Monday, 24 March 2014

Head Dress of Orthodox Women . Why Do They?

Hair Coverings for Married Women

A discussion of Jewish law, custom, and communal standards


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In many traditional Jewish communities, women wear head coverings after marriage.
This practice takes many different forms: hats, scarves, and wigs all cover and reveal different lengths of hair. Many women only don the traditional covering when entering or praying in a synagogue, and still others have rejected hair covering altogether. What is the basis for this Jewish practice, and what are some of the legal and social reasons for its variations?

The Sources 

jewish woman praying
Woman praying at Western Wall
The origin of the tradition lies in the Sotah ritual, a ceremony described in the Bible that tests the fidelity of a woman accused of adultery. According to the Torah, the priest uncovers or unbraids the accused woman's hair as part of the humiliation that precedes the ceremony (Numbers 5:18). From this, the Talmud (Ketuboth 72) concludes that under normal circumstances hair covering is a biblical requirement for women.

The  however, implies that hair covering is not an obligation of biblical origin. It discusses behaviors that are grounds for divorce such as, "appearing in public with loose hair, weaving in the marketplace, and talking to any man" and calls these violations of Dat Yehudit, which means Jewish rule, as opposed to Dat Moshe, Mosaic rule. This categorization suggests that hair covering is not an absolute obligation originating from Moses at Sinai, but rather is a standard of modesty that was defined by the Jewish community.

Having first suggested that hair covering is a biblical requirement--rooted in the Sotah ritual--and then proposing that it is actually a product of communal norms, the Talmud (Ketuboth 72) presents a compromise position: minimal hair covering is a biblical obligation, while further standards of how and when to cover one's hair are determined by the community.

Elsewhere in the Talmud (Berakhot 24a), the rabbis define hair as sexually erotic (ervah), and prohibit men from praying in sight of a woman's hair. The rabbis base this estimation on a biblical verse: "Your hair is like a flock of goats" (Song of Songs 4:1), suggesting that this praise reflects the sensual nature of hair. However, it is significant to note that in this biblical context the lover also praises his beloved's face, which the rabbis do not obligate women to cover. Though not all would agree, the late medieval commentator, the Mordecai, explains that these rabbinic definitions of modesty--even though they are derived from a biblical verse--are based on subjective communal norms that may change with time.

Historically speaking, women in the talmudic period likely did cover their hair, as is attested in several anecdotes in rabbinic literature. For example, Bava Kama (90a) relates an anecdote of a woman who brings a civil suit against a man who caused her to uncover her hair in public. The judge appears to side with the woman because the man violated a social norm. Another vignette in the Talmud describes a woman whose seven sons all served as High Priest. When asked how she merited such sons, she explained that even the walls of her home never saw her hair (Yoma 47a). The latter story is a story of extreme piety, surpassing any law or communal consensus; the former case may also relay a historical fact of practice and similarly does not necessarily reflect religious obligation.

Throughout the Middle Ages, Jewish authorities reinforced the practice of covering women's hair, based on the obligation derived from the Sotah story. Maimonides does not include hair covering in his list of the 613 commandments, but he does rule that leaving the house without a chador, the communal standard of modesty in Arabic countries, is grounds for divorce (Laws of Marriage 24:12). The Shulhan Arukh records that both married and unmarried women should cover their hair in public (Even Haezer 21:2), yet the Ashkenazic rulings emphasize that this obligation relates only to married women. The Zohar further entrenches the tradition by describing the mystical importance of women making sure that not a single hair is exposed.

Varying Interpretation in the Modern Era

Today, in most Conservative and Reform communities, women do not cover their hair on a daily basis, though in some synagogues women still cover their heads during prayer. A Reform responsum(1990) energetically declares: "We Reform Jews object vigorously to this requirement for women, which places them in an inferior position and sees them primarily in a sexual role."

