of Toronto, 1900-1939
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992) and her "Politicized Housewives in
the Jewish Communist Movement of Toronto, 1923-1933," in Linda Kealey and
Joan Sangster, eds., Beyond the Vote: Canadian Women and Politics (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1989); Alice Kessler-Harris, "Organizing the
Unorganizable: Three Jewish Women and Their Union," Labor History 17:1
(1976), 5-23; Joan M. Jensen and Sue Davidson, eds., A Needle, a Bobbin, a
Strike: Women Needleworkers in America (Philadelphia: Temple University
Press, 1984); Susan A. Glenn, Daughters of the Shtetl: Life and Labor in the
Immigrant Generation (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990). A work that

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes 203
references gender identity in the course of a survey of the role of Jewish radical
women in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century social movements is
Naomi Shepherd, A Price Below Rubies: Jewish Women as Rebels and Radicals
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993). ·
32. This observation about the subjective factor in, and variable nature of,
Jewish radical identity is paralleled in the comments of Stephen Stem about the
•ethnic complex," which he characterized as "one based on features derived from
ancestiy, religion, nationality, race and/or culture [he might well have added
class] from which individuals select criteria for inclusion or exclusion• Oecture
given at UCLA, 1982; emphasis mine).
33. The notion of a "folk community" or "folk ideology" need not be tied to
models of traditional communities such as that of the "folk society" popularized
by Robert Redfield, justly criticized for their oversimplification of idealized types,
their tendency to make arbitrary distinctions between urban and nonurban social
groups, and the implication that "traditional" ethnic boundaries invariably
dissolve in urban contexts (see Robert Redfield, "The Folk Society," American
Journal of Sociology 52 (1947], 293-308; Horace Miner, "The Folk-Urban
Continuum," American Sociological Review 17 [1952], 529-537). Contemporary
discussions of ethnicity point to the continued viability of models of traditional
community in which shared social and historical experience nurture shared forms
of expression in a variety of settings.
34. Sarah Bershtel and Allen Graubard, "The Mystique of the Progressive Jew,"
Working Papers 10 (1983), 22.
35. Ibid., p. 23
36. Robert E. Park, Race and Culture (Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1950).
37. See, e.g., Horace Kallen, Culture and Democracy in the United States (New
York: Boni Be Liveright, 1924). For reviews of theories on assimilation and
pluralism, see, e.g., Werner Sollers, "Theory of American Ethnicity," American
Quarterly 33 (1981), 257-283; Harold J. Abramson, •Assimilation and Plural-
ism," in Harvard En.cyclopedia of American Ethnic Groups (Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1980), pp. 150-160; R. A Schermerhorn, "Ethnicity in
the Perspective of the Sociology of Knowledge," Ethnicity 1 (1974), 1-14; Greer,
Divided Society; and Steinberg, Ethnic Myth.
38. For example, immigrants from all regions of what is now the political state
of Italy have been popularly viewed as uniformly united by Old World ties. In
reality back in the "Old Country,• they were far more attached to their regional
identities as Romans, Reggians, Calabrians, Sicilians, Cretans, et. al. While,
drawn together by ascription and adversity into a singularly identified ethnic
group, Italian Americans, like the members of most other hyphenated-Americans,
continued to be divided by regional and cultural distinctions, often accompanied
by social segregation and rivalry. (Cf. the social distinction-and occasional
antagonism-historically among German Jews and East European Jews, and to
this day among Ashkenazi [East European] and Sephardic [Spanish] Jews.) See,
e.g., Linda Degh, •Approaches to Folklore Research Among Immigrant Groups,"
Journal ofAmerican Folklore 79 (1966), 551-556; and Jonathan D. Sarna, "From
Immigrants to Ethnics: Toward a New Theory of 'Ethnicization'," Ethnicity 5
(1978), 370-378.

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204 Notes
39. Linda Degh, "Survival and Revival of European Folk Cultures in America,"
Ethnologia Europae.a 2·3 (1968-1969), 97·107.
40. See Robert Klymasz, "From Immigrant to Ethnic Folklore: A Canadlan
View of Process and Tradition," Journal of the Folklore Institute 10 (1973), 131·
139; and his Ukranian Folklore in Canada (New York: Arno Press, 1980),
especially chapters 7 ("Sounds You Never Heard Before") and 8 ("Festivals and
Folklore: Traditions for the Showcase"); see also Larry W. Danielson, "'Ibe Ethnic
Festival and Cultural Revivalism in a Small Midwestern Town" (Ph.D.
dissertation, Indiana University, 1972).
41. Herbert J. Gans, "American Jewry: Present and Future," Commentary 21
(1956), 427, 429-430; see also Deborah Duh Moore, At Home in America:
Second Generation New York Jews (New York: Columbia University Press, 1981);
Moore argues that Jewishness among second-generation immigrants bu been
largely abbreviated to common membership in middle-class professions and
organizations, as well as residence in the same group of suburban neighborhoods,
but few other overt expressions of traditional Jewish identity.
42. Stephen Steinberg, "Ethnicity in the United States: A Sociological
Perspective,• International Journal of Group Tensions 7 (1977), 137.
43. Lucy Dawidowia, "Yiddish: Past, Present, and Perfected," in The Jewish
Presence (New York: Hoh, Rinehart and Winston, 1977), p. 139. With the passing
of most veterans of the JLM, Yiddish as a vernacular language is being
perpetuated largely by the ultra-Orthodox.
44. Abraham Cahan, The Rise of David Levinsky (New York: Harper &:
Brothers, 1917). A charming "counter-success• story is contained in the oral
histories of a group of Jewish radical immigrants, most of them communists,
who, in 1929, founded "Followers of the Trail,• a summer retreat near Peekskill,
New York, where they succeeded in perpetuating a microcosm of Jewish culture
and progressive politics for several decades; their stories were recorded by David
Leviatin, grandson of four "Followers," who interviewed and photographed
several of the camp's remaining members during a stay at the retreat in the
summer of 1980 (David Leviatin, Followers of the Trail: Jewish Working Class
Radicals in America [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1989)).
CHAPl'ER 2. FOLK IDEOLOGY AND FOLK IUSI'ORY
1. Abraham Rosenberg, president of the ILGWU, 1908-1914; quoted in Louis

Levine, The Women's Garment Workers (New York: B. W. Heuhsch, 1924), pp.
181-182. Sometime in 1912, an issue of the Yiddish satirical journal Der Groy$er
Kundes (The Big Stick) featured a cartoon of Karl Marx, "The Liberty Giver,"
depicted as "Moses leading the masses through the Red Sea of capitalism"
(reproduced in Paul Buhle and Edmund C. Sullivan, Images of American
Radicalism [Hanover, MA: Christopher Publishing House, 1998], p. 164).
2. Gerald Sorin, The Prophetic Minority: American Jewish Immigrant
Radicals, 1880-1920 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), p. 3.
3. Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., "The Historian as Participant," in Felix Gilbert and
Stephen R. Graubard, eds., Historical Studies Today (New York: W.W. Norton,
1972), p. 403.

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Notes 205
4. The exception to this scenario would be the experience of those Orthodox

Jewish immigrants who managed to find work in shops run by Orthodox bosaes
who •accommodated" their religious requirements by enabling them to work a
sixty- to eighty-hour weekly schedule without violating the Sabbath. When the
exploitation by these bosaes became unbearable, they organized unions in these
Orthodox shops These were the exception to the general rule that religious
observance and activism were largely incompatible. Outside the Orthodox shop,
there were virtually no observant Jews within any of the radical political
organizations within which Jewish radicals were active (socialist, communist,
anan:hist, labor Zionist), and no radical groups or movements organi7.ed and led
by observant Jews oomparable to those guided by Christian principles, such as
movements inspired by Liberation Theology.
5. Hyman Berman, "A Cunory View of the Jewish Labor Movement: An
Historiographical Survey,• American Jewish Historical Quarterly 52 (1962), 79-
97. William Haskett, a di.scusaant of Berman's paper, was more acerbic in his
pronouncement that "the consequences for the treatment of this peculiar
relationship of writer to subject ... are a distortion of values and a repetition of
folk-fact as folk-legend" (quoted on p.147 in the cited issue).
6. Irwin Yellowitz, "American Jewish Labor: Historiographical Problems and
Prospects,• American Jewish Historical Quarterly 65 (1976), 203-204.
7. Sorin, Prophetic Minority, p. 8.
8. Arthur Liebman, Jews and the Left (New York: John Waley and Sons, 1979),
p.11.
9. For scholars of Jewish history, most of the works cited in this chapter
constitute ground all too well covered-material cited and re-cited in numerous
surveys of Jewish-American history in general and Jewish labor history in
particular. One reviewer of an early draft of this work expressed a degree of
irritation at the fact that I had once more dredged up these all-too-familiar
historical sources. Perhaps I had not made it sufficiently clear that I was revisiting
these accounts as cultural artifacts, requiring some historical background for the
uninitiated. However, I also suspect that an unspoken source of discomfort was
my erosion of the fine line dividing academic authorities from those "pietistic"
chroniclers whose scholarship they may dismiss, but whose enchantment with the
notion of Judaism as a natural seedbed of radicalism they share. One area that
has not been extensively documented is the history of the Jewish Labor
Movement in Canada. For a brief overview, see •A Centwy of the Jewish Left in
Canada,• a special feature of the December, 1998, issue of Outlook, published by
the Canadian Jewish Outlook Society. See also Sweatshop Strife: Cla&s, Ethnicity
and Gender in the Jewish Labor Movement of Toronto, 1900-1939 rroronto:
University ofToronto Press, 1992.)
10. Nathan Reich, "The 'Americanization' of Jewish Unions: A Two Way
Process," Jewish Quarterly Review 45 (1955), 560.
11. Yellowitz, "American Jewish Labor," p. 204.
12. Daniel Bell, "Jewish Labor History,• Publications of the American Jewish
Historical Society 46 (1957), 257-260.
13. Among those works dealing with the background of the Bund and the JLM
in Europe are Henry J. Tobias, The Jewish Bund in Russia, From Ia Origins to
1905 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1972); A. L Patkin, The Origins of

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
206 Notes
the Russian-Jewish Labour Movement (Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire, 1947); Ezra

Mendelaohn, Class Struggle in the Pale (London: Cambridge University PreM,
1970); Jonathan Frankel, Prophecy and Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1981); Nora Levin, While Messiah Tarried (New York: Schocken
Books, 19n); Bernard K. Johnpoll, The Politics of Futility (Ithaca, NY: Cornell
University Preas, 1967); Robert J. Brym, The Jewish Intelligentsia and Russian
Marxism (London: Macmillan Press, 1978); and Erich E. Haberer, Jews and
Revolution in Nineteenth-Century Russia (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Pre.a, 1995).
14. Daniel Bell, Marxian Socialism in the United States (Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press, 1967), p. 98.
15. Uehman, Jews and the ILft, paasim.
16. Ibid., p. 5.
17. Ibid., p. 15
18. Ibid., p. 21. Lucy Dawidowicz, pointing to what she identifies as a
traditional Left leaning of European Jewry since the French Revolution, notes
that one Rabbi Dov Berish Meisels, "elected to the Austrian Constituent Assembly
in 1848 from Cracow," supported the Polish national opposition bloc. "When
uked by the Assembly's incredulous president how an Orthodox rabbi could
support the Left, Rabbi Meisels is said to have replied, 'Wir Juden haben lceine
Rechte' [We Jews have no Right (i.e., rights)]" (Lucy Dawidowicz, -ibe
Jewishness of the American Jewish Labor Movement,• in The Jewish Presence
[New York: Holt, Rinehart and Wmston, 1977), p. 119).
19. Uebman discUS8es this in some detail in Jews and the ILft, pp. 38-69.
20. Louis Ruchames, •Jewish Radicalism in the United States" in Peter I. Rose,
ed., The Ghetto and Beyond (New York: Random House, 1969), pp. 228-229.
21. Ibid., p. 229; the work cited is Antisemitism Hutorically and Critically
Emmined(NewYork: n.p., 1936).
22. Lev. 19:9-10.
23. Exod. 20:10; Deut. 5:13.
24. Deut.15:1, 2.
25. Quoted in Ruchames, •Jewish Radicalism," p. 229. Referring to the years
1909-1910 when major strikes were conducted in the garment industiy and
•Jewish unions burst forth on the American scene," Reich notes that the
tumultuous times prompted a hearkening to that earlier age of Jewish social
foment: "in union folklore, this period is symbolically compared with the exodus
from Egypt" ("The 'Americanization,•• pp. 544-545).
26. See, e.g., Lev. 19:13 (concerning wages); Deut. 15:12 (outlining the rights of
servants, considered advanced by ancient standards). The former pusage,
mandating that wages be paid on the day that work is done, figures in the
celebration of striking vestmalcers, reported in the Fonoord in March, 1900.
Upon conclusion of the collective study of a tractate from the Talmud (the
codification of, and commentaries on, Jewish law), drew a fanciful proletarian
moral: "Saith the law of Moses: 'Thou shalt not hold anything from the neighbor
nor rob him; there shall not abide with the ages of him that is hired through the
night until morning.' So it stands in Leviticus [Lev. 19:13]. So you see that our
bosses who rob us and don't pay us regularly commit a sin, and that the cause of

