"The most famous Jewish pacifist was Jesus of Nazareth": German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine KrÃ¤mer's Stories of War and Visions for Peace Elizabeth Loentz Women in German Yearbook: Feminist Studies in German Literature & Culture, Volume 23, 2007, pp. 127-155 (Article) Published by University of Nebraska Press DOI: 10.1353/wgy.2008.0013 For additional information about this article http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/wgy/summary/v023/23.1loentz.html Accessed 9 Dec 2014 16:26 GMT GMT “The most famous Jewish pacifist was Jesus of Nazareth”: German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer’s Stories of War and Visions for Peace Elizabeth Loentz This essay reintroduces the undeservedly forgotten literary oeuvre of the German-Jewish writer, feminist, social worker, and pacifist Clementine Krämer, focusing on her pacifist writings. These texts, published between 1915 and 1927, are read in the context of Krämer’s dual commitment to the German women’s movement and the Jewish community, probing how she negotiated in her writing and activism the multi-faceted identity of a German, Jewish, and feminist pacifist. The essay identifies two distinct periods in Krämer’s pacifist writing. During the war years, Krämer published in the mainstream press stories and poems that were subtly subversive and studiously devoid of Jewish issues and characters. With the notable exception of her Bavarian-dialect pacifist novella Die Rauferei (The Fight, 1927), Krämer’s postwar texts, which appeared almost exclusively in the Jewish press, were overtly and uncompromisingly pacifist, positing an inherent affinity between pacifism, Judaism, and feminism. (EL) Despite the efforts of her nephew, sociologist Werner J. Cahnmann, who published a short biography in 1964, Clementine Krämer (1873– 1942) is now virtually unknown. During her lifetime, however, she was a well-known writer, social worker, and feminist. She was co-founder of the Israelite Youth Aid in Munich, a member of the national executive board of the League of Jewish Women and founder and chairperson of its Munich branch, and co-founder and chairperson of the Munich branch of the German Union for Female Suffrage. A prolific and versatile writer, Krämer published a novella, a children’s picture book, two serial novels, numerous essays and poems, and over one hundred stories and sketches.1 Her writings appeared in anthologies, in major Jewish and general Women in German Yearbook 23 (2007) Elizabeth Loentz 127 German-language magazines, and in local and regional newspapers across Germany. Her pacifist novella Die Rauferei was published by Gustav Kiepenheuer, one of the most prestigious publishing houses of the Weimar era.2 This article reintroduces Clementine Krämer’s undeservedly forgotten literary oeuvre, focusing in particular on her pacifist writings. These texts are read in the context of Krämer’s dual commitment to the women’s movement and the Jewish community, probing how she negotiated in her writing and activism the multi-faceted identity of a German, Jewish, and feminist pacifist. As was the case for many Jewish pacifists in Germany and Austria during WWI and in the Weimar or Interwar period, Krämer’s pacifism went hand in hand with a commitment to other progressive issues and movements, such as women’s suffrage, the Jewish women’s movement, anti-antisemitism, and social work. There are numerous examples of synergy between the various progressive movements in which Krämer was involved. For example, Bertha von Suttner, the “mother” of the German-speaking peace movement, was also an advocate of women’s rights and suffrage, as well as an outspoken opponent of antisemitism. The Russian League for Women’s Equality, the French Union for Women’s Suffrage, and the German Union for Women’s Suffrage all maintained that granting women the vote would discourage militarism and promote international understanding and peace. The Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, founded in 1915, expressed in its name the affinity of pacifism and feminism (Evans 123). These synergies were visible in Krämer’s activities as well. The Munich branch of the German Union for Female Suffrage, for example, was founded at a 1909 meeting organized by Krämer and several like-minded women, including the pacifist Margarete Jacobson Quidde (who was married to Ludwig Quidde, a Nobel Peace Prize honoree and president of the German Peace Society; Cahnmann 278–79). After the First World War, the League of Jewish Women, too, embraced pacifism, urging its members to join the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (Holmes 1–2, Kaplan 124). When the League of Jewish Women affiliated with the newly founded Jewish Peace League in 1929, Clementine Krämer served as a liaison between the two organizations (Holmes 24–25). Krämer produced a large body of texts relating to pacifism and to soldiers’ and civilians’ experiences of the First World War.3 Her pacifist writing can be divided into two distinct periods. During the war years, Krämer published stories and poems that reflected her pacifist agenda but were subtle enough to be printed in the mainstream press alongside stories that glorified the war effort. With one exception, Jewish issues and identifiably Jewish characters are absent from these wartime texts. This 128 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer exception is the story “Mut” (Courage) which appeared in a Jewish periodical.4 Its protagonist, a tailor whose former clients are surprised to learn that he was awarded the Iron Cross, is called “the Jewish tailor [Judenschneider] Isaac Eliassohn.”5 When the same story appeared in five non-Jewish periodicals, he was named Andreas Risselmann.6 After World War I, Krämer’s pacifist writings underwent a marked shift. While her wartime texts were subtly subversive and studiously nonJewish, her Weimar period writings, with the exception of Die Rauferei, were written for an exclusively Jewish audience and were overtly and uncompromisingly pacifist and self-confidently Jewish. Notably, Krämer refrained from addressing wartime antisemitism—such as Jewish soldiers’ experience of antisemitism at the front, the accusations of Jewish cowardice or shirking service that led to the humiliating Jewish military census of 1916, charges of Jewish war-profiteering, or the stab-in-theback legend (Dolchstosslegende)—even when she wrote for the Jewish press, until the 1920s. As a literary writer, though certainly not in her private life or activism, she was a closeted Jew. Krämer, who did not settle in Bavaria until she was an adult, even wrote literature in Bavarian dialect and earned a reputation as a Bavarian regional writer (Heimatdichterin), a near anomaly for a non-native Bavarian and Jewish writer,7 especially for an activist dedicated to Jewish social work. Without an identifiably Jewish name, Krämer “passed” by segregating Jewish issues and identifiably Jewish characters to Jewish publications. Her disguise was so perfect that her Bavarian writing was embraced by the notoriously antisemitic Bavarian Miesbacher Anzeiger (Miesbach Gazette), which “believed that there was no better way to portray the soul of the Bavarian people than by reprinting one of her stories.”8 The paper wanted to continue running the novella “even after [Krämer] pointed out the necessity of unifying theory and practice” (“Erinnerungen”).9 Although the texts that Krämer wrote for a Jewish audience emphasized Judaism’s strong affinity for pacifism, Die Rauferei, which was her only pacifist work published outside the Jewish press during the Weimar years, was assiduously devoid of Jewish figures and references to Judaism and further camouflaged by its Bavarian setting, characters, and dialect. When writing for a general audience, Krämer concealed her Jewishness in order to prevent the potentially damaging association of pacifism with prevailing negative stereotypes of Jews as weak, cowardly, unpatriotic, and feminine.10 In this regard, she differed markedly from Elsa LaskerSchüler, whose anti-war novel Der Malik: Eine Kaisergeschichte (The Malik: An Emperor Story) chronicled the conflict between Prince Jussuf’s anti-war “wild Jews” and the militaristic “Aryans” led by Giselheer, a figure based on Gottfried Benn (Rumold 154). Overall, Krämer’s World War I writings have little in common with those of Expressionist pacifist Elizabeth Loentz 129 writers, many of whom—most famously Ernst Toller, who enthusiastically volunteered for service at the front at the onset of the war but became a pacifist before its end—advocated for a socialist revolution as an alternative to the nationalist, capitalist system that had caused the war (Holl 124–31). This revolutionary impulse is entirely absent from Krämer’s writings. The First World War Like many women of the middle-class German women’s movement, which included the League of Jewish Women, Krämer engaged in volunteer war work.11 Unlike her colleague Bertha Pappenheim, however, who was honored with the Cross of Merit for War Aid for her work as a factory guardian (Fabrikpflegerin) for Russian Jewish female forced laborers in munitions factories, Krämer’s work did not serve the war effort directly. In Munich, the local chapter of the League of Jewish Women joined forces with the Association for Women’s Interests, the Association of Female Catholic Schoolteachers, the League of Catholic Women, the League of Protestant Women, the Association of Homeowners, and the local government to establish a central welfare office with twenty-nine district branches to distribute government assistance to dependents of soldiers. Eventually services were also offered to nondependents who became needy as an indirect result of the war and expanded to include the collection and distribution of food, clothing, heating fuel, and other