Both the Conservative and Reform movements allow, and in some cases encourage, women to cover their heads when praying or learning Torah, because of the requirement to wear a kippah. These rulings take head covering out of the realm of female sexual modesty, and instead define it as a ritual practice--for men and women alike--that signifies respect and awareness of God above.

In the contemporary Orthodox world, most rabbis consider hair covering an obligation incumbent upon all married women, however, there is variation in the form this takes. Some maintain that women must cover all their hair, for example the Mishnah Berurah forbids a man from praying in front of his wife if any of her hair is showing.

Other Orthodox rabbinic figures have suggested that hair is no longer defined as erotic in our day and age, because most of society does not cover their hair in public. Based on this logic, the Arukh HaShulhan concludes that men are no longer prohibited from praying in the presence of a woman’s hair, and Rav Moshe Feinstein ruled that women may show a hand’s-breadth of hair.

A few Orthodox rabbis in the early twentieth century justified women's decisions not to cover their hair at all, including the Moroccan Chief Rabbi in the 1960's, HaRav Mashash, and the lesser known American Modern Orthodox rabbi, Isaac Hurwitz--though they drew criticism for this opinion. In their writings, they systematically review the sources surveyed above and demonstrate that those sources describe a social norm of modest dress, but not a legal requirement.

"Now that all women agree," Rabbi Mashash writes, "that covering one's hair is not an issue of modesty and going bare-headed is not a form of disrespect--in fact, the opposite is true: uncovered hair is the woman's splendor, glory, beauty, and magnificence, and with uncovered hair she is proud before her husband, her lover--the prohibition is uprooted on principle and is made permissible."

What Women Do


jewish women praying
While only a few traditional rabbis have reinterpreted the law of hair covering, throughout the generations women have acted on their own initiative. The first sparks of rebellion occurred in the 1600's, when French women began wearing wigs to cover their hair. Rabbis rejected this practice, both because it resembled the contemporary non-Jewish style and because it was immodest, in their eyes, for a woman to sport a beautiful head of hair, even if it was a wig. However, the wig practice took hold and, perhaps ironically, it is common today in many Hasidic and ultra-Orthodox communities. In some of these communities the custom is for women to wear an additional covering over their wig, to ensure that no one mistakes it for natural hair.

As the general practice of covering one's head in public faded in Western culture in the past century, many Orthodox women also began to go bare-headed. Despite rabbinic opinions to the contrary, these women thought of hair covering as a matter of custom and culture.

Many women who continue to cover their hair do not do so for the traditional reason of modesty. For example some women view head covering as a sign of their marital status and therefore do not cover their hair in their own home. Others wear only a small symbolic head covering while showing much of their hair. Also in many communities, women have persisted in covering their hair only in synagogue.

In recent decades, there is an interesting trend among women who have learned the Jewish legal sources for themselves, due to advances in women's education, and have decided to adopt a stringent stance toward hair covering, rather than following the more permissive norms of their parents' communities. An entire book, Hide and Seek (2005), tells these women's stories.

Modesty, as a Jewish value, is continually being refined and redefined by Jewish women and their communities. Just as some women have chosen to deemphasize hair-covering as a marker of modesty, in other communities women may choose to embrace it, developing and reinforcing a more traditional communal norm. As modesty is subjectively defined, the community to which one wishes to belong may play a large role in determining practice. The decision to cover one's hair rests at the crossroads between law and custom, personal choice and community identification.