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes 207
our unions is a just one" (quoted in Moses Rischin, The Promised City
[Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1977], p.182).
'rJ. Re. Deut. 15:22-29 (outlining the ancient system of tithing, wherein Israel is
implicated as a steward of the land, which belongs only to God).
28. Lev. 19:9-10; Deut. 24:19--21.
29. Deut. 25:4.
30. Morris U. Schappes, ed, Emma Lazarus, Selections from Her Poetry and
Prose (New York: Emma Lazarus Federation of Jewish Women's Clubs, 1967).
When, in 1890, the UHT of New York and vicinity issued the statement "We
affirm that all wealth and means of production are created by labor and therefore
the worker has the full right to enjoy the fruits of bis labor" ( quoted in Reich,
"11ie 'Americanization,"' p. 547), they might well have been affirming not only
socialist doctrine, but Jewish law as well. In the latter, the dignity of labor is also
a central concept, "for it was Judaism itself which endowed labor with divine
attributes" (Dawidowicz, • Jewishness," p. 128). See, also Exod. 20:9 ("Six days
shall you labor and do all your work"); and Eccl. 3:13 ("It is God's gift to man that
every one should eat and drink and take pleasure in all bis toil").
31. C. Bezalel Sherman. The Jew Within Ameriron Society (Detroit: Wayne
State University Press, 1965).
32. Maurice Hindl15, '"The Jew as Radical," The Menorah Journal 8 (19-rJ),
372. The passage that Hindus bas paraphrased is from Jeremiah 22:3·5; it reads:
"Do justice and righteousness, and deliver from the band of the oppressor him
who has been robbed. And do no wrong or violence to the alien, the fatherless,
and the widow, nor shed innocent blood in this place. .. . If you do not heed these
words, I swear by myself, says the Lord, that this house shall become a
desolation."
33. Ibid.
34. Charles E. Woodhouse and Henry J . Tobias, "Primordial nes and Political
Process in Prerevolutionary Russia: The Case of the Jewish Bund,• Comparative
Studies in Society and History 8 (1965-1966), 336.
35. Quoted in Rischin, Promised City, p. 166. Israel Knox, echoing the views of
Cahan, sees Jewish socialism as having "wedded the Messianic expectancy to a
concept of social progress, and converted its transcendental eschatology . .. into a
naturalistic eschatology, one that is to be realized here and now, on our earth"
("Jewish Labor: The Reality and the Ideal," in The Jewish Labor Movement in
America: 1wo Views [New York: Jewish Labor Committee, 1958], p. 14). Ronald
Sanders argues that Cahan "was genuinely convinced that there was a moral and
a deep psychological link between Judaism and socialism; and he also knew from
experience how thoroughly embedded religious conventions were in the Jewish
imagination, even in that of a professed atheist like himself' (Ronald Sanders,
The Downtown Jews [New York: New American Library, 1969], p. 86).
36. Patkin, Origins, p. 47. The messianic concept in Judaism is, indeed,
amenable to such earth-bound interpretation, as the figure of the Messiah,
though messenger of a divine plan, is viewed in Jewish tradition as a flesh and
blood personage, a human emissary of a new (and distinctly earthly) utopian
order. Specifically, the Messiah is envisioned as "an offspring of [King] David who
would set up again the Davidic throne" (Isidore Epstein, Judaism [Harmonds-
worth, England: Penguin Books, 1959], p. 62).

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
208 Notes
37. Irving Howe, World ofOur Fathers (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich,
1976), p. 30.
38. Walter B. Rideout, ••o Workers' Revolution ... The True Messiah': The Jew
as Author and Subject in the Ameriam Radical Novel," American Jewi,sh
Archives 11 (1959), 158. Rideout takes further poetic license: "One might extend
these parallels more tenuously: the body of Marx's writings could be considered a
substitute for the Law; the enormous volumes of Party literature became a kind of
Talmud exhibiting a similar subtlety of analysis; while the conception of a small
disciplined Party possessed of the Truth bad a psychological correspondence with
the concept of the Chosen People" (ibid.). Abraham Menes, historian and
Yiddishist, takes the socialism-as-secular-substitute argument and stands it on its
head, presenting the case that "the general tendency to shake off the religion-
cultural discipline is in large part determined by a messianic faith." Menes points
to the conception of a "new messianic man• no longer in need of a strict ethical-
religious code: •At the Messiah's coming, man will be freed from the yoke of the
commandments: 'The commandments will be canceled in the time to come'
[Menes cites Talmudic tractate B. Niddah 61h]" ("Religious and Secular Trends in
Jewish Socialism," Judaism 1 [1952], 224). (Cf. Karl Marx and Frederick Engels,
Manifesto of the Communist Party [1848]: "When, in the course of development,
class distinctions have disappeared, and all production has been concentrated in
the hands of a vast association of the whole nation, the public power will lose its
political character [i.e., no need for political-legal systems to legislate human
behavior and mores]. . . . We shall have an association in which the free
development of each is the condition for the free development of all" [Peking:
Foreign Language Press, 1972], pp. 58-59.)
39. Patkin, Origins, p. 155. The reference here is to Isaiah 2:2-4 (echoed in
Micah 4:1-3), where, in the "end of days" the house of the Lord will be
established, "and all nations will flow unto it.• These verses contain the oft-
quoted passage •And they shall beat their swords into plowshares, / And their
spears into pruning hooks; / Nation shall not lift up sword against nation /
Neither shall they learn war anymore" (Isaiah 2:4, Micah 4:3). On Zhitlowsky's
role in the Yiddishist movement, see Emanuel Goldsmith, Architects of Yiddish-
ism at the Beginning of the 1wentieth Century (Rutherford, NJ: Farleigh
Dickinson University Press, 1976).
40. C. Bezalel Sherman, "Nationalism, Secularism and Religion in the Jewish
Labor Movement," Judaism 3 (1954), 357-358.
41. Melech Epstein,Jewi,sh Labor in U.S.A. (New York: IITAV, 1969), p. 173.
42. Quoted in Epstein, Jewish Labor, p. 174.
43. Rischin, Promised City, p. 157.
44. Leon Stein, Abraham P. Conan, and Lynn Davison, translators, The
&lucation of Abraham C.ahan (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of
America, 1969), p . 309.
45. Sanders, Downtown Jews, p. 83. Just what mix of radicalism and Judaism
the socialist press shared with its reading public is difficult to ascertain. Perhaps
what they had in common was the embrace of contradiction. Nathan Gla7.er
observes that "it was not uncommon for a Jewish worker to read an antireligious
Yiddish newspaper, vote Socialist, join a socialist union, and yet attend the

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes 209
synagogue weekly, or even daily, and obseive most of the Jewish law" (Nathan
Gluer, American Judaism [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1972], p. 67).
46. Levin, While Messiah Tarried, p. 121.
47, Quoted in Sanders, Downtown Jews, p. 77,
48. Ibid., p. 88. Toe column was later taken up by the Fonoord and continued
for some time as a popular feature.
49. Hindus, "The Jew as Radical," p. 374- What Hindus also alludes to here is
that the respect for scholarship over other markers of social status would make it
likely that Jewish workers would be less reticent in combating their bosses, whose
position would not necessarily constitute a deterrent to meeting them on an equal
intellectual footing. Selig Perlman draws out this concept in arguing for an
absence of "awe before the boss" as a factor in successful labor-management
confrontations ("Jewish-American Unionism, Its Birth Pangs and Contnl>ution to
the General American Labor Movement,• Publication of the Ameriazn Jewish
Historical Society 41 (1952], 315). Dawidowicz relates a story told by social
worker Lillian Wald about a Jewish union leader's encounter with Jacob Schiff
(German Jewish banker and philanthropist): •At first the union man was
uncomfortable about his shabby clothing, but this was forgotten when, arguing an
issue, both he and Schiff began to quote Bible and Talmud, trying to outdo each
other." Dawidowicz concludes: "This kind of familiarity reduced the workers' awe
for the boss and made discussion between them not only possible but even likely"
(Dawidowicz, • Jewishness," p. 129).
so. Irving Howe, "The Significance of the Jewish Labor Movement," in The
Jewish Labor Movement in Ameriaz: 7\oo Views (New York: Jewish Labor
Committee, 1958), pp. 20-21.
SL Mendelsohn, Class Struggle in the Pale, p. viii. One may advance the
question as to whether intellectual leade.r ship is a unique feature of Jewish
socialism. The major figures in the Russian revolutionsry movement in general
were for the most part intellectuals, whose relatively privileged social position
afforded them the opportunity for necessary intensive political study. See, e.g., V.
I. Lenin, What Is to Be Done? (Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1975), p. 37.
52. See, e.g., Will Herberg, "The Jewish Labor Movement in the United States,"
American Jewish Yearbook 53 (1952), 15; Perlman, "Jewish-American Union-
ism," p. 306. John H. M. Laslett comments on the special relationship forged
between Jewish intellectuals and workers, many of whom were employed in the
same shops: "the joint experiences of both intellectuals and rank-and-file
members in the harsh conditions of the sweatshop created a common bond
between the two which was in many ways unique in the American labor
movement• (John H. M. Laslett "Jewish Socialism and the Ladies Garment
Worlcers of New York," in Labor and the Left [New Yorlc: Basic Books, 1970], p.
100; see also Levin, While Messiah Tarried, p. 115, on the erasing of "class
distinctions• between intellectuals and workers in the process of interacting in the
shops).
53. Woodhouse and Tobias, "Primordial Ties," p. 358.
54. Stein, et al., Eduaztion of Abraham Cahan, pp. 223-224. Morris Hillquit
was less charitable about the state of affairs among the potential readers of the
Arbeiter Zeitung in 1890: "Toe Jewish masses were totally uncultured. They
stood in need of elementary information about the important things in life

