A Report in Diary Form:
Nijhoff International Western European Studies Grant
Research On the Topic
“Towards
Reconstructing the Fate of Viennese Jewish Libraries in the Nazi Era”
by Richard Hacken
Today, on the numerologically interesting date of 9/22/99, my wife and I catch a late-morning shuttle van to the Salt Lake City airport for our flight east. We will be flying to Cincinnati on a Swiss Air flight operated by Delta Airlines, and from there to Zurich, Switzerland, on the same arrangement, different plane, and finally in to Innsbruck, Austria. Near Innsbruck we will attend my wife's family reunion and also attempt to recover from the inevitable jetlag before attempting to do research (for which it helps to be fresh rather than drooping in mind and body).
At the airport we board flight 8255 for Cincinnati after showing our passports and dropping luggage off at the check-in counter, hoping to see it again in Innsbruck. Arriving at the Cincinnati airport, we have only minutes to traverse the few yards to the next flight, and before an hour has elapsed we're airborne again and watching the northeastern states and Canada slip away beneath the wings. To the north can be seen Lake Erie at one point and on the distant shore is the faint outline of Ontario.
The night is short as we take an opposite course from the sun, and when the light begins to rise in the east we clearly see, from our seats F & G on the left side of the plane back in steerage, the outline of the extreme northwest corner of France. This is Brittany, where we see white waves breaking on all sides, giving the appearance of a map image from 40,000 feet with snow accumulating at landfall. We follow along the northern Normandy coast, seeing half-sea and half-land until the coast veers off to the north and we head further east past Paris and the fields of Champagne Province. As we drop in close to Zurich, the clouds take on Old Testament proportions, clinging to the green fields and forests in separate patches and reminding us we're not in the deserts of Utah anymore. We have slept little during the short night.
As we deplane, the survival mode kicks in. We're on our own in an airport teeming with foreigners (which also describes us perfectly). The path from gate A-11 to the transit lounge at A-54 is long. The wait is longer than expected, since the fog has compacted take-off and landing schedules. When we finally enter a turboprop with Tyrolian Air markings on it, we are instantly transported to Austria -- so to speak -- by the sight of a flight attendant dressed in a bright blue Dirndl. The seats are only one-third occupied, a welcome change from the cramped quarters of the first two flight legs. This is a magical flight, a wondrous journey that only lasts thirty minutes physically but will last in my mind to the end of my days. We rise quickly over northeastern Switzerland and view Lake Constance with its Swiss cities, along with Lindau in Germany and, finally, Bregenz in Austria. All the while we are munching on Semmels stuffed with goodies, tossing back the mineral water and chocolates, and watching the Alps loom on either side. We zoom close by gray granite peaks and gaze on highland lakes and glaciers. As we descend for the Innsbruck airport, the peaks are higher than we are. We see below us the night's lodging before we even land, and our weary bones are ready to rest while our minds and eyes are exhilarated by the marvelous surrounding sights.
Why is this flight magical? It isn't just the sights of the Alps or the professionalism of the crew or the taste of long-forgotten Semmels. No. At the airport itself, we stroll leisurely from the plane's ramp (a walk-down ramp as in the movie Casablanca), and traverse the few yards across the tarmac to the airport entrance. As we step inside and say our first "Grüss Gott" at the passport check, the bags we last saw in Salt Lake City roll into view on the baggage carousel. We pick them up and march past the customs sign "Nothing to Declare" and beyond, into the outside world in less than thirty seconds. That magic is magnified as we stop at the nearby bakery stand and buy a supply of nut buns and poppy rolls.
Even the taxicab driver is jovial, and I take this for a sign that our entire trip will be marked with good fortune and cooperative people. The future looks promising, but for now the bed is the only refuge for weary bones.
With jet lag, I awake at 3:30 a.m. and can't get back to sleep, so I type these diary entries for the first two days in the very wee-most hours of the morning. At breakfast, a message is waiting for us that certain of my wife's family members are already at the hotel, and so we spend the day with family. After telling relatives about the research I am interested in carrying out, one of them -- a retired mechanical engineer -- tells me of an acquaintance in Vienna who has worked in the area of Christian and Jewish cooperation, and he gives me a phone number for possible contact. The research proper isn't to start until the following Monday, but already some possibilities are opening up.
We are exhausted by the afternoon, and so we rest. The evening is devoted to family get-togethers as is the entire next day. The jet lag is gradually lifting, much like the fogs on the St. Martin wall of granite opposite our hotel window. Today the grotto can still be seen where, it is said, the youthful Kaiser Maximilian was saved by miraculous intervention from falling to his death in the late fifteenth century.
Today again there is an interesting coincidence related to the research topic. Or perhaps it is no coincidence, since the family reunion program planners are aware of my interests. The hike into the hills south of Innsbruck ends up at a church built around a stone called "Judenstein," which means "Jewish stone." The full history and significance of the area are unclear from the quite general words written at the site, but evidently this was the spot of some atrocity, real or enhanced by legend, involving the relationship between Catholics and Jews in Tyrol. That has very little to do with the actual research topic of Jewish libraries in Vienna, but it helps to set the tone and attitude for my work.
After a communal family breakfast and heartfelt good-byes, my wife and I climb aboard a train for Vienna. The weather that has been so beautiful for our activities of the past days now shows clouds and dumps rain, but even that seems refreshing. It sets a tone of change and refreshment as we travel for over five hours to the old Imperial capital of Vienna.
Arriving in the Westbahnhof, we are taken by taxi to the Hotel Europa, our home for the next two weeks. The taxi driver is from Turkey, and we discuss the recent earthquakes in his homeland.
