It was not only the who and the why of the impending cherem that incited curiosity among the crowd at Talmud Torah Synagogue: rumors presaged extreme severity. Most cherems were mild, public rebukes, resulting in a fine or being shunned for days or weeks. In more serious cases involving blasphemy, the sentence typically was longer—in one case, eleven years. Yet reinstatement always was possible if the individual was willing to repent and to accept some prescribed penalty—generally, a large fine or, as in the case of the infamous Uriel da Costa, public lashing. But in the days leading to July 27, 1656, rumors had circulated about a cherem of unprecedented severity.
According to custom for cherem, the synagogue interior was lit only by candles of black wax, seven resting on a large, hanging chandelier and twelve in surrounding wall niches. Rabbi Mortera and his assistant, Rabbi Aboab, who had returned from thirteen years in Brazil, stood side by side on the bimah in front of the Holy Ark, flanked by the six members of the parnassim. Waiting solemnly until the congregation grew quiet, Rabbi Mortera held aloft a Hebrew document and, without greeting or opening statement, read the Hebrew proclamation in his booming voice. Most of the congregation listened in silence. The few who understood spoken Hebrew whispered in Portuguese to their neighbors, who in turn passed the information along the rows. By the time Rabbi Mortera had finished reading, the congregation’s mood had grown sober, almost grim.
Rabbi Mortera took two steps back as Rabbi Aboab stepped forward and began to translate the Hebrew cherem, word for word, into Portuguese.The Lords of the Parnassim announce that, having long known of the evil opinions and acts of Baruch de Spinoza, they have endeavored by various means and promises to turn him from his evil ways. But having failed to make him mend his wicked ways, and, on the contrary, daily receiving more and more serious information about the abominable heresies that he practiced and taught and about his monstrous deeds, and having for this numerous trustworthy witnesses who have deposed and born witness to this effect in the presence of the said Spinoza, they became convinced of the truth of this matter; and after all of this has been investigated in the presence of the honorable rabbis, they have decided that the said Spinoza should be excommunicated and expelled from the people of Israel.
“Abominable heresies”? “Evil acts”? “Monstrous deeds”? Murmuring arose from the congregation. Astonished members searched one another’s faces. Many had known Baruch Spinoza for his entire life. Most admired him, and none knew of any involvement with wickedness, monstrous deeds, or abominable heresies. Rabbi Aboab continued:By decree of the angels and by the command of the holy men, we excommunicate, expel, curse, and damn Baruch Spinoza with the consent of God, Blessed be He, and with the consent of the entire holy congregation, and in front of these holy scrolls with the 613 precepts which are written therein; cursing him with the excommunication with which Joshua banned Jericho and with the curse which Elisha cursed the boys and with all the castigations which are written in the Book of the Law.
From the men’s section of the congregation, Gabriel searched the women’s area for Rebekah, trying to gauge her reaction to this violent cursing of their brother. Gabriel had witnessed cherems before but never one with such vehemence. And it immediately got worse. Rabbi Aboab continued:Cursed be Baruch Spinoza by day, and cursed be he by night; cursed be he when he lies down, and cursed be he when he rises up. Cursed be he when he goes out, and cursed be he when he comes in. The Lord will not spare him, but then the anger of the Lord and his jealousy shall lie upon him, and the Lord shall blot out his name from under heaven. And the Lord shall separate him unto evil out of all the tribes of Israel, according to all the curses of the covenant that are written in this Book of the Law. But you that cleave unto the Lord your God are alive every one of you this day.
As Rabbi Aboab retreated, Rabbi Mortera stepped forward and glared at the congregation, as if to make eye contact with every member, then slowly, laying emphasis upon each syllable, he pronounced the shunning:We order that no one should communicate with Baruch Spinoza, neither in writing nor accord him any favor nor stay with him under the same roof nor within four cubits in his vicinity, nor read any treatise composed or written by him.
