90 Years Late: A Decorated Jewish General’s Book Arrives at the Library!

After a "slight" delay, the National Library of Israel has finally received a book of war correspondence written by the most famous and senior Jewish officer to serve in WWI. Who was Sir John Monash? And what happened to this particular book since it was dedicated to the NLI back in 1935? We set out to find answers…

Daniel Lipson | 05.11.24

On an April day in 2024, a suspicious package arrived at the security department of the Australian branch of a well-known international investment firm. The messenger was a dubious individual, known to the security officer as someone who often harassed the company’s CEO. Company policy in such cases was usually to destroy the package, but the security officer noticed that in this case the package was simply a book – so he opened it.

After a quick glance at the book, the security officer contacted the National Library of Israel directly. In correspondence with me, he explained that he understood from the dedication in the beginning of the book that it was supposed to have been sent to us many years ago. Following some more back and forth and technical matters of shipping and handling, the book was received by the Library this past September.

The book in question is War Letters of General Monash, a collection of published letters written by Sir John Monash, an Australian general who served in the First World War. Monash was the most senior Jewish commander of the war in any of the belligerent nations.

שער הספר — The copy of *War Letters of John Monash*, which just recently reached the National Library of Israel

Monash wrote the book’s letters mostly to his wife and daughter, detailing the important historical events in which he took part from December 1914 to December 1918. The book starts with his departure from Australia and his voyage to Egypt, where he led the 4^th Brigade. He goes on to tell of how after a few months in Egypt, the brigade left to take part in the Gallipoli campaign. Following a defensive mission along the Suez Canal, the brigade sailed to France to fight on European soil. From there, Monash sailed to England, taking command of the Australian 3^rd Division. He spent most of 1917 and 1918 in France, commanding forces in some of the most decisive battles of the war. In May 1918, he was promoted in rank and made commander of all Australian forces on the Western Front.

20241009 132230 — Australian soldiers in the area of the northern Belgian city of Ypres, 1917

Meet John Monash: Engineer and Decorated General

John Monash was born in 1865 to Jewish parents who immigrated from Germany. He studied engineering at the University of Melbourne and joined the university’s military unit. Following his studies, he went on to have a civilian career in engineering, while also moving up the ranks in the army. He specialized in working with concrete and building bridges and rail lines. In the military, he commanded an artillery battery and later moved on to serve in an intelligence role. A year before the outbreak of WWI, he received command of an infantry brigade.

During the war, Monash demonstrated his command skills, standing out for his creative thinking and his ability to plan matters down to the smallest details. Many are familiar with the difficult descriptions of what this war was like – rows of soldiers emerging from trenches and charging towards the enemy, only to be cut down by machine gun fire. In the face of this grim reality, Monash placed an emphasis on the importance of combining different kinds of weaponry – tanks, planes, mortars – to help the infantry soldiers achieve their objectives safely, rather than sending them to their deaths in pointless and ineffective missions. He truly cared for his soldiers.

350px John Monash Portrait 1918 — General Sir John Monash, 1918

Monash was greatly respected for his military skills, and some believe that if the war had lasted longer, he would have ended up in command of the entire British Army in Europe.

Monash died in 1931 from a heart attack at the age of 66. Following a funeral attended by throngs of people, he was buried in the Jewish lot of the Melbourne cemetery. His wife had died 11 years before, and only his daughter, Bertha Bennett, survived him.

General Monash and the National Library of Israel

Today, we know that it was Bertha who donated that copy of War Letters of General Monash to the National Library in 1935, the same book which somehow ended up at the Australian offices of an international investment company. Bertha wrote a dedication at the beginning of the book, which reads: “to the Jewish National and University Library in memory of my later father, General Sir John Monash – a Jew, who commanded the Australian Army Corps in the Great War.”

But for some reason, the book never left Australia – until now.

Even before Bertha’s donation, which was ultimately delayed for almost a century, other donations made by Monash himself reached the Library long before, even opening up a separate saga in and of themselves:

Here’s how it all unfolded.

We shall begin by briefly shedding some light on another interesting figure from the past:

Abraham Schwadron (Sharon) was born in Galicia in 1878. He was a thinker, writer, musician, and recipient of three doctorates from the University of Vienna. Schwadron made Aliyah to Mandatory Palestine in 1927, where he primarily worked on his collection of portraits and photographs. For decades, Schwadron requested and received letters, postcards, and other documents written or at least signed by important figures, especially from the Jewish world. He also collected pictures and portraits of famous people from across the globe. He donated it all to the National Library, where he worked for many years. In 1920, Schwadron published an item in the British newspaper The Jewish Chronicle, announcing that he was collecting portraits, letters and souvenirs of famous Jews around the world and that he was requesting the readers’ assistance in expanding his collection.