My Fashion Choices—and My Husband’s—Reveal the Risks of Looking Hasidic


How people treat us in public often depends on what we’re wearing on our heads, whether it’s my wig or his yarmulke

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Nine years ago, when I got married, I started to cover my hair. At home I chose comfortable fabric head-coverings. But in public I wore a sheitel, or wig, since wigs were considered de rigueur by most of the women I was becoming friends with in Brooklyn. After only a few years of being Torah observant, I had a sense that a woman’s choice of head-covering was a statement in a language I did not yet speak. So, I stayed bewigged in public with my friends, slipping out of my sheitel and into a headscarf only in the privacy of my own home, much the same way I kicked off my street shoes and slid into slippers.
Because it’s impossible to tell the difference between a good sheitel and real hair, my friends and I didn’t immediately stand out in public as Orthodox women—or even as Jews. But all that changed when I went out with my husband: Standing by his side, I quickly learned that there were risks to looking like a Hasidic Jew.
***
Taking the subway in New York City with my husband for the first time was like being pushed into a wall of ice. He is a big man—it’s not difficult to see that he once played ice hockey, football, and basketball. He’s also a former trophy-winning martial artist and, though he is really a very gentle, kind-hearted person, his appearance can seem intimidating. And yet, to some subway riders, with his Orthodox women, he looks like nothing as much as a target.
Because he’d been dressing this way for quite a few years before we got married, he was used to the stares and occasional audible curses. I wasn’t.
“How can you stand this?” I asked.
“Stand what?”
“Some people are staring—no, glaring—at you. With hatred.”
He shrugged. “People are glaring at that other Orthodox Jewish guy over there, too.”
He was right. They were.
But I was never able to get used to the enormous difference between riding solo and incognito on the subway, looking like any other woman (except that every day is a good hair day when you wear a sheitel) when I was alone, versus traveling with my husband as part of a couple whose garb screamed “Hasidic.”
There were occasional reminders that even among the sophisticated, diversity-loving residents of my hometown, some kinds of diversity are less equal than others. A few years ago, my husband and I were headed to an appointment at Lenox Hill Hospital on the Upper East Side. I stopped to look in a bookstore window. As we turned around, a sports-jacketed man, sockless, in expensive loafers, took aim and spit a perfect arc of phlegm a couple of inches from my husband’s feet. We just stood there, numb. The spitter smirked and walked away.
And, I’m sorry to say, over time there were several more instances, frequent enough that they now feel ordinary. For example: I wasn’t present, but I was pained to learn about the time when my husband was verbally harassed on the subway by a group of young men. They drew their hands across their necks to mime beheading and spouted slurs. Eventually, they got off the train.
Which is why neither we, nor anyone we knew, was surprised in the least by this recent beating on the street or this Orthodox Jew being harassed and threatened on the subway. We were only surprised that the police were called and were able to get there time to confront the gang. I know a few people—not just Jews—who’ve been verbally harassed on the subway, but usually the troublemaker wanders off on his own, especially if he’s ignored.
Another time, I was with my husband in our local health-food co-op when he was asked for ID. We were paying for our groceries by credit card. I’d been shopping at this store for a few years, and had never been asked for ID, even by the same clerk who was now confronting my husband. My husband, indifferent, pulled out his license, but I questioned the clerk, asking her why she had never asked me for ID but was asking him. She told me, in a monotone, that this was the co-op’s policy. We paid and left, but not before we heard her say to the customer in line behind us: Those people …
Despite the camouflage of my wig, in public with my husband I became one of “those people.” And for quite a while, I wasn’t sure if I was emotionally up to the task.
***
I still wore a wig in public, still rode the train. Except for the very occasional covert stare—which every subway rider must endure as the price to pay for living in a city where people are too jadedly cosmopolitan to want to appear openly interested in anyone or anything—I felt invisible when I was alone. And I liked it that way.
But over time, the wig began to feel less like sensible camouflage and more like a counterfeit. So, I decided to swap my sheitel for a scarf despite the protests from my friends. (My husband was actually thrilled with my choice; he too, likes the honesty of a scarf or hat and when pressed, also admitted he prefers the way I look in them.)
It was as an outlier that I had decided to become religious, and my personality hasn’t changed all that much. I had always felt that my true self, my soul, was being by buried by living in the anti-religious, liberal milieu where I just about “passed” as an enlightened woman as long as I kept my mouth shut and didn’t disagree with secularism’s worship of myriad truths. And though for most of my life I was unable to articulate why I flinched at what felt to me to be condescension, even intolerance of my sophisticated thinking friends, I did at least know I wasn’t being true to my heart. After years of chasing after meaning, I had nowhere left to search for it except Orthodox Judaism and Chassidus.
Now I wanted to feel comfortable proclaiming my truth—“Here’s a Jewish woman who believes in Torah!”—and to me the wig was a whitewash, another way of passing. Also, I wanted to express solidarity with my visibly religious husband, with religious Jewish women, and with Jews in general. But mainly I was tired of what felt to me like compromise, equivocation—and artifice. I had been covering my hair with hair that looked like my own. A headscarf, unlike a wig, is obvious.
And yet, post-sheitel, I experienced an entirely different kind of reaction in public, one I wasn’t prepared for: Unlike the times I’d ridden the subway with my husband, people didn’t necessarily know I was Jewish—but they made an array of assumptions about me that were by turns innocuous, amusing, and unsettling. Sometimes on the train, I glance up from my book and catch someone quickly looking away. Not all of these looks are negative; in fact, the huge majority of them are blessedly neutral (or vaguely curious or even positive). And admittedly, these covert looks are what bored subway riders do—every New Yorker has experienced them. But since I’ve started to wear a shmatteh, as a friend from London calls headscarves, I feel exposed, different, vulnerable. On the subway, in Manhattan, in my co-op—everywhere—there’s a constant consciousness: I’m representing.

