A Jewish Chaplain in France

by Lee J. Levinger

THE JEW AS A SOLDIER

The Jewish soldier demands no defense and needs no tribute. His deeds are written large in the history of every unit in the A. E. F.; they are preserved in the memory of his comrades of other races and other faiths. He was one with all American soldiers, for in the service men of every type and of every previous standpoint were much alike, under the same orders, holding the same ideals, with similar responses and similar accomplishments. The Jew was an American soldier—that really covers the story. For historical purposes, however, a further statement of numbers, honors, personalities, may be worth while. The Jew was in the American army, as in all the allied armies, because he exists among the population of every land. The studies made in various lands show that over 900,000 Jews fought in the World War altogether, of whom over 80,000 were killed in action or died of wounds. In the British forces casualties included the names of 8,600 Jews, and in the French forces, out of less than a hundred thousand Jewish population in the nation, 2,200 were killed in the service. These figures, picked practically at random from enormous masses of similar material, tend to show the participation of Jews in every army, just as they participate everywhere in the national life.

In the American forces the Jewish soldier ranked with the best; he was an American soldier, and there is no higher praise than that. With all the panegyrics on the American doughboy during and since the war, not enough has been said or can ever be said about him. His good humor, his self sacrifice, his heroism, won the affection and the admiration of every one. His officers loved him; his enemies respected him; his allies regarded him with mingled enthusiasm and patronage. They loved his youthful dash and were amused at his youthful unsophistication; at the same time they were profoundly grateful for his forgetfulness of self when the time for action came. I have mentioned some of the incidents in my own experience, illustrating the magnificent courage and abandon of Americans at the front—the youngster who came to the aid post seriously gassed but proud that he had stayed on duty the longest of any man in his company; the weary boys on the brow of a hill, digging in for the fourth time in a day of advances and fighting; the little Italian who stood on the edge of the shell hole that his comrades might advance—but the number and the variety of them was endless. Reading a list of the dry, official citations for decorations is like opening a mediæval romance of the deeds of knightly heroes. There was Captain Ireland who came to our aid post to have his wounds dressed and then started out without waiting for the ambulance. "Where are you going, Captain?" I asked. "Oh, back to the boys," was the answer, "I'm the only officer left in the battalion, and I don't want to leave them." There was the chaplain's orderly, himself a student for the ministry, who voluntarily organized a stretcher party to bring in some wounded men out beyond the barbed wire. Every type of heroism and self sacrifice existed, all carried off with the good humored bravado of school boys at a football game.

Among these heroes the Jewish soldiers were equal to the best, as their comrades and commanders were quick to recognize. A typical attitude toward them was that of a lieutenant colonel, telling me a story of his first battle, when we were on shipboard coming back home. "I was rather nervous about that first time under fire," he told me, "because I had a number of foreign boys in one company and didn't know how they might behave. Among them was a little Jew who was medical man of the company, carrying bandages instead of weapons, but going over the top with the others, a restless fellow, always breaking orders and getting into trouble of some kind or another. And when I came to that company on the front line the first thing I saw was that little Jew jumping out of a shell hole and starting for the rear as fast as he could run. I pulled my revolver, ready to shoot him rather than have an example of cowardice set for the rest. But I was surprised to see him turn aside suddenly and jump into another shell hole, and when I went over there I found him hard at work bandaging up another wounded soldier. He was simply doing his duty under fire, absolutely without sign of fear as he tended the boys who were hurt. I was sorry I had misjudged him so badly and watched his work after that, with the result that I was later able to recommend him for a decoration."