Scwad Jc 19 Nov 1920 — Schwadron’s request for help in expanding his collection, *The Jewish Chronicle*, November 1920

Monash saw the request in the paper, and in September 1921, he sent Schwadron a postcard with a self-portrait and his signature. In an attached letter, Monash added that “It will doubtless be known to you [Schwadron, D.L.] that I was in supreme command of the Australian Army in France in 1918. I am well acquainted with Sir Herbert Samuel, the High Commissioner in Palestine, and with his legal adviser Mr. Norman Bentwitch.” The letter and the postcard were entered into the Schwadron Collection at the National Library.

מכתב ותמונה — Letter and postcard sent by Monash to Schwadron in 1921

Eight years later, in May 1929, Monash sent his book, The Australian Victories in France in 1918, to the National Library. The book, which he wrote two years after the war, describes the battles of the Australian soldiers in the war’s final year. It includes photographs, maps, and an appendix including battle orders and logistical instructions on the battlefield. Monash attached a brief letter addressed “To the Jewish National and University Library” in which he described his donation as a humble contribution to its literature of the Great War, which he said “brought freedom to the Jewish People in Palestine.”

The book’s inner cover contains a label in memory of Rose and Barnett Altson. This family lived in Australia, but their connection to Monash is unclear. Monash seemingly got his hands on a copy owned by the family, which he decided to send to the National Library. My efforts to find a connection via our genealogical staff between the two families came up empty.

Letter And Book — Monash’s dedication in the Altson family copy of his book (according to the label on the left)

Pleading for Help

A year later, Schwadron wrote a long letter to Monash in Australia. He thanked him for the postcard and the book and provided a detailed picture of the situation in the Land of Israel. He noted that he belonged to no political party, but that as a concerned Jew, he felt compelled to correct Monash’s mistaken words regarding the freedom of the Jews in Palestine.

According to him, the British Mandatory government had spent the past 11 years doing everything it could to make the Land of Israel a very unfree place for the Jewish People. Schwadron wrote that the Mandate authorities supported the local Arab residents, who were responsible for the pogroms launched against the Jews of the country. He argued that 95% of the British officials were anti-Zionists and were causing great dismay for the many Jews who had left their lives and families in Europe following the Balfour Declaration to build up the Land of Israel through hard work and toil, in hopes of a better future. Schwadron brought examples of the unfairness of the British government towards the Jewish population, including the relatively low taxes paid by Arabs compared to Jews.

Schwadron may have hoped that Monash could use his influence and contacts to help his brethren in the Land of Israel.

Three months after Schwadron sent his letter, Monash responded with a letter of his own, noting that he was disappointed and surprised at Schwadron’s criticism of the British Mandatory government. Monash expressed no opinion regarding Schwadron’s accusations, explaining that he would study the situation from additional sources. He added that he was a very busy man and that although he was very interested in “communal matters,” he didn’t have time to deal with the subject. He thanked Schwadron for the information regarding the Mandate’s activity, information which had not even come to his attention.

Monash To Schwadron — Monash’s response to Schwadron, June 1930

But Schwadron did not give up, and he wrote another letter to Monash in August of that year. Schwadron explained that after studying the material, he was certain that Monash would help bring about a significant change of the situation in the country. Schwadron updated Monash on the deterioration of the situation since his previous letter, mentioning the Shaw Commission which investigated the 1929 Arab Riots, the limitation of Aliyah, the White Paper, the preference shown for hiring Arabs in government positions (Arabs made up 94% of the non-British civil service in the country), lack of aid to Jewish farmers and the antisemitic statements of the Mufti of Jerusalem.

Schwadron ended his letter with a question: “How will a national home arise when those charged with its establishment are openly or covertly violent?” If there was a response to this letter, it is not in our possession. Monash probably did not have the time to deal with Schwadron’s complaints.

General Monash was widely respected in Australia, and was commemorated in a variety of ways following his death in 1931. His name adorns a university, a medical center, a highway, and a municipality. In Israel, the agricultural community known as Kfar Monash in the Hefer Valley was named after him. Monash has been the subject of multiple biographies, which include discussion of his victories in World War I and his contribution to Australia’s development.

The copy of Monash’s collection of letters which his daughter dedicated to the National Library was not the first to reach us – we already had a few copies. But now we have a particularly special one, a copy dedicated by his daughter.

Bertha apparently never got around to actually sending the book to Jerusalem, and it appears to have wandered across Australia before reaching the offices of the investment firm – a truly strange story, the details of which we may never know. What ultimately matters is that the book finally reached its destination, and is now on the shelves of the National Library in Jerusalem.

20241009 131634 — Close-up of Monash’s book, dedicated by his daughter to the National Library of Israel

Libyan Jewry: A Personal Perspective – How Rabbi Mordechai Ha-Cohen of Tripoli Documented His Community

In recent months, the archive of Rabbi Mordechai Ben Yehuda Ha-Cohen of Tripoli has been cataloged and made accessible at the National Library of Israel. He was a scholar, halakhic jurist, and significant chronicler of Libyan Jewry in the early 20th century. Professor Harvey E. Goldberg, a researcher of Libyan Jewry who edited Mordechai Ha-Cohen’s book, "Higgid Mordechai", shares the story of an exceptional rabbi and Renaissance man.