Saturday, 22 March 2014

Jews and the Civil War: Immigration Bookshelf


Jews and the Civil War: A Reader 
Edited by Jonathan Sarna and Adam Mendelsohn
NYU Press (2010)
This year marks the 150th anniversary of the start of the American Civil War. You’ll be seeing a lot on the war over the next four years, so get used to it now.  In fact, with arguments over states’ rights, race relations, and the 14th Amendment, you may feel like the war is still being fought.
One of the most neglected aspects of the war is the role of immigrants in it. We have some vague notions of the Irish Brigade and the New York Draft riots, but beyond Leo DiCaprio’s role as an Irish thug in Gangs of New York, few of us can recall even pop cultural images of immigrants in Blue or Grey.
Jews and the Civil War: A Reader is one of several new contributions to the subject of the immigrant experience during the war. And the Jews were overwhelmingly immigrants. Two-thirds of Jews in America in 1861 had been born abroad.


The study of Jews in this era only dates back sixty years. The publication of Rabbi Bertram Wallace Korn’s scholarly study American Jewry and the Civil War in 1951 is the seminal work on the subject. This modern reader collects scholarship subsequent to Korn.
Before Korn, Jewish writing on the Civil War depicted Jews as sharing the views of the Christian communities in which they lived—just like everyone else, only more so. Such writing was intended to counter anti-Semitic notions that Jews constitute a subversive Fifth Column within host societies.
As a result, early writing depicted Jews in the South as good states’ rights advocates, kind slave owners, reasonable secessionists, and brave Confederate soldiers whose uprightness was universally recognized by their neighbors.
In the more modern works of Korn and his successors, the depictions of Jews in the Civil War has changed to include complex interactions of Jewish identity, limited English proficiency (most spoke German), and Judeophobia in the Christian community on individual Jews and Jewish communities.
Not all of the stories end the way pre-Korn writers would have wished. Some of the Jews whose lives are detailed here fit in so well in the broader society that they abandoned their Jewishness altogether and converted to Protestant Christianity. Others were among the Jews expelled from their homes by Ulysses S. Grant during his Vicksburg campaign – seen as an inherently untrustworthy element.
Over the next several years, I plan on blogging about the Immigrants’ Civil War. I will avoid the temptation to only look at the heroic, enlightened, and noble immigrants, but also at the realities of social confusion in a society torn apart by war. Jews and the Civil War is a great contribution to that research.

