Lincoln and the Jews : a history

443 Pages·2015·12.55 MB·English

by  Lincoln

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To my wonderful parents, David and Fela Shapell, who made this
book possible.
Benjamin Shapell
ABRAHAM LINCOLN TO ABRAHAM JONAS, OCTOBER 21, 1856
(see here).
FOREWORD
In the field of manuscript collecting, documents are traditionally prized for
statements of grand historical fact. While I deeply appreciate those historic
letters, I have always, however, been fascinated by the “other” letters of U.S.
presidents; letters with an interesting turn of phrase; letters that express
humanity, compassion, modesty, fragility, and irony. Letters one seldom comes
across or reads about, such as presidents referring to the White House as a
prison, or excoriating other presidents, or lamenting their failure to get reelected,
or one, Benjamin Harrison, anxiously looking forward to “my discharge” and
getting “out of this House.” And then, too, there are ironically prophetic letters,
such as President-elect James Garfield, writing, “Assassination can no more be
guarded against than death by lightning.” He would die at the hands of an
assassin after only six months in office.
But in the thirty-five years I have been collecting, it is Lincoln, more than
anyone else, who has most intently absorbed my interest. He was a self-made
man, unschooled but not uneducated, who, with determination, persistence, and
firmness of purpose, demonstrated that anyone could rise to, meet, and overcome
the challenges of life. Despite the war’s heavy toll on him and the country for
four long years, the presidency to Lincoln was, as historian Stefen Lorant once
wrote, a “glorious burden.” Lincoln loved the presidency, finding humor where
he could amid military and personal setbacks.
In reading through Lincoln’s vast canon of collected writings, I find myself
using the same word—fascinating—over and over again. His letters and writings
are interwoven with jewels, full of wisdom, poetic flair, and marvelous turns of
phrase. And while some of these letters are more recognizable than others—the
first and second inaugurals, the Gettysburg Address, or his letter to Grace Bedell
about growing a beard, it is still those “other” letters—the ones most Americans
do not know about—that truly impress me. “‘And this too shall pass away’—
Never fear,” Lincoln writes to comfort his campaign manager after losing his
1858 Senate race against Stephen A. Douglas. Or, on the eve of his assured
election to the presidency, humbly expressing, “I am not a man of great
knowledge or learning.” Later, Lincoln, sticking to his principles, uses a coarse
but effective phrase: “Broken eggs can not be mended. I have issued the
Emancipation Proclamation and can not retract it.”
Many of Lincoln’s finest words were reserved for the generals who
consistently disappointed him: to Major General George Meade, for allowing
Robert E. Lee’s defeated army to escape from Gettysburg (“I do not believe you
appreciate the magnitude of the misfortune involved in Lee’s escape. He was
within your easy grasp, and to have closed upon him would, in collection with
our other late successes, have ended the war”); about General of the Army of the
Potomac George McClellan’s slowness to engage the enemy (“If General
McClellan does not want to use the army, I would like to borrow it for a time”).
But in “other” letters to lesser-known generals, an even more complex
relationship emerges between the commander in chief and his highest-serving
men. Lincoln, regretting the pain he has caused a general by dismissing him,
writes: “I bear you no ill will; and I regret that I could not have the example
without wounding you personally.” Or, in a poetic outburst to General Robert
Milroy: “I would be glad to see Gen. Milroy were it not that I know he wishes to
ask for what I have not to give.”
Robert Louis Stevenson said: “To be wholly devoted to some intellectual
exercise is to have succeeded in life.” Collecting for me is the passion that
constantly infuses my thoughts. It is the tireless, daily adventure of constructing
something piece by piece, of drawing strength from history; it is the focus on
building something unique and complementary and anchored to themes. I have
been privileged to have acquired over the years—and include in this volume—
some truly remarkable examples from Lincoln’s pen, many formerly held in
some of the greatest private collections ever assembled, including those of