Harvey E. Goldberg | 30.10.24

Archives Jewish Communities Sephardic Jewry היסטוריה ישראלית סודות כתבי היד העבריים

The rabbinical court in Benghazi. Mordechai Ha-Cohen is the second from the left. Photo: Rimoldi-Benghazi, from the Italian translation of "Higgid Mordechai" (Rome 1930).

Mordechai Ha-Cohen, who received his formal education at a Talmud Torah religious school in Tripoli, eventually became the most important historian and documentarian of Libyan Jewry in the early 20th century. He was born in Tripoli in 1856 to a family of Italian origin, and was still very young when his father passed away. His natural curiosity drove him to educate himself and acquire books associated with the Haskalah, the Jewish Enlightenment, to continuously expand his knowledge. He knew Italian from home.

As a young adult, Ha-Cohen began to teach in a Talmud Torah school. To supplement his income, he repaired watches and worked as an itinerant merchant in the city of Tripoli and the surrounding villages. After getting married, he diligently studied rabbinic rulings in Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic and eventually was accepted as a halakhic jurist.

In the early 20th century, Ha-Cohen began compiling Higgid Mordechai, his comprehensive book on the history of Libya and its Jews, including their institutions and customs. The book covers a wide range of topics and relied on diverse sources. Some of it draws on the unpublished manuscripts of Abraham Khalfon (1741-1819) in Judeo-Arabic, while other parts are influenced by the writings of Abraham Hayyim Adadi, who served as the presiding judge of the rabbinical court in Tripoli for nearly 30 years during the 19th century. Ha-Cohen’s insights about the first half of the century came from his interviews with elders of his time and from his own research and observations.

A special section of the book is dedicated to the Jews living near the small market towns scattered throughout the rural communities of Tripolitania, with whom Ha-Cohen interacted as a traveling merchant. Another section describes the Jewish community in Benghazi, where he served as a dayan (a judge in a rabbinical court) from 1919 until the end of his life. It also includes a description of the Italian occupation of Tripoli in the fall of 1911.

The Italian army’s invasion of Tripoli, 1911. Source: Garyounis University

In 1906, Ha-Cohen met Nahum Slouschz, a researcher of Eastern Jewish communities, who had been sent from Paris to Tripoli on behalf of the Alliance Israélite Universelle. During their meeting, Ha-Cohen presented the latter with a manuscript of his work, which he had not yet completed but had finished more than half of it. Slouschz was impressed by Ha-Cohen’s abilities and knowledge and invited him to join his travels outside Tripoli as a guide and translator, and to document them. Ha-Cohen accepted the offer, and together they embarked on two journeys: one eastward to Benghazi and the other deeper into the country, heading south and west.

997009857477005171 — Nahum Slouschz, photograph by Benno Rothernberg. The Benno Rothenberg Archive, the Meitar Collection at the National Library of Israel

In September 1906, Slouschz left Libya after spending about two months there. He and Ha-Cohen corresponded until February 1910. As agreed, Ha-Cohen sent Slouschz his travel journal and, at his request, shared excerpts from the manuscript of his book. Slouschz incorporated these into his publications over the next 30 years but downplayed Ha-Cohen’s contributions.

After Slouschz left Tripoli, Ha-Cohen resumed working on his book. By that time, he was sending articles to HaYehudi in London, and as tensions increased around Italian interests in Libya, he also began submitting articles to Ha-Herut. His correspondence included accounts of military developments during the Italian occupation, which began in September 1911. The situation in Tripoli stabilized relatively quickly, and Ha-Cohen decided to finalize his work with four sections (chapters) reporting on the occupation of Tripoli and Benghazi (the resistance against Italy in the countryside continued for many years).

Over time, Ha-Cohen’s book, Higgid Mordechai, was published. The Italian Colonial Office, which governed Libya, undertook to translate the section of the book focusing on institutions and customs. Martino Mario Moreno, an Italian linguist and scholar of Eastern studies, translated it in collaboration with Ha-Cohen.

In 1915, Ha-Cohen signed a contract with Moreno to work on the translation, although they were likely in contact before this. The publication of this book in collaboration with Moreno seems to be the only time Mordechai had the opportunity to follow the publishing process, from when a manuscript was completed (and reviewed) till it was brought to the printing press. In 1924, the work was published in Benghazi and included notes by Ha-Cohen and by the translator-editor, Martino Mario Moreno.

During World War II, Ha-Cohen’s family got to know the historian Professor Ephraim Elimelech Urbach, who arrived in Libya while serving as a British Army chaplain. He attended to the needs of British soldiers, particularly Jewish ones, including those who volunteered from Mandatory Palestine – the Land of Israel.

