Communications

ARTICLES

To the Editor:

Anniversaries celebrated in the recent past—the bicentennial of 1776 and the quincentennial of 1992—have served as occasions for extensive historical revision. In 1976, it was brought home to us that, contrary to the accepted wisdom, the United States of America and its history has not been free of national ideology, or ideologies, as simple a truth as that now seems. In 1992, what started out as a grand celebration of Columbus's discovery of America quickly turned to a condemnation of him as a destructive invader and a celebration of American cultural diversity—an interpretive somersault accompanied by calls for the dominant foundation story to be scrapped. As a result, American history is still at sea, not necessarily an unhealthy location. Yet the arrival of the current stellar date, the year 2000, seems to have aroused mostly apathy among historians of America and elsewhere. Those marking it have resurrected the question of the reception of the year 1000, or recapitulated the last thousand years, or the last century, or looked into the history of various millenarian movements. Where, though, are the deeper questions and considerations such as surfaced in 1976 and 1992?

     Reflection has exposed some faultlines. Richard K. Emmerson in the December 1999 issue of the AHR [/journals/ahr/104.5/ah001603.html], has pointed to a lack of clarity in terminology associated with the key word millennium. That fuzziness, along with the limited range of subject matter covered in the AHR Forum: Millenniums, raises some far broader questions: Is this the best we can do to approach the millennium historically? Should we be content to look at some instances of gendered approaches to the millennium or at a spate of millenarian movements? In passing, Emmerson cites Bernard McGinn's observation that "most medieval apocalyptic beliefs were employed as ecclesio-political rhetoric in the service of dominant institutions and officeholders (popes and other ecclesiastical leaders; emperors, kings, and their propagandists)" [1608]. He might well have gone on to say, as a solid bibliography evidences, that a major component in those apocalyptic beliefs, the millennial prospect, has loomed large in such mainstream, or establishment, political theology, and that the millennium has been invoked to support existing institutions and authorities far beyond those of the medieval West. At the same time, there is good evidence that millenarian movements may be understood as extreme expressions of certain culture-wide or sometimes cross-cultural ideational currents. Should we not then give some thought to the history of the broader scope of millennialism and its range of occurrences, its stories, language, and images?

     The reach of "ecclesio-political rhetoric," of political theology wielded by people in power, has not been confined to an elite or restricted to theory or discourse. It has had wide historical impact. Why have nonspecialists paid it so little attention? In part, I would suggest it has to do with a far better acquaintance with millenarian movements. They are intrinsically more dramatic, and ready at hand are readable interpretations of them as responses to social injustice or forerunners of totalitarian regimes, explications that tend to preclude closer consideration of impelling beliefs. What gets shortchanged are the more problematic yet more central aspects of millennial history and its intimate ties to religion and religiosity.

     It is inescapable that the concept of millennium itself and the triple-zero date now upon us stem from religious roots. We acknowledge that the advent of the year 2000 marks most literally the anniversary, as our calendrical system more or less computes it, of the birth of Jesus Christ, and that the notion of a millennium retains the biblical sense of a perfect number or time and also something of prophetic hopes and fears associated most strongly with the Book of Revelation. Yet we seem to have lost track of the intervening filtering years, of the spectrum of millennial manifestations that until the eighteenth century were all at least religiously tinged.

     To return, then, to what the marking of the current turn of the millennium may have exposed analogous to the revelations produced in the course of earlier commemorations in this country. During the anniversaries celebrated in 1976 and 1992, an interplay of current issues and historiographical reflection bared gaps, or anyway lags, in historical perception. In the year 2000, rising religiosity and adherence to organized religion in this country are contributing to a renewed questioning of where religion's public and private boundaries should be drawn. Religious resurgence is also challenging a received Western history that for several centuries has tended to celebrate the advance of secularism. At the same time, the turn of the millennium has revealed a penchant, among historians who do not specialize in them, to undervalue the ubiquity of religion and religiosity.