household goods; employment referrals and the distribution of outwork; sewing and knitting workshops; courses in sewing, darning, cooking, and growing and preserving food; childcare; a soup kitchen; and loan services.12 Together with representatives from the other partner organizations, Krämer supervised the district office located on the Kohleninsel, now called the Museumsinsel, in the Isar River. Krämer’s humorous anecdote “Aschenbrödel” (Cinderella) was inspired by her work at the War Welfare Office, and it is likely that Krämer’s work in this office also informed several other stories that portray the experiences of poor or working class Germans at the home front, criticize the disproportionate material sacrifice of the poor during wartime, or illustrate how war can act as a class-leveler, suggesting that heroism is not dependent on rank and that bullets are oblivious to class hierarchy.13 Near the end of the war, members of the Association of Homeowners occupied Krämer’s office at the Kohleninsel and declared that they intended to take over. Krämer and her best friend Erna Rheinstrom Feuchtwanger14 made good on their threat to resign their posts if the Association of Homeowners’ representa- 130 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer tives did not apologize for their actions and offensive remarks, which Cahnmann assumes were antisemitic (279–80). As stated above, Krämer’s published wartime writings were not overtly pacifist or anti-war.15 Instead, Krämer emphasized the necessity of supporting the troops and honoring their sacrifices, while subtly undermining the dominant heroic and patriotic-nationalistic discourse. She depicts, from the perspective of the soldier, an unvarnished view of combat and its aftermath. She humanizes the enemy by portraying the patriotism of the French enemy, positive relationships between French and German individuals, and the shared culture and history of the two warring nations. She writes of the suffering, both emotional and material, of soldiers’ families, detailing the disproportionate suffering of women and the poor. Krämer’s wartime texts do not criticize Germany’s motivations for or actions in the war, nor do they reject war as inherently immoral. In this regard, she differed from some other Jewish pacifists, such as Albert Einstein, who openly voiced his opinion that the war had no moral justification and vocally opposed Germany’s violation of Belgian neutrality (Horwitz 237–40). Nor does Krämer explicitly agitate for particular political solutions, such as those formulated by the International Women’s Peace Congress, held at The Hague in 1915 and attended by twenty-eight German women, which passed resolutions “against secret treaties and annexations, and in favor of a League of Nations, universal disarmament, international arbitration and the democratic control of foreign policy” (Evans 125).16 Given the severe censuring of overt pacifist activities in Germany during World War I, Krämer’s more subtle approach may have been strategic. Censorship made the publication of explicitly anti-war texts in Germany difficult, and works published in exile—such as Leonhard Frank’s Der Mensch ist gut (Mankind is Good) and Andreas Latzko’s Men in War (Menschen im Krieg), both published in Switzerland—were banned in Germany (Barker 85, Fähnders 75). During the war, the activities of the German Peace Society and other peace organizations were sharply curtailed by heightened censorship and the restriction or outright prohibition of assembly. Leading pacifist activists were arrested, subjected to house searches, travel restrictions, and publication bans, or even deported. Völkerfriede (Peace Among Nations), the journal of the German Peace Society, as well as several literary journals that published anti-war articles or literature, such as Das Forum (The Forum) and Die weißen Blätter (The White News), were ordered to cease publication. German Peace Society leader Ludwig Quidde was forbidden to pursue any pacifist activities, as was the author Annette Kolb; Lilli Janasch and Elsbeth Bruck of the League for a New Fatherland were arrested for high treason; and Lida Gustava Heymann, one of the founders of the German National Elizabeth Loentz 131 Committee of Women for Permanent Peace and vice-president of the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, was expelled from Bavaria, though she remained in Munich in hiding (Holl 121–26; Ritchie 88; Riesenberger, Geschichte der Friedensbewegung 110–13; Gelblum 215). Despite a long-standing sympathy for pacifism within the German women’s movement, with the outbreak of war the Federation of German Women’s Associations “condemned the Peace movement and branded participation in the 1915 Hague Congress as ‘incompatible with the patriotic character and the national duty of the German women’s movement… [and] with any responsible position and work within’” the organization (Evans 128). Several women were expelled from membership in the Federation of German Women’s Associations for attending the conference (Braker 88, Lischewski 111–46). Hence, although Krämer’s message was certainly not as forceful as those of more vocal pacifists, she did succeed in not being silenced altogether. And because she published in mainstream media, she did not run the risk of “preaching” to the already converted. Unlike the majority of her German-Jewish contemporaries, Krämer did not partake in the war enthusiasm (Kriegsbegeisterung) of the early war years, when many Jews believed that the Kaiser’s declaration of a “civic truce” (Burgfrieden) implicitly called for an end to antisemitism and that the war would grant Jews the opportunity to prove their patriotic loyalty on the battlefield. Nor did Krämer write texts that vilified Germany’s enemies, like Ernst Lissauer’s famous poem “Haßgesang gegen England” (Song of Hate Against England), or justified Germany’s role in the war or attempted to reconcile the war with Jewish religion or political interests, like Joseph Wohlgemuth’s Der Weltkrieg im Lichte des Judentums (The World War in Light of Judaism).17 The closest that Krämer came to justifying the war was the conclusion of her 1915 short story “Besuch aus dem Schützengraben” (Visit from the Trenches). It reads: And we can do only this: Admire and thank those at the front from the bottom of our hearts. And not only today and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and as long as the war lasts or is still fresh in all of our minds. But rather long after that we must still honor the last cripple of this Great War. The last cripple who stood there as a small stone in the wall that prevented the enemy from flooding, trampling on, and ravaging our beloved Fatherland. (295)18 Although Krämer confirms here the popular opinion that the war was a defensive one, hence justified, and stresses the importance of supporting the troops and honoring their sacrifices, she undermines the dominant 132 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer heroic discourse with the sobering replacement of the war hero with the war cripple. The accounts told by the title character, the visitor from the trenches, act as a corrective to the romantic war fantasies of those who remained at home, represented here by the soldier’s young cousins, who have internalized war propaganda from newspapers and school and honor their father’s birthday with speeches and war poems that call for Germany’s victory over “perfidious Albion.”19 Werner,20 who plays war with his siblings, is enthralled by his cousin Ferdl’s accounts: “When the soldier in field gray related something especially fierce, the boy waved his arms about, as though he himself were in the middle of it.”21 Ferdl, however, tells not only of heroism and camaraderie but also of “death and dying and disaster [ … ], and of quagmire and morass, and of rain and snow.”22 He humanizes Germany’s enemy with accounts of enemy soldiers who “would rather be good and would rather see their adversary as a man than as the enemy, as they must” (295).23 Several other stories likewise deflate romantic fantasies of wartime heroism with portrayals of the unglamorous realities of the battlefield. In “Anno 15,” a mother reports how her wounded son crawled from the battlefield on all fours to find refuge in a cave, where he spent the night crying for help, lying in a deepening pool of his own blood, surrounded by hordes of huge rats. In “Totentanz” (Dance of Death), a soldier on patrol daydreams of happier times in pre-war Munich. But recollecting a dance of death at a Fasching atelier party causes him to reflect on the real dance of death in which he is now engaged: Dance of Death—he recalls how he rode his horse alongside his major over the rolling countryside after his first assault last summer. A magnificent sight from a distance. But as they came closer— what was that disgusting smell? At once, his superior starts storming that there must be corpses lying around, not doused with the regulation amount of chlorinated lime…. And indeed, the Lord had let golden waves of grain ripen there, but those weren’t lovely poppies blooming amongst it as he had thought from the distance—oh no— human beings lay there, dead human beings dressed in red caps and red trousers. They were still glowing like a wild, growing Becoming—Dance of Death.24 War neither looks nor smells as romantic up close as it does in the imagination. Fallen French soldiers, whose bodies rot in the sun, are no longer just enemies, but humans. Before being shot to death himself, the protagonist mockingly dismisses romantic notions of war: “‘Bold horseman… Nonsense, bold… who is a hero if no one sees it?’”25 Elizabeth Loentz 133 Other stories blur the lines between Germans and their enemies by depicting French patriotism or personal relationships, especially romantic ones, between French and German