The family entrusted the manuscript to Urbach, who then submitted it to the National Library in Jerusalem. A few members of the Ha-Cohen family came to Israel during the great Aliyah (immigration to Israel) including Libyan Jewry, bringing with them a collection of his personal documents. Later, these were also donated to the NLI, and approval for the manuscript to be held by the Library permanently was issued in 1967. The manuscript of Higgid Mordechai is written in Solitreo—a traditional Sephardi version of Hebrew cursive script.

990000453740205171 — The introduction in the original manuscript of *Higgid Mordechai*. The National Library of Israel

Initially, the work attracted the attention of only a few scholars, among them Haim Zeev Hirschberg. It wasn’t until 1979 that the book was published as a volume by the Ben-Zvi Institute, edited by myself based on anthropological research among Jews from Libya.

During his time in Tripoli, Ha-Cohen witnessed rapid technological advancement—accessible water services and sewage systems, regular mail from abroad, and telegraph services. At the same time, he and the wider Jewish community were gradually exposed to both Jewish and broader culture from overseas. His book consciously reflects the literature and language of the Eastern European Hebrew Enlightenment, which is evident in the choice of topics it covers. He praised the values of the Enlightenment while simultaneously defending traditional Jewish positions. Ha-Cohen saw himself as a partner in the effort to revive the Hebrew language and even suggested turning to Arabic as a source for renewing words in a once-dormant language. This perspective also influenced his approach to research. His pan-Jewish outlook was expressed in letters written in Hebrew that he sent to newspapers abroad. There are more than 80 documented articles of his from 1897 to 1914, mostly for the newspapers Ha-Herut and Ha-Yehudi (published in London), in which he reported on what was happening in Libya as well as various other issues.

Paper660 — Report by Mordechai Ha-Cohen on the situation in Libya. *Ha-Herut* newspaper, November 1, 1909. The Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

Copies of other articles written by Rabbi Mordechai Ha-Cohen can be found in his archive at the National Library of Israel.

Ha-Cohen aspired to belong to an international circle of scholars and felt he was fulfilling this ambition through his connection with Nahum Slouschz. His passion for uncovering the treasures and history of his land was well known; visitors and tourists from various countries were referred to him, and he provided them with information. However, within his own community, his commitment to science wasn’t always appreciated and some felt his writings expressed criticism of Jewish life. In response, he expressed faith in those who valued the unbiased search for knowledge, whoever they were and wherever they could be found. He strove for accuracy in his historical writing—concerning dates, for example—and in describing the Jewish communities of his time, he sought the most up-to-date demographic information possible. He didn’t hesitate to indicate whenever there was any uncertainty involved. When matters were unclear to him, he presented only the facts he knew without drawing conclusions.

An example of this can be seen in a photograph of a page from his correspondence notebook, in which Rabbi Mordechai recorded the number of Jews by communities: א(A) = Jewish communities in Libya; ב(B) = Jewish communities in the world: some categorized by country (for example, “Persia”), and some by city (for example, “Aleppo”); ג(C) = Jewish communities in the Land of Israel.

The archive consists of three components: copies of letters, legal materials, and writings including excerpts from unfinished essays.

The letters—most of which Ha-Cohen sent rather than received—are written in Hebrew, with some in Judeo-Arabic, and they don’t represent all of his correspondence. The documents in the collection are mostly written in Solitreo, with some written in what is known as Rashi script. At the center of the collection of letters is a notebook with 60 pages, mainly consisting of copies of letters; some weren’t created by Ha-Cohen but preserved by him. There are also a few documents beyond the notebook.

Ha-Cohen had extensive correspondence with five individuals. One was Rabbi Hezekiah Shabtai, who served as the Hakham Bashi, or Ottoman Chief Rabbi, in Tripoli from 1904 to 1908. Shabtai drafted a letter of approval for Mordechai’s book, and after Shabtai moved to Aleppo in Syria, the two exchanged information about their respective cities and communities.

The second most frequent correspondent was Nahum Slouschz, and the third was Martino Mario Moreno, who translated Ha-Cohen’s book into Italian. Ha-Cohen also corresponded with two Italian rabbis: Shmuel Tzvi Margaliot, who visited Tripoli in the early years following the Italian occupation, and Eliyahu Shmuel Hartom, who served as the Chief Rabbi in Tripoli from 1920 to 1923. With the latter, Ha-Cohen discussed halakhic issues in his capacity as a judge in the rabbinical court in Benghazi.

Other letters from Ha-Cohen were addressed to a wide range of recipients, reflecting his broad perspective. His active interest is evident in the variety of topics he covered and in his writings preserved in the archive. Two of these are manuscripts written in small notebooks: Netzach Yisrael and Rabbeinu Gershom Meor HaGolah. They were both composed in Benghazi around 1925 but differ in purpose.