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
210 Notes
outside the direct concerns of the Socialiat and labor movement. Without a
c:ertaln minimum of general culture they could not be expected to develop an
intelligent understand-ing of their own problems and interest in their own
struggles" (Morris Hillquit, Loose Leaves from a Busy Life [NewYorlt: Macmillan
Co., 1934], p. 36}. The low level of education among immigrant Jews also posed a
problem for the transplanted community of tradition on the Lower East Side;
since "very few were learned in the Torah .. . the small number of orthodox rabbis
could not achieve any prominence or authority" (Isaiah Trunk, "The Cultural
Dimension of the American Jewish Labor Movement," YlVO AMual of Jewish
Social Science 16 [1976], 348}.
55. Abraham Menes, "The East-Side: Matrix of the Jewish Labor Movement,•
Judaism 3 (1954}, 376-377. Observations such as these implicate the impover-
ished state of Talmudic scholarship in the Old Country, where, in any event,
actual study and scholarly discourse (not simply rote memorization of ritual and
liturgy} were the province of the privileged few.
56. Mendelsohn, Class Stnlggle in the Pale, p. 118. On Peretz's relation to the
revolutionary movement in East Europe, see Maurice Samuel, Prince of the
Ghetto (New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1948}, pp. 171-176; see also Maurice Samuel,
11,e World of Sho1em Aleichem (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1956); Sidney
Rosenblatt, "Mendele Mocher Seforim, • Jewish Life 3 (Febrwuy 1949), 10-13;
Ezra Landau, -ibe WJSe Laughter of Sholem Aleichem," Mainstream 12 (Dec.
1959), 1-16; and Morris U. Schappes, "Peretz: Classic of Yiddish Literature,"
Mainstream 1 (August 1948}, 44·52.
57. Woodhouse and Tobias, "Primoridial Ties,• p. 347.
58. Herberg, • Jewish Labor Movement,• p. 15.
59. Translated by Max Rosenfeld, in ltche Goldberg and Max Rosenfeld, eds.,
Morris Rosenfeld: Selections from His Poetry and Prose (New York: YKUF,
1964}, p. 26. For background on the life and work of the Yiddish labor poets (and
Yiddish literature in general), see Leo Wiener, 71,e History of Yiddish Literature
in the Nineteenth Century (New York: Hermon Press, 1972 ); Sol Llptzsin, A
History ofYiddish Literature (Middle Village, NY: Schoclten Books, 1971}. On the
relation of labor poetry and Yiddish follt song, see Ruth Rubin, Voices of a People
(New York: McGraw-Hill, 1973).
60. Sanders waxes poetic on this attribute in one of the "big four": "In a
moment of equipoise between anger and self pity, Rosenfeld had,emerged as one
of the best examples that can be found anywhere of the old socialist ideal of a self-
contained proletarian literary culture. He had achieved this by an identification of
his lot as a worker with his Jewishness (or Yiddishness), the latter serving as a
richer and more historically reverberating poetic expression of the former"
(Downtown Jews, pp. 109-110). Max Rosenfeld (no relation) addresses the
controversy as to whether Rosenfeld was a •Jewish" or a "worker's" poet; he
quotes Jacob Milch (one of the founders of the Arbeiter Zeitung}: "Morris
Rosenfeld is a Jew, his language is Yiddish, his whole life is spent among the
Jews; his portrayals must therefore be taken from among Jews." Milch differs
from Sanders in his emphasis: "But is there anything of the Jewish character
reflected in Rosenfeld's poetry? ... There is no special Jewish civilization; that
ended with the Talmud. The civilization of the Jews today is not Jewish, it is
European . . . . ID my opinion, the Jewish character of Morris Rosenfeld's work

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes 211
consists in quite another thing-and this is conditioned by the economic circum-

stances of the Jews in Ruaaia and by the feelings and opinions which this
situation evokes" (quoted in Goldberg and Rosenfeld, Morris Rosenfeld, p. 15).
61. Levin, shifting the emphasis somewhat, remarlta that "the history of Yiddish
literature in America is in large part the history of the cultural development of
Jewish workers" (Levin, While Messiah Tarried, p. 135).
62. Howe, World of Our Fathers, p. 419
63. Paul Buhle, "Yiddish Socialism," Cultural Correspondence 6-7 (1978), 22-
23. On the social, cultural, and political bacitgroUDd of Yiddish, see Emanuel
Goldsmith, A.r dtitects of Yiddishism at the Beginning of the 1\ventieth Century
(Rutherford, NJ: Farleigh Dickinson University Press, 1976); Joshua A Fishman,
"The Sociology of Yiddish,• in Never Say Die! (1be Hague: Mouton, 1981); Milton
Doroshkin, Yiddish in America, Social and CUitural Foundations (Rutherford,
NJ: Farleigh Dickinson University Press, 1969); J. R. Rayfield, The lAnguages of
a Bilingual Community (1be Hague: Mouton, 1970); and David Passow, The
PrimeofYiddish (Hewlett, NY: Gefen, 1996).
64. This equation is reinforced linguistically by the fact that "Yiddish" means,
literally, "Jewish"; in fact, native speakers tend to use the two terms
interchangeably (e.g., "She still speaks Jewish with her close friends").
65. On secularism as a component of Yiddiahism, see Stuart E. Rosenberg,
"Jewish Secularism: The Roots in Europe," and •Jewish Secularism: Its Fruits in
America," in his America Is I>ijferent (London: Thomas Nelson 8t Sons, 1964),
pp. 66-79, 80-96.
66. Arthur A Goren, New York Jews and the Quest for Community (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1970), p. 1.
67. Ibid., p. 6.
68. J.B.S. Hardman, •Jewish Workers in the American Labor Movement,"
YIVO Annual ofJewish Social Scienre 7 (1952), 253.
69. An instance of the biblical mandate for tsedakah in its most basic form is to
be foUDd in Deuteronomy 15:7-8: "If there is among you a poor man, one of your
brethren . . . you shall open your hand to him, and lend him sufficient for his
need, whatever it may be." The implication of "lend him" is that giving is an act,
not simply of charity, but of reciprocity. Rischin notes that "volUDtary societies, or
lcheuras, flourishing in every hamlet and shtetl (town), competed in raising free
Joana for the needy . . . aided the sick, boarded the transient, and educated the
children of the poor. Honor and social prestige-were the reward for such good
works, to say nothing of benefits to be derived in the world beyond" (Rischin,
Promised City, p. 37; cf. Deut. 15:10, where Israel is admonished to give freely to
the poor "because for this the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in
all that you UDdertakej.
70. Morris U. Scbappes, "The New Century Opens-Jewish Labor Movement
grows," Jewish Life 8 (Dec. 1954), 22. The charitable impulse was, it must be
pointed out, modulated by class considerations within the Jewish community, as
it was in American society at large. Major tum-of-the-century private Jewish
philanthropies were founded-.a nd funded-by upper class German Jews who
were at first reluctant to welcome, let alo.n e come to the aid of, East European
lower class Jewish immigrants (see, e.g., Goren, New York Jews, p. 21 and
passim).

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
212 Notes
7L Schappes, '"Ibe New Century Opens," p. 22.

72. Charles E. Zarm, The Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America (New
York: Ancon Publishing Co., 1934), pp. 274-276.
73, Dawidowia, •Jewishness," p. 124. A twelfth-untury philosopher and
codifier of Talmudic law, Moses Maimonides divided thoae who give charity into
eight categories: the highest (i.e., that most exemplifying the concept of ts«lolcah)
was "He who helps the poor man to sustain himself by giving him a loan or by
taking him into business• (quoted in C. G. Montefiore and H. Loewe, eds.,
Rabbinic Anthology [New York: Schocken Boob, 1974), p. 670).
74. Howe, World of Our Fathers, p. 308. Citing biblical precedent, Hardman
comments that "the needle trades unions and the other groups in that
environment made 'caating bread upon the waters' part of the day's work
[paraphrasing Eccl. 11:1: "Cut your bread upon the waters, for you will find it
after many days," which also invokes the implied reciprocity of tsedakah]"
(Howe, "Jewish Workers," p. 232).
75. This broad social role of the synagogue is viewed by Hardman, among
others, as having found its replacement in the JLM, where Jewish workers
"tended to make their union hall what the synagogue of old was to them: a center
of defense, a social club, a place for 'politicking' and also for dreaming, a forum
for discussing social problems" (J.B.S. Hardman, '"Ibe Jewish Labor Movement
in the United States: Jewish and Non.Jewish Influences," American Jewish
Historical Quarterl!I 52 (1962), 128-129),
76. A. S. Sachs, Worlds that Passed (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society
of America, 1928), p. 82. Sachs adds that "the first public protest of the tobacco
workers in a certain well-known factory at Grodno against their employers-so
the story goes-was expressed by means of delaying the Reading at the
synagogue.•
77. Herberg, •Jewish Labor Movement,• p. 19. Dawidowia echoes this
sentiment and carries it a bit further: "The Jewish tradition of arbitration cut a
broad swath. Originating in Talmudic times, incorporated in the Shulhan Arukh
[code of Jewish law), practiced for centuries in all Jewish communities, these
principles of compromise, arbitration and settlemenl were familiar to worker and
boss alike. . . . Disputants frequently took their cases to communal leaders who
acted as arbitrators, borerim. The procedure must have seemed commonplace to
most Jewish workers, not long from the Old Country and the old culture"
(Dawidowicz, • Jewishness," p. 130).
78. Hardman, •Jewish Workers," pp. 251, 252.
79. See, e.g., Goren, New York Jews, p. 199.
80. Herberg, •Jewish Labor Movement,• p. 20. Schappes balances the good
features of the Protocol with the bad: while winning a fifty-hour week, ten legal
holidays, weekly pay in cash, limitation on overtime, and a board of sanitary
control to clean up the shops, the "preferential shop" (vs. "closed shop") clause
permitted nonunion and scab hiring (after preference was ostensibly given to
available union members), thus providing a wedge for the employer to prevent
union hegemony in the shop (Morris Schappes, "The Heroic Period of Jewish
Labor, 1909-1914," Jewish Life 9 [Jan. 1955), 21).

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Notes 213
81. Epstein, Jeu,Wi Labor in U.S.A., p. 2. He reverses him.self again, however,

when be admits that "not many youths became rabbis and only a few of the small
traders or artisans could climb the social ladder by accumulating wealth" (ibid.).
82. Rischin, Promised City, p. 37. Concurring with Epstein that "wealth and
learning, copartners in authority as well as in social esteem, tended to slight the
poor and unlearned,• be points to the overall effect of a complete integration of
religious institutions into a class structure: "Within the confines of the
synagogue-house of prayer, house of study, meeting ball, and general social
center-were mirrored all the interests and vanities of Jewish life" (p. 37).
83. For a history of Jewish guilds see Mark W18Chnit:zer, A History of JewWi
Crafts and Guilds (New York: J. David, 1965).
84. Perlman, • Jewish-American Unionism,• p. 306. Rischin speaks of artisans'
lchevras, which supported their own synagogues (Promised City, p. 38);
Hardman notes that, in spite of the fact that the elders of the town tended to be
"men of prominence and riches ... those who lived by the bard toil of their bands
were not altogether done out of their chance to gain recognition when their
numbers grew strong enough not to be ignored. Thus they bad their Tailor's
Synagogue, the Butcher's Synagogue, and the like" (Hardman, • Jewish Workers,"
p. 252).
85. Patkin, Origins, p. 44. Mendelsohn notes one such tie to tradition in the
custom of "journeymen symbolizing their independence through the purchase of
a special Torah scroll" (Class Stroggle in the Pale, p. 42).
86. Patkin, Origins, p. 44.
87. Mendelsohn, Class Struggle in the Pale, p. 42.
88. Ibid., pp. 42-43.
90. Levine, Women's Gannent Workers, p. 154; quotes in the extract are cited
by Levine as eyewitness accounts published in the New York World, November
23, 1909, and statements appearing in the commemorative Souvenir History of
Shirt-Waist Makers' Strike (1910).
91. On the background of the "Jewish Oath" (a.It.a. "Hebrew Oath"): a
connection between the band and oath taking in Jewish tradition first appears in
Genesis, where Abraham says to bis servant, "Put your band under my thigh, and
I will make you swear by the Lord," binding him to seek a wife for bis son Isaac
among bis own people (Gen. 24:2, 3). When Isaac's son Jacob is nearing death, be
calls bis son Joseph to him and says: "H now I have found favor in your sight, put
your hand under my thigh, and promise to deal loyally and truly with me. Do not
bury me in Egypt, but let me lie with my fathers" (Gen. 47:29, 30). In a Psalm
lamenting the exile of the Jews in Babylon following the fall of the First Temple in
Jerusalem, the Psalmist declares: "If I forget thee, 0 Jerusalem, let my right band
wither" (Ps. 137:5).
92. Patkin, Origins, p. 45.
93. Quoted in Patkin, Origins, pp. 45-46. Patkin expands on the centrality of
oath taking for the Jewish proletariat: "The fight for better economic conditions
was inseparably connected with the yearning for the Messianic ideal of freedom
and brotherhood. The 'Oath' for the Jewish worker meant an act of service and
aspiration, almost a religious act of devotion and prayer. A meeting of striking
workers in Krinki in 1897, numbering over 300, pledged to observe all the