individuals. In “Der Schulmeister” (The Schoolmaster), Corporal (Vizewachmeister) Horst Hinrichsen, a teacher, discovers a French schoolmaster who is spying and signaling German troop movements with the changing configuration of his clotheslines. When Hinrichsen confronts him, calling him a traitor, the schoolmaster answers, “‘No sir, not a traitor but a patriot—a patriot like you.’”26 Although Hinrichsen ultimately shoots the spy, he cannot help but respect him: “He stands before the body and slowly removes his own cap [ … ] ‘A patriot, who died for his country,’ he thinks—and in thought he must repeat this to himself, ‘Vive la patrie’—long live the fatherland [ … ] ‘Rest in peace, colleague’” (5–6). The stories “Vor dem Weltkrieg” (Before the World War), “Muckl und die Franzosenfrau” (Muckl and the Frenchwoman), and “Der Barbar” (The Barbarian) feature French-German love stories.27 In “Der Barbar,” Krämer employs romance and humor to defuse the hate ignited by wartime propaganda. In this light-hearted tale, Martialis, a German officer and chronic womanizer from Munich, is billeted with a pretty young Frenchwoman, Denise, and mutual attraction ensues. The story’s German readers see themselves through the eyes of Denise, whose third-hand knowledge of the German enemy relies on the highly stereotypical and sensationalized second-hand experience of the town gossip, Madame Collette: “They all had red beards that they never cut, huge mouths, and arms and legs as strong and massive as tree trunks. They didn’t eat like humans, but gobbled down their food uncooked. They never learned how to use knives and forks. And her neighbor Madame Collete had heard that they had a preference for small children.”28 Denise begins wearing simple dresses and spending her time darning stockings, because she has read that German men like this in a woman. Frustrated by his lack of interest, she reverts to her “French” self, dons an orange silk dress and plays popular songs (Gassenhauer) on the piano, whereupon Martialis finally makes his move. They are interrupted by Denise’s daughter, who wakes up, thinking that her father has come home from the front. Sobered, Martialis volunteers for transfer to the front. Denise tells Madame Colette that the Germans are indeed barbarians, not because she or her daughter were molested by Martialis, but because he had “scorned” her. Similarly shielded by humor, Krämer alludes to long-standing European cosmopolitanism in her story “Die Schelle Friedrichs des Großen” (The Frederick the Great Bell, 1918), which highlights the shared heritage of Germany and its enemies. The story’s protagonist, the intensely patriotic physics professor Dandu Barrière, who serves the war effort by developing new chemical weapons, detests contemporary Germany as 134 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer represented by “le Kaiser, and Bismarck and his system [ … ] because they are—to put it succinctly—lacking in style. And that is the worst of sins in the eyes of the professor” (331).29 But he waxes nostalgic for a more civilized—in other words Francophile—Germany of centuries past, embodied in his fantasy by an idealized Frederick the Great. A lover of collectibles, Barrière rings for his lunch with a bell whose handle is a likeness of the emperor. He tells his guest, a young historian from the Sorbonne: [Frederick the Great] was still a real man, a splendid fellow. German purely by mistake. Ha ha, how ironic—he, a prussien! He, who spoke and wrote French his entire life. The admirer of Racine and Corneille. He, who [ … ] would rather have his children taught good manners than have their intellects trained. There you have it, a prussien as an admirer of manners! Hm? Now was that German, was that Prussian? (331)30 When the history professor retorts that “le old Fritz’s” Francophilia was “[n]onsense [ … ] feuilleton at best,”31 an enraged Professor Barrière hurls the bell, breaking the tower off of a miniature Strasbourg Cathedral (331).32 By mentioning this cathedral, located in the Alsace, Krämer alludes to the uncertainty of national and cultural borders.33 It should be noted that cosmopolitanism and internationalism are commonly associated with both feminist and Jewish pacifism. According to Rivka Horwitz, “Jews, in comparison to other people, are less bound by the limits of their country; they wander more freely from one country to the other. They often have family ties abroad, know many languages, or study beyond the confines of their country; hence they feel themselves more to be citizens of the world” (242). Nevertheless, the vast majority of German Jews did not oppose the war, and some Jewish supporters of the war, such as Joseph Wohlgemuth, cited German Jews’ responsibility toward Jews beyond Germany’s borders (particularly in Russia, where Jews suffered severe persecution) as justification for the war. The Weimar Years After the First World War, Krämer’s pacifist writings underwent a major shift. While her wartime texts were subtly subversive and studiously non-Jewish, the majority of her post-war pacifist writings were overtly and uncompromisingly pacifist and self-confidently Jewish. Based on her first-hand experience of early National Socialist activities in Munich, Krämer observed in the early 1920s that war and antisemitism Elizabeth Loentz 135 were closely linked phenomena, both grounded in chauvinist hate and violence. In 1924, Krämer was included in a survey of prominent Liberal Jews on “Die wichtigsten Aufgaben des Juden im neuen Jahr” (The Most Important Tasks for Jews in the New Year). She answered, “Jews have a special job to do, a mission to fulfill, namely to combat all violence, and for that reason to work on settling the conflicts between the peoples and within the peoples” (2).34 Her 1924 essay “Pfadfinder” (Pathfinders), which investigates how Jewish pupils and their parents should react to antisemitic harassment from fellow pupils and swastika-wearing teachers, posits Jewish pacifism as a strategy for eradicating antisemitism: What can this mission be that—uniting all active factions within the Jewish community35—will give young people self-confidence and positive strength for defense? What will result when we unite— ethically!—and realize what it is about our times that offends us and is the root of all antisemitism? It is violence! And we reject it. In the SPIRIT OF JUDAISM, we reject violence! We, the victims of persecution, we, the eternal minority, must help educate mankind to RESPECT this SPIRIT, to DESPISE VIOLENCE. Above all, Jews have the responsibility to cultivate the CONCEPT OF PEACE! The concept of social peace and supranational peace. Between the classes and between the peoples. Maybe a Judaism interpreted in this way, in which parents set an example for their children, will help overcome the poison of antisemitism in the schools.36 Krämer’s inclusive definition of violence encompasses economic oppression and potentially divisive social class distinctions, demonstrating a clear link between pacifism and other progressive concepts, such as anti-racism, cosmopolitanism, and class-consciousness. Krämer’s linkage of pacifism and anti-antisemitism was by no means original. Alan T. Levenson notes that “the peace movement in Germany was home to a number of outspoken [non-Jewish] anti-antisemites” (21). For example, Bertha von Suttner helped to establish an Austrian branch of the League to Combat Antisemitism, reasoning, “I fight against antisemites even as I do against war, for they represent the same spirit” (quoted in Levenson 25). While still a student, Ludwig Quidde reacted to the signing of an antisemitic petition by 400 students in Göttingen by authoring the pamphlet Die Antisemitenagitation und die deutsche Studentenschaft (The Antisemitic Agitation and German Students). Quidde later proclaimed, “Antisemitism and pacifism are mutually exclusive. Absolutely. The Peace Society is the sworn opponent of any form of racism, also of antisemitism” (quoted in Levenson 27). Despite these convictions, the non-Jewish leaders of the peace movement were cognizant that the peace 136 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer movement was frequently characterized by its opponents as a Jewish movement, and that a “too Jewish” appearance could undermine its efficacy. Bertha von Suttner, for example, wrote in her diary in 1892 that she approved of journalist Gustav Karpeles’s “desire to work behind the scenes, lest the initiative for a Berlin chapter [of the German Peace Society] appear ‘too Jewish’” (Levenson 22). Krämer’s unpublished story “Wenn alle Menschen Brüder sind” (When All Men Are Brothers) likewise associates pacifism with antiantisemitism. In this story, Frau Nathansohn reads a pacifist picture book with her daughter Ruth. Mother and daughter, whose names mark them as Jewish, play a well-rehearsed game of question and answer: “‘Why is war a sin for all people?’ [ … ] ‘It is written: Thou shalt not kill.’ [ … ] ‘What is the greatest joy?’ [ … ] ‘When all men are brothers’” (1).37 Much to his mother’s chagrin, Till von Tauern, whose family shares the train compartment, is eager to befriend the Jewish girl and to learn the pacifist responses. The fast friendship ends abruptly when Till’s father, wearing a swastika pin in his lapel, returns to the compartment and removes him, red-faced, kicking, and screaming “Juth,” from the compartment. The story highlights the importance of early education, nurturing children’s innately tolerant and loving natures. It is no coincidence that a woman conducts the pacifist education of children. Strongly influenced by the moderate feminism of the League of Jewish Women and its leader Bertha Pappenheim, Krämer, herself childless, subscribed to the traditional notion that motherhood and the “motherly” professions (teaching, nursing, social work, etc.) were woman’s natural and true calling. Because violence and killing were anathema to woman’s purpose as the giver and nurturer of life, women were also considered natural allies for pacifism. Jewish women, as heirs to the religion that gave the world the commandment “Thou shalt not kill,” were doubly beholden to pacifism. Krämer voiced this special obligation of Jewish women in her 1925 essay “Esther,” which admonishes the Biblical heroine for breaking this commandment when she demanded the execution of Haman’s ten sons. Krämer’s real critique, however, is leveled at her female contemporaries, “[Esther’s] sisters, who even experienced the World War. Who should know Friedrich Hebbel, the interpreter, who called out to Judith, the widow of Bethulia, your busier sister, that ‘Women should give birth to men, not kill them.’”38 A critique of the “matriarchs” is replayed in Krämer’s unpublished sketch “Erziehung” (Education). In it a grandmother slaps her granddaughter as punishment for an insolent remark. When she asks her daughter-in-law what she intends to do about the child’s behavior, the younger woman replies, “‘I intend [ … ] never to use corporal punishment on my grandchildren, because it is not right and proper, not for a Elizabeth Loentz 137 grandmother nor in general’” (2).39 This vignette reiterates the principle that pacifist education begins at home, under the tutelage of the mother and by her example. Interestingly, even some radical feminists, such as Anita Augspurg and Lida Gustava Heymann, who typically eschewed notions of women’s intrinsic difference, embraced, at least rhetorically, the essentialist view that women have a natural affinity for pacifism due to their natural/biological role as givers and preservers of life” (Gelblum 209–10). Conversely, German feminist supporters of World War I argued that women’s maternal instincts—their natural desire to support their children, in addition to the female virtue of self-sacrifice—should translate into support of the war effort. Both French and German feminists reasoned that women’s wartime mission was to bear children to replace the manpower lost in the war and thus secure their nation’s future (Evans 149–50, Braker 81). Despite the horrors of the war, a postwar culture of violence that resulted from reintegrating into civilian life young men who had been trained to kill,40 and escalating antisemitism during and after the First World War, Krämer doggedly insisted that mankind was progressing and that both war and antisemitism would eventually be eradicated. Krämer concludes her essay “Pfadfinder” as follows: And if a child were to ask me: “And do you truly believe that antisemitism can vanish from the earth?” Then I would answer, “I am sure of it, just as I also know for sure that war will one day vanish from the earth.” The child may object that there has always been war, just as there has always been antisemitism. I would answer, “That doesn’t prove anything, because we are still a very young world, just 5684 years old. We still have a lot of time to mend our ways.” The child, “But we, I for example, will hardly live to see it?” “No, not you,” I would say, “You and I will have to be satisfied with being PATHFINDERS.”41 Krämer’s unpublished story “Scholom Alechem” (Sholem Aleichem) likewise expresses her continued “teleological optimism.”42 A young Jewish woman, embroiled in a debate with her fellow passengers on a train in Bavaria, counters the stereotypical characterization of Jews as “sniveling pacifists” with the reminder that “‘one of the most famous Jewish pacifists was Jesus of Nazareth.’”43 She returns their retort that Jesus lived in “other times”: “‘Other times? [ … ] I say more wicked, more brutal times; or would you claim that the world hasn’t progressed even a little bit since the pugilism, witch-burnings, and torture of the past? Disregarding, of course, the relapse into the darkest Middle Ages that this World War constitutes’” (1).44 138 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer The reclamation of Jesus as Jew, often as part of an anti-antisemitic rhetoric, had a long tradition in German-Jewish culture. Moses Mendelssohn, for example, sought to garner Christian tolerance of traditional Jewish religious practice by reminding Christians that Jesus was an observant Jew. Whereas Mendelssohn invoked Jesus’s Jewishness to defend the observance of Halakhah, German Reform Jews such as Abraham Geiger “portrayed Jesus as a figure who captured the essence of Judaism, making its prophetic and ethical traditions primary, and relegating halakha to secondary status” (Heschel 235). This Jewish Jesus was neither the founder of a new religion nor the Messiah, but a “protoReform” Jew (Novak 124). Like Mendelssohn, Geiger also invoked Jesus’s Jewishness to combat antisemitism and intolerance, namely to “counter the widespread anti-Judaism in contemporary German New Testament scholarship, as part of a larger effort to overcome religious and cultural objections to Jewish equality” (Heschel 3–4). By calling Jesus a Jewish pacifist, Krämer’s protagonist at once defends pacifism by universalizing it—peacemaking was not a specifically Jewish, and thus negative, value but part of a shared Judeo-Christian ethics—while simultaneously defending Jews by reminding her interlocutors of Jesus’s Jewish origins and hence their own ties to Jews and Judaism. Krämer’s rhetorical deployment of Jesus as Jewish pacifist would have faced an uphill battle had the text ever been published. Starting with the rise of German nationalism in the 19th century, some German theologians and philosophers began to grow uncomfortable with the notion of Jesus as Jew. At the beginning of the century, Fichte proposed the “Aryan Christ”; in the latter part of the century, the idea of the Aryan Jesus was popularized by Houston Stewart Chamberlain’s bestseller Foundations of the Nineteenth Century; and in the years immediately preceding National Socialism, a group of nationalist antisemitic Protestants who called themselves the German Christians (Deutsche Christen) “promoted a theology that identified Jesus not only as an Aryan, but as the great enemy of everything Jewish, whose mission was the destruction of Judaism” (Heschel 11–12). Furthermore, pacifism had been a minority view in Christianity—supplanted by the just-war tradition, which defended military force as a “last resort against grave injustice”—since the time of Emperor Constantine (Hoekema 917–19). Although the relationship between Christian churches and the peace movement in other countries, such as England and the United States, was robust, the expectations of German pacifists that a similar cooperation would develop there were disappointed. According to Roger Chickering, “Far from supporting the peace movement, the German churches actively opposed it” (Imperial Germany 196). Despite the apparent proclivity of Christianity for pacifism—as articulated in the Sermon on the Mount— Elizabeth Loentz 139 the small number of pacifist pastors who did associate with the peace movement were harassed by colleagues and censured by their consistories, and influential journals with ties to the Protestant churches condemned pacifism. The Protestant clergy and leadership’s reticence to embrace the peace movement can be explained by a combination of political and theological factors. Because Protestant churches were statesupported, clergymen were in effect civil servants and as such “reluctant to embrace a cause which, in advocating international institutions, appeared to deprecate the state’s sovereignty and criticize its policy” (Chickering, Imperial Germany 196–97). Furthermore, according to the dominant Protestant theology, “[i]f wars occurred on earth, it was evidence of God’s will. Advocacy of perpetual peace on earth represented an attempt to oppose God’s plan and to deny the dualism between the Weltreich [“earthly realm”] and the Gottesreich [“realm of God”] in implementing Christian ideals in strictly temporal matters” (Chickering, “Peace Movement” 306). Although Catholic clergy were not as vocal in their rejection of pacifism, they were, despite the fact that the goals of the peace movement enjoyed Papal endorsement, equally disinclined to join it (Chickering, Imperial Germany 196–97). This Catholic reluctance was driven less by theological than by political concerns. In the aftermath of the Kulturkampf, German Catholics had become outspoken German patriots. Intent on demonstrating their national loyalty, German Catholics “avoid[ed] all associations with organizations, such as the peace society, whose national credentials were in any way suspect” (Chickering, Imperial Germany 202–03). Notably, the eloquent and strident defender of German Jews in “Sholom Alechem” does not look Jewish. Another passenger, an “unmistakably Jewish-looking girl” who witnessed the debate in silence, marvels that a Christian, “light blond and blue-eyed and obviously of pure Aryan descent” would so strenuously defend Jewish honor (1).45 Her short-lived hopes for German philosemitism are dashed when the presumably Aryan defender of Jews turns out to be Jewish. She is greeted at the station by her father with “‘Sholem aleichem, my dear daughter’” (2).46 Despite its teleological optimism, this story is Krämer’s most pessimistic view of Jewish prospects for the near future. On the one hand, it represents her most direct rebuttal of contemporary antisemitism. The young woman refutes a fellow traveler’s reproach that Jewish men all stayed home or were stationed behind the lines during the war, the assumption that led to the 1916 military census: “‘Jews fell by the thousands, at a percentage well beyond their proportion of the population [ … ] and one must think twice as highly of a Jew who dies for a fatherland that treats him so—well so—like you people here seem to enjoy doing’” (1).47 However, by