The first, which is 22 pages long, addresses “the political and religious progression of the ancient Israelite people since it became a nation.” It is written in Hebrew, using Rashi script, and Ha-Cohen appears to have written it to contribute to education in general, perhaps hoping it would reach readers outside Libya.

The target audience of the second manuscript was the local Jewish community. The background is incomplete, but in 1922, a judge in the Jewish rabbinical court in the city organized the Chevra Kadisha (community volunteers who prepare bodies for Jewish burial) under the name “Rabbeinu Gershom Society.” An annual feast was held in honor of Rabbeinu Gershom, marking the Chevra Kadisha’s contribution to the community. Ha-Cohen took it upon himself to educate the Jews of Benghazi about the historical significance of Rabbeinu Gershom. This work is written in Rashi script, but the language is Judeo-Arabic.

Rabbi Mordechai Ha-Cohen passed away in 1929. He was a man of many talents, but aside from the publication of Higgid Mordechai, many of his initiatives didn’t come to fruition.

The opening page of *Netzach Yisrael*, in Hebrew. The Mordechai Ha-Cohen Archive, the National Library of Israel. This collection has been cataloged and made accessible thanks to the kind donation of the Samis Foundation, Seattle, Washington.

Introduction to *Rabbeinu Gershom Meor HaGolah*, in Judeo-Arabic. The Mordechai Ha-Cohen Archive, the National Library of Israel. This collection has been cataloged and made accessible thanks to the kind donation of the Samis Foundation, Seattle, Washington.

The archive of Rabbi Mordechai Ben Yehuda Ha-Cohen of Tripoli has been cataloged and made accessible at the National Library of Israel, thanks to the kind donation of the Samis Foundation, Seattle, Washington, dedicated to the memory of Samuel Israel. Special thanks to Noa Reichmann for her assistance in registering the archive and making it accessible.

The Goldziher Library: A Scholarly Treasure Revealed

A monumental collection containing books, manuscripts, papers and letters belonging to Ignaz Goldziher, the esteemed Hungarian-Jewish scholar of Islam, has now been fully cataloged - a century after its arrival at the National Library of Israel.

Samuel Thrope | 28.10.24

Archives Islam Islamic Manuscripts

Ignaz Goldziher, the esteemed Hungarian-Jewish scholar of Islam, photographed in his youth. The Abraham Schwadron Portrait Collection at the National Library of Israel

During the Sukkot holidays in 1924—just a little more than a century ago—Jerusalem’s elite gathered at the Midrash Abarbanel Library, as the National Library of Israel was then known, for an uncommon celebration. Local Jewish, Muslim, and Christian notables, foreign diplomats, Zionist leaders, and British Mandate officials met to mark the opening of the Goldziher library to the public. As the name suggests, the library contained the personal research collection of the late leading European scholar of Arabic and Islam, Ignaz Goldziher. Purchased by the Zionist movement from Goldziher’s family after the Jewish-Hungarian scholar’s death in 1921, the 6,000 volumes had been shipped from Budapest to Jerusalem months before. Now, the collection was finally on display in a four-room annex, rented just for that purpose, adjoining the existing library building in the city center.

A section of the Goldziher Library, photographed shortly after its arrival at the Midrash Abarbanel Library, as the NLl was once known, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Chaim Weizmann, president of the World Zionist Organization, Judah Magnes, soon to be appointed chancellor of the Hebrew University, and others addressed the assembled notables emphasizing how in the Goldziher library “scholars from all the races and religions of the Land of Israel would meet in a collective effort.” Goldziher’s few thousand books served as the foundation for the more than half a million volumes that make up the Islam and Middle East Collection of the National Library of Israel today.

That Jerusalem celebration capped years of intense effort. Zionist leaders in London had fought hard to buy Goldziher’s library when it was put up for sale, beating out competing bids from leading universities in Europe, America, and even as far away as Japan. Goldziher was one of the founders of the European academic study of Islam, renowned within his own lifetime, and his works are still considered essential to this day. As a world-famous Hungarian scholar, securing the permit to remove Goldziher’s books from the country required the intervention of the British embassy in Budapest, and only a last-minute transfer of funds convinced the scholar’s widow, Laura, to finally allow the books to leave.

990037399550205171 B — “The Jewish ladies of Rhodesia paid part of the cost of the Golziher-Library” – A plaque in the Hebrew University’s Wolfson building, one of the former homes of the NLI, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

This successful acquisition was a major coup for the growing Jerusalem library, as well as for the Hebrew University, which opened a year later in 1925. Over the course of decades, Goldziher had slowly built up his collection of Arabic, Persian, and Turkish books and manuscripts, as well as scholarly publications on Islam. This process began with an extended study and book-buying tour through the Middle East in 1873. Alongside essential works on the Qur’an, hadith, and Islamic law, literature, theology, and mysticism, Goldziher’s library also contained numerous titles on Jews and Judaism—observant throughout his life, he had served for many years as secretary of the Budapest Jewish community—philosophy, travel literature, Classics, and other topics. No private collection in Europe, and only a handful of university or public libraries, could rival the breadth and importance of Goldziher’s collection.