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
214 Notes
decisions of the meeting by administering a formal oath, each holding a pair of

phylacteries" (p. 46).
94. lbid.
95. Cf.: "Hear, oh heavens, and give ear, oh earth" (laaiah 1:2).
96. To bo1TOw the title of Jonathan Frankel's monumental work, subtitled,
"Socialism, Nationalism and the RUBSian Jews, 1862-1917" (Frankel, Prophecy
and Politics [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981]).
97. See, e .g., Edwin Fenton, Immigrants and Unions, A Case-Study: Italians
and American Labor, 1870-1920 (New York: Amo Press, 1975) on the back-
ground of Italian mutual aid aocieties, cooperatives, and unions in Italy and the
United States (see, esp., pp. 15-16, 160-161).
CHAPTER 3. MATl'ERS OF JIEJ.JEF
L Stuart E. Rosenberg, America Is Different (New York: Thomas Nelson &

Sons, 1964), p. 72-
2. Nathan Glazer, "The Jewish Revival in America,• Commentary 21 (1956), 17·
18.
3. Orthodox Jews allow only for female single parentage. In 1983, Reform Jews
ruled that if only the father is Jewish, the child may still be considered a
"legitimately" Jewish offspring. (This would not, however, be recognized in a civil
court in Israel, where the determination of Jewishness is governed by Orthodox
standards.)
4. Babylonian Talmud, tractate Shabbath, 31a. English translation by Rabbi Dr.
I. Epstein, Hebrew-English Edition of the Babylonian Tabnud: Shabbath, Vol. 1
(London: Soncino Press, 1972).
5. Nathan Glazer, American Judaism, 2nd rev. ed. (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1972), p. 135.
6. lbid., pp.135-136.
7. lbid., p. 138.
8. lbid., p. 141.
9. Julia Stein, "The Deeply Committed" [interview with Abraham M.],
(unpublished manuscript, Los A11geles, CA, 1981), p. 7.
10. For accounts of the emergence of Yiddish literature as a form that, at least
in its early stages, retained much of the character of the vernacular from which it
sprang, see, e.g., Sol Liptzin, The Flowering of Yiddish Literature (New York:
Thomas Yoseloff, 1963); and Charles Madison, Yiddish Literature: Its Scope and
Major Writers (New York: Schocken Books, 1971).
11. See Emanuel S. Goldsmith, Architects ofYlddishism at the Beginning of the
Twentieth Century (Rutherford, NJ: Farleigh Dickinson University Press, 1976).
12. Abraham M., interview with author, 8 September 1980.
13. lbid.
15. lbid.
16. "CUrriculum for the Jewish Secular School: Prepared by the Teachers of the
Los Angeles Kindershules" (Los A!1geles, 1962), mimeographed typescript.
17. lbid ., from an introductory section, "Philosophy of the Jewish Secular
School; p. 5.
18. lbid., p. 4.
Dlgl;l,ed by Google Original from

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes 215

20. lbid.
21. Sam F., interview with author, 23 September 1980.
22. Menashe S., interview with author, 24 September 1980.
23. See Chapter 6 for a discussion of this subject in relation to the celebration of
Passover by members of the Jewish radical subculture.
24. Morris N., "Family and Traditional Notes for a Special Occasion• (unpub-
lished manuscript, Los Angeles, 1978), p. 5.
25. Ibid., p. 6.
26. lbid.
27. Morris N., interview with author, 12 March 1983.
28. lbid.
29. lbid.
30. Morris indicated that an English-speaking anarchist branch of the Work-
men's Circle, the Libertarian Society, did attempt, briefly, to set up their own
Sunday school in Boyle Heights, called the Libertarian School.
32. David G., interview with author, 24 February 1983.
34. lbid.
35. lbid.
36. Sophie S., interview with author, 18 August 1980.
37. Ibid.
38. The union local in Chicago, where Sophie was active for many years, was, in
fact, predominantly Polish.
39. See, e.g., Nachum Gross, ed., An Eoonomic History of the Jews (New York:
Schocken Books, 1975), pp. 197-198.
40. See, e.g., Will Herberg, "The Jewish Labor Movement in the United States,"
American Jewish Yearbook 53 (1952), 19-20.
41. G. Balabos, convenation with author, 10 August 1980.
42. Sophie S., interview with author, 18 August 1980.
44- Ibid. The clinic is named in honor of Reuben Brainin, a Yiddish writer and
newspaper editor (in Montreal in the early 1900s), and a socialist Zionist.
45. Ibid.
46. For a "Yiddishist" perspective on labor Zionism see Jacob Katzman,
Commitment: The La.bar Zionist Life-Style in America (New York: Labor Zionist
Letters, 1975).
47. Moshe C., interview with author, 10 February 1983.
48. lbid.
49. Ibid.
so. Moshe C., interview with author, 21 February 1983.
52. lbid.
54. See Madison, Yuidish Literature, pp. 502-503.
ss. Moshe C., interview with author, 21 February 1983.

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216 Notes
56. Moshe outlines the current aims of labor Zionists, which lean more toward
general trade unioniam than socialiam (although Moshe still calls himaelf a
socialm): 1) support for the labor movement in Israel: -We have to be the
interpreters of labor in Israel ... and we have to be its allies"; 2) support for the
labor movement in the United States: You cannot be a progressive person in
Israel and an arch reactionary in the U.S.• (Ironically, it ia their unwavering
support of Israel that has precipitated a Right-ward political shift among labor
Zionists over the years); and 3) "democratization" of the organized Jewish
community, whose institutions tend to be controlled by their largest financial
backers: •A8 Jews, we would like a democratically organized Jewish community.
We would like to feel that every Jew should have a say" (interview with author, 21
February 1983).
57. Sophie S., interview with author, 18 August 1980. It ia interesting to note
that although the Holocaust galvaoiz.ed Sophie's latent expression of her
Jewishness, it does not seem to have evoked any demonstrable change in the
character of ethnic expression among most of those interviewed. Perhaps this ia
because their ethnic outlook was given a more continual expression. Horrific as
the Holocaust was, its influence on identity formation was not as qualitative
among this latter group as it was for those whose dormant sense of ethnicity was
given a rude awakening by news of the fate of European Jews in World War II.
58. Ibid.
CHAPTER 4. PERSONAL NARRATIVE AND FOLK IDEOLOGY
1. Gerald C. Rosenwald and Richard L Ochberg, "Introduction: Life Stories,

Cultural Politics and Self-Understanding," in Gerald C. Rosenwald and Richard L
Ochberg, eds., Storied Lives: The CUitural Politics of Understanding (New
Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1992), p. 7.
2. Ron Grele, "Listen to Their Voices," Oral History 7 (1979), 33,
3. Rosenwald and Ochberg, Storied Lives, p. 1.
4, Barbara Kirsbeoblatt-Gimblett, "In Search of the Paradigmatic: Ethnic
Symbol-Building Among Elderly Immigrants" (unpublished manuscript, New
York, 1981), p. 2.
5 , The oppositional pairs discerned in Menashe's narratives present a marked
contrast to those binary oppositions outlined by Claude Levi-strauss in hia
analysia of myths (see, e.g., "The Structural Study of Myth,• Journal ofAmerican
Folklore 68 (1965], 428-444); In Levi-strauss's view, oppositional elements in
mythic narrative are generally concealed from the consciousness of the narrator,
and apparent only from a search for underlying patterns, or "deep structures";
those presented by Menashe are overt and consciously emphasiz.ed. Although
structuralists and deoonstructioolsts vigorously protest that they stand in
opposition to one another, there ia an underlying premiae shared by both: a
rejection of any active role of people in consciously disceming the meanings of
their acts (including their utterances); it ia not coincidental that Jacques Derrida,
the "father" of deconstruction, was a former activist soured by the events of May
1968 in France (Levi-strauss opposed the student revolt from the start), who
constructed a method of inquiry that rejects bmory and human agency. It is only
natural that consciousness would be an Integral part of a model of dialectical

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes 217
opposition forged in a political movement, in which history (objective conditions)

and agency (human consciousness) are united in a political philosophy of con-
scious social struggle.
6. Menashe S., interview with author, 24 September 1980. The next several
quotations are from this initial interview.
7. Menashe S., interview with author, 19 January 1981. The remaining
quotations are from this interview.
8. A number of Polish ~migres sought help from the ambassador to Russia
during the rule of the short-lived Kerensky government, aa Poland was partly
under Rusaian occupation at the time.
CHAPTER 5, FOLKLORE AND FOLK IDEOLOGY
1. For a brief survey of North American examples, see David Shuldiner, "Social
Protest," in Jan Bnmvand, ed., American Folklore: An Encyclopedia (New York:
Garland, 1996), pp. 673-673.
2. See, e.g., Werner Lange, Domination and Resistance, Narrative Song of the
Kaja Highlands (Ea.st Lansing: Michigan State University, 1979); Paul Berliner,
"Political Sentiment in Shona Song and Oral literature,• Essays in Arts and
Sciences 6 (1977), 1-29; Merle E. Simmons, "Attitude Toward the United States
Revealed in Mexican Corridos," Hispania 36 (1953), 34-42; and Ved Prakash
Vatuk, "The Bhajnopdeshak aa an Agent of Social Change,• Journal ofAmerican
Folklore 80 (1967), 255-270.
3. See, e.g., Joseph G. Nalven, "Some Notes on Chicano Music aa a Path-y to
Community Identity," New Scholar 5 (1975), 73-93; and Marina Roaeman, "The
New Rican Village: Talting Control of the Image-Making Machinery," New York
Folklore 6 (1980), 45-55.
4. Scholars of folklore and social protest in the United States have, to their
credit, documented the important contnl>utions of members of ethnic and rural
communities, especially singers, to the body of political lore of the American trade
union and Left movements. A recent study of Lee Hays, one of the members of the
renown Left folksinging group the Weavers, points to the fact that in adapting
sacred and secular folk song traditions of the Southern United States to civil
rights and labor struggles he was drawing from his own life experience as the son
of an itinerant Methodist preacher raised in Georgia and Arkansas (Doris Willens,
Lonesome Traveler: The Life ofLee Haus [Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press,
1993]; see also Robert Koppelman, "Lee Hays: A Literary Reconsideration,"
Southern Folklore 55:2 [1998], 75-100). R. Serge Denisoff, Great Dau Coming
(Urbana: University of fflinois Press, 1971) tends to embrace the simplistic view of
the radical "folk" as parrots of left-wing ideologies. An alternate perspective is
presented by Richard Reusa ("American Folklore and Left-Wtng Politics: 1927-
1957" [Ph.D. dissertation, Indiana University, 1971D, who aclcnowledges the
complex role of the "folk" turned radical (see, e.g., pp. 134-142; he refers to Hays's
background OD pp.131-132).
5- Such studies are mixed in emphaais, however. Most valuable for revealing
the view from "within" are self-portraits such aa those by Woody Guthrie (Bound
for Glo711 [New York: E. P. Dutton, 1943], highly impresaionistic, but providing
useful insights) and Jim Garland, Welcome the Traveler Home (Ardrey, ed.,