Rabbi Mortera nodded to Rabbi Aboab. Without a word, the men locked arms and descended in unison from the bimah. Then, followed by the six members of the parnassim, they strode down the aisle and out of the synagogue. The congregation broke into raucous clamor. Not even the eldest of members could recall a cherem so harsh. There had been no mention of repentance or reinstatement. Everyone in the congregation appeared to understand the implications of the rabbi’s words. This cherem was forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY
MUNICH—MARCH 1922
As the weeks passed Alfred changed his opinion about his assigned role. No longer onerous, it was now a glorious opportunity, the perfect role for him to exert vast influence upon the fate of the Fatherland. The party was still small, but Alfred knew it was the party of the future.
Hitler lived in a small apartment near the office and almost daily visited Eckart, who mentored his protégé by sharpening his anti-Semitism, extending his political vision, and introducing him to prominent right-wing Germans. Three years later Hitler would dedicate the second volume of Mein Kampf to Dietrich Eckart, “that man who devoted his life to awakening our people in his writings, his thoughts, his deeds.” Alfred, too, often saw Hitler, always in the late afternoon or evening, because Hitler kept late hours and slept till noon. They talked and walked and visited galleries and museums.
There were two Hitlers. One was Hitler the ferocious orator, who electrified and mesmerized every crowd he addressed. Alfred had never seen anything like it, and Anton Drexler and Dietrich Eckart were ecstatic to have finally found the man to lead their party into the future. Alfred attended many of the talks, and they were legion. With limitless energy Hitler spoke wherever he could find an audience, on corners of busy boulevards, on crowded trams, and, mainly, in beer halls. His fame as a speaker quickly spread, and his audiences grew—at times to over a thousand. Moreover, to make the party more inclusive Hitler suggested changing the name from the German Workers Party to the National Socialist German Workers Party (Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, or NSDAP).
Occasionally Alfred also gave speeches to party members that Hitler generally attended and always applauded. “The thoughts were wunderbar,” Hitler would say. “But more fire, more fire.”
And then there was the other Hitler—the amiable Hitler, the relaxed, courteous Hitler who listened to Alfred’s musings on history, on aesthetics, on German literature. “We think alike,” Hitler often exclaimed, oblivious of the fact that it was Alfred who planted many of the seeds now sprouting in his mind.
One day Hitler visited him in his new office at the Völkischer Beobachter (the People’s Observer) to hand him an article on alcoholism he wished to publish. Earlier that year, the Nazi Party had purchased the Thule Society newspaper, Münchener Beobachter, promptly rechristened it, and turned it over to Dietrich Eckart, who closed his old newspaper and moved his entire staff to the new one. Hitler waited as Alfred read over the article and was surprised when Alfred opened his desk drawer and pulled out a draft of an article he, by sheer chance, was writing on alcoholism.
Quickly reading Alfred’s article, Hitler looked up and declared, “They are twins.”
“Yes, they’re so similar that I’ll withdraw my article,” Alfred replied.
“No, I insist not. Publish both. They’ll have greater impact if they’re both published in the same issue.”
As Hitler assumed more executive power in the party, he decreed that all party speakers submit their speeches to him before delivery. He later excused Alfred from that step—it was unnecessary, he said, because their talks were so similar. But Alfred noticed some differences. For one thing, Hitler, despite his limited formal education and the huge gaps in his knowledge, had extraordinary self-confidence. Over and over again Hitler used words like “unsha
keable,” implying total certainty of his convictions and total commitment to never, under any circumstance, changing a single aspect of his convictions. Alfred marveled as he listened to Herr Hitler. Where did that certainty come from? Alfred would have sold his soul for such confidence and cringed with disgust as he observed himself forever looking about for wisps of agreement and approval.
There was another difference too. Whereas Alfred often spoke of the necessity of “removing” Jews from Europe, or “resettling” or “relocating” or “evicting” the Jews, Hitler used different language. He spoke of “exterminating” or “eradicating” Jews, even of hanging all Jews from lampposts. But surely that was a matter of rhetoric, of knowing how to galvanize audiences.
