Was Abraham Lincoln’s attitude to Jews just an extension of his genuine affection for all men, regardless of race or creed, or did it reflect a special regard for the people of the book? Marking the 150th anniversary of his death, Lincoln and the Jews points to an answer

Lincoln the Jews: A History
by Jonathan D. Sarna and Benjamin Shapell

Tomas Dunne Books
2015, 288 pages

In 2012, artists tried to capture Abraham Lincoln’s towering presence in the American consciousness. So they built a tower made of books about him. It measured thirty-four feet high and eight feet around. If we’ve already got a pile taller than a three-story building, do we really need another book about the sixteenth president?

Definitely, if the book is Lincoln and the Jews: A History by Jonathan D. Sarna and Benjamin Shapell.

This volume deserves a place in the tower on looks alone. Its glossy pages are chock-full of photographs and documents; there are so many of the latter that by the end of the book, most readers will have a fair chance of deciphering Lincoln’s handwriting. Just about every document mentioned in the text is reproduced, from a copy of the Emancipation Proclamation to a $2.50 check that Lincoln made out to his Jewish optometrist for a pair of glasses.

With its attractive layout, Lincoln and the Jews looks like a coffee table book, but it’s in fact a work of serious scholarship, following Lincoln’s encounters with Jews throughout his career.

During Lincoln’s lifetime (1809–1865), the Jewish population of the United States ballooned from 3,000 to 150,000. Whereas Jews had once been a scattered few, they became a recognized minority in a multicultural America. Thus, though Lincoln knew no Jews as a child, as an adult he interacted with them personally and professionally – and affectionately.

Spiritual Leadership

Lincoln grew up in a Baptist church that stressed the Hebrew Bible as well as the New Testament. His mother recited Psalms as she worked, and his Quaker schoolbook avoided the anti-Semitism then common in religious education. All these elements contributed to his easy rapport with Jewish people. That rapport began when Lincoln moved to Springfield, Illinois. One of his first and closest Jewish friends there was lawyer Abraham Jonas, who became a lifelong confidant and staunch political supporter. The bonds of friendship were so strong that Lincoln arranged for Jonas’ son Charles – a Confederate soldier in a Union prison – to be by his father’s side as he lay dying.

At least 20 percent of eligible Jewish males fought in the Civil War. Initially, mindful of the need for more chaplains, Congress allowed for one per regiment, to be elected by field officers and company commanders. But the chaplain had to be an “ordained minister of a Christian denomination.” Provisions for priests and rabbis were rejected.

Four days before Lincoln signed the Congressional measure, a Pennsylvania regiment voted in a Jewish chaplain. A visiting member of the Young Men’s Christian Association pointed out the irregularity, and the chaplain resigned. The regiment replaced him with another Jew. Secretary of War Simon Cameron explained regretfully that he could not honor the appointment. The new chaplain presented himself at the White House, and Lincoln consented to see him.