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
218 Notes
Lexington: Univenity Press of Kentucky, 1983). Scholarly studies of folk singers

are important 10urces as well; see, e.g., Joe IClein, Woody Guthrie: A Life (New
York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1980), and the portraits of Ella May Wiggins, Aunt Molly
Jackson, and Woody Guthrie in John Greenway's American Folksongs of Protest
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1953). The Incompleat Folk-
singer (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1972) a collection of articles by Pete
Seeger-a folksinger who adopted the worlda of rural America and the urban
working class (neither of which was his domain by birth)-is moat instructive in
its perspectives on the folk-politic dyad from both ends. See also the uneven, but
infonnative, biography of Seeger by David King Dunaway, How Can I Keep from
Singing? (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1981). The role played by Seeger and others in
the political ll5e of folk mu.sic is descn'bed in Robbie Lieberman's "My Song Is My
Weapon• (Urbana: University of IDinois Press, 1989), a study of the politics of
culture in the communist movement in the United States from 1930 to 1950, with
a special focus on the orpnization People's Songs, which sponsored a mapzine
and many cultural events in the late 1940s.
6. That folklore, irrespective of its explicit message, may carry a political
subtext is well illustrated in the historical account. For example, the performance
of indigenous mu.sic has, in a variety of social and historical contexts, been held as
a politically suspect act of resistance by the powers that be. In their day, the Irish
harp, the West African drum (as played by slaves in the United States) and the
quena and charango (wind and string instruments) of Latin American peasants
in the Andean high plains region) have all been banned by the respective
authorities at one time or another, not so much becall5e of the specific melodies
produced by these musical instruments, as becall5e of the implied statement of
ethnic solidarity symbolized in their very possession and performance. The
performance of indigenous mu.sic, then, has at times represented, along with
other traditional forms of expression, an act of resistance against the dictates of
state authority in its efforts to suppress popular movements and speed the
process of assimilation, both necess&IY to the political and cultural hegemony of a
nation-state over the disparate groups-ethnic and political-within its domain.
7. Moshe C., interview with author, 10 February 1983
8. Eleanor G. Mlotek, Mir Trogn a Gezang! (New York: Wonanen's Circle
Education Department, 1977), p. v.
9. Ibid.
10. A. Z. Idelsohn, Jewish Music in Its Historical Development (New York:
Schocken Boob, 1967), pp. 385, 391. Idelsohn waxes poetic about Yiddish "9ng as
a form of folk expression: "In this song [East European Jewish folksong] we again
find the spirit of the Jewish people, of the masses, expressing itself' (p. 391).
11. Mlotek, Gezang, p. vi.
12. Ruth Rubin, Voices of a People: The Story of Yiddish Folk Song, 2nd ed.
(New York: McGraw-Hill, 1973 [19631), p. 250. See also Mark Slobin, Tenement
Songs: 11te Popular Music of the Jewish Immigrants (Urbana: University of
Dlinois Press, 1982), passim.
13. Rubin, Voices, p. 251.
14. See Ruth Rubin, "A Comparative Approach to a Yiddish Song of Protest," in
M. Kolinski, ed., Studies in Ethnomusicology, VoL 2 (New York: Oak Publica-
tions, 1965), pp. 54-74,

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes 219
15. English translation from Rubin, Voices, p. 269.

16. To borrow from the title of Sol Liptzln's The F1owering of Yiddish
Literature (New York: Thomas Yoseloff, 1963); see also his A History of Yiddish
Literature (Middle Village, NY: Jonathan David Publishers, 1m); see also
Charles Madison, Yiddish Literature: Its Scope and Major Writers (New York:
Schocken Books, 1971) and Emanuel S. Goldsmith, Architects ofYiddishism at the
Beginning of the Twentieth Century (Rutherford, New Jersey: Farleigh Dickinson
University Press, 1976); Rubin's Voices remains a standard reference on the life of
Yiddish labor poems as folk songs.
17. lbid., p. 349.
18. Ronald Sanders, The Downtown Jews (New York: New American Library,
1969), p. 139.
19.Rubin, Voices,p.350
20. lbid.
21. English translation from Mlotek, Gezang, p. 88.
22. English translation based on that of Ethel Raim (see liner notes to the
record album "The Pennywbistlers• [Nonesuch H-72024D.
23. See Irving Howe, World of Our Fathers (New York: Harcourt Brace
Jovanovich, 1976), pp. 428-432.
24. lsadore S., interview with author, 20 January 1983.
25. Moishe P., interview with author, 29 July 1982.
26. Moishe P., interview with author, 16 April 1982.
29. See Rubin, Voices, p. 268.
30. English translation from Mlotek, Gezang, p. 98.
31. Original Yiddish from Yesbua Pelovitz, Lreder un Legenden (New York:
n.p., 1918), p. 4.
33. lbid.
34. It was not uncommon for primary social networlca to be maintained among
landsmen for considerable periods after initial settlement. Contact was kept up
not only through /andsmenshqftn but also through cross-migration. Paterson's
Jewish population was composed largely of Polish immigrants, primarily from
Lodz. There was a Kubisher Ferein (ICupisbok Society), a landsmenshqft in New
York City, with which residents of Paterson from Kupishok were in touch. For
Moishe, however, most of bis primary associations were developed and
maintained among landsmen who occupied the same ideological territory.
36. Zari Gottfried, "Yiddish Folk Choruses in America," in Mordecai S.
Yardeini, ed., 50 Years of Yiddish Song in America (New York: Jewish Muaic
Alliance, 1964), p. 49; for a study of one chorua, featuring excerpts of interviews
with former members, see Robert Snyder, "The Paterson Jewish Folk Chorua:
Politics, Ethnicity and Muaical Culture,• American Jewish History 7:4 (1984), 'rl·
44.
37. Gottfried, "Yiddish Folk Choruses," pp. 50-51.
38. See Dieter Dowe, "The Workingmen's Choral Movement in Germany Before
the First World War,• Journal ofContemporary History 13 (1978), 269-296.

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220 Notes
39. H. Leivik, a BUDdist, was a proponent of a politically autonomous

progressive Yiddish cultural movement (i.e., unaffiliated with a specific political
party}; Halpern was a "post-sweatshop" Yiddish poet, who combined traditional
imagery with a scathing modernist irony. See Howe, World, pp. 73, 434-438.
40. Moishe P., interview with author, 24 January 1983.
41. See, e.g., James N. Rosenberg, On the Steppes: A Russian Diary (New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1927}.
42. When Moishe P. arrived in the United States, he considered himself to be a
socialist Zionist. He and a yoUDger brother joined the Poole zion movement
shortly after their arrival in America. In 1922, Moishe became a member of the
Farband-the Yiddishist-Zionist organization. Over the years, he became
disenchanted with the political line of the Farband and switched his loyalties, and
membership, to the IWO. This move was accompanied by a gradual shift in
allegiance from the Hebrew Choral Society to the Freiheit Ger.ang Ferein. (There
is no indication that the former was affiliated in any way with the Farband, but
the membership of the latter overlapped considerably with that of the IWO.}
43. Program, Jewish People's Chorus, 58th Jubilee Concert, Wilshire Ebell
Theatre, Los Angeles, California, SUDday, 9 May, 1982.
45. During a brief and tumultuous period following the Bolshevik Revolution,
Kupishok was variously occupied by the Lithuanian, Polish, and German armies,
before the Bolsheviks finally consolidated their control of the area. This episode
may have occurred just prior to his conscription in the Lithuanian army.
46. The political path taken by some of the khalutsim that Moishe befriended is
a lesser known, but common, alternate route followed by Yiddish socialists in the
wake of the Revolution. Reminiscing about Jaffa and her husband, Moishe
observed: "'They were such beautiful people, and they left, both of them. Later on,
I heard that they went to the Soviet Union after the Revolution. They were [from]
a nice big family, with very intelligent yoUDg people. There were four brothers
that were here in America. One went to the Soviet Union later on in the forties .. .
from the United States. And also from Kupishok went Malka- Malka Jaffa and
her husband" (Interview with author, 20 July 1982}.
47, Charles Madison, Yiddish Literatur: Its Scope and Major Writers (New
York: Schocken Books, 1971}, p. 119.
48. Ibid, p. 97.
49. Ibid., p. 39.
50. Rose B., interview with author, 26 September 1983.
52. Ibid.
53. Ibid.
54. Ibid.
55. Ibid
56. Ibid.
57. Ibid.
59. Ibid.
60. Ibid.
61. Ibid

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Notes 221
62. Ibid.
63. Ibid.; corrections in original transcript and English translation from
personal communication with Rose B., 3 April 1984.
64. Yiddish from interview with Rose B., 26 September 1983; English
translation by author.
65. Rose's first book of Yiddish poetry, published privately in 1961, is titled
Lucht un Shatn ("Light and Shadow").
CHAPTER 6. TIIE '"THIRD" SEDER OF PASSOVER.
1. Mendel Joseph, "How Passover Grew," Jewish Life 9 (April 1955), 14.
2. Of course, Hanukkah and Purim are also celebrations of liberation, but there
is scant evidence that these holidays took on the significance of Passover in terms
of the extent to which specific secular rituals were adapted from traditional
observance. There is evidence, for example, that an.nual social events were
organized within the JLM around Purim time; Nancy L Green, in a study of
Jewish immig,ant workers in early twentieth-century France, notes that "the
Bundist cultural group 'Kemfer' organirM an annual Purim ball" (The Plea/ of
Paris [New York: Holmes &: Meier, 1986], p. 193). Israel M. Biderman notes that
as early as 1882, activists in the zjooist movement in Galicia conducted public
Hanukkah celebrations, or "Maccabean festivals," where speakers declared to the
Jewish masses that "they were the descendents of heroes, that they too could be
come masters of their own destinies instead of passively accepting the domination
of others" (quoted in Max Rosenfeld, Festivals, Fo/Jclore and Philosophy
[Philadelphia: Sholem Aleichem Club, 1997]). Moshe C. recalled Purim balls and
Hanukkah celebrations among labor zjooists in the United States in the early
twentieth century (interview with author, 10 February 1983). Jacob Katzman,
another veteran labor-zjonist, recalls •Bettler and Hasidim Balls," put on by
branches of the Farband and Paole zion in the United States, "that for a number
of years were annual events, held usually around Purim-time. Both were costume
balls . ... For the Bettler (or Beggars) Balls, one came in the tattered and patchy
garb of a street beggar." Each led by a child, the "beggars" would appeal to the
assembled ball-goers for rachmones (pity). "'The pennies, nickles and dimes
collected from the onlookers went, of course to whatever fund was the beneficiary
of the event.• For the Hasidim balls, "one came made up as a Hasid or a Hasid's
wife or child. . .. The center of every Hasidim ball was, of course, the Rebbe and
his retinue of gabbaim (lay-attendants)- an honor for which the contest was
often fierce. All kinds of Hasidic dances, sherelach and.freilachs were danced. ...
Hundreds of people attended and enjoyed these balls, while the genuinely Hasidic
and orthodox did not hide their outrage. Yet I suspect that the chaverim
[comrades] who arranged these affairs did so more out of nostalgia than out of a
wish to ridicule what so many of them had been themselves only a few short years
before• (Commitment, pp. · 59-60). These activities, while drawing upon the
symbolism of the holidays, were not based on specific traditional Hanukkah and
Purim observances. Certainly, Hanukkah, Purim, and Passover figured as integral
parts of the educational and social activities of the "folk schools" run by various
groups within the JLM (see, e.g. Liebman, Jews and the Left, pp. 300, 318). In
addition to attending the annual lcindershule seder-an event continued, even