     We have scrapped many of the old assumptions regarding the objectivity of historical truth. We have proclaimed finis to the idea of progress, circumscribed belief in the efficacy of reason, and, in the doing, largely relegated to history a two-centuries-long enchantment with and emphasis on secularity. What we have not yet done, what the attempt to comprehend the millennium in historical terms makes clear, and what a resurgence of religiosity in this country makes highly desirable, is give adequate weight to the reach and potency of religion and religiosity in the past. That does not mean that the millennium as commonly understood today necessarily carries religious meaning. But it continues to bear traces of its origins in sacred history that resonate yet. At 2000, millennial prophecy, belief, rhetoric, terminology, imagery, and their derivatives instance the scope and inclusivity of religion in the past, as well as remind us of the role religion has played in shaping the overall structure of the history we write.

Peggy Liss

Washington, D.C.

Richard K. Emmerson does not wish to reply.

The Editors

REVIEWS OF BOOKS

To the Editor:

Judith Laikin Elkin's review of my book, Esau's Tears: Modern Anti-Semitism and the Rise of the Jews, was published in the same issue of the AHR [104 (October 1999): 1370–71] as a rancorous exchange of letters (1448–49) relating to that book. I will not repeat here the points I made in the exchange, except to reemphasize that Esau's Tears has been widely and favorably reviewed by respected scholars, as has my previous book, The Jew Accused.

     Elkin begins by terming my book a "545-page polemic . . . [challenging] Jewish historiography from biblical times to the Holocaust." Many other reviewers have offered special praise for the volume's balance, its effort to look at issues openly and dispassionately. Elkin seems especially upset by what she perceives as my failure to recognize "a unique Jewish genius," by remarks of mine that she considers "antagonistic to the Jewish experience," and by my criticism of those historians who present anti-Semitism as exclusively the product of Gentile fantasies about Jews, unrelated to Jewish action in the real world. My main sin obviously is in not writing history "correctly."

     Elkin's rising indignation at my interpretive impudence reaches a crescendo in her reference to my "most shameful thrust," that of granting equivalent moral status to Nazi leaders and concentration camp prisoners. This is one of the more preposterous of her many misreadings of my words, and I find it revealing that the very passage (on p. 510) that so outrages Elkin has recently been selected for special praise by Professor Robert Skloot, one of a number of respected scholars who have cited my books or assigned them to their classes. He especially applauds my "generous spirit" in dealing with these ineffably distressing matters, and he alludes at the same time to "holders of historical and cultural theories impervious to reassessment . . . [who lash out blindly when they] find their orthodoxy threatened" (The Theater of the Holocaust, 1999, 5).

     In a stylistic sleight-of-hand that is indeed a "shameful thrust," Elkin laments that I criticize those extreme intentionalists "who refuse to relieve Adolf Hitler of the charge of murder"—as if I believe him innocent of that charge, when I in fact make a special point of his personal responsibility. She then goes on to fault my style as "illusionist" and "ambiguous." She accuses me of undertaking a "rehabilitation" of such historical figures as Richard Wagner, Wilhelm Marr, and Heinrich von Treitschke, when my clearly stated position is that these deeply flawed men need to be evaluated less polemically than has typically been the case. Even criminals have the right to a fair trial; I don't believe that historians should write with the mental horizons of a prosecuting attorney, or a lynch mob.

     Elkin complains of an "amorphously defined Jewish 'rise'" in my book. I describe that rise precisely and concretely, reviewing its many-sided aspects, among them the acquisition of civil equality, unprecedented demographic expansion, in places spectacularly rising income, and, perhaps most impressively, intellectual influence and acclaim. This Jewish rise is of course central to the many histories that celebrate a "unique Jewish genius." In condemning my use of the notion of the rise of the Jews, Elkin completely omits reference to a key interpretive issue, what I term the interplay of fantasy and reality. I make an effort throughout the book to show how anti-Semitic fantasy interacted with concrete issues having to do with a rising prominence of Jews in European and American life. I also point to a number of examples when a Jewish rise has not provoked widespread anti-Semitism. Contrary to the implications of her assertions, I do not "blame the Jews"—a facile slogan, at any rate.

