Vivid account of morally driven resistance
THE BUND started life in the early 1920s as a leftwing educational association, founded in the German city of Essen by the charismatic former teacher Artur Jacob, some of whose graduate students became Bundists.
It demanded of its core members — of whom there were around 200 — a profound commitment to personal morality and the transformation of society.
In his fascinating study, Mark Roseman observes that the Bund was in many respects a typical product of the intellectual and political ferment that characterised Weimar Germany.
The Bund understood itself as a “Community for Socialist Life” and some of its unconventional attitudes towards marriage and family are reminiscent of the early kibbutz movement; indeed, a number of its core
Jewish members had backgrounds in Zionism. It placed a strong emphasis on physical culture, teaching a form of gymnastics invented by Artur’s wife, Dore, which was meant to encapsulate the ideals of individual responsibility and social solidarity, and which is still taught in Germany today.
Everything changed for the organisation in the 1930s, with the rise to power of the Nazis.
Like other left-wing groups, the Bund was declared illegal. The Bundists nevertheless continued their activities underground.
At a time when popular opinion in Germany was inclined to look favourably on Hitler’s leadership for restoring the country to economic stability and international prestige, the Bund developed a trenchant critique of National Socialism, especially aimed at its racism and militarism.
The Bundists’ main form of practical resistance was support for the Nazis’ victims, including others on the left, forced foreign labourers during the war, and, above all, Jews.
The predominant form of assistance
was to send deported persons food parcels, with letters of support. Individual Bundists performed remarkably courageous acts of solidarity. After Kristallnacht, Tove Gerson ran the gauntlet of an antisemitic mob to bring flowers to the devastated Heinemanns; in 1942, Else Bramesfeld
obtained a false ID for a Jewish friend. And Jews connected to the Bund were taken into hiding.
It is impossible not to be moved by the conspicuous humanity of the Bundists. Yet there were severe limits on what they could achieve. Roseman notes that the Bund saved the lives of eight Jews; the number sounds small, but reflects the immense difficulty of rescue in that context.
Nevertheless, Bundists often felt constrained to withhold assistance in order to avoid endangering themselves or the group.
Conscripted men were particularly likely to encounter morally compromising situations.
Roseman’s book is a brilliant, humane and timely historical study. It brings both individual Bundists and also a whole period vividly to life.
At the same time, it is a highly original meditation on goodness: where it comes from, how it is challenged and sustained, how we recognise it. Lives Reclaimed engages on every level.
Alun David is a freelance writer