Goldziher made annotations, mostly in German and Arabic, in the margins of many of his books, and these notes only increased the collection’s value. It was hoped that access to his marginal corrections and private musings would be almost as instructive as having the great scholar himself at hand.

Goldziher2 — Ignaz Goldziher, pictured with his two sons, circa the 1890s. The Abraham Schwadron Portrait Collection at the National Library of Israel

Alongside his library, Goldziher also preserved in his home in Budapest a voluminous archive of correspondence. Over the course of decades, he had exchanged letters, on topics scholarly and profane, with European students of Arabic and Islam, Muslim thinkers and theologians, Jewish scholars and writers, and other admirers. All told, Goldziher received and preserved more than 13,500 letters from 1,650 individuals in eleven languages. According to his wishes, this epistolary archive was bequeathed to the Hungarian Academy of Sciences in Budapest. Now digitally available through a dedicated website, Goldziher’s letters are an invaluable primary source for understanding not only his own life but a whole period in the history of Hungarian Jewry and in the European engagement with and study of the Muslim world.

Even though Goldziher’s correspondence and other archival materials were meant to remain in Budapest, in 1924, when the librarians in Jerusalem opened the shipping crates and began to catalog Goldziher’s books, they discovered a surprise. Letters, notes, and memoranda were found in many volumes. While some were clearly meant to serve as additional space for commentary and reflection on an author’s argument—a kind of extension of a book’s margins—others had apparently been stuck between the pages and forgotten.

990037399550205171 C — The Goldziher Library photographed at the NLI’s former home in the Hebrew University’s Wolfson building, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Dutifully, the librarians, chief among them David Hartwig Baneth, the Berlin-born Arabist and future director of the National Library, removed the letters and other papers from the volumes, placing them in envelopes on which were written the books’ new call numbers. These envelopes bear the Library’s name, but not in Hebrew. Instead, they are stamped with the German title Jüdische Nationalbibliothek – a sign of the institution’s European identity at the time. These envelopes, as well as offprints of articles and other documents that did not fit inside them, were then set aside to be dealt with later.

However, as is sometimes the case in the history of libraries, this “later” turned out to be not next week, next month, nor even next year, but almost a century. It was only this year, 2024, that the Goldziher archive at the National Library of Israel was finally catalogued.

Ms Ar 2 001 Photography By Ardon Bar Hama — Goldziher’s notes and emendations in Arabic and German on a manuscript of Abu Hatim al-Sijistani’s *News of the Aged* (Akhbar al-mu’ammarin), copied in Cairo in 1892, Ms. Ar. 2. Photograph by Ardon Bar Hama. From the collections of the National Library of Israel, Project “Warraq”.

After first having been reviewed by Sabine Schmidtke of the Princeton Institute for Advanced Studies—and with the Institute’s financial support—Goldziher’s archive was cataloged by Kinga Dévényi of the Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. Dévényi spent two intensive weeks in the NLI’s Special Collections Reading Hall deciphering Hungarian asides and Arabic notations. The former curator of the Goldziher collection in Budapest, she is also the co-editor, along with Hans-Jürgen Becker, Sebastian Günther, and Schmidtke, of the recent book Building Bridges: Ignaz Goldziher and His Correspondents (Brill, 2024).

The fruits of her labors include a brief Hebrew-language summary of Mamonides’ epochal philosophical treatise The Guide for the Perplexed, written when Goldziher was only seventeen; notes for a planned article on Abu Mahdhura al-Jumahi (d. 678), an early convert to Islam and companion of the Prophet Muhammad who was responsible for calling the faithful to prayer in Mecca; an invitation to attend a public lecture by the American-Jewish Orientalist Richard Gottheil in Cairo on February 24, 1905, and more. Notably, among the printed items, she identified several reviews of Goldziher’s publications, a reflection of his well-known practice of collecting critiques of his work.

Goldziher3 — Ignaz Goldziher, the Abraham Schwadron Portrait Collection at the National Library of Israel

In cataloging the Goldziher archival material, Dévényi applied the expertise developed during her previous work with the Hungarian Academy of Sciences collection. The archive contains a diverse array of both handwritten and printed materials. The often-brittle papers, frequently consisting of loose pages, had inevitably become mixed up over the past hundred years. Therefore, her initial task was to carefully sort the material, determining which pieces belonged together. She then separated the handwritten materials from the printed ones and tried to group the documents thematically. Given the special significance of the items, she cataloged each piece individually, ensuring careful attention to detail. She took measurements and counted the folios where relevant, especially for manuscripts and other unique documents.

After the Goldziher papers in Jerusalem are scanned, we hope that they can be digitally reunited with the much larger archive in Budapest, allowing scholars and students to benefit from new perspectives on Goldziher’s life and work.