making a supposedly Aryan-looking 140 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer Jew the representative of the Central-Verein-style48 anti-defamation strategy, Krämer acknowledges both the limits of Jewish self-defense and the solidarity of non-Jews. Krämer’s most important pacifist text, the novella Die Rauferei, appeared with Gustav Kiepenheuer in 1927, the same year that the publisher also released Arnold Zweig’s seminal anti-war novel The Case of Sergeant Grischa (Der Streit um den Sergeanten Grischa). Die Rauferei is markedly different from Zweig’s novel and other pacifist or anti-war novels of this time, such as Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front (Im Westen nichts Neues) or the Alsatian Jewish author Adrienne Thomas’s Katrin Becomes a Soldier (Die Katrin wird Soldat). While the latter all take place during the First World War and offer realistic portrayals of the war, Die Rauferei does not focus at length on the experience of World War I or war in general. It shifts the focus away from the large-scale, state-orchestrated violence of war, over which the individual may feel that he/she has little or no control, to violence on a smaller scale—like corporal punishment, rural knife fights, and dueling— in which the individual, regardless of gender or class, can refuse to participate. Each individual’s refusal contributes in a small yet significant way to the eradication of the all-pervasive culture of violence. As stated above, Die Rauferei is the only explicitly pacifist text that Krämer published outside the Jewish press.49 The novella is set in a Bavarian village in the Weimar period. The protagonist, the farm worker Baptist, kills Fritz, the mayor’s son and a student, in a knife fight over a woman. Because Baptist had tried to avoid the conflict and Fritz pulled his knife first, the killing is ruled self-defense. After his acquittal, the Baroness, Baptist’s employer, convinces him that the commandment “thou shalt not kill” must be followed literally. Even killing in selfdefense (including defensive war) is considered immoral; it is better to be killed than to kill. The farm worker Baptist becomes an unlikely spokesperson for pacifism. The novella ends in tragedy when Baptist’s newfound pacifist ideals are put to the test. Once again, Baptist is challenged to a knife fight, this time over his new love, Porti, a Gypsy tinker (Kesselflickerin) who gave up the itinerant lifestyle and hired herself out to a local farmer. Although Baptist refuses to fight, his rival lunges at him with a knife. At that moment Porti jumps between them and is stabbed to death. However, not all is lost. The novella closes with the epilogue: “But this much is true. From this time forward, knife-fighting became rarer in the town and in the whole surrounding area” (89).50 In Die Rauferei, Krämer transposes the didactic content of her Jewish pacifist texts into a rural Bavarian, Catholic context. Whereas her Jewish texts reference the sixth commandment as the foundation of Judaism, here it is portrayed as the bedrock of Christianity. For Baptist, “The Lord Elizabeth Loentz 141 Redeemer,” who instructed followers to “turn the other cheek” and quietly submitted to crucifixion, is the model for a Christian pacifism that forbids an individual from committing an act of violence in self-defense and a state from waging defensive war (32, 39). Just as Krämer dares to critique Esther’s thirst for revenge and European Jewry’s assimilatory stylization of Hanukkah as a joyful children’s holiday, Baptist likewise challenges religious authority and tradition. Citing a higher authority, Jesus, Baptist criticizes the village priest, who has begun to preach— ironically, from an altar decorated with the saying “Gloria in excelsis deo et in terra pax”—”about all the enemies out there in the world, and that [ … ] the hour would come when we would wipe those who silenced and enslaved us off the face of the earth with fire and sword for the greater glory of God” (54).51 Baptist justifies his refusal to attend mass: “A priest mustn’t say such things. He must preach: On earth peace, good will toward men” (57).52 The role of the Jewish mother as pacifist educator of her own children is transferred to the Baroness as figurative “mother” of the villagers in her service, for whom she subscribes to a pacifist newspaper and organizes a lecture by a pacifist activist from the city. Like the modern mother of Krämer’s anecdote “Erziehung,” the Baroness is a modern mistress who models non-violence by refraining from the use of corporal punishment, unlike her grandmother, who had slapped her maids. Whereas Krämer’s Jewish pacifist texts call for peace “among classes and among peoples,” traditionally defined class hierarchies and gender roles remain largely intact throughout Die Rauferei (“Die wichtigsten” 2). There is only a single reference to the social upheavals of the 1918–19 revolution and the Weimar Republic. The monarchist prosecutor of Baptist’s trial attributes his act of violence to the disintegration of social order put in motion by the revolution: “Where people no longer hold any state or authority sacred, the assessment of individual human life soon begins to sink. And the next thing you know, someone draws a knife and stabs somebody down. This is the fruit of the revolution.”53 Baptist’s defense attorney counters, “[T]he war—through the well-organized institution and glorification of murder—was to blame for the brutalization of the people.”54 But he quickly abandons this line of argument, charging instead that knife-fighting was simply an ancient rural “geheiligter Mißbrauch” (“sanctified but wrong-headed tradition”; 22–23). In the novella, receptivity to pacifist thought follows traditional class and gender lines. A newly pacifist Baptist associates a woman’s femininity and attractiveness with her “natural” affinity, as the giver and nurturer of life, for pacifism. When Mechthild rejects pacifism, Baptist views this as an unfeminine aberration and loses interest in her sexually. When Fritz’s mother speaks out against knife-fighting, Baptist cannot 142 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer help but find her natural, motherly pacifism attractive, although he knows that she hates him. The Baroness even suggests that women should withhold their sexuality to wean men off violent behavior: “The men often fought only because they thought that women would like the strongest man the best. But as soon as men noticed that women scorned ruffians, then they could just sit back and watch how quickly the knifefighting would stop” (45).55 Although she prescribes this line of action for the village women, it has not worked for her. Her fiancé the prince, although he welcomes the demise of the duel (a higher-class version of the rural knife fight), which he characterizes as combat for the sake of an individual’s honor, idealizes war as the transcendence of selfish interests for the sake of a greater cause, the fatherland. The villagers, on the other hand, would be more than happy to see the end of war—”Wars, the rulers should just settle them amongst themselves in whatever way they see fit”56—but uphold knife-fighting as a time-honored rural tradition (43). Throughout the novella, class and other origins are viewed as immutable. Although Baptist is infatuated with the Baroness and muses that individuals of all classes are all only human, he concludes that she could never reciprocate his love, let alone marry him. Students from the city come to the village to dance with the pretty country girls but desert them when they become pregnant. Although he had gone to the city to study, Fritz was “still a farmer, he still had the country in his blood” (21).57 Therefore, Baptist is conflicted when he falls in love with Porti, the Gypsy tinker. Although he respects her skill and industriousness, he fears the admittedly unjustified disapproval of his mother and the village: “You can’t say anything against her. But to my mother she is still someone who sleeps in a wagon. To her she will surely never be anything but the tinker.”58 He concedes his own prejudice: “Of course! He would also much prefer it if Porti were an honest, upright farmer’s daughter.”59 He wonders, “Is someone’s station or rank the main thing or their ideals?” (76).60 It is clear, however, that neither class nor ideals are truly at issue but that race is. Talking to himself, Baptist pins down the real cause of his trepidation: “A gypsy whore! What shame and disgrace!” (71).61 The otherwise “progressive” Baroness cautions against the union: “‘It depends on whether the restless blood of her father will one day show through in her. [ … ] In the case of a woman it could result in some other sort of infidelity’” (80).62 Porti the Gypsy serves here as a surrogate Jew. As demonstrated above, Krämer linked violence with antisemitism in pacifist texts written for a Jewish audience. With the erasure of Jewishness from this text, “antiziganism” or ”antigypsism” stands in for antisemitism. Porti is sacrificed for the sake of a better future in much the same way that “Pfadfinder” asks German Jews to practice self-control and patience for Elizabeth Loentz 143 the sake of a better future that they may not live to see.63 The “progressive” Baroness’s blindness to racial prejudice, including her own, is an indictment of progressive movements—such as the German women’s movement—that fail to acknowledge how antisemitism resembles other types of inequality and prejudice and that it is tolerated or propagated within their ranks.64 Because Krämer’s literary production declined markedly around 1930, it is unknown whether the experience of National Socialism and the Second World War caused her to revise her pacifist beliefs.65 The reasons for Krämer’s silence as a writer appear to have been more personal than political, however. After her husband bankrupted his business in 1929, Krämer took on full-time paid employment at the Eichengrün department store, becoming the couple’s primary breadwinner. Krämer did not attempt to leave Germany until after 1938, when she secured an affidavit from relatives in Chicago to come to the United States. Her “waiting number” was too high to enter the United States before the war, however, and efforts by her friend, the Danish author Karin Michaelis, to arrange for refuge in Denmark were thwarted by the German invasion. In 1941, Krämer was relocated to a barrack in the “Jewish Settlement” (Judensiedlung) Milbertshofen, and in the spring of 1942 she was deported to Theresienstadt, where she died from dysentery that same year (Cahnmann 289–92). 