     In complaining that I have had frequent recourse to secondary sources, Elkin seems inadequately aware that the scholars I cite generally support the very interpretations that she finds so outrageous (e.g., in questioning the belief that the tsars encouraged pogroms); her apparent lack of familiarity with such areas of recent scholarly consensus may be explained by her own career-long specialization on one topic, the Jews of Latin America. Can Elkin possibly believe that a work of synthesis, ranging from Moses to Hitler and covering ten countries (none in Latin America) in the modern period, must be based mostly on primary sources? I should point out, however, that my discussion of the three men she mentions as being "rehabilitated" does in fact derive from research in primary sources, in German, as do my treatments of other important figures (Edouard Drumont, in French, Mussolini, in Italian, and Sholem Aleichem, in Yiddish).

     Let me close by again noting that it is not easy to reply in a calm and fruitful manner, within the allotted 700 words, while wiping off the quantity of mud and muck hurled in my direction in this review and in the letters mentioned above.

Albert S. Lindemann

University of California, Santa Barbara

To the Editor:

One does wonder what book Judith Laikin Elkin actually read in preparing her review of Albert S. Lindemann's book on European anti-Semitism [AHR 104 (October 1999): 1370–71]. It certainly was not the careful and innovative contribution of this fine scholar. I am afraid that Elkin's diatribe will only convince some that while many groups may legitimately be studied, warts and all, Jews are forever exempt because of the Holocaust. That constitutes another posthumous victory for the Third Reich.

Norman Ravitch

University of California, Riverside

To the Editor:

I am writing in response to Judith Elkin's review of Albert Lindemann's Esau's Tears in the October 1999 issue of the American Historical Review [1370–71]. I was at the University of California, Santa Barbara, for three years in the early 1990s and am presently completing my dissertation in U.S. history. I have worked closely with Albert Lindemann during my years at Santa Barbara. During the entire span of my extensive interaction with him, I experienced not the slightest shred or hint of anti-Semitism from him. On the contrary, I found him to have, especially for a non-Jew, a rare and unusual empathy and understanding of Jews and the Jewish experience. My work with him focused extensively on the interrelated subjects of fascism and anti-Semitism. My impression was that it was because anti-Semitism was so foreign to Lindemann's own nature that he found its existence in others so puzzling. It seemed evident that his work in the area of anti-Semitism grew out of a sincere and empathetic desire to delve into the historical roots of its arising.

     It is highly unfortunate that publication of his most recent book has led to Lindemann being subjected to ugly accusations of anti-Semitism. He is, indeed, very much the opposite of an anti-Semite. During all of my time at Santa Barbara, he was exceedingly helpful, friendly, and the source of much wise insight into history. Lindemann's book seems to me to be an effort to explore the interrelationship of major aspects of Jewish history, especially during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, to the sometimes parallel force of anti-Semitic currents. It does not make sense that these two areas of Jewish history and anti-Semitism must be separately compartmentalized rather than having their relationships examined. To seek to analyze roots of anti-Semitism is certainly not the same as seeking to excuse anti-Semitism, and especially its virulent and violent expressions, on these bases. I am certain that the latter was never his intent.

     Lindemann's work seems to me to open important new ground in examination and discussion of such questions. These are, of course, subtle waters to navigate well. I believe it showed considerable courage, and willingness to expand beyond existing parameters in this field, for Albert Lindemann to venture into this potentially land mine-laden area. I can assure you, I believe, of his having only good intentions in his work.