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
222 Notes
after the demise of the /cindershules in Los Angeles, as a family event organized
by the Second Generation Jewish Cultural Club-I recall the Purim spiels in
which my fellow kindershule students and I performed, as well as Hanukkah
programs-where the revolt of the Maccabees against their Assyrian oppressors
wu emphasized more than the "miracle of the lights"). However Passover is the
one holiday around which Jewish radicals have borrowed and adapted substantial
texts and rituals from a specific ceremony, transforming not only the general
theme, but also several key elements of its traditional observance, into a
thoroughly refashioned ethnopolitical statement.
3. See, e.g., Philip S. Foner, ed., Blaclc Socialist Preacher (San Francisco:
Synthesis Publications, 1983), presenting the writings of Reverend George
Wuhington Woodbey and his disciple Reverend George W. Slater.
4. See Haya Bar-ltzhak, •He'arot le-Hagadah shel Pe54h shel ha-'Bund• [Notes
on the Passover Haggadah of the Bund], in Hulyot [Unks] 2 (1994), 1-18.
s. For citations of Passover haggadahs inspired by these movements, see
endnote 48.
6. Philip Birnbaum, trans. and ed., 'The Birnbaum Haggadah (New York:
Hebrew Publishing Co., 1976), pp. 65, 67.
7. Ibid., p. 67
8. Summary provided by ltche Goldberg, director of the Zhitlowsky
Foundation, New York, in a telephone conversation with the author, 6 September
1983.
9. Morris N., interview with author, 19 September 1983.
10. Ibid.
lL Ibid.
12. Ibid.
13. Ruth P., interview with author, 19 September 1983.
14. Ibid.
16. Ibid.
17. Ibid.
18. Nathan H., conversation with author, 16 September 1983.
19. This version is from the singing of Theodore Bikel, with an English
translation from the liner notes to his album, "Theodore Bikel Sings Jewish Folk
Songs" {Elektra 141).
20. Parody rendered by Nathan H., during conversation with author, 16
September 1983.
21. For various theories on the origin and early development of Passover, see J.
B. Segal, The Hebrew PaSS-Over {London: Oxford University Press, 1963), pp. 78-
113.
22. Exodus 13:8.
23. From the traditional haggadah {Cf. Deuteronomy 16:3).
24. The Russian Social Democratic Worker's Party {RSDWP) was formed in
1898. Aimed at uniting the Russian revolutionary socialist movement {Lenin
eventually assumed leadership), it consisted of a number of affiliated groups,
including the Bund. The Bund maintained an uneasy on-again, off-again
relationship with the RSDWP right up to the Bolshevik Revolution, when their
demand for cultural autonomy (among other issues) was rejected for the final

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes 223
time. They subsequently shifted their base to Poland and later, in the wake of
World War II, the United States and Latin America. The Jewish Labor Bund still
maintains an office in New York City.
25. Hagadah shel Pesah: mit a souyalistishen nuseh [The Passover Haggadab
in a Socialist Version] was published by "The Social Democrat" in Xrakow,
Poland, in 1919 (Bar-Itzhak cites a version, written in Polish, that was published
in that year in Krakow, in which, in an inside title page, readers are referred to
the previous versions).
26. Haya Bar-Itzbak, "Notes"; in this article Bar-Itzhak presenta the Bund
baggadab in full, in the original Yiddish as well as a Hebrew translation (an
English translation of this baggadab appears in Appendix B).
X,. Quoted in Bar-Ttmak (translated from the Hebrew by I!ather Lassman).
28. Fem Kant, personal communication with author, 6 May 1998.
29. Bar-ltzbak, "Notes."
30. Fem Kant, personal communication with author, 13 July 1998.
32. Masha Leon, Conversation with Joseph Mlotek (New York: Worlanen's
Circle, n.d.), p. 5.
33. The theme of national liberation made the bqgadab an important
celebratory vehicle for those socialist Zionista who emigrated to Palestine in the
early decades of the twentieth century and formed the backbone of the lnbbutz
movement. The haggadabs of the kibbutzim of the 1930s and 1940s reflect the
progressive outlook of the members of these collective settlementa. Ironically, the
period following the establishment of the state of Israel saw a gradual "reduction
of the Haggadab as an ideological and historical document," marking the
"institutionalization of this organ." Eventually, it became predominantly an
"artistic-commercial production• (quoted from Avsbalom Reich, "Changes and
Development in the P8S80Ver Haggadot of the Kibbutz Movement," Ph.D.
dissertation, University of Texas at Austin, 1972; Reich presenta a detailed history
with numerous samples of labbutz haggadabs). For a brief overview, see Irwin D.
Ungar, "The Kibbutz Haggadab: A Record of Jewish Life in Modem Tones," A. B.
Bookman's Weekly 87:13 (1991), 1268-1270.
34. Jacob Katzman, personal communication with author, 6 September 1983.
For an experiential account of the labor-Zionist subculture, see bis Commitment:
The Labor Zionist Lifestyle in America, A Personal Memoir (New York: Labor
Zionist Letters, 1975).
35. The Workmen's Circle baggadab bears the title, A naye hagode shel
peysalch (A New PBS80Ver Haggadab); that of the first printed Histadrut
haggadab, Hagode shel peysalchfam dritn seyder (Passover Haggadab for the
First Seder), dated 1953. Contemporary articles on the background of the third
seder in the United States include Beatrice S. Weinreich, "The Americanization of
Passover," in Raphael Patai, Francis Lee Utley, and Dov Noy, eds., Studies in
Biblical and Jewish FolJclore (Bloomington: Indiana University Pres.,, 1960), pp.
355-362; and Anita Schwartz, "The Secular Seder: Continuity and Change Among
Left-Wing Jews," in Jack Kugelmasa, ed., Between 1wo Worlds: Ethnographic
Essays on American Jewry (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1988),
pp. 105-127.
36. •De gaelshaftfar veltlekher yidishkayt, peysalch" (Los Angeles, 1958).

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
224 Notes
37. Ruth P., interview with author, 19 September 1983.

38. Workmen's Cirde, Engliah-Spealring Division, "A Third' Seder: Passover"
(Los Angeles, 1955); see Appendix B for full baggadah.
39. Ibid., p. 5.
40. The anticommuni.sm of moat members of the Workmen's Circle in the
period following the departure of supporters of the Bolshevik Revolution
eventually facilitated its nearly complete reconciliation with the Jewish
"establishment,• as shown by its affiliation with local Jewish community councils
and federations, self-appointed guardians of the Jewish mainstream.
42. Sabell Bender, personal communication with author, 23 December 1998.
43. The passage is from an earlier version of the baggadab compiled by Sabell
Bender, "Hollywood Kindersbule Pesach Hagadah" (Los Angeles, 1961); see
Appendix D for full baggadah.
44. Appendix C, pp. 174· 175.
45. Appendix D, page 194.
46. In a recent conversation with Sabell, she observed that while the
kindershu/e baggadah reflected a more "internationalist" perspective than that of
the Workmen's Circle, it lacked much of the traditional content preserved in the
latter, largely because of a resistance to what were seen as more overtly religious
references. She sees this as a failure to address the spiritual element in Jewish
tradition by the left-wing kindershu/e movement. In her view, failing to teach
about the Jewish religious tradition in the kindershules deprived students of a
fuller understanding and appreciation of Jewish culture (personal communica-
tion with author, 24 October 1998). The difficulty of addressing the spiritual from
a secular perspective is an historical problem faced by the largely-but not
exclusively-secular Left movement as whole; for a brilliant analysis of this
dilemma, see Joel Kovel, Hi.story and Spirit: An Inquiry into the Philosophy of
Liberation (Boston: Beacon Press, 1991).
47. Unlike the Workmen's Circle, which bas experienced a modest revival in the
19808 and 19908, the few /inJces that remain have long ceased to have an
organintional home.
48. The legacy of the "radical" third seder of the JLM may be seen in baggadahs
composed for contemporary social movements; examples are Arthur Waskow's
Freedom Seder (Washington DC: Micbab Press, 1969 [reprint by Holt, Rinehart,
WIDSton, 1970D, inspired by the Civil Rights Movement; Jewish activism in the
1970s and 808 inspired baggadahs such as Aviva Cantor, ltzbak Epstein, and
Jerry Kirsben, Jewish Liberation Hagadn (New York: Jewish Liberation Project,
1970); Marcia Prager, A Radical Hagadn for Passover (East Setauket, NY:
Hagada Project, 1975); Jewish Socialist Community, The New Song: A Passover
Haggadah (Oberlin, OH: Jewish Socialist Community, Oberlin College, 1978);
and The Shalom Seders: 11u-ee Haggadahs (New York: Adama Books, 1984),
produced by three groups affiliated with the organization New Jewish Agenda;
the Women's Movement bas inspired a number of feminist baggaddahs, such as
Fayla C. Schwartz, Susie Coliver, and Ela in., Ayela, Pesach Hagadah: A
Statement of Joyous Liberation (Berkeley, CA: Women's Seder, 1973); Aviva
Cantor, Jewish Women's Hagada (Philadelphia, Fortress Press, 1974; a later
version appears as Aviva Cantor, "An Egalitarian Hagada" in Lilith 9 [1982),

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Notes 225
9-24); Sheny Flashman and Margaret Fuller Sablove, The Feminist Seder
(Amherst, MA: S. Flashman, 1976); Sharon Abramowitz, Women's Seder of
Liberation (Los Angeles: Women's Building, 1976); and E. M. Broner, with Naomi
Nimrod, The Women's Haggadah (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1994
[excerpts of an earlier unpublished version appeared in Ms. magazine in 1977));
other contemporary third seder haggadahs of note are Sherwin T. Wine, The
Humanist Haggadah (Farmington Hills, MI: Society for Humanistic Judaism,
1979); and Elsie Levitan, Max Rosenfeld, and Bess Katz, Haggadahfor a Secular
Celebration ofPesach, 3rd ed. (Philadelphia: Sholem Aleichem Club, 1982).

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Original from
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Wolfe, Robert. Remember to Dream: A History ofJeuMh Radicalism. New York:
Jewish Radical Education Project, 1994.
Woodhouse, Charles E., and Henry J. Tobias. "Primordial Ties and Political
Process in Prerevolutionary Russia: The case of the Jewish Bund. •
Comparative Studies in Society and History 8 (1965-1966): 331-360.
Worsley, Peter. The Trumpet Shall Sound. London: MacGibbon &: Kee, 1957.
Yardeini, Mordecai S., ed. 50 Years of Yiddish Song in America. New York:
Jewish Music Alliance, 1964.
Yellowitz, Irwin. "American Jewish Labor: Historiographical Problems and
Prospects." Jewish Historical Quarterly 65 (1976): 203-214,
•Di yidishe pres in kalifomiye" [The Jewish Presa in California]. Zunland 6
(Sept. 1925): 92-97.

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
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Yoneda, Karl. Ganbette: Sixty-Year Struggle of a Kibei Worker. F.dited by Yuji

Ichioka. Los Angeles: UCLA Asian Studies Center, 1983.
Zaretz, Charles Elbert. The Amalgamated Clothing Workers ofAmerica: A Study
in Progressive Trades-Unionism. New York: Ancon Publishing Co.,
1934.