Jews Fight the Ban on Rabbis as Army Chaplains


Scroll to the bottom for a complete list of articles in The Immigrants’ Civil War series.
The 65th Pennsylvania Regiment 5th Cavalry was not a “Jewish regiment.” In fact, the only member of the Philadelphia unit to win a Medal of Honor was Michael McKeever, an Irish immigrant.1 But the regiment, known a “Cameron’s Dragoons,” was commanded by Col. Max Friedman, one of the highest ranking Jews in the Union army, and it attracted many of Philadelphia’s German Jewish immigrants.2
Col. Friedman was a German businessman who immigrated to the United States in 1848, the Year of Revolution in Europe. Several of his officers came from the same liberal background as their commander.3 
Michael Allen



Under Friedman’s command was Michael Allen, a native-born Sephardic Jew who joined the Cameron Dragoons soon after the attack on Fort Sumter. He was an educated and pious man who had once studied for the rabbinate. Needing a chaplain who could minister to the regiment’s Catholics, Protestants, and Jews, the regiment’s officers chose Allen. 4
The new chaplain organized non-denominational services for Christians and Jews. He also ministered to the men’s need for spiritual guidance and ethical advice. Mindful that his unit was filled with immigrants, he made this practical offer to his congregation: “[Since] there are many of you who are good and loyal adopted citizens of our country, and as there are among you those not very well conversant with the English language, I wish for you to consider me as your teacher.” He was not just their “rabbi,” he was their ESL teacher, as well.5
This good man’s service to his regiment became a source of national turmoil when a representative of the YMCA found out that a Jew was serving as a chaplain. Today, we tend to think of “the Y” as a community center or a gym (or the subject of a Village People song), but in 1861 the Young Men’s Christian Association was the leading edge of virile Protestant evangelization. From 1861-1865, the YMCA saw the salvation of the souls of Civil War soldiers as its primary objective. Young men, many of them farm boys who had never traveled far from their homes, were being mixed up in the armies with urban Catholics, Jews, atheists, and others of presumably low moral standards from whom they could be led from a path of righteousness towards the vices of gambling, drinking, and swearing. To counter these infidels, the YMCA set up the United States Christian Commission and began policing the army for signs of moral slackness.6
In September 1861, one of the YMCA’s officials visited the camp of Cameron’s Dragoons and found out that Michael Allen was the chaplain. He reported this to his headquarters and Protestant activists demanded that Allen be removed. They insisted that the law prohibited Jews from serving as chaplains, even for other Jews. They were right.7
In July, Congress had passed a law authorizing the commissioning of chaplains who were “regularly ordained minister[s] of some Christian denomination.”  At the time, this was considered a liberalization. Previously, Catholics had been excluded from commissions as chaplains, although some served the troops as civilians. Still, the restriction had provoked opposition from Clement Vallandigham, soon to be reviled as a Copperhead, the epithet for a pro-Southern Democrat. The Ohio congressman said that with a rising Jewish population, it was time that the United States recognized that Jews were true patriots and entitled to their own military clergy.8
Vallandingham was right in his assertion that that the Jewish population was on the increase. There were 150,000 Jews in Civil War America, two-thirds of whom were recent immigrants from Germany. New York was the Jewish capital, with thirty congregations, but there were also congregations in every major Upstate New York city. Urban centers like Savannah and Baltimore had large congregations. Even Lincoln’s hometown of Springfield, Illinois, had a Jewish community populous enough to organize a synagogue. Nationally there were 160 synagogues in the United States at the start of the war.9
Jewish America was growing, but this community was new to American politics and so disorganized that it is unclear whether many Jews even knew that a law had been passed restricting Jews from serving as chaplains. Colonel Friedman’s next move insured that everyone knew what was going on.10  
The sale of matzo in New York City during the 1860s. From Frank Leslie’s Journal.