Since next week there are to be national elections in Austria, the roads are lined with campaign slogans and pictures of the candidates. I get the impression that politicians have much in common in whatever country they may be.
Before retiring to bed, I read through the letters and notes and e-mails of the last few months, rehearsing the research possibilities and the promising leads. I decide that my first stop should be at the library of the Jewish Museum. I am excited to get started.
At five a.m. we awake to the sound of jackhammers from some nearby construction activities, or, more accurately, the sound of jackhammers tears us from sleep. At breakfast, I slice into my finger with the butter knife. The day will get better from here.
The library of the Jewish Museum is located in a building adjacent to the lone synagogue in Vienna that survived the Second World War. It is understandable, given the potential for terrorism, that security questions and a security check are necessary. It is also fortunate that there are no happenings or particularly severe tensions in the Middle East right now, since many times that can lead to a closing of the facilities.
Previous e-mail contacts with Irma Wulz of the library have resulted in a beautifully assembled custom-made bibliography on my topic. This is going to be a great help, and this fellow librarian has done me a great service in focusing on resources that are relevant to my research. My final communication with Ms. Wulz is not answered until after I have left the States, however, and it is only at the library itself that I learn she has accepted a different job: she now works with restitution claims of individual Jewish families and groups. Another librarian has taken her place, however, Mirjam Triendl, who is involved in very similar research herself: she is researching the fate of the Jewish libraries of Vilna.
My first concern is to figure out a research strategy that will help me to make the best use of my time here. There are actually two large questions that interconnect: what did the holdings of the former Jewish libraries look like, and what happened to them? The questions are asked quite simplistically, but I know the answers will have to come only in parts and pieces.
I learn that there some volumes from the library of the Israelitische Kultus-gemeinde Wien ("Jewish Community of Vienna," abbreviated IKG Wien for the rest of this report) have survived the war. Some have been restored from other venues, which I will attempt to trace by the stamps or markings in the books. This will be impossible on a large scale, of course, but I will take random samples to see if a pattern emerges. To a lesser degree, holdings of the library of the Israelitisch-Theologische Anstalt (Jewish Theological Seminary) and of the Flüchtlingsbibliothek der Zentralstelle der Fürsorge für Kriegsflüchtige (Refugee Library of the Central Welfare Office for War Refugees) are also to be found in this reconstructed library. These are the books that I can actually see first-hand, but there are secondary books, reports and articles regarding other (presumably lost) holdings that the library can offer as well.
Perhaps jumping the gun a little, or putting the chronological cart somewhat before the horse, I ask to look at an article about the Bücherverwertungsstelle Wien (Book Evaluation Center in Vienna) written by a Leipzig scholar. This center, sponsored by the Einsatzstab Rosenberg (an action group of the propaganda ministry designed to sift through confiscated materials that was run by a man named Rosenberg), was located directly across the street from where the present-day Jewish Museum is located. This building was originally a lodge for Free Masons, another target group that suffered oppression from the Nazis; it was confiscated to become a depot and sorting point for other confiscated materials, mainly the books of Jews and other officially undesirable persons. The director of the Deutsche Bücherei (German Library) in Leipzig at the time was called to Vienna to serve as the officer in charge of book dispersal. The author of this article on the book center, Otto Seifert, relied on archives in and around Leipzig, and he is definitely someone I will try to contact.
This was, as I mentioned, jumping the gun a bit. It makes sense to learn more about what the holdings were -- their disciplines, their balance, their emphases -- before proceeding to their fate. With this in mind, and with the kind assistance of the library personnel -- I proceed to sift (to begin sifting) through the reports of the IKG Wien, of which each year a short paragraph is generally devoted to the library itself.
Another major finding of the first day, and this deserves a paragraph set apart, is that the actual historical archives for the IKG Wien are now located in Jerusalem at the "Central Archives for the History of the Jewish People." A complete index of archival holdings is available in Vienna, however, and I am beginning to peruse the index to find out if there are items I will need to have copied and sent from Jerusalem. This is a task that can continue after I return to Utah.
After the library closes at 16:00, my wife and I make a tour of the Jewish Museum itself. There are taped guides that tell us the story of objects displayed there. In the book realm, there are examples of anti-Semitic literature, in particular a multi-volume treatise by Gobineau on which the Nazis and other anti-Semitic policy makers founded some of their "science." The large storeroom of ritualistic paraphernalia is depressing if you contemplate the final destination of many of their owners. An artistic display of portraits shows famous Jews of the world, many of whom were unexpected by me, such as Paul Newman, Al Jolson, Tony Curtis and Danny DeVito. Woody Allen, let's face it, is already a known factor. A final exhibit concentrates on the journal Die Fackel by Karl Kraus, and on numerous of his satirical sayings. There is more to see and think about than we are capable of in less than two hours, but there are rich impressions. We learn there will be a concert of the reform cantor Salomon Sulzer's (and Schubert's) music this Thursday night. We'll be there.
Today is dedicated to two specific tasks: (1) completing a scan through the reports of the IKG Wien for library specifics and (2) searching the present holdings for stamps or other notes of provenance that might point to confiscation or restitution.
I am able to work my way through the reports from 1890 until 1936. In most cases the community library is entered as a report under Section II: the Educational System. The library was perceived as an organ of continuing education for members of the Jewish community but also a source of pride, as many reports tell of scholars coming from elsewhere to use its sources. Now, in 1999, in the revivified library, I am a scholar coming from abroad to search the original sources of this library.
There is a total shock when I see the reports for 1938-1939. They are in English! This is the time period of the Kristallnacht and the time, presumably, when the books and the people left Vienna. Tomorrow, I will give this a closer look.
