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The Southern Israelite
Theodore Dreiser Analyzes The Jew
By RAYMOND DANNENBAUM
famed American novelist deplores
intermarriage and predicts downfall
of Zionism; secs reform Judaism as
only tolerable form of Jewish
worship.—The Editor.
"The Jews are one of the greatest
races which ever stood on earth!
"Jews are marked by their feeling
for the conservation and use of power.
"They’ve always yelled about jus
tice, but with the thought of making
"things easier for themselves.
"Reform is the only tolerable kind
of Judaism!
"You don’t want Zionism 1”
These are some of the startling be
liefs of Theodore Drcisler, author of
the "American Tragedy” and "Sister
Carrie”. When interviewed at the
Hotel Mark Hopkins in San Francisco,
Dreiser didn’t mince words. The great
American novelist, one of the fathers
of our current liberalism, continued:
"You Jews really don’t want Zion
ism. You don’t care a fig for national
ism. You want to be everywhere like
Gypsies. You want to be a race which
envelops the earth. You’d like to (and
have) your fingers in every pie.”
His eyes flared when I shot the
question—“Do you believe in inter
marriage?”
“Rot,” he retorted, “the idea of the
Jews blending with other races is a
joke. No doubt a certain percentage
always will, just as certain individuals
always have married outside their ra
cial boundaries. If two persons fall in
love, it doesn’t matter what the racial
difference may imply. They eventually
follow their own sweet wills.
"You knew,” he went on, in bis
quietly forceful manner, "most people
don’t admit following their wills, but
in the end they always do. We're
always finding out that John isn’t the
kind of man we thought him. I think
its fortunate that we do!
"It’s an amazing thing that the in
dividual manages to live his own life
. in response to his own ideas, despite
' the threat of jails, and more. Occa
sionally one is caught, and his fellows
attempt to ostracize him, but they
themselves are painting the moral with
one hand, while a free hand behind the
back indulges in a variety of uncon
ventional and secret gestures!”
He paused for a moment. I had an
opportunity to carefully inspect his
bronzed face. I noticed that though
he spoke vehemently, but quietly, and
seemed to possess great repose, never
theless his mind and body were taut.
The tension expressed itself when he
took out a fresh white handkerchief,
relieved it of its ironed folds, and me
ticulously folded it into long tucks, of
which eventually he devised an accor
dion-like structure. Then this great ob
server of the frailties of mankind un
did his linen masterpiece, and proceed
ed to evolve yet more fantastic struc
tures of this humble toy.
He returned with a jerk to inter
marriage. “For example,” he ejacu
lated, in reply to my query as to
whether clashes were inevitable in such
unions. “I’ve a good friend, a Jew,
who’s married to an Irish Catholic.
They’ve been wedded for fifteen years—
have children. The woman does her
best to send them to mass, and occa
sionally ‘papa’ wants to trot them to
a synagogue. But this contest creates
no antagonism—at least no more than
is undeniably present in every happy
marriage. The children? They won’t
be either Catholics or Jews—and it’ll
be better for them, too.”
Quickly, he switched to another
topic: "What astounds me about you
Jews,” he exploded, "is your feeling of
Theodore Preiser
‘Race Inferiority’—not culturally or as
individuals—on the contrary you are
sufficiently self-assertive there—but as
a group, in your dealings with coun
tries, with problems. It’s a kind of
public apology for getting on, which
has no basis on any score!
“Sixty per cent of you are neuroti
cally conscious of opposition. Yet despite
it all, you want the heights of power
and recognition. You’ve got to take
jolts to achieve them! You see,” he
smiled, with a chuckle, "this reminds
me of a tale told me by a friend, a
cavalry officer in the Civil War. Dur
ing a Northern retreat, men were run
ning north as fast as their mounts and
their own legs would carry them. My
friend was upon a good horse, making
for home with all his and the horse’s
might. Despite the horse’s speed, an
infantryman managed to keep up with
the horse, outdistancing the rest of
his fleeing fellows. While running at
this astounding pace, the fellow kept
beseeching my friend at the top of his
voice, ‘Let me up behind, let me up
behind’; to which my friend shouted,
‘To H with you, you don’t need
a horse, you’re going as fast as I.’ ”
"Now Jews are like that! You’re in
the forefront of every movement, and
yet you keep shouting for a lift. Why
bawl about it?
"Justice? The Jew an eternal de
fender of justice? Bunk! Jews have
always crybabied about justice, but
what they want is justice for them
selves—a special and particularly pro-
Jewish justice. That’s not Justice!”
“How do you evaluate the Jew in the
world of modern art—commerce? said
I, by way of diverting the interview
into more specific channels. “Com
merce? What arc you talking about?”
he countered. “Jews invented com
merce! Didn’t one member of that old
Florentine Jewish family devise the
letter of credit during the middle ages?