William Goldstein

Portland, Oregon

Judith Elkin replies:

First, to clear away some misconceptions. William Goldstein's defense of his mentor is unnecessary: in my review of Esau's Tears, I do not charge Albert Lindemann with anti-Semitism. What I wrote was that Lindemann's ambiguous formulation of historical events provides an insufficient basis for his thesis that Jacob's actions are the prime cause of Esau's tears. One who follows the page numbers that I cite to support my view could hardly disagree that the text is laced with ambiguities which cannot sustain the conclusions that Lindemann draws from them.

     Norman Ravitch, who may be unfamiliar with textual analysis, calls my review a diatribe. It is my contention that scholarly challenges are as valid in the field of Jewish history as in any other. Writing about anti-Semitism should not provoke an automatic charge that the author is anti-Semitic; yet the author who takes up anti-Semitism as his subject is not thereby rendered immune from criticism. And, please, can we not have a debate about Jewish history without the Holocaust getting dragged in by the heels?

     I empathize with Lindemann's bad luck in that my review was published in the same issue of the AHR that carried a rancorous exchange of letters written by other historians. The placement of their letters was an editorial decision that had nothing to do with me, yet it obviously distorted Lindemann's perception of my review. A cooler rereading will persuade him that he was wrong to accuse me of slinging mud and muck at him. He may send his letter of apology to me privately.

     Now to the substance of the author's complaints. Far from being especially upset, as Lindemann charges, because he fails to recognize a unique Jewish genius, I was performing the traditional function of a reviewer when I informed readers that the author was not writing Jewish hagiography. Moving Jewish history away from its ancestor-worshiping tradition is a major achievement of the present generation of historians, one in which I have played a part. As I state in my review, Lindemann discards oversimplification and develops a persuasive counterargument for the complexity and unforeseeability of events. He is particularly persuasive in his attempts to redefine the historical character of the villains of Jewish history. Such analysis can be a service to the practice of history and should be encouraged, not condemned; but it needs to be carried out with objectivity and keen attention to the evidence.

     Despite objecting to my reference to Esau's Tears as a polemic, Lindemann himself opens the polemic with the book's title, with its implication that, as Jacob succeeded in life by cheating his brother, so Jews have risen throughout the ages by cheating non-Jews of their just rewards. The text is polemical throughout, as is illustrated by his account of Orthodox rabbis in Germany in 1884 who declined to extend the principle of universal love to those who do not abide by the seven Noachide Laws. "Presumably," Lindemann comments in a phrase that would do credit to John Chrysostom, ". . . Germany's large and growing population of non-believers, the millions of working-class socialists, for example, or those who could no longer accept the God of the Jews and the Christians, were not deserving of love" (pp. 150–51). The author forgets that earlier in the book (p. 49) he listed some of these laws, which prohibit idolatry, blasphemy, sexual immorality, murder, robbery, and eating the flesh of live animals, traits that might give Lindemann himself pause when choosing whom to embrace.

     Lindemann alleges that I am inadequately aware of new research in European history because I cannot tolerate his questioning the belief that the tsars encouraged pogroms. But I did not write anything of the sort. I was, rather, bringing attention to the casuistry with which he presents so many of his conclusions, as he does in the passage referred to by denying a concerted plan, or plot, to foment the riots (p. 67). My stated objection was that it would be harder to prove that tsarist governments had concerted any plan than that they condoned pogroms. As though echoing my own thoughts, Lindemann writes that Nicholas's government was "divided, confused, and incompetent" (p. 304).

     Throughout the text (as on p. 292, among others), Lindemann downplays the role of organized religion in fanning religious hatred by transmuting and dumbing-down the result of centuries of anti-Jewish teachings into what he calls popular fantasies. This line of thought leads him to the conclusion, "The rise of Jews in modern times [is] the most fundamental cause of modern racial and political anti-Semitism" (p. 532). He does not explore why this rise should have aroused murderous intentions among non-Jews, many of whom were benefiting from it. Words such as envy or jealousy or just plain nastiness never darken the portrait of non-Jews, who are depicted as suffering from Jewish successes such as Emancipation. There are, of course, Americans who still regret Mr. Lincoln's ill-considered Proclamation.