The search for stamps in the books and for other indicators of earlier owners and general provenance is slow and yields only 12 titles that were possibly confiscated and restored to the library. I will investigate this further.
Before taking the 15-minute walk from the Hotel Europa to the library, I follow up on two leads that I mentioned earlier. The first, suggested by the librarian here, Mirjam Triendl, is the now 76-year-old founder of the Institute for Judaism Studies at the University of Vienna. There is no answer at his office (yes, he keeps an office in the institute despite being retired). The institute is located adjacent to a beautiful grassy courtyard of what was once a recuperation center of the Allgemeines Krankenhaus, the largest and most famous hospital in Vienna.'s 9th district
The second contact is also retired -- a Dr. Ulrich Trinks -- who has been active in the Christian-Jewish Information Center in the 18th district, a cross-denominational organization for fostering friendship and understanding. I plan on visiting the center and on meeting Dr. Trinks as well as the current director, a Catholic theologian by the name of Dr. Himmelbauer (the typical Austrian name, interestingly, translated as "He who cultivates Heaven".)
Dr. Trinks gives me two other potential contact persons in the Jewish community, the director of the archive, Frau Dr. Evelyn Adunka. According to him, she is very interested in persons such as myself that are conducting research into Jewish Vienna, and would be an excellent help and resource (unless she's in Jerusalem, London or New York on research right now). Her offices are located in the Tempelgasse in the 2nd district, adjacent to what was earlier one of the largest Jewish settlement areas in the town. Dr. Trinks also mentions the head of the library of the Jewish Museum, the very one I'm visiting. His name is Herr Grosz, and he would be a good person to contact if I have the time.
Dr. Trinks also mentions something about the fate of the books of this particular library, as he understands it, locations and general dates of book resettlement that I will have to verify independently. The reason that a good portion of the early books and archival holdings of the IKG Wien ended up in Jerusalem, he indicates, was that the few Jewish community members left in Vienna were initially very skeptical of the possibility of making a go of it in this city. In addition, a strong Zionist faction saw the future of the Viennese community only in the newly formed state of Israel.
After reaching the library (with a new security guard each day so far, probably a good idea to avoid laxness), I dive right into the Report of the Vienna Jewish Community. This English-language description of the activities of the IKG Wien for the period from May 2nd, 1938 to December 31st, 1939 covers the time of the Kristallnacht, of course, and of the major emigrations of Jews from Austria. The report consists of sections entitled Preface, Statistical Review, Emigration, Retraining, Social Fare, Foreign Currencies and Financial Treatment. There is no pagination in the report. There is also no mention of the library. Perhaps the other needs are too great. I look through the reports for 1939, one written during the first year of the war, and then there is a break until the report (in German again) that covers the years 1945-1948. This report also gives not a single mention of the library. Not until the report for 1952 to 1954 does the library again come into play, after a silence in the reports of the IKG Wien for over 15 years. This is a good find, however, since this report accounts for some of the happenings during the Nazi era and will supply me with some further jumping-off points.
Asking a routine question of the librarian, she mentions that the question is probably answered in the packet of copies that "has probably been forwarded to me."
It has not been forwarded to me. When she brings it to me, I see that it has been assembled by Herr Grosz, the director of the library, as a starting point for the article on the library that he published in the exhibition catalog entitled "Papier ist doch weiss."
Tomorrow I will delve into this. The packet contains a number of reports I have already copied, I notice, but it will also hold other findings and finding aids.
Another three sheets in the packet contain a list of books that were considered undesirable by the Nazi Propaganda Ministry, and a search for some of these titles might lead to some interesting conclusions.
After searching for these titles, I come up blank. These books would have been red flags, and they were almost certainly among the first candidates for destruction. The only copies in the library here are editions that have been published since 1945.
It is another splendid autumn day in Vienna.
I have brought a laptop computer with me, and it is proving a valuable asset for recording my research. It should be a good way to keep in touch with e-mail messages and library catalogs back in the USA as well, though today I've wasted a couple of evening hours trying to make the proper modem connections. There is no dial tone as we know it in North America, so the computer is confused and refusing to cooperate. Maybe I can solve this problem, but I need to concentrate on the reason I'm here.
Today I plan to look at lists of acquisitions added to the IKG Wien library between the years 1908 and 1935. This is one possible way to tell if one theory mentioned in Ronald Grosz's article (see above) is correct, namely, that all the holdings of the library were taken away by the Nazis en bloc and dispersed or otherwise lost. (The other theory is more complicated and involves numerous bibliographic paths). If I find titles listed in the acquisitions lists of the first third of the century and if I can ascertain they are the same original titles (not replacement copies purchased after the war) in any numbers, then that would seem to dispute the "all lost en masse" theory. The opposite is not necessarily true, however: if I am unable to locate sample titles from the early century as being still (or again after restitution) in the library, that doesn't mean necessarily that all titles have been lost. This is just a spot check. It also occurs to me that checking some of these titles against the holdings of the Vienna City and Province Library and the Austrian National Library could prove enlightening, if time permits.
