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"The most famous Jewish pacifist was Jesus of Nazareth": German

"The most famous Jewish pacifist was Jesus of Nazareth": German-Jewish
Pacifist Clementine Krämer's Stories of War and Visions for
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
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
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
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
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-
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
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
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
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
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
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
[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
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
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
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
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
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
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—
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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
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
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
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer
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.
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.
“[glaubte] [ … ] die bayerische Volksseele nicht besser als durch
den Nachdruck einer ihrer Erzählungen darstellen zu können”
“als [Krämer] auf die Notwendigkeit einer Einheit von Theorie und
Praxis hinwies”
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.
See Steer for an examination of the League of Jewish Women’s
wartime mission and its members’ involvement in war work.
For a detailed account of women’s involvement in wartime welfare
work in Munich, see Wack.
These include “Die Kochfrau” (The Cook), “Zenzi,” “Heimsuchung” (Visitation), and “Königin Mutter” (Queen Mother).
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.
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 [ … ]
Elizabeth Loentz
/ 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.
See also Lischewski 133–37.
See Peter Pulzer on German Jews’ attitudes toward and involvement in or against Germany’s war effort.
“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
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).
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).
“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”
“Tod und Sterben und Verderben [ … ] Und von Sumpf und Morast und von Regen und Schnee.”
“daß sie auch lieber gut wären und den Menschen im anderen
sehen möchten, statt den Feind in ihm, wie sie müssen”
“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
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”
“‘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.
“‘Non, M’sieur, pas traître, mais patriote—patriote comme vous.’”
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.
“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.”
“‘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….”
“[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?”
“Unsinn [ … ] Feuilleton bestenfalls”
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
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.
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).
“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.”
Krämer is writing here from a Liberal Jewish persective. In the
preceding paragraphs, she refers to disagreements between Zionists and
Orthodox Jews.
“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.”
German-Jewish Pacifist Clementine Krämer
“‘Weshalb ist Krieg Sünde für jeden?’ [ … ] ‘Geschrieben steht,
Du sollst nicht töten.’ [ … ] ‘Was ist das höchste Glück?’ [ … ] ‘Wenn
alle Menschen Brüder sind.’”
“[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
“Ich beabsichtige [ … ] meine Enkelkinder niemals zu züchtigen,
weil sich das erstens von einer Großmutter nicht gehört, zweitens
überhaupt nicht.”
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
“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.’”
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”
“‘einer der berühmtesten jüdischen Pazifisten [ ... ] schrieb sich:
Jesus von Nazareth’”
“‘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.’”
“unverkennbar jüdisch aussehendes Mädchen”; “hellblond und
blauäugig und offenbar von rein arischer Abstammung”
“‘Scholom Alechem, mein Töchterchen.’”
“‘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.’”
Central Association of German Citizens of the Jewish Faith.
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
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.
“Doch dies ist wahr: das Raufen im Ort und in der ganzen Umgegend ist seltener geworden von dieser Zeit an.”
“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”
“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).
“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.”
“der Krieg [wäre] durch seine wohlorganisierte Einführung und
Verherrlichung des Mordes schuldig an einer Volksverrohung”
“[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
“Kriege, die sollten die großen Herren nur unter sich beilegen auf
welche Art und Weise sie immer wollten.”
“[ist doch] ein Bauer geblieben in seinem Blut”
Elizabeth Loentz
“[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
“Freilich! Denn es wäre auch ihm ja auch für sich ein gut Stück
lieber, wenn die Porti eine rechtschaffene Bauerstochter sein würde.”
“Ist denn der Stand die Hauptsache, oder sind es die Gedanken?”
“Ein Zigeunermensch! Welche Schande und Schmach!”
“‘[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
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’”).
See Bereswill and Wagner on antisemitism within the German
women’s movement.
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.
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.
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
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
———. “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
———. “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
———. “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
———. “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.
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:
———. 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):
———. “Totentanz.” Clipping. Clementine Krämer Collection.
———. “Vor dem Weltkrieg.” Die Propyläen 13.39 (23 June 1916): 623.
———. Der Weg des jungen Hermann Kahn. Allgemeine Zeitung des
Judentums 1918. Clippings. Clementine Krämer Collection.
———. “Wenn alle Menschen Brüder sind.” Ts. Clementine Krämer
———. “‘Wenn ich so an mein Mädel denk’…” Ts. Clementine Krämer
———. “Die wichtigsten Aufgaben des Juden im neuen Jahr.” JüdischLiberale Zeitung 4.33 (26 Sept. 1924): 1–3.
———. “Ein Wiedersehen.” Die Propyläen 13.17 (21 Jan. 1916): 270.
———. “Wie sich der Heinz eine Geschichte ausgedacht hat.” Die
Propyläen 13.53 (29 Sept. 1916): 758–59.
———. “Wir alle ersehnen.” Ts. Clementine Krämer Collection.
———. “Die Zenzi.” Die Propyläen 13.48 (25 Aug. 1916): 709–10.
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(1988): 119–38.
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Anfängen bis 1933. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1985.
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Kunst und Fotos
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