Friedman and other officers of Cameron’s Dragoons decided to appoint a new chaplain. This time they would pick a formally ordained rabbi, Arnold Fiscel. This Dutch immigrant was well known in political circles and he had an active career in civilian life. According to the leading scholar of Civil War Jewry, Rabbi Bertram Korn, Fischel accepted the appointment to create a high-profile test case of a discriminatory law. He was promptly notified by Secretary of War Simon Cameron that as a Jew, he was not eligible to serve.11
Now, the Jewish press took up the cause of repealing the discriminatory law. Articles described the prohibition as a violation of the right to freedom of religion, as discrimination against a loyal part of the population, and as a deprivation of comfort to Jewish soldiers. Editorials asked Jews not to turn their backs on the needs of their brothers who risked their lives daily in the service of the Union. They also warned members of unpopular branches of Christianity that if Jews could be discriminated against today, then Catholics or dissident Protestants might be next.12
Having aroused their base and gained interest from Gentiles, Jewish leaders organized petition campaigns demanding repeal. They also sent lobbyists to Washington to meet with congressmen and senators. One of these was Rabbi Fischel himself, who secured a meeting with Abraham Lincoln in December 1861.13
In a letter penned shortly after the meeting, Fischel told Lincoln that he had come to “contend for the principle of religious liberty.” Lincoln asked him to explain the controversy and told the rabbi that he “fully admitted the justice of my remarks…and agreed that something ought to be done to meet this case.” Lincoln had earlier taken it upon himself to appoint Jewish “hospital chaplains” to serve the wounded, but he told Fischel that since there was a legal prohibition on the appointment of military chaplains, he could not make such appointments on his own, but he agreed that “something ought to done,” wrote Fischel.14
A couple of days later, Lincoln sent a note to Fischel telling him that he would soon present suggestions to change the law to Congress that would make its language “broad enough to cover what is desired by you.”15
While he was in Washington, Fischel made a point of visiting Jewish soldiers. What they told him convinced the rabbi that the fight for Jewish chaplains was more than a philosophical struggle.  He wrote to his colleagues on December 20, 1861:
Now that I have visited all the camps and hospitals in Virginia, I have a distinct idea of what has to be done, and what can be done. The number of Jews in the army is very large, I found some even among Berdan’s Sharpshooters. As a general rule, they are not known as Jews, but hundreds with whom I have conversed express their anxiety and hope that some provision may be made for them, so that in case of sickness or death, they be not left to the mercy of strangers. This was more forcibly impressed upon my mind by the numerous Jewish patients I visited in the Hospitals, nearly all of whom complained that they had not seen a “Yehudee” since they entered the Hospitals, that they have in addition to the sufferings of disease, to submit to the torture of religious controversy, forced upon them by Christian clergymen, who are anxious “to save their souls” (!), and all expressed the wish to be interred in a Jewish burial-ground. I had to write letters for some of them, who had not been able to communicate with their friends.16
Lincoln knew he would meet opposition to any change. Congressmen trying to get a compromise on the contentious issue had already met with leaders of the YMCA who warned that they would oppose Jewish chaplains even in a regiment in which every soldier was a Jew.17
The depth of opposition to non-Protestant chaplains is seen in this article in the Protestant Presbyter of Cincinnati:
Our government has already gone a great length in this respect in appointing Roman Catholic and Universalist Chaplains to the army; but here is a proposal immeasurably beyond anything it has yet done. These denominations at least call themselves Christians, and profess to honor the Lord Jesus, however much they may really dishonor Him… But Jews regard Jesus of Nazareth as an imposter… And yet…the government would in effect say that one might despise and reject the Savior of men, and thus trample under foot the son of God…and yet be a fit minister of religion!18
In spite of this aroused anti-Semitism, Lincoln pressed Congress to repeal the prohibition. After much wrangling, and with the YMCA threatening to denounce Congress for repealing Christianity, Congress inserted a clause into the law explaining that the requirement that chaplains be “regularly ordained minister[s] of some Christian denomination” should be interpreted as including anyone ordained by any religious denomination. So, in Congress’s inimitable way, it ended discrimination against Jewish chaplains by deciding that they, and all non-Christian chaplains, somehow fit within the definition of being ordained by “some Christian denomination.”19
Fischel said that Congress had “so amended the Bill that it does not appear like a positive repudiation of the Christian religion, which most Christians believe would be a national sin and bring with it great calamities. The Chaplains of Congress have recently said as much in their prayers.”20
Historian Bertram Korn writes that the successful resolution of the “Chaplain Controversy,” as it has come to be called, was the “first major victory [for American Jewry] of a specifically Jewish nature.” Col. Friedman, Rabbi Fischel, and Abraham Lincoln had teamed up to end legal discrimination against non-Christian chaplains in the United States Army. 
Jacob Frankel’s chaplaincy certificate, March 2, 1864. Frankel was the first official Jewish chaplain in American history, and was commissioned in September 1862.