My very first book title seems to dispute the "totally lost" theory: From the acquisition index for 1912 I take the first title, Einleitung in ein aegyptische-semitisch-indoeuropaeisches Wurzelwörterbuch by Carl Abel, and find it is located in the reference room where I am working. Though the online catalog record says 1886 and the old acquisition record says 1887 for a publication date, this is explained by different cover and title page dates. The original stamps are also clearly from before the war (one give-away is the spelling "Cultusgemeinde" instead of "Kultusgemeinde"), with another stamp for the present-day library having been added. The book also has a pasted label of ownership on its cover dating, the librarians here assure me, from before the war. All in all, this appears to be a book that survived the war. No further stamps indicate that the book has been elsewhere. This first success is followed by a long succession of titles that are not to be found in the library. But then, here and there, this title or that appears to be an original (or restored) holding. Actually, the very acquisition indexes I'm using seem to be original holdings as well, with similar stamps as the Abel book. Now I'm fairly sure that at least some of the books have survived the war (though only a very few if my random samples are any indication). As I wander through the books of the reference collection, I come across titles with stamps from other Viennese Jewish institutions: Bet-ha-Midrash, The Religion School of the Jewish Community, etc.
Today, after the initial success, comes a surprising and delightful discovery, the sort of finding I had hoped for on this trip (a Bingo! Or Eureka! discovery): a memo to the Sicherheitsdienst Leader in Vienna, dated March 7, 1939, in which an oral communication from Eichmann is relayed. It reports that a large Jewish library in Vienna has been confiscated (then crossed through and changed to "put into safekeeping"). There was a rush to decide what to do with it, but since there was no knowledge of its content, there was a request for a librarian to be sent. It is very likely that this refers to the events leading up to the commissioning of Alfred Paust of the Deutsche Bücherei in Leipzig to run the Book Evaluation Center in the Dorotheergasse in Vienna.
I leave the library earlier than usual in order to meet with a Professor of German at the University of Vienna, Murray Hall. Over drinks at the Café Votiv behind the University, we discuss his interest in the history of the Austrian book, for which he is founding a new book series. He also gives me some tips on researching at the State Archives, where I plan to go early next week, and on some other institutions and individuals. We exchange e-mail addresses and phone numbers and will be in touch as necessary.
This evening, there is a concert in the Jewish Museum featuring the cantoral compositions of Salomon Sulzer and particularly this reform cantor's affinity and musical friendship with Franz Schubert. The music is presented by 12 singers, mostly in a capella fashion. As soon as they open up their mouths for the first note, the six men and six women electrify the air, and the overflow crowd is stunned at the clarity, liveliness and ethereal exactitude of these songs. The notes coming from the enthusiastic singers drive me to the verge of tears; this is a musical evening I will never forget.
Today, since the library of the Jewish Museum is closed, I am following other leads. One potentially helpful visit will be to the City Historical Museum in search of any Jewish history, especially during the time of the Third Reich. This plan is completely dropped for now, however, when Prof. Dr. Schubert answers his phone. This man, of whom everyone speaks, was a personal witness of the Nazi era. He is able to speak with us within the hour, and so we catch a taxi to the New University campus on the former recuperation grounds of the Allgemeines Krankenhaus.
When I mention the focus of my research, with particular interest in the fate of Viennese Jewish libraries during the Third Reich, Dr. Schubert begins to tell what he knew of the period.
When he began studying at the University of Vienna in 1941, Professor Schubert's only means of researching his true interest in Jewish Studies -- because of the university structure during the Nazi period -- was to graduate in a program of "Ancient Semitic Philology." This required him to put a great deal of study into Assyriology. His professor, Viktor Christian, was both an anti-Semitic professor of Semitic studies and a Nazi, a seeming contradiction found sometimes during that period. He was a civil member of the SS, an Obersturmbannführer and, at the same time, an enthusiastic collector and patron of books having to do with Judaism. Schubert himself was largely unable to purchase many of the books he wanted and needed for his studies, since they were forbidden (written by “enemies of the state.”)
Schubert and his four fellow students in the discipline, of whom one, König, was to become a cardinal in the Catholic Church, were solidly anti-Nazi. This was recognized and benevolently ignored by their Nazi mentor, Professor Christian. One of Professor Christian's bibliographic coups was to receive a large Jewish collection from Munich (through an anthropological society of the SS) and incorporate it into the library of the Institute for Oriental Studies in Vienna. This was a library destined to survive the war unscathed, since no bombs fell on it.
It was Kurt Schubert's great luck, as he puts it, that he came down with a bad case of bronchial asthma during the war, and so he was not sent to fight elsewhere but served as an air raid marshal in Vienna itself. His duty was to conduct air raid alarm tests and to conduct evacuation drills from dwellings to the cellar. His site of duty was in the Second District, the area most populated by Jews up until 1938. In one of the buildings for which he was responsible was the former rabbinical seminary, in which a number of Nazis were now quartered. In 1943, he discovered in the basement of that house a great number of wooden crates, and on further investigation found they were full of Judaica books. They had been transferred to this location for processing or decision-making, but since they had lain in the wet cellar for around five years the bottom twenty percent of the books had been ruined by moisture and mold. Even the remaining 80% totaled thousands of books, however.
When Schubert told his book-loving professor about these books, the latter was quick to encourage his student to bring the books into the library of the institute, but, he said, the problem would be in convincing the Nazis in that building to give them up. In an act of necessary deception, Schubert wrote the previous head of Civil Air-Raid Defense (who now held a more prominent position), and asked if the books might be released to him for destruction by burning. There was the danger, he pointed out, that they could present a danger to the inhabitants of the building in case of an actual air attack, since they would only add fuel to the building. Once permission was given, he and others from the institute took the books to Berggasse 7 and added the salvageable books to the collection.
Schubert suspects and presumes, but cannot prove, that some of the books had been confiscated from a large Jewish publishing house and bookstore in the Seitenstettengasse adjacent to the main temple (probably Schlesinger Verlag), since there were multiple copies of certain titles and no stamps of ownership. They had presumably been transferred from other storage places (presumably including the book evaluation center at Dorotheergasse 12).