66 Notes 1 Numerous texts (novellas, stories, children’s stories, short dramas, poems, and jokes) remain unpublished. To date my bibliography of Krämer’s published and unpublished writings includes approximately 300 entries, not counting dozens of jokes and the contents of several notebooks of poems. 2 Bertolt Brecht, Lion Feuchtwanger, Georg Kaiser, Ernst Toller, Stefan Zweig, George Bernhard Shaw, and Yvan Goll are among the notable pacifist or pacifist-leaning authors whose works were published by Gustav Kiepenheuer. 3 To date, I have located 30 stories and sketches, six essays, seven poems, and one novella that deal with World War I and/or pacifism. 4 The clipping from Krämer’s Nachlass has no citation, and I have been unable to identify the source. However, because the story appears on the same page as the article “Die kriegerischen Leistungen der Juden” (The Military Accomplishments of the Jews), it is safe to assume that the periodical was a Jewish one. 144 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer 5 Unless otherwise stated, all translations are my own. The choice of names was apparently Krämer’s own, not her editors’—her Nachlass includes typescripts for both versions. 7 Krämer’s literary mentor Richard Rieß came from Hamburg and was from a Jewish family, but he married a Catholic woman from Munich and converted to Christianity. 8 “[glaubte] [ … ] die bayerische Volksseele nicht besser als durch den Nachdruck einer ihrer Erzählungen darstellen zu können” 9 “als [Krämer] auf die Notwendigkeit einer Einheit von Theorie und Praxis hinwies” 10 Virginia Iris Holmes, whose dissertation offers a history of German-Jewish pacifism in the Weimar period, notes that Jewish women were less affected by these stereotypes than men. Whereas “many Jewish men felt constrained by gendered stereotypes about Jews (which portrayed Jewish men as weak, cowardly, effeminate, and traitorous to the German nation),” Jewish women were “subjected to female socialization, which represented a pacific personality and world-view as part of the norm of femininity” (21–22). For a comprehensive history of the German peace movement, see Riesenberger and Holl. For a history of German women’s involvement in the peace movement, see Lischewski. 11 See Steer for an examination of the League of Jewish Women’s wartime mission and its members’ involvement in war work. 12 For a detailed account of women’s involvement in wartime welfare work in Munich, see Wack. 13 These include “Die Kochfrau” (The Cook), “Zenzi,” “Heimsuchung” (Visitation), and “Königin Mutter” (Queen Mother). 14 Erna Rheinstrom Feuchtwanger was married to Lion Feuchtwanger’s brother Ludwig Feuchtwanger, who was a notable intellectual and the manager of the publishing house Duncker and Humblot. 15 During the war years Krämer wrote three poems that praised or called for peace. The most innocuous of these, “Friede” (Peace), which compares peace to a mother whose worth is never fully understood or appreciated until she is gone, was published in December 1917. The other two were apparently never published. “Ich wollt’ der Kaiser spräch’ es aus” (I Wish the Emperor Would Pronounce It), although it calls for an end to hostilities, likewise remains careful. The narrative voice is a girl who yearns for the war to end so that her beloved will return to lead her to the altar wearing his Iron Cross. “Wir alle ersehnen” (We All Yearn), on the other hand, espouses a cosmopolitanism humanitarianism that directly opposed dominant nationalist sentiments: “Wir alle ersehnen den einenden Geist / Der alle Menschenbrüder bindet; [ … ] / Den machtvollen Geist, der gebietet: Halt ein! / Denn Menschtum soll über Volkstum sein” (“We all yearn for the unifying spirit / That binds all mankind [ … ] 6 Elizabeth Loentz 145 / The powerful spirit that commands: Stop. / Because humanity must be above nationality”). Whereas “Friede” could easily be published during wartime because heroic patriotism trumps pacifism, the cosmopolitanism of “Wir alle ersehnen” may have precluded publication during wartime. 16 See also Lischewski 133–37. 17 See Peter Pulzer on German Jews’ attitudes toward and involvement in or against Germany’s war effort. 18 “Und wir vermögen nur dies: Die da draußen von tiefstem Herzen bewundern und ihnen danken. Und nicht bloß heute und morgen und übermorgen und solange der Krieg dauert oder noch frisch in unser aller Gedächtnis lebt. Sondern weit darüber hinaus sollen wir auch noch den letzten Krüppel dieses großen Krieges ehren. Den letzten Krüppel, der mit dabeigestanden hat als ein Steinchen in dieser Mauer, die den Feind abhielt, unser liebes Vaterland zu überfluten, zu zertramplen und zu verwüsten.” 19 Two other stories also portray children’s internalization of wartime propaganda. In “Wie sich Heinz eine Geschichte ausgedacht hat” (How Heinz Made Up a Story), Heinz is moved to confess to having locked his teacher in the conference room and hiding the key when another teacher reminds the pupils that metal is scarce and that they could prove their wartime patriotism by locating the missing key so that a new one would not have to be made. In the story “Theater,” a boy writes and produces an elaborate play called “Deutsche, zeichnet die Kriegsanleihe” (Germans, Buy War Bonds). 20 According to Cahnmann, he was the model for the young cousin Werner, and the soldier home on leave was based on another relative, Ferdinand Levi of Frankfurt (284). 21 “wenn der Feldgraue von einer besonders wilden Sache berichtet, dann fuchtelt der Bub mit den Armen in der Luft herum, als wäre er selbst mitten drin” 22 “Tod und Sterben und Verderben [ … ] Und von Sumpf und Morast und von Regen und Schnee.” 23 “daß sie auch lieber gut wären und den Menschen im anderen sehen möchten, statt den Feind in ihm, wie sie müssen” 24 “Totentanz—nun hatte er genug davon und brauchte sich wahrhaftig nie wieder einen darstellen. Totentanz—er gedenkt, wie er nach seinem ersten Sturmangriff im vorigen Sommer an der Seite seines Majors den Ritt über das wogende Gelände gemacht. Ein herrlicher Anblick von weitem. Doch wie sie näherkommen—was ist das für ein widerlicher Geruch?—Der Vorgesetzte wütet sogleich, da müßten Leichen umherliegen, nicht in vorschriftsmäßigen Mengen mit Chlorkalk übergossen.... Und in der Tat hatte der Herr goldwogendes Korn reifen lassen, doch nicht lieblicher roter Mohn blüht dazwischen, wie er von 146 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer ferne geglaubt—o nein—da liegen Menschen, tote Menschen, mit roten Käppis und den roten Hosen angetan. Die leuchten noch wie wildes, wachsendes Werden—Totentanz” 25 “‘Kühner Reitersmann... Ach was, kühn... Wer ist ein Held, wenn’s keiner sieht?’” The poem “Lied” (Song) and the stories “Jugend” (Youth) and “Wenn ich so an mein Mädel denk…” (When I Think of My Girl…) also portray the soldier’s experience of the front and his reflections on his own mortality. Two other poems, “Da draußen einer tot im Sand” (Out There at the Front, Someone Dead in the Sand) and “Ich wollt’ der Kaiser spräch es aus,” mourn the loss of young life from the perspective of mothers and girlfriends. 26 “‘Non, M’sieur, pas traître, mais patriote—patriote comme vous.’” 27 It is notable that Krämer takes care to avoid associating cosmopolitanism, a value negatively connected to Jews, with cowardice or shirking. Muckl, for example, exhibits extraordinary bravery. After being wounded in hand-to-hand combat, he requests a transfer to the Eastern Front, where he hopes to find his “Frenchwoman,” whose husband is Russian. There he is promoted to Unteroffizier (Sergeant) and earns the Iron Cross. 28 “Sie hätten alle rote Bärte, die sie sich niemals schneiden ließen, riesige Mäuler; und Arme und Beine stark und gewaltig wie Baumstämme. Sie äßen auch nicht wie Menschen, sondern schlangen die Speisen ungekocht hinab. Den Gebrauch von Messern und Gabeln hätten sie nie in ihrem Leben gelernt, auch habe sie—Mme Colette, die Nachbarin gehört, daß sie mit Vorliebe kleine Kinder.” 29 “‘le Kaiser,’ und Bismarck und sein System [ … ] denn sie sind— um es mit einem Wort zu sagen—stillos. Und das ist die schlimmste Sünde, in den Augen des Professors….” 