Didn’t a Jew discover a way to utilize
the benefits of a gold hoard in one
place, with a scrap of paper at the
other end of Europe? And the Monte-
fiores? And later the Rothschilds?
Didn’t they keep commerce alive with
their shrewd brains? And your great
Jewish banking firms—don’t they keep
the wheels of commerce moving today?
There’s the answer to your question—
are the Jews good in commerce? They
invented it, they made it, and they’re
keeping it going today!
"Art? That’s another thing. I heard
a beautiful quintet of Ernest Bloch’s
not long ago in New York. That is
art, and first rate, too. A Jewish
etcher illustrated “My City”. If his
manner of catching the essence of New
York's skyline with his drypoint bet
ter than anyone else I know of is art,
then he’s an artist also.”
I ventured another question: “What
do you think of the Zweigs and their
work—'Sergeant Grischa?’ ”
“Well,” he retorted,” ‘Grischa’ is a
war book. It’s not hard to interpret
a war. When a man goes to war it
burns into his consciousness. He can’t
forget it, and in most instances he
can’t help expressing some of it. I
can remember fifteen war books—all
of them good. The real detriment of
ability is to interpret life generally.
In that some of your other Jewish writers
have succeeded admirably.”
By way of answer to another inter
rogation, he flung back at me—“Lewis-
ohn? Like most Jews he’s neuroti
cally self-conscious of antagonisms. As I
remember, his first short stories were
the most beautiful of his writing. They
were glorious. Then he was side
tracked—went off into the middle West
or some place and started teaching.
Then he was dormant for a while.
After that the first thing he did was
‘Upstream’. Somehow he’d lost the
art of his graceful short stories in an
effort to interpret ‘something’. May
be I’d better not say that,” mused
Dreiser; “I’d rather not hurt his feel
ings—and that might!”
"The Maurizius Case” he professed
not to have read. I had spoken of it
in connection with Mooney, whom, the
day before, Dreiser had seen at San
Quentin prison. I mentioned that
Karolyi had sent “The Mauriziu,
to Mooney, thinking of the ana
their two experiences. Then I briefly
outlined the plot, emphasizing that al
though the machinery of justice had
finally relinquished an unguilt
unwilling victim, Maurizius had lost
entire touch with life and with man
kind; and how poor Maurizius finally
found escape by leaping from a fast
train into an abyss, and death.
1 hat s it. 1 hat s it,” whispered
Dreiser. “That’s what happened to
Alexander Bcrkman when they re
leased him from prison. The years
of solitude had turned the fiery, ideal
istic anarchist into a man who walks
with bent head, muttering between
pursed lips, quietly, of the world’s in
justice. That’s it. Yes!" He added
softly, "You remember the case of Ertima
Goldman and Bcrkman?”
Dreiser has distinct mannerisms, ib
is a large man. Tall. Heavy. He ha>
a large nose and a bottling lip. lli>
face is tanned. His lips were cracked
from the sun. He wore a gray suit
with dark penciled stripes intersect
ing in squares. His cap was brown,
and the crown was unbuttoned from
the visor. It gave the novelist a
querulous, half-tourist look. He re
fused a good cigarette, so I suppose
lie doesn’t smoke.
Dreiser is a big farmer with white
hair, and heavy dark sun-burned-black
hands.
He returned again to the themes
Zionism and intermarriage. It’s an
odd thing that, although Jewish self-
consciousness is so strong, that al
though you all are moved to such fer
vor by racial causes, and the sense ot
your heritage of indignities and glory
—that you should not wish to have a
nation. I’m quite sure from talking to
a variety of Jews, from the assertive
ultra-Jewish ones like Konrad Bercov-
ici to the opposite genre, that in the
main you don’t want a country <■
your own. But it’s an odd thing, i
view of your strong self-consciousness
—your fervent belief in yourselves and
in your abilities. It’s very odd
shook his head.
I thought of an odd thing. Di 1
persons recently interviewed, each, in
eluding Dreiser, struck an analogy j-
tween the Jew and the negro—touc
ing upon his problems; his interna
conflicts and his clashes with his en
vironment. None went so tar. or e . ve "
in the direction of California-t ham
Chester Rowell, who not long ag
wrote from Hawaii in a great W est ^‘;
newspaper, words to the efo
the United States had two ‘•astc-^
the negro and the Jew, and
lulu we don’t want to add a tl
Dreiser had remarked that n : > s
the only solution to the “Jew .
lem” in a blending of Jews 1 •
Jews in line with the adveu.
cegenation of whites, >’ Ci
blacks.
(Continued on Page