The liberation of Vienna took place on the 9th and 10th of April in 1945, and the first attempts to reestablish a Jewish community centered on U-Boats (Jews who had managed to submerge into society) and those "tolerated" or "privileged" because of their status in mixed marriages.
Isidor Oehler, first president of the Viennese Jewish community after the war, was also a substitute Rabbi. His job during the war had been with the Reichsrat für Sippenforschung, transcribing Jewish headstones from cemeteries. The data had to be done in typewritten form; only he could transcribe and only his wife could type. They both survived the war by dragging their feet in collecting the family names and other data (and using their limitations as an excuse). If they had finished the work earlier, they would likely have been deported to the concentration camps.
Schubert turned over the contents of all the wooden crates to Oehler and to the IKG Wien as early as May of 1945. In 1948, a Zionist was made president of the Viennese Jewish community for the first time. He was a blind lawyer who had survived the war in Theresienstadt. Because of his Zionist orientation – and fearing there was little future for Jews in Vienna -- he arranged for the transfer of the books of the IKG, including those saved and presented by Schubert, to the Archive for the History of the Jewish People in Jerusalem. Schubert reports that he was in Jerusalem on the first anniversary of the founding of the State of Israel, at which point he signed over the deed of gift for the volumes he had taken from the basement in the Second District.
This personal report by Dr. Schubert provides a great deal to further verify, but it also starts to tie some reports and some other data together in a small way. Most particularly interesting, however, are the personal touches and the memoir quality of his interview.
Later that day, I meet with Frau Dr. Adunka, who is a freelance researcher and director of the Vienna archives of the IKG (including those materials documenting the history of the community since 1945). This turns out to be another very valuable contact, since she is in the course of proofreading the final galleys of a book that will be published this January on the history of the Viennese Jews since 1945. Her book will also include a chapter on the history of the Viennese Community library, she says, and I shouldn't plan on writing up my findings until after I've seen this history. I agree whole-heartedly, and we exchange addresses and such for further mutual contact.
While interviewing Prof. Dr. Schubert yesterday, he told me (and my accompanying wife, whose hand he gallantly kissed) that he would be giving some tours of the Jewish Museum in Eisenstadt on the next day. It is now the next day, the Jewish Sabbath, and we are on our way to Eisenstadt to learn what we can there.
The Jewish population of Eisenstadt in Burgenland, the easternmost province of Austria, bordering on Hungary, was very large at one time. It now consists of two families, we are told, of whom only one practices the Jewish religion. Nevertheless, there are some sites in Eisenstadt that have been preserved in an almost miraculous way. The old Jewish graveyard is still intact, though the Nazis put a path down through the middle of it, and the most amazing feature in the former ghetto is an intact house synagogue. This holy place was stacked full of lumber during the war, thus disguising its true character. Only when the Russians liberated Eisenstadt and wanted to find a place to pray did they discover this synagogue under the piles of wood.
Since these historical tales have little to do with the topic of my research, I won't go into further detail. But the afternoon is well spent, and a disquisition by Professor Schubert on the finer points of the Cabala and his personalized tour of the entire museum are both enlightening and exhilarating.
I finally take a day off that involves the castle Burg Kreuzenstein and walking a few kilometers on Bisamberg (the easternmost mountain on the Alpine chain), but there are also some typing and reading and e-mail and Internet duties to attend to.
In the evening I contact Eleonore Lappin, who works at the Library of the Institute for the History of Jews in Austria in St. Pölten. From the publisher's prospect that Frau Dr. Adunka gave me, I also see that Frau Lappin is a co-author of a book soon to appear under the title: "The Viennese Jews in the Time from the Turn of the Century up to the Destruction of the Viennese Jewish Community." This is another title that could contain some interesting information for me, since these authors have been searching in many of the same sources that will be helpful for me. The time remaining in Vienna is already getting so tight, both for me and for her, that we decide not to meet in person, but we carry on a nice discussion over the phone. Her two recommendations for me now are the Dokumentationsarchiv des österreichischen Widerstands (Documentation Archive of the Austrian Resistance, located in the Old Rathaus) and the Literaturhaus, which has the largest collection of Austrian exile literature. Time allowing, I will look into both of these.
It now appears that any investigations in the Austrian National Library and the Vienna City and Provincial Library will be impossible in the next week, but I plan to visit these on my own time later on to determine if they have relevant research leads.
There have been national elections today, and there is some concern among educated people at the gains registered by the FPÖ, the “Freedom Party” of Austria, which has definite right-extremist tendencies. Because of the strength of this party's showing, they will either form a coalition with the ÖVP, Conservative Party, with the SPÖ, the Social Democrats (not very likely) or at any rate, even if not in the ruling coalition, they will figure strongly in the future government. Their leader Haider is not a Hitler, and this democracy of Austria is answerable to the world community, but, as will be discussed later, the Jewish leaders are concerned about deterioration in social climate even at the cusp of a new century.
This morning I catch the subway U3 to the end of its line in Erdberg, where the General Administrative Archives of the Austrian State Archives are housed. It takes me a while to become acquainted with the procedures of this archive and to register. I had contacted the archives by e-mail about two weeks before leaving the United States, telling of the research papers I was interested in. When I reach the consultation desk, the woman working there, Frau Keller, tells me she is the one who received the e-mail, and she has assembled some relevant folders of papers for me to look through. This is another stroke of great and good luck.
Here is a list of those documents and their call numbers:
Bürckel, Reichskommissar für die Wiedervereinigung Österreichs mit dem Deutschen Reich, Reichsschrifttumskammer, Allgemein, 2445.