As the months passed, Alfred realized that he had underestimated Hitler. This was a man of significant intelligence, an autodidact who voraciously scanned books, retained information, and had a keen appreciation of art and Wagner’s music. Even so, without a systematic university education, his knowledge base was uneven and contained yawning chasms of ignorance. Alfred did his best to address them, but the task was challenging. Hitler’s pride was such that Alfred could never explicitly tell him what to read. Instead he learned to tutor indirectly, for he had noted that whenever he spoke of, say, Schiller, a few days later Hitler could discourse at length and with unshakable certainty about Schiller’s dramatic works.
One spring morning that year, Dietrich Eckart approached the door of Alfred’s office, peered for a few moments through the glass panel at his protégé busily editing a story, and then, shaking his head, tapped on the glass and beckoned Alfred to follow him into his office. Inside he pointed to a chair.
“I have something to tell you—for Christ’s sake, Alfred, stop looking so worried. You’re doing fine. I’m completely satisfied with your diligence. If anything I’d suggest a little less diligence, a few more beers, and a lot more schmoozing. Too much work is not always a virtue. But that’s for another time. Listen, you’re growing valuable to our party, and I want to accelerate your development. Would you agree that editors who publish what they know about are advantaged?”
“Of course.” Alfred strained to keep a smile on his face but was uneasy about what was coming. Eckart was entirely unpredictable.
“Have you visited much of Europe?”
“Very little.”
“How can you write about our enemies without seeing them with your own eyes? A good warrior must stop sometimes to sharpen his weapons. Not true?”
“Without question,” Alfred agreed warily.
“Then go pack your bags. Your flight to Paris leaves in three hours.”
“Paris? Flight? Three hours?”
“Yes. Dimitri Popoff, one of the party’s major Russian donors, has an important business meeting there. He is flying today with two associates and has agreed to raise funds from the White Russian community there. He’s flying in one of the new Junker F 13s, which has room for four passengers. I had planned to accompany him, but a few inconvenient chest pains yesterday have made that impossible. My doctor and my wife forbid me to go. I want you to go in my place.”
“I’m sorry about your illness, Herr Eckart. But if the doctor is advising rest, I shouldn’t leave you alone with the next two editions—”
“The doctor said nothing about rest. He is simply being cautious because he knows too little about the effects of flying on this kind of condition. The editions are mostly written. I’ll take care of them. Go to Paris.”
“What would you like me to do there?”
“I want you to accompany Herr Popoff as he meets with potential donors. If he wishes, you will make some presentations to donors yourself. It’s time for you to learn how to talk to the rich. After that you are to travel home slowly by train. Take a whole week or ten days. Be a free man. Travel wherever you want and simply observe. See how our enemies feast off the Versailles Treaty. Take notes. Everything you observe will be useful to the paper. By the way, Herr Popoff has also agreed to supply you with ample French francs. You’ll need them. The deutschmark is nearly worthless abroad, thanks to inflation. It’s nearly worthless here!”
“A loaf of bread costs more every day,” Alfred agreed.
“Exactly. And I’m writing a piece right now for the next issue about why we must once again increase the price of the paper.”
On takeoff, Alfred gripped the arms of his seat and stared out the window as Munich grew smaller by the second. Tickled by Alfred’s fright, Herr Popoff, his gold teeth gleaming, yelled over the roar of the engines, “First time flying?” Alfred nodded and looked out the window, grateful that the noise made further conversation with Herr Popoff and the other two passengers impossible. He thought of Eckart’s comment about schmoozing . . . why was he so bad at easy conversation? Why so secretive? Why didn’t he tell Eckart that he had once traveled to Switzerland with his aunt and that a few years ago, just before the outbreak of the war, he and his fiancée, Hilda, had visited Paris. Perhaps he simply wished to blot out his Baltic past and to be born again as a German citizen in the Fatherland. No, no, no—he knew it ran deeper. Opening himself had always been threatening. That was precisely why his two beer-hall conversations with Friedrich had been so extraordinary and so liberating. He tried to delve deeper into himself but, as always, lost his way. I have to change . . . I’ll go to visit Friedrich again.