     Finally, I did not write, nor imply, that Lindemann is guilty of blaming the victim. He expresses genuine compassion for Jewish victims of bigotry in many places throughout the book. But his empathy for Jews who are victims is not matched by acceptance of Jews who are successful. It is as though the concept of Jew is only a pseudonym for victim, and as though that is the way it ought to be.

Judith Laikin Elkin

Frankel Center for Judaic Studies University of Michigan

To the Editor:

I have no serious objection to Hiroaki Kuromiya's review [AHR 104 (December 1999): 1796–97] of my translation of Elena Zubkova's book—there is no reason for one—but I want to raise one curious point. On what grounds can a reviewer complain of a translator's divergence from a text that the reviewer has not seen? I did not translate Zubkova's previously published book. I translated quite a different text, a new manuscript that she provided me, a manuscript not available, so far as I know, to the reviewer. If there are, as the reviewer suggests, "changes made from the original Russian edition," is it not natural to attribute them to the author as the author's proper prerogative?

Hugh Ragsdale

University of Alabama

Hiroaki Kuromiya replies:

Hugh Ragsdale's letter answers the question I raised in my review: "It is not clear whether these [changes between the Russian and the English editions of the book] are authorial changes or the translator's." They are authorial. I raised this issue because even though Ragsdale noted in the "Translator's Introduction" that the book, "Translated and edited by Hugh Ragsdale," is "the second (first English) edition of this study" (p. x), he did not identify the first edition. I understood "the first edition" to refer to Zubkova's book in Russian, Obshchestvo i reformy, 1945–1964 (Society and Reforms, 1945–1964) (Moscow, 1993). In my review, I pointed out some important differences between this "Russian original" and the English edition and wondered who made the changes.

     The translator has now disclosed in his letter to the editor that the original is in fact not the published Russian book but "quite a different text, a new manuscript that she [Zubkova] provided me [Ragsdale]." As Ragsdale suggests, this manuscript was not available to me. Nor was the existence of such a manuscript made clear in the book. Thus I had assumed in my review that the English edition was translated and edited by Ragsdale based on the published Russian original (incorporating some changes made by the author for the English edition). Hence the question in my review. I thank Ragsdale for clarifying the point that I raised. Other readers may do likewise.

Hiroaki Kuromiya

Indiana University, Bloomington

To the Editor:

I heartily agree with Robert J. Schneller, Jr.'s letter in the December 1999 issue of the AHR (1831–32). Although the term "new military history" is still used and much good work continues to appear under that heading, the novelty of the term has long since worn off among military historians who have been working in the field for any length of time. Military history today is a "big tent" that encompasses more traditional "guns and boats" historians, those focusing on the interaction between diplomacy and military force, social military historians in the John Keegan tradition, and scholars comparing Western and non-Western military traditions—to name only a few of the approaches. Indeed, some debate exists as to what "military history" really is, between those who see it as focusing on military institutions and others who would include subjects falling under the overall heading of "war and society." In short, a lot has happened since the "new military history" came into vogue.

     It would be most enlightening for military historians as well as those outside the field, to have a senior military historian review the state of military history in the pages of the AHR. There is no shortage of candidates; Dennis Showalter, Russ Weigley, John Lynn, Richard Kohn, or Edward M. Coffman are only a few of those well qualified to comment on this subject. I hope that you will give Schneller's letter every consideration as an idea whose time has come.

David W. Hogan, Jr.

U.S. Army Center of Military History

ERRATA

In the February 2000 issue, the name of the director of the film Brother, Can You Spare a Billion? The Story of Jesse H. Jones was misspelled (Table of Contents, p. x, review, p. 326, and Index, p. 350). His name should have been listed as Eric Stange. The editors regret the error.

The listings for president and president-elect were reversed on page 1(a) after the Index in the February 2000 issue. Eric Foner is AHA president for 2000, and Wm. Roger Louis is president-elect.

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