Bürckel, Reichskommissar für die Wiedervereinigung Österreichs mit dem Deutschen Reich, Reichsschrifttumskammer, Einführung von Anordnungen der RSK in der Ostmark, 2445/1.
Bürckel, Reichskommissar für die Wiedervereinigung Österreichs mit dem Deutschen Reich, Reichsschrifttumskammer, Parteiamtliche Prüfungskommission zum Schutze des NS-Schrifttums, 2445/2.
Within a short time I am looking through the correspondence and memos of the Reichsschrifttumskammer (Reich Office for Literary Activities) and of the Parteiamtliche Prüfungskommission zum Schutze des NS-Schrifttums (The Party Commission for Protection of National-Socialist Literature). In each case they are connected with the efforts of Rosenberg to confiscate and -- for purposes of reference, research or monetary value -- to redistribute the confiscated books and other materials. There are a number of papers I am able to locate and copy that deal in general and peripheral ways with the campaign to confiscate books, but only one memo that directly speaks to the confiscation happening itself. This is a memo of November 2, 1938, one week before the Kristallnacht pogrom. In it, a Dr. Kühne of the Parteiamtliche Prüfungskommission (abbreviated PPK hereinafter) writes to a certain H. Drum, Adjutant to the Reich-skommisar for Reunification of Austria with the German Reich (Bürckel). There is mention of three attachments regarding the confiscation of "literature inimical to the movement:" (1) the letter to the Gauleiter; (2) the memorandum about the value of the material to be confiscated, and (3) a draft of the orders. Maddeningly, the attachments are not attached. This memo is also the only one within the binder that is not bound. These are incredibly important pieces of documentation, and I will continue to search for their whereabouts. Perhaps they've been misfiled elsewhere? It looks discouraging, however, that they are not in the very place where they should be.
After leaving the archives, where I've been treated with very friendly regard, I travel to the location of the former synagogue in the Second District, in the Tempelgasse. This had been the site and geographic center of numerous cultural, religious and educational institutions of the Jewish community up until the happenings of late 1938 and early 1939. There, I am able to envision the former alignment of buildings, thanks to a mock-up I had studied in the Jewish Museum in Eisenstadt, and I recognize that the set of buildings to the left of the synagogue site has been restored in the oriental style of the original buildings. In addition, I find the site of the former rabbinical seminary where Kurt Schubert retrieved so many wooden crates of books and restored them eventually to the Jewish community.
In a bookstore around the corner from the synagogue site, I am able to purchase the memoirs of Sonia Wachstein -- she is the daughter of Bernhard Wachstein, historian and librarian of the IKG Wien for many years before the war. Sonia Wachstein is still living in New York City. I plan to contact her for any further potential information about the time of chaos in 1938-1939 and about the fate of the library her father directed.
The only other Jewish bookstore in Vienna at the present time is connected with the Jewish Museum in Dorotheergasse. That is my next destination. I purchase a map of "Jewish Vienna" which superimposes former Jewish residences, institutions, synagogues, etc., on a current-day map of Vienna. I will have little time to do any more pilgrimage work to associate former Jewish sites with current realities, so to speak, as I have done this afternoon, but this map will enable me to have visual or geographic reference points as I do further research. In addition I purchase a copy of last year's Jewish Museum exhibition catalogue for inclusion in the BYU collection. Finally, I can't resist buying a CD with liturgical cantoral singing composed by Salomon Sulzer. If it is half as lovely as the concert we attended last Thursday night, then it will be a treasured possession.
Speaking of concerts, this evening is dedicated to a concert in the Musikverein, where the Zurich Chamber Orchestra is playing works of Mozart and Haydn. During the triple encore, a playful Strauss melody enters into the mix as well. This is a marvelous treat for the eyes and the ears.
This morning I'm returning to the State Archives for a final attempt to locate the missing attachments to the extremely relevant memo on the confiscation of books during early November of 1938. As I search, it appears increasingly unlikely that these attachments have been preserved. Unfortunately! But there are related archival repositories where I will look for parallel or similar documentation:
Here are some of the titles and call numbers of folders and cartons yet to be searched:
Bürckel, etc. Nachträge, Büro Bürckel, Juden -- Vermögensanmeldung Kt. Rot-34, Konvolut 196.
Bürckel, etc. Nachträge, Büro Haasbauer, Korrespondenz - Diverses (1938-1939)
Kt. Rot-21, Konvolut 114.
Bürckel, etc. Nachträge, Büro Knissel, Beschlagnahmen von jüdischen Vermögen,
Kt. Rot-1, Konvolut 4.1.
Bürckel, etc. Personenregistratur, Kühne, Kt 50, Ordner 103.
Bürckel, etc. Personenregistratur, Stebich, Kt 89, Ordner 183.
Bürckel, etc. Personenregistratur, Heigl, Kt 33, Ordner 70.
Stillhaltekommissar… Politische Akten, 31- Jüdische Vereine, R - Lehranstalten, Bibel- und hebräische Schulen, Karton 571.
Stillhaltekommissar…, Büro Schmidt, Schriftwechsel betr. Vereinsbibliotheken (1938-1939, Abteilung IV-Ac), Karton 920.
Stillhaltekommissar…, Büro Schmidt, Schriftwechsel Gestapo (1938-1939, Abteilung IV-Ac), Karton 919.
Stillhaltekommissar…, Büro Schmidt, Schriftwechsel Gestapo I-Wien, Karton 916.