30 “[Friedrich der Grosse] wäre noch ein Kerl gewesen… Ein ganzer Kerl, ein prächtiger Bursche. Und nur rein aus Versehen ein Deutscher. Haha, welche Ironie—er ein prussien! Er, der französisch gesprochen und geschrieben sein Lebenlang. Der Verehrer des Racine und des Corneille. Er, der [ … ] seinen Kindern eher gute Sitten beigebracht, als ihren Geist ausgebildet haben würde. Seht doch nur, ein prussien als Bewunderer der Manieren! Hm? War das deutsch, war das preußisch, was?” 31 “Unsinn [ … ] Feuilleton bestenfalls” 32 Krämer published three other stories during wartime that seek to diminish the distance between Germans and their enemies. In “Des jungen Jürgen Simm Sylvester” (The New Year’s Eve of Jürgen Simm), the title figure escapes from his French captors when they become intoxicated from authentic Glühwein that one of their mothers had made according to an original German recipe. In “Jonny” a beloved, presumably English clown performs a stirring rendition of “Die Wacht am Rhein” (The Watch at the Rhine) in the days immediately preceding the Elizabeth Loentz 147 declaration of war. His fans are uncertain whether Jonny intends to mock or to flatter them until Johannes Mittelkirchner (a.k.a. Jonny Middlechurch) volunteers for military duty. In “Pfui macht der kleine Rudi Prechtl” (Ugh, Says Little Rudi Prechtl), the young Münchner Rudi exclaims, “Pfui, g’fangene Franzosen!” (“Ugh, French prisoners of war!”) when the train he is traveling in passes a group of French POWs. When ten-year-old Eberhard von Sorgenthyl of Berlin sheepishly confesses that his uncle was captured during combat, Rudi replies, “Mi hättens net g’fanga, mi net. I bin awer aar a Bayer, mir san tapfer, mir Bayern” (“They wouldn’t have caught me, not me. But I am a Bavarian. We are brave, we Bavarians”). Eberhard’s little sister Lolo interrupts, “Alle Deutschen sind doch tapfer, Bayern sind doch auch Deutsche nich?” (“But all Germans are brave. Aren’t Bavarians Germans too?”). When the boys agree that they are, she asks, “Und Franzosen? [ … ] Na ja, ich meinte man blos—natürlich Franzosen nich Deutsche, aber doch, doch Menschen, nich?” (“Well, I just meant—of course, the French are not Germans, but they are human beings, aren’t they?”). Just as the boys acquiesce, the train passes another group of French prisoners. One waves at the German children with his handkerchief, shedding a tear as he thinks of his own son at home. 33 According to Cahnmann, Krämer advocated a return of Alsace to France “right in the middle of the war” because she believed that it was the will of the Alsatians (284). 34 “daß das Judentum eine spezielle Aufgabe zu leisten, eine Mission zu erfüllen habe, nämlich: Jegliche Gewalt zu bekämpfen, und darum zu arbeiten an dem Ausgleich der Gegensätze zwischen der Völkern und innerhalb der Völker.” 35 Krämer is writing here from a Liberal Jewish persective. In the preceding paragraphs, she refers to disagreements between Zionists and Orthodox Jews. 36 “Was kann diese Mission sein, die—alles lebendige Judentum einend—der Jugend Selbstbewußtsein und positive Kraft zur Abwehr verleiht?—was ergibt sich, wenn wir—ethisch!—zusammenfassend, uns klar machen, was es ist, das uns an dieser Zeit anstößt und die Grundlage alles Antisemitismus bildet?- Es ist die Gewalt! Und diese lehnen wir ab. Wir lehnen sie ab aus dem GEIST DES JUDENTUMS heraus!—Wir, die Verfolgten, wir, die ewige Minderheit müssen die Menschen erziehen helfen zur EHRFURCHT vor dem GEISTE, zur VERACHTUNG der GEWALT. Es hat der Jude die Aufgabe vor allem zu pflegen—den FRIEDENSGEDANKEN! Den sozialen Friedensgedanken und den Übernationalen. Zwischen den Klassen und zwischen den Völkern. Vielleicht, daß ein so aufgefaßtes Judentum, das Eltern ihren Kindern vorleben, überwinden hilft das Gift des Antisemitismus in der Schule.” 148 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer 37 “‘Weshalb ist Krieg Sünde für jeden?’ [ … ] ‘Geschrieben steht, Du sollst nicht töten.’ [ … ] ‘Was ist das höchste Glück?’ [ … ] ‘Wenn alle Menschen Brüder sind.’” 38 “[Esthers] Schwestern, die doch den Weltkrieg erlebt haben. Die Friedrich Hebbel, den Ausdeuter, den heutigen Menschen erlebt haben sollten, der der Witfrau aus Bethulien, Judith, deiner betriebsameren Schwester, zurief, daß ‘das Weib Männer gebären, nicht Männer töten soll.’” In “Die Purimgeschichte, den Kindern erzählt” (The Purim Story, Told to the Children), Krämer uses the biblical story of Esther, which is read on Purim, to teach pacifism to children. She condemns Haman’s plan to kill all Jews of the kingdom, “Obgleich der lieber Gott doch selbst befohlen hat: ‘Du sollst nicht töten’. Und es kommt mir vor, wenigstens habe ich mir das während des schrecklichen Krieges immer denken müssen, daß gerade dies Gebot von allen heiligen Geboten das heiligste sei” (“Although our dear God himself has commanded, ‘You must not kill.’ And it seems to me—at least I always had to think this during the terrible war—that especially this commandment is the most holy one of all”). Interestingly, this pacifist aside was omitted in the published version, “Die Rettung der Juden am Purim” (The Rescue of the Jews during Purim). In “Sieben Brüder samt ihrer Mutter” (Seven Brothers Together with Their Mother, 1928), Krämer objects to the characterization of Hanukkah—especially after the experience of the World War—as a “Fest der Kinder” (“children’s holiday”). Recounting the story of a mother who was executed after watching the martyrdom of her seven sons, Krämer reasons, “Was aber das Chanukafest betrifft, so glaube ich nie und nimmer, daß es ursprünglich, wie man jetzt gerne sagt, ‘das Fest der Kinder’ war. Man hat es gedankenlos dazu geheißen in Angleichung an jenes Fest, das ungefähr in dieselbe Zeit fällt” (“Concerning the Hanukkah festival, I won’t ever believe that it was originally ‘the festival of children,’ as they now tend to say. Thoughtlessly they called it that to assimilate to the other festival that takes place at approximately the same time”). 39 “Ich beabsichtige [ … ] meine Enkelkinder niemals zu züchtigen, weil sich das erstens von einer Großmutter nicht gehört, zweitens überhaupt nicht.” 40 In her anonymously published story “Dinkelsbühl” (1922), Krämer condemns an act of wanton terror committed by young men in the small Bavarian city Dinkelsbühl on New Year’s Eve, 1921–22. She writes, “Du hast bittere Jahre vor dir, Deutschland, bis du wieder den Begriff der echten Menschenverwertung und der echten Menschenwerte in die Herzen gehämmert haben wirst” (“You will face bitter years, Germany, until you’ve hammered into people’s hearts the concept of true humane values and the proper utilization of human life”). Elizabeth Loentz 41 149 “Und wenn mich nun ein Kind früge: ‘Und Du glaubst also wirklich, daß der Antisemitismus aus der Welt verschwinden kann?’—so würde ich antworten; ‘Ja, das glaube ich ganz bestimmt, so bestimmt, wie ich auch daran glaube, daß einmal der Krieg aus der Welt verschwinden wird.’ Das Kind wendet vielleicht ein, daß es immer Krieg gegeben habe, so wie es Antisemitismus immer gegeben hat. Ich würde antworten: ‘Das beweist nichts, denn wir sind noch eine sehr junge Welt, erst 5684 Jahre alt, wir haben noch viel Zeit, uns zu bessern.’ Das Kind: ‘Aber wir, ich zum Beispiel, ich erlebe es dann wohl kaum?’—‘Nein, Du nicht’, würde ich sagen, ‘Dir und mir muß es genügen, PFADFINDER zu sein, darauf die nach uns kommen weiterschreiten können, dem fernen Zeil entgegen.’” 42 Holmes indicates that this sort of “teleological optimism” was prevalent among Jewish pacifists in the Weimar era: “Despite the postWorld War I shift to greater cynicism and vigilance in their politicalsocial critiques [ … ] Weimar Jewish pacifists demonstrated a positive teleological view of history. The various emancipations brought by the Weimar Republic (away from monarchism, toward voting rights for women, providing various labor legislation and social safety nets, etc.) seemed to be proof of this ever-improving state of affairs, a teleological process to which they could further contribute through their own efforts” (6). 43 “‘einer der berühmtesten jüdischen Pazifisten [ ... ] schrieb sich: Jesus von Nazareth’” 44 “‘Andere Zeiten? [ … ] Schlimmere, rohere Zeiten, sage ich; oder wollen Sie behaupten, daß die Welt gar kein bischen fortgeschritten sei, seit dem Faustkämpfen, Hexenverbrennungen, Folterqualen?—von dem Rückfall ins dunkelste Mittelalter, den dieser Weltkrieg jetzt darstellte, wollen wir absehen.’” 45 “unverkennbar jüdisch aussehendes Mädchen”; “hellblond und blauäugig und offenbar von rein arischer Abstammung” 46 “‘Scholom Alechem, mein Töchterchen.’” 47 “‘Juden sind zu Tausenden gefallen, weit über den Prozentsatz, den sie darstellen [ … ] [und] man muß wissen, daß es doppelt so hoch angerechnet werden müßte, wenn es ein Jude tut für sein Vaterland, das ihn so behandelt—so—na ja so—wie man es zum Beispiel hier beliebt.’” 48 Central Association of German Citizens of the Jewish Faith. 49 Die Rauferei is also the only text in which Krämer explores whether pacifism demands vegetarianism, reaching the conclusion that it does not. Baptist’s cousin Emeran, a butcher, rejects pacifism for economic reasons. When Baptist insists that killing animals is another matter, Emeran objects, “‘Oha! [ … ] In der Stadt drin gibt’s gnua Hanswurschten, di wo koa Fleisch net orühr’n z’weg’n dem ‘töten’ von 150 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer die Viecher. Da gibts ganze Wirtshäuser dafür’” (“‘Oh, [ … ] In the city there are plenty of fools who don’t touch meat because animals are killed. There are whole restaurants just for them’”; 59). After considering what the Baroness would say, Bapist explains that animals belong to another species, and although animals kill other animals, they never kill one of their own species. 50 “Doch dies ist wahr: das Raufen im Ort und in der ganzen Umgegend ist seltener geworden von dieser Zeit an.” 51 “von all den Feinden draußen in der Welt, und daß [ … ] die Stunde kommen werde, wo wir sie, die uns knebelten und knechteten, von der Erde tilgen würden mit Feuer und Schwert zur höheren Ehre Gottes” 52 “Ein Pfarrer habe solche Sachen nicht zu sagen. Der habe zu predigen: Friede auf Erden und den Menschen ein Wohlgefallen; dies habe er zu sagen und damit basta.” Baptist elaborates, “‘Siehgst es, wenn mir allweil so fort tun, nacha kommt ja d’ Welt nia aus’n Kriag. Unn bal an Pfarrer weiß, daß’s an Kriag geb’n soll, nacha muaß er erst recht [ … ] an Fried predigen [ … ] A Kriag is do net wiar a Hochwasser oder wia wenn’s brennt—oder halt—doch is er wiar a Feuer, awer wia oans dös wo d’leit selwer oleg’n, net wia oans, dös wo von alloa kommt von der Hitzn, daß’s Heu brennat werd oder’s Korn oder der Woaz’” (64; “‘You see, if we continue this way, then the world will never be without war. And as soon as a priest knows that a war is supposed to start, he has to preach all the more for peace. [ … ] A war isn’t like a flood or a fire. Well, maybe a fire, but only if it’s arson, not a fire that starts from the heat and burns the hay or the grain or the wheat’”). The fatalistic portrayal of war as a natural disaster that must be accepted as the will of a higher power was commonplace in Catholic “war sermons” during World War I (Riesenberger, “Der ‘Friedensbund’” 92–93). 