Thirty Years after Munich

Just thirty years ago this October, German Nazi troops invaded the outer ring of Bohemia, the so-called Sudetenland. This was the beginning of a world-wide catastrophe which later extended to many countries and nations, caused indescribable destruction and ultimately led to the extinction of European Jewry. A huge literature has sprung up about the policy which led to the Munich Conference of September 30, 1938, where Czechoslovakia’s fate was decided in her absence, as a deal among the big powers which gave Hitler a free hand. It happened on the nameday of Saint Wenceslaus, whose statue in Prague has served as a centre of non-violent resistance against the Russian invasion these days. Especially in Britain fierce discussion about the controversial policy of appeasement goes on. What followed in Czechoslovakia after Munich has been impressively described by the then American representative in Prague, Mr. George Kennan, the famous ” Mr. X,” who in 1947 invented the slogan of ” Containment” of Communism. It is an ironical incident that his new book* on that period came out exactly at the time when the brave Czech people again face the ordeal of foreign occupation, this time by a power which was believed to be ethnically and ideologically linked to them but now does not conceal its determination to subjugate them to its own purpose. The topicality of Kennan’s book lies also in his description of the dilemma of the Czech leaders in 1938, and how they had to adapt themselves, step by step and often against their own will and conscience, to the policy prescribed by the omnipotent overlord, including, at that time, to his determination to destroy the Jews. It seems, however, that more quislings were at hand in 1938, especially in Slovakia, than appear to be today, at least at the time of writing. In any case, at that—now remote—time of Munich, which is legend to the new generation, one thought that world war had been avoided by choosing the lesser evil, at the expense of the Czech people. That it spelled disaster for the Jewish community of that country could not affect the course of events. The similarity of developments in 1968 with those in 1938 naturally induced the whole world to look back at the earlier occupation, but we would have remembered it anyhow. For the Jews Munich was a decisive date, the unleashing of ruthless persecution which made the world aware of their situation. Munich was, of course, a terrible and unexpected blow to the Czechs who had not realised to what extent their democratic country had been abandoned by those whom they regarded as their—official or unofficial —allies. It was a portentous omen for the Jews who rightly assumed that after the unconditional surrender of democratic statesmen to Hitler the last brake would be removed on his treatment of those Jews who were then under his jurisdiction (German, Austrian and Czech). To his own surprise Hitler had learned that he could get away with the most outrageous actions. A foretaste of this attitude of foreign powers had been—only two months earlier— the intergovernmental Conference of Evian (July, 1938), which had been convened at the initiative of President Roosevelt; there the delegates of 22 States deplored the ordeal of the refugees and would-be refugees from the Greater Reich, but anxiously avoided blaming the German Government for what it was doing with its own citizens, on the principle that nobody was entitled to interfere with the internal affairs of a sovereign power. Moreover, in spite of the expressions of horror and compassion, the representatives of governments insisted that admission of refugees could take place only within the limits of existing immigration laws—which means that no pompous conference would have been needed. Now Hitler felt completely secure in the handling of ” his” Jews, and the immediate consequence was, first, the dumping of Polish or stateless Jews resident in Germany into a no-man’s land on the Polish frontier and, subsequently, the ” Crystal Night” of November 10, 1938. “This time, we hope, there will be no direct consequences specifically for the Jews, if only because very few Jews are left in Central Europe. But we are stunned by the tragedy of a whole people, heir of a most inspiring history of non-conformism, the country which, according to a saying by Bismarck, was the very key to Europe. Perhaps the most depressing aspect of the events is the impotence of all those who, much to their own humiliation, can proffer nothing but verbal outbursts of indignation. It may be an example of the necessity to subordinate ” minor ” or marginal matters to the overriding interest of maintaining world peace; no wonder that this gave rise to the rumours of alleged silent connivance by America whose motives may be similar to those of the appeasers of 1938. The Great Power of today, like the great powers of yesterday, is reluctant to unleash a world war. the more so as this time it would be nuclear. If this allegation is correct it requires re-thinking of the current theory of independence of small States, apt to mislead the powerless peoples into a feeling of security which, in fact, lasts only as long as it pleases the great powers. Most statesmen nurtured this illusion by constant rhetorical platitudes about self-determination and respect for sovereignty. The shock which the occupation of not only a sovereign, but even an ” allied ” country entails is not at all explained by the overt destruction of this cherished illusion, even if we take into account the reality of recognised spheres of influence. Writing in a Jewish journal, we naturally ask ourselves about repercussions which may follow for the Jews. Such reflections should not be misunderstood as though, faced with such a tragedy, we were concerned only with our own affairs. But in these columns our comments are of necessity limited to the Jewish context. There are two obvious elements of Jewish aspects. One is the position of the State of Israel, against which ruthless Soviet propaganda has been directed for more than a year; the second is the peculiar position of the Jewish intellectual who, wherever clashes of this sort occur, is always a target for potential persecution. This is not only the concern of the individuals directly involved; it is the fearful experience that powerful factors, especially where they enjoy a monopoly of propaganda, still trust they can make their case more palatable to the masses by describing the detested side as Jewish, Jewish-inspired, or, according to the most recent fashion, ” Zionist “. In the language of the Communist block, Zionism during the last year has been translated into a synonym for reaction, aggression, counter-revolution, etc., one of those forces which (to the believers) are branded as hostile, if not outright criminal. This quest for exploiting the latent, or not so latent, antisemitic feelings of the ordinary man shows us that such a prejudice is still regarded as effective. Even if only a