Ignorance, suspicion, ripening with knowledge into understanding and admiration—that was the usual course of events. I quote Colonel Whittlesey, commander of the famous "Lost Battalion" of the 308th Infantry, a New York unit with a very large proportion of Jews: "As to the Jewish boys in the Battalion, I cannot recall many of them by name, but certain figures stand out simply because they are so unexpected. The ordinary run of soldiers, whether Jews, Irish, or Americans—the big, husky chaps who simply do what they are expected to do—naturally pass from our memory. It is the odd figures who stick in your mind. There was one chap for example (Herschkovitz was his name) who seemed the worst possible material from which to make soldier-stuff. He was thick-set, stupid looking, extremely foreign, thoroughly East Side, and yet, one day when we were holding the bank of the Vesle, and it became necessary to send runners to communicate with our commands, Herschkovitz was the only man who volunteered for the job. It was a nasty physical job. It would have been a difficult thing if it had not been under fire, because it meant cutting through under-brush, up hill and down hill. Under fire this became almost impossible, and the boys knew it, so none of them cared for the job, but Herschkovitz made the trip four times that day. What was it? Well, just plain pluck, that's all. There were a great many fellows of this type—East Siders of whom the regular army men expected nothing at all—but the 77th Division just seemed equal to anything...."

In the same unit was Private Abraham Krotoshinsky, who was awarded the D. S. C. for bearing the message which informed the division of the exact location of the unit, and was instrumental in releasing them. Krotoshinsky was an immigrant boy, not yet a citizen, a barber by trade. His own words give the story simply enough: "We began to be afraid the division had forgotten us or that they had given us up for dead. We had to get a messenger through. It meant almost certain death, we were all sure, because over a hundred and fifty men had gone away and never come back. But it had to be done. The morning of the fifth day they called for volunteers for courier. I volunteered and was accepted. I went because I thought I ought to. First of all I was lucky enough not to be wounded. Second, after five days of starving, I was stronger than many of my friends who were twice my size. You know a Jew finds strength to suffer. Third, because I would just as soon die trying to help the others as in the 'pocket' of hunger and thirst.

"I got my orders and started. I had to run about thirty feet in plain view of the Germans before I got into the forest. They saw me when I got up and fired everything they had at me. Then I had to crawl right through their lines. They were looking for me everywhere. I just moved along on my stomach, in the direction I was told, keeping my eyes open for them.... It was almost six o'clock that night when I saw the American lines. All that day I had been crawling or running doubled up after five days and nights without food and practically nothing to drink. Then my real trouble began. I was coming from the direction of the German lines and my English is none too good. I was afraid they would shoot me for a German before I could explain who I was.... Then the Captain asked me who I was. I told him I was from the Lost Battalion. Then he asked me whether I could lead him back to the battalion. I said, 'Yes.' They gave me a bite to eat and something to drink and after a little rest I started back again with the command. I will never forget the scene when the relief came. The men were like crazy with joy."

In high position and in low the same kind of service came from the American Jew. This is the official citation of a Colonel, who is in civil life one of the prominent Jews of Chicago, Illinois:

"Colonel Abel Davis, 132nd Infantry. For extraordinary heroism in action near Consenvoye, France, October 9, 1918. Upon reaching its objective, after a difficult advance, involving two changes of directions, Colonel Davis's regiment was subjected to a determined enemy counterattack. Disregarding the heavy shell and machine-gun fire, Colonel Davis personally assumed command and by his fearless leadership and courage the enemy was driven back."

Judge Robert S. Marx of Cincinnati, Ohio, is now national president of the Disabled Veterans of the World War and a member of the national committee on hospitalization and vocational education of the American Legion. But in 1917 and '18 he was Captain Marx of the 90th Division, operations officer of his regiment during the St. Mihiel and Argonne offensives, and reported dead on the day before the armistice, when he was struck on the head and wounded severely. And on the other extreme, I notice the case of First Sergeant Sam Dreben of the 141st Infantry, a soldier of fortune in many revolutions and a member of the Regular Army in the Philippines several years ago. Discovering a party of Germans coming to the support of a dangerous machine-gun nest, Sergeant Dreben with thirty men charged the German position, killed forty of the enemy, took several prisoners, and captured five machine guns, returning to his own lines without losing a man. For this daring and important act he was awarded the D. S. C.