53 “Wo kein Staat und keine Obrigkeit mehr dem Menschen heilig sei, da müsse auch alsbald die Wertung des einzelnen Menschenlebens herabsinken. Und mir nichts, dir nichts zöge einer das Messer und steche einen nieder. Dies sei die Frucht der Revolution.” 54 “der Krieg [wäre] durch seine wohlorganisierte Einführung und Verherrlichung des Mordes schuldig an einer Volksverrohung” 55 “[D]ie Mannsleute rauften ja doch vielfach nur, weil sie dächten, diese würden den Stärksten am liebsten sehen. Sobald aber die Männer merkten, daß die Frauen die Raufbolde verachteten; da sollten sie einmal zusehen, wie geschwind es dann ein Ende hätte mit den Händeln und den Messerstechereien.” 56 “Kriege, die sollten die großen Herren nur unter sich beilegen auf welche Art und Weise sie immer wollten.” 57 “[ist doch] ein Bauer geblieben in seinem Blut” Elizabeth Loentz 151 58 “[M]an kann ihr nichts nachsagen. Für die Mutter aber ist sie doch eine, die in einem Wagen schläft, und bleibt für sie gewiß bis zuletzt die Kesselflickerin.” 59 “Freilich! Denn es wäre auch ihm ja auch für sich ein gut Stück lieber, wenn die Porti eine rechtschaffene Bauerstochter sein würde.” 60 “Ist denn der Stand die Hauptsache, oder sind es die Gedanken?” 61 “Ein Zigeunermensch! Welche Schande und Schmach!” 62 “‘[E]s kommt darauf an, ob das unruhvolle Vatersblut eines Tages in ihr durchschlagen wird. [ … ] Dies könnte sich—und das müssen Sie sich wohl überlegen—bei einer Frau in irgendeiner anderen Art von Untreue zeigen.’” In her own marriage, the Baroness likewise chose Stand over ideals, marrying a man who shares her social rank but not her pacifism. 63 A similar sacrifice occurs in Krämer’s serial novel Der Weg des Hermann Kahn (The Path of Hermann Kahn). The protagonist’s widowed mother rejects the marriage proposal of a Christian man whom she loves because the Jewish community would reject her if she married a gentile. Hermann retorts that she should think of herself as a member of “mankind” if her fellow Jews were too narrow-minded. She answers, “‘die ganze Menschheit, es ist das Ziel; aber es ist noch nicht an dem, mein Junge [ … ]! Ich bin um hundert Jahre zu früh dran’” (144, eighth installment; “‘all of mankind, that is the goal; but we are not there yet, my son [ … ]! I am a hundred years too early’”). 64 See Bereswill and Wagner on antisemitism within the German women’s movement. 65 Ironically, this was around the time that she became the League of Jewish Women’s delegate to the newly founded Jewish Peace League, a development that finally officially validated her tripartite identity as feminist, Jew, and pacifist. 66 Some of the texts found in the Archives of the Leo Baeck Institute are clippings with no citation or incomplete citation. Due to the large number of periodicals in which Krämer published, some of which are no longer extant, I have been unable to ascertain complete citations for all of her texts. Works Cited Barker, Andrew. “‘Ein Schrei, vor dem kunstrichterliche Einwendungen gern erstummen’: Andreas Latzko: Menschen im Krieg (1917).” Schneider and Wagener 85–96. 152 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer Bereswill, Mechthild and Leonie Wagner. “Public or Private? Antisemitism and Politics in the Federation of German Women’s Associations.” Journal of Genocide Research 1.2 (1999): 157–68. Braker, Regina. “Helene Stöcker’s Pacifism in the Weimar Republic: Between Ideal and Reality.” Journal of Women’s History 13.3 (2001): 70–97. Cahnmann, Werner J. “The Life of Clementine Kraemer.” Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook 8 (1964): 267–91. Chickering, Roger. Imperial Germany and a World Without War: The Peace Movement and German Society, 1892–1914. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1975. ———. “The Peace Movement and the Religious Community in Germany, 1900–1914.” Church History 38.3 (1969): 300–11. Clementine Krämer Collection. AR 2402. Archives of the Leo Baeck Institute, New York. “Erinnerungen von Clementine Krämer.” Advertisement. Jüdisch-liberale Zeitung 4.32 (19 Sept. 1924): Beilage. Evans, Richard J. Comrades and Sisters: Feminism, Socialism and Pacifism in Europe, 1870–1945. New York: St. Martin’s P, 1987. Fähnders, Walter. “‘Das leidenschaftlichste Buch gegen den Krieg’: Leonhard Frank: Der Mensch ist gut (1917).” Schneider and Wagener 71–84. Gelblum, Amira. “Feminism and Pacifism: The Case of Anita Augspurg and Lida Gustava Heymann.” Tel Aviver Jahrbuch für deutsche Geschichte (1992): 207–25. Heschel, Susannah. Abraham Geiger and the Jewish Jesus. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1998. Hoekema, David A. “A Practical Christian Pacifism.” Christian Century. 22 Oct. 1986: 917–19. Holl, Karl. Pazifismus in Deutschland. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 1988. Holmes, Virginia Iris. “‘The Inviolability of Human Life’: Pacifism and the Jews in Weimar Germany.” Diss. SUNY Binghamton, 2001. Horwitz, Rivka. “Voices of Opposition to the First World War among Jewish Thinkers.” Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook 33 (1988): 233–59. Kaplan, Marion A. Die jüdische Frauenbewegung in Deutschland: Organisation und Ziele des Jüdischen Frauenbundes, 1904–1938. Hamburg: Hans Christians Verlag, 1981. Krämer, Clementine. “Ahasver.” Clipping, no citation. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Anno 15.” Die Propyläen 12.19 (5 Feb. 1915): 298–99. ———. “Aschenbrödel.” Die Propyläen 15.36 (7 June 1918): 288. ———. “Der Barbar.” Clipping, no citation. Clementine Krämer Collection. Elizabeth Loentz 153 ———. “Besuch aus dem Schützengraben.” Die Propyläen 12.25 (19 Mar. 1915): 394–95. [“Kinder.” Die Mutter 13.5 (May 1915): 92–94; “Kinder.” Kinderland: Blätter für ethische Jugenderziehung 23.4 (1915): 14–15.] ———. “Chanuka.” Ts. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Da draußen einer tot im Sand.” Ts. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Dinkelsbühl.” Sonntagszeitung 8 Jan. 1922: n.pag. Clipping. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Erziehung.” Ts. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Esther.” Jüdisch-liberale Zeitung 5.44 (30 Oct. 1925): 2–3. ———. “Der Friede.” Welt und Haus: Das deutsche Familienblatt 1918.13 (29 Dec. 1917): 1. ———. “Heimsuchung.” Ts. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Ich wollt’ der Kaiser spräch es aus.” Ts. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Jonny.” Nürnberger Zeitung 3 July 1917, “Am Häuslichen Herd” weekly supplement: 1. ———. “Die jüdisch-liberale Mutter klärt jüdische Parteifragen: Ein pädagogische Abhandlung in Dialogform.” Die jüdisch-liberale Frau. Clipping. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———.”Jugend.” Clipping, no citation. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Des jungen Jürgen Simm Sylvester.” Kinderland: Blätter für ethische Jugenderziehung 25.2 (Feb. 1917): 5–6. ———. “Ein kleines Lied.” Ts. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Die Kochfrau.” Die Propyläen 13.34 (19 May 1916): 541–42. ———. “Königin Mutter.” Clipping, no citation. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Lied.” Der Kronenkampf n.d.: n. pag. Clipping. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Märchen.” Clipping, no citation. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Der Muckl und die Franzosenfrau.” Die Propyläen 13.3 (15 Oct. 1915): 41–42. 13.4 (22 Oct. 1915): 61–62. ———. “Mut.” Clipping, no citation. Clementine Krämer Collection. [“Mut.” Stuttgarter Tagblatt 9 Jan. 1913: 11; “Der mutige Schneider.” Jugend Nr. 48 (1915): 926; “Der mutige Schneider.” Die Propyläen 13.18 (28 Jan. 1916): 287–88; “Der mutige Schneider.” JungMerkuria 11 (1916): 176; “Der mutige Schneider.” Bilderschau der Wilnaer Zeitung 4 Feb.1918: 2–4; “Der mutige Schneider.” Ts. (Two versions). Clementine Krämer Collection.] ———. “Pfadfinder.” Jüdisch-liberale Zeitung 4.20 (27 June 1924): 1. 154 German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer ———. “Pfui macht der kleine Rudi Prechtl.” Clipping, no citation. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Phemia.” Kinderland: Blätter für ethische Jugenderziehung 25.9 (1917): 33–36. [“Phemia.” Bergisch Land. Illustrierte Wochenbeilage zum Generalanzeiger für Elberfeld-Barmen 31 Mar. 1917: 98–101.] ———. Die Rauferei. Potsdam: Gustav Kiepenheuer, 1927. ———. “Die Rettung der Juden am Purim.” 5 Mar. 1925. Clipping. Clementine Krämer Collection. [“Die Purimgeschichte. Den Kindern erzählt.” Ts. Clementine Krämer Collection.] ———. “Die Schelle Friedrichs des Großen.” Die Propyläen 15.42 (19 July 1918): 331–32. ———. “Sholom alechem.” Ts. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Der Schulmeister.” Kinderland: Blätter für ethische Jugenderziehung 24.2 (Feb. 1916): 5–6. [“Der Schulmeister.” 258–60. Clipping. Clementine Krämer Collection; “Die Wäsche auf der Leine.” Die Propyläen 13.16 (14 Jan. 1916): 254–55.] ———. “Sieben Brüder samt ihrer Mutter.” Jüdisch-liberale Zeitung 7 Dec. 1928: 2. ———. “Sterbende Helden.” Ts. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Theater.” Blätter für ethische Jugenderziehung 25.10 (1917): 37–38. ———. “Totentanz.” Clipping. Clementine Krämer Collection. ———. “Vor dem Weltkrieg.” Die Propyläen 13.39 (23 June 1916): 623. ———. Der Weg des jungen Hermann Kahn. 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