How Curious George Escaped the Nazis and Brought Joy to the World

One of the sweetest and most beloved characters in children’s literature was created in the minds of a Jewish refugee couple. Who were Margret and Hans Rey? How did their talent allow them to escape Nazi Europe by the skin of their teeth, and what other character beloved by generations of young boys and girls did they create? This is the story of the author and illustrator whose innocent and optimistic children’s books continue to brighten our lives to this day.

Dorit Gani | 12.09.24

Diaspora German Jewry Jewish Culture World War II

Hans and Margret Rey. Photo from the de Grummond Collection for Children’s Literature, the McCain Library and Archives, University of Southern Mississippi, and the character they created as he appeared in "Curious Honi Rides a Bicycle", one of many Hebrew translations, Modan Publishing, 1983

What would you take with you if you had to flee your home and country on a bicycle?

Hans and Margret Rey were forced to ask that question of themselves in June 1940, making a fateful choice which would affect their lives dramatically.

But to fully understand that decision, we have to go back a few years, specifically to Brazil 1925, on whose shores arrived a young Jewish man named Hans Augusto Reyersbach. Hans’ source of income in this new county came from selling bathtubs and sinks, but Brazil also allowed him to combine his three great loves – boats, painting, and animals, and he spent what free time he had sailing up the Amazon River and drawing the many monkeys he saw along the way.

Ten years later, after Hitler rose to power, a family friend arrived in Rio De Janeiro from Hamburg, Margarete Elisabeth Waldstein. She convinced him to get out of sales, after which they opened up an advertising agency, with Hans in charge of illustration and design and Margarete doing the copywriting. Their partnership quickly turned into a romance, which blossomed into a marriage. They replaced the name Reyersbach, which Brazilians had difficulty pronouncing, with Rey. Margarete became Margret. Hans stayed Hans.

מרגרט והנס — Hans and Margret Rey. Photo from the de Grummond Collection for Children’s Literature, the McCain Library and Archives, University of Southern Mississippi

A year after their marriage, these Brazilian citizens decided to return to Europe. They settled down in Paris and began to write and illustrate children’s books. Their first book told the story of a giraffe and a family of monkeys (known in English as Cecily G. and the Nine Monkeys and in French as Rafi et les neuf singes). One of the monkeys in the story, a mischievous little fellow named Fifi, was so captivating that they decided to write a new book centered on him.

צילה גי — From *Cecily G. and the Nine Monkeys*. Translated into Hebrew as *Tzila G. and the Nine Monkeys*

Hans and Margret had just moved again to a small French village to get away from the noise of the city and enjoy the peace and quiet of the beautiful countryside. It was here that they planned to write their new book, but this was not to be. These were the early days of World War II, and while the war was still relatively far away, an atmosphere of fear and suspicion permeated the small village.

The couple’s German accent led neighbors to call the police on them. The locals suspected they were German spies. An officer was sent to their home, who began to interrogate them. Only when he entered Hans’ study, and saw the drawings of the little monkey spread out across his work table, was he convinced that these were children’s authors and not spies. After this incident, the couple decided to return to Paris, where Hans began to draw the adventures of Fifi.

But their stay in Paris did not last long, either. In May 1940, the city was filled with thousands of refugees and a sense of real danger hung over the residents – certainly its Jewish ones, including Hans and Margret. Within the chaos and tumult, they managed to renew their Brazilian passports and withdraw some money from the bank.

By June 10, the Nazis were approaching the city, and Hans and Margret knew they had to escape quickly. They didn’t have a car, the trains were shut down, and it wasn’t even possible to find a functional bicycle in the stores. So, Hans spent a huge amount of money on some spare parts from which he was able to assemble two makeshift bicycles. They were forced to leave most of their belongings behind, taking with them a few clothes, some food, an umbrella, a pipe, and manuscripts at various stages of writing and illustration, including the manuscript describing the adventures of Fifi.

They set out early in the morning, pedaling among millions of other bicycle riders, pedestrians, trucks and other vehicles, all of whom were fleeing south. In the coming days, they rode dozens of kilometers on their improvised bikes, over long days which started before dawn and ended in darkness. The couple would sleep in random barns they found along the way. On June 14, they reached their first destination: the train station at Orleans. That same day, Nazi soldiers marched through Paris and raised the Nazi flag over the Eiffel Tower.

The Reys continued on their journey – another bike ride, another train – with the aim of reaching Portugal and then the United States. On the next, desperately packed train, a stern police officer began moving among the passengers, looking for stowaways or any other people who could conceivably be taken off the overcrowded train. When he reached the Reys, he asked to see their documents as well as the suspicious pile of papers they carried with them. It was the manuscript of Fifi’s adventures. The officer’s appearance softened as he examined the written content and illustrations, and he let them stay on the train. Once again, the little illustrated monkey was a better character witness for them than any official document. On October 14, 1940, four months after they began their flight, the Reys stood on the deck of a ship which brought them to the gates of New York. In a year, the manuscript would be published, and the monkey would become a hero, known to children across the United States. Along the way, Fifi changed his name to Curious George, at the publisher’s request.