Most of these have been ordered for me to look at tomorrow. Today I am able to search through petitions of Jews from this time period. Mostly it is a matter of individuals seeking permission to be allowed back into their apartments or to be given legitimate papers to emigrate. As I search through these requests (all which were left unanswered and unfulfilled: they are referred to as "unprocessed" with many of them showing a handwritten "Jude" that has been added in orange at the top of the letter) I find nothing about the books or libraries of these people. But there are some heartrending stories here, and I get somewhat depressed. Perhaps the most heartless is the petition of 30 older people (between 72 and 92 years of age) who have been told they need to leave the Old Folks' Home within six days.
After leaving the archives in the Nottendorfergasse, I still have time to stop in the library of the IKG Wien, where some further book stamps can be examined. This process is much too slow and will not give me any definitive results, but I have seen that there are some surviving book titles from before the war that are still (or are restored again) in the collections here.
There are also reports of other smaller Jewish libraries to be examined, and I look at lists of the former holdings of the library of the Israelitische Theologische Lehranstalt (Jewish Theological College), the 300-book collection of the Viennese Gesellschaft für Sammlung und Conservirung von Kunst- und historischen Denkmälern des Judenthums (Society for Collection and Conservation of Art and Historical Treasures of Judaism) and the 500-book collection of the Jüdische Volks- und Jugendbibliothek (Jewish Public and Youth Library) from the Temple Society in the thirteenth district of Vienna. The books of the latter are catalogued according to reading level by age. Finding something about the fate of these libraries as well depends on documentation that cannot be found here.
I make an appointment to speak with the head of the library of the IKG Wien tomorrow, since he has also written on the topic of my interest.
Interviews with people, if the people are carefully chosen, are proving to be as valuable as my searches in the archives. This morning I am meeting with Herr Dr. Ronald Grosz, the director of the library of the IKG Wien. He receives me in a very friendly manner, and soon we are comparing source materials on the topic of the library's fate after the Anschluss of 1938. In addition to a number of sources I have located previously, he is convinced he has seen a relevant document published (hidden) in some book that is seemingly peripheral to the topic. He calls several people but cannot locate the document just yet. He will let me know when he finds it. He is very helpful with other sources, and he will be a good person to keep in touch with.
During my last day in the Jewish community library, I locate a book by Ignaz Schwarz on the history of Jews in Vienna until 1625. This copy is a signed copy by the author to Bernhard Wachstein on 9 October, 1912. Since Bernhard Wachstein was the head of the library then and this title is in the library, I continue to draw conclusions about the survival of some few titles.
In the early afternoon, I am invited into the office of Herr Dr. Hodik, now an administrator in the Jewish community, who was involved with the inventory project of the library holdings after the war. I learn right away that the inventory project did not take place until around 1975 (thirty years after the end of the war), so it was not as close to the time of book loss as I had initially presumed. Still, he has great knowledge of the library's contents, of course, from his intimate connection with the books. The library was reassembled after the war, he told me, essentially from the books of the Jewish community, from the Jewish theological college (Israelitische Theologische Lehranstalt) and from the Maimonides Institute. Just to verify what he meant by books of the "Jewish community," I asked if he meant books from individual members. The response was quick: No, he was referring to the surviving books from the pre-1939 library of the Israelitische Kultusgemeinde Wien. Thus he verified my surmise that some of the books were still from the original collection. The temple and surrounding administrative offices, he pointed out, was two cellars deep and had connecting passageways to other buildings in the vicinity. Some books had been hidden in the cellars there as well, he assumes, and some many even have been buried, similar to the manner a large collection of silver had been buried in the ground beneath the cellars and retrieved after the war.
After the war, he continued, the collections were something like Yiddish "Hefker," that is to say, trivial or worthless items of little interest. The community members, those who were there, concentrated their energies on questions of survival: food, society, emigration, family. After 1948 the head of the national library and central archives in Jerusalem came to Vienna and handpicked items to be sent and added to his holdings. At the time, the leaders of the community were in a trusteeship role, preparing themselves to disband the community at any time -- as soon as emigration of members to the new state of Israel and to America could be arranged. With a widespread feeling that there was no future for Jews in Austria, this seemed at the time the best way to preserve the books. In any depiction of the fate of the books of the library of IKG Wien, the majority of titles that ended up in Jerusalem cannot be ignored.
It was in the 1970s that the community took on a new life. The children of those who had come to Vienna or stayed in Vienna were growing and having families of their own, and the idea of disbanding the Jews of Vienna was no longer thinkable. By this time, as well, the books and libraries were taking on a greater importance since it was no longer a matter of sheer survival at the expense of education and culture.
Finally, the talk turns to the political happenings of the last week. Dr. Hodik is afraid that the attitudes of the people on the street will turn uglier towards Jews and other minority residents if the policies of the newly strengthened rightist FPÖ (anti-foreigner legislation for instance) are not decisively reputed by the other two major parties. A certain "tolerance for intolerance" could come of it, he says. The leaders of the Jewish Community met last evening to discuss their possible options. Should they take up dialogue with the FPÖ (which they have refused to do until now)? Should they welcome any olive branches and perquisites extended their way as a token show of the party's "tolerance"? These are questions they will have to deal with in the next little while.
In the late afternoon I return to the Austrian State Archives to continue the page-by-page perusal of materials. To my abundant joy, someone at the archive administration level (I suspect Frau Keller) has put yesterday's documentation back into my pile of papers, this time with the addition of the three missing addenda from the letter of November 2, 1938. I am, to repeat, overjoyed. These are crucial and pivotal papers. This alone would make the day a success, but the luster of the interviews adds an even brighter glow to the crisp autumn day in Vienna.
