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Page 6 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