להגעה לארהב — From the *Curious George*, the first book in the series

Curious George is Abducted and Ends Up in the Zoo

As we all know, George is a small (and very, very curious) monkey who lives in the home of the Man with the Yellow Hat. Not many know of or remember the story of how they first met – an encounter which begins with the Man in the Yellow Hat taking George from Africa, and ends with George arriving at the big city zoo. It is only in the second book that George is taken to the man’s home, where his new owner tries unsuccessfully to keep him out of trouble.

Following the first book, six new books describing the adventures of the adorable monkey were published between 1947 and 1966. Although the seven books were all collaborative projects, with Hans responsible for the drawings and Margret writing the story, their publisher advised them that the children’s literature market was swamped with female authors, and that the book might sell better if Hans’ name was on it. A few years later, Margret would regret this arrangement and her name would be added to the books.

What’s in a Name? Trouble With the King of England

The book’s American success led to an effort to distribute it in England, as well. The only problem was that this was during the reign of King George IV. Publishing a book featuring a monkey bearing the king’s name could be seen as an insult to the British Monarchy. Moreover, at the time, “curious” was slang for homosexuality. The times being what they were, it was clear that the monkey’s name would have to be changed yet again, and the books published in Britain gave him the name Zozo (one of the other monkeys in the book Cecily G. and the Nine Monkeys). Other countries also decided to change George’s name, not due to any political considerations but simply to make it more appropriate to local culture. Thus did George become Coco in Germany, Vili in Finland, and Joji in Japan.

הנס ריי אלזה דורפמן — Hans Rey reading his book to children. Photo: Elsa Dorfman

Curious George Makes Aliyah

In the early 1980s, Israeli children also got to meet Curious George. First they encountered him in the series of children’s cartoons aired on the Martziper children’s television program and then in the series of books bearing his name, which were published by Modan and translated by Puah Herschlag (six of the seven books were translated into Hebrew; the story of George learning the alphabet was not translated). As was common in that era of Israeli culture, it was decided that George would be given a proper Hebrew name – “Curious Honi”, after “Honi the Circle-Drawer” from the era of the Jewish sages.

חוני הסקרן — *Curious Honi Wins a Medal* (Hebrew), Modan, 1983

The illustrations in the Hebrew edition were Hans’ original work, but where they included English text, it was replaced with Hebrew, such as one drawing showing a newspaper boy handing out copies of Haaretz.

הארץ — *Curious Honi Rides a Bicycle* (Hebrew), Modan, 1983

In 2005, Keter Publishing released a book including a number of Curious George’s stories and drawings. It included the first story, here called “Curious Gur” (pup), as well as a translation of the Cecily G. story and another story which had only come to light around that time, a decade after Margret Rey’s death.

Among the manuscripts they took with them upon fleeing Paris, in addition to the work that would become the story of Curious George, was a story about a penguin who decided to travel the world. This story remained in their desk drawer and was only discovered after Margret’s death. Whiteblack the Penguin Travels the World was soon published in the United States and was also included in the Hebrew story collection.

Curious George’s Little Brother

Curious George was not the only illustrated hero created by the Reys. In 1944, they wrote and drew another famous book, which few tied to the creators of the beloved monkey. The book is called Pretzel in English and Beigele in Hebrew. It tells the story of Duke, a dachshund who falls in love with a female dog named Greta (or Zehuva in Hebrew). This book credited Margret Rey as the author, and this was also the moment when it was decided to add her name to the Curious George books. Two years later, a sequel called Pretzel and the Puppies came out which would eventually, in 2022, lead to a TV series inspired by the book.

בייגלה — *Beigele* (a Hebrew translation of *Pretzel*), Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1975

P And The Pupps — The sequel to *Pretzel* – *Pretzel and the Puppies*, Harper and Brothers, 1946

Hans passed away on August 26, 1977. Margret died on December 21, 1996. Hans experienced the success of the books and enjoyed it, but Margret was the one who got to see George become a household name, leading to a movie, a TV series, and a whole range of popular merchandise.

Even after Margret died, books continued to come out, telling of George’s new adventures. Hans and Margret had their names on the cover, but these were stories based on the original books which were created by a series of different authors and illustrators. We do admit that one of our favorite stories can be found in one of these later books, which Margret wrote after Hans’ passing: Curious George Visits the Library.

מבקר בספרייה — *Curious George Visits the Library* (Hebrew)

One thing never changed in any of the incarnations or portrayals of Curious George: his being a captivating and good-hearted character, who out of curiosity and never malice always ends up in trouble, but who also always manages to get out of it, and even help others around him.

Every child – even every adult! – needs a person like that in their life, someone who can show them that mistakes are a part of life, and that you always have an opportunity to make things better.