When the State Archives open at 9:00 a.m., I am there ready to wade through the stacks of correspondence and memos and orders and inventory lists and reports and complaints and affidavits I have ordered to see today. Compared to the highly relevant finds of yesterday, this is somewhat slow going, since I am on a fishing expedition of sorts. There are a few documents that relate to the topic, however, and I make the requisite copies. The problem here is that there is one copy machine and fifty researchers. Fortunately, not all fifty need to use the copier at the same time, but there is definitely a waiting period and a bottleneck, which can be frustrating.
A new strategy is forming, now at or near the end of my time in Vienna. That strategy is to take the time to read the documents and make a list of relevant names, especially of Nazi party officials that might have corresponded or reported on the whereabouts of the Jewish books or on the confiscation happenings. For tomorrow I have ordered a number of personal correspondences according to this method. I don't know if it will produce any results, but it's worth a try.
At 3:00 in the afternoon, my wife joins me at the Seitenstettengasse, and we have a tour of the synagogue for the first time. A very personable young man tells us the sad history of Viennese Jews from the 12th century to the present with all the ups and downs, permits to stay and orders to go. Then we take pictures of the synagogue with its striking blue and gold highlights. There are now around 12,000 Jews in Vienna, quite a decrease from the peak of 150,000 late in the nineteenth century, but a definite increase from the time right after the war.
After the tour, I do a quick but successful canvass of the holdings of the Dokumentationsarchiv des österreichischen Widerstandes (Documentary Archive of the Austrian Resistance). I am able to quickly locate some documents that deal with the confiscation campaign where the IKG Wien is specifically mentioned. Bingo. Then I order three different books and serials that are important for my research but which are missing back at the university library in Provo, Utah. The line at the copy machine is also shorter here. After a short two hours in this archive, I leave with my shoulder bag stuffed full of useable copies, a good two pounds heavier than when I arrived.
The evening is enchanting, cool and clear -- the type of autumn evening that makes it a delight to be in Vienna right now.
It's off for a final visit to the State Archives (Archives of the Republic) to look into the correspondence of individuals who may have been intimately involved with the book confiscation campaigns after the Anschluss of 1938. These names, at least, seem likely to be those of officials of various organizations that would have been concerned with the confiscation, storage, selection and dissemination of library books. When I arrive at the State Archives and look through the individual correspondences one by one, however, I find that none of these particular individuals are the ones to whom I've seen references.
There are a good number of correspondence pieces to read through, but I am not overly discouraged at finding nothing relevant to the book confiscation of Jewish libraries for at least two reasons: (1) I have already had fabulous success in finding materials that help to tie together the events and (2) even these pieces of correspondence are highly interesting.
In one of these petitions, for instance, a Jewish worker now in retirement is submitting a request for review of the actions that have been taken against him, namely, the reduction of his pension to zero. He points out that he had converted to Catholicism forty years before, married an "Aryan" wife, etc. Attached to this particular document is a document the likes of which I have not seen before: a granting of 5,000 Reichmarks to this individual for the damages done to him. This contrasts sharply with the hundreds of "unprocessed" claims and complaints and requests I have read earlier from other Jews.
Another almost comically ironic petition comes from an individual who swears that he had joined the Nazi party at an early age and had helped as a motorcycle assistant with "poster destruction campaigns" and other agitating activities. Now in the course of his outdoor Nazi assistance he has caught a head cold that progressed to an abscess in his brain, and he is forced to halt his studies at the university. Could the officials please grant him a special handicap admission to courses to make up for his lost opportunities?
Today marks the last day of my activities in searching the libraries and archives of Vienna for materials on the fate of the Jewish libraries of Vienna after the Anschluss. The time has been well spent and filled to the brim with activities. Having worked hard and fast, I could certainly go on with the search -- I plan to do that on my own time. There are materials in the Vienna City and Provincial Library, in the Austrian National Library, and in one or two other specialized agencies that could possibly prove helpful to me. But what I have found to date is extremely encouraging, and I'm sure that -- after I process and read the numerous photocopies I've made -- I will find that I've got even more clues than I think. Almost as valuable, in fact, are the numerous personal contacts I've made and will continue to cultivate.
Although my search for documents and books has come to an end for now, this day continues on a similar theme. Relatives of my wife drive us to Kobersdorf to visit yet more relatives. Kobersdorf is a small town in Burgenland; for the second Saturday in a row we are in Burgenland, the easternmost province of present-day Austria. Where we had last week seen the lone surviving house synagogue in Austria, today we see a synagogue that was burned during the last months of World War II but with its external structure still intact. Fifty-five years later the building is being restored, though the restoration is still not complete. A roof has been put on, and more restoration work is planned. There is no Jewish community left in Kobersdorf, but at one time one-third of the population was Jewish, and, so I'm told by a 92-year-old woman who has seen a lot of life, the relations between Protestants, Catholics and Jews in this city were quite harmonious. The partial destruction of the Kobersdorf synagogue had been carried out by Wehrmacht forces who were passing through the little town ahead of the advancing Russian armies. This building is a very different sight than either the house synagogue in Eisenstadt or the highly urban synagogue in Vienna: neither of the former two were visibly synagogues from the street. This one is proudly and obviously -- despite the years of decay and neglect – a Jewish house of worship. From the synagogue, we hike up into the woods, a good half-mile from the center of town, where the old Jewish cemetery still stands. A sign there announces that this land, as with the synagogue, belongs to the IKG Wien.
This has been the sort of day that puts an emotional exclamation point on the scholarly searching with which I've been involved. I hope I can write up the results of my research with rational objectivity, but also in a way that will cast light on the human side of a people now largely gone from Central Europe.