The following day Herr Popoff relied on Alfred to discuss the party’s platform and to explain why the party was the only one capable of stopping the Judeo-Bolshevists. A banker wearing a dazzling diamond ring on his little finger said to Alfred, “I understand your official party name is now the National Socialist German Workers party—the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei?”
“Yes.”
“Why such a lumpish and confusing name? ‘National’ implies ‘right,’ ‘socialist’ left, ‘German’ right, and ‘worker’ left! It’s impossible. How can your party be everything at once?”
“That’s exactly what Hitler wants, to be everything to all people—except Jews and Bolshevists of course. We have a long-range plan. Our first task is to enter Parliament in great numbers over the next few years.”
“Parliament? You believe the ignorant masses can rule?”
“No. But first we must achieve power. Our parliamentary democracy is fatally weakened by incursions from the Bolshevists, and I promise you we will ultimately do away with this parliamentary system altogether. Hitler has used these very words with me many times. And he has made the party goals very clear with his new platform. I’ve brought copies of the new twenty-five-point program.”
At the end of their visits, Herr Popoff presented Alfred with a bulging envelope of French francs. “Good work, Herr Rosenberg. These francs should see you through your European travels. Your presentations were excellent, just as Herr Eckart assured me they would be. And in such fine Russian. Beautiful Russian. Everyone was favorably impressed.”
A free week ahead of him! What a pleasure simply to wander wherever he wished. Eckart was right—he had been working too hard. As he strolled through the streets of Paris, Alfred contrasted the gaiety and opulence everywhere with the bleakness of Berlin and the poverty and agitation of Munich. Paris showed few scars of war, its citizens seemed well-fed, restaurants were jammed, and yet France, along with England and Belgium, continued to suck Germany’s life blood with draconian reparations demands. Alfred decided to spend two days in Paris—the galleries and art dealers beckoned—and then take the train north to Belgium and finally to Holland—Spinoza country. From there he would take the long train ride home via Berlin, where he would drop in on Friedrich.
In Belgium, Alfred found Brussels not to his liking and detested the sight of the Belgian legislative building, where Germany’s enemies never ceased formulating new methods of pillaging the Fatherland. The following day he visited the German military cemetery at Ypres, where the Germans had suffered such horrendous losses in the world war and where Hitler had se
rved so courageously. And then north to Amsterdam.
Alfred had no idea what he sought. He only knew that the Spinoza problem buzzed away in the back of his mind. He remained intrigued by the Jew Spinoza. No, he said to himself, not intrigued; be honest—you admire him—just as Goethe did. Alfred had never returned his library copy of Spinoza’s Theological-Political Treatise and often read a few paragraphs of it in bed at night. He was a poor sleeper; for some inexplicable reason he grew anxious as soon as he got into bed, and he seemed to fight sleep. That was something else to talk about with Friedrich.
On the train he opened the Treatise to the page he had fallen asleep on the night before. Once again he was impressed by how intrepid Spinoza was by daring to question religious authority in the seventeenth century. Look at how he pointed out inconsistencies in the scriptures and the absurdity of considering a document to be of divine origin when it was riddled with human errors. He was especially tickled by passages in which Spinoza thumbed his nose at priests and rabbis who felt they had a privileged vision into God’s meaning.If it be blasphemy to assert that there are any errors in scripture, what name shall we apply to those who foist onto it their own fancies, who degrade the sacred writers till they seem to write confused nonsense?
And look how Spinoza, with a flick of his wrist, dispatched Jewish mystical zealots: “I have read and known kabbalistic triflers, whose insanity provokes in me unceasing astonishment.”
What a paradox! A Jew both courageous and wise. How would Houston Stewart Chamberlain respond to the Spinoza problem? Why not visit him in Bayreuth and ask him about the Spinoza problem? Yes, I will do that—and I will ask Hitler to accompany me. After all, aren’t the two of us his intellectual heirs? Most likely, Chamberlain will conclude that Spinoza was not Jewish. And he would be right—how could Spinoza be a Jew? All that around-the-clock religious indoctrination, and still he rejected the Jewish God and the Jewish people. Spinoza had soul wisdom—he must have non-Jewish blood in him.