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Original from
Digitized by Google INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Index
Aaron (biblical), 124, 173 Aron. See Aaron
Abraham (biblical), 61, 65, 213 n91 Arfef, 154n
Abramovitch, Sholem Jaoob arti5an.s aasociations, 47. See also
(Mendele Mocher Sforim), 41, 58, Bal-Mloche Chevrath; ktusy;
108,112 1cheura
ACWA. See Amalgamated Clothing assimilation, 8, 23, 33, 34, 43, 73,
Workers of America 100
Aji}a)men, 191
African-Americans Ba'al, 122
in Communist Party, USA, 4 Bal-Mloche Chevrath, 47
and Exodus theme, 120, 138 Bar Kokhba, 75, 122
as socialist preachers, 120 Bar-Inbak, Haya, 131
A);iba, Rabbi, 122 Barth, Fredrik, 17
Aleichem, Sbolem, 41, 58, 107, 108, "becher, Der," 180
110-111 Bell, Daniel, 30
Am Hase.fer, 40, 41. See also Bender,Sabell,138,154n,196
"people of the Book" Berman, Hyman, 28
AmO/am,98 Bible (Hebrew), 30, 33, 40, 54, 61,
Amalgamated Clothing Workers of 82, 124, 209 n49. See also
America (ACWA), 32, 44, 45, 147- Talmud; Tanalch; Torah
148 biblical laws, 35
anarchists (Yiddish), 16, 21, 58, 64, Birnbaum, Philip, 122
150 bitter herbs, 129, 132, 160-161, 169,
anti-semitism, 9, 17, 20, 23, 31, 33- 176, 177, 191, 192-193. See also
34, 68, 78, 81, 148 maror
Arbeiter Ring. See Workmen's Black socialist preachers. See
Cirde African-Americana
Arbeiter Shtimme, 64 Bobruyslc, Belarus, 109
Arbeiter Zeitung, 39, 40 Bolshevik Revolution, 63, 113, 137,
"arbet traybt mikh fri aroys, Di," 149, 220 DD45, 46, 222 n24, 224
106 n40

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
242 Index
borerim, 46, 212 D77 Dubienb, Poland, 82

Borocbov, Ber, 74
Boston, 112, 113 "Ecbad mi yodea," 130, 133
Bovsbover, Joseph, 42 F.delstadt, David, 42, 97, 98, 106,
Boyle Heights, 147, 149, 152, 153· Egypt, ancient, 27,35, 119,122,124,
154D 126,129, 130, 131,134, 156, 157,
Brandeis, Louis D., 46, 47 159, 161, 166, 167, 169, 170, 173-
Bronx, the, 125 178, 181, 189-194
Buble, Paul, 43 Elijah, prophet, 121, 136-137, 169,
Bund, Jewish Labor, 31-32, 42, 49, 187, 195, 196
222 D24. See also Kleyner Bund "Eliyobu banovi" ("Elyobu banovi"),
Bund baggadab. Set, baggadah, 137,196
Bund Emma Lazarus Club, 69
Bureau of Jewish Education, Los Epstein, Melecb, 47
Angeles, 153 ethnic identification. See identity
ethnic radical movements. See
Caban, Abraham, 24, 27, 37, 39 radical movements
Cnaan, 1.24 Exodus, 27, 35, 62, 120-122, 123,
Canada, 83-86, 88 125,126,129,130,134,136-139
Carpenters' Union (Yiddish Joe.al),
11, 152, 153D Farband (Yidishe Natisionaler
Catholic Worken, 14. See also Arbeiter Farband), 72-73, 75, 76,
socialists 94, 134, 151-152, 220 D42
"Chad gadyo" ("Had gad yo"), 130, farmworkers, 85
133, 136, 164, 178, 196 "fodim, Der," 106
Chavez, Cesar, 139 folk songs, Yiddish, 93-107, 113-117
choruses. See Yiddish, cboruaes folk ideology, definition, 2-5
Christian socialists. See socialists folklore and social protest, studies
City of Hope, 149 of, 93, 94, 199 DD3-4, 216 DD1•2,
Civil Rights Movement, 120, 121, 217Dn3·5
145 Folks Hoyz, 151
claas collSciouaness, 18 Foroerts, Der (Forward), 27, 32, 37
claas identification. See identity Forward, The. See Foroerts, Der
claas position, 18 four questions, the (baggadah), 136
Cleveland, OH, 127 four sons, the (baggadab), 130, 132,
Cohen, Abner, 2-3 136, 137, 157, 175-176
Communist Party, USA (CPUSA), 4, France, 85
11, 112, 113, 120, 127 Freiheit Firtikh. Fund, 65
communists (Yiddish), 11, 16, 32, Freiheit Gaang Ferein, 105, 220
58,113, 127, 137-138 n42. See also Jewish People's
Conaervative congregationa, 140 Chorus
Dawidowicz, Lucy, 24, 45 Gans, Herbert, 23

"Dayenu• ("Dayainu"), 130, 136, Garland, Jim, 94,202 n25, 217 n5
177,196 Gay Liberation Movement, 145
Debs, Eugene, 113 Geertz, Clifford, 13
Degb, Linda, 23 gender identification. See identity
Dorson, Richard M ., 2
Duarte, CA, 149

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Index 243
General Jewish Workers Federation herbs, bitter. See bitter herbs

of Poland, Lithuania and Russia. "Hert ir kinder," 97
See Bund, Jewish Labor Herwegh, Georg, 97
GennanJews Hess, Moses, 16, 22
in Europe, 31 Hillel, 54
in the United States, 143 Hillquit, Morris, 39
Gennany, Germans, 85, 86, 104, Hindus,Maurice,36
105,106 Hlstadrut, 134-135
Ger.elshaftfar veltlelcher Hobsbawn, EricJ., 14
yidishkayt, 135 Holocaust, 77, 127, 144, 216 n57
Gluer, Nathan, 54-56 Howe, Irving, 37, 40
"Go Down Moses; 138, 173, 193
Goldfadn, Abraham, 106 ldelsobn, A. Z., 96
Goldner, Sanford, 61 identity, identification
Gordon, Milton M., 18-20 class, 9, 16-21, 201 no20-21, 202
Goren, Arthur A., 44, 46-47 on22, 26, 29, 203 Do37-38,
Gottfried, Zari, 105 204oo38-40
Grete, Ron, 79 ethnic, 4, 9, 16-21, 197 n8, 201
guilds, artisans'. See artisans no20-21, 202 on22-30
associations gender, 202 o31
Guthrie, Woody, 217 n5 ILGWU. See International Ladies
Garment Workers Union
Habonim, 74, 75 "In dem land fun piramidn.• See
haggadah, 120-122, 126, 129-140, "Piramidn"
223 n35, 224 n48 "In varshever geto iz itzt cboidesh
Bund, 130-133, 155-164 nisn," 185
feminist, 224 n48 International Hat and
kibbutz, 223 n33 C&pmakers' Union, 147
labor Zionist, 134-135 Iotematiooal Ladies Garment
Progressive Jewish Children's Workers Union (ILGWU), 32, 46,
Schools (kindershule), 138-139, 68-69, 95, 100, 147-148
189-196, 224 n46 International Workers' Order
Workmen's Circle, 134-138, 165- (IWO), 61, 84-85, 115, 152, 220
188 042
Ha'Kol, 97, "inter-nationalism,• 38. See also
Hanukkah, 123, 221 n2 Zbitlowsky, Chaim
Hardman, J.B.S., 44, 46 internationalism, 8, 38
haroset (haroseth, charosis), 129, Internatsionler Arbeiter Farband.
177,191 See International Workers Order
Hashomer Ha'tsair, 75, 201 n18 Isaac (biblical), 213 091
Haskalah, 15, 22, 31, 40 Israel
"Hatikva," 107, 135 ancient, 37, 173
havdalah, 137 children of, 35, 37, 40, 170, 173-
Hebrew, 58, 64, 65, 71, 72, 73, 75, 175, 177, 194
76,101,108,122,131,132,134 prophets of, 35, 37, 72
Hebrew school, 8, 72. See also state of(cootemporary), 19, 22,
lcheder; yeshiva 69,70,73,76,78,181,195,216
Hebrew songs, 73, 94, 134-137 n56
Herberg, Will, 46

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
244 Index
IWO. See International Workers' Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara, 80-

Order 81
ICishinev ma.uacre, 32
Jaclcaon, Aunt Molly, 94, 217 n5 Klqner /Jund, 83, 102, 111, 112. See
Jacob (biblical), 213 n91 also Bund, Jewish Labor
Jacoby,Johann,36 IOymuz, Robert, 23
Jerusalem, 15, 63, 72, 130, 213 n91 1col nidre, 115
Jewish Consumptive Relief Society, Kropotkin LiteraJY Society, 64
148 ICupiahok, Lithuania, 101, 103, 104,
Jeiwh Life, 120 220nn45,46
Jewish People's Chorus, 105, 106.
See also Freiheit Gez.ang Ferein labor Zionism. See Zionism
Jewish People's Fraternal Club, 115 LaborZioniatAlllance, 76, 151-152
Jewish People's Fratemal Order landsmeruhqftn, 24, 45, 48, 144,
(JPFO), 70, 84, 115, 152-153 219n34
Jewish Radical Community, 29 I-1Mlle, Ferdinand, 36
Jewish Worker's Club, 85. See also "iLatinos and Landslayt!," 154n
Nathan Garfield Wmside Jewish Lazarus, Emma, 35
Cultural Club Leggett, John C., 17
Joseph (biblical), 166 Lemlich, Clara, 48-49
Judaism, 3, 5, 13, 15, 16, 21-24, 29, Liberation Theology, 14. See also
30,33,36,37,43,44,49,50,53- socialists
60, 66, 73, 74, 77, 82, 110, 124, Liebman,Arthur,20-21,29,32-34
139 link.es, 149, 152
Orthodox, 3, 24, 36, 38, 54, 204 Lithuania, 31, 48, 101, 104,107,108
n4, 213 n3 London, 198 n12
Reform, 3, 56, 140, 214 n3 Loe Angeles, 6, 7, 59, 61, 64, 65, 76,
secular,3,8,9,22,24,37,40,43, 85,123, 136-138, 147-153, 153-
50, 70, 81, 82, 89, 91, 109, 110, 154n, 198 nnl0-11
115, 200 D13, 211 n65 Low, Leo, 105, 106
Kant, Fem, 131-132, 164 Madison, Charles, 107

karpcu,129,177,191 maggid,39
kassy, 48 maldu.or,82
lcehillah, 44, 46 mame-loshen (mamaloshen), 42,
Xelley, Robin D. G., 4 65, 75, 109, 198 n12
lcha/utsim, 104, 107,135,220 D46 manna, 124
lchaverim (chaverim), 76, 101, 104, maror (morer), 129, 19L See also
133,221 n2 bitter herbs
lcheder, 58, 63, 82,111 marranos,134
lcheura, 48, 49, 2ll n69, 213 n84 Marx, Karl, 11, 18, 36, 59, 208 n38
lchomets, 123, 132, 155 marxiam, marxiats, 37, 61, 74
khumash,82 and ,Judaism, 37, 208 n38
kibbu1%im, 19, 223 n33 matmh (mat7.oh), 129, 130, 169,
lciddush, 101, 130 176, 190-193
"ICiddush," 135 May Day, 113
/cindershule. See shule "Mayo rue platz,• 99, 154n
King, Martin Luther, Jr., 120 McCarthyism, 153
Meir, Golda, 76