Resources:
For Fischel’s letters written during the controversy, click here.
2. “Dragoons” were cavalry who were expected to dismount during a battle and fight on foot using carbines (short rifles that were easy to carry by a mounted man).
3. The Jews of Philadelphia: Their History From the Earliest Settlementsby Henry Samuel Morais, The Levytype Co., (1894) p. 484
4. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) pp. 68-69
5. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) p. 60. Michael Allen’s journal from Sept. 1861 is available here. http://www.jewish-history.com/civilwar/mmallen.htm
6. Annual report, Volumes 1-4 United States Christian Commission published by The Commission (1863)
7. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) p. 58
8. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) p. 57
9. “The War Between Jewish Brothers in America” by Eli N. Evans in The Jews in the Civil War, Kindle edition, pp. 672-679
10. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) p. 57
11. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) pp. 61-62
12. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) pp. 62-64
13. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) pp. 65-69
14. Fischel letter, Washington, December 11, 1861
15. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) p.70
16. Fischel letter, December 20, 1861
17. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) p. 64-70
18. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) p. 70-71
19. American Jewry and the Civil War by Bertram W. Korn, Atheneum Books (1951) (1970 edition) p. 70-71
20. Fischel letter, January 4, 1862. A group of reformed rabbis published a letter informing Congress that Fischel did not speak for them.


The Immigrants’ Civil War is a series that will examine the role of immigrants in our bloodiest war. Articles will appear monthly between 2011 and 2015, the 150th Anniversary of the Civil War. Here are the articles we have published so far:
1. Immigrant America on the Eve of the Civil War - Take a swing around the United States and see where immigrants were coming from and where they were living in 1861.
2. 1848: The Year that Created Immigrant America - Revolutions in Europe, famine and oppression in Ireland, and the end of the Mexican War made 1848 a key year in American immigration history.
3. Carl Schurz: From German Radical to American Abolitionist- A teenaged revolutionary of 1848, Carl Schurz brought his passion for equality with him to America.
5. ...And the War Came to Immigrant America -The impact of the firing on Fort Sumter on America’s immigrants
10. Immigrant Day Laborers Help Build the First Fort to Protect Washington-The Fighting 69th use their construction skills.

12. Immigrants Rush to Join the Union Army-Why?- The reasons immigrants gave for enlisting early in the war.

17. Immigrant Regiments on Opposite Banks of Bull Run -The Fighting 69th and the Louisiana Tigers
Cultural
Blog Posts
Book Reviews
Jews and the Civil War: A Reader Edited by Jonathan Sarna and Adam Mendelsohn
Civil War Citizens edited by Susannah Ural Bruce
Germans in the Civil War: The Letters They Wrote Home edited by Walter Kamphoefner and Wolfgang Helbich
Immigration Vacation -Civil War Sites
Fort Schuyler- Picnic where the Irish Brigade trained.