few individuals are specifically named, their inclusion into the category of Jew is intended to throw a sinister light on the camp of the adversary. That must be a shocking disappointment to many people who thirty years ago regarded Communism as the most efficient counterpoise to Nazism. What a depressing spectacle it is to learn that terrified Czech youth, still under the trauma of the Hitler invasion of 1938 from which the Soviet forces had “liberated” them, had to paint swastikas on the Russian tanks in the streets of Prague! But that also hits the use of anti-Jewish slogans practised now in some Communist quarters. The manner in which the anti-Israel propaganda was conducted had shown that the Jewish State, far from “solving” what was called the Jewish problem, had evoked a new variety of antisemitism as a political weapon. At the same time it makes one conscious of the dependence of such a State, however ready to defend itself, on the vacillations of Great Power politics —a point which Israeli diplomats certainly have not missed. Attacks on Jewish intellectuals are not a new device. It was used in Czechoslovakia seventeen years ago, together with the accusation of Zionism, in the notorious Slansky trial at the heyday of Stalinism, when Russia herself was shaken by the invention of the so-called doctors’ conspiracy, alleging that Jewish doctors of high standing had planned to murder prominent Communists. During the last year the wrath of the official Communist leaders was directed against the few remaining Jews in higher positions because these were suspected of discrediting the Israel policy of the Soviet block. Russia’s siding with the Arabs was, of course, dictated not by anti-Jewish sentiment but by Russia’s global imperialist policy in the Middle East. It was certainly not only Jews, who in the Communist realm, did not believe this simplified version of the events ; but, as we know, public opinion is not articulate in these countries. When the movement in favour of liberalisation emerged with greater vigour within the Communist block, it was blamed on the intellectuals and especially on the Jews among them. This was the case in Poland, where the conservative wing of Communism led by Gomulka, once himself considered a supporter of a more liberal trend, remained in power. Jewish Communists were purged from influential positions. It was different in Czechoslovakia. In that country with its democratic tradition the wish for liberalisation was widespread, and there are, anyhow, very few Jews left after the Nazi holocaust. But against some of the remaining Jewish intellectuals a clandestine and predominantly anonymous antisemitic leaflet propaganda was conducted. It was exposed in the official Communist newspaper only a few weeks ago, when Professor Eduard Goldstiicker, highly esteemed scholar and president of the Writers’ Union, published there an obscene anonymous threatening letter he had received. Goldstiicker is a high-minded socialist and Communist thinker, but he is also a link in a chain of a great literary tradition. Before the Nazis exterminated the Jews of Czechoslovakia that country had produced a peculiar type of Jewish intellectual. After their full emancipation in the old Austrian Empire in 1867 the Jews had risen quickly in social and intellectual life. Before the First World War there was a sort of golden age of Jewish creativity; many names of men born in Czech lands became world famous. Jewish writers at that time wrote in German, but—^unlike most other Germans—many of them were closely interested in the culture of the awakening Czech nation and were intermediaries who introduced Czech artists into the wider European world of letters (a striking example is Max Brod’s discovery of Janacek and Hasek). The strange phenomenon of German literature in Prague has become a subject of study during the last years, perhaps primarily thanks to the endeavours of Goldstiicker, who held the chair of German literature at Prague University. One of the results of these efforts was the International Conference on Franz Kafka held in the vicinity of Prague in 1963, another was a similar conference in 1965, devoted to an all-round survey of the work of these—predominantly Jewish—writers of fifty years ago. The protocols of these proceedings were published both in Czech and in German. The German version of the last conference appeared only recently under the title ” Weltfreunde “, a name taken from one of the well-known poems of Franz Werfel. The book shows how thoroughly the thirty learned participants at the conference — among them several non-Czechs—had studied the subject up to the most minute details. The general approach of the conference is indicated by the noble words with which Goldstucker concluded his opening speech, hinting at the political implications of such research in a Czech city. He said, in the German version: ” Unseren Vorgaengern gegenueber haben wir den Vorteil, dass wir zum ersten Male in der Geschichte der tschechischen Germanistik die unser Fach betreffenden Fragen ohne nationalistische Ressentiments, mit Ehrfurcht vor alien jenen Werten der deutschen Kultur beurteilen koennen, die das Leben bereichern und den Menschen verraenschlichen. In diesem Geiste verbeugen wir uns vor der grossen Prager deutschen Literatur. . . .” Many of the lecturers also elaborated on the impact of the Jewishness of the writers, and it is no surprise that they paid special attention to their attitude to social questions. Whether those writers of 1910 could be classified as socialists is a matter of opinion; some of them declared they were. But it is true that in general that generation revolted against the bourgeois society of their fathers and bitterly denounced social injustice and cruelty. They were also horrified by the progressing mechanisation of life, which they regarded as an offence against human dignity, and they passionately called for the supremacy of the spirit. Conscious of the problems implied in their being Jewish, some of them were attracted to Zionism as one of the concepts promising a better world. Their interpreters of 1965 say: these writers understood that an epoch was drawing to its close but they had not yet discovered that a new epoch was on the march. Yet it is only with a feeling of sad irony that one reads today that one has to pity the writers of Franz Kafka’s generation because they were not yet in a position to appreciate the happiness which Communism would bring to the world and especially to the—hitherto rootless—intellectuals. This book is an instructive and moving document which not only reflects an enormous work of research and provides us with many facts which are important also from the point of view of Jewish intellectual history in twentieth-century Europe, but also seems to reveal an element of unconscious nostalgia for a past which will never return, and which, though—like all epochs—unsatisfactory, was after all not so unbearable, at least in comparison with what came afterwards.