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Index 245
melammed, 39, 131 Pacj/ic People's Newspaper, The,
Mendelsohn, Ezra, 40, 48 149
Menes, Abraham, 41 Painters' Union (Yiddish local), 152
Menorah Journal, The, 36 Paris,86
Mensheviks, 67 Park, Robert E., 23
mentshlikhkayt, 150 "Partizaner lied" ("Zog nit
Messiah, messiasm, 15, 22, 27, 37, keynmol"), 136, 187, 195
119, 121, 127-128, 157,160,207 Passover (Pesakh), 119·140. See
DD 35, 36, 38 also haggadah; seder
mezusah,71 Paterson, NJ, 88, 104, 106
millenarian movements, 14, 199 n5 Paterson Hebrew Choral Society,
Miriam (biblical), 171 104
Misbnah, 101 Patlrin, A. L, 37, 47
mitlshu/e. See shu/e Peace Movement, 121
mitztvah, mitzvot, 54, 71 "people of the Book,• 66. See also
Mlotek, Eleanor G., 95 AmHasefer
Mocher Sforim, Mendele. See People's Songs, 217 n5
Abramovitch, Sholem Jacob Peretz, I. L, 41, 58, 107, 108, 111
Morgn Freiheit, Der, 32, 59-60, Pharaoh, Egyptian, 120, 129, 130,
105, 106, 115 135,136,156,158,166-167, 170-
Morning Freiheit. See Morgn 176,181,186, 191-194
Freiheit "Piramidn" ("In dem land fun
Mosaic Code, 22, 35, 122 piramidn"), 134, 136, 170, 194
Moses, 28, 39, 40, 120, 124, 126, plagues (biblical), 130, 171
129, 136, 138, 166-167, 171,173, Poole zion, 73, 75, 76, 102, 151-152,
174,175,186,191,193·194 220 n42, 221 n2
Mount Sinai, 166 pogroms,81
mutual aid societies. See kassy; Polaod,31,58,59,85,86,104,222
khevra n24
Progressive Jewish Children's
Nabat,64 Schools, 61, 138-139, 153
Nathan Garfield Westside Jewish prophets,36,38,39,60
Cultural Club, 85 protest and folklore, studies of. See
nativistic movements. See folklore and social protest
millenarian movements "Protocol of Peace," 46, 47
Natsionaler Radikalishe Shu/, 151 proverbs, Yiddish,116
Nazis, Nazism, 62, 119, 182-183 Providence, RI, 134
"neie lied, Dos," 184 Purim, 123, 221 n2
Neie Tzeit, Di, 39
New Jewish Agenda, 29 Quebec City, 86-88
New York City, 4, 32, 44, 46, 48, 49,
59, 64, 72, 79, 84, 88, 89, 123, rabbis, rabbinical authority, 15, 35,
125, 147, 149 39, 40, 47, 53, 55, 56, 82, 95, 97,
122,127·128,152,156, 157,164,
oath, Jewish, 48-49, 213 n91 209D54
Ochberg, Richard L, 80 commentary/polemics, 3, 15, 28,
Orthodox Judaism. See Judaism 53,60,66,95,129,135
"Oyfn nil" ("Oifn nil"), 136, 171 political conservatism of, 3, 55,
95

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
246 Index
racism, 9, 85 Workmen's Circle, 134-138

radical movements s«hr Hagada le-Melamdim, le-
ethnic, 4, 197 n8 Minhag, Lita, Polin, 131
religious, 14-15, 199 nn5, 8,200 "Seder nacht," 168
nn9-12 Seeger, Pete, 217 n5
Reform congregations, 140, 144 shabbas. See Sabbath
Reform Judaism. See Judaism shabbat. See Sabbath
religious radical movements. See Sherman,C.Bezalel,36
radical movements "Shnel loyfn di reder," 106
Reuben Bra.inin Clinic, 70 shokhet, 101
revitalization movements. See shtetl, 43, 71, 83, 94, 211 n69
millenarian movements shul, 72, 82, 101, 102, 126. See also
Rideout, W. B., 37 synagogue
Riacbin,Moses,37,47 shule (kindershule, mitlshule), 8,
Rosenfeld, Mortis, 42, 45, 97, 99, 61-62, 126, 138, 153, 221 n2, 224
102, 106, 154 1146
Rosh Huhanah, 126 "Shuue, Di," 49, 102-103
"Royte feferlakh,• 113 siddur,82,111
"Rozhin.kes mit maodlen,• 106 Social Gospel movement, 14. See
Rubin, Ruth, 96 also socialists
Ruchames, Louis, 35 social protest and folklore, studies
Ruslander sotsyaldemolcratishe of. See folklore and social protest
arbeiter parti hagada shel Socialist Labor Party (SLP), 39
pesakh. See hagaddah, Bund Socialist Party, 44, 113
Russia, 22, 31, 32, 36, 37, 40, 41, 42, socialist Zionism. See Zion, Zionism
48, 67, 98, 101, 109, 111, 113, 125 socialists
Russian embassy, in Paris, 86 Christian, 14, 120, 199 n8, 200
Russian revolution, 1905, 32 nn9-ll
Russian revolution, 1917. See Jewish,l,5,8,14-16,19,21,22,
Bolshevik Revolution 24, 27-29, 31-34, 38-42, 48, 54,
Russian schools, 63 59,61,70,71,73,75-77,93,97,
Russian Social Democratic 99, 102, 104-107, 109, 112, 113,
Workers' Party (RSDWP), 130, 123, 125, 137, 140
222n24 utopian, 8, 14, 36
Russian Social Democratic sons, the four. See four sons, the
Workers' Party P8850Yer Sorin, Gerald, 28-29
Haggadah. See haggadah, Bund Southern Christian Leadership
Council, 120
Sabbath,35,38,39,45,71,101,102, Soviet Jewry, 137,140
130, 137, 160 Soviet Union, 106, 125, 2201146
Santa Monica, CA, 106 Steinberg, Stephen, 23
Schaeffer,Jacoh,105,106 "sudenyu, A," 127-128
Second Generation Jewish Cultural "Sweatshop, The," 42
Club,9 sweatshops, 6, 38, 42, 45
secular Judaism. See Judaism sweatshop poets, poetry, 42, 98-
seder, 119-140 103, 114, 116
labor Zionists, 134-135 synagogue, 38, 45, 58, 72, 143, 207
Progressive Jewish Children's n35, 212 n75, 213 n82, 84. See
Schools, 138-139, alsoshul

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
Index 247
Talmud, 27, 28, 39, 40, 50, 66,126, Wmchevsky, Morris, 42, 97
206 n26, 208 n38, 209 n49 wine, four cups of (seder toasts),
Talmud Torah, 72 121,130,135,169,174,182,184,
Tanalch, 65, 82. See also Bible 191,196
(Hebrew) wine, spilled at seder during
Temple, destruction of, 124 recitation of plagues, 130, 173
7Ysha B'av, 75 Women's Consumers League, 149
Tobias, Remy J., 36, 41 Women's LtberationMovement, 121,
Torah, 27, 35, 39, 40, 54, 126, 130, 145
157. See also Bible (Hebrew) Woodhouse, Charles E., 36, 41
Torah scholars, 131 Workingmen's Choral Movement,
Torah scrolls, 45, 213 n85 105
Toronto, 83, 86, 88 Workmen's Circle (WC), 44, 45, 59,
trade unions, Jewish, 1, 13, 5, 7, 8, 65, 123, 125, 126, 133-138
21,30,32,38-41,44,45-48,SO, WC schools, 59, 125-126, 134,
64, 67-70, 78, 81-85, 95, 100, 137, 148-153
104, 110, 120, 121, 123, 141, 147·
150, 152, 153, 206 n26, 209 Yellowitz, Irwin, 28
nn49·52, 212 nn74, 75 yeshiva, yeshiva bocher, 5, 28, 47,
Tsar, Russian,42, 67, 97, 102, 109, 58,101,107
110,112 Yiddish, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 11, 13, 16, 22,
tsedakah (tsedaka) 27, 44-45, 212 24,25,32,34,38-43,48,53,57·
n74 59, 61, 63-65, 67, 69-71, 73-78,
Tsire tsion, 104 79-84, 88, 89, 94-97, 100-102,
t:zedakah. See tsedakah 105-109, 112-117, 121-123, 125,
127, 131, 133-140, 141-144, 146,
Ukrainian Jews, 107 148, 150-153. See also folk songs,
"Un du akerst, un du zeyst," 97, Yiddish
154n choruses, 82, 85, 114. See also
"Undzer erd," 167 Freiheit Gaang Ferein; Jewish
unions, Jewish. See trade unions, People's Chorus
Jewish literature, 32, 42-43, 214 nlO
United German Trades, 106 press, 1, 32, 38-41, 64, 69, 147
United Hebrew Trades (UHT), 38, Yiddish Children's Theatre, 153
48,106 Yiddish orthography, 12
United Jewish Workers Federation Yiddishism, 38, 42, 43, 134
of Russia and Poland. See Bund, Ytddishkayt (Yuidishkeit), 34, 43,
Jewish Labor 61, 77, 114, 116, 144, 150
Yiddishkayt LA., 154n
-Vakht oyfl; 98 Ytddishkeit. See Yuidishkayt
van den Berghe, Pierre, 17 Yuiishe Arbeiter Klub. See Jewish
Venice, CA, 115 Worker's Club
Vonuarts. See Forverts, Der Yuiishe Folks Ordn. See Jewish
People's Fraternal Order
Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, 119, 136, Yrdishe Kultur Farband (YKUF),
140, 181-188 115
Weinstein, Bernard, 38 Yuiishe Musikalishe Arbeiter
Wiggins, Ella May, 217 n5 Farband,84

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
248 Index
Yidishe Natisionaler Arbeiter

Farband. See Farband
Yom Kippur, 110, 116, 126
Yom Kippur balls, 122
Young Men's Hebrew Association,
144
Yunge, Di, 100
Zhitlowsky, Chaim, 38, 97,123,

154n
Zion, Zionism, 15, 19, 74. See also
Farband; Habonim; Hashomer
Ha'tsair; Hiatadrut; Labor
Zionist Alliance; Poa/e .zion; Tsire
man
labor Zionism, 16, 21, 36, 58, 71•
77, 94, 134-135, 151-153, 201
nn15, 17, 215 n46, 2161156,
223nn33,34
labor Zionist schools, 75, 103,
151-153
socialist Zionism, 16, 70, 71-77,
102, 104, 107, 2151144, 220
n42, 223n33
•1.og m81'1lll," 134
"1.og nit keynmol" ("1.og nlsht
keynmol"). See "Partizaner
lied"

INDIANA UNIVERSITY
About the Author
DAVID P. SHUI.DINER holds appointments as Humanities Program Coordinator

with the State of Connecticut, Department of Social Services, Elderly Services Di-
vision, as Adjunct Faculty in the School of Family Stwlies, Univeisity of Connecti-
cut, and in the Gerontology Program at SL Joseph College, and has taught folklore
at Trinity College. He is co-editor of the Journal ofApplied Folklore and the author
of Aging Political Activists: Personal NarraJives from the Old Left (Praeger 1995)
and Folklore, Culture, and Aging: A Research Guide (Greenwood 1997).

INDIANA UNIVERSITY

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OF MosES AND MARx

Folk Ideology and Folk History

BERGIN & GARVEY

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Llb,:ary of Coogrns Catalogln,g.Jn-PubllcaUoo Data

Shuldiner, David Philip.

The paper used in this book complies wilh lhe

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Chapter 1. When Moses Met Marx:

Chapter 2. Folk Ideology and Folk History:

Chapter 3. Matters of Belief:

Chapter 4. "A Story in Itself':

Chapter 5 . Folklore and Folk Ideology:

Appendix A. The Jewish Labor Movement in Los Angeles 147

Appendix B. A Bund Haggadah 155

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Appendix C. A "Third" Seder: Passover 165

Appendix D. Hollywood Kindershule Pesach Hagadah 189

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The bitter disappoinbnent of the First World War, turning worker

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Many thanlc..5 to Fem Kant of the Philadelphia branch of the Work-

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THE FOLKNESS OF RADICAL FOLK

This study will explore life histories, expressions of belief, and

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traditions of ethnic and immigrant radicals on these organizations, to

In its own way, this book is an attempt to illuminate the contributions

In this book I will pay close attention to those folkloristic elements

1. A community of consensus: descriptions of social networks whose members

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Between 1980 and 1984, I conducted interviews with approximately

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Within such a framework, Jewish tradition did not offer an intrinsically

Forging a unified conception of meaning based on common class

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RADICAIJSM AND ETHNIC CHANGE

A consideration of this transformational process leads us to the

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process among ethnic groups. The American sociologist Robert E. Park

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together out of remnants of the abandoned culture that do not conflict

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their members, but also by a shared political outlook. Many of the

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Folk Ideology and Folk History:

The way people think and feel is an organic part of history.3

The literature on the American Jewish Labor Movement (JLM) is

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formation of their political identity. Reserving judgment for the moment

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associations that would serve to establish precedents for the growth of

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implied by others. Intragroup factionalism was as much a part of

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General Jewish Workers